Ancient Information on Persia Re-Assessed: Xenophon's Cyropaedia: Proceedings of a Conference Held at Marburg in Honour of Christopher Tuplin, December 1-2, 2017 3447112832, 9783447112833

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Classica et Orientalia 22

CLeO

Bruno Jacobs and Robert Rollinger (Ed.)

Xenophon’s Cyropaedia Proceedings of a Conference Held at Marburg in Honour of Christopher J. Tuplin, December 1–2, 2017

Harrassowitz

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0

Classica et Orientalia Herausgegeben von Ann C. Gunter, Wouter F. M. Henkelman, Bruno Jacobs, Robert Rollinger, Kai Ruffing und Josef Wiesehöfer Band 22

2020 Harrassowitz Verlag . Wiesbaden

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0

Ancient Information on Persia Re-assessed: Xenophon’s Cyropaedia Proceedings of a Conference Held at Marburg in Honour of Christopher J. Tuplin, December 1–2, 2017 Edited by Bruno Jacobs

2020 Harrassowitz Verlag . Wiesbaden

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0

Cover: Willem de Poorter (1608–ca. 1668), “Panthea and Cyrus with the Body of Abradatas”. Oil on canvas. © RKD – Netherlands Institute for Art History. Image number 43180. With kind permission of Wim Waanders.

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http://dnb.dnb.de abrufbar. Bibliographic information published by 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.

For further information about our publishing program consult our website http://www.harrassowitz-verlag.de © Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden 2020 This work, including all of its parts, is protected by copyright. Any use beyond the limits of copyright law without the permission of the publisher is forbidden and subject to penalty. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic systems. Printed on permanent/durable paper. Printing and binding: Memminger MedienCentrum AG Printed in Germany ISSN 2190–3638 ISBN 978–3-447–11283–3 e-ISBN 978-3-447-19907-0

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0

Christopher J. Tuplin

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0

Contents

Foreword. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IX Introduction Christopher J. Tuplin: an Appreciation by Bruno Jacobs (Basel). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XIII Bibliography of Publications of Christopher J. Tuplin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . XVII Genre and Meaning Frances Pownall (Alberta) Xenophon’s Cyropaedia and Greek Historiography. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3

Irene Madreiter (Innsbruck) Cyropaedia and the Greek ‘Novel’ again: History and Perspectives of a Supposed Generic Relationship. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

19

Louis-André Dorion (Montréal) Cyrus and Socrates: Two Models on an Equal Footing? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

45

The Author’s View Reinhold Bichler (Innsbruck, translation by Franz Pramhaas) Cyropaedia – ‘Historical Space’ and the Nations at the Fringes of the Oikumene. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

73

John E. Esposito (Chapel Hill) & Norman B. Sandridge (Washington, DC) On the Fundamental Activities of the Leader in Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus – and Whether They Even Constitute Leadership. . . . . . . . . . .

105

Michael A. Flower (Princeton) Xenophon’s Anabasis and Cyropaedia: a Tale of Two Cyruses. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

125

Gabriel Danzig (Ramat Gan) The Younger Cyrus and the Alter Cyrus. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

165

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Contents

Cyropaedia as Historical Source Julian Degen (Innsbruck) Ancient Near Eastern Traditions in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Conceptions of Royal Qualities and Empire. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Bruno Jacobs (Basel) Cyropaedia and the “Gift-Bearer Reliefs” from the So-called apadāna at Persepolis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

241

Literary Reception Sabine Müller (Marburg) Xenophon’s Kyroupaideia and the Alexander Historiographers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

261

Deborah L. Gera (Jerusalem) Luxury and Authority in the Cyropaedia, Esther, and Judith. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

283

Sulochana Asirvatham (New York) The Cyropaedia in Imperial Greek Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

301

Richard Stoneman (Exeter) Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus in Early Modern Europe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

325

Noreen Humble (Calgary) Worn out in the Reading: Xenophon’s Cyropaedia in the Sixteenth Century. . . . .

341

Melina Tamiolaki (University of Crete) Straussian Readings of the Cyropaedia: Challenges and Controversies. . . . . . . . . . .

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Concluding Remarks Vivienne Gray (Auckland) Reflections on Near Eastern Realities in the Cyropaedia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Indices Names of Persons and Deities. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Topo- and Ethnonyms. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0

Foreword The idea of devoting a colloquium to Xenophon’s Cyropaedia, as well as a number of suggestions for particular lecture topics, can be traced back to a brainstorming session of the then series editors of Classica et Orientalia. At the suggestion of Robert Rollinger, the topic became the subject of a Melammu workshop, which took place on 1–2 December 2017 at the Seminar for Ancient History of the Philipps-Universität Marburg and was organized by Sabine Müller and Bruno Jacobs. Among the invited speakers – and also guest of honour – was Christopher Tuplin, who had recently celebrated his 65th birthday. The conference was dedicated to him to mark this occasion. To round out the volume thematically, Bruno Jacobs invited a number of other Xenophon specialists to write essays on topics that were unrepresented in the original conference programme. We would like to thank them and all those who participated in the conference for their contributions. We also thank the Marburg helpers Sarina Pal, Michelle Simon, Julia Hartrumpf and Timo Beermann for their commitment, which contributed greatly to the success of the conference. Last but not least we would like to thank the Harrassowitz publishing house and its staff, especially Barbara Krauß and Ulrike Melzow, for their professional and dedicated support in the publication of this volume. Berlin, March 2020 Bruno Jacobs and Sabine Müller

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0

Introduction

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© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0

Christopher J. Tuplin: an Appreciation* Bruno Jacobs (Basel)

Dear friends and colleagues, some of you may think that this is not such a huge conference that, after the usual welcome and introduction, a second introduction is justified. The reason that I take the stage now and throw the time schedule a little bit off track is that the organizers of this meeting think that a conference on Xenophon gives all of us the opportunity to honour a colleague who is one of my dearest friends. Many years ago he wrote his D.Phil. thesis on Xenophon Hellenica, he is one of the most renowned students of this crucial author, he reached the age of 65 in June of this year, but has, we are delighted to say, not ceased from taking part in conferences and is here with us now. I refer, of course, to Christopher Tuplin. So I shall take the liberty of speaking about him for a couple of minutes. Christopher was born in Sheffield in 1952, the only child of Alfred Tuplin, Professor of Mechanical Engineering at the University of Sheffield, and his wife Lilian, who before her marriage had been a successful businesswoman. At the age of 10, two years younger than Cyrus was when he was taken by his mother Mandane on a trip to Media, Christopher was taken by his mother Lilian on his first trip to Greece. With this journey his mother shared her love for that country with him and unwittingly set him on his future career path. It was, by the way, also his mother who installed in him a lifelong love of that most English of all pursuits, cricket. Christopher was educated at Oundle School and won a scholarship to study Literae Humaniores (i.e. Classics) at Corpus Christi College, Oxford. Between school and University he spent some time in Florence studying Italian and Art History, and both Italy and art henceforth became abiding passions: he never misses the Venice Biennale, tries to get to all important exhibitions in London, seeks out the picture galleries in any city he visits, and delights in any excuse to be in Italy. At Oxford he was particularly influenced by the teaching of George Cawkwell, whose lectures inspired him to choose Xenophon for his doctoral studies, and Tony Andrewes who supervised the resulting thesis as well as providing a fine model of humane scholarship. Another key influence was Geoffrey de Ste Croix, who, among many other things, introduced him to the Bodleian letters of the satrap Arshama published by Godfrey

* This is an edited version of my remarks at the start of the conference on 1 December 2017.

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Driver and so to the idea that there was evidence for Persian history that had nothing to do with Greek language or literature. In 1976, at the very young age of 23, and while still completing his D.Phil. thesis, Christopher was appointed lecturer in Ancient History at the University of Liverpool. So, at this crucial point of his career, he was again about two years younger than Cyrus when he took the crucial decision to go to Media and support his uncle “Cyaxares” against the Assyrians. On his first full day at work, his distinguished Head of Department, Professor Frank Walbank, invited a small group to have lunch with the new recruit, among them a young research student called Josie. At this point, at the latest, you will all be aware that I did not write this laudation without help. And this help came from Josie. So you see that, over forty years later, the association not only with the University of Liverpool but also with Josie is still flourishing. To win Josie over was a goal that Christopher pursued with unconventional methods. She remembers that one of their first dates included Christopher serenading her by playing much of the final scene of Die Walküre  on the piano while singing both Wotan’s and Brunnhilde’s parts. You will probably deduce from this that Christopher sings and plays the piano pretty well, though he would doubtless insist that the inference is over-adventurous. From Josie I also learned that Christopher is a great family man, who, despite being often busy in his study, was very involved in bringing up both his children, Hugo and Roz, that he is gentle, kind, and so fair minded, so keen to see all sides of any issue, that he finds it impossible to answer a simple question like What’s your favourite colour? much to the amusement of both of his children. Those who know Christopher as we do understand that many of the qualities he displays in everyday life also inform his behaviour as scholar and colleague. One of these is his attention to detail and his determination to know everything there is to know about everything. Recently, Roz and Christopher went to Japan together and Roz was struck by the speed with which her father went from never having engaged with Japanese culture to needing to see every single temple in Kyoto. She described it like this: He needs to be both totally overwhelmed by everything there is to do, and, at the same time, manage to do every last bit of it and still catch the plane home. This approach, which is a perfect metaphor for the successful academic life, I experienced myself some time ago when a chapter on Military Organization and Equipment, planned for the still unpublished Companion to the Achaemenid Persian Empire, unexpectedly fell to my lot, as Darius would have put it. As Christopher had been so kind as to agree to write another chapter, that on Mercenaries, and as he had previously told me that his text had already reached 25,000 words, when the word limit was 4000, it was an obvious move to ask Christopher for help with Military Organization and Equipment. So I sent him the sober draft I had made of the chapter, presuming that some of the material used for the Mercenaries piece in its somewhat overgrown state might find its way into the other chapter. Not long afterwards I got my text back already equipped with numerous comments and references and seventeen days later, after Christopher had been in Venice and visited the Buxton Opera Festival, I was flooded with an unbelievable wealth of annotations,

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Christopher J. Tuplin: an Appreciation

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quotations and suggestions. They were distilled from thirty years of collecting, and, most remarkably, they were shared with me in the most generous and unreserved way. Christopher’s attention to detail, his determination to know everything on a topic and his aspiration to see all sides of a problem are the main characteristics of his writings. That makes them sometimes not easy to read: the numerous brackets and dashes attest a mission to fathom whether what seems obvious from the tradition is obvious in fact and to take into account all the possible surprises our patchy sources may have up their sleeves. But, if you make the effort, you profit greatly. For the wealth of material he places at the reader‘s disposal I will point to two of his publications only. One is the unbelievably rich chapter on “The Parks and Gardens of the Achaemenid Empire”, hidden in his Achaemenid Studies from 1996. Quite recently I had to deal with a colleague’s rather haphazard reconstruction of a paradeisos at the Sanctuary of Zeus at Labraunda, and, of course, I found a note in Christopher’s twenty-year-old chapter (p. 92 n. 43) observing that this interpretation was hardly an option. Another example is his contribution to the quite recently published volume on Administration in the Achaemenid Empire. In his article Serving the Satrap he succeeds in conveying an impression of the large range of personnel that operated in the imperial administration and in substantiating it with an astounding host of testimonies. His devotion to detail and his endeavour to consider all aspects of a given issue mean that Christopher is a great commentator. The first publication to mention in this context is his book The Failings of Empire – A Reading of Xenophon Hellenica 2.3.11–7.5.27 from 1993, which goes back to his D.Phil. thesis, part of which was in the form of a commentary. Much more recently we have his commentary on the Arshama Letters from the Bodleian Library: there is a preliminary text of this on-line, but a much-revised version will appear as part of a multi-author three volume book to be published in 2020 by Oxford University Press. Here Christopher provides the reader with comments on all aspects of interpretation, be it grammatical, lexical, formal or content-related, sovereignly dealing with all the languages involved – which are quite numerous. His contribution will undoubtedly be the centerpiece of the publication. The philological-historical commentary is perhaps the ideal form for a scholar like Christopher and, that being so, one can only applaud the recent success of Cambridge University Press in obtaining Christopher’s signature to a contract to produce a large-scale commentary on Xenophon’s Anabasis. This commentary will join a long list of publications. Christopher’s two monographs I have already mentioned, but there are also five conference volumes edited or co-edited by him, over 120 essays in journals and multi-author books, and more than 80 book-reviews. He contributed entries on 144 Greek, Macedonian and Persian individuals prominent in the fourth century BC to Diana Bowder’s Who Was Who in the Greek World? from 1982 and 23 entries in the third edition of the Oxford Classical Dictionary, and quite naturally he was the obvious choice to write the entries on Xenophon for the Dictionary of Historians as well as for Encyclopaedia Britannica and Encyclopaedia Iranica. His research and publications cover a wide spectrum of topics from pre-Achaemenid Media to the lives of mediaeval saints. There are publications on ancient science, on the Black Sea region and even a few on Roman history. But his principal focus is late archaic

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and classical Greece and its relationship with its neighbours to the east. A significant part of his work is devoted to the literary, literary-historical and historical analysis of authors writing in Greek. So Isocrates, Lysias and Demosthenes, Timotheos and Aristophanes, Herodotus and Thucydides, Ctesias, Berossus and, most specially, Xenophon have caught his interest. This concern with Greek texts reflects his background as a conventional Oxford-trained classicist and ancient historian – albeit one with what was then a relatively unconventional penchant for the pre-Macedonian fourth century. But already from the early eighties he broadened his range to take in the Achaemenid Empire, a topic for which Greek texts provide but one strand alongside a wealth of literary, documentary and non-written evidence from multiple culturo-linguistic environments. And so, alongside Greek political and military history, he has written on Babylonian astronomical diaries, the Great King’s palaces, gardens, coinage, inscriptions, justice, nomadic habits, distinctive headgear, and ideological self-construction, the Achaemenid military environment (garrisons, equipment, mercenaries, strategies, and representation of warfare), Achaemenid civil administration in a wide sense that includes the royal court, satrapal governance, sub-satrapal officials and taxation, and the historical trajectory of the empire and its Hellenistic legacy. The reality and perception of Media and “medism” is a recurrent theme, as is the situation of Egypt under Persian rule, reflected in studies of Aryandic coinage or Darius‘ Suez Canal and in his contributions to Aršāma and his World. It is a well deserved and rather appropriate tribute to his achievements as a scholar that he will shortly take up the Gladstone Professorship of Greek in the University of Liverpool, an established chair whose previous holders include two eminent students of Greek and Ancient Near Eastern history, John Lynton Myres and Carl Friedrich Lehmann-Haupt. Christopher is one of the undisputed luminaries in our discipline. But, despite having achieved so much, he remains anything but self-centred, never cocky but always modest, never arrogant but always helpful. So we shall never see him standing on his chariot in shoes so devised that a sole can be added to make a man seem taller, in purple dress with kandys, and with painted eyelids, rubbed-in make-up and the addition of false hair. Instead we shall continue to find the Christopher we know, a valued contributor to scholarly discussion, but also witty and good-humoured, qualities that make him an agreeable colleague and a welcome guest at conferences all over the world.

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0

Bibliography of Publications of Christopher J. Tuplin A 1–2 Books 1. The Failings of Empire: A Reading of Xenophon Hellenica 2.3.10–7.5.27 (Historia – Einzelschriften 76), Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1993. 2. Achaemenid Studies (Historia – Einzelschriften 99), Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1996. B 1–7 Edited Books 1. (C. J. Tuplin & T. E. Rihll) Science and Mathematics in Ancient Greek Culture, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. 2. Pontus and the Outside World: Studies in Black Sea History, Historiography and Archaeology (Colloquia Pontica 9), Leiden: Brill, 2004. 3. Xenophon and His World: Papers from a Conference Held in Liverpool in July 1999 (Historia – Einzelschriften 172), Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2004. 4. Persian Responses: Political and Cultural Interactions (with)in the Achaemenid Empire, Swansea: University of Wales Classical Press, 2007. 5. (F. E. Hobden & C. J. Tuplin) Xenophon: Ethical Principles and Historical Enquiry (Mnemosyne – Supplements 348), Leiden: Brill, 2012. 6. (J. Ma & C. J. Tuplin) The Arshama Letters from the Bodleian Library I–IV, 2014 http://arshama.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/publications/. 7. (C. J. Tuplin & J. Ma) Aršāma and his World: The Bodleian Letters in Context, Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming.

C 1–125 Contributions to Journals and Multi-Author Volumes 1. ‘Cantores Euphorionis’, in: F. Cairns (ed.), Papers of the Liverpool Latin Seminar 1976 (ARCA – Classical and Medieval Texts Papers and Monographs 2), Liverpool 1976, 1–23. 2. ‘Aeneas Tacticus: Poliorketica 18.8’, Liverpool Classical Monthly 1, 1976, 127–131. 3. ‘Kyniskos of Mantineia’, Liverpool Classical Monthly 2, 1977, 5–10. 4. ‘The Athenian Embassy to Sparta, 372/1’, Liverpool Classical Monthly 2, 1977, 51–56. 5. ‘The Identity of the Superintendent of the Construction of Caesar’s Projected Isthmus Canal’, Liverpool Classical Monthly 3, 1978, 225–226.

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Bibliography of Publications ...

6. ‘Coelius or Cloelius? The Third General in Plutarch, Pompey 7’, Chiron 9, 1979, 137–145. 7. ‘Thucydides 1.42.4 and the Megarian Decree’, Classical Quarterly – N.S. 29, 1979, 301–307. 8. ‘Two Proper Names in the Text of Diodorus, Book 15’, Classical Quarterly – N.S. 29, 1979, 347–357. 9. ‘Cantores Euphorionis Again’, Classical Quarterly – N.S. 29, 1979, 358–360. 10. (R. Seager & C. J. Tuplin) ‘The Freedom of the Greeks of Asia: On the Origins of a Concept and the Creation of a Slogan’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 100, 1980, 141–154. 11. ‘Some Emendations to the Family Tree of Isokrates’, Classical Quarterly – N.S. 30, 1980, 299–305. 12. (J. E. Cross & C. J. Tuplin) ‘An Unrecorded Variant of the “Passio S. Christinae” and the “Old English Martyrology”’, Traditio 36, 1980, 161–236. 13. ‘Catullus 68’, Classical Quarterly – N.S. 31, 1981, 113–139. 14. ‘The Date of the Union of Corinth and Argos’, Classical Quarterly – N.S. 32, 1982, 75–83. 15. ‘Satyros and Athens: IG ii2 212 and Isokrates 17.57’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 49, 1982, 121–128. 16. ‘Fathers and Sons: Ecclesiazusae 644–45’, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 23, 1982, 325–330. 17. ‘Lysias XIX, the Cypriot War and Thrasyboulos’ Naval Expedition’, Philologus – Zeitschrift für Klassische Philologie 127, 1983, 170–186. 18. ‘Timotheos and Corcyra: Problems in Greek History, 375–373 B.C.’, Athenaeum – N.S. 62, 1984, 537–568. 19. ‘Pausanias and Plutarch’s Epaminondas’, Classical Quarterly – N.S. 34, 1984, 346–358. 20. ‘Imperial Tyranny: Reflections on an Ancient Political Metaphor’, in: P. Cartledge & D. Harvey (eds.), Crux: Essays in Honour of G. E. M. de Ste Croix, Exeter 1985, 348–375. 21. ‘Military Engagements in Xenophon’s Hellenica’, in: I. S. Moxon, J. D. Smart & A. J. Woodman (eds.), Past Perspectives: Studies in Greek and Roman Historical Writing, Cambridge 1986, 37–66. 22. ‘Four Textual Notes on Xenophon Hellenica VI’, Philologus – Zeitschrift für Klassische Philologie 130, 1986, 24–28. 23. ‘The Fate of Thespiae during the Theban Hegemony’, Athenaeum – N.S. 64, 1986, 321–341. 24. ‘ΣΥΜΠΡΙΑΣΘΑΙ in Lysias “Against the Corndealers”’, Hermes 114, 1986, 495–498. 25. ‘Xenophon’s Exile Again’, in: L. M. Whitby, P. Hardie & M. Whitby (eds.), Homo Viator: Classical Essays for John Bramble, Bristol 1987, 59–68. 26. ‘The Administration of the Achaemenid Empire’, in: I. Carradice (ed.), Coinage and Administration in the Athenian and Persian Empires: The Ninth Oxford Symposium on Coinage and Monetary History (British Archaeological Reports – International Series 343), Oxford 1987, 109–166. 27. ‘The Treaty of Boiotios’, in: H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & A. Kuhrt (eds.), The Greek Sources – Proceedings of the Groningen 1984 Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History II), Leiden 1987, 133–153.

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28. ‘The Leuctra Campaign: Some Outstanding Problems’, Klio 69, 1987, 72–107. 29. ‘Xenophon and the Garrisons of the Achaemenid Empire’, Archaeologische Mitteilungen aus Iran 20, 1987, 167–246. 30. ‘The False Drusus of A. D. 31 and the Fall of Sejanus’, Latomus 46, 1987, 781–805. 31. ‘Persian Garrisons in Xenophon and Other Sources’, in: A. Kuhrt & H. SancisiWeerdenburg (eds.), Method and Theory – Proceedings of the London 1985 Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History III), Leiden 1988, 67–70. 32. ‘The False Neros of the First Century A.D.’, in: C. Deroux (ed.), Studies in Roman History and Latin Literature V (Collection Latomus 206), Brussels 1989, 364–404. 33. ‘Persian Decor in Cyropaedia: Some Observations’, in: H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & J. W. Drijvers (eds.), The Roots of the European Tradition – Proceedings of the 1987 Groningen Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History V), Leiden 1990, 17–29. 34. ‘The Coinage of Aryandes’, in: R. Descat (ed.), L’or perse et l’histoire grecque – Table Ronde CNRS, Bordeaux, 20–22 Mars 1989, Revue des Études Anciennes 91, 1–2, 1989, 61–83. 35. ‘Darius and the Suez Canal’, in: H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & A. Kuhrt (eds.), Asia Minor and Egypt: Old Cultures in a New Empire – Proceedings of the Groningen 1988 Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History VI), Leiden 1991, 237–283. 36. ‘Modern and Ancient Travellers in the Persian Empire: Byron’s Road to Oxiana and Xenophon’s Anabasis’, in: H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & J. W. Drijvers (eds.), Through Travellers’ Eyes: European Travellers on the Iranian Monuments (Achaemenid History VII), Leiden 1991, 37–57. 37. ‘The “Persian” Bird: An Ornithonymic Conundrum’, Archaeologische Mitteilungen aus Iran 25, 1992, 125–129. 38. ‘Persians as Medes’, in: H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, A. Kuhrt & M. C. Root (eds.), Continuity and Change – Proceedings of the Last Achaemenid History Workshop, April 6–8, 1990 – Ann Arbor, Michigan (Achaemenid History VIII), Leiden 1994, 235–266. 39. ‘Xenophon, Sparta and Cyropaedia’, in: A. Powell & S. Hodkinson (eds.), The Shadow of Sparta, London & New York 1994, 127–181. 40. ‘The Reputation of Thucydides. A Note on Praxiphanes fr. 18’, Ἀρχαιογνωσία 8, 1993–94, 181–197. 41. ‘Cyprus before and under the Achaemenids: Problems in Chronology, Strategy, Assimilation and Ethnicity’, Transeuphratène 9, 1995, 163–164 (summary). 42. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Education and Fiction’, in: A. H. Sommerstein & C. Atherton (eds.), Education in Greek Fiction (Nottingham Classical Literature Studies 4), Bari 1997, 65–162. 43. ‘Medism and Its Causes’, Transeuphratène 13, 1997, 155–185. 44. ‘Achaemenid Arithmetic: Numerical Problems in Persian History’, in: M.-F. Boussac et al. (eds.), Recherches récentes sur l’Empire achéménide (Topoi – Supplément 1), Lyon 1997, 365–421.

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45. ‘The Seasonal Migration of Achaemenid Kings: A Report on Old and New Evidence’, in: M. Brosius & A. Kuhrt (eds.), Studies in Persian History: Essays in Memory of David M. Lewis (Achaemenid History XI), Leiden 1998, 63–114. 46. ‘Demosthenes’ Olynthiacs and the Nature of the Demegoric Corpus’, Historia 47, 1998, 276–320. 47. ‘Greek Racism. Observations on the Character and Limits of Greek Ethnic Prejudice’, in: G. Tsetskhladze (ed.), Ancient Greeks West and East (Mnemosyne – Supplementum 196), Leiden 1999, 47–75. 48. ‘Nepos and the Origins of Political Biography’, in: C. Deroux (ed.), Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History X (Collection Latomus 254), Brussels 2000, 124–161. 49. ‘Xenophon in Media’, in: G. B. Lanfranchi, M. Roaf & R. Rollinger (eds.), Continuity of Empire(?): Assyria, Media, Persia (History of the Ancient Near East / Monographs – V), Padua 2003, 351–389. 50. ‘Xerxes’ March from Doriscus to Therme’, Historia 52, 2003, 385–409. 51. ‘Heroes in Xenophon’s Anabasis’, in: A. Barzanò, C. Bearzot, F. Landucci, L. Prandi & G. Zecchini (eds.), Modelli eroici dell’antichità alla cultura europea (Alle radici della casa commune europea 4), Rome 2003, 115–156. 52. ‘The Persian Empire’, in: R. Lane Fox (ed.), The Long March: Xenophon and the Ten Thousand, New Haven & London 2004, 154–183. 53. ‘Xenophon, Artemis and Scillus’, in: T. J. Figueira (ed.), Spartan Society, Swansea 2004, 251–281. 54. ‘Doctoring the Persians: Ctesias of Cnidus, Physician and Historian’, Klio 86, 2004, 305–347. 55. ‘Xenophon and His World: An Introductory Review’, in: C. J. Tuplin (ed.), Xenophon and His World: Papers from a Conference Held in Liverpool in July 1999 (Historia – Einzelschriften 172), Stuttgart 2004, 13–31. 56. ‘Herodotus and Xenophon’s Anabasis’, in: V. Karageorghis & I. Taifacos (eds.), The World of Herodotus –Proceedings of an International Conference held at the Foundation Anastasios G.Leventis, Nicosia, September 18–21, 2003, Nicosia 2004, 351–364. 57. ‘Medes in Media, Mesopotamia and Anatolia: Empire, Hegemony, Domination or Illusion?’, Ancient West & East 3, 2004, 223–251. 58. ‘Darius’ Accession in (the) Media’, in: P. Bienkowski, Chr. Mee & E. Slater (eds.), Writing and Ancient Near Eastern Society: Papers in Honour of Alan R. Millard (Library of Hebrew Bible / Old Testament Studies 426), New York & London 2005, 217–244. 59. ‘Fratama’, ARTA 2005.004 http://www.achemenet.com/pdf/arta/2005.004-Tuplin. pdf. 60. ‘Delian Imperialism’, Ἀρχαιογνωσία 13, 2005, 11–68. 61. ‘Slavery and the Critique of the Ancient Polis’, in: A. Sergidhou (ed.), Fear of Slaves, Fear of Enslavement in the Ancient Mediterranean / Peur de l’esclave, peur de l’esclavage en Méditerrannée ancienne (Colloque du Groupe International de Recherche sur l’Esclavage dans l’Antiquité 29), Besançon 2007, 57–74.

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62. ‘A Foreigner’s Perspective: Xenophon in Anatolia’, in: İ. Delemen (ed.), The Achaemenid Impact on Local Populations and Culture in Anatolia (Sixth-Fourth Centuries B.C.) – Papers Presented at the International Workshop Istanbul 20–21 May 2005, Istanbul 2007, 7–31. 63. ‘The Achaemenid Impact in Anatolia: A Summary’, in: İ. Delemen (ed.), The Achaemenid Impact on Local Populations and Culture in Anatolia (Sixth-Fourth Centuries B.C.) – Papers Presented at the International Workshop Istanbul 20–21 May 2005, Istanbul 2007, 291–298. 64. ‘Introduction’, in: C. J. Tuplin (ed.), Persian Responses: Political and Cultural Interaction with(in) the Achaemenid Empire, Swansea 2007, xiii-xxv. 65. ‘Treacherous Hearts and Upright Tiaras: The Achaemenid King’s Head-Dress’, in: C.  J. Tuplin (ed.), Persian Responses: Political and Cultural Interaction with(in) the Achaemenid Empire, Swansea 2007, 67–97. 66. ‘Continuous Histories (Hellenica)’, in: J. Marincola (ed.), A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography (Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World), Malden, MA 2007, 159–170. 67. ‘Taxation and Death: Certainties in the Persepolis Fortification Archive?’, in: P. Briant, W. F. M. Henkelman & M. W. Stolper (eds.), L’archive des Fortifications de Persépolis – État des questions et perspectives de recherches (Persika 12), Paris 2008, 317–386. 68. ‘Boeotians and the Anabasis’, in: V. Aravantinos (ed.), Proceedings of the IVth Congress of Boeotian Studies Livadeia 9–12 September 2000 = Επετηρίς της Εταιρείας Βοιωτικών Μελετών 4B, Athens 2008, 689–709. 69. ‘The Seleucids and Their Achaemenid Predecessors: A Persian Inheritance?’, in: S. M. R. Darbandi & A. Zournatzi (eds), Ancient Greece and Ancient Iran: Cross-Cultural Encounters – 1st International Conference, Athens, 11–13 November 2006, Athens 2008, 109–136. 70. ‘The Gadatas Letter’, in: L. Mitchell & L. Rubinstein (eds.), Greek History and Epigraphy. Essays in Honour of Peter Rhodes, Swansea 2009, 155–184. 71. ‘Culture and Power: Some Concluding Remarks’, in: P. Briant & M. Chauveau (eds.), Organisation des pouvoirs et contacts culturels dans les pays de l’empire achéménide (Persika 14), Paris 2009, 415–428. 72. ‘Revisiting Dareios’ Scythian Expedition’, in: J. Nieling & E. Rehm (eds.), Achaemenid Impact in the Black Sea: Communication of Powers (Black Sea Studies 11), Aarhus 2010, 281–312. 73. ‘All the King’s Men’, in: J. Curtis & St J. Simpson (eds.), The World of Achaemenid Persia: History, Art and Society in Iran and the Ancient Near East, London & New York 2010, 51–61. 74. ‘All the King’s Horse: In Search of Achaemenid Persian Cavalry’, in: G. G. Fagan & M. Trundle (eds.), New Perspectives on Ancient Warfare, Leiden 2010, 101–182. 75. ‘Xenophon and Achaemenid Courts: A Survey of Evidence’, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), Der Achämenidenhof / The Achaemenid Court (Classica et Orientalia 2), Wiesbaden 2010, 189–230.

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76. ‘The Limits of Persianization: Some Reflections on Cultural Links in the Persian Empire’, in: E. S. Gruen (ed.), Cultural Identity in the Ancient Mediterranean (Issues & Debates), Los Angeles 2010, 150–182. 77. ‘Marathon. In Search of a Persian Dimension’, in: K. Buraselis & K. Meidani (eds.), Marathon: The Battle and the Ancient Deme, Athens 2010, 251–274. 78. ‘Xenophon at Celaenae: Palaces, Rivers and Myths’, in: L. Summerer, A. Ivantchik & A. von Kienlin (eds.), Kelainai – Apameia Kibotos: Développement urbain dans le context anatolien. Actes du colloque internationale Munich, 2–4 avril 2009 (Kelainai I), Bordeaux 2011, 71–92. 79. ‘Ctesias as Military Historian’, in: J. Wiesehöfer, G. B. Lanfranchi & R. Rollinger (eds.), Ktesias’ Welt / Ctesias’ World (Classica et Orientalia 1), Wiesbaden 2011, 449–488. 80. ‘Managing the World: Herodotus on Persian Imperial Administration’, in: R. Rollinger, B. Truschnegg & R. Bichler (eds.), Herodot und das Persische Weltreich / Herodotus and the Persian Empire (Classica et Orientalia 3), Wiesbaden 2011, 39–64. 81. (F. Hobden & C. J. Tuplin) ‘Introduction’, in: F. Hobden & C. J. Tuplin (eds.), Xenophon: Ethical Principles and Historical Enquiry (Mnemosyne – Supplements 348), Leiden 2012, 1–41. 82. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Fictive History, Political Analysis and Thinking with Iranian Kings’, in: L. Mitchell & C. Melville (eds.), Every Inch a King: Comparative Studies on Kings and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Rulers and Elites: Comparative Studies in Governance 2), Leiden & Boston 2013, 67–90. 83. ‘Berossos and Greek Historiography’, in: J. Haubold, G. B. Lanfranchi, R. Rollinger & J. Steele (eds.), The World of Berossos (Classica et Orientalia 5), Wiesbaden 2013, 177–199. 84. ‘Intolerable Clothes and a Terrifying Name: The Characteristics of an Achaemenid Invasion Force’, in: C. Carey & M. Edwards (eds.), Marathon – 2,500 Years. Proceedings of the Marathon Conference 2010 (Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies  – Supplement 124), London 2013, 223–239. 85. ‘Arshama, Prince and Satrap’, in: J. Ma & C. J. Tuplin (eds.), Introduction (The Arshama Letters from the Bodleian Library 1 http://arshama.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/publications/ [January 2014]), 5–44. 86. Commentary (The Arshama Letters from the Bodleian Library 3 http://arshama. bodleian.ox.ac.uk/publications/ [January 2014]). 87. ‘The Military Dimension of Hellenistic Kingship. An Achaemenid Inheritance?’, in: F. Hoffmann & K. S. Schmidt (eds.), Orient und Okzident in hellenistischer Zeit. Beiträge zur Tagung „Orient und Okzident – Antagonismus oder Konstrukt? Machtstrukturen, Ideologien und Kulturtransfer in hellenistischer Zeit“, Würzburg, 10.-13. April 2008, Vaterstetten 2014, 245–276. 88. ‘Le salut par la parole. Les discours dans l’Anabase de Xénophon’, in: P. Pontier (ed.), Xénophon et la rhétorique, Paris 2014, 69–120. 89. ‘The Changing Pattern of Achaemenid Persian Royal Coinage’, in: P. Bernholz & R.  Vaubel (eds.), Explaining Monetary and Financial Innovation. A Historical

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Analysis (Financial and Monetary Policy Studies 39), Cham, Heidelberg, New York, Dordrecht & London 2014, 127–168. 90. ‘The Sick Man of Asia?’, in: G. Parmeggiani (ed.), Between Thucydides and Polybius. The Golden Age of Greek Historiography (Hellenic Studies 64), Cambridge, MA & London 2014, 211–238. 91. ‘Ephorus on Post-Herodotean Persian History’, in: P. de Fidio & C. Talamo (eds.), Eforo di Cuma nella storia della storiografia greca – Atti dell’Incontro Internazionale di Studi Fisciano-Salerno, 10–12 dicembre 2008, II = La Parola del Passato 69, 2014, 643–682. 92. ‘From Arshama to Alexander. Reflections on Persian Responses to Attack’, in: S. Gaspa, A. Greco, D. Morandi Bonacossi, S. Ponchia & R. Rollinger (eds.), From Source to History: Studies on Ancient Near Eastern Worlds and Beyond Dedicated to Giovanni Battista Lanfranchi on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday on June 23, 2014 (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 412), Münster 2014, 669–696. 93. ‘The Justice of Darius: Reflections on the Achaemenid Empire as a Rule-Bound Environment’, in: A. Fitzpatrick-McKinley (ed.), Assessing Biblical and Classical Sources for the Reconstruction of Persian Influence, History and Culture (Classica et Orientalia 10), Wiesbaden 2015, 73–126. 94. ‘The Persian Military Establishment in Western Anatolia: A Context for Celaenae’, in: A. Ivantchik, L. Summerer & A. von Kienlin (eds.). Kelainai–Apameia Kibotos: eine achämenidische, hellenistische und römische Metropole / une métropole achéménide, hellénistique et romaine (Kelainai II), Bordeaux 2016, 15–27. 95. ‘Xenophon and Athens’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge 2017, 338–359. 96. ‘Serving the Satrap. Lower-Rank Officials Viewed through Greek and Aramaic Sources’, in: B. Jacobs, W. F. M. Henkelman & M. W. Stolper (eds.), Die Verwaltung im Perserreich – Imperiale Muster und Strukturen / Administration in the Achaemenid Empire – Tracing the Imperial Signature (Classica et Orientalia 17), Wiesbaden 2017, 613–676. 97. ‘The Great King, His God(s) and Intimations of Divinity. The Achaemenid Hinterland of Ruler Cult?’, Ancient History Bulletin 31, 2017, 92–111. 98. ‘Mercenaries and Warlords in the Achaemenid Empire’, in: T. Ñaco del Hoyo & F. López Sánchez (eds.), War, Warlords, and Interstate Relations in the Ancient Mediterranean (Impact of Empire 28), Leiden 2017, 17–35. 99. ‘War and Peace in Achaemenid Imperial Ideology’, in: F. Muccioli et al. (eds.), Looking East. Iranian History and Culture under Western Eyes = Electrum 24, 2017, 31–54. 100. ‘Dogs that Do not (always) Bark. Herodotus on Persian Egypt’, in: T. Harrison & E. Irwin (eds.), Interpreting Herodotus, Oxford 2018, 99–123. 101. ‘Plato, Xenophon and Persia’, in: G. Danzig, D. M. Johnson & D. Morrison (eds.), Plato and Xenophon: Comparative Studies (Mnemosyne – Supplements 417), Leiden & Boston 2018, 576–611.

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102. ‘Xenophon, Isocrates and the Achaemenid Empire: History, Pedagogy and the Persian Solution to Greek Problems’, in: M. Tamiolaki (ed.), Xenophon and Isocrates. Political Affinities and Literary Interactions = Trends in Classics 10.1, 2018, 13–55. 103. ‘Paradise Revisited’, in: S. Gondet & E. Haerinck (eds.), L’Orient est son jardin. Hommage à Rémy Boucharlat (Acta Iranica 58), Leuven, Paris & Bristol, CT 2018, 477–501. 104. ‘Logging History in Achaemenid, Hellenistic and Parthian Babylonia: Historical Entries in Dated Astronomical Diaries’, in: J. Haubold, J. Steele & K. Stevens (eds.), Keeping Watch in Babylon: The Astronomical Diaries in Context, Leiden & Boston 2019, 79–119. 105. ‘Greek Mercenaries in Mesopotamia: The Visit of the Ten Thousand’, in: R. da Riva, M. Lang & S. Fink (eds.), Literary Change in Mesopotamia and Beyond and Routes and Travellers between East and West: Cultural Exchange in the Ancient World – Proceedings of the 2nd and 3rd Melammu Workshop (Melammu Workshops and Monographs  2), Münster 2019, 259–284. 106. ‘Heartland and Periphery: Some Reflections on the Interactions between Power and Religion in the Achaemenid Empire’, in: R. Achenbach (ed.), Persische Reichspolitik und lokale Heiligtümer – Beiträge einer Tagung des Exzellenzclusters „Religion und Politik in den Kulturen der Vormoderne und Moderne“ vom 24.-26. Februar 2016 in Münster (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte 23), Wiesbaden 2019, 23–43. 107. ‘Sigillography and Soldiers: Cataloguing Military Activity on Achaemenid Period Seals’, in: E. Dusinberre, M. B. Garrison & W. F. M. Henkelman (eds.), The Art of Empire in Achaemenid Persia. Studies in Honor of Margaret Cool Root (Achaemenid History 16), Leiden & Leuven, forthcoming. 108. (C. J. Tuplin & B. Jacobs) ‘Military Organization and Equipment’, in: B. Jacobs & R.  Rollinger (eds.), A Companion to the Achaemenid Persian Empire (Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World), Malden, MA, forthcoming. 109. ‘Mercenaries’, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), A Companion to the Achaemenid Persian Empire (Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World), Malden, MA, forthcoming. 110. ‘Where Have All the Soldiers Gone? In Search of the Achaemenid Military Environment’, in: M. Jursa (ed.), Governing Ancient Empires [Proceedings of the final conference of the NFN Imperium and Officium Project, Vienna 2014], forthcoming. 111. ‘The Balance-Sheet of Achaemenid Warfare: Gathering the Evidence’, in: R. Konijnendijk & M. Dal Borgo (eds.), War in the Ancient World: The Economic Perspective [Proceedings of an international conference, London, April 2016], forthcoming. 112. ‘Mercenaries in the Greek World: A Persian Perspective’, in: P. Sänger (ed.), Shaping Politics and Society: Mercenaries in the Greek World [Proceedings of an international conference, Halle, November 2016], forthcoming. 113. ‘Medes in Anatolia: A Return Visit’, in: C. M. Draycott (ed.), From Midas to Cyrus and Other Stories, forthcoming.

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114. ‘Of Darics, Disks and Staters: Some Issues in Achaemenid Imperial Space’, in: A. Meadows (ed.), Coinage in Imperial Space [Proceedings of an international conference, Krakow, July 2017], forthcoming. 115. ‘The Intersection of Gods and Kings in Achaemenid Iran’, in: E. Pachoumi (ed.), Conceptualising Divine Unions: Revelations, Internalisations and Identifications with the Divine in the Greek, Near Eastern and African Worlds [Proceedings of an international interdisciplinary conference, Potchefstroom, April 2017], forthcoming. 116. ‘Greeks from a Persian Perspective?’, in: A. Rossi & G. P. Basello (eds.), Achaemenid Studies Today [Proceedings of a Societas Iranica Europea Mid-Term Conference, Naples, December 2017], forthcoming. 117. ‘Aršāma, Prince and Satrap’, in: C. J. Tuplin & J. Ma (eds.), Aršāma and his World: The Bodleian Letters in Context, Oxford, forthcoming. 118. ‘The Military Environment of Achaemenid Egypt’, in: C. J. Tuplin & J. Ma (eds.), Aršāma and his World: The Bodleian Letters in Context, Oxford, forthcoming. 119. ‘The Fall and Rise of the Elephantine Temple’, in: C. J. Tuplin & J. Ma (eds.), Aršāma and his World: The Bodleian Letters in Context, Oxford, forthcoming. 120. ‘Royal P(a)laces: Lexical Reflections on Achaemenid Residences’, [contribution to a Festschrift], forthcoming. 121. ‘Fiscality in the World of Aršama’, in: K.Kleber & B. Dromard (eds.), Taxation in the Achaemenid Empire, (Classica et Orientalia), Wiesbaden, forthcoming. 122. ‘Diplomatic Mercenaries: Treaties, Truces and Transactions in Xenophon’s Anabasis’, in: F. Mari & C. Wendt (eds.), Shaping Good Faith: Modes of Communication in Ancient Diplomacy [Proceedings of an international conference, Berlin, October 11–12, 2018], forthcoming. 123. ‘A Jewel in the Crown: Reflections on the Place of  Cyropaedia  in Xenophon’s Oeuvre’, in: M. B. Garrison, W. F. M. Henkelman, R. Rollinger & K. Ruffing (eds.), Achaemenid and Arsacid Studies in Honour of Bruno Jacobs at the Occasion of his 65th Birthday, October 3rd, 2019 (Philippika), forthcoming. 124. ‘Markets, Mercenaries and the Achaemenid Empire’, in: M. Trundle, T. Fuji & D. Gomez (eds.), A Companion to Greek Mercenaries in the Classical and Hellenistic Mediterranean World, Leiden, forthcoming. 125. ‘Overarching Narratives and the Rise and Fall of the Achaemenid Empire’, in: T. Harrison (ed.), Reorienting Achaemenid Persia, forthcoming. D 1–3 Translation 1. Translations of Book XXXIV 4–9 & Book XXXIX, in: A. Watson (ed.), The Digest of Justinian 3, Philadelphia 1985, 165–181, 374–420. 2. Ten entries (translation and commentary) in: I. Worthington (ed.), Brill’s New Jacoby, published online October 2010: Artavasdes of Armenia (678), Athenokles (682), Diokles (693), Hermesianax of Colophon (691), Lysanias of Mallos (426), Pharnouchos of Nisibis (694), Simakos (683), Theodectes (113), Xenophon, Stories of Marvels (24), Zeno (Deinon?) (684)

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3. Ten entries (translation and commentary) in: I. Worthington (ed.), Brill’s New Jacoby, second edition, forthcoming: Artavasdes of Armenia (678), Athenokles (682), Diokles (693), Hermesianax of Colophon (691), Lysanias of Mallos (426), Pharnouchos of Nisibis (694), Simakos (683), Theodectes (113), Xenophon, Stories of Marvels (24), Zeno (Deinon?) (684) E 1–16 Miscellaneous other Items 1. Entries on 144 Greek, Macedonian and Persian individuals prominent in fourth century BC political and military history in D. Bowder (ed.), Who Was Who in the Greek World, 776 BC–30 BC, Oxford 1982, passim. 2. Maps with commentary in R. J. A. Talbert (ed.), Atlas of Classical History, Beckenham & Sydney 1985: The Persian Empire c. 530–330 (18–21); Persepolis (21); The Persian Wars (22–23); Marathon, 490 BC (21–22); Thermopylae: Ephialtes’ Route (24); Artemisium, 480 BC (24); Salamis, 480 BC (25); Plataea, 479 BC (25); The Athenian Empire (44–45); Peloponnesian War, 431–404 BC (46–48); Pylos/Sphacteria (49); The Anabasis (58–59); Leuctra, 371 BC (59); Chaeronea, 338 BC (61); The Growth of Macedonian Power, 359–336 BC (62–63); Alexander’s Campaigns, 334–323 BC (64–66); River Granicus, 334 BC (67); Issus, 333 BC (67); Gaugamela, 331 BC (68); River Hydaspes, 326 BC (69). 3. ‘Xenophon’, in: J. Cannon, R. H. C. Davis, W. Doyle & J. P. Greene (eds.), The Blackwell Dictionary of Historians, Oxford 1988, 459–460. 4. Twenty-three entries in S. Hornblower & A. Spawforth (eds.), The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Third Edition, Oxford 1996. 5. Entries in R. Holmes (ed.), The Oxford Companion to Military History, Oxford 2001: Cunaxa, Battle of (245); Cyrus, King of Persia (247); Darius, King of Persia (249); Xenophon (1009–1010); Xerxes (1010). 6. ‘Appendix M: Herodotus on Persia and the Persian Empire’, in: R. B. Strassler (ed.), The Landmark Herodotus: The Histories, New York 2008, 792–797. 7. ‘Appendix D: Persia in Xenophon’s Hellenika’, in: R. B. Strassler (ed.), The Landmark Xenophon’s Hellenika, New York 2009, 340–346. 8. ‘Historical Significance of the Tatarlı Tomb Chamber / Bedeutung der Tatarlı Grabkammer / Tatarlı Mezar Odasının Tarihi Önemi’, in: L. Summerer & A. von Kienlin (eds.), Tatarlı – Renklerin Dönüşü / The Return of Colours / Rückkehr der Farben, Istanbul 2010, 186–195. 9. ‘Prólogo’, in: D. Gómez Castro, Relaciones Internacionales y mercenariado griego: del final de la Guerra del Peloponeso a la Paz del Rey (404–386 a.C.) (Instrumenta 41), Barcelona 2012, 9–12. 10. ‘Xenophon – Greek Historian’, in: Encyclopaedia Britannica online, https://www.britannica.com/biography/Xenophon. 11. ‘Xenophon’, in: E. Yarshater (ed.), Encyclopaedia Iranica online, http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/xenophon [last updated July 3, 2013].

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12. ‘Salamis’, in: E. Yarshater (ed.), Encyclopaedia Iranica online, http://www.iranicaonline. org/articles/salamis [October 20, 2006]. 13. ‘Dialogo con …’ H. Domínguez Del Triunfo, ‘La tolerancia religiosa de los Aqueménidas: el caso de Sardes’, in: A Busetto & S. C. Loukas (eds.), Ricerche a Confronto. Dialoghi di Antichità Classiche e del Vicino Oriente, Bologna – Roma Tre – Torino 2012 (Il tempo nel tempo 10), Zermeghedo (Vi) 2015, 72–75. 14. Entries in S. E. Phang, I. Spence, D. Kelly, & P. Londey (eds.), Conflict in Ancient Greece and Rome: The Definitive Political, Social, and Military Encyclopedia I-III (Santa Barbara, CA & Denver, CO, 2016): Artaxerxes I (I, 132), Artaxerxes II (I, 132–133), Artaxerxes III (I, 133), Cyrus II (I, 226), Cyrus the Younger (I, 226–227), Darius I (I, 229–230), Darius II (I, 230), Darius III (I, 230–231), Xenophon (II, 581–583), Xerxes (II, 583). 15. ‘Appendix C: The Persian Empire’, in: S. Brennan & D. H. Thomas (eds.), The Landmark Xenophon’s Anabasis, New York, forthcoming. 16. ‘Appendix D: The Persian Army’, in: S. Brennan & D. H. Thomas (eds.), The Landmark Xenophon’s Anabasis, New York, forthcoming. F 1–4 Review Articles 1. ‘On the Track of the Ten Thousand (Review article on P. Briant (ed.), Dans les pas des Dix-Mille : Actes de la Table Ronde international, Toulouse, 3–4 février 1995 [= Pallas 43], Toulouse 1996), Revue des Études Anciennes 101, 1999, 331–366. 2. ‘Helleniceties: Marginal Notes to a Book and a Review’ (Review article on J. M. Hall, Hellenicity: Between Ethnicity and Culture, Chicago 2002), Ancient West and East 4, 2005, 421–429. 3. ‘Racism in Classical Antiquity? Three Opinions – 1 (Review article on B. Isaac, The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity, Princeton 2004), Ancient West and East 6, 2007, 327–338. 4. ‘Fragmented Historiography: Sniffing out Literature in a Sharp-Nosed Historian’ (Revue article on E. Occhipinti, Hellenica Oxyrhynchia and Historiography: New Research Perspectives, Leiden & Boston 2016), Ancient History Bulletin 30, 2016, 121–130. G 1–86 Reviews 1. G. L. Cawkwell, Philip of Macedon, London 1978: Classical Review – N.S. 29, 1979, 268–270. 2. R. Warner & G. L. Cawkwell, Xenophon: A History of My Times (Hellenica), Harmondsworth 1978: Classical Review – N.S. 30, 1980, 6–9. 3. J. B. Wilson, Pylos 425 B.C.: A Historical and Topographical Study of Thucydides’ Account of the Campaign, Warminster 1979: Liverpool Classical Monthly 6, 1981, 29–34. 4. M. B. Hatzopoulos & L. D. Loukopoulos (eds.), Philip of Macedon, London 1981: Classical Review – N.S. 32, 1982, 239–241.

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5. C. J. Emlyn-Jones, The Ionians and Hellenism: A Study of the Cultural Achievement of the Early Greek Inhabitants of Asia Minor (States and Cities of Ancient Greece), London 1980: Journal of Hellenic Studies 102, 1982, 265–266. 6. J. Buckler, The Theban Hegemony, 371–362 BC, London 1980: History – The Journal of the Historical Association 67, 1982, 458–459. 7. P. Krentz, The Thirty at Athens, Ithaca & London 1982: Journal of Hellenic Studies 104, 1984, 242. 8. A. Wallace-Hadrill, Suetonius: The Scholar and His Caesars, London 1983: Joint Association of Classical Teachers Bulletin 1, 1984, 36–37. 9. P. Harding, Translated Documents of Greece and Rome 2: From the End of the Peloponnesian War to the Battle of Ipsus, Cambridge 1985: Liverpool Classical Monthly 10, 1985, 60–62. 10. J. F. Lazenby, The Spartan Army, Warminster 1985: Liverpool Classical Monthly 11, 1986, 25–28. 11. O. Lordkipanidze, Das alte Colchis und seine Beziehungen zur griechischen Welt vom 6. zum 4. Jh. v. Chr. (Xenia – Konstanzer Althistorische Vorträge und Forschungen 14), Konstanz 1985: Gnomon 59, 1987, 32–35. 12. R. Meiggs & D. M. Lewis, A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions to the End of the Fifth Century [revised edition], Oxford 1988: Liverpool Classical Monthly 14, 1989, 11–12. 13. P. R. McKechnie & S. J. Kern, Hellenica Oxyrhynchia, Warminster 1988: Liverpool Classical Monthly 14, 1989, 157–160. 14. P. M. Fraser & E. Matthews (eds.), A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names – I. The Aegean Islands, Cyprus, Cyrenaica, Oxford 1988: Classical Review – N.S. 39, 1989, 300–302. 15. R. Sealey, The Athenian Republic: Democracy or the Rule of Law? Philadelphia 1987, and D. Kagan, The Fall of the Athenian Empire, Ithaca, NY 1987: History – The Journal of the Historical Association 74, 1989, 290–291. 16. E. L. Wheeler, Stratagem and the Vocabulary of Military Trickery, Leiden, New York, Copenhagen & Cologne 1988: Classical Review – N.S. 40, 1990, 403–404. 17. H. D. Westlake, Studies in Thucydides and Greek History, Bristol 1989: Liverpool Classical Monthly 15, 1990, 123–128. 18. C. Carey, Lysias: Selected Speeches, Cambridge 1989: Liverpool Classical Monthly 16, 1991, 22–24. 19. P. Krenz, Xenophon: Hellenika I – II.3.10, Warminster 1989: Liverpool Classical Monthly 16, 1991, 24–26. 20. D. Whitehead, Aineias the Tactician: How to Survive under Siege, Oxford 1990: Liverpool Classical Monthly 16, 1991, 26–28. 21. P.-A. Beaulieu, The Reign of Nabonidus, King of Babylon 556–539 B.C., New Haven & London 1989: Liverpool Classical Monthly 16, 1991, 28–32. 22. K. Karttunen, India in Early Greek Literature (Studia Orientalia 65), Helsinki 1989: Classical Review – N.S. 41, 1991, 385–386. 23. J. Rich, Cassius Dio: The Augustan Settlement (Roman History 53–55.9), Warminster 1990: Joint Association of Classical Teachers Bulletin 85–87, 1991, 10. 24. J. Ober, Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens: Rhetoric, Ideology, and the Power of the People, Princeton 1989, and P. McKechnie, Outsiders in the Greek Cities in the Fourth

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Century BC, London 1989: History – The Journal of the Historical Association 76, 1991, 100–102. 25. J. Buckler, Philip II and the Sacred War, Leiden 1989: History – The Journal of the Historical Association 76, 1991, 476–477. 26. B. Due, The Cyropaedia: Xenophon’s Aims and Methods, Aarhus 1989: Classical Review – N.S. 42, 1992, 284–285. 27. R. J. Littman, Kinship and Politics in Athens, 600–400 B.C. (Studia Classica 2), New York, Berne, Frankfurt am Main & Paris 1990: Classical Review – N.S. 42, 1992, 362–363 28. A. B. Bosworth, Conquest and Empire: The Reign of Alexander the Great, Cambridge & New York 1988: English Historical Review 107, 1992, 422–423. 29. E. N. Borza, In the Shadow of Olympus: The Emergence of Macedonia, Princeton 1990: History – The Journal of the Historical Association 77, 1992, 91–92. 30. D. Kagan, Pericles of Athens and the Birth of Democracy, London 1990: History – The Journal of the Historical Association 77, 1992, 269. 31. P. Alexandrescu & W. Schuller (eds.), Histria: Eine Griechenstadt an der rumänischen Schwarzmeerküste (Xenia – Konstanzer Althistorische Vorträge und Forschungen 25), Konstanz 1990: Gnomon 65, 1993, 217–220. 32. M. Bettalli, Enea Tactico: La difesa di una città assediata (Poliorketika). Introduzione, traduzione e commento (Studi e testi di storia antica 2), Pisa 1990: Classical Review – N.S. 43, 1993, 26–27. 33. A. E. Raubitschek, The School of Hellas: Essays on Greek History, Archaeology and Literature, New York & Oxford 1991: Classical Review – N.S. 43, 1993, 211. 34. C. G. Starr, The Aristocratic Temper of Greek Civilisation, New York & Oxford 1992: Classical Review – N.S. 43, 1993, 448–449. 35. B. M. Lavelle, The Sorrow and the Pity: A Prolegomenon to a History of Athens under the Peisistratids, c. 560–510 BC (Historia – Einzelschriften 80), Stuttgart 1993: Journal of Hellenic Studies 116, 1996, 212–213 36. J. F. McGlew, Tyranny and Political Culture in Ancient Greece, Ithaca & London 1993: Classical Review – N.S. 46, 1996, 95–96. 37. J. Dillery, Xenophon and the History of His Times, London & New York 1995: Histos 1, 1997, 181–187. 38. M. Brosius, Women in Ancient Persia 559–331 (Oxford Classical Monographs), Oxford 1993: Classical Review – N.S. 48, 1998, 104–106. 39. S. Lewis, News and Society in the Greek Polis, London 1996: Classical Review – N.S. 48, 1998, 393–395. 40. P. Krentz, Xenophon: Hellenika II.3.11-IV.2.8 (Classical Texts), Warminster 1985, and O. Lendle, Kommentar zu Xenophons Anabasis: Bücher 1–7, Darmstadt 1995: Classical Review – N.S. 48, 1998, 286–288. 41. M. Weinmann-Walser (ed.), Historische Interpretationen: Gerold Walser zum 75. Geburtstag dargebracht von Freunden, Kollegen und Schülern (Historia – Einzelschriften 100), Stuttgart 1995: Classical Review – N.S. 48, 1998, 563–564. 42. C. Mueller-Goldingen, Untersuchungen zu Xenophons Kyrupädie, Stuttgart & Leipzig 1995: Journal of Hellenic Studies 118, 1998, 214.

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43. M. Miller, Athens and Persia in the Fifth Century BC: A Study in Cultural Receptivity, Cambridge 1997: University of Toronto Quarterly 68–1, 1998/99, 411–413. 44. R. Urban, Der Königsfrieden von 387/86 v. Chr. – Vorgeschichte, Zustandekommen, Ergebnis und politische Umsetzung (Historia – Einzelschriften 68), Stuttgart 1991: Gnomon 71, 1999, 322–326. 45. B. Smarczyk, Untersuchungen zur Religionspolitik und politischen Propaganda Athens im Delisch-Attischen Seebund (Quellen und Forschungen zur Antiken Welt 5), München 1990: Gnomon 71, 1999, 420–424. 46. P. Cartledge, P. Millett & S. von Reden (eds.), Kosmos: Essays in Order, Conflict and Community in Classical Athens, Cambridge 1998: Classical Review – N.S. 49, 1999, 471–472. 47. L. Thommen, Lakedaimonion Politeia: Die Entstehung der spartanischen Verfassung (Historia – Einzelschriften 103), Stuttgart 1996: Classical Review – N.S. 49, 1999, 477–478. 48. P. M. Fraser & E. Matthews, A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names – IIIA. The Peloponnese, Western Greece, Sicily and Magna Graecia, Oxford 1997: Classical Review – N.S. 49, 1999, 593–594. 49. P. Cartledge, The Greeks. A Portrait of Self and Others, Oxford (1993) 1997: Classical Review – N.S. 49, 1999, 601. 50. R. J. Buck, Thrasybulus and the Athenian Democracy: The Life of an Athenian Statesman (Historia – Einzelschriften 120), Stuttgart 1998: Classical Review – N.S. 51, 2001, 317–318. 51. C. Pelling, Literary Texts and the Greek Historian, London 2000: Classical Review – N.S. 51, 2001, 322–323. 52. I. Worthington (ed.), Greek Orators II. Dinarchus, Hyperides 1 and Hyperides 5 & 6, Warminster 1999: Classical Review – N.S. 51, 2001, 389–390. 53. M.Jehne,KoineEirene:UntersuchungenzudenBefriedungs-undStabilisierungsbemühungen in der griechischen Poliswelt des 4. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. (Hermes – Einzelschriften 63), Stuttgart 1994: Classical Review – N.S. 52, 2002, 178–179. 54. S. Hornblower & E. Matthews (eds.), Greek Personal Names: Their Value as Evidence Oxford 2000: Classical Review – N.S. 52, 2002, 393–394. 55. G. Wirth, Hypereides, Lykurg und die αὐτονομία der Athener. Ein Versuch zum Verständnis einiger Reden der Alexanderzeit (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften  – Philosophisch-Historische Klasse – Sitzungsberichte 666), Wien 1999: Classical Review – N.S. 53, 2003, 42–43. 56. B. Huss, Xenophons Symposion. Ein Kommentar (Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 125), Stuttgart & Leipzig 1999: Classical Review – N.S. 53, 2003, 58–59. 57. C. Nadon, Xenophon’s Prince. Republic and Empire in the Cyropaedia, Berkeley 2001: Classical Review – N.S. 54, 2004, 324–326. 58. P. M. Fraser & E. Matthews, A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names – IIIB. Central Greece from the Megarid to Thessaly, Oxford 2000: Classical Review – N.S. 54, 2004, 475–476. 59. P. J. Stylianou, A Historical Commentary on Diodorus Siculus Book 15, Oxford 1998: Classical Review – N.S. 55, 2005, 73–75.

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60. J. Prevas, Xenophon’s March into the Lair of the Persian Lion, Cambridge 2002: Ancient West and East 4, 2005, 211–213. 61. H. Klinkott, Der Satrap. Ein achaimenidischer Amtsträger und seine Handlungsspielräume (Oikumene 1), Frankfurt am Main 2005: H-Soz-Kult https://www.hsozkult.de/ publicationreview/id/rezbuecher-7236. 62. P. Green, Diodorus Siculus Books 11–12.37.1: Greek History, 480–431 BC – the Alternative Version, Austin, TX 2006: Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2006.07.53 http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2006/2006–07–53.html. 63. G. Cawkwell, The Greek Wars: The Failure of Persia, Oxford 2005: Journal of Hellenic Studies 126, 2006, 170–171. 64. S. Anselm, Struktur und Transparenz. Eine literaturwissenschaftliche Analyse der Feld­ herrnviten des Cornelius Nepos (Altertumswissenschaftliches Kolloquium – Inter­ disziplinäre Studien zur Antike und ihrem Nachleben 11), Stuttgart 2004: Gnomon 78, 2006, 498–503. 65. L. Allen, The Persian Empire. A History, London 2005: International History Review 28, 2006, 808–810. 66. G. G. Aperghis, The Seleukid Royal Economy. The Finances and Financial Administration of the Seleukid Empire, Cambridge 2004: Latomus 66, 2007, 759–761. 67. V. J. Gray, Xenophon on Government, Cambridge 2007: Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2008.03.11 http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2008/2008–03–11.html. 68. B. Bleckmann, Fiktion als Geschichte. Neue Studien zum Autor der Hellenika Oxyrhynchia und zur Historiographie des vierten vorchristlichen Jahrhunderts (Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen,– Philosophisch-Historische Klasse – Dritte Folge 277), Göttingen 2006: Journal of Hellenic Studies 128, 2008, 239–240. 69. J. L. Marr & P. J. Rhodes, The “Old Oligarch”: The Constitution of the Athenians Attributed to Xenophon, Oxford 2008: Polis 26, 2009, 407–410. 70. I. Morris & W. Scheidel (eds.), The Dynamics of Ancient Empires. State Power from Assyria to Byzantium, Oxford 2009: Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2009.10.14 http:// bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2009/2009–10–14.html. 71. P. Briant & F. Joannès (eds.), La transition entre l’empire achéménide et les royaumes hellénistiques (Persika 9), Paris 2006: Bibliotheca Orientalis 66, 2009, 288–295. 72. M. D. Macleod, Xenophon: Apology and Memorabilia I. With an Introduction, Translation and Commentary, Oxford 2008: Exemplaria Classica 13, 2009, 249–254. 73. J. M. Højte (ed.), Mithridates VI and the Pontic Kingdom (Black Sea Studies 9), Aarhus 2009: American Journal of Archaeology Online 114–4, 2010 https://www. ajaonline.org/book-review/724. 74. H. J. Kim, Ethnicity and Foreigners in Ancient Greece and China, London 2009: Ancient History Bulletin 23, 2009, 100–106. 75. A. Nichols, Ctesias on India, Bristol 2011: Classical Review – N.S. 63, 2013, 54–56. 76. J. Wiesehöfer & P. Huyse (eds.), Ērān ud Anērān. Studien zu den Beziehungen zwischen dem Sasanidenreich und der Mittelmeerwelt (Oriens et Occidens 13), Stuttgart 2006: Anzeiger für die Altertumswissenschaft 66, 2013, 79–82.

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77. P. Jamzadeh, Alexander Histories and Iranian Reflections. Remnants of Propaganda and Resistance (Studies in Persian Cultural History 3), Leiden 2012: Bulletin critique des Annales Islamologiques 29, 2014, 14–16 http://www.ifao.egnet.net/bcai/29/6/. 78. P. Kosmin, The Land of the Elephant Kings. Space, Territory, and Ideology in the Seleucid Empire, Cambridge 2014: Ancient History Bulletin Online Reviews 5, 2015, 32–38 https://ancienthistorybulletin.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/AHBReviews 2015.09.TuplinOnKosmin1.pdf. 79. M. Valente, I prodromi della guerra di Corinto nelle testimonianze delle Elleniche di Ossirinco e delle Elleniche di Senofonte, Alessandria 2014: Histos 9, 2015, cxii–cxvii. 80. K. Vlassopoulos, Greeks and Barbarians, Cambridge 2013: Journal of Hellenic Studies 135, 2015, 211–212. 81. L. G. Mitchell, The Heroic Rulers of Archaic and Classical Greece, London 2013: Pegasus – Journal of the Department of Classics and Ancient History in the University of Exeter 58, 2015, 41–45. 82. J. P. Stronk, Semiramis’ Legacy. The History of Persia According to Diodorus of Sicily, Edinburgh 2016: Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2017.04.34 http://bmcr.brynmawr. edu/2017/2017–04–34.html. 83. B. Chrubasik, Kings and Usurpers in the Seleukid Empire: The Men Who Would Be King, Oxford 2016: Phoenix – Classical Association of Canada 71, 2017, 185–187. 84. M. Waters, Ctesias’ Persica in Its Near Eastern Context (Wisconsin Studies in Classics), Madison, WI 2017: Journal of Hellenic Studies 138, 2018, 276–277. 85. J. O. Hyland, Persian Interventions. The Achaemenid Empire, Athens & Sparta, 450–386 BCE, Iranian Studies online https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/0021086 2.2020.1735909. 86. (E. V. Rung & C. J. Tuplin) A. Payne & J. Wintjes, Lords of Asia Minor: An Introduction to the Lydians (Philippika 93), Wiesbaden 2016: Journal of the American Oriental Society, forthcoming.

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Genre and Meaning

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Xenophon’s Cyropaedia and Greek Historiography* Frances Pownall (Alberta)

As has been widely recognized in recent scholarship, 1 the quintessential question that unifies the broad corpus of Xenophon’s writings is that of leadership: what makes a good ruler? How should one rule and, conversely, how should one be ruled? The Cyropaedia, however its precise genre may be defined, 2 also seeks to answer that question (Cyr. 1.1.3) through a “cradle to grave” account of the education of Cyrus, 3 a very familiar figure to the Greeks as the founder of the Achaemenid dynasty in Persia. Naturally, as a result of the Persian Wars and the development of the stereotype of the Persian as the archetypal barbarian Other in contrast with whom the Greeks defined themselves, 4 the figure of Cyrus loomed large in Greek historiography. There are a number of fifthand earlier fourth-century works on Persia with which Xenophon could have engaged in his Cyropaedia. Apart from Herodotus, all of these works have come down to us in fragmentary condition, surviving only as excerpts or paraphrases cited by later authors. Unfortunately, not enough is extant from Dionysius of Miletus (FGrHist 687), Charon of Lampsacus (FGrHist 687b), 5 or Hellanicus of Lesbos (FGrHist 687a) to determine what

*

1 2 3 4 5

I would like to express my great thanks to B. Jacobs, S. Müller, and R. Rollinger for their kind invitation to participate in this stimulating conference on Xenophon’s Cyropaedia and to contribute to this volume honouring Christopher Tuplin. I would also like to thank the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada for funding this research. E.g., Gray 2011, Sandridge 2012, and the essays in Buxton 2016. On the question of the genre of the Cyropaedia and its engagement with the historiographical tradition, see Madreiter (in this volume); cf. Tamiolaki 2017. E.g., Due 1996, 583. As Tuplin (2013, 71) observes, however, “Cyropaedia covers Cyrus’ life from cradle to grave wholly unsystematically, since most of the narrative occupies a single year.” Cf. Tatum 1989, 102. See, e.g., the seminal work of Hall 1989. None of the extant fragments from the Persica of Dionysius of Miletus or Hellanicus of Lesbos mentions Cyrus. According to Tertullian (De an. 46 = FGrHist 687b F 2 = FGrHist 262 F 14), Charon of Lampsacus’ version of the dream omens foreshadowing the birth of Cyrus to Mandane was very similar to that of Herodotus (1.107–108), which suggests that the two authors drew upon the same traditions on Cyrus. Pace Plutarch (De Herod. mal. = Mor. 859b = FGrHist 687b F 4 = FGrHist 262 F 9), Charon’s account of Pactyes’ revolt from Cyrus, while certainly briefer than that of Herodotus (1.153–161), does not contradict it; cf. Ceccarelli 2014, Commentary on F 9.

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Frances Pownall

they said about Cyrus and his rise to power. 6 But we are fortunate enough to possess in its entirety Herodotus’ very detailed and vivid account of the rise of Cyrus, his conquest of Media, and the foundation of the Achaemenid empire. There also survive some lengthy citations from the lost Persica of Ctesias of Cnidus (FGrHist 688), 7 who (like Xenophon) had personal experience with the Persian Empire and is attested to have been present at the Battle of Cunaxa as Artaxerxes’ personal physician. 8 Finally, Herodotus’ fifth-century contemporary Xanthus of Lydia (FGrHist  765) in his Lydian history offers some comments on Cyrus in the context of his conquest of Croesus. Thus, Xenophon had access to a relatively large repertoire of previously-existing Greek histories of Persia, and was free to pick and choose the variants on Cyrus that best fit his program in the Cyropaedia, as he himself tells us at the opening of the work (Cyr. 1.1.6). 9 Naturally, Xenophon engages in a certain amount of intertextuality with his historical predecessors, although he clearly adapts his source material to suit his narrative purposes in the Cyropaedia, and not just to put a positive spin on the character of Cyrus, as we shall see. There has been a certain amount of attention in recent scholarship on Xenophon’s engagement with (and manipulation of) the existing source tradition, 10 particularly in his narrative of Cyrus’ encounter with Croesus, where the famous wise adviser figure of Solon is conspicuous by his absence, 11 and Cyrus’ death, where alone among the Greek accounts that we know of he dies peacefully in his bed, after imparting wise advice to his sons. 12 What I would like to focus upon in this contribution is Xenophon’s equally divergent treatment of the birth and upbringing of Cyrus in order to examine how, and

6 For useful overviews of what can be discerned about the fifth- and fourth-century Greek histories of Persia (the genre ceased to exist after Alexander’s conquest of the Achaemenid Empire), see Lenfant 2007 and 2014; Madreiter 2012; Almagor 2018. Heracleides of Cyme (FGrHist 689) and Dinon of Colophon (FGrHist 690) appear to have written their works on Persian history in the second half of the fourth century, i.e., too late to have been consulted by Xenophon. 7 I have included the Jacoby numeration for ease of reference, but Jacoby’s edition of the fragments of Ctesias has now been superseded by Lenfant 2004; see Llewellyn-Jones & Robson 2010, 20–21. Accordingly, I will refer henceforth to Lenfant’s system of numeration for all T and F references to Ctesias. 8 Diod. 2.32.4 = T 3 (cf. T 6). Xenophon (An. 1.8.26 = T 6aβ) confirms this biographical detail, revealing that he had read Ctesias’ work. 9 Ἡμεῖς μὲν δὴ ὡς ἄξιον ὄντα θαυμάζεσθαι τοῦτον τὸν ἄνδρα ἐσκεψάμεθα τίς ποτ᾿ ὢν γενεὰν καὶ ποίαν τινὰ φύσιν ἔχων καὶ ποίᾳ τινὶ παιδείᾳ παιδευθεὶς τοσοῦτον διήνεγκεν εἰς τὸ ἄρχειν ἀνθρώπων. ὅσα οὖν καὶ ἐπυθόμεθα καὶ ᾐσθῆσθαι δοκοῦμεν περὶ αὐτοῦ, ταῦτα πειρασόμεθα διηγήσασθαι (“Because this man is worthy of admiration, we have investigated who he was in his origin, what sort of nature he possessed, and what sort of education he received that enabled him to rule people so exceptionally. Therefore, whatever we have learned or think that we know about him we shall attempt to narrate.”). 10 For a general overview of Xenophon’s engagement with Herodotus and Ctesias, see Gray 2016 and Beckman 2018a (who emphasizes traces of Achaemenid official propaganda in the Greek traditions on Cyrus; cf. Jacobs 2011). 11 See, e.g., Lefèvre 2010 (1971); Gray 2011 esp. Chapter 3; Ellis 2016. 12 See, e.g., Sage 1995; Sancisi-Weerdenburg 2010 (1985); Beckman 2018b.

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perhaps more importantly, why he deliberately chose to offer in the Cyropaedia a very different version from the Greek historiographical tradition. One of the most famous and compelling episodes from Herodotus’ Histories is the story of the birth of Cyrus. Herodotus claims that he knows at least three other versions, aside from the (Persian) one that he has chosen to narrate (1.95): 13 Ἐπιδίζηται δὲ δὴ τὸ ἐνθεῦτεν ἡμῖν ὁ λόγος τόν τε Κῦρον ὅστις ἐὼν τὴν Κροίσου ἀρχὴν κατεῖλε, καὶ τοὺς Πέρσας ὅτεῳ τρόπῳ ἡγήσαντο τῆς Ἀσίης. ὡς ὦν Περσέων μετεξέτεροι λέγουσι, οἱ μὴ βουλόμενοι σεμνοῦν τὰ περὶ Κῦρον ἀλλὰ τὸν ἐόντα λέγειν λόγον, κατὰ ταῦτα γράψω ἐπιστάμενος περὶ Κύρου καὶ τριφασίας ἄλλας λόγων ὁδοὺς φῆναι. “The next task of this account of ours is to learn more about Cyrus, the man who destroyed Croesus’ empire, and about how the Persians came to be rulers of Asia. My version will be based on what certain Persians say, those who seek to tell the truth rather than exalt Cyrus’ achievements. But I know of three other versions of the Cyrus story.” (tr. R. Waterfield, with modifications) Despite Herodotus’ professed desire not to “exalt” Cyrus’ achievements, the version that he has chosen reflects the so-called “founder legend” motif familiar in the Ancient Near East since Sargon the Great, designed to legitimize the founder of a dynasty by demonstrating how he was marked out from birth as destined for greatness. 14 In this very familiar story, Herodotus narrates how Astyages, the king of the Medes, had an unusual dream interpreted by the Magi as a threat involving the future offspring of his daughter Mandane. Terrified by the dream, Astyages promptly married her off to one of his Persian subjects instead of to a Mede of the appropriate rank for a royal princess (1.107.2): μετὰ δὲ τὴν Μανδάνην ταύτην ἐοῦσαν ἤδη ἀνδρὸς ὡραίην Μήδων μὲν τῶν ἑωυτοῦ ἀξίων οὐδενὶ διδοῖ γυναῖκα, δεδοικὼς τὴν ὄψιν· ὃ δὲ Πέρσῃ διδοῖ τῷ οὔνομα ἦν Καμβύσης, τὸν εὕρισκε οἰκίης μὲν ἐόντα ἀγαθῆς τρόπου δὲ ἡσυχίου, πολλῷ ἔνερθε ἄγων αὐτὸν μέσου ἀνδρὸς Μήδου. “Later, when this Mandane was already old enough for marriage, he did not give her as wife to any of the Medes that were worthy of him, because he was fearful of the dream; instead, he gave her to a Persian named Cambyses, who, he discovered, belonged to a good house and was mild in nature, but was still – he thought – far inferior to a Mede of even middling status.” (tr. C. Pelling)

13 Cf. Herodotus’ claim to have selected the “most trustworthy” (ὁ πιθανώτατος) version of Cyrus’ death. 14 On the founder legend, see Briant 2002 (1996), 14–16 and Asheri 2007, 60.

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Thus, Herodotus suggests that Mandane married a Persian of non-royal status, though he lets it slip a little later that he does know that the father of Cambyses was Cyrus I (1.111.5). In any case, Mandane’s marriage to a social and ethnic inferior had no effect, for Astyages soon had another, equally terrifying prophetic dream, which the Magi once again interpreted as signifying that his daughter’s offspring would rule as king in his place (1.108.1–2). 15 This time Astyages resolved to do away with the child, handing it off to his steward and kinsman Harpagus to dispose of (1.108.3–5). Harpagus, not surprisingly, was not keen to carry out this grim task, not least because he was worried about future repercussions from Mandane, as Astyages was already old and without an heir (1.109). 16 So he passed the task of exposing the child to his herdsman Mithradates, whom he knew grazed his herds in mountain pastures teeming with wild animals (1.110.1). Herodotus recounts the touching scene between the herdsman and his wife when Mithradates arrived home to his humble hut with the baby Cyrus, for the couple’s own son had been stillborn that day, culminating in the substitution of the royal baby for their own dead son (1.111–13). Thus, Herodotus selects a version of the Cyrus legend in which Astyages plays the role of a wicked tyrant and Cyrus is raised in humble circumstances in order to fit with the topoi required by the founder legend tradition. 17 According to another version of Cyrus’ beginnings preserved in Justin’s epitome of Pompeius Trogus (1.4.6–14), the difference in rank between the Median princess Mandane and her Persian husband Cambyses is rendered even starker (1.4.7): “He [Astyages] married her off to Cambyses, a man of humble birth who belonged to the as yet undistinguished Persian race” (tr. J. C. Yardley). 18 In this version, the herdsman did expose the baby according to Harpagus’ instructions, but his wife was moved by compassion upon hearing the story and begged him to go and retrieve it. Returning to the woods, he found the helpless infant being nursed by a female dog who was so protective that she followed him home. The child thereupon smiled so sweetly at Mithradates’ wife that according to Justin she 15 On the coherence of the two dreams (sometimes seen as a doublet) in Herodotus’ narrative, see Pelling 1996. On the Near Eastern and Old Testament parallels, see Bichler 1985, 130–135. 16 1.109.3: Ἀστυάγης μὲν ἐστὶ γέρων καὶ ἄπαις ἔρσενος γόνου. 17 It is unclear to what extent Herodotus manipulated the figure of Astyages. Asheri (2007, 156) has observed that “Astyages is unknown to Greek sources earlier than Herodotus,” citing a passage in Aeschylus’ Persians (765–767) which refers to Cyrus’ grandfather Medus (clearly a fictional eponym), and his unnamed but equally royal father. The situation is complicated by the presence of a very similar tradition on Astyages in Charon of Lampsacus (FGrHist 687b F 2 = FGrHist 262 F 14), especially when it is unclear whether Herodotus or Charon drew from one another’s narratives (and if so, in which direction any borrowing occurred) or whether both drew from a common source (see n. 5). For what it is worth, Diodorus cites Ctesias (2.34.6 = F 5) as stating that the last Median king was Aspandas, “whom the Greeks call Astyages” (τὸν ὑπὸ τῶν Ἑλλήνων Ἀστυάγην καλούμενον); Aspandas is a hapax (cf. Lenfant 2004, 251). For what it is worth, in a lengthy section from Nicolaus of Damascus which is often thought (as argued below) to be based on Ctesias (FGrHist 90 F 66 = F 8d* Lenfant), the last Median king is called Astyages. In Photius’ epitome of Ctesias (F 9), the spellings Astyïgas and Astyages are both employed; cf. Auberger 1991, 154 and Lenfant 2004, 251 and 256 (who comments that Astyïgas is closer to the Iranian form of the name). 18 sed ex gente obscura tum temporis Persarum Cambysi, mediocri viro, in matrimonium tradidit.

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actually asked her husband to expose their own newly-born child so that they could raise the royal baby instead. Herodotus rationalizes this story, which was clearly already widespread by his time, by saying that this version of a miraculous survival arose because the name of the herdsman’s wife meant “female dog” in the Median language (1.110.1; cf. 122.3). For the sequel, the discovery of Cyrus’ true royal identity, the versions of Herodotus (1.114–122) and Justin (1.5.7) cohere in their general outlines, although Justin’s is barer, as befits an epitome, and shorn of many of the dramatizing details that provide emotional content to Herodotus’ narrative and render it so memorable. At the age of about ten, the young Cyrus was playing with his age mates in the village, was chosen by them as their king, and delegated them various tasks. One of the boys, the son of an eminent Mede called Artembares, 19 refused to play along and Cyrus, in true royal fashion, ordered him to be seized and whipped. The boy reported this to his father, who was incensed at this treatment from one of the king’s slaves and immediately denounced Cyrus to Astyages. Upon meeting the young Cyrus, however, Astyages deduced his true identity from his appearance and demeanour, and sent him to Persia to live with his true family. 20 The episode culminates with Astyages’ punishment of Harpagus by serving him the flesh of his own son, thereby setting in motion the events that brought about the fulfilment of the dream prophecy, for Cyrus, at Harpagus’ instigation, led a Persian revolt from Media, defeated Astyages, and turned the Medes into subjects of the Persians. Both versions focus upon Cyrus’ innate royal qualities transcending the humble upbringing that preserved his life as an infant and allowed him to survive to become the saviour of his people, as required by the generic conventions of the founder legend. In his Persica, Ctesias (assuming that Nicolaus of Damascus preserves accurately the main lines of his account) provides a different version of Cyrus’ origins and upbringing. Photius states in his epitome that Ctesias denied any kinship between Cyrus and Astyages. 21 On the basis of its correspondence with the Photius epitome, it is likely that a long passage on Cyrus’ origins preserved by Nicolaus of Damascus (FGrHist 90 F 66) is based upon Ctesias’ Persica. 22 In this version of the story, Cyrus was not Mandane’s son, and therefore was not related to Astyages. Instead, Cyrus was born to a Mard (a rural Persian tribe of

19 In Herodotus only. The offended Mede is not named in Justin. 20 Once again, in Herodotus’ account only; Cyrus’ residence in Persia is implied but not specified in Justin. 21 Photius 36a9 = Ctesias FrGH 688 F 9.1: φησὶν οὖν αὐτίκα περὶ τοῦ Ἀστυάγους, ὡς οὐδὲν αὐτοῦ πρὸς γένους ἐχρημάτιζεν (“so first of all he says that as far as Astyages is concerned, he [Cyrus] was not related to him at all” tr. L. Llewellyn-Jones & J. Robson). Because this citation comes in the form of a direct epitome, Jacoby included it among the fragments of Ctesias. 22 Excerpta de Insidiis 23.23. Although Ctesian authorship has been questioned due to Nicolaus of Damascus’ embellishment of his sources (see, e.g., Toher 1989), Lenfant has persuasively argued on the basis with its analogies with other citations from Ctesias that this fragment should be considered genuine and includes it as F 8d* in her collection (2004; cf. Lenfant 2000, 304–309). Both LlewellynJones & Robson (2010, 21) and Stronk (2010, 171–172) accept Lenfant’s attribution of this fragment to Ctesias, although Stronk evinces some scepticism.

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nomads) called Atradates, 23 whose poverty was so great that he became a thief, and his wife, Argoste, who made a living by raising goats. Even though the Ctesian Cyrus was not of royal blood and originated from truly humble circumstances (i.e., not ones that were imposed upon him to save his life as an infant), his mother had the same prophetic dream as in the Herodotean version that her unborn child was destined for greatness, although it transpired in rather different circumstances. As a young man, Cyrus turned himself over to a member of Astyages’ court, who was obliged to feed and clothe him in accordance with Median custom in return for his service as a slave. At the court, through his diligent and attentive service he came to the attention of Artembares, the name given in this version to a royal eunuch who was the supervisor of the king’s cupbearers. Cyrus continued to distinguish himself at the Median court and, when Artembares became ill, replaced him as the royal cupbearer (another folktale motif), 24 where he earned the approval of Astyages by demonstrating his great self-control and courage (F 8d*.6: πολλὴν σωφροσύνην καὶ ἀνδρείαν), stereotypically aristocratic virtues for the Greeks. 25 With the king’s approval Artembares adopted Cyrus as his son and when he died, he left him all of his possessions. At that point, Cyrus grew powerful and his reputation spread beyond the court, allowing him to summon his parents, whereupon he appointed his father the satrap of Persia, and began to plot revolt against Astyages and the Medes (in accordance with the prophecy). Then, as in the Herodotean version, but minus the Harpagus story, Cyrus raised an army, defeated Astyages, and replaced him as king. This version of Cyrus’ origins also ultimately derives from the founder legend motif, with the important difference that his true origins were actually (rather than apparently) humble, although Ctesias’ Cyrus does evince innate aristocratic virtues. 26 Finally, although the focus of the Lydian history of Xanthus is on Croesus and the fall of Sardis (almost certainly the end point of his narrative), he provides a useful complementary portrait of Cyrus. Naturally, in this context, Xanthus is less interested in elaborating Cyrus’ birth and origins than in developing his character, presumably as an explanation for the unexpected mercy he extends to Croesus. He introduces Cyrus as follows (Excerpta de virtutibus 1.345.14 = BNJ 765 F 42*): 27 23 On the Mardians and their reputation in antiquity for brigandage, see Briant 2002 (1996), 728–729. 24 One that was shared by Sargon in the Near Eastern tradition; Drews 1974, 390–391. 25 Along with wisdom (σοφία), and justice (δικαιοσύνη) and sometimes piety (ὁσιότης), self-control and courage constitute the so-called cardinal virtues that constitute excellence (ἀρετή) for the educated elite in Greece; cf. Pownall 2004, 29–37. 26 On the characterization of Ctesias’ Persica as “historiographical metafiction,” with a “dystopian projection” of Greek ideas upon ancient Iran, see Madreiter 2012, 34–133. For other recent reassessments of Ctesias, see Meeus 2016 and the essays contained in Wiesehöfer et. al 2011. 27 This fragment appears in Jacoby as Nikolaos of Damaskos FGrHist 90 F 67. In response to the arguments of Toher (1989, esp. 164–167), Paradiso (2018, Commentary on F 43*) argues convincingly that Nicolaus’ source for both F 42* and F 43* is Xanthus of Lydia: “A positive portrait of Kyros – celebrated as the king who spared the last sovereign of the Lydians, and subtly distinguished from the other Persians – would not be surprising in Xanthos, who was not only a Lydian but also a subject of the Great King.”

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ὅτι Κῦρος ὁ Περσῶν βασιλεὺς ἦν φιλοσοφίας, εἰ καί τις ἄλλος, ἔμπειρος, ἥντινα παρὰ τοῖς μάγοις ἐπαιδεύθη. δικαιοσύνην τε καὶ ἀλήθειαν ἐδιδάχθη κατὰ δή τινας πατρίους νόμους καθεστῶτας Περσῶν τοῖς ἀρίστοις. “Cyrus, the king of Persians, was more experienced in philosophy than anyone else, for he had been educated in it by the Magi. He was taught justice and truth in accordance with some traditional customs, adopted for the Persian aristocrats.” (tr. A. Paradiso, with modifications) Xanthus alludes again to Cyrus’ philosophical education at the beginning of his narrative of the climactic scene of Croesus on the pyre, in which he highlights Cyrus’ pity for his defeated opponent “on account of his own virtue” (διὰ τὴν οἰκείαν ἀρετήν). 28 Perhaps because he is writing a history of Lydia, rather than a Persica, Xanthus is free to move away from Cyrus’ birth legends as the divinely-ordained founder of the Achaemenid Empire, and emphasize instead his aristocratic virtue as manifested in his humane treatment of his conquered subjects. None of the versions of Cyrus’ origins and rise to power currently circulating in the Greek historiographical tradition was suitable in its entirety for Xenophon’s purposes in the Cyropaedia. According to Xenophon’s conception of good leadership, which he articulates at the beginning of the Cyropaedia (1.1.3), an exemplary ruler had to secure the willing obedience of his followers. 29 As he says (Cyr. 1.1.6), Xenophon attempts to identify what attributes led to Cyrus’ success in achieving the willing obedience of his subjects by investigating Cyrus’ origins (τίς ποτ᾿ ὢν γενεὰν), his nature (ποίαν τινὰ φύσιν ἔχων), and his education (ποίᾳ τινὶ παιδείᾳ παιδευθεὶς). It should be noted at the outset that Xenophon does adhere to the basic outline of Herodotus’ version of Cyrus’ parentage (Cyr. 1.2.1):

28 Excerpta de virtutibus 1.345.19 = BNJ 765 F 43* (= FGrHist 90 F 68 in Jacoby; see previous note). Note the similarity with the traditionally Greek aristocratic virtues attributed to Cyrus by Ctesias (see n. 25). 29 ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἐνενοήσαμεν ὅτι Κῦρος ἐγένετο Πέρσης, ὃς παμπόλλους μὲν ἀνθρώπους ἐκτήσατο πειθομένους ἑαυτῷ, παμπόλλας δὲ πόλεις, πάμπολλα δὲ ἔθνη, ἐκ τούτου δὴ ἠναγκαζόμεθα μετανοεῖν μὴ οὔτε τῶν ἀδυνάτων οὔτε τῶν χαλεπῶν ἔργων ᾖ τὸ ἀνθρώπων ἄρχειν, ἤν τις ἐπισταμένως τοῦτο πράττῃ. Κύρῳ γοῦν ἴσμεν ἐθελήσαντας πείθεσθαι τοὺς μὲν ἀπέχοντας παμπόλλων ἡμερῶν ὁδόν, τοὺς δὲ καὶ μηνῶν, τοὺς δὲ οὐδ᾿ ἑωρακότας πώποτ᾿ αὐτόν, τοὺς δὲ καὶ εὖ εἰδότας ὅτι οὐδ᾿ ἂν ἴδοιεν, καὶ ὅμως ἤθελον αὐτῷ ὑπακούειν (“But when we considered that Cyrus, the Persian, conquered a huge number of people and cities and nations and induced them to obey him, from his example we were forced to change our mind, to the effect that it might be neither impossible nor difficult to rule over humans, if one should do so with proper knowledge. At any rate, we know that everyone obeyed Cyrus willingly, whether they were distant from him a journey of very many days, or even very many months, or had never seen him, or even knew well that they never would see him; even so, they were all willing to be subject to him”).

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Πατρὸς μὲν δὴ ὁ Κῦρος λέγεται γενέσθαι Καμβύσου Περσῶν βασιλέως· ὁ δὲ Καμβύσης οὗτος τοῦ Περσειδῶν γένους ἦν· οἱ δὲ Περσεῖδαι ἀπὸ Περσέως κλῄζονται· μητρὸς δὲ ὁμολογεῖται Μανδάνης γενέσθαι· ἡ δὲ Μανδάνη αὕτη Ἀστυάγους ἦν θυγάτηρ τοῦ Μήδων γενομένου βασιλέως. “The father of Cyrus is said to have been Cambyses, king of the Persians. Cambyses was one of the Perseid family, who are named after Perseus. It is agreed that his mother was Mandane; this Mandane was the daughter of Astyages, who was king of the Medes.” Nevertheless, while Xenophon does retain the Persian Cambyses and Median princess Mandane as Cyrus’ parents, the resemblance is only a surface one, for he explicitly identifies his father Cambyses as a king, 30 and he omits altogether the “rags to riches” and folkloric elements of the founder legend that we find in Herodotus, Justin, and Ctesias. There are no humble circumstances among herdsmen for the Cyrus of the Cyropaedia. Instead, perhaps inspired by the emphasis upon Cyrus’ aristocratic education found in Xanthus (and hinted at in Ctesias), Xenophon provides a detailed description of the traditional aristocratic education that Cyrus received as a young prince in Persia (Cyr. 1.2), although the similarity may end here, for what follows appears to be very much an idealized portrayal of the Spartan education system (with a dash of local Persian colour, such as the emphasis on the bow and arrow, to add authenticity) as we shall see below. 31 In Xenophon’s version of the Cyrus legend, then, Cyrus is of royal stock and is raised by his natural parents in Persia, where he receives what Xenophon identifies as a traditional aristocratic Persian education, although he does give a nod to the Herodotean story of Cyrus distinguishing himself among his peers (Cyr. 1.3.1). 32 It is at this point that Cyrus is summoned to his grandfather’s court in Media, where we find Xenophon subtly engaging with the existing traditions in Greek historiography. Xenophon (Cyr. 1.3.2) plays with the “recognition scene” in Herodotus, but subverts it by turning it around: Cyrus is the one to recognize his grandfather, rather than vice versa, and immediately kisses him as a family member, being a naturally affectionate child (οἷα δὴ παῖς φύσει φιλόστοργος ὢν). The young Cyrus is astonished at his grandfather’s luxurious clothing and elaborate use of cosmetics and wigs (Cyr. 1.3.2), frouffery that Xenophon presents as Median customs in contrast to the simple and frugal Persian lifestyle, 33 possibly

30 Cf. Due 1989, 149: “Xenophon deviated on this point from Herodotus, and he may have done this in order to emphasize his aristocratic view of heredity.” 31 On the oriental elements of the mise-en-scène of the Cyropaedia, see the contributions of Degen and Jacobs in this volume. 32 καὶ πάντων τῶν ἡλίκων διαφέρων ἐφαίνετο καὶ εἰς τὸ ταχὺ μανθάνειν ἃ δέοι καὶ εἰς τὸ καλῶς καὶ ἀνδρείως ἕκαστα ποιεῖν (“and he was manifestly superior to all the others in his age cohort both in the speed of learning what was necessary and in doing everything nobly and bravely”). For discussion of this passage, see below. 33 On the use and misuse of luxury in the Cyropaedia, see Gera (in this volume).

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an allusion to the Herodotean Cyrus’ rejection of Artembares’ proposal for the Persians to leave their own rugged country after the defeat of Astyages and dwell in a richer land amid luxury (9.122). 34 Xenophon continues his engagement with the pre-existing historio­ graphical traditions by having Astyages welcome his grandson to the Median court with a fancy dinner (minus the Thyestean feast naturally as there is no Harpagus figure) and giving a nod to Ctesias by having Cyrus take over the role of cupbearer (Cyr. 1.3.4–12). Following the feast, however, Xenophon’s narrative diverges quite radically from the existing Greek historiographical tradition: Cyrus stays on in Media and deepens his relationship with Astyages before returning to Persia to continue his education (Cyr. 1.4). There is no revolt of Persia against Media; instead, just as Xenophon’s Cyrus is later to do at the end of the Cyropaedia, Astyages dies peacefully in his bed, and is succeeded by his son Cyaxares (Cyr. 1.5.2). Again, this appears to reflect a direct engagement with Herodotus, who goes out of his way to say that Astyages is old and has no heir (1.109.3). When Cyaxares is attacked by the Assyrians (i.e., Neo-Babylonians), Cyrus brings the Persian army to provide military assistance to his uncle and the Medes. After a series of successful campaigns against foreign foes, Cyrus marries Cyaxares’ (unnamed) daughter (8.5.28) and receives as a dowry (for he is the monarch without an heir in Xenophon) the kingdom of Media (Cyr. 8.5.19 and 28), again peacefully. 35 So we have now looked at how Xenophon’s account of Cyrus’ origins differs from the Greek historiographical tradition, especially Herodotus; we must now consider why. Naturally, Cyrus’ good relations with his grandfather Astyages, acceptance into the Median royal family, and frictionless inheritance of the Median kingdom comply with Xenophon’s conception of ideal leadership, that a ruler must rule willing subjects, and he accordingly massaged the available traditions on Cyrus to achieve this desirable, if fictional, outcome. 36 It has been observed in recent scholarship that much of Xenophon’s rewriting of Herodotus also is designed to showcase Socratic virtues and to infuse Socratic notions of education into the pre-existing traditions on Cyrus. 37 Xenophon’s emphasis on the traditionally Socratic virtues of justice (1.2.6–7), sōphrosynē (1.2.8, 9), and courage (1.2.10) in his description of the Persian educational system and his demonstration throughout the work of how the young Cyrus acquires the so-called “cardinal virtues” that comprise moral excellence on the Socratic model suggest that certainly this is one of

34 It is perhaps no coincidence that Xenophon’s Cyrus alludes to the rugged nature of the Persian countryside at Cyr. 1.3.3. Herodotus (deliberately?) leaves it ambiguous whether this Artembares is related to the Mede by that name who set in motion the revelation of Cyrus’ identity, for his descendant Artaÿctes is identified as a Persian (9.116.10); on the narrative irony if this Artembares is in fact a Mede, see Flower and Marincola 2002, 312. 35 As Gera (1993, 100) observes, the function of Cyaxares, who is unattested outside the Cyropaedia, “is to serve as a link in the quiet transfer of power.” 36 Cf. Hirsch 1985, 70: “With numerous traditions about Cyrus in circulation, Xenophon was in a position to choose the one which best suited his didactic purposes.” 37 See, e.g., Lefèvre 2010 (1971); Gray 2011, esp. Chapter 3; Ellis 2016; Gray 2016.

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his pre-occupations in the Cyropaedia. 38 The Socratic flavouring of Cyrus’ education is perhaps not original to Xenophon, 39 as his fellow Socratic Antisthenes is attested to have written a dialogue on Cyrus that may have served as an inspiration, 40 and as we have seen the Cyrus figure in both Ctesias and Xanthus possesses similar moral virtues. In addition to these kinds of general engagements with Herodotus’ portrayal of Cyrus, I would argue that Xenophon intends a very contemporary message, that is, he is using the figure of Cyrus to comment on the political situation of his own day. In this aim too, of course, Xenophon is to some extent following in the path of Herodotus, who segued from his very Persian description of the palace intrigues that culminated in Darius’ accession to the throne to the so-called constitutional debate (3.80–83), in which Darius and two of his conspirators discussed the merits of monarchy vis-à-vis the two quintessentially Greek forms of government, oligarchy and democracy, a clearly fictional conversation that could not have taken place in sixth-century Persia. 41 As I shall argue, Xenophon channeled the spirit of Herodotus (if not the overall details) in his portrayal of Cyrus as a political message to his contemporaries, and this agenda explains his deliberate deviation from the existing Greek historiographical tradition on Cyrus’ origins. Xenophon’s overtly political message is perhaps clearest in his extended (but generalized) description of what he alleges to be the Persian educational system (Cyr. 1.2.2– 16), which he sandwiches in his narrative immediately between his brief description of Cyrus’ birth, and his reception at the court of Astyages as a boy. As Melina Tamiolaki has recently observed: Persia is described as a (Greek) city (polis). Xenophon even relates the existence of a market (agora) and employs terms of Greek political vocabulary to explain political institutions in Persia: the state (τὸ κοινόν), the magistrates (τὰς ἀρχάς), laws (νόμοι), equality (τὸ ἴσον). … Furthermore, Xenophon proceeds to a kind of interpretatio graeca: he mentions that the Persians learn justice like “we (scil. the Greeks) learn to read” and that they train their boys in deception, “just like the Greeks teach deception in wrestling.” 42 The Persian education system that Xenophon advocates in the Cyropaedia, particularly in contrast to the stereotypical tropes of oriental luxury that he attaches to Astyages and 38 On the explicitly Socratic resonances of these virtues, see Pownall 2004, 19–21. On Socrates as the exemplar of virtue, which is itself a essential prerequisite for successful leadership, see Tamiolaki 2012 and Dorion (in this volume); cf. Waterfield 2004. For a recent reassessment of the Xenophontic Socrates, see Chernyakhovskaya 2014. 39 On the influence of Socrates on fourth-century prose works intended to be circulated among the educated elite, see Pownall 2004, 5–37. 40 So, e.g., Gera 1993, 8–10. Due (1989, 139–41) is sceptical of any direct influence. 41 Gschnitzer 1977, esp. 30–40. 42 Tamiolaki 2017, 178–179; cf. Carlier 2010 (1978). See Danzig (in this volume), who observes that the slight differences in this passage from his description of the Persian educational system in the Anabasis (1.9.1–5) make it more reminiscent of Greek democracy; cf. McCloskey 2017.

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the Medes, is a blend of Greek and Persian elements, but with a strong resemblance (if not an exact parallel) to the (again idealized) Spartan education system as Xenophon outlines it in his Constitution of the Spartans. It is surely no accident that the traditional Persian educational system described in the Cyropaedia is, like the Spartan agōgē, centred around military training, obedience, and equality. 43 By the end of the fifth century, it was the fashion among young aristocrats in Athens, who were opposed to democratic politics as pandering to the rabble and the mob, to spend their time in the gymnasium (symbol of the aristocratic elite), rather than the agora (symbol of the hucksterism and crass vulgarity of the masses), 44 and to adopt Spartan fashions and styles. 45 Many of these quietists were members of the Socratic circle (it is no coincidence that a number of the Platonic dialogues are set in gymnasia) who, disillusioned with contemporary Athenian democracy, looked to Sparta as a model for political reform. Significantly, at the beginning of his description of the Persian education system (Cyr. 1.2.3), Xenophon reclaims the agora for the aristocratic elite: Ἔστιν αὐτοῖς ἐλευθέρα ἀγορὰ καλουμένη, ἔνθα τά τε βασίλεια καὶ τἄλλα ἀρχεῖα πεποίηται. ἐντεῦθεν τὰ μὲν ὤνια καὶ οἱ ἀγοραῖοι καὶ αἱ τούτων φωναὶ καὶ ἀπειροκαλίαι ἀπελήλανται εἰς ἄλλον τόπον, ὡς μὴ μιγνύηται ἡ τούτων τύρβη τῇ τῶν πεπαιδευμένων εὐκοσμίᾳ. “They have the so-called ‘Free Market,’ where the palace and other administrative buildings are located. The denizens of the market along with their wares, their cries, and their vulgarities are relegated from there to another part of the city, in order that their uproar may not come into contact with the orderly society of the properly educated.” Furthermore, in the section immediately following his description of the Persian educational system, Xenophon claims (Cyr. 1.3.1) that by the age of about twelve Cyrus had been taught to do everything “nobly and bravely” (καλῶς καὶ ἀνδρείως), and he describes

43 On the similarities between the Persian education system in the Cyropaedia and the Spartan agōgē, see Tuplin 1994 and 1996; Nadon 2001, 29–42; Azoulay 2007. Cf. Christesen 2006, 37, who views the Cyropaedia “as a pamphlet on practical military reform with special relevance to the Spartan state.” Cyrus, like Agesilaus (and unlike most Spartan kings) undergoes the educational system himself, as Cartledge (1987, 24) observes: “In this respect as in others Agesilaos was the prototype for Xenophon’s fictional Cyrus the Great.” On the parallels between Xenophon’s portraits of Cyrus and Agesilaus, see Due 1989, 192–198. 44 On the agora as a “free space” where all elements of Athenian society could mingle and openly express their political views, see Vlassopoulos 2007, esp. 39–47. 45 Cf. Carter 1986, 72: “This taste for Spartan things was a kind of nostalgia, a looking backwards to a time when members of their class enjoyed the respect still paid to their friends in other, more backward, states. Sparta represented the ‘good old days’.”

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Cyrus as καλὸς κἀγαθός, 46 code words for the aristocratic elite. This deliberate and careful phrasing signals that Xenophon explicitly conceives of this idealized Persian/Spartan system of education as producing youths imbued with traditional aristocratic virtues. 47 This brings us to two more questions: for whom was Xenophon writing the Cyropaedia and why is it so deliberately ambiguous? I believe that the Cyropaedia works on more than one level. While it does offer an explicit guide to good leadership, which is why it has been read as a “mirror of princes” in antiquity and beyond, 48 I would argue that it also has a more specific prescriptive purpose. Steven Johnstone has convincingly demonstrated that one of the unifying threads of Xenophon’s large and disparate corpus is his concern to rehabilitate aristocratic style and mitigate intra-elite competition by shifting its focus to those activities through which the aristocrats maintained their status, such as hunting, athletics, and the practice of war (all major concerns of the Cyropaedia). 49 Nevertheless, as becomes clear across his large and disparate corpus, Xenophon is not concerned just with aristocratic style but also aristocratic ideology and “the proper aristocratic role in politics and the state.” 50 In this rehabilitation of elite political ideology, Xenophon was faced with two separate but related problems. First, how to direct his fellow aristocrats back into politics, for many of his contemporaries, fed up with democracy and the disastrous decisions resulting from mob rule, had withdrawn from Athenian political life altogether. 51 Second, the disastrous results of the efforts of Critias and the Thirty to put a modified version of the Spartan political system into practice in Athens demonstrated that it was going to be a very tricky job indeed to recuperate a less extreme version of oligarchic ideology, 52 especially in a restored democracy that was hyper-sensitive to political dissent (whether real or perceived). Criticism of democracy had to be veiled and ideological support for any non-democratic regimes had to be expressed at a remove from Athens (either temporarily or geographically). The “neverland” of Cyrus in the Cyropaedia, a fictionalized Persia that

46 Cf. Waterfield 2004, 96, who notes the influence of Socrates in Xenophon’s addition of internal, moral conditions to a term that had previously been confined to external values: “Xenophon takes over the traditional term kaloskagathos and tweaks it until it fits Socrates rather than an Athenian gentleman estate-owner.” 47 This is not to say, however, that Xenophon offers unqualified praise of the real-life educational practices of either Sparta or Persia, especially as the concluding chapters of the Cyropaedia and the Constitution of the Spartans suggest that there are underlying flaws in both regimes that ultimately produce deleterious results for both societies; cf. McCloskey 2017 (although I disagree with his further argument that Xenophon’s disapproval of authoritarian pedagogies amounts to an endorsement of democracy) and Tamiolaki (in this volume). 48 See the contributions in this volume of Humble and Stoneman for the reception of the Cyropaedia in the early modern period. 49 Johnstone 2010 (1994). 50 Balot 2001, 230–233 (quotation at 230, n. 114); cf. Pownall 2004, esp. 110–112 and Roscalla 2004. 51 The so-called quietists; Carter 1986. 52 This political agenda lies behind Xenophon’s carefully constructed portrait of Critias as a stereotypical tyrant in the Hellenica; Pownall 2012.

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offered the advantages of an idealized version of Sparta minus its more extreme features or the ideological baggage that it carried, 53 was perfect for his purpose in both respects. Returning to our original question, why does Xenophon deviate from what had become the standard tradition in Greek historiography of Cyrus’ humble origins that marked him out as destined for future greatness? Xenophon’s version, as we have seen, is shorn of the supernatural patina that Cyrus’ birth and rise to greatness acquired in the Greek historiographical tradition, presumably ultimately stemming from Cyrus’ own propaganda as he legitimized his conquest of the Medes. Instead, Xenophon as it were goes back to basics, with the claim that Cyrus was the son of Cambyses, king of Persia, and Mandane, daughter of the queen of Media. In the context of his Persian “neverland,” this straightforward royal lineage gives Cyrus impeccably aristocratic credentials, a fact which Xenophon reinforces through the use of aristocratic code words and moral virtues throughout the Cyropaedia. In this way, Xenophon rejects the sensationalized and romanticized version of Cyrus that we find in the existing Greek historiographical tradition in favour of a strictly humanized but ultimately aristocratic figure, safely distant in both time and space, around whom he can crystallize his ideas on ideal leadership. Ultimately, however, Xenophon’s Cyrus represents a deliberate paradox, for in his fictionalized account of the Cyropaedia he returns to a much more “historical” version of Cyrus’ birth and upbringing, inverting the fictionalized version that had become standard in the Greek historiographical tradition on Cyrus emanating out of official Persian propaganda.

53 On the fictionalized and utopian aspects of the Cyropaedia, see Stadter 2010 (1991); cf. Hägg 2012, 51–66.

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Bibliography Almagor, E. 2018. Plutarch and the Persica, Edinburgh. Asheri, D. et al. 2007. A Commentary on Herodotus Books I-IV, Oxford and New York. Auberger, A. 1991. Ctésias: Histoires de l’Orient, Paris. Azoulay, V. 2007. ‘Sparte et la Cyropédie: du bon usage de l’analogie’, Ktèma 32, 435–456. Balot, R. K. 2001. Greed and Injustice in Classical Athens, Princeton. Beckman, D. 2018a. ‘Cyrus the Great and Ancient Propaganda’, in: M. R. Shayegan (ed.), Cyrus the Great: Life and Lore, Boston & Washington, DC, 150–169. —. 2018b. ‘The Many Deaths of Cyrus the Great’, Iranian Studies 51, 1–21. Bichler, R. 1985. ‘Die bei Herodot’, Chiron 15, 125–147. Briant, P. 2002. From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire, Winona Lake, IN (originally published in French in 1996). Buxton, R. F. (ed.) 2016. Aspects of Leadership in Xenophon (Histos – Supplement 5), Newcastle upon Tyne. Carlier, P. 2010. ‘The Idea of Imperial Monarchy in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, in: V. Gray (ed.), Xenophon (Oxford Readings in Classical Studies), Oxford, 327–366 [= ‘L’idée de monarchie imperiale dans la Cyropédie de Xénophon’, Ktèma 3, 1978, 133–163]. Carter, L. B. 1986. The Quiet Athenian, Oxford. Cartledge, P. 1987. Agesilaos and the Crisis of Sparta, Baltimore. Ceccarelli, P. 2014. ‘Charon of Lampsakos (262)’, in: I. Worthington (ed.), Brill’s New Jacoby (on-line). Chernyakhovskaya, O. 2014. Sokrates bei Xenophon: Moral–Politik–Religion (Classica Monacensia 49), Tübingen. Christesen, P. 2006. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia and Military Reform in Sparta’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 126, 47–65. Drews, R. 1974. ‘Sargon, Cyrus, and Mesopotamian Folk History’, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 33, 387–393. Due, B. 1989. The Cyropaedia: Xenophon’s Aims and Methods. Aarhus —. 1996. ‘Xenophon of Athens: The Cyropaedia’, in: G. Schmeling (ed.), The Novel in the Ancient World, Leiden, 581–599. Ellis, A. 2016. ‘A Socratic History: Theology in Xenophon’s Rewriting of Herodotus’ Croesus Logos’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 136, 73–91. Flower, M. A. & Marincola, J. (eds.) 2002. Herodotus: Histories Book IX. Cambridge Gera, D. L. 1993. Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Style, Genre, and Literary Technique, Oxford. Gray, V. J. 2011. Xenophon’s Mirror of Princes: Reading the Reflections, Oxford & New York. —. 2016. ‘Herodotus (and Ctesias) Re-Enacted: Leadership in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, in: J. Priestley & V. Zali (eds.), Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Herodotus in Antiquity and Beyond, Leiden & Boston, 301–321. Gschnitzer, F. 1977. Die sieben Perser und das Königtum des Dareios, Heidelberg. Hägg, T. 2012. The Art of Biography in Antiquity, Cambridge. Hall, E. 1989. Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition Through Tragedy, Oxford & New York.

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Hirsch, S. W. 1985. The Friendship of the Barbarians: Xenophon and the Persian Empire, Hanover & London. Jacobs, R. 2011. ‘„Kyros, der große König, der Achämenide“ – Zum verwandtschaftlichen Verhältnis und zur politischen und kulturellen Kontinuität zwischen Kyros dem Großen und Dareios I’, in: R. Rollinger, B. Truschnegg, & R. Bichler (eds.), Herodot und das Persische Weltreich / Herodotus and the Persian Empire, Wiesbaden, 635–663. Johnstone, S. 2010. ‘Virtuous Toil, Vicious Work: Xenophon on Aristocratic Style’, in: V. J. Gray (ed.), Xenophon (Oxford Readings in Classical Studies), Oxford, 137–166 (originally published in Classical Philology 89, 1994, 219–240). Lefèvre, E. 2010. ‘The Question of the ΒΙΟΣ ΕΥΔΑΙΜΩΝ: The Encounter Between Solon and Croesus in Xenophon’, in: V. J. Gray (ed.), Xenophon (Oxford Readings in Classical Studies), Oxford, 401–417 (originally published in German in Hermes in 1971). Lenfant, D. 2000. ‘Nicolas de Damas et le corpus des fragments de Ctésias: Du fragment comme adaptation’, Ancient World 30, 293–318. —. 2004. Ctésias de Cnide. La Perse, L’Inde, Autres Fragments (Collection des Universités de France) Paris. —. 2007. ‘Greek Historians of Persia’, in: J. Marincola (ed.), A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, Malden, MA & Oxford, 200–209. —. 2014. ‘Greek Monographs on the Persian World: The Fourth Century BCE and Its Innovations’, in: G. Parmeggiani (ed.), Between Thucydides and Polybius: The Golden Age of Greek Historiography, Cambridge, MA & London, 197–210. Llewellyn-Jones, L. & Robson, J. 2010. Ctesias’ History of Persia: Tales of the Orient, London & New York. Madreiter, I. 2012. Stereotypisierung – Idealisierung – Indifferenz: Formen der Auseinandersetzung mit dem Achaimeniden-Reich in der griechischen Persika-Literatur (Classica et Orientalia 4), Wiesbaden. McCloskey, B. 2017. ‘Xenophon’s Democratic Pedagogy’, Phoenix 71, 230–249. Meeus, A. 2016. ‘Ctesias of Cnidus: Poet, Novelist or Historian?’, in: L. Hau & I. Ruffell (eds.), Truth and History in the Ancient World: Pluralising the Past, New York & London, 175–201. Nadon, C. 2001. Xenophon’s Prince. Republic and Empire in the Cyropaedia, Berkeley, Los Angeles & London. Paradiso, A. 2018. ‘Xanthos of Lydia (765)’, in: I. Worthington (ed.), Brill’s New Jacoby (on-line). Pelling, C. 1996. ‘The Urine and the Vine: Astyages’ Dreams at Herodotus 1.107–8’, Classical Quarterly 46, 68–77. Pownall, F. 2004. Lessons From the Past: The Moral Use of History in Fourth-Century Prose, Ann Arbor. —. 2012. ‘Critias in Xenophon’s Hellenica’, Scripta Classica Israelica 31, 1–17. Roscalla, F. 2004. ‘Kalokagathia e kaloi kagathoi in Senofonte’, in: C. Tuplin (ed.), Xenophon and His World, Stuttgart, 115–124. Sage, P. W. 1995. ‘Dying in Style: Xenophon’s Ideal Leader and the End of the Cyropaedia’, Classical Journal 90, 161–174.

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Sancisi-Weerdenburg, H. 2010. ‘The Death of Cyrus: Xenophon’s Cyropaedia as a Source for Iranian History’, in: V. J. Gray (ed.), Xenophon (Oxford Readings in Classical Studies), Oxford, 439–453 (originally published in Acta Iranica in 1985). Sandridge, N. B. 2012. Loving Humanity, Learning, and Being Honored: The Foundations of Leadership in Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus (Hellenic Studies Series 55), Washington, DC. Stadter, P. 2010. ‘Fictional Narrative in the Cyropaedia’, in: V. J. Gray (ed.), Xenophon (Oxford Readings in Classical Studies), Oxford, 369–400 (originally published in American Journal of Philology 112, 1991, 461–491). Stronk, J. P. 2010. Ctesias’ Persian History. Part I. Introduction, Text, and Translation. Düsseldorf. Tamiolaki, M. 2012. ‘Virtue and Leadership in Xenophon: Ideal Leaders or Ideal Losers?’, in: F. E. Hobden & C. J. Tuplin (eds.), Xenophon: Ethical Principles and Historical Enquiry (Mnemosyne – Supplements 348), Leiden & Boston, 564–589. —. 2017. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Tentative Answers to an Enigma’, in: M. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 174–194. Tatum, J. 1989. Xenophon’s Imperial Fiction: On the Education of Cyrus, Princeton. Toher, M. 1989. ‘On the Use of Nicolaus’ Historical Fragments’, Classical Antiquity 8, 159–172. Tuplin, C. 1994. ‘Xenophon, Sparta and the Cyropaedia’, in: A. Powell & S. Hodkinson (eds.), The Shadow of Sparta, London & New York, 127–181. —. 1996. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Education and Fiction’, in: A. H. Sommerstein & C. Atherton (eds.), Education in Greek Fiction (Nottingham Classical Literature Series 4), Bari, 65–162. —. 2013. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Fictive History, Political Analysis and Thinking with Iranian Kings’, in: L. Mitchell & C. Melville (eds.), Every Inch a King: Comparative Studies on Kings and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds, Leiden & Boston, 67–90. Vlassopoulos, K. 2007. ‘Free Spaces: Identity, Experience and Democracy in Classical Athens’, Classical Quarterly 57, 33–52. Waterfield, R. 2004. ‘Xenophon’s Socratic Mission’, in: C. Tuplin (ed.), Xenophon and his World (Historia – Einzelschriften 172), Stuttgart, 79–113. Wiesehöfer, J., Rollinger, R. & Lanfranchi, G. B. (eds.) 2011. Ktesias’ Welt / Ctesias’ World (Classica et Orientalia 1), Wiesbaden.

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Cyropaedia and the Greek ‘Novel’ again: History and Perspectives of a Supposed Generic Relationship* Irene Madreiter (Innsbruck)

About half a decade ago, German philologist Niklas Holzberg ironically advised his readers in a review on just another book on the Greek novel to return to the sources and stop theorizing, because nothing useful can be said about genre any more. 1 Prima facie, his statement might also have some truth regarding the relationship between Cyropaedia and Greek ‘novel’ 2, because research has at times focused on formal aspects and lost the ancient texts out of sight. In a book devoted to the Cyropaedia, however, some thoughts about genre will be necessary, as the debate is no settled matter yet. A return to the ancient writers and their self-appraisal of what kind of texts they were producing, seems a promising method to get closer to their understanding of what might be termed ‘genre’ today. Modern scholars had various designations for the Cyropaedia like mirror for princes, 3 (fictional) biography, 4 encomium, 5 guide to good leadership, 6 political treatise with a didactic purpose 7 or “enigma.” 8 In some ways, they all are correct, but at the same time they shorten or even simplify the multi-layered levels of the work. When looking for a suitable classification of the Cyropaedia, a strict differentiation between ‘fact’ and ‘fiction’

* I thank the participants of the conference for discussion and Julian Degen and Robert Rollinger for reading through the text. I am also grateful to Kostas Vlassopoulos and Owen Hodkinson for providing me with offprints of their articles. 1 Holzberg 2013, 128: “Mit dem Theoretisieren muss nun endlich zugunsten konkreter Textarbeit Schluss sein – in dem Sinne, wie es der Theaterdirektor in Goethes Faust I formuliert: Der Worte sind genug gewechselt, / laßt mich auch endlich Taten sehn! / Indes ihr Komplimente drechselt, / kann etwas Nützliches geschehn.” 2 Hereinafter I put ‘novel’ in quotation marks to indicate that the ancient meaning is similar but not identical to our modern use of the term. 3 Gray 2011. 4 Fiction: Stadter 1991; Tatum 1994, 16. (Fictional) biography: Holzberg 1995, 14–19; LlewellynJones & Robson 2010, 69; Hägg 2012a, 51–66; Hodkinson 2010, 16–17; Whitmarsh 2018, 59. 5 Zimmermann 1989, 97–105. 6 Sandridge 2012 and id. in this volume; also Hägg 2012a, 51. 7 Didactic dimension: Gera 1993, 11; Tatum 1989, 215–239 and Tatum 1994, 16. 8 See the title of Tamiolaki’s article from 2017.

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and with this the assignment to a certain genre category is obstructive. This resembles the difficulties in evaluating the works of Ctesias of Cnidus. 9 Several scholars have already proposed that Xenophon anticipated so-called “ideal novel”, 10 even though “the extent and the nature of this influence are difficult to ascertain.” 11 Evaluations ranged between “first extant novel”, 12 “direct model for later novels … or testimonium of an archetypal story pattern that influenced the genre.” 13 More cautious statements termed the Cyropaedia a forerunner or starting point, 14 or an “important stimulus” 15 for the emergence of the form. In the light of the late origin of (the extant!) ‘novels’ in the Roman imperial period we are faced with a time gap of at least three centuries without any ‘novels’. 16 The question is, how tight or loose the supposed connections between the Cyropaedia and texts subsumed as “ideal Greek novels” in fact are. The aims of this paper are twofold: At the beginning, some general thoughts about genre are required. Is it legitimate to apply modern genre distinctions to ancient sources and thereby ignoring that genre is culturally determined? Was ‘genre’ a part of ancient thinking at all? With that, I will return to ancient notions that might indicate something like a genre-consciousness. How did writers of ‘novels’ understand their ‘genre’? Did they and ancient critics think of Xenophon as a ‘novelist’, i.e. as a writer of fictive love stories? Why did some of them categorize themselves mere historians? This leads to the second part of the paper. By analysing the novelistic passages in Xenophon, especially the Panthea-episode, I want to reassess the relations between Cyropaedia and “ideal Greek novel”: does the Cyropaedia show traits of a novel proper, is Xenophon a forerunner of the “big five” 17 authors of romances? Or is there a closer tradition-line to his predecessors who included ‘novellas’, be it Herodotus or Ctesias of Cnidus? I will argue that Xenophon has more in common with Ctesias’ understanding of a historical text than later ‘novelists’ have with Xenophon. What is the Cyropaedia then? Is it more appropriate to label it ‘historical novel’, ‘imaginative prose narrative’ or even ‘historiographic metafiction’ – or better refrain from modern categorization at all?

9 Madreiter 2012, 118–132. 10 The term “ideal” refers to the five writers of Greek romances; see e.g. Holzberg 1995, 43–60; Goldhill 2008, 194; Whitmarsh 2013, 4. 11 Reichel 1995, 1. 12 Stadter 1991, 461. Walter Miller (1914, VIII) labelled Xenophon “western pioneer in that field of literature” in his introduction to the Loeb edition of the Cyropaedia. 13 Reichel 1995, 18. 14 Forerunner: Due 1989, 235; Tatum 1989, 36–66 and 165: Cyropaedia “inspired the heroines of later romance;” Higgins 1977, 53: “the vignettes of Abradatas and Pantheia begin a tradition in the Greek novel …;” starting point: Zimmermann 1989, 101: The Panthea-story is “Ausgangspunkt für den späteren griechischen Liebesroman,” and 105: “Bindeglied zwischen Enkomium und späterem Liebesroman.” See also Whitmarsh 2018, 60. 15 Holzberg 2006, 24 deems it “wichtige Anregung zur Entstehung des griechischen Romans,” but he sees only a very loose generic connection. 16 Bowie (2002, 47–49) has some good arguments against an origin in the late-Hellenistic Greek world. 17 Whitmarsh 2008, 2; Goldhill 2008, 194.

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Once more: The Question of Genre In 1981, Jacques Derrida argued that “a text cannot belong to no genre, it cannot be without … a genre. Every text participates in one or several genres, there is no genre-less text.” 18 If we take this statement seriously, it should also be true for antiquity. Literary and media studies have taught us, that genre is “ultimately an abstract conception rather than something that exists empirically in the world.” 19 As David Buckingham argues, genre “is not simply ‘given’ by a culture: rather, it is in a constant process of negotiation and change.” 20 This means that genres are culturally determined and a historical phenomenon. 21 Genre notions are therefore sets of cultural conventions that make use of certain in-built codes, values and expectations of a certain society at a certain time. In a recent overview of Classical literature, William Allen correctly states that genres help “the author to communicate with the audience, as she deploys or disrupts generic expectations and so creates a variety of effects” and that they “appeal to writers because they give a structure and something to build on, while they offer audiences the pleasure of the familiar and ingenious diversion from it.” 22 This modern view presupposes that an ancient writer consciously chose to write a certain kind of text. I think it is questionable that Greek writers always had in mind, to what kind of ‘genre’ their future work should belong. This could be rather true for tragedies, comedies or poetry but not so much for prose writings of history, geography and ethnography or newly invented forms like ‘novels’. John Marincola has in my eyes perfectly shown, that modern understanding of a genre is different from antiquity. Relating to historiographical texts, he questioned, “… whether a particular focalization determined a consequent methodology and purpose.” 23 Marincola observes more individuality and difference than generic sameness in strongly allied texts (like the Atthidographers). 24 In a recent study, he recapitulates that “for the Greeks and Romans the categorization of the types of history that they wrote was inconsistent and far from uniform … they do not seem interested, on the whole, in breaking down distinctions still further (i.e. than some general markers), much less in suggesting what the essential or defining characteristics of such narratives were.” 25 He makes it clear, that there was a notion of genre, but written down relatively late, occurring most often in polemical situations, where the author was contrasting his own work with those of his predecessors. 26 Although the potential might have existed to progress to a more general distinction of genres, there is no evidence that anyone did. The same scepticism applies

18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

Derrida 1981, 61. Feuer 1992, 144. Buckingham 1993, 137; Chandler 1997, 4. Chandler 1997, 3–4; also emphasized by Goldhill 2008, 186. Allan 2014, 13–14. Marincola 1999, 296. Marincola 1999, 299, 312–313. Marincola 2018, 258. Marincola 2018, 258; Raaflaub 2018, 301.

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to the ‘novel’ as a genre, as will be shown below. 27 Nevertheless, an acquaintance with generic conventions is critical to enriching our responses to particular texts and is necessary to create a common ground for discussion. I follow here Tzvetan Todorov’s claim that genres are always defined in the context of a constellation of kindred forms, and exist in a dynamic tension with them. 28 Therefore, the boundaries of each genre are fluid and are often breached for literary effect. If we accept, that genres are not templates “but loose affiliations of ideas, … resting on ‘family resemblances’ … rather than phylogenetic properties,” 29 we can avoid an anachronistic interpretatio Europaea moderna. In my eyes it is worth to turn to ancient notions about ‘novels’ and look for Greek or Latin terminology to show how the writers understood their texts. Ancient Theorizing about the ‘Novel’ Theorizing about what is a ‘novel’ did not start until the Byzantine era. Before that time there seems to have been no particular interest in defining what a ‘novel’ should be, there was no specific generic name for it. This narrative form was obviously ignored by ancient poetics. As the sources do not furnish much information, but scattered remarks coming from different contexts and from different authors, one must keep the limitations of the following lines in mind. The only writer who categorized his work was Chariton. He assigned his Callirhoe (written around 50–60 AD) 30 to narrative prose texts, as he labelled it a σύγγραμμα (Call. 8.1.4). In the following passage, he additionally gives an overview of typical features of ‘novels’: Νομίζω δὲ καὶ τὸ τελευταῖον τοῦτο σύγγραμμα τοῖς ἀναγινώσκουσιν ἥδιστον γενήσεσθαι: καθάρσιον γάρ ἐστι τῶν ἐν τοῖς πρώτοις σκυθρωπῶν. Οὐκέτι λῃστεία καὶ δουλεία καὶ δίκη καὶ μάχη καὶ ἀποκαρτέρησις καὶ πόλεμος καὶ ἅλωσις, ἀλλ̓ ἔρωτες δίκαιοι ἐν τούτῳ καὶ νόμιμοι γάμοι. “And I think that this final book will prove very agreeable to its readers: it cleanses away the grim events of the earlier ones. There will be no more pirates or slavery or lawsuits or fighting or suicide or wars or conquests; now there will be lawful love and sanctioned marriage.” 27 Already Tatum (1989, 36) was aware that modern categorization might be inappropriate for interpreting the Cyropaedia: “the impulse to write genealogy puts writers in their place, which is not the place they devised, but our place” (my emphasis). 28 Todorov 1972, 193–197. 29 Whitmarsh 2008, 6–7. See also Whitmarsh 2018, 20: “I understand the novel not as a genre but as a field” and ibd. 16: “It is … this very ability to escape from the restrictions of singular definition that defines the success of the novel in antiquity.” 30 Bowie 2002, 57.

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The term σύγγραμμα has a quite neutral meaning as “written composition”, “book”, “prose work”, in opposition to ποιήματα (“poetry”). 31 This means, Chariton thought of his work as close to historiographical ones, because the related noun syngrapheus, “prose-writer”, “historian”, “composer”, was used for example for Ctesias as author of the Persica. 32 Moreover Chariton refers to the purpose of his story: to entertain or give pleasure to his readers (τοῖς ἀναγινώσκουσιν ἥδιστον γενήσεσθαι). Longus (1.1.1) terms his novel “a history of love,” (ἱστορίαν ἔρωτος) and describes it as a “text” to “rival a painting” (γραφή … ἀντιγράψαι τῇ γραφῇ) 33. This is in accordance to the lexicon referred as the Suda, that describes some authors of “erotic stories” (ἐρωτικά) as ἱστορικοί, for instance Xenophon of Antiochia, Xenophon of Ephesus, Xenophon of Cyprus or Philippus of Amphipolis. 34 This might have resulted from their work-titles like Ephesiaca or Aethiopica, typical for historiographical works like the ones on Lydia, Persia and India known since the Classical age. It is also possible that the authors chose these titles as part of their strategy to appear as reliable as their famous name-bear from the fourth century BC. 35 We have to take such designations seriously, because they attest to the fluid boundaries between ‘novel’ and history. Chariton (Call. 1.1), for example, starts his novel with a self-introduction similar to Herodotus and Thucydides: Χαρίτων Ἀφροδισιεύς, Ἀθηναγόρου τοῦ ῥήτορος ὑπογραφεύς, πάθος ἐρωτικὸν ἐν Συρακούσαις γενόμενον διηγήσομαι. “I, Chariton of Aphrodisias, secretary of Athenagoras the rhetor, will report a lovestory (πάθος ἐρωτικὸν 36) from Syracuse.” 37

31 LSJ s.v. σύγγραμμα: “written composition”, “book”, “work”, Xen. Mem. 2.1.21, 4.2.10, Pl. Grg. 462b, Tht. 166c, Arist. EN 1181b2, Gal. 15.424; esp. “prose work”, “treatise”, τὰ κατὰ λόγον or καταλογάδην, opp. ποιήματα, Pl. Lg. 810b, Isoc. 2.7, cf. 42. 32 Ctes. FGrHist 688 T 13 Lenfant (= Phot. Bibl. 72 p. 45a 5–19); Ctes. FGrHist 688 T 12 Lenfant (= Dion. Hal. 10.4f.); but see T 14a Lenfant (= Demetr. Eloc. § 215), where Demetrius uses the term ποιητής. 33 Long. 1.1.2: Πολλὰ ἄλλα καὶ πάντα ἐρωτικὰ ἰδόντα με καὶ θαυμάσαντα πόθος ἔσχεν ἀντιγράψαι τῇ γραφῇ. 34 Suda s.v. Xenophon of Antiochia, Xenophon of Ephesus, Xenophon of Cyprus, Philippus of Amphipolis. 35 Even modern romances until the 19th century were sometimes entitled “History” or “Historia.” Similar to ancient custom, Gottfried presents his poetic task in the prologue of Tristan as that of a historiographus, see Green 2002, 140–141, 180–181. 36 Chariton’s use of πάθος ἐρωτικὸν instead of ἱστορία shows that we might not expect a coherent ‘generic’ name for ‘novel’; on the various terms used for ‘novel’ see also below. 37 Cf. Thuc. 1.1: Θουκυδίδης Ἀθηναῖος ξυνέγραψε τὸν πόλεμον τῶν Πελοποννησίων καὶ Ἀθηναίων, ὡς ἐπολέμησαν πρὸς ἀλλήλους, etc. The main difference is the first person and the future tense διηγήσομαι “I will describe” instead of the aorist ξυνέγραψε. Chariton mentions his job as a secretary (ὑπογραφεύς) to prove his competence in hearing and writing down things.

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In fact, there are more indications that later ‘novelists’ presented themselves as historians: Achilles Tatius declares in the proem to have got information for what he describes as “erotic tales” 38 (erōtikoi mythoi) from the protagonist himself, Longus claims to have seen a painting of the story told. Antonius Diogenes in his Wonders of Thule, as well as Xenophon of Ephesus and Iamblichus (Babyloniaca) all refer to oral or written sources. The alleged consultation of external sources is a well-known strategy of legitimisation (Beglaubigungsstrategie 39) in earlier historiography. 40 Some authors chose (pseudo-) historical persons, like the Assyrian king Ninus, or the Egyptian pharaoh Sesonchosis 41 as protagonists. In Callirhoe, there appear at least Artaxerxes II and Hermocrates of Syracuse, whereas the main protagonist Chaereas is no historical person any more. Some scholars drew the conclusion that novels with historical characters were older, because they saw a linear tradition from Classical or Hellenistic forerunners down to the first novel proper. If we accept that Ninus is in fact younger than Callirhoe, 42 the thesis of a gradual disappearance of historical characters with the centuries does not stand any more. In fact, Ninus and Sesonchosis can either be explained as deviations of the ‘genre’ or simply as evidence for the variety of different kinds of ‘novels’, existing at the same time. Leaving the question of dating aside, I think it is more important that all these novelists applied different strategies to make their readers believe in their stories. J. Morgan rightly observed that they felt a certain need to legitimize the novelty of their works against the backdrop of a centuries-old literary tradition. 43 So we have to ask, what function ‘novelists’ hoped the appearance of being a historian would play. It is in fact a “rhetorical move to suggest that res fictae are in fact res gestae.” 44 This was the more easier, because historiography traditionally used fictive elements to fill gaps in the source material to make sense of history. Therefore, it comes without surprise that some ‘novelists’ presented themselves like the historians of the Classical age. We will return to this important aspect below. Beside the opinion that ‘novels’ resemble historiography, there was another strand of ancient critics who linked ‘novels’ to fictive prose texts. 45 Patriarch Photius (9th century AD) repeatedly uses the nouns δρᾶμα, δράματα, 46 or the adjective δραματικόν, when referring to ‘novels’. Heliodorus’ Aethiopica, for example, is called σύνταγμα δραματικόν. 47 As 38 Ach. Tat. 1.2. Cf. also Photius’ definition (Bibl. c. 87 [66a]) of Achilles Tatius’ novel: ἔστι δὲ δραματικόν, ἔρωτάς τινας ἀτόπους ἐπεισάγον. 39 Holzberg 2006, 43; Hägg 2012a, 26, 35–36, 93; de Temmerman 2016, 16. 40 Madreiter 2012, 124, 127, 136. 41 See the extant fragments in Stephens & Winkler 1995, 23–72 (Ninus) and 246–266 (Sesonchosis). 42 Bowie (2002, 57) dates Ninus between 63 and 75 AD, and Callirhoe between 41 and 62 AD. 43 Morgan & Harrison 2008, 219: “The last born in the litter of classical genres was forever self-consciously labouring to legitimize itself.” 44 Green 2002, 185. 45 On the other hand, there was certainly an awareness, that ‘novels’ were different from historio­ graphy: e.g. Julian (Epist. 89b, 301b, 169 Bidez). On the obvious dependencies between Cyropaedia and Herodotus and Thucydides see Tamiolaki 2017. 46 δρᾶμα: Phot. Bibl. c. 94 [74a]; δράματα: Bibl. c. 87 [66a], c. 166 [111a]; Marini 1991, 232–243. 47 Hld. 10.41.4.

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we know from earlier authors like Aristotle, drama was equated with Greek πλάσμα 48, thus indicating the fictiveness 49 of a plot. Macrobius, in his commentary on Cicero’s Somnium Scipionis, characterizes ‘novels’ as, “stories (argumenta) full of wondrous adventures, happening to lovers.” 50 As we learn from Cicero, 51 Latin argumentum corresponds to Greek peplasmenon, which means fictive, but modelled on reality: argumenta are “ficta res, quae tamen fieri potuit 52”, this means they are invented but could have happened with a high degree of probability. Photius (Bibl. c. 166 [111b]) lists seven different authors under the rubric of πλάσις, “fiction”, in what can be called a short history of the ‘novel’: “It is in this way and on these subjects that Antonius Diogenes has contrived his work of fiction (ἡ τῶν δραμάτων πλάσις). It seems that he is earlier than those who have made it their business to write this kind of fiction (τὰ τοιαῦτα … διαπλάσαι), such as Lucian, Lucius, Iamblichus, Achilles Tatius, Heliodorus, and Damascius. In fact this romance seems to be the fount and the root of Lucian’s True Story and Lucius’ Metamorphoses. Moreover, Dercyllis, Ceryllus, Thruscanus, and Dinias seem to have been the models for the romances (πλάσματα) about Sinonis and Rhodanes, Leucippe and Clitophon, Chariclea and Theagenes, and for their wanderings, love affairs, capture, and dangers.” All terms mentioned hitherto are too general and give no sense of any specific generic affiliation. 53 Plasma describes a type of narrative, its way of narrating, but no genre. The same is true for dramatikon diēgēma, which refers to the effect of the story rather than the novel form. Tim Whitmarsh nonetheless claimed a generic unity on the basis of alleged titling conventions. 54 He reconstructed a consistent formula of titles consisting of “τὰ περί / τὰ κατά + name of protagonists”, which could (but need not) be supplemented by a geographical name ending on -ι(α)κα (like Greek Persika or Babyloniaka), referring to the content of a novel. 55 The “τὰ περί / τὰ κατά X and Y”-formula indicated to the reader that he was reading

48 LSJ s.v. πλάσμα “anything formed or moulded”, “image”, “figure”, “figment”, “fiction”; Xenoph. 1.22, cf. Arist. Cael. 289a6, Str. 1.2.36; J. BJ 1.1.2; Plut. Thes. 28, etc.; “of a story which is fictitious but possible”, opp. ἱστορία and μῦθος, S.E. M. 1.263; Aus. Prof. 21.26, cf. Ph.1.528. 49 With de Temmerman (2016, 5) I prefer ‘fictiveness’ to ‘fiction’, as a reference to the truth-value of an account. The term denotes the lack (or absence) of verifiable, historical and factual accuracy. Traditionally, what we label as ‘fictitious’ is identified as ‘untruth’, ‘lies’, or ‘fabrication’, but this was not ancient understanding, see also Green 2002, 13. 50 Macr. Somn. 1.2.8: argumenta fictis casibus amatorum referta. 51 Cic. De Invent. 1.27. 52 On the contrary, fabula is a fiction dealing with what had not and could not have happened, see Quint. Inst. 2, 4.2; Green 2002, 3–17; Hägg 2012b, 25–27; de Temmerman 2016, 5. 53 Goldhill 2008, 191 with n. 19, referring to Latin ‘novels’ as fabula or sermo. 54 Whitmarsh 2005, 587–611. 55 Whitmarsh 2005, 596, 603; he translates the titles as “the affair of X and Y”, corresponding to German “das Verhältnis von X und Y”. He explains the omission of the content descriptor –ι(α)κα e.g. in Chariton as syncopation of the title.

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a text of the new genre ‘ideal novel’. Whitmarsh considers the latter part as the innovative element, whereas he understands the -ι(α)κα-element as a concession to traditional prose writing. 56 Such a generalisation only works under the assumption of a strict genre-consciousness of writers and readers. As indicated above, the various self-descriptions of their texts, be it syntagma, graphē, syngramma, diēgēma, erōtika, pathos or logos contradict to a fixed categorization. Lack of a precise denotation does not mean that there were no genre typical schemata, parallels of structure, form and theme such as love at first sight, kidnap by pirates or apparent death. 57 So ancient readers were able to easily recognize core features, they could expect what would happen next and could discern deviations from the ‘norm’. This overview reveals that there was uncertainty of how to categorize a ‘novel’ in antiquity. Obviously, it was already seen as a kind of hybrid, combining fictive and historical elements. The ancient denominations have different meanings from our modern ones. Therefore, it requires a re-orientation of our own categories, if we wish to come to a better understanding of how ancients thought about a ‘novel’. Xenophon, the First ‘Novelist’? According to modern scholarship, Greek “ideal novel” centres on the so-called “big five” 58: Chariton of Aphrodisias (middle of the 1st century AD), Xenophon of Ephesus, Longus, Achilles Tatius and Heliodorus, who built a homogenous group. 59 Their romances share some common features, which are summarized here only in note form: The story is told in bird’s-eye-view by an omniscient narrator, frequently interrupted by direct speech or dialogues. The author mostly tells a love story centred on two young, mostly noble (but wholly invented) protagonists, who get separated from each other. It follows the wandering of the protagonists to the edges of the world, facing various disasters and dangers of every kind, including scenes of apparent death or threatened suicide. The plot also contains actions of third parties who try to destroy the true love of the faithful protagonists. Finally, the surprising reunion of the lovers results in a happy end. These recurring narrative units and stock situations are showing up repeatedly in the later ‘novels’. But what is their relationship to the Cyropaedia? Xenophon included at least four ‘novel’-like episodes into his main storyline: the most famous of them is the

56 57 58 59

Whitmarsh 2005, 606. Whitmarsh 2005, 588; Goldhill 2008, 191. Or “big seven”, when including the Roman ‘novelists’, see Whitmarsh 2008, 2; Goldhill 2008, 194. The anonymous Ninus- and Sesonchosis novels (see Stephens & Winkler 1995, 23–72, 246–266) have been seen as forerunners to Chariton, but their dating is uncertain. Bowie (2002, 75) claims Ninus to be younger than Callirhoe. There were also parodies of the “big-five” (e.g. Lollianus’ Phoenicica or Iamblichus’ Babyloniaca).

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one about Panthea 60, but there are also ‘novellas’ 61 about king Croesus of Lydia 62, prince Gobryas 63, and Gadatas, a local chieftain 64. Especially the theme of tragic love in the Panthea-epsiode 65 is comparable to the novel proper. Thus, I will refer to this story to assess if Xenophon could be a model for later developments. The story is dispersed into six separate parts, covering four books of the Cyropaedia. They are linked to the main narrative framework of these books, namely the preparation for the battle of Thymbrara, the battle itself and its aftermath. The main protagonists are Panthea, Lady of Susa and wife of Abradatas, subject and ally of the Assyrians, and secondly Araspas, a young intimate of king Cyrus. In the first part of the story (4.6.11 and 5.1.2–18), Medes award Cyrus with a “most beautiful tent” 66 and a “Susan woman” 67 as part of the spoils made in battle. The woman is “said to be the most beautiful 68 in Asia” (τὴν Σουσίδα γυναῖκα, ἣ καλλίστη δὴ λέγεται ἐν τῇ Ἀσίᾳ γυνὴ γενέσθαι). Her husband Abradatas is on a diplomatic mission when she is taken prisoner. Young Araspas hands the woman over to Cyrus and commends her beauty to the king. Cyrus is not interested in seeing her (he declines out of fear that he would want to sit there gazing upon her) and entrusts Panthea to Araspas. The exceptional beauty of the prisoner prompts a discussion between the two friends about the power of love. Araspas argues that human beauty is not capable of compelling a person against his will. 69 He claims that despite having seen Panthea, he has not lost his sense of duty. Nevertheless, he promptly falls hopelessly in love with Panthea when he comes to know her goodness. 70

60 Xen. Cyr. 5.1.1–30; 6.1.30–55; 6.4.1–20; 7.3.3–17. The story gained wide popularity in antiquity: Plutarch mentions it no less than five times Plut. Mor. 31c, 521f, 84f, 706d, 1093c; others mention it or commend on its style: D. Chr. Or. 64; Hermog. Id. 2.7 and 2.12; Aps. Ars Rhet. 3.1.6; Aps. Ars Rhet. 10.41 Patillon; Dionysius of Miletus and a certain Caninius Celer wrote (a novel?) “Araspas in love with Panthea”, see Philostr. VS 1, 22.524; on the early starting literary and painted reception see Carpa 2009, 31–34. 61 See Reichel 1995, 14–16; I follow his definition (ibd. 11) of ‘novella’ as imaginary story of limited length with a peripateia, included within a frame story. 62 Xen. Cyr. 7.2.1–29; Tatum 1989, 146–159; Gera 1993, 196–198, 265–279; Reichel 1995, 14; Ellis 2016, 73–76. 63 Xen. Cyr. 4.6.1–12; 5.2.1–14; 5.4.41–51; Gera 1993, 194–196; 245–265; Reichel 1995, 14. 64 Xen. Cyr. 5.3.15–4, 51; Gera 1993, 245–265; Reichel 1995, 14. 65 Summaries e.g. in Schwartz 1896, 59–64; Due 1989, 66–68, 79–83; Tatum 1989, 163–188; Stadter 1991, 480–484; Gera 1993, 221–245; Reichel 1995, 7; Carpa 2009, 34–36; Whitmarsh 2018, 77–83. 66 Xen. Cyr. 4.6.11; on the meaning of the σκηνή see Baragwanath 2002, 129–130. 67 Typically for war-won concubines, only Panthea’s provenance is mentioned; she is not named until Cyr. 6, 1.41. 68 Carpa (2009, 39–40) notes that the female protagonist in Xenophon’s Ephesiaca, Anthea (a hellenised name-form of Panthea), is also sōphrōn kai kalē (Xen. Eph. 1.2.6). He shows, how Xenophon trivializes the tragic plot of the Cyropaedia to fit his “Romanesque antitragique.” 69 The motive of immunity to love, as well as philosophical arguments, as well as the failure to resist to love all reappear in Chariton (2.4.4), Xenophon of Ephesus (1.1.5) and Heliodor (3.1–2, 33; 4.10). 70 Xen. Cyr. 5.1.18.

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In the next passage (6.1.30–44) we hear that Panthea is true to her husband and refuses Araspas. When he resorts to harassment, 71 she denounces him to the King. Cyrus laughs at Araspas when he hears the story because Araspas had been so insistent that he would not fall in love. He sends Araspas a warning not to lay hands on Panthea but proves merciful against Araspas, acknowledging that even the gods are vulnerable to love. As compensation, Cyrus sends him off to spy against the enemy. The third passage follows directly on the former (6.1.45–51). In gratitude for Cyrus’ protection, Panthea offers to contact her husband to become his ally. She is allowed to send a message to Abradatas, and he eagerly comes to join the camp, where husband and wife can thus embrace with joy and celebrate their love for one another. Abradatas pledges his friendship, service, and allegiance to Cyrus with his right hand and volunteers to take Araspas’ place in the war. In the fourth passage, some chapters later (6.4.1–11), Abradatas puts on a golden armour 72 that Panthea has secretly fashioned for him by melting her jewels. After a moving farewell, Abradatas leaves for battle. Panthea kisses his chariot until she is finally taken to her tent. Her sight is so beautiful that the people have no eyes for Abradatas until she leaves the scene. In book 7 (7.1.29–31) we see Abradatas fighting valiantly at the Battle of Thymbrara, where he finally dies as a man of valour. This secures the victory of Cyrus against Croesus 73. Some chapters afterwards (7.3.2–16) an official announces the death of Abradatas. Cyrus promptly reaches Panthea, who is lamenting over Abradatas’ corpse with his head in her lap. Cyrus promises to escort her to whomever she may wish. Soon afterwards, in spite of the nurse’s protests, Panthea stabs herself with a secretly hidden dagger over her husband’s body, as do the eunuchs. 74 Cyrus rushes back, but it is too late. All he can do is build a monument over the lovers’ tomb and their servants. 75 (Dis)similarities between Cyropaedia and ‘Ideal Greek Novel’ Markers of later romances, already visible in the Panthea-episode are the enchanting beauty of the female protagonist, her noble birth, the separation of the lovers, and the temptation

71 Araspas becomes the prototype for all men, who (unsuccessfully) threaten the chastity of women under their care, e.g. Xen. Eph. 4.5.2–4; 5.4.5; Hld. 1.22. 72 Tatum 1989, 179; Gera 1993, 234–235; Reichel 1995, 10; Gray 2011, 136–137 and others have seen a similarity to Thetis bringing Achill’s new armour in Homer (Il. 19.10–23), as well as the bidding farewell is similar to Andromache and Hector in Il. 6.394–496. 73 Xen. Cyr. 7.1.29–32. 74 The theme of suicide of a loving wife has parallels in tragedy, see e.g. Eurip. Suppl. 990; Panthea holding her husband’s corpse again resembles Andromache and Hector, see Hom. Il. 24.724, cf. Gera 1993, 235. The simultaneous suicide of eunuchs is also known from Ctesias’ description of the death of Sardanapalus at a stake, Ctes. FGrHist 688 F 1b Lenfant (= Diod. 2.27.1–2). 75 Xen. Cyr. 7.3.2–16. According to Xenophon, this monument still existed in his time (7.3.15).

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of a third party, which is resisted. 76 The lovers’ reunion and the wet-nurse, who acts as a confidante also belong to a set of later core features. Moreover, the setting of the story in a faraway land and in the remote past are also recurring traits in some later ‘novels’. Beside these structural similarities, there are differences in detail – and these differences prevail. 77 Firstly, there is no continuous story line of the Panthea-epsiode, as the single passages of the story are scattered across various books. 78 Within the approximately 330 print pages describing the formative years of the eponymous hero, the Panthea-novel amounts to only 16 pages (this is roughly five percent of the whole work). This contrasts with the booklength love stories of later novel. The theme of love, defining feature of the ‘genre’ par excellence, is subordinate in the Cyropaedia, because the general plot is centred on the royal hero: It is always Cyrus who stands in the foreground, it is his clemency (towards the seductive friend), it is his wisdom (sōphrosynē) in matters of love that is emphasized. He is cautious about gazing at the woman, he is moderate, and he is the erōmenos. 79 The Panthea-episode should illustrate how Cyrus embodies to the highest degree the virtue of enkrateia (self-restraint) even in emotional situations. To compose a romance was not Xenophon’s main purpose, so love and sentiment are reserved for this subplot. His only hero, Cyrus, is surprisingly free from emotions, as becomes clear from Cyrus’ wedding, a purely political arrangement, where Xenophon not even mentions the bride’s name. 80 Cyrus’ asceticism has a political dimension: his abdication of love is out of sheer professionalism, because a deep sense of duty inhibits him from romantic affairs. 81 This indicates that Xenophon believes in the destabilizing power of love. 82 Greek audience was familiar with such a concept at least since Herodotus’ Candaules-story (1.8–13), in which he has made clear that falling in love may endanger a whole empire. Such a political dimension of love is missing in later novel, where love has a purely private and sometimes trivial character. Another difference between the Cyropaedia and later ‘novels’ concerns style. Xenophon relates all his ‘novels’ briefly, in a prosaic style without much melodrama. 83 Although his characters are colourful, one has to agree with James Tatum, that the Panthea-epsiode is

76 Because of her marital fidelity, Baragwanath (2002, 154) reads Panthea (as well as other foreign queens in Xenophon) as a paragon of Greek womanly sōphrosynē; the faithful wife or the chaste maiden also influenced Xenophon of Ephesus. 77 See also Reichel 1995, 1–20. 78 Xen. Cyr. 4.6.11 and 5.1.2–18; 6.1.45–51; 6.4.1–11; 7.3.2–16. 79 Tatum 1989, 178. 80 Xen. Cyr. 8.5 and 8.7; Tatum 1994, 21; Hägg 2009, 81 and 2013, 54. 81 Xen. Cyr. 5.1.8: Cyrus fears that Panthea’s beauty will make him “sit gazing at her, neglecting what I have to do” (ἐκ δὲ τούτου ἴσως ἂν ἀμελήσας ὧν με δεῖ πράττειν καθήμην ἐκείνην θεώμενος.) 82 Tatum 1989, 168 and 1994, 21. Tatum detects a general erotic conception of empire in the Cyropaedia; see also Hägg 2009, 84 and recently Whitmarsh 2018, 73–84. 83 Gera (1993, 212 and 215) considers this as a mark of difference to Ctesias, but melodramatic style is certainly also typical for later novel.

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“curiously stilted … with neither the tragic intensity of the scenes in the Iliad that inspired it nor the erotic power of the works that were to follow.” 84 Remarkably, the Panthea-espisode also lacks a happy-ending. The reunion of the lovers – here told already in the middle of the story and not at its end – is an intermediate state in their relationship, because Abradatas has to leave Panthea again for battle. Their final reunion is in death. The motif of suicide upon the body of the dead husband as self-sacrifice of the widow who has no wish to survive her husband’s death, is well known from tragedy. 85 Besides the tragic end, another difference to later ‘novels’ is obvious: the absence of the search or travel motif. Abradatas 86 does not have to wander around to look for his wife, but Panthea sends him a message inviting him to Cyrus’ camp. Whereas later ‘novels’ often describe foreign space very detailed 87, the geographical features in the Cyropaedia remain vague and unspecified. 88 The description was not dictated by geo­­ graphy but by didactic convenience. Contrary to Cyropaedia, the protagonists of later ‘novels’ are young people, but no reference is made to their infancy. With exception of the fragmentary examples of historical ‘novels’ (Ninus or Sesonchosis), later authors selected ‘real-life’ characters not drawn from history in a real-life setting. The historiographical features such as the war with the Assyrians, the battle against Croesus or the alliance between Abradatas and Cyrus increasingly muted in later times, and finally disappeared in the Imperial Age. This is due to the different purposes of the Cyropaedia, which were primarily didactic and paradigmatic, whereas romances served to entertain their audience. And what counts most: The intended audience is different. Xenophon wrote the Cyropaedia for polis-readers, whom he wanted to instruct on the ideal way to behave. Persian alterity could serve as a positive model of emulation for aspects of Greek society that Xenophon considers inferior (e.g. public education, aspects of law), but at the same time as polar opposite of everything the Greeks valued as important (fostering a Greek identity). 89 This diversity of images had many functions, not to be dealt here in detail. One important aspect was, that Xenophon was responding to the tensions between aristocrats and the populace, especially to conflicts within aristocrats themselves. He wanted to mitigate intra-elite competition “by shifting its focus to those activities through which the aristocrats maintained their status.” 90 Examples of ideal leadership were especially important in a time of civic dissent and doubts in democracy or oligarchy. Anyway, 84 Tatum 1994, 21. 85 Eurip. Suppl. 990–1071. In contrast, death-scenes in later novels are omnipresent, but do not happen to the lovers (suicides are only attempted or threatened, but not acted out). 86 Abradatas’ role within the plot is also different to later roles of husbands. Xenophon shows no interest in his person, how he met Panthea or how they fell in love; it is only in the second half of the story, when he is introduced into the story. 87 E.g. the descriptions of Miletus and Syracuse in Chariton, the temple of Helios on Rhodes in Xenophon of Ephesus, see Hägg 2009, 91. 88 See Stadter 1991, 478–480 and the contribution of Bichler in this volume. 89 Vlassopoulos 2017, 370 and 372. 90 Johnstone 2010, 219–222, 240; see also Pownall 2004, 110–114 and ead. this volume.

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Xenophon obviously wanted to contribute to the political discourse of his time. 91 That he did this in a partly entertaining way with ironic anecdotes and ‘novelistic’ episodes does not contrast a political and / or educational intention. In contrast, later ‘novels’ had little to no political intentions anymore and addressed a broader range of readers, as literacy-rates increased since Hellenistic and Roman times. 92 At the time, when the first ‘novels’ were published, Asia Minor, birth place of many authors, had already enjoyed two generations of peace and economic prosperity since the battle of Actium. Although (Greek written) ‘novels’ may have appealed especially to the Greek population, they were meant for the whole Roman empire. It is no wonder that their heroes were sent to the edges of the known world as far as the extreme north. Such stories enabled their readers not only to escape from reality, as every kind of literature might do, but also responded to a societal change from public to private. This change was accompanied by new attitudes against all kinds of sexuality and marriage. For T. Whitmarsh, the radical innovation of the “ideal novels” was their emphasis on emotional, sexual and psychological lives of young men and women by using a female-centred narrative subjectivity. 93 This new style evoked criticism of conservative groups who feared that readers might be seduced to prurience. 94 Achilles Tatius attests to such an effect, when he lets his hero note, that “erotic stories fuel the flames of desire.” 95 A similar notion underlies a passage in the medical treatise of Theodorus Priscianus, who recommends the reading of erotic literature as a therapy for impotency. 96 These examples show that romances were seen as trivial literature with a stimulating or at least entertaining function. Former modern interpretations thought of the lower class or even children 97 as readers of ‘novels’, but the often sophisticated Attic style and intertextual allusions presuppose an educated readership, which was able to grasp the various references to epic or Archaic poetry. They were products by and for the elite, but audiences were not uniform. Some were even performed or read publicly for popular consumption. 98 In all, it is no coincidence that

91 Tamiolaki 2017, 174. Already in antiquity, the Cyropaedia was considered a response to Plato’s Republic by Diogenes Laertius (3.34) and later also Gellius (14.3.3–5). 92 On ancient literacy: Harris 1989; Thomas 2009, 346–361. The cheaper book-form of the codex (instead of papyrus rolls) was also seen as a hint to the lower class of its readers. 93 Whitmarsh 2005, 606. The transgression of the boundary between public and private was certainly not relevant to the Cyropaedia. 94 Julian Epist. 89.300c-301d (169 Bidez). 95 Ach. Tat. 1.5.6; Hunter (2008, 269–270) refers even to ejaculation as possible reader-response (to Lucian’s Love Stories). 96 Theodorus Priscianus, Euporiston 2, 11 (133 Rose). The contemporary of emperor Julian recommends reading the erotic ‘novels’ of Iamblichus and of Philippus of Amphipolis. 97 See the overview in Hunter 2008, 262–263. 98 Whitmarsh 2008, 10–11; Morales 2009, 4, referring to Quintillian 5.11.19 (illiterati as listeners to Aesopic fables).

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the ‘novel’ is a product of the first century AD, when Greek elite re-formulated a Greek identity by re-enacting the idealised paideia of Classical age. 99 Between Xenophon and the first ‘ideal novel’ (Chariton) we face a time gap of at least 350 years 100 without any extant ‘novel’. This might not be coincidental but indicate that there was no need for such a narrative form in the Hellenistic period. In these centuries, historiographical works like the ones of Ephorus, Duris of Samos or of other so-called ‘tragic’ historians 101 emerged, and Middle and New Comedy flowered. Chariton made use of both genres, not to speak of epic. He needs not necessarily have known Xenophon to have been able to write his ‘novel’. Xenophon is at least a stylistic-formal paragon but does not anticipate these kinds of stories. Though we have clear examples of intertextuality in Chariton 102 and Xenophon of Ephesus 103, there is no general dependency of later authors on the older Xenophon. Intertextuality alone does not tell much. These authors not only refer to Xenophon, but also to epic or comedy. Nobody would conclude from quotations from the Iliad that Homer was a forerunner of the ‘novel’ or that ‘novel’ was a degenerated epic. Although some ‘novelists’ deliberately used his name as a pseudonym, 104 no direct way leads from the older Xenophon to them. They obviously recognized a certain relationship to him that can be explained either by their self-concept as writers of a special kind of historiography or simply by their admiration of the famous name bearer. If we assume that they deliberately decided to ‘play’ Xenophon, 105 then their use of history comes without historiographical intentions, because the insertion of figures regarded as historical does not mean that the narrative is also historical. This is a main difference to the ‘real’ Xenophon. Thus, Xenophon has more in common with earlier historiographical tradition than his own work has with later ‘novel’. It is well known that Xenophon was not the first to include novel-like episodes into a historical narrative. He obviously shares some common features 106 with his less older contemporary Ctesias of Cnidus, who embedded various novel-like epsiodes into his

99 Bowie 2002, 61; Morgan & Harrison 2008, 219. So-called second Sophistic was attracted by every facet of Greek culture. 100 This is, if we accept Bowie’s chronology of early Greek novels, starting with Chariton (between 41 and 62 AD), the Ninus-novel (between 63 and 75 AD), Xenophon’s Ephesiaca (after 65 AD), and Parthenope and Metiochus (around 65 AD), see in detail Bowie 2002, 47–61, esp. 57. 101 The term was coined by Marasco 1988; cf. Madreiter 2012, 120. 102 Carpa 2009, 33: Chariton echoes the Cyropaedia openly and repeatedly (eight textual echoes), but even more often he quotes verbatim from Homer, see Morgan & Harrison 2008, 220. 103 On Xenophon’s of Ephesus anti-tragic reworking of the Panthea-episode see Carpa 2009, 31–48. 104 E.g. the ‘Xenophontes’ of Ephesus, Antiochia or Cyprus, see Holzberg 2006, 27, 43; Morgan & Harrison 2008, 220; Carpa 2009, 29 with references to older literature. 105 Carpa 2009, 48 (esp. for Xenophon of Ephesus); Green 2002, 185. 106 See Breitenbach 1966, 1709–1712; Llewellyn-Jones & Robson 2010, 68–70; Almagor 2012, 26–27; Whitmarsh 2018, 39–47. But note the negative statement of Due (1989, 138): Ctesias “was of next to no importance as a source for Xenophon.”

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Persica, a work with a clearly historiographical pretension. 107 If we understand the extant fragments right, then we have to expect lengthy dialogues, intended for dramatical effect beside passages of prose narrative in the original text also. Xenophon and Ctesias present their ‘novels’ in a similar manner, what concerns episodic presentation, a link with the work’s main narrative framework without digressions, the dialogues and direct speeches or scenes of emotional intensity.  108 Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones considered the depiction of stock characters of the Cyropaedia like an “indolent king, a frightened eunuch, a cruel despot, a brave warrior, a grief-stricken father, a devoted slave, and a beautiful but chaste woman” 109 as “replicas” of Ctesias. I would not go thus far to call them replicas, but Xenophon certainly varied motifs and characters of the Persica. He did not simply imitate these characters but adapted them for his own purpose. It is again the Panthea-epsiode that shows strong similarities to the Persica, namely to the tragic love stories around Semiramis 110 as well as around Zarinaea, queen of the Sacae. 111 The latter was captured (and later released) by the Median king Stryangaeus, who had invaded her country. He soon falls in love with the queen, is rejected and starves himself to death. Before his death, Stryangaeus writes a pathetic letter to Zarinaea complaining about his unfulfilled love. Ctesias also includes a reflection on the power of erōs, and the need to find restraint in passion. This parallels Cyrus’ meditation about the power of love in the Panthea-epsiode (Cyr. 5, 12). 112 Ctesias, as well as Xenophon created pictures of noble, powerful women of extraordinary beauty, who influence 113 or even manipulate the men around them. They are active in battle (Panthea is at least present in the heart of the conflict), Zarinaea as well as Panthea reject the sexual advances and preserve their marital honour. The theme of tragic love ending in suicide is important for both authors. Remarkably, Ctesias and Xenophon are especially interested in love triangles (Araspas – Panthea – Abradatas vs. Onnes – Semiramis – Ninus). The Zarinaea-story is also instructive, because it is transmitted by Nicolaus of Damascus 114, writing in the Augustan era. He could be one of the missing

107 Gera (1993, 209) claims that the Persica was a “chain of novellas, arranged in chronological order and interspersed into descriptions of lands, customs, battles and the concrete achievements of each noteworthy monarch” (my emphasis). 108 Unquestionably, the Persica as a whole shows also many differences to the Cyropaedia, starting with the very length of the work (23 books about Assyrian, Median and Persian history), through to the depiction of certain characters (e.g. Cyrus’ childhood and uprising). For the different biography of Cyrus in Greek tradition see Gray 2011, 144–157 and Pownall this volume. 109 Llewellyn-Jones & Robson 2010, 71. 110 Ctes. FGrHist 688 F 1b Lenfant (= Diod. 2.5.1–6.10). 111 Ctes. FGrHist 688 F 8c Lenfant (= P.Oxy. 2330), FGrHist 688 F 5: 34, 1–5 Lenfant (= Nic. Damasc. FGrHist 90 F 5); the novelistic episodes in Ctesias were studied by Auberger 1995a, 337–352 and ead. 1995b, 57–73; Madreiter 2012, 53, 115, 118–119; Whitmarsh 2018, 42–43. 112 Rightly stressed by Gera 1993, 201 and Llewellyn-Jones in Llewellyn-Jones & Robson 2010, 72–73. 113 Gera (1993, 200) noted that Panthea, like Semiramis, exercises power on an informal level, arranging an alliance between Cyrus and Abradatas behind the scene. 114 Nic. Damasc. FGrHist 90 F 5.

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links, filling the time gap between Ctesias, Xenophon and Chariton. Only further studies can prove, if Chariton and Xenophon of Ephesus might have known the Zarinaea-story via Nicolaus and if they might have been influenced by it. Novel-like episodes formed an integral part in both works. Xenophon continues here a line of tradition, already pre-formed in Herodotus’ Histories with its anecdotes 115, and extended in the Persica with its (partly short) novels. Xenophon weights these episodes higher than his predecessors and arranges his historiographical theme around them. At the same time, he uses them as historical arguments, subordinated to the main story line. Therefore, the style of Xenophon’s novel-like episodes is prosaic 116 and not as melodramatic as Ctesias’ or later ‘novels’. This is a logical consequence of the intended purpose of the Cyropaedia: Xenophon did not set out to write a novel proper, but a story, deliberately blending historical fact and novella-style. With this, we return to the question of genre. Cyropaedia between ‘Inventive Prose Narrative’ and ‘Historiographic Metafiction’ Especially in the last decade, various scholars have already tried to make sense of a work that obviously eludes modern genre distinctions, especially by weighing up fictive against ‘real’ elements. Depending on what aspect someone considered to be dominating, different evaluations of the Cyropaedia were the result. Bernhard Zimmermann proposed to label the Cyropaedia a “historical novel with biographical traits” 117, because of its similarities with modern historical novels of the 18th/19th century. According to him, the historical novel occupies the middle ground between ‘fiction’ and ‘history’, which can result in the assimilation of literature into historiography. Authors of such novels invent sources, they enrich their works with annotations and furnish them with lengthy introductions with the aim to blind the audience. In this sense, a historical novel is a ‘fictional’ story disguised in historiographical form, often supported by a biographical mode of narration. 118 This is certainly true for parts of the Cyropaedia, but as we have seen, novel-like stories are not its dominant feature, but subordinate to the story line. Other modern terminology laid more emphasis on the fictiveness of the Cyropaedia, like Grammatiki Karla’s designation as “fictional biography”. 119 In my opinion it is doubtful that the ancient audience ever thought of these stories as fictional in the modern

115 Even Thucydides used the stylistic device of orations and dialogues and not only prose descriptions in the third person. 116 Gera (1993, 194) rightly observes that the language of the novel-like episodes is at times poetic and the diction grander than the usual style. 117 Zimmermann 2009, 96. 118 Zimmermann 2009, 101–102. 119 See Karla 2009 or Hodkinson 2010, 11. I think, ‘biography’ is no suitable term for a story that centres only on the formative years of its hero, then concentrates on the events of a single year and suddenly skips to the death of the protagonist.

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sense. In principle, I agree with Tim Whitmarsh to better replace the term with imaginative, because fiction is too restrictive a category, and moreover culture specific. He labels the Cyropaedia an “imaginative prose narrative” 120 instead. The advantage of such a general designation is at the same time its weakness. The term enables to subsume historiographical elements, as well as epical, dramatical or Socratic ones, but neglects that one of these elements clearly dominates: the historiographical. Unfortunately, Xenophon himself gives only vague hints how he categorized his work: Like Chariton in his proem (Call. 1.1), he labels the story of Panthea a πάθος 121 (7.3.6), pointing to its tragic content. In fact, there are some scenes that play with tragic conventions: e.g. the foreshadowing of Abradatas’ death, the messenger-like role of the official, the ambiguous words of Panthea before committing suicide or the chorus of the eunuchs. 122 But these were also signs known from so-called tragic historiography, emerging contemporarily with the Cyropaedia, but pre-shaped by Ctesias, Dinon and others. As mentioned above, the ancients saw a certain affinity between ‘novel’ and historio­ graphy that has to be taken seriously – at least for Xenophon of Athens. In modern scholarship, this close relationship was already seen by Eduard Schwartz, who considered the Cyropaedia as derived from “degenerated historiography”. 123 Bodil Due identified signs of a historiographical method by the repeated use of λέγεται or φασίν and by first person singular or plural comments on issues important to Xenophon. 124 Recently, Melina Tamiolaki has convincingly shown, that his “narratorial comments and the subtle intertextuality of the Cyropaedia with the historiographical tradition” makes clear that Xenophon intended to write a piece of historiography. But what kind of historiography? Despite obvious dependencies on Herodotus and Thucydides, Xenophon owes much to Ctesias of Cnidus 125, be it the topic of Achaemenid-Persian history, the setting of the work, the predilection for Persian customs or the inclusion of novel-like episodes. In my own study on Ctesias’ perception of the Achaemenid dynasty, I proposed to read the Persica as “historiographic metafiction”, 126 a term coined for modern novels that deliberately blend factual and fictive elements in reconstructing the historical setting of the narrative. 127

120 121 122 123 124

Whitmarsh 2008, 2, and 2013, 2 calls it “inventive prose narrative.” This designation is certainly only valid for the Panthea-episode, but not the whole work. Carpa 2009, 37 with details. Schwartz 1896, 45–64. Due 1989, 31 with n. 8. See already Breitenbach 1966, 1713–1714 and recently Whitmarsh 2018, 68–69 with n. 43 and 44. 125 These dependencies have not been studied systematically, yet; but see Gera 1993, 199–215; Llewellyn-Jones & Robson 2010, 68–76; Almagor 2012, 26–27. 126 The term “historiographic metafiction” was coined by Linda Hutcheon in the eighties of the 20th century for “novels whose metafictional self-reflexivity (and intertextuality) renders their implicit claims to historical veracity somewhat problematic, to say the least”; see Hutcheon 1988 and ead. 1989, 3. Nünning (1995, esp. 276, and 2004, 363–364) distinguishes between “metahistorical novel” (see Foley 1986, 25, 186) and explicit or implicit “historiographic (sometimes also referred to as “biographical”) metafiction”. 127 Madreiter 2012, 122–124; Wiesehöfer (2013, 139–140) shows sympathy for such an interpretation.

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Modern authors subsumed under that category like Umberto Eco (especially in The Name of the Rose) rewrite history, taking considerable liberty sometimes inventing characters and events, sometimes parodically inverting the tone and mode of their intertexts, sometimes offering connections where gaps occur in the historical record. 128 They apply a wide ranging ‘toolkit’ of historical techniques to create the illusion of verisimilitude, such as referring to oral or written sources like speeches or letters, providing (allegedly) exact details concerning naming of even minor characters, dating of events, numerical data etc. They also stress personal involvement or eye-witnessness to enhance credibility. 129 At the same time, the “psychic omniscience” of the narrator is one of the clearest markers of deliberate meta-fictionality that is logically ruled out by non-fictional narratives. 130 These strategies result in stories that often disrupt generic expectations of their readers. Not all characteristics of an explicit “historiographic metafiction” can be easily found in Xenophon 131, but many are. Let us start with Xenophon’s claims of authenticity. As mentioned above, Xenophon uses traditional methods of historiographical writing. Besides the use of λέγεται or φασίν, plausibility is also guaranteed by ὡς εἰκός (“as it seems”) or the use of verbs like οἶδα (“I know”, e.g. 8.8.2; 8.27) or μαρτυρέει (“it testifies”, e.g. 8.8.1; 8.27). Xenophon also stresses that he tells the truth (ἀληθῆ) 132 and that his opinion can be proven right: “If anyone has an opinion contrary to mine, let him examine (ἐπισκοπῶν) the facts relating to them and he will find that they testify (μαρτυροῦντα) to what I have said.” 133 Already in the proem, he points to the difficulties of acquiring material about his long deceased hero: “We set ourselves to inquire what his parentage (was) … all we could learn from others about him or felt we might infer for ourselves, we will endeavor to relate.” 134 He refers to external sources, but does not comment, what he thinks is the right version. In this way Xenophon implicitly disclaims to have narratorial omniscience (similar to Plutarch 135), but the Cyropaedia has many examples where he lets his reader know the thoughts or feelings of his characters. 136 This so-called internal focalization is a fiction128 129 130 131 132

Hutcheon 1989, 3. Also observed for ancient ‘fiction’, see Hodkinson 2010, 11; de Temmerman 2016, 24. Hodkinson 2010, 16–32. Especially the omission of statements about Xenophon’s self-reflexivity on his role as historian. E.g. Cyr. 8.8.2: ὡς δ᾽ ἀληθῆ λέγω ἄρξομαι διδάσκων ἐκ τῶν θείων, “that I speak the truth I shall demonstrate beginning from …” 133 Cyr. 8, 8.27: εἰ δέ τις τἀναντία ἐμοὶ γιγνώσκοι, τὰ ἔργα αὐτῶν ἐπισκοπῶν εὑρήσει αὐτὰ μαρτυροῦντα τοῖς ἐμοῖς λόγοις. 134 Xen. Cyr. 1.1.6: ἡμεῖς μὲν δὴ ὡς ἄξιον ὄντα θαυμάζεσθαι τοῦτον τὸν ἄνδρα ἐσκεψάμεθα … ὅσα οὖν καὶ ἐπυθόμεθα καὶ ᾐσθῆσθαι δοκοῦμεν περὶ αὐτοῦ, ταῦτα πειρασόμεθα διηγήσασθαι. 135 See the examples from Plutarch studied by Hodkinson 2010, 18–19; he suggests that Plutarch is actively disclaiming the kind of psychic abilities appropriate to a novel’s narrator because of his historical pretensions. 136 Xen. Cyr. 1.4.18. “When Cyrus saw the rest marching out with all speed, he put on his armour then for the first time … this was an opportunity that he had thought would never come – so eager was he to don his arms” [my emphases], cf. Cyr. 1.4.15, 20 and 24 (where the narrator reports Astyages’ thoughts), see Hodkinson 2010, 22–23; feelings: Araspas “perceived” (αἰσθανόμενος) in 5.1.18;

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alizing act that enables him to switch from an external, bird-eye’s perspective into the thoughts of his characters and back again. Even for his ancient readers it must have been clear that Xenophon could not have been able to have known dialogues held between two persons in private (μόνος μόνῳ ἔλεξεν 6.1.36) two hundred years ago. Against the expectations of his readership (that knew e.g. the annalistic Hellenica), Xenophon avoids establishing a chronological framework for his central narrative, sometimes placing chronologically separate events together. 137 Although exact chronological markers are missing, “there is throughout a sense of chronological succession, not least through the constant growth of Cyrus’ empire.” 138 Xenophon’s technique to select from available facts about Persians at the same time excluding others is another fictionalizing act. He arranges or configurates these records, making stories out of mere chronicles. 139 Against the expectation of his readers, he follows historical facts marginally and cursory: Xenophon adapts his Cyrus, pre-shaped by Herodotus and Ctesias, 140 omits certain details, rewrites his childhood, gives him a different death-scene, and subordinates older anecdotes to the theme of leadership. Moreover, he characterizes other (alleged) historical persons freely, when he (at least partly) invents family members and friends of Cyrus, e.g. Panthea and Abradatas. 141 Typical for historiographic metafictions, he uses characters with historical names but refuses to let historical tradition determine his story: Xenophon’s readers might have expected an image of Persia as pre-shaped by Herodotus, Aeschylus, Xanthus and Ctesias, an exotic Oriental despotic monarchy, often full of cruelty, revenge and intrigue. Instead readers got a “harmonious extended family, with young Cyrus as the beloved prince moving between Persian puritanism and Median liberty, assimilating and storing for the future the best of both cultures.” 142 Xenophon is ingeniously filling gaps and spaces of indeterminacy in the sources. With that, he provokes the critical involvement with the text, when characters act against Greek current norms or (alleged) traditional Oriental behaviour. Panthea, for example, is a strong and moderate Oriental woman, who is an active recruiter of allies, Cyrus is an ideal king, beloved by his subjects etc. But why did Xenophon choose Persia as the setting for his story? If we consider Xenophon to be a forerunner of the later ‘novelists’, we would have to suppose that Persia or Persian motives were subordinated under the narration, that Persia serves to create an oriental flavour only, that the Achaemenid king and court should simply mark a kind of exoticism intended to entertain the readers. Contrarily, the Achaemenid empire and the

137 138 139 140 141 142

Panthea rejects Araspas, “because she loved him (her husband) very much” (6.1.32: ἐφίλει γὰρ αὐτὸν ἰσχυρῶς). Stadter 1991, 472; Tamiolaki 2017, 182–183. Hägg 2012a, 54. Another typical element of modern historiographic metafictions, Nünning 1995, 63 and id. 2004, 364. Gray 2011, 144–157; see also the contribution of Pownall in this volume. Similarly to Ctesias, he includes names of characters of his own time and projects them back into the past. Hägg 2012a, 65.

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Iranian setting of the Cyropaedia are not arbitrary. 143 During his long sojourn in Persia, Xenophon had acquired first-hand information about the empire, which he had already treated in the Anabasis, the Oeconomicus and other works. In his late work, he could re-use this collected information and re-write factual history. Because of his reputation as ‘serious’ historian in the Greek world, his readers would have expected another historical account from him – the more surprising it must have been that he did not do so. We may conclude that Xenophon played with their expectations by deciding, how to depict Persia. Contrarily to modern understandings of a historiographic metafiction, that provides its readers with as many details as possible to appear reliable, the remarkable vagueness in time and space in the Cyropaedia is a marker of fictionality. Xenophon’s readers could expect from him first-hand knowledge about Persian geography, ethnography and history. The deliberate omission must have been irritating for his readers. Their expectations were answered in such moments, when Xenophon bypassed chronological distance to appear as historian by referring to issues that were valid “even still today” (ἔτι καὶ νῦν 144). As a historian he felt the need to exactly describe the monument for Panthea’s eunuchs (7.3.15) that was still visible in his own days: καὶ νῦν τὸ μνῆμα μέχρι τοῦ νῦν τῶν εὐνούχων κεχῶσθαι λέγεται: καὶ ἐπὶ μὲν τῇ ἄνω στήλῃ τοῦ ἀνδρὸς καὶ τῆς γυναικὸς ἐπιγεγράφθαι φασὶ τὰ ὀνόματα, Σύρια γράμματα, κάτω δὲ εἶναι τρεῖς λέγουσι στήλας καὶ ἐπιγεγράφθαι “σκηπτούχων.” [my emphases] “And now even to this day, it is said, the monument of the eunuchs is still standing; and they say that the names of the husband and wife are inscribed in Assyrian letters upon the slab above; and below, it is said, are three slabs with the inscription ‘the mace-bearers’.” [my emphases] In this case, Xenophon pretends to have a good source, but in fact it is only hear-say (φασί), although he has mentioned the staff- or mace-bearers already in the Anabasis. 145 To give so many details is not necessary for the story, so they serve as signs of fictiveness and part of his strategy of legitimization. Xenophon’s readers might have accepted his Cyrus as historical at least long enough to be absorbed by the story, 146 but the fictionalizing signs might have made them suspecting the historicity of some of the account. Xenophon used many devices to make us believe 143 Pace Tuplin (2013, 75), who points to the role of Persia in the Oeconomicus; see also Vlassopoulos (2017, 360–375) on the textualization of intercultural encounters in the Xenophontic oeuvre. On Persian elements see also the contribution of Degen in this volume. 144 e.g. Xen. Cyr. 1.1.4; 1.2.1; 1.2.16; 1.3.2; 2.4.20; 3.2.24; 3.3.26; 4.2.1; 4.2.8; 4.3.2; 4.3.23; 6.2.10; 7.1.4; 7.1.45 (bis); 7.1.46; 7.1.47; 7.3.15; 8.6.14 et al. Whitmarsh (2018, 68) observes that the proleptic references reach a peak in the earlier part of the eighth book, where half of the instances (eighteen out of thirty-six) cluster; see also n. 43 for a full list of references. 145 Xen. Anab. 1.6.11. The term σκηπτούχος denotes apparently court officials, bearing a ‘staff’ of office, mentioned again 8.1.38 and 8.3.15. 146 Pace Hägg 2012a, 65.

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and at the same time disbelieve his work: sometimes by deliberate omission or vagueness, sometimes by overwhelming details. Even until today, this leaves his readers somehow irritated, but is proof of his literary ingeniousness. Conclusion ‘Novel’ in antiquity apparently occupied a loosely defined space. As an open literary form, that used freely bricks from other genres, it was usually defined by analogy with other genres. Ancient names were drawn from theatrical literature or stressed the effect of a ‘novel’. The existence of so many different terms such as drama, hypothesis, kōmōdia, plasma, syngramma, syntagma, logos or argumentum indicates an absence of a strict genre-consciousness. Some ancient ‘novelists’ even wanted to appear as historians. They skilfully ‘played’ Xenophon but had no real intention to write a ‘serious’ historical work. This is, in my view, the main difference to Xenophon of Athens. Moreover, the time gap of 350 years and the loose similarities between the stories make it difficult to draw a direct line from Cyropaedia to the later ‘novel’. In my eyes, Xenophon has more in common with a special kind of historiography that emerged with Ctesias of Cnidus and culminated in Duris of Samos or Phylarchus. These authors also included novel-like episodes and shared a similar emphasis on the feelings or thoughts of their characters. Because of the affinity to Ctesias, I propose to read the Cyropaedia as historiographic metafiction. Xenophon consciously plays with fact and fiction, on the one hand using strategies to enhance credibility as a historian, on the other hand defamiliarizing certain aspects of Persian history that must have appeared fictive to his audience. In general, modern genre distinctions are too static to provide a meaningful instrument for defining what Cyropaedia is or is not. The Cyropaedia (as well as Ctesias’ Persica) is an example for the hybridization of forms. Therefore, it is impossible to stratify either into authentically distinct Greek or Near Eastern layers. What counts more, is the “dynamic creation of something new from the hybrid.” 147 Like Ctesias, Xenophon eludes modern genre-categorization. Would it be best then to refrain from such categories at all? I would answer in the affirmative, but scholarly discourse needs a common ground for discussion. I agree with Melina Tamiolaki 148 that it is important to note, which aspects dominate the Cyropaedia and which aspects are less important overall: Her analysis revealed, that Xenophon sees his work clearly as historiography, albeit of a special kind. 149 The fictionalizing elements prove that he intended the Cyropaedia to be an inventive narrative with historical claim. Of importance was the image, but not the reality of ‘true’ history.

147 Whitmarsh 2013, 12. 148 Tamiolaki 2017, 182–184. 149 Tamiolaki (2017, 189) calls it a “historiography of Socratic type”.

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Wiesehöfer, J. 2013. ‘Ctesias, the Achaemenid Court, and the History of the Greek Novel’, in: T. Whitmarsh & S. Thomson (eds.), The Romance between Greece and the East, Cambridge, 127–141. Zimmermann, B. 1989. ‘Roman und Enkomion: Xenophons “Erziehung des Kyros”’, Würzburger Jahrbücher für die Altertumswissenschaft 15, 97–105. —. 2009. ‘The Historical Novel in the Greek World: Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, in: G. A. Karla (ed.), Fiction on the Fringe. Novelistic Writing in the Post-Classical Age (Mnemosyne – Supplements 310), Leiden & Boston, 95–103.

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Cyrus and Socrates: Two Models on an Equal Footing? Louis-André Dorion (Montréal)

Although the many cross-references (thematic, literary, argumentative, etc.) between the Cyropaedia and the Memorabilia have been studied in depth, 1 few studies have compared the characters of Cyrus and Socrates, 2 both of whom are clearly among Xenophon’s preferred philosophical exemplars. Xenophon portrays both of them as exemplary men and as role models, and he considers both of them worthy mouthpieces for his key philo­ sophical positions and ideas. This raises the issue of whether Xenophon considers that Cyrus and Socrates are equally good models, or if one of them is superior to the other. Before directly addressing this issue in section 3 of this paper, let me first deal with two other issues: in section 1 I will consider whether Cyrus as portrayed in the Cyropaedia meets the criteria of the ideal leader provided by Socrates in the Memorabilia; in section 2 I will identify the main common character traits of Xenophon’s portraits of Socrates and Cyrus. This will then make it possible to determine in section 3 which character, Socrates or Cyrus, is for Xenophon the superior role model, and why. 1. Cyrus, Socratic leader? In Mem. 1.1.11–16 Xenophon reports that Socrates turned away from the study of nature and became exclusively interested in human affairs; he also mentions that among the issues that now interested Socrates were the following: what is human government (τί ἀρχὴ ἀνθρώπων, 1.1.16) and what is the ability to govern humans (τί ἀρχικὸς ἀνθρώπων, 1.1.16). 3 These two questions are the last in a list of questions on the nature of different virtues (piety, justice, moderation, courage) and correspond to one of the most recurring concerns in Xenophon’s political thought, namely the question of political leadership. 1 See Hutoy 1935 and Gera 1993, chapter 2 (“Socrates in Persia”, p. 26–131). 2 See Azoulay 2009. 3 Humble (2017, 586) rightly observes, with regard to the same passage of the Memorabilia: “It is notable […] that exploration of ‘what a statesman is, what rule of men is, what makes one capable of ruling men,’ that is of leadership in all its manifestations, is not only prominent in Xenophon’s Socratic works but also pervades his non-Socratic works.”

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Xenophon tells us why he is particularly interested in this question at the very beginning of the Cyropaedia (1.1.1–6): because, of all living beings, humans are the most difficult to govern, people with a talent for leadership and for obtaining obedience will be rare and exceptional. In the Memorabilia, Socrates often discusses human government and the components of good leadership; 4 the Memorabilia also contain two occurrences of the expression βασιλικὴ τέχνη (“royal art”), 5 by which Socrates means the art of governing. Socrates often discusses good leadership in the Memorabilia, but he offers very few examples of men who embody the ideal of the basilikê tekhnê. The only one of his direct interlocutors who is explicitly said to embody this ideal is Charmides, 6 who is surprised to hear Socrates tell him this (3.7.1–9). The others are historical or literary figures, and the reasons are less clear: Pericles (2.6.13) and Themistocles (2.6.13, 4.2.2) are said to be competent leaders, but Socrates only alludes to them in passing and does not provide a detailed description of their virtues; Agamemnon is also said to be a good king (3.2.1–2), so he could perhaps also count as a leader who embodies the basilikê tekhnê. These characters from the Memorabilia are not the only ones Socrates recognizes as good leaders. Socrates also praises Cyrus the Younger in an interesting passage from the Oeconomicus (4.18–19). 7 The fact that this passage is anachronistic – Socrates could not have known Cyrus the Younger – shows, if further proof were needed, that Socrates is voicing Xenophon’s own judgment of Cyrus the Younger. But what would the Socrates from the Memorabilia have made of the other Cyrus, the one from the Cyropaedia? One could object that there are no grounds for expecting that a character from Xenophon’s Cyropaedia, a work that does not even belong to his Socratic corpus, can embody the Socratic ideal of the good leader as set out in the Memorabilia. I don’t think this a serious objection: because the virtues and skills that define good leadership according to Xenophon do not vary significantly from one work to another, it makes perfect sense to ask whether the Cyrus from the Cyropaedia meets the Memorabilia’s criteria of competent leadership of men (ἀρχικὸς ἀνθρώπων), or whether the Cyrus from the Cyropaedia harbours the qualities and virtues constitutive of the basilikê tekhnê as explained in the Memorabilia. Let’s begin with self-control (enkrateia). Since it is the very foundation of the basilikê tekhnê, as well as of all virtue (Mem. 1.5.4), enkrateia is required of the ruler and of everyone else. Socrates insists again and again in the Memorabilia that those who hold political power must have enkrateia, 8 and since Xenophon emphasizes Cyrus’ enkrateia

4 See especially 2.1, 3.1–7, 4.2. 5 See 2.1.17, 4.2.11. These are the only two occurrences of this expression in Xenophon’s work. 6 Socrates also recognizes, in Mem. 3.4, the competence of a character (Antisthenes) who has just been elected to the position of general (stratêgos), but this unknown character – not to be confused with the disciple of Socrates of the same name – never talks with Socrates. 7 See in particular the beginning of 4.18: “Yes, and if Cyrus had only lived, it seems that he would surely have proved an excellent ruler (ἄριστος ἂν δοκεῖ ἄρχων γενέσθαι). One of the many proofs that he has given of this (καὶ τούτου τεκμήρια ἄλλα τε πολλὰ παρέσχηται) […].” All translations of Xenophon cited in this paper are taken from the Loeb edition. 8 See Mem. 1.5.1, 2.1, 4.5.10–12.

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several times, 9 it seems that Cyrus meets the Socratic criteria of self-control. It’s worth quoting the Cyropaedia 8.1.37 in full: “From all that has been said, therefore, it is evident that he believed that no one had any right to rule who was not better than his subjects; and it is evident, too, that in thus drilling (ἀσκῶν) those about him he himself got his own best training both in temperance and in the arts and pursuits of war (ἀυτὸς ἐξεπόνει καὶ τὴν ἐγκράτειαν καὶ τὰς πολεμικὰς τέχνας καὶ [τὰς] μελέτας).” 10 No one can claim the right to rule others if he is not superior to those under his command. To ensure this superiority, training in enkrateia is as necessary as training in the arts of war. Cyrus’ position on enkrateia, which he puts into practice and exemplifies, is perfectly in line with Socrates’ teaching. Also, it makes sense that, in the above excerpt, training in enkrateia is mentioned right before the arts and works of war. Since enkrateia is, according to Socrates, the necessary condition of all learning, 11 it is tempting to read the sequence “training in enkrateia by Cyrus and application to the arts and works of war” as confirming the need for training enkrateia before devoting oneself to learning a particular skill. At the beginning of Book 4 of the Memorabilia, Xenophon tells us how Socrates recognizes the “good natures” and how he understood their functions (4.1.2): ᾿Ετεκμαίρετο δὲ τὰς ἀγαθὰς φύσεις ἐκ τοῦ ταχύ τε μανθάνειν οἷς προσέχοιεν καὶ μνημονεύειν ἃ μάθοιεν καὶ ἐπιθυμεῖν τῶν μαθημάτων πάντων δι᾿ ὧν ἔστιν οἰκίαν τε καλῶς οἰκεῖν καὶ πόλιν καὶ τὸ ὅλον ἀνθρώποις τε καὶ τοῖς ἀνθρωπίνοις πράγμασιν εὖ χρῆσθαι· τοὺς γὰρ τοιούτους ἡγεῖτο παιδευθέντας οὐκ ἂν μόνον αὐτούς τε εὐδαίμονας εἶναι καὶ τοὺς ἑαυτῶν οἴκους καλῶς οἰκεῖν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλους ἀνθρώπους καὶ πόλεις δύνασθαι εὐδαίμονας ποιεῖν. “These excellent beings he recognized by their quickness to learn whatever subject they studied, ability to remember what they learned, and desire for every kind of knowledge on which depend good management of a household and state and tactful dealing with people and people’s affairs. For education would make such beings not only happy in themselves and successful in the management of their households, but capable of conferring happiness on other people and states alike.” The “good natures” (τὰς ἀγαθὰς φύσεις) have an eminently political vocation since they excel, firstly, in managing people and human affairs well, and, secondly, in ensuring the prosperity of the city, the latter being, according to Socrates, one of the main responsibilities of the political leader. 12 Xenophon does not provide an example of anyone who meets 9 See 7.5.75–76, 8.1.32, 8.1.37, 8.8.15. 10 Cyr. 8.1.37. 11 See Mem. 4.5.6. 12 See Mem. 3.6.2, 3.6.4, 3.6.6, 3.7.2, Smp. 8.38.

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the Socratic requirements of a good nature, but it is possible to determine whether Cyrus meets these criteria. The most recognizable traits of a good nature have to do with learning: he desires to learn; he is a quick study; and has a good memory. 13 Cyrus undoubtedly possesses these three characteristic traits of a good nature: he is so eager to learn 14 that Xenophon calls him φιλομαθέστατος (Cyr. 1.2.1); and he is a quick study. 15 Xenophon does not explicitly mention Cyrus’ good memory, but it can be inferred from the fact that he systematically applies each one of Cambyses’ recommendations (see below). The good natures with these traits excel at managing men (ἀνθρώποις … εὖ χρῆσθαι) and at ensuring their prosperity and that of the city; Cyrus also meets these criteria. He knows how to be obeyed by all (Cyr. 1.1.1–6) and how to surround himself with competent men and get the most out of them in order to attain his goals, all of which shows that he is an incomparable leader. The same is true for the prosperity of his empire: he knows how to ensure his own prosperity, that of his friends, and that of the men who live in all the territories he governs. We can also apply to Cyrus another criterion of good nature taken from a passage from Book 4 of the Memorabilia. Just as animals with good natures can do nothing if they have not been trained or tamed in the right way, so men with a good nature need a good education in order for their natural talents to fulfill their promises (4.1.4): ῾Ομοίως δὲ καὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων τοὺς εὐφυεστάτους, ἐρρωμενεστάτους τε ταῖς ψυχαῖς ὄντας καὶ ἐξεργαστικωτάτους ὧν ἂν ἐγχειρῶσι, παιδευθέντας μὲν καὶ μαθόντας ἃ δεῖ πράττειν, ἀρίστους τε καὶ ὠφελιμωτάτους γίγνεσθαι· πλεῖστα γὰρ καὶ μέγιστα ἀγαθὰ ἐργάζεσθαι. “It is the same with human beings. The most highly gifted, the youths of ardent soul, capable of doing whatever they attempt, if educated and taught their duty grow into excellent and useful men; for manifold and great are their good deeds.”

13 Socrates himself is a good nature because he has all three qualities. In the Apology (6), he fears that old age will make him a slower learner and more forgetful of what he has learned (καὶ δυσμαθέστερον εἶναι καὶ ὧν ἔμαθον ἐπιλησμονέστερον; see also the parallel passage of Mem. 4.8.8). His desire to learn is confirmed by another passage from the Apology (16): “And why wouldn’t anyone with good reason call me a sage man (σοφὸν), who from the time when I began to understand spoken words have never stopped seeking after and learning every good thing I could (οὐπώποτε διέλειπον καὶ ζητῶν καὶ μανθάνων ὅ τι ἐδυνάμην ἀγαθόν)?” 14 See Cyr. 1.2.1, 1.4.3, 1.4.8. 15 See Cyr. 1.3.1: “and he showed himself superior to all the other boys of his age both in mastering his tasks quickly (εἰς τὸ ταχὺ μανθάνειν ἃ δέοι) and in doing everything in a thorough and manly fashion”.

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This description fits Cyrus; and the link with Cyrus seems fully justified in light of the following passage, taken from the beginning of the Cyropaedia: “Believing this man to be deserving of all admiration (ὡς ἄξιον ὄντα θαυμάζεσθαι τοῦτον τὸν ἄνδρα), we have therefore investigated who he was in his origin, what natural endowments he possessed (ποίαν τινὰ φύσιν ἔχων), and what sort of education he had enjoyed (ποίᾳ τινὶ παιδευθεὶς παιδείᾳ), that he so greatly excelled in governing men (τοσοῦτον διήνεγκεν εἰς τὸ ἄρχειν ἀνθρώπων).” 16 In order to determine if Cyrus excels in the art of leadership, Xenophon proposes to examine not just his “nature”, but also the kind of education he received. We have seen that, soon after this passage, Xenophon clarifies the qualities that attest to Cyrus’ “good nature;” but he also insists, in the first chapters of the Cyropaedia, on Cyrus’ education, 17 which he considers the reason Cyrus will become an unparalleled leader. In Book 3 of the Memorabilia, Socrates talks with some politically ambitious interlocutors who either are about to run for the office of magistrate (3.1, 3.4, 3.6) or who have just been elected to the position (3.2, 3.3, 3.5). Even though the office of magistrate is elective, the position is not a purely civilian one since its main responsibilities are military (general, cavalry commander, etc.). In the course of these discussions, Socrates lectures his interlocutors and urges them to acquire without delay the skills essential to perform their duties; and since these magistrates have military responsibilities, Socrates displays his wide-ranging knowledge and understanding of military matters and the art of leadership. Socrates’ situation in regard to his interlocutors is thus analogous to that of Cambyses in regard to his son Cyrus when the former exposes to the latter the outline of the art of command and the qualities of a good commander. In fact, there is so much overlap between the Cyropaedia (1.6) and the Memorabilia (book 3) that commentators have wondered which of these two texts was written first. For reasons I have explained elsewhere, 18 this question is of little interest, not just because it seems insoluble to me but also because the two texts do not present significant doctrinal differences, so their chronology is of little or no import. It is quite easy to show that Cyrus embodies, illustrates and exemplifies, in the rest of the Cyropaedia, the very same qualities, skills and duties that Cambyses has explained to him. 19 And since Cambyses’ teaching is essentially in line with Socrates’ own teaching on the art of governing, it can be concluded that Cyrus is a Socratic leader in the sense that he embodies and illustrates the qualities Socrates believes the good ruler must possess. For the sake of clarity and efficiency, it seems useful to present in tabular form the considerable overlap between Cambyses’ presentation on the art of governing and Socrates’ teaching on the same subject. 16 Cyr. 1.1.6. 17 See Cyr. 1.2 et 1.6. 18 See Dorion & Bandini 2011, 60 n.1. 19 See Gera 1993, 72: “Indeed, Xenophon devotes much of the following book of the Cyropaedia to illustrating how Cyrus goes about putting his father’s advice into practice, point by point.”

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Cambyses

Socrates

Illustration by Cyrus

The leader must be pious

1.6.1–6

Mem. 4.3.1–2

1.5.6, 1.5.14, 2.1.1, 2.4.18, 3.3.20–22, 3.3.34, 3.3.57, etc.

The leader must provide what is necessary for his soldiers and provide for their needs

1.6.9–11, 1.6.18

Mem. 3.1.6, 3.2.1, 3.4.2

2.1.21, 3.3.1, 3.3.23, 4.2.34–37, 4.5.17, 4.5.57, 5.1.6–7, 5.5.48

The leader’s speeches must be persuasive

1.6.10

Mem. 3.3.11

1.4.12, 2.1.19, 5.4.50

The leader must take care of the health of his soldiers

1.6.12, 1.6.15–18

Mem. 3.2.1

2.1.29, 5.4.17–18, 6.1.24

The leader must inspire zeal and ardour

1.6.13, 1.6.19

Mem. 3.3.7, 4.2.17

2.1.11, 2.1.13, 2.1.20, 2.1.24, 3.3.12, 3.3.37–39, 3.3.49–51, 5.3.47–48, 6.2.4–6, 7.1.18

The leader must obtain obedience

1.6.13, 1.6.20–23

Mem. 3.3.8–9, 3.4.8, 3.5.5, 3.5.18, 3.9.11

1.1.1–6, 2.2.10, 2.3.8, 5.1.24–25, 8.1.1–5

The leader must learn from renowned specialists in the art of warfare

1.6.14

Mem. 3.5.22–23

1.6.15

The leader must be a hard worker

1.6.18

Mem. 3.1.6

Passim

The leader must be loved by his subordinates

1.6.24–25

Mem. 2.6.13

8.2.26

The leader must be able to withstand heat, cold and fatigue (ponos)

1.6.25, 1.2.10

Mem. 2.1.6, 3.1.6

1.5.1, 2.3.13–14, 3.1.41, 3.3.8, 8.1.36, 8.8.15

The leader must know how to trick, deceive, conceal

1.6.27

Mem. 3.1.6, 4.2.15–19

2.4.15–17, 3.1.19, 3.3.25, 5.4.20, 7.4.4

In view of the considerable overlap between the Cyropaedia and the Memorabilia with regard to the qualities, virtues, skills, and duties of the good leader, there is little doubt that Cyrus is the exact counterpart of the “king” Socrates portrays in the Memorabilia

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and in whom he places his high hopes. 20 Cyrus is thus a “Socratic” leader in the sense that he meets the criteria set out by the character of Socrates in Xenophon’s Socratic writings, 21 but certainly not in the sense that he embodies the qualities and aptitudes that the historical Socrates would have advocated. Since nothing is known of the teachings of the historical Socrates on the theme of the good ruler, all indications are that Xenophon is lending both Cyrus and Socrates his own views on the criteria of good leadership. 22 By calling Cyrus a “Socratic” leader, I am well aware that I am opening myself up to criticism from those who claim that Xenophon is in fact distancing himself from Cyrus and that, in spite of all the textual evidence to the contrary, he doesn’t really consider Cyrus to be the archetypal flawless leader. This is a typical example of the kind of “ironic” reading introduced by Leo Strauss that has influenced, directly or indirectly, many of the supporters of this position.  23 This is the case, for example, of P. Carlier (2010), who considers that the rapid decline of the Persian Empire immediately following Cyrus’ death is a veiled criticism of the latter. 24 In my opinion, this is not the best reading of the text: the end of the Cyropaedia is best read as the ultimate confirmation of Cyrus’ unparalleled leadership; since a leader’s personal qualities have a direct impact on the welfare of the entire community, 25 the rapid decline of the empire and the degeneration of morals immediately following Cyrus’ death is in fact irrefutable proof of his exceptional leadership qualities. 26 20 See Mem. 3.9.10: “Kings and rulers (βασιλεῖς δὲ καὶ ἄρχοντας), he said, are not those who hold the scepter, nor those who are chosen by the multitude, nor those on whom the lot falls, nor those who owe their power to force or deception; but those who know how to rule (ἀλλὰ τοὺς ἐπισταμένους ἄρχειν).” 21 Xenophon is not the only Socratic who is interested in the character of Cyrus and his ability to command. Antisthenes dedicated two writings to Cyrus (see D.L. 6.16), but the preserved fragments do not allow for any reconstitution (see Prince 2015, 144–146). As for Plato, his judgment of Cyrus is rather harsh (see Lg. III 694c and “La responsabilité de Cyrus dans le déclin de l’empire perse selon Platon et Xénophon”, in Dorion 2013, 393–412). 22 As I will explain at the end of section 2, I doubt that Xenophon would lend Cambyses any teaching he might have received from Socrates. 23 On the Straussian interpretations of the Cyropaedia, see in this volume Melina Tamiolaki’s study. 24 Carlier 2010, 364 n.67: “the contrast between Cyrus’ hopes and the decline that followed his death proceed from the author’s deliberate intention: Xenophon wished that the reader smile at Cyrus’ expense.” 25 See Cyr. 8.8.5: “For, whatever the character of the rulers is (ὁποῖοί τινες γὰρ ἂν οἱ προστάται ὦσι), such also that of the people under them for the most part becomes (τοιοῦτοι καὶ οἱ ὑπ᾽ αὐτοὺς ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ γίγνονται)” (see also Cyr. 8.1.8). The same idea is expressed again at the beginning of the Poroi: “For my part I have always held that the constitution of a state reflects the character of the leading politicians (Ἐγὼ μὲν τοῦτο ἀεί ποτε νομίζω, ὁποῖοί τινες ἂν οἱ προστάται ὦσι, τοιαύτας καὶ τὰς πολιτείας γίγνεσθαι).” The causal link between the virtues of the ruler and those of the community is very clearly expressed in these two texts by the succession of the verbs “to be” (ὦσι) and “to become” (γίγνονται, γίγνεσθαι): such are the leaders, such become the peoples. 26 I summarize here in broad terms the conclusions of a previous study (see ‘La responsabilité de Cyrus dans le déclin de l’empire perse selon Platon et Xénophon’, in Dorion 2013, 393–412). See also Azoulay (2004, 437–438), whose analysis is in line with mine: “L’autorité naît et meurt avec les hommes. Certes, tant que l’individu exceptionnel garantit et maintient l’ordre par sa présence,

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Among the reasons that lead some commentators to believe that “Cyrus’ portrait is not wholly unambiguous” 27 is that “Cyrus is often depicted as cunning, manipulative, and even deceptive”, 28 as if his cunning, manipulation and deception were compelling reasons for believing that Xenophon could not consider him an archetypal flawless leader. Trickery, manipulation, and deception may be morally wrong for us, but that does not entail that Xenophon and Socrates considered them wrong. Since Cambyses (Cyr. 1.6.27) and Socrates (Mem. 3.1.6, 4.2.15–19) maintain that the military leader must be capable of cunning, concealment and deception, we are not justified in considering that Cyrus cannot be, in the eyes of Xenophon, an ideal leader; on the contrary, his use of cunning, concealment and deception shows that he satisfies one of the criteria of the ideal leader. I cannot, within the framework of the present study, explain in a more detailed manner why some commentators are reluctant to accept that Cyrus satisfies Xenophon’s criteria of the leader par excellence; 29 so I will limit myself to expressing my agreement with those who have no reluctance to support that view. 30 2. Cyrus and Socrates, Xenophon’s Philosophical Paragon The impression that Xenophon uses Socrates and Cyrus to express his conception of leadership – using the former as a spokesman and the latter mainly as a model – is reinforced by the fact that the overlap between Socrates and Cyrus is not limited to Xenophon’s views on good leadership. If it can be shown that Socrates and Cyrus defend the same ideas on several subjects not directly related to the art of command, it will be further proof that Xenophon uses these two characters as mouthpieces for his own ideas. And in fact, Cyrus and Socrates do voice many identical positions in Xenophon’s works 31, and in a very wide range of subjects, including virtue in general, justice, friendship, pleasure, diet, brotherly love, physical exercise, etc. I cannot, within the framework of the present study, give a detailed analysis of all the issues about which Cyrus and Socrates are in perfect agreement. But since there is so much overlap, it cannot be a mere coincidence; on the contrary, it is much more reasonable to assume that Xenophon systematically has his main characters

27 28 29 30 31

l’harmonie peut prévaloir  ; mais à la mort de l’homme providentiel, le système révèle toute sa fragilité.” In the conclusion of his book (2004), Azoulay clearly demonstrates that “Xénophon ne cesse de recourir à ce type d’explication paradoxale : la décadence provient toujours de la défaillance, temporaire ou définitive, de l’homme exceptionnel, sans que les échecs puissent lui être rétroactivement attribués.” Tamiolaki 2017, 190. Tamiolaki (2017, 190) reports the opinion of some commentators and does not entirely subscribe to it. The question of whether or not Cyrus can be considered an ideal leader divides the interpreters of the Cyropaedia. The main positions are very well presented by Tamiolaki 2017, 189–193. See, among others, Due 1989, 147–184 (“The Ideal Leader”); Gray 2011, 246–290. Tamiolaki 2012, 582 n.73: “It is astonishing how Socrates’ ideas in the Memorabilia match Cyrus’ words in the Cyropaedia.”

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express those ideas and thoughts that are most dear to him in a wide range of fields. I will limit my analysis to a selection of the most significant similarities on different topics. – Cyrus (Cyr. 1.5.12) and Socrates (Mem. 1.3.5) consider that hunger can be the main course (ὄψον) of a meal, i.e. that hunger can paradoxically provide as much pleasure as the main course. This idea is not just common to Cyrus and Socrates, it is also expressed in almost identical terms, as if Xenophon was saying exactly the same thing through two different characters. The pleasure of eating does not come from the refinement of the food but from satisfying a need, in this case hunger: eating the simplest of foods can thus provide an intense pleasure if only you wait until you are hungry. – Cyrus (Cyr. 7.5.81) and Socrates (Mem. 4.5.9) argue that enduring hunger, thirst and fatigue are the true causes of the pleasure of eating, drinking and sleeping. – Cyrus (Cyr. 1.6.17) and Socrates (Mem. 1.2.4, 1.3.6) never over-eat and believe that moderate exercise after meals can promote digestion and health. – Cyrus (Cyr. 1.6.6) and Socrates (Mem. 1.1.6–9) consider it unholy to ask the gods for success in tasks and functions for which one does not have the required competence. – Cyrus (Cyr. 2.2.12) and Socrates (Mem. 1.7) both condemn imposture (ἀλαζονεία) and impostors (ἀλαζόνες). Imposture consists in knowingly attributing to oneself knowledge that one knows one does not possess. – Cyrus (Cyr. 2.2.24) and Socrates (Mem. 2.1.20) compare the path that leads to virtue to a difficult and steep road. – Cyrus (Cyr. 1.6.8, 7.5.74) and Socrates (Mem. 2.1.20) praise effort (πόνος) and denounce laziness (ῥᾳδιουργία). – Cyrus (Cyr. 8.1.12, 8.1.39) and Socrates (Mem. 1.2.17–18) consider that in order to lead others to virtue, one must embody it oneself. – Cyrus (Cyr. 3.3.39) and Socrates (Mem. 1.5.6, 4.4.10) consider, with respect to virtue, that action (ἔργον) is superior to speech (λόγος): it is better and more convincing to be a virtuous man than to talk about virtue. – Cyrus (Cyr. 1.3.17) and Socrates (Mem. 4.4.11) consider that justice consists in compliance with the law (νόμιμον). – When asked what is the good of putting up with hunger, thirst and effort, Cyrus gives the following justification: “But if any one is revolving in his mind any such question as this (Εἰ δέ τις τοιαῦτα ἐννοεῖται) – ‘of what earthly use it is to us to have attained to the goal of our ambitions if we still have to endure hunger and thirst, toil and care (εἰ ἔτι δεήσει καρτερεῖν καὶ πεινῶντας καὶ διψῶντας καὶ πονοῦντας καὶ ἐπιμελουμένους)’ – he must take this lesson to heart: that good things (τἀγαθά) bring the greater pleasure (μᾶλλον εὐφραίνει), in proportion to the toil one undergoes beforehand (μᾶλλον προπονήσας)

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to attain them; for toil gives a relish to good things; and nothing, however sumptuously prepared, could give pleasure unless a man gets it when he needs it.” 32 It is quite remarkable that Cyrus’ answer to an anonymous objector is exactly the same as Socrates’ answer to Aristippus, who presents the same objection as Cyrus’ anonymous interlocutor: “[Aristippus] But how about those who are trained in the art of kingship (οἱ εἰς τὴν βασιλικὴν τέχνην παιδευόμενοι), Socrates, which you appear to identify with happiness (ἣν δοκεῖς μοι σὺ νομίζειν εὐδαιμονίαν εἶναι)? How are they better off than those whose sufferings are compulsory, if they must bear hunger, thirst, cold, sleeplessness, and endure all these tortures willingly (εἴ γε πεινήσουσι καὶ διψήσουσι καὶ ῥιγώσουσι καὶ ἀγρυπνήσουσι καὶ τἆλλα πάντα μοχθήσουσιν ἑκόντες)? […] – [Socrates] Ηe who endures willingly enjoys his work because he is comforted by hope (ἐπ᾿ ἀγαθῇ ἐλπίδι πονῶν εὐφραίνεται); hunters, for instance, toil gladly in hope of game. Rewards like these are indeed of little worth after all the toil (τῶν πόνων); but what of those who toil (τοὺς δὲ πονοῦντας) to win good friends, or to subdue enemies, or to make themselves capable in body and soul of managing their own homes well, of helping their friends and serving their country (καὶ τὴν πατρίδα εὐεργετῶσι)? Surely these toil gladly for such prizes and live a joyous life, well content with themselves, praised and envied by everyone else (ἐπαινουμένους δὲ καὶ ζηλουμένους ὑπὸ τῶν ἄλλων)?” 33 There are striking similarities between these two texts. Cyrus and Socrates argue in support of the same position in response to an objector who questions the usefulness of voluntarily enduring thirst, hunger and pain (πόνος); and the many advantages described by Socrates – to subdue enemies, to be the benefactor of his friends and the country, to be an object of praise – are precisely those gained by Cyrus as the result, among others things, of his καρτερία. – Cyrus (Cyr. 1.5.9, 2.2.24, 4.2.39, 8.1.32) and Socrates (Mem. 4.5.10) condemn the “immediate pleasures,” that is, the pleasures of the present moment that are offered to us and to which we yield without resistance, thus demonstrating a lack of self-control. This condemnation of immediate pleasures is not a form of anti-hedonism since Cyrus and Socrates consider that not giving in to the pleasures of the moment favours access to deferred greater pleasures. – Cyrus (Cyr. 5.1.21) and Socrates (Mem. 2.2.2–3) consider that ingratitude (the failure to show gratitude [χάρις] for a benefit received) is an injustice. – Cyrus (Cyr. 8.2.2) and Socrates (Mem. 2.6.35, 3.11.17) use the metaphor of hunting when discussing how they make new friends.

32 Cyr. 7.5.80. 33 Mem. 2.1.17–19.

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– Cyrus (Cyr. 8.7.13) and Socrates (Mem. 2.6.9–10; 3.11.11) consider that we do not make friends by using force but by providing benefits. – Cyrus (Cyr. 8.4.36) and Socrates (Mem. 2.6.23) consider that friends should share their possessions and that this community of possessions has many advantages, including promoting mutual aid and eliminating opportunities for envy. – Cyrus (Cyr. 8.7.15–17) and Socrates (Mem. 2.3.18–19) urge the brothers to respect the φιλία that must prevail among them and that was willed by the gods. Brothers who respect this philia benefit in many ways. – Cyrus (Cyr. 2.1.28) and Socrates (Mem. 2.3.4) observe that animals that have been fed together feel regret for each other when they are separated. – Cyrus (Cyr. 6.3.25) and Socrates (Mem. 3.1.7) compare a well-ordered army to a wellbuilt house. – Cyrus (Cyr. 8.7.17) and Socrates (Mem. 1.4.9, 4.3.14) argue that the soul is invisible but is revealed through its actions. – Cyrus (Cyr. 8.7.22) and Socrates (Mem. 4.3.13) consider that the gods keep the order of the universe safe from wear and tear and aging. Their position is not just identical, it is expressed in the same terms. “[Socrates] and especially the one (sc. god) who coordinates and holds together the universe (καὶ ὁ τὸν ὅλον κόσμον συντάττων τε καὶ συνέχων), in which all things are fair and good, and presents them ever unimpaired and sound and ageless for our use (καὶ ἀεὶ μὲν χρωμένοις ἀτριβῆ τε καὶ ὑγιῆ καὶ ἀγήρατον παρέχων), and quicker than thought to serve us unerringly (ἀναμαρτήτως) […].” (Mem. 4.3.13) “[Cyrus] […] then at least fear the gods, eternal, allseeing, omnipotent, who keep this ordered universe together, unimpaired, ageless, unerring (οἳ καὶ τήνδε τὴν τῶν ὅλων τάξιν συνέχουσιν ἀτριβῆ καὶ ἀγήρατον καὶ ἀναμάρτητον) […].” (Cyr. 8.7.22) In addition to these parallels, there is a passage where Xenophon has Cyrus making statements about the soul that one would expect from Socrates, but which are absent from Xenophon’s Socratic writings. As death approaches, Cyrus speaks to his children and shares with them his belief that the soul does not perish with the body and is thus immortal (8.7.17–21). Although Socrates is convinced of the divine character of the soul, 34 he never takes a stand on the question of its immortality. We also have to take into account the parallel passages where a position expressed by Cyrus is identical to a position found in the Memorabilia that is expressed by Xenophon himself and not by Socrates. This is the case, for example, of two important parallels concerning virtue. In the first case, Cyrus (Cyr. 7.5.70–71, 7.5.75–76) and Xenophon (Mem. 1.2.19–23) both argue that virtue must be constantly practiced otherwise it risks being

34 See Mem. 1.4.8–9, 4.3.14.

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lost. 35 Virtue is never acquired once and for all, which is why maintaining virtue requires constant practice. In the second case, Cyrus (Cyr. 7.5.86) and Xenophon (Mem. 1.2.1–2) agree that the person who embodies virtue is an exceptional exemplar since anyone who is a paragon of virtue also has the power to protect those who imitate him from the risk of acquiring a vice. In other words, if you keep company with a person who is a paragon of virtue – like Cyrus and Socrates 36 – and if you strive to imitate him, it is impossible for you to become vicious. 37 The fact that Xenophon attributes to Cyrus the very same moral positions that he endorses when speaking in his own name demonstrates, if further proof were necessary, that Cyrus is one of his privileged spokesmen. In view of all these parallel passages – and my list is not meant to be exhaustive – one has to wonder whether Xenophon also has Cyrus hold opinions and doctrines that stem from Socrates, so that, in a way, Cyrus would also be a “Socratic” character. In her very interesting chapter on the parallels between the Cyropaedia and Xenophon’s Socratic writings, D. Gera (1993) states that elements of Cyropaedia (not only ideas or doctrines, but also forms of argumentation) reflect a “Socratic influence”. 38 Although she does not support the thesis that the Memorabilia was written before the Cyropaedia (1993, 63), the very fact of qualifying as “Socratic” elements of the Cyropaedia inevitably suggests that Xenophon projected on to the Cyropaedia and on to the character of Cyrus memories and recollections of Socrates, even though the Memorabilia had not yet been written. Admittedly, at the beginning of her chapter entitled “Socrates in Persia”, Gera makes the following important point: “It should perhaps be stressed at the outset that our chief concern here is with Socrates as he is portrayed by Xenophon, without entering into the question of his relation to the actual, historical figure of Socrates” (1993, 26 n.1). But it is not enough to say, as if it were a magic formula, that we do not want to meddle with the Socratic question, as if the mere fact of asserting this makes one immune from the problems this question raises. Gera’s position seems to me methodologically untenable, unless one wishes to argue that Xenophon wrote the Memorabilia before the Cyropaedia. If the Memorabilia does precede the Cyropaedia, it becomes possible to find traces in the

35 See Cyr. 7.5.70 (τὴν τῆς ἀρετῆς ἄσκησιν), 7.5.77 (ἀσκεῖν τὴν ἀρετὴν), Mem. 1.2.20 (ἄσκησιν τῆς ἀρετῆς), 1.2.23 (Πάντα μὲν οὖν ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ τὰ καλὰ καὶ τἀγαθὰ ἀσκητὰ εἶναι, οὐχ ἥκιστα δὲ σωφροσύνη). 36 See below, section 3. 37 Xenophon recognizes Agesilaus as having the same type of exemplarity: “If line and rule are a noble discovery of man as aids to the production of good work, I think that the virtue of Agesilaus may well stand as a noble example for those to follow who wish to make moral goodness a habit (καλὸν ἄν μοι δοκεῖ [εἶναι] ἡ Ἀγησιλάου ἀρετὴ παράδειγμα γενέσθαι τοῖς ἀνδραγαθίαν ἀσκεῖν βουλομένοις). For who that imitates a pious, a just, a sober, a self-controlled man, can come to be unrighteous, unjust, violent, wanton (τίς γὰρ ἂν ἢ θεοσεβῆ μιμούμενος ἀνόσιος γένοιτο ἢ δίκαιον ἄδικος ἢ σώφρονα ὑβριστἠς ἢ ἐγκρατῆ ἀκρατής;)?” (Ag. 10.2) 38 See in particular pp. 27, 28, 49 and 51, where Gera (1993) explicitly uses the expression “Socratic influence”.

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Cyropaedia of elements that recall 39 identical elements in the Memorabilia, hence the “Socratic influence”, strictly limited to the Socrates of Xenophon that interest Gera. But if we do nοt take a stand on the relative chronology of the Memorabilia and the Cyropaedia, then one should not argue, as Gera does, that the “Socratic” elements of the Cyropaedia only refer to Xenophon’s Socrates, because, if Xenophon did write the Memorabilia after the Cyropaedia, the “Socratic influence” then has to refer to Xenophon’s personal recollections of the historical Socrates. Thus, Gera’s position inevitably reopens the Socratic question and raises the possibility that the “Socratic” elements of the Cyropaedia could come from the historical Socrates. On the hypothesis that Xenophon has not yet written the Memorabilia at the time of writing the Cyropaedia, it would be necessary to trace back to the historical Socrates those elements and forms of argumentation that Gera describes as “Socratic”. And this amounts to reopening the Pandora’s box that is the Socratic question; and let’s say, for argument’s sake, that we could prove that some of the elements considered “Socratic” are nowhere to be found in Plato, will we then conclude that Xenophon is a more faithful witness than Plato? And wouldn’t it be strange to consider that the Cyropaedia is a first-hand witness of the historical Socrates? For reasons I have developed at length elsewhere, 40 I consider it more prudent to put the Socratic question in brackets and to practice methodological epokhê. How then can we account for the many parallels between Socrates and Cyrus, between the Memorabilia and the Cyropaedia? Insofar as the Socratic question is insoluble and we are powerless to determine, in Xenophon’s portrait of Socrates, what is historical and what is fictional, it seems to me more prudent to limit ourselves to identifying the overlaps without seeking to identify their historical source. The very fact that Xenophon lends to other characters some of the traits that are common to Socrates and Cyrus suggests that Xenophon generously lends to all his favourite characters the virtues, qualities and skills he considers essential to the good leader. 41 Why would Xenophon have projected on to Cyrus and Agesilaus the virtues and skills whose importance he had learned from Socrates? Is it not more likely, and also more reasonable, to think that Xenophon has projected on all his models, including Socrates, 42 the virtues, qualities and skills that he considers, on the basis of his own experience, essential to the good leader? 39 Gera often states that an element of the Cyropaedia is “reminiscent” of the Memorabilia (cf. 1993, 95, 101, 106, 107). This expression is misleading because it implies that the Memorabilia precedes the Cyropaedia. 40 See Dorion 2011. 41 For example, Agesilaus also shows enkrateia (Ag. 5.1–2, 10.2), karteria (5.2–3, 11.10) and is, like Cyrus and Socrates (see below, section 3), a model of virtue for other men (10.2). See also Tamiolaki 2017, 189: “Some basic qualities are shared by all (or almost all) Xenophontic leaders: they are pious, benevolent, ingenious in military matters, capable of gaining the willing obedience of their followers; they valorize toil, orderliness, self-control, and temperance.” 42 In the note that accompanies his translation of Cyr. 8.7.22, Delebecque (1978, 147 n.1) writes: “Socrate parle de même dans les Mem. IV, 3, 13. Beaucoup d’idées de Cyrus et de Socrate sont en réalité de Xénophon; il n’empêche qu’il a été l’élève de Socrate.” This note betrays a deep hesitation between two explanations to account for the convergences between Socrates and Cyrus. After

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Although the parallels between Socrates and Cyrus could suggest that Cyrus is the only character in the Cyropaedia who shares positions with Socrates, this is far from being the case. As we have seen in section 1, Cambyses’ teaching to his son in 1.6 offers many overlaps with Socrates’ teaching in Book 3 of the Memorabilia. Cambyses (Cyr. 1.6.23, 1.6.45– 46) also shares with Socrates (Mem. 1.1.9, 4.7.10) a very elaborate conception of human knowledge (ἀνθρωπίνη σοφία) and of its scope. In Book 7, the unfortunate Croesus learns at his own expense the nature of self-knowledge (7.2.20) and his understanding of it corresponds exactly to Socrates’ position in the Memorabilia (4.2.25–29). And one of the most striking evocations of Socrates in the Cyropaedia is found in Book 3, when Xenophon introduces a sophist (σοφιστήν τινα, 3.1.14) whose fate and words bring to mind those of Socrates. Tigranes’ father put this sophist to death under the alleged grounds that he was corrupting (διαφθείρειν, 3.1.38) his son by securing for himself the affection his son should have reserved for his father. This not just reminds us of the trial brought against Socrates for corruption of the young, the remarks made by this sophist, at the time of his death, could also have been made by Socrates: “Be not angry with your father, Tigranes, for putting me to death; for he does it, not from any spirit of malice, but from ignorance (ἀλλ᾽ ἀγνοίᾳ), and when men do wrong from ignorance, I believe they do it quite unwittingly (ὁπόσα δὲ ἀγνοίᾳ ἄνθρωποι ἐξαμαρτάνουσι, πάντ᾽ ἀκούσια ταῦτ᾽ ἔγωγε νομίζω).” (Cyr. 3.1.38) This passage is remarkable because it refers to a famous Socratic paradox – no one does harm willingly – that is surprisingly absent from Xenophon’s Memorabilia and all his other Socratic writings. We see that Cyrus does not have a monopoly on the overlapping elements with Socrates; but of all the characters in the Cyropaedia, he still remains the one who has the most in common with Socrates. According to Tamiolaki, “this convergence of ideas should not always be interpreted as a confirmation of Cyrus’ portrait as an ideal leader: rather it should be treated as a proof that Xenophon’s leaders are somewhat overwhelmed by Xenophon’s ideas” (2012, 582 n.73). For my part, I have no qualms arguing that the convergence of ideas between Socrates and Cyrus in Xenophon’s writings demonstrates that, for Xenophon, Cyrus is an ideal leader, and that Xenophon transposes his personal ideals of leadership to the leaders he presents as role models. If Xenophon did not consider Cyrus to be an ideal leader, why would he make him the spokesperson for several key ideas that he also lent to Socrates?

having rightly pointed out that it is Xenophon who lends his own ideas to Socrates and Cyrus, Delebecque retreats by recalling that Xenophon was Socrates’ disciple, which clearly suggests that the latter is the inspiration for Xenophon’s ideas.

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3. Comparison of the Virtues of Socrates and Cyrus Given their similarities, Cyrus and Socrates are clearly among Xenophon’s preferred philosophical exemplars. And since they hold the same positions on many topics, it is tempting to believe they are interchangeable. But does Xenophon really think of Cyrus and Socrates as equals? This question is all the more thought-provoking because Cyrus and Socrates embody two very different, and even opposite, kinds of life: Cyrus is the military and political leader par excellence, whilst Socrates abstained from politics 43 and is the very embodiment of the philosophical life. Now, Xenophon may well have been a disciple of Socrates, but the kind of life he led, his life-long interests, and the recurrent themes in his writings, all this seems to bring him closer to Cyrus than to Socrates. But this first impression may end up being overturned upon further analysis. In section (1) we examined whether Cyrus embodies the talents of a man who, according to Socrates, excels at leadership (arkhikos); in section (2), we drew a list of the main traits common to Cyrus and Socrates; in the present section, I will compare both men directly, i.e. I will examine the common virtues of Cyrus and Socrates and determine if there are any virtues one character embodies better than the other, and if one character embodies certain virtues the other does not. Let’s begin with some traits that contribute to strengthening the links between Cyrus and Socrates. Each of these traits is common to Cyrus and Socrates, and they possess each of them equally: – Cyrus (Cyr. 1.2.1, 1.4.1, 1.4.1, 4.2.10, 8.2.1, 8.4.7–8, 8.7.25) and Socrates (Mem. 1.2.60) both display philanthropia. – Xenophon describes both Cyrus (Cyr.1.3.1) and Socrates (Mem. 1.2.18) as “fine and good men” (καλοὶ κἀγαθοί). – Both Cyrus (Cyr. 1.4.12, 5.4.50) and Socrates (Mem. 1.2.14, 4.6.15) have great persuasive skills. – Cyrus (Cyr. 1.5.1) and Socrates (Mem. 4.4.1) are obedient to their superiors. – Xenophon uses the same terms to express the capacity, shared by Cyrus and Socrates, for having fun all while being serious (ἔπαιζον σπουδῇ, Cyr. 6.1.6; ἔπαιζεν ἅμα σπουδάζων, Mem. 1.3.8). 44

43 See Mem. 1.6.15 and Dorion 2013, 171–193 (“Socrate et la politique : les raisons de son abstention selon Platon et Xénophon”). One thing is certain: Socrates’ refusal to engage in politics is not due to the fact that he would not possess the virtues of the ideal leader. On the contrary, as Tamiolaki recalls (2012, 580), “scholars point out that Socrates embodies all the virtues of an ideal leader.” Socrates could not teach the basilikê tekhnê if he did not himself possess the science of good government. But since he abstains from politics, Socrates is only a “virtual leader,” as Tamiolaki rightly says (2012, 580). 44 See also Cyr. 2.2.11 and Mem. 4.1.1.

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– Cyrus (Cyr. 8.4.18–20) and Socrates (Smp. 3.10, 4.56–60) are such experts in the art of forging bonds between men that they are “matchmakers” 45 of men who, unbeknownst to each other, are perfectly suited to each other. – Cyrus (Cyr. 8.7.6) and Socrates (Mem. 4.8.8; Apol. 6 and 9) both died before old age and before they could experience any physical decline. Cyrus (Cyr. 8.7.6) and Socrates (Mem. 4.8.11) died happy. – Cyrus and Socrates are paragons of virtue: they are models that make it possible for others, by dint of imitation, to attain virtue. Since Xenophon considers that virtue is acquired through training, 46 it is essential that men who train for virtue have before them an example of a man who embodies virtue and can thus be the role model of virtue. It seems to me quite remarkable that, using the same language and the same expressions, Xenophon describes Cyrus and Socrates as paragons of virtue who knowingly set themselves up as an example for those around them. Socrates is such a perfect embodiment of the archetype that his example alone is enough to make his companions hope that, by imitation, they may become just like him. “[…] but I find that all teachers show their disciples (πάντας δὲ τοὺς διδάσκοντας ὁρῶ αὑτοὺς δεικνύντας τε τοῖς μανθάνουσιν) how they themselves practice what they teach, and persuade them by argument. And I know that it was so with Socrates: he showed his companions that he was a gentleman himself (οἶδα δὲ καὶ Σωκράτην δεικνύντα τοῖς ξυνοῦσιν ἑαυτὸν καλὸν κἀγαθὸν ὄντα), and talked most excellently of goodness and of all things that concern human life.” (Mem. 1.2.17–18) The master is not content to show something, he must also “show himself” (αὑτοὺς δεικνύντας, δεικνύντα … ἑαυτόν), that is, he must show that he himself is and does what he demonstrates by argument to his disciples. In the Memorabilia, Xenophon repeatedly emphasizes that a vital responsibility of every master, and most notably Socrates, is to show others, by setting himself up as an example and by performing certain actions, that he embodies the virtues he wishes to transmit to his students. 47 Given that Xenophon uses the same expression (ἑαυτὸν ἐπιδεικνύειν) to describe Cyrus’ exemplarity, it seems that he is, no less than Socrates, a role model of virtue: “Thus, then, he dealt with those who failed to attend at court. But in those who did present themselves he believed that he could in no way more effectively inspire a desire for the beautiful and the good (ἐνόμισε μάλιστ’ ἂν ἐπὶ τὰ καλὰ καὶ ἀγαθὰ ἐπαίρειν) than by endeavouring, as their sovereign, to set before his subjects a 45 Xenophon does not explicitly say, as he does for Socrates, that Cyrus is a “matchmaker” (μαστροπός), but when Cyrus declares himself an expert in an art (πάνυ γὰρ, ἔφη, δεινός εἰμι ταύτην τὴν τέχνην, 8.4.18), it is the art of matchmaking (μαστροπεία). 46 See Mem. 1.2.23. 47 See Mem. 1.3.1 (δεικνύων ἑαυτὸν), 1.5.6 (ἑαυτὸν ἐπεδείκνυεν), 4.4.1 (ἀλλὰ καὶ ἔργῳ ἀπεδείκνυτο), 4.4.10 (ἀλλ᾿ ἔργῳ ἀποδείκνυμαι).

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perfect model of virtue in his own person (εἰ αὐτὸς ἑαυτὸν ἐπιδεικνύειν πειρῷτο τοῖς ἀρχομένοις πάντων μάλιστα κεκοσμημένον τῇ ἀρετῇ).” 48 “In this conviction, he showed himself (ἐπεδείκνυεν ἑαυτόν) in the first place more devout (μᾶλλον ἐκπονοῦντα) in his worship of the gods, now that he was more fortunate. […] In this respect, therefore, the rest of the Persians also imitated him (ἐμιμοῦντο αὐτὸν καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι Πέρσαι) from the first; for they believed that they would be more sure of good fortune if they revered the gods just as he did who was their sovereign and the most fortunate of all; and they thought also that in doing this they would please Cyrus.” 49 “And by making his own self-control an example (καὶ σωφροσύνην δ’ αὑτοῦ ἐπιδεικνὺς), he disposed all to practise that virtue more diligently (μᾶλλον ἐποίει καὶ ταύτην πάντας ἀσκεῖν). For when the weaker members of society see that one who is in a position where he may indulge himself to excess is still under self-control, they naturally strive all the more not to be found guilty of any excessive indulgence.” 50 “The result of all this constant training (διὰ τὴν ἀεὶ μελέτην) was that he and his associates greatly excelled in all manly exercises. Such an example did he furnish by his own personal conduct (παράδειγμα μὲν δὴ τοιοῦτον ἑαυτὸν παρεῖχετο).” 51 Cyrus is thus, just as much as Socrates, a paragon of virtue whose role is to be a model for others to imitate. Given that the presence of a paragon of virtue is for Xenophon an essential condition of virtue acquisition, we can see that Cyrus has been given a most vital role. Since Socrates and Cyrus are equals in respect to all the above qualities and skills, these common traits cannot help us answer our present question, that of Cyrus’ possible moral superiority to Socrates, or vice versa. However, there is one passage from the Memorabilia that may help to settle the issue of who, of Socrates or Cyrus, is the superior philosophical exemplar. At the beginning of Mem. 1.2, Xenophon defends Socrates against the accusation of corruption of the young in the following way: “No less wonderful is it to me that some were convinced that Socrates corrupted the young men. In the first place, apart from what I have said, in control of his lusts and appetite he was the strongest of all men (πάντων ἀνθρώπων ἐγκρατέστατος ἦν); further, in endurance of cold and heat and every kind of toil he was most resolute (καρτερικώτατος); and besides, his needs were so schooled to moderation that having very little he was yet very content (ὥστε πάνυ μικρὰ κεκτημένος πάνυ ῥᾳδίως ἔχειν ἀρκοῦντα).” (1.2.1) 48 49 50 51

Cyr. 8.1.21. Cyr. 8.1.23. Cyr. 8.1.30. Cyr. 8.1.39. See also Cyr. 3.3.39, 3.3.55, 4.5.58, 6.4.20, 7.5.86, 8.1.12, 8.1.27, 8.6.10, 8.6.13.

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Xenophon uses superlatives when he ascribes to Socrates the two virtues that are at the heart of his ethics: self-control (enkrateia) for bodily pleasures and endurance (karteria) for physical pain. All of Xenophon’s heroes have the virtues of enkrateia and karteria, including Cyrus, 52 but Socrates is the only one to whom Xenophon ascribes these virtues using superlatives. Should we take these superlatives seriously, or cum grano salis, as if they were only hyperboles that Xenophon uses in an apologetic context? A closer comparison between Socrates’ enkrateia and that of Cyrus reveals that the use of the superlative must be taken seriously. For it seems, in the light of one episode reported in the Cyropaedia, that Cyrus’ enkrateia for women is inferior to that of Socrates. 53 In Book 5 of the Cyropaedia, Araspas praises Panthea’s great beauty and invites his friend Cyrus to visit her so that he can see her great beauty for himself: “[Araspas] And then we had vision of most of her face and vision of her neck and arms. And let me tell you, Cyrus, said he, it seemed to me, as it did to all the rest who saw her, that there never was so beautiful a woman of mortal birth in Asia (μήπω φῦναι μηδὲ γενέσθαι γυναῖκα ἀπὸ θνητῶν τοιαύτην ἐν τῇ Ἀσίᾳ). But, he added, you must by all means see her for yourself. – No, by Zeus, said Cyrus; and all the less, if she is as beautiful as you say (εἰ τοιαύτη ἐστὶν οἵαν σὺ λέγεις). – Why so?, asked the young man. – Because, said he, if now I have heard from you that she is beautiful and am inclined just by your account of her to go and gaze on her (πεισθήσομαι ἐλθεῖν θεασόμενος), when I have no time to spare, I am afraid that she will herself much more readily persuade me to come again to gaze on her (δέδοικα μὴ πολὺ θᾶττον ἐκείνη με αὖθις ἀναπείσῃ καὶ πάλιν ἐλθεῖν θεασόμενον). And in consequence of that I might sit there, in neglect of my duties (ἂν ἀμελήσας ὧν με δεῖ πράττειν), idly gazing upon her.” 54 Cyrus refuses to see Panthea because he does not believe he can resist the temptation of her charms; he fears that she will persuade him to see her again and that he will then dawdle the day away in contemplation of her, which would prevent him from carrying out his responsibilities. We can see that, at least in this regard, Socrates is clearly the superior philosophical exemplar by comparing this episode of the Cyropaedia with the dialogue between Socrates and the courtesan Theodote in the Memorabilia (3.11). Just as Araspas had praised Panthea’s unparalleled beauty to Cyrus, so someone informs Socrates that a woman of great beauty has come to town, a woman whose beauty is said to be beyond expression (κρεῖττον λόγου, 3.11.1). Rather than refusing to see her for fear of being bewitched by her beauty, Socrates immediately responds: “We had better go and see her (᾿Ιτέον ἂν εἴη θεασομένους), cried Socrates; of course what beggars description (τὸ λόγου κρεῖττον) can’t 52 See above, section 1. 53 I agree here with Danzig’s analysis (2010, 171–173) of Socrates’ enkrateia compared to Cyrus’ as far as women are concerned. 54 Cyr. 5.1.7–8.

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very well be learned by hearsay” (3.11.1). Is Socrates’ eagerness to visit a very beautiful woman betray a form of presumptuousness or of recklessness? Not at all. As the rest of the dialogue shows, Socrates reverses the roles: it is not he who is seduced and bewitched by Theodote’s beauty, it is she who falls under the spell of Socrates’ speech, so that the woman’s famed beauty is not, whatever one may say, superior to the logos. At the end of the dialogue, Theodote tries in vain to convince Socrates to come back to see her (3.11.15– 18). So, in identical contexts, Socrates’ enkrateia is shown to be superior to Cyrus’ since, on the one hand, he does not refuse to see a woman whose unparalleled beauty is praised to him and, on the other hand, he does not fear he will be persuaded by her to go back to see her and thus neglect his duties. 55 Let’s return to the passage from Mem. 1.2.1. The three virtues attributed to Socrates in this passage are enkrateia, karteria and autarkeia. There is no doubt, as we saw in section 1, that Cyrus has the first two, enkrateia and karteria. But does he also have the third one, autarkeia? Before answering this question, I would like to emphasize that autarkeia is not just any virtue, it is the virtue that enables man to approximate the divinity: ῎Εοικας, ὦ ᾿Αντιφῶν, τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν οἰομένῳ τρυφὴν καὶ πολυτέλειαν εἶναι· ἐγὼ δὲ νομίζω τὸ μὲν μηδενὸς δέεσθαι θεῖον εἶναι, τὸ δ᾿ ὡς ἐλαχίστων ἐγγυτάτω τοῦ θείου, καὶ τὸ μὲν θεῖον κράτιστον, τὸ δ᾿ ἐγγυτάτω τοῦ θείου ἐγγυτάτω τοῦ κρατίστου. “You seem, Antiphon, to imagine that happiness consists in luxury and extravagance. But my belief is that to have no wants is godlike; to have as few as possible comes next to the godlike; and as that which is godlike is supreme, so that which approaches nearest to its nature is nearest to the supreme.” 56 To the extent that Socrates is self-sufficient 57 and strives to ensure that his followers are also self-sufficient, 58 he seems closer to the divine (ἐγγυτάτω τοῦ θείου) than any other man. What then of Cyrus? Xenophon never explicitly says that Cyrus is self-sufficient, 59 but he implies it, in a rather paradoxical way, in an interesting passage of the Cyropaedia where Cyrus says the following to Croesus:

55 According to Tamiolaki (2012, 572 n.34), “Cyrus embodies more virtues than even Socrates. But the superiority of Socrates is qualitative rather than quantitative.” Unfortunately, Tamiolaki does not provide an example of a virtue embodied by Cyrus but not by Socrates. Although she does not explicitly mention it, the case of enkrateia supports Tamiolaki’s position with respect to Socrates’ “qualitative” superiority. 56 Mem. 1.6.10. 57 See Mem. 1.2.14, 4.8.11. 58 See Mem. 4.7.1. In the Symposium (4.43), Antisthenes acknowledges that he owes his autarkeia to Socrates. 59 The mere occurrence of the term αὐταρκής in Cyropaedia (4.3.4) does not aim to recognize Cyrus’ self-sufficiency.

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“And one more thing I must tell you: even I cannot eradicate from myself that passion for wealth (τούτου μὲν οὐδ᾽ αὐτὸς δύναμαι περιγενέσθαι) which the gods have put into the human soul and by which they have made us all poor alike (ὃ μὲν οἱ θεοὶ δόντες εἰς τὰς ψυχὰς τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἐποίησαν ὁμοίως πάντας πένητας), but I, too, am as insatiate of wealth as other people are (ἀλλ᾽ εἰμὶ ἄπληστος κἀγὼ ὥσπερ οἱ ἄλλοι χρημάτων). [21] However, I think I am different from most people, in that others, when they have acquired more than a sufficiency (οἱ μὲν ἐπειδὰν τῶν ἀρκούντων περιττὰ κτήσωνται), bury some of their treasure and allow some to decay, and some they weary themselves with counting, measuring, weighing, airing, and watching; and though they have so much at home, they never eat more than they can hold, for they would burst if they did, and they never wear more than they can carry, for they would be suffocated if they did; they only find their superfluous treasure a burden (ἀλλὰ τὰ περιττὰ χρήματα πράγματα ἔχουσιν). [22] But I follow the leading of the gods and am always grasping after more (Ἐγὼ δ᾽ ὑπηρετῶ μὲν τοῖς θεοῖς καὶ ὀρέγομαι ἀεὶ πλειόνων). But when I have obtained what I see is more than enough for my needs (ἐπειδὰν δὲ κτήσωμαι, ἃ ἂν ἴδω περιττὰ ὄντα τῶν ἐμοὶ ἀρκούντων), I use it to satisfy the wants of my friends (τούτοις τάς τ᾽ ἐνδείας τῶν φίλων ἐξαρκοῦμαι); and by enriching men and doing them kindnesses I win with my superfluous wealth their friendship and loyalty […].” 60 This passage is most interesting for our purposes and warrants a close reading. The gods have put in the human soul a passion for wealth that has the effect of making each and every man equally poor because everyone is condemned to desire more than they presently possess, so that they will always possess less than their heart’s desires, thus their poverty. By admitting to this devouring passion that the gods have instilled in the human soul, Cyrus makes a shocking revelation: he admits to being unable to conquer this particular passion and recognizes his unquenchable desire for wealth (ἀλλ᾽ εἰμὶ ἄπληστος κἀγὼ ὥσπερ οἱ ἄλλοι χρημάτων, §20). This insatiability is confirmed by the revelation of 8.2.22: he is the faithful servant of the gods precisely because he always desires more (ἐγὼ δ᾽ ὑπηρετῶ μὲν τοῖς θεοῖς καὶ ὀρέγομαι ἀεὶ πλειόνων); in other words, since the gods endowed the human soul with an insatiable desire for more, those who cultivate this unquenchable desire are in so doing submitting to the divine will. Before commenting on the rest of the text, let me focus on Cyrus’ statements and compare them with another text from Xenophon, a passage from the Symposium (4.34) where Antisthenes claims that poverty and wealth dwell in men’s souls. Whilst Cyrus presents poverty as a fatality that affects all men because of the devouring passion that the gods have lodged in their souls, Antisthenes argues instead that man can be poor or rich, depending on whether he has learned, or not, to restrict his desires. He who does not desire beyond his needs will be rich, while he who is never satisfied with what he has will inevitably be poor because his desires will always exceed his property. So, contrary to what 60 Cyr. 8.2.20–22.

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Cyrus argues, poverty is not a fatality of divine origin. Far from considering himself poor, and even though he does not even have an obole (Smp. 3.8), Antisthenes considers himself rich and is proud of this form of wealth (Smp. 3.8, 4.34). And since he owes this type of wealth to Socrates (Smp. 4.43), he is grateful to him. In fact, Socrates considers himself rich, 61 not because he is, like Cyrus (Cyr. 8.2.17–19), wealthy by the wealth of his friends, but because he lacks nothing and his modest means are enough to satisfy his needs. It seems unimaginable to me that Socrates would endorse Cyrus’ claim that the gods are responsible for the overwhelming poverty that affects man; and it seems equally impossible that he would make a claim comparable to that of Cyrus, namely that he has an insatiable desire for wealth and that he is a servant of the gods by virtue of always desiring more. Quite the contrary, Socrates endeavours to curb his desires and his needs and it is precisely this asceticism that allows him to approximate the gods. From this point of view, there is an unbridgeable gulf between Socrates and Cyrus. Does this mean that Xenophon denies that Cyrus is self-sufficient and asserts that Socrates is? A close reading of the full passage of the Cyropaedia (8.2.20–22) quoted above shows that Cyrus is in possession of a particular type of autarkeia since he has no problems satisfying his needs. Although Cyrus is just like any other man in his unappeasable desire for wealth, he is different in that he does not hoard the unnecessary, that is, he does not stockpile more than what is sufficient for his needs. 62 He uses this surplus to satisfy his friends’ needs (τούτοις τάς τ᾽ ἐνδείας τῶν φίλων ἐξαρκοῦμαι, §22). However, according to the main dialogue of the Memorabilia on friendship, it is the self-sufficient man who can help his friends in need (2.6.2). So it does seem that Cyrus’ autarkeia should be recognized, although it is never explicitly stated. Does this mean that Cyrus and Socrates are on the equal footing and that the self-sufficiency of the former is equal to that of the latter? I don’t think so. Cyrus’ autarkeia is of a purely material and human sort since it consists in a type of material abundance that enables him to provide for himself and to bring relief to his friends. Socrates is also self-sufficient in material terms 63 and can also help his friends; the difference is that he doesn’t help his friends by satisfying their material needs but by providing advice that will bring them to become self-sufficient. 64 However, Socrates’ autarkeia is also of a different nature since it can be said to be “divine”: it is this virtue that brings him in proximity to the divine. Because of this, Socrates’ autarkeia seems superior to Cyrus’.

61 See Oec. 2.2: “If you mean to include me, I certainly think I have no need of more money and am rich enough (ἀλλ᾽ ἱκανῶς πλουτεῖν).” 62 The distinction between the sufficient (τὰ ἀρκοῦντα) and the superfluous (τὰ περιττά) is made twice in Cyropaedia’s quoted text (8.2.20–22): once when Xenophon sets out what most men do with the superfluous (οἱ μὲν ἐπειδὰν τῶν ἀρκούντων περιττὰ κτήσωνται, 8.2.21) and a second time when he opposes to this way of doing things the way Cyrus manages the share of his goods that exceed the satisfaction of his needs (ἐπειδὰν δὲ κτήσωμαι, ἃ ἂν ἴδω περιττὰ ὄντα τῶν ἐμοὶ ἀρκούντων, 8.2.22). 63 See Mem. 1.2.1, 1.3.5. 64 See Mem. 2.7–10.

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Xenophon depicts Cyrus and Socrates as pious men and highlights their acts of piety (sacrifices, prayers, divination, etc.) several times. 65 It may be difficult to determine which of the two is superior to the other in terms of piety; but it may be possible to determine who is most favoured by the gods. Judging by this passage at the end of the Cyropaedia, shortly before his death (8.7.28), Cyrus seems to have been greatly favoured by the gods: “Accordingly, he at once took victims and offered sacrifice in the high places to ancestral Zeus, to Helius, and to the rest of the gods, even as the Persians are wont to make sacrifice; and as he sacrificed, he prayed, saying: ‘O ancestral Zeus and Helius and all the gods, accept these offerings as tokens of gratitude for help in achieving many glorious enterprises; for in omens in the sacrifice, in signs from heaven, in flight of birds, and in ominous words, ye ever showed me what I ought to do and what I ought not to do (καὶ χαριστήρια ὅτι ἐσημήνατέ μοι καὶ ἐν ἱεροῖς καὶ ἐν οὐρανίοις σημείοις καὶ ἐν οἰωνοῖς καὶ ἐν φήμαις ἅ τ᾽ ἐχρῆν ποιεῖν καὶ ἃ οὐκ ἐχρῆν). And I render heartfelt thanks to you that I have never failed to recognize your fostering care and never in my successes entertained proud thoughts transcending human bounds.’” 66 Cyrus is grateful to the gods for showing him by signs – whether omens, heavenly signs, birds or voices – what he should or should not do. The gods undoubtedly pamper Cyrus since they do not send these signs just to anyone, only to those they favour because of their piety. 67 The mention of the signs by which the gods tell Cyrus what he should or should not do needs to be compared with those passages from the Memorabilia (1.1.3) and the Apology (12) where Socrates mentions the same signs. Unlike Cyrus, the gods do not contact Socrates by means of these signs but through a different divine sign – the poorly-named “demon” – , a divine voice that speaks to him alone (Apol. 12) and tells him what he must or must not do. Admittedly, Socrates insists that this voice is no different from any of the other signs the gods use to speak to other men, which implies he is not introducing anything new in matters of religion and is not receiving any preferential treatment from the gods; but we should not be misled by Socrates’ attempt to downplay the unique nature of his personal divine voice. In the Memorabilia, two of Socrates’ interlocutors, Aristodemus and Euthydemus, consider that Socrates has been given the extraordinary privilege of having the gods speak to him directly through a private voice that belongs to 65 For Cyrus’ acts of piety, see Cyr. 1.5.6, 1.5.14, 1.6.1–4, 2.1.1, 2.4.18, 3.3.20–22, 3.3.34, 3.3.57, etc.; for those of Socrates, see Mem. 1.1.9, 1.2.1, 1.3.4, 1.4.15, 1.4.18, 2.6.8, 4.3.12, 4.7.10, 4.8.11, Oec. 5.19–20, Apol. 11. 66 Cyr. 8.7.3. 67 See Cyr. 1.6.46: “[Cambyses] and if men consult them, they reveal to those to whom they are propitious what they ought to do and what they ought not to do (οἷς ἂν ἵλεῳ ὦσι προσημαίνουσιν ἅ τε χρὴ ποιεῖν καὶ ἃ οὐ χρή). But if they are not willing to give counsel to everybody (εἰ δὲ μὴ πᾶσιν ἐθέλουσι συμβουλεύειν), that is not surprising; for they are under no compulsion to care for any one unless they will”. Socrates speaks in the same terms: “what is hidden from mortals we should try to find out from the gods by divination: for to those in their favour the gods grant a sign (τοὺς θεοὺς γὰρ οἷς ἂν ὦσιν ἵλεῳ σημαίνειν).” (Mem. 1.1.9)

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him alone. 68 The Athenians made no mistake about it: after hearing Socrates’ explanations about his private divine sign speaking to him, they aired their jealousy: “Hermogenes further reported that when the jurors raised a clamor at hearing this, some of them disbelieving his statements, others jealous at his receiving greater favors even from the gods than they themselves (οἱ δὲ καὶ φθονοῦντες, εἰ καὶ παρὰ θεῶν μειζόνων ἢ αὐτοὶ τυγχάνοι). ” 69 Far from seeking to appease the jealousy caused by his divine sign, Socrates remains unwavering: “Socrate resumed: ‘Listen, let me tell you something more, so that those of you who feel so inclined may have still greater disbelief in my being honored by divinities (ἵνα ἔτι μᾶλλον οἱ βουλόμενοι ὑμῶν ἀπιστῶσι τῷ ἐμὲ τετιμῆσθαι ὑπὸ δαιμόνων). One time when Chaerephon inquired at Delphi about me, in the presence of many people Apollo answered that no man is more free than I, or more just, or more sensible (ἀνεῖλεν ὁ Ἀπόλλων μηδένα εἶναι ἀνθρώπων ἐμοῦ μήτε ἐλευθεριώτερον μήτε δικαιότερον μήτε σωφρονέστερον).’” 70 Just as Xenophon had used superlatives, in Mem. 1.2.1, to qualify Socrates’ enkrateia and karteria, in this passage the oracle uses superlatives to declare that no one surpasses Socrates in terms of freedom, justice and moderation. Apollo’s answer, more likely than not, only concerns Socrates’ superiority over his contemporaries and perhaps does not imply that Socrates is superior to all men at all times; but, at any rate, it does make Socrates superior to all of Xenophon’s other preferred philosophical exemplars. And if we consider piety alone, the fact that the gods address Socrates through a sign that is exclusive to him suggests that no man, not even Cyrus, has been more favoured by the gods than Socrates.

68 See Mem. 1.4.14–15: “[Socrates] So do you, having received both these priceless gifts, still not think that the gods care about you? What are they to do, to make you believe that your are in their thoughts? – [Aristodemus] When they send advisors, as you declare they do, telling you what to do and what not to do.” And similarly, in 4.3.12: “[Socrates] Yet again, insofar as we are powerless by ourselves to foresee what is expedient for the future, the gods lend us their aid, revealing the issues by divination to inquirers and teaching them how to obtain the best results. – [Euthydemus] With you, Socrates, they seem to deal in an even more friendly way than with other men (ἐοίκασιν ἔτι φιλικώτερον ἢ τοῖς ἄλλοις χρῆσθαι), if it is true that, even unasked (εἴ γε μηδὲ ἐπερωτώμενοι ὑπὸ σοῦ), they warn you by signs what to do and what not to do (προσημαίνουσί σοι ἅ τε χρὴ ποιεῖν καὶ ἃ μή).” 69 Apol. 14. 70 Apol. 14.

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Conclusion: the megalêgoria of Socrates and that of Cyrus Xenophon not only asserts that Socrates is superior to other men, he also lends to Socrates, at the time of his trial, statements openly declaring his superiority. “Don’t you know that to this day I would never have conceded that any man has lived a better life than I have (οὐκ οἶσθα ὅτι μέχρι μὲν τοῦδε οὐδενὶ ἀνθρώπων ὑφείμην βέλτιον ἐμοῦ βεβιωκέναι;)? For I always knew that my whole life has been lived in piety and justice, a fact that affords the greatest pleasure; and so I have felt a deep self-respect (ἰσχυρῶς ἀγάμενος ἐμαυτὸν) and have discovered that my associates hold corresponding sentiments about me.” 71 “And yet, gentlemen, the god uttered in oracles greater statements about Lycurgus, the Lacedaemonian lawgiver, than he did about me. For there is a legend that, as Lycurgus entered the temple, the god said to him, ‘I am pondering whether to call you a god or a man.’ Me, Apollo did not compare to a god, though he did judge me far superior to the rest of mankind (ἀνθρώπων δὲ πολλῷ προέκρινεν ὑπερφέρειν).” 72 Socrates’ megalêgoria, which he chose to display at his trial, explains his belief in his own superiority; 73 and since Xenophon does not doubt Socrates’ superiority, the megalêgoria is justified. The contrast with Cyrus is very telling. In Cyropaedia as a whole, Cyrus displays the attitude of megalêgoria only once; before a decisive battle, he addresses Abradatas in the following terms: “‘Well,’ said Cyrus, ‘if your part is all right, never fear for the others; for with the help of the gods I will clear those flanks of enemies for you (ἐγὼ γάρ σοι σὺν θεοῖς ἔρημα τῶν πολεμίων τὰ πλάγια ταῦτα ἀποδείξω). And do not you hurl yourself upon the opposing ranks, I adjure you, until you see in flight those whom you now fear.’ Cyrus indulged in such boastful speech (Τοιαῦτα δ᾽ ἐμεγαληγόρει) only on the eve of battle (μελλούσης τῆς μάχης γίγνεσθαι); at other times he was never boastful at all (ἄλλως δ᾽ οὐ μάλα μεγαλήγορος ἦν).” 74 Cyrus boasts of being able to defeat the enemy, but this display of megalêgoria is not intended as self-praise; his intention is to fill his soldiers with courage, one of the main duties of the military commander. Xenophon goes out of his way to point out that Cyrus was not usually megalêgoros. Of all of Xenophon’s Socratic writings, the Apology is the only text where Socrates is shown praising himself, which suggests he was not usually megalêgoros. And when Socrates is openly megalêgoros in the Apology, he does not have in 71 Apol. 5. See also the parallel passage of Mem. 4.8.6–7. 72 Apol. 15. 73 Cf. Apol. 1. 74 Cyr. 7.1.17.

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mind, as in the case of Cyrus, the well-being of others around him; he is intent on praising himself before his judges, 75 proudly extolling, on the threshold of death, the virtues he embodied better than any other man, as Apollo himself had proclaimed through his oracle. Of all his heroes, Xenophon considers none to be Socrates’ equal.

75 Cf. Apol. 32: “And as for Socrates, by magnifying himself in court (Σωκράτης δὲ διὰ τὸ μεγαλύνειν ἑαυτὸν ἐν τῷ δικαστηρίῳ) he brought ill will upon himself and thus made his conviction by the jury all the more certain.”

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Bibliography Azoulay, V. 2004. Xénophon et les grâces du pouvoir. De la charis au charisme (Histoire ancienne et médiévale 77), Paris. —. 2009. ‘Cyrus, disciple de Socrate? Public et privé dans l’œuvre de Xénophon’, Études platoniciennes – VI: Socrate: vie privée, vie publique, Paris, 153–173. Carlier, P. 2010. ‘The Idea of Imperial Monarchy in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, in: V. Gray (ed.), Xenophon (Oxford Readings in Classical Studies), 327–366. Danzig, G. 2010. Apologizing for Socrates: How Platon and Xenophon Created Our Socrates, Lanham (Md.). Delebecque, E. 1978. Xénophon: Cyropédie – III: Livres VI-VIII (Collection des Universités de France), Paris. Dorion, L.-A. 2011. ‘The Rise and Fall of the Socratic Problem’, in: D. R. Morrison (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Socrates, Cambridge, 1–23. —. 2013. L’Autre Socrate. Études sur les écrits socratiques de Xénophon, Paris. Dorion, L.-A. & Bandini, M. 2014. Xénophon: Mémorables – II-1: Livres II-III (Collection des Universités de France), Paris. Due, B. 1989. The Cyropaedia. Xenophon’s Aims and Methods, Aarhus. Gera, D. L. 1993. Xenophon’s Cyropaedia. Style, Genre, and Literary Technique (Oxford Classical Monographs), Oxford. Gray, V. 2011. Xenophon’s Mirror of Princes: Reading the Reflections, Oxford. Humble, N. 2017. ‘Xenophon’s Philosophical Approach to Writing: Socratic Elements in the Non-Socratic Works’, in: A. Stavru & C. Moore (eds.), Socrates and the Socratic Dialogue, Leiden, 577–597. Hutoy, J. 1935. Des rapports entre la Cyropédie et les Mémorables de Xénophon, Université de Liège, Faculté de Philosophie et Lettres. Prince, S. 2015. Antisthenes of Athens: Texts, Translations, and Commentary, Ann Arbor. Tamiolaki, M. 2012. ‘Virtue and Leadership in Xenophon: Ideal Leaders or Ideal Losers?’, in: F. E. Hobden & C. J. Tuplin (eds.), Xenophon: Ethical Principles and Historical Enquiry (Mnemosyne – Supplements 348), Leiden, 563–589. —. 2017. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Tentative Answers to an Enigma’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon (Cambridge Companions to Literature), Cambridge, 174–194.

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The Author’s View

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Cyropaedia – ‘Historical Space’ and the Nations at the Fringes of the Oikumene Reinhold Bichler (Innsbruck) – translation by Franz Pramhaas –

Cyrus’ Rule with Regard to the Oikumene The General Picture of the Oikumene and the Catalogues At the beginning and towards the end of his reflections on how Cyrus established and expanded his royal dominion, Xenophon, like in a ring composition, makes us aware of its enormous dimensions. To this end, he used two different literary techniques. Firstly, he listed the nations that Cyrus finally ruled over (1.1.4) as well as the satraps he appointed and the territories allocated to them (8.6.7–8; 7.11). On the other hand, he directed his ‘geographical’ focus on those parts of the world that Cyrus’ rule extended over. In this, he chose a perspective whose focal point is formed by Cyrus’ residence. The latter remains still undefined at this point: “He [Cyrus] attached so many nations [τοσαῦτα φῦλα] that it would be a task even to pass through them, no matter which direction one should begin from his royal palace [ἀπὸ τῶν βασιλείων], whether toward the east, west, north, or south” (1.1.5). 1 Near the end of his account of Cyrus’ career, Xenophon specifies the king’s future royal capitals: “Making his habitation in their center [ἐν μέσῳ τούτων], he himself spent seven months around wintertime in Babylon, for this place was warm. Around springtime, he spent three months in Susa. The peak of summer heat he spent in Ecbatana, for two months” (8.6.22).

1 Translations into English are taken from Ambler 2001.

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Now also the fringe areas of Cyrus’ dominion are taking on a definite shape: “At this point, the Indian Ocean bounded his empire [τήν ἀρχὴν ὥριζεν] to the east; the Black Sea to the north; Cyprus and Egypt to the west; and Ethiopia to the south. The limits of these borders [τούτων δὲ τὲ πέρατα] are uninhabitable because of heat, in one case; by cold in another; by water in another; and by lack of water in another” (8.6.21). Such an identification of the boundaries of Cyrus’ βασιλεία occurs once more later on, only this time worded in the passive voice and without reference to the uninhabitable peripheral zones [πέρατα] (8.8.1). 2 At a first glance, this presentation of Cyrus’ dominion reflects the traditional claim of ancient Near Eastern kingship to rule the four quarters of the world. 3 But then a slight incongruity catches one’s eye. Xenophon’s reference to the four fringe zones of the earth that for climatic reasons are not habitable any more stand in contrast to his reference to three directions in which Cyrus’ sovereignty stretches as far as to the sea or to uninhabited land. In the west, however, its border areas are marked by Egypt and Cyprus. From Xenophon’s perspective, which now turns out to be focused on the foreign empire from the outside, it becomes apparent that this realm is limited to Asia, an Asia that, in any case, included Egypt and Cyprus. 4 Xenophon was aware that by ascribing, among others, the conquest of Cyprus and Egypt to Cyrus, he was presenting the king’s rule in an anachronistic manner. 5 Thus, there is a noticeable caution when he reports on Cyrus’ last campaign of conquest, which he is said to have set out on from Babylon after returning from his homeland. By all accounts – λέγεται – , his army comprised about 120,000 cavalry, 2,000 scythed chariots and 600,000 infantry (8.6.19): “When these were ready for him, he [Cyrus] started the expedition on which it is said that he subdued all nations that inhabit the land as one goes out of Syria as far as the Indian Ocean [μέχρι Ἐρυθρᾶς θαλάττης]. After this, it is said, there was the expedition against Egypt and that Egypt was subdued” (8.6.20).

2 In this paper the final chapter (8.8) is considered an essential part of the whole. As we will see, the ‘geographical setting’ fits with Xenophon’s concept of space throughout the Cyropaedia. 3 Esp. cf. the Cyrus Cylinder § 20: “I, Cyrus, king of the universe, mighty king of Babylon, king of Sumer and Akkad, king of the four quarters”; transl. by Kuhrt 2007, 71 (with n. 14). 4 Unfortunately, the geographical notions Xenophon associates with Ethiopia remain very vague. It is also unclear to what extent this region is considered uninhabitable. 5 Cf. Herodotus 1.153.4: Cyrus also had the intention of marching against the Bactrians, the Sacae and the Egyptians. Cf. also Asheri in Asheri, Lloyd & Corcella 2007, 181: “Ctesias mentions Cyrus’ campaigns against the Bactrians and the Sacae (FGrHist 688 F 9 (2–3), but his testimony is doubtful”. – In Ctesas’ concept the Assyrian king Ninus had already subjugated Egypt (Diod. 2.2.3); cf. Stronk 2017, 89 n. 14; cf. also 111 n. 118 on Semiramis’ visit to Egypt (= Diod. 2.14.3).

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With this succinct report, Xenophon reiterates what he already stated at the beginning: It is the nations in Asia [τὰ ἐν τῇ Ἀσίᾳ ἔθνη] that Cyrus was able to subjugate, whereas the kings of the Scythians, Thracians or Illyrians never succeeded in subduing other nations. Even in his day, the nations of Europe are said to be still autonomous. Cyrus, however, managed to convince the Medes and Hyrcanians to side with him and the Persians. This statement is followed up by the catalogue of nations that Cyrus subjected: “Syrians, Assyrians, Arabians, Cappadocians, both the Phrygians, the Lydians, Carians, Phoenicians, and Babylonians; he came to rule the Bactrians, Indians, and Cilicians, and similarly also the Sacians, Paphlagonians, and Magadidians, 6 and very many other nations whose names one cannot even say. He ruled also over the Greeks who were in Asia, and, going down to the sea [καταβὰς δ’ ἐπὶ θάλατταν], over the Cyprians and Egyptians” (1.1.4) [Italics by me]. Apart from this catalogue of nations, Xenophon, before getting on to Cyrus’ last great campaign, also documented the satraps appointed by the king and the regions they were sent to: “Megabyzus to Arabia, Artabatas to Cappadocia, Artacamas to the Greater-Phrygia, Chrysantas to Lydia and Ionia, Adousius to Caria (just as they had asked), and Pharnuchus to the Phrygia on the Hellespont and Aeolia [sic!]. He did not send Persians as satraps over Cilicia, Cyprus and the Paphlagonians, because they seemed to join the campaign against Babylon voluntarily. He did, however, order even these to pay tribute [δασμούς]” (8.6.8; cf. 7.4.1–2). “Finally, by will, Cyrus designated his son Tanaoxares as satrap over the Medes, Armenians and Cadusians.” (8.7.11) 7 [Italics by me]. The Development of Cyrus’ Territory and the Inconsistencies in the General Picture In Xenophon’s conception, Cyaxares, the king of the Medes and successor to the throne after the death of his father Astyages, feels threatened by the Assyrians, who had developed into a major power. Since the Armenians had detached themselves from Cyaxares, his nephew Cyrus, with a small body of Persian troops, remains his only ally. Together they succeed in regaining sovereignty over the Armenians and securing the support of 6 The Magadidians are the only ones of the above nations that do not get another mention in the course of the narrative. Cf. Bizos 1971 ad locum: “Peuple inconnu. Dindorf corrige en Mariandynes, tribu de Bithynie”. 7 Cf. generally on the names of the list Breitenbach 1967/1983, 1714: „Der Gedanke, in den genannten Satrapen die wirklich von Kyros ernannten Persönlichkeiten sehen zu wollen, verkennt den Charakter der Kyrupädie: X. will zeigen, wie man für treue Leistungen von König belohnt wird und avancieren kann.“

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the Chaldaeans. – The old king of the Assyrians, on the other hand, had already made most of the peoples around him subservient and now threatened the rest: “The king of Assyria, having subdued all the Syrians, a very large nation, having made the king of Arabia his subject, having the Hyrcanians as subjects already and besieging the Bactrians as well, believed that if he should reduce the Medes, he would easily come to rule over all those in the area [πάντων τῶν πέριξ ῥᾳδίως], for their tribe seemed to be the strongest nearby” (1.5.2). Moreover, he could be hopeful to gain the support of a number of allies for the pending military campaign. The listing of allies not only illustrates the military threat scenario but also outlines the area then still dominated by Cyrus’ opponents. The catalogue includes above all troops from the region of Asia Minor; furthermore, there are the Arabs under their king Aragdus (2.1.5). 8 The hoped-for support from Indians and Bactrians, however, does not come about. 9 – After the defeat and death of the old king of the Assyrians, Cyrus wins over troops of the Hyrcanians, Sacae and Cadusians as a substantial reinforcement, together with units from regions within the former Assyrian dominion under the command of Gobryas and Gadatas 10 as well as from Abradatas of Susa. The second decisive pitched battle is fought on the plane of Sardis. The listing of Cyrus’ opponents, who are now led by Croesus, includes further allies from Asia Minor as well as Thracian mercenaries along with Phoenician, Cyprian and – particularly – Egyptian contingents (6.2.10). 11 Attention is thus drawn to the (south-)western fringe zones of the future Persian Empire. Their incorporation into Cyrus’ power only takes place, however, after the conquest of Babylon and the remaining part of Assyria still held by the young king, at a time when Cyrus’ development into the ideal-typical Great King is already complete. The general picture of the nations in Asia under the reign of Cyrus that emerges from Xenophon’s catalogue-like presentation appears to be solid and coherent. Closer examination, however, reveals certain incongruities. A satrap is placed over the Armenians although 8 On the location of these Arabians on the middle reaches of the Euphrates and on King Aragdus, cf. below n. 60. 9 Cf. below pp. 81–82, 89. 10 Tatum 1989, 95, points out the symmetry in Xenophon’s character drawing of the pair Gobryas und Gadatas: “Gobryas, a king whose son (unnamed) was murdered by the Assyrian king, and a daughter (also unnamed); and a fellow suppliant to Cyrus, the eunuch prince Gadatas, who was castrated by the Assyrian king, who has a father (unnamed) and perforce no children in prospect. Gobryas finds a substitute son in Cyrus, while Gadatas finds in him both a substitute father and a child.” – Both Gadatas and Gobryas have Iranian names. The choice of name for the character of Gobryas can be assumed to be a „Rückprojektion von dem Gobryas der Anabasis [An. 1.7.12] auf den in der Kyroupaideia Genannten“. Cf. Schmitt 2002, 50–51 (no. 2.11). On Gadatas, see Schmitt 2011, 165–166 (no. 128). 11 Breitenbach 1967/1983, 1711, hints at Herodotus’ account on Croesus’ hope in an alliance with Egyptians and Babylonians against Cyrus in 1.77.

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they are not mentioned as one of the nations reigned by Cyrus in the catalogue provided at the outset of the narrative. The same applies to the Cadusians. The Chaldaeans, on the other hand, fail to appear both in the catalogue of nations and among the satrapies although they were defeated by Cyrus and they henceforth served him as mercenaries (3.2.4–3.3.1). The Indians as well as the Bactrians, in turn, do appear in the list of nations although, within the narrative plot, there is no mention of their being subject to Cyrus or of a conquest of their countries. – It is also worthy of note that the Hyrcanians do not figure in the extensive catalogue of peoples which the king of the Assyrians hopes to muster or still recruit for his first great encounter with the Medes (2.1.5). They were still subject to the Assyrian (1.5.2) and brought up the rear of his army when the battle was fought (4.2.1–2). How characteristic are such minor incongruities of the fictitious historical scenario in which Xenophon set up his Cyropaedia? It is appropriate to have a closer look at the role which the various residents of the fringe areas of the imagined Persian Empire play in military activities and where they can be approximately located in relation to the protagonists – Persians and Medes on one side, Assyrians (inclusive of Babylonians) on the other. The Medes and the Nations in the North and Northeast The Starting Point of Cyrus’ Pathway to Power: the Alliance of the Persians and the Medes and Their Geographical Placing As an old man, Cyrus again returned – it was the seventh time during his reign – to the land of the Persians [εἰς Πέρσας], in which he spent his final days. In his palace [ἐν τῷ βασιλείῳ], a dream announced to him that it was time for him to get ready for his departure to the gods (8.7.1–2).  12 The scene is obviously set in the only – nameless – city in the land of the Persians that is mentioned in the Cyropaedia. Cambyses, Cyrus’ father, was empowered to exercise kingship over Persia [ἡ ἐν Πέρσαις βασιλεία] until his death (8.5.26). He had made that clear when Cyrus, having secured his rule over Babylon, returned home via Media after a long absence. When he crossed the borders into Persia [ἐπὶ τοῖς Περσῶν ὁρίοις], he left his army behind and entered the city [εἰς τὴν πόλιν ἐπορεύετο] accompanied only by his friends. There are councils and magistrates; ceremonial sacrifices are offered and gifts distributed (8.5.21–22). 13 – Cyrus had left his homeland for the first time at the age of twelve (1.3.1) and then spent his youth with his grandfather Astyages in Media. When, after the latter’s death, the Medes were threatened by war with the Assyrians, he went there again to support his uncle Cyaxares. Cambyses accompanied him as far as the Persian border [τῆς Περσίδος]. They prayed to the gods and heroes who protect the land 12 In Cyr.1.6.1, Xenophon only uses the term οἰκία to refer to the residence of Cyrus’ father Cambyses. 13 Cf. Tamiolaki 2017, 179: “The most intriguing feature of the Cyropaedia is, however, the blending of Greek and Persian realities. First of all, Persia is described as a (Greek) city (polis). Xenophon even relates the existence of a market (agora) and employs terms of Greek political vocabulary to explain political institutions in Persia: the state (τό κοινόν), the magistrates (τὰς ἀρχὰς), laws (νόμοι), equality (τὸ ἴσον)”.

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of Persia [Περσίδα γῆν], crossed the border [διέβαινον τὰ ὅρια] and then prayed to the gods who guard the land of Media (2.1.1). 14 Xenophon assumes the existence of strict borders between these two countries, but there is no mention of any buildings along this border or any markings in the terrain. The location of Persia in its relation to Media remains likewise unclear. No reference is made to geographic borders to other regions, apart from Media. Not being trained to horsemanship, the Persians have to acquire that art only at Cyrus’ behest (cf. esp. Cyrus’ speech 4.3.4–14). This is a clear hint at the natural features of the country, which lacks large plains. Xenophon’s Media, on the other hand, is a construct of great geographical variety, representing tree-covered mountain areas as well as fertile plains and regions in which palm-trees grow (5.5.7). In the words of Christopher Tuplin: “The truth is that in Cyropaedia Xenophon’s Media – for all that there are mountains in the background (I,  4,  11) – is probably imagined more like Assyria than Persia (or Armenia)”. This portrayal of Media suggests a country more affluent and fostering an effeminate way of life. It enables Xenophon to play off rigid Persian morals against Median luxury but, at the same time, use the close alliance between Medes and Persians as the starting point and solid foundation of the future structure of the Empire. Thus it is possible for him “to blame Media for the failings of Persian imperialism which we find in Cyropaedia”. 15 Whereas in the scenario of the Cyropaedia the Persians only border the Medes and there are no war operations in their country, the latter are bounded by a number of nations that they are sometimes in fierce conflict with. These include, on the one hand, the Armenians and, on the other, the Assyrians; furthermore, there is the group of Hyrcanians, Sacae and Cadusians. The majority of the hostilities take place outside the borders of the country. It is only at the outset of the narration that the country proper – Median territory near the frontier to the enemy – is the scene of the first clash with the Assyrians, in which the young Cyrus still displays a reckless daring (1.4.16–24). More on this later; for the moment, let’s focus on the neighbours to the north. Medians and Armenians In Xenophon’s Anabasis, the Hellenes, who had come from Media, have to battle their way across the mountainous country inhabited by the fierce Carduchians before they manage to reach Armenia, the satrapy further north (cf. esp. An. 3.5.15–17; 4.3.1). The geographical placing of Media in the Anabasis is admittedly very vague, 16 but there is no 14 Cf. Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 165: „… in erster Linie dient die ausführliche Beschreibung der Opferhandlungen in Medien und Assyrien der Ethopoiie. Kyros soll … als Paradeigma des frommen Feldherrn erscheinen, der sich in den entscheidenden Momenten des Willens der Götter vergewissern und sie gnädig stimmen will.“ 15 Tuplin 2003, 356 and 358. – Cf. also the ambivalence in Xenophon’s portrayal of the Median king Cyaxares as highlighted, for example, by Gera 1993, 98–109. 16 Cf. Tuplin 2003, 385: “The extent of Xenophon’s Media remains debatable, but I suspect that we should take it as stretching from the Physcus to the Carduchian mountains”.

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mention of an immediate neighbourhood between the Medes and the Armenians. The world of the Cyropaedia is different in this respect. Here the Armenians – imagined as occupying the area to the north – constitute the Medes’ neighbours. Their king was an ally and, at the same time, a vassal of the king of the Medes [σύμμαχος ἦν καὶ ὑπήκοος] (2.4.22). When the – anonymous – king of the Assyrians gathers a large army to march against the Medes, Cyaxares, Cyrus’ uncle, hopes to get the support of 4,000 horsemen and 20,000 foot-soldiers. This is the first mention of the Armenians (2.1.6). But soon Cyrus learns from his uncle that the king of the Armenians fails to send troops and has stopped paying tribute [δασμός] (2.4.12). Their task is now to win back the defectors and bring the king to his senses. When in Media as an adolescent, Cyrus already enjoyed going on hunting trips in the well-wooded region bordering Armenia [ἀμφὶ τὰ ὅρια τῆς τε σῆς χώρας καὶ τῆς Ἀρμενίων], as he explains to his uncle Cyaxares (2.4.16). His good knowledge of the country now proves advantageous in defeating the rebels. He has infantry and cavalry advance there, but himself, to distract the opponent, sets off as if on a hunting trip again, whereas his confidant Chrysantas is instructed to occupy the mountains (2.4.18–32). According to his strategic plan, he will march from the border area across the plain towards the Armenian residence [πορεύσομαι διὰ τοῦ πεδίου εὐθὺς πρὸς τὰ βασίλεια] (2.4.24). Everything goes as planned. The king of the Armenians, having fled into the mountains with his family and his treasures, is taken by surprise and has to surrender (3.1.1–6). Now the king’s son, Tigranes, Cyrus’ hunting companion of his youth and his future confidant, is moving into the spotlight. His relationship with Cyrus will be an important element in the latter’s characterisation. Deep gratitude is expressed by the queen. She and all the people bestow their affection on Cyrus because he has brought peace to the country (3.3.2–5). The Armenians, namely, had been at war with their neighbours, the Chaldaeans (3.1.34). Cyrus, after a brief fight and with the help of the Armenians, succeeded in occupying the mountain heights from which the Chaldaeans had made their raids and in winning over this warlike people as an ally (3.2.1–3.3). The Armenians on their own would not have been able to stand up to the courageous Chaldaeans (3.2.8–10). When Cyrus eventually left the land of the Armenians, he went hunting with Tigranes in the border region once again (3.3.4–5). More than half of the entire Armenian forces – they amounted to 8,000 cavalry and 40,000 infantry – were subsequently marched away by him (3.1.33–34; 3.3.4). Both the cavalry and the infantry of the Armenians are repeatedly mentioned in general listings, 17 but they no longer seem to have a noteworthy role in the war. They had not enjoyed sovereignty even before Cyrus’ time. Their defection from the Medes after the death of Astyages remained a brief episode. The fact that

17 Cyr. 5.3.38: Cyrus gives instructions for the march to the fortress built against the Hyrcanians and the Sacae; on the commander of the Armenian infantry, Embas, cf. Schmitt 2002, 133 (no. 3.2.1). He understands the name as a “Greek nickname”. – Cyr. 5.4.13: Cyrus lists the nations that stood up for Gadatas; 5.5.5: Cyrus marches to Media; 8.3.18: Festive departure of the royal cavalry from the palace in Babylon.

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Tanaoxares is appointed satrap of Media, Armenia and Cadusia (8.7.11) underlines this status and fits in with the conception of an immediate neighbourhood with the Medes. Armenians and Chaldaeans Things are different for the Chaldaeans, the nation adjacent to the Armenians [οἱ ὅμοροι Χαλδαῖοι] (3.1.34). The extent to which – in Xenophon’s conception – their native land extended in a northerly direction as viewed from Media and Armenia remains – with regard to the Cyropaedia – rather vague. They are an autonomous nation and continue to be so even after Cyrus ordered a fortress to be built in the mountains bordering Armenia and manned with a garrison which henceforth was to safeguard the alliance with the Armenians brought about by him. While the neighbouring Chaldaeans were short of fertile farmland, the Armenians were in possession of uncultivated arable land. Thanks to the alliance mediated by Cyrus, Armenians and Chaldaeans are now able to make mutual use of pastures and arable soil (3.2.17–23). – Their barren land had caused the Chaldaeans to seek earnings from raids against their neighbours or by doing mercenary work in the service of, for instance, the Mede Astyages or the king of the Indians (3.2.25). Now Cyrus took 4.000 of them into his service. These men considered themselves particularly capable fighters (3.2.16; 3.3.1): They were to distinguish themselves later on in the capture of Sardis, alongside the Persians, but then to incur Cyrus’ displeasure by plundering the houses (7.3.2; 7.2.5–8). 18 In the Anabasis, too, reference is made to Chaldaeans at two points. When the Hellenes reached the Centrites, the boundary river between the land of the Carduchians, which they had just crossed, and Armenia, an army was lying in wait for them on the opposite bank to block their passage. These troops under the command of Orontas and Artuchas were made up of Armenians and Mardians, and also contained Chaldaean mercenaries. 19 These Chaldaeans were said to be free and brave men [ἐλεύθεροί τε καὶ ἄλκιμοι], armed with large shields and lances [ὅπλα δ’εἶχον γέρρα μακρὰ καὶ λόγχας] (4.3.4). – Later on, in a speech to ambassadors from Sinope, Xenophon recalls the confrontations he and his men faced with the Carduchians, Taochians and Chaldaeans – nations that are not subject to the Great King [οὐχ ὑπηκόους ὄντας] (5.5.17). These two brief references blend quite nicely into the picture provided by the Cyropaedia. Although the description of the Chaldaeans’ weapons differs slightly there – they carry a shield and two spears [γέρρα τε καὶ πάλτα δύο] (Cyr. 3.2.7), their bellicose character, their readiness to attack (3.2.9) and, above all, their status as members of a free nation that at the same time provides mercenary services to the Great King fit in with their namesakes mentioned in the Anabasis. 20 The latters’ geographical placing, however, 18 Cf. below p. 84 on the Cadusian blunder. 19 Cf. Schmitt 2002, 89, n. 17: „Gemeint sind hier natürlich die Χάλδοι, d. h. die Urartäer“; cf. also Parpola 2003, 342. 20 Cf. Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 162: „Er [Xenophon] projiziert also die eigene Erfahrung in das sechste Jahrhundert zurück, gibt jedoch zugleich eine Beglaubigung, indem er die ethnische Beschreibung

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remains unclear. On the other hand, Xenophon mentions the Chalybians as the northern neighbours of the Armenians (An. 4.5.34). 21 They, too, are a nation which is not subordinate to the Great King, but contributes mercenaries (4.4.18). When the Hellenes march through their territory, they cause them a great deal of trouble (4.6.5; 4.7.15). So it appears plausible to identify the aforementioned Chaldaeans (4.3.4]) with these Chalybians. 22 The description of their weaponry differs, though (cf. 4.34 and 4.7.15–16). For that reason alone it remains questionable whether and to what extent Xenophon had the Chalybians occurring in the Anabasis in mind when depicting the Chaldaeans in the Cyropaedia. By no means, however, does the portrayal of the gruesome war customs of the Chalybians – they cut off the heads of their enemies, carry them boastfully along on their marches, and break into wild dancing whenever catching sight of enemies (An. 4.7.16) 23 – correspond with the picture of the Chaldaeans given in the Cyropaedia. The Indians of the Cyropaedia At first glance, it may come as a surprise to find the Indians included in a chapter dealing with peoples in the north-eastern fringes of the world of Cyropaedia. One might also be surprised to find nations such as the Hyrcanians, Sacae and Cadusians placed in the eastern neighbourhood of the Assyrians. However, as will be seen, Xenophon created a fictitious ‘geographical’ setting of the eastern parts of the oecumene that deviates from a ‘common sense’ mental map. In the scenario of the Cyropaedia, a special task – beyond matters military – falls to Armenians and Chaldaeans together. Selected Armenians, together with Chaldaeans, were to accompany a messenger sent by Cyrus as guides to the king of the Indians (3.2.27– 3.3.1). Although the anonymous king remains virtually invisible in the whole event, his significance is considerable. After Astyages’ death, the king of the Assyrians, seeking support for the upcoming military campaign, had also sent messengers to the Indians (1.5.3). Their king, however, had wished to form his own opinion of the two sides, with the result that an Indian delegation [πρεσβεία] had appeared at Cyaxares’ doors, who had then called in his nephew to participate in talks. Cyrus had informed them that if the Assyrian believes to have been wronged, the king of India himself should be arbitrator [δικαστήν] (2.4.1–8). 24 – Remembering this episode after his successful operation

21 22 23 24

mit einer Quellenangabe versieht (§ 7 καὶ πολεμικώτατοι δὲ λέγονται οὗτοι περὶ τῶν ἐκείνην τὴν χώραν εἷναι).“ Cf. also Lendle 1995, 229; Tuplin 2003, 357 with n.14. A clear distinction must be made between these Chalybians and their namesakes living near the Black Sea coast (An. 5.5.1). On the latter, cf. Lendle 1995, 331–333; cf. also Asheri in Asheri, Lloyd & Corcella 2007, 97, containing the explanatory notes on the Chalybes in Hdt. 1.28. Esp. cf. Lendle 1995, 266–270 with references to C. F. Lehmann-Haupt. Lendle 1995, 270, assumes that in conjuring this “horror image” Xenophon followed Ctesias, who „vor keinem noch so scheußlichen Bild zurückschreckte, wenn es nur der Befriedigung der Sensationslust diente“. Xenophon here uses the figure of the king of the Indians to characterise Cyrus’ diplomatic skills in dealing with his uncle Cyaxares. At the same time, he demonstrates the ‘art of persuasion’ with

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against the Chaldaeans, Cyrus, in turn, sent a messenger to request generous support of a financial nature [χρήματα] (3.2.27–31). There is no mention of this mission for some time. When it becomes clear that the pivot of war operations will shift to the domain of the Lydian king Croesus, envoys from India arrive, bringing the hoped-for funds. After having forged bonds of hospitality [ξενισθέντες], as was the Indian king’s wish, Cyrus sent three of them to the enemy’s camp. Under the pretext of offering an alliance, they were to spy on the opponent’s plans and number of troops (6.2.1–3). Their mission was successful. They were able to provide a detailed report on the forces under Croesus’ command (6.2.9–11). This is the last reference to the Indians in the narrative. How they came to appear in the catalogue of the nations under Cyrus’ rule presented at the beginning cannot be determined. A particular problem is posed by the geographical placing of these Indians within the Cyropaedia. The routes taken to and from the king of the Indians by the delegations mentioned remain in the dark. Highlighting his riches in gold as well as his sense of justice is well in keeping with the contemporary clichés about India that we find, for instance, in Ctesias. What is striking, however, is that Xenophon does not seem to locate the Indians as living in a far-away East, but to assign them to an area not too distant from the land of the Armenians and Chaldaeans (3.2.25–3.3.1; cf. also the catalogues 1.1.4 and 1.5.2). A noteworthy explanation for this was suggested by Simo Parpola: Xenophon’s geographical conception may have been based on source material he was no longer able to interpret correctly. Just as the Chaldaeans do not relate to the Chaldaeans in the south of Babylonia, the Indians should not be equated with India. “Cyropaedia’s ‘India’ was actually Andie, a country SE of Lake Urmia (on the border of Urartu/Armenia) well known by Neo-Assyrian sources”. Parpola does concede, however, that Xenophon probably assumed that information bearing on this Andie referred to India. 25 The Eastern Neighbours of the Assyrians The Frontier Zone between Medes and Assyrians Not least for reasons of dramaturgy, as the starting point of the central military confrontation, the frontier between Media and Assyria plays an important role. Here, in the border area [ἐν τοῖς μεθορίοις] between Assyrians and Medes, in which both nations had erected fortresses [φρούρια], the young Cyrus had his first experience of war when he advanced to the frontier [πρὸς τὰ ὅρια] with Astyages, defending Median territory against Assyrian forays (1.4.16–18). Later on, at the beginning of the great campaign, he crosses the boundary together with Cyaxares (3.3.21f.). Before doing so, Cyrus sacrificed first to the gods and heroes of Media [ἥρωας γῆς Μηδίας], and having crossed, he performed propitiatory rites to Earth, with libations, and sacrifices for the goodwill of the gods and which Cyrus seeks to win the king’s favour without ever meeting him in person. Additionally, he shows Cyrus’ deftness in trying to secure new resources. Cf. on this, Tatum 1989, 119–121, 193–194. 25 Parpola 2003, 342.

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heroes of Assyria [Γῆν ἱλάσκετο χοαῖς καὶ θεοὺς θυσίαις καὶ ἥρωας Ἀσσυρίας οἰκήτορας ηὐμενίζετο] (3.3.21–22). – After the end of the first great campaign, Cyrus returns to Media, thereby capturing three forts of the Syrians situated in the border region between Syrians and Medes [μεθόρια τῶν Σύρων καὶ Μήδων], the area from which he set off (5.4.51). A distinction between Syria and Assyria, Syrians and Assyrians is made conspicuous in some places of the Cyropaedia, 26 but frequently the terms are used synonymously, as is obviously the case here. Overall, it can be stated that at first glance the description of the military operations seems to convey the idea of clearly drawn borders between Medes and Persians, Medes and Armenians as well as Medes and Assyrians. However, references to natural boundaries, such as rivers and mountain ranges, are largely lacking. 27 It also does not provide any indication as to the size and extent of the countries concerned. The Appearance of the Hyrcanians, Sacae and Cadusians in the Cyropaedia In the following sections, we will encounter a number of individuals in the course of Cyrus’ military actions whose names also appear in other works by Xenophon (esp. Anabasis and Hellenica) or in other literary sources. In order to create the fictitious characters of his Cyropaedia and provide them with names, Xenophon used his own acquaintance with various representatives of the Persian Empire. Likewise, he could draw on characters as role models in the works of his predecessors, especially in Herodotus’ Histories and Ctesias’ Persika. Right after his victory over the old king of the Assyrians, Cyrus gains new allies: in a first step, the Hyrcanians. They were not a great nation, lived in the immediate neighbourhood [ὅμοροι] of the Assyrians and were initially still subject to them [ὑπήκοοι]. 28 They are considered excellent horsemen. About a thousand Hyrcanian cavalrymen formed the rear guard of the large army with which the Assyrian king hoped to defeat the Medes. During the campaign, they were also accompanied by their families on wagons (4.2.1–2). After the defeat of the Assyrian army, they sent emissaries to Cyrus and became loyal allies (4.2.3–8; 13–21). They immediately proved themselves in the pursuit of the enemies, slaying the kings of the Cappadocians and the Arabians (4.2.31). In the further course of the story, there is repeated mention of the Hyrcanians, both in the army and also in Cyrus’ council. 29 An important episode in this respect is Cyrus’ plan to covertly occupy a fortress [φρούριον] which the Assyrians had erected against the Hyrcanians and the Sacae (5.3.11).

26 Cf. below p. 90. 27 Cf. Tuplin 2003, 356: “The Medio-Assyrian border is pictured in Cyropaedia as having fortresses (φρούρια) on both sides but not as being marked by any particular topographical or environmental features”. 28 Xenophon compared the position of the Hyrcanians in regard to the Assyrians with the one of the Sciritae to the Lacedaemonians; cf., for instance, Bizos 1973, 45 n. 4: “Ils formaient un corps d’élite d‘infantérie légère. Ils se tenaient aux avant-postes dans les campements et à l’arrière-garde dans les marches”. 29 In addition to the passages cited above, cf. also Cyr. 5.4.13; 5.5.5: 6.1.1; 6.1.7–8; 7.5.50–51; 8.3.18.

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For this operation, the Hyrcanians fielded 2,000 cavalry and a number of foot-soldiers (5.3.24). After successful action, this fortress was to serve Cyrus’ ally Gadatas, together with the Hyrcanians, Cadusians and Sacae, as a stronghold (5.3.21–22; 5.3.38). Among the commanders leading their men against the fort, a certain Artuchas is mentioned as the commander of the Hyrcanians (5.3.38); he might be identical with the leader of the Hyrcanian cavalry mentioned later on as Cyrus’ guest at a banquet (8.4.1; 8.4.24). 30 – In the debates on whether or not to continue the war after the first great successes in the land of the Assyrians, Cyrus recommends to his allies – Medes, Hyrcanians, Cadusians, Sacae, as well as the Assyrians Gobryas and Gadatas – to take control of “the parts of Assyria that are on your borders” [τὰ πρόσορα ὑμῖν αὐτοῖς τῆς Ἀσσυρίας] (6.1.17). After the Hyrcanians had changed sides to Cyrus, their leader presented to him the Sacae as great enemies of the Assyrians and commended them as potential allies. The Sacae, so he declared, were our neighbours [Σάκαι γε μὴν ὅμοροι ἡμῖν] (5.2.25). As the occupation of the Assyrian fortress suggests, the Sacae too are situated not far from the Assyrian borders (5.3.11). They take part in this operation with 10,000 bowmen on foot and 2,000 on horseback (5.3.24). The capture and prospective occupation of the fortress essentially marks the end of their role in the military activities presented in the Cyropaedia. Thambradas is mentioned as the commander of the Sacian infantry in this venture (5.3.38). 31 Subsequent mentions of the Sacae refer to their presence in Cyrus’ army or war council but do not provide any further significant details. 32 Along with the Sacae, also the Cadusians, a large and strong nation, are introduced as enemies of the Assyrians (5.2.25). Like the Sacae, they take part in the capture and subsequent use of the fort in Gadatas’ territory, mustering 20,000 light infantry and 4,000 cavalry (5.3.22; 5.3.24; 5.3.38), as is also repeatedly pointed out (5.3.42; 5.4.13; 7.5.51). The listing of the commanders mentions Datamas, as their leader, and Alceunas, who is in charge of the rear (5.3.38; 5.3.42). The latter troop risked a foray of its own into the surroundings of Babylon, suffering the loss of many horsemen as well as its leader himself, who is no longer referred to by name in this context (5.4.15–16). 33 The bad example the Cadusians set caused Cyrus to decree strict rules to prevent the like from happening in future (5.4.17–21), 34 and the Cadusians had to elect a new leader [ἄρχοντα] (5.4.22–23). 30 Cf. Schmitt 2002, 89–91 (no. 3.1.7): The commander mentioned in the Anabasis whose mercenaries sought to prevent the Hellenes from crossing the river Centrites (An. 4.3.4) served as the ‘onomastic model’ for the figure of this Artuchas. 31 On the difficulty of etymologically clarifying the otherwise unknown name, cf. Schmitt 2002, 135 f. (no. 3.2.13). 32 Cf. Cyr. 5.3.42; 6.1.1; 7.5.51; 8.3.18. – Separate regard should be given to the figure of the cupbearer Sacas at Astyages’ court; cf. on him, on the one hand, Schmitt 2002, 112–113 (no. 3.1.12), on the other, Parpola 2003, 340–341. To Schmitt, the name is an „Ethnikon als Personenname“; Parpola argues for an Aramaic loanword of an Assyrian term with the meaning of ‘cupbearer’. 33 On Alceunas, see Schmitt 2002, 125 (no. 3.2.4): „Die Person ist zweifellos Xenophons Erfindung …, der Name sonst unbekannt.“ 34 Xenophon here provides a didactic counterpart to the aforementioned neglect of discipline by the Chaldaeans at Sardis, caused there, however, by foot soldiers (7.2.5–8).

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The latter could also be equated with the anonymous Cadusian who, after the first great achievements against the Assyrians, pleads for a continuation of the campaign when Cyaxares and Cyrus meet to consider further action (6.1.18). Datamas, in turn, might be identical with the cavalry commander of the same name who figures in Cyrus’ festive procession at Babylon (8.3.17). 35 The group of people individually named is completed by Rhatines, who won the horse race among the Cadusians (8.3.32). 36 Xenophon’s Cadusians, Sacae and Hyrcanians with Regard to Ctesias’ Persica and a Brief Look at Herodotus In the Cyropaedia, the three nations dealt with above are presumed to be immediate neighbours of the Assyrians. At the same time, they are positioned in relatively close proximity to a Media whose outlines remain very vague. This is one of the striking peculiarities of the geographical scenario that Xenophon created for his fictional history. Taking into account that Ctesias’ conception of a fictitious empire of the Medes as the heir to the Assyrian empire exerted a substantial influence on subsequent ancient literature, it seems reasonable to conclude that Xenophon, too, in composing the Cyropaedia was inspired by him. a) The Cadusians Ronald Syme, for instance, has drawn special attention to the significance of Ctesias’ Persica for Xenophon’s portrayal of the Cadusians. 37 The connection only becomes evident, however, on closer inspection. The Hellenica, for example, relate that the younger Cyrus travelled up to Media to visit his sick father (Darius II), who was there fighting the neighbouring Cadusians, who had seceded from him (Hell. 2.1.13, 15). Four years later, in the battle at Cunaxa, as we learn from the Anabasis, Cyrus is said to have killed with his own hand Artagerses, the commander of the 6,000 horsemen who protected the king (An. 1.8.24). Plutarch records that this Artagerses was the commander of the Cadusians and relates the scene elaborately. His source here is most likely Ctesias, who is referred to shortly after (F 19 = Plut., Art. 9). In the Cyropaedia, too, we can find one Artagerses who, as the commander of a unit of 1,000 foot soldiers, acquitted himself well in the great battle against Croesus’ army (Cyr. 6.3.31, 33; 7.1.22, 27–28). Unfortunately there is no mention of this unit’s ethnicity. Xenophon, at any rate, most likely made use of the name,

35 Schmitt 2002, 102–104 (no. 3.1.13), s.v. Datamas, considers him identical with the cavalry commander in 8.3.18. Delebecque 1978, on the other hand, lists two persons with the same name and regards Datamas no. 1 as the fallen Cadusian cavalry commander; cf. also Miller 1961 in the Loeb-Edition. – On Xenophon’s choice of name for the fictional character of Datamas, cf. below p. 86. 36 Cf. below p. 86. 37 Syme 1988, esp. 148–150; cf. also139: “When Xenophon, inspired to emulation, turned his talent to fictional history and composed the Cyropaedia, he duly put Cadusii to frequent employ”.

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which he was probably familiar with from Ctesias’ presentation of events at Cunaxa,  38 for his figure in the Cyropaedia. There are two other cases in which the names Xenophon gave to his fictional Cadusians obviously referred to contemporaries. The characters at issue are Rhatines and Datamas. The former may have been modelled on a high-ranking officer in the service of Pharnabazus who is mentioned by Xenophon both in the Anabasis (6.5.7) and in the Hellenica (3.4.13). 39 The more interesting case is that of the Persian grandee Datamas, who later on played a significant role in the so-called Great Satraps’ Revolt. For it is apparent from his Vita by Nepos that Datamas proved himself for the first time in a campaign Artaxerxes II led against the Cadusians (Nepos, Datames 1.2). 40 Judging from the ‘fragments’, the Cadusians must have assumed quite a remarkable role in Ctesias’ Persica. They make their first appearance – along with the Hyrcanians – on a list of nations subdued by the growing Assyrian empire under King Ninus (F 1b (2.3)). After the takeover of the empire by the Medes, they develop into bitter enemies at the time of its king Artaeus and are not subject to the Medes up to the time of Cyrus (F 5(33) = Diodorus 2.32). The tale interwoven here of the proud Persian Parsondes and the cunning Babylonian Nanaros became legendary. 41 In the stories about Cyrus’ youth and his breaking away from Astyages, the Cadusians – based on the evidence from the fragments of Nicolaus of Damascus (Ctesias F 8d (11–16)) – play an important part, as Cyrus is able to take advantage of the Cadusians’ hatred against the Medes and their affection for the Persians. – Xenophon quite obviously took his inspiration from the close interrelationship of the Cadusians with the history of the Medes that he found in Ctesias. It matches his geographical scenario well enough when the Cadusians, along with the Medes and Armenians, are mentioned as being part of the satrapy assigned to Tanaoxares (Cyr. 8.7.11). In Ctesias, however, Tanyoxarces, in the respective scene at Cyrus’ deathbed, is appointed master [δεσπότην] of the Bactrians, Choramnians, Parthians, and Carmanians (F 9(8)). 42 b) The Hyrcanians In Ctesias’ scenario, the Assyrian Ninus not only subdued the Cadusians but also the Hyrcanians (F 1b (10.3)). Later on, the Hyrcanians are mentioned as members of the Persian Empire. Of particular interest is the figure of the Hyrcanian Artasyras, who, according 38 Cf. Schmitt 2002, 46 (no. 2.7). Binder 2008, 192–193, on the other hand, doubts a certain attribution to Ctesias, since Dinon, too, could have been a source for Plutarch. 39 Cf. Syme 1988, 149; Schmitt 2002, 111–112 (no. 3.1.19). 40 An interesting aspect is also the assumption that Xenophon had the Cadusians in mind when naming the Persian general and later satrap Adousius (7.4.1–7). Cf. Syme 1988, 150: “Yet there is a chance that the author [Xenophon] truncated ‘Cadusius’, so frequent in his mind”; cf. also Schmitt 2002, 123–124 (no. 3.2.3). 41 Cf. Stronk 2017, 137–138. 42 On the identity of Xenophon’s Tanaoxares with Ctesias’ Tanyoxarces, see Schmitt 2002, 70–71 (no. 2.27) and Schmitt 2006, 197–199 (no. 3.1.40), with further references.

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to the Nicolaus-excerpts, was the first to change sides and follow Cyrus after the defeat of Astyages (Ctesias F 8d(46)). Whether or not he is identical with the Hyrcanian of the same name who was most influential under Cambyses (F 13 (9)) must remain unanswered. 43 However, certain parallels to the Cyropaedia can be identified. There, too, the Hyrcanians are the first to defect to Cyrus after the (Assyrian king’s, in this case) defeat and henceforth entertain particularly close ties to the Persians. – One other man named Artasyras in Ctesias was a general who Ochus (= Darius II) sent against the rebels Arsites and Artyphius (F 15 (52)). At the same time we learn that Ochus, before being proclaimed king, had been appointed satrap of Hyrcania by his father (F 15 (47)). In the Anabasis, Xenophon recounts that when he and his detachment launched their first unsuccessful raid on the estate of the rich Persian Asidates (An. 7.8.9,12, 21), a force under the command of one Itamenes came to the latter’s assistance (An. 7.8.15). 44 This force, among other units, also comprised Assyrian hoplites and around eighty Hyrcanian horsemen, who were mercenaries of the Great King [ὁπλῖται Ἀσσύριοι καὶ Ὑρκάνιοι ἱππεῖς καὶ οὗτοι βασιλέως μισθοφόροι ὡς ὀγδοήκοντα] (7.8.15). 45 The passage quoted is, incidentally, the only one in the Anabasis mentioning Assyrians. The proximity of Assyrians and Hyrcanians in the world of the Cyropaedia seems less strange if, on the one hand, Xenophon’s knowledge of Ctesias and, on the other, his recollection of personal experiences are borne in mind. So it is only fitting that in the Cyropaedia, too, there is mention of one Asiadates who in the great battle against Croesus’ army heads a unit of 1,000 horsemen (6.3.32). Once again, he is one of the figures for whose names Xenophon availed himself of personages of his own time. 46 c) The Sacae Contrary to the case of the Cadusians and Hyrcanians, Ctesias’ depiction of the Sacae may not have similarly commended itself to Xenophon as a source of inspiration. There, fierce warrior women held sway, such as Zarinaea, who caused the Median king Astibaras a lot of trouble, 47 or Sparethre, the wife of Amorges, who got the better of Cyrus in battle (F 9(3)). 48 These were not subjects that fitted the requirements of the Cyropaedia. The amount of Sacian participation in the military ventures on Cyrus’ side generally seems rather modest. This is quite interesting because the Sacae – unlike the Cadusians and

43 For a sceptical view, see Schmitt 2006, 138–140 (no. 3.1.7), n. 30. 44 Cf. Schmitt 2002, 136–138 (no. 3.2.14) on the deciphering of the illegibly recorded name of Itamenes. 45 Lendle 1995, 483–384, speaks of mercenaries who had been transferred from the east of the Empire to the western border. 46 Cf. Breitenbach 1967/1983, 1713; Schmitt 2002, 91–94 (no. 3.1.8); Schmitt 2011, 134–145 (no. 95). 47 But, there are also similarities in the characterisation of Zarinaea and of noble Pantheia; cf. Gera 1993, 201–202. Cf. generally Schmitt 2006, 239–242 (no. 3.2.19) on Zarinaea and 146–147 (no. 3.1.12) on Astibaras. 48 Cf. Schmitt 2006, 71–73 (no. 2.2) on Amorges and 279–280 (no. 3.2.44) on Sparethre.

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Hyrcanians – are firmly established in Herodotus’ Histories as powerful units within the armies of the Persian kings. In contrast to Ctesias, Herodotus does not seem to have had knowledge of the Cadusians. And the information his Histories provide on the Hyrcanians is very limited. Herodotus locates them on the northeastern edge of the Persian Empire, neighbouring the Chorasmians (3.117). 49 They do not appear at all in the list of Darius’ tax districts, but do so in the great catalogue of Xerxes’ troops. What is conspicuous there is their being mentioned in a prominent position, immediately after the Persians, Medes and Cissians, and hence not in the position of a typical ‘fringe nation’. They were equipped in the manner of the Persians. Their commander is Megapanus, who later on became governor of Babylon (7.62.2). 50 The Assyrians come behind them, followed by the Bactrians, Sacae and Indians (7.63–65). – The circumstance that the Hyrcanians and Assyrians are mentioned in direct succession here brings to mind the Assyrians and Hyrcanian mercenaries who thwarted Xenophon’s first attack on the Persian Asidates (An. 7.8.19). In the description of concrete military operations, however, the Hyrcanians do not get another mention in Herodotus. The Sacae, on the other hand, play a not inconsiderable part in the Histories. First, they are introduced, along with the Bactrians and Egyptians, as the object of Cyrus’ future war plans, after he had gained control of Asia Minor and had not yet conquered Babylon (1.153.4). In the catalogue of the districts set up by Darius, they figure, together with the Caspians, in the 15th district [νομός] (3.93.3). And in the catalogue of Xerxes’ forces, marching directly behind the Bactrians and in front of the Indians, there are the Amyrgian Scythians, who the Persians used to call Sacae (7.64–65). These three units, Sacae, Bactrians and Indians, fight alongside the Persians and Medes in Mardonius’ army at Plataea (9.31; cf. 8.113). 51 There, the Persian infantry and the cavalry of the Sacae particularly distinguished themselves (9.71). 52 Sacae, together with Persians and Medes, also contributed the fighting men on Xerxes’ fleet (7.184). Even at Marathon, the Sacae, beside the Persians, had acquitted themselves best (6.113). Evidently, Herodotus assessed Sacae, Bactrians and Indians in unison as major troop units within the Persian forces. These three nations also share one feature in the Cyropaedia. They appear in the list of peoples under the rule of Cyrus provided at the beginning of the Cyropaedia (1.1.4) although there is no mention of their having been

49 Cf. Asheri in Asheri, Lloyd & Corcella 2007, 505; Sieberer 2017 B, 50 and map D8. 50 On Megapanus’ position in the succession line of satraps in Babylonia, cf. Klinkott 2005, 453 and 483. With reference to Megapanus, Klinkott also points out that the ruler had full rein to appoint „Satrapen als Strategen eines königlichen Heeres“; cf. 295–296 with n. 62. However, apart from the passage in Herodotus, there is no further extant information on this Megapanus. 51 Cf. also Hdt. 7.9α.2: Mardonius declares: We have subjugated the Sacae, the Indians, the Ethiopians, the Assyrians and many other nations. 52 Cf. Hdt. 9.113: Had Masistes managed to reach the country of the Bactrians and Sacae in time, his revolt against Xerxes could have been successful.

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subdued in the narration of Cyrus’ deeds. Indians and Bactrians, however, have even more things in common. One is their vague geographical location. The Bactrians and the King of Susa In the catalogue of nations under Cyrus’ rule, the Bactrians appear directly next to the Indians (1.1.4). As is the case with the Indians, the question also arises with regard to the Bactrians: considering the plot of the Cyropaedia, how should they have happened to get into that status of dependence? But here, too, the question remains unanswered. The next time the Bactrians, just as the Indians, catch our attention is when we hear about the old Assyrian king’s plans to take advantage of the situation after Astyages’ death and to launch a full-scale attack on the Medes. At that time, he was pressing the Bactrians hard [πολιορκῶν δὲ Βακτρίους]. They were one of the nations round about [τῶν πέριξ] (1.5.2). Cyrus, at any rate, assumed that the army of the routed Assyrian king also comprised Bactrians whose status corresponded to that of unfree people [ἀνὴρ δοῦλος]. He presumed that the same applied to the Medes, Persians, Carians, Cilicians and Hellenes. Freedom was promised to all those who deserted to him (4.5.56–57). Like the Indians, the Bactrians, too, are governed by an anonymous king, whose figure remains entirely vague. The Assyrian king had hoped to win him, as well as the king of the Indians, over to his cause. Therefore he had sent Abradatas of Susa to him to negotiate an alliance [περὶ συμμαχίας]; Abradatas happened to be a guest-friend [ξένος] of that king (5.1.2–3). But we never learn what came of this mission. The question as to how the Bactrians became vassals of the Persian king remains open. And we are not given any further details about the homeland of the Bactrians and their approximate geographical location. It seems to be imagined in a relative proximity to the sphere of Assyrian control. Abradatas, in any case, became a loyal ally to Cyrus and died fighting heroically in battle. The sad story of Abradatas and his beautiful wife Pantheia presents us with another geographical difficulty: the question of the location of Susa. The city is going to be one of Cyrus’ future royal residences, besides Ecbatana and Babylon (8.6.22), but references to its location, just as to the position of Ecbatana, remain rather vague. This issue will be addressed in detail later on. 53 Abradatas and Pantheia are referred to as the man and the lady of Susa, 54 Abradatas even as king of Susa [ὁ Σούσων βασιλεύς] (6.3.14). 55 He is characterised, however, as the vassal of the Assyrian king, as is suggested by his diplomatic mission to the king of the Bactrians and his changing sides to Cyrus. A fictional funerary monument is said to still bear the names of Abradatas and Pantheia in Syrian letters [Σύρια γράμματα] (7.3.15). 56 This also points towards King Abradatas former allegiance to the King of the Assyrians. – As stated above, the catalogue of Xerxes’ infantry lists the Hyrcanians directly after the Persians, Medes and Cissians (7.62.2). So when in 53 54 55 56

Cf. below pp. 95–97. Cyr. 4.6.11; 5.1.2; 6.2.7; 6.3.14. Cf. Schmitt 2002, 120–122 (no. 3.2.1) on Abradatas. Delebecque 1978, 62, n. 2: “L’adjectif Σύρια est employé pour Ἀσσύρια.”

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the Cyropaedia Xenophon emphasises that even to his day the Hyrcanians are highly esteemed among the Persians and hold office [ἀρχάς] just like the Persians and Medes (4.2.8), one could almost think that they are in the position the Cissians occupied in Herodotus’ Histories. Look at the Nations in the Southwest Syrians – Arabians – Phoenicians It is only in a few cases that Xenophon in the Cyropaedia makes a clear distinction between Syria and Assyria, or the respective nations. The first instance occurs when in the catalogue of nations subjected by Cyrus he lists “Syrians, Assyrians, Arabians, Cappadocians” (1.1.4). By the time of Astyages’ death, the old king of the Assyrians had already subjugated all Syrians [πάντας Σύρους] and made the king of the Arabians tributary (1.5.2). Both peoples are reckoned among the nations in his vicinity [πάντων τῶν πέριξ] (1.5.2). After his victory over the forces of the old Assyrian, Cyrus launched an appeal to anyone who had served as a slave in the army of the Assyrians or Syrians or Arabians to come forward (4.5.56). It follows from these passages that Xenophon imagined the contingent of the Syrians – as well as that of the Arabians – to be a separate unit within the Assyrian king’s army, even if any military achievements of the Syrians are no longer expressly mentioned. In one scene, hinting at the cliché of ‘oriental’ richness and luxury, he has his protagonist declare to the Assyrian Gobryas that his (scil. Cyrus’) friends would not barter their virtue and their honour for all his (scil. Gobryas’), the Syrians’ and the Assyrians’ wealth (5.2.12). The region of Syria is finally particularly mentioned as a border area of the Persian Empire before Cyrus sets out to conquer Egypt (8.6.20). 57 This is in keeping with Xenophon’s presentation in the Anabasis, in which the Cyreans, bypassing the Cilician Gates, march through Syria until, having crossed the Araxes, they arrive in Arabia (1.4.4; 1.4.19, 1.5.1). The Arabia that Xenophon passed through in his Anabasis extended along the left bank of the Euphrates from the river Araxes to the Mascas river and on as far as the city of Pylae (1.5.1; 1.5.4). 58 Xenophon describes the supply problems on the march across largely barren land (1.5.1–6). Even if geographic details continue to be disputed, 59 there is no doubt that he made use of his experiences on the march of the Cyreans in shaping his picture of the Arabians in the Cyropaedia. – For one thing, there is the geographic proximity to the territory the old king of the Assyrians ruled over. As mentioned above, the king of the Arabians also appears as one in the list of subjected or threatened neighbours (1.5.2). He bears the name of Aragdus and made a significant contribution to the forces of the 57 Cf. above p. 74. 58 On Pylae, where the Cyreans entered Babylonia, cf. Reade 2015, 177. 59 Cf., for example, Lendle 1995, 43 (cf. also 45 with map no. 8). Lendle is convinced „daß der Araxes dem heutigen Belîkh (nicht, wie öfter behauptet wird, dem Khâbûr) entspricht“; the river Khabur should therefore be identified with the river Mascas. Retsö 2003, 252, in contrast, firmly assumes the Khabur to be identical with the Araxes as the boundary river between Syria and Arabia.

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Assyrians, fielding 10,000 horsemen, a hundred chariots and a great number of slingers (2.1.5; 4.5.56). However, this army was immediately routed, and Aragdus, just as the king of the Cappadocians, lost his life. 60 It is interesting to note that, according to Xenophon, Assyrians and Arabians suffered the majority of victims because they were in their own country [ἐν γὰρ τῇ ἑαυτῶν ὄντες χώρᾳ] and had not taken flight fast enough (4.2.31), unlike, for instance, Croesus or the king of the Phrygians (4.29–30). This statement indicates the immediate vicinity in which these Arabians and Assyrians are imagined to be located. 61 A contingent from Arabia also gets a mention as part of the enemy forces assembled on the banks of the river Pactolus under Croesus’ command (6.2.10). 62 After Cyrus’ victory over this army and the capture of Sardis, Cyrus set off for Babylon. On that march he subdued the inhabitants of Greater Phrygia and the Cappadocians and forced the Arabians into submission [ὑποχειρίους δ‘ ἐποιήσατο Ἀραβίους]. 63 He incorporated horsemen and horses from all these into his army and then deployed his well-equipped forces near Babylon (7.4.16). 64 Xenophon’s only roughly sketched out route here is broadly similar to the one of the Cyreans in the Anabasis. The absence of the Cilicians in this sketch can be explained by the fact that, according to the narrative of the Cyropaedia, Cyrus already learnt at the siege of Sardis that the Cilicians and Cyprians had joined him voluntarily. This was also the reason why he never placed a Persian as satrap over either of the two nations (7.4.1–2). As regards Arabia, on the other hand, Megabyzus was appointed as satrap (8.6.7). 65 The Mesopotamian Arabians constitute a unit by themselves. 66 It fits in the picture that in the Cyropaedia Xenophon speaks of the horses, horsemen and chariots of these 60 Cf. above p. 76 with n. 8. Retsö 2003, 186, wants to associate the name Aragdus with the name of the town Rug-di-ni, which Nabonidus claims to have captured in 553–552. Retsö believes that the Cyropaedia preserves a reminiscence of Nabonidus in the figure of the king of the Assyrians and that the subjugation of the Arabians recalls the expeditions Nabonidus conducted in Syria and Northern Arabia. To Retsö, the narrative of Cyrus’ campaign against the Assyrian king is a transformation of the historical war Cyrus waged against the Medes. 61 Cf. Tuplin 2003, 357; Retsö 2003, 186. 62 Cf. Stadter 1991, 478 n. 30: “The location of the battle of Thymbrara is taken from the battle of Agesilaus outside of Sardis in 395 B.C., recorded by Xenophon at Hell. 3.4.21–24 and Ages. 1.28–32 …” 63 Retsö 2003, 186, assumes that Arabians were included among the kings of Amurru, who paid homage to Cyrus “and that the Cyropaedia is right when it claims that the Arabs took part in the siege and conquest of Babylon”. 64 When faced with the siege of the city, the Babylonians at first laughed at the undertaking. They regarded the Phrygians, the Lydians, the Arabians and the Cappadocians as unreliable contingents within the enemy army (7.5.14). There is no further mention of these contingents. 65 Cf. Schmitt 2002, 61–63 (no. 2.19) on the name Megabyzus. The name was quite common. It was also the name of the warden at the Artemision in Ephesus Xenophon had entrusted with his money (An. 5.3.6–7); cf. also Breitenbach 1967/1983, 1712; Lendle 1995, 314–315. – Herodotus gave the Arabians a status as allies of the Persians, presenting ‘gifts’ to Darius; esp. cf. Hdt. 3.88.1, 97.5. Cf. generally on Darius and the ‘gifts-bearers’ Jacobs in this volume; on ‘gifts’ and ‘tributes’ in Herodotus see Ruffing 2018. 66 Cf. Retsö 2003, 252: “These Mesopotamian Arabs do not have any documented connection with those between Palestine and Egypt”.

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Arabians but does not mention camels (2.1.5; cf. 7.4.16). Cyrus actually did have camels, mounted by two archers, when he was fighting against Croesus at Sardis. No mention is made as to the provenance of this unit. Its objective in battle was to frighten the horses of the enemy cavalry. Despite its success in action, this weapon was no longer used later on; camels only served as pack-animals in the baggage train. 67 The episode pays homage to Herodotus’ depiction of Cyrus’ battle against Croesus (Hdt. 1.80; cf. 7.87). Herodotus, however, quite significantly associated the Arabians in Xerxes’ army with camel-riders (7.86.2; 7.184.4), while the Persians used camels only as beasts of burden or food for the well-to-do (1.133; 3.9; 7.83.2; 7.125; cf. 9.81). 68 The picture of the Phoenicians remains colourless. They appear in the catalogue of nations ruled by Cyrus (1.1.4) but after that are referred to briefly only once: In the report of the Indian spies, they are collectively mentioned between Arabians and Assyrians; no further details are provided (6.2.10). Egyptians – Cyprians (and Thracians) The final position in the catalogue of nations that Cyrus towards the end of his career held sway over is taken by the Egyptians (1.1.4). With regard to the Oikumene, Egypt – together with Cyprus – constitutes the western boundary of his empire (8.6.21; 8.8.1). The Egyptians are the last of the peoples mentioned so far to appear on the stage on which the military confrontation depicted in the Cyropaedia unfolds. The Indians who Cyrus sent to spy out the strength of the forces Croesus had assembled report that soon also the Egyptians will arrive on their ships [Αἰγυπτίους δὲ προσπλεῖν]. They number about 120,000 men, armed with large shields, long spears and with sabres [καὶ κοπίσι] (6.2.10). Araspas, then, is able to provide Cyrus with information about the enemy’s battle order. 69 Again, particular note is taken of the Egyptians. They are drawn up in squares of 10,000 men each (6.3.19–20). At his special request, Abradatas will position his chariots in the centre directly opposite them (6.3.35–36). – Though, prior to the battle, Cyrus had reassured his men that also the Egyptians were inconveniently armed and inexpertly arrayed (6.4.17–18), the bravery of the Egyptians engendered fierce fighting, in consequence of which Abradatas, as mentioned above, died a hero’s death (7.1.26–40, 46; 7.3.3). The courage of the Egyptians impressed Cyrus to the extent that he ordered his soldiers to spare the enemy and adopted the survivors into his army, dispensing them from participating in the 67 Cyr. 6.2.8: Cyrus has camels carrying two mounted archers; 6.2.18: not even a hundred horses will be able to withstand the sight of a camel; 6.3.33: a camel-corps is part of Cyrus’ troops; 7.1.22: camels are to scare off the enemy’s horses in battle; 7.1.27: the desired effect is achieved. – Cyr. 7.1.48–49: The camels were useful but in future will do service (as they did before) only as pack-animals. 68 Herodotus’ report on the use of camels in gold mining by the Indians and the ensuing description of the camel are ethnographic mirabilia which are not set in a military context (3.102–103, 105). 69 On Araspas, cf. Schmitt 2002, 126–128, no. 3.2.6: „… alle späteren Zeugnisse bei Plutarch usw. gehen auf Xenophon zurück“. – Whether or not the name has been inspired by Ariaspes – for instance, one of Artaxerxes’ II (Plut. Artaxerxes 30.1–3) sons was of that name –, as Syme 1988, 149–150, assumed, must remain hypothetical. On this Ariaspes, cf. Binder 2008, 356–357.

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ongoing struggle with Croesus. These Egyptians became loyal subjects. Even today, there are still settlements inhabited by their descendants (7.1.41–45). – Compared to the drama of the events described here, the subsequent terse report on Cyrus’ last great campaign, in the course of which he subdued Egypt, appears almost unreal. Even the above-mentioned fantastic troop figures cannot distract from this fact (8.6.19–20). As noted above, Xenophon credited his Cyrus also with the conquest of Cyprus (8.6.21; 8.8.1) and listed the Cyprians in the penultimate position, before the Egyptians, in the catalogue of nations under his rule (1.1.4). He also has his Indian spies inform Cyrus that, as part of Croesus’ amassed troops, an army [στράτευμα] from Cyprus as well is advancing (6.2.10). Yet, there is no further mention of this force. After being victorious in battle, still during the siege of Sardis, Cyrus learns that now also the Cilicians and Cyprians have changed sides and joined him voluntarily. For that reason he also never appointed a Persian as satrap over these two nations. They were, however, obliged to pay tribute and field an army if required (7.4.1–2; cf. 8.6.8). 70 The nations of Europe, as stated at the outset, remained outside Cyrus’ domain. We get to know that, according to the report of the Indian spies, Croesus recruited many Thracian swordsmen as mercenaries for his army [μεμισθωμένους εἶναι πολλοὺς μὲν Θρᾳκῶν μαχαιροφόρους] (6.2.10). The Thracians proper, however, like the Scythians and the Illyrians, are cited as an example of the European nations whose kings never succeeded in extending their sway over other nations (1.1.4). – The passage that Croesus also sent envoys to Sparta to negotiate an alliance [περὶ συμμαχίας], as the Indian spies report back to Cyrus, can be understood as a homage to Herodotus. But just as in the case of the Assyrian king and his embassy to the king of the Bactrians, we hear nothing about the outcome of this venture. On the other hand, Xenophon has the Indians also report in this passage that the Ionians, the Aeolians and almost all the Hellenes in Asia are compelled to go to war on Croesus’ side [ἠναγκάσθαι ἕπεσθαι] (6.2.10). Peculiarities in the Description of Locations and Space in the Cyropaedia The Lack of Geographical Details in the Reports on Cyrus’ Campaigns With regard to geographical aspects of Xenophon’s report on Cyrus’ campaigns, the sharp contrast to the Anabasis immediately strikes the eye. Xenophon describes the march of the Ten Thousand in such a way that it can be – more or less precisely – retraced in real space. There is no lack of information on the individual stages of the march, its duration and the distances covered along the route. He also indicates boundaries discernible in the

70 According to Herodotus, Amasis was the first to subdue Cyprus and collect tribute [κατεστρέψατο ἐς φόρου ἀπαγωγήν] (2.182.2). After the Cyprians had surrendered to Cambyses, they joined him in his expedition against the Egyptians (3.19.3).

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terrain between the individual regions. The hardships of the route and the difficulties in supply, in addition to the threat posed by the enemy, are rendered impressively. 71 Only little of this is to be found in the Cyropaedia, and this even applies – as we have seen – to the storyline still set in the neighbourhood of Media. As the narrative proceeds, the already sparse topographical references are becoming less frequent and then disappear almost completely. The result is a pasticcio of narrative pieces in which, on the one hand, seemingly quite concrete information about territorial features as part of war-related events is provided, on the other, however, the movement of the armies in geographical space remains utterly vague. In certain situations we are presented with firm boundaries between individual regions; then again, they are entirely without contours. It is a characteristic of Xenophon’s narrative strategy that information about the routes and distances covered is becoming increasingly abstract. 72 The farther the events narrated move away from the starting point of the conquests, namely the area of Media, and the greater the distances between the starting point and the destination of the expeditions, the sparser the information about the marches to be undertaken. The following examples will briefly illustrate this point. (Cf. on this the attached table with an overview of Cyrus’ main movements and the nations he won over as allies or subdued in the course of the campaigns). At the end of his first great campaign in the territory of the Assyrian king, Cyrus, as has been mentioned several times before, manages to occupy a stronghold the Assyrians constructed as protection against the Hyrcanians and Sacae. The description of the march to this fortress is kept very brief. On the way there as well as on the way back to Media, Cyrus is compelled to march closely past Babylon. Yet, Xenophon does not provide any indications that would facilitate gaining a concrete picture of the location of Babylon and this border fortress. His account of Cyrus’ way back reads like this: “As the army passed by the city, he [Cyrus] always, as he moved away, increased the strength of the part in the rear. After marching like this on the following days, he arrived at the borderlands of Syrians and Medes [εἰς τὰ μεθόρια τῶν Σύρων καὶ Μήδων], from which he had set out.” (5.4.50–51) Cyrus’ long march between his departure from Media and his arrival on the plain before Sardis is summed up in a few sentences. No details are provided on the regions passed through (6.3.1–5). 73 – The depiction of the march to Babylon, following the capture of 71 In her characterisation of Xenophon’s apprehension of space in the Anabasis, Anca Dan also emphasizes this central aspect in particular: “How could we define the space of the Anabasis? The answer is: as an ever-remote horizon, the absence of measure, of balance, of security. This is the mixture of elements which always provide the ideal stage for the adventures of a hero”; Dan 2014, 192. 72 Cf. Rood 2017, 272, with reference to Stadter 1991: “The narrative differs strongly from the other historiographical works [of Xenophon] in its handling of space and time. Marches, for instance, are described briefly, with no attention to specific routes”. 73 Cf. Stadter 1991, 478.

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Sardis, is particularly interesting. In the Anabasis, as we know, the route of the Cyreans from Sardis to the surroundings of Babylon is described in great detail. In the Cyropaedia, however, Xenophon devotes a mere three sentences to the description of the largely analogous march of Cyrus’ army. “While going on to Babylon [Προϊὼν δὲ ἐπὶ Βαβυλῶνος] he overturned the Phrygians of Greater Phrygia, he overturned Cappadocia, and he made Arabians subjects. … He arrived at Babylon [πρὸς Βαβυλῶνα ἀφίκετο] with a vast number of knights, a vast number of archers and spearmen, and innumerable slingers.” (7.4.16) When Cyrus, after the capture of Babylon and the consolidation of his position as Great King, returns to Persia [εἰς Πέρσας] (8.5.1), Xenophon gives a detailed account of how the march was organised. But how they first reached Media [κατὰ τῆν Μηδικήν] (8.5.17) and then continued to the Persian border [ἐπὶ τοῖς Περσῶν ὁρίοις] is left completely in the air. – Towards the end, Cyrus once again sets out on a great campaign. He thus rounds off his dominion. This is presented only in extreme brevity and with reference to a λέγεται. Cyrus is said to have fielded an army of 120,000 cavalry, 2,000 scythed chariots and 600,000 infantry. “When these were ready for him, he [Cyrus] started the expedition on which it is said that he subdued all nations that inhabit the land as one goes out of Syria as far as the Indian Ocean [μέχρι Ἐρυθρᾶς θαλάττης]. After this, it is said, there was the expedition against Egypt and that Egypt was subdued.” (8.6.19–20) Mapping the World of the Cyropaedia? Even in the early days of Classical Studies, scholars were attracted by the task of retracing the route of the Cyreans described in the Anabasis stage by stage, waypoint by waypoint, and locating it cartographically as far as possible. 74 Wishing to achieve something similar with regard to the Cyropaedia would appear to be an absurd undertaking. But can’t we at least sketch a kind of ‘mental map’ showing the most important sites of events and the approximate location of the territories and nations under Cyrus’ rule? Even there, fundamental problems arise. This will be briefly illustrated below on the basis of two aspects: the position of the residences and the placement of the nations neighbouring the Medes and the Assyrians. Where Should the Residences be Placed? Let us first recall Xenophon’s reference to the three future residences of the Great King: Babylon, Ecbatana and Susa (8.6.22). Their mention is probably intended to trigger 74 Cf., for example, on Carsten Niebuhr Wiesehöfer 2011.

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associations with a mental map, but their placing remains completely uncertain. The latter applies not only to these residences. Both the place and the name of the polis in which Cyrus’ father Cambyses held rule over the Persians [ἡ ἐν Πέρσαις βασιλεία], lie in the dark as well (cf. 8.5.21–22; 26; 7.1–2). The residence in Media, too, in which Cyrus met his grandfather and his uncle (cf. esp. 1.3.4–7; 2.4.3–4) remains without a name, and without specified location. Xenophon gives no reason to identify this city with the later royal city of Ecbatana. As it happens, Susa and Ecbatana are also mentioned in two passages of the Anabasis, both times in the same breath. 75 In the first one, Xenophon speaks of an army that a half-brother of the Great King had been leading from Susa and Ecbatana [ἀπὸ Σούσων καὶ Ἐκβατάνων στρατιὰν πολλὴν ἄγων] and that then, near the city of Opis 76 on the river Physcus [Diyala], encountered the Hellenes under Clearchus (2.4.25). That does not say much about the location of the two cities. What is more noteworthy is their second mention. Many stages later, when in the vicinity of modern Cizre they were not able to cross the Tigris and were forced to choose the more dangerous route across the mountains and through the land of the Carduchians (3.5.15–16), 77 the Hellenes had gathered information from prisoners on the various routes: “The prisoners informed them that the regions south, through which they had come, belonged to the district towards Babylon and Media; the road east led to Susa and Ecbatana, where the king is said to spend summer and spring; crossing the river, the road west led to Lydia and Ionia; and the part through the mountains facing towards the Great Bear, led, they said, to the Carduchians.” (transl. by H.G. Dakyns) 78 The passage is not only remarkable because it suggests that – roughly speaking – Susa and Ecbatana are situated on an east-west axis, as Christopher Tuplin has pointed out. 79 Ecbatana does not seem to be associated with Media at all. In any case, as already noted, there is no indication whatsoever that the unnamed residence of the kings Astyages and Cyaxares is Ecbatana. As the residence of the Great King, which embassies of the Greeks used to travel to, Susa was firmly established in the literary tradition. Herodotus knew that it was located on the banks of the river Choaspes in the land of the Cissians (3.91.4; 5.49.7; 5.52.6; also cf.

75 The same is true for Aeschylus; cf. Persae 15 and 535. 76 By this Opis, Xenophon must have meant the city of Sittake. Cf. Lendle 1995, 117; Reade 2015, 188: “The hypothesis that the names of Sittake and Opis should be transposed offers what seems to be so far the simplest interpretation of Xenophon’s route”. 77 Cf. Lendle 1995, 118, map 17 on stathmos no. 99, and 184, map 29 on stathmos no. 125. – On the discarded plan of crossing the Tigris, cf. Rollinger 2013, 28–29, 85; Hackl 2014, 37–40, 345–346. 78 The concrete localisation of a road junction at that stage of the Hellenes’ march creates problems. On this, cf. Lendle 1995, 188–189; Reade 2015, 199–200. 79 Tuplin 2003, 358: Xenophon “was apt to think of both Ecbatana and Susa (as royal cities) as primarily Persian and as lying on a linear path running east from the Tigris valley”.

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6.119.2). 80 His description of the ‘Royal Road’, which led from Ephesus to Susa (5.52–53), was even trumped by Ctesias. Photius reports that the latter, along with a list of kings from Ninus and Semiramis to Artaxerxes I, had also attached a route description to his Persica. It included “the number of stations, days, and parasangs from Ephesus to Bactria and India” (F33(76) Stronk). What remains striking is that while Susa appears as the residence of the Assyrians, Medes and Persians (cf. F 1b (22), F 6b(6), F 13(10) and F 13(10]), Ctesias – according to the testimonies and fragments – makes no reference to the Cissians and their land, either. In Herodotus, on the other hand, the Cissians occupy an honourable position within the Persian forces, right after the Persians and Medes, in infantry as well as cavalry (7.62; 7.86.1), and they also provide elite-troops (7.210). In the world of the Cyropaedia, however, Susa belonged to the realm of the Assyrian kings. In any case, there is no mention of Cissia or the Cissians. There is also no reference to the famous Royal Road, as in Herodotus or in Ctesias. There is strong evidence that this vague ‘geographical’ scenario has been deliberately chosen. 81 At least that is what a comparison with Xenophon’s treatment of Babylon suggests. The geographical position of Babylon, too, lies in the dark. 82 The river running through the city has no name. There is no estimate, either, as to the distance from Media, or from Sardis, to the city. Xenophon himself had been “not far from Babylon” with the Ten Thousand when they went to the so-called Wall of Media. 83 Although there is a notorious debate about the exact position of the latter [ἀπέχει δὲ Βαβυλῶνος οὐ πολύ (2.4.12)], 84 Xenophon must have had concrete ideas about where Babylon was situated. Where Should the Neighbouring Nations of the Medes and Assyrians Be Placed? Xenophon also places nations that traditionally would have to be located at a greater distance in the immediate neighbourhood of the two antagonistic powers. Since his accounts of these peoples and some of their representatives have already been dealt with above, the following résumé may be short. The land of the Persians, from which Xenophon’s protagonist comes, lies –figuratively speaking – in geographical darkness. It borders Media. We do not get to know anything about other countries and peoples in its neighbourhood. It remains unaffected by military operations. The picture Xenophon creates of Media, on the other hand, is many-faceted. It is partly reminiscent of the barren land of the Persians, then again of the lush countryside of

80 Cf. Asheri in Asheri, Lloyd & Corcella 2007, 487. 81 Tuplin 2003, 358, stresses that Xenophon suppressed his knowledge of the residential cities Susa and Ecbatana in favour of his “geo-historical picture”. 82 The same is true for the residence of Cyrus’ father in the land of the Persians. When entering his new residence in Babylon, Cyrus also behaves in the same way as he used to at his father’s house. Cf. Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 217 on Cyr. 7.5.57: „Hier wie schon in I 6.1 verhält sich Kyros wie ein Grieche, indem er sich zunächst an Hestia, die Schutzgottheit des Hauses, wendet.“ 83 On the problem of identifying the ‘Wall of Media’, cf. Reade 2015, 178–184, fig. 3. 84 On this, cf. the map in Reade 2015, fig. 2.

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its enemies, the Assyrians. Christopher Tuplin – as already stated above – has pointed out the compositional significance of this double image, which reflects rigid Persian customs and ‘oriental’ luxury at the same time. A point of note is that Medes and Armenians are bordering neighbours, which is in clear contrast to the description in the Anabasis. The Chaldeans, then, are introduced as border neighbours of the Armenians. Their portrayal seems like an assortment of experiences Xenophon had with Chaldeans and Chalybians during the March of the Ten Thousand. If their position were to be entered on a ‘map’, they would probably be placed to the north, or northeast, of the Armenians. More difficult is the question of where to place the Indians of the Cyropaedia on a ‘map’. It is the Armenians and the Chaldeans – of all nations – that know the route to them and their king. Even though Xenophon’s picture of India does contain some ‘classic’ clichés, the appearance of the Indians in the plot structure of the Cyropaedia does not quite fit in with the placement of India in the southeast, at too great a distance from the central scenes of the narrative. – The geographical positioning of the Bactrians also remains vague. It can be assumed that Xenophon’s audience associated with them – as with the Indians – the image of battle-tried troops within the Achaemenid forces, but at the same time also the idea of considerable geographical remoteness. That in the Cyropaedia the Bactrians are – albeit vaguely – located in the surroundings of Assyria can hardly be considered a lapse. They rather give the effect of being deliberately zoomed in to the sphere of influence of the Assyrian king. This narrative effect becomes clear when Xenophon explicitly makes nations that are commonly located in the Caspian Sea area neighbours of the Assyrians. This applies at any rate to the Hyrcanians and Sacae, but he also brings the Cadusians at least into the vicinity of Assyria. Interestingly enough, Xenophon takes a different approach when it comes to dealing with the western or southwestern neighbourhood of the Assyrians. The Cilicians, Syrians and Arabians are to be looked for approximately where they are also located in the Anabasis, although Xenophon in the Cyropaedia refrains almost completely from providing specific information on their position. As finally regards the nations inhabiting Asia Minor, he simply seems to take his fellow-countrymen’s common knowledge about the area for granted. All this suggests an approach in which the conception of space starts out from the basis of a more or less well-known real world but then shifts away from already established geographical notions, subverting or deliberately defamiliarizing them. A sketch map intended to illustrate this is therefore bound to assign placements that run contrary to ‘geographic common sense’ – not only ours, but also that of Xenophon’s time. 85 In this respect, too, the geographical horizon of the Cyropaedia differs significantly from the one of the Anabasis. Yet, it is these very idiosyncrasies in the description of space that constitute an adequate ‘geographical’ base for the fictional historical scenario in which Xenophon sets up his narrative. 86 85 Cf. Dan, Geus & Guckelsberger 2014 on the concept of ‘common sense geography’. 86 Cf. Stadter 1991, 471 and 478: “The Cyropaideia is set in an imagined past, but depends on a constant awareness of the present to achieve its goal of future development […] The space defined in the Cyropaideia is similarly a construct of the author’s fiction, determined less by physical reality or

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Concluding Remarks The paper presented here considers the geographical setting one important element in the “interplay between history and fiction” 87 that characterises the Cyropaedia. The endeavour to analyse various elements of this ‘interplay’ and to weight them with regard to their significance leads, however, to a notorious problem: how to capture the Cyropaedia using the conventional basic concepts and generic terms. In his masterly article in the Realencyclopädie, Hans Rudolf Breitenbach, about half a century ago, tried to exemplify a distinction between the ‘historical element’ and the ‘pseudohistorical element’ in the ‘unfolding of the plot’ of the Cyropaedia. In doing so, he compared the function of this ‘plot’ to that of the walls in the construction of a house: “… es sind gewissermaßen die Wände, an denen die belehrenden, paradeigmatischen Bilder aufgehängt werden.” In addition to this ‘protreptic element’ in the Cyropaedia, however, there is still another: the ‘novelistic element’. 88 Breitenbach’s differentiation can easily be extended. Attempts at finding the fitting terms to describe the complex character of the Cyropaedia demonstrate the entire range of aspects under which Xenophon’s great work can be viewed: Michael Flower, for instance, called it “a didactic semifictional biography of Cyrus the Great, a sort of philosophical romance […] a highly innovative mix of biography, history, fiction, and political philosophy”. 89 This variety of literary genres that can be detected in the work makes it clear that any search for a specific generic term to apply to the Cyropaedia can hardly lead to a result that satisfies everyone. Melina Tamiolaki recently put it like this: “The genre of the Cyropaedia is a puzzling issue. At first sight this work seems to encompass a variety of genres: biography and encomium, historiography, fiction and novel, political treatise. Depending on the perspective adopted, it has been

the knowledge of the Persian Empire acquired by the Greeks or by Xenophon in his travels, than by the needs of the narrative”. 87 Quotation: Zimmermann 2009, 99. 88 Breitenbach 1967/1983, 1709–1717; esp. cf. 1716. 89 Flower 2012, 30 and 28. Cf. also Flower in this volume, esp. in regard of the underlying criticism in Xenophon’s depiction of the character of his hero. On the question, how and why Xenophon deliberately chose to offer in his Cyropaedia a very different version from the Greek historiographical tradition, see Pownall in this volume.

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classified in various ways …. This variety of approaches attests to the complex character of the Cyropaedia and the problems posed by its genre (or lack of).” 90 It is a logical consequence that this complex character of the Cyropaedia reflects – in Flower’s words – ‘the summation of Xenophon’s life’s work’: “The Cyropaedia … is both the longest of his writings and contains within it a treatment of the major themes and subjects that are explored in his other works. Not surprisingly, the Cyropaedia is just as difficult to categorize (or pigeonhole) as is Xenophon himself.” 91 In this context it is significant that Xenophon chose that form of prose for his narration that was thoroughly familiar to him from authors as diverse as Herodotus, Thucydides and Ctesias. As Bernhard Zimmermann pointed out: “At the time of the composition of the Cyropaedia […] historiography was the prosaic Großform, which with its authorial narrator, its speeches and dialogues, encomiastic insertions, reflective passages, ekphraseis, etc., offered itself as a model for the novel as the new form of extended writing. Just as epic acted as a literary model for historiography, the new Großform novel took its structure from historiography.” 92 Without a doubt, the Cyropaedia is a work sui generis. Its peculiar profile also encompasses a specific ‘geographical’ scenario. The Cyropaedia – despite all its idealising and didactic traits – does not want to present its audience with anything that is unbelievable in principle. In keeping with the philosophical-didactic character of the work, Xenophon therefore dispensed with garish effects in describing the space in which his protagonist moves about. He does not provide dramatic descriptions of landscapes and scenery in the course of military expeditions, does not report on wonders of fauna and flora and shows great reservation in the characterisation of foreign peoples and their customs. The picture of the ‘mental map’ evoked by the reading of the text also remains vague. Although the author, as described above, makes significant use of alienation effects, deviating from a map image based on ‘common sense geography’ (as is provided in the Anabasis), he preserves the claim to set up his narrative in ‘real’ space. 93

90 Tamiolaki 2017, 180–182. 91 Flower 2017, 11. 92 Zimmermann 2009, 103. Cf. also Madreiter in this volume on the genre of ‘historical metafiction’; she considers the Cyropaedia an “inventive narrative with historical claim”. 93 A contrasting comparison with the Alexander Romance is illuminating in this respect. There, as Sabine Müller, to whom I owe this reference, recently phrased it, an “Assoziationsraum in Gestalt einer kulturell-symbolischen Landschaft” has been created. It is an “innere Landschaft“, in which the character development of the protagonist takes place; cf. Müller 2017, quotations 164, 170.

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Cyropaedia – ‘Historical Space’ and the Nations at the Fringes of the Oikumene

The Main Movements of Cyrus and His Army From Media through Armenia to the Chaldaeans and back – Supporters at the outset: Persians + Medes – New allies: Armenians + Chaldaeans To the first pitch battle on Assyrian territory, in the neighbourhood of Media – New allies: Hyrcanians + Sacae + Cadusians – The Indians became Cyrus’ supporters outside the battlefields – New allies: Gobryas + Gadatas + Abradatas of Susa – The Bactrians did not support the Assyrians The expedition to the Assyrian fortress against Hyrcanians + Sacae – Cyrus got control over parts of Assyria

From Media to Sardis – After the second pitch battle and the sack of Sardis, Cyrus got control over: Lydians + further nations in Asia Minor + Cyprians + Egyptians From Sardis to Babylon – Cyrus subjugated Syrians + Arabians – Conquest of Babylon: Cyrus was now Great King From Babylon to Media and Persia – Stop in Media – Cyrus came home to the polis in Persia The last campaign – Cyrus’ army reached the ‘Red Sea’ (Southern Ocean) and conquered Egypt

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Bibliography Ambler, W. 2001. Xenophon, The Education of Cyrus, Ithaca & London. Asheri, D., Lloyd, A. & Corcella, A. 2007. A Commentary on Herodotus Books I–IV, with a Contribution by Maria Brosius, Oxford. Binder, C. 2008. Plutarchs Vita des Artaxerxes. Ein historischer Kommentar (Göttinger Forum für Altertumswissenschaften – Beihefte, Neue Folge 1), Berlin &New York. Bizos, M. 1971. Xénophon, Cyropédie I: Livres I et II (Collection des Universités de France), Paris. —. 1973. Xénophon, Cyropédie II: Livres III-V (Collection des Universités de France), Paris. Breitenbach, H. R. 1967/1983. ‘Xenophon II B 1. Die Kyrupädie’, Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft IX A 2, Stuttgart, 1707–1742. Dan, A. 2014. ‘Xenophon’s Anabasis and the Common Greek Mental Modelling of Spaces’, in: K. Geus & M. Thiering (eds.), Features of Common Sense Geography. Implicit Knowledge Structures in Ancient Geographical Texts, Zürich & Berlin, 157–198. Dan, A., Geus, K. & Guckelsberger, K. 2014. ‘What is Common Sense Geography? Some Preliminary Thoughts from a Historical Perspective’, in: K. Geus & M. Thiering (eds.), Features of Common Sense Geography. Implicit Knowledge Structures in Ancient Geographical Texts, Zürich & Berlin, 17 – 38. Delebecque, É. 1978. Xénophon, Cyropédie III: Livres VI–VIII (Collection des Universités de France), Paris). Flower, M. A. 2012. Xenophon’s Anabasis or The Expedition of Cyrus, Oxford. —. 2017. ‘Introduction’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 1–12 Gera, D. L. 1993. Xenophon’s Cyropaedia. Style, Genre, and Literary Technique (Oxford Classical Monographs), Oxford. Hackl, C. 2014. Das Queren von Flüssen als militärische Herausforderung. Flussüberquerungen in der Antike (maschinschriftliche Dissertation Innsbruck). Klinkott, H. 2005. Der Satrap. Ein achaimenidischer Amtsträger und seine Handlungsspielräume (Oikumene 1), Frankfurt am Main. Kuhrt, A. 2007. The Persian Empire. A Corpus of Sources from the Achaemenid Period I/II, London & New York. Lendle, O. 1995. Kommentar zu Xenophons Anabasis (Bücher 1–7), Darmstadt. Miller, W. 1961. Xenophon, Cyropaedia, Vol. II (The Loeb Classical Library), London &.Cambridge, MA. Müller, S. 2017. ‘Landschaft in den antiken Quellen zu Alexander. Der griechische Alexanderroman’, in: M. Kasper, M. Korenjak, R. Rollinger & A. Rudigier (eds.), Entdeckung der Landschaft. Raum und Kultur in Geschichte und Gegenwart, Wien, Köln & Weimar, 159–172. Mueller-Goldingen, C. 1995. Untersuchungen zu Xenophons Kyrupädie (Beiträge zur Altertums­ kunde 42) , Stuttgart & Leipzig. Parpola, S. 2003. ‘Sacas, India, Gobryas, and the Median Royal Court: Xenophon’s Cyropaedia through the Eyes of an Assyriologist’, in: G. B. Lanfranchi, M. Roaf & R. Rollinger (eds.),

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Continuity of Empire (?) – Assyria, Media, Persia (History of the Ancient Near East  / Monographs – V), Padova, 339–350. Reade, J. 2015. ‘Xenophon’s Route through Babylonia and Assyria’, Iraq 77, 173–202. Retsö, J. 2003. The Arabs in Antiquity. Their History from the Assyrians to the Umayyads, London & New York. Rollinger, R. 2013. Alexander und die großen Ströme. Die Flußüberquerungen im Lichte alt­ orientalischer Pioniertechniken (Schwimmschläuche, Keleks und Pontonbrücken) (Classica et Orientalia 7), Wiesbaden. Rood, T. 2017. ‘Xenophon’s Narrative Style’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 263–278. Ruffing, K. 2018. ‘Gifts for Cyrus. Tribute for Darius’, in: T. Harrison & E. Irwin (eds.), Interpreting Herodotus, Oxford, 149–161 Schmitt, R. 2002. Die iranischen und Iranier-Namen in den Schriften Xenophons (Iranica Graeca Vetustiora II) (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften – PhilosophischHistorische Klasse – Sitzungsberichte 692), Wien. —. 2006. Iranische Anthroponyme in den erhaltenen Resten von Ktesias‘ Werk (Iranica Gracea Vetustiora III) (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften – Philosophisch-Historische Klasse – Sitzungsberichte 736), Wien. —. 2011. Iranische Personennamen in der griechischen Literatur vor Alexander d. Gr. (Iranisches Personennamenbuch V: Iranische Namen in Nebenüberlieferungen indogermanischer Sprachen 5A), Wien. Sieberer, W. 2017. ‘Herodots Blick auf die Welt – ein kartographisches Projekt antiker Weltsicht’, in: R. Rollinger (ed.), Die Sicht auf die Welt zwischen Ost und West (750 v. Chr.– 550 n. Chr.) (Classica et Orientalia 12 – Teil B), Wiesbaden. Stadter, P. A. 1991. ‘Fictional Narrative in the Cyropaideia’, The American Journal of Philology 112, 461–491. Stronk, J. P. 2017. Semiramis’ Legacy. The History of Persia According to Diodorus of Sicily, Edinburgh. Syme, R. 1988. ‘The Cadusii in History and in Fiction’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 108, 137–150. Tamiolaki, M. 2017. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Tentative Answers to an Enigma’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 174–194. Tatum, J. 1989. Xenophon’s Imperial Fiction: On the Education of Cyrus, Princeton. Tuplin, C. J. 2003. ‘Xenophon in Media’, in: G. B. Lanfranchi, M. Roaf & R. Rollinger (eds.), Continuity of Empire(?) – Assyria, Media, Persia (History of the Ancient Near East / Monographs – V), Padua, 351–389. Wiesehöfer, J. 2011. ‘Carsten Niebuhr, Xenophons “Anabasis” und die Kartographie’, in: B. Onken & D. Rohde (eds.) in omni historia curiosus – Studien zur Geschichte von der Antike bis zur Neuzeit, Festschrift für Helmuth Schneider zum 65. Geburtstag (Philippika 47), Wiesbaden, 176–184. Zimmermann, B. 2009. ‘The Historical Novel in the Greek World: Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, in: G. A. Karla (ed.), Fiction on the Fringe. Novelistic Writing in the Post-Classical Age (Mnemosyne – Supplements 310), Leiden & Boston, 95–103.

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On the Fundamental Activities of the Leader in Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus – and Whether They Even Constitute Leadership John E. Esposito (Chapel Hill) & Norman B. Sandridge (Washington, DC)

Introduction ἐκείνων δέ, ὦ παῖ, ἐπελάθου ἅ ποτε ἐγὼ καὶ σὺ ἐλογιζόμεθα ὡς ἱκανὸν εἴη καὶ καλὸν ἀνδρὶ ἔργον, εἴ τις δύναιτο ἐπιμεληθῆναι ὅπως ἂν αὐτός τε καλὸς κἀγαθὸς δοκίμως γένοιτο καὶ τὰ ἐπιτήδεια αὐτός τε καὶ οἱ οἰκέται ἱκανῶς ἔχοιεν; τὸ δέ, τούτου μεγάλου ἔργου ὄντος, οὕτως ἐπίστασθαι ἀνθρώπων ἄλλων προστατεύειν ὅπως ἕξουσι πάντα τὰ ἐπιτήδεια ἔκπλεω καὶ ὅπως ἔσονται πάντες οἵους δεῖ, τοῦτο θαυμαστὸν δήπου ἡμῖν τότε ἐφαίνετο εἶναι. 1 (Cambyses, king of the Persians, to his son Cyrus:) “My child, have you forgotten those things that you and I once engaged in dialogue over, how it was adequate and respectable for a man if he were able to see to it that he become both certifiably respectable and good and that he and his household be self-sufficient? But, though this is a great deed, to know how to be the prostatēs of other humans in such a way that they have all that they need in abundance and that they will all be the kind of people they need to be, this of course appeared to be most admirable to us at that time.” (Cyr. 1.6.7) Cyropaedia 1.6.7 is in some ways the climax of Book One and a prelude to the rest of the work. Cyr. 1.6 marks the conclusion of Cyrus’ formal paideia in the Persian agōgē (Cyr. 1.2) and his less formal education in Media (Cyr. 1.3–4), where Cyrus learns to ride 1 Cf. Xenophon’s judgment of the Spartan naval commander Teleutias, expressed in the authorial voice, at Hellenica 5.1.4: ἀλλὰ ναὶ μὰ Δία τόδε ἄξιόν μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι ἀνδρὶ ἐννοεῖν, τί ποτε ποιῶν ὁ Τελευτίας οὕτω διέθηκε τοὺς ἀρχομένους. τοῦτο γὰρ ἤδη πολλῶν καὶ χρημάτων καὶ κινδύνων ἀξιολογώτατον ἀνδρὸς ἔργον ἐστίν (“by Zeus I think it’s worth it for a man to consider the following: how did Teleutias act such as to handle those he ruled; for this is a deed worthier of a man than much wealth and many risks”). If the Hellenica’s ἀξιολογώτατον emphasizes the objective excellence of the leader, the Cyropaedia’s θαυμαστὸν emphasizes the appropriate subjective estimation of this excellence.

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a horse, dress in the Median fashion, play the wine-pourer, and hunt outside his grandfather Astyages’ enclosed palace estate. At Cyr. 1.4.25 Cyrus is summoned home by his father Cambyses on the grounds that he is already performing “the deeds of a man” (ἔργα ἀνδρὸς). At Cyr. 1.5.4–5 Cyrus is invited by his Median uncle Cyaxares to be Persian archōn of the campaign against the Assyrians, and the Persians themselves choose him for this role, at which point Cyrus delivers a rousing speech to the assembled troops. Cyr. 1.6 begins the final phase of Cyrus’ education, a dialogue with his father, who opens with a discussion about the importance of seeking favor from the gods, especially in times of prosperity (but only after exhausting all of one’s own efforts). Our focus for this piece, Cyr. 1.6.7, marks an outward turn to the wider community. Here, Cambyses introduces a tripartite mode of human activity: becoming good (καλὸς κἀγαθός), seeing to it that one’s family has what it needs, and knowing how to prostateuein (what we are for the moment translating as “be the prostatēs”), in such a way that people have everything they need and become what they need to become. According to Cambyses, being the prostatēs of others is the most admirable thing (thaumaston) a person can be. For the provenance of this hypothetical prostatēs Cambyses seems to have in mind followers beyond the Persian citizenry or army (cf. ἀνθρώπων ἄλλων προστατεύειν). In other words, the role he imagines is more universal than that of archōn of the Persian army or the basileus of Persia. The prior dialogue Cambyses references with his introductory phrase “have you forgotten?” is not recounted or referenced elsewhere in the Cyropaedia, but some of its substance and structure may be inferred both from the discussion that follows it and from a similar dialogue in Xenophon’s Memorabilia 3.6. It is here where we may begin to get a sense for what Cambyses has in mind for the prostatēs. 2 The Problematic Role of the prostatēs Memorabilia 3.6 is a comparatively lengthy dialogue between Socrates and Glaucon, son of Ariston (and older brother of Plato), who, Xenophon says, was eager to be the prostatēs of the city of Athens (ἐπιθυμῶν προστατεύειν τῆς πόλεως), despite being under twenty years old. 3 The impetus for the dialogue is the fact that none of Glaucon’s friends could prevent 2 For other discussions of this passage in light of Hipparchicus and Memorabilia see Wood 1964 and Buxton 2017. Wood and Buxton paint a general picture of the positive attributes of a Xenophontic leader; in the following section we consider the tyrant-esque obversion risked by the person who combines pronoia (in the relevant subject-area) and desire to ‘stand before’. 3 According to Kenyon (see the OCT on Ath. Pol. 2.2, 1920) the term τοῦ δήμου προστάτης (“head of the people”), which is first applied to Solon, then Peisistratus, and later Pericles, among others, was almost an official title (cf. Ath. Pol. 28). The phrase προστατεύειν τῆς πόλεως that Xenophon uses here may have been chosen to shift focus from the implicit factional strife between the dēmos and the elites at Athens onto the whole city-state. Cf. Connor 1971, 111–115 cited in Tamiolaki 2016, 15, where προστάτης τῆς πόλεως (Mem. 1.2.40) is mentioned as “the only hint at a democratic background” (without speculating on connotative distinctions between dēmos and polis as objective modifiers of prostatēs).

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the naive young man from embarrassing himself by seeking to be prostatēs. Socrates is thus called upon to set him on the right path. For his part Socrates acknowledges that being the prostatēs of the city is the most beautiful (καλόν) thing a person might do in terms of helping his friends, elevating the reputation of his family and his fatherland, and making a name for himself. 4 But he argues that in order to play such a role a person must have knowledge of how to benefit the polis, especially knowledge of its sources of revenue and how to manage military affairs. The dialogue concludes with Glaucon in a state of aporia: if he doesn’t even know how to convince his uncle to run his estate properly, how can he hope to persuade a whole city to manage itself? Socrates then provides the lesson: “If you desire to have a good reputation and to be an object of admiration (θαυμάζεσθαι) in the polis, try as hard as you can to have an understanding of what you intend to do” (Mem. 3.6.18). Socrates also makes the association between being knowledgeable and being a good pro­statēs in Mem. 3.4.6. There he argues that Antisthenes can become a good stratēgos because his love of victory (philonīkia) will make him want to learn how to do the job: “Whatever someone is the prostatēs of, if he knows both what is necessary and is able to provide it, he would be a good prostatēs, whether it’s a chorus, a household, a city, or an army he’s the prostatēs of.” 5 This understanding of the prostatēs in the Memorabilia agrees with much of what we find in Cyr. 1.6.7ff. 6 Cyrus is a young man like Glaucon, eager to distinguish himself and with no experience managing a household, something Socrates claims is a prerequisite to managing a city (cf. Mem. 3.6.15–16). Like Socrates, Cambyses stresses that Cyrus will need to make a thorough account of what he intends to do while on campaign with Cyaxares against the Assyrians. Commanding the army is about more than tactics (Cyr. 1.6.15): it requires constant provisioning of food and water, making sure that the army never becomes sick, and also making sure that Cyrus himself is doing all that he is supposed to do. All of these instructions Cyrus eagerly absorbs. Beyond the challenge of having knowledge or expertise, there is another problematic side to being a prostatēs that we must consider when trying to understand the role Cambyses has in mind. The relevant context here is Book Eight of Plato’s Republic, where Socrates explains to Glaucon (the same Glaucon as in Mem. 3.6) that in an oligarchy the 4 Simonides offers a similar opportunity to Hieron, the tyrannos of Syracuse: “If you transform the polis you are the prostatēs of into the happiest of them all, know that you will be victorious in the most beautiful and illustrious competition among humans” (Xen. Hieron 11.7. For the difficulties posed by the manuscript here see the note in Marchant to the Loeb edition, 1925). 5 In the Oeconomicus Ischomachus argues that being a prostatēs of certain tasks means being able to teach others how to do them (Xen. Oec. 12.4). 6 On connections between Cyrus and Socrates see Dorion in this volume.

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people will eventually put forth someone to represent their own interests (i.e., a prostatēs). The danger is that such a person is prone to becoming a tyrannos. “Socrates: So, does the dēmos ever do anything other than to place before itself (προΐστασθαι ἑαυτοῦ) one man and both to nurture and build him up to be great? Glaucon: That’s what it does. Socrates: This, then, is clear, I said, that whenever a tyrannos comes into existence, it sprouts from a “prostatic root” (προστατικῆ ῥίζη) and from nowhere else. Glaucon: That’s very clear. Socrates: What, then, is the origin of the change from prostatēs to tyrannos? Is it not clear that [it happens] whenever the prostatēs begins to do the same thing as the man in the story that is told about the temple to Lykaion Zeus in Arcada?” (Plato, Republic 8.565c7-d7) Socrates explains that in this story anyone who tastes human flesh will be turned into a wolf (whence the association with Zeus Lykaios). By analogy, he says that the prostatēs, once he has control of an obedient mob (ochlos), will not hesitate to shed the blood of his own kinsmen. 7 A few pages earlier in the Republic Socrates had explained how a prostatēs corrupts the dēmos: When the city governed by a democracy becomes thirsty for freedom (eleutheria) and gets “bad wine pourers” (kakoi oinochooi) playing the role of the prostatēs, society descends into anarchy, as everyone comes to be equal to everyone else (sons to fathers, foreigners to citizens, pupils to teachers, women to men), resulting in complete lawlessness and absolute freedom becoming slavery to passion (8.562c7-d2). From these examples we see that a prostatēs is someone “placed in front” (cf. προΐστασθαι in Republic 8.365c7) by someone else (here, the dēmos), in order to represent their interests. 8 This role, however, may become confused with that of the tyrannos, who serves his own interests. These two metaphors in Republic 8 – that of the prostatēs as (1) a potential cannibal of those he is to represent and as (2) a corrupting wine-pourer – find contrast in Cyropaedia 1.3. In Cyr. 1.3.4 Cyrus dines with his mother and grandfather Astyages at the Median 7 Aristotle is also concerned about how a prostatēs could become a tyrannos in the Politics, where he describes how democracies (5.1305a19–28) and oligarchies (5.1305a37–41; cf. 5.1305b17–18) undergo revolutions (metabolai). 8 Note some examples from a non-political context where someone bids someone else to be their prostatēs. Cf. Economicus 2.9.3, Kritobulos appoints Socrates to be his prostatēs in advising him on wealth management. Ober 1989, 316, describes the prostatēs similarly in terms of the fourth-century Athenian orator leadership role: “One important function the orators fulfilled was to protect the masses – the term prostatēs tou demou, ‘he who stands before the people,’ meant not only one who stood first in the eyes of the people and who physically stood before the people in order to address them, but one who interposed himself between the people and the dangers that threatened them.”

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court. When Astyages offers Cyrus an abundance of fine meats, the young man refuses, explaining that his path to satiety is much easier. He then proceeds to distribute the food to a number of servants in the household. Though this is not human flesh, Cyrus has passed a test of tyranny, as it were, by refusing to consume meat that could be better shared with others. In the next scene, Xenophon introduces Astyages’ oinochoos Sacas, whom Cyrus had refused to give any of the meats. Sacas is identified both as an oinochoos and the one who is in charge of granting or denying access to those who needed something from Astyages (cf. τιμὴν ἔχων προσάγειν τοὺς δεομένους Ἀστυάγους καὶ ἀποκωλύειν, Cyr. 1.3.8). Cyrus is envious of Sacas’ privileged role in Astyages’ court, but the justification for his envy resembles Socrates’ criticism of the prostatēs as a bad wine-pourer. He cites a time at Astyages’ birthday when Sacas “poisoned” the king and his friends by serving them wine to the point of anarchy, specifically in the form of role reversal: they shouted all the time (something boys are not permitted to do) and ignored each other; they claimed to sing excellently but in fact did not; they could not dance standing up straight; and, most tellingly, everyone forgot that Astyages was the basileus and the archōn. They practiced isēgoria (“equality in regards to public speaking”), a common feature of a democracy. Cyrus for his part asserts that were he the oinochoos, he would not only not taste of the wine, he would also not “poison” Astyages and his friends. By analogy with Plato, Xenophon is saying in effect that Cyrus would not indulge the people’s irrational thirst for freedom and would thus prevent anarchy and the eventual rise of the tyrannos. Yet even when a prostatēs is not consciously striving to be a tyrannos, he may get caught up in flattery and ultimately harm those whose interests he has been chosen to represent, as the example of Croesus, king of Lydia, in the Cyropaedia 7.2 illustrates. After being told by the Oracle at Delphi that he would find happiness so long as he “knew himself,” Croesus felt optimistic because knowing himself seemed easy to do. But he comes to ruin because of his reckless leadership of a military campaign against Cyrus. As he explains, self-knowledge proved more difficult than he imagined. Part of the reason he was deprived of this self-knowledge was because he was seduced by the prospect of becoming a prostatēs: “‘Now in turn, broken down both by my wealth at hand and by those asking me to become their prostatēs and by the gifts they gave me and by people who were flattering me by saying that if I but chose to be the archōn of the campaign, everyone would obey me and I would be the greatest of humans, and puffed up by such speeches, as all the basileis stood in a circle and chose me to be the prostatēs of the war, I accepted the command as someone ready to become the greatest, but in fact ignorant of myself, because I thought I was ready to wage war against you – you who first of all have come from the gods, and secondly who are born of basileis, and thirdly, who have been training in excellence since your childhood. I hear that the first of my ancestors was both a basileus and a free man. And so, as it was with justice that I was ignorant of these things,’ he said, ‘I have received justice. But now,’ he said, ‘Cyrus, I know myself’” (Cyr. 7.2.23–25).

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As we noted above, Cyrus was also chosen to be the archōn of the Persians in the campaign against the Assyrians (Cyr. 1.5.4–5). Xenophon does not describe the selection process, but Cyrus appears to have been chosen according to his proven ability. So far we may conclude this much about what it could mean to be a prostatēs in the Cyropaedia: – – – – –

a prostatēs represents or advocates for the interests of someone else 9 a prostatēs can become a tyrannos by corrupting the people’s thirst for freedom a prostatēs needs thorough knowledge of whoever’s interests he pursues a prostatēs also needs self-knowledge, so as to avoid being lured into foolish endeavors a prostatēs, under the right conditions, is a beautiful and wondrous thing to be

This account helps us understand how the role of the prostatēs is conceived by Cambyses in Cyr. 1.6.7. But we have not addressed the result clause of Cambyses’ original statement: “to know how to be the prostatēs of other humans in such a way that they have all that they need in abundance and that they will all be the kind of people they need to be.” What, then, does a prostatēs do to bring it about that others have things and become something? This is the question that much of the rest of the Cyropaedia seeks to answer. We will not answer this question fully here, but we will seek to identify a primary set of actions that Cyrus performs in his role as the prostatēs of the people of the empire that he eventually comes to govern. This attention to action is what we are calling a “praxis-based” approach to Xenophon’s theory of leadership, as opposed to the more common “traits-based” approach that looks at the qualities that go into making Cyrus a leader. 10 The primary actions we have identified Cyrus performing are provisioning, honoring, and displaying himself. 11 What the prostatēs Does, Part One: Provisioning If a prostatēs intends for others to have what they need, then (seemingly) the most basic way to accomplish this would be to give them such things. What is remarkable, however, 9 For comparison, in Republic 10, as he is trying to determine what role poetry will play in the kalli­ polis, Socrates imagines the prostatai of poetry (poiēsis) functioning as “advocates” who make arguments on her behalf to be admitted back into the ideal city on the grounds that she is both delightful and useful to the government and human life (Republic 10.607d5–10). 10 Though this approach is taken by numerous researchers of the Cyropaedia, representative examples of the traits-based approach include Due 1989; Gray 2011; Sandridge 2012. A more extensive bibliography may be found at Sandridge & Carlisle 2017. For traits or characteristics of Xenophon’s leaders across multiple texts see Buxton 2017. 11 We might term these “first-order” leadership verbs because they relate the leader to others directly (as provider, honor-granter, and self-displayer to recipient or audience). Less direct activities, which we might term second- or third-order depending on degree of removal, might include enabling others to perform leadership activities, or enabling others to enable others, etc. These higher-order leadership activities might include e.g. training, habituating, reflecting, and acquiring resources (to be used in more direct leadership activities).

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are all of the ways and domains in which Xenophon depicts Cyrus engaged in acts of giving, as indicated by the verb δίδωμι and related forms. Cyrus as a young boy in Media takes the meats from his grandfather’s table and redistributes them to the household servants for different reasons (cf. διαδιδόναι, διεδίδου 1.3.7). He gives the quarry from his hunts to his grandfather and, when his grandfather turns it down, he redistributes it to his agemates (cf. ἐδίδου, διαδῶ, διαδίδου 1.4.10, ἐδίδου 1.4.11). When the Medes give Cyrus gifts upon his departure from Media, he gives them back to Astyages (1.4.26). He does the same thing on campaign when the Armenians try to give him more than they had promised (cf. διαδοῦναι 3.1.42). Beyond the basic act of giving, Xenophon depicts Cyrus as carefully selecting what to give, according to what was needed and what was merited. For his army on campaign Cyrus acquires and then redistributes whatever he sees would be good (καλόν) for it (cf. διεδωρεῖτο 3.3.6). To his companion Hystaspas Cyrus gives the daughter of Gobryas in marriage. In fact, he simultaneously gives Hystaspas to Gobryas (cf. δώσω, δίδου, ἔδωκε 8.4.24–26). Some of Cyrus’ acts of giving are better classified as acts of provisioning or supplying, in the sense that Cyrus takes thought for what others may need in the future. These acts of provisioning or supplying are marked by verbal forms of παρασκευάζω and παρέχω. So, for example, Cyrus learns from Cambyses in Book One that he must not rely on his uncle Cyaxares to supply his army on campaign with the necessities, but instead must do this himself (cf. ἕξει τὰ ἐπιτήδεια ἡ στρατιά, παρέξειν, 1.6.9). In the field of medicine Cyrus takes care not only to ensure that the needs of the healthy are provided for (παρασκευάζονται ὅπως ἕξουσι τὰ ἐπιτήδεια 8.2.24), but he also gathers up the necessary physicians, surgeons, tools, drugs, food, and drink in order to provide every sick person with what they need (cf. παρεῖχε πάντα ὅτου ἔδει, 8.2.25; cf. also 1.6.12–16). On campaign, two of Cyrus’ most ambitious acts of provisioning include convincing his uncle Cyaxares to arm the Persian commoners (cf. παρασκευάσῃς, 2.1.9) and then supplying his army with large and numerous tents, in order that by living together they might cultivate beneficial character traits, including bravery, familiarity with one another and their duties, and loyalty (cf. κατεσκεύασε, 2.1.25–28). In order for someone to be good at these acts of provisioning and giving, Xenophon indicates that at least two obstacles must be overcome. The first is the challenge of acquisition and then the management of all of the resources that will become gifts. Xenophon says that Cyrus introduced into the Persian kingship the practice of “lavish or excessive gift-giving” (polydōria 8.2.7). As a rule, Cyrus would accept the abundant revenues of the Persian empire and redistribute them to those in need (cf. ὁ Κῦρος λαμβάνων παρ᾽ ἑκάστων ὧν ἀφθονίαν εἶχον οἱ διδόντες ἀντεδίδου ὧν σπανίζοντας αὐτοὺς αἰσθάνοιτο 8.6.23). To illustrate the challenge of acquisition and management, Xenophon offers two contrasting examples: (1) Cyrus’ uncle, Cyaxares, who in his contentment (cf. περὶ εὐθυμίαν 4.1.13) is reluctant to pursue the Assyrians after their first major victory, an act that would have netted him more resources; and (2) the Persian commoner Pheraulas, who, though he is industrious enough to amass vast resources under Cyrus’ command, nevertheless grows weary of managing them and thus turns them over to a Sacian man (cf. 8.3.40–48).

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The second obstacle to being a good provider is the temptation of acquisitiveness and consumption, that is, the person in possession of vast resources may not want to let go of them. The young Cyrus demonstrates his resistance to these tendencies when, upon return from his grandfather’s court, he is observed by his Persian agemates as freely giving away part of his food and not asking for more (cf. ἐπιδιδόντα 1.5.1). 12 Yet even though Cyrus is later perceived as taking greater pleasure (hēdonē) in giving than in receiving (διδοὺς μᾶλλον ἢ κτώμενος ἥδεται, 8.4.31), 13 he concedes to the conquered Lydian king, Croesus, that he is just as temperamentally greedy of material possessions as the next human being (cf. εἰμὶ ἄπληστος κἀγὼ ὥσπερ οἱ ἄλλοι χρημάτων 8.2.22). His solution is to give away all but what he needs for himself and to take consolation in friendship and a good reputation: “Whenever I acquire things that I recognize are beyond what is sufficient for me, I remedy the needs of my friends with them. 14 And, by making them wealthy and doing good deeds to humans, I acquire instead goodwill and friendship – and from these things I harvest security and a good reputation.” (8.2.22) 15 In summary, giving and provisioning are among the most basic ways that the prostatēs can ensure that others have what they need. This comports with Socrates’ description of the prostatēs in the Memorabilia as a kind of revenue expert and resource manager. For his part Cyrus performs these activities generously and with forethought. Xenophon acknowledges the difficulty posed by the stress of having to acquire and manage things that others need, as well as a natural human tendency to acquire rather than give. Cyrus seems able to combat these difficulties because of his extraordinary love of human beings and his love of being honored (cf. φιλανθρωπότατος, φιλοτιμότατος 1.2.1). In the next section we explore how the prostatēs realizes the second half of the purpose clause in

12 This approach runs contrary to the practice of the Medes, who, as Cyrus observes, believe that the archōn should surpass his followers (archomenoi) in possessing things. Cyrus asserts instead that an archōn should surpass his subjects in labor and forethought (1.6.8). 13 Cf. the similar observation about Cyrus: πολὺ γὰρ διενεγκὼν ἀνθρώπων τῷ πλείστας προσόδους λαμβάνειν πολὺ ἔτι πλέον διήνεγκε τῷ πλεῖστα ἀνθρώπων δωρεῖσθαι (8.2.7). 14 Cyrus’ insistence that his benefactions address “the things my friends are in need of ” (ἐνδείας τῶν φίλων) may be taken as a refutation of Cyaxares’ earlier objection that gift-giving is theft of authority (5.5.27) and not εὐεργετήματα (5.5.33). Cyaxares understands gifts only as attempts to win loyalty via wealth transfer; the picture he paints of the predatory gift-giver makes no reference to the needs of the recipients. For a different (albeit orthogonal) contrast between Cyrus and Cyaxares in these passages through the lens of Xenophontic gendering see Azoulay 2018, 36–38. 15 Note that, in this passage, philia and eunoia are earned simply by the deeds of the euergetēs; there is no mention of social or educational similarity, as Aristotle supposes to be necessary among friends (e.g. Nicomachean Ethics 1157b26; for an ‘internationalization’ of this notion see Mitchell 1997). Indeed, one might wonder whether need for Aristotelian friendship is implicitly declared inessential to the ideal leader by the reason Xenophon gives for considering Cyrus the ideal leader, and writing the Cyropaedia in the first place: it is far less remarkable for someone to be followed by those near and similar to him than for someone to be followed by those far distant and ethnically dissimilar (1.1.3–4).

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Cyr. 1.6.7, namely, to bring it about that everyone become what they need to be (cf. ὅπως ἔσονται πάντες οἵους δεῖ). What the prostatēs Does, Part Two: Honoring Already in the description of the Persian agōgē in Cyr. 1.2 Xenophon explains that the nomoi recognize (and thus implicitly cultivate) certain traits in the ephēboi, one of four groups of men who participate in paideia. 16 The ephēboi compete with one another on their own in archery and spear-casting, and the Persians host public contests (dēmosioi agōnes) and set up prizes for excellence (the formula for which is τίθημι ἆθλα). They praise the commanders of the divisions (and the previous teachers) that have the most ephēboi who are δαημονέστατοι (most accomplished), ἀνδρικώτατοι (most hardy), and εὐπιστότατοι (most obedient to their commanders; 1.2.12). Moreover, each stage in the Persian agōgē is a prerequisite for the next stage. In this way, Xenophon says, the Persian politeia ensures that its citizens are the best (βέλτιστοι 1.2.15). For his part the young Cyrus employs the practice of giving as a way of getting others to become what they need to become (or at least to become what serves Cyrus’ goals). As we saw in the previous section on his time at his grandfather’s table in the Median court, Cyrus redistributes to the servants the meats that Astyages had given him (cf. διαδιδόναι 1.3.7). More than just satisfying the needs of others, Cyrus reinforces certain behaviors by specifying what they did to merit these meats. One he recognizes for teaching him to ride a horse, another for giving him a spear, another for serving his grandfather well, and another for showing honor to his mother. Similarly, Cyrus praises the accomplishments of his comrades on the hunt (ἐπαινοῦντα 1.4.15). To his grandfather’s joy he praises without resentment (οὐδ᾽ ὁπωστιοῦν φθονερῶς). In his dialogue with Cambyses Cyrus reiterates the lessons of honor from the Persian agōgē. He vows to set up prizes (προτίθημι ἆθλα) to ensure that his soldiers remain in peak physical condition (1.6.18). Recalling how he had learned obedience (πείθεσθαι) from his father and from his teachers, Cyrus says, “I think the thing that most induces someone to obedience is to praise and honor the obedient one and to dishonor and punish the one who disobeys” (cf. ἐπαινεῖν τε καὶ τιμᾶν 1.6.20). 17 Cyrus later qualifies this statement, arguing that eloquent praise (καλὴ παραίνεσις) is not sufficient to make someone good (ἀγαθός), unless they have already practiced at being good; praise, as it were, activates latent goodness (Cyr. 3.3.50).

16 The four groups are paides, ephēboi, teleioi andres, and geraiteroi. 17 At Cyr. 8.1.29 Xenophon says, “He [Cyrus] thought that obedience (τὸ πείθεσθαι) would thus be abiding in those about him if he made it clear that he would honor those who obeyed without making an excuse more than those who thought they were exhibiting the greatest and most elaborate virtues.” For Cyrus’ implementation of this principle in his own practice of obedience cf. Cyr. 2.4.6.

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Cyrus makes good on his promises to honor others, both in command of his armies and when he establishes his kingdom in Babylon. At Cyr. 2.1.22–24 Cyrus sets up contests in everything he thought soldiers should practice. A range of character traits are encouraged: obedience, willingness to labor, organized risk-taking, knowledge of one’s duties, maintenance of one’s armor, and a love of being honored in all these areas (cf. εὐπειθῆ τοῖς ἄρχουσι καὶ ἐθελόπονον καὶ φιλοκίνδυνον μετ᾽ εὐταξίας καὶ ἐπιστήμονα τῶν στρατιωτικῶν καὶ φιλόκαλον περὶ ὅπλα καὶ φιλότιμον ἐπὶ πᾶσι τοῖς τοιούτοις, Cyr. 2.1.22). Cyrus revives and adapts his boyhood practice of redistributing meats from the dinner table by hosting banquets in his tents where he honors all who do what he wants them to do (Cyr. 2.1.30). The staff officers are rewarded in particular for being reliable, knowledgeable of their duties, intelligent, intense, quick, unshakable, and composed (ἐπιστήμονας τῶν στρατιωτικῶν καὶ συνετούς, προσέτι δὲ καὶ σφοδροὺς καὶ ταχεῖς καὶ ἀόκνους καὶ ἀταράκτους 2.1.31). 18 Once Cyrus has conquered Babylon and set up an organizational structure with proper revenues, Xenophon says that he began to pay attention to the character of those he regularly associated with (οἱ κοινῶνες 8.1.16). The language he uses to begin this section is remarkably similar to what we see in Cyr. 1.6.7: “He began to be the epistatēs of his associates, that they be what they need to be” (ἤρχετο δ᾽ ἐπιστατεῖν τοῦ εἶναι οἵους δεῖ τοὺς κοινῶνας). Here Xenophon gets to the heart of how the act of honoring transforms people into what they need to be: “First of all, he made an inquiry about those who were capable of being maintained by the labor of others but who did not show up at the palace. For he thought that those who were present would refuse to do something wicked or disgraceful because they were in the presence of their commander and because they knew that whatever they did would be seen by the best men. Those who were not present he believed were absent because of some weakness, injustice, or carelessness.” (Cyr. 8.1.16) Cyrus’ perspective here echoes his boyhood sentiment that praise and honor are the greatest inducement to obedience. 19 As he had on campaign, Cyrus rewards everyone who pursues good things (ta kala) with gifts, offices, and special seats, thereby instilling in them a love of being honored (philotīmia, 8.1.38). 20 Again, one of the primary modes of doing this is through gifts of food from his table (8.2.4–5, 8.4.4–5). 21 And, again, as on campaign, Cyrus sets up contests to impel others to actions that were noble and good (ὧν δὲ προηγόρευέ τε ἀγῶνας καὶ ἆθλα

18 Cf. similar honoring through banqueting at Cyr. 2.3.17, 2.3.22, 2.3.23. 19 Cf. also Cyr. 8.1.29. 20 On philotīmia and its connection with both prosociality and skill-development see Sandridge 2012 (in the Cyropaedia) and Keim 2016 (elsewhere in Xenophon). Hieron 7 probably presents Xenophon’s strongest and clearest general praise and blame of philotīmia. 21 Cf. Cyrus’ institution of a chariot race at Cyr. 8.3.33.

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προυτίθει, φιλονικίας ἐμποιεῖν βουλόμενος περὶ τῶν καλῶν καὶ ἀγαθῶν ἔργων ταῦτα τῷ μὲν Κύρῳ ἔπαινον παρεῖχεν ὅτι ἐπεμέλετο ὅπως ἀσκοῖτο ἡ ἀρετή, Cyr. 8.2.26). 22 How does a prostatēs in the Cyropaedia create a situation in which people become what they need to be? Xenophon has provided us with two answers so far: (1) the pro­statēs provides soldiers on campaign living quarters that will encourage them to rival one another in good qualities and (2) set up contests, formal or informal, in which the necessary qualities are rewarded with praise and prizes. We will see in the next section that the prostatēs himself can directly influence others to become what they need to be. What the prostatēs Does, Part Three: Displaying The key verbs of displaying that appear in the Cyropaedia are φαίνομαι ὦν, φανερῶς εἰμι or γίγνομαι, δοκέω, and δείκνυμι. One facet of the instruction (didaskalia) that makes up the Persian educational system is the young boys’ observation of certain virtues on display. Xenophon says that the boys learned moderation (sōphrosunē) because “they saw their elders spending the entire day in a moderate way” (cf. τοὺς πρεσβυτέρους ὁρῶσιν ἀνὰ πᾶσαν ἡμέραν σωφρόνως διάγοντας 1.2.8). The same is true for teaching obedience (τὸ πείθεσθαι) and control of the appetite and thirst (ἐγκράτεια). Indeed appearances matter for Xenophon’s Persians at the level of all bodily functions: they consider it shameful to be seen (φανερὸς γενέσθαι) going to the bathroom (1.2.16). For his part, the young Cyrus renders others more spirited with his own display of daring. When the Assyrians encroach upon Median land, Cyrus gives chase and calls to others to do the same: “Cyaxares indeed followed (perhaps feeling shame before his father), and the others followed, being more enthusiastic in such a situation, even those who were not very brave against the enemy.” (1.4.22) In his dialogue with Cambyses at Cyr. 1.6 Cyrus is most concerned with using display to inculcate obedience (τὸ πείθεσθαι) and affection (τὸ φιλεῖσθαι). As we saw in the section on honoring, Cyrus explains that it is possible to induce obedience by implementing a system of rewards and punishments (1.6.21). But Cambyses counters that while this system may create compulsory obedience (τὸ ἀνάγκῃ ἕπεσθαι), there it is possible for someone to instill willing obedience (τὸ ἑκόντας ἕπεσθαι) by being regarded as more thoughtful on behalf of others than they are for themselves. 23 Cambyses says that nothing is more effective than to 22 This is in fulfillment of a promise Cyrus had made at Cyr. 7.5.85: “Whomever I see practicing noble and good things, these men I will honor”; οὓς ἂν ὁρῶ τὰ καλὰ καὶ τἀγαθὰ ἐπιτηδεύοντας, τούτους τιμήσω. 23 The son of the Armenian king, Tigranes, argues similarly that being better (βελτίων) than someone else will also render them willingly obedient without compulsion (οὓς δ᾽ ἂν βελτίους τινὲς ἑαυτῶν ἡγήσωνται, τούτοις πολλάκις καὶ ἄνευ ἀνάγκης ἐθέλουσι πείθεσθαι, 3.1.20). At Cyr. 2.2.30 Sambaulas

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seem (δοκεῖν) thoughtful. And when Cyrus asks how to acquire this “good seemingness” (δόξα), Cambyses argues that one must actually be thoughtful: “There is not, he said, my son, a shorter path to seeming to be thoughtful in those things you wish than to be thoughtful in them” (1.6.22) 24 Cambyses explains that the path to winning the affection of one’s followers (φιλεῖσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν ἀρχομένων) is similar. In the first place Cyrus must show himself treating them well (εὖ … ποιοῦντα φανερὸν εἶναι). But when he does not have the means to treat them well, it is necessary to show (φαίνεσθαι) a range of emotions tailored to their own circumstances: joy when something good happens to them, grief at their misfortune, eagerness to help them in distress, fear that something might harm them, and initiative to take thought for them lest they come to harm (1.6.24). 25 On campaign Cyrus can also win affection by showing himself “claiming a larger share” of various burdens of heat and cold and other labors (cf. πλεονεκτοῦντα φανερὸν εἶναι, 1.6.25). 26 At the other end of Cyrus’ life, when he is setting up his kingdom in Babylon, here, too, display is a means of transforming the character of others, and in this case it is more than obedience and affection. Xenophon says that Cyrus thought he could do no better at inspiring his associates to good and beautiful things (ta kala k’agatha; recall Cyr. 1.6.7) than “if he himself tried to display himself to his followers as adorned with excellence most of all” (εἰ αὐτὸς ἑαυτὸν ἐπιδεικνύειν πειρῷτο τοῖς ἀρχομένοις πάντων μάλιστα κεκοσμημένον τῇ ἀρετῇ, Cyr. 8.1.21). 27 Accordingly, Cyrus displays himself honoring the gods with hymns and sacrifices (cf. ἐπεδείκνυεν ἑαυτὸν, 8.1.23). He shows himself as reverent toward others, in order to inspire the same behavior in them (cf. αὐτὸς φανερὸς εἴη … αἰδούμενος, 8.1.27).

24

25

26 27

explains that his companion, by being obedient, was able to render others “what they needed to be,” namely, obedient (cf. οὐ λόγῳ ἀλλ᾽ ἔργῳ ἀποδεικνὺς οἵους δεῖ εἶναι). This ‘esse quam videri’ gnome is perhaps intended to refute cynical rejection of ‘leadership by appearance’ on the accusation of manipulativeness vel sim that might be easier to raise against e.g. 8.1.40 (καταμαθεῖν δὲ τοῦ Κύρου δοκοῦμεν ὡς οὐ τούτῳ μόνῳ ἐνόμιζε χρῆναι τοὺς ἄρχοντας τῶν ἀρχομένων διαφέρειν, τῷ βελτίονας αὐτῶν εἶναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ καταγοητεύειν ᾤετο χρῆναι αὐτούς: we suppose, from thinking about it, that Cyrus thought it isn’t enough for rulers just to be better than the ruled, but that rulers must also cast a spell on them). See esp. Azoulay 2018, 229–268 for the Weberian aestheticization and eroticization that 1.6.22 armors Cyrus against. One example of this kind of emotional attentiveness occurs in the aftermath of the Cadusian’s premature assault on the Assyrians, where Cyrus either views the wounded himself or shows his concern by visibly sending healers (ἀλλ᾽ ἢ αὐτόπτης ἐφεώρα ἢ εἰ μὴ αὐτὸς ἐξανύτοι, πέμπων φανερὸς ἦν τοὺς θεραπεύσοντας, 5.4.18). Additionally, at Cyr. 4.2.42 Cyrus argues that the Persians can win the affection of the Medes, Hyrcanians, and Armenians by displaying themselves as just (δικαίους φαινομένους), i.e., by turning the spoils of war over to them for distribution. Chrysantas recognizes that, during his early campaigns, it made sense for Cyrus to make himself visible to all (ἀλλὰ τὸ μὲν πρόσθεν, ὦ Κῦρε, εἰκότως ἐν τῷ φανερῷ σαυτὸν παρεῖχες, 7.5.55), so that they might willingly follow him through great hardship. Cf. a similar approach to displaying in Mem. 1.2.3.

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And, just as he had learned moderation (sōphrosunē) and control (enkrateia) of his appetite and thirst as a boy in the Persian agōgē, so he displays these virtues in order to inculcate them in others. In short, his behavior forges correct conduct (eutaxia) in others (8.1.30– 33). In perhaps an allusion to Pericles’ Funeral Oration in Thucydides (2.37), Xenophon says that Cyrus’ associates excelled in all the good pursuits (ἐν πᾶσι τοῖς καλοῖς ἔργοις) because of the kind of perfect display (παράδειγμα) that Cyrus provided (8.1.39). Finally, in a manner consistent with Cambyses’ advice about winning the affection of others by being their benefactor and showing them the proper emotional responses according to their circumstances, Cyrus manifests delight, sympathy, and good will in turn (8.2.1–2). Is the prostatēs a Leader? Authority, Obligation, Responsibility, Motivation, Organization Having identified the most common ways by which Cyrus performs the verb προστατεύειν according to Cambyses’ formulation in Cyr. 1.6.7, we now explore its relationship to the English verb to lead. We begin with a summary of what we can say about what it means “to be the prostatēs” in Cyr. 1.6.7. The prostatēs is someone who is somehow concerned with the material and ethical (i.e., character) needs of others, for which knowledge is crucial. The prostatēs meets these needs by making provision for others, honoring others, and displaying behaviors that will influence their character. The prostatēs takes a comprehensive approach to meeting these needs, that is, the prostatēs sees to it that all needs are met and that everyone is properly transformed. In the Cyropaedia this activity sometimes resembles the process of assembling a puzzle: one person’s (or one group’s) resources and needs are matched with the resources and needs of another, whether between the individual husband and wife, between rival two nations like the Armenians and Chaldaeans, or among the totality of what becomes the Persian Empire. Cyrus as prostatēs addresses the needs and character development of everyone in his community but for rare – and arguably irredeemable – villains like the Assyrian king. The motivation for being the prostatēs is also treated at some length in the Cyropaedia and beyond. As we saw in Plato’s Republic, the prostatēs, while ostensibly motivated to address the interests of those he represents, could be corrupted by the power and license that comes with the role. For his part Cyrus does not fall prey to these temptations, and Xenophon seems to hint at the Platonic context by reference to Cyrus’ restraint from eating precious meats and his reluctance to pour wine to make others intoxicated and anarchic (Cyr. 1.3). Cyrus acknowledges his acquisitive impulse but instead calculates ways to remain motivated by a love of humanity (philanthrōpia) and a love of being honored (philotīmia) (Cyr. 8.2.22). 28 It is tempting to regard Cyrus as motivated by some sense of societal duty or obligation, as we might speak of someone today as a “servant leader.” The Persians do 28 Recall that in Cyr. 1.6.7 Cambyses identifies three kinds of life for a man: becoming good, providing for a household, and being the prostatēs. Since philanthrōpia in its feeling and expression focuses on those outside of the household (cf. the description of the warrior Axylos at Iliad 6.12–19), it makes

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teach gratitude in their education system (Cyr. 1.2.7), and Cyrus is regularly at pains to keep his oaths to others. Yet there is little indication that Cyrus sees himself as under some kind of obligation to take care of everyone. For example, we don’t have any indication that he is preternaturally destined to perform services for others. He is not the Roman Aeneas of Aeneid 6 being lectured to by the Sibyl and Anchises on the glories that await him, so long as he practices pietas. All that Cambyses tells Cyrus is that being the prostatēs is the most admirable thing a person can do. Rather than a role that is imposed on someone by the expectations of others, it seems to be a role someone chooses for himself/herself. Finally, the prostatēs might be imagined to be someone in a position of official authority, someone “in charge” of others. 29 Cyrus is chosen archōn of the Persian army in Book One, just as Croesus is chosen prostatēs of Lydia and her allies, as part of the campaign of the Assyrians in Book Seven. But for Cyrus the role of the prostatēs seems better characterized as a pathway to command rather than the command itself. For example, the Armenians and Chaldaeans agree to follow Cyrus because he has provided a welcome solution to their rivalry; they do not merely defer to his authority and carry out his solution (Cyr. 3.2.12–24). In other words, making provisions for others, honoring others, and displaying certain character traits – the core activities of the prostatēs – render others willing to obey (τὸ πείθεσθαι); command itself is not the core activity of the prostatēs. 30 This voluntary nature of the pro­statēs role is featured in the “Two Coats” story in Cyr. 1.3.17. There, Cyrus learns that in spite of what seems fitting (giving a big boy a big coat and a little boy a small coat), one cannot use force on someone to provide for others just because it may seem “necessary.” 31 Being the prostatēs might also seem to assume a sense of responsibility, the other half of the meaning of being “in charge”. At Cyr. 1.2.5 we see that the Persians do choose pro­stateis from their elders to ensure that they carry out their duties (εἰσὶ δὲ καὶ τῶν γεραιτέρων προστάται ᾑρημένοι, οἳ προστατεύουσιν ὅπως καὶ οὗτοι τὰ καθήκοντα ἀποτελῶσιν). But, again, even though Cyrus works to fulfill his promises to others and repay his debts and even though the activities of the prostatēs can carry a psychological burden, 32 Cambyses does not impose any sense of responsibility on the part of the prostatēs. It is framed as something a person either wants to do out of love of honor and love of humanity or not at all. It is the wondrousness that makes the role appealing. It is being in the role, rather than being chosen for the responsibility, that Cambyses is focused on. This then brings us to the question of how to translate the noun προστάτης or the verb προστατεύειν at Cyr. 1.6.7. Miller translates προστατεύειν as “to govern” and Daykins as “to guide and govern.” Ambler highlights the spatial aspect of προστατεύειν (“to be stationed

29 30 31 32

sense that it would enable the prostatēs to carry out the activities necessary to address the needs of others. Cf. a similar development of the Latin praeponere, which gives the word provost. Note that the archōn (commander) has “those being commanded,” or followers (archomenoi). But in Cambyses’ formulation at 1.6.7, the verb προστατεύειν is performed on “other humans”, with no indication of a subordinate status. For more on this scene see Danzig 2009, 271–295. Compare the case of Pheraulas at Cyr. 8.3.40–42.

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out in front”), translating it as “to preside.” Both “governing” and “presiding” connote positions that are granted by, for example, common consent or some kind of constitutional authority. But, as we noted above, the act of being the prostatēs may be a pathway to authority, but it is not itself a position of authority as Cambyses/Xenophon presents it. Moreover, Cambyses introduces this term in a military context (with implications beyond the military), such that “governing” and “presiding” are semantically out of place. Practically speaking, Cyrus affects the material and character needs of others even when he is not officially in command of them. “to guide” captures some of what the prostatēs does, but not obviously the provisional part; a guide might show the way but does not necessarily tend to all the needs of the traveler. Similarly, we might be tempted to translate the prostatēs as a “representative” or “champion” of others, which is clearly how it is used elsewhere in Greek; but Cyrus regularly looks out for the interests of others before he has been appointed to such a role, even the interests of his enemies. 33 Probably the closest we can come to a good translation of προστατεύειν would be “to provide,” in the sense of “to look out for”: the prostatēs provides the resources, the incentives (prizes, honors), and the model of behavior, such that others realize both their material and ethical (character) needs. We would thus translate the crucial part of 1.6.7 thusly: ἐπίστασθαι ἀνθρώπων ἄλλων προστατεύειν ὅπως ἕξουσι πάντα τὰ ἐπιτήδεια ἔκπλεω καὶ ὅπως ἔσονται πάντες οἵους δεῖ, τοῦτο θαυμαστὸν δήπου ἡμῖν τότε ἐφαίνετο εἶναι. “To know how to be a provider (prostatēs) for other humans in such a way that they will have all the necessities in abundance and that they will all be what sort they need to be, this seemed clearly to us at that time to be most admirable.” This understanding of the prostatēs as a material and ethical provider comports well will Cyrus’ later role as “father” of the Persian empire, the one who receives tribute and redistributes it according to need, while at the same time modeling and honoring the kind of behavior that will render his followers the kind of people they need to be. Is the prostatēs, then, a leader? 34 The answer to this question of course depends on what we mean by leader. There is obviously not sufficient space in this article to survey all of 33 For example, Cyrus introduces the requests of the Median fathers of his friends to his grandfather Astyages (Cyr. 1.4.1). He spontaneously seeks to satisfy all of his grandfather’s needs (Cyr. 1.4.2). He looks out for the needs of his uncle Cyaxares (Cyr. 4.5.27–33). He saves and then restores Pantheia to her husband Abradatas (6.1.47). Yet in none of these instances has Cyrus been chosen or appointed to represent or advocate for these characters. There is no indication that he would have been at fault for not doing any of these things. It’s not even clear if these activities would qualify as leadership in the contemporary sense, even though they do qualify as examples of prosteuein tōn allōn. 34 No ancient Greek word well translates the modern English leadership. Every Greek word whose referents might be called leader (e.g. ποιμήν [λαῶν], βασιλεύς, ἄρχων and prefixed variants, ἡγεμών, στρατηγός, τύραννος, ὄρχαμος) is more specific than our generic leader, usually both extensionally and intensionally. A full study of the Greek vocabulary that covers the full semantic range of leadership would be as much about defining leader as defining the Greek semantic analogates, even if

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the possible meanings of the word leader in English. But since “leadership” is regularly assumed to be something that Xenophon is principally interested in in the Cyropaedia, it will be instructive to work through one recent example. Here we consider the recent book for the Harvard Business Review, entitled, The Harvard Business Review Leader’s Handbook: Make an Impact, Inspire Your Organization, and Get to the Next Level by Ashkenas and Manville. This book makes for a helpful pairing with the Cyropaedia because both are didactic in nature and both present examples of behavior for contemplation and emulation. Ashkenas and Manville construct their understanding of leadership out of forty years of articles in the HBR and their own sixty years of professional experience as thought leaders and consultants. For reference to our interest in the prostatēs Ashkenas and Manville define leadership thusly: “Achieving significant positive impact by building an organization of people working together toward a common goal.” 35 At first glance, none of the language matches up. Whereas Xenophon in Cyr. 1.6.7 identifies the outcome of the prostatēs’ activity as the material and character needs of others, Ashkenas and Manville focus on “significant, positive impact,” where “positive” is defined as conducive to people’s welfare, wealth creation, and human capital (where human capital means human skills, education, and talent capable of producing economic value). 36 The extent to which this description of “positive impact” agrees with Xenophon’s description of the needs of others would involve a lengthy exploration of the nature of the needs that Cyrus addresses. 37 Are they individual needs like health and happiness or are they instrumental needs that are met in service to the common goals of the organization, e.g., the need of weapons in order to fight a common enemy? The answer for Xenophon is probably both, and it is conceivable that a modern corporation (for profit or non-profit) could be set up to meet all of the needs that Cyrus addresses: one can have companies to help manage resources, match husbands and wives, train people to have more moderation and self-mastery, etc. The Ashkenas and Manville approach to leadership is limited by the framework of an organization in a way that Cambyses’ conception of the prostatēs is not, however. By their definition, a teacher, a coach, a therapist, a sensei, a poet laureate, a scholar, a public intellectual, and a parent could not be considered a leader because these figures do not in any obvious or necessary sense “build an organization of people.” These figures, however, could be considered prostateis, insofar as they all help others become what they need to be

comprehensive with respect to the Greek corpus, inasmuch as the conceptual articulation of the modern English leader is itself a vast and variegated field. 35 Ashkenas & Manville 2019, 4. 36 Ashkenas & Manville 2019, 7. 37 In one close parallel with Cyrus’ activity as a prostatēs Ashkenas and Manville discuss part of the vision of the World Bank, “to help people help themselves and their environment by providing resources, sharing knowledge, building capacity, and forging partnerships in the public and private sectors.” Ashkenas & Manville 2019, 19.

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(morally, physically, spiritually, intellectually) and many can claim that their aid translates into greater material prosperity. Cyrus the prostatēs can be seen to build organizations (namely the Persian empire) but not always by working within an official capacity from existing organizations as envisioned by Ashkenas and Manville. While Cyrus does not come to play the role of the prostatēs from out of nowhere (he is the son and grandson of two kings and a graduate of the Persian educational system), the institutions and organizations he creates are unconventional. Much of his activity in helping others could be described as “freelance” work; he observes the needs of others and he fulfills them. There was no Persian empire before he began, and there’s not much indication that Cyrus was intending to build one. His empire is seemingly incidental to his efforts to address the needs of others in a comprehensive fashion. As we noted above, Cyrus does not seem to perform his role out of responsibility, whereas the contemporary leader of most organizations is contractually bound to carry out certain duties. She or he is being paid and can be held accountable for failure. There is no sense in which Cyrus would have been regarded by his community as a failure for not founding an empire. 38 Concerning what the leader actually does Ashkenas and Manville supplement their definition with six common leadership practices: 1. Building a unifying vision 2. Developing a strategy 3. Getting people on board 4. Focusing on results 5. Innovating for the future 6. Leading yourself 39 Cyrus’ primary activities as prostatēs – provisioning, honoring, and displaying – might be subsumed under these categories. Moreover, much of what Cyrus does throughout the Cyropaedia involves all these activities, just not fundamentally so. Fundamentally, he is concerned with providing for the material and ethical needs of others in a comprehensive fashion. The Ashkenas and Manville leader, by contrast, may not possess the same resources as Cyrus, may not have the means to acquire them, may use incentives other than honor to staff an organization with the right kind of people, may not be comprehensively interested in the needs of others, and may not have any need or means to display the kind of character he/she would like each member of the organization to have. How many modern CEO’s, for example, are concerned to display reverence (aidōs) for their peers, in hopes that this will translate into reverence throughout the community? Below is a table of the similarities and differences between the prostatēs and the description of the leader we find in Ashkenas and Manville.

38 Of course, in his role as archōn of the Persian army Cyrus could have been held accountable for any failure on campaign against the Assyrians. 39 Ashkenas & Manville 2019, 9–11.

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John E. Esposito & Norman B. Sandridge Aspects of “leadership”

Cyrus the prostatēs

Ashkenas-Manville’s leader

the primary goal of the putative leader

to meet the material and ethical (character) needs of others

to make a significant positive impact

the leader’s primary activities in pursuit of this goal

provisioning, honoring, and displaying

building a vision, developing a unifying strategy, getting people on board, focusing on results, innovating for the future, leading himself/herself

the followers

everyone (the mission is inclusiveness, needs are comprehensive)

those who are relevant/instrumental to the goals of the organization

the leader’s motivations

the love of being honored (philotīmia), the love of humanity (philanthrōpia)

varied (see pp. 183–187)

the basis for the leader’s authority

acts of provisioning, etc.

Leadership is an official position of authority.

the degree of obligation and responsibility

The role is largely voluntary. Much of what Cyrus does would not have incurred blame if he had not done it.

The leader is contractually responsible for the success of the endeavor. The leader is paid to lead and can be held accountable for failure.

Conclusion In this article we have explored a construct in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia that possibly qualifies as leadership in the contemporary sense. Specifically, we have looked closely at the activities that the putative leader (here, the prostatēs) engages in, as well as the activities the putative leader should not engage in (e.g., those of the tyrannos). We have identified three sets of what could be termed “first-order” leadership verbs, namely, provisioning, honoring, and displaying. These are “first-order” in the sense that Xenophon presents them as directly impacting the material and ethical needs of others. Another way of saying this is that these verbs are Xenophon’s answer to the question, how does someone meet the material and ethical needs of others? Further research could be done on less common verbs, such as, teaching (e.g., διδάσκω), encouraging (e.g., παρακαλέω), and training (e.g., ἀσκέω). Further research could also be done on “second-” or “third-order” verbs, i.e. activities that enable someone to provide, honor, display, etc. These verbs might include acquiring materials, taking thought, practicing certain virtues, and so on. We have further sought to develop a more precise method of applying the contemporary word leader to an ancient context. While this word might be a very good starting place – given our contemporary tendency to see a relationship of leadership obtaining

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among members of communities as diverse as the military, the world of business, and political life – nevertheless, we must be careful not to imagine that ancient authors would have imagined that there was such a transferable relationship. It turns out that Xenophon does seem to have in mind a kind of role that someone could play in a familial, military, and political setting. But this role, that of the prostatēs, is confined to a specific set of activities, a specific set of motives, and a differing understanding of authority and responsibility than we typically associate with contemporary leadership. Accordingly, Cyrus the provider/prostatēs both is and is not a leader.

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Bibliography Ashkenas, R. & Manville, B. 2019. The Harvard Business Review Leader’s Handbook: Make an Impact, Inspire Your Organization, and Get to the Next Level (Harvard Business Review Handbooks), Boston, MA. Azoulay, V. 2018. Xenophon and the Graces of Power: A Greek Guide to Political Manipulation, Bloomsbury. Buxton, R. F. 2017. ‘Xenophon on Leadership: Commanders as Friends,’ in: Flower 2017, 323–337. Connor, W. R. 1992. The New Politicians of Fifth-Century Athens, Princeton, NJ. Danzig, G. 2009. ‘Big Boys and Little Boys: Justice and Law in Xenophon‘s Cyropaedia and Memorabilia’, Polis 26, 271–295. Due, B. 1989. The Cyropaedia: Xenophon’s Aims and Methods, Aarhus. Flower, M. A. (ed.) 2017. The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge. Gray, V. 2011. Xenophon’s Mirror of Princes: Reading the Reflections, Oxford & New York. Keim, B. D. 2016. ‘Honour and the Art of Xenophontic Leadership,’ in: R. F. Buxton (ed.), Aspects of Leadership in Xenophon (Histos – Supplement 5), Newcastle upon Tyne, 121–162. Marchant, E. C. (ed.) 1925. Xenophon: Scripta Minora, London & New York. Mitchell, L. G. 1997. ‘Φιλία, εὔνοια, and Greek Interstate Relations,’ Antichthon – Journal of the Australian Society for Classical Studies 31, 28–44. Ober, J. 1989. Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens, Princeton, NJ. Sandridge, N. B. 2012. Loving Humanity, Learning, and Being Honored: The Foundations of Leadership in Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus (Hellenic Studies Series 55), Washington, DC. Sandridge, N. B. & Carlisle, D. 2017. Cyrus’ Paradise: A Collaborative Online Commentary to Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus (http://www.cyropaedia.org/further-reading/). Tamiolaki, E.-M. 2016. ‘Athenian Leaders in Xenophon’s Memorabilia,’ in: R. F. Buxton (ed.), Aspects of Leadership in Xenophon (Histos – Supplement 5), Newcastle upon Tyne, 1–49. Wood, N. 1964. ‘Xenophon’s Theory of Leadership,’ Classica et Mediaevalia 25, 33-66

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Xenophon’s Anabasis and Cyropaedia: a Tale of Two Cyruses* Michael A. Flower (Princeton)

The Anabasis and Cyropaedia arguably have been the two most widely read, admired, and influential of Xenophon’s works from the day when they were first circulated until the present. Their respective popularity, to be sure, has waxed and waned, with a significant plunge for both in the middle of the twentieth century. The ongoing revival of interest in both works demonstrates that their aesthetic and didactic value, taken for granted by previous generations, still has resonance for contemporary readers. At first sight they seem to be very different kinds of productions. The Anabasis relates an unsuccessful coup d’état by a rebellious Persian prince, Cyrus the Younger, and the subsequent struggle for survival of the roughly 10,000 Greek mercenaries who had supported him (the so-called Ten Thousand), whereas the Cyropaedia offers a highly detailed account of a uniquely successful ruler, Cyrus the Elder (also known as Cyrus the Great), who was able to secure the willing obedience of his subjects. The former is an eyewitness account, and the latter deals with events that took place some 150 years before the author’s life-time. The story told in the Anabasis seems to many readers to be essentially factual, and that told in the Cyropaedia to be essentially fictional. Nevertheless, both works focus on a similar set of thematic concerns, were composed during approximately the same time frame (mid to late 360s BC), 1 and concern two different Persians named Cyrus who were roughly of the same age at the time of their respective exploits. Readers are being prompted, as I shall argue, by a network of intertextual references and shared themes to read both texts through and against each other. In other words, it is by reading them together that we can better understand each of them

* I would like to thank the editor for inviting me to contribute to a volume that is in honour of Christopher Tuplin, a scholar whose work has had such a profound influence on my own understanding not only of the Cyropaedia, but of Xenophon’s entire corpus. I am also grateful to Christopher Pelling, John Marincola, and Nick Geller for their help and suggestions. All translations are my own. 1 For the date of the Anabasis, see Flower 2012, 29–30, and for that of the Cyropaedia, see Gera 1993, 23–25. The last chapter of the Cyropaedia (8.8.4) refers to three important players (Ariobarzanes, Mithradates, and Rheomithres) in the satraps’ revolt that broke out in the mid 360s and ended in 362/1 BC. For these individuals, see Cornelius Nepos, Datames 6, and Diodorus Siculus 15.90–92.

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individually. I will begin by briefly exploring how the original readership of these two works would have understood them in terms of genre and narratorial voice. The discussion will then proceed topically, ending with an analysis of the ways in which the two Cyruses are portrayed in apposition to each other. Two Genres or One? The judgment of Edward Gibbon on the relative merits of Xenophon’s two texts expresses the sentiment of many current readers as well: “The Cyropaedia is vague and languid, the Anabasis circumstantial and animated. Such is the eternal difference between fiction and truth.” 2 But this assessment begs a certain question. Do these two works belong to the same or different genres? Ancient readers, no less than modern ones, have been divided over this issue. The critic Dionysius of Halicarnassus included the Cyropaedia among Xenophon’s other historical works (the Anabasis and Hellenica); 3 whereas Cicero considered it a philosophical fiction: “The famous Cyrus was portrayed by Xenophon not in accordance with fidelity to history, but as a model of just rule (effigiem iusti imperii).” 4 Cicero, moreover, apparently put this judgement into practice. Writing to his Epicurean friend L. Papirius Paetus, he jokingly claimed that he had worn out his copy of the Cyropaedia while applying its principles during his governorship of Cilicia. 5 We cannot know how Xenophon intended the Cyropaedia to be received, nor do we have the evidence to gauge the reaction of his original audience. Cicero and Dionysius were writing three and a half centuries after the work was written. In any case, the differences between the Cyropaedia and the Anabasis that have appeared so striking to most modern readers might not have seemed quite so extreme to ancient readers, who, whatever their notions of genre may have been, were used to a more literary type of historical text and a more fluid boundary between ‘history’ and ‘fiction’. That is, readers were accustomed to a type of historical narrative that included invented speeches and dialogue, as well as the dramatic elaboration of events. The further back in time a narrative stretched, the more room an author had to employ a correspondingly greater degree of poetic license. Nevertheless, the question of genre is difficult to avoid, even if it may verge on being anachronistic. Xenophon wrote at time when prose genres were still in the process of

2 Gibbon 1781, 457 n. 115. 3 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Letter to Pompeius 4. 4 Cicero, Letter to His Brother Quintus 1.1.23: Cyrus ille a Xenophonte non ad historiae fidem scriptus sed ad effigiem iusti imperii. He goes on to say, “the serious dignity of whose character is represented by that philosopher as combined with a singular affability. And, indeed, it is not without reason that our famous Africanus did not let the book out of his hands; for there is no duty of a diligent and moderate rulership that has been omitted in it.” 5 Cicero, Letters to Friends 9.25.1: Παιδείαν Κύρου quam contrieram legendo, totam in hoc imperio explicavi (“The Cyropaedia, which I had worn out through reading, I have thoroughly put into practice throughout my command”).

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formation. 6 One can almost chart their development in the writings of other fourth-century writers. In his Antidosis (which he began in 354/3 BC), Isocrates lists different types of compositions in prose (τρόποι τῶν λόγων) and refers to those writers who have “chosen to compose the affairs (τὰς πράξεις) that take place in wars.” 7 Moreover, it was not until approximately two decades after Xenophon’s death that we find in Aristotle’s Poetics (c. 335 BC) the first unambiguous use of the word historia (ἱστορία, whose basic meaning is “inquiry”, “investigation”) to denote “history” in something approaching our modern sense. 8 Yet even if we grant that by the 350s the Greeks had developed a notion of historical writing as a particular genre of prose literature, the expectations of a historical work’s various audiences were not the same as those of modern readers, at least since the emergence of ‘scientific,’ evidence-based history during the second half of the nineteenth century. 9 Generic expectations were never completely fixed in antiquity, and there was ample room for experimentation. 10 Although the Anabasis is a difficult work to characterize in terms of genre, the Cyropaedia is far more so. 11 Part of the problem is that there is no single term, ancient or modern, that can capture the totality of what it contains – it has the features of historio­ graphy, biography, encomium, philosophical dialogue, novelistic romance, and technical treatise. 12 Xenophon was clearly ‘engaged in the invention of his own genre’. 13 He makes his readers infer that he is experimenting in marked contrast with Isocrates, who draws attention to his innovations, explicitly calling his Antidosis (which is a fictive courtroom speech) a “mixed discourse” (12) comprising many disparate forms of prose (11). 14

6 As Marincola 2017, 105–107, observes, Xenophon himself played an important role in bequeathing to historiography many of its salient features. For an appraisal of Xenophon as a historian, see Flower 2017b. 7 Isocrates, Antidosis 45–46. In Panathenaicus 1–2 (342 BC), Isocrates also distinguishes between other types of prose literature and that which “relates the ancient affairs (τὰς παλαιὰς πράξεις) and wars of the Greeks.” Theopompus of Chios (FGrHist 115 F 25) made a similar distinction in the preface to his Philippica, which he began in the mid to late 340s. For Isocrates’ relationship with historiography, see Marincola 2014; for Theopompus’ preface, see Flower 1997, 29–31. 8 Aristotle, Poetics 1451a36–b11; Rhetoric 1.4.1360a36–37; and compare with Isocrates, Panathenaicus 246, where historia may also mean “history”. The historian Ephorus (c. 405–330 BC) also seems to have conceptualized historical narrative as a distinct prose genre; for Polybius said of him (FGrHist 70, F 111): “He wrote in a most charming and convincing way on the difference between historians (historiographoi) and speech writers (logographoi).” 9 Tucker 2004, 44–45. 10 Pelling 2007, 80. 11 Lee 2005 and LaForse 2005 consider the Anabasis to be the first war memoir, but that seems anachronistic. See Flower 2012, 40–59, for a discussion of the problems involved, and note, in particular, Marincola 1999, 316. 12 Tuplin 1997, 67, observes that its origins lie in a “cross-cut” of what he calls four “ordinary genres”: historiography, encomium, Socratic dialogue, and technical treatise writing. 13 Tatum 1989, 57. 14 See Papillon 2001 and Nicolai 2014, 77–84.

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There is, however, a respect in which Xenophon is indeed explicit, surprisingly so. The Anabasis, like the Hellenica, lacks both a preface and any kind of statement of method. It simply begins in story mode (the ‘once upon a time’ technique): “Darius and Parsyatis had two sons.” 15 As the story unfolds the reader learns that it is about the attempt of Cyrus the Younger to wrest control of the Persian Empire from his older brother, who had succeeded their father as king. By contrast, the narrator of the Cyropaedia explicitly tells us that it is an investigation into how Cyrus the Great accomplished the seemingly impossible task of ruling a vast empire of willing subjects. He even includes a methodological statement that presents the work as being the result of research and investigation: “Believing this man to be worthy of admiration, we have considered who he was by birth, what his nature was, and with what education he was brought up, that he so far excelled in governing human beings. We will try to relate, therefore, both what we have learned and what we think we have perceived about him.” 16 Later, after his digression on Persian education, he says (Cyr. 1.2.16): “We shall now relate the accomplishments (τὰς πράξεις) of Cyrus beginning from his childhood, which is the purpose for which this narrative was begun.” Moreover, the narrator employs various techniques throughout the work to establish the credibility of the narrative as the product of investigation. Phrases such as “it is said”, “he said”, and “even to this day” (ἔτι καὶ νῦν) the Persians do this or that serve to remind the reader that this work purports to be an historically accurate reported narrative. How would the work’s original audience have perceived this preface in terms of their generic expectations? As ancient readers progressed though the Cyropaedia, would the divergences from all other extant versions of Cyrus’ career, the unusual length of its many speeches and dialogues, the imbedded novellas, and the elaborate and uniquely long battle scenes have signaled to them that Xenophon was playing, for didactic and ethical purposes, with their generic expectations of what a typically historical narrative consisted of? 17 Perhaps it might make these issues clearer if we consider the features that the Anabasis and Cyropaedia share in common and where they differ. The two works are similar in that each is essentially an exercise in what we would call micro-history. The Anabasis comprises 250 pages in the Oxford Classical Text (OCT), and it relates the events of a two-year period (401–399 BC). The Cyropaedia resembles the Anabasis in that it too only narrates a short sliver of Cyrus’ career, despite its great length. Of its 377 pages in the OCT, 294 are concerned with a single year of conquest in which Cyrus overthrows the Assyrian Empire and establishes his own (Cyr. 2.1.1–8.6.18). 18 The rest of his military career, including the conquest of Egypt, is narrated in a mere three sentences (8.6.19–20). On the other hand, the two works are dissimilar insofar as one is an exercise in contemporary history and the

15 Anabasis 1.1.1; hereafter abbreviated as Anab. 16 Cyropaedia 1.1.6; hereafter abbreviated as Cyr. 17 Tamiolaki 2017, 182–189, convincingly argues (182) “that, despite the undeniable blending of different genres, Xenophon intended the Cyropaedia to be conceived more as historiography (albeit of a peculiar sort).” In general, see Tuplin 1990; 1997; 2017, 20–23; Stadter 2010 (1991). 18 See Tuplin 1997, 101–103; Due 1989, 42–52.

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other in “ancient history” (τὰς παλαιὰς πράξεις, to borrow Isocrates’ phrase). 19 Ephorus of Cyme (c. 405–330 BC) observed that those who give the most detailed accounts of past events are considered to be the most untrustworthy, “because we suppose that it is improbable, given the great distance in time, that all of the deeds or the majority of the speeches would be remembered.” 20 The great distance in time, especially by comparison with the Anabasis and Hellenica, 21 may well have suggested to readers that not everything in this account of Cyrus was to be accepted as ‘history’. I want to be clear here: I am not claiming that the Cyropaedia has no factual basis at all, or that Xenophon never consulted any Iranian sources, especially oral ones. 22 A man named Cyrus obviously was the founder of the Persian Empire, and Xenophon is the first Greek writer to say that Cyrus was the son of the king of Persia. The famous Cyrus cylinder (a text that must have been authorized, even if not actually composed, by Cyrus himself) confirms this. On this point at least, both Herodotus and Ctesias were wrong, and Xenophon was right. 23 But if I may rephrase Gibbon’s formulation quoted above: what we are dealing with in comparing the Anabasis and Cyropaedia is the eternal difference between experience and imagination. The Cyropaedia, however one assesses its literary merits, is a tour de force of creative imagination. When writing the Anabasis, Xenophon could rely on his own memories and experiences, filling them in with the type of plausible elaboration that was typical of all ancient historical writing. He did something far more radical and adventurous when composing the Cyropaedia – he imaginatively reconstructed an immensely detailed account of Cyrus’ youth and conquest of Asia. Herodotus, to be sure, must have filled out his account of Cyrus imaginatively, using various Greek story patterns as a model. Xenophon is doing something similar, but on a far larger and grander scale. 24 Two Narrators and One Implied Author? One of the most unusual features of Xenophon’s corpus is that each work has an anonymous narrator. This means that we cannot automatically assume that any one of them is Xenophon himself. Nonetheless, due to the repetition of themes, topics, expressions, and 19 Isocrates, Panathenaicus 1. 20 FGrHist 70 F 9. For discussion of this fragment, see Marincola 1997, 70; Parmeggiani 2001, 99–110. Ephorus wrote a history of the Greek world in thirty books from the return of the descendants of Heracles to the Peloponnese in c. 1200 BC to the siege of Perinthus by Philip of Macedon in 341/0 BC. 21 The Hellenica is 272 pages in the OCT and narrates a period of forty-nine years (411–362 BC). 22 The fullest defence of the historicity of the Cyropaedia is Zarghamee 2013a and 2013b. 23 Herodotus (Histories 1.107) says that Cyrus came from “a good house”, whereas Ctesias (FGrHist 688 F 8d: from Nicolaus of Damascus) made him a Mardian by birth (his father being a common thief and his mother a shepherdess) who became a servant of the Median king Astyages. 24 Herodotus’ account of Cyrus’ upbringing and subsequent career takes up some 55 pages in the OCT (Histories 1.108–214). Ctesias’ Persica devoted five (7–11) of its twenty-three books to Cyrus.

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vocabulary, from antiquity until today it has always been assumed that the same person wrote them, someone with a very specific set of interests and concerns. It might be safer, if far more cumbersome, to refer to this person as the ‘implied author’ (that is, the sensibility behind the narrative that readers construct for themselves), since we actually know very little about the historical author. Xenophon’s writings, apart from the Anabasis and a single short episode in the Memorabilia (1.3.9–13), tell us virtually nothing about the life of their author. What we think we know about Xenophon’s life story derives in large measure from the short account of him written by Diogenes Laertius (Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers 2.57) in the third century AD. 25 Diogenes was using sources that are now lost and whose reliability is questionable. 26 What we are really dealing with, then, is not a flesh and blood personality whose life we can use to interpret his texts, but an implied author whose personality and interests are inferred from the texts themselves. Nonetheless, while keeping this state of affairs in mind, I will occasionally refer to Xenophon as the author of his corpus as a kind of convenient shorthand. Each of us is free to construct our own implied author, to imagine our own Xenophon, and indeed it is exceptionally difficult to resist the temptation to do this. 27 But that still leaves open the identity of his narrators. 28 To begin with, the mere fact that the same passages, with very slight variations of language, appear in both the Hellenica and the Agesilaus is a sure indication that the same persona is narrating both of them. 29 And since the firstperson narrator of the Agesilaus must be Xenophon himself (for an encomium cannot have a narrator other than its author), 30 the third-person narrator of the Hellenica must also be Xenophon. The Cyropaedia and Memorabilia are linked narratologically by the fact that both end with a provocation to readers who might disagree with the narrator – a 25 Measured attempts to piece together his life-story are Badian 2004 and Lee 2017. 26 For Diogenes’ use of sources and method of composition, see Mejer 1978. 27 This is very well expressed by Peirano 2013, 253: “If the author is not a deus ex machina that exists transcendentally outside of the text, if it is not his intentions that are the real meaning of the text, the author is nevertheless an essential function of readers’ understanding of it. Thus the reader is constantly challenged and teased by the text to infer the identity and beliefs of its creator.” 28 In a thought-provoking study, McCloskey 2017 argues that several of Xenophon’s narrators are characters independent of each other, that none of them are likely to be Xenophon, and that they often advocate conflicting philosophical and historical positions. In particular, he maintains that the narrator of the Cyropaedia diverges from all other narrators in the corpus. Some of these ‘conflicting’ positions seem to me to be either trivial or illusory, and, in any case, they are overshadowed by overarching thematic agreements. 29 Compare Hellenica 3.4.16–18 and Agesilaus 1.25–28; Hellenica 4.3.19–23 and Agesilaus 2.12–16. McCloskey 2017, 631 n. 84, is unsure how to handle connections between the treatises and the longer works. In fact, the intertextual connections between them seem to undermine his theory of distinct narrators. 30 It seems counterintuitive for the author and the narrator of an encomium to be distinct personalities; for otherwise, how could the narrator’s assertions about the virtues of the honoree be authoritative? The assertion made at the beginning of the Agesilaus that the king was a “perfectly good man” would be unreliable if the identity of the claimant were unknown. McCloskey 2017, 630, by contrast, argues that the narrator of the Agesilaus and Hellenica is not Xenophon.

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formula for closure that is otherwise unique in classical Greek literature. 31 In the case of the Anabasis, it seems clear enough that Xenophon the character should be distinguished from the third-person narrator, but it is much less clear who the anonymous narrator actually is (even if the distinction largely collapses in Books 3–7). 32 A passage in the Hellenica (3.1.2) seems to attribute the authorship of the Anabasis to someone other than Xenophon: “How Cyrus gathered an army and having this army marched inland against his brother, and how the battle took place, and how he was killed, and how after this the Greeks arrived safely at the sea has been written by Themistogenes the Syracusan (Θεμιστογένει τῷ Συρακοσίῳ γέγραπται)”. Are readers here being told that Themistogenes was the author or the narrator of the Anabasis? The phrase “has been written (γέγραπται)” implies the former, but would contemporary readers even have been able to make this distinction? 33 I want to press this question a bit further. Nine of Xenophon’s fourteen works begin with “I/me”, and two others begin with “us/we”. If Xenophon initially circulated his writings by giving readings to his friends, 34 when that original audience heard these works being read by the author himself, it would have been only natural for them to assume that narrator and author were the same person. 35 Subsequent audiences, those who read the works themselves or heard a third party reading them, would have needed (even if ‘Xenophon’ was attached to their papyrus roll as a sort of paratext) to construct both the implied author and the narrator for themselves. Given that Classical Greek does not have separate words for ‘author’ and ‘narrator’, the most likely scenario is that those subsequent readers would have taken the “I/we” to be simultaneously that of the narrator and the author. As Tim Whitmarsh has well observed, “Narratology has become for us [such] a dominant and all-pervasive intellectual idiom that it is easy to forget that antiquity had no dedicated vocabulary to describe the ‘narrator’ (narratology’s central category) in the strict, critical sense of a narrating persona within the textual fiction (as distinct from the ‘poet’, ‘singer’, or ‘writer’ who created it).” 36 Moreover, when an author and first-person narrator are distinct, the text itself normally indicates this. Plato’s Republic famously begins with, “Yesterday I went down

31 Arrian, Anabasis 7.30.1, comes close: the author challenges the reader not to find fault with Alexander once he considers his own achievements. It is interesting that this is found in Arrian, the most explicit imitator of Xenophon in antiquity. 32 See Flower 2012, 52–59; Grethlein 2012; Pelling 2017, 259–260. 33 McCloskey 2017, 622–625, surveys the various modern explanations, then concluding (625): “I would suggest, then, that the best way to interpret the NHell.’s [narrator of the Hellenica’s] statement about the Anabasis is that he is not naming the author (from our perspective) Themistogenes, since this is Xenophon, but rather that he is naming the NAn. [narrator of the Anabasis], who is the author of the Anabasis within its own fictional world, ‘Themistogenes’.” This may make sense in terms of modern narratological theory, but the ancients lacked both the vocabulary and the theoretical perspective that his interpretation requires. 34 For this possibility, see Kelly 1996. 35 Roscalla 2017, however, argues that when Xenophon uses “we” in the Cyropaedia, he is actually indicating that he worked collaboratively with others in its composition. 36 Whitmarsh 2013, 235.

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to the Piraeus.” Within a few sentences the reader learns that the “I”, the narrator, is the character Socrates. In Isocrates’ works, the “I” is transparently Isocrates himself, and if the narrator is someone else, this is made explicit. Isocrates’ Nicocles begins with an anonymous narrator, but one is soon told (11) that Isocrates was the author of the companion piece to this treatise (the To Nicocles), whereas Nicocles himself is the narrator, and ostensibly the ‘author’, of this one. One should not, therefore, rule out the equation of author and first-person narrator in Xenophon’s Socratic works (Memorabilia, Oeconomicus, and Symposium) on the grounds that the historical Xenophon cannot have been present at all of the conversations that the narrator claims to have heard, since anachronism and fictionalization are characteristic features of the genre of the Socratic dialogue. 37 Turning again to Plato, in his Symposium Socrates refers (193a2) to the dioecism (or the splitting into villages) of Mantinea in 385 BC. Socrates, of course, drank the hemlock in 399 BC, and thus this reference is just as dramatically impossible as the narrator’s claim in Xenophon’s Symposium (if the narrator is indeed Xenophon) that he was an eyewitness of the events described (given that the historical Xenophon would have been around eight years old at the time). And whoever we take to be the narrator in Xenophon’s Symposium, he could not have known (8.32– 34) about the formation of the Theban Sacred Band in c. 378 BC, as the dramatic date of the dialogue is 422. In the case of the Anabasis, if a reader’s default position was to assume that an unnamed narrator and the author of a work were one and the same, and if Xenophon really did wish, as Plutarch claims, to give objectivity to the account of his own achievements by hiding his role as their narrator, he needed to ascribe authorship to someone else. 38 The odd thing is that this device would have been lost for anyone who had not read the signposting citation in the Hellenica that I quoted above. 39 However that may be, even if the Anabasis and Cyropaedia have different narrators (Themistogenes for the former, Xenophon for the latter), they nonetheless share the same implied author. A network of intertextual references and shared themes makes this obvious. Perhaps the most central concern in Xenophon’s lifelong literary project was to isolate and articulate the qualities of the ideal leader. 40 It is in keeping with that project that the two topics that most closely bind the Anabasis and Cyropaedia are the importance of leaders securing willing obedience and winning the support of the gods. Successful leaders are those who rule willing followers for their mutual benefit, both materially and 37 Kahn 1996, 29–35, argues that the Socratic dialogue, as composed by all of the Socratic writers, including Plato, was a genre of literary fiction. 38 Plutarch, On the Glory of the Athenians 345e: “Xenophon was himself the subject of his own inquiry, recording his generalship and his successes, and attributing the account of them to Themistogenes of Syracuse in order that he should be more trustworthy in writing about himself as another person, and giving as a favour to a third party the reputation for the writing.” 39 Pelling 2017, 260, expresses this rather nicely: “Maybe, indeed, some did not know the author’s identity and some did, with the relative proportion changing over the decades until, a century or so later, the latter group finally numbered 100%.” 40 Tatum 1989, 37, considers this to be the “life-long project” that Xenophon explored in many different modes of writing.

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morally. The crucial consideration is that if we can detect certain major themes that appear throughout the Anabasis and Cyropaedia (and indeed throughout the whole corpus), then we can conclude that the same implied author is leading us in a certain direction and prodding us to draw certain conclusions, or at least to ask certain questions. So rather than talk about what the historical person Xenophon intended or meant when he wrote these works, I will primarily focus on how the implied author constructs an intertextual dialogue between them. To be sure, I cannot ignore the question as to how much Xenophon may be drawing, indeed may appear to be drawing, on his own real-life experience. Apart from Herodotus, two other writers gave lengthy accounts of Cyrus. One was Ctesias of Cnidus in his twenty-three book Persica, a history of Persia. We can be confident that Xenophon knew that work because in the Anabasis he actually cites Ctesias as an eyewitness source for the battle of Cunaxa. 41 More intriguingly, another member of the Socratic circle, the philosopher Antisthenes, who was an older contemporary of Xenophon, also wrote at least two works with the title Cyrus. It is a reasonable conjecture (based on three meager testimonia) that one of them was about Cyrus the Younger and the other about Cyrus the Great, and that the latter “described the Persian king’s rise to power and showed how Cyrus learnt, labored, and developed into a wise king.” 42 Yet if Xenophon had not participated in Cyrus’ expedition, he certainly would have had a significantly different set of life experiences that he brought to the writing of the Cyropaedia. At the very end of the Cyropaedia (8.8.3), the narrator gives crucial significance to the pivotal event of the Anabasis (the betrayal of the generals who had served the younger Cyrus and their subsequent execution by the king of Persia), in the sense that it was the catalyst that propelled Xenophon from being a mere bystander to a leader. More speculatively, it is a fair inference that the negative assessment of the efficacy of scythebearing chariots at Cyropaedia (8.8.24) is based on the author’s experience of their poor performance during the battle of Cunaxa (Anab. 1.8.20). 43 On a grander scale, it may also be the case that the account of Cyrus’ great battle against the Assyrian alliance in Books 6 and 7 of the Cyropaedia is an idealized version of the battle of Cunaxa, in which the elder Cyrus avoids the tactical mistakes of the younger one. 44 We are all the product of our previous experiences, and even if Xenophon had set out to write a work based on the life of the elder Cyrus, it would necessarily have looked different from the one that he did write if he had followed Socrates’ advice and stayed home in 401 BC (Anab. 3.1.5–7). But that by no means entails that readers are compelled to interpret the work through a biographical lens. Every work of literature can stand on its own, and 41 See Flower 2012, 86–87. 42 See Gera 1993, 9–10 (the source of the quotation), and Prince 2015, 144, who concludes, “It is plausible that Antisthenes used Cyrus the younger as a negative exemplum.” For the fragments, see Caizzi 1966, F 19, 20a, 21a (= Prince 2015, T 85, 86a, 87a). 43 Gruen 2011, 64, makes the counterintuitive argument that this description (and the epilogue, in general) was intended to parody contemporary Greek stereotypes of Persians. 44 See Anderson 1970, 165–191; Wylie 1992, 133 n. 27. The topic is too large to be explored here.

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the Cyropaedia, if nothing else, constructs its own self-contained story world. Only the epilogue refers to events that are not part of that world. Knowledge of authorship may tell us something about why the younger Cyrus is depicted the way he is (see below), but it is not the key to interpretation. In any case, it would be an error to place too much emphasis on the author Xenophon’s inferred acquaintance with Cyrus the Younger. The narrator of the Anabasis, at any rate, reports that the character Xenophon had two personal interactions with Cyrus: an initial introduction by his friend Proxenus when he joined the expedition at Sardis in 401 BC (3.1.8–9) and then a spontaneous, and brief, encounter just before the opposing armies joined battle at Cunaxa (1.8.15–7). 45 Any further personal or intimate contact can never rise above the level of scholarly inference. The Anabasis and the ‘Epilogue’ (8.8) to the Cyropaedia Modern scholarship on the Cyropaedia is famously divided between those who espouse an ironic, pessimistic reading of the whole work and those who see a sharp contrast between the genuinely favourable depiction of Cyrus throughout the body of the text and the highly critical assessment of contemporary Persia in the work’s last chapter (8.8). 46 Those who advocate for a pessimistic reading argue that if we accept a surface reading of the text, one that leaves no room for ambiguity or irony or contemplation of Cyrus’ possible faults and mistakes, then the narrator seems not to have noticed tensions that develop within his own narration of events. These tensions especially concern the relationship between willing obedience and forced obedience and the narrator’s failure to connect Cyrus’ introduction of Median luxury among the Persians with his description of their moral and physical decline in the epilogue (8.8). Readers, so it is argued, are prompted to make the causal connection between luxury and moral decline for themselves. 47 I find this interpretation problematic in that it fails to perceive the reasons for Persian moral decline that are actually given in the epilogue itself. Perhaps, too, modern readers have been misled by the final chapter of Herodotus’ Histories, where Cyrus advises the Persians that soft lands produce soft people, into expecting a link between luxury and decline. But

45 See Lendle 1995, 76. 46 The bibliography on this topic is extensive, but here is a sample. The epilogue supports a positive interpretation of Cyrus: Delebecque 1957, 405–408; Due 1989, 16–20; Gera 1993, 299–300; Sage 1994; Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 262–271; Gray 2011, 246–263; Dorion 2013. The epilogue supports a negative assessment of Cyrus: Carlier 2010 (1978); Newell 1983; Too 1998, 288–302; Nadon 2001, especially 109–146. See further Tamiolaki in this volume, who gives a full survey of modern interpretations. 47 McCloskey 2017, 615–616, asserts that the narrator “offers no analysis” and that “he is ignorant of even the basic tenants of Socratic philosophy.” Otherwise, the narrator would realize that “Cyrus’ reforms directly cause Persia’s ethical collapse.” Azoulay 2004b more subtly suggests (170) that “Xenophon shows how a dual paideia, being both Persian and Median, can be the key to the creation of an ideal government.”

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that was not Xenophon’s explanation for the decline of Persian military power, nor, as I have argued elsewhere, was it Herodotus’. 48 I am not going to address the vexed question of whether chapter 8.8 was added to the text of the Cyropaedia at a later time, either by Xenophon or by someone else. 49 Suffice it to say that a suitable ending would have been with the death of Cyrus at 8.7.28 (“After saying these things and clasping everyone’s right hand, he covered himself over and thus died”), and that the repetition of the boundaries of Cyrus’ empire (8.6.21 and 8.8.1) seems unnecessary if 8.8 were an original part of the work. But closure in Xenophon takes many different forms (the Anabasis does not achieve closure at all, and we are left wondering about the fate of its Greek characters, including that of Xenophon). 50 The problem is important because the ending of a work is decisive for how readers retrospectively interpret the work as a whole. 51 But since the problem is unsolvable, I am simply going to take the chapter on its own terms, without worrying whether the author felt the need to add it after he had already circulated a version that ended with Cyrus’ death. On a cursory reading of the epilogue, one could be led to think that there was a total deterioration of Persian customs soon after Cyrus’ death, and that indeed would suggest that there were major flaws in Cyrus’ arrangements for the Persian elite and the administration of his empire. The epilogue begins (Cyr. 8.8.1) with a restatement of the extent of Cyrus’ empire (repeated from 8.6.21) and the assertion that “Cyrus honoured and cared for his subjects as if they were his own children, and his subjects revered him as a father.” But then the tone shifts sharply and dramatically: “Nevertheless, when Cyrus died his sons immediately began to quarrel, and immediately cities and nations began to revolt, and all things inclined towards the worse.” This passage may give the impression that the moral decline amongst the Persians themselves began as soon as Cyrus had died, but we are soon informed otherwise. The narrator’s first example of decline involves violations of normative religious scruples (8.8.2): “I know that previously a king and his subordinates would remain firm in any oaths that they swore and abide by any pledges they made, even in the case of those who had done the worst things. For if they were not of that sort and did not have that sort of reputation, not even one person would have trusted them, just as now not a single person still trusts them, since their impiety has become known. Accordingly, the generals of the Greeks who made the expedition with Cyrus [the Younger] would not have trusted them even on that occasion [if they had known 48 Flower 2006, 284–287. 49 During the nineteenth century, the majority of classical scholars denied the authenticity of the epilogue. The current consensus is that it is an integral part of the original composition. Hirsch 1985, 91–97 (who considers it a later addition either by Xenophon or by someone else), provides a good overview of the issues involved. Azoulay 2004a, 442–443, and Gray 2011, 246–263, provide more recent discussions. 50 Flower 2012, 108–112, 51 Mink 1987, 42–60, is an insightful discussion.

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of their impiety]. But, as it was, trusting in their previous reputation, they handed themselves over and, after being led up to the king, were beheaded. And even many of the barbarians who had joined that expedition perished, being deceived by one pledge or another.” The clear implication of this passage, placed first among the many examples of Persian moral and physical degeneration, is that the decline in standards began with King Artaxerxes. This connection is made explicit in the one passage where Artaxerxes is named (8.8.12): “Furthermore, previously they used to go out hunting so often that the hunts provided sufficient exercise both for them and their horses. But when King Artaxerxes and his retinue became addicted to wine, neither did they themselves similarly go out, nor did they take the others out hunting. On the contrary, even if any others often went hunting with their fellow horsemen, merely out of love for physical exertion, they [i.e., the king and his retinue] clearly envied them and hated them for being better men than they were.” As has often been noted, this and other assertions of rupture in the epilogue contradict claims made in the previous narration about continuity of practice. The narrator says at 8.1.36 that “even to this day (ἔτι καὶ νῦν) the king and his retinue continue to engage in hunting.” Yet the divergence is both less stark and more pointed when we realize that “even to this day” was true until extremely recently, that is, until the reign of the current king. Artaxerxes, it should be pointed out, was almost certainly still in power (his reign spanned the years 405 to 358 BC) when the epilogue was written. 52 Moreover, the narrator also makes it clear that the decline is an ongoing process, one that is not complete at the time of writing, despite the bad example set by Artaxerxes. Note the use of the present tense in the following passage (Cyr. 8.8.15): “Furthermore, they are much more effeminate now than during the time of Cyrus. For at that time they were still making use of the education and self-control that they received from the Persians, as well as the dress and luxury of the Medes. But now they are allowing their Persian perseverance to become extinguished, while preserving the softness of the Medes.” The assertion in this passage that “now they are allowing (περιορῶσιν: present tense) their Persian perseverance to become extinguished” assumes that it has not yet completely been put out. And that is in keeping with the character Xenophon’s experience of fighting Persian cavalry and light armed troops in the Anabasis (3.3.6–7). Most seriously, at least 52 See also Tuplin 1997, 103–105, and 2014, 225–226, who similarly posits two stages of decline after Cyrus’ death (immediate dissension and then the subsequent subversion of good habits that begins with the reign of Artaxerxes).

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500 of the Greeks, while out on a foraging expedition, were cut down by the cavalry of the Persian satrap Pharnabazus (Anab. 6.4.23–4). Nonetheless, readers of the Anabasis can easily infer from the Cyropaedia’s harsh critique of the contemporary Persian army, especially of its cavalry (Cyr. 8.8.7, 20–6), that its preparedness and quality had undergone a steep decline between the time of Xenophon’s encounter with Persian forces in 401–399 BC and the writing of the epilogue in the late 360s. In the early fourth century, Persian forces were at least willing to engage with Greeks, but by 360 (Cyr. 8.8.7), “It is possible for anyone who wages war with them to range up and down their county in whatever way they wish without a battle.” The negative influence of Artaxerxes’ kingship on all aspects of Persian life naturally increased with the passage of time. There is one other important observation to be made. It is true that the narrator of the Cyropaedia does not connect the seeds of Persia’s decline to actions taken by Cyrus, but he does advance a typically Xenophontic explanation for the empire’s moral decline. In the epilogue, after cataloguing instances of Persian impiety, he observes (Cyr. 8.8.5): “Seeing such actions, all of the inhabitants of Asia have turned towards impiety and injustice. Of whatever sort the leaders are, such also the people under them for the most part become.” This explanation is actually foreshadowed in the main narrative (8.1.7–9): “The regulations (nomima) that Cyrus established for the purpose of securing the kingdom for himself and the Persians, these same regulations are upheld by the succeeding kings even to this day. And it is the same with these as with everything else. Whenever the officer in charge is better, the administration of the regulations is purer; but when he is worse, the administration is baser.” This same explanatory paradigm appears in two of Xenophon’s other works. At the beginning of his essay on how to improve the Athenian economy (Ways and Means 1.1.1), we are told, “I am always of the opinion that of whatever sort the leaders are, such also becomes the form of government.” A similar point is made in the epilogue to the Constitution of the Lacedaemonians, where it is asserted that the laws of Lycurgus are no longer in force because the leading men (τοὺς δοκοῦντας πρώτους) do not wish to obey them. Laws, these narrators seem to be suggesting, are insufficient guarantors of good government and of virtuous citizens, no matter the type of polity (monarchy, oligarchy, or democracy), if the leaders set a bad example. The author Xenophon, to judge from this cluster of narratorial interventions, apparently believed that the quality of leadership was of even greater importance for the well-being of a state than the type of constitution. Finally, if I may be allowed for one moment to indulge in a biographical reading, it is not at all surprising that the real-life Xenophon would have chosen Artaxerxes as the chief instigator of Persian decline. It was Artaxerxes’ agent Tissaphernes who entrapped the Greek generals employed by the younger Cyrus, and it was Artaxerxes himself who ordered their beheading. One of these generals was Proxenus, the friend who had invited Xenophon to join Cyrus’ expedition (Anab. 3.1.4) and whose memory Xenophon honoured by making a dedication to Apollo at Delphi in both of their names (Anab. 5.3.2).

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Is Willing Obedience Compatible with Fear? As stated above, the problem of how to secure and maintain willing obedience is a major theme in Xenophon’s writings. Examining the treatment of this topic in both works together may help to solve a major interpretative crux in the Cyropaedia. The prologue to the Cyropaedia makes two claims, which might seem to be in tension. At 1.1.3 the narrator asserts that the example of Cyrus has convinced him that if one goes about it “with knowledge”, it is not impossible for one man to rule over others: “At any rate we know that people obeyed Cyrus willingly, although some of them were distant from him a journey of many days and others of many months, and others although they had never seen him, and still others who knew well that they never would see him. Nevertheless, they were all willing to obey him.” A second claim seems to qualify this one (1.1.5): “He ruled over these nations [which have just been listed], even though they did not speak the same language as he or as each other; nevertheless, he was able to extend his empire over so vast a region by means of the fear he inspired that he struck everyone with terror and no one tried to withstand him; and he was able to instill so great a desire to please him that they always considered it right to be guided by his will.” The pervasiveness of fear is reinforced by the discussion of the king’s “eyes and ears” (basically, one’s neighbors acting as informants) in Book 8, where we are told that people were afraid to speak or act in a way that was not to Cyrus’ advantage (8.2.12). This raises a crucial question for any understanding of Xenophon’s theory of leadership. Are fear and willing obedience compatible, or does the former undercut the latter? 53 If one only considers the Cyropaedia, the second alternative might seem to be correct. In the long didactic conversation in Book 1, the young Cyrus thinks that he knows the secret to securing the obedience of his soldiers (1.6.20–21). Cyrus says: “It seems to me that in all things the most important inducement to obedience is praise and honour for the obedient but dishonour and punishment for the disobedient.” His father then corrects him: “This, my son, is indeed the road to compulsory obedience; but there is another, and shorter, road, to what is much better – namely, to willing obedience.” It might be splitting hairs to point out that this conversation centers around governing one’s immediate subjects, especially the troops under one’s command, and that a different formula might be needed to control far off peoples. But when we turn to the Anabasis, we find that some degree of coercion is necessary even in the command of an army. In a generically innovative passage (Anab. 2.6), the narrator gives obituaries of the five Greek generals who were arrested by Tissaphernes and subsequently executed. Even the best of these generals has certain flaws: Clearchus was too severe and was unwilling to be commanded by others, whereas Proxenus was too lenient. Indeed, the assessment of Proxenus pins his deficiency as a general precisely on this particular weakness (2.6.19–20): 53 Gera 1993, 285–300, argues Cyrus’ actions in Babylon (Cyr. 7.5–8.7) reveal that Xenophon saw despotism as being necessary in the ruling of an empire: “Xenophon wishes to show us that both – benevolence and despotism – are needed to run a large empire successfully” (297). Note also Carlier 2010 (1978), 349. My point is rather different.

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“He was capable of ruling good men. He was not capable, however, of instilling in his soldiers either respect for or fear of himself. On the contrary, he was more in awe of his soldiers than they, whom he commanded, were of him, and it was clear that he was more afraid of incurring the hatred of his soldiers than they were of disobeying him. He believed that, for a man to be and to be thought to be fit for command, it was enough to praise the one who did well and to withhold praise from the one who did wrong. Consequently, those among his associates who were good men were well disposed towards him, but the unscrupulous plotted against him on the assumption that he was easy to handle.” Xenophon, however, as depicted from his formal introduction in Book 3 onwards, strikes the mean between Clearchus and Proxenus. 54 He emerges as a model leader: eloquent, pious, strict but not harsh, with a sure moral compass, putting the interests of his men before his own. Although not as harsh as Clearchus, who used the rod rather too frequently, Xenophon was prepared to strike his soldiers when necessary, either because their indiscipline threatened the safety of the whole army or in order to rescue them from certain death when they refused to march on. At the end of Book 5 of the Anabasis, when the army had reached the Black Sea, some of the soldiers formally charged Xenophon with hubris (insolence involving violent behaviour) for hitting them, and he gives a retrospective defence of his disciplinary actions (5.8), which he sums up very succinctly (5.8.18): “My argument is simple. If I punished someone for their own good, I think it right that I suffer the same penalty as parents owe to their children or teachers to their students. For even doctors burn and cut for the good of their patients.” 55 When considered in light of the Anabasis, a work in which the narrator strives to depict the character Xenophon in the best possible light, it is not at all evident that the author Xenophon was attempting to undercut the way in which the Cyropaedia’s narrator favourably depicts Cyrus’ deployment of fear and benefaction, punishment and reward. Xenophon’s Cyrus (as opposed to Herodotus’ or Ctesias’) claimed that the work of a good shepherd and a good king were similar, in that “it was necessary for a good king to make use of cities and peoples by making them prosperous” (Cyr. 8.2.14). And at the beginning of 8.8, the narrator recapitulates Cyrus’ achievement with these words: “Although his empire was of such a size, it was governed by the single will of Cyrus; and he honoured and cared for his subjects as if they were his own children, and his subjects revered him as a father.” Nonetheless, Cyrus preferred to rule willing subjects, as he said to the Persian prince Tigranes (3.1.28), “By the gods, I think that I would find it distasteful to employ servants whom I knew served me from compulsion. But if I had servants whom I thought assisted me, as is their duty, out of goodwill and friendship towards me, I think

54 See Flower, 2012, 120–140. For Xenophon’s self–representation as an ideal leader, see further Bradley 2010 (2001); Rood 2006; Pelling 2013. 55 For discussion of this speech, see Flower 2012, 146–148.

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I would be better satisfied with them even when they did wrong than with others who hated me, but who diligently completed all their tasks from compulsion.” 56 The Problem of Indiscipline The Anabasis and Cyropaedia provide the only sustained treatment in Xenophon’s writings of the problem of military insubordination and lack of discipline. 57 This must be for a specific reason, since indiscipline was not an issue with which Cyrus the Great had to grapple. If one focuses on those sections of the Anabasis (principally in Books 1–4) that stress inter-Greek unity and cooperation, one can easily gain a false impression of the overall tendency of the work. For a pendent to the successes of the Ten Thousand is the tale of its weaknesses. By far the most serious weakness – the one that constantly threatens to undermine the army’s cohesion and very survival – is insubordination. The recurrence of this problem is a major theme of Books 5–7. 58 Xenophon as author had prepared the ground for this theme and alerted the reader to its importance in the speeches that Xenophon the character delivered at the beginning of Book 3. When addressing the surviving generals and captains, he observed (Anab. 3.1.38): “Good discipline seems to provide safety, whereas indiscipline has already destroyed many” (ἡ μὲν γὰρ εὐταξία σῴζειν δοκεῖ, ἡ δὲ ἀταξία πολλοὺς ἤδη ἀπολώλεκεν). Then in his subsequent speech to the entire army, he saved “the most important point” for last: “The enemy believed that after they had seized our commanders, we would be destroyed by anarchy and indiscipline” (3.2.29). The character Xenophon returns to the problem of indiscipline in his two speeches at the end of Book 5 (5.7.5–33). Book 6 witnesses the temporary secession of the Arcadians and Achaeans as a separate army and the disastrous decision at Calpe Harbor by Neon (one of Xenophon’s fellow generals) to lead out a sizeable body of troops on a foraging expedition despite unfavourable omens. At least 500 men died as a result of Neon’s private initiative (6.4.23–24). The common soldiers, to be sure, repent after each disaster, and their reaction is to pass resolutions that threaten future instigators of either lawlessness (5.7.34) or secession (6.4.1) with death. Their subsequent deeds, however, never quite match their regrets. By then, the indiscipline brought about by greed and aggravated by inter-Greek ethnic tensions threatens to disintegrate the army. Despite the emotional effectiveness of his warnings, even at the end of the work Xenophon comes very near to be being stoned to death during an assembly of the army on the grounds that he had stolen their pay and was enriching himself (7.6.8–10).

56 Carlier 2010 (1978), 355, 357–358, recognizes that Cyrus prefers to rule “through the sympathy of his subjects”, keeping fear in reserve; but he does not notice that for Xenophon even a general (either one appointed, such as Proxenus, or elected, such as Xenophon himself) needs his soldiers both to respect and to fear him. 57 It is discussed briefly at Memorabilia 3.5.19–21 and How To Be a Good Cavalry Commander 1.24. 58 See further Flower 2012, 198–201.

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The spectre of indiscipline is never solved. Despite Xenophon’s repeated scolding and the army’s resolutions to act better in the future, the problem recurs during the last campaign narrated in the work, Xenophon’s expedition to capture the Persian grandee Asidates. Xenophon chooses those whom he wants to accompany him on the expedition, especially friends and supporters whom he wants to reward, but 600 others force their own participation, even though the captains who had been selected by Xenophon tried to drive them off (Anab. 7.8.11). Hints of continued insubordination spill over into the Hellenica (3.2.6–7), when the Spartan authorities issue a stern warning to the Cyreans (as they are there called), who are now in Spartan service, not to do any harm to the Greek allies in Ionia. The Anabasis gives little reason to hope that Greeks from many different cities, who are fighting for private gain and are motivated by greed, will ever maintain a consistent obedience and discipline, even if an excellent commander can rein them in temporarily. The idealized world of the Cyropaedia, at least as it existed during Cyrus’ lifetime, paints a far more optimistic picture. After the conquest of Bablyon, Cyrus gives a speech (Cyr. 7.5.72–79) to the Persian elites (the homotimoi) and to select others, in which he warns them not to slip into idleness and pleasant living, but rather to practice virtue even more than before, if they wish to maintain their empire. When he has finished speaking, the Persian Chrysantas chimes in with a suggestion of his own (8.1.1–3): “Cyrus seems to me now to be advising us how we may best continue in prosperity. But there is one thing that he has not stated so clearly, it seems to me, as he should have done, and this I will try to teach those who do not know about it. Consider what hostile city could be captured by soldiers who are not obedient? What friendly city could be guarded by soldiers who are insubordinate? What army of disobedient men could gain a victory? How could men be more easily defeated in battle than when each of them begins to plan in private for his own safety? And what possible success could be achieved by those who do not obey their superiors? … If, therefore, obedience to one’s commander (τὸ πειθαρχεῖν) appears to be the greatest good for attaining good things, then you may be sure that it is also the greatest good for preserving what needs to be preserved.” Chrysantas sounds a lot like the character Xenophon in this address, even if indiscipline was a much bigger problem for Xenophon (both author and character) than for his version of Cyrus the Great. Indeed, the introduction of this particular problem into the Cyropaedia seems almost gratuitous. The need for discipline among the rank and file is hardly an explanation for the institution of the custom (with which this scene concludes) that the Persian nobles remain with Cyrus at his court (8.1.4–8). It would be simplistic, however, to argue that the discussion of military obedience is placed in this emphatic position, right after one of Cyrus’ most important speeches, because the author Xenophon wants the Cyropaedia, his longest and most detailed work, to include a theme that had been so central both to his real-life experiences and to their literary representation in the Anabasis. Rather, we should ask what impression this speech makes on the reader who knew of Xenophon’s contested handling of indiscipline in the Anabasis. Chrysantas’

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harangue, I would suggest, provides a purely theoretical justification for the character Xenophon’s specific actions and speeches, and thus serves to validate them. Whom Do the Gods Favour? Another primary theme in Xenophon’s writing is the necessity for a leader or a manager to maintain a good relationship with the gods both in good fortune and in bad, since the gods are willing to help those who are solicitous of their favour. 59 The particular treatment of this topic in the Anabasis and Cyropaedia is an intertextual one, as opposed to being merely a shared theme, because the virtue of piety emphatically links Cyrus the Great and Xenophon the character as exemplary leaders, while distancing them, as we shall see, from Cyrus the Younger. It is essential to realize that for Xenophon (or rather for the implied author of the Xenophontic corpus) piety is not a secondary, second-class, or peripheral characteristic of the successful leader. How To Be a Good Cavalry Commander opens with this exhortation (1.1): “Your first duty is to sacrifice and to ask that the gods grant you to think and do and say those things that might make your exercise of command most pleasing to them, as well as being most acceptable, most reputable, and most useful for yourself, your friends, and your city.” The centrality of piety in the list of a leader’s virtues is made explicit at the end of the Agesilaus. The king’s virtues are summarized in order that they may be easier for the reader to remember, beginning with examples of his piety (11.2): “He never stopped repeating that he believed the gods took no less pleasure in pious deeds (ὁσίοις ἔργοις) than in unblemished sacrificial offerings. Whenever he was successful, he did not look down upon his fellow men but gave thanks to the gods. And he offered more sacrifices when confident than prayers when in doubt.” 60 Xenophon’s emphasis on Agesilaus’ piety as a central virtue is in keeping with a consistent theological view of the reciprocal relationship between gods and mortals. This reciprocal relationship is made especially manifest in the rites of divination, and in several of his works we find it explicitly stated that the gods give signs specifically to “those whom 59 See Dillery 1995, 182‒194, and Flower 2016 for a fuller discussion of this topic. For the role of religion in the Anabasis, see Zucker 1900; Parker 2004; Flower 2008; 2012, 203–216; Haywood 2016; and for Xenophon’s Socratic theology, see Elis 2016. Degen, in this volume, argues for Near Eastern influence on the conception of “divine favour” in the Cyropaedia. 60 Pernot 1993, 171, emphasizes that the Agesilaus is the only extant encomium in which piety is at the head of the list of virtues.

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they favour.” 61 In the Cyropaedia (1.6.2, 46), Cyrus’ father Cambyses says to the young prince that he had him instructed in the art of divination in order that he should not be dependent on seers and should always be able to seek advice from the gods, since they know all things. The strongest statement of this position is when Cambyses asserts to his son at the very end of their long conversation (Cyr. 1.6.46): “Human wisdom does not know how to choose what is best any more than if someone were to draw lots and do as the lot fell. But the gods, my son, who always exist, know all things, both the things that have taken place and the things that are, and whatever shall come to pass as a result of each past and present event. And when men consult them, they indicate in advance to those whom they favour both what they ought to do and what they ought not to do. But if the gods do not wish to advise everyone, that is not surprising. For there is no necessity for them to care for those whom they do not wish to.” Who is it that “the gods favour”? It is those who serve them (through prayer and sacrifice) in good fortune as well as in bad (Cyr. 1.6.3–4; Memorabilia 1.4.18; How To Be a Good Cavalry Commander 9.8–9) and who do not pray for things that are “unlawful” (ἀθέμιτα, Cyr. 1.6.6). Moreover, this conception of the proper relationship between gods and mortals serves to model the kinds of interactions that ideally underpin mutually beneficial relationships in the human realm (the young Cyrus was instructed by his father to treat his friends in the very same way he did the gods: 1.6.3). The efficacy of this message is reaffirmed at the end of the Cyropaedia in a nice example of thematic ring composition (8.7.3): at the end of his life, Cyrus gives thanks to the gods for his many successes, the guidance that they gave him through divine signs and omens, and their care (epimeleia) for him. His father’s instructions on how to interact with the gods, delivered at the start of his military career, have been completely validated. The programmatic nature of these passages in the Cyropaedia that stress the necessity of cultivating divine favour and guidance is clearly marked. It is not just that they are emphatically placed at both the beginning and end of Cambyses’ advice to his son. Their importance is also underscored by the fact that virtually the same advice is given by Socrates in the Oeconomicus (5.19–20) and Memorabilia (1.4.18), by the character Hermogenes in the Symposium (4.46–9), and by the narrator at the end of How To Be a Good Cavalry Commander (9.8–9) in yet another example of ring composition. Turning to the Anabasis, when the character Xenophon was deciding issues that affected his own future, and by association that of the entire Greek army as well, he made these difficult and perplexing decisions by sacrificing a victim to the gods and then examining its entrails. These decisions included whether to discuss with the soldiers the founding of a colony (5.6.16–17), whether to accept sole command of the army (6.1.19– 24), whether to return home to Athens (6.2.15), whether to lead the army to the Thracian 61 And in Xenophon’s Apology of Socrates 14, ‘to whom they wish’.

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prince Seuthes (7.2.14–15), and whether to remain with Seuthes in Thrace or to move on with the Ten Thousand (7.6.43–44). In some incidents divine agency is at work, such as in the dream that roused Xenophon to action after the arrest of the generals by Tissaphernes (3.1.11–13) and in the spontaneous house-fire that saved the Greeks when they were trying to escape from the Drilae, a tribe dwelling near to the Black Sea (5.2.24). The character Xenophon is being depicted in these passages from the Anabasis as a leader who has been specially selected, and continually aided, by the gods. One of the most explicit acknowledgements of divine intervention in the Anabasis occurs when Xenophon rallies his men to save the Arcadians (who have detached themselves from the rest of the army) when surrounded by Thracians and on the verge of annihilation. Xenophon tells his troops, “Perhaps it is the god who is bringing this about, in his wish to humble those who boasted of their superior wisdom, and to give us the position of greater honour, since we begin with the gods.” (6.3.18) The meaning seems to be that the Arcadians found themselves in this dangerous predicament precisely because they had acted without first consulting the gods. People who begin with the gods, who make the gods their starting point by consulting them through the rites of divination, are those who trust in divine guidance rather than in their own mere human wisdom. This is true even in private life: Ischomachus, who owns and manages a sizeable estate, is successful in all of his pursuits because he always “begins by serving (therapeuōn) the gods” (Oeconomicus 11.8). Like the character Xenophon, the elder Cyrus always begins an enterprise by consulting the gods. He highlights the importance of winning divine approval in his very first speech as a military leader (Cyr. 1.5.14): “This too, moreover, I think makes you more confident – the fact that I have not neglected the gods as we depart on this expedition. For you have been with me enough to know that not only in great things but also in small, I always try to begin with the gods.” The nature of the gods’ approval is made explicit in the first sentence of Cyrus’ speech to the Persian peers before engaging the Assyrians (3.3.34): “Men, the gods, as both the seers say and as it also seems to me, are announcing that there will be a battle, are granting victory, and are promising safety, as revealed in the omens from sacrifice.” By contrast, the king of the Assyrians makes no mention at all of the gods in his own pre-battle harangue (3.3.43), and that hardly seems coincidental. Later in the story, before the major battle with Croesus, Cyrus addresses his generals, beginning and ending his speech with predictions of divine support (Cyr. 6.4.12): “Friends and allies, the gods are revealing the very same omens from sacrifice as when they gave us our previous victory.”

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Then, at the speech’s close, he says to them (6.4.19), “If you think that we still need anything more, tell me. For with the assistance of the gods, we shall lack nothing.” This may seem like a façon de parler, but appeals to divine assistance before battle had a powerful valence and also appear in How To Be a Good Cavalry Commander, the Hellenica, and the Anabasis. 62 In one critical respect, however, the religious landscape of the Anabasis and Cyropaedia is completely different. The character Xenophon is directed by the gods to take, and often to avoid, certain actions, whereas Cyrus the Great is merely confirmed in his decisions. Cyrus always receives omens that are propitious, and his divinatory sacrifices are always favourable. This does not mean, however, that Cyrus’ “consultation of the gods is mechanical and their approval automatic.” 63 The narrator rather lays stress on the extraordinary favour that the gods have bestowed on Cyrus because of his attentiveness (epimeleia) to them. 64 The gods confirm Cyrus’ every move. He not only is presented as someone who is under divine protection and sponsorship from his very first command to the end of his life, but he even joins the gods upon his death (see below). Scholarship has generally underestimated the significance of this. Even if divination does not move the plot forward, as it does in the Anabasis, it still plays a central role in the depiction of Cyrus as a leader. It is also worth noting that although in the Cyropaedia, Memorabilia, Symposium, and How To Be a Good Cavalry Commander we are given similar theoretical explanations for why mortals should turn to the gods for advice and support, this is something that does not appear in the Anabasis or Hellenica. 65 Finally, I want to suggest that the scene in which Cyrus makes a sacrifice and prayer in anticipation of his imminent death (Cyr. 8.7.1–3), especially in light of its intertextual relationship with the Croesus logos in Herodotus, may help us to understand how Xenophon as author intended the Cyropaedia to be received. 66 Cyrus arrives in Persia for the seventh time during his reign, and after performing the customary rituals and sacrifices, “he went to sleep in the palace and had the following dream. A figure bigger than a man seemed to him to approach and say, ‘Be prepared, Cyrus, for you shall soon depart to be among the gods’. Upon seeing the dream he awoke, and he seemed to know that the end of his life was near.” (8.7.2) He then offers sacrifices to the gods on a mountain top, while saying this prayer: “Father Zeus and Helios and all the gods, receive these thank-offerings for my many successful achievements and also thank-offerings because you indicated to me in 62 See, for example, How To Be a Good Cavalry Commander 9.8–9; Hellenica 2.4.14–19; Anabasis 3.2.1–10 and 6.5.21. 63 The claim of Gera 1993, 58–59. 64 This is the suggestion of Sandridge 2012, 70–73. 65 As Dillery (commenting on Flower 2016) has observed, “What is perhaps unusual in Xenophon from a Greek perspective is the theorising he does in explaining the efficacy of relying on information from the gods. … Much of this theorising is found in connection with Cambyses in the Cyropaedia and Socrates in the Memorabilia” (2016, 251). 66 For further discussion of this passage, see Lefèvre 2010 (1971); Sage 1991; Gera 1993, 118–122; Gray 2011, 146; Elis 2016.

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sacrifices, in celestial signs, in birds of omen, and in ominous words what I ought to do and what I ought not to do. I am very grateful to you both because I always perceived your care (epimeleia) for me and because I have never had thoughts that were beyond what is appropriate for a man (ὑπὲρ ἄνθρωπον ἐφρόνησα) as a result of my successes. I ask you also now to grant prosperity (eudaimonia) to my children, wife, friends, and country, and to grant to me a death that is of a kind with the life that you have given me” (8.7.3). This passage contains the only dream, and, apart from divinatory omens, the only supernatural intervention that occurs in the entire work. For that reason alone, it is marked as one of special significance. Two aspects especially stand out. First of all, the dream that appears to Xenophon’s Cyrus, unlike the one that appears to Herodotus’ Cyrus (Histories 1.209–10), is not deceptive but invites him to join the gods. Secondly, his prayer casts him in a remarkably positive light as someone who lived his entire life according to the lessons about both a human’s place in the world and the nature of true happiness (eudaimonia) that were imparted by Solon to Croesus in the first book of Herodotus’ Histories. 67 Unlike Croesus, he did not need to learn these lessons through suffering (as Croesus said to Cyrus, “my sufferings have become my lessons” [Herodotus, Histories 1.107]). Cyrus does not think big hubristic thoughts, and he realizes that one cannot be called happy until his life has ended well (Histories 1.32–33: Solon to Croesus, “It is necessary to look to the end of every affair, in what way it shall turn out. For the god, after having shown happiness [olbos] to many, has destroyed them root and branch”). By avoiding the temptation to “think big”, he avoids the divine retribution that befell Croesus, apparently for considering himself to be the happiest of all humans (Histories 1.134). 68 In the deathbed speech to his family, friends, and Persian magistrates that soon follows this prayer in the Cyropaedia, Herodotean themes are again prominent. Cyrus admits that he always worried he might “see, hear, or experience something harsh” before his death, a fear that he says, “prevented me from thinking thoughts that were excessively proud (μέγα φρονεῖν) or enjoying myself extravagantly” (Cyr. 8.7.7). 69 Readers who were familiar with Herodotus would naturally have noticed the correspondence between Solon’s claim (Herodotus, Histories 1.30) that Tellus was the happiest man (olbiōtatos) whom he had seen because he had a brilliant death at a time when he and his city were prosperous and his children were still alive and Cyrus’ declaration, “Now if I should die [i.e., without having experienced something harsh], I leave behind you, my sons, the children whom the gods have given me, being alive. I leave behind my homeland and friends in a state of prosperity. 67 Sage 1991, 69, observes: “To enhance his portrait of the ideal leader, Xenophon as narrator has assumed a position similar to Solon and has presented Cyrus the Great as his exemplum of true happiness.” 68 Hau 2012, 593–594, 606–609, discusses the negative implications of “thinking big” in these passages. Note also Elis 2016, 86–87. 69 Compare with Herodotus, Histories 1.32.2: “In a long span of time it is possible to see many things that one does not wish, and to suffer many things, as well.”

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Consequently, how might I not justly be deemed happy and be remembered for all time?” (8.7.8–9). The question posed rhetorically by Cyrus is addressed not only to an internal audience, but to all subsequent ones as well. This closing pair of complementary tableaux, prayer and speech, essentially claim that Cyrus was admitted among the gods because of the exemplary way in which he had lived his mortal life. How can this narrative sequence easily be accommodated to a pessimistic or ironic reading of the Cyropaedia that would have made sense to Xenophon’s ancient Greek and Roman audiences? Cyrus the Elder and Cyrus the Younger: A Good Leader and a Bad One? The generally positive depiction of the elder Cyrus that I am advocating prompts readers to engage in a challenging act of intertextual interpretation. That is, they are implicitly being asked to contrast the treatment of the virtues and vices of two leaders who shared the same name, education, and ambitions. Those readers who perceive the Anabasis and Cyropaedia as having different authors/narrators, each with a distinct voice, are also being asked to evaluate the narratorial persona that each work presents. The narrator of the Cyropaedia has the more straightforward task: he sets out to explain why the greatest conqueror in world history was so successful, and he can use his imagination to create episodes that will help him to do this. Conversely, the narrator of the Anabasis needs to explain why the younger Cyrus so completely failed to accomplish anything except for getting himself killed and leaving his Greek mercenaries stranded in the middle of the Persian Empire. It seems likely to me that Xenophon wrote his lengthy obituary of Cyrus the Younger in the Anabasis expecting readers to compare this Cyrus with the depiction of his famous namesake in the Cyropaedia. 70 As was pointed out at the beginning of this essay, both works probably were composed and circulated in the same decade, and both focus on a single year in the life of their respective Persian protagonists. Could it be just a coincidence that the younger Cyrus died at twenty-three and the story of the elder one’s conquest is limited to the year in which he was around twenty-six? 71 The author Xenophon’s seemingly positive treatment of Cyrus the Younger is usually explained either in terms of excusing the fact that he supported Cyrus or as part of his programme of casting him in the role of the paradigmatic ideal ruler, the living embodiment of all of the virtues and abilities that he also attributed to Cyrus the Elder. A typical assessment is that Xenophon “projected qualities of the younger man backwards in time, assigning them to his ancestor of long ago. When painting the portrait of his model hero in the Cyropaedia, Xenophon had the figure of an authentic Persian leader (actually named Cyrus), whose qualities of leadership he particularly admired, ready to hand.” 72 70 So also Sage 1991; but she argues that both are being presented in an equally positive light. 71 For the age of the younger Cyrus, see Lee 2007, 23, and for that of the elder, Tuplin 2013, 71. 72 Gera 1993, 11. For similar views, see Delebecque 1957, 394; Hirsch 1985, 72–75; Tatum 1989, 41–42. Hirsh speculates that Xenophon was influenced by Cyrus’ propaganda that he intended to revive

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Some modern readers have considered the Anabasis’ portrait of Cyrus the Younger to be defective because it fails to stress that Cyrus was a traitor and would-be fratricide who revolted against the legitimate monarch for purely personal reasons. These readers may have failed to perceive that the work’s narrator hints at just these things. 73 I have argued elsewhere that the younger Cyrus is actually being portrayed as a much inferior version of his namesake. I now want to push that interpretation a bit harder and in more detail. 74 We should resist the easy assumption that Xenophon, as author, must have admired Cyrus and must have assumed that the high-ranking officers who served him, including Xenophon himself (despite his alleged noncombatant status), would have been generously rewarded. 75 It is certainly tempting to see in the description in the Cyropaedia of the elder Cyrus’ interactions with his inner circle of friends, and, in particular, in his bestowal of gifts and honors upon them (for instance, during the banquet described at 8.4), a projection of how Xenophon himself and his fellow Greeks would have been treated by a victorious Cyrus the Younger. Before the battle of Cunaxa, Cyrus summoned the Greek generals and captains to a meeting in the course of which he offered a vague promise of reward and then followed this up by promising a golden crown to each of them and by hinting at even greater rewards, even satrapies (Anab. 1.7.6–7). Yet a suspicion that Cyrus was not sincere is raised by the way in which he came to make such grand promises. He was prompted by a Samian exile named Gaulites, “a person faithful to Cyrus”, who asked about rumours that if things turned out well, Cyrus would be either unwilling or unable to fulfill his promises to reward the Greeks. This is Gaulites’ sole appearance in the Anabasis, and the description of him as “faithful to Cyrus” implies that Cyrus had arranged for him to raise these rumours so that he himself could counter them. More seriously, there are strong cues both in the narrative of events and in the prince’s obituary that undercut an uncomplicated acceptance of the author Xenophon’s admiration for the younger Cyrus. Some of Cyrus’ faults should be obvious enough even on the most superficial reading of the narrative. 76 Two of the items of advice that the elder Cyrus’ father gave him in the long closing section of Book 1 of the Cyropaedia were always to provide sufficient provisions to one’s troops (1.6.10) and to catch the enemy in disorder and unarmed (1.6.35). Both are the precise opposite of what happened at the battle of

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the customs and qualities that had made Persia great in the time of the first Cyrus. So also Beckman 2018, 12–14, 18 n. 89, who agrees that Xenophon reports Cyrus’ propaganda, but accepts my earlier arguments (see note 97 below) that he is also critical of him. Braun 2004 argues that Xenophon’s blindness to the misdeeds of Cyrus and Clearchus was due to his personal desire for making a fortune while following them. The beginning of the Anabasis, however, implies that Cyrus’ motivation in seeking to dethrone and kill his brother was entirely based on self-interest; see Flower 2012, 192–193. See Flower 2012, 188–194 and 2016; and note also Danzig’s essay in this volume. Georges 1994, 221–225, gives an extreme version of this, arguing that in addition to material rewards Xenophon had an erotic attraction to Cyrus. For Xenophon’s noncombatant status under Cyrus, see Anab. 3.1.4: “There was an Athenian in the army named Xenophon, who was accompanying the expedition neither as a general nor as a captain nor as a common soldier.” For a different view, see Gray 2011, 71–74.

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Cunaxa (401 BC): the Greeks ran out of provisions on the march through the Arabian Desert (1.5.6), and Cyrus’ army was caught unprepared on the very day of the battle. His Greek contingent barely had time to be drawn up in battle formation (1.7.19–8.14). In the battle that ensued, Cyrus threw away his victory, as well as his life, when he lost control of himself and rashly charged at his brother with only a few followers (1.8.26): “While being with these few cavalry, he caught sight of the King [i.e., his brother Artaxerxes] and the mass of troops about him. And at once he did not restrain himself (εὐθὺς οὐκ ἠνέσχετο), but, having said ‘I see the man’, he rushed against him and struck him on the breast and wounded him through his breastplate, as Ctesias the doctor says, and he also says that he himself treated the wound. As he was striking [his brother], someone hit him with a javelin under the eye with great force.” Quite apart from this spontaneous and foolish act, Cyrus made another fatal error. In this emergency situation, both Cyrus and his entire army had to arm themselves in haste, so much so that Cyrus went into battle without a helmet (Anab. 1.8.6). Although the narrator does not comment on this, contemporary readers might have seen here a probable cause of his untimely death when a few pages later (in the passage quoted above) he is struck by a javelin under the eye. 77 The cause and effect would have been especially apparent to those readers who were familiar with the account in the Cyropaedia of the final confrontation against the Assyrian alliance. On the day before the battle, Cyrus advised his various commanders (6.3.21), “When you depart from this meeting, see to the weapons of your horses and to your own. For often, through lack of a small thing, a man, horse, or chariot becomes useless.” Cyrus the Elder himself, like the members of his staff, went into battle wearing a bronze helmet (Cyr. 7.1.2). By neglecting to see to his own armour, Cyrus the Younger became, if not useless, at least vulnerable. The younger Cyrus’ lack of both foresight (failing to arm himself fully) and self-control (charging at his brother) is in marked contrast with the behaviour of his namesake. When the elder Cyrus was a mere boy and was participating in his very first battle, he too attacked the enemy recklessly and was only saved by his grandfather’s intervention: “Just as a well-bred but inexperienced hound without thinking rushes against a wild boar, so also Cyrus rushed forward, seeing only to striking whomever he caught, but giving forethought to nothing else” (Cyr. 1.4.21). The mature Cyrus kept his composure in the heat of battle, even when the situation was dire. In the great battle that led to the conquest of Babylon, when he saw that the Persian infantry was being hard pressed by the Egyptians, although grieved, he realized that the quickest way of checking the enemy’s advance was to march behind them, the implication being that he resisted the temptation to charge their front (7.1.32–36). 78 77 Gray 2011, 134–135, 201–202, attempts to turn these strategic blunders into positive assessments, likening the brief description (1.8.3) of Cyrus preparing himself for battle to a Homeric arming scene and suggesting (without the slightest hint in the text itself) that he was so concerned to make sure that his men were properly armed that he neglected to put on his own helmet. 78 Xenophon was particularly sensitive to the consequences of a leader acting through anger. In the Hellenica, after the Spartan Teleutias, in anger, led his men too close to the walls of Olynthus

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Cyrus’ death on the battlefield of Cunaxa is soon followed by a lengthy obituary. The beginning of this obituary actually begs for the comparison that I am suggesting: “… he was the most king-like and the most worthy to rule of all the Persians born after Cyrus the Elder, as is agreed by everyone who seems to have had experience of Cyrus” (ὡς παρὰ πάντων ὁμολογεῖται τῶν Κύρου δοκούντων ἐν πείρᾳ γενέσθαι, Anab. 1.9.1). Does “who seems” have a distancing effect? 79 Is it significant that a similar formulation is used in the obituary of the Spartan mercenary general Clearchus, but with the word “seem” placed in a different clause? “Clearchus, by common consent of all who had experience of him, seemed to have been a man both fitted for war and fond of war to the highest degree” (Κλέαρχος ὁμολογουμένως ἐκ πάντων τῶν ἐμπείρως αὐτοῦ ἐχόντων δόξας γενέσθαι, Anab. 2.6.1). In other words, people actually had experience of Clearchus, but only “seemed” to have experience of Cyrus. Xenophon is a subtle and discreet writer, and that can lead to the related dangers of ‘overreading’ (seeing in a text things that are not signified within it) and ‘underreading’ (missing things that are signified). 80 Even if there may be a danger in assigning too much interpretative weight to variations in word choice, I do not think that one can be guilty of overreading by giving explanatory significance to the fact that many of the virtues ascribed to the elder Cyrus are never mentioned in regard to the younger one. Near the beginning of the Cyropaedia (1.2.1), the narrator emphasizes the continuing reputation of Cyrus the Great: “And even to this day the barbarians tell in story and in song that Cyrus was by nature most handsome in form, and in his soul most humane, most devoted to learning, and most ambitious (φιλανθρωπότατος καὶ φιλομαθέστατος καὶ φιλοτιμότατος), so that he endured every toil and submitted to every danger for the sake of praise.” 81 It has been convincingly argued that the Xenophontic theory of leadership, as exemplified by Cyrus the Great, can be reduced to these three fundamental character traits: the love of humanity (philanthrōpia), the love of learning (philomatheia), and the love of being honored (philotimia). Now Cyrus the Younger is obviously ambitious, but only one of these three traits is explicitly attributed to him, either in his lengthy obituary or anywhere else in the Anabasis. This is his “love of learning”, and even that is conspicuously limited to his training in archery and javelin-throwing (Anab. 1.9.5). The quality most conspicuously and most commonly attributed to the elder Cyrus is philanthrōpia (seven times), a term that may be defined as a fondness for others and a desire to help them. 82 This character trait is otherwise ascribed, at least among Xenophon’s ideal leaders, only

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and, along with the cream of his army, was consequently killed, Xenophon makes one of his most emphatic authorial interventions (5.3.7): “From such disasters, however, I affirm that men are principally taught that they ought not to punish anyone, even slaves, in anger ….” On the passage, see Gray 2003, 114; 2011, 92–93; and on the destructive consequences of anger in the Hellenica more generally, see Flower 2015, 112–114. Buzzetti 2014, 68, asks a similar question: “Is this equivocation significant?” For these terms, see Kermode 1983, 138–139; Abbott 2008, 86–90. Gray 2011, 73 n. 4, commenting on Braun 2004, seems to me to be underreading when she writes, “Obviously a more hostile obituary could be written by reading his silences, but it would be at odds with Xenophon’s.” Sandridge 2012. Flower 2016, 86–92, argues that piety should be added to this list. Sandridge 2012, 66.

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to Socrates (once) and Agesilaus (once). 83 In the case of Cyrus, moreover, philanthrōpia is not called an acquired trait, but an innate one: at Cyr. 1.2.5 we learn that he was said “to have been by nature most humane (φῦναι…ψυχὴν φιλανθρωπότατος)” and the narrator later discusses the “philanthrōpia of his soul” (8.2.1). 84 Again, this word is never used in reference to the younger Cyrus. In addition to these three traits, other cardinal virtues are also missing in the depiction of the younger Cyrus. These include piety (as expressed by various transactional words and phrases), sōphrosunē, and enkrateia, all three of which are directly attributed to Cyrus the Great, but never to the younger Cyrus. 85 Although both narrators claim that sōphrosunē was taught to Persian boys (Anab. 1.9.3; Cyr. 12.8–9), there is never any indication in the Anabasis that Cyrus actually displayed it. Sōphrosunē can be of two types: one type can be translated as “self-restraint”, another type as “discretion” or “prudence”. 86 Cyrus the Great displays both. 87 After Panthea had served as Cyrus’ hostage and returned home, she told her husband Abradatas about Cyrus’ piety (hosiotes), self-restraint (sōphrosunē), and compassion (katoikisis) (Cyr. 6.1.47). The narrator asserts that Cyrus made a point of displaying his own ‘prudence’ (sōphrosunē) and self-control (enkrateia) as a model for others to follow (Cyr. 8.1.30–32; cf. 1.3.37). Cyrus the Younger, on the other hand, was rumoured to have had sex with Epyaxa, the wife of the king of Cilicia, and he travelled with two Greek courtesans (Anab. 1.2.12, 10.2–3). The only woman we are told that Cyrus the Great slept with was his wife. To be sure, the younger Cyrus does have some good qualities, but even these are subtly qualified. Readers are prompted towards a comparison with Cyrus the Great not just by the invocation of his name in the obituary’s first sentence, but also by the strikingly similar wording that is used to describe the attentiveness of each Cyrus to his friends. At Anabasis 1.9.24 the narrator comments: “That he greatly prevailed over his friends in his good treatment of them is in no way surprising, since he was indeed more powerful than they. But that he was superior to his friends in attentiveness (epimeleia) and in his eagerness to gratify them, this seems to me at least to be more admirable.”

83 Cyrus: Cyr. 1.2.1, 4.1; 4.2.10; 8.2.1, 4.7, 4.8, 7.25; Socrates: Memorabilia 1.2.60; Agesilaus: Agesilaus 1.22. For discussion of philanthropia, see Due 1989, 163–170; Sandridge 2012. See also note 102 below. 84 Danzig 2012, 509, makes this important observation. 85 See also Buzzetti 2014, 68. Mikalson 2010, 6–15, provides useful definitions of various words (and their derivatives) relating to human-divine relations, including eusebeia (“proper respect” towards both gods and other people), hosiotes (“religious correctness”) and therapeia ton theon (“service to the gods”). For a more detailed discussion, see Peels 2015. I still find “piety” to be a convenient shorthand for eusebeia and hosiotes. 86 See further Mikalson 2010, 12–13. 87 So too Xenophon claims that Agesilaus displayed both types (Agesilaus 5.4, 7: self–control in relation to physical desire; 11.10: moderation in success).

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The same appraisal is made of the elder Cyrus (Cyr. 8.2.13): “That he excelled in the magnitude of his gifts, in as much as he was the most wealthy, is not surprising. But that, although being a king, he was superior in his service (therapeia) and attentiveness (epimeleia) to his friends, this is more remarkable.” Yet even here there is a difference. The former passage gives as examples of the younger Cyrus’ largess (Anab. 1.9.25–7) the half-drunk jars of wine, the half-eaten geese and loaves of bread, and the fodder for horses (“so that hungry horses should not convey them”) that he sent to his friends. The image of Cyrus sending round half-eaten food is almost comic. Alexander the Great, at any rate, who undoubtedly had read both the Anabasis and Cyropaedia, distributed rare fruits and fish to his companions, leaving nothing for himself. 88 The latter passage goes on to say (Cyr. 8.2.14), in reference to the elder Cyrus’ claim to be like a “good shepherd” who made cities and people prosperous, “it is not at all surprising, if in fact he held such an opinion, that he was ambitious to surpass all human beings in service (therapeia).” The point, if it needs driving home, is that Cyrus the Younger’s service was limited to his immediate circle of elite friends (the particular group that he was relying upon in his rebellion), whereas the elder Cyrus desired to serve all of his subjects. “Service” (therapeia) is only once used in connection with the younger Cyrus – that he was preeminent in cultivating (therapeuein) those of his friends whom he thought could help him to accomplish his goals (Anab. 1.9.20). When Cyrus the Great distributed food to his friends, although he did so in order to capture their exclusive love as a hedge against conspiracies, he simultaneously wished to “reveal the benevolence (philotimia) of his soul” (Cyr. 8.2.1–5). It was also benevolence, again in combination with self-interest, that led him to distribute food to individuals from every stratum of society, including slaves (8.1.43–4). There are other cues in the laudatory obituary of the younger Cyrus that might raise a warning signal for its original Greek readership, as well as for modern readers. 89 The narrator says of Cyrus (Anab. 1.9.11–3): “It was clear also that if someone conferred any benefit on Cyrus or did him any harm, he attempted to outdo him. Indeed, some people used to report a prayer of his that he might live long enough to outdo both those who benefited him and those who did wrong by him, returning like for like. … Nor would anyone be able to say this, that he permitted criminals and the unjust to laugh at him, but he punished them most unsparingly/unmercifully (ἀφειδέστατα) of all. Along the well-travelled roads it was often possible to see people who had been deprived of their feet, hands, and eyes.” 88 Plutarch, Alexander 23. 89 So Flower 2012, 188–194, and Higgins 1977, 82–86, who is especially good on Xenophon’s treatment of Cyrus the Younger.

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The narrator then says that, as a consequence, it was possible for everyone, both Greeks and barbarians, to travel where they wanted without fear. But is he being ironic? 90 One would search the entire Cyropaedia in vain for an example of such treatment of enemies or criminals. That kind of mutilation (whether of a corpse or of a living person) was considered barbaric by Greeks, and it is noteworthy that Cyrus the Great never does, or condones, anything like this. 91 The only atrocity in the Cyropaedia is the reported castration of Gadatas by the Assyrian king, someone who is the antithesis of Cyrus and a paradigm of the tyrannical ruler (5.2.28, 3.8). Cyrus the Younger helps friends and hurts enemies (which was typical enough of Greek morality), but Cyrus the Elder focused his attentions on helping his friends (8.2.13): “It is said to have been apparent that there was nothing in which he would have been more ashamed to be defeated than in service to his friends.” The only hint of punishing his ‘personal’ enemies (echthroi), as opposed to subduing enemies in war (polemioi, 8.7.7), appears at the end of his deathbed speech (8.7.28): “Remember also this last word of mine – by benefiting your friends you will also be able to punish your personal enemies (echthroi);” and this is tepid by comparison to the younger Cyrus’ self-proclaimed vindictiveness. 92 More importantly, the elder Cyrus, like the character Xenophon, is depicted as someone who put the reverence due the gods above all other considerations and who sought their council through constant sacrifice (Cyr. 1.5.14). Even at the very start of his military career he could declare to his father, “I feel towards the gods as if they were my friends” (2.3.4) – a sentiment that can only reflect positively on his character. 93 Although the younger Cyrus had his Greek seer perform the customary sacrifices before battle (Anab. 1.7.18, 8.15), there is no indication at all of his own personal piety and attentiveness to the gods. 94 Cyrus the Great not only made a display of his own piety, but encouraged his companions to do the same, “calculating just like those who choose to sail with pious men (μετὰ τῶν εὐσεβῶν) rather than with those who seem to have committed some impiety” (Cyr. 8.1.23–5). Piety, broadly defined as respect for and attentiveness towards the gods, is of such overriding

90 Gray 2011, 72, however, argues that “Xenophon’s own defense of his beating of wrongdoers for the common good at Anabasis 5.8 dispels any impression that he finds fault in Cyrus’ punishments of wrongdoers in principle, and their more barbaric nature is a simple reflection of Persian realities.” To my mind, there is a qualitative difference between striking an insubordinate soldier and mutilating criminals. 91 When the Spartan general Pausanias is urged to mutilate Mardonius’ corpse following the battle of Plataea, he responds, “These things are more fitting for barbarians to do than for Greeks, and we begrudge this even to them.” For Greek attitudes, see Hall 1989, 158–159. 92 See Blundell 1989, 25–59, for the assumption in Greek popular thought that one should help one’s friends and hurt one’s enemies. 93 Newell 2013, 208 asserts that this statement reveals his “obliviousness as a young man to any sense of awe or shame before the gods.” But that interpretation is out of harmony with Xenophon’s own worldview, given that in the Symposium (4.46–49) Socrates takes seriously, and apparently approves of, Hermogenes’ claim that he considers the gods to be his friends. 94 Note Sage 1991, 72, and Buzzetti 2014, 10–13, 68.

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importance for the implied author of the Xenophontic corpus that its conspicuous omission in the portrayal of the younger Cyrus cannot be accidental or insignificant. Perhaps this omission is for a very good reason. Could piety conceivably be the virtue of a fratricide? In the first book of the Cyropaedia, the young Cyrus recalls his father’s earlier instruction that those who ask for unlawful things from the gods will fail to obtain them (1.6.6). Indeed, as has been well pointed out, Xenophon never mentions that Cyrus the Younger had been able to benefit in the least from any sign sent by the gods. 95 In other words, he is the only one among Xenophon’s ‘paradigmatic’ leaders (Cyrus the Great, Socrates, Agesilaus, and the character Xenophon himself) who is unable to profit from divine favour and assistance. His prayer quoted above that he might live long enough to punish those “who did wrong by him” was obviously not granted. Given the repeated emphasis that so many of Xenophon’s writings give to a leader’s ability both to receive divine signs (the gods send them to those whom they favour) and to interpret them correctly, it is noteworthy that the younger Cyrus misinterpreted his seer Silanus’ divinatory sacrifice in the lead-up to the battle of Cunaxa (Anab. 1.7.18–20). Silanus had predicted that the king of Persia would not fight within ten days. Cyrus incorrectly inferred from this that the king would not fight at all. As a consequence, as mentioned above, he marched “rather carelessly” on the day before the battle and was caught with his army out of formation on the day of the battle itself. In addition to piety, which is consistently displayed by the character Xenophon, the importance of the leader being trusted by his subjects is also a key theme in the Anabasis. This importance is underscored in Xenophon’s long admonitory speech to the Thracian prince Seuthes at the end of the work (Anab. 7.7.20–47). He says to Seuthes: “I see that the words of untrustworthy men wander in vain, without power, and without honour” (7.7.24). This same message is emphasized by Cyrus when on his deathbed he tells his sons (Cyr. 8.7.23): “If you plan some unjust action against each other, you will throw away in the eyes of all men the right to be trusted.” Telling the truth and the trust that a reputation for truth telling inspires were important virtues for the Persians. As Herodotus informed his readers, Persians between the ages of five and twenty were taught to do three things only – “to ride a horse, to shoot a bow, and to tell the truth.” (Histories 1.36) Does the younger Cyrus always tell the truth? In the obituary, the narrator emphasizes that both cities and individuals trusted Cyrus (Anab. 1.9.7–8) because “he made it clear that he considered it of the greatest importance that if he made a treaty or compact with anyone, or promised something to someone, not to be false to his word in any way (μηδὲν ψεύδεσθαι).” This assertion, however, is strangely at odds with the narrative of Cyrus’ dealings with his Greek mercenaries. Their true objective was known only to Clearchus. To the others, both generals and soldiers alike, Cyrus told a variety of stories (they are never called lies in the text, but the reader recognizes them as such): he claimed at different times that the expedition was against the Pisidians (Anab. 1.2.1; 3.1.9), Tissaphernes (1.1.11), and Abrocomas (1.3.20). At Cyropaedia 1.6.27–43, Cambyses advises the young Cyrus on 95 Boëldieu–Trevet 2006, 43–44.

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the necessity of deceit and guile in a successful commander and leader. Context is essential here. Cambyses is saying (1.6.28) that it is permissible to deceive enemies but never one’s friends and soldiers. I do not think that one could reasonably counter that the Ten Thousand do not count as “friends and soldiers” because they were mercenaries. If nothing else, Cyrus considered their generals to be his friends, and he had formal relationships of guest-friendship (xenia) with several of them (Anab. 1.1.10–1, 3.3). There seems to be a particular narrative strategy at work in the obituary notice, one that prompts readers actively to consider the wider implications, both intertextually and intratextually, of particular statements. The first-person voice of the narrator repeatedly intrudes to validate certain things that the reader might not be expected to believe: no one “in our time” had a greater number of eager supporters than Cyrus (Anab. 1.9.12); no one, “as I believe”, received more gifts than Cyrus (1.9.22); Cyrus was more solicitous of his friends than they were of him, which “seems to me” more admirable than simply outspending them on gifts (1.9.24). These statements culminate in the overarching firstperson declaration (1.9.28), “I for my part judge, on the basis of what I hear, that no one has been loved by more people, either among Greeks or barbarians.” The choice of “I hear” rather than “I see” or “I know” is not innocent. Rather, in combination with the frequent citation of unnamed contemporary witnesses, the narrator is revealing that he is not basing his evaluation on direct personal experience but on what other people say, and that can undermine his authority. 96 If Themistogenes of Syracuse is the narrator, this is not surprising, since no such person is named as a participant in the expedition; if Xenophon, then he is indicating that his acquaintance with Cyrus was superficial. In any case, both Cyruses may have been “loved” by their subjects and friends, and both may have had admirable traits, but they were certainly not equivalent models of good leadership. If they were, Cyrus would not have “lost control of himself” in a fit of brotherly hatred and died so needlessly at Cunaxa (Anab. 1.8.26). As we have seen, what Xenophon does not say is sometimes as essential to the meaning of his text as what he does say; omission can be as interpretatively significant as inclusion. Xenophon, however, does mention that Cyrus, just before he entered Cilicia, put to death two high-ranking Persians for conspiring against him (Anab. 1.2.20). The later trial of the even more high-ranking Persian Orontas (a man related to the king of Persia) is told in considerable detail, even if at second hand; for Clearchus, who was present as an advisor to Cyrus, told his friends what had transpired (1.6). When read in the light of these executions, the statement in Cyrus’ obituary that while no one deserted from Cyrus to the king (“except for Orontas who attempted to do so”) many deserted from the king to Cyrus takes on an eerie irony. The reader realizes that what the narrator really means is that no Persians 96 Note Anab. 1.9.1 and 1.9.11 (both of which are quoted above); 1.9.20: “he is agreed to be” the best at serving his friends; 9.1.23: “they said that he used to say” that he considered finely adorned friends the greatest adornment for a man. Gray 2011, 74, believes that these citations “chime with his authorial voice as they regularly do elsewhere and become a rhetorical device for persuasion,” but they could just as easily have the opposite effect, especially for those readers who accepted that Themistogenes, and not Xenophon, is the work’s narrator.

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successfully deserted; and perhaps the reader is expected to recall, even if the narrator himself here omits them, the two Persians who were executed before the trial of Orontas. This assertion that no one deserted from Cyrus, but that many deserted to him, is repeated by Socrates in the Oeconomicus as one of his two proofs that, “If Cyrus had lived, it seems that he would have become an excellent ruler (archōn)” (4.16–25). His other proof, that Cyrus’ friends all died fighting around his body, shines a spotlight, perhaps inadvertently, on the consequences of Cyrus’ failure. This is a very strange passage, since Socrates seems to conflate Cyrus the Great and Cyrus the Younger, or at least to move seamlessly from one to the other. There is, however, a marked difference. Socrates describes the elder Cyrus as “the very one who had become a most illustrious king” (Oeconomicus 4.16). Socrates does not go on to say that the younger Cyrus had been an excellent ruler – only that he might have become one (4.18). The point would have been less ambiguous if he had said that Cyrus would have become an excellent king (basileus), since, as a Persian satrap, he already was a “ruler” (archōn). Finally, I want to compare the obituary of Cyrus the Younger with the elder Cyrus’ deathbed speech in a bit more detail, especially since it occupies the position in the narrative where we might have expected an obituary. Cyrus enjoins his own two sons, in the strongest possible terms and at considerable length, to honor and love each other (Cyr. 8.7.8–24). 97 Anyone who reads this speech and then turns to the beginning of the Anabasis should be immediately struck by the disjunction. Cyrus plots against his elder brother, King Artaxerxes, and wishes to become king in his stead because he feels dishonored by him (Anab. 1.1.4). A reader who was familiar with Xenophon’s other works would see this motive as being deeply problematic. 98 In the Memorabilia (2.3), Socrates argues at length that nothing in life is more useful or more beneficial to a person than a brother; and he encourages a younger brother to take the initiative in seeking reconciliation with his elder sibling by doing him a good turn. Most readers of the Cyropaedia would have known (from their knowledge of Herodotus and Ctesias) that Cyrus the Great’s elder son Cambyses, who became the next king, arranged for his younger brother’s assassination. The fatal power struggle between Cyrus’ two sons is indeed alluded to at Cyropaedia 8.8.2: “When Cyrus died his sons immediately began to quarrel, and immediately cities and nations began to revolt, and all things inclined towards the worse.” Nonetheless, there is also a timelessness to Cyrus’ deathbed sermon on the proper relationship between royal siblings. And it is clearly Cyrus the Younger, not Artaxerxes, who has transgressed his advice. So even though Cyrus the 97 Ctesias (FGrHist 688, F 9), according to Photius, also recorded Cyrus’ last words to his sons (and stepsons): “He prayed for good things for those who remained well disposed towards each other, but he called down curses upon those who initiated unjust acts.” 98 Beckman 2017, 14, argues that Cyrus’ actions were justified because Artaxerxes believed Tissaphernes’ accusation that Cyrus was plotting to dethrone him: “By dishonoring his brother, Artaxerxes was the first to sever their relationship and was therefore responsible for Cyrus’ rebellion.” I would say that – in the light of Memorabilia 2.3 and other passages – because Cyrus was pardoned, he should have pardoned his brother in turn. See further Flower 2012, 192–193.

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Younger’s obituary begins on a very positive note, it needs to be evaluated within a larger literary and historical context. When Xenophon writes that Cyrus “was the most kinglike and the most worthy to rule of all the Persians born after the Cyrus the Elder” (Anab. 1.9.1), he is not saying that the younger Cyrus was the moral equivalent of his namesake. He is merely saying that he was the best potential king since then. But as we know from the Cyropaedia, after Cyrus the Great’s death “all things inclined towards the worse” (8.8.2), and that includes the personal and moral qualities of Persia’s kings, beginning with Cyrus’ immediate successor and culminating in the utterly unworthy Artaxerxes II. There is also a particular irony in Cyrus’ harangue to his sons, since it ends with a lesson that could just as easily have been addressed to the younger Cyrus, and, in a timeless intertextual sense, it might be (Cyr. 8.7.24): “If I am teaching you sufficiently how you ought to behave towards one another, fine; but if not, learn from what has happened in the past. For this is the best instruction. For most parents have gone through life as friends to their children and most brothers as friends to their brothers. But some of these have also acted towards each other in the opposite way. By choosing whichever of these two courses of action you perceive to have been profitable, you would plan correctly.” Cyrus the Younger, both in Xenophon’s writings and in real life, might have profited from this instruction to learn from the past, but he did not, and he suffered accordingly. Greek readers of this advice would have thought immediately of Oedipus’ sons Eteocles and Polynices, whereas Cyrus might have looked to the Behistun inscription (column 1, sections 10–14) for the fatal consequences of Cambyses’ murder of his brother Bardiya. 99 Conclusion In my reading of these texts, the Anabasis depicts Cyrus the Younger as a liar, a would-be fratricide who attempted to kill his brother with his own hand, a poor commander who failed adequately to marshal his troops before the decisive battle and who died in that battle due to his impetuosity and lack of self-control. To be sure, he is also depicted as a charismatic leader who was much loved, and trusted, by both Greeks and barbarians, and the historical Xenophon undoubtedly accepted his claim that he was more worthy to rule than his brother Artaxerxes. 100 And surely the historical Cyrus, in imitation of every king

99 For Greek accounts of Cambyses’ murder of his brother, see Herodotus, Histories. 3.30, 64; Ctesias, FGrHist 688 F 13 (from Photius). The brother is called Smerdis by Herodotus and Tanaoxares by Xenophon. 100 According to Plutarch, Artaxerxes 6.3, Cyrus wrote a letter to the Spartans asking for assistance, in which, “In addition to many other boasts about himself, he said that he carried a sturdier heart than his brother, was more of a philosopher, better versed in the lore of the Magi, and could drink

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who preceded him and not just of his namesake, lavished gifts on his friends. 101 In the Cyropaedia, by contrast, the elder Cyrus does not plot against his grandfather or uncle, the Medes follow him “not from compulsion, but willingly and out of gratitude” (4.2.11), he never makes a strategic mistake or loses control of himself in the heat of battle, and the gods support and encourage him at every stage. This is not to say that Cyrus has no faults at all – the prologue claims that he was the most successful ruler of all time, not that he was, like Agesilaus, a “perfectly good man” (τελέως ἀνὴρ ἀγαθὸς, Agesilaus 1.1). 102 And the character Cyrus admits to Croesus that even he was unable to master the common human failing of having an insatiable desire for wealth, even if he put his possessions to better use than most people by using the surplus to satisfy the needs of his friends (Cyr. 8.2.20–22). On the other hand, he attempted to show himself to his subjects as the one “most of all adorned with virtue (aretē)” by making a display of his piety, justice, respect for others, discretion, and self-control (8.1.21–33). Furthermore, it must be significant that the only argument for the immortality of the soul in all of Xenophon’s writings is put into Cyrus’ mouth (8.7.17–22). Nonetheless, his relentless pursuit of his own self-interest, as well as his increasingly despotic behaviour after his conquest of Babylon, even if not formally incompatible with his benevolence (philanthrōpia), 103 has disquieted many modern readers. It is noteworthy that in the Anabasis Xenophon is never depicted as seeking his own advantage at the expense of those under his command. If anything, he is forced to defend himself on the charge of being too partial to his soldiers. When near the end of the Anabasis two Spartan ambassadors ask the Thracian prince Seuthes (7.6.4), “What kind of man is Xenophon?”, Seuthes replied, “In other respects, he is not bad, but he is a friend to the soldiers (philostratiōtēs), and for this reason things are more difficult for him.” Cyrus the Great never seems to make life more difficult for himself by benefiting others – for him philanthrōpia was a trait to be self-consciously displayed in the service of self-interest (Cyr. 8.2.1). It was perhaps because of this merging of self-interest and benevolence that he was a more successful leader than Xenophon, who even in the very last episode in the Anabasis (the capture of Asidates) is still struggling against insubordination. Unlike Cyrus, he is never fully in control of the men under his command. The act of reading, of course, even if guided by a work’s structure and by knowledge of its historical context and milieu, is always personal, 104 and many modern readers of and carry more wine than he. His brother, he said, was too effeminate and cowardly either to sit on his horse in hunts or on his throne in times of danger.” 101 See Cyr. 8.2.7: “Cyrus began the practice of lavish giving, and among the kings it continues even to this day.” 102 Tamiolaki 2012 argues that the virtue of other leaders is often ambiguous, while that of Socrates alone is uncontested and unambiguous. 103 Danzig 2012 makes a strong case that Xenophon did not consider self-interest to be incompatible with sincere benevolence. Azoulay 2004a, 318–326, on the other hand, views Cyrus’ philanthropia as being merely a technique for dominating others, which to me seems much too cynical. 104 This is a foundational principle of reader response theory, for which see the classic treatment of Iser 1978.

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Xenophon’s oeuvre, myself included, have seen him as an author who wants his readers to engage in the act of interpretation. 105 Part of that interpretative act, as I hope to have shown, is to place the Anabasis and Cyropaedia in a productive and thought-provoking dialogue with each other, one from which readers may draw their own conclusions. Even so, it is well to remember that the horizon of expectations of Xenophon’s contemporary audience or of Roman readers of the late Republic will necessarily have been different from our own, and thus Cicero could, without a whiff of irony, see in Cyrus an effigies iusti imperii.

105 Hobden 2005, 105; Flower 2015, 114–115; 2017a, 8; Marincola, 2017, 116; Tamiolaki 2017, 190–193.

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Newell, W. R. 1983. ‘Tyranny and the Science of Ruling in Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus’, The Journal of Politics 45, 889–906. —. 2013. Tyranny. A New Interpretation, Cambridge. Nicolai, R. 2014. ‘At the Boundary of Historiography: Xenophon and His Corpus’, in: G. Parmeggiani (ed.), Between Thucydides and Polybius: The Golden Age of Greek Historiography (Hellenic Studies Series 64), Cambridge, MA, 63–87. Papillon, T. L. 2001. ‘Rhetoric, Art, and Myth: Isocrates and Busiris’, in: C. W. Wooten (ed.), The Orator in Action and Theory in Greece and Rome: Essays in Honor of George A. Kennedy (Mnemosyne – Supplementum 225), Leiden, 73–93. Parker, R. 2004. ‘One Man’s Piety: The Religious Dimension of the Anabasis’, in: R. Lane Fox (ed.), The Long March: Xenophon and the Ten Thousand, New Haven & London, 131–153. Parmeggiani, G. 2011. Eforo di Cuma: Studi di storiografia greca (Studi di storia 14), Bologna. Peels, S. 2015. Hosios: A Semantic Study of Greek Piety (Mnemosyne – Supplement 387), Leiden. Peirano, I. 2013. ‘Ille ego qui quondam: On Authorial (An)onymity’, in: Marmodoro & Hill 2013, 251–285. Pelling, C. 2007. ‘Ion’s Epidemiai and Plutarch’s Ion’, in: V. Jennings & A. Katsaros (eds.), The World of Ion of Chios (Mnemosyne – Monographs on Greek and Roman Language and Literature 288), Leiden, 75–109. —. 2013. ‘Xenophon’s and Caesar’s Third-Person Narratives – Or Are They?’, in: Marmodoro & Hill 2013, 39–73. —. 2017. ‘Xenophon’s Authorial Voice’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon (Cambridge Companions to Literature), Cambridge, 241–262. Pernot, L. 1993. La rhétorique de l’ éloge dans le monde gréco-romain, Vol. 1, Histoire et technique (Collection d’études Augustinienne 137), Paris. Prince, S. H. 2015. Antisthenes of Athens: Texts, Translations, and Commentary, Ann Arbor. Rood, T. 2006. ‘Advice and Advisers in Xenophon’s Anabasis’, in: D. Spencer & E. Theodorakopoulos (eds.), Advice and Its Rhetoric in Greece and Rome (Nottingham Classical Literature Studies 9), Bari, 47–61. Roscalla, F. 2017. ‘L’arte del narrare e le voci di senofonte: Io e noi’, Quaderni Urbinati di Cultura Classica 144, 75–117. Sage, P. W. 1991. ‘Tradition, Genre, and Character Portrayal: Cyropaedia 8.7 and Anabasis 1.9’, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 32, 61–79. —. 1994. ‘Dying in Style: Xenophon’s Ideal Leader and the End of the Cyropaedia’, The Classical Journal 90, 161–174. Sandridge, N. B. 2012. Loving Humanity, Learning, and Being Honored: The Foundations of Leadership in Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus (Hellenic Studies Series 55), Washington, DC. Stadter, P. A. 2010. ‘Fictional Narrative in the Cyropaedia’, in: V. Gray (ed.), Xenophon (Oxford Readings in Classical Studies), Oxford 2010, 367–400 [= ‘Fictional Narrative in the Cyropaideia’, American Journal of Philology 112, 1991, 461–491]. Tamiolaki, M. 2012. ‘Virtue and Leadership in Xenophon: Ideal Leaders or Ideal Losers?’ in: F. E. Hobden, & C. J. Tuplin (eds.), Xenophon: Ethical Principles and Historical Enquiry (Mnemosyne – Supplements 348), Leiden, 563–589.

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—. 2017. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Tentative Answers to an Enigma’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon (Cambridge Companions to Literature), Cambridge, 174–194. Tatum, J. 1989. Xenophon’s Imperial Fiction: On the Education of Cyrus, Princeton. Too, Y. L. 1998. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Disfiguring the Pedagogical State’, in: Y. L. Too & N. Livingstone (eds.), Pedagogy and Power: Rhetorics of Classical Learning (Ideas in Context 50), Cambridge, 282–302. Tucker, A. 2004. Our Knowledge of the Past: A Philosophy of Historiography, Cambridge. Tuplin, C. J. 1990. ‘Persian Decor in Cyropaedia: Some Observations’, in: H. SancisiWeerdenburg & J. W. Drijvers (eds.), The Roots of the European Tradition: Proceedings of the 1987 Groningen Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History V), Leiden, 17–29. —. 1997. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Education and Fiction’, in: A. H. Sommerstein & H. Atherton (eds.), Education in Greek Fiction, Bari, 65–162. —. 2013. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Fictive History, Political Analysis and Thinking with Iranian Kings’, in: L. Mitchell & C. Melville (eds.), Every Inch a King: Comparative Studies on Kings and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Rulers and Elites: Comparative Studies in Governance 2), Leiden & Boston, 67–90. —. 2014. ‘The Sick Man of Asia’, in: G. Parmeggiani (ed.), Between Thucydides and Polybius: The Golden Age of Greek Historiography (Hellenic Studies Series 64), Cambridge, MA, 211–238. Whitmarsh, T. 2013. ‘An I for an I: Reading Fictional Autobiography’, in: Marmodoro & Hill 2013, 233–250. Wylie, G. 1992. ‘Cunaxa and Xenophon’, L’Antiquité Classique 61, 119–134. Zarghamee, R. 2013a. Discovering Cyrus: The Persian Conqueror Astride the Ancient World (Iran’s Age of Empires 2), Washington, DC. —. 2013b. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia and Persian Oral History (Part one, Part Two, Part Three)’, posts on Cyrus’ Paradise: The World’s First Online Collaborative Commentary to an Ancient Text , 1, 9, 18 December 2013. Zucker, A. 1900. Xenophon und die Opfermantik in der Anabasis, Nurenberg.

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The Younger Cyrus and the Alter Cyrus* Gabriel Danzig (Ramat Gan)

Introduction According to a widely held opinion, Xenophon admired Cyrus the younger and modeled the Cyrus of his great composition, Cyropaedia, on him. 1 This claim is based primarily on similarities between the eulogy for Cyrus the younger in Anabasis and the portrait of Cyrus the elder in the Cyropaedia, and also on the assumption that the praise Xenophon offers in the eulogy reflects sincere admiration. 2 Xenophon himself implies both of these in the first lines of the eulogy, when he comments that Cyrus was the most kingly and worthy to rule since Cyrus the elder (1.9.1: Κῦρον τὸν ἀρχαῖον). But even here Xenophon does not claim parity. Being better than all the other post-Cyrean kings might not amount to very much if the other members of this group were terrible failures. 3 While Xenophon’s words do imply a measure of praise, we should not assume that they mean more than what they say. Xenophon has a remarkable capacity to influence readers’ judgements by the effusiveness of his words, even when he is not saying anything very substantial. When judging the eulogy it is important to recognize that, like a good advertiser, Xenophon says

* It is an honor to present this study to Professor Christopher Tuplin as a token of my esteem and in gratitude for his kindness over many years. 1 Hirsch 1985a, 75: “It is hard to resist the conclusion that Xenophon’s portrayal of the character, conduct and personal relations of the elder Cyrus is based largely on the personality of his one-time patron, Cyrus the prince.” Hirsch also notes Xenophon’s admiration of Cyrus (ibid. 72). Tatum 1989, 45 dismisses Hirsch’s theory, on the grounds that Cyrus the younger is already forgotten by the end of Anabasis, and suggests that the real connection between the two works is that Cyropaedia solves the problem Xenophon himself faced towards the end of Anabasis: how to rule men (45). Due 1989, 187–192, finds Hirsch’s theory exaggerated; Gera 1993, 11, supports it. 2 For similarities between the two Cyruses see Holden 1890, vol. 4, 196–197; Cousain 1904, xli; Hirsch 1985b, 65–85, esp. n. 31, and 78–81; 1985a, 72–76, 85–86. 3 The final chapter of Cyropaedia portrays a sharp decline in Persian virtue; if authentic this chapter would further support the claim that in Xenophon’s view the younger Cyrus was far less impressive than his great namesake. Interestingly, almost none of the boasts that Xenophon puts into the mouth of the elder Cyrus on his deathbed could be said by the younger Cyrus (Cyr. 8.7.6–9). See Sage 1991, 67.

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all the best things he can possibly say about his product, and that means that Cyrus’ good qualities end exactly where Xenophon leaves them. 4 The parallels between the two men include some natural qualities, some aspects of their educations, a similar incident involving a wild animal, and some of their qualities and behaviors as military and political leaders. Extensive parallels would seem to imply a literary rather than an historical origin of the portraits. But despite believing that the parallels are substantial, Steven Hirsch has argued that both portraits are historical in origin. He claims that the stories look alike because both are based on materials promulgated in the camp of the younger Cyrus, and that Cyrus made an effort to portray himself in the pattern of his older namesake. 5 I find this theory implausible, both because the parallels are limited in nature, and because the elder Cyrus is a much more positive figure than the younger Cyrus. Why would the younger Cyrus omit many of the positive features of his namesake if he were attempting to create a positive image of himself? Noting the discrepancies between the men, Michael Flower has raised doubts about Xenophon’s admiration for the younger Cyrus. He argues that in the eulogy for the younger Cyrus “praise dominates on the surface, but those who read carefully and critically may feel some disquiet.” 6 As he notes, the younger Cyrus is more involved with punishing people than the elder; his attack on his brother violates the deathbed admonition of the elder Cyrus; and Cyrus lacks some of the virtues that Xenophon attributes to the elder Cyrus, including even piety. 7 Many good qualities of the elder Cyrus are not mentioned even fleetingly in the eulogy for the young prince. How do we explain these discrepancies, which are almost always to the detriment of the younger Cyrus? Flower suggests that “the reader is meant to notice that [the younger] Cyrus is an imperfect replica of his famous namesake” and that there is deliberate irony in his portrait of Cyrus the younger. 8 Surely the portrait of the younger Cyrus is less impressive than that of his elder namesake. But is there deliberate irony? In order for readers to contrast the two men while reading Anabasis, they would have had to have read Cyropaedia previously. But there is no reason to think that Cyropaedia was published first. 9 Aside from this, I am reluctant to imagine Xenophon deliberately diminishing the younger Cyrus, or damning him with faint praise, because throughout the eulogy 4 A good example of this is the claim that no one ever left Cyrus for the king (An. 1.9.29, see Oec. 4.18). While literally true, the statement fails to reveal the number of people who left Cyrus for other destinations or attempted to leave for the king (see below). 5 Hirsch 1985a, 75. 6 Flower 2012, 188. See also his contribution in this volume. I am gratified to see that his article offers many of the same observations that are found here. We differ, however, in our explanations of why Xenophon presents a weaker portrait of the younger Cyrus. 7 Flower also points out that the younger Cyrus was not as honest as Xenophon claims, in this contradicting not only the portrait of Cyrus in Cyropaedia, but also the narrative of Anabasis itself (190– 191). He notes further divergences in his article in the present volume. 8 Flower 2012, 189, 194. 9 Although we don’t know which was written first, scholars generally assume the priority of Anabasis. For the dates of the two compositions, see Gera 1993, 23–25; Flower 2012 29–30. Xenophon himself

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and the narrative he places emphasis on Cyrus’ good points, while gliding over his weaknesses. 10 Furthermore, deficiencies are not the only differences Xenophon attributes to the younger Cyrus. He also gives him some seemingly good traits that he never attributes to the elder, including shamefulness (αἰδώς), rewarding agricultural governors, and scrupulous honesty in formal agreements. This suggests that we need to find a different explanation for the discrepancies. I suggest instead that these discrepancies result from the historical character of Anabasis. While Xenophon certainly had room to embellish, elaborate, and even alter, the Anabasis offers an account of events that really happened. Xenophon felt constrained in this work not to grossly misrepresent the behavior of Cyrus the younger either in the narrative or in the eulogy, and this results in the presence of some negatives and the absence of some positives. The quasi-historical character of the eulogy is evident from the words Xenophon uses to introduce information: ὁμολογεῖται, δοκούντων, ἐνομίζετο, ἐδόκει, ἐξέφερον, ὡμολόγητο, ἔφασαν, and ἐξ ὧν ἀκούω. 11 Some of the variety of this terminology may reflect only an effort to avoid repetition, but ὁμολογεῖται indicates unanimity in multiple sources and to that extent implies greater reliability of the claim. When using other phrases we may assume that Xenophon had divergent reports, some of which did not name the quality he describes. A plausible assumption is that he chose among the more reasonable ones those that best suited his purpose. These phrases appear in relation to particular details only. Where did Xenophon get the rest of his information, which is presented by an omniscient narrator as simply true? Xenophon had not spent time with Cyrus prior to meeting him in Sardis (An. 1.3.8–9). He does not seem to have spent much time with Cyrus during the campaign either: in contrast to his conversations with Socrates (Mem. 1.3; An. 3.1) the one conversation he records having with Cyrus does not show any great intimacy between the men (An. 1.8.15– 17). So he must be relying mainly on reports or estimations of what seemed reasonable or at least plausible to him. Certainly he had more information about Cyrus than what he reports in Anabasis, since he presents more in Hellenica (1.4.3–7, 1.5.1–8, 1.6.6–18, 2.1.1–15, 3.1.1–6), but his information is limited. We can get a good idea about the amount of information he had by examining the eulogy itself. There is a marked difference between the information found in the account of Cyrus’ youth and in the account of his activities as a leader. The account of his youth is composed of general claims about Cyrus’ character, general claims about the kind of education that was available in Persia, and the incident of his confrontation with a bear. In this case, Xenophon had more than just reports about the past: Cyrus apparently still bore wounds consistent with a fight with a bear (An. 1.9.6). In the remainder of the eulogy, incidents are cited more frequently. Xenophon clearly has more hard information could not have had such a contrast in mind unless he had a clear conception of his portrait of the elder Cyrus while writing Anabasis. 10 See Gray 2011, 71–74; Danzig, under review. 11 In one case he uses οἶμαι to indicate his uncertainty not about what he reports about Cyrus but about the comparison he makes to others (An. 1.9.22).

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about Cyrus’ adult activities than he does about his youth. In many cases the relationship between the claims that Xenophon makes and the incidents he cites as evidence is problematic, however. The incidents are often simple facts that could be used to argue for the possession of any number of good qualities. This suggests that Xenophon does not derive the qualities he attributes to Cyrus from the incidents he cites in a straightforward way, but adapts them to positive claims he wishes to make about Cyrus. The fact that he reuses certain facts, such as Cyrus’ alleged reputation for obedience as a young man, to support multiple claims shows that he has a very limited stock of positive information. It also shows that he does not invent facts for his own convenience. In short, the eulogy is based mainly on genuine reports Xenophon heard, even if these reports themselves were limited and may not have been perfectly reliable, and on Xenophon’s own somewhat creative interpretation of them. Given this level of historicity it is a mistake to think that the omission of good qualities from the eulogy reflects a subtle but deliberate effort to criticize the younger Cyrus. Xenophon is certainly aware of the younger Cyrus’ deficiencies, but his failure to attribute better qualities to him results simply from his reliance on limited sources, not a desire to paint him in dreary shades. The fact that he fails to mention the worst offenses, such as the fratricidal attack, and multiplies good qualities on the basis of limited evidence, shows that his effort in the eulogy is to create the most positive image he can. According to Socrates’ dictum in Plato’s Symposium, when constructing a proper encomium one does not invent false praise; rather one selects the best things one can truthfully say and arranges them beautifully 12 (contrast Isocrates, Bu. 4). The eulogy for Cyrus conforms to this dictum. Although he created a better Cyrus in Cyropaedia, this means only that the younger Cyrus was imperfect, not that Xenophon deliberately diminished him. If the weaknesses of the younger Cyrus stem from the historical record, what should we say about the strengths of Cyrus the elder? Xenophon claims some degree of historicity for the Cyrus of Cyropaedia, both at the beginning of the work (Cyr. 1.1.6), and at later points. Because Hirsch found the portraits almost identical, he postulated a common historical origin in the propaganda of Cyrus the younger (above note 6). Once we recognize that the portraits are different we can, in theory, explain the differences by postulating dissimilar historical sources. Tuplin suggests this in a comment on the omission of justice from the eulogy, saying that this either reflects the fictitious nature of Cyropaedia or that Xenophon received new information about Persian education in the olden days (1997, 137). Xenophon also omits piety from the eulogy, and this too may

12 ἐγὼ μὲν γὰρ ὑπ᾽ ἀβελτερίας ᾤμην δεῖν τἀληθῆ λέγειν περὶ ἑκάστου τοῦ ἐγκωμιαζομένου, καὶ τοῦτο μὲν ὑπάρχειν, ἐξ αὐτῶν δὲ τούτων τὰ κάλλιστα ἐκλεγομένους ὡς εὐπρεπέστατα τιθέναι. “Because of my foolishness I supposed that it was necessary to state things that are true about the object of praise, and once this was established to choose from them the most beautiful and to arrange them in the most fitting way.” (Symp. 198d, my translation).

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simply reflect the truth about the younger Cyrus. 13 The fact that the pattern of changes is so positive is consistent with Xenophon’s claim that the Persian empire had degenerated since the time of the elder Cyrus, including the erosion of piety (Cyr. 8.8). So at least some of the improvements may be due to historical information about the earlier period. I don’t think that is the whole story, however. Xenophon does not claim that everything in Cyropaedia is based on historical sources, and no one has claimed that on his behalf. Despite the presence of valuable historical material in Cyropaedia, 14 the book is also a product of Xenophon’s own thinking about military and political matters, and represents his vision of a successful ideal ruler whose behavior is consistent with the broad realities of history. 15 As I will argue here, Xenophon’s effort to imagine a better kind of leader explains most of the improvements we find in the portrait of the elder Cyrus. 16 Cyropaedia represents Xenophon’s vision not of how Cyrus might have acted if he had lived, but of how a better man would have acted if given better circumstances. 17 In keeping with this view, and in order to distinguish Xenophon’s portrait of the elder Cyrus from the historical one, I will refer henceforth to the Cyrus of Cyropaedia as the alter Cyrus. 18 More Worthy than His Brother Xenophon opens the eulogy with the claim that Cyrus was the Persian most worthy to rule since Cyrus the elder. This praise, limited as it may be, serves an obvious apologetic and encomiastic purpose: Xenophon wishes to make it clear that he served with an excellent leader, and he wants to show that even his seemingly discreditable attack on his brother Artaxerxes II was in some sense justified. 19 He continues this apologetic effort when he says that as a young man Cyrus was the best of the Persian youth in every way (An. 1.9.2). And by noting that Cyrus was educated together with his brother and the 13 In this volume, Flower argues that the omission of piety from the eulogy is due to the implausibility of attributing piety to a would-be fratricide (this volume p. 154). I would argue that he omitted it because it was not only implausible but also untrue. 14 See Hirsch 1985a and 1985b; Tuplin, 1990, 1994, 1997, 2013. See also the articles in this volume by Reinhold Bichler, Julian Degen, and Bruno Jacobs. 15 Although an ideal ruler, Cyrus is not necessarily the best hero in Xenophon’s writings. As I have argued previously, Socrates is superior to Cyrus in one important way: he is able to visit a beautiful woman without worrying that he will become distracted or disturbed (Danzig 2012, 171–173). See also L.-A. Dorion’s contribution to this volume. 16 With these qualifications, I can accept J. Tatum’s claim that “the characters and events of the Cyropaedia arise out of Xenophon’s reflections [ennoia]” (1989, 58). In this paper and a sister paper (‘Anabasis and the Origin of Cyropaedia,’ forthc.) I try to identify some of the challenges that sparked his reflections. 17 Contrast Delebecque 1957, 394. The phrase comes from Oeconomicus (4.18) where Xenophon conjoins the portraits of the two Cyruses. 18 By this I mean that he is the older Cyrus, the other Cyrus, and the altered Cyrus. When I refer to the historical Cyrus the great, I call him the elder Cyrus. 19 See Danzig, under review.

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other boys (An. 1.9.2), he reminds the reader that he was not only better than everyone, he was specifically better than his brother. In Cyropaedia, Xenophon improves vastly on the behavior of Cyrus by changing the situation he faces and improving on the methods he uses. He gives the alter Cyrus no brother with whom to compete. But evidently viewing the theme as essential, Xenophon transforms it into a conflict with his uncle Cyaxares. 20 Xenophon remains convinced that the worthy man must effect a redistribution of authority, but the alter Cyrus finds better means of doing so, making use of persuasion rather than violence. Cyrus convinces his uncle Cyaxares to agree to a formula for division of the soldiers (those who are willing will join Cyrus’ expedition) which results in a much larger contingent joining Cyrus than Cyaxares had expected. 21 The contrast between force and persuasion is explored also in the story of the big and little boys (Cyr. 1.3), which offers another variation on the conflict between Cyrus and Artaxerxes II. There again we find that redistribution is necessary, but that violence is not the best means of effecting it. Finally, on his deathbed, Cyrus warns his sons to avoid the kind of conflict that his younger namesake was destined to provoke (Cyr. 8.7.9–18). In all this we see a clear criticism of the methods of the younger Cyrus that was not mentioned in the eulogy or narrative of Anabasis. This reveals Xenophon’s general strategy in Anabasis: he glides over the negative features of Cyrus the younger while emphasizing the positive. 22 It also shows us Xenophon’s conceptual approach to writing Cyropaedia: he improves both the circumstances and the methods used by Cyrus. Education The Persian education that the young men receive in the eulogy is similar to that in Cyropaedia, but with some significant differences. In both cases the young men are educated publicly, but while the education in Cyropaedia takes place in the free square (ἐλευθέρα ἀγορά), which encompasses the governmental buildings (περὶ τὰ ἀρχεῖα: 1.2.4; ἐπὶ τοῖς ἀρχείοις: 7.5.85), the education in the eulogy takes place at the king’s court (ἐπὶ ταῖς βασιλέως θύραις: 1.9.3). Of course there is a king in the Persia of Cyropaedia, but his residence does not serve as the educational campus. Xenophon also claims that Persia was a constitutional monarchy (Cyr. 1.3.18), something that is not evident in Anabasis. In these

20 S. W. Hirsch notes the parallel but suggests that Cyrus the younger promoted the story of Cyrus the elder and Cyaxares as a means of justifying his own usurpation of his brother’s throne: “It is easy to see how an explanation of Cyrus’ acquisition of power along the lines of the story in Xenophon might have proved useful to the rebel prince.” (82) I confess that I do not see the utility. Surely Cyrus would not be able to justify his own violent attack by portraying the gentler methods attributed to the alter Cyrus in Cyropaedia. 21 There is on this point a suggestive parallel in the Biblical story of Jacob. Jacob also convinces his uncle, named Laban, to agree to a formula for the division of sheep which results in a much larger group being acquired by Jacob than Laban had expected (see Genesis 30.25–43). 22 See further Danzig, under review, and Danzig forthc.

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ways he alters the character of Persia, presenting it in terms more reminiscent of Greek democracy. 23 As in Cyropaedia, the Persian youths are educated in virtue. The list of virtues, however, is not the same: in Anabasis Xenophon mentions only σωφροσύνη, while in Cyropaedia he mentions also δικαιοσύνη and ἐγκράτεια (1.2.8). The omission of these virtues could be seen as a reflection of Xenophon’s need to be concise in the eulogy: σωφροσύνη in its broader sense has much in common with both ἐγκράτεια and δικαιοσύνη. One might argue further that Xenophon found it awkward to make bold claims about the justice of a would-be fratricidal regicide even if he thought that Cyrus was concerned with justice. But that is not the whole story. Xenophon does not provide even indirect evidence that Cyrus was concerned with justice or that he embodied ἐγκράτεια. The absence of an education in these virtues is consistent with the final chapter of Cyropaedia which says that they were no longer being taught in the time of Cyrus the younger (Cyr. 8.8.13–15). Even his σωφροσύνη is in doubt. Although Xenophon does mention σωφροσύνη, he provides no evidence that Cyrus possessed it, certainly not in its broader sense, which includes acting responsibly. Some of Cyrus’ rash behavior belies any claim that he did (see An. 1.8.26). Strictly speaking Xenophon does not even claim Cyrus had σωφροσύνη. As if out of a concern to avoid anything false, Xenophon merely says that there (i.e. at the gates of the king) one might learn great self-restraint (πολλὴν σωφροσύνην: An. 1.9.3). 24 Cyrus’ possession of σωφροσύνη is left, at most, as an inference from the earlier claim that he was judged best of all the others in every way (An. 1.9.2). Moreover, in this context, as in others (e.g. Cyr. 2.2.14, 8.4.14), Xenophon seems to be using σωφροσύνη in a restricted sense to mean self-restraint and obedience. The σωφροσύνη that one acquires from observing behavior at the court of the king is little more than obedience to commands (see An. 1.9.4 and below). One may speculate that Xenophon mentioned σωφροσύνη out of a desire to make some gesture towards the virtue of the younger Cyrus, but hedged his claim by invoking it in a limited sense and by never directly attributing it to him. In both accounts it is experience rather than book-learning or lessons that forms the basis of Persian education. In the eulogy, the boys neither see nor hear anything αἰσχρόν (An. 1.9.3); in Cyropaedia, this is expanded into the claim that the Persians separated the marketplace from the governmental center (Cyr. 1.2.3; see 7.5.86). In Cyropaedia personal example is the means of inculcating virtues (Cyr. 1.2.8); in the eulogy we only hear that the Persian boys see and hear of men honored and dishonored by the king (An. 1.9.4). This

23 This change reflects Xenophon’s aim of promoting political innovations by presenting them in the guise of old Persia. It is connected also with the introduction of Media to the story. Media takes on the qualities associated with an absolute monarchy, leaving Persia with a more democratic character (see below). 24 Similar phrases appear in Lac. Pol. (2.2) but in relation to αἰδώς and πειθώ (ὥστε πολλὴν μὲν αἰδῶ, πολλὴν δὲ πειθὼ ἐκεῖ συμπαρεῖναι). As N. Humble has shown (1999), σωφροσύνη is virtually absent from the Spartan constitution. The educational program of Cyropaedia improves on the one Xenophon attributes to Sparta, just as it improves on the one he attributes to the Persia of the younger Cyrus, by replacing lesser virtues (αἰδώς and πειθώ) with greater ones (σωφροσύνη).

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use of reward and punishment as a means of impressing observers is very different from the method of personal example, and the qualities that are promoted in the eulogy are also different. Xenophon does not tell us what qualities or behavior merited the honor or dishonor of the king. Since he does not mention any virtues, there is no reason to assume that they were emphasized. Xenophon tells us that this spectacle taught them from childhood a valuable political quality: ἄρχειν τε καὶ ἄρχεσθαι (An. 1.9.4). The simplest and most basic meaning of ἄρχειν τε καὶ ἄρχεσθαι is to give orders and obey orders. It seems obvious, however, that the young people were expected to demonstrate obedience rather than giving orders. Elsewhere, in describing the education of the alter Cyrus as a young man, the phrase is used to indicate obedience alone (Cyr. 1.6.20). 25 This obedience was imposed by means of compulsion (ἀνάγκη) and was not a result of shamefulness (αἰδώς). Xenophon does an excellent job of writing a eulogy because he amplifies Cyrus’ possession of this quality and multiplies terms referring to it (see further below). This enables him to say many good things about Cyrus without deviating from his sources about his youth, which apparently said little more than this. But what he does have to say is very limited and barely includes any of the qualities of character that are so important to him elsewhere. The contrast with Cyropaedia is clear. Recognizing the limitation of the education he attributed to Cyrus in Anabasis, Xenophon vastly expands on it in Cyropaedia. He claims that Persian education differs from Greek education precisely in its care for the character of the young men (Cyr. 1.2.2–3). In addition to σωφροσύνη, he adds δικαιοσύνη and ἐγκράτεια (Cyr. 1.2.2–3). Justice occupies a central place in the alter Cyrus’ education, and is taught by example and by practice (Cyr. 1.2.6–8). The Persians recognize two crimes that were not recognized as crimes in ancient Greece: false accusation merits a punishment (Cyr. 1.2.7) and so does ingratitude (Cyr. 1.2.8). These innovative proposals reflect a general concern with virtue in Cyropaedia. 26 Virtue terminology, rare in Anabasis, becomes abundant in Cyropaedia: the word σωφροσύνη, for example, appears only once in Anabasis (in the eulogy) but fifteen times in Cyropaedia. A eulogy is the place to dwell on virtues, and so their relative absence in the account of Cyrus’ education in the eulogy must reflect the realities of the reports Xenophon received. Those reports would not have mentioned Greek terms, of course, but they apparently did not even mention a concern with the things that these terms represent. The presence of virtue in the education of the alter Cyrus may arguably reflect other reports, but it also fits beautifully to Xenophon’s effort to depict an ideal ruler.

25 If Cyr. 1.6.20 recalls the system in place in the Persia of the younger Cyrus’ youth, then Cyr. 1.6.21 is a critique and correction. 26 Although innovative in a Greek context, these practices may well have had some basis in eastern culture (see Tuplin, 1997). The Hebrew justice system also included a punishment for false accusation (Deut. 19.16–21).

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Natural Qualities Not only is there a huge difference in education, there is also a sharp contrast between the natural qualities that Xenophon attributes to the two Cyruses. He says about the alter Cyrus that he was most beautiful in body, and that in soul he was most loving of people, most loving of learning, and most loving of honor (Cyr. 1.2.1). We have no reason to believe that the younger Cyrus was good-looking; nor does Herodotus say that the elder Cyrus was good-looking (see 1.116). This attribute may be Xenophon’s innovation, possibly a reaction to Plato’s argument about the value of lovers in an army. 27 Of these traits, only φιλομαθία is explicitly attributed to the younger Cyrus, and it is expressed only in his mastery of the use of weaponry (see below). We do not see any sign that the younger Cyrus had the love of honor that motivates the alter Cyrus to toil for others; φιλοτιμία is an innovation that Xenophon introduces in Cyropaedia. Friendship Although the word φιλανθρωπία is not used, we are told later that the younger Cyrus had a great love for his friends (An. 1.9.20–31). I will compare the friendships of the two Cyruses below. Here I point out that love of friends is a more restricted quality than φιλανθρωπία, and is compatible with hatred of enemies. Plato describes the love of friends and the hatred of enemies as the crucial quality of a soldier, likening it to the quality of a dog (Resp. 375b-376c). Xenophon speaks frequently of this valuable combination of traits (e.g. Mem. 2.1.28, 2.3.14, 2.6.35, Cyr. 1.4.25, 1.6.31, 4.5.20, 8.7.28). In Cyropaedia, Xenophon expands the love of friends that he found in the younger Cyrus into the more general love of people (φιλανθρωπία) that characterizes the alter Cyrus. 28 This may be connected with the world-wide ambitions of the alter Cyrus: someone who is destined to create an empire must potentially love more than his own circle of friends. The alter Cyrus does love killing enemies (Cyr. 1.4.24), but he can also love enemies when they impress him with their virtues, and he can convert them into friends (Cyr. 7.1.40–45). The younger Cyrus also shows an ability to convert his brother’s servants into loyal friends (An. 1.1.5), so there is a degree of commonality here.

27 Symp. 178d-179b. Xenophon’s Critobulus suggests a more moderate relationship when he proposes that the leader should be a beautiful man, since this will inspire devotion from the soldiers (Symp. 4.16). In Cyropaedia Xenophon continues this moderate correction by suggesting that the soldiers choose their fellow soldiers (Cyr. 1.5.5) and later by suggesting the utility of an army of close friends (Cyr. 7.1.30). Xenophon may have confronted this issue during his adventures with the 10,000 (see An. 7.4.7–11). 28 Compare Aristotle on the difference between friendship and friendliness (EN 4.6.3–5: 1126b17–28).

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Virtues of Obedience Xenophon attributes other qualities to Cyrus, qualities that do not appear in his description of the alter Cyrus. He says that Cyrus was most reverent or most prone to shame (αἰδημονέστατος) of those his age. This is not the most impressive virtue: Aristotle calls αἰδώς a semi-virtue (EN 4.9: 1128b10–36). Cyrus’ shamefulness is connected to the next quality that Xenophon attributes to him, namely obedience (μᾶλλον πείθεσθαι: 1.9.5). Here again he is signaling a quality that is akin to the σωφροσύνη and the ἄρχειν τε καὶ ἄρχεσθαι we saw above. Obedience is a very important theme in Cyropaedia, but Xenophon does not overly emphasize its presence in the character of the alter Cyrus. The alter Cyrus is always obedient to his father, and recounts that his father forced him to be obedient, as did the laws and his teachers (Cyr. 1.6.20). He also refers to himself as obedient to the λόγος. (Cyr. 1.6.6). He has an impulse to disobey, but is capable of restraining it, as when he threatens to disobey his grandfather but does not follow through (Cyr. 1.4.13–14). At other times he gives into his passions and does not obey: chapter four of book one is devoted largely to portraying Cyrus’ disobedience as a young man. In this chapter, his love of hunting leads him to disregard danger and to violate two specific warnings: not to attack animals on dangerous ground and not to attack dangerous animals. His willingness to break rules and defy authority, up to a point, is emphasized (Cyr. 1.4.13–14, 1.4.18). As an adult, he notably fails to honor his uncle’s request to return his troops (Cyr. 4.5.27–33), although he was not ordered to do so. If the rule-breaking Cyrus of Cyropaedia represents an ideal for the character of the ruler, then there is a deficiency in the obedience of the younger Cyrus. In a sense the two figures are opposites: while obedient as a young man, the younger Cyrus went so far as to attempt to kill his brother, the king. While the alter Cyrus is presented as a natural rule-breaker who learns to restrain himself, the younger Cyrus is presented as an obedient young man who proved disobedient and lawless when he gained power. The emphasis on obedience in the younger Cyrus may reflect Xenophon’s sources. In order to encourage obedience from his men, the younger Cyrus may well have presented himself as having been an obedient young man. Xenophon too may have found this quality appealing and useful for his own apologetic and encomiastic purposes. But it is a quality he does not emphasize as much in his portrait of the alter Cyrus. He may not have needed to emphasize it because he had no great crime to offset. Love of Learning Xenophon also says that Cyrus was judged most eager to learn (φιλομαθέστατον) and most diligent (μελετηρότατον) in practicing military arts, including the use of the bow and the javelin (An. 1.9.5). The first of these traits appears also in the list of the alter Cyrus’ spiritual qualities, but without the limitation to a specific area of endeavor. This limitation makes it clear that in Anabasis φιλομαθία is directed towards practical matters rather than theoretical ones. The same is true of φιλομαθία in Cyropaedia: no philosophical interests are

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ever attributed to Cyrus, only practical ones (Cyr. 1.6.43, 5.3.47–51). This should be understood in contrast to Plato’s view of the qualities of a philosopher-king (Resp. 6: 484a-496e). But practical matters include a very wide range of subjects. In Cyropaedia, φιλομαθία has a much broader range of applications than the use of weaponry (see Cyr. 1.6.23, 1.6.37, 1.6.43). Cyropaedia is more about political and military science than about training in the use of weapons, and the alter Cyrus excels in all these areas. In both Cyropaedia and Memorabilia, Xenophon emphasizes the importance of focusing not on narrow military skills, but on all the varied forms of knowledge needed to rule and manage human beings (Cyr. 1.6.12–14, Mem. 3.1–5). The implication of the restriction is that the younger Cyrus did not excel in other areas. Xenophon also says that the younger Cyrus was a lover of horses (φιλιππότατος) and skilled in using them (An. 1.9.5). This creates a minor conflict with Cyropaedia, where horses are unknown in Persia. 29 The alter Cyrus excels in horsemanship just as much as the younger Cyrus, but he learns it in Media. Xenophon recognizes that horses were absent from old Persia, and as in other cases he wishes to ascribe this innovation to the alter Cyrus. This leads to the introduction of Media as a vital part of the alter Cyrus’ education, which is a major change. Intercultural Education Although he begins his education in Persia, the alter Cyrus spends much of his youth in Media, learning how to influence people and how to ride horses, and gaining some experience in military affairs. The Persia of his birth is a constitutional monarchy, where justice means equality, and the king is subject to the law (Cyr. 1.3.18). The Persian character is marked by endurance and self-denial; it is a source of wonder to outsiders, like Gobryas (Cyr. 5.2.16–18). For the Persians, this is not just a practice, it is an ideology: they look down on those who are unable to enjoy simple foods (Cyr. 1.5.1). In contrast, Media is an absolute monarchy. The king adorns himself with expensive clothing and ornaments, enjoys a luxurious table, and secludes himself. Rather than being subject to a constitution, the king’s will is the law (Cyr. 1.3.18). Xenophon emphasizes both the contrast between the two conceptions of justice, and the fact that Cyrus will supplement his Persian education in justice with the teachings of his grandfather in Media (Cyr. 1.3.18). Why does Xenophon give Cyrus this two-fold education? Herodotus provides some basis for it (1.107–130), and if he wanted to explain Cyrus’ love of horsemanship, Xenophon may have felt compelled to place him in Media where he knew horses were available. But he did not have to elaborate on the contrast between the regimes and to present Cyrus’ education as two-fold. If Xenophon included this as a prominent part of the education of his ideal ruler, he may have believed that a leader must have an intercultural education,

29 It also creates a conflict with the final chapter of Cyropaedia, where horses are said to be absent from contemporary Persian education (Cyr. 8.8.12).

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that he needs to combine the contradictory qualities of law-abidingness and equality with law-breaking and absolutism (see below), and that this would be best achieved if he had an education in two different regimes. 30 Certainly Cyrus makes good use of anti-democratic elements of Median culture (Cyr. 8.1.40–41). 31 In Anabasis, Cyrus’ education is a purely Persian affair, but he nevertheless shows respect for foreign cultures. Cyrus the younger interacts freely and respectfully with his Greek colleagues. He respects Babylonian religion and employs the Magi productively (An. 7.5.35). On this score the intercultural education given to the alter Cyrus looks like an expansion and explanation of a trait that the younger Cyrus did in fact embody. But the younger Cyrus does not make special use of fancy clothes, and his orders to some well-dressed Persians to extract a wagon from the mud (An. 1.5.7–8; Mem. 1.2.5) may indicate some disdain for such accoutrements. Hunting and Danger Another natural trait of the younger Cyrus is his love of hunting (φιλοθηρότατος: An. 1.9.6). 32 This controversial quality 33 is not mentioned in the list of the alter Cyrus’ chief natural qualities. This is not because Xenophon disapproves of the love of hunting: he not only wrote a treatise on hunting, he also describes the alter Cyrus’ love of hunting at length (Cyr. 1.4), and describes the military and other benefits of hunting (Cyn. 12; Cyr. 1.2.10–11, 1.6.28–29). Only because we possess Anabasis can we see that Xenophon has suppressed this term in the list of the alter Cyrus’ qualities, despite retaining it in practice and devoting most of a chapter to portraying it. The fact that it appears explicitly in Anabasis shows that love of hunting is a distinct quality that Xenophon has in mind when portraying the alter Cyrus, even though he does not name it. It is not obvious why Xenophon omits the name in Cyropaedia if he thinks it is a good trait and mentions it explicitly in the eulogy. Possibly, he omits it because it is a controversial quality, but includes the portrait of it because he thought it an important trait nevertheless. He may have included it in the eulogy because he had only limited sources on the younger Cyrus and needed to make the most out of what he had.

30 This intercultural education may be intended to explain Cyrus’ avoidance of the kind of xenophobia that is attributed to Cambyses by Herodotus (3.16, 3.27–30). 31 See C. J. Tuplin’s comments on the mixture of Persian and Median elements in the institutions Cyrus established in Babylon (1997, 92–5; 2013, 76–78; 2013, 76–78). See also A. B. Breebart, 1983. 32 In the final chapter of Cyropaedia, if it is authentic, Xenophon comments that in his own time the Persians had ceased to practice hunting (Cyr. 8.8.12). He attributes this to the influence of Artaxerxes, and cites the jealousy of the courtiers against those who thought themselves better. Strictly speaking, the claim that the younger Cyrus loved hunting does not necessarily contradict the final chapter: he may have been the exception that sparked the rule. 33 See Xen. Cyn. 1.18, 12.10; Plato Leges 823–824; Thomas 2018. Xenophon’s repeated argument that hunting is useful training for war both physically and morally (Cyn. 12; Cyr. 1.2.10–11, 1.6.28–29) is evidently an innovation.

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Xenophon says that Cyrus was also fond of exposing himself to danger in pursuit of wild animals (φιλοκινδυνότατος: An. 1.9.6). In illustrating this claim, he describes an incident in which the younger Cyrus was attacked by a bear and repelled him in hand-tohand combat, ultimately killing him, but receiving some wounds (An. 1.9.6). This is one of the clearest examples of a direct parallel between the two Cyruses. Xenophon includes a similar incident in Cyropaedia (Cyr. 1.4.7), but introduces some significant changes: while the younger Cyrus was attacked by a bear, the alter Cyrus faces two animals: first a large deer running over dangerous ground, and then a boar which attacks him. 34 In contrast to a bear, both of these animals are fit to eat, and Cyrus insists on bringing the meat home to give his grandfather (Cyr. 1.4.9). 35 This reflects Xenophon’s concern with utility, beneficence, and a sweet reward. The story of the alter Cyrus is happier than the story of the younger Cyrus in other ways too: while the younger Cyrus is wounded by the bear, the alter Cyrus emerges unscathed, and while the younger Cyrus needs someone to rescue him (An. 1.9.6), the alter Cyrus succeeds completely on his own. Here we see how Xenophon improves the story by creating better circumstances and a better outcome. 36 The effort to reward those who offer service is a fundamental trait of both Cyruses and I will discuss it below. Cyrus’ Activities as Ruler In the second part of the eulogy, Xenophon describes Cyrus’ activities as a ruler and leader. In this context he mentions several positive behaviors and emphasizes their beneficial results. He makes these points with terms such as τοιγαροῦν (1.9.9, 1.9.12, 1.9.18), καὶ γὰρ οὖν (1.9.8, 1.9.12, 1.9.17), and ὥστε (1.9.13, 1.9.19, 1.9.28). This emphasis on results is not designed to undermine the portrait of Cyrus as a moral agent, but reflects Xenophon’s belief that truly good behavior is also advantageous (see Mem. 4.4). 37 In this section, Xenophon has more historical incidents and evidence to work with, and this enables us to analyze his methods of using these sources. Honesty Xenophon devotes a lengthy passage to describing Cyrus’ honesty as a satrap. He does not claim that Cyrus was just or fair, but merely that he observed his promises scrupulously. 34 He was warned also about bears (Cyr. 1.4.7). A bear appears in the story of Gobryas (Cyr. 4.6.3–4) where, in contrast to the younger Cyrus, the Assyrian king fails to kill the bear, but kills the better man instead. 35 In Cyr. 2.4.20 many animals are killed for food but not one bear. 36 Cyrus also succeeded better than Odysseus who was wounded in his famous boar hunt during his own visit to his grandfather (Od. 19). 37 See Danzig 2012.

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As in other cases, Xenophon implies that Cyrus’ motives were prudential, commenting that this behavior led cities and individuals to trust him (An. 1.9.7–9): πρῶτον μὲν ἐπέδειξεν αὑτόν, ὅτι περὶ πλείστου ποιοῖτο, εἴ τῳ σπείσαιτο καὶ εἴ τῳ συνθοῖτο καὶ εἴ τῳ ὑπόσχοιτό τι, μηδὲν ψεύδεσθαι. καὶ γὰρ οὖν ἐπίστευον μὲν αὐτῷ αἱ πόλεις ἐπιτρεπόμεναι, ἐπίστευον δ᾽ οἱ ἄνδρες: καὶ εἴ τις πολέμιος ἐγένετο, σπεισαμένου Κύρου ἐπίστευε μηδὲν ἂν παρὰ τὰς σπονδὰς παθεῖν. τοιγαροῦν ἐπεὶ Τισσαφέρνει ἐπολέμησε, πᾶσαι αἱ πόλεις ἑκοῦσαι Κῦρον εἵλοντο ἀντὶ Τισσαφέρνους πλὴν Μιλησίων. (cf. Mem. 4.4.17) “… he first of all made it noticeable that he made a great effort, if ever he made a treaty or agreement or promise to anyone, not to prove false. Therefore cities trusted him and turned themselves over to him, and people trusted him and if anyone was an enemy he would trust that, if Cyrus made a treaty, he would suffer nothing in violation of the treaty. Therefore, when he fought against Tissaphernes all the cities willingly chose Cyrus instead of Tissaphernes, except the Milesians.” The only reason the Milesians did not join Cyrus was because he supported the exiles against the city, and they believed he would support the exiles to the end. 38 Because the incidents Xenophon cites occurred prior to the campaign against the king of Persia he cannot have been a witness to them. While the claim that many cities choose Cyrus over Tissaphernes is believable, the vagueness of the claim that “if someone was an enemy” he would have known that he would not suffer anything in violation of the treaty Cyrus had agreed to (An. 1.9.8) suggests that Xenophon is not sure that this situation ever actually arose. 39 Moreover, the relationship between the two claims is not self-evident. The only fact that Xenophon cites is the alleged willingness of cities to choose Cyrus as an ally, but this could be explained on other grounds than a reputation for scrupulous honesty. One may wonder, therefore, how accurate is Xenophon’s claim that these cities made alliances with Cyrus for this reason. Since this is a eulogy, Xenophon may have chosen to emphasize this trait because it helps offset the seeming treachery of the younger Cyrus in attacking his brother and his deception of his own troops (see below). Having no incident that directly illustrated scrupulous honesty, he made use of the fact that many cities chose him over Tissaphernes. Like the younger Cyrus, the alter Cyrus is also honest and does not break his agreements. Cyrus’ father tells him that it is crucial to maintain the reliability of his word, and 38 This use of πλήν followed by an exception which demonstrates the rule occurs also in the cases of Orontas (An. 1.9.29) and Ariaeus (An. 1.9.31). In fact, we know from the narrative that he does not prosecute the war against Miletus to the end, but takes the exiles with him to war against his brother (An. 1.1.11). Given this context, I understand his devotion to the Milesian exiles as an example of his unwillingness to break an agreement with them, not as illustrating a separate principle of devotion to friends. 39 This is true even if we translate the phrase “any enemies.”

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therefore that he should employ someone else when he needs to make promises he may not be able to fulfill (Cyr. 1.6.19). 40 But scrupulous honesty is never highlighted in practice. 41 The alter Cyrus wins many allies, including the soldiers of his uncle Cyaxares, but this is because of his reputation for excellent leadership and the expectation of indeterminate future benefits, not a reputation for scrupulousness in fulfilling promises. The de-emphasis of this quality in Cyropaedia belies the claim that Cyropaedia is an expansion of the eulogy, and raises doubts about how highly Xenophon rated this quality. Although scrupulous honesty is not a major theme in Cyropaedia, it does appear prominently in Agesilaus. Xenophon tells how Agesilaus’ scrupulous observance of an agreement violated by his enemy redounded to his benefit (Ag. 1.10–12). He concludes: ἐμοὶ οὖν τοῦτο πρῶτον καλὸν δοκεῖ διαπράξασθαι, ὅτιΤισσαφέρνην μὲν ἐμφανίσας ἐπίορκον ἄπιστον πᾶσιν ἐποίησεν, ἑαυτὸν δ᾽ ἀντεπιδείξας πρῶτον μὲν ὅρκους ἐμπεδοῦντα, ἔπειτα συνθήκας μὴ ψευδόμενον, πάντας ἐποίησε καὶ Ἕλληνας καὶ βαρβάρους θαρροῦντας συντίθεσθαι ἑαυτῷ, εἴ τι βούλοιτο. (Ag. 12) “It seems to me that this was the first excellent thing he did. By making it clear that Tissaphernes was a perjurer he made him untrustworthy to everyone. And by showing himself to observe oaths and not to violate agreements he made everyone, both Greek and Barbarian, eager to make agreements with him, whenever he might wish.” Here Xenophon claims that Agesilaus’ scrupulous honesty gained him the trust of many. As we have seen, Xenophon recorded no incident of the younger Cyrus’ scrupulous honesty; it is only in the case of Agesilaus that Xenophon records an incident in which his hero outwits someone by means of scrupulous honesty. In concluding the incident with Agesilaus, Xenophon comments that as a result of his observance of the treaty, many Greek and Barbarian cities were eager to join him. This is almost the same claim he made for Cyrus. But Xenophon does not actually claim that cities joined Agesilaus for this reason, only that they were eager to do so if he wished. And in the parallel version in Hellenica he does not claim that this behavior caused any political benefit at all (Hell. 3.4.5–6, 3.4.11). The hypothetical benefits are added in the encomium for Agesilaus in order to heighten the praise. In short, the only incident involving scrupulousness in observing a treaty is the one attributed to Agesilaus in two places. The claim that this was politically useful appears only in the encomiastic version (Agesilaus); a similar claim, in almost identical terms, appears in the eulogy for Cyrus, without any convincing incident to back it up. Here 40 This is one example of a tendency in chapter 6 to offer advice that Cyrus will not have to use in practice. Contrast Gera 1993, 72. 41 The closest I could find is the passage in which Cyrus affirms that he will keep his promise to Gobryas, since the latter has proven truthful himself (Cyr. 5.2.8–11). But the issue here is honesty to a friend, and the aim is not primarily to create a good reputation.

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Xenophon is more clear about the political benefit: many cities actually joined Cyrus – but it is not clear that honesty was the reason. It appears that Xenophon knew that Agesilaus was scrupulous in observing a treaty and knew that many cities joined Cyrus but only postulated that honesty can be a cause for such a result. He used this insight in two places, claiming that Agesilaus’ honesty made cities eager for his alliance and that cities joined Cyrus because of his honesty. When did Xenophon first recognize the practical value of a reputation for honesty? We have found no incident that clearly illustrates it. Xenophon portrays himself as aware of this principle by the end of his adventures in Anabasis: he sets it forth at length in his great speech to Seuthes (An. 7.7.20–47). But Xenophon did not learn this principle from Seuthes. As we noted above, the first person that Xenophon portrays exhibiting this principle is Agesilaus, and Xenophon met Agesilaus after he made the speech to Seuthes. This raises a question about the accuracy of Xenophon’s presentation of the speech to Seuthes. While Xenophon probably did obtain funds from Seuthes at this juncture, the arguments that he presents may easily have been borrowed from later reflections. These arguments may be invoked here in part because they suit perfectly the effort by Xenophon in book seven to portray himself as a model of honesty and devotion to others. Alternatively, we may want to credit Xenophon for developing this insight prior to meeting Agesilaus and prior to the speech to Seuthes. He may have developed it in reaction to his own experience with Tissaphernes who behaved dishonestly and met his just reward. This would explain why Xenophon claims that both Cyrus and Agesilaus used this technique to outwit the same treacherous Tissaphernes. 42 While a reputation for honesty in agreements may be a valuable quality, this does not mean that one needs to be honest in other ways. Cyrus’ father tells the young alter Cyrus, ἀλλ᾽ εὖ ἴσθι ὅτι δεῖ τὸν μέλλοντα τοῦτο ποιήσειν καὶ ἐπίβουλον εἶναι καὶ κρυψίνουν καὶ δολερὸν καὶ ἀπατεῶνα καὶ κλέπτην καὶ ἅρπαγα καὶ ἐν παντὶ πλεονέκτην τῶν πολεμίων. (Cyr. 1.6.27) “But know well that one who is going to do this [sc. gain advantage over an enemy] must be a plotter, a thief, a trickster, and cheater, a thief, a snatcher, and in everything an advantage taker of the enemy.” After making this strongly immoralist statement, Cyrus’ father adds that Cyrus should be these things, οἷος ἂν ὤν, ἔφη, ὦ παῖ, δικαιότατός τε καὶ νομιμώτατος ἀνὴρ εἴης. (Cyr. 1.6.27) “In such a way, son, that you will be a most just and lawful man.”

42 Xenophon also attributes this strategy to Socrates (Mem. 3.1.6, 4.2.14–22) but it seems more likely to have arisen in a military or political context.

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Cyrus’ father explains how to make use of trickery when he describes the education the Persian youth received in hunting (Cyr. 1.6.28) and explains that these tactics may also be used against humans in time of war (Cyr. 1.6.29). Cyrus uses hunting tactics when he attacks Armenia. He keeps his plans secret even from his own men (here partly mimicking the younger Cyrus: An. 1.1.11, 1.2.1, 1.3.20, 1.4.20–21; see 3.1.9–10) in order that no information will reach the Armenians (Cyr. 2.4.15–17, 2.4.22–26). He uses a hunt as a pretext for moving his forces to the Armenian border (Cyr. 2.4.17), a tactic he learned from the king of Assyria (An. 1.4.16–17). He uses hunting tactics, with appropriate modifications, to trap the king of Armenia (Cyr. 2.4.25–29). He makes use of considerable trickery in the plot he devises for Gadatas (Cyr. 5.3.9–17). And he attacks the Babylonians when they are asleep or drunk (Cyr. 7.5.21). Cyrus’ father does not explain how Cyrus is supposed to balance his trickery with justice and lawfulness, but a passage in Agesilaus sheds some light. After crediting Agesilaus with scrupulous honesty in fulfilling treaty obligations, Xenophon says that once war was declared, trickery became holy and just (τὸ ἐξαπατᾶν ὅσιόν τε καὶ δίκαιον … ἐγένετο (Ag. 1.17). This trickery did not include violating treaty obligations or promises. So the answer is two-fold: behavior that is normally proscribed becomes not only permitted but even a mark of holiness and justice during time of war, but breaking one’s promises is not a clever tactic and should be avoided. 43 The fact that this explanation appears in the encomium for Agesilaus supports the argument that the entire theme originated with him. Although trickery is never attributed to the younger Cyrus in the eulogy, perhaps out of concern for his good reputation, the younger Cyrus does in fact make use of trickery, and even lies, in deceiving his allies and troops about the object of the campaign (An. 1.1.11, 1.2.1, 1.3.20, 1.4.20–21; see 3.1.9–10). Xenophon has stretched things pretty far, then, when he attributes scrupulous honesty to Cyrus in the eulogy. The final chapter of Cyropaedia provides further counter-evidence. Xenophon says that the Greeks trusted Tissaphernes only because of the previous reputation of Persian rulers (τῇ πρόσθεν αὐτῶν δόξῃ: Cyr. 8.8.3). 44 The generation of the younger Cyrus is not credited with producing a reputation for honesty, and that should include Cyrus himself. As in the case of obedience, the eulogy offers a portrait of honesty that is more positive than the narrative, and probably more than the facts would warrant.

43 See Danzig, 2007. 44 See Tuplin 2013, 72. Tissaphernes himself, however, is completely untrustworthy which shows that the decline mentioned in the palinode has already set in.

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Repaying Others Xenophon says that the younger Cyrus strove to outdo (νικᾶν) anyone who conferred on him a benefit or did him harm, and prayed to live long enough to do so. 45 For this reason more people wanted to entrust him with their wealth, their cities, and their bodies than any other person. 46 This claim is almost a repetition of the previous claim that cities trusted him and allied themselves to him because of his scrupulous honesty. This shows again how a single positive fact can be used to generate multiple praises. The alter Cyrus also outdoes others in benefaction (see Cyr. 5.3.2, 8.2.12). This practice has been criticized by V. Azoulay (2004) on the grounds that benefaction is a means of subjugation. But it is surely one of the pleasantest ways to be subjugated; and, as I have argued elsewhere, Xenophon makes it clear that the victims of Cyrus’ benefaction are grateful for it. 47 The younger Cyrus’ victims also enjoyed his beneficence, which is presumably why they entrusted him with their wealth, their cities, and their bodies. On this point there is consistency between the two portraits. But ultimately the younger Cyrus failed to provide the benefits his friends and allies hoped for, and this must have disappointed them. Cyrus was also merciless to those who did wrong and were unjust, never permitting them to laugh at him. He cut off the feet and hands of wrong-doers, and gauged out their eyes, which made his dominion safe for both Greeks and Barbarians (An. 1.9.13). By including this practice in the eulogy, and recording its utility, Xenophon seems to give it his approval. However, when he came to write Cyropaedia he did not attribute this policy to the alter Cyrus. Although seeking to outdo others in benefaction, the alter Cyrus rarely seeks to outdo them in harm (but see Cyr. 5.4.21). This may be because he rarely suffers harm at the hands of others, and because he has other ways of instilling fear. Although he does seek revenge for harm done to others (see Cyr. 4.6.8, 5.4.21), the alter Cyrus never cuts off people’s limbs. The only person in Cyropaedia who mutilates and kills individuals is the young king of Assyria, who kills the son of Gobryas out of jealousy and castrates Gadatas for similar reasons (Cyr. 5.2.28). Xenophon has downgraded the behavior of the younger Cyrus before attributing it to his villain: mutilation is worse when it does not even serve a good purpose. He gave it a positive treatment in the eulogy because he had no better material to use in praising the younger Cyrus. Although generally avoiding corporal punishment, the alter Cyrus does employ eunuchs. He describes the advantages of eunuchs for use as personal guards and says that Cyrus appointed them as such (Cyr. 7.5.58–65). Given the offensiveness of castration, Xenophon may have offered this proposal simply because he felt compelled to account

45 An. 1.9.11. This prayer fits Xenophon’s Socratic theology (Mem. 1.1.6–9). Cyrus does not pray for the gods to reward and punish his friends and enemies, which is his own responsibility, but only for length of life, which is outside of his control. 46 This quality explains better than his honesty why the cities turned themselves over to him rather than Tissaphernes. 47 See Danzig, 2012.

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for a Persian practice that could not be denied. 48 Given his penchant for provocative proposals, Xenophon is probably sincere in his claims about the utility of eunuchs, even if he recognizes castration as an offensive practice. Since he describes the hatred that is engendered in Gadatas against the man who ordered him castrated (Cyr. 5.4.35) it is understandable that Xenophon never says that Cyrus ordered anyone to be castrated. 49 In fact, the case of Gadatas, for all its offense, shows the loyalty that a castrated person may feel for someone who takes up their cause (compare Cyr. 5.4.11–2 with 7.5.60; see also the loyal eunuchs of Panthea). This portrait of the loyalty of a eunuch shows why Xenophon endorses the use of eunuchs so enthusiastically. Xenophon says in the beginning of Cyropaedia that Cyrus ruled not only by love, but also by fear (Cyr. 1.1.5), and he reminds us of this at the end when he says that the Persian king was able to punish enemies at a great distance (Cyr. 8.2.9). But Xenophon never illustrates this behavior. Cyrus tried to keep the Babylonians poor so that they would be submissive (Cyr. 7.5.69), and prevented all the subjected people from learning the arts of war (Cyr. 7.5.79). These are pragmatic matters, involving neither revenge nor deterrence nor violence. The alter Cyrus knows that it is better to prevent the possibility of wrong-doing rather than being forced to deter it or take revenge on it. Overall, love and benefaction play a much larger role than force in Cyrus’ science of rule. He was better loved than brothers, parents, and children, and was called father by those he conquered (Cyr. 8.2.9; see An. 7.6.38). Rewarding the Brave, the Just, and the Efficient Xenophon says that the younger Cyrus put a special emphasis on rewarding those who showed themselves brave (ἀγαθούς) in war by granting them rule over territories and by giving them other rewards (An. 1.9.14). He wanted everyone to see that those who are brave (ἀγαθούς) are also successful (εὐδαιμονεστάτους), thus encouraging others to face danger when he could observe them. 50 He does not offer an example of this policy, however. Cyropaedia vastly expands on this principle. The alter Cyrus endorses the general principle of rewarding those who perform well both because it offers an incentive to perform (Cyr. 1.5.9, 2.21–27) and because of the impression it makes on others (Cyr. 7.2.7). In proposing a public discussion of the proposal for rewarding soldiers in proportion to their accomplishments, Cyrus assumes that the soldiers themselves will recognize that

48 Tuplin 2013, 80–81; see Azoulay, 2000. 49 Some have argued that Xenophon’s statement about the appointment of eunuchs (Cyr. 7.5.65) could be translated “he made his personal servants eunuchs,” and that this implies that he had them castrated; but the phrase is better translated “he made eunuchs his personal servants” and carries no such implication. 50 There may be some implicit criticism in the limitation that Xenophon notes: people only faced danger when Cyrus was watching. The weakness of such a policy had been described by Herodotus (8.86–93). On the other hand, there may be no better way to insure the good behavior of numerous others, and Cyrus has many eyes (Cyr. 8.2.10–12).

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incentives contribute to performance and victory (Cyr. 2.2.18–20; see 2.3.5–6). Cyrus is also concerned about the general mood of his army and believes that a system of reward and punishment will contribute to weeding out the incorrigible (Cyr. 2.2.27). He also argues that such a system would serve as an effective means of attracting friends and allies (Cyr. 5.3.31–33). 51 And he puts these principles into practice (Cyr. 7.2.4–8, 7.2.11; 7.5.35; 8.1.39). The manifold advisability of offering appropriate rewards is reflected in his statement that by rewarding Gadatas they would be doing καλόν τι, δίκαια, and also σύμφορα (Cyr. 5.3.31). On this count there is consistency between the two portraits, with great improvements in the portrait of the alter Cyrus. The younger Cyrus also rewarded those who distinguished themselves in δικαιοσύνη. He thought it was important for them to live in greater wealth than those who seek wealth by unjust means. This encouraged people to serve him justly and secured him a real army (στρατεύματι ἀληθινῷ). He demonstrates this with the following comment: καὶ γὰρ στρατηγοὶ καὶ λοχαγοί, οἳ χρημάτων ἕνεκα πρὸς ἐκεῖνον ἔπλευσαν, ἔγνωσαν κερδαλεώτερον εἶναι Κύρῳ †καλῶς ἀρχεῖν† ἢ τὸ κατὰ μῆνα κέρδος (An. 1.9.17). “For generals and captains, who sailed to him for the sake of pay, knew that it was more profitable to serve well with Cyrus than their monthly pay.” 52 In this passage, Xenophon offers an unusual insight into the mentality of Greek mercenaries, including himself. But the argument is problematic: the fact that people served for long-term interest, rather than for monthly pay, is brought to show that Cyrus rewarded those who practiced justice. That sheds a very flattering light on this band of mercenaries, implying that they were men of justice. But why should the fact that they served for long-term reward demonstrate that they were just? It shows better that they thought Cyrus trustworthy to reward them for their service. And it is more likely that he planned to reward them for their military effectiveness rather than for their devotion to justice. Xenophon’s use of the evidence for this purpose demonstrates again both his ingenuity in pursuing encomiastic aims (here directed towards his fellow mercenaries) and his unwillingness to invent evidence. The alter Cyrus never makes a special effort to reward those who distinguish themselves in justice. This omission is perplexing because Xenophon evidently thought it was a splendid idea, and an innovative one, since he returns to it in Hiero (9.6), Oeconomicus (9.13), and Agesilaus (10.4.3). But the alter Cyrus does inspire people to follow him for the sake of long-term rewards. His grandfather and uncle offer him opportunities because of the impression he has made on them, and troops of all kinds volunteer for his service because they are impressed with 51 The Assyrian king also understood that punishment is crucial to prevent desertion (see Cyr. 5.3.30). 52 The text here is problematic. I offer a minimalistic translation that preserves the apparent reference to the best motive for obedience, namely indefinite long-term returns rather than short-term pay. See van Berkel 2010.

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his abilities. Cyrus teaches this method of attracting allies to his men when he encourages them not to eat immediately but rather to wait for the allies to arrive: by sacrificing their immediate pleasure they will gain long-term allegiance (Cyr. 4.2.38–45). Here the alter Cyrus exhibits a trait that is implied by Xenophon’s words in the eulogy, but not the one Xenophon intended to ascribe to his younger namesake. In contrast, Xenophon never claims that soldiers served the younger Cyrus for the sake of long-term benefits. He omits such a claim because it is belied by the continuous rebellions of his troops and their demands for concrete promises. The most he can do is to make a nod in this direction by saying that the Greeks came to serve with him as mercenaries not because they needed money, but because they had heard of his virtue, and that claim is delayed until the narration of Cyrus’ career is long past (An. 6.4.8). This is a subject on which Xenophon makes major improvements in portraying the alter Cyrus. Finally, the younger Cyrus rewarded efficient subordinates. He would increase the territory of those who organized their territories well and produced revenues. This encouraged the administrators to work hard with pleasure, and also encouraged them not to conceal their wealth (An. 1.9.19). 53 This too is strangely omitted from Cyropaedia, but it does recur in Oeconomicus and Hiero. In Oeconomicus Xenophon reports that the king of Persia reviews the performance of the local military governors and rewards them with honor and money in proportion to their success in maintaining troops (Oec. 4.6–7). He also investigates the use of land and gives more territory to the agricultural governors who produce a greater population and more produce, as well as gifts and seats of honor (Oec. 4.8–9). He also encourages rivalry between the military and the agricultural governors (Oec. 4.10–11). Here the aim is not only to encourage others to do well, but also to expand the authority of those who are capable. Similarly, in Hiero Simonides proposes the use of competitions to increase the efficiency of all branches of industry (9.6–11). But while Xenophon does not attribute this policy to the alter Cyrus, 54 he does say that he took upon himself the responsibility for appointing the most qualified officers (Cyr. 8.1.10–12). He also reports his practice of rewarding and punishing those who attend him at court (Cyr. 8.1.16–20). He would allow his faithful servants to seize some of the property of those who failed to attend; so too other rewards are given to those who attend (Cyr. 8.1.17–19). In extreme cases he would completely dispossess those who failed to respond to these incentives (Cyr. 8.1.20). This looks like an alternative version of the practice reported in Oeconomicus, focusing on obedience rather than efficiency. The fact that the system reported in Oeconomicus does not appear in Cyropaedia suggests that Xenophon may have believed it was not enacted during the lifetime of the alter Cyrus. Darker readings may

53 The idea that the expectation of a reward sweetens the labor is developed at length by Xenophon’s Socrates (see Mem. 2.1) and is mentioned by the alter Cyrus (Cyr. 1.5.12). Obviously Cyrus did not gain this insight from Socrates or vice versa. It is not possible to say whether Xenophon obtained it from Cyrus or from Socrates, or indeed whether he developed it himself. The importance of mixing pleasure with hard work is a minor theme in Anabasis (1.2.2, 1.4.9, 6.5.17, 7.3.45). 54 Noted by Tuplin 2013, 77.

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claim that Xenophon is deliberately omitting it; possibly he simply did not recall it while composing the final chapters of Cyropaedia. Treatment of Friends The discussion of Cyrus’ treatment of friends is the longest section of the eulogy, covering a third of the total. Xenophon emphasizes the reciprocal nature of Cyrus’ friendship: both the devotion which people showed to Cyrus and the devotion which he showed to them demonstrate his virtue. As earlier in the eulogy, Xenophon both praises Cyrus for his good qualities and claims that they brought him valuable benefits. Cyrus had pragmatic motives for the friendships he formed. He was unsurpassed (κράτιστος) in serving friends who were well-disposed (εὔνους) and capable of being good partners (συνεργούς) to him. Just as he sought friends who could be useful to him, so too he strove to be useful to his friends in whatever they desired (An. 1.9.20–21). Although he spends much more time describing how the younger Cyrus served his friends than describing the benefits he reaped, Xenophon concludes the eulogy by noting the result of Cyrus’ devotion to his friends: Cyrus was loved by more people than anyone else (An. 1.9.28). As proof of this love he notes a practical benefit: no one deserted him to join the king, while many people deserted the king for Cyrus; and he adds that his friends and table-companions died fighting for him (An. 1.9.29–31, see also Oec. 4.18–19). 55 Xenophon spends much more time discussing the gifts that were exchanged reciprocally between Cyrus and his friends than the services they rendered each other, offering no examples of the latter. Cyrus received more gifts than any other man (An. 1.9.22) which either shows how well-loved he was or how well-situated and well-disposed he was to repay them with interest. He also gave more gifts than anyone else to his friends, taking care to give them things that suited their tastes and needs (An. 1.9.22–23). The emphasis on the thoughtfulness that Cyrus invested in the gifts he gave to his friends is designed to counteract the claim that it is easier for the rich to give presents than it is for the poor. The idea that a gift be judged not by its absolute monetary value but by the effort one invests in it has a Socratic flavor. In Memorabilia, Socrates says that the gods do not judge gifts by their monetary value, since this would favor the wealthy. Instead they judge the value of a gift in relation to the means of the giver (Mem. 1.3.3; see also An. 7.7.36). Xenophon claims that this principle was instantiated by Cyrus the younger: καὶ τὸ μὲν τὰ μεγάλα νικᾶν τοὺς φίλους εὖ ποιοῦντα οὐδὲν θαυμαστόν, ἐπειδή γε καὶ δυνατώτερος ἦν: τὸ δὲ τῇ ἐπιμελείᾳ περιεῖναι τῶν φίλων καὶ τῷ προθυμεῖσθαι χαρίζεσθαι, ταῦτα ἔμοιγε μᾶλλον δοκεῖ ἀγαστὰ εἶναι. (An. 1.9.24)

55 As Briant shows, this claim does not provide a fair assessment of Cyrus’ success in arousing loyalty in his troops and allies (623–626)

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“It is not surprising that he outdid his friends in the magnitude of his good treatment since he had greater resources. But the fact that he outdid them in effort and in eagerness to please them, this seems to me more admirable.” The alter Cyrus receives similar laudation: “It is said to have been clear that there was nothing in which he would have been more ashamed to be defeated than in service to his friends” (Cyr. 8.2.13). “Although he far exceeded other men in the quantity of revenue he received, he still farther exceeded them in bestowing gifts on others” (Cyr. 8.2.7). This last does not imply that he gave more than he received, but that the ratio of his giving to his receiving was higher than that of any other man. It shows that in proportion to his resources his gifts were greater than those of others and hence that he fulfilled the Socratic dictum. 56 Xenophon even includes in Cyropaedia a statement that is almost copied from the passage in Anabasis: καὶ τὸ μὲν δὴ μεγέθει δώρων ὑπερβάλλειν πλουσιώτατον ὄντα οὐ θαυμαστόν: τὸ δὲ τῇ θεραπείᾳ καὶ τῇ ἐπιμελείᾳ τῶν φίλων βασιλεύοντα περιγίγνεσθαι, τοῦτο ἀξιολογώτερον. (Cyr. 8.2.13) “It is not surprising that he exceeded [others] in the size of his gifts. But that he surpassed them in service and effort, despite being a king, this is more worthy of mentioning.” The similarities here are striking; but there are also important differences. The word friends appears in the Anabasis passage, but not in Cyropaedia reflecting the fact that the alter Cyrus has a more hierarchical relationship with the objects of his beneficence. Whereas the younger Cyrus was eager to please his friends in undisclosed ways, the alter Cyrus gave them gifts and surpassed them in service. The younger Cyrus showed a greater emotional attachment to friends, while the alter Cyrus is more concerned with utility. Among the gifts he received were many adornments. Cyrus was reported to have said that he could not possibly wear all the adornments he was given (An. 1.9.23). This belittling of the usefulness of too-much recalls the statement of the alter Cyrus that he can only eat a limited amount of food and wear a limited amount of clothing (Cyr. 8.2.21), and anticipates Aristotle’s argument that goods have a natural limit (Politics 1.8–9: 1256a1–1258a18). In declining excessive adornment, the younger Cyrus said that the best adornment is friends

56 Although Cyrus was not inspired by Socrates, Xenophon is judging him by a standard he may arguably have learned from Socrates.

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who are well-adorned (An. 1.9.23). The attitude of the alter Cyrus is more complex. Cyrus comes unwashed to the king of India, and when his uncle protests he says that the best ornament is a large number of obedient soldiers (Cyr. 2.4.6; see Cyr. 3.3.6). This recalls the attitude of the younger Cyrus who did not go to extremes in personal adornment (see also An. 1.5.7–8). But elsewhere the alter Cyrus knows how to make wise use of adornments for political effects (Cyr. 8.3), something the younger Cyrus is never credited with. Xenophon places a special emphasis on gifts of food that the younger Cyrus sent to his friends: half-jars of wine, halves of geese, loaves of bread. 57 He sent messages with these gifts, saying that he had enjoyed these items and asking his friends to enjoy them together with other friends. These messages expressed Cyrus’ desire to share his pleasures with his friends. The idea that a friend shares in the pleasures and pains of a friend is retained as a norm in Cyropaedia (Cyr. 8.2.2). 58 The younger Cyrus also sent fodder for horses when it was scarce, saying that he wished his friends would ride on well-fed horses. 59 This shows a level of thoughtfulness that reflects what looks like genuine concern for his friends. Similar gifts of food appear in Cyropaedia. As a guest in his grandfather’s house, Cyrus distributes food to his grandfather’s servants, and accompanies these gifts with comments (Cyr. 1.3.7). These gifts are not given to friends but to servants, and the comments that accompany them do not express a desire for a community of pleasure. The alter Cyrus comments that these gifts are rewards for good service, and they are presumably designed to inspire good service in the future. The lack of a desire to share pleasure gives these gifts a balder political function and they express and create a more hierarchical relationship. As an adult, the alter Cyrus recognizes sharing food as the most inexpensive way to show kindness to friends (Cyr. 8.2.2–4). He would order excessive amounts of food to his table, and then send portions around to friends, servants, and those who had served well in any office (Cyr. 8.2.3–4). Like the younger Cyrus he also makes a point of sharing good food with his friends (Cyr. 8.4.6–8). In both cases the expression of friendship seems sincere (see Cyr. 8.4.8), and both Cyruses gain personally from their expressions of friendship. But the hierarchical relationship and the emphasis on utility is more prominent in Cyropaedia. Xenophon says that the younger Cyrus would honor his friends by conversing with them conspicuously in public (An. 1.9.28). This kind of honor is mentioned also in Cyropaedia: Cyrus invites individuals to his tent as a mark of honor (Cyr. 2.1.30). Artabazus claims that he was a conspicuous favorite (περίβλεπτος) when he was seen passing the day with Cyrus (Cyr. 7.5.53); Cyrus sends food in conspicuous ways to those he wishes to honor (Cyr. 8.2.4); most pertinently, Cyrus calls an officer to him during a public appearance in order to increase his

57 Set in ancient Persia, the book of Esther contains a command to celebrate the holiday of Purim by sending portions of food one to another (9.19). See Gera in this volume (p. 297). 58 See also Aristotle (EN 9.4: 1165b36–1166b29) and Plato on the community of pleasure and pain in the city (Resp. 462c-464b). 59 This belief that the condition of the horses is an honor to the rider recalls Cyrus’ opinion that the adornment of his friends is the best adornment to himself (An. 1.9.23).

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honor in the eyes of the people (Cyr. 8.3.20–23). He also assigned seats in accordance with rank, changing them in accordance with changes in behavior (Cyr. 8.4.3–5). 60 Xenophon concludes his discussion of Cyrus’ friendship by saying that no one was ever loved by more people. He proves this by claiming that no one ever left him to join his brother’s army, aside from Orontas – and even he was betrayed to Cyrus by someone who cared more for Cyrus – but that many left the king for Cyrus, because they believed he would reward them better (Cyr. 1.9.29; see Oec. 4.18). This is a most misleading claim, as we know from the narrative of Anabasis book one itself. Nothing in the claim is false, but it unfairly glosses over the many difficulties with troops that Cyrus experienced during the campaign. This statement more than any other demonstrates the encomiastic tendency of the eulogy – Xenophon makes the best case he possibly can for Cyrus without any literal falsification. 61 In Cyropaedia Xenophon creates a story in which this claim is much more accurate. Finally, Xenophon ends the eulogy by describing the loyalty of Cyrus’ friends in defending him with their lives and falling on his corpse (except for Ariaeus who was stationed at a distance: An. 1.9.31). There is no parallel scene in Cyropaedia, since the alter Cyrus does not put himself into situations in which it is necessary for others to die for him, although Abradatas does so anyway (Cyr. 7.1.29–32; see 6.3.35–36, 7.3.3). This shows the same level of devotion without showing a similar disaster or even similar danger. It represents an improvement on the story of the younger Cyrus in another way: Abradatas dies for Cyrus without Cyrus himself being killed. 62 In short, friendship is an important theme for both Cyruses, but is much more pronounced in the eulogy. Xenophon may have put extra emphasis on friendship in the eulogy because there were few military victories to attribute to Cyrus the younger and perhaps because he had disappointed his friends’ hopes so strikingly. But he offers some real evidence of Cyrus’ devotion to friends. Xenophon portrays the friendships of the two Cyruses in somewhat different ways: the alter Cyrus is more of a leader than a friend. Some may read this as a sign of Xenophon’s criticism of the alter Cyrus; but no one has ever explained why Xenophon would want to criticize his own ideal solution to the problem of rulership. More likely, the difference reflects the fact that a successful leader must behave like one.

60 A similar arrangement is attributed to the Sanhedrin (Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Sanhedrin, 1.3). See Tuplin 2013, 77 on the forms of honor that Cyrus instituted. 61 Ctesias says the same: “Many defectors went from Artaxerxes to Cyrus, but no one went from Cyrus to Artaxerxes.” (58) Given the contrast between these statements and the narrative of Anabasis, it is worth considering that Xenophon borrowed this sentiment from Ctesias. Would that mean that Ctesias himself was writing an exaggerated encomium for Cyrus? No; serving with the king, Ctesias would have been able to confirm that none of Cyrus’ people came to the king, but he would not have known about the tensions and desertions within Cyrus’ camp. Xenophon’s adoption of this statement, however, has a clear encomiastic purpose. 62 See Tatum 1989, 180–182.

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Conclusion In this paper I have focused on the eulogy of Cyrus from two different points of view. As a eulogy it presents as positive a view of Cyrus as possible without including anything that is literally false, in accordance with the Socratic dictum. Xenophon’s depiction of the natural qualities and education of the alter Cyrus, and his treatment of the theme of redistribution and of the use of punishment in Cyropaedia, show that he was more critical of the younger Cyrus than what he says in the eulogy. But when writing the eulogy he emphasizes the positive, and includes many positive traits, such as the use of reward and the treatment of friends, that he sincerely admired and repeated in Cyropaedia. 63 Cyrus was an imperfect hero, but Xenophon’s goal in the eulogy is to present him in the best possible light. This understanding of Xenophon’s rhetorical method enables us to reach conclusions about the sources he had available to him. He had few facts to rely on. He mentions a successful incident with a bear. He makes the most out of the fact that many cities chose him as an ally, using it to prove a variety of good qualities. In other cases, he relies on more doubtful reports. He makes the most out of the alleged obedience of the young man, multiplying the terms with which he praises him for it. But this alleged obedience is not backed up by any reported incident, and is contradicted by his later behavior toward his brother and king. Similarly, Cyrus’ possession of scrupulous honesty is a postulate derived from the behavior of Agesilaus and Xenophon’s reflection, but is not backed up by any evidence and is contradicted by Cyrus’ treatment of the troops. Similarly, Xenophon implies the acquisition of σωφροσύνη without claiming it directly. Faced with the paucity of good qualities, Xenophon elaborates on Cyrus’ expressions of friendship and even makes a virtue out of behavior he does not particularly admire, the use of severe corporal punishment as a deterrent. Although he cannot honestly attribute to the younger Cyrus most of the virtues and forms of wisdom that he attributes to the alter Cyrus, he tries nevertheless to create a positive portrait based on the material he does have. The paucity of incidents, and the creative uses to which he puts them, suggest that Xenophon was reluctant to invent facts or incidents and that those he does report bear some relationship to the truth. My second focus was on the parallels between the eulogy and Cyropaedia. There is a general similarity between the two in that both present positive images of a Persian leader named Cyrus. Both recount his natural qualities, education, and his qualities and behavior as a leader. There is some overlap in these descriptions, but also much divergence. Both men are great horsemen, and both love to hunt and face danger, but the alter Cyrus does so more successfully. Both relate well to foreigners, but this is explained better in the case of the alter Cyrus who had an intercultural education. Both understand the importance of repaying both good and bad, but the alter Cyrus concentrates on the

63 A comparison with Hellenica (1.4.3–7, 1.5.1–8, 1.6.6–18, 2.1.1–15, 3.1.1–6) also shows that Xenophon had a more balanced view of Cyrus than what emerges from the eulogy. A similar phenomenon is found in the case of Agesilaus, where the encomium presents a rosier picture than what we find in the Hellenica.

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former. Both men are devoted to their friends, and both desire a community of pleasure, but the alter Cyrus puts more emphasis on hierarchical relationships. Aside from these modifications, many traits are given to the alter Cyrus that did not appear in the portrait of the younger. The alter Cyrus has φιλανθρωπία and φιλοτιμία in addition to φιλομαθία; and his φιλομαθία embraces a broader field. This difference in natural qualities in itself is sufficient to show that Cyropaedia does not illustrate what Cyrus would have done if he had lived, but what someone else could have done if faced with better circumstances. The alter Cyrus is educated in δικαιοσύνη and ἐγκράτεια in addition to σωφροσύνη. There is no educational system in the eulogy; the young Persians merely learn to obey by observing the rewards and punishments distributed by the king. There is no learning by example and no practicing of virtue, as is found in Cyropaedia. The eulogy makes no mentions of Cyrus’ command of strategic or military issues, or of his use of an informal banking system (e.g. Cyr. 3.3.5). There is no mention of public debates, the use of competition as a stimulus to virtue, or of arming the lower classes. The younger Cyrus does not show signs of piety or good treatment of the gods. 64 Unlike the younger Cyrus, the alter Cyrus makes himself into a model of virtues such as εὐσέβεια, δικαιοσύνη, αἰδώς, πείθεσθαι, and σωφροσύνη (Cyr. 8.1.21–33). All of these themes, so important in Cyropaedia, are absent from the eulogy. There are also cases in which semi-positive features are attributed to the younger Cyrus but not repeated, or only partly repeated, in the case of the alter Cyrus. These include αἰδώς, scrupulous honesty, and rewarding successful agricultural governors. When one of these practices seem unimpeachable, such as rewarding agricultural governors, we can wonder why it was omitted. In other cases, Xenophon may have omitted them because he had better qualities with which to adorn the alter Cyrus. As I have argued, Xenophon makes the most he can out of the reports he has on the younger Cyrus. Some of these semi-positive features may be emphasized in the eulogy simply because they are the best qualities that Xenophon can honestly attribute to the younger Cyrus, and not because they are the best qualities a leader can have. It is also worth considering that no one is obligated to use exactly the same set of colors in painting every portrait, which shows again that Cyropaedia is not an expansion of the eulogy. As I have noted, one of the most obvious parallels between the two Cyruses is the killing of a wild animal. In this case, the similarity is structural, and Xenophon improves on the story by adding elements that reflect on the qualities of the leader and his success. This single example can serve as an indication of the general way in which Xenophon adapted incidents from Anabasis in creating the plot of Cyropaedia, a subject I consider in a future publication. 65 Given the discrepancies between the two figures, it is misleading to refer to the Cyropaedia as an expansion of the eulogy or to the eulogy as a mini-Cyropaedia. Readers have been overly impressed by the effusiveness of the praise and by the mere fact that 64 This accords with the final chapter of Cyropaedia which says that contemporary Persians did not behave properly towards the gods (Cyr. 8.8.2–3). 65 ‘Anabasis and the Origin of Cyropaedia,’ forthc.

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both texts describe the natural qualities, virtues, education, and behavior of the two young men and then go on to describe their activities as military and political leaders. 66 Xenophon has borrowed some good traits from the younger Cyrus, as well as from other sources, in order to create the alter Cyrus of Cyropaedia, but what he fashioned was his own vision of what an ideal leader can and should be.

66 Xenophon mentioned Cyrus’ birth in the beginning of the composition (An. 1.1.1), so he omits it in the eulogy itself. In Cyropaedia, Cyrus’ birth is mentioned together with his natural qualities and his education (Cyr. 1.2.1) and the natural qualities are presented before the education, while in the eulogy they are mixed together.

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Bibliography Azoulay, V. 2000. ‘Xénophon, la Cyropédie et les eunuches’, Revue Française d’Histoire des Idées Politiques 11, 3–26. —. 2004. Xénophon et les grâces du pouvoir: De la charis au charisme (Histoire ancienne et médiévale 77), Paris. Breebart, A. B. 1983. ‘From Victory to Peace: Some Aspects of Cyrus’ State in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, Mnemosyne 36, 1983, 117–34. Briant, P. 2002. From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire, Winona Lake. Cousain, G. 1904. Kyros le jeune en Asie Mineure: (printemps 408-juillet 401 avant Jésus-Christ), Nancy. Danzig, G. 2007. ‘What’s Wrong with Tissaphernes? Xenophon’s Views on Lying and Breaking Oaths’, in: C. J. Tuplin (ed.), Persian Responses: Political and Cultural Interaction with(in) the Achaemenid Empire, Swansea, 27–50. —. 2009. ‘Big Boys and Little Boys: Justice and Law in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia and Memorabilia’, Polis 26, 271–295. —. 2012. ‘The Best of the Achaemenids: Benevolence, Self-interest, and the “Ironic” Reading of Cyropaedia,’ in: F. E. Hobden & C. J. Tuplin (eds.), Xenophon: Ethical Principles and Historical Enquiry, (Mnemosyne – Supplements 348), Leiden. —. Under review. Killing the King: Cyrus’ Attack on His Brother in Anabasis, and Its Reception in Cyropaedia, in: T. Rood & E. M. Tamiolaki (eds.), Xenophon’s Anabasis and Its Reception: A Companion, Cambridge. —. Forthc. ‘Anabasis and the Origin of Cyropaedia. How Xenophon Rewrote the Trial of Orontas.’ Delebecque, E. 1957. Essai sur la vie de Xénophon (Études et commentaires 25), Paris. Due, B. 1989. The Cyropaedia; Xenophon’s Aims and Methods, Aarhus. Flower, M. 2012. Xenophon’s Anabasis, Or the Expedition of Cyrus, Oxford & New York. Gera, D. L. 1993. Xenophon’s Cyropaedia. Style, Genre, and Literary Technique (Oxford Classical Monographs), Oxford. Gray, V. 2011. Xenophon’s Mirror of Princes: Reading the Reflections, Oxord. Hirsch, S. W. 1985a. ‘The Cyropaedia and History,’ chapter four of The Friendship of the Barbarians: Xenophon and the Persian Empire. Hanover, NH & London, 61–100. —. 1985b. ‘1001 Iranian Nights: History and Fiction in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, in: The Greek Historians: Literature and Fiction – Papers Presented to A. E. Raubitschek, Saratoga, CA, 65–85. Holden, H. A. 1890. The Cyropaedia of Xenophon, Cambridge. Humble, N. 1999. ‘Sôphrosynê and the Spartans in Xenophon’, in: S. Hodkinson & A. Powell (eds.), Sparta: New Perspectives, London & Swansea, 339–353. Sage, P. W. 1991. ‘Tradition, Genre, and Character Portrayal: Cyropaedia 8.7 and Anabasis 1.9’, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 32, 61–79. Strauss, L. 1972. Xenophon’s Socrates, Ithaca & London. Tatum, J. 1989. Xenophon’s Imperial Fiction: On the Education of Cyrus, Princeton.

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Thomas D. 2018. ‘The Enemies of Hunting in Cynegetikus’, in: G. Danzig, D. Johnson & D. Morrison (eds.), Plato and Xenophon: Comparative Studies, Boston, 612–639. Tuplin, C. J. 1990. ‘Persian Decor in Cyropaedia: Some Observations’, in: H. SancisiWeerdenburg & J. W. Drijvers (eds.), The Roots of the European Tradition: Proceedings of the 1987 Groningen Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History V), Leiden, 17–29. —. 1994. ‘Xenophon, Sparta and the Cyropaedia’, in: A. Powell & S. Hodkinson (eds.), The Shadow of Sparta, London & New York, 127–182. —. 1997. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Education and Fiction’, in: A. H. Sommerstein & C. Atherton (eds.), Education in Greek Fiction (Nottingham Classical Literature Studies 4), Bari, 65–162. —. 2013. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Fictive History, Political Analysis and Thinking with Iranian Kings’, in: L. Mitchell & C. Melville (eds.), Every Inch a King: Comparative Studies on Kings and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Rulers and Elites: Comparative Studies in Governance 2), Leiden & Boston, 67–90. Van Berkel, T. A. 2010. ‘Pricing the Invaluable: Socrates and the Value of Friendship,’ in: R.  M. Rosen & I. Sluiter (eds.), Valuing Others in Classical Antiquity (Mnemosyne – Supplements 323), Leiden, 249–277.

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Cyropaedia as Historical Source

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Ancient Near Eastern Traditions in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Conceptions of Royal Qualities and Empire* Julian Degen (Innsbruck)

To assess the value of Xenophon’s Cyropaedia as a source for ancient Near Eastern history is not a simple task. The modern view that Xenophon penned an artificial account on the founder of the Persian Empire is the final result of seminal papers written by Christopher Tuplin, Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg and others. The bottom line of their arguments is that Cyropaedia’s display of ancient Near Eastern history is rather literary décor than historical research. 1 After all, a long list of inconsistencies in Cyropaedia with the 5th and 4th century BCE Greek tradition on Cyrus is indicative that the work’s value as a source for Persian history is low. 2 As a logical consequence, there is no need for a new paper dealing with the work’s impact for Achaemenid history again. Nevertheless, seen from different perspective, Cyropaedia becomes a useful source for the Greeks’ awareness of royal Achaemenid ideology and conception of empire. In some passages the Xenophontic Cyrus finally is no Greek sophist dressed in the great king’s robe after all, but a ruler with features purported to appeal as authentic Persian for the Greek audience. 3 On this ground, the extent and mode of Xenophon’s display of elements to create

* I would especially like to thank Hendrik W. Stanway (Innsbruck) for correcting my English and Bruno Jacobs (Basel) for his critical look at my manuscript and his idea for its title. I am indebted as well to my dear friend Clemens Steinwender (Innsbruck) who read this manuscript many times and shared his ideas with me. All remaining errors are mine. I am grateful to the “Richard und Emmy Bahr-Stiftung in Schaffhausen” and the “Förderung wissenschaftlichen Nachwuchses der Leopold-Franzens Universität Innsbruck” for the financial support of my research. 1 Gruen 2011, 53–65; Heller 2010, 67–70; see in general the anthology Tuplin 2004 and escpecially Petit 2004; Azoulay 2004; Tuplin 2003; Azoulay 2000; Tuplin 1997; Mueller-Goldingen 1995; Tuplin 1990; Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1987; Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1985. 2 Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1993, 513: “(a)ll these factors have led classical scholars of the Cyropaedia to judge it as a work of fiction, with scarcely any historical content.” On Cyropaedia’s genre see the contribution of Irene Madreiter in this volume and Tamiolaki 2017. 3 About the 5th/4th cent. Greek perception of Persia, Persians and Asiatic monarchy see: Ellis 2017; Müller 2015; Jacobs & Trampedach 2013; Madreiter 2012; Miller 2011; Gruen 2011, 9–52; Thomas 2011; Wiesehöfer 2007a; Bichler 2007; Bichler 2004; Sancisi-Weerdenburg 2002; Wiesehöfer 2002; Bichler 2001, 213–226; Hutzfeldt 1999; Bichler 1996; Tuplin 1993.

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an “oriental” or “Asiatic” atmosphere and milieu for his protagonist is more a matter of dispute than Cyropaedia’s chronological structure and storyline. 4 Therefore, the question to be answered is: On which elements did Xenophon rely to create a Persian décor and how authentic is Cyropaedia’s Persian setting? This question is of significance when we consider Xenophon’s knowledge of Persian customs, Persian conception of kingship, etc. witnessed in his other works, especially in the Anabasis. 5 Issues are not getting easier if we concentrate on topics such as conception of kingship and royal qualities in Cyropaedia. However, although the evidence for Xenophon’s Persian décor is small and partly anachronistic, a close examining of ancient Near Eastern elements is worth the effort. 6 Modern commentators highlighted the accordance between some of Cyropaedia’s onomastics with names attested in the cuneiform evidence. For instance, in his analysis of ethnonyms and personal names, Simo Parpola concluded that some denominations of Xenophon’s ethnic tribes are misinterpretations of Babylonian and Assyrian geographical names. Thus, the episode about Indians visiting Cyrus is, in all probability, a fictive episode and built on the reinterpretation of the term Andia for a region in the South-East of Lake Urmia in Urarṭu. 7 Furthermore, Simo Parpola considered that the Xenophontic figure Gobyras could be identified with a certain Gubaru, a district officer of Babylon known from the Nabonidus chronicle. 8 As parallels between Neo-Assyrian battle reports and accounts on combat in Cyropaedia suggest, the presence of Mesopotamian ideas ought not to be disregarded. 9 With respect to royal Achaemenid ideology, Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg underlined parallels between the second part of Darius’ I tomb inscriptions (DNb) and the episode about Cyrus’ death in Xenophon’s account. 10 In addition, Samuel K. Eddy recognized similarities between the presentation of Cyrus’ Babylonian procession in the Cyropaedia and the relief on the Apadāna in Persepolis. 11 However, facts are not always as clear. Xenophon, for instance, sheds almost no light in his Cyropaedia on themes appealing for the Greek reader as typical “Asiatic”. The latter applies in special to court customs in Persian residences. 12 If one takes all this in consideration, the ancient Near Eastern background of Cyropaedia on the one hand cannot be denied, but on the other hand, it is partly built on sand. On these grounds, one

4 Xenophon, for instance, does not give much information about something as important as the geographical setting of his Cyropaedia, for what it seems that Cyrus is campaigning in a blank space; cf. Tuplin 2003 and the contribution of Reinhold Bichler in this volume. 5 Vlassopoulos 2013; Gruen 2011, 53–65; Tuplin 2010; Tuplin 2004; Tuplin 2003; Tuplin 1993. 6 Tuplin 1990; Due 1989, 38–42. 7 Parpola 2003, 342. 8 Parpola 2003, 345–349. 9 Dezső & Vér 2018. 10 Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1985; cf. Knauth 1975 for parallels with later Iranian sources and Waters 2014, 150–151. 11 Eddy 1961, 53. See the contribution of Bruno Jacobs in this volume. 12 Tuplin 2010, 222: “… on the whole Xenophon is simply not interested in the social mores of the court …” (Italics Tuplin).

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should be cautious to call Cyropaedia’s Persian setting authentic for defending the work’s value as a source for Achaemenid history. The present paper scrutinises Cyropaedia’s Persian décor in its Greek and ancient Near Eastern dimensions by presenting three case studies. The first focus of argumentation is on an episode with probable Mesopotamian background and the ways how Xenophon could have gained information on it. In the second step, light will be shed on echoes in Cyropaedia of the ideas of Teispid and Achaemenid dynasty for legitimising supremacy and dominion over their vast empire. 13 The topic of the last case study will be the Achaemenid claim for world dominion and its consequences for Xenophon’s configuration of his story of Cyrus. Since all these case studies have the relationship of Xenophontic Cyrus with the gods or a god somehow in common, a closer examination of the divine is the key to understand Xenophon’s conception of Asiatic rulership. Some Observations on the Xenophontic Cyrus and His Relation to the Gods According to Christopher Tuplin, the conception of Cyrus’ kingship in Cyropaedia is mainly based on “… the military conquest of an evil enemy achieved against a background of divine good will”, which appears to be the ultimate formula for the legitimation of kingship in the world of Cyropaedia. 14 If one views the figure of Xenophon’s Cyrus as a whole within the work, it is possible to recognize that the protagonist is the victorious conqueror of Asia and even Egypt, or in other words, he is on a meta-level, the great king of the author’s own time. 15 One, however, ought not to underestimate the role of the divine for Xenophontic Cyrus’ idea of Persian kingship. It is of significance, that in world of Cyropaedia the gods rather operate as benevolent forces than being the sole factor for the achievements of Cyrus. 16 Furthermore, it is beyond doubt, that Xenophon’s Cyrus is a victorious and militarily potent king legitimising his power by deeds. 17 On these grounds a closer examination of his role as homo triumphans is worth a digression.

13 For the different arguments on separating two Persian dynasties see Henkelman 2011; Jacobs 2011; Rollinger 1998. 14 Tuplin 2013, 85. Due 1989, 158: “… he (scil. Xenophon) mentions his piety towards the gods, shown in big as well as in little things.” 15 For the case of Egypt see below. Tuplin 2013, 85: “Thus, perhaps, does a historico-philosophical narrative take stimulus from the figure of the ‘King of Kings’.“ 16 Haywood 2016; especially in the case of Cyropaedia see Tuplin 2013, 70: “Cyrus’ unfailing success is unrealistic, but he is not superhuman and his relationship with the divine is no more than that of a man who gives due recognition to the gods.” 17 See further the Persian great king’s condicio sine qua non of defeating the enemy on the battlefield in the case of Artaxerxes II as perceived in Xen. An. 2.3.25: “The next day he did not return, and the Greeks, consequently, were anxious; but on the third day he came and said that he had secured permission from the King to save the Greeks, although many opposed the plan, urging that it was not fitting for the King to allow those who had undertaken a campaign against him to escape.” – καὶ εἰς μὲν τὴν ὑστεραίαν οὐχ ἧκεν: ὥσθ᾽ οἱ Ἕλληνες ἐφρόντιζον: τῇ δὲ τρίτῃ ἥκων ἔλεγεν ὅτι διαπεπραγμένος

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One way Xenophon shows divine support is through natural phenomena in the broader sense and their interpretation through the methods of divination in a more narrow sense. As a writer Xenophon already gives expression to this idea at an early point of his account, when young Cyrus is on the road with his father and divine will comes in by signs in nature. “Now, when Cyrus had gone home and prayed to ancestral Hestia, ancestral Zeus, and the rest of the gods, he set out upon his expedition; and his father also joined in escorting him on his way. And when they were out of the house, it is said to have thundered and lightened with happy auspices for him; and when this manifestation had been made, they proceeded, without taking any further auspices, in the conviction that no one would make void the signs of the supreme god.” 18 What happens next to this episode is an essential feature of Xenophon’s Persian milieu. After these signs have occurred, Cyrus’ father advises his son to be precautious towards the fraudulent misrepresentation of divine signs (σημεῖα) of the treacherous soothsayers (εἰ βούλοιντό σε ἐξαπατᾶν ἕτερα λέγοντες ἢ τὰ παρὰ τῶν θεῶν σημαινόμενα). 19 In this case, Xenophon uses the general term μάντις to label the soothsayers, but in other occasions, the author puts a finer point to this aspect and calls them Magi (μάγοι). The readers of Cyropaedia knew about the latter as West-Iranian priests at Median and Persian courts. Hence, their presence surely gave the whole setting an “Asiatic” flair. 20 Throughout the whole account, the diviners are constant companions of Cyrus and advisors who mainly select the god’s portion of the booty. However, it is striking, that Xenophon kept their actions in the sidelines since the diviners never exercised any influence over Cyrus. 21 In this regard, the warning words of Cyrus’ father Cambyses about the Magi gain in importance. The same allegations occur in Herodotus’ Histories where the Magi are fraudulent diviners in the surrounding of the Persian kings. On top of that, the Histories cast ἥκοι παρὰ βασιλέως δοθῆναι αὐτῷ σῴζειν τοὺς Ἕλληνας, καίπερ πάνυ πολλῶν ἀντιλεγόντων ὡς οὐκ ἄξιον εἴη βασιλεῖ ἀφεῖναι τοὺς ἐφ᾽ ἑαυτὸν στρατευσαμένους. Translation by C. L. Brownson. 18 Xen. Cyr. 1.6.1: Κῦρος δὲ ἐλθὼν οἴκαδε καὶ προσευξάμενος Ἑστίᾳ πατρῴᾳ καὶ Διὶ πατρῴῳ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις θεοῖς ὡρμᾶτο ἐπὶ τὴν στρατείαν, συμπρούπεμπε δὲ αὐτὸν καὶ ὁ πατήρ. ἐπεὶ δὲ ἔξω τῆς οἰκίας ἐγένοντο, λέγονται ἀστραπαὶ καὶ βρονταὶ αὐτῷ αἴσιοι γενέσθαι. τούτων δὲ φανέντων οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἔτι οἰωνιζόμενοι ἐπορεύοντο, ὡς οὐδένα ἂν λύσαντα τὰ τοῦ μεγίστου θεοῦ σημεῖα. Translation by W. Miller. 19 Xen. Cyr. 1.6.2: προϊόντι δὲ τῷ Κύρῳ ὁ πατὴρ ἤρχετο λόγου τοιοῦδε. ὦ παῖ, ὅτι μὲν οἱ θεοὶ ἵλεῴ τε καὶ εὐμενεῖς πέμπουσί σε καὶ ἐν ἱεροῖς δῆλον καὶ ἐν οὐρανίοις σημείοις: γιγνώσκεις δὲ καὶ αὐτός. ἐγὼ γάρ σε ταῦτα ἐπίτηδες ἐδιδαξάμην, ὅπως μὴ δι᾽ ἄλλων ἑρμηνέων τὰς τῶν θεῶν συμβουλίας συνιείης, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτὸς καὶ ὁρῶν τὰ ὁρατὰ καὶ ἀκούων τὰ ἀκουστὰ γιγνώσκοις καὶ μὴ ἐπὶ μάντεσιν εἴης, εἰ βούλοιντό σε ἐξαπατᾶν ἕτερα λέγοντες ἢ τὰ παρὰ τῶν θεῶν σημαινόμενα, μηδ᾽ αὖ, εἴ ποτε ἄρα ἄνευ μάντεως γένοιο, ἀποροῖο θείοις σημείοις ὅ τι χρῷο, ἀλλὰ γιγνώσκων διὰ τῆς μαντικῆς τὰ παρὰ τῶν θεῶν συμβουλευόμενα, τούτοις πείθοιο. Translation by W. Miller. 20 On the evidences for Mάγοι in Greek literature and autochthonous sources see Dandamayev 2012. 21 Xen. Cyr. 4.6.11 connoted to the Medes; cf. Strack 1969, 87. Cf. Magi in the context of selecting goods for the gods: 4.5.14, 51; 7.3.1; 7.5.35, 57 and 8.1.23.

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a shadow on the Magi who support their kings in their enterprises and are resultingly completely different from the genuine Greek μάντεις contradicting their rulers for the purpose of standing for the good cause. 22 Hence, it becomes evident, that the advice of Cambyses attains distinction only if one reads it with Herodotus’ Histories or 4th century Persika-literature in mind. 23 The fact that Xenophon used the topos of the treacherous Magi for the display of Cyrus’ milieu reveals that Cyropaedia needs to be seen in the context of already existing Greek accounts on Persia. 24 Nevertheless, using this literary portrait of the Iranian priests gave Xenophon the chance to distinguish Cyrus from his Asian milieu. In this way the Athenian writer finally highlighted Cyrus’ qualities as a good leader, since his protagonist rumbles the diviners’ sayings. This is also the reason why Magi never play the role as royal advisers in the world of Cyropaedia. However, Xenophon’s statement about Cyrus’ knowledge to interpret σημεῖα is a hint for the author’s awareness of the great kings’ privileged position in divination. 25 A long close look in the royal Achaemenid inscriptions conveys the impression that royal Achaemenid ideology served as a role model for Xenophontic Cyrus. In their Old Persian inscriptions, the Achaemenid kings proclaim their special relation to the god Auramazdā and their divine guidance. 26 Divine good will of an Achaemenid great king finally was one of many strategies for highlighting his status as legitimate ruler. A good example is the last part of Darius’ I monumental inscription on rock Behistun. Since Darius was a usurper, he needed to legitimate his coup d’ état with the divine good will of Auramazdā. 27 “This that I did, by the favour of Auramazdā, in one and the same year I did. Auramazda helped me (upastām abara), and the other gods who are.” 28 The Old Persian text literally states that Auramazdā lent his support or brought his support to Darius. 29 The Babylonian version of Darius’ I monumental inscription adds more clarity by using the phrase ina ṣilli ša dUramazda, 30 which means “under the

22 Trampedach 2017. 23 On Persika-literature see Madreiter 2012, esp. 52–70. 24 In this case it makes no sense to argue with the idea of impiety (ἀσέβεια) of Xenophon, in the sense of Thucydides’ critics among diviners (Thuc. 5.26.3). 25 Rollinger 2017a, 199–200; Rollinger 2011. 26 Rollinger 2017a, 210–211; Jacobs 2010, 111; Ahn 1992, 20–53. 27 For Darius’ I pressure to demonstrate legitimacy in the Behistun-inscription see Jacobs 2014a; Schwinghammer 2011. 28 DB § 62 (op.) translation by Kuhrt 2007a, 148. Cf. Jacobs 2014b, 395–396. 29 On the Achaemenid idea of Auramazdā supporting the great king in time of war see Jacobs 2014b. Ad upastām: Schmitt 2014, 265 s.v. upastā- “Beistand, Hilfe” (assistance, support); ad abara: Schmitt 2014, 152 s.v. bar “tragen, bringen”, idem ad upastām abara “Beistand bringen” (bring assistance), loc. cit. 266. 30 DB (bab.) l. 103 edited by von Voigtlander 1978, 44: mda-ri-ia-muš ┌LUGAL ┐ ki-[a-am i]-qab-bi ┌ ┐ a -ga-┌ a┐ šá a-na-ku e-pu-šú a-na-ku [ina] I-et MU.AN.NA ina {GIŠ.MI šá dú-ra-ma-az-[da] e-tepu-uš dú-ra-ma-az-da is-se-dan-nu u DINGIR.MEŠ}.

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protection of Auramazdā” 31 for describing the divine approval of the king’s deeds by the supreme Persian god and all other gods. 32 Furthermore, the formulaic claim in the favour of Auramazdā (op. vašnā Auramazdāha) is an inherent element of all royal inscriptions of the Achaemenid period. 33 Be that as it may, it is of significance that the Achaemenid strategy for legitimation roots in Teispid time. The reader of Cyrus’ II Babylonian proclamation finally learns that both the status of divine protection and being divinely chosen were important doctrines for Cyrus to legitimise his position as the king over nearly the whole ancient Near East. “Marduk, the great lord, who cares for his people, looked with pleasure at his good deeds and his righteous heart. He ordered him to go to Babylon, and let him take the road to Babylon. Like a friend and companion he went by his side. His massive troops, whose number was immeasurable like the water of a river, marched with their arms at their side.” 34 It is important to bear in mind, that the text of the Cyrus-Cylinder is rather evidence for Cyrus’ flirts with the ideal of the Babylonian kingship than being a source for royal Teispid legitimacy. 35 The proclamation from Babylon is evidence for the Persians’ attempt to legitimise their supremacy over Babylon by underlining the king’s selection and guidance through the supreme Babylonian deity Marduk. Since the Persian conqueror restored the priesthood of Marduk’s old powerful position, the potent local priests legitimised his rule by bestowing the status as tool of the deity’s just will on him. 36 However, as one can clearly see by royal inscriptions of the Teispid-Achaemenid period, divine good will was an essential element of the Persian great kings’ strategies for legitimation as well. This implies, that Cyrus’ conception of kingship might be a Greek perception of Asian kingship in Cyropaedia, but if seen in light of autochthonous evidence, its core appeals to be authentic. Thus, an examination in detail of ancient Near Eastern elements in Xenophon’s works is worth the effort.

31 CAD 16, 191. On probable Urartian role models for this element of the royal Achaemenid inscriptions see Salvini 2012, 466. 32 For the religious landscape according to the Persepolis Fortification tablets see Henkelman 2008. 33 Schmitt 2014, 115 s.v. vašna-. 34 Cyrus-Cylinder ll. 14–17 in Schaudig 2001, 552: DINGIR.AMAR.UTU EN GAL ta-ru-ú ÙG-MEŠ-šú epše-e-ti-ša dam-qa-a-ta ù šà-ba-šu i-ša-ra ḫa-di-iš ip-pa-li-i[s] a-na URU-šu KÁ.DINGIR.MEŠ KI a-la-ak-šu iq-bi ú-ša-aṣ-bi-it-su-ma ḫar-ra-nu TIN.TIR KI ki-ma ib-ri ù tap-pe-e it-tal-la-ka i-da-a-šu um-ma-ni-šu rap-ša-a-tì ša ki-ma me-e ÍD la ú-ta-ad-du-ú ni-ba-šu-un GIŠ.TUKUL.MEŠ-šu-nu ṣa-an-du-ma i-ša-ad-di-ḫa i-da-a-šu. Translation by Kuhrt 2007b, 182. 35 Pongratz-Leisten 2018. 36 About Persian attempts to use local cults to legitimize power see Rollinger 2014a, 156. About the Marduk priesthood and the last Neo-Babylonian king Nabonidus as well as Cyrus see Kuhrt 2007b; Kuhrt 1983; Beaulieu 1989.

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Xenophon, Cyrus and the Light from Heaven 37 Cyrus and his men witnessed a bizarre occurrence of divine origin transpired shortly before the Persian army joined battle with the troops of the Assyro-Lydian alliance. 38 “As they (scil. Cyrus’ army) proceeded, night came on, and it is said that a light from heaven shone forth upon Cyrus and his army, so that they were all shivering fear for the divine (symbol) but with courage to meet the enemy. And as they were proceeding in light marching order with all dispatch, they naturally covered a great distance, and in the morning twilight they drew near to the army of the Hyrcanians.” 39 Cyrus and his troops perceived the sudden and brief endured change from nighttime to daytime caused by a light (φῶς) 40 from the heaven (ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ) as a divine symbol (πρὸς τὸ θεῖον), what frightened them (ὥστε πᾶσι μὲν φρίκην ἐγγίγνεσθαι). However, the troops under Cyrus’ command finally reinterpreted the light and they found courage to meet the enemy (θάρρος δὲ πρὸς τοὺς πολεμίους). One could imagine a massive beam of light, literally a light phenomenon (“Lichterscheinung”) appeared over the Persian army. 41 Moreover, the argumentation of Cyrus in this subsequently following speech is of significance, since it reveals his knowledge on the influence of this occurrence on the enemy. “But if we go into the attack upon the enemy with might and main and with stout hearts, you will see right soon that, just like a lot of slaves caught in an attempt to run away, some of them will beg for mercy, others will try to escape, others still will not even have presence of mind to do either. For they will see us before they have recovered from their first defeat, and they will find themselves caught neither thinking of our coming, nor drawn up in line, nor prepared to fight.” 42

37 This chapter is based on my exhaustive discussion (Degen 2019b) of light phenomena in the Xenophontic corpus. 38 Xen. Cyr. 4.2.14. 39 Xen. Cyr. 4.2.15: πορευομένων δὲ ἐπεὶ νὺξ ἐπεγένετο, λέγεται φῶς τῷ Κύρῳ καὶ τῷ στρατεύματι ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ προφανὲς γενέσθαι, ὥστε πᾶσι μὲν φρίκην ἐγγίγνεσθαι πρὸς τὸ θεῖον, θάρρος δὲ πρὸς τοὺς πολεμίους. ὡς δ᾽ εὔζωνοί τε καὶ ταχὺ ἐπορεύοντο, εἰκότως πολλήν τε ὁδὸν διήνυσαν καὶ ἅμα κνέφᾳ πλησίον γίγνονται τοῦ τῶν Ὑρκανίων στρατεύματος. Modified translation of W. Miller. 40 Contracted form of φάος cf. Liddell, Jones & Scott 1996, 1968. 41 Strack 1969, 151: φῶς ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ „Lichterscheinung“. White & Morgan 1896, 234: “light”, “brightness”. 42 Xen. Cyr. 4.2.21: ἢν δὲ τὸ καρτερὸν ἐμβαλόμενοι ἴωμεν ῥώμῃ καὶ θυμῷ ἐπὶ τοὺς πολεμίους, αὐτίκα μάλ᾽ ὄψεσθε ὥσπερ δούλων ἀποδιδρασκόντων ηὑρημένων τοὺς μὲν ἱκετεύοντας αὐτῶν, τοὺς δὲ φεύγοντας, τοὺς δ᾽ οὐδὲ ταῦτα φρονεῖν δυναμένους. ἡττημένοι τε γὰρ ὄψονται ἡμᾶς καὶ οὔτε οἰόμενοι ἥξειν οὔτε συντεταγμένοι οὔτε μάχεσθαι παρεσκευασμένοι κατειλημμένοι ἔσονται. Translation by W. Miller.

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In his speech to his army, Cyrus compares the enemies with fleeing slaves who will be panicked once they are surprised by the Persian alliance’s deployment. As can be seen in the subsequently following episode, Xenophon used the literary technique of vaticinuum ex eventu in this case. “And when light (φῶς) came, some of the enemy wondered at what they saw (οἱ μὲν ἐθαύμαζον τὰ ὁρώμενα), some realized at once what it meant (οἱ δ᾽ ἐγίγνωσκον ἤδη), some began to spread the news, some to cry out, some proceeded to untie the horses, some to pack up, others to toss the armour off the pack-animals, still others to arm themselves, while some were leaping upon their horses, some bridling them, others helping the women into the wagons, and others were snatching up their most valuable possessions to save them; still others were caught in the act of burying theirs, while the most of them sought refuge in precipitate flight (οἱ δὲ πλεῖστοι ἐς φυγὴν ὥρμων). We may imagine that they were doing many other things also – all sorts of other things – except that no one offered to resist, but they perished without striking a blow.” 43 Although the light phenomenon gives the whole episode high memorability, the Persians nontheless achieved victory due to Cyrus’ abilities as commander. Nevertheless, the victory has also a divine connotation, since the light phenomenon as divine sign signifies Cyrus as the gods’ favourite. According to the logic of Cyropaedia the Persians finally defeated the enemy decisively due to a combination of both circumstances depending on each other. On these grounds, the light phenomenon serves the purpose as a preannouncement within Xenophon’s complex account on Cyrus’ victory. The origin of the motif of the light phenomenon must be the next focus of the argument. All evidences of the striking Greek term for the light (φῶς) within Cyropaedia conveys an impression that one cannot interpret this phenomenon as merely daylight. The latter can be understood as the shining radiance of fire as well, what lays emphasis to the distinctiveness of this occurrence. 44 The fact that the divine symbol can be read in a Greek context as an expression of divine favour towards Cyrus, similar to the thunder and lightning in Cyr. 1.6.1 as discussed above, does not explain the episode’s awkwardness. Another striking point is that the light phenomenon in the Cyropaedia occurs in the context of an important battle where Cyrus defeats his enemy decisively, even without resistance worth mentioning. Moreover, this episode is of significance since it is without 43 Xen. Cyr. 4.2.28: τῶν δὲ πολεμίων, ἐπεὶ φῶς ἐγένετο, οἱ μὲν ἐθαύμαζον τὰ ὁρώμενα, οἱ δ᾽ ἐγίγνωσκον ἤδη, οἱ δ᾽ ἤγγελλον, οἱ δ᾽ ἐβόων, οἱ δ᾽ ἔλυον ἵππους, οἱ δὲ συνεσκευάζοντο, οἱ δ᾽ ἐρρίπτουν τὰ ὅπλα ἀπὸ τῶν ὑποζυγίων, οἱ δ᾽ ὡπλίζοντο, οἱ δ᾽ ἀνεπήδων ἐπὶ τοὺς ἵππους, οἱ δ᾽ ἐχαλίνουν, οἱ δὲ τὰς γυναῖκας ἀνεβίβαζον ἐπὶ τὰ ὀχήματα, οἱ δὲ τὰ πλείστου ἄξια ἐλάμβανον ὡς διασωσόμενοι, οἱ δὲ κατορύττοντες τὰ τοιαῦτα ἡλίσκοντο, οἱ δὲ πλεῖστοι ἐς φυγὴν ὥρμων: οἴεσθαι δὲ δεῖ καὶ ἄλλα πολλά τε καὶ παντοδαπὰ ποιεῖν αὐτούς, πλὴν ἐμάχετο οὐδείς, ἀλλ᾽ ἀμαχητὶ ἀπώλλυντο. Translation by W. Miller with slight modifications done by the author. 44 Xen. Cyr. 7.5.27; Cf. Strack 1969, 151.

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any parallel in Greek literature of Xenophon’s time. 45 As a look in Greek literature of the 5th and 4th century BCE reveals, the light phenomenon in Cyropaedia surely must have caught the ancient reader’s eye. In Herodotus’ archaiologia of Macedonia a similar occurance can be observed. As one learns from the Herodotean digression about how the first Argead king Perdiccas became the ruler of Macedonia, a light plays a decisive role for the further account. Since Peridiccas and his two brothers worked for a nameless tyrant ruling over the region of Lebaea, one day the siblings demanded their employer to pay them. The nameless tyrant, however, pointed towards the sunlight shining through the chimney of his house for their wages (ἦν γὰρ κατὰ τὴν καπνοδόκην ἐς τὸν οἶκον ἐσέχων ὁ ἥλιος). 46 Perdiccas knew about the significance of this sign and accepted it through taking possession of it (ἐς τὸν κόλπον τρὶς ἀρυσάμενος τοῦ ἡλίου). 47 It is of significance, that in this case the sunlight is not a normal beam of sunlight shining into a house. Herodotus finally uses the verb ἐσέχων to describe the way the light shines. Hence, the Greek reader imagines a light literally streaming into the tyrant’s house in the same way as water pouring out of a watering can, what qualifies the “sunlight” as a light phenomenon. 48 Be that as it may, the light phenomenon gains in importance if seen as a marker for transition in Herodotus’ account on Perdiccas. The position of the latter finally changed from an agricultural worker to both ruler over Macedonia and founder of the Argead dynasty. A previously only little-known fragment related to the Persika of Deinon of Kolophon (BNJ 690) creates the impression as well that light phenomena served as markers for transition in narrative. One can learn from the extant fragment that Deinon penned nearly the same story as a dream of Cyrus II interpreted by the Magi. 49 On these grounds, grasping for sunlight is a metaphor for becoming a ruler. Modern commentators, however, interpreted the light in Herodotus’ episode in different ways. 50 Nevertheless, Hermann Kleinknecht provided an outstanding interpretation for the many attestations of light phenomena in parallels ancient Near Eastern texts. The Greeks may have associated their gods with occurrences of light as well, but at the same time light phenomena occur in Mesopotamian and Persian sources in the

45 In the source for Diodorus’ account on a celestial phenomenon the sign was viewed as preannouncement that an empire will fall. The celestial phenomenon occurred before the battle of Leuktra (371 BCE) in which the Spartans lost their hegemony, cf. Diod. 15.50.2: ὤφθη μὲν γὰρ κατὰ τὸν οὐρανὸν ἐπὶ πολλὰς νύκτας λαμπὰς μεγάλη καομένη, ἀπὸ τοῦ σχήματος ὀνομασθεῖσα πυρίνη δοκίς. Possibly Callisthenes served as source for Diodorus’ account, what is presumed on the base of Aristotle’s explanations (Aristot. Meteor. 343b 23), who argued that this ὤφθη μὲν γὰρ κατὰ τὸν οὐρανὸν was a “kind of a meteor” (Liddell, Jones & Scott 1996, 443). Furthermore, aura of light was known to the Greeks as element of the Homeric heroes’ appearance, cf. Rollinger 1996. 46 Hdt. 8.137.4. 47 Hdt. 8.137.5. 48 Macan 1908 ad loc. 49 BNJ 690 F 10 = Cic., De div., 1.46. Cf. Nagel 1982, 67 calls it “Sonnenglanz des arischen Königtums”. 50 An overview on the debate is Müller 2016, 88–89.

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context of handover of power and fortunes of war. 51 The ancient Near Eastern evidence will concern us on a later occasion. The next focus of the argument must be the meaning of light phenomena in general within the Xenophontic corpus. One can find a similar episode in Xenophon’s account on his involvement in the revolt of the Achaemenid prince Cyrus the Younger, as he so famously told in his Anabasis. It is important to mention that right after the battle of Cunaxa in 401 BCE and the assassination of the Greek troops’ general Clearchus, a new phase in the author’s work begins. Xenophon henceforth places special emphasis on his personal role as participant and future leader of the March of the Ten Thousand mercenaries. Right after Clearchus’ death and shortly before Xenophon becomes the mercenaries’ leader, he informs his readership about a dream he had as character in the night before they started their long way back home. “Now when the time of perplexity came, he (scil. Xenophon) was distressed as well as everybody else and was unable to sleep; but, getting at length a little sleep, he had a dream. It seemed to him that there was a clap of thunder and a bolt fell on his father’s house, setting the whole house ablaze. He awoke at once in great fear, and judged the dream in one way an auspicious one, because in the midst of hardships and perils he had seemed to behold a great light from Zeus; but looking at it in another way he was fearful, since the dream came, as he thought, from Zeus the King and the fire appeared to blaze all about, lest he might not be able to escape out of the King’s country, but might be shut in on all sides by various difficulties.” 52 Xenophon’s personal dream in the Anabasis has a lot in common with the light from heaven known from Cyropaedia. Both occurrences are labelled as φῶς and are shining like fire/light (An.: λάμπεσθαι/φῶς, Cyr.: φῶς) 53 and always the gods in the sky are figured as senders of the light (An.: ἐκ Διὸς; Cyr.: ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ) which causes fear (An.: περίφοβος;

51 Kleinknecht 1966, 139–141 (“chaverno” as ancient Near Eastern motif). For problems related to the definition of the Iranian *chvarnah, cf. Wiesehöfer 2003, 174–175; Gnoli 1999; Jacobs 1987. 52 Xen. An. 3.1.11–12: ἐπεὶ δὲ ἀπορία ἦν, ἐλυπεῖτο μὲν σὺν τοῖς ἄλλοις καὶ οὐκ ἐδύνατο καθεύδειν: μικρὸν δ᾽ ὕπνου λαχὼν εἶδεν ὄναρ. ἔδοξεν αὐτῷ βροντῆς γενομένης σκηπτὸς πεσεῖν εἰς τὴν πατρῴαν οἰκίαν, καὶ ἐκ τούτου λάμπεσθαι πᾶσα. περίφοβος δ᾽ εὐθὺς ἀνηγέρθη, καὶ τὸ ὄναρ τῇ μὲν ἔκρινεν ἀγαθόν, ὅτι ἐν πόνοις ὢν καὶ κινδύνοις φῶς μέγα ἐκ Διὸς ἰδεῖν ἔδοξε: τῇ δὲ καὶ ἐφοβεῖτο, ὅτι ἀπὸ Διὸς μὲν βασιλέως τὸ ὄναρ ἐδόκει αὐτῷ εἶναι, κύκλῳ δὲ ἐδόκει λάμπεσθαι τὸ πῦρ, μὴ οὐ δύναιτο ἐκ τῆς χώρας ἐξελθεῖν τῆς βασιλέως, ἀλλ᾽ εἴργοιτο πάντοθεν ὑπό τινων ἀποριῶν. Translation by C. L. Brownson. 53 According to the commentary of Lendle 1995, 151 the dream is about a „Lichterscheinung“ (light phenomenon) and not about a fire. Moreover, Lendle 1995, 152 argues that the lightning’s fire covered everything around Xenophon’s father-house/the Greeks’ camp in divine light. Finally, the fiery light could be seen as the many fires in the camp of the great king’s army which might have influenced Xenophon in his dream: „… das Feuer des Blitzes schien rundum alles in Heiligkeit zu tauchen – als ob das griechische Lager (Vaterhaus) von Lichtern umstellt sei, welche Hindernisse symbolisierten (konkret gesprochen: von einem geschlossenen Ring der unzähligen Lagerfeuer des weit überlegenen Gegners, aus dem kein Ausweg mehr erkennbar war).“

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Cyr.: φρίκην). One also needs to bear in mind that the escape from a superior enemy is a common motif in both episodes (An.: ἐφοβεῖτο; Cyr.: ἐς φυγὴν ὥρμων). With his statement about the text’s meta level, Pericles Georges is definitely right by stressing out that Xenophon placed the light phenomenon to underline his Cyrus’ role as “the instrument of destiny.” 54 Nevertheless, in the case of the light phenomenon in the Anabasis, it heralds the start of the march of the Greek mercenaries back home. Thus, it is of significance, that one can interpret the mercenaries’ march back to Asia Minor as an attempt to escape from the great king. In this regard, the light phenomenon signals the beginning of the transition of Xenophon’s position becoming now the most important character in the story. 55 Furthermore, the light phenomenon occurs in the context of a dream of Zeus basileus, what is an additional argument for Xenophon exaggerating his own position as character in his story. 56 All in all, the light phenomenon in the dream is evidence for Xenophon as an author viewing his role as the mercenaries’ leader as divine chosen. Since the two light phenomena are important elements in Xenophon’s works, the question of their origin must be the next focus of the argument. Therefore, a closer look in the Persian contexts is worth a digression. It is a well-known fact that the history of the Achaemenid Empire lacks of autochthonous sources, for what reason both the Greek’s perception of Persian kingship and its historical setting within the history of ancient Near Eastern empires gain importance. 57 In the present case, we do not have any autochthonous textual sources for the TeispidAchaemenid period testifying a story about a great king and a light phenomenon. This is where the portrayals of Persian kings in Greek historiography come in. As the vigilant reader of Aeschylus’ play Persae notices, the Greeks associated Achaemenid kingship with light. A good example is the portrayal of Xerxes’ I mother Atossa whose appearance is equal to the eyes of the god associated with light (φῶς). “But look, here is a light like the eyes of the god, the mother of our king, my Queen. I bow low before her. It is fitting also that we all address her with words of salutation. The elders prostrate themselves and then rise to their feet. Their leader continues.” 58 Another passage of the Persae reveals that the salvation of Xerxes as great king and head of the royal Achaemenid dynasty finds its expression in light. 59

54 Georges 1994, 230. 55 Xen. An. 3.1.4; cf. Lendle 1995, 148. See also the detailed discussion of this dream’s significance for the Anabasis in Haywood 2016, 93–97 and Ma 2004, 336. 56 In Greek thought it is Zeus basileus who sends dreams to the humans, cf. Il. 2.6–7. Brownson 1921, 423 n. 1, for instance, viewed Zeus basileus as great king in this case. 57 Kuhrt 2007a. 58 Aeschyl. Pers. 150–154: ἀλλ᾽ ἥδε θεῶν ἴσον ὀφθαλμοῖς φάος ὁρμᾶται μήτηρ βασιλέως, βασίλεια δ᾽ ἐμή: προσπίτνω: καὶ προσφθόγγοις δὲ χρεὼν αὐτὴν πάντας μύθοισι προσαυδᾶν. Translation by H. W. Smyth. 59 Cf. Garvie 2009, 96, 111.

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“It is for this reason that there is a double concern in my mind: neither to hold in honor vast wealth without men, and that the light of success does not shine, in proportion to their strength, on men without riches. Our wealth, at all events, is ample, but my anxiety is for the light, the salvation of the house, which I regard to be the presence of its lord.” 60 These passages from Aeschylus’ play are not the only evidence for the Greeks’ awareness of the close connection of light (φῶς) with the Achaemenid dynasty, but the historiography on Alexander the Great is of importance as well. Plutarch’s account, for instance, is proof for the knowledge of this association by authors of the primary accounts on the Macedonian conquest. 61 The latter focused his account on the illustration of character of Alexander for what reason the young conqueror’s behavior towards the royal Achaemenid family looms large in his portrayal of the young conqueror. 62 In this context, one can pump some information from the account on the death of Darius’ wife, when Alexander provided her a Persian-style funeral. It finally is of significance that the only thing missing at the funeral was the light of her husband Darius III (τὸ σὸν ὁρᾶν φῶς) as a herald reported it to the great king. 63 Furthermore, a look in the history of Alexander penned by Quintus Curtius Rufus suggests that this idea was widely known among the primary authors. 64 In this case, a light phenomenon occurs in the context of Darius’ III prayer for defeating his opponent. 65 All the evidence discussed here finally implies that writers from both the Classical period and early Hellenistic period already associated Achaemenid kingship with light. 66 On this ground, the Asian context of light phenomena in Greek historiography calls for a close look in the ancient Near Eastern evidence. The rich corpus of Mesopotamian texts from the first Millennium BCE fortunately provides a myriad of related stories. In all likelihood, these stories had an influence on the later Persian idea and conception of kingship and empire. Experts on the Achaemenids focused on the ancient Near Eastern context of the Teispid and Achaemenid dynasties 60 Aeschyl. Pers. 165–170: ταῦτά μοι διπλῆ μέριμνα φραστός ἐστιν ἐν φρεσίν, μήτε χρημάτων ἀνάνδρων πλῆθος ἐν τιμῇ σέβειν μήτ᾽ ἀχρημάτοισι λάμπειν φῶς ὅσον σθένος πάρα. ἔστι γὰρ πλοῦτός γ᾽ ἀμεμφής, ἀμφὶ δ᾽ ὀφθαλμῷ φόβος: ὄμμα γὰρ δόμων νομίζω δεσπότου παρουσίαν. Translation by H. W. Smyth. 61 Cf. Plutarch’s sources Müller 2014, 124–128; Hammond 1993; Hamilton 1969. 62 See the discussion of this episode in full length in Müller 2011a. 63 Plut. Alex. 30.3: οὔτε γάρ ζώσῃ τῇ δεσποίνῃ Στατείρᾳ καὶ μητρὶ σῇ καὶ τέκνοις ἐνέδει τῶν πρόσθεν ἀγαθῶν καὶ καλῶν ἢ τὸ σὸν ὁρᾶν φῶς, ὃ πάλιν ἀναλάμψει λαμπρὸν ὁ κύριος Ὠρομάσδης, οὔτε ἀποθανοῦσα κόσμου τινὸς ἄμοιρος γέγονεν, ἀλλὰ καὶ πολεμίων τετίμηται δάκρυσιν. οὕτω γάρ ἐστι χρηστὸς κρατήσας Ἀλέξανδρος, ὡς δεινὸς μαχόμενος. Although the light in this episode did not attract any interest in scholarship so far, elements of Persian religion already were highlighted therein, cf. Hamilton 1969, 78. 64 On the Roman view of Achaemenid Persia see Makhlaiuk 2015. On Curtius’ sources and his literary techniques see now Wulfram 2016. On Cyropaedia’s impact on the Alexander-authors see the contribution of Sabine Müller in this volume. 65 Curt. 3.3.2–3. 66 On ancient Near Eastern elements in the sources on Alexander the Great see Rollinger & Degen 2020; Degen 2019a; Rollinger 2016b, esp. 220–235; Rollinger 2015; Howe 2008.

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and highlighted the Neo-Assyrian, Urarṭian and Neo-Babylonian influences on the Persian kingship in manifold ways. 67 For that reason, it is worthwhile looking closer at light phenomena appearing in the Neo-Assyrian texts about royal representation and propaganda. In general, the texts of the royal Assyrian inscriptions are portraying the king as a human being with superhuman skills, selected by the gods and exercising his office by divine sanction and with divine support. 68 To highlight such a special status of the king, the scribes of the royal texts relied on a broad repertoire of motifs and imageries, known from the Mesopotamian epic tradition and the literary depictions of gods. 69 Especially in the context of warfare, the Assyrian king stands in a total contrast to his enemies. One way to emphasize the king’s personal excellence and his divine support was to bring his aura into prominence. For these purposes, royal Assyrian inscriptions are referring to an old Mesopotamian tradition of iconographies and imageries for highlighting the divine support of the kings’ actions. One example is the Mesopotamian concept of melammu (sum. ME.LÁM) being radiant and an awe-inspiring sheen, frequently used for the iconographic and literary presentation of deities. In general, melammu “… imparts tremendous cosmic power on the divine agent who manages to hold it in custody.” 70 One can imagine melammu as a visible numinous light phenomenon of aura as a light beam, depicted as decisive effect on the battlefield causing terror and fear (pulḫu) in the Assyrian king’s opponent army. 71 Therefore, one can call the melammu a frightening glance (Schreckensglanz) in the context of warfare. In the Neo-Assyrian period melammu and pulḫu are elements of the superordinate concept of the divine selected Assyrian king as a victorious fighter in battle. The following examples give an insight that this concept of radiance and terror are well attested as essential elements of the Assyrian kings’ propaganda. In the case of Shalmaneser’s III (858–824) annals written on the so called Kurkh Monoliths – reporting about his campaigns against Ḫubuškia, Nairi, and Urarṭu in his accessional year – the aura of the god coming to his relief, for instance, is mentioned as decisive support to subdue the land of Nairi and make it tributary to the Assyrian Empire. “Kakia, king of the land Nairi, and the remainder of his troops became frightened in the face of the flash of my weapons (namurrat kakkūia iplaḫuma) and took to rugged mountains (for refuge). I climbed up the mountains after them. I waged mighty war in the mountains (and) defeated them. I brought back chariots, troops,

67 In general: Rollinger 2016b; Rollinger 2014a, 155–163; Rollinger 2012; Salvini 2012; Head 2010; Lanfranchi 2003; Dandamayev 1997. On Assyrian elements in Greek historiography about Persian affaires: Bichler & Rollinger 2017, 1–12; Rollinger 2017b; cf. Degen 2019b; Degen 2018a; Degen 2018b; Degen 2017, 56–67; Rollinger 2016a; Rollinger 2013a; Gufler & Madreiter 2015 and Huber 2005. 68 Fuchs 2011; Parpola 2010, 35–36; Parpola 1999. 69 Parker 2011, 359–364; Parpola 2010, 36–39; Holloway 2002, 178–193; van de Mieroop 1999, 76–85. 70 Ataç 2007, 310. 71 Pongratz-Leisten 2013, 4419; Ataç 2007, 295–296; Krebernik 1993–1997, 35.

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(and) teams of horses from the mountains. Overwhelmed by fear of the radiance of Aššur (pulḫi melamme), my lord, they came down (and) submitted to me. I imposed upon them tribute and tax.” 72 The complex concept of the divine selected king as a victorious fighter in battle calls for a closer examination. The first aspect to talk about is the selection of the king by the gods as precondition for the further motifs. Finally, in the very beginning of his annals, Shalmaneser III is portrayed as “desired object of the gods, chosen of the god Enlil” (šarru ba’īt illī nišit Enlil). 73 Hence, the text shows significance of the gods’ goodwill for the king through different attributions, whereby the adjuncts are of special interest. The namurratu of Shalmaneser’s III weapons, for instance, means to have a numinous splendour what is deeply connoted to divine objects. 74 In this way the text highlights Shalmaneser’s III as the gods’ preferential king. This namurratu further frightens the enemy for what the Assyrian king finally achieves victory by his special relation to the gods. According to Shalmaneser’s III text, his enemies’ fear of the divine aura and radiance of the god Aššur as his master (pulḫi melamme ša Aššur bēlija) is the decisive factor for the Assyrian army’s success on the battlefield. This specific motif is a formulaic part of nearly all Neo-Assyrian royal inscriptions. The melammu, however, is not strictly limited to the gods. The person of the king can also emanate this frightening glance. In the account on Sennacherib’s (705–680) famous third campaign in 696/95 against the insurrectionary cities in the Levant is an instance for the king’s divine aura as a decisive effect in combat. “On my third campaign, I marched to the land Ḫatti. Fear of my lordly brilliance (pulḫi melamme bēlūtia) overwhelmed Lulî, the king of the city Sidon, and he fled afar into the midst of the sea and disappeared. The awesome terror of the weapon (dunni pulḫi melamme) of the god Aššur, my lord, overwhelmed the cities Great Sidon, Lesser Sidon, Bīt-Zitti, Ṣarepta, Maḫalliba, Ušû, Akzibu, (and) Acco, his fortified cities (and) fortresses, an area of pasture(s) and water-place(s), resources upon which he relied, and they bowed down at my feet.” 75 72 RIMA 3 A.0.102.2 i 20b’-23a’: mka-ki-a MAN KUR na-i-ri Ù si-te-et ÉRIN.ḪI.A.MEŠ-šú TA pa-an na-mur-rat GIŠ.TUKUL.MEŠ-ia ip-la-ḫu-ma KUR.MEŠ-e dan-nu-ti iṣ-ba-îu EGIR-šú-nu ana KUR-e e-li MÈ dan-nu ina qé-reb KUR-e áš-ku-un BAD5.BAD5-šú-nu am- ḫa-aṣ GIŠ.GIGIR ÉRIN.ḪI.A.MEŠ ANŠÉ.KÚR.RA.MEŠ LAL-at GIŠ.GIŠ TA qé-reb KUR-e ú-te-ra púl-ḫi me-lam-me šá aš-šsur EN-ia. Translation by A. K. Grayson. Cf. ibid. ll. 30’ and 74’. 73 RIMA 3, 13 A.0.102.2 i 6’, for the problem of semantics see CAD 2, 33. 74 CAD 11,1, 253. 75 RINAP 3,1 22 ii 37’-46’: i-na šal-ši ger-ri-ia a-na KUR.ḫat-ti lu al-lik mlu-li-i LUGAL URU. ṣi-du-un-ni pul-ḫi me-lam-me be-lu-tia is-ḫu-pu-šu-ma a-na ru-uq-qí qa-bal tam-tim in-na-bit-ma šad-da-šú e-mid URU. ṣi-du-un-nu GAL-ú URU.ṣi-du-un-nu TUR URU-É-zi-it-ti URU.ṣa-ri-ip-tu URU.ma-ḫal-li-ba URU.ú-šu-ú URU.ak-zi-bi URU.ak-ku-ú URU.MEŠ-šú dan-nu-ti É BÀD.MEŠ a-šar ri-i-ti ù maš-qí-ti É tuk-la-te-šú ra-šub-bat GIŠ.TUKUL d aš-šur EN-ia is-ḫu-pu-šú-nu-ti-ma ik-nu-šú še-pu-ú-a. Translation by J. Novotny.

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Sennacherib’s presence on the battlefield is a beam of light shining on his enemies and causing terror. The term pulḫi melamme aims to create the idea of Sennacherib as martial superior king, who can easily subdue his enemies thanks to divine support. Finally, the Assyrian king’s enemy only finds shelter in the blank spaces of the known world called the “midst of the sea” (qâbal tamtim). 76 The motif of the divine selected king as victorious fighter in battle with his melammu finally embraces some more specific imageries related to deities. One of these imageries is the so-called splendid flame (nablu šurruḫu) attributed to the victorious Assyrian king. The clay prisms of Tiglath-pileser I (1114–1076) from the Middle Assyrian period can give an insight what this imagery reveals. “Tiglath-pileser … radiant day whose brilliance (ša melammušu) overwhelms the regions, splendid flame (nablu šurruḫu) which covers the hostile land like a rain storm and, by the command of the god Enlil, having no rival defeats the enemy of the god Aššur.” 77 Nearly 400 years later, the same imagery was used by Esarhaddon (680–669), asserting in his report about his invasion in Egypt in the so-called victory- or Zinçirli-stele his martial power what derives from his special relation as king to the gods. “… the king, [whom] the lord of lords, the god Marduk, made greater than the kings of the four quarters, whose lordship he made the greatest … The assault of his fierce battle is a blazing flame, a restless fire.” 78 The idea of the victorious king who subdues his enemies as a flame also includes the impact on the enemy of the rushing ahead reputation of the Assyrian king, which in the case of Esarhaddon solely brings fear to his opponents whenever he arrives in their vicinity.

76 On fringes and borders and the imagery of the “midst of the sea” in Neo-Assyrian inscriptions see Lang & Rollinger 2010. 77 RIMA 2 A.0.87.1 i 40’-45’: e-liš ù šap-liš u4-mu né-par5-du-ú ša me-lam-mu-šu UB.MEŠ ú-saḫḫa-pu nab-lu šur-ru-ḫu šá ki-ma ti-ik ri-iḫ-ṣi a-na KUR nu-kúr-te šuz(*)-nu-nu-ma i-na si-qir den-líl ma-ḫi-ra la-a i-šu-ú ú-šam-qi-tu gi-ir d a-šur. Translation by A. K. Grayson. 78 RINAP 4, 184 rev. 7b-14: ú-kin-nu GIŠ.TUKUL.MEŠ-šú-nu la pa-du-u-ti a-na ši-rik-ti EN-ti-šú iš-ru-ku LUGAL [ša] EN EN.MEŠ d AMAR.UTU UGU LUGAL.MEŠ-ni ša kib-rat LÍMMU-ti ú-šá-te-ru ú-šar-bu-u EN-u-su KUR.KUR DÙ-ši-na a-na GÌR.MEŠ-šú ú-šak-ni-šú bil-tu ù man-daat-tu UGU-ši-na ú-kin-nu ka-šid a-a-bé-e-šú mu-ḫal-li-qu ga-re-e-šú LUGAL šá tal-lak-ta-šú a-bubu-um-ma ep-še-ta-šú lab-bu na-ad-ru pa-nu-uš-šú URU-um-ma ar-ke-e-šú ti-lu qit-ru-ub ta-ḫa-zi-šú dan-nu nab-lu muš-taḫ-mì-ṭu dGIŠ.BAR la a-ni-ḫu. Translation by E. Leichty.

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“He heard my royal message, which burns my enemy like a flame, and he doubled over at the hips; his heart stopped and his knees trembled. He tore off his royal garment and clothed his body with sackcloth, the garment of a sinner.” 79 This idea circulated in the ancient Near East and gave the representation of the Assyrian kings the status of a role model for rulers to come. A good argument can be made by the Babylonian version of king Darius’ I Behistun-inscription in which the Achaemenid speaks about his victories against the so-called liar-kings. “As soon as I was near Elam, the Elamites were afraid of me. Then they arrested that Martiya who was their chief and killed him of their own volition.” 80 The same concept of fearing the arrival of the legitimate king is attested in the Old Persian version of Darius’ I tomb inscription – which was also copied and extended by Xerxes I – as afuvā- “to fear for one’s life”. 81 That finally testifies the persistence of Assyrian ideas of royal qualities in Persian times. “Moreover this (is) my ability, that my body is strong. As a fighter I am a good fighter. At once my intelligence stands in its place, whether I see a rebel or not. Both by intelligence and by command at that time I regard myself as superior to panic, when I see a rebel just as when I do not see (one).” 82 The image of the king as a good fighter and defeater of rebels affected with drauga- (op. lie, injustice) is an essential part of royal Achaemenid ideology. In this regard, the fact looms large that the Achaemenid idea of fuvā- roots in the Assyrian concept of ḫattu, the panic flight of the king’s enemy. 83 The semantic of divine support, however, covers some more imageries than light. In the picturesque writing of Assyrian inscriptions, the king’s power based on divine support, for instance, is a splendid flame. Ashurbanipal’s II (669-ca. 627) report about his campaign against the Arabs gives a very graphic account about the support of the goddess Ištar of Arbela.

79 RINAP 4, 81 Esarhaddon 33 obv. col. I 1–7: šu-ú na-áš-par-ti LUGAL-ti-ia šá ki-ma nab-li i-qammu-u  a-a-biiš-me-ma qa-bal-šú im-qut-su-ma lìb-ba-šú ṣa-bit-ma i-tar-ru-ra iš-da-a-šú lu-bul-ti MAN-ti-šú iš-ḫu-uṭ-ma ba-šá-mu ṣu-bat EN ar-ni e-di-qa zu-mur-šú. Translation by E. Leichty. 80 Cf. DB (bab.) §23 by Voigtlander 1978, 23: šá ┌ ana┐-ku it-ta-ḫu KUR e-lam-mat [LÚ] ┌ e-lam┐-mat [MEŠ] la-pa-ni-┌iá┐ ip-┌ tal-ḫu┐ ár-ki iṣ-ṣab-tu-[’]-ma a-na mmar-ti-iá a-ga-šu-u šá ina muḫ-ḫi-šú-nu GAL-ú ina ra-ma-ni-šú-nu id-du-ku-šú mda-ri-ia-muš LUGAL. Translation by E. Voigtlander. 81 Schmitt 2014, 126 s.v. afuvā-: „panische bzw. Todesangst“. 82 DNb (op.) §2b = XPl (op.) §2b. Translation by Kuhrt 2007b, 503–504. 83 Rollinger 2017a, 205; Rollinger 2016b; Lincoln 2007, 17–32.

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“Ištar who lives in Arbela was dressed in fire and a formidable glance (melamme) let fire rain down on the land of the Arabs. The heroic Girra, having organized the battle array (overthrew my enemy).” 84 The divine support in the form of a fire rain or formidable glance as the goddess’ epithet is a persistent ancient Near Eastern motif with roots in the Old Babylonian period. 85 However, this goes even further if one takes Ashurbanipal’s report about his victory against the Elamites in account. In this case an epiphany of the goddess Ištar with fire appears as an oneiric image in the king’s dream. “During the course of the night that I had appealed to her, a dream interpreter lay down and saw a dream. He woke up and (then) reported to me the night vision that the goddess Ištar had shown him, saying: ‘The goddess Ištar who resides in the city Arbela entered and she had quivers hanging on the right and left. She was holding a bow at her side (and) she was unsheathing a sharp sword that (was ready) to do battle. You (Ashurbanipal) stood before her (and) she was speaking to you like (your own) birth-mother. The goddess Ištar, the sublime one of the gods, called out to you, instructing you, saying: ‘You are looking forward to waging war (and) I myself am about to set out towards my destination (the battlefield).’ … She took you into her sweet embrace and protected your entire body. Fire flared up in front of her (pānušša Girra innapiḫ). She went off furiously outside. She directed her attention towards Teumman, the king of the land Elam, with whom she was angr[y].” 86 In the case of Ashurbanipal’s dream Ištar acts like a mother for the Assyrian king, since on the one hand she protects the Assyrian king like a son and on the other hand she fights his enemies. 87 Hence, it is of significance, that in a later passage of the Ashurbanipal’s 84 Streck 1916, 78, ix ll. 79–82: iluištar a-ši-bat aluarba-ilu iluišâtum lit-bu-šat me-lam-me na-ša-a-ta eli mâtu a-ri-bi i-za-an-nun nab-li iluGira (Ura) kar-du a-nun-tu ku-uṣ-ṣur-ma. Translation by the author. For the problematic phrase “Girra qardu anuntu kuṣṣurma” see CAD 1, 2, 150. 85 VAS 10 213 i 5 in CAD 11,1, 26: ([u]šaznan I nakrāti tuqmata ša kî a-[b]-i]: “I (scil. Ištar) let the onslaught which is like flames rain down in warfare.” 86 RINAP 5 Ashurbanipal 003 v ll. 48b-72: ina šat mu-ši šu-a-tu šá am-ḫur-ši 1-en LÚ.šab-ru-u ú-tu-ul-ma i-na-aṭ-ṭal MÁŠ.GI₆ i-gi-il-ti-ma tab-rit mu-ši ša d15 ú-šab-ru-šú e-ru-ba-am-ma 15 u 2.30 tu-ul-la-ta iš-pa-a-ti tam-ḫa-at GIŠ.PAN ina i-di-šá šal-pat nam-ṣa-ru zaq-tú šá e-peš ta-ḫa-zi ma-ḫar-šá ta-zi-iz ši-i ki-ma AMA a-lit-ti i-tam-ma-a it-ti-ka il-si-ka d15 šá-qut DINGIR.MEŠ i-šakkan-ka ṭè-e-mu um-ma ta-na-aṭ-ṭa-la a-na e-peš šá-áš-me a-šar pa-nu-u-a šak-nu te-ba-ku a-na-ku at-ta ta-qab-bi-šá um-ma a-šar tal-la-ki it-ti-ki lul-lik dbe-let GAŠAN.MEŠ ši-i tu-šá-an-nak-ka um-ma at-ta a-kan-na lu áš-ba-ta a-šar maš-kán-i-ka a-kul a-ka-lu ši-ti ku-ru-un-nu nin-gu-tú šu-kun nu-ʾi-id DINGIR-ti a-di al-la-ku šip-ru šu-a-tu ep-pu-šú ú-šak-šá-du ṣu-um-me-rat lìb-bi-ka pa-nuu-ka ul ur-raq ul i-nàr-ru-ṭa GÌR.II-ka ul ta-šam-maṭ zu-ut-ka ina MURUB₄ tam-ḫa-ri ina ki-rimmì-šá DÙG.GA taḫ-ṣi-in-ka-ma taḫ-te-na gi-mir la-ni-ka pa-nu-uš-šá dGIŠ.BAR in-na-pi-iḫ šam-riš ta-at-ta-ṣi a-na a-ḫa-a-ti e-li mte-um-man MAN KUR.ELAM.MA.KI ša ug-gu-ga-ta pa-nu-uš-šá taš-kun. Translation by J. Novotny. 87 Zgoll 2006, 209.

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report the Elamite enemy escaped in panic from the battlefield. 88 As one can clearly see, in the world of royal Assyrian propaganda, the success of Ashurbanipal finally originates from the support of Ištar. 89 Taking all the cuneiform evidence discussed above in consideration, one can draw some parallels to Xenophon’s dream in the Anabasis. Firstly, the context of both episodes is a dream calling for interpretation. While Xenophon interprets his dream in different ways, a professional interpreter of dreams (šabrû) provides his exegesis to Ashurbanipal. Secondly, the divine epiphany is associated with fire. On these grounds, the two dreams of Ashurbanipal and Xenophon have the same ambivalence of the divine figure as protagonist in common. Nevertheless, the ancient Near Eastern background of the light phenomenon in Cyropaedia is still urging examination. Again, in this case, the Neo-Assyrian inscriptions proof their high value as sources. In the world of Assyrian propaganda, the pious king’s ability to strike his enemies with lightnings highlights the divine support of his campaign. A good example is the portrayal of Sennacherib’s royal qualities. “Sennacherib, great king, strong king, king of Assyria, unrivalled king, pious shepherd who reveres the great gods, guardian of truth who loves justice, renders assistance, goes to the aid of the weak, (and) strives after good deeds, perfect man, virile warrior, foremost of all rulers, the bridle that controls the insubmissive, (and) the one who strikes enemies with lightning (mušabriqu).” 90 A close look into Sennacherib’s inscriptions reveals that this characterisation is not a single case. The trope of the king who strikes enemies with lightnings is a frequent element in royal propaganda of Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian period. 91 This is of significance, since Mesopotamian texts view the act of striking someone or something with a lightning (barāqu) as a supernatural incident strictly linked to gods. 92 In regard of the light phenomenon in Cyropaedia the function of lightnings as preannouncement of

88 RINAP 5 Ashurbanipal 003 v ll. 79b-86. 89 The relevance of dreams for the Assyrian king’s official representation gained more in importance during the late period of the Neo-Assyrian Empire, cf. Pongratz-Leisten 1999, 120–127. 90 RINAP 3 Sennacherib 001 ll. 1’-3’ mdEN.ZU-ŠEŠ.MEŠ-eri-ba LUGAL GAL LUGAL dan-nu LUGAL KUR aš-šur.KI LUGAL la šá-na-an RE.É.UM mut-nen-nu-ú pa-liḫ DINGIR.MEŠ GAL. MEŠ na-ṣir kit-ti ra-ʾi-im mi-šá-ri e-piš ú-sa-a-ti a-lik tap-pu-ut a-ki-i sa-ḫi-ru dam-qa-a-ti eṭ-lum gít-ma-lum zi*-ka-ru qar-du a-šá-red kal ma-al-ki rap-pu la-ʾi-iṭ la ma-gi-ri mu-šab-ri-qu za-ma-a-ni. Translation by A. K. Grayson and J. Novotny. 91 RINAP 3: 2, 1; 3, 1; 4, 1; 5, 1; 8, 1; 9, 1; 15, i 1; 16, i 1; 17, i 1; 18, i 1; 22, i 1; 23, i 1; 24, i 1; 27, i 1; 31, i 1; 46, i 1; 136, i 1; 153, i 1; 154, i 1; 213, 1; 230, 3. RiBO 7 Nabopolassar 05 i ll. 19’-24’: “When, by the commands of the gods Nabû and Marduk, the beloved of my royal majesty, and (with) the strong weapon of the awesome god Erra, the one who constantly strikes my enemies with lightning …” e-nu-ma i-na qí-bí-a-tì dna-bi-um ù d AMAR.UTU na-ra-am šar-ru₄-ti-ia ù GIŠ.TUKUL-kí da-núm ša dèr-ra ra-šu-ub-bu mu-uš--ab-ri-qu za-à-ri-ia. Translation by R. Da Riva and J. Novotny. 92 CAD 2, 103 s.v. barāqu: “to strike with lightning … to flash (said of lightning).”

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the advancing Assyrian army gains in importance for the argumentation. A good example is Esarhaddon’s report about his surprise attack on Egypt. 93 “[In accordance with the god Aššur, m]y [lord] (and) by my own intelligence, [it occurred] to me […] in water skins (and) bags […] wh[ere] snakes (and) scorpions […] in (its) midst, he heard my prayer [… The god Adad] produced heat lightning high [over the] entire [sky]. In the city [… inter]twined [trees] that I saw, the l[ight …]” 94 It seems that the light phenomenon in Cyropaedia is a mixture of ancient Near Eastern light phenomena originating from ancient Near Eastern royal propaganda. Both motifs and contexts imply for ancient Near Eastern impact on Xenophon’s works. The persistence of that imagery during Achaemenid times can be taken for granted through images depicting the royal aura and radiance. 95 Another possibility is that Xenophon had the Iranian *chvarnah in mind when he wrote these episodes. Nevertheless, the significance of *chvarnah and its meaning for the Achaemenid royal representation is debated fiercely among scholars. 96 To get a better understanding of ancient Near Eastern motifs used by Xenophon, let us look on another passage out of the Anabasis. The Assyrian concept of the divine selected king as victorious fighter in battle also includes that the divine power becomes visible and supports the fight of the Assyrian king against his enemy. This idea is also present in Xenophon’s historical digression about the history of the city Mespila, the ancient capital of the former Assyrian Empire, which the author adds after the Ten Thousand reached the city’s ruins. 97 “To this city also the king of the Persians laid siege, but he was unable to capture it either by length of siege or by storm; Zeus, however, terrified the inhabitants with thunder, and thus the city was taken.” 98

93 Cf. Radner 2008. For the Greek reception of these campaigns see Rollinger 2004; Rollinger & Lang 2004. 94 RINAP 4 Esarhaddon 036 ll. 4’-8’: [(…) ki-i? qí-bit ? AN.ŠÁR? EN]-⸢ia?⸣ ina ṭè-me ra-ma-ni-ia ina GEŠTU.⸢II⸣-[ia ib-ši-ma …] ina ⸢KUŠ.na⸣-a-di KUŠ.ḫi-in-ti x […] x ⸢a⸣-[šar] MUŠ.MEŠ GÍR.TAB. ⸢MEŠ⸣ [… a]-⸢na?⸣ qer-⸢biš⸣ iš-ma-a su-up-pi-⸢ia⸣ [… dIŠKUR ina AN]-⸢e⸣ DAGAL.MEŠ šá-qiš iṣ-ṣanab-bur ina ⸢URU⸣.[…] [… iṣ-ṣi ḫi-it]-⸢lu⸣-pu-ti šá e-mu-ru ⸢pa⸣-[an dUTU-ši …]. Translation by E. Leichty and J. Novotny. 95 Cf. Wiesehöfer 2003; Parpola 2000; Gnoli 1999; Winter 1994; Jacobs 1987; Lecoq 1984. 96 Cf. Wiesehöfer 2003; Gnoli 1999; Jacobs 1987; Lecoq 1984. 97 For identifying Mespila with the former Assyrian capital Niniveh see Lendle 1995, 175–177; more cautious is Tuplin 2003, 370–379. 98 Xen. An. 3.4.12: ταύτην δὲ τὴν πόλιν πολιορκῶν ὁ Περσῶν βασιλεὺς οὐκ ἐδύνατο οὔτε χρόνῳ ἑλεῖν οὔτε βίᾳ: Ζεὺς δὲ βροντῇ κατέπληξε τοὺς ἐνοικοῦντας, καὶ οὕτως ἑάλω. Translation by C. L. Brownson.

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Because of the account’s historical context, one can identify the Persian king in this episode as Cyrus II. 99 This brief account has a lot in common with the Assyrian kings’ propaganda, since it was the god Zeus who terrified the inhabitants of the city and thus allowed the Persian king to seize it. The account reads similar to the royal Assyrian propaganda in which the divine support of the god Aššur is superficial, as examined above. Hence, one can imagine that Xenophon heard such stories with a lot in common with the Assyrian kings’ propaganda and made it through referring to thunder-chucking Zeus more understandable for his Greek audience. Nevertheless, this brief account in Xenophon’s digression about Mespila can be seen as interpretatio Graeca of a story which motif derives either from an older Assyrian or a younger Persian layer of information. 100 At least one question remains unanswered: How did Xenophon become conscious of the trope of the light phenomenon? A too simplistic answer could be that the author caught up all information through stories he heard in the milieu of Cyrus the Younger, where he was present as a high ranked guest. Although Xenophon states in his Cyropaedia that the story about the light phenomenon derives from oral tradition, he declares the source of information as λέγεται, as a sort of “source-reference”. 101 Nevertheless, other possible scenarios of information procurement can be added here. Scholarship views oral tradition as the most probable channel of transmission for Greek authors to get information on ancient Near Eastern motifs. 102 It is more plausible to argue that Xenophon heard such tales some time during his presence in Asia. Some passages, for instance, are evidential as they demonstrate that Xenophon held conversations with different local elites he had met during the March of the Ten Thousand. 103 For the impression that Cyropaedia’s light phenomenon is based on a story which Xenophon himself caught up is based on the author’s statement of λέγεται. 104 That the assumption of Xenophon’s personal back99 Xen. An. 3.4.8: ταύτην βασιλεὺς Περσῶν ὅτε παρὰ Μήδων τὴν ἀρχὴν ἐλάμβανον Πέρσαι πολιορκῶν οὐδενὶ τρόπῳ ἐδύνατο ἑλεῖν: ἥλιον δὲ νεφέλη προκαλύψασα ἠφάνισε μέχρι ἐξέλιπον οἱ ἄνθρωποι, καὶ οὕτως ἑάλω. 100 On Greek, Neo-Assyrian, Neo-Babylonian and Achaemenid elements mixed up in Herodotus’ medikos logos and the vexed question to decide the cultural coding see Degen 2018b. On scholarship’s cluelessness of Xenophon’s source for Xen. An. 3.4.12 see Lendle 1995, 177. 101 Due 1989, 31 n. 8 provides as list with all of Xenophon’s references to oral sources. He thinks that Xenophon “creates an illusion of historical research and truth, much in the manner of Herodotus” by making λέγεται-statements. See also Tamiolaki 2017, 174, 176–177; Vlassopoulos 2017, 364. 102 Madreiter 2018; Wiesehöfer 2018. Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1985, 460 already argued for oral tradition: “I think it is possible that he did, as did Herodotus and Ctesias for large parts of their works.” See also Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1994 for arguing that Herodotus’ medikos logos is based on oral tradition. Due 1989, 141 is definitely way too optimistic in assessing the influence of ancient Near Eastern oral history on Xenophon: “He (scil. Xenophon) is actually the first Greek author to use correct Persian technical terms.” Herodotus had more knowledge on ancient Near Eastern terms and issues, cf. Rollinger 2017b; Schwab 2017. 103 A good example is Xen. An. 4.6.28, 34 where Xenophon states that he had dinner with a village headman, to whom he talked through a translator. See Vlassopoulos 2013 for the collection of passages which hint to intercultural communication in the case of Xenophon’s works. 104 Xen. Cyr. 4.2.15.

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ground, however, has something to do with this is based on firm ground. Another possible channel of transmission could be the one through the presence of Iranian priests in the Western parts of the Achaemenid Empire. In his epigraphical study on Iranian onomastics in sanctuaries of Asia Minor, Stephen Mitchell underlined the importance of Persian priests for the local religious landscape. 105 In this regard, it is of significance that Xenophon had contact with the sacristan of the sanctuary of Artemis of Ephesus titled as Megabyzus (καταλείπει παρὰ Μεγαβύζῳ τῷ τῆς Ἀρτέμιδος νεωκόρῳ). 106 In this case it is of significance that the official title goes back to the Old Persian name of Bagabuxšameaning “who delights the god(s)”. 107 As the evidence won from onomastics suggests, the inhabitants of the Aegean worlds had not to travel far for meeting persons with an ancient Near Eastern background. All in all, it can be taken for granted that Xenophon knew about the ancient Near Eastern origin of the light phenomenon, but it is not possible to link it with the historical Cyrus II. It is striking that Xenophon perceived divine guidance as an element of good leadership, for what reason he mentioned the light phenomenon as an expression for divine support in both of his works. Although the two light phenomena occur in different contexts, Xenophon interpreted both in the same way. 108 Be that as it may, the episodes discussed above leave no room for doubt that Xenophon knew about the melammu and its contexts as well as its consequences. Furthermore, it seems that during his time in Asia Xenophon created himself an image of what appealed to be Asiatic. It is striking that he made use of that motif to underline his personal excellence in the Anabasis and to highlight the divine support of his Cyrus in the Cyropaedia. This analysis with the Eastern tradition can also be seen in the case of the tales about Alexander the Great crossing rivers, where Mesopotamian pioneer techniques were used to highlight Alexander’s genius, as Robert Rollinger has stressed in his seminal monography. 109 Yet, Xenophon’s occupation with elements of the royal Achaemenid ideology should certainly be called creative with the aim to open up a stage for positive moral judgements on his Cyrus the Great.

105 Mitchell 2007. 106 Xen. An. 5.3.6–7. 107 Lendle 1995, 314–315 argues that Megabyzus was not an individual name but a title for the castrated chief-priests of Artemis of Ephesus. For Megabyzus as a well-attetsed Iranian name in pre-Xenophontic time see Schmitt 2002, 61–62; cf. Schmitt 2005. For Xenophon’s manifold contacts with Iranians in Asia Minor see Vlassopoulos 2017, 361–364. 108 About Xenophon’s view on divine guidance as important element for good leadership see Haywood 2016. 109 Rollinger 2013b.

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Xenophon on Persian Strategies for Legitimising Power: The Empire as Gift of the Gods Although Xenophon characterizes Cyrus as a human being with divine ancestry, he refrains to portray him as an anthropomorphic god. 110 For this reason, the Xenophontic Cyrus is primarily a scion of the gods and descendant of an unbroken line of kings, who finally departs to the gods after respiring his terminal breath. 111 Hence, the Cyropaedia creates the image of Cyrus as divinely selected king through emphasizing his special relation to the gods. In Xenophon’s eyes, divine goodwill towards the king is an essential element of the great king’s legitimation. Finally, the gods were the decisive power bestowing βασιλεία upon Cyrus’ son and his successor Cambyses. This idea even centres Cyrus’ last words to his son on his deathbed. “So you, Cambyses, shall have the throne, the gift of the gods and of myself, in so far as it is mine to give …” 112 Another passage shows that Persian kingship in the Cyropaedia’s is legitimized by the great king’s reference to his dominion over his empire being predicated on divine goodwill. The Xenophontic Cyrus uses this idea as an argument in his announcement to his army after seizing Lydia. “Friends and allies, thanks be above all to the gods that they have vouchsafed to us to obtain all that we thought we deserved. For now we are in possession of broad and fertile lands and of subjects to support us by tilling them; we have houses also and furniture in them …” 113

110 Ad divine ancestry: Xen. Cyr. 4.1.24; 7.2.24. Cf. Tuplin 2013, 70 (in the case of Cyropaedia); Rollinger 2011 and Briant 2002, 240–254 (about the alleged apotheosis of the Achaemenid king according to Greek and Roman sources). Unlike the images of Herodotus and Ctesias, the Xenophontic Cyrus has all in all little to do with the Greek stereotypes among Asiatic monarchs, cf. Lanfranchi 2010; Azoulay 2004. 111 Xen. Cyr. 8.7.2: κοιμηθεὶς δ᾽ ἐν τῷ βασιλείῳ ὄναρ εἶδε τοιόνδε. ἔδοξεν αὐτῷ προσελθὼν κρείττων τις ἢ κατὰ ἄνθρωπον εἰπεῖν: συσκευάζου, ὦ Κῦρε: ἤδη γὰρ εἰς θεοὺς ἄπει. τοῦτο δὲ ἰδὼν τὸ ὄναρ ἐξηγέρθη καὶ σχεδὸν ἐδόκει εἰδέναι ὅτι τοῦ βίου ἡ τελευτὴ παρείη. On Achaemenid strategies for legitimasing power see now Rollinger 2017a, 210–213; Rollinger 2014a, 155–157; Jacobs & Trampedach 2013, 60–71. 112 Xen. Cyr. 8.7.11: καὶ σὺ μέν, ὦ Καμβύση, τὴν βασιλείαν ἔχε, θεῶν τε διδόντων καὶ ἐμοῦ ὅσον ἐν ἐμοί … Translation by W. Miller. 113 Xen. Cyr. 7.5.72: ἐπεὶ δὲ συνῆλθον, ἔλεξε τοιάδε. ἄνδρες φίλοι καὶ σύμμαχοι, τοῖς μὲν θεοῖς μεγίστη χάρις ὅτι ἔδοσαν ἡμῖν τυχεῖν ὧν ἐνομίζομεν ἄξιοι εἶναι. νῦν γὰρ δὴ ἔχομεν καὶ γῆν πολλὴν καὶ ἀγαθὴν καὶ οἵτινες ταύτην ἐργαζόμενοι θρέψουσιν ἡμᾶς: ἔχομεν δὲ καὶ οἰκίας καὶ ἐν ταύταις κατασκευάς. Translation by W. Miller.

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Cyrus thanks the gods for achieving his conquests what brought him in charge of whole Ἀσία, i.e. the Achaemenid Empire of Xenophon’s days. 114 This idea, for instance, becomes clearly visible in another passage of Cyropaedia where Cyrus requests for reinforcements: “Accordingly, I have decided that one of you should go with all speed to Persia, present my message and ask them to send reinforcements with the utmost dispatch, if the Persians desire to have control of Asia and the revenues accruing therefrom.” 115 To detect the origins of the idea of Asia as the gift of the gods to the Persian king, one needs to search for other accounts about a divinely ordained king conquering lands by the favour of the gods. One can find this specific idea in indigenous sources of the Persian Empire. The earliest Persian evidence of this strategy of representing the king as person selected by a supreme deity is the famous Cyrus-Cylinder. “He (scil. Marduk) … searched through all the countries, examined (them), he sought a just ruler to suit his heart, he took him by the hand (ittamaḫ qatuššu): Cyrus, king of Anshan (=Parsa/Fars), he called, for the dominion over the totality (kullata napḫar) he named his name.” 116 The text imagines at first that the Babylonian deity Marduk gave the dominion over all lands in the sense of the universe to Cyrus. This definitely creates the image of the Persian king’s rule over the entire universe (napḫaru). Furthermore, the text states that the totality was given by Marduk in Cyrus’ hands, what creates the impression of the ancient Near Eastern gesture of dexiosis. 117 Furthermore, an inscription on a brick of the so-called “gate of Cyrus” from the Egišnugal wall of Ur puts a finer point to this idea. “Kuraš, the king of the world, the king of the land Anšan, son of Kambužiya, the king of the land Anšan. The great gods have given me all lands in my hands (kullat mātāti ana qatija si.a-ma) and thereupon I let live the land in calm dwelling.” 118 114 The same idea is prominent in both Herodotus’ Histories and Alexander-historiography, cf. Nawotka 2012. 115 Xen. Cyr. 4.5.16: δοκεῖ οὖν μοι ὡς τάχιστα ἰέναι τινὰ ὑμῶν εἰς Πέρσας καὶ διδάσκειν ἅπερ ἐγὼ λέγω, καὶ κελεύειν ὡς τάχιστα ἐπιπέμπειν στράτευμα, εἴπερ ἐπιθυμοῦσι Πέρσαι τὴν ἀρχὴν τῆς Ἀσίας αὐτοῖς καὶ τὴν κάρπωσιν γενέσθαι. 116 Schaudig 2001, 552 Z. 12: ir-ta-ši ta-a-a-ra kul-lat ma-ta-a-ta ka-li-ši-na i-ḫi-iṭ ib-re-e-ma* iš-te’e-e-ma ma-al-ki i-šá-ru bi-bil šà-bi-ša it-ta-ma-aḫ qa-tu-uš-šu Iku-ra-áš LUGAL URU an-ša-an it-ta-bi ni-bi-it-su a-na ma-li-ku-tì kul-la-ta nap-ḫar iz-zak-ra šu-┌um-šú┐*. Translation by Kuhrt 2007b, 182. 117 Rollinger & Niedermayr 2007, 135–143. See also Plut. Alex. 43.4 where Darius III bestows the Persian realm to Alexander by the gesture of dexiosis. 118 K 2.1a. An edition with German translation is Schaudig 2001, 549: Iku-ra-áš LUGAL šár LUGAL KUR aš-ša-an dumu Ikam-bu-zi-ia LUGAL KUR ašša-an DINGIR.DINGIR GAL.GAL kal KUR.KUR a-na qá-ti-ia si.a-ma kur šu-ub-ti né-eḫ -ti ú-še-šib*. Translation by the author.

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The text portrays Cyrus not only as a just ruler, but his dominion over the empire is also represented as divinely ordained. According to the inscription, the favour of the Babylonian deity Marduk finally is key to establish Persian dominion. The idea of the divine sanction of the Persian dominion too is present in the Old Persian version of Darius’ I famous inscription on the rock Behistun. “King Darius says: By the grace of Auramazdā am I king; Auramazdā has bestowed kingdom upon me (A.uramazdā xšaçam manā frābara).” 119 It is not entirely clear whether the Old Persian term xšça- means empire in the sense of the territory of the empire or sovereignty over the empire. 120 The Babylonian version of the trilingual inscription helps to understand the ideological background of this phrase: “Auramazdā gave me the kingship” (dUrimizda šarrūtu anāku ittannu). 121 The Akkadian term šarrūtu is well attested as 1. “royalty”, “royal status”, 2. “kingship”, 3. “reign”, “rule”, 122 for what DB §5 (op.) needs to be seen as the kingship which Auramazdā gave to Darius I. In other words: The Persian supreme deity Auramazdā made Darius the king of the empire. The fact that this interpretation is right can be seen in the text of Darius’ I tomb-inscription in Naqš-i Rustam in which the Achaemenid king elaborates on this idea. “Darius the king proclaims: Auramazda, when he saw this earth in commotion, thereafter bestowed it upon me, made me king; I am king. By the favour of Auramazda I put it in its proper place; what I said to them, that they did, as was my desire. If now you should think: ‘How many are the countries which King Darius held?’, look at the sculptures (of those) who bear the throne, then shall you know, then shall it become known to you: the spear of the Persian man has gone forth far; then shall it become known to you: the Persian man has delivered battle far indeed from Persia.” 123 In this text, Darius states that Auramazdā (yaθā avai̯ na imam būmim yau̯dantim, pasāvadim manā frābara) has bestowed earth in the meaning of “ground” (būmī-) on him, what leads to ambiguity. 124 In its Babylonian version, the term mātātu occurs, 125 119 DB (op.) §5 by Kuhrt 2007a, 141. 120 Schmitt 2014, 284 s.v. xšaça- “Herrschaft”, “Reich” (sovereignty; empire), see also Schmitt 1977, 390 (“Reich“ / empire); Bartholomae 1961, 552: “Herrschaft”. Contra: Ahn 1992, 255–258 (xšaçameans the whole territory of the empire). For different definitions of the English term “empire” in imperial studies see Gehler & Rollinger 2014. 121 DB (bab.) §5 by von Voigtlander 1978, 12. 122 CAD 17, 2, 114. 123 DNa (op.) §4. Translation by Kuhrt 2007a, 502. 124 Schmitt 2014, 154–155 s.v. būmī- “Erde”, but ibid. 155 warns to interpret būmī- in DNa §4 as a term describing a political entity: “Doch wird būmī- dadurch noch lange nicht zum politischen Begriff.” Contra Ahn 1992, 262 (world domination). 125 Weissbach 1911, 89: “… matatemeš …”. See now the recent edition in Delshad 2019, 577.

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which means “all lands”, wherefore it is possible to assume that the whole Persian Empire is implied in these lines. 126 Therefore, Auramazdā is the god who gave Darius I the empire as well as kingship to rule over the Persian realm. That formulaic phrase is an integral component part of the Achaemenid inscriptions and was well known in the Aegean worlds. 127 This, however, means that Xenophon could have gained the notion of the divinely granted dominion of the Persian kings through the 5th century Greek literature. Aeschylus already mentioned in his play Persae the idea of the divine goodwill of the Achaemenid dominion over Asia. The latter becomes clearly visible in the words which the ghost of the dead king Darius spoke after the message of Xerxes’ defeat had arrived in Susa. “Therefore a calamity dreadful and unforgettable has been caused by him, a desolating calamity such as never before befell this city of Susa since our Lord Zeus first ordained that one ruler should bear sway over all Asia with its flocks and wield the sceptre of its government.” 128 In the eyes of Aeschylus, it was Zeus who ordained that the Persian dominion ranges over the whole of Asia (ἁπάσης Ἀσίδος). It is of significance, that Aeschylus calls Asia the dominion of the Persians, he has the whole Persian Achaemenid Empire in mind. 129 The parallels between the Persae and the Behistun-inscription, however, did not go unnoticed so far. Alexander F. Garvie’s commentary, for instance, underlines the close conjunction to the res gestae of Darius I in the Persae’s lines 759–786 as context of this episode. 130 However, this goes even further. The Histories of Herodotus reveal that this Persian idea is not solely restricted to Aeschylus’ play. The Halicarnassian finally used this idea for his portrayal of Xerxes I. According to the Histories, Xerxes had spoken the following words to his army before crossing the Hellespont.

126 This can also be seen in the relief of Darius’ tomb as Rollinger 2014a, 161 states: „… der persische Großkönig als ein von Ahuramazdās Gnaden waltender Weltenherrscher …“. 127 Degen 2019a. Cf. Schmitt 2014, 117 s.v. xšaça-. On dissemination of Achaemenid texts see Rollinger 2016c; Jacobs 2012, 98–101. 128 Aeschyl. Pers. 759–764: … τοιγάρ σφιν ἔργον ἐστὶν ἐξειργασμένον μέγιστον, ἀείμνηστον, οἷον οὐδέπω τόδ᾽ ἄστυ Σούσων ἐξεκείνωσεν πεσόν, ἐξ οὗτε τιμὴν Ζεὺς ἄναξ τήνδ᾽ ὤπασεν, ἕν᾽ ἄνδρ᾽ ἁπάσης Ἀσίδος μηλοτρόφου ταγεῖν, ἔχοντα σκῆπτρον εὐθυντήριον. Translation by H. W. Smyth. 129 Garvie 2009, 302. Heinrichs 1989, 99: “Das klingt wie eine Wiedergabe persischer Reichsideologie: Zeus hat einen einzelnen, offenbar den König der Perser, mit der Herrschaft über ganz Asien betraut.” Idem is referring to a fragment of Simonides (Simon. 109 D) to prove the accordance of Aeschyl. Pers. 759–764 with the Athenian view that Asia is the Persian realm. However, these are obvious parallels to the Teispid and Achaemenid inscriptions; instead the proclamation of the Aeschylian Darius would not make any deeper sense (cf. Bichler & Rollinger 2017, 1–12) for the ideological presentation of the Achaemenid realm’s extension. 130 Garvie 2009, 300: “… A.’s account is in its essentials consistent both with Herodotus and with Darius’ own Behistun Inscription …”

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“For these reasons I bid you set your hands to the war strenuously; I know that we march against valiant men, and if we overcome them it is certain that no other human army will ever withstand us. Let us now cross over, after praying to the gods who hold Persia for their allotted realm.” 131 Both Herodotus and Aeschylus finally are evidence for the Greeks’ awareness of Achaemenid ideas of legitimising their empire. 132 The usage of the verb λαγχάνω by Herodotus, with the meaning of “get as one’s portion”, 133 as metaphor makes the geopolitical separation clear: Asia is the gods’ allotted realm. In this way there is no room for doubt, that Herodotus made a difference between Europe, which was not under Achaemenid rule, and Asia as the Persian Empire. Thus, one can argue that the idea of the divine sanction of Persian dominion and supremacy were not unknown to the Greek audience. 134 All the evidence discussed here suggests that the Greeks considered the idea of divinely sanctioned dominion as Asiatic. This implies that Xenophon could rely on already existing accounts, or vice versa needed to integrate this specific idea because his audience considered it as Persian. Xenophontic Cyrus and his Claim to World Domination There is a crucial discrepancy between the extension of the Teispid Empire under the reign of Cyrus II and that of Cyrus’ realm in Cyropaedia. Nine passages of Xenophon’s work appear to be similar to a list of satrapies or, to frame it more cautiously, a collection list of Cyrus’ empire in Xenophon’s account. 135 The biggest extension of Cyrus’ realm can be found in Xenophon’s preview on the Persian king’s future empire in the beginning of Cyropaedia: “But all this is not so surprising after all, so very different was he from all other kings, both those who have inherited their thrones from their fathers and those who have gained their crowns by their own efforts … But Cyrus, finding the nations 131 Hdt.7.53.2: τῶνδε δὲ εἵνεκα προαγορεύω ἀντέχεσθαι τοῦ πολέμου ἐντεταμένως· ὡς γὰρ ἐγὼ πυνθάνομαι, ἐπ᾽ ἄνδρας στρατευόμεθα ἀγαθούς, τῶν ἢν κρατήσωμεν, οὐ μή τις ἡμῖν ἄλλος στρατὸς ἀντιστῇ κοτε ἀνθρώπων. νῦν δὲ διαβαίνωμεν ἐπευξάμενοι τοῖσι θεοῖσι οἳ Πέρσας λελόγχασι. Translation by A. D. Godley. 132 For a religious interpretation of this passage see Macan 1908 ad loc. who calls it a product of Greek thought. Contra: Schwab 2017, who highlighted Herodotus’ knowledge of royal Achaemenid ideology and showed the different ways how Herdotus used it in a speech of Xerxes. Rollinger 2017b stressed out that Achaemenid ideology was not only familiar to Herodotus, the author also used it in an own way to question the legitimacy of Darius I. See also Balcer 1987 for the presence of narrative elements known from the Behistun-inscription in the Histories. 133 Powell 1938, 203 s.v. λαγχάνω. 134 Degen 2019a, 77–79. 135 Xen. Cyr. 1.1.4; 5.3; 2.1.5; 5.4.13; 6.2.10; 6.3.35; 7.4.2, 16; 8.6.7–8.

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in Asia also independent in exactly the same way, started out with a little band of Persians and became the leader of the Medes by their full consent and of the Hyrcanians by theirs; he then conquered Syria, Assyria, Arabia, Cappadocia, both Phrygias, Lydia, Caria, Phoenicia, and Babylonia; he ruled also over Bactria, India, and Cilicia; and he was likewise king of the Sacians, Paphlagonians, Magadidae, and very many other nations, of which one could not even tell the names; he brought under his sway the Asiatic Greeks also; and, descending to the sea, he added both Cyprus and Egypt to his empire.” 136 In his detailed study about the Achaemenid satrapies’ administration Bruno Jacobs stressed out, that the zoning of Cyropaedia’s satrapies is surely not that of Cyrus’ times. 137 It is most notable that Cyropaedia’s Cyrus also conquered Egypt, which was added to the Persian Empire under the rule of Cyrus’ II son and successor Cambyses II. 138 Since Cyrus’ presumed dominion has an extension that only became historical reality under Darius I, the question arises as to why Xenophon confronts his readers with an obviously unhistorical scenario. 139 For this, two probable assumptions can be drawn. On the one hand, Xenophon had surely the great king’s empire of his own days in mind when he wrote his Cyropaedia and this fact explains much of the reason of the passage’s content cited above. 140 Therefore, it seems that Xenophon as author either aimed to actualize the political circumstances for Cyrus or he lacked of information on the early time of the Persian Empire. 141 The latter does not seem an accurate explanation because he knew of Herodotus’ Histories in which the author clearly states that Cyrus’ son Cambyses II conquered Egypt. On the other hand, it is possible that Xenophon integrated the ancient Near Eastern idea of world domination in a positive way for his Greek audience. The latter, however, would be uncommon for Greek accounts on the Persian kings. Finally, 136 Xen. Cyr. 1.1.4: καὶ γάρ τοι τοσοῦτον διήνεγκε τῶν ἄλλων βασιλέων, καὶ τῶν πατρίους ἀρχὰς παρειληφότων καὶ τῶν δι᾽ ἑαυτῶν κτησαμένων, ὥσθ᾽ ὁ μὲν Σκύθης καίπερ παμπόλλων ὄντων Σκυθῶν ἄλλου μὲν οὐδενὸς δύναιτ᾽ ἂν ἔθνους ἐπάρξαι, ἀγαπῴη δ᾽ ἂν εἰ τοῦ ἑαυτοῦ ἔθνους ἄρχων διαγένοιτο, καὶ ὁ Θρᾷξ Θρᾳκῶν καὶ ὁ Ἰλλυριὸς Ἰλλυριῶν, καὶ τἆλλα δὲ ὡσαύτως ἔθνη ἀκούομεν τὰ γοῦν ἐν τῇ Εὐρώπῃ ἔτι καὶ νῦν αὐτόνομα εἶναι λέγεται καὶ λελύσθαι ἀπ᾽ ἀλλήλων: Κῦρος δὲ παραλαβὼν ὡσαύτως οὕτω καὶ τὰ ἐν τῇ Ἀσίᾳ ἔθνη αὐτόνομα ὄντα ὁρμηθεὶς σὺν ὀλίγῃ Περσῶν στρατιᾷ ἑκόντων μὲν ἡγήσατο Μήδων, ἑκόντων δὲ Ὑρκανίων, κατεστρέψατο δὲ Σύρους, Ἀσσυρίους, Ἀραβίους, Καππαδόκας, Φρύγας ἀμφοτέρους, Λυδούς, Κᾶρας, Φοίνικας, Βαβυλωνίους, ἦρξε δὲ Βακτρίων καὶ Ἰνδῶν καὶ Κιλίκων, ὡσαύτως δὲ Σακῶν καὶ Παφλαγόνων καὶ Μαγαδιδῶν, καὶ ἄλλων δὲ παμπόλλων ἐθνῶν, ὧν οὐδ᾽ ἂν τὰ ὀνόματα ἔχοι τις εἰπεῖν, ἐπῆρξε δὲ καὶ Ἑλλήνων τῶν ἐν τῇ Ἀσίᾳ, καταβὰς δ᾽ ἐπὶ θάλατταν καὶ Κυπρίων καὶ Αἰγυπτίων. Translation by W. Miller. 137 For the case of the Phrygia Major in Xen. Cyr. 8.6.7–8 (“Kleinsatrapie Großphrygien”) see Jacobs 1994, 127 n. 58: “… sicher rückprojiziert …” 138 Ruzicka 2012, 14–25. For the case of Cyprus see Wiesehöfer 1990. 139 For arguments dating the Persian conquest of Egypt in the year 526 BCE see Quack 2011. 140 See above n. 15. 141 It is hard to belive that Xenophon lacked of information about Cyrus, since already Herodotus stated that he could tell different stories about the empire-builder, cf. Hdt. 1.95.1: … περὶ Κύρου καὶ τριφασίας ἄλλας λόγων ὁδοὺς φῆναι.

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Xenophon’s readership clearly knew about the intentional narratives about the Greek triumphs over the Asian enemy in the so-called Persian Wars of the 5th century BCE. It is of significance, that according to Herodotus the great kings’ crossing of the Hellespont as border between Asia and Europe ended disastrous. 142 Hence, Darius’ I and Xerxes’ I claims for world dominion are connoted definitely negative in the cultural memory of the most members of the Aegean worlds. 143 There are three arguments supportimg this assumption. Firstly, the Greek image of the Persian kingship’s claim for ruling over the entire world is not limited to the literary dimension. That this claim was not an empty word can be seen in some passages of Thucydides’ work. Although the Athenian writer in general has no attempts to lose words on the Persian Empire, some passages of his work show the Achaemenids’ claim to Hellas in his own days. 144 However, this even goes further if one takes a close look at Aristophanes’ play Hippeis. In this case the idea of world dominion expressed by the Athenian demos is linked with ideas associated by contemporaries with the Achaemenid great king. 145 Furthermore, Xenophon knew that Persian expansionism was a threat to Hellas of his time. According to his Hellenica, Persian troops invaded Hellas’ mainland under the command of the satrap Pharnabazus in 393 BCE, to enforce the great kings’ interests in post-Peloponnesian war time. 146 Thus, it seems plausible that the Achaemenid claim to world dominion was the reason why Xenophon needed to modify the ambitions of his Cyrus’ campaigns for achieving a positive image of his Persian king. This means that, albeit Xenophontic Cyrus conquered the whole Persian Empire in its extension of Xenophon’s time, he refrained from claiming to rule over Hellas. In this 142 Bichler & Rollinger 2017, 7–10. 143 Rollinger 2017a (world dominion as imperial ideology of the Achaemenids) contra Wiesehöfer 2007b (world dominon as a distinctive feature of Herodotean empires). For the case of the Macedonians see Müller 2011b. 144 Ad the minor role played by Persia see Wiesehöfer 2006a. Ad Persian claim to power in Thucydides’ work: Thuc. 1.138.2: “Arrived at Court at the end of the year, he attained to very high consideration there, such as no Hellene has ever possessed before or since; partly from his splendid antecedents, partly from the hopes which he held out of effecting for him the subjugation of Hellas, but principally by the proof which experience daily gave of his capacity.” ἀφικόμενος δὲ μετὰ τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν γίγνεται παρ᾽ αὐτῷ μέγας καὶ ὅσος οὐδείς πω Ἑλλήνων διά τε τὴν προϋπάρχουσαν ἀξίωσιν καὶ τοῦ Ἑλληνικοῦ ἐλπίδα, ἣν ὑπετίθει αὐτῷ δουλώσειν, μάλιστα δὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ πεῖραν διδοὺς ξυνετὸς φαίνεσθαι. Translation by J. M. Dent. Thuc. 8.43.3: “The severest critic of the present proceeding was Lichas, who said that neither of the treaties could stand, neither that of Chalcideus, nor that of Therimenes; it being monstrous that the king should at this date pretend to the possession of all country formerly ruled by himself or by his ancestors – a pretension which implicitly put back under the yoke all the islands, Thessaly, Locris, and everything as far as Boeotia, and made the Lacedaemonians give to the Hellenes instead of liberty a Median master.” μάλιστα δὲ ὁ Λίχας ἐσκόπει τὰ ποιούμενα, καὶ τὰς σπονδὰς οὐδετέρας, οὔτε τὰς Χαλκιδέως οὔτε τὰς Θηριμένους, ἔφη καλῶς ξυγκεῖσθαι, ἀλλὰ δεινὸν εἶναι εἰ χώρας ὅσης βασιλεὺς καὶ οἱ πρόγονοι ἦρξαν πρότερον, ταύτης καὶ νῦν ἀξιώσει κρατεῖν: ἐνεῖναι γὰρ καὶ νήσους ἁπάσας πάλιν δουλεύειν καὶ Θεσσαλίαν καὶ Λοκροὺς καὶ τὰ μέχρι Βοιωτῶν, καὶ ἀντ᾽ ἐλευθερίας ἂν Μηδικὴν ἀρχὴν τοῖς Ἕλλησι τοὺς Λακεδαιμονίους περιθεῖναι. Translation by J. M. Dent. 145 Kopp 2015. 146 Xen. Hell. 4.8.7; Diod. 14.84–86.

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regard it is of significance that no passage within the Cyropaedia gives a hint to Cyrus’ idea to conquer Hellas’ mainland! The latter can be taken for granted because in his account the Persian Empire is truly not that of Cyrus’ time. This is an important difference that distinguishes the presentation of Persian expansionism in Cyropaedia from Greek historiography. Thus, it seems that Xenophon rather created his own image of Cyrus than pointing to Achaemenid claim to power. Secondly, the presentation of the great king’s claim to rule over Egypt in Greek historiography is a good example for putting the suggestion made above to test. An argument could be made out of the fact that the Achaemenids’ loss of Egypt during Xenophon’s life time had an impact on Cyropaedia’s Cyrus. 147 In this regard the peroration of the work gains in importance, since Xenophon explicitly presents Cyrus’ empire in a more vital condition than the Persian Empire of his time. 148 Although this suggestion has some attraction, the impact of the Teispid claim for world domination rests on better evidence. Xenophon’s Cyropaedia finally is not the only Greek work dealing with Cyrus’ II purposes. Already Herodotus left a brief comment on Cyrus’ further plans after the Persians took possessions of the Lydian capital Sardis. “Presently, entrusting Sardis to a Persian called Tabalus, and instructing Pactyes, a Lydian, to take charge of the gold of Croesus and the Lydians, he himself marched away to Ecbatana, taking Croesus with him, and at first taking no notice of the Ionians. For Babylon stood in his way and the Bactrian nation and the Sacae and Egyptians; he meant to lead the army against these himself, and to send another commander against the Ionians.” 149 According to the Histories, Cyrus planned far reaching campaigns aimed to build up a realm which would have the extension of the Achaemenid Empire under the reign of Darius I. Furthermore, Herodotus put the control over this vast empire and Persian foreign policy to a level with world domination. Aside his plan to invade Egypt, more factors provide this assumption a more solid foundation. At first, Herodotus remarked that Cyrus wanted to subdue the Scythian tribe of the Sacae, who according to DB §74 (op. Sakā tigraxaudā) became subjected to the Persians under Darius’ I reign. Moreover, according to the Histories, the Sacae are subjects to the Persians and one of the many peoples of the Achaemenid army. 150 Nevertheless, the mentioning of Cyrus’ plan to

147 Ruzicka 2012, 83–121. 148 Xen. Cyr. 8.8.2–27. 149 Hdt. 1.153.3–4: μετὰ ταῦτα ἐπιτρέψας τὰς μὲν Σάρδις Ταβάλῳ ἀνδρὶ Πέρσῃ, τὸν δὲ χρυσὸν τόν τε Κροίσου καὶ τὸν τῶν ἄλλων Λυδῶν Πακτύῃ ἀνδρὶ Λυδῷ κομίζειν, ἀπήλαυνε αὐτὸς ἐς Ἀγβάτανα, Κροῖσόν τε ἅμα ἀγόμενος καὶ τοὺς Ἴωνας ἐν οὐδενὶ λόγῳ ποιησάμενος τὴν πρώτην εἶναι. ἡ τε γὰρ Βαβυλών οἱ ἦν ἐμπόδιος καὶ τὸ Βάκτριον ἔθνος καὶ Σάκαι τε καὶ Αἰγύπτιοι, ἐπ᾽ οὓς ἐπεῖχέ τε στρατηλατέειν αὐτός, ἐπὶ δὲ Ἴωνας ἄλλον πέμπειν στρατηγόν. Modified translation by A.D. Godley. 150 Ad Sacae as Persian subjects: Hdt. 1.153.4; 7.9.2; 9.113.2; Ad Sacae as soldiers in the Achaemenid army: Hdt. 6.113.1; 7.64.2; 96.1; 184.2; 8.113.2; 9.31.4; 71.1. For the Sacae in the Behistun-inscription

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subdue the Sacae bears the idea of world domination in it. The Halicarnassian states that the Persians call all the Scythians Sacae (οἱ γὰρ Πέρσαι πάντας τοὺς Σκύθας καλέουσι Σάκας) by what also the European Scythians are included. 151 If we read this passage in the context of Herodotean geography, then Cyrus clearly failed to realize his claim for world domination. The victory over Scythians on the Northern Iranian borderzone finally became important for Darius I, who even destroyed a part of his Behistun-inscription for perpetuating his success over the Scythian leader Skunkha. 152 Thirdly, the Achaemenid claim to rule over India and Arabia is a forcefull argument as well. For instance, just as the Xenophontic pendant, the Herodotean Cyrus aims to invade India, but his early death thwarted the plan. That these passages refer to the claim for world domination is evident if one compares them to Herodotus’ accounts about Darius’ I deeds. According to him, Darius I was the first great king to conquer the Western parts of India. It was also Darius sailing out into the Indian Ocean and acting in an ancient Near Eastern manner when reaching the fringes of his empire. 153 On this ground, we can assume that the Western parts of India were not put under Persian control until the Achaemenid period. That the widest extension of the Persian Empire under the rule of Darius I served as a role model in Greek historiography can also be seen in Ctesias’ account of Cyrus’ campaign against the ethnos of the Derbices, who probably lived in the regions of the East of modern day Iran. 154 According to the extant fragments, Cyrus was mortally wounded by one of the Indian allies of the Derbices, for what reason one can argue that Ctesias somehow imagined the extension of Cyrus’ empire in the Far East. 155 The mentioning of Arabia in Cyropaedia’s list of constituent parts of the Persian Empire is another argument against the authenticity of the list. An argument can be made that Herodotus mentions the latter as an independent kingdom in the South of the Achaemenid Empire. 156 Again, Xenophon exaggerates the achievements of the historical Cyrus by creating an image of the great king which literally fulfills the Achaemenid claim to world domination. Although all the arguments presented here are in sum providing an explanation for Cyrus’ appetite for empire, the question is still urgent why Greek authors did connote the historical Cyrus with the claim of world domination? At about the time of Aeschylus’ classical play, the Persae, the idea of the equalisation of Asia as continent with the extension of the Persian Empire became a standard view of Greek literature regarding Persia

151 152 153 154 155 156

see Vogelsang 1998. For a possible identification of the Sacae as tribes living on both sides of the Caspian Sea and not as tribes living in the north of the Black Sea see Nagel 1982, 33–35. Hdt. 7.64.2. For the chronology of the Behistun-monument see Borger 1982. Hdt. 4.44, cf. Rollinger 2014b. Wiesehöfer 2006b. FGrHist 688 F 9 7 = Phot. Bibl. [72] 36a9–37a25 = §7 in Stronk 2009, 317. On the possibility that Ctesias thought about the Δρυβακίται when he was talking about the Derbices see Nagel 1982, 63, 67. Hdt. 3.4.3; 7.2; 9.1.

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and the Persians. 157 This idea is also present in the autochthonous sources of the Persian Empire. The text of the inscribed brick of the Egišnugal wall of Ur states very explicitly that Marduk gave all the lands in Cyrus’ hands (kullat mātāti ana qatija si.a-ma). 158 In this way the text conveys the king’s claim to rule over all lands of the world. This theoretical claim is part of Cyrus’ proclamation from Babylon where the text states that Marduk bestowed “dominion over the totality” (kullata napḫar) to Cyrus. 159 Aside the theoretical claim to rule over all of the world’s countries, there is also a factual claim. The latter found its expression in the mental geography of the Cyrus-Cylinder extending the boundaries of the Persian realm “from the lower to the upper sea” (tâmti elīti adi tâmti šaplīti). 160 By viewing the Mediterranean Sea and the Persian Gulf as the utmost points of the Teispid Empire’s extension, the text of the Cyrus-Cylinder follows already established Mesopotamian ideas of imperial space. 161 Nevertheless, the claim of ruling the universe is also an important part of Darius’ I and Xerxes’ I royal inscriptions. In Achaemenid times the bitter Sea (marratu) did not mark the fringes of the great king’s sphere of control, but the empire’s borders can be even found beyond this imagined fringe of the Mesopotamian cosmos. 162 In this way, the Achaemenid claim to power goes even beyond the boundaries of the preceding empires by creating the image of an imperium sine fine for the first time. 163 This theoretical claim of the Persian kings to rule over the whole world is, for instance, also noticeable in an episode in Herodotus’ Histories about Xerxes’ I speech to his army before crossing the Hellespont: “For these reasons I am resolved to send an army against them; and I reckon that we will find the following benefits among them: if we subdue those men, and their neighbors who dwell in the land of Pelops the Phrygian, we will make the borders of Persian territory and of the firmament of heaven be the same.” 164 In this passage, the Herodotean Xerxes is about to extend his empire over the Propontis as a natural demarcation-line. Seen from an ancient Near Eastern perspective, Xerxes

157 158 159 160

161 162 163 164

See n. 115, 116. See n. 116. See n. 115. Schaudig 2001, 556 Z. 28–30: da-am-qí-iš ik-ru-ub-ma i-na šá-lim-tì ma-ḫar-ša ṭa-bi-iš ni-it-t[aal-la-ak i-na qí-bi-ti-šú] ṣir-ti nap-ḫar LUGAL a-ši-ib bára MEŠ ša ka-li-iš kib-ra-a-ta iš-tu tam-tì e-li-tì a-di tam-tì šap-li-tì a-ši-ib n[a-gi-i(*) né-su-tì] LUGAL.MEŠ KUR a-mur-ri-i a-ši-ib kuš-ta-ri ka-li-šú-un. Haubold 2013, 102–107; Horowitz 1998, 68–75; Edzard 1993. Haubold 2013, 107–108; Haubold 2012; Horowitz 1998, 25–26; Edzard 1993, 2; Röllig 1987–1990, 432. See Rollinger 2018 on the Persian kings’ idea of an empire without borders. Hdt. 7.8γ1: τούτων μὲν τοίνυν εἵνεκα ἀνάρτημαι ἐπ᾽ αὐτοὺς στρατεύεσθαι, ἀγαθὰ δὲ ἐν αὐτοῖσι τοσάδε ἀνευρίσκω λογιζόμενος: εἰ τούτους τε καὶ τοὺς τούτοισι πλησιοχώρους καταστρεψόμεθα, οἳ Πέλοπος τοῦ Φρυγὸς νέμονται χώρην, γῆν τὴν Περσίδα ἀποδέξομεν τῷ Διὸς αἰθέρι ὁμουρέουσαν. Translation by A.D. Godley.

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crossed the marratu as the fringe of the Mesopotamian cosmos. 165 It is of significance that Herodotus presents this idea as outrageous what suits his image of Xerxes as hubristic king. As now one can clearly see, for drawing a positive portrait of Cyrus, Xenophon needed to cut out Hellas of his protagonist’s claim to power in order to avoid him to become an Achaemenid ruler known to his audience from Greek literature. All in all, Xenophon had to deal with the Greek idea of the Persian king’s claim of world domination on the one hand, but on the other hand, he modified this idea in a specific way to avoid a negative portrayal of his Cyrus as Persian king. Hence, the author set limits to Cyrus’ claim to world domination by boxing it to Asia, which certainly does not agree with the royal Achaemenid ideology. Conclusion The result of the three case studies is that Xenophon had knowledge about the Achaemenids’ strategies of representation and legitimation of power. Furthermore, it seems that Xenophon gained the most of his information on Persian kingship from Greek literature of the 5th and 4th century. Therefore, it is possible to argue that the Greek audience of Xenophon viewed the light phenomenon and the ideas of empire in Cyropaedia as elements already known to be Asiatic. Nevertheless, the light phenomenon is an outstanding episode for which Xenophon found no parallel in Greek literature of his time. Be that as it may, as the presence of the idea of world domination in Cyropaedia reveals, the Xenophontic Cyrus is much more of a character modelled by Xenophon than of a pseudo-historical ruler with the understanding of an Achaemenid great king’s role. As a consequence, Xenophon’s account on Cyrus is rather an intellectual analysis of already existing Greek images of Persian kings than a piece of historical research. On these grounds, one could argue that the Xenophontic Cyrus might have Persian blood in his veines but the world of Cyropaedia does not allow him to become something other than the positive example for a great king in Greek thought.

165 Degen 2019a, 61–67.

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Abbreviations Bab. Babylonian BNJ Brill’s New Jacoby CAD R.D. Biggs et al. (eds.), The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, Chicago, IL, 1956–2010. DB Inscription of Darius I on the rock Behistun DNa Inscription of Darius’ I tomb in Naqš-i Rustam Part 1 DNb Inscription of Darius’ I tomb in Naqš-i Rustam Part 2 op. Old Persian RIMA 2 Grayson, A. K., Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC I (1114–859 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia Assyrian Periods 2), Toronto Grayson, A. K. (ed.), Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC II (858–745 RIMA 3 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia Assyrian Periods 3), Toronto. RINAP 3,1 Grayson, A. K. & Novotny J. (eds.), The Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, King of Assyria (704–681 BC), Part 1 (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia Neo-Assyrian Periods), Winona Lake, IN. RINAP 4 Leichty, E. (ed.), The Royal Inscriptions of Esarhaddon, King of Assyria (680–669 BC) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia Neo-Assyrian Periods), Winona Lake, IN. RINAP 5 Novotny, J., The Royal Inscriptions of Ashurbanipal and Successors (http://oracc. museum.upenn.edu/rinap/rinap5/pager). Sum. Sumerian

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—. 2018. ‘Empire, Borders and Ideologies’, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), A Companion to the Achaemenid Persian Empire (Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World), Oxford & Malden, MA, forthcoming. Rollinger, R. & Degen, J. 2020. Alexander the Great and the Borders of the World, in: R. Boucharlat et al. (eds.) Festschrift Pierre Briant, forthcoming. Rollinger, R. & Lang, M. 2004. ‘Die fliegenden Schlangen Arabiens: Transfer und Wandlung eines literarischen Motivs in der antiken Überlieferung – ein Florilegium’, in: F. Beutler & W. Hameter (eds.), „Eine ganz normale Inschrift” und Ähnliches zum Geburtstag von Ekkehard Weber: Festschrift zum 30. April 2005 (Althistorisch-epigraphische Studien 5), Wien, 101–109. Rollinger, R. & Niedermayr, H. 2007. ‘Von Assur nach Rom: Dexiosis und „Staatsvertrag“ – Zur Geschichte eines rechtssymbolischen Aktes’, in: R. Rollinger & H. Barta (eds.), Rechtsgeschichte und Interkulturalität (Philippika 19), Wiesbaden, 135–178. Ruzicka, S. 2012. Trouble in the West. Egypt and the Persian Empire 525–332 BCE, Oxford. Salvini, M. 2012. ‘Urartu e impero achemenide. Sopravvivenze culturali’, in: G. P. Basello & A. V. Rossi (eds.), Dariosh Studies II – Persepolis and Its Settlements: Territorial System and Ideology in the Achaemenid State (Università degli Studi di Napoli “L’Orientale” – Dipartimento Asia, Africa e Mediterraneo – Series Minor LXXVIII), Napoli, 459–473. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, H. 1985. ‘The Death of Cyrus: Xenophon’s Cyropaedia as a Source for Iranian History’, in: A. D. H. Bivar (ed.), Papers in Honour of Professor Mary Boyce II (Acta Iranica 25), Leiden, 459–472. —. 1987. ‘The Fifth Oriental Monarchy and Hellenocentrism – Cyropaedia VIII viii and It Influence’, in: H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & A. Kuhrt (eds.), The Greek Sources – Proceedings of the Groningen 1984 Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History 2), Leiden, 117­131. —. 1993. ‘Cyropaedia, in: Encyclopaedia Iranica VI/5, 512–514. —. 1994. ‘The Orality of Herodotus’ Medikos Logos or: The Median Empire Revisited’, in: H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, A. Kuhrt & M. C. Root (eds.), Continuity and Change – Proceedings of the Last Achaemenid History Workshop, April 6–8, 1990 – Ann Arbor, Michigan (Achaemenid History 8), Leiden, 39–55. —. 2002. ‘The Personality of Xerxes, King of Kings’, in: E. J. Bakker, I. J. F. de Jong & H. van Wees (eds.), Brill’s Companion to Herodotus, Leiden, 579–590. Schaudig, H.-P. 2001. Die Inschriften Nabonids von Babylon und Kyros’ des Grossen samt den in ihrem Umfeld entstandenen Tendenzschriften. Textausgabe und Grammatik (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 256), Münster. Schmitt, R. 1977. ‘Das Königtum im Alten Iran’, Saeculum 28, 384–395. —. 2002. Die iranischen und Iranier-Namen in den Schriften Xenophons (Iranica Graeca Vetustiora. II) (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften – Philosophisch-Historische Klasse – Sitzungsberichte 692), Wien. —. 2005. ‘Personal Names, Iranian – iii. Achaemenid Period’, in: Encycloapedia Iranica http:// www.iranicaonline.org/articles/personal-names-iranian-iii-achaemenid. —. 2009. Die altpersischen Inschriften der Achaimeniden: Editio minor mit deutscher Übersetzung, Wiesbaden. —. 2014. Wörterbuch der altpersischen Königsinschriften, Wiesbaden.

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Schwab, A. 2017. ‘Achaimenidische Königsideologie in Herodots Erzählung über Xerxes, Hdt. 7,8–11’, in: H. Klinkott & N. Kramer (eds.), Zwischen Assur und Athen. Altorientalisches in den Historien Herodots (SpielRäume der Antike 4), Stuttgart, 163–197. Schwinghammer, G. 2011. ‘Die Smerdis Story – Der Usurpator, Dareios und die Bestrafung der „Lügenkönige“’, in: R. Rollinger, B. Truschnegg & R. Bichler (eds.), Herodot und das Persische Weltreich – Herodotus and the Persian Empire (Classica et Orientalia 3), Wiesbaden, 665–687. Strack, H. L. 1969. Vollständiges Wörterbuch zu Xenophons Kyropädie, Hildesheim. Streck, M. 1916. Assurbanipal und die letzten assyrischen Könige bis zum Untergange Niniveh’s II. Teil: Texte, Leipzig. Stronk, J. 2009. Ctesias’ Persian History – Part I: Introduction, Text, and Translation (Reihe Geschichte 2), Düsseldorf. Tamiolaki, M. 2017. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Tentative Answers to an Enigma’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 174–194. Thomas, R. 2011. ‘Herodotus’ Persian Ethnography’, in: R. Rollinger, B. Truschnegg & R. Bichler (eds.), Herodot und das Persische Weltreich / Herodotus and the Persian Empire (Classica et Orientalia 3), Wiesbaden, 237–254. Trampedach, K. 2017. ‘Die Priester der Despoten. Herodots persische Magoi’, in: H. Klin­ kott  & N. Kramer (eds.), Zwischen Assur und Athen. Altorientalisches in den Historien Herodots (SpielRäume der Antike 4), Stuttgart, 197–218. Tuplin, C. J. 1990. ‘Persian Decor in Cyropaedia. Some Observations’, in: H. SancisiWeerdenburg & J. W. Drijvers (eds.), The Roots of the European Tradition – Proceedings of the 1987 Groningen Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History V), Leiden, 17–30. —. 1993. The Failings of Empire: A Reading of Xenophons Hellenica 2.3.11–7.5.27 (Historia – Einzelschriften 76), Stuttgart. —. 1997. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Education and Fiction’, in: A. H. Sommerstein & C. Atherton (eds.), Education in Greek Fiction (Nottingham Classical Literature Studies 4), Bari, 65–162. —. 2003. ‘Xenophon in Media’, in: G. B. Lanfranchi, M. Roaf & R. Rollinger (eds.), Continuity of Empire(?): Assyria, Media, Persia (History of the Ancient Near East / Monograph – V), Padua, 351–389. —. 2004. Xenophon and His World. Papers from a Conference Held in Liverpool in July 1999 (Historia – Einzelschriften 172), Stuttgart. —. 2010. ‘Xenophon and Achaemenid Courts: A Survey of Evidence’, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), Der Achämenidenhof / The Achaemenid Court (Classica et Orientalia 2), Wiesbaden, 189–230. —. 2013. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Fictive History, Political Analysis and Thinking with Iranian Kings’, in: L. G. Mitchell & C. Melville (eds.), Every Inch a King: Comparative Studies in Kings and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Rulers and Elites: Comparative Studies in Governance 2) Leiden & Boston, 67–90. Van de Mieroop, M. 1999. Cuneiform Texts and the Writing of History (Approaching the Ancient World), New York.

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Vlassopoulos, K. 2013. ‘The Stories of the Others: Storytelling and Intercultural Communication in the Herodotean Mediterranean’, in: E. Almagor & J. Skinner (eds.), Ancient Ethnography. New Approaches, London & New York, 49–75. —. 2017. ‘Xenophon on Persia’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 360–375. Vogelsang, W. 1998. ‘Medes, Scythians and Persians. The Rise of Darius in a North-South Perspective’, Iraniqua Antiqua 33, 195–224. Voigtlander, E. von 1978. The Bisutun Inscription of Darius the Great: Babylonian Version (Corpus Inscriptionum Iranicarum I. II. I.), London. Waters, M. 2014. Ancient Persia: A Concise History of the Achaemenid Empire, 550–330 BCE, Cambridge. Weissbach, F. H. 1911. Die Keilinschriften der Achämeniden, Leipzig. White, J. W. & Morgan, M. H. 1896. An Illustrated Dictionary to Xenophon’s Anabasis, with groups of words etymologically related, Boston. Wiesehöfer, J. 1990. ‘Zypern unter persischer Herrschaft’, in: H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & A.  Kuhrt (eds.), Centre and Periphery – Proceedings of the Groningen 1986 Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History IV), Leiden, 239–252. —. 2002. ‘“Griechenland wäre unter persische Herrschaft geraten …” Die Perserkriege als Zeitenwende?’, in: H. Brinkhaus & S. Sellmer (eds.), Zeitenwenden (Asien und Afrika 4), Hamburg, 209–232. —. 2003. ‘Tarkumuwa und das Farnah’, in: W.F.M. Henkelman & A. Kuhrt (eds.), A Persian Perspective. Essays in Memory of Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg (Achaemenid History XIII), Leiden 2003, 173–185. —. 2006a. ‘“… keeping the two sides equal”: Thucydides, the Persians and the Peloponnesian War’, in: A. Rengakos & A. Tsakmakis (eds.), Brill’s Companion to Thucydides, Leiden & Boston, 657–667. —. 2006b. ‘Margiana’, in: Brill’s New Pauly . —. 2007a. ‘Die Ermordung des Xerxes: Abrechnung mit einem Despoten oder eigentlicher Beginn einer Herrschaft?’, in: B. Bleckmann (ed.), Herodot und die Epoche der Perserkriege – Realitäten und Fiktionen: Kolloquium zum 80. Geburtstag von Dietmar Kienast, Köln, 3–19. —. 2007b. ‘Ein König erschließt und imaginiert sein Imperium: Persische Reichsordnung und persische Reichsbilder zur Zeit Dareios’ I. (522–486 v.Chr.)’, in: M. Rathmann (ed.), Wahrnehmung und Erfassung geographischer Räume in der Antike, Mainz a. R., 31–40. —. 2018. ‘Anmerkungen zu Literalität und Oralität im teispidisch-achaimenidischen Iran’, in: A. Kolb (ed.), Literacy in Ancient Everyday Life, Berlin, in press. Winter, I. J. 1994. ‘Radiance as an Aesthetic Value in the Art of Mesopotamia (with Some Indian Parallels)’, in: N. Saraswati, S. C. Malik & M. Khanna (eds.), Art – The Integral Vision A Volume of Essays in Felicitation of Kapila Vatsyayan, New Delhi, 123–132. Wulfram, H. (ed.) 2016. Der römische Alexanderhistoriker Curtius Rufus: Erzähltechnik, Rhetorik, Figurenpsychologie und Rezeption (Wiener Studien 38), Wien 2016.

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Cyropaedia and the “Gift-Bearer Reliefs” from the So-called apadāna at Persepolis* Bruno Jacobs (Basel)

Gifts and Gift-giving in the Cyropaedia The Cyropaedia is fundamentally an investigation of leadership, 1 but formally speaking it is simply a narrative of the life story of Cyrus the Great, beginning from a visit to the Median court at the age of twelve and ending with his being king of Persia, heir to the Median throne and ruler of a world empire. The shifts of power structures and personal relations between the protagonist and the people around him that unfold in the course of this biography are considerable. 2 Cyrus starts as a pupil at the court of his “grandfather”, the Median king Astyages, where for a while he enjoys a Median education before returning to Persia. Years later Cyrus supports the Medes against an attack by the Assyrians, conducting a campaign against them at the head of a Persian army. His successes during this undertaking put him personally in an immensely powerful position and, at the same time, bring about the emancipation of the Persians from the Medes. These developments are viewed with suspicion by Cyaxares, who in the meantime has succeeded his “father” Astyages on the Median throne. Cyrus, however, proves himself a reliable partner, is finally allowed to marry the daughter of Cyaxares and becomes heir to the Median monarch, who has no male offspring. 3 At each stage in this story gifts play a significant role, making visible the changed status of the leading character or confirming the establishment, transformation or continued validity of relationships and power structures. Several aspects of the historical background

* The author is much indebted to Christopher Tuplin for critical annotations and helpful comments on an earlier version of this article. Beyond this he is very grateful for assistance with the English version of the text. 1 Tuplin 2013, 70s. Cf. Tuplin ibid, 73s., on the choice of a Persian as main character of the narrative. On Xenophon’s leadership model see also Buxton 2017. 2 Cf. Azoulay 2004, 310–318, esp. 314. 3 Cf. also the summary of the contents of Cyropaedia in Tuplin 2013, 69s.

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may be fictitious 4 – a Median court and Median empire formed (as in Herodotus) on the analogy of the Achaemenid one, the genealogy of the Median kings, the characters of Astyages and Cyaxares and their family relations with Cyrus 5 – but Xenophon’s account of gift-giving as an important cultural technology should not be dismissed as unworthy of attention. The author knew about the significance of gift-giving as a way of documenting, strengthening and displaying personal relations, of expressing gratitude for services rendered and of fostering loyalty, 6 because he had observed the phenomenon at first hand as a participant in the campaign of Cyrus’ younger namesake, the satrap of Lydia at the turn of the fifth and fourth centuries BC, 7 against his brother Artaxerxes II. This is clear from several passages in his Anabasis. 8 One such passage is the description of a certain Artapates who was among those favoured with gifts by the younger Cyrus. Artapates was a devoted follower who, after Cyrus was killed in action at Cunaxa, threw himself onto his body to protect it. There he was either despatched on Artaxerxes’ orders or committed suicide using a golden akinakes, and Xenophon adds: “… he also wore a necklace, bracelets and other ornaments like the noblest Persians; for he had been honoured by Cyrus for his goodwill and fidelity.” 9 So it was Cyrus himself who had furnished his loyal servant with these valuable items. Cyrus had already presented somewhat similar objects to the Cilician syennesis after the latter – more or less voluntarily – granted him passage through his realm; Cyrus accorded him “the sort of gifts the King customarily bestows as signs of honour – a horse with a golden harness, a golden necklace, bracelets, a golden akinakes, and a set of Persian clothing”. 10 By giving the syennesis gifts in this way, Cyrus included him in his closer entourage. This was one of a series of measures by which the Great King in spe developed courtly structures around his person. Another such measure was perhaps the creation of the small group of seven confidants mentioned incidentally in the context of the Orontas affair (Xen., Anab. 1.6.1–11, esp. 1.6.4). 11 If this information can be trusted, we may assume that, after Cyrus’

4 For discussion of Cyropaedia’s affiliation to literary genre and of its fictional aspects see Gera 1993, 1–13; Tuplin 1996, 67–69, 97–108, 134s. and pass.; cf. also the contribution of Madreiter to this volume. 5 Cf. the contributions to the conference volume Lanfranchi, Roaf & Rollinger 2003 and the summary given in Jacobs 2005. 6 On gift-giving in general see Briant 1996, 314–335, 406–417 and pass.; Wiesehöfer 2001; Wright & Hollman, in press. 7 Xen., Anab. 1.9.7 calls the younger Cyrus “satrap of Lydia, Great Phrygia and Cappadocia”. On his competence cf. Jacobs 1994, 119–123. 8 Tuplin 2013, 67; Tamiolaki 2017, 174, 176, 183s. On the modest and inconsequent Persian colouring of Cyropaedia see Tuplin 1990; cf. Tuplin 2010, 208s.; Tuplin 2012, 1581. 9 Xen., Anab. 1.8.29: … εἶχε γὰρ χρουσοῦν (scil. ἀκινάκην)· καὶ στρεπτὸν δ᾽ἐφόρει καὶ ψέλια καὶ τἆλλα ὥσπερ οἱ ἄριστοι Περσῶν· ἐτετίμητο γὰρ ὑπὸ Κύρου δι᾽εὐνοιάν τε καὶ πιστότητα. 10 Xen., Anab. 1.2.27: …, δῶρα ἃ νομίζεται παρὰ βασιλεῖ τιμία, ἵππον χρυσοχάλινον καὶ στρεπτὸν χρυσοῦν καὶ ψέλια καὶ ἀκινάκην χρυσοῦν καὶ στολὴν Περσικήν, … 11 On this Oronta/es see most recently Jacobs 2016, 265 n. 77 with pertinent literature.

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accession to the throne, the families of these confidants were to replace those whose heads had helped Darius I long before to gain the throne. We first encounter gift-giving in the Cyropaedia near the beginning of the work. Together with his mother Mandane Cyrus goes to see his “grandfather” Astyages. The latter’s get-up is, according to Xenophon, typically Median, with eye-liner, colour rubbed into the face and an artificial hairpiece; and Xenophon adds that red “chitons”, coats (κάνδυες), necklaces and bracelets were the norm in Media (Xen., Cyr. 1.3.2). The kandys was part of the riding-costume, the other components of which were a sleeved tunic, trousers and a tiara. This type of clothing was already called Median by Herodotus and contrasted by him with Persian clothing: the Persians are said to have adopted Median dress because they liked it more than their own (Hdt. 1.135). The distinction is adopted by Xenophon in his Cyropaedia. Immediately after describing Astyages and the impression he made on Cyrus, Xenophon reports that Astyages bestowed typical Median valuables on Cyrus, a beautiful dress (στολὴν καλήν), necklaces and bracelets, and that, in addition, he placed a horse with a golden harness at his disposal (Xen., Cyr. 1.3.3). From the context it is clear that the beautiful dress is the riding-costume. Compared with the Persian robe (probably to be identified with the pleated gown well-known from Achaemenid court art), the riding-costume is the more prestigious form of dress. This becomes clear in a later passage of Cyropaedia (Xen., Cyr. 2.4.5–6), in which Cyaxares, who is now the Median king, is about to receive an Indian delegation: Cyrus appears “in the Persian outfit, which is not at all flamboyant”, 12 because he did not want to waste time smartening himself up with purple clothes, bracelets and a necklace. 13 Cyrus later used the “Median” garment he had been given by Astyages to bond with the Mede Araspas, donating it to him when he returned from the Median court to Persia, where he apparently had no use for it (Xen., Cyr. 1.4.26; 5.1.2). Eventually, however, Cyrus adopted “Median” clothing himself (Xen., Cyr. 8.1.40s.) on the occasion of a procession in Babylon to celebrate his victory over the Assyrian king. Members of his entourage also wore the riding-costume during this event. 14 By claiming that this was the first time that Persians dressed in the “Median” outfit Xenophon situates Herodotus’ information that the Persians adopted “Median” dress in a specific historical context and re-affirms a misguided differentiation between the two “national” dresses. 15 The important thing to stress in the present context is that it was the riding-costume that was of paramount significance as a gift and status symbol. Before the start of the procession in Babylon, organized to celebrate his success against the Assyrians and their city and to underline the power he had gained as a result, Cyrus distributed riding-costumes among his followers: the most beautiful ones went to the most important people (τοῖς κρατίστοις) but there were many more, in a variety of colours, to be handed out to 12 Xen., Cyr. 2.4.5: … ἐν τῇ Περσικῇ στολῇ οὐδέν τι ὑβρισμὲνῃ … 13 Xen., Cyr. 2.4.6: …, πορφυρίδα ἐνδὺς καὶ ψέλια λαβὼν καὶ στρεπτὸν περιθέμενος … 14 On luxurious clothing cf. also D. Gera’s contribution to this volume. 15 On the intertextual dialogue between Xenophon’s Cyropaedia and Herodotus’ Histories see Tamiolaki 2017, 183–186.

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a wider circle of recipients (Xen., Cyr. 8.3.3). 16 Xenophon’s point is that, by distributing standardized gifts, i.e. riding-costumes and related arm- and neck-embellishments, Cyrus wanted to assign a particular status to individuals in his personal environment and to make that status visible to all. Of course, the riding-costume only had special significance in its finest versions and when combined with jewellery and akinakes. This is confirmed by a passage in Plutarch in which a eunuch refers provocatively to the reward that a certain Mithridates had received from Artaxerxes after the battle at Cunaxa: “What a fine dress the king has given you, Mithridates, what beautiful necklaces and bracelets, and the akinakes is also very valuable. Truly he has made you a happy man and one admired by all.” 17 That the elite was indeed distinguished by marks of this kind we learn again from Xenophon’s Anabasis. When some wagons got stuck in mud, Cyrus ordered members of his entourage to help to get them moving again: they threw off their purple coats (τοὺς πορφυροῦς κάνδυς) and one could then see their “expensive chitons and colourful trousers”, as well as “the torques around their necks and bracelets at their wrists” that some of them were wearing. 18 As befits someone with enormous resources at his disposal, the Great King’s munificence, his polydōria, was exceptional, as Xenophon explains in the Cyropedia. “Who”, Xenophon asks, “adorns those around him with garments more beautifully than the king? And whose presents are as easily distinguishable as some of the king’s – bracelets, necklaces, horses with golden harness? For these are things one may not possess except as gifts from the king.” 19 Gifts and Gift Bearers at the So-Called apadāna at Persepolis It has often been noticed that there is a substantial overlap between the objects mentioned in the passages discussed above and the gifts brought by delegations on the stairway facades of the so-called apadāna at Persepolis. 20 The recipient of these gifts was the monarch depicted on the so-called Treasury reliefs, which were found in the Treasury but had originally been placed in the middle of the stairway facades. The overlap becomes even clearer if one takes into account two passages in the Cyropaedia in which Cyaxares and Cyrus respectively are the recipients of gifts. In the first passage Cyaxares is suspicious 16 Briant 1996, 317s.; Llewellyn-Jones 2013, 65s. Cf. also Esth. 6, 7–11, where Mardachai is decorated with a royal garment. 17 Plut., Artax. 15: Ὡς καλὴν μὲν ἐσθῆτά σοι ταύτην, ὦ Μιθριδάτα, ὁ βασιλεὺς δέδωκε, καλὰ δὲ στρεπτὰ καὶ ψέλια· πολλοῦ δὲ ἄξιος ὁ ἀκινάκης. Ἦ μακάριόν σε καὶ περίβλεπτον ἅπασι πεποίηκεν. 18 Xen., Anab. 1.5.8: … τοὺς πολυτελεῖς χιτῶνας καὶ τὰς ποικίλας ἀναξυρίδας, ἔνιοι δὲ καὶ στρεπτοὺς περὶ τοῖς τραχήλοις καὶ ψέλια περὶ ταῖς χερσίν. 19 Xen., Cyr. 8.2.8: Τίς δὲ κοσμῶν κάλλιον φαίνεται στολαῖς τοὺς περὶ αὑτὸν ἢ Περσῶν βασιλεύς; τίνος δὲ δῶρα γιγνώσκεται ὥσπερ ἔνια τῶν βασιλέως, ψέλια καὶ στρεπτοὶ καὶ ἵπποι χρυσοχάλινοι; οὐ γὰρ δὴ ἔξεστιν ἐκεῖ ταῦτα ἔχειν ᾧ ἂν μὴ βασιλεὺς δῷ. On the king as greatest giver cf. Henkelman 2011, 114s. 20 Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1989, 136; Miller 2010, 855.

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Fig. 1 (above): Persepolis, Eastern stairway of apadāna, Delegation 1; Fig. 2 (below): Persepolis, Eastern stairway of apadāna, Delegation 11 (Reproduced by permission of the German Archaeological Institute).

of his nephew’s growing power and afraid that his Median subjects might already be more loyal to Cyrus than to himself. To demonstrate that these worries are unfounded, the Medes – partly on their own initiative, partly at the behest of Cyrus – bring gifts to their king, “one a handsome cupbearer, another one a good cook, a baker or a musician, a beaker or a fine garment”. These gifts convince Cyaxares that those who give them are still loyal to him (Xen., Cyr. 5.5.39s.). The other passage is broadly comparable: this time Gobryas demonstrates his loyalty to Cyrus by presenting him with “golden bowls, jugs and pitchers, every kind of jewellery and countless darics.” 21 There are numerous analogies between the Xenophontic material and the apadāna. The last three members of Delegation 1 bring clothes (fig. 1). 22 The one right at the back carries a pair of trousers whose attached footgear is clearly visible. The antepenultimate one offers a large piece of clothing of which one sleeve can be seen: it is rounded at the 21 Xen., Cyr. 5.2.7: … φιάλας χρυσᾶς καὶ πρόχους καὶ κάλπιδας καὶ κόσμον παντοῖον καὶ δαρεικοὺς ἀμέτρους τινάς … 22 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 27; Walser 1966, Pl. 8, 32.

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end, a feature observed repeatedly on the kandyes worn over the shoulders of officials at Persepolis. 23 The piece of clothing carried by the penultimate member of the delegation is clearly shorter than the kandys and the visible sleeve is straight at the end, so it should be a shirt. The three items taken together represent a complete riding-costume. The same outfit is carried by Delegations 9, 11 (fig. 2), and 16 on the eastern and Delegations 3, 9, and 11 on the northern stairway facade. 24 In front of the members of Delegation 1 who bring the riding-costume there are two others who present rather oversized bracelets, and jewellery like this is also brought by Delegations 6, 11 and 17, 25 though there is admittedly no example on the stairways of the necklaces repeatedly mentioned by Xenophon. Horses appear with Delegations 3, 9, 11, 16, 17 and 19. 26 Since the horses are always bridled, it is obvious that they should be described as χρυσοχάλινοι. Delegations 1, 2, 14, 17–19, 21 and 22 bring weapons, and in two instances (Delegations 1 and 17) they include an akinakes. 27 The most frequent objects on the apadāna are vessels, bowls, beakers and jugs: these appear in the hands of ten delegations (Delegations 1, 3 to 8, 12, 13 and 15) 28 and evoke the presents given to Cyaxares and Cyrus. At the same time there are certain gifts on the apadāna that are peculiar to particular regions: the Elamites bring a lioness with her cubs, 29 the Eastern Iranian delegations (4, 7, 13, and 15) Bactrian camels, 30 the Arabian one (20) a dromedary 31, the Indian delegation (18) an onager and possibly gold, 32 the Libyans an antelope 33 and the Nubians an elephant tusk and a much discussed and certainly native animal, sometimes identified as a giraffe, sometimes as an okapi. 34 Items of this sort have no counterparts in the Xenophontic tradition about honorific gifts given by or to kings. In 1926 E. Herzfeld associated the gift-giving processions on the two stairway facades with a ceremony he happened to observe in November 1923 on the occasion of a visit to 23 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 52, 57; Walser 1980, Pl. 60–61, 63, 66, 70, 76, etc. 24 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 29, 35, 37, 42; Walser 1966, Pl. 16, 18, 23, 54, 57, 68; a good illustration of the various parts of the garment brought by members of Delegation 11 on the eastern stairway is provided by Koch 2001, Fig. 49. 25 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 32, 37, 43; Walser 1966, Pl. 13, 18, 24, 47, 49, 58. 26 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 29, 35, 37, 42, 43, 45; Walser 1966, Pl. 10, 16, 18, 23, 24, 26, 83–85. 27 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 27, 28, 40, 43–45, 47, 48; Walser 1966, Pl. 8, 9, 21, 24,-26, 28, 29, 31, 34, 36, 63, 64, 73, 75, 77, 79; Root 2003, 14. 28 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 27, 29–34, 38, 39, 41; Walser 1966, Pl. 8, 10–15, 19, 20, 22, 31, 33, 38–40, 43, 45, 46, 50, 51, 59, 62, 65, 67. 29 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 28; Walser 1966, Pl. 9, 37. 30 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 30, 33, 39, 41; Walser 1966, Pl. 11, 14, 20, 22, 86. 31 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 46; Walser 1966, Pl. 27. 32 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 44; Walser 1966, Pl. 25, 71, 86. 33 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 48; Walser 1966, Pl. 29. 34 Schmidt 1953, Pl. 49; Walser 1966, Pl. 30, 81–82. For the identification as a giraffe see Olmstead 1948, 249; Shahbazi 1976, 47; in contrast the animal was termed an okapi by Hampe 2001. Cf. Valdez & Tuck 1980 who identified the animal as an Indian(!) nilgai antelope.

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Persepolis by the governor of Fārs. 35 Years later he interpreted the relief representations as a ceremony that took place regularly at the turn of the year, at the “Naurōz festival”. 36 In this interpretation he was followed by – among others – K. Erdmann and R. Ghirshman, 37 while G. Walser eventually summed up the function of Persepolis as that of a “Nouruzund Begräbnispfalz”. With respect to the objects presented to the King, Walser explained “daß es sich nicht um eigentliche Tribute, sondern um Ehrengeschenke der Reichsvölker für den Großkönig zum Nouruzfeste handelt”, i.e. that they were not the result of taxation, but were voluntary gifts. 38 He thus conjured up the idea of loyal subjects coming before their fatherly monarch in a panorama of ethnographic diversity, 39 and he not only denied that the objects were “Reichstribute”, but also that the delegations represented entities liable for taxation. The essential argument for this was that the 20 tax-providing satrapies reported in Herodotus III 89 could not be numerically reconciled with the 23 delegations on the stairways and that it was impossible to make the latter match any of the lists of dahyāva in Achaemenid royal inscriptions. 40 In a variety of forms, Walser’s view has proved stubbornly long-lived. 41 Idealizing interpretations of Achaemenid court art have played a role here: prompted among other things by comparisons with Assyrian art, scholars have deduced an attitude on the part of the Persian kings towards their subjects that was characterized by tolerance and an interest in the empire’s multicultural and multiethnic diversity. This attitude was supposed to have won consent to Persian rule among its subjects and to have engendered a loyalty that found its natural expression in the presentation of gifts. It is from this perspective that M. C. Root contrasted the objects delivered on the apadāna with tribute and called them instead “a gift offered as a type of political encomium – an expression of gratitude and continued allegiance to the greater power”. 42 These interpretations are mistaken. 43 A demonstration that this is so starts by addressing Walser’s supposition that the delegations of the apadāna are to be distinguished from the lists of countries in Achaemenid royal inscriptions. It is now quite widely understood that there is no such distinction and that the procession of delegations on the apadāna is simply a visualised list of dahyāva, but the argument in favour of this view is worth re-stating. (1) It is absolutely certain that the throne bearers on the tomb of Darius I at Naqš-e Rostam are a visualized dahyāva-list: this is clear because the figures 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Herzfeld 1926, 247s. Herzfeld 1943, 269s. Erdmann 1956, 65; Ghirshman 1957, 265. Walser 1966, 23. Walser 1966, 25s. Walser 1966, 25. See, e.g., recently Mousavi 2012, 53. Root 1979, 228; see ibid.: “… it is quite possible that the ethos behind the presentation of an encomium might have suggested that the court protocol for this type of presentation be designed to reinforce the acting out of the idea of voluntarily, and even happily given gifts.” 43 See the critical remarks of Muscarella 1969, 280s. on Walser and the well-founded doubts of Harrison 2011, 84s. about the identification of the subjects with Achaemenid rule.

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holding up the throne are all labeled (DNe) and the labels accord in number and sequence exactly with the entries in the list of countries given in inscription DNa § 3. 44 (2) There can be no reasonable doubt that the throne bearers on the door jambs of the Tripylon and the Hall of 100 columns at Persepolis 45 are to be interpreted in the same way. (3) The sequence of those throne bearers is fundamentally dependent on that of the delegations on the nearby apadāna. 46 It is true that there are 28 throne bearers, whereas there are just 23 delegations on the apadāna-stairways, but this is due to the addition of entirely new figures at positions 18, 20, 21, 22 and 28 (four of them linked to the Saka of the steppe area, the fifth, viz. figure 21, to an Indian territory) 47 and does not affect the fact that the other 23 throne bearers appear in exactly the same order as the 23 apadāna delegations. (4) This congruence in sequence implies a congruence in content. Consequently the delegations on the apadāna and all other processions of this kind also convey a visualized dahyāva-list. As already noted, this insight is not new: that is why nearly all of those who have tried to identify the apadāna delegations in recent times have confined themselves to the pool of names offered by Achaemenid royal inscriptions. 48 Walser’s identification of the delegations, by contrast, made use of names that figure in Herodotus but not in dahyāva-lists, designating Delegation 6 as Syrians and Delegation 8 as Cilicians. 49 But if the designations of throne bearers and delegations are to be read in close conjunction with the dahyāva-lists of Achaemenid royal inscriptions, interpretation of what they signify should also be based on what is said in those inscriptions. The enumerations of dahyāva are in all instances introduced or followed by sentences with nearly identical purport. After the list of countries in § 6 of the Bisotun inscription we read (§ 7):

44 45 46 47

Schmitt 2000, 29s., 48s. Cf. Basello 2013, 51s. Schmidt 1953, Pl. 77s., 80s., 103s., 106–114; Walser 1980, Pl. 83–86, 106. Cf. Jacobs 2002, 357–362, esp. the stemma on p. 361. This was observed already by E. Herzfeld and W. Hinz (Herzfeld 1968, 360; Hinz 1969, 110s.). Both identified throne bearer no. 21 as Sattagydian and no. 18 as Chorasmian. No. 20 is a Skudrian according to Herzfeld, a Pontic Saka according to Hinz; no. 22 is a pointed hat Saka, if one follows Herzfeld, an Amyrgian Saka after Hinz; no. 28 was called an Amyrgian Saka by Herzfeld, although Hinz thought that it might be a Daha. 48 In this context W. Hinz must be mentioned again, since his identifications of the representatives of the dahyāva are still, cum grano salis, state of the art (Hinz 1969, 95–113). More recent attempts at identification achieved only moderate progress (i.a. Jacobs 1982; Hachmann 1995; Hachmann & Penner 1999) or went backwards (Tourovets 2001). In a quite radical manner H. Koch argued in favour of an equation of representations and written lists and tried to identify the provinces of the apadāna delegations with the list in DNa (Koch 1993). To achieve a match between the 30 names of DNa and the 23 delegations on the apadāna staircases, Koch was, however, forced to formulate the problematic hypothesis that in several cases two countries were represented by only one embassy. Others thought they could observe a better match between the apadāna delegations and the list of XPh § 3, i.a. Herzfeld 1968, 355s.; Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1989, 137. 49 Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1989, 136, also called one delegation “Syrians”, as did Tourovets 2001, 222s. (Delegation 6).

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“Proclaims Darius, the king: These (are) the countries which fell to my lot; by the favour of Auramazdā they were my vassals; to me they brought baji-. What has been said to them by me, either by night or by day, that they did.” 50 The enumeration of countries in DPe § 2 is preceded by the following statement: “Proclaims Darius, the king: By the favour of Auramazdā these (are) the countries, of which I took possession together with this Persian people, which feared me (and) brought baji- to me.” And something quite similar appears in DNa § 3: “Proclaims Darius, the king: By the favour of Auramazdā these (are) the countries which I seized outside Persia. I ruled them; to me they brought baji-. What has been said to them by me, that they did. The law that (was) mine, that held them (stable).” 51 Now it can be demonstrated that the countries listed in Achaemenid royal inscriptions are provinces of the empire: this emerges from the nearly complete match between the names of those countries and the ethno- and toponyms in the Persepolis Fortification Archive that identify either the starting-points and destinations of travellers or the places of origin of the men, women and children, workers and specialists who are supplied with provisions. 52 The word bāji-, mostly translated as “tribute”, sometimes as “the king’s portion”, must therefore describe the contributions made by those provinces in accordance with the obligations imposed on them, i.e. tax. The type and extent of such obligations was a matter of negotiation and what was required of a province might take various forms, including the provision of expensive items such as jewelry and tableware in gold, silver and precious stone 53 or the allocation of supplies for the maintenance of way stations on sections of the royal road that ran through the province. In this context royal inscriptions lay stress on the delivery of building materials (DSf §§ 9–12; DSz §§ 8–11; DSaa § 3 54) 50 The translations of this and the two subsequent passages are adopted from Schmitt 1991, 50 (DB § 6), Schmitt 2000, 61 (DPe § 2) and Schmitt 2000, 30 (DNa § 3), the only divergence being that, instead of the translation “tribute”, the Old Persian baji- is preserved. 51 In the Old Persian version of DSe § 3 which was reconstructed after the Babylonian one (Stève 1974, esp. 24s; cf. Stève 1987; Schmitt 2009, 123s.; on the Babylonian version see Stève 1974, 16–24; Vallat 2010, 303) and in XPh § 3 (Schmitt 2000, 92s.) the relevant passages are nearly identical with DNa § 3. 52 Jacobs 2017a. 53 See, e.g., the plates, trays and bowls made of various kinds of coloured stone found in the treasury of Persepolis (Schmidt 1957, 87–93 Pl. 50–64; Simpson 2005, nos. 146, 148, 149); cf. also the pestles and mortars of green chert from the same locality (Schmidt 1957, 53–56 Pl. 23s.; Bowman 1970, 44–52 Pl. 1) which are, as explicitely naming the “treasurer of Arachosia”, compared by Henkelman to tax-yields documented in the Persepolis Fortification Archive (Henkelman 2017, 102–109). 54 DSaa § 3 suggests the delivery of building materials for all the countries listed in § 4; for the text of DSaa see Vallat 1986, 277–279; on the dating see Jacobs 2017a, 27–29.

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Fig. 3: Fragment of wall painting from Susa (Reproduced by permission of Rémy Boucharlat).

and manpower (DSf § 12; DSz § 11), while military service and, above all, the labour of workers dispatched from their provinces for work in the heartland, e.g. on canals, figure prominently in other sources. 55 Obligations of this sort could not be displayed visually in a compact form, so images of provincial representatives carrying the gāθu- (throne) or bringing gifts were used instead. The two iconographic variants are closely related in content, but differ in emphasis: the image of the throne bearers represents the abstract idea of an obligation to the king, whereas that of the gift-bringers draws attention to the existence of an actual tax-yield. Since it hardly seems likely that there were occasions on which the king was carried around on a huge piece of furniture (let alone that provincial representatives had to make themselves available as carriers), the throne bearer image is presumably purely symbolic, and it seems reasonable in the first instance to suppose that the same goes for its counterpart, the gift-bearer procession. Some may nonetheless wish to retain the idea that a real event is being depicted in the latter case.  56 If the gift-bearer procession does allude to a real event, one thing is clear: it is not an event that is specifically and uniquely linked to Persepolis, e.g. the celebration of the Nowruz festival. This is demonstrated by a fragment of painting from Susa that very probably comes from the representation of a gift-bearing provincial delegation (fig. 3) 57: if

55 Jursa & Schmidl 2017, esp. 716 (“access to manpower continued to be the primary interest of the state, …”), 723. 56 Cf. Cahill 1985, 387s. who imagined a handing over of gifts in a “ceremonial context”. 57 This is one of two painted fragments, for which see Labrousse & Boucharlat 1972, fig. 42, 2–3, Pl. XXX 1; Briant 1992, figs. on p. 50. It shows a head that seems to be covered by a tape wrapped many times around: this is very similar to the heads of the members of Delegation 7 on the apadāna stairs, which may represent the province of Arachosia, and is surely from a painted version of the gift-bearer composition. The other fragment has been interpreted in the same way, as showing the head of a Median gift-bearer. But the headdress on this fragment is quite different from those of the

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the gift-bearer icon familiar from the Persepolis apadāna also appeared on the walls of the palace at Susa there is no reason to suppose that it represents something that could only happen at Persepolis. In view of this, one might be tempted to think that P. Calmeyer already came up with a correct interpretation of the delegation parades in 1980, even though he was still unaware of the fragments from Susa. 58 His suggestion was that they condensed events of a kind described by Aelian in his Varia Historia 1.31: “It is one of the most meticulously observed Persian customs that, when the king travels through Persia, all the Persians bring something to him, each according to his ability. But as they do farming, do hard work on the soil and produce with their own hands, they do not bring anything excessive nor anything too sumptuous, but a piece of cattle or a sheep, and some bring grain, others wine. When he passes by this is presented by everybody and it is labeled a gift and it is taken this way. Those who have a still barer living than those bring milk, dates, cheese, seasonal eatables and other firstfruits of the country.” 59 But the fact that the gifts listed by Aelian do not correspond at all with what is carried by the apadāna delegations already casts doubt on the proposed interpretation, and there is a more fundamental problem with Calmeyer’s idea, namely that it ignores the programmatic character of the dahyāva-lists: they represent provinces of the empire, not arbitrary parts of the populace. So, if one is inclined to suppose that an image of gifts of high symbolic value being presented to the King is not simply an allegory for compliance with tax obligations but illustrates a real occurrence, albeit in an abstract form, one may do better to think of the delegations that travelled to the court to negotiate about tax obligations. C. Waerzeggers has assembled documents to prove that at least from Darius I’s 13th regnal year onwards (and perhaps earlier) representatives from Babylon regularly went to Susa around the turn of the year for that very purpose. 60 She also in passing raised the possibility that some sort of New Year’s festivity was involved and, although – as she makes clear – there is no

members of Delegation 1 and other delegations wearing the riding costume, esp. Delegations 3, 9, 16, and what we see here is an official with diademed tiara, not the member of a delegation. 58 Calmeyer 1980, 56s. with n. 20. 59 Ael., VH 1.31: Νόμος οὗτος Περσικὸς ἐν τοῖς μάλιστα ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν φυλαττόμενος. ὅταν εἰς Πέρσας ἐλαύνῃ βασιλεύς, πάντες αὐτῷ Πέρσαι κατὰ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ δύναμιν ἕκαστος ⟨τι⟩ προσκομίζει. ἅτε δὲ ὄντες ἐν γεωργίᾳ καὶ περὶ γῆν πονούμενοι καὶ αὐτουργοὶ πεφυκότες οὐδὲν τῶν ὑβρισμένων οὐδὲ τῶν ἄγαν πολυτελῶν προσφέρουσιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ βοῦς ἢ ὄις, οἱ δὲ σῖτον, καὶ οἶνον ἄλλοι. Παρεξιόντι δ᾽ αὐτῷ καὶ παρελαύνοντι ταῦτα ὑπὸ ἑκάστου πρόκειται καὶ ὀνομάζεται δῶρα καὶ δοκεῖ τούτῳ. οἱ δὲ ἔτι τούτων ἐνδεέστεροι τὸν βίον καὶ γάλα καὶ φοίνικας αὐτῷ καὶ τυρὸν προσφέρουσι καὶ τρωκτὰ ὡραῖα καὶ τὰς ἄλλας ἀπαρχὰς τῶν ἐπιχωρίων. 60 Waerzeggers 2010.

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specific evidence for such a thing, 61 one could speculate that the submissiveness of a province and its satrap had to be demonstrated on this occasion by the presentation of gifts. In the Q-texts from Persepolis, those documents which, according to R. T. Hallock’s classification, register ‘travel rations’, one finds almost exclusively names of provinces from the eastern half of the empire. 62 W. Henkelman has deduced from this that Persepolis was the point of contact for travellers from the eastern half of the empire and Susa for travellers from the western half. 63 If the same general principle also applied to provincial delegations – so that those from the west, including from Babylon, went to Susa, while those from the east went to Persepolis – then depiction of gift-giving delegations illustrated an event that happened at least in Susa and Persepolis and might have happened – and even been depicted – at other places as well. But it should also be stressed (a) that even on this view the depiction of gift-bringing delegations remains highly abstract, since there would never have been a single event in one place involving the whole empire, and (b) that there is no evidence that the Babylonians’ visits to Susa either involved festivities or were part of a standardized empire-wide pattern. Conclusions We have seen that the gifts that pass from hand to hand in Xenophon – especially in the Cyropaedia – correspond to a remarkable degree with the objects that the delegations from the provinces of the Achaemenid Empire on the stairway facades of the so-called apadāna at Persepolis brought to their king. To describe those objects with the term “gift” – or “Geschenk” in German – is, however, misleading, because the word’s natural connotation of irregularity and voluntariness is inappropriate. H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg implicitly alluded to the danger of misinterpretation long ago: “gifts supposedly belong to the sphere of benevolent rule, based on the consent of the governed”. 64 In many interpretations of the imagery the idea of mutuality plays an important role, 65 but this also seems to miss the point. Achaemenid royal inscriptions, our best written aid to interpretation in this context, simply stress the subjects’ obligation to render things to the king. That being so, the famous 1923–24 article of M. Mauss, ‘Essai sur le don’, which is sometimes adduced in this connection, 66 and the trinity of obligations that he established, i.e. giving, receiving, repaying, 67 are not helpful. Admittedly, there is a passage in Aelian’s

61 62 63 64 65 66 67

Waerzeggers 2010, 809. Cf. the synopses in Briant 2010, 35s.; Jacobs 2017a, 10s. Henkelman, in press. Vgl. Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1989, 129. In this sense also Lenfant 2017, 43s. E.g. Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1989, 131. Mauss 1923–24, 50: “Il reste pour comprendre complètement l’institution de la prestation totale et du potlatch, à chercher l’explication des deux autres moments qui sont complémentaires de celui-là; car la prestation totale n’emporte pas seulement l’obligations de rendre les cadeaux reçus; mais elle

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Varia Historia which reports that the Persian king offered rich gifts to every embassy that came to him, 68 but reciprocity of this kind is not even hinted at in the Achaemenid inscriptions. 69 It is unimaginable that the products or services that are represented by the gifts of the apadāna delegations could have been withheld without incurring punishment, and just as problematic is the supposition formulated by L. Khatchadurian that the throne bearers should be explained in the light “of a constant need for sovereignty’s protection, lest the subjects who uphold it drop their weary arms and let the ‘throne’ tumble to the ground”. 70 Such a supposition is erroneous because it overestimates the range of possible associations a representation of this kind could evoke in contemporary spectators, and Khatchadurian virtually concedes this herself when she limits the range of interpretation by stating that, in the conception of the image, “will to mastery” prevailed over sovereignty’s fragility. 71 Interpretations like that of Khatchadourian should be discarded and replaced by an understanding that in the representations of delegations approaching the king two levels of meaning overlay each other. One is the strictly one-sided obligation of (obedience and) tax payment, the other the iconographic expression of this reality chosen by the Achaemenids in the form of a scene of ceremonial gift-giving. 72 So far as Cyropaedia is concerned, the cases most immediately parallel to the apadāna situation are the representations of bottom-up gifts, from the Medes to Cyaxares and from Gobryas to Cyrus, and in both of those cases the giver is affirming a loyalty that is or might be under question. As an abstract image that is arguably what the apadāna procession is doing: the picture symbolizes provincial tax obligations but dresses them as affirmations of loyalty and reliability. The apadāna procession is not about the subjects’ en suppose deux autres aussi importantes: obligation d’en faire, d’une part, obligation d’en recevoir, de l’autre.” Cf. the critical discussion of Mauss’s explanation by Athané 2008, 282–285. 68 Ael., VH 1.22: Δῶρα τὰ ἐκ βασιλέως διδόμενα τοῖς παρ᾽ αὐτὸν ἥκουσι πρεσβευταῖς, εἴτε παρὰ τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἀφίκοιντο εἴτε ἑτέρωθεν, ταῦτ᾽ ἦν· τάλαντον μὲν ἑκάστῳ Βαβυλώνιον ἐπισήμου ἀργυρίου, ταλαντιαῖαι δὲ φιάλαι δύο ἀργυραῖ. Δύναται δὲ τὸ τάλαντον τὸ Βαβυλώνιον δύο καὶ ἑβδομήκοντα μνᾶς Ἀττικάς. ψέλλιά τε καὶ ἀκινάκην ἐδίδου καὶ στρεπτόν, χιλίων δαρεικῶν ἄξια ταῦτα, καὶ στολὴν ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῖς Μηδικήν· ὄνομα δὲ τῇ στολῇ δωροφορική – “As for the gifts made by the Great King to ambassadors, who came to him from Greece and elsewhere, this is what they were: he gave to each one Babylonian talent of coined silver, and two silver cups of one talent (the Babylonian talent is with seventy-two Attic minas). He also presented them with bracelets, an akinakes and a necklace – a total value of one thousand darics – and further a Median robe. This robe has the name dorophorikē (= presented as a gift’)” (Transl. after N. G. Wilson). For a comprehensive treatment of this passage see Lenfant 2017, esp. 45–50. 69 Jacobs 2017b, 146–149. 70 Khatchadourian 2016, 21s. 71 Khatchadourian 2016, 22. 72 On ceremonial gift-giving cf. Hénaff 2013, 18: “They (ceremonial goods) are precious goods valued as symbols of alliance, as tokens of the commitment of the giver. The alliance established or renewed involves the public life of the group (as does exogamic alliance, this most exemplary of exchanges). As such, it belongs to the political sphere. It is not foremost a gesture of support. This exchange institutes an agreement and sanctions trust. It may also express an attitude of compassion and solidarity in trials. To the extent that these exchanges involve morality, it is in terms of the loyalty displayed and the honor at stake in the alliance, not because of any generous intention.”

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affection for the king or his affection for them, but about the proper maintenance of a subordinate relation – and this is actually also what the throne bearers image represents, albeit in a different way. The relationship of subordinate provinces to royal rule and the burden of liabilities are entirely one-sided and no generous intent can be discerned on either side. That the negotiation of obligations was set in a ceremonial frame similar to the representations of gift-giving delegations, though imaginable, is unprovable.

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Bibliography Athané, F. 2008. Le don – Histoire du concept, évolution des pratiques (https://bdr.parisnanterre.fr/theses/internet/2008PA100112.pdf). Azoulay, V. 2004. Xénophon et les grâces du pouvoir – De la charis au charisme (Histoire ancienne et médiévale 77), Paris. Basello, G. P. 2013. ‘Le unità amministrative dell’impero achemenide (satrapie): il potere percepito dai popoli sottomessi e le immagini di ritorno’, in: G. L. Prato (ed.), Ciro chiamato per nome (Is 45,4): L’epoca persiana e la nascità dell’Israele biblico tra richiamo a Gerusalemme e diaspora perenne, Atti del XVII Convegno di Studi Veterotestamentari (Assisi, 5–7 Settembre 2011) (Ricerche Storico Bibliche XXV-1), Bologna, 37–97. Bowman, R. A. 1970. Aramaic Ritual Texts from Persepolis (The University of Chicago Oriental Institute Publications XCI), Chicago. Briant, P. 1992. Darius – Les Perses et l’Empire, Paris. —. 1996. Histoire de l’empire perse de Cyrus à Alexandre I/II (Achaemenid History X), Leiden. —. 2010. ‘Suse et l’Élam danss l’empire achéménide’, in: J. Perrot (ed.), Le palais de Darius – Une résidence royale sur la route de Persépolis à Babylone, Paris, 16–48. Buxton, R. F. 2017. ‘Xenophon on Leadership: Commanders as Friends’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 323–337. Cahill, N. 1985. The Treasury at Persepolis: Gift-Giving at the City of the Persians, American Journal of Archaeology 89, 373–389. Calmeyer, P. 1980. ‘Textual Sources for the Interpretation of Achaemenian Palace Decorations’, Iran 18, 55–63. Erdmann, K. 1956. Rev. of Schmidt 1953, Bibliotheca Orientalis 13, 56–65. Gera, D. L. 1993. Xenophon’s Cyropaedia – Style, Genre, and Literary Technique (Oxford Classical Monographs), Oxford. Ghirshman, R. 1957. ‘Notes Iraniennes VII: A propos de Persépolis’, Artibus Asiae 20, 265–278. Hachmann, R. 1995. ‘Die Völkerschaften auf den Bildwerken von Persepolis’, in: U. Finkbeiner, R. Dittmann & G. Hauptmann (eds.), Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte Vorderasiens – Festschrift für Rainer Michael Boehmer, Mainz, 195–222. Hachmann, R. & Penner, S. 1999. ‘6.4 Zur Chronologie der geknickten Fibeln und ihrer Verwandten’, in: R. Hachmann & S. Penner, Kāmid el-Lōz – 3. Der eisenzeitliche Friedhof und seine kulturelle Umwelt (Saarbrücker Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 21), Bonn, 250–290. Hampe, O. 2001. ‘Das Okapi von Persepolis – erstes Dokument von Okapia johnstoni (Artiodactyla: Giraffidae)’, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran und Turan 33, 203–218. Harrison, T. 2011. Writing Ancient Persia, London. Hénaff, M. 2013. ‘Ceremonial Gift Giving’, in: M. L. Satlow (ed.), The Gift in Antiquity, Hoboken, 12–24. Henkelman, W. F. M. 2011. ‘Parnakka’s Feast: šip in Pārsa and Elam’, in: J. Álvarez-Mon & M. B. Garrison (eds.), Persia and Elam, Winona Lake, 89–166. —. 2017. ‘Imperial Signature and Imperial Paradigm: Achaemenid Administrative Structure and System across and beyond the Iranian Plateau’, in: B. Jacobs, W. F. M. Henkelman & M. W. Stolper (eds.), Die Verwaltung im Achämenidenreich – Imperiale Muster und

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Strukturen / Administration in the Achaemenid Empire – Tracing the Imperial Signature (Classica et Orientalia 17), Wiesbaden, 45–256. —. in press. ‘Nakhtḥor in Persepolis’, in: C. J. Tuplin & J. Ma (eds.), Aršāma and His World – The Bodleian Letters in Context, Oxford. Herzfeld, E. E. 1926. ‘Reisebericht’, Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 80, 225–284. —. 1943. Iran in the Ancient East – Archaeological Studies Presented in the Lowell Lectures at Boston, New York. —. 1968. The Persian Empire – Studies in Geography and Ethnography of the Ancient Near East, edited from the posthumous papers by Gerold Walser, Wiesbaden. Hinz, W. 1969. Altorientalische Funde und Forschungen, Berlin. Jacobs, B. 1982. ‘Persepolisdelegationen und Satrapienordnung’, Acta Praehistorica et Archaeologica 13/14, 75–84. —. 1994. Die Satrapienverwaltung im Perserreich zur Zeit Darius’ III. (Beihefte zum Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients – Reihe B 87), Wiesbaden. —. 2002. ‘Achämenidische Kunst – Kunst im Achämenidenreich, Zur Rolle der achämenidischen Großplastik als Mittel der herrscherlichen Selbstdarstellung und der Verbreitung politischer Botschaften im Reich’, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran und Turan 34, 345–395. —. 2005. ‘Review of G. B. Lanfranchi, M. Roaf & R. Rollinger (eds.), Continuity of Empire (?) – Assyria, Media, Persia (History of the Ancient Near East / Monographs – V), Padova 2003’, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran und Turan 37, 445–452. —. 2016. ‘Herrscherliche Willkür und korrumpierte Charaktere – Der Fall des Orontes’, in: C. Binder, H. Börm & A. Luther (eds.), Diwan – Untersuchungen zu Geschichte und Kultur des Nahen Ostens und des östlichen Mittelmeerraumes im Altertum, Festschrift für Josef Wiesehöfer zum 65. Geburtstag, Duisburg, 247–271. —. 2017a. ‘Kontinuität oder kontinuierlicher Wandel in der achämenidischen Reichsverwaltung? Eine Synopse von PFT, dahyāva-Listen und den Satrapienlisten der Alexanderhistoriographen’, in: B. Jacobs, W. F. M. Henkelman & M. W. Stolper (eds.), Die Verwaltung im Achämenidenreich – Imperiale Muster und Strukturen / Administration in the Achaemenid Empire – Tracing the Imperial Signature (Classica et Orientalia 17), Wiesbaden, 3–44. —. 2017b. ‘Personalisierung politischer Agenzien. Eine herodoteische Erzähltechnik und ihre Konsequenzen für die Interpretation persischer Reichspolitik’, in: R. Rollinger (ed.), Die Sicht auf die Welt zwischen Ost und West (750 v. Chr.–550 n. Chr.) / Looking at the World, from the East and the West (750 BCE–550 CE) (Classica et Orientalia 12), Wiesbaden, 143–156. Jursa, M. & Schmidl, M. 2017. ‘Babylonia as a Source of Imperial Revenue from Cyrus to Xerxes’, in: B. Jacobs, W. F. M. Henkelman & M. W. Stolper (eds.), Die Verwaltung im Achämenidenreich – Imperiale Muster und Strukturen / Administration in the Achaemenid Empire – Tracing the Imperial Signature (Classica et Orientalia 17), Wiesbaden, 715–740. Khatchadourian, L. 2016. Imperial Matter – Ancient Persia and the Archaeology of Empires, Oakland.

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Koch, H. 1993. ‘Zum Programm der Apadāna-Treppen in Persepolis’, in: H. Koch, Achämeniden-Studien, Wiesbaden, 93–116. —. 2001. Persepolis – Glänzende Hauptstadt des Perserreichs (Zaberns Bildbände zur Archäologie), Mainz. Labrousse, A. & Boucharlat, R. 1972. ‘La fouille du palais du Chaour à Suse en 1970 et 1971’, Cahiers de la Délégation Archéologique Française en Iran 2, 61–167. Lanfranchi, G. B., Roaf, M. & Rollinger, R. 2003. Continuity of Empire (?) – Assyria, Media, Persia (History of the Ancient Near East / Monographs – V), Padova. Lenfant, D. 2017. ‘Liens personnels, pots-du-vin ou protocole? Les dons du roi de Perse aux ambassadeurs grecs’, in: G. Cuniverti (ed.), Dono, controdono e corruzione – Ricerche storiche e dialogo interdisciplinare (Fonti e studi di Storia Antica 18), Alessandria, 41–69. Llewellyn-Jones, Ll. 2013. King and Court in Ancient Persia 559 to 331 BCE (Debates and Documents in Ancient History), Edinburgh. Mauss, M. 1923–24. Essai sur le don – Forme et raison de l’ échange dans les sociétés archaïques (L’Année Sociologique, seconde série 1), 30–186. Miller, M. 2010. ‘Luxury Toreutic in the Western Satrapies: Court-Inspired Gift-Exchange Diffusion’, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rolliner (eds.), Der Achämenidenhof / The Achaemenid Court (Classica et Orientalia 2), Wiesbaden, 853–897. Mousavi, A. 2012. Persepolis – Discovery and Afterlife of a World Wonder, Boston & Berlin. Muscarella, O. W. 1969. Rev. of Walser 1966, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 28, 280–285. Olmstead, A. T. E. 1948. History of the Persian Empire: Achaemenid Period, Chicago. Root, M. C. 1979. The King and Kingship in Achaemenid Art. Essays on the Creation of an Iconography of Empire (Acta Iranica 19), Leiden. —. 2003. ‘The Lioness of Elam: Politics and Dynastic Fecundity at Persepolis’, in: W. Henkelman & A. Kuhrt (eds.), A Persian Perspective – Essays in Memory of Heleen SancisiWeerdenburg (Achaemenid History XIII), Leiden, 9–32. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, H. 1989. ‘Gifts in the Persian Empire’, in: P. Briant & C. Herrenschmidt (eds.), Le tribut dans l’empire perse – Actes de la Table ronde de Paris, 12–13 Décembre 1986 (Travaux de l’Institut d’Études Iraniennes de l’Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle 13), Paris, 129–146. Schmidt, E. F. 1953. Persepolis I – Structures, Reliefs, Inscriptions (The University of Chicago Oriental Institute Publications 68), Chicago. —. 1957. Persepolis II – Contents of the Treasury and Other Discoveries (The University of Chicago Oriental Institute Publications 69), Chicago. Schmitt, R. 1991. The Bisitun Inscription of Darius the Great – Old Persian Text (Corpus Inscriptionum Iranicarum I. I. I), London. —. 2000. The Old Persian Inscriptions of Naqsh-i Rustam and Persepolis (Corpus Inscriptionum Iranicarum I. I. II), London. —. 2009. Die altpersischen Inschriften der Achaimeniden – Editio minor mit deutscher Übersetzung, Wiesbaden. Shahbazi, A. Sh. 1976. Persepolis Illustrated (Institute of Achaemenid Research Publications IV), Teheran.

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Simpson, St J. 2005. ‘The Royal Table’, in: J. Curtis & N. Tallis (eds.), Forgotten Empire – The World of Ancient Persia, London, 104–131. Stève, M.-J. 1974. ‘Inscriptions des Achéménides à Suse (Fouilles de 1952 à 1965)’, Studia Iranica 3, 7–28. —. 1987. Ville Royale de Suse – 7. Nouvaux mélanges épigraphiques, Inscriptions royales de Suse et de la Susiane (Mémoires de la Délégation Archéologique en Iran 53), Nizza. Tamiolaki, M. 2017. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Tentative Answers to an Enigma’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 174–194. Tourovets, A. 2001. ‘Nouvelles propositions et problèmes relatifs à l’identification des délégations de l’escalier est de l’Apadana (Persépolis)’, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran und Turan 33, 219–256. Tuplin, C. J. 1990. ‘Persian Decor in Cyropaedia: Some Observations’, in: H. SancisiWeerdenburg & J. W. Drijvers (eds.), The Roots of the European Tradition – Proceedings of the 1987 Groningen Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History V), Leiden, 17–29. —. 1996. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Education and Fiction’, in: A. H. Sommerstein & C. Atherton (eds.), Education in Greek Fiction, Bari, 65–162. —. 2010. ‘Xenophon and Achaemenid Courts: A Survey of Evidence’, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), Der Achämenidenhof / The Achaemenid Court (Classica et Orientalia 2), Wiesbaden, 189–230. —. 2012. ‘Xenophon’, in: S. Hornblower & A. Spawforth (eds.), The Oxford Classical Dictionary – Fourth Edition, Oxford, 1580–1583. —. 2013. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Fictive History, Political Analysis and Thinking with Iranian Kings’, in: L. Mitchell & C. Melville (eds.), Every Inch a King – Comparative Studies on Kings and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds, Leiden & Boston, 67–90. Valdez, R. & Tuck, R. G. 1980. ‘On the Identification of the Animals Accompanying the “Ethiopian” Delegation in the Bas-Reliefs of the Apadana at Persepolis, Iran 18, 156–157. Vallat, F. 1986. ‘Table accadienne de Darius Ier (DSaa)’, in: L. De Meyer, H. Gasche & F. Vallat (eds.), Fragmenta Historiae Aelamicae – Mélanges offerts à M.-J. Stève (Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations), Paris, 277–287. —. 2010. ‘Les principales inscriptions achéménides de Suse’, in: J. Perrot (ed.), Le palais de Darius – Une résidence royale sur la route de Persépolis à Babylone, Paris, 300–317. Waerzeggers, C. 2010. ‘Babylonians in Susa. The Travels of Babylonian Businessmen to Susa Reconsidered’, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), Der Achämenidenhof / The Achaemenid Court (Classica et Orientalia 2), Wiesbaden, 777–813. Walser, G. 1966. Die Völkerschaften auf den Reliefs von Persepolis – Historische Studien über den sogenannten Tributzug an der Apadanatreppe (Teheraner Forschungen 2), Berlin. —. 1980. Persepolis – Die Königspfalz des Darius, Tübingen. Wiesehöfer, J. 2001. ‘Gift-Giving in Persia – II. In Pre-Islamic Persia: Achaemenids’, in: E. Yarshater (ed.), Encyclopaedia Iranica X, New York, 607–608. Wright, J. L. & Hollman, M. E. in press. ‘Banquet and Gift Exchange’, in: B. Jacobs & R. Rollinger (eds.), A Companion to the Achaemenid Persian Empire, Chichester.

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Literary Reception

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Xenophon’s Kyroupaideia and the Alexander Historiographers Sabine Müller (Marburg)

Xenophon and Alexander in Scholarly Debate Xenophon took little notice of Argead Macedonia, as it was no global player in his times. In his Hellenika, he only mentions that Amyntas III (Alexander III’s grandfather) who got into trouble due to the expansion of Chalkidean Olynthos, and the autonomous Upper Macedonian dynast Derdas of Elimeia joined the Spartan campaign under Agesipolis against Olynthos. 1 However, Xenophon’s works are sometimes regarded as a major source of influence for Alexander III in the 4th century AD; the sophist Eunapios from Sardeis even claimed: ὁ γοῦν μέγας Ἀλέξανδρος οὐκ ἄν ἐγένετο μέγας, εἰ μὴ Ξενοφῶν. “Alexander the Great would not have become great if there had been no Xenophon.” 2 This bizarre idea reflects a characteristic phenomenon of Alexander’s reception: The artificial literary figures of Alexander created by the primary and secondary ancient authors are not distinguished from the historical person but mingled and treated as if there were no difference. This problematic approach is one of the central issues of the debate on Alexander’s possible relationship with Xenophon’s Kyroupaideia. Several scholars take for granted that Xenophon’s writings were a kind of blueprint for the Macedonian invasion of Persia and Alexander’s transformation into a ruler of a worldwide multicultural empire. They suggest that parallels between the actions of Xenophon’s Kyros and the Alexander

1 Xen. Hell. 5.2.12–12; 5.2.38–39; 5.3.9. Cf. Rhodes 2010, 25–26. While Plut. Ages. 16.2 and Polyain. 2.1.17; 4.4.3 mention that the Argead ruler Aëropos caused some trouble when Agesilaos II and his troops wanted to march through Macedonia on their way from Asia Minor. Xenophon is silent about this incident. 2 VS 1.453. Cf. Due 1997, 54.

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historiographers’ Alexander(s) primarily say something about Alexander and not about the authors’ treatment of Xenophon. In 1958, Freya Stark argued that the Kyroupaideia obviously influenced Alexander’s policy serving him as a manual for the Persian campaign. 3 In 1973, Robin Lane Fox voiced his opinion that Xenophon felt the major themes of Alexander’s life in advance. 4 In 1982, John Wayne Dye pointed at parallels between Alexander’s ruling actions and those of Xenophon’s Kyros, in particular regarding the multicultural nature of their empires. 5 In 1993, despite discussing particularly Plutarch’s and Arrian’s borrowings from Xenophon, Bodil Due stated that Alexander imitated Xenophon’s Kyros as the best model available for the principles of command and personal form of management. 6 Similarly, in 1995, Christian Mueller-Goldingen characterized the Kyroupaideia as a political manual. 7 In 2014, Bogdan Burliga called it an important source of Alexander’s design of kingdom and suggested that it was read by him in Mieza as a part of Aristotle’s “school curriculum.” 8 However, this is rather speculative, for next to nothing is known about the content of the lessons Aristotle taught his high-ranking Macedonian pupils. 9 In 2017, Christopher Kegerreis stated that borrowings from the Kyroupaideia by Kallisthenes, Marsyas of Pella, and Onesikritos were proof of Alexander’s political imitation of Xenophon’s Kyros. He argued that they knew him well and wanted to flatter him by referring to his favorite role models. 10 However, his argument depends upon the assumption that Marsyas and Onesikritos wrote and published at least the respective chapters during Alexander’s lifetime, which is far from certain. It is widely assumed that they wrote after his death. 11 Additionally, it is speculative to ascribe any parallels regarding Alexander and Xenophon’s Kyros to Marsyas about whose work too little is known. The few fragments that can be attributed to him are neither concerned with Alexander’s education nor do they suggest any Xenophontic coloring. 12 Kegerreis’ 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Cf. Stark 1958, 202–203. Cf. Lane Fox 1973, 72, 75, 83, 122, 154–155, 162, 164, 238. Cf. Lane Fox 1980, 131–132, 184, 377. Cf. Dye 1982, 64–65. Cf. Due 1997, 55, 58. Cf. Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 273. Cf. Burliga 2014, 139, 142. Speaking in general, Plutarch mentions ethics, politics, and metaphysics. As for Greek literature, he only points at the Iliad (Alex. 7.3–5; 8.2). Cf. Koulakiotis 2006, 75–79; Hamilton 1999, 20. 10 Cf. Kegerreis 2017. 11 Marsyas: Bucciantini 2015, 153; Engels 2006, 33; Berve 1926, 248. Onesikritos: Porod 2013, 513 (however, he contradicts himself at 514); Heckel 2006, 184; Koulakiotis 2006, 123, n. 502; Engels 2006, 33; Baynham 2003, 10; Hamilton 1999, 126; Heckel 1992, 50–51; Will 1986, 15; Figueira 1986, 9; Pédech 1984, 76; Berve 1926, 289–290. On the debate about the date of Onesikritos’ work cf. Müller 2011, 55; Winiarczyk 2007, 209–211. Both ancient testimonies are not reliable. Plut. Alex. 46.1 (after Alexander’s death) and Luk. Hist. Conscr. 40 (during Alexander’s lifetime) aim at discussing flattery in historiography without caring for the authenticity of their historical example. Cf. Porod 2013, 108–109, 508–511; Müller 2011, 55–56. However, sometimes it is assumed that Onesikritos began writing during Alexander’s lifetime, cf. Winiarczyk 2007, 209; Pearson 1960, 87. 12 BNJ 135–136. Cf. Gilhaus 2017, 201. Plutarch is our main source regarding Alexander’s childhood and youth. Unfortunately, he does not name his respective sources. However, it is assumed that

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suggestion is dependent on the Suda’s information that besides his Makedonika, Marsyas, just like Onesikritos, wrote an Education of Alexander (Ἀλεξάνδρου ἀγωγή). 13 However, its existence is debated in fact. 14 Alternatively, it is assumed that there was no such separate work but that Ἀλεξάνδρου ἀγωγή was another title used by later authors for parts of the Makedonika. 15 In consequence, there is no way to prove that Marsyas’ image of Alexander owed to Xenophon’s Kyros. As for Kallisthenes, Alexander’s court historio­grapher, his traceable use of the Kyropaideia as a source of inspiration is no proof that Alexander himself was an admirer of Xenophon and imitator of his Kyros figure. While Alexander had to agree to the official report before its publication, this was no documentary bulletin but a piece of propaganda shaped by artifice, idealization, and ideology. It cannot be taken for granted that Kallisthenes accurately reflected Alexander’s genuine policy. As an intellectual, Kallisthenes will have chosen those literary models he expected his audience to be most familiar with: Herodotos and Xenophon. As for critical voices regarding the assumed Xenophontic influence on Alexander, in 1984, Valerio Manfredi pointed at the extent to which Arrian was responsible for the Xenophontic coloring of Alexander’s person and actions in the Anabasis. 16 In 2006, Kieran McGroarty argued that there is no evidence for any influence of Xenophon’s writings on Alexander’s political actions: “This is nonsense. The idea that Alexander the Great led his forces with a spear in one hand and Greek literature in the other (…) is simply not tenable.” 17 In consequence, he characterizes the Xenophontic parallels as literary artifice by Greek historiographers. No source explicitly says that Alexander ever read Xenophon. Plutarch calls the Iliad his favorite book and lists a number of authors whose works he wanted to read on campaign: the Histories of Philistos, tragedies of Aischylos, Sophokles and Euripides, dithyrambic poems of Telestes and Philoxenos. There is no mention of Xenophon. 18 The only reference is provided by Arrian stating that in his speech before the Battle of Issos, Alexander is said (λέγεται) to have alluded to the braveness of Xenophon and the

13 14

15

16 17 18

he got his information mainly from Onesikritos, cf. Hamilton 1999, LIII; Hammond 1997, 41; Hammond 1993, 58; Pédech 1984, 77, 98–99. Plutarch refers to Onesikritos several times in his Life of Alexander (BNJ 134 F 1, 2, 17b, 19, 20, 38). However, he did not mention Marsyas. Only in his Life of Demosthenes (BNJ 135–136 F 20), Plutarch once makes mention of Marsyas as a source. However, he cites him as a source for an incident in the reign of Philip II. Suda s.v. Marsyas Periandrou Pellaios (μ 227 Adler). First, Harpokration called Marysas’ work Τῶν περὶ Ἀλεξάνδρου, not Ἀλεξάνδρου ἀγωγή (BNJ 135–136 F 2–3. Cf. Pearson 1960, 87, n. 22). Second, in the same article in the Suda, Marsyas is erroneously called a former grammarian and author of a History of Attica. Cf. Heckel 1980, 459–460; Pearson 1960, 253–254; Berve 1926, 247. Thus, the information is not wholly credible. Cf. Badian 1999, 955–956; Heckel 1980, 459–460; Pearson 1960, 87, n. 22. However, there are also other scholars believing in the existence of Marsyas’ Education of Alexander: Bucciantini 2015, 14, n. 40; Wissmann 2010, 75; Hammond 1997, 1; Berve 1926, 247 (he does not believe in the existence of Marsyas’ Τῶν περὶ Ἀλεξάνδρου though). Manfredi 1984, 16–21; cf. McGroarty 2006, 107. McGroarty 2008, 122. Accepted by Dueck 2012, 38, n. 42. Plut. Alex. 8.

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Ten Thousand. 19 The authenticity of speeches in ancient historiography is a problem in itself. Moreover, suspiciously, Arrian, a great admirer of Xenophon even calling himself a second Xenophon, 20 made his protagonist Alexander refer to this very literary model in his own Anabasis. This seems to say something about Arrian’s attitude to Xenophon and socio-cultural background of the Second Sophistic, not about Alexander and the milieu of the Macedonian camp. 21 Hypothetically picturing the scene, one might wonder whether Alexander’s soldiers had all read and internalized their Xenophon and were made enthusiastic by this literary reference. In the end, this passage reveals that in Arrian’s days, it was the intellectual duty of a writer to know Xenophon by heart. As this applies also to the older author Plutarch, 22 it is no surprise that the scholars who discovered similarities between the ruling actions of Alexander and Xenophon’s Kyros mostly found them in Arrian and Plutarch. Hence, the first problem is to distinguish between the original traditions and the layer provided by the Second Sophistic treatment. The second problem is that the historical Alexander ought to be distinguished from the literary artificial portraits of him created by the primary and secondary Alexander historiographers. For example, evidence shows that Kyros played a role in the historical Alexander’s representation and appeasement policy towards the conquered. Strabo might have referred to this politics by calling Alexander philokyros. 23 An obvious example is provided by Alexander’s visit to Kyros’ tomb in Pasargadai when he styled himself as following into Kyros’ footsteps by honoring his memory. 24 However, as a Realpolitiker, Alexander was not in need of Xenophon to do this. But the ancient authors who treated the events from a literary angle turned to Xenophon as an obvious model. Therefore, the question what Alexander thought about Xenophon and whether he tried to imitate or emulate Xenophon’s Kyros leads to conclusions based on fictitious psychological profiles, adorned with diverse layers of traditions, interpolations, and artifice. Instead, in the following, the aim is to figure out what the Alexander historiographers might have learned from Xenophon’s Kyroupaideia and to which extent their literary treatment of Alexander was influenced by Xenophon. As for borrowings from the Kyroupaideia, the most obvious suspect among the primary Alexander historiographers is Onesikritos. While Diogenes Laertios is usually a problematic informant, he may not be wrong in saying that Onesikritos’ Ἀλεξάνδρου ἀγωγή (How Alexander was educated), meaning an educational regime with a military touch, was

19 Arr. An. 2.7.8–9. For a second time, in a certainly fictitious scene, Arrian tells that Kallisthenes alluded to Xenophon’s Anabasis and Kyroupaideia (An. 4.11.8–9). 20 Arr. Per. 1.1; 1.2; 2.3; 11.1; 13.5; 14.4–5; 16.3; 25.1. On his admiration for Xenophon cf. Burliga 2013, 6, 17 (he felt a “spiritual proximity”); Wirth 1985, 239–242; Stadter 1980, 60–64. 21 Cf. McGroarty 2006, 107; Manfredi 1984, 16. On Alexander’s role in Second Sophistic literature see Asirvatham 2017, 283. 22 On his Alexander portrait in general see Asirvatham 2018. 23 Strab. 11.11.4. 24 Arr. An. 6.29.4–10. Cf. Wiesehöfer 2017, 57; Müller 2014, 49; Olbrycht 2014, 52–57; Heinrichs 1987.

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modelled on Xenophon’s Kyroupaideia. 25 Diogenes Laertios’ suggestion that the whole work was an adaptation of the Kyroupaideia and styled as an enkomion will be an exaggeration though. Probably, Onesikritos adopted famous scenes and motifs from the work and presented Alexander as an ideal warrior-ruler with a civilizing impact and the qualities of a philosopher. 26 Also, while Onesikritos did probably say something about Alexander’s upbringing, 27 his work will refer to learning as a lifelong process, not only to the lessons that Alexander learned as a child and teenager. Like Kyros, Alexander saw the new places he came to as an opportunity to further educate himself and constantly learn from his experiences. 28 Plutarch made use of Onesikritos’ work and may have adopted and intensified some of the Xenophontic colors of his portrait of Alexander from him. However, there are also borrowings from the Kyroupaideia in the fragments of the works by Kallisthenes, Ptolemaios, Aristoboulos, and Kleitarchos as treated in the following analysis. 29 Parallels: Virtues Xenophon makes clear that Kyros’ success as a conquering ruler is based on his descent, physis, and paideia achieving for him willing obedience by the steadily growing population of his empire. 30 As for genealogy, both Kyros and Alexander are said to have descended from Perseus. 31 This is a unique claim in Argead history. Being the son of an Argead father and an Aiakid mother, Alexander could claim descent from Herakles and Achilles. 32 But there is no trace of special honors paid to Perseus by him, his predecessors or successors. Strikingly, Perseus does not feature in the iconography of Argead coinage 25 Diog. Laert. 6.87. Cf. Gilhaus 2017, 2, 178; Müller 2014, 58–65; Müller 2011, 55–56; Zambrini 2007, 213; Winiarczyk 2007, 211; Heckel 2006, 184; Koulakiotis 2006, 123; Engels 2006, 33; Baynham 2003, 10; Will 1986, 15; Pédech 1984, 76; Brown 1949, 13–23; Strasburger 1939, 464; Berve 1926, 289. Pearson 1960, IX, 87–90 suggested an alternative translation of the title: How Alexander marched up country. For he argued that Diogenes Laertios was wrong and Onesikritos modeled his work not on the Kyroupaideia but on the Anabasis instead. However, this assumption was mostly rejected, cf. Gilhaus 2017, 178, n. 8; Bosworth 1995, 354, n. 5; Pédech 1984, 75, n. 1. As for the term of ἀγωγή cf. Hdt. 3.145; 6.30; Xen. Mem. 4.1.3. 26 Cf. BNJ 134 F 5, F 17a. Cf. Gilhaus 2017, 178; Müller 2011, 58–59. 27 There is only little known about Alexander’s early years. The main source is Plutarch who is assumed to have used Onesikritos’ work for this, cf. Hamilton 1999, LIII; Hammond 1997, 41; Hammond 1993, 58; Pédech 1984, 77, 98–99. 28 Cf. Xen. Kyr. 1.3.15; 1.4.3. See also Bucciantini 2015, 105; Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 273. 29 For the details and respective references see the table listing the possible borrowings from Xenophon by the primary and secondary Alexander historiographers at the end of this paper. 30 Xen. Kyr. 1.1.2; 1.1.6. Cf. Tuplin 2013, 70–71; Gray 2011, 180–182; Wilms 1995, 111, 115; MuellerGoldingen 1995, 276. On Kyros as a model ruler and commander see in general Tuplin 2013, 69–86; Tuplin 1997. Kyros was depicted as the morally best man: Due 1989, 219. 31 Xen. Kyr. 1.2.1; cf. Strab. 17.1.43 (Kallisthenes); Arr. An. 3.3.1 (Ptolemy and Aristoboulos). Cf. Müller 2011, 60; Böhme 2009, 164. Kyroupaideia: Wilms 1995, 118. 32 Plut. Alex. 2.1.

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as do Herakles, the Argead ancestor, or Herakles’ father Zeus. Perseus as a member of Alexander’s family tree is only mentioned once in the context of his visit to Siwa. The oasis was a way station in the economic framework of the export of various products from Sudan in the South and Kyrene in the North. The establishment of control over the caravan trade roads across the desert and the way stations led the Macedonians to Siwa. 33 As there were no battles fought that Kallisthenes could have described and as he was not interested in matters of trade and economy (and obviously did not expect his audience to be so), he concentrated on the oracle and upgraded his report on the allegedly dangerous trip through the Libyan desert (on a well-developed caravan road in fact) by making Alexander imitate the famous hero Perseus who was said to have consulted the oracle, too. The claim was adopted by Ptolemy and Aristoboulos. However, regarding Perseus, Kallisthenes’ source of inspiration might also have been Herodotos who mentions the tradition that the Persian kings descended from Perseus. 34 In this case, it would have been a kind of literary foreshadowing regarding Alexander’s allegedly predestined victory over the Persians, one of Kallisthenes’ central themes. As for the second major factor of Kyros’ success, physis, Xenophon’s depiction of him as most handsome (κάλλιστος), most generous of heart (φιλανθρωπότατος), most devoted to learning (φιλομαθέστατος) and most ambitious (φιλοτιμότατος), willing to suffer hardships and face danger for the sake of glory, 35 is echoed by Plutarch’s and Arrian’s catalogue of Alexander’s similar virtues. 36 Particularly Arrian’s final conclusions about Alexander’s character look like an adaptation of Xenophon’s introduction about Kyros’ virtues combined with all the other virtues of a military leader mentioned in the Kyroupaideia and the Agesilaos. 37 Interestingly, Arrian is also the only Alexander historiographer to say that Alexander was most handsome. 38 As for virtues, like Kyros, from his early childhood on, Alexander showed moderation and self-restraint, ἐγκράτεια, in particular regarding eating and drinking, but also concerning physical needs in general. 39 Kyros distributed the Median delicacies given to 33 Cf. Müller 2014, 50–51, 190. Kyrene submitted to the Macedonians and so did Siwa, thus a fight was unnecessary: Curt. 4.7.9–10; Diod. 17.49.2–3. 34 Hdt. 7.150.2. 35 Xen. Kyr. 1.2.1; 1.6.8; 1.5.13; 8.2.1–2; cf. Xen. Ages. 5.2–3; 6.1. Cf. Tuplin 2013, 77; MuellerGoldingen 1995, 275; Wilms 1995, 116–117. On the use of superlatives in Xenophon as socratic elements see the paper of Dorion in this volume. 36 Arr. An. 7.28.1: φιλοπονώτατος; Plut. Alex. 34.1–3; 41.1; Plut. Alex. 7.3–5; 8.1–2: φιλόλογος καὶ φιλαναγνώστης; 8.4; Arr. An. 7.28.1: φιλοτιμότατος; Plut. Alex. 5.3; Plut. Mor. 179 D; Plut. Alex. 42.2; 45.3; Arr. An. 7.28.1: φιλοκινδυνότατος. 37 Arr. An. 7.28.1–29.4. 38 Arr. An. 7.28.1: σῶμα κάλλιστος. On the contrary, Curtius repeatedly points at Alexander’s small body and non-impressive looks: Curt. 5.2.13–14; 6.5.29–30; 7.8.9. Cf. Curt. 3.12.16–17. 39 Xen. Kyr. 1.2.8; 1.3.4–7; 1.6.17; cf. Xen. Ages. 5.1; 5.4; Plut. Alex. 4.4; Arr. An. 7.28.1; 7.28.4. Cf. Beneker 2012, 105–113; Field 2012, 726; Müller 2011, 60; Due 1997, 55–56; Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 105–106; Wilms 1995, 114–115. According to Plutarch, Alexander was moderate regarding meals and alcohol: He just stayed at dinner parties so long to talk to his friends, not to have drinks (Alex. 22–23; cf. Arr. An. 7.29.4 citing Aristoboulos). Also, sleep was not his master (Plut. Alex. 23).

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him by his caring grandfather Astyages and said that he preferred moderate meals and constant bodily exercise. 40 Perhaps, Plutarch had Xenophon’s Astyages in mind when he wrote about Ada of Karia, who adopted Alexander when the Macedonians occupied the satrapy known for its wealthy local Hekatomnid dynasty to which Ada belonged. The old lady started to send him sweets, meals, cooks, or bakers. 41 Ada could easily be transformed into Alexander’s own female Astyages who was fond of the newly acquainted child and wanted to pamper him. Plutarch’s Alexander reacted just like Kyros. While he liked the affection shown by the gifts, he did not approve of their unhealthy and corrupting effect. He said that he preferred night marches for breakfast and light breakfasts for dinner and distributed the delicacies and other luxurious food entirely to his friends. 42 One is also reminded of Xenophon’s Agesilaos who did the same with his two meals reserved for him as a Spartan king. 43 In social terms, these distributions of food being signs of royal favor honored the receivers. Accordingly, both Kyros and Alexander are reported to have distinguished officials by sending them dishes from their own royal table. 44 As a central feature of his treatment of his friends and followers, Xenophon’s Kyros was extremely generous and more pleased to give than to keep for himself. 45 Comparably, Plutarch’s Alexander was naturally generous, became even more so when he conquered Asia and was more displeased with those who rejected his presents than with those who asked for more. 46 However, just like Kyros, he took care that his friends might not become corrupted by luxury. 47 In general, while Xenophon’s Kyros and Plutarch’s Alexander both support the competitive atmosphere among their generals, 48 they are credited with an exceeding care for their friends. 49 Xenophon’s Kyros even acts as a medical caretaker for his friends. This echoes Xenophon’s praise of Agesilaos (Xen. Ages. 5.3). Just like the chaste Kyros, Plutarch’s Alexander is said to have restraint himself by avoiding to desire any lovers of his philoi and scolded those of his friends who were not that decent (Plut. Mor. 180 F; 760 C). 40 Xen. Kyr. 1.3.4–7; 1.6.17. Cf. Xen. Ages. 5.1. 41 Plut. Alex. 22.4–5. On Ada see Carney 2000a, 111–113; Carney 1996, 570; Jacobs 1994, 55. 42 Plut. Alex. 22.5; 23.5; Mor. 127 B. 43 Xen. Ages. 5.1; see also 4.5–6; cf. Xen. Kyr. 1.4.26. On Spartan colors in the Kyroupaideia cf. Tuplin 1994, 150–161. 44 Xen. Kyr. 2.1.30; 8.2.3–4; Plut. Alex. 23.5; 28.3; Athen. 6.250 F. 45 Xen. Kyr. 2.3.12; 8.2.1–8; 8.2.22; 8.3.37; cf. Xen. Ages. 4.1–4. Cf. Gera 1993, 189. 46 Plut. Alex. 8.4; 34.1–3; Mor. 181 E. Exemplarily, he reportedly once gave a dowry of 10.000 talents to a philos who only wanted 2000 and said “2000 was enough for you to accept but not enough for me to give” (Plut. Mor. 179 E). Cf. Arr. An. 6.5.1–3; 7.28.3. 47 Xen. Kyr. 7.5.74–76; Plut. Alex. 40.1–3. On the lavishness of the Persian court in Greek eyes see Jacobs 2010. 48 Xen. Kyr. 2.3.17; Plut. Alex. 31.2; 47.5; Mor. 181 D. Cf. Gera 1993, 244. Field 2012, 726 calls Kyros’ use of men to his own advantage (1.4.6.; 1.4.12–13) “a surprising mercenary streak.” However, it is not so surprising when we think of Xenophon’s career and entourage. 49 Plut. Alex. 41.1; Kyr. 8.2.1–8; 8.2.13; cf. Xen. Ages. 11.10. Due 1989, 221–222 equals Kyros’ hierarchic, competitive, and personal political space to a family with Kyros as the father who is loved and respected: There is room for individuality as long as the individuals accept their role.

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Plutarch’s Alexander is characterized by this special feature, an obvious borrowing, too: He came to the aid of his sick friends and also soldiers and prescribed for them certain medical treatments. 50 Vivienne Gray points at a certain lack of ceremony regarding Kyros’ treatment of his friends, even after the adaption of the Median ceremonial. 51 Similarly, Plutarch’s Alexander laughed with his friends and showed a certain kind of easiness in dealing with them, exemplarily by writing private letters Plutarch all regards as authentic – despite their often weird content that raises the suspicion that these were forgeries from Hellenistic times. 52 Parallels: Military Leadership There are close parallels between Xenophon’s image of Kyros’ military leadership qualities and particularly Plutarch’s Alexander as a warrior and commander. Kyros was naturally eager to go to war. Despite his self-control, he knew when to be bold to the point of recklessness. Both qualities also applied to Alexander. 53 Kyros is even once described as ‘mad with daring’ when pushing on the opponent. 54 Plutarch depicts a similar image of Alexander at the Battle of Granikos when he “seemed to be acting like a maniac rather than a wise commander.” 55 Perhaps, the literary device of modeling upon the Kyroupaideia also concerned the matter of armor. In the battle against Kroisos, Kyros wore a bronze helmet adorned with white plumes. His arms flashed like a mirror. 56 According to Plutarch, Alexander had white plumes on either side of his helmet’s crest just like Xenophon’s Kyros. 57 On another occasion, Plutarch mentions that Alexander’s helmet gleamed like polished silver while being made of iron. 58 While the debated so-called Poros decadrachms could perhaps attest 50 Xen. Kyr. 8.2.24–25; cf. Wilms 1995, 156–157. Cf. Plut. Alex. 8.1; 41.4; cf. Arr. Ind. 15.11–12; Diod. 17.103.6–8; Strab. 15.7.2; Curt. 9.8.23–28. 51 Cf. Gray 2011, 376. See e.g. Xen. Kyr. 1.4.4; 8.3.25–50. Cf. Azoulay 2004, 151: “a charismatic leader is supposed to be approachable.” 52 Plut. Alex. 41.3–4; 47.1–2; 55.4–5. 53 Xen. Kyr. 1.4.18; Plut. Alex. 24.8; cf. Just. 11.14.5–6; Arr. An. 7.28.1–3. 54 Xen. Kyr. 1.4.24: μαινόμενον δὲ γιγνώσκων τῇ τόλμῃ. Cf. Field 2012, 726; Wilms 1995, 111–112. On the central position of military science in the Kyroupaideia see Hirsch 1985, 87. 55 Plut. Alex. 16.3: ἔδοξε μανικῶς καὶ πρὸς ἀπόνοιαν μᾶλλον ἢ γνώμῃ στρατηγεῖν. Transl. B. Perrin. On the practical impossibility of Alexander’s actions described by the literary sources see Stoneman 1997, 27; Hammond 1981, 73: a “romantic fantasy.” Interestingly, regarding the Battles of Issos and Gaugamela, Arrian seems to borrow from Xenophon’s Anabasis by adopting the position of Kyros the Younger at the Battle of Kounaxa (Xen. An. 1.8.21–23) and applying it to Dareios III. Cf. Manfredi 1984, 21. Arrian states that Dareios fought in the center of the battle-lines while other sources report that he fought on the left wing (Arr. An. 2.8.11; 3.13.1; cf. Curt. 3.9.3–4; 4.14.8; Diod. 17.59.2). On Xenophon’s possible references to Kyros the Younger in the Kyroupaideia see Hirsch 1985, 72–85. 56 Xen. Kyr. 7.1.2. 57 Plut. Alex. 16.4. 58 Plut. Alex. 32.5.

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to the authenticity of the plumed helmet – at least in the time of the Indian campaign when they were minted 59 –,this close parallel in Plutarch who modeled his Alexander figure in several passages on Xenophon’s Kyros seems to be striking though. Kyros started out with a little army and few resources. 60 Plutarch stresses that Alexander had a rough start, too: He set out with nearly nothing but high hopes. According to Onesikritos, he had no more than 200 talents, 70 talents according to Aristoboulos and provision for 30 days according to Douris and Phylarchos. Before he set out, he allotted his property to his philoi. 61 There is no reason to doubt the historical truth of the shortage of the finances of the Macedonians, exhausted by Philip’s constant wars. At the beginning of the campaign, the Macedonians were in fact hard up. 62 Also the measure of ensuring the loyalty of the important Macedonian generals by bestowing gifts on them sounds authentic. However, this variant of the rags-to-riches theme – a nearly impoverished royal warrior owing his success only to his virtues, military capacity, and divine predestination – will have served Onesikritos and Plutarch well to emphasize the parallel between their Alexander and Xenophon’s Kyros. Perhaps, the image of Philip II as a proud father of a highly promising son as depicted by Plutarch in his story of the taming of Boukephalos might also originate with Onesikritos. He might have tried to style Philip as a Macedonian Kambyses I. 63 But this is only speculation. The most obvious borrowing concerns Alexander’s chaste and gentlemanlike behavior towards the captured Persian royal women. Stateira, the wife of Dareios III, was transformed into Alexander’s own Pantheia, the most beautiful woman of Asia, the wife of Abradatas of Susa. 64 Alexander was the new Kyros who mastered himself and did not lay hands or even eyes – a theme treated by Xenophon also in his Memorabilia – 65 upon the most beautiful woman of Asia in his time. 66 This theme originates with Kallisthenes. 59 On the decadrachms see in general Holt 2003. The nature of the helmet is debated. It is characterized as either Phrygian-Thracian (Holt 2003, 102, 120) or Macedonian (Palagia 2012, 372) or as a Persian tiara with diadem (Olbrycht 2011, 19). 60 Xen. Kyr. 1.1.4; Kyr. 1.6.9; 2.4.9. 61 Plut. Alex. 15.1–3; Mor. 327 D-E; 342 D. Cf. Müller 2011, 61. On Douris’ negative depiction of Philip’s and Alexander’s incapability to save their money see Pownall 2013, 48–39, 53–53. 62 Cf. Wirth 1989, 23–24. 63 Plut. Alex. 8.3. Xenophontos 2016, 75 calls it a very astonishing scene. For the father, the head of his house, is proud that he is surpassed by his teenage son, furthermore in public while members of his court witnessed it. Cf. Beneker 2012, 108–110. On Xenophon’s Kambyses as a model father and teacher see Gera 1993, 280. 64 Xen. Kyr. 4.6.11; 5.1.2–17. Cf. Tuplin 2013, 87 (arguing that the story served to acknowledge Susa’s status as the most famous Persian residence in Greek literature – despite the fact that it was not the residence of the Teispids); Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 206–211 (the story underlines Kyros’ ἐγκράτεια); Gera 1993, 192–203, 221–245 (depicted like a Homeric heroine); Tatum 1989, 164–188 (stresses her Greek name at 176). 65 Xen. Mem. 1.3.8–13. Sokrates warns of the dangers of love and good-looking persons who can do damage by just being looked upon. Cf. Gera 1993, 227–228. See also Tatum 1989, 166–167. 66 Arr. An. 2.12.5; 4.19.6; Plut. Alex. 21.4–5; 22.2; 30.3; Mor. 522 A. Cf. Diod. 17.38.1–3; Curt. 3.12.21–26; 4.10.18–19; Just. 11.9.15–16; 11.12.6–8. Cf. Müller 2011, 60–61. His visit to the tent

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Ptolemy and Aristoboulos followed him. Kyros forbade people to speak about Pantheia’s beauty in order not to be distracted from his duties. 67 Plutarch cites an allegedly authentic letter by Alexander in which the ruler stresses that he did not see or desire to see Stateira, Dareios III’s wife, and forbade the people to speak of her beauty – a close verbal resemblance. 68 However, it was difficult to style Dareios III as the new Abradatas who was so happy about Kyros’ gentlemanlike treatment of his wife that he became his ally. 69 At least, Dareios III reportedly became so fond of Alexander that according to one tradition, he said that no-one else but Alexander should sit on Kyros’ throne. 70 Just as Kyros mourned for Pantheia after her suicide and cared for her burial and splendid monument, when Stateira died, Alexander reportedly mourned for her as if she had been one of his relatives, and gave her a sumptuous burial. 71 Another clear reference to the Kyroupaideia by Kallisthenes – who also borrowed the theme of the element of water acknowledging the future Persian king by performing the proskynesis from Xenophon’s Anabasis using it for his “Pamphylian miracle” 72 – concerns a famous sign of Zeus’ favor. When Kyros set out into war to Media, an eagle appeared and flew ahead of him and his soldiers and they prayed to the gods and heroes for their support. 73 In the battle against Kroisos, a thunderclap occurred on the right and Kyros shouted: “Almighty Zeus, we will follow you.” 74 In the Alexander traditions, these elements were combined. In Kallisthenes’ version, right before the Battle of Gaugamela, Alexander raised his right hand and prayed to Zeus to support him and his men. As an answer, an eagle appeared flying over Alexander’s head straight against the enemy. 75 One of the epigrams of the Milan papyrus, mainly as a whole attributed to Poseidippos of Pella who worked at the court of Ptolemy II in Alexandria, combined the eagle and the thunderbolt and added also a third hitherto unknown omen containing the right side as a proof of divine favor for warfare: of the Persian royal women (Curt. 3.12.15–26; Diod. 17.37.5–38.2; 17.114.2; Arr. An. 2.12.5–8; Val. Max. 4.7ext. 2a) was a later invention, probably by Kleitarchos. Cf. Müller 2014, 94; Bosworth 1980, 222. 67 Xen. Kyr. 5.1.7–8. 68 Plut. Alex. 22.3. Cf. Due 1997, 56–57. Plutarch had a special favor for the story about Kyros and Pantheia anyway: Plut. Mor. 1093 C. 69 Xen. Kyr. 6.4.7–8.11. Cf. Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 206; Gera 1993, 237–239; Tatum 1989, 181–183. 70 Plut. Alex. 30.4–7; Curt. 4.10.34. On the reception of the tradition see Stoneman 2008, 28–29. 71 Xen. Kyr. 7.3.12; Plut. Alex. 30.1; Curt. 4.10.23–24; Just. 11.12. Cf. Beneker 2012, 114–123; Jamzadeh 2012, 38–40; Müller 2011, 60–61. On Kyros mourning for Pantheia and her tomb see Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 208–211; Gera 1993, 244–245; Tatum 1989, 184–188. 72 Xen. An. 1,4,18 (the Euphrates performed the proskynesis when Kyros the Younger approached); BNJ 124 F 31 (the sea at the Pamphylian coast took a bow and let Alexander pass by); cf. Strab. 14,3,9. Cf. Heckel 2008, 52; Hamilton 1999, 44. 73 Xen. Kyr. 2.1.1. As Kyros proceeds to fight Armenia, again an eagle flies up (Kyr. 2.4.19). 74 Xen. Kyr. 7.1.4: ἑψόμεθά σοι, ὦ Ζεῦ μέγιστε. This time, he is accompanied by the image of a golden eagle with outspread wings on a long shaft as his ensign. 75 Plut. Alex. 33.1–2. Cf. Bowden 2017, 151; Müller 2011, 59. On the eagle as the animal of Zeus: Il. 12.201; 24.292–293, 310–311. 315; cf. Kallim. Hymn. 1.68.

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“An eagle swooping from the [clouds] and lightning at the same time were auspicious victory omens in war for the Argead kings. And Athena, in front of her temple, stirred her auspicious right foot from the lead clamp. Such a portent appealed to Alexander, as he was teeming with fire against the countless armies of the Persians.” 76 As for similarities regarding Alexander’s portrayal as a royal commander, there are very general ideals that apply to Xenophon’s Kyros as well as to his Agesilaos: Alexander displayed a great deal of warmth and generosity towards his men, 77 shared the hardships of his soldiers without expecting special treatment, 78 and cared for their constant training and for his own: In his leisure time, he was never idle but hunted, administered justice, practiced archery, and jumped on and off a chariot. 79 He let the bravest soldiers enrich themselves the most, cared for the orphans whom the war – he was leading – had robbed of their parents, and his veterans providing them with splendid gifts. 80 Kyros never relied on trickery against the military opponent. Alexander rejected Parmenion’s advice to postpone the attack at the Granikos, opting for an immediate assault, and also Parmenion’s suggestion to attack the Persians at night at Gaugamela saying that he did not want to steal the victory. 81 There might be a little touch of Xenophon in this but it concerns his image of Agesilaos. It reminds one of Agesilaos’ strategy against Lysandros during the Asian campaign when Agesilaos made clear who is superior and who gives the orders by constantly saying no to Lysandros and doing just the opposite of what Lysandros recommended. 82 So perhaps, the literary treatment of Parmenion as an 76 Pos. Ep. 31 AB: ἀετὸς ἐκ νε[φέω]ν καὶ ἅμα στεροπὴ καταβᾶ[σα/νίκης οἰων[οὶ δε]ξιοὶ ἐς πόλεμον/ Ἀργεάδαις βα[σιλε]ῦσιν, Ἀθηναίη δὲ πρὸ ναο[ῦ/ἴχνος κίνη[σεν δε]ξιὸν ἐκ μολύβου/οἷον Ἀλεξά[νδρ]ωι ἐφάνη τέρας, ἡνίκα Περσ[ῶν/ταῖς ἀναρ[ιθμ]ήτοις πύρ ἐκύει στρατιαῖ[ς. Transl. C. Austin. Cf. Müller 2015, 152–154. 77 Xen. Kyr. 5.3.46–51; Curt. 3.6.17–20; 7.3.12–18; 8.4.1–18; Arr. An. 1.16.4–6. 78 Xen. Kyr. 1.2.1; 1.6.25; 1.5.13; cf. also Ages. 5.2–3; Plut. Alex. 42.2; 45.3; cf. Arr. An. 6.27.1–3; Curt. 7.5.9–12; Plut. Alex. 42.4–6. Cf. Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 107. 79 Xen. Kyr. 1.6.17; 3.3.8; 5.3.59; Plut. Alex. 23.2; 31.2. 80 Xen. Kyr. 8.2.7; 8.3.5; Plut. Alex. 24.1–2; 71.5. 81 Xen. Kyr. 1.6.29; cf. Xen. Ages. 6.2; Arr. An. 1.13.3–14.4; 3.10.2; Plut. Alex. 16.2–3; cf. Xen. Kyr. 3.3.9; Arr. An. 3.10.2; Curt. 4.13.8–10. 82 Plut. Lys. 23.5–24.1; Xen. Hell. 3.4.2, 4.7–10. Interestingly, a scene depicting Parmenion as an unwise adviser seems to be modelled on the Kyroupaideia, too. During the battle of Gaugamela, he reportedly sent for help as the baggage was threatened by the Persians. Alexander replied that victors added the baggage of their enemy and losers lose all and he should let go (Plut. Alex. 32.3–4). This is the same comment Kyros made in a speech to his soldiers: If we are victorious, it is evident that all the possessions of the enemies belong to us and the other way round (Kyr. 2.3.2). However, there is another case of a verbal resemblance: Alexander’s speech in Hyrkania when he encourages his troops that they must keep on fighting as the conquest is lost when they return (Plut. Alex. 47.1–2; Curt. 6.2.18–19) strongly reminds of another of Kyros’ speeches (Kyr. 6.1.12).

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unsuccessful adviser casts him into the role of a Macedonian Lysandros. 83 However, the literary treatment of Parmenion is an issue and matter of debate in scholarship anyway. Thus, it is disputed whether the traditions depicting him as inferior to Alexander formed part of a propaganda campaign to the end of blackening the memory of Parmenion in order to justify his elimination in 330. 84 Parallels: Ruler of a Multicultural Empire Scholars mostly point at the parallels between Alexander’s and Kyros’ change of royal dress when their expansions made it necessary that they address a multicultural population when they appeared in public. 85 Xenophon’s Kyros adopted the Median royal robe: a tiara orthe with a diadem, purple chiton shot with white (mesoleukos), trousers of scarlet dye, and a purple kandys. 86 The suggestion that Alexander chose the robe of Xenophon’s Kyros as a model, 87 is speculation. However, the ancient authors will have had it in mind as a model. Nevertheless, they disagree about what Alexander’s new dress looked like. Plutarch calls it a barbarike stole made of Persian and Median elements, Eratosthenes characterized it as a mixture of Persian and Macedonian elements, Diodoros mentions a Persian dress and diadem, Trogus-Justin and Curtius refer to a Persian dress. Remarkably, only Arrian, the self-proclaimed second Xenophon, testifies to the Median costume. 88 The robe described by the contemporary Olynthian Ephippos consists of a purple chlamys, purple chiton shot with white (mesoleukos), and the Macedonian hat, the kausia with the diadem. 89 According to this description, Alexander wore a kind of Macedonian version of Xenophon’s Kyros’ costume. He did not adopt the Median trousers, tiara orthe, and kandys and wore the chlamys and kausia instead. Despite his polemical tendencies, as Ephippos was present at Alexander’s court during the last stage of his reign, his description of the new dress is mostly regarded as authentic. 90 However, it cannot be excluded that he might have wanted

83 Cf. also the case of his ignored warning against the physician Philippos: Plut. Alex. 19.3–4; Arr. An. 2.4.9–10; Curt. 3.6.4–9; the rejection of Parmenion’s advice to accept the offer by Dareios: Diod. 17.54.4–5; Plut. Alex. 29.4; Mor. 180 B; Arr. An. 2.25.2; Curt. 4.11.10–16; Val. Max. 6.4.ext.3. 84 On this question in general see Zahrnt 2013; Carney 2000b, 271; Bearzot 1987, 89–104. 85 Cf. Due 1997, 57–58. On the political necessity of Alexander’s new style cf. Müller 2019, 161–165; Bowden 2014, 74–75. 86 Xen. Kyr. 8.3.13. Cf. Azoulay 2004, 161–167; Nadon 2001, 164, 178–180; Blum 1998, 49–51; Gera 1993, 291–292. 87 Cf. Due 1997, 57. 88 Plut. Alex. 45.2; Mor. 329 F-330 A; Diod. 17.77.5; Just.12.3.9–10; Curt. 6.6.7–8; Arr. An. 7.6.2; 4.14.2. 89 Athen. 12.537 E-F. In Greek literature, the term mesoleukos is not used frequently together with χιτὼν πορφυροῦς, cf. LS9 I 1. Diod. 17.77.5 speaks of a δίαλευκος χιτών. The dress is mentioned by Luk. Alex. 11: His fake prophet Alexander of Abonuteichos wears it in order to impress and enchant the victims of his crookery. 90 Cf. Palagia 2012, 372; Blum 1998, 191–196. On the diadem see Wiesehöfer 2017, 60–61.

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to ridicule the pretentions of this new Macedonian Kyros after Alexander’s death and therefore borrowed from the Kyroupaideia. But this is speculative. There are more parallels between the reports on Alexander’s and Kyros’ change of regal style: Kyros gave Median dresses to his friends and Alexander reportedly gave Persian purple robes to his friends. 91 Xenophon connects Kyros’ change of dress as a political instrument and the act of prostration as another one stressing that no Persian before had prostrated himself before the king. 92 Also in Alexander historiography, the change of dress triggers the attempt to introduce the proskynesis as a common courtly ceremony. 93 This is clearly literary artifice as in fact, there were roughly three years between these two steps. 94 In the Kyroupaideia, Kyros’ courtier Pheraulas helped him to introduce the Median court ceremonial associated with Kyros’ new Median costume and the proskynesis. 95 Xenophon’s Pheraulas, described as a gentleman in body and spirit, had Kyros’ confidence and affection and became his utility man regarding army, diplomacy, and court. 96 The exceedingly loyal man knew that he owed everything to Kyros who distinguished him by his gifts. Perhaps, Plutarch’s Alexander got his own Pheraulas, too. It is a speculation. However, strikingly, all the major factors of Pheraulas’ image in the Kyroupaideia also apply to Plutarch’s portrait of Hephaistion. While of course, as a notable difference, Hephaistion was an upper class Macedonian and not a commoner from a poor family like Pheraulas, however, from a certain perspective, his career could be seen as a variant of the rags-toriches theme on a high level. Hephaistion rose from unimportant commands to become one of the leaders of the elite cavalry, elite bodyguard, and elite ambassador – thanks to Alexander. 97 Plutarch’s Hephaistion, Alexander’s most trusted friend, was distinguished by his gifts and ready to support his ruler’s new Persian policy and thus sent to negotiate with Persians and Indians. 98 Plutarch stresses that Hephaistion owed his career entirely to Alexander: without him, he would have been nothing. 99 Plutarch also uniquely claims that Hephaistion arranged the introduction of the proskynesis by the Greeks and

91 Xen. Kyr. 8.3.1–3; Curt. 6.6.7; Diod. 17.77.5; Just. 12.3. Cf. Blum 1998, 52–62, 182–183, 195 (rejecting Curtius’ claim that Alexander forced Persian coats upon his philoi). 92 Xen. Kyr. 8.5.13. 93 Plut. Alex. 45.2; 65.3–4. 94 Cf. Asirvatham 2001, 109–112. See also Müller 2019, 161–167; Heckel 2008, 106–109. 95 Xen. Kyr. 8.3.37; 8.3.1–9. On Pheraulas being “hell-bent apparently on serving Cyrus” (Gray 2011, 376): Xen. Kyr. 8.3.27–31. Cf. Due 1989, 232. On his originally low status cf. Tuplin 2013, 81: “Cyrus’ court-elite is not a birth-aristocracy, but a group whose status is the precarious product of royal favour earned by personal effort.” 96 Xen. Kyr. 2.3.7; 8.3.35–50. 97 On Hephaistion’s career see Heckel 2016, 75–100; Müller 2014, 218–223; Heckel 2006, 133–137. 98 Plut. Alex. 38.5; 28.2; 47.5; Mor. 180 D; 339 F-340 A. 99 Plut. Alex. 47.5–6; Mor. 337 A.

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Macedonians. 100 This kind of ‘Pheraulas treatment’ of Hephaistion might come from Plutarch himself as another example of his borrowing from the Kyroupaideia. However, his Hephaistion seems to be a nasty version of Pheraulas: He has to be reminded insistently by Alexander that he owed everything to him. 101 Additionally, when the introduction of the proskynesis failed, in another unique scene, Plutarch’s Hephaistion acted like a sinister schemer slandering Kallisthenes whom he blamed for the failure. 102 In addition, Plutarch drops the hint that Hephaistion died from an immoderate breakfast that included a large wine-cooler full of wine when he was seriously ill – not a very gentlemanlike death. 103 In consequence, one could get the impression that in the end, Plutarch’s Alexander is only a Macedonian “would-be” Xenophontic Kyros and Hephaistion only a Macedonian “would-be” Xenophontic Pheraulas. Conclusions The historical Alexander was a politician and had to be a pragmatist. He may well have read the Kyroupaideia or other of Xenophon’s writings. However, in order to conquer the Persian Empire, he was not in need of Xenophon but of a victorious army, operative logistics, finances, and loyal generals. Also, if he wanted to learn about Persian “essentials” regarding ideology, royal representation, political networks and connections, structures of administration, and court etiquette, he could have asked Persian exiles at the Macedonian court, Persian ambassadors and later on, his Persian advisers and Persian nobles he integrated into his court circles such as the brother of Dareios III. The Alexander historiographers borrowed from Xenophon’s “formulaic scenes” 104 in the Kyroupaideia to provide their readers with themes, motifs, elements, and the image of a conquering hero familiar to them, especially concerning Alexander’s personal virtues, treatment of friends, soldiers and captured noble women, and conduct as a commander. Xenophon’s Kyros seems to have been an obvious blueprint – although he was a Persian and Alexander a Macedonian – because of the Asian setting, comparable efforts to conquer and reign a multi-cultural Eastern empire, treatment of soldiers, and method of respecting the individual local traditions and attempting to make the former indigenous elites cooperate with the new conquering force. As for details, exemplarily, the Pantheia 100 Plut. Alex. 55.1–2. Plutarch (Alex. 54.3) is also the only one mentioning that during the attempt to introduce the proskynesis, the cheers of the participants were directed to the hestia – whatever it means. Its implications are debated. See Müller 2014, 75–76. A different view of the proskynesis scene is expressed by Tuplin 2017. Perhaps, it was another literary reminiscence of the Kyroupaideia for in Xen. Kyr. 1.6.1, when Kyros has returned to Persia, he prayed to Hestia, Zeus and the other gods before he sets out upon his campaign. Cf. Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 108. 101 Plut. Alex. 47.5–6; Mor. 337 A. 102 Plut. Alex. 55.1. 103 Plut. Alex. 72.2. Cf. Hamilton 1999, 199. This polemic tradition might have originated with Ephippos. On his negative portrayal of the Macedonian drinking manners see Pownall 2010, 60. 104 Gray 2011, 182.

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scene was an obvious motif to be used to describe Alexander’s treatment of Dareios III’s wife (in fact a pledge) and Kyros’ adoption of the Median royal costume and ceremony will have provided the authors with the fitting literary background to style Alexander’s adaptation of elements of the Achaimenid protocol and royal attire. As for the end of Kyros and Alexander, a comparison would have been difficult: Xenophon’s Kyros died as an old man after he had thoroughly consolidated his rule by administrative measurements. He had had enough time to care for the production of heirs and, on his deathbed, he was able to give last instructions. This literary portrait of the dying Kyros could not be applied to Alexander who died in his early thirties in the middle of preparing another campaign (against Arabia) and left an unconsolidated empire with several sources of unrest, and no heir apparent to take over. As for the borrowings from Xenophon, this applies particularly to Onesikritos, in several instances also to Kallisthenes, and later on, to Plutarch who, as a moral philosopher, will have appreciated the moral tone of Xenophon. But his Alexander, while having his own Astyages, Pantheia, and probably Pheraulas, is only a Macedonian “would-be” Kyros. In general, the Alexander historiographers do not simply adapt elements. They play with them, arrange them in a new way, reduce or embellish them, and put them into different contexts. Their use of the Kyroupaideia teaches us to be even more cautious with their works than before.

Table 1: Primary and secondary Alexander historiographers and their obvious or potential borrowings from Xenophon * In case that the motif in question could also originate from another author, this alternative possible source is indicated. The primary Alexander historiographers are listed first, followed by the secondary Alexander historiographers. In some cases, it seems that the authors did not borrow directly from Xenophon but rather from a primary Alexander historiographer (who might have borrowed directly from Xenophon). This can apply to primary or secondary Alexander historiographers. Authors Kallisthenes (BNJ 124)

Themes

Possible Sources

Descent from Perseus (F 14a)

Hdt. 7.150.2 and/or Xen. Kyr. 1.2.1

Eagle and prayer at Gaugamela (F 36; Plut. Alex. 33.1–2)

Xen. Kyr. 2.1.1; 2.4.19; 7.1.4

Probably: treatment of captive Persian royal women; Stateira as a new Pantheia (Plut. Alex. 21.4–5; 22.2; 30.3; Mor. 522 A)

Xen. Kyr. 4.6.11; 5.1.2–17; 7.3.12

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Onesikritos (BNJ 134)

Themes

Possible Sources

Start with next to nothing (F 2)

Xen. Kyr. 1.1.4; 1.6.9; 2.4.9

Probably: virtues – lover of learning; ambitious; generous to friends; modest and moderate (Plut. Alex. 4.4–5; 5.1–2; 7.3–5; 8.1–2; 8.4; 34.1–3)

Xen. Kyr. 1.2.1; 1.6.8; 1.5.13; 8.2.1–2

Probably: medical caretaker (Plut. Alex. 8.1)

Xen. Kyr. 8.2.24–25

Probably: virtues as military commander (Plut. Alex. 5.3)

Xen. Kyr. 1.2.1; 1.4.18; 1.4.14; 1.5.13; 1.6.8; 1.6.25; 1.6.17; 3.3.8; 5.3.46–51; 8.2.1–2; 8.2.7; 8.3.5

Perhaps: Ada as Alexander’s Astyages (Plut. Alex. 22.4–5)

Xen. Kyr. 1.4.26

Descent from Perseus (F 8)

Kallisthenes (F 14a)

Stateira – Pantheia (F 7)

Kallisthenes

Descent from Perseus (F 13)

Kallisthenes (F 14a)

Stateira – Pantheia (F 10, F 11)

Kallisthenes

Start with next to nothing (F 4)

Xen. Kyr. 1.1.4; 1.6.9; 2.4.9?

Noble treatment of captive women (with a variant) (Curt. 3.12.15–26; Diod. 17.37.5–38.2; 17.114.2; Arr. An. 2.12.5–8)

Kleitarchos’ remodeling of the story based on Ptolemy / Kallisthenes?

Probably: mourning Pantheia (Plut. Alex. 30.1; Curt. 4.10.23– 24; Just. 11.12)

Xen. Kyr. 7.3.12 +?

Ephippos (BNJ 126)

Perhaps: new robe (F 5)

Xen. Kyr. 8.3.13?

Poseidippos of Pella

Eagle and thunder (Ep. 31 AB)

Xen. Kyr. 2.1.1; 2.4.19; 7.1.4 + Kallisthenes (F 36) + Poseidippos’ own addition?

Plutarch

Virtues – lover of learning; ambitious; generous to friends; modest and moderate (Alex. 4.4–5; 5.1–2; 7.3–5; 8.1–2; 8.4; 34.1–3)

Onesikritos + Xen. Kyr. 1.2.1; 1.6.8; 1.5.13; 8.2.1–2?

Ptolemy (BNJ 138)

Aristoboulos (BNJ 139)

Kleitarchos (BNJ 137)

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Arrian

Themes

277

Possible Sources

Medical caretaker (Plut. Alex. 8.1)

Onesikritos + Xen. Kyr. 8.2.24–25?

Virtues as military commander (Plut. Alex. 5.3)

Onesikritos + Xen. Kyr. 1.2.1; 1.4.18; 1.4.14; 1.5.13; 1.6.8; 1.6.25; 1.6.17; 3.3.8; 5.3.46–51; 8.2.1–2; 8.2.7; 8.3.5

“Mad with daring” (Plut. Alex. 16.3)

Xen. Kyr. 1.4.24

Start with next to nothing

Xen. Kyr. 1.1.4; 1.6.9; 2.4.9 + Onesikritos (F 2) + Aristoboulos (F 4) + Phylarchos + Douris

Armor (Plut. Alex. 16.4; 32.5)

Xen. Kyr. 7.1.2?

Ada – Astyages theme (Plut. Alex. 22.4–5)

Onesikritos? Or just Xen. Kyr. 1.4.26?

Noble treatment of captive women; Stateira as a new Pantheia (Plut. Alex. 21.4–5; 22.2; 30.3; Mor. 522 A)

Kallisthenes + Aristoboulos + Letter + Xen. Kyr. 4.6.11; 5.1.2–17?

Mourning Pantheia (Plut. Alex. 30.1)

Kallisthenes + Onesikritos + Aristoboulos + Kleitarchos + Xen. Kyr. 7.3.12?

Eagle and prayer at Gaugamela (Plut. Alex. 33.1–2)

Kallisthenes (F 36)

Connection of new costume and proskynesis (Plut. Alex. 45.2; 65.3–4)

Xen. Kyr. 8.3.13; 8.5.13 + Kleitarchos + Chares?

Pheraulas – Hephaistion? (Plut. Alex. 28.3; 38.5; 47.5–6; 55.1–2

Xen. Kyr. 2.3.7; 8,3,1–9; 8.3.35–50; 8.3.37

Descent from Perseus (Arr. An. 3.3.1)

Ptolemy F 8 + Aristoboulos F 13

Virtues (Arr. An. 7.28.1–29.4)

Xen. Kyr. 1.2.1 + Ptolemy + Aristoboulos?

Most handsome (Arr. An. 7.28.1)

Xen. Kyr. 1.2.1

Virtues as military commander (Arr. An. 6.27.1–3; 7.28.1)

Xen. Kyr. 1.2.1; 1.6.25; 1.5.13 + Ptolemy + Aristoboulos?

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Sabine Müller Authors

Themes

Possible Sources

Arrian

Noble treatment of captive women; Stateira as a new Pantheia

Xen. Kyr. 4.6.11; 5.1.2–17; 7.3.12 + Ptolemy F 7 + Aristoboulos F 10, 11 + Kleitarchos?

Curtius

Noble treatment of captive women (Curt. 3.12.15–26)

Kleitarchos?

Mourning Pantheia (Curt. 4.10.23–24)

Kleitarchos?

Virtues as a commander (Curt. 3.6.17–20; 7.3.12–18; 7.5.9–12; 8.4.1–18)

Kleitarchos?

Noble treatment of captive women; Stateira – Pantheia (Diod. 17.37.5–38.2; 17.114.2)

Kleitarchos?

Diodor

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—. 2015. ‘Poseidippos of Pella and the Memory of Alexander’s Campaigns at the Ptolemaic Court’, in: W. Heckel, S. Müller & G. Wrightson (eds.), The Many Faces of War in the Ancient World, Cambridge, 135–165. —. 2019. Alexander der Große: Eroberung – Politik – Rezeption, Stuttgart. Nadon, C. 2001. Xenophon’s Prince: Republic and Empire in the Cyropaedia, Berkeley, Los Angeles & London. Olbrycht, M. J. 2011. ‘On Coin Portraits of Alexander the Great and his Iranian Regalia’, Notae Numismaticae 6, 13–27. —. 2014. ‘“An Admirer of Persian Ways”: Alexander the Great’s Reforms in Parthia-Hyrcania and the Iranian Heritage’, in: T. Daryaee, A. Mousavi & K. Rezakhani (eds.), Excavating an Empire. Achaemenid Persia in Longue Durée, Costa Mesa, 37–61. Palagia, O. 2012. ‘The Impact of Alexander the Great in the Art of Central Asia’, in: R. Stoneman, I. Netton & K. Erickson (eds.), The Alexander Romance in Persia and the East, Groningen, 369–382. Pearson, L. 1960. The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great, New York & Oxford. Pédech, P. 1984. Historiens compagnons d’Alexandre: Callisthène – Onésicrite – Néarque – Ptolémée – Aristobule, Paris. Pownall, F. 2010. ‘The Symposia of Philip II and Alexander III of Macedon: The View from Greece’, in: E. D. Carney & D. Ogden (eds.), Philip II and Alexander the Great. Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, Oxford, 55–65. —. 2013. ‘Duris of Samos and the Diadochi’, in: V. Alonso Troncoso & E. M. Anson (eds.), After Alexander. The Time of the Diadochi (323–281 BC), Oxford, 43–56. Rhodes, P. J. 2010. ‘The Literary and Epigraphic Evidence to the Roman Conquest’, in: J. Roisman & I. Worthington (eds.), A Companion to Ancient Macedonia, Oxford & Malden, 23–40. Stadter, P. A. 1980. Arrian of Nicomedia, Chapel Hill. Stark, F. 1958. Alexander’s Path: From Caria to Cilicia, London. Stoneman, R. 1997. Alexander the Great, London & New York. —. 2008. Alexander the Great. A Life in Legend, New Haven & London. Strasburger, H. 1939. ‘Onesikritos’, Paulys Realencyclopaedie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft 18.1, 460–467. Tatum, J. 1989. Xenophon’s Imperial Fiction. On the Education of Cyrus, Princeton & New Jersey Tuplin, C. 1994. ‘Xenophon, Sparta, and Cyropaedia’, in: A. Powell & S. Hodkinson (eds.), The Shadow of Sparta, London & New York, 127–182. —. 1997. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Education and Fiction’, in: A. H. Sommerstein & C. Atherton (eds.), Education in Greek Fiction (Nottingham Classical Literature Studies 4), Bari, 65–162. —. 2013. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Fictive History, Political Analysis and Thinking with Iranian Kings’, in: L. Mitchell & C. Melville (eds.), Every Inch a King: Comparative Studies on King and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Rulers and Elites: Comparative Studies in Governance 2), Leiden & Boston, 67–90. —. 2017. ‘The Great King, His God(s) and Intimations of Divinity. The Achaemenid Hinterland of Ruler Cult?’, The Ancient History Bulletin 31, 92–111.

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Wiesehöfer, J. 2017. ‘The Persian Impact on Macedonia: Three Case Studies’, in: S. Müller, T. Howe, H. Bowden & R. Rollinger (eds.), The History of the Argeads – New Perspectives (Classica et Orientalia 19), Wiesbaden, 57–64. Will, W. 1986. Alexander der Große. Geschichte Makedoniens 2, Stuttgart. Wilms, H. 1995. Techne und Paideia bei Xenophon und Isokrates, Stuttgart & Leipzig. Winiarczyk, M. 2007. ‘Das Werk Die Erziehung Alexanders des Onesikritos von Astypalaia (FGrHist 134 F 1–39)’, Eos 94, 197–250. Wirth, G. 1985. Studien zur Alexandergeschichte, Darmstadt. —. 1989. Der Kampfverband des Proteas. Spekulationen zu den Begleitumständen der Laufbahn Alexanders, Amsterdam. —. 1993. Der Brand von Persepolis. Folgerungen zur Geschichte Alexanders des Großen, Amsterdam. Wissmann, J. 2010. ‘Education’, in: J. J. Clauss & M. Cuypers (eds.), A Companion to Hellenistic Literature, Malden & Oxford, 62–77. Xenophontos, S. 2016. Ethical Education in Plutarch: Moralising Agents and Contexts, Berlin & Boston. Zahrnt, M. 2013. ‘Kallisthenes von Olynth – Ein verkannter Oppositioneller?’, Hermes 141, 491–496. Zambrini, A. 2007. ‘The Historians of Alexander the Great’, in: J. Marincola (ed.), A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography I, Oxford, 210–220.

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Luxury and Authority in the Cyropaedia, Esther, and Judith Deborah L. Gera (Jerusalem)

Introduction The Cyropaedia, Esther, and Judith are all works of didactic or pious fiction set in an Oriental world. All three books tell of the defeat of an evil enemy “achieved against a background of divine good will” 1 and all three have exemplary main characters. Two of the three books have a single, outstanding protagonist, i.e. Cyrus and Judith, while in the Book of Esther there are two heroes who share the limelight, Esther and Mordecai, and they are less dominant figures. The Cyropaedia, generally dated in the 360s BCE is the earliest of the works, and Judith, assigned a date of about 100 BCE, is the latest. Scholars are divided as to the precise date of MT Esther, the oldest extant version of the story of Esther, and suggest a wide range of dates somewhere between the other two works. 2 There are, of course, significant differences between the three books. The Cyropaedia is a lengthy, fictitious account of the life of Cyrus the Great which is nonetheless rooted in actual history 3 and its explicit aim is to instruct the Greeks of Xenophon’s time on the best way to govern willing subjects (Cyr. 1.1.1–6). The brief biblical books of Esther and Judith are also assigned a specific historical background, but they are entirely fictitious. MT Esther is a Hebrew work and part of the canonical Hebrew Bible, 4 while Judith is found in the Septuagint and is written in Greek, albeit a Semitic sounding Greek. 5 Both biblical works tell of the salvation of the Jews and both were clearly aimed originally at a Jewish audience, illustrating the proper balance between human agency and God’s role in events. They instruct their readers on how best to behave at a time of crisis, while entertaining 1 See Tuplin 2013, 85 for this characterization of the Cyropaedia; see too Degen in this volume. For (the absence of) God in MT Esther, see below p. 289. 2 For the dates of the Cyropaedia and Judith, see e.g. Gera 1993, 23–25 and Gera 2014, 26–44. Johnson 2005, 578–585 surveys scholarly opinion on the date of Esther. 3 See Tuplin 1996, 95–154 for a thorough, nuanced discussion of history versus fiction in the Cyropaedia. 4 See below p. 289 on other versions of Esther. 5 See Gera 2014, 79–97 on the language of Judith.

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them. Nonetheless, the Cyropaedia, Esther, and Judith do share what Momigliano has termed “international storytelling with a Persian background,” 6 for each tale takes place in an Oriental world which includes autocratic and capricious rulers, powerful courtiers, eunuchs, and strong-minded, independent women. In recent years scholars have looked chiefly at Herodotus when comparing Greek stories of the Persian court to Esther and to Judith, 7 but it is equally illuminating to look at the Cyropaedia in this context. There are, in fact a great many parallels and similarities between the three works, and as Chris Tuplin aptly notes, “The difficulty [sc. in finding such parallels] in fact is where to stop …” 8 Effete Oriental Rulers One type of character common to all three works is that of the weak and effete Oriental ruler who is surrounded by luxury. Ahasuerus is an outstanding instance of such a lackadaisical, luxury-loving ruler, and his rich lifestyle is described in the very opening of Esther (Esth 1:4–7). The Cyropaedia has more than one such pampered figure: the two Median rulers Astyages and his son Cyaxares wear elaborate clothing, jewelry, and makeup, enjoy rich food, and are too susceptible to the effects of wine. Cyaxares is a particularly weak and indolent figure. 9 The conquered king of Lydia, Croesus, who is said to envy his wife’s luxurious and lazy lifestyle is another such effete ruler in the Cyropaedia (7.2.27–28). Interestingly, Xenophon seems to be more interested in the contrast between the two allies, the opulent Medes and the more temperate Persians, than he is in presenting Cyrus’ Assyrian enemies in this Orientalizing fashion. The chief villain of the Cyropaedia, the young Assyrian ruler, is cruel, capricious, and vindictive. He emasculates the handsome Gadatas at a drinking party, but this behavior stems from jealousy, which the Assyrian also displays in less lavish surroundings, killing a successful rival, Gobryas’ son, on a royal hunt (Cyr. 5.2.28; 4.6.3–4). In Judith, the Assyrian commander Holophernes undergoes a notable transformation in the course of the work. At first he is presented as a harsh, merciless, and successful general, a true second in command to Nebuchadnezzar, and he easily conquers all the countries that lie in his path. We hear nothing of Holophernes’ manner of living until Judith is introduced into the work. Only then does the author describe the trappings of Holophernes’ tent, the jewel-encrusted canopy over his bed, his rich furnishings and dishes, and his silver lamps. Holophernes’ luxurious surroundings prepare us

6 Momigliano 1977, 26. 7 Herodotus and Esther: Berlin 2001a and 2001b; Brosius 2015; Macchi 2009 and the further references there. Herodotus and Judith: Caponigro 1992; Corley 2012; Gera 2014, 57–78; Schmitz 2004. 8 Tuplin 1996, 132; see the parallels he cites at 154 n. 88. See too Gera 2014, 70–78 on the similarities between Judith and Panthea (and their maidservants) and the resemblance between Bagoas and Gadatas. 9 Astyages: Cyr. 1.3.2, 4–6, 9–11. Cyaxares: Cyr. 1.6.8; 2.4.5–6; 4.1.13, 18; 4.5.7–8, 21, 51–52; 5.5.39 etc.

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for his subsequent role as a weak and self-indulgent figure who dies at the hands of a mere woman, Judith. 10 Generally these pleasure-seeking Orientals pay a price: Cyrus manages to conquer the city of Babylon because of the Assyrians’ drunkenness during a festival; the inebriated Holophernes has his head cut off; the lazy Cyaxares has his power and soldiers usurped by Cyrus; Ahasuerus is shamed at his lengthy, sumptuous celebrations by his disobedient wife Vashti, while Haman’s downfall comes about during a seemingly erotic moment at an intimate drinking party. At first sight, then, one of the common messages of these three didactic books seems to be a warning against being entrapped by luxury, but the situation is, in fact, more complex than that. Certain kinds of luxury are readily adopted by Cyrus, Judith, Esther, and Mordecai, and are used by them to enhance their authority, while other forms of opulence are rejected by them. All four heroes share similar attitudes towards two different forms of lavishness found in Oriental courts, luxurious dress and rich food and drink. Luxurious Dress Cyrus, Judith, and Esther all display a complex attitude towards elaborate clothing. In the Cyropaedia Xenophon tells of the first meeting between the 12-year old Cyrus and his grandfather, the Median king Astyages. When Cyrus arrives from Persia for a visit to Media, he becomes acquainted with Median luxury for the first time. Astyages, who wears makeup, jewelry, and purple robes, provides a decided contrast to Cyrus’ own father, King Cambyses of Persia, whose manner of dressing is much simpler. When Cyrus is asked by his mother which of the two men seems more handsome, he does not reject luxurious Median dress out of hand, and diplomatically replies that Cambyses is the most handsome of the Persians, while Astyages is the best looking of the Medes. Astyages then gives his grandson a fine robe, jewelry, and a horse with a golden bridle, 11 and Cyrus, Xenophon tells us, is pleased with the outfit since he is a child and loves beauty and honor (Cyr. 1.3.3: ἅτε παῖς ὢν καὶ φιλόκαλος καὶ φιλότιμος ἥδετο τῇ στολῇ). Astyages’ gift of a robe and jewelry is an official welcome into the Median royal family, as it were, and Cyrus will wear this fancy dress throughout his stay. The royal garments worn by Cyrus symbolize his acceptance and absorption of various Median ways and also serve as an outward sign of his high status as a recipient of the king’s favor. Young Cyrus quickly acquires an authority of his own, serving as an intermediary for relaying the requests of Mede nobles to Astyages (Cyr. 1.4.1–2). He does not, however, forget the Persian virtues he has learned as a child and when he returns home, he is careful to leave his elaborate costume behind (Cyr. 1.4.26). In the course of the Cyropaedia Cyrus will continue to display a mixed attitude towards luxurious clothing, at 10 Holophernes’ tent and rich furnishings: Jdt 10:21–22; 12:1; see Gera 2014, 345–347. Schmitz 2010 traces Holophernes’ transformation from victorious general to emasculated victim. The death of Holophernes at the hands of a woman is a recurring motif in Judith; see Jdt 8:33; 9:9–10; 13:15; 16:5. 11 See below p. 291 on Mordecai and Haman.

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times dismissing such finery and at times making use of it, in accordance with his changing needs. Indeed, Xenophon shows us that even as a child Cyrus views clothing first and foremost as intended to fulfil a utilitarian function. When a large boy with a too small coat took away a too large coat from a smaller boy by force, giving the smaller boy his own coat instead, young Cyrus, who served as the judge of the case, decided that each boy should keep the better-fitting coat. It is the fit of the coat, rather than the legal issues of legitimate ownership or the unprovoked use of force, that matters to young Cyrus (Cyr. 1.3.16–18). 12 As an adult, Cyrus does not reject fancy dress out of hand, but rather uses the trappings of luxury to suit his purposes. He declines to wear the ornate robes Cyaxares has sent him in order to make a good impression on potential allies, because he thinks it more important to demonstrate his qualities as a military leader, capable of parading a well-organized platoon of soldiers at short notice. Sweat and eagerness to obey, Cyrus points out to Cyaxares, are a more impressive adornment than a fine robe and jewelry (Cyr. 2.4.1, 5–6). 13 However, once Cyrus has exchanged the role of conqueror for that of ruler of an empire he deliberately outfits himself and his chief aides in showy clothing in order to establish their pre-eminence. Their rich robes, high shoes, and makeup hide faults and improve their appearance, and this new form of dress underscores and establishes their authority (8.1.40–42; 8.3.1–4, 13–14; cf. 8.8.15–17). Showy clothing has its place in the successful administration of Cyrus’ empire. 14 It is an interesting question as to how the adult Cyrus dresses on his first visit to Persia, after establishing his empire. He leaves his army at the borders of the land and is said to bring appropriate gifts (οἷα ἔπρεπε) to the Persians (8.5.21–27); presumably these are not luxurious gifts in the Median style. Does Cyrus once again leave Median glamor behind and wear simple Persian clothing when meeting with his father Cambyses and the leaders of Persia? Judith is another figure who changes her clothing to suit her situation and location. When we first encounter Judith she leads a very ascetic life, spending her days in a specially erected tent on her roof, a modest dwelling which is the polar opposite of Holophernes’ luxurious tent in the enemy camp below. Judith is a beautiful, independent, and wealthy widow who dresses simply in widow’s weeds and fasts almost daily (Jdt 8:5–6). Her widow’s dress and abstention from food apparently stem from mourning for her late husband, but they also well suit her modest, pious lifestyle. Judith’s piety and asceticism – willingly chosen by her despite her material wealth – lend her considerable authority. Thus when Judith summons the leaders of her town, Bethulia, to her rooftop in order to scold them for their willingness to contemplate surrender and to put God to the test, these male leaders listen to her words and acknowledge her good heart, good sense, and piety (Jdt 8:9–29). After reprimanding the elders, Judith decides to confront Holophernes on her own, and this leads to two costume changes. She first turns to God 12 See Danzig in this volume. 13 Compare Cyr. 6.1.1, 6 where Cyaxares keeps a group of allies waiting while he dons his elaborate costume, but then has nothing of substance to contribute to their council. 14 See further Azoulay 2004 on the positive use of Median ceremonial dress by Cyrus and his entourage and see Jacobs in this volume.

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in prayer, placing ashes on her head, prostrating herself, and exposing the sackcloth which she regularly wears underneath her widow’s garb (Jdt 9:1). In this fashion Judith accompanies her lengthy articulate prayer to God with a mute act of sorrow and despair: her ashes and sackcloth reinforce the concern and distress which she expresses verbally. Earlier in the work, the Israelites have made similar use of the elements of fasting, prayer, sackcloth, and ashes in their communal supplication (Jdt 4:10–11) and we shall see below that a distraught Mordecai also wears sackcloth and ashes alongside the Jews of Ahasuerus’ kingdom (Esth 4:1–3): this is the proper costume with which to plead before God. After praying at length to God, Judith descends to her house, and transforms herself from pious widow to femme fatale. The author lingers over the details of Judith’s grooming scene. She bathes, anoints herself, combs her hair, dresses in festive clothing from her married days, puts on sandals, and adds anklets, bracelets, rings, and earrings (Jdt 10:3–4). God is approached through sackcloth and ashes, the elders of Bethulia are addressed by a virtuous, plainly dressed widow, but Holophernes and those in the enemy camp must be won over by an attractive woman dressed in rich clothing and covered with jewels. Judith turns from the internal to the external and she uses the luxury of her dress not, as with her widow’s weeds and sackcloth, as a form of self-expression, but rather as a tool or weapon. Her adornment scene is in essence an arming scene, and we can compare Judith to biblical women such as Tamar (Gen 38:14, 19) and Ruth (Ruth 3:3), as well as to Hera of the Iliad (14.166–186) and Aphrodite in the eponymous Homeric hymn (h. Aphr. 58–65, 84–90). Judith will go on to seduce and kill Holophernes, give the Israelites sound military advice, and lead a triumphant procession to Jerusalem. In her victory song, Judith returns to the elaborate dress she has used as a weapon (Jdt 16:6–9). “(6.)… Judith the daugher of Merari undid him with the beauty of her face. (7.) For she took off her widow’s garb for the exaltation of the oppressed in Israel. She anointed her face with perfume, (8.) tied her hair in a headdress, and put on a linen dress to seduce him. (9.) Her sandal caught his eye, and her beauty captured his soul; the sword went through his neck.” Judith’s intent is to beguile and seduce the eyes of men (10:4: εἰς ἀπάτησιν ὀφθαλμῶν ἀνδρῶν) just as Cyrus uses Median dress, makeup, and high heels in order to bewitch (καταγοητεύειν) his subjects once he rules over an empire (Cyr. 8.1.40–41). The use of imposing dress by Cyrus and Judith does not stem from the love of opulence per se, but is a necessary means, an instrument used to dazzle, deceive, and control. These sumptuous

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forms of dress are quite effective and both Judith and Cyrus achieve their aims. Cyrus’ grand costume at Babylon causes the Persians to bow down before him for the first time (Cyr. 8.3.14), while all the men whom Judith encounters on her journey to the enemy camp, Israelites and Assyrians alike, are astounded by her beauty (Jdt 10:7, 14, 19, 23). We are told that once the victorious Judith returns home, she rejects all suitors, and grows old in her husband’s house (Jdt 16:23). It would be interesting to know how Judith dresses in the latter stage of her life: does she return to her sober widow’s clothing or does she allow herself the more colorful clothing of her married days? In any event, Judith is consistently in control of her costume and while she prefers ascetic widow’s garb which lends her authority within her own community, she is well able to use the power and potential of rich clothing and adornment in the outside world. Costume plays an important role in Esther as well. The extended yearlong beauty treatment Esther undergoes before her first meeting with Ahasuerus – six months of oil of myrrh and six months of perfume and cosmetics (Esth 2:12) – seems to fall in the category of Oriental decadence. These lavish preparations serve to underscore the wasteful process of choosing a new wife for Ahasuerus, with hundreds of virgins collected from the 127 provinces of his empire. Even while basking in the luxurious surroundings of the harem, Esther practices a restraint of sorts, for when it is her turn to go to the king for the first time, she does not ask for anything beyond that advised by Hegai the eunuch (Esth 2:15). Perhaps it is her combination of modesty and beauty that succeeds in winning over the king, for Esther is immediately chosen as queen. At the same time, Esther’s beautiful and amenable outward appearance is a disguise of sorts, for she hides her parentage and her race from those at court (Esth 2:10, 20). Once the decree initiated by Haman to destroy the Jews is made public, all the Jews in Ahasuerus’ far flung empire fast and weep, wearing sackcloth and scattering ashes (Esth 4:3). Mordecai too wears sackcloth and ashes, and he does so in a very public arena, coming up to the palace gates; sackcloth, we are told, is not allowed within the palace domain (Esth 4:1–2). While Mordecai may be lamenting in this public manner out of genuine fear and concern, expressing his solidarity with his fellow Jews, he may also have chosen to appear in sackcloth and ashes near the palace in order to stir Esther into action. 15 Mordecai’s public adoption of the humblest of clothing, the very opposite of luxurious dress, is used by him as a strong non-verbal statement, a means to communicate with Esther (and those at court) silently and from afar. 16 Esther, it seems, has spent too much time in her opulent Persian surroundings, for when she learns that Mordecai has appeared at the palace gates in sackcloth, she is greatly agitated, but her first response is to deal solely with externals and to send him a set of different clothing. Just as Xenophon shows us the conflict between the close relatives and allies, Cyaxares and Cyrus, on the importance of elaborate robes (above, p. 286), the author of Esther shows us a clash between Esther and her cousin and guardian Mordecai on the use and significance of clothing. Esther has hidden her Jewish identity and in this scene she plays the 15 Fox 2001, 57. 16 Compare the similar mourning gestures used by Ezra as a form of protest (Ezra 9:1–5), a public, mute show which attracts attention.

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role of the luxury-loving Persian, so to speak, while Mordecai parades his Jewishness in sackcloth and ashes. 17 It is only after Mordecai refuses the change of clothes that Esther looks beyond the surface and tries to understand the whys and wherefores of his behavior (Esth 4:4–5). After learning about the decree against the Jews and being reprimanded by Mordecai, Esther agrees to turn to the king, even though she can be punished by death for approaching him without being summoned. This brave decision lends her authority and she then instructs Mordecai and the Jews of Susa to join her and her maids in a three day fast (Esth 4:14–17). 18 On the third day, when her fast ends, Esther puts on royal garments and approaches the king (Esth 5:1). These regal clothes are not meant to seduce as in the case of Judith, but are used to emphasize Esther’s elevated position as Ahasuerus’ queen. 19 We are not given the details of her jewels and dress, for it is the fact that she is queen that is of significance here, and her majestic dress serves to confirm and enhance her authority. Presumably Esther’s regal appearance contributes to the success of her initiative, and Ahasuerus responds favorably to the unexpected appearance of his queen. She then invites him to a drinking party with Haman, a party which is followed by a second party which brings about the downfall of Haman. The Hebrew Masoretic text of Esther refers in a mere three words to the queen’s change of costume before going to the king 20 and says nothing of Esther donning sackcloth and ashes during her preparatory fast, but in the later Additions to Esther great emphasis is placed on the use of different clothing. Broadly speaking, the Additions which survived in Greek, but not in Hebrew, make the tale of Esther more explicitly religious and also add drama and detail to the leaner Masoretic text. Esther herself becomes a more melodramatic figure, not unlike the heroine of a Greek novel. 21 In Addition C, Esther prays to God – who intriguingly is not mentioned even once in MT Esther 22 – before approaching Ahasuerus (Esth C12–13 = 14:1–2): “Queen Esther also took refuge with the Lord in the mortal peril which had overtaken her. She took off her sumptuous robes and put on sorrowful mourning. Instead of expensive perfumes, she covered her head with ashes and dung. She mortified her body severely, and the former scenes of her happiness and elegance were now littered with tresses torn from her hair.” 23

17 Levenson 1997, 79. 18 Note the use of ‫“ צותה‬she instructed, commanded” at Esth 4:17. 19 Berlin 2001a, 51–52: “Esther dressed herself for a royal business meeting, not for a seduction scene.” 20 ‫ ותלבש אסתר מלכות‬literally “Esther donned royalty” (Esth 5:1). 21 See Wills 1995, 93–131, Levenson 1997, 27–34 and Fox 2001, 254–273 for a comparison of the MT, LXX, and Alpha texts of Esther. 22 Fox 2001, 235–247 surveys the various explanations offered for the lack of explicit reference to God in MT Esther; see too Levenson 1997, 17–23. 23 Translations of Esther and the Additions are taken from the New Jerusalem Bible of 1985.

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Here Esther outdoes even Judith in her humble and penitent appearance while supplicating God and it is likely, in fact, that the depiction of Judith at prayer influenced the description found in the Esther Addition. 24 After her heartfelt prayer, Esther of the Additions then dresses up for her audience with the king (Esth D 1–5 = 15:1–5): “On the third day, when she had finished praying, she took off her suppliant’s mourning attire and dressed herself in her full splendour. Radiant as she then appeared, she invoked God who watches over all people and saves them… Rosy with the full flush of her beauty, her face radiated joy and love: but her heart shrank with fear.” If Esther’s dishevelled appearance while praying reflected her inner turmoil, once she has dressed in royal garb there is a gap between her outward splendor and her internal feelings of fear. Esther then approaches Ahasuerus (Esth D 6–7 = 15:6–7): “He was sitting on his royal throne, dressed in all his robes of state, glittering with gold and precious stones – a formidable sight. He looked up, afire with majesty and, blazing with anger, saw her.” Esther then faints, but God causes the king’s attitude to change and he speaks to Esther gently. In this Addition, Ahasuerus is transformed into a furious and frightening figure and his magnificent bejewelled appearance lends weight to his anger. 25 Yet luxurious textiles and jewels are not always a sign of strength and substance. Holophernes has a canopy of purple, gold, emeralds and precious stones, a canopy made of materials similar to those of Ahasuerus’ magnificent robes. 26 When Judith first arrives at the enemy camp, Holophernes is not sitting on a commanding throne like Ahasuerus, but resting on his bed under this canopy, and his luxurious surroundings serve to emasculate him, rather than emphasizing his power. If Esther of the Additions faints when she sees the king in his full splendor, Judith falls on her face and bows to Holophernes when she first meets him at the front of his tent (Jdt 10:23: καὶ πεσοῦσα ἐπὶ πρόσωπον προσεκύνησεν αὐτῷ), 24 See Gera 2014, 12 n. 25 and 299–300 for a discussion of the relationship between the portrayal of Esther (in the MT and the Additions) and of Judith. Compare too Xenophon’s Panthea (Cyr. 5.1.4–7) who tears her simple dress in grief and cries aloud when she hears that she now belongs to Cyrus. 25 Ahasuerus is angry in MT Esther (1:12 and 7:7) as well, and the rage of rulers is a recurring theme in all three works. Compare Nebuchadnezzar (Jdt 1:12 and 2:7), Holophernes (Jdt 5:2; 6:1–10), Cyaxares (Cyr. 4.5.18–19 ), and the Assyrian crown prince (Cyr. 4.6.4). 26 Compare Judith 10:21: καὶ ἦν Ολοφέρνης ἀναπαυόμενος ἐπὶ τῆς κλίνης αὐτοῦ ἐν τῷ κωνωπίῳ, ὃ ἦν ἐκ πορφύρας καὶ χρυσίου καὶ σμαράγδου καὶ λίθων πολυτελῶν καθυφασμένων and Esther Addition D 6 = 15:6: … καὶ αὐτὸς ἐκάθητο ἐπὶ τοῦ θρόνου τῆς βασιλείας αὐτοῦ καὶ πᾶσαν στολὴν τῆς ἐπιφανείας αὐτοῦ ἐνεδεδύκει, ὅλος διὰ χρυσοῦ καὶ λίθων πολυτελῶν. Holophernes’ canopy is taken by Judith after she kills him and then donated by her to the temple in Jerusalem (Jdt 16:19).

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but this obeisance may be a deliberate tactic of submission, 27 rather than an instinctive reaction. Holophernes quickly reassures Judith: “Be courageous, woman, and do not fear in your heart” (Jdt 11:1: Θάρσησον, γύναι, μὴ φοβηθῇς τῇ καρδίᾳ σου), 28 but readers may well suspect that the cold-blooded Judith does not, in fact, need to be reassured and is only outwardly fearful or subservient. Indeed, proskynesis need not signal either fear or respect. When Cyrus makes his first appearance in full Median regalia in the Cyropaedia, the Persians prostrate themselves before him (Cyr. 8.3.14: προσεκύνησαν) for the first time, either, Xenophon tells us, because they were commanded to do so or else because they were struck by his grandeur. 29 A luxurious appearance demands outward recognition, whether spontaneous or otherwise, but it need not confer either power or authority. Returning to MT Esther, it is worth noting that while there are several mentions of Ahasuerus’ ring which serves as his seal of authority, and of his scepter which grants the power of life or death, 30 there is no detailed description of Ahasuerus’ physical appearance or clothing. At the same time, the king’s (presumably unique) clothing serves as an emblem of his sovereignty. Thus the ambitious Haman, thinking that the king wishes to reward him, suggests that the man to be honored by Ahasuerus (who is in fact his arch-enemy Mordecai) be dressed in the king’s clothing and ride upon the king’s horse (Esth 6:6–11). It is plain that to wear the royal robes and to ride on the royal horse is virtually to be royal, to become king. In Herodotus, for instance, Artabanus wears Xerxes’ robe and uses royal regalia in order to become Xerxes, as it were, and dream his dream, while a later contest over Xerxes’ beautiful robe is, in fact, a contest over the kingship. 31 There are also several biblical instances which indicate that clothes make the man, make the role. Eleazar, Aaron’s son, is dressed in his father’s priestly garments immediately before inheriting his position (Num 20:23–28), and Elisha literally and figuratively inherits the prophet Elijah’s mantle (1 Kgs 19:16, 19–21; 2 Kgs 2:13–15). After David kills Goliath, Jonathan, son of King Saul, gives David his cloak, tunic, sword, bow and belt (1 Sam 18:4), symbolically transferring to David his role as heir to the throne. In similar fashion King Saul’s torn cloak symbolizes the imminent tearing away of his kingdom (1 Sam 24:4–6; see 1 Sam 15:27–28 and cf. 1 Kgs 11:29–32). 32 One further significant majestic robe is a robe acquired by Xenophon’s Cyrus. In the Cyropaedia Cyrus inherits the Median kingdom peaceably through marriage to Cyaxares’ daughter. When their marriage is arranged, the bride presents Cyrus with jewelry and a Median robe (Cyr. 8.5.17–19). This may be a symbolic dowry, with the robe

27 We can compare Mordecai’s refusal to kneel and bow to Haman which leads to Haman’s plan to do away with all the Jews (Esth 3:1–6). 28 The expression θάρσει / θάρρει / θάρσησον (γύναι) is also used to reassure Panthea in Cyropaedia (5.1.6), Esther of the Additions (15:9), and Hegetorides’ daughter in Herodotus (9.76). 29 See Tuplin 1990, 23–24 and Berlin 2001a, 34–36 for Greek and Jewish attitudes to proskynesis. 30 Ring: Esth 3:10, 12; 8:2, 8, 10. Scepter: Esth 4:11; 5:2; 8:4. 31 Hdt. 7.17; 9.108–113. See the further instances of royal robes as a talisman and manifestation of kingship adduced by Llewellyn-Jones 2013, 61–66. 32 See further Berlin 2001b, 11–13.

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representing the very kingdom of Media. 33 Horses, too, had both practical and symbolic importance in Median and Persian culture, 34 and were a prized gift; 35 we have already seen that young Cyrus received a horse as a gift from his grandfather Astyages immediately upon arriving in Media (above, p. 285). Darius I is said both by Herodotus and Ctesias to owe his very kingship to a stratagem involving a horse and the “story plainly reflects a thought world in which the horse is a special image or locus of power …” 36 Haman dresses Mordecai, who presumably is still wearing his sackcloth and ashes, 37 in the king’s outfit and parades him about on a horse for a single day. Does Mordecai then wear sackcloth again or does he return to regular clothing? In any event, Mordecai again dresses in luxurious clothing after Haman’s treachery has been revealed and Ahasuerus’ decree against the Jews has been revoked. Joseph (Gen 41:42) and Daniel (Dan 5:7, 29) are two other biblical courtiers who are dressed in the finest of clothing once they rise to power at a foreign court. Joseph also receives Pharaoh’s signet ring, just as Ahasuerus grants his ring to Mordecai after taking it away from Haman (Esth 8:2) and the chariot given to Joseph may have left its mark upon the horse upon which Haman led Mordecai. 38 Mordecai is dressed in the king’s robes only for a day and returns either to his regular clothes or to sackcloth afterwards. Once Haman’s plot against the Jews is foiled and Esther introduces Mordecai to the king, he again puts on luxurious clothing. Here, Mordecai’s elegant outfit and crown not only point to his authority as the king’s new chief minister, but are also a tangible expression of the joy and happiness in the wake of the Jews’ salvation (Esth 8:15–16): “Mordecai left the royal presence in a princely gown of violet and white, with a golden crown and a cloak of fine linen and purple. The city of Susa shouted for joy. For the Jews there was light and gladness, joy and honour.” If earlier sackcloth and ashes represented the mourning of the Jews (Esth 4:1–3; see above p. 288), here Mordecai’s magnificent clothing signals their joy. 39 In similar fashion the dress Judith puts on before going to Holophernes’ camp is described as the joyful clothing 33 Compare the Persian royal investiture ceremony which involved the temporary donning of Cyrus the Great’s humble pre-monarchic clothing (Ctesias 688 F 17 = Plut. Artax. 3.1–4). See LlewellynJones 2013, 14–15, 61–64. 34 See Llewellyn-Jones 2013, 82–85. 35 See Xen. Anab. 2.1.27; Cyr. 8.3.23; Briant 2002, 304–307. 36 Tuplin 2010, 143; Hdt. 3.84–87; Ctesias 688 F 17.13. See too Rollinger 2018 on the Near Eastern background for this association between horse, king, and new rule; wise advisers also figure in these traditions. 37 See Alpha Esth 7:13–19 where Mordecai is said to remove his sackcloth in great distress and then, speechless with wonder, put on the royal clothes. Compare Judith and Esther of the Additions, who similarly change out of the humblest of clothing in order to don luxurious garb (above, p. 287–290). 38 See Berlin 2001a, xxxvii on the links between the story of Joseph and the Book of Esther. 39 LXX Esth 8:15 portrays the rejoicing in Susa as a direct result of seeing Mordecai in his fine clothing: ὁ δὲ Μαρδοχαῖος ἐξῆλθεν ἐστολισμένος τὴν βασιλικὴν στολὴν … ἰδόντες δὲ οἱ ἐν Σούσοις ἐχάρησαν.

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(Jdt 10:3: τὰ ἱμάτια τῆς εὐφροσύνης αὐτῆς) that she had worn when her husband was alive. Lavish clothing, like its opposite, sackcloth, can be a means to express inner feelings. The four main characters of our three books, Cyrus, Judith, Esther and Mordecai, are aware, then, both of the pitfalls and of the advantages of luxurious dress. An elegant outward appearance may be quite impressive, but it need not be a sign of power, strength, or substance: Cyaxares is a good example of a ruler whose fancy outer trappings cover inner weakness. Simple clothing, such as Judith’s widow’s weeds or Cyrus’ sweatstained Persian apparel, can lend moral stature and authority in the right circumstances. Luxurious clothing is, nonetheless, a useful tool in the proper hands. Cyrus in his high heels, Judith in her seductive clothing, and Esther with her regal garments all make use of lavish dress and these rich costumes enable them to achieve their goals. The four heroes are in control of the clothes they wear, which sometimes serve as a means of self-expression and sometimes as a way to deceive and control. It is precisely their ability to switch back and forth from widow’s weeds to festive dress, from Median to Persian clothing, from sackcloth to fine linen robes, that lends these characters their power and authority. Feasting and Fasting A second feature regularly found in both biblical and Greek tales of the East is the rich food and plentiful drink to be found at the royal table. Such luxurious fare is described in Esther, Judith, and the Cyropaedia and all three works include lavish meals and drinking parties, with descriptions of the furniture, drinking vessels, and dishes at these banquets. Unlike elaborate dress, this form of luxurious living is consistently rejected by the protagonists in our stories and such drinking parties are sometimes used to convey an ethical lesson. When young Cyrus shares a meal with his grandfather Astyages during his stay in Media (above, p. 285), he strongly disapproves of the Median way of dining (Cyr. 1.3.4–12). The elaborate Median dishes are in his eyes simply a longer and more roundabout route to satiety than plain Persian fare, and Cyrus quickly re-distributes the large portion of meat that he receives at this rich meal to various servants. The twelve year old Cyrus is particularly critical of the Medes’ excessive wine drinking and he disapproves of the loss of control which Astyages and his companions displayed when drunk. Astyages is perhaps affronted by his grandson’s criticism and he asks about the drinking habits of Cyrus’ father, the Persian king Cambyses. Cyrus replies that Cambyses drinks to quench his thirst, and does not become drunk (Cyr. 1.3.11). At this meal, then, the two ways of life, the Median and the Persian, are once again set side by side, but in this instance, Cyrus rejects Median practices. If earlier Cyrus has admired both Cambyses’ plain and Astyages’ fancy dress, here he does not see the positive side to Median wining and dining. When he returns to Persia, young Cyrus quickly goes back to eating plain Persian fare and he enjoys giving out shares of his portion at feasts (Cyr. 1.5.1). As a mature military leader, Cyrus continues to display restraint in matters of eating and drinking. On one occasion (Cyr. 4.5.1–8) he provides his allies with plentiful meat and wine, but takes care that his fellow Persians eat

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only bread and drink only water. 40 Cyrus’ uncle, Cyaxares, becomes exceedingly drunk on this occasion and the Mede servants, with no master to supervise them, become inebriated as well. 41 Excessive drink, we are made to see, leads to chaos, and the symposia of the Cyropaedia are all exceptionally sober, with virtually no mention of wine. 42 Xenophon also has the Assyrian Gobryas observe – and then admire – simple Persian fare as he realizes that temperance in food and drink prevents men from becoming swinish or bestial (Cyr. 5.2.16–18). The ascetic Persians, he concludes, are morally superior to their materialistic Assyrian allies (5.3.3). Later on, Gobryas’ admiration for the Persians increases, since they manage to continue with temperate habits even after they have gained material goods (8.4.13–14). Cyrus himself, once he establishes his empire, has a rich royal table to rival that of his Median grandfather, but he is not shown enjoying culinary delights or imbibing wine. Instead, Xenophon describes how he regularly works up a sweat and appetite before eating. Cyrus also routinely distributes quantities of food from his royal table. 43 It seems safe to assume that Cyrus retains his modest eating and drinking habits even as ruler of a great empire; such self-restraint is a regular feature of Xenophon’s heroes. 44 If Cyrus eats and drinks moderately, Judith barely eats at all, for she is said to fast regularly for the three years and four months of her widowhood (Jdt 8:6). Her fast is not in response to the crisis engendered by Holophernes’ conquests as is the case with her fellow Israelites in the work (4:13; see below p. 297 on Esther), nor does she seem to suffer from the lack of supplies endured by her fellow Bethulians, who are under siege (Jdt 7:21). Judith’s abstention from food, like her everyday simple dress, apparently stems from a combination of mourning and asceticism. Just as the Persians of the Cyropaedia are to be admired for their moderate eating and drinking, Judith’s regular fasting adds to her moral stature. Such lengthy fasting implies only partial fasting, and it is likely that Judith fasts during the day and then eats at night, as she does in Holophernes’ camp (Jdt 12:9). Her great beauty is apparently not affected by this practice, just as the biblical Daniel’s restricted vegetarian diet in the court of Nebuchadnezzar leaves him as attractive and healthy as ever (Dan 1:5–16). When Judith leaves for Holophernes’ camp she takes along her own food and it is simple, vegetarian food, besides being kosher: wine, oil, roasted grain, figs, and bread (Jdt 10:5). The list of the plain food readied by Judith for her journey is found immediately after the description of her elaborate grooming and clothing (10:3–5), just as young Cyrus’ criticism of rich Median food and drink follows immediately upon his adoption of Median clothing. Both Xenophon and the author of Judith juxtapose the external element of dress and the internal element of ingesting food. External appearances 40 41 42 43

See too 4.2.41, 45 and Tuplin 1996, 73, 88, 91; Due 1989, 175–179. Tuplin 1990, 26: “In the Cyropaedia drunkenness is a nasty Median habit …” Gera 1993, 150–159. Cyr. 8.1.36, 38; 8.2.2–7. For the king’s table as an important economic and political institution used to distribute wealth, see Briant 2002, 286–297; Llewellyn-Jones 2013, 89–92, 127–129, 183–185. 44 See Azoulay 2004 who stresses the link between Cyrus’ magnificent outer appearance and his insistence upon temperance in food and drink, and suggests that Xenophon wishes to show that the combination of the two underlies Cyrus’ success.

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are a carapace, an outer shell which can be altered at will, but food and drink are absorbed internally and remain within. Judith makes use of her kosher food and wine in the two banquets she shares with Holophernes. At their first joint meal (Jdt 12:1–4), Holophernes arranges for her to be served delicacies and wine in his silver dishes, but Judith insists upon using her own kosher food, drink, and utensils, setting up a barrier between herself and Holophernes. In a passage rich with irony, Judith reassures Holophernes that he need not worry that her food supplies will run out before her lord does what he has planned by her hand (12:4). Needless to say, Holophernes does not understand that God is Judith’s lord and the plan she is referring to is Holophernes‘ death. Their joint meal is in fact two disparate meals, and rather than fostering solidarity and trust, as commensality is often meant to do, 45 the meal points to the gap between Judith and Holophernes and their two cultures. We can compare the simple Spartan meal and the rich Persian one which the victorious Spartan commander Pausanias sets side by side (Hdt. 9.82) or the meal shared by Odysseus and Calypso with the goddess consuming ambrosia and nectar while the Greek eats mortal food (Od. 5.195–200). Young Cyrus’ banquet with Astyages (above p. 293) is another such feast which explores contrasting cultures. When dining with Holophernes, Judith preserves her separate identity in physical matters and takes great care with what enters her body: this is a clear, but subtle sign that she will not be seduced. At her second joint banquet with Holophernes (Jdt 12:10–13:9), a drinking party, Judith again uses her own supplies. We are told that Judith has dressed up in all her finery for this banquet and she reclines on a special fleece which has been provided her (12:15). Judith must attract Holophernes even as she rejects his hospitality and her alluring appearance taken together with her separate food and wine (12:19) convey a mixed message about her willingness to be on intimate terms with him. Indeed, modern commentators are divided as to the significance of the fleece Judith sits on at the banquet. Is this one more feature of Oriental luxury or does it signal her purity and separateness? Holophernes plans to seduce Judith at this second party, but he becomes exceedingly drunk and falls asleep. Judith then seizes Holophernes’ sword, prays briefly to God, and cuts off Holophernes’ head (12:20–13:8). Holophernes has been undone by excessive drinking and such fatal feasts are found in biblical, Greek, and Oriental contexts. 46 There is little doubt that eating only kosher food is an integral part of Judith’s piety and we can compare Judith’s avoidance of gentile food to other instances in Jewish tales of the Second Temple period. 47 Daniel, Tobit, and Esther of the Additions are all careful to abstain from gentile fare and all eat their own separate food. 48 At the same time, Judith’s simple diet may also stem from the realization that meager food and drink will better 45 Agreements between members of two different ethnic groups can be sealed over meals; see, for instance, the covenant and joint meal of Isaac and Abimelech at Gen 26:28–31. 46 See Gera 2014, 383–384; Bowie 2003 and the references cited there. 47 MacDonald 2008, 196–218 notes how observance of dietary laws became increasingly important as a touchstone of Jewish identity in the Maccabean period (i.e. after 167 BCE). 48 Dan 1:5–16; Tob 1:10–11; Add Esth 14:17; contrast Esth 2:9.

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serve her purpose, for they will enable her to keep her wits about her in the Assyrian camp. 49 We are reminded of Cyrus who feeds his soldiers only bread and water before they set out on a military campaign, despite the plentiful provisions which are available (Cyr. 4.5.4; see above p. 294). Judith too is on a military campaign of sorts and consuming only plain food and, in all likelihood, only a moderate amount of wine allows her to think and act quickly when the opportunity arises. Judith’s meals with Holophernes can be contrasted with another instance of commensality in the work, the drinking party (πότον) which Uzziah, the chief leader of Bethulia, arranges for Achior (Jdt 6:21). The Ammonite commander Achior comes to Bethulia after incurring Holophernes’ wrath by suggesting that God may well protect the Israelites from attack. After hearing Achior’s tale, Uzziah takes him home and entertains him with the city elders. The banquet then becomes a night long session of prayer to God, rather than an occasion to drink to excess. Presumably Achior, who subsequently will convert to Judaism, joins the Israelites in their appeal to God for help and his banquet with the elders of Bethulia serves to incorporate him into their community. The Book of Esther contains a great many banquets. The work opens with two lavish drinking parties given by Ahasuerus and a banquet for women given by Queen Vashti, and closes with a series of Jewish feasts. The climax of the story, Esther’s exposure of Haman, takes place at a drinking party as well. 50 King Ahasuerus is the most frequent partygoer and his opening banquet which lasts for 180 days is an outstanding instance of conspicuous consumption. 51 In this work, parties are again used to point to contrasting cultures, but the juxtaposition is accomplished by different means. There is no visible difference between Jewish and Persian eating and drinking practices: when Esther invites Haman and Ahasuerus to two banquets, all three participants apparently use the same dishes, eat the same food, and drink the same drink. It is only in the later Additions to Esther that the question of kosher food arises and there Esther insists that she has not strayed from Jewish dietary laws. “Your servant has not eaten at Haman’s table, nor taken pleasure in the royal banquets, nor drunk the wine of libations.” (Add Esth 14:17 = 4.17x). In MT Esther the heroine regularly partakes of Persian fare (Esth 2:9) and apparently this is one factor which allows her to hide her Jewish identity (2:10, 20). While we do not find a comparison of Persian and Jewish practices at any single party, Jewish banquets are nonetheless implicitly contrasted with Persian ones, for the two groups hold very different kinds of parties. Simply put, the Persians drink, while the Jews do not. The word wine (‫)יין‬ is frequently mentioned in the depiction of the Persian banquets, 52 but there is no mention 49 Thus Sutter Rehmann 2008 who also suggests that Judith’s plain meals may be an act of solidarity with the hungry people of besieged Bethulia. 50 Esth 1:2–9; 8:17; 9:17–19; 7:1–9. See Fox 2001, 156–158 and the further references there on banquets as a major motif in Esther. 51 Compare the 120 days of feasting and relaxation by Nebuchadnezzar and his forces at Jdt 1:16. 52 Esth 1:7, 10; 5:6; 7:2, 7, 8; see too 1:8 and 7:1. The word ‫ משתה‬which stems from the root ‫( שתה‬to drink) is used of all the parties, Jewish and Persian, in Esther, but it plainly refers both to drinking parties and to feasts.

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of drinking or inebriation at the Jewish feasts, even though in later Jewish tradition the holiday of Purim is particularly associated with drinking. Neither Esther nor Mordecai is shown drinking at all and it seems a safe guess that at the crucial second banquet arranged by Esther for Ahasuerus and Haman (Esth 7:1–8) both the angry Ahasuerus and the pleading Haman have drunk a considerable amount of wine, while Esther remains clearheaded and sober. The Jews of the Book of Esther make merry and feast after their victory over their enemies, but even then there is no hint of wine (Esth 8:17, 9:17–19). The feasting Jews also send out portions of food from their parties (Esth 9:19), reminding us of Cyrus’ regular distribution of food from his table (above p. 294). Another implicit contrast in the Book of Esther is that between Persian drinking parties and Jewish fasting. “If feasting is a sign of wealth and status, fasting is an appeal to a different court where humility and self-denial are valued.” 53 The Jews of Ahasuerus’ vast empire, Mordecai, Esther, her maids, and the Jews of Susa are all said to fast (Esth 4:3, 16), and such joint abstinence, a kind of foodless commensality, is the precise opposite of Persian wining and dining. While there is no mention of accompanying prayers to God, fasting lends Esther and her fellow Jews an aura of piety and contributes to their moral stature; we cannot conceive of either Haman or Ahasuerus exercising such self-restraint. Esther’s three day fast takes place as she decides how best to approach Ahasuerus and perhaps we should understand that her abstention from food is, like Judith’s meager diet, meant to focus her energy and sharpen her wits. In any event, Esther evidently comes up with her plan on how to unveil Haman’s evildoing in the course of this fast. In sum, Cyrus, Judith, and Esther all demonstrate great self-control and discipline in relation to eating and drinking, even when their circumstances allow them to indulge in sumptuous food and drink. If they are flexible when it comes to matters of dress, they are much less flexible with regard to rich food and wine. Naturally, the heroes of these three books do not reject eating and drinking – or even occasional feasting – out of hand, but they are careful about what they eat and are particularly careful about what they drink. Cyrus at first rejects elaborate food for himself and his soldiers and then makes sure to exercise regularly before enjoying the pleasures of the royal table. We never see him displaying any real appetite or greed, and he uses food from the royal kitchen as a tool to reward his loyal friends and servants, as part of the “relentless culture of reward and gift-giving” 54 which keeps the wheels of his empire turning. Both Judith and Esther fast. Judith fasts regularly as part of her ascetic and pious lifestyle, and eats only kosher food, while Esther, who ordinarily eats the Persian food set before her, fasts at a time of crisis. The two heroines appreciate the use of wine to distract and influence others, but do not over indulge themselves. Such moderation serves Esther and Judith in good stead and enables them to exercise control over their surroundings. Judith is clever enough to take advantage of Holophernes’ drunkenness and in later versions of her tale she is even said to feed Holophernes salty cheese at their party in order to make him drink more. 55 Esther 53 MacDonald 2008, 213. 54 Tuplin 2013, 77; see too Tuplin 1996, 76–78 and Jacobs in this volume. 55 See the medieval Jewish sources cited in Gera 2014, 25.

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conceives a careful plan during her prolonged fast and realizes that initiating a banquet – or actually two banquets – with its concomitant drinking will enable her to win over the king to her people’s cause. As with their clothing, here too, the acquaintance of our heroes with varied practices and their ability to move between worlds and to adjust to surrounding circumstances enables them to achieve their goals. 56 Conclusion Luxury is an invariable feature in tales of the East, but the Cyropaedia and the Books of Esther and Judith all make use of the motif of luxury in order to explore moral and ethical issues. Cyrus, Judith, Esther, and Mordecai are used by their authors to demonstrate to readers the power and pitfalls of an opulent lifestyle and the shared attitude of these four heroes towards the use and misuse of clothing and drink is noteworthy. Were the authors of Esther and Judith acquainted – either directly or through some mediated form – with Xenophon’s book? It is tempting to posit the influence of the Cyropaedia, a work popular throughout antiquity, 57 on the two biblical books, but there simply is not sufficient evidence to do so. Didactic tales of Oriental courts may have circulated in parallel in Greek and Jewish cultures, but it is possible that the rich world created by Xenophon in his Cyropaedia left its mark on Jewish circles.

56 Tuplin (e.g. 2013, 87) stresses that it is the fact that Cyrus was educated in two cultures, austere Persia and luxury-loving Media, that leads to his success. 57 See e.g. Müller and Madreiter in this volume

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Bibliography Azoulay, V. 2004. ‘The Medo-Persian Ceremonial: Xenophon, Cyrus, and the King’s Body’, in: C. J. Tuplin (ed.) Xenophon and His World: Papers from a Conference Held in Liverpool in July 1999 (Historia – Einzelschriften 172), Stuttgart, 147–173. Berlin, A. 2001a. Esther, Philadelphia. —. 2001b. ‘The Book of Esther and Ancient Storytelling’, Journal of Biblical Literature 120, 3–14. Bowie, A. M. 2003. ‘Fate May Harm Me, I Have Dined Today: Near-Eastern Royal Banquets and Greek Symposia in Herodotus’, Pallas 61, 99–109. Briant, P. 2002. From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire (Translated by P. T. Daniels), Winona Lake, IN. Brosius, M. 2015. ‘From Fact to Fiction: Persian History and the Book of Esther’, in: A. Fitzpatrick-McKinley (ed.) Assessing Biblical and Classical Sources for the Reconstruction of Persian Influence, History and Culture (Classica et Orientalia 10), Wiesbaden, 193–202. Caponigro, M. S. 1992. ‘Judith, Holding the Tale of Herodotus’, in: J. C. VanderKam (ed.) “No One Spoke Ill of Her”: Essays on Judith, Atlanta, 47–59. Corley, J. 2012. ‘Imitation of Septuagintal Narrative and Greek Historiography in the Portrait of Holofernes’, in: G. G. Xeravits (ed.), A Pious Seductress: Studies in the Book of Judith. Göttingen, 22–54. Due, B. 1989. The Cyropaedia: Xenophon’s Aims and Methods, Aarhus. Fox, M. V. 2001. Character and Ideology in the Book of Esther, Grand Rapids, MI. Gera, D. L. 1993. Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Style, Genre, and Literary Technique (Oxford Classical Monographs), Oxford. —. 2014. Judith (Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature), Berlin & Boston. Johnson, S. 2005. ‘Novelistic Elements in Esther: Persian or Hellenistic, Jewish or Greek?’, Catholic Biblical Quarterly 67, 571–589. Levenson, J. D. 1997. Esther: A Commentary (The Old Testament Library), Louisville & London. Llewellyn-Jones, L. 2013. King and Court in Ancient Persia 559 to 331 BCE (Debates and Documents in Ancient History), Edinburgh. Macchi, J.-D. 2009. ‘The Book of Esther: A Persian Story in Greek Style’, in: E. Ben Zvi, D. V. Edelman & F. Polak (eds.), A Palimpsest: Rhetoric, Ideology, Stylistics, and Language Relating to Persian Israel. Piscataway, NJ, 109–128. MacDonald, N. 2008. Not Bread Alone: The Uses of Food in the Old Testament, Oxford. Momigliano, A. 1977. ‘Eastern Elements in Post-Exilic Jewish, and Greek, Historiography’, in: Essays in Ancient and Modern Historiography, Middletown, CT, 25–35. Rollinger, R. 2018. ‘Herodotus and the Transformation of Near Eastern Motifs: Darius I, Oebares, and the Neighing Horse’, in: T. Harrison & E. Irwin (eds.), Interpreting Herodotus, Oxford, 125–148. Schmitz, B. 2004. ‘Zwischen Achikar und Demaratos – Die Bedeutung Achiors in der Juditerzählung’, Biblische Zeitschrift 48, 19–38.

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—. 2010. ‘Holofernes’s Canopy in the Septuagint’, in: K. R. Brine, E. Ciletti & H. Lähnemann (eds.) The Sword of Judith, Cambridge, 71–80. Sutter Rehmann, L. 2008. ‘Abgelehnte Tischgemeinschaft in Tobit, Daniel, Ester, Judit: Ein Plädoyer für Differenzierung’, in: lectio difficilior 1/2008 http://www.lectio.unibe. ch/08_1/sutter.htm. Tuplin, C. J. 1990. ‘Persian Decor in Cyropaedia: Some Observations’, in: H. SancisiWeerdenburg & J. W. Drijvers (eds.), The Roots of the European Tradition – Proceedings of the 1987 Groningen Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History V), Leiden, 17–29. —. 1996. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Education and Fiction’, in: A. H. Sommerstein & C. Atherton (eds.), Education in Greek Fiction (Nottingham Classical Literature Studies 4), Bari, 65–162. —. 2010. ‘All the King’s Horse: In Search of Achaemenid Persian Cavalry’, in: G. G. Fagan & M. Trundle (eds.), New Perspectives on Ancient Warfare, Leiden, 101–182. —. 2013. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Fictive History, Political Analysis and Thinking with Iranian Kings’, in: L. Mitchell & C. Melville (eds.), Every Inch a King: Comparative Studies on Kings and Kingship in Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Rulers and Elites: Comparative Studies in Governance 2), Leiden & Boston, 67–90. Wills, L. M. 1995. The Jewish Novel in the Ancient World, Ithaca, NY.

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The Cyropaedia in Imperial Greek Literature* Sulochana Asirvatham (New York)

We do not have to rely on Lucian – who complained about the proliferation of would-be “Thucydideses, Herodotuses and Xenophons” in his day 1 –to see that imperial Greek writers considered Xenophon one of the greats. In his 1920 survey of Xenophontic references in Greco-Roman literature, Karl Münscher demonstrated that, at least on the level of style and allusion, almost any imperial author you choose will have nodded to at least one of Xenophon’s writings, which ranged from loosely historical/biographical/autobiographical works (Agesilaus, Anabasis, Cyropaedeia, and Hellenica) to Socratic works (Apology, Memorabilia, Oeconomicus and Symposium), to practical and political treatises (Constitution of Sparta, Cynegeticus, Hiero, Hipparchichus, Peri Hippikes, and Revenues). Xenophon was singled out in particular for his pleasing style. Diogenes Laertius in his Lives of the Philosophers refers to the sweetness (γλυκύτης) of Xenophon’s prose, by which the latter earned the epithet “Attic Muse” (2.58): ἐκαλεῖτο…Ἀττικὴ Μοῦσα γλυκύτητι τῆς ἑρμηνείας. A 2nd century rhetorical handbook once attributed to Aelius Aristides (“Pseudo-Aristides”) consists of two books: the first, on the “political style” (πολιτικὸς λόγος) exemplified by Demosthenes; the second, on “the simple style” (ἀφελὴς λόγος) exemplified by Xenophon and the Platonic dialogues. 2 Among literary authors, Athenaeus repeatedly attaches complimentary epithets to Xenophon: “fine” (καλός, 1.27; 3.97; 5.56; 6.103; 11.112; 12.2), “most elegant” (μουσικώτατος, 2.32; 3.93), “marvelous” (θαυμάσιος, 4.46), and “most graceful” (χαριέστατος; along with “most pleasant”, ἥδιστος, 10.18), and praises Xenophon and Plato together for their ability to imitate Homeric banquets (5.3), a criterion for good writing that is unsurprising coming from the composer of that grandest of sympotic scenes, the Deipnosophistae (Sophists at the Banquet). As befits his habit of joyfully pointing up the short-comings of other authors, Athenaeus also takes

*

Many thanks to Bruno Jacobs, Sabine Müller, and Robert Rollinger for their generous invitation to participate in the Melammu Workshop, and for the opportunity to contribute to this volume in honor of Christopher Tuplin. 1 “Nowadays, everyone on earth is writing history! Indeed, to us, they are all Thucydideses and Herodotuses and Xenophons” (οὐδεὶς ὅστις οὐχ ἱστορίαν συγγράφει, μᾶλλον δὲ Θουκυδίδαι καὶ Ἡρόδοτοι καὶ Ξενοφῶντες ἡμῖν ἅπαντες, Luc. Hist. Conscr. 2). Wherever I have used outside translations, the translator is listed with the passage. 2 For Greek text and French translation with introduction, notes and commentary, see Patillon 2002a, 2002b.

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“even the admirable (καλὸς) Xenophon” to task as being one of those “philosophers” who “lie constantly and unknowingly commit anachronisms” (5.56): πάντ᾽ … ψεύδονται οἱ φιλόσοφοι καὶ πολλὰ παρὰ τοὺς χρόνους γράφοντες οὐκ αἰσθάνονται. Importantly, this passage points to Xenophon’s reputation as a philosopher in the imperial period. As Louis-André Dorion points out, Diogenes’s placement of Xenophon’s biography directly after Socrates’s is a “resounding confirmation of his recognition of Xenophon’s status as a Socratic”. 3 Diogenes also says that Xenophon was the first of the philosophers to write a history (ἱστορίαν φιλοσόφων πρῶτος ἔγραψε, 2.6.48), 4 which explains his attractiveness to writers like Plutarch who evaluated the quality of historical figures by their level of philosophy. 5 Xenophon – or the Cyropaedia, to be exact –is also named in the Stoic philosopher Epictetus’s Discourses 2.6.15. Xenophon’s reputation as both stylist and philosopher, however, goes further back than the time of Lucian, Athenaeus, Epictetus and Diogenes Laertius. The Augustan Dionysius of Halicarnassus and his contemporary Caecilius of Calacte both commented on Xenophon’s prose style 6 and, according to Diogenes (2.53), the Republican author Diocles included Xenophon in his Lives of the Philosophers. 7 Given that Xenophon’s influence as stylist and philosopher also continued into eastern and western Christendom, 8 when we attempt to discuss the Cyropaedia in “imperial Greek literature” we are faced with the question of periodization: how do we justify choosing a particular set of texts for further study to the exclusion of others? It is a worthwhile question to ask, not only because of the rich diversity of Greek imperial literature that continues to be lumped together under the blanket term “Second Sophistic” 9 but also because of the piecemeal and adaptive use they make of any given text (Xenophontic or otherwise). The latter is a tribute to the playfulness and ingenuity 3 Dorion 2017, 45. In an irresistible example of student rivalry, Diogenes says that, after Xenophon was labeled the Attic Muse, he and Plato remained jealous of each other (πρὸς ἀλλήλους ζηλοτύπως εἶχον αὐτός τε καὶ Πλάτων, 2.57). 4 Diogenes also makes the unique and somewhat stunning claim that Xenophon was responsible for making Thucydides famous by publishing his history (upon which, of course, the Hellenica, depended), which he could have instead secretly passed off on his own (2.6.57). 5 See, e.g. Pelling 1989, Swain 1990, Roskam 2002, Nerdahl 2011. 6 In his letter of Pompeius Geminus (4), Dionysius praised Xenophon for choosing historical subjects that were fine and magnificent and appropriate for a philosopher (καλὰς καὶ τὰς ὑποθέσεις μεγαλοπρεπεῖς καὶ ἀνδρὶ φιλοσόφῳ προσηκούσας); he singles out the Cyropaedia as “the portrait of a good and wealthy king” (εἰκόνα βασιλέως ἀγαθοῦ καὶ εὐδαίμονος). He was not altogether complimentary, however, as he saw Xenophon falling short of Herodotus, who possessed ὕψος (sublimity), κάλλος (beauty) καὶ μεγαλοπρέπεια (grandeur). Caecilius used the first line of the Cyropaedia as an example of περίφρασις (66: see Münscher 1920, 108). 7 Diocles also claimed that Xenophon sent his two sons Gryllus and Diodorus to serve in defense of Sparta – an intriguing idea considering that both Plato’s Republic and Cyrus’s idealized Persia are clearly modeled on Sparta. 8 Münscher 1920, 182–236. 9 On the difficulty of pinning down the “Second Sophistic” temporally, see most recently Johnson & Richter 2017 and Whitmarsh 2017.

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of writers who, half a century ago, were routinely dismissed as slavish imitators of classical models. But that – along with Xenophon’s perchant for cross-reference within his own corpus – also makes it somewhat of a challenge to locate specifically Cyropaedian areas of influence. The historical subject of the work presents its own issues. As Section I of this paper will show, Cyrus the Elder is of variable (and usually only passing) 10 interest to imperial writers, as those who write about the period of Achaemenid domination in the east tend to focus on the Greek heroes who defeated the Persians rather than the Persians themselves. Furthermore, the Cyrus who does appear is very often not the Cyrus of the Cyropaedia: the most frequently seen “other Cyrus” is, of course, that of Herodotus, who, as Robert Rollinger puts it, has none of the “Socratic seriousness about justice, nobility, and true advantage” that we see in Xenophon’s Cyrus). 11 Indeed, the one author who treats Cyrus in a somewhat continuous (albiet brief) narrative, Polyaenus, uses the Cyropaedia sparingly as a source. Imperial writers’ philosophical interest in the education of rulers, however, offers a toehold. To the degree that the Cyropaedia offers advice on how to raise a monarch, it would appear overdetermined as a source for imperial use. 12 Like Xenophon, imperial writers (like Plutarch, mentioned above, but also his contemporary Dio Chrysostom as well as later authors like Cassius Dio) 13 evaluated rulers and leaders at least partly on the quality and degree of their παιδεία. What is striking is the impact of one particular aspect of Cyrus’s education: self-control (σωφροσύνη or ἐγκράτεια) over appetite, primarily sexual. In Section II, I build upon the work of other scholars who have noticed such patterns in Plutarch, the novels, and Philostratus. Section III, finally, will discuss another important aspect of the Xenophontic Cyrus’s education – that is, in the art of deception – something that proved attractive to Machiavelli and perhaps. closer to home, even Isocrates. 14 Generally speaking, imperial writers who were overtly 10 An important exception is Josephus, who wrote in classical Greek but clearly self-identifies as Jewish as opposed to Greek or Roman (see, e.g., Redondo 2000); his Cyrus is the Cyrus of the Hebrew Bible, the great savior of the Jews from the Babylonian captivity. 11 Rollinger 2013. 12 Even beyond his interest in the problem of one-man rule, Xenophon, above other classical writers, seems to fit a number of stereotypes associated with imperial Greek literature. We see in him the eclecticism of genre that obviously fully attracted Arrian (see most recently on this Bowie 2016), but that also belongs to Plutarch, Lucian and Philostratus. Xenophon’s writings reveal among other things a rather playful author (see e.g. Hobden & Tuplin 2012, 14, 16–17, 31–39), and in this respect recall those characteristics of imperial Greek literature that have made the description “ludic” something of a buzzword in modern scholarship on the subject. There is also self-referentiality: as Tuplin has observed (2013), the best parallel passages for Xenophon will often be found in Xenophon himself. Imperial Greek writers also tend to write on a monumental scale and are as full of internal cross-references as they are full of allusions to other authors. Related to this is Xenophon’s self-idealization as the protagonist Xenophon in his Anabasis, which well-matches the self-reflexive and self-aggrandizing habits of imperial Greek writers, who saw their own literary production as the highest form of cultural (and sometimes even moral) activity. 13 On Cassius Dio see, e.g., Jones 2016. 14 In Antidosis 122, Isocrates praises Timotheus for using his character (ἦθος) as a stratagem (στρατήγημα). See Wheeler 1988, 4–5.

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concerned with the moral quality of leaders tended to treat σωφροσύνη and ἐγκράτεια as incompatible with στρατήγημα (stratagem), ἀπατή (deception), μηχανή (contrivance), τέχνη (art), κλέπτη (theft), and the like. It is the more playful forms of literature, such as the novels – and, unexpectedly, a short rhetorical piece by the rhetor and philosopher Dio Chrysostom – that find compatibility between morality and deception. Cyrus without the Cyropaedia, The Cyropaedia without Cyrus As a biography of a Persian, the Cyropaedia is almost unique in extant Greco-Roman literature. 15 Imperial Greek writers often present Cyrus in a positive light, but he is rarely the focus of sustained treatment. The most extensive verbiage we find on the founder of the Achaemenid dynasty is in Polyaenus’s Strategemata, a collection of battlefield tricks performed by Greeks, Macedonians, various barbarians, Romans, and even women – whose presence, among other features, makes it difficult to take the work seriously as a true handbook of military strategy along the lines of Frontinus, even though it was ostensibly dedicated to Marcus Aurelius and Antoninus Pius. Inspired by the wiles of Homer’s Sisyphus, Autolycus and Odysseus (Book 1 praef.), the work is a catalogue of self-contained anecdotes of varying length organized and numbered by individual name or, sometimes, nationality. Each of the eight books deals with between sixteen and seventy-one figures, and many important figures are given only a handful of anecdotes – Heracles (1.3), for example, is given five; Peisistratus (1.21), three; and Augustus (8.24), seven – although a couple of outliers are allowed significantly more space: thirty-two stories are devoted to Alexander the Great (4.3) and thirty-three to Caesar (8.23). Xenophon’s Hellenica and Anabasis are, unsurprisingly, main sources for Greek affairs dating from the end of Thucydides’s narrative and for the March of the Ten Thousand: Polyaenus uses the Hellenica for Agesilaus (3.1), for example, and the Anabasis for Clearchus (3.2), Tissaphernes (7.18) and Xenophon himself as general (2.49). The most obvious place to look for the Cyropaedia is Book 7, which deals with Persians and other barbarians – and indeed, we find there a reasonably substantial section on Cyrus the Elder consisting of ten anecdotes (7.6). The preface to this book makes it clear that its object is to prepare the Roman army for fighting against the barbarians – not for admiration or emulation, per se, but because they excel in trickery more than in military prowess (an unfair reading, perhaps, of the Cyropaedian Cyrus’s desire to win, whenever possible, without direct combat; e.g. Cyr. 7.2.5–8). Accordingly, what we see of Cyrus is neutral at best. The first anecdote (7.6.1), which like many in the Strategemata has a dubious claim to the label “stratagem”, begins, unflatteringly, as such: “Cyrus was defeated in three different battles with the  Medes” (Κῦρος Μήδοις παραταξάμενος τρὶς 15 We also have Plutarch’s Artaxerxes, which, along with Aratus, is one of his two extant single biographies that do not belong to either the Parallel Lives or the Lives of the Roman Emperors. On Xenophon’s Cyropaedia as the first full chronological narrative of a man’s life (albeit a utopian one), see Hägg 2012, 10–66.

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ἡττήθη). It goes on to describe his fourth defeat at Pasagardae, after which the fleeing Persians, who had left their wives and children at the site of battle, turned around to defeat the Medes and rescue their loved ones (in Cyr. 1.1.4, by contrast, we are told that the Medes and the Hyrcanians had willingly submitted to Cyrus). The source for this anecdote is unknown, but of the remaining, at least five clearly come from Herodotus (7.6.4–8), and one can be traced to Frontinus (7.6.10). The story of Cyrus diverting the Euphrates in order to capture Babylon (7.6.5) is told in Herodotus 1.191 and in Cyr. 7.5.10–19; Polyaenus seems to stick more closely to the shorter, Herodotean version. Polyaenus’s description of Cyrus’s capture of Sardis, however, is not the Herodotean version (Hdt. 1.84), but seems quite clearly to be a compressed and modified version of what we find in the Cyropaedia: Polyaen. 7.6.2: Κῦρος ἐν ταῖς πρὸς Κροῖσοω ἀνοχαῖς ἀπήγαγε τὴν δύναμιν. ὡς δὲ νὺξ ἐπῆλθε, συντόνως ἀναστρέψας ἐπὶ τὰς Σάρδεις ἤγαγε καὶ προσπεσὼν τοῖς τείχεσιν ἀφυλάκτοις προσθέμενος κλίμακας κατέσχε τὰς Σάρδεις. “In a truce with Croesus, Cyrus withdrew his army. But when night came, immediately turning back, he brought his force to Sardis. He launched an assault on the undefended walls, set up ladders, and captured Sardis.” Xen. Cyr. 7.2.2–4: ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἡμέρα ἐγένετο, εὐθὺς ἐπὶ Σάρδεις ἦγε Κῦρος. ὡς δ᾽ ἐγένετο πρὸς τῷ τείχει τῷ ἐν Σάρδεσι, τάς τε μηχανὰς ἀνίστη ὡς προσβαλῶνπρὸς τὸ τεῖχος καὶ κλίμακας παρεσκευάζετο. ταῦτα δὲ ποιῶν κατὰ τὰ ἀποτομώτατα δοκοῦντα εἶναι τοῦ Σαρδιανῶν ἐρύματος τῆς ἐπιούσης νυκτὸς ἀναβιβάζει Χαλδαίους τε καὶ Πέρσας. ἡγήσατο δ᾽ αὐτοῖς ἀνὴρ Πέρσης δοῦλος γεγενημένος τῶν ἐν τῇ ἀκροπόλει τινὸς φρουρῶν καὶ καταμεμαθηκὼς κατάβασιν εἰς τὸν ποταμὸν καὶ ἀνάβασιν τὴν αὐτήν. ὡς δ᾽ ἐγένετο τοῦτο δῆλον ὅτι εἴχετο τὰ ἄκρα, πάντες δὴ ἔφευγον οἱ Λυδοὶ ἀπὸ τῶν τειχῶν ὅποι ἐδύνατο ἕκαστος τῆς πόλεως. Κῦρος δὲ ἅμα τῇ ἡμέρᾳ εἰσῄει εἰς τὴν πόλιν καὶ παρήγγειλεν ἐκ τῆς τάξεως μηδένα κινεῖσθαι. “When it was day, Cyrus led directly towards Sardis. When he was at the wall around Sardis, he raised up the siege engines as if he intended to attack the wall, and he prepared his ladders. Although he did this, during the coming night he had Chaldaeans and Persians go up what was thought to be the most precipitous part of the fortifications of Sardis. A Persian man directed them, one who had been a slave of one of the guards on the acropolis and had learned a descent to the river and an ascent back by the same way. When it became clear that the heights had been taken, all the Lydians fled from the walls, each to whatever part of the city he could. Cyrus entered the city with the coming daylight, and he commanded that no one stir from his post.” (Tr. Ambler) While both passages suggest that Cyrus took covert action at night against Sardis, Xenophon depicts the beginning of the action, i.e. the setting up of siege engines and scaling ladders, as taking place in broad daylight. Furthermore, Polyaenus adds a detail

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that gives extra emphasis to the Persian king’s barbarian underhandedness: having departed according to a treaty with Croesus, Cyrus broke the treaty by returning at night to sack the city. Other writers are similarly eclectic in their use of sources for Cyrus, not all of which are detectable in the stories (some of which are probably fictions). Pausanias mentions Cyrus once, and positively, praising Antoninus Pius as deserving the same title as the Persian king: “the father of men” (πατὴρ ἀνθρώπων, 8.43.6). If this flattering epithet has a source, it is unknown. Lucian refers to Cyrus more often but, to the degree that his references have traceable sources, his Cyrus is strictly Herodotus’s (or, in one case, Justin’s). 16 Aelius Aristides’s two references to Cyrus the Elders are Cyropaedian, but he is generally more interested in Cyrus the Younger, whom he mentions seven times. 17 Conversely, Athenaeus mentions the Cyropaedia several times for trivial linguistic matters that have nothing to do with Cyrus, and that exist to demonstrate the author’s own overwhelming erudition. 18 Dio Chrysostom mentions Cyrus the Elder eleven or perhaps twelve times (significantly more than he does the younger Cyrus whom he mentions once or perhaps twice; one instance is ambiguous between Elder and Younger). Many are too general to be linked to a single source, 19 and only one reference is recognizably Cyropaedian, 20 and this is to Panthea, from Xenophon’s famous story of the ill-fated love between Cyrus’s beautiful prisoner and her husband Abradates, which also influenced the Greek novel and which we will discuss further below. The anecdote itself, however, – in which Panthea blames Fortune for the death of her husband (Dio Chrys. 64.1) – does not appear in Xenophon. Dio also mentions Cyrus in the same passage as Panthea, but neither is his statement (that the Persians blamed Fortune for Cyrus’s death) Cyropaedian. As we shall see in Section III, Dio’s praise of Xenophon in On Training for Public Speaking is similarly eclectic and subverts reader expectations. 16 Luc. Charon 9; 12–13 allude to Cyrus’s invasion of Lydia and his death at the hands of Tomyris, which are treated in Herodotus Book 1.46–214 (there, however, it is the Massagetae who kill him; the queen beheads his dead body). Luc. Juppiter Confutatus 14 references the prophecy that Croesus would lose his empire to Cyrus if he crossed the Halys river (Hdt. 1.6; 1.28; 1.72; 1.75; 103; 130); the Halys only appears in Xenophon in the Anabasis, without reference to Croesus. The story in Luc. De Sacrificiis 5 that Cyrus was suckled by female dog comes from Pompeius Trogus (Justin 1.110.1). 17 In Ἀπελλᾶ γενεθλιακός (Jebb 73 l. 20), Aristides counsels a young man, Apelles, on his birthday to allow him to be censured by someone older and wise, just like Cyrus did (cf. Cyr. 1.3); in Περὶ τοῦ παραφθέγματος (Jebb 389 l. 21), Aristides presents Cyrus as an example of a leader who, while otherwise mild, extolled himself and his soldiers on the battlefield (cf. Cyropaedia 7.1). 18 For example, Athenaeus cites Xenophon for his use of the word παροψίς for a condiment (9.5., cf. Cyr. 1.3.4) and κύαθος for a specific type of ladle (11.23, cf. 1.3.9). 19 I.e. Cyrus ruled over the Persians: 56.4; Cyrus defeated the Medes: 25.5; 64.22. An allusion to Cyrus rerouting the Euphrates (4.53), which we also found in Polyaenus (7.6.5), could be linked to Xenophon, Herodotus, or both. 20 Dio’s presentation of Astyages as having been bound by Cyrus in gold fetters (80.12) must be inspired by the bad Astyages of Herodotus. That author does not mention gold fetters, but any rate, this Astyages cannot be the maternal grandfather who partly raises Cyrus in Media in the Cyropaedia.

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One might expect the figure of Alexander the Great to offer the easiest route to the imperial Cyrus. As inheritor of Cyrus’s great empire, Alexander may have even promoted himself as a new Cyrus, at least in the latter part of his career. 21 In a rare passage linking Alexander specifically to Xenophon’s Cyropaedia, Diogenes Laertius hints at this aspect of the Macedonian conqueror’s self-promotion via Onesicritus, who had accompanied Alexander on his campaign. Diogenes declares: just as Xenophon had written a Παιδεία Κύρου, Onesicritus wrote how Alexander was educated (πῶς Ἀλέξανδρος ἤχθη); and just as Xenophon had written an encomium (ἐγκώμιος) of Cyrus, Onesicritus did the same for Alexander (6.4). 22 Alexander was, of course, fervently admired by at least some imperial Greek writers, such as Arrian, who provides the best evidence for Alexander’s possible emulation of Cyrus: he tells us that Alexander honored the Ariaspians for assisting Cyrus in his expedition against the Scythians (3.27.4); he cites Nearchus for the theory that Alexander crossed the deadly Gedrosian desert not out of ignorance of the landscape, but because he desired to emulate Cyrus and Semiramis (6.24.2), and says that, according to Aristobulus, Alexander visited Cyrus’s desecrated tomb in Pasagardae and ordered it to be rebuilt (6.29.4–11). 23 And, yet, the man who was celebrated in his lifetime as the New Xenophon 24 shows little additional interest in Cyrus the Elder or in the Cyropaedia. Brian Bosworth tentatively suggests that the first line of the History of Alexander (often known by its later title, the Anabasis), 1.1, borrows the Cyropaedia’s use of λέγεται to denote received tradition, and speculates that Arrian’s use of the word ὁμότιμοι (equally-valued) for the Persian royalty is from Xenophon, who uses it mainly in the Cyropaedia; but Bosworth also notes that the λέγεται convention is used by Dionysius of Hallicarnassus as well (1.9.1), and that ὁμότιμοι may have been borrowed by Ptolemy himself, who was one of Arrian’s main sources. 25 Lionel Pearson saw Arrian’s assessment of Alexander’s character at the end of his life in Book 7 as being directly modeled on the Cyropaedia; 26 Bradley Buszard has argued, however, that it is more likely a response to Plutarch’s AlexanderCaesar pair than to Xenophon. 27 In short, the evidence for Arrian’s specific interest in Cyrus the Elder and the Cyropaedia is inconclusive at best. It is worth reminding ourselves

21 Mitchell 2013. 22 Diogenes may or may not be correct concerning Onesicritus: for bibliography, see n. 25 in Müller in this volume. With the exception of Plutarch (see below), connections between Alexander and Cyrus were generally rare in the imperial period. But see also Lucian’s True History 2.9.3: the narrator and his fellow adventurers arrive at the Isle of the Blessed, where Cretan Rhadamanthus is presiding over three trials as judge; in the last of these trials, Alexander is judged to be superior to Hannibal, and is seated next to Cyrus. On Lucian’s various “underworlds”, see Nesselrath 2018. 23 There is also evidence that Alexander’s contemporaries saw an analogy between Xenophon’s Cyrus and Alexander. Sabine Müller suggests that Callisthenes may have had Xenophon’s Cyrus in mind when telling the story (as relayed by Plutarch) of Alexander being led by the Zeus-eagle in the battle of Gaugamela (Alex. 33.2; Xen. Cyr. 2.1.1; 2.4.19). Müller 2016, 81. 24 Ameling 1984. 25 On λέγεται, see Bosworth 1980, 45; on ὁμότιμοι, see Bosworth 1980, 218. 26 Pearson 1960, 17. 27 Buszard 2010.

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that, when Arrian complained in the famous “second preface” to the History of Alexander (1.12.3) about the unfair level of fame Xenophon had given to Cyrus, when the much more impressive Alexander so far lacked this kind of praise, he was complaining about Xenophon’s treatment of Cyrus the Younger, not Cyrus the Elder. Plutarch makes a somewhat stronger explicit connection between Alexander and Cyrus. As Sabine Müller has shown at length in this volume, Plutarch’s Life of Alexander is suffused with influence from the Cyropaedia. 28 The influence is, however, largely silent, as Plutarch mentions Cyrus only twice in the Life of Alexander: first, he has Darius admit that only Alexander is fated to sit on the throne of Cyrus (Alex. 30) and secondly, like Arrian (6.29.9), he produces a first-person epitaph for Cyrus’s tomb (Alex. 69). But Plutarch mentions Cyrus at least thirty-eight times overall in his corpus (Cyrus the Younger, at least ninety-eight times; two references are ambiguous between Elder and Younger). While many references to Cyrus the Elder are Herodotean, 29 a number relate to the Cyropaedia. Some are focused on other exemplary characters besides Cyrus: note two laudatory allusions to one of his captains, Chrysantas. 30 But two of the references directly link Xenophon’s Cyrus to Alexander, and both deal with the kings’ treatment of women. One deals with the kings’ generosity towards the Persian women, 31 but – more important for our study, as it seems to speak to the more widely influential aspect of the Cyropaedia: sexual restraint – is De Curiositate (referencing Cyr. 5.1.8), where Cyrus’s moderate treatment of the prisoner Panthea acts as a model for Alexander’s moderation towards Darius’s daughter. 32 28 See also Beneker 2012. 29 E.g. Life of Solon 28, which tightly summarizes the famous story that weaves in and out of Herodotus Book 1 of Solon’s visit to Croesus; Croesus’s rejection of Solon’s wisdom; his defeat by Cyrus, who condemned him to death; his miraculous rescue from the flames of the funeral pyre; and his subsequent release by Cyrus. There may be an indirect reference to the Cyropaedia in Plutarch’s On the Malice of Herodotus 18, where the author complains that Herodotus was wrong to depict Croesus – uneducated (ἀμαθής), arrogant (ἀλαζών), and absurd (γελοῖον) in all respects (ἐν πᾶσιν) – educating and chastising Cyrus, “who seems to have held first place among all kings in practical wisdom, virtue, and generosity” (ὃς φρονήσει καὶ ἀρετῇ καὶ μεγαλονοίᾳ πολὺ πάντων δοκεῖ πεπρωτευκέναι τῶν βασιλέων). But even if this list of positive virtues was inspired by the Cyropaedia, the relatively rare μεγαλονοία does not appear there; as for φρόνησις and ἀρετή, the Cyropaedia only uses the latter specifically in reference to Cyrus, and only once (Cyrus decided to practice virtue, without which he would have been unable to incite others to virtue [Cyr. 8.12].). 30 Chrysantas was about to kill an enemy solder, but refrained when he heard the trumpet sounding a retreat, letting the man go (Plut. Comp. Pelop. Marc. 3.2; Quaes. Rom. 39). The incident is described by Cyrus to his men as an act that allowed Chrysantas to get ahead of the enemy and save his own men (Cyr. 4.1.3). 31 In Mulierum Virtutes 5, Plutarch tells a story also told in Alex. 69 in which Alexander gave a gold piece to each Persian woman when he rode into Persia, drawing a comparison with Cyrus, who founded the practice, and with Ochus, who bypassed the city altogether. 32 Plut. De. Cur. 13: ὁ γοῦν Κῦρος οὐκ ἐβούλετο τὴν Πάνθειαν ἰδεῖν, ἀλλὰ τοῦ Ἀράσπου λέγοντος ὡς ἄξιον θέας εἴη τὸ τῆς γυναικὸς εἶδος ‘οὐκοῦν’ ἔφη ‘διὰ τοῦτο μᾶλλον αὐτῆς ἀφεκτέον· εἰ γὰρ ὑπὸ σοῦ πεισθεὶς ἀφικοίμην πρὸς αὐτήν, ἴσως ἄν με ὑπὸ σοῦ πεισθεὶς ἀφικοίμην πρὸς αὐτήν, ἴσως ἄν με πάλιν ἀναπείσειεν αὐτὴ καὶ μὴ σχολάζοντα φοιτᾶν καὶ θεᾶσθαι καὶ παρακαθῆσθαι προέμενον πολλὰ τῶν σπουδῆς ἀξίων.’ ὁμοίως οὐδ’ ὁ Ἀλέξανδρος εἰς ὄψιν ἦλθε τῆς Δαρείου γυναικὸς ἐκπρεπεστάτης εἶναι

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The Cyropaedia and Greek Imperial Writers on Self-Control A number of scholars have identified the story of Panthea as a main attraction of the Cyropaedia to imperial Greeks. 33 Deborah Gera calls it one of the “novellas” within the Cyropaedia; 34 James Tatum, a novella “with many interruptions”, as it weaves in and out of Xenophon’s narrative in Books 4–7. 35 Philip Stadter calls it a “a story in four acts”, 36 which has inspired the following brief summary. In 4.6.11, we are introduced to Cyrus’s captive Panthea, who was the wife of Abradatas, an Assyrian ally, and the most beautiful woman (καλλίστη) in Asia. In Book 5, Cyrus’s friend Araspas watches over her and urges the king to see her, but he refuses on the grounds that he would be so overcome by her beauty that he would neglect his duties. In Book 6, faithful Panthea, who has managed to escape the affections of Araspas with Cyrus’s help, is reunited with Abradates and urges him to fight on Cyrus’s side against Croesus’s army. In Book 7, Abradatas dies fighting and Panthea commits suicide over his body in grief. Helen North points out that Xenophon uses σωφροσύνη more frequently and diversely than any other early author except for perhaps Euripides. 37 Σωφροσύνη and σώφρων are altogether more common words in Xenophon than ἐγκράτεια; most importantly, they appear far more often in the Socratic Memorabilia and in the Cyropaedia than in any other texts. 38 We might say that these references represent two overlapping areas of thought, in which σωφροσύνη is linked, on the one hand, to human wisdom (σοφία) in general, 39 and, on the other hand, to the problem of running an ordered state (e.g. the education of

33 34 35 36 37 38

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λεγομένης, ἀλλὰ πρὸς τὴν μητέρα φοιτῶν αὐτῆς πρεσβῦτιν οὖσαν οὐχ ὑπέμεινε τὴν νέαν καὶ καλὴν ἰδεῖν (“Thus Cyrus was unwilling to see Panthea; and when Araspas declared that the woman’s beauty was worth seeing, Cyrus said, ‘Then this is all the more reason for keeping away from her. For if, having been persuaded by you, I go to her, she herself may tempt me to go to see her again and sit by her when I do not have time for it, causing me to neglect many important matters.’ In the same way, Alexander would not go to see Darius’s wife, who was said to be very beautiful, but although he visited her mother, an elderly woman, he could not bring himself to see the young and beautiful daughter” [Tr. Helmbold, modified]). E.g. Anderson 1986, 231; Tilg 2010, 44–5; 87; Bowie 2016, 407–8; Richlin 2017, 118. A designation that also includes the stories of Croesus, Gobyras and Gadatas. On Panthea, see Gera 1993, 221–245 and Madreiter, this volume. Tatum 1989, 244, n. 3. Stadter 1991, 481–484. North 1966, 123–124. Σωφροσύνη and σώφρων: Anabasis 11x; Agesilaus 8x; Cynegeticus 3x; Cyropaedia 41x; De Republica Lacedaemoniorum 2x; Hellenica 9x; Hiero 2x; Memorabilia 39x; Oeconomicus 8x; Symposium 4x. Ἐγκράτεια and ἐγκρατὴς: Anabasis 2x; Agesilaus 3x; Cynegeticus 1x; Cyropaedia 10x; De Re Equestri 1x; De Republica Lacedaemoniorum 1x; Hellenica 7x; Hiero 1x; Memorabilia 21x; Oeconomicus 4x; Symposium 2x. There are no mentions in De Vectigalibus, Apology, and Hipparchus. See e.g. Mem. 3.9.4: σοφίαν δὲ καὶ σωφροσύνην οὐ διώριζεν, ἀλλὰ †τὸν τὰ μὲν καλά τε κἀγαθὰ γιγνώσκοντα χρῆσθαι αὐτοῖς καὶ τὸν† τὰ αἰσχρὰ εἰδότα εὐλαβεῖσθαι σοφόν τε καὶ σώφρονα ἔκρινε (“Socrates made no distinction between wisdom and moderation; but he considered the man who knows what is beautiful and good, and who practices it and who, conversely, understands what is shameful and avoids it, to be both wise and moderate”).

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Persians and character). 40 The Panthea story gives us a particular type of self-control – that of sexual continence – that has a significance presence in Plutarch’s Life of Alexander, the Greek novels, and Philostratus’s Life of Apollonius. In the Cyropaedia, Panthea speaks of Cyrus’s piety and self-control to her husband upon their reunion in Book 6 (λέγει ἡ Πάνθεια τοῦ Κύρου τὴν ὁσιότητα καὶ τὴν σωφροσύνην, 6.1.47). Even without the explicit connection Plutarch makes between Cyrus and Alexander in De Curiositate, one can easily understand why Cyrus’s treatment of Panthea influenced Plutarch’s Alexander who, as conqueror of Asia, had to deal with the same situation as Cyrus: how does one treat prisoners? We also learn of Alexander’s self-control in a second-hand way: a Persian eunuch begs Darius not to wrong Alexander but, rather, to consider himself defeated by someone of superhuman nature (Alex. 30: κατὰ τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην φύσιν), as well as to admire Alexander as one who had shown more restraint towards Persian women than valor against Persian men (ὡς πλείονα ταῖς Περσῶν γυναιξὶ σωφροσύνην ἢ Πέρσαις ἀνδρείαν ἐπιδεδειγμένον). While the eunuch also references Alexander’s self-restraint and generosity in general (καὶ περὶ τῆς ἄλλης ἐγκρατείας καὶ μεγαλοψυχίας τῆς Ἀλεξάνδρου), Alexander’s self-control does seem largely appetitive –  significantly sexual, as Jefferey Beneker has noted, 41 although restraint in eating is a feature of both Alexander’s character and Persian education. 42 In the Life of Alexander 21, we also have a fine echo of Cyrus’s words to Araspas concerning the bad effect beautiful woman could have on a man’s eyes. Cyrus worries about being persuaded by both Araspas and Panthea herself that he should keep seeing her, in which case he would sit looking at her instead of doing what he needs to do (Cyr. 5.1.8), and in Cyr. 5.1.14, Xenophon has Araspas claim, ironically, that this would only happen to those who lack self-control, ἀκρατῆ, which is exactly what happens to him, and not to Cyrus. Alexander jokes that beautiful women are painful for the eyes (ἀλγηδόνες ὀμμάτων, Alex. 21.11). Plutarch adds to this idea that Alexander’ σωφροσύνη and ἐγκράτεια were themselves a type of beauty (τὸ κάλλος) that matched the physical beauty of these women (Alex. 21.10).

40 Cyr. 1.2.8, references Persian boys being taught general σωφροσύνη by their elders, and ἐγκράτεια in eating and drinking; in Cyr. 7.5.75–76, Cyrus tells his men that σωφροσύνη and ἐγκράτεια can disappear if it goes unused, and that, while winning can happen through sheer bravery, winning and maintaining what you have won requires σωφροσύνη and ἐγκράτεια; and in 8.1.30–32, Xenophon says that Cyrus made himself the best example of σωφροσύνη and ἐγκράτεια for his people, since σωφροσύνη had the greatest impact on others when it was possessed by the most powerful member of the society. Cyrus also believed that σωφροσύνη belonged to those who avoided offense not only with seen, but also with unseen actions, and that the best way to inculcate ἐγκράτεια was to not be seen getting carried away by momentary pleasure. On seen vs. unseen actions, see below on Philostratus’s Life of Apollonius 1.33. 41 Beneker 2012, 105. 42 Alex. 22.4 refers to Alexander’s γαστρὸς ἐγκρατέστατος “most temperate appetite [lit. belly]”; Cyr. 1.2.8, e.g. refers to elders educating the Persian boys in self-control over appetite for food and drink (διδάσκουσι δὲ καὶ ἐγκράτειαν γαστρὸς καὶ ποτοῦ).

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Plut. Alex. 21: τὰς δὲ ἄλλας αἰχμαλώτους ὁρῶν ὁ Ἀλέξανδρος κάλλει καὶ μεγέθει διαφερούσας ἔλεγε παίζων ὡς εἰσὶν ἀλγηδόνες ὀμμάτων αἱ Περσίδες, ἀντεπιδεικνύμενος δὲ πρὸς τὴν ἰδέαν τὴν ἐκείνων τὸ τῆς ἰδίας ἐγκρατείας καὶ σωφροσύνης κάλλος, ὥσπερ ἀψύχους εἰκόνας ἀγαλμάτων παρέπεμψεν. “But as for the other captive women, when Alexander saw how extraordinarily stately and beautiful they were, he said in jest that Persian women were torments for the eyes. And vying with their beautiful looks by displaying his own kind of beauty, that of sobriety and self-control, he walked right by them as if they were lifeless images for display.” (Tr. Perrin, modified) Even Arrian’s limited interest in Alexander’s σωφροσύνη concerns his modest behavior towards Darius’s wife. 43 The presence of σωφροσύνη in both authors and its near-limitation to the sexual realm highlights a distinction between these two figures: Cyrus is depicted throughout the Cyropaedia as calm and rational. Could one reasonably ascribe a similarly complete “self-control” to Alexander, considering his historical reputation for rash daring and, ultimately, violence? We also find sexual σωφροσύνη deployed – seemingly to an extent unseen in other imperial texts – in at least four of the five major novels composed between the mid-1st century through the late 2nd century: Chariton’s Callirhoe, Achilles Tatius’s Leucippe and Clitophon, Xenophon of Ephesus’s Ephesian Tale, and Heliodorus’s Aethiopica. Despite the difficulties of pinning them to any single genre, all involve the “mutual enamorment of a heterosexual couple, whose passion is tested by various misadventures until they are reunited in the finale”. 44 While ἐγκράτεια and ἐγκρατής only occur in Chariton and Heliodorus (two and eight times, respectively), σωφροσύνη and σώφρων occur frequently in the novels (twenty times in Chariton; seventeen times in Achilles Tatius; twenty-two times in Xenophon of Ephesus; and thirty-four times in Heliodorus). The adjective σώφρων and the verb σωφρονέω can be used in a basic sense (i.e. to denote basic sensible-ness or a lack of insanity), but the emphasis on sexual chastity is ever-present and goes hand-in-hand with “virginity”, which could sometimes be applied to those who were not technically virgins but were nevertheless devoted to their beloved (the five novels contain one hundred and eight mentions of the word παρθένος). This is hardly the place to embark on a full study of σωφροσύνη in the novels, a diverse and complex group of texts in which

43 Anab. 4.19.6: καίτοι τῆς γε Δαρείου γυναικός, ἣ καλλίστη δὴ ἐλέγετο τῶν ἐν τῇ Ἀσίᾳ γυναικῶν, ἢ οὐκ ἦλθεν ἐς ἐπιθυμίαν ἢ καρτερὸς αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ ἐγένετο, νέος τε ὢν καὶ τὰ μάλιστα ἐν ἀκμῇ τῆς εὐτυχίας, ὁπότε ὑβρίζουσιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι· ὁ δὲ κατῃδέσθη τε καὶ ἐφείσατο, σωφροσύνῃ τε πολλῇ διαχρώμενος καὶ δόξης ἅμα ἀγαθῆς οὐκ ἀτόπῳ ἐφέσε (“As for Darius’ wife, who was said to be the most beautiful woman in Asia, either he felt no desire for her or he controlled himself, young as he was and at the very height of good fortune, when men act violently: he respected and spared her, showing much restraint as well as an ambition for good repute which was not misplaced” [Tr. Brunt].). 44 Konstan 2018. On the problem of applying modern notions of genre to ancient texts (especially prose), see Madreiter in this volume.

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eroticism is only one major theme; 45 I only wish to highlight how vigorously a single aspect of a single text of Xenophon could be repurposed in the imperial age. The influence of Xenophon on these works is almost completely silent 46 but, as Ewen Bowie has most recently emphasized, the novels’ use of the Cyropaedia is unmistakable, with Longus’s Daphnis and Chloe alone remaining uninfluenced by it. 47 In the case of σωφροσύνη: here we have a borrowing not just from the character of Cyrus but from Panthea herself. When, on Abradates’ death, Cyrus offered to marry Panthea to whomever she wished, as a reward for her great σωφροσύνη and ἀρετή (virtue) (Cyr. 7.3.12), Panthea answered: “Ah, Cyrus, do not fear; I shall never hide from you to whom I wish to go” (ἀλλὰ θάρρει … ὦ Κῦρε, οὐ μή σε κρύψω πρὸς ὅντινα βούλομαι ἀφικέσθαι, 7.3.3), soon after which she impaled herself with a sword over her husband’s dead body. (Fake or false-alarm versions of lovers’ deaths take place over and over again the novels.) And as in the Cyropaedia, the σωφροσύνη of the novels belongs to heroes and heroines alike. Chariton’s Callirhoe is considered to be the earliest of the Greek novels and is thus in the best position to draw from the Cyropaedia, which may explain a few of its more unique uses of σωφροσύνη: as Katherine Hayes notes, the protagonist Chaereas is endowed with military experience as well as sexual chastity, something that sets him apart from the more passive male heroes of the novels. 48 The Persian setting also links Chariton to the Cyropaedia as well: in Callirhoe, King Artaxerxes becomes the model of σωφροσύνη and δικαιοσύνη (justice) in adjudicating the claims of lovers vying for Callirhoe. The σωφροσύνη of the heroes and heroines of the other novels, however, is quite strictly sexual, and may be easier to link to Abradates than to Cyrus: the names of Xenophon of Ephesus’s protagonists Anthia and Habrocomes, for example, seem to call to mind Panthea and Abradates. 49 But just as with Cyrus, Abradates’s value is as a military man; while he loves his wife unconditionally, his chastity is not tested in the Cyropaedia. It is undoubtedly true that these ultimately “androcentric” novels are more preoccupied with female chastity than male; 50 it is nevertheless still worth noting that the male σωφροσύνη in the novels is not very traditionally masculine, as it tends to operate outsides of the military and political realms altogether. The protagonist of Philostratus’s Life of Apollonius is another man whose σωφροσύνη can be linked to Xenophon – but his σωφροσύνη appears to be a combination of Cyrus’s 45 Morales 2008. 46 Cyrus is only mentioned twice, and only in Chariton. Of the two mentions, one is Herodotean and one is Cyropaedian; the latter addresses Persian war preparations as originally organized by Cyrus, and does not involve σωφροσύνη (6.8.7; cf. Cyropaedia 6.1.30). 47 To name two obvious borrowings from structure and plot: Chariton and Achilles Tatius both use the eight-book structure, and Chariton and Heliodorus, as well as the fragmentary Ninus, both use the eastern setting (Bowie 2016, 406–409). Stefan Tilg also points to the possible Cyropaedian origin of Chariton’s use of διηγεῖσθαι (to narrate) in the first sentence of the Callirhoe. This word appears seldom in classical historiography and seldom in Xenophon – with the exception of the Cyropaedia, where it is used in 1.1.6. 48 Hayes 2003, 85. 49 Tilg 2010, 87; Bowie 2016, 407. 50 Hayes 2003, 90.

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sexual σωφροσύνη and Socratic σωφροσύνη. This bios, a life-to-death account of the 1st century CE Pythogorean philosopher and miracle-worker Apollonius of Tyana, is purportedly based on a written account by Apollonius’s faithful apostle Damis, who accompanied him on a journey towards Pythagorean enlightenment (like the Cyropaedia, Chariton’s Callirhoe, and Heliodorus’s Aethiopica, the Life of Apollonius is eight books long). In a complete subversion of traditional geography, Apollonius finds an enlightened “Greek” paradise in India, beyond the point at which Alexander had been forced to turn back. Scholars have noted that, to the degree that this Apollonius is an utterly non-violent philosopher who far out-travels Alexander, he is an anti-Alexander figure; 51 as such, it is not surprising that he also looks like a modified version of Alexander’s Persian precursor. He possesses a full range of excellent qualities, including σωφροσύνη. As a true philosopher, Apollonius links manliness (ἀνδρεία) with σωφροσύνη rather than with military prowess, and in this respect is more a Socratic type than a Cyrus-type (in Xenophon, σωφροσύνη and ἀνδρεία are linked only in Symposium 8.8). 52 But Apollonius does possess Cyrus’s σωφροσύνη when it comes to sexual passion. Even in his youth, the philosopher was unsusceptible to temptation (against which Pythogoras had warned), because of his general virtue, his temperance and his self-control (ὁ δ’ ὑπ’ ἀρετῆς τε καὶ σωφροσύνης οὐδ’ ἐν μειρακίῳ ἡττήθη τούτου, ἀλλὰ καὶ νέος ὢν καὶ τὸ σῶμα ἐρρωμένος ἐκράτει τε καὶ λυττῶντος ἐδέσποζεν, 1.13). Another Cyropaedian aspect of Apollonius’s sexual σωφροσύνη is that self-control should come from within. Xenophon noted that Cyrus distinguished between αἰδώς (consideration) and σωφροσύνη, in that a considerate person avoids being seen doing something shameful, but the person with self-control avoids this even in private (8.1.31). Philostratus’s version is even more internal. Explaining to Damis that even eunuchs can fall in love, he notes that if an outside circumstance were enough to ensure self-control, then it would not be a virtue at all (1.34.2): σωφροσύνη γὰρ τὸ ὀρεγόμενόν τε καὶ ὁρμῶντα μὴ ἡττᾶσθαι ἀφροδισίων, ἀλλ’ ἀπέχεσθαι καὶ κρείττω φαίνεσθαι τῆς λύττης ταύτης (“Self-control means that someone in a state of desire and excitement is not overcome by the sexual urge, but instead uses restraint, and shows himself to be master of this madness” [Tr. Jones]). This is proven soon thereafter: when the king of Taxila looks for Apollonius’s approval – based on the latter’s reputation for σωφροσύνη – before killing a lusty eunuch, Apollonius saves the latter’s life by explaining that it is life-long torture enough for a man to lust and not be able to act (1.37). (This may also echo Cyrus’s worry in Cyr. 5.1.8 that if he were to meet Panthea he would inevitably have to act.) A similar point about active abstention is made in Book 6.3, where Apollonius praises Timasion, a young man who – even while honoring Aphrodite – resisted the advances of his stepmother. 51 Whitmarsh 2012, 464; Abraham 2014; Kemezis 2014, 171; 174. 52 When crossing into Mesopotamia with Damis, Apollonius declares at the border that he is taking with him σωφροσύνη, δικαιοσύνη (justice), ἀρετή, ἐγκράτεια (self-control), ἀνδρεία, and ἄσκησις (discipline) (1.20); he also holds dialogues in Olympia on the subjects of σοφία (which as we have seen was linked with σωφροσύνη in the Memorabilia), ἀνδρεία, and σωφροσύνη (4.31). Others associate Apollonius with σωφροσύνη as well (king of Taxila: 1.37; Damis: 3.43). Others, including the Roman emperor Titus, are overjoyed to be assigned this virtue by Apollonius (6.29).

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Apollonius sees Timasion as superior in σωφροσύνη over Hippolytus son of Theseus, because the latter’s austere (ἀγροικοτέρας) and hard-hearted (ἀτέγκτος) lot (μοῖρα) made him naturally impervious to sexual temptation. Variations on Xenophon’s Deception Theme Another Xenophontic theme that emerges in Philostratus’s Life of Apollonius is that of “good deception” – one of the Cyropaedia’s most striking (and, to some, most disconcerting) features. The locus classicus is in Cambyses’s explanation to his son that deceiving the enemy will make him the most just and lawful man (δικαιότατός τε καὶ νομιμώτατος ἀνήρ): Xen. Cyr. 1.6.27–28: Πλέον δ’ ἔχειν, ὦ πάτερ, πολεμίων πῶς ἄν τις δύναιτο μάλιστα; Οὐ μὰ Δί’, ἔφη, οὐκέτι τοῦτο φαῦλον, ὦ παῖ, οὐδ’ ἁπλοῦν ἔργον ἐρωτᾷς· ἀλλ’ εὖ ἴσθι ὅτι δεῖ τὸν μέλλοντα τοῦτο ποιήσειν καὶ ἐπί-βουλον εἶναι καὶ κρυψίνουν καὶ δολερὸν καὶ ἀπατεῶνα καὶ κλέπτην καὶ ἅρπαγα καὶ ἐν παντὶ πλεονέκτην τῶν πολεμίων. καὶ ὁ Κῦρος ἐπιγελάσας εἶπεν· Ὦ Ἡράκλεις, οἷον σὺ λέγεις, ὦ πάτερ, δεῖν ἄνδρα με γενέσθαι. Οἷος ἂν , ἔφη, ὦ παῖ, δικαιότατός τε καὶ νομιμώτατος ἀνὴρ εἴης. Πῶς μήν, ἔφη, παῖδας ὄντας ἡμᾶς καὶ ἐφήβους τἀναντία τούτων ἐδιδάσκετε; Ναὶ μὰ Δί’, ἔφη, καὶ νῦν πρὸς τοὺς φίλους τε καὶ πολίτας· Ναὶ μὰ Δί’, ἔφη, καὶ νῦν πρὸς τοὺς φίλους τε καὶ πολίτας· ὅπως δέ γε τοὺς πολεμίους δύναισθε κακῶς ποιεῖν οὐκ οἶσθα μανθάνοντας ὑμᾶς πολλὰς κακουργίας; “‘How, father, would one be especially able to get an advantage over his enemies?’ ‘By Zeus, son,’ he said, ‘this is no ordinary or simple task you are asking about. But be assured that the one who is going to do this must be a plotter, dissembler, wily, a cheat, a thief, rapacious, and the sort who takes advantage of his enemies in everything.’ And Cyrus, laughing, said, ‘Heracles, father, what sort of man you say I must become!’ ‘Being such a sort, son,’ he said, ‘you would be a man both most just and most lawful.’ ‘Why, then,’ he said, ‘did you teach us the opposite of this when we were boys and youths?’ ‘By Zeus,’ he said, ‘we do so even now as regards friends and citizens. But in order that you might be able to do harm to enemies do you not know that you learned many evil deeds?’” (Tr. Ambler) Cambyses goes on to explain that all his training in fighting and hunting were κακουργίαι (evil deeds) – ἀπάται (ways of cheating), δολώσεις (deceptions) and πλεονεξίαι (getting the advantage, 1.6.29) – which are to be used against the enemy but not friends and citizens.

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Unlike sexual σωφροσύνη, deception is a major theme in several others of Xenophon’s works, both martial and Socratic, 53 and it is not always easy to pin apparently Xenophontic imperial references to deception specifically to the Cyropaedia. Philostratus, for one, seems to subtly mark out acceptable and less acceptable Xenophontic deceptions in the Life of Apollonius. Having been put on trial before Domitian in Book 8.7, Apollonius gives an apologia (just before mysteriously disappearing) in which he says that, if people are deceived into thinking he is a god, this deception benefits the emperor (σοὶ κέρδος ἡ ἀπάτη) because it makes his subjects do good things for the good of the state. 54 This noble type of lie for morality’s sake appears in Memorabilia 4.2.17, where Socrates argues that the father’s act of disguising medicine as food for a sick son is analogous to a general lying to his troops to boost their morale. There is also an echo of the Agesilaus in Apollonius’s assertion that the rise of charlatans was the fault of those who were easily duped; in Ages. 11.4, Agesilaus is said to have believed that those who were deceived by friends are blameless, but that those who are deceived by an enemy are blameworthy. But there is an important distinction to be made between Apollonius and Xenophon’s Cyrus. At the beginning of the Cyropaedia (1.1.3), we learned that Xenophon’s purpose in studying Cyrus was to understand how a ruler was able to get so many to willingly obey him; Xenophon suggests at the end of the Cyropaedia that Cyrus believed not only that he should demonstrate his superior character over his subjects, but also that he should cast a spell on them (καταγοητεύειν). 55 Xen. Cyr. 8.1.40: Καταμαθεῖν δὲ τοῦ Κύρου δοκοῦμεν ὡς οὐ τούτῳ μόνῳ ἐνόμιζε χρῆναι τοὺς ἄρχοντας τῶν ἀρχομένων διαφέρειν, τῷ βελτίονας αὐτῶν εἶναι, ἀλλὰ καὶ καταγοητεύειν ᾤετο χρῆναι αὐτούς. στολήν τε γοῦν εἵλετο τὴν Μηδικὴν αὐτός τε φορεῖν καὶ τοὺς κοινῶνας ταύτην ἔπεισεν ἐνδύεσθαι· – αὕτη γὰρ αὐτῷ συγκρύπτειν ἐδόκει εἴ τίς τι ἐν τῷ σώματι ἐνδεὲς ἔχοι, καὶ καλλίστους καὶ μεγίστους ἐπιδεικνύναι τοὺς φοροῦντας·

53 See Danzig 2007 and Winter 2016 especially on the Anabasis, and Gera 1993, 67–71 on the Memorabilia. 54 Apollonius uses farming analogies (a staple in Greek and Roman political thought since Plato) to argue that he manages the people on behalf of the king: ὥσπερ γὰρ οἱ τῶν βοῶν ἐπιστάται τὸ μὴ ἀτακτεῖν αὐτὰς χαρίζονται τοῖς κεκτημένοις τὰς βοῦς καὶ οἱ τῶν ποιμνίων ἐπιμεληταὶ πιαίνουσιν αὐτὰ ἐς τὸ τῶν πεπαμένων κέρδος νόσους τε ἀφαιροῦσι μελιττῶν οἱ νομεῖς αὐτῶν, ὡς μὴ ἀπόλοιτο τῷ δεσπότῃ τὸ σμῆνος, οὕτω που καὶ ἐγὼ τὰ πολιτικὰ παύων ἐλαττώματα σοὶ διωρθούμην τὰς πόλεις (“Herdsmen make a present of their herds’ good behavior to the owners of the herds; those who tend sheep fatten them to profit the possessors, and beekeepers remove diseases from the bees so that the master does not lose his hive. So also when I put an end to civic misconduct, I corrected the cities on your behalf ” [Tr. Jones]). Xenophon uses farming analogies to make a different point in the Cyropaedia 1.1.2, which is that human beings are much harder to rule than animals. 55 Abraham (2014, 469) draws a contrast between γόης and the milder μάγος, which Philostratus uses twice in Book 1 to associate Apollonius with the Magi and eastern philosophy.

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“We think we learned of Cyrus that he did not believe that rulers must differ from their subjects by this alone, by being better, but he also thought they must bewitch them. At least he himself both chose to wear a Median robe and persuaded his partners to dress in one as well, for this robe seem to him to hide it if anyone should have some bodily defect, and they displayed their wearers as especially beautiful and tall.” (Tr. Ambler) This is by no means an unambiguous moment in the Cyropaedia. As Gera points out, there is nothing in the philosophy of deception against the enemy promoted by Cambyses in Book 1.6 that has prepared us for sorcery used on one’s own subjects. 56 Indeed, this is one of the many aspects of Book 8 (including Persia’s degeneration after Cyrus’s death at 8.8) that have created a lack of certainty as to how we should view the success of Cyrus’s leadership overall (the Straussian school in particular would say: with great skepticism). 57 Given the highly oblique ways in which the Cyropaedia is employed by imperial Greek authors, we are (mercifully!) not obligated here to engage with the thorny question of how the audience was intended to view Cyrus. Philostratus’s apparent use of the Cyropaedia throughout the bios 58 allows us to assume that the writer who insists that his hero is not a γόης (as he is labelled by his detractors from Book 4 onward) was aware that Xenophon had associated Cyrus with this language in a way that was, at least on the surface, complimentary. To the degree that Philostratus’s Apollonius represents his own sort of “one-man rule” in the empire – in which he bests all others in the Greco-Roman world, including the emperors, through philosophy and wonder-working – it makes sense that Philostratus would endow

56 Gera 1993, 292. Hesk (2000, 122–142) argues that Xenophon uses Cyrus’s willingness to deceive friends as a way of pointing to the difficulty of drawing a line between acceptable and unacceptable kinds of deceit. 57 For clear overviews of scholarly interpretations, see Tamiolaki 2016 and Tamiolaki in this volume. 58 Anderson (1986, 231–2) observes the following connections between Xenophon’s Cyrus and Apollonius (which are completely tacit, as Cyrus is not mentioned): “Apollonius cultivates Pythagorean silence; Cyrus becomes a man of fewer words. Both repel homosexual advances and outgrow incompetent teachers. Apollonius goes to visit the Indians; Cyrus receives an embassy from India and sends one in return. Apollonius finds Hellenes in Asia, Cyrus a Socratic type in Armenia; as with Apollonius, his furthermost boundary is Ethiopia. Paradoxography is de rigeur: Apollonius discourses on the elephant, while Cyrus’ friend Chrysantas admires a centaur. Apollonius has his extended quarrel with Euphrates; Xenophon includes a feud between Cyaxares and Cyrus, with an elaborate defense of the latter. There must be a top-level military conference: Vespasian, Euphrates, Dio and Apollonius have their counterparts in Cyrus, Gobryas and the Hyrcanian king, and inevitably both authors find room for a debate on kingship (περἰ βασιλείας). Philostratus’ diversionary story of Timasion finds its parallel in such scenes as the intrigue against the eunuch Gadates. Divine and moral material is prominent, if restrained, in both authors: Cyrus despises excessive meat, and even the army is trained on temperance; the king himself is restrained in sexual matters, resisting even the celebrated Panthea (though he marries in the end). He too has rigorous attitude towards wealth and a strict moral code; he is made to respect omens, sooth-saying and divine guidance and is actually guided by a miracle light in battle with the Assyrians. We also find him offering hymns and sacrifices under the direction of the magi; and inevitably discussing the immortality of the soul before death.”

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him only with what he considered to be the most philosophical aspects of Xenophontic σωφροσύνη and deception. On the other hand, the real-life “successor” to Cyrus, Alexander, is presented by his admirers as eschewing deception altogether. Plutarch and Arrian both tell the story (that “celebrated thing”, τὸ μνημονευόμενον, as Plutarch puts it) of how Alexander refused to steal victory at Gaugamela (Plut. Alex. 31.7: ‘οὐ κλέπτω τὴν νίκην’; Anab. 3.10: ὁ… ἀποκρίνεται…αἰσχρὸν εἶναι κλέψαι τὴν νίκην) by attacking Darius III’s army at night. 59 If, as noted above, it is difficult to imagine an Alexander who possesses Cyrus’s mild-mannered σωφροσύνη, the idea of an Achilles-incarnate who avoids violence in favor of peaceful strategy is, we must admit, practically unthinkable. Texts that are less overtly interested in politics, however, such as the novels – which are full of deceptions, stealings, and stratagems of all sorts – make clearer connections between chastity and deception. There are negative connections, for example, such as when Mithridates (a man who is described as not-σώφρων) is accused of using a τέχνη πιθανώτατη (most cunning trick) to compromise Callirhoe’s σωφροσύνη and φιλανδρίαν (husband-loyalty) (Char. 5.6.6). But there are also positive uses by the protagonists: towards the end of the Ephesian Tale, as Anthia is about to be forced into prostitution, she scolds herself for not finding τέχναι σωφροσύνης, 5.7.2), and she dreams that Habrocomes is being dragged away, even though she has used τέχναι σωφροσύνης beyond what should be expected of any woman. In the end, however, she is able to tell her beloved that she has remained chaste and performed every mechanism of chastity (πᾶσα σωφροσύνης μηχανή) for him (5.14.2). Again, it is fascinating to see the language of the Cyropaedia used most strongly in places so far removed from the world of kingship and war. Even more unexpected is the connection between female chastity and deception provided by Polyaenus, whose subject matter is the most precisely aligned with Xenophon’s interest in deceiving the enemy (and we should note that some ψευδο-prefixed words appear almost only in Xenophon and Polyaenus). 60 In Book 8.41, the Cyrenean princess Eryxo, a woman both chaste and most just (σώφρων γυνὴ καὶ δικαιοτάτη), plots to have her brothers kill the Cyrenaen regent Laarchus, who lusts for her and wants to marry her (ἐρασθεὶς Λάαρχος ἐμνηστεύετο). To the degree that Eryxo is not a general and her enemy is not an enemy combatant, this particular Cyropaedian borrowing shows as well as any other that Polyaenus’s work is a work of literary play and allusion rather than an earnest treatise of practical knowledge, and testifies well to the highly creative ways in which imperial Greek writers used their models. There is at least one author who praises Xenophon explicitly not only for his presentation of deception, but for his own deceptive qualities – here described as a positive sort of magic – and with little attention to morality. This is Dio Chrysostom, in his treatise On Training for Public Speaking, ostensibly a letter addressed to an unknown male individual 59 As Bosworth (1988, 22–23) points out, in the Cynegeticus Arrian praises the nomad boys of Africa (in contrast to Cyrus the Younger’s men) for hunting simply, without trickery (δόλοι) or invention (σοφίσματα). 60 Wheeler 1988, 39–40.

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whom Dio describes as wealthy and accomplished, and who, despite being in a position of to enjoy nonstop leisure, is struck by a yearning to enter public life (18.1). Dio’s reading list is one of pleasure: he insists that his addressee read (or have read aloud to him by someone else) only the most enjoyable authors, rather than those suited to a young boy wishing to train in law (18.5). The first model he names is the comic poet Menander; this is followed by the tragedians, Homer, the lyric, elegiac and iambic poets, Herodotus and Thucydides (Theopompus and Ephorus are decidedly second-tier historians), the orators (Isocrates goes unmentioned), the Socratics (as a group), and, finally, Xenophon: DChr. 18.14: Ξενοφῶντα δὲ ἔγωγε ἡγοῦμαι ἀνδρὶ πολιτικῷ καὶ μόνον τῶν παλαιῶν ἐξαρκεῖν δύνασθαι· εἴτε ἐν πολέμῳ τις στρατηγῶν εἴτε πόλεως ἀφηγούμενος, εἴτε ἐν δήμῳ λέγων εἴτε ἐν βουλευτηρίῳ, εἴτε καὶ ἐν δικαστηρίῳ μὴ ὡς ῥήτωρ ἐθέλοι μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὡς πολιτικὸς καὶ βασιλικὸς ἀνὴρ τὰ τῷ τοιούτῳ προσήκοντα ἐν δίκῃ εἰπεῖν· πάντων ἄριστος ἐμοὶ δοκεῖ καὶ λυσιτελέστατος πρὸς ταῦτα πάντα Ξενοφῶν. “But it is my own opinion that Xenophon, and he alone of the ancients, can satisfy all the requirements of a man in public life. Whether someone is commanding an army in time of war, or guiding the affairs of a state, or addressing a popular assembly or a senate, or even if he were addressing a court of law and desired to speak not just as a professional master of eloquence merely, but as a statesman or a royal prince, to utter sentiments appropriate to such a character at the bar of justice, the best exemplar of all, it seems to me, and the most profitable for all these purposes is Xenophon.” (Tr. Cohoon) While Münscher and Bowie rightly note that Dio’s description of Xenophon is largely inspired by the Anabasis –  61 the work that most clearly shows the intimate connection between Xenophon the writer and Xenophon the protagonist-orator and -general – , there is an important verbal echo of the Cyropaedia in what follows: DChr. 18.14: τά τε γὰρ διανοήματα σαφῆ καὶ ἁπλᾶ καὶ παντὶ ῥᾴδια φαινόμενα, τό τε εἶδος τῆς ἀπαγγελίας προσηνὲς καὶ κεχαρισμένον καὶ πειστικόν, πολλὴν μὲν ἔχον πιθανότητα, πολλὴν δὲ χάριν καὶ ἐπιβολήν, ὥστε μὴ λόγων δεινότητι μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ γοητείᾳ ἐοικέναι τὴν δύναμιν. “For not only are his ideas clear and simple and easy for everyone to grasp, but the character of his narrative style is attractive, pleasing, and convincing, being in a high degree true to life in the representation of character, with much charm also and effectiveness, so that his power suggests not cleverness but actual wizardry.” (Tr. Cohoon)

61 Münscher 1920, 115–116; Bowie 2016, 405.

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The reference to Xenophon’s γοητεία is striking, as it clearly echoes Cyr. 8.1.4, where we learned that Cyrus thought it best to perform wizardry on his subjects (καταγοητεύειν; recall the similar echo in Philostratus, but there in defense against the charge that Apollonius was a γόης). The only other related word in Xenophon’s corpus is in Anabasis 5.7.9, and is of a different nature entirely: Xenophon defends his honesty against charges of deceit and wizardry to his mistrustful soldiers. Xenophon’s manner of persuasion is not, of course, the same as that of Cyrus – who tricks with his clothing. As a man of politics and a writer, Xenophon persuades with a narrative style that goes beyond pure oratory into political effectiveness. In other words, Xenophon the magician is much closer to what Dio wishes to be than is his invented Cyrus. We should recall that Dio composed for Trajan four pieces of λόγος συμβουλευτικός, or “advisory discourse for monarchs” 62 and also gave speeches of advice in his native Bithynia. 63 The self-referentiality continues in DChr. 18.15: εἰ γοῦν ἐθελήσειας αὐτοῦ τῇ περὶ τὴν Ἀνάβασιν πραγματείᾳ σφόδρα ἐπιμελῶς ἐντυχεῖν, οὐδένα λόγον εὑρήσεις τῶν ὑπὸ σοῦ λεχθῆναι δυνησομένων, ὃν οὐ διείληπται καὶ κανόνος ἂν τρόπον ὑπόσχοι τῷ πρὸς αὐτὸν ἀπευθῦναι ἢ μιμήσασθαι βουλομένῳ. εἴτε γὰρ θαρρῦναι τοὺς σφόδρα καταπεπτωκότας χρήσιμον πολιτικῷ ἀνδρί, καὶ πολλάκις ὡς χρὴ τοῦτο ποιεῖν δείκνυσιν· εἴτε προτρέψαι καὶ παρακαλέσαι, οὐδεὶς Ἑλληνικῆς φωνῆς ἐπαΐων οὐκ ἂν ἐπαρθείη τοῖς προτρεπτικοῖς Ξενοφῶντος λόγοις. “If, for instance, you should be willing to read his work on the March Inland very carefully, you will find no speech, such as you will one day possess the ability to make, whose subject matter he has not dealt with and can offer as a kind of norm to any man who wishes to steer his course by him or imitate him. If it is necessary for the statesman to encourage those who are in the depths of despondency, time and again our writer shows how to do this; or if the need is to incite and exhort, no one who understands the Greek language could fail to be aroused by Xenophon’s hortatory speeches.” (Tr. Cohoon) Note how Dio transitions seamlessly from a statement about what the writer needs (i.e. anyone who wishes to learn how to write on any subject imaginable can do so by reading Xenophon) to another statement, still in direct discourse (χρήσιμον [ἐστί]), that concerns what a general needs (i.e. to encourage, incite and exhort). Dio’s implication, that only those who know the Greek language will agree with his assessment of Xenophon’s stylistic perfection, is a pure reflection of Dio’s linguistic snobbery (one of the more reliable defining characteristics of imperial Greek writers). Finally, in 18.16–17, we see an overload of the language of deception: Dio tells us that Xenophon teaches a person how to have conferences with generals separately from his soldiers 62 A genre which Tatum (1989, 5) traces back to Xenophon and Isocrates, and forward to Philostratus and Christian authors like Origen. 63 See Bekker-Nielsen 2008, esp. 37–39.

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and vice versa (καὶ ἀπορρήτοις δὲ λόγοις ὡς προσήκει χρήσασθαι καὶ πρὸς στρατηγοὺς ἄνευ πλήθους καὶ πρὸς πλῆθος κατὰ ταὐτό); how to control both friends and enemies (ἐξαπατῆσαι ὅπως πολεμίους μὲν ἐπὶ βλάβῃ φίλους); how superiors deceive, and how men overcome with stratagems and how they are overcome by stratagems (οἷς ἐξαπατῶσιν οἱ ὑπερέχοντες καὶ οἷς καταστρατηγοῦσι καὶ καταστρατηγοῦνται ἄνθρωποι). Sandwiched between these lessons are lessons that relate best to Dio’s own political activity: how to converse with kings (βασιλικοῖς τίνα τρόπον διαλεχθῆναι), and how to speak truth painlessly and faithfully to those who are unreasonably disturbed (μάτην ταραττομένοις ἀλύπως τἀληθὲς καὶ πιστῶς εἰπεῖν). It is hard to know exactly what to make of Dio’s enthusiasm for wizardry and deception, but to the extent that the truth-telling lesson couched within 18.16 resonates with Dio’s practice of speaking truth to power and creates a bit of distance between himself and Xenophon, one wonders if he is making a bit of fun of the latter. (Are we to earnestly believe that reading Xenophon’s works physically shook Dio and sometimes drove him to tears – ἐμοὶ γοῦν κινεῖται ἡ διάνοια καὶ ἐνίοτε δακρύω – as he says at the beginning of this section?) Elsewhere, Dio associates wizardry with flattery, from which latter he explicitly disassociates himself in Oration 3: 64 in On Envy 61.34 he opposes a flatter and wizard (κόλαξ καὶ γόης) with someone who is noble (γενναῖος) and honest (ἀληθής); similarly in his Speech to Alexandria 32.11 he opposes noble men (γενναῖοι) and free men (ἐλεύθεροι) with κόλακες, γοηταί and σοφισταί. Dio also has Alexander teasingly describe Demosthenes (the enemy) to his father Philip in the same terms as he does Xenophon – as possessing δεινότης and γοητεία – in Oration 2.18. The opposition between good and honest kings/ human beings and the deceitful is a running theme in his Kingship Orations. 65 It seems best to take this letter, in its advocacy of pleasurable reading as the key to public life, as a playful piece of erudition in which the writer luxuriates in the ability to deceive his own audience – just as Xenophon’s Cyrus and Xenophon the writer both do – as he slips in some self-praise on the sly, rather than a literal endorsement of deception. Conclusion The Cyropaedia was a touchstone for imperial Greek writers, but a largely silent one that was not always used in predictable ways. While Xenophon’s works on the whole were very widely used in the imperial period, as far as “history” goes, more attention seems to have been paid by these Hellenocentric writers to his properly “Greek” works, the Hellenica and the Anabasis. But Xenophon’s Cyrus the Elder did, as we might expect, attract those 64 Asirvatham 2016. 65 E.g. Or. 1.26: τὴν μὲν οὖν ἁπλότητα καὶ τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἡγεῖται βασιλικὸν καὶ φρόνιμον, τὴν δὲ πανουργίαν καὶ τὴν ἀπάτην ἀνόητον καὶ δουλοπρεπές, ὁρῶν ὅτι καὶ τῶν θηρίων τὰ δειλότατα καὶ ἀγεννέστατα, ἐκεῖνα καὶ ψεύδεται πάντων μάλιστα καὶ ἐξαπατᾷ. “[The good king] believes that sincerity and truthfulness are qualities befitting a king and a wise man, while unscrupulousness and deceit are for the fool and the slave, for he observes that among the wild beasts, as well, it is the most cowardly and ignoble who are better than all the rest in lying and deceiving” [Tr. Cohoon, modified]). See also Or. 3.3; 4.89.

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who were concerned with political philosophy. Plutarch’s twin interests in Alexander the Great – who happened to be the only historical figure viewable as the inheritor of Cyrus’s kingdom – and in the education of rulers drew him to at least one aspect of the king’s character: his self-restraint, especially towards the captive Panthea, which he maps onto Alexander’s interactions with Darius’s daughter. Arrian, in his Anabasis Alexandri, who was otherwise not mainly interested in Alexander’s moral qualities, also nodded to Alexander’s sexual σωφροσύνη. Shadows of Cyrus reemerge generations later in the figure of Philostratus’s philosopher-of-peace Apollonius, who takes on a combination of Socratic (justice-oriented) σωφροσύνη and Cyropaedic (sexual) σωφροσύνη. But Cyropaedian sexual σωφροσύνη takes on a life of its own in the ancient romances, which pick up not only the σωφροσύνη of Cyrus, but that of Panthea herself, focusing on the sexual self-control of both members of the heterosexual couples who are separated by a series of misfortunes. The connection made in the novels between σωφροσύνη and deception (both directed at the heroes/heroines and, more positively, performed by them for their own protection) may stem from Xenophon’s unique depiction of the young Cyrus’s education-in-deception in the Cyropaedia, which is associated with justice. But writers who borrowed Cyrus’s σωφροσύνη as a more traditional leadership quality do not seem to have been proponents of Cyrus’s education in deception. Plutarch and Arrian both emphasize Alexander’s refusal to defeat Darius III at Gaugamela through deceptive means; Philostratus (and probably even Dio, despite his praise of Xenophon’s representation of deception) pick up on Cyrus’s γοητεία in a way that has negative implications for the Persian king’s image, or at least puts him in an ironic light. As we noted, it is possible that even Xenophon was undermining the king’s image towards the end of his life, as his deception was superficial and also directed not to enemies but to his subjects in general. Given such writers’ avid interest in the power relationship between themselves, as subject Greeks, and their Roman overloads, we can easily see why the notion of educating rulers to deceive would be unattractive – Xenophon’s speculative fantasies about one man’s rule over (admittedly quasi-Hellenic) Asians was now a not-always-comfortable reality for Hellenes. What is interesting is that they seem to all engage in some way with Cyrus’s education in both σωφροσύνη and deception – even as the most politically or philo­sophically serious ones reject the latter as part of an education in leadership. This kind of active engagement is not one to take for granted. Noreen Humble points out that the Cyropaedia (followed by the Hiero and Oeconomicus) was Xenophon’s most influential text in the early modern period. The appreciation for the Cyropaedia came via some widely read texts of Cicero (ad Quint. 1.1.23; ad Fam. 9.25.1), who praised Xenophon’s Cyrus as the model for the moderate ruler, a speculum principis, whom he had successfully emulated, without reference to deception. This rosy image was passed along uncritically by translators until Machiavelli read the Cyropaedia closely enough to pick up on its message that an ambitious prince must learn to deceive. 66 66 Humble 2016, 416–420. For the Straussian view that Machiavelli thought Xenophon’s Cyrus did not go far enough, and thus was responsible for the failures of one of his emulators, Scipio, see Nadon 2001, 13–25, cf. Humble 2016, 420–421.

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Bibliography Abraham, R. 2014. ‘The Geography of Culture in Philostratus’  Life of Apollonius Of Tyana’, The Classical Journal 109.4, 465–480. Ameling , W. 1984. ‘L. Flavius Arrianus neos Xenophon’, Epigraphica Anatolica 4, 119–122. Anderson, G. 1986. Philostratus: Biography and Belles Lettres in the Third Century A.D., London. Asirvatham, S. R. 2016. ‘Flattery, History, and the Πεπαιδευμένος’, in: T. Howe, S. Müller & R. Stoneman (eds.), Ancient Historiography on War and Empire, Oxford, 262–274. Bekker-Nielsen, T. 2008. Urban Life and Local Politics in Roman Bithynia: The Small World of Dion Chrysostomos (Black Sea Studies 7), Aarhus. Beneker, J. 2012. The Passionate Statesman: Erōs and Politics in Plutarch’s Lives, Oxford. Bosworth, A. B. 1980. A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander I, Oxford. —. 1988. From Arrian to Alexander: Studies in Historical Interpretation, Oxford. Bowie, E. 2016. ‘Xenophon’s Influence in Imperial Greece’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 403–415. Buszard, B. 2010. ‘A Plutarchan Parallel to Arrian Anabasis 7.1’, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 50, 565–585. Danzig, G. 2007. “Xenophon’s Wicked Persian or, What’s Wrong with Tissaphernes? Xenophon’s Views on Lying and Breaking Oaths’, in: C. J. Tuplin (ed.), Persian Responses: Political and Cultural Interaction with(in) the Achaemenid Empire, Swansea, 27–50. Dorion, L.-A. 2016. ‘Xenophon and Greek Philosophy’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 37–56. Faulkner, R. 2013. ‘Cyrus – IIIa. Cyrus II as Portrayed by Xenophon and Herodotus’, in: Encyclopaedia Iranica http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/cyrus-iiia. Gera, D. 1993. Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Style, Genre, and Literary Technique (Oxford Classical Monographs), Oxford. Hayes, K. 2003. Fashioning the Feminine in the Greek Novel, London. Hägg, T. 2012. The Art of Biography in Antiquity, Cambridge. Hesk, J. 2000. Deception and Democracy in Classical Athens, Cambridge. Hobden, F. E. & Tuplin, C. J. 2012. Xenophon: Ethical Principles and Historical Enquiry (Mnemosyne – Supplements 348), Leiden. Humble, N. 2016. ‘Xenophon and the Instruction of Princes’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 416–434. Johnson, W. A. & Richter, D. S. 2017. ‘Periodicity and Scope’, in: D. S. Richter & W. A. Johnson (eds.), The Oxford Handbook to the Second Sophistic, Oxford, 3–10. Jones, B. 2016. ‘Cassius Dio – Pepaideumenos and Politician on Kingship’, in: C. H. Lange & J. M. Madsen (eds.), Cassius Dio – Greek Intellectual and Roman Politician (Historiography of Rome and Its Empire 1), Leiden & Boston, 297–315. Kemezis, A. M. 2014. Greek Narratives of the Roman Empire under the Severans: Cassius Dio, Philostratus and Herodian, Cambridge. Konstan, D. 2018. ‘Review of T. Whitmarsh, Dirty Love: The Genealogy of the Ancient Greek Novel, Oxford 2018’, in: Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2018.11.57, http://bmcr.brynmawr. edu/2018/2018–11–57.html.

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Mitchell, L. 2013. ‘Alexander the Great: Divinity and the Rule of Law’, in: L. Mitchell & C.  Melville (eds.), Every Inch a King: Comparative Studies on Kings and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds, Leiden, 91–108. Morales, H. 2008. ‘The History of Sexuality’, in: T. Whitmarsh (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Greek and Roman Novel, Cambridge, 39–55. Müller, S. 2016. Die Argeaden: Geschichte Makedoniens bis zum Zeitalter Alexanders des Großen, Paderborn. Münscher, K. 1920. Xenophon in der griechisch-römischen Literatur (Philologus – Supplement­ band 13.2), Leipzig. Patillon, M. 2002a. Pseudo-Aelius Aristide, Arts rhétoriques – I. Livre I: Le discours politique (Collection des Universités de France), Paris. —. 2002b. Pseudo-Aelius Aristide, Arts rhétoriques – II. Livre II: Le discours simple (Collection des Universités de France), Paris. Nadon, C. 2001. Xenophon’s Prince: Republic and Empire in the Cyropaedia, Berkeley. Nerdahl, M. 2011. ‘Flattery and Platonic Philosophy: The Limits of Education in Plutarch’s “Life of Dion”’, The Classical World 104.3, 295–309. Nesselrath, H.-G. 2018. ‘Down There and Back Again: Variations on the Katabasis Theme in Lucian’, in: G. Ekroth & I. Nilsson (eds.), Round Trip to Hades in the Eastern Mediterranean Tradition – Visits to the Underworld from Antiquity to Byzantium (Cultural Interactions in the Mediterranean 2), Leiden, 260–272. North, H.  1966. Sophrosyne: Self-Knowledge and Self-Restraint in Greek Literature (Cornell Studies in Classical Philology 35), Ithaca, NY. Pearson, L. I. C. 1960. The Lost Histories of Alexander the Great (Philological Monographs 20), New York. Pelling, C. 1989. ‘Plutarch: Roman Heroes and Greek Culture’, in: M. T. Griffin & J. Barnes (eds.), Philosophia Togata: Essays on Philosophy and Roman Society, Oxford, 199–232. Redondo, J. 2000. ‘The Greek Literary Language of the Hebrew Historian Josephus’, Hermes 128, 420–434. Richlin, A. 2017. ‘Retrosexuality: Sex in the Second Sophistic’, in: D. S. Richter & W. A. Johnson (eds.), The Oxford Handbook to the Second Sophistic, Oxford, 115–135. Roskam, G. 2002. ‘A Παιδεία for the Ruler. Plutarch’s Dream of Collaboration between Philosopher and Ruler’, in: P. A. Stadter & L. van der Stockt (eds.), Sage and Emperor: Plutarch, Greek Intellectuals, and Roman Power in the Time of Trajan (98–117 A.D.) (Symbolae Facultatis Litterarum et Philosophiae Lovaniensis – Series A 29), Leuven, 175–189. Stadter, P. 1991. ‘Fictional Narrative in the Cyropaideia’, American Journal of Philology 112, 461–491. Swain, S. C. R. 1990. ‘Hellenic Culture and the Roman Heroes of Plutarch’, Journal of Hellenic Studies 110, 126–145. Tamiolaki, M. 2016. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Tentative Answers to an Enigma’, in: M. A. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 174–194. Tatum, J. 1989. Xenophon’s Imperial Fiction: On the Education of Cyrus, Princeton. Tilg, S. 2010. Chariton of Aphrodisias and the Invention of the Greek Love Novel, Oxford.

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Tuplin, C. 2013. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Fictive History, Political Analysis and Thinking with Iranian Kings’, in: L. Mitchell & C. Melville (eds.), Every Inch a King: Comparative Studies on Kings and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds, Leiden, 67–90. Wheeler, E. L. 1988. Stratagem and the Vocabulary of Military Trickery (Mnemosyne – Supplementum 108), Leiden. Whitmarsh, T. J. G. 2012. ‘Philostratus’, in: I. J. F. de Jong, (ed.), Space in Ancient Greek Literature: Studies in Ancient Greek Narrative III (Mnemosyne – Supplements 339), Leiden, 463–479. —. 2017. ‘Greece: Hellenistic and Early Imperial Continuities’, in: D. S. Richter & W. A. Johnson, The Oxford Handbook to the Second Sophistic, Oxford, 11–24. Winter, J. A. 2016. The Rhetoric of Leadership in Xenophon’s Anabasis, (PhD Dissertation, Royal Holloway, University of London), London.

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Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus in Early Modern Europe Richard Stoneman (Exeter)

When King Charles I of England was on trial before Parliament in January 1649, the president of the commissioners conducting the trial, John Bradshaw, defined the authority of the court, which, he said, “requires you in the name of the People of England, of which you are elected King, to answer them.” Charles immediately corrected this startling assertion: “England was never an elective kingdom, but an hereditary kingdom for nearly these thousand years … I do stand more for the liberty of my people, than any here that come to be my pretended judges.” 1 The exchange encapsulates two opposing, and perhaps incompatible, views of kingship that had been the subject of debate since the Middle Ages: that of kingship as a contractual arrangement for the benefit of the citizenry, versus that of the king as ruler by divine right, and the emblem and representative of God on earth. The terms of the discussion in fact went back to antiquity. The contractual view is pre-eminent in the ancient writers: Xenophon states that the purpose of leadership is to bestow benefits (Ages. 7.1): Agesilaus “believed that it is the duty of a good king to do as much good as possible to his subjects.” Herodotus (3.89) remarks that Cyrus was like a kind father who did everything for the good of his people, and Xenophon’s Cyrus is in the same mould: “he never lost an opportunity of showing kindness whenever he could” (XC. 8.2.1). Isocrates too, in writing to Nicocles (Nic. 9), begins from “the function of kings”: “I think all would agree that it is a king’s duty to relieve the state when it is in difficulty, to guard it when it is prosperous, and to raise it from insignificance to greatness.” His litany of the virtues will become familiar over the millennia: piety, truthfulness, kindness, clemency, trustworthiness, self-restraint, choice of good friends and advisers, the ability to deal with the blows of Fortune: all these are to enable the king to deserve his exalted position by his usefulness to his people. 2 These values echo through many of the medieval writings on kingship, such as Giovanni Pontano’s De Principe (1468), and it may be noted that Queen Elizabeth I as a girl was set to translate Isocrates’ Ad Nicoclem under the tutorship of Roger Ascham. An early translation of Xenophon’s Cyropaedia into English (though it was not the first) was 1 Spencer 2014, 44. 2 Isocrates also rates accounts of deeds more highly than physical depictions as memorials of the king, an idea repeated by Sallust, Jug. 2.2 and 4.6.

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by Philemon Holland (1632); it had been commissioned by James I, 3 and the frontispiece depicted Cyrus standing to the left in a heroic martial pose, and King Charles to the right in his kingly robes. The image makes the identification of the Stuart king with the virtuous Cyrus explicit; despite Charles’ contumacious words at his trial, he adhered to an ideology of kingship as “for the people”. Countless Mirrors for Princes had been composed by this date, the most recent and pertinent for Charles I being that by his own father James I, Basilikon Doron (1599), originally written for Charles’ elder brother prince Henry, who died at the age of eighteen. Classical texts had always been central to those written in Europe, but the relative importance of those texts varied over time and region. The roots of the Mirror for Princes can be traced back to ancient India, where the Pancatantra was a repository of animal fables designed to give wise advice to rulers: the frame story is a meeting of the kings of China, India, Persia and Greece to discuss good government. 4 This was translated into Syriac about 550 CE and thence entered the Islamic mainstream. The genre in Arabic and Persian has generally been treated as predominantly eastern in origin, since Sasanian and Islamic insititutions were in many respects continuous. 5 The Mirrors set out to Islamicize older Persian concepts of kingly rule. The classic account by Ann Lambton, ‘Islamic Mirrors for Princes’, published in 1971, enumerates nine Mirrors in Persian and Arabic from Ibn al-Muqaffa‘’s Adab al-Kabir in the eighth century to the Adab al-Harb wa’ l-Shuja’a of Fakhr-i Mudabbar, written under the Delhi Sultanate, plus several more from the Mongol and post-Mongol periods. The Bahr al-Fava’id or Sea of Precious Virtues has been edited by Julie Scott Meisami. 6 The most famous is probably al-Ghazali’s Book of Counsel for Kings, 7 and in Persia the first examples are the Qābūsnāma of Kai Ka’us ibn Iskandar (1083 CE) and the famous Siyasatanamah of Nizam al-Mulk (d. 1092 CE). 8 The latter, however, as a manual of statecraft, is more practical and less homiletic. In the west, the first writers on the theory of kingship worked in the scholastic tradition. For John of Salisbury, for example, in his Policraticus (1159) the ruler is a minister of

3 Philemon Holland’s son Henry writes in his preface to this posthumous publication “unto this present version of Cyrupaedia … which is, as I may say, the author his Master-Peece, and my fathers worke likewise, your Majestie hath the sole right; in regard that he enterprized it long since, and that by speciall order and direction for your Ryall Father … for the contemplation and use of your most Generous and Magnanimous Brother, Prince Henry, now in Heaven.” 4 See also Marlowe 2013, who draws attention to Buddhist elements as well as the influence of Kalila wa Dimna on Pseudo-Mawardi’s Nasihat al-Muluk. The teaching of this work is associated with Aristotle, presumably because of his connection to Alexander, who went to India. 5 Lingwood 2014, 35. 6 Meisami 1991. 7 See also Khismatulin 2015, who also discusses Nizam al-Mulk. 8 The latter is edited by Schabinger 1987. See on these works Crone 2004. Another example is Balasaguni’s Turkic Wisdom of Royal Glory written in Kashgar in 1069: see Starr 2013, 326–330. It is at once a story and an allegory about the four key reqirements: Justice, Fortune, Intellect and Spiritual awareness.

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priests (IV.3), and even the tyrant is a minister of God, for “by means of tyrants, the evil are punished and the good are corrected and trained.” Dante’s De Monarchia (about 1310) is an attempt to derive kingship from Aristotelian first principles. The conception of ‘the king’s two bodies’, explicated at length by Ernst Kantorowicz, also exemplifies the idea of the king’s divinity. 9 But the moral basis of political debates shifted after about 1350, with the emergence of Parliaments and other kinds of collective bodies, as well as the contribution of intellectuals. 10 The work of the Italian humanists, and the recovery of a wide range of classical texts (including the Cyropaedia, which was circulating by the 1420s) led to a downgrading of the scholastic tradition; at the same time, the political structure of the Italian city-states, in which Aristotle’s Politics were well received, brought about a conceptual opposition to the Augustinian idea of divine rule. For Marsilius of Padua, for example, the purpose of any community is to enable its citizens to live the good life, the life of virtue. 11 Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg has traced most effectively the fortunes of the Cyropaedia in the Italian Renaissance, and rather than going over the same ground I propose to consider some aspects of the fate of the book in Northern Europe, predominantly in England. 12 In the English kingdom it is possible to trace a definite development in the ideals of royal education from the reign of Henry VI (r. 1422–1461 and 1470–1471), through that of the boy king Edward V (1470–1483), and the Tudors, to the early Stuart kings, of whom the second, Charles I, was executed in 1649. These changes have been examined in a masterly book by Aysha Pollnitz, 13 who shows how the chivalric ideal of the Middle Ages is gradually replaced by the humanist ideal associated with Erasmus. The young Henry VI was educated with treatises such as Thomas Hoccleve’s Regiment of Princes (ca. 1411), Giles of Rome’s De regimine principum (ca. 1280) and the Pseudo-Aristotelian Secretum Secretorum. In addition, the appearance of John Lydgate’s long poem Fall of Princes in 1431, as well as Leonardo Bruni’s Latin translation of Aristotle’s Politics in 1433, may well be associated with an educational programme devised for the king. 14 The theme of Lydgate’s poem is that rulers generally come to a sticky end; the operation of Fortune in this process is inextricably involved with their moral qualities, so that the fall of a prince can usually be associated with a “fatal flaw” of moral depravity. The authors of the mirrorlike texts are more optimistic in their approach, encouraging the usual virtues – much the same as those extolled by Isocrates – as a way of maintaining the strength of the ruler’s position. The key to a ruler’s success is his piety, and he should be a patron of clerics and scholars, while engaging in chivalric pursuits such as hunting and the practice of arms. In none of the texts of this date, needless to say, is there any awareness of the Cyropaedia, the first copy of which had only reached Italy a few years before; the first English translation was made by William Barker in about 1560. Cyrus features regularly as an exemplum, 9 10 11 12 13 14

Kantorowicz 1957. Wickham 2016, 235–244. Skinner 1988, 196. Sancisi-Weerdenburg 1990. Pollnitz 2015. Pollnitz 2015, 21.

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but the only episode of his life that makes much impact is his hideous death at the hands of Queen Tomyris, as told by the much better known author Herodotus. Even his death-bed speech from Xenophon, which Cicero translated into Latin in the De Senectute (22.79–81), is rarely alluded to. Humanism began to make headway in the court of Henry VII (1485–1509), whose concern for the education of his eldest son Arthur, and after the latter’s death of his second son, Henry (VIII), involved deep exposure to Latin authors. Greek was scarcely part of the curriculum though the work of John Lyly, Thomas More and Desiderius Erasmus was to change that. So the ideal of the king was changing; military virtues became less important than eloquence and courtly arts. There was little sign of this change in John Skelton’s Speculum Principis (1501), written for the young Henry VIII, which draws its material mainly from the Disticha Catonis and from Valerius Maximus, 15 but in a much more famous work, Sir Thomas Elyot’s Book named the Governor (1501), there is a real change of emphasis. For Elyot, while monarchy is divinely ordained, the king has need of properly trained “governors”, who must be thoroughly grounded in both Latin and Greek authors, including Xenophon. They must keep their bodies trim with dancing and archery, but must practise the virtues of liberality, justice, fides, fortitude, magnanimity, constancy, temperance and wisdom; they must beware of flatterers, of ambition, and of fraud. Here for the first time the Cyropaedia is drawn into the discussion. The book is full of exempla, of whom Alexander is probably the most frequent, though a multitude of Roman heroes also appear. Early in the book Elyot mentions Isocrates’ exhortation to Nicocles “to leave behind him statues and images that shall represent rather the figure and similitude of his mind than the features of his body, signifying thereby the remembrance of his acts written in histories” (I.x, p. 37). Two paragraphs later he continues: “Xenophon, being both a philosopher and excellent captain, so invented and ordered his work named Paedia Cyri, which may be interpreted The Childhood or Discipline of Cyrus, that he leaveth to the readers thereof an incomparable sweetness and example of living, specially for the conducting and well ordering of hosts or armies. And therefore the noble Scipio, who was called Africanus, as well in peace as in war was never seen without this book of Xenophon.” 16 The book is both a literary delight because of its “sweetness” and a work that conduces to moral improvement. As in every author before the twentieth century, there is no hint of a ‘dark’ or ‘ironic’ reading of the Cyropaedia: it is taken straight, as an account of a life lived according to a set of virtues which it can only be advantageous to follow. Elyot now passes on to Quintus Curtius, “who writeth the life of King Alexander elegantly and sweetly. In whom may be found the figure of an excellent prince, as he that

15 Pollnitz 2015, 44. 16 Referring to Cic. Ad QF 1.1.23.

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incomparably excelled all other kings and emperors in wisdom, hardiness, strength, policy, agility, valiant courage, nobility, liberality and courtesy.” Again the portrait of Alexander is taken as an encomium, though Elyot does go on to say that “when he was once vanquished with volupty and pride his tyranny and beastly cruelty abhorreth all readers.” As I remarked, Alexander is omnipresent in this work, while Cyrus makes only the occasional appearance. Notable is Book I. xviii, entitled “The ancient hunting of Greek, Romans and Persians”, which begins with Cyrus, and summarises the account of the education of Persian boys from the Cyropaedia I.2.3–16. complete with their frugal diet of bread and nasturtiums. Hunting is extolled as a training for warfare, both in agility and cunning as well as in endurance, so the military ideal still has its role to play even in a courtly and literary education. By the end of the chapter Elyot has abandoned Cyrus and is back with Alexander, Pompey, Sertorius “and divers other noble Romans”. In Thomas Elyot, then, Xenophon plays a bit part, important but slight compared with the role of Alexander and many Roman heroes from history. The same is true of Erasmus’ Education of a Christian Prince (1516), dedicated to the future Emperor Charles V. Cyrus appears in this as an example of self-restraint (in his treatment of Croesus), and the Cyropaedia is praised for its “wise teaching” of the importance of education for royal children. Erasmus is also impressed by Xenophon’s Oeconomicus, which he cites (6) for its teaching on the best way of controlling men, namely by law and rewards. It is perhaps surprising that Erasmus does not mention the Cyropaedia here, since it is the most extended presentation of Xenophon’s major ethical concern, namely, as Christopher Tuplin has pointed out, “the proper and most effective way for a man to exercise authority over others.” 17 He also praises Scipio, who as we have mentioned was an enthusiast for the Cyropaedia, for his thoughtfulness and good use of leisure time. But his view of Cyrus himself is not a friendly one: “When you hear of Achilles, Xerxes, Cyrus, Darius, or Julius, do not be at all overwhelmed by the enormous prestige of their names; you are hearing about great raging bandits, for that is what Seneca calls them several times.” (ch. 2, p. 62) In this view Erasmus is at one with Walter Ralegh, who wrote of Alexander and Philip in his History of the World: “For conclusion, we will agree with Seneca that they were no less plagues to mankind, than an overflow of waters, drowning all the level; or some burning drought, whereby a great part of living creatures is scorched up.” The reference is to Seneca NQ 6.23.2, cf. Ep. 83.19 and 23. Cyrus does not get such a bad press as Alexander in this kind of judgment, but the mention of Seneca is a reminder that this author, as well as Cicero’s De Officiis, were 17 Tuplin 2013, 69.

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probably more important in determining the formation of many of the Mirrors of Princes of the medieval and early modern periods. Peter Stacey has shown how the terms of the Renaissance discussion of the necessary qualities of the prince were largely set by their readings of Seneca’s De Clementia, and furthermore that Machiavelli is, as he writes, “intervening in a specifically Senecan construction of the debate” when he argues that the prince must make himself feared but without being hated, which is the reverse of the Senecan doctrine that “the tyrant is hated because he is feared, and being hated makes him want to be feared.” 18 Seneca had been a name to conjure with for some centuries already, as may be seen from the number of texts and florilegia circulating under his name by the thirteenth century, such as De Remediis Fortuitorum and Proverbia Senecae. 19 When Petrarch wanted to offer advice to King Robert of Sicily, it was Seneca who provided the basic lines of his discussion – and not the philosophical works alone, but some striking lines of the Thyestes: “In a certain tragedy of his your Seneca summarised superbly what a king ought or ought not to do in these verses: ‘Wealth does not make a king Nor purple vestments Nor a royal aspect Nor royal quarters of gold. A king is a man who lays aside fear And the evils of a dire heart.’” 20 A similar programme is put forward in Petrarch’s letter to Niccola Acciaiuoli following his appointment as Grand Seneschal to Robert’s son-in-law Louis of Taranto. 21 Though Seneca is not named, the list of virtues is, as Stacey shows, consonant with the Senecan programme. 22 The letter is replete with classical examples, including Caesar, Alexander, Augustus, Pompey, Pyrrhus, Pisistratus and Scipio. But a citation of Sallust encapsulates the whole: “Let that precept of Sallust remain always engraved in the heart of your king: let him not gather armies nor hold his kingdom in a flourishing state with treasure, but let him gather friends, and these are not to be bound to him by force nor bought with gold, but attached to him by benevolence and fidelity.” 23 If Xenophon’s Cyropaedia had been known in Italy at this time, Petrarch could have cited that for exactly the same piece of wisdom. 18 19 20 21 22 23

Stacey 2007, 12, quoting De Clementia 1.12.4 and Il principe xvii:70. Stacey 2013, 97. Petrarch Le familiari I.163, cited by Stacey 2013, 132. Lettere XII.2, known as his institutio regia. Stacey 2013, 138–141. Lettere XII.2, p. 109; my translation. The reference to Sallust is to Jug. 10.4–5.

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Xenophon is however more to the fore in English Elizabethan writing about Persia and about kingship. 24 Sir Philip Sidney in his Apology for Poetry, written in the 1580s, some thirty years after the first English translation of the Cyropaedia by William Barker was completed (1552, though it was not published until 1567), presents the Persia of the Cyropaedia as “the portraiture of a just empire”. Imperial ideas were much in the air in Elizabethan England, and alliance with the Safavid Persian Empire seemed a possible counter-balance to the power of the Ottoman Turks. Edmund Spenser, too, admired the Persian Empire and used it as a model for the world of the Faerie Queene. In the preface to that work he writes: “For this cause is Xenophon preferred before Plato, for that the one, in the exquisite depth of his judgment, formed a Commune welth, such as it should be, but the other in the person of Cyrus, and the Persians, fashioned a government, such as it might best be. So much more profitable and gratious is doctrine by ensample, then by rule.” 25 European contemporaries of the Elizabethans made largely incidental use of the Cyropaedia in writing about monarchy and its responsibilities. Guillaume Budé, for example (1467– 1540), in his Institution du Prince (1519, for Francis I), mentions the Persian kings only as tyrants who regarded the people as their slaves 26 – a view which is based on Herodotus not Xenophon. His ideal of kingship remains largely medieval: the king is responsible to God, not to the laws, and his conception of justice is the Aristotelian one of distributive justice, not a legalist or constitutionalist view. 27 This approach no doubt suited Francis I, who liked to surround himself with humanists because they added lustre to his court, but himself had no interest in their ideas, or in being a philosopher-king. 28 Budé’s ideal ruler is apparently Pompey, though his richest source of examples is Alexander. Cyrus is scarcely more prominent in Justus Lipsius’ (1547–1606) two extensive works of political advice, Politica (1589) and Monita et Exempla Politica (1605). Both take the form of commonplace books arranged under headings, rather than formal treatises. Lipsius’ Neo-Stoicism is based above all on his reading of Seneca, whose Opera Omnia he edited (1605 – he excluded the tragedies as being by a different author), and his study of Tacitus. Though Lipsius was himself a monarchist he seems entirely to have missed the republicanism of Tacitus, though not his pessimism, and mined him mainly as a source of sententiae. 29 He seems, remarkably, to have regarded Tacitus as a defender of monarchy.

24 25 26 27 28 29

Grogan 2007 and Grogan 2014, chapter 1, are penetrating explorations of this subject. Spenser 1910, I.2, ‘A Letter of the Authors’. McNeil 1975, 22. McNeil 1975, 38, 42. McNeil 1975, 44. Waszink 2004, 77, 93, 148.

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He does, however, regard the prince, as the highest judge, as having a form of ‘contract’ with his people. 30 Lipsius prefaces his Politica with a paragraph De consilio et forma nostri operis: after mentioning Plato and Aristotle, he continues (in Waszink’s translation): “However, these authors have written on all forms of government and the state in general: I, on the other hand, have selected for myself a part so to speak of this field to cultivate, namely Monarchy. Which very thing, however, of the ancient authors the most agreeable Xenophon also did, but, if you admit the truth, certainly not clearly and fully enough. And moreover, in so far as he deals with primitive and barbarian customs, not everywhere in a way that fits our age.” A little further on he continues: “The ones who broached the subject in recent times or the recent past, do not withhold or deter me. To whom, if one is to say the truth, the ancient saying of Cleobulus can be applied: ‘Most of them are full of ignorance and a wealth of words.’ With the exception of one, Machiavelli, whose genius I do not despise, sharp, subtle, and fiery as it is; and if he had only directed his Prince on the straight path towards that great temple of Virtue and Honour!” 31 Lipsius is thus the first of the writers we have considered to take account of Machiavelli’s discussion of kingship in The Prince (1515). As with Tacitus, he misses what many have seen as the Republican sub-text of Machiavelli’s advice on gaining rule: he reads him, as did most readers in the Renaissance, as a devil incarnate and an immoralist: in the words that Christopher Marlowe put into his mouth, “Admir’d I am of those that hate me most: Though some speak openly against my books, Yet will they read me …” 32 I will say a few words about Machiavelli, although he has already been excellently discussed by Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, before returning to Lipsius. Xenophon is the only classical author named in The Prince. Machiavelli’s examples of those who became princes by their own virtue rather than by Fortune (ch. 6 and 26) are Moses, Cyrus, Romulus and Theseus. It is notable that Cyrus is the only surely historical character in this list. Machiavelli shows signs of adhering to a ‘dark’ reading of the Cyropaedia in as much as he regards Scipio’s famed admiration for the book, and imitation

30 Waszink 2004, 33. 31 Waszink 2004, 239. 32 The Jew Of Malta (1589/90), prologue.

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of Cyrus’ generosity and clemency, 33 as a flaw that led him to inconsistency and eventually cruelty (ch. 15). In the Discorsi, too (III.20), he remarks how “Xenophon toils very much to demonstrate how many honours, how many victories, how much good fame being humane and affable brought to Cyrus.” In fact, Machiavelli asserts that Cyrus’ success was really due to his use of fraud. Cicero in De Officiis had insisted that deceit was worse than force in a powerful person, whereas Machiavelli consistently rates the fox above the lion: qualities that are useful when they merely seem may be harmful if they are really possessed. Machiavelli’s republicanism is more clearly expressed in the Discorsi than in The Prince. The irony of The Prince may thus chime with the irony of Xenophon, though for a different end: Xenophon aims to show (in the epilogue) that Cyrus’ virtues were not the best way to establish a lasting empire, while Machiavelli aims to promote republican principles by showing that princely rule can only be achieved by immoral means. Lipsius then reads Machiavelli straight and rejects his supposed immoralism in favour of a traditional humanist view of princely virtues. In the Politica 34, Xenophon’s Cyropaedia is quoted for the ungovernability of men, and their tendency to rise against those whom they perceive as trying to impose dominion over them (III.1: 1.1.2); for the need of good counsellors (III.3: 8.7.13); for Cyrus’ fear of God (IV.2: 8.1.25), and for the importance of good quality equipment (V.16: 3.3.9). For the rest, pages and pages of examples are drawn from Tacitus, and other authorities cited include Sallust, Livy, Seneca, Cicero, Curtius, Pliny, Vegetius, Aristotle, Thucydides and Plato. In the Monita et Exempla Politica Cyrus first appears in a collection of monita about Fate (I.5.1), and then in a collection on matters of succession (II.4.2), and finally as the first example of chastity (II.17.1, soon followed by Alexander and Scipio). For the rest, the examples are drawn from the whole of classical antiquity, Roman somewhat more prevalent than Greek, as well as a few medieval instances. The Cyropaedia, though a significant text, is in no way central to Lipsius’ view of monarchy, which is close to the legalist absolutism of Jean Bodin (1529–1596). 35 It is otherwise when we reach the first Stuart kings, James I and his sons Prince Henry and Charles I. The learned James had read the Cyropaedia in childhood while under the tutelage of his hated tutor George Buchanan, and when he came to compose his own Basilikon Doron (1599) as a guide for his son Henry, he based most of his philosophy of kingship on his reading of Xenophon. In particular the model of exemplary kingship, his sense of law and justice and his behaviour in public, his cultivation of loyalty and his fiscal prudence, derive from the example of Cyrus. 36 Like Sir Thomas Elyot, he finds Cyrus particularly apposite on the subject of hunting:

33 Cic. TD 2.26. Il Platina (= Bartolomeo Sacchi, 1421–1481) in his work On the Prince (1471) is one of many humanists to note this anecdote. I find Nadon’s argument (2001, 142), that Cyrus’ virtues contain in themselves the seeds of decline, persuasive. Cf. Gray 2011, 25. 34 Waszink 2004, 224–709. 35 Waszink 2004, 46. 36 Grogan 2007, 73.

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“But because I would not be thought a partiall praiser of this sport, I remit you to Zenophon (sic) an old and famous writer, who had no minde of flattering either me or you in this purpose, and who also setteth down a faire paterne for the education of a young Kinge, under the supposed name of Cyrus.” 37 Though he does not mention Cyrus by name, the Persian is surely in his mind when he writes (30): “For a good Kinge (after a happie and famous reigne) dyeth in peace, lamented by his subjectes, and admired by his Neighbours; and leaving a reverente renoume behinde him in earth, obteyneth the crowne of eternall felicitie in Heaven.” The usual virtues are paraded, all exampled first in Xenophon (103–104): “And as I said of Justice, so saie I of Clemencie, Magnanimitie, Liberalitie, Constancie, Humilitie, & al other princely vertues, nam in medio stat virtus.” At the same time, James is insistent on the divine right of kings. In the Sonnet preceding the work, he writes: “God gives not Kings the style of Gods in vaine, For on his throne his Scepter do they sway: And as their subjects ought them to obey, So Kings should feare and serve their God again.” Also in his Speech to the Lords and Commons of March 21 1609, he stated: “Kings are justly called Gods, for that they execute a manner of resemblance of Divine power on earth …. So is it sedition in Subjects, to dispute what a King may do in the height of his power.” 38 Sir William Alexander (later Earl of Stirling), whom James appointed as tutor to his son, was perhaps less overwhelmed by the suitability of Cyrus as a model in every respect. In his poetical Paraenesis to Prince Henry, he wrote (Stanza 11): “Nor is it good o’er brave men’s lives to wander, As one who at each corner stands amaz’d, No, study like some one thy self to render, Who to the height of glory hath been rais’d;

37 James I 1599/1969, 145. 38 Quoted from Wilson 2008, 185.

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So Scipio, Cyrus, Caesar, Alexander, And that great prince chos’d him whom Homer prais’d, Or make (as which is recent, and best knowne) Thy fathers life a patterne for thine owne.” However, William Alexander finds Cyrus a good model at least in the matter of chastity; after inveighing against Sardanapalus, Ninus and Xerxes, he moves on to “The valorous Persian who not once but gaz’d On faire Pantheas face to ease his toyls, His glory, by that continency, rais’d More than by Babylons, and Lydia’s spoyls.” (stanza 70) The example of Alexander and Campaspe immediately follows. 39 When Prince Henry (1594–1612) tragically died at the age of eighteen, Sir William’s poem acquired a new poetic preface addressed to Charles I. The position of Prince Henry in these years is intriguing. 40 Hailed from his earliest years as “England’s Alexander”, the handsome and arrogant prince, whose ambition was to turn Europe Protestant by the sword, was also a friend and patron of major writers. He had been the dedicatee of Chapman’s Iliad and also of Samuel Daniel’s Philotas. In 1611 Sir George More wrote for him a book, Principles for Young Princes, which drew attention to Alexander of Macedon as an example of the dangers of pride, ambition and disdain. 41 Henry also acted as patron to Sir Walter Ralegh while he was writing his History of the World during his imprisonment; Ralegh abandoned the book on Henry’s death, but while he was still alive he had used his account of Cyrus’ clemency to Croesus as a way of pleading with the king for his release: “And herein is the reall difference discerned between that behaviour which we call beneficium latronis, & gratiam principis: a theefe sometime sparing the life of him which is in his power, but unjustly: a King that giveth breath and a continuance of being, to him that was the cause and author his own evill.” 42 Needless to say, this appeal to James to imitate his admired Cyrus had no effect, and Ralegh in due course lost his head. We have now returned to where we began, with the accession of James’ son Charles I to the throne, his intransigence towards Parliament and his eventual execution. The contractual view of monarchy that Charles rejected so indignantly at his trial was a classical ideal, expressed clearly by Isocrates but only by implication in the Cyropaedia, where the emphasis is on the techniques of leadership and the idea of the King as father of his 39 40 41 42

The Campaspe story was well known as a result of John Lyly’s play of 1584. Williamson 1978 is an indispensable account. Williamson 1978, 84. III.iii. sect. 4, 412 in the 1676 edition. Cited in Grogan 2014, 48.

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people. Thomas Hobbes, who was writing Leviathan (1651) during the Civil War, and at the court of the exiled Charles II, also puts forward a contractual idea of monarchy: “A common-wealth is said to be instituted, when a multitude of men do agree, and covenant, every one, with every one, that to whatsoever man, or assembly of men, shall be given by the major part, the right to present the person of them all… every one, as well he that voted for it, as he that voted against it, shall authorise all the actions and judgments, of that man, or assembly of men, in the same manner, as if they were his own …. And therefore, they that are subjects to a monarch, cannot without his leave cast off monarchy …. Besides, if he that attempteth to depose his sovereign, be killed, or punished by him for such attempt, he is author of his own punishment.” 43 Passages such as this show that thinking about monarchy and government had begun to move beyond the Mirror of Princes model. Paul Rahe has suggested that this is the result of an increasing engagement with Machiavelli among English thinkers, which put the traditional idea of kingship out in the cold. Milton’s Satan, in Paradise Lost (1667) is a Machiavellian New Prince, in his cunning, his taste for transgression and his readiness to adopt any argument that will help his cause. 44 “Yet public reason just Honour and Empire with revenge enlarged, By conquering this new world, compels me now To do what else though damned I should abhor. So spake the Fiend, and with necessity, The tyrant’s plea, excused his devilish deeds.” 45 Satan, in using deceit and bad arguments, is following Machiavelli’s recommendation of deceit which he found already in Xenophon’s Cyrus as sometimes necessitated in order to achieve the prince’s ends. But it is Machiavelli and not Xenophon who surely lies behind this passage. The deposition, and eventual execution, of Charles I put an end to the idea in England that the virtues of a king were a subject worth discussing. The last gasp of the influence of the Cyropaedia in Northern Europe comes with what Jane Grogan calls “the genre most reviled by humanist educators: Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s blockbuster romance” Artamène, ou le Grand Cyrus. Loosely based on Xenophon’s book, this enormous work creates a new narrative in which Cyrus in his youth is constrained by an oracle to go by the false name of Artamène; much of the plot revolves around his love for Mandane, who is of course invented by the author. Though intended above all as a romance, the author writes in her preface: 43 Hobbes, Leviathan II. Ch. 18, p. 121–122 Tuck. 44 Rahe 2008, 129. 45 Milton, Paradise Lost IV.389–394.

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“As Xenophon has made Cyrus a model king, I have attempted to make him neither do nor say anything which would be unworthy of a man so accomplished, of so elevated a prince; and, if I have provided him with a lot of love, history gave him no less of it than I. … And then, when love is innocent, as his was, this noble passion is rather a virtue than a weakness, since it carries the soul to great things and since it is the source of the most heroic actions.” 46 Admirable as these sentiments may be, neither Xenophon nor Machiavelli would have understood them. Xenophon’s Cyropaedia as a tool for thinking has finally reached the end of its useful life.

46 Scudéry 2005, 57: my translation.

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Bibliography

Crone, P. 2004. Medieval Islamic Political Thought. Edinburgh. Gray, V. 2011. Xenophon’s Mirror of Princes: Reading the Reflections, Oxford. Grogan, J. 2007. ‘“Many Cyruses”: Xenophon’s Cyropaedia and English Renaissance Humanism’, Hermathena 183, 63–74. —. 2014. The Persian Empire in English Renaissance Writing 1549–1622, London. James, I. 1599/1969. Basilikon Doron, (photographic reprint) Menston. Kantorowicz, E. H. 1957. The King’s Two Bodies. Princeton. Khismatulin, A. 2015. ‘Two Mirrors for Prince Fabricated at the Seljuq Court: Nizam al-Mulk’s Siyar al-mulūk and al-Ghazali’s Nasīhat al-mulūk’, in: E. Herzig & S. Stewart (eds.), The Age of the Seljuqs (The Idea of Iran VI), London, 94–130. Lambton, A. K. S. 1971. ‘Islamic Mirrors for Princes’, Quaderno dell’Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei 160, 419–442. Manteghi, H. 2018. Alexander the Great in the Persian Tradition, London. Marlowe, L. 2013. ‘Among Kings and Sages: Greek and Indian Wisdom in an Arabic Mirror for Princes’, Arabica 60, 1–57. McNeil, D. O. 1975. Guillaume Budé and Humanism, Geneva. Meisami, J. S. 1991. The Sea of Precious Virtues: a Medieval Islamic Mirror for Princes, Salt Lake City. Nadon, C. 2001. Xenophon’s Prince: Republic and Empire in the Cyropaedia, Berkeley, Los Angeles & London. Pollnitz, A. 2015. Princely Education in Early Modern Britain, Cambridge. Rahe, P. A. 2008. Against Throne and Altar. Machiavelli and Political Theory under the English Republic, Cambridge. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, H. 1990. ‘Cyrus in Italy: from Dante to Machiavelli. Some Explorations of the Reception of Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, in: H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg & J. W. Drijvers (eds.), The Roots of the European Tradition – Proceedings of the 1987 Groningen Achaemenid History Workshop (Achaemenid History V), Leiden, 31–52. Schabinger, K. E. 1987. Nizamul Mulk, das Buch der Staatskunst / Siyāsatnāma, Zürich. Scudéry, M. de & Scudéry, G. de 2005. Artamène ou le Grand Cyrus, Paris. Skinner, Q. 1988. ‘Political Philosophy’, in: C. B. Schmitt, Q. Skinner, E. Kessler & J. Kraye (eds.), The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy, Cambridge, 389–452. Spencer, C. 2014. Killers of the King. The Men Who Dared to Execute Charles I, London. Spenser, E. 1910. The Faerie Queene, introduction by J. W. Hales, London. Stacey, P. 2013. Roman Monarchy and the Renaissance Prince, Cambridge. Starr, S. F. 2013. Lost Enlightenment: Central Asia’s Golden Age from the Arab Conquest to Tamerlane, Princeton. Tuplin, C. J. 2013. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Fictive History, Political Analysis and Thinking with Iranian Kings’, in: L. Mitchell & C. Melville (eds), Every Inch a King: Comparative Studies on Kings and Kingship in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds (Rulers and Elites: Comparative Studies in Governance 2), Leiden & Boston, 67–90. Waszink, J. (ed.) 2004. Justus Lipsius, Politica, Assen. Wickham, C. 2016. Medieval Europe, London.

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Williamson, J. 1978. The Myth of the Conqueror: Prince Henry Stuart, a Study of 17th Century Personation, New York. Wilson, C. 2008. Epicureanism at the Origins of Modernity, Oxford.

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Worn out in the Reading: Xenophon’s Cyropaedia in the Sixteenth Century* Noreen Humble (Calgary)

Introduction Xenophon is not, by most standards, currently a popular author. Certainly within academia his fortunes have risen over the past couple of decades – and the dedicatee of this volume has had no small hand in influencing that trend. But this recent rise of interest in Xenophon as a research topic has been accompanied by a decrease in his popularity as an author used in the teaching of ancient Greek. For most of the twentieth century Xenophon’s Anabasis was fairly ubiquitous as the first text students met, either right at the start of their studies, or at the intermediate level, 1 but that is no longer the case. Further if we start to look for a wider audience, one which has no experience at all of learning ancient Greek, the picture is a bit gloomier, despite small pockets of interest in the Anabasis because of the Iraq War, 2 and in the Cyropaedia since the 1950s from management theorists. 3 It is currently, for example, not possible to buy an edition in one or two volumes of the complete works of Xenophon translated into English. By contrast the complete dialogues of Plato are readily available in this format, as are the complete Parallel Lives of Plutarch. 4 Further, the Cyropaedia is the only one of Xenophon’s works not available * It is a great honour to contribute to this volume honouring Christopher Tuplin. His exemplary scholarship, unfailing generosity and good humour have been a constant source of inspiration for me, going right back to the early days of my doctoral dissertation, when, determined to prove Xenophon was not naïvely pro-Spartan, I came upon his Failings of Empire. This is but small thanks for all the support and kindness he has given me over the years. 1 This provides an interesting parallel with the Cyropaedia in the sixteenth century, see further below. On the Anabasis as a school text see Rijksbaron 2002, Rood 2004, 43–50 and 2016, 443–447. 2 See Rood 2010, 9–26 for analysis. Also Teevan 2006 (originally written as a radio play). 3 Culminating in Larry Hedrick’s 2006 reduction of the Cyropaedia into sound bites purporting to have come from the very mouth of Cyrus himself. 4 The Collected Dialogues of Plato, edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns, translated by Lane Cooper, published by Princeton University Press in 1962; and The Modern Library publishes in two volumes Dryden’s 1683 translations of Plutarch’s Lives (as revised by Arthur Hugh Clough in 1864).

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in English translation in the popular and inexpensive Penguin Classics series. 5 For many years it was accessible in English only in a publication aimed at a narrow audience of university students and scholars – the Loeb edition with the facing Greek text – but since 2001 a standalone version has been available from Cornell University Press. 6 Yet basic surveys of the popularity of Greek authors in the early modern period reveal a different picture. For example, according to statistics which Peter Burke compiled in a 1966 article on the popularity of Greek and Latin historians in the period 1450 to 1700, in which he included two of Xenophon’s works (the Anabasis and the Cyropaedia), it is the Cyropaedia which comes high up on the list of Greek works, surpassed only by the Antiquities and Jewish War of Josephus and the Parallel Lives of Plutarch, and well ahead of Herodotus, Thucydides, Eutropius, Polybius, Xenophon’s Anabasis, Diodorus and Dio. Further, breaking down the data chronologically by 50-year periods, Burke found that the period of the Cyropaedia’s greatest popularity was the sixteenth century, with 38 editions according to his table, slightly ahead in this century of Josephus’ Antiquities (35) and nearly on a par with the Jewish War (40) and Plutarch’s Lives (41). The numbers certainly are not complete, as Burke himself notes, and are also somewhat problematic from the point of view that though the Cyropaedia was sometimes read in the sixteenth century as a historical text, it was more frequently read as a mirror-for-princes. 7 Further, they do not include instances of transversal reading, such as excerpts in anthologies. 8 They nonetheless provide a useful starting point for interrogation. Freyja Cox Jensen (2018) has recently conducted a similar exercise using the new and constantly expanding database, the Universal Short Title Catalogue (USTC), with the aim not just of updating Burke’s survey, but of adding more nuance into the picture at the same time. Despite a very keen awareness of the general difficulties inherent in using this database for the survey, she has altered the parameters of her search for Xenophon to such an extent that a meaningful comparison with Burke’s figures is not strictly possible. Her survey includes “all Xenophon’s historical works” and excludes the Socratic dialogues. 5 The works appear in the Penguin series in the following way, mostly with titles which would have puzzled early modern readers: The Persian Expedition (= Anabasis), A History of My Times (= Hellenica), Conversations with Socrates (comprised of Socrates’ Defence, Memoirs of Socrates, The EstateManager, The Dinner-Party [= Apology, Memorabilia, Oeconomicus, Symposium]). Hiero the Tyrant and Other Treatises (comprised of Hiero the Tyrant, Agesilaus, How to be a Good Cavalry Commander, On Horsemanship, On Hunting, Ways and Means). The Spartan Constitution is included in a volume entitled Plutarch on Sparta. The Athenian Constitution, not currently generally deemed to be by Xenophon is also not among these volumes. The Anabasis also appears in the Oxford World Classics series. 6 Ambler 2001. In French and Italian the picture is a little better owing to the stronger tradition of studying the classical world and Latin and Greek in schools as well as universities, which provides an interesting parallel again with the distribution of vernacular editions of the Cyropaedia in the sixteenth century (see further below). 7 On which see Humble 2016, and, further, Stoneman in this volume. Certainly if Burke had used the Hellenica rather than the Cyropaedia as a test case the numbers would have been considerably lower. Note that Sowerby 2010 does not include Xenophon in his survey. 8 See on this Iglesias-Zoido & Pineda 2017, 16–17.

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She does not, however, actually clarify exactly what these categories comprise, 9 other than noting that Burke included only two of Xenophon’s historical works, which does not address either of the problems noted above. That, therefore, Cox Jensen gets a different set of numbers than Burke does for publication of Xenophon’s “historical” works is not surprising, though, equally, in comparison with her figures for other Greek authors her findings on Xenophon are still broadly compatible with Burke’s, i.e. Xenophon emerges as the third most popular Greek “historian” after Plutarch and Josephus (who are reversed in popularity in Cox Jensen’s tables), well ahead of Thucydides and Herodotus. 10 Who, then, was reading the Cyropaedia? One way of approaching this task is to search through early modern writings for references to the Cyropaedia or to material which could only have come from that work, such as the story of Panthea and Abradatas. This kind of activity tells us about specific, high-profile, visible readers, such as Niccolò Machiavelli, Torquato Tasso, Baldassare Castiglione or Philip Sidney, and how they appropriated the work. It is the case, though, that visible reading of this sort tends to reveal only the highly-learned few, most of whom, whatever their actual level of engagement with Xenophon’s ideas, would have been able to access the Greek text directly. 11 But looking more closely at the publication history of the Cyropaedia allows us to get a glimpse of the wider, albeit mostly invisible (or anonymous), audience, who were accessing the work in very different sorts of ways through multiple languages. To come back to Burke, it was, in fact, his third statistic which prompted this investigation. When he compared editions in Greek and/or Latin with those in various vernaculars, he found that ancient language editions of the Cyropaedia made up approximately 70% of total editions published compared to 30% for the various vernaculars. These figures were startlingly opposite to those of the two authors ahead of Xenophon on Burke’s list, particularly in the case of Josephus, ancient language editions of whose works made up 19% of published editions while vernacular translations accounted for the other 81%. Plutarch’s Lives are between these two extremes, but still vernacular outweigh ancient language editions 66% to 34%. 12 Using a more complete list, 13 which includes everything

9 Cox Jensen 2018, 8–9. Presumably the latter group includes the Oeconomicus, Memorabilia, Symposium, Apology, and the Hiero, though it has not been made clear that this is the case. Are all the rest of Xenophon’s works included as “historical works”? For example, has the Athenian Constitution been included as a historical work on the grounds that it was believed at that period to be by Xenophon? 10 Cox Jensen 2018, 16–18 for a comparison of her numbers with Burke’s, and 35 (table #8) for her final figures. 11 The jury is out on whether or not Machiavelli’s Greek was good enough for such a task. 12 Burke 1966, 138, table #3. It is interesting to note that Cox Jensen’s (2018, 23, table #6) figures are not, relatively speaking, all that different though her categories are broader. Thus for the period 1450–1599 she has the percentage of vernacular editions of Josephus at 66% of total editions, of Plutarch at 52% and of Xenophon at 37%. 13 As with all such exercises I have had to make some decisions about what to include and what to exclude. Generally speaking I have included everything I have been able to find which includes part or all of the Cyropaedia and which acknowledges, no matter in what language, that the material

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I have been able to dredge up so far – from editions of the complete works of Xenophon to editions containing part of, or only excerpts from, the Cyropaedia – and restricting the data to the sixteenth century (the period of the Cyropaedia’s greatest popularity according to Burke), the gap between ancient language and vernacular editions is even wider, with a ratio of 73% to 27%. And these figures still reveal only part of the picture. The problem is not particularly that the numbers Burke uses are incomplete – my updated numbers have not yet radically altered the general picture – nor that one could quibble about him comparing apples (Cyropaedia) with oranges (Herodotus and Thucydides). Rather the real problem is that these figures do not take into account the dazzling array of different ways in which the Cyropaedia or parts of it were published. Even the simple act of treating ancient language editions as one category first of all conceals the interesting fact (using my figures) that in the sixteenth century there were 22 Greek editions (26% of the total), 26 Latin editions (30.5% of the total), and 14 bilingual Greek/Latin editions (16.5% of the total), compared with the 23 vernacular which break down as follows: 2 English, 1 German, 1 Castilian, 1 Dutch, 14 9 French, and 9 Italian (27% of the total). And these figures hide much other important information for assessing readership, since they only tell us about the fact of publication, but not, as will become evident below, whether the Cyropaedia was published as part of a composite edition of some or all of Xenophon’s works, or indeed together with works of other ancient authors, whether it was published in its entirety or only in part, whether it was published with commentary or other explanatory paratextual material aimed at different levels of readership, whether it was published in a lush folio format or in a cheap octavo, 15 etc. Nor do they tell us anything about the purpose of each of the different modes of publication. These are all questions about which we can, however, suggest some answers by looking more closely at the content, title pages and other paratextual material, even if there are other important questions pertinent to such an enquiry (such as cost, numbers in and of print runs, distribution, specific ownership, etc.) for

comes from Xenophon. I have not included, therefore, the various versions of the Panthea story, such as Matteo Bandello’s Italian account in his Novelle of 1554 (it is the ninth story in the third book) or François de Belleforest’s French version in his Histoires tragiques (#71 in the fourth book in this series, published in 1570) since as a general rule no acknowledgement of the source is given. And, in any event, they include material from Herodotus and others as well. William Painter’s version, in his Palace of Pleasure in 1566, does mention Xenophon as his source for the Panthea story (and follows Xenophon closely), as does Jules De Guersens in the title of his 1571 play Panthée, but both these works are repurposing this story rather than simply excerpting it. On this aspect of the transmission of the Cyropaedia, see Humble 2018b, 111–119. 14 I have not yet viewed the 1592 Dutch translation, the latest of all the vernacular editions. 15 On octavo editions being the cheapest format to produce see Coppens & Nuovo 2018, 174.

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which as yet only sporadic information exists, 16 but which may alter the picture if it can be discovered and gathered. 17 What follows, therefore, will be a broad overview of the publishing history of the Cyropaedia in the sixteenth century, drawing on a combination of my own visual examination of many of these editions, in person or by accessing digitized copies, and also on catalogue records, 18 to get as clear a sense as possible of the variety of ways in which the work could have been accessed by asking the following sorts of questions. When and where was it published? Was it self-standing, part of a composite edition, or published in excerpts? What languages was it published in, and when? What can the paratextual material (i.e. title pages, prefatory letters, marginalia, indices, etc.) tell us about the intended audience for individual editions? 19 I will conclude with some comments about broader cultural trends to try to put some further shape on the publishing history. Since the study ranges widely both chronologically and geographically, findings ought to be regarded as preliminary, and will, I hope, prompt further questions and open new avenues to explore. How far the publication history of the Cyropaedia departs from any norm will require the same sort of study being undertaken for more Greek authors and texts, including those in Xenophon’s own oeuvre. 20 Vernacular Cyropaedias What can be said about the vernacular editions? If we take what we know to be one of the prime reasons for translating an ancient Latin or Greek work into a vernacular – i.e. to

16 Such as when a publisher’s catalogue of sale or an inventory of an individual’s library survives by some good fortune. For example, in the first instance see Nuovo & Coppens 2005, 491–547 for two sale catalogues from the Giolito press in Venice, and in the second instance see Stevens 2013 for an inventory of books sent to Catherine of Austria in 1540, in which three editions of Xenophon are listed. 17 Nuovo 2017 gives a good overview of the state of evidence about book prices in early modern Europe, and leads a big ERC project on this very topic: http://emobooktrade.uniud.it/content/ early-modern-book-trade. 18 I make no claim to absolute comprehensiveness. Libraries are digitising more and more of their holdings, which helps such an enquiry immeasurably, but it remains the case that catalogue records are unfortunately not always as helpful for such a study as one might like (because either they do not provide enough material or they provide misleading details). Databases like the USTC, which are excellent resources, suffer from the same shortcomings as catalogue entries (upon which often they base their own records). See also n. 57 below. 19 That is, an enquiry along the lines of that carried out in Cave 2008 on Thomas More’s Utopia, though the level of detail there is beyond the scope of this current paper. Another example of a slightly different way to proceed with this kind of material can be found in Pearson 2007. In his tracking of three English translations of Julius Caesar he also examined issues of ownership and bindings. 20 Even a cursory glance at Marsh 1992 shows that the publication histories of Xenophon’s individual works differ quite widely.

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reach a wider audience 21 – we might here note that in general reaching a wider audience in this way does not seem to have been a priority as far as the Cyropaedia is concerned, especially, for example, compared with the works of Josephus. Further, if we consider briefly also the content and the geographical distribution of these vernacular editions their impact alters according to which vernacular we are looking at. The least accessible of the vernacular translations would have been the German one, published in Augsburg in 1540. The translator was Hieronymus Boner and he worked not from the Greek text but from the Latin translation of the Cyropaedia by Francesco Filelfo (which was first published in 1477). 22 Nor was his German Cyropaedia published on its own, but with his translations of Xenophon’s Anabasis and Hellenica. Each book is introduced by an elaborate woodcut, making this, in fact, the only illustrated Cyropaedia in the sixteenth century. It was, however, published in folio in a German dialect so localised as to discourage wider dissemination. 23 The sole Castilian Cyropaedia was published just over a decade later in 1552 by the Salamanca branch of the Giuntine publishing dynasty. It too was part of a composite edition, this time of seven of Xenophon’s works, all translated by Diego Gracián de Aldarete. 24 Gracián, unlike Boner, claims that he is translating directly from the Greek. 25 There are considerably more printed marginalia accompanying Gracián’s translations than in most contemporary editions in any language, and thus in theory this volume would have been more accessible to a wider audience. But it is a large folio edition which would not have been cheap to purchase. More affordable, certainly, would have been the two English editions by William Barker of the same period. The second (1567) essentially completes the translation, only six books of which were published the first time around (1552). The only ancillary material was the usual dedication letter, but both were stand-alone editions of the Cyropaedia in octavo format, making them much more affordable, at least, than either the German or Castilian versions. There is considerably more interest in French and Italian speaking areas, and interesting differences, as well as a borrowing, between the fortuna of the work in these two vernaculars. Of the nine Italian publications, eight produce all or part of the translation which Iacopo Bracciolini had made in 1476 from his father’s earlier (mid-fifteenth century) abbreviated Latin translation. Iacopo’s translation was printed posthumously three times 21 See Richardson 1994, 90–91. 22 See De Keyser 2012 for an edition of Filelfo’s translation. 23 The rhetoric of Boner’s dedication letter, to George II, Duke of Erbach, is in tune with the predilections of the South German courts of the late-fifteenth and early-sixteenth centuries when alignment with the humanism of Northern Italy went hand in hand with a continued interest in the chivalric tradition of the later medieval period. See Pade 2016, 18 on the theme of knighthood also in Boner’s earlier translation of Thucydides. See also more generally Wells 1985, 201–204 on the difference between Luther’s purpose in translating the bible into German and the earlier German humanists who translated the classics into the vernacular. Boner seems very much part of this earlier trend. 24 Along with the Cyropaedia are the Anabasis, Hipparchicus, Peri Hippikes, Agesilaus, Spartan Constitution and Cynegeticus. 25 His translation practice is, however, more complex than that as Carmona Centeno 2013 shows for Gracián’s later (1564) translation of Thucydides.

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(1521 in Florence, 1524 in Venice, and 1527 in Toscolano). It was reprinted again twice in the middle of the century (1549 and 1558), both times in Venice by the same publisher, Gabriele Giolito, who was noted both for his publications of vernacular translations and for his tendency towards cheaper, mass-produced products. 26 In both these later editions, however, Ludovico Domenichi, a well-known editor (particularly of Italian poetry, such as Matteo Maria Boiardo’s Orlando Innamorato), 27 who worked for a time with the Giolito press, presents the translation as his own. The text, however, apart from some updating/ standardising of vocabulary – i.e. the type of work Domenichi regularly carried out for the Giolito press and others on Italian authors – is identical to that of Iacopo. That four separate publishers found it worthwhile to republish this abbreviated vernacular version of the Cyropaedia points to a high demand for the work in Italy, though not to an interest in accuracy. Further, costs were kept low: the publications are all in octavo format and have virtually no extraneous explanatory material. The title pages of both contain only minimal information and apart from the usual dedicatory letter, 28 the only additions were made by Domenichi, who appended, after the translation, a short life of Xenophon and a five-page table of important episodes and speeches from each of the books. Domenichi’s table of contents and “translation”, however, were put to good use by Remigio Nannini in the anthology of speeches he compiled from ancient historians, Orationi militari, which was first published in quarto format in 1557, also by the Giolito press in Venice. Nannini included in this anthology speeches from Xenophon’s Cyropaedia, twelve in total, as well as speeches from the Anabasis and Hellenica, and in all cases used Domenichi’s already published updated version of Iacopo’s translation, without formal acknowledgement in the edition but undoubtedly with Domenichi’s and Giolito’s active involvement. 29 In the first edition, each speech was preceded by a title and an argomento to contextualise it. In the second edition in 1585, after each speech a section 26 Coppens & Nuovo 2018, 174, and Richardson 1994, passim. 27 On Domenichi as an editor of these and other Italian poems, see Richardson 1994, 104–108, 132, 135. Richardson draws attention to his vigorous editing of earlier Italian texts: updating the language, adding extra material such as tables of contents or canto summaries, etc. This is precisely what he does with Iacopo’s original. For his career see Piscini 1991. 28 Two in the case of the earlier editions, which Domenichi for obvious reasons does not reproduce. In his own dedication letter to Lucantonio Cuppano there is no mention of the earlier Italian translation or its forerunner, Poggio’s Latin. Nor is there any mention that this is not the complete Cyropaedia. 29 On this see Iglesias-Zoido 2017, 209–210. A number of other translations of Xenophon’s works were published by Domenichi: the Anabasis (I sette libri della impresa di Ciro Minore) in 1547; together as L’Opere Morali the Spartan Constitution, Memorabilia, Apology, Hiero and Symposium, again in 1547; and the Hellenica (I fatti dei greci) in 1548, all by the Giolito press and all republished in 1558. Concerning his translation of the Hellenica a subsequent translator, Francesco di Soldo Strozzi, whose Italian Hellenica were published in 1550 as Le Guerre de Greci, includes on the title page “Con la correttione nel fine de gli errori fatti da chi per prima tradusse el libro.” He is referring to Domenichi’s work though he has the good grace to leave his name off the title page. After the translation, however, he reports that Domenichi had made his translation from the Latin translation of Pirckheimer not from Xenophon’s Greek, and over eight pages lists the major corrections he has made.

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Fig. 1: Frontispiece of an edition of the works of Xenophon, published in 1588 in Venice by Pietro Dusinelli.

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entitled effetto has been added. A 1585 printing of the second edition by a different press attests to the popularity of this work. The only vernacular edition that explicitly advertises itself to a wider audience in the sixteenth century is the only Italian translation of the complete work, which is eventually produced by Marc’Antonio Gandini. It was published in quarto format in 1588 as part of an Opera Omnia dedicated to the then Doge of Venice, Pasquale Cicogna. The title page of this vernacular collection provides more information than can be seen on any title page of a vernacular edition in this century (fig. 1). The opening notes the people to whom the book will be of interest and why: “The works of Xenophon, most useful for military Generals and for living a moral and civic life”. Gandini next highlights his skills as a learned Greek scholar (“translated from the Greek”) no doubt in part an implicit dig at his predecessors. And in case anyone is feeling a bit daunted, he then notes that he has included “annotations necessary for understanding all the works.” Indeed, before the reader even gets to the first work, the Cyropaedia, the following annotations are presented: 1) six pages explaining various Greek weights and measures; 2) another eight pages interpreting terminology he deems will be obscure to his reader, such as “Areopagus” (the Athenian council), “Helots” (Spartan slaves), etc.; 3) a twelve-page index of names and places; 4) two pages of errata; and 5) yet another index, 48 pages in length, entitled the “most copious index of all notable things”. The ratio of complete editions of the Cyropaedia to abridged or extracted portions is somewhat different in French. A full rendering of the Cyropaedia was produced in Lyon in 1547 by Jacques Vintimille. It was reprinted twice by different publishers in 1555 and 1572 (in Lyon and Paris respectively). Vintimille’s edition contains almost nothing in the way of explanatory paratextual material, but the very fact that over the space of 25 years it was reprinted three times (and improved through the editing of Pontus Tyard before the second printing) attests to a significant market for the work among French-speakers. 30 The rest of the French editions consist of extracts from the work in different settings. Three of these belong to Louis Le Roy. Le Roy published his translation of the first book of the Cyropaedia together with three of Isocrates’ orations and Xenophon’s Agesilaus in 1551. 31 In 1553 his translation and commentary on Cyropaedia 8.7 was published along with Plato’s Phaedrus, Republic Book 10, and a few other Platonic passages, in a volume centred on the theme of the soul. Finally in 1568 he includes just part of his earlier translation of book one (Cyr. 1.5.2–1.6.46, only very slightly modified but with the inclusion of some passages of commentary) again with some Isocrates in another themed volume, this time on “enseignments pour bien regner en paix & en guerre”. 30 It may be too that there is more going on in 1572. The USTC now notes this edition being published by six different publishers in Paris. I have seen only one of these and need to investigate further the relationship between these editions and publishing houses. See John 2011 for the complex inter-relationships in the publishing industry in Paris at this time. 31 Previously he had dedicated two of these Isocratean orations (To Nicocles and Nicocles) to Henry II in 1547, and then again with the addition of Cyr. 1.6 to Edward VI in 1550, see British Library, Royal MS 16 E XXXII; cf. Gundersheimer 1966.

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The final three in the count of French editions are directly related to Nannini’s collection of orations. François de Belleforest used the second edition of Nannini’s collection as a basis for his own Harangues militaires, 32 which was first published in 1572, and again in 1586 and 1595. The initial publisher, Nicolas Chesneau, was, like Giolito in Venice, interested in publishing vernacular editions of classic and contemporary foreign works. This work, however, was first issued in an expensive folio edition, 1434 pages of speeches from the ancient world to Belleforest’s own time, plus extensive paratextual material. Though he translated all but one of Nannini’s selections, he also corrected and commented on his model. And whereas Nannini had only 12 speeches from the Cyropaedia, Belleforest more than triples the number to include 44, showing also that unlike Nannini he knew that the Cyropaedia was a work of eight, rather than six, books (1572, pp. 244, 253). After the first speech he actually comments directly on the Italian edition (though without specifying Nannini) in order to point out the absence in the Italian edition of the conversation between Cambyses and Cyrus in book 1 of the Cyropaedia (1572, p. 199), which he then proceeds to set out. Thus a glance across the vernacular translations tells us that French and Italian publishers, at least, felt that there was a market in reprinting stand-alone vernacular editions of the Cyropaedia, and the great popularity of anthologies of speeches extracted from sources spanning the time period from the ancient world to the sixteenth century meant that knowledge of the Cyropaedia at least in some form would have reached a significantly wide audience. What factors drove the market is a more complicated question, but I make some suggestions in the final section. Greek and Latin Cyropaedias This still leaves the 73% of known editions, which contain all or part of the Cyropaedia, in either Greek or Latin or both, for which to account. In the late-fifteenth and early-sixteenth centuries there is a concerted effort in general to print complete Greek texts of Greek authors as they become available, and the centre of this activity is Italy, especially the Giuntine press in Florence and Venice and the Aldine press in Venice. Thus unsurprisingly we find the Cyropaedia in the 1516 Giuntine edition of Xenophon’s Opera quae extant (which is missing only the Apology, Agesilaus and Poroi), and in the Aldine edition in 1525 (now missing only the Apology). An updated Giuntine in 1527 (still without the Apology) 33 completely revises the order of the works (apart from the first two, the Cyropaedia and Anabasis) to match that found in the 1525 Aldine, more evidence, were more needed, of the rivalry between these two publishing houses. 34

32 For Belleforest’s indebtedness to Nannini, see Hester 2003 and Pineda 2017, 241–246. 33 Despite the fact that Johannes Reuchlin had published the editio princeps in Haguenau in 1520; on which see Marsh 1992, 82. 34 Briefly on the rivalry between the two firms see Pettas 1974, 338–339.

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We also find composite editions of Latin translations of Greek authors being published in a flurry in the first decade or so of the sixteenth century. The first printed Latin translation of the Cyropaedia, which was also the first complete Latin translation of the work, that of Francisco Filelfo in 1477 (see above n. 22), was the version used in these early composite editions. 35 The first of these appears in Italy: in 1501 or 1502 a group of six of Xenophon’s works in Latin translation, the last of which is the Cyropaedia, is published in Milan. 36 These six are again published in a handsome folio edition in 1502 in Bologna (with a dedication letter from Filippo Beroaldo to Gregory Fliscus), with the Cyropaedia now in the first position, which is where it remains in every subsequent composite edition of the sixteenth century. 37 This latter volume, complete with Beroaldo’s letter, is reprinted in Lyon in 1504 and 1511 by two different publishers, in the much cheaper octavo format. The publishers in Lyon, in the first decade of the sixteenth century, have been shown to have printed numerous Italian editions of ancient Latin and Greek works, reprinting a staggering number of Aldine editions as well as some, including the Xenophon, from the Bolognese printing house noted above. 38 Ancient language editions of the Cyropaedia printed by Italian presses after this point in time are few and far between, partly, of course, because of the rise of the great scholar/ printers north of the Alps (Froben in Basel, the Estiennes in Paris and then Geneva, Plantin in Antwerp, etc.) and the subsequent shifting of the centre of the printing of classical texts from Venice and Florence to Basel, Geneva and Frankfurt. 39 Basel, indeed, is quick to establish itself as a centre for disseminating classical texts both in Latin, Greek and Latin translations from the Greek, 40 and we certainly see this northern shift in the publication history of Xenophon in general and the Cyropaedia in particular. Thus in 1534 a composite edition of nine of Xenophon’s works translated into Latin is published in Basel by Cratander, in 1545 another Basel edition, this time from the press of Isingren, finally has the complete works in Latin translation, 41 and a new edition, edited by 35 It was reproduced in almost every composite Latin edition which followed until 1569 when it was slowly but steadily replaced by the translation of Levvenklaius. 36 The six works were the Cynegeticus, Spartan Constitution, Agesilaus, Apology, Hiero and Cyropaedia. In this volume alone there also appears the spurious Aequivoca by Giovanni Nanni, positioned between the Hiero and Cyropaedia (Marsh 1992, 81). On this edition and the difficulty dating it see Rhodes 1981. 37 Compared now, for example, to the Loeb series of Xenophon’s works where it is relegated to seventh place, in volumes 5 and 6. 38 Kemp 1997, 79 on other Lyonese copies of editions of classical authors from Bologna. 39 A very small (24°) Greek Opera Omnia is published in 1582 in Venice by Francesco Rampazetto, perhaps to take away some of the market captured by the second printing of Estienne’s Greek Opera in 1581. It is notable that after 1549 all publications in Italy which include the Cyropaedia in one way or another come from publishing houses in Venice. 40 Davies 2010, 144. 41 The table of contents of this edition does not mention the Hiero (Erasmus’ translation), but it is included in the volume, starting at page 285 of the second volume. In this period also the Athenian Constitution was generally considered to be a genuine work, so a complete edition comprises 15 works in total.

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Sebastian Castellio, is issued by the same press in 1551, 42 and reissued again in 1553. Once again a Lyonese printer, Sebastien Gryphius, takes advantage and publishes a two-volume sextodecimo edition in 1551, which looks very much like an exact reprint of Isingren’s 1551 Opera Omnia. All use Filelfo’s translation of the Cyropaedia. The first complete Greek editions of Xenophon’s works are also published north of the Alps, the earliest of these in three volumes in Schwäbisch Hall by Peter Braubach in 1540. It is not a particularly impressive edition to look at, containing the bare Greek text in octavo format with the lines of the text not even carefully lined up (thus showing the signs of haste often apparent in German books in this period), 43 but it is significant that it is a protestant printer with close ties to Philip Melanchthon who manages to print the first complete Greek edition of Xenophon’s works (see further below). 44 This edition is reprinted in 1545 in Basel by Isingren (including Melanchthon’s prefatory letter), still in octavo format but in a much more handsome volume and with the claim now on the title page that it has been purged of many errors by Sebastian Castellio (who had also revised the Latin translations of the same) and revised as accurately as possible. The format is still octavo but only two volumes this time, and a lengthy index in Greek has been added at the close of the second. These are certainly not editions for those who cannot read Greek, but at the same time, as noted above, Isingren also published editions of the complete Latin translations of Xenophon in octavo format in 1545, 1551 and 1553. This significant flurry of activity making Latin translations of Xenophon’s corpus easily available is not again repeated during the rest of the century. From here on complete editions of Xenophon’s works in Greek and/or Latin almost always appear in elaborate folio editions, usually bound in two volumes owing to their size, and not for the faint at heart or the short of cash. 45 The chief reason for new editions is generally stated to be improvements to the texts and/or translations. Over the course of the century, as we might expect, the paratextual material tends to become more expansive, and though the way it is presented varies quite widely, the editions appear to be aimed primarily at the scholarly market. Most cater for those who know Latin and who wish to know Greek, in the sense that they print the Greek text and Latin translation either in side-by-side columns or (less commonly) on facing pages. Several of these bilingual side-by-side editions are produced by printing houses in Basel. The earliest comes from Brylinger in 1545, reissued in 1555 and 1568. They have copious indices and occasionally subheadings break up the text. In 1569 Thomas Guarinus

42 In this revised Opera of 1551, a new translation of the Oeconomicus by Strebaeus finally replaces the inferior version by Maffei which had been reproduced in all composite editions since its publication. Further Ribetto’s translation of the Athenian Constitution was replaced by Castellio’s own version. 43 Flood 1998, 50. 44 On Braubach see Benzing 1955, 539. 45 Though the value of more modest octavo volumes could be enhanced by expensive bindings covered in gilt. For example, see Stevens 2013, 91–95 on the very specific instructions regarding the bindings of the books ordered by Catherine of Austria in 1540, including an octavo edition of Xenophon (p. 113).

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published a bilingual edition with new Latin translations of all but two of the works made by Johannes Levvenklaius, who also emended the Greek text in numerous places. 46 The title page has the information shown in fig. 2. Note the difference in the way the ancillary material is mentioned, compared with Gandini’s 1588 Italian Opera Omnia: “with Johannes Levvenklaius as translator and with annotations from this same man and copious indices” (compared to Gandini’s “with some annotations necessary for understanding all the works”). Levvenklaius is trumpeting his own scholarly annotations, which are not particularly of use to anyone other than fellow humanists well versed in Greek and in the textual and translation history of Xenophon’s works, for that is the primary subject of the annotations. Further, the printed marginal notes on the Greek text are in Greek, so not much help for the Greekless. And while Fig. 2: Frontispiece of an edition of the those on the Latin translation are for the works of Xenophon,published 1569 in Basel most part in Latin (and indeed are more by Thomas Guarinus. copious and so more helpful than the few inserted subheadings in the earlier Brylinger volumes), some Greek still intrudes there too. In this practice he was following, and in competition with, the great scholar/publisher Henri Estienne, who had made even fewer concessions to the Greekless a few years earlier in 1561, when he published a complete Greek edition and a complete Latin edition, which did not need to be purchased together in the way that the side-by-side bilingual editions did. 47 The complete Greek texts were followed by annotations pertaining to the text as one complete volume. The complete Latin translations were followed instead by an index. What is interesting, though, is that even though the Greek texts fill 584 pages and the Latin translations 428 pages, Estienne provided a way for the two volumes to be used together, by 46 In this and the second edition in 1572 Levvenklaius retained the translations of the Eq. by Camerarius and the Eq. Mag. by Ribittus. In the third edition of 1594 he has provided his own translations of both (see below). 47 And hence in the overall numbers I have counted them individually, not among the bilingual editions.

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making use of a variation of his innovative numbering system by which Platonic texts are still today divided. Thus on each page of the Latin translation the text is roughly equally divided into six sections, labelled A, B, C, D, E, F, on the right hand side of the page, and then where the translation marks the start of a new page in the Greek text, that page number is noted on the left hand side of the page. On the title page he states that this is so that the index can be used by readers of the Greek or Latin, 48 which further confirms that he was primarily marketing two volumes as separate entities, but hoping what must have been the smaller market for the Greek volumes could be enticed to buy the Latin also because of this useful index. Indeed everything about Estienne’s editions emphasises their scholarly nature, from the title page – which primarily advertises the fact that Estienne has cleared up many errors in both the Greek and Latin texts and provided full scholarly annotations on such textual difficulties – to the printed marginalia (which like those in Levvenklaius’ editions are Greek on the Greek text, rather than helpful subheadings or other explanatory remarks, and which include Greek also in the margins of the Latin translations). Nor are there even any subheadings to divide up the text into more manageable portions as there are in the case of some of the other bilingual (and vernacular) editions. Revised Opera Omnia continue to appear at regular intervals: a second edition by Levvenklaius was published in Basel in 1572 by Thomas Guarinus; Estienne then issued a second edition of both his Greek and Latin volumes in 1581. A further reissue of Estienne’s Latin volume, in 1596, appears to be in response to a third edition of Levvenklaius’ works published in 1594 in Frankfurt by the Wechel press and 1595 in Basel by the Zetzner press. The folio editions continue to make no obvious concession to a wider reading public, but in 1595 an octavo edition of Levvenklaius’ Latin translations of Xenophon’s complete works was also printed by the Wechel press. This printing, which included a helpful argumentum at the start of each work or book of the longer works, was clearly a cheaper, more portable alternative to the bilingual folio editions and presumably meant to capitalise on contemporary interest in Xenophon. The Wechels interestingly linked the octavo edition to their folio edition of the previous year by printing the page numbers from the 1594 folio edition in the margins of the octavo edition. In this way they were able to reuse the index from the 1594 folio edition, which is there linked to the Greek text by page and line number, here simply by the page number. Estienne was not the only one who could play that game. One notable exception to the northern shift is a new Latin translation of the Cyropaedia by Giulio Gabrielli published in Venice in 1569. This is the only stand-alone Latin

48 “Huius editionis margini appositi sunt numeri qui Graecam paginam Latinae respondentem indicant, ut index (qui paulo superioribus accuratior extremo operi adiectus est) ad utranque editionem lectori usui esse possit” (“Numbers have been placed in the margin of this edition which show the Greek page answering to the Latin, in order that the index [which, a little more accurate than earlier ones, has been added to the end of the work] might be of use to the reader of both editions.”). And further at the start of the index he remarks: “Hic index Graecae editioni nostrae non minus quam Latinae usui esse potest, quod Latinis paginis appositi numeri ad Graecas lectorem remittant” (“This index is able to be used for our Greek edition no less than for our Latin, because the numbers positioned on the Latin pages send the reader back to the Greek.”).

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translation published in the sixteenth century. It is a modest octavo volume, the ancillary material in which is solely concerned with emendations made to the Greek text from manuscripts Gabrielli was able to peruse in Perugia (recording only those, he says, that Estienne had missed in his 1561 edition). Again, as was the case with the Italian translation by Gandini, we find an acknowledgment of a desire to reach a wider audience: Gabrielli says explicitly in his letter to the reader that he was aiming to reach an audience who did not know Greek. How successful he was remains to be discovered. Certainly his translation does not go unnoticed. 49 For example, Joachim Camerarius, who published his own Latin Cyropaedia in 1572 (along with his translations of six other works of Xenophon) says that if he had known of Gabrielli’s translation before he had completed his own, he would never have begun. 50 A further Latin translation of the Cyropaedia somewhat skews the overall numbers of Latin editions. In the last quarter of the century, one of Camerarius’ pupils, Johannes Caselius, publishes his Latin translation of the first five books of the Cyropaedia, one book at a time in Rostock from 1578–1588, while he is Professor of Greek language and philosophy at the University of Rostock, dedicating them primarily to his young pupil, and also employer, Henricus Julius, Duke of Braunschwieg and Lüneberg (1564–1613). In all but the first volume commentary on the content is interspersed with the Latin translation. When he is appointed Professor of Greek at the University of Helmstedt in 1590, he proceeds to republish the volumes. 51 Just as it is standard to regard the practice of translating an ancient work into a vernacular as evidence of a desire to reach a wider audience, so too it is customary to assert that Latin translations of Greek authors had a much greater diffusion than purely Greek editions because of the basic fact that, while all those educated to a university level would have been proficient in Latin, far fewer would have been educated in Greek. 52 Yet in this regard, as I think in that of vernacular translations, the publishing history of the Cyropaedia is not quite what we expect. Certainly if we were to count the bilingual editions of Xenophon as essentially aimed at Latin readers then we would calculate the percentages of Greek versus Latin editions in a different way (i.e. 26% and 47% of the total respectively), though still ownership of most of these folio Opera Omnia editions would not be readily affordable, so again as a means of encouraging wider reading of the Cyropaedia, they are not the most practical. 49 And it does show up unacknowledged in two early seventeenth-century Greek-Latin editions (published in Ingolstadt in 1600 and in Munich in 1613) of the first three books of the Cyropaedia, which to judge from the scarcity of paratextual material were most likely used as school or university textbooks. 50 On this edition see Humble 2017. 51 Since I have only found direct evidence of the republication of the first and third books in 1590, copies of which are held at Växjö (and here I owe many thanks to Elena Dahlberg for bringing these to my attention), I have only included these two in the overall count, but it would seem likely that all five were reissued. On the change in tone in the dedication letter to the republication of the first book of the Cyropaedia, see Nahrendorf 2016. 52 Kristeller 1979, 147.

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Further, just as the Latin numbers hid the fact that seven of the editions belonged to one translator, publishing and republishing his translation book by book in the two cities in which he was employed, there are also hidden points of interest in the total numbers of Greekonly editions of the Cyropaedia in the sixteenth century, i.e. that 14 of the 22 are school texts, published usually in cheap octavo volumes and unadorned in almost every way. 53 Some are explicit in advertising themselves as school texts. For example, the title page of one of these volumes published by Theodosius Rihelius in Strasbourg in 1565 reads as shown in fig. 3: “The first four books of the Cyropaedia, printed separately for use in schools.” Nothing follows the title pages in these editions but the bare Greek text: there is no prefatory letter or paratextual material of any sort. And they consist usually of one or two, or at the most, four books of the eight-book Cyropaedia. Signs of Fig. 3: Frontispiece of Xenophon’s Cyropaedia I–IV, published 1565 in Strasbourg haste and lack of concern with spending by Theodosius Rihelius. time on these editions are noticeable. For example, in a similar edition published in Geneva by Jean Lertout, though more expenditure has been taken as far as paper stock goes (this volume is a quarto, the previous an octavo), the title page advertises that the edition contains the first book of the Cyropaedia, yet, like the Rihelius edition, it actually contains the first four books. Further, frequently the subheadings at the top of each page are incorrectly numbered. 54 Not all of the publishers of these school editions even wasted ink advertising them as volumes explicitly for use in schools as the above example does, but it is clear that this must have been what they were aimed at, since in editions which

53 The only one whose use I am not certain about is a work entitled Kyrou parainesis pros tous paidas. Ek tōn Xenophontōs, published in Paris 1586 (USTC 171955). On teaching as the driver of the publication of Greek texts particularly in the Low Countries, see Constantinidou 2015. 54 E.g., p. 79 in the third book has a Β rather than a Γ, and, likewise, p. 103 and 111 in the fourth book have a Γ instead of a Δ. This edition can be viewed online at: [last access 2020–02–14].

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contain handwritten notes, these notes betray classroom use (for example, interlinear Latin translation, noting of the first principal parts of a verb, etc.). 55 Further it is likely from the way that these extant Greek school editions are clustered by year and place 56 that there may have been many more of these editions at different times, and in the same or different places, and that the statistics do not present the whole story by a long shot. They were not expensive or handsome volumes worthy of preserving or handing down so their survival was not ensured; nonetheless, it seems likely that the better and more integrated library catalogues become, the more accurate the picture drawn will be. For example, included in my count are four school volumes published in Cologne by Arnold Mylius. Only the first is recorded in the USTC and VD 16 catalogues, yet three more can be found in Uppsala, part of the literary war booty taken from Poland in the seventeenth century. 57 While some of these Greek school texts show evidence of their use in the classroom, only one school edition of the Cyropaedia, printed in Strasbourg in 1575, reproduces in print actual classroom practice, in this case that of Johannes Kauffmann, a school teacher in the Duchy of Württemburg. I have categorised it as a bilingual edition: it contains only the first book of the Cyropaedia but divided up so that first a sentence or two of the Greek text is given, followed by a translation, and then by copious, and primarily grammatical, notes on the Greek text. Kauffmann notes in his prefatory letter that he published the work so that he did not have to waste time dictating a Latin translation to his Greek pupils. 58 By contrast to the wide-ranging commentaries included by Camerarius and Caselius with their Latin translations of the work, Kauffmann’s notes are very focussed on morphology and syntax, and so much more geared to those beginning the study of Greek. The successful excerpting of orations from ancient authors has already been noted as a means of transmitting knowledge of the Cyropaedia in French and Italian. This phenomenon existed also in terms of ancient language editions. One of the earliest examples I have found is the use of a speech from the Cyropaedia as an example at the end of a manual about how to speak well, i.e. Johannes Lonicer’s 1536 Artis dicendi methodus. The speech is given in Latin with some commentary. 59 That speeches from the Cyropaedia were studied in school (either in Greek or Latin classes) is indicated also in the 1552 publication by Johannes Sambucus of his youthful translations of twelve speeches from the Cyropaedia, along with the dialogue in the Hellenica between Critias and Theramenes. 60 Eighteen years later in 1570, and in response to the popularity of publishing excerpts of 55 For an example see Humble 2018a, 171–172. 56 E.g., from the Wechel press in Paris we find the first four books of the Cyropaedia published in 1538 and the latter four in 1539; similarly from the Rihelius press as noted is an edition of the latter four books in 1561 and the first four books in 1565. 57 See Trypucko, Spandowski & Szyller 2007, 2.656–657, #3245–3247 (a catalogue which is, in fact, available online). 58 On this edition see Humble 2018a. 59 It seems likely that further examples of passages excerpted from the Cyropaedia may be discovered in other manuals of this kind. 60 See Marsh 1992, 124–125.

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speeches pulled from ancient historians, 61 Henry Estienne published his Conciones sive orationes ex graecis latinisque historicis excerptae. This is a much grander publication altogether, a folio edition containing speeches excerpted from Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon (38 speeches from the Cyropaedia, as well as others from the Anabasis and Hellenica), Polybius, Arrian, and Herodian. Estienne presents the speeches first by means of a Latin argumentum, followed by the Greek text, and then a Latin translation, so that this publication, at least, was more accessible to the Greekless. The stated purpose of his collection was to teach practical eloquence – obviously only to those who could afford this large volume. 62 Unlike his vernacularising counterparts, Nannini and Belleforest, Estienne made it perfectly clear to whom the Latin translations belonged. In the case of the Cyropaedia, Estienne himself translated the first two, 32 were taken from Filelfo’s Latin translation, and four others were provided by Job Veratius. Estienne also excerpted the Cyropaedia in other ways. For example, in a publication of 1557, entitled Ciceronianum lexicon Graecolatinum, id est, Lexicon ex variis Graecorum scriptorum locis a Cicerone interpretatis, collectum ab Henrico Stephano, he placed side by side in parallel columns Cicero’s translations of Greek passages together with the original Greek text. Thus on pp. 42–43 can be found the Greek text of Cyrus’ deathbed speech from Xenophon’s Cyropaedia together with Cicero’s loose translation of the same from De senectute. 63 This, to be sure, is only just over one page in a volume over 300 pages long, but like the same passage translated into French in 1553 by Le Roy it is, nonetheless, a forceful reminder of the importance the Cyropaedia held for Cicero and of the fact that it was a passage well known to schoolboys through their study of Cicero’s De senectute (see n. 76 below). Estienne also included excerpts from Xenophon’s Cyropaedia at the end of his edition of his 1592 Herodotus. Unlike his Opera Omnia editions of Xenophon’s works, Estienne’s Herodotus was published with Greek text and Latin translation in parallel columns on each page. It is followed by the fragments of Ctesias’ Persika and Indika and then a selection of additional material on Cyrus from other sources which are not advertised on the title page, most significantly from Xenophon’s Cyropaedia (pp. 698–711). 64 Although Estienne’s Conciones did not find the same success as the vernacular anthologies, there was one further bilingual Greek/Latin edition of speeches published in 1586. This was a compilation made by Melchior Junius. It contained fourteen speeches from Xenophon’s works, five of which came from the Cyropaedia. But the importance of the original context is much diminished in Junius’ anthology even though Xenophon’s name

61 Estienne refers obliquely in the dedicatory epistle to a successful collection of orations taken from Livy, likely a reference to Joachim Périon’s T. Livii Patavini conciones of 1532 (reprinted in 1545), on which see Pérez Custodio 2017, 215. 62 Pérez Custodio 2017, 217–218; see also her p. 230 for a list of all the speeches from the Cyropaedia together with the references to modern textual divisions. 63 It is followed by a further six pages of excerpts from other works of Xenophon which Cicero had translated. 64 The passages are from Book 1 and Book 8, with a very short passage from Book 5 at the end. See Marsh 1992, 90 for a full list.

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is prominent on the title page (in this edition only speeches from Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, Livy, Caesar and Sallust were chosen). Junius expresses his awareness of his illustrious predecessors in the field of publishing Greek speeches with Latin translations but he has not followed their example precisely. The speeches are not presented in chronological order, or even by author (the speeches from the Cyropaedia are #4, #5, #20, #29 and #48 out of 65), nor are there any argumenta to contextualise them. Instead they are arranged broadly by type of oration: deliberative, demonstrative, and judicial. Junius viewed his collection as being useful for his own students of eloquence at the Strasbourg Academy. 65 In a later and much expanded edition in 1598, the Greek text no longer appears and the division into oratorical categories is much more rigorous. Three speeches only from the Cyropaedia make the cut this time, even though the overall number of orations has been expanded to 173. 66 One further idiosyncratic publication needs to be noted: a compilation of excerpts, published in Lyon in 1558 by Thomas Becon, the English reformer, who at that point in time was in exile from England. It is entitled Xenophontis Gnomologiae and is in essence a printed commonplace book, with Latin excerpts (taken from Filelfo’s translation) placed into categories alphabetically arranged. 67 Commonplace books were not unusual. What is singular about this one is that it contains excerpts only from the works of Xenophon. 68 Conclusions Taking a close look at the publication record, therefore, reveals a number of trends which remain quite hidden in broad surveys and shows that there were many ways in which the Cyropaedia could be accessed during the course of the sixteenth century. Not the smallest point of interest is the fact that only 46% of the total editions in my survey contain the whole Cyropaedia, in any language. Whether or not this is a wholly surprising statistic will, of course, depend upon a comparison with the translation history of other Greek works. Examination of the way in which the Cyropaedia could be read prompts further questions, which are much more complicated to answer. Some suggestions are proposed here but much remains to be investigated. First, it seem reasonably clear that the profusion of Greek school editions of the Cyropaedia reflects the fact that in the protestant world the Cyropaedia came to play a

65 See Carmona Centeno 2017, 262–266. 66 On this later edition see Carmona Centeno 2017, 269–277. 67 For example the first few categories are abstinentia, abundantia, adversae res, adulatio, adulterium, etc. Under the second is the first excerpt from the Cyropaedia: “necessaria enim si supersint, haud erunt inutilia. Vestis enim cui sit abundantior plurima … & ei qui bene valet, & ei qui aegrotat. Lib. 6. de paedia Cyri.” 68 Marsh 1992, 89.

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central role in the education system. 69 The reason it was being read, the why, was because it was deemed to contain safe and appropriate, and, above all, useful exempla for the training of future leaders, and not just princes, but also teachers and pastors. 70 That Xenophon happened to be an author favoured by Melanchthon (who was involved in the publication of the first complete Greek edition of Xenophon’s works in 1540) and Camerarius (who translated six of Xenophon’s works into Latin) played a significant part in this trend as both were involved in establishing curricula in Lutheran schools and universities. The paratextual material accompanying Camerarius’ 1572 publication of his Latin translation of the Cyropaedia, which includes a lengthy introduction and extensive commentary (all of which date to some decades earlier), reproduce Camerarius’ university lectures on the text, 71 and Caselius’ volumes show likewise that he is following in his teacher’s footsteps in this regard. 72 It is no surprise, either, that short extracts of the Cyropaedia show up in the instructional works of Lonicer and Junius, both of whom passed through Wittenberg during their own years of education. Indeed, the statistics above do not include unpublished material. There is, for example, a manuscript at Weimar containing a Greek text with a facing Latin translation by Mathias Marcus Dabercusius, dictated while he was co-rector in Meißen, and which was taken down over three years 1547–1549 by his student Balthasar Cateman Ortrantius, 73 and Bonaventura Vulcanius’ prolegomena of 1584 show that he lectured on the Cyropaedia at the University of Leiden. 74 Both of these manuscripts clearly indicate further dissemination of the work in the protestant classroom and at the university level. How much of the text of the Cyropaedia was actually being read at the school level is another question, the answer to which has a knock-on effect in terms of what sort of wider impact the content of the work had. While it is not easy to give a definitive answer to this question, extant school texts which I have seen to date rarely show handwritten 69 See Humble 2016, 2017, 2018a. The contrast, for example, with the lack of such school editions for Thucydides (who likewise attracted the attention of Camerarius) is notable. 70 When looking at the way the dedicatory letters are framed, particularly those accompanying the Latin translations, there can be seen a different emphasis in those composed by humanists before the Reformation (and by Catholic scholars after the Reformation) than in those composed by humanists of various Reformed faiths, i.e. in respect of how their dedicatees are supposed to read the work. In the former there is a tendency to note that the dedicatee can in fact learn nothing from the Cyropaedia because he already surpasses Cyrus, while in the latter younger, unformed princes or noblemen are the preferred dedicatees, and they are most definitely meant to learn useful lessons from reading the work. 71 See Humble 2016, 172–174. 72 That there was no attempt other than Boner’s to translate the work into German in the sixteenth century may partially be explained by the text’s ubiquity in schools in many German duchies. 73 See Marsh 1992, 123–124, and also Treu 1973, 120–121. 74 Nor does the count include published annotations when no text in any language accompanied them, as these are examples more of individual reading, rather than dissemination of the actual text. For example, those of Johannes Brodaeus in 1559 (pp. 1–16 for his notes on the Cyropaedia, with a concentration on the speeches). Marcus Antonius Muretus also commented on the work (on whom see Marsh 1992, 137).

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translations or notes beyond book 1, with an occasional foray into book 2 but seldom further. This phenomenon, of course, could simply be the result of the randomness of the sample, but as any Greek teacher knows, it is rare to find beginning Greek students able to progress through much of any text. It may be, therefore, that the Cyropaedia was one of those books that many would have had some exposure to, but which, even when they learnt Greek, only a small number actually read thoroughly. Whatever about it being a central pedagogical tool in the protestant world, any schoolboy would have been aware of its existence because of Cicero’s praise of it, since the works in which Cicero champions the Cyropaedia were regularly on the school curriculum. 75 Indeed, Cyrus’ deathbed speech, which Cicero had paraphrased in the De senectute, makes it into every one of the anthologies of orations, no matter what the language, and on virtually every occasion on which the Cyropaedia is mentioned in the literature of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries Cicero’s good opinion of it is noted. 76 There are signs, however, of readers who persevere to the end of the text, though in all cases the steadily and/or heavily annotated editions which I have seen are not school editions. And though it is rarely possible to be certain who is responsible and when the annotations were made, it is worth noting that there are readers who engage with the whole work. 77 A second important point to notice about the publication record is actually something which it does not show: interest in a text does not always follow place of publication. For example, the statistics above do not give us an adequate picture of the reading of the Cyropaedia in England, where until the seventeenth century Greek texts were primarily imported from the big European presses. 78 Yet we know that Thomas Elyot recommended it in his educational handbook of 1531 The Book Named the Governor, and we also know that John Cheke, who was a student at St John’s College in Cambridge at the same time (1530) as Thomas Becon (compiler of the Gnomologiae), 79 and who became the first Regius 75 In particular, Letter to Quintus 1.1.23, Epistulae ad Familiares 9.25.1, and De senectute. See Black 2001, 352–357. 76 See Humble 2020 for the centrality of Cicero’s opinion for the reception of the Cyropaedia. In fact, on one occasion, i.e. in Francesco Patrizi’s (1413–1494) late-fifteenth century treatise “On kingship and the institution of the king”, De regno et regis institutione (book 9), all references to the Cyropaedia could easily have been drawn from various works of Cicero without Patrizi ever actually reading the Cyropaedia itself. 77 For example, there is an edition of Barker’s 1552 English translation of the first six books of the Cyropaedia at the Huntington Library (79939) in which there are heavy annotations throughout. And in the Newberry Library (Inc. 7255), the Latin Cyropaedia in their copy of the early 1501 composite edition is also annotated throughout. 78 Quarrie 2013, 371–373, who also notes that it was at Eton that the first Greek Cyropaedia was published in 1611–1613. Interestingly, the first classical Greek author printed at Oxford was Herodotus book 1 in 1591, which was clearly meant as a textbook. Demetriou & Pollard 2017 provide a thorough overview of the variety of ways in which ancient Greek texts were read in England in the sixteenth century (see pp. 15–16 particularly for the reliance on imports). 79 See the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography entries on both men for details of their time at Cambridge.

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Chair of Greek in Cambridge in 1540 had it on the curriculum. Further, two of his circle, Thomas Ashton and Richard Mulcaster, subsequently used the Cyropaedia for teaching Greek at Shrewsbury and Merchant Taylors in London. 80 The result of this concentration of interest in the Cyropaedia can be seen in the works of their students, Philip Sidney and Edmund Spenser. 81 And Sidney owned a copy of Camerarius’ 1572 Latin translation of the Cyropaedia. 82 Again this profusion of interest in England attests to protestant interest in Xenophon. The repeated publications of Vintimille’s French translation of the Cyropaedia and of the abbreviated Italian Cyropaedia must be tied to broader cultural interest in the work. Publishers would not be reissuing these volumes without some hope of monetary return. The last of the three print runs of Vintimille’s translation in 1572 in Paris, for example, may very well be an opportunistic printing on the heels of the Latin translation by Camerarius published early in the same year by the Wechel press, before Wechel himself fled Paris. 83 Camerarius’ reputation as a Greek scholar was almost unsurpassed at this period in time and thus the publication of this work eagerly anticipated. There is no such obvious link in the Italian market connected with Gabrielli’s Latin translation in 1569, but the three printings of Iacopo Bracciolini’s Italian translation in the 1520s may be related to interest in the text by Machiavelli (the composition of whose Il principe and Discorsi dates to the 1510s) and his circle and/or also by Castiglione (and his circle), who mentions it as a model for his Il Cortigiano (published in 1528). Further, there may be some connection between the interest in Panthea’s story in the 1550s in Italy (see above n. 13) and Domenichi’s appropriation and reissuing of Iacopo Bracciolini’s translation in 1549 and 1558, though also influencing the second of these publications could have been the issuing by the Giolito press in 1557 of Remigio Nannini’s Orationi militari. 84 Nannini’s collection, in turn, along with the appearance of Estienne’s Conciones in 1570, were factors in the publication of Belleforest’s Harangues militaires in 1572. 85 Determining these sorts of connections, however, is a different type of enquiry. What has been shown above at least reveals on a deeper level than that allowed by broad comparative statistics between editions of ancient authors, how, where and why the Cyropaedia was so popular in the sixteenth century. This same sort of enquiry needs to be done across the range of authors in the lists of Burke and Cox Jensen 86 to ascertain more fully what aspects of the reception history of each ancient author conform to or deviate

80 See Rhodes 2013 and Lazarus 2015, 444. 81 E.g., see Grogan 2009, 27–68 on Spenser and Xenophon, and, briefly, Humble 2018b, 110–111 on Sidney and Xenophon. 82 Stillman 2008, 225. See also Crowley 2009, 141 n. 171 for a list of references to Xenophon in Sidney’s letters. 83 On the Wechels generally see Evans 1975. 84 As suggested by Iglesias-Zoido 2017, 209 n. 27, since Domenichi’s Anabasis and Hellenica translations were also republished in 1558 (see above n. 29). 85 Pineda 2017, 240–241. 86 See, for example, Crab 2015 on Valerius Maximus.

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from a norm. For the moment, this individual survey of the publishing history of the Cyropaedia in the sixteenth century can stand as a point of comparison. 87

87 The data in this paper has been compiled over a number of years and with the help of a number of grants which enabled me to carry out research at various libraries around the world. I benefitted in particular from holding a Mayers Fellowship at the Huntington Library in 2014, from various trips to Europe funded by a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada Insight Development Grant (2013–2016), and to a University of Calgary Faculty of Arts Insight Grant in 2019 to work at the Centre for Reformation and Renaissance Studies in Toronto. Various incarnations of this paper have been delivered at the IANLS conference at Vienna in 2015, to the Medieval and Renaissance Cultural Studies Group in Calgary in 2016, and to the Renaissance Studies Group at the City University of New York in 2017. I am grateful to the learned discussions on each of these occasions, and particularly to further discussion with Marijke Crab (who has done similar work on Valerius Maximus), Natasha Constantinidou, and Tanya Pollard. As always Keith Sidwell’s breadth of knowledge and keen editorial eye have kept me from egregious errors. Any that remain are to be laid at my door.

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Bibliography Ambler, W. 2001. Xenophon – The Education of Cyrus, translated and annotated, Ithaca, NY. Benzing, J. 1955. ‘Braubach (Brubach), Peter’, Neue Deutsche Biographie 2, 539 [last access: 2020–02–14]. Black, R. 2001. Humanism and Education in Medieval and Renaissance Italy: Tradition and Innovation in Latin Schools from the Twelfth to the Fifteenth Century, Cambridge. Burke, P. 1966. ‘A Survey of the Popularity of Ancient Historians’, History & Theory 5, 135–152. Carmona Centeno, D. 2013. ‘An Approach to Gracián’s Translation of Thucydides through an Analysis of the Narrative Settings that Introduce the Battle-Speeches’, in: M. Balbuena Torezano & M. Rivas Carmona (eds.), Cultural Aspects of Translation, Tübingen, 69–88. —. 2017. ‘Melchior Junius: Anthologies of Historiographical Speeches in the Teaching of Rhetoric’, in: J. C. Iglesias-Zoido & V. Pineda (eds.), Anthologies of Historiographical Speeches from Antiquity to Early Modern Times: Rearranging the Tesserae, Leiden, 261–284. Cave, T. (ed.) 2008. Thomas More’s Utopia in Early Modern Europe: Paratexts and Contexts, Manchester. Constantinidou, N. 2015. ‘Printers of the Greek Classics and Market Distribution in the Sixteenth Century: the Case of France and the Low Countries’, in: R. Kirwan & S. Mullins (eds.), Specialist Markets in the Early Modern Book World, Leiden, 275–293. Coppens, C. & Nuovo, A. 2018. ‘Printed Catalogues of Booksellers as a Source for the History of the Book Trade’, Italian Journal of Library, Archives and Information Science 9.2, 166–178 [last access 2020–02–14]. Cox Jensen, F. 2018. ‘The Popularity of Ancient Historians, 1450–1600’, The Historical Journal, 61.3, 1–35. Crab, M. 2015. Exemplary Reading: Printed Renaissance Commentaries on Valerius Maximus (1470–1600), Zurich. Crowley, T. D. 2009. Feigned Histories: Philip Sidney and the Poetics of Spanish Chivalric Romance, University of Maryland PhD Dissertation. Davies, M. 2010. ‘Book, Printed’, in: A. Grafton, G. W. Most & S. Settis (eds.), The Classical Tradition, Cambridge MA, 142–146. De Keyser, J. (ed.) 2012. Francesco Filelfo. Traduzioni da Senofonte e Plutarcho, Alexandria. Demetriou, T. & Pollard, T. 2017. ‘Homer and Greek Tragedy in Early Modern England’s Theatres: an Introduction’, Classical Receptions Journal 9.1, 1–35. Evans, R. J. W. 1975. The Wechel Presses: Humanism and Calvinism in Central Europe, 1572– 1627, Oxford. Flood, J. L. 1998. ‘The Book in Reformation Germany’, in: J.-F. Gilmont (ed.), The Reformation and the Book (English ed. and trans. by K. Maag), Aldershot, 21–103. Grogan, J. 2009. Exemplary Spenser: Visual and Poetic Pedagogy in The Faerie Queene, Farnham. Gundersheimer, W. L. 1966. The Life and Works of Louis Le Roy, Geneva. Hedrick, L. 2006. Xenophon’s Cyrus the Great: The Arts of Leadership and War, New York. Hester, N. 2003. ‘Scholarly Borrowing: the Case of Remigio Nannini’s Orationi militari and François de Belleforest’s Harangues militaires’, Modern Philology 101.2, 235–258.

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Humble, N. 2016. ‘Xenophon and the Instruction of Princes’, in: M. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 416–434. —. 2017. ‘Joachim Camerarius and Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, in: T. Baier (ed.), Camerarius Polyhistor. Studien zu den wissenschaftlichen Schriften des Älteren Camerarius, Tübingen, 169–185. —. 2018a. ‘Translating Ancient Greek: Jacob Kauffmann and Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, in: I. Deligiannis (ed.), Investigating the Translation Process in Humanistic Latin Translations of Greek Texts, Corfu, 171–185. —. 2018b. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Fictionalities and Receptions’, in: C. Jouanno & B. Pouderon (eds.), Aux marges du roman antique: études sur la réception des “ fringe novels” (fictions biographiques et autres “mythhistoires”) de la Renaissance à l’ époque moderne, Paris, 105–130. —. 2020. ‘The Well-Thumbed Attic Muse: Cicero and the Reception of Xenophon’s Persia in the Early Modern Period’, in: J. Grogan (ed.), Beyond Greece and Rome: Reading the Ancient Near East in Early Modern Europe, Oxford, 29–52. Iglesias-Zoido, J. C. 2017. ‘Remigio Nannini’s Orationi Militari’, in: J. C. Iglesias-Zoido & V. Pineda (eds.), Anthologies of Historiographical Speeches from Antiquity to Early Modern Times: Rearranging the Tesserae, Leiden, 194–212. Iglesias-Zoido, J. C. & Pineda, V. 2017. ‘Introduction: Old Worlds in New Books’, in: J.  C.  Iglesias-Zoido & V. Pineda (eds.), Anthologies of Historiographical Speeches from Antiquity to Early Modern Times: Rearranging the Tesserae, Leiden, 1–24. John, P. O. 2011. Publishing in Paris, 1570–1590: A Bibliometric Analysis (University of St. Andrews Dissertation), St. Andrews. Kemp, W. 1997. ‘Counterfeit Aldines and italic-letter editions printed in Lyons 1502–1510: Early Diffusion in Italy and France’, Papers of the Bibliographical Society of Canada 35.1, 75–100. Kristeller, P. O. 1979. ‘Italian Humanism and Byzantium’, in: D. Mooney (ed.), Renaissance Thought and Its Sources, New York, 137–149 (first published in Italian in Lettere Italiane 16, 1964, 1–14). Lazarus, M. 2015. ‘Greek Literacy in Sixteenth-Century England’, Renaissance Studies 20, 433–458. Marsh, D. 1992. ‘Xenophon’, in: V. Brown, P. O. Kristeller & F. E. Cranz (eds.), Catalogus Translationum et Commentariorum 7, Washington DC, 75–196. Nahrendorf, C. 2016. ‘Topik des Schmeichelns oder Herrschaftskritik? Widmungsvorreden von Caselius an Heinrich Julius’, in: A. Werner (ed.), Herzog Heinrich Julius zu Braunschweig und Lüneburg (1564–1613): Politiker und Gelehrter mit europäischem Profil, Braunschweig, 188–202. Nuovo, A. 2017. ‘The Price of Books in Italy (XV-XVI Centuries)’, in: I Prezzi delle Cose nell’Eta Preindustriale: Selezione de Ricerche, Florence, 107–127. Nuovo, A. & Coppens, C. 2005. I Giolito e La Stampa nell’Italia del XVI Secolo, Geneva. Pade, M. 2016. ‘Translating Thucydides: the Metadiscourse of Italian Humanist Translators’, Renæssanceforum 11, 1–22.

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Pearson, D. 2007. ‘What can we learn by tracking multiple copies of books?’, in: R. Myers, M. Harris & G. Mandelbrote (eds.), Books on the Move: Tracking Copies through Collections and the Book Trade, Newcastle & London, 17–38. Pérez Custodio, M. V. 2017. ‘Henri II Estienne’s Conciones siue orationes ex Graecis Latinisque historicis excerptae’, in: J. C. Iglesias-Zoido & V. Pineda (eds.), Anthologies of Historiographical Speeches from Antiquity to Early Modern Times: Rearranging the Tesserae, Leiden, 213–237. Pettas, W. A. 1974. ‘An International Renaissance Publishing Family: the Giunti’, Library Quarterly 44.4, 334–349. Pineda, V. 2017. ‘François de Belleforest’s Harangues militaires’, in: J. C. Iglesias-Zoido & V. Pineda (eds.), Anthologies of Historiographical Speeches from Antiquity to Early Modern Times: Rearranging the Tesserae, Leiden, 238–260. Piscini, A. 1991. ‘Domenichi, Ludovico’, in: Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani 40, Rome, 595–600. Quarrie, P. R. 2013. ‘The Learned Press: Classics and Related Works’, in: I. Gadd (ed.), The History of Oxford University Press 1: Beginnings to 1780, Oxford, 371–397. Rhodes, D. E. 1981. ‘The First Collected Latin Edition of Xenophon’, Gutenberg-Jahrbuch 56, 151–153. Rhodes, N. 2013. ‘Marlowe and the Greeks’, Renaissance Studies 27, 199–218. Richardson, B. 1994. Print Culture in Renaissance Italy: The Editor and the Vernacular Text, Cambridge. Rijksbaron, A. 2002. ‘The Xenophon Factory: One Hundred and Fifty Years of School Editions of Xenophon’s Anabasis’, in: R. K. Gibson & C. S. Kraus (eds.), Classical Commentary: Histories, Practices, Theory, Leiden, 235–267. Rood, T. C. B. 2004. The Sea! The Sea!: The Shout of the Ten Thousand in the Modern Imagination, London. —. 2010. American Anabasis: Xenophon and the Idea of America from the Mexican War to Iraq, London. —. 2016. ‘Xenophon’s Changing Fortunes in the Modern World’, in: M. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 435–448. Sowerby, R. 2010. ‘Ancient History’, in: G. Braden, R. Cummings & S. Gillespie (eds.), The Oxford History of Literary Translation in England 2: 1550–1660, Oxford, 301–311. Stevens, K. M. 2013. ‘Books fit for a Portuguese Queen: the Lost Library of Catherine of Austria and the Milan Connection (1540)’, in: M. Walsby & N. Constantinidou (eds.), Documenting the Early Modern Book World: Inventories and Catalogues in Manuscript and Print, Leiden, 85–116. Stillman, R. E. 2008. Philip Sidney and the Poetics of Renaissance Cosmopolitanism, London. Teevan, C. 2006. How Many Miles to Basra?, London. Treu, K. 1973. ‘Griechische Handschriften in Weimar’, Philologus 117.1, 113–123. Trypucko, J., Spandowski, M. & Szyller, S. (eds.) 2007. The Catalogue of the Book Collection of the Jesuit College in Braniewo Held in the University Library in Uppsala 1–3, Uppsala. Wells, C. J. 1985. German. A Linguistic History to 1945, Oxford.

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Straussian Readings of the Cyropaedia: Challenges and Controversies* Melina Tamiolaki (University of Crete)

Xenophon’s Cyropaedia recounts the life and glorious deeds of Cyrus the Great, founder of the Persian Empire (600–530 BCE). Xenophon considers Cyrus an exception to the rule of failure of all regimes to secure stability. According to the reflection expressed in the proem of the work, the Persian monarch possessed the knowledge of ruling (ἐπισταμένως: 1.1.3 1), and this is why he managed to create a long-lasting empire, by gaining the willing obedience not only of the Persians, but also of many other nations (ἑκόντων … ἑκόντων: 1.1.4). The Cyropaedia thus initially prepares the reader for a straightforward praise of Cyrus. However, Cyrus’ portrait, as it unfolds in the various episodes of the work, turns out to be far from idealized: he appears manipulative and self-serving on many occasions both during his childhood and in his adult life, and he does not hesitate to adopt even tyrannical practices, especially after conquering Babylon (books 7 and 8). 2 The epilogue of the work (8.8) creates more complications: in this section Xenophon becomes openly aggressive and fiercely decries the moral decline of the Persians of his time. The question thus arises: if Xenophon intended the Cyropaedia to be a pure encomium of Cyrus, why would he undermine this positive impression by inserting a vigorous critique of the Persians? 3 Given these enigmatic features, it is no wonder that, perhaps more than any other work of Xenophon, the Cyropaedia has triggered much debate and controversy. Various analyses have been proposed for its interpretation: some scholars concede that Cyrus’ character and practices are indeed often questionable, but that he still represents the ideal *

I thank Michael Flower and the anonymous reviewers of this volume for useful comments on my paper. I would also like to acknowledge the support of my research by the Foundation for Education and European Culture (IPEP, Athens). 1 Unless otherwise noted, references in this paper are to the Cyropaedia. 2 For Cyrus as manipulative, see mainly Tatum 1989. For his tyrannical practices, see Gera 1993, 285–299. Cf. Newell 2013a. 3 In the past the authenticity of the epilogue had been questioned (see Azoulay 2004a, 442, n. 41, for an overview of the debate in the 19th century) or chapter 8.8 was considered at best a later addition, the most characteristic example being the Loeb editor, who succinctly notes (Miller 1932, 438): “It spoils the perfect unity of the work up to this chapter … the reader is recommended to close the book at this point [i.e. at the point of the death of Cyrus] and read no further.” Today most commentators regard the epilogue as Xenophontic. A recent exception is Hirsch 1985, 91–97.

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ruler. Others tend to minimize Cyrus’ negative traits, by maintaining that Cyrus’ portrait is undeniably positive; from this perspective, the epilogue of the work would confirm the praise for Cyrus, since it would exemplify the problems caused by the absence of the ideal leader. Finally, according to a third line of interpretation, Cyrus’ portrait is negative and it is precisely his ambivalent personality and mainly deceptive tactics which pave the way for the decline of the Persian Empire. 4 This last approach is greatly inspired by the work of the Jewish-American political philosopher, Leo Strauss, and will constitute the focus of this paper. Leo Strauss (1899–1973) was Professor of Classics and Political Science at the University of Chicago. He was a prolific thinker who studied both ancient and modern philosophy. 5 He is famous for bringing to notice the so-called “esoteric writing”: according to Strauss, ancient authors (but also some modern philosophers) practiced this form of writing, which consisted in exposing their views in a covert manner, often loaded with irony. The reason for this way of presentation was, Strauss claims, fear of persecution. Consequently, in order to decipher an author’s views, one needs to “read between the lines”, that is to read in detail, paying great attention both to what is said and (perhaps more) to what is omitted. Since not many people are equally trained or skilled in this way of reading, Strauss maintains that the “messages” of esoteric authors are ultimately intended to be grasped only by an elite few. 6 Reading between the lines, irony, ambiguity, concealment, dissimulation: these are some catchwords which aptly refer to the Straussian method. Strauss also emphasized some specific principles for the study of ancient authors: these include emphasis on what lies “at the center” (e.g. in a narrative, in a speech, or even in a whole work), attention to repetitions, analysis of titles of works and exploration of etymology (mainly of proper names). 7 Leo Strauss applied his method to the study of ancient authors, mainly Plato and Aristotle. He also developed a great interest in Xenophon and devoted much of his work to this author, bringing his sophistication to the fore and contributing to his rehabilitation. For instance, in a famous article, Strauss suggested that the praise of Sparta in Xenophon’s Constitution of the Lacedaemonians is largely ironical and that Xenophon’s real intention was to blame the Spartans. 8 Another remarkable work by Strauss is his analysis of Xenophon’s Hiero (1961), a dialogue between the poet Simonides and the tyrant of Syracuse, Hiero, which discusses the pleasures and miseries of tyranny. By providing subtle analyses of this conversation, Strauss illustrates that Simonides, although a wise 4 For Cyrus as both ambivalent and (in a sense) ideal, see Tatum 1989, Gera 1993, Danzig 2012, Sandridge 2012; for Cyrus as an unquestionably ideal ruler, see mainly Due 1989, MuellerGoldingen 1995, and Gray 2011, 246–290; for Cyrus’ negative portrait, see Nadon 2001 and political scientists (see below, n. 15). 5 For Strauss’ intellectual biography, see Tanguay 2007. 6 For the fear of persecution, see Strauss 1952. For the principle of “reading between the lines”, see Patterson 1993, Melzer 2015. For Strauss’ recovery of esotericism, see Lampert 2009. 7 For these specific principles, see Buzzetti 2014, 7–29. For criticism of these principles, see Rood 2015, 147–148, Tamiolaki 2015b. 8 Strauss 1939.

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man, does not view tyranny as morally objectionable. 9 Finally, as is to be expected of a philosopher, Strauss dealt with Xenophon’s Socratic works. Two monographs are the fruits of this study: Xenophon’s Socratic Discourse. An Interpretation of the Oeconomicus (1970) and Xenophon’s Socrates (1972). The first treats the Oeconomicus, while the second offers a lengthy analysis of the Memorabilia and shorter analyses of the Apology and Symposium. For Strauss, the first work investigates the tension between the life of the gentleman (represented by Ischomachus) and the life of the philosopher (represented by Socrates). Concerning the Memorabilia, Strauss puts forth the provocative idea that the Greek title (Ἀπομνημονεύματα) may mean “to remember one’s grudge”. He bases his interpretation on passage 1.2.31, in which the verb ἀπομνημονεύω occurs for the only time in the work; in this context it refers to Critias’ remembering of Socrates reprimanding him for his love for Euthydemus and has the meaning of “resenting”, “remembering one’s grudge”. Strauss then proposes a comparison between Critias and Xenophon: Socrates had called the latter a fool for a similar reason to that for which he had scolded Critias, because he was willing to kiss a beautiful boy (Mem. 1.3.13). Strauss thus concludes that Xenophon’s recollection of Socrates also included remembering a grudge. 10 Leo Strauss did not produce a book-lengthy study on the Cyropaedia. However, his approach to this work can be revealed by scattered observations throughout his corpus. For instance, he considers the Cyropaedia “a book of sublime irony” 11 and observes that the purpose of this work is “more theoretical than practical”. 12 He also compares the Persian education, as it is presented in the Cyropaedia, to the Spartan education, as it is depicted in the Constitution of the Lacedaemonians. 13 He further dwells on Cyrus’ tyrannical traits and establishes contrasts between Cyrus and Socrates, but also between Cyrus and Xenophon, especially regarding issues of morality, justice and political courage. 14 Strauss’ views have exerted a great influence, but have also triggered a lot of controversy. Political scientists, especially in the US, are the only category of scholars who openly follow Strauss’ line of interpretation and more or less acknowledge their debt to him. 15 Literary scholars, on the other hand, appear rather divided: a few of them admit

9 See Buzzetti 2015, 241. 10 This interpretation is considered exaggerated even by Straussian scholars. See Bonnette 2015, 289: “It is of course absurd to suggest that Xenophon resented Socrates in any way … Strauss knows it is absurd, says it is absurd, and yet wants us to think about it anyway. He may want us to ponder the difference between Critias and Xenophon, to consider whether Socrates could benefit every one of his companions to the same degree, or whether Socrates did not provide his unjust enemies with a motive for attacking him.” 11 See Lampert 2009, 68 (citing Strauss’ letters). 12 Strauss 2013/1961, 107, n.2. 13 Strauss 1939, 508–509. 14 For Strauss’ views on Cyrus and Socrates, see Ruderman 2015, 198, 210. For his views on Cyrus and Xenophon, see Stauffer 2015, 310–311. 15 To this category of scholars belong (I limit myself here to scholars who have analyzed the Cyropaedia, although this list is not exhaustive): Bruell 1987, Rubin 1989, Glenn 1992, Nadon 2001, Faulkner 2007, Whidden 2007a 2007b, 2008a, 2008b, Rasmussen 2009, Field 2012, Newell 2013a, 2013b,

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that Leo Strauss’ approach has some merits; 16 others may express views akin to Strauss’, but without having been influenced by him; 17 finally, Strauss’ method of reading and interpretation has become the object of vigorous critique. 18 In what follows I will not deal with literary scholars, since their reference to Leo Strauss is either critical or incidental. I will present an overview of the main interpretive findings of Straussian 19 political scientists who have worked on the Cyropaedia and will

16

17

18 19

Bartlett 2015, Pangle 2017. See also the scholars cited by Whidden 2008a, 36, n.19. All these scholars are political scientists; they cite Strauss and engage with his interpretations, which they expand or qualify. Nadon and Buzzetti appear the most enthusiastic about Leo Strauss. The first notes (Nadon 2001, 3): “Strauss encourages us to reflect on the remarkable stability of Xenophon’s reputation over the centuries and to wonder whether it can simply be ascribed to luck.” Βuzzetti (2014, 8) writes: “It is a pleasure to acknowledge my intellectual debt to Strauss.” See mainly Higgins 1977, xiii: “There is one scholar, however, to whom this study owes an enormous debt. Leo Strauss has performed two great services for the understanding of Xenophon. He has displayed before the text a critical humility which should always have been present … he has understood, as few have, the absolute need when studying Xenophon to read between the lines and to appreciate the centrality of irony in a Socratic context.” Cf. also Carlier 2010, 332, n.12: “We sometimes have the impression that commentators accuse Xenophon of being superficial only because they read him superficially. In reaction to this tendency to depreciate Xenophon, Strauss has attempted, through precise reading of the texts, to illuminate the complexity, subtlety and the depth of Xenophon’s thought … Though Strauss’s interpretations are questionable now and then, his method is the only legitimate one.” Carlier also proposes an ironical reading of the Cyropaedia. For the possible merits of his reading, see Tamiolaki 2015a. For instance, Azoulay (2004, 295–300) analyzes the blurring of boundaries between friendship and slavery and also speaks (Azoulay 2004a, 364–366, 422) about the “infantilization” of Cyrus’ subjects. These ideas are akin to the Straussian-influenced interpretation of Whidden 2008b. Tuplin (1993, 61) interprets the Thebans’ speech in Xenophon’s Hellenica as a satire of imperial ambition, an idea with a strong Straussian echo (see Strauss’ interpretation of the Constitution of the Lacedaemonians as “disguised satire”). However, neither Azoulay nor Tuplin are Straussians: the first provides a critique of Leo Strauss (Azoulay 2004a, 17–19), while the second does not include Strauss in his bibliography. Cf. also Too 1998 who provides an ironical interpretation of the Cyropaedia, but expresses reservations about Strauss’ method (298): “Reading between the lines is a mode of interpretation which takes enormous liberties, and I would argue that the discrepancies in the Cyropaedia are sufficiently explicit to demand that we read the lines themselves.” See mainly Gray 2011, 54–69, Dorion 2010, Rood 2015. Johnson 2012 presents a stimulating discussion of Strauss’ philosophical views and acknowledges some merits in his approach. The term “Straussians” has complex connotations. See Zuckert 2009, 263: “more than most thinkers of the twentieth century, Leo Strauss polarized his audience. One was either for him or against him, influenced by him, or repelled by him. Thus has arisen the phenomenon, nearly unique among the century’s academic thinkers, of a recognized group of followers, called ‘Straussians’. Where and when the label arose, and what exactly it means, are uncertain. It seems originally to have been a label invented by the opponents of Strauss and applied to individuals who had studied with or were manifestly influenced by him.” Throughout this paper, I use the term “Straussian” to refer (neutrally) to scholars influenced by Leo Strauss. It has to be noted, however, that Straussians are not unanimous in their interpretations (of the Cyropaedia or in general). See below our analysis and concluding remarks.

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pose the question whether and to what extent these findings can be reconciled with a literary interpretation of this work. Cyrus’ Education: Problems and Limits The theme of education (παιδεία) occupies a prominent place in the Cyropaedia. Education in this work has both a narrow and a broad sense. 20 The narrow sense includes Cyrus’ education in Persia. Xenophon describes the Persian educational system in the first book: it is a hierarchized system, which inflicts severe punishments on wrongdoers, divides young men of the elite into classes according to their age, and is greatly preoccupied with training in virtue, especially justice and gratitude (1.2.2–16). 21 Cyrus receives only part of this education (till the age of twelve); he then moves to Media, to the court of his grandfather, Astyages, and comes back to Persia later, at the age of fifteen, for one year (1.5.1). The ensuing books of the Cyropaedia, however, provide examples of education in a broader sense (i.e. outside Persian institutions). There are many people who teach (or attempt to teach) Cyrus: for instance, he learns from his Median grandfather to appreciate luxury and solemnity (1.3.1–12), and his mother fears that he will also learn tyrannical practices in Media (1.3.18); his father Cambyses teaches him leadership tactics and moderation (1.6, 8.5.23–26); Tigranes, the son of the Armenian king who eventually becomes Cyrus’ ally, lectures on the importance of pity and forgiveness (3.1.13–30); Croesus, Cyrus’ captive, also offers a teaching in moderation and self-awareness (Cyr. 7.2.17–25). These narratives raise several questions: to what extent does Cyrus grasp the lessons from the teaching of various people who try to educate him? Has Cyrus’ distance from the Persian system impacted negatively on his character and personality? If Cyrus had completed his education in Persia, would he have acquired a proper education or was the conflict between Persian traditional values and Cyrus’ extremely ambitious nature inevitable? Straussian scholars provide various answers to these questions. Some of them view Cyrus’ education with sympathy. In this, they do not greatly depart from the interpretations of literary scholars. 22 For example, Christopher Nadon praises its multicultural character: “today, such an education is often advocated as a means to make us tolerant by deepening our understanding of and appreciation for the history and customs of traditions other than our own. It also holds out the promise of a better understanding of our own culture by providing different perspectives from which to examine it, perspectives that will broaden our vision and reveal as mere prejudice assumptions that had at first seemed self-evident truths. Both of these aims appear to find their full achievement in the person of Cyrus.” 23 Robert Bartlett also tends to view Cyrus’ education positively. By comparing his Persian and Median education, he suggests that Cyrus attributes equal importance to 20 21 22 23

See Tuplin 1996. See Tuplin 1994, Azoulay 2007, for analogies with Sparta. See Azoulay 2004b for Cyrus’ double education in Persia and Media. Nadon 2001, 43.

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both: “we cannot understand Cyrus without seeing that he is deeply attracted to both – to virtue or nobility (consider 1.3.3), which may well demand the sacrifice of one’s own good, on the one hand, and to the attainment of one’s own truest good or advantage, on the other, which may well include one’s own pleasure (consider 1.3.3 [7–8]; compare 1.3.4)”. 24 Another group of Straussian scholars view the theme of education more critically, underlining both the limits of the Persian educational system and the deficiencies of Cyrus’ own education and perception of justice. These scholars mainly analyze omissions, both on a linguistic and on a thematic level, while they also dwell on the tension between Persian values and Cyrus’ imperialism. Christopher Whidden, for instance, detects the following problems in the Persian educational system: a) its resorting to force and violence rather than persuasion (the imposition of severe punishments, etc.); b) the absence of philosophy and moral education (he further wonders what would have happened if Cyrus had lived in Athens and had received a philosophical education); c) its failure to accommodate and satisfy extremely ambitious individuals such as Cyrus; d) its failure to defend its own values when these were challenged (see below, the observations about Cyrus’ first speech to his peers). 25 He goes on to characterize Cyrus’ education as heterodox: “While Cyrus learned a great deal from his traditional Persian education, he also had, as it were, a second Persian education, one that he taught himself without his teachers’ awareness and that proved more important than his traditional education, insofar as it proved to be the impetus for the empire. This second or heterodox facet of Cyrus’s education consisted in his coming to see for himself the limitations and weaknesses of the Persian regime, which he attempted to correct by subverting the old Persian republic and establishing the Persian Empire on its ruins.” 26 He also proposes a comparison between Cyrus and Socrates’ notorious students, Critias and Alcibiades, with regards to teaching in forensic analysis: “Like Critias and Alcibiades, Cyrus displays occasional signs of immoderation … after he has become quite skilled in forensics (1.3.16–17), which from Xenophon’s point of view is a sign that the Persians should probably have waited until Cyrus was a bit older before teaching him the finer points of dialectic … the Persians failed in the case of Cyrus … in part because they began teaching rhetoric and dialectic before they should have.” 27 Whidden further comments on the episode with the boys and their cloaks, a story which exemplifies Cyrus’ distinctive perception of justice: when a big boy who had a small cloak took a big cloak from a small boy and distributed the two cloaks according to size, Cyrus decided that each boy should keep what was fitting (ἁρμόττοντα … χιτῶνα: 1.3.17). He was not acquainted with the concept of rightful possession (κτῆσις δικαία: 1.3.17) and that is why his teacher flogged him. 28 Whidden observes (my emphasis, I note 24 Bartlett 2015, 145. 25 Whidden 2007a, 555–560. Rasmussen (2009, 13) also finds the following features of the Persian regime problematic: its implicit oligarchic structure, its inflexible notion of justice, and the tension between the idea of civic virtue and the ambitions of its most talented citizens. 26 Whidden 2007a, 546. 27 Whidden 2007b, 142. 28 For this episode (Cyr. 1.3.17), see Danzig 2009.

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his analysis of omissions): “The fact that Cyrus’s teachers did not successfully persuade him to rethink his verdict proved highly consequential for them, as their most talented student apparently drew the lesson that no rational argument against his verdict existed. Consider the fact that when Cyrus returned home to Persia after his trip to Media, he did so only to avoid arousing his father’s anger … (1.4.25). The possibility that he might have had something additional to learn from the Persian system of education never even crossed his mind.” 29 Laura Field is another political scientist who is critical of Cyrus’ education. She also exploits omissions in Xenophon’s narrative and questions the overall quality of the education Cyrus receives (my emphasis in the quotations below): “Because of his great nature, Cyrus arguably needs a good education more than most, and it is far from clear that he gets it in Persia or Media. The education in Old Persia is excessively negative, focused narrowly on obedience and the body, and even tinged with brutality … In Media, Cyrus’ development proceeds largely unchecked for several years, and here our questions about his education grow more acute. Cyrus receives no guidance or admonishment while there.” 30 She goes on to challenge even the success of the education Cyrus receives from his father Cambyses: “Though Cambyses does go some way towards discussing the ends of politics with his son … he falls short of having Cyrus question the coherence of his own actions and ends, and does not shy away from supportive lessons in political ambition … He is largely absent from Cyrus’ childhood and never tries to dampen Cyrus’ ambitions to dominion in any obvious way, nor does he turn him towards other kinds of pursuits and interest, including the pursuit of knowledge … It is perhaps surprising, then, that by the end of Book 1, Cyrus is leading the Persian army as general and that the remaining seven books tell the story of his conquests. Of course, Cyrus will continue to learn over the course of his campaigning career, but through the brevity and sparse content of the account of his formal upbringing, Xenophon raises questions early on about the adequacy of Cyrus’ ‘education’.” 31 Some aspects of these interpretations sound anachronistic. For example, the ideal of obedience and the implementation of strict punishments may appear harsh from our own perspective, but Xenophon does not present (or insinuate) a negative evaluation of them. Nor can we easily infer from the narrative of the Cyropaedia that these traits (or the absence of liberal education) are responsible for the negative features of Cyrus’ personality. On the other hand, the analysis of the tension between the values of moderation and imperialism seems worth pursuing: the Cyropaedia can indeed be read as a complex and multi-faceted reflection on empire. What is absent, however, from Straussian analyses of this theme is a better contextualization of the phenomenon of imperialism (since Xenophon was admittedly not the first Greek thinker to discuss it; and it is a pity that Herodotus and Thucydides scarcely appear in Straussian approaches). The emphasis on omissions (what Cyrus does not do or say, or what he could have done or said, what Xenophon does not say or could have said, etc.) also yields interesting insights, since it alerts readers to alternative scenarios and eventually highlights ways in which the Cyropaedia could have been more 29 Whidden 2007a, 547. 30 Field 2012, 727. 31 Field 2012, 727–728.

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moralizing (and hence more simplistic). In this way, Straussian interpretations can often throw Xenophon’s sophistication into relief. Cyrus’ Questioning of Persian Values A favorite theme for Straussian scholars is Cyrus’ first speech in front of his peers. In the course of this speech Cyrus appears to question traditional Persian values: “I consider our ancestors to be no worse than we. At least they too spent all their time practicing the very things that are held to be works of virtue. What good they acquired by being such, however, either for the community of the Persians or for themselves, I cannot see. And yet I do not think that human beings practice any virtue in order that those who become good have no more than the worthless. Rather, those who abstain from the pleasures at hand do so not in order that they may never have enjoyment, but through their present continence they prepare themselves to have much more enjoyment in the future.” (1.5.7–9, translation from Ambler 2001) It is indeed astonishing that Cyrus preaches the practice of virtue not for its own sake, as is the traditional Greek philosophical (and Socratic) position, but for the sake of (future) gains/pleasures. This notion forms the theoretical background of his exhortation to the peers to fight the enemy with courage. Christopher Nadon perceives this speech as containing the seeds for the transformation of republic into empire 32 and concludes that it “provides the strongest possible evidence in support of Machiavelli’s judgment that Cyrus ranks among the great founder-prophets who establish not only new states but new moral orders and ways of life.” 33 Laura Field also talks about Cyrus “undermining of Persian tradition”.  34 These scholars also emphasize Cyrus’ valorizing of traditional virtue. Nadon notes: “If Cyrus openly attacks the understanding of continence as something to be practiced for its own sake, he does not dismiss or abandon the virtue altogether.” 35 Similarly, Robert Bartlett characterizes Cyrus’ first speech as “subversive and revolutionary” and observes that “Cyrus seeks to combine a clear-eyed calculation of his advantage with the dedication to noble virtuous means.” 36 In a similar vein, Lorraine S. Pangle notes that “Cyrus’ justice as a reward for merit seems to consist in prudent self-interest, educational benevolence, and noble devotion to principle all at once … Cyrus never clearly disentangles these strands in his thinking.” 37 Paul Rasmussen notes that Cyrus “does not 32 33 34 35 36 37

Nadon 2001, 54–60. Nadon 2001, 59. Field 2012, 728. Nadon 2001, 58. Bartlett 2015, 145–146. Pangle 2017, 313.

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completely undermine their [i.e. the Persians’] belief in the inherent nobility of virtue,” but also remarks that “the peers’ quick and unanimous acceptance of Cyrus’ command confirms the allure of such rewards and the tenuousness of their commitment to the more aristocratic notion of virtue as a good in itself.” 38 Finally, Walter Newell observes that “although Cyrus in one sense corrupts the Persian education by arguing that virtue is not its own reward, in another sense he fulfills the aims of that education to produce citizens of ‘surpassing nobility’ more successfully than the republic had even been able to.” 39 Straussian scholars rightly stress the provocative dimension of Cyrus’ views. Perhaps it may not be absolutely accurate to claim that Cyrus “corrupts” the aristocracy, 40 but there is no doubt that his views are highly unconventional. This becomes more evident if we compare Cyrus’ speech with the beginning of Pericles’ Funeral Oration, as it is reported by Thucydides (it is very probable that Xenophon modeled Cyrus’ speech on Pericles’ 41): “I will speak first of our ancestors, for it is right and seemly that now, when we are lamenting the dead, a tribute should be paid to their memory. There has never been a time when they did not inhabit this land, which by their valour they have handed down from generation to generation, and we have received from them a free state. But if they were worthy of praise, still more were our fathers, who added to their inheritance, and after many a struggle transmitted to us their sons this great empire. And we ourselves assembled here to-day, who are still most of us in the vigour of life, have carried the work of improvement further, and have richly endowed our city with all things, so that she is sufficient for herself both in peace and war.” (Thuc. 2.36.1–3, translation Jowett 1881) Like Cyrus, Pericles establishes a comparison between his contemporary Athenians and their ancestors; like Cyrus, he acknowledges that his contemporaries may be more successful (on a military and political level) than their forefathers. However, Pericles does not ever openly question the values of his ancestors, whereas Cyrus wonders bluntly (!) whether anything good has been achieved by his Persian ancestors. This episode could be considered emblematic of the different stance literary scholars and political scientists adopt for the interpretation of the Cyropaedia. The philologist Christian Mueller-Goldingen, for example, twice characterizes Cyrus’ words as “surprising” (“überraschend, erstaunlich”); however, he then takes pains to argue that Cyrus’ words do not express a polemical attitude towards Persian tradition and that his emphasis on material gain should not be associated with greed. 42 This approach is rather rigid: it relies on the premise that the Cyropaedia is an undeniable encomium of Cyrus and hence attempts to justify and soften peculiar traits, such as Cyrus’ statement that the 38 39 40 41 42

Rasmussen 2009, 54–55. Newell 2013a, 202. Glenn 1992. For other parallels between the Cyropaedia and Thucydides’ History, see Tamiolaki 2017, 187–189. Mueller-Goldingen 1995, 103.

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Persian forefathers did not achieve anything important. Political interpretations, on the contrary, do greater justice to the complexity of Xenophon’s text, since they encourage us to reflect on the opposition between virtue and gain, between ethical and material values: can they be reconciled? Which is more predominant? How does Xenophon problematize this issue in the Cyropaedia? Straussian scholars are also right to comment on the lack of opposition to Cyrus’ views. Of course, this is a pattern in the Cyropaedia: Cyrus’ speeches are almost never met with contestation. However, there are also many debates in this work, so Xenophon could perfectly well have inserted a debate at this point, too. What does this absence signify? Does it point to another deficiency of the Persian educational system, its lack of resilience? Or could it be a negative comment on the Persians’ character? Straussian interpretations contribute to raising our awareness with regards to all these issues. Cyrus’ military reform Another hallmark of Straussian interpretations is Cyrus’ military reform. In order to face the Assyrian threat, Cyrus proposes the enlargement of the Persian military force, by providing the commoners (Persians of the lower class) with the same armament as his peers (the so-called homotimoi). This suggestion becomes an object of debate in the Cyropaedia: much of the second book of this work is devoted to speeches (uttered by Cyrus, the homotimos Chrysantas, and the commoner Pheraulas) discussing this issue. Cyrus tries to persuade both classes of the advantages of his proposal; more precisely, he suggests that both classes should enter into a bravery competition and appoints himself judge (2.1.14–17, 2.2.20–21). Chrysantas expresses some reservations about the potential equation of the two classes, but eventually accepts Cyrus’ proposal (2.2.17–20, 2.3.5–6). Pheraulas, the representative of the commoners, exposes the deficiencies of the commoners’ education and also agrees with Cyrus’ reform (2.3.7–15). Cyrus’ proposition has been interpreted by Straussian scholars as devaluing and further corrupting the peers. Christopher Nadon and Paul Rasmussen emphasize Cyrus’ persuasive agenda. The first scholar remarks that Cyrus uses different arguments when addressing the peers and the commoners: he praises aristocratic education when addressing the former, while he minimizes it when addressing the latter. 43 In a similar vein, Rasmussen highlights the problems raised by Cyrus’ proposition, and comments on Cyrus’ manipulation of the fears and hopes of the peers and the commoners: “the Peers’ ‘aristocratic’ virtue has been subverted and effectively replaced by excellent service to Cyrus. Whatever distinction they may obtain … has meaning only in so far as it is obtained in obedience to Cyrus’ command and devotion to his cause … Despite the flattering remarks … the core of Cyrus’ argument is an appeal to the Peers’ more ignoble fear for their own safety … with respect to the commoners, Cyrus wins their support by 43 Nadon 2001, 61–76.

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exploiting their dissatisfaction with their inferior position in the regime … given the inherently competitive nature of Cyrus’ meritocratic system of promotion and the commoners’ lingering resentment of the Peers … a complete reconciliation between the two factions remains elusive.” 44 Christopher Whidden also speaks about the devaluation of the peers’ education, but links Cyrus’ proposition to his imperial project: “By abolishing the traditional class distinctions and encouraging the peers to desegregate and intermingle with the commoners, Cyrus hopes to create a situation whereby the peers will abandon their moderation in favor of the pursuit of gain … as one who seeks to acquire and found an empire, it is in Cyrus’s interests to tacitly devalue the education of the peers without stressing the point, since from the perspective of the Persian education in moderation and justice Cyrus’s imperial project looks most immoderate and unjust.” 45 We can observe different nuances in the interpretation of this episode: Rasmussen speaks about an “elusive reconciliation” between the peers and the commoners, while Whidden views Cyrus’ proposition as an “abolition of traditional class distinctions”. The first approach is more compelling, since it pays attention to Cyrus’ persuasive strategies. It also opens new perspectives, towards a detailed interpretation of Cyrus’ speeches, their setting and argumentation, a topic which has recently been analyzed by literary scholars too. 46 On the contrary, Whidden’s approach seems more questionable. In fact, the vocabulary he employs is a bit too strong: Cyrus does not exactly encourage the peers to “desegregate”. Nor is it clear that the intermingling of the peers with the commoners entails that the peers will become immoderate (the text provides no evidence that the commoners are immoderate). Furthermore, the abolition of class distinctions does not actually take place, since in the end the man who proves to be the bravest and receives Cyrus’ reward is a homotimos, Chrysantas (Cyr. 4.1.1–6). Finally, it is not obvious that Cyrus’ proposition is associated with his imperial project; the text does not allow us to assume that Cyrus has a hidden agenda and makes his proposition in view of his (future) project of creating an empire. It seems more like a measure for tackling an urgency of the moment, which Cyrus later exploited further in order to create and consolidate his empire. Cyrus’ Psychology Cyrus’ psychology is another theme which occupies a central place in Straussian interpretations. A personality trait analyzed by Straussian scholars is Cyrus’ extraordinary ambition. More specifically, the ambiguities surrounding Cyrus’ ambition have become the focus of study. For instance, Robert Faulkner sees Cyrus’ ambition (φιλοτιμία) as closely interdependent with his pursuit of self-interest. 47 Laura Field discerns a shadow in Xenophon’s observation that “Cyrus was willing to undertake any risk for the sake 44 45 46 47

Rasmussen 2009, 65, 57, 58, 59. Whidden 2007b, 133, 144. See Nicolai 2014. Faulkner 2007, 127–176.

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of praise and honor.” (1.2.1) She remarks: “Even from the preliminary perspective it is questionable whether this kind of risk taking is praiseworthy in itself.” 48 More recently, Lorraine S. Pangle has compared Cyrus’ ambition to godlike benefaction and further explored the ambivalent connotations of this feature: “… what most fundamentally fuels his ambition is not a passion for justice but a more elemental affection, a desire to please and benefit his own, a desire indeed to please and benefit as many as possible, thereby making them his own …” 49 Straussian scholars have also proceeded to establish interesting comparisons and contrasts between Cyrus and Thrasymachus, Cyrus and Alcibiades, but also between Cyrus and Socrates. 50 A second trait of Cyrus’ personality analyzed by Straussian scholars is the pursuit of self-interest. Christopher Whidden has shown how Cyrus deceives the people of his entourage (his relatives, allies, enemies, and subjects), an interpretation very much akin to James Tatum’s characterization of Cyrus as manipulative. 51 The famous novella of Panthea has been also interpreted to reveal Cyrus’ self-serving character. The story unfolds in books 5, 6, and 7 of the Cyropaedia: Cyrus assigns Araspas to protect his captive, the beautiful Panthea, by warning him about the dangers of eros. Araspas overlooks Cyrus’ advice, falls in love with Panthea and makes advances to her. When she informs Cyrus of this, he sends Araspas away as a spy. In order to express her gratitude to Cyrus, Panthea convinces her husband, Abradatas, to fight in the army of the Persian monarch. Abradatas gladly agrees, but dies in battle; Panthea then feels guilty of her husband’s death and commits suicide. Contrary to literary scholars, who emphasize aspects such as the importance of conjugal love or the connection of the Panthea story with the novel, 52 Straussian readings bring to light the political implications of this story. For instance, Cyrus notes early on that Panthea will be of service to him (5.1.17), a phrase which reveals his primary emphasis on his self-interest. Whidden goes so far as to suggest that Cyrus “quite deliberately 48 Field 2012, 725. 49 Pangle 2017, 312. 50 Whidden (2008b, 232) considers Cyrus “a midpoint” between Thrasymachus (acting on the basis of self-interest) and Socrates (acting selflessly), while Newell (2013a, 225–226) compares Cyrus with Alcibiades and perceives him as “an improved Alcibiades”: “It is hard not to see in Xenophon’s re-creation of the young Cyrus a version of what Alcibiades might have become if a philosophically grounded education had taken hold in his character from early on.” Cf. also Faulkner 2007, 161 (on Cyrus’ and Platonic Alcibiades’ dependence of the opinion of others). For the comparison between Cyrus and Socrates, see Whidden (2007a, 549) commenting on Cyrus’ ignorance of the soul in contrast with Socrates. Dorion (this volume) offers the most thorough comparison between the portraits of Cyrus and Socrates in Xenophon; he concludes that “of all his heroes, Xenophon considers none to be Socrates’ equal.” 51 Whidden 2007b. Cf. Tatum 1989. 52 See, for example, Romilly 1988, Zimmermann 1989 and 2009. Whitmarsh (2018, 59–60) notes that the characterization of the Cyropaedia as a romance goes back to antiquity. However, his excellent analysis of the Cyropaedia, and of the Panthea story, more specifically (59–83), rather highlights the dissimilarities with the ancient novel. See also Madreiter (this volume) who characterizes the Cyropaedia as “metafictional historiography” (in Tamiolaki 2017: 189, I see it as “historiography of a Socratic type”).

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allowed Araspas to fall under Panthea’s spell” and that he even orchestrated Abradatas’ death, 53 while Walter Newell expresses the hypothesis that Araspas’ disappearance from the narrative may even point to his murder. 54 The story has also been viewed as inviting a comparison between Cyrus’ ignoble character and the nobility exemplified by Abradatas and Panthea. Field makes a comparison between Cyrus and Panthea, on the issue of self-retrospection. Commenting on Panthea’s speech a little before her suicide, in the course of which she blames herself for her husband’s death, she observes: “Cyrus, unlike Panthea, never makes any discovery about the implications of his actions.” 55 Finally, the discussion between Cyrus and Araspas on eros as willing slavery has been interpreted as provoking reflection on the political implications of eros and on the similarities and divergences between individual eros and eros for the ideal leader. 56 A third important feature of Cyrus’ personality which has become an object of study by Straussian scholars is his despotic profile. This profile has many ambivalent facets. First, Cyrus tends to conceive of people surrounding him as animals. Commenting on the analogies between soldiers and animals, enemies and hares, Whidden remarks: “Cyrus conceives of his subjects as animals … his soldiers as dogs and enemies as hares, while the empire under his rule alternately resembles a herd of cattle and a beehive” and further concludes that “the decline of the Persian empire is … the logical outcome of Cyrus’ policy of dehumanizing both his enemies and his subjects.” 57 He also signals the ambivalent connotations of Chrysantas’ comparison with the Centaur: “Implicit in Chrysantas’ view that he will be able to alternate between the human and beastly natures is the premise that man’s primal and animalistic passions are like a switch that one can rather easily turn on or off … the metaphor of the Persians as centaurs nicely foreshadows the decadence and rapid decline of the Persian empire. For the Greeks, the Centaurs were considered oversexed and prone to drunkenness.” 58 In a similar vein, Rasmussen comments on the comparison of Cyrus’ troops with beasts of burden: “Xenophon’s account also raises questions about the specific character of the virtues Cyrus ultimately seeks to cultivate in his subordinates. Cyrus’ comparison of his troops to beasts of burden makes us question whether the qualities he wants them to possess are consistent with the highest standards of the Persian republic, much less with human excellence simply.” 59 Second, Cyrus tends to treat people around him as slaves. Whidden exploits the Aristotelian distinction between household management and political rule, according to which political deliberation is absent in the household. He ingeniously argues that Cyrus’ rule resembles an imperial household, in which Cyrus acts as a despot (by treating 53 54 55 56

Whidden 2007b, 152. Newell 2013a, 206. Field 2012, 733. Rubin 1989. Interpretations akin to Rubin’s are offered by Tatum 1989, 163–188 and Tamiolaki 2010, 305–309. 57 Whidden 2008b, 226, 228. 58 Whidden 2007b, 149. 59 Rasmussen 2009, 60.

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people as slaves), as a master (by rendering people around him effeminate) and as a father (by perpetuating the infantilization of his subjects and thus his control over them): “On an Aristotelian analysis, the key point of Cyrus’ knowledge is his keen recognition that one way to avoid revolution and the problem of political rule is to do away with political rule altogether by turning the world into his imperial household, which, insofar as his authority therein is unquestioned … closely resembles Aristotle’s primitive household.” 60 Rasmussen also underlines Cyrus’ tendency to blur the boundaries between free men and slaves. Commenting on Cyrus’ decision to allow equal share between servants and ambassadors in the army, he notes: “That Cyrus intends to honor and educate servants like ambassadors and peers makes us wonder whether he does not conversely look upon ambassadors and peers as he does on servants: as men whose primary virtue is unhesitating obedience rather than the more noble qualities of proud gentlemen.” 61 Similarly, when Xenophon notes that slaves called Cyrus a father (8.1.44), like noble men, the same scholar observes: “Cyrus no longer makes a meaningful distinction between the noble … and slavish individuals motivated primarily by their carnal appetites.” 62 Straussian analyses of Cyrus’ personality may at times seem exaggerated or over-subtle (especially when they argue, without specific evidence, that Cyrus has planned everything in advance); at the same time, however, they make us alert to the political connotations of Xenophon’s text and open interesting perspectives for a systematic analysis of Cyrus’ motivation and emotions. The Meaning of the Cyropaedia If Cyrus’ education is deficient, his political reforms questionable, and his character far from ideal, then what is the meaning of the Cyropaedia? Why did Xenophon write this work? First, it is worth noting that Straussian scholars overall emphasize the dialectical character of the Cyropaedia, treating it more or less as a philosophical (Socratic) dialogue, and thus expanding on Strauss’ view, according to which philosophy is zetetic. 63 Whidden notes (my emphasis, here and below, in quotations): “Xenophon’s Cyropaedia is less a practical treatise than a theoretical exploration …” 64 He also observes: “The act of reading the Cyropaedia is thus a profoundly dialectical encounter, one entirely befitting Xenophon … a pupil of Socrates …” 65 Another Straussian idea which pervades these studies is that the message of the Cyropaedia is intended for the elite few. Again, Whidden observes that the 60 61 62 63

Whidden 2008a, 39. Rasmussen 2009, 61. Rasmussen 2009, 75. Tanguay (2007, 88): “Philosophy [i.e. according to Leo Strauss] is not to be confused with the science of all beings, since it is not itself this science or even completed wisdom, but rather the attempt to attain that science.” 64 Whidden 2007b, 154. 65 Whidden 2008a, 33.

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Cyropaedia “is designed less to change the world than to help a few discerning individuals grasp intellectually the necessities, possibilities, limits, and alternatives to political rule, which for Xenophon include the need for deception, the dazzling prospect of empire, the fleeting nature of imperial rule, and the resigned serenity of intellectual life, respectively.” 66 He also notes: “Like Socrates, Xenophon reveals himself but also keeps part of himself hidden; certainly he does not blurt out his secrets to … all …” 67 Paul Rasmussen appears equally restrictive as to the proper recipients of the message of the Cyropaedia: “For those readers of the Cyropaedia who have become disenchanted with Cyrus’ accomplishments … Xenophon’s allusions to Socrates help reveal the difficulties of political life and thus lead his most inquisitive readers a first few steps down the path toward a more philosophic understanding of the human good and truly self-sufficient virtue … the philo­sophic education to which the Cyropaedia implicitly points is accessible to only a few of the brightest and most talented individuals.” 68 What is this message that remains secret to the many and obvious only to philosophically-minded students? Straussian scholars, in their majority, conceive of the Cyropaedia as a critique of imperialism or political life in general. From this perspective, the epilogue of the work represents, in their opinion, a kind of epitome or escalation of Xenophon’s critical stance. Christopher Whidden interprets the Cyropaedia as a critique of Cyrus and his empire 69 and further notes that this work “teaches the limits of politics”. 70 In a similar vein, Christopher Nadon and Paul Rasmussen view this work as a critique of political life as such. 71 Qualifications to this altogether negative view have been offered by Walter Newell and Laura Field. The former acknowledges the problems raised by Cyrus’ imperialism but tends to see a double message in the Cyropaedia: “the imperial monarchy pays a price in the long run for its freedom from republican or philosophical moderation. Xenophon wishes to elaborate the optimal potentiality of princely virtue for stable and prosperous rule, but also its drawbacks.” 72 He also views Cyrus’ rule as the realization of Simonides’ project (expressed in the Hiero) of transforming tyranny into benevolent leadership. 73 The latter argues that Cyrus’ failures are not inevitable and that the work in essence provides guidance about political improvement. She concludes that the Cyropaedia encourages us “to be especially on guard against single-minded political solutions.” 74 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74

Whidden 2007b, 154. Whidden 2008a, 33. Rasmussen 2009, 94–95. Whidden 2008a, 58. Cf. Whidden 2007a, 540: “Cyropaedia as a thoughtful critique of empire and imperial ambition.” Whidden 2007a, 565. Nadon 2001, 178. Rasmussen 2009, 53: “Xenophon intends the Cyropaedia to be a critique of political life as such.” Cf. Rasmussen 2009, 81: “The Cyropaedia as an exploration of the sufficiency of political life itself.” Newell 2013a, 209. Newell 2013a, 186. Field 2012, 736.

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Straussian scholars go one step further, by suggesting that the Cyropaedia invites a comparison between Cyrus and Socrates, between political and philosophical life; that is why they often establish comparisons between Cyrus’ and Socrates’ views and characters. In this way, they elaborate on an idea favorite to Leo Strauss, the conflict between philosophy and politics. 75 Consequently, in their view, the drawbacks presented in the Cyropaedia concerning leadership, imperialism, and political life prepare the reader for the perfection of philosophical life. Whidden notes: “Since Socrates is not one of the characters in the Cyropaedia … within the Cyropaedia the most profound alternative and rival to Cyrus’ imperial ambitions that culminated in the Persian empire is Xenophon’s own desire for wisdom, the product of which is the Cyropaedia itself.” 76 He also observes: “If readers come to the same conclusion as Xenophon, then they will be open to alternative human activities, such as the philosophic life, that are potentially more satisfying … In this sense, the Cyropaedia is by its nature a prolegomenon to Xenophon’s Socratic writings.” 77 But again this idea is not fully endorsed by all Straussian scholars: others view republicanism and the rule of law as the alternative to imperial rule. Newell notes: “The Cyropaedia represents not only Xenophon’s critique of absolute rule, but also his qualified case for the rule of law.” 78 Similarly, Rasmussen observes: “Traditional republicanism may very well be the best practical, if tenuous, solution to the inherent difficulties of political life.” 79 Attractive though some Straussian analyses may appear, several problems emerge with regards to the overall interpretation of the Cyropaedia. On the one hand, it is true that this work does not offer clear-cut solutions to political problems and has a strong dialectical dimension. It is also true that it can be read as a reflection on empire and/or as an endorsement of republican law. On the other hand, however, the dialectical dimension of the Cyropaedia is not linked (or is not linked only and necessarily) with Socrates (since Xenophon was also subject to other influences: Greek poetry, historiography, etc.). More importantly, it is not intended to be grasped by an elite few. This interpretation is reductive and also intolerant (not to say insulting) to opposite views, since it assumes that whoever does not agree with Straussian analyses does not belong to the “few, inquisitive readers” who are capable of grasping Xenophon’s hidden messages, but to the masses who are prone to digesting conventional wisdom. The reason why Straussian scholars emphasize Xenophon’s “hidden agenda” is that they are trying to explain why Xenophon does not explicitly blame Cyrus. However, it is not necessary to believe either that Xenophon wished to blame Cyrus or that he intended the Cyropaedia to be grasped only by an elite few. Some Straussian interpretations, indeed, suffer from the pressing need to find a “message” (a problem present in some literary approaches as well, as we saw above). In this way, although they suggest sophisticated analyses of ancient texts, they eventually end 75 For this idea, see Strauss 1957, and the recent analysis by Zuckert and Zuckert 2014. 76 Whidden 2007b, 154. 77 Whidden 2007a, 567. Cf. Bartlett 2015, 153: “Xenophon prepares us to encounter the philosophical works.” 78 Whidden 2007a, 553. 79 Rasmussen 2009, 78.

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up proposing simplistic “messages”. Such a “simplistic” message is the idea of criticism of political life. The idea of criticism of imperialism is more compelling, but it often becomes over-stated, especially when it is linked to criticism of political life in general: Xenophon was a man of action and we have no evidence that he rejected political life altogether. This leads us to the final, most important point, the so-called “tension between philo­ sophy and politics”. Straussian scholars assume that when Xenophon went to Scillus and had the leisure to write his works, he discovered, in a way, the importance of philosophical, contemplative life, and hence rejected political life. This assumption, however, is at least misleading, since Xenophon continued to write political works in Scillus (and even later) and, more importantly, in Scillus he did not lead a life of an isolated philosopher: as Tim Rood rightly notes, Scillus was a highly political place and Xenophon would certainly have had contacts and conversations with people involved in political life. 80 Overall, the idea of the tension between philosophy and politics is anachronistic, since it relies on an opposition between the contemplative life and the life of action, which is not sufficiently substantiated in ancient texts: even Socrates, both in Plato and in Xenophon, expresses political ideas, so he cannot be said to represent “pure philosophical life” either. Consequently, the suggestion that the Cyropaedia prepares readers for an exclusively philosophical life seems rather untenable. Concluding remarks: Straussian lesson(s) for the Cyropaedia? Our investigation has focused on Straussian readings of the Cyropaedia. The question which arises is what we can learn from these readings, both for the study of the Cyropaedia and for the study of Xenophon more generally. The first lesson, I think, is that Straussians are not a strictly unified category: of course, all of them are political scientists who cite and engage with Leo Strauss. Moreover, all of them are philosophically rather than historically oriented: they perceive the Cyropaedia as a philosophical treatise, establishing comparisons with Plato and Xenophon’s Socratic works. 81 However, not all of them follow Leo Strauss à la lettre (for example, not all of them speak with the same emphasis about hidden messages or fear of persecution or the tension between philosophy and politics). Nor do they adopt identical interpretations of Xenophon’s works; there are considerable nuances and divergences in their analyses. Consequently, it may be misleading to talk about “Straussian interpretations” en masse. It would be more accurate to concede that some Straussian interpretations are more valid than others; it may also be the case 80 Rood 2015, 161: “It can plausibly be argued that Xenophon had a highly political role at Scillus. His own account of his life there suggests the prestige that his founding of a festival for Artemis brought him: it says nothing about philosophy. The very idea of Scillus as an idyllic retreat also ignores its proximity to Olympia, a site for intellectual as well as athletic display, where he could obtain copious information on Greek politics.” 81 That said, again there are nuances in this aspect, too: Newell 2013a proposes an interesting comparison between the Cyropaedia and the context of the Peloponnesian war on the topic of empire.

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that the Straussian interpretations of certain works of Xenophon are more compelling than the interpretations of other works. Secondly, although some Straussian interpretations may be a bit exaggerated, and although, as we have shown, some Straussian premises are highly questionable, it has also to be admitted that the Straussians’ great attention to detail, their analysis of omissions, their exploration of the potential of analogies, and the connections they propose not only among Xenophon’s works, but also between Xenophon and modern political thought (e.g. Machiavelli’s political thought is another favorite topic) bear interesting fruits, many of which, and this is very important, are perfectly compatible with the analyses of literary scholars. From this perspective, and this is the last and most useful lesson in my opinion, it is indeed regrettable that there is not (yet) a genuine dialogue between political scientists and literary scholars: political scientists, for the most part, content themselves with a rather self-referential dialogue, rarely engaging with literary scholars, 82 while literary scholars tend to discard Straussian interpretations altogether as unconvincing. In conclusion, I would like to suggest that an important challenge for Xenophontic studies is the promotion of a fruitful dialogue between political scientists and literary scholars, on the basis of mutual respect and understanding of different methodologies, and with an eye to a more convincing (and hence more attractive) interpretation of Xenophon. He is an author sophisticated enough to deserve it.

82 To give just an indicative example, Bonnette 2015 writes a study on Xenophon’s Memorabilia and does not cite Dorion’s extensive commentary, which is by far the standard reference for this work.

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Bibliography Ambler, W. 2001. Xenophon. The Education of Cyrus, Ithaca & London. Azoulay, V. 2004a. Xénophon et les grâces du pouvoir. De la charis au charisme (Histoire ancienne et médiévale 77), Paris. —. 2004b. ‘The Medo-Persian Ceremonial: Xenophon, Cyrus and the King’s Body’, in: C. J. Tuplin (ed.) Xenophon and his World. Papers from a Conference Held in Liverpool in July 1999 (Historia – Einzelschriften 172), Stuttgart, 147–173. —. 2007. ‘Sparte et la Cyropédie : du bon usage de l’analogie’, Ktèma 32, 435–456. Bartlett, R. C. 2015. ‘How to Rule the World: An Introduction to Xenophon’s The Education of Cyrus’, American Political Science Review 109/1, 143–154. Bonnette, A. L. 2015. ‘Strauss on the Memorabilia’, in: T. W. Burns (ed.) Brill’s Companion to Leo Strauss’ Writings on Classical Political Thought, Leiden & Boston, 285–301. Bruell, Chr. 1987. ‘Xenophon’, in: L. Strauss & J. Cropsey (eds.), History of Political Philosophy, 3 Chicago, 90–117. Buzzetti, E. 2014. Xenophon the Socratic Prince. The Argument of the Anabasis of Cyrus (Recovering Political Philosophy), New York. —. 2015. ‘A Guide to the Study of Leo Strauss’ On Tyranny’, in: T. W. Burns (ed.) Brill’s Companion to Leo Strauss’ Writings on Classical Political Thought, Leiden and Boston, 227–257. Carlier, P. 2010. ‘The Idea of Imperial Monarchy in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, in: V. Gray (ed.), Xenophon (Oxford Readings in Classical Studies), Oxford, 327–366 [= ‘L’idée de monarchie imperiale dans la Cyropédie de Xénophon’, Ktèma 3, 1978, 133–163]. Danzig, G. 2009. ‘Big Boys and Little Boys: Justice and Law in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia and Memorabilia’, Polis 26, 271–295. —. 2012. ‘The Best of the Achaemenids: Benevolence, Self-Interest and the “Ironic” Reading of Cyropaedia’, in: F. Hobden & C. Tuplin (eds.), Xenophon: Ethical Principles and Historical Inquiry (Mnemosyne – Supplements 348), Leiden & Boston, 499–539. Dorion, L.-A. 2010. ‘The Straussian Exegesis of Xenophon: the Paradigmatic Case of Memorabilia IV, 4’, in: V. Gray (ed.) Xenophon (Oxford Readings in Classical Studies), Oxford, 283–323. Due, B. 1989. The Cyropaedia: Xenophon’s Aims and Methods, Aarhus. Faulkner, R. 2007. The Case for Greatness. Honorable Ambition and its Critics, New Haven. Field, L. 2012. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia. Educating our Political Hopes’, The Journal of Politics 74/3, 723–738. Gera, D. L. 1993. Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Style, Genre, and Literary Techniques, Oxford. Glenn, G. D. 1992. ‘Cyrus’ Corruption of Aristocracy’, in: J. A. Murley, R. L. Stone & W. T. Braithwaite (eds.), Law and Philosophy 1, Athens, OH 146–163. Gray, V. J. 2011. Xenophon’s Mirror of Princes: Reading the Reflections, Oxford & New York. Higgins, W. E. 1977. Xenophon the Athenian. The Problem of the Individual and the Society of the Polis, Albany. Hirsch, S. 1985. The Friendship of the Barbarians: Xenophon and the Persian Empire, Hanover, NH & London.

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Johnson, D. 2012. ‘Strauss on Xenophon’, in: F. E. Hobden & C. J. Tuplin (eds.), Xenophon: Ethical Principles and Historical Enquiry (Mnemosyne – Supplements 348), Leiden & Boston, 123–159. Jowett, B. B. 1881. Thucydides translated into English with introduction, marginal analysis, notes and indices, Oxford. Lampert, L. 2009. ‘Strauss’s Recovery of Esotericism’ in: S. B. Smith (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to Leo Strauss, Cambridge, 63–92. Melzer, A. 2015. Philosophy Between the Lines. The Lost History of Esoteric Writing, Chicago. Miller, W. 1932. Xenophon. Cyropaedia, Volume II, Cambridge, MA & London. Mueller-Goldingen, C. 1995. Untersuchungen zu Xenophons Kyrupädie (Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 42), Stuttgart & Leipzig. Nadon, Chr. 2001. Xenophon’s Prince. Republic and Empire in the Cyropaedia, Berkeley, LA & London. Newell, W. R. 2013a. ‘Tyranny and the Science of Ruling in Xenophon’s Political Thought’, in: W. R. Newell (ed.), Tyranny: A New Interpretation, Cambridge, 186–227. —. 2013b. ‘Machiavelli, Xenophon, and Xenophon’s Cyrus’, in: W. R. Newell (ed.), Tyranny: A New Interpretation, Cambridge, 228–270. Nicolai, R. 2014. ‘Cyrus orateur et ses maîtres (grecs)’, in: P. Pontier (ed.) Xénophon et la rhétorique, Paris, 179–194. Pangle, L. S. 2017. ‘Xenophon on the Psychology of Supreme Political Ambition’, American Political Science Review 111/2, 308–321. Patterson, A. 1993. Reading Between the Lines, London. Rasmussen, P. J. 2009. Excellence Unleashed: Machiavelli’s Critique of Xenophon and the Moral Foundations of Politics, Lanham, MD. Romilly, J. de 1988. ‘Le conquérant et la belle captive’, Bulletin de l’Association Guillaume Budé 1, 1–15. Rood, T. 2015. ‘Political Thought in Xenophon: Straussian Readings of the Anabasis’, Polis 32/1, 143–165. Rubin, L. G. 1989. ‘Love and Politics in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, Interpretation 16/3, 391–413. Ruderman, T. 2015. ‘On Leo Strauss’s Presentation of Xenophon’s Political Philosophy in “The Problem of Socrates”’, in: T. W. Burns (ed.) Brill’s Companion to Leo Strauss’ Writings on Classical Political Thought, Leiden & Boston, 193–212. Sandridge, N. B. 2012. Loving Humanity, Learning and Being Honored: The Foundations of Leadership in Xenophon’s Education of Cyrus (Hellenic Studies Series 55), Washington, DC. Stauffer, D. 2015. ‘The Difference between Socrates and Xenophon in Leo Strauss’ Account of Xenophon’s Anabasis’ in: T. W. Burns (ed.) Brill’s Companion to Leo Strauss’ Writings on Classical Political Thought, Leiden & Boston, 305–313. Strauss, L. 1939. ‘The Spirit of Sparta and the Taste of Xenophon’, Social Research 6/4, 502–536. —. 1952. Persecution and the Art of Writing, New York. —. 1957. ‘What is Political Philosophy?’ The Journal of Politics 19/3, 343–368. —. 1970. Xenophon’s Socratic Discourse: An Interpretation of the Oeconomicus, Ithaca & London. —. 1972. Xenophon’s Socrates, Ithaca & London.

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—. 2013. On Tyranny: V. Gourevitch & M. S. Roth (eds.), Corrected and Expanded Edition Including the Strauss-Kojève Correspondence, Chicago [originally published 1961]. Tamiolaki, M. 2010. Liberté et esclavage chez les historiens grecs classiques, Paris. —. 2015a. ‘Royauté et tyrannie dans la pensée de Xénophon. Remarques à partir d’une étude de Pierre Carlier’, Ktèma 40, 189–200. —. 2015b. ‘Review of E. Buzzetti, Xenophon the Socratic Prince. The Argument of the Anabasis of Cyrus, New York 2014’, CJ-Online 2015.10.07 https://cj.camws.org/sites/default/files/ reviews/2015.10.07%20Tamiolaki%20on%20Buzzetti.pdf. —. 2017. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia. Tentative Answers to an Enigma’ in: M. Flower (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Xenophon, Cambridge, 174–194. Tanguay, D. 2007. Leo Strauss. An Intellectual Biography, New Haven. Tatum, J. 1989. Xenophon’s Imperial Fiction: On the Education of Cyrus, Princeton. Too, Y. L. 1998. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Disfiguring the Pedagogical State’, in: Y. L. Too & N. Livingstone (eds.), Pedagogy and Power: Rhetorics of Classical Learning (Ideas in Context 50), Cambridge, 282–302. Tuplin, C. J. 1993. The Failings of Empire: A Reading of Xenophons Hellenica 2.3.11–7.5.27 (Historia – Einzelschriften 76), Stuttgart. —. 1994. ‘Xenophon, Sparta and the Cyropaedia’ in: A. Powell & S. Hodkinson (eds.) The Shadow of Sparta, London & New York, 127–181. —. 1996. ‘Xenophon’s Cyropaedia: Education and Fiction’, in: A. H. Sommerstein & C. Atherton (eds.), Education in Greek Fiction (Nottingham Classical Literature Studies 4), Bari, 65–162. Whidden, C. 2007a. ‘The Account of Persia and Cyrus’s Persian Education in Xenophon’s “Cyropaedia”’, The Review of Politics 69/1, 539–567. —. 2007b. ‘Deception in Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, Interpretation 34/2, 129–156. —. 2008a. ‘Cyrus’s Imperial Household: An Aristotelian Reading of Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, Polis 25/1, 31–62. —. 2008b. ‘Hares, Hounds, Herds, and Hives in Xenophon’s “Cyropaedia”’, Interpretation 35/3, 225–239. Whitmarsh, T. 2018. Dirty Love. The Genealogy of the Ancient Greek Novel, Oxford & New York. Zimmermann, B. 1989. ‘Roman und Enkomion: Xenophons “Erziehung des Kyros”’, Würzburger Jahrbücher für die Altertumswissenschaft 15, 97–105. —. 2009. ‘The Historical Novel in the Greek World: Xenophon’s Cyropaedia’, in: G. A. Karla (ed.), Fiction on the Fringe. Novelistic Writing in the Post-Classical Age (Mnemosyne – Supplements 310), Leiden & Boston, 95–103. Zuckert, M. 2009. ‘Straussians’, in: S. B. Smith (ed.) The Cambridge Companion to Leo Strauss, Cambridge, 263–286. Zuckert, M. & Zuckert, C. 2014. Leo Strauss and the Problem of Political Philosophy, Chicago.

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Concluding Remarks

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Reflections on Near Eastern Realities in the Cyropaedia Vivienne Gray (Auckland)

The papers in this volume explore Xenophon’s Cyropaedia, which tells the story of the creation of the Persian Empire by Cyrus the Great. That makes them a very fitting tribute to Christopher Tuplin, a Xenophontic scholar with a strong interest in the eastern realities that Xenophon represents in the work. I did not attend the conference at which they were delivered, but have been kindly invited to ‘round out’ their content. One way of doing that is to highlight questions they raise about those eastern realities. The papers encourage this by giving the strong impression that there is special benefit in considering those questions. For though we might not accept the work as a plain history, Cyrus was an historical person and it is clear that Xenophon has reflected at least some eastern realities in his representation of him, such as, to dwell on just one out of many, the use of eunuchs at the Persian court. In the larger perspective too, it is extremely hard to believe, for those who have read Xenophon’s long account of Cyrus’ administration of his court in the eighth book, that this is entirely the product of his imagination; it is too specific. But on the other hand, even leaving aside the usual fictions of historians, such as the writing of speeches for their characters, we also recognize, in many of his interpretations of these apparent realities, the ideals of leadership he uncovers in other leaders, such as Agesilaus the king of Sparta, Hiero the tyrant of Syracuse, various political and military figures in the Hellenica, and other Persians such as Cyrus the Younger. This apparent imposition of Xenophon’s own ideas on eastern realities compels us to consider what is authentic and what is not in his representation of Cyrus, and how his imagination has interacted or engaged with those realities. Xenophon did of course have access to various traditions about Cyrus, and some of them seem to reflect an authentic eastern point of view. For instance he refers within the Cyropaedia (1.2.1) to eastern sources that celebrated Cyrus’ beauty, his love of people, love of learning and love of honor. He could have heard of traditions such as these as a result of his personal experience during the time he spent in the east, when he marched with the army of Cyrus the Younger, as described in the Anabasis, and then found his way back through the east to Greece. Some of his information comes from others who had personal contact with the east: Lysander the Spartan military commander is cited in the Oeconomicus (4.20) as the ultimate source for a conversation he had with Cyrus the Younger, which established that he had personally supervised the planting of the trees in his ‘paradise’ in Sardis, a practice that indicated the regard for the cultivation of the land among ruling

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Persians. Xenophon confirms this association between Lysander and Cyrus in the Hellenica. Some eastern traditions about the Elder Cyrus had already been mediated through Xenophon’s literary predecessors, Herodotus and Ctesias, and Xenophon seems to adapt these to his purpose from time to time, as in his account of the story of Cyrus’ meeting with Croesus the Lydian. There were many more traditions than those, however, as Herodotus shows when he says (1.95) that he told only one of four versions he knew of how Cyrus ruled Asia. Xenophon might have had access to these as well in various forms, and perhaps not all from Greek sources. The philosophic circle around Socrates, to which Xenophon belonged, also showed an interest in Persia, and Xenophon himself in his Oeconomicus (4), alongside the information from Lysander above, puts into the mouth of Socrates a knowledge that seems to us unique of Persian administration of agriculture and warfare, which reflects the interests of the more complete account of administration found in the eight book of the Cyropaedia. Xenophon implies in the preface to the Cyropaedia that he chose to write about Cyrus because he ruled the greatest empire the world had ever known. This fits with what we know of one of his main impulses for writing, which was to find application among historical figures for his theory that good leadership was the secret of success in all types of organizations, including empires, kingdoms and households. One proof of success was the sheer size of the organization, and this made Cyrus an ultimate test of Xenophon’s leadership theory. Cyrus also offered Xenophon the challenge of adapting eastern realities to his theory. The need to represent authentic eastern realities, it seems to me, was an integral part of Xenophon’s plan. Most of Xenophon’s studies of leadership do have a basis in fact and his models are not just novelistic creations. Their historicity is part of their plausibility: if he just imposed his theory on them, without regard to the realities, they would not be persuasive. His audiences, I have always presumed, included members of the Socratic circle, who knew a thing or two already about the east, and would see through a complete fiction, and that would achieve nothing for his theory. We can of course expect him to be putting pressure on his material to serve his agenda, but also to be using authentic traditions where they suited him. The papers in this volume take up the challenges involved in exploring this interplay of authenticity and imagination in the Cyropaedia. One challenge is to define what is authentic and what is not. In the lack of direct corroborating evidence, other methods of identification have to be found, possibly comparative methods using other eastern cultures as the measure. Then there is the question of how Xenophon has engaged with these realities in order to serve his purpose, as well as the ways in which he has resorted to invention. The picture must be complex, but the search takes us into Xenophon’s decision making about the presentation of Cyrus, which should be our main interest as readers of the Cyropaedia. Among the papers that directly identify Persian realities in the Cyropaedia, one discusses religious phenomena: the role of the Magi, the divine light that appears to eastern kings to herald victory over enemies, and the idea of the empire as the gods’ gift to the king. There is evidence from the east for the authenticity of these phenomena and we can see how Xenophon’s desire to relate them to good leadership would explain his treatment of them. Another paper uses the Apadana frieze to discuss gift-giving as an eastern reality.

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In this, men of different subject nations are represented bringing gifts to the king. They are not likely to be voluntary gifts, but there is the illusion in the frieze that they might be. Xenophon makes this apparently authentic eastern custom serve his leadership theory in the Cyropaedia, for instance by highlighting the distinction between gifts given freely and those required as an obligation: those freely given identify the good leader whose followers honour him in an act of ‘willing obedience’, which is one of the highest qualities of good leadership in Xenophon, while the compulsory sort is given to less beloved leaders, to assure him by mere outward show of the loyalty of his subjects. He also represents Cyrus himself as an extremely generous giver of gifts to those he wishes to win to his following. This is not to deny that the importance of gift-giving in Greek society was not also shaping his representation, alongside his perception of the importance of gift-giving in eastern society. But the light of heaven is given no such importance in Xenophon’s other models of leadership and seems to come from an eastern tradition that finds no parallel in Greece. The geographic realities of the lands in which Xenophon sets Cyrus also come under scrutiny in this volume. There is an eastern tradition behind the geographical concept that Cyrus ruled the four quarters of the inhabited world, and Xenophon uses it to demonstrate that those who best meet his model of leadership do rule the world. Yet the precise geography of the empire remains vague unless it supports a point relevant to the story. This seems to be a deliberate choice on Xenophon’s part, part of the larger question about his adaptations, since he could have drawn on his experience on the Anabasis to say more about the land of Asia. One paper directly addresses the difficulty of sorting out the interplay between fact and fiction in the following way: ‘It is impossible to recognize layers of Greek and Persian realities because this is a hybrid, a dynamic new creation – an inventive narrative with historical claim …’ This interplay can be found even in the most apparently romantic of Xenophon’s accounts such as the story of Panthea, the loveliest woman in Asia. One central theme of the story is Panthea’s assistance to Cyrus in bringing him the military and political support of her husband, and that projects the historical reality of the significant role of women in eastern affairs, even if Xenophon enhances it with his own philosophic touches, such as the disquisition on the need for self-control in the face of her beauty that he puts into the mouth of Cyrus. Yet within her story the account of her death looks like an obvious fiction from start to finish: nothing could be so much like a tragedy, we think, complete with the main character’s suicide and nurse in attendance. On the other hand some part of it seems authentic because of the reference at the end of the story to the monument, ‘still standing to this day’, and the inscription on it that commemorated Panthea and her husband, and the ‘mace-bearers’, the eunuchs who, according to the story, killed themselves over her dead body with their daggers. Editors have suspected the reference to the monument, but the noting of something that persists ‘still to this day’ features in other parts of the work as well. As well as that, the suicide by dagger thrust of a mace-bearer over the dead master seems to be an authentic eastern trope; it is found also in the account of the death of Cyrus the Younger in the Anabasis. (1.8.29). Perhaps the story as a whole,

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fictitious or otherwise, comes out of the east. In that case Xenophon has engaged with it because he saw that he could use it to project his ideas on leadership, showing Panthea in her household to be capable of winning the willing obedience of her servants even unto death, and Cyrus in his empire to be an ideal leader capable of winning women as well as men to his following. The story as a whole then enriches and broadens Xenophon’s theory of leadership as well as revealing an aspect of the leader’s operations that is nowhere else as fully explored as here. An extensive category of papers in this volume charts various receptions of the Cyropaedia in later cultures, from the followers of Leo Strauss, back through Early Modern Europe, biblical literature, the Roman Empire to the Alexandrian historiographers. One focuses on eastern realities by comparing stories in the Cyropaedia and the biblical books of Esther and Judith about the opulent lifestyle of eastern kings, including their banquets. Xenophon seems to adapt one of these to his purpose in his account of the childhood of Cyrus, when he attends the banquet in Media that is given by his grandfather the King. He questions the excessive consumption he sees there, but then turns it to good use by sharing his abundant plate with those who have served him well, in a premonition of one of the ways in which he will win the goodwill of others when he is an adult. Another paper studies the influence of the Cyropaedia on Alexander and those who wrote histories of his achievements. The similarities between the respect for women that we find in Xenophon’s story of Panthea and in accounts of Alexander’s dealings with women of the Persian royal family could reflect eastern reality as well as literary influence. The existence of powerful women in Macedonia might also have been operative in Alexander’s case. One question that arises from an interest in the eastern aspects of the Cyropaedia, especially where the receptive cultures are far removed in time from the ancient world, is whether they saw Cyrus simply as a representative of their own culture or also recognized his difference from them. In the modern world, we often assimilate the ‘us’ to the ‘other’, ignoring the alien aspects, but equally often differentiate the other from us and accentuate the difference. The impression that some receptions brushed eastern realities out of their picture is found in the study of the influence of Xenophon’s Cyropaedia in England within the debate about contractual monarchy and the divine right of kings. In the paper on the publishing history of the Cyropaedia in the sixteenth century, the question takes the form of whether the strong interest in the educational value of the work from religious protestants in Europe included an awareness that they were dealing with the education of an Eastern ruler rather than a European citizen. It is also interesting to consider whether such receptions were influenced by their knowledge of the east in their own times. The modern world often makes connections between the contemporary east and its ancient past and earlier communities reading the Cyropaedia might have found in Cyrus the predecessor of the dynasties that ruled in Persia in their time, if they had any knowledge of the contemporary east. In the paper on the reception of Cyropaedia by political philosophers who have been influenced by Leo Strauss, the question about eastern realities may take another turn. Strauss himself made only passing comments on the work, but others have applied his approach more directly, to find sub-texts of a subversive kind that undermine the im-

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pression of the complete success of Cyrus. The question that occurs to me here is how far these interpretations take account of the challenge Xenophon took up in his treatment of Persian realities in his portrait of Cyrus. The authentic practices of an eastern king were bound to involve more control over the population than those of rulers in Greek poleis, but Xenophon could demonstrate the full power of his theory of leadership by showing that even these practices could validate his ideals. Take for instance Cyrus’ measures to defuse conspiracies against his person by making the most powerful and best people in his court jealous of one another, in a competition to win his goodwill (8.2.26–8). They seem authentic since they are so very specific and not found in his other studies in leadership, as far as I am aware. They also strike the average modern reader as manipulative and undemocratic, and from that point of view Xenophon’s apparent praise of them seems inappropriate. Yet they are another example of Xenophon pushing to its very limits that part of his theory in which all leaders take measures to be loved by their subjects. Perhaps he has pushed too far for some readers, but he may have been a more accommodating thinker than some modern ones, able to see through the apparent negativity to the good principle at the heart of the measure. The two papers in this collection that make comparisons between Cyrus the Elder in the Cyropaedia and Cyrus the Younger in the Anabasis illustrate the way in which the recognition of a practice as authentic can make a significant difference to the way we read Xenophon’s judgments of it. One example of this concerns the Younger’s habit of sending half-full jars of wine or halves of fowl or loaves from his table as gifts to friends. It is possible from one cultural perspective to see something slightly weird in the dispersal of second-hand comestibles, but the reference to a similar practice in the biblical book of Esther turns it into an authentically eastern custom designed to honour the recipients of such food as friends. And this is how Xenophon explicitly describes the custom: as an example of how he outdid his friends in his enthusiasm to care for them (An. 1.9.24). Xenophon reflects more obviously praiseworthy eastern realities in the stories credited to both rulers about their hunting and killing of wild animals. Several papers directly address the qualities of the good leader that Xenophon makes Cyrus demonstrate. One examines how Xenophon applies the definition of the prostates that we find in his other works to the presentation of Cyrus. Another explains how Cyrus’ virtues as a leader map onto the ones Xenophon attributes to Socrates in the Memora­ bilia. Alongside this clear evidence that Cyrus is meeting the requirements of Xenophon’s leadership theory, we need perhaps to develop our knowledge of the realities of eastern kingship, to see how far they would also explain his presentation. It would be good to know for instance whether the tradition about Cyrus’ beauty, love of people, love of learning, and love of honour truly represents eastern ideals of kingship, and whether the proverb attributed to him, that a good king was like a good shepherd, is something that an eastern king would have said (8.2.13; it is also attributed to Socrates in the Memorabilia). The authenticity of eastern elements comes into focus again in the paper on Xenophon’s account of the formal education of Cyrus. Herodotus used an eastern ‘founder-myth’ for his account of Cyrus’ birth and education, but Xenophon tells a different story, and in particular presents a blend of Persian and Greek/Spartan elements in his

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education that is said to send a contemporary message to Greek aristocratic elites. In this account, he reports a tradition (‘they say’) that in Persia the boys learn justice in the same way that in Greece they learn to read and write. Their learning of justice takes the form of mock lawcourts and includes trials for ingratitude, which is considered a serious crime because it reveals a poor morality. Xenophon confirms that the Greeks take a different view of ingratitude when he treats the theme in one of the dialogues in the Memorabilia (2.2), He endorses it as a virtue but has Socrates say that except in the case of ingratitude to parents, the polis does not normally legislate about ingratitude, suggesting thereby that they should. That raises the question whether Xenophon made ingratitude a crime in Persia because he himself deplored it, putting it into an education that is to a great extent the product of his own imagination, or whether he found something in the traditions of the east that did genuinely address ingratitude as a crime, and found them to his liking. After all, in considering how far Xenophon has drawn an authentic picture of Cyrus and how far he has imposed his ideals upon him, we do need to consider how far the realities could have already tallied with those ideals, and even how they might have contributed to his ideals in the first place. This is suggested by those instances where he explicitly endorses Persian practices and imports them into his thinking about leadership. In the Oeconomicus for instance, he has Socrates say that the landowner Ischomachus applied the laws of the Persian King in the leadership of his household personnel by rewarding good service as well as punishing the bad (14.6–7), and that he endorsed a close personal supervision of his household by quoting the advice given to the Persian King about the importance of the king’s own eye in conditioning the horse (12.20; cf. the role of his eye at Cyropaedia 8.1.22). He also has Socrates specifically encourage imitation of the King of Persia in his cultivation of the primary arts of war and of agriculture (4.4). We do not know how far he extended this assimilation of apparently authentic eastern practices into his theory, but it represents his belief that good leadership is not the preserve of one culture, and that there were things to learn from other cultures, and it also defines his leadership theory as an engagement with eastern culture as well as an imposition upon it. And that makes Xenophon’s own reception of the east yet another of the interesting topics for reflection to come out of reading this volume on the Cyropaedia.

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Indices

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Names of Persons and Deities Aaron 291 Abradatas 20, 27–28, 30, 33, 35, 37, 68, 76, 89, 92, 101, 119, 151, 189, 269–270, 306, 309, 312, 343, 378–379 Abrocomas 154 Acciaiuoli, Niccola 330 Achilles 28, 265, 317, 329 Achilles Tatius 24, 25, 26, 31, 311, 312 Achior 296 Ada 267, 276–277 Adad 215 Adousius 75, 86 Aelian 251, 252, 253 Aelius Aristides 301, 306 Aeschylus 6, 37, 96, 207, 208, 221, 222, 226, 263 Agamemnon 46 Agesilaus (II) 13, 56–57, 91, 142, 151, 154, 158, 179–181, 190, 261, 267, 271, 304, 315, 325, 391 Ahasuerus 284–285, 287–292, 296–297 al-Ghazali 326 al-Mulk 326 al-Muqaffa 326 Alceunas 84 Alcibiades 372, 378 Aldarete, Diego Gracián de 346 Alexander (III) 4, 131, 152, 208, 217, 219, 261– 276, 304, 307–311, 313–317, 320–321, 327–331, 333, 335, 394 Alexander of Abonuteichos 272 Alexander, William 334–335 Amorges 87 Andromache 28 Anthe/ia 27, 312, 317 Antiphon 63 Antisthenes 12, 46, 51, 63–65, 107, 133 Antoninus Pius 304, 306 Antonius Diogenes 24, 25

Aphrodite 287, 313 Apollo 67–69, 137 Apollonius of Tyana 313–316, 319, 321 Apsines 27 Aragdus 76, 90–91 Araspas 27–28, 33, 36–37, 62, 92, 243, 309–310, 378–379 Argoste 8 Ariaspes 92 Aristippus 54 Aristoboulos 265, 266, 269, 270, 276, 277, 278, 307 Aristodemus 66, 67 Ariston 106 Aristophanes 224 Aristotle 23, 25, 108, 112, 127, 173, 174, 187, 188, 205, 262, 326, 327, 331, 332, 333, 368, 379, 380 Arrian 131, 262, 263, 264, 266, 268, 272, 277, 278, 303, 307, 308, 311, 317, 321, 358 Arsites 87 Artabanus 291 Artabatas 75 Artabazus 188 Artacamas 75 Artaeus 86 Artagerses 85 Artapates 242 Artasyras 86–87 Artaxerxes I 97 Artaxerxes II 4, 24, 86, 92, 136–137, 149, 156– 157, 169–170, 176, 189, 199, 242, 244, 312 Artayctes 11 Artembares 7, 8, 11 Artemis 217, 383 Artuchas 80, 84 Artyphius 87 Ascham, Roger 325

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Asiadates 87 Asidates 87–88, 141, 158 Aspandas 6 Ashurbanipal 212–214 Aššur 210–211, 215, 216 Astyages 5–8, 10–12, 36, 75, 77, 79–82, 84, 86– 87, 89–90, 96, 106, 108–109, 111, 113, 119, 129, 241–243, 267, 275–277, 284–285, 292–293, 295, 306, 371 Athena 271 Athenaeus 301, 302, 306 Athenagoras 23 Atossa 207 Atradates 8 Augustus 304, 330 Auramazdā 201–202, 220–221, 249 Ausonius 25 Autolycus 304 Bandello, Matteo 344 Bardiya 157 Barker, William 327, 331, 346, 361 Becon, Thomas 359, 361 Belleforest, François de 344, 350, 358, 362 Beroaldo, Filippo 351 Bodin, Jean 333 Boiardo, Matteo Maria 347 Boner, Hieronymus 346, 360 Bracciolini, Iacopo 346, 347, 362 Bradshaw, John 325 Bruni, Leonardo 327 Buchanan, George 333 Budé, Guillaume 331 Caecilius of Calacte 302 Caesar 304, 330, 335, 345, 359 Callirhoe 312, 317 Callisthenes 205, 262–266, 269–270, 274– 278, 307 Calypso 295 Cambyses I 5–6, 10, 15, 48–52, 58, 66, 77, 87, 93, 96, 105–107, 110–111, 113, 115–120, 143, 145, 154–155, 200–201, 219, 269, 285, 286, 293, 314, 316, 350, 371, 373 Cambyses II 156–157, 176, 218, 219, 223

Camerarius 353, 355, 357, 360, 362 Campaspe 335 Candaules 29 Caninius Celer 27 Caselius, Johannes 355, 357, 360 Cassius Dio 303, 342 Castellio, Sebastian 352 Castiglione, Baldassare 343, 362 Ceryllus 25 Chaereas 24, 312 Chaerephon 67 Chalcideus 224 Chapman, George 335 Chariclea 25 Chariton of Aphrodisias 22, 23, 25, 26, 27, 30, 32, 34, 35, 311, 312, 313 Charles I 325–327, 333, 335, 336 Charles II 336 Charles V 329 Charmides 46 Charon of Lampsacus 3, 6 Cheke, John 361 Chrysantas 75, 79, 116, 141, 308, 316, 376–377, 379 Cicero 25, 126, 159, 321, 328, 329, 333, 358, 361 Cicogna, Pasquale 349 Clearchus 96, 136, 139, 148, 150, 154–155, 206, 304 Cleobulus 332 Clitophon 25, 311 Critias 14, 357, 369, 372 Critobulus 173 Croesus 4–5, 8–9, 27–28, 30, 58, 63, 76, 82, 85, 87, 91–93, 109, 112, 118, 144–146, 158, 225, 268, 270, 284, 305–306, 308–309, 329, 335, 371, 392 Ctesias of Cnidus 4, 6–12, 20, 23, 28, 29, 32– 35, 37, 39, 74, 81–83, 85–88, 97, 100, 129, 133, 139, 149, 156, 189, 216, 218, 226, 292, 358, 392 Curtius Rufus 208, 266, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 276, 278, 328, 333 Cyaxares 11, 75, 77–79, 81–82, 85, 96, 106–107, 111–112, 115, 119, 170, 179, 241–246, 253, 284– 286, 288, 290–291, 293–294, 316

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Names of Persons and Deities

Cyrus I 6 Cyrus (the Younger) 46, 85, 125–126, 128–129, 131, 133–135, 137, 142, 147–158, 165–192, 206, 216, 242, 268, 270, 306, 308, 317, 391, 393, 395 Damascius 25 Damis 313 Daniel 292, 294, 295 Daniel, Samuel 335 Dante 327 Darius I 12, 88, 91, 198, 201, 212, 220–227, 243, 247, 249, 251, 292, 329 Darius II 85, 87, 128 Darius III 208, 219, 268–270, 272, 274, 308– 311, 317, 321 Datamas 84–86, 125 David 291 Demetrius Phalereus 23 Demosthenes 301, 320 Dercyllis 25 Dinias 25 Dinon of Colophon 4, 35, 86, 205 Dio Chrysostom 27, 60, 303, 304, 306, 316–321 Diocles 302 Diodorus Siculus 4, 6, 28, 33, 76, 86, 125, 205, 224, 266, 268, 269, 270, 272, 273, 276, 278, 302, 342 Diogenes Laertius 31, 130, 264, 265, 301, 302, 307 Dionysius of Halicarnassus 23, 126, 302, 307 Dionysius of Miletus 3, 27 Domenichi, Ludovico 347, 362 Domitian 315 Duris of Samos 32, 39, 269, 277 Dusinelli, Pietro 348 Edward V 327 Edward VI 349 Eleazar 291 Elijah 291 Elisha 291 Elizabeth I 325 Elyot, Thomas 328–329, 333, 361 Enlil 210–211 Ephippos 272, 274, 276

401

Ephorus of Cyme 32, 127, 129, 318 Epictetus 302 Erasmus, Desiderius 327–329, 351 Eratosthenes 272 Erra 214 Eryxo 317 Esarhaddon 211, 215 Esther 188, 283–285, 288–298, 394, 395 Estienne, Henri 351, 353–355, 358, 362 Eteocles 157 Euripides 28, 30, 263, 309 Euthydemus 66, 67, 369 Filelfo, Francesco 346, 351, 352, 358, 359 Fortune 306, 325, 327, 332 Francis I 331 Frontinus 304, 305 Gabrielli, Giulio 354, 355, 362 Gadatas 27, 76, 79, 84, 101, 153, 181–184, 284, 309 Gandini, Marc’Antonio 349, 353, 355 Gaulites 148 Gellius 31 Gibbon, Edward 126, 129 Giles of Rome 327 Giolito, Gabriele 345, 347, 350, 362 Girra 213 Glaucon 106–108 Gobryas 27, 76, 84, 90, 101, 111, 175, 177, 179, 182, 245, 253, 284, 294, 316 Goliath 291 Gottfried of Strasbourg 23 Guarinus, Thomas 352, 353, 354 Gubaru 198 Habrocomes 312, 317 Haman 285, 288–289, 291–292, 296–297 Hannibal 307 Harpagus 6–8, 11 Hector 28 Hegai 288 Hegetorides 291 Heliodorus 24–27, 29, 311–313 Helius 30, 66, 145 Hellanicus of Lesbos 3 Henry (brother of Charles I) 326, 333, 335

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Indices

Henry II 349 Henry VI 327 Henry VII 328 Henry VIII 328 Hephaistion 273–274, 277 Hera 287 Heracleides of Cyme 4 Heracles 130, 265–266, 304, 314 Hermocrates of Syracuse 24 Hermogenes 27, 67, 143, 153 Herodotus 3–12, 20, 23–24, 29, 34–35, 37, 76, 83, 85, 88, 90–93, 96–97, 100, 129, 133–135, 139, 145–146, 154, 156, 175, 200–201, 205, 216, 218–219, 221–226, 228, 242–243, 247–248, 263, 266, 284, 291–292, 301–303, 305–306, 308, 312, 318, 325, 328, 331, 342–344, 358–359, 361, 373, 392, 395 Hestia 97, 200, 274 Hiero 107, 391 Hippolytus 314 Hobbes, Thomas 336 Hoccleve, Thomas 327 Holland, Henry 326 Holland, Philemon 326 Holophernes 284–287, 290–292, 294–297 Homer 28, 32, 287, 304, 318, 335 Hystaspas 111 Iamblichus 24, 25, 26, 31 Isocrates 127, 129, 132, 168, 303, 318, 319, 325, 327, 328, 335, 349 Ištar 212–214 Itamenes 87 Jacob 170 James I 326, 333–335 John of Salisbury 326 Jonathan 291 Joseph 292 Josephus 25, 303, 342, 343, 346 Judith 283–298, 394 Julianus 24, 31 Julius v. Caesar Junius, Melchior 358, 359, 360 Justin 6, 7, 10, 272, 306

Kai Ka’us ibn Iskandar 326 Kakia 209 Kallisthenes v. Callisthenes Kambužiya v. Cambyses Kauffmann, Johannes 357 Kleitarchos 265, 270, 276, 277, 278 Laban 170 Le Roy, Louis 349, 358 Leucippe 25, 311 Levvenklaius, Johannes 351, 353, 354 Lichas 224 Lipsius, Justus 331–333 Livy 333, 358, 359 Longus 23, 24, 26, 312 Lonicer, Johannes 357, 360 Louis of Taranto 330 Lucian 25, 31, 262, 272, 301, 302, 303, 306, 307 Lucius 25 Lulî 210 Luther, Martin 346 Lycurgus 68, 137 Lydgate, John 327 Lyly, John 328, 335 Lysandros 271–272, 391–392 Machiavelli 303, 321, 330, 332–333, 336–337, 343, 362, 374, 384 Macrobius 25 Mandane 3, 5–7, 10, 15, 243, 285, 336 Marcus Aurelius 304 Mardachai v. Mordecai Mardonius 88, 153 Marduk 202, 211, 214, 219–220, 227 Marlowe, Christopher 332 Marsilius of Padua 327 Marsyas of Pella 262–263 Martiya 212 Masistes 88 Megabyzus 75, 91, 217 Megapanus 88 Melanchthon, Philip 352, 360 Menander 318 Merari 287 Milton, John 336

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Names of Persons and Deities

Mithradates (herdsman) 6 Mithradates (satrap) 125 Mithridates 244, 317 Mordecai 247, 283, 285, 287–289, 291–293, 297, 298 More, George 335 More, Thomas 328, 345 Moses 332 Nabonidus 91, 198, 202 Nabû 214 Nanaros 86 Nannini, Remigio 347, 350, 358, 362 Nearchus 307 Nebuchadnezzar 284, 290, 294, 296 Neon 140 Nepos 86, 125 Nicocles 132, 325, 328, 349 Nicolaus of Damascus 6, 7, 8, 11, 14, 33, 86, 87, 129 Ninus 24, 26, 30, 32, 33, 74, 86, 97, 312, 335 Ochus v. Darius II Odysseus 177, 295, 304 Oedipus 157 Onesicritus 262–265, 269, 275–277, 307 Onnes 33 Origen 319 Orontas (conspirer) 155–156, 178, 189, 242 Orontas (satrap) 80 Pactyes 3, 225 Painter, William 344 Panthea 20, 27–30, 32–33, 35, 37–38, 62, 87, 89, 119, 151, 183, 269–270, 274–278, 284, 290, 291, 306, 308–313, 316, 321, 335, 343–344, 362, 378–379, 393–394 Papirius Pactus, L. 126 Parmenion 271–272 Parsondes 86 Patrizi, Francesco 361 Pausanias (general) 153, 295 Pausanias (geographer) 306 Peisistratus 106, 304, 330 Pelops 227 Perdiccas 205

403

Pericles 46, 106, 117, 375 Périon, Joachim 358 Perseus 10, 265–266, 275–277 Petrarch 330 Pharnabazus 86, 137, 224 Pharnuchus 75 Pheraulas 111, 118, 273–275, 277, 376 Philip of Macedon 129, 263, 269, 320, 329 Philippus (physician) 272 Philippus of Amphipolis 23, 31 Philistos 263 Philostratus 27, 303, 310, 312–316, 319, 321 Philoxenos 263 Photius 6, 7, 23, 24, 25, 97, 156, 157, 226 Phylarchus 39, 269, 277 Plato 13, 31, 51, 57, 59, 106–109, 117, 131–132, 168, 173, 175, 188, 301–302, 315, 331–333, 341, 349, 354, 368, 378, 383 Pliny 333 Plutarch 3, 25, 27, 36, 85, 86, 92, 108, 132, 152, 158, 208, 239, 244, 261–277, 292, 302–304, 307, 308, 310, 311, 317, 321, 341–343 Polyaenus 261, 303–306, 317 Polybius 127, 342, 358 Polynices 157 Pompeius Geminus 302 Pompeius (Magnus) 329–331 Pompeius Trogus 6, 272 Pompey v. Pompeius (Magnus) Pontano, Giovanni 325 Poseidippos of Pella 270, 276 Proxenus 134, 137–140 Pseudo-Aristides v. Aelius Aristides Ptolemaeus 265, 266, 270, 276, 277, 278, 307 Ptolemy II 270 Pyrrhus 330 Ralegh, Walter 329, 335 Rampazetto, Francesco 351 Rhadamanthus 307 Rhatines 85–86 Rhodanes 25 Rihelius, Theodosius 356, 357 Robert of Sicily 330

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Indices

Romulus 332 Ruth 287 Sacas 109 Sallust 325, 330, 333, 359 Sambucus, Johannes 357 Sardanapalus 28, 335 Saul 291 Scipio 126, 321, 328–330, 332, 333, 335 Scudéry, Madeleine de 336 Semiramis 33, 74, 97, 307 Seneca 329, 330, 331, 333 Sennacherib 210–211, 214 Sesonchosis 24, 26, 30 Sertorius 329 Seuthes 144, 154, 158, 180 Sextus Empiricus 25 Shalmaneser III 209–210 Sidney, Philip 331, 343, 362 Silanus  154 Simonides (character) 107, 185, 368 Simonides (lyricus) 221 Sinonis 25 Sisyphus 304 Skelton, John, 328 Skunkha 226 Smerdis v. Bardiya Socrates 11–12, 14, 45–69, 106–110, 112, 132–133, 143, 145, 151, 153–154, 156, 158, 167–169, 180, 182, 185–187, 190, 269, 301–302, 309, 313, 315, 369–370, 372, 378, 380–383, 392, 395–396 Soldo Strozzi, Francesco di 347 Solon 4, 106, 146, 308 Sophokles 263 Sparethre 87 Spenser, Edmund 331, 362 Stateira 269–270, 275–278 Strauss, Leo 51, 368–370, 380, 382–383, 394 Stryangaeus 33 Tabalus 225 Tacitus 331–333 Tamar 287 Tanaoxares 75, 80, 86, 157 Tanyoxarces v. Tanaoxares Tasso, Torquato 343

Telestes 263 Teleutias 105, 149 Tellus 146 Tertullian 3 Teumman 213 Thambradas 84 Theagenes 25 Themistocles 46 Themistogenes 131–132, 155 Theodorus Priscianus 31 Theopompus of Chios 127, 318 Theodote 62–63 Therimenes 224 Theseus 314, 332 Thrasymachus 378 Thruscanus 25 Thucydides 23, 24, 34, 35, 100, 117, 201, 224, 302, 318, 333, 342–344, 346, 358–360, 373, 375 Tiglath-pileser I 211 Tigranes 58, 79, 115, 139, 371 Timasion 313, 314, 316 Timotheus 303 Tissaphernes 137–138, 144, 154, 156, 178–182, 304 Tobit 295 Tomyris 306, 328 Trajan 319 Trogus v. Pompeius Trogus Uzziah 296 Valerius Maximus 270, 272 Vashti 285, 296 Vegetius 333 Vespasian 316 Vintimille, Jacques 349, 362 Xanthus of Lydia 4, 8, 9, 10, 12, 37 Xenophon of Antiochia 23, 32 Xenophon of Cyprus 23, 32 Xenophon of Ephesus 23, 24, 26, 27, 29, 30, 32, 34, 311 Xerxes 88–89, 92, 207, 212, 221–222, 224, 227– 228, 291, 329, 335 Zarinaea 33–34, 87 Zeus 62, 66, 106, 108, 145, 200, 206, 207, 215, 216, 221, 266, 270, 274, 307, 314

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Topo- and Ethnonyms Acco 210 Achaeans 140 Aeolia 75 Aeolians 93 Africa 317 Akzibu 210 Alexandria 270 Ammonites 296 Amyrgians 88, 248 Anshan 219 Arabia 75–76, 90–91, 223, 226, 275 Arabian Desert 149 Arab(ian)s 75–76, 83, 90–92, 95, 98, 101, 212– 213, 246 Arachosia 249, 250 Araxes 90 Arbela 212–213 Arcadians 140, 144 Ariaspians 307 Armenia 78–80, 82, 101, 181, 270, 316 Armenians 75–76, 78–83, 86, 98, 101, 111, 116– 118, 181 Asia 5, 27, 62, 74–76, 93, 129, 137, 199, 202, 216–217, 219, 221–224, 226, 228, 261, 267, 269, 271, 309–311, 316, 392–393 Asia Minor 31, 76, 88, 98, 101, 207, 217 Asians 321 Assyria 76, 78, 82–84, 90, 98, 101, 181–182, 223 Assyrians 11, 27, 30, 33, 38, 75–79, 81–98, 101, 106–107, 110–111, 115–118,121, 128, 133, 144, 149, 153, 177, 184, 209–216, 241, 243, 284– 285, 288, 290, 294, 296, 309, 316, 376 Athenians 23, 67, 224, 375 Athens 13–14, 106, 143, 372 Babylon 73–77, 79, 84–85, 88–89, 91, 94–97, 101, 114, 116, 138, 149, 158, 176, 198, 202, 225, 227, 243, 251–252, 285, 288, 305, 335, 367

Babylonia 82, 88, 90, 223 Babylonians 11, 75–77, 91, 181, 183. 252 Bactria 97, 223 Bactrians 74–77, 86, 88–89, 93, 98, 101, 225 Basel 351–354 Behistun 157, 201, 212, 220–221, 225–226, 248 Bethulia 286, 287, 296 Bethulians 294 Bisotun v. Behistun Bīt-Zitti 210 Bithynia 75, 319 Black Sea 74, 81, 139, 144, 226 Boeotia 224 Bologna 351 Cadusia 80 Cadusians 75–78, 81, 84–88, 98, 101, 116 Cappadocia 75, 95, 223, 242 Cappadocians 75, 83, 90–91 Carduchians 78, 80, 96 Caria 75, 223, 267 Carians 75, 89 Carmanians 86 Caspian Sea 98, 226 Caspians 88 Centrites 80, 84 Chaldaeans 76–77, 79–82, 84, 98, 101, 117–118, 305 Chalybians 81, 98 Choramnians 86 Chorasmians 88, 248 Cilicia 75, 126, 151, 155, 223 Cilician Gates 90 Cilicians 75, 89, 91, 93, 98, 248 Cissians 88–90, 96–97 Cunaxa 4, 85–86, 133–134, 148–150, 154–155, 206, 242, 249 Cyprians 75–76, 91, 93, 101

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0

406

Indices

Cyprus 74, 75, 92–93, 223 Daha 248 Delhi 326 Delphi 67, 109, 137 Derbices 226 Drilae 144 Ecbatana 73, 89, 95–97, 225 Elam 212–213 Elamites 212–214, 246 Egypt 74, 90–93, 95, 101, 128, 199, 211, 215, 223, 225 Egyptians 74–76, 88, 92–93, 101, 149, 225 England 325, 327, 331, 335–336, 359, 361–362, 394 Ephesus 91, 97, 217 Ethiopia 74, 316 Ethiopians 88 Euphrates 76, 90, 270, 305, 306, 316 Europe 75, 93, 222, 224, 326, 327, 335, 336, 345, 363, 394 Fārs 219, 247 Frankfurt 351, 354 Gaugamela 268, 270, 271, 275, 277, 307, 317, 321 Gedrosian desert 307 Geneva 351, 356 Granikos 268, 271 Greece 8, 172, 253, 326, 391, 393, 396 Greeks 3, 6, 8, 12, 21, 29–32, 75, 96, 99, 125, 127, 131, 135, 137–138, 140–141, 143–144, 147– 149, 151–155, 157, 176, 179, 181–182, 184–185, 197–199, 201, 205–208, 216, 222–223, 226, 228, 263, 271, 283, 301, 303–304, 307, 309, 316–317, 319–321, 342–343, 345, 350, 379, 396 Halys 306 Ḫatti 210 Hellenes 76, 80, 81, 84, 89, 93, 96, 224, 316, 321 Hellespont 221, 224, 227 Ḫubuškia 209 Hyrcania 87, 271 Hyrcanians 75–79, 81, 83–90, 94, 98, 101, 116, 203, 223, 305, 316 Illyrians 75, 93

India 23, 81–82, 97–98, 188, 223, 226, 269, 313, 316, 326 Indian Ocean 74, 95, 226 Indians 75–77, 80–82, 88–89, 92–93, 98, 101, 198, 226, 243, 246, 273, 316 Ionia 75, 96, 141 Ionians 93, 225 Iran 8, 226 Iranians 201, 217, 246 Isle of the Blessed 307 Israel 287 Israelites 287–288, 294, 296 Issos 263, 268 Jerusalem 287, 290 Jews 283, 287–289, 291–292, 296–297, 303 Khabur 90 Lacedaemonians 83, 224 Lebaea 205 Libyan desert 266 Libyans 246 Locris 224 Lydia 4, 8–9. 23, 27, 75, 96, 109, 118, 218, 223, 242, 284, 306, 335 Lydians 8, 75, 91, 101, 203, 225, 305 Lyon 349, 351, 359 Macedonia 205, 261, 394 Macedonians 224, 262, 266–267, 269, 274, 304 Magadidae 75, 223 Magadidians v. Magadidae Magi 5, 6, 9, 157, 176, 200–201, 205, 315–316, 392 Maḫalliba 210 Marathon 88 Mardians 7–8, 80, 129 Mascas 90 Medes 5–8, 10–11, 13, 15, 27, 75–80, 82–86, 88–91, 94–95, 97–98, 101, 111–112, 116, 119 136, 158, 200, 223, 241–243, 245, 250, 253, 284–285, 293–294, 304–306 Media 4, 7, 10–11, 15, 77–80, 82–83, 85, 94–97, 101, 105–106, 111, 115, 171, 175, 243, 270, 285, 292–293, 298, 306, 371, 373, 394

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Topo- and Ethnonyms

Mediterranean Sea 227 Mesopotamia 313 Mespila 215–216 Mieza 262 Milesians 178 Miletus 30, 178 Nairi 209 Naqš-e Rostam 220, 247 Niniveh 215 Northern Europe 327, 336, 346 Nubians 246 Olympia 313, 383 Opis 96 Pactolus 91 Paphlagonians 75, 223 Paris 349, 351, 356, 357, 362 Parthians 86 Pasargadai 264 Peloponnes 129 Persepolis 198, 244–250 Persia 3, 4, 7–8, 10–12, 14–15, 23, 37–38, 77–78, 95, 101, 106, 129, 133–134, 145, 148, 154–155, 167, 170–172, 175, 178, 185, 188, 197, 201, 208, 219–220, 222, 224, 226, 241, 243, 249, 251, 262, 274, 285–286, 293, 298, 302, 308, 326, 331, 371, 373, 392, 394, 396 Persian Gulf 227 Persians 5–12, 37, 61, 66, 75, 77–78, 80, 83, 86–92, 96–97, 101, 105–106, 110, 113, 115–116, 118, 125, 128, 133–137, 150, 154–157, 171–172, 175–176, 191, 197, 202, 204, 215, 219, 221, 223, 225–227, 241–243, 251, 266, 271, 273, 284– 286, 288, 291, 293–294, 296, 303–306, 310, 331, 367, 372, 374–376, 379, 391–392 Phoenicia 223 Phoenicians 75, 76, 92 Phrygia (Greater) 75, 91, 95, 223, 242 Phrygia on the Hellespont 75 Phrygians 75, 91, 95, 223 Physcus 78, 96

407

Pisidians 154 Plataea 88, 153 Propontis 227 Pylae 90 Rhodes 30 Sacae 33, 74, 76, 78–79, 81, 83–85, 87–88, 94, 98, 101, 225–226, 248 Saka v. Sacae Sakā tigraxaudā 225 Sardis 8, 76, 80, 84, 91–95, 97, 101, 134, 167, 225, 261, 305, 391 Ṣarepta 210 Sattagydians 248 Scillus 383 Scythians 75, 93, 226, 307 Sidon 210 Sinope 80 Skudrians 248 Sparta 13–15, 93, 171, 302, 368, 371, 391 Spartans 13, 105, 141, 149–150, 153, 157, 205, 267, 295, 349, 368, 391 Susa 27, 73, 76, 89, 95–97, 101, 221, 250–252, 269, 289, 292, 297 Syracuse 23, 30, 107, 368, 391 Syria 74, 83, 90–91, 95, 223 Syrians 75–76, 83, 90, 94, 98, 101, 248 Taochians 80 Taxila 313 Thessaly 224 Thrace 144 Thracians 75–76, 93, 144 Thymbrara 27–28, 91 Tigris 96 Ur 219, 227 Urartaeans 80 Urartu 82, 198, 209 Urmia Lake 82, 198 Ušû 210 Venice 345, 347–351, 354

© 2020, Otto Harrassowitz GmbH & Co. KG, Wiesbaden ISBN Print: 978-3-447-11283-3 - ISBN E-Book: 978-3-447-19907-0