Ancient Scholarship and Grammar: Archetypes, Concepts and Contexts 9783110254044, 9783110254037

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Ancient Scholarship and Grammar

Trends in Classics – Supplementary Volumes Edited by Franco Montanari and Antonios Rengakos Scientific Committee Alberto Bernabé · Margarethe Billerbeck · Claude Calame Philip R. Hardie · Stephen J. Harrison · Stephen Hinds Richard Hunter · Christina Kraus · Giuseppe Mastromarco Gregory Nagy · Theodore D. Papanghelis · Giusto Picone Kurt Raaflaub · Bernhard Zimmermann

Volume 8

De Gruyter

Ancient Scholarship and Grammar Archetypes, Concepts and Contexts

Edited by

Stephanos Matthaios Franco Montanari Antonios Rengakos

De Gruyter

ISBN 978-3-11-025403-7 e-ISBN 978-3-11-025404-4 ISSN 1868-4785 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: Ancient scholarship and grammar : archetypes, concepts and contexts / edited by Stephanos Matthaios, Franco Montanari and Antonios Rengakos. p. cm. -- (Trends in classics. Supplementary volumes ; v. 8) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-3-11-025403-7 (hardcover : alk. paper) -- ISBN 978-3-11-025404-4 (ebk.) 1. Greek language--Grammar, Historical. I. Matthaios, Stephanos. II. Montanari, Franco. III. Rengakos, Antonios. PA251.A63 2011 485--dc22 2010050347

Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de. © 2011 Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co. KG, Berlin/New York Typesetting: Michael Peschke, Berlin Printing: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen ∞ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

Contents Introduction .................................................................................... 1

I. “Philologia perennis”: History and New Perspectives Franco Montanari Ancient Scholarship and Classical Studies ........................................ 11

II. The Ancient Scholars at Work Richard Hunter Plato’s Ion and the Origins of Scholarship ........................................ 27 Marco Fantuzzi Scholarly Panic: πανικὸς φόβος, Homeric Philology and the Beginning of the Rhesus ................................................ 41 Stephanos Matthaios Eratosthenes of Cyrene: Readings of his ‘Grammar’ Definition ............................................. 55 Filippomaria Pontani Ex Homero grammatica .............................................................. 87 René Nünlist Aristarchus and Allegorical Interpretation ...................................... 105 Martin Schmidt Portrait of an Unknown Scholiast ................................................. 119 John Lundon Homeric Commentaries on Papyrus: A Survey ............................. 159 Bruce Karl Braswell Didymus on Pindar ...................................................................... 181

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Peter Bing Afterlives of a Tragic Poet: The Hypothesis in the Hellenistic Reception of Euripides ...................................... 199 Stelios Chronopoulos Re-writing the Personal Joke: Some Aspects in the Interpretation of ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν in Ancient Scholarship .................................................................. 207 Konstantinos Spanoudakis Ancient Scholia and Lost Identities: The Case of Simichidas ................................................................. 225

III. The Ancient Grammarians on the Greek Language and Linguistic Correctness Jean Lallot Did the Alexandrian Grammarians have a Sense of History? ....................................................................... 241 Louis Basset Apollonius between Homeric and Hellenistic Greek: The Case of the ‘Pre-positive Article’ ........................................... 251 Philomen Probert Attic Irregularities: Their Reinterpretation in the Light of Atticism ............................. 269 Ineke Sluiter A Champion of Analogy: Herodian’s On Lexical Singularity .............................................. 291

IV. Ancient Grammar in Historical Context Alfons Wouters - Pierre Swiggers New Papyri and the History of Ancient Grammar: The ἐπίρρημα Chapter in P.Berol. 9917 ....................................... 313

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Wolfram Ax Quintilian’s ‘Grammar’ (Inst.1.4-8) and its Importance for the History of Roman Grammar ............................................. 331 Frédéric Lambert Syntax before Syntax: Uses of the Term σύνταξις in Greek Grammarians before Apollonius Dyscolus ........................................................... 347 Guillaume Bonnet Syntagms in the Artigraphic Latin Grammars ................................ 361 Louise Visser Latin Grammatical Manuals in the Early Middle Ages: Tradition and Adaptation in the Participle Chapter ....................... 375 Valerie van Elst Theodosius and his Byzantine Successors on the Participle: A Didactic Approach .................................................................... 405 Margarethe Billerbeck The Orus Fragments in the Ethnica of Stephanus of Byzantium ........................................................... 429

V. Ancient Grammar in Interdisciplinary Context Casper C. de Jonge Dionysius of Halicarnassus and the Scholia on Thucydides’ Syntax ................................................................. 451 Anneli Luhtala Imposition of Names in Ancient Grammar and Philosophy ........... 479 Maria Chriti Neoplatonic Commentators on Aristotle: The ‘Arbitrariness of the Linguistic Sign’ ....................................... 499

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List of Contributors ...................................................................... 515 Abbreviations ............................................................................... 523 Bibliography ................................................................................. 527 General Index ............................................................................... 563 Passages Index ........................................................................................ 573

Introduction Ancient Greek scholarship—the γραμματικὴ τέχνη in its original designation—and the linguistic theories which were developed in the frame of this discipline, are currently in the centre of a multifaceted and steadily growing research activity within Classical Philology. This activity is often shared and supported by related fields such as philosophy, rhetoric, literary theory and modern linguistics. The attractiveness that ancient scholarship and grammar enjoy among contemporary researchers is apparent from recent statistics which show the distribution of the relevant publications during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries:1 While the first half of the twentieth century reveals a continuous disregard for the subject, the works published since the 1950s indicate a constantly growing interest, clearly evident through a surprising increase especially during the last decades. Apart from the intensity of current activity, however, a geographical expansion of the research interest can also be observed. Although originally associated almost exclusively with German Classicists in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the study of the γραμματικὴ τέχνη now figures as one of the central research areas in the Western philological tradition, in Europe as well as in the United States. From a historiographical point of view, the main impulse for the recent development originated during the middle of the twentieth century from the preparatory work on the new edition of the two most important corpora of ancient scholia, the Scholia vetera on the Iliad, edited by H. Erbse (1969–1988), and the Scholia on Aristophanes, published in a joint-project which was initiated by W.J.W. Koster and completed by D. Holwerda (1969–2007). On the ground of an exhaustive investigation into the formation and transmission process of these commentaries,2 1

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The statistics referred to are included in Hyman’s review (2008, 425–426) of Dickey’s book (2007). For this purpose Hyman measured the approximately 1000 publications listed in Dickey’s bibliography, i.e. a chronologically and in terms of content well representative amount of publications. Most recent research activity and bibliography on the field of ancient scholarship and grammar is cited in Montanari 2009. On the history of the Scholia on the Iliad see Erbse 1960 and van den Valk 1963–1964. After the work of van der Valk 1949, ancient and Byzantine schol-

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based on reliable texts which these editions provided, the research done in this field triggered a series of further studies through which the traditional image of the development of ancient scholarship has been corrected in many aspects. In addition to that, the abundant evidence within the field from the documentation of related testimonies transmitted on papyri helped close several gaps in the textual base and provided a great amount of previously unknown commentaries, lexica and grammatical treatises.3 The history of the Hellenistic, and especially of the Alexandrian philological tradition, from which the Byzantine corpora of scholia originate, has increasingly attracted the attention of scholars and is today reconstructed through new editions and collections of fragments and through special monographs in a more precise way than ever before.4 This special trend, however, is also due to an external factor: the growing interest in Hellenistic poetry and in its philological presuppositions provided a strong impetus for the exploration of the specific discipline that had been founded in Alexandria at that time. Since R. Pfeiffer’s epoch-making History of Classical Scholarship (1968),5 strongly motivated through his Callimachus’ edition, the history of the Alexandrian scholarship has been accompanied by a rich number of publications on the Hellenistic ‘poet-scholars’ and the theoretical background of their activity. Moreover, the research activity on ancient grammatical theories which developed within the philological tradition, first with direct reference to the interpretation of poetry, then increasingly independent from the literary context, was promoted in the 1950s. A central aspect of these studies was the question of the authenticity of the Τέχνη

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arship on the Odyssey is investigated exhaustively by Pontani 2005a. Pontani prepares also a new edition of the Scholia on the Odyssey; two volumes of this project, including the scholia on the first four books, have been already published; see Pontani 2007–2010. The project Commentaria et lexica Graeca in papyris reperta (CLGP), founded by G. Bastianini, M. Haslam, H. Maehler, F. Montanari and C. Römer, aims at providing new editions and a collection of ancient commentaries and lexica known through papyri in one major corpus. New editions of Alexandrian grammatical fragments and of lexicographic texts from the Hellenistic era and the Late Antiquity have been published in the series Sammlung griechischer und lateinischer Grammatiker (SGLG), founded by K. Alpers, H. Erbse and A. Kleinlogel. In another relevant series, F. Montanari’s Pleiadi, a vast array of editions and studies about ancient scholarship is already published. The articles collected in the special volume La philologie grecque à l’époque hellénistique et romaine, edited by F. Montanari 1994, serve as supplement to Pfeiffer’s History, with particular focus on the history of Hellenistic scholarship.

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γραμματική which is transmitted under the name of Dionysius Thrax. This Τέχνη was considered to be the earliest manual of a systematic description of the Greek language and its constituents derived from the Alexandrian grammatical tradition. The turning point in the research activity on ancient grammar is marked by Di Benedetto’s articles of 1958 and 1959, which triggered an enduring debate about the theoretical competence of the Alexandrian grammarians. Up to that point scholars had assumed that Dionysius’ Τέχνη did not symbolise the beginning but rather the end point in the establishment of technical grammar in antiquity.6 The idea that the grammatical theory was fully developed during the period of the Alexandrian grammarians appeared to be too provocative to be endorsed without detailed assessment. The studies that have been published since then were mainly motivated by the postulate of the ‘re-writing’ of the history of ancient grammar.7 The growing wish for exhaustive documentation and analysis of ancient linguistic theory is answered by detailed research into the core period of Alexandrian scholarship, from Zenodotus and Aristophanes of Byzantium to Aristarchus and on to the grammarians of the first century BC, also linked with an evaluation and re-examination of the grammatical theory of Late Antiquity and its theoretical assumptions and background.8 However, not only at a historiographical level, but also with respect to matters of content, can a turning point in current research be observed. The greatest merit of the revived interest in ancient scholarship and grammar lies in the modernisation of the theoretical debate and of the perspectives of interpretation, which, at the same time, has caused a shift of focal points. During the whole of the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth century, ancient scholarship was mostly treated by Classicists as an auxiliary discipline. Commentaries, lexicographical collections and grammatical treatises from antiquity served as instruments for the exploration of textual transmission and criticism as well as for the interpretation of ancient literary production. In opposition to this attitude, all relevant texts are today being studied closely in their own 6

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Fehling 1956–1957, I 214–215 and 261–263 sums up with this observation the researchers’ consensus about the development of ancient grammar in the lifetime of Dionysius Thrax. This postulate goes back to Taylor 1986a, 190. The most important contributions for the exploration of ancient grammar include the edition of the grammatical papyri by Wouters 1979, the edition with commentary and translation of Apollonius Dyscolus’ Syntax and Dionysius Thrax’ Techne by Lallot 1997 and 1998, as well as studies on ancient grammatical concepts and their philosophical background by Blank 1982, Ax 1986 and Sluiter 1990.

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merit. Thereby, the special focus lies on the disciplinary profile, on ideological and cultural aspects, as well as on the interaction of scholarship and grammar with other scientific areas in antiquity. The present volume reflects the current research situation and aims at investigating archetypes, concepts and contexts of the ancient philological discipline from a historical, methodological and ideological perspective, following the structure of a preceding conference on this subject held in Thessaloniki in 2008.9 Under the heading Ancient Scholarship and Grammar, the volume intends to grasp the γραμματικὴ τέχνη in its original unity. In their role as inseparable components of ancient scholarship, the parameters ‘linguistic description’ and ‘interpretation of linguistic contents in literary contexts’ define the broad spectrum of the contributions included in the volume. The period examined coincides with the establishment of scholarship as an autonomous discipline from the third century BC to its peak in the first centuries AD. However, the volume is not restricted or limited to that period. Archetypes and paradigms of philological activity during the classical era investigate the origins of ancient scholarship; at the same time, the interdisciplinary discourse between scholarship, philosophy of language and rhetoric is illustrated. In this way, the thematic spectrum of the volume covers a wide range, stretching from the fourth century BC to the Byzantine era. Apart from Greek antiquity, central aspects of the Latin grammatical tradition are also addressed, though not to their full extent. Thus, the foundation of Roman grammar and the development of several grammatical concepts are demonstrated either individually or in comparison with their Greek counterparts, up to the Latin Middle Ages. The 26 articles included in the volume are arranged, according to their main subject, in two groups, Scholarship and Grammar; they are further divided into the following sections: “Philologia perennis”: History and New Perspectives (I.), The Ancient Scholars at Work (II.), The Ancient Grammarians on the Greek Language and Linguistic Correctness (III.), Ancient Grammar in Historical Context (IV.) and, finally, Ancient Grammar in Interdisciplinary Context (V.). To balance between the various topics discussed in each article, and in order to underline the relations between the contributions, we have taken into consideration a ‘horizontal’ as well as a ‘vertical’ interlinking between the different subjects. The horizontal link is defined by historical factors, especially by the period of time to which each article refers. With regard to ancient scholarship, the contributions 9

The conference had the title Language‒Text‒Literature. Archetypes, Concepts and Contexts of Ancient Scholarship and Grammar and was held in Thessaloniki in December 5 to 7, 2008.

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basically follow the chronological order of the ancient literary text to which the ancient commentator referred. This principle often reflects and corresponds to the importance attributed to special authors and literary genres by ancient scholars. Thus, Homeric scholarship precedes all other subjects because of its paradigmatic value for philological activity on subsequent literary production. At a vertical level, however, it is the criterion of content which provides the links between the articles and the transition from one to another. This is the case especially for those sections which are devoted to the complex of ancient grammar. Theoretical issues are often complementary examined in connection to their realization in the grammatical practice; additionally, theoretical patterns are described contrastively by investigating their development through several grammatical traditions and their transformation due to contacts with relevant disciplines in antiquity. The volume opens with Franco Montanari’s contribution Ancient Scholarship and Classical Studies, which puts the philological and grammatical discipline into the context of its historical development. Starting from an investigation of the γραμματική-concept and its complexity, Montanari explores the motivation that led to the foundation of scholarship as a separate discipline and poses the question of its legitimacy for the interpretation of literature and the description of language against competing approaches derived from ancient philosophy and rhetoric. In the second part of his article, Montanari demonstrates the importance of ancient scholarship as a role model for the re-definition of philological science and its scope during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and outlines the process that brought studies on the ancient tradition to the centre of modern philological research. The second section of the volume is devoted to the complex of ancient scholarship with special focus on the disciplinary profile of the γραμματικὴ τέχνη and on several aspects of the interpretative work on ancient literature. The first three contributions can be subsumed under the label ‘Archaeology of Scholarship’ and deal with the pre-academic stage of ancient scholarship, as well as with the process that led to its establishment as an autonomous discipline: Richard Hunter detaches Plato’s Ion from the context of Plato’s poetic theory and treats the dialogue as one of the earliest pieces of evidence of theoretical reflection on the character and potential of literary exegesis in the pre-Hellenistic period. For the model of ‘poet-scholar’, which is of special significance for Hellenistic poetry, Marco Fantuzzi presents a parallel dating back to the classical period: Fantuzzi refers to the opening scene of the Rhesus, which he does not interpret as poetic transformation, but as a dramatized form of a pre-Aristotelian philological analysis of the Iliadic Doloneia.

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Stephanos Matthaios offers an extensive interpretation of Eratosthenes’ definition of γραμματική—the earliest existing definition of Alexandrian scholarship—and illustrates the historical background as well as the ideological assumptions that led to the establishment of scholarship as an autonomous discipline. The next four articles of the second section focus on ancient Homeric scholarship: Filippomaria Pontani explores the question of whether Homer formed the norm for questions of hellenismos and to what extent the Homeric language influenced the linguistic theories and the descriptive models developed by ancient grammarians. René Nünlist analyses Aristarchus’ views on the allegorical interpretation of Homer and, based on a re-evaluation of existing evidence, presents a picture differentiated from the anti-allegorical attitude which is often ascribed to the Alexandrian scholar by current research. Martin Schmidt outlines the portrait of an anonymous commentator of Homer known through several passages in the corpus of the exegetical scholia on the Iliad and reconstructs his interpretative principles and ideological views about Homer and Homeric poetry. On the ground of a representative selection of ancient commentaries on Homer transmitted on papyri, John Lundon highlights the characteristics that constitute the genre of ancient commentary and, with regard to contents and methods, he investigates the features which these commentaries share with the Homeric exegesis derived from the Alexandrian tradition. The last four articles within the second section represent further areas of ancient philological activity. In the field of lyric poetry, Bruce Karl Braswell examines Didymus’ interpretation of Pindar and offers a new edition and commentary of selected fragments, thus pointing out central aspects of Didymus’ analysis of the Pindaric odes. Based on an examination of the earliest hypotheses of the Euripidean tragedies, Peter Bing investigates Euripides’ position and his reception in the Hellenistic era, essentially from an ideological and cultural perspective. Stelios Chronopoulos explores the ancient views on the Old Comedy based on the interpretation of personal attacks given by Aristophanes’ scholiasts. Ancient philological activity in the field of Hellenistic poetry is represented by Konstantinos Spanoudakis’ contribution, which investigates the identity of Simichidas in Theocritus’ seventh Idyll based on the testimony of the ancient commentators. A connection between the two main subjects within the scope of ancient γραμματική, scholarship and grammar, is provided by the third section of the volume, which, starting from the description of language in literary contexts, focuses on the views of ancient grammarians on the history of Greek and on the criteria of linguistic correctness. Jean Lallot

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treats the fundamental question for the Alexandrians’ methodological approach, that is, whether, in their linguistic analysis and argumentation, they took into consideration historical criteria connected to the development of Greek. Louis Basset transfers Lallot’s theoretical approach to the practice of Apollonius Dyscolus and outlines the grammarian’s interpretation of the idiosyncratic—according to ancient views—Homeric use of articles. Philomen Probert shows the importance of the Atticistic movement for the linguistic analysis of ambiguous cases, where grammatical rules are broken but the constructions are still accepted as correct because of their relevance to the Atticistic postulates. Returning to theory, Ineke Sluiter focuses on the criterion of analogy, the normative principle par excellence in matters related to linguistic correctness, and analyses its theoretical foundation in Herodian’s treatise Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως. The fourth section deals with the history of ancient grammar, putting linguistic patterns and grammatical concepts into the context of their development. Alfons Wouters and Pierre Swiggers present a first edition of the section devoted to adverbs of an ancient τέχνη γραμματική transmitted in P.Berol. 9917 (dated to 300 AD) and, in the detailed commentary, show continuities as well as innovative moments in the development of the grammatical theory of the word class system. Wolfram Ax explores the history of Roman grammar in an especially dark period, for which the ‘grammatical’ chapters in the first book of Quintilian’s Institutio oratoria serve as a unique and, for this reason, valuable source for evaluating the development achieved in grammatical theory during the first century AD. The next two contributions are concerned with the ancient notion of syntax, in both the Greek and Roman worlds. Frederic Lambert illustrates the diverse meanings of the Greek term σύνταξις in the period before Apollonius Dyscolus and analyses the establishment of the technical meaning of ‘syntax’. Guillaume Bonnet examines the Latin views on syntax on the basis of the syntagmatic relations between two or more lexemes which constitute an autonomous meaning. Louise Visser and Valerie van Elst describe in two separate, but, in terms of their content, homogenous articles, the theories on participle formulated in Latin and Greek grammatical manuals of the Middle Ages. Both contributions focus on the didactic aspect that led to changes in the theoretical fundament borrowed from antiquity due to its adaptation to the language standard of that time. Finally, ancient and Byzantine lexicography is represented by Margarethe Billerbeck’s contribution, which provides an edition with a translation and commentary of the fragments of Orus transmitted in the Ethnica of Stephanus of Byzantium.

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The fifth and last section of the volume presents linguistic concepts in their interdisciplinary context. The contributions included here refer to contacts of ancient grammar with rhetoric and philosophy, which had an enormous influence on the formation of ancient grammatical doctrine. Casper C. de Jonge compares the philological interpretation of Thucydides’ syntax with the views of Dionysius of Halicarnassus on the same topic and investigates the theoretical interrelations between rhetorical and grammatical syntax. Anneli Luhtala treats the crucial philosophical question of whether names are given by nature or convention, and examines its role for the definition of the word classes ‘noun’ and ‘verb’ in the theories of Apollonius Dyscolus and of Priscian. Maria Chriti analyses the testimony of the Neoplatonic commentators regarding Aristotle’s views on the ‘symbolic’ value of names, linking it with modern theories on the arbitrariness of linguistic signs. Now, with the result of a joint work of many colleagues in hand, we would like to thank all contributors for their participation in the Thessaloniki conference and their cooperation during the different phases of the preparation of this volume for publication. Sincere thanks also go to our colleagues Evina Sistakou and Christos Tsagalis (Thessaloniki) as well as to Heiko Westphal (Berlin) for their valuable help with the stylistic revision of some articles and of this introduction. On behalf of the publisher Walter de Gruyter, Sabine Vogt has again supported us with her exceptional commitment and efficiency, for both of which we are deeply indebted. Stephanos Matthaios‒Franco Montanari‒Antonios Rengakos Thessaloniki and Genoa in June 2010

I. “Philologia perennis”: History and New Perspectives

Ancient Scholarship and Classical Studies* Franco Montanari The definition of ‘ancient scholarship’ includes numerous phenomena that belong to the literary civilization both of the ancient Greek and the Latin world. However, I should start by stating that the focus of my attention refers to ancient Greek culture, although experts will have no difficulty transferring to Latin culture many of the concepts we will be dealing with. The term ‘scholarship’ refers first and foremost to all written works that aim specifically and directly to provide an interpretation of the literary works on various levels. Thus in this sense ‘scholarship’ refers in the first place to the different forms of commentary on the texts (from the extended ὑπόμνημα to short annotations) and to exegetic treatments of a monographic nature (συγγράμματα). For this set of works, it is appropriate to take into account the difference between a syntagmatic and a paradigmatic procedure in the treatment of the text or texts to be interpreted. But one immediately realizes that the term ‘scholarship’ also covers many other genres: in primis the impressive phenomena of lexicography and linguistic-grammatical studies. Thus the numerous forms of lexicographic works come to mind, ranging from the most ancient collections of glosses and λέξεις to the great Etymologica of the Byzantine age, through a long history of materials traced, studied and ordered. To this category there also belong various collections of linguistic data and of Realien classified by lexical form (including the onomastics). Equally lively is the broad array of studies on language: reflections on human language, springing at first from the sphere of philosophy (testified by Democritus, perhaps started even earlier), were further developed in the cultural framework of Alexandrian scholarship, where they gave rise to an independent linguistic-grammatical science. In the work by Aristophanes of Byzantium and Aristarchus the solid basis was already laid for the subsequent extraordinary flowering of this field, which would culminate a few centuries later in the epoch-making work of Apollonius Dyscolus and Herodian. And the shelf ‘scholarship’ can be expanded to *

English translation by Rachel Barritt Costa.

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include by no means accessory materials, such as studies on prosody and metrics, biography, paroemiography, mythography, not to mention the investigations into the form of the ancient book, with the peculiarities represented specifically by phenomena of graphic layout linked to ‘scholarship’. The vast field of rhetoric must also be taken into account, at least to the extent that rhetorical works may be found to include texts of different authors, such texts being used, quoted and interpreted. Nor should one overlook the reflections on poetics, another theme that deserves a passing mention here. Indeed, Aristotle’s Poetics focused specifically on the poetry of the previous centuries, to which the Alexandrians later devoted themselves with a profusion of effort and means. The Alexandrian philologists, and not only those among them who were poets in their own right, could hardly have neglected theoretical thought on poetry: in my view, it would be absurd to imagine that Aristarchus had no ideas of his own on poetics (we will return to this point later), while it is far too obvious to point to the fact that only very scanty evidence on theoretical and epistemological questions can be traced in the philological-exegetic fragments that have come down to us, as such fragments are of quite a different kind and have quite a different purpose. The kind of research and treatises on the poets and their works that was widespread in Peripatetic circles, and the thought expressed by Aristotle in the Poetics, are the concrete intellectual and cultural precedent of the scholarship of the Hellenistic age, and made a crucial contribution to encouraging a fresh approach to literature, in primis poetry: it was through this new vision that poetry became a privileged object of investigation and interpretation, of care and conservation. There had arisen an awareness of standing on the shoulders of an era that had forged decisive and influential cultural models, great poetic creations that embodied an overwhelming portion of the Greek παιδεία, and this treasure had to be understood, known, and handed down.1 The resulting picture is that of a comprehensive panorama, populated by a wide variety of remarkably diverse products, from treatises displaying profound critical-literary insight to the most unadorned and bare collections of erudite materials. However, there is a fundamental element that is common to the entire range of this variegated archipelago: namely, that the overwhelming majority of the contents present in works classifiable as ‘scholarship’ derive essentially and materially from 1

An extensive reconsideration of these problems was made on the occasion of the XL Entretiens Hardt, held in 1993; cf. Montanari 1994. Its starting point was the proposal to rethink, a quarter of a century on, the themes addressed in Rudolf Pfeiffer’s by now classical treatment, dating from 1968. Another fifteen years have gone by since that moment.

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the immense store-house consisting of literary and linguistic phenomena. That is to say, the contents of ‘scholarship’ depend crucially on the overall body of works composed by the authors of literature and on the phenomenon of language as the common tool utilized for their creation. Thus on the one hand we have, in the actual and direct sense, the edition, conservation and interpretation of texts (i.e. ecdotics and exegesis), while on the other we have the study of language phenomena (grammar, lexicon, rhetoric), which are the tool of literature. But the two spheres are organically linked: an understanding of the texts is indispensable in order to utilize them for purposes of describing and explaining linguistic and rhetorical phenomena, but at the same time an understanding of linguistic and rhetorical phenomena is indispensable for a good and satisfactory exegesis of the texts themselves. This is true, for instance, even for biography, which is based mainly on the interpretation of the statements made by the authors themselves in their compositions, but it is just as true for erudite genres such as paroemiography and mythography. The figurative arts and the observation of real life may also constitute important sources of information, yet they too are often filtered through a literary or para-literary form and so they give rise to commentaries and interpretations, enriching in this way the contents of the works of scholarship. ‘Language‒Text‒Literature’ are the keywords which rightly inspired the conference. Over the course of history the phenomena of ‘scholarship’ became considerably diversified, assuming different functions. Thus on the one hand scholarship presented the characteristics and fulfilled the function of direct interpretation of texts, i.e. a variably broad and organic discourse offering further developments on a pre-existing discourse or at least partly based on and motivated by it. In other cases scholarship presented the characteristics and fulfilled the function of a repertory of reference and consultation materials, at times with encyclopaedic breadth and pretensions. This theoretical distinction is of help in understanding the products by abstract categories, although in the concrete reality of the works the balance was more likely to be tipped in one of the two directions, but without completely excluding the other. However, to give a perhaps somewhat brutal example, there is an evident difference as regards the aim and treatment of materials between a study with contents of a critical-literary nature devoted to and based on one or more texts, versus a general lexicographic collection in alphabetical order. By contrast, the differentiation appears to be less marked when a comparison is drawn between a commentary or a series of annotations on a poetic text versus a specific glossary of that same text which follows its exact wording and order. Nor should it be overlooked that one of these

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two characteristics and functions may have developed secondarily compared to the original intentions of the composition, as a result of the different ways a work of ‘scholarship’ happened to be used on different historical occasions. For example, a commentary supplied with a capitulatio by topics (such as the commentary or monograph of Didymus on Demosthenes preserved by a Berlin papyrus, P.Berol. 9780) could be utilized through a consultation by subject, even independently of the text to which the commentary referred. In contrast, lexicographic works of general scope (like the major lexicons and the great encyclopaedic dictionaries) may have served a useful function in exegetic commentaries on various texts and may thus be abundantly utilized within ὑπομνήματα or scholiographic corpora. It would be interesting—although beyond the scope of this paper— also to consider the relation between antiquarian studies and historiography, in order to examine how far, and with what differences, this may constitute a parallel for the arguments being put forward here. The terms of comparison could be as follows: does the relation between the erudite and well ordered collection of materials and critical (philological-exegetic) interpretation or theoretical (poetic) reflection in the field of scholarship stand parallel to the relation between the collection of antiquarian data and of Realien of all kinds and historiographic reconstruction or theoretical reflection on history? In a slightly different sense, albeit not too far-removed on a plane of pronounced abstraction, it can be noted that in the case of Aristotle and the early generations of the peripatetic school the treatises on individual authors and works of poetry are to the theoretical reflections of the Poetics as the collections of data constituted by the πολιτεῖαι are to the theoretical reflections of Politics. But all this would distract us excessively from our basic theme. Works of a specifically exegetic character, such as a commentary or a monographic treatise, were naturally influenced by the contents of the text that was the object of interpretation, from which, however, they may diverge considerably, showing a notable degree of independence in content and arguments. Since interpreting authoritative texts was a highly favoured working practice, the literary forms taken by exegesis as well as the occasions prompting an exegetic attitude were strikingly varied. Passages of an exegetic character may be present in works of a different genre or objective: for instance philosophical treatises may include considerations on previous works dealing with the same theme or may focus on the interpretation of passages from literary authors. The stratification may be twofold: it may on the one hand involve cases of a comment on a comment, as occurs when Aristotelian commentators find within the text of Aristotle commented citations of previous au-

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thors; on the other hand, an exegete may quote a parallel passage and also add a particular comment upon it. The element all such works have in common is that their subjects and arguments are built on a previous subject and argument, the text is constructed on another text, the importance and authoritative nature of which is known and recognized. A very general definition of such works could be ‘text on a text’ or ‘text about a text’. One need only think of the enormous literature produced on Homer over the centuries to gain an eloquent picture of what I am conveying. But illustrious and grandiose examples are also to be found in philosophy (suffice it to mention the quantity and value of the commentaries on Plato and Aristotle), in science (the Corpus Hippocraticum and Galen) and in religion (the case of the Bible is emblematic). Even more than in other sectors of the literary civilization, scholarship can be identified as a cultural phenomenon in which literature grew directly on literature and drew its nourishment from itself, increasing over the course of history by virtue of its necessary and inescapable reference to previous exegetic products as well as to the texts that were the object of interpretation. Particularly important is the relation holding between such activity of commenting and interpreting literary works and the reference canon: the influence is reciprocal because scholarship on the one hand certainly reflects an acquired canon, since it deals with the things that belong to it, while on the other hand scholarship contributes to shaping and consolidating the canon, exerting a non secondary influence on the image a culture acquires over time. If we use the concept of ‘text on a text’ or ‘text about a text’, then the attempt to give a specific definition of certain exegetic products becomes less dramatic, while remaining important. This is the case, for instance, of fragmentary texts that one hesitates to label as ὑπόμνημα or as σύγγραμμα. Under the skies of Thessaloniki the Derveni Papyrus immediately comes to mind. This is certainly an exegetic text that deals with and explores another text, namely an Orphic cosmogonic poem, though it is not clear whether the author is proceeding in syntagmatic order as would be expected in a commentary, or in paradigmatic order like in a treatise. Nevertheless, it is definitely an argument that starts out from another argument, and its religious aim is pursued by exploiting the approach and techniques characteristic of text interpretation, which thus set it in the framework of scholarship. The religious sphere suggests a parallel with Christian homilies, which present a doctrinal argument developed with varying degrees of independence starting out from interpretation of passages from the Old and New Testament. Accordingly, this suggestion can be expanded to include the biblical catenae, which consist of collections of extracts taken from different sources, including

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the homilies themselves, and gathered together for exegetic purposes. Note in addition that the catenae existed both in the form of independent commentaries and also as annotations in the margins of the text being commented on. There is a compelling parallel with the formcontent relationship and the exchange of materials between the ὑπομνήματα and the συγγράμματα found in the Homeric scholarship of the Alexandrian grammarians, as is well documented in the sources. The considerations put forward so far on ancient scholarship prompt the introduction of another highly significant distinction, despite the difficulties and epistemological uncertainties with which the path is certainly strewn. A commentary and its arguments can have an aim which could be defined as philological-grammatical-historical, namely that of an exegesis designed to explain the intrinsic and genuine content of the text properly speaking, and to discover what it really meant and sought to express in its authentic and original linguistic and historical-cultural context. In this perspective, scholarship appears as a science that is independent with regard to its ends, and its exegetic aim is important and valid in its own right and not as part of an overarching purpose. The objective is to explain the text without any other motive than that of correctly reconstructing and preserving historical evidence, which has its own intrinsic value. But in a different perspective, a commentary starting out from an authoritative text may present an interpretation that seeks above all to put forward the interpreter’s own arguments, focusing on specific doctrinal points, often with the ideological intention of ‘enlisting’ the author who is the object of analysis. The interpreter utilizes the work as a starting point, not infrequently seeking to unveil meanings that may have remained implicit or even ‘hidden’, and if necessary putting forward the possibility of uncovering important meanings the author did not consciously intend to include. Ultimately, this went as far as implying that it is legitimate to attribute to the author meanings that are generated and motivated only by the cultural and critical history that has been built up around the work during its reception. A classic case, which happens in fact to be the first of which we have knowledge, is the analysis of the song of Simonides, carried out by Socrates, and Protagoras in Plato’s Protagoras (339a ff.). What is also significant is that this experiment was prompted by the sophist Protagoras. For it was precisely the Sophists, at least in their representation by Plato, that claimed to be the representatives of a practice that had always existed, but which had only recently come to light: the wise of earlier times, namely the poets, were likewise σοφισταί, except that they ‘masked’ their wisdom so as to avoid being envied by the overwhelming majority. The mentality seems to be precisely that of an interpreter, who is

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capable of uncovering the meanings hidden in the authoritative texts because he possesses the tools to do so. What we have here is a duality which comes to the fore throughout the history of the exegesis of texts recognized as important, a duality which displays features at times distinctive and spectacularly brandished as banners of a particular approach, at other times rather faint or even uncertain: features and elements in many cases intermingled and overlaid, in other cases difficult to disentangle and often the object of sharp polemics. Once again, it should be underlined that strictly speaking this is a theoretical distinction, an intellectual tool helpful in understanding phenomena through abstract categories, whereas in concrete reality pure and distilled exemplars are a much rarer occurrence. Rather, it is more usually the case that the balance is tipped more or less decidedly towards one of the two aspects, but without the other being necessarily absent or excluded, perhaps making itself felt in the facts and the results more than in the declarations and intentions. There should be clear recognition that the boundaries between the two approaches are very problematic, sometimes labile, and above all debatable and debated. The concrete contrapositions and intersections between the two modes of critical discourse and the attendant polemics give rise to the irregular and multiform evolution of the reception of the great works and the great authors. A fine and much cited declaration by Aristarchus, preserved in a scholion to Iliad 5.385, seems to be almost a classroom case designed to illustrate the concept, starting from ancient criticism. In the passage of the Iliad reference is made to the episode of the aggressive brothers Otos and Ephialtes, who were said to have imprisoned no less than the god Ares. Aristarchus warns that the statement by Homer should be taken as mythical content springing from poetic license, and one should not try to excogitate contents that are alien to the poet’s words, or to invent something he did not say. The Aristarchean observation is followed by the exposition of the myth to which the cited episode belongs, evidently with the aim of thus providing the mythographic explanation of the brief allusion present in the poetic text. Then the scholion introduces three interpretations of a completely different nature. The first, defined as ‘more convincing’, sees the myth as a misrepresentation of historical facts that did really occur; the second interprets it as a physical allegory concerning astronomic questions; the third (the most extensive) broadens out into a complex philosophical exegesis having ethical content. The latter interpretation appears to be the one preferred by the author of this doxography, since he introduces it by saying it is better to maintain that at this point the poet wants to φιλοσοφεῖν, as in fact is the case

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in the whole poem.2 We will not dwell in detail here on these three forms of allegoresis, which effectively belong to the most well-known and widespread typologies: they are interpretations which have in common the idea that the real meaning of the words of the text is different, is ‘something other’ than what a strictly philological method can derive from the author’s words, which, Aristarchus contends, should instead be adhered to more strictly. The above distinction has the consequence that the choice of exegetic method requires the critic to take an important and decisive position on the author’s poetics (whatever the degree of awareness in this regard). Only the conviction that the author deliberately intended to express his thought by allegory, symbols, metaphors, enigmas, obscurities of sundry types, justifies the interpreter’s adoption of decoding techniques and tools (accepted and shared or completely idiosyncratic) designed to highlight meanings attributable to the author and purportedly introduced by the author himself into his works in a veiled, or even intentionally obscure and concealed manner. To take an example, one may contrast the Homeric interpretation allowed by Aristarchus and the Alexandrian grammarians (nothing that goes beyond the words of the poet) with that abundantly represented in the Homeric problems written by one Heraclitus of the imperial age. Heraclitus believed that Homer wrote his poem using allegory as a means of expression, making deliberate use of this rhetorical tool: that is to say, the act of decoding the poetic creation enables the interpreter not only to defend the poet against any charge of impiety, but also to discover in his lines an enormous quantity and an extremely elevated quality of knowledge and doctrines, which became common knowledge later on. Techniques of this kind, or similar procedures, led to the idea of Homer as the source of all learning and all knowledge, widely pursued by ancient critics whose attitude was considerably different from that of Aristarchus. Aristarchus himself believed that Homer did not express his thought by means of allegories: thus he had no intention of attributing to Homer forms of knowledge which, for strictly historical reasons, the poet could not possibly have had; rather, he saw Homer merely as availing himself of the poetic li2

Sch. D ad Il. 5.385: Ἀρίσταρχος ἀξιοῖ τὰ φραζόμενα ὑπὸ τοῦ ποιητοῦ μυθικώτερον ἐκδέχεσθαι κατὰ τὴν ποιητικὴν ἐξουσίαν, μηδὲν ἔξω τῶν συμφραζομένων ὑπὸ τοῦ ποιητοῦ περιεργαζομένους. Ὦτος οὖν καὶ Ἐφιάλτης γόνῳ μὲν ἦσαν Ποσειδῶνος, [...]. ἄλλοι δὲ πιθανώτερον

ἐξηγούμενοι τὰ Ὁμήρου τοὺς Ἀλωείδας τούτους φασὶ γενέσθαι βασιλεῖς τῆς Ἑλλάδος. [...]. οἱ δέ φασιν, ἐν τῇδε τῇ ἱστορίᾳ περὶ τῶν μετεώρων διαλέγεσθαι τὸν Ὅμηρον, μαθηματικὸν ὄντα [...]. βέλτιον λέγειν δὲ ὅτι φιλοσοφεῖν βούλεται διὰ τῆσδε τῆς ραψῳδίας, ὡς καὶ δι’ ὅλης τῆς ποιήσεως.

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cence to construct legendary stories based on the matter contained in myth. Before him, Eratosthenes had said the poet should concern himself with delighting the spirit and not seek to educate in some discipline or other; and even earlier Aristotle theorized that the art of poetry is not required to ensure correctness in reference to any τέχνη that happens to be the object of representation: poetry can say and teach true things with regard to a different sphere of knowledge, but it is not necessarily obliged to. One further observation on a related question. We should maintain a careful distinction between the idea of allegorical interpretation of the mythic content of a literary work, and the allegorical interpretation of the myth as such. The fact that the myth constitutes a semiotic system of an allegorical character, which conveys its meanings through this semantic tool, is a problem that concerns religious-anthropological studies, whereas what a poet intended to convey by utilizing mythic content is a problem of exegesis and text interpretation. This is a delicately problematic point, but the two planes should not be confused, nor, much less, should they be identified, however intertwined or indeed overlaid they may come to be in actual practice. Moreover, it should also be clearly borne in mind that the problems pertaining to allegorical expression-interpretation do not concern merely the mythic content, even though myth is typically the sphere most intensely involved. One need only mention political allegory, such as the celebrated allegory of Alcaeus’ ship, to realize that the overall issue of allegory goes beyond the problem of interpreting the mythic content of poetry. The twofold concept of allegory/allegoresis already had a far wider scope even in antiquity, let alone in subsequent eras, from late antiquity and throughout the medieval age in the Orient and in the West. Over the course of history, the very term ‘allegory’ itself has covered an extremely broad and variegated range of meanings, both as regards the rhetorical-expressive mean and also the critical-exegetic tool. Thus consideration of ‘allegory’ in the strict sense should be expanded to consideration of all types of interpretation that seek real or supposed ‘hidden’ meanings beneath the letter of the text. But let us not yield to the temptation of casting the net of our enquiry too wide, which would draw us towards theory-oriented ambitions both on literary criticism and poetics. Rather, let us restrict ourselves, almost playfully, to citing a passage from Alcibiades II, Platonic if not by Plato, in which it is asserted that all poetry is by its very nature αἰνιγματῶδες and cannot be understood by a

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mere ordinary person,3 and then let us set this passage alongside the declaration by Northrop Frye4 that ‘it is not often realized that all commentary is allegorical interpretation, an attaching of ideas to the structure of poetic imagery’. The exegete stands in contrast to the ‘mere ordinary person’ and is seen as the one who is capable of understanding, who has the cultural and intellectual tools to perform the interpretation; furthermore, he attributes to his work and to himself the right to extract all kinds of meaning from a text and to construct his own line of argument, focusing on what he regards as useful and important to develop. The exegete not only enjoys great freedom (which can go as far as arbitrary discretion), but he also wields potentially enormous cultural influence. So powerful can his influence be that he can sway widely held opinions and shape general attitudes, all the more so if the text he is dealing with is recognized as a highly authoritative work and if the interpreter himself enjoys great authority. The critical currents linked to philosophical, political and religious ideologies belong to this general and generic framework, in which even the most blatant anachronisms are present and are in effect admitted. The ancient interpreters could tenaciously trace in Homer numerous forms of knowledge and discoveries actually belonging to later ages, and they had no hesitation in attributing to Homer references to historical events, or elements of Platonic or Stoic or Christian thought, leaving aside the mordant observation by Seneca (Epist. 88), according to whom the evidence that Homer was not a philosopher resides precisely in the fact that his works are supposed to contain the entire gamut of doctrines, even though in contradiction to one another. It was, and it is, better to have an open door through which to enlist within one’s own army any text viewed as authoritative and important. History right up to the modern times is studded with manifestations of this attitude and these cultural operations (and each of us must decide individually whether to consider them acceptable or not, and to what extent). The crystal-clear methodological position in Homeric scholarship proposed by Aristarchus provides a fairly specific characterization of Alexandrian philology, but it does not represent the most common and widespread situation of criticism over the course of the centuries. Basically, allegoresis or any form of ideological, philosophical or religious interpretation has only rarely been excluded: in fact, I believe that it can 3 4

Alc. 2, 147b 5–10. Frye 1957, 89 (my attention was drawn to the passage by Filippomaria Pontani).

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be said for Homer that after the Alexandrians such a kind of exegesis was no longer excluded, right up until the modern age. Again, under the skies of Thessaloniki, we can cite the case of the archbishop Eustathius, whose lengthy Homeric commentaries gathered up the philological heritage of the Alexandrian grammarians but combined it with sweeping allegorical interpretations, capable of forging a link between Christian culture and the most venerated monument of ancient pagan culture. The methodological choice adopted by Aristarchus in the field of Homeric criticism rests on the idea that the exegetic method utilized by the interpreter must correspond to the author’s poetics, i.e. the instrument must be in tune with the object. Careful reflection suggests that this theoretical aspect accords well with the principle of internal and analogical criticism which holds that the author himself is his own best interpreter (no matter what was the exact formulation and to whom we owe it). This principle is recognized as essential and basic in Aristarchean exegetical practice. The picture that emerges is one of an intellectual framework of historical-philological exegesis, wherein studying and understanding a text is important and valid in its own right, and the objective is to correctly reconstruct and preserve a piece of historical evidence which has intrinsic value (for Homeric criticism, the nature and character of τὸ Ὁμηρικόν). Such an objective stands in opposition to any critical methodology that fails to respect these two principles, i.e. that admits the possibility of applying to some work a method that is unsuited to its poetics, or condones the idea of seeking within the work meanings that are quite alien to it in terms of cultural background, spatial location or time. All this identifies Alexandrian philology as a sort of ‘parenthesis’ in the history of ancient scholarship, since the predominant attitude throughout the long history of ancient scholarship right up to the modern age has been marked by critical attitudes of a sharply different orientation, according to the typology outlined above. It would certainly be of great interest to analyze this distinction and contraposition in modern scholarship from the Eighteenth century to the present day, but I am happy to avoid venturing into a province that is not my own, at least in this moment. Certainly, one can readily understand that within this parenthesis the practice of producing new editions of the works of the ancient παιδεία originated and became consolidated. In fact the Alexandrian scholars introduced a new idea in the sphere of scholarship, formulating for the first time the problem of the correctness of classical authors’ texts as they could read them, and addressing the question of the damage the ancient texts had suffered in the course of their transmis-

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sion. Such an approach involved collating different copies, examining and evaluating the variants of the textual tradition, deleting parts judged as spurious and emending errors in order to reconstruct the authentic text. This was enough to create a most peculiar intellectual and scientific situation, but it also compelled the scholars to consider the criteria of critical interpretation in a new light, and even to create new standards and principles arousing needs that were different and deeper: because, as Giorgio Pasquali wrote, ‘constituting a text [...] requires the same learning and knowledge as interpreting [...] constituting a text and interpreting it are, ultimately, one and the same thing’.5 What seems remarkable indeed is the fact that in comparison to the prolonged history of ancient scholarship, which has been built up over the centuries from the origins right up to modern time, this short parenthesis lasting no more than the period from Zenodotus to the Augustan age, or possibly to the 2nd century AD, is the very period which we regard as the cradle of philological science in the modern sense, of course with all the mutatis mutandis necessary both for a correct historical evaluation and also to placate the concerns displayed by a certain hypercritical hyper-scepticism, which denies similarities perhaps because it is unable to evaluate the differences properly. Let us now recall that the publication of the Venetian Homeric scholia by Villoison, in which (and this was the great novelty) the materials of the Alexandrian scholarship were mainly to be found, gave rise to the famous Prolegomena ad Homerum by F.A. Wolf (a pupil of C.H. Heyne), always considered as one of the first and most significant turning points at the end of the Eighteenth century leading towards the birth of modern classical philology. It will therefore hardly be considered intellectual snobbery to point out that Alexandrian philology once again played a vital role and exerted decisive influence at a crucial moment in the history of classical studies. In the second half of the twentieth century, studies on Alexandrian philology and in general on the history of erudition, exegesis and grammar in the cultural panorama of the ancient world, experienced a renewed period of great flowering, which continues unabated in this opening stage of the twenty-first century. As compared to the state and tendencies of studies in the first half of the last century, today the picture appears radically changed. The by now classic work of Rudolf Pfeiffer dating from 1968, the two volumes of Kurt Latte’s incomplete edition of Hesychius dating from 1953 and 1966, Hartmut Erbse’s edition of the 5

Pasquali 1920, repr. 1998, 26: ‘Insomma, a costituire un testo gli occhi servono così come le mani a scrivere un poema; occorre invece la stessa preparazione che a interpretare e a gustare: costituire un testo e interpretarlo sono, in fondo, tutt’uno’.

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Scholia Vetera to the Iliad begun in 1969, the launch in 1974 of a series entitled Sammlung griechischer und lateinischer Grammatiker (SGLG), can be remembered as significant symptoms and stimuli of a new season. These research themes have progressively grown in importance and presence in the current panorama of classical studies, and now rest on different cultural foundations and orientations compared to the manner in which they were considered and treated, albeit with abundance and attention, in the context of nineteenth-century philology. As new and adequate working tools are devised and editions of texts become available, the effort to construct solid bases for research in this sector is acquiring more concrete form, while studies and essays continue to shed light in greater depth on a number of themes that are relevant for these aspects of the ancient literary civilization. Furthermore, such progress on the one hand can be seen as forming part of movements towards a positive reappraisal, which is by now complete and consolidated, of the postclassical historical phases of ancient Greek culture, from the imperial to the Byzantine age. On the other hand, this can rightly be described as one of the important aspects of a definitive transition away from the aestheticizing and intuitionist tendencies of the misguided and often a-historical classicism that characterised a great part of the twentieth century. One fundamental element is that the investigations on the philology and erudition of the ancients no longer have an exclusively or predominantly ancillary value, and are no longer considered essentially or only as a repository of fragments of lost works, antiquarian curiosities or potential aids to modern philology. Ancient erudite and philologicalgrammatical production, in a word ‘ancient scholarship’, has acquired an independent meaning of its own, inasmuch as it is now seen as an expression and manifestation of a precise intellectual sphere and as an important aspect of ancient civilization. The exegetic observations and the erudite knowledge of the ancients are no longer considered only for what they tell us about a work or a phenomenon they aim to explain: rather, today they are and must be perceived as useful and interesting for what they tell us about themselves, i.e. about the ideas and the culture of which they are an expression. Yet even today one still too often notes the tendency to discuss the data of ancient philology and grammar on the basis of the principle of what is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ from the point of view of modern science; in other words, the tendency to try to gauge how far the ancients had drawn close to the ‘correct’ interpretation and to what extent they missed the point, whether they were good or bad philologists, with regard to their textual choices as well. These are evaluations that distort the historical perspective. Moreover, too often the criterion for selection

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of materials considered worthy of interest and study remains based essentially on what appears to be useful or useless for the specific purpose of interpreting today, according to our criteria and for our own ends, the ancient author who is the focus of attention. In other words, too often the body of knowledge represented by ancient scholarship is viewed as potentially interesting and significant (only) when it is of aid in helping to solve a problem of modern scholarship. But this is a drastically limited and reductive viewpoint. Instead, everything that is of no aid in specifically interpreting Homer or Pindar or Aristophanes from our own point of view, is of the greatest aid in interpreting Zenodotus, Aristophanes of Byzantium, Aristarchus, and in understanding their cultural context and their intellectual milieu. This is a perspective that has become consolidated over recent decades and has contributed to the undeniable progress in the general historical vision of the ancient world: the products of scholarship have begun to be subjected to investigation for the purpose of discerning the critical principles, the ideas on literature and language, the interests, the thought of the scholars themselves in their cultural context. Of this important revival of studies on ancient scholarship in the current framework of classical studies, this conference, with its rich array of themes, is the most recent episode. Certainly it will not be the last, because the future path of this field of research promises to be long and rich in results.

II. The Ancient Scholars at Work

Plato’s Ion and the Origins of Scholarship Richard Hunter The Ion has always been regarded as a very important source for Plato’s views on poetry and for the history of rhapsodic performance, but it hardly figures—unless I am mistaken—in modern accounts of the development of ancient scholarship,1 although we might have expected a fourth-century work in which Socrates cross-examines an expert in the presentation and interpretation (understood very broadly) of Homer to be a precious stone in the lacunose mosaic which is our knowledge of the history of the discipline. This neglect is perhaps particularly surprising given the fact that at the heart of Socrates’ discussion with the rhapsode lies the issue of how to judge (κρίνειν) poetry; whereas, for example, the famous discussions of Republic 2, 3 and 10 are largely concerned with the nature and effect of poetry, the Ion also focuses on the rôle and qualifications of ‘the critic’, and krisis is, in the now canonical account, what lies at the heart of scholarship. When Socrates (no doubt ironically) counts rhapsodes lucky because they come thoroughly to learn/understand (ἐκμανθάνειν) Homer’s dianoia and can then transmit this dianoia to the audience (530b–c),2 he places them at the head of the whole scholarly tradition, as it was summed up some four and a half centuries later by Dio Chrysostom in his Περὶ Ὁμήρου: Many others [i.e. as well as Democritus] have written about Homer, some straightforwardly praising (ἐγκωμιάζοντες) the poet and illuminating (δηλοῦντες) some of the things he has said, and others precisely expounding (ἐξηγούμενοι) his dianoia; this latter group includes Aristarchus and Crates and a number of the others of those who were later called grammatikoi, but earlier kritikoi. Dio Chrysostom 53.1

Ion would see himself at the head of both camps.3 1 2 3

There are merely a couple of incidental references to the Ion in Pfeiffer 1968. On the meaning of Socrates’ statement cf. below p. 31–33 and Rijksbaron 2007, 120. On ‘praise’ of Homer cf. below p. 36–37.

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There are, I think, a number of reasons why historians of ancient scholarship have paid the Ion less attention than they might have done. One is both chronological and ideological. The prevailing narrative, enshrined in and to an important extent descending from Rudolf Pfeiffer’s extraordinary synthesis, is that ‘scholarship’, defined as ‘the art of understanding, explaining, and restoring the literary tradition’, is a creation of the third century, whatever significant debt it owed to the intellectual activities of the previous three centuries, most notably of course to Aristotle;4 from this perspective, the Ion, if it has any importance at all, must belong to the ‘background noise’. Even the alternative view, which we know from the same chapter of Dio quoted above to have been current in antiquity, namely that Aristotle provided the ἀρχή for κριτική and γραμματική, offers little comfort to the reputation of the Platonic work.5 Secondly, the emphasis throughout the Ion is on Ion as an oral performer, both as reciter and expounder of Homer;6 if at the heart of scholarship lies the repeated examination of written texts in an atmosphere of dispassionate enquiry, then both Ion’s histrionics and his effect on his audiences seem light years away from that. It has been interestingly suggested that ‘Plato depicts a performer who is struggling to maintain a privileged position as a Homeric interpreter in the face of experts [i.e. Metrodorus etc] who focus on Homer’s compositions independently of their performance’.7 If so, the Ion might be showing us the death-throes of the old, rather than the birth of the new, but in fact it is more likely that both are involved.8 Be that as it may, it ought at least to be worth asking whether Ion’s business of λέγειν περὶ Ὁμήρου (530c9 etc.) was an utterly different activity, not just from Democritus’ written περὶ Ὁμήρου (T 33, fr. 20a–5 D.–K.), but from the many like-named works from the Hellenistic and imperial periods of which we know, such as Dio Or. 53 (quoted above). It is, moreover, perhaps not flippant to observe that, as soon as Socrates provokes him to reveal his selfsatisfaction, Ion puts his achievements in a competitive frame:

4 5 6 7 8

Pfeiffer 1968, 3. Pfeiffer of course takes pains to refute this view (cf. Pfeiffer 1968, 67). Cf., e.g., Ferrari 2003, 92–99 (a helpful account) and the remarks of Yunis 2003, 190–192. Graziosi 2002, 45. I am tempted to add that the fact that Ion is apparently in the business for rewards and prizes, including financial gain (530a–b, 535e), will not have encouraged modern scholars to take him very seriously; real scholars, as some believe, have no interest in salaries or glittering prizes—what matters is ‘devotion to pure learning’ (Pfeiffer 1968, 3).

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I think that I speak best of all men about Homer. Neither Metrodorus of Lampsacus nor Stesimbrotus of Thasos nor Glaucon nor anyone who has ever lived has been able to utter as many splendid dianoiai about Homer as myself. Plato, Ion 530c8–d29

There is no need here to describe at length the agonistic nature of all public activities in classical Athens, but it is worth stressing that Ion’s pride here also looks forward to the very agonistic nature of Hellenistic scholarship; it is hard not to be reminded of Callimachus’ Iambos 1. Strabo’s refutation of Eratosthenes in 1.2 of the Geography is perhaps our clearest surviving example of how, at least in antiquity if not more recently, scholarly space is normally found by encroaching on the territory of others. More important perhaps in the current context than the ‘performative’ nature of Ion’s wisdom is the simple fact that we apparently do not see Ion perform in the dialogue named after him. On both occasions when he is about to give Socrates a display (epideixis) περὶ Ὁμήρου, Socrates sidetracks him into a question-and-answer session of Socrates’ own devising (530d–1a, 536d–e). If anyone gives an epideixis περὶ Ὁμήρου in the Ion, it is Socrates, not Ion; Socrates’ bravura central speech on magnetism and poetic inspiration deserves such a title as much as any other. As for Ion, we are clearly to understand that the kind of ‘performance’ he gives in the dialogue is not how he (or any rhapsode) usually ‘speaks about Homer’. Although attention has been given to what can be gleaned from the dialogue about the bi-partite nature of Ion’s performances, which seem to have consisted of both recitation of passages and some form of ‘commentary’ or discussion,10 scholars have, unsurprisingly, on the whole looked elsewhere, to the Protagoras (to which I shall return) and the Hippias Minor, for example, for rather more informative accounts of poetic interpretative practice at the end of the fifth century, at least as that is presented by Plato. These works have, however, also figured in a long debate as to how, if at all, Ion’s performances on Homer are to be understood within a ‘sophistic’ context and, more broadly, on the relation between rhapsodic practice as portrayed in the Ion and other contemporary practices of Homeric interpretation, including those of Metrodorus, Stesimbrotus, and the others against whom Ion measures himself.11 On one hand, it is in fact

9 On this passage cf. also below p. 34–36. 10 Cf. below p. 34 n. 27, Velardi 1989, 21–36. 11 Cf. esp. Richardson 1975; Murray 1996, 98 offers a useful overview.

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easy enough to imagine Ion in a situation such as that described by Isocrates in a well-known passage of the Panathenaicus:12 Some friends met me and told me how three or four of the common herd of sophists, the kind who claim to know everything and who appear anywhere at the drop of a hat, were sitting together in the Lyceum and discussing (διαλέγοιντο) the poets, particularly the poetry of Hesiod and Homer; they had nothing of their own to say, but they were reciting (ῥαψωδοῦντες) these poets’ verses and repeating the cleverest bits from what others had said about them in the past. Isocrates, Panathenaicus 18

Isocrates’ barbs are, of course, another paradigmatic instance of the agonistic nature of ‘scholarship’. Ion would have denied the charge of crudely tralatician scholarship, but otherwise it might be just such a situation to which Ion is referring at 532b–c:13 What is the reason, Socrates, that whenever someone discusses (διαλέγηται) another poet, I cannot concentrate and can make no worthwhile contribution—in fact I just nod off—but when someone brings up the subject of Homer (περὶ Ὁμήρου μνησθῆι),14 I am immediately awake and focused and have a great deal to say? Plato, Ion 532b8–c3

A work such as Dio Or. 53 (cf. above), the first part of which almost amounts to an anthology of classical praise of Homer, may well stand in a direct line of descent from the kind of ‘sophistic’ discussion which Isocrates conjures up, though Isocrates presumably implies that his despised sophists do not, unlike Dio, take the trouble of acknowledging their sources. The ‘sophists’ with whom Isocrates is concerned were probably rather different from the great fifth-century figures who fill the pages of Plato. Unlike a Protagoras or a Hippias or a Prodicus, Ion has no ‘intellectual’ activity beyond the recitation and discussion of Homer; he does not teach rhetoric or virtue or even write his own poetry, he is through and through a ‘Homerist’. This makes him no less, say, an antiEratosthenes than he is an anti-Hippias, but Plato’s stress on his selfproclaimed narrowness, however truly (or otherwise) it may reflect con12 Cf., e.g., Méridier 1931, 9–10, Murray 1996, 97–98, Ford 2002, 71. 13 Ion might, of course, also have occasions such as symposia in mind, cf. Velardi 1989, 19. 14 Cf. 536c7. The sense of περὶ Ὁμήρου μνησθῆι seems to be as I have translated it, rather than the more specific ‘makes commentaries about Homer’ as a piece of ‘rhapsodes’ language’, as Nagy 2002, 31 takes it.

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temporary rhapsodic practice, does not merely serve an argument about the nature and unity of technai, but emphasises Ion as an expert in the poetry of the past and as a professional performer in public of his own sophia (this is ‘what he does’), and as such he is actually much closer in some respects to the modern conception of ‘the scholar’ than are the great sophists of the later fifth century. Perhaps no single passage of the Ion has provoked as much discussion as Socrates’ initial provocation of the rhapsode: I have often, Ion, envied you rhapsodes for your craft (τέχνης). For not only does it befit your art to adorn yourselves (τὸ σῶμα κεκοσμῆσθαι) and to appear at your splendid best, but you must also spend time with (διατρίβειν) many excellent poets, and above all with Homer, the greatest and most divine of poets; thoroughly to learn his meaning (διάνοια), not just his verses, is certainly to be envied. For no one could be a good rhapsode unless he understood (συνείη) what the poet said. The rhapsode must transmit (lit. ‘be ἑρμηνεύς of’) the poet’s meaning (διάνοια) for those listening, and it is impossible to do this well without knowing (γιγνώσκοντα) what the poet says/means (λέγει). Plato, Ion 530b5–c5

All of the key terms in this passage have been subjected to lengthy analysis: for some, Socrates is representing Ion as an interpretative ‘commentator’ who has to explain the poet’s meaning to the less qualified, for others there is reference here to nothing other than standard rhapsodic recitation of Homeric poetry. In seeking to tease out Socrates’ own διάνοια here, we might be tempted to start with a presumption that Socrates’ statement is likely to be both ambiguous for the unwary and designed to steer Ion’s response in a certain direction. Socrates’ ironic admiration is very close to a passage which Plato elsewhere puts in the mouth of Protagoras15 and it clearly introduces the important question of whether rhapsodes (and poets) have ‘knowledge’,16 but—taken by itself—it might indeed be thought to suggest a serious form of poetic ‘interpretation’. συνίημι is, for example, used by Pindar in suggestive contexts: at Nemean 4.31 λόγον ὁ μὴ συνιείς is the person who cannot draw out a moral from the tale Pindar tells; at fr. 15 Cf. below p. 35–36. 16 Cf. esp. Republic 10.598e3–4 for very similar language applied to poets. The irony of Socrates’ provocation to Ion was of course of no importance for parts of the later tradition; thus Proclus cites 530b8–c1 for Platonic endorsement of the need to study Homer and to benefit from the poet’s ‘intellectual and scientific guidance’ (Commentary on the Republic 158.3–11 Kroll). Proclus discusses the Ion itself at 182.21–185.7 Kroll.

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105.1 Maehler σύνες ὅ τοι λέγω (addressed to Hieron) is likely to have meant ‘get my meaning (which I am not going to spell out)’, though probably not with the threatening overtones of the absurd poet who uses the tag in Aristophanes’ Birds (v. 945). Most striking of all is the use of συνετός at Bacchylides 3.85, φρονέοντι συνετὰ γαρύω, and in a notorious passage of Olympian 2: πολλά μοι ὑπ’ ἀγκῶνος ὠκέα βέλη ἔνδον ἐντὶ φαρέτρας φωνάεντα συνετοῖσιν, ἐς δὲ τὸ πὰν ἑρμανέων χατίζει. σοφὸς ὁ πολλὰ εἰδὼς φυᾶι· μαθόντες δὲ λάβροι παγγλωσσίᾳ κόρακες ὣς ἄκραντα γαρυέτων Διὸς πρὸς ὄρνιχα θεῖον·

Pindar, Olympian 2.83–8 I have under my arm many swift arrows inside their quiver which speak to those who understand; in general, however, they require interpreters. Wise is the man who naturally knows many things. Those who have learned are unruly and their words spill out; they are like a pair of crows who caw in vain against the divine bird of Zeus.

Whatever the tortuous vagaries of modern interpretation of this passage, it was clear enough in later antiquity, at least, that Pindar ‘is talking about his own poems’ which need ἑρμηνεῖς ‘interpreters’ (Sch. Pi. O. 2 ad loc.);17 such a passage was, of course, a godsend to interpreting scholars, who could simply ignore the irony of adopting as a motto and justification for their own activity a passage which rejected ‘learning’. Be that as it may, the juxtaposition of these two ideas in both Pindar and Plato might encourage us to believe that Socrates is indeed teasing Ion in a language which suggests the ‘decoding’ of poetic meaning, an interpretative practice which may, but need not, be what we would call ‘allegorical’. The extant classical usages of ἑρμηνεύς are, however, at least not in favour of such an interpretation of the Ion passage,18 and, as Albert Rijksbaron has perhaps most fully demonstrated,19 there need in fact be no reference here to anything other than rhapsodic performance of Homer: ‘To ensure a successful performance the rhapsode had first and foremost to make basic but important decisions about word division and 17 Cf. Eustathius at II 289 Drachmann. This is the only extant Pindaric use of ἑρμηνεύς. 18 Cf. Capuccino 2005, 124–137, citing Most 1986. 19 Cf. Rijksbaron 2007, 123–128.

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accentuation, about the construal of the sentences, their declarative, interrogative or exclamative character, and about punctuation, i.e. pausing in a meaningful way while reciting the text, etc.’20 Rijksbaron well illustrates the continuity between such necessary decisions and much of the interpretative material which we find in the later scholia.21 How the rhapsode performed indicated how he understood Homer’s dianoia, and a ‘good’ rhapsode would precisely catch that authorial meaning and ‘transmit’ it to the audience;22 a less good rhapsode might know the verses off by heart, but the performance of them would leave the audience short of the full Homeric experience. This passage of Pindar’s Second Olympian allows us also to catch some of the resonance of Ion’s statement that understanding the poet’s meaning is the part of his craft which has ‘caused [him] most trouble (πλεῖστον ἔργον παρέσχεν)’ (530c7–8). Whereas the rhetoric of the Ion is heavily dependent upon a running-together of the activities of poet and rhapsode, the serious investment of ‘effort/labour’ distinguishes Ion in his rhapsodic activity from the idea of the soaring poet, promulgated by both Pindar and Socrates in his ‘light and winged and holy’ speech; Ion is much more like one of Pindar’s cawing crows. Ion’s assertion, however, also looks forward to the ideals of poetic and scholarly ‘labour’ which we know to be a hallmark of the Hellenistic and later periods, but which, as for example Aristophanes’ Frogs shows only too clearly, were already important to conceptions of poetic composition at the end of the fifth century.23 Horace, for example, likens himself to a bee (Odes 4.27–32), as Socrates claims all lyric poets do (534b1), but adds a repeated emphasis on the labour involved in composition (per laborem | plurimum, operosa … carmina). As for the ἔργα of scholarship, the fatal effect of Philitas’ laborious researches stands as a humorous emblem for the world of Alexandrian scholarship.24 Ion’s self-description foreshadows a new world in more ways than one. As for the ‘many, fine dianoiai about Homer’ on which Ion prides himself (530d2, cf. further below), a persistent strand in modern discus20 21 22 23

Rijksbaron 2007, 125. For some classical examples of just such problems cf. Arist. S.E. 166b1–9. The discussion of dianoia in Nagy 2002, 29 goes in a rather different direction. Ion’s words about the labour involved in being an interpreter of poetry find an instructive analogy, from the point of view of the poet, in Aristophanes’ description of the first version of Clouds as the comedy which παρέσχε μοι / ἔργον πλεῖστον (Clouds 523–4). I have discussed some relevant material for the later period in Hunter 2003a. 24 Suid. φ 332 = Philitas, T1 Dettori, Sbardella; Ath. 9.401e = T5 Dettori = T7 Sbardella.

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sion of the Ion has sought to associate these with the ὑπόνοιαι (‘undermeanings’) of the Homeric text about which we hear in more than one other text of this period (Xenophon, Smp. 3.6, Plato, R. 2.378d6).25 No doubt a rhapsode’s or sophist’s dianoia about Homer could take the form of elucidating an alleged huponoia, but there seems little reason to make the connection here. Whether or not it is likely that Ion’s dianoiai are to be imagined as reaching any great level of intellectual sophistication or ingenuity may be debated; much might hang on how seriously we are to take Ion’s claims to outdo such sophisticated interpreters as Metrodorus and Stesimbrous (530c8–9). In Xenophon’s Symposium, which seems to have some intertextual relation to the Ion,26 Socrates explicitly associates rhapsodes and their stupidity with ignorance of the ὑπόνοιαι (3.6), and—with every allowance for the joking spirit of these exchanges—this at least does not encourage us to associate Ion with this type of criticism (whatever it was).27 More importantly, however, the dialogue itself gives no reason either to think of Ion as an ‘allegorist’ or to regard the matter as important for the understanding of the text. We must, I think, content ourselves with the reflection that, although the poet’s dianoia was almost universally held to be a single authorial ‘meaning’ or ‘intention’, regardless of the extent to which critics might disagree as to what that was, the dianoiai of critics and performers about the poet very likely covered a very wide range of both mode and sophistication. 25 For such a connection cf., e.g., Diller 1955, 175 n. 3, Flashar 1958, 25; the use made of this alleged connection by Struck 2004, 43, 67 seems to me particularly misleading. 26 Cf., e.g., Méridier 1931, 25–6; Huss 1999, 215. 27 Ford 2002, 70–1 suggests that Ion’s ‘stock of observations […] consisted in improving observations on the wisdom to be found in Homer’s poetry’ (cf. already Verdenius 1943, 246–53), and Méridier 1931, 11 notes that ‘son commentaire doit être une paraphrase élogieuse’. Velardi 1989, 31–6 makes the interesting suggestion that Lycurgus, Against Leocrates 102–4 is an example of the kind of ἔπαινος which a rhapsode might offer. Given the persistence of encomiastic themes over the centuries, I would be looking not just to Dio Or. 53 (cf. above p. 27), but also to Dio Or. 2, which, when set beside, e.g., the Hippias Minor, is an excellent illustration of that consistency. The young Alexander’s fixation with Homer in fact mirrors Ion’s: ‘Why on earth, my son,’ Philip asks him, ‘are you so besotted with (ἐκπέπληξαι) Homer that you concern yourself (διατρίβεις, cf. Ion 530b8) with him alone of the poets?’ (D.Chr. Or. 2.3). It is likely also that the dialogue itself contains some hints as to the sort of extra-textual commentary which is envisaged. One example may be 535c, where Ion’s response to Socrates may be evidence that the language of poetic enargeia, and its link to the emotional effect of poetry (cf. esp. ‘Longinus’, On the Sublime 15.1–2), goes a very long way back.

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Nevertheless, there is more to be said about Ion’s claim at 530d2. The claim to speak ‘many, fine dianoiai about Homer’ is strikingly expressed and its oddity (which is often, I think, under-rated) is clearly designed to call attention to itself. As, however, some scholars have seen, dianoiai is chosen to play off against Socrates’ repeated (530b10, c4) stress upon the rhapsode’s knowledge of the poet’s dianoia; both the poet and his performers and critics have dianoiai. At one level, of course, Ion’s smugness merely condemns itself: there is a clear implication that Ion is more interested in his own dianoiai than in Homer’s.28 Secondly, the plurality of Ion’s dianoiai, when set against the singularity of the poet’s dianoia, is something which will always set alarm-bells ringing in a Platonic context.29 Thirdly, and most importantly, the use of the same word points to a fundamental methodological problem: when someone speaks a dianoia about Homer’s dianoia, how are we to able to distinguish the two? Elsewhere, Plato’s Socrates seems to abandon the whole business of poetic ‘criticism’ because the poem cannot speak for itself and the poet is not present to be questioned;30 here the point is similar, but the complex use of dianoia allows us to see how Plato has anticipated the debate which racked much of twentieth-century scholarship on classical literature and still occasionally surfaces in apologetic footnotes: is there in fact such a thing as ‘authorial meaning’, or is meaning ‘created at the point of reception/interpretation’? hinc illae lacrimae … The basic distinction in Socrates’ opening gambit between the ‘words’ and the ‘thought’ introduces, though hardly for the first time,31 the principal distinction upon which all subsequent rhetorical and stylistic criticism is built: the Homeric scholia repeatedly distinguish between, on the one hand, σύνθεσις or κατασκευή and, on the other, διάνοια or νοήματα, and Aristotle (no doubt like Ion) thought that the Iliad and the Odyssey ‘surpassed all epics in lexis and dianoia’ (Poetics 1459b16). The discussion of Simonides’ poem for Scopas in the Protagoras offers helpful confirmation of some of this analysis. Socrates introduces his long epideixis with the statement that he wishes to say ‘what I think Simonides intends (διανοεῖσθαι) in this poem, if you want to test out

28 Cf. Flashar 1958, 34. 29 Aristophanes uses the plural to mean ‘witty conceits’ (Clouds 944, Peace 750, Wasps 1044, Eccl. 581) or ‘thoughts/ideas’ (Frogs 1059). Ion’s pride in the amount of what he can say perhaps looks forward to the misplaced pride of the Horatian ‘boor’ (quis me scribere pluris / aut citius possit uersus?, Satires 1.9.23–4). 30 Cf. Protagoras 347e, Hippias Minor 365c8–d1. 31 Cf., e.g., Phaedrus 228d1–5. On this distinction in pre-Hellenistic texts cf., e.g., Halliwell 2000, 102.

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how I stand, as you put it, in regard to verses (περὶ ἐπῶν)’ (341e7–2a2). Socrates is here picking up Protagoras’ opening gambit: I think, Socrates, that the greatest part of a man’s paideia is to be clever in the matter of verses (περὶ ἐπῶν δεινὸν εἶναι). This means to be able to understand (συνιέναι) what the poets say and what has been composed well (ὀρθῶς) and what not, and to know how to make distinctions and, when questioned, to give an account. Plato, Protagoras 338e6–9a3

Here it is indeed the poet’s ‘meaning/intention’ which is at stake, but when Socrates begins his exposition, the language slides: ‘I shall attempt to explain to you what I think about this poem’ (342a6–7). This may be no more than shorthand for ‘… what I think about Simonides’ intention in this poem’, for the fact that it is indeed Simonides’ dianoia which is the object of the exposition is subsequently repeated (343c) and rounds off Socrates’ speech (347a4–5) in a kind of simple ring-composition. Nevertheless, this speech, which in the terms of the Ion we could describe as a ‘dianoia concerning Simonides’ or perhaps ‘an epideixis containing many fine dianoiai concerning Simonides’, is an example of the potential split between the dianoia of a poet and the dianoia of the critic; when Socrates has Simonides arguing for ideas which we recognise as quintessentially Socratic, such as that no one does wrong willingly (345d–e), the opportunities and dangers which still litter the path of literary scholarship lie plainly before our eyes. The second description which Ion gives of his own activity points to a similar potential for confusion between poet and interpreter: It’s certainly worth hearing, Socrates, how brilliantly I have embellished (κεκόσμηκα) Homer; I think that the Homeridai should crown me with a gold wreath. Plato, Ion 530d6–8

Whatever reference there may be here to the actual conduct of rhapsodic contests,32 κοσμεῖν is another case where Ion’s language picks up and re-directs that of Socrates (cf. 530b6). Ion’s use of the verb has been variously interpreted,33 but one thing that is clear is that κοσμεῖν, ‘em32 Victorious rhapsodes were no doubt crowned, but the image here may rather be of Homer as a victor in the games, or—perhaps rather—as a city which has been the subject of Ion’s praises; the Homeridai thus play the rôle of the city’s inhabitants who reward the encomiast. On the Homeridai cf. West 1999, Graziosi 2002, 208–217. 33 Cf. esp. Velardi 1989, 20–26. Boyd 1994, 116–121 offers an interesting account, partly based on the practices of Slavic bards, but his account seems to

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bellish, praise’, is—like ἐπαινεῖν—a principal activity of poets, whether it be Pindar (cf. Nemean 6.46) or Homer himself, the ἀνδρῶν ἡρώων κοσμήτωρ, as the epitaph cited at the end of the Certamen calls him.34 Ion’s language here (for the first time in the dialogue) blurs the boundary between poet and rhapsode, thus suggesting again that the closely related boundary between poetry and exposition is not an easy one to draw. Between the poet and ourselves falls the shadow of the interpreter (ἑρμηνεύς). Is there in fact a way to the poet except through previous interpretation? We are all too familiar with the fact that literary interpretation (particularly of a text as ‘central’ as Homer) is, almost inevitably, interpretation of the body of interpetative material which has built up around a text over the centuries; there is, for example, a lot of modern writing about (ostensibly) Aeschylus’ Agamemnon where one might justly wonder whether the subject is in fact the Agamemnon or rather Fraenkel or indeed Fraenkel’s Agamemnon, and similar cases might easily be multiplied. Did Fraenkel ‘embellish’ Aeschylus? Ion claims to offer us a richer ‘Homeric’ experience than we would get by listening to another reciter or interpreter or simply picking up the text and reading it for ourselves; again, the whole history of literary scholarship lies before us. One of the things which sets the Ion apart from other Platonic discussions of poetry and its performance is the focus on the person of the interpreter and his relation with the poet, to the exclusion of more ‘communal’ concerns. Thus, for example, in Republic 10 Socrates proscribes the Homeric poems from the ideal city in terms which may well make us think of Ion: Thus, Glaucon, when you come across admirers (ἐπαινέται) of Homer who say that this poet educated Greece and that for the management and education of human affairs one should take up and learn (μανθάνειν) his poems and lead the whole of one’s life in accordance with this poet, you should be friendly and welcoming to these people as they are as virtuous as possible, and you should agree that Homer is the best poet of all and first among the tragedians; you should, however, know that the only poetry which is to be received into the city are hymns to the gods and encomia to good men. Plato, Republic 10.606e–7a

me to sit uncomfortably with the actual context in the Ion, where the act of kosmein is closely connected to ‘uttering dianoiai’. 34 For various expressions of this idea cf., e.g., Plato, Phaedrus 245a4–5, Isocrates, Panegyricus 159, Dio 33.11, 55.9 (Homer ‘embellished’ his poetry with similes), [Plutarch], De Homero 2.216. Cf. further Graziosi 2002, 36.

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No doubt Ion would agree with these ἐπαινέται, a word which Socrates also uses of Ion himself (536d2, 542b3),35 and Ion might well have said such things in his imagined epideixeis, but, for what it is worth, the Ion has almost nothing to say about the importance of Homeric poetry and its interpretation for the health of society or the education of individuals, and certainly nothing to say, either in seriousness or jest, about Homer’s beneficial and/or educational effects on his fellow men. What is principally at stake in the Ion, at least from Ion’s perspective is, if you like, what Ion can do for Homer (and vice versa), not what Ion can do for those around him. Moreover, when Ion’s effect on his audience is at issue, it is the non-rational, emotional effect of his performances, their ψυχαγωγία, which is cited (535d8–e9), not any educational effect they might have (their ὠφέλεια); it was, of course, for the subsequent tradition (and perhaps already for Gorgias) precisely to find a beneficial educational effect within this emotional response. For Ion himself, however, Homer fills the rôle of the beautiful in the Symposium; when Ion is in the presence of (discussion about) Homer he ‘floods and gives birth and procreates’ (Symposium 206d4–5), whereas when any other poet is at issue ‘he curls up and turns away’ and has nothing to say. The persistent language of εὐπορεῖν and ἀπορεῖν throughout the Ion (536c7 etc) encourages this analogy. There is a great deal in the Ion, as also, for example, in the Hippias Minor, which with hindsight can be seen to foreshadow aspects of later literary scholarship, but I will conclude with what is perhaps the most important of all. The second half of the dialogue explores the ‘technical’ qualifications of the rhapsode/interpreter; Socrates is concerned with who is the correct judge of whether material in the poems has been ‘well’ (ὀρθῶς or καλῶς) made. From the point of view of later scholarship, there are two important (and related) aspects to this. First, Ion is made to admit that ‘experts’ in particular crafts are better judges of ‘technical’ material in Homer than are rhapsodes; the technai from which Socrates draws his Homeric material are prophecy and seercraft, arithmetic, medicine, charioteering, fishing, and generalship. The parallel and partly overlapping list of arts imparted by a knowledge of Homer in a jokingly sympotic passage at Xenophon, Symposium 4.6–7 (economics, public speaking, generalship, kingship, charioteering and medicine) suggests that claims for such Homeric omniscience were nothing new. Be that as it may, the arts listed in the Ion, however unsurprising, recur time and again in scholiastic and other discussions of Homeric knowledge in the subsequent scholarly and educational traditions. In one speech, for 35 On this term cf. Velardi 1989, 31–36.

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example, Dio singles out Homer’s guidance in matters of ‘prudence and generalship and seercraft’ (55.19) and [Plutarch], De Homero ticks off (inter alia) Homeric arithmetic (2.145–6), generalship (2.192–7), medicine (2.200–11) and seercraft (2.212).36 When Socrates asks ‘whether it belongs to the halieutic or the rhapsodic art to judge whether [the fishing simile at Iliad 24.80–2] is well (καλῶς) said or not’ (538d4–5), the answer seems, as Ion admits, to be obvious. Nevertheless, the question of the ‘rightness’ of these verses was indeed soon to fall within the scholarly realm and attracted the attention of Aristarchus, who did not (as far as we know) feel the need to ask a fisherman about the problem.37 The work on Homeric culture on which Athenaeus draws extensively in Book 1 claims that Homer’s knowledge of the technê of fishing was more exact than that of the many authors of poems and treatises on the subject (1.13b). Here again, the Ion obliquely points the path which later scholarship was to follow. Secondly, we must consider one of Ion’s fall-back positions: Socrates: I have selected for you from both the Odyssey and the Iliad parts which belong to the prophet and the doctor and the fisherman; since you are more experienced in the Homeric poems than I am, you, Ion, must select what belongs to the rhapsode and the rhapsodic craft, i.e. what it is fitting for the rhapsode to examine and judge in front of all other men. Ion: Well, Socrates, the answer is ‘everything’. Plato, Ion 539d5–e6

Ion’s answer should make most modern commentators on ancient texts squirm with embarrassment, but more important in the present context is the fact that Socrates’ challenge was the defining one for the history of literary scholarship: the answer to the ‘just what is it you are expert in?’ question developed slowly, but develop it did, and the answer is perhaps most clearly on view in the Homeric scholia. The expertise was basically linguistic, but it also depended on a sense, owed importantly to Aristotle, that the ὀρθότης of poetry needed to be understood on its own terms: when a poem was ὀρθῶς πεποιημένον, this did not necessarily mean that it was ‘technically accurate’ in every detail, as Socrates’ crossexamination of Ion might lead one to believe necessary. When Protagoras gets Socrates to admit that a poem with internal inconsistency cannot be ‘well (καλῶς) made’ (Protagoras 339b10–12), we glimpse the possibility of a path forward to a mode of interpretation in which ‘truth’ 36 For generalship cf. also, e.g., Philodemus, On the Good King according to Homer col. xxv Dorandi. 37 Cf. Plutarch, Moralia 976f and the texts gathered by Erbse under the Homeric scholia to Il. 24.81.

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and consistency may not be the highest criteria; so too, when in Republic 10 Socrates tells Glaucon that, until they have been offered a valid defence of the value of poetry, they will not ‘concern themselves seriously (σπουδαστέον) with such poetry as though it had a share of truth and was a serious matter’ (608a6–7), we can with hindsight see how the challenge to find the appropriately σπουδαῖον in poetry was ultimately met. The discussion of ‘technical knowledge’ in the Ion is one further Platonic challenge where the terms of the argument were re-framed and the status of poetry thus re-affirmed. If it is, again, Strabo’s discussion of Homer and his critics in Book 1 which offers perhaps our best compendium of this new sense of poetic ὀρθότης, then the view found in Philodemus that the διάνοια of poetry lies between that of the σοφοί and that of the χυδαῖοι (On Poems 5, col. xxvi Mangoni) seems not very far in the future, when viewed from the perspective of the Ion. As critics have noted, Ion’s desperate recourse at 540b to the notion of τὸ πρέπον in fact points to a central theme of later literary scholarship, and this paragraph alone should have been sufficient to guarantee the Ion a place in the history of scholarship,38 but the Socrates of this dialogue chooses not to pursue the rhapsode’s lead. Despite its apparent inconsequentiality, the Ion remains a foundational text for the history of scholarship, for it maps the terrain where men such as Ion walked, directs attention to the uncharted territory which ancient literary scholarship eventually colonised, and poses what should still be awkward questions for the commentator who takes his or her job seriously.39

38 Of particular interest here is the later view, attacked by Philodemus, that diction appropriate to each character is a distinguishing characteristic of good poetry, cf. Philodemus, On Poems 5, col. xxxv Mangoni, Asmis 1992, 410–412. 39 I am grateful to Nicholas Denyer for his comments on an earlier version of this essay.

Scholarly Panic: πανικὸς φόβος, Homeric Philology and the Beginning of the Rhesus* Marco Fantuzzi Adopting a debated variant, or a disputed interpretation of a word or substantial passage of Homer or other ancient texts that are used as models for the proposition of new texts, was a well-established practice for Hellenistic and post-Hellenistic poetae docti.1 What seems to be the normal emulative modification of the model by a new text, in a binary relation one to one, in many cases appears to acknowledge a third element: the model’s actual reception. When utilizing this technique, poets transformed the original text by inscribing in the new text the system of exegetical expectations that they met, and which they either endorsed or refused. Not many examples of this technique exist before the Hellenistic age. Maybe these examples are lacking because the available evidence of interpretive activity concerned with pre-classical texts is not abundant in the classical age, and it is thus difficult to track its relevance in the creation of classical texts. The inclination towards this technique will also have increased, however, together with the poets’ increased attention to philological doctrina as a vital ingredient of their works, and as a substantial part of their audience’s expectations. One of the oldest sustained examples of this technique of which we know, if the reading which I suggest is correct, comes from a tragedy of uncertain paternity, which has been dated to ages as different as the youth of Euripides, the

*

1

Most valuable suggestions have come to me from Christos Tsagalis, Augusto Guida, and later from Giuseppe Mastromarco, Piero Totaro, and other colleagues of the University of Bari, where a shorter version of this text was presented in May 2009. The English expression was greatly improved by Kristin Robbins, whom I wholeheartedly thank for her help. Rengakos 1993 provides the richest collection and discussion of examples for the Hellenistic authors. Among later authors, the importance of this technique of mediated reading has been especially highlighted in Virgil’s Aeneid, thanks to the contributions of Schlunk 1974, Barchiesi 1984, and Schmit-Neuerburg 1999.

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late Euripides, or the 4th cent., and is, at least in its first part, a dramatization of the first part of Iliad 10, the Doloneia. The Rhesus ascribed to Euripides is a text characterized by an intense taste for description, in most cases technically and realistically very precise, of the military lifestyle.2 Somewhat similar to many tragedies which are devoted to the description of the problems of power, decision, and their management inside the polis, this tragedy thematizes the problem of right decision (or the wrong one) in military life. In fact, the presentation of the atmosphere in the Trojan camp, which precedes the spy Dolon’s departure, had no model in Iliad 10 (where Homer focused on the Greek camp), but instead finds its major red thread in the realistic and almost technical construction of the panic’s image. Technically termed πανικὸς θόρυβος (cf. Rh. 15) or φόβος (Rh. 88) or πάνειον/ πανικὸν δεῖμα by the historians, military panic was a dangerous turmoil inside masses of people, especially masses of soldiers, taking place most often during the night3 and without evidence of real danger.4 Such panic often occured because of the spread of false news, which provoked disoriented movements of the troops, and it was therefore hard to control.5 It became an event that frequently affected large hoplite armies of the Classical and Hellenistic periods, and it is often described (cf. Rh. 36f.; see below pp. 44f.) by historians from Herodotus onwards,6 by writers 2

3

4 5 6

Wilamowitz 1926, 286 defined the tragedy ‘ein Soldatenstück’, not without some contempt, and according to a graphic definition of Sinko 1934, 423, the image of the military life portrayed by the Rhesus ‘historici potius calamo, quam poetae penicillo depicta sermonem militarem redolet’. Sinko also correctly opposes the Rhesus’ meticulous transposition of the real life dialogues between soldiers or military leaders to the sublime atmosphere ‘Martis plena’ of, e.g., Aeschylus’ Septem. As is remarked in two of the earliest references to panic as a military phenomenon, found in Thuc. 4.125.1 οἱ μὲν Μακεδόνες καὶ τὸ πλῆθος τῶν βαρβάρων εὐθὺς φοβηθέντες, ὅπερ φιλεῖ μεγάλα στρατόπεδα ἀσαφῶς ἐκπλήγνυσθαι; 7.80.3 καὶ αὐτοῖς, οἷον φιλεῖ καὶ πᾶσι στρατοπέδοις, μάλιστα δὲ τοῖς μεγίστοις, φόβοι καὶ δείματα ἐγγίγνεσθαι, ἄλλως τε καὶ ἐν νυκτί τε καὶ διὰ πολεμίας καὶ ἀπὸ πολεμίων οὐ πολὺ ἀπεχόντων ἰοῦσιν, ἐμπίπτει ταραχή (though, as it is evident from these two quotations, Thucydides did not know or use yet the term ‘panic’). See later, e.g., D.S. 14.32.3, 15.24.3, 20.67.4 and 69.1; Plut. Pomp. 68.2, reg. et imp. apophth. 192C, mul. virt. 247D, Is. et Osir. 356D; Jos. Flav. AJ 20.78.4, BJ 5.93 and 295; App. Lib. 85.21; BC 2.68; Paus. 10.23.7–10; Polyaen. Strat. 1.2, 3.9.4. ἀπὸ αἰτίας οὐδεμιᾶς: Paus. 10.23.7; cf. Cornut. nat.deor. 27, Suid. π 201 Adler. A detailed discussion of military and non military panic in Borgeaud 1988, 88– 104 and Wheeler 1988. Especially 4.203.3 or 7.43.2; also 7.10ε and 8.38

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on military subjects beginning with the 4th cent. Poliorcetics by Aeneas Tacticus (this treatise devotes a full chapter (27) to the military πάνεια, and he thus gives the oldest certain testimony of the technicism ‘panic’ originating from the name of the god Pan7), or even by scholars of ‘psychology’ like Clearchus of Soloi. Clearchus, a direct pupil of Aristotle living in the second half of the 4th cent., wrote a treatise Περὶ τοῦ πανικοῦ, of which only a fragment is left, concerned with misunderstanding reality in animal psychology.8 But Clearchus may also have been the author of a treatise of tactics, and therefore his specific interest in military panic is very likely.9 The Rhesus begins when the chorus of Trojan watchmen leave their station and frantically (θορύβωι, 15) approach the bivouac of Hector during the night, asking him to wake up and hear what they have to say (καιρὸς γὰρ ἀκοῦσαι, 10). Hector’s first reaction is to assume that the enemies are arranging a night ambush (λόχος ἐκ νυκτῶν, 17) against the sleeping Trojans and that the watchmen are going to report on it. Indeed this is the only situation of real extreme emergency that he could conceive of as the reason for the watchmen’s actions. When they deny that any ambush is being set up, Hector states that they must have something very important to say, if they have abandoned their post and thrown the army into confusion: … τί σὺ γὰρ φυλακὰς προλιπὼν κινεῖς στρατιάν, εἰ μή τιν᾿ ἔχων νυκτηγορίαν; (17–19).10

In fact, Hector continues, the watchmen should have been aware that the Trojans were sleeping under arms, as the Argive army was dangerously close (οὐκ οἶσθα δορὸς πέλας Ἀργείου / νυχίαν ἡμᾶς / κοίτην πανόπλους κατέχοντας; 20–2). The focus on the movement of the watchmen as provoking ‘confusion’ in the army, and the specification that they must have had a really 7 It is probable, but not certain, that Ephor. FrGrHist 70F208 and Epimen. FrGrHist 457F18 also spoke about fear of panic. 8 Fr. 36 Wehrli, from Athen. 9.389f. A most thoughtful analysis of the little that is understandable from this fragment in Wheeler 1988, 176–179. 9 This appealing hypothesis has been elaborated by Wheeler 1988, 179f. 10 Kovacs 2003, 146 has proposed changing ἔχων νυκτηγορίαν of the mss. to ἐρῶν νυκτηγρεσίαν ‘announcing some stirring in the night’, which he finds ‘sharper’. But there is no evidence that νυκτεγερσία/νυκτηγρεσία (< ἐγείρειν) antedates the Hellenistic age. And I have good reasons to suppose that the ‘Aristotle’ of the Homerika aporemata really read νυκτηγορία in his text of the Rhesus: see below p. 52f.

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good reason to leave their post since the Trojans and Greeks were exceptionally close, introduces in the clearest and most effective way the characterization of Hector in the first part of the Rhesus: he is dominated by fear that the Trojan camp may be or may become affected by panic. By moving around the sleeping camp, the sentinels could have provoked or increased the agitation of the soldiers (as Hector points out explicitly). Furthermore, by abandoning their posts they had skirted their responsibility to keep the soldiers’ panic in check (as Hector may be implying). Indeed, preventing the movements of the soldiers inside the camp was one of the main precautions that could be adopted in order to prevent panic. Aeneas Tacticus Pol. 27 reports inter alia that the strategem adopted by a Spartan harmost in utmost danger of panic was to order that ‘no one should stand upright, and if anyone saw a man standing up, he gave orders in the hearing of all to treat him as an enemy’ (27.8). On the other hand, the movements of the watchmen of the Rhesus are also a danger, because they have abandoned their duty of checking the first signs of θόρυβος πανικός, since as Aeneas Tacticus recommends, ‘it is necessary ... to station men in each watch of the night over every company or band, both on the flanks and in the centre, to take special care that, if they should perceive any disturbance coming on because of sleep or anything else, whoever of them is at hand may check and stop it immediately’ (27.12). None of this concern about the sentinels’ movements can be found in Iliad 10. Quite differently, the Greek leaders were also anxious about the behaviour of the sentinels, but they were not concerned at all with the sentinels’ agitation and feared, instead, that the watchmen might fall asleep: 10.97–9, 180–2. Furthermore, during his dialogue with the watchmen before the arrival of Aeneas, Hector is obsessed with the idea that they themselves are in panic or that their agitation is spreading panic among the other soldiers in the sleeping camp (36–40): ἀλλ’ ἦ Χρονίου Πανὸς τρομερᾶι μάστιγι φοβῆι, φυλακὰς δὲ λιπὼν κινεῖς στρατιάν; τί θροεῖς; τί σε φῶ νέον ἀγγέλλειν; πολλὰ γὰρ εἰπὼν οὐδὲν τρανῶς ἀπέδειξας.

Since the watchmen have urged him to be ready for the battle, but Hector’s questioning has not yet prompted them to explain why, he starts to believe that they are not motivated by concrete and ‘clear’ news (references to the absence of clarity open and close his speech: 35 κοὐδὲν καθαρῶς and 40 οὐδὲν τρανῶς), but are instead wantonly spreading fear through the ranks (cf. 34). In fact, absence of any real new informa-

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tion and acoustic hallucination was frequently cited by the historians as a spark for panic,11 as was its progression from a few individuals to the mass of the army.12 Hector is not the only character in the Rhesus to fear that the watchmen are affected by panic and that they may spread it to the rest of the army. When Aeneas enters the stage, he knows nothing of Hector’s fears, but his first phrase expresses precisely the same analysis of the situation and similar concerns. That he focuses on the risk of panic is proved by φόβος, which is one of the most common terms used to define this phenomenon13 (87–9): ῞Εκτορ, τί χρῆμα νύκτεροι κατὰ στρατὸν τὰς σὰς πρὸς εὐνὰς φύλακες ἐλθόντες φόβωι νυκτηγοροῦσι καὶ κεκίνηται στρατός;

Hector answers, informing Aeneas of the watchmen’s report about the many fires lit by the Greeks among the ships, together with his (wrong) conclusion that these fires prove that the Greeks are trying to flee.14 A nocturnal debate follows, which resumes the issue of the preceding discussion between Hector and the chorus (52–86), and Hector defends once again his idea of a nocturnal attack against the Greeks, so as to prevent them from sailing from the Trojan shore unharmed. Later on, at 138–9, this war council of Hector, Aeneas, and the watchmen concludes with a unanimous resolution: Hector is finally persuaded by Aeneas, with whom the chorus had agreed from the beginning, that before 11 Cf. e.g. Apollod. FrGrHist 244F135, pertinently quoted by Σ Rh. 36. 12 As we read in Pausanias (10.23.7–8) about the Gauls of Brennus: ‘in the night the φόβος πανικός fell on them (causeless fears, they say, are inspired by Pan), ... at first only a few became mad, and these imagined that they heard the trampling of horses at a gallop, and the attack of advancing enemies; but after a little time the delusion spread to all’ (see also D.S. 15.24.3, 20.69.1). 13 E.g. D.S. 15.24, 20.69; Pausan. 10.23.7; App. BC 4.13.104; Polyaen. Strat. 1.2, exc. 27; Sext.Jul. Cest. 1.17; Anon.Paradox. incred. 11; Σ E. Med. 1172. Synonymic πτοίη is another definition of panic: Plut. Is. Osir. 356D8; Onas. Strat. 6.5 πανικὰ καὶ πτοίας; Σ Theocr. 5.14–6. 14 As already noted by Goossens 1962, 299 n. 71, Hector explains the fires in the Greek camp as evidence of their intention to escape. Fleeing armies commonly employed the stratagem of lighting fires to simulate activity throughout the camp and thus divert the enemy from their true aim: cf. Hdt. 1.134f.; Thuc. 7.80.1–4; Jos.Flav. AJ 13.178.10. Differently e.g. Zanetto 1998, 61, who interprets 97–8 as ‘hanno bisogno di luce per potersi imbarcare e lasciare la nostra terra’, and Menzer 1867, 15, who wrongly accuses the author of Rhesus of ‘imbecillitas’, because of Hector’s interpretation of the Greek fires: ‘nam si fugam parassent, sine dubio obscuritate usi essent’.

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launching an attack they need to be certain about the meaning of the fires and thus must send a spy. At this point, when the debate is finally over, Hector once again expresses his fear that agitation may arise within the army if the soldiers realize that ‘nocturnal assemblies’ are being held. Once he grudgingly yields to the opinion of his interlocutors about the spy mission (ἐγὼ δὲ πέμψω πολεμίων κατάσκοπον, 140), thinking of the ‘nocturnal assembly’ which has just finished, Hector asks Aeneas to neutralize the dangerous effect of νύκτεροι ἐκκλησίαι on the troops, and recommends to him (138f.): στείχων δὲ κοίμα συμμάχουςǜ τάχ᾿ ἂν στρατὸς κινοῖτ᾿ ἀκούσας νυκτέρους ἐκκλησίας.

In conclusion, up to the beginning of the section of narrative dedicated to Dolon at 154, the idea of νυκτηγορία/νυκτηγορεῖν/νύκτερος ἐκκλησία, ‘(issue/news for an) assembly in the night’ is repeated thrice in the Rhesus (19, 89, 139), where it is presented as an emergency (the only emergency) that can justify the sentinels’ movements and the risk of arousing panic. The nocturnal assembly is thus a keyword in the first part of the tragedy, and is as pivotal for the action as is the fear of the spreading of panic which Hector and Aeneas connect to it. Differently, in the camp of the Greeks depicted in Homer’s Iliad 10 there was anxiety about the previous day’s field defeat, and the book opened with an articulate description of the anxious Greek leaders worried about the concrete danger of a final debacle. This Iliadic anxiety was by no means panic however, as it relied on an objective difficulty of the Greeks. The author of the Rhesus may have been mimicking his objective anxiety of the defeated Greeks by presenting the unfounded panic, and the fear of this panic, as a sort of parallel psychology of the winning Trojans. In particular, there was an explicit fear in Homer of the consequences of a nocturnal assembly, which could provoke panic. There was also no νυκτηγορία in Homer, which was called by this name. There is however a nocturnal assembly of the Greeks in Iliad 10, as well as in the Rhesus, which is simply defined as a βουλή (10.195). This assembly, already prepared from the beginning of the book, takes place in no man’s land, among the bodies of the soldiers killed in battle the day before (10.194–202): ῝Ως εἰπὼν τάφροιο διέσσυτοǜ τοὶ δ᾽ ἅμ᾽ ἕποντο Ἀργείων βασιλῆες ὅσοι κεκλήατο βουλήν. τοῖς δ’ ἅμα Μηριόνης καὶ Νέστορος ἀγλαὸς υἱὸς ἤϊσανǜ αὐτοὶ γὰρ κάλεον συμμητιάασθαι. τάφρον δ᾽ ἐκδιαβάντες ὀρυκτὴν ἑδριόωντο ἐν καθαρῶι, ὅθι δὴ νεκύων διεφαίνετο χῶρος

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πιπτόντωνǜ ὅθεν αὖτις ἀπετράπετ᾿ ὄβριμος ῞Εκτωρ ὀλλὺς Ἀργείους, ὅτε δὴ περὶ νὺξ ἐκάλυψεν. ἔνθα καθεζόμενοι ἔπε᾽ ἀλλήλοισι πίφαυσκον.

The place chosen for the assembly, outside of the Greek camp and beyond the posts of the sentinels, which are positioned in the space between the wall and the ditch (Il. 9.87), is strange. The fact that 10.199 repeats the choice of the ‘free space in the battlefield among the bodies,’ which had already been chosen by Hector in Il. 8.489–91 (Τρώων αὖτ’ ἀγορὴν ποιήσατο φαίδιμος ῞Εκτωρ / νόσφι νεῶν ἀγαγὼν ποταμῶι ἔπι δινήεντι, / ἐν καθαρῶι, ὅθι δὴ νεκύων διεφαίνετο χῶρος) leads us to suppose that the assembly may have been arranged in this spot as a symbolic re-appropriation of the no-man’s land. With this collocation of the assembly, the Greek leaders would have been confronted with how close Hector had come to them, how close he was to victory, and what they had to accomplish in the near future, namely the concrete reconquest of the positions lost in their final retreat to the ships.15 Be that as it may, the reason why the Greeks of Iliad 10 decided to locate their assembly in the dangerous no-man’s land is left unexplained in Homer, and is difficult to discern. The semi-formulaic repetition in 10.199 of the precedent of 8.491 makes the topographical choice for the assembly of Book 10 not unparalleled, and both assemblies among the bodies suggest a taste for the horrid16 which is in tune with the manneristic emphasis on slaying and blood in the Rhesus. What remains obscure, however, is the rationale according to which the Greek leaders run the great and real danger which is inherent in this location for their assembly. Differently from Hector in Book 8, who as a winner fully controls the no man’s land where the battle had taken place, and thus quite reasonably organizes the assembly at some distance from the front line, which happened to coincide at this point with the ditch defending the ships of the Greeks, it was quite dangerous for the Greeks of Book 10 to hold their assembly outside of that ditch. Our corpus of the so called scholia vetera to the Iliad reflects two slightly different interpretations of this dangerous location of the assembly of Il. 10. The exegetical Σ 10.194 from T stresses that the Greek leaders would have therefore avoided provoking θόρυβος, ‘especially since’ the soldiers were exhausted/distressed from battle the day before: 15 Cf. Williams 2000, 14. The verb διέσσυτο, which expresses Nestor’s crossing of the ditch, conveys the idea of aggressive eagerness (it comes as no surprise that in two of its five occurrences in Homer it is accompanied by the participle μαιμώωσα and is said of an arm: 5.661, 15.542), and this idea is suitable to the possible act of symbolic redemption of the lost positions. 16 Cf. Hainsworth 1993, ad 194–200.

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διὰ τί δὲ μὴ μᾶλλον ἔσω τοῦ τείχους ἀσφαλέστερον βουλεύονται; ἀλλ᾽ ἐν τῶι στρατεύματι νυκτὸς συνιόντες θόρυβον ἂν ἐκίνησαν, καὶ ταῦτα προτεταλαιπωρημένων ἤδη τῶν Ἑλλήνων. In this interpretation, there is no clear emphasis on the idea of, technically, military panic, and the readers could even simply suppose that the leaders’ care not to make ‘noise’ or create ‘disturbance’ among the soldiers was nothing more than a sensible concern for the exhausted soldiers in need of some good sleep. As for the exegetical Σ to the same line from A, διέβη διὰ τῆς τάφρου, ἵνα μὴ θόρυβος ἐν τῶι στρατοπέδωι γίνηται, τὴν μὲν σύνοδον ὁρώντων, τὴν δὲ αἰτίαν ἀγνοούντων, ἵνα μὴ γνῶσιν ὅτι κατάσκοποι πέμπονται, it involves an idea of θόρυβος which is not overlapping with the θόρυβος of ‘panic’.17 As it is especially clear from the last specification ἵνα μὴ γνῶσιν κτλ., referring precisely to the leaders’ intention to keep the spy mission hidden, the θόρυβος that ignorance of the reasons for the assembly may create among the soldiers is slightly at variance with the endogenous and psychological agitation of panic, as it consists of the chaotic response of soldiers who recognize from the assembly that something new is happening and would like to be informed, but cannot, because the leaders have decided to keep the spy mission top-secret. In other words, it is not that the soldiers fantasize, without any real motivation from actual facts, that something threatening is taking place (this would have been panic, technically speaking). Rather, they understand that something is going on, and may riot because they want to know what that something is. An alternative interpretation, in bT, was not concerned at all with the risk of avoiding any kind of θόρυβος among the soldiers: the assembly would have been held in no-man’s land in order to provide a good example and encourage the spy whom the Greeks were going to send to the Trojan camp: ἄλλως τε ἄτοπον ἦν εἰς κατασκοπὴν ὀτρύνοντας μὴ τολμᾶν προϊέναι τῶν πυλῶν. ἔτι δὲ καὶ πρὸς παραμυθίαν τῶν μελλόντων ἐκπέμπεσθαι πρὸς τὸ μὴ δοκεῖν πολὺ προκόπτειν τῆς φάλαγγος. Similarly the Σ A ἢ εἰς εὐθυμίαν τῶν κατασκόπων, ἵνα ἀφοβώτερον τυγχάνωσιν ἐγγὺς ὄντων. Both of the last interpretations seem in tune with the perspective which also reflected in Σ D.18

17 Though it has been connected to the ‘Aristotelian’ interpretation of the passage by Erbse 1969–1988, III 38, app.—not appropriately enough, but ϑόρυβος is brought into focus from two slightly different points of view, in my opinion. 18 Σ D (ZYQX) van Thiel Il. 10.198 διὰ τί δέ φησιν, οἱ ἡγεμόνες τὴν τάφρον διαβάντες βουλεύονται; φαμὲν δέ, ὅτι τοῦτο ποιοῦσιν εἰς εὐθυμίαν κατασκόπων, ἵνα ἀφοβώτεροι γίνονται ἐγγὺς αὐτῶν ὄντων.

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There was, however, another interpretive tradition, which was either conceived of or was endorsed by Aristoteles’ school and coincided with the emphatic caution of Hector and Aeneas in the Rhesus about the danger of the panic. According to Porphyrius’ report from Aristotle’s Homerika aporemata, transmitted by Σ 10.198 in the mss. (384 Gigon = 159 Rose3), ἠπόρησεν Ἀριστοτέλης, διὰ τί ἔξω τοῦ τείχους ἐποίησε τοὺς ἀριστέας βουλευομένους ἐν νυκτηγορίαι, ἐξὸν ἐντὸς τοῦ τείχους ἐν ἀσφαλεῖ. καί φησιǜ πρῶτον μὲν οὖν οὐκ εἰκὸς ἦν ἀποκινδυνεύειν τοὺς Τρῶας οὔτ᾽ ἐπιτίθεσθαι νύκτωρǜ οὐ γὰρ τῶν εὐτυχούντων ἦν ἀποκινδυνεύειν. ἔπειτα ἐν ἐρημίαι καὶ καθ᾽ ἡσυχίαν βουλεύεσθαι περὶ τῶν τηλικούτων ἔθος. ἄτοπον δ᾽ ἂν ἦν εἰ ἠξίουν μὲν πορευθῆναί τινας εἰς τοὺς Τρῶας, αὐτοὶ δὲ οὐδὲ μικρὸν προελθεῖν ἐτόλμων. ἔπειτα στρατηγῶν ἂν εἴη τὸ φυλάσσεσθαι τοὺς νυκτερινοὺς θορύβους, τὸ δ᾽ ἐν τῶι στρατεύματι νυκτὸς συνιόντας βουλεύεσθαι, νεωτερισμοῦ ὑποψίαν παρασχὸν, φόβον ἐνεποίει.

As remarked already by some of the editors of Aristotle’s fragments and by A.R. Sodano,19 the summary of Aristotle’s aporema and lysis probably stopped here, where the logical sequence πρῶτον μέν … ἔπειτα … ἔπειτα is also interrupted. Additionally, an auxiliary explanation of the location of the assembly as convenient place for controlling the watchmen, and at the same time exploiting their protection, was likely added by Porphyrius, and is tellingly introduced by the sequence ἅμα … καὶ ἅμα which may reveal the additive character of these last remarks: ἅμα δὲ καὶ ἡ πρόθεσις ἦν τοὺς φύλακας θεάσασθαι, ἐν οἷς ἦν ἡ σωτηρία τῶν καθευδόντων. γενόμενοι δ’ ἐν τούτοις τὰς βουλὰς, ὀλίγον πόρρω τούτων ἀποστάντες, ἐν ἡσυχίαι μὲν καὶ ἐν ἀπορρήτωι ἐποιοῦντο, μὴ ἀναμεμιγμένοι τοῖς φύλαξιν, ἐν ἀσφαλεῖ δέ, πλησίον γὰρ τῶν φυλάκων. καὶ ἅμα ταχέως ἦν ἐπιτελέσαι τὰ δόξαντα. A final explanation follows in Porphyrius’ text describing the reason why the spot where the leaders convened was full of unburied bodies (the Greeks would have been too tired the night they retreated in defeat to collect the bodies20).

19 Cf. Sodano 1966, 225. 20 Other explanations proposed on the topic by post-Aristarchan philology: exeg. ὅθι δὴ νεκύων διεφαίνετο χῶρος: διεφαίνετο ὡς ἐν σκότωι οὐ καθαρῶς ἐφαίνετο. ἐκίνησε δὲ ἡμῶν τὴν διάνοιαν τῶι ἐναργεῖ, τὸ μὲν περὶ τὴν τάφρον ἅπαν χωρίον φήσας πλῆρες εἶναι κειμένων νεκρῶν, ὀλίγον δὲ τὸν καθαρὸν τόπον. b(BE3E4)T; ὅθι δὴ νεκύων διεφαίνετο χῶρος {πιπτόντων\}: ἄτοπον, φασί, μηδὲ τοὺς πρὸς τῇ τάφρωι ελέσθαι νεκρούς. ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἂν ἐπέγνωσαν νυκτὸς τοὺς ἑαυτῶν. ἢ διὰ τὴν φαντασίαν. T

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If we compare the Hellenistic interpretive tradition with the one of ‘Aristotle’, which reached us via Porphyrius, we can see a slightly different focalization. The ‘Aristotelian’ lysis is grounded upon caution to avoid every form of agitation (θόρυβοι) in an army camped over night, and in particular it emphasizes the apprehension that an assembly held inside the camp would have awoken the soldiers and possibly generated the ὑποψία of a riot (νεωτερισμός), and that the dangers of a riot would have in turn generated φόβος.21 In fact, φόβος of the ‘Aristotelic’ Homerica aporemata is a common designation for panic in ancient texts, as we have already seen.22 Here it is also flanked by the phrase νυκτερινοὺς θορύβους, which at least in one of the excerpts of Polyaenus’ Stratagemata belongs to a technical definition of panic23—θόρυβος πανικός is also one of the most common definitions for the same phenomenon,24 and φόβος and θόρυβος are not infrequently combined in descriptions of panic.25 After all, this assembly takes place in what seems to be the most critical night of the war for the Greeks, after the most negative day of defeat that is described in the Iliad, and, as Aeneas Tacticus remarked (Pol. 27.4), μάχης δὲ γενομένης καὶ νικηθέντων ὡς τὰ πολλὰ γίγνονται φόβοι, ἐνίοτε μὲν καὶ ἡμέρας, καὶ νυκτὸς δὲ καὶ πάνυ. This is, clearly, an exegesis which presupposes an acquaintance with the military reality of armies during the classical age, where the phenomenon of military panic must have been more common than in previous ages and certainly is more commonly and explicitly described— though, of course, the Dionysus-sent φόβος affecting an army in E. Bacch. 302–5, or the Iliadic φόβος, which is capable of psychologically ‘routing’ an army, can be seen as a forerunner phenomenon,26 in particular if this Iliadic φόβος has the sense of (panic) ‘fear’. Zenodotus still 21 The situation figured in this exegesis is similar to the one introducing panic, which is described by D.S. 20.69.1: the tyrant Agathocles tried to run away from Africa at the end of the unsuccesful Libyan expedition, but his intentions were discovered by the soldiers, who mutinied, thus generating an agitation which led to panic: ἐφ’ οἷς οἱ στρατιῶται περιαλγεῖς γενόμενοι συνελάβοντο τὸν δυνάστην καὶ δήσαντες παρέδωκαν εἰς φυλακήν. ἀναρχίας οὖν γενομένης ἐν τῶι στρατοπέδωι θόρυβος ἦν καὶ ταραχὴ καὶ τῆς νυκτὸς ἐπιλαβούσης διεδόθη λόγος ὡς πλησίον εἰσὶν οἱ πολέμιοι. ἐμπεσούσης δὲ πτόης καὶ φόβου πανικοῦ, κτλ.

22 See above n. 44. 23 The beginning of excerpt 27 from Polyaenus, entitled πανικοῦ φόβου λύσις, refers to its subject as νυκτερινοὶ φόβοι ... θόρυβος. 24 Cf. D.S. 14.32.3, 15.24.3, 20.67.4; Plut. Pomp. 68.2.8, reg. et imper. apophth. 192C7, mul. virt. 247D8. Cf. also Onas. 41.2. 25 Cf. at least. D.S. 15.24.3, 20.67.3.2, 20.69.1.2. 26 See Pritchett 1979, 162f.; Wheeler 1988, 172f.

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believed that this could be the case, as he supported φόβος and φοβέοντο in two passages (respectively Il. 17.247 and 10.10), where τρόμος and τρομέοντο were variants (probably the vulgate), and ‘fear’ or ‘feared’ was clearly the necessary sense. From Aristarchus onwards, however, this idea would have been seriously hindered by Aristarchus’ strong opinion that Homeric φόβος could mean only ‘flight’, and never ‘fear’,27 differently from the common usage in later Greek.28 Modern scholars may be correct in ascribing to Porphyrius, and not to ‘Aristotle’, the remark that the spot chosen for the assembly would also have been convenient for controlling the watchmen that were awake, or for exploiting their protection. If they are correct (as I believe), the interpretation of the Homerica aporemata univocally focused on the Greek leaders’ concern that the nocturnal assembly did not arouse the soldiers’ θόρυβος and φόβος. In any case, even if the Aristotelic school had elaborated the alternative motivation of the inspection for the watchmen, the most explicit emphasis on the θόρυβος/φόβος exegesis appears to be a peculiar perspective in the Homerica aporemata—this comes as no surprise in light of the fact that the Peripatetic Clearchus of Soloi, as already observed above, wrote a treatise Περὶ τοῦ πανικοῦ, and of fr. 383 Gigon = 160 Rose3, from the Aristotelic Homerica aporemata, dealing with the soldiers’ psychology (a cause of nocturnal θόρυβος among them) as described by Homer.29 On the other hand, the Hellenistic explanations focused on the convenience of the location of the assembly in terms of avoiding the possibility that the θόρυβος would awaken the soldiers, as they were very tired/stressed, or in terms of ensuring that the watchmen were awake and effectively in service, or in terms of encouraging the future spies, but they do not speak at all of the risk of inducing φόβος ‘fear’. Another Hellenistic interpretation finds the reason for the leaders’ prudence in their concern to avoid θόρυβος ‘tumult’ (rather than ‘agitation’) among the soldiers, lest they recognize that something was taking place, and the leaders were not ready to let them know about the spy mission. I would not rule out that this last interpretation may have originated from a reshaping of the Aristotelian idea of panic. This idea would, however, be transformed through the adulteration/mitigation of the point about the 27 Aristarchus must have been quite obsessive about this point: cf. in particular Σ Il. 5.223, 6.41, 11.71, 12.46, 13.471; Lehrs 1865, 75–7 (sympathetic with Aristarchus) and, differently opting for φόβος = ‘fear’ at least in some of Homer’s passages, Hecht 1888, 438–44; Trümpy 1950, 218–22; Harkemanne 1967. 28 Σ Il. 11.71 quoted above n. 27, after restating ὅτι φόβον τὴν φυγήν, adds ὃν δὲ ἡμεῖς φόβον, δέος λέγει. 29 As noted by Wheleer 1988, 180.

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panic: the soldiers’ unfounded ὑποψία of the Homerica aporemata (congruous with the psychology of panic) would have been muffled by the risk, perceived by the leaders in the Hellenistic exegesis, that the assembly might give rise to θόρυβος ‘tumult’ among the soldiers because of the fearful suspicion that a νεωτερισμός ‘riot’ was springing up. In conclusion, some of the Hellenistic explanations do involve the word ‘agitation’, θόρυβος, as well as the exegesis of the Homerika aporemata, but the coincidence of the use of θόρυβος would not reduce the variance between the Hellenistic tradition and the interpretation of ‘Aristotle’. On the contrary, if the former presupposed the latter, it is most remarkable that the specific/technical idea of panic is never allowed to surface in the former. The same use of θόρυβος seems in fact to reveal a sort of generification undergone by the latter, so that the memory of the technical idea of panic θόρυβος, still most clear in ‘Aristotle’, would have been watered down in the Hellenistic tradition30—though of course we cannot rule out that this minor emphasis of the scholia on the idea of panic simply was the effect of the process of epitomizing simplification undergone by the Hellenistic commentaries. Thus it has become clear that the first part of the Rhesus is not so much a ‘dramatization’ of the concrete narrative of Iliad 10 concerning the assembly in the battlefield, but probably a dramatization of the kind of exegesis of this Iliadic episode that we find in ‘Aristotle’—a kind of exegesis which at this point we are allowed to assume predates Aristotle, and is datable to the early or the mid–4th century, when in my opinion the Rhesus was composed, or to an even earlier age, if we are willing to suppose that the Rhesus is by Euripides. I think that another detail makes my hypothesis more than likely. We have seen that the connection of the location of the assembly to checking the wakefulness of the watchmen or to encouraging the spies had been quite important in some of the Hellenistic interpretations. It therefore comes as no surprise that the title ascribed not only to the first part but to the whole of this book in the exegetical scholia reflecting the Aristarchean influence was, according to the custom of entitling from the beginning, νυκτεγερσία. The first schol. to Iliad 10 informs us: αὕτη ἡ ῥαψωιδία ἐπιγράφεται ‘νυκτεγερσία’, ἐπαναστάντας τοὺς πρώτους τῶν Ἑλλήνων κατασκόπους πέμψαι γνώμηι Νέστορος Διομήδη καὶ Ὀδυσσέα. Also Σ Il. 8.91 adopts the same word as a title to quote l. 164 from book 10: καὶ ἐν τῆι 30 Montanari 2008 and Montanari (forthcoming) offer two case-studies of interpretive problems posed by Aristotle or his school, which continued to be actively debated, but developed in different directions, by Hellenistic scholars.

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νυκτεγερσίαι, κτλ. Elsewhere, the term also occurs either as the title of Il. 10 (at the end of the Hypothesis c Diggle to Rhesus and in Strabo 9.5.18 (439), in a papyrus commentary to Hippon. IEG 129B6 = Degani, and in Schol. Vat. GG I 3 Uhlig, 179.29–180.2), or as the name of Odysseus’ and Diomedes’ nocturnal mission (in [Plut.] vita Hom. 209); only the plural νυκτεγερσίαι occurs in isolation in a less specific sense, in Philon, Cher. 92, where it means ‘watches’. Through this title, what is emphasised about the action in the first part of Book 10 is its special feature as an action entertained by the leaders who ‘wake up’ one after the other in the night and arrange for an assembly, checking that other people, the sentinels, are awake and do not sleep, and also arranging for the nocturnal action of other people, namely the future spies. The night usually is a span of time of inaction in epic, and thus the scholars who conceived of this title knowingly focused on the exceptional time setting of the double spy missions. Quite differently, and tellingly, Aristotle’s school and its source(s), among which at this point I would dare to include the Rhesus, pointed to a νυκτηγορία as the main theme of the action of book 10, or at least of its first episode. Their exegesis entertained an explanation of the ‘nocturnal assembly’ as intended to avoid the unwanted awakening of the soldiers, with its repercussion of panic; consequentially, when entitling the episode, these pre-Aristarchean interpreters did not focus on the waking up of the leaders or on the necessity that the sentinels are awoken, but on the anti-waking cautions of the peculiar assembly of the Greek leaders. In conclusion, it is not implausible to conjecture that ‘Aristotle’ or his forerunners learnt to entitle the first episode of Iliad 10 precisely from the Rhesus. Not only does the Rhesus enact the interpretation which ‘Aristotle’ formalizes at a scholarly level, but it is also the only precedent for the use of νυκτηγορία: the word has a key role in the first part of this tragedy and seems to belong to the sermo tragicus (and to have been adopted as such by the Rhesus), since it is most probably derived from Aesch. Sept. 29 νυκτηγορεῖσθαι, also a hapax in the classical age, which had already designated a nocturnal assembly (= ἐν νυκτὶ ἀγορεύεσθαι καὶ βουλεύεσθαι: so, vel sim., the Σ ad loc.). The idea that the Rhesus adopts a pre-‘Aristotelian’ interpretation of the assembly of Iliad 10 in terms of anti-panic caution, and/or that ‘Aristotle’ is perhaps induced to this reading by the Rhesus, is a striking case of the interaction of philological interpretation and the creation of new poetry, and it can hardly be paralleled before the age of the Hellenistic poetae docti. It has become a common assumption of recent studies of Hellenistic poetry that many of the new trends traditionally ascribed to the 3rd cent. are already operative in the 4th cent., fully or in statu nas-

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centi. The Rhesus’ philological re-use of the Homeric text is, in my opinion, better understood in this pre-Hellenistic 4th cent. If the Rhesus is by Euripides, the atmosphere of panic at the beginning of our tragedy would be evidence of a pre-Hellenistic attitude of Euripides, maybe the latest Euripides, as it anticipated (or shared the beginnings of) the interpretation of the assembly in no-man’s land in terms of panic, which is later found in the Homerica aporemata. The diachrony of a literary text stimulating the exegetical discussion of another text would be similar to the homosexual re-interpretation in Aeschylus’ Myrmidons of the relationship between the Iliadic Achilles and Patroclus, which was probably the main foment triggering late 5th cent. discussions of this issue.31 However, the very clear presentation of the military panic as generated by Pan, which we find in Rh. 36f., makes a 4th cent. date preferable for this tragedy. In fact, this would be fully in tune with the 4th cent. interpretation and terminology of Aeneas Tacticus, but it does not square with the way Herodotus, Thucydides or Euripides appear to connect the phenomenon of panic to no specific god or to Dionysus (see above, pp. 42f.).

31 Cf. my ‘Nocturnal Warriors’, in Fantuzzi (forthcoming).

Eratosthenes of Cyrene: Readings of his ‘Grammar’ Definition Stephanos Matthaios For Wolfram Ax on his 65th birthday In the history of Hellenistic literature and science Eratosthenes has been considered as ‘the great Alexandrian scholar’ and ‘the leading figure in Alexandria in the later third century’.1 The enthusiastic reception of Eratosthenes’ accomplishments is confirmed by his wide-ranging interests and the scope of his writings, which are also compatible with his claim of the ‘universality of knowledge’. This claim is reflected in the title φιλόλογος which Eratosthenes—according to Suetonius’ testimony—chose for himself.2 Undoubtedly Eratosthenes is one of the most versatile scholars of the Hellenistic era. His works encompass not only poetry but also a wide variety of areas: philosophy, natural sciences (mathematics, astronomy, geography), chronography and historiography, theory of music and scholarship.3 Eratosthenes ranks among those bear1

2

3

Fraser 1970, 176. For similar characterizations, see Bernhardy 1842, 221: ‘der vielseitigste der Alexandrinischen Gelehrten’, Susemihl 1891–1892, I 413: ‘[…] er war in der That einer der vielseitigsten und dabei bedeutendsten Gelehrten aller Zeiten’ and Knaack 1907, 388: ‘[…] so darf man behaupten, daß keiner von den großen Forschern des Altertums dem höchsten Ziele näher gestanden hat, als E[ratosthenes]’. See Suet. Gramm. 10.4: philologi appellationem adsumpsisse videtur (sc. L. Ateius), quia—sic ut Eratosthenes (FGrHist 241 T 9), qui primus hoc cognomen sibi vindicavit—multiplici variaque doctrina censebatur. On this testimony see Dihle 1998; cf. Dihle 1986, 201–202; Kuch 1965, 30–2; Pfeiffer 1968, 156–159; Kaster 1995, 142 and 145; Geus 2002, 39–41, and Matthaios 2008, 558–560. Eratosthenes is portrayed by Susemihl 1891–1892, I 409–28; Knaack 1907; Schwartz 1943, 173–197; Fraser 1970, and Pfeiffer 1968, 152–170; cf. Matthaios 2008, 619–624. A comprehensive picture of the oeuvre and accomplishments of Eratosthenes based on a detailed analysis of his works is offered by Geus 2002. For an overall assessment of the importance of Eratosthenes for the ancient literary and intellectual history, see Geus 2002, 336–342; Pàmias–Geus 2007, 12–23, and Jacob 2008.

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ers of change who led the sciences during the Hellenistic era to their acme and motivated their increasing specialization and their growing independence from philosophy.4 At the same time however, he was still part of the scientific tradition of the past as regards the variety of his research interests. Therefore, he is regarded as ‘symbol of the unity of the sciences’,5 a characterization he shares with Aristotle and the representatives of the Peripatetic school. Eratosthenes must have achieved an outstanding scholarly profile during his lifetime; therefore he was summoned to Alexandria by Ptolemy III Euergetes around 245 BC to follow Zenodotus and Apollonius Rhodius in the renowned position of the head of the Alexandrian library.6 Contemporary scholarship believes that his appointment in Alexandria was due to his reputation as a poet.7 Literature and scholarship were privileged by the cultural and educational policy of the Ptolemies.8 It is not surprising that during his librarianship Eratosthenes, just like his predecessors, was also occupied with philological matters. This activity is reflected in a series of specialized writings. Unfortunately, the article of the Suidas’ lexicon on Eratosthenes refers only vaguely to his ‘numerous grammatical studies’ (γραμματικὰ συχνά) without providing a single title of his philological treatises.9 According to the preserved fragments and some additional testimonies, Eratosthenes’ philological works comprised:10 three works with predominantly lexicographical content—the Περὶ τῆς ἀρχαίας κωμῳδίας, the

4 An overview of the Hellenistic history of science is provided by Lloyd 1984; see also Lloyd 1973. The question of the independence of the various sciences from philosophy during the Hellenistic era is examined by Dihle 1986. 5 See Strasburger 1990, 212; cf. Geus 2002, 338. 6 The historical details of Eratosthenes’ appointment in Alexandria are explored by Geus 2002, 26–30; cf. Fraser 1970, 178–186; Fraser 1972, I 308 and 330– 332, and Pfeiffer 1968, 152–155. 7 See Fraser 1970, 183–186; Geus 2002, 28–30. 8 See Erskine 1995 and Kerkhecker 1997 for the status of poetry and scholarship in the Ptolemaic court; see also the references in n. 103. 9 Suid. ε 2898: Ἐρατοσθένης (FGrHist 241 T 1)ǜ [...] ἔγραψε δὲ φιλόσοφα καὶ ποιήματα καὶ ἱστορίας, Ἀστρονομίαν ἢ Καταστηριγμούς, Περὶ τῶν κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν αἱρέσεων, Περὶ ἀλυπίας, διαλόγους πολλοὺς καὶ γραμματικὰ συχνά. Knaack 1907, 384 and Dragoni 1979, 60 wrongly considered the statement γραμματικὰ συχνά as evidence for Eratosthenes’ work Γραμματικά; cf. Geus 2002, 51 n. 34 and 290 n. 5. 10 Geus 2002, 289–306 reviews the contents of Eratosthenes’ philological work in detail; see also Knaack 1907, 383–385; Fraser 1972, I 457–458; Pfeiffer 1968, 159–163, and Matthaios 2008, 620–624.

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Ἀρχιτεκτονικός and the Σκευογραφικός11—, a monograph on the Iliad, whose topic is no nearer to be defined due to the incomplete transmission of its title Εἰς τὸν ἐν τῇ Ἰλ̣[ιάδι,12 and, finally, a work consisting of two books under the title Γραμματικά.13 Like the rest of his works, his philological writings have only been transmitted in fragments. The Γραμματικά of Eratosthenes and the definition of γραμματική (sc. τέχνη) that most probably refers to this work are in the focus of the present article. Two testimonies are especially relevant within this context: first, the testimony of Clement of Alexandria informing us about the existence of Erathosthenes’ Γραμματικά, and second, a passage from 11 For the contents of Eratosthenes’ lexicographical works, see Geus 2002, 291– 302; cf. Bagordo 1998, 37–40. For the relationship of the Ἀρχιτεκτονικός and the Σκευογραφικός to the Περὶ τῆς ἀρχαίας κωμῳδίας, see Geus 2002, 290 with n. 7–8 and 301–302; cf. Bagordo 1998, 40 with n. 44–45. 12 The title of this work is transmitted in an inventory list in P.Turner 39 (beginning of the 3rd century BC), fr. A, l. 2: Ἐρατοσθ(ένους) Εἰς τὸν ἐν τῇ Ἰλ̣[ιάδι; cf. Otranto 2000, 73–77 (nr. 14). Poethke 1981, 165 supposes that this work was dedicated to the geography of the Iliad. This opinion is endorsed by LloydJones–Parsons 1983, 186 and Otranto 2000, 75. Geus 2002, 302–303 supposes that in this work Eratosthenes could have explained difficult words and word formations—Geus 2002, 303 n. 105 thinks of nomina agentis ending in -τυς according to Sch. Hom. (bT) Il. 19.233–4 (Eratosth. fr. 31 Powell). Geus 2002, 303 n. 105 also considers the possibility that the subject of this work was the Homeric use of the dual; according to Sch. Hom. (A) Il. 10.364b and (A) Il. 24.282 Eratosthenes (fr. 35 Strecker) accepted the use of the dual in the sense of plural. See Broggiato 1998 and 2001, 151–152 and 199–200 about this problem in ancient Homeric scholarship; cf. Matthaios 1999, 378–382 and Asheri 2004. Geus’ second view remains doubtful; see Matthaios 2008, 622–623. 13 Pfeiffer 1968, 162 and Geus 2002, 304 n. 107 considered the work of Asclepiades of Myrlea as a parallel to Eratosthenes’ Γραμματικά. This only applies to the assumption that the statement Ἀσκληπιάδης φησὶν ἐν τῷ ςʬ βιβλίῳ τῶν Γραμματικῶν in Suid. ο 657 (Asclep. Myrl. fr. VI Müller = FGrHist 697 F 9) is to be interpreted as the overall title Γραμματικά of a two-part work of Asclepiades on ‘grammar’; see Usener 1912–1913, II 309 n. 125; Müller 1903, 46, and Pfeiffer 1968, 158, 162 (with n. 8) and 273. According to this opinion the first part of this work under the title Περὶ γραμματικῆς (S.E. M. 1.252 = Asclep. Myrl. fr. III Müller) included 4 or 5 books dealing with scholarship and its scope, the second however, under the title Περὶ γραμματικῶν (Achill. Vita Arat. 76.4–5 Maass = Asclep. Myrl. fr. VII Müller = FGrHist 697 F 11), contained a biographical collection of grammarians. Whether both writings—Περὶ γραμματικῆς and Περὶ γραμματικῶν—formed part of one work remains unclear. The form Γραμματικῶν in Suid. ο 657 should be rather understood as the genitive of the masculine Γραμματικοί and as a variation of the title Περὶ γραμματικῶν. Pagani 2007, 31–36 assumes there were two separate monographs of Asclepiades; cf. Blank 1998, XLV–XLVII.

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the Scholia to the Τέχνη γραμματική ascribed to Dionysius Thrax which records the Cyrenean’s definition of ‘grammar’.14 Clement’s testimony is incorporated in a catalogue of the πρῶτοι εὑρεταί, in which the author addresses the question of who was the first to introduce the term γραμματικός with the sense ‘scholar’ that replaced the term previously used κριτικός (Strom. 1.16.79.3): Ἀπολλόδωρος (l. Ἀντίδωρος)15 δὲ ὁ Κυμαῖος πρῶτος (add. Meier) τοῦ κριτικοῦ εἰσηγήσατο τοὔνομα καὶ γραμματικὸς προσηγορεύθη, ἔνιοι δὲ Ἐρατοσθένη τὸν Κυρηναῖόν (FGrHist 241 T 8) φασιν, ἐπειδὴ ἐξέδωκεν οὗτος βιβλία δύο, Γραμματικά ἐπιγράψας. ὠνομάσθη δὲ γραμματικός, ὡς νῦν ὀνομάζομεν, πρῶτος Πραξιφάνης Διονυσοφάνους Μιτυληναῖος (fr. 10 Wehrli). From Clement’s point of view, Eratosthenes is to be credited with the renewal of the terminology, given that he published two books entitled Γραμματικά. The sole evidence of how Eratosthenes defined ‘grammar’ comes from the Prolegomena of the Vatican corpus of the Scholia to Dionysius Thrax. The commentaries to the Τέχνη γραμματική ascribed to Dionysius started in each one of the three large, anonymously transmitted corpora—the Scholia Vaticana, Marciana and Londinensia16—with a report on the ancient theory of science. Building on a general account of the ancient definitions of τέχνη and its differentiation from ἐμπειρία and ἐπιστήμη, this introductory report considers the question whether scholarship is a τέχνη and what is its significance within the ancient system of science. Eratosthenes’ ‘grammar’ definition is integrated into a passage of the Vatican Scholia, which examines the purpose (τέλος) and the benefit (χρεία) of the γραμματική τέχνη. In effect, this passage is praising the high educational function of scholarship as the latter provided comprehensive knowledge in all fields of human life.17 The wording of Eratosthenes’ definition is as follows (Sch. D.T. [Σv] 160.10–11): γραμματική ἐστιν ἕξις παντελὴς ἐν γράμμασι. According to the scholiasts this definition corresponds to Eratosthenes’ view of the importance of scholarship ([Σv] 160.10: ὅθεν οὐκ ἀπὸ σκοποῦ καὶ Ἐρατοσθένης ἔφη), thus reinforcing the validity of this view. Thereupon, the scholiast adds an explanation of the term γράμματα ([Σv] 160.11–12: γράμματα καλῶν τὰ συγγράμματα ‘with γράμματα [Eratosthenes] meant the 14 The term ‘grammar’ is placed in quotation marks throughout this text, in order to be differentiated from the similar modern linguistic term. 15 On the various forms of Antidorus’ name in our testimonies, see below, n. 22. 16 On the origins and history of the transmission of the commentaries on the Τέχνη, see Hilgard 1901, V–XLIX; cf. Lallot 1998, 32–36. 17 See Sch. D.T. (Σv) 159.11–160.23.

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writings’), and further examples are given on the use of the term γράμματα with this very meaning ([Σv] 160.12–23). Despite the lack of other evidence and the shortness of this Eratosthenes’ fragment, the passage from the Scholia to Dionysius Thrax seems to contain a complete definition of ‘grammar’: it includes both the definiendum—the γραμματική—and the definiens, in accordance with, as we will show, the pattern and structure of ancient definitions of τέχνη and especially of the γραμματικὴ τέχνη. Terminological annotations, such as the explanation of the term γράμματα recorded in this passage, often accompany ancient definitions. The question whether this explanation should also be attributed to Eratosthenes and belongs to the original wording of his definition will be addressed below. Although the Γραμματικά is one of the earliest examples of specialized works dealing with scholarship, and although his ‘grammar’ definition illustrates the earliest attempt—to our knowledge at least—to define philology, it is surprising that both references have fallen in oblivion by Eratosthenes’ present day ‘colleagues’. In modern histories of ancient scholarship and grammar we hardly find more than a simple footnote about them.18 The sole exception is the recent publication by Geus on the entire oeuvre of Eratosthenes, who attempts to reconstruct the content of the Γραμματικά and the ‘grammar’ definition of the Cyrenean scholar.19 Despite interesting observations, Geus is however not totally successful in interpreting Eratosthenes’ definition and placing it in its historical and theoretical context. The aim of this article is to give a comprehensive interpretation of Eratosthenes’ ‘grammar’ definition by taking into consideration its historical (1), theoretical (2) and ideological context (3). These aspects form the background of the three readings of the definition that the article will provide in three successive steps. The historically oriented reading is dedicated to the definiendum, the γραμματικὴ τέχνη, and addresses the historical requirements that were associated with the foundation and justification of an independent philological discipline. The two further readings apply to the definiens of ‘grammar’; emphasis here is placed on 18 The definition of Eratosthenes is mentioned by Lehrs 1848b, 387 and Steinthal 1890–1891, II 175 n. 2 only in connection with the meaning of the term γραμματική and its relationship to the expression γράμματα. Fuhrmann 1960, 145 n. 4, simply mentions Eratosthenes’ ‘grammar’ definition and the existence of his Γραμματικά and contents himself with the declaration that this work was not known even in outline. Pfeiffer 1968, 162, quotes the ‘grammar’ definition without further comment; so also Knaack 1907, 384; Schenkeveld 1994, 263, and Dihle 1998, 88. 19 See Geus 2002, 304–306.

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the interpretation of the definition and its diction on the basis of the ancient theory of science. Finally, the third reading will give us the opportunity to reconstruct the theoretical reflections on the nature and aim of scholarship during Eratosthenes’ era and at the same time to illuminate the definition from the point of view of the double identity of the Hellenistic poet-scholars. The latter aspect turns out to be especially important for the establishment of an independent philological discipline.

1. The Historical Preconditions for Eratosthenes’ Definition We begin our historical interpretation with Clement’s testimony on Eratosthenes’ Γραμματικά, which is closely linked to the Cyrenean’s definition of ‘grammar’. Clement identified the work where the definition originates from and on the basis of his report the discussions on the name of the philological discipline during Eratosthenes’ era can be reconstructed with considerable accuracy. The question of the authority who introduced the term γραμματικός in the sense of ‘scholar’ and its use instead of κριτικός presents a special problem in the ancient historiography of scholarship. This can not only be seen from Clement’s testimony, but also from a related discussion recorded in several passages in the Scholia to Dionysius Thrax.20 According to our evidence, various solutions to this problem 20 See Sch. D.T. (Prol. Voss.) 3.19: Εἴρηται δὲ γραμματικὴ ἐκ τῶν γραμμάτων, οὐ τούτων μέντοι τῶν γραμμάτων, ἀλλὰ τῶν συγγραμμάτωνǜ ἡ

γραμματικὴ γὰρ περὶ αὐτὰ καταγίνεταιǜ οὕτω γὰρ καὶ Καλλίμαχος σύγγραμμα βουλόμενος εἰπεῖν ἐχρήσατο ‘ἀλλὰ Πλάτωνος ἓν τὸ περὶ ψυχῆς γράμμ᾿ ἀναλεξάμενος’ (ep. 23 Pf.). τὸ πρότερον δὲ κριτικὴ ἐλέγετο, καὶ οἱ ταύτην μετιόντες κριτικοίǜ Ἀντίδωρος δέ τις Κυμαῖος συγγραψάμενος λέξιν ἐπέγραψεν ‘Ἀντιδώρου γραμματικοῦ λέξις’, καὶ ἐκ τούτου ἡ ποτὲ κριτικὴ γραμματικὴ λέλεκται καὶ γραμματικοὶ οἱ ταύτην μετιόντες. (Prol. Voss.) 7.23: Γινώσκειν δὲ χρὴ ὅτι τὸ παλαιὸν ἡ γραμματικὴ κριτικὴ ἐκαλεῖτο παρὰ τὸ κρίνειν τὰ ποιήματαǜ Ἀντίδωρος δέ τις γραμματικὸς γραμματικὴν αὐτὴν ὠνόμασε παρὰ τὴν γνῶσιν τῶν γραμμάτων. γράμματα δὲ καλοῦνται καὶ τὰ συγγράμματα καὶ τὰ ἀπομνημονεύματα καὶ πάντα τὰ λογικὰ ἐπιτηδεύματα. ἐπεὶ τοίνυν δεῖ τὸν γραμματικὸν παντὸς ἅπτεσθαι λογικοῦ ἐπιτηδεύματος καὶ πάντα ἐξηγεῖσθαι τῇ συντάξει, οὐ μὴν τῇ θεωρίᾳ, τούτου ἕνεκεν γραμματικὴν αὐτὴν ἐκάλεσεν. (Σv) 164.23: Διττὴ δέ ἐστιν ἡ γραμματικήǜ ἡ μὲν γὰρ περὶ τοὺς χαρακτῆρας καὶ τὰς τῶν στοιχείων ἐκφωνήσεις καταγίνεται, ἥτις καὶ γραμματικὴ λέγεται παλαιά, οὖσα καὶ πρὸ τῶν Τρωικῶν, σχεδὸν καὶ ἅμα τῇ φύσει προελθοῦσαǜ ἡ δὲ περὶ τὸν ἑλληνισμόν, ἥτις καὶ νεωτέρα ἐστίν,

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were suggested in antiquity.21 Clement and the Scholia report that it was Antidorus22 who created and was the first to use the term γραμματικός instead of κριτικός. The Scholia regards as proof the fact that he added the author’s indication Ἀντιδώρου γραμματικοῦ to his work Λέξις.23 According to ‘some others’ (ἔνιοι), it was Eratosthenes who should be credited with this terminological innovation. The evidence for the latter was his work Γραμματικά. If it is not possible to choose between these two rivals, then Praxiphanes is, according to Clement, to be named γραμματικός in the new sense of ‘scholar’ (ὡς νῦν ὀνομάζομεν). This hypothesis is also adopted by the Scholia to Dionysius Thrax. Apart from Praxiphanes, the Scholia attribute to Aristotle the foundation of scholarship.24 As it is generally accepted,25 the biographical collection of Ascleἀρξαμένη μὲν ἀπὸ Θεαγένους (VS 8 A 1a), τελεσθεῖσα δὲ παρὰ τῶν Περιπατητικῶν Πραξιφάνους τε (fr. 9 Wehrli) καὶ Ἀριστοτέλους (cf. Dialogi Test. p. 24 Rose/p. 4 Ross; Περὶ ποιητῶν Test. p. 67 Ross = fr. 1002 Gigon)ǜ καὶ τῆς μὲν γραμματικῆς τέλος τὸ εὖ ἀναγινώσκειν, τῆς δὲ γραμματικῆς τὸ εὖ γράφειν; (Σm) 299.36–37; (Σl ) 448.6: φασὶ δὲ Ἀντίδωρον τὸν Κυμαῖον πρῶτον ἐπιγεγραφέναι αὑτὸν γραμματικόν, σύγγραμμά τι γράψαντα περὶ Ὁμήρου καὶ Ἡσιόδου; (Σl ), 448.12: Διαφέρει δὲ γραμματικὴ γραμματιστικῆςǜ ἡ γὰρ γραμματικὴ νεωτέρα ἀπὸ Θεαγένους (cf. VS 8 A 1a), τετέλεσται δὲ ἀπὸ τῶν Περιπατητικῶν Πραξιφάνους τε (fr. 8 Wehrli) καὶ Ἀριστοτέλους (cf. Dialogi Test. p. 24 Rose/p. 4 Ross; Περὶ ποιητῶν Test. p. 67 Ross = fr. 1002 Gigon)ǜ ἡ δὲ γραμματιστικὴ παλαιά, ἴσως δὲ σχεδὸν ἅμα τῇ φύσει προελθοῦσαǜ καὶ τῆς μὲν τέλος τὸ γράφειν, τῆς δὲ τὸ ἀναγινώσκειν.

21 For these testimonies and the positions represented, see Pfeiffer 1968, 157–158. 22 For the form of the name ‘Antidorus’ in various testimonies, see Immisch 1890 and Müller 1918, 121. For Antidorus’ life and works, see Immisch 1890; Müller 1918; Pfeiffer 1968, 157–158, and Montanari 1996. 23 Immisch 1890, 696 and Cohn 1913, 682 assume that this work was a Homeric glossary; Müller 1918, 122–123 however believes that it was dealing with the theory of style. 24 See the quoted passages from the Scholia in n. 20. The view that Aristotle is the grounder of scholarship was—probably imparted by Asclepiades of Myrlea— also shared by Dio Chrysostom; see D.Chr. 53.1: πολλοὶ δὲ καὶ ἄλλοι γεγράφασιν οἱ μὲν ἄντικρυς ἐγκωμιάζοντες τὸν ποιητὴν ἅμα καὶ δηλοῦντες ἔνια τῶν ὑπ᾿ αὐτοῦ λεγομένων, οἱ δὲ αὐτὸ τοῦτο τὴν διάνοιαν ἐξηγούμενοι, οὐ μόνον Ἀρίσταρχος καὶ Κράτης καὶ ἕτεροι πλείους τῶν ὕστερον γραμματικῶν κληθέντων, πρότερον δὲ κριτικῶν. καὶ δὴ καὶ αὐτὸς Ἀριστοτέλης (Dialogi T. p. 24 Rose, p. 4 Ross; Περὶ ποιητῶν T. p. 67 Ross = fr. 1002 Gigon), ἀφ᾿ οὗ φασι τὴν κριτικήν τε καὶ γραμματικὴν ἀρχὴν λαβεῖν, ἐν πολλοῖς διαλόγοις περὶ τοῦ ποιητοῦ διέξεισι, θαυμάζων αὐτὸν ὡς τὸ πολὺ καὶ τιμῶν, ἔτι δὲ Ἡρακλείδης ὁ Ποντικός (fr. 167 Wehrli). On this tes-

timony, see Pfeiffer 1968, 67 and 72–73. For Praxiphanes’ philological works,

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piades Περὶ γραμματικῶν is the source from which Clement and the Scholia to Dionysius Thrax draw their information. Despite this evidence, the reliability of Clement’s testimony about the existence of Eratosthenes’ Γραμματικά has been often questioned by previous scholarship.26 The main reason for these doubts is a contradiction between Clement’s information and that of Suetonius about the title chosen by Eratosthenes. According to this view, Clement’s statement that Eratosthenes called himself γραμματικός is not considered as valid; for Suetonius emphatically states that Eratosthenes claimed the name φιλόλογος for himself (sibi vindicavit).27 Therefore, Clement’s evidence for the existence of Eratosthenes’ Γραμματικά would be due to a misunderstanding or it would be pure invention in his attempt to link the Cyrenean with the name γραμματικός.28 Thus, most scholars followed Bernhardy (1822, 208) who believed that the definition of ‘grammar’ originated from Eratosthenes’ work Περὶ τῆς ἀρχαίας κωμῳδίας, and in particular from the beginning of the first or the third book. The confusion began to grow when a new fragment of Eratosthenes, still unknown to Bernhardy, came to attention. This fragment seems to have also originally come from the Γραμματικά.29 As Ps.-Sergius in the chapter De accentibus of his Explanationes in artem Donati states,30 Eratos-

25

26

27 28

29 30

see Susemihl 1891–92, I 145–146; Brink 1946, and Wehrli 1969, IX 108–115; cf. Podlecki 1969 and Gottschalk 1980, 128–139. See Kaibel 1898, 27–28; Heinicke 1904, 5–6, and Pfeiffer 1968, 67 and 158; cf. Blank 1998, 116 n. 68. For the significance and impact of the grammatical writings of Asclepiades, see the bibliography quoted in n. 44. See Bernhardy 1822, X and XIV; Susemihl 1891–1892, I 422 n. 68 and I 328 n. 6; cf. also Knaack 1907, 384 and Geus 2002, 291 n. 11 and 12. On Geus’ objections (2002, 305) on the significance and trustworthiness of Clement’s testimony, see below, p. 63 with n. 31. See Suet. Gramm. 10.4—the text of this passage is quoted in n. 2. Bernhardy 1822, X assumes that there is confusion between Eratosthenes and Callimachus on the ground of the ethnic name Κυρηναῖος which both scholars shared. He relates Clement’s account to Callimachus and his Ὑπομνήματα (Call. fr. 461–464 Pf.). The addition of the attribute γραμματικά to Callimachus’ Ὑπομνήματα cannot be accepted. For the content of this work of Callimachus, see Pfeiffer 1968, 135 with n. 4; Blum 1977, 195–198, and Matthaios 2008, 598 n. 150. Knaack 1907, 385 assigns this fragment to Eratosthenes’ Γραμματικά; so also Dragoni 1979, 60 and Geus 2002, 304 n. 110. The doctrine documented in the whole section (G.L. IV 529.1–533.20) seems to derive from Tyrannio (fr. 59 Haas; cf. test. 5 Haas) and was transmitted to the Latin grammar through Varro (fr. 84 Goetz–Schoell = fr. 282 Funaioli); cf. Pfeiffer 1968, 180 with n. 6.

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thenes explains the pronunciation of the circumflex as follows (G.L. IV 530.24–25): ex parte priore acuta in gravem posteriorem (sc. flecti putavit). In view of this second fragment, Susemihl was now sceptical about his earlier doubts about the existence of Eratosthenes’ Γραμματικά. His scepticism is reflected in an additional note in his Geschichte (1891–1892, II 672): ‘Stand die Äusserung des Erat[osthenes] üb[er] d[en] Circumfl[ex] […] auch in seiner Schrift üb[er] d[ie] alte Komödie, oder hat es mit den δύο βιβλία Γραμματικά […] doch seine Richtigkeit?’ [my emphasis]. On the strength of both these fragments—the ‘grammar’ definition and the statement about the circumflex—one may justly reconsider claims against Clement’s reliability. Due to the character of the testimony, Clement’s account about the πρῶτος εὑρετής of the term γραμματικός is of relative value. As it is often the case with doxographical texts, Clement’s testimony is also not free from anachronisms and inaccuracies. However, this does not allow us to dismiss it as completely worthless. If the wording is closely examined, it does not follow in any way that Eratosthenes himself—unlike Antidorus—made use of the name γραμματικός. As Knaack 1907, 384 already recognized, Clement presents here only the view of ‘some others’ who in the title of the work Γραμματικά found a clue in order to accept that Eratosthenes was the first to use the title γραμματικός.31 Clement himself and most probably his source Asclepiades seemed to be critical of this view and argued that the terminological innovation should be rather attributed to Antidorus. If this position cannot be endorsed either, the term γραμματικός should be credited to Praxiphanes or, according to the Scholia to Dionysios Thrax, even to Aristotle. Crucial for the reliability of Clement’s testimony is the fact that the contradictions between the accounts of Clement and Suetonius on the title chosen by Eratosthenes are only superficial and therefore unjustified. If the objections of previous scholars are more closely examined, it 31 The objections expressed by Geus 2002, 305 against Clement’s testimony are not convincing: ‘Eratosthenes kann sicherlich nicht als der Begründer der normativen Grammatik gelten. Vor dem Hintergrund dieser Überlegung verliert das oft angezweifelte Zeugnis des Clemens, wonach Eratosthenes als erster den Namen “Grammatiker” (γραμματικός) geführt hat, gänzlich sein Gewicht’. As with the term φιλολογία (cf. Geus 2002, 40) Geus equates the ancient term γραμματική with grammar in its present day sense. However, grammar in antiquity constituted only one part of ancient scholarship, the so-called μέρος τεχνικόν, which was dealing with the description and analysis of language. For the contents and the parts of ancient ‘grammar’, see Ax 2000d, 97–98 and 2000e, 128–129.

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seems that in this argumentation the ancient term φιλολογία— presumably because of the recent use of the term ‘scholarship’ or ‘philology’—was wrongly equated with the ancient term γραμματική. The term φιλόλογος in the sense of an educated person, when not confined to a specialized field, was not contrasted to γραμματικός in antiquity. The terms φιλόλογος and γραμματικός were in no ways identical and therefore the one did not exclude the other.32 The name φιλόλογος for somebody who—according to Suetonius—embodied a multiplex variaque doctrina matched Eratosthenes’ ideal of the universality of knowledge. It is used to characterize his overall activities, and not just his engagement with scholarship.33 Eratosthenes’ entire scientific activity, as a reflection of his claim for the universality of knowledge, also includes his philological work. Seen from this perspective, the use of the name φιλόλογος does not contradict the fact that Eratosthenes saw himself as a γραμματικός too. Ancient sources often attach the title γραμματικός to Eratosthenes because of his philological studies.34 This is however— according to Ps.-Lucian and also Strabo—just one of numerous charac32 The meaning of the term φιλόλογος and the question of its relationship to the titles γραμματικός and φιλόσοφος are examined by Dihle 1998; cf. Dihle 1998, 90: ‘Eine Beschränkung der Wortbedeutung [sc. of the term φιλόλογος] auf den Umgang mit literarischen Texten hat es also in der Antike nicht gegeben’. On the meaning of the word φιλόλογος, see Lehrs 1848b, 379–387, Steinthal 1890–1891, II 14–16, Kuch 1965, Pfeiffer 1968, 156–159 and Matthaios 2008, 558–560. 33 On Eratosthenes’ title φιλόλογος, see Schwartz 1943, 189; Pfeiffer 1968, 158– 159, and esp. Dihle 1986, 200–201 and 204–209, Dihle 1998 and Geus 2002, 39–40; cf. Matthaios 2008, 559–560 34 See [Lucianus] Macr. 27: Γραμματικῶν δὲ Ἐρατοσθένης μὲν ὁ Ἀγλαοῦ Κυρηναῖος (FGrHist 241 T 3), ὃν οὐ μόνον γραμματικόν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ποιητὴν ἄν τις ὀνομάσειεν καὶ φιλόσοφον καὶ γεωμέτρην, δύο καὶ ὀγδοήκοντα οὗτος ἔζησεν ἔτη; Tatianus Ad Graecos 31.2 (31.22 Whittaker; cf. Eus. PE X 11.3 [570.9–11 Dindorf]): ἔπειτα γραμματικοὶ (sc. περὶ τῆς Ὁμήρου ποιήσεως γένους τε αὐτοῦ καὶ χρόνου καθ᾿ ὃν ἤκμασε προηρεύνησαν) Ζηνόδοτος, Ἀριστοφάνης, Καλλίστρατος (Wilamowitz: Καλλίμαχος Eus., codd. Tatian.), Κράτης, Ἐρατοσθένης, Ἀρίσταρχος, Ἀπολλόδωρος; An.Ox. III 413.19: Οἱ δὲ περὶ Εὐδέξιον (l. Εὔδοξον) καὶ Ἵππαρχον καὶ Διόδωρον τὸν Ἀλεξανδρέα μαθηματικοὶ ἐπλεύσαντο, οἷον ἐπραγματεύσαντο Ἰκέλαος (l. καὶ Λάσιος), οὐκ ὁ Ἑρμιονεὺς ἀλλ᾿ ἕτερος, καὶ Ἐρατοσθένης ὁ γραμματικὸς καὶ Μέτων ὁ γεωμέτρης; Str. 17.3.22: Κυρηναῖος δ᾿ ἐστὶ καὶ Καλλίμαχος (test. 16 Pf.) καὶ Ἐρατοσθένης (FGrHist 241 T 2), ἀμφότεροι τετιμημένοι παρὰ τοῖς Αἰγυπτίων βασιλεῦσιν, ὁ μὲν ποιητὴς ἅμα καὶ περὶ γραμματικὴν ἐσπουδακώς, ὁ δὲ καὶ ταῦτα καὶ περὶ φιλοσοφίαν καὶ τὰ μαθήματα, εἴ τις ἄλλος, διαφέρων. On these testimonies, see Geus 2002, 305 n. 114.

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terizations that could have been used for the Cyrenean. Whether Eratosthenes also claimed the title γραμματικός for himself or even used it, is impossible to find out. In any case the name γραμματικός would have been secondary to φιλόλογος according to his self-understanding. In the second part of this article we will come back to the question of how much the term φιλολογία affected Eratosthenes’ definition of ‘grammar’.35 The first reliable dated evidence for the use of the term γραμματικός in the new meaning of scholar, of an ‘expert in the interpretation of literature and in textual criticism’ is a fragment going back to the poet Philicus of Corcyra dated to 275/4 BC.36 Philicus in the proem to his Hymn to Demeter (SH 677: καινογράφου συνθέσεως τῆς Φιλίκου, γραμματικοί, / δῶρα φέρω πρὸς ὑμᾶς)37 addressed not the κριτικοί, but the γραμματικοί.38 Further evidence for the use of the term γραμματικός in this sense are the above mentioned testimonies of Clement and the Scholia to Dionysius Thrax about Antidorus of Kyme.39 Antidorus’ lifetime cannot be exactly dated, and therefore it is also difficult to decide on the question of the chronological priority between him and Philicus. According to the communis opinio, Antidorus belongs to the beginning or rather the 1st half of the 3rd century BC40 and therefore is deemed an elder contemporary of Eratosthenes. Clement’s ordering of the names Antidorus --> Eratosthenes is a further indication for this. Our evidence speaks for the introduction of the term γραμματικός and its use in place of κριτικός—as Philitas was still characterized41—in the 1st quarter of the 3rd century BC. The establishment 35 See below, p. 79. 36 On Philicus, see Fraser 1972, I 608–609 and 650–652. For his Hymn to Demeter, see Latte 1968. 37 For the position of these verses within the poem of Philicus—according to Sch. Heph. ad 31.1 (140.14 Consbruch) they standed ἐν τῷ προοιμίῳ—, see LloydJones–Parsons 1983, 321 (on SH 677). 38 Cf. Latte 1968, 551 n. 14; Pfeiffer 1968, 157; Dihle 1998, 88, and Matthaios 2008, 561 n. 37. 39 See above, p. 60–61 and the quotations in n. 20. 40 See Müller 1918, 121; cf. Pfeiffer 1968, 157–158 with n. 1 (p. 158) and Montanari 1996, 747. 41 See Str. 14.2.19 (test. 11 Spanoudakis): φιλίτας τε ποιητὴς ἅμα καὶ κριτικός. For the use of the term κριτικός in this sense see Lehrs 1848b, 393–397; Steinthal 1890–1891, II 17; H. Usener in Susemihl 1981–1892, II 663–665; Siebenborn 1976, 131–132; Pfeiffer 1968, 157–159; Dihle 1998, 88–89, and Lallot 1999, 45; cf. also Matthaios 2008, 561. Simias of Rhodes (ca. 300 BC) was called γραμματικός in Suid. σ 431 (test. a Fränkel) and Str. 14.2.13 (test. b Fränkel); cf. also Dihle 1998, 88 and Matthaios 2008, 559. On the use of

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of the name γραμματικός meaning ‘scholar’ went along with the use of the term γραμματικὴ τέχνη for the related discipline. The new usage of γραμματικός and γραμματική seems to have been firmly established in Eratosthenes’ era. So, in a way similar to Philicus who had addressed the γραμματικοί or Antidorus who had taken up γραμματικός as his professional name, Eratosthenes chose the title Γραμματικά for his work and the term γραμματική for the science yet to be defined. The history of the terms γραμματικός and γραμματική in antiquity is documented in several ancient doxographical testimonies; the most representative are those of Sextus Empiricus42 and the Scholia to Dionysius Thrax.43 Kaibel proved that their ultimate source was Asclepiades’ work Περὶ γραμματικῆς.44 Sextus Empiricus even cites Asclepiades by name in M. 1.47 (Asclep. Myrl. fr. II Müller).45 Asclepiades’ work was probably known to the Scholia to Dionysios Thrax—through the Neoplatonist commentators—from Proclus’ Chrestomathy.46 Eratosthenes’ definition of

42 43

44

45 46

γραμματικός in the meaning ‘scholar’ in the pre-eratosthenian era, see Dihle 1998, 88 and Geus 2002, 305 n. 114. See S.E. M. 1.44–49. See Sch. D.T. (Σv) 114.23–34; (Σv) 120.35–121.3. On the explanation of the name γραμματική in connection with the term γράμματα, see Sch. D.T. (Prol. Voss.) 3.19–23; (Σv) 160.11–23; (Σv) 163.31–164.4; (Σl) 447.31–448.5. On the development of the terms γραμματικός and γραμματική in the sense ‘grammar’ and ‘grammarian’, see Lehrs 1848b, 387–393; Steinthal 1890–1891, II 16–17; H. Usener in Susemihl 1891–1892, II 663–665; Schreiner 1954, 8– 11; Pfeiffer 1968, 157–158; Siebenborn 1976, 131–132; Kaster 1988, 447–454 and 1995, 86–88; Blank 1998, 110–111 and 113–115; Lallot 1999, 43–44, and Matthaios 2008, 560–562. See Kaibel 1898, 25–28, esp. 27–28; cf. Müller 1903, 35–40; Di Benedetto 1958, 203–204, and Pfeiffer 1968, 158 with n. 7. Blank 1998, XLIV–L goes into the question of the role of Asclepiades as a source of Sextus’ Empiricus Πρὸς γραμματικούς afresh; cf. also Blank 2000, 405 and 410; Pagani 2007, 31–34, esp. 33 with n. 86; de Jonge 2008a, 30–31 and 111–112. Asclepiades is also considered to be the source for the grammatical chapter of Quintilian’s Institutio oratoria (1.4–8); on this question, see Heinicke 1904; cf. Blank 1998, XLVI, 114 and 2000, 410 as well as Pagani 2007, 33 with n. 88. On the question of to what extent Dionysius of Halicarnassus was familiar with Ascepiades’ grammatical writings, as Blank 1998, XLVI and 2000, 410 assumes, see de Jonge 2008a, 111–112. See the commentary of Blank 1998, 114–115 on this passage. See Kaibel 1898, 27–28; cf. Pagani 2007, 33 with n. 87. Di Benedetto 1958, 171–178 accepts a dependence of the Vatican Scholia, in which Eratosthenes’ definition is recorded, on the Neoplatonist commentaries. This source reconstruction is alluded to inter alia in a reference in Olympiodorus’ epigram (App. Anth. III 177 Cougny) against Callimachus’ ep. 23 Pf. by David Proll. 10, 31.27–32.9; cf. Di Benedetto 1958, 176–178 and Blank 1998, 118 with n. 72.

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‘grammar’ is significantly reported in the Vatican Scholia to Dionysius Thrax also in connection with the meaning and development of the term γράμματα. Asclepiades of Myrlea turns out not only to be the source for Clement’s account on the introduction of the name γραμματικός with the meaning ‘scholar’ and on the existence of Eratosthenes’ Γραμματικά, but also to represent the first source from which the Scholia to Dionysius Thrax apparently drew their information about Eratosthenes’ definition. The Scholia provided Eratosthenes’ definition with an explanation of the meaning of γράμματα through the participle καλῶν. It is possible that Eratosthenes himself contributed to this explanation and, closing his definition, gave his view on the problem of naming the philological discipline. If our assumption is correct, then we can date the discussion that Asclepiades conducted about the name of scholarship back to the era of Eratosthenes and his contemporaries. Eratosthenes had a predecessor, namely Antidorus of Kyme. In a passage from the Scholia to Dionysius Thrax that has up to now been overlooked, the following information about Antidorus is given (Sch. D.T. [Prol. Voss.] 7.24–25): Ἀντίδωρος δέ τις γραμματικὸς γραμματικὴν αὐτὴν ὠνόμασε παρὰ τὴν γνῶσιν τῶν γραμμάτων. According to this testimony, Antidorus is not only the one who first held the title γραμματικός, but should also be seen as the authority who introduced the name of the related discipline. He attempted to explain this word with the etymological connection between the term γραμματική and the expression γράμματα. But, if we believe this testimony, Antidorus—unknowingly or even knowningly—went one step further. Beyond the etymological explanation, he defined the nature of the philological discipline as γνῶσις of its content, the γράμματα, in the form of a ‘nominal definition’47: according to Antidorus, ‘grammar is the knowledge of the writings’. Eratosthenes could have used the definition of Antidorus as the basis of his own. Thanks to his philosophical education, the Cyrenean succeeded in giving his definition, with reference to the term ἕξις, a philosophical background and in incorporating it into the theoretical context of the Hellenistic science.

Callimachus’ 23rd epigram was mentioned many times by the Neoplatonist commentators; see Kotzia 2004, 185–186 n. 3. 47 That was according to Aristotle (APo. II 10, 93b29–32) the λόγος τοῦ τί σημαίνει τὸ ὄνομα or the λόγος ὀνοματώδης. On the nominal definitions in Aristotle see De Rijk 2002, I 690–694.

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2. The Theoretical Background of Eratosthenes’ Definition It has already been pointed out that Antidorus’ definition of ‘grammar’ was founded on the explanation of the term γραμματική. In comparison to Antidorus, Eratosthenes tried to define the essence and nature of this discipline. As Aristotle had already ascertained, a definition of this kind is based on the description of the characteristics of genus and species of the definiendum.48 The Scholia to Dionysius Thrax states that a definition consists of three elements:49 firstly, the γένος of the defined is given. After that, the συστατικαὶ διαφοραί or the εἴδη, thus the specific differences which account for the character of the defined object are denoted; in general, these are expressed by a verbal adjective that syntactically functions as an attribute to γένος. Thirdly, the ἴδιον of the defined, the characteristic that can exclusively be attributed to it, is named. In case of a τέχνη definition, this element specifies the function and subject area of the discipline under discussion; syntactically, it is expressed by a genitive, which is governed by the adjective that precedes it.50 If we examine Eratosthenes’ definition according to this model, then all three elements seem to be included in his statement: the term ἕξις stands for the γένος of the γραμματικὴ τέχνη. The kind of ἕξις, which represents scholarship, is qualified through the adjective παντελής. Finally, the subject of the philological discipline is given by the prepositional expression ἐν γράμμασι. Due to the particular connection of the individual elements with each other, the expression ἕξις is, as will be shown at the end of this section, placed in the foreground and turned into the central concept of Eratosthenes’ definition. The theoretical reasoning for this concept will be examined more thoroughly below. The few researchers who have taken Eratosthenes’ ‘grammar’ definition into consideration have translated ἕξις as ‘skill’ and ‘craft’.51 There48 See e.g. Arist. Top. I 8.103b15–16: ὁ ὁρισμὸς ἐκ γένους καὶ διαφορῶν ἐστίν. On definitions by Aristotle see De Rijk 2002, I 653–714. An overview of the characteristics of ancient definitions is provided by Nobis 1972, 31–35. 49 See Sch. D.T. (Σv) 115.20–119.39; cf. Sch. D.T. (Prol. Voss.) 8.10–29 and (Σv) 107.1–108.11. 50 Following this pattern the Stoic τέχνη definition was analyzed in its components in the Sch. D.T. (Σv) 157.18–27; cf. Sch. D.T. (Prol. Voss.) 8.32–9.22. This definition was falsely attributed to Dionysius Thrax in the first passage. However, it is beyond question that this definition is originally the Stoic one; see p. 71–72 with n. 63. 51 See Geus 2002, 304: ‘die Grammatik [ist] "die umfassende Fertigkeit in der Literatur"’. Steinthal, 1890–91, II 175 n. 2 left Eratosthenes’ definition un-

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fore, ἕξις belongs to the lexical field ‘experience’ or ‘skill’ that in modern lexicography is differentiated from the meaning ‘habitus, condition, behavior’ and is considered an equivalent of the Latin facultas or facilitas.52 The word ἕξις in this sense, mostly accompanied by a prepositional expression with ἐν plus dative, is often documented in the Hellenistic era.53 Eratosthenes may have used the term with this meaning; however, several doubts arise on this hypothesis. The problems start, when we examine the use of ἕξις in the following passages in which modern lexicography acknowledges the meaning ‘skill’ or ‘ability’: (1) Pl. Phdr. 268e: οὐδὲν μὴν κωλύει μηδὲ σμικρὸν ἁρμονίας ἐπαΐειν τὸν τὴν σὴν ἕξιν ἔχοντα and (2) [Arist.] Pr. XXX 2.955b1: Διὰ τί κατ᾿ ἐνίας μὲν τῶν ἐπιστημῶν ἕξιν ἔχειν λέγομεν, κατ᾿ ἐνίας δὲ οὔ; ἢ καθ᾿ ὅσας εὑρετικοί ἐσμέν, ἕξιν ἔχειν λεγόμεθα; τὸ γὰρ εὑρίσκειν ἀπὸ ἕξεως. In neither of these passages is the meaning ‘skill’, ‘craft’ or ‘ability’ obligatory; on the contrary, the use of ἕξις should be rather attributed to the super-ordinate terms ‘habitus, condition, behavior’. Rowe assumes this more general sense in the quoted passage from Phaedrus,54 and the meantranslated, but otherwise translated ἕξις with ‘Geschicklichkeit’; cf. e.g. Steinthal 1890–91, II 163–164; cf. also Schenkeveld 1994, 263. Eratosthenes’ definition is left without translation by Knaack 1907, 384; Pfeiffer 1968, 162; Fuhrmann 1960, 145 n. 4, and Dihle 1998, 88. 52 See LSJ s.v. II 3: ‘trained, habit, skill’, GI s.v. c: ‘consuetudine, esperienza, capacità, dote’, Passow s.v. 2c: ‘die zur Fertigkeit oder Gewohnheit gewordene Fähigkeit, Geschicklichkeit’ and Pape s.v. 2: ‘Geschicklichkeit, Erfahrung’. In LSJ s.v γραμματικός, III 1 b ἡ γραμματική, Eratosthenes’ definition is translated as ‘faculty of scholarship’. On the Latin equivalent facilitas see Quint. Inst. 10.1.1: Sed haec eloquendi praecepta, sicut cogitationi sunt necessaria, ita non satis ad uim dicendi ualent nisi illis firma quaedam facilitas, quae apud Graecos hexis nominatur accesserit. 53 See Plb. 1.54.4: ἕξιν τῶν πληρωμάτων. 10.47.7: κἄπειτα παιδάριον ἕξιν ἔχον. 12.25d.7: τὸ τὴν ἀληθινὴν προσφερόμενον ἕξιν ἐν ἑκάστοις τῶν ἐπιτηδευμάτων. 21.9.1: Διοφάνης ὁ Μεγαλοπολίτης μεγάλην ἕξιν εἶχεν ἐν τοῖς πολεμικοῖς. Cf. Mauersberger 1961, 842 s.v. ἕξις (2): ‘prakt[ische] Erfahrung, Versiehrtheit, ferner Geübtheit, ständige Übung, Befähigung in einer Sache’. 54 Rowe 1988, 109 translates this passage from Phaedrus as follows: ‘but there is nothing to prevent someone in your condition from having not the slightest understanding of harmony’. See also Rowe’s commentary (1988, 203): ‘ἔχειν is here intransitive, "to be (in a certain condition)", with τὴν … ἕξιν (the corresponding verbal noun) as internal accusative’. For an analogical construction and meaning of ἕξις in the Aristotelian Categories see Brague 1980, 289–290. For the Platonic use of ἕξις see Ast[ius] 1835–1838, I 742–743 s.v.: ‘habitus (tam corporis quam animi); status vel conditio; affectio; etiam facultas’. Funke 1974b, 1120 understands the term ἕξις in the quoted passage from Phaedrus as ‘zur Fähigkeit, zum Können ausgebildete Gewandtheit, Geschicklichkeit, Ge-

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ing ‘habitus, condition’ turns out to be fundamental also in the passage from the Problemata physica; the focus here lies on a preexisting cognitive condition, which is activated in a special situation.55 In the light of the use of ἕξις within these passages deriving from a philosophical context, the following question arises: did Eratosthenes understand ἕξις in a general and more neutral sense, or did he refer to a differentiated, philosophically motivated theoretical concept for his definitional purposes? The fact that in the ancient theory of science ἕξις is a fixed term which continually and uniformly appears in different philosophical traditions in connection with a definition of τέχνη, and that Eratosthenes, in contrast to his ancestors and contemporary ‘poetscholars’, was philosophically educated and had a wide-ranging philosophical oeuvre is a good reason for us to search not only for the origin and the basic meaning of the term ἕξις but also for the motivation for being used in his ‘grammar’ definition within a philosophical context. In doing this we come across evidence that testifies the philosophical origin of the term ἕξις in the context of the theory of science. The association of the term ἕξις with τέχνη has already begun with Plato.56 The following passage from Cratylus (414b6–c3) is interesting in this respect: ΣΩ. Ὧν γ᾿ ἔστιν ἓν καὶ ‘τέχνην’ ἰδεῖν ὅτι ποτὲ βούλεται εἶναι. ΕΡΜ. Πάνυ μὲν οὖν. ΣΩ. Οὐκοῦν τοῦτό γε ἕξιν νοῦ σημαίνει, τὸ μὲν ταῦ ἀφελόντι, ἐμβαλόντι δὲ οὖ μεταξὺ τοῦ χεῖ καὶ τοῦ νῦ καὶ τοῦ νῦ καὶ τοῦ ἦτα; ΕΡΜ. Καὶ μάλα γε γλίσχρως, ὦ Σώκρατες. Here Socrates explains τέχνη as ἕξις νοῦ and, with reference to a series of phonological changes, he traces the formation of the word back to a form *ἐχονόη. Although Plato’s etymology might be astonishing witztheit, Geübtheit’. The translation by Heitsch 1993, 55 (‘doch nichts hindert, daß jemand, der so weit gekommen ist wie du, von Harmonik auch nicht das Geringste versteht’) includes both meanings, ‘condition’ and ‘skill’ or ‘experience’ as well. 55 A similar use of ἕξις is to be found also in Arist. APo. II 19.99b17: περὶ δὲ τῶν ἀρχῶν, πῶς τε γίνονται γνώριμοι καὶ τίς ἡ γνωρίζουσα ἕξις, ἐντεῦθεν ἔσται δῆλον προαπορήσασι πρῶτον, Top. VIII 1.156b35: ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ

ὅσοι οἴονται δριμεῖς εἶναι ἐν τῷ ἀποκρίνεσθαιǜ θέντες γὰρ τὰ πρῶτα ἐπὶ τέλους τερθρεύονται ὡς οὐ συμβαίνοντος ἐκ τῶν κειμένωνǜ τιθέασι δὲ προχείρως, πιστεύοντες τῇ ἕξει καὶ ὑπολαμβάνοντες οὐδὲν πείσεσθαι, and PA I 1.639a1: Περὶ πᾶσαν θεωρίαν τε καὶ μέθοδον, ὁμοίως ταπεινοτέραν τε και τιμιωτέραν, δύο φαίνονται τρόποι τῆς ἕξεως εἶναι, ὧν τὴν μὲν ἐπιστήμην τοῦ πράγματος καλῶς ἔχει προσαγορεύειν, τὴν δ᾿ οἷον παιδείαν τινά. On these passages, see below, p. 75 with n. 78. 56 On the Platonic concept of τέχνη, see Jeffré 1922; Schaerer 1930; Kube 1969;

Heinimann 1961; Isnardi Parente 1966, and Löbl 2003, 61–78. Cf. Nesselrath 1985, 127–135 and Blank 1998, XX–XXIV.

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from a linguistic point of view, it hits the spot exactly with regard to its content. If we take Plato’s interpretation that τέχνη is ‘possession’ or ‘condition of the intellect’ seriously,57 then we recognize that the connection of τέχνη and ἕξις was fundamental for the future philosophical tradition and continued to resonate over centuries. The first regular definition of τέχνη is provided by Aristotle: in the 6th book of his Nicomachean Ethics, τέχνη is defined as ἕξις μετὰ λόγου ἀληθοῦς ποιητική (VI 4, 1140a9–10).58 Both elements of the Platonic concept of τέχνη, the postulate of a rational structure and its definition as an ἕξις, are included here. Referring to the same term, shortly before (EN VI 3, 1139b31–32), Aristotle defined ἐπιστήμη as ἕξις ἀποδεικτική. Even though Aristotle strives for a sharper differentiation between ἐπιστήμη and τέχνη in the Nicomachean Ethics,59 it is nonetheless clear that both types of knowledge share the notion ἕξις as their super-ordinate genus. The elder Stoics also defined τέχνη as ἕξις. According to Olympiodorus, Cleanthes’ τέχνη definition is as follows (Olymp. in Grg. 12.1 = SVF I 490 = FDS 392 = 42A Long – Sedley): Κλεάνθης τοίνυν λέγει ὅτι ‘τέχνη ἐστὶν ἕξις ὁδῷ πάντα ἀνύουσα’60. Chrysippus attempts to complement Cleanthes’ definition by adding the phrase μετὰ φαντασιῶν: ‘τέχνη ἐστὶν ἕξις ὁδῷ προϊοῦσα μετὰ φαντασιῶν’.61 The Scholia to Dionysius Thrax on the other hand ascribe the following τέχνη definition to Zeno, which is actually an alternative formulation to the one given by Cleanthes (Sch. D.T. [Σv] 118.14–16 = SVF I 72 = FDS 410): ὡς δηλοῖ καὶ ὁ Ζήνων, λέγων ‘τέχνη ἐστὶν ἕξις ὁδοποιητική’,

57 Löbl 2003, 104 translates the phrase ἕξις νοῦ with ‘Zustand, Verhalten des Geistes’. 58 See Dirlmeier 1979, 126: ‘das praktische Können [ist] identisch mit einem auf das Hervorbringen abzielenden, vom richtigen Reflektieren geleiteten Verhalten’; Gauthier–Jolif 1970, 460: ‘un état habituel raisonné de prossession du vrai que dirige la production’. On Aristotle’s τέχνη definition, see Dirlmeier 1979, 448 and Isnardi Parente 1961, 269–271. On the meaning of ἕξις in this context, see Löbl 2003, 260. 59 On Aristotle’s concept of τέχνη and its dissociation from ἐπιστήμη, see Bartels 1965, 275–287; Nesselrath 1985, 135–137 and 208–210. 60 Cf. Quint. inst. 2.17.41 (FDS 394; cf. SVF I 490). Hülser 1987–1988, II 421 translates Cleanthes’ definition as follows: ‘Wissenschaft ist ein Habitus, der / eine Fähigkeit, die alles mit Methode zustandebringt’. On Cleanthes’ τέχνηdefinition, see Nesselrath 1985, 138–139. 61 Hülser l.c. translates Chrysippus’ definition as follows: ‘Wissenschaft ist ein Habitus, der / eine Fähigkeit, die mit Methode unter Vorstellungen vorwärtsschreitet’; cf. Long–Sedley 1987, 259–260.

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τουτέστιν δι᾿ ὁδοῦ καὶ μεθόδου ποιοῦσά τι.62 This definition became standard for the Stoics.63 Philodemus also links τέχνη to ἕξις. His τέχνη definition runs as follows (Phld. Rh. 2, col. XXXVIII, l. 2–15, p. 123 Longo Auricchio): νοεῖ-| τ̣α̣ ι τοίνυν καὶ λέγεται |τ]έχνη παρὰ τοῖ[ς] Ἕ̣λ̣λ̣ η-| σ̣ι̣ [ν ἕ]ξις ἢ διάθ[ε]σι[ς] ἀπὸ |παρ[α]τηρή[σ]εω[ς τιν]ῶν |κοινῶν καὶ [σ]τοι[χειω][[ν]]-|δῶν, ἃ διὰ πλειόν[ω]ν δι-|ήκει τῶν ἐπὶ μέ[ρ]ο[υς], κα-|ταλαμβάνουσά [τ]ι καὶ |σ]υντελοῦσα τοιοῦτον, |οἷον ὁμοίως τῶν μὴ |μαθόντων ἔ[νιοι], ἑστη-| κ̣ότως καὶ βε[βαί]ως [οὐ-| δ]ὲ στοχαστι[κῶς].64 Apart from the τέχνη definitions just cited, the term ἕξις as γένος of scholarship is documented in the two following ‘grammar’ definitions: The first is attributed to Chares or, more correctly, Chaeris.65 It is transmitted by both Sextus Empiricus (M. 1.76) and the Scholia to Dionysius Thrax ([Σv] 118.10–12). By comparing both testimonies, the wording of the definition can be reconstructed as follows: γραμματική ἐστιν ἕξις ἀπὸ τέχνης καὶ ἱστορίας (καὶ ἱστορίας om. S.E.) διαγνωστικὴ τῶν παρ᾿ Ἕλλησι λεκτῶν καὶ νοητῶν ἐπὶ τὸ ἀκριβέστατον, πλὴν τῶν ὑπ᾿ ἄλλαις τέχναις (καὶ νοητῶν—τέχναις om. Sch. D.T.).66 The 62 Hülser 1987–1988, II 437 translates the passage as follows: ‘wie das auch schon Zenon klarmacht, indem er sagt: "Die Wissenschaft ist ein Habitus, der auf einem Weg [etwas] zu schaffen vermag", d.h. ein Habitus, der durch einen Weg und eine Methode etwas zustandebringt’. 63 Ascribing this definition to Zeno is misleading. On the author of this definition, see von Arnim 1903–1924, I 20–21 (on SVF I 72). Zeno’s own τέχνη definition is transmitted by Olympiodorus (Olymp. in Grg. 12.1 = SVF I 73 = FDS 392): Ζήνων δέ φησιν ὅτι τέχνη ἐστὶ σύστημα ἐκ καταλήψεων συγγεγυμνασμένων πρός τι τέλος εὔχρηστον τῶν ἐν τῷ βίῳ. Parallel testimonies on this definition are given by von Arnim in SVF I 73; cf. FDS 393– 398 and 399–414 and the commentary of Hülser 1987–1988, II 426–427. On the Stoic τέχνη definition, see Nesselrath 1985, 138–143 and Blank 1998, XXXII–XXXIII. 64 On Philodemus’ definition, see Erler 1994, 339–341; Isnardi Parente 1961, 266–267; Asmis 1984, 44, and Nesselrath 1985, 145–146. On the relationship of the terms ἕξις and διάθεσις, see below, p. 74–75. 65 This grammarian is referred to as Χάρης by S.E. M. 1.76; as the author of this definition the Sch. D.T. (Σv) 118.10–12 give more correctly the name Χαῖρις. See Di Benedetto 1958, 198 n. 2; Lallot 1995b, 79 n. 15, and Blank 1998, 137 n. 105. Berndt 1902, 3–18 and 25–28 traces this definition back to Chares (fr. 3), a contemporary of Apollonius Rhodius. 66 See Blank 1998, 137–143; cf. Steinthal 1890–1891, II 176–177; Di Benedetto 1958, 198–199, and Lallot 1995b, 80. Blank 1998, 139 wrongly denies the philosophical origin of the ἕξις term in Chaeris’ definition with the following statement: ‘Perhaps [Chaeris] uses hexis in a looser way, simply for an acquired

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second ‘grammar’ definition, also containing the term ἕξις, is cited by the Scholia to Dionysius Thrax ([Prol. Voss.] 3.11–13; see also [Σm] 299.35–36): γραμματική ἐστι τέχνη ἕξις θεωρητικὴ καὶ πρακτικὴ τῶν παρὰ ποιηταῖς τε καὶ συγγραφεῦσι, δι᾿ ἧς ἑκάστῳ τὸ οἰκεῖον ἀποδιδόντες ἐξ ἀπείρου καταληπτόν ποιούμεθα. The same definition is also cited in other passages of the Scholia with some alterations ([Σv] 164.5–8): γραμματική ἐστιν ἕξις θεωρητική τε καὶ καταληπτικὴ τῶν κατὰ πλεῖστον παρὰ ποιηταῖς τε καὶ συγγραφεῦσι λεγομένων, δι᾿ ἧς ἑκάστην λέξιν τῷ οἰκείῳ κόσμῳ ἀποδιδόντες εὐκατάληπτον ἐξ ἀπείρου κατασκευάζουσιν. The origin of this definition is not known; Steinthal 1890–1891, II 178, thinks that it stems from the Byzantine era. As our overview shows, τέχνη is always brought together with ἕξις. It represents the super-ordinate genus under which τέχνη as a whole and the various τέχναι must be subsumed. The continuous use of the ἕξις term in ancient philosophy renders the question, whether Eratosthenes was following a certain philosophical tradition when using it in the context of his ‘grammar’ definition, superfluous. Similarly, it is difficult to say which path he followed in his philosophical oeuvre.67 The definitions of τέχνη presented here also make it clear that by using ἕξις Eratosthenes did not proceed from a neutral sense, but being an educated philosopher he took as the basis for his definition a term universally valid in the philosophy of science. By using this term, he granted scholarship the status of a τέχνη and managed to integrate this discipline into the ancient system of sciences. The question is still open about the exact meaning of ἕξις when used as a definiens of τέχνη. ἕξις, a verbal noun of ἔχειν, is always translated in the τέχνη definitions mentioned with ‘habitus, condition, attitude’ or ‘behavior’. But, as imprecise as this translation may sound from a modern point of view, it strikes the core of the ancient definition. The verb ἔχειν in its transitive use means inter alia ‘to have’, ‘to own’; in an intransitive use—in this case accompanied by an adverb—it means ‘to be in a certain condition’. Benveniste (1966, 197) correctly observed that the verb ἔχειν was in principle a verb of state, which ‘n’est rien autre

skill enabling one to do something. Such a usage may be seen where Ps.Galen’s Introduction or Physician 14.677.10 (= Deichgräber 1930, p. 100. 14) talks about what the Empiricists and Methodics, who reject ‘physiology’, make the principles from which they acquire the hexis of applying therapeutics’. The continuous use of the term ἕξις in the ancient theory of science attests however to the contrary. 67 See Geus 2002, 96–97 and 338–339.

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qu’un être-à inversé’.68 This is also attested by Aristotle who typifies the examples ὑποδέδεται and ὥπλισται with the category ἔχειν in the 4th chapter of his Categories.69 In these examples, the ownership is regarded as a condition of the owner by the perfect tense marking this condition as instantaneous.70 Thus, ἕξις describes ‘an essential mode of being or behaving oneself’ (De Rijk 2002, I 470), ‘the haver’s mode of being, which results from the very fact of “having” something, that is to say the “thing had” substantially modifies the haver’s being or behaving’ (De Rijk 2002, I 416). In the so-called lexicon of the 4th book of Metaphysics (IV, 20, 1022b4–14) Aristotle mentions three basic meanings of ἕξις: 1. ἐνέργειά τις τοῦ ἔχοντος καὶ ἐχομένου (‘possession in a sense of being invested or endowed with’), 2. διάθεσις (‘state or disposition’) and 3. μόριον διαθέσεως τοιαύτης (‘portion of such a disposition’).71 Here also ἕξις does not simply mean ‘having’, but ‘a prominent way of being and acting or functioning in accordance with this “having”’ (De Rijk 2002, I 468).72 Also, the different types of ‘to have’ listed in the 15th chapter of Categories refer to the central meaning of ‘having some ontically determinant feature’ (De Rijk 2002, I 469).73 According to the sample ‘having [x] = being [x]-ed’, all these types of ‘to have’ can be changed into an intransitive construction; thus, as an example, the expression ‘to have knowledge’ is equivalent to the phrase ‘to be knowledgeable’.74 Putting it into more common wording, it can be understood as: ‘You are what you have’. Since ἕξις is seen in terms of ‘habitus’ or ‘behavior’ in conjunction with the possessor, it is reasonable why Aristotle subsumes ἕξις together with διάθεσις in the category ποιότης and considers them as one of its 68 Cf. Ildefonse–Lallot 2002, 139–140 and De Rijk 2002, I 467–468 For a philosophical investigation of the notion ἔχειν, see Stern 1925, 71–106; cf. Oehler 1986, 350–351 and Funke 1974a. 69 See Arist. Cat. 4.2a3: ἔχειν δὲ οἷον ὑποδέδεται, ὥπλισται; cf. Cat. 9.11b13– 14. 70 Cf. Trendelenburg 1846, 141–142; Benveniste 1966, 69; Ildefonse–Lallot 2002, 140–141, and De Rijk 2002, I 470–471. 71 Translations are from De Rijk 2002, I 468. 72 Cf. Ildefonse–Lallot 2002, 143 with n. 2. On the active meaning of ἔχειν in the sense of ἐνέργεια and its relationship to the term ‘habitus’, see Gillespie 1925, 82–83. De Rijk 2002, I 415–416 derives this meaning of ἔχειν from the superordinate ‘habitus’ term too. 73 See De Rijk 2002, I 467–471 and Ildefonse–Lallot 2002, 141–142. 74 See De Rijk 2002, I 469–70 and Oehler 1986, 349–350 with reference to Arist. Metaph. IV 23.1023a23–25, where ‘“in etwas sein” die korrespondierende Bedeutung von „haben“ hat, das heißt, daß Aristoteles das In-etwas-Sein als Konverse der Relation des Habens versteht’ (Oehler 1986, 350).

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species in the 8th chapter of his Categories (8b26–9a13). ἕξις and διάθεσις differ from one another due to the criteria of duration and variation: an attitude lasts longer and varies little; in contrast, conditions change rapidly and elapse.75 As examples for attitudes, Aristotle offers types of knowledge (ἐπιστῆμαι) and virtues (ἀρεταί); for conditions, warmth (θερμότης), coldness (κατάψυξις) etc. For Aristotle the ἐπιστῆμαι constitute next to the ἀρεταί the most privileged example of ἕξις. Significantly, ἕξις and διάθεσις are regarded in the Topica as the superior genera of ἐπιστήμη.76 As a cognitive condition, ἐπιστήμη is based in the soul.77 It is understood as ἕξις, because by activating a cognitive ability it can give rise to a corresponding attitude in the soul.78 At the beginning of his De partibus animalium, Aristotle acknowledges that in relation to all studies there are two types of ἕξις: the first one exists in the knowledge of an object (ἐπιστήμη), the second is an asset that could be acquired through education (παιδεία).79 From this derives the secondary meaning facultas resp. facilitas of the term ἕξις. When in the Nicomachean Ethics (VI 3, 1139b31) ἐπιστήμη is defined as ἕξις ἀποδεικτική, then a skill is meant; but this skill possesses an ontological dimension since—according to Dirlmeier (1979, 125)—it becomes a disposition. The discussion about ἕξις and its meaning in relation to the definition of a τέχνη is most appropriately summarized by Detel’s conclusion to the explanation of the term in Arist. APo. II 19.99b20–100b5. 75 See Oehler 1986, 314–315; Ackrill 1963, 104–105, and Ildefonse–Lallot 2002, 142. In Arist. Metaph. IV 20.1022b10 ἕξις is equated with διάθεσις. On the relationship of the terms ἕξις and διάθεσις to each other, see Brague 1980, 285– 290. 76 See Arist. Top. IV 4.124b39: ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς ἐπιστήμηςǜ τινὸς γὰρ καὶ αὐτὴ καὶ τὰ γένη, οἷον ἥ τε διάθεσις καὶ ἡ ἕξις. Top. IV 2.121b34: ἀλλὰ τό

γε ὑπ᾿ ἄλληλα ἢ ὑπὸ ταὐτὸ ἄμφω γίγνεσθαι τὰ τοῦ αὐτοῦ γένη τῶν ἀναγκαίων δόξειεν ἂν εἶναι, καθάπερ καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς ἀρετῆς καὶ τῆς ἐπιστήμης συμβαίνειǜ ἄμφω γὰρ ὑπὸ τὸ αὐτὸ γένος ἐστίνǜ ἑκάτερον γὰρ αὐτῶν ἕξις καὶ διάθεσίς ἐστιν. 77 See Arist. APo. II 19.99b20–100b5; Top. VI 6.145a34: πᾶσα γὰρ διάθεσις καὶ πᾶν πάθος ἐν ἐκείνῳ πέφυκε γίνεσθαι οὗ ἐστι διάθεσις ἢ πάθος, καθάπερ καὶ ἡ ἐπιστήμη ἐν ψυχῇ, διάθεσις οὖσα ψυχῆς. 78 This is the interpretation of ἕξις in the quoted passages in n. 55; cf. De Rijk

2002, I 740–744. 79 See Arist. PA I 1.639a1: Περὶ πᾶσαν θεωρίαν τε καὶ μέθοδον, ὁμοίως ταπεινοτέραν τε και τιμιωτέραν, δύο φαίνονται τρόποι τῆς ἕξεως εἶναι, ὧν τὴν μὲν ἐπιστήμην τοῦ πράγματος καλῶς ἔχει προσαγορεύειν, τὴν δ᾿ οἷον παιδείαν τινά. Cf. Lennox 2001, 120. The explanation on the ἕξις term given in the Scholia to Dionysius Thrax is interesting in this regard. According to them ἕξις is synonymous with γνῶσις; see Sch. D.T. (Σm) 298.37: τί ἐστιν ἕξις; οἱονεὶ γνῶσις.

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According to Detel (1993, II 857), ἕξις is ‘[…] weder nur eine Disposition der Seele [...], noch eine bloße Fähigkeit der Seele, irgend etwas zu tun—sondern primär ein epistemischer [...] Zustand, in welchem die Seele etwas besitzt oder beherrscht’. The reason that (practical) ability or knowledge is understood as a condition is related to the ancient concept of knowledge, according to which the latter primarily represents disposable knowledge and thus is understood as the sum of cognitive abilities, and in the sense of a capability in a special field of activity.80 After the investigation of the term ἕξις, we now return to the ‘grammar’ definition of Eratosthenes. According to Eratoshenes γραμματικὴ τέχνη—literally: ‘the art of the writings’—is an epistemic condition that presupposes the acquisition of a particular knowledge. From this condition derives one’s ability to master problems that belong to this discipline. The ἕξις which represents the γραμματική is qualified by two characteristics: the first is the attribute παντελής, the second the prepositional expression ἐν γράμμασι. In what follows I will attempt to establish the meaning of these two characteristics. First of all the expression παντελής: As already mentioned, the attribute constitutes a fixed element of the structure of an ancient τέχνη definition. From a formal point of view, this attribute is mostly a verbal adjective that indicates the species and thus the function of a τέχνη; this adjective depends in general on a genitive that serves to denominate the subject of the respective τέχνη.81 Yet, there is nothing similar in the case of Eratosthenes’ definition. It indeed contains an attribute, the adjective παντελής; but this is used to qualify the term ἕξις, the γένος of ‘grammar’. What Eratosthenes aims to do with the adjective παντελής is to intensify the term ἕξις as the central characteristic of the γραμματικὴ τέχνη. For scholarship and its representatives, the Cyrenean postulates the highest, most fully accomplished level of the epistemic condition that comes from the acquisition of knowledge in the field of writings (ἐν γράμμασι). But what is the sense of the attribute παντελής and the theoretical background with its implied demand for scholarship? To answer these questions, one must juxtapose Eratosthenes’ definition with two later ones, those of Dionysius Thrax and Asclepiades of Myrlea respectively. According to the evidence of the manuscript tradition, the definition of Dionysius Thrax is (D.T. 1.5.2–3): γραμματική ἐστιν ἐμπειρία τῶν παρὰ ποιηταῖς τε καὶ συγγραφεῦσιν ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ λεγομένων; according to Sextus’ testimony, instead of ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολύ the phrase 80 See Hardy 2004, 856–857. 81 See above, p. 68.

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ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πλεῖστον is placed after ἐμπειρία (S.E. M. 1.57): γραμματική ἐστιν ἐμπειρία ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πλεῖστον τῶν παρὰ ποιηταῖς τε καὶ συγγραφεῦσι λεγομένων. On the other hand, Asclepiades defines ‘grammar’ as follows (S.E. M. 1.74 = Asclep. Myrl. fr. I Müller): γραμματική ἐστι τέχνη τῶν παρὰ ποιηταῖς καὶ συγγραφεῦσι λεγομένων. Neither of these definitions contains an attributively used nomination of the species of ‘grammar’. We may assume this from the predicates ἐμπειρία and τέχνη that define the methodological procedure followed by the scholars. ‘Grammar’ is, in Dionysius’ opinion, the empirical knowledge of what is being said by poets and prose writers; in contrast, for Asclepiades this knowledge is founded on a theoretical basis, which demands a system of rules and theorems.82 Eratosthenes’ characterization of scholarship with the attribute παντελής and the implied claim of the highest possible acquisition of knowledge can be interpreted in view of Asclepiades’ criticism on Dionysius’ Thrax definition. Asclepiades too expressed the same claim for ‘grammar’, although from a different starting point. He criticized Dionysius due to the declaration ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολύ (or ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πλεῖστον), which, according to his view, implied a limitation of the potential of scholarship. Contrary to Dionysius’ understanding that ‘grammar’ is mostly the lore of what is said by poets and prose writers,83 Asclepiades 82 Siebenborn 1976, 129–139 showed that Dionysius Thrax’s view that ‘grammar’ is an ἐμπειρία originated under the influence of the empirical medical school and primarily referred to the methodological character of this discipline. According to Sextus Empiricus (M. 1.60–65 und 72–75), Dionysius’ successors Asclepiades of Myrlea and Ptolemy the Peripatetic suggested the classification of ‘grammar’ as a τέχνη, as a declaration of its epistemological value and rank of scholarship in the ancient system of science. On Sextus’ account, see Blank 1998, 130–132 and 135–139. The Scholia to Dionysius Thrax often comment on the position of ‘grammar’ in the hierarchical model ἐπιστήμη–τέχνη– ἐμπειρία; see Sch. D.T. (Prol. Voss.) 9.23–10.19; (Σv) 162.22–163.30; 165.15– 166.12; (Σv ) 167.5–25; (Σm) 298.30–40; (Σm ) 300.15–25; (Σl) 448.19–31. On the ἐμπειρία–τέχνη controversy among the grammarians, see Siebenborn 1976, 129–139; Lallot 1998, 27–30 and 70–73. 83 The meaning of the expressions ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολύ and ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πλεῖστον in the ‘grammar’ definition of Dionysius Thrax started a major debate, which is documented in S.E. M. 1.66–71 and 72–75 and in Sch. D.T. (Comm. Melamp. seu Diom.) 11.9–14; (Σv) 168.14–18; (Σm) 301.10–22; (Σl ) 452.15–33. On this topic see Siebenborn 1976, 133–134. Discussions about this problem should take into account that the expressions ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολύ and ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πλεῖστον are not really indistinguishable in their significance; cf. Blank 1998, 128–129 and Lallot 1998, 69. Irrespective of whether these expressions were used only in relation to the λεγόμενα—in the sense of glosses and Hapax legomena, thus ‘what is usually said by poets and prose writers’—or

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argued that ‘grammar’ is the knowledge of everything (S.E. M. 1.73; cf. Asclep. Myrl. fr. I Müller): ἡ δὲ γραμματικὴ πάντων εἴδησις.84 According to Sextus Empiricus (M. 1.72–73), Asclepiades based his criticism on the differentiation of τέχναι due to their possible cognition level in πάγιοι and στοχαστικαί. From his point of view, ‘grammar’, unlike navigation or medicine, does not belong to the στοχαστικαὶ τέχναι, but should be compared to music and philosophy. This differentiation originates from Plato85 and was prevalent in the Hellenistic theory of science. Following this classification, the πάγιοι τέχναι possess a theoretical base that includes the associated field of knowledge in its entirety and without limit, and can be applied to all individual questions relating to the subject matter of these τέχναι. In contrast to the στοχαστικαὶ τέχναι, the πάγιοι achieve their objective without external help and are not influenced by external circumstances or coincidence factors.86 Although it may be risky to assume that Eratosthenes founded his view on the potential of ‘grammar’ with the same arguments as Asclepiades, the parallelism is hard to deny. On all accounts, what is significant here is that Eratosthenes had already postulated an absolute and exhaustive knowledge that refers to the entirety of writings and their contents for the philological discipline, as also Asclepiades did later. Apart from the intensification of the term ἕξις with the attribute παντελής, a further enhancement of Eratosthenes’ definition is achieved by the expression ἐν γράμμασι. While Dionysius Thrax and Asclepiades put the emphasis of philological activity onto the λεγόμενα of poets and prose writers, i.e. onto literary works, the subject area of this discipline is broadened by Eratosthenes so as to encompass writings in their entirety. The expression γράμματα covers all written works of any type and without further specification, everything that is written down and passed

in relation to the whole subject area of ‘grammar’—‘ἐμπειρία that mostly come from what is said by poets and prose writers’ they are always implied as a limitation; see Di Benedetto 1958, 197–198, Blank 1998, 134–135 and Lallot 1995b, 75 with n. 6. 84 Cf. Sch. D.T. (Σl ) 452.30: διόπερ οὐκ ἔστιν οὔτε ἐπιστήμη οὔτε τέχνη ἡ γραμματικήǜ οὐδετέρα γὰρ τούτων τῆς προσθήκης ‘ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολύ’ δεῖται, ἀλλ᾿ ἀμφότεραι τὸ ἀμετάπτωτον ἐπὶ παντὸς θεωρήματος ἔχουσιν ὅσον ἐφ᾿ ἑαυταῖς. 85 The term στοχαστικός goes back to Plato; see Plat. Phlb. 55e–56d. Cf. Frede 1997, 320–327. 86 On this classification model of τέχναι, see Isnardi Parente 1961, 263–269 and 1966, 318–324; Siebenborn 1976, 121–122; Blank 1998, 135; Nesselrath 1986, 197–198, and Löbl 2003, 134–143.

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on by writing.87 Eratosthenes’ use of γράμματα without the definite article emphasizes the broad field which the subject matter of ‘grammar’ encompasses. Through both characteristics of the term ἕξις, Eratosthenes connected the potential of the philological discipline with a demand for universal knowledge. This demand is evidently motivated by Eratosthenes’ understanding of φιλολογία. According to Suetonius, Eratosthenes based his self-denomination as a φιλόλογος on the claim to embody a multiplex variaque doctrina. His ‘grammar’ definition goes along with the universality of knowledge that Eratosthenes claimed for himself with the title φιλόλογος. The phrase ἐν γράμμασι merely serves to specialize the field of universal knowledge, which ‘grammar’ covers.

3. The Ideological and Cultural Background of Eratosthenes’ Definition This article now comes to its conclusion with the most challenging ‘reading’ of Eratosthenes’ definition, namely the question of which particular function the Cyrenean assigned to scholarship. The difficulty in answering this question lies in the fact that Eratosthenes does not openly say what actually this claimed knowledge qualifies the grammarians for. The easiest solution to this problem would be to assume with Geus (2002, 304): ‘Mit der “umfassenden Fertigkeit in der Literatur” ist wohl in erster Linie ein enzyklopädisches Realienwissen und die interpretatorische Fähigkeit zur Analyse der kanonischen Autoren gemeint’.88 But it is indeed open to question if the wording of the definition allows for such an interpretation. Geus’ proposal seems to be based more on ‘grammar’ definitions originating from later times, such as those by Dionysius Thrax or Asclepiades, and projected back onto the statement of Eratosthenes. There is no mention of ‘canonic authors’; the Cyrenean speaks of γράμματα as universally as possible. And whether the function 87 The view that scholarship is raised to the same level as poetry, because it predominantly deals with the poets (γράμματα were thought as equitable with poems; see Sch. D.T. [Σv] 164.2–4; [Σl ] 448.4 and An.Ox. III 310.24), represents a restriction of the term γράμματα, which could not be further from Eratosthenes’ mind. On a broader meaning of the term γράμματα, see Sch. D.T. (Prol. Voss.) 7.25–29, S.E. M. 1.59, Sch. D.T. (Σv) 167.26–28, Var. fr. 234 Funaioli and Quint. Inst. 1.4.4; cf. Matthaios 2008, 563–564. 88 Geus’ translation of the attribute παντελής as ‘umfassend’ appears unjustifiable.

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of scholarship commits itself to the interpretation of literature is not to be gleaned from Eratosthenes’ wording. We want to approach this problem from the ideological and cultural background to which Eratosthenes’ definition is indebted. From this perspective, the question arises whether the definition reflects only his personal scholarly demands or, more probably, demands that were prevalent in his environment. This question can be answered by looking into the reasons that presupposed the formation of an independent ‘discipline of writings’, and furthermore, the importance that was ascribed to scholarship in Eratosthenes’ era. Eratosthenes’ ‘grammar’ definition and the demand for the consummate acquisition of knowledge in the field of writings blend well into the context of the ‘bookish culture’ which had the highest status in Alexandria. Following the establishment of writing at the end of the 5th century BC,89 a major change took place in the Museum and Library of Alexandria. This was not any more the foundation of a new medium, but consisted of the care for the written works and of the knowledge codified in them. This development is one of the most fundamental features of the Alexandrian epoch, which is therefore correctly characterized as the ‘bookish age’.90 Care for writings is not only limited to the collecting and editing of literary texts of the past, but also leads to a discussion about their contents. This new task finally led to the theoretical justification for an area of expertise responsible for these writings. The expression γράμματα, a key word and leitmotiv in the Hellenistic poetic production,91 was now significantly chosen as the term for the philological discipline, the γραμματικὴ τέχνη, and also its representatives, the γραμματικοί. This terminological innovation suggests the signifi89 In addition to the bibliography quoted by Bing 1988, 12 n. 6 on the importance of writing in the Greek intellectual and literary history see the articles published by Kullmann–Reichel 1990 as well as Detienne 1988; Harris 1989; Thomas 1992; Bowman–Woolf 1994, and Johnson–Parker 2009. 90 Pfeiffer 1968, 102–104. On the importance of writing for the Hellenistic literature and the role of the Alexandrian Museum and Library as the competent institution for the transfer of knowledge, see Meyer 1993, 317 n. 3; Sistakou 2005, 402 n. 10, and Thomson 1994 with further bibliography. 91 Allusions to writing and bookish culture are found numerous times in Hellenistic poetry; Bing 1988, 10–48 brings representative passages together. Several passages from Aratus’ Phaenomena also point to reflections on writing; see Fakas 2001, 63–64, 75–76 und 99–100. Meyer 2007 illustrates similar reflections within the Hellenistic epigram. For an interpretation of Call. fr. 612 Pf. (ἀμάρτυρον οὐδὲν ἀείδω) under this perspective, see Meyer 1993. Kotzia 2004 interpreted Callimachus’ ep. 23 Pf. (… ἀλλὰ Πλάτωνος / ἓν τὸ περὶ ψυχῆς γράμμ᾿ ἀναλεξάμενος) as an answer to Plato’s ‘Schriftkritik’.

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cance that γράμματα attached to this new medium of acquiring and transfering knowledge and consequently to the philological activity. As we saw in the first section of this article, Eratosthenes, like before him Antidorus, was engaged in the interpretation of the new terms and actively involved in their establishment. In the Alexandrian Museum of the 3rd century BC, texts were predominantly the domain of poets. It is well-known through the ancient biographic tradition of the Hellenistic poets that poetry and scholarship were strongly connected with one another. Philitas was described as ποιητὴς ἅμα καὶ κριτικός,92 Callimachus in turn as ποιητὴς ἅμα καὶ περὶ τὴν γραμματικὴν ἐσπουδακώς.93 This special unity of poetry and scholarship also placed demands on poetic works. Hellenistic poetry, correctly described as the ‘well-read muse’,94 regarded its function as ‘nicht nur dem momentanen Hörvergnügen, sondern auch der lehrreichen Vermittlung verschiedenster Arten des Wissens zu dienen’.95 In this way, poetry could also counteract the growing competition from philosophy and scientific prose.96 Its ‘learned’ character was expressed by Callimachus’ identification of poetry as σοφίη (Aet. I, fr. 1.17–18),97 in the term πολυιδρείη (Aet. III, fr. 75.8 Pf.), and in the manifesto-style statement: ἀμάρτυρον οὐδὲν ἀείδω (fr. 612 Pf.).98 Recent research has meanwhile recognized the scientific value of the ‘learned’ content of Hellenistic poetry and taken the poets’ didactic claim seriously.99 In this 92 See Str. 14.2.19 (Philitas test. 11 Spanoudakis). 93 See Str. 17.3.22 (Call. test. 16 Pf.). 94 This characterization is well known through the title of Bing’s monograph (1988). 95 Meyer 1993, 317 96 See Pfeiffer 1968, 87–88; Bing 1988, 46, and Meyer 1993, 317–318. 97 See Pfeiffer 1968, 88 and 137–138. On the use of the term σοφίη to identify poetry, see Maehler 1963, 66–68 and 94–98; cf. Murray 2006, 58–59 with n. 80. The fact that Callimachus’ view of poetry as σοφίη emphasizes the intellectual trait of the poetic activity is recognizable from the opposition to the expression τέχνη in Call. Aet. I, fr. 1.17–18 that indicates the rules of poetic art. For the opposition of both terms in Callimachus’ Iambi, see Fyntikoglou 2008, 211–214. On the importance of Callimachus’ Aetia as ‘poem of knowledge’, see Hutchinson 2003. 98 On the process of the transformation of scientific material into poetry, see Rossi 1995; Conte 1986, 21–95, and Bonanno 1990, 11–40; cf. Papanghelis 1994, 25–58; Sistakou 2005, 32–40, and Matthaios 2008, 556–557. 99 The profile of ‘poeta scienziato’, which is significantly broader and differentiated to the familiar view of ‘poeta doctus’, is examined by Bonanno 2004. Kerkhecker 1977, 136–138 stresses that scientific activities of the scholar-poets represent the actual reason for their invitation to Alexandria. From this per-

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respect, a parallelism can be seen between poetical practice and Eratosthenes’ statement about the character of scholarship in connection with the demand for knowledge in the sphere of γράμματα claimed by both sides. The difference lies in a shift of contexts in which this knowledge is demanded. Callimachus—the exponent of the ‘complete unity of the creative poet and the reflective scholar’100—claims this for poetry, Eratosthenes in contrast for scholarship. Eratosthenes’ postulate is therefore particularly effective as it introduced the change that coincided with the theoretical justification for a new discipline. By changing the contexts, new responsibilities and functions were chosen for poetry and scholarship; in fact, knowledge gained from and about the writings is now emphatically put on the side of the philological discipline. That scholarship in Alexandria originated from the separation of its former unity with poetry is a well-known topos.101 According to this traditional opinion, scholarship was not a separate discipline during the first period of its foundation, but was part of the competence of the poeta doctus; this period is represented by Callimachus. The poeta doctus model was followed by the scholar who was secondarily also a poet; this model finds its representative in Eratosthenes. In his line of succession stood the scholar who was entirely occupied with philological matters and whose function was in no way connected with writing poetry; this model is represented by Aristophanes of Byzantium and Aristarchus. In Pfeiffer’s opinion, the process of the independence of the philological discipline was initiated by Eratosthenes; according to Pfeiffer (1968, 152), the poetic work of the Cyrenean represents in contrast to his other work only a small πάρεργον.102 Schwartz (1943, 187), even sees in Eratosthespective and without giving priority to poetry Matthaios 2008 tries to present the philological activities within the scope of the Alexandrian Museum. The scientific value of the philological activity of the Hellenistic poets is researched on the example of their interpretatio Homerica by Rengakos 1992 (on Callimachus), 1994a and 2001 (on Apollonius Rhodius) and 1994b (on Lycophron); see also Rengakos 2002. The interpretatio Homerica by epigram poets is portrayed by Sistakou 2007. In addition to the philological activities, the connection of science and poetry on the example of the geography of Callimachus is covered in detail by Sistakou 2005, 243–390. See also the analysis of Callimachus’ poetry as evidence of a philosophical reflection by Andrews 1998 and Cuypers 2004. 100 Pfeiffer 1968, 124. 101 This view is especially formed by Pfeiffer’s History of Classical Scholarship (1968); see esp. Pfeiffer op.cit., 149, 152–153 und 170. 102 See Pfeiffer 1968, 152: ‘So far scholarship has been the domain of poets and their pupils. But in the middle of the third century B.C. the union of poetry and scholarship split up; learning was advancing, poetry in retreat’.

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nes’ avoidance of poetry the reason for the foundation of scholarship as a separate discipline. As general as this view might be,103 Eratosthenes still remains a central personality in the development of an independent philological discipline. This is due to a reason different from what was previously assumed: while the removal of scholarship from the sphere of responsibility of poetry was so far based on external and quantitative criteria, it is now possible on the basis of Eratosthenes’ ‘grammar’ definition to trace the theoretical background and to follow the reflection that prompted this development. From this point of view, the following aspect is of importance: the change of competencies between poetry and scholarship implied by Eratosthenes definition meant that the Cyrenean also had to reach conclusions about the duties of poetry. According to Eratosthenes, the didactic function on the one hand, and the aesthetic and entertainment claim of poetry on the other are not compatible with each other. The Cyrenean’s verdict on the credibility of the geographical informations given in the Homeric epics is indicative. According to Strabo, Eratosthenes rejected the topographic informations of Homer as worthless because ‘the wanderings of Odysseus could be localized if one found the leather worker who produced the bag of the winds’.104 In Eratosthenes’ opinion, Homer’s geography cannot withstand scientific examination; it lacks any claim to be scientific and can only be judged as a creation of poetic fiction.105 Eratosthenes’ view did not only lead him to break away

103 Several objections to the traditional view that poetry was of superior importance to the philological studies of the Hellenistic poets of the 3rd century are expressed by Matthaios 2008, 554–555, 565–567 and 570–571; see also Kerkhecker 1997, 136–137. 104 See Str. 1.2.15 (cf. Eust. 1645, 64 ad Od. 10.19): οὐκ ἐπαινεῖ δὲ οὐδὲ τὴν τοιαύτην τοῦ Ἐρατοσθένους ἀπόφασιν (fr. I A 16 Berger), διότι φησὶ τότ᾿ ἂν εὑρεῖν τινα ποῦ Ὀδυσσεὺς πεπλάνηται, ὅταν εὕρῃ τὸν σκυτέα τὸν συρράψαντα τὸν τῶν ἀνέμων ἀσκόν. The testimonies of Eratosthenes’ criticism on Homeric geography are collected by Berger 1880, 19–40. On the background to Eratosthenes’ attack on Homer, see Geus 2002, 264–268 and Trachsel 2008; cf. also Schenkeveld 1976. 105 See Str. 1.2.17 (Eratosth. fr. I A 17 Berger): τὸ δὲ πάντα πλάττειν οὐ πιθανὸν οὐδ᾿ Ὁμηρικόνǜ τὴν γὰρ ἐκείνου ποίησιν φιλοσόφημα πάντας νομίζειν, οὐχ ὡς Ἐρατοσθένης φησί, κελεύων μὴ κρίνειν πρὸς τὴν διάνοιαν τὰ ποιήματα, μηδ᾿ ἱστορίαν ἀπ᾿ αὐτῶν ζητεῖν; 1.2.3 (Eratosth. fr. I A 19 Berger): τοῦτο μὲν δὴ ὀρθῶς ἂν λέγοις, ὦ Ἐρατόσθενεςǜ ἐκεῖνα δ᾿ οὐκ ὀρθῶς, ἀφαιρούμενος αὐτὸν [sc. Ὅμηρον] τὴν τοσαύτην πολυμάθειαν καὶ τὴν ποιητικὴν γραώδη μυθολογίαν ἀποφαίνων, ᾗ δέδοται πλάττειν, φησίν, ὃ ἂν αὐτῇ φαίνηται ψυχαγωγίας οἰκεῖον.

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from the tradition that saw Homer as source of all knowledge,106 but also from views that were held by his contemporary poets. The same material was accepted by Callimachus within his own poetry in its historical value and was interpreted in its pragmatic dimension.107 Eratosthenes in contrast, seems to have made a clear distinction between scientific knowledge on the one hand, and literary material and its poetical composition on the other. On the basis of the Homeric geography, he demanded that poetry should be neither judged on meaning or validity of single thoughts and arguments, nor should one search for the historic value of the poetic content.108 These reflections led him to a new definition of poetry and its aims: ‘Every poet aims for ψυχαγωγία, not for instruction (διδασκαλία)’.109 Eratosthenes’ use of the term ψυχαγωγία should be interpreted—because of its contrast to ‘instruction’—as an allusion to the entertaining effect of poetry,110 regarding this as its exclusive purpose. This is not the place to analyze the term ψυχαγωγία and the theoretical background to Eratosthenes’ views in depth.111 Although 106 On the ancient view of Homer as a universal teacher, see Hillgruber 1994, 5– 35; cf. Mehmel 1954. 107 See Sistakou 2002 on Callimachus’ interpretation of Homeric place names; cf. Sistakou 2005, 243–265. 108 See Str. 1.2.17 (Eratosth. fr. I A 17 Berger)—the text is cited in n. 105. 109 See Str. 1.1.10 (Eratosth. fr. I A 20 Berger; vgl. Str. 1.2.3): οὐδὲ γὰρ ἀληθές ἐστιν, ὅ φησιν Ἐρατοσθένης, ὅτι ποιητὴς πᾶς στοχάζεται ψυχαγωγίας, οὐ διδασκαλίας. Cf. Str. 1.2.3 (Eratosth. fr. I A 21 Berger). See Berger 1880, 34 and Geus 2002, 264–267 with n. 23–24 (p. 264–265). 110 Berger 1880, 37 n. 1 gives as parallel for Eratosthenes’ use of the term ψυχαγωγία Arist. Po. 6.1450a33–35 (πρὸς δὲ τούτοις τὰ μέγιστα οἷς ψυχαγωγεῖ ἡ τραγῳδία τοῦ μύθου τὰ μέρη, αἵ τε περιπέτειαι καὶ ἀναγνωρίσεις). Fuhrmann 1992, 152 n. 25 (p. 214) also refers to the term ψυχαγωγικόν in Arist. Po. 6.1450b16–18 (ἡ δὲ ὄψις ψυχαγωγικὸν μέν, ἀτεχνότατον δὲ καὶ ἥκιστα οἰκεῖον τῆς ποιητικῆς); cf. Fuhrmann 1992, 27– 28. On Aristotle’s use of ψυχαγωγεῖν in his Poetics, see Gudeman 1934, 182– 183; Lucas 1968, 104, and Halliwell 1986, 64–65 with n. 24. Also Neoptolemus of Parium used besides τέρπειν ψυχαγωγία as a term for the pleasure purposes of poetry; see Phld. Po. V, col. XIII 9–28 Jensen (Neoptol. Par. fr. 6a Mette) and Mette 1980, 17–19, Asmis 1992, 217–218 and Pfeiffer 1968, 166– 167. Neoptolemus’ view is seen in connection with Horace’s A.P. 333–334 (cf. Neoptol. Par. fr. 6b Mette): aut prodesse volunt aut delectare poetae, / aut simul et iucunda et idonea dicete vitae; see Brink 1963, 43–150. On Eratosthenes’ use of the term ψυχαγωγία, see Pfeiffer 1968, 166 and Cusset 2008, 125–128. 111 Pfeiffer 1968, 167 associates Eratosthenes with the Platonic poetic theories; Fuhrmann 1992, 152–153 reckons on Aristotelian influence. Hillgruber 1994, 22 places Eratosthenes’ statement in the general context of the Hellenistic discussion on the purpose of poetry. See Geus 2002, 264–268.

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his statement shows that even if he did not turn out simply to be— according to Fuhrmann 1992, 153—‘a follower of a pure hedonistic estheticism’, he clearly thought that the entertaining function of poetry stands in stark contrast to the instructive one. According to Eratosthenes, in order to draw knowledge from poetry, one should apparently rely on the intermediate role of scholarship as the appropriate discipline that uses scientific criteria to examine the accuracy and validity of the related knowledge.112 Through the spread of science and the theoretical justification of the individual scientific areas in the Hellenistic era, scholarship was also clearly impelled to determine its own research field, its own methods and responsibilities, in order to define an independent scientific system and to differentiate it from other fields. The scholar-poets’ activity at the Alexandrian Museum stamped out their own path early on in the research of texts and asserted themselves in this area as a counterpart to philosophy that had until then claimed responsibility for scholarship and literary criticism.113 With his ‘grammar’ definition, Eratosthenes marked the passage from the pre-theoretical to the scientific period of the philological discipline. As scholarship was moving away from the responsibility of philosophy and from the profession of poets, Eratosthenes, an educated philosopher, bestowed it its epistemological clothes by defining its terminology and contents. The ‘grammar’ definition of Eratosthenes—the first recorded definition of this discipline—together with his work Γραμματικά represents a stage in the theoretical justification of the Alexandrian scholarship wrongly neglected by current research. His statement builds the foundation on which his successors could base their own definitional endeavors and the development of the scholarship. In those six words that the Cyrenean’s definition consists of—γραμματική ἐστιν ἕξις παντελὴς ἐν γράμμασι—, distinct parallels to problems that later theorists have dealt with in the advancement of the philological science become evident.

112 Pfeiffer 1968, 166 was correct in his view that ‘the scientist [i.e. Eratosthenes] was consistent and fearless enough […] to apply to poetry in general’. 113 Matthaios 2008, 637–643 describes the process how scholarship became independent from the domain of philosophy.

Ex Homero grammatica* Filippomaria Pontani 1. Introduction Τὸν θέσαμε κοντὰ σ᾿αὐτά του ποὺ θυμᾶται ἴσως κ᾿ἐκεῖ - σχόλια, κείμενα, τεχνολογία, γραφές, εἰς τεύχη ἑλληνισμῶν πολλὴ ἑρμηνεία. K. Kavafis, Λυσίου γραμματικοῦ τάφος (1914), 4–61

We placed him near those things of his he may remember even there—annotations, texts, grammatical analyses, writings, tomes of ample commentary on Greek idioms.

Lysias, a fictitious grammarian living in 3rd–century Beirut, used to work with texts (κείμενα) and variants (γραφές), with scholia (σχόλια), grammatical rules (τεχνολογία) and studies on linguistic correctness. The exact meaning of Cavafy’s line 6 is not entirely clear, especially because of the word ἑλληνισμῶν: whether it should be taken with τεύχη or with ἑρμηνεία, we can interpret it as a generic reference to the linguistic variations of Greek speech and literary texts, or more precisely as a hint to the numerous writings Περὶ Ἑλληνισμοῦ of the early imperial age.2 Be that as it may, I simply note that we have here a rare occurrence of the plural ἑλληνισμοί, which is not attested anywhere else except for a passage of Sextus Empiricus dealing with the two ‘ratios’ of correct Greek, i. e.—by and large—analogy and συνήθεια:3 without * 1

2

3

My special thanks to David Blank for his comments on a previous draft of this paper. Among the various translations I quote: F.M. Pontani 1961, 147: ‘lezioni, testi, un cumulo / di scoli, e glosse elleniche in ampi tomi’; Blanken 1977, 120: ‘scholien, teksten, en verhandelingen, / handschriftlezingen, boekdelen vol verklaringen van grieks idioom’; Schaefer 2003, 149: ‘Kommentare, Texte, Stilgestaltung, Textkritik, / umfangreiche Studien zu den Hellenismen’. From Trypho to Philoxenus and Ptolemy of Ascalon: the latter wrote a bulky work in 15 books (Suid. π 3038). A list of the works Περὶ Ἑλληνισμοῦ is provided by Ax 2000f., 173 n. 15. S.E. M. 1.176: ἤδη δὲ τοῦ ἑλληνισμοῦ δύο εἰσὶ διαφοραίǜ ὃς μὲν γάρ ἐστι κεχωρισμένος τῆς κοινῆς ἡμῶν συνηθείας καὶ κατὰ γραμματικὴν ἀναλογίαν

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positing Sextus as Cavafy’s source, one might speculate that in his choice the Alexandrian poet was somehow indebted to the terminology of the ancient grammatical tradition.

2. Homer as Foundational Text Lysias’ working tools are chiefly literary texts and grammatical treatises. It is widely assumed today that the very birth of grammatical science during the Hellenistic age resulted from the blending of two distinct traditions, namely the philological activity of early Alexandrian scholars—whose ‘Grammatik im Kopf’ was already quite developed,4 even before the τέχνη of Dionysius Thrax (whatever it contained)—and the theoretical approach deriving from the philosophical, especially from the Peripatetic and Stoic tradition.5 As for Alexandrian philologists, the first and main object of their studies was the text of Homer, which explains inter alia why the greater part of Aristarchus’ fragments on Wortartenlehre in S. Matthaios’ collection (1999) derive precisely from Homeric scholia. This supremacy also appears prima facie upon reading later texts of grammar proper, such as Dionysius’ Thrax Techne, Apollonius’ Dyscolus Syntax or even the treatise on adverbs and pronouns preserved in P.Lond.Lit. 182.6 In all these cases the references to Homer by far outnumber those to any other author, which de facto credits the Iliad and Odyssey with the status of foundational texts for Greek grammar. This status, conspicuously evoked for our poet by Ps.-Plutarch’s De Homero in the 2nd century AD, remained basically unchallenged throughout the δοκεῖ προκόπτειν, ὃς δὲ κατὰ τὴν ἑκάστου τῶν ࡒǼȜȜ੾ȞȦȞ συνήθειαν ἐκ παραπλασμοῦ καὶ τῆς ἐν ταῖς ὁμιλίαις παρατηρήσεως ἀναγόμενος […]. (177) πλὴν δυοῖν ὄντων τῶν ἑλληνισμῶν [...]. See on this passage Ph.

4 5

6

Probert, this volume. Erbse 1980; Ax 2000d; Ax 2000e; Matthaios 1999; Janko 2000, 186–187 (on Pausimachus’ terminology). For accounts of the roles of Stoic philosophy and Alexandrian philology in the origins of Greek grammar (even beyond the debated issue of the authenticity of Dionysius’ Τέχνη) see esp. Frede 1987, 338–359; Blank 1982, 1–10; Taylor 1986a; Blank 1994; Lallot 1997, I 13–22. For an appropriate reappraisal of the Peripatetic contribution see Ax 2000c. Wouters 1979, 90. See also id. 41: ‘Only a few papyri have literary passages as illustrative material. These texts confirm what was already known from the treatises preserved in medieval manuscripts, namely the absolute predominance of Homer and Vergil in Greek and Latin grammatical tractates’. More on P.Lond.Lit. 182 also in Swiggers - Wouters, this volume.

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centuries.7 Two short passages from Apollonius’ Dyscolus De pronomine—the former explicitly quoting Aristarchus’ doctrine—suffice to show to what extent Homer’s language was credited with a normative value, overshadowing even that of Attic prose writers such as Plato.8

3. Homer and the Kuran In an epistemological perspective it is not obvious that a grammatical tradition should be founded on one single text. Among the few other grammars that generated spontaneously (i. e. not by imitation of a foreign theoretical model), neither the Sanskrit nor the Chinese one began exactly in this way.9 The only really comparable case is that of Arabic, where the ideological relevance of the exegesis of the Kuran entailed the need to eliminate wrong or dangerous variants, both by lending authority to one specific textual version—the Medina text, going back to the prophet via the editions supposedly made by the caliph Abu Bakr or by his successor Uthman—and by establishing a grammatical norm that might discriminate correct linguistic forms from corrupt ones. This operation also had a cultural significance, in that it both influenced and proceeded from Kuranic exegesis, which thus appears to be the first place where to look for the original form of language study in Islam.10 7 On Ps.-Plutarch see e. g. Hillgruber 1994, 5–35; Keaney–Lamberton 1996. More broadly on Homer’s pivotal status in Greek culture, ‘closer to the status of the Bible than to that of other works of literature created in ancient Greece’ see Finkelberg 2003. 8 A.D. Pron. 71.22–25: τὸν μὲν οὖν Ἀρίσταρχον ἐπιμέμφεσθαί φασι τὰ σχήματα, καθὸ ἀφ᾿ ἑνικῆς συντάξεως τῆς ‘ἑαυτόν’ πληθυντικὴ ἐγένετο ἡ ‘ἑαυτούς’, μάρτυρά τε ἐπάγεσθαι τὸν ποιητήν, ‘παρ᾿ ᾧ τὰ τοῦ ࡒ λληνισμοῦ ἠκρίβωται’ (fr. 125A Matthaios); 72.16: παντί τῳ δῆλον ὑπὲρ Ε ἀκριβείας ἐξετάσαντι τῆς ἐν τοῖς μέρεσι τοῦ λόγου, ὡς ἡ Ὁμηρικὴ ποίησις μᾶλλον τῶν ἄλλων ἠνύσθη. ὅθεν οὐ μᾶλλον ἡ Πλάτωνος χρῆσις ἀξιοπιστοτέρα τῆς οὐκ οὔσης παρὰ τῷ ποιητῇ. Cf. A.D. Synt. II 151–152, 245.6–247.8. See Siebenborn 1976, 31; Ax 2000e, 135; Matthaios 1999, 459 and 479–480; Lallot 1997, II 146–147. 9 Panini’s canonical Sanskrit grammar was based essentially on the spoken language of his time, even if its predecessors probably also contributed to the standardization of Vedic texts; see e.g. Kiparsky 1995, 59. On autonomously generated grammars see Versteegh 1993, 21–22. 10 See Versteegh 1993, 37–41 and 79–84; Versteegh 1986, 425–426; Anwar 1983. Suleiman 1995, 29 stresses ‘the importance of grammar as an indispensable tool in the promotion of the full range of scholarly activities which revolve around the Kuran, for example exegesis (tafsir) and jurisprudence (fiqh)’.

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The parallels with the Greek tradition are interesting and hitherto largely neglected—as opposed to the long-standing line of research, initiated by F. A. Wolf, on the analogies between Homer and the Bible, the Alexandrians and the Masoretes.11 Not only—as Villoison already briefly remarked12—the history of the textual crystallisation of the Kuran, based on several ‘poleis-editions’, bears some resemblance to that of Homer’s epics.13 What is perhaps even more striking is that 8th– and 9th–century Iraq witnessed a ‘Streit’ between analogists and anomalists (the schools of Basra and Kufa respectively), whose main object consisted in the different assessment of variant readings in the Kuran (qira’at): Basrans insisted that only ‘regular’ forms (to be chosen also with the help of other authoritative sources, such as early poetry) should serve as models for analogical derivation (qiyas), whereas Kufans—keener on the study of the Kuran proper and of its semantics—replied that even the rarer features of Kuranic language could be productive and safely imitated. K. Versteegh has shown that this development, as well as the whole origin of Arabic grammar, was largely independent of the Greek 11 See Wolf 1963 [1795], 10 (ch. 4) on Homer’s ms. Venetus A: ‘Habemus nunc, si omnia undique excerpta componimus, Masoram etiam Graecam quandam, tum vetustate, tum variae eruditionis copia multo praestantiorem, multoque melius servatam. Atque hac utraque, et Graeca et Hebraica, farragine comparanda, nunc demum altius perspicere licebit, a quibus principiis olim omnis emendatio librorum et critica ars profecta sit, cum aliis rebus pluribus, quibus litteratae antiquitatis cognitio continetur’. See also ibid. 153 (ch. 42), and the unfinished ch. 2 of the second part of the Prolegomena, entirely devoted to the comparison between the textual transmission of Homer and the Bible, a fundamental source of inspiration for Wolf’s new approach to Greek philology. See Grafton–Most–Zetzel 1985, 18–24; Stroumsa 1998, 10; Weingreen 1982, 11–24. 12 See Villoison, 1788, xxiii n. 1: ‘Eadem, quod mireris, fata habuerunt duo celeberrima et eloquentissima totius Graeciae et Arabiae opera, Homeri scilicet poëmata, quibus tota Ethnicorum fabulosa Theologia comprehendebatur, et Alcoranus, Muhammedicae fidei regula, et Arabice loquendi norma. Nec illa neque hic fortasse a suis auctoribus scripto consignati sunt’. The analogies remarked by Villoison involve primarily the existence and the role of texts ‘of the cities’; Villoison derived his notions of Arabic philology from the learned Orientalist Simone Assemani, who taught in Padua and expressly wrote to Villoison about the identity of Muhammad’s wife to whom the originary form of the Kuran was entrusted (Haphsa, not Aisha, as Villoison wrongly conjectured); see Biblioteca del Museo Correr, Epistolario Moschini, busta Assemani Simone, letter no. XII (2.9.1788); F. Pontani 2006, 213 and n. 55; A. Pontani 2007. 13 Different perspectives on the difficult issues concerning the transmission of the Kuran and the legends connected to it can be read in the collection edited by Warraq 1998 (see esp. Jeffery 1998).

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tradition, which became known in Arabic quarters only some decades later14.

4. Homer’s Role as a Foundational Text: In Linguistic Terms? One of the main differences with early Arabic scholarship on the Kuran is that Greek grammarians hardly ever seriously considered or proposed their foundational text as a model for contemporary speakers (exceptions will be discussed below in 4.2): to put it bluntly with P. S. Alexander, who compares Homer’s role with that of the Bible in rabbinic exegesis and Hebrew education, ‘education based on Homer was not directly aimed at providing boys with skills which would enable them to earn their living. The Greek was archaic and obscure, and Homer was hardly a useful model for writing good clear contemporary prose’ (1998, 136).15 Now, this implies a sort of paradox, as the text by far most read and studied in Greek schools and cultural elites was clad in a language that is very far removed not only from the contemporary (classic, hellenistic and imperial) linguistic norm, but also from most of the remaining Greek literature. This paradox raises two closely interrelated questions: first of all, why should Homer be used to such a large extent as the main text where to look for examples of linguistic correctness (in other words, why is Homer so constantly chosen as the source of examples)? And secondly, how did the teaching of Homer as a schooltext for the learning of good Greek actually work?

4.1. Was Homer an Athenian? First of all, it must be borne in mind that, though it may seem strange to us today, many grammarians—starting with Aristarchus, Demetrius Ixion and Dionysius Thrax—believed on various grounds, including the

14 The reference work on the topic is Versteegh 1993, esp. 22–40 and 174–183 on Sibawayhi; see also Versteegh 2003. 15 See also Janko 1995, 232: ‘For the Greeks poetic diction, and especially that of Homeric verse, presented a problem in relation to hellenismos. The Homeric forms of the language were not in current use, and could not be restored to current use, yet how could one deny that the most canonical works of Greek literature were in correct Greek?’.

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linguistic one, that Homer was an Athenian16. As a matter of fact, Aristarchus’ follower Ptolemy Pindarion believed that Homer was both an Athenian and the oldest poet to write down his songs, which thus became, in his view, the ultimate touchstones for the correctness of Greek language: Pindarion probably linked these elements with the history of the Greek alphabet, which had first been invented in Athens.17 Homer’s Athenian descent enabled Ps.-Plutarch (De Hom. 2.8–14) to register several prominent linguistic features in the poems as influenced by Attic, Attic continuing to represent the exclusive ‘target language’ of educated speakers throughout the history of Hellenistic and imperial Greek—with a special peak during the Atticist period, when an irreversible dichotomy was produced in the history of the Greek language.18 By this token, even the learned elite could consider Homeric language as a peculiar variety of everyday cultured speech: a variety taking great advantage of poetic licence—this depended on the literary genre—, but a variety by no means separated or alien from current cultural tradition.19

4.2. Is Homer a Good Model for speaking Greek? Yet, bringing this view to the extreme consequences, one might assume that Homer could indeed be used as a model for everyday speech. This is precisely what Ptolemy Pindarion allegedly recommended, incurring the sharp criticism of Sextus Empiricus, who ridiculed his use of outdated and clumsy Homeric vocabulary (S.E. M. 1.202–206). In his strategy of attack against analogy Sextus needed a polemical target, so we should probably refrain from believing him uncritically. It is more realistic to think that Pindarion, in the wake of Aristarchus,20 favoured a milder form of analogism than e.g. Dionysius Thrax, leaving some room

16 See e. g. D.T. fr. 47 Linke. Among the sources insisting on Homer’s dialect as Attic are Sch. Hom. (A) Il. 13.197, (BHX) Od. 18.17 and Aristid. Panathen. 1.328 Lenz (the latter presents Homer as Smyrnaean, but speaking Attic). The Attic background of Homer’s religion is considered by Sch. Hom. (T) Il. 13.827 and D ad Il. 2.371. On Homer’s alleged Athenian origin see e.g. Pfeiffer 1968, 228; Heath 1998, 26–28; Schironi 2004, 73 n. 5. 17 For this argument, linked with Sch. D.T. 490.7–27 and 192.8–14, see Montanari 1995, esp. 57; Boatti 2000, 272–273. 18 See Versteegh 1986, 426–429; Dalimier 1991, 28–32; Ph. Probert, this volume. 19 See Versteegh 1986, 438–441, esp. 439: ‘They [sc. the elite] regarded the language of the Homeric poems as a variety of this standard and not as a model for everyday cultured speech’; more on this below (pp. 93–95). 20 Ax 2000e, 135–136.

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to the ἀνόμοιον and assigning Homer a place of honour in the judgment about linguistic correctness.21 Yet apart from the dubious case of Pindarion, I know of just one other literary character who really speaks like Homer, namely the cook of Strato’s Phoenicides (fr. 1 K.–A.). We owe to Athenaeus (9.382c) the quotation of this long comic fragment, containing the humourous dialogue between a housemaster and his new cook, who keeps referring to the most commonplace Realien by means of Homeric vocabulary.22 Now, it is interesting for us to note that the tone used against the cook is not too dissimilar form Sextus’ attack on Pindarion; secondly, and surprisingly enough, the same comic fragment also appears among the few literary texts (the others being Euripides, Homer, two epigrams and two more comic monologues) of the oldest preserved syllabus of Greek school texts, the Livre d’écolier put together by a schoolmaster at the end of the 3rd century BC.23 Was this choice made by mere chance?

4.3 Matters of Identity This question leads us to the role of Homer in schools throughout the Greek-speaking world. The most active contemporary scholars in the field of ancient education hold by and large two different views: on the one hand, R. Cribiore maintains that in the late Hellenistic and imperial age greater emphasis was laid on the interpretation of the poets than on any sort of systematic grammar, and believes that the large number of scholia, glossaries and hypomnemata testify to the creation within the 21 Reitzenstein 1897, 380; Versteegh 1986, 439; Blank 1998, 225–230, esp. 228; Montanari 1995, 113–114; Boatti 2000 (with a discussion of further fragments probably containing Pindarion’s doctrine and of his terminology). It can be demonstrated that Pindarion is the Πτολεμαῖος ὁ ἀναλογητικός mentioned by Apollonius Dyscolus in Coni. 241.13 (καὶ οὐκ ἄλογος ἡ ἀνάγνωσις Πτολεμαίου τοῦ ἀναλογητικοῦ […]), since the only occurrence of ἀνάλογον concerning a syntactical phenomenon in Apollonius’ extant oeuvre refers precisely to the use of the plural verb with a neuter subject (Synt. III 51, 317.11: καὶ δῆλον ὅτι τὸ ‘σπάρτα λέλυνται’ ἀναλογώτερον τοῦ ‘δοῦρα σέσηπεν’) the same use Sextus mocked in Pindarion’s doctrine:21 in both passages the same example is given, namely the Homeric σπάρτα λέλυνται (cf. Il. 2.135). 22 For a literary analysis of the fragment see Dohm 1964, 198–201. There might subsist a link between this parody and the large use of epic vocabulary in the books of Ὀψαρτυτικά by authors such as Archestratus of Gela, Matro of Pitane etc. No mention is made of Strato in Olson–Sens 1999, 5–10. 23 See Guéraud–Jouguet 1938, 34–43; CGFPR 219; Marrou 1948, 211. A full discussion of the conspicuous textual variants separating the papyrus and the quotation in Athenaeus is provided by Kassel 1974.

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classroom of an artificial bookish world with little contact to contemporary history or ideology.24 On the other hand, T. Morgan takes the remarkable flourishing of grammatical texts and tables (all devoted to Attic, not to the Homeric or to any other literary dialect) as a proof that the study of language—and precisely of the Attic dialect, endowed with a high identitary bias—did not represent an aid to beginners for reading literature, but rather a basic tool in advanced rhetorical teaching, and thus in the education of Macedonian and then Roman elites. The elementary study of literary texts (and above all of Homer) did not require any special grammar: it required glossaries. Nor did grammar, according to Morgan’s somewhat bold thesis, really serve as a step in gaining a primary competence in spoken Greek. In her view, the normative grammar of present-day language and the descriptive grammar of literary texts merged into a discipline that was first and foremost a philosophical way of ordering the world in a rational way. Attic (not necessarily pure 5th–century Attic, but a sort of standard literary prose based on that language) was thus chosen as the authoritative model, and the real purpose of reading Attic authors well (i.e., understanding all their linguistic peculiarities) was to refine an ethical instruction based on the canonised texts.25 Now, Homer—together with a certain amount of the gnomologic tradition—had always been the core of the Greek syllabus.26 He served as the repository of Greek myths, customs and values; his language, unfortunately, was not Attic, but ancient scholars and educators show ‘a desire to associate Homeric Ionic with Classical Attic as closely as possible’.27 Glossing Homer in Attic, and showing how Homeric grammar 24 See Cribiore 2001, 205–215, esp. 211: ‘Thus the glosses that translated unfamiliar terms in the poets consisted of more accessible words taken from the koine, good and approved usage’; ‘in the grammatical treatises—technai—the constant connection with poetic usages is evident in the occurrence of examples taken from Homer and other poets’. 25 Morgan 1998, 152–189, esp. 161–168. R. Cribiore’s review of Morgan’s book (BMCR 1999.05.22) is quite critical in this respect. See Morgan 1995, esp. 77– 81, arguing that grammatical texts were used neither to learn the language nor to help children to read classical literary authors (which does account for the papyrological evidence, but leaves partly unexplained the purport of the very definition of grammar in Dionysius’ Τέχνη) and 81–90, insisting on the ethical dimension of literary studies on the basis of passages by Quintilian, Seneca and Plutarch, as well as on the analysis of scholastic texts (chiefly Homer and gnomai) preserved in papyri and ostraka. 26 See Morgan 1998, 71 (on the ‘core model’ including gnomai and Homer), 75– 78 and 107–111 (on the selection of Homeric passages), 316 table 17. 27 Morgan 1995, 90 n. 50.

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and syntax were in fact a mere variety of standard Greek, served as steps towards the ultimate consecration of the epic poems as the sacred texts of Greek culture, in other words towards their establishment at the core of a cultural identity.28 This is why glossaries and advanced grammar (encompassing Homeric forms, indeed sometimes based on them) were indispensable when it came to transposing Homer’s ideas into refined present-day Greek: those grammatical tools were the means of connecting Homer’s values and art with the most authoritative model of contemporary speech. Homer’s language is evidently no model for imitation on the part of orators or prose-writers, and its peculiarities need not be condemned as solecisms—the opposite is true for some peculiar features of Thucydides’ style, all the more dangerous because they belong to one of the greatest Attic prose writers.29 This is also why, I believe, Strato’s fragment was included in the Livre d’écolier not only as a funny way to deal with some remote lexical items of Homeric language30, but also as a caveat against the ridiculous and foolhardy idea of imitating Homer ad litteram instead of transposing it into the standard Attic everyone expected. After all, this incorporation of Homer into the sphere of Attic was reflected in the parody of later centuries: when mocking a hyper-Atticist, Lucian’s Demonax charges him of speaking ‘as if it were the time of Agamemnon’.31 Strato’s mockery of the Homeric cook is homogeneous with the mockery of ‘Agamemnon’’s Attic, the two parodies ultimately belonging to the same cultural and ideological horizon.32

28 Morgan 1998, 174–189, esp. 182 note 104 (‘glossing Homer in Attic emphasizes the cultural status of the commentator […]; it also connects Homer with the most authoritative form of the language and channels the reader’s understanding of the most authoritative author of all through the authoritative form of the language’). Alexander 1998, 136 calls this ‘social engineering’, ‘instilling into children a shared identity as Greeks’. 29 On this topic see the excellent discussion by C. de Jonge in this volume. 30 This is the explanation put forth by Guéraud–Jouguet 1938, xxii; but were it exhaustive, one could wonder what was the use of the passages of Homer proper included in the syllabus. 31 Lucian. Demon. 26: καὶ μὴν κἀκείνων καταγελᾶν ἠξίου τῶν ἐν ταῖς ὁμιλίαις πάνυ ἀρχαίοις καὶ ξένοις ὀνόμασι χρωμένωνǜ ἑνὶ γοῦν ἐρωτηθέντι ὑπ᾿ αὐτοῦ λόγον τινὰ καὶ ὑπεραττικῶς ἀποκριθέντιǜ ‘ἐγὼ μέν σε, ἔφη, ὦ ἑταῖρε, νῦν ἠρώτησα, σὺ δέ μοι ὡς ἐπ᾿ Ἀγαμέμνονος ἀποκρίνῃ’. Similar

things happen in Lexiphanes. 32 See Blank 1998, 227 and esp. 231–232 on the ‘frequent perception of grammatical snobbery as both Atticist and Homerizing—Atticist because that was

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5. Ἑλληνισμός = The Language of Homeric Heroes Before returning to this point, I must mention a relevant theory about the correctness of Greek, somewhat buried in one of the final paragraphs of a treatise on solecism and barbarism that a handful of manuscripts carry under the name of Herodian (see Excursus [p. 102–103]): Ps.-Hdn. Sol. barb. 311.5–10 Nauck: ἔνιοι μὲν λέγουσιν ἑλληνισμὸν εἶναι τὸν ποιητήν, ἔνιοι δὲ τὴν κοινὴν διάλεκτον, ἥτις ἐγένετο συνελθόντων τῶν Ἑλλήνων εἰς Ἴλιον, ἄλλοι δὲ τὴν ἐτυμολογίαν, ἥτις ἄχρι τοσούτου ἦλθεν εἰς Κόρινθον, καὶ πρὸς παίδευσιν γραμματικῆς ἔλαβε τοὺς παῖδας τῶν πολιτῶνǜ ἔπειτα ἐρωτηθεὶς {τις} τί ἐστιν ἑλληνισμός, ἔφη, τὸ πάσαις ταῖς διαλέκτοις ὀρθῶς χρῆσθαι.

Testes praecipui: B (Par. gr. 2551) U (Vind. phil. gr. 263) 1 τὸν ποιητήν BU: τὴν ποιητικήν susp. Boiss., τῶν ποιητῶν Nauck 3 post τοσούτου lacunam indicavit Nauck, praeeunte Boiss. (vide Reitzenstein 1897, 379–381): ll. 3–5 de Dionysio iuniore Syracusarum tyranno agunt, cf. praes. Plu. Tim. 14–15, ubi compluria dicta Dionysii invenies 5 τις τό... χρῆσθαι B: ὅ... χρῆται U delevi

Here, Hellenismos is equated first with Homer himself—much as in Pindarion and to a certain extent in Aristarchus33—, then with the common language of the heroes at Troy, finally with etymology, an idea discussed at length and refuted by S.E. M. 1.241–247. Studying the manuscript evidence with the help of K. Hajdù’s stemma for Ps.-Herodian’s De figuris34, I found out that this paragraph of De soloecismo et barbarismo does not appear in witnesses earlier than 1430, which might point to a late date for its very redaction35. But the issue should be left open, all the more so as the words immediately after the lacuna, clearly dealing with Dionysius II of Syracuse, are not attested elsewhere, and may refer to one of the sayings attributed to the dis-

the dominant tendency, Homerizing to indicate the extreme archaism of the words used’; Dalimier 1991, 20–25. 33 See Versteegh 1986, 439: ‘the ἔνιοι who held that ἑλληνισμός is identical with ‘the poet’ […] probably did not want to go to such extremes and advocate the use of Homeric language in everyday life, but only to emphasize the correctness of Homeric Greek’; Siebenborn 1976, 30–31 and 88; Boatti 2000, 269– 270. 34 See esp. Hajdù 1998, 33–41 and 85, and the stemma on p. 92. 35 Boissonade 1831, 260 n. 3 had already suspected: ‘Alius sunt, opinor, auctoris’.

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graced tyrant during his stay in Corinth as a schoolteacher—others of the same kind are transmitted by Plutarch.36 What is most interesting for us now is that the idea expressed in this paragraph of De Soloecismo et barbarismo seems to address an issue neglected by other sources: the scholia—and indeed Homer himself in a couple of lines—do highlight that the Achaean heroes do not need interpreters, as opposed to the Trojans βαρβαρόφωνοι and πολύγλωσσοι;37 yet no exegete seems to address the problem of which common dialect Greek heroes actually spoke—a question that could arise spontaneously in such a rationalist exegete as Aristonicus, who found it strange that Odysseus’ Greek could be understood by the Cyclops (see Sch. Hom. [DHMa] Od. 3.71a, most probably drawing on Aristarchus: δοτέον δέ—φηcί—τῷ ποιητῇ τὰ τοιαῦταǜ καὶ γὰρ ναῦν αὐτὸν παράγει εἰδότα, ‘ἀλλά μοι εἴφ᾿, ὅπῃ ἔcχεc ἰὼν εὐεργέα νῆα’ [ι 279], καὶ cυνίηcιν Ἑλληνίδα φωνήν). Of course, this view about the language of heroes should not be confused with the otherwise widespread assumption that Homer as a 36 The story of Dionysius’ disgrace in Corinth was quite popular, and also a subject for rhetorical progymnasmata: see V. Max. 6.9. ext. 6: ‘propter inopiam litteras puerulos Corinthi docuit’; Cic. Tusc. 3.27: ‘Corinthi pueros docebat’; Iust. 21.5; Ph. De Jos. 132: γραμματιστὴς ὁ τοσοῦτος ἡγεμὼν γίνεται; Demetr. Eloc. 241: πτωχεύει ἐν Κορίνθῳ διδάσκων γράμματα; Lucian. Gall. 23 παιδία συλλαβίζειν διδάσκων, and especially Plu. Tim. 14–15, who is the only source to devote an entire chapter to Dionysius’ dicta in Corinth (which he probably inherited from an earlier source such as Timaeus). It might be of course that our anecdote—whose wit is far from evident—was modelled after the much more juicy ones occurring in Plutarch, but if the opposite were true we might face here the remnants of an ancient tradition. 37 The key passages on the Trojans’ πολυγλωσσία are Il. 2.804–805 (πολλοὶ γὰρ κατὰ ἄστυ μέγα Πριάμου ἐπίκουροι, / ἄλλη δ᾿ ἄλλων γλῶσσα πολυσπερέων ἀνθρώπων), Il. 4.437–438 (οὐ γὰρ πάντων ἦεν ὁμὸς θρόος οὐδ᾿ ἴα γῆρυς, / ἀλλὰ γλῶσσα μέμικτο, πολύκλητοι δ᾿ ἔσαν ἄνδρες), and the Sch. Hom. (bT) Il. 4.437 (εἰκότως τὸ βάρβαρον θορυβῶδές ἐστινǜ ἑτερόγλωσσον γάρ ἐστινǜ ὃ δὲ οὐκ ἔστιν ὁμόφωνον, τοῦτο ἀνάγκῃ θορυβῶδες) openly states the Greeks’ superiority over the Trojans due to the harmonic uniformity of their language as opposed to the noisy ἑτεροφωνία of their foes (see also Sch. Pi. P. 1.137b; Sch. Hom. [AbT] Il. 7.346b; [bT] Il. 4.400a). See also Il. 2.867 on the βαρβαρόφωνοι Carians—a line that gave rise to a huge debate in antiquity as to the exact meaning and comprehensiveness of the term ‘barbarian’ (see Th. 1.3.3; Str. 8.6.6 [p. 370.4–13 C.] and 14.2.28 [p. 661.28–663.7 C.]; Sch. Hom. [A] Il. 2.867a; Hall 1991, 9–10 and 19: ‘The archaic literary world of heroes remained largely untouched by interest even in foreign languages’)—along with Sch. Hom. (b) and D ad Il. 2.867; Sch. Hom. (Til) Il. 14.512; (T) Od. 8.294. On the related issue of the different linguistic flavour of Greek and Trojan speeches in Homer see Mackie 1996, 15–21.

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poet (not his characters) blended different varieties of Greek in one common language.38 Yet the same view could be fruitfully compared with the idea that Attic itself resulted from a mixture of various languages. But this would open the debated issue of the origin of both Attic and the κοινή in the views of ancient and less ancient grammarians, a subject on which much has been written.39

6. Apollonius Dyscolus: in grammatica Homerus Much of what we have been talking about is speculation, drawing on limited evidence from distant periods. The only Greek grammarian we know in some depth and breadth is of course Apollonius Dyscolus, and my final remarks will focus on him. For Apollonius, as for Dionysius Thrax, the highest goal of grammar is the study of the poets and of their mode of expression: this makes grammar an ancilla of philology, a tool in the art of emendation.40 But to what extent is this exactly true? For Apollonius, grammar is above all an essential tool in the study of the relation between words,41 and for the solution of those problems which arise out of everyday usage42 (A.D. Synt. ΙΙ 77, 183.14–184.143 is 38 See e.g. Ps.-Plu. De Hom. 2.8; D.Chr. 12.66. Blank 1988, 141–142 points out that this is not a Stoic thesis, because Homer’s language could not be presented as the primeval unitarian language (the ‘lingua degli eroi mescolata e di articolata e di muta’ mentioned by Vico 1992, 187, § 446). As a matter of fact, R. Janko has shown that the idea went back to the Peripatetic philosopher Andromenides, and perhaps to Megaclides, and was fiercely countered by Philodemus: see Phld. Po. 1.187.21–24 and 1.163.2–4, with Janko 2000, 377 n. 4. 39 See e.g. Sch. Aristid. Panathen. 98.17 (30.33 Dindorf) etc. A good starting-point (with references and bibliography) is Versteegh 1986, 432–434. See also (esp. on the diverse Atticist responses to Homer) Swain 1996, 51–56. 40 See D.T. 5.2: γραμματικὴ δέ ἐστιν ἐμπειρία τῶν παρὰ ποιηταῖς τε καὶ συγγραφεῦσιν ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ λεγομένων; S.E. M. 1.57, 250; A.D. Synt. Ι 1, 1.2–2.2. Lallot 1997, II 8–9: ‘pour A. comme pour Denys le thrace, son prédécesseur de quatre siècles, la grammaire technique se conçoit toujours comme une discipline auxiliaire de la philologie, cette dernière ayant pour objet principal l’étude minutieuse des monuments de la tradition poétique grecque, dans laquelle les poèmes homériques occupent la première place’. The same function obviously holds true for Aristarchus: see e. g. Ax 2000d, 107–108. On the purport of Dionysius’ Thrax definition, and on the long debate about the limitation ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολύ, see Blank 1994, 155–158; Lallot 1998, 69–73. 41 See Blank 1982, 8–10. 42 See Sluiter 1990, 40–41, stressing the discontinuity of Apollonius with respect to his ‘philological’ predecessors. 43 On this passage of Apollonius see I. Sluiter, this volume.

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an open statement of this). As stated in the crucial passage Synt. Ι 60–62, 51.1–53.11, for grammar to be a science every linguistic phenomenon should not only be described, but also rationally explained; and so should every deviation from normal, ‘regular’ usage. This foundation of a new discipline on the basis of a sound belief in rational analysis takes place in the same age during which Galen and Ptolemaeus give birth to new trends in medicine and astronomy, both rooted in analogical thought.44 The literary tradition represents for Apollonius the core of grammatical teaching, since according to him (and to Aristarchus, as opposed to the empiricists later represented by Sextus), usage (τριβή) is not separable from παράδοσις and λογικὴ ἀκολουθία (analogy): literary tradition is also more authoritative than the pure mechanism of analogy.45 As a matter of fact, Homer has the lion’s share in this παράδοσις: Apollonius draws over 90% of his poetic quotations from the Iliad and Odyssey.46 Yet, as H. Erbse has brilliantly shown, while his son Herodian made use of grammatical rules in order to defend Aristarchus’ text (pro Homero grammatica), Apollonius did not actually build his grammatical system on Homer, but rather strove to find everywhere in Homer’s text the proof for his own grammatical rules, deduced from different sources.47 Apollonius thus paid little attention to earlier exegesis, and made few fresh contributions to the understanding or the textual criticism of Homer himself: he rather chose a hoard of Homeric passages as examples of the syntactical rules he was positing for prosaic language:48 no longer ex Homero grammatica, but rather in grammatica Homerus.

44 See Blank 1982, 11–19 and 21–39; Blank 1994, 159–163; Blank 1998, xxxiv– xxxvi; Lallot 1995a, 112–114; Lallot 1997, II 38–40. On the complicated relation between παράδοσις and συνήθεια see also Siebenborn 1976, 27–31 and 85–89; Sluiter 1990, 60–61 (also including an excellent survey of the genre and aims of Apollonius’ Syntax); Viljamaa 1995. 45 See Blank 1982, 61 n. 19 (with further bibliography). 46 Lallot 1997, I 18. 47 See Erbse 1960, 354–364, esp. 363: ‘Herodian wendet anerkannte Regeln an, um Aristarchs Stellungnahme in Fragen der Prosodie zu rechtfertigen, wenn nicht zu verteidigen. Apollonios dagegen zitiert Homer und seine Kritiker, um grammatische Gesetze zu belegen und ihre bis in die Bezirke der Dichtersprache reichende Gültigkeit zu demonstrieren’. See also Blank 1993, 718. 48 See Erbse 1960, 360: ‘Indem so von Fall zu Fall prosaische und poetische (meist homerische) Sprechweisen konfrontiert werden, ergibt sich ein doppelter Nutzen: man erkennt, was in der logischen Syntax statthaft ist, und vermag das spezifisch poetische Sprechen davon abzuheben, gegebenfalls auf seine besondere Funktion hin zu untersuchen’.

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In this frame, Apollonius often explains away unusual or aberrant forms as variants that reason—actually ‘the oppositive force of reason’, τὸ ἀντιπαραπεπηγμένον τοῦ λόγου—easily detects as relying on poetic licence.49 The concrete mechanism for justifying eccentric forms consists in the complex system of pathology, by and large the same system operating in the normalisation of dialectal forms.50 Apollonius openly praises Aristarchus because he does not correct eccentric Homeric forms, but rather attempts at justifying them by showing that they are not isolated in their irregularity, and deviate from an originary form by a πάθος that is itself entirely rational (A.D. Synt. 107.18). The originally Stoic concept of πάθος provides Apollonius with the perfect tool for discriminating between a correct, primordial norm (to be found in a rational compromise between common written prose and the literary παράδοσις with all its tolerated phonological or syntactical variations, and all what is ‘external’ to this norm, i. e. morphological or syntactical barbarisms and solecisms (such as those detected by Dionysius of Halicarnassus in some Thucyididean passages).51

49 See A.D. Synt. I 62, 52.8–10: εἴ ποτε ποιητικὴ ἄδεια ἐξαιτουμένη τὸ καὶ πλεονάζειν καὶ ἐλλείπειν παραλείποι τι τῶν τοιούτων, τὸ ἀντιπαραπεπηγμένον τοῦ λόγου παραστήσει καὶ τὸ λεῖπον καὶ τὸ πλεονάζον; Synt. II 157, 251.7–10. 50 See Wackernagel 1876, 22; Siebenborn 1976, 150–151; Blank 1982, 40–49, esp. 45: ‘To be sure, ποιητικὴ ἄδεια ensures that there will be no lack of strange constructions in poetry, but Apollonius will insist (Synt. III 166, 413.13) that there are πεπονθότα in normal speech as well’; Lallot 1995a. On the very term of ποιητικὴ ἄδεια see Lallot 1997, II 40. Much can be learned on the mechanisms of pathology from Chr. Theodoridis’ edition of Philoxenus (1976), as well as from Ax 2000g, 196–198. See also Siebenborn 1976, 108– 109. Pathology is rooted in the very practices of Alexandrian grammarians working on epic language. 51 Blank 1993, 714–718, esp. 716: ‘He did not aim at changing the Homeric text any more than at changing the way people spoke’. Lallot 1995a, 114–118. See the excellent overview by Brucale 2003, 21–44, esp. 33: ‘la patologia nell’uso apolloniano mira alla regolarizzazione delle irregolarità mostrando come le alterazioni constatate in una forma 1) non sono isolate, ma possono essere illustrate in maniera analogica anche su altre forme; 2) tendono a formare sistema tra loro; 3) possono generare forme alterate che scambiano la loro originaria regolarità con una nuova aggregandosi ad un nuovo paradigma’ and 34–39 on the ancient search for a normative parameter, to be found in Homer (Pindarion), in usage (the empiricists), or in an analogical and rational Hellenism (Apollonius). Apollonius’ son had a similar strategy towards the κατορθοῦν through analogy of even totally isolated forms—or their adjustment into a broader system: see Hdn. μον. λέξ. 909.12, and I. Sluiter’s illuminating paper in

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Apollonius does show an elementary awareness of the diachronic development of Greek when he terms some Homeric forms or uses ἀρχαϊκώτερα (A.D. Synt. ΙΙ 90, 193.17 and Pron. 44.11–13);52 and he knows another syntax is possible beyond the Homeric one, which is deeply marked by poetic licence (A.D. Synt. II 125, 223.10 and II 49, 162.4–8).53 Yet precisely by recognising poetic licence and its mechanism, Apollonius protects Homer from the charge of solecism, and makes him fit—be it with some eccentricities—into the big picture of good sound Greek. Therefore, the effective distance between prose and poetry is reduced, as poetic constructions prove the deeper rationality of the standard linguistic system, and thus Homeric quotes are not superfluous to the grammarian’s argument on prosaic discourse, but rather essential and functional to it.54 Though making occasional contributions to Homeric criticism— especially in the case of pronouns, where the evolution of the system from Homeric to modern times is more distinctly acknowledged—, Apollonius is not mainly interested in the solution of textual or linguistic issues in the Homeric poems, to some extent contradicting his own programmatic statement at the beginning of his Syntax. His real goal is the creation of a new grammatical norm, to which Homer is the greatest contributor in terms of authoritative examples, apparent deviations being perfectly explained through pathology in view of the peculiar style of poetic diction. Apollonius’ works were no schoolbooks, nor did they derive from classroom teaching.55 Yet their approach to Homeric language was the winning one in the long run: they remained vital texts for late antique and Byzantine grammar, and Homer—adapted into the victorious grammatical frame of Attic Hochsprache—made its way through the centuries as the fundamental text in every syllabus, and the pillar of Greek identity even in the hands of monks and bishops. To a certain extent,

52 53 54

55

this volume. On the Thucyididean passages discussed by Dionysius of Halicarnassus see C. de Jonge, this volume. See Brandenburg 2005, 205. More on this and on Apollonius’ so rarely surfacing sense of historical grammar can be read in J. Lallot’s paper in this volume. See A.D. Synt. II 116, 216.5 Uhlig εἰς γὰρ γυμνασίαν τοῦ λόγου παρεθέμεθα, καὶ ἔτι εἰς βεβαιοτέραν πίστιν τῆς τηρήσεως καὶ ἔλεγχον τῶν παραπεμψαμένων τὸ δέον τῆς συντάξεως. See Blank 1982, 67 n. 69, contra Householder 1981, 3–17, see esp. 6: ‘All these (and many more) seem to clearly evoke a classroom in which a teacher is trying to keep order and teach a group of boys to read poetry … Whether or not Apollonius was poor, he was certainly a school-teacher’.

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even the way Eustathius of Thessalonica deals with Homer’s language (by singling out πάθη, σχήματα and dialectal forms)56 is inspired by Apollonius’ example. It could be argued that Sextus Empiricus ultimately lost his battle against Pindarion, and that thanks to Apollonius the Homer canonised by Aristarchus and the grammarians won a pivotal status not too dissimilar from that enjoyed by Kuranic language in the Arabic tradition. But empiricists will never surrender: listen to the Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani (Damascus 1923—London 1998): Language When a man is in love how can he use old words? Should a woman desiring her lover lie down with grammarians and linguists? I said nothing to the woman I loved but gathered love’s adjectives into a suitcase and fled from all languages.

Excursus: On The tradition of Ps.-Herodian’s De soloecismo et barbarismo A new edition of this treatise should start from the evident fact that it subsists in two different textual facies: one is represented by Voss. gr. 76 and Marc. gr. 512 (end of 13th century), where the title sounds περὶ βαρβαρισμοῦ and περὶ σολοικισμοῦ κατὰ πλάτος, there are number of discrepancies from the text published by Boissonade and Nauck, and our passage is altogether omitted: this text was printed by Valckenaer in his 1739 edition of Ammonius (= 18222, 178–187; Villoison’s 1781 Anecdota emended Valckenaer’s text precisely on the basis of the Marcianus); other—partly incomplete—witnesses to this redaction are Par. gr. 2720, Par. gr. 1270, Vind. phil. gr. 199. The other version (the 56 I have recently given an example of an elementary Byzantine schematologia Homerica—clearly functional to a work of paraphrase—in F. Pontani 2005b, 48–61. I should like to add here that the same work is also preserved (under the spurious title πῶς δεῖ ἡμᾶς ταῖς συντάξεσι χρῆσθαι) in ms. Cambridge, Trin. Coll. gr. 1026 (O.1.2, XIVth cent.; it is a grammatical miscellany formerly bound together with ms. O.1.5, containing Harpocration: see James 1902, 1– 2), whence it was published by Blomfield 1826, 39–42 (in § 4 the Cambridge ms. confirms my conjecture ὡς ἐν τῷ against ἀντὶ τοῦ of ms. S and ὡς τό of ms. O).

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one carrying our paragraph) is transmitted by several manuscripts, where the text appears divided in two sub-texts (περὶ σολοικισμοῦ and περὶ βαρβαρισμοῦ) and paired with other pseudo-Herodianic works (typically in the series: de figuris / de soloecismo / de barbarismo / de improprietate). Now, the stemmatic relations between these manuscripts have been clarified by K. Hajdù, and hold true for our treatise as well: from hyparchetype θ descend two independent manuscripts, Vind. phil. gr. 263 (ff. 96r–102v; written by Girard of Patras around 1430) and Par. gr. 2551 (f. 1v: written by the monk Hilarion in 1496, and marked B in Boissonade and Nauck); from the former were copied Ambr. C 69 sup. (f. 16r: this part is written by Manuel Moros in the third quarter of the 16th century) and its apograph Ambr. A.S.II.28 (written by Nicasius Ellebodius, who died in 1577); from Par. gr. 2551 two manuscripts were copied in the mid-16th century: Par. gr. 2929 (ff. 23–29; written by Constantine Palaeocappa with his customary tendency to intervene on the text; marked D by Boissonade and Nauck) and Dresd. Landesbibl. Da. 49 (ff. 18–23; written by Nikolaos Malaxos, and subsequently itself the exemplar for Par. suppl. gr. 1091).

Aristarchus and Allegorical Interpretation René Nünlist There is a widespread consensus among modern scholars, starting no later than with F. A. Wolf and his famous Prolegomena ad Homerum (1795), that Aristarchus was opposed to allegorical interpretation.1 In recent years, he has even been pictured, so to speak, as the spokesman of a decidedly anti-allegorical fraction among ancient critics.2 It is the purpose of this paper (a) to re-examine the textual evidence on which this consensus is normally based, (b) to add some pieces that have not received the attention they deserve and (c) to offer a conclusion that modifies the commonly held view. The evidence for Aristarchus’ views about allegorical interpretation is meager. Virtually all the scholars listed in n. 1 present as their primary (and, often, sole) witness a D-scholion on a passage from book 5 of the Iliad.3 The Homeric passage in question comes from the speech in which Dione comforts her wounded daughter Aphrodite by telling her that she is not alone in being mistreated by a mortal: Ares was bound by Otus and Ephialtes, Hera and Hades were each shot by Heracles.4 The first sentence of the relevant scholion reads:

1

2

3 4

Wolf 1795, CLXV (= 1876, 100–1); Lehrs 1882, 162; Bachmann 1902, 34; Roemer 1924, 153–6; Pépin 1976, 179–80; Montanari 1987, 17; Dawson 1992, 66 with n. 85 [p. 267]; Broggiato 2001, lx; Ramelli 2004, 195; Struck 2004, esp. 21–2. The list makes no pretence to comprehensiveness. Struck, for instance, has Aristarchus engage in fictitious debates with the author of the Derveni papyrus (2004, 36) and Porphyry (2004, 74, 76). See also n. 25 below. An exception is Wolf 1795, CLXV n. 27 (= 1876, 101 n. 27), who only refers to Eustathius’ treatment of the question, for which see below. Il. 5.385–404. Scholars regularly take it for granted that Aristarchus, as quoted in the D-scholion, comments on the first of these three exempla only. It is, however, equally possible that all three are meant.

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René Nünlist Ἀρίσταρχος ἀξιοῖ “τὰ φραζόμενα ὑπὸ τοῦ ποιητοῦ μυθικώτερον ἐκδέχεσθαι κατὰ τὴν ποιητικὴν ἐξουσίαν, μηδὲν ἔξω τῶν φραζομένων ὑπὸ τοῦ ποιητοῦ περιεργαζομένους”.5

A literal translation of the scholion might run like this: Aristarchus demands ‘that accept the things said by the poet in a more mythical way in accordance with his poetic licence, without busying themselves about anything outside of the things said by the poet’.

The passage is remarkable, in that it presents itself as an actual quotation of Aristarchus’ ipsissima verba on the issue, which is rare. The quotation, however, does not make it immediately clear what exactly Aristarchus’ position is. Nor, in fact, is it a priori evident why this generalising statement is made with reference to this particular Homeric passage (cf. n. 4). Scholars generally assume that Aristarchus takes exception to allegorical interpretations of Ares’ binding by Otus and Ephialtes, because, it has been argued, the scholion ‘has no sense at all unless it is directed against allegorizing interpretations of the passage’ (Porter 1992, 70). Support for this view seems to come from Eustathius’ commentary on the same passage from Iliad 5: ἡ δὲ ἀλληγορία, εἰ καὶ ὁ Ἀρίσταρχος ἠξίου, ὡς προεγράφη, μηδέν τι τῶν παρὰ τῇ ποιήσει μυθικῶν περιεργάζεσθαι ἀλληγορικῶς ἔξω τῶν φραζομένων, κτλ.

Eust. 561.28ff. = 2.101.13ff. van der Valk The allegorical interpretation , even if Aristarchus demanded, as has been written above, that one should not busy oneself with any of the poem’s mythical stories in an allegorical way outside of the things that are said ... (followed by the allegorical interpretation in question).

5

Schol. D Il. 3.385. The remainder of the long scholion consists of four parts: (i) it gives, similar to a mythographical handbook, a comprehensive summary of the myth of Otus and Ephialtes; it provides many story elements that are either presupposed in the short Homeric account or fall outside of its scope (lines 3– 11 in van Thiel’s edition); (ii) rationalises the myth in the style of Palaephatus (lines 11–20); (iii) offers an astronomical allegory not unlike the interpretations of Demo (lines 21–8); (iv) offers an ethical allegory, equating Ares with θυμός, Otus and Ephialtes with ‘educational speeches’ (οἱ ἐν παιδείᾳ λόγοι), which is then further explained in quite some detail (lines 29–52). This last part (iv) is introduced with the remark that it is ‘better’ (βέλτιον). While it is not clear whether this is in contrast to the astronomical allegory specifically or to everything that precedes, the judgment should not be taken as an argument against Aristarchus’ view specifically.

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There can be no doubt that Eustathius is referring to the very same instruction by Aristarchus that the D-scholion quotes. The textual similarities rule out any other explanation. It is, however, equally important to note the differences between the two witnesses. First and above all, Eustathius’ text has the crucial word ἀλληγορικῶς, which is absent from the D-scholion. A decisive question will therefore be whether or not the insertion of ἀλληγορικῶς, if this is what it is, can be justified. Does ἀλληγορικῶς accurately convey the sense that is apparently implied in the D-scholion? In order to answer this question, we first need to look at the other differences between the two witnesses. The first part of the quotation in the D-scholion (down to ἐξουσίαν) is clearly an attempt to defend the Homeric text against criticism. Aristarchus appears to argue that readers who encounter passages such as the one about Otus and Ephialtes binding the god Ares should not be bothered by it, as apparently they were. Instead they should accept it as one of the poet’s privileges that fall under the rubric ‘poetic licence’. Such passages must not be taken at face value, but should be taken μυθικώτερον, which is probably best understood as meaning something like ‘with a higher proportion of fiction’, ‘in a more fictional way’ or the like.6 Here and elsewhere Aristarchus advocates the view that a certain amount of fiction is part of the poet’s freedom that is often called ‘poetic licence’.7 None of this can be found in Eustathius’ note on the passage. In his version, the scope of Aristarchus’ instruction is rather more limited. Here, Aristarchus seems to be demanding that readers waste no time interpreting any of the poem’s mythical stories (note the noun τὰ μυθικά instead of adverbial μυθικώτερον in the D-scholion) allegorically, that is, ‘outside of (or beyond) the things that are said’. It seems clear that Eustathius amalgamates the two parts of the D-scholion, with the result that they appear as a single recommendation. In doing so, he completely drops the defensive first part of Aristarchus’ argument, which appeals to the principle of poetic licence in order to justify the presence of fictional story elements. Last but not least, there is in Eustathius, as seen, an explicit focus on allegorising interpretations as the actual target of Aristarchus’ criticism. Obviously, the differences between Eustathius and the D-scholion are more than superficial. 6

7

It is possible that the comparative μυθικώτερον bears no particular meaning, in which case the suggested translations should be adapted accordingly. Aristarchus’ actual argument remains unaffected by this. For ‘superfluous’ comparatives in the language of the grammarians see Schneider 1910, 149. For examples see Nünlist 2009, 174–84.

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This said, it still needs to be determined whether or not Eustathius’ focus on allegory specifically is an appropriate condensation of the meaning that underlies the second part of the scholion. In answering this question one might first observe that, taken in isolation, the phrase οὐδὲν ἔξω τῶν φραζομένων ὑπὸ τοῦ ποιητοῦ περιεργάζεσθαι immediately reminds one of an Aristarchean principle that has no privileged relation to allegorical interpretation specifically. It nicely catches the general principle that interpretation should be textimmanent, often referred to in the form of the maxim Ὅμηρον ἐξ Ὁμήρου σαφηνίζειν (lit. ‘to explain Homer out of Homer’).8 This maxim applies, at least in principle, to every conceivable aspect of a critic’s task (e.g. the analysis of a poet’s habits in terms of verbal usage, semantics, syntax, style, and so forth). In connection with Dione’s three mythological exempla, in particular, it is worth remembering that Aristarchus scrutinised Greek poetry for mythographical stories and story elements that were known to later poets only but not to Homer himself. He held the view that the Homeric text must be kept free of the story elements that were found in later sources only. Here again he made a sharp distinction between Homer and the νεώτεροι. This approach to Homer’s mythographical stories notoriously includes the judgment of Paris, which Aristarchus thought unknown to Homer.9 He therefore considered the relevant passage, Il. 24.25–30, spurious. Similarly, though less spectacularly, Homer did not give the dog in the Underworld a name, so the dog should not be called Cerberus with respect to the Homeric epics.10 This list of examples could easily be added to. Aristarchus’ treatment of Homer’s myths is relevant to the present context because all three exempla are dealt with very briefly in Dione’s speech and together take up a mere 20 lines (Il. 5.385–404). The underlying stories are more alluded to than actually narrated for their own sake. It is conceivable that readers expanded the bare bones of the Homeric text by resorting to other, non-Homeric texts that gave a fuller version of the same stories. By 8 Cf. Cucchiarelli 1997, 211–12. It is generally agreed that the maxim is in accordance with Aristarchus’ interpretative method, irrespective of the (disputed) question whether or not he himself actually used this phrase (transmitted by Porphyry, zet. 11/12, p. 297.16 Schrader). Even Pfeiffer, arguably the most decided opponent of the phrase’s authenticity, admits that ‘it is not against his spirit’ (1968, 227). 9 Cf. schol. A Il. 24.25–30 Ariston. and the test. collected by Erbse (ad schol. T Il. 4.32a Ariston.). An attempt to differentiate between mythical variants can already be found in Ps.-Pl. Minos 318d–e. 10 Cf. schol. A Il. 8.368 Ariston. For a collection of Iliadic scholia that discuss ‘things unknown to Homer’ see Erbse 1969–1988, VII 126.

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doing so they incurred the criticism of Aristarchus, who told them not to περιεργάζεσθαι ἔξω τῶν φραζομένων ὑπὸ τοῦ ποιητοῦ. In conclusion, there is no need to assume that Aristarchus’ criticism in schol. D Il. 5.385 is directed specifically and uniquely against allegorical interpretations. He does take exception to ‘importing’ stuff from outside, which, however, includes many phenomena other than allegorical explanations of the passage under consideration. The broad and unspecific formulation of the D-scholion should not be narrowed down by inserting with Eustathius the word ἀλληγορικῶς. This position is, in fact, not new and essentially Pfeiffer’s, but it needed to be restated and argued at greater length because it is now generally ignored.11 In addition, the former and, as has been argued, defensive part of the Dscholion must be given its due and not simply be glossed over or ignored. Aristarchus is making several points in the quotation transmitted by the D-scholion: readers should not be bothered by mythical stories that might test their sense of credibility, but accept them as fiction and thus as belonging to the arsenal that is typical of poets (i.e. poetic licence). Moreover, they should adhere to an interpretation that is textimmanent.12 Before turning to other evidence for Aristarchus’ views about allegorical interpretation, it may be worth asking the question why Eustathius inserted the crucial word ἀλληγορικῶς and thus reduced the scope of the D-scholion.13 Considerations of terminology suggest the 11 Cf. Pfeiffer 1968, 227 n. 1: ‘Eustathius ... probably “interpolated” ἀλληγορικῶς; according to Schol. D Aristarchus’ sentence was more general, not particularly against allegory’ (cf. van der Valk 1976, on Eust. 561.30: ‘Eust(athius) adi(ecit) ἀλληγορικῶς’). Perhaps the most curious treatment of Pfeiffer’s position is the one by Dawson 1992, 267 n. 85, who refers to the relevant footnote but fails to mention Pfeiffer’s reservation. 12 Two additional, minor observations: (i) it might have been counter-productive to reject allegorical interpretations in the name of ‘poetic licence’, because the other side could easily use the same argument for their purposes, which reinforces the point that the two parts of the instruction better be kept separate; (ii) likewise, the phrase ἔξω τῶν φραζομένων may not be ideal for an antiallegorical argument, because terms such as ὑπόνοια imply that the allegorical meaning is so to speak stored up within the text itself, but concealed underneath the superficial meaning from which it must be recovered. It is, in other words, not brought in from outside. 13 Even though Eustathius mentions Aristarchus’ allegedly anti-allegorical views three more times in his commentary (3.23 = 1.4.22–3, 40.28–32 = 1.65.22–7, 614.5–6 = 2.215.6–8), these other passages add little that is of importance. It is therefore unlikely that he had access to substantially more evidence than what we can read today in schol. D Il. 5.385.

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following answer. For Eustathius and his contemporaries, the terms μυθικῶς and ἀλληγορικῶς are technical expressions that are diametrically opposed. In his parlance μυθικῶς essentially means ‘nonallegorically’.14 It is therefore likely that the phrase μυθικώτερον ἐκδέχεσθαι in the D-scholion imperceptibly called up the opposite term ἀλληγορικῶς, which led him to insert it because he considered it the obvious, if implied, counterpart. Needless to say, this opposition of the terms μυθικῶς vs. ἀλληγορικῶς clearly postdates Aristarchus and cannot be what he had in mind.15 It has already been mentioned that schol. D Il. 5.385 often acts as the sole witness for Aristarchus’ alleged anti-allegorism. Other passages have, however, been quoted in support of this view and must therefore be examined in turn.16 14 Cf. e.g. μυθικῶς μὲν γὰρ ἀκόλουθον ἦν τῇ ἄνωθεν ῥίψει τοῦ Ἡφαίστου τὸ καὶ εἰς γῆν που εἰπεῖν κατενεχθῆναι αὐτόν ... καὶ ὁ μὲν μῦθος οὕτω πιθανῶς πέπλασται, ἡ δὲ ἀλληγορία ... τοιαῦτά τινα νοεῖ ... (Eust. 157.24– 30 = 1.242.21–7): ‘Mythically (i.e. non-allegorically), it was consequent (sc. for Homer) also to say that Hephaestus, after he had been hurled down from above, was borne to earth ... and the myth is thus fashioned in a plausible way, but the allegory (i.e. an allegorical interpretation of the passage) ... means something like this...’; cf. the passages listed by van der Valk 1976, LXXVI n. 5.—J. Lallot (p.c.) draws my attention to schol. D Il. 15.18, where, surprisingly, μυθικῶς seems to refer to allegory (this and the D-scholion quoted above are the only attestations of the word in the D-scholia to the Iliad). Contrast schol. D Od. 12.63b (ed. N. Ernst), where the adverb has the expected meaning. 15 In fact, it is by no means certain that the word ἀλληγορία (or cognates) itself was already in use in Aristarchus’ time and, if it was, what meaning it had. The earliest attestations (on which see Hahn 1967, 15–20; Montanari 1987) do not predate the first century B.C. and have a decidedly rhetorical background: ἀλληγορία designates a trope that is comparable to metaphor, riddle and other forms of ‘saying one thing and meaning another’ (cf. e.g. the definition of Trypho 193.9–11 Spengel: ἀλληγορία ἐστὶ λόγος ἕτερον μέν τι κυρίως δηλῶν, ἑτέρου δὲ ἔννοιαν παριστάνων καθ᾿ ὁμοίωσιν ἐπὶ τὸ πλεῖστον). Conversely, the meaning ‘allegorical interpretation’ is considered a recent development by Plutarch (aud. poet. 19e–f; cf. e.g. Montanari 1987, 12–13). 16 Of these, schol. HMQTV Od. 8.352 can be left aside. It reports that the Homeric phrase πῶς ἂν ἐγώ σε δέοιμι (‘how could I bind you?’, spoken by Hephaestus to Poseidon, who wants him to release Ares) was glossed by Aristarchus with πῶς ἂν εὐθύνοιμι (‘how could I censure ?’). Even if we accept the explanation that ‘Aristarchus suggests that either Hephaestus or Homer was speaking in a trope’ (Struck 2004, 70), it is improbable that the ‘proposed metaphorical meaning of censure rules out the notion that a god might even bring up in anger the possibility of actually binding another god’, since in the Homeric scene Hephaestus just did bind Ares in chains.

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A case in point is the question whether or not Olympus can be equated with ‘heaven’. As is well known, Aristarchus rejected the equation and insisted that Olympus is a mountain in Macedonia.17 This insistence has been interpreted in anti-allegorical terms by Schmidt 1976, 86, who quotes the following D-scholion in support: Ὀλύμπια δώματ᾿ ἔχοντεςǜ οἱ τὸν Ὄλυμπον κατοικοῦντες. Ὄλυμπος δὲ κατὰ μὲν Ὅμηρον ὄρος τῆς Μακεδονίας μέγιστον, ἱερὸν τῶν θεῶν, κατὰ δὲ ἀλληγορίαν Ὄλυμπός ἐστιν ὁ οὐρανός, παρὰ τὸ ὁλολαμπὴς εἶναι.

schol. D Il. 1.18 ‘having Olympian homes’: the inhabitants of Olympus. According to Homer, Olympus is a very high mountain in Macedonia, sacred to the gods; according to allegory, Olympus is the sky, because it shines on everything.

Schmidt 1976, 86, interprets: ‘Schon die Formulierung der D-Scholien mit ihrer Gegenüberstellung der Bedeutung des Olymp = Berg καθ᾿ Ὅμηρον (d.h. natürlich κατ᾿ Ἀρίσταρχον) und Olymp = Himmel κατ᾿ ἀλληγορίαν zeigt, wie die aristarchische Erklärung als Gegensatz zu der allegorischen verstanden wird.’ Even if we accept Schmidt’s point that καθ᾿ Ὅμηρον actually means κατ᾿ Ἀρίσταρχον, Porter 1992, 84–5 n. 47, is right to object that the date of this note is impossible to determine, not least so because Schmidt’s attempt to connect the etymological explanation (παρὰ τὸ ὁλολαμπὴς εἶναι) with the Stoics in general and Chrysippus in particular is problematic. Consequently, it is far from certain that this D-scholion gives expression to an opposition that was already felt by Aristarchus himself. The disputed equation of Olympus with heaven is relevant to another example that has been adduced as evidence for Aristarchus’ antiallegorism. The Homeric passage in question comes from Hephaestus’ speech to Hera, in which he warns her of Zeus’ exceptional powers (Il. 1.586–94). He reminds her, among other things, of how Zeus had hurled him down ἀπὸ βηλοῦ θεσπεσίοιο (591). The word βηλός, accentuated as an oxytone, was and is often understood as ‘threshold’ (cf. LfgrE s.v.). Conversely, Crates wanted to read ἀπὸ βήλου as a paroxytone, referring it to an allegedly Chaldaean word βῆλος ‘heaven’.18 17 The relevant passages are collected by Erbse (ad schol. A Il. 1.44a Ariston.) and discussed by Lehrs 1882, 163–72; Schmidt 1976, 81–7; Schironi 2001, 11–15; Noussia 2002. 18 Crates fr. 21 Broggiato = schol. *B Il. 1.591 D (printed by Erbse in the test. to schol. AbT Il. 1.591c ex.); cf. also EM β 129 Livadaras-Lasserre (and the test. collected by Broggiato, ad loc.). The same source also transmits the views of the glossographer Parmenio and Agathocles (FGrHist 472 F 9 = fr. 9 Montanari).

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By doing so, he implicitly disagreed with Aristarchus’ views about Olympus. Aristarchus’ insistence that Olympus is not heaven has been understood as a rejection of allegorising interpretations such as Crates’.19 It is, however, important to note that there is no hard evidence for an explicit and direct argument between the two critics on the correct interpretation of the Homeric passage. The best one can come up with is the testimony of schol. D Il. 1.591 (p. 63 van Thiel). It lists various explanations of the crucial word βηλός, which includes the point that, according to ‘the Aristarcheans’ (οἱ Ἀριστάρχειοι), it means ‘threshold’. Crates only appears implicitly and ex negativo, in that the scholion reports that the Aristarcheans accentuated the word as an oxytone (or perispomenon in the genitive). This implicitly testifies to the existence of another reading, which, however, is neither mentioned nor glossed.20 Taken together with the fact that this D-scholion too easily postdates Aristarchus and Crates, it seems difficult to use it as evidence for a deliberate polemic between the two critics on the issue. What is more, Schironi 2001, 11–15, has recently added an important piece of evidence in the form of a parallel in the Derveni papyrus, where the author explicitly rejects the view that Olympus = heaven.21 In this connection, she reiterates the view that Aristarchus’ agenda is anti-Cratean and thus antiallegorical. To my mind, however, this important parallel lends itself to conclusions that run against the notion of Aristarchus arguing with Crates specifically. Firstly, the rejection of Olympus = heaven does not originate with Aristarchus but predates him by almost two centuries. Schironi is, of course, well aware of this and, in addition, mentions Presocratic and other identifications of Olympus with heaven.22 She then concludes that Aristarchus’ rejection of the equation was the view of a minority. All this would, however, suggest to me that there must have been many more ‘targets’ for Aristarchus than just Crates.23 Sec-

19 20 21

22

23

According to Parmenio, βηλός is the Achaean and Dryopian word for οὐρανός or Ὄλυμπος (the transmission is split: Helck 1905, 8 n. 1). For Agathocles βηλός designates the ‘compass of all things’ (i.e. the cosmos at large). Cf. Schmidt 1976, 86–7; sim. Noussia 2002, 490; on Schironi see below. The scholion does not transmit Crates’ explanation without naming him (pace Schmidt 1976, 87 n. 64). Cf. Derveni papyrus, col. XII (Kouremenos et al. 2006, 84–5). The positive side of the argument differs from Aristarchus’, in that the Derveni author identifies Olympus with Chronos (time). Cf. Schironi 2001, 15 with nn. 32–5: Parmenides VS 28 B 11, Empedocles VS 31 B 44, Philolaus VS 44 A 16, Ps.-Plato, Epin. 977b. See also Schmidt 1976, 86 n. 60. Schironi 2001, 14, rightly emphasises the large number of Aristonicus’ notes on the issue of Olympus. Whether this is indeed indicative of a polemic (and one

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ondly, the Derveni author, who regularly resorts to allegorical interpretation, sees no contradiction in rejecting the equation Olympus = heaven, which therefore cannot be an instance of anti-allegorism specifically—neither for him nor for Aristarchus. The view of schol. D Il. 1.18 (quoted above) that ‘according to allegory, Olympus is heaven’ is problematic in itself because it renders all the authors mentioned in n. 22 allegorists. Moreover, it would be a mistake to resort to an argumentum e contrario. A rejection of the equation Olympus = heaven is not automatically anti-allegorical.24 The search for evidence that helps clarify Aristarchus’ position on allegory produces a small number of scholia that have not sufficiently been taken into account.25 One is triggered by a difficult passage from Iliad 13 that has been a source of confusion among commentators—ancient and modern. It appears to describe a tug of war between Zeus and Poseidon: τοὶ δ᾿ ἔριδος κρατερῆς καὶ ὁμοιίου πολέμοιο πεῖραρ ἐπαλλάξαντες ἐπ᾿ ἀμφοτέροισι τάνυσσαν, ἄρρηκτόν τ᾿ ἄλυτόν τε, τὸ πολλῶν γούνατ᾿ ἔλυσεν.

Il. 13.358–60 Alternately, they (sc. Zeus and Poseidon) pulled taut the rope of violent strife and equal war over both sides—unbreakable, not to be undone, that undid the knees of many (trans. Janko).

that is directed against a specific individual) is another question. It could also testify to the thoroughness of Aristarchus’ studies on Homer. Cf., e.g., the frequency of the note that Ἴλιος is always feminine in Homer (schol. A Il. 3.305b Ariston. with the test. collected by Erbse). 24 The conclusion that Aristarchus’ view on Olympus is unlikely to be directed against Crates specifically reduces the necessity to discuss in detail the thorny question whether Crates can actually be considered an allegorist. The affirmative answer, for a long time the communis opinio, has been challenged by Porter (1992; cf. Mette 1936, 34 n. 1, who already emphasised the differences between Crates’ method and the other known forms of allegoresis). The latest editor of Crates discusses Porter’s argument with guarded scepticism (Broggiato 2001, lx–lxiii, with lit.). The treatment by Ramelli 2004, 178–83, is not always reliable and must be used with caution. Whether a form of allegory or not, it is worth remembering that Crates resorts to such explanations only rarely (Mette 1936, 12, 34 n. 1; Broggiato 2001, lxi, 143). 25 Conversely, Porter does not substantiate the claims that Aristarchus had ‘repeated squirmishes with the allegorists’ (1992, 84) and that ‘“allegorist” in the ancient sense of the term ... was most often put to use ..., e.g., by a Heraclitus or by an Aristarchus (in the sense of an exegete who practices nonliterary exegesis)’ (1992, 100 n. 87).

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Like many others, Aristarchus struggled with the interpretation of this passage and, in addition, introduced a conjecture in line 359.26 His difficulties are well explained by van der Valk 1964, 97: ‘Aristarchus’ interpretation ... shows that he did not understand the archaic ideas underlying the passage. His main failure was caused by the fact that πεῖραρ, which in this passage has the meaning of ‘rope’, was in his interpretation rendered by ‘end’ ... Aristarchus further thinks that Homer speaks of two ends—of the quarrel (ἔρις) and of the war (πόλεμος)—which were crossed over another. We can understand that for this reason he wished to alter ἐπ᾿ ἀμφοτέροισι into ἐπ᾿ ἀλλήλοισι, which better suited his interpretation.’

In the present context, the final part of the relevant scholion (attribuable to Aristonicus) is of particular importance: ἡ διπλῆ, ὅτι παραλληγορεῖ, δύο πέρατα ὑποτιθέμενος, ἕτερον μὲν ἔριδος, ἕτερον δὲ πολέμου, ἐξαπτόμενα κατ᾿ ἀμφοτέρων τῶν στρατευμάτων.

schol. A Il. 13.359a Ariston. The diplê, because he (sc. Homer) makes use of an allêgoria, in that he presents two ends, one of the quarrel, the other of the war, which are tied to both armies.

In light of what has been said in n. 15 about the temporal distribution of ἀλληγορεῖν, it is not very likely that Aristonicus’ comment exactly reproduces Aristarchus’ own wording. As to the content of the note, Aristonicus presumably means to say that Homer makes use of a chain of metaphors, which is one of the early definitions of ἀλληγορία.27 Even though the term παραλληγορεῖ is unlikely to be Aristarchus’ own, it remains highly revealing that Aristonicus uses it to explain the presence of the marginal diplê. On the one hand, this provides further proof that Eustathius’ insertion of ἀλληγορικῶς cannot be right. On the other, it appears that Aristarchus’ relationship to ἀλληγορία is more complex than some would have it.28

26 Cf. schol. A Il. 13.359a Did./Ariston. 27 E.g. Cic. de Orat. 3.41.166 (non est in uno uerbo translato, sed ex pluribus continuatis conectitur, ut aliud dicatur, aliud intellegendum sit), cf. Orat. 27.94 (see Hahn 1967, 56–61). The exact nuance of the prefix παρ- is difficult to determine because the verb παραλληγορεῖν is a hapax legomenon. 28 Tellingly, 19th century scholars such as Wachsmuth tried to get rid of an apparently troublesome piece of evidence by inserting a negative (see Erbse’s app. crit.). More recently, Ramelli 2004, 179 curiously believes the scholion expresses the views of Crates.

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The same holds true, mutatis mutandis, for another note that can be attributed to Aristonicus. In the Homeric passage (Il. 8.185–97), Hector spurs on his team of horses, so that he might capture the golden shield of Nestor and the beautifully crafted breastplate of Diomedes. The relevant scholion reads: ὅτι ... καὶ ἀπὸ τῶν ὅπλων ἐπὶ τοὺς ἄνδρας ἀναφέρεται, καὶ οὐκ ἔστιν ἀλληγορία.

schol. A Il. 8.195a Ariston. because ... and because he (sc. Hector rather than Homer) makes a transference from the weapons to the men (sc. Nestor and Diomedes), and it is not an allêgoria.

The first part of the quotation poses few problems and is well explained by Hahn 1967, 43: ‘wenn Hektor von der Wegnahme der Waffen spricht, meint er zugleich die Tötung des Gegners, die damit ursächlich zusammenhängt’. This transference is then said to be not an instance of ἀλληγορία, which term, again, is unlikely to represent Aristarchus’ own wording. As to its meaning, Hahn compares Ps.-Demetrius (eloc. 99– 102), where the term describes a form of ‘concealed speech’ (as opposed to plain language), especially in threats. Aristonicus would thus argue that Hector does not conceal his message ‘allegorically’, but—one might supplement the line of reasoning—resorts to a form of synecdoche, in that the mention of the weapons includes their bearers. In any case, it is worth emphasising how exactly Aristonicus gives expression to Aristarchus’ interpretation. He says that this particular passage is not an instance of ἀλληγορία (and not that one must not search for allegories in Homer). The conclusion is virtually the same as with the preceding scholion: Aristarchus appears to have identified tropes in Homer which were called ἀλληγορία from the first century B.C. onwards, if not earlier.29 It could be objected that this type of ‘rhetorical allegory’ differs from the allegories that, say, Heraclitus (the allegorist) recognises in Homer. True, but it is worth remembering that Heraclitus starts from a definition of ἀλληγορία that comes straight out of rhetoric.30 It appears that 29 Interestingly, Eustathius (40.33–5 = 1.65.27–9) seems to acknowledge this when he writes that Aristarchus (to whom ἐκεῖνος probably refers here) was aware of what he himself calls ‘rhetorical allegory’ (ἀλληγορία ῥητορική, on which see van der Valk 1976, LXXVII n. 1; Cucchiarelli 1997, esp. 216–24). The term occurs, for instance, in his note (937.10–17 = 3.485.8–18) on the same tug of war (Il. 13.358–60) that has been discussed above. 30 Heracl. All. 5.2: ὁ γὰρ ἄλλα μὲν ἀγορεύων τρόπος, ἕτερα δὲ ὧν λέγει σημαίνων, ἐπωνύμως ἀλληγορία καλεῖται (‘For the trope which says one

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Heraclitus himself does not draw too sharp a line. Moreover, another consideration further blurs the picture of a decidedly anti-allegorical Aristarchus. Heraclitus’ treatise (All. 37) also includes the Prayers (Λιταί), which Phoenix mentions in his speech to Achilles (Il. 9.502– 12) and easily qualify as personifications. Similarly, two notes on the Eileithuiai show, when taken together, that Aristarchus considered them personifications: Εἰλείθυιαι: ὅτι ποτὲ μὲν ἑνικῶς, ποτὲ δὲ πληθυντικῶς Εἰλειθυίας λέγει. (...) Εἰλείθυιαι δὲ Διὸς καὶ Ἥρας θυγατέρες.

schol. A Il. 11.270d Ariston. Eileithuiai: because he (sc. Homer) mentions the Eileithuiai both in the singular and the plural. ... The Eileithuiai daughters of Zeus and Hera. ὅτι τὰς ὠδῖνας Εἰλειθυίας ἔφη. schol. A Il. 19.119b Ariston. Eileithuiai: because he (sc. Homer) called the throes of childbirth ‘Eileithuiai.’

Aristarchus identifies a personification in Homer, while a similar personification qualifies as allegory for Heraclitus. The question thus arises what the exact target of Aristarchus’ alleged anti-allegorism is. It seems unlikely that he would have taken exception to Heraclitus’ treatment of the Prayers. The preceding argument does not, of course, intend to suggest a complete revision of the communis opinio and advocate the view that Aristarchus is in fact a proponent of allegorical interpretation. Such a claim would plainly be absurd—and contrary to expectation. For Aristarchus follows in the footsteps of Plato and Aristotle, both of whom show little inclination to make use of allegorical interpretation.31 It is therefore not surprising that Aristarchus normally interprets the text of Homer and other poets in non-allegorical terms. He is by no means alone in doing so. Moreover, one should take into account that his ‘disagreement’ with allegorical interpretations is mostly implicit. In light of the fact that, elsewhere, Aristarchus is only too happy to engage in open polemic (e.g. with Zenodotus), it is important to note that his alleged opposition to allegory is not voiced more often and more explicitly. His repeated polemics elsewhere should make us pause before we take the relative silence about allegory as indicative of a particularly subtle thing but signifies something other than what it says receives the name “allegory” precisely from this’, trans. Russell-Konstan); cf. n. 15. 31 Cf. Pl. R. 378c–e, for Aristotle see next n.; cf. also Plut. aud. poet. 19e.

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method, that is, to fight one’s opponents by deliberately ignoring them. It is equally possible that Aristarchus simply did not consider allegorical interpretation as urgent a problem as some scholars would have it.32 At any rate, the preceding analysis will have shown that his attitude vis-àvis ἀλληγορία is multi-faceted and complex. To picture him as a fervent and uncompromising opponent of allegory requires an inappropriately narrow understanding of the relevant evidence that takes its cue from Eustathius.

32 Incidentally, the same holds true, in my view, for Aristotle, whose reservation about allegorical interpretation remains mostly implicit. The attempt by Struck to bring out what he calls Aristotle’s ‘decidedly anti-allegorical project’ (2004, 13, sim. 63–8) is not persuasive, not least so because it is based (2004, 64–6) on a forced interpretation of the term αἴνιγμα (and cognates). For if ‘[t]he Derveni text does not prove that all early “enigmas” are connected with allegorical reading’ (2004, 39), it is difficult to see why the same term should have this specific connection in Aristotle (or any other author). On the (broad) applications of αἰνίττομαι in general see also Nünlist 2009, 225–37.

Portrait of an Unknown Scholiast Martin Schmidt After fourty years, I now attempt to answer the final question that Uvo Hoelscher asked in 1969 in his assessment of my dissertation (published 1976): ‘Is it possible to categorise groups of scholia and maybe even trace them back to specific commentaries through the systematic comparison of drift, terminology and principles?’1 All these years I have been hesitant to attempt to give an answer, but in the last years there have been some new impulses. At the Genoa conference in 2000 I tried to define what is specific and new in the bT-scholia to the Iliad as based on the current state of the field2 and my own thoughts. I argued that this method of explanation, oriented on the relation between poet and hearer, is the real novelty of late ancient philology against Aristarchus and all his friends and enemies. Martin West then told me: ‘That is not the common tendency, that is one person.’ In 2006 Paul Draeger published the original transcript and his commentary of a lecture on the Iliad held by Wilamowitz in the fall term of 1887/88, to which I was able to contribute some footnotes on questions of lexicography and scholia. In doing this study I again encountered the author of the ‘main body’ of the scholia. There I once more noticed that Wilamowitz treats the ‘main body’ of the scholia as being the work of one and the same author, something which, thirty years ago, I had described as ‘strange’3. When the friendly hosts of this conference (to whom I wish to express my gratitude) invited me to present a topic of

1

2 3

I am grateful to my daughter, Dr Anna Schmidt, for help with the English translation of this text and to Kamran Monrocq for preparation of the final copy. Klaus Nickau and René Nünlist have thankfully made useful annotations to the manuscript. ‘Kann man durch Vergleichung nach Tendenz, Terminologie und Prinzipien Scholiengruppen zusammenfassen und womöglich auf bestimmte Kommentare zurückführen?’. Especially Nannini 1986 and Meijering 1987. Schmidt 1976, 67 n.6: ‘Seltsamerweise spricht Wilamowitz […] von einem Verfasser’.

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my own choosing, I, imprudently, decided to look for the author Wilamowitz had then imagined.

The Research Record In an 1884 article which he wrote as part of his work on the T-scholia published in 1887/88, Ernst Maass argued that the core of the bTscholia could be traced back to ‘a group of rather old exegetical commentaries’. He added: ‘the subject matter is difficult and requires intensive work’.4 In the section ‘Mehrere Quellen in T’ (‘multiple sources in the Tscholia’) of his 1912 Auswahl aus den Iliasscholien, Wilhem Deecke discovered two purely exegetical commentaries in the bT-scholia and at various instances tried to demonstrate their divergent tendencies.5 However, this did not gain acceptance.6 In 1953, during the preparation for his edition of the Iliad-scholia, Hartmut Erbse looked at the usage of the chiffre ἄλλως in the Codex T.7 He concluded that at least three exegetical commentaries were used in the compilation of the bT-scholia (beyond the VMK, the D-scholia, Porphyrius and other ‘scholienfremde Bestandteile’). M. van der Valk concurred (van der Valk 1963–1964, I 434) and this has since become the scholarly consensus. I accepted this as well. However, in re-examining all instances of double ἄλλως (this is Erbse’s indicator), I did not find any case in which three scholia on the same section and subject matter had to be traced back to three separate exegetical commentaries.8 The third scholion is almost always from the VMK, sometimes from Porphyrius. We can therefore imagine that the production of the scholia manuscript c, the Mother of all bT-scholia manuscripts, was little easier than previously thought: beyond the VMK, a copy of the D-scholia and Porphyrius, the 4 5

6 7 8

Maass 1884, 564: ‘Der Gegenstand erfordert eine eingehende, nicht leichte Arbeit’. Deecke 1912, 58–64, especially 59, n. to line 5: ‘Dem einen kommentar (a) kommt es, wie A 13 und I 434 beweisen, vor allem darauf an, die befolgung der rhetorischen kunstregeln im Homer nachzuweisen, der andere (b) konstatiert nur gleichsam anhangsweise am schlusse seiner interpretation, dass Homer mit den gesetzen der rhetorik vertraut war’. Deecke’s distinction is not helpful, cf. Howald 1917/1918, 409; Erbse 1953, 8. Erbse 1953, 8ff. Referring to Sch. Il. 5.778; 7.9; 18.20; 18.98; 20.332 und 24.54 (Erbse 1953, 10).

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author(s) had to regularly consult not three, but only two continuous commentaries. Ulrich von Wilamowitz helped Ernst Maass in 1884/85, making multiple corrections in the edition of the T-scholia that are signed ‘W’. During the fall term of 1887/88, Wilamowitz gave a lecture on the Iliad in Göttingen. A transcript, made by the student Alfred Zuericher, was published in 2006. In this lecture Wilamowitz engages directly with the transmission of the epos and the grammatical treatment in antiquity. He describes the bT-scholia as follows: ‘the main part [of the scholia] is a commentary by somebody who wanted to explain Homer step by step both in its words and its content. He quotes a number of authors [...]. It suggests a later period. This can only have been written after Saeculum Two.’9 In an essay for the Homer scholia that appears in 1888 and which was probably written during the same period, he makes explicit reference to only one exegetical commentary ‘in its character clearly identifiable’, an ‘individual by itself’. He also sticks to one author in his 1900 review of the 2nd volume of the Oxyrhynchus Papyri (with the Pap. 221 for the 21st Book of the Iliad).10 This is puzzling. After all, there are many Homeric verses to which there are two scholia which can either be very similar or can also conflict. Wilamowitz had surely read all these. And the distinction of the scholia according to their origin through ἄλλως was right before everybody’s eyes. I believe that Wilamowitz would have acknowledged this. Rather, his insistence on a single author refers to the distinctive voice that can be heard in the bTscholia. Let us try to uncover it. I start with a long scholion, which appears to stem from a single author, and then draw connections from its key arguments to identical or similar interpretations, mainly in the bT-scholia to Books 8, 11, 12 and 13 of the Iliad.11 ὡς φιλέλλην ὁ ποιητὴς μέχρι τῶν νεῶν τοὺς Ἕλληνας συνελάσας καὶ ἐπαυλιζομένους ταῖς ναυσὶ ποιήσας τοὺς βαρβάρους οὐκ εὐθέως τειχομαχίαν ἐποίησεν οὐδὲ τὴν ἐπὶ ταῖς ναυσὶ μάχην, ὅπερ καὶ κατὰ 9 Wilamowitz 2006 [20082], 134: ‘Die Hauptmasse war aber ein Commentar von Jemandem, der Homer Schritt für Schritt in Wort und Inhalt erklären wollte […]. Es deutet auf eine spätere Zeit. Er kann also erst nach Saeculum Zwei geschrieben sein.’ 10 See Wilamowitz 1888, 145, n. 1 and id. 1900, 39. 11 The text of the scholia follows Erbse; the scholia without the sign of the codex are bT- or T-scholia. Generally, the scholia will be quoted without the lemmata. The translation is mine, unless I am able to use that of René Nünlist, for which I wish to express my gratitude.

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Sch. Il. 11.0 As a friend of the Greeks the poet, in rounding up the Greeks at the ships and letting the barbarians bivouac does not start with the battle over the wall and at the ships, which would have corresponded to the expectations of the listeners. Instead he presents the aristeia of Agamemnon followed by those of the other leaders, and only after having sent the wounded leaders back to the ships does he allow the Greeks to be defeated. It would have hardly been believable if the exhausted Greeks had started the next morning to accomplish heroic feats. The night plausibly alleviates the defeat and has them recover to the point that they can push the Trojans back to the wall until the moment when they get once again help from Zeus. Homer shows that the Greeks lacked fortune, not rational deliberation. Agamemnon rightly stands out: he who approaches all things with courage would not plausibly have launched himself imprudently into danger. Because he is a leader, he is not reckless but fights with deliberation. However, when the fate of the Greeks stands on a knife’s edge because of him, he will, by necessity, endanger himself. Events reverse: Diomedes, maligned by Agamemnon, distinguished himself—and so does in turn, Agamemnon, maligned by Diomedes. Hector, however, who promised greatness, has to flee.

I use the following points from this scholion: 1. Homer is a friend of the Greeks (φιλέλλην). 2. The Trojans are barbarians (βάρβαροι). 3. Before the battle over the wall and the battle at the ships, all Greek leaders have to be injured to prepare Patroclus’ aristeia. 4. The Greeks only loose when the Trojans are helped by the gods. 5. The aristeia of Agamemnon takes place at the right moment.

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1. Homer is a Friend of the Greeks (φιλέλλην)12 That Homer favours the Greeks is factually correct13 and seen as such by Aristarchus on the example of Achilles.14 But these bT-scholia say more: the philhellenic poet addresses a Hellenic audience and considers this while creating his poem. He does this, inter alia, In the sequence of events: (1)

ὡς φιλέλλην δὲ ἀπάγει τοὺς θεοὺς καὶ ἐξέτασιν ἀμφοτέρων ποιεῖ.

Sch. Il. 6.1a As a friend of the Greeks, he leads the gods away and creates a test [sc. of battle prowess] of both armies [which the Greeks win]. (2)

ἀναπαύων δὲ ἡμᾶς τῆς διηγήσεως τῶν Ἑλληνικῶν ἀτυχημάτων παρεισάγει τὸν διάλογον τῶν θεῶν.

Sch. Il. 8.209b Relieving us from the report of the Greek losses, he [sc. Homer] introduces the conversation of the gods [sc. Hera and Poseidon]. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 58) (3)

ὑπὲρ ἀναπαύσεως τοῦ ἀκροατοῦ

Sch. Il. 8.246a This [that Zeus sends an eagle] happens to provide an interlude for the listener.15 (4)

ἀναρτᾷ πάλιν ἡμᾶς ἀπὸ τῶν παρόντων μὴ διηγούμενος τὴν δυστυχίαν τῶν Ἑλλήνων ὡς φιλέλλην.

Sch. Il. 8.350 Again [see (2)], as a friend of the Greeks, he leads us away from the immediate and does not recount the suffering of the Greeks.16 12 See Weber 1888, 119 n.; Bachmann 1902, 40; Dittenberger 1905; von Franz 1940, 31, 106ff.; von Franz 1943, 36f.; Buffière 1956, 354–6; van der Valk 1963, 474–6; Schmidt 1976, 56f.; Richardson 1980, 274; Nünlist 2009, 13 n. 48, 37 n. 45 and 147 with nn. 49 and 50. 13 See Stoevesandt 2004. 14 Schenkeveld 1970, 165ff. 15 Cp. Nünlist 2009, 153: ‘distinctly pro-Greek’. 16 I do not interpret ἀναρτᾶν here as ‘keep the reader in suspense’ (Nünlist 2009, 152 n. 70), but only in the sense of ‘elevate’, as when the Christian authors

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By shortening scenes or shortening presentation: (5)

Τὴν ῥαψῳδίαν †κῶλοv † μάχην καλοῦσι·17 συντέμνει γὰρ τὴν διήγησιν συναχθόμενος τοῖς Ἀχαιοῖς.

Sch. Il. 8.0 (cf. Sch. Il. 8.487–8) This book is called the ‘the unfinished battle’, because the author, in sympathizing with the Achaeans, shortens his account. (6)

ἀγωνιστικὸν τὸν πόλεμον τῇ ὁρμῇ τῶν θεῶν ποιεῖ, καὶ διαναπαύει τὸ ὁμοειδές. ὡς φιλέλλην δὲ καὶ τοὺς τρεῖς τοὺς ἀπολωλότας πολλοὺς εἶναι δοκεῖ.

Sch. Il. 7.17–8 He depicts the war more competitively through the intervention of the gods and interrupts the monotony. As a friend of the Greeks the three dead [sc. Greeks] seem many already [Paris, Hector and Glaucos have each killed a Greek]. (7)

τὴν μὲν φυγὴν τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἀπήγγειλεν οὐ πολλὰ διελθὼν ὀνόματα, νῦν δὲ εἰς τὴν μάχην ἐπιστρέφων αὐτοὺς τῶν πλείστων Ἑλλήνων μέμνηται.

Sch. Il. 8.261–6 When he recounts the retreat of the Greeks, he mentions few names. But now that they are back into battle, he remembers most of them. (8)

φιλέλλην ὢν τοὺς μὲν ἐξ αὐτῶν ἐν τῇ πρώην ἥττῃ τελευτήσαντας οὐ καταλέγει νεκρούς, τοὺς δὲ τῶν Τρώων ἀεὶ ἀριθμεῖ καὶ νῦν.

Sch. Il. 8.274–6a Because he is a friend of the Greeks, he doesn’t list all of those that were killed in the previous defeat by name. The Troyans however are always counted and named—as they are now.

write: χεῖρας καὶ νοῦν ἀναρτᾶν (e.g. in Athanasius, Epist. I, Epistulae CXV 47). 17 This title for the 8th book is already used by Aristonicus (see Sch. Il. 5.734–6; 11.11a).

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(9)

ὡς φιλέλλην παρατρέχει18 τὰ δυσχερῆ, ἐπ’ ὀλίγα πρόσωπα τὴν ἧτταν φέρων. καὶ ἡ ἐκλογὴ δὲ τῶν ὀνομάτων θεραπεύοντός ἐστι τὴν ἧτταν· οὐ γὰρ εἶπεν ἔφυγεν, ἀλλὰ τλῆ μίμνειν· ἐκφαίνει γὰρ τὸν βουλόμενον κακοῖς [Τ, καλῶς Wilam., om. b] ἀγωνίζεσθαι ἐπηρεαζόμενον ὑπὸ τοῦ Διός

Sch. Il. 8.78 As a friend of the Greeks, he quickly passes over their perils and attributes the defeat to a small number of figures. His choice of words aims to console after the defeat. He doesn’t say ‘he fled’ but ‘he did not dare to withstand’. He makes clear that he who wants to fight against adversity will be hindered by Zeus. (10)

καλῶς δὲ τῇ ἐκλογῇ τῶν ὀνομάτων χρῆται· φυγὴν γὰρ οὐκ ὠνόμασεν, ἀλλ’ ὅτι μένειν οὐκ ἠδύνατο καὶ τὰς πολλὰς αἰτίας ἐπάγει.

Sch. Il. 16.101–11 He [sc. Homer] chooses his words well. The word ‘flight’ is not used, but he says that he [sc. Aias] could not withstand, and the poet provides many reasons for this. (11)

οὐκ ἐπεξῆλθε δέ, ὅσα περὶ τοὺς Ἕλληνας ἦν δεδοικώς, ἀλλ’ ἠρκέσθη τῇ τῶν εὐημερούντων διαθέσει ἐμφῆναι τὴν τῶν δυστυχούντων κατάστασιν· ἀεὶ γὰρ φιλέλλην ὁ ποιητής.

Sch. Il. 10.14–6 (cf. Sch. Il. 4.140b) He doesn’t expand on what concerns he has for the Greeks, he uses the depiction of the victors to signal the situation of the losers, because the poet is always a friend of the Greeks.

Cf. also Sch. Il.11.300b and 11.304–5. Through pre-announcements: (12)

κινητικὰ19 μὲν ταῦτα τῶν ἀκουόντων. ἀλλ’ ὁρίζων τὸ πέρας παραμυθεῖται τὴν ἀτυχίαν.

Sch. Il. 8.470–6 That is moving for the audience, but by determining the ending, he attenuates the disaster. (13)

εἰς ἄκρον τοὺς κινδύνους εἴωθεν ἐξάγειν ἀεί, καὶ ἐναγώνιον ποιήσας τὸν ἀκροατὴν τῇ προσδοκίᾳ εὐθὺς τὴν ἴασιν ἐπιφέρει.

Sch. Il. 8.217a 18 On παρατρέχει see Nünlist 2009, 78. 19 On κινητικά in the sense of ‘setting in motion’ see Nünlist 2009, 139.

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He [sc. Homer] is always wont to maximise the danger, and having put the reader in a state of agony by means of the expectation, he at once adduces the remedy. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 143) (14)

προχαρίζεται δὲ τῷ ἀκροατῇ, προαναφωνῶν αὐτῶν τὴν κατόρθωσιν.

Sch. Il. 10.274b1 He obliges the listener beforehand, by telling him of the success in advance. (15)

ἀναπτεροῖ τὸν ἀκροατὴν ἡ ἀναφώνησις ἐπειγόμενον μαθεῖν, τί τὸ ‘κακὸν’ ἦν. προσοχὴν δὲ ἐργάζεται διὰ βραχείας ἐνδείξεωςǜ εἰ γὰρ πλέον ἐπεξειργάσατο διέφθειρεν ἂν τὸν ἑξῆς λόγον καὶ ἀπήμβλυνε τὴν ποίησιν.

Sch. Il. 11.604c The announcement creates great suspense for the listener, who urges to know the nature of the disaster. He [Homer] achieves attention by means of a small hint. If he had given more details, he would have destroyed the sequence and made the poem blunt. (transl. partially Nünlist 2009, 39) (16)

παραμυθητικὸν τοῦτο.

Sch. Il. 10.295 This [sc. that Athena hearkens to the prayers of Diomedes and Odysseus] is comforting. (17)

ἐπεὶ δὲ εἰς τὸν θάνατον Ἕκτορος μέλλει τελευτᾶν ἡ ποίησις, ὅπως μὴ οἰηθῇ τις ἐπικρατέστερα γεγονέναι τὰ τῶν Τρώων, εἶπεν ὅτι ἐπορθήθη, ἵνα μὴ λυπώμεθα νῦν τὰς τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἀκούοντες συμφοράς.

Sch. Il. 12.13–5 (similarly Sch. Il. 17.453–5) So that no one shall think that because the poem shall end with Hector’s death, the Trojans will keep the upper hand, he announces that Troy will be destroyed. So that we do not become sad when we hear of the Greeks’ calamities now.20 (18)

ἐλπίδα ὑποβάλλει τοῖς ἀκροαταῖς ὅτι οὐκ ἦν ταῦτα ἀρεστὰ θεοῖς, ἀλλὰ διενοοῦντο μὲν καὶ αὐτοὶ βοηθεῖν, ᾐδοῦντο δὲ Δία.

Sch. Il. 12.179–80 He fills the audience with hope that this does not please the gods, but that they plan to intervene and only shy away because of Zeus.21 20 Cf. Nünlist 2009, 147 n. 50. 21 Cf. Nünlist 2009, 150.

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(19)

κυδαίνων Ἀχιλῆα: τουτέστι τὸ ‘Διὸς δ’ ἐτελείετο βουλή’ [Il. 1.5]. ὑπὲρ παραμυθίας δὲ ταῦτα τῶν ἀκροατῶν διὰ μέσου φησίν· σχεδὸν γὰρ ἀποδείκνυσιν ἀμφοτέρους τοῖς Ἕλλησι βοηθοῦντας, τὸν μὲν ἑνί, τὸν δὲ τῷ πλήθει.

Sch. Il. 13.348a That is the meaning of the verse ‘and Zeus’ plan was concluded’ [Il. 1.5].22 This insertion provides solace for the audience and he almost reveals that both [gods] support the Greeks, one the one, the other the many. (20)

τὴν ἀγανάκτησιν δὲ τῶν ἀκουόντων ἰᾶται, οὐκ ἐπὶ πολὺ φάσκων ἀπολαύειν τῶν ὅπλων τὸν Ἕκτορα· διὸ ἐπήγαγε τὸ σχεδόθεν δέ οἱ ἦεν ὄλεθρος.

Sch. Il. 16.800a He softens the anger of the audience by saying that Hector will not draw advantage from his weapons for long. Therefore he adds ‘he is close to doom’. (21)

εἰ καὶ ἔμελλέ τις τῶν ἀκουόντων ἀγανακτήσειν ἐπὶ τῷ τὸν Ἕκτορα χρῆσθαι τοῖς Ἀχιλλέως ὅπλοις, μαθὼν ὅτι οὐκ ἐπὶ πολύ, κἂν ἠλέησε τὸν Ἕκτορα.

Sch. Il. 17.207–8a Even if the readers may take exception to Hector getting Achilles’ armour, they may nevertheless pity Hector once they learn that he will not enjoy the armour for a long time. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 148 n. 55) (22)

τοῖς μὲν ἀκροαταῖς ἐλπὶς ἦν ἐξειλκύσθαι Πάτροκλον, ὁ δὲ πάλιν ἐπιταράττει τὴν διάνοιαν, ἵνα ἐπὶ τὸ ἀκμαιότατον προαγαγὼν τὴν ἀγωνίαν πιθανὴν ποιήσηται τὴν Ἀχιλλέως ἔξοδον.

Sch. Il. 18.151–2 The readers were hoping that Patroclus [sc. his body] was recovered, but he [sc. Homer] troubles their thinking yet again, so that, pushing the agony to the utmost, he motivates Achilles’ marching out. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 150)

Cf. also Sch. Il. 11.192b. By making Zeus the mouthpiece of their indignation:

22 Here the author follows Aristarch’s view regarding the internal reference of v.1, 5 (see schol. D to Il. 1.5; schol. 1.5–6 [Ariston. in A]; cf. Nünlist 2009, 40).

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(23)

τὴν ἀγανάκτησιν τῶν ἀκροατῶν ὅρα, πῶς συνελὼν τῷ Διῒ περιέθηκεν.

Sch. Il. 17.205a Watch the anger of the readers, how he has concisely put it into Zeus’ mouth. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 146)

By an overall positive presentation of the Greeks, especially when they are in trouble: (24)

συντόμως ἅμα καὶ κεχαρισμένως τῷ ἀκροατῇ περὶ τῶν ἐκδικουμένων Ἑλλήνων.

Sch. Il. 16.399–418 [The account of] the Greek revenge is precise, and pleasant for the listener. (25)

αὔξει δὲ τὰ Ἑλλήνων ὁ ποιητής, εἴ γε καὶ ἐκκλησίας ἐδέησε τῷ Διῒ ἔν τε τοῖς ἑξῆς [Il. 8.133–5] καὶ κεραυνῶν πρὸς τὴν ἧτταν αὐτῶν· καὶ ἐν ἄλλοις [Il. 4.1; 7.443; 20.4], μὲν γὰρ ποιεῖ ἐκκλησιάζοντας τοὺς θεούς, ἀλλ’ ἁπλούστερον, ἐνταῦθα δὲ Ζεὺς συνάγει καὶ πρωτολογεῖ, τόπος τε ἀποδείκνυται τῇ ἀγορᾷ ὡς δὴ περὶ μεγάλων καὶ ἀναγκαίων. δηλοῖ δὲ καὶ ἡ ἕωθεν ἀγορὰ τὸ παννύχιον αὐτὸν περὶ αὐτῆς ἐσκέφθαι· ἄλλως τε καὶ προεῖπε· ‘παννύχιος δέ σφιν κακὰ μήδετο‘ [Il. 7.478]. μέγα οὖν, εἰ ἐν τοιούτῳ καιρῷ κἂν ἀντέσχον Ἕλληνες.

Sch. Il. 8.2a He increases the importance of the Greeks when Zeus subsequently requires an assembly of the gods and lightning for their defeat. He [Zeus or the poet?] has the gods assemble at other places, but in a simpler manner. Now he assembles them himself and speaks first, and the location of the assembly is marked as if great and decisive matters are at stake. The early morning assembly also shows that he has thought about it all night. Beforehand he says: he contemplated evil [Il. 7.478]. It is greatness of the Greeks that they still resist in this situation.23 (26)

καὶ ἐν τῇ δυστυχίᾳ δὲ ὑψοῦται τὸ Ἑλληνικόν.

Sch. Il. 8.339–40 He elevates the Greek during misfortune. (27)

αὔξει δὲ τὴν συμφορὰν ὡς φιλέλλην ἡ ἔπαλξις γὰρ ἦν πεσοῦσα.

Sch. Il. 14.151 As a friend of the Greeks, he magnifies the bad incident. The parapet was broken. 23 Cf. Nünlist 2009, 270.

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(28)

ἐπεὶ οὐκέτι ἔλπετο: καὶ φυγόντας ἐγκωμιάζει τοὺς Ἕλληνας.

Sch. Il. 17.603–4a He praises the Greeks, also when they flee. (29)

ὡς Πῖος, ἵνα κἀν τούτῳ αὐξήσῃ τὸν Ἕλληνα μὴ ἐξ ἴσου ἀπηλλαγμένον, ὅπερ ἡδὺ τοῖς ἀκούουσιν.

Sch. Il. 6.234 24

Or, as Pius argues, in order to increase the glory of the Greek, who has not left with the same worth [the exchange of armor between Glaukos and Diomedes]—which is pleasant for the audience.

But the author avoids open partiality: (30)

ἀλλ’ ἦ τοι νίκη μὲν ἀρηϊφίλου Μενελάου: λείπει τὸ ἐστί. διέκρινε δὲ τὸ ἀμφίβολον ὁ λόγος τοῦ Διός, ὅπως μὴ δοκῇ τοῖς Ἀχαιοῖς χαρίζεσθαι ὁ ποιητής.

Sch. Il. 4.13 The unclear situation is decided by the word of Zeus, so that it doesn’t appear as if the poet sided with the Greeks.25 (31)

οὐ δύναταί σφιν / χραισμεῖν: ἵνα μὴ δοκῇ χαρίζεσθαι Ἕλλησι, λεληθότως τῇ παραβολῇ τὸ ἀγενὲς τῶν Τρώων δηλοῖ.

Sch. Il. 11.116–7 So that he does not seem to write to please the Greeks, he imperceptibly shows the ignobility of the Trojans with the simile.26

Cf. also the almost identical wording in Sch. Il. 11.304 and 16.569a.

2. The Trojans are Barbarians (βάρβαροι)27 In his book ‘On [the meaning of] Aristarchus’ signs on the Iliad (and the Odyssey?)’ Aristonicus28 refers so naturally to the Trojans in their entirety, to their women and also to a single inhabitant of the Troas like 24 25 26 27 28

On this Pius see below 6.1. Cf. Nünlist 2009, 119 with n. 14. Cf. Nünlist 2009, 211. See Dittenberger 1905; von Franz 1940; Erbse 1969–1988, VII, s.v. βάρβαροι. This is reconstructed using mostly the A-scholia to the Iliad by L Friedlaender.

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Chryses, as ‘barbarians’,29 that we may safely assume that it represents the original tone of Aristarchus. According to Aristonicus in Sch. Il. 2.867a, Aristarchus used the occurence of the adjective βαρβαρόφωνος (‘speaking a foreign tongue’) to conclude that Homer also knew the word βάρβαρος, although he did not use it.30 At least once Aristarchus describes Trojan habits and circumstances as barbaric moeurs:31 (32)

ὅτι βαρβαρικόν ἔθος τὸ ἐκ πλειόνων γυναικῶν παιδοποιεῖσθαι.

Sch. Il. 5.70 It is barbarian to have children with multiple women.

How far this is meant in a pejorative sense is debatable, but it certainly implies a clear demarcation from his own civilised Greek culture.32 The bT-scholia include characterizations of the barbarians as raucous or a reference to flutes being barbaric instruments. This is linked with the statement that the poet mocks the Trojans as barbarians because, rather than sleeping and preparing themselves for the next day, they make music instead: (33)

εἰκότως τὸ βάρβαρον θορυβῶδές ἐστιν·ἑτερόγλωσσον γάρ ἐστιν. ὃ δὲ οὐκ ἔστιν ὁμόφωνον, τοῦτο ἀνάγκῃ θορυβῶδες.

Sch. Il. 4.437 Of course, the barbarians are noisy: they speak various languages. And whatever does not sound the same, is necessarily noisy. (34)

ἐπὶ δὲ Τρῶες κελάδησαν: καλῶς ἐπὶ μὲν Ἑλλήνων φησὶν ‘Ἀργεῖοι δὲ μέγ’ ἴαχον, ἀμφὶ δὲ νῆες / σμερδαλέον‘ [Il. 2.333–4], ἐπὶ δὲ τῶν Τρώων κελάδησαν λέγει·θo ρυβῶδες γὰρ τὸ βαρβαρικόν.

Sch. Il. 8.542 With the Greeks, he puts it well: ‘the Argives’ battlecry was awesome, and the surrounding ships reverbarated with it’ [Il. 2, 333–4]. For the Trojans he says: ‘They made noise’. For barbarians produce only noise. 29 βάρβαροι: sch. Il. 2, 122a; 2, 130–3; 2, 872a; 8, 562; 24, 215b; Chryses βάρβαρος καὶ μισέλλην: sch. Il. 1, 454. 30 The comment is directed against Thucydides who, in the scholiast’s view, thought βάρβαρος to be a post-Homeric word. But Thuc.1.3.3 only says that Homer doesn’t use the term ‘the barbarians’ to designate the Trojans. 31 The comment on βαθύκολπος which says that it is only used as an attribute of barbarian women does not refer to moeurs. 32 Aristarchus already described the Trojans as noisy: θορυβώδεις (sch. Il. 13.41a).

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οὐχ Ἑλληνικὸν δὲ οἱ αὐλοί· οὔτε γὰρ Φαίακες οὔτε μνηστῆρες οὔτε εἰς τοὺς γάμους Ἑρμιόνης οὔτε Πηνελόπης ἐχρῶντο τούτοις. τὴν βαρβάρων δὲ ἄγνοιαν κωμῳδεῖ ἐν τοιούτῳ καιρῷ μουσικευομένων ἐπὶ τοσούτων πτωμάτων καὶ μὴ μᾶλλον τῷ κοιμᾶσθαι ποριζομένων ἰσχὺν εἰς τὴν αὔριον

Sch. Il. 10.13b The flutes are not Greek: they were not used either by the Phaeacians, nor by the suitors, and neither during Hermione’s nor Penelope’s weddings. He mocks the barbarians for their foolishness in making music when so many are dead, and to do so rather than rest and sleep to prepare for the next day.

The poet, according to the scholia, derides a number of character traits such as: Cowardice: (36)

καὶ τὴν Διομήδους ἀρετὴν αὔξει καὶ τὴν βαρβάρων δειλίαν κωμῳδεῖ, εἰ δὴ τοῦ Διὸς ἐπαμύνοντος αὐτοῖς καθειρχθῆναι ἐκινδύνευσαν προβάτων τρόπον, καὶ οὐδὲ τούτων τελείων.

Sch. Il. 8.133b He both extols Diomedes’ bravery and ridicules the barbarians’ cowardice. Despite Zeus’ help, they find themselves enclosed like small livestock, not fully grown ones to boot. (37)

φιλέλλην ὁ ποιητής, κατακωμῳδῶν τὸν βάρβαρον καὶ τὴν τοῦ Πατρόκλου δύναμιν αὔξων.

Sch. Il. 16.814–5 The poet is a philhellene: he mocks the barbarians and extols Patroclus’ power.

Shirking: (38)

ὅρα, τί καταλαμβάνεται πράττων ὁ βάρβαρος· ἕστηκεν ἀργὸς ἐπὶ τῶν ἁρμάτων μήτε πολεμῶν μήτε ἐγκελευόμενος τοῖς φεύγουσιν. Ἕλλην δὲ οὐκ ἂν ἐποίει τοῦτο.

Sch. Il. 11.197–8 (cf. Sch. Il. 11.212) Look by which activity the barbarian [sc. Hector] is caught: he stands idly by the chariots, neither intervening in the battle, nor commanding those fleeing. A Greek would never act like this.

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Fickleness: (39)

καὶ πῶς πρὸ ὀλίγου καῦσαι ἤθελεν αὐτάς; κωμῳδεῖ τοίνυν τὴν βαρβαρικὴν μεταβολὴν ὁ ποιητής.

Sch. Il. 8.196–7 And how could he [sc. Hector] have wanted to burn them [sc. the ships] so shortly before? The poet ridicules the barbarian inconsistency.

Boastfulness: (40)

κέκλυτέ μευ, Τρῶες: ὑπερηφανίας μεστὸς ὁ λόγος· οὐ γὰρ εὔνους θέλει ποιήσασθαι τοὺς ἀκροωμένους, ἀλλὰ μόνον καυχᾶσθαι, οὐχ ὡς τὸ ‘ὦ φίλοι, ἥρωες Δαναοί‘ [Il. 2.110].

Sch. Il. 8.497 ‘Hear me, Trojans’: His [sc. Hector’s] speech is full of arrogance: for he [sc. Hector] doesn’t ask for his listener’s sympathies but only wants to praise himself; unlike ‘Oh friends, heroes of the Danaans!’ [Il. 2.110] (41)

ὅρα τὸ ἔμπληκτον τοῦ βαρβάρου· τὴν γὰρ ἀλαζονείαν ἐξελέγχων αὐτὸς εἰς τὰ ὅμοια ἐμπίπτει καὶ οὐ θείαν τὴν νίκην οἴεται, ἀλλὰ τῆς αὑτοῦ δυνάμεως.

Sch. Il. 16.833–4 Look the barbarian’s recklessness: put in the same situation, he proves his arrogance by failing to recognise the divine reason for his victory, and instead attributes it to his own strength. (42)

βάρβαρος ἡ ἀλαζονεία ἐν ὑπερβαλλούσης ὑπερηφανίας.

τοιούτῳ

καιρῷ

προφερομένη

μεθ’

Sch. Il. 11.432–3 Barbaric arrogance is what is displayed in such a situation, with exaggerated conceit. (43)

στρατηγικῶς μὲν τὴν εὐημερίαν αὐτοῖς δηλοῖ, οἰκειοῦται δὲ αὐτὴν ὑπερόπτως. ὁμοίως καὶ τὸ ‘κτείνω δὲ καὶ αὐτούς‘ [Il. 8.182]. ὁ δὲ Ἕλλην ‘ἀλλ’ ἄνδρας κτείνωμεν‘ [Il. 6.70] φησίν.

Sch. Il. 8.175 Strategically, he [sc. Hector] describes them the good situation, which he overconfidently ascribes to his doing. Similarly: ‘and I killed them [sc. the Argives] myself’ [Il. 8.182]. The Greek however says: ‘but let’s kill the men’ [Il. 6.70].

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(44)

πάλιν οἰκειοῦται τὸ κατόρθωμα καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἑξῆς ‘ἔλπομαι εὐχόμενος … ἐξελάαν ἐνθένδε κύνας κηρεσιφορήτους’. [Il. 8.526–7]

Sch. Il. 8.498–9a1 Again he appropriates the success, as in the subsequent ‘I hope and pray ... to chase away the dogs, led here by the goddesses of death’ [Il. 8.526–7].

Cf. also Sch. Il. 8.180; 8.515b and 11.288–9. Disobedience: (45)

βαρβαρικὴ ἡ ἀπείθεια. ἕτερος μὲν ἂν ποιητὴς τῷ Πολυδάμαντι ἐποίησε πάντας πειθομένους, ὁ δὲ Ὅμηρος μιμούμενος τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἕνα γοῦν τὸν ἀπειθοῦντα εἰσάγει. διὰ τί δὲ ἕνα τοῦτον; ὅτι μάλιστα τοῖς ἵπποις ἠγάλλετο· ‘μεγάλοι‘ [Il. 12.97] γὰρ ἦσαν· οἷς καὶ θαρρῶν ἀπόλλυται.

Sch. Il. 12.110a1 Disobedience is barbaric. A different poet would have them all follow Poulydamas. Yet Homer, who imitates reality, presents only one who doesn’t obey. Why this one? Because he put most faith in his horses: ‘they were big’ [Il. 12.97]. Trusting them, he is killed.

The barbarian is also somebody who likes to complain and who exaggerates the natural love for his woman: (46)

φιλοπενθὲς γὰρ τὸ βάρβαρον.

Sch. Il. 24.664 For the barbarian likes to mourn. (47)

ὑπερεβάλετο τὴν τῆς γυναικὸς φιλοστοργίαν· ἡ μὲν γὰρ ἀντὶ τῶν οὐκέτι ὄντων οἰκείων ἔθετο αὐτόν, ὁ δὲ καὶ τῶν περιόντων αὐτὴν προτιμᾷ. ἅμα δὲ ἐλεεινὴ καὶ ἡ ἡλικία καὶ ἡ δουλεία. μιμεῖται δὲ καὶ βαρβάρου φιλογύναιον ἦθος, οἳ περὶ πλείστου ποιοῦνται τὰς γυναῖκας.

Sch. Il. 6.450–4b He exaggerates the love to his wife. For she puts him at the place of the deceased relatives, but he even prefers her to the survivors. At the same time, age and (impending) slavery provoke pity. He [sc. Homer] describes the barbarians as being very fond of their women whom they value above all else.

Contrasted with this are the Greeks, τὸ ἑλληνικόν: The Greeks love each other, especially when they are brothers; they put their faith in the gods and pray to them; they are careful and comfort each other; they

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share their victory and, ultimately‚ ‘Greek’ turns into a synonym for ‘decent’ (‘morally good’): (48)

οὐχ ὥσπερ οἱ Τρῶες ‘πεφυζότες ἠΰτε νεβροί‘ [Il. 22.1] φιλάλληλον γὰρ καὶ αἰδέσιμον τὸ Ἑλληνικόν. εὔχονται γοῦν θεοῖς καὶ ἀλλήλους παρακαλοῦσιν.

Sch. Il. 8.345–7 Unlike the Trojans ‘shooed like fawns’ [Il. 22.1]; for the Greeks treat each other with love and are pious. They pray to the gods and comfort each other.

Cf. also Sch. Il. 3.506; 5.542a; 5.71–2; 11.121b; 3.350; 4.158a [= (102)]; 4.162; 7.194 and 11.808.33 But such an idealised image is problematic for the scholiast(s) himself/ themselves: how is this reconcilable with Agamenmnon’s behaviour towards Adrestus and the sons of Antimachus, with the murder of Dolon, the desecration by the little Aias and then Achilles’ desecration of Hector’s corpse? Here the scholia are careful: the Hellenic ideal remains intact. Instead, exceptional cirumstances frame the behaviour of the Greek heroes: (49)

Ἑλληνικῶς ὁ κοινωνήσας αὐτῷ φιλανθρώποις λόγοις οὐ φονεύει.

Sch. Il. 10.446 It is Greek not to kill him who addresses oneself with friendly words. (50)

ἐπεὶ οὐχ Ἑλληνικὸν τὸν ἱκέτην ἀναιρεῖν, προφάσεις ἀναγκαίας περιέθηκεν. ἅμα δὲ καὶ ἄτοπον ἦν πάλιν ὑποστρέφειν εἰς τὰς ναῦς ἄγοντας Δόλωνα, ἢ δεῖν ἐν μέσῃ τῇ ὁδῷ, μὴ καί τινες διὰ λάφυρα ἐλθόντες μάθωσιν τὸ πᾶν παρ’ αὐτοῦ. ἅμα δὲ καὶ ὡς προδότην ἀναιρεῖ· ὑπὸ γὰρ ἐκείνων μεμίσηται πρῶτον, οἷς τοὺς οἰκείους παρέδωκεν

Sch. Il. 10.449 Because it isn’t Greek to kill a supplicant, he [sc. the poet] adds the necessary extenuating circumstances. It was inappropriate to return to the ships with Dolon or to tie him up, in case somebody would pass looking for loot and find out everything from him. Also, they killed him as a traitor, because he is most hated by those in front of whom he betrayed his kin. (51)

ὠμὸν δέ φασι καὶ οὐχ Ἑλληνικὸν τὸ ἔργον †ὠμὸν†, ἀλλὰ συγγνωστὸν ὑπὲρ φίλου ἀγανακτοῦντι·διὸ ἐπιφωνεῖ ὁ ποιητὴς κεχολωμένος

33 Further see Dittenberger 1905, 460f. and von Franz 1940, 108f.

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Ἀμφιμάχοιο. ἅπαξ δέ που τοῦτο πέπρακται δι’ ὀργὴν τοῦ Ἀχιλλέως εἰς Ἕκτορα. ἀλλὰ καὶ Ἱππόλοχος αὐχένος καὶ χειρῶν ἀπεκόπη ὑπὸ Ἀγαμέμνονος· Ἀντιμάχου γὰρ παῖς ἦν, ‘ὅς ποτ’ ἐνὶ Τρώων ἀγορῇ’. [Il.

11.139] Sch. Il. 13.203c (cf. Sch. Il. 13.203b) His action is cruel and not Greek, but he who feels pain over a friend may be forgiven. The poet therefore adds: ‘furious about Amphimachos.’ This happens again with Achilles’ anger towards Hector, but also Hippolochos’ neck and hands are severed by Agamemnon, because the former was a son of Antimachus‚ who in a Trojan gathering once proposed to kill the Greek envoy’ [Il. 11.139].

In the following scholion the Ἑλληνικόν as moral ideal is replaced by ἄνθρωπος ὤν. (52)

μισητὰ καὶ οὐχ ἁρμόζοντα βασιλικῷ ἤθει τὰ ῥήματα· τρόπου γὰρ ἐνδείκνυσι θηριότητα, ὁ δὲ ἀκροατὴς ἄνθρωπος ὢν μισεῖ τὸ ἄγαν πικρὸν καὶ ἀπάνθρωπον. ὅθεν κἀν ταῖς τραγῳδίαις κρύπτουσι τοὺς δρῶντας τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐν ταῖς σκηναῖς καὶ ἢ φωναῖς τισιν ἐξακουομέναις ἢ δι᾽ ἀγγέλων ὕστερον σημαίνουσι τὰ πραχθέντα, οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ φοβούμενοι, μὴ αὐτοὶ συμμισηθῶσι τοῖς δρωμένοις. λεκτέον δὲ ὅτι, εἰ μὲν ἐλέγετο ταῦτα πρὸ τῆς ἐπιορκίας, ἔγκλημα ἂν ἦν· ἐπεὶ δὲ μετὰ τοὺς ὅρκους καὶ τὴν παράβασιν, οὐκ ἐπαχθὴς Ἀγαμέμνων· σχεδὸν γὰρ καὶ ὁ ἀκροατὴς τοῦτο βούλεται, τὸ μηδὲ γένος ἐπιλιμπάνεσθαι τῶν ἐπιόρκων. σχεδὸν οὖν ὑπὲρ τῶν θεῶν ὀργίζεται. ἄλλως δὲ πρᾷος μέν ἐστι πρὸς τοὺς ἀρχομένους, βαρὺς δὲ τοῖς ἀντιπάλοις· τοῦτο γὰρ βασιλέως ἀγαθοῦ καὶ ἰσχυροῦ. καὶ ‘αὐτίκ’ ἂν ἐξείποι Ἀγαμέμνονι‘ [Il. 24.654]·‘ βασιλεύς τ’ ἀγαθὸς κρατερός τ’ αἰχμητής’. [Il. 3.179]

Sch. Il. 6.58–9b The words are despicable and unfit for a royal character. They show an animal behaviour and the listener as a human being hates the overly harsh and inhuman element. In tragedies such events are therefore hidden inside the huts and depicted only through audible voices or subsequent reports. They [the poets] simply fear to be hated along with the events. It must be said that if it had been said before Trojan perjury, it would present a reproach. But since it happened after the oaths and their breach, Agamemnon remains unburdened. Maybe the listener does not want perjurers to remain untroubled. Maybe the listener is already angry at the gods. Especially since he is a mild king to his subjects, and hard only towards enemies. This is the sign of a good and strong king‚ ‘at once he will inform Agammnon [as the king]’ [Il. 24.654], ‘a good king and a strong warrior’. [Il. 3.179].

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(53)

ἴσως τὸ ὠμὸν αὐτοῦ εἰδὼς ὁ πατὴρ μουσικὴν αὐτὸν ἐδίδαξεν. πλέον δὲ αὐτὸν ἠγρίωσεν ὁ Πατρόκλου θάνατος ὡς τοὺς κύνας καὶ τοὺς Τρῶας καίειν·διὸ ὥσπερ ἀγανακτῶν ὁ ποιητής φησι κακὰ δὲ φρεσὶ μήδετο ἔργα

[Il. 23, 176]. Sch. Il. 23.174–6 May be the father knew about the cruel disposition of his son and taught him music for this reason. The death of Patroclus increased his fury, so that he burned the dogs and the Trojans. The poet therefore says reproachful ‘and he prepared evil in his mind’ [Il. 23.176].

The scholia on the desecration of the dead Hector by Achilles lead even further, asking whether the Greek-friendly poet also evokes sympathy for Hector and other Trojans in the Greek audience. This is shown through the following: the reference to general human compassion when it comes to unexpected disaster. (54)

εἴωθε συμπάθειαν ἐγείρειν διὰ τούτων, ἐπὰν οἱ τὰ μέγιστα δυστυχοῦντες ἐν ἀγνοίᾳ τῶν κακῶν εἶεν καὶ ἐπὶ φιλανθρωποτέρων φέρωνται ἐλπίδων, ὡς Ἀνδρομάχη καὶ Δόλων καὶ νῦν Ἀχιλλεύς.

Sch. Il. 17.401–2 He [sc. Homer] is wont to rouse sympathy by means of this, when the ones who are in the greatest disaster are unaware of the evil and carried towards very tender hopes, such as Andromache [sc. unaware of Hector’s death], Dolon [sc. unaware of Odysseus and Diomedes’ ambush], and Achilles here. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 148)

The examples from daily life, in particular incidents that provoke pity, such as when a husband return to his home and his wife is absent: (55)

τὴν αἰτίαν τῆς ἐξόδου φησί, παραμυθούμενος ἡμᾶς συναχθομένους τῷ Ἕκτορι. βούλεται δὲ ὥσπερ ἱκετήριον τῷ πατρὶ προτεῖναι τὸν παῖδα διὰ τὸ ῥιψοκίνδυνον.

Sch. Il. 6.373c34 He [sc. Homer] mentions the reason for her [sc. Andromache’s] departure, thus comforting us, who worry along with Hector. She wants to show her child to its father as if seeking its protection from danger [sc. that it may be thrown over the wall].

34 Cf. Nünlist 2009, 147 n. 49.

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The desecration of Hector: (56)

ἀπειλήσας: διὰ δὲ τῆς ἀναφωνήσεως ἐθεράπευσε τὸν ἀκροατήν· ἤδη γὰρ συνέπασχε τῇ τοῦ Ἕκτορος αἰκίᾳ.

Sch. Il. 23.184 By means of the narratorial comment, he [sc. Homer] conciliated the reader. For he [sc. the reader] had already felt sympathy for Hector being treated insultingly. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 147)

Or Iphidamas’ sad fate:35 (57)

νῦν δὲ συμπαθῶν φησιν ὅτι σπουδάσας περὶ τὴν γυναῖκα οὐκ ὤνατο αὐτῆς. οἰκειότατα οὖν ἔχει ἡ τομὴ τοῦ διηγήματος.

Sch. Il. 11.243c Full of compassion, he [sc.Homer] now says that he [sc. Iphidamas] made an effort for the woman and was unable to acquire her. It is very good to have this interruption within the story.

3. Before the τειχομαχία and the battle at the ships, all the Greek leaders have to be injured to prepare Patroclus’ aristeia In the Iliad Zeus’ attempt to fulfill Thetis’ plea only starts in Book 8. In the scholia this is taken up through the argument that the poet uses all means to prepare Patroclus’ participation in the battle, and in doing so, that of Achilles too. This is why the Greek leaders have to fight and be wounded, so that nobody else remains to fight the Trojans. (58)

σπεύδει γὰρ ἐξαγαγεῖν Πάτροκλον καὶ τιμῆσαι Ἀχιλλέα.

Sch. Il. 8.9a (cf. Sch. Il. 8.8) He [sc. Zeus] hurries to lead Patroclus into battle to honour Achilles. (59)

Ζεὺς αὐτοὺς προτρέπει, ὅπως ἐξελθόντων καὶ τρωθέντων ἐξαγάγοι Πάτροκλον.

Sch. Il. 11.52–3

35 Sch. Il. 22.274b: κινεῖ τὰς ἐλπίδας τῶν ἀκροατῶν, ὡς τάχα ἄν περιγενησομένου τοῦ Ἕκτορος, ‘he disturbs the audience’s hopes by intimating that Hector could suddenly gain the upper hand’. Cf. Nünlist 2009, 150 n. 59.

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Zeus hurries them [sc. the Greek leaders] so that he can lead out Patroclus once they have come out and have been wounded. (60) ὀλίγων εὐφράνας τὸν ἀκροατὴν ἐπὶ τὰ συνεκτικὰ ἔρχεται·δεῖ γὰρ συνωθεῖσθαι τοὺς Ἀχαιοὺς εἰς τὴν ἔξοδον Πατρόκλου.

Sch. Il. 11.181–2 After having given the reader pleasure for a moment [sc. by having Agamemnon succeed], he [sc. Homer] makes a transition to the essentials (of this story). For the Greeks must be pushed back with a view to Patroclus’ marching out. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 59) (61) πρῶτον τὸν βασιλέα, ἔπειτα τοὺς ἀριστεῖς ἐξάγει, Διομήδη, Μαχάονα, ὅπως ἀναρχίας ἕνεκεν, οὐκ ἀσθενείας δοκοίη τῶν νεῶν ἡ καῦσις γενέσθαι. πῶς δὲ οὐδένα στρατηγὸν ἀνθ’ ἑαυτοῦ κατέλιπεν; ἵνα μὴ προτιμήσας ἕνα τοῖς λοιποῖς ἀπέχθηται· καὶ ὁ Μενέλαος παρῆν βασιλεὺς ὢν δεύτερος. ἔστι δὲ καὶ ἐναγώνιον· ὅτε γὰρ φόβος μείζων διὰ τὴν ἀπουσίαν τῶν ἀριστέων, καὶ ὁ πόθος Ἀχιλλέως μείζων.

Sch. Il. 11.27336 First he [sc. the poet] leads the king away from battle, then the leaders Diomedes and Machaon. In this way it is lack of leadership and not the weakness of the Greeks that causes the fire by the ships. Why doesn’t he [sc. Agamemnon] leave another in command while he is away? Because he doesn’t want to select one and will then be hated by the others. Also, Menelaos remains as second king. And it is full of suspense: as the fear grows because of the absence of the leaders, the desire for Achilles also grows. (62)

χρησίμως πρὸς τὴν οἰκονομίαν ἔχει τὰ τοῦ ἐπιλογισμοῦ τῷ Ὀδυσσεῖ· ἐπειδὴ γὰρ ναυμαχίαν βούλεται εἰσάγειν ὁ ποιητής, προτιτρώσκει τοὺς ἀρίστους· ἄτοπον γὰρ ἦν παρόντων καίεσθαι τὰς ναῦς.

Sch. Il. 11.407–10 The deliberation scene of Odysseus is useful for the (subsequent) plot. The poet, intent on introducing the battle for the ships, first causes the wounding of the best (fighters), because it would have been absurd to set the ships on fire with them present. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 25) (63)

οἰκονομικῶς δὲ ἐφ’ ἅρματος αὐτὸν ἐποίησεν ἀπιόντα, ἵνα διὰ τὸ τῶν ἵππων τάχος παραδράμῃ τὴν ὄψιν τοῦ Ἀχιλλέως, καὶ μὴ δυνηθεὶς ἀκριβῶς καταμαθεῖν, τίς ἐστι, τὸν Πάτροκλον τοῦτο εἰσόμενον ἐκπέμψῃ, καὶ ἡ Πατρόκλεια εἰς τὴν ποίησιν παρέλθῃ.

Sch. Il. 11.512–337 36 See also Sch. Il. 11.318a1: ὅπως ἀναρχίας ἕνεκεν δοκοίη ἡ καῦσις γενέσθαι τῶν νεῶν. Cf. Nünlist 2009, 28.

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He [sc. the poet] deliberately lets them go on the chariots, so that the speed of the horses allows him to escape Achilles’ view, who is no longer able to find out what is going on and sends Patroclus to find out, and thus Patroclus’ aristeia enters the poem. (64)

παθητικῶς Αἴαντα ὑπὸ Εὐρυπύλου εἰσάγει βοηθούμενον· νῦν γὰρ οὐκ ἔχει κρείσσονα, τῶν ἄλλων τετρωμένων. εὖ δὲ τὸ μὴ τὸν Αἴαντα βοηθὸν ἐπικαλεῖσθαι, τὸν δὲ Εὐρύπυλον αὐτομάτως ἥκειν.

Sch. Il. 11.575–7 He introduces Aias, who is helped by Eurypylos, with pathos. There is nobody stronger left, now that all the other commanders are wounded. It is good that Aias is not called a helper and Eurypylos comes of his own accord. (65)

τοὺς πλείους τῶν ἀρίστων τρώσας πλὴν Αἴαντος τοῦ Τελαμωνίου ἐπὶ τὰς ναῦς ἀπέστειλεν, Ἀγαμέμνονα Διομήδην Ὀδυσσέα Μαχάονα Εὐρύπυλον, καὶ τὸν Τεῦκρον ἑξῆς, ἵνα εὔλογον τοῖς Ἀχαιοῖς τῆς ἥττης παράσχῃ αἰτίαν. εἶτα τούτους ἐπὶ τὰς ναῦς ἀπαγαγὼν εἰς ἔπαινον Αἴαντος τὰ λοιπὰ καταναλίσκει ἕως τῆς Πατρόκλου ἐξόδου· καὶ τὸν Πάτροκλον ἀνελὼν ἐπὶ τὸν Αἴαντα ἐπανέρχεται μέχρι τῆς ἐξόδου Ἀχιλλέως· καὶ τοῦτον ἐπὶ τὴν μάχην προαγαγὼν εἰς τὰ ἀνδραγαθήματα αὐτοῦ τὴν Ἰλιάδα τελειοῖ.

Sch. Il. 11.598b Having wounded most of the best (fighters), except for Ajax son of Telamon, he [sc. Homer] has sent to the ships Agamemnon, Diomedes, Odysseus, Machaon, Eurypylus, and in the sequel Teucer, so that he can provide a plausible reason for the defeat of the Greeks. Next, having led these men to the ships, he spends the rest (of his narrative), in praise of Ajax until Patroclus’ sortie. And having killed Patroclus, he returns to Ajax until Achilles’ sortie. And having led this one into battle, he concludes the Iliad with his brave deeds (transl. Nünlist 2009, 27) (66)

τὸν Νέστορα ἰδὼν ἐγνώρισεν, οὐ μὴν τὸν Μαχάονα. ἅμα δὲ καὶ τὸ ὁμοειδὲς ἐκτρέπει, ἀνάπαυσιν τῆς μάχης ποριζόμενος διὰ τῆς τοιαύτης διηγήσεως. καὶ πρὸς τὸ μὴ πάλιν πέμψαι λιτὰς, ἢ αὐτὸν ἐξάγειν Ἀχιλλέα.

Sch. Il. 11.599 He [sc. Achilles] saw and recognised Nestor, but not Machaon. At the same time he [sc. the poet] uses this story to avoid monotony and creates a break in the battle through it. No petitioners are sent and Achilles does not (yet) appear. 37 Cf. Nünlist 2009, 27.

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τὸ φιλοπόλεμον Ἀχιλλέως ἐνδείκνυται τῷ θεωρεῖν τὴν μάχην. ἅμα δὲ καὶ ᾠκονόμησε ταύτην ὁ ποιητὴς πρὸς τὴν ἔξοδον Ἀχιλλέως.

Sch. Il. 11.600–1a1 The observation of the battle shows Achilles’ belligerance. At the same time the poet’s composition prepares Achilles’ sortie. (68)

ἔδειξεν, ὃ ἐκ πολλοῦ ἤθελεν. νῦν νομίζω, φησί, πάντας τοὺς Ἀχαιοὺς ἱκετεύσειν με. †τί νῦν μοι τὴν ἀρχὴν ἐγχειρεῖς;† ἤδη δὲ προμαλαχθεὶς ἦν ἐκ τῶν Φοίνικος λόγων. βουλόμενος οὖν πολεμῆσαι Πάτροκλον πέμπει πρὸς τὸν βουλόμενον πεῖσαι.

Sch. Il. 11.609–10 He [sc. Achilles] reveals what he has wanted for a long time. I believe that now all Achaeans will ask me. Why do you try to convince me of the most fundamental? He was already soothed by Phoenix’ words. With the intention to fight, he sends Patroclus to the one who tries to convince him. (69)

αἰδήμων ὁ Πάτροκλος· ἐπειγόμενος γὰρ ἀνέχεται τοῦ γέροντος μακρολογοῦντος. οἰκονομικῶς δὲ πέπλασται τῷ ποιητῇ ἡ μακρὰ διήγησις, ἵνα ὁ Εὐρύπυλος ἐκ τῆς μάχης φθάσας ἐλθεῖν περιτύχῃ Πατρόκλῳ, καὶ παρὰ τούτῳ ἐμβραδύνῃ περὶ τῆς τειχομαχίας· εἰ γὰρ ταχέως ἐπανῆλθε πρὸς Ἀχιλλέα καὶ ἐκπεμφθῆναι ἑαυτὸν ἔπεισεν εἰς τὴν μάχην, ἀνῃρέθη ἂν ἡ τειχομαχία, δι’ ἣν ἐπλάσθη τὸ τεῖχος.

Sch. Il. 11.677–76138 Patroclus was humble; although he was rushing, he bore the lengthy talk of the old man [sc. Nestor]. The poet structures this long narrative intentionally so that Eurypylos meets Patroclus perchance when returning from battle and stays with him some time. The reason behind it is the battle of the wall: if Patroclus were to return quickly to Achilles and to convince him to return to battle, the battle of the wall would not take place—for which the wall was created. (70)

πιθανῶς τὸ μὴ εὐθὺς ἀπιέναι πρὸς Ἀχιλλέα· ἀνῄρητο γὰρ ἡ ἐν μέσῳ διάθεσις καὶ ἡ τειχομαχία.

Sch. Il. 11.809a 39 That he doesn’t immediately return to Achilles is convincing: otherwise the intermittent events and the battle of the wall would disappear.

38 Cf. Nünlist 2009, 75 n. 20. 39 Cf. Nünlist 2009, 75 n. 20.

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καίτοι ἐν ἐσχάτοις ὄντος τοῦ σώματος. οἰκονομικῶς δὲ τοῦτο ἵνα γὰρ εὐσταθῶς ὁμιλῇ Πατρόκλῳ, τὸν νοῦν Ὅμηρος ἐφύλαξεν αὐτῷ.

Sch. Il. 11.813a1 Even though his body [sc. Eyryplylus’] is in a critical state, this is also carefully planned; Homer keeps his mind intact so he can talk properly with Patroclus. (72)

σύμφωνα ταῦτα τοῖς ὑπὸ Νέστορος εἰρημένοις, ἵνα ἀμφοτέρωθεν κινηθῇ ὁ Πάτροκλος. εὖ δὲ καὶ τὸ μὴ ὀνομαστὶ τοὺς τετρωμένους καταλέγειν (ὅπερ ποιεῖ ὁ Νέστωρ), ἅμα μὲν διὰ τὴν ταὐτολογίαν, εἶτα ὅτι καὶ τραυματίας ἐστὶν πολυλογεῖν οὐ δυνάμενος.

Sch. Il. 11.826a This corresponds to Nestor’s words, so that Patroclus is moved by both sides. It is also well done that he doesn’t mention the wounded by name (as does Nestor), for once, to avoid a tautology, and then because being wounded, he [sc. Eyrypylos] can’t talk for very long. (73)

ἰητροὶ μὲν γάρ: ἀναγκαίως καὶ τοῦτο, ἵνα διὰ τὴν ἐρημίαν τῶν ἰατρῶν παραμείνῃ ὁ Πάτροκλος.

Sch. Il. 11.833–6 This is also necessary: Patroclus has to remain because of the absence of the doctors. (74)

πάλιν μεταβέβηκεν ἐπὶ τὰς μάχας ὁ ποιητής· ἔδει γὰρ τὰ τῆς μάχης ἐπιέναι, ὅπως θεασάμενος Πάτροκλος κινηθείη μᾶλλον εἰς ἔλεον. εἰ δὲ ἐπιμηκεστέρα γέγονεν ἡ ἐπιμέλεια, μὴ θαυμάσῃς· διαφόρους γὰρ πράξεις ἐν ἑνὶ λέγειν καιρῷ ἀδύνατον.

Sch. Il. 12.1–2a The poet turns once again to the battle. For he had to move to the depiction of battle so that Patroclus could witness them and feel even more pity. Do not be surprised if the treatment [sc. of Eurypylus by Patroclus] is of greater length. It is impossible to recount different actions at one and the same time. (transl. partially Nünlist 2009, 75) (75)

ὅταν ἐπὶ τὰ ἄκρα ἄγῃ τὴν ποίησιν, τότε ταῖς μεταβάσεσι χρῆται συνεχῶς, τὴν προσοχὴν τῶν ἀκροατῶν συνάγων. μεταβαίνει οὖν ἐπὶ τὸν Πάτροκλον νῦν· ἐπὶ τούτῳ γὰρ καὶ διατρίβειν αὐτὸν παρὰ τῷ Εὐρυπύλῳ ᾠκονόμησεν, ὅπως ἐκ τῆς ὄψεως κινηθεὶς ἐντονώτερον Ἀχιλλέως δεηθείη. πῶς δὲ ἐπιλαθόμενος Ἀχιλλέως τοσοῦτον χρόνον διάγει; ἢ οὐ πολὺς μὲν χρόνος, τὰ δὲ γεγονότα ποικίλα ἐν ὀλίγῳ καιρῷ.

Sch. Il. 15.390

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Whenever he [sc. Homer] brings his poem to a critical climax, he constantly makes use of transitions, thereby focusing the readers’ attention. Therefore, he now passes on to Patroclus. To this end he has also created the meeting with him who, moved by the sight of Eurypylus, begs Achilles even more. Why is he [sc. Patroclus], having forgotten Achilles, spending so much time? Or, the duration [sc. of his absence] is not actually long, but many different things happen in a short period of time. (transl. partially Nünlist 2009, 58 and 75)

The next scholion sets the preparation of Patroclus’ aristeia within the context of the Greek wall and its disappearance. (76)

τετρωμένων τῶν ἀριστέων μένειν ἐν τῇ πεδιάδι Ἕλληνες οὐκ ἐδύναντο. ἀναγκαίως οὖν τὴν πεδιάδα μάχην ἐπὶ τειχομαχίαν μεταφέρειν βούλεται· τούτου γὰρ χάριν καὶ ἀνέπλασε τὴν τειχοποιΐαν ὁ ποιητής, ὑπὲρ τοῦ ἀγῶνας κινῆσαι ἐπὶ τῇ τειχομαχίᾳ. τοῦτο μὲν οὖν ἐπὶ τοῦ Τρωϊκοῦ τείχους ἀμήχανον· θεοποίητον γάρ. ὑπὲρ δὲ τοῦ μηδὲ ταύτην καταλιπεῖν τὴν ἰδέαν ἐπὶ τῷ τῶν Ἑλλήνων τείχει τὴν τειχομαχίαν ποιεῖ. ἐπεὶ δὲ αὐτὸς ἀνήγειρε τὸ τεῖχος, διὰ τοῦτο καὶ ἠφάνισεν αὐτό, τὸν ἔλεγχον συναφανίζων. λάβοι δ’ ἄν τις τοῦτο πρὸς τοὺς χρόνους τοῦ ποιητοῦ διότι οὐ μετὰ πολὺ τῶν Τρωϊκῶν γέγονεν· εἰ γὰρ ἐνῆν ὑπονοεῖν ὅτι ἐκ τοῦ χρόνου κατέπεσε καὶ ἠφανίσθη ὡς αὐτοσχεδῶς ᾠκοδομημένον, οὐκ ἂν τῷ αἰτήματι τούτῳ ἐχρήσατο ὅτι αὐτὸς Ποσειδῶν ἠφάνισεν—πάντας δὲ τοὺς ἐκ τῆς Ἴδης ποταμοὺς ἐπ’ αὐτὸ ἄγει ἐφ’ ἡμέρας ἐννέα, καὶ τοῦ Διὸς συνεχῶς ὕοντος καὶ τοῦ Ποσειδῶνος ἀναμοχλεύοντος τὰ θεμέλια—, οὐ δυνάμενος δὲ ἴχνος τι ἀπαιτηθῆναι τοῦ μὴ γενομένου. διὰ τοῦτο καὶ οὐκ ἠρκέσθη τῇ τῆς δομήσεως ἀναιρέσει, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀμάθῳ τὸν τόπον ἐκάλυψε, καὶ αἰγιαλὸς γέγονε τὸ πᾶν. τούτου δὲ αἴτιον ἀποδέδωκε τὸ μηνῖσαι θεούς, θυσιῶν ἐπ’ αὐτῷ μὴ τυχόντας, οἷα καὶ τῇ οἰκοδομίᾳ αὐτοῦ εἰσήγαγε Ποσειδῶνα λέγοντα ‘οὐχ ὁράᾳς, ὅτε δ’ αὖτε καρηκομόωντες Ἀχαιοί / τεῖχος ἐτειχίσαντο οὐδὲ θεοῖσι δόσαν ;‘ [Il. 7.448—50]

Sch. Il. 12.3–35 Because their leaders are injured, the Greeks could no longer withstand in open battle on the field. Consequently the poet wants to move the open field battle to a wall battle. This is why the poet invents the battle of the wall. This would have been impossible using the walls around Troy itself, as they are built by the gods. In order not to omit this idea he makes the battle of the wall take place at a wall built by the Greeks. And having built the wall himself, he lets it disappear again too, destroying all evidence. This could also be used when inquiring into the period in which the poet lived, since he lived not long after the Trojan war. Because, had it been possible to imagine the wall just crumbling with time and thus disappear in the same way as it was, just like that, built, then the poet wouldn’t have used the argument that Poseidon himself made it disappear, diverting all rivers

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from the Ida for nine days and pushing it himself while Zeus lets it rain incessantly … This way no trace can be asked for of that which did not actually exist. This is why the poet wasn’t satisfied with the destruction of the monument but covered the site with sand and thus it became a beach. He explains the reason: the gods were angry for not having received sacrifices during the construction. And he has Poseidon appear during the construction and say ‘don’t you see how the long-haired Achaians have built a wall and haven’t sacrificed to the gods?’ [Il. 7.448–50]

Book 7 already poses multiple times the question of the reason behind the wall’s disappearance. (77)

ἴσως διὰ τὴν ποίησιν αὐτοῦ· διὰ γὰρ ταύτην τὸ τεῖχος ἀοίδιμόν ἐστιν, οὐ δομηθὲν τοῖς Ἕλλησιν, ἀλλ’ Ὁμήρῳ γενόμενον ἕνεκεν τῆς ἐπ’ αὐτῷ μάχης. διὰ δὲ τοῦ ὅσην τ’ ἐπικίδναται ἠώς ὑπερβολικῶς καὶ τὴν ἀοίκητον περιέλαβεν.

Sch. Il. 7.451a Maybe through his poetry. Through his poetry the wall became famous, not because it was built by the Greeks but because it was created by Homer for the sake of the battle of the wall. Through the words ‘as far as the morning twilight spreads’ he hyperbolically includes the uninhabited earth.

Cf. also Sch. Il. 7.443–64c; 7.445 and 7.450.

4. The Greeks only loose when the Trojans are helped by the gods The fact that the Trojans can never win without the support of the gods almost ressembles a leitmotif of the scholia. (9)

ἐκφαίνει γὰρ τὸν βουλόμενον κακοῖς [καλοῖς Wilam.] ἀγωνίζεσθαι ἐπηρεαζόμενον ὑπὸ τοῦ Διός.

Sch. Il. 8.78 He makes clear that he who wants to fight against adversity will be hindered by Zeus. (78)

νῦν σήμερον, ὅτι πρὸς ὀλίγον ἔσται αὐτῷ ἡ χαρά. καὶ οὐδὲ τὸν Ἕκτορα φοβερόν, ἀλλὰ τὸν Δία φησίν.

Sch. Il. 8.141–2a1 He [sc. Nestor] says ‘today’ because joy will be with him shortly and he doesn’t describe Hector but Zeus as fearsome.

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τοῦτο πρὸς μείωσιν τοῦ πολεμίου Ἕκτορος.

Sch. Il. 8.216 He [sc. the poet] says this [sc. that Zeus has provided him with glory] to decrease Hector’s glory. (80)

πάλιν ἐπὶ τὸν Δία τὸ αἴτιον ἀναφέρει τῆς νίκης, μὴ θέλων μωμῆσαι Ἕλληνας.

Sch. Il. 8.335 (cf. Sch. Il. 8.236) Again he [sc. Homer] ascribes the victory to Zeus, because he does not want to blame the Greeks. (81)

Λιτὰς μὲν τὴν ῥαψῳδίαν καλοῦσιν. ἐπειδὴ δὲ οἱ Τρῶες ἐκ παραδόξου νικῶσι βέλεσι Διός, οὐκ οἰκείᾳ δυνάμει, παντὶ πόνῳ τὴν τύχην φυλάττουσιν, παρεμβολὴν ἐπὶ τῷ ναυστάθμῳ ποιούμενοι. τοῖς δὲ Ἕλλησιν ἅπαντα δυσχερῆ, πρῶτα μὲν ἐν καιρῷ μὴ παρόντος ἀγαθοῦ συμμάχου, εἶτα καὶ μετὰ παράβασιν τοσοῦτον εὐτυχούντων Τρώων· οἱ κεραυνοὶ τοῦ Διός.

Sch. Il. 9.0a This book is called the Prayers. After the Trojans have unexpectedly won—not through their own strength but aided by the projectiles of Zeus—they try with all their might to save their fate and organize their forces at the ships. This is all bad for the Greeks: first, at that time they do not have good allies; then the Trojans have success even after breaking the oaths, and there is Zeus’ lightning. (transl. partially Nünlist 2009, 60) (82)

θαυμαστῶς τέως ἰσορροποῦσιν Ἕλληνες, καὶ ταῦτα ἀπὸ δυστυχίας ὄντες· μετ’ οὐ πολὺ δὲ καὶ περιέσονται τῶν Τρώων.

Sch. Il. 11.72c The Greeks admirably manage to balance the Trojans, and this after their defeat. And they will shortly gain the upper hand. (83)

οἱ Ἑλληνικοί, ὅτι, εἰ μὴ ἐπεκούρει Τρωσίν, ἐνίκησαν ἂν οἱ Ἕλληνες

Sch. Il. 11.78 The gods who supported the Greeks (sc. were blaming Zeus). For if Zeus had not helped the Trojans, the Greeks would have won.

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πρὸς τὸ ἀξιόπιστον· οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἠρίστευον ἀντιτασσομένου Διός. φιλέλλην δὲ ὢν ὁ Ζεὺς τὸ πρόθυμον αὐτῶν αἰδεσθεὶς πρὸς ὀλίγον ἐνδίδωσιν. ἢ τοῦτο θέλει εἰπεῖν ὡς ἰσοβαρὴς γέγονεν αὐτοῖς ἐκείνῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ ἡ μάχη· πρῶτα μὲν ‘ἴσας ὑσμίνῃ κεφαλὰς ἔχον‘ [Il. 11.72], ὕστερον ἀριστεύει Ἀγαμέμνων, ἔπειτα Ἕκτωρ. εἶτα οὗτοι καὶ τιτρώσκονται· ἀλλὰ καὶ Ἕκτωρ ἐτρώθη.

Sch. Il. 11.336a On the subject of credibility: If Zeus had counteracted, they [sc. the Greeks] wouldn’t have the aristeia. But, being a friend of the Greeks and ashamed by their courage Zeus relents a little. Or he [sc. Homer] wants to say that the battle was even on this day; first ‘their heads were kept even during battle’ [Il. 11.72], then Agamemnon has an aristeia, then Hector. Then they are wounded, but Hector too is wounded. (85)

ἡ παραβολὴ πρὸς τὴν καταφρόνησιν τῶν Τρώων ὅτι οὐκ αὐτοὺς φεύγει, ἀλλὰ Δία.

Sch. Il. 11.558–62 The simile serves to disparage the Trojans: he [sc.Aias] doesn’t flee them but Zeus. (86)

προαναφωνεῖ δὲ ὅτι ἐκ Διὸς ἦν ἡ ἧσσα· εἰ μὴ γὰρ ἦν τοῦτο, οὐκ ἂν πάντες ἐδεδίεσαν ἕνα τὸν Ἕκτορα.

Sch. Il. 12.37a He [ sc. Homer] announces that the defeat is Zeus’ doing. If it weren’t for that, they would not have all been fearful of one, Hector.

On Book 12 cf. also Sch. Il.12.173a; 12.179–80; 12.181 and 12.437. (87)

†ἐρρειφθέντος† τοῦ τείχους καὶ τροπῆς γενομένης λοιπὸν ἦν ἀναστῆναι Ἀχιλλέα. ὁ δὲ ποιητὴς μῆκος ἅμα καὶ ποικιλίαν περιποιεῖ διὰ τῆς ἀσχολίας τοῦ Διός. ἅμα δὲ ἐπειδὴ ἔφθασε περὶ τοῦ Ἕκτορος προειπὼν ‘οὐκ ἄν τίς μιν ἐρυκάκοι ἀντιβολήσας / νόσφι θεῶν’ [Il. 12.465–6], ἀναγκαίως τῷ ἀνυπόστατον ἔχοντι τὴν δύναμιν τὸν Ποσειδῶνα ἀντιστρατεύει. πῶς δ’ ἂν ἐτόλμησε Ποσειδῶν προελθεῖν μὴ ἀσχολουμένου Διός;

Sch. Il. 13.1–7 Because the wall has crumbled and a turning point has been reached the only thing that remains is to have Achilles get up. However, the poet creates length and variety through the fact that Zeus is preoccupied. At the same time he has said earlier with reference to Hector ‘Nobody could stop him but the gods’ [Il. 12.465–6], and it is thus necessary that he, who hasn’t

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obtained power yet, is met by Poseidon. But how would Poseidon have dared to step forward if Zeus was not distracted? (88)

διὰ τούτων σχεδὸν βοᾷ ὁ ποιητὴς οὐκ ἴδιον τῶν Τρώων γεγενῆσθαι τὸ κατόρθωμα, ἀλλὰ τοῦ Διός. περιπαθῶς δ’ ἄγαν τὸ νηυσίν, οἷον οὐ τῷ τείχει μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ ταῖς ναυσίν, ἥπερ ἔτι μόνη τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἐλπίς.

Sch. Il. 13.1a Through these words the poet almost screams out that the Trojans’ success is not of their own making, but of Zeus. It is also very moving that he doesn’t only speak of the wall [as target of the Trojan attack] but also of the boats, which are the Greeks’ last hope. (89)

παραφυλακτέον ὅτι τῇ Ἑλληνικῇ φυγῇ θεὸν ἀεὶ ἀντιπαρατάττει.

Sch. Il. 15.326–7 One should note that he [sc. the poet] always puts a god close-by during the flight of the Greeks. (90)

ὁ Ἀπόλλων ἢ ὁ Ζεύς. παρατήρει πάλιν τὴν προσθήκην ὅτι τὴν ἐπὶ τὰς ναῦς παρουσίαν Ἕκτορος θεῷ ἀναφέρει.

Sch. Il. 15.418 Apollo or Zeus. Note again the addendum [cf. (9)] that he attributes Hector’s appearance at the ships to a god. (91)

ῥίγησεν: οὐ τὸν Ἕκτορα, ἀλλὰ τὰ τῶν θεῶν ἔργα. καὶ σχεδὸν μὲν νενίκηται, ἡ δὲ νίκη οὐ τοῦ Ἕκτορος, ἀλλὰ θεῶν.

Sch. Il. 16.119 He [sc.Aias] shuddered: not before Hector, but before the deeds of the gods. And he would have almost been defeated, but the victory wouldn’t have been Hector’s, but the gods’. (92)

ταπεινοῖ τοὺς Ἕλληνας τῇ παραβολῇ πρὸς σύγκρισιν τοῦ πολεμοῦντος Διός. τὴν αὐτὴν δὲ εἰκόνα καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν βαρβάρων ἔλαβεν, ὅτε αὐτοὺς ὁ Πάτροκλος ἐδίωκεν· ‘ἴρηκι ἐοικώς / ὠκέϊ, ὅς τ’ ἐφόβησε κολοιούς τε ψῆράς τε’ [Il. 16.582–3]. ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνοι οὐκ ἐναντιουμένου θεοῦ ταῦτα πάσχουσιν, ἀλλὰ διὰ τὴν ἀρετὴν τοῦ διώκοντος· τούτοις δὲ ὁ Ζεὺς αἴτιος τῆς ταπεινῆς εἰκόνος.

Sch. Il. 17.755–7 (cf. Sch. Il. 15.690–5)40

40 Cf. Nünlist 2009, 295 n. 52.

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In the simile, he [sc. the poet] denigrates the Greeks in comparison to the warring Zeus. The same comparison is also used for the barbarians who are chased by Patroclus: ‘like a falcon, a fast one, shooing away jackdaws and starlings’ [Il. 16.582–3]. But these don’t suffer because they encounter a god, but because of the bravery of the one who pursues them. But for these others, Zeus is the cause of the denigrating simile.

5. The aristeia of Agamemnon takes place at the right moment41 Aristarchus points to the purpose of the arming scene of Agamemnon: the bT-scholion uses this and mentions in passing that the same scene has a different function in the case of Paris-Alexandros, where it serves to ridicule the barbarians. (93)

ὅτι ἐπανείληφεν ἐξεργαστικώτερον τὰ περὶ τὸν ὁπλισμὸν τοῦ Ἀγαμέμνονος, προεπιτηδεύων αὐτοῦ τὴν ἀριστείαν.

Sch. Il. 11.17a [Ariston.]42 [B]ecause he has taken up the arming scene of Agamemnon with more detail, preparing for his aristeia. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 309 n. 8) (94)

ὁπλίζει τοὺς ἀνδραγαθήσοντας, προπαρασκευάζων τὸν ἀκροατήν. ἐπὶ δὲ Ἀλεξάνδρου [sc. Il. 3.328–38], ὅπως πλέον καταγέλαστος φαίνοιτο ἡττώμενος

Sch. Il. 11.17b He arms those who will fight bravely into battle preparing the listeners. However, in the case of Alexandros this happens so that he appears more ridiculous in defeat.

Then, I want to recall the scholia that have been already presented in the analysis of the defense of the Greeks’ behaviour, in particular: (95)

μισητὰ καὶ οὐχ ἁρμόζοντα βασιλικῷ ἤθει τὰ ῥήματα· τρόπου γὰρ ἐνδείκνυσι θηριότητα, ὁ δὲ ἀκροατὴς ἄνθρωπος ὢν μισεῖ τὸ ἄγαν πικρὸν καὶ ἀπάνθρωπον.

Sch. Il. 6.58–9b (cf. Sch. Il. 6.62a) 41 Cf. von Franz 1940, 73f. and van der Valk 1955, 35–39 (he refers to one author to whom the characterization of Agamemnon in the scholia can be traced back). 42 Cf. Nünlist 2009, 176 n. 8.

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The words are despicable and unfit for a royal character. They show an animal behaviour and the human listener hates the exacerbated cruelty and inhuman element.

Another longer scholion defends Agamemnon against the reproaches of Achilles: (96)

εἰώθασιν οἱ ἄνθρωποι τὰ πλεονεκτήματα πολλάκις ὡς ἐλαττώματα προάγειν· ‘στρεπτὴ γὰρ γλῶσσ’ ἐστὶ βροτῶν’ [Il. 20.248]·ἐπειδὴ γὰρ τοῖς βασιλεῦσι πλεῖον δέπας οἴνου παρέκειτο ἀξιώματος χάριν, τοῦτο εἰς μέθην ὀνειδίζει τῷ βασιλεῖ. τὸ δὲ διὰ τὸ μὴ περιφρονεῖσθαι ἰταμὸν τῶν βασιλέων καὶ δυσπαράκλητον ἀναίδειαν εἶπεν. ἐπεὶ δὲ καὶ προκινδυνεύειν τῆς φάλαγγος οὐκ οἰκεῖόν ἐστι βασιλεῖ, τοῦτο δειλίαν ἐκάλεσεν. οὐκ οἰητέον δὲ τοιοῦτον εἶναι τὸν Ἀγαμέμνονα οἷον νῦν λοιδορεῖ, ὃν Ἕλληνες ἐν τοῖς πρώτοις ἠρίθμουν· ‘ἢ Αἴαντα λαχεῖν ἢ Τυδέως υἱόν, / ἢ αὐτὸν βασιλῆα πολυχρύσοιο ‘ [Il. 7.179–80]. οὐχ ὅτι τρίτος ἦν κατ’ ἀρετὴν Ἀγαμέμνων, τρίτον αὐτὸν ἀριθμοῦσιν, ἀλλ’ ὡς ἧττον διὰ τὴν ἀρχὴν κινδυνεύειν ὀφείλοντα. εἴς τε τὸ πρὸς Ἕκτορα μονομάχιον ‘ὦρτο πολὺ πρῶτος μὲν ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν Ἀγαμέμνων’ [Il. 7.162]. ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν ἀριστείαν αὐτοῦ ταῖς ἄλλαις παραβάλλων μείζονα εὕροι τις ἄν· Διομήδης μὲν γὰρ ἠρίστευσεν ἔτι τῶν Τρώων ἀγνοούντων τὴν μῆνιν Ἀχιλλέως καὶ διὰ τὸ συνειδέναι σφίσιν αὐτοῖς τὴν τῶν ὅρκων παράβασιν κατεπτηχότων, τὸν δὲ Αἴαντα ὁ περὶ τῶν νεῶν κίνδυνος καὶ ἡ τῆς σωτηρίας ἀπόγνωσις διήγειρε, καὶ Πάτροκλος ἠρίστευσεν Ἀχιλλεὺς νομιζόμενος, Ἀχιλλεὺς δὲ αὐτοῖς φοβερὸς ὤφθη διὰ τὴν τῶν θείων ὅπλων εὐπρέπειαν. Ἀγαμέμνονι δὲ ἡσσήθησαν νικῶντες τῇ προτεραίᾳ καὶ ἐπαυλιζόμενοι ταῖς ναυσὶ τῶν πολεμίων. διὰ τοῦτο Ἕκτωρ Αἴαντι μὲν καὶ Πατρόκλῳ καὶ Ἀχιλλεῖ καὶ Διομήδει θαρρῶν εἰς μάχην ἔρχεται, Ἀγαμέμνονα δὲ ἐκκλίνει. ἀλλὰ καὶ ὁ Ζεὺς αὐτῷ παραινεῖ· ‘ὄφρα μέν κεν ὁρᾷς Ἀγαμέμνονα ποιμένα λαῶν ἐν προμάχοισι, τόφρ’ ὑπόεικε μάχης’

Sch. Il. 1.225c Humans tend to present good characteristics as deficits; ‘pliant is the human tongue’ (Il. 20.248). Because the king is honoured with a larger caraffe of wine, he [sc. Achilles] accused him [sc. Agamemnon] of drunkenness. The decisiveness of kings and their implacability is turned by him into shamelessness. And since a king cannot endanger himself in front of the phalanx, he calls this cowardice. One should not believe that Agamemnon is as Achilles now describes him, he whom the Greeks count among their best: ‘May the lot fall on Aias or on the son of Tydeus or upon the king of rich Mykene himself’: Agamemnon does not appear third in this list because he is third in bravery. He cannot risk himself because of his position. And when it came to the duel with Hector ‘foremost of all uprose King Agamemnon’. Even if one compares his aristeia with the others, his will seem bigger. Because Diomedes had his aristeia when the Trojans didn’t yet

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know the anger of Achilles, and while they were still fearful due to their bad conscience after breaking the oaths. Aias was driven by danger, because of the boats and the desperation of the rescue. And Patroclus had his aristeia because he was mistaken for Achilles. Achilles seemed awesome in the shine of his godly armour. But Agamemnon defeated those who had been victors the day before and who had bivouacked by their ennemies’ fleet. Therefore Hector moves courageously against Aias, against Patroclus, against Achilles and Diomedes, but evades Agamemnon. But Zeus also advises him: ‘as long as you see Agamemnon, the shepard of men, in the midst of battle, avoid the fight.’

This line of argument can be traced throughout the whole bT-scholia. Only the explanations of the speech of Achilles in Book 9 could suggest that the criticism of Agamemnon is justified. But I believe that that case is more a representation of what Achilles says than a reflection of the opinion of the scholiast. His behaviour towards Chryses is also accepted: (97)

κατ’ ὀλίγον αὔξων τὰ τῆς διαστάσεως λυπεῖ τὸν γέροντα· ἔστι γάρ, ὥς που τὸ περὶ αὐτοῦ ἐπίγραμμα δηλοῖ, ‘βασιλεύς τ’ ἀγαθὸς κρατερός τ’ αἰχμητής’ [Il. 3.179]. διὸ παρὰ μὲν τῶν ὑπηκόων ὑβρίζεται, τοῖς δὲ πολεμίοις λίαν ἐστὶν ἀπηνής, ὡς Ἀδράστῳ [cf. Il. 6.53–65] καὶ τοῖς Ἀντιμάχου παισίν. [cf. Il. 11.137–47]

Sch. Il. 1.29d Aggravating the conflict a little, he [sc. Agamemnon] offends the elder [sc. Chryses]; he is, as the motto about him puts it ‘a good King and a strong spearman’ [Il. 3.179]. For this his subjects reluctantly respect him, and he is cruel to his ennemies, including Adrastus and Antimachus’ sons.

The scholia deal with the dignity of the royal office: (98)

μέγιστα δὲ πρὸς βασιλείαν ταῦτα, τήν τε τῶν οἰκείων καὶ τὴν τῶν πολεμίων εἰρήνην πραγματευόμενα. τοιοῦτος δὲ Ἀγαμέμνων, ὑπὸ μὲν Ὀδυσσέως καὶ Διομήδους ἐνίοτε ὑβριζόμενος, ὑπὸ δὲ Ἀδράστου ἱκεσίαν οὐ δεχόμενος.

Sch. Il. 3.179 The royal reign is great, if peace is maintained among ones own subjects and with the enemies. This is the case of Agamemnon, whom Odysseus and Diomedes sometimes abuse, and who refuses the suppplication of Adrastos.

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(99)

ἐν ἀκμῇ γὰρ τὰ τῆς συμβολῆς· Ἐλεφήνωρ γοῦν παρὰ καιρὸν τοῦτο ποιῶν ἀναιρεῖται [sc. Il. 4.463–70]. σῴζεται δὲ καὶ τὸ ἀξίωμα τοῦ βασιλέως.

Sch. Il. 5.48 [Soldiers rob the ennemies whom Agamemnon killed of their weapons.] For we are at the height of the battle: Elephenor however, who attempted this [robbing a dead ennemy of his weapons] at the wrong moment, is killed. This simultaneously protects the dignity of the king. (100) κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν καιρὸν τῷ Ἀγαμέμνονι. ἀλλ’ ὁ ποιητὴς τῷ βασιλικωτέρῳ προσώπῳ ἀπένειμε τὴν προτέραν τάξιν τοῦ λόγου, ὥστε καὶ τῶν ἀριστέων, οὓς μὲν διήγειρεν ὁ Ἀγαμέμνων, ἀκριβῶς διεξέρχεται, τοὺς δὲ ὑπὸ τοῦ Μενελάου ἐπὶ κεφαλαίου λέγει.

Sch. Il. 10.25a [Menelaos awakes] at the same time as Agamemnon. But the poet gives the more royal of the two the first place in the speech, and the heroes which he awakes are named one by one, whereas those awoken by Menelaos are only mentioned in brief.43

Of the achievements of Agamemnon’s leadership in battle: (101)

σεμνὸν τὸ τοῦ βασιλέως εἰς ἐπίσκεψιν πλείονα φερομένου. ἅμα δὲ καὶ ὁ ποιητὴς ἀναρτᾷ τὸν ἀκροατήν.

Sch. Il. 10.43a The king’s manner is responsible when it comes to the consideration of further circumstances. Simultaneously, the poet increases the suspense.44 (102)

ἄφελε τὸν στίχον, καὶ οὐ βλάψεις τὴν σαφήνειαν, ἀπολέσεις δὲ τὴν ἐνάργειαν, ἥτις ἐμφαίνει τὴν Ἀγαμέμνονος συμπάθειαν καὶ τὴν τῶν συναχθομένων ἑταίρων διάθεσιν.

Sch. Il. 4.154 Take away the line, and you will not destroy its clarity, but you will take away its graphic quality, which reveals Agamemnon’s commiseration and the state of the companions who grieve with him. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 197) (103)

γενναίου στρατηγοῦ τὸ μὴ συμπεπτωκέναι τοῖς καιροῖς, ἀνέχειν δὲ εἰς θεοὺς τὴν ἐλπίδα, ἄλλως τε καὶ ἐπὶ πολεμίων λαλεῖ.

Sch. Il. 4.158a 43 Cf. Nünlist 2009, 82. 44 Cf. Nünlist 2009, 143.

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The mark of the true leader is not to give up during difficult times, but to put his faith in the gods, especially when he speaks about the enemy. (104)

στρατηγικὸς ὁρᾶται, ὃς τὴν αἰτίαν τῆς ἀθυμίας ἐλπίδα νίκης ὑπέγραψεν. ἐν βραχεῖ δὲ προὔτρεψε δύο προβαλών, θεοῦ βοήθειαν καὶ λαφύρων ἐλπίδα.

Sch. Il. 4.235–9 (cf. Sch. Il. 7.398) He is shown to be fitted for command, because he turns the origin of despondency into hope for victory. He soon urges them on with the two prospects of help of the gods and hope for bounty. (105)

τὸ προνοητικὸν αὐτοῦ καὶ ἀποφάσκοντος τοῖς δεινοῖς.

ἐν

ταῖς

συμφοραῖς

δηλοῦται

μὴ

Sch. Il. 10.17 His ability for foresight is apparent even in adversity, when he doesn’t deny the misfortune.

Who truly pushes the army forward: (106)

καὶ Ἰδομενέα μὲν τῆς τιμῆς καὶ τοῦ γέρως ὑπέμνησε, τοὺς δὲ τῇ φιλοτιμίᾳ προὐτρέψατο.

Sch. Il. 4.286b He [sc. Agamemnon] reminds Idomeneus of the gift of honour and urges the others by appealing to their ambition. (107)

ἁρμόζουσαν τῷ γήρᾳ ποιεῖ τὴν εὐχήν. τιμᾷ οὖν αὐτὸν εὐχῇ.

Sch. Il. 4.313 His [sc. Agamemnon’s] request matches the age [sc. Nestor’s]. And he honours him [sc. Nestor] with his request. (108)

ὃ γὰρ ἐπιτάσσει, ποιῶν προθύμους ἔχει τοὺς ὑπηκόους.

Sch. Il. 11.16 For what he [sc. Agamemnon] orders he himself does and this makes his subjects brave.

And as a fighter in single combat: (109)

εὖ τὸ μὴ τῷ τραύματι ἄχθεσθαι καίτοι σφόδρα ὀδυνώμενον, ἀλλ’ ὅτι πανημέριος πολεμίζειν ἐκωλύθη.

Sch. Il. 11.278–9a

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It is good that he [sc. Agamemnon] doesn’t complain about his very painful injury, but instead about being prevented to continue to fight the entire day. (110) οὐκ ἐπεξεργάζεται τὰ τοῦ τραύματος, ἀλλ’ εὐπρεπῶς ἐνεδείξατο ὅτι ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ κωλυθεὶς ἀγωνίσασθαι δι’ ὅλης ἡμέρας ἀναχωρεῖ.

Sch. Il. 11.278–9b (cf. Sch. Il. 11.90–8) The poet doesn’t expand on the matter of the injury, but admirably points out that, prevented from fighting by the god, he [sc. Agamemnon] retires for the full day. (111) Ἀγαμέμνων δὲ πεζὸς ὢν ἱππέας ἀναιρεῖ, καὶ σύνδυο.

Sch. Il. 11.151a On foot, Agamemon kills some of those riding the chariot, and even two at a strike. (112) οὐ μόνον ἀριστεύοντα αὐτὸν ποιεῖ, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖς λοιποῖς αἴτιον εὐδοκιμήσεως γινόμενον.

Sch. Il. 11.154 He [sc. Homer] shows him [sc. Agamemnon] not just in his aristeia, but also as the creator of the glory of others. (113)

ἀξιοπίστως, ἵνα μὴ πάντα ἐπιτυγχάνοντα εἰσάγῃ. ἅμα δὲ καὶ τὸ ἀνθρώπινον ἐνδείκνυται. εἰς δὲ τὴν ἀριστείαν Ἀγαμέμνονος συντελεῖ τὸ μηδὲ τοῦτον φυγεῖν, ἀλλὰ τῇ δευτέρᾳ πληγῇ ἀναιρεθῆναι.

Sch. Il. 11.233 This [sc. that Agamemon’s throw misses the ennemy] is trustworthy insofar as not everything he does succeeds. At the same time he [sc. the poet] shows the human side. He concludes Agamemnon’s aristeia when he [sc. the enemy] cannot escape, but is killed with the second hit.

Cf. also (61) There is even praise from the enemy: (114)

ἱκανὸς πρὸς πίστιν ὁ παρὰ τῶν ἐχθρῶν οὐ κατὰ πρόσωπον γινόμενος ἔπαινος.

Sch. Il. 3.182a Praise by an enemy who hasn’t looked at the person beforehand is suitably credible.45 45 On (113) and (114) cf. Nünlist 2009, 192 n. 22.

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His brotherly love is also praised: (115) τότε [cf. Il. 4.148–82] καταπεσὼν τῇ φιλαδελφίᾳ νῦν ἀνοιστρεῖται τῇ προθυμίᾳ, καὶ τότε συμπαθὴς καὶ νῦν συμπρακτικός· ἐπειδὴ γὰρ τὸ παράδοξον τῆς παραβάσεως εἰς ἀθυμίαν αὐτοὺς ἐκάλει, διεγείρει αὐτούς. προσεκτικὸν δὲ λίαν εἰς Ἀγαμέμνονα τὸν ἀκροατὴν ποιεῖ.

Sch. Il. 4.223a Whereas then he [sc. Agamemnon] was acting in brotherly love, he is now propelled by courage. Then he suffered in sympathy, now he takes action in solidarity. He admonishes them when the surprise of the perjury discourages them. He [sc. the poet] increases the suspense about Agamemnon.

There is even sympathy for him: (116)

ἀεὶ καταδρομήν τινα εὑρίσκομεν τοῦ Ἀγαμέμνονος ἐν τοῖς πρὸς Ἀχιλλέα πεπραγμένοις. νῦν δὲ τοὐναντίον. καὶ ἔστιν ἁρμόδιον τῷ καιρῷ παραμυθίαν τινὰ προσελθεῖν τῷ Ἀγαμέμνονι ὅτι οὐ διὰ τὴν αὐτοῦ ἁμαρτίαν δυστυχεῖ τὸ Ἑλληνικόν, ἀλλὰ διὰ τὴν Ἀχιλλέως ἀφροσύνην.

Sch. Il. 14.139–41 We always find some reproach of Agamemnon in his behaviour towards Achilles. But here the opposite is the case. And it suits the moment that he [sc. Agamemnon] receives encouragement. The Greeks’ misfortune is not due to his mistake but instead to Achilles’ folly.

6. Thematic Extensions 6.1. Atheteses I attempt a further step: it is known that the bT-scholia contain many arguments against Aristarchus’ atheteses. They are almost consistently rejected.46 The reasons for these rejections are manifold, but in important sections they correspond to the principles that have been presented in the previous sections. (117)

ἀθετοῦνται ὡς περισσοὶ εἴκοσι δύο στίχοι, καὶ οὐκ ἀρεστοὶ Ἥρᾳ, καὶ οὐκ ἐμπίπτουσι ταῖς ναυσὶν Ἀχιλλέως. καὶ εἰ ἔκρινεν ἀπολέσθαι Σαρπηδόνα, τί ἐκεῖ οἰκτίζεται; καὶ ἡ παλίωξις οὐκ ὀρθῶς· ἀφ’ οὗ γὰρ Ἀχιλλεὺς ἐξῆλθεν, οὐκ ἐτράπησαν Ἀχαιοί. καὶ τὸ ‘Ἀθηναίης διὰ βουλάς‘· 46 Collected by Hiller 1869, 98–115, partially examined by Lührs 1992.

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Martin Schmidt διὰ τί γὰρ μὴ δι’ Ἥρας, καίτοι παρούσης; ῥητέον οὖν ὅτι σχῆμά ἐστιν ἡ προανακεφαλαίωσις, ὡς Ὀδυσσεὺς προαναφωνεῖ Τηλεμάχῳ τὴν μνηστηροκτονίαν, ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν ἧσσον καὶ διὰ τῶν πρακτικῶν αὐτίκα διηγεῖται. ἔστι δὲ τῇ Ἥρᾳ, εἰ καὶ μὴ νῦν τερπνά, ἀλλ’ οὖν γε χαρᾶς περιποιητικὰ τὰ λεγόμενα. πεσεῖν δὲ εἰς τὰς ναῦς ἀντὶ τοῦ δεηθῆναι Ἀχιλλέως, ὥς φαμεν ‘ἐνέπεσεν εἰς τὰς χεῖράς σου‘. οἰκτίζεται δὲ καὶ τὸν Ἕκτορα [T, Σαρπηδόνα b et Erbse] κρίνων σὺν τῇ Ἰλίῳ ἀπολεῖσθαι. πόθεν δὲ δῆλον, εἰ μετὰ θάνατον Ἀχιλλέως γεγόνασι τροπαί; τό τε Ἀθηναίης, ἐπεὶ σὺν Ἐπειῷ τὸν ἵππον ἐποίησε. πρὸς δὲ τούτοις παραμυθεῖται τὸν ἀκροατήν, τὴν ἅλωσιν Τροίας σκιαγραφῶν αὐτῷ· τίς γὰρ ἂν ἠνέσχετο ἐμπιπραμένων τῶν Ἑλληνικῶν νεῶν καὶ Αἴαντος φεύγοντος, εἰ μὴ ἀπέκειτο ταῖς ψυχαῖς τῶν ἐντυγχανόντων ὅτι οἱ ταῦτα πράξαντες κρατηθήσονται;

Sch. Il. 15.56b 22 lines are athetised as superfluous and because they necessarily displease Hera and because it is not true that the Trojans raid the ships of Achilles. And if Zeus has decided that Sarpedon should fall, why does he mourn? And the counterattack is not accurately portrayed: from the moment that Achilles turns to the battle, the Greeks do not turn back. And it is written ‘through the thinking of Athena’: why not ‘of Hera’, who is after all present. The device is a proanakephalaiosis [proleptic summary]; similarly Odysseus gives Telemachus a prolepsis of the killing of the suitors, which is nevertheless narrated immediately afterwards by means of a scenic presentation [sc. as opposed to Odysseus’ narrative presentation]. Even if the speech is not joyful for Hera at the moment, it does create joy. ‘Falling into the ships’ should be understood as begging Achilles, as when we say ‘one falls in your hands’. He [Zeus] lamented Hector, ruling that he [ Hector] would perish together with Troy. Where can we then detect the turning point of the war after Achilles’ death? By the mention of the deliberations of Athene, who built the wooden horse with Epeios. In addition, he [sc. Homer] comforts the reader by sketching for him the sack of Troy. For who could have borne it, with the Greek ships being burnt and Ajax fleeing, unless the fact would have been kept in store for the readers’ souls that the people who had done it [sc. the Trojans] will be defeated. (transl. partially Nünlist 2009, 37)

As with the other bT-scholia on the atheteses, the author of this scholion47 first provides reasons which support the atheteses. Here he draws not just on the known Aristonicus and Didymus but has other sources at his disposal. Subsequently the atheteses are refuted. Here too we may assume that there existed a philological tradition which he 47 On this scholion cp. Hiller 1869, 102–4; Erbse, 1953, 3; Nannini 1986, 38; Lührs 1992, 129–31; Nünlist 2009, 37–8.

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draws on.48 It appears as if the author is presenting the transmitted counterarguments and adopts them until he arrives at his own argument: the encouragement of the listeners through the disputed verses. In another scholion the author proceeds in a similar manner; at the end appears the poet’s concern about the listener: (118)

καὶ ἡ πρόληψις δὲ σχῆμα ποιητικόν· προσεκτικὸν δὲ ταῦτα τὸν ἀκροατὴν καὶ περιπαθέστερον ἀπεργάζεται.

Sch. Il. 15.610–4b1 And a prolepsis is a poetic device. It renders the reader attentive and emotionally more engaged. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 37)

This is valid in a similar way for two other scholia: (119)

ἀνακεφαλαίωσις αὕτη. κακῶς οὖν ἀθετεῖ Ἀρίσταρχος·πῶς γὰρ οὐκ ἄτοπον τὰ μὲν περὶ τοῦ γάμου παλαιά τε ὄντα καὶ πᾶσι δῆλα λέγειν, σιωπᾶν δὲ δι’ ὃ ἦλθεν;

Sch. Il. 18.444–56b This [is] a summary. And Aristarchus, therefore, athetises it with no reason. For how is it not absurd [for Thetis] to say the things about the marriage, which are old and known to all, but to pass over in silence why she has come? (transl. Nünlist 2009, 46)

(120)

ῥητορικὸς ὢν ὁ ποιητὴς καὶ τρόπον ἀνακεφαλαιώσεως βουλόμενος διδάξαι ἡμᾶς ταὐτὰ πάλιν ἐξ ἀρχῆς διηγεῖται.

Sch. Il. 1.366a A rhethorical master, the poet aims to teach us the rhetorical device of the recapitulation and tells us the same story from the beginning.49

Sch. Il. 12.179–80 (see schol. [19]) probably also belongs to the refutation of the atheteses on 12. Not all of the approximately 40 refutations of the atheteses that appear in the scholia can be congruent. But their main—and common—thrust is ultimately against Aristarchus. As already suggested by Hiller 1869,50 I want to attribute them to one author.51 They often share the following 48 49 50 51

Seleucus is quoted in Sch. Il. 24.476 On ἀνακεφαλαίωσις see Nünlist 2009, 45 n. 75 and 76. He proposes to identify him as Pius (Hiller 1869, 94ff.). Lührs opposes Hiller (1992, 268ff., esp. 269, n. 376, where I am unjustly used to provide King’s evidence; cf. Schmidt 1976, 20). He wants to distinguish the content of four commentaries which refer back to Aristarchus’ atheteses. This is

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two characteristics: first the interdependence between justification and contestation of the atheteses,52 second the argumentation is continued in the subsequent scholia which treat the athetised verses.53 The latter can only be explained by the fact that both originate from one commentary: the collected refutation of the atheseses in one scholion, and the scholia on the single verses. Another question remains whether this author is Pius. This is improbable on the basis of the manner of citation in the scholia.54 But the issue of the author’s identity has to be separate from the unity of these scholia.55 Beyond this, the refutations of the atheteses also reveal a lively and polemic author, who describes the Aristarchean position as ‘ridiculous’ (γελοιότατον: Sch. Il. 12.175) or as held by somebody ‘cuckoo’ (ἐμβρόντητοι: Sch. Il. 24.6–9b).

6.2. Everyday Life In these scholia the poet is repeatedly praised for the life-like nature of his depictions. For instance, the author describes him as μιμούμενος τὴν ἀλήθειαν in scholion (45), or, in scholion (55) he creates a genre-scene that aims to engender empathy for the protagonist. It thus appears likely that a larger group of scholia which focus on Homer’s realism belong to this author. Reference to the scholia on the encounter between Hector, Andromache and the young Astyanax presents a paradigmatic case: Sch. Il. 6.401; 6.405; 6.450–54b; 6.467; 6.474.

52

53

54

55

much too pedantic since we cannot expect of the other atheteses to be free of any contradictions In contrast to Hiller 1869, 96, Lührs 1992, 269 n. 376, disputes this conclusion which is based on the interdependency of the scholia: According to him only three reports in the scholia (Sch. Il. 1.366, 15.56b und 18.444–56b) can ‘go back to the same author’ (Lührs 1992, 131). Thus the argument against the atheteses from Sch. Il. 15.56b is continued in the scholia on Il. 15.56–77: in Sch. Il. 15.56c, 58, 63, 64c, 69–70a, 70, 71c, 73 and 77b. Similarly, the argument against Aristarchus’s atheteses of the verses Il. 12.175–81 which is found in its main parts in Sch. Il. 12.175–81b is continued in the scholia 177–78a, 177–78b, 179–80 (?) and 181. The account of the counterarguments to the atheteses begins in Sch. Il. 12.175– 81b with the sentence: Πῖος ἀπολογούμενος πρὸς τὰς ἀθετήσεις Ἀριστάρχου ταῦτά φησιν ὅτι … . This does not support the argument that the compilation of the reasons for the atheteses in Sch. 12.175–81a is also from Pius. But the two scholia are from the same author who, as in other sections, also quotes a commentary by Pius. On this point also Hiller’s argument is more convincing than both the DNP and the LGGA (s.v. Pius) assert with reference to Lührs.

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(121) (The young Astyanax is frightened by his father’s helmet) ταῦτα δὲ τὰ ἔπη οὕτως ἐστὶν ἐναργείας μεστά, ὅτι οὐ μόνον ἀκούεται τὰ πράγματα, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὁρᾶται. λαβὼν δὲ τοῦτο ἐκ τοῦ βίου ὁ ποιητὴς ἄκρως περιεγένετο τῇ μιμήσει. Sch. Il. 6.467 These lines are so full of graphic quality that the events are not only heard [i.e. read] but also seen. Taking this from life, the poet succeeded brilliantly with his representation. (transl. Nünlist 2009, 153 and 190) (122) (Hector removes his helmet, kisses his son and takes him in his arms) ἄκρως δὲ περιεγένετο τῇ μιμήσει οὐδέν τι λυπήσας τὴν ἡρωϊκὴν σεμνότητα. Sch. Il. 6.474 The poet succeeded brilliantly with the representation and does in no way diminish heroic dignity.

‘It is remarkable that several of these notes involve divine characters.’56

6.3. Didactic Explanations57 Many scholia contain a reference to the poet’s didactic or pedagogical intentions.58 These are at times closely linked to those which are compiled in chapter one and two. (123)

Ἕλλην ὢν καὶ ἀγαθὰ φρονῶν τῆς εἰς θεοὺς ἐλπίδος οὐδέποτε ἀφίσταται. παιδευτικοὶ δὲ οἱ λόγοι.

Sch. Il. 8.242a1 As a Greek and with good thoughts, he [sc. Agamemnon] never abandons his faith in the gods. The words are didactic.

Cf. sch. (119). (124)

τὸ φιλόστοργον αὐτοῦ ἐνδείκνυται· οὐ γὰρ ὑπὲρ ἑαυτοῦ, ἀλλ’ ὑπὲρ τῶν ἑταίρων δέδοικε. παιδευτικὸς δὲ ὁ λόγος.

Sch. Il.12.334a

56 Nünlist 2009, 190 n. 18. 57 I adopt this terminology from Lührs 1992, 58, who rightly criticizes my category ‘moralische Auslegung’ (Schmidt 1976, 57f.). 58 Cf. Dittenberger 1905, 466f.; von Franz 1940, 110–17.

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He portrays the affection [sc. of Menestheus towards his people]. For he does not fear for himself but for his comrades. Thus the words are didactic.

7. The Scholiast or ‘what’s the point’? In my opinion, most of these scholia and hundreds more, stem from the same author, namely our scholiast. But certainly not all. Only rarely is there definite proof that two or more scholia belong to the same author—as where he references himself (e.g. in sch. [4]), or when the wording of two scholia is almost identical (e.g. in sch. [9] and [10] or in sch. [30] and [31]). Is all this just a philological game? Of course, it is also a game. But ideally this exploration also might produce some insight. If the different aspects of the ancient Homeric scholarship can be successfully attributed to one and the same individual, then we will be closer to the readers or listeners of Homer in late antiquity. We could then understand what was, after all, still so interesting about this poem, which was already 1000 years old at the time. The search for concrete details about the scholiast’s person is bound to fail. However, his texts allow us, at least, to produce an abstract, but instructive portrait of him: He is an early narratologist who is highly familiar with Homeric scholarship. He is still engaged with Aristarchus. He is a pious man believing in the just order of a monarchy, even if he loves freedom of speech.59 To him, to be Greek is a measure of morality; this delimits his animosity towards barbarians. Most likely he lived in the 3rd or 4th century AD, maybe in Rome or Athens; there is nothing to suggest Egypt—his commentary has left no trace in the scholia on papyri that are found in Egypt so far.

59 Sch. Il. 12.215a: τὰ δὲ Ἑλληνικὰ πλησίον δημοκρατίας, καὶ παρρησία πολλὴ τοῖς ἡγεμόσι (‘Greek circumstances are close to democracy and there is much freedom of speech for the leaders’).

Homeric Commentaries on Papyrus: A Survey John Lundon If the numerous and sometimes extensive fragments of secondary literature unearthed over the last few centuries are anything to go by, readers of Homer in the capitals, towns and villages of Graeco-Roman Egypt were well provided with books for the understanding and appreciation of the poet. Such texts, often referred to as Homerica, can be distinguished into several types.1 There are sequential glossaries (scholia minora) and alphabetical lexica, continuous paraphrases and book summaries (hypotheseis), commentaries (hypomnemata), both general and mythographic (Mythographus Homericus), as well as learned monographic treatises (syngrammata). Certain combinations are also attested, such as book summaries and glossaries,2 and of course not everything that has been found can be conveniently squeezed into one of these categories.3 Within the general types, moreover, there is a degree of variation.4 In what follows, I shall be concerned with one of these types: the independent commentary.5 After a discussion of some general questions

1 2

3

4

5

Papyrological abbreviations and sigla are in accordance with Oates / Bagnall / Clackson / O’Brien / Sosin / Wilfong / Worp 2008. Cf. Montanari 1984, 125–38 and 1988, 337–44. Scholia minora with hypotheseis: P.Achm. 2, P.Oxy. XLIV 3159, P.Oxy. XLIV 3160 + P.Strasb. inv. Gr. 1401, P.Oxy. LVI 3833. Whether the summary of Iliad 1 in P.Oxy. LXXI 4817 was followed by a glossary cannot be determined. Several of the texts discussed by van Rossum-Steenbeek 1997, 991–95 (P.Strasb. inv. Gr. 2374, P.Hamb. II 136, P.Jena inv. 659r, P.Bryn Mawr 2 and P.Mich. inv. 4832c) present problems of classification, due, however, at least in part to their fragmentary state of preservation. The class of scholia minora ranges from full-scale glossaries to one or more books of the poems (e.g. P.Amh. II 18; P.Aphrod.Lit. II = Fournet 1999, vol. 1, 87– 173; P.Köln inv. 2281 = Henrichs 1971, 229–52; P.Mich. inv. 2720 = Schwendner 1988, 31–98) to list of words from a particular passage such as some of the school texts catalogued by Cribiore 199–1988, I, 253–258 (Nos. 323–343). In addition to fragments of independent commentaries, Erbse also included in his edition of the scholia to the Iliad the marginal annotations found in the fol-

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and especially problems of identification, I go on to consider a few of the most significant fragments in slightly more detail.6 Since the bulk of the critical and exegetical scholia transmitted in the margins of the medieval manuscripts ultimately derives from such commentaries, these are apt, even in their incomplete state, to shed considerable light on the origins and development of the scholarly tradition.7 The fragments of commentaries on Homer span six centuries, ranging from the third century BC to the third or fourth century AD, or, in historico-political terms, from the early Ptolemaic age (305–30 BC) to the threshold of the Byzantine period (AD 284–641). There is an expected peak in the prosperous and literate second century AD.8 As far as their provenance is concerned, the metropolis Oxyrhynchus comes off best.9 That is of course in part a matter of chance, but it is nonetheless strongly suggestive of a community of scholars in residence there with close ties to the Museum in Alexandria.10 When the fragments of uncertain attribution are left out of account, actual commentaries on Homer, though well represented, turn out to be

6 7

8 9 10

lowing papyri: P.Hawara (= Pap. I: Erbse 1969–1988, I, XXXIV–XXXV and 163), P.Oxy. III 445 (= Pap. IV: Erbse 1969–1988, I, XXXVII–XXXVIII and 1969–1988, II, 123), P.Köln I 34 (= Pap. VIIIa: Erbse 1969–1988, III, 555– 556), P.Oxy. IV 685 (= Pap. XI: Erbse 1969–1988, I, XLI and 1969–1988, IV, 326) and P.Lond.Lit. 27 (= Pap. XIII: Erbse 1969–1988, I, XLII–XLIII and 1969–1988, V, 363–364). The marginalia in these and other Homeric papyri are now conveniently collected in McNamee 2007, 269–86. Though perhaps originally drawn from commentaries, these annotations and those in other Homeric papyri do not constitute hypomnemata in the strict sense and will therefore not be dealt with here. On the two classes of material, see van Thiel 1989, 9–26, in part. 9–10 and 24–6, who sees in them the sources of distinct components of the scholia in the Iliad manuscripts A and T. For an earlier survey and study of the technical terminology of commentaries on the Iliad, cf. Lamedica Nardi 1977. The following publications attest a recent awakening of interest in commentaries both ancient and modern: Most 1999, Goulet‒Cazé 2000 (cf. esp. the contribution by Dorandi), Gibson‒Kraus 2002, Andorlini 2003, Papathomas 2003, Avezzù‒Scattolin 2006. Cf. also the earlier discussions of the specifically papyrological material by Del Fabbro 1979 and Turner 1962 and 1980, 97–126. Maehler 1994 deals with the relation of the scholia in the medieval manuscripts to ancient commentaries and marginal annotations. For the chronological distribution of Homeric commentaries on papyrus, see Chart 1 in the Appendix. For the provenance of Homeric commentaries on papyrus, see Chart 3 in the Appendix. Cf. Turner 1952, 91–3 and 1956, 142–3; Bowman 2007, 177–9; Parsons 2007, 264; Obbink 2007, 273, 279–80; Epp 2007, 324–5.

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fewer than the comprehensive lists might at first suggest.11 Twenty-one have been published to date.12 Predictably commentaries on the Iliad outnumber those on the Odyssey,13 fourteen of the former, seven of the latter having seen the light. Nonetheless, commentaries on the Odyssey are all but lacking in importance. P.Oxy. LIII 3710, for example, bears a substantial piece of a learned hypomnema on book twenty, and P.Lille inv. 83+134+93b+93a+114t+114o+87, assigned to the third century BC and thus probably the earliest commentary on Homer preserved, also relates to the Odyssey. Thirteen or fourteen books of the Iliad and eight or nine of the Odyssey are covered in stretches by the surviving commentaries, book 4 of the Iliad by two: P.Daris inv. 118 (= Erbse Pap. IIa) and P.Ryl. I 24 (= Erbse Pap. III).14 Incomplete state of preservation makes it at times extremely difficult, occasionally even impossible, to determine whether a given fragment, or group of fragments, should be assigned to a commentary on Homer or not.15 Sometimes pieces have been considered Homer commentaries on the flimsiest of grounds and in the teeth of evidence to the contrary. A Berlin papyrus, for example, published as P.Turner 12, was assigned by its first editor to this class on the mere basis of a marginal sign presumed to stand for πο(ιητής), or ὁ π(οιητής), that is the poet κατ’ ἐξοχήν, Homer.16 This attribution was convincingly challenged by Franco Montanari in a note published shortly after the appearance of the first edition.17 As Montanari pointed out, the sign for the poet as speaker occurs

11 Lists: Del Fabbro 1979, 129; Erbse 1969–1988, I, XXXIV–XLIV; and Lundon 2001, 827 n. 5, from which Messeri Savorelli‒Pintaudi 2002, 39 n. 1 derives. Cf. also West 2001, 129–36. 12 See the Table of Homeric commentaries in the Appendix. This figure includes only published papyri which can be identified with certainty or near certainty as deriving from commentaries on Homer. Papyri probably coming from the same commentary (P.Oxy. LXV 4451 and VIII 1086, PSI XV 1464 and P.Oxy. LXXI 4821) count as one. 13 For the relative number and chronological distribution of Iliad and Odyssey commentaries see Chart 2 in the Appendix. 14 Books 1, 2, 3/6, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 11, 14, 17, 19, 21 of the Iliad; books 3, 4/17, 11, 12, 15, 16, 17, 20, 21 of the Odyssey. 15 This is, however, not always the case: P.Oxy. XXIV 2397 (= Erbse Pap. X), though fragmentary to the point of contributing almost nothing, seems clearly recognizable as a commentary on Iliad 17. 16 The sign is placed opposite l. 20 of col. II. 17 Montanari 1983, 21–4.

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in the margins of Homeric papyri.18 In commentaries and other works on Homer, on the contrary, it is found within the explanations.19 Moreover, the sign may not be a speaker indication at all, but a stichometrical letter recording the number of lines copied to that point.20 At other times the reasons are slightly stronger, but certain identification still far out of reach. The first editor of a thin strip of papyrus now in Aberdeen (P.Aberd. 119) discerned the names of Odysseus in line 4 and Athena in line 7 and suggested it might be ‘part of a commentary on the Homeric poems’.21 The blank spaces of one line between lines 1 and 2 and of two lines between lines 10 and 11 perhaps also support the idea. These suggest that the text was articulated, and textual articulation is a feature characteristic of commentaries.22 Again, in one of the Egypt Exploration Society’s leftovers from the Fayum published by Revel Coles and known as P.Fay.Coles 2,23 possible references to an Aristarchus in two places (col. II 21 and 31), a διόρθωσις in two others (col. II 27 and 34)24 and Odysseus’ visit to the underworld (col. II 38–41) in yet another, allowed a strong case to be

18 Spooner 2002, 171–178 (Appendix 3: ‘Homeric Papyri with Speaker Indications’), lists eleven papyri containing such speaker names in their margins. A thorough study of the subject has recently been made by Azzarello 2008. 19 Cf. e.g. P.Daris inv. 118 III 18 (commentary on Il. 4) and P.Oxy. XLIV 3206 (Homeric Lexicon). See further Del Fabbro 1979, 90 and Turner‒Parsons 1987, No. 73. 20 On stichometry in general, see Ohly 1928 and Turner‒Parsons 1987, 16 with n. 93. On stichometrical letters in Homeric papyri, of which however P.Turner 12 is clearly not one, see now Azzarello 2007, esp. 109–11. 21 Cf. Winstedt 1907, 261. In the introduction to P.Aberd. 119 Turner prudently leaves the question of identification open. 22 Normally, however, the spaces are left within and not between the lines. There is also a blank space after the last line (l. 15), but this may belong to the original lower margin. What at first sight resembles a dicolon in line 8 is probably a damaged iota and is so transcribed by Turner. Dicola are, however, sometimes used in commentaries as separators; cf. e.g. P.Oxy. VI 856 (= Turner‒Parsons 1987, No. 73) and XXV 2429. 23 Coles 1970, 248–51, with photographic reproduction in Plate XII a. 24 Cf. LSJ s.v. III: ‘recension, revised edition of a work’. The term is sometimes applied to Aristarchus’ text of Homer in the scholia (cf. A on Il. 2.865 [Did.] and 17.214a [Nic.]) and figures in the title of a work by Didymus referred to in the subscriptions to the books of the Iliad in the Venetus A manuscript (τὰ Διδύμου Περὶ τῆς Ἀρισταρχείου διορθώσεως). For an attempt to determine the exact meaning of the word in connection with Aristarchean scholarship, see Erbse 1959, esp. 286–9.

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made for a commentary on Homer25. But, as the editor did not fail to observe, the Aristarchus referred to might just as well be the astronomer from Samos and not the renowned Alexandrian scholar from Samothrace.26 Curiously enough, Aristarchus of Samos, the astronomer, does in fact turn up in a hypomnema on the twentieth book of the Odyssey as one of the authorities quoted in an ‘astronomical disquisition’,27 so not even his name here would suffice to rule out the possibility of a commentary. In the scanty remains of these three papyri (P.Turner 12, P.Aberd. 119 and P.Fay.Coles 2), no Homeric forms occurred for certain. But even when words and phrases are quoted from Homer, the exact nature of the work from which the fragments derive is not always immediately clear. In particular, there is sometimes no way of telling fragments of commentaries (hypomnemata) and fragments of treatises (syngrammata) apart, since both classes share important features, and the differences between them are easily obscured by damage. Does a piece belonging to the collection of the Catholic University in Milan (P.Med. inv. 71.82), for example, come from a commentary on Homer or a treatise on Mount Olympus?28 Quotation of a series of epithets applied in the Iliad to Mount Olympus, together with technical terms of exegesis, blank spaces and paragraphoi, would admit one or the other alternative.29 The apparent absence of lemmata proper, however, 25 Further clues might include ἀκού̣ω̣ν meaning ‘take a word in a particular sense’, ‘interpret’ (col. II 31), an (articulating?) blank space of one letter (col. II 36) and a paragraphos under l. 31. For ἀκούω in the meaning of ‘interpret, take, understand in a given sense’ in another commentary on Homer, cf. ἀκουστέον in PSI XV 1464.21 and ἤκου|[σεν or ἤκου|[εν in P.Oxy. LXXI 4821.13–4 with n. ad loc. 26 Alexander Jones informs me per litteras, however, that he is unaware of any special astronomical or mathematical use of the term diorthosis. 27 Cf. P.Oxy. LIII 3710 ii 37 (Ἀρίσταρχος ὁ Σάμ[ι]ος). 28 First edition: Daris 1972, 89–90 (No. 7). Cf. also Funghi 1983. 29 The epithets cited in the papyrus are [αἰγλή]|İȞIJҕα (ll. 17–8; cf. Il. 1.532, 13.243, Od. 20.103: αἰγλήεντος Ὀλύμπου) or [νιφό]εντα (proposed by Funghi 1983, 16 n. 12; cf. Il. 18.616: Οὐλύμου νιφόεντος), [ἀγάννι]|φον (ll. 18–9; cf. Il. 1.420, 18.186: Ὄλυμπον ἀγάννιφον), πολυ[δειράδα] (l. 19; cf. Il. ҕ τυχον (ll. 19–20; 1.499, 5.754, 8.3: πολυδειράδος Οὐλύμποιο) and [πο]|Ȝҕ઄π cf. Il. 8.411, 20.5: πολυπτύχου Οὐλύμποιο and Οὐλύμποιο πολυπτύχου respectively). Although these are all variously incomplete, they can be restored with some degree of confidence on the basis of the context, which includes the words Ὄλυμπος (ll. 4, 18, 21) and Ὅμηρος (l. 15). Moreover, one of the epiҕ τυχον, is lacking only its first two letters and may to all intents thets, [πο]|Ȝҕ઄π and purposes be regarded as certain. Possible technical terms of ancient exegesis are ੖ҕ[τι (l. 3; cf. Funghi 1983, 16 n. 10), τασσόμ[ενα ἐπίθετα (l. 6; cf. Funghi

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and the monographic character of the subject matter30 would seem to tip the balance in favour of a treatise. The Milan papyrus seems to preserve no actual lemmata: no words, phrases and verses drawn from the work commented on and keying the commentary to a separate copy of the text. But the survival of a lemma is in itself no sure sign of a commentary, either. Take an early Hamburg papyrus (P.Hamb. II 136), dated palaeographically to the first half of the third century BC and labelled by its first editor a ‘Hypomnema zu Homer’ (with a question mark). Here verses 101–9 from the second book of the Iliad, on Agamemnon’s sceptre, are followed by a discussion in prose containing a verse quotation.31 Whether this fragment was part of a commentary or a treatise or some other kind of work, such as an anthology, cannot easily be determined.32 Again, when the lemma occurs more than once in the Homeric poems, as in P.Berol. 9960 (Il. 3.59 = 6.333), it is impossible to tell which of the books may have been the subject of the commentary or discussion.33

30

31

32 33

1983, 16 n. 12), εἰδικ̣[ῶς (l. 10; cfr. Funghi 1983, 16 n. 12), ἐπιθε̣[τ- (l. 16; cfr. Funghi 1983, 16 n. 12), ποήσεως (l. 22; cf. ll. 5–6: [ποή]|σεως), [σ]υνέμφασιν (l. 26), [ἀ]|[π]οδεικτικῶ[ς] (ll. 28–29). Paragraphoi survive under ll. 3, 17 and 26. These are accompanied by blanks in ll. 3 and 26. The paragraphos in l. 26 and the blanks were first noticed by Funghi 1983, 16. P.Brux. Inv. E. 7162 also perhaps preserves part of a treatise on Mount Olympus; cf. Funghi 1983 and Montanari 2001a. The question whether Ὄλυμπος is the same as οὐρανός is already discussed in col. XII of the Derveni papyrus; cf. Schironi 2001, who mentions the Milan and Brussels pieces in n. 8 (p. 11) and n. 29 (p. 14). Though the two papyri are later, it cannot be ruled out that they derive from now lost ancient sources. P.Hamb. II 136.10–20 (cf. Nachtergael 1971, 344–9): [± 12]εστιν ὁ̣ρ̣ᾶν τὸμ β̣α̣ [σιλέα? | [± 11 π]ροτεταγμένον ἐ̣ [στίν? | [± 12]ε̣ ι̣ τούτοις εὑρίσκ̣ομε̣ [ν | [± 10 Ὀδ]υσῆα̣ ἐπ`ε´ὶ οὐκ Ὀ̣δυσσε̣[ὺς | [± 12]νος σύ̣γ̣κληιγ καλ[ |15 [± 11 μ]ε̣ ν αὐ̣[τ]ὸ̣ κατὰ τὴν Ὀ̣δ̣ [ύσσειαν? | [± 12]δ̣ ιαφοραν δ̣᾽ ἔ̣ σχεν α[ | [± 12] τ̣ο̣υ̣τ̣ο̣νητονζω[ | [± 12]μ̣ε̣ ν̣ η̣ ҕ ҕ ҕνεμπ̣[ | [± 12]υ̣παρα̣[ | [± 15] ҕ[. Further supplements hitherto proposed: 12 εὑρισκ̣ομέ̣ [νη (Nachtergael), 14 εἰς τὴν Ἀγαμέμνο]νος σύ̣γ̣κληιγ καλ[εῖ (ed.pr.), 15 κατὰ τὴν Ὀ̣ δ̣[υσσέως γνώμην (Nachtergael). In l. 16 ]δ̣ιαφοραν should be articulated and accented ] δ̣ιαφορὰν. Cf. West 1967, 38–9; Erbse 1969, XLIII–XLIV; Nachtergael 1971, 344–51; Van Rossum-Steenbeek 1997, 993–4. Cf. also P.Trier S 108–34 (a+b) (Il. 1.606 / 5.120 / 8.485). Even where more than one lemma survives, the same problem can arise. Although P.Yale II 128 preserves parts of two lemmata, it is not clear whether they come from Od. 4.336 and 343 or 17.127 and 134, since the two verses belong to the first eighteen lines of a speech by Menelaus to Telemachus at Od. 4.333–592 (333– 50), repeated verbatim by Telemachus to Penelope at 17.124–141.

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Where two or more lemmata survive, however, we are on firmer ground and it is normally possible to assign a fragment to one or the other class with a certain degree of confidence, though strictness of definition will also come into play in such cases. An Oxyrhynchus papyrus published a few years ago (P.Oxy. LXV 4453) well illustrates the point. Of the three, or four, fragments composing the papyrus,34 fr. 1 discusses lines from the first book of the Odyssey, frr. 2 and 3 lines from the fourth.35 Such a distance between the passages selected for analysis, in conjunction with the fact that the problem discussed appears to be the same or similar in each instance,36 points more towards a treatise than a commentary in the standard sense, as the editor of the text is only too well aware.37 Deviation of the order of the lemmata from the sequence of the Homeric text too can provide a decisive clue in the same direction. This is one of the reasons why P.Med. inv. 210 should probably not be considered a commentary.38 In the first column, verse 387 from book 11 of the Odyssey is quoted in lines 2–3, verse 390 in lines 4–6 and verse 392 in lines 6–8, but then, in lines 10–12, the author sprang back to verses 90–91 apparently to begin a new section. Another Milan papyrus (P.Mil.Vogl. I 19 = Erbse Pap. IX) preserves only the subscriptio of a 34 Fr. 4 appears to be written in a different hand; cf. P.Oxy. LXV 4453 ad loc. (p. 53). 35 P.Oxy. LXV 4453 fr. 1: Od. 1.103, 104, ~106–107, 113–114; fr. 2: Od. 4.625; fr. 3: Od. 4.670–672. 36 Cf. fr. 1.1 ff. n.: ‘What appears to be at issue is the topography, or more precisely the relation between the characters’ whereabouts and the components of Odysseus’ house’. 37 Cf. P.Oxy. LXV 4453 Introd., 45 and Montanari 2001a, 973 n. 8. To judge from subject-matter, scope and arrangement of the topics discussed, P.Nic. inv. 72, P.Oxy. XXXIX 2888 and P.Mich. XVIII 760, though apparently containing no actual lemmata, may also be fragments of treatises on specific aspects of the Homeric poems. Luppe 2002 draws attention to a certain affinity between the last two and suggests (52) that they might come from different copies of the same work on the wanderings of Odysseus. The first he defines a ‘geographische Abhandlung über die Umgebung von Troja’ (Luppe 2000, 238), whereas Trachsel‒Schubert 1999, 236–37 had referred it, in their reedition of the papyrus, to the Mythographus Homericus. 38 First edition: Strassi 1978; republished by Bastianini and Funghi as CPF I.1 30 (Chrysippus) 5T. Doubt as to Strassi’s identification was expressed early on by Apthorp 1981, 2 n. 6. In his survey of Odyssey commentaries in the introduction to P.Oxy. LIII 3710 (p. 91), Haslam suggests that the fragment might come from a discussion of the soul and proposes reading Χρύ]|σ[ι]ππος λέ[γει at II 12. P.Brux. inv. E. 7162 is also of interest as regards the sequence of the Homeric verses cited; cf. Funghi 1983 and Montanari 2001b.

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work by Apollodorus of Athens on Iliad 14, but the title ζητήματα γραμματικά better suits a treatise than a commentary.39 Finally, there is a Michigan Papyrus (P.Mich. inv. 3688 = Erbse Pap. XIV), first published by Henrichs in 1969, that is worthy of note in connection with problems of identification. Here it was uncertain whether the piece preserved part of a commentary on Homer, in which Callimachus was cited, or part of a commentary on Callimachus plain and simple.40 While the name of Callimachus is twice mentioned in the papyrus and verses from Aetia I are paraphrased and quoted,41 most of the explanations given of the word under discussion, ἀμιχθαλόεσσαν, seemed at first to fit the Iliadic context of an island (Il. 24.753) better than the Callimachean one of the air (fr. 18.8 Pf.).42 Moreover, the Homeric scholia cite none other than Callimachus in a note on the meanings of the word.43 The question, however, has since been decided in favour of a commentary on Callimachus, and a revised edition of the papyrus has appeared as Supplementum Hellenisticum 251.44 Turning now to Homer commentaries proper, the category reveals itself to some extent a mixed bag, its members exhibiting at times considerable differences. While many are penned in more or less rapid 39 The text as reconstructed in the first edition runs as follows: Ἀπολλοδώρ̣[ου] | Ἀθηναίου | γ̣ραμματικ[οῦ] | Ζητήματ[α] | γ̣ρ̣αμμ̣ατικ̣[ὰ] | [ε]ἰ̣ ς τ[ὴν] ξ¶ | τῆς Ἰ[λ]ιάδ[ος] | σωσυου. The last word of the subscription may stand for Σωσίου and be the name of one of the booksellers alluded to by Horace at Epistles 1.20.2 and 2.3.345 (Ars poetica); cf. Bickerman 1944, 340–41 with n. 8, Turner 1968, 51 and Erbse 1969–1988, III, 558, who had earlier (1969–1988, I, XL) suggested that it might refer to the scribe or owner of the work. For the possibility that Σωσυου is the name of the scribe or owner, cf. also P.Mil.Vogl. 19 ad loc. 40 Cf. Henrichs 1969, 24: ‘Ob der Text des Michigan-Papyrus ein Kommentar zu Il. 24.753 ist, in dem wie im Schol. AT Kallimachos zitiert wird, oder ob er ein regelrechter Kommentar zu Kallimachos ist, lässt sich nicht entscheiden’. 41 In ll. 9 (Καλλί]μαχος) and 29, Callimachus is mentioned; in ll. 1–4, fr. 18.6–8 Pf. paraphrased; and in ll. 13–16, fr. 17.8–10 quoted. 42 Il. 24.753: ἐς Σάμον ἔς τ’ Ἴμβρον καὶ Λῆμνον ἀμιχθαλόεσσαν; Call. fr. 18.8 Pf.: εἴ κεν ἀμιχθαλόεσσαν ἀπ’ ἠέρα νηὸς ἐλάσσῃς. Explanations: δυσπροσόρμισ[τον (3), δυσπ[ροσορμίστου (6), τὴν] μὴ προσβίβ[αστον, δυσβάτως (23), δυσπροσ[όρμιστος (24), δυσμιγὴς (25), but ὀμιχλ̣[ώδη (27). The word evidently under discussion itself occurs in ll. 9 (immediately after the mention of Callimachus: Καλλί]μαχος ἀμιχ[θαλόεσσαν), 22 (ἀμιχ]θαλόεσσα) and 26 (ἀμι[χθαλόεσσαν). 43 Sch. T on Il. 24.753a. For the employment of Callimachus as a parallel in the Homeric scholia, cf. Montanari 1979, 161–162 and n. 16. 44 Cf. Erbse 1969–1988, I, XLIII; 1969–1988, II, 547; 1969–1988, V, 509; and Lloyd-Jones‒Parsons 1983, 95–97.

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semicursives,45 more formal scripts also make an appearance. A couple of instances come immediately to mind. One is a papyrus now in Giessen (P.Iand. I 2 = P.Giss.Lit. 2.8 = Erbse Pap. VIII), which contains a fragment of a commentary on the eleventh book of the Iliad written in a medium-sized, upright, decorated, late first-century-BC bookhand akin to the so-called ‘epsilon-theta’ style.46 The other is the substantial piece of a commentary on the twentieth book of the Odyssey (P.Oxy. LIII 3710), copied in a second-to-third-century-AD libraria by the same professional scribe responsible for a number of other literary texts found at Oxyrhynchus (Scribe #A5).47 In both cases, the distribution of the text is appropriately generous, and it may be that these commentaries were meant to achieve a less provisional status.48 Completeness of coverage and depth of analysis likewise vary somewhat from commentary to commentary. At one end of the spectrum there are fairly systematic, though never exhaustive, treatments of the text under discussion.49 At the other, there are sets of notes on words, phrases or passages separated by a number, and sometimes a great number, of verses. PSI XV 1464,50 for instance, skips in one case from Odyssey 12.124 to 178, though there is plenty of material for comment in 45 P.Daris inv. 118 provides an example of a commentary on Homer traced in an especially rapid hand. 46 On this style of handwriting see Cavallo 1974 and 1991, 15–16, 29. The commentary continues on the verso in a much less formal hand. Perhaps the end of the roll had been reached and for some reason a person different from the original scribe wrote the remaining part of the work on the other side. Or perhaps the final section of the roll had broken off and the owner decided to copy the text of the detached part on the back of the main piece. Another Homer commentary continuing on the verso is P.Lille inv. 83+134+93b+93a+114t+ 114o+87 discussed below. Four damaged lines on the back of BKT # seem to contain an additional note to the commentary on Iliad 5 written on its front. 47 For the texts copied by this scribe cf. Turner 1956, 144, 146; Krüger 1990, 193; Funghi‒Messeri Savorelli 1992, 75–79; Johnson 2004, 20–21, 61; Parsons 2007, 265. 48 BKT #, P.Oxy. LXV 4452, PSI XV 1464, P.Oxy. LXXI 4821 and P.Fay. 312 (fully published in Haslam‒Montanari 1983) are also written in literary hands. On the formal characteristics of stable commentaries cf. Messeri‒Pintaudi 2002, 42–43. 49 Examples: P.Oxy. II 221 and VIII 1086. On the more or less exhaustive coverage of surviving (Homeric) commentaries cf. McNamee 1995, 400 n. 3 and 405 n. 15: ‘P.Oxy. VIII 1086 ... though detailed and learned, is not a full treatment of the text ...’. 50 In an article to appear in ZPE I attempt to show that P.Oxy. LXXI 4821 and PSI XV 1464 come from the same commentary and, on this basis, to reconstruct the latter.

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between. Examples of the same phenomenon could be multiplied. Sometimes, on the other hand, a lemma seems merely to serve as a convenient hook on which to hang an erudite disquisition of dubious relevance to the text in question. The phrase ἐπὶ μάρτυρος ἔστω in Iliad 7.76, for example, triggers a forty-one-line note in P.Oxy. VIII 1087 (= Erbse Pap. VI) on παρώνυμα, of which μάρτυρος was considered to be one.51 This is the sort of variance we should expect from the genre. Unlike literary texts, commentaries were typically exposed to continual modification in the course of their fluid transmission, with entries being added, removed and combined in accordance with the particular and momentary needs and interests of the compiler. The second-century fragment of the Florentine commentary on the Odyssey just mentioned (PSI XV 1464) seems, incidentally, to constitute early evidence for the process of reduction that resulted in the sparseness of the scholia on that poem as preserved in the medieval manuscripts52. More often than not, however, papyrus commentaries are fuller than the scholiastic corpora of the medieval manuscripts. P.Oxy. LXV 4452, for example, not only provides a good deal of information missing in the scholia, but also lemmatizes five verses unknown to the rest of the tradition (fr. 1.11–17), but said to be present in the Marseilles text (fr. 1.17–8: ἐν τῆι] Μασσαλ̣ι̣ω̣τ̣ι̣κῆι)53. As the first of my specimens I have chosen the earliest ‘commentary’ on Homer to survive: P.Lille inv. 83+134+93b+93a+114t+114o+87.54 It was extracted from the cartonnage of a mummy unearthed near ancient

51 P.Oxy. VIII 1087 i 21–ii 28 on Il. 7.76: ἐπὶ μάρτυρος ἔστω· | [τὸ ὅλον ἐπ]έστω. τὸ δὲ μάρτυρος παρώνυμον | [τῇ γ]ενικῇ τοῦ πρωτοτύπου συμ|[πέ]πτωκεν, ὡς τὸ Τροίζηνος, ἔνθεν | [Τρο]ιζήνοιο ... Cf. A.D. Fragm., G.G. II 3, 47.15ff. (Steph. Byz. 325.1ff. Meineke): καὶ Ἀπολλώνιος μὲν ἐν τοῖς παρωνύμοις φησίν· ‘ἀπὸ γενικῶν εὐθεῖαι παράγονται ...’ παρώνυμα are, in other words, second-declension nouns whose nominative was thought to derive from the genitive of a corresponding third-declension noun. According to Schironi 2004, 462–4, the fact that ὁ φύλακος, from φύλαξ, does not figure among the examples of παρώνυμα retailed in the papyrus entry might indicate the Aristarchean origin of the note. Not only is this inference, as Schironi admits, dangerously ex silentio, but it also stands in contrast with the overall character of the commentary, on which see P.Oxy. VIII 1087 Introd., 100. 52 Cf. Bartoletti 1966, 2 and Pontani 2005a, 135. 53 Of the five new verses, the first four words of the first and the last two words of the fifth are together identical with Il. 19.351. For further considerations on this commentary, cf. Montanari 2001b, 974–81. 54 Ed. pr.: Meillier 1985.

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Magdola, a village in the Fayûm.55 The commentary is assigned to the third century BC on the basis of the handwriting and the documents coming from the same cartonnage.56 Seven fragments in all from the end of a papyrus roll preserve parts of four columns of writing. The first three of these columns are traced on the recto along fibres, but the fourth and last is penned against the fibres on the other side. The first preserved entry is on Odyssey 16.148 and the last on 17.77–83. Between these two points the commentary proceeds sequentially.57 The lemmata, made to project to the left by around two letters’ width and in this way distinguished from the explanatory material,58 seem usually to have consisted of a single whole verse.59 One lemma, however, embraced two verses and another apparently a block of seven.60 There are also several cases where only a part of the verse or verses was or seems to have been lemmatized.61 The commentary itself offered anything but a systematic treatment of the Homeric text, sometimes leaving a number of verses undiscussed between entries.62 Moreover, to judge from what remains, it confined itself exclusively, or almost exclusively, to gloss and paraphrase.63 Yet two technical phrases typical of later scholarship do seem to make a 55 These fragments belong to the same lot of papyrus as those of the Lille commentary on Callimachus’ Victoria Berenices (Meillier 1985, 230). Like them, they come from the excavations conducted by Pierre Jouguet and Gustave Lefebvre in the vicinity of ancient Magdola in 1901–2 (Parsons 1977, 4) and were extracted from a mummy kept in the Institut de Papyrologie et d’Egyptologie de Lille by Anton Fackelmann in 1974 (Meillier 1985, 229). On the excavations, see Jouguet 1901 and Preisendanz 1933, 213–4. 56 For the date of the fragments, cf. Meillier 1985, 229. But Cavallo‒Maehler 2008 now assign the hand of the Callimachus commentary to the first half of the 2nd century BC. 57 Od. 5.211 turns up in Col. D 18, but, given the early date of the papyrus, it may be a plus-verse, as Montanari in Meillier 1985, 238 ad loc. suggests. 58 This device is known as ‘ecthesis’, on which see e.g. Turner‒Parsons 1987, 8. 59 Od. 16.148 (Col. A 1), 169 (A 13), 173 (A 17), 192 (A 24), 197 (A 28), 202 (A 32), 304 (B 2), 313 (B 4), 316 (B 6), 332 (B 8), 340 (B 10), 386 (C 1), 387 (C 3), 401 (C 7), 428 (C 11), 431 (C13), 433 (C 16), 468 (C 24), 471 (C 26), 473 (C 29), 17.53 (D 1). Owing to material loss, some of these are less than certain. 60 Od. 16.160–1 (Col. A 5–6) and 17.77–83 (Col. D 6–12). 61 Od. 16.171 (Col. A 16), 194–5 (A 26), 199 (A 30), 425 (C 9), 448 (C 18), 459 (C 22). 62 In Col. C, for example, the commentator jumps from a note on Od. 16.401 in ll. 7–8 to one on Od. 16.425 in ll. 9–10. 63 The notes may also occasionally have repeated forms from the Homeric text of the lemmata like πάντεσσι in Col. A 9 from Od. 16.161, lemmatized in A 6. Cf. Meillier 1985, 233 ad loc. and Pontani 2005a, 134.

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timid appearance. The first, an abbreviated ἀν(τὶ τοῦ), occurs at the end of a line in column B.64 This formula is regularly used in ancient exegesis to introduce an equivalent.65 The second phrase consists of the indefinite pronoun τινές, then presumably the elided form of the particle δέ and after that either the negation οὐ or the first two letters of the adverb oὕτω(ς). In either case, it appears likely that the opinions of anonymous scholars on a particular issue are here being reported and contrasted.66 But whether the issue was text-critical (an omission or a variant) or exegetical must remain uncertain.67 All in all, this commentary comes rather as a disappointment. In assessing it, however, two considerations should be borne in mind. On the one hand, paraphrase does imply an analysis of text and context. On the other, this particular work may represent just one of the types and levels current at the time. It is at least clear from other literary sources that more sophisticated interpretational procedures did exist and were applied in the elucidation of texts.68 64 The presumed compendium, consisting of the letters alpha and nu followed by a long curving abbreviation stroke, now stands in the left-hand margin of fr. 87r opposite ll. 18–9 of Col. C. 65 Cf. Meillier 1985, 236 ad loc. On this formula, see Turner 1976, 5 n. 9a, Slater 1989, 53–4, who distinguishes three kinds of ἀντὶ τοῦ, and Dickey 2007, 224 (referring to Slater). P.Oxy. VIII 1086 ii 52–53 on Il. 2.784 (ὣς ἄρα τῶν ὑπὸ ποσσὶ μέγα στεναχίζετο γαῖα), where it occurs three times in two lines, provides a good example of its use to introduce an interpretation (rather than a variant or what is unexpected): μέγα ἀντὶ τοῦ μεγάλως. στεναχίζετο ἀντὶ τοῦ ἔστενεν, τῶι παθητικῶι ἀντὶ τοῦ ἐνεργητικοῦ. 66 Meillier 1985 ad loc. mentions two supplements: τινὲς δ’ οὐ [γράφουσι and τινὲς δ’ οὕ[τω γράφουσι, the latter proposed by Turner. The first occurs in the context of textual criticism only once in Simplicius, In Aristotelis physicorum libros commentaria, CAG IX 589.33: τινὲς δ’ οὐ γράφουσιν ἔνια ἀλλὰ τὰ δὲ ἄνω καὶ κάτω. The second is unattested. However, the constituent terms of both are common enough in scholiastic literature, where τινές (and ἔνιοι) as the subject of such verbs as γράφουσι refer to scholars or a scholar the commentator can or will not name. 67 On the ambivalence of the verb γράφειν in the language of the scholiasts (variant or interpretation), see the salutary considerations of Slater 1989, 50–3. 68 The much earlier Derveni papyrus, which preserves a kind of commentary (cf. e.g. Funghi 1997, esp. 26–30; West 1997, esp. 81; and Parsons 2002, 55–6), applies allegory in the line-by-line interpretation of a cosmogonical Orphic poem. The works of Plato also contain many a passage of literary analysis. The situation may therefore have been slighty more complex than Haslam 1994, 44, suggests, when he speaks of a ‘direct line of development’ from the Lille to later (post-Aristarchean) commentaries, though there is certainly some truth in this view.

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My second example is a piece from Oxyrhynchus that has found its way into the Special Collections Division of the J. M. Olin Library of Washington University in St. Louis, Missouri (P.Wash.Univ. II 63 = Erbse Pap. VIIa). It bears parts of two columns of a hypomnema on the ninth book of the Iliad penned along the fibres on the recto of a papyrus roll. Lemmata survive from verses 133 (col. I 6), 141 (I 11–2) and 147 (II 6), certainly, and from verse 128 or 129 (I 1–2), possibly.69 To set these lemmata off from the explanations, the scribe has resorted to a system attested elsewhere: if the lemma begins on a fresh line, that line starts around two letters further to the left (is written ἐν ἐκθέσει); if, on the other hand, the lemma begins in mid line and runs over onto the following line, it is the following line that projects and a paragraphos is placed under that in which the lemma begins.70 Blank spaces may also have separated lemma from comment and comment from lemma, but none have survived from within the line71 and the apparent ones at the end of lines 5 (comment-lemma) and 12 (lemma-comment) in the first column are perhaps due to constraints of column width. At the end of col. I 6 (lemma-comment), at least, no blank was left. The first editor assigned the papyrus to the second century AD,72 but as Alfons Wouters was quick to point out, the hand in which the commentary is written, an unmistakable Ptolemaic semicursive, should be dated around three hundred years earlier, to the middle of the second century BC.73 To Wouters’ single parallel74 Michael Haslam later added 69 Whereas Haslam 1985, 98 ad loc., thinks he can detect in l. 1 letters from the beginning of verse 129 (Λεσβίδ]α̣ς ἃς [), Gronewald, in P.Wash.Univ. II 63, 6 ad loc., believes he can identify a sequence from the middle of verse 128 (γυναῖκ]α̣ς ἀμ̣[ύ]|[μονα). Wouters 1976, 272, who adopted the reading of the ed.pr. (] ҕα[ ҕ]), had already suggested that the first five lines of the papyrus contained a comment on 128 or 131. 70 The practice of the scribe can be inferred from col. II 5–6 and the reconstructed lengths of col. I 6 and 12, which suggest that these lines must have stood in ecthesis. Whether a paragraphos was also added when the lemma began on a fresh line, as supposed by Erbse 1988, 301 and the editor of P.Wash.Univ. II 63 at col. I 6, is uncertain. Examples of this system in other commentaries are P.Oxy. XXV 2429 and LIII 3710. On methods of distinguishing lemmata in commentaries, cf. Del Fabbro 1979, 87–9 and Fassino 1996. 71 Wouters 1976, 272, suggests that there may originally have been a small blank space between comment and lemma in col. I 11. 72 Cf. Packman 1973, 53. 73 Cf. Wouters 1976, 271, who draws attention in particular to presence of the imaginary upper line and the linking of eta to the right. In Wouters’ view (n. 3), ‘The copyist of this text commanded only the documentary style, but still tried to write his ὑπόμνημα in a literary hand’.

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a whole series, putting the date of the script beyond all reasonable doubt.75 This means, as Haslam has stressed, that the work ‘was probably written within the lifetime of Aristarchus himself’ (ca. 216–144 BC). Despite its early date, the commentary does in fact seem to reflect the celebrated Alexandrian scholar’s work. In the only entry that admits of reconstruction (I 6–11 on Il. 9.133), both the underlying grammatical doctrine (that the article in Homer is missing) and the terminology (νῦν in the technical sense of ‘here’, ‘in this context’) are distinctly Aristarchean in flavour.76 So is the procedure whereby paraphrase, introduced by formulaic expressions such as οὕτω λέγει, is used to clarify the point at issue.77 Close correspondence in thought, expression and structure with the Aristonicus scholium on this line in the Venetus A manuscript, which ultimately derives from Aristarchus, point unambiguously in the same direction.78 The commentary thus provides clear evidence for the existence of cultural ties between Oxyrhynchus and the Museum in Alexandria at an early stage. My next example likewise comes from Oxyrhynchus, but was written a hundred years later, around the middle of the first century BC. Until quite recently it was uncertain whether this large piece of a commentary on the second book of the Iliad first published by Arthur Hunt in 1911 (P.Oxy. VIII 1086 = Pap. II Erbse) belonged to a more ambi74 P.Lond. I 24r pp. 31–3 = UPZ I 2, reproduced in P.Lond. I Plate 18 and Seider 1967, Tafel 5 (No. 9). The papyrus is dated to 163 BC (l. 17). 75 Cf. Haslam 1985, 97, who also speaks of ‘smallish Ptolemaic hand ... which may in fact be dated with some confidence around the middle of the second century B.C.’. 76 On Aristarchus’ treatment of the article in Homer, see Friedländer 1853, 30 and Matthaios 1999, 436–3, in part. 437–8. 77 P.Wash.Univ. II 63, Col. I 6–11 on Il. 9.133 (text of ll. 7–10 restored by Gronewald): [μή ποτε τῆς] ε̣ ὐνῆς ἐπιβήμεναι· | [οὐκ ἄρθρου χ]ώραν ἔχει νῦν̣ τὸ | [τῆς πρὸ εὐνῆ]ς ἀλλ’ οὕτω λέγει· |8 [μήποτε τῆς τα]ύ̣ της τῆς προδε|[δηλωμένη]ς Βρισηίδος ἐπιβῆ|[ναι εὐνῆς. Correspondence between the Homeric text and the paraphrase in ll. 8–10: μή ποτε ~ μήποτε, ø ~ τῆς, τῆς ~ ταύτης τῆς προδεδηλωμένης Βρισηίδος, εὐνῆς ~ εὐνῆς, ἐπιβήμεναι ~ ἐπιβῆναι. 78 Sch. Hom. (A) Il. 9.133a.1 (Ariston.): μήποτε τῆς εὐνῆς ἐπιβήμεναι: ὅτι ἔξωθεν δεῖ λαβεῖν τὸ ἄρθρον· τὸ γὰρ τῆς νῦν ἀντὶ τοῦ ταύτης παρείληπται, καὶ ἔστιν ὁ λόγος ‘μήποτε τῆς ταύτης εὐνῆς ἐπιβήμεναι’. Correspondence between the Homeric text and the paraphrase: μήποτε ~ μήποτε, ø ~ τῆς, τῆς ~ ταύτης, εὐνῆς ~ εὐνῆς, ἐπιβήμεναι ~ ἐπιβήμεναι. Correspondence in expression between the papyrus and the scholium: νῦν̣ τὸ | [τῆς ~ τὸ γὰρ τῆς νῦν, ἀλλ’ οὕτω λέγει ~ καὶ ἔστιν ὁ λόγος. In light of the clear relation between the papyrus and the Aristonicus scholium, then, Haslam’s (1985, 100) view of the commentary’s possible independence seems unlikely.

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tious project.79 However, the publication by Michael Haslam in 1998 of a scrap from a commentary on the first book of the Iliad (P.Oxy. LXV 4451), which Haslam acutely recognized as being written in the same hand and sharing all of the other features of the text published by Hunt,80 showed that the commentary originally covered at least books one and two of the Iliad and probably consisted of at least two rolls, one for each book. In light of this discovery, it cannot be ruled out, I think, that we have here remnants of a large-scale multi-volume Kommentar on the whole of the poem.81 Penned along the fibres on the recto in a small, rapid late Ptolemaic semicursive in columns of forty or so lines and lines of an average of sixty letters with narrow margins and intercolumniations, the work was likely written or commissioned by a scholar for his own use, an impression moreover confirmed by the content.82 Although neither the earliest, nor the most extensive, nor the most erudite of Homeric commentaries preserved in the papyri,83 this commentary is at once early, extensive and learned. But what makes it so important is that it is a witness to the philological activity of Aristarchus of Samothrace earlier than, and so independent of, our other main sources for the Alexandrian scholar’s thought: the fragments of Aristonicus and Didymus transmitted above all in the scholia of the famous Venetus A codex.84 Not only do several of its entries explicitly mention the name of Aristarchus, but these and others refer to Aristarchean critical signs, which have also been prefixed to the lemmata.85 Even where the 79 Subsequent editions: Erbse 1969–1988, I, XXXV–XXXVI, 164–174 and Lundon 2002. The main piece measures 41.0 x 23.2 cm and covers Iliad 2.751– 827. There are in addition two unplaced scraps. 80 The scrap measures 5.3 x 4.0 cm and covers Iliad 56–58. For a detailed analysis and comparison of the scripts of the two papyri, see Lundon 1998–1999. 81 Cf. Lundon 1998–1999, 32 82 On the editorial features of papyrus commentaries, see Del Fabbro 1979, 81–92 and Messeri-Pintaudi 2002. 83 P.Lille and P.Wash.Univ. II 63 are older; P.Oxy. II 221 more extensive; P.Oxy. II 221 (again), P.Oxy. VIII 1087, P.Oxy. LIII 3710, P.Oxy. LXV 4452 more learned. 84 Edited by Erbse 1969–1988, I–V. 85 Aristarchus’ name is mentioned at I 12, 16 and II 63, as it may have been at I 26 and almost certainly was at III 88 before the papyrus suffered damage. Of the diplai referred to in the commentary, once with the term διπλῆ (II 55), otherwise with σημεῖον (Ι [11], 28, II 47, III 83, 98, 107, 114), four have survived (I 27, II 54, III 97, 114), one appears to have been accidentally omitted (II 44) and three have been lost (I 11, III 82, 106). There are also three obeloi (II 61–2), but it is likely that two others have been mistakenly left out, one of

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name of Aristarchus or a reference to a critical sign is missing, typically Aristarchean procedures are all over in evidence. Methods applied include the glossing of words, the paraphrasing of whole verses and the reconstruction of Homer’s linguistic usage and world based on a detailed reading of text. The proportion of annotations exhibiting unmistakable traces of Aristarchus is as a matter of fact so great, and the absence of anything demonstrably non-Aristarchean so absolute, that I wonder whether this commentary might not derive from a single source and further whether that single source might not ultimately have been the hypomnemata, or even the lectures, of Aristarchus themselves.86 My fourth and final illustration, P.Oxy. II 221 (= Erbse Pap. XII), like P.Oxy. VIII 1086 from Oxyrhynchus and now kept in the British Library, is the papyrus commentary on Homer of which the most survives. Portions of more than seventeen columns of writing on numerous fragments and scraps remain. Penned against the fibres on the verso of a metrical treatise (P.Oxy. II 220) in an informal second-century-AD hand, the work originally contained a detailed hypomnema on the twenty-first book of the Iliad and, as with so many of our other surviving fragments, has all the appearances of being a scholar’s copy. Who that scholar was is of course uncertain, but written between columns X and XI, from top to bottom and perpendicular to the text of the commentary, in a hand different from and apparently later than that of the main text are the following mysterious words: Ἀμμώνιος Ἀμμωνίου γραμματικὸς ἐσημειωσάμην. Unfortunately neither the exact identity of this grammarian Ammonius nor the precise meaning of the verb here are clear, and it may even be doubted whether this ‘signature’ is connected with the commentary at all.87

them along with the verse (Il. 2.794) it was attached to. Critical signs or references thereto are also present in P.Daris inv. 118.5; P.Cair. JE 60566 (= Erbse Pap. V) Fr. a II 10, Fr. b I 3; 4, 5, 6; P.Mich. inv. 1206.3 and 9; P.Pisa Lit. 8.3 and 14. 86 Cf. Howard 1917–18, 419–20 and Lundon 2001. Given the numerous explicit references to Aristarchus in this commentary, it is not unreasonable to assume that what is typically, though perhaps not exclusively, Aristarchean in the unattributed notes also goes back to this scholar. Haslam (in Lundon 2001, 839 n. 46) objects that the mentions of Aristarchus in the third person open up the possibility of compilation from several sources. While not wishing to deny this altogether, I point out that they would also be fully consistent with composition by a follower of Aristarchus who chose to report on that scholar’s views alone. 87 On the problem see P.Oxy. II 221 Introd., 53–55; Müller 1913, 49–61; Erbse 1969–1988, I, XLII; 1969–1988, V, 78 and 97; McNamee 2007, 286.

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The first preserved entry is on line 1, the last on line 513 (Fr. i). In view of the length of what survives, it seems likely that the commentary on the book filled an entire roll. The lemmata range from single words to phrases to whole groups of verses and evidently served to stake out the subject of the individual explanations. In this they differ from those in the three preceding commentaries examined, where the unit tended to be the verse, and their main function was rather that of guiding the reader to the relevant place in the Homeric text.88 Articulation is entrusted to the paragraphos and the diple obelismene. The commentary is conspicuous for its erudition and is in fact among the most learned, if not the most learned, of the surviving fragments. Its learning can be gauged by the sheer number and concentration of scholars referred to and poets quoted. A partial list includes Zenodotus, Aristophanes of Byzantium, Aristarchus, Dionysius Thrax, Aristonicus and Didymus, among scholars; Hesiod, Solon, Panyassis, Pindar, Sophocles and Callimachus, among poets.89 Moreover, P.Oxy. II 221 seems to provide some early evidence for the formation of the scholiastic classes present in the medieval manuscripts.90 In fact, the points of contact both in wording and substance 88 Cf. van Thiel 1989, 9–26, esp. 9–10 (‘Lemmata, oft in ganzen Versen oder einschließlich des Versanfangs, die offenbar das Auffinden in einem eigenen Text leicht machen sollten’) and 25–26 (‘reinen Verweischarakter der Lemmata’). 89 Zenodotus (P.Oxy. II 221, XVI 31–2), Aristophanes of Byzantium (I 18, [IV 6], [15], X 36, XIII 20–1), Aristarchus (IV 7, 22, IX 6, X 31, XI 15, [XII 38], XIV 16–7, XVII 20), Dionysius Thrax (III 22, XIV 20), Aristonicus (III 30), Didymus (X 12, XVII 27–8); Hesiod (XVI 35–6), Solon (XIV 12–6), Panyassis (IX 8–11, quoted by Seleucus), Pindar (IX 14–6, 17), Sophocles (XI 13), Callimachus (XV 33–4). For a fuller list, cf. Lundon 2001, 828 n. 11. 90 To simplify a very complex situation, the notes in the margins of our medieval manuscripts of the Iliad, among which the main ones are A (cod. Ven. Graec. 822, s. X), B (cod. Ven. Graec. 821, s. XI), C (cod. Laur. plut. 32,3, s. XI/XII), E3 (cod. Escor. Graec. 291, s. XI), E4 (cod. Escor. Graec. 509, s. XI), Ge (cod. Genav. Graec. 44, s. XIII) and T (cod. Townl. [Brit. Mus. Burney 86], a.D. 1014/1059), can be assigned to classes which in turn go back to lost imperial or late antique compilations. These classes reflect the interests of the authors of the compilations, whose aim apparently it was to collect and hand down material related in kind. Three main classes can be distinguished: the scholia of the so-called Viermännerkommentar (the presumed combination in a single ‘commentary’ of four works by the four scholars Aristonicus, Didymus, Herodianus and Nicanor), the exegetical scholia and the D scholia (prevalently glosses and paraphrase). Furthermore, the paths of the traditions must sometime have crossed, since scholia belonging to different classes occur together in surviving witnesses. In the Venetus A manuscript, for example, which contains

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between this papyrus commentary and the so-called exegetical scholia, especially those to verses 165–499 of book 21 in the Geneva manuscript,91 are too numerous and too close to be merely fortuitous.92 In all probability, the commentary fragmentarily preserved in P.Oxy. II 221 represents one of the works that found its way into that corpus. In its close relation to one of the later classes of scholia, however, the papyrus is exceptional. Only P.Oxy. VIII 1086 appears to exhibit a similar connection with the Aristarchean tradition as known primarily from the Venetus A manuscript.93 It would probably be worth considering some further examples of Homer commentaries on papyrus, since most hold something of interest. But that would exceed the limits of my paper, which aims to provide a general overview of the subject. The future publication of new fragments of commentaries on Homer should confirm rather than radically alter this picture, though with papyri it is perhaps risky to make such confident predictions.94

91 92 93

94

material deriving from the Viermännerkommentar, exegetical scholia also make an appearance. On the other hand, notes assignable to the Four Men turn up in manuscripts of the exegetical scholia. On the classes and transmission of the Iliad scholia, see Erbse 1960 and 1969–1988, I, XI–LXVI. Cf. also Snipes 1988, 196–204 for ‘a brief account of the modern classification of the scholia and of some of their sources’ and, more recently, Dickey 2007, 18–28. On the scholia in this manuscript, see Erbse 1952 and 1969–1988, I, XXI– XXII and LIX. On the relation of this commentary to the Iliad scholia, see P.Oxy. II 221 Introd., 55–7; Müller 1913, 23–48; Erbse 1969–1988, I, XLII and LIX. To a certain degree, then, and pace Haslam 1994, 44–5 with n. 162, these two commentaries do seem, to reflect the distinction between ‘Aristarchan’ or ‘VMK’, on the one hand, and ‘exegetical’, on the other, as used specifically to designate classes of scholia in medieval manuscripts of the Iliad deriving from particular compilations which can in part be reconstructed (the Viermännerkommentar and c, the archetype of the bT scholia). Another papyrus on the Odyssey, P.Oxy. XXXIX 2888, is distinctly Pergamene in character, but has more the scope of a treatise than a commentary, as the first editor points out in the introduction; cf. also P.Oxy. LIII 3710 Introd., 90 (‘Pergamene monograph’) and 91 (‘Homeric Questions or the like’). I had the opportunity to read versions of this paper at the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor on 1 April 2006 (Books about Books Conference), at the University of Toronto on 3 April 2006, at the Università degli Studi di Parma on 14 May 2008, at the Universität zu Köln on 3 and 10 July 2008 (Doktoranden-Kolloquium), at the Università degli Studi di Torino on 8 October 2008, at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore on 14 November 2008 (Ancient Studies Colloquium), at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki on 5 December 2008 (Ancient Scholarship and Grammar Conference) and at the Univer-

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Appendix Table of Homeric Commentaries on Papyrus Contents

Publication

Provenance

Date

Il. 1.56–8

P.Oxy. LXV 4451

Oxyrhynchus

Il. 2.751– 827 Il. 3.59 = 6.333 Il. 4.164– 70 Il. 4.306– 16 Il. 5.85, 148–52? Il. 6.236– 85 Il. 7.75– 83 Il. 9.128/9– 47 Il. 10.561–8 Il. 11.677– 754 Il. 14.316– 48 Il. 17.4– 700 Il. 19.347–

P.Oxy. VIII 1086

Oxyrhynchus

P.Berol. 9960 (APF 44 [1998] 213–4)

Unknown

P.Daris inv. 118 (Studi Stella, Trieste 1975, 463–70) P.Ryl. I 24

Unknown

BKT #

Abusir elMelek? Oxyrhynchus

1st BC 1st BC 2nd AD 2nd AD 1st AD 1st BC 2nd AD 1st AD 2nd BC

LDAB, MP2/3 2297, 1161.13 2287, 1173 1428, 1174 1718, 1174.1 1386, 1175 0000, 0000.000 1545, 1184 2264, 1186 2356, 1187.2

2nd AD 1st BC

7134, 1190.11 2273, 1194

3rd– 4th AD 1st AD 2nd AD

2078, 1198.01

P.Cair. JE 60566 (Mélanges Maspero II, Cairo 1934, 148–51) P.Oxy. VIII 1087

Oxyrhynchus

Oxyrhynchus

P.Wash.Univ. II 63

Oxyrhynchus

P.Berol. 17151 (APF 44 [1998] 215– 8) P.Iand. I 2 = P.Giss.Lit. 2.8

Unknown

P.Mich. inv. 1206 (ZPE 93 [1992] 163–5)

Unknown

P.Oxy. XXIV 2397

Oxyrhynchus

P.Oxy. LXV 4452

Oxyrhynchus

Unknown

1397, 1201 1692, 1203.1

siteit Leiden on 13 February 2009. I am very grateful to the organizers of the various events (Jake MacPhail and Ruth Scodel; Brad Inwood and Michael Dewar; Isabella Andorlini; Rudolf Kassel and Jürgen Hammerstaedt; Rosa Maria Piccione; Dimitrios Yatromanolakis and Richard Jasnow; Stephanos Matthaios and Antonios Rengakos; Casper de Jonge) for their invitations and to them and the audiences for their questions and comments. I have also greatly benefited from the suggestions of Michael Apthorp, René Nünlist and Helmut van Thiel, who were kind enough to read earliers drafts of this survey.

178 416 Il. 21.1– 516? Od. 3.1– 4 Od. 4.335–45 = 17.126– 36 Od. 11.475–6 Od. 12.122– 96 Od. 15.78–91 Od. 16.148– 471, 17.53–83 Od. 20.105– 251 Od. 21.217– 31, 233– 34

John Lundon

P.Oxy. II 221

Oxyrhynchus

2nd AD 2nd AD 2nd AD

1631, 1205 112372, 1208.01 1732, 1209.2

P.Oxy. LXXI 4820

Oxyrhynchus

P.Yale II 128

Unknown

P.Pisa Lit. 8

Theadelphia

1st AD 2nd AD

1327, 1210.3 1578, 1210.4

PSI XV 1464

Oxyrhynchus

P.Oxy. LXXI 4821

Oxyrhynchus

2nd AD 3rd BC

112373, 1211.001 1956, 1211.01

P.Lille inv. 83+134+93b+93a+114t+114o+87 (Mélanges Vercoutter, Paris 1985, 229– 238) P.Oxy. LIII 3710

Magdola

Oxyrhynchus

2nd AD

1690, 1212.01

P.Fay. 312 descr. (BASP 20 [1983] 113–22)

Fayum

2nd AD

1549, 1213

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179

Charts Chart 1. Chronological Distribution of Homeric Commentaries on Papyrus 12 10 8 6 4 2 0 3rd cent. BC 2nd cent. BC 1st cent. BC 1st cent. AD 2nd cent. AD 3rd–4th cent. AD

Chart 2. Chronological Distribution and Relative Number of Commentaries on the Iliad and Odyssey 12 10 8 6 4 2 0 3rd cent. BC 2nd cent. BC 1st cent. BC 1st cent. AD 2nd cent. AD 3rd–4th cent. AD Iliad

Odyssey

Chart 3. Provenance of Homer Commentaries on Papyrus 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

Didymus on Pindar Bruce Karl Braswell Although no ancient commentary on Pindar has been transmitted in the manuscript tradition, the scholia vetera on the epinicia have preserved some sixty-seven fragments of the commentary by Didymus of Alexandria and an equal number from the Pindar commentary of his predecessor Aristarchus. The numerical correspondence is not by chance, since we owe to Didymus the preservation of Aristarchus’ interpretations which he often mentions either in agreement or more often in dissent.1 It was Didymus’ commentary which in the Antonine period served as the basis of the scholia.2 Considering the very different general assessments of the two scholars, it is not surprising that the work of Aristarchus on Pindar has received more attention than that of Didymus.3 For an edition of Didymus’ commentary we are still dependent on that of Moritz Schmidt in his 1854 edition of all the fragments of the grammarian known to him.4 Admirable as it was in its day, Schmidt’s text of the fragmentary Pindar commentary was based on the edition of the scholia in Boeckh’s edition of 1819 and now badly in need of replacement.5 With a view to such an undertaking I have prepared a ‘War1 2 3

4 5

Irigoin 1952, 56. Irigoin 1952, 67, 102–104. For Aristarchus see Horn 1883, Feine 1883 and Vassilaki 2009 as well as Irigoin 1952, 51–56 and for Didymus see Irigoin 1952, 67–75, whose chapter on the grammarian remains the best account of his scholarship on Pindar. Still useful are the accounts in Cohn 1903, 450–51 and Deas 1931, 19–27. The privately printed pamphlet of Carnevali 1980 (16 pages) is limited to a discussion of five fragments. On Didymus’ scholarship more generally the brief discussion in Pfeiffer 1968, 274–279 remains useful, but is to be supplemented by Montanari 1997, 550–552 and Montana 2006, 1–6, and needs revision in the light of the negative assessment of the grammarian by West 1970, 288–96, Harris 1989, 36–44 and the more favourable one by Harding 2006, on which see n. 26 below. Schmidt 1854, 214–240. Boeckh 1811–21, II 1. Cohn 1903, 446, while fair, is perhaps too severe in his criticism of Schmidt’s performance considering the state of the text available to him in Boeckh’s edition.

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tetext’ with an English translation of all the fragments which mention Didymus by name including eight which Schmidt missed. In the space available to me here, I should like to discuss a few examples of Didymus’ Pindaric criticism. The enumeration of the fragments refers to my edition; the text of the Pindaric scholia quoted throughout my paper is based on the edition of Drachmann (1903–27).

1. Citation of Historians Fr. 1 (2 Schmidt) Sch. Pi. O. 1.35c: […] τὸν γὰρ Ἱέρωνα οὐκ εἶναι Συρακούσιον, ὅτε ἐνίκα· κτίσαντα γὰρ αὐτὸν τὴν Κατάνην καὶ προσαγορεύσαντα Αἴτνην ἀπ’ αὐτῆς Αἰτναῖον αὐτὸν λέγουσιν. εὐήθεις δέ φησι Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς τούτους· τότε γὰρ ὁ Ἱέρων ἦν Συρακούσιος καὶ οὐδὲ ἦν Αἰτναῖος, ὥς φησιν Ἀπολλόδωρος (FGrHist 244 F 69). ὁ δὲ Ἀριστόνικος (fr. 51 Razzetti) ἀξιοπίστως Αἰτναῖον ὄντα Συρακούσιον ὀνομάζεσθαι. A prominent feature of Didymus’ exegesis is his use of historians to explain references in the text and settle points of dispute. For example, in fr. 1 Didymus criticizes the notion as silly that Hieron of Syracuse could have called himself an Aetnaean after his victory at Olympia in the chariot race of 476 celebrated in the first Olympian ode. As evidence he cites Apollodorus of Athens in his Chronika. Unwisely so, as the inscription to the ode6 suggests and fr. 36 seems to prove. In the latter fragment, which reports that Hieron had himself proclaimed as an Aetnaean, Didymus is quoted as saying that ‘It is likely that the same thing happened in the case of Chromius who was his associate’.7 Here we can see why Didymus in antiquity was called a βιβλιολάθας,8 since he apparently forgot what he had written about Olympian One. Fr. 2 (b) (3 Schmidt)

7

Sch. Pi. O. 1, inscr. a: νικήσας (sc. Hieron) δὲ τὰ Ὀλύμπια ἀνεκήρυξεν ἑαυτὸν Συρακούσιον καὶ Αἰτναῖον. Fr. 36 (33 Schmidt) Sch. Pi. N. 1, inscr. a: γέγραπται ὁ ἐπίνικος Χρομίῳ

8

So Demetrius of Troezen in Ath. 4.139c; cf. Quint. Inst.1.8.20, Sen. Ep. 88.37.

6

Αἰτναίῳ. Ἱέρων γὰρ οἰκιστὴς ἀντὶ τυράννου βουλόμενος εἶναι, Κατάνην ἐξελὼν Αἴτνην μετωνόμασε τὴν πόλιν, ἑαυτὸν οἰκιστὴν προσαγορεύσας, καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἀναρρήσεσιν ἔν τισι τῶν ἀγώνων Αἰτναῖον ἑαυτὸν ἀνεῖπε. ταὐτὸν δέ, φησὶν ὁ Δίδυμος, εἰκὸς παθεῖν καὶ τὸν Χρόμιον ἑταίρῳ κεχρημένον αὐτῷ.

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Sch. Pi. O. 2.29d: ζητεῖται, δι᾿ ἣν αἰτίαν εὐξάμενος τῷ Θήρωνι τὰ κάλλιστα, κατάπαυσιν τῶν πραχθέντων δεινῶν αἰτεῖται τὸν Δία. καὶ ὁ μὲν Ἀρίσταρχός (fr. 2 Feine) φησι, διὰ τὸ κεκμηκέναι τοὺς τοῦ Θήρωνος πατέρας κατὰ τὴν Ῥόδον, τῶν πραγμάτων στασιαζομένων, καὶ οὕτω τὴν μετοικίαν εἰς τὴν Σικελίαν στειλαμένων. ὁ δὲ Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς τὸ ἀκριβέστερον τῆς ἱστορίας ἐκτίθεται, μάρτυρα Τίμαιον τὸν συντάξαντα τὰ περὶ τῆς Σικελίας (FGrHist 556 F 93b) προφερόμενος. ἡ δὲ ἱστορία οὕτως ἔχει· Θήρων ὁ τῶν Ἀκραγαντίνων βασιλεὺς Γέλωνι τῷ Ἱέρωνος ἀδελφῷ ἐπικηδεύσας γάμῳ συνάπτει τὴν ἑαυτοῦ θυγατέρα Δημαρέτην, ἀφ᾿ ἧς καὶ τὸ Δημαρέτειον νόμισμα ἐν Σικελίᾳ. τοῦ δὲ Γέλωνος τελευτᾶν τὸν βίον μέλλοντος, Πολύζηλος ὁ ἀδελφὸς τὴν στρατηγίαν καὶ τὴν γαμετὴν τοῦ ἀδελφοῦ διαδέχεται κατὰ τὰς Γέλωνος προστάξεις, ὥστε τὸ Θήρωνος εἰς Γέλωνα κῆδος εἰς τὸν Πολύζηλον μετατεθεῖσθαι. λαμπρῷ δὲ αὐτῷ καὶ περιβλέπτῳ τυγχάνοντι κατὰ τὴν Σικελίαν Ἱέρων φθονήσας ὁ ἀδελφὸς καὶ πρόφασιν σκηψάμενος τὸν πρὸς Συβαρίτας πόλεμον ἀπελαύνει τῆς πατρίδος. ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦτον κατώρθωσε τὸν πόλεμον ὁ Πολύζηλος. ὁ δὲ μὴ φέρων γυμνότερον αὐτοῦ κατηγορεῖν ἐπειρᾶτο νεωτερισμοῦ. καὶ οὕτω τὸν Θήρωνα ὑπεραγανακτήσαντα θυγατρὸς ἅμα καὶ γαμβροῦ, συρρῆξαι πρὸς Ἱέρωνα πόλεμον παρὰ Γέλᾳ τῷ Σικελιωτικῷ ποταμῷ, οὗ Καλλίμαχος (fr. 43.46 Pfeiffer) μέμνηται· ‘οἶδα Γέλα (οἱ δὲ Γέλᾳ codd.) ποταμῷ ἐπικείμενον ἄστυ’. μή γε μὴν εἰς βλάβην, μηδὲ εἰς τέλος προχωρῆσαι τὸν πόλεμον· φασὶ γὰρ τότε Σιμωνίδην τὸν λυρικὸν (test. 19 Campbell = T 61 Poltera) περιτυχόντα διαλῦσαι τοῖς βασιλεῦσι τὴν ἔχθραν. τούτοις οἰκείως τοῖς φθάσασιν εὔχεσθαι τῷ Διΐ φησι τὸν Πίνδαρον ὁ Δίδυμος, ὥστε λοιπὸν αὐτοῖς εἰρηναῖον εἶναι τὸν βίον. In fr. 2 the scholia report a discussion on why Pindar in the second Olympian prays to Zeus for a happy conclusion of the deeds of Theron of Acragas. Aristarchus saw in it an allusion to the stasis on Rhodes which caused Theron’s ancestors to migrate to Sicily. The scholia prefer the explanation of Didymus that it alludes to the dynastic conflicts between Theron and Hieron. As evidence of his interpretation Didymus quotes a long passage from Timaeus’ History of Sicily in which the historian explains how Theron first gave his daughter Demarete in marriage to Hieron’s brother Gelon on whose death she was given to another brother, the gifted and popular Polyzelus. Hieron’s jealousy led him to plot against Polyzelus with the result that his father-in-law Theron was prepared to go to war against Hieron. According to Timaeus a battle was joined beside the river Gelas, but soon ended when the poet Simonides reconciled the two tyrants. While we may be grateful to the

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grammarian for having preserved this historical extract,9 we need not accept his explanation any more than that of Aristarchus. The invocation of Zeus in O. 2.12–15 is too general to contain any specific allusion. Like many of their modern counterparts ancient scholars were eager to discover a relevance in passages which in fact serve other functions. In the present case a prayer to Zeus is entirely in keeping with a celebration of a victory in the Olympian games which were held in honour of the god. Fr. 11 (10b Schmidt) Sch. Pi. O. 6.158b–c: σκάπτῳ· Ἀρίσταρχος (fr. 21 Feine)· τοῖς κατὰ τὸν χορὸν εἰπεῖν, ἐπικελεύει τῶν τε Συρακουσῶν μεμνῆσθαι καὶ τῆς Ὀρτυγίας. αὕτη δέ ἐστι προσεχὴς ταῖς Συρακούσαις νῆσος καὶ ἀχώματος. 158c ὁ δὲ Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς · διὰ τὸν Ἱέρωνα, ἐπεὶ ἄνωθεν ἐκ προγόνων ἱεροφάντης τῶν θεῶν ἀποδέδεικται, τὰ προκείμενά φησιν ὁ Πίνδαρος. καὶ παρατίθεται τὰ Φιλίστου (FGrHist 556 F 49) καὶ τὰ Τιμαίου (FGrHist 566 F 96). Didymus’ overeagerness to find a relevance and his attempt to use historians to prove it is nicely illustrated in fr. 11 by his comment on O. 6.92–93 where Pindar in the ode for the Syracusan Hagesias bids the chorus to remember ‘Syracuse and Ortygia, which Hieron rules with unsullied sceptre’. Here Aristarchus saw no more than a topical reference, and rightly so I think. Didymus however seems to have taken the epithet ‘unsullied’ (καθαρός) not as a general notion of Hieron’s supposedly just rule but to his religious function as hierophant of the two local goddesses Demeter and Persephone. As evidence the scholia report that he cited the two Sicilian historians Philistus and Timaeus, whose information, if the scholia had transmitted it, could hardly have been relevant to the point he wished to make.10 Fr. 24 (22 Schmidt) Sch. Pi. O. 13.29a–b: ἢ θεῶν ναοῖσιν οἰωνῶν βασιλέα δίδυμον· τὸν αἰετόν· φησὶ δὲ τὸ κατὰ τοὺς ναοὺς τῶν θεῶν ἀέτωμα. [...] 29b ἄλλως· οἰωνῶν βασιλέα· ὁ ἀετὸς οἰωνῶν βασιλεύς ἐστιν ὁ ἐπὶ τῶν 9 Since D.S. 11.48.5–8 plausibly explains the reconciliation as a result of a conspiracy by the Himerans which would have been in the interest of neither party and makes no reference to Simonides, the role of the poet as mediator in Timaeus’ account presumably belongs to legend rather than history; on the divergent opinions see Molyneux 1992, 224–26. 10 Carnevali 1980, 16 is prepared to defend Didymus’ interpretation on the grounds that Pindar’s mention of Ortygia could be a reference either to Hieron’s residence there or to his priestly function in its temples.

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ἱερῶν τιθέμενος. τινὲς δὲ τὸ ἀέτωμα λέγουσιν, ὥς φησι Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς παρατιθέμενος Τίμαιον (FGrHist 566 F 145) λέγοντα· ‘καὶ τοῦτο ἐν ταῖς οἰκοδομίαις αὐτῶν (sc. τῶν Κορινθίων) εὕρημα’, ταύτην ἀποδοὺς τὴν ἐξήγησιν τῶν προκειμένων.

In his catalogue of Corinthian inventions in O. 13.18–22 Pindar asks rhetorically who added the twin kings of birds to the temples. Didymus, this time appropriately, cites in fr. 24 a statement of Timaeus that the placing of the figure of eagles on the gables of temples was an invention of the Corinthians. Fr. 28 (deest apud Schmidt) Sch. Pi. P. 5.34: φιλεῖν δὲ Κάρρωτον· [...] οἱ δὲ τὸν ἡνίοχον τούτου, ὅν φησιν ὁ Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς τῆς Πυθικῆς νίκης αἴτιον γενέσθαι τῷ Ἀρκεσιλάῳ, κατάγειν δὲ αὐτῷ καὶ στρατιωτικὸν ἀπὸ τῆς Ἑλλάδος ἀθροίσαντα. ταῦτα δὲ πιστοῦται παρατιθέμενος τὰ Θεοτίμου ἐκ τοῦ πρώτου Περὶ Κυρήνης (FGrHist 470 F 1) ἔχοντα οὕτως· ‘διαπίπτουσαν δὲ τὴν πρᾶξιν αἰσθόμενος Ἀρκεσίλαος καὶ βουλόμενος δι᾿ ἑαυτοῦ τὰς Ἑσπερίδας οἰκίσαι πέμπει μὲν εἰς τὰς πανηγύρεις ἵππους ἀθλήσοντας Εὔφημον ἄγοντα, νικήσας δὲ τὰ Πύθια καὶ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ πατρίδα ἐστεφάνωσε καὶ ἐποίκους εἰς τὰς Ἑσπερίδας συνέλεγεν. Εὔφημος μὲν οὖν ἐτελεύτα· Κάρρωτος δὲ τῆς Ἀρκεσιλάου γυναικὸς ἀδελφὸς διεδέξατο τὴν τῶν ἐποίκων ἡγεμονίαν’. ὁ τοίνυν Πίνδαρος τοὺς ἑταίρους καθομιλῶν τὸ καταπραχθὲν τῷ Εὐφήμῳ τῷ Καρρώτῳ προσῆψε· μόνον γὰρ κατορθῶσαί φησιν αὐτὸν ἀγαγόντα τὸ στρατιωτικόν. δόξειε δ᾿ ἂν τούτοις συνᾴδειν καὶ τὸ μείζοσιν ἢ καθ᾿ ἡνίοχον τοῖς περὶ αὐτοῦ λόγοις τὸν Πίνδαρον κεχρῆσθαι· ἑταῖρον γάρ φησι καὶ εὐεργέτην τοῦ βασιλέως, ὅπερ ἂν εἰκότως ἐπὶ κηδεστοῦ λέγοιτο ἢ ἐπὶ ἡνιόχου· φησὶ γάρ, ‘ἑκόντι τοίνυν πρέπει νόῳ τὸν εὐεργέτην ἀντιάσαι’ (vv. 43–44) ‹…...› (lac. ind. Drachmann) αὐτουργόν τινα τὸν Κάρρωτον γενόμενον ἡνιοχῆσαι τὸ ἅρμα, διὰ τὸ ἐπιεικῶς τοὺς Κυρηναίους ἁρματηλάτας εἶναι καὶ ἱππικούς, ὥστε ἀμφότερα τῷ Ἀρκεσιλάῳ αὐτὸν κατειργάσθαι, ἡνιοχῆσαί τε καὶ στρατολογῆσαι. Happily Didymus’ use of historians has, as with fr. 2 on O. 2.12–15, elsewhere preserved valuable historical information which would otherwise be lost. A good example of this is the extract from Theotimus’ history of Cyrene quoted in the scholion on P. 5.26 where Didymus in fr. 28 uses it to explain the reference to Carrhotus, the brother-in-law of

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Arcesilaus, who, according to Pindar,11 drove the winning chariot for the king of Cyrene in the spectacular Pythian race of 462, memorably celebrated in both the P. 4 and 5. Fr. 53 (47 Schmidt) Sch. Pi. N. 6.53a: Βασσίδαισιν ἅ τ᾿ οὐ σπανίζει· ὁ Δ ί δ υ μ ό ς φησι προσήκειν γράφειν Βουδίδαι. γενέσθαι γάρ τινα Βουδίωνα ἐν Αἰγίνῃ, ἀφ᾿ οὗ κατάγεσθαι γενεὰν τὴν Βουδιδῶν. μνημονεύειν δέ φησι τοῦ Βουδίωνος Πυθαίνετον ἐν πρώτῳ Αἰγινητικῶν (FGrHist 299 F 2 = BNJ F 2a) γράφοντα (γράφων codd.) οὕτως· ‘περὶ δὲ ταῦτα τούτων λεγομένων λέγεται Βουδίωνα τυγχάνειν διενηνεγμένον πρὸς Οἰνώνην τὴν ἑαυτοῦ θυγατέρα’. At times however Didymus’ wide reading in the historians could lead him astray as in fr. 53. N. 6 celebrates a victory by an Aeginetan from a family long distinguished for its athletic success. Pindar names them in v. 31 where the paradosis leaves no doubt that they were the Βασσίδαι, but Didymus, evidently never having heard of them, found in the Aeginetica of the local historian Pythaenetus mention of one Boudion and concluded without further evidence that one should write Βουδίδαι instead of Βασσίδαι. Fr. 59 (52 Schmidt) Sch. Pi. N. 9.95a: βαθυκρήμνοισι δ᾿ ἀμφ᾿ ἀκταῖς Ἑλώρου· περὶ τοῦτον τὸν ποταμὸν συνέστη Ἱπποκράτει τῷ Γελώων τυράννῳ πρὸς Συρακουσίους πόλεμος· ὁ δὲ Γέλων, οὗτος ἑταῖρος, ἱππάρχει τότε Ἱπποκράτει. ἐν δὴ τούτῳ φησὶ τῷ πολέμῳ Χρόμιον ἐπιδείξασθαι πολλὰ ἔργα κατὰ τὴν μάχην. περὶ δὲ τούτου τοῦ πολέμου Τίμαιος ἐν τῇ ι΄ (FGrHist 566 F 18, 6ff.) δεδήλωκε. ‘καθάπαξ γάρ’, φησὶν ὁ Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς , ‘οὐδεμίαν ἄλλην μάχην ἔχομεν εὑρεῖν περὶ τὸν Ἕλωρον τῶν συνηκμακότων τῷ Χρομίῳ τυράννων, ὅτι μὴ σὺν Ἱπποκράτει τοῦ Γέλωνος πρὸς Συρακουσίους. ὅτι μὲν οὖν Γέλωνα ἱππαρχεῖν κατέστησεν Ἱπποκράτης, σαφὲς ὁ Τίμαιος ποιήσει γράφων οὕτως (FGrHist 566 F 18, 10ff.)· ‘Ἱπποκράτης δὲ μετὰ τὴν Κλεάνδρου τελευτὴν ἅμα μὲν τοῦ Γέλωνος ἐν τῇ τεταγμένῃ μεμενηκότος, ἅμα δὲ τοῖς Γελῴοις χαρίσασθαι βουλόμενος, μεταπεμψάμενος αὐτὸν καὶ 11 The lacuna in the scholia after the quotation of vv. 43–44 has added to the difficulty of establishing Didymus’ opinion of Carrhotus’ role in the expedition to Delphi. Didymus quotes Theotimus to explain why he deserves to be regarded as a benefactor of the king, namely that he successfully completed the mission of bringing mercenaries to Cyrene. Didymus does not deny that Carrhotus drove the winning chariot, pace Wilamowitz 1922, 376, n. 1.

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παρακαλέσας ἐπὶ τὰς πράξεις, ἁπάντων τῶν ἱππέων τὴν ἐπιμέλειαν ἐκείνῳ παρέδωκεν’. ὅτι δὲ καὶ ὁ Γέλων τῷ Χρομίῳ ἐχρῆτο ἑταίρῳ, δῆλον πάλιν ἐξ ὧν φησι Τίμαιος ἐν τῇ β´ γράφων οὕτως (FGrHist 566 F 21, 6ff.)· ‘ἐπιτρόπους δὲ τοῦ παιδὸς μετ᾿ ἐκεῖνον κατέστησεν Ἀριστόνουν καὶ Χρόμιον τοὺς κηδεστάς· τούτοις γὰρ ὁ Γέλων δέδωκε τὰς ἀδελφάς’.

Fortunately, as we have seen, Didymus usually makes better use of his historical sources. Fr. 59 is a good example where the grammarian draws on two different books of Timaeus’ Sicilian history to explain the role of Chromius at the decisive battle of the Helorus which Pindar mentions in N. 9.40. There, the poet says, Chromius achieved fame in his early years. Since Didymus could not find mention of any other battle around the Helorus of tyrants who were contemporary with Chromius except that of Gelon and Hippokrates against the Syracusans, he infers that this is the battle described by Timaeus in the tenth book of his history. He then concludes that Chromius must have been a comrade of the cavalry commander Gelon since he later became his brother-in-law and subsequently one of the guardians of his son. Fr. 68 (59 Schmidt) Ammon. Diff. gl. 231: Θηβαῖοι καὶ Θηβαγενεῖς διαφέρουσιν, καθὼς Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς ἐν Ὑπομνήματι τῷ πρώτῳ τῶν Παιάνων Πινδάρου (fr. 66 Maehler = F3 Rutherford) φησίν· ‘καὶ τὸν τρίποδα ἀπὸ τούτου Θηβαγενεῖς πέμπουσι τὸν χρύσεον εἰς Ἰσμήνιον πρῶτον’. τίς δ᾿ ἐστὶ διαφορὰ Θηβαγενῶν πρὸς Θηβαίους, Ἔφορος ἐν τῇ δευτέρᾳ φησίν (FGrHist 70 F 21) ‘οὗτοι μὲν οὖν συνετάχθησαν εἰς τὴν Βοιωτίαν. τοὺς δὲ τοῖς Ἀθηναίοις ὁμόρους προσοικοῦντας ἰδίᾳ Θηβαῖοι προσηγάγοντο πολλοῖς ἔτεσιν ὕστερον, οἳ σύμμικτοι μὲν ἦσαν πολλαχόθεν, ἐνέμοντο δὲ τὴν ὑπὸ τὸν Κιθαιρῶνα (v.l.) χώραν καὶ τὴν ἀπεναντίον (v.l.) τῆς Εὐβοίας· ἐκαλοῦντο δὲ Θηβαγενεῖς, ὅτι προσεγένοντο τοῖς ἄλλοις Βοιωτοῖς διὰ Θηβαίων’. Fr. 68 is a particularly interesting example of Didymus’ use of historians to explain a text in that the fragment comes from his commentary on the Paeans of Pindar. In fr. 66 Maehler Pindar mentions a golden tripod which the Θηβαγενεῖς, the Theban-born, sent to the Ismenion at Thebes. Didymus uses it as an occasion to explain the difference between the Θηβαῖοι and the Θηβαγενεῖς which he illustrates by a quotation from Ephorus. For the preservation of this fragment we are endebted to Ps.-Ammonius in his work on the difference between related words.

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2. Citation of Earlier Poets A common exegetical aid found in the scholia on Pindar is the citation of earlier poets to explain linguistic usage as well as other matters requiring exegesis. Although the scholar who is responsible for these citations is generally not mentioned by name, there are a few instances which identify Didymus as their author. Fr. 51 (45 Schmidt) Sch. Pi. N. 5.10a: οὔπω γένυσι φαίνων τέρειναν· ἀλληγορεῖ βουλόμενος σημῆναι τὸν ἀγένειον ἀπὸ τῆς κυπριζούσης ἀμπέλου. ἡ δὲ ὀπώρα οὐκ ἔστι τῆς οἰνάνθης μήτηρ, ἀλλὰ τοὐναντίον· προανθεῖ γὰρ πρῶτον, εἶτα ὀπώρα γίνεται. χρῆται δὲ τῇ τοιαύτῃ ἀναστροφῇ συνεχῶς. ‘ἁσυχία (ἡσ- codd. Pind.) φιλεῖ μὲν συμπόσιον’ (N. 9.48)· οὐ γὰρ ἡ ἡσυχία φιλεῖ τὸ συμπόσιον, ἀλλὰ τὸ συμπόσιον τὴν ἡσυχίαν. Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς δὲ βέλτιόν φησι μὴ τὸν καρπόν, ἀλλὰ τὴν ὥραν ἀκούειν, καθ᾿ ἣν ὁ καρπὸς ὁμώνυμος πεπαίνεται. ὅτι δὲ καλοῦσι τὸν καιρὸν ὀπώραν, Ὅμηρος (Od. 14.384)· ‘καὶ φατ᾿ ἐλεύσεσθαι ἢ ἐν θέρει ἢ ἐν ὀπώρῃ’. θέλει οὖν λέγειν, ὅτι οὔπω τὸν καιρὸν τοῦ γενειάσκειν ἔχων. οἰνάνθην γὰρ κατὰ μεταφορὰν τὸν ἴουλον εἴρηκε, τουτέστι τὴν πρώτην τῶν γενειάδων ἀνάφυσιν· μήτηρ δὲ τοῦ γενειάσκειν γίνεται ἡ ὥρα. In fr. 51 Didymus quotes for the use of ὀπώρα at N. 5.6 in the original sense of ‘early autumn’ Od. 14.384 (‘and he said he would come either in high summer or early autumn’) and goes on to observe correctly that Pindar uses οἰνάνθη (‘bloom on the grape’) metaphorically for the down, i.e. the first growth of the beard, on a youth’s cheek. As we would expect from Didymus who devoted much of his study to Homer there are other references to the Homeric epics in his Pindar commentary, although fewer than one might suppose. The paucity of identifiable Homeric references presumably reflects the tendency of the compilers of the scholia to omit the names of authors where they were not considered important. For that reason, as Jean Irigoin thought, the scholia vetera contain much more material from Didymus than is identified as such. Many of the forty or so passages in which he recognized typically Didymean argumentation may well come from the Pindar commentary.12 In any case, we may note here a few other identifiable uses of Homer by Didymus.

12 Irigoin 1952, 72–74.

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Fr. 60 (52bis Schmidt) Sch. Pi. N.10.49b: [Μοίσαισί τ᾿ ἔδωκ᾿ ἀρόσαι]· ὁ δὲ νοῦς· καὶ παρέσχε πρόφασιν ταῖς Μούσαις· τρίτον μὲν γὰρ κληρωθεὶς ἐνίκησε τὰ Ἴσθμια· πόντου γὰρ πύλας εἶπε τὸν Ἰσθμὸν διὰ τὸ στενόν· τρὶς δὲ τὰ Νέμεα κατὰ τὴν Ἀδράστου διοίκησιν καὶ νομοθέτησιν τελούμενα. οἱ γὰρ ἑπτὰ ἐπὶ Θήβας ἀνενεώσαντο τὰ Νέμεα, ὧν εἷς Ἄδραστος. ἐπεὶ οὖν καὶ αὐτὸς τῶν ἐν Ἄργει ἐπιφανῶν, διὰ τοῦτο Ἀδραστείῳ νόμῳ φησί, χαριζόμενος καὶ διὰ τούτου πλέον τι τοῖς Ἀργείοις. σεμνοῖς δὲ δαπέδοις, τοῖς Νεμείοις φησὶν ὁ Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς · πλησίον γάρ ἐστι Σικυῶνος. Ὅμηρος (Il. 2.572)· ‘ὅθ᾿ Ἄδρηστος πρῶτ᾿ ἐμβασίλευσεν’. ἐτίθετο δὲ πάλαι ἐν τῇ Σικυῶνι τὰ Νέμεα· οὐ γὰρ ἂν σημαίνοι τὰ Πύθια τὰ ἐν Σικυῶνι ἀγόμενα· οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἐκεῖνος περιοδικὸς ὁ στέφανος, ἀλλ᾿ ὁ τῶν Νεμέων· βούλεται δὲ νῦν τοὺς περιοδικοὺς εἰπεῖν. τολοιπὸν γὰρ ἐπιφέρει τὸν Ὀλυμπιόνικον, εὐχόμενος τελειωθῆναι ὑπ᾿ αὐτοῦ τὴν περίοδον. In fr. 60 on N. 10.25–28 where Pindar mentions, among the places from which the victor attained his crowns, ‘the hallowed ground in accordance with Adrastus’ foundation’, Didymus comments that the hallowed ground refers to the Nemean games, for Nemea is near Sicyon and quotes Il. 2.572 (‘[Sicyon] where first Adrastus was king’). He is concerned here to make it clear that the victories mentioned were gained at the major games in Nemea and not in the local Pythian games held in Sicyon. This is understandable, since the preceding ode in the collection, N. 9, was written to celebrate a victory in the Pythian games at Sicyon, the foundation of which Pindar by a ‘poetic licence’, as the scholia call it, ascribes to Adrastus.13 Fr. 57 (50 Schmidt) Sch. Pi. N. 7.89b: οὐδείς με ψέγει, ὅτι ἐπαινῶ τοὺς Αἰγινήτας· οὐ γὰρ πολίτας ὄντας ἐμαυτοῦ διὰ τοῦτο ἐπαινῶ· […] Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς δέ, οὐδένα ψέξω, φησί, καὶ ὅτι τοῦτο οὐκ ἀλλότριον τοῦ Πινδάρου, ἄλλα γὰρ πολλὰ αὐτῷ τοιαῦτα εἴρηται. τοῦτο δὲ λέγει, παρὸ εἰώθασιν οἱ πολῖται ἀεὶ φθονεῖν τοῖς κατά τι προέχουσι· διὰ τοῦτό φησιν ὁ Πίνδαρος ξένος εἶναι καὶ τὸν σκοτεινὸν ψόγον ἄποθεν ἔχειν· καὶ οὐδένα, φησί, ψέξω, μᾶλλον δὲ τὸ κλέος τὸ ἀληθὲς ὥσπερ ὕδατος ῥοὰς εἰς τὸν φίλον ἄγων ἄνδρα αἰνέσω, ὡς ὕδωρ ὀχετηγός. ὡς γὰρ ἐκεῖνος (cf. Il. 21.257–58) ἂμ φυτὰ (Kayser: ἀμφυτὰ BD) ἄγων τὸ ὕδωρ ἐπὶ τὰ δένδρα τρέφει αὐτά, οὕτω κἀγὼ τὰς τοῦ ὕμνου ῥοὰς ἐπὶ σέ, τὸν φίλον ἄνδρα, ἐπαινέσω σου καὶ αὐξήσω τὸ κλέος. 13 Sch. Pi. N. 9.20: ἀνατίθησι (sc. Pindar) γὰρ τὴν τῶν Πυθίων θέσιν ἐν Σικυῶνι Ἀδράστῳ, ποιητικὴν ἄγων ἄδειαν.

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In fr. 57 on N. 7.61–63 where Pindar compares his encomium of the victor to the bringing of streams of water, Didymus in his paraphrase alludes to the Homeric simile in Il. 21.257–58 without mentioning its source. Fr. 21 (20 Schmidt) Sch. Pi. O. 10.83a: ὁ δὲ Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς οὕτω καθίστησι τὸν λόγον. τὴν Μαντινέαν φησὶν εἶναι ἱερὰν Ποσειδῶνος, καὶ παρατίθεται τὸν Βακχυλίδην λέγοντα οὕτω (21.1–3 Maehler)· ‘Ποσειδάνιον ὡς / Μαντινέες τριόδοντα χαλκοδαιδάλοισιν ἐν / ἀσπίσιν φορεῦντες’. ἐπίσημον γὰρ εἶναι τῶν ἀσπίδων τὸν Ποσειδῶνος τριόδοντα, ὅτι παρ᾿ αὐτοῖς μάλιστα τιμᾶται ὁ θεός. ἔσται οὖν τὸ σαφὲς οὕτω, καθ᾿ αὑτὸν ἔξωθεν παραλαμβανομένου τοῦ ὀνόματος· ἀν᾿ ἵπποισι δὲ τέτρασιν ἥρως ὁ ἀπὸ Μαντινέας ἐνίκα· καί ἐστιν ἡ Μαντινέα {σημεῖον καὶ} ἱερὰ τοῦ Ποσειδῶνος· Ἁλιρρόθιον γὰρ ἐπιθετικῶς τὸν Ποσειδῶνά φησι καὶ παρατίθεται τὸ Ὁμηρικόν (Od. 5.292–93)· ‘πάσας δ᾿ ὀρόθυνεν ἀέλλας / παντοίων ἀνέμων’. παρατίθεται δὲ καὶ τὸν γράφοντα τὴν Θησηίδα (Diphilus, IEG II 61–62) μαρτυροῦντα τῷ ἥρωϊ τὴν τοῦ ἅρματος ἡνιοχευτικὴν ἀρετήν· ‘στρωφᾷς δὲ πώλους ὡς ὁ Μαντινεὺς ἥρως (CDEQ: Σῆμος B)’. Homer is not the only poet whom Didymus cites in his explanations of the Pindaric text. In fr. 21 Didymus, adopting the wrong reading σᾶμ(α) Ἁλιρροϑίου (recte Σᾶμος ὁ Ἁλιρροϑίου) in O. 10.70, tries to explain why the hero from Mantinea with the device of Halirrhothius, i.e. Poseidon, on his shield won the very first four-horse chariot race held in Olympia. In support of the mistaken interpretation he cites the 21st ode of Bacchylides. The cult of Poseidon in Mantinea was well known as was his special relation to horses.14 Fr. 16 (deest apud Schmidt) Sch. Pi. O. 8.41a: τὸν παῖς ὁ Λατοῦς· ἰδίως φησὶν ὁ Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς καὶ τούτοις χρήσασθαι τὸν Πίνδαρον· τὸν γὰρ Ποσειδῶνα καὶ Ἀπόλλωνα εἰς τὴν τοῦ τείχους κατασκευήν φησι τὸν Αἰακὸν προσλαβεῖν. καὶ τὸν λόγον ἀποδίδωσί, φησιν, ἵνα διὰ τούτου τοῦ μέρους ὑπὸ Αἰακοῦ οἰκοδομηθέντος ἁλώσιμος γένηται ἡ Ἴλιος. παρ᾿ οὐδενὶ δὲ πρεσβυτέρῳ Πινδάρου ἡ ἱστορία· ὁ δὲ Εὐφορίων φησίν (fr. 54 Powell = 78 Lightfoot)· ‘Ἦ γὰρ δὴ Φοῖβός τε

14 On the cult of Poseidon in Mantinea see Meyer 1902–09, 2839, on Halirrhothios as an epithet of Poseidon see Stoll 1886–90, 1821, and on Poseidon Hippios see Meyer 1902–09, 2822–26.

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Ποσειδάων τ᾿ ἐκάλεσσαν / Αἰακὸν οὐκ ἀβοηθὶ (Lobeck: ἀβοήθητα cod.) περὶ κρήδεμνα δέμοντες’.

Finally we may mention an example of Didymus’ diligence in searching for parallels in other authors. Commenting on O. 8.30–33 where Pindar praises the Aeginetans by saying that Poseidon and Apollo took their local hero Aeacus as a helper when they built the wall of Troy, Didymus notes in fr. 16 that the story is not found in any other author earlier than Pindar. The later use of the detail by Euphorion is then mentioned.

3. Relevance of the Myth to the Victor celebrated More interesting for many modern readers of Pindar is Didymus’ attempt to explain the relevance of a myth recounted in an ode to the victor celebrated in it. Since A.B. Drachmann’s dissertation on modern Pindar interpretation (1891) the topic has been a ‘Dauerbrenner’ in Pindaric criticism. Fr. 40 (deest apud Schmidt) Sch. Pi. N. 1.49c: ἄλλως· ἐγὼ δ᾿ Ἡρακλέος· διαπορεῖται τίνι ἀφορμῇ εἰς τοὺς περὶ Ἡρακλέους λόγους παρῆλθε· μηδεμίαν γὰρ ἔχειν εἰς τὰ παρόντα Ἡρακλέα οἰκείωσιν· ὁ μὲν οὖν Ἀρίσταρχός φησιν (fr. 42 Feine), ὅτι οἴονταί τινες, ὅτι ὑπόθεσις αὐτῷ ἐδέδοτο τοιαύτη ὥστε μνησθῆναι τοῦ θεοῦ, ὅπερ ἐστίν, ὡς καὶ αὐτός φησιν Ἀρίσταρχος (fr. 42 Feine), ἀπίθανον. μήποτε δέ, ὅτι ἀεὶ ὁ Πίνδαρος ἐπαινεῖ τοὺς φύσει μᾶλλον τῶν ἐκ διδαχῆς περιγινομένων, ὁ δὲ Ἡρακλῆς τοιοῦτος. τοῦτο δὲ ἀπίθανον. τί γάρ, ὅτι τὴν πρώτην περὶ Ἡρακλέους γενομένην συμφορὰν ἰδίως ἐξύμνησεν, εἰς ἔνδειξιν τῶν φυσικῶν ἀγαθῶν; Ἡρακλῆς γὰρ μέχρι παντὸς ἐκ φύσεως ἀγαθὸς ὢν ἀνεφάνη, ὥστε οὐκ ἂν ὡμοίωσε τὸν ἔπαινον, ἓν μόνον τὸ περὶ τοὺς δράκοντας αὐτῷ διαπραχθὲν εἰπών· ἀλλ᾿ εἴπερ ἄρα, ἀπὸ τῶν ἐπιφανεστέρων ἂν ἐπῄνει τὸν Ἡρακλέα. ὁ δὲ Χαῖρίς φησιν (fr. 20 Berndt), ὅτι ὁ Χρόμιος πολλὰ συμπονήσας τῷ Ἱέρωνι κατὰ τὴν ἀρχὴν ἀμοιβῆς ἔτυχεν ἐξ αὐτοῦ, ὥστε ἐκ περιουσίας καὶ ἱπποτροφῆσαι· ὡς οὖν οὗτος ἔπαθλον πόνων ἔλαβε τὴν ἐπιφάνειαν, οὕτω καὶ Ἡρακλῆς πολλὰ ταλαιπωρήσας ἔπαθλον ἔσχε τὴν ἀθανασίαν καὶ τὸν γάμον τῆς Ἥβης. καὶ πρὸς τοῦτον δὲ ἔνεστιν εἰπεῖν· τί δήποτε ὁ Πίνδαρος ἰδίως τὸν ἔπαινον τὴν τοῦ Ἡρακλέους παρέλαβε συμφορὰν εἰς ἐπίδειξιν τῆς φιλοπονίας; μᾶλλον γὰρ ἔδει κοινότερον πάντας τοὺς ἄθλους εἰς ὑπόμνησιν ἀγαγεῖν, ὅτι καθήρας γῆν καὶ θάλασσαν ἀπεθεώθη. ὁ δὲ Χρύσιππος (v. Körte 1903, 298.7–299.14) Νεμεακὸν εἶναί φησι τὸν

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ἀγῶνα καὶ ἐπὶ τούτῳ δὴ τὸν ἐπίνικον· διά τε τὸ Νεμεαῖον εἶναι τὸν λέοντα, ταύτῃ τὸν Ἡρακλέα τοῖς τοῦ νενικηκότος ἐπαίνοις ἐγκαταμεμίχθαι. ἀντιπράττει δὲ καὶ τούτῳ τὸ μηδ᾿ ὁτιοῦν τὸν Πίνδαρον [εἰπεῖν] περὶ τοῦ λέοντος, ὅπερ αἰτιώτατον τῆς παρεκβάσεώς φησιν ὁ Χρύσιππος εἶναι. βέλτιον δέ φησιν ὁ Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς ἐκεῖνο λέγειν, ὅτι ὃ περὶ τῆς Αἴτνης ἔφη, τοῦτο καὶ νῦν βούλεται δηλοῦν ὁ Πίνδαρος (P. 1.33–34)· ‘ναυσιφορήτοις δ᾿ ἀνδράσι πρώτη χάρις ἐς πλόον ἐρχομένοις πομπαῖον ἐλθεῖν οὖρον’. τοιοῦτο λέγοι ἄν τι καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ Χρομίου· ἐπεὶ νῦν ἦρκται ἀγωνίζεσθαι καὶ ἀρξάμενος εὐθὺς ἐνίκησεν, ἐλπίς ἐστιν αὐτὸν καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τεύξεσθαι στεφάνων. πρὸς τί οὖν τὸ περὶ Ἡρακλέους ὑπόδειγμα; ὅτι καὶ ὁ Ἡρακλῆς βρέφος ἔτι ὢν μεταχειρισάμενος τοὺς δράκοντας, καὶ τοὺς αὖθις ἄθλους κατεπράξατο· καὶ ὥσπερ τούτου περὶ τὸν Ἡρακλέα γεγενημένου ὁ Ἀμφιτρύων Θηβαῖον ὄντα τὸν Τειρεσίαν προανέκρινε περὶ τοῦ παιδός, ὁ δὲ προεμαντεύσατο τοὺς ἐσομένους αὐτῷ ἄθλους, οὕτως αὐτὸς ὁ Πίνδαρος ἀπὸ τῆς πρώτης τοῦ Χρομίου νίκης προμαντεύεται, ὅτι καὶ τῶν λοιπῶν στεφάνων τεύξεται.

In fr. 40 the scholion on N. 1.33 recounts four explanations of the relevance of the Heracles myth to the career of the old general and statesman Chromius. First, we have the opinion of Aristarchus who could find no parallels between the two, but after rejecting the suggestion that the mention of the god Heracles had simply been given Pindar as a subject, he goes on to discuss two other explanations only to reject both. Secondly, the explanation of Chaeris, probably a pupil of Aristarchus, is given. According to him, the many toils early undertaken by Chromius in the service of Hieron eventually found their reward in the form of material prosperity and is thus paralleled by the career of Heracles who having endured much hardship was rewarded with immortality and marriage to the goddess Hebe. Thirdly, Chrysippus, the Pindar commentator, not the Stoic, rather lamely explained that the Heracles myth had been introduced on account of the Nemean lion, which, as the scholia add, is not mentioned by Pindar. Finally, the scholia give the explanation of Didymus who presumably is responsible for the preservation of the other opinions. According to him, the early achievement of the infant Heracles in strangling the serpents sent to kill him and the prophecy of Teiresias that he would go on to further labours and success are meant to be paralleled by Pindar’s prophesying from Chromius’ first victory that he will go on to win more crowns. Unfortunately for Didymus’ interpretation Pindar nowhere suggests that Chromius will win further victories. In fact the success at Nemea was almost certainly not his first, since the one in the minor Pythian games at Sicyon celebrated in the N. 9 was, on the evidence, earlier. Of the four ancient explana-

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tions that of Chaeris is the most convincing as I have argued elsewhere.15

4. Textual Criticism - Conjectures 4.1. Conjectures Fr. 17 (16 Schmidt) Sch. Pi. O. 9.34c: [μαλεραῖς]· ὁ δὲ Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς ἀντὶ τοῦ μαλακαῖς· καὶ γὰρ ἑτέρωθι (I. 2.8) μαλακοφώνους τὰς ᾠδάς φησιν. In fr. 17 the scholia report that Didymus wished to read μαλακαῖς (‘gentle’) instead of μαλεραῖς (‘glowing’) at O. 9.22 on the grounds that Pindar calls odes μαλακοφώνους (‘gentle-voiced’) elsewhere (I. 2.8). Obviously Pindar’s striking imagery was too much for the grammarian’s imagination. Fr. 19 (18 Schmidt) Sch. Pi. O. 10.17a, c: νέμει γὰρ ἁ τραχεῖα πόλις·[...] 17c ἢ οὕτως· ἡ ἀτρέκεια νέμει τὴν πόλιν τῶν Λοκρῶν [...] ὁ δὲ Δ ί δ υ μ ό ς φησιν ἔχειν λόγον καὶ τὴν ἑτέραν γραφήν· νέμει γὰρ ἁ τραχεῖα πόλις Λοκρῶν, ἐπεὶ περὶ χάριτός ἐστιν ὁ λόγος· ἀπονέμει ἡ τραχεῖα πόλις τὴν χάριν, τουτέστιν οἶδεν ἀντιχαρίζεσθαι ἡ τῶν Λοκρῶν πόλις πρὸς ἐγκώμια· διό φησιν· μέλει τέ σφι Καλλιόπα. Didymus fared no better when in fr. 19 he wished at O. 10.13 to read νέμει ... ἁ τραχεῖα πόλις (‘the harsh city’) for νέμει ... Ἀτρέκεια πόλιν, so that instead of having the abstraction Strictness ruling the city, he would have the harsh city ruling—hardly a compliment to the Western Locrians whom Pindar was praising.16

4.2 Defence of Manuscript Readings Fr. 20 (19 Schmidt) Sch. Pi. O. 10.55c: Ἀριστόδημος (FGrHist 383 F *11) γράφει ἀντὶ τοῦ Ἆλιν Ἄλτιν· οὕτω γὰρ τὸν περὶ Ὀλυμπίαν τόπον καλεῖσθαι, καὶ τὸν Δία ἐξ ἐπιθέτου Ἄλτιον. μὴ γὰρ λόγον ἔχειν τὴν ὑπ᾿ αὐτοῦ πεπορθημένην Ἦλιν ἱερὰν καὶ καθαρὰν ποιῆσαι. ἀλλὰ μηδὲ ἱερὸν 15 Braswell 1992, 56 16 On Didymus’ argument for the (unmetrical) change see Carnevali 1980, 7.

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εἶναι Διὸς ἐν Ἤλιδι, ἀλλ᾿ ἐν Πίσῃ. ἀπῳκίσθαι δὲ τὴν Πίσαν τῆς Ὀλυμπίας σταδίους ἕξ. Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς δὲ κατὰ χώραν ἐῶν τὴν γραφὴν τὸν Πίνδαρον τὴν Πίσαν Ἦλιν λέγειν φησίν· οἱ γὰρ Ἠλεῖοι ὑφ᾿ ἑαυτοὺς ποιησάμενοι τοὺς Πισαιάτας Ἦλιν τὴν Πίσαν μετωνόμασαν. εἰ οὖν ἡ Πίσα μετέβαλε, τί ἂν εἴη ἐμποδὼν γράφειν Ἆλιν; καὶ Καλλίμαχος δὲ τὴν Ἦλιν Διὸς οἰκίον εἶπεν (fr. 77 Pfeiffer) ἀντὶ τοῦ Πίσαν· ‘Ἦλιν ἀνάσσεσθαι, Διὸς οἰκίον, ἔλλιπε Φυλεῖ’· ἱερὰν δὲ τὴν Ἦλιν ἀντὶ τοῦ Πίσαν. καὶ τὸν ἐν Πίσῃ δὲ Δία Ἠλεῖον εἶπε Καλλίμαχος (fr. 196.1 Pfeiffer) ‘Ἀλεῖος ὁ Ζεύς’.

If conjectural criticism was not a strong point of Didymus, neither were his efforts at defending a weak reading that he found in his text of Pindar. In fr. 20 we are told that he wanted to keep Ἆλιν at O. 10.45 where Aristarchus’ pupil Aristodemus in his Pindar commentary intelligently corrected the text to read Ἄλτιν. Even if Pindar could have called Pisa, i.e. Olympia ‘Elis’, what Heracles is supposed to have fenced in was the precinct, the temenos which, as Pausanias mentions quoting Pindar, was called Altis from old.17

5. Misplaced Ingenuity in Exegesis Fr. 23 (21 Schmidt) Sch. Pi. O. 13.27a, c–d: τίς γὰρ ἱππείοις ἐν ἔντεσι μέτρα· τουτέστι τὰ ἵππεια μέτρα τοῦ χαλινοῦ. [...] Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς δέ φησι μήτε τοὺς ἱππικοὺς δρόμους μήτε τὰς τῶν ἁρμάτων κατασκευὰς μήτε τὸν χαλινὸν διὰ τούτων δηλοῦσθαι, ἀλλὰ τὸν κεραμεικὸν τροχόν, ἐκ μεταφορᾶς διχόθεν μετενηνεγμένης· τοῦτο μὲν ὅτι ἵπποις οἰκεῖος ὁ τροχός, τοῦτο δὲ ὅτι ἑκατέρωθεν ἐλαύνεται ὑπὸ ποδὸς πτέρνης. Καλλίμαχος (fr. 670 Pfeiffer)· ‘πτέρνῃ θ᾿ ἵππος ἐλαυνόμενος’. [...] 27c καὶ Θεόφραστος μὲν ἐν τῷ Περὶ εὑρημάτων (v. Regenbogen 1940, 1535.8–43) Ὑπέρβιον τὸν Κορίνθιόν φησιν εὑρηκέναι τὴν τοῦ κεραμεικοῦ τροχοῦ μηχανήν. μέτρα δὲ αὐτὸν ὁ Πίνδαρος, παρόσον ἐν κεραμεικοῖς μετροῦμεν. [...] 27d ὁ Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς ἑτέραν ἀποδίδωσιν οὕτως ἔχουσαν· τὴν ἐν πρόθεσιν, ἀντὶ τῆς εἰς κειμένην, συναπτέον πρὸς τὰ μέτρα· τίς γὰρ τοῖς εἰς τὰ μέτρα ἱππείοις ἔντεσιν ἐχρήσατο πρώτη ἢ σύ, ὦ Κόρινθε; ἵππεια δὲ ἔντεα ἀκουστέον τὰ Φειδώνεια ἀγγεῖα· ἔντεα γὰρ ἂν εἴη τὰς χοίνικας καὶ τοὺς μεδίμνους λέγων, διὰ τὴν κοιλότητα. καὶ Ὅμηρος (Od. 7.232)· ‘ἀμφίπολοι δ᾿ ἀπεκόσμεον 17 Paus. 5.10.1: Τὸ δὲ ἄλσος τὸ ἱερὸν τοῦ Διὸς παραποιήσαντες τὸ ὄνομα

Ἄλτιν ἐκ παλαιοῦ καλοῦσιǜ καὶ δὴ καὶ Πινδάρῳ ποιήσαντι ἐς ἄνδρα ὀλυμπιονίκην ᾆσμα Ἄλτις ἐπωνόμασται τὸ χωρίον.

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ἔντεα δαιτός’. τούτων οὖν τῶν εἰς τὰ μέτρα ἐντέων εὑρετάς φησιν εἶναι τοὺς Κορινθίους. διατί δὲ ἵππεια αὐτὰ εἶπεν; ὅτι Φείδων ὁ πρῶτος κόψας Κορινθίοις τὸ μέτρον Ἀργεῖος ἦν· τὸ δὲ Ἄργος ἵππειον λέγουσιν οἱ ποιηταί. Εὐριπίδης (IT 700)· ‘ὅταν εἰς Ἑλλάδ᾿ ἵππειόν τ᾿ Ἄργος μόλῃς’.

We could go on adding examples of Didymus’ waywardness as a critic, but surely the prime example of his misplaced ingenuity is found in another scholion on O. 13.20–22. In fr. 24 he correctly attributed the device of placing eagles on the gables of temples to an invention of the Corinthians,18 but in fr. 23 on the same passage he first argues that the μέτρα which were added to the horse-gear are not the bridle but the potter’s wheel and then goes on to say it could refer to measuring pots. The argumentation in both cases shows a certain method in his madness, but that is not the place to pursue this diversion further..19

6. Aesthetic Criticism Fr. 35 (32 Schmidt) (a) Sch. Pi. P. 10.51a–b: κλειτὰς ὄνων ἑκατόμβας· τὸ σημεῖον, ὅτι οἱ Ὑπερβόρειοι ὄνους θύουσι τῷ Ἀπόλλωνι. 51b ταῦτα, φησὶν ὁ Δ ί δ υ μ ο ς , μετὰ τοῦ γελοίου καὶ ἄσεμνά εἰσι· τίνα γὰρ λόγον ἂν ἔχοι ἥδεσθαι τὸν Ἀπόλλωνα τοῖς ὀρθιάζουσιν ὄνοις; φησίν. (b) Sch. Pi. P. 10.55a–b: χαίρει γελᾷ θ᾿ ὁρῶν· ἥδεται δέ, φησίν, ὁ Ἀπόλλων θεωρῶν τὴν τῶν θηρίων ἀναίρεσιν. 55b ὕβριν τὴν ἀναίρεσιν. ὕβριν δὲ αὐτὴν καλεῖ παρὰ τὰ σκιρτήματα, ἃ ἐν τῇ σφαγῇ ποιοῦνται οἱ ὄνοι. (c) Sch. Pi. P. 10.56a: ὀρθίαν κνωδάλων· ἔπαιξεν ὁ Πίνδαρος, ὡς τῶν ὄνων ὀρθιώντων, ὅτε ἱερουργοῦντο. Finally, as one example of Didymus’ frequent criticism of passages on moral or aesthetic grounds, we may mention his comment in fr. 35 on that notorious verse P. 10.36 where Apollo is said to laugh at the ὕβριν ὀρθίαν of the asses which the Hyperboreans sacrifice in his honour. He finds this ‘ludicrous and unseemly’ and asks: ‘What reason would there be for Apollo to take pleasure in τοῖς ὀρθιάζουσιν ὄνοις?’. Just as modern critics such as William Race in his Loeb edition remain uncertain

18 See above, p. 184–185. 19 Deas 1931, 24 has conveniently set out the curious sequence of Didymus’ argumentation.

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what amuses Apollo in the asses’ behaviour,20 so too they are not sure what annoys Didymus in Pindar’s description. Although some Pindarists, for example A. Köhnken,21 continue to take it as a reference to the asses’ braying, ὁρῶν, which Sch. Pi. P. 10.55a paraphrases with θεωρῶν, can hardly imply anything other than sight. Other critics, for example L.R. Farnell,22 think that Apollo laughs when he sees the ithyphallic exuberance of the beasts. There is however another explanation given in Sch. Pi. P. 10.55b, which was accepted by A. Boeckh,23 that the reference is to the σκιρτήματα, the ‘leaps’, i.e. the rearing up, of the restive animals as they are led to the slaughter. This would account for the use of a verb of sight. While it is just possible that Pindar might have understood it in this way, though I doubt it, we can be sure that Didymus was not objecting to the use of ὕβριν ὀρθίαν in that sense. Although the verb ὀρθιάζειν can be used of a shrill cry as in Aeschylus’ Persians,24 it is unlikely that he was shocked at Apollo’s amusement at the braying of asses. Rather, he must have used ὀρθιάζειν in the sense of arrigere as in the late medical writers Oribasius and Paul of Aegina.25 As the more tolerant Sch. Pi. P. 10. 56a remarks, Pindar was jesting.

7. Conclusion The examples I have chosen give a general notion of Didymus’ exegesis of Pindar. Notably absent from the evidence preserved in the scholia is any discussion of metre. Although metrical problems presumably did not interest Didymus as did historical references, we cannot be sure in the 20 21 22 23

Race 1997, I 362–63. Köhnken 1971, 161. Farnell 1932, 218. Boeckh 1811–21, II 2, 335. Wilamowitz 1922, 127, combines the two explanations in that he thinks that Apollo ‘sich an den Sprüngen der ithyphallischen Esel freut, die ihm geopfert werden’. 24 A. Pers. 686–88: ὑμεῖς δὲ θρηνεῖτ᾿ ἐγγὺς ἑστῶτες τάφου, / καὶ ψυχαγωγοῖς ὀρθιάζοvτες γόοις / οἰκτρῶς καλεῖσθέ μ᾿. 25 Orib. Syn. 5.19.2: χρίειν δεῖ λίπει συνεχεῖ τὰ αἰδοῖα μῖγμα ἔχοντι τῆς τοῦ ναρκίσσου ῥίζης μέρος βραχὺ ... ὀρθιάζεται δὲ καὶ ὅστις ὀποῦ Κυρηναϊκοῦ κέγχρου μέγεθος ἐντίθεται, Paul. Aeg. 6.70.1: ὑπερμεγέθης ἐνίαις γίνεται νύμφη καὶ εἰς ἀπρέπειαν αἰσχύνης ἀπαντᾷǜ καθὼς δέ τινες ἱστοροῦσιν, ἔνιαι διὰ τοῦ μέρους καὶ ὀρθιάζουσιν ἀνδράσιν ὁμοίως καὶ πρὸς συνουσίαν ὁρμῶσιν. And, for the compound ἐξ-, cf. also Plu. De Iside et Osiride 51 (371f): πανταχοῦ δὲ καὶ ἀνθρωπόμορφον Ὀσίριδος ἄγαλμα δεικνύουσιν ἐξορθιάζον τῷ αἰδοίῳ διὰ τὸ γόνιμον καὶ τὸ τρόφιμον, as well as the use of ὀρθιᾶν in Cyranides 1.5.13 and 1.10.64 (44.65 Kaimakis).

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light of the fragmentary state of the evidence that he did not at times treat them. That he did not edit the text of Pindar seems certain. Although some recent critics, notably Ph. Harding in his excellent edition of Didymus’ On Demosthenes, claim more originality for the grammarian than is usually conceded,26 in summing up Didymus’ achievement as a Pindar commentator I can do no better at this stage than to quote Wilamowitz’ general assessment of him: “Didymos hat zwar keine epochemachende, aber doch eine eminente geschichtliche Bedeutung. Er hat die Ergebnisse der älteren kritisch exegetischen Arbeit zusammengefaßt und auf die Nachwelt gebracht”.27

26 Harding 2006, esp. 31–39, 41. 27 Wilamowitz 1889, 161.

Afterlives of a Tragic Poet: The Hypothesis in the Hellenistic Reception of Euripides Peter Bing Hermippus of Smyrna, the 3rd century B.C. biographer and student of Callimachus, wrote a life of Euripides in which he recounts the following story that goes to the heart of this poet’s reception:1 λέγει δὲ καὶ Ἕρμιππος Διονύσιον τὸν Σικελίας τύραννον μετὰ τὴν τελευτὴν τοῦ Εὐριπίδου τάλαντον τοῖς κληρονόμοις αὐτοῦ πέμψαντα λαβεῖν τὸ ψαλτήριον καὶ τὴν δέλτον καὶ τὸ γραφεῖον, ἅπερ ἰδόντα κελεῦσαι τοὺς φέροντας ἐν τῷ Μουσῶν ἱερῷ ἀναθεῖναι ἐπιγράψαντα τοῖς αὐτοῦ Εὐριπίδου ὀνόμασι· διὸ καὶ ξενοφιλώτατον κεκλῆσθαί φασι διὰ τὸ μάλιστα ὑπὸ ξένων φιλεῖσθαι· ὑπὸ γὰρ Ἀθηναίων ἐφθονεῖτο.

Vita Euripidis p. 5 Schwartz I = T A 1 III 4 (Kannicht) Hermippos says…that following Euripides’ death, Dionysius [the 1st], tyrant of Sicily [from ca. 405–367, and notorious as author of both tragedy and comedy himself], sent Euripides’ heirs the sum of one talent and got the poet’s harp, his writing tablet and his stylus. After he had seen the instruments, he ordered those who brought them to set them up as a votive gift in the temple of the Muses and he had an inscription made in his own and Euripides’ name. It is for this reason that he [scil. Euripides] was called “most beloved by strangers”, because he was particularly loved by foreigners, whereas the Athenians bore him ill-will.

This anecdote, which concerns the transfer of a poet’s instruments—the emblems of his art—from their native setting to a distant land, is very much a product of its age. It recalls other Hellenistic texts, both in verse and prose, that describe how custody of the poetic heritage shifts to a new place—to a setting in which that legacy is better appreciated, more lovingly safeguarded. No longer for sale to the highest bidder, the em-

1

Cf. Bollansée 1999, 98–100 and 223.

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blems of the poet’s craft are sanctified within a shrine of the Muses.2 A comparable tale was told of how the Ptolemies’ unscrupulously acquired from Athens the official Lycurgan copy of the three great tragedians, the so-called “Staatsexemplar”; they offered to give the Athenians a deposit of fifteen talents if only they could borrow the originals to make copies—or so they said. The Ptolemies, however, gladly forfeited the huge sum so as to keep the prototype.3 As with the instruments of Euripides in Hermippus’ tale, these precious literary objects were deposited in a shrine of the Muses, the Alexandrian Museum of which the great library likely formed a part. Another example—this time a poem, epigram 37 AB of the Milan Posidippus papyrus—similarly traces a poetic object’s journey to a new land. It describes how a lyre, carried by “Arion’s dolphin”, was washed ashore in Egypt and deposited in the temple of Arsinoe Philadelphus. The poem plausibly reflects Ptolemaic claims to be the new custodians of the literary heritage, here in particular of the Lesbic tradition of lyric verse, embodied by Arion.4 For Hermippus, the fate of Euripides’ poetic implements—his lyre, writing tablet, and stylus—exemplifies this tragedian’s special popularity beyond his native Athens. Though unappreciated at home, foreigners adore him; hence he is xenophilotatos. Previous studies have had nothing to say about this term. Yet it is worth noting how peculiar it is, together with its underlying concept. The related adjective philoxeinos is, of course, well-attested already in the Odyssey in the sense of “loving strangers”, “hospitable” (6.121, 8.576, 9.176, 13.202), and not infrequent thereafter in poetry (especially Pindar and tragedy) and in prose. But while the actively cordial philoxeinos makes perfect sense within the norms of ancient Greek hospitality, the passive xenophilos, “beloved by strangers”, is a cultural oddity. It is not surprising, therefore that Hermippus’ expression, xenophilos, is a hapax—a unique term to designate a 2

See also the later, more scurrilous tradition at Lucian Adv. indoct. 15 (= TrGF 1, 76 T11), concerning Dionysius’ reaction when his tragedies were mocked: οὗτος τοίνυν πυθόμενος ὡς ἐγγελᾶται, τὸ Αἰσχύλου πυξίον εἰς ὃ ἐκεῖνος ἔγραφε σὺν πολλῇ σπουδῇ κτησάμενος καὶ αὐτὸς ᾤετο ἔνθεος ἔσεσθαι καὶ κάτοχος ἐκ τοῦ πυξίου· ἀλλ’ ὅμως ἐν αὐτῷ ἐκείνῳ μακρῷ γελοιότερα ἔγραφεν, “When he discovered that he was being laughed at, he took great

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pains to procure the wax-tablets on which Aeschylus used to write, thinking that he too would be inspired and possessed with divine frenzy in virtue of the tablets. But for all that, what he wrote on those very tablets was far more ridiculous than what he had written before.” (Loeb transl.) Galen, Comm. in Hipp. Epidem. (CMG V 10, 2, 1 p.79). Cf. Fraser (1972) 325 with n.147. See Bing 2005, 127–131.

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unique playwrite; it is, moreover, not even recorded in LSJ.5 Indeed, the word is a pointed and witty inversion of the conventional virtue embodied in the more common philoxeinos. For while philoxeinos reflects the idealized attitude of a host toward any given stranger, xenophilos regards the anomalous quality of a stranger beloved abroad by every imaginable host—even as he is unappreciated in his native land. In the case of Euripides, that popularity abroad is borne out by various types of evidence. Didascalic notices, for instance, suggest that throughout the Greek world restagings of Euripides were all the rage. That impression is confirmed by the visual evidence from South Italy, where drama was a favored subject in vase-painting, and where the number of depictions of Euripidean tragedies greatly exceed those of the other tragedians.6 Finally, papyri show that texts of this tragedian far outnumber those of Aeschylus and Sophocles, and indeed that he was the most widely read Greek poet after Homer—at least in GrecoRoman Egypt, where most of the papyri were found. Yet one form of Hellenistic Euripides reception has been thought unrelated to the popularity of this tragedian’s work, namely the narrative hypotheses, or plot-summaries, of Euripides’ plays. These texts—which are to be distinguished from the learned didascalic hypotheses that circulated under the name of Aristophanes of Byzantium, or from elaborate Byzantine synopses—have been found in a wide array of papyri, ranging in date from the 1st through the 3rd cent. A.D.7 For the most part, they exhibit such formal consistency that they have plausibly been thought to derive from a single original collection, whose date—judging by the style—was likely between the 2nd cent. B.C and 1st cent. A.D.8 As the

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It does occasionally appear as a name. This is true generally, and not just in S. Italy, for post-5th cent. B.C. vase painting. See Kuch 1978, 196 n.46, citing Trendall–Webster 1971. Now see especially Taplin 2007, 109: “compared with Aeschylus and Sophocles, Euripides made a far greater impact on mythological pictures. Surely this must go hand in hand with his being more frequently performed, and with his making a greater impression on audiences.” His section on Euripides runs from p. 108 to 219. For the performance of Euripides in the Greek West, cf. Allan 2001, 67–86. For Euripides reception generally, cf. Funke 1965–1966, 233–279. The earliest is P. Mil. Vogl. 2, 44. For the most recent, detailed treatment of these hypotheses, cf. van Rossum-Steenbeek 1998. For general character, style and date, Zuntz’s treatment (1955, 134–139) remains essential. See also now Diggle 2005, 65–67. This is the conclusion of Diggle 2005, 66, who finds that “the types of clausulae he [scil. the author of the hypotheses] favours and his pervasive use of them, allied to the rhetorical nature of his prose and the rhythms with which he em-

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papyri show, this collection was available independent of the plays themselves and arranged in alphabetical order according to title. Building on a comparison made already by Wilamowitz, Günther Zuntz dubbed it Tales from Euripides, after Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare.9 Zuntz also had a strong opinion about the function of this text. With typical bluntness, he asserted that these hypotheses’ “sole purpose is to summarize the action of the play … [They] are not designed to introduce the reader to the plays. They are meant as a substitute for the plays. This is to say … the ‘Tales of Euripides’ were retold for the use of readers interested in mythology rather than in poetry.”10 This assessment, which sees these texts as mythography operating mostly apart the plays, has become the dominant view among scholars.11 Yet I believe the texts themselves suggest something different. And I want to illustrate that difference by reference to the hypothesis of the lost play, Melanippe the Wise. We know the text from various sources. It appears in two closely related versions in works by 12th cent. authors, John Logothetes and Gregory of Corinth, in their commentaries on a rhetorical treatise of Hermogenes, Concerning the Pursuit of Intensity. Substantial portions have also emerged in the 2nd cent. A.D. Oxyrhychus papyrus 2455, part of an alphabetic edition of Euripidean hypotheses, whose fragments start with bellishes it, all mark him as an adherent of the Asiatic school of rhetoric, whose origins are associated with Hegesias of Magnesia in the 3rd century.” 9 Wilamowitz 1907, 134 n.19 and 170, made the comparison with Lamb. See Zuntz 1955, 135–139. 10 Zuntz 1955, 135. 11 It is echoed e.g. by E.G. Turner, “clearly a work of popularization retelling the story of the plays in digest form, so that the reader could skip the original if he felt so inclined,” 1968, 101; J. Rusten, “the narratives were meant solely to summarize the plot, and contained no critical comments or didascalic information; they were thus designed for readers who wished to be familiar with Euripidean plots without reading the plays themselves, and belonged not to scholarship but to mythography,” 1982, 358; or more recently R. Kannicht, “Tales From Euripides, die die vielfach kanonisch gewordene μυθοποιία der euripideischen Stücke in schlichter Prosa so vermitteln, dass sie deren Lektüre unter stofflicher Rücksicht gegebenenfalls ersetzen konnten,” 1997, 68; tending in this direction, though occasionally contradicting herself, see van RossumSteenbeek 1998, 159: “The narrative hypotheses consist of independent retellings of tragedies…; they may easily be read without the text of the plays, or even instead of them…; the author and/or other readers and users of the collection did not have to read or consult the tragedies to obtain the information they needed for some reason or another”. Yet on p. 161, she says “Most of our subliterary papyri seem to have helped the readers to acquire information on or form a picture of the literature they were reading or about to read. These papyrus texts have an auxiliary or introductory character”.

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Mu and run, with interruptions, to the end of the alphabet.12 Further, fragments of several lines survive in a Leiden papyrus probably of the 1st cent. (P. Lugd. Bat. 25.2).13 These papyrus texts are nearly identical to the medieval versions.14 Kannicht’s text in TrGF 5, which I reproduce, is thus a composite of these various sources: Με[λανίππη ἡ Σοφή, ἧς ἀρχή ῾Ζεὺς δ.[. . . . ֫ἡ δὲ ὑπόθεσις·֬ ֫Ἕλληνος τοῦ Διὸς Αἴολος τεκνωθεὶς ἐ֬κ μὲν Ε֫ὐ֬ρυ֫δίκης ἐγέννησε Κρηθέα καὶ Σ֬αλμωνέα κ֫αὶ Σίσυφον, ἐκ δὲ τῆς Χείρω-֬ νος θυγατρὸ֫ς Ἵππης κάλλει διαφέρου-֬ σαν Μελανίππ֫ην. αὐτὸς μὲν οὖν φόνον֬ π֫οιήσας ἐ֬π᾿ ἐνια֫υτὸν ἀπῆλθε φυγάς,֬ τὴν δὲ Με֫λ֬αν֫ίππην Ποσειδὼν διδύμων֬ παίδων ἔγκυ֫ον֬ ἐποίησ֫εν. ἡ δὲ διὰ τὴν προσ-֬ δοκίαν τῆς το֫ῦ֬ πατρὸς ֫παρουσίας τοὺς γεν-֬ νηθέντας ֫εἰ֬ς τὴν βούσ֫τασιν ἔδωκε τῆι֬ τροφῶι θε֫ῖν֬αι κατὰ τὴ֫ν ἐντολὴν τοῦ κα-֬ τασπείρα֫ντ֬ος. ὑπὸ δὲ ֫τὴν κάθοδον τοῦ֬ δυνάστο֫υ τὰ֬ βρέφη τιν֫ὲς τῶν βουκόλων֬ φυλαττ֫όμεν֬α μὲν ὑ֫πὸ τοῦ ταύρου, θη-֬ λα֬ζόμ֫ενα δ֬ὲ ὑπ֫ὸ μιᾶς τῶν βοῶν ἰδόντες, ὡς β֬ο֫υγεν֬ῆ τέρατα τῷ βασιλεῖ π֫ροσήνεγκαν. ὁ δὲ τῇ τοῦ πατρὸς Ἕλ֬ληνος γνώμῃ ֫πεισθεὶς ὁλοκαυτοῦν τὰ βρέφη κρί-֬ νας Μελανίππηι τῇ ֫θυγατρὶ προσέταξεν ἐνταφίοις αὐτὰ κοσμῆσαι.֬ ἡ δὲ κ֫αὶ τὸν κόσμον αὐτοῖς ἐπέθηκε καὶ λόγον εἰς παραίτησιν ἐξέθηκε φιλότιμον.֬

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TrGF 5.1, (44) i Kannicht Melanippe the Wise, whose first line is “Zeus […” The plot is this: Aeolus was begotten by Zeus’s son Hellen. By Eurydice he fathered Cretheus, Salmoneus and Sisyphus, and by Cheiron’s daughter Hippe the extraordinarily beautiful Melanippe. Now after committing a murder, he 12 Editio princeps by E.G. Turner in The Oxyrhynchus Papyri XXVII (London 1962). 13 Editio princeps by Daniel 1991, 3–4. Cf. Luppe 1991, 15–17. 14 As Luppe has stressed, “soweit der Oxyrhychus-Papyrus erhalten ist, hat er gezeigt, dass die mittelalterliche Überlieferung fast wörtlich den ursprünglichen Text bewahrt hat,” 1991, 15.

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himself went into exile for a year, and Melanippe was impregnated by Poseidon with twin sons. Anticipating her father’s return she gave the infants when she had borne them to her nurse to place in the ox-stable, in accordance with their father’s instruction. Upon the ruler’s homecoming, some of the ox-herds saw the infants being guarded by the bull and suckled by one of the cows. Taking them to be cow-born monsters, they brought them to the king who, following his father Hellen’s opinion, decided to burn up the infants and instructed his daughter Melanippe to furnish them with funeral apparel. Melanippe put the apparel on them, and also interceded for them with an ambitious speech.

First of all, it is worth saying again that, as P. Oxy. 2455 makes clear, this text was part of an alphabetic collection of Euripidean hypotheses, and that hypotheses preserved in other papyri point to the same sort of collection. Thus, although scholars starting with Wilamowitz have noted the sometimes verbatim similarity between parts of these hypotheses and more general works of mythography such as the Library of Ps.-Apollodorus or Hyginus’ Fabulae,15 and have argued from this that the hypotheses served a similarly independent mythographic function, it is noteworthy that our collection was not made to form a coherent mythological narrative, whether organized genealogically and chronologically like Ps.-Apollodorus, or thematically like Hyginus or Parthenius’ Περὶ ἐρωτικῶν παϑημάτων. Rather, the hypotheses’ raison d’être are the tragedies of Euripides: They appear together in the collection for no other reason than that they refer to his works. Their relatively large number in the papyri vis-à-vis synopses of the other tragedians suggests the popularity of Euripides—not of the prose hypothesis as independent genre. Further, E.G. Turner noted how the alphabetic organization of the hypotheses “clearly looks back to a complete and [alphabetically] ordered edition of Euripides…”. Each hypothesis, moreover, is introduced—as in the case of our Melanippe the Wise—by title and opening verse, terms which “are themselves derived from a definitive edition or catalogue…This is how works were entered in Callimachus’ Pinakes”.16 That is to say, the collection of hypotheses was keyed to a standard text of Euripides, and designed so as to facilitate its use in conjunction with such a text. What, after all, would be the point of including a drama’s first line if not to allow readers to find the scroll containing, for example, Melanippe the Wise, when they look for it in the book-bucket of his tragedies with titles in “Mu”? Clearly, the hypothesis leads to the text. 15 See Wilamowitz 1875, 183–184; Zuntz 1955, 136, and Rusten 1982, 357 n.2. 16 Turner, op.cit. (n. 12) 101–102.

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In addition, as Zuntz points out,17 John Logothetes probably found this hypothesis, and that to the Sthenoboia, in an earlier source that had extracted them from a complete edition of Euripides, “for he was able to add to the arguments quotations from each of these plays”. In other words, that source had linked the hypothesis to the play, precisely as the hypothesis itself invites its readers to do. A concrete link to the play may also be apparent when, in line 24 of the hypothesis, Gregory of Corinth adds to the words καὶ λόγον the article τόν, so as to produce καὶ τὸν λόγον. Kannicht rightly glosses this change (ad loc.) as meaning “illam orationem”, that is, “that well-known λόγος”. And he adds in a recent letter (9/20/08), “a hint at the fame of Melanippe’s speech?” That seems to be suggested, too, in the further qualification that λόγος receives here. Although hypotheses certainly omit elements that are present in the tragedies, or add others that help fill in the background, they often highlight particular moments in the drama. In the case of Melanippe, we observe how at the critical point when she has already dressed her children in funeral garb in preparation for their fiery death, the hypothesis tells us she delivered an “ambitious speech”, λόγος φιλότιμος, as an appeal (l. 25). As van Rossum-Steenbeek notes, the hypotheses contain “minimum employment of adjectives”.18 Hence, the use of the evaluative φιλότιμος here is striking. What is its function in this text? I would say that it refers readers to Euripides, giving them a gentle nudge as though to suggest “Go look for yourself”. One cannot unproblematically compare these hypotheses to Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare.19 Yet when Lamb writes of his hope that “what these Tales shall have been to the young readers, that and much more it is the writers’ wish that the true Plays of Shakespeare may prove to them in older years,” one cannot help recalling that several papyri with Euripidean hypotheses were evidently written as school exercises.20 Moreover, Plutarch attests that in their education, “children did not go straight to poetry; first, they were given a summary—ποιητικὰς ὑποθέσεις,” as he calls them in his treatise on How a Young Man Should Study Poetry (Aud.

17 1955, 137. 18 1998, 12. 19 The early 19th cent. milieu conditions that work’s expectation that its Tales will serve the education of “very young children”, and young ladies in particular, “because boys being generally permitted the use of their fathers’ libraries at a much earlier age than girls are, they frequently have the best scenes of Shakespeare by heart, before their sisters are permitted to look into this manly book” (Preface, Everyman’s Library edition, New York 1906). 20 See Cribiore 1996, 192, 301. Cf. van Rossum-Steenbeek 1998, 31.

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Poet. 14d).21 Inasmuch, then, as they help introduce the reader to a given play or facilitate his experience thereof, these texts must be seen as feeding ultimately into the public’s avid consumption and keen enjoyment of Euripidean tragedy. In this sense, hypotheses such as that for Melanippe the Wise are one more indicator of Euripides’ status as xenophilotatos in the Hellenistic Age.

21 Thus Marrou 1956, 165. Note, however, van Rossum-Steenbeek’s caution about what precisely Plutarch might have meant by ποιητικὰς ὑποθέσεις, and whether these might refer to verse-hypotheses, 1998, 73 n.50.

Re-writing the Personal Joke: Some Aspects in the Interpretation of ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν in Ancient Scholarship Stelios Chronopoulos Ancient scholarship saw the ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν, the personal jokes against historical persons in comedies, as a crucial element belonging to the first phase of Attic comedy, the so called “Old Comedy”. The roots of comedy and the historical development of the genre are repeatedly explained with reference to the element of personal ridicule. In the scholia on Dionysios Thrax the roots of the genre are traced back to songs of abuse which peasants chanted under the cover of night before the houses of city-dwellers who had wronged them. As this proved an effective method for exposing injustice, the polis determined to institutionalise such songs, offering the city-theatre to peasants for such performances. Later it charged poets with the task of freely ridiculing whomever they wished. On this reading, ‘Old Comedy’ is considered a consequence of this particular freedom of speech.1 Secondly, a discernible trend in ancient scholarship explains the development of Attic comedy with reference to the social role of the ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν and the reactions of the persons abused. Thus, according to some Prolegomena de Comoedia, as a reaction to unqualified freedom of speech in the ‘Old Comedy’, more indirect, implicit methods of κωμῳδεῖν were adopted in ‘Middle Comedy’, eventually leading to the abolition of personal abuse against prominent members of the polis in ‘New Comedy’.2

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The scholion on Dionysios to which is referred to in XVIIIa, 2–18, p. 70 Koster; cf. also Prolegomena de Comoedia IV, 2–11, p. 11 Koster. For the relationship between these Prolegomena and the scholia on Dionysios, see Nesselrath 1990, 38–44. For a contemporary discussion of songs of abuse (Rügenlieder) as a possible source for Attic comedy, see Stark 2004, 109–116. Prolegomena de Comoedia XVIIIa, 26–39, p. 71 Koster (= Sch. D.T.); cf. also Prolegomena de Comoedia IV, 10–15, p. 11f. Koster and Platon. Diff. Com. (= Prolegomena de Comoedia I, p. 3–6 Koster).

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These approaches to the origins and the development of the comedy give priority to comedy’s moral functions. They view comedy primarily as a political institution and the κωμῳδεῖν as exercising a corrective function.3 The ancient scholia to Aristophanes are characterised by this same tendency.4 Personal ridicule is harnessed to provide as much information on the ridiculed persons as possible, thus permitting a reconstruction of the historical person behind each komodoumenos. Although this moralizing and biographical approach is indeed prominent, there are a number of indications that aesthetic critique and the presentation of a personal joke in its textual context are not absent from the scholia. In this paper I shall attempt to follow up some of these features. In the first part of this essay I will develop the moralizing/biographical approach as a means towards understanding the function of ancient comedy. In the second part I will however propose that the process through which the comments on personal jokes in the scholia on Aristophanes are produced can also be viewed as a process of rewriting these personal jokes in the critical idiom of a philological survey or commentary. A crucial feature of this process will be commented upon: the characterisation of a personal joke through the verbal form used to introduce its transcribed version. In the third part I will examine some particular cases which indicate that, besides the moralizing and biographical approach, the ancient scholia preserve vestiges of approaches which consider the function of the personal jokes in the framework of their textual contexts and thus to a certain extent also examine the ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν from an aesthetic point of view.

1. The Comic Poet as Censor, the komodoumenoi as Historical Personalities The scholia to Aristophanes, which are transmitted in the margins to Byzantine manuscripts of the plays, were composed at the earliest in the 10th century CE. The material that they draw from may be traced back

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Nesselrath 1990, 54. A clear formulation of the moralising function of κωμῳδεῖν may be found in Sch. Ar. Nu. 542 b α, β.

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to the Hellenistic ὑπομνήματα, which were copied, compiled, and paraphrased up until the 6th century CE.5 Besides these Hellenistic commentaries an important role in ancient research of ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν was played by the separate treatises on komodoumenoi which had, it may plausibly be assumed, the form of lists of the persons ridiculed and also of those passages in which they were mentioned. These komodoumenoi treatises reveal the prosopographic interest of ancient philological research on comedy. The scholia to Aristophanes contain several references both to the Hellenistic ὑπομνήματα and to the komodoumenoi treatises.6 In their approaches to the komodoumenoi ancient scholars primarily endeavoured to solve the problem set out by Plutarch (Mor. 712 A 4– 11), who had argued that personal jokes, an important element in the humour of many Attic comedies of the 5th and the 4th centuries BCE, were incomprehensible to a public not acquainted with the actuality in which these comedies were embedded. The general method employed by ancient scholars in their approach to personal jokes in the comedies may be reconstructed as follows: jokes about each specific person are removed from their contexts and juxtaposed, thus providing a picture of the komodoumenos, a picture which was supposed to be as consistent as possible. A certain historical and therefore interpretative value was then ascribed to this general portrait. In most cases the material for this portrait came from the jokes themselves. The circularity of this approach is apparent. Nevertheless, the lack of historical information about several komodoumenoi, in combination with the assumption that this information is indispensable for the understanding of the personal jokes in comedy, explains why even contemporary research often overlooks this circularity. To cite one example, Eleanor Dickey remarks in her valuable guide to Ancient Greek Scholarship: ‘The scholia to Aristophanes are among the most important sets of scholia, in part because they provide historical background without which many of the jokes and allusions in the comedies would be incomprehensible.’7 5

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See Maehler 1994 and Maehler 2000, 34–36; see also Dickey 2007, 29. On the definition and the various categories of Hellenistic ὑπομνήματα, see Del Fabbro 1979, 69. The main approach to the komodoumenoi-lists remains Steinhausen 1910; to the scholars listed there we should add Hypsikrates, whose komodoumenoi-treatise consisted of at least 7 books (P.Oxy. 18, 2192, dated ca. 170 CE); on the work and the identity of Hypsikrates, see Nesselrath 1990, 75 n. 32 and Perrone 2006. On the komodoumenoi-treatises, see also Wilson 2007, 43f. Dickey 2007, 28.

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In his article entitled ‘Ancient Interpretations of ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν in Aristophanes’, Stephen Halliwell exposes the circularity of this approach.8 His remarks may be summarised as follows: in the scholia ‘satirical humour is consistently translated into objective truth’ (1984, 84); for the most part however it is only a paraphrasis of the comic passages that is presented as the historical portrait of the person. Still ‘in their eagerness to re-create the assumed factual background of Aristophanic jokes the Scholia frequently draw unsound or unnecessary inferences from the text’ (p. 85), and they have the tendency ‘to assimilate the unknown, or indeterminated to the known’ (p. 86). This approach is based upon their ‘moralistic motivation’; the comic poet is right to ridicule the komodoumenoi because they were, in point of fact, just as presented in the jokes against them.9 Thus, Halliwell continues, the scholia do not take account of the mechanisms which comedy uses to create personal jokes.

2. Re-writing Personal Jokes Halliwell’s criticism focuses on the way in which the scholia construct the basic quasi-’biographical’ information they offer us about the komodoumenoi. This would seem however to have been only a part of the aim of the scholars who made notes on personal jokes; crucially, these notes sought to make the personal joke comprehensible. To achieve this aim the joke was written anew in more or less abstract diction, including necessary prosopographic ‘information’ as part of this reworking. This does not mean that Halliwell’s critical remarks are not accurate—rather the opposite. I would nevertheless suggest that we might deepen our understanding of the scholiastic notes on personal jokes if we approach them as attempts to explain the jokes themselves through rewriting. If we consider the remarks in the scholia on personal jokes in this way, we discern that they consist of certain more or less fixed components. The scholion on the joke against Straton in Aristophanes’ Acharnians 122 might serve as an example: 8 9

Halliwell 1984. A very clear formulation of this approach to comic ridicule can be found in Cic. Rep. 4.10–11, where the social function of the comic poet as guardian of public morality is paralleled to the function of the censores. Augustinus (De civitate dei II 9) who cites this passage, adopts a totally different perspective, considering comic ridicule against historical persons to be an element in the cultic play of Attic comedy. See Büchner 1984, 275–277 and Holtermann 2004, 40– 42.

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Sch. Ar. Ach. 122 (vet Tr) οὐ δήπου Στράτων: καὶ οὗτος κωμῳδεῖται [1] ὡς λωβώμενος τὸ γένειον καὶ λειαίνων τὸ σῶμα ὡς ὁ Κλεισθένης, [2] ὥς φησιν αὐτὸς Ἀριστοφάνης ἐν ταῖς Ὁλκάσι· παῖδες ἀγένειοι, Κλεισθένης τε καὶ Στράτων.[3] REΓLh. ‘not Straton’: he is also ridiculed as mutilating [i.e. shaving or depilating] his beard and depilating his body, as Kleisthenes had done, as again Aristophanes says in the Holkades: beardless boys, Kleisthenes and Straton.10

The note is introduced with a verbal form (κωμῳδεῖται[1]), which is followed by the reason for the comic ridicule [2]; at the end, a number of parallels where the same person is ridiculed are mentioned, in this case for precisely the same reason [3], an important addition, since the joke against Straton is elliptical and hence not easy to decipher.11 In a briefer scholion about Kleisthenes (Ach. 118) an additional element appears; though causally interconnected, the reason for the ridicule and the way this is realised in dramatic performance are here treated distinctly. Thus the scholion also comments on the way Kleisthenes is portrayed in the scene: Sch. Ar. Ach. 118 (vet Tr) [...] οὗτος δὲ ὁ Κλεισθένης ἀεὶ τὸ γένειον ἐξυρᾶτο πρὸς τὸ ἀεὶ φαίνεσθαι νέος. διὰ τοῦτο εὐνούχῳ αὐτὸν εἰκάζει. REΓLh [...] This Kleisthenes shaved his beard in order always to appear young at all times. That is why he (sc. Aristophanes) portrays him as a eunuch.

At the very least it should be pointed out that at times the scholia explicitly comment on the connection between the reasons for the ridicule and the image of the komodoumenos portrayed. Thus an important distinction is introduced, indicating the possibility of a differentiation between the attitudes of the ridiculed person and his presentation in the comic text. In this case the portrait of Kleisthenes as εὐνοῦχος is not interpreted biographically but rather through an inference, that explains the reason for this portrait. The acknowledgement of the fact that not all satirical images can be interpreted literally, that a satirical image ‘translates’ historical reality in a certain form, is already a first step towards

10 The citations of the Aristophanic scholia are from Koster and Holwerda (ed.), Scholia in Aristophanem, Groningen 1975–2007. The translations into English are of my own. 11 The fact that this scholion about Straton mentions the passage from Holkades (= Ar. fr. 422 PCG) to illustrate the meaning of the joke in Acharnians 122 but does not refer to a very similar joke against Kleisthenes and Straton in Knights 1373f. may be of interest for the history of the composition of ancient scholia.

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questioning the linear connection between the properties of the historical persons ridiculed and the komodoumenoi. The verbal forms which are used to introduce the comments on personal jokes are a prominent feature in the process of rewriting such jokes, a feature that may be considered of some importance for the way the scholia conceive of the connection between historical personalities and their satirical image. Concerning these verbal forms three categories may be discerned: (I) the verb εἰμί either in indicative (ἦν/ἐστί) or in potentialis: εἴη ἄν..., or verbs denoting that the ridiculed person is acting in a certain way; ἐδόκει ... εἶναι; οἱ δὲ λέγουσι..., φασίν, λέγεται.12 (II) εἴρηται, καλεῖ αὐτόν (ὁ ποιητής)·ἀποτείνεται / ἀποτείνει πρός, μέμνηται ὡς· εἰσάγει ὡς·13 βούλεται ἀποδεῖξαι ὡς.14 (III) διεβάλλετο ἐπὶ / ὡς ...·κωμῳδεῖται (ὡς) ..., κωμῳδεῖ ...· κωμῳδῶν ... παρίστησιν· διασύρει, λέγει διασύρων· κωμῳδεῖ καὶ διασύρει· σκώπτει, κωμῳδεῖ … σκώπτων, διασκώπτει· χλευάζει· ὀνειδίζει. A distinction between the expressions that comment upon the personal joke through a mere statement of the person’s properties thus provoking the comic abuse, and those that re-write the joke, considering it to be a perlocutionary act of the comic poet, is discernible. With regard to the ‘statements of properties’, there is a further distinction between (1) scholiastic remarks in which the indicative of the verb εἰμί or alternative verbs denoting certain acts or properties are used or implied, and (2) remarks which use verbal forms that imply a certain distance between the real persons and their satirical images. Such remarks indicate that the properties of the comic portrait are the product of rumour.15 12 E.g. Sch. Ar. Ach. 614. 13 The verb εἰσάγειν is normally used as terminus technicus denoting that the dramatist has brought a person, a chorus or, less often, a dramatic element on stage. To the best of my knowledge, the term is used only once in the corpus of the Aristophanic scholia with reference to a komodoumenos who does not appear on stage (Sch. Ar. Ra. 710a: ὁ VME πονηρότατος VE βαλανεὺς VME: τοῦτον ὡς βαλανέα εἰσάγει VMEΘBarb). 14 E.g. Sch. Ar. Ra. 967. 15 For a good example of the equation of the properties attributed to a komodoumenos and the properties of the historical person, see Sch. Ar. Ach. 702b; see also Sch. Ar. Nu. 349c; Sch. Ar. Eq. 253 casts however doubt on the equation.

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While in the first case the comments clearly denote that the komodoumenos is a historical person exactly as portrayed in the comedy, in the second case the personal joke is presented as one more instance of public or private discussions about the person ridiculed. Such nuances are not sufficient to suppose that in these comments the principles of the biographical approach are questioned; they do however indicate a slight change of perspective. In formulations which denote that the properties attributed to the ridiculed person stem from the text created by the comic poet this different perspective becomes more apparent. These comments no longer describe the komodoumenos per se but rather the manner of his presentation in the comedy. The formulations used in such cases are actually neutral ways to denote that the comic poet is referring to a particular person. The formulation ὡς ... βούλεται (sc. ὁ ποιητής) αὐτὸν ἀποδεῖξαι which occurs only once in the corpus of the scholia, in Sch. Ar. Ra. 967a, represents a border case, as it explicitly ascribes to the comic poet the intention of demonstrating that the komodoumenos has certain properties. In the third category of introductory verbal forms the distance between the real historical person and the komodoumenos is even greater, as the verbs point to the fact that the features attributed to the komodoumenos are elements of a particular speech act, the act of ridicule.16 That does not necessarily mean that such scholia cast doubt on the ‘biographical approach’. It does however suggest that in such cases, through the process of re-narrating the personal joke to make it comprehensible, the scholia focus on the role of the comic poet in presenting a particular

16 It should be noted that these verbal forms evoke or allude to three different contexts: κωμῳδεῖν points to the comedy itself, διαβάλλειν and διασύρειν evoke the context of the rhetorical agon and σκώπτειν is often used to denote personal abuse in a playful context; for σκώπτειν see Halliwell 2008, 18 n. 41; fοr διαβάλλειν see LSJ s.v. V, for διασύρειν LSJ s.v. I. I was not able to discern any systematic connection between the use of each verb and the way the scholia assess the personal jokes in each case. Nevertheless it is interesting to note that sometimes the scholia use complex expressions as κωμῳδεῖ … σκώπτων (Sch. Ar. V. 34 col. 1: κωμῳδεῖ δὲ πανταχοῦ τὸν Κλέωνα σκώπτων VAld, reduced in the scholia of the Triclinian edition to πανταχοῦ τὸν Κλέωνα σκώπτει Lh); the qualification of the verb through the participle indicates that the scholion may be defining the character of the jokes against Kleon more precisely, as playful attacks.

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satirical image of the komodoumenos; in such cases the scholia are therefore commenting on the comedy rather than on the person ridiculed.17

3. Beyond the Biographical Approach: Personal Jokes seen in their Textual Context There are also further indications that in a number of notes on personal jokes the focus is on the text of the comedy and not on the historical personality of the person ridiculed. If not exactly frequent, comments or remarks of an aesthetic character in scholia about komodoumenoi are not such a rarity as to justify their oversight. Though Halliwell’s argument that scholiastic notes on personal jokes do not account for the comic mechanisms is thus correct in general terms, there are nevertheless a sufficient number of examples where the aesthetic form of a personal joke is commented upon. Derivatives of the substantive χάρις, the adjective χαρίεις, the verb χαριεντίζεσθαι, the adverb χαριέντως and the substantive χαριέντισμα, are often used by the Aristophanic scholia in order to comment upon diction peculiar to comedy, specifically on distorted word-forms, puns and comic coinages.18 The scholiastic note on the verbs with which 17 See also the note in Nünlist 2009, 214 concerning the verbs (ἐπι)κερτομεῖν, μυκτηρίζειν, σκώπτειν, χαριεντίζεσθαι and χλευάζειν which put greater emphasis ‘on the fact that the speaker “mocks” or ‘ridicules’ his addressee’. 18 χάρις is as important a literary terminus technicus as it is difficult to define. It is interesting to note that in the Captive Melanippe of Euripides (dated c. 412) in fr. 492 the phrase χάριτας κερτόμους refers to the speech of men who, performing before a public, try to win their audience by provoking its laughter through insults against others; similarly in Demosthenes’ speech On the Crown (D. 18.138) χάρις is connected with λοιδορία: the rhetors’ mutual abuse delights and entertains the public, thus distracting attention from the debate about the problems of the city. In this context the term χάρις, paired with the term ἡδονή, refers to the reception of the mutual personal attacks; for the quite rare coupling of the terms χάρις and ἡδονή in classical Greek rhetoric see the comment in Wankel 1976, ad 138. Demetrios in his treatise On Style presents a similar interconnection between χάρις and witticism or personal jokes, placed this time on the level of the poetics of the text. Analysing the ‘elegant style’, he defines it as χαριεντισμὸς καὶ ἱλαρὸς λόγος (Demetr. Eloc. 128; Grube 1961 translates this as: ‘The elegant manner has a certain bright playfulness of expression’; more analytical and accurate is the translation by Innes 1995: ‘[...] the elegant style, which is speech with charm and a graceful lightness’) and uses χάρις as a key notion thereafter. He notes the distinction between a ‘high’ form of χάρις (μείζονες καὶ σεμνότερες [χάριτες]) peculiar to the poetry, and a

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Dikaiopolis describes his dangerous adventure before the court where he was brought by Kleon is a telling example, Ar. Ach. 379–382: ΔΙΚ. αὐτός τ’ ἐμαυτὸν ὑπὸ Κλέωνος ἅπαθον ἐπίσταμαι διὰ τὴν πέρυσιν κωμῳδίαν. εἰσελκύσας γάρ μ’ εἰς τὸ βουλευτήριον διέβαλλε καὶ ψευδῆ κατεγλώττιζέ μου κἀκυκλοβόρει κἄπλυνεν, ὥστ’ ὀλίγου πάνυ ἀπωλόμην μολυνοπραγμονούμενος.

And I know about myself, what I suffered at Cleon’s hands because of last year’s comedy. He dragged me into the council chamber and began slandering me, telling gilb-mouthed lies about me, roaring at me like Cycloborus, bathing me in abuse, so that I very nearly perished in a sewer of troubles.19 Sch. Ar. Ach. 381a. (vet Tr) κἀκυκλοβόρει: ἐνταῦθα κατέμιξε τὴν κωμῳδιακὴν χάριν καὶ τὰ δικαστικὰ ῥήματα· τὸ μὲν γὰρ διαβάλλειν καὶ λέγειν ψευδῆ καὶ πλύνειν εἴποι τις ἂν τῶν περὶ τὰ δικαστήρια ταῦτα λέγειν δεινῶν, τὸ δὲ κυκλοβορεῖν καὶ καταγλωττίζειν χαριεντίσματά ἐστι κωμῳδίας. REΓ2Lh

κἀκυκλοβόρει: here [the poet] combined the χάρις of comedy and some court terms. For you may use διαβάλλειν and λέγειν ψευδῆ and πλύνειν if ‘low’ form (εὐτελεῖς μᾶλλον καὶ κωμικώτεραι) which is similar to σκώμματα; (Demetr. Eloc. 128) Grube 1961, 31 correctly remarks that the term χάρις in Demetrios refers to two very different ideas: charm and wit. These ‘have nothing in common with each other except a certain cleverness in the handling of words’. It is important to add that exactly this ‘cleverness in handling’ words would seem to be the decisive characteristic of those passages the scholia regard as expressions of the comic χάρις. It has been assumed that the main sources for Demetrios’ analysis of χάρις were Peripatetic treatises περὶ χάριτος and especially the work of Theophrastos Περὶ χάριτος α΄: see Arndt 1904, 15 und 17 and Leeman–Pinkster - Rabbie 1989, 190. Platonius (Diff. Com. [Proleg. de Com. II 6f. Koster]) differentiates the three canonical comic poets of the ‘Old Comedy’, Kratinos, Eupolis and Aristophanes, using as criteria the way they shape the plots of their comedies and the form each of them gives to the personal ridicule. Whereas Kratinos satirises directly, vehemently and violently, the κωμῳδεῖν of Eupolis is characterised primarily by its χάρις. In this bipolar system Aristophanes occupies the middle position: his ridicule, though ‘hard’, is not without χάρις, which mitigates the bitterness of the attacks. It is significant that Platonios interconnects the political—moralizing effect of the personal ridicule and its linguistic form. Sommerstein 2009, 273f. argues convincingly for a date slight earlier than 300 CE; his sources must be much earlier: see Wendel 1950, 2544; for a discussion of this issue, see also Perusino 1989, 13. For the Peripatetic influence which is discernible in Platonios see Melone 1996. 19 All translations of the Aristophanic passages are from Sommerstein.

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you refer to what a person may suffer at court, but the words κυκλοβορεῖν and καταγλωττίζειν are χαριεντίσματα belonging to comedy.

The comic poet ‘borrows’ from judicial terminology but also creates his own comic coinages thus combining the judicial vocabulary with the coinages which are characterisitic for the comic idiom. This idiom is the χάρις of comedy, or its χαριεντίσματα. The vocabulary of χάρις is sometimes used in notes to comment upon the form of personal jokes. The scholion to Ar. Ach. 88 states that besides the usual joke about the body-size of Kleonymos, he is also called φενακιστής. ΠΡ. καὶ ναὶ μὰ Δί’ ὄρνιν τριπλάσιον Κλεωνύμου παρέθηκεν ἡμῖν· ὄνομα δ’ ἦν αὐτῷ φέναξ. ΔΙΚ. ταῦτ’ ἄρ’ ἐφενάκιζες σὺ δύο δραχμὰς φέρων.

Ar. Ach. 88–90 AMB. And also, I swear it, he served us a bird three times the size of Cleonymus; it was called a fooler. DIC. So that’s why you were making fools of us, and drawing two drachmas a day for it. Sch. Ar. Ach. 88 (vet Tr) τριπλάσιον Κλεωνύμου: ὅτι ὡς μέγα ἔχων σῶμα καὶ δειλὸς διεβάλλετο ὁ Κλεώνυμος. ἑτέρωθι δὲ καὶ ἀδηφάγος εἴρηται. νῦν δὲ καὶ φενακιστὴν αὐτὸν καλεῖ χαριεντιζόμενος. REΓLh

‘thrice as big as Kleonymos’: because Kleonymos was slandered as having a big body and as a coward. In other passages he has been refered upon as gluttonous. Now he calls him in a playful way (χαριεντιζόμενος) also φενακιστής.

The characterisation χαριεντιζόμενος refers obviously to the doublesound pun with the real bird-name φοῖνιξ and the substantive φέναξ and to the manner in which a connection is established between Kleonymos and the property of φενακίζειν. A difference between the direct joke against Kleonymos due to his body-size, a joke which has no peculiar comic features, and his derision as φενακιστής, which is expressed in a more complicated (and for that reason more amusing?) form, is implied. On certain occasions, the scholia even assume that the comic poet lied or had ascribed fictive properties to the abused person in order to make a successful joke. The scholion to Ar. Ach. 649a comments upon the claim of the chorus in the parabasis that the king of Persia had told the Spartans that the war would be won by whatever polis which was then ridiculed by Aristophanes: τοῦτο δὲ χαριεντιζόμενος ψευδῶς λέγει. I found no example of such a direct confrontation between truth and comic play in notes of the ancient scholia concerning personal

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jokes.20 There are nevertheless notes which would seem to point to such a confrontation, albeit indirectly. In Knights 1080–1085 the Sausage-seller recites an oracle which warns Demos about the danger of being deceived by a Κυλλήνη. He explains that Κυλλήνη alludes to the crooked hand of Paphlagon/Kleon, who is always looking for a bribe. Paphlagon retorts that the allusion is aimed at the hand of Diopeithes. The scholia on these verses explain that the crooked hand is connected with a demand to receive presents. Although it seems clear that for Kleon the image should be understood metaphorically, there is no such certainty concerning Diopeithes. The scholia vetera claim that Diopeithes really did have crooked hands, but at the same time that the image is a joke against Diopeithes, who is thus simultaneously accused of being ‘a thief’. It would seem that this matter was debated by ancient scholars as the scholia of the Triclinian edition assure us that Diopeithes’ hands were absolutely healthy:

20 In the scholia recentiora and Tzetzes’ scholia on the Clouds (Sch. rec. N. 112b, commentarium in nubes v. 110) and in Tzetzes’ Hypothesis to the Birds we find a direct connection between ψεῦδος and σκῶμμα; the comic poet is virtually accused of slandering Sokrates and Kleon. In the ancient scholia the verb ψεύδομαι is used in Sch. Ar. Ach. 153 to denote that Aristophanes employs the adjective μαχιμώτατοι to speak ironically of the Odomanteis; also in Sch. Ar. Eq. 84b where the judgement of Symmachos is reported to denote that Aristophanes is lying (ψεύδεται) when he says that Themistokles commited suicide drinking bull’s blood. The use of the verb in Sch. Ar. Av. 575a is more interesting: in Birds 575 Peisetairos says that Homer presents Iris ‘as a timid pigeon’; the scholion remarks that this is a ‘playful lie’ (ψεύδεται παίζων), as Homer presents Athena and Hera but never Iris in such a way; see also the remark in Dunbar 1995, ad 575. It seems plausible that ψεῦδος has quite different meanings in Sch. rec. N. 112b in contrast to Sch. Ar. Av. 575a, denoting in the first case a ‘lie’ obviously told in order to deceive an audience and to harm an opponent, and in the second ‘a fiction’ constructed by the poet in order to amuse his spectators. Ψεῦδος is connected closely with the activity of the poet already in Hesiod (Th. 26–28) and Solon (fr. 29 West, citing the proverb πολλὰ ψεύδονται ἀοιδοί); for an interpretation of ψεῦδος in the Hesiodic passage as meaning ‘fiction’, see Bowie 1993, 20–23. A crucial element in the association of ψεῦδος with the positive meaning ‘fiction’ and poetry is the discussion on mimesis in Aristotle’s Poetic (24, 1460a5–b2) where τὰ ψευδῆ are considered in relationship to the θαυμαστόν, a feature of poetry, which contributes to its ἡδύ; see Halliwell 1987, 72 and 171f. Plutarch (Mor. 16A9), commenting upon the ‘lies’ that poets tell consciously, remarks that they win over the audience because of the ἡδονὴ ἀκοῆς and χάρις which they produce. Plutarch employs the notions ψεῦδος, τὸ λόγῳ πλαττόμενον and εὖ πεπλεγμένη διάθεσις μυθολογίας as almost equivalent variations in this passage, used to denote the fictive poetic construction.

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Sch Ar. Eq.1085a (vet) σεσίνωτο τὰς χεῖρας ὁ Διοπείθης καὶ ἦν κυλλός .... κατὰ καιρὸν οὖν διαβάλλει αὐτὸν ὡς κλέπτην. ἦν δὲ καὶ Νικίου ἑταῖρος. VEΓΘM ‘[the hand] of Diopeithes’: Diopeithes’ hands were injured and he was crippled21 … so he calumniates him fittingly as a thief. He was also a friend of Nikias. Sch Ar. Eq.1085c (Tr) καλὸς γὰρ ἦν ὁ Διοπείθης τὰς χεῖρας. κατὰ καιρὸν οὖν διαβάλλει αὐτὸν ὡς κλέπτην. ἦν δὲ καὶ Νικίου ἑταῖρος. Lh For Diopeithes’ hands were sane. So he calumniates him fittingly as a thief. He was also a friend of Nikias.

Would the Aristophanic joke have been better, had Diopeithes really suffered from a problem with his hands? In fact, in pursuing such a question, we find ourselves in the same position as the ancient scholars, since we would have to deal with the problems posed by the reconstruction of the reality behind the joke, while using the joke as the basis for our interpretation.22 It is clear that scholia in general favour linear interpretation and direct reconstruction. It should also, however, be clear that this is not the only way to interpret the ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν; the supposition that there may be some distance between the fictitious satirical image and the real person is not totally alien to the scholia. A vivid moment bears witness to such a discussion and it seems to have been a matter of discussion among ancient scholars: in the scholion to Ar. Av. 1378–9, Kinesias, the dithyrambic poet, arrives at the newly founded town and Peisetairos welcomes him: Πε. ἀσπαζόμεσθα φιλύρινον Κινησίαν. τί δεῦρο πόδα σὺ κύλλον ἀνὰ κύκλον κυκλεῖς;

Ar. Av. 1378–9 PE. We welcome Cinesias, the man of linden-bark. Why have you come here circling in circles with halting foot?

21 κυλλός can refer either to feet: ‘club-footed’; or to arms and hands: ‘crippled’, ‘with a crooked hand’; it can even have the general meaning ‘deformed’, vgl. LSJ s.v. 22 The text of the Triclinian scholion is problematic: if the reading καλὸς is sound then the particle γὰρ makes no sense, unless we suppose that the transmitted scholion abbreviates senselessly a more extensive note that explained why the assumption that Diopeithes had a crippled hand was false. In fact it seems much simpler to assume that καλὸς in Sch. Ar. Eq. 1085 c is a corruption of κυλλός. In that case the argument presented in that paragraph is invalid.

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Although based on v. 1379 a number important ancient philologists were willing to suppose that Kinesias was a cripple, there were others who recognised that the verse alludes to and parodies the peculiarities of dithyrambic diction: Sch. Ar. Av. 1379b (vet) Δίδυμος μὲν κύκλον, ἐπεὶ κυκλίων ᾀσμάτων ποιητής ἐστι, RVEΓM ‘κυλλὸν’ δὲ, ἐπεὶ χωλός ἦν. VEM εἴρηται δὲ περὶ αὐτοῦ ἐν Βατράχοις. ὁ δὲ Ἀριστοτέλης ἐν ταῖς Διδασκαλίαις δύο φησὶ γεγονέναι. Σύμμαχος οὕτως Εὐφρόνιοςǜ ἐπειδὴ κυλλὸς ἦν ὁ Κινησίας. τοῦτο δὲ οὐκ ἔστιν εὑρεῖν. ἀλλ’ ἐπειδὴ πολὺ παρ’ αὐτοῖς ἐστι τὸ ‘ποδὶ λευκῷ’, καὶ ‘ποδὶ κούφῳ’, καὶ ‘πόδα τιθείς’, ἤ τι τοιοῦτον, τὸ ‘κυλλὸν’ προσέθηκεν. VEΓ Didymos [says that the word] κύκλον [is used] because he is a dithyrambic poet, and [the word] ‘κυλλὸν’ because he was a cripple. It has been talked about him in the Frogs. Aristoteles in the Didaskaliai says that there were two with this name. Symmachos says: Euphronios says: ‘because Kinesias was a cripple’. Such an information can not be found elsewhere. [It is not for that reason that he is called a “cripple] but because they use very often ‘ποδὶ λευκῷ’ and ‘ποδὶ κούφῳ’ and ‘πόδα τιθείς’ or other expressions like that, [that] he added ‘κυλλόν’.

It is interesting to note that Euphronios’ claim is contested by Symmachos with the argument that there is no other comic passage in which Kinesias is presented as a cripple. Though this kind of approach can be most misleading due to the assimilation of the unknown to the known, something that Halliwell criticises, it can also be very effective, as this case shows. What makes it effective here is the fact that the scholion is willing to accept that the comic poet may at times draw a satirical image of the komodoumenos using fictive elements. These elements may of course be decoded as allusions to facts of real life or of comic fiction, which however cannot be understood as biographical in a strict sense.23 Not only the assimilation of the known to the unknown but also an overall approach which does not take account of the textual context of the personal jokes are actually to be expected in the scholia. The impact of the komodoumenoi-treatises which were presumably based on the decontextualisation of personal jokes must have been decisive at least for the later ὑπομνήματα, and therefore also for the material reproduced in the scholia.

23 Dunbar 1995, ad 1379 assumes that the adjective κύλλος may allude to the scenic presence of Cinesias, either to the dancing steps with which he enters, or to the irregular metrical feet in his song, or indeed to the circular dithyrambic choruses.

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Nevertheless it is not accurate to assume that the scholia always ignore the textual context of the personal jokes, that is the syntagmatic axis, in favour of the paradigmatic. The scholion to Ar. Pac. 1008 is an interesting example of what happens when the scholia leave their familiar paradigmatic axis. In Ar. Pac. 987–1016 Trygaios sings his invocation to Eirene. Among other things he wishes for a market full of goods in which he locates a comic episode: Morychos, Teleas Glauketes and other gourmands have already visited the fish-market, as, when he arrives there sometime later, Melanthios finds no eel to buy and laments using verses from a monody of the Medeia (1006–1015).24 The scholion on v. 1008 notes that the comic poet always tries to keep Morychos and Teleas, who are also ridiculed as ‘gluttonous’ (γαστρίμαργοι) in the Acharnians, far away from the agora. But the context of the joke in Peace does not fit with this parallel; instead of being content with a remark about the ridicule of Morychos and Teleas in the usual way, the scholion points to the inconsistency which emerges as soon as attention shifts from the parallels to the specific joke and its context. The first reaction to this inconsistency is in fact perplexity: Sch. Ar. Pac. 1008a. Μορύχῳ Τελέᾳ: καὶ τούτους ἀεὶ ἀπεῖναι βούλεται τῶν ὄψων διὰ τούτου αὐτοὺς κολάζων ὡς γαστριμάργους, ὥς φησιν ἐν τοῖς Ἀχαρνεῦσιν. νῦν δ’ οὐκ οἶδα, ὅπως τὸ ἐναντίον φησίν. ἴσως οὖν τῇ παρουσίᾳ τούτων Μελάνθιον λυπῆσαι βούλεται ὄντα καὶ αὐτὸν λίχνον. ἦν δὲ τραγῳδίας ποιητής, ὡς προείρηται.25 Μορύχῳ Τελέᾳ: he always wishes for these persons to be kept away from

the market-place, thus reproving them, for being gluttonous (γαστρίμαργοι), as he says in the Acharnians. I do not know, the reasons why he now states the opposite. Perhaps he wants through their presence to distress Melanthios, who was also a gluttonous (λίχνος). He was a tragedian, as has been said before.

We have no evidence for the first claim in the scholion, namely that the comic poet ‘always’ (ἀεί)26 wanted to keep Teleas and Morychos away from the agora. In the Acharnians Morychos is ridiculed as a ‘fish-eater’ 24 For the discussion concerning the authorship of this Medeia vgl. Olson 1998, ad 1009–1015. 25 See also Sch. Ar. N. 361a on the parody and ridicule of Sokrates, a further scholion that connects the function of ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν with a consideration of the personal joke in its syntagmatic axis. 26 As Lehrs (apud Nünlist 2009, 329 n. 15) notes, in Aristarchus ἀεί often has a somewhat relative meaning; it can not be excluded that here too ἀεί is used in the sense of ‘most of the time’ or ‘usually’.

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(ὀψοφάγος) in v. 887, but he is not excluded from the private market of Dikaiopolis. Actually none of the extant comic passages in which Teleas and Morychos are ridiculed match the claim of the scholion. Although it is difficult to be certain whether there were in fact any comic passages which might support the claim, or whether on the contrary this was simply a false assertion, we may suppose that the generalisation is not justified. That an inaccurate generalisation is made in a scholion on a personal joke is not in fact surprising. What is peculiar is that this generalisation is used not to explain the passage at hand but to question it. The short moment of perplexity is followed by a tentative answer, that the exceptional treatment of Morychos and Teleas contributes to the intensity of the comic point against Melanthios. What we actually observe is a direct confrontation between the paradigmatic and the syntagmatic axis, the detection of an inconsistency because of this confrontation, and the solution of the ‘problem’ within the syntagmatic axis. Though the scholia take the textual context of a personal joke into account only rarely, the above example is by no means unique. The interpretation of Acharnians 604, where the scholion assumes that the geographical name Χάονες is also used as a satirical point against Geres and Theodoros, serves as an example of the biographical approach and the attempt to take account of the context of the personal joke working in a complementary fashion. Sch. Ar. Ach. 605 (vet) Χάονες μὲν ἔθνος Ἠπειρωτικόν. πέπαικται δὲ παρὰ τὸ ἐν Ἱππεῦσιν ‘ὁ πρωκτός ἐστιν αὐτόχρημ’ ἐν Χάοσιν’. ἐπειδὴ καὶ εἰς μαλακίαν διεβάλλετο Γέρης καὶ Θεόδωρος, καὶ ὅτι ἐκ δούλων. REΓ ‘these in Chaones’: Chaones was a nation in Epirus. There is a comic play similar as in the Knights ‘his arse is right in Chaones’.27 Because Geres and Theodoros were attacked as being ‘soft’ and of slave birth.

Geres is otherwise unknown and Theodoros cannot be identified.28 The scholion cites no evidence for the claim that they were ridiculed εἰς μαλακίαν and that they descended from slaves. Olson supposes that these comic accusations indicate that these persons were active politicians.29 Although this can not be excluded, these assumptions rely upon comic passages which are simply not cited in our scholia; we thus have to consider the possibility that the scholion is an autoschediasm. It is 27 Sommerstein 1981 renders the wordplay effectively with his translation: ‘his arse is right in Chasmos’. 28 Geres (1) LGPN und Theodoros (9) LGPN. See Olson 2002, ad 605. 29 Olson 2002, ad 605.

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crucial that the scholion incorporates the (alleged) comic accusations against Geres and Theodoros in an argument based on the connection between the two komodoumenoi and the place name Χάονες. The parallel between Acharnians 604 and Knights 78 with its apparent word-play between Kleons’ πρωκτός and the verb χάσκω, with which the politician is ridiculed as εὐρύπρωκτος, remains to be proven. The scholion treats it as given that the personal joke against Geres and Theodoros in the next verse (605) has to be related to the mention of Chaones in particular, while contributing information on the treatment of the two komodoumenoi in comedy more generally. If the statement on the satiric portraits of Geres and Theodoros is an autoschediasm from this very passage of the Acharnians, then it is based on the decision to connect Geres and Theodoros with Chaones. If, on the other hand, it is not an autoschediasm, then it represents a not entirely self-evident statement on the immediate context in which the joke against Geres and Theodoros should be understood. In both cases the biographical approach is combined with a closer look at the textual context of the satirical image, with the scholion commenting on this textual context. The previously cited personal joke against Kleonymos from Acharnians 88–90 is an example which takes us a step further in the same direction: what is defined as context of a joke matters and the scholia show sometimes that they are aware of it. With the exception of Rogers most modern commentators do not consider the bird-name φέναξ and Dikaiopolis’ aggressive remark as part of Kleonymos’ abuse.30 On this their reading only the comparison with a fat bird constitutes the joke. The scholion though represents an alternative view: the possibility of enlarging the boundaries of the joke to include the verses that follow, hence producing a new satirical image, is posited. The parallels the scholion cites are not helpful in this respect, as Kleonymos is not ridiculed as a fraud there. Rather, the interpretation emerges from the particular way in which the scholion reads the concrete passage.31 Halliwell is undoubtedly right then when he argues that the scholia ‘misinterpret’ the ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν; as he claims, they do not consider the comical techniques involved and reveal an inappropriate eager30 Rogers 1915, ad 88. 31 The scholia at Aristophanes’ Knights 1381a and c are similar. The verses 1375– 1381, mocking ‘adolescents in the perfume-market who sit and blabber...’ (Sommersteins transl.) are connected to previous jibes against Kleisthenes and Straton (1373f.). In contrary Neils comment (Neil 1901, ad 1375) indicates clearly that he regards the two jibes as independent from one another.

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ness to draw historical information about the komodoumenoi from personal jokes. That having been said, we may perhaps enrich our knowledge of the way the scholia interpret the ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν by taking into account a number of examples in the corpus of the scholia, which reveal that: i. comic techniques and the peculiar language codes of comedy are not always ignored, ii. the ‘translation’ of elements of the jokes into reality does not necessary take place in a linear and indeed thoughtless way, and iii. on occasions the scholia might even show a certain awareness of the fact that the interpretation of a joke is partially dependent on the context (as selected for the purpose of explanation). Viewing the scholia on personal jokes not merely as an attempt to offer biographical information about the abused persons, but also as part of an effort to re-write personal jokes in a comprehensible form, may permit to a partial re-evaluation of the ways ancient scholarship discusses ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν.32

32 I would like to thank Stephen Halliwell, René Nünlist and N.G. Wilson for precious advice and criticism and Iannis Carras, who revised thoroughly the English text.

Ancient Scholia and Lost Identities: The Case of Simichidas Konstantinos Spanoudakis 1. Simichidas of Orchomenos The names and identities of the two protagonists in Theocritus’ seventh poem have been a subject of lingering debate.1 With regard to Simichidas’ identity, it has been so difficult to reach a conclusion that to the editors of the Lexicon of Greek Personal Names it has seemed sensible to enrol him both as a possibly fictitious Orchomenian (IIIB, 2000, 378: ‘fict.’) and as a doubtful Syracusan (IIIA, 1997, 395: ‘Syracuse?’). Names such as Σιμίχη or Σίμιχος are attested on contemporary Rhodes and Telos (LGPN I, 406) and on archaic Sicily (a 6th cent. BC tyrant ap. Porph. Vit. Pyth. 21) respectively, and a Σιμιχίας (Σμιχίας codd.) is recorded among Tarentine pupils of Pythagoras (Iambl. Vit. Pyth. 267) but the name Σιμιχίδας is known only from Theocritus and its subsequent occurrences in literature and scholia depend on it, the last being a 7th century ἐπιστολὴ ἀγροικική (Epist. 11) by Theophylactus Simocatta.2

1

2

All translations are by the author, unless otherwise stated. Lycidas has been identified with Leonidas of Tarentum by Ph. Legrand, REG 7 (1894), 192 f., revived by van Groningen 1959, 50 f.; with Apollo by F. Williams, CQ 21 (1971), 137–145 recently followed by A. H. Griffiths, 3OCD, 1498 and, with additional arguments, by E. Livrea, Eikasmos 15 (2004), 161– 167; with a figure taken up from Hesiod by E. R. Schwinge, Philologus 118 (1974), 40 f.; with Pan by E. L. Brown, HSCPh 85 (1981), 59–99, cf. J. J. Clauss, HSCPh 101 (2003), 289–302; with a figure in bucolic poetry of Philitas set on Lesbos by Bowie 1985, 67–80. I have elsewhere argued (Spanoudakis 2002, 227 f., 249 f.) that Lycidas embodies features of a heavily metapoeic Demeter from Philitas’ celebrated eponymous poem. For older proposals including Aratus, Callimachus, Dosiadas and Rhianus, see Gow 1952, II, 130. Segal 1981, 110 f. treats both Lycidas and Simichidas not as specific persons, but as symbols of poetic credos. Simichidas sets fire to sterile trees in his land but his neighbour’s trees flare up too, ὁ δὲ τὴν διφθέραν ἀφεὶς καὶ τὴν δίκελλαν πρὸς ἄστυ χωρεῖ ῥήτορα ληψόμενος σύμμαχον, καὶ τῷ Σιμιχίδᾳ δικαστήριον συγκεκρότηται.

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The conditions in which the name first appears are by all means significant. ‘Simichidas’ appears not before verse 21 in Lycidas’ address, tinged by piercing irony and made in jesting mood, and then, in a friendly talk, in v. 50. The address first containing the name is preceded by a description of Lycidas’ benevolently mocking posture, 19–20 καί μ’ ἀτρέμας εἶπε σεσαρώς / ὄμματι μειδιόωντι, γέλως δὲ οἱ εἴχετο χείλευς, and it is quite plausible, as has been suggested, that the name ‘is held back to cause surprise and amazement in the reader’ after the ἐγών in v. 1.3 Even so, the narrator does not appear offended but, instead, perhaps as a compliment to his rival, takes up the tease since he employs the name himself at the very beginning of his song (96), although he is soon to create some distance by using a couple of verses later the third person, 98 ἀνέρι τήνῳ, indicating, in a reading at face value, that this Simichidas is ‘a different man’. In the poem the narrator Simichidas is sketched out as relatively young (44 ἔρνος), indeed as a young poet (37–41) and a ‘bucolic’ one (30–31, 91–95), manifestly familiar with Coan things and apparently resident in the town of Cos (2 εἵρπομες ἐκ πόλιος). There is indeed sufficient ground to make us think that Simichidas is designed to be a Theocritus.4 He mentions his friends Aratos (98, 102, 122) and Aristis (99–101), whose names are very common on contemporary Cos, which at least implies that Simichidas enjoys some kind of ‘real’ existence. In addition, Aratos ὁ τὰ πάντα φιλαίτατος ἀνέρι τήνῳ (7.98) may well be—and probably is—the same person as the addressee of Idyll 6. Simichidas is also an ambitious young poet, who receives much praise from ‘everybody’ and indirectly dares to compare himself with Philitas and Asclepiades (7.37–41) who were reputed ‘real’ poets of the previous generation. From Lycidas’ statement about futile emulation of Homer (7.43–48) it appears that Simichidas is a poet espousing the principles we are used to calling ‘Callimachean’ but which may in this particular passage reflect views already declared and practised by Philitas and Asclepiades.5 Lastly, his name was somehow brought to the attention of Ptolemy Philadelphus (93 Ζηνὸς ἐπὶ θρόνον), which would fit Theocritus and would not be surprising for a proficient poet active on Cos. Simichidas may then be conceived to partly represent the young 3 4

5

This was pointed out by Bowie 1985, 68; cf. also Hunter 1999, 146. The reasons for this are systematically expounded in Dover 1971, 146–148. Cf. also M. Fantuzzi in id. –Hunter 2004, 134–135 and id. 2006, 252–253, 254– 255. Köhnken 2001 argues for Theocritus’ priority over Callimachus, cf. esp. 75–76 on Lycidas’ statement.

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Theocritus of the early years on Cos, feeling self-assured but beset with practical uncertainties and still making efforts for artistic perfection.6 Modern literary criticism declines to credit the identification of a (fictitious) poet’s I with the ‘real’ poet’s I.7 Ancient scholiasts had no such inhibition. There is a clear tendency in the Theocritean scholia to identify figures of the Idylls with Theocritus himself and to accordingly extract information about issues such as his physical appearance or his social circle.8 With regard to Simichidas, for the ancient sources there is no question: all of them (including scholium 7.21a to which I shall revert shortly) invariably identify Simichidas with Theocritus: already in Syrinx 12 the ἐγών-narrator of Theoc. 7 becomes Πάρις [= Θεόκριτος] … Σιμιχίδας, i.e. plainly Theocritus.9 However, as Simon Goldhill 1991, 130, succinctly remarked, ‘even if the assumption is made that Simichidas represents Theocritus, the question must be reframed as to why the poet represents himself through another name’. The question about the motivation of Theocritus for adopting a different name has seemed unanswerable. In the scholia it is only the provenance of the name that became a subject of speculation, with the theory of a patronymic holding by far the first place. By inference, in some scholia the existence of a Simichos father of Theocritus is postulated, Schol. 3.8/9a; 7.21a and, by conjecture, vita Theoc. A, 1.5 W. πατρὸς Σιμιχίδα (: Σιμίχου Ahrens). To put things right (and tacitly make room for Praxagoras as Theocritus’ father), scholium PT 7.21b, 85.4 W. advances the alternative explanation that Simichidas was the patronymic of Theocritus’ father, subsequently bequeathed οὕτως ἀπαραλλάκτως to his son Theocritus. Ad hoc explanations like these, however, run contrary to reliable information naming Theocritus’ father Praxagoras: Anon. AP 9.434.3 = [Theoc.] 27.3 Gow;10 vita Theoc. A, 1.8 W.; Suidas θ 166 s.v. Θεόκριτος.

6 Cf. van Groningen 1959, 38–39; T. Choitz - J. Latacz, WJA 7 (1981), 92 n. 6. 7 See, for example, Goldhill 1991, 129f.; Korenjak 2003, 58f. 8 Such instances are listed in Korenjak 2003, 68 who then explores the same phenomenon with Vergil’s commentators. 9 See Palumbo Stracca 2007, esp. 125–126. Cf. also the scholia on Syrinx 12, 339.19 W., as well as Schol. Theoc. 3.8–9a, 119.10 W.; 7.96–97c, 102.17 W. P. Oxy. 3548 fr. 28c.i preserving marginalia on Theoc. 7.157 – 3.1 which apparently included a “general discussion of places and persons” in Theoc. 7 (P. J. Parsons, P. Oxy. L, 1983, 113) is too fragmentary to be of much use. 10 This epigram is certainly of an early date, cf. Gutzwiller 1996, 133–137. H. Lloyd-Jones on Suppl. SH 738 even ascribes it straight to Theocritus.

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However, some disconcerting information about Simichidas is provided in the scholium KGLUEA 7.21a, 84.17 Wendel, whose apparatus on the corrupt part of line 3 is also cited here: Σιμιχίδα: οἱ μὲν αὐτόν φασι Θεόκριτον, καθὸ Σιμίχου ἦν υἱὸς ἢ καθὸ σιμὸς ἦν. οἱ δὲ ἕτερόν τινα τῶν σὺν αὐτῷ καὶ οὐ Θεόκριτον διὰ τὸ ‘Σιμιχίδᾳ μὲν Ἔρωτες ἐπέπταρον’ (v. 96). φασὶ δὲ τὸν τοιοῦτον ἀπὸ †πατρίου† κληθῆναι, ἀπὸ Σιμιχίδου τοῦ Περικλέους τῶν Ὀρχομενίων, οἵτινες πολιτείας παρὰ Κῴοις τετυχήκασιν.

3 πατρίου KG : πατρωιοῦ L : πατραλοιοῦ UEA : πατρωοῦ Hauler : πατριώτου Hiller : πατρὸς θετοῦ Meineke : ἀπαραλλάκτως κληθῆναι ἀπὸ πατρὸς Σιμιχίδου Wendel : an πάππου? Simichidas: some say he is Theocritus because he was son of Simichos or because he was snub-nosed (simos). Others say he is someone else of his friends and not Theocritus because of ‘for Simichidas the Loves sneezed’ (v. 96). They as well claim that such a person was called after his †uncle†, after Simichidas son of Pericles, one of the Orchomenians who were granted citizenship by the Coans.

The scholium in question, in its present form, seems to be a summary concocted from earlier comments. It epitomizes two different kinds of explanations about the name of Simichidas: a. Simichidas is Theocritus either because he is ‘a son of Σίμιχος’ or because he is σιμός, or b. Simichidas has adopted, for unspecified reasons, the name of one of Theocritus’ friends, a member of his immediate circle (ἕτερόν τινα τῶν σὺν αὐτῷ). The former possibilities are substantiated by two ad hoc inferences, which regularly come up in the scholiastic explanation of the name. The latter possibility is unique and, in the present form of the scholium, it appears founded on v. 96 which is cited on the spot. But the citation of v. 96 was perhaps not part of the original argument but rather looks like an a posteriori addition to an independently made claim, because the third person used in that line can not by itself account for the contrivance of a scenario featuring an Orchomenian Simichidas, although the citation of v. 96 at least implies that the comment about the Orchomenian Simichidas was taken seriously at a later time and internal evidence was sought to explain or support it. The epitomiser’s way of thinking in advancing this possibility is explained by Nickau 2002, 389 n. 5: the epitomiser still thinks that the narrator is Theocritus but at the same time holds that the name Simichidas is by error attached to him by Lycidas on the flimsy ground that the narrator distances himself from Simichidas in v. 96. Τῶν σὺν αὐτῷ is problematic and, strictly taken, it would imply that the epitomiser thinks that this was in fact the

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name of one of the persons escorting Theocritus on his walk. This is factually impossible and his wording may be influenced by 2 σὺν καὶ τρίτος ἄμμιν Ἀμύντας/. Scholarly reaction to the scholiastic note in question, here selectively presented, is widely conflicting. One way to look at it is F. Dübner’s who in the Adnotatio critica to his edition of the Theocritean scholia (1849, 143) recognised the importance as well as the obscurity of this scholium and deferred its explanation to the indefinite future: ‘locus valde memorabilis, quem alii explicabunt’! But most commonly, its validity is denied in modern literature because the note is held either irrelevant or pure improvisation. The first view carries with it the auctoritas of Wilamowitz,11 expressed in his usual concise and categorical fashion: ‘Die Kombination mit einem hundert Jahre älteren, nach Kos eingewanderten Simichidas aus Orchomenos hat keine Wahrscheinlichkeit’. The second view is represented by H.-J. Kühn (1958, 44 n. 4: ‘eine offensichtlich ad hoc erfundene’ tale), Weingarth (1967, 50: ‘pure Konstruktion’) and Meillier (1993, 102 n. 3): as a result of the “observation absurde” that Simichidas is not Theocritus the scholiast contrives that ‘c’est alors (φασὶ δέ) un Simichidas fils de Périclès’. One wonders, however, on what basis, other than absurdity, such information could be devised. Other reactions were less categorical and more nuanced. Gow 1952, II, 128, in his balanced discussion, remarked that ‘Simichidas, a son of Pericles of Orchomenos, a settler in Cos, is probably a historical character derived from some well-informed source’ and correctly denied him a place in Theocritus’ pedigree. Hutchinson 1988, 203–205, also noted that the information on historical Simichidas is ‘clearly based on evidence for a Coan family of the period’ (204) and that the scholium involving Orchomenos ‘places us under some obligation to suppose ... that Simichidas belongs to the family it mentions’ (204), but then went on to disassociate Theocritus from Simichidas by postulating three ‘historical’ poets, Simichidas, Lycidas and Theocritus. On the other hand, in a contribution of major importance, Ewan Bowie12 appeared ‘reluctant ... to credit the scholiast’s Simichidas of Orchomenos’ and doubted that Theocritus’ contemporaries were familiar with the name Simichidas or that Theocritus would be recognised on Cos under such a name, concluding that the poem’s Simichidas “both is and is not Theocritos”. More recent attempts to account for the name adopt methods which up to now used to be employed in the quest for Lycidas’ ‘true’ identity. 11 Wilamowitz 1906, 151; id. 1924, II, 137 n. 1, whence the quotation. 12 Bowie 1985, 68 with n. 1. Cf., similarly, G. B. Walsh, CPh 80 (1985), 11–19; Hunter 1999, 146.

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Kossaifi 2002, 359–361, holds Simichidas’ name as fabricated to evoke associations with poetic ἁσυχία (7.126) and derives it from Σίμος, a usual name of satyrs, to effect ‘humour poétique’. Nickau 2002 associates the name with Simias, the 3rd century grammarian and poet from Rhodes, thus postulating a poetic (and geographic) triangle consisting of Philitas, Asclepiades and Simias in disguise. The obvious difficulty that the scholia keep silent about Simias, who neither appears anywhere else in the corpus of the Theocritean scholia, can be explained ‘weil damals die Interessierten noch wussten, was gemeint war’ (400 n. 39).

2. ‘Simichidas’ and Theocritus A primary conclusion resulting from a straightforward reading of scholium 7.21a would be that Theocritus’ poetic I adopts the name of one of his friends. We may call this man historical Simichidas to distinguish him from his namesake in the poem. The scholium says that the historical Simichidas is a Coan citizen whose ancestors were in the past evicted from Orchomenos and settled on Cos where they enjoyed the rights of full citizenship ever since their arrival. This note, precise and well informed, can not come out of thin air. The historical background which it presupposes has to do with the animosity between Thebes and Orchomenos, the two old rivals in Boeotia. The Thebans destroyed Orchomenos in 364 BC with ferocious brutality: many men were put to death, women and children were sold into slavery, the land was surrendered to pro-Theban settlers, refugees had to seek for help, cf. Paus. 9.15.3 Ὀρχομενίους Θηβαῖοι ποιοῦσιν ἀναστάτους ἐκ τῆς χώρας.13 From the scholium it would appear that some refugees took shelter, or—perhaps closer to the facts—were invited to take shelter on Cos, where they were granted full citizenship. We are encouraged to put credit in this information, first because Cos was apparently hostile to Theban hegemonic pretensions, the island being conspicuously absent from the list of places which Epaminondas visited with a fleet in 364 BC; secondly, because the event happened shortly after the Coan synecism of 366/365 BC which according to Strabo 14.2.19 was the outcome of civil strife (στάσις)14 so that the invitation of Orchomenian 13 See M. H. Hansen in: id. – Nielsen 2004, 447. Ἀναστάτους in Pausanias implies a flood of refugees. 14 For Coan hostility to Thebes see Sherwin-White 1978, 64–65. For discussion and literature on the Coan synecism see Moggi 1976, 333–341 and, more recently, G. Reger in: Hansen–Nielsen 2004, 753.

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settlers may be an effort to revive the society and boost the economy of the newly established town of Cos by increasing the body of its citizens. The method would not be novel, since in Athens Themistocles persuaded the dêmos τοὺς μετοίκους ... ἀτελεῖς ποιῆσαι, ὅπως ὄχλος πολὺς πανταχόθεν εἰς τὴν πόλιν κατέλθῃ καὶ πλείους τέχνας κατασκευάσωσιν εὐχερῶς (Diod. Sic. 11.43.3).15 One might as well imagine that the decision of the Coans may have been partly motivated by their common ancestry from Thessaly: the Minyans of Orchomenos, as their very name demonstrates, bear strong connections with Thessaly like the Coans did. Such memories held strong on ancient Cos.16 It has been sensibly suggested17 that the ultimate probable source of this information is Nicanor, the Coan commentator of Philitas (Schol. KGLEAT Theoc. 7.5–9k, 80.1 W.) and supplier of information about Coan persons and localities to the scholia on Theoc. 7 which was then perpetuated through Theon. Now, Theocritus by common consensus lived for some time on Cos. He would not be a ξένος, a temporary resident without rights, but a πάροικος, a permanent foreign resident, one of the apparently numerous foreign men of letters and physicians attracted by the congenial ambience of Cos.18 As a paroikos Theocritus would be obliged by law to adopt a citizen as patron (προστάτης). That such was the practice on Cos, as in so many other places, is evidenced in Herond. Mim. 2.10–11 προστάτην [ἔχ]ει Μεννῆν, / ἐγ]ὼ̣ δ̣ ’ Ἀριστοφῶντα, 15 γνώσετ̣ ’ οϥҕῳ προστάτ[ῃ τ]εθώρ ῃγ̣μҕĮȚ. Significantly, since the choice was left with the paroikos, patron and dependent were usually considered as persons of the same stock.19 So the prostatēs of Theocritus would logically be a man friendly to letters. Should he be, as it will be presently argued, Simichidas the Orchomenian (the ‘historical’ Simichidas), his interest in letters would be associated with his place of origin, the ancestral home of the 15 See Whitehead 1977, 148f. On the general demand for metics in Athens cf. [Xen.] Athen. resp. 1.12, id. De vect. 2.1. 16 For Orchomenians and Thessaly cf. Schol. Apoll. Rhod. 2.1186, 208.16 Wendel οἱ Ὀρχομένιοι ἄποικοί εἰσι Θεσσαλῶν, vice versa in Strabo 9.2.40, see A. Schachter in 3OCD, 988–989. For Coans and Thessaly see L. and K. Hallof–Chr. Habicht, Chiron 28 (1998), 108–109. 17 Cf. Paton–Hicks 1891, 356 and Sherwin-White 1978, 65. 18 Cf. Sherwin-White 1978, 173. On the terms πάροικος/μέτοικος, interchangeable on 3rd century Cos, see Ph. Gauthier, REG 108 (1995), 503. Meleager HE 3.4 κἀμὲ θετὸν Μερόπων ἀστόν casts himself as a naturalised Coan citizen. 19 Cf. Isocr. 8.53 τοὺς μὲν μετοίκους τοιούτους εἶναι νομίζομεν οἵουσπερ ἂν τοὺς προστάτας νέμωσιν, Headlam on Herond. Mim. 2.10.

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Graces (cf. Pind. Ol. 14.3–4, Euph. CA 87, Adesp. Pap. Eleg. SH 959.16–17). Thus the information in scholium 7.21a that the Orchomenian settlers were granted citizenship on Cos, which at first sight might seem superfluous, would come out as providing a very specific explanation about how an offspring of Orchomenian refugees can act as a prostatēs. In Athens, where the evidence about μέτοικοι and προστάται is better, there were resident foreigners registered with the polemarchos as early as the battle of Salamis and ‘it seems plausible that the mid-fifth century saw significant development ... such as the requirement of registration with a deme’.20 A metoikos normally had to forfeit a μετοίκιον and live ἐπὶ προστάτῃ (Lys. 31.9) or else face γραφὴ ἀπροστασίου. In his deme’s enrolment list he was registered by his patron’s name. The technical term for this was ἐπιγράφομαι προστάτην ‘enrol myself under a prostatês’ (Ar. Pax 683, Harpocrat. Lex. 50.12 Dindorf, Hesych. α 6853, cf. Soph. OT 411 οὐ Κρέοντος προστάτου γεγράψομαι with Hesych. π 3896) ‘offenbar darum, weil in den Listen, die in den Demen von den in ihnen wohnhaften Metoiken geführt wurden, neben dem Namen eines jeden auch der seines Prostates eingetragen wurde’.21 One may thus imagine that in the municipal roll of the deme of Cos Theocritus would be officially entered as ΘΕΟΚΡΙΤΟΣ ΠΡΑΞΑΓΟΡΟΥ, ΟΙΚΩΝ ΕΝ ΚΩΙ besides (or below) his patron’s name: ΣΙΜΙΧΙΔΟΥ. In fact, we do have at least two coeval inscriptions from Cos listing metics, although these are not the official enrolment lists. Iscr. Cos ED 178B.3 of the later 3rd cent. BC lists metics among the contributors to the sanctuary of Aphrodite Pontia under the heading Μέτο̣[ικοι and inscription 10 Paton-Hicks = Iscr. Cos ED 206 again of the later 3rd cent. BC preserves a list of citizens and other inhabitants of Cos who should contribute for urgent defense expenses. On the latter list the ξένοι appear together with their ethnics whereas the πάροικοι appear in a separate section, as they do in the former list, with their patronymics alone, like the proper Coan citizens (πολῖται). The reconstruction of facts proposed here does not yet eliminate all difficulties because Theocritus must have arrived on the island of Cos several years after historical Simichidas son of Pericles, along with other Orchomenian refugees, settled on Cos. The dramatic time of Idyll 7 can safely be placed near the beginning of Theocritus’ poetic career, which 20 Patterson 1981, 134. Cf. also Whitehead 1977, 75–97; Niku 2007. 21 Lipsius 1905, 370. On προστάτης see H. Schaefer, RE Suppl. IX (1962), 1297–1300. On the registration of a metic in Athens see Rhodes 1993, 497. On the continuing relationship between metic and prostatês see Harrison 1968, 189–199; Whitehead 1977, 90–91.

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by all indications started sometime in the late 280’s. Theocritus, who is commonly surmised to have left Sicily at an early age,22 seeking for a patron, wrote Idyll 16 at ca 275, when Hieron of Syracuse rose to power.23 This entails a gap of some ninety years between the seventh Idyll’s dramatic time and the destruction of Orchomenos. So the historical Simichidas, the friend or, as I suggest, the prostatēs of Theocritus, must be a third generation settler. He would conceivably be older than Theocritus himself, as a prostatēs usually was and as a man cast as a ‘father’ is likely to have been. Therefore in the corrupt point in scholium 7.21a, it might be worth considering ἀπὸ πάππου κληθῆναι, ἀπὸ Σιμιχίδου κτλ. This would conform to the habit of naming male children after their paternal grandfather,24 and it would accord with the dates put forward in the preceding discussion. Ἀπὸ πάππου can be used in explaining personal names, cf. Diog. Laert. 3.4 (Alex. Polyhist. FGrH 273 F 88; Plato) πρότερον Ἀριστοκλῆς ἀπὸ τοῦ πάππου καλούμενος {ὄνομα}, Schol. rec. Ar. Nub. 67d b (Φειδιππίδην) ὡς ἀπὸ Φείδωνος τοῦ πάππου, John Chrys. De mut. nom. PG 51.148d. The corrupt ἀπὸ †πατρίου in the scholia might be due to an attempt to explain the name of the Orchomenian Simichidas as bequeathed ἀπαραλλάκτως to him by his father (*ἀπὸ πατρός, cf., in modern times, Wendel’s conjecture cited in the apparatus), by misapplication of an explanation accounting for the name of Theocritus ‘Simichidas’. The argumentum to Theoc. 7.76.16 W. ἐπιδημήσας γὰρ ὁ Θεόκριτος τῇ νήσῳ, καθ’ ὃν χρόνον εἰς Ἀλεξάνδρειαν πρὸς Πτολεμαῖον ἐπορεύετο κτλ. implies a short stay en route to Egypt. This may be a mere inference from the geography of Theocritus’ poems and the fictional biography set out in the vitae. And yet, it may perhaps be not far from his estimated ‘real’ biography, in the sense that Theocritus may have left Sicily for Cos for some temporary shelter in an interim phase before he ends up in Alexandria. His choice would not be absurd, first because Cos was an island with which Sicily had strong historical, political and cultural ties. Epicharmus, for instance, supposedly following the other way round, is some times designated as originally a Coan τῶν μετὰ Κάδμου εἰς Σικελίαν μετοικησάντων.25 Secondly, because on Cos there was established a literary ‘school’ led by Philitas with whom (or because of whom) Theocritus shared fundamental poetic credos and to 22 Gow 1952, I, xix; Hunter 1999, 2. 23 See Hunter 1996, 82–87. 24 Cf., e.g., Thuc. 6.54.6, Pl. Lach. 179a2, Dem. C. Boeot. 27. See J. GarcíaRamon, DNP 9 (2000), 623 s.v. Personennamen. 25 Suid. ε 2766 s. Ἐπίχαρμος = Epicharm. PCG test. 1.4 with n.; Gow on Theoc. Epigr. 18.5; Willi 2008, 120.

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whom Idyll 7 is probably homage, and thirdly because Theocritus could be motivated by the hope that his sojourn on Cos would bring his work closer to the attention of the Ptolemaic Court, as it apparently happened (7.93). The immediate repercussions of the proposal raised here may now be explored. In the first place, ‘Simichidas’ in Theocritus’ poem does not appear to be a Coan citizen since he is said to be a ξεῖνος of Aratos (119 τὸν ξεῖνον ... μευ, cf., of Nicias of Miletus, 28.6–7 ξέννον ἔμον ... / Νικίαν). Theocritus’ designation implies that ‘Simichidas’ and Aratos are not compatriots, which in its turn leads to the ex silentio conclusion that Simichidas was not a Coan citizen as Aratos most probably was. Moreover, 24–25 ἤ τινος ἀστῶν / λανὸν ἔπι θρῴσκεις; employs language which further suggests that Simichidas is not a Coan citizen (the lines may further suggest that the young poet Simichidas is involved in symposia where recitation of poetry was habitual). Ἀστός is the technical term emphasizing someone’s citizen birth26 and denoting the full right citizen that can act as a prostatēs, cf. Suidas α 3546.12 (= Phot. α 2640.4) τῶν μετοίκων ἕκαστος προστάτην ἔχουσι ... ἕνα τῶν ἀστῶν, id. ν 166 τῶν γὰρ μετοίκων ἕκαστος μετὰ προστάτου τῶν ἀστῶν τινος τὰ πράγματα αὐτοῦ διῴκει, and in general it is the appropriate term to describe a citizen as against a foreigner or metic. In Theocritus one may approach the technical language in Epigr. 14.1 Gow ἀστοῖς καὶ ξείνοισιν on a banker’s trade sign,27 and, in general, the conventional polarity between ἀστός and μέτοικος (e.g., [Xen.] Athen. resp. 1.12, id. De vect. 2.2, Pl. Rep. 563a1) which all but certainly appears in Herondas ҕ με ҕ ιҕ ̣ ҕ ҕ (prob. κοὖτ]ο̣ς Mim. 2.7–8 ] ιҕ ησομαστοσηιασ[ . . . / ҕ ҕ ҕ ҕ] σ μέτ̣ο̣ι̣κ̣ο̣ς)̣ ἐστὶ τῆς [πό]λιος κἠγώ,28 33–34 κἠμὲ τὸν ξεῖνον / οὐδεὶς πολίτης ἠλόησεν, in passages coming as close as possible to the realities of Coan society. Next, it is probably in this self-referential context29 that the seemingly malicious remarks of Lycidas in 7.21–26 are to be understood. Lycidas’ initial address to Simichidas may rehash the superior detach-

26 See, e.g., M. H. Hansen in Hansen–Nielsen 2004, 47. 27 See Rossi 2001, 251. The banker is in fact alleged to be a male prostitute, cf. A. H. Griffiths, BICS 17 (1970), 35–6. 28 μέ̣ τ̣ ο̣ι̣ κ̣ο̣ς̣ ... τῆς [πό]λιος means ‘metic resident in the town of Cos’, i.e. registered in the roll of the deme of Cos, cf. 94 τοῖς οἰκεῦσι τὴν πόλιν ξείνοις. On the usual impairment of foreigners’ rights on Cos see Sherwin-White 1978, 172–173. 29 For other approaches to the autobiographical elements in Theoc. 7 see Meillier 1993; Korenjak 2003, 67–69.

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ment and humour known from similar poetic ‘on the road’ encounters30 such as Hesiod’s (Theog. 24–28) or Archilochus’ (Mnesiepes inscription SEG 15.517.30–32 = Archil. test. 3.30–32 Gerber) encounters with the Muses. But metics often had to cope with the prejudices of the local population and with reactions ranging from open hostility to a more subtle and vicious irony. As Aeschylus puts it in a gnome, everyone keeps an evil tongue ready for insulting a metic, Aesch. Suppl. 994–995 πᾶς δ’ ἐν μετοίκῳ γλῶσσαν εὔτυκον φέρει / κακήν. This could be especially true, if a not very wealthy prostatēs, in common with a nexus of private patrons, who might include the offspring of noble Lycopeus,31 enthusiastically supported a young and ambitious foreign poet. In his case such a standpoint could conceivably represent the attitude of some members of the local intelligentsia, and Lycidas’ reproduction of such criticism has the look of a serene parody of it. Lycidas alleges that ‘Simichidas’, even if weary (21 πόδας ἕλκεις/), is at work when all others rest. The question in 24 ἦ μετὰ δαῖτ’ [‘in search of a banquet’] ἄκλητος ἐπείγεαι, where mss and scholia record a provocative variant reading μετὰ δαῖτα κλητός, can be taken to allude, in a sarcastic manner, to his keen search for a patron: Theocritus’ agony in this matter is salient in Idyll 16 (5–6 τίς … / … ὑποδέξεται, 18–19 τίς … τίς … ; / οὐκ οἶδ’, 68 δίζημαι). At the same time, by attributing to him a very unpoetic (cf. Hes. Theog. 26), but so closely associated with literary patronage, interest in food,32 Lycidas shrewdly raises the charge of the parasitic life of a τρεχέδειπνος or an ἀλλοτριοφάγος which, quite interestingly, at least implicitly weighs on the residents of the Museum in the stark language of Timon Phliasius Silloi SH 786. Then ἄκλητος is another unfair allegation: it prompts the image of the beggar poet and seems to be a deliberate caustic allegation countering Theocritus’ declared intentions: ἄκλητος μὲν ἔγωγε μένοιμί κεν (16.106). It is emphatically stated in Idyll 16 that Theocritus is only interested in an open-hearted invitation, 6–7 (τίς) ἡμετέρας Χάριτας πετάσας ὑποδέξεται οἴκῳ / ἀσπασίως, 68 κεχαρισμένος ἔλθω. But an ill-disposed observer would treat such statements as belonging to the rhetoric of patronage-seeking and as harbouring a selfish ploy. In the ensuing question in 24–25 ἦ τινος ἀστῶν / λανὸν ἔπι θρῴσκεις; the malevolent θρῴσκεις ‘waste, devour’ implies aggression to men or property, here indeed directed against a Coan citizen (τινος ἀστῶν). So 30 For this motif see Segal 1981, 127–128. For detached and humoresque encounters with Muses see Hunter 2003a; Fantuzzi in id. – Hunter 2004, 134. 31 See Kühn 1958, 61; Hunter 2003, 29–32. 32 Cf. Pind. Nem. 1.19–23 (21–22 ἔνθα μοι ἁρμόδιον / δεῖπνον κεκόσμηται) and see Hunter 2003, 32f., 43f.

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Lycidas’ address may contain features of a nuanced abuse not just against a poet but against a metic-poet, all the more so if Lycidas is purported to be a proud Coan, if, that is, 12 Κυδωνικὸν .. ἄνδρα refers to a locality on Cos. Then, to draw Lycidas out, Simichidas has to concede, if by design (42 ἐπίταδες) and in ambiguous language (39 πω) but much to Lycidas’ gratification (42f.), his inferiority to revered local poets, a manoeuvring further suggesting his diverse civic status. Through this stratagem Theocritus playfully distances himself from his Coan past33 and ‘Simichidas’ may represent the image that Theocritus later in life had of himself for the time he spent on Cos. At any rate, Theocritus by assuming this name for his poetic I elevates the historical Simichidas in loco patris. Moreover, Theocritus adopts that man’s name, with the history of his family looming in the background, because he saw in him a partial reflection of his earlier ‘Coan’ self. The two of them, in a way, share a common patria, a place neither of them has ever been: as an Orchomenian historical Simichidas is associated with the Graces, like the poet Theocritus. Once Theocritus too was not only a resident alien but, unsupported by a royal patron, he also had to carry his ‘exiled’ Graces with him (16.5–12), like the family of historical Simichidas in the past had to do. So the poem’s ‘Simichidas’—perhaps like the poem in its entirety—as a man disguised under a name that was probably never his own, is in the end, in Lycidas’ own words, an offshoot fashioned to look true, a πᾶν ἐπ’ ἀλαθείᾳ πεπλασμένον ... ἔρνος (44). Then it is Theocritus’ sympathy with the case of Orchomenos, destroyed twice by Thebes in the 4th cent. BC before being itself razed to the ground by Alexander in 335, which shows in 16.104–109: 105

ὦ Ἐτεόκλειοι Χάριτες θεαί, ὦ Μινύειον Ὀρχομενὸν φιλέοισαι ἀπεχθόμενόν ποτε Θήβαις, ἄκλητος μὲν ἔγωγε μένοιμί κεν, ἐς δὲ καλεύντων θαρσήσας Μοίσαισι σὺν ἁμετέραισιν ἴοιμ’ ἄν. καλλείψω δ’ οὐδ’ ὔμμε· τί γὰρ Χαρίτων ἀγαπητόν ἀνθρώποις ἀπάνευθεν; ἀεὶ Χαρίτεσσιν ἅμ’ εἴην.

O goddess Graces, loved by Eteocles, and dear to to / Minyan Orchomenous, once the enemy of Thebes: / if no one summons me I shall stay at home, but I shall / gladly go to the house of the man who calls me, taking my Muses / with me. Nor shall I forget you, my Graces—what joy is there / for men without you? May I always live in the Graces’ company (transl. A. Verity). 33 Cf., already, the ‘programmatic’ exordium in v. 1 ἦς χρόνος ἁνίκ’ with Dover 1971, 150–151; Goldhill 1991, 226, 230.

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Theocritus’ ὦ Ἐτεόκλειοι Χάριτες θεαί, ὦ Μινύειον / Ὀρχομενὸν φιλέοισαι may well be another recollection of Pindar’s 14th Olympian ode written for the victory of Asopichus the Orchomenian, which looms large especially at the coda of the poem, Ol. 14.3–4 ὦ ... / Χάριτες Ἐρχομενοῦ, παλαιγόνων Μινυᾶν ἐπίσκοποι; but it may as well hint at a parameter of the conflict between Orchomenos and Thebes in 364 BC in which the mythological past with the Minyan dominion over Thebes played its part, since, as Diodorus of Sicily relating the events leading to Orchomenos’ destruction explains, 15.79.5 ἐκ παλαιῶν γὰρ χρόνων οἱ Θηβαῖοι πρὸς τούτους ἀλλοτρίως διέκειντο, δασμοφοροῦντες μὲν τοῖς Μινύαις ἐν τοῖς ἡρωικοῖς χρόνοις, ὕστερον δ’ ὑφ’ Ἡρακλέους ἐλευθερωθέντες. Theocritus chooses the side of Orchomenos. Is this due only to the Graces, with which he is allied and whose cult was ancient and important in Orchomenos? And did sympathy for Orchomenos have to be combined with a feeling of detestation for Thebes? ‘The manner of mentioning the ancient enmity between Orchomenos and Thebes ... leaves us with the impression that the Graces are enemies of Thebes. Theokritos’s reason for saying this is that in the end Orchomenos—thanks, he implies to the divine protection of the Graces—triumphed; for Thebes was utterly destroyed by Alexander in 335, and Orchomenos lent a vengeful hand’ reasoned Dover 1971, 228. Alex Hardie 1983, 33–35, on the other hand, in order to explain Theocritus’ special interest in Orchomenos, assumed that the poem was commissioned by Orchomenian patrons and was actually delivered in a competition at the Charitesia Games in Orchomenos. Theocritus’ stance, as I suggest, may be influenced by his association with Cos, and perhaps his personal liaison with Simichidas the Orchomenian. The Graces-motif is interwoven with his personal link to that city: as he will never distance himself from the Graces, thus he will never abandon ‘Orchomenos’. Such a hypothesis essentially assumes that Theocritus wrote Idyll 16 while on Cos. Last but not least, the scenario proposed here may have enjoyed a Roman Nachleben. Virgil, who in the Eclogues used the exile theme for his own self-referential and literary aims, in Ecl. 5.55 introduces a shepherd with the name Stimichon, unattested before him, but sounding very much like Σίμιχος (Wendel 1920, 58). Stimichon has the authority to pass judgment on Menalca’s poems on Daphnis and his praise is respectfully heeded by Mopsus. It is a striking coincidence (if it is a coincidence at all) that, in parallel to speculations about Simichidas, scholia DServ. identify Stimichon either as the Roman patron par excellence or as Theocritus’ father, quidam per Stimichonem Maecenatem accipiunt; nonnuli Stimichonem patrem Theocriti dicunt.

III. The Ancient Grammarians on the Greek Language and Linguistic Correctness

Did the Alexandrian Grammarians have a Sense of History? * Jean Lallot 1. Introduction The question I am raising within this paper, ‘Did the Alexandrian grammarians have a sense of history?’, is one that must itself be located historically. It implies in fact at least two other questions, each of which relates to three periods: the pre-Alexandrian, the archaic and the classical: 1) Did the Greeks have a sense of history? 2) Did the Greeks think that their own language had a history? The reply to the first question is obviously ‘yes’. Here is not the place to argue about that: no-one would think of challenging the fact that Herodotus, Thucydides, Diodorus Siculus and so many others had a sense of history, if by that one means the idea that events which affect human society have a temporal location, that customs and institutions, far from being immutable, evolve and are transformed over the years and centuries. Without dwelling on what can here be taken to be a truism, let me none the less make one point. A ‘sense of history’ is not the perquisite either primarily or exclusively of historians: the idea that the passage of time brings with it changes in human affairs, apart from being something that can arise unbidden in the consciousness of anybody at all from his or her own personal experience, is already present in the Greek myths. It is also to be found and has been elaborated in detail in philosophical thought. We have the theories of flux, of which the best known is that of Heraclitus, to prove this. But in order to clarify the notion of the ‘sense of history’, rather than citing the Heraclitean formula πάντα ῥεῖ, I would like to draw *

This text has been translated from the French by Sir John Lyons. I am greatly indebted to him for generously agreeing to do this and, more generally, deeply appreciate the quality of his work and our mutual friendship.

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attention to an example from Plato, which is also well known. When Plato presents his theory of the succession of political regimes, in the third book of The Republic, he does indeed base this on the idea that institutions have a history, each regime having its origin and its decline, but he is not ‘doing’ history as such—at any rate not in the sense in which a historian would have described the way in which in Athens tyranny became democracy or the way in which democracy itself had undergone various transformations during the classical period. I am at this point ‘pushing at an open door’, but I am doing so in preparation for what is coming later: as we shall see, when we are considering ‘the history of the language’, we shall have to be sensitive to the distinction between diachronic speculations and empirically documented history. My second question, ‘Did the Greeks think that their1 language had a history?’, calls for an appropriately qualified answer, especially in the light of the preceding observations. For the philosophers, their language has an origin and its primitive form is not identical with its present form. In his Letter to Herodotus, Epicurus speculates as to what can have been its first developments starting from rudimentary and impulsive vocal utterances.2 In the Cratylus, Plato imagines that in a past that is more mythical than historical there existed a corporation he calls ‘the first inventors of words’ (οἱ πρῶτοι τὰ ὀνόματα τιθέμενοι, 401b), he speculates about an ancient layer of πρῶτα ὀνόματα disguised in his time by later changes (414c), and he puts in the mouth of Socrates remarks that we could call ‘historical phonetics’, contrasting for example very ancient (οἱ ἀρχαιότατοι) and contemporary (οἱ νῦν) pronunciations of the η of

1

2

I say ‘their’ language deliberately, given the fact that, except for very special instances (e.g. the origin of language—‘Which was the primitive language?’— or expressions recognized as being non-Greek, in for example the investigations of Herodotus, and so on), the Greeks’ interest in language and languages was restricted to the Greek language. This fact is especially clear in the case of the grammarians, basically philologists working on a Greek corpus, who had little opportunity of encountering any languages other than their own. Epicur. Ep. Hdt. 75–76: […] τὰ ὀνόματα ἐξ ἀρχῆς μὴ θέσει γενέσθαι, ἀλλ’ αὐτὰς τὰς φύσεις τῶν ἀνθρώπων καθ’ ἕκαστα ἔθνη ἴδια πασχούσας πάθη

καὶ ἴδια λαμβανούσας φαντάσματα ἰδίως τὸν ἀέρα ἐκπέμπειν στελλόμενον ὑφ’ ἑκάστων τῶν παθῶν καὶ τῶν φαντασμάτων, ὡς ἄν ποτε καὶ ἡ παρὰ τοὺς τόπους τῶν ἐθνῶν διαφορὰ εἴη […].

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ἡμέρα (418c).3 Even if we are surprised by what he says about the relative chronology (the iotacizing pronunciation is presented as earlier than the [e:] pronunciation), we must note, and take due account of as highly significant, the care with which Socrates is said to distinguish successive pronunciations of Greek. At this point let us draw, succinctly, from this preliminary survey the following conclusion: the idea that the Greek language has undergone variations over time and therefore has a history, far from being foreign to Greek thought, is present in key works which, like those of Plato, have been the very bedrock of Greek culture. This being so, it is only to be expected that, when in Alexandria the corporation of γραμματικοί makes its appearance, committed to the study of a literary heritage which they know stretches back over at least half a millennium, these scholars should have been led to observe, and to mention in their writings details of the evolution of the Greek language. My aim here is to examine what is in fact the case and to put forward some reflections on what I may claim to have ascertained. I will be referring to two witnesses, who are rightly thought of as representative of what was Alexandrian grammar in its ‘technical’ version: the Techne attributed to Dionysius Thrax and what survives of the works of Apollonius Dyscolus. This technical grammar is a grammar of maturity, which we know is based upon and often refers explicitly to the works of earlier or contemporary philologists. I shall naturally be led to make incursions into this territory also when my proposals prompt me to do so.

2. The Techne: not History Let me say immediately what everyone knows: the little manual attributed to Dionysius is not a treatise on historical grammar. There is however one passage, in Chapter 14 (‘On conjugation’), where in presenting the conjugations in -μι as coming from the conjugations in -ω the author seems to be interested in the history of the language.4 For each of 3

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Pl. Cra. 401b: Κινδυνεύουσι γοῦν […] οἱ πρῶτοι τὰ ὀνόματα τιθέμενοι οὐ φαῦλοι εἶναι ἀλλὰ μετεωρολόγοι καὶ ἀδολέσχαι τινές; 414c: οὐκ οἶσθ’ ὅτι τὰ πρῶτα ὀνόματα τεθέντα κατακέχωσται ἤδη ὑπὸ τῶν βουλομένων τραγῳδεῖν αὐτά […]; 418c: οἱ μὲν ἀρχαιότατοι ‘ἱμέραν’ τὴν ἡμέραν ἐκάλουν, οἱ δὲ ‘ἑμέραν’, οἱ δὲ νῦν ‘ἡμέραν’. D.T. 59.3: Τῶν δὲ εἰς μι ληγόντων ῥημάτων συζυγίαι εἰσὶ τέσσαρες, ὧν < 1> ἡ μὲν πρώτη † ἐκφέρεται ἀπὸ τῆς πρώτης τῶν περισπωμένων, ὡς ἀπὸ τοῦ

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the four paradigms in -μι (τίθημι, ἵστημι, δίδωμι, πήγνυμι) the expression used looks typically genetic: ἀπὸ τοῦ τιθῶ γέγονε τίθημι, ἀπὸ τοῦ ἱστῶ γέγονεν ἵστημι, etc. From the point of view that I have adopted here, this example is precious, but it is also troublesome. We must choose in fact between two interpretations: (1) either γέγονε ἀπό must be taken in the sense of historical grammar, meaning ‘has evolved from’ or ‘has replaced historically’, in which case the Alexandrian grammarian is ‘doing’ history and is wrong; (2) or γέγονε ἀπό means something else, and we must say what that is. My own feeling is that the first interpretation is hazardous and improbable. Can we imagine that the Alexandrians—expert philologists that they were and well aware of the chronological priority of the archaic and classical texts (where the forms in -ω existed only in their nascent state) by comparison with Hellenistic usage (in which the forms in -μι had become obsolete)—could have asserted despite all the evidence that the former had come historically from the latter? We must therefore adopt the alternative interpretation: γέγονε ἀπό does not mean ‘comes historically from’. ‘Comes from’, perhaps (one can hardly avoid translating γέγονε ἀπό in this way), but certainly not ‘historically’. I can see no other possible interpretation than the following: γέγονε ἀπό must be understood as meaning ‘is obtained from’. What we have is a formula of synchronic morphology, and one whose purpose is pedagogical,5 indicating a derivational relationship that is not ordered chronologically.6 There is no question of history here.

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6

τιθῶ γέγονε τίθημιǜ […] ἀπὸ τοῦ ἱστῶ γέγονεν ἵστημιǜ […] ὡς ἀπὸ τοῦ διδῶ γέγονε δίδωμιǜ […] ἀπὸ τοῦ πηγνύω γέγονε πήγνυμι. That these pedagogical considerations weighed heavily for setting out the presentation of grammar is something for which we have abundant proof. Is this not what Apollonius appeals to (Synt. III 62, 328.13) in order to justify the position of the indicative in the list of moods? We find the same concern in Charax (Sophronius) in G.G. IV 2, 418.38, who, with reference to listing the plural before the dual in the Canons of Theodosius, justifies this in the following terms: ‘Αποροῦσι δέ, τί δήποτε τὰ πρῶτα ἐκ τῶν ὑστέρων κανονίζει, Mημὶ δὴ τὰ δυϊκὰ ἀπὸ τῶν πληθυντικῶνǜ πρὸς οὕς Mαμεν, ὅτι οἱ κανόνες οὐκ εἰσὶ Mυσικοί, ἵνα τὴν τάξιν Mυλάξωσιν, ἀλλὰ παρατηρήσεις εἰσί, δι’ ὧν εὐκόλως δυνατὸν τὸ ῥῆμα κλίνεσθαι, καὶ ὅθεν εὔκολοι λαμβάνονταιǜ τὰ πληθυντικὰ οὖν σαMῆ καὶ πᾶσι Mανερά, τὰ δὲ δυϊκὰ τοσοῦτόν εἰσι δυσχερῆ, ὥστε καὶ ἰδιώταις μηδ’ ὅλως γινώσκεσθαι […]. Of course, the πρῶτα and the ὕστερα have nothing to do with a chronological ordering here, but there is every reason to believe that, even if this had been the case, the principle of giving greater weighting to the ‘pedagogical’ than to the ‘natural’ would have applied. This is obviously how it has been traditionally understood: see the dossier brought together by G. Uhlig in his apparatus criticus to the Techne, D.T. 59.4.

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Furthermore, what are we promised in Chapter 1 of the Techne, which lists the six parts of the grammar?7 Despite certain appearances, misleading for the modern reader, there is nothing that implies a historian’s viewpoint. As to these misleading appearances: Part 3 of the γραμματικὴ τέχνη is defined as γλωσσῶν καὶ ἱστοριῶν πρόχειρος ἀπόδοσις (D.T. 6.1), ‘the ready explanation of obscure words and historical references’ (transl. Kemp); despite the presence here of the word ἱστορία, it must be obvious that the grammarian is not claiming to be doing history. Taking the text as it is, and without regard to its age, he is content to make it semantically clearer by translating or paraphrasing the rare words and explaining the allusions to traditional ‘stories’ that are present in the text. If this practice means de facto ‘modernizing’ the text in order to make it comprehensible, it does this without classifying as such the historical change which might have made the words unclear. The grammarian does not say, as our dictionaries do, that a word or a meaning comes from an ancient state of the language, but simply that there is in the hic-et-nunc experience of the reader, semantic equivalence, for example, between the Homeric word ἐννῆμαρ and the phrase ἐπὶ ἐννέα ἡμέρας (e.g., Sch. Hom. [bT] Il. 1.53–5). Even etymology (the fourth part of grammar)—a term which by itself evokes for a modern reader the process of going back to older stages and in fine bringing to light the historical origins of the word being studied—, in no way betokens the historical perspective for the Alexandrians. Defined by the scholia as ἀνάπτυξις τῶν λέξεων the ‘analysis of words’ which reveals their ‘truth’ (ἐτυμολογία Ï ἀληθινολογία), etymological practice à l’ancienne consisted in submitting a meaningful form to a rigorously synchronic analysis which makes apparent its segments and clarifies and justifies its meaning. To take one example among thousands which fill the etymological lexica, the very example in fact which the scholiasts of the Techne give to illustrate etymological practice: βλέφαρον, ‘eyelid’, is analysed as ἆρον καὶ βλέπε, which does indeed

7

Uhlig’s crux (†) before ἐκφέρεται in the formula τῶν εἰς μι ληγόντων ῥημάτων […] ἡ μὲν πρώτη ἐκφέρεται ἀπὸ τῆς πρώτης τῶν περισπωμένων can be explained by the diversity of the verbs used in the citations or paraphrases of the passage in question in the commentaries (γίνεσθαι, ἀποτελεῖσθαι, παράγεσθαι). But in itself this verb (which appears in certain scholia) yields an excellent interpretation: it is regularly employed by Apollonius with reference to a process of ‘formation’, in the morphological—and synchronic—sense of this term. D.T. 5.2: Γραμματική ἐστιν […]. Μέρη δὲ αὐτῆς ἐστιν ἕξǜ […] τρίτον γλωσσῶν τε καὶ ἱστοριῶν πρόχειρος ἀπόδοσις, τέταρτον ἐτυμολογίας εὕρεσις […].

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express very well what the eyelid is: what one raises in order to see.8 But is the grammarian, as an Alexandrian, here saying, or at least suggesting, that he is paying attention, specifically, to what we call ‘the history of the Greek language’? Evidently not: Alexandrian etymological analysis is an operation in which any diachronic dimension is completely ignored. So much for the Techne. The picture of the γραμματικός that emerges from this little handbook (and from the scholia associated with it) is for us somewhat paradoxical: philological grammarians, who knew that the texts they were studying stretched back over at least a halfmillennium, never take note of—or at any rate do not think it relevant to mention9—the fact that the passage of time, with the changes that it brings about in human institutions, which is a matter of common knowledge, is in large part responsible for the linguistic differences that they observe between the texts. Perhaps we should not be surprised, given the kind of work that the Techne is: after all, two centuries after the invention of historical grammar we would look in vain for considerations relating to the history of the language in our elementary textbooks of grammar. It is therefore interesting to turn now to the works of Apollonius Dyscolus that have come down to us and which, as everyone knows, are very different in character: do we discern in them, albeit sporadically, any considerations that indicate on the part of the Alexandrian master an interest in, specifically, what we call the history of the Greek language?

8 9

Sch. D.T. 14.30: διὰ τοῦτο λέγεται βλέφαρον, διότι αἰρομένου αὐτοῦ ἐπὶ τὰ ἄνω βλέπομεν, οἱονεὶ βλεπέαρον, ἆρον καὶ βλέπε. With one possible exception, which had escaped me: I am indebted to A. Wouters for having drawn it to my attention. In Chapter 12 of the Techne (D.T. 26.5), we read that ‘Homer does not form any patronymics from the mother’s name (sic), but [that] the recent (poets?) (οἱ νεώτεροι) do’. One can but wonder, however, whether the grammarian is here indicating a change in the language. Anyway, this is not the point of view that is apparent in the Vatican scholion, (Sch. D.T. 223.4): ‘The poet (sc. Homer) is the only one not to make use (οὐκ ἐχρήσατο) of patronymics formed from the mother’s name: he considered it to be absurd (ἄτοπον ἡγήσατο), he who was recounting the exploits of the heroes, to derive such forms from a mother’s name. The νεώτεροι, on the other hand, do make use of such derived forms’. What is to be understood here is that these derived matronymics were potentially available to Homer, but the poet judged it to be inappropriate (indecent?) to call one of the heroes of the Iliad by a name referring to a woman.

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3. Apollonius: A Historian by Accident Let us first of all set on one side some apparent, but spurious, counterexamples. To assert that the noun ‘is prior (προϋφεστώς) to the other parts of speech’ (A.D. Synt. I 18, 19.4), that ‘the pronoun has been established later (μεταγενεστέραν θέσιν ὁμολογεῖ) than the article’ (Synt. I 24, 25.6), ‘that the preposition comes before the words that preexist it (προϋπόντων)’ (Synt. I 26, 26.12) is not to be taken as expressing the point of view of a historian of the language, in the sense in which historians base their arguments on empirical facts whose chronological stratification they are considering. Such assertions are to be understood rather as logical, not to say metaphysical, constructs, deriving, like the πρῶτα ὀνόματα of Plato, from a mythological view of the origins of language. It would be a serious error to see here the proof that Apollonius was ‘doing history’ in the sense that we give to this expression nowadays. On the other hand, it would be perverse to deny him some kind of sense of history when, in Synt. I 60, Apollonius talks of ‘the tradition of Hellenism which makes it possible to discern the meaning of words used by the ancients’.10 Even if the complex notion of παράδοσις is far from being simply diachronic and referring to the transmission of the language across the generations, to talk of the meaning of words as used by the ancients is indeed to take note of the impact of history on lexical semantics, which manifests itself in the characteristic obscurity of at least some of the γλῶσσαι—these strange words whose elucidation is, according to the Techne, one of the tasks of the grammarian. Here then Apollonius mentions explicitly, in passing, what remains implicit in the text of the Techne, a temporal dimension in the Greek language. Granted that this is so, he does not dwell on this, and he does not give any examples. It would be rash to suppose that the wording that we have here implies a ‘program’ for the investigation of the history of words: what we have, it seems to me, is the recognition of a specific difficulty which the antiquity of certain texts creates for the grammarian—a difficulty which he does not seek to study for its own sake as a problem that is diachronic in nature, but which it is his task to overcome by substituting for the form that has become obscure one that is equivalent and synchronically clear. Without being completely ignored, history is here no sooner glimpsed than it is evaded. This is also the case when Apollonius mentions elsewhere an ‘ancient usage’. Thus in Synt. III 42, οὗτος used with the function of a 10 A.D. Synt. I 60, 51.7: […] ἡ εὐχρηστία τῆς κατὰ τὸν Ἑλληνισμὸν παραδόσεως, […] ἐπικρίνουσα τὴν παρὰ τοῖς ἀρχαίοις θέσιν τῶν ὀνομάτων.

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vocative is called ἡ τῶν ἀρχαίων χρῆσις.11 Indeed, one might well wonder whether in this case one is dealing with an archaism classified as such or whether this way of referring to it reveals a strategy for emphasizing what, in fine, one will treat, in synchronic terms, as a figure, the figure nominativus pro vocativo. We find in Synt. III 34 the same evasion, in my view, where the same interchange (or ‘hypallage’) of case, first described as ἀρχαϊκὴ χρῆσις is finally registered as an ‘Attic figure’ (Ἀττικὸν σχῆμα),12 with ‘grammatical geography’ replacing history. However, there is one instance—at least one, but I have not found any others—where Apollonius does indeed seem to be talking to us more definitely about the history of Greek. This is in Synt. II 90, where he is dealing with the Homeric use of the simple pronouns with the function of reflexives. This is what he says: Τὰ τῆς τοιαύτης χρήσεως ἀρχαϊκώτερα ὄντα παρεφθάρη μεταγενέστερον ἐπινοηθείσης τῆς ἀντ’ αὐτῶν συνθέτου μεταλήψεως, εἰς ἣν καὶ μεταλαμβάνομεν τὰς προκειμένας συντάξεις

A.D. Synt. II 90, 193.17 This particular usage is rather archaic, and went out of use when compound [reflexives] were invented to replace them, and now all such phrases require the use of a compound. (transl. Householder)13

To talk of an ‘archaic usage’ (ἀρχαϊκώτερα χρῆσις) which ‘went out of use’ (παρεφθάρη) as a result of the later invention (μεταγενέστερον ἐπινοηθείσης) of a replacement which changes irreversibly the syntax of Greek, is this not expressing oneself as historian of the language? It is difficult to deny that this is so.

4. Conclusion It is time to come to a conclusion. But what conclusion? The nearabsence of considerations relating to the history of the Greek language expressed in their writings by the Alexandrian τεχνικοί must not be attributed to some kind of epistemological blindness on their part: the single, and possibly unique, example from Apollonius that we have 11 A.D. Synt. III 42, 308.4: ἡ γοῦν οὗτος […] δεόντως καὶ ἐπὶ κλητικῆς τίθεται. δι’ ὃ καὶ μάτην κατεμέμψαντο τὴν τῶν ἀρχαίων χρῆσιν. 12 A.D. Synt. III 34, 300.12: οὐχ ὑποπίπτουσα γὰρ ἀρχαϊκῇ χρήσει […] ‘ἠέλιός θ’, ὃς πάντ’ ἐφορᾷς’ [Il. 3.277], ‘δός, φίλος’ [Od. 17.415], ‘ὦ φίλτατ’ Αἴας’ [S. Ai. 977 et 996], ἄπειρα τὰ τούτοις ὅμοια, τὸ ‘Αττικὸν σχῆμα παραστήσει. 13 For an exact parallel to this text, see A.D. Pron. 44.9–18.

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noted is there to prove this. Why then are they so sparing of exemplification when it comes to questions of diachrony? The only explanation, as far as I can see, is that the facts of evolution, in themselves, did not interest them. Subordinated, as we know it was, to the philological mastery of the texts, that is to say to the διόρθωσις of each of them, whatever the period of its composition, Alexandrian grammatical theory must enable them to answer such questions as ‘Did Homer, Pindar, Plato write this or that?’, ‘Does such-and-such a Homeric hapax mean this or that?’, ‘Which synchronic etymology explains the spelling of such-andsuch a word and accounts best for its meaning?’, etc.—but never such questions as ‘What details of evolution, what diachronic rules account for the fact that Plato’s usage differed from Homer’s?’, or ‘Is the Alexandrian Koine the result of dynamic processes which caused the transformation of earlier states of the language?’, etc. For the Alexandrian grammarian, even though, like Apollonius, he might be passionately committed to producing rational explanations, grammar is always applied to concrete objects—written texts, with their norm and their deviations from it (analogy and pathology)—, never to a history of the language which would account for the differences which separate the various states. Basically, Alexandrian grammar is useful grammar, whose aim is the practical mastery (ἐμπειρία) of the styles each of which is conceived as one of the pieces put together in a huge patchwork whose variegated pattern is looked at as a synchonical datum. Useful grammar, I have said, whether its usefulness is that of the γραμματικός-editor or that of the γραμματικός-teacher. What is the point of being concerned with the flow of the change which has brought about the replacement of τίθημι with τιθῶ, when it suffices to know the practical rule that enables one to restore τίθημι in Plato, if by chance a copyist has absentmindedly written τιθῶ? Even when the intellectual framework of grammar is strengthened by the genius of a great τεχνικός, the purpose of the discipline has not been fundamentally renewed. Does not Apollonius tell us, at the very beginning of his Syntax (I 1, 2.1), in order to justify his project of developing the study of the syntax of the sentence, that this work is ‘absolutely necessary for the explanation of poetic texts’? And if, observing on the way that in this or that respect Greek has changed since Homer, he mentions in passing this evolutionary detail, this encounter with history has no follow-up and the diachronic study of Greek continues to be nonetheless completely

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outside his concerns. The times were clearly not ripe, in Alexandria, for the emergence of historical grammar.14

14 In the discussion that followed the present talk, A.C. Cassio suggested a comparison which I find ben trovato (I am quoting it perhaps inexactly from memory): the Greek grammarians doubtless looked upon their language as if it were a building with many storeys (= chronological strates), but they did not have the idea that an elevator could let them pass from one to the other. M. Schmidt, for his part, has written to me (and I am very grateful to him for doing so) to draw my attention to the fact that in the Homeric scholia, Aristarchus notes, in several places, a difference of usage, especially lexical, between that of Homer and that of the νεώτεροι (sc. ποιηταί) and that he therefore differentiates ‘verschiedene Stufen der griechischen Sprache’. M. Schmidt is right, and I must duly qualify my thesis. That said, it is even more remarkable that taking account of the ‘Zeitstufen’ was alien to Apollonius’ modus operandi.

Apollonius between Homeric and Hellenistic Greek: The Case of the ‘Pre-positive Article’ Louis Basset The author of a Hellenistic Tekhne grammatike aims at explaining old poetic, mainly Homeric, texts to his contemporaries. In doing so, he tries to give a reasoned description of the poetic, and mainly epic, language. Such a description is made with reference to Hellenistic Greek. The tekhnikos has therefore to exert a double linguistic ability, which often leads him, whenever he finds a linguistic discrepancy, to give a Hellenistic paraphrase of the epic text. Particularly interesting is the case of the Greek word ὁ, ἡ, τό, which the tekhnikos Apollonius calls ‘prepositive article’. In Attic and Hellenistic Greek, this word was used as what we call a definite article. The tekhnikos expects to meet it in epic texts in the same syntactical contexts as in his usage. Yet this expectation is often, but not always, disappointed. A modern grammarian would perhaps conclude that Homeric texts have no consistency,1 and, above all, that they do not use, at least not always, the word ὁ, ἡ, τό as a definite article.2 This is not the posture of Apollonius who views Iliad and Odyssey as the works of one and only poet, and, in the case of the ‘prepositive article’, tries to cast on them the syntax of Hellenistic Greek, in spite of obvious discrepancies. As a result, the theories he adopts to describe the ‘pre-positive article’ in his own language may be somehow distorted by the different uses he finds in Homer. Such a twist may arise either when he defines the general meaning of that article, or when he analyses the phrases that contain it. So we will study his behaviour starting from his practice (his reading of Homeric texts) and moving up to his theories (i.e. the meaning he ascribes to the ‘pre-positive article’ and his syntactical analysis of nominal phrases where it occurs).

1

2

Chantraine 1963, 245. But uses that seem to differ may appear in one and the same context, which would prevent any explication by referring to different states of language. Chantraine 1963, 160 (§ 239).

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1. Apollonius’ Reading of the Word ὁ, ἡ, τό in Homeric Texts 1.1. ‘Article Ellipsis’ In most cases of discrepancy, the word ὁ, ἡ, τό is absent in epic texts where Apollonius expects a ‘pre-positive article’ (i.e. a definite article). He then gives a paraphrase that consists in adding it to the epic wording: (1)

προσκείσεται γὰρ τῷ ‘ἄλλοι μὲν γὰρ πάντες, ὅσοι θεοί εἰσ’ ἐν Ὀλύμπῳ’ (Il. 5.877) καθισταμένῳ οὕτως· ‘οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἄλλοι θεοὶ πάντες, ὅσοι εἰσ’ ἐν ‛Ολύμπῳ [...]’

A.D. Synt. I 64, 55.17–20 The pre-positive article will be added to: ‘For all Ø3 others, as many gods they are in Olympus’ (Il. 5.877), which means: ‘For all the other gods, as many they are in Olympus [...]’4

Such a paraphrase translates correctly the epic text into Hellenistic Greek. But what may seem less accurate is Apollonius’ way of explaining that discrepancy between the epic wording and its Hellenistic paraphrase: for him it is the result of a ‘poetic licence’ (Synt. I 62, 52.8: ποιητικὴ ἄδεια), a ‘figure’ (σχῆμα), which consists in ‘article ellipsis’ (I 6: ἡ τοῦ ἄρθρου ἔλλειψις). In order to be accepted as such by the tekhnikos, a ‘poetic licence’ must not be too exceptional. To prove a deliberate use of the Poet, an irregular wording must have a minimum of regularity: a too exceptional anomaly would be explained as an accidental mistake. But it ought not either to be too frequent: it would then become a flaw (κακία).5 Moreover, in order to be well accepted, the ‘figure’ must not make the text too hard to understand (ἀσύνετον), for example when combined with another anomaly, which may make it incongruous (ἀσύστατον). (2)

οὐ μόνον οὖν ἐπ’ ἐκείνων ἡ πτῶσις ἐνηλλάγη, ‘Νεστορίδαι δ’ ὁ μὲν οὕτασ’ Ἀτύμνιον’ (Il. 16.317), [...], ἀλλὰ προφανὲς ὅτι καὶ τὸ ἄρθρον λείπει, καὶ σαφῶς, ὅτι τὸ σχῆμα ἐξηγήσατο τὸ ἀσύστατον τοῦ λόγου· γενικῆς γὰρ οὔσης οὐκ ἂν ἔλειψε τὸ ἄρθρον.

A.D. Synt. I 57, 49.10–15 3 4 5

We shall make use of this sign whenever we expect a definite article, and the epic text has not the word ὁ, ἡ, τό. All translations of Greek texts are mine. Cf. A.D. Pron. 7.20, and hereunder quotation no 12.

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Therefore not only the case has been modified in these words: ‘Ø Nestorides [plural nominative without article], the one hurtled Atymnios’ (Il. 16. 317), [...], but it is obvious that the article also is missing and surely the figure has explained the incongruence of the sentence: for if there had been a genitive, the article would have not been missing.

Apollonius finds it hard to accept Νεστορίδαι where he would expect τῶν Νεστοριδῶν (cf. Synt. I 156). The case enallage (‘nominative instead of genitive’) is a figure that increases the incongruousness of the sentence, but in the same time it lessens the shocking appearance that would have a partitive genitive without article.6 The case enallage seems to be for him a milder figure that hides another figure harder to accept (the article ellipsis with a partitive genitive). Requiring moderation in usage, the ‘article ellipsis’ must above all not become a rule, so as to remain a ‘poetic licence’. Therefore, the tekhnikos had to quote epic examples where the word ὁ, ἡ, τό is used, and where the epic text seems to him to be conform to the Hellenistic usage of the ‘pre-positive article’. As a matter of fact, such examples are quoted several times by Apollonius in his Syntax. He thus confronts examples he considers similar, except that some do not have the word ὁ, ἡ, τό, while the others have it.7 Such oppositions made him feel that the Poet had a choice. The examples with the word ὁ, ἡ, τό made him believe that Homer had the same regular usage as himself and Hellenistic Greek. Then he could interpret the other examples as tokens of ‘poetic licence’, i.e. as contravening the regular usage (but not taking into account that they are much more numerous). He could also feel that the Poet, like himself, supplied in his mind the missing word.8 This attitude is quite different from the one he takes when explaining the use of reflexive vs. nonreflexive pronouns. As he finds in Homer a use of these words that is always (ἀεί) different from the one in Hellenistic Greek, he concludes that it is the indication of an older language (ἀρχαϊκώτερα).9 It is no longer a matter of ‘poetic licence’.‘Article ellipsis’ is therefore a breaking of the rule, of theory, of reason (λόγος), but a breaking wanted as such by the Poet. Although Apollonius was an analogist and generally held λόγος as criterion for the correctness of a wording,10 he yielded to the Poet’s authority whose usages he enforced above all. 6 Lallot 1997, II 38 (n. 154). 7 Cf. Synt. I 57: Il. 16.317 (without the word ὁ, ἡ, τό) and Od. 12.73 (with); I 65 and I 121: Il. 12.349 (without) and Il. 16.358 (with); I 105: Od. 9.550 (without) and Od. 11.35 (with). 8 Lallot 1997, II 32 (n. 126). 9 Pron. 55.11. 10 Synt. I 60.

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(3)

Καὶ κατὰ τὸ τοιοῦτον ἄρα τὸ ‘πῶς δαὶ τῶν ἄλλων Τρώων’ (Il. 10.408) ἄρθρον συνέξει. Ἀλλὰ φαίνεται ὅτι τὸν Ἀρίσταρχον ἐκίνει τὸ ἔθιμον τοῦ ποιητοῦ, ὡς συνήθως μὲν ἐλλείπει τοῖς ἄρθροις, συνάπτει δὲ μετὰ τὰ πύσματα τὸν δαί σύνδεσμον [...].

A.D. Synt. I 127–128, 107.7–11 And therefore for the same reason: ‘How then of the other Trojans ‘ (Il. 10.408), shall have an article. But it is obvious that what moved Aristarchus was the Poet’s habit, who habitually, on the one hand, makes an article ellipsis, and, on the other hand, adds to questioning words the particle ‘then’.

Here it is only the Poet’s habit that prevents Apollonius, as well as Aristarchus, from seeing an article in the particle δαί (as it were δ’ αἱ), although reason and theory require it. The Poet’s habit prompts him also, contrary to Zenodotus, not to alter the epic text whenever it is allowed by metrics. Reason and theory help him to supply only mentally the article when necessary. (4)

οὐχὶ οὖν εὔχρηστος ὁ λόγος, ἀναπληρῶν μὲν τὸ λεῖπον, οὐ πλεονάζων δὲ ἐν τῷ μὴ δεομένῳ; ἢ ἐκεῖνο ἀπόδειξίς ἐστι, τὸ ἀναμεῖναι τὴν Ζηνοδότου γραφὴν ἐν τῷ ‘ὦλλοι μὲν ῥα θεοί τε’ (Il. 2.1);

A.D. Synt. I 62, 53.9–13 The theory is helpful, isn’t it, supplying what is missing, but avoiding a pleonasm whenever nothing is wanted. Or is this not a proof, the maintenance of Zenodot’s reading in: ‘and the other Gods...’ (Il. 2.1)?

For Apollonius, there cannot be a divergence in meaning between the two readings, the one transmitted (ἄλλοι without article) and Zenodot’s one (ὦλλοι with a contracted article). What is phonetically missing is semantically and ‘virtually’ present, as Apollonius says elsewhere. (5)

δύναμει τὰ ἐλλείποντα παράκειται, ἐμφανιζόμενα διὰ τοῦ ἐπιζητοῦντος αὐτὰ λόγου.

A.D. Synt. I 42, 38.5–6 What is missing is virtually present, revealed by the reason that requires it.

Apollonius never tries to explain why the Poet often resorts to an article ellipsis and sometimes does not: it is for him only a matter of arbitrary choice. Hence we can guess that his understanding of the phrases where the word ὁ, ἡ, τό does appear is not wholly accurate.

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1.2. Article Anastrophe Sometimes the epic text does contain the word ὁ, ἡ, τό, but in a place that does not comply with theory. It may be so when the nominal phrase contains a noun or an adjective that is attribute to the main noun (ἐπιθετικόν). Then, according to the canonical word order of Attic and Hellenistic Greek, this attribute takes place between the article and the main noun. It cannot follow the main noun without being preceded by the article. It is nevertheless the case in Il. 1.11, where we read: τὸν Χρύσην … ἀρητῆρα. As there is no predicative verb in the sentence, the word ἀρητῆρα cannot be a predicate, but is an attribute. So Apollonius thought it was a case of anastrophe, a shift in order of words, another kind of figure, and a scholiast gave the paraphrase ‘τὸν ἀρητῆρα Χρύσην’, which restores what is expected in Hellenistic Greek.11 (6)

καὶ σαφὲς ὅτι τὰ ῥήματα κατηγοροῦντα τοῦ ἐπιθετικοῦ εὐλόγως τὴν τοῦ ἄρθρου σύνταξιν παρείλετο, ἔνθεν δὲ τὰ τῆς ἀναστροφῆς δῆλα, ‘οὕνεκα τὸν Χρύσην ἠτίμασεν ἀρητῆρα’. (Il. 1.11)

A.D. Synt. I 108, 91.7–92.3 Obviously only verbs that predicate the adjective may exclude logically the article syntax. Hence the evidence of anastrophe (in): [lit.] ‘because he had insulted the Khryses Ø priest’. (Il. 1.11)

Therefore, both Apollonius and the scholiast understood ‘the priest Khryses’. We may think that this paraphrase, in this case, is not thoroughly accurate. According to the epic usage, τόν, preceding the proper noun, cannot bear on the attribute, and cannot be a plain definite article.12 We should understand ‘him, Khryses, the priest’, or ‘That Khryses, the priest’, or more probably ‘the famous Khryses, the priest’, with a value that Apollonius knows as well in his usage as in Homer. But as he felt that the article was lacking before the attribute, instead of supplying it as in the previous examples, he could in this case find it elsewhere in the sentence, which suggests that, like case enallage, anastrophe was for him a poetic licence easier to accept than article ellipsis. But by doing so, he lost a nuance that was in the epic text.13

11 See Lallot 1997, II 59 (n. 243). 12 Chantraine 1963, 160–162 (§ 239–241). 13 See the analysis of another example (Il. 1.340) of that apparently irregular word order in Basset 2006, 112.

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1.3. Missing Article explained according to the Theory When there is no word ὁ, ἡ, τό, the tekhnikos may explain this absence as regular. As he gives the ‘pre-positive article’ an anaphoric meaning, he then argues that there is no such anaphoric meaning in the phrase. Exceptionally, this attitude may appear ill founded. (7)

o ὐκ ἐπιζητήσει οὖν τὸ ‘ἄνδρα … πολύτροπον’ (Od. 1.1) πάντως ἄρθρον, χωρὶς εἰ μὴ τὸν κατ’ ἐξοχὴν θέλοιμεν διαστεῖλαι.

A.D. Synt. I 117, 99.4–6 Therefore there will be no need at all of an article in: ‘Ø man… full of tricks’ (Od. 1.1), unless we would single out the pre-eminent man.

Apparently, two motivations prompted Apollonius to consider that no article is needed here. But both may appear ill grounded. First, these words are the first ones of the Odyssey. So no anaphoric meaning to what precedes seems possible.14 But another kind of anaphora, that to what is well known, would be available, as Apollonius himself recognizes. Secondly, as the attribute adjective follows the appellative noun, Apollonius seems to find it uneasy to add an article in the phrase. Surely he could not put forward *τὸν ἄνδρα… πολύτροπον. But he seems to forget the possibility of the sequence ἄνδρα … τὸν πολύτροπον, which he accepts in Homer (Synt. I 121) and in his usage (I 65) too. It is true that this latter word order is much more unusual in the Hellenistic Greek.15 And besides three words occur in the verse between the noun and the adjective that is its attribute. For these two reasons, Apollonius is reluctant to see here a ‘poetic licence’, but he could have done so. As a matter of fact, we have a very similar case in the first words of the Iliad. Here also, the noun μῆνιν has no article, and no anaphora to what precedes it is at hand. However Apollonius does not hesitate to see here an ‘article ellipsis’. (8)

Προδήλως οὖν κἀκεῖνο λείπει ἄρθρῳ ‘μῆνιν ἄειδε θεά’ (Il. 1.1), τὴν Ἀχιλέως οὐλομένην μῆνιν· ἓν γὰρ τὸ πάθος.

A.D. Synt. I 118, 100.9–12 It is obvious that there is also an article ellipsis in that phrase: ‘Sing Ø wrath, Goddess’ (Il. 1.1). It is Achilles’ deadly wrath, because it is a unique passion. 14 See Lallot 1997, II 63 (n. 259). 15 The construction is already rare in Attic, where it gives to the attribute a special discriminative value; see Biraud 1991, 40.

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So it is uniqueness that makes the article needed here. But the ‘man full of tricks’ is likewise unique and unparalleled. So Apollonius exhibits two divergent attitudes when explaining two very similar examples of missing article. The only difference between them is that the word μῆνιν is not followed by an attribute, but by the genitive Ἀχιλέως, and the phrase τὴν μῆνιν Ἀχιλέως would be correct in Hellenistic Greek, contrary to the phrase *τὸν ἄνδρα … πολύτροπον. It is therefore likely that what made Apollonius reluctant to add mentally an article in the first verse of the Odyssey is rather a question of word order.

1.4. The Use of the Word ὁ, ἡ, τό explained as ‘Pre-positive Article’ When the word ὁ, ἡ, τό appears, in a noun phrase of the epic text, in a place that is regular for the ‘pre-positive article’ in Hellenistic Greek, then Apollonius interprets it as a ‘pre-positive article’. (9)

τὸ μέντοι ‘οἱ δὲ δύο σκόπελοι’ (Od. 12.73) αὐτὸ μόνον τὴν πτῶσιν ἐνήλλαξεν.

A.D. Synt. I 57, 49.15–50.2 On the other hand, in: ‘and the two rocks [nominative instead of genitive case] …’ (Od. 12.73), the poet changed only the case.

Apollonius thinks this example similar to the one of Il. 16.317 studied by him in our quotation (2). But he thinks that the regular ‘pre-positive article’ is here used, while in Il. 16.317, it is lacking due to a ‘poetic licence’. We would think on the contrary that there is a semantic nuance and that here the true meaning is: ‘As to them, the two rocks…’. As a matter of fact, in Homer, when used before the particle δέ, the word ὁ, ἡ, τό has the particular effect of introducing a new topic.16

1.5. When the Word ὁ, ἡ, τό becomes a Pronoun When the word ὁ, ἡ, τό is used alone, i.e. not followed by a noun phrase, Apollonius says it is the result of a transposition (μετάληψις, μετάπτωσις) of the article into a pronoun.

16 Cf. Basset 2006. See also A.D. Synt. I 105, where τὰ δὲ μῆλα (Od. 9.444) should be understood: ‘But as to them, the two sheep …’.

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(10)

αὐτὰ γοῦν τὰ ἄρθρα τῆς πρὸς τὰ ὀνόματα συναρτήσεως ἀποστάντα εἰς τὴν ὑποτεταγμένην ἀντωνυμίαν μεταπίπτει, ὡς ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις, ‘ὁ γὰρ ἦλθε θοὰς ἐπὶ νῆας Ἀχαιῶν’. (Il. 1.12)

A.D. Synt. I 25, 26.1–4 Moreover, the articles themselves that are no longer articulated to nouns are transposed into the following [part of speech], the pronoun, as in these words: ‘For that one had gone to Achaeans’ swift ships’. (Il. 1.12)

We could at first think that this is only a new case of ellipsis, this time not of the article, but of the noun. A quotation from the second book of the Syntax, which is devoted to the pronoun, although corroborating that very idea, in fact makes a distinction. (11)

καὶ σαφὲς ὅτι ἔλλειψις τοῦ ὀνόματος τῷ ἄρθρῳ παραδώσει τὰ τῆς συντάξεως, καὶ οὐκ ἄλλο τι γενήσεται τὸ ἄρθρον ἡ ἀντωνυμία.

A.D. Synt. II 31, 149.2–4 It is obvious that the noun ellipsis shall transfer the noun syntax to the article, and that the article shall be nothing but a pronoun.

As the syntax of the missing noun is transferred to the article, this latter gets a new syntax, namely that of a pronoun. Nothing similar happened as a result of the ‘article ellipsis’: the syntax of the article was not transferred to the noun. Apollonius is here aware of a dissymmetry due to the fact that the noun is the head of the noun phrase. Therefore, the ‘noun ellipsis’ has heavier syntactic consequences than the ‘article ellipsis’.17 Moreover, Apollonius himself seems to have hesitated to view that use of the word ὁ, ἡ, τό as a figure, i.e. a ‘poetic licence’. In Pronoun (7.20), he says that, when this word is not articulated to a noun, it is a plain pronoun. It is no longer for him the result of the transposition of the article into a pronoun, but a true pronoun homonymous to the article. What motivates this new attitude is that the pronominal use is too common in Homer to arise from a ‘poetic licence’.18 (12)

μεγάλην ἀσθένειαν διὰ τὴν ἰδίαν ἀπειρίαν τοῦ ποιητοῦ καταγέλλουσι, φάσκοντες τοσαῦτα σχήματα ἄρθρων ἀντὶ ἀντωνυμιῶν παραλαμβάνειν. Τὸ γὰρ μὴ ταῖς κατὰ φύσιν λέξεσι κεχρῆσθαι κακία. Ἐλελήθει οὖν αὐτοὺς ἡ ὁμοφωνία τῶν ἄρθρων καὶ τῶν ἀντωνυμιῶν.

A.D. Pron. 7.20–24 17 For these two kinds of ellipsis, see Lallot 1997, II 94 (n. 58). 18 See Lallot 1997, II 38–39 (end of n. 154). See also Schironi 2002, 145–160.

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They [i.e. the Stoics] mock ‘the Poet’s great weakness’ in consequence of their own ignorance. They say that he uses too often the figure consisting in articles instead of pronouns. For it is a flaw to have not used words according to their nature. They had therefore failed to discern the homonymy between articles and pronouns.

The pronominal use of the word ὁ, ἡ, τό is in fact widely prevailing in Homer. It is on the contrary exceptional in Attic and Hellenistic Greek. So the distinction in Pronoun between two homonyms, the ‘pre-positive article’ and the anaphoric pronoun, does not rest upon Hellenistic usage, but upon Homeric texts. We may regret that Apollonius has no such reasoning based upon frequency when he speaks of article ellipsis, which is also widely prevailing in Homeric texts. He would perhaps not have considered it a ‘poetic license’.

2. Theory: The Meaning of the ‘Pre-positive Article’ 2.1. Anaphora to what is previously known or mentioned Apollonius defines the article, particularly the ‘pre-positive article’, by its proper meaning, which is the ‘anaphoric’ one, i.e. the mention of what has been ‘introduced before’. (13)

Ἔστιν οὖν, καθὸ καὶ ἐν ἄλλοις ἀπεφηνάμεθα, ἴδιον ἄρθρου ἡ ἀναφορά, ἥ ἐστι προκατειλημμένου προσώπου παραστατική.

A.D. Synt. I 43, 38.11–12 The property of the article, as I have already said elsewhere, is the anaphora, which sets forth a character introduced before.

What has been ‘introduced before’ is often to be understood as what has been ‘mentioned in the previous context’. It is this meaning that is specified in the variant προκατειλεγμένου, ‘aforesaid’, instead of προκατειλημμένου. Conversely, Apollonius is prone to explain an absence of article by setting forth a ‘first mention’ (Synt. I 96: πρῶται ἔφοδοι; I 14, 71: πρώτη ἀφήγησις). (14)

ἔνθεν οὐδὲ ἔστι προσθεῖναι μετὰ τὴν τοῦ δύο σύνταξιν πρὸ τοῦ ‘ἄνθρωποι’ τὸ ἄρθρον, ‘δύο οἱ ἄνθρωποι τρέχουσι’ (πρώτη γὰρ ἡ ἀφήγησις, ἡ δὲ πρόσθεσις τοῦ ἄρθρου ἐδείχθη ἀναπολοῦσα τὰ προδεδηλωμένα).

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Hence it is not possible to add the article before men in a phrase with two: ‘*two the men are running’ (for it is then a first mention; and the adding of an article has been shown pointing back to what has been previously mentioned).

As we have already seen above, in quotation (7), this strictest sense of the word anaphora may partly explain why Apollonius does not want an article in the first verse of the Odyssey. But Apollonius makes also use of a wider meaning. In the same passage of his Syntax, he opposes a ‘first knowing’ and an ‘old knowing’ in order to explain absence vs. presence of the article. He is then perhaps not aware of a shift in meaning. But the first type of anaphora he mentions to illustrate his definition is the anaphora to what is well known. It obviously has a very wide meaning. (15)

Ἀναφέρεται δὲ τὰ ὀνόματα ἤτοι κατ’ ἐξοχήν, [...] τῇδε γὰρ καὶ ὡς συλλαβὴν τὸ ἄρθρον ἀπηνέγκατο ‘ὁ ποιητής’, ἀπενεγκάμενος καὶ τὴν ἁπάντων ἐξοχὴν καὶ τὴν πρὸς ἁπάντων προπεπερασμένην γνῶσιν.

A.D. Synt. I 43, 38.12–39.3 And nouns are anaphoric when applying pre-eminently […]. For it is with that meaning that ‘the Poet’ added the article to itself as a syllable, adding to the Poet both the pre-eminence above all and the idea of being previously known to all.

This wider meaning was possible at the beginning of the Odyssey, and Apollonius is aware of it. He is also aware that this wider kind of anaphora is different from the strict one. (16)

Ἢ καὶ κατ’ αὐτὸ μόνον ἁπλῆν ἀναφοράν, ὅτε φαμὲν […] ‘ὁ γραμματικός σε ἐζήτει’, νῦν οὐχ οὕτως ἀκουομένου τοῦ ‘ὁ γραμματικός’, καθὼς πρόκειται.

A.D. Synt. I 43, 39.6–9 There is also the straightforward and plain anaphora: when we say: ‘… the grammarian was searching you’. Here ‘the grammarian’ is not to be understood as before.

This straightforward anaphora is to the aforesaid, without any second meaning.19 It is the anaphora in its strictest sense. But, before he mentions it, Apollonius has singled out a third kind of anaphora.

19 See Lallot 1997, II 32 (n. 128).

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2.2. So-called Anaphora implying ‘Unique Possession’ When a noun phrase contains a possessive genitive, the article is said to imply a ‘unique possession’. (17)

Ἢ καὶ κατὰ μοναδικὴν κτῆσιν οὕτως ἀποφαινόμενος ‘δοῦλός σου ταῦτα ἐποίησε’ πλῆθος ὑπαγορεύει δούλων· ὁ δὲ μετὰ τοῦ ἄρθρου ‘ὁ δοῦλός σου ταῦτα ἐποίησε’ μοναδικὴν κτῆσιν ὑπαγορεύει.

A.D. Synt. I 43, 39.3–6 Another kind [of anaphora] concerns a unique possession, thus exemplified: ‘(a) slave of yours did it’ implies several slaves, but if we add the article: ‘your slave [lit. ‘the slave of you’] did it’, it implies a unique possession.

Of course, this somewhat awkward wording does not take into account the plural οἱ δοῦλοί σου ‘your slaves’ (lit. ‘the slaves of you’), which means ‘the totality of your slaves’. Rather than uniqueness, what is meant is therefore totality. It would be better to speak here of the totalizing value of the article. But does such a value always involve an anaphora? For example, the phrase ‘Apollonius’ father’ (in Greek with a definite article) does not imply that the speaker knows Apollonius’ father. He knows only that Apollonius had one and only one father. We don’t always know what is so possessed. Nevertheless, the idea of ‘unique possession’ is Apollonius’ main argument to justify the use of the article before a noun phrase with possessive genitive. It even becomes a rule for him. (18)

Μοναδικαὶ γὰρ οὖσαι αἱ κτήσεις τὸ ἄρθρον ἀπαιτοῦσιν, οὐ τῇδε δὲ ἔχουσαι καὶ χωρὶς ἄρθρων λέγονται.

A.D. Synt. I 118, 99.9–11 For possessions, when they are unique, want the article, but when they are not so, they are said without article.

We have seen, for instance, that supplying an article before μῆνιν i n Iliad’s first verse, he gives as argument that Achilles’ wrath is unique, not that it is well known. In such examples, a true anaphoric meaning seems to be less conclusive to him, as well as in some other kinds of examples.

2.3. ‘Side Meaning of Plurality’ When the noun phrase contains an attribute (adjective or participial form), the article is said to introduce a ‘side meaning of plurality’.

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Εἰ δὲ αἱ μετοχαὶ προσλάβοιεν τὰ ἄρθρα, πλειόνων Πτολεμαίων ἐμφάνισις νοεῖται, ὥστε οὐκ ἀπιθάνως ἔστιν φάναι ὡς τὰ ἑνικὰ ἄρθρα παρεμφαίνειν καὶ πλῆθος. Εἰ γὰρ τῇδέ τις ἀποφαίνοιτο ‘ὁ γυμνασιαρχήσας Πτολεμαῖος ἐτιμήθη’ οὐχ ἕνα δηλώσει Πτολεμαῖον, πλείονας δέ, ἐξ ὧν ὁ εἷς τιμῆς μετέλαβεν.

A.D. Synt. I 110, 93.10–94.4 But if participial attributes take the article, we understand an implication that there are several Ptolemy. Therefore, it is not beyond belief to say that singular articles imply plurality as side meaning. For if someone states so: ‘the Ptolemy having been gymnasiarch was honoured’, he will not only give evidence of one Ptolemy, but of several ones, among which the one (mentioned) received honour.

Apparently, what Apollonius wants to tell us when speaking of ‘side meaning of plurality’ is that the article then allows to single out a subgroup among a larger group. Sub-group and group are to be understood as totalities. We have therefore once more a totalizing value of the article. Apollonius detects this same value when the attribute is ἄλλος, ‘other’, and then he even takes such a value as a test for the accuracy of the article. (20)

Πάντοτε οὖν τὸ ‘ἄλλοι’ συνέξει τὸ ἄρθρον, ἡνίκα τοῦ κατηγορουμένου πλήθους ὅλου ἐστὶν ἐμπεριληπτικὸν τήν τε διαίρεσιν πάλιν μερικὴν ποιεῖται· οὐ γὰρ τῇδε ἔχον οὐ πάντως ἕξει καὶ τὸ ἄρθον παραλαμβανόμενον.

A.D. Synt. I 63, 53.18–54.1 Therefore the word ‘other’ shall always take with itself the article when it is inclusive of the whole mentioned plurality, while on the other hand it makes separation of a part. If it is not so, this word shall never take with itself the article.

The idea of totality is thus what justifies, in this case also, the use of the article. It is no longer an anaphoric meaning, which may be even lacking. (21)

Ἐκεῖνό γε μὴν πάλιν ἐλλείπει, ‘ἡ δ’ ἄλλους μὲν ἔασε, Θέμιστι δὲ καλλιπαρῄῳ δέκτο δέπας’ (Il. 15.87)· ἐμπεριεκτικὸν γάρ ἐστιν ἁπάντων τῶν συνευωχουμένων θεῶν.

A.D. Synt. I 64, 55.7–11 There is on the contrary an article ellipsis in that example: ‘As for her, she left apart Ø others, but for well-cheeked Themis’ sake, she took her cup’

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(Il. 15.87–88). For ‘Ø others’ covers the whole assembly of the gods partaking (with Themis) in the feast.

Obviously ‘the other gods’ are a sub-group in gods’ assembly, i.e. ‘all gods except Themis’. Such a sub-group has never been mentioned before, and there cannot be any anaphoric meaning. Then the need for an article is due only to the totalizing meaning of the phrase. This is another case where the anaphoric meaning of the article is far from being consistent, and where it may disappear, apparently without Apollonius knowing it. Yet, there is still another case where he himself recognizes that there is no true anaphor.

2.4. Pre-positive Article ‘sending forth to what is unknown’ Apollonius is aware, that sometimes, instead of sending back to what is already known or mentioned, the article sends forth to what is unknown. (22)

Ἔσθ’ ὅτε δὲ καὶ προληπτικώτερον πρόσωπον ἀναφέρει, ὅτε δὴ καὶ ἀοριστῶδες φαίνεται, ὅτε οὕτως φαμέν, ‘ὁ τυραννοκτήσας τιμάσθω’.

A.D. Synt. I 44, 39.9–11 It happens also that the article sends forth to some character by anticipation, and then it seems to have an indefinite meaning, when we say: ‘Let the tyrant’s murderer (whoever he will be) be honoured’.

Being unable to unify this use with an anaphoric one, Apollonius simply makes us know that Stoics considered it an indefinite word (Synt. I 111). Besides, he adopts the same attitude with regard to what he calls the ‘post-positive article’ (i.e. a relative pronoun; see Pron. 8.4). In Synt. II 32 he even speaks of ‘indefinite transposition of articles’ (ἀόριστον μετάληψιν τῶν ἄρθρων). But, in this particular case, he does not venture to distinguish two homonymic words.

2.5. The Pronominal Use as Prototypical To sum up, the anaphoric meaning is rarely set forth by Apollonius to justify the need for an article in complex noun phrases of Hellenistic Greek. We therefore may ask ourselves why he chose a so often useless definition, which is even inconsistent with many uses. I think that the prevalence of the pronominal use of the word ὁ, ἡ, τό in Homer is what prompted him. For in this use, it has commonly a meaning that is anaphoric in the strictest sense: it generally points to what has already been

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mentioned, which corresponds to a ‘deixis of the mind’ (Synt. II 12). Apollonius may have viewed such a use as prototypical. And as for him the anaphoric pronoun was a substitute of the noun phrase article + noun, he was prone to ascribe to the article the same meaning as to the anaphoric pronoun. Modern grammarians derive the definite article from an anaphoric pronoun with a loss in meaning. On the contrary, Apollonius viewed the anaphoric pronoun as a substitute for the phrase article + noun. Therefore he concluded that the anaphoric meaning of the pronoun was already in the article. For instance, in our quotation (10) here above (Il. 1.12), the phrase ὁ γὰρ ἦλθε, ‘for this one had gone’, contains the anaphoric pronoun ὁ, ‘this one’, which points to the aforementioned Khryses, as we can see in our example (6). Apollonius takes ὁ, ‘this one’, as a substitute for (ὁ) Χρύσης. (23)

Ἔστω γάρ τι τοιοῦτον, ‘Χρύσης γὰρ ἦλθε θοὰς ἐπὶ νῆας Ἀχαιῶν’ (Il. 1.12), καὶ ἔτι μετὰ ἄρθρου ‘ὁ γὰρ Χρύσης ἦλθεν θοὰς ἐπὶ νῆας Ἀχαιῶν’· καὶ σαφὲς ὅτι ἡ ἔλλειψις τοῦ ὀνόματος τῷ ἄρθρῳ παραδώσει τὰ τῆς συντάξεως.

A.D. Synt. II 31, 148.16–149.3 As for instance, let it be such a sentence: ‘For Khryses had gone to Achaeans’ swift ships (cf. Il. 1.12), and then with the article: ‘For the Khryses had gone to Achaeans’ swift ships’. It is clear that the noun ellipsis will give its syntax to the article.

Therefore Apollonius considers that Χρύσης, ὁ Χρύσης and the anaphoric pronoun ὁ, are alike in meaning. But in Attic or Hellenistic Greek, ὁ Χρύσης, as well as Χρύσης, would have no true anaphoric meaning,20 which would be ‘this Khryses’. It is only in Homer that ὁ Χρύσης may mean ‘this Khryses’ with a straightforward anaphoric meaning (a ‘deixis of the mind’). To obtain such a meaning in Attic or Hellenistic Greek we should say οὗτος ὁ Χρύσης. It is therefore because of its epic use as a pronoun that Apollonius could ascribe an anaphoric meaning to the word ὁ, ἡ, τό. But he mistakenly transferred it to its use as an article in Attic or Hellenistic Greek.

20 Apollonius does not seem to have tried to find any shift in meaning between Χρύσης and ὁ Χρύσης. Modern grammarians sometimes try to go further and for instance ascribe to the article before a proper noun a contrastive and emphasizing value (Rijskbaron 2006, 243–257).

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3. Theory: How Apollonius analyses Complex Noun Phrases, with Article and Attribute When he analyses complex noun phrases with an article and two words, an attribute and a noun, Apollonius tries to answer the question on which of these two words the article bears. However, in doing so, he goes so far as to contradict himself. For instance, in Synt. I 133, 110.2, he says that in ὁ δοῦλος ὁ ἐμός, (lit.) ‘the slave the mine’, the two articles convey two different anaphoras, the first one of the slave and the second one of the master.21 So the first article is viewed as coupled with the noun, and the second as coupled with the possessive attribute. On the other hand, in Synt. I 113, he says that ὁ λευκὸς ἵππος, ‘the white horse’, is equivalent to ὁ ἵππος ὁ λευκός, (lit.) ‘the horse the white’ (although the first wording is for him more congruous). This implies apparently that, when there are two articles, the same article is repeated, with only one meaning. Such an analysis is implied even when the attribute is a possessive adjective. (24)

οὐκ ἄρα ἐν τῷ ‘ὁ πατὴρ ὁ ἐμός’ κατηνάγκασται τὸ ἕτερον τῶν ἄρθρων ἐπὶ τὴν ἀντωνυμίαν φέρεσθαι.

A.D. Synt. I 102, 85.17–18 Therefore in [lit.] ‘the father the mine’ the second article is not compelled to bear on the pronoun [i.e. the possessive adjective].

This is in conformity with Apollonius’ thesis that no article can bear on a ‘pronoun’, since a ‘pronoun’ either excludes anaphora or expresses it itself. But it is contrary to what is said in Synt. I 133. It is true that this contradiction may be only apparent, due to an awkward wording in I 133. For, according to him, it is on what is possessed, not on the owner that bears the article before a possessive adjective. (25)

ἦν δὲ ἡ σύνταξις οὐ τοῦ ἀντωνυμικοῦ προσώπου, λέγω τοῦ κατὰ τὸν κτήτορα, τοῦ δὲ ὑπακουομένου κατὰ τὸ κτῆμα.

A.D. Synt. I 100, 83.15–84.1 But here [the article] was not constructed with the pronominal person, that is to say with the owner, but with the possessed thing which is understood.

Therefore in such noun phrases, according to Apollonius, the article bears rather on the noun (the possessed thing), than on the possessive adjective (the owner). But according to other analyses, there is a special 21 See Lallot 1997, II 69 (n. 184).

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link between the article and the adjective attribute. For instance, in Synt. I 65, he says that in order to remove the ambiguity of a proper noun, one must add an attribute, and that then, in order to remove the ambiguity of the attribute itself, one must add to it the article with its value of ‘anaphora to the unique one’ (μοναδικὴν ἀναφοράν), that is to say, in our terms, its totalizing value. More clearly, in Synt. I 135, he explains the impossibility of the wording *ὁ ἀγαθὸς ὁ ἄνθρωπος, (lit.) ‘the good the man’, by saying that the anaphora bears first on the attribute and from there on the noun. So it must not be repeated. (26)

συμβαίνει καὶ τὴν συνοῦσαν ἀναφορὰν ἐν τῷ ‘ὁ λόγιος’ συμφέρεσθαι ἐπὶ τὸ ‘ἄνθρωπος’.

A.D. Synt. I 135, 111.12–13 It follows that (in ‘the wise man’) the anaphora that is in ‘the wise’ is transferred also to ‘man’.

Such an analysis entails that there is a closer link between article and attribute and seems to contradict what is said in quotations (24) and (25). Here again, the contradiction may be not real, because Apollonius is inclined to confound syntax and semantics, words and things. But what matters for us is that this latter analysis that establishes a closer link between article and attribute is grounded on an epic example. (27)

φαμένου γάρ τινος ‘Αἴας’, ἀνθυπαχθήσεται ‘ὁπότερος’; διὰ τὴν προειρημένην ὁμωνυμίαν· ᾧ πάλιν ἀνθυπαχθήσεται τὸ ἰδίᾳ παρακολουθῆσαν τῷ ἑτέρῳ, καθὼς προείπομεν, μετὰ συντάξεως ἀρθρικῆς, τὸ ‘ὁ μέγας’ ἢ ‘ὁ Τελαμώνιος’· ‘Αἴας δ’ ὁ μέγας αἰὲν ἐφ’ Ἕκτορι’.

(Il. 16.358) A.D. Synt. I 121, 102.11–15 If indeed someone says ‘Ajax’, it will be retorted ‘which of the two (Ajax)?’, because of the aforesaid homonymy. And again to that question it will be retorted (by saying) the quality linked to one of the two (Ajax), as we have said before, with the article syntax: ‘the great (one)’ or ‘the (son) of Telamon’: ‘Ajax, the great (one), always against Hector…’. (Il. 16.358)

It is indeed in Homer that we may best observe this discriminating use of the phrase article + attribute postponed to the noun. The whole phrase is to be understood ‘Ajax—the one—(which is) great’, that is to say ‘Among the two Ajax, the great one’. Therefore we have not here a real article, but a semi-pronoun ‘the one’, which bears on a predicative phrase or word.22 In Attic or Hellenistic Greek, the usual sequence is: article + 22 See Basset 2006, 113 and 119.

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attribute + noun.23 So Apollonius finds this sequence more congruous (Synt. I 113 καταλληλότερα): it is for him the natural sequence (I 132 τὸ ἑξῆς). In Attic prose, the sequence with postposition of the attribute, like in Αἴας ὁ μέγας, is already uncommon. It has been generally replaced by the sequence with two articles (a sequence unknown in Homer), which has the same discriminative value.24 It is therefore likely that Apollonius went to his idea of a closer link between article and attribute on account of epic examples like Αἴας ὁ μέγας, where the postponed attribute has a discriminative value, and the word ὁ is not a true article. Then he may have extended this analysis to Hellenistic Greek, even when there is no discriminative value.25

4. Conclusion As we have seen, the reasoned description of Homeric texts intended by the tekhnikos fails sometimes to be thoroughly accurate, because a syntactical or semantic discrepancy between Homeric and Hellenistic Greek is too weak to be detected by the tekhnikos. This is the case with the word ὁ, ἡ, τό. The reasoned description of its usage in Homer may be somehow inconsistent because two states of language are mingled. For one part, the tekhnikos ascribes to Homeric Greek a feature that belongs to Hellenistic Greek (for instance, the use of a true definite article). For another part, he defines a Hellenistic usage in a way that is more suitable to epic phrases (for instance defining the definite article as anaphoric, or establishing a special link between article and attribute). Thus the tekhnikos may be compelled to contradict himself and his own theory: he is or is not aware that some uses of the ‘pre-positive article’ have no anaphoric meaning; when analysing a complex noun phrase, he associates the article either with the noun or with the attribute.

23 See Biraud 1991, 39. 24 See Biraud 1991, 40. 25 See Lallot 1997, II 42 (n. 172).

Attic Irregularities: Their Reinterpretation in the Light of Atticism* Philomen Probert 1. Introduction The linguistic Atticist movement of the second and third centuries AD, an extraordinary revival of the classical Attic dialect for elegant Greek writing and speech, has been much discussed in connection with its origins, social and literary uses, and somewhat variable linguistic manifestations.1 This paper argues for one consequence of linguistic Atticism: that following the peak of linguistic Atticism it became difficult to label a form as ‘wrong’ if it was also labelled ‘Attic’. It will be argued that this change can be seen through later misinterpretations of earlier authors, who treated Attic as a dialect that could be wrong as well as right. We begin, very briefly, with the crucial elements of background on linguistic correctness before linguistic Atticism, and on linguistic Atticism itself.

*

1

The subject of this paper is one that Eleanor Dickey and I have been discussing between us for some time. The paper given at the conference from which this volume results was Eleanor’s; we had originally planned to craft the written version together, but in the process of crafting it turned into my paper primarily, so that we decided it should appear under my name only. However, Eleanor’s inspiration has been immense, and she has helped to polish a final draft so carefully that she claims joint responsibility for any shortcomings that remain. We are most grateful, furthermore, to Ineke Sluiter, for extremely knowledgeable and perceptive comments on an earlier draft; to George Xenis, for incisive comments on a later draft; and to Francesca Schironi, for invaluable discussion of passages 1 and 2. See e.g. Swain 1996, 17–64; Horrocks 1997, 78–86. Much of the literature on the origins of Atticism is concerned with possible historical connections between linguistic Atticism and the earlier rise of ‘Atticism’ in both Latin and Greek rhetorical style. This paper is concerned only with linguistic Atticism; it leaves aside entirely the vexed question of connections between linguistic and rhetorical Atticism.

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2. Linguistic Correctness before Linguistic Atticism Hellenistic and Roman grammar was practised with different goals in different situations. Two of the major goals were textual criticism or διόρθωσις (the establishment of the correct text of literary works), and the provision of principles for correct Greek (sometimes called ἑλληνισμός). It has been observed that similar criteria for correctness were used for these two goals, but that they were applied in rather different ways.2 In what follows we shall focus on criteria for ἑλληνισμός, but with the proviso that a somewhat parallel set of criteria was applied to διόρθωσις. The notion that there was educated and uneducated Greek was not new to the second century AD, and it has been well emphasised that educated Hellenistic Greek formed a continuum. At one end of this continuum was a literary variety close to the usage of classical Attic authors, but differing in certain accepted ways.3 Before as well as after the height of linguistic Atticism, several different linguistic criteria could be used to answer the question whether a form or expression was correct or incorrect.4 One of these criteria was literary tradition, the usage of ‘good’ authors. Another was ἀναλογία ‘analogy’, in other words regularity or the application of the idea that similar forms behave in similar ways. In its origins, ἀναλογία consisted of the empirical establishment of a contested form either by a simple comparison with a known form (form A is similar in certain respects to B, and so should be similar in other respects too), or by means of a four-term proportion (A : B :: C : D). By the early Roman period, however, ἀναλογία more often (but not always) meant the establishment of a contested form with reference to an accepted set of rules.5 But at any period the application of ἀναλογία involved asking whether a form or expression ‘behaved regularly’. Did it behave like similar forms or expressions; or, did it ‘follow the rules’? The appeal to both literary tradition and regularity before the linguistic Atticist movement may be illustrated by the following passages of Apollonius Dyscolus, in which he reports on a debate between Aristarchus and Habron (a grammarian of the first century AD, not named in the first passage) as to the correctness or incorrectness of the plural forms ἑαυτούς, ἑαυτῶν, and (implicitly) ἑαυτοῖς: 2 3 4 5

Siebenborn 1976, 27–31; Sluiter 1990, 60. See Horrocks 1997, 48–49; cf. Versteegh 1986, 428–429, 432 and Swain 1996, 20. See especially Siebenborn 1976. See Siebenborn 1976, 62–84; cf. Schenkeveld 1994, 283–285; Schironi 2007.

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(1)

τὸν μὲν οὖν Ἀρίσταρχον (fr. 125 A.1 Matthaios) ἐπιμέμφεσθαί φασι τὰ σχήματα, καθὸ ἀφ’ ἑνικῆς συντάξεως τῆς ‘ἑαυτόν’ πληθυντικὴ ἐγένετο ἡ ‘ἑαυτούς’, μάρτυρά τε ἐπάγεσθαι τὸν ποιητήν, ‘παρ’ ᾧ τὰ τοῦ Ἑλληνισμοῦ ἠκρίβωται, ἐν οἷς πάντοτε ἐν διαλύσει ἐστὶ τὰ τρίτα, ὁμοίως τοῖς πρώτοις καὶ δευτέροις, ‘σφᾶς αὐτούς’ καὶ ‘σφῶν αὐτῶν’. πρὸς οἷς καὶ τῶν πρώτων καὶ δευτέρων οὐκ ὄντων ἐν συνθέσει πληθυντικῇ, ἐξ ἀνάγκης καὶ τοῖς τρίτοις παρηκολούθει ταὐτόν’.—πρὸς ὃν οἱ ἀντιλέγοντές φασιν, ὡς ‘καὶ ἀφ’ ἑνικῆς συνθέσεως τῆς ‘ἑνδέκατος’ τὸ ‘ἑνδέκατοι’ πληθυντικὸν ἐγίνετο’, τήν τε χρῆσιν ὡς ὑγιῆ πιστοῦνται διὰ τῶν Πλατωνικῶν παραδειγμάτων· ‘τάς τε κατὰ τὸ τρίτον πρόσωπον πολλάκις διαφεύγειν τὰ τῶν κατὰ τὸ πρῶτον καὶ δεύτερον. δυϊκαὶ γοῦν εἰσὶν εὐθεῖαι πρώτου καὶ δευτέρου προσώπου, ἀλλ’ οὐκέτι καὶ τρίτου. τί οὖν θαυμαστόν, εἰ καὶ τρίτου εἰσί, πρώτου καὶ δευτέρου οὐκ οὐσῶν; ἄλλως τε καὶ ἄλλαι λέξεις κατὰ τύχην ἐσιγήθησαν· οὕτω καὶ αἱ προκείμεναι’.

A.D. Pron. 71. 22–72.46 They say that Aristarchus finds fault with the forms, because out of a singular compositional form ἑαυτόν a plural ἑαυτούς has been made, and that he adduces as a witness the poet (Homer), ‘in whose works matters of good Greek are perfect, (and) in which (works) the third person (plural reflexive pronouns) are always separated, like the first and second persons: σφᾶς αὐτούς and σφῶν αὐτῶν. In addition, since the first and second persons do not exist in composition in the plural, the same has necessarily followed for the third persons’. Those who oppose him say in reply to him that ‘(in the same way) too from the singular compositional form ἑνδέκατος came the plural ἑνδέκατοι’, and they confirm that the usage is sound by means of Platonic examples. (And they go on,) ‘And third person (pronouns) often escape what happens with first and second person (pronouns). For example, there are nominative dual (pronouns) of the first and second persons, but not of the third person. So what wonder is it if there are also third person forms where there are no first and second person forms? And besides, other words have accidentally fallen out of use. So also with the ones at hand’. (2)

τὸν μὲν οὖν Ἀρίσταρχόν (fr. 125 A.2 Matthaios) φασι μὴ παραδέχθαι τὰς ἐγγενομένας τῶν τρίτων προσώπων συνθέσεις, καθὸ ἀνέφικτον τὸ ἑνικῶς συντεθὲν πρόσωπον εἰς πληθυντικὸν μετατίθεσθαι, ὡς ἔχει τὸ ἑαυτόν τε καὶ ἑαυτούς, ἔτι ἐπιμαρτυρόμενον τὴν τοῦ πρώτου καὶ δευτέρου προσώπου χρῆσιν, ἥτις οὐ γενομένη διήλεγχε τὴν κατὰ τὸ τρίτον οὐ δεόντως γινομένην σύνθεσιν, καὶ ἐκ τρίτου παρατιθέμενον τὴν Ὁμηρικὴν χρῆσιν· πρὸς γὰρ ἀκολουθίαν τὴν τοῦ ἡμέας αὐτούς καὶ ὑμέας αὐτούς ἦν πάλιν τρίτου προσώπου τὸ σφέας αὐτούς. 6

The text is that of Brandenburg 2005, 422–424.

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Philomen Probert ὅ γε μὴν Ἅβρων πειρᾶται τοὺς τοιούτους λόγους ἀνασκευάζειν τὴν χρῆσιν ἐπάγων καὶ ταύτην πιστούμενος ἐκ παραθέσεων Πλατωνικῶν· καὶ ὡς ἔνδεκτον εἶναι ἀπὸ ἑνικῆς συνθέσεως γίνεσθαι πληθυντικὸν ἀριθμόν, ὅπου γε καὶ τὸ ἑνδέκατον συντεθὲν ἀποτελεῖ τὸ ἑνδεκάτους πληθυντικόν. ‘οὐ μήν’, φησίν, ‘ἀνάγκη τὸ ἐν τρίτῳ γενόμενον πάντως καὶ ἐν πρώτῳ καὶ ἐν δευτέρῳ [προσώπῳ] ’, τουτέστι τὸ μὴ πάντως ἐξακολουθῆσαι τῷ ἑαυτῶν ἢ ἑαυτούς τὸ ἐμαυτῶν ἢ ἐμαυτούς, ‘εἴγε καὶ τὰ ἐν τοῖς πρώτοις καὶ δευτέροις γινόμενα οὐ πάντως καὶ ἐν τρίτοις· εἰσὶν γοῦν πρώτου καὶ δευτέρου προσώπου δυϊκαὶ ὀρθῆς πτώσεως, οὐ μὴν τρίτου’.

A.D. Synt. II 150–151, 244.12–246.5 They say that Aristarchus didn’t recognise the occurring (plural) compounds of the third person (pronouns) as correct, because it is impossible for the (third) person (form) compounded as a singular to be transferred to the plural, as happens in ἑαυτόν and ἑαυτούς, and that he adduced in addition the usage of the first and second persons, the nonoccurrence of which (in the plural) exposed the composition occurring in the third person as incorrect. And (they say) that thirdly he cited Homeric usage. For in agreement with ἡμέας αὐτούς and ὑμέας αὐτούς, the form of the third person was σφέας αὐτούς. But Habron tries to refute such arguments, adducing usage and corroborating this through Platonic examples. And (he argues) that it is permissible for a plural to be made from a singular compound, in so far as the compound ἑνδέκατον produces the plural ἑνδεκάτους. ‘It is truly not necessary’, he says, ‘for what happens in the third person to happen in the first and second person too on every occasion’,—that is to say, ἐμαυτῶν or ἐμαυτούς does not absolutely need to follow from ἑαυτῶν or ἑαυτούς— ‘seeing that what happens in first and second persons does not on every occasion happen also in third persons. Thus, there are nominative duals of the first and second person (pronouns), but not of the third’.

‘Good’ authors are adduced on both sides of this debate: Homer on one side, and Plato on the other. But arguments from analogy appear too: Aristarchus adduces the behaviour of first- and second-person pronouns to establish the regular behaviour of third-person pronouns, while Habron counters that first- and second-person pronouns are not analogous to third-person pronouns, since they behave differently from thirdperson pronouns in other respects too. In addition to attestation and analogy, various other criteria for linguistic correctness existed. In the second passage Habron is credited with invoking one of these, χρῆσις ‘usage’, alongside attestation and analogy, while in both passages Aristarchus’ view that a singular should not be compounded with a plural reflects a principle of syntactic congruity.7 7

See Siebenborn 1976, 30; Ax 2002e, 136.

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Aristarchus is better known for his interest in textual criticism (διόρθωσις) than for prescribing good Greek (ἑλληνισμός), and it is debated to what extent he concerned himself with the latter.8 For Siebenborn 1976, 30–31, and Ax 2002e, 134–135, 137–138, the passages just quoted provide evidence for Aristarchus’ interest in prescriptive grammar, as does the portrayal of Aristarchus in books 8–10 of Varro’s De Lingua Latina (especially 9.1). For Schenkeveld, the passages show only that ‘Aristarchus has some interest in correct Greek, like so many other Greeks before him, but nothing more’,9 and the testimony of Varro should be viewed with suspicion.10 However, even if one does not take Aristarchus’ arguments about ἑαυτούς etc. as showing a serious interest in prescriptive grammar (in principle the arguments may even have been transferred from an original discussion of Homeric textual criticism to a later discussion of prescriptive grammar), the important point for us is that predecessors of Apollonius Dyscolus, such as Habron and perhaps already Aristarchus, debated the correctness of forms such as ἑαυτούς with reference both to literary tradition and to analogy (and also to other criteria, with which we shall be less concerned in this paper).

3. Linguistic Atticism As we have noted, the linguistic Atticism of the second and third centuries AD did not represent the first time that the usage of good authors was taken into account in judgements about correct and incorrect Greek. The Atticists, however, revived features of the classical Attic dialect that had dropped out of use even at high levels of koiné Greek.11 Furthermore, one of the most striking respects in which the linguistic Atticist movement outstripped the pre-existing idea that the practice of good authors was relevant to judgements about good Greek was in its preoccupation with the vocabulary of canonical authors. For Atticists, both the words used and their meanings should be those of approved authors. This preoccupation with vocabulary explains the predominance of lexica among prescriptive Atticist works. It also helps to explain the importance of attestation in the prescriptive movement of this period. In morphology, accentuation, and syntax, ‘analogy’ by this period meant 8 9 10 11

See Ax 2002e. Schenkeveld 1994, 286. Schenkeveld 1994, 287. For examples see Horrocks 1997, 83–84.

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the application of paradigms and rules established for educated language. Although paradigms and rules had been established with educated usage in mind (and a completely different set could have produced perfectly uneducated forms and constructions12), the existence of established paradigms and rules meant that educated usage did not always need to be appealed to directly. Instead, one could simply appeal to the relevant paradigm or the relevant rule. In vocabulary, however, paradigms and rules are comparatively useless: one can in some cases establish a rule for the derivation of one word from another, but even if, for example, a rule can be established to derive a word for ‘nautical’ from a word for ‘ship’, this will not generally reveal whether the basic word for ‘ship’ should be ναῦς or πλοῖον. Once vocabulary came to loom large in the desire to write elegant Greek, it inevitably became important to know which words were used, in which meanings, by ‘good’ authors, and relevant to debate which specific authors should be imitated. A further novelty of the linguistic Atticist movement was that canonical authors were regularly called ‘Attic’ authors, even by those Atticists who included Homer in the canon.13 The existence of a concept of the superiority of the Attic dialect can be seen as early as the third century BC in a fragment of the comic poet Posidippus (PCG 30), in which a non-Athenian character criticises an Athenian for thinking that to speak Attic is to speak Greek.14 The prescriptive use of Ἀττικός and related terms in relation to features of language (as opposed to rhetorical style) is, however, very difficult to demonstrate before the second century AD; it may have existed,15 but the use of Ἀττικός to label a criterion for linguistic correctness is unlikely to have been widespread until the peak of linguistic Atticism. As I shall argue, the regular use of Ἀττικός in influential Atticist works to denote what was ‘canonical’ or ‘approved’ had consequences for the later understanding of texts in which Ἀττικός and related terms were used differently. 12 Cf. the similar point made (polemically) by Sextus Empiricus, M. 1.199. 13 See Dihle 1977, 169, and for the various versions of the Atticist canon, see Swain 1996, 53–56. 14 See Colvin 1999, 28–29; Broggiato 2000, 367. 15 See Broggiato 2000, 366–368 for a survey of Hellenistic works interested in Attic vocabulary, with the evidence that some of them may have taken part in a debate as to how broad or narrow a view of Attic should be taken. As Broggiato 2000, 366–367 emphasises, such a debate need not imply an early dating for the existence of linguistic Atticism: the idea that the language of classical Athenian authors should provide the model for Greek composition. Cf. Dihle 1977, 167–171.

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4. Attic before, and outside, Linguistic Atticism Before the second century AD, the term ‘Attic’ did not necessarily imply linguistically ‘correct’. Rather, Attic was a dialect of Greek whose usage could be wrong as well as right. In particular, where analogy was used as a criterion of correctness, an Attic expression might be found irregular, and this irregularity might be negatively evaluated, as in the following fragments from authors of the first century BC: (3)

ἐχθές ἢ χθές ῥητέον; Τρύφων φησὶν ἐν τῷ περὶ ἐπιρρημάτων τὸ ἐχθές ἐντελέστερον εἶναι τοῦ χθές Ἀττικοῦ, παρατιθέμενος τὴν ἐν τοῖς μονοσυλλάβοις ἐπιρρήμασιν ἀναλογίαν, ὡς εἴη ἐν μακραῖς συλλαβαῖς ἑκάστοτε, ναί, μή, ποῦ, πῶς, οὔ, καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα· μηκυνόμενα διὰ τοῦ διπλοῦ, γνύξ, πύξ. πιστοῦται δὲ καὶ ἐντεῦθεν μὴ ἐντελῆ εἶναι τό τε δίς καὶ τρίς, ἐκ δὲ τοῦ δυάκις καὶ τριάκις συγκεκόφθαι, ἐπειδὴ τὰ εἰς Σ λήγοντα μετὰ βραχείας ἐκφορᾶς ἐστιν ὑπὲρ μίαν συλλαβήν, εἰκός, ἐγγύς, ἐντός, ἅλις, ἄχρις, πάρος· ἐξ οὗ πάλιν συνῆγε τὸ ἐχθές ἀναλογώτερον, ἀφῃρῆσθαι δὲ πρὸς τῆς Ἀττικῆς χρήσεως τὸ Ε.

Trypho in A.D. Adv. 146.15–23 Should one say ἐχθές or χθές? Trypho says in his work about adverbs that ἐχθές is more basic than the Attic χθές, bringing to bear the analogy of the monosyllabic adverbs, that in every case they consist of long syllables, as ναί, μή, ποῦ, πῶς, οὐ, and such words. And with lengthening by a double consonant, γνύξ, πύξ. And he thereupon shows that δίς and τρίς are not basic forms, but have been syncopated from δυάκις and τριάκις, since (adverbs) ending in ς and having a short final syllable are more than one syllable in length: εἰκός, ἐγγύς, ἐντός, ἅλις, ἄχρις, πάρος. And from this he again concluded that ἐχθές was the more regular form, and that the ε had been dropped in accordance with Attic usage. (4)

ἔδει δὲ καὶ παρὰ τὸ κλέπτης καὶ ψευδής μηδόλως σχηματίζεσθαι συγκριτικόν, οἱ δὲ Ἀττικοὶ κλεπτίστατον καὶ ψευδίστατον εἰπόντες τὰ συγκριτικὰ ἥμαρτον· ἀντὶ γὰρ τοῦ κλεπτέστατον καὶ ψευδέστατον.

Et.Gen. α 900 Lasserre-Livadaras, quoting Philoxenus, fr. 339 Theodoridis

And one shouldn’t have formed superlatives to κλέπτης and ψευδής at all. But the Ἀττικοί, who said κλεπτίστατον and ψευδίστατον for the superlatives, were wrong. For they should have been κλεπτέστατον and ψευδέστατον.

Furthermore, even in the second century AD not every grammarian was an Atticist. Apollonius Dyscolus and Herodian, in particular, had differ-

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ent goals from the Atticists16 and continued the tradition that Attic was a dialect that could be wrong as well as right:17 (5)

τὰ εἰς ΑΣ λήγοντα ὀξύνονται ... οὕτως ἔχει καὶ τὸ ἐντυπάς, ἑκάς, ἀνεκάς (ὅπερ Ἀττικοὶ οὐ δεόντως ἀναβιβάζουσιν, ὡς καὶ ἐν ἑτέροις ἐπιρρήμασι, χάριέν φασι καὶ ἄληθες, καθὼς δείκνυμεν καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ σφόδρα).— σημειωτέον οὖν τὸ πέλας.

A.D. Adv. 160.19–23 Words ending in -ας are oxytone ... thus also ἐντυπάς, ἑκάς, and ἀνεκάς (on which the Ἀττικοί incorrectly retract the accent, as they also do in other adverbs, for they say χάριεν and ἄληθες, as I show also in my discussion of σφόδρα); so πέλας has to be taken as an exception. (6)

τὰ εἰς ΒΟΣ κύρια ἢ προσηγορικὰ ὑπὲρ δύο συλλαβὰς προπαροξύνεται· ἄραβος κόναβος ἴαμβος κάραβος σάραβος ἀττέλαβος, ὅπερ οἱ Ἀττικοὶ παραλόγως ὀξύνουσι.

[Arcadius] 51. 1–4 Proper and common nouns in -βος with more than two syllables are proparoxytone: ἄραβος, κόναβος, ἴαμβος, κάραβος, σάραβος. And ἀττέλαβος, which the Ἀττικοί irregularly make oxytone. (7)

πηρόν {θέσαν}: ὡς χρηστόν κατ’ ὀξεῖαν τάσιν παρὰ τῷ ποιητῇ. παρὰ δὲ τοῖς Ἀττικοῖς πῆρον ὡς λῆρον. ὑγιεστέρα δὲ ἡ παρὰ τῷ ποιητῇ ἀνάγνωσις, ἐπεὶ τὰ εἰς ΟΣ λήγοντα δισύλλαβα, εἰ ἔχοι τὴν πρώτην συλλαβὴν ἔχουσαν τὸ Π καὶ τὸ Η, ὀξύνονται, οἷον πηός, πηλός. οὕτως καὶ πηρός.

Sch. Il. [A] 2.599b πηρόν {θέσαν}: oxytone like χρηστόν, in the poet (Homer). But among the Ἀττικοί it is πῆρον, like λῆρον. But the poet’s reading is sounder, since disyllables ending in -ος, if they have π and η in the first syllable, are oxytone, like πηός, πηλός. So too πηρός.

The next section shows how the same series of forms could be negatively evaluated by Herodian (because they were irregular) and posi16 Most obviously, they were much less preoccupied with vocabulary and much more interested in other areas of the grammar. But they were also not interested in prescriptive grammar alone, but in systematic grammatical description that could contribute to both διόρθωσις and prescriptive grammar; cf. Sluiter 1990, 60–61 on Apollonius Dyscolus. 17 Cf. Swain 1996, 19: ‘[The Hellenistic literary standard] remained, however, the main province of research by grammarians like Apollonius Dyscolus and his son Aelius Herodian for whom Attic was a dialect’.

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tively evaluated by the Atticists (because they were Attic). In this instance, as we shall see, the shift towards a positive evaluation of Attic forms appears to have brought these particular Attic forms back into general use at some stage in the Roman or late antique period.

5. Πόλεων and Similar Genitive Plural Forms: Atticist Re-evaluation of Attic Forms as Correct Theodosius’ Canones and the epitome of Herodian’s Περὶ καθολικῆς προσῳδίας attributed to Iohannes Philoponus of Alexandria (probably an abbreviated version of the epitome Philoponus produced) contain parallel statements (in similar contexts) on the accentuation of genitive plurals such as πόλεων; both passages are likely to derive ultimately from the same passage of Herodian:18 (8)

τὸ πόλεων λέξεων καὶ τὰ ὅμοια τοίνυν ὀφείλει πρὸ μιᾶς ἔχειν τὸν τόνον, Ἀμμώνιος δέ φησιν αὐτὰ παρὰ Ἀττικοῖς προπαροξύνεσθαι.

Theodos. Can. 41.14–16 πόλεων, λέξεων, and similar words ought to have the accent on the penultimate syllable, but Ammonius says that they are proparoxytone among the Ἀττικοί.

(9)

αἱ εἰς ΕΣ ὑπὲρ δύο συλλαβὰς εὐθεῖαι βαρύνουσι τὰς γενικάς, αἴαντες αἰάντων, ἑβδομάδες ἑβδομάδων, εὐσεβέες εὐσεβέων, στάχυες σταχύων, ὀσφύες ὀσφύων. ἔδει οὖν καὶ τὸ πόλεων, μάντεων, πελέκεων, καὶ τὰ τούτοις παραπλήσια πρὸ μιᾶς ἔχειν τὸν τόνον. ἀλλ’ Ἀττικούς φασι προπαροξύνειν ταῦτα, ἅπερ ἐστὶν ἀπὸ τῶν εἰς ΙΣ εὐθειῶν, καὶ ἔτι δύο ἀπὸ τῶν εἰς ΥΣ, τό τε πήχεων καὶ πελέκεων.

Io. Al. 19. 4–12 Nominatives of more than two syllables ending in -ες make their genitives recessive: Αἴαντες Αἰάντων, ἑβδομάδες ἑβδομάδων, εὐσεβέες εὐσεβέων, στάχυες σταχύων, ὀσφύες ὀσφύων. So πόλεων, μάντεων, πελέκεων, and similar words ought to have been accented on the penultimate syllable. But they say that the Ἀττικοί make the genitive plurals from nominative (singular) forms in -ις proparoxytone, and also two from nominative (singular) forms in -υς: πήχεων and πελέκεων.

18 cf. Blau 1883, 12; Cohn 1894, 1865.

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In both passages, the proparoxytone forms such as πόλεων are attributed to Ἀττικοί either by a named source (Ammonius19) or by unspecified people (‘they say’), and these forms are given a negative evaluation compared to the expected forms such as πολέων. Philoponus’ formulation, with counterfactual ἔδει (‘ought to have been’), would seem to suggest that paroxytone forms such as πολέων were not actually in use. Two other passages of Philoponus treat proparoxytone accentuation as simply the normal accentuation of these forms, with no mention of the possibility of paroxytone forms (Io. Al. 5.10–11;20 19.20–22). Philoponus’ treatment of the proparoxytone accentuation of these genitive plurals as the only accentuation in use suggests that at least by his time (or by the time of his abbreviator at the latest), πόλεων and similar forms were in general use; this suggestion gains some support from the fact that the modern Greek genitive plural of πόλις (for example) is likewise πόλεων.21 However, the suggestion that forms such as πολέων were purely hypothetical is absent from the passage of Theodosius (passage 8), and it also appears contradicted by the following entry in Moeris’ Atticistic lexicon: (10)

μάντεων τὴν πρώτην ὀξυτόνως Ἀττικοί· τὴν δευτέραν ὀξυτόνως Ἕλληνες. Moeris μ 12 Hansen μάντεων with an acute on the first syllable (in the usage of the) Ἀττικοί. With an acute on the second syllable (in the usage of the) Ἕλληνες.22

19 The Ammonius referred to here is likely to be the pupil and successor of Aristarchus and therefore could have been referred to by Herodian. Further observations on prosody are attributed to an Ammonius in codex B of the Συναγωγὴ λέξεων χρησίμων (Β α 2519 Cunningham) and in the Etymologicum Magnum (714. 17–18); these passages are also likely to derive from Herodian and the second refers to another observation on Attic prosody in particular. See Blau 1883, 12–13; Cohn 1894. 20 In this passage the forms themselves are labelled ‘Attic’, but there is no suggestion that their proparoxytone accentuation is peculiar to Attic speakers. 21 I am very grateful to Anthi Revithiadou for pointing this out to me. 22 Elsewhere, Moeris and other Atticistic lexicographers contrast the trisyllabic form πήχεων, labelled Attic or correct, with disyllabic πηχῶν, labelled unAttic or incorrect: πήχεων Ἀττικοί, πηχῶν Ἕλληνες (Moeris π 77 Hansen); cf. Phrynichus, Ecloga 217 Fischer; Philemon 395.34 Reitzenstein; [Herodian], Philetaerus 317; Photius s.v. 429.7 Porson. However, in these entries the accent is not explicitly mentioned, and the purpose of the entries is only to condemn the disyllabic form as non-Attic. Papyri regularly have genitive plurals in -ῶν for u-stem nouns such as πῆχυς (Mayser 1938, 25; Gignac 1981, 81), but not

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Written in the third century AD, much closer in time to Herodian (2nd century AD) than either Philoponus (6th century AD) or Theodosius (4th/5th centuries AD), Moeris’ entry suggests that in Herodian’s day proparoxytone forms such as πόλεων (or μάντεων) were specifically Attic, and therefore that Theodosius’ statement in passage 8 is closer to its Herodianic original than Philoponus’ statement in passage 9 (with its counterfactual ἔδει, giving the impression that forms such as πολέων are purely hypothetical). We may conclude that Herodian attributed forms such as πόλεων to Ἀττικοί in particular (citing a Hellenistic source for the Attic character of these forms), and evaluated these forms negatively, as irregular forms, in comparison with their koiné counterparts such as πολέων. Moeris, by contrast, puts a different spin on the information that the Ἀττικοί use proparoxytone forms such as πόλεων or μάντεων. While for Herodian the Ἀττικοί are said to accent the antepenultimate syllable, but one ought to accent the penultimate, in the context of Moeris’ lexicon it is clear that the correct form is μάντεων, simply because this is the Attic form. The shift between Herodian and Moeris in the evaluation of forms such as πόλεων allows us to see how these forms might have come to be in general use by Philoponus’ day, and to survive into modern Greek. Although in Herodian’s day πολέων (for example) was in use in the koiné, the Atticist view that the Attic form πόλεων was ‘correct’ opened the door to the ousting of πολέων by the more learned πόλεων.23 In the centuries following the peak of linguistic Atticism, Attic forms did not, of course, always oust their koiné counterparts. However, the use of the term Ἀττικός in relation to the Atticists’ main criterion for linguistic correctness appears to have made it difficult to understand the earlier (and e.g. Herodianic) use of the term Ἀττικός, in which the labelling of a form or expression as ‘Attic’ did not amount to a claim that it was ‘right’. The next sections aim to demonstrate this point by uncovering some places in which Herodian was misinterpreted by later authors as a result of this shift in the use of the term ‘Attic’ and in the evaluation of Attic forms.

for i-stem nouns such as πόλις. Thus, the Atticists’ claims that (a) for an i-stem, μάντις, both Attic and koiné speakers use a trisyllabic genitive plural but accent it differently, and (b) for a u-stem, πῆχυς, the Attic genitive plural is trisyllabic while there is a disyllabic form in use in koiné, are consistent with one another and with the papyrological evidence for koiné usage. 23 For other instances of learned revivals in the post-Hellenistic history of Greek accentuation, see Probert 2006, 51–52.

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6. Herodian and Later Grammarians on the Accent of τριήρων Compound s-stems, such as εὐγενής ‘well-born’ and εὐμήκης ‘tall’, normally had a perispomenon genitive plural, irrespective of the accentuation of the other forms in the paradigm. But for a small number of compound s-stems the accent of the genitive plural was disputed in antiquity. These words included τριήρης ‘trireme’. The genitive plural of τριήρης ‘trireme’ is mentioned in [Arcadius’] epitome of Herodian’s Περὶ καθολικῆς προσῳδίας as accented differently by different people; no mention is made here of Ἀττικοί: (11)

αἱ μέντοι εἰς ΕΙΣ εὐθεῖαι καὶ ΕΕΣ24 κατὰ διαίρεσιν γινόμεναι περισπῶσι τὴν συνῃρημένην γενικὴν πληθυντικήν· οἱ Δημοσθένεες καὶ Δημοσθένεις τῶν Δημοσθενέων καὶ Δημοσθενῶν, εὐσεβέες εὐσεβεῖς εὐσεβέων εὐσεβῶν. τὸ δὲ δυσώδων παραλόγως ἐβαρύνθη. καὶ τὸ τριήρων οἱ μὲν βαρύνουσιν οἱ δὲ περισπῶσιν, ὥσπερ καὶ αὐτάρκων καὶ τὸ συνήθων καὶ κακοήθων βαρύνεται, ὥσπερ καὶ τὰ αὐτῶν ἐπιρρήματα.

[Arcadius] 156. 16–24 But nominatives ending in -εις, and -εες by separation of one vowel into two, have a circumflex on the final syllable of their contracted genitive plurals: nominatives Δημοσθένεες and Δημοσθένεις, genitives Δημοσθενέων and Δημοσθενῶν; nominatives εὐσεβέες (and) εὐσεβεῖς, genitives εὐσεβέων (and) εὐσεβῶν. But δυσώδων is recessive, contrary to the rule. And some make τριήρων recessive while some make it perispomenon, as also αὐτάρκων, συνήθων, and κακοήθων are recessive, together with their adverbs.

According to Theodosius, however, some say the Ἀττικοί make τριήρων recessive: (12)

αἱ εἰς ΕΙΣ εὐθεῖαι συνῃρημέναι ὅταν ἔχωσι τὰς γενικὰς συναιρεθείσας περισπῶσιν αὐτάς, εὐγενῶν Δημοσθενῶν· τὸ δυσώδων Ἀρίσταρχος ἀλόγως ἐβάρυνε, καὶ τριήρων φασί τινες Ἀττικοὺς βαρυτόνως λέγειν.

Theodos. Can. 41. 11–13 Contracted nominatives in -εις make their genitives perispomenon when they contract them: εὐγενῶν, Δημοσθενῶν. But Aristarchus made δυσώδων recessive, contrary to the rule, and some say the Ἀττικοί pronounce τριήρων recessively. 24 I am very grateful to Ineke Sluiter for pointing out that εἰς ΕΙΣ εὐθεῖαι καὶ ΕΕΣ needs to be read here, not εἰς ΕΕΣ εὐθεῖαι καὶ ΕΙΣ as in Schmidt’s text.

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Yet in Choeroboscus’ commentary on this passage of Theodosius, we are told that Athenians make τριηρῶν perispomenon, according to the rule, but that some read the word recessively in their works: (13)

τὸ τριηρῶν περισπωμένως οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι κατὰ ἀκολουθίαν ἀναγινώσκουσι, τινὲς δὲ καὶ τοῦτο παρ’ αὐτοῖς βαρυτόνως ἀναγινώσκουσιν, οἷον τῶν τριήρων· καὶ τὸ αὐταρκῶν δὲ παρὰ τοῖς Ἀθηναίοις βαρύνεται κατὰ τὴν ἀκρίβειαν, οἷον αὐτάρκων, καὶ τὸ ἐπίρρημα δὲ τὸ ἐξ αὐτοῦ γινόμενον αὐτάρκως βαρυτόνως ἀναγινώσκεται· καὶ λέγουσί τινες τῶν τεχνικῶν περισπωμένως αὐτὸ ἀναγινώσκεσθαι· καὶ τὸ συνήθων δὲ καὶ κακοήθων βαρυτόνως ἐπεκράτησεν ἀναγινώσκεσθαι· ὡσαύτως δὲ καὶ τὰ ἐπιρρήματα τὰ ἐξ αὐτῶν γινόμενα βαρυτόνως ἐπεκράτησεν ἀναγινώσκεσθαι, οἷον συνήθως καὶ κακοήθως.

Choerob. In Theod. 1.411.22–31 Athenians read τριηρῶν perispomenon according to regularity, but some read this word too recessively in their (the Athenians’) works, as: τῶν τριήρων. And the word αὐταρκῶν is accurately recessive in the works of the Athenians, as: αὐτάρκων. And the adverb αὐτάρκως derived from it is also read recessively. And some of the grammarians say that it is read perispomenon. And reading συνήθων and κακοήθων recessively has prevailed. And similarly reading the adverbs derived from these recessively has prevailed, as: συνήθως and κακοήθως.

The comment on τριηρῶν/τριήρων here, as well as saying something rather different from Theodosius, fits uneasily in its context in Choeroboscus. Choeroboscus appears to move seamlessly from τριηρῶν/τριήρων to αὐτάρκων and other genitive plural forms for which he takes the genuine Attic accentuation to be recessive, whereas one would expect the contrast between his view of τριηρῶν/τριήρων and that of αὐτάρκων to be signalled. What has happened is, I suggest, the following. The association of recessive τριήρων with Ἀττικοί, without any approval of the form, is likely to derive from Herodian.25 Theodosius understood Herodian and paraphrased him fairly. Choeroboscus, however, confused by the 25 Compare the phrase καὶ τριήρων φασί τινες Ἀττικοὺς βαρυτόνως λέγειν with the similar expression (on genitive plural forms such as πόλεων) in passage 9, whose ultimately Herodianic origins are clear (ἀλλ’ Ἀττικούς φασι προπαροξύνειν ταῦτα, ἅπερ...), and the more specific citation in the parallel passage 8 (Ἀμμώνιος δέ φησιν αὐτὰ παρὰ Ἀττικοῖς προπαροξύνεσθαι). It is well possible that on τριήρων as well as on forms such as πόλεων, Herodian mentioned a specific source and that the vaguer expressions φασί τινες and φασι are due to later abbreviation.

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labelling of an Attic form (or a form that some attribute to Ἀττικοί) as contrary to rule, decided that the genuine Attic form must be the ‘correct’ τριηρῶν, and then attempted to accommodate Theodosius’ apparently contrary statement by attributing τριήρων to the incorrect reading of Athenian texts by some people. Choeroboscus here re-evaluates τριηρῶν as Attic because it was considered correct, and downgrades the negatively evaluated τριήρων from genuine Attic status, in the light of an expectation that ‘Attic’ entails ‘correct’ and ‘correct’ entails ‘Attic’.

7. Herodian and the Etymologicum Magnum on the Accentuation of φωριαμός ‘box’ [Arcadius’] epitome of Herodian’s Περὶ καθολικῆς προσῳδίας includes the following rule for the accentuation of a subset of nouns and adjectives ending in -αμος: (14)

τὰ διὰ τοῦ ΑΜΟΣ, εἰ ἔχοι τὴν πρώτην θέσει μακράν, εἰ μὲν κύρια εἴη, προπαροξύνεται· Πύραμος Σίσαμος· εἰ δὲ μή, ὀξύνεται· οὐλαμός χηραμός (ἡ κατάδυσις) φωριαμός (τὸ κιβώτιον).

[Arcadius] 68.21–69.2 Words ending in -αμος, if they have their first syllable long by position, are proparoxytone if they are proper names: Πύραμος, Σίσαμος. If they are not proper names, they are oxytone: οὐλαμός, χηραμός (‘hole’), φωριαμός (‘small box’).

In the form in which it is transmitted, this rule is introduced as applying to words in -αμος whose first syllable is long ‘by position’ (i.e. a closed syllable), yet the examples all have a first syllable long ‘by nature’ (i.e. a syllable containing a long vowel or diphthong), not long ‘by position’. Schmidt (1860, 68, apparatus ad loc.) and Lentz (1867–1870 I, 170–171, apparatus) suggest that θέσει ‘by position’ should be emended to φύσει ‘by nature’.26 Other sources for the same Herodianic rule show that what is preserved here in Arcadius was indeed intended to relate to syllables long ‘by nature’. Thus the Herodianic Sch. Il. 24.228a preserves the following rules for words ending in -αμος: 26 Schmidt also gives an alternative suggestion (that εἰ ἔχοι τὴν πρώτην θέσει μακράν should be emended to εἰ μὴ ἔχοι τὴν πρώτην θέσει μακράν), but, as Lentz saw, the parallel passages show that the correct emendation is that of θέσει to φύσει.

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(15)

καὶ ἔχομεν τῶν διὰ τοῦ ΑΜΟΣ παρηγμένων ὀνομάτων κανόνας τοιούσδε, πρῶτον μὲν ὡς τὰ τριβράχεα, μὴ ὄντα ἐπιθετικὰ βαρύνεσθαι θέλει, κάλαμος, Πρίαμος· τὸ ποταμός ἐγένετο παρὰ τὸ ποτασμός, καθ’ ὑφαίρεσιν τοῦ Σ· τὸ δὲ ἰταμός ἐπιθετικόν ἐστι. δεύτερον δὲ ὡς τὰ ἔχοντα τὴν ἄρχουσαν μακράν, εἰ μὲν θέσει ᾖ, βαρύνεται, ὄρχαμος, Τύρταμος, Πέργαμος· εἰ δὲ φύσει, κύρια ὄντα βαρύνεται πάλιν, ὡς ἔχει τὸ Πύραμος Τεύταμος, οὐχ οὕτω δὲ ἔχοντα ὀξύνεται, ὡς ἔχει τὸ οὐλαμός, χηραμός. τούτῳ οὖν τῷ λόγῳ, εἴτε παρὰ τὸ τοὺς φῶρας ἀπείργειν ἢ ἀπὸ τοῦ τὰ φάρη φυλάσσειν ἡ προκειμένη λέξις παρῆκται, ἔσται κατ’ ὀξεῖαν τάσιν, φωραμὸς καὶ πλεονασμῷ τοῦ Ι φωριαμός.

Sch. Il. [A] 24.228a27 And we have the following rules for nouns and adjectives formed with

ΑΜΟΣ. Firstly, that the tribrachic ones, if they are not adjectives, are usually recessive: κάλαμος, Πρίαμος. The word ποταμός comes from ποτασμός, by deletion of σ. And ἰταμός is an adjective. Secondly, that

those which have a long first syllable, if it is long by position, are recessive: ὄρχαμος, Τύρταμος, Πέργαμος. But if it is long by nature, if they are proper names they are again recessive, as Πύραμος, Τεύταμος, and if they are not proper names they are oxytone, as οὐλαμός, χηραμός. So by this reasoning, whether the word at hand comes from holding off thieves (φῶρας) or from looking after clothes (φάρη), it will be oxytone: φωραμός, and by the addition of ι φωριαμός.

A rule similar (though not identical) to the one given here for tribrachic words ending in -αμος is preserved by [Arcadius] immediately before passage 14 ([Arcadius] 68.16–20), while a confused version of a rule similar to the one given here for words with a first syllable long ‘by position’ is preserved by [Arcadius] immediately after passage 14 ([Arcadius] 69.3–7). It is clear from the inclusion of the example φωριαμός in passage 14 that this example goes back to Herodian, and it would appear from [Arcadius] that Herodian treated φωριαμός as an unproblematic example of a word following the rule that a word ending in -αμος is oxytone if its first syllable is long ‘by nature’. A passage of the Etymologicum Magnum, however, suggests that Herodian in another work, his Περὶ Ἀττικῆς προσῳδίας ‘On Attic prosody’, prescribed a recessive accent for φωριαμός (or rather, in this context, φωρίαμος): (16)

τὰ διὰ τοῦ ΑΜΟΣ τρισύλλαβα, ἔχοντα τὴν πρὸ τέλους συλλαβὴν φύσει μακράν, πάντα ὀξύνονται, χηραμός, οὐλαμός. οὕτως οὖν καὶ φωραμός· 27 Cf. Et.Gud. 560.13–16 Sturz; Eust. 1347.10–14.

284

Philomen Probert καὶ πλεονασμῷ τοῦ Ι, φωριαμός. Ἰλιάδος ω´. Ἡρωδιανὸς περὶ Ἀττικῶν προσῳδιῶν, τρίτη ἀπὸ τοῦ τέλους ἡ ὀξεῖα· οὐχ ὡς ἀνάλογον, ἀλλ’ ὡς Ἀττικόν. ἡ μέντοι συνήθεια ὀξυνόμενον ἔχει.

EM 804.17–23 Trisyllabic words ending in -αμος which have the syllable before the termination long by nature are all oxytone: χηραμός, οὐλαμός. So also φωραμός, and φωριαμός by the addition of ι: Il. 24. Herodian (in) ‘On Attic Prosody’ (says that) the acute accent falls on the antepenultimate syllable: not because this (accentuation) is regular, but because it is Attic. But the συνήθεια makes the word oxytone.

It would be curiously inconsistent of Herodian to have prescribed oxytone accentuation for φωριαμός in the Περὶ καθολικῆς προσῳδίας, apparently without further ado, but to have said in the Περὶ Ἀττικῆς προσῳδίας that the word should be accented recessively ‘not because this accentuation is regular, but because it is Attic’. The statement appearing in the Etymologicum Magnum becomes explicable, however, if Herodian said in the Περὶ Ἀττικῆς προσῳδίας that the Ἀττικοί make φωριαμός/φωρίαμος recessive, contrary to analogy, whereas koiné usage makes the word oxytone. At a later stage the statement that the Ἀττικοί make the word recessive was interpreted as a statement that recessive accentuation was correct; the observation that this accentuation was irregular was then accommodated by means of the comment οὐχ ὡς ἀνάλογον, ἀλλ’ ὡς Ἀττικόν—a relative evaluation of analogy and Atticism in which Atticism comes out on top and which is contrary to Herodian’s un-Atticist approach. Differently from Choeroboscus, who re-evaluated τριηρῶν as Attic because it was considered correct, the Etymologicum Magnum (or an intermediate source) re-evaluates the form φωρίαμος as correct because it is Attic. But the underlying cause of both re-evaluations is the same: ‘Attic’ and ‘correct’ had come to entail one another, so that it was difficult either to label an incorrect form as Attic or an Attic form as incorrect.

8. [Arcadius] on the Accentuation of πάγετος ‘frost’, παπαῖ, and ἀτ(τ)αταῖ Discussions of accentuation deriving from Herodian or his Hellenistic predecessors give the impression, for the most part, of describing not the accentuation of a particular variety of Greek but simply ‘normal’ Greek accentuation. Every so often, as in passages 5 and 6 above, a particular

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dialect (here Attic) is mentioned as having an accentuation deviating from the ‘normal’. I have argued elsewhere28 that the standard of normality with which other varieties may be contrasted is educated koiné usage. Sometimes where a particular dialect is mentioned there is an explicit contrast with the συνήθεια (educated koiné usage29) or ‘our language’, as in passage 16 above (but usually without the suggestion that an Attic variant is automatically correct). But the standard of normality with which the accentuation of Attic or another dialect is contrasted is often left implicit, as in passages 5 and 6. A point in favour of the conclusion that the accentuation considered ‘normal’ is that of educated koiné usage is that the συνήθεια or ‘our language’ is almost never mentioned in the context of a particular accentuation unless there is an explicit contrast with some other variety: a koiné accentuation is almost never mentioned as if it were the oddity as compared with some other, implicit, standard of normality. This generalisation is broken in two passages of [Arcadius]: (17)

τὰ εἰς ΕΤΟΣ τρισύλλαβα παραληγόμενα τῷ Ε κύρια ὄντα καὶ προσηγορικὰ προπαροξύνεται· Μέγιστος Πέλετος [...] τὰ δὲ ἔχοντα Α ὁμοίως· ἄργετος ἄρετος ἄνετος (ἀνετός δὲ τὸ ἐπίθετον) πάγετος, ὅπερ ὀξύνει ἡ συνήθεια. ἔτι ὀξύνεται καὶ τὸ νιφετός ὑετός καὶ τὸ αἰετός.

[Arcadius] 93.1–8 Trisyllabic words ending in -ετος and with ε in the syllable before the termination, if they are proper names or common nouns, are proparoxytone: Μέγιστος, Πέλετος [...] And likewise those with α (in the syllable before the termination): ἄργετος, ἄρετος, ἄνετος (but the adjective is ἀνετός), and πάγετος, which the συνήθεια makes oxytone. The words νιφετός, ὑετός, and αἰετός are also oxytone. (18)

τὰ εἰς ΟΙ καὶ εἰς ΑΙ σχετλιαστικὰ παραλόγως περισπῶνται· ὀττοτοῖ εὐοἷ παπαῖ ἀταταῖ, πλὴν τοῦ αἴ οὐαί βαβαί. παροξύνεται δὲ τὸ οἴμοι ὤμοι. ἡ δὲ συνήθεια ὀξύνει τὸ παπαί καὶ ἀταταί.

[Arcadius] 208.16–19 Expressions of suffering ending in -οι and in -αι are perispomenon, contrary to analogy: ὀττοτοῖ, εὐοἷ, παπαῖ, ἀταταῖ, apart from αἴ, οὐαί, and βαβαί. But οἴμοι and ὤμοι are paroxytone. And the συνήθεια makes παπαί and ἀταταί oxytone.

In 17 the ‘normal’ accentuation of πάγετος is presented as recessive, while in 18 the ‘normal’ accentuation of παπαῖ and ἀταταῖ is presented 28 Probert 2006, 74–79. 29 See Stephan 1889, 89–105.

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as perispomenon. The συνήθεια is said to have a divergent accent for all three words (παγετός, παπαί, ἀταταί), but [Arcadius] leaves us guessing as to what sort of Greek had the ‘normal’ accents for these words. These passages are so unusual that I suggested earlier30 that [Arcadius] may not preserve Herodian’s wording very well, noting that the last sentence of passage 17 shows manifest signs of corruption.31 There are in fact two problems with this sentence. The first problem is that the examples νιφετός and ὑετός do not appear to belong here, because passage 17 deals only with proper names and common nouns with ε or α in the antepenultimate syllable. Trisyllabic -ετος nouns with other vowels in the antepenultimate syllable, as well as trisyllabic adjectives ending in -ετος (whatever the vowel in the antepenultimate syllable), are reserved for the next rule: (19)

τὰ διὰ τοῦ ΕΤΟΣ τρισύλλαβα προσηγορικὰ ἢ ἐπιθετικὰ ὀξύνεται, εἰ μὴ παρωνύμως τετύπωται· κοπετός πυρετός τοκετός συρφετός ἀφυσγετός32 (ἡ ἀκαθαρσία), τὸ μέντοι ἄσχετος ἄσπετος γνύπετος (ὁ χαῦνος) προπαροξύνεται.

[Arcadius] 93.9–13 Trisyllabic common nouns and adjectives ending in -ετος are oxytone, if they are not created by a change of form: κοπετός, πυρετός, τοκετός, συρφετός, ἀφυσγετός (‘filth’), but ἄσχετος, ἄσπετος, and γνύπετος (‘floppy’) are proparoxytone.

Lentz33 accordingly transposes νιφετός and ὑετός to this next rule, as already suggested by Schmidt,34 so that the list of examples conforming to the rule begins νιφετός, ὑετός, κοπετός, πυρετός. However, this transposition leaves the second problem with the last sentence of 17 intact. This second problem is that the statement that certain words ἔτι ὀξύνεται ‘are also oxytone’ follows awkwardly from the preceding list of words for which recessive, not oxytone, accentuation is prescribed, with the only mention of oxytone accentuation being the passing reference to the divergent accentuation of πάγετος as παγετός in the συνήθεια. The awkwardness of the

30 Probert 2006, 76 n. 46. 31 See Schmidt 1860, 93, apparatus ad loc.; Lentz 1867–1870, I 219, apparatus to lines 3 and 5. 32 As a word with four syllables, ἀφυσγετός does not belong here: see Lentz 1867–1870, I 219, apparatus to line 5. 33 1867–1870, I 219, line 5. 34 1860, 93, apparatus ad loc.

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transition here may be explained, however, if the original behind passage 17 took a form closer to the following: (20) ‘Trisyllabic words ending in -ετος and with ε in the syllable before the termination, if they are proper names or common nouns, are proparoxytone: Μέγιστος Πέλετος ... And likewise those with α (in the syllable before the termination): ἄργετος, ἄρετος, ἄνετος (but the adjective is ἀνετός). And πάγετος among the Ἀττικοί, but the word is oxytone in the συνήθεια. αἰετός is also oxytone’ (or: ‘ἀετός and αἰετός are also oxytone’35).

If so, the form in which the rule appears in [Arcadius] is due, once again, to the misconception that the term ‘Attic’ labels the ‘correct’ or non-deviant form, and therefore that the oddity that really needs to be labelled is the form found in the συνήθεια. As we have noted, passage 18 is similar to passage 17 in that the συνήθεια is, very unusually, treated as having a deviant accentuation (παπαί and ἀταταί), without it being made clear what variety of Greek the accentuation treated as normal (παπαῖ, ἀταταῖ) belongs to. However, parallel passages of Philoponus’ epitome of Herodian’s Περὶ καθολικῆς προσῳδίας and of the Herodianic Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως ‘On anomalous words’ make it fairly clear that in this instance Herodian really did treat the perispomenon forms παπαῖ and ἀταταῖ (or its variant ἀτταταῖ) as normal: (21)

τὰ δὲ σχετλιαστικὰ τῶν εἰς ΟΙ καὶ εἰς ΑΙ ἄλογον ἔχει τὸν τόνον. ἃ μὲν γὰρ αὐτῶν περισπᾶται, ὡς τὸ ὀττοῖ ἔχον συμπαρακείμενον καὶ τὸ ἀτταταῖ, καὶ τὸ οἰοῖ καὶ αἰαῖ σαβοῖ τε, καὶ τὸ αἰβοῖ, καὶ τὸ σαβαῖ παρ’ Εὐπόλιδι ἐν βάπταις· τὸ δὲ εὐαί παρὰ τῷ αὐτῷ ὀξύνεται, εὐαί σαβαῖ.36 βαρύνεται δὲ τὸ οἴμοι. τὸ δὲ ὦ πόποι δυσὶ τόνοις χρῆται· ἔδει δὲ αὐτὸ δύο περισπωμένας ἔχειν, ἐπεὶ καὶ παράκειται αὐτῷ τὸ ἀππαπαῖ· καὶ τὸ ἀτταταῖ δὲ περισπᾶται καὶ τὸ παπαῖ.

Io. Al. 36.12–2037 Those of the adverbs ending in -οι and -αι that express suffering have an irrational accent. For some of them are perispomenon, as ὀττοῖ, which has 35 So Lentz 1867–1870 I, 219, line 3, following a suggestion of Schmidt 1860, 93, apparatus to line 8. 36 σαβαῖ is Lentz’s correction for σαβαί (Lentz 1867–1870, I 502, line 22). 37 There are many textual problems in this passage, which do not, however, bear on the question at hand. With the exception of σαβαῖ in line 17 (see the previous note) I simply print Dindorf’s text; on the textual problems see Dindorf 1825, xvi; Lentz 1867–1870, I 502, lines 18–22 with apparatus.

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existing beside it ἀτταταῖ, and οἰοῖ, αἰαῖ, and σαβοῖ, and αἰβοῖ, and σαβαῖ in Eupolis’ ‘Bathers’ (but εὐαί in the same author is oxytone: εὐαὶ σαβαῖ). But οἴμοι is recessive. And ὦ πόποι uses two accents. But it ought to have had two circumflexes, since ἀππαπαῖ exists beside it. And ἀτταταῖ is perispomenon, as is παπαῖ. (22)

χαμαί. οὐδὲν εἰς ΑΙ λῆγον ἐπίρρημα ὑπὲρ μίαν συλλαβὴν ὀξύνεται, λέγω δὲ μὴ σχετλιαστικόν. τὰ δὲ τοιαῦτα περισπᾶται, ἀταταῖ, αἰαῖ, παπαῖ. Herodian, Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως 933.18–2039 χαμαί: No adverb ending in -αι and having more than one syllable is oxytone, I mean unless it is an expression of suffering. Such words are both oxytone (οὐαί, βαβαί) and perispomenon (ἀταταῖ, αἰαῖ, παπαῖ).

Given the parallelism between passage 18 and passage 17, it is tempting to see passage 18 as another passage in which corruption has resulted from the misconception that Attic forms are simply the correct forms. This time, however, the chain of events cannot be as simple as suggested for passage 17, because Herodian is unlikely to have singled out the forms παπαῖ and ἀταταῖ as ‘Attic’ if (as passages 21 and 22 suggest) he regarded them as the normal forms. The following passage of Theognostus, however, attributes considerably more discussion of the accentuation of exclamations ending in -οι and -αι to Herodian in the Περὶ καθολικῆς προσῳδίας than the surviving epitomes suggest: (23)

λέγομεν δὲ βαρύνεσθαι αὐτό, ὡς τὸ ὦ φίλαι, ἐκ τοῦ ὑπολαβεῖν ὄνομα εἶναι τὸ πόποι· Σκύθαι γὰρ τὰ παρ’ αὐτοῖς ἀγαλμάτια πόπους καλοῦσιν, καθὼς Ἡρωδιανὸς ἐν τῇ καθόλου· καὶ αὖθις ὁ αὐτὸς περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν φησίν, ὡς οὐ δεῖ τὰ σχετλιαστικὰ τῶν ἐπιρρημάτων [εὐκτικά40], οἱονεὶ βακχικὰ ὄντα, ὑπὸ τὴν ἔντεχνον ἀκολουθείαν ἄγειν, εἴγε οὐδὲ μέρη λόγου τινὲς εἶναι ταῦτα ἐνόμισαν· πασχούσης γὰρ ψυχῆς, ἢ διακόρου ὑπὸ οἴνου οὔσης, ἄλογοι δῆλον ὅτι καὶ αἱ ἐκφωνήσεις αὐτῆς·

38 I read οὐαί here, with Lehrs 1848a, 96, line 2, rather than Lentz’s εὐαί (Lentz 1867–1870 II, 933, line 19), because I am not confident that the exclamation εὐαί mentioned at Io. Al. 36.16 should replace the οὐαί of [Arcadius] 208.18. But καὶ ὀξύνεται ... καί is in any case an uncertain conjectural addition. 39 According to Lentz’s apparatus ad loc. (Lentz 1867–1870, II 933), the manuscript reads χαμαί. οὐδὲν εἰς ΑΙ λῆγον ἐπίρρημα ὑπὲρ μίαν συλλαβὴν ὀξύνεται, λέγω δὴ τὸ χαμαί. τὰ δὲ τοιαῦτα περισπᾶται, ἀταταῖ, αἰαῖ, παπαῖ. 40 For the deletion of εὐκτικά, due to Lehrs, see Lentz 1867–1870, I 503, apparatus to line 15.

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διὸ καὶ ἐπ’ αὐτῶν ἔσθοτε τὸ δασὺ πνεῦμα ἀλόγως ἐν τῇ ληγούσῃ συλλαβῇ ὁρᾶται, ὡς ἔχει τὸ εὐοἵ· εὔἁν· εὐαἵ·41... τὰ εἰς ΑΙ λήγοντα ἐπιρρήματα ὑπὲρ μίαν συλλαβὴν ὧν καὶ τὰ σχετλιαστικὰ τὰ πλείω ἐστί, διὰ τῆς ΑΙ διφθόγγου γράφεται· οἷον, αἰαί· ἀτταταί· παπαί· ὁ δὲ περὶ ταῦτα τόνος ἀμφίβολος· οἱ μὲν γὰρ ὀξύνουσιν αὐτά, οἱ δὲ περισπῶσιν· ἄλογοι γὰρ αὐτῶν λυπουμένων ἢ μεθυόντων φωναί, καθὼς εἴρηται.

Theognostus 158.11–30 But we say that it (the word πόποι) is recessive, like ὦ φίλαι, as a result of πόποι being taken to be a noun. For the Scythians call their divine images πόποι, as Herodian says in the Περὶ καθολικῆς προσῳδίας. And the same scholar again says about the same words, that one need not reduce those of the adverbs that express suffering, which are as it were bacchic, to a technical discipline’s rules, given that some people have not even thought these words to be parts of speech. For it is clear that when the soul is suffering, or saturated with wine, its utterances too are irrational. For that reason the rough breathing too is sometimes irregularly seen on their final syllables, as in εὐοἵ, εὔἁν, εὐαἵ. ... Adverbs ending in -αι and having more than one syllable, of which most are expressions of suffering, are written with the diphthong -αι: so αἰαί, ἀτταταί, παπαί. And concerning these words the accent is uncertain. For some make them oxytone, some make them perispomenon. For their utterances are illogical when they are suffering or drunk, as has been said.42

It is difficult to be sure how much of this discussion derives from Herodian, but if Herodian in fact treated ἀτ(τ)αταῖ and παπαῖ (and perhaps also αἰαῖ) as usually perispomenon, but allowed that ἀτταταί and παπαί were also heard, and that such illogical variation was to be expected of words uttered by those suffering or drunk, the statement we find in [Arcadius] may be an inept attempt to abbreviate this discussion. If so, [Arcadius] retains ἀτ(τ)αταῖ and παπαῖ as the usual forms, but attributes the deviant forms to the συνήθεια instead of to what can happen when one is suffering or drunk. The negative use of the term συνήθεια here, for what is abnormal or incorrect, is not usual for Herodian, but it is found in Atticist texts, in which συνήθεια becomes the negative term in an opposition between συνήθεια and Ἀττικισμός.43 At this point we have reached highly speculative ground, so it is time to stop. We have at least seen, however, that the interpretation of 41 I print here εὐοἵ· εὔἁν· εὐαἵ (for εὐὁί· εὐἄν· εὐἕν), following Lentz 1867–1870, I 503, line 13. 42 Sluiter’s (1990, 222–244) discussion of the treatment of interjections in the Greek grammatical tradition provides helpful context for passages 18, 21, 22, and 23; on passage 23 more particularly, see Sluiter 1990, 236–237. 43 See e.g. Ael. Dion. δ 34, σ 22, σ 39 Erbse.

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Herodian in the light of Atticism is likely to have some bearing on the unusual (and I would venture, un-Herodianic) point in passage 18, that Herodian is apparently made to attribute a deviant accentuation to the συνήθεια without making clear what variety of Greek provides the ‘normal’ accentuation. A final point may be made in connection with passages 17 and 18. In other contexts we have been treating [Arcadius] as providing rather good evidence for the original form of Herodian’s views, but if the suggestions made here about passages 17 and 18 are correct, then even the longer and in many ways fuller of the two epitomes of the Περὶ καθολικῆς προσῳδίας is guilty of occasionally misinterpreting Herodian in the light of Atticism. Since we must rely on the sources we have for the Περὶ καθολικῆς προσῳδίας, and not least on [Arcadius], even the possibility of such misinterpretations provides a serious challenge for the reconstruction of Herodian’s thought. In other words, scholars working on Herodian will need to decide when such misinterpretations should be assumed and when not, without any source for Herodian’s views being guaranteed to be free of such misinterpretations.

9. Conclusions The rise of Atticism did not banish other criteria for linguistic correctness. However, the influence of Atticism did result in a situation in which the labelling of an expression as ‘Attic’ was liable to be taken automatically as a claim that the expression was ‘correct’. Conversely, the labelling of an expression as deviant could also be taken as a claim that it was un-Attic or belonged to the συνήθεια. Some scholars became unaware (or perhaps liable to forget) that the term Ἀττικός had ever been used differently, or that an ‘Attic’ expression could ever have been considered wrong because it was irregular.44 Further work will be required to show how pervasive were misinterpretations of the sort we have seen, but I hope to have shown that the shift in the understanding of the term Ἀττικός should be added to the exciting challenges facing scholars working on Herodian, along with Apollonius Dyscolus and Herodian’s other predecessors.

44 Not surprisingly, scholars were sometimes more perceptive; cf. Dihle’s (1976, 134–5) discussion of Helladius’ comment on the gender of the word τάριχος, preserved by Photius (Bibl. 533a 38–41).

A Champion of Analogy: Herodian’s On Lexical Singularity* Ineke Sluiter 1. Introduction In several respects, the work Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως (On lexical singularity) is unique in the large corpus of work left by the Greek grammarian Herodian (2nd century AD). Unlike all of his other numerous works, we have this short treatise more or less in the form in which Herodian wrote it, whereas everything else has come down to us as membra disiecta, pieced together from collections of scholia and ancient lexica and reconstituted as Herodian’s oeuvre by Lentz.1 This short treatise, however, has been transmitted separately, and as such. It is also the only work featuring a substantial bit of theory at the beginning and the end of each of its two books. Again, this is probably a function of the transmission of Herodian’s work: the other works we have were excerpted for their observations on single words, with regard to their accents, spelling or other features. No doubt, they will also have had theoretical introductions or sections, which, however, were lost in the process of excerpting because of the local interests of the excerptor. It falls to the single work Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως to show us what a grammatical treatise by Herodian actually looks like. A third unique feature, striking to anyone with even a slight familiarity with Lentz’s version of the body of Herodian’s work, is the style: no dry listing of κανόνες or rules—at least not in the introduction—but a fluent argument in a most remarkable style, addressed to ‘my dear philologist’ (ἄριστε φιλόλογε, 935.5). *

1

The author would like to thank Stephanos Matthaios and Antonios Rengakos for an inspiring conference; the editors for their help in bringing this paper to publication; and Aikaterini Papazeti, who generously offered me a preview of her dissertation, which contains a new critical edition of Herodian’s Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως. The text given here is quoted according to Lentz’s edition, but has been checked against Aikaterini Papazeti’s text everywhere. Variations have been duly noted where relevant. Lentz 1867–1870 (G.G. III.1–2).

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The content of the work has been largely ignored: in the 19th century, scholarship focused on the textual criticism of the text, and the only scholar who took notice of its content, Steinthal, only granted it a very brief discussion, or rather, dismissal;2 he thought that Herodian was thoroughly confused about the true nature and workings of analogy, and from Steinthal’s 19th-century point of view, that is no doubt correct: Herodian is no ‘Junggrammatiker’, but his text deserves study precisely for what it can tell us about the views on the nature of grammar and the proper job of a grammarian, from the point of view of one of the most influential grammarians from classical Antiquity. Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως deals with that perennial cause of grammatical headaches: the exception. It discusses lexical features, which, to all appearances, cannot be fitted comfortably into an all-encompassing system of rules. As we will see, Herodian confronts the challenge posed by this material head-on. In the end, we will witness a remarkable transformation of the concept of the ‘exception’ (although the ‘exception’ never quite goes away), as we are confronted with the invention of the ‘rule with only one instantiation’: these rules apply to the special type of ‘exceptions’ that Herodian studies in this short work, words that look normal enough and are in frequent use, but that do not conform to the rules that would most obviously seem to apply. In what follows, I propose to discuss Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως with particular attention to its style and rhetoric. We will discuss what μονήρης λέξις is, the role of analogy, the relation between analogy and the grammarian, which we will see is very important for the self-styling of the grammarian, the role of other traditional criteria of linguistic correctness, and finally, the way in which Herodian solves the problem of the singularity and catches it in his ‘net of regularity’.

2

Steinthal 1890–1891, II 357ff.; Hiller 1866, 61f. agrees with Steinthal’s verdict. Critical work on the text in Egenolff 1880; id. 1901; Hiller 1871; Lehrs 1848a; Ludwich 1883. For a very brief modern assessment, see Dyck 1993, 790–1.

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2. What is μονήρης λέξις?3 The opening of the work Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως distinguishes two kinds of λέξεις: Τῶν λέξεων αἱ μὲν πλήθουσι καθ’ ὁμοιότητα, αἱ δὲ οὔ. καὶ τῶν μὲν πληθουσῶν ...

Hdn. II 908.3 Of the words, some resemble each other as a group [‘are numerous according to a similarity’], others do not. And of the ones that form groups [‘the numerous ones’] ...

As Herodian points out in his opening statement, some words form groups consisting of more than one item (this is my paraphrase for πλήθουσι (or πληθύουσι, as it is put in other places in the text).4 The criterion for group-identity is some similarity (ὁμοιότης) between the members of the group. Other lexical items, however, do not form such multi-member groups: they are a ‘group of one’, a singularity (μονήρης). It is worth noticing straightaway that the term μονήρης does not mean ‘exception’, although words designated by this term could well be exceptions. Rather than indicating by itself that the word designated by it somehow does not fall under a certain rule, μονήρης matter-of-factly states that, rather than belonging to a group, the words designated by it stand alone: they are ‘solitary’. It is important to note that this is how Herodian frames the topic of his work both initially, and with some frequency throughout the work, even if other terms with different implications are also used in the treatise.5 There are some precedents and 3

4 5

The use of the singular λέξις in the title is a trace of the Stoic use of the word, to designate not an individual word, but articulate sound (irrespective of meaning), cf. D.L. 7.57. Hence it functions here as a collective noun for all words (considered under their formal aspect) that are μονήρης, ‘solitary’, ‘singular’. Herodian also regularly uses λέξεις ‘words’ (as, for example, in the opening lines of the work). πληθύω, e.g. 909.26; 910.17. Apart from μονήρης, the groups of one are also designated by the verb μονάζειν (e.g. 913.11). Later in the treatise Herodian also uses terms that do suggest ‘exceptionality’, such as παράλογος (934.30f.); ἐξαίρετος (934.35); ὑπεσταλμένος, ὑποστέλλομαι (e.g. 932.8f.); other terms refer to ‘remarkability’, words that are ‘notable’: σημειώδης/σημειῶδες (e.g. 912.16; 923.4; 936.26 etc.); cf. σημειωτέον (921.16) σεσημείωται (940.21). The fact that ποδός is a genitive, rather than, as the accent would lead us to expect, nominative, is οὐ δόκιμος (921.19: could this mean ‘unexpected’?). Stepping it up, the use of λύσις (e.g. 916.12; 924.18f.; 927.2f.) acknowledges that the words in question are ‘problematic’; and an even stronger similar implication follows

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parallels to his usage: Sextus Empiricus talks about nature producing some items κατὰ μονοείδειαν ‘in a unique, singular form’, and in the same context, when talking about language opposes ἀνάλογον to κατὰ ἴδιον τύπον, ‘as a peculiar type’, a form unique to a certain ὄνομα.6 The first one to use the terminology of the singularity in a linguistic context seems to have been Varro.7 We should be similarly careful about the term πλήθω:8 Πλήθω or πληθύω does not refer to the frequency of a word, to the question how often we may encounter it or if it is in regular use; it just comments on the flexion-type, the question of whether there are many of its kind. A word either fits a certain pattern of similarity (with other words) or not, irrespective of the question how common a word may be. It is the third term encountered here, ὁμοιότης, which obviously directs us immediately to the concept of analogy, after all ἡ τῶν ὁμοίων παράθεσις.9 Pinpointing similarities is a matter of observation

6 7

8

9

from the use of the term πεπλάνηται vel sim., e.g. 908.20; 918.14; 921.8f., 922.16f. (where the implication is rejected), 943.29, suggesting that something is ‘wrong’ with these words. Cf. also the use of the comparative ἀναλογώτερον (924.27f.; 925.25; 927.9), and οὐχ ὑγιαίνει (925.1). Hiller 1866, 37f. points out that Herodian never uses the term ἀνώμαλον. He gives a full and very useful list of all the words Herodian uses in this and other works to indicate that a linguistic feature contradicts the rules or general usage, but he does not discuss the differences between these terms. I will return to this point later (see below, section 7). S.E. M. 1.226 and 227; the context here, too, is the validity of universal rules and the respective domains of analogy and usage. Varro (L. 10.82) describing the cases in which one should not look for analogy: tertio, si singularis est vocabuli series neque habet cum qua comparari possit, ut esse putant caput capiti capitis capite ‘third, [analogy must not be looked for], if the series of forms which the noun has is unique and has nothing with which it can be compared, as they consider true of caput ‘head’, dat. capiti, gen. capitis, abl. capite’ (transl. Roland Kent, adapted); cf. 9.37 (criteria for analogy to be a useful concept); 9.53 quod dicunt esse quaedam verba quae habeant declinatus, ut caput , quorum par reperiri quod non possit, non esse analogias, respondendum sine dubio, si quod est singulare verbum, id non habere analogias: minimum duo esse debent verba, in quibus sit similitudo. See also Fehling 1956–1957, II 67. This use of πλήθω ‘to occur in groups’ is not recognized by LSJ. Its direct relation with πλῆθος is made explicit in e.g. 935.17 and 943.1, see at n. 42 and n. 43 below. E.g. Sch. D.T. 309.9f., see below n. 30; Theodos. Π. γραμμ. 57.31 Göttling: Τί ἔστιν ἀναλογία; ἡ τῶν ὁμοίων παράθεσις. ὁμοίων παράθεσις is used for analogy (not in a definition) by Herodian himself (κλίσ. ὀν., G.G. III.2.2, 768.35f.), and by his contemporary Alexander of Aphrodisias, In Top., CAG II 2 122.26 and 176.9: ὅτι δὲ εὔψυχος ὁ εὖ τὴν ψυχὴν ἔχων, δείξομεν τῇ τῶν ὁμοίων παραθέσειǜ καὶ γὰρ εὔελπις ὁ εὖ ἐλπίζων. Cf. further τὸ ὅμοιον ἐν

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(Herodian speaks of παραφυλάττομεν, ‘we observe’, II 908.4). After his opening statement, Herodian continues by stating what kinds of similarities are relevant, i.e. what the criteria for similarity are: ending, number of syllables, accentuation, penultimate and antepenultimate syllables. For this list, he can fall back on by now traditional material, although the criteria listed here are not exhaustive.10 He then proceeds to discuss an example: the words ending in –αλεος. Most of these are paroxytona (so these words πλήθουσι καθ’ ὁμοιότητα). But δαιδάλεος and κονισάλεος are proparoxytona, and this has an effect on ἀναλογία—it is here that we are first struck by the stylistic level of this text: ἡ ἀναλογία ἀνιωμένη τῷ τοιούτῳ διαφόρου κινήσεως παρίστησι τὰς λέξεις [...]

Hdn. 909.11–12 since analogy is hurt by such a thing, it makes the words part of a different flexion [...]

Analogy is hurt, ἀνιωμένη, and it takes action to ensure that there is a different classification of these words that will work: it makes them part of a διάφορος κίνησις, a different flexion-pattern, namely that of the Ionic possessives, words such as Ἑκτόρεος and Νεστόρεος, alternatives for the forms in –ειος, which indicate possession. In this way, even δαιδάλεος and κονισάλεος may be considered πλήθουσαι λέξεις. Analogy just had to make sure where they belonged. This makes the capacity to observe language and actually spot the relevant similarity of paramount importance. One is reminded of Aristotle’s observations on who will be best at using metaphor: the person with the best eye for similarities;11 the same competence is a job requirement for the expert dream interpreter.12 But here, the relevant action seems to be performed by analogy herself. τοῖς ὀνόμασιν, Hdn. κλίσ. ὀν., G.G. III.2.2, 634.6. S.E. M. 1.236: ἡ ἀναλογία ὁμοίου παράθεσις. The singular also e.g. Sch. D.T. 169.26; 303.22f. (ἀναλογία δέ ἐστι λόγος ἀποδεικτικὸς καθ’ ὁμοίου παράθεσιν τῆς ἐν ἑκάστῳ μέρει λόγου φυσικῆς ἀκολουθίας.

10 On the ‘Ähnlichkeitsbedingungen’, see Fehling 1957, II 74ff.; Siebenborn 1976, 72ff.; Aristophanes of Byzantium seems to have first formulated them; canonically, there were eight such criteria for similarity (Var. L. 10.10; Pompeius in G.L. V 197.24 [going back to Caesar]). Herodian discusses even more as part of his Περὶ κλίσεως ὀνομάτων, G.G. III.2.2, 634.5–24. I am not going into the differences between these lists here. 11 Arist. Po. 1459a8: τὸ γὰρ εὖ μεταφέρειν τὸ τὸ ὅμοιον θεωρεῖν ἐστιν. 12 Arist. Div.Somn. 2, 464b5–7: τεχνικώτατος δ’ ἐστὶ κριτὴς ἐνυπνίων ὅστις δύναται τὰς ὁμοιότητας θεωρεῖν. Taken over by Artemidorus, Oneirocritica 2.25 (p. 145.11–12 Pack): καὶ γὰρ οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἐστὶν ὀνειροκρισία ἢ ὁμοίου

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3. What is Analogy?13 The phrase ἀναλογία ἀνιωμένη should give us pause, and make us realize how flexible the use of the term ἀναλογία (and cognates) has become since its coinage as a technical term (probably in the context of geometry and mathematics).14 By the time of Herodian, there are different applications of the term—and even more so, of the concept, which are often compatible and partially overlapping.15 (a) First of all, analogy has a heuristic function, and it is invoked to solve a practical problem. Used as either a two-part or a four-part proportion, it may help establish a doubtful form (‘x goes like a’; ‘a is to b, as c is to x’; where x is the form that needs establishing and a, b, and c are known entities). Similar to this application of analogy is the one through which a doubtful form is established by reference to, or comparison with, a rule, a κανών, a linguistic (morphological) norm. In these cases, analogy is part of a procedure, a form of reasoning.16 (b) Analogy is also a state:17 it is that state of language in which a form is found to be in rational order. One is able to give an account of it. If παράθεσις, cf. 2.12 (p. 126.3–7 Pack); the phrase ὁμοίου παράθεσις in Ar-

13 14

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17

temidorus is interesting, since it is elsewhere used either in the definition of the rhetorical figures παραβολή, ὁμοίωσις, or παράδειγμα, or in the definition or paraphrase of analogy: see e.g. Ps.-Herodian Περὶ σχημάτων 104.1 and 104.4 Spengel (parable, homoeosis); Polybius, De figuris (paradeigma); and S.E., quoted at n. 7. On analogy, see also the papers by Philomen Probert and by Filippomaria Pontani in this volume. On analogy as one of the ‘Kriterien der Sprachrichtigkeit’, see Siebenborn 1976, 56ff.; on its earliest grammatical application in Aristophanes of Byzantium, see Callanan 1987, 107–122. On Aristarchus, cf. Matthaios 1999, 400ff. Obviously, in phrases such as Χ ὡς Α, where A is used to establish, for example, spelling or prosody of X, we are dealing with analogical reasoning, even though the term is not used. Analogy as a procedure, with its three sub-forms of the two-part, four-part, and rule-related proportion is the focus of Siebenborn’s discussion (1976, 63– 7). He also correctly points out that in the Homeric scholia, analogy usually serves a heuristic purpose (1976, 71). Quintilian’s description makes this procedural aspect very clear; see e.g. Inst. 1.6.4: eius [sc. analogiae] haec vis est, ut id quod dubium est ad aliquid simile de quo non quaeritur referat, en incerta certis probet. Note especially the cognitive activities implied by referat and probet. In the following discussion, Quintilian uses a whole series of verbs and terms denoting logical heuristic processes (e.g. comparatio, deprendit, detegit, ostendit [Inst. 1.6.5– 6], invenitur [Inst. 1.6.9]). Cf. the geometrical proportion, which may also be considered a state; Siebenborn 1976, 57ff.

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analogy is ‘hurt’, as in our text, that is because this state of order has been disturbed. In this usage, ἀναλογία is rather similar to καταλληλότης, as used by Herodian’s father, Apollonius Dyscolus: a state in which elements of language are syntactically congruent and semantically compatible: in perfect rational order.18 (c) Thirdly, analogy may be conceived of as a process in stories about the origin or development of language, a language-immanent feature. This active force within language itself will either from the very beginning or in language’s development exercise a normalizing influence that will make language increasingly regular.19 Obviously, it will depend on one’s view of the natural original condition of language (either ‘wild’ or ‘in perfect order’) how much room there is for this process. (d) But there is also a fourth use, which is related to all three other ones, to the heuristic problem-solving procedure, the (natural) state of order, and the process, which is a language-immanent force. That fourth use is the ordering activity exercised by the (technical) grammarian himself. This activity exceeds the merely locally heuristic, it is the global activity of looking for (if not imposing) states of order, and it is an activity that imitates the presumed natural process of analogy, or even the natural regularizing activity of the ordinary language user (who will not be able to account for what he is doing). It is this particular interpretation of ἀναλογία as the work of a technician that Quintilian is off-setting against a presumed divinely imposed state of order, when he says: Non enim, cum primum fingerentur homines, analogia demissa caelo formam loquendi dedit, sed inventa est postquam loquebantur, et notatum in sermone quo quidque modo caderet. Quint. Inst. 1.6.16 For analogy was not sent down from heaven, when human beings were first created, to give our speech its form, but it was invented when they were already speaking, and it was noticed how each word was inflected in spoken language.20 18 Siebenborn 1976, 84, calls attention to the more concrete way in which analogy denotes a state of morphological ‘regularity’: ‘[man] nennt ... nicht nur die Erschliessungsmethode selbst ἀναλογία, sondern auch die grammatische Gleichheit von Wörtern, besonders die Flexionsgleichheit’. See further Blank 1982, 28f.; Sluiter 1990, 51 n. 45. 19 Cf. Siebenborn 1976, 84: analogy also gets the new function ‘eines Ordnungsfaktors der Sprache’, quoting our passage and Varro apud Charisius 62.20 Barwick: analogia sermonis a natura proditi ordinatio est. 20 Caderet presumably refers primarily to word-endings.

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This text opposes two conceptions of analogy: on the one hand, there is Analogy personified, as a divine agent responsible for the imposition of the (obviously perfectly regular) language, that would have come into being at the very time when humans were divinely created (fingerentur); and on the other hand, there is analogy as a human invention, a matter of linguistic observation when language was already in use. Although there is no reason why this invention and observation could not have been the work of regular language users, the language here seems to suggest the work of a specialist, someone who would have been the first to discover (inventa) the phenomenon of regularity, and who marked (notatum) linguistic features:21 we have here the origin of grammar. Interestingly, the rejected form of analogy is also the avatar of a particular form of normative grammar, and the divine role model for a particular kind of grammarian, the ‘guardian of language, who imposes and guards rules of correctness. But of the two conceptions of analogy opposed in Quintilian’s text, the divine conception is clearly false, says Quintilian, since we can often see that for a given problem, two forms of ‘analogy’ may be set up that are in conflict with one another— obviously this should be impossible if there is one form of divine Regularity (cf. 1.6.12). For Quintilian, then, this is a reason to separate analogy from ratio: Itaque non ratione nititur sed exemplo, nec lex est loquendi sed observatio, ut ipsam analogiam nulla res alia fecerit quam consuetudo. Quint. Inst. 1.6.16 Therefore, it (sc. analogy) does not rest on reason, but on example, and it is not the law of speaking, but its observation. So analogy itself is produced by nothing but linguistic usage.

This statement combines the heuristic function of analogy (reduced to a procedure based on precedent [exemplo]), analogy as a state (the regularity that happens to be produced in normal language use),22 and analogy as a process (the production of that regularity itself through usage). But most importantly, its status is here dramatically diminished, as analogy is 21 Notice the difference with the use of notare in Lucretius, where the humanum genus is emphatically subject, and the object is not language itself or specific linguistic phenomena, but the things that humans would want to mark with vocal expressions: DRN 5.1057–8: si genus humanum .../ pro vario sensu varia res voce notaret; cf. 5.1089–90: mortalis .../dissimilis alia atque alia res voce notare. 22 Cf. Pindarion apud S.E. M. 1.202 ἀναλογία ... ὁμολογουμένως ἐκ τῆς συνηθείας ὁρμᾶται (this looks like the state of regularity). ἔστι γὰρ ὁμοίου τε καὶ ἀνομοίου θεωρία (this is the procedure), τὸ δὲ ὅμοιον καὶ ἀνόμοιον ἐκ τῆς δεδοκιμασμένης λαμβάνεται συνηθείας (procedure again).

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now completely subsumed under usage. As we will see, rather than restricting the validity of analogy, Herodian will choose the opposite strategy of drastically expanding its sphere of influence and finding a different function for συνήθεια.23

4. Analogy personified Quintilian gave us a view of a personified analogy (which he rejected), that anticipates not only Herodian’s personified ἀναλογία ἀνιωμένη, but several instantiations of this conceptualization, all concentrated in the time of Herodian. There are more parallels from the 2nd century AD, not just of such personifications, but also for Herodian’s conception of analogy as an essentially natural phenomenon, that is at the same time clearly the concern of a craftsman or technician.24 Galen, for instance, combines the same elements in his presentation of personified Nature, concerned with equality and analogy (she exercises pronoia for these things), outdoing any craftsman (δημιουργός) in that respect: ἀλλ’ εἴπερ ποτέ τις καὶ ἄλλος δημιουργὸς ἰσότητός τε καὶ ἀναλογίας πολλὴν ἐποιήσατο πρόνοιαν, καὶ ἡ τὰ σώματα τῶν ζῴων διαπλάττουσα φύσις.

Galenus, De usu partium 3.158.9 Kühn But if ever any other craftsman exercised great forethought and care (to produce) equality and analogy, so too did nature, which formed the bodies of the living beings.

It is time to return to Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως and consider how the initial personification is worked out. As we have seen, it was introduced as follows: 23 Rather than just thinking in terms of ‘Quellen’, there is a lot to be said for an approach to ancient grammar that is based on discourse analysis and intertextuality: intellectuals such as Varro, Quintilian, Julius Romanus, Sextus Empiricus and Herodian are clearly all thinking about the relationship between ‘analogy’ and ‘usage’; they are familiar with personifications of nature and analogy; and they come up with their own ultimate versions of a solution, couched in very similar, often colorful, language. 24 See, for example, Julius Romanus apud Charisius, Ars grammatica 1.15 (61.16– 63.20 Barwick = G.L. 1.50.59–51.20) in the chapter De extremitatibus nominum et diversis quaestionibus. Cf. Schenkeveld 1996; 1998. This text is an important comparandum for the Herodian text (and for Quintilian) because of its colorful language, its extended personification, and its very similar topic. Julius Romanus also has his own version of ἔλεγχος (convincitur, 62.19f. Barwick, here as ‘being refuted’, cf. A.D. [Adv.] 205.12ff.); Sluiter 1990, 52–4.

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Hdn. 909.11ff. since analogy is hurt by such a thing, it makes the words part of a different flexion...

We can now see very clearly that it is the state of order (analogy [c]) that gets hurt, and the ordering activity of an again personified analogy (analogy [d]) that springs into action. The personification of analogy continues in the following text: Τῶν μέντοι μὴ πληθουσῶν λέξεων, ἀλλὰ σπανίως ὁρωμένων [...] ἔλεγχον ἀπεργάζεται ἡ ἀναλογία, οὐκ ἀποδοκιμάζουσα τὸ25 χρῆσθαι, ἀλλὰ σημειουμένη τὸ σπάνιον· εἴ γε εἴσεται τὰς παρὰ τοῖς Ἕλλησι λέξεις πῃ26 μὲν καθ’ ὁμοιότητα ἐν πλήθει ἐκφερομένας ποικίλας καθεστώσας ἢ σπανίους ἡ πάσης λέξεως Ἑλληνικῆς πρόνοιαν ποιοῦσα ἀναλογία καὶ ὥσπερ εἰ ἐν δικτύῳ συνέχουσα τὸ πολυσχιδὲς τῆς τῶν ἀνθρώπων γλώσσης φθέγμα τῇ τέχνῃ, κατορθοῦν ἐπιχειροῦσα τὰς τῶν ληγόντων στοιχείων φύσεις καὶ τῶν παραληγόντων ἢ ἀρχομένων τά τε σπάνια καὶ δαψιλῆ ἐν συντόμῳ παραδιδοῦσα.

Hdn. 909.12ff. However, those words which are not part of a group but are a rare sight [...] analogy tests, without disqualifying their use, but (simply) marking the rareness. For analogy, which exercises forethought27 over all Greek words and with her art (τῇ τέχνῃ) keeps together as if in a net the utterances of human speech, split in many ways as they are (πολυσχιδές), will be well aware that the great variety of words in use with the Greeks sometimes belong in groups that are based on similarities or they are rare. Analogy tries to straighten out the nature of letters in word-final position, the penultimate ones or the ones at the beginning, and it gives a concise overview of what is rare and what is plentiful.

The πλήθουσαι λέξεις are here contrasted with the σπανίως ὁρωμένων;28 again, it is important to note that this is not about infre25 τό omitted in Lentz’s edition. 26 πῇ MSS, Lentz, Papazeti; πῃ ego. The construction is: ‘analogy will know’ followed by an accusative with participle construction, that is divided into two halves: ‘that Greek words in some places (πῃ μέν) belong in groups or (ἤ) they are rare’. It does not seem possible to combine the accusative with participle construction with a dependent question (she will know ‘where’ they belong in groups). Hence πῇ must be emended. 27 ‘Forethought’ rather than, as Blank 1994, 158 has it, ‘predictive value’; see below. 28 Cf. the opposition between τά τε σπάνια καὶ δαψιλῆ, ‘the rare and the abundant’, in the same sense at the end of the quotation.

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quent words. In fact, Herodian will explicitly exclude phenomena such as hapax legomena, foreign words and words for which one needs ἱστορία (research into Realien): his concern is with quite ordinary and normal words, in regular usage (συνήθεια), which nevertheless do not seem to fit any rule, or rather: seem to be a rule unto themselves; words such as ὄνομα, Ζεύς, or δίκη.29 As we can see, Herodian continues the personification of analogy. Analogy tests and diagnoses (ἔλεγχον ἀπεργάζεται), but does not forbid the use of these words (οὐκ ἀποδοκιμάζουσα τὸ χρῆσθαι). Thus, analogy does not determine usage, it just ‘puts a mark on it’ (σημειουμένη). Analogy takes on an almost divine appearance here: πρόνοιαν ποιεῖσθαι is what a Stoic or Christian god would do, exercising forethought, thinking ahead. But what analogy does here, also resembles to a quite uncanny extent the activities of a good grammarian: for one thing, she registers and marks τὸ σπάνιον or the absence of ὁμοιότης—although importantly, she does not do so in terms of ‘correct’ or ‘incorrect’. Secondly, she deals with all of Greek lexis. Third, she has a τέχνη—this is her instrument that she uses as a hunter uses his net to keep all the many forms of human language together, i.e. she tries to be all-encompassing.30 Fourth, she tries (ἐπιχειροῦσα) to make things come out right. There is an ineluctably normative ring to κατορθοῦν, but it would seem that the word does not here refer to ‘correcting’ what is wrong, but maybe rather to the kind of regular ordering activity that classified δαιδάλεος among the Ionic possessives rather than with the words in –αλέος. And finally, analogy also transmits (παραδιδοῦσα) in concise form what it knows about frequent and infrequent paradigms. This resembles the theory of κανόνες, and the paradosis of the written grammatical tradition.

29 Cf. III 2 910.11ff. (foreign words; Realien); 910.27 (Zeus); 920.18 (δίκη); 935.12 (ὄνομα). Note as a curiosity that the part on ‘unique’ adverbs starts off with the work ἅπαξ, 931.21ff. (in part probably because Herodian orders the words alphabetically by ending (i.c. -αξ) 30 On τέχνη and its claims to universality, see the chapter by Stephanos Matthaios in this volume. The striking image in the Herodian text is reduced to the second half of the definition of analogy in the Sch. D.T. 309.9: τί ἐστιν ἀναλογία; ἡ τῶν ὁμοίων παράθεσις, δι’ ἧς συνίστανται οἱ τῶν ὀνομάτων καὶ ῥημάτων κανόνες. Ἄλλωςǜ ἡ τὸ πολυσχιδὲς τῶν ἀνθρώπων φθέγμα συντόμως παραδιδοῠσα.

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5. Analogy and the Grammarian If one looks at this list of activities of Analogy, the relation with the work of the grammarian is obvious, but Herodian’s self-presentation in the preface of Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως also spells out the connection. For the text continues with Herodian’s statement of purpose, and hence switches from the third-person description of the activities of analogy to first-person statements about the grammarian himself: οὐδὲ οὖν πρόκειται ἡμῖν περὶ πάσης λέξεως λέγειν, ἀλλὰ περὶ τῆς ἐκφυγούσης τὸ πλῆθος, καὶ οὐδὲ ταύτης καθολικῶς, ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ ποσόν· οὐδὲ κατηγορεῖν τῶν λέξεων εἰ σπάνιοι εἶεν· ἐπεί τοί γε εἰ τὸ μὴ πληθύον πανταχοῦ ὡς ἡμαρτημένον ἐλέγχειν ἐπιχειρήσαμεν, οὐκ ἂν ἐξαρκέσαιμεν μυρίον ἀριθμὸν εὐδοκιμωτάτων λέξεων ὡς παρὰ τοὺς τῆς φύσεως νόμους ἐξενεχθεισῶν κακίζοντες· ἀλλ’ ἅσπερ ἐγεννήσατο ἡ φύσις ἡμῖν ταύτας παρ’ αὐτῆς εὐμενῶς προσδέχεσθαι, ἀλλαχοῦ μὲν μίαν εἰσηγησαμένης, ἑτέρωθι31 δὲ δύο, καὶ νὴ Δία ἀλλαχοῦ τρεῖς, ἔπειτα τέσσαρας, μέχρις εἰς ἄπειρον χωρήσει πλῆθος ... (910.17f.) ὅπως διὰ τοῦ πληθύοντος τὸ παρηλλαγμένον καὶ σπάνιον ἐλέγχωμεν.

Hdn. 909.22ff. What we have in mind is not to speak about all words, but only those which resist grouping, and not even about those in general, but up to a point. Nor do we wish to blame words for being rare. For note this: if we were to try and expose as mistakes words that cannot be grouped wherever we find them, we would not be content if we vitiated an uncountable number of most reputable words as being used contrary to the laws of nature. No: all the words nature brought into being for us we should receive from her with good grace. At one point she may introduce one, somewhere else two, some place else again three, by Zeus, then four, until she will arrive at an infinite number [...] (910.17f.) so that we may test and expose what is deviant and rare through what is numerous [‘forms groups’].

The resemblance between Herodian’s purpose in this work and what we have seen so far of the workings of analogy is striking. I mention five points: (a) ‘We’ (cf. πρόκειται ἡμῖν) plan to deal with the words that have escaped from the mass (i.e. from belonging to a group)—the escaping words (another strikingly personified image) strongly evoke the net (ὥσπερ εἰ ἐν δικτύῳ, 909.20) with which analogy constrains and contains the linguistic material;

31 So rightly Papazeti; Lentz printed ἑτερόθι.

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(b) ‘We’ wish to ‘test and expose’ (ἐλέγχωμεν, 910.17f.) rare and frequent phenomena—analogy does precisely the same thing (909.12 ἔλεγχον ἀπεργάζεται ἡ ἀναλογία). (c) ‘We’ do not want to κατηγορεῖν—this resembles analogy’s similar refusal: οὐκ ἀποδοκιμάζουσα τὸ χρῆσθαι (909.16–7); (d) ‘We’ should not regard such phenomena as (ὡς) mistakes: the use of ὡς ascribes this judgment to the grammarian without taking responsibility for the question of whether or not such things really are wrong. This is an elaboration of the issue of μὴ κατηγορεῖν / οὐκ ἀποδοκιμάζουσα; (e) ‘We’ graciously accept whatever nature (φύσις) has to offer, whether we can see ὁμοιότης or not (i.e. however large or small the group a word belongs in). Similarly, ἀναλογία ‘will know’ (the future tense suggests a tone of resignation, 909.17) that there will be different kinds of words with different φύσεις: εὐμενῶς προσδέχεσθαι (910.4) corresponds to the εἴ γε εἴσεται-phrase in 909.17–9. The correspondences are clear: the grammarian’s concern with escaping words evokes analogy’s net, both investigate their material critically, neither analogy nor the grammarian are in the business of condemning words and forbidding their use; both accept and work with what nature has provided. And finally, analogy transmits (παραδιδοῦσα, 909.23) her linguistic observations—and of course so does Herodian in this very work.

6. ‘What is a Singularity’ revisited: The Criterion of Frequent Usage The result of the structural echoes described above is that Herodian presents himself as the embodiment of analogy. He strongly identifies with this aspect of language. But what about the other factors that constitute language, especially nature and usage. Nature, as we saw, was accommodated as the provider of the basic material that analogy will work with without trying to ‘correct’ it. That leaves συνήθεια or common usage (usus, consuetudo). For Quintilian, usus was the dominant factor that defined what did or did not constitute regularity, and in view of the context of his remark he was clearly thinking in terms of paradigm-formation (i.e. the forming of series in which comparative analogy could help establish the correct form). Herodian gives a slightly different twist to the relationship between analogy and usage in this particular work. Usage, both everyday usage and the use of language found in the

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auctores, is turned into the criterion, not for general linguistic correctness, but for allowing words into the class of singularities, ‘flexion groups consisting of one member only’.32 And this is where frequency does become an issue. Isolated words are not the ones Herodian is looking for,33 they do not count as ‘lexical singularity’. ‘Groups of one’ should at least be firmly anchored in a familiar lexicon:34 κρίσις δὲ ἔστω τῆς προκειμένης λέξεως μονήρους ἡ πολλὴ χρῆσις παρὰ τοῖς παλαιοῖς καὶ ἡ συνήθεια ἔσθ’ ὅτε ὁμοίως τοῖς παλαιοῖς Ἕλλησιν ἐπισταμένη χρῆσιν. [example: πῦρ]

Hdn. 910.6ff. And let the criterion for our concept of lexical singularity be frequency of use by the ancients and everyday usage, which sometimes knows a use of words just like the ancient Greeks. [example: πῦρ ‘fire’]

(Frequent) usage therefore determines whether a word can be considered to form a group of one, and thus be under the purview of analogy—as we will see, this means they fall under a rule. Usage serves analogy.35 Interestingly, precisely because the words studied in this treatise are so common, one could have easily failed to notice anything out of the ordinary about them. The paradox leaps to the eye in phrases such as the following: σημειῶδες οὖν τὸ σύνηθες πᾶσι τὸ κράζω.

Hdn. 929.12f.

32 Herodian concentrates primarily on words that have flexion or that are derived in a regular way (nouns, verbs, adverbs), since in these cases group- or paradigm-formation is the default (910.15ff., cf. 933.15–935.3 for a defense of his choices). 33 ‘Mere existence’ does not do the trick, cf. οὐ καθ’ ὑπόστασιν, 923.23. 34 Cf. 910.21f. (announcement of topic of first book) τὰς μονήρεις λέξεις τὰς γινωσκομένας ὑπό τε τῆς συνηθείας καὶ τῶν παλαιῶν ... (second book) καὶ τὰς ἐν ἀγνοίᾳ τῇ συνηθείᾳ. Cf. the beginning of the second book, 935.8f., where he announces that in this book he will also include some words that were known to the ancients, but that are no longer in use. In this book, he will also discuss some prepositions, since some of those also exhibit ὁμοιότης (952.9–10). For the exclusion of foreign or obscure words, see 910.12ff., and see above. 35 Note that the idea that groups-of-one follow a rule of their own, and may therefore considered part of analogy goes directly against the point made by Varro (and Sextus) that a minimum of two cases is required to have a similitudo or par to warrant analogy. Herodian does manage to get such cases on board. See above, n. 6 and 7.

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So the word κράζω, in common usage with everyone, stands out.

The word is σύνηθες, in common use not just with a large group, but even ‘with all’, and yet it is σημειῶδες, remarkable. This recalls the claims of Herodian’s father, Apollonius Dyscolus, that one needs his kind of grammar to pinpoint even problems that are not at all obvious, and not just in dealing with literature, but also in everyday language. Such problems are called ‘hidden’, (τὰ) λεληθότα, and Apollonius first identifies them as a (seeming) irregularity, only to then demonstrate how they can be brought back into the realm of the regular (ὁ ἀκόλουθος λόγος, καταλληλότης) by providing a logical explanation for the deviation:36 εἰς γὰρ τὸ τοιοῦτο τὰ τῆς συντάξεως ἀπεδείχθη, ἵνα καὶ τὰ λεληθότα τῶν ὑπερβατῶν, ὄντα καὶ κατὰ τὸ σύνηθες, ἔχηται τοῦ ἀκολούθου λόγου, καὶ μὴ μόνον τὰ παρὰ ποιηταῖς ὡς ἐξαίρετά τις ὑπολαμβάνοι.

A.D. Synt. III 77 For the syntax has been explained in order that hidden hyperbata, too, which also occur in everyday speech, conform to regularity, and so that one does not suppose that only poetic speech is exceptional.

As David Blank has shown, a concern with hidden phenomena is characteristic of the epistemological interests of the time, and one that we can now see is shared by Herodian.37 Herodian uses the criterion of frequent use to isolate his ‘groups of one’ from the kind of exceptional phenomena that he will not be interested in here. That is, frequency becomes a shared (regular) characteristic of lexical singularity, and ‘usage’ has a support function to ‘analogy’. But that does not exhaust Herodian’s possibilities to impose some form of regularity on these groups of one. He has two other strategies, the first a very specific ‘rhetoric of the singularity’; the other, subsumed within it, is to offer rational explanations for the observed divergence.

7. The Rhetoric of the Singularity Lexical singularity is not the same as hopeless deviation. As we have seen, this treatise limits itself to a specific group of words that are in frequent use, and are therefore regarded, not as odd hapax legomena, but as groups of one. The ‘rhetoric of singularity’ brought to bear by 36 Cf. A.D. Synt. I 60: without knowledge of the ‘system’, one will be incapable of correcting any mistakes. 37 Blank 1982,11ff.; Sluiter 1990, 54–6.

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Herodian fits this conception of these words: their description is itself framed in terms of κανόνες. At the end of the introduction Herodian announces (910.23): ἀρκτέον δὲ τῶν κανόνων ἐντεῦθεν, ‘now we must begin with the rules’, and indeed, every observation about these lexical singularities is phrased as a rule.38 Normally, when Herodian gives rules, they are formulated in the form ‘all words conforming to specifics x, y, z, will behave in P way’, for example, (πάντα) τὰ x ὀξύνεται / πᾶν ὄνομα x ὀξύνεται/ ὅσα x ὀξύνεται: ‘all words x/every noun x/all words-that-x have an acute accent’. If there are exceptions to these general rules, they are added as such to the rule itself by means of, for example, χωρίς or πλήν or similar expressions. A slightly longer example from Περὶ κλίσεως ὀνομάτων may illustrate this:39 Τὰ εἰς ωρ οὐδέτερα διὰ τοῦ ρος κλίνεται καὶ φυλάττει τὸ ω κατὰ τὴν γενικὴν οἷον τέκμωρ τέκμωρος (τὸ σημεῖον) ... (34) πλὴν τοῦ ὕδωρ ὕδατος, τοῦτο γὰρ διὰ τοῦ τος ἐκλίθη καί ἐστιν ἑτερόκλιτον ...(39) ἐγένετο δὲ ἑτερόκλιτον τὸ ὕδωρ ὕδατος διὰ τοιαύτην αἰτίαν· κανὼν ἔστιν ὁ λέγων, ὅτι πᾶν οὐδέτερον ὑπὲρ μίαν συλλαβὴν ἀπαθὲς βραχυκατάληκτον θέλει εἶναι, χωρὶς τῶν παρὰ τὸ πούς καὶ τῆς εις ωρ καταλήξεως ... (771.11) πρόσκειται ‘χωρὶς τῶν παρὰ τὸ πούς’ διὰ τὸ δίπουν καἰ τρίπουν· ταῦτα γὰρ μακροκαταληκτεῖ. πρόσκειται τὸ ‘χωρὶς τῆς εἰς ωρ καταλήξεως’ διὰ τὸ τέκμωρ ... καὶ ὕδωρ, ταῦτα γὰρ μακροκαταληκτεῖ. ἐπειδὴ οὖν παράλογός ἐστιν αὕτη ἡ κατάληξις, φημὶ δὴ ἡ εἰς ωρ διὰ τὴν μακροκαταληξίαν, τούτου χάριν τὸ ὕδωρ οὐκ ἐκλίθη, ἀλλ’ ἐγένετο ἡ κλίσις αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ τῆς εἰς ας καταλήξεως, ὥσπερ γὰρ κρέας κρέατος, ... οὕτω καὶ ὕδωρ ὕδατος.

Hdn. 770.29–771.25 The neuter words in –ôr are inflected in –ros and they preserve the omega in the genitive, e.g. tekmôr, tekmôros (‘sign’) ... (34) except for hudôr, hudatos [water], for that is inflected through –tos, and it is heteroclitic ... (39) Hudôr, hudatos became heteroclitic for the following reason. There is a rule that says that every neuter word of more than one syllable that has not undergone change usually has a short vowel in the last syllable, except for the words deriving from pous [foot] and the words ending in –ôr ... (771.11) ‘Except for the words deriving from pous’ was added because of dipous and tripous: for those words end in a syllable with a long vowel [diphthong]. ‘except for the words ending in –ôr’ was added on account of tekmôr and hudôr, for those words end in a syllable with a long vowel. So because that ending is irregular, I mean the ending in –ôr (because it is long), therefore 38 The term recurs, e.g. 934.27; 937.2. 39 Obviously, there is always the problem of the transmission of Herodian’s work: the following quotation comes from Choerob. 382.36ff., but the doctrine is reasonably attributed to Herodian.

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hudôr is not inflected, but its flexion works from the ending in –as. For just as kreas kreatos, ... so hudôr hudatos.

Rules are supposed to cover everything, the exceptions are noted as such. However, in περὶ μονήρους λέξεως, this rhetoric is inverted: the rule is about the singularity. An example will illustrate this: Παίζω· οὐδὲν εἰς ζω λῆγον ῥῆμα ἔχει πρὸ τέλους τὴν αι δίφθογγον ἐκφωνουμένην, ἀλλὰ μόνον τὸ παίζω.

Hdn. 929.6f. Paizô (‘to play’): no verb ending in –zô has the diphthong –ai fully pronounced in the penultimate syllable, but only paizô does.

Rather than stating that ‘all’ words behave in a certain way, Herodian rules that no word with x characteristics behaves in P way, but only [the example under discussion]: οὐδέν/ἀλλὰ μόνον.40 The ‘exception’ is the focus of the message and it is integrated into the formulation of the rule in a positive way. Thus we end up with a rule to which only one and no other instance will conform: a group of one. The singularity is therefore regarded, not so much as the exception to a rule, but rather as following a rule that no other word follows. This is the subtext of the term μονήρης, picked up by the frequent occurrence of μόνον in the rules. Herodian sticks with this model of singularity in large parts of his treatise, but the habit of thinking in terms of wide-ranging rules with exceptions does show through at times,41 as in the following example: Ὄνομα· οὐδὲν εἰς μα λῆγον οὐδέτερον ἁπλοῦν ἐν τοῖς πρὸ τέλους δύο συλλαβαῖς δισσὸν ἔχει ο, ὡς δῆλον ἐκ τῶν τοιούτων· [examples] ... καὶ ἄλλο μυρίον πλῆθος τοιούτων ὀνομάτων ἀδιάπτωτον ποιεῖ τὸν κανόνα. δῆλον ὡς τὸ ὄνομα μονῆρές ἐστι.42

Hdn. 935.14–19 Onoma (name): no uncompounded neuter word in –ma has two omikrons in the two syllables before the last one, as is clear from the following examples ... and a vast other mass of such words makes the rule infallible. Clearly onoma is unique.

The rule is here formulated in terms of the rhetoric of the singularity: NO words behave in x fashion. But instead of continuing with ‘but ONLY’ the singularity in question, Herodian interjects that this rule 40 Many instances throughout the work, cf. e.g. 920.4–6; 920, 15–16, 928. μόνως, e.g. 920.6. 41 Cf. also the discussion of terminology in n. 5. 42 Cf. e.g. 943.1f. καὶ ἄλλο πλῆθος τῶν τοιούτων ὀνομάτων ἀδιάπτωτον, ἀλλὰ μόνον τὸ λουτρόν ὀξύνεται.

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works without fail. Ἀδιάπτωτον ‘infallible, unerring’ vaguely suggests that ὄνομα makes the rule fail, rather than that it completes the rule and constitutes its own group.43 Nevertheless the conclusion is phrased in terms of being μονῆρες, singular or unique, rather than in terms of an exception. Another example of traces of the model of rule-and-exception, rather than singularity-as-rule-to-itself is the way in which Herodian explains the existence of the phenomenon: he tries to provide a rational explanation for the seeming deviance, just like he offered explanations for exceptions such as ὕδωρ in his discussion of nouns ending in –ωρ. The explanation is usually couched in terms of pathology, which explains why at the surface level ὁμοιότης has been disturbed, while in fact it originally was there.44 In this respect, Herodian again resembles his father. So, for instance, on the entry ἐκεῖθεν:45 Ἐκεῖθεν· οὐδὲν εἰς θεν λῆγον ἐπίρρημα τοπικὸν τῇ ει διφθόγγῳ παραλήγεται, ἀλλὰ μόνον τὸ ἐκεῖθεν. αἴτιον δὲ τὸ πάθος.

Hdn. 933.13f. Ekeithen ‘from there’: No adverb of place ending in –then has the diphthong –ei- in the penultimate syllable, but only ekeithen. The cause of this is pathos [being affected by change].

Deviance (‘exceptions’) and singularity can very easily be seen as a negative and positive way to describe the same phenomenon, and this may also explain why Herodian’s rhetoric is not completely consistent within Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως. On the other hand, the concept of ‘lexical singularity’ (μονήρης λέξις) also offers the grammarian the opportunity of formulating positive knowledge about language in different, but equally positive ways. Two examples will illustrate the difference: As we saw above, τέκμωρ is an example of a universal canon about words ending in –ωρ, but we also find it in περὶ μονήρους λέξεως. In this case the phrasing combines the rhetoric of the singularity (‘no word x behaves in P way [but only]’) with that of the exception (x is σημειῶδες, and this state of affairs can be explained by pathos): 43 Note, incidentally, that this example has the same terminological opposition of πλῆθος and μόνον/μονῆρες that opened the treatise (λέξεις πλήθουσαι / μονήρεις). 44 Siebenborn 1976, 108 rightly points out that providing an explanation in terms of pathology takes the edge off the unique status. Cf. Blank 1982, 41–9. 45 Cf. e.g. 921.11; 939,12; 18; 31; 940.9; cf. αἴτιος δὲ ὁ πλεονασμός, 943.12. On the other hand, sometimes a seeming parallel for a μονήρης term does not count, because it has undergone πάθος, see 922.22. On Herodian’s pathology, see Nifadopoulos 2003 and 2005.

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Τέκμωρ· οὐδὲν εἰς –ωρ λῆγον οὐδέτερον ὑπὲρ μίαν συλλαβὴν ἔχει συμπλοκὴν δύο συμφώνων πρὸ τοῦ ω ... σημειῶδες οὖν τὸ τέκμωρ ... τοῦ δὲ σημειοῦσθαι τὸ τέκμωρ αἴτιον ὁ πλεονασμὸς τοῦ μ.

Hdn. 938.1ff. Tekmôr: no neuter word of more than one syllable ending in –ôr has a combination of two consonants before the omega ... Tekmôr then is noteworthy ... the cause of the noteworthiness of tekmôr is the pleonasm of the mu.

Note that this canon of exceptionality deals with another feature of tekmôr than the canon of regularity quoted above. An example of two positive assertions concerns the word πῦρ, cited early on in 910.9f. to illustrate the kind of very common, yet unique words that Herodian is interested in in this treatise. In Herodian’s Καθολικὴ προσῳδία we find the word as an example of a universal rule: Πᾶν ὄνομα μονοσύλλαβον οὐδέτερον μακροκατάληκτον ... περισπᾶται ... πῦρ.

Hdn., G.G. III.1, 394.18–24 Every monosyllabic neuter word ending in a long last syllable gets the circumflex accent ... pur ‘fire’.

In Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως, the word has its own entry and is the subject of an equally positive statement: Πῦρ· οὐδὲν εἰς υρ λῆγον οὐδέτερον μονοσύλλαβον, ἀλλὰ μόνον τὸ πῦρ.

Hdn. 919.12f. Pur: no neuter word ending in –ur is monosyllabic, only pur.

Clearly, there is no conflict between pur as part of the regular system of the rules for accentuation, and its status as a μονῆρες word. In both cases, the word is ‘under control’.

8. The Triumph of Analogy The new insight that is offered by the theoretical and more florid passages of Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως is first and last Herodian’s selfpresentation. He sees the grammarian as the embodiment of the principle of analogy. In addition, Herodian presents his own version of a sophisticated discourse on the nature of language and the criteria operative in the linguistic domain. In particular, his particular way of introducing and framing the notion of lexical singularity entails that the field of action of analogy itself is expanded dramatically against that of other criteria of linguistic correctness. The main points may be summed up as follows:

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(a) The grammarian completely identifies with analogy and becomes its embodiment. (b) Analogy keeps as many cases as possible in her net by being creative with ὁμοιότης: if the obvious category does not work, another one will, as the case of δαιδάλεος demonstrates. This brings more apparently exceptional words within the range of the normal and the regular, of words that share a paradigm and thus form groups (πλήθουσαι λέξεις). (c) Analogy works with what nature gives her; she will count as an ‘ὁμοιότης-of-one’ those words that do not come in flexion groups, but which are amply attested in common usage and the literary tradition. The criterion of (frequent) usage becomes subservient to analogy in that it helps establish the validity and legitimacy of words that form a regular ‘group of one’: the μονήρεις λέξεις, exponents of lexical singularity. (d) These words that have fled the πλῆθος can be caught by the grammarian and he can formulate κανόνες about them. (e) But, as Herodian’s alternative formulations make clear, there is also an underlying idea that some words are ‘just’ deviant, and even wrong. They defeat rules that are otherwise ‘without fail’ (adiaptôton). As is the case with the groups-of-one, such phenomena can often be explained through pathology. (f) The new balance between analogy and usage, and the epistemological status of grammar is not razor-sharp and it cannot be. While analogy catches language in her net with the help of her τέχνη of allencompassing rules, the grammarian, although theoretically fully identifying with her, must rely on empirical criteria also—and this shows through in Herodian’s tell-tale (almost) final words, in which a whole discourse about the empirical status of grammar resonates (952.8): Τοσαῦτα περὶ μονήρων λέξεων ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πλεῖστον ‘This is what I have to say about unique words as far as possible’.46 Most importantly, however, περὶ μονήρους λέξεως shows us a different picture of Herodian, the picture of a confident intellectual with a good pen, who sees his own activities as being on a par with that of Analogy herself. 46 ὡς ἐπὶ τὀ πλεῖστον was part of the definition of grammar as an empirical science by Dionysius of Thrax, according to Sextus Empiricus (M 1.57; 1.250); the Tekhnê itself uses ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολύ. It is not clear whether those expressions are synonymous (as some scholiasts have it, e.g. Sch. D.T. 301.16; 21) or whether the first should convey the ambition of exhaustivity. I tend to the former view. Cf. Lallot 1998, 69ff. for a good discussion of the epistemological status of grammar. See also Blank 1994, 155ff. on the issue of completeness claims.

IV. Ancient Grammar in Historical Context

New Papyri and the History of Ancient Grammar: The ἐπίρρημα Chapter in P.Berol. 9917 Alfons Wouters – Pierre Swiggers 1. Introduction The historiography of ancient linguistics has, since its beginnings in the 19th century, witnessed a tremendous increase of its documentary base. The most important enrichment has come from the papyrus texts with grammatical content which constitute a precious addition to the corpus of our source materials. At the same time, the enrichment of our documentation has forced us to abandon the former, simplified (‘static’/‘non-dynamic’) view of ‘grammar in Antiquity’, a field that now appears to be much more diversified and much more complex than it seemed to be a century ago. One can even say, without exaggeration, that the newly added documentation forces us to raise again basic questions to which no simple answer can be given, such as (a) what can be called a ‘grammatical text’ in Antiquity? (b) how should we approach the problem of the ‘authorship’ of ancient grammatical texts ? (c) how were grammatical texts used in the classroom, or, put in more general terms, how was grammar taught in ‘real life’ conditions ? Our purpose is, obviously, not to try to answer each of these questions. In fact, this contribution will be relevant mainly with respect to the last question, and it will provide elements for an answer to that question. More precisely, we will be discussing (part of) the contents of an interesting (still unpublished) grammatical papyrus, one which belongs to the genre of the τέχνη, a genre most notoriously illustrated by the Technê Grammatikê ascribed to Dionysius Thrax and a genre for which the Egyptian soil has transmitted about a dozen specimens.

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P. Berol. 9917, p.12

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2. A Case-study: P.Berol. 9917 The importance of (grammatical and other) papyrus texts lies in the fact that they are primary documents, and that they directly reflect, without interposition or transformation, the practice of teachers and students in Hellenistic Egypt; the genre of the τέχνη-papyrus corresponds to the function of a teacher’s handbook, synopsis, or check-list (aide-mémoire), written down either by the teacher himself, or by students who copied a model or wrote under dictation. The papyrus text that we will discuss here, the P.Berol. 9917, is a ‘professional’, rather large notebook, with page numbers, in a trained handwriting, and with corrections, apparently by the first hand. On the basis of palaeographical and codicological criteria (the measurements of the codex), it should be dated to around 300 A.D. (as usual in papyrology with a margin of 50 years before and after). The only double leaf that has survived contains 27 lines on the σύνδεσμος (page 23 [κγ]), 33 (page 11 [ια]), and 24 (page 25 [κδ]) lines on the ἀντωνυμία, and 32 lines (page 12 [ιβ]) on the ἐπίρρημα. In earlier papers (Wouters 1997; Wouters - Swiggers 2007) we have paid attention to the material characteristics of the papyrus and to the contents of the σύνδεσμος and the ἀντωνυμία chapters. To have kept the ἐπίρρημα chapter for later turned out to be a wise decision. Since recently we have the excellent discussion of Greek theories on the adverb by Stephanos Matthaios 2007; this thorough survey has been most helpful for our comments. We hope to show that our papyrus text provides new insights not only concerning the treatment of the adverb by the ancient grammarians, but also about the genre of the grammatical manual in Antiquity.

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3. The Adverb in the P.Berol. 9917 Transcript: 1. ἐπίρημά ἐστιν λέξις ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ 2. πλεῖστον κατὰ μίαν ἐκφορὰν 3. λεγομένη, προτακτικὴ ἢ ὑπο4. τακτικὴ ῥημάτων ἀσυνθέτως, 5. ἐν εἴδησι ...... ενη. ἐπίρ6. ρημα δια ...... α τὸ χωρὶς 7. ῥήματος μὴ [σ]υμτίδεσθαι τὸν 8. λόγον ἐκ μόνων ἐπιρρημάτων, 9. οἷον καλῶς γράφω, ἐκεῖ κεῖται, 10. ταχέως ἦλθον. εἴδη [δὲ] τῶν ἐπιρ11. μάτων μ¶δ.¶ τάδε (I) 12. ποιότης: (1) 13. μεσότης (2) 14. τόπος (3) 15. χρόνος (4) 16. παραβολή (5) 17. [ὁμ]οίωσις (6) 18. καὶ ἀντοπόδωσις 19. ἐπίτασις (7) 20. τάξις (8) 21. διαστολή (9) 22. σύλλημψις (10) 23. σύγκρεισεις (11) 24. ὑπέρθεσις (12) 25. [ἀν]αφ[ορ]ά

(II) 30. ἐπικέλευσις: (18) 31. στέρησις: (19) 32. ποσότης: (20) 33. ὡρισμένη: 34. ποσότης (21) 35. ἀορίστου: 36. τόπος: (22) 37. καὶ χρόνος: 38. ἄρνησις: (23) 39. ἢ ἀ〚 〛όφασις 40. συνκατάθεσις (24) 41. ἀπ[ώ]μοσις: (25) 42. κατώμοσις: (26) 43. κοινὸν ἀπω-

(III) 48. μόσεως (27) 49. καὶ κατω50. μόσεως 51. παρακέλευσις (28) 52. ἀπαγόρευσις (29) 53. δισταγμὸς (30) 54. ἢ εἰκασμός 55. εὐχή (31) ̀ἐπί´ 56. ἀνάτασις ἢ (32) 57. ζευξις 58. σχετλισ(33) 59. μό[ς] 60. θαυμ[ασ-] (34) 61. μός

New Papyri and the History of Ancient Grammar

(13) 26. [..?].ρισ[.]ς (14) 27. [ ] ερε (15) ] .ις 28. [ (16) 29. [ἀ]ν[α]π[λ]ήρωσις (17)

(27)

44. μετάβασις ἐπί-

(42) 45. βασις

46. επι..αρρης (43) 47. προσφώνησις (44)

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62. ἐρώτη[σις]

(35) 63. πηικο(?)[ ] (36) 64. χωρι[σμός] (37) 65. βαιβαίω[σις] (38) 66. σέβασ[ις?] (39) 67. δεῖξ[ις] (40) ] 68. παρα. [ (41)

5 l. ἐν εἴδεσι θεωρουμένη? 7 [σ]υμτίδεσθαι : l. συντίθεσθαι 22 σύλλημψις: l. σύλληψις 18 ἀντοπόδωσις: l. ἀνταπόδοσις 35 ἀορίστου : l. ἀόριστος 23 συγκρείσεις: l. σύγκρισις 65 βαιβαίω[σις]: l. βεβαίω[σις]

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3.1. First a few words are in order concerning the history of the adverb as a part of speech.1 The system of eight parts of speech which became canonical from the end of the pre-Christian era, was the result of a cumulative process, starting with Plato and leading, through Aristotle and the Stoics, to the eight parts-of-speech system of the Alexandrian philologists. The ‘adverb’ received its autonomous status in the first half of the second century BC. In his scholia on Homer Aristarchus called this part of speech μεσότης (‘middle/mean part’; ‘Mittelding’ in Matthaios’ German translation). The term seems to have referred either to the fact that the adverb was ‘in the middle’ between the noun and the verb, or that it was ‘in the middle’ between the fully significant parts, such as the noun and the verb, and the parts of speech without lexical meaning, such as the preposition and the conjunction.2 It was added around 150 BC by the Stoic Antipater of Tarsus to the five parts until then accepted by the Stoics, viz. proper name, appellation, verb, conjunction and ‘article’. The term ἐπίρρημα seems to have been introduced by the Alexandrian grammarian Trypho in the first century BC. It is found in the Technê Grammatikê ascribed to Dionysius Thrax, but the definition of the manual3, in its transmitted formulation and structure, might be of a later date (than the grammarian).4 3.2. The chapter on the adverb in P.Berol. 9917 is structured as follows: (i) Definition of the adverb (ll. 1–5) (ii) (Etymological) account of the term ἐπίρρημα (ll. 5–10) (iii) Determination of the number of semantic classes (ll. 10–11), followed by (iv) The listing of these classes (ll. 12–68).

1 2 3

4

For a detailed history, see Matthaios 2007 (for the Greek tradition) and Wouters - Swiggers 2007 (for the Latin grammarians). The complex history of the term μεσότης has been traced recently in a very instructive way by Matthaios 2007, 21–24. D.T. 19, 72.4–73.2: Ἐπίρρημά ἐστι μέρος λόγου ἄκλιτον, κατὰ ῥήματος λεγόμενον ἢ ἐπιλεγόμενον ῥήματι. Τῶν δὲ ἐπιρρημάτων τὰ μὲν ἐστιν ἁπλᾶ, τὰ δὲ σύνθετα‧ ἁπλᾶ μὲν ὡς ‘πάλαι’, σύνθετα δὲ ὡς ‘πρόπαλαι’ (‘An adverb is an uninflected part of speech which is uttered with respect to the verb or is added to a verb. Some of the adverbs are simple, some compound; simple ones such as πάλαι [‘formerly’], compound ones, such as πρόπαλαι [‘a long time ago’]’). About similarities with the definition which Apollonius Dyscolus proposed in the 2nd cent. A.D., see Matthaios 2007, 38.

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3.3. The adverb is defined as follows: ‘An adverb is a word that mostly is used in one [external] form, (and) which is placed before or after verbs non-compositionally5, and which is classifiable into species. It is called (?) ‘ad-verb’ because of the fact that the sentence cannot consist of adverbs only, e.g. καλῶς γράφω (‘I write beautifully’), ἐκεῖ κεῖται (‘he/she/it is lying there’), ταχέως ἦλθον (‘they went away quickly’). The species of the adverbs are 44 in number. They are the following [...].” In order to compare this definition of the adverb with those found in other τέχνη-papyri and in the Technê ascribed to Dionysius Thrax, the following table6 will be useful:

5

6

Viz. not forming a compound word with the word before or after which it is placed; this specification helps to distinguish the adverb from the πρόθεσις (‘preposition/prefix’), which forms a construct (in modern terminology, a syntagm) or a compound with its complement. The definitions in the first four papyri have recently been studied in great detail by Matthaios 2007, 29–35.

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Alfons Wouters – Pierre Swiggers P.Yale 1.257 P.Heid.Siegmann 1978 P.Berol. 9917 X X X X X X X X X X

Word(class) Uninflected Single form Position Figure Non-composition Construction/Function Semantic species Etymology: non-propositional?

P.Harr. 599 Technê11 X X X X X X

P.Lond.Lit. 18210 X

X X X

X X12 X

X

X

X

X

X X X

13

X

7 Cf. Wouters 1979, no. 1 (1st cent. AD), ll. 37–53: ἐπίρημα δ’ ἐστὶν λέξι{ι}ς κατὰ / μίαν ἐκφορὰν δ[η]λουμένη προτα-/κτικὴ ἢ ὑποτακτικὴ ῥήματος ἀσυν-/[θ]έτως σημαίνουσα ποσότητα ἢ ποιότητα ἢ χρόνον ἢ [...]. (‘An adverb is a word without cases, that is placed before or after a verb, without being compounded with the latter, designating quantity or quality or time or [...]’). 8 Cf. Wouters 1979, no. 6 (ca. 50–100 AD), ll. 42–58: ἐπίρη[μα δ’ ἐστὶν λέξις προτα-]/κτικὴ ἢ ὑποτακτικὴ παντὸς ῥή-]/ματος [ἀκλίτως σημαίνουσα ποσό-]/τη[τα] ἢ [ποιότητα καὶ μεσότητα] ἢ [...]. (‘An adverb is a word that can be placed before or after each verb and that signifies, without being declinable, quantity or quality and mediety together, or [...]’). 9 Cf. Wouters 1979, no. 11 (end 2nd cent. AD), ll. 31–56: [ἐπίρρημα δέ ἐστὶν λέξις π]ρο-/[τακτικὴ ἢ ὑποτακτικ]ὴ παν-/[τὸς ῥήματος ἀκλίτως δ]ήλουσ[α]/[ποσότητα ἢ ποιότητα ἢ τ]όπον [...]. (‘An adverb is a word that can be placed before or after each verb and that indicates, without being declinable, quantity or quality and mediety together, or [...]’). 10 Cf. Wouters 1979, no. 2 (ca. 300 AD), ll. 80–105: ἐπίρρημα τί ἐστιν; λέξις καθ’ ἕνα / σχηματισμὸν ἐκφερομένη προτακτικὴ καὶ ὑποτακτικὴ / ῥήματος ἀσυνθέτως, ἐν εἴδεσι θεωρουμένη. τῶν δὲ ἐπιρ-/ρημάτων ἃ μέν ἐστιν μεσότητος καὶ ποιότητος δηλωτικά, / οἷον καλῶς [...]. (‘What is an adverb? A word used only in one form, that is placed before or after a verb, not compounded with the latter, and of which many kinds can be distinguished. Of the adverbs some indicate mediety and quality, such as καλῶς (‘well’) [...]’). 11 See supra, n. 3. 12 The expression κατὰ ῥήματος λεγόμενον in the Technê definition points to the syntactic function of the adverb, while the lemma ἐπιλεγόμενον ῥήματι appears to be an etymological note on the term ἐπίρρημα. Cf. Lallot 1998, 222 and Matthaios 2007, 38. 13 In the final sentence (ll. 102–10) of the ἐπίρρημα chapter the grammarian, at the moment of providing an etymological explanation for the term, stresses the syntactic link between the adverb and the verb: Ἐπίρρημα δὲ εἴρηται διὰ τὸ καθ’ ἑαυτὸ μὲν λεγόμενον / μὴ ἀποτελεῖν διάνοιαν ἐγγράμματον, προστασ-/σομέν δὲ ῥήματος [[ ..]], ζευγνύμενον ῥήμα-/τι κατὰ τὸ πλεῖστον. In Wouters 1979, 85 the (damaged) text passage was tentatively translated: ‘The adverb is so called, because, pronounced alone, it does not constitute a ‘written meaning’(?), but when a verb is added, it is mostly combined (semantically?) with the verb’. We now prefer the translation given by Matthaios 2007, 37: ‘Es wird deswegen Adverb genannt, weil es, wenn allein gesagt wird, keine Bedeutung hat, [es bekommt aber eine], wenn ein Verb hinzugefügt wird, da es meist mit einem Verb kombiniert wird’.

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What does this comparison show? First, we see that, just as there is a model for the overall treatment of the parts of speech (listed in a fixed sequence14), there is also a general frame, at the level of the microstructure, for the treatment of a single part of speech, in the present case the adverb. However, we see that the frame was used (or was elaborated) in a flexible way, with some characteristics being added or omitted, or approached in a different way (e.g. ‘uninflected’ and ‘appearing in a single form’)15. We can also note some variability or flexibility in the wording of the manuals16, next to the presence of more stereotyped phrasings. Three specific facts must be pointed out with reference to our text: (1) The Berlin papyrus includes the term εἴδη (l. 5)17 in the definition of the adverb, thus making it an ‘accident’ (although no mention is made of the meta-term παρεπόμενον); this is only paralleled by (the contemporary) P.Lond.Lit. 182, ll. 82–8318. (2) Puzzling is the presence of the limiting phrase ἐπὶ τὸ πλεῖστον (‘mostly’), which apparently must be understood in relation to the feature κατὰ μίαν ἐκφορὰν λεγομένη (ll. 2–3). The (morphological) in14 On variation in the order, see Wouters 1979, 42 and 52. 15 Brocquet 2005, 129 stresses that ἄκλιτος and καθ’ ἕνα σχηματισμὸν ἐκφερόμενον / λεγόμενον are not completely synonymous: ‘Il faut noter que l’expression kath’ héna skhêmatismòn, littéralement “sous une forme unique”, diffère de áklitos en ce qu’elle qualifie non pas un mot qui ignore la flexion, mais un emploi non flexionnel de ce mot: l’adjectif adverbialisé, à l’accusatif neutre, demeure un casuel, mais un casuel devenu invariable dans son emploi adverbial’. 16 Some parts of the texts have disappeared in the lacunae of the papyri and consequently had to be reconstructed by the (modern) editor. It is clear that these supplied passages are only approximative. In P.Heid.Siegmann 197, l. 44, for example, also [ἀσυνθέτως δηλοῦσα ποσό-]τητα κτλ. would fill the lacuna. In that case the characteristic of inflexibility would have been omitted by the grammarian who wrote this τέχνη. 17 In the adverb chapter of the Technê Grammatikê, the term εἴδη is used for a subspecification of a class, viz. the class of adverbs of time (D.T. 19, 73.2–74.2): Τὰ δὲ χρόνου δηλωτικά, οἷον νῦν τότε αὖθις. τούτοις δὲ ὡς εἴδη ὑποτακτέον τὰ καιροῦ προστακτικά, οἷον σήμερον, αὔριον, τόφρα, τέως, πηνίκα. (‘The adverbs that indicate time, such as νῦν [‘now’], τότε [‘then’], αὖθις [‘again’]. Subspecies of these are adverbs which convey the idea of a specific occasion, such as σήμερον (‘today’), αὔριον [‘tomorrow’], τόφρα [‘up to that time’], τέως [‘up to this time’], πηνίκα [‘at what time?’]’). 18 Cfr. supra, n. 10. In Wouters 1979, 71 we conjectured an omission by the writer of the papyrus, viz. ἐν εἴδεσι θεωρουμένη. In view of P.Berol. 9917, l. 5 (ἐν εἴδησι [l. εἴδεσι]) this hypothesis should now be discarded.

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variability of the adverb had already been used as an argument in the status determination of certain words by the Alexandrian philologists19 of the 3rd–2nd century BC, and there can be no question of doubts that could have been raised by the author of P.Berol. 9917 concerning the ‘undeclinable’ nature of the adverb. The restriction mentioned here must rather refer to occasional variation of adverbial forms, and one can think of various possibilities: (a) the existence of morphological variants for some adverbs at least, such as ταχύ and ταχέως, to which perhaps also Apollonius Dyscolus (Adv. 120.4–14)20 alludes. (b) the existence of phonically conditioned variants (e.g. for the negation: οὐ, οὐκ, οὐχ, or οὔ and οὐχί21); (c) the existence, at least for some classes of adverbs,22 of degrees of comparison. (3) As to the etymological account of the term ἐπίρρημα, here again our papyrus offers an interesting element which is only paralleled by P.Lond.Lit. 182, ll. 102–10523; however, the London papyrus presents the etymological explanation as a kind of after-thought following the 19 As it appears from fr.136 in Matthaios 1999, Aristarchus and his disciples stood in opposition to e.g. the philologists who considered ἄνεῳ in Od. 24.93 (ἡ δ’ ἄνεῳ δὴν ἧστο ‘but she sat in silence’) a noun. They reacted with three arguments to the contrary: (a) the word is used only in one form (καθ’ ἕνα σχηματισμὸν ἐκφέρεσθαι); (b) it can be used both in a singular and in a plural ἑνικῆς σχέσεως καὶ πληθυντικῆς syntactic relationship (ἐπὶ παραλαμβάνεσθαι), and (c) it does not contain any gender indication (γένους μὴ εἶναι διακριτικόν). So for Aristarchus ἄνεῳ is not a noun, but an adverb. 20 See A.D. Adv. 120.9–14: ἡνίκα μέντοι οὐ κατηγορεῖ ὀνόματος, τοῦ δὲ συντασσομένου ῥήματος, ὡς ἐν τῷ ‘ταχὺ περιπατεῖ μειράκιον’ (ἴσον γάρ ἐστι τῷ ‘ταχέως περιπατεῖ τὸ μειράκιον’), καὶ καθ’ ἕνα σχηματισμὸν ἐκφέρεται, ‘ταχὺ περιπατοῦντος τοῦ μειρακίου’, ‘ταχὺ περιπατοῦντι τῷ μειρακίῳ (‘But when [the word] does not predicate a noun, but the verb with which it forms a syntactic construction, such as e.g. in ταχὺ περιπατεῖ μειράκιον [‘the boy walks around quickly’], it is called an adverb (for it is synonymous with ταχέως περιπατεῖ τὸ μειράκιον) and then it is used in one form only (and one says) [in the genitive absolute]) ταχὺ περιπατοῦντος τοῦ μειρακίου [‘while the boy is walking around quickly’] and [in the dative] ταχὺ περιπατοῦντι τῷ μειρακίῳ [‘to the boy while he is walking around quickly’]’). 21 The Technê (D.T. 19, 78.1) mentions for the adverbs of negation: οὔ and οὐχί (besides οὐδῆτα and οὐδαμῶς). 22 Especially for the local adverbs (e.g. ἐγγύς [‘near’], ἐγγυτέρω [‘nearer’], ἐγγυτάτω [‘nearest’]; ἄνω [‘up’], ἀνωτέρω [‘upper’], ἀνωτάτω [‘upmost’]); cf. A.D. Adv. 168.10–21. 23 See supra, n. 10.

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semantic categories, whereas our papyrus presents the etymology (or pseudo-etymology) of the Greek meta-term for the adverb before discussing the semantic classes. 3.4. We now come to the most extensive portion of the treatment of the adverb. In ll. 10–11, our grammarian categorically fixes the number of semantic εἴδη: he posits 44 (μδ) of these. Two facts are striking: (a) the grammarian explicitly mentions the number of classes at the outset; (b) the number of 44 classes largely exceeds the number we find in the other grammatical papyri:24 12 in P.Yale 1.25; 11 in P.Heid.Siegmann 197; 14 in P.Lond.Lit. 182; (the list of P.Harr. 59 has not been completely preserved). In Matthaios 1999, 533–548, we see that the founding-father of Homeric philology distinguished at least 7 classes, and we find 26 classes in the Technê (cf. D.T. 19, 73.3–86.1). One will also note that the classes are listed in the nominative form of the semantic eidos in question, not in the genitive—as in the Technê25—, nor—as in the other τέχνη- papyri26—in the accusative governed by a participle form such as σημαίνουσα / δηλοῦσα, e.g. ποσότητα ἢ ποιότητα ἢ .... (‘a word signifying/indicating e.g. quantity or quality, or ...’). Here we also want to draw attention—as a brief digression—to a material aspect of the papyrus which illustrates well the character of ‘primary’ source which we referred to earlier. The grammarian first wrote the full column I, then he wrote column II, but after line 43 (κοινον απω-) he started a third column (beginning with μοσεως on l. 48). Then he probably noticed that he could finish the text of the adverb chapter—or at least his inventory of the species—on this page of his notebook, if only he managed to add some of these classes to column II. And, as a matter of fact, he added four lines (here numbered as 44–47, containing classes 42, 43 and 44, in our interpretation27) to this second column. Since our papyrus has been damaged, we do not have all the names of the 44 classes. More specifically, we do not know what was originally written in lines 26, 27, 28, 46 and in line 68. In line 63 we can think of εὐκολία (‘adverbs of contentedness’?) and in line 66 of σέβασις (‘adverbs of reverence’?), although we found no parallels for such species in other sources.

24 25 26 27

Matthaios 2007, 39–52 offers a detailed comment on these lists. E.g. τὰ δὲ χρόνου δηλωτικά (see supra, n. 17). See supra, n. 7–10. In our transcript (see p. 316–317) we have put the number of the class between parentheses under the Greek terms.

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On l. 44 (and 45) it is not clear whether ἐπίβασις (‘of approach / attack’?) is just an alternative term for μετάβασις (‘of positional change’?) or a different category. We tend to consider it a synonym (of μετάβασις) because there is no disjunction (with ἤ), nor a mention of κοινόν (‘common to’; cf. ll. 43 + 48–50), and also because (at least part of) the word has been written on the same line. The inventory of the grammarian would deserve a detailed comment, from at least three points of view: (1) the possibility or, perhaps, impossibility of discovering a principle of ordering. Although we were not able to discover an overall ‘logical’ organization, one could indicate some semantically related classes: τόπος and χρόνος (3 and 4); παραβολή and ὁμοίωσις καὶ ἀνταπόδοσις (5 and 6); and classes related by their formal designation: ἀπώμοσις (25), κατώμοσις (26) and the κοινὸν ἀπωμόσεως καὶ κατωμόσεως (27). (2) a careful comparison with the listings of classes in the already known τέχνη-papyri, in the Technê of Dionysius Thrax, in Apollonius’ Dyscolus treatise De adverbio, and in the Latin artes grammaticae (where these εἴδη are called significationes28); (3) the content to be assigned to (and, as a consequence, the translation to be given of) each of the classes. All this needs to be done in the final edition of the papyrus. Here we will limit ourselves to some general observations and to a few more detailed comments. Let us first note that the grammarian uses at least four formal types of labels (or definiens, although the definienda, i.e. the linguistic forms, are not given): (1) A single label term—by far his most frequently used procedure— such as ποιότης (l. 12), ‘quality’, or ποσότης ὡρισμένη (ll. 32–33), ‘definite quantity’ (2) A label constituted by two terms in disjunctive relation (e.g. ll. 53– 54 δισταγμὸς ἢ εἰκασμός, ‘doubt or surprise’/ ‘doubt or guess’; ll. 56–57 ἀνάτασις ἢ ἐπίζευξιs, ‘intensity or joining’?) (3) A label constituted by two terms in conjunction (ll. 17–18: ὁμοίωσις καὶ ἀνταπόδοσις, ‘similarity and reciprocity’; ll. 36–37: τόπος καὶ χρόνος, ‘place and time’). (4) A label constituted by the intersection of the contents of two terms (ll. 43 + 48–49: κοινὸν ἀπωμόσεως καὶ κατωμόσεως, ‘common to denial under oath and assertion under oath’).

28 See Wouters—Swiggers 2007, 97–105.

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As said, a full comparison of the classes of adverbs in this new papyrus with the already existing lists must be reserved for later. We will limit ourselves to a few observations concerning the following comparative table: P.Berol. 9917

Technê

P.Yale 1.25

(1) ποιότης (2) μεσότης (3) τόπος (4) χρόνος (5) παραβολή

ποιότης μεσότης τοπικά χρόνος (joins 5 and 6) [Ø ἀνταπόδοσις]

ποιότης

P. Heid. Siegmann 197 (joins 1 and 2)

τόπος χρόνος παραβολή

τόπος χρόνος παραβολή

(6) ὁμοίωσις καὶ ἀνταπόδοσις (7) ἐπίτασις (8) τάξις (9) διαστολή (10) σύλληψις (11) σύγκρισις (12) ὑπέρθεσις (13) ἀναφορά (?) (14) ? (15) ? (16) ? (17) ἀναπλήρωσις (?) (18) ἐπικέλευσις (19) στέρησις (20) ποσότης ὡρισμένη (21) ποσότης ἀόριστος (22) τόπος καὶ χρόνος (23) ἄρνησις ἢ ἀπόφασις (24) συγκατάθεσις (25) ἀπώμοσις (26) κατώμοσις (27) κοινὸν ἀπωμόσεως καὶ κατωμόσεως (28) παρακέλευσις (29) ἀπαγόρευσις (30) δισταγμὸς ἢ εἰκασμός (31) εὐχή

ἐπίτασις τάξις

P. Lond.Lit. 182 (joins 1 and 2) τοπικά χρόνος (joins 5 and 6) [Ø ἀνταπόδωσις]

τάξις

σύλληψις σύγκρισις

ἐπικέλευσις

ἐπικέλευσις

ἐπικελευστικά

ποσότης

ποσότης

ποσότης

ποσότης

ἄρνησις ἢ ἀπόφασις συγκατάθεσις

ἄρνησις [Ø]

ἄρνησις [Ø]

συγκατάθεσις

συγκατάθεσις

ἀπωμοτικά κατωμοτικά

συγκατάθεσις κατωμοτικά † κοινὸν τῆς ἀπωμόσεως τε καὶ ἀπαρνήσεως παρακέλευσις

παρακέλευσις ἀπαγόρευσις

ἀπαγόρευσις

ἀπαγόρευσις

ἀπαγόρευσις

[Ø] εἰκασμός

δισταγμός

δισταγμός

[Ø] εἰκασμός

εὐχή

εὐχή

εὐχή

εὐχή

326 (32) ἀνάτασις ἢ ἐπίζευξις (33) σχετλιασμός (34) θαυμασμός (35) ἐρώτησις (36) εὐκολία (?) (37) χωρισμός (38) βεβαίωσις (39) σέβασις (?) (40) δεῖξις (41) ? (42) μετάβασις/ ἐπίβασις (43) ? (44) προσφώνησις

Alfons Wouters – Pierre Swiggers

σχετλιαστικά θαυμαστικά ἐρώτησις

σχετλιασμοί † ἐρώτησις

ἐρώτησις

βεβαίωσις

ἄθροισις ἀριθμός θειασμός θετικά

- The correspondences do not take into account the difference between a substantival and an adjectival designation, nor the difference between a noun used in the genitive or used in the nominative (we follow Matthaios 2007 in listing the substantive nouns in their nominative form). - [Ø] indicates absence of a member in a designation that can occur as a disjunctive binominal. - † indicates subspecies or variant disposition of a class.

(1) In comparison with the second largest list, viz. that of Dionysius’s Technê, we lack here the ἐπιρρήματα ἀθροίσεως (of ‘aggregation’, such as ἄρδην [‘totally’], ἄμα [‘together’], ἤλιθα [‘exceedingly’]), the ἐπιρρήματα θετικά29 (‘adverbs introducing a debate’, i.e. the adiectiva verbalia on -τέον, such as γαμητέον, [“one should marry”]) and the ἐπιρρήματα θειασμοῦ (‘of religious ecstasy’, such as εὐοἵ, εὔἁν [ritual cries]). We also miss the ἐπιρρήματα ἀριθμοῦ (‘of number’), but, of course, one or the other of these classes might have been mentioned in the lacunae, or some rearrangement might have taken place, as we will see. (2) The most striking fact is, of course, that the papyrus has thrice the number of classes mentioned in other papyri, and also exceeds by 18 the number of classes in Dionysius’s Technê. Let us take a closer look at this ‘enlargement’.

29 On the reasons (viz. indeclinability and construction with a verb, i.e. a form of εἶναι) and the origin (viz. in rhetorics) of the term θετικά, see Sluiter 1992.

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We first note that our grammarian made use of ‘modifying strategies’ with respect to earlier lists. His principal strategies are those of splitting and merging (or ‘recombination’). Splitting (a) (1) + (2) ποιότης (‘quality’) next to μεσότης (‘mediety’): in P.Heid.Siegmann 197 and P.Lond.Lit. 182 we have a ‘conjunct’ class μεσότης καὶ ποιότης. P.Yale 1.25 has ποιότης, but does not mention μεσότης. (b) (5) + (6) παραβολή (‘comparison’) and ὁμοίωσις καὶ ἀνταπόδοσις (‘likeness and correlation’): P. Yale 1.25 and P. Heid. Siegmann 197 have παραβολή, but do not mention ὁμοίωσις καὶ ἀνταπόδοσις; in P.Lond.Lit. 182 and in the Technê (D.T. 19, 79.2–3) there is a class () labelled παραβολὴ ἢ ὁμοίωσις. (c) We also have an interesting case of splitting with ποσότης ὡρισμένη (20) (‘definite quantity’) and ποσότης ἀόριστος (21) (‘indefinite quantity’); in the other papyri we find a single class labelled ποσότης. The two classes in P.Berol. 9917 certainly constitute a split of an undifferentiated ποσότης-class; it may be that the class ποσότης ὡρισμένη corresponds to Dionysius’s class of ἐπιρρήματα ἀριθμοῦ (‘of number’). Merging (or recombination) The grammarian has constituted new classes, which are obtained by merging two separately counted classes; this holds for: (a) τόπος καὶ χρόνος (22) (compare the classes of τόπος [3] and of χρόνος [4]); (b) κοινὸν ἀπωμόσεως καὶ κατωμόσεως (27) (‘common to denial under oath and to assertion under oath’) (compare the classes of ἀπώμοσις and of κατώμοσις). At this stage we have to point to the possibility, or likeliness, of the impact exerted on our grammarian by a type of methodological reflection of which we find echoes in the scholia on the Technê of Dionysius Thrax. As a matter of fact, these scholia testify to the existence of proposals to combine some semantic categories under one label; see e.g. for τόπος καὶ χρόνος, Sch. D.T. 279.7–8: Γνωστέον δὲ ὅτι πολλάκις συνεμπτώσεις γίγνονται, καὶ σημαίνουσι τὰ τοιαῦτα ἐπιρρήματα καὶ τόπον ἔσθ ̓ ὅτε καὶ χρόνον (‘One should know that formal similarities occur regularly and that such adverbs [as ἔνθα, ‘there’ / ‘then’] signify sometimes place and also time’). And, for κοινὸν ἀπωμόσεως καὶ κατωμόσεως, one could compare Sch. D.T. 101.20–25: Ἀπωμοτικόν ἐστι τὸ μεθ ̓ ὅρκου ἀρνητικόν, οἷον ‘μὰ τὸν ̓Απόλλωνα’. πολλάκις δὲ ἀντὶ τοῦ κατωμοτικοῦ κέχρηνται αὐτῷ οἱ παλαιοί, ὡς καὶ ὁ ποιητής

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(followed by a quotation) (‘The ἀπωμοτικόν is (the adverb) of negation under oath, such as ‘no, by Apollo’. But very often the authors of the past use it (i.e. the adverb μά) instead of the adverb of assertion on oath, and so did also Homer [...]’). Interestingly, the Technê-scholia also contain proposals for some of the ‘new’ terms in our papyrus; a case in point is the term χωρισμός (37). Cf. Sch. D.T. 100.9–10: τὸ δὲ ἄνευ ἄνευθεν καὶ ἄτερ ἄτερθεν νόσφι χωρίς χωρισμοῦ εἰσιν καὶ οὐ τοπικὰ ἐπιρρήματα (‘ἄνευ [‘without’], ἄνευθεν [‘without’], etc. are adverbs of separation and not adverbs of place’). We would hypothesize that this class χωρισμός in our papyrus corresponds to the Latin adverbia separandi/separantis/separationis (cf. Wouters - Swiggers 2007, 100, 104, 110). We can safely assume that our Berlin papyrus preserves traces of reflections and afterthoughts made by teachers of grammar, and renders explicit a number of classificatory decisions or suggestions that lingered on for centuries in grammar teaching and philological work since Aristarchus’s times. Unfortunately, we can only speculate concerning the lines of evolution, and the degree of terminological (and doctrinal) innovation and variation in Antiquity. All we can definitely state is that some of the terms for semantic classes of adverbs in our Berlin text are unparalleled in the presently available corpus of ancient Greek grammatical texts and that we can only make guesses as to what their precise content (and their specific exemplification) was. This is the case of the following classes: - διαστολή (9) (adverbs of ‘distinction’?) - ὑπέρθεσις (12) (adverbs of ‘superimposing’/‘excess’) - ἀναπλήρωσις (?) (17) (adverbs of ‘satisfaction/filling-up’?) - στέρησις (19) (adverbs of ‘loss/privation’?) - ἀνάτασις ἢ ἐπίζευξις (32) (adverbs of ‘intensity or joining’?) - δεῖξις (40) (adverbs of ‘demonstration’) - μετάβασις/ἐπίβασις (42a) (adverbs of ‘positional change/transition’?) / (42b) (adverbs of ‘approaching’/attacking?), unless, as we conjectured above, both terms are synonyms. For the ‘deictic’ adverbs we can refer to the well-established category of adverbia demonstrandi/monstrandi in the Latin artes grammaticae (cf. Wouters–Swiggers 2007, 98, 99, 100, 101, 110).

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As to the class of ὑπέρθεσις (12) one may venture the hypothesis that it comprised adverbs such as μάλιστα, with superlative meaning30 (whereas the comparative μᾶλλον would represent the σύγκρισις-class, no. 11).

4. Conclusion By way of conclusion, what generalizing observations can be made on the basis of our analysis of the ‘adverb chapter’ of P.Berol. 9917? (1) The first conclusion should be that we have here an interesting testimony on the ancient treatment of the adverb, in which we find: (a) a hitherto unattested definition of the adverb (which comes close to, but is not identical with that of P.Lond.Lit. 182), (b) the εἴδη as a feature (and not as the specification of a semantic category) included in the definition, and (c) a numerical ‘fixation’ of the semantic subclasses. (2) A second summarizing observation is that this new source text provides us with the largest extant list of semantic εἴδη of the adverb that we have till now. The sequence of the semantic subclasses does not show much systematization (neither from modern, nor from ancient ‘logical’ standards), but seems to reflect the primary purpose of an exhaustive listing of classes. (3) This brings us to our third observation, concerning the status of our papyrus text as a grammatical manual. Our text shows that grammar, and grammar teaching, was not a process of uniform transmission of a set of codified doctrines. Taken together with the other τέχνη-papyri, our text shows that grammarians proceeded through adoption, adaptation and transformation, and through ‘retouching’ definitions, technical terms, and lists of examples. This approach ‘par bricolage’ explains the differences in formulation, in exemplification, and in organization of the textual testimonies for the τέχνη-genre (although we should consider the hypothesis that in the immediately following section—which has been lost—the grammarian provided examples for each of the classes). (4) Finally, we should ask the basic question: for what purpose(s) were these texts conceived? We can agree on the fact that no student was able to learn Greek on the basis of a τέχνη. In the present case, we do not 30 It is not surprising that in the Latin tradition Priscian—as the unique grammarian of the Latin tradition!—posited a class labelled adverbium superlativum (illustrated by maxime); cf. Wouters–Swiggers 2007, 100, 104, 111.

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even find information on single linguistic forms, let alone illustrative examples. The treatment of the adverb in P.Berol. 9917 provides us with a definition (useful to be memorized?) and a long list of semantic classes, without examples illustrating these classes. It seems as if the grammarian was only interested in the labels for the semantic εἴδη, and not in the adverbs themselves. As such, our text seems to have fulfilled the purpose of aide-mémoire for both students and teachers of grammar.

Quintilian’s ‘Grammar’ (Inst.1.4–8) and its Importance for the History of Roman Grammar* Wolfram Ax It is well known that Quintilian’s ‘grammar’ is a short survey of the Roman ars grammatica, for the purposes of this paper called grammaticé in its shortened Greek form, a term Quintilian uses almost exclusively in the chapters 4 through 8 of the first book of his Institutio oratoria, written between 93 and 96 AD.1 This grammaticé consists, as the author informs us in 1.4.2 and 1.9.1, of two parts: the recte loquendi scientia or ratio loquendi, i.e. a systematically proceeding and normative model of language teaching, aiming to let pupils learn proper Latin, and the poetarum enarratio or enarratio auctorum, an unsystematic way of reading predominantly poetical texts in class in order to explain and annotate difficult passages along the text. Quintilian places his ‘grammar’2 first and foremost in the curriculum of rhetorical education. This means that he arranges the material of the whole Institutio so as to match the various educational steps from earliest childhood and school days to the professional work as orator and on to the activities of retirement (see Table 1).3 In this order, which represents the three main levels of Hellenistic education, grammar belongs in the second position between the elementary school and the scientific study of rhetoric. In Book 1, after some remarks upon elementary lessons in school (1.1–3), Quintilian describes the education in grammaticé (1.4–8) and then the progymnasmata taught by the grammaticus and other teachers * 1

2

3

I would like to thank very much one of my assistants Volker Schaper, Cologne, for preparing the English version of this paper. Inst. 1.9 deals with certain types of rhetorical progymnasmata taught by the grammaticus. Therefore, the chapter describes grammatical lessons, but not the field of ars grammatica in the technical sense. We should always keep in mind that the modern term ‘grammar’, restricted to the meaning ‘a normative model of language teaching’, is much narrower than the ancient equivalent which also includes ‘reading and interpreting poetical texts’. The tables can be found at the end of this paper.

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(1.9–12) (Table 2). The real study of rhetoric under the supervision of a rhetor does not start before Inst. 2.1. Despite being subordinate to the governing structure of the curriculum, the framework the Institutio mainly focuses on is that of the five officia oratoris: inventio, dispositio, elocutio, memoria and actio (Table 1). In this system, the right place for grammar would be the third officium, the elocutio, which is divided into the four Theophrastian virtues of style (virtutes elocutionis), and more precisely the first virtus of latinitas. This is exactly the structure Quintilian chooses at the beginning of his description of the elocutio (Inst. 8.1). However, since grammar has already been discussed in detail at its position in the curriculum (1.4–8), he now contents himself with making a few additional remarks, referring back to the grammatical chapters of Book 1.4 Quintilian is well aware that his survey does not explain grammar as such. Instead, he describes it from the perspective of a teacher of rhetoric and presents a kind of secondary report based on the technical literature about grammar, so to speak from the outside of the mentioned discipline ‘grammar’. He only wants to hint at the basic pre-educational relevance of grammar without using too many examples or going into detail. He himself does not want to teach, but instead give advice to future teachers of grammar (non enim doceo, sed admoneo docturos).5 Nevertheless, Quintilian is deeply convinced of the high educational and scientific values of grammar, in contrast to many other people who have regarded grammar as a banal and trivial discipline, which—as a matter of fact—has only supplied children at school with the ability of speaking Latin properly and, therefore, cannot be the subject of a rhetorical handbook at such a highly sophisticated level. Quintilian vehemently defends grammar against any objections like this, arguing that it be taken seriously, as it is a topic more challenging than the first impression might suggest. In his opinion, grammar demands from its teachers a very high competence in many scientific areas (1.4.2–5) and has a very high pre-educational value as an indispensable fundament of future rhetorical skills. Although, for educational purposes, the grammaticus will have to condescend to banal and trivial subjects in class—Quintilian admits this frankly several times—, even then there remain enough difficulties (subtilitates) and cases of doubt (dubia) to confuse pupils and demand ample knowledge from the teacher. Therefore, one could distinguish between two types of grammar on the level of school grammar, an elementary, banal and trivial one and a more demanding one for ad4 5

See Inst. 8.1.2. See Inst. 1.4.17.

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vanced students and, in accordance with these, two types of teachers, each with a different competence in grammar.6 In any case, Quintilian believes that the grammaticé, if taken seriously as a subject of scientific studies, may prove difficult even for adults when dealing with subtle and highly demanding problems, but can be practiced without any loss of reputation, rather with pleasure and benefit, until one’s old age. This becomes apparent through the examples of important orators such as Cicero, Caesar and Messalla. In order to demonstrate this academic quality of grammaticé, Quintilian purposely does not choose simple, standardized examples in his survey, but instead focuses mainly on difficult cases which are so tricky that most of them are still debated in modern linguistic handbooks of Latin.7 After having introduced Quintilian’s grammatical chapters, his intentions and his methods of integrating these chapters into the Institutio as a whole, I will now proceed to the main question of this paper: Which importance and value do the grammatical chapters of the Institutio have for the history of Roman grammar? This question can only be answered in a complicated manner and with a great amount of documentation. Due to lack of space, however, I have to restrict myself to main theses and discuss only a few examples within this paper. What makes the answer even more difficult is the fact that although there are good editions, several annotated translations and a scientific commentary, the importance of Quintilian’s grammatical chapters for the history of ancient linguistics and grammar has by no means been fully revealed.8 It is this deficit that mainly prompted me to undertake a new edition of Inst. 1.4–8 with commentary and, in the long run, a new commentary on the entire first Book.9 Now, what about the main question I have raised? Quintilian’s chapters are certainly of great value, if one merely regards the textual transmission of Roman grammatical texts. The Institutio represents the first relevant text in the tradition of the Roman ars grammatica that has survived intact and that, at the same time, fully covers the ancient 6 7 8

9

See Inst. 1.4.23–24; 27; 1.5.6 sq.; 1.7.1. I will show this in detail in my forthcoming commentary on Quintilian’s grammar. A very short and incomplete selection: the standard Latin text is provided by Winterbottom 1970; for an edition of the Latin text of the chapters 1.4–8 see Niedermann 1947; important editions with annotated translations: Rahn 2006/1995, Cousin 1975–1980 and Russell 2001; a commentary of Book 1 is provided by Colson 1924. My commentary on Inst. 1.4–8 has already been accepted by the editors S. Döpp et alii for publication in the series Texte und Kommentare (de Gruyter).

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grammatical discipline, i.e. not only the technical part of language teaching, but also the philological interpretation of poetical texts.10 The oldest extant linguistic text from before Quintilian, Varro’s De lingua Latina, unfortunately has only been preserved in a large fragment (Books 5–10) and does not directly fit into the tradition of the ars grammatica. In addition, since the rest of the surviving technical texts on grammar—i.e. specialized treatises on orthography written at the time of emperor Hadrian (Terentius Scaurus, Velius Longus) and the first ars transmitted in its entirety, the artes grammaticae of Marius Plotius Sacerdos, published as late as the end of the third century AD11—are to be dated clearly after Quintilian, it becomes obvious that Quintilian’s grammar represents the first and most important source of the status of grammatical science in Rome during the first century AD. Due to this extraordinary coincidence, Quintilian’s survey can, of course, be very helpful with the dating of the history of Roman grammar. Before I examine this point in detail, I would first like to show that Quintilian’s account offers substantial information with respect to definition, structure and individual topics of Roman grammaticé (Table 3), as can be seen through a comparison with Roman ‘standard grammar’.12 As mentioned above, Inst. 1.4–8 is the only text that covers the entire ars grammatica in full, on one hand reflecting the whole structure of the discipline and on the other giving account of the systematic position of each single topic within the ars. Therefore, the text accomplishes a highly integrating work, merging all aspects of grammaticé which can usually be found in individual, specialized monographs into a single synopsis. Quintilian’s survey comprises the two central parts of grammar: (1) language teaching, subdivided into A, the ars grammatica in its narrower sense with its three-part structure of elementa, partes and virtutes et vitia orationis (Inst. 1.4 and 1.5), and B, the complex of de latinitate, and (2) the explanation of poets. Section 1A forms the separate subject of numerous artes grammaticae in late antiquity and later on, the Ars minor and the Ars maior by Aelius Donatus being the most common examples. Among the artes that were written before Quintilian but did not survive, 10 See Schreiner 1954, 5–6. 11 Q. Terentii Scauri De orthographia, G.L. VI 3–35, Velii Longi Liber de orthographia, G.L. VII 1–81; Marii Plotii Sacerdotis libi tres, G.L. VII 412–546. 12 Roman ‘standard grammar’ is an abstract idea, coined in order to be able to compare it with Quintilian’s system. It includes topics of the whole techne grammatice, including enarratio poetarum and recte loquendi scientia, and then again topics of recte loquendi scientia, including the artes type and the latinitas type (orthoepeia and orthographia), as we can find them in grammatical literature before and after Quintilian.

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one would surely have to mention the widely known ars grammatica of Quintilian’s teacher Remmius Palaemon. Part B has been treated in monographs like de latinitate, i.e. handbooks for good Latinity, which, after an initial presentation of criteria for linguistic accuracy, tried to standardize doubtful linguistic cases following the guidelines of the Roman word class system. Although we know of several, even relatively famous authors of such works, such as Caesar, Varro or Pliny the Elder, no texts have been passed on to us, instead they can only be accessed through later grammatical texts, and especially through Quintilian’s Inst. 1.6–7.13 Therefore, Part B represents a source of a very high value. With regard to part 2, i.e. the duties of teachers of grammar and reading lessons, no detailed publication exists, as Suetonius’ De grammaticis et rhetoribus is no match for Quintilian’s Inst. 1.4.1–5 and 1.8.14 Regarding the structure of his report, Quintilian only follows the focal points of the grammatical literature he knows, and a lot of useless analyses would have been avoidable, if this peculiarity of the text, which was not discovered until Schreiner, had been noticed from the very beginning.15 In any case, Quintilian’s survey is a complete synopsis of the subject of grammaticé, in accordance with the accustomed system, and therefore of high value. So much for the inner structure of the account. As it is almost impossible to demonstrate here in full length which elements Quintilian, in comparison with the standard grammatical publications, leaves out, judges differently or leaves untouched, some examples have to suffice. Quintilian’s phonetics (4.6–17), for instance, only deals en passant with the phonetic system as a whole and is restricted to challenging exemplary problems. The syllable, which covers a whole chapter within the ars, is deliberately left out of 4.17. Also no attention is paid to metrical feet, accents and punctuation marks, in opposition to the practice of the standard ars, in which special emphasis is put on these aspects. The section about word classes (4.17–21) only contains a doxographical account of the history of the development of word classes with respect to their type and number. Word classes themselves are not presented systematically, again in contrast to the ars. Instead, problematic issues of nominal and verbal flexion are raised (4.22–29). There is no doubt that we would only know little about the main part of the ars, if we solely had Quintilian’s report. For him, however, general observations are merely 13 See Siebenborn 1976. 14 For the different types and subtypes of Roman grammatical literature see Ax 2006b, 244–262. 15 See Schreiner 1954, 5–6 and, before him, Barwick 1922, 250–268, esp. 266 (analysis of Quintilian’s sources for 1.4–8).

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scholastic banalities which do not need to be repeated in his rhetorical handbook. In the same way, the latinitas part B 1 (orthoepeia) only picks up the introduction to the treatises de latinitate, in which latinitas is defined and the (usually four) criteria of correct language are explained. For lack of space, the dubia, which, arranged according to word classes, formed the centre of Caesar’s, Varro’s or Pliny’s treatises, do not find much room in Quintilian’s account. As sparsely placed examples they are more likely to be found in the criteria (esp. analogy and etymology) for the proper use of Latin. Here, again, Quintilian’s text falls short of the relevant scholarly literature. Despite all of this, we would be wrong if we thought that Quintilian’s exclusive selection of aspects from the ars in Inst. 1.4–8 and their explicit treatment are redundant due to their parallel transmission in the artes. In fact, there are several passages within his report which present more sufficient information than the ‘standard grammar’. Although I cannot demonstrate this in detail, three facts will make the point clear: 1. I am not aware of a more compact and exhaustive account of the virtutes et vitia orationis based on Theophrastus than section 1. A 3 (1.5.1– 71), and in particular the chapters about barbarism (1.5.5–33) and solecism (1.5.34–54). Similar texts by grammarians of late antiquity, such as Sacerdos, Charisius, Diomedes and Donatus, can only be considered as a weak substitute—perhaps with one exeption: the ars de barbarismis et metaplasmis of Consentius (5th century AD).16 2. The complete, though succinct, treatment of the four lexical categories (foreign words, compounds, transferred words as well as neologisms and their opposites) of Peripatetic poetry and rhetoric in 1.5.55–71 is unparalleled throughout the remaining professional grammatical literature in its informative compactness. This section provides more recent and better detailed information than the standard ars, as can be seen in the paragraph on the declension of Greek nouns (1.5.58–64), usually not discussed individually in the texts of the grammarians,17 or in the system of nominal groups of compounds (1.5.68), said to have been founded by Palaemon, a topic which has been treated by other grammarians but not 16 Ars Consentii de barbarismis et metaplasmis, G.L. V 386–404. 17 The verba Latina et peregrina were introduced into grammatical literature by Varro (L. 5.10 and 10.69–71). The nomina Graeca and the problem of their flexion in Latin were, in the later artes, either only mentioned briefly, as in Donatus (G.L. IV 379.17–21), or were treated in connection with the single types of noun flexion or with the cases, e.g. in Charisius (G.L. I 62 or 132), where Plinius the Elder is cited, or in Priscianus, G.L. II 276sq.

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expanded by a chapter on the linguistic origin of the compounds as it can be found in Quintilian.18 3. Quintilian’s comments on the teacher’s grammatical duties and competence in 1.4.1–5 and 1.8.13–21 stand for themselves, as I have already mentioned. Therefore, I hope that the importance of his grammatical chapters as a valuable source for the contents and methods of ancient Roman grammar has become clear. However, at the same time, the historical value of Quintilian’s chapters on grammar must not be underestimated. This is especially true for the question of their role in the process of dating the history of Roman grammar. When comparing Quintilian’s treatise with the grammatical texts from late antiquity, it seems as if the linguistic part of Roman grammar, the recte loquendi scientia of part 1, did not develop gradually from its beginning in the 2nd century BC to its telos in late antiquity. Instead, the scholastic concept of the ars currently ascribed to late antiquity appears to have already been completed in Quintilian’s time, despite either partially lacking in detail or being highly selective. This would provide a terminus ante quem, meaning that the Roman linguistic ars had already reached its climax in form and content by the time Quintilian began his work. This is, of course, a quite audacious argument which has never been raised this way before and which remains to be proven. In the current state of research, I can only bring forward a few arguments. As I have already pointed out, the theories of barbarism and solecism had been fully established and had reached their final levels some time before Quintilian. For him, as he explains in 1.5.7, the theory of barbarism belonged to the trivial standards of elementary language teaching and had already been treated in several short manuals for teachers.19 A better informed teacher with an increased awareness of grammatical 18 The four groups of compounds of 1.5.68, for instance, are treated by Donatus (G.L. IV 877.3–14). For more evidence see Jeep 1893, 131f. and Schreiner 1954, 55–58. Barwick 1922, 153 and 268 attributed Quintilian’s expanded system to Remmius Palemon; following his example, Schreiner 1954 58: ‘bodenständige Erweiterung durch Remmius Palaemon’. The verba propria/translata and the verba usitata/ficta (1.5.71f.) did initially not belong to grammar, but to the rhetorical ornatus, where Quintilian mentions them: Inst. 8.3.24f. (propria), 8.30f. (ficta), 8.3.38f. (translata). Quintilian is well aware of this, cf. 8.3.30 with reference to 1.5.72 and 8.3.38 with reference to 1.5.3. 19 Inst. 1.5.7: Sed ut parva sint haec, pueri docentur adhuc et grammaticos officii sui commonemus. Ex quibus si quis erit plane inpolitus et vestibulum modo artis huius ingressus, intra haec, quae profitentur commentariolis vulgata sunt, consistet; doctiores multa adiicient [...].

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problems, however, needs to go beyond the limits of such elementary rules, as Quintilian demands in his explanations on ‘barbarism for advanced learners’ (1.5.8ff.). Similar considerations apply to the linguistically systematic parts of the ars grammatica, the systems of the elementa and partes orationis. Despite intentionally leaving great gaps in chapter 4, in chapters 5 and 6 Quintilian gives proof of his excellent knowledge of those parts he has only mentioned marginally or even previously left out completely: Although the standards of phonology are not explained in 1.4.6–17, the variety of deliberately chosen examples shows a profound knowledge of those issues of the discipline that can be found in nearly all modern handbooks with a reference to Quintilian. Furthermore, while the syllable is not mentioned in 1.4.17, other paragraphs, such as 1.5.22–31 (about barbarisms with regard to the accentuation), 1.7.9 (about syllabification) or 9.4.45–48 (about prose rhythm) prove that Quintilian is familiar with the subject.20 The same is true for the topic of word accents, which has been left out of 1.4. Quintilian elaborate treatment of the rules of accentuation, can be seen in 1.5.22–31, where not only for the first time after Cicero (Orat. 58) the rule of the three syllables is mentioned, but also the rule of the paenultima is explained for the first time. His following guide to the pronunciation of Latin words is kept in such a short and demanding form that editors and commentators, both then and now, have had problems in handling this passage. Metrical feet are also not unknown to Quintilian, even though he does not mention them in 1.4. In 1.8.13, however, he stresses their importance for the studying of a proper prose rhythm; in 9.4.45–57, he discusses their meaning for prose rhythm itself. As stated before, individual word classes, which form the major part of the ars, are not mentioned in 1.4. Nevertheless, Quintilian knows all of them in depth, and also their accidentia (genus, casus, numerus etc), which provide the structure of the chapters about the word class system in the ars. Chapter 1.4.27 covers the four accidentia of the verb (without tempora), however, with a dismissive remark about the triviality of this subject. In 1.5.41, at the beginning of the discussion of solecisms within the accidentia, Quintilian completes the subject of the accidentia with reference to the academic discussion (until 1.5.44) and, afterwards, talks about the mistakes in connection with the accidentia of nouns, participles and pronouns (1.5.45–47). Similarly, the following paragraphs about 20 For Quintilian, however, the standard theory of the syllaba is trivial knowledge for schoolboys, as becomes clear from 9.4.47: longam (syllabam) esse duorum temporum, brevem unius etiam pueri sciunt [...].

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solecisms per partes orationis (48) and per partes orationis eiusdem generis (49– 51) prove a profound and complete knowledge of the subject of word classes. In connection with this I would like to mention three aspects of Quintilian’s theory of the noun which show that the entire conceptual and structural system had already been available at his time. 1. The first aspect concerns the genera of nouns (1.4.23). Here, the genera are differentiated between according to their type and order, in one case even supported by the same example (Glycerium) as presented by Donat in his ars maior (G.L. IV 375.13–377.2).21 In spite of its reappearance in later times, the standard system of the genera of nouns is not a product of late antiquity, but of the time before Quintilian, presumably the time of Remmius Palaemon.22 2. A second example is Quintilian’s extended system of nominal compounds in 1.5.68, which was reused in late antiquity. Nevertheless, the original is by far superior to these later treatises.23 3. The third aspect concerns the accent on the final syllable of certain words, such as prepositions (circúm) and pronous (qualé). They were often employed by later grammarians in order to avoid ambiguities, e.g. the confusion of circúm with the adverb círcum or the accusative of the noun circus and of the relative pronoun qualé with the interrogative pronoun quále (1.5.25–27). This theory is still extant in all details in Priscianus (G.L. III 27.9–13; 33.22–27; 127.10–14). It was, however, already fully developed before Quintilian. There can be no doubt that the complete terminological and systematical apparatus of the standard ars was already known to Quintilian in the first century AD. However, how can this be reconciled with the dates of the history of professional literature on grammar that are available today? This essay tries to prove the existence of one or more grammarians before Quintil21 Inst. 1.4.23: At si quis [...] voluerit docere, quae didicit, non erit contentus tradere in nominibus tria genera et, quae sunt duobus omnibusve communia. Nec statim diligentem putabo, qui promiscua, quae epicoena dicuntur, ostenderit, in quibus sexus uterque per alterum apparet, aut, quae feminina positione mares aut neutrali feminas significant, qualia sunt ‘Murena’ et ‘Glycerium’. Don., G.L. IV 375.13–377.2, repeats Quintilian’s genera in the same order: tria genera (= masculinum, femininum, neutrale), duobus communia (= hic et haec sacerdos), omnibusve communia (= hic, haec, hoc felix), promiscua/epicoena (= hic passer), feminina positione mares (= Murena. Donatus’s example was Aquila orator), neutrali feminas (= Glycerium, same example as Quintilian’s). 22 See Schreiner 1954, 53–55. 23 See p. 337, n. 18.

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ian who brought technical grammar—or at least its systematic and terminological features—to a final level which served as standard template for grammarians up to the fourth century. But who could that be? When we retrace the two central ideas of grammatical literature in the technical part of the grammaticé before Quintilian, we are faced with the following situation: both types of handbooks—on one hand the ‘Donatus type’ with its tripartite structure of elementa, partes and virtutes et vitia orationis, which in Quintilian are represented in chapters 4 and 5, and, on the other hand, the ‘de latinitate type’, represented in chapters 6 and 7—were established quite a bit earlier than Quintilian, but have not been handed down to us. A first concrete trace of a Roman ars with the virtutes et vitia can be found in the Auctor ad Herennium 4.17, where such an ars is announced.24 Another trace leads us to the first book of Varro’s Disciplinae, of which only one certain fragment still exists (Varro fr. 49 GRF). This book, however, surely cannot have been the great predecessor of Quintilian’s ars that we are looking for, as the fragments of Varro’s remaining texts point to a rather short grammatical overview, though already with the tripartite structure of the Roman ars: elements, word classes and style (Varro fr. 237 GRF).25 About the Republican ars we hardly know anything. However, even from the early Principate under Augustus and Tiberius no exceptional artes are known. It was Claudius (AD 41–54), under whom the first great Ars grammatica—that of Quintilian’s teacher Remmius Palaemon (AD 5(?)–80)—was published, which was still famed in Juvenal’s time. In 1922, Barwick argued that Remmius Palaemon, closely revising the Republican Roman grammar, had been the first to write an exhaustive professional handbook.26 According to my observations, it seems most likely that Quintilian bases his study mainly on Palaemon’s ars, even though he mentions his mentor only once (1.4.20).27 If this is academically accepted, Palaemon’s ars must have been seen as the ideal for grammatical texts before Quintilian. 24 Latinitas est, quae sermonem purum conservat ab omni vitio remotum. Vitia in sermone, quo minus is Latinus sit, duo possunt esse: soloecismus et barbarismus. Soloecismus est, cum in verbis pluribus consequens verbum superiori non accomodatur. Barbarismus est, cum verbum aliquod vitiose effertur. Haec qua ratione vitare possimus, in arte grammatica dilucide dicemus. 25 See Barwick’s reconstruction of the Disciplinae (1922, 230–237). 26 See Barwick 1922, 238–9 and Schreiner 1954, 4–5. 27 Barwick 1922, 268 tries to prove that many details in the Quintilian’s text go back to Palaemon’s ars; the same task is undertaken by Schreiner 1954, 4f., 33, 37, 38, 42, 43, 51, 57f, 69, 70, 71, 72, 86, 87, 96, 100. In connection with Remmius’ ars, Schreiner 1954, 4–5 speaks of ‘einer neuen Epoche in der Ge-

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Within the complex of De latinitate, many other grammarians can be identified in the first century BC: during the Roman Republic Antonius Gnipho, Caesar’s teacher, with his two books De sermone Latino, followed by Straberios Eros, teacher of Brutus and Cassius, with De proportione, and Caesar himself with two books De analogia. The republican grammatical literature reached its peak with Varro’s five books De sermone Latino. No equally comprehensive account of latinitas can be found before the last years of Nero’s reign, when Pliny the Elder published his likewise famous Dubii sermonis libri octo (ca. AD 65–68).28 Earlier, there had only been professional literature about orthography, established in the Augustan era by Verrius Flaccus (ca. AD 60/50–22) with his multivolume edition De orthographia, a work which Quintilian certainly used for his chapter 1.7 on orthography.29 Therefore, the second main source for Quintilian seems to have been Pliny, whom he, however, does not name in this context.30 Thus, we have to assume that Remmius Palaemon and Pliny the Elder had already fully established the Roman ars with its systematical structure and its terminology, which later was merely extended (especially in the fields of metrics and poetics) and supplemented by Quintilian and his successors, however, done without crucial alterations. Of course, this audacious conclusion needs to be proven right through further research. After all, we should take into account that, for reasons of transmission, we are restricted to these two ‘highlights’, although Quintilian apparently relies on a much larger number of grammatical sources.31 Finally, I would like to point out Quintilian’s personal competence as grammarian. It is fascinating how well he succeeds in presenting this often dull and dry subject in elegant prose, full of vivid and appealing descriptions. This positive impression is supported by his critical and distanced view of all exaggerations, subtleties, eccentricities and rigorous statements. Instead, he favours a balanced and focussed style, although not always holding back with criticism. For an impression of this, one should read the excellent presentation of analogy (1.6.4–27), where Quintilian first lists its array of possibilities (4–11), before mercilessly giving account of all its limitations (12–27). In 1.6.17, analogists being

28 29 30 31

schichte der römischen Grammatik’ and of ‘der größten Nachwirkung auf die folgenden Jahrhunderte’. For the ‘de latinitate type’ see Ax 2000c, 173, n. 15 and Ax 2006b, 250, 259. See Ax 2006b, 251. Verrius as source of Inst. 1.7 is claimed by Barwick 1922, 267. See Barwick 1922, 266–7. See Barwick 1922, 267.

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subjects to the rules of certain schools are attested a molestissima diligentiae perversitas (‘an extremely annoying and foolish pedantry’) and in 1.6.20, an insolentia quaedam et frivolae in parvis iactantiae (‘a liability to extravagance and, in little, an absurd blatancy’). This scorcher culminates in the wonderful punchline: Quare mihi non invenuste dici videtur aliud esse Latine, aliud grammatice loqui (1.6.27). The same can be observed in the paragraph on etymology, which has a distinct purpose (1.6.29–31), whose absurdities and exaggerations, however, must not be tolerated, even if they originate from Varro himself (1.6.32–38). People who are too involved in this subject run the risk of ‘being diverted into the most abhorrent absurdities because of their misguided talent’ (1.6.32: Inde pravis ingeniis ad foedissima usque ludibria labuntur). Quintilian even explicitly warns of useless accumulations of explanatory material which could inflate all philological descriptions (the historiae, 1.8.18–21). He remarks: Ex quo mihi inter virtutes grammatici habebitur aliqua nescire (‘Therefore, not knowing everything must be seen as one of the virtues of grammar teachers’). For Quintilian it is natural to express his personal opinion several times and he asks every other grammarian to do the same (1.7.30): Iudicium autem suum grammaticus interponat his omnibus: nam hoc valere plurimum debet (‘Concerning all these things, the grammarian needs to advance his opinion, for it is of great importance.’). In doing this, he often displays high competence, despite not being a professional grammarian. For example, infringements against genus and numerus of single words (scala statt scalae) are no barbarisms, but simply a wrong use of word forms (1.5.16). The much-discussed solecism in one word is no real solecism, as the deixis and the situation function as context and, therefore, form a second syntactical element (1.5.36–38). Lucilius’ férvere cannot withstand closer examination, it can only be fervére (1.6.7–9). On the other hand, the pepigi used by Quintilian can be defended by means of literary authority and analogy (1.6.10–11). In 1.6.24, analogical change in nominal flexion is rejected as misunderstanding of the phonetic relation within the flexion system, and in 1.4.18, even a new translation for the word class syndesmos is proposed: convictio instead of coniunctio. The high linguistic standard of Quintilian’s presentation becomes particularly apparent in the following two aspects: The doxographical account of the word class system in 1.8.18–21 perfectly matches the results of modern research, especially the one conducted by Matthaios into the word classes in antiquity. Especially the frequently challenged allocation of eight word classes to Aristarchus and Remmius Palaemon

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(1.4.20) was fully rehabilitated by Matthaios.32 The other testimony concerns analogy as a whole (1.6.16), in particular its limiting effect as linguistic standard: Non enim, cum primum fingerentur homines, Analogia demissa est caelo formam loquendi dedit, sed inventa est, postquam loquebantur, et notatum in sermone, quid quoque modo caderet. Itaque non ratione nititur, sed exemplo, nec lex est loquendi, sed observatio, ut ipsam analogian nulla res alia fecerit quam consuetudo (‘For analogy did not come instantly down from heaven, when mankind was created, to represent a linguistic standard, but, instead, was found after men had begun to speak and when they observed during talking which word ended in which ending. Thus, analogy is not based on theory, but on examples; and it is no linguistic rule, but based on linguistic observation, so that the use of language itself produced analogy.’). Even though this statement does not contain anything new in substance,33 it would still be the pride of every modern linguistic handbook. Therefore, it is not surprising that Quintilian is one of the most frequently cited ancient grammatical authors in modern academic literature. In conclusion: Quintilian’s grammatical chapters (1.4–8) rank among the most elegant, the most sophisticated and, with respect to content and dating of the Roman ars, the most important texts on Roman grammar.

32 See Matthaios 1999 und 2002. 33 Rhetorical theory comes after oratorial practice, see Cic. de Orat. 1.146; and analogia is subordinate to consuetudo, see Var. L. 8.27; 9.2 and 9.8.

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Table 1: Quintilian, Institutio oratoria, 12 books, structure according to inst. orat.1, prooem. 21–22:

1

2

ante officium

prima

rhetoric

3

4

5

6 7

8

inventio, dispositio

9 10 11

12

elocutio, memoria,

apud rhetorem

orator

actio

elementa, de ipsa rhetorices substantia

Quint. inst. orat. 12 books curriculum: prep schools/first lessons in rhetoric (1)

(2.1–10)

(orator at work)

retirement

(2.11–12.10)

(12.11)

rhet. system:

nature and aims of rhetoric (2.11–21)

rhetorice

basic notions (3.1–5)

ars

artifex

opus

(2.11–11)

(12.1–9)

(12.10)

inventio

dispositio

elocutio

memoria

actio

(3.6–6)

(7)

(8–11.1)

(11.2)

(11.3)

3 genera orationis (3.6–11) g. demonstr., deliberat., iudiciale exordium (4)

narration argumentatio (4)

(5)

peroratio (6)

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Table 2: Quintilian, Institutio oratoria Book 1 (12 chapters) Chapter 1–3: From infancy to primary school: 1. Training in earliest childhood 2. Question between school and private tuition 3. Different talents of pupils Chapter 4–8: Education in grammatice: 4. Elementa grammatices (tasks of grammatice, elementa et partes orationis) 5. Correctness of language (virtutes et vitia orationis: barbarism/soloecisms) 6. Rules of spoken language (Orthoepeia) 7. Rules of written language (Orthography) 8. Reading (lectio and enarratio poetarum) Chapter 9–12: Other topics of rhetorical pre-education: 9. Rhetorical progymnasmata taught already by the grammaticus 10. Other discipline beside grammatice (musice, geometria)? 11. Preparatory training of voice and gesture (actio) 12. Several disciplines at the same time and already on this level of education?

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Table 3: Quint. Inst. 1.4–8: Education in grammaticé 1. recte loquendi scientia (1.4–7) A: ars grammatica (1.4–5) 1. Nature and tasks of grammaticé 2. elementa orationis 1. letters 2. word classes 3. virtutes et vitia orationis 1. Introduction 2. Barbarisms 3. Soloecisms 4. Foreign words (grecisms) 5. verba composita 6. verba propria, translata usitata, nova

1.4.1–5 1.4.6–29 6–17 17–29 1.5.1–72 1–4 5–33 34–54 55–64 65–70 71–72

B: de Latinitate (1.6–7) 1. Orthoepeia (spoken language) 1.6.1–45 1. Four criteria of linguistic correctness: ratio, vetustas, auctoritas, consuetude 1–3 2. analogia 4–27 3. etymologia 28–38 4. vetustas 39–41 5. auctoritas 42 6. consuetudo 43–45 2. Orthography (written language)

1.7.1–35

2. enarratio auctorum (1.8) 1. Rules of correct lectio 1.8.1–4 2. Reading. Which authors and genres? 1.8.5–12 3. Tasks of the grammaticus in reading lessons 1.8.13–21

Syntax before Syntax: Uses of the Term σύνταξις in Greek Grammarians before Apollonius Dyscolus Frédéric Lambert 1. Introduction This paper is the result of a very limited survey about the uses of the term σύνταξις and the verb συντάσσειν/συντάσσεσθαι in Greek grammarians between the Hellenistic period, after Aristotle, until the century preceeding Apollonius Dyscolus. I must confess that at the beginning I felt frustated to find myself in a chronological space including neither the great syntactician with whom I am familiar nor the philosopher whose place of birth and childhood is so close to the place of the conference. Anyway, I was engrossed in this little survey carried out ‘off the tracks’, so to speak, with real pleasure. I made up my corpus by consulting the texts classified as ‘grammatical’ by the TLG. Then I eliminated everything that did not fall within the period concerned. It is obvious that the literature scanned in this way is very sketchy. It consists mainly of quotations, more particularly of quotations by Apollonius Dyscolus (who, in a strange way, thus made his way back into the corpus) and of the grammarian whom Matthaios 2003 had the great merit to bring out of obscurity, Trypho and who appears very often in Apollonius’ examples. The review produced 90 occurrences of terms belonging to the family of σύνταξις. Without going into the question of interpretation, it is worth comparing this number with the approximately 800 occurrences the TLG gives for Apollonius. If we look at these data, the author of Περὶ συντάξεως might seem obsessed by this concept compared to his predecessors, even if his transmitted work is decidedly larger. But it can be noticed that in the whole corpus of Aristotle, even larger yet, only about 20 occurrences of words of this lexical family can be found. The quantitative jump can be legitimately interpreted as a qualitative jump, as such a mass of occurrences for only one author implies that the term and the correlative concept play an utmost role in his linguistic ideas. Even if we suppose that Apollonius was not the creator of the

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concept of syntax, he must have granted it an importance that presumably had not before. Nevertheless, Apollonius did not start out from nothing. A look at the uses of the words of the family of σύνταξις by his predecessors can confirm this. Even though many occurrences have a meaning which is different from the technical sense of ‘syntactic construction’, a large number of occurrences, comes very close to it, in particular in the case of some authors. My purpose here will be to review the different uses of the word σύνταξις (and similar terms), in order to suggest elements which might facilitate the understanding of the emergence of Apollonius’ syntactic theory and of its place in relation with his predecessors.

2. Non-grammatical Uses of σύνταξις Some of the occurrences found suggest a meaning completely unfamiliar to philology, referring to uses found in cited texts. This is the case, for example, for the meaning of ‘contribution’, ‘tax’, which can be found in fragments by the grammarian Sosibius (3rd–2nd c. BC) or Harpocration, in his Lexicon of the Ten Attic Orators (1st /2nd c. AD). Another use outside this field is that of ‘convention’ or ‘treatise’ (but with the meaning of ‘convention between belligerents’), notably evoked by Harpocration about Demosthenes’ texts. A common meaning of σύνταξις in our corpus can be also found in Apollonius, in a more sporadic way however: the verb and the noun refer then to the composition of a written work or to the result of this work, i.e. to what is called ‘a treatise’. Hermippus of Smyrna (3rd c. BC), biographer and successor of Callimachus, speaks of those who composed works about the poet Aratus and uses only the verb. Aristophanes of Byzantium (257–180 BC), master of Aristarchus, uses σύνταξις, σύνταγμα and the related verb once, still with the same meaning. This fact is worth noticing, insofar as he was one of the earliest recognized grammarians. Dionysius Scytobrachion, an Alexandrian grammarian of the 2nd or 1st c. BC, uses the verb four times in the aorist middle with the meaning of ‘to compose a work’. Erotian (1st c. AD), author of a medical glossary, uses only these meanings, both for the nouns and for the verb. At this stage of our review, we are left with no more than fourty occurrences. The fact that in the works of grammar literature such few occurrences of a technical meaning for the words of the family of σύνταξις can be found is obviously a confirmation of a significant break after Apollonius.

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Out of the remaining occurrences, a large amount falls within a use which is very close to Apollonius’ use. This particular use can be found in the texts listed under the name of Trypho, who worked in Rome in the second half of the 1st century BC. The problem that arises with these texts is that they are known by the quotations made by Apollonius himself, a fact that, of course, could throw a doubt onto the authenticity of the uses they provide.

3. The Term σύνταξις in Trypho TLG indicates 15 occurrences of the family of σύνταξις in the texts attributed to Trypho, all taken from quotations by Apollonius Dyscolus. Only one seems to be able to be interpreted with the meaning of ‘treatise’, ‘work’. The others, at first sight, are in keeping with Apollonius’ uses and refer to the notion of syntactic construction. The fact that Trypho’s treatises tackle syntactic issues surely explains the numerous and fairly long quotations made by Apollonius. This may also be related to the numerous examples in which the proper name ‘Trypho’ is used. Of course, on the ground of these few fragments, it is very difficult to reconstruct Trypho’s syntactic theory. Nevertheless, a few hypotheses can be suggested. As in many cases in Apollonius’ works, it can be noticed that Trypho considers σύνταξις as a combination of words in keeping with morphological sub-categories, such as part of speech, person, case or number. The σύνταξις corresponds to all the various possible combinations between such and such word including at least one of these morphological sub-categories. However, it is not certain that Trypho and Apollonius share the same point of view on these combinations. Everybody knows that Apollonius constantly insists upon the semantic basis of the syntactic combinations. It is what he calls, at the beginning of his treatise, the σύνταξις τῶν νοητῶν, the ‘combination of concepts’. I believe that this semantic facet allowed Apollonius to take into account distant syntactic relations. On the contrary, in Trypho, the syntactic combination apparently keeps a morphological aspect, in the sense that the construction implied basically relies on an extension of the morphological assembly, and indeed the instances supposed to illustrate the syntactic combinations in Trypho are generally made of adjacent sequences. The assembly seems to be conceived on the pattern of morphology, in the sense that the joined elements are nothing but lexical units instead of being infra-lexical units. Here are some examples:

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(1) α[...] αἱ κλητικαὶ δευτέροις προσώποις συντάσσονται‚ ‘Ἕκτορ ἦλθες’, ‘Σώκρατες διελέξω’· τοιοῦτον οὖν καὶ τό ‘σὺ λέγε’ καί ‘σὺ σκάπτε’. οὐκ ἐπειδὴ εὐθείᾳ συντάσσεται ἐν τῷ ‘σὺ ὁ λέγων’, πάντως καὶ εὐθείας· ἰδοὺ γὰρ καὶ ἐπὶ ὀνομάτων‚ ‘Ἀρίσταρχε αὐτὸς γέγραφας’. Trypho fr. 38 de Velsen (= A.D. Pron. 51.23–27) The vocatives combine with second persons, ‘Hector! You came’, ‘Socrates! You discussed’, and therefore in the same way ‘You! speak’ and ‘You! dig’. It is not because it combines with a nominative, as in ‘you! the (nomin.) speaking’, that it is always in the nominative; it is enough to look at what happens with the names ‘Aristarchus! Itis yourself who wrote it’. (2)

Φησὶ Τρύφων τὸν ὅτι σύνδεσμον καὶ πτωτικοῖς καὶ ἀπτώτοις συντάσσεσθαι· ‘ὅτι ὁ ἥλιος ὑπὲρ γῆν ἐστίν, ἡμέρα ἐστίν’· ‘ὅτι περιπατῶ, κινοῦμαι’.

Trypho fr. 49 de Velsen (= A.D. Conj. 235.11–14) According to Tryphon, ‘the conjunction ὅτι combines both with casual forms and with non-casual forms: ‘because the sun is above the earth, it is daylight; because I am going for a walk, I am moving’. (3) [...] τὰ γὰρ κτητικαῖς ἀντωνυμίαις συντασσόμενα ὀνόματά ἐστι τῆς αὐτῆς πτώσεως τυχόντα καὶ τοῦ αὐτοῦ ἀριθμοῦ‚ ‘ἐμὸν αὐλόν’, ‘ἐμὴν οἰκίαν’, ‘ἐμὴν χάριν’. Trypho fr. 56 de Velsen (= A.D. Conj. 247.4–6) Words combining with possessive pronouns in the same case and the same number are nouns indeed: ‘my flute, my house, my favour’.

In these three examples, the elements Tryphon says are in combination are at the same time adjacent. The principle of adjacency is not completely abandoned in Apollonius, since, in the passage about ὅτι,1 he shows that this conjunction is always constructed with a verb in the indicative, so that it forces him to use hyperbaton when there is no adjacency. It can indeed be noticed that the fact that Apollonius appeals to hyperbaton is a confirmation that Trypho’s σύνταξις is a combination between adjacent elements. The use of ellipsis may also fall within this type of procedure. It would probably be worth studying the question of adjacency in Apollonius to be sure of this. Besides, the metaphor of the syllable at the beginning of Apollonius’ treatise on the Syntax is presumably based on an adjacencist

1

See A.D. Synt. II 174.6.

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conception of the syntactic construction, except for the fact that the words replace phonetical units in order to build up syntactic syllables.

4. Σύνταξις by Other Grammarians and by Dionysius Thrax: From Combination to Prose 4.1. Combination and Condition of Adjacency Trypho is not the earliest grammarian who has used the terms belonging to the family of σύνταξις to speak about the combination of linguistic units, and particularly about the words in the sentence. Before we turn to the document supposed to be the oldest, i.e. Dionysius’ Thrax Τέχνη γραμματική, I would like to mention briefly the grammarians who make use of this terminology before or after Trypho. The meaning of ‘combination’, ‘combine’, can be found for example in Comanus of Naucratis, a grammarian of the 2nd century BC, when he refers to an adjacent sequence dative + verb: (4)

Τό τε συνερχόμενον ῥῆμα πληθυντικόν ἐστιν, ἔχον τὴν σύνταξιν τοιαύτην, ἐμοὶ ἐγένοντο, σοὶ ἐγένοντο, οἷ ἐγένοντο.

Comanus, fr. 3 Dyck And the verb which goes with it is in the plural, with the following combination: ‘they belonged to me, they belonged to you, they belonged to them’

In a fragment attributed to Tyrannion, a grammarian of the 1st century, συντάσσεσθαι refers to the combination between a preposition and a verb, yielding a composed verb: (5)

ἄλλοι δὲ τὴν παρὰ κυρίως κεῖσθαι, ἵνα γένηται παρ’ ἅλα φῦκος, καὶ τὴν ἔξ συντάσσεσθαι πρὸς τὸ ἔχευαν, ὅπερ καὶ βέλτιον παρ’ ἁλὶ φῦκος ἐξέχευαν. μετὰ γοῦν τῆς διά οὖσα ἡ ἔξ οὐ τρέπει τὸ ξ ‘διὲξ σωλῆνος εἰς

ἄγγος’ (Archil. fr. 46 W.).

Tyrannio, fr. 1 Haas Other grammarians think that παρά is taken in its literal meaning, because the fucus is near the sea, and also because ἐξ combines with ἔχευαν, which is even better: they spread the fucus near the sea. But with the preposition διά, ἐξ doesn’t turn out the ξ: ‘out of (διέξ) the pipe into the container’

In Philoxenus of Alexandria (1st c. BC) the combination is made ‘by meaning’ :

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(6) (Il. 24.665) [...] οὐδὲν δὲ θαυμαστόν, εἰ πληθυντικόν ἐστι τὸ δαινῦτο καὶ τὸ λαὸς ἑνικόν· τῷ γὰρ σημαινομένῳ ἡ σύνταξις ἐγένετο ὁμοίως τῷ ‘ἀγρόμενοι πᾶς δῆμος’ (Il. 20.166). Philox. Gramm. fr. 411 Theodoridis (...) Nothing surprising if δαινῦτο (shall feast) is in the plural and λαὸς (the folk) in the singular, for the combination is made by the signified, as in ‘a whole folk (singular) that be gathered (plural) together’.

We notice here that the condition of adjacency is somewhat less strict, the intermediate element, which has a parapleromatikon status, providing further evidence. It is time to return to Dionysius Thrax now. There are 3 occurrences of words of the σύνταξις family in the Τέχνη and one in a quotation: (7)

Σύμφωνα δὲ τὰ λοιπὰ ἑπτακαίδεκα· β γ δ ζ θ κ λ μ ν ξ π ρ σ τ φ χ ψ. ϲΣύμφωνα δὲ † λέγονται, ὅτι αὐτὰ μὲν καθ’ ἑαυτὰ φωνὴν οὐκ ἔχει, συντασσόμενα δὲ μετὰ τῶν φωνηέντων φωνὴν ἀποτελεῖ.

D.T. 6.11.1–4 The 17 others are consonants: β γ δ ζ θ κ λ μ ν ξ π ρ σ τ φ χ ψ. They are called consonants because by themselves they do not produce any vocal sound, but they produce a vocal sound when they combine with vowels. (8)

Λέξις ἐστὶ μέρος ἐλάχιστον τοῦ κατὰ σύνταξιν λόγου. Λόγος δέ ἐστι πεζῆς λέξεως σύνθεσις διάνοιαν αὐτοτελῆ δηλοῦσα.

D.T. 11.22.4–5 The word (λέξις) is the smaller part of the organised (κατὰ σύνταξιν) utterance. The utterance (λόγος) is a whole composed in prose which expresses a complete thought. (9)

Πρόθεσίς ἐστι λέξις προτιθεμένη πάντων τῶν τοῦ λόγου μερῶν ἔν τε συνθέσει καὶ συντάξει.

D.T. 18.70.2–3 The preposition is a word placed in front of all the parts of the utterance both by composition and by combination (ἐν συντάξει). (10) Suid. s.v. Διονύσιος Ἀλεξανδρεύς· Θρᾶιξ δὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ πατρὸς Τήρου τοὔνομα κληθείς, Ἀριστάρχου μαθητής, γραμματικός, ὃς ἐσοφίστευσεν ἐν Ῥώμηι ἐπὶ Πομπηίου τοῦ μεγάλου καὶ ἐξηγήσατο Τυραννίωνι τῶι

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προτέρωι. συνέταξε δὲ πλεῖστα γραμματικά τε καὶ συνταγματικὰ καὶ ὑπομνήματα.

Dionysius of Alexandria: called Thrax after his father, nicknamed Teros, pupil of Aristarchus, grammarian, he was a sophist in Rome under Pompeius the great and guided Tyrannion the Elder. He composed very numerous treatises and notes of grammar.

The last quotation corresponds to the use of the verb in the meaning of ‘compose’ a treatise. There are still 3 grammatical uses remaining. The first passage corresponds to the combining adjacent phonetic elements. The other two passages contrast the nominal form σύνταξις with σύνθεσις: the definition of the preposition contrasts the prefixal use to make up compounded words (σύνθεσις) with the prepositional use itself, where the preposition and the word which follows it remain distinct, and it is at this moment that Dionysius speaks about σύνταξις. But the definitions of both λέξις and λόγος raise some problems. The definition of λέξις seems to be consistent with the idea that σύνταξις is a combination of words. But the definition of the λόγος surprisingly supposes that the σύνθεσις is a procedure of unification similar to those that can be found in the composed words.

4.2. Σύνταξις and σύνθεσις Arguably, this contrast between σύνταξις and σύνθεσις can again be encountered in various glossaries, dating from (unfortunately) uncertain periods, but with a rather high frequency, and with a very different sense. In the Lexicon attributed to Ptolemy, the distinction consists in a contrast between prose and poetry: (11) καὶ διαφέρει. σύνθεσις μὲν γὰρ ὁ λόγος ὁ ἔμμετρος, ταξις δὲ ὁ λόγος ὁ πεζός. Ptol.Gramm. Diff. σ 142 Composition differs from combination. Composition is a discourse in verse, combination a discourse in prose.

We read in the same lexicon: (12) τοῦ διαφέρει χρήσει καὶ συντάξει, ὅτι ὁ μὲν οὕνεκα ποιητικός, ὁ δὲ ἕνεκα συνήθης. Ptol.Gramm. Diff. ο 117 οὕνεκα differs from ἕνεκα by its use and by the combination, for οὕνεκα is poetical and ἕνεκα is usual.

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This second quotation could be interpreted without taking into account the first one; χρήσει would then refer to the difference between prose and poetry, συντάξει to a difference in the construction. However, the two prepositions (conjunctions for the Ancients) can have the same construction. And the definition does nοt look complete. We could then consider that συντάξει refers to the type of composition, in prose or in verse, while χρήσει concerns an author’s particular use, but this poses a problem since the first term in this way receives a sense partially in conflict with the general definition of the σύνταξις. On the other hand, in another lexicon, attributed to Ammonius, several passages confirm the contrast between σύνταξις and σύνθεσις, while giving some additional information: (13)

διαφέρει. λόγος μὲν γάρ ἐστιν ἡ δίχα μέτρου σύνταξις, ποίησις δὲ ἡ σύνθεσις ἡ μέτρῳ κοσμουμένη.

Ammon. gl. 303 Discourse differs from poetry. It means that discourse is a combination without verse and poetry is a composition embellished with verse. (14)

καὶ διαφέρει. σύγγραμμα μὲν γάρ ἐστιν ὁ δίχα μέτρου λόγος, ὁ προσαγορευόμενος πεζός· σύνταγμα δὲ πολεμικόν τι σύστημα, ἀφ’ οὗ καὶ συνταγματάρχης ὁ τοῦ συστήματος αὐτοῦ ἄρχων.

Ammon. gl. 453 Σύγγραμμα (written work) differs from σύνταγμα (disposition). Σύνταγμα (written work) is a discourse without verse, which is called prose; a σύνταγμα (disposition) is a military body, from which has been also created συνταγματάρχης, the one who commands the body itself.

(15)

διαφέρει. σύνθεσις μὲν γάρ ἐστιν ὁ λόγος ὁ ἔμμετρος, σύνταξις δὲ ὁ λόγος ὁ πεζός.

Ammon. gl. 453 Σύνθεσις differs from σύνταξις. Σύνθεσις is the discourse in verse, σύνθεσις the discourse in prose.

Of course, there is a certain degree of confusion in such texts, but it can be noticed that the generic use of σύνταξις referring to a type of discourse is confirmed in passage 13. The same applies to the more specific use of σύνταξις and σύνθεσις referring respectively to composition in prose and to composition in verse. Finally λόγος can also refer either to

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every type of discourse, or more specifically to the discourse in prose, as in passage 13, where it is opposed to ποίησις. Turning back to the definitions of Dionysios, things are rather unclear, but what we can do all the same is consider that the expression μέρος ἐλάχιστον τοῦ κατὰ σύνταξιν λόγου should refer to a type of discourse rather than to the syntactic construction, in Apollonius’ sense. However it seems difficult to restrict the definition of λέξις to prose. As for the definition of λόγος, it adds many discrepancies, since it is restricted to prose while referring to the poetic composition par excellence, that is to say the σύνθεσις. I think it could be a trace of a deeply corrupted text.

5. The Philosophical Origins of σύνταξις: Chrysippus The grammatical and philological tradition is not enough to understand the development of the concept of σύνταξις. Everybody knows that Dionysius Thrax and Apollonius Dyscolus are deeply indebted to the Stoics. Apollonius often refers to the Stoic philosophers, and this fact prompts us to examine the texts attributed to the Stoics. Considering the small number of the available texts, the amount of occurrences is fairly interesting and revealing. Most of the Stoic texts or fragments which include words of the σύνταξις family are attributed to Chrysippus, which brings us back to the 3rd cent. BC. It seems that Chrysippus, in order to elaborate on his logic theory, appealed to the concept of σύνταξις. He looks on the side of what is called ‘sayable’ (λεκτά) rather than on the side of grammatical units. Here are some of the uses picked out: (16)

ἔστι δὲ τὸ κατηγόρημα τὸ κατά τινος ἀγορευόμενον· ἢ πρᾶγμα συντακτὸν περί τινος ἢ τινῶν, ὡς οἱ περὶ Ἀπολλόδωρόν φασιν, ἢ λεκτὸν ἐλλιπὲς συντακτὸν ὀρθῇ πτώσει πρὸς ἀξιώματος γένεσιν.

D.L. 7.63 (= Chrysipp. fr. 183) The predicate is what is said about something, or: something conjuncted (συντακτόν) to one or several others (according to Apollodoros), or that way: an incomplete sayable (λεκτόν) conjuncted to a direct case to generate a proposition. (17)

καὶ τὰ μέν ἐστι τῶν κατηγορημάτων ὀρθά, ἃ δ’ ὕπτια, ἃ δ’ οὐδέτερα. ὀρθὰ μὲν οὖν ἐστι τὰ συντασσόμενα μιᾷ τῶν πλαγίων πτώσεων πρὸς

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D.L. 7.64 (= Chrysipp. fr. 183) Among predicates some are active, others passive, others neither of the two. Those which are constructed with an oblique case are active, for instance ‘hears, sees, talks’ to generate a predicate. Those which are constructed with a passive ending are passive, for instance ‘I am heard, I am seen’. (18)

τὸ μὲν γὰρ ‘μεταμελεῖται’ σύμβαμα εἶναι, τὸ δὲ ‘μεταμέλει’ παρασύμβαμα οὐ δυνάμενον ὀνόματι συνταχθὲν ἀπόφανσιν ἐργάσασθαι, οἷον ‘Σωκράτης μεταμέλει’ (οὐδεμία γὰρ τοῦτο ἀπόφανσις) ἀλλ’ οὔτε κλίσιν ἐπιδέξασθαι δυνάμενον, ὡς τὸ ‘περιπατῶ, περιπατεῖς, περιπατεῖ’.

Porphyrius apud Amm. in Int., CAG IV.5, 44.19 (= Chrysipp. fr. 184) ‘Feel repentence’ is indeed an event (σύμβαμα), while ‘it repents’ is a quasi-event (παρασύμβαμα) for, combined with a noun, it cannot perform a statement, like ‘Socrates it repents’ (this is not at all a statement) neither can it receive a flexion, like ‘I walk, you walk, he walks’.

It can be noted that these texts actually mention sayables, and the elaboration of logical propositions, as it can be shown by the underlined passages. At the same time, they consist of a combination, seemingly very close to the grammatical texts we examined first: direct cases, oblique cases, noun, passive ‘particle’ (i.e. morpheme). But as a matter of fact, they are grammatical components considered according to the elaboration of a semantic whole, i.e. the logical proposition (πρὸς ἀξιώματος γένεσιν) or one of its components, predicate (πρὸς κατηγορήματος γένεσιν) or even its overall value, here the affirmative value (ἀπόφανσιν) are involved here. This philosophical, not to say scientific, aim is clearly expressed in the following passage of Dionysius of Halicarnassus: (19)

Ἔγωγ’ οὖν ὅτε διέγνων συντάττεσθαι ταύτην τὴν ὑπόθεσιν, ἐζήτουν εἴ τι τοῖς πρότερον εἴρηται περὶ αὐτῆς, καὶ μάλιστα τοῖς ἀπὸ τῆς Στοᾶς φιλοσόφοις εἰδὼς τοὺς ἄνδρας οὐ μικρὰν φροντίδα τοῦ λεκτικοῦ τόπου πεποιημένους. δεῖ γὰρ αὐτοῖς τἀληθῆ μαρτυρεῖν. οὐδαμῆ δ’ οὐδὲν ὑπ’ οὐδενὸς εὑρὼν τῶν ὀνόματος ἠξιωμένων οὔτε μεῖζον οὔτ’ ἔλαττον συναχθὲν εἰς ἣν ἐγὼ προῄρημαι πραγματείαν, ἃς δὲ Χρύσιππος καταλέλοιπε συντάξεις διττάς, ἐπιγραφὴν ἐχούσας ‘Περὶ τῆς συντάξεως τῶν τοῦ λόγου μερῶν’ οὐ ῥητορικὴν θεωρίαν ἐχούσας, ἀλλὰ διαλεκτικήν, ὡς ἴσασιν οἱ τὰς βίβλους ἀνεγνωκότες, ὑπὲρ ἀξιωμάτων συντάξεως, ἀληθῶν τε καὶ ψευδῶν καὶ δυνατῶν καὶ ἀδυνάτων, ἐνδεχομένων τε καὶ μεταπιπτόντων καὶ ἀμφιβόλων καὶ

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ἄλλων τινῶν τοιουτοτρόπων, οὐδεμίαν οὔτε χρείαν οὔτ’ ὠφέλειαν τοῖς πολιτικοῖς λόγοις συμβαλλομένων, εἰς γοῦν ἡδονὴν ἢ κάλλος ἑρμηνείας, ὧν δεῖ στοχάζεσθαι τὴν σύνθεσιν·ταύτης μὲν τῆς πραγματείας ἀπέστην.

D.H. Comp. 4.31 Anyway, when I decided to deal with this subject, I tried to find out whether preceding writers had already talked about it, particularly the Stoic philosophers, for those people, as far as I knew, paid great attention to the problems of style: we must do them justice. I realized then that nothing had been said anywhere by any of the renowned authors, broaching in no way upon the work I intended to write; I realized also that the two treatises left by Chrysippus entitled The Organisation of the Parts of Language gives us a dialectical and not rhetorical point of view (those who have read this book know this); they deal with the organisation of the propositions according to whether they are true or false, possible or impossible, still accepted or obsolete, or even ambiguous, and so on, all things which are not at all useful, of no use for public eloquence, at least from the point of view of pleasantness or beauty of expression, which is precisely the aim of the stylistic composition. So I gave up this investigation.

One can be surprised at the discrepancy between the title of Chrysippus’ treatises and their interpretation in this passage, but, in the light of the preceding passages, the main point appears to be the aim of the study of the organization of the parts of the utterance. In the case of Chrysippus, it seems that it is a logical aim: on which conditions can an utterance be said to be well formed to play a role in scientific argumentation? At the same time he is the first philosopher to be so closely interested in the organization of the parts of the utterance, using the term σύνταξις for this. However, his work goes far beyond the simple utterance since he is interested in the complex utterance, still with the aim of showing the different forms of reasoning. And he also uses the notion of σύνταξις to describe the organization of the parts of the complex utterance, as is revealed by the following passages, extracted from Diogenes Laertius’ summary: (20)

διασαφοῦν δὲ τὸ μᾶλλον ἀξίωμά ἐστι τὸ συνταττόμενον ὑπὸ τοῦ διασαφοῦντος τὸ μᾶλλον συνδέσμου καὶ τοῦ μέσου τῶν ἀξιωμάτων τασσομένου, οἷον ‘μᾶλλον ἡμέρα ἐστὶν ἢ νύξ ἐστιν’.

D.L. 7.72 (= Chrysipp. fr. 207) The comparative (proposition) is the proposition constructed with the conjunction ‘more’ and the word ‘than’ placed between the two propositions: ‘It is more day than night’.

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(21)

πέμπτος δέ ἐστιν ἀναπόδεικτος, ἐν ᾧ πᾶς λόγος συντάσσεται ἐκ διεζευγμένου καὶ ἑνὸς τῶν ἐν τῷ διεζευγμένῳ ἀντικειμένου καὶ ἐπιφέρει τὸ λοιπόν, οἷον ‘ἤτοι ἡμέρα ἐστὶν ἢ νύξ ἐστιν· οὐχὶ δὲ νύξ ἐστιν· ἡμέρα ἄρα ἐστίν’.

D.L. 7.81 (= Chrysipp. fr. 241) The fifth unprovable is the reasoning in which the whole chain (λόγος) is constructed (συντάσσεται) with a disjunctive (proposition), the opposite of one of the members and concludes with the remaining one, as in: ‘either it is daylight or it is dark; it is not dark; therefore it is daylight’.

Σύνταξις here is the mode of organization which includes in the whole λόγος conceived as a discursive unit the various propositions which cannot be interpreted if not linked to the others. This extension of the process of σύνταξις is again the argumentative aim of the λόγος. We can therefore suppose that Chrysippus and the Stoics are actually at the origin of a technical use of the terms related to the concept of σύνταξις, but from the viewpoint of a theory of argumentation and thus in the domain of philosophical dialectic.

5. Conclusion: Apollonius’ Dyscolus Synthesis At the end of this survey we come to a sort of dichotomy in the use of the family of σύνταξις between the 3rd c. BC and the 1st c. AD. On the one hand, a fairly general form of organization or assembling, which combines some elements by integrating them into a whole of variable size and in various fields: organization of an army corps, of a treatise or a scholarly work (prose, as opposed to poetry), of a grammatical whole or an argumentative discourse. In this meaning, σύνταξις definitely constitutes a general pattern for thinking different types of organization, much more than a technical concept restricted to one type of autonomised discourse. This is perhaps the reason why the terminological family of σύνταξις is not very frequent and in any case not very systematic in the pre-apollonian period. To illustrate the philosophical use of this concept of organization supplied by the family of σύνταξις, I will quote two passages supposedly refering to Chrysippus’ philosophy: (22)

Ὑποκείμενα μὲν γὰρ πρῶτα τάξαντες καὶ τὴν ὕλην ἐνταῦθα τῶν ἄλλων προτάξαντες, τὴν πρώτην αὐτοῖς δοκοῦσαν ἀρχὴν συντάττουσι τοῖς μετὰ τὴν ἀρχὴν αὐτῶν.

Plot. 6.1.25 (= Chrysipp. fr. 373)

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Putting the subjects (ὑποκείμενα) in the first rank, and putting the matter before every other thing, they put what is, for them, the first principle on the same plane as what follows this principle. (23) In libro περὶ προνοίας quarto εἱμαρμένην esse dicit φυσικήν τινα σύνταξιν τῶν ὅλων ἐξ ἀϊδίου τῶν ἑτέρων τοῖς ἑτέροις ἐπακολουθούντων καὶ μεταπολουμένων ἀπαραβάτου οὔσης τῆς τοιαύτης ἐπιπλοκῆς.

Gell. 7.2. (= Chrysipp. fr. 1000) In Book IV of the treatise About the Providence he says «that fate is an order established by nature of all the events that come one after each other and have been transmitting the movement for ages, while their dependence cannot be infringed.

In other words, the philosophical vocabulary of the Stoics was likely to accomodate the σύνταξις but it could also concern the organization of nature and the elaboration of thought. On the other hand, the philologists-grammarians started to restrict the use of this pattern to the internal organization of the sentence. We come then, as we have seen, to a very limited combination of adjacent linguistic elements, elementary sounds, word components or lexical units, but this combination of adjacent elements cannot yield results likely to elaborate a real syntactic theory. Thus the focal point of this historical survey can be found in Apollonius, whose work is a trial of synthesis between the grammatical tradition of the philologists, to whom σύνταξις is a very elementary combination, and the Stoic tradition, which succeeded in giving σύνταξις an unmatched extent, but within the limits of the theory of the λεκτά and of scientific argumentation. This synthesis owes as much to the Alexandrian philology as to the Stoics, but when Apollonius extended the grammatical σύνταξις to the σύνταξις τῶν νοητῶν, he actually introduced syntax into Alexandrian grammar. The well-known text at the beginning of the Syntax intending to demonstrate that the extension of the syntactic process is well-founded and justified, can be read as a trace of that double origin. One may also wonder whether the strange definitions of λέξις and λόγος in Dionysius’ Thrax treatise do not constitute a trace of the difficult convergence between grammatical tradition and philosophical thought. It does not mean that the rhetorical tradition must be put aside, for it certainly played an important role in the development of the concept of σύνταξις, as Dionysius of Halicarnassus proves.

Syntagms in the Artigraphic Latin Grammars Guillaume Bonnet In the school of the West, grammarians are concerned with words as speech units embodying meanings in a sensible form. In order to explain passages of famous poems and other pieces of literary works, single words are considered for themselves, as shown by a text like Priscian’s Partitiones XII uersuum Aeneidos principalium, for instance, which is a specimen of the right treatment (here limited to the twelve first verses of the Aeneid cantos) by students of the knowledge they received at school. It is thus possible to understand why grammarians assert that sedes can be seen both as nominative singular and plural, that pila may as well be a feminine singular or a neutral plural noun. These examples are taken from orthographists,1 whose purpose deals explicitly with single lexical items. That could be said also for artigraphs, who study words in a serial way, considering the language as a corpus of words gathered into units of which they give the characteristics. In that sense, one could assert that artigraphs are orthographists who systematically use the first level of the Varronian analogy. In that particular context, it is not irrelevant to ask whether words in context are also taken into account. We do not intend to locate the question at the syntactic level—it is well know that Apollonius Dyscolus and Priscian a few centuries later have examined the mechanism of sense production through language. But as the purpose of ancient grammarians, including Priscian, was to study mainly words in theirs morphological behaviour, I shall limit myself to what will be thereafter called ‘syntagms’, the close associations of autonomous words the meaning of which is obviously more than an addition of the different meanings involved in it, such as res publica.

1

For sedes, see Velius Longus, De orthographia, G.L. VII 56.15–18, or [Caper] De orthographia, G.L. VII 105.1; for pila, see Scaurus, De orthographia 19.2ff. Biddau.

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1. Syntagms used in Grammatical Analysis Despite what we have said about words as single units for the grammatical purpose, their context is also taken into account in front of students. Two levels are to be considered.

Definition of partes orationis Syntax itself is part of the definition of two partes orationis: aduerbium and praepositio. The classical definition given by Donatus (Mai. 640.2–3 Holtz) makes it very clear: ‘Aduerbium est pars orationis quae adiecta uerbo significationem eius explanat atque inplet’, ‘adverb is a part of speech which, when added to verb, explains and completes its meaning’. Adverb exists only through its relation with a verb: in other words, no adverb without a verb (except, of course, special situations which will be further dealt with by the teacher). More evident is the case of praepositio; according to Donatus (Mai. 648, 4–5 Holtz), ‘Praepositio est pars orationis quae praeposita aliis partibus orationis significationem earum aut conplet aut mutat aut minuit’, ‘preposition is a part of speech which, when put before other parts of speech either completes or changes or diminishes their meaning’. It has been a problem, for Apollonius,2 to determine whether Greek προθέσεις were to be considered as prepositions (in the modern sense) or as prefixes. For Latin grammarians, such a question is no more a problem because the scarcity of case constructions (only accusative and ablative; both only with in, sub and super, subter) allows one to state precisely where they are to be considered as compounds, where as affixes, and also because there are in fact prepositions which never take part in compounds (apud, penes), something that may help to distinguish this pars orationis at a lexical level. These very words are to be found only in syntagms. After his definition for praepositio, Donatus goes on stating explicitly this dependence at both the semantic and the morphologic level (Mai. 648, 10–11 Holtz): ‘Praepositiones aut casibus seruiunt aut loquellis aut et casibus et loquellis. Aeque aut coniunguntur aut separantur aut et coniunguntur et separantur’ ‘prepositions go with cases or with words or with both cases and words. They are equally either joined or put apart or joined and put apart’. More generally, conjunction is also looked at in its connective function, as it binds up (adnectere) and arranges (ordinare) sententiam (‘sentence’ in both the intellectual and the linguistic sense!).

2

See the general purpose of Synt. IV.

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1.2. Identification of Single Words Not only in definitions do grammarians consider the syntagmatic level, but also in order to classify words the nature of which is not clear at first sight, especially adverbs. So does Priscian (Inst. gramm. 17, G.L. III 197.16–20): ‘Proprie autem illae sunt praepositiones accipiendae quae sine casualibus proferri non possunt separate, ut in illum, per illum, pro illo, sub illo, de illo, ab illo, ex illo. Nam pone et coram possunt etiam sine casualibus proferri, qui aduerbia sunt, ut Virgilius in II Aeneidos : Pone subit coniunx…’. In the case of pone and coram, students are requested to widen the frame of the analysis up to a minimal construction in order to determine to what pars orationis do belong these words. By their nature, communia uerba , ‘ambiguous verbs’, fluctuating between deponent and passive value, such as criminor, ‘accuse’ or ‘be accused’, need such a widening within the text they appear in: do they depend upon an agent (criminor a te) or support an object (criminor te)? Among many other examples, we can quote a passage drawn out from the beginning of the fifth Book of Charisius’ Grammar, whose content gave rise to numerous reflexions:3 Participia igitur, ut supra diximus, casus recipiunt suorum uerborum, uelut amo uxorem, amans uxorem, seruo domum, seruans domum, metuo patrem, metuens patrem. Nomina uero participialia quae nomina fiunt ex participiis praesentis temporis genetiuum admittunt, uelut amans amicorum, seruans aequi, metuens periculi, metuens deorum, fidens animi, egens pecuniarum, sciens bonorum. Charisius, Ars grammatica 379.24–380.1 Barwick Therefore participles, as aforesaid, need the case of their corresponding verb, as amo uxorem, amans uxorem, seruo domum, seruans domum, metuo patrem, metuens patrem. But participial nouns, which are nouns made from present participles accept genitive, as amans amicorum, seruans aequi, metuens periculi, metuens deorum, fidens animi, egens pecuniarum, sciens bonorum.

We will notice that the passage is located in a chapter De idiomatibus (‘Idiomatic expressions’): actually, the possible confusion between nouns and participles is typical of Latin, and needs a clear statement. 3

K. Barwick, responsible for the Teubner edition (1925), gathered together in the 5th Book different tracts following the ruined end of the Ars in the main manuscript, Neap. Lat. IV A 8. A closer investigation makes clear that Barwick’s text is not exactly fitted to what is announced in the preserved Summary. One may conjecture that the wasted antigraph has been made up in a scriptorium (in Bobbio, where the manuscript comes from?) with more or less relevant stuff coming from other grammatical texts, now lost.

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We have already seen a passage of Priscian Institutiones grammaticae. In the ‘syntactic’ books 17 and 18, he employs syntax (note the use of the word) as an heuristic device for students, as he clearly asserts after a detailed exposition of ambiguous forms: ‘Omnis enim constructio, quam Graeci σύνταξιν uocant, ad intellegendum uocis est’, ‘every construction, which Greeks call syntaxis, is connected to the meaning of what is pronounced’ (Inst. gramm. 17, G.L. III 201.11–12). On a larger scale interjections can also be distinguished from exclamatory adverbs. It is well known that this eighth part of speech belongs specifically to Latin grammar. Nevertheless, the category of exclamatory adverbs, which are in Greek grammar the equivalent of Latin interjections, has not been suppressed. Though through a ‘Greek’ treatment of interjections (to which are devoted, instead of a single book, a few lines at the end of Book 15 on adverbs), Priscian gives a very acute analysis of the status of interjection in Latin: … si dicam papae, quid uideo?, uel per se papae, etiamsi non addatur miror, habet in se ipsius uerbi significationem. Quae res maxime fecit Romanarum artium scriptores separatim hanc partem ab aduerbiis accipere, quia uidetur affectum habere in se uerbi et plenam motus animi significationem, etiamsi non addatur uerbum, demonstrare. Priscianus, Institutiones grammaticae 15, G.L. III 90.7–12 If I say ‘What the hell am I seeing’, we can consider that even if ‘I wonder’ is not added, the hell has in itself the very meaning of this verb. Mainly for this reason the authors of Latin grammars conceived this part of speech apart from adverbs, for it seems that it involves in itself the mood expressed by the verb and fully voices a motion of the soul without adding any verb.

‘It seems that it (the interjection papae) involves in itself the mood expressed by the verb and fully voices a motion of the soul without adding any verb’: this is, in all probability, the reason—a syntactical reason— why Latin grammarians decided to remove some exclamative words from the category of adverbs: who did it? And when? We may only conjecture that it may have arisen from the grammatical comments on plays, when students could often meet cues reduced to one single interjection, and for which the suspicion of aposiopesis was not relevant. Lastly, the syntactic training, as we can call the chria exercise, is based on words put into particular, suggestive context, whose complexity could improve students intellectual agility, such as this one, taken from Diomedes’ Ars (G.L. I 310.1ff.), shaped for detecting Alzheimer syndrome: ‘Nominatiuo casu, numero singulari: Marcus Porcius Cato dixit litterarum radices amaras esse, fructus iocundiores; genetiuo casu: Marci Porci Catonis dictum fertur litterarum radices amaras esse, fructus

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iocundiores…’, ‘nominative singular: “Marcus Porcius Cato said the roots of literature are bitter, but more pleasant its fruits”; genitive singular : one reports a sentence of Marcus Porcius Cato that the roots of literature are bitter, but more pleasant its fruits…’.

1.3. Syntagm and Standard In spite of the chria exercise, Latin Artes grammaticae never give the impression of being handbooks for elementary Latin teaching, even when they clearly have been written for Greek speaking students (such as Dositheus’, or the so called Grammatica anonymi Bobiensis). In order to learn rudiments of Latin language, another kind of handbooks has been developed: hermeneumata.4 Oral mastering of every day Latin is implicit. Nevertheless, for grammatical purposes, students are facing lists of Latin peculiarities with respect to Greek. In that sense, we may consider that, in front of a bilingual audience, contrast is an efficient pedagogical device. A minimal context is required to set up the idiomata rolls. Diomedes (G.L. I 311, 3–7) introduces verbs with genitive object, then with dative, etc., in a more general frame dealing with the origins of Latin language: Verba diuersis casibus apud Romanos hoc modo iunguntur. Nam cum ab omni sermone Graeco Latina loquella pendere uideatur, quaedam inueniuntur uel licentia ab antiquis uel proprietate Latinae linguae dicta praeter consuetudinem Graecorum, quae ‘idiomata’ appellantur. Agnoscuntur autem ex casibus… Diomedes, G.L. I 311.3–7. ‘Thus words are combined in Latin with different cases. As a matter of fact, despite the fact that Latin words seem to depend on every kind of Greek speech, some can be found which are used without any regard for the Greek custom; we call them idiomata. They are distinguished by cases…’.

By using ‘micro-context’ and involving that the contrast will be found out by the students, one can put forward theoretical, more abstract matter: syntactic relationships for instance, as they exist between cases and persons, or persons and verbal moods, etc. The link between two accidentia which are characteristic of the basic categories of nouns and verbs is held as essential, and we find a great deal of such observations in anonymous tracts following Dositheus’ Ars (G.L. VII 426.4–7): ‘Casus nominatiuus trahit uerbum tertiae personae, ut Pompeius in litore Aegypti dicitur occidisse, nominatur inter auctores Caelius, Vergilius Aeneida fecit. Vocatiuus secundam personam accipit, ut Vergili scribe, Cicero re4

Cf. Rochette 1997.

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sponde’, ‘nominative calls for the verb at the third person, as Pompeius in litore Aegypti dicitur occidisse, nominatur inter auctores Caelius, Vergilius Aeneida fecit. Vocative receives the second person, as Vergili scribe, Cicero responde’. A second example, from Priscian (Inst. gramm. 8, G.L. II 449.7–11), echoes well known observations by Apollonius Dyscolus (Synt 358.15ff.): ‘In imperatiuis prima persona singularis non potest esse, quod naturaliter imperans ab eo cui imperat diuiditur. Cum ergo prima persona est quae loquitur, ipsa sibi imperare non potest. Vnde hic modus et uocatiuum asciscit qui in secunda tantum persona inuenitur, ut doce grammatice!’, ‘at the imperative mood, there can not be any first person singular, for it is normal for who is giving an order to be different from the one who receives it. Therefore, when a first person is speaking, it cannot give an order to itself. Hence is this mood calling for vocative, which is found only in the second person, as doce grammatice!’. Under the generic name of locutio, the second Appendix Probi (G.L. IV 196.13–197.6) gathered such syntagms classified by cases.

2. Syntagms and Word Composition Locutio does not express a third case in which the frame of single words is overstepped. This time, we do not mean a device made up to remove ambiguity, nor a speech fragment worth quoting for its contrastive efficiency, or any syntactic interest, but we deal with an element that morphological theory—the ground of grammatical handbooks—must report.

2.1. An Orthographic Problem? As a matter of fact, some lexical syntagms develop a unique, specific meaning, just like single words are supposed to do. But in this case, grammarians are dealing with two separate items. Such are, for instance, iusiurandum, praefectus Vrbis, huiusmodi or maior natu.5 Modern editors sometimes write these syntagms as units, sometimes print two separate

5

From a non exhaustive list of such syntagms, let us draw these, not mentioned in our text (references are to Keil’s Grammatici Latini): fidei commissum (V 349.21), iuris consultus (II 441.11), iuris peritus (II 184.6 and 441.11), paterfamilias (II 179.12; V 43.21), plebis scitum (III 175.8 and 185.21), praefectus fabrum (II 441.12), promilite (IV 543.20), senatus decretum (II 179.13 and 441.11).

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words, being influenced by tradition more than by precise rules.6 Moreover, it seems that ancient writer had no rules on this subject; they may have not been insensitive to a rather strange criterion, as we may think, which could be called ‘semantic weight’: let us consider the Q of the famous Latin device SPQR: by no mean a single word to be written apart, as grammarians perfectly knew, but a full meaning element, as it expresses the famous balance of the Roman republican constitution. Ancient grammarians’ perplexity about writing syntagms is witnessed by Quintilian (Inst. 1.5.68), whose interest on grammar devoted 1.4 of his Course of rhetoric to the matter treated by artigraphs. Regarding the morphology of compounds he notes: ‘Compounds are made in Latin, first, of two complete parts (but we may wonder whether they still are compounds of entire parts, or syntagms), secondly...’.7 The question is whether syntagms like praefectus Vrbis or iusiurandum, associating more than one (virtually) autonomous lexical units, are to be considered as compounds, or free associations.

2.2. Syntagms and Morphological Analysis It is well known that in ancient grammar four main types of compounds exist, according to a perfectly mastered analysis: compounds made of two entire words, compounds made of two corrupted words, and two kinds of mixed compounds: Figurae nominibus accidunt duae, simplex et conposita: simplex, ut doctus, potens; conposita, ut indoctus, inpotens. Conponuntur autem nomina modis quattuor: ex duobus integris, ut suburbanus; ex duobus corruptis, ut efficax, municeps; ex integro et corrupto, ut ineptus, insulsus; ex corrupto et integro, ut pennipotens, nugigerulus. Conponuntur etiam de conpluribus, ut inexpugnabilis, inperterritus. Donatus, Mai. 624.1–5 Holtz ‘There are for nouns two shapes : simple or composed ; simple as doctus, potens, composed as indoctus, inpotens. There are four ways of composing nouns : from two complete nouns, as sub-urbanus; from two corrupted ones, as ef-ficax, muni-ceps; from a complete one and a shortened one, as ineptus, in-sulsus; from a corrupted one and a complete one, as penni-potens, nugi-gerulus. Even from more are some composed, as in-ex-pugnabilis, in-perterritus’. 6 7

It would be of some interest to investigate the practice of modern editors from the Renaissance onwards. ‘Iunguntur autem aut ex duobus Latinis integris, ut superfui, supterfugi, quamquam ex integris an composita sint quaeritur, aut…’. Translation is mine.

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Let us pass over the three types including corrupted parts, for syntagms are not supposed to involve corrupted words. The classical example of the entire + entire compound before Donatus is infelix (cf. PseudoProbus / Palladius, Instituta artium, G.L. IV 54.3, etc.). After Donatus, it will last in artigraphic tradition to illustrate compounds in general (which is significant a short cut), offering thus an interesting parallel with verbal compounds, which too involve prefix, while suburbanus has taken its place. Donatus goes on underlining that, throughout the declination, only nominative elements vary, and there he at least quotes true (for us) syntagms: In declinatione conpositorum nominum, animaduertere debemus ea, quae ex duobus nominatiuis conposita fuerint, ex utraque parte per omnes casus declinari, ut eques Romanus, praetor urbanus; quae ex nominatiuo et quolibet alio casu conposita fuerint, ea parte declinari tantum qua fuerit nominatiuus casus, ut praefectus equitum, senatus consultum. Donatus, Mai. 624.5–9 Holtz When we decline compounds, we must notice that those which are composed from two nominatives decline within their two parts through all cases, like… Those which are composed from a nominative and any other case decline only in their nominative part, like praefectus equitum, senatus consultum.

In the same list, we read only one example of what we would spontaneously qualify a syntagm (the last one), and three other which seem to be more casual sequences of names and determinative adjectives. By doing so, Donatus is not an exception; Consentius, who drew from an authority which might be also Donatus, quotes suburbanus (G.L. V 349.25), but also Liber Pater and eques Romanus! Later on, Priscian will give as example of entire word + entire compounds tribunusplebis (= tribunus plebis?) and iusiurandum, without mentioning any prefixed form (Inst. gramm. 5, G.L. II 178.17). Moreover, in the same section of his Institutiones, Priscian sketches out a absolute typology of nominal syntagms (183.9–12): ‘Et singularia cum pluralibus componuntur, ut orbisterrae et orbisterrarum, paterfamilias et paterfamiliarum, armipotens et armorumpotens, magistermilitum, asecretis, acalculis, aresponsis, abactis’, ‘singular nouns are composed with plural nouns, as orbisterrae et orbisterrarum, paterfamilias et paterfamiliarum, armipotens et armorumpotens, magistermilitum, asecretis, acalculis, aresponsis, abactis’. Doubtless, these syntagms are considered as compounds. Do grammarians reveal their criteria for doing so? Modern scholars would answer after checking at least three criteria: is there a unique accent? Are the sequence and order of elements fixed?

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Does the meaning of the whole exceed the combination of the meaning of each part? 2.2.1. How to acccentuate Syntagms? The Greek grammatical tradition leaves no doubt about the accentuation of syntagms: Τὸ γὰρ Διὸς κόρος παροξυνόμενος μὲν τὴν γενικὴν ἔχει ἰδίᾳ νοουμένην, ὅμοιον ὂν τῷ Διὸς υἱός, προπαροξυνόμενον δὲ ὅμοιόν ἐστιν τῷ Διόγνητος, Διόδοτος [...]. Ταῦτα γὰρ καὶ τὰ τούτοις ὅμοια ἄπειρα ὄντα συνελθόντα μὲν κατὰ τὸν λόγον τῆς συνθέσεως ἔχει καὶ τὸν τόνον συνῃρημένον, οὐχ οὕτως δὲ ἔχοντα καὶ τὰ τοῦ τόνου ἔχει ἀσυνέλευστα, καθάπερ δὲ εἴπομεν, ἐν τῇ καθ᾿ ἕκαστον μόριον μονῇ τοῦ τόνου τὸ κατὰ παράθεσιν ὁμολογεῖ.

Apollonius Dyscolus, Synt. 434.19–435.4 Dios kóros [Zeus’ young boy], when bearing the acute on the penultimate syllable, has a genitive with a proper signification, like Dios hyiós [son of Zeus], but when bearing the stress on the antepenultimate syllable, it is very like Diógnetos, Diódotos… These, and those alike, who are countless, if they go together according to the law of compounds, have also a drawn stress, but if they do not behave that way and if the stresses remain apart, as we have said, by maintaining a stress on each part it is to be recognized as words put aside.

Event if the attention paid to Apollonius by Latin grammarian is not perceptible until Priscian, we can be almost sure (Apollonius does not present it as new) that the above mentioned doctrine was widespread among artigraphs. In the western tradition too, the uniqueness of the accent is underlined, e.g. by Donatus (Mai. 610.8–9 Holtz): ‘In conpositis dictionibus unus accentus est non minus quam in una parte orationis, ut malesanus, interealoci’, ‘in compounds, there is only one stress, no less than in one part of speech, like malesanus, interealoci’. The examples given by Donatus may puzzle us, for malesanus is nowhere attested. Perhaps it is a reshaped, or a modern ‘translation’ of a dated uesanus. Interealoci written as a compound is well known, and Donatus himself fixed on it in his Commentary of Terentius’ plays, confirming what he implies in his Grammar.8 Afterwards his analysis prevailed, but a few centuries before, as Charisius testifies in a part of his handbook taken from Julius Romanus (end of the 2nd century AD), the status of this syntagm was absolutely not sorted out (Charisius, 261.6–8 Barwick): 8

Ad Eun. 255: ‘Interealoci: duae partes orationis cum coniunctae unam fecerunt mutant accentum’.

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‘Terentius in Eunucho: interea loci, ubi Acron ‘quaeritur, inquit, quo accentu dici debeat’, ‘Terentius in The Eunuch interea loci : here is Acron wondering with what stress it is to be pronounced’. By asking with what accent is supposed to be pronounced interea loci, Acron alluded to the fact that unstressed syllables received, according to ancient theory, a grave accent, not an acute or a circumflex one. Acron was not sure at all about the right accentuation, that is, about the fact that loci should be analysed as the second part of a compound.9 If it was firmly asserted that compounds had one accent, the position of this acute / circumflex accent was still to be determined. Was it, as with enclitics, on the last syllable of the stressed first part?10 Or did the compound follow the normal rules of Latin accentuation? Did Latin speakers pronounce, if not rês pública, rêspublica, or respública? And what about éques Românus, or praefêctus équitum? No clear answer is given, and the example of interea loci prevents us, it seems, from considering it so obvious that no explanation was required. 2.2.2. Separablity of Syntagms? The second one of the modern criteria, the order of the elements, is never explicitly touched on in grammatical literature. We can just find remarks about the possible dislocation of such compounds, precisely about stress. Only Priscian is frank to assert that the consequence of the division of compounds is that each part takes back its own stress: A uicesimo et supra maiori minorem addunt numero plerumque, ante decem uero minorem ponunt, quando composita accipiuntur et sub uno accentu proferuntur. Nam licet dissoluta compositione diuersis accentibus ea proferentes mutare ordinem, quomodo et apud Graecos, et dicere decimus et septimus pro septimusdecimus, et tertius et uicesimus pro uicesimustertius, sic et similia Priscianus, Fig. num., G.L. III 413.11–17 From uicesimo [twentieth] onwards, the little number is generally added to the big one, but we put the little one before decem [ten] when are understood as compounds and pronounced with one stress. We may untie the compounds and pronounce them with different stresses and a different order, as Greeks also do, and say decimus et septimus [tenth and seventh] instead of septimusdecimus [seventeenth], and tertius et uicesimus [third and twentieth] instead of uicesimustertius [twenty third], and so on.

9 What makes the analysis of interea loci particularly difficult is the fact that the semantic value of the genitive is far from clear. 10 Cf. Audax, Excerpta de Scauro et Palladio, G.L. VII 361.2–9.

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He is dealing with ordinals from ‘twenty-first’ onwards, for which dislocation is a regular alternative, but even in the Institutiones, he dealt with this problem about other, ‘normal’ compounds (G.L. II 183.12–14): ‘Possunt tamen haec eadem etiam separata esse si diuersos accentus his dederis uel interponas coniunctiones, ut resque publica, populusque Romanus, tribunusque plebis’, ‘yet these very ones can also be detached if you give to each a different stress, or if you put between them a conjunction, as resque publica, populusque Romanus, tribunusque plebis’. If so, compounds cease to be compounds (separata esse ; above, dissoluta compositione), for each stress means one single word. Are we then allowed to speak about sole words? And what kind of words are they, which can be freely embodied in one lexem or two? Is it conceivable that one word, with no etymological background, nor any diachronic purpose, can be divided in two separate lexical items without any semantic alteration of the previous, compound meaning? 2.2.3. Tmesis and Syntagms In fact, one can find, in the store of theoretical explanations kept by grammarians, a key to this problematic morphological behaviour: tmesis. This trope is usually exemplified with the same line from Vergil’s Georgica (3.381) : ‘Talis Hyperboreo Septem subiecta Trioni’, adding sometimes the most improbable Ennius’ phrase ‘saxo cere comminuit brum’ (Ann. 609) and even Lucilius’ ‘conque tubernalem’ (1137 Marx). At best, discontinuous lexems fit effects strengthening the impression given to readers; indeed, more often (if ‘often’ is relevant in the case of this very rare trope) tmesis is asserted metri necessitate, as would say a practical-minded grammarian following ‘Marius-Victorinus’ / Aphthonius (G.L. VI 56.6). Nevertheless, we do not find, and certainly Roman students did not, eques Romanus, nor senatus consultum in contexts requiring such a justification. Moreover, if grammarians admitted that discontinuous compounds exist, they would be leaded to pedagogical difficulties: when dealing with single words in literary commentary, how can students be sure that they are not in front of separate pieces of discontinuous compounds? In fact, neither cere, nor tubernalis do exist, and this is the mark of the trope. In the case of septemtrio, both components exist as free words (event if trio is rare), but Vergil’s line is precisely the example of tmesis, and when found elsewhere (Ov. Met. 2.528, for instance) septem … trio is easy to recognize.11 Tmesis is in no way an explanatory principle of compounds. 11 Inverted order is used by Pliny the Elder (Nat. 2.172), but this is not a school program author.

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2.3. Semantic Combination and Frequency of Syntagms It is certain that the combination of the two words, on a semantic level, produces in some cases a specific meaning, surpassing the result of the mere combination: populus Romanus is a descriptive sequence, as the people involved is not the one of Athens, for instance, nor the Roman here mentioned do belong to the globe of nobility; it points at the people of Rome dealing with Romana maiestas and imperium. More clearly, eques Romanus is not the designation of a Roman citizen usually riding horses, but a social, political description of a Roman citizen through census, etc. What actually causes the sequences of words to become syntagms is their own history, that is, the frequency of occurrences. Vsus is therefore to be taken into account. It distinguishes the sequence populus Romanus, especially frequent in the acronymic description of the Roman state—frequent enough to allow an enclitic to be inserted between the two elements without breaking off the idiomatic link. 2.3.1. Vsus and Grammar Normally, usus calls for universal recognition, as it reflects a general, common use of Latin language. But times change, and so do speeches. What has been admitted as a syntagm by some, may be considered a casual association by others. The scholastic literary corpus, fixed centuries ago by teachers, fortunately prevents from doubting about so called ‘casual associations’, but we can sometimes catch grammarians obviously abusing of general agreement on syntagm status. When going into details about the word res, which is to be found in the first line of Aeneid III, Priscian (Partitiones, G.L. III 475.28) states that the only compounds built with res are respublica and ... resuxoria. The association of res and the adjective uxoria is admittedly found in Latin literature, with this order (Ter. An. 829) or in reverse order (in Emancipatus, a play by Afranius (84 R3), according to Julius Romanus, in Charisius 284.2 Barwick), but it is not frequent in literature. Lawyers in fact use this word so often as to make a syntagm of it, as we can conclude from Codex Iustinianus V 13, which deals with wife property under the title De rei uxoriae actione, etc. Moreover, the compilation activity of Justinian’s lawyers took place at the very same time as Priscian was teaching in Constantinople. We may therefore assert that law speech provided Priscian with a compound he then introduced somewhat excessively in grammar.

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2.3.2. Vsus and Paedagogical Necessity At the school of the grammarian, what students need more is precisely the knowledge of literary usus! That is why they again and again study classics: to get a personal impression of what literature is made of. Identification without any context is problematic, and needs a previous notion; but also in context, i.e. in everyday classroom work, identification is a problem. In the Ars of Diomedes (G.L. I 436.28–29), we find a reading method which is evidently built up in order to make sensitive syntagms not appearing as such: continuatio. It is, as he says, ‘rerum contexta dictio, ut Scythiam septemque triones [Ov. Met. 1.64]’. We would have most probably read about this legato reading in the Ars of Charisius, if the passage heralded in the summary of his handbook (Charisius 3.37 Barwick) was preserved, which would mean that this knack was not a personal creation of Diomedes. Beyond the problem of visual identification, it aims to demonstrate that compounds were not immediately sensitive to Roman ears, and we remember the rather evasive treatment of syntagm accentuation. If we put aside the case of prefixed words, Roman grammarians are confused about nomina (et alia) composita ab duobus integris. The polymorphism of syntagms is ruinous for structured explanation as well as for the capacity of picking them out of a literal text. It seems that, for this reason, some grammarians have tried to deny syntagms any morphological reality: Gellius, evoking a friendly controversy about this problem, says (2.21.6–7): ‘Tum quispiam ex his qui se ad litteras memoriasque ueteres dediderat ‘Vulgus, inquit, grammaticorum Septentriones a solo numero stellarum dictum putat. Triones enim per sese nihil significare aiunt, sed uocabuli esse supplementum’”, ‘then someone among them, devoted to literature and memory of old time said ‘The common run of grammarians thinks we say Septemtriones in reference only to the number of stars [septem = seven] ; they say that triones [ploughing oxen] by itself does not mean anything, and is just a formal extension of the designation’. In fact, if trio means nothing,12 i.e. if it is just a morpheme, there is no more clearly discontinuous sequences to be considered syntagms, and we are back to a plain morphological level of both material and semantic units. On the other side, if only semantic considerations are able to give a good account of the phenomenon, beside eventual abuses, as we have seen with Priscian, the morphological frame of Latinitas is about to ex-

12 About morphological items without any sense, cf. Baratin 1999. A semantically empty element is often called epectasis.

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plode. How is it possible to analyse such strange compounds as ab actis,13 where we recognize a prefixed preposition and a set plural ablative? A way of bypassing the difficulty is to think of such compounds as dictiones, a word which might be translated as ‘sensitive frames’. This level is not yet the one of the ultimate division of speech, partes orationis, with their definitions and accidentia. So did cautiously, at closer examination, most of Latin grammarians.14 In that way free usus can be taken into account by grammatical theory.

13 A word frequent at the time of Priscian (the only grammarians mentioning it) as a function in imperial administration: cf. Lyd., Mag. 20.1 et 2, etc. In Greek, the possibility of using the article clears up the situation: so does Johannes Lydus in the second (but not the first) occurrence. 14 For instance Charisius 15.5–6 Barwick and, consequently, Diomedes, G.L. I 436.17, etc. Pseudo-Augustine (Regulae, G.L. V 506.30) sets out ‘nomina sub duplici enuntiatione’, ‘double pronounciation’, etc.

Latin Grammatical Manuals in the Early Middle Ages: Tradition and Adaptation in the Participle Chapter* Louise Visser Introduction For teaching Latin in early medieval Western Europe, teachers used grammars from Late Antiquity. In the third and fourth centuries AD, several grammarians wrote a grammar text in the traditional way of the ars grammatica, in which the description of the partes orationis, ‘parts of speech’ or word classes, was the main part. Each of these grammarians dealt with the legacy of grammatical writings available to him in his own way. Sacerdos and Ps.-Probus provide relatively early accounts: Sacerdos is to be placed in the third century, whereas Ps.-Probus’ grammar Instituta artium is nowadays often identified as a fourth-century summary of the grammar of the late-third-, early-fourth-century Palladius.1 Charisius and Diomedes, both in the first half of the fourth century probably working for Greeks,2 each assembled a number of existing accounts of Latin grammar in their artes grammaticae. Donatus, in the middle of the fourth century, wrote a succinct summary of the grammatical theory of the day. He did this on two levels: in the elementary Ars minor and the (more) advanced Ars maior. Both the older grammars and the grammars supposedly intended for Greeks contain more details primarily of formal nature than the grammars of Donatus. On the verge of the fifth century, a new genre has been inaugurated by Servius: the grammatical commentary. Servius wrote a commentary *

1 2

The research for this article has been conducted as part of the project ‘History of the Participle in the Early Medieval Latin Grammaticography’, subsidized by the Fonds voor Wetenschappelijk Onderzoek–Vlaanderen (G.0545.07). I would like to express my gratitude to Prof. Alfons Wouters and Prof. Pierre Swiggers for commenting on drafts of this article. See Schmidt 1989, 112; 116–119. Dionisotti 1984, 204–205.

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on both grammars of Donatus, who had by that time acquired a lot of authority. In Late Antiquity it was very common to write a commentary on authoritative texts rather than an entirely ‘new’ text, and Servius applied this method to Latin grammar.3 Servius was soon followed by other grammarians. During the fifth through ninth centuries, many Donatus commentaries saw the light.4 But also new grammars were written, in order to meet the changed and changing needs of the students. I call these grammars which are not commentaries ‘autonomous grammars’. Obviously, the commentaries follow the order of Donatus’ texts. But most of the autonomous grammars, on their part, also rely heavily on Donatus. They generally follow Donatus’ Ars minor as to contents and the order in which the information is presented, but they add supplementary information from the Ars maior and from other sources. The new cultural and linguistic context of the Early Middle Ages accounts for the changing needs of the students I alluded to. Christianity invaded most aspects of life, including education on all levels. At the same time, ‘barbarians’ invaded the territory of the Western Roman Empire. As groups of ‘barbarians’ took over Roman bureaucracy and accepted the Christian Church with its institutions and writings, they needed to learn Latin. In this way, a new function for grammar texts slowly emerged: they were more and more used for the teaching of Latin as a second language instead of (only) as manuals for those whose mother tongue was Latin. The question is, now, whether this changed context and new function led to any kind of adaptation of the ars grammatica as a genre and if so, how the Late-Antique manuals were adapted in the Early Middle Ages. We must also try to account for all other changes that occur in the early medieval grammars. The following table gives an overview of the corpus studied for this article.

3 4

Greek grammatical commentaries existed already for some time (Plezia 1949, 45–46; 68–69, and cf. Mariotti 1967, 100–122). The early commentaries of the fifth century show strong features of interdependence, most recently investigated by Christian Stock in his 2005 edition of the grammar by Sergius (formerly know as Ps.-Cassiodorus).

Latin Grammatical Manuals in the Early Middle Ages nr. 1

century 5

2

5

3

5

4

5

5

5

6

5

7

5

8

5

9

5

10

5

11 12

5 6

13

7

14

7

15 16

7 7

17

7

18

8

19

8

20

8

21

8

text Ps.-Augustinus, Regulae Audax, Excerpta de Scauro et Palladio Sergius (Ps.Cassiodorus), Commentarium de oratione et de octo partibus orationis Servius, Commentarium in artem Donati minorem Servius, Commentarium in artem Donati maiorem Sergius, Primae expositiones de prioribus Donati Explanationes in Donatum I Explanationes in Donatum II Pompeius, Commentum artis Donati Cledonius, Ars I Cledonius, Ars II Asporius, Ars grammatica Iulianus Toletanus, Ars grammatica Iulianus Toletanus, De partibus orationis Ars Ambrosiana Anonymus ad Cuimnanum, Expossitio Latinitatis Quae sunt quae Congregatio Salcani filii de uerbo Ars Ambianensis

Bonifatius, Ars grammatica Tatuinus, Ars grammatica

kind of text autonomous

reference participle chapter G.L. V 520.1–30

autonomous

G.L. VII 348.31–349.8

comm. Don. Mai.

Stock 2005, 61.1–63.15

comm. Don. Min.

G.L. IV 416.26–418.30

comm. Don. Mai.

G.L. IV 440.16–441.27

comm. Don. Min.

G.L. VIII 155.28–156.24

comm. Don. Min. + Mai. I comm. Don. Mai. II + III comm. Don. Mai.

G.L. IV 513.8–515.34

comm. Don. Min. comm. Don. Mai. autonomous

G.L. V 22.27–23.35

comm. Don. Min. comm. Don. Mai.

Maestre Yenes 1973, 89–93 Munzi 1983, 214.21–218.4

comm. Don. Mai. comm. Don. Mai.

C.C.S.L. 133C, 144–155 C.C.S.L. 133D, XXI (142–146)

comm. Don. Min. autonomous

Munzi 2004, 29 (§ 32)

autonomous

377

G.L. IV 560.13–17 G.L. V 256.8–264.15

G.L. V 70.11–73.5 G.L. VIII 55.23–57.13

Löfstedt 1965, 258.11–260.21

autonomous

Cod. Sang. 877, pp. 450–454 (= Ms. G), consulted online: Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen / Codices Electronici Sangallenses: http://www.cesg.unifr.ch. C.C.S.L. 133B, 78–79

autonomous

C.C.S.L. 133, V (80–83)

Table 1: Corpus of grammar texts used for the present article The corpus consists of the grammar texts from the period 400ȭ780 AD. This means that I include the grammars which appeared right after Donatus although they technically still belong to Late Antiquity (nrs. 1–11 in Table 1), because this is the period in which Donatus started to be

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taken as the authority par excellence on grammar. For the early medieval period, I will limit myself to the grammars before Alcuin. Alcuin, active at the court of Charlemagne in the last decades of the eighth century, is the conventional ‘turning point–figure’ in the history of early medieval linguistic thinking. Until then, Latin grammars were largely based on the manuals of Donatus. Alcuin is said to have introduced in Latin grammar the viewpoints and descriptions of the extensive Institutiones grammaticae written by Priscian in Constantinopel at the beginning of the sixth century.5 Priscian’s grammar differed from the earlier Latin artes grammaticae in that he introduced many elements of Greek linguistic thinking into his account of the Latin language, which before had not been heeded by Latin grammarians. This corpus of grammars between 400 and 780 AD contains two types of texts: commentaries on one or both of Donatus’ grammars and autonomous texts. The fact that they come in two types does not impede that these grammars are studied together, since they are very much rooted in the same tradition. They all deal with Donatus and they generally use the same sources.6 I will here conduct a case-study of the chapters dealing with the participle in the indicated corpus of grammar texts. In our sources for grammatical thought in Antiquity, mainly in Greek ones, the status of the particiciple as an autonomous word class had been under discussion.7 The Latin sources from the third century AD onwards do not question the autonomy of the participle, although it stands somewhere ‘in between’ the noun and the verb, displaying features of both. As has been said, Donatus is the principle source for the grammars from 400 AD onwards. The chapters on the participle in Donatus have the following structure. They consist mainly of a definition with an etymology (Participium est pars orationis, dicta quod partem capiat nominis partemque uerbi [Don. Mai. II 14, 644.2 Holtz]), the grammatical categories or accidentia (genus, casus, tempus, significatio, numerus, figura [644.4–5]), and some ‘additional observations’ (Min. 598.9–599.11; Mai. 645.13–646.12).8 All texts in my corpus treat the participle as an autonomous word class in a separate chapter. The question can be raised, however, 5 6

7 8

Cf. Kneepkens 1995, 241 with references; Gibson 1992, 17–18; Holtz 2000a; Holtz 2000b, 526–527 and 531; Swiggers 2004, 153–156, 160. For this study, I left aside the grammar texts by Virgilius Maro Grammaticus (probably 7th century). They are quite untypical and I have not yet studied them, and their context, sufficiently. See Law 1995 for this grammarian. See Swiggers–Wouters 2007a and 2008. The full text with translation of both chapters on the participle of Donatus are included in the appendix.

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whether or not the very nature of the participle as ‘in between noun and verb’ caused any wavering in the way in which the participle was considered by the grammarians after 400 AD. In order to formulate an answer to this question, I shall investigate passages concerning the status and the ‘boundaries’ of the word class ‘participle’ and try to identify any shifts occurring in them. At the same time, the period under discussion saw the first phases of the slow transition from the teaching of Latin as a mother tongue to the teaching of Latin as a second language. An aspect prone to change in such a transition to a different function of grammatical manuals is of course morphology. In the second part of this article, I will examine morphological information on participles provided by our grammarians and see whether any adaptations occur with respect to Donatus, and what such adaptations might tell us about the way in which the participle was viewed.

1. The Status of the Participle: Definition and Demarcation Even though the participle is in the whole corpus listed as a word class and treated in a separate chapter, passages in the chapter itself can reveal (aspects of) the view that the grammarians between 400 and 780 AD had of the participle and its status. In this section, we will look at a number of such passages, first of all the definition of the participle.

1.1. Definition of the Participle In the artes grammaticae of Late Antiquity, the participle is defined by its etymology: partem capere. It ‘takes part’ in the noun and in the verb.9 Donatus defines the participle in the traditional way by indicating that it is a pars orationis, a word class, before mentioning its specific feature— viz. taking part in the noun and in the verb—in a subordinate clause: see his definition cited above. The early Donatus commentaries and Audax (nrs. 2–11 of the corpus) apparently did not see the need to point out that the participle is a word class: they only provide the etymology.10 An example is the definition of Sergius (nr. 6): 9 When I translate nomen with ‘noun’, I mean substantive noun and adjective noun, just as is meant in the ancient word class nomen. 10 For the role of etymology in grammatical definitions, see Amsler 1989 and Luhtala 2002.

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Participium dictum est quasi particapium, quod partes capit. Sergius, G.L. VIII 155.29 The participle is called by this name like ‘particapium’ (‘part-taker’), as it were, because it takes parts.

In this way, they constitute a break with the consistency of the traditional definition of word classes.11 The medieval grammars (nrs. 6–21; commentaries on Donatus and autonomous grammars alike), on their part, often cite Donatus and therefore include ‘est pars orationis’ again. ‘Partem capere’ is part of most of the etymologies in the second- to fourth-century artes grammaticae. It might be significant that from the fifth century onwards, also partes capere appears. With partem capere, the grammarians probably meant something like ‘takes a part [of its essence] from the noun …’, whereas those who use partes, seem to refer to the accidentia the participle ‘takes’ from noun and verb. Most definitions subsequently contain some sort of explaining phrase in which it is made clear what is actually meant by partem/partes capere. Mostly the grammarians relate the accidentia to the word classes from which the participle ‘takes’ or ‘gets’ them. In this they closely follow Donatus. The reader now indeed comes to the conclusion that partem capere means partes capere or even accidentia capere. The relation between the accidentia of the participle and the word classes they originate from is as follows (Don. Mai. 644.3–4 Holtz): a nomine: a uerbo: ab utroque:

genus casus tempus / tempora significatio(nes) numerus figura

[gender] [case] [tense(s)] [voice(s)] [number] [(compositional) form]

These two changes with respect to the older tradition make us wonder how strong the position of the participle as a separate word class actually was in the period from 400 AD onwards: the omission of the label ‘word class’ in the fifth century and the change from seeing the participle as having an essence of its own which comes in part from the noun and in part from the verb, to seeing the participle as existing merely by the grace of ‘borrowed’ features or accidents.

11 It must be noted that Servius left out the characterization ‘[…] is a word class’ (i.e. the genus of the definiendum) in nearly all definitions of the word classes.

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1.2. Demarcation of the Participle Ideally, for the grammarians in Late Antiquity one word form in Latin belonged only to one word class. Unfortunately for them, there are many Latin word forms belonging to more than one word class at the same time. Similarly, certain linguistic processes such as composition can cause the transfer of the result of the process, for example the compound, to another word class than the base form belongs to. This is the kind of ‘problems’ Donatus dealt with in the ‘additional obersvations’ in his Ars maior. The ‘additional observations’ in the chapter De participio of the Ars maior, of which the text and translation can be found in the appendix (p. 401–404), are brief notes of a line or two each. They refer to phenomena involving participles in one way or another with which native speakers of Latin were probably already familiar. The notes mainly concern a number of ‘participle-like nouns’ and word forms which can be either participle or noun: words like tunicatus (clothed with a tunic), which is a noun and not a participle, passus (having endured / step), which can be both noun and participle, and innocens (harmless, innocent), which again is only a noun.12 A change in the presentation of the different groups of word forms, which are either participle-like nouns or ‘double forms’ shared by the noun and the participle, can be observed in the early Donatus commentaries (nrs. 3–11 of the corpus). The early commentators need clear demarcations between the word classes and they need to know how to assign word forms to one word class or another. So the types of word forms referred to in Donatus’ ‘additional observations’ receive more attention. We also see appear criteria to be used for determining whether any such form is a participle or a noun, or, if it is both, when it is a participle and when a noun. Now, where did the early Donatus commentators find the details to supplement Donatus with? It appears that their source was the grammar of Ps.-Probus. Ps.-Probus was the first grammarian to work out a complete and well structured paragraph on all the formal interferences between noun and participle, from present(like) to future(like) forms.13 Although Donatus briefly mentions some examples of ‘double forms’ (or homonyms) and other interferences between noun and participle, he does not approach these ‘double forms’ starting from their concrete 12 Don. Mai. 645.13–646.12 Holtz. 13 Ps.-Probus, G.L. IV 142.12–143.21: Sunt praesentis temporis participia, quae in dubium ueniant exinde, quod et figuram nominum ostendunt, ut puta amans sapiens et cetera talia. sed qua ratione haec intellegi possint, quando sint nomina et quando participia, breviter subiciamus praecepta […].

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formal similarity, as Ps.-Probus does. In fact, in his summary Donatus seems to have deviated from older grammatical manuals in omitting detailed descriptions of homonyms. The commentators of Donatus had to revert to sources prior to Donatus to reintroduce the rules and criteria. Our commentators vary in the use they make of Ps.-Probus. An example is this passage from Explanationes in artem Donati I: sunt etiam nomina quae habent similitudinem participii temporis praesentis, cum nomina sint tantum, ut amens demens; et discernuntur a participiis, quod conparationem habent, quia conparatio participiis non accidit. sunt quaedam participia eadem et nomina, ut est amans et diligens. ista non solum conparatione discernuntur, sed etiam casu. nam si accusatiuum his iunxeris casum, participia erunt; si genetiuum, nomina. quando dicis amans illum, participium est, sicut legens illum; si dixeris amans illius, nomen est, sicut parens illius. item nomen est, quod praeterito participio simile sit, ut est passus uisus dilectus cultus. quae si secundae sunt declinationis, participia sunt, huius passi uisi dilecti culti; si quartae, nomina erunt, huius passus huius uisus huius cultus huius dilectus. aliud enim est esse nomen tantum simile participii, aliud est idem et nomen esse et participium. quando nomen est tantum simile participii, sufficit tibi sola conparatio ad discretionem; quando autem idem et nomen est et participium, difficile discernitur. inuenies enim illic et tempus, quod tantum participii est, et conparationem, quae nominis tantum est, ut est amans. nam et participium praesentis temporis est ab eo quod est amo, et habet gradus conparationis, cum nomen est, amans amantior amantissimus. ista ergo non per conparationem tantum, sed et per casum discernuntur, ut supra diximus. de his uero nominibus, quae participiis praeteriti temporis similia sunt, alia declinationis regula differentiam facit. nam quando secundae declinationis sunt, participia sunt; quando quartae, nomina. deinde et sensus facit discretionem, ut si dicas uisi sunt mihi homines deambulare in foro, uisi participium est; si autem dicas occurri uisibus tuis, intellegis nomen esse. Explanationes in artem Donatum I, G.L. IV 514.38–515.24; the underlining is mine There are also nouns which have a likeness to the present participle, while they are nouns only, like ‘amens’, ‘demens’; and these are distinguished from participles, because they have degrees of comparison, for degrees of comparison do not belong to participles. There are some participles which are the same as nouns, such as ‘amans’ and ‘diligens’. These are not only distinguished by degrees of comparison, but also by case form. For if you join an accusative case form to them, they are participles; if a genitive, (they are) nouns. When you say ‘amans illum’ (‘loving him’), it is a participle, just like ‘legens illum’ (‘reading that’); when you say ‘amans illius’ (‘his lover’), it is a noun, just like ‘parens illius’ (‘his parent’). Likewise, there is a noun which is similar to the past participle, such as ‘passus’, ‘uisus’, ‘dilectus’, ‘cultus’. And if these are of the second declension, they are participles, ‘huius passi, uisi, dilecti, culti’ (gen. sg.); if (they are) of the fourth, the are nouns, ‘huius passus, huius uisus, huius cultus, huius diltectus’ (gen. sg.). For it is one thing that a

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noun is only similar to a participle, but another that a noun is the same as a participle. When a noun is only similar to a participle, (the distinguishing criterion) degrees of comparison will suffice for you for the distinction; but when a noun is the same as a participle, it is distinguished with difficulty. For you will also find tense there, which is only a feature of the participle, and degrees of comparison, which is only a feature of the noun, such as ‘amans’. For it (sc. amans) is also a present participle from (the verb) ‘amo’ (‘to love’), and it has degrees of comparison when it is a noun, ‘amans amantior amantissimus’. These, now, are distinguished not only by means of degrees of comparison, but also by means of case form, as we said above. With regard to those nouns, however, which are similar to past participles, another rule, (the one) of declension, establishes the difference. For when they are of the second declension, they are participles; when (they are) of the fourth, they are nouns. Furthermore, also the meaning establishes a distinction, such as when you say ‘uisi sunt mihi homines deambulare in foro’ (‘I have seen people walking on the forum’), ‘uisi’ is a participle; but if you say ‘occurri uisibus tuis’ (‘I have appeared before your eyes’), you understand it is a noun.

The criteria used to distinguish nouns from participles are: 1. The possibility of degrees of comparison (which participles lack): nomina … discernuntur a participiis, quod conparationem habent, quia conparatio participiis non accidit. 2. The valence of the word form (taking an accusative or another case, usually a genitive): discernuntur … etiam casu. nam si accusatiuum his iunxeris casum, participia erunt; si genetiuum, nomina. 3. The paradigm the word form belongs to: one of the second or one of the fourth declension: si secundae sunt declinationis, participia sunt, …; si quartae, nomina erunt … . 4. The presence of ‘time’ in the semantics of the word form (i.e. tense): tempus, quod tantum participii est. 5. The meaning of the word form, or: its use in the sentence: deinde et sensus facit discretionem. One notes an interesting change in the presentation here: compared to Ps.-Probus and Donatus, the Donatus commentaries of the fifth century insist more on the criteria which have to be put to use in order to assign confusing word forms and homonyms to the right word class, and they try to offer a streamlined account of them. Ps.-Probus starts from concrete types of confusing word forms and homonyms and offers some criteria in an ad hoc manner, whereas Donatus only mentions briefly the existence of these types and offers very few distinctive criteria. This is a structural and didactic improvement in the early Donatus commentaries on the one hand, and shows on the other hand that the students could

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count less on their ‘feeling’ for the Latin language than before and needed a set of tools in order to determine the status of a word form which belongs to two word classes simultaneously. Many grammarians in the Early Middle Ages (nrs. 12–21) take over this emphasis on the demarcation between participle and noun. For their reflections on this demarcation, they may also have found useful the short manuals by Priscian, which were far more influenced by Donatus and the early Donatus commentaries than his Institutiones, but nevertheless contained valuable additions to the material found in Donatus: The Institutio de nomine et pronomine et uerbo and the Partitiones duodecim uersuum Aeneidos principalium. In the Partitiones, Priscian sums up criteria to distinguish homonymous participles and nouns when discussing the word omnipotens (116.1–12 Passalacqua).

1.3. Participles and Verbs In general, we can detect in many grammars of the early medieval period a greater awareness than before of the verbal origin of the participle and of the presence of inherent features of the verb in participles. This development started in the early Donatus commentaries in which the criterion of verbal origin, which played an important part in determining the word class of a number of participle-like word forms, was more often referred to and more extensively explained than in Donatus himself. The commentary Ars Ambrosiana (nr. 15), for example, follows Donatus’ text of the ‘additional obervations’ closely. It introduces the distinctive criteria, which are absent in Donatus, under the lemma on the homonymous like passus and uisus, not in the one on participle-like nouns like tunicatus. But the Ars Ambrosiana not only lists the criteria to be used in order to distinguish both uses of these word forms, but also the aspects in which they correspond: SUNT PARTICIPIA EADEM ET NOMINA, hoc est in sono, ut sunt haec exempla: de praesentibus, ‘ indulgens’, et de praeteritis, ‘ut uisus’. Sed praesentis participia distant a nominibus eiusdem nuntiationis significatione et tempore et conparatione, concordant nuntiatione et genere et declinatione. Ars Ambrosiana, C.C.S.L. 133C, 154.325–329; the underlining is mine THERE ARE PARTICIPLES (WHICH ARE) THE SAME AS NOUNS, that is, in form, as are the following examples: of the present participles, ‘ indulgens’, and of the past participles, ‘like uisus’. But the participles of present (tense) differ from nouns with the same form in meaning, in (the presence of) tense, and in (the impossibility of having) degrees of comparison, they

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correspond (with nouns) in form, in (the presence of) gender, and in declension paradigm.

It is likewise significant how the author explicitly draws attention to the physical shape and sound of the word forms (nuntiatio)14. Both nuntiatio and declinatio seem for him to be features on the same level as the accidents significatio (voice), tempus (tense), comparatio (degrees of comparison), and genus (gender). Each word form possesses a set of features, and in the case of homonymous participles and nouns, only some of these features correspond: nuntiatio, genus, and declinatio. This is structuralizing matters even further than the early commentators had done. The grammar Congregatio Salcani filii de uerbo (nr. 18)15 also adds his criteria under the lemma on passus etc. But then the author fits in a general observation on this kind of similitudo: In hac similitudine scire debes, quod fit participium purum, ut legens docens, et fit nomen purum, ut potens, et fit utrumque continens, ut amans cupiens et similia. Congregatio Salcani filii de uerbo 260.10–12 Löfstedt Regarding this similarity you must know, that there is (a category) pure participle, like ‘legens’, ‘docens’, and there is (a category) pure noun, like ‘potens’, and there is (a category) containing both, like ‘amans’, ‘cupiens’ and similar word forms.

This classification of the word forms on -ns is inspired by the fifthcentury Donatus commentator Pompeius, who discusses participle-like nouns in his chapter De nomine (G.L. V 149.19–150.12). Pompeius names the categories ‘nomina penitus’, ‘participia penitus’, and ‘media’. Pompeius made progress on the theoretical level by abstracting the individual participle-like forms and homonyms into these classes. Both the label ‘media’ (Pomp.) and the label ‘not purum but utrumque continens’ for the homonyms suggest that the participle was not felt as being entirely on the same level as the other word classes, that is was somewhat ambiguous in its status. Tatuinus (nr. 21) is innovative in that he uses a combination of the presence or absence of tempus (tense) and the presence of verbal voice 14 Nuntiatio in the Ars Ambrosiana is probably an Irish form for enuntiatio (Holtz 1981, 294 n. 63). According to Schad 2007, 150 s.v., enuntiatio means either ‘pronunciation’ or ‘form’ (as opposed to sense, content). With in sono, the author of the Ars Ambrosiana here first emphasizes the pronunciation or sound pattern of the word forms which are similar, but I think that he refers to the whole of their physical existence with nuntiatio. Cf. Amsler 1989, 211, 214– 215. 15 I follow Law 1982, 90–92, who argued that this text does not belong to the grammar of Malsachanus.

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(significatio uerborum) to determine whether homonymous word forms are used as participle or as noun: Notandum est, quod plerumque participia possunt esse et nomina, ut ‘uisus’, ‘passus’, ‘cultus’, ‘hortatus’, ‘questus’, ‘flexus’: nam aliud est nomen cuiuslibet rei sine tempore ostendere, ut ‘hic uisus’ i.e. uisio, ‘passus: gressus’, ‘cultus: cultura’ (…); aliud significationem uerborum per participium praeteriti temporis aut praesentis monstrare, i.e. agentis personam aut patientis siue neutram ut est ‘uisus’ aut ‘passus ille homo’: ecce ‘uisus’ aut ‘passus’ participia sunt praeteriti temporis uenientia a uerbo ‘uideor’ et ‘patior’ et sunt passiuae significationis; similiter et cetera intelligenda sunt. Item praesentis temporis, ut ‘uidens’, ‘patiens’, ‘sapiens’, ‘amans’; ‘uidens’ enim quasi propheta, nam prophetas ueteres dixerunt uidentes; sic et ‘patiens’ qui patientiam habet, ‘sapiens’ qui sapientiam, ‘amans’ quasi amator. Cetera, si participia sunt, ueniunt a suis uerbis et actiuae significationis sunt. Tatuinus, Ars grammatica, C.C.S.L. 133, 82.100–83.117 It must be noted that most participles can also be nouns, like ‘uisus’, ‘passus’, ‘cultus’, ‘hortatus’, ‘questus’, ‘flexus’: for it is one thing to display the name of no matter what thing without tense, like ‘hic uisus’ (‘the sight’) i.e. ‘uisio’ (‘sight’), ‘passus = gressus’ (‘step, stride’), ‘cultus = cultura’ (‘cultivation, culture’) (…); it is another thing to display verbal voice by means of a past or a present participle, that is the subject of acting (voice) or of undergoing (voice), or neither, such as ‘uisus / passus ille homo’ (‘that man having been seen / having suffered’): look, ‘uisus’ or ‘passus’ are past participles coming from the verbs ‘uideor’ and ‘patior’ and are of passive voice; the other instances have to be understood in the same way. Likewise (the participles) of present tense, like ‘uidens’, ‘patiens’, ‘sapiens’, ‘amans’; for ‘uidens’ means as it were ‘propheta’ (‘prophet, see-er’), because the old writers called prophets ‘uidentes’; thus also ‘patiens’ means someone who has ‘patientia’ (‘patience’), ‘sapiens’ someone who has ‘sapientia’ (‘wisdom’), ‘amans’ means as it were ‘amator’ (‘lover’). The other ones, if they are participles, come from their respective verbs and are of active voice.

The qualification ‘sine tempore’ of the nouns is taken directly from a version of the definition of the nomen present in the grammarians of the fourth-century Charisius (193.10–13 Barwick) and Diomedes (G.L. I 320.11–12), in the grammar Ars breviata attributed to Augustine (II,2 [7.3 Weber]), and also in numerous passages on logic in the translation and commentary that Boethius made of Aristoteles’ Peri hermeneias (e.g. Boeth. Herm. II [4.6 Meiser = 6.5 Minio-Paluello]).16 That Tatuinus 16 See for example the definition of Charisius, 193.10–13 Barwick: Nomen est pars orationis cum casu sine tempore significans rem corporalem aut incorporalem proprie communiter ve, proprie, ut Roma Tiberis, communiter, ut urbs civitas flumen. [The noun is a word class with case, without tense, indicating a corporeal or incorporeal thing either individually or commonly, individually, like ‘Roma’, ‘Tiberis’, commonly, like ‘urbs’ (‘city’), ‘ciuitas’ (‘community’), ‘flumen’ (‘river’).]

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here uses this criterion from treatments of the noun in a passage on the participle, is probably just a result of a wish to contrast the noun and the participle: if ‘having tense’ is a distinctive feature of the participle, then the negation of it, ‘not having tense’, is a distinctive feature of the noun. In formulating the contrast, Tatuinus may have been helped by the available definitions of the noun containing the element ‘sine tempore’. The growing awareness of the ties between verb and participle can be illustrated by other examples as well. The grammar of the Anonymus ad Cuimnanum (nr. 16) comments on the three tenses said to belong to the participle, whereas to the verb belong five tenses: TEMPORA PARTICIPIS ACCEDUNT TREA: PRAESENS PRAETERITUM FUTURUM, UT EST LUCTANS LUCTATUS LUCTATURUS. Requiri poscit res, cur non participia actiua primo protulit, sed deponentia. Hoc est, quod ipsa tantum possunt habere trea tempora. “Tria” dicuntur; non enim V; neque enim inperfectum plusquamue perfectum dicimus, nisi quando ea declinatio trachit uerbi. Anonymus ad Cuimnanum, Expositio Latinitatis, C.C.S.L. 133D, 142.16–22 TO

THE PARTICIPLES BELONG THREE TENSES: PRESENT, PAST, AND FUTURE, SUCH AS ‘LUCTANS’, ‘LUCTATUS’, ‘LUCTATURUS’. This situation

demands the question, why he (sc. Donatus) has not mentioned the active participles first, but the deponents. This is the case, because just these (sc. the deponents) can only have three tenses. They are said to be “three”; not five; for we do not mention the imperfect or the pluperfect, except when the verb conjugation brings them along (sc. in periphrastic verb forms).

The grammarian explains that Donatus chose the deponent participles luctans etc. on purpose, because only deponent participles exist in three tenses. He then anticipates a possible confusion on the part of his readers, explaining that, true, the verb has five tenses in total, but two of these, past imperfect and past pluperfect, can only be brought along (trachit, i.e. trahit) by an inflected form of a verb and not in any other case. It is significant that although the anonymous author thus displays an awareness of the ties between verbal tenses and participial tenses in a more explicit way than had been done ever before, he speaks about active participles and deponent participles and not about participles from active verbs and from deponent verbs: the participle is for him a separate word class after all. The Anonymous ad Cuimnanum clearly knew that of the three verbal past tenses, imperfect, perfect, and pluperfect, the participle only had the perfect one. The grammar Congregatio (nr. 18), for its part, is the first Western Latin grammar to explicitly attach the specification ‘perfectum’ to the tense praeteritum in the paragraph on tempora in the participle chapter, when listing the tenses which can be used in every verbal voice:

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actiua declinatio II tempora: praesens et futurum; passiua similiter II tempora: praeteritum perfectum et futurum; communis declinatio actiua et passiua: IIII; deponens declinatio III: praesens et perfectum et futurum. Congregatio Salcani filii de verbo 260.15–18 Löfstedt; the underlining is mine The active conjugation has two tenses: present and future; the passive likewise has two tenses: past perfect and future; the common active and passive conjugation: four; the deponent one three: present and perfect and future.

All others list the past tense simply as praeteritum. The Anonymous ad Cuimnanum and the author of the Congregatio made explicit the notion that was present rather implicitly in some of their sources. Charisius (fourth century) tells us that past participles always have the meaning of ‘something completed’ (perfectae rei significatio) (231.12–14 Barwick), and Servius (nr. 5) that inchoative verbs do not have future active participles, since these derive from the past perfect tense of verbs, and inchoative verbs cannot have a past perfect tense, and therefore neither future active participles (G.L. IV 440.21–25). As yet it cannot be determined which source(s) was or were used by our early medieval grammarians. The fact that they made this notion explicit suggests that their readers needed the information. The Ars Ambianensis (nr. 19), finally, shows very clearly influence from Priscian’s Institutiones in reporting Priscian’s statement that participles do not become compounds themselves, but derive from compound verbs (Prisc. Inst. gramm., G.L. II 568.16–17): Sed Priscianus dicit quod non componitur participium per se nisi componitur uerbium [sic] unde nascitur. Cod. Sang. 877, p. 453 in my own transcription But Priscian says that the participle itself is not compounded, unless the verb from which it is derived is compounded.

The nature and grammatical behaviour of the participle are of course for an important part determined by its verbal origin. Nonetheless, the authors of grammatical manuals from Late Antiquity stress that the participle takes its features from the noun and the verb, as we have seen in the definitions of the participle. In a negative statement they agree upon the fact that a word form without verbal origin cannot be a participle17, and that participles in such tenses and voices derive from such and such verbs. However, none of them explicitly makes the general positive statement ‘participles originate from verbs’ except for Charisius: scire … debemus, quia participium per se fieri non potest sed ex uerbo (379.13–15 Barwick). None of the early Donatus commentators (nrs. 3–11) says some17 Cf. Donatus’ expression a uerbo non ueniunt (645.13–14 Holtz).

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thing similar either. Therefore it is surprising to find such a positive statement in the seventh-century Ars Ambrosiana (nr. 15) and in eighthcentury Tatuinus (nr. 21): (...) participia procul dubio a uerbis nascuntur, quamuis formas nominum ultimis syllabis habeant. Ars Ambrosiana, C.C.S.L. 133C, 144.27–29 (…) participles are without any doubt born from verbs, although they have the forms of nouns in their final syllables. Omnia participia a uerbis oriuntur. Tatuinus, Ars grammatica, C.C.S.L. 133, 80.5 All participles descend from verbs.

It is not easy to trace the origin of this statement attested in the Ars Ambrosiana and in Tatuinus’ grammar. It might be a case of making explicit a notion that was already present implicitly in the older grammars, just as with the passages above which illustrated the growing awareness of the ties between verb and participle, and that was present sometimes as a negative statement. I have not found any literal parallel for it. Priscian (early sixth century) is the first Latin grammarian who stresses that participles derive from verbs, and not from nouns and verbs.The phrase ex uerbo / uerbis nascuntur which we find in the statement of the Ars Ambrosiana is used several times by Priscian, once in his Partitiones and repeatedly in the Institutiones. But since the author of the Ars Ambrosiana does not cite Priscian literally, we cannot know whether 1) he used him at all (nasci was a quite conventional term for derivations) or 2) if he used him, whether it was the Partitiones or the Institutiones. Tatuinus shows overall far more influence from Priscian than the Ars Ambrosiana. His general statement might therefore have beeen inspired by Priscian’s stress on the verbal origin in the Institutiones, although Tatuinus uses the term oriri which is used more in Ps.-Probus and the early Donatus commentaries. All in all we see in the seventh and eighth centuries the first impact of the use of parts of Priscian’s minor grammar texts, and even once or twice of his Institutiones, but his theories do not yet influence grammar in a consistent way in this period. Priscian’s greatest influence as regards the participle lies in the fact that his insistence on the verbal origin of participles seems to have been picked up by early medieval grammarians and combined with implicit notions present in third- and fourth-century grammars. The main reason why early medieval grammarians have done this, seems to be the diminishing of the familiarity with the Latin language: someone who learns Latin as an (almost) foreign language, needs

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to know exactly what a participle is and how it is anchored in the system of the language. As a result of this theoretical improvement forced by didactic needs, the position of the participle as a separate word class seems to have weakened slightly.

2. The Formal Description of the Participle: Endings, Paradigms, and Rules In the grammars of Donatus, we do not find much of a formal description of the participle. In fact, it comes down to the paradigms of the participles of just one verb: legere. They figure at the end of the participle chapter in the Ars minor. For native speakers, this was enough, at least in the judgement of Donatus. After all, they needed the theoretical framework with which to describe the elements of the Latin language, not the elements themselves. Although Donatus had provided a full set of paradigms at the end of the participle chapter of his Ars minor, the grammarians after him very often added morphological details in the main body of the participle chapter which we do not find in Donatus. Sometimes they even omit Donatus’ paradigms: this happens in the early commentaries in particular. Again, other sources than Donatus have often been used to supply the details. In the first place, the endings of the different types of participles are indicated, most often in or just after the paragraph on tempora. This in itself is not new: in older grammars such as the ones by Sacerdos and Ps.-Probus, endings are already included in the information on the tenses.18 The terminology used by these older grammarians is ‘duabus formis definiuntur, id est …’ (are being defined by two [word] forms, namely …), ‘exit/exeunt in (formas / syllabam / …)’ (end[s] in [the forms/the syllable/…]), ‘terminantur’ (end in), ‘mutatio extremae syllabae’ (a transformation of the last syllable [from … to …]). Servius (nr. 4), integrating a passage on the endings of participles in his Donatus commentary, does something remarkable. Tempora in participiis Latinis tria sunt, praesens praeteritum et futurum; regulae tamen quattuor sunt. Nam praesens unam habet, quam diximus, ns, ut legens; praeteritum unam, us, ut lectus; futurum uero tempus duas habet regulas, rus et dus, ut lecturus legendus. Servius in Don. Min., G.L. IV 417.9–12

18 Sacerdos, G.L. VI 444.7–15; Ps.-Probus, G.L. IV 139.6–36.

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In Latin participles there are three tenses, present, past, and future; yet there are four paradigm types. For the present has one, which we mentioned, (with nominative) on –ns, like ‘legens’; the past has one, (with nominative) on –us, like ‘lectus’; but the future has two paradigm types, (with nominative) on –rus and (with nominative) on –dus, like ‘lecturus’, ‘legendus’.

First he introduces the tempora, and then he continues with the statement that Latin participles have four regulae. At first sight, one would translate ‘regula’ here with ‘ending’. That is what Samantha Schad does in her Lexicon of Latin Grammatical Terminology (2007): Servius’ use of the term is listed as ‘inflectional form, ending’19. But in my view this translation does not do justice to the value of the term, because the notion of ‘pattern’, ‘regularity’ gets lost. I would suggest ‘paradigm type’ as translation of the term when applied to inflected word classes. It refers to the ending with the paradigm of the word forms in all cases belonging to it.20 The use of the term regula as we see it here in Servius’ chapter on the participle is typical for the early Donatus commentaries: early medieval texts adopt the mention of the endings, but without referring to them as ‘regulae’. The Ars Ambianensis (nr. 19) in the eighth century shows a different approach to the formal characteristics of the participle. Its author used treatises on declensions and conjugations which circulated from the late sixth century onward.21 These treatises were in turn for a large part based on the Institutio de nomine et pronomine et verbo written by Priscian. 19 S.v. regula 3 (p. 346). 20 Schad mentions for the interpretation of regula as ‘inflected form, ending’ also some instances in grammars of Late Antiquity, namely under ‘further collocations’ (sc. of regula in this meaning): e.g. regula uerbi Donatus 595.23 Holtz = Diomedes, G.L. I 354.19; comparationis Donatus 640.13 Holtz = Diomedes, G.L. I 406.16; declinationis Diomedes, G.L. I 302.3. I think, however, that in these instances regula rather means ‘the rational system with a paradigm as concrete result’ or even simply ‘paradigm’. Some of the citations given by Schad under ‘inflectional form, ending’ do not even belong to this heading, but to the heading ‘specific linguistic rule’, e.g. regula ablatiui: regula is used for indicating a substitution rule based on abl. sg., for the ending itself terminare is used. So I do not think regula means simply ‘inflectional form, ending’, neither in LateAntique grammars nor really in the early Donatus commentaries. What Servius has done, is as it were to ‘concreticize’ the use of regula from ‘rational system resulting in paradigm’ toward ‘ending—with (mentally) associated paradigm’ where paradigms are present, and ‘ending’ tout court where they are absent, as in adverbs. It is important to realize that for the grammarians of this period, a paradigm did not consist of a stem combined with a pattern of endings, but of a pattern of entire word forms. 21 See Law 1982, 56–64 and 1997, 132.

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The Ars Ambianensis not only applied the method of one or more of such treatises22 to the morphology of nouns and verbs, but also to that of participles. In order to demonstrate what this grammarian does, I give here a rather substantial excerpt of the text: Quot litteras finales et quot terminationes et quot genera habet prima declinatio in participio? Unam litteram finalem habet id est a, et unam habet terminationem, id est in a, et unum genus habet, id est femininum, ut amata, amatura, amanda; docta, doctura, docenda; lecta, lectura, legenda; audita, auditura, audienda. Quomodo intelleguntur casus prime declinationis in participio in ultimis syllabis? Ita intelleguntur. Nominatiuus et uocatiuus singulares in a exeunt et breues sunt in ultimis syllabis. Genitiuus et datiuus singulares in ae diptongon exeunt et longi sunt (?) et accusatiuus singularis in am exiit et breuis est. Ablatiuus singularis in a exiit et longus est. Nominatiuus et uocatiuus plurales in ae diptongon exeunt et longi sunt. Genitiuus pluralis in rum, breuis est. Datiuus et ablatiuus plurales in is exeunt et longi sunt. Accusatiuus pluralis in as productus est. Quomodo declinatur participium femininum in a in prima declinatione in participio? Ita declinatur: (…) haec amata, genitiuo huius amatae, (…). Cod. Sang. 877, pp. 453–454 in my own transcription How many final letters and how many endings and how many genders does the first declension have in the participle? It has one final letter, namely –a, and it has one ending, namely on –a, and it has one gender, namely feminine, like ‘amata’, ‘amatura’, ‘amanda’; ‘docta’, ‘doctura’, ‘docenda’; ‘lecta’, ‘lectura’, ‘legenda’; ‘audita’, ‘auditura’, ‘audienda’. In which way are the case forms of the first declension in the participle in the final letters understood? They are understood in the following way: The nominative and vocative singular end on –a and are short in the final syllables. The genitive and dative singular end on the diphthong –ae and are long, and the accusative singular ends in –am and is short. The ablative singular ends in –a and is long. The nominative and vocative plural end in the diphthong –ae and are long. The genitive plural on –rum is short. The dative and ablative plural end on –is and are long. The accusative plural on –as is lengthened. In which way is a feminine participle on –a in the first declension in the participle inflected? It is inflected in the following way: (…) ‘haec amata’, in the genitive ‘huius amatae’, (…) [etc.].

First the text indicates the declinationes present in participles, then for every declension the final letters and endings (litterae finales and terminationes), then the casus in ultimis syllabis (= the cases visible in the final 22 He did probably not use Priscian directly, or at least not exclusively, because of the change in the wording that can be observed. There is at least one parallel for this method in the treatise Quomodo intelleguntur in ultimis syllabis, Paris BN lat. 7560, f. 45r/v, which antedates the Ars Ambianensis (Law 1982, 70). So the author of the Ars Ambianensis is probably not the (sole) inventor of the method.

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syllables), and finally the paradigms of all participles belonging to the said declension. The application to the participle of this method typical for noun treatises is significant. It shows that students of Latin were loosing ground. In the fifth century, the indication of a ‘paradigm type’ by means of the ending of the nominative singular (-ns, -us, etc.) was still enough to remind the student of the inflection of the type of particple concerned, as we have seen in the passage of Servius. The student of Servius’ grammar must have been able to realize that the ‘paradigm types’ for nouns on -ns etc. which he knew already were also present in the participle. In the eighth century, the student needs the whole paradigm to be spelled out. The formulas with which this was done are identical to those used for nouns, so that the students would be able to recognize the similarity between noun inflection and participle inflection and not be confused.23 A consequence of the fact that the author literally copied the method of the noun chapter is that the participles are now approached and grouped together according to their declension and not according to their tense and then gender: all feminines come first in this passage, instead of all present participles first. The author thus not only recognizes the inflectional features of the participle, but switches entirely to ‘noun-mode’ when discussing nominal features of the participle. Another eighth-century grammar, the Ars of Tatuinus (nr. 21), blends morphological information from Priscian’s Institutio and Partitiones, from Pompeius, and maybe also from a treatise on declensions and possibly from other sources into one coherent passage which is woven into the paragraphs on genera and casus. Omnia enim praesentis temporis participia, cuiuscumque significationis aut declinationis sint, communia sunt trium generum sub gemina litteratura: quae in ‘ans’ et in ‘ens’ desinunt, ut ‘hic’ et ‘haec’ et ‘hoc amans’, ‘docens’, ‘legens’. Cetera uero mobilia sunt per genera et quinque terminationibus in masculino genere et praeterito tempore et futuro inuenimus terminata: tribus utique in praeterito: aut in ‘tus’ ut ‘amatus’, aut in ‘sus’ ut ‘passus’, ‘ussus’, aut in ‘xus’ ut ‘flexus’, ‘amplexus’, et 23 Something which can have played a part in the repetition in the participle chapter of paradigms which had already been written down in the noun chapter, may be what Law called ‘compartmentalization’: grammars tended to be ever more regarded as collections of separate entities or books and less as a whole (cf. Law 2000, 85–86). As a result of this, information of one chapter must be repeated in another chapter while Donatus and his colleagues could still assume that students would remember it across the different chapters. I do not think, however, that ‘compartmentalization’ is the only cause of this extensive passage in the Ars Ambianensis on the morphology of participles: the effects of the obligation to learn Latin as a second language carry more weight.

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duobus in futuro: aut in ‘rus’ ut ‘amaturus’, aut in ‘dus’ ut ‘amandus’. Hae autem quinque formae supra scriptae, id est in ‘tus’, in ‘sus’, , in ‘rus’, in ‘dus’, faciunt ex se feminina ‘a’ terminantia, ut ‘amata’, ‘passa’, ‘amplexa’, ‘amatura’, ‘amanda’ neutra: ‘amatum’, ‘passum’, ‘amplexum’, ‘amaturum’, ‘amandum’. CASVS participi-orum sunt sex, ut nominum, per quos omnium generum participia declinantur, et sunt duarum declinationum, uidelicet secundae et tertiae. Nam quae in ‘ans’ et in ‘ens’ terminantur tertiae sunt, ut ‘hic’ et ‘haec’ et ‘hoc amans, docens, legens’, ‘huius amantis, docentis, legentis’. Reliqua uero secundae sunt, ut ‘hic amatus, passus, amplexus, amaturus, amandus’, ‘huius amati, passi, amplexi, amaturi, amandi’. Tatuinus, Ars grammatica, C.C.S.L. 133, 80.25–81.52; the underlining is mine For all present participles, of whatever voice or conjugation they are, are common to three genders with a double spelling: those which end in –ans and in –ens, like ‘hic’ (masculine) and ‘haec’ (feminine) and ‘hoc’ (neutral) ‘amans’, ‘docens’, ‘legens’. The other (participles) however, can move from one gender to another and we find them with five endings in the masculine gender and in the past and future tenses: with three in the past tense at any rate: either on -tus like ‘amatus’, or on -sus like ‘passus’, ‘ussus’, or on -xus like ‘flexus’, ‘amplexus’, and two in the future: either on –rus like ‘amaturus’, or in -dus like ‘amandus’. However, these five forms written down above, i.e. -tus, -sus, , -rus, -dus, make feminines out of themselves which end on -a, like ‘amata’, ‘passa’, ‘amplexa’, ‘amatura’, ‘amanda’; and neutral ones: ‘amatum’, ‘passum’, ‘amplexum’, ‘amaturum’, ‘amandum’. There are six CASE FORMS of the participles, as of the nouns, for which the participles of all genders are inflected, and they are of two declensions, viz. the second and the third. For the ones which end in -ans and -ens are of the third, like ‘hic, haec, hoc amans’, ‘docens’, ‘legens’ (nominative), ‘huisus amantis’, ‘docentis’, ‘legentis’ (genitive). The other ones, however, are of the second, like ‘hic amatus’, ‘passus’, ‘amplexus’, ‘amaturus’, ‘amandus’ (nominative), ‘huius amati’, ‘passi’, ‘amplexi’, ‘amaturi’, ‘amandi’ (genitive).

Tatuinus divides the participles into those communia trium generum, of three genders, namely the present participles, which exist ‘with a double spelling’ (sub gemina litteratura): -ans and -ens, and on the other hand those mobilia per genera et quinque terminationibus … terminata: -tus, -sus, -xus, -rus, -dus (which can ‘move’ from one gender to another and end in -tus etc.). The use of the term mobilia with regard to participles had been introduced by Priscian and has also been picked up by Bonifatius (nr. 20). It indicates words with different forms for each gender.24 This 24 Diomedes, Donatus, and Consentius designated only nouns with different forms for each gender or the genders themselves as mobilia (Diomedes G.L. I 328.25–28; Donatus Mai., 621.3–7 Holtz; Consentius G.L. V 346.14–18). They are followed by Servius and the other early Donatus commentators. Pris-

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division of the participles leads Tatuinus to the statement that participles have two declensions, third and second. He reasons that participles of the second declension are mobilia, and thus show feminine and neuter forms. Tatuinus tries to move forward on the theoretical level, using a relatively ‘new’ grammar together with the traditional sources. And he does make progress: without entirely switching to ‘noun-mode’ and loosing sight of the tenses of the participles, he brings the inflectional ‘groups’ of participles down to two instead of three (the tenses) in traditional grammar with their subgroups of several endings. He also avoids taking every declension separately, as the author of the Ars Ambianensis does. Tatuinus only goes a little too far when he brings the number of declensions down to two as well. From endings we move to rules for creating participles. Not only did Servius introduce endings with their paradigms by means of the term ‘regulae’, he also devoted a paragraph to regulae participiorum.25 Only this time he indicates morphological ‘substitution rules’ by means of which one participle can be formed on the basis of another and vice versa. The paragraph is again based on Ps.-Probus as regards contents26, but here also the particular use of ‘regula’ is Servius’ contribution, which this time has not been copied by the other commentators. As a technical term for the relation between the participles that can be based upon one another, Servius uses regere. This word was used by Ps.-Probus only incidently and receives a fuller technical meaning and use from Servius. It is probably no coincidence that it has the same lexical base as regula. The technique is the following: regardless of any underlying abstract pattern, letters or syllables of a word form are replaced by other letters or syllables to create another word form. See the example from Explanationes I: Nam praesens tempus ab actiuo regit futurum a passiuo, et praeteritum tempus a passiuo regit futurum ab actiuo. Nam detrahe participio praesentis temporis s et adde dus, facis participium futuri temporis a passiuo: legens, tolle s litteram et adde dus, facis legendus. (...) Explanationes in artem Donatum I, G.L. IV 513.28–32

cian is the first to use mobilia for words of all word classes which have case forms, noun, pronoun, and participle, e.g. Institutio de nomine … 23.1–2, 7 Passalacqua; Inst. gramm., G.L. II 564.12–18; III 6.12; Partitiones … 66.19–24 Passalacqua. 25 Servius, G.L. IV 417.28–418.2. I take the term ‘substitution rule’ form Law 1990, 62 and 2000, 82. 26 Ps.-Probus, G.L. IV 140.7–38.

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For the present active tense rules the future passive one, and the past passive one rules the future active one. For take the –s off a present participle and add –dus, and you make a future passive participle: ‘legens’, take the letter –s off and add –dus, and you make ‘legendus’. (…)

Several early medieval grammars likewise provide morphological rules like these, namely Iulianus Toletanus (nr. 13), Ars Ambrosiana (nr. 15), Anonymus ad Cuimnanum (nr. 16), and Congregatio Salcani filii (nr. 18). The last three, however, adopt the rule they found in Priscian’s Institutio de nomine et pronomine et uerbo (39.14–17 Passalacqua) and Partitiones (64.20–65.9 Passalacqua) for the formation of present participles: with verbs of the first and second conjugations one takes the second person singular, amas, doces, and one puts an ‘n’ ‘in between’, i.e. before the -s: amans, docens. With verbs of the third and fourth conjugation one changes the -o of the first person singular, lego, audio, into -ens, legens, audiens. This is the adaptation of the passage of Priscian by the author of the Ars Ambrosiana (nr. 15): Praesentis quidem temporis in prima quidem et secunda coniugatione fit secundae personae n interposita ut amas amans, doces docens. In tertia uero et quarta a prima persona fit conuersa o in ens, ut lego legens. Ars Ambrosiana, C.C.S.L. 133C, 148.139–142 Of the present tense in the first and second conjugations it is made from the second person by means of an –n- put in between, like ‘amas’ (2nd. sg.) ‘amans’ (pres. part.), ‘doces’, ‘docens’. In the third and fourth, however, it is made from the first person by means of the –o being changed into –ens, like ‘lego’ (1st. sg.) ‘legens’ (pres. part.).

Theoretical improvement can be observed once more: for the first time morphological rules are given for the formation of participles out of verb forms. Priscian not only asserted on the abstract level of the word classes that participles derive from verbs, he also demonstrates it on the formal level, although still without the notions of ‘stem’ etc. The merit of our early medieval grammarians is that they realized that Priscian’s insight was an improvement upon the traditional substitution rules of Ps.-Probus and Servius in that now, at least for the present participles, a verb form could be taken as a fixed starting point for the formation of participles and one no longer had to juggle with ‘internal evidence’, as it were: substitute participles with one another without a fixed starting point while actually studying the participle. Since Priscian does not write down any such substitution rule for the past and future participles, our grammarians revert to either Ps.Probus or one of the early Donatus-commentaries for the rules they provided, which only go from one participle to another. At this point

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they could have found valuable information in Priscian’s Institutiones, who builds past and future participles out of the supine. Again we see that the use of what Priscian had to offer was still hesitant in the seventh and eighth centuries.

3. Conclusions The grammars in our corpus treat the participle as a separate word class. The definitions they provide, however, suggest that the participle was counted among the ‘more labile’ word classes. We get the same impression when the grammarians treat the demarcation between the participle and other word classes, primarily the noun. On the one hand, the participle is tied to the verb in a more explicit way than before and the early medieval grammarians learn from Priscian to put more emphasis on the verbal origin of participles. On the other hand, the features shared with the noun prompt some grammarians to approach the participle as a real noun when they discuss one of its nominal features. This gives us the impression of rocking to and fro between ‘verbness’ and ‘nounness’ in stead of standing on firm ground with an autonomous word class. Yet all this was not sufficient to stimulate questions about the ‘rights’ the participle had to the label pars orationis. Our grammarians looked for everything they could hold on to in order to demarcate the word class ‘participle’, especially when discussing ‘similar forms’ shared by noun and participle. Morphological details and rules for the participle were taken from grammars older than Donatus and from Priscian, and then further institutionalised. The theoretical system inherited from Donatus, Sacerdos, Ps.-Probus, and others was not taken for granted but continued to receive adjustments and additions. A word used incidently by one could become a technical term in the work of another. The gradually growing influence of Priscian is clear. From the Ars Ambrosiana onwards, all grammars show the use of the short Institutio and the Partitiones, whereas the Ars Ambianensis and Tatuinus are the first grammars to clearly use the Institutiones in the participle chapter. They do not yet, however, exploit the Institutiones in full. Grammarians aimed at structural and didactic improvement and also at theoretical improvement. In this development we see most of all early phases of the shift in function toward manuals for the teaching of Latin as a second language, but maybe also the awareness that ‘grammar’ can be more than just the contents of a school manual: namely a science.

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Appendix DONATUS, ARS MINOR 6 (597.4–599.11 Holtz) De participio Participium quid est? Pars orationis partem capiens nominis, partem uerbi: nominis genera et casus, uerbi tempora et significationes, utriusque numerum et figuram. Participio quot accidunt? Sex. Quae? Genera, casus, tempora, significationes, numerus, figura. Genera participiorum quot sunt? Quattuor. Quae? Masculinum, ut hic lectus; femininum, ut haec lecta; neutrum, ut hoc lectum; commune tribus generibus, ut hic et haec et hoc legens. Casus participiorum quot sunt? Sex. Qui? Nominatiuus, ut hic legens; genetiuus, ut huius legentis; datiuus, ut huic legenti; accusatiuus, ut hunc legentem; uocatiuus, ut o legens; ablatiuus, ut ab hoc legente. Tempora participiorum quot sunt? Tria. Quae? Praesens, ut legens; praeteritum, ut lectus; futurum, ut legendus. Significationes participiorum in quo sunt? Quia ab actiuo uerbo duo participia ueniunt, praesens et futurum, ut legens, lecturus; a passiuo duo, praeteritum et futurum, ut lectus, legendus; a neutro duo, sicut ab actiuo, praesens et futurum, ut stans, staturus; a deponenti tria, praesens, praeteritum et futurum, ut loquens, locutus, locuturus; a communi quattuor, praesens, praeteritum et duo futura, ut criminans, criminatus, criminaturus, criminandus. Numeri participiorum quot sunt? Duo. Qui? Singularis, ut hic legens; pluralis, ut hi legentes. Figurae participiorum quot sunt? Duae. Quae? Simplex, ut legens; conposita, ut neglegens. Da declinationem participii. Legens participium ueniens a uerbo actiuo temporis praesentis generis omnis numeri singularis figurae simplicis casus nominatiui accusatiui et uocatiui, quod declinabitur sic: nominatiuo hic et haec et hoc legens, genetiuo huius legentis, datiuo huic legenti, accusatiuo hunc et hanc legentem et hoc legens, uocatiuo o legens, ablatiuo ab hoc et ab hac et ab hoc legente uel legenti; et pluraliter nominatiuo hi et hae legentes et haec legentia, genetiuo horum et harum et horum legentium, datiuo his legentibus, accusatiuo hos et has legentes et haec legentia, uocatiuo o legentes et o legentia, ablatiuo ab his legentibus. Lecturus lectura lecturum participia uenientia a uerbo actiuo temporis futuri generis masculini feminini et neutri numeri singularis figurae simplicis casus nominatiui et uocatiui, quae declinabuntur sic: nominatiuo lecturus lectura lecturum, genetiuo lecturi lecturae lecturi, datiuo lecturo lecturae lecturo, accusatiuo lecturum lecturam lecturum, uocatiuo lecture lectura lecturum, ablatiuo ab hoc lecturo ab hac lectura ab hoc lecturo; et pluraliter nominatiuo lecturi lecturae lectura, genetiuo

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lecturorum lecturarum lecturorum, datiuo lecturis, accusatiuo lecturos lecturas lectura, uocatiuo lecturi lecturae lectura, ablatiuo ab his lecturis. Lectus lecta lectum participia uenientia a uerbo passiuo temporis praeteriti generis masculini feminini et neutri numeri singularis figurae simplicis casus nominatiui et uocatiui, quae declinabuntur sic: nominatiuo lectus lecta lectum, genitiuo lecti lectae lecti, datiuo lecto lectae lecto, accusatiuo lectum lectam lectum, uocatiuo lecte lecta lectum, ablatiuo ab hoc lecto ab hac lecta ab hoc lecto; et pluraliter nominatiuo lecti lectae lecta, genetiuo lectorum lectarum lectorum, datiuo lectis, accusatiuo lectos lectas lecta, uocatiuo lecti lectae lecta, ablatiuo ab his lectis. Legendus legenda legendum participia uenientia a uerbo passiuo temporis futuri generis masculini feminini et neutri numeri singularis figurae simplicis casus nominatiui et uocatiui, quae declinabuntur sic: nominatiuo legendus legenda legendum, genetiuo legendi legendae legendi, datiuo legendo legendae legendo, accusatiuo legendum legendam legendum, uocatiuo legende legenda legendum, ablatiuo ab hoc legendo ab hac legenda ab hoc legendo; et pluraliter, nominatiuo legendi legendae legenda, genetiuo legendorum legendarum legendorum, datiuo legendis, accusatiuo legendos legendas legenda, uocatiuo legendi legendae legenda, ablatiuo ab his legendis. On the participle What is the participle? A word class taking a part of the noun, a part of the verb: from the noun the genders and cases, from the verb the tenses and voices, from both number and form. How many accidents belong to the participle? Six. Which ones? Genders, cases, tenses, voices, number, and (compositional) form. How many genders of the participle are there? Four. Which ones? Masculine, like hic lectus; feminine, like haec lecta; neutral, like hoc lectum; common to the three genders, like hic and haec and hoc legens. [legere: to read] How many cases of the participle are there? Six. Which ones? The nominative, like hic legens; the genitive, like huius legentis; the dative, like huic legenti; the accusative, like hunc legentem; the vocative, like o legens; the ablative, like ab hoc legente. How many tenses of the participle are there? Three. Which ones? The present tense, like legens; the past tense, like lectus; the future tense, like legendus. Wherein lie the voices of the participles? In that two participles come from the active verb, the present one and a future one, like legens, lecturus; two from the passive, the past one and a future one, like lectus, legendus; two from the neutral, just as from the active, the present one and a future one, like stans, staturus, three from the deponent, the present, the past, and a future one, like loquens, locutus, locuturus; four from the com-

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mon, the present, the past, and two future ones, like criminans, criminatus, criminaturus, and criminandus. [stare: to stand; loqui: to speak; criminare: to accuse] How many numbers of the participles are there? Two. Which ones? The singular, like hic legens; the plural, like hi legentes. How many (compositional) forms of the participles are there? Two. Which ones? Simple form, like legens; compound form, like neglegens. [neglegens: heedless, indifferent] Give the declension of the participle. Legens is a participle coming from an active verb of present tense, [and it has] common gender, singular number, simple form, nominative, accusative, and vocative case, and it will be inflected in the following way: in the nominative hic and haec and hoc legens, in the genitive huius legentis, in the dative huic legenti, in the accusative hunc and hanc legentem and hoc legens, in the vocative o legens, in the ablative ab hoc and ab hac and ab hoc legente or legenti; and in the plural, in the nominative hi and hae legentes and haec legentia, in the genitive horum and harum and horum legentium, in the dative his legentibus, in the accusative hos and has legentes and haec legentia, in the vocative o legentes and o legentia, in the ablative ab his legentibus. Lecturus, lectura, lecturum are participles coming from an active verb of future tense, [and they have] masculine, feminine, and neutral gender, singular number, simple form, and nominative and vocative case, and they will be inflected in the following way: in the nominative lecturus lectura lecturum, in the genitive lecturi lecturae lecturi, in the dative lecturo lecturae lecturo, in the accusative lecturum lecturam lecturum, in the vocative lecture lectura lecturum, in the ablative ab hoc lecturo ab hac lectura ab hoc lecturo; and in the plural, in the nominative lecturi lecturae lectura, in the genitive lecturorum lecturarum lecturorum, in the dative lecturis, in the accusative lecturos lecturas lectura, in the vocative lecturi lecturae lectura, in the ablative ab his lecturis. Lectus lecta lectum are participles coming from a passive verb of past tense, [and they have] masculine, feminine, and neutral gender, singular number, simple form, and nominative and vocative case, and they will be inflected in the following way: in the nominative lectus lecta lectum, in the genitive lecti lectae lecti, in the dative lecto lectae lecto, in the accusative lectum lectam lectum, in the vocative lecte lecta lectum, in the ablative ab hoc lecto ab hac lecta ab hoc lecto; and in the plural, in the nominative lecti lectae lecta, in the genitive lectorum lectarum lectorum, in the dative lectis, in the accusative lectos lectas lecta, in the vocative lecti lectae lecta, in the ablative ab his lectis. Legendus legenda legendum are participles coming from a passive verb of future tense, [and they have] masculine, feminine, and neutral gender,

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singular number, simple form, and nominative and vocative case, which will be inflected in the following way: in the nominative legendus legenda legendum, in the genitive legendi legendae legendi, in the dative legendo legendae legendo, in the accusative legendum legendam legendum, in the vocative legende legenda legendum, in the ablative ab hoc legendo ab hac legenda ab hoc legendo; and in the plural in the nominative legendi legendae legenda, in the genitive legendorum legendarum legendorum, in the dative legendis, in the accusative legendos legendas legenda, in the vocative legendi legendae legenda, in the ablative ab his legendis.

DONATUS, ARS MAIOR II,14 (644.1–646.12 Holtz) De participio Participium est pars orationis, dicta quod partem capiat nominis partemque uerbi. Recipit enim a nomine genera et casus, a uerbo tempora et significationes, ab utroque numerum et figuram. Participiis accidunt sex, genus, casus, tempus, significatio, numerus, figura. Genera participiis accidunt quattuor: masculinum, ut lectus; femininum, ut lecta; neutrum, ut lectum; commune, ut legens. Nam omnia praesentis temporis participia generis sunt communis. Casus totidem sunt participiorum, quot et nominum: nam per omnes casus etiam participia declinantur. Tempora participiis accidunt tria, praesens praeteritum et futurum, ut luctans luctatus luctaturus. Significationes participiorum a generibus uerborum sumuntur. Veniunt enim participia a uerbo actiuo duo, praesentis temporis et futuri, ut legens lecturus: a passiuo duo, praeteriti temporis et futuri, ut lectus legendus; a neutro duo, [sicut ab actiuo] praesentis temporis et futuri, ut stans staturus; a deponenti tria, praesentis praeteriti et futuri, ut luctans luctatus luctaturus; a communi quattuor, praesentis praeteriti et duo futura, ut criminans criminatus criminaturus criminandus. Inchoatiua participia praesentis temporis sunt tantum, ut horrescens, tepescens, calescens. Defectiua interdum alicuius sunt temporis, ut soleo solens solitus, interdum nullius, ut ab eo quod est memini nullum participium reperitur; interdum a non defectiuo uerbo participia defectiua sunt, ut ab eo quod est studeo studens futurum tempus non habet. Ab inpersonali uerbo participia nisi usurpata non ueniunt. Numerus participiis accidit uterque: singularis, ut hic legens, pluralis, ut hi legentes.

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Figura item participiorum duplex est. aut enim simplicia sunt participia, ut scribens, aut conposita, ut describens. Conponi etiam participia quattuor modis possunt. Sunt nomina speciem participiorum habentia, ut tunicatus, galeatus, quae, quia a uerbo non ueniunt, non sunt participiis adplicanda. ex quibus sunt etiam illa, quae, cum participia uideantur, uerborum tamen significatione priuata sunt, ut pransus, cenatus, placita, nupta, triumphata, regnata: nam prandeor, cenor, placeor, nubor, triumphor, regnor non dicitur. Sunt item alia participia, quae accepta praepositione et a uerbis et a participiis recedunt, ut nocens innocens: nam noceo dicitur, innoceo non dicitur. Sunt ueluti participia, quae a uerbo ueniunt, et, quia tempus non habent, nomina magis quam participia iudicantur, ut furibundus, moribundus. Sunt multa participia eadem et nomina, ut passus, uisus, cultus, quae tamen et in casibus discrepant et de temporibus dinoscuntur. Sunt participia defectiua, quae per omnia tempora ire non possunt, ut coeptus, urguendus. Sunt participia, quae accepta conparatione fiunt nomina, ut acceptus incensus, acceptior incensior. Aduerbia de participiis fieri posse nonnulli negant; sed hos plurimae lectionis reuincit auctoritas. On the participle The participle is a word class, which is called (by this name) because it takes a part from the noun and a part from the verb. For it receives genders and cases from the noun, tenses and voices from the verb, and number and form from both. The participle has six accidents, gender, case, tense, voice, number, and (compositional) form. There are four genders which belong to the participle: masculine, like lectus; feminine, like lecta; neutral, like lectum; common, like legens. For all present participles are of common gender. There are just as many cases of the participles as there are of nouns: since participles as well have inflections for all cases. Three tenses belong to the participles, present, past, and future, like luctans, luctatus, luctaturus. [luctari: to wrestle] The voices [significationes] of the participles are taken from the voices [genera] of the verbs. For two participles come from the active verb, the one of present tense and one of future tense, like legens lecturus; two from the passive, the one of past tense and one of future tense, like lectus legendus; two from the neutral, the one of the present tense and one of future tense, like stans staturus; three from the deponent, the one of present tense, the one of past tense, and one of future tense, like luctans luctatus luctaturus; four of the common, the one of present tense, the one

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of past tense and the two future tenses, like criminans criminatus criminaturus criminandus. Inchoative participles are only of present tense, like horrescens [becoming frightened], tepescens [becoming lukewarm], calescens [growing warm]. Defective ones are sometimes of one tense or another, like soleo solens solitus, sometimes of none, as no participle deriving from the verb memini is found; sometimes there are defective participles (derived) from a non-defective verb, as studens from studeo does not have a future tense. From an inpersonal verb do not come participles, unless they are forged [contrary to the rules]. [solere: to be accustomed; memini: to remember; studere: to be diligent in] Both numbers belong to the participles: singular, like hic legens, plural, like hi legentes. The form of the participles is likewise twofold. For the participles are either simple (forms), like scribens, or compounds, like describens. Participles as well can be compound in four ways [sc. just like nouns]. [scribere: to write; describere: to describe] There are nouns which have the appearance of participles, like tunicatus [clothed with a tunic], galeatus [helmed]; these are not to be added to the participles, because they do not come from a verb. Yet amongst them there are those (word forms), which are deprived of verbal voice, although they seem to be participles, like pransus [fed with breakfast,], cenatus [having dined], placita [opinions, determinations, principles], nupta [bride], triumphata [having held a triumph], regnata [having been ruled, neutr. pl. / fem. sg.]: for we do not say prandeor, cenor, placeor, nubor, triumphor, or regnor [i.e. these passives do not exist, the verbs are neutral]. Similarly, there are other participles which recede both from verbs and from participles after having received a preposition, like nocens innocens: for noceo is being said, innoceo is not being said. [noceo: to harm; innocens: harmless, innocent] There are “participles”, as it were, which do not come from a verb, and which are judged more nouns than participles, because they do not have tense, like furibundus [raging, furious], moribundus [dying]. There are many participles (which are) the same as nouns, like passus, uisus, cultus, which however both differ in their case forms and are recognized on the basis of (the presence of) tenses. [passus: having endured (part. pati), step (noun); uisus: having been seen (part. uidere), a look, vision (noun)] There are defective participles, which cannot go through all the tenses, like coeptus [having been begun—pres. part. does not exist], urguendus [having to be pressed, urged—past part. does not exist].

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There are participles, which become nouns when they receive comparison, like acceptus [having been received, accepted] incensus [having been kindled, set on fire], acceptior [more welcome, more agreeable], incensior [hotter]. Several people deny that adverbs can be formed from participles; but the authority of many a reading refutes them.

Theodosius and his Byzantine Successors on the Participle: A Didactic Approach Valerie Van Elst It is well known that for the teaching of Greek grammar the Byzantines heavily relied on the ancient grammatical tradition. To their most influential Greek predecessors belong not only Dionysius Thrax (c. 170–c. 90 BC)1 and Apollonius Dyscolus (2nd century AD), but also Theodosius of Alexandria. This grammarian, who probably lived in the 4th and 5th centuries AD, owes his great popularity throughout the Byzantine period to his Κανόνες, a set of rules for declension and conjugation. Although among modern scholars relatively little attention has been paid to him,2 Theodosius does merit our attention, not only because of his significant influence upon Byzantine teachers of Greek, but also because his Κανόνες deserve to be studied in their own right. In the present paper, I would like to demonstrate this through a brief analysis of one particular topic, viz. the participle. More specifically, I will address the question of how the participle is represented within the inflectional morphology dealt with by Theodosius and his Byzantine successors. Before tackling this issue, however, I will, first, briefly discuss the position occupied by the participle in the ancient Greek grammatical tradi-

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It should be noted, though, that Dionysius’ authorship of the influential grammatical manual traditionally attributed to him, i.e., the Technê Grammatikê, has recently been the object of considerable discussion. While some scholars consider the Technê to be a compilation of the 3rd–4th century AD, others defend Dionysius’ authorship, either by maintaining that the manual is fully authentic or by arguing that it originally goes back to Dionysius, but underwent several changes during the following centuries. For a status quaestionis of this authenticity problem, cf. Law - Sluiter 1995. Noteworthy in this respect is the absence of his name in several historiographical outlines of ancient linguistics, such as Pinborg 1975, Law 2003 and Allan 2007. A brief discussion of Theodosius and his works can be found in Hunger 1978, II 11–12; Kaster 1988, 366–367 (no. 152); Wouters 1988, 30–31, n. 33; Robins 1993, 111–116; Stammerjohann et al. 1996, 913, s.v. ‘Theodosius Alexandrinus’ (D. Gambarara); Wilson 1996, 42–43 and Dickey 2007, 83–84.

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tion and, second, concisely describe the contents of Theodosius’ Κανόνες.

1. The Participle in the Ancient Greek Grammatical Tradition The earliest traces of the identification of the participle in Antiquity go back to Aristarchus of Samothrace, who lived in the 3rd–2nd century BC. As convincingly shown by Matthaios 1999, 420–431, Aristarchus is likely to have been familiar both with the concept of the participle as a separate word class and with its designation μετοχή. According to the etymological explanation of the term μετοχή, attested in several grammatical sources, the participle owes its designation to its property of participating in the characteristics of both the noun and the verb. The papyrus P.Yale 1.25 (no. 1 Wouters 1979, 47–60) of the 1st century AD, for instance, adds to its definition of the participle3 the following comment (ll. 16–18): μ[ε]το- | [χὴ λέγεται διὰ τ]ὸ μετέχιν | [καὶ ὀνόματος κ]αὶ ῥήματος (‘it is called “part-taker” because it takes part in both the noun and the verb’). This twofold nature gives the participle a somewhat problematic status within the parts-of-speech system, because, in contrast with the other parts of speech, it has no specific features of its own. In fact, the participle exists by virtue of being a combination of the noun and the verb,4 which is why, from the very beginning, its status as an independent part of speech became an object of discussion and disagreement among grammarians and especially between the Alexandrian grammarians and the Stoic philosophers of the 2nd – 1st century BC. Whereas the former—in line with Aristarchus—considered the participle a separate part of speech on the basis of its being a hybrid verbal-nominal class, the latter refused to recognize its autonomous status by arguing that, unlike the other parts of speech, it has no ‘basic form’ as it is always

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P.Yale 1.25, ll. 13–16: μ]ετοχὴ δ’ ἐστὶν λέξις ἄθρα | [καὶ πτώσεις ἐπι]δε-χομένη καὶ χρόνω | [διαφορὰς ἔχο]υσα, οἷον λέγων, φρο- | [νούμενος (‘a participle is a word[type] accepting articles and cases and having the distinction of tenses, e.g., ‘saying’, ‘thinking’’). Its typical nominal features are case and gender, while its typical verbal features include voice and tense. Compare, e.g., D.T. 60.3–4; P.Yale 1.25 (cf. supra, n. 3); A.D. Synt. 23.10–24.1; 292.9–16; Sch. D.T. 254.33–255.3; 255.25–256.7 and Choerob. in Theod. II 296.27–297.13.

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derived from a verb. Instead, they seem to have classified the participle under either the noun or the verb.5 According to Priscian (5th–6th century AD), if we correctly interpret his words6, Tryphon was the first to investigate thoroughly the autonomous status of the participle as proposed by Aristarchus. What this grammarian of the 1st century BC apparently aimed at was to defend the participle’s independent status with persuasive arguments against the Stoics. While doing so, he probably played a major or even decisive role in the discussion between the Alexandrians and the Stoics, because from the 1st–2nd century AD on, the presence of the participle as a separate word class within the parts-of-speech system seems to have met with general approval among the Greek grammarians. During the first centuries AD, progress was also made in the grammatical description or categorization of the participle. In this respect, special mention should be made of Apollonius Dyscolus, who, in the 2nd century, accurately described its syntactic functioning in his large study on syntax (Περὶ συντάξεως). In addition, both he and his son Herodian were probably the first to devote a full monograph to the participle, but, unfortunately, of these works only fragments7 have been preserved. Besides literary source material, which, apart from a few treatises such as the grammatical manual attributed to Dionysius Thrax and Apollonius Dyscolus’ Syntax, primarily includes scattered testimonies of later authors, we also have at our disposal several papyrological texts8 that inform us about the position of the participle in the ancient Greek 5

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For more information on the discussion between the Alexandrians and the Stoics on the participle, cf. Matthaios 1999, 426–429; id. 2002, 185–187; Garcea–Giavatto 2004, 50f.; Swiggers–Wouters 2007, 56f. and id. 2008, 105f. Prisc. in G.L. II 548.4–7: quaesitum est tamen, an bene separaverint id ab aliis partibus grammatici et primus Trypho, quem Apollonius quoque sequitur, maximus auctor artis grammaticae (‘The question has been raised, however, if the grammarians have set off the participle from the other parts of speech accurately, and the first to do so [i.e., to provide accurate arguments or a firm theoretical basis for setting off the participle from the other parts of speech] was Tryphon, who was also followed by Apollonius, the most competent author in grammatical science’). Cf. Matthaios 1999, 420–421; 430; id. 2002, 196, n. 143; Swiggers– Wouters 2007, 54; 56; 62–63 and id. 2008, 108–109. Cf. A.D. Fragm. in G.G. II 3, 122–129 and Hdn. Περὶ μετοχῶν in G.G. III 2, 784–785, respectively. For a survey of the grammatical papyri that have come down to us, cf. Wouters 1979 (grammatical manuals and scholarly treatises); id. 1988, 33–34 (conjugation tables); Swiggers–Wouters 1995, 92–95 (grammatical manuals); Cribiore 1996 (school papyri) and Fournet 1999, I 219–220 (conjugation tables).

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grammatical tradition. Among the scholarly treatises transmitted to us on papyrus, particular attention should be given in this regard to P.Rain. 1.19 (no. 20 Wouters 1979, 237–240), a small fragment of the 1st century BC or AD, containing a few rules for the inflection of participle forms. As for the other extant papyrus texts that provide information on the participle, deriving mainly from a school context, two categories can be generally distinguished. The first category contains some fragments of grammatical manuals, such as P.Yale 1.25 (cf. supra, p. 406 and n. 4). These fragments, both in structure and content comparable to the manual attributed to Dionysius Thrax, contain a series of definitions, classifications and examples of the parts of speech, including the participle. To the second category belong a number of more or less fragmentary preserved conjugation tables for verbs9 that include, but always at the end, an inflection of the participle through its different tenses and numbers. In Brit. Mus. Add. MS. 37516, dated to the 3rd century AD, for instance, the optative forms (εὐκτικά) of the verb νικάω are—from line 25 of the 4th column onwards—followed by their corresponding participle forms (μετοχαί):10

9 For a synthetic discussion of these verbal paradigms, cf. Wouters 1988, 64–81 and Fournet 1999, I 219–232. 10 Partial transcription of Kenyon 1909, 31. Within the inflection of both the εὐκτικά and the μετοχαί, first, all the active forms are listed and, second, all the passive(/middle) forms, introduced by the label παθητικά (col. 2, l. 17 and col. 5, l. 18). Then, within each of these voices, first, all the singular forms are inflected through the different tenses, second, all the dual forms (δυϊκά: col. 1, l. 17; col. 3, l. 9 and col. 5, l. 2) and, finally, all the plural forms (πληθυντικά: col. 2, l. 1; col. 4, l. 1 and col. 5, l. 10). The labels of the different tenses—apart from the present tense, which is not indicated by a label—have been abbreviated, representing, respectively, the tenses παρακείμενα (perfect), ἀόριστα (aorist) and μέλλοντα (future). Since, unlike in the other extant verbal paradigms, only the masculine participle forms are included, there is no subdivision according to gender in the inflection of the μετοχαί.

Theodosius and his Byzantine Successors on the Participle Col. 1 εὐκτικά νίκοιμι νίκοις νίκοι 5 παρακνενικήκοιμι νενικήκοις νενικήκοι νενικήκοι αο10 νικήσαιμι νικήσαις νικήσαι μελνικήσοιμι 15 νικήσοις νικήσοι δυϊκά νίκοιτον νικοίτην 20 παρακνενικήκοιτον νενικηκοίτην αονικήσαιτον 25 νικησαίτην μελνικήσοιτον νικησοίτην 30

Col. 2 πληθυντικά νίκοιμεν νίκοιτε νίκοιεν παρακνενικήκοιμεν νενικήκοιτε νενικήκοιεν νενικήκοιεν αονικήσαιμεν νικήσαιτε νικήσαιεν μελνικήσοιμεν νικήσοιτε νικήσοιεν παθητικά νικοίμην νίκοιο νίκοιτο παρακνενικηκοίμην νενικήκοιο νενικήκοιτο αονικηθείην νικηθείης νικηθείη με- αονικησαίμην νικήσαιο νικήσαιτο

Col. 3 μελνικηθησοίμην νικηθήσοιο νικηθήσοιτο με- μελνικησοίμην νικήσοιο νικήσοιτο νικήσοιτο δυϊκά νικοίμεθον νίκοισθον νικοίσθην παρακνενικηκοίμεθον νενικήκοισθον νενικηκοίσθην αονικηθείητον νικηθειήτην με- αονικησαίμεθον νικήσαισθον νικησαίσθην μελνικηθησοίμεθον νικηθήσοισθον νικηθησοίσθην με- μελνικησοίμεθον νικήσοισθον νικησοίσθην

Col. 4 πληθυντικά νικοίμεθα νίκοισθε νίκοιντο παρακνενικηκοίμεθα νενικήκοισθε νενικήκοιντο νενικήκοιντο αονικηθείημεν νικηθείητε νικηθείησαν με- αονικησαίμεθα νικήσαισθε νικήσαιντο μελνικηθησοίμεθα νικηθήσοισθε νικηθήσοιντο μελνικησοίμεθα νικήσοισθε νικήσοιντο μετοχαί νικῶν παρακνενικηκώς αονικήσας μελ-

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Col. 5 … νικήσων δυϊκά νίκοντε παρακνενικηκότε αονικήσαντε νενικήκοιντο μελνικήσοντε πληθυντικά νίκοντες παρακνενικηκότες αονικήσαντες μελνικήσοντες παθητικά νικόμενος παρακνενικημένος αονικηθείς με- αονικησάμενος μελνικηθησόμενος με- μελνικησόμενος …

Col. 1: 2–3–4 νίκοιμι – νίκοις – νίκοι : l. νικῷμι – νικῷς – νικῷ 18–19 νίκοιτον – νικοίτην: l. νικῷτον – νικῴτην Col. 2: 2–3–4 νίκοιμεν – νίκοιτε – νίκοιεν: l. νικῷμεν – νικῷτε – νικῷεν 18–19–20 νικοίμην – νίκοιο – νίκοιτο: l. νικῴμην – νικῷο – νικῷτο Col. 3: 10–11–12 νικοίμεθον – νίκοισθον – νικοίσθην: l. νικῴμεθον – νικῷσθον – νικῴσθην Col. 4: 2–3–4 νικοίμεθα – νίκοισθε – νίκοιντο: l. νικῴμεθα – νικῷσθε – νικῷντο Col. 5: 3–11–19 νίκοντε – νίκοντες – νικόμενος: l. νικῶντε – νικῶντες – νικώμενος11

2. The Contents of Theodosius’ Κανόνες To this same framework of inflectional morphology descriptions belong the Εἰσαγωγικοὶ κανόνες περὶ κλίσεως ὀνομάτων καὶ ῥημάτων (‘Introductory canons for declension and conjugation’) of the 4th/5thcentury grammarian Theodosius. These Κανόνες served as a didactic tool intended to complement the grammatical manual attributed to Dionysius Thrax in the language teaching process. In addition, they 11 When constructing the present optative and participle forms of νικάω, the author of this conjugation table seems to have forgotten or failed to apply the required vowel contraction α + οι/ο > ωι/ω.

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constituted the basis of one of the four supplements added to this manual in the course of its long transmission, viz. the so-called Tabula (G.G. I 1, 125–132), an extensive conjugation table that illustrates Theodosius’ verbal canons by means of inflecting the verb τύπτω through all its theoretically possible forms. The Tabula was not the first of its kind. Similar verbal paradigms already occur in papyri dating from the 1st – 2nd century AD, and P.Rain. 1.19, which contains, as mentioned earlier, a few rules for the inflection of participle forms, may even go back to the 1st century BC. Hence, Theodosius was not the first to construct inflectional rules. On the contrary, he could rely on the scholarly studies of several predecessors, and most probably on those of Apollonius Dyscolus and his son Herodian. In order to get a more precise idea of the concept of a κανών, we turn to the Byzantine grammarian Choeroboscus (9th century), who defines it as follows (Choerob. in Theod. I 118.18–20):12 κανὼν τοίνυν ἐστὶ λόγος ἔντεχνος ἀπευθύνων ὁμοιότητι πρὸς τὸ καθόλου τὸ διεστραμμένον τῶν λέξεων (‘well then, a canon is a “technical” rule that corrects the distortion of words by means of resemblance to what is general’). As such, canons were general theoretical rules for the inflection of morphologically comparable words, established with the aim not only to detect as much regularity as possible among the various Greek nouns and verbs, but also to correct a wrongly inflected form by reference to the general rule from which it (incorrectly) deviates. With an eye to serving the principles of uniformity (ἀναλογία) and correct speech (ἑλληνισμός) to the greatest extent, even the smallest details had to be handled in a general rule, with the result that a fairly great amount of canons had to be set up before this aim of regularizing could be more or less fulfilled. In the case of Theodosius, the process of grouping various similar nouns under one general rule led to positing 56 different nominal canons, classified according to the masculine, the feminine and the neuter nouns, and further subdivided by the nominative and genitive endings of these nouns. The 24th canon of the masculine nouns, for instance, reads as follows: Κανὼν κδ’. Ε ࡒ νικά. ̔Ο Θέων τοῦ Θέωνος, ὁ σώφρων τοῦ σ ώ φ ρ ο ν ο ς , ὁ λ έ ω ν τ ο ῦ λ έ ο ν τ ο ς : τῶν εἰς ω¶ν¶ ἀρσενικῶν βαρυτόνων τὰ μὲν παρώνυμα διὰ τοῦ ωè κλίνεται, Θέωνος ̔Ιέρωνος Δίωνος, τὰ δὲ κοινὰ τῷ γένει διὰ τοῦ οè, οἷον γείτονος σώφρονος, τὰ δὲ ἔχοντα θηλυκὸν διὰ τοῦ α¶ι¶ν¶α¶ διὰ τοῦ ν¶τ¶, οἷον δράκων δράκοντος ὅτι 12 Cf. Wouters 1988, 78, n. 62.

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δράκαινα, θεράπων θεράποντος ὅτι θεράπαινα. τ ῷ Θ έ ω ν ι , τ ῷ σώφρονι, τῷ λέοντι. τὸν Θέωνα, τὸν σώφρονα, τὸν λέοντα. ὦ Θέων, ὦ σῶφρον, ὦ λέον. Δυϊκά. Τ ὼ Θ έ ω ν ε , τ ὼ σ ώ φ ρ ο ν ε , τ ὼ λ έ ο ν τ ε . τ ο ῖ ν Θεώνοιν, τοῖν σωφρόνοιν, τοῖν λεόντοιν. ὦ Θέωνε, ὦ σώφρονε, ὦ λέοντε. Πληθ. Ο ἱ Θ έ ω ν ε ς , ο ἱ σ ώ φ ρ ο ν ε ς , ο ἱ λ έ ο ν τ ε ς . τ ῶ ν Θεώνων, τῶν σωφρόνων, τῶν λεόντων. τοῖς Θέωσι, τ ο ῖ ς σ ώ φ ρ ο σ ι , τ ο ῖ ς λ έ ο υ σ ι : ὅτι κατὰ τὴν παραλήγουσαν ἰσοχρονεῖν θέλει ταῖς ἄλλαις πλαγίοις τῶν πληθυντικῶν ἡ δοτικὴ τῶν πληθυντικῶν, ἐνίοτε δὲ καὶ μείζονα χρόνον ἔχειν, οὐδέποτε δὲ ἐλάττονα· μείζονα οὖν χρόνον ἔχει ὡς ἐπὶ τοῦ τοῖς Νέστορσι. τ ο ὺ ς Θ έ ω ν α ς , τοὺς σώφρονας, τοὺς λέοντας. ὦ Θέωνες, ὦ σώφρονες, ὦ λέοντες.

Theodos. Can. 19.20–20.14 Canon 24. Singular. (nom.) Ο ࡒ Θέων (gen.) τοῦ Θέωνος, (nom.) ὁ σώφρων (gen.) τοῦ σώφρονος, (nom.) ὁ λέων (gen.) τοῦ λέοντος: of the masculine nouns ending in -ων that have no accent on the final syllable, those which are derived from (other) nouns are inflected with -ω-, such as Θέωνος, ̔Ιέρωνος, Δίωνος, those which are common in gender (i.e., those which can be masculine [ὁ] or feminine [ἡ]) with -ο-, such as γείτονος, σώφρονος, and those which have a (corresponding) feminine form in αινα with -ντ-, such as δράκων δράκοντος, because (the feminine form is) δράκαινα, and θεράπων θεράποντος, because (the feminine form is) θεράπαινα. (the other forms are) (dat.) τῷ Θέωνι, τῷ σώφρονι, τῷ λέοντι. (acc.) τὸν Θέωνα, τὸν σώφρονα, τὸν λέοντα. (voc.) ὦ Θέων, ὦ σῶφρον, ὦ λέον. Dual. (nom./acc.) Τὼ Θέωνε, τὼ σώφρονε, τὼ λέοντε. (gen./dat.) τοῖν Θεώνοιν, τοῖν σωφρόνοιν, τοῖν λεόντοιν. (voc.) ὦ Θέωνε, ὦ σώφρονε, ὦ λέοντε. Plural. (nom.) Οἱ Θέωνες, οἱ σώφρονες, οἱ λέοντες. (gen.) τῶν Θεώνων, τῶν σωφρόνων, τῶν λεόντων. (dat.) τοῖς Θέωσι, τοῖς σώφροσι, τοῖς λέουσι: (note) that, in the penultimate syllable, the dative of the plural forms wishes to have the same length as the other oblique cases of the plural forms; sometimes it also wishes to have a greater length, but never a smaller one; it has a greater length in, for example, the form τοῖς Νέστορσι. (the other forms are) (acc.) τοὺς Θέωνας, τοὺς σώφρονας, τοὺς λέοντας. (voc.) ὦ Θέωνες, ὦ σώφρονες, ὦ λέοντες.

As for the verbal inflection, on the other hand, Theodosius provides us with canons for all possible tense forms within all voices and moods of two model verbs, viz. τύπτω and τίθημι, representing the thematic verbs ending in -ω and the athematic verbs ending in -μι, respectively.

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As an example, I quote the canon for the formation of the present optative passive of τύπτω: Εὐκτικὰ παθητικά. Χρόνου ἐνεστῶτος καὶ παρατατικοῦ.13 ̔Ενικά. Τ υ π τ ο ί μ η ν : πᾶν παθητικὸν ἢ μέσον ἔχον ἐπὶ τέλους τὸ μè κλιτικόν, τρέπον τὴν ἐσχάτην εἰς μ¶η¶ν¶ καὶ τὸ ῑ δεχόμενον πρὸ τοῦ μè, τὴν ἐν ἀρχαῖς κλιτικὴν ἔκτασιν συστεῖλαν εὐκτικὸν γίνεται, τύπτομαι τυπτοίμην, ἐτυψάμην τυψαίμην, τυφθήσομαι τυφθησοίμην. τ ύ π τ ο ι ο : ὅσα τῶν εὐκτικῶν ἐν τῷ τρίτῳ προσώπῳ ἔχει κλιτικὸν τὸ τè ἀποβολῇ αὐτοῦ τὸ δεύτερον ποιεῖ, τύπτοιτο τύπτοιο, τύψαιτο τύψαιο. τ ύ π τ ο ι τ ο : τὸ τρίτον ἀπὸ τοῦ πρώτου γέγονε τροπῇ τῆς μ¶η¶ν¶ εἰς τ¶ο¶. Δυϊκά. Τ υ π τ ο ί μ ε θ ο ν , τ ύ π τ ο ι σ θ ο ν , τ υ π τ ο ί σ θ η ν . Πληθ. Τ υ π τ ο ί μ ε θ α : πᾶν πρῶτον πρόσωπον ἔχον τὸ μè κλιτικὸν μετὰ μακρᾶς τροπῇ τῆς ἐσχάτης εἰς μ¶ε¶θ¶α¶ τὸ πληθυντικὸν ποιεῖ. τ ύ π τ ο ι σ θ ε : εἴπομεν ὡς πᾶν τρίτον ἑνικὸν ἔχον τὸ τè κλιτικὸν τρέπον τὴν ἐσχάτην εἰς θ¶ε¶ δεύτερον πληθυντικὸν ποιεῖ· καὶ ἐὰν μὲν καθαρεύῃ τὸ τè, καὶ τὸ σè προσλαμβάνει, εἰ δὲ ψιλῷ παραλήγοιτο, εἰς δασὺ αὐτὸ τρέπει. τ ύ π τ ο ι ν τ ο : πᾶν τρίτον πρόσωπον ἔχον τὸ τè κλιτικὸν πρὸ τοῦ τè δεχόμενον τὸ νè τρίτον πληθυντικὸν γίνεται μετὰ τοῦ φυλάσσειν τὴν παραλήγουσαν τοῦ πρώτου προσώπου.

Theodos. Can. 70.1–18 The optative passive forms. Of the present and imperfect tense. Singular. Τυπτοίμην: every (indicative) passive or middle form with inflectional (cf. infra, n. 32) -μ- at the end becomes an optative form when it turns its final syllable into -μην, receives the letter -ι- before the letter -μ-, and has shortened its initial inflectional extension (i.e., its augment),

τύπτομαι τυπτοίμην, ἐτυψάμην τυψαίμην, τυφθήσομαι τυφθησοίμην. τύπτοιο: the optative forms with inflectional -τ- in the third person form the second person by dropping this letter -τ-, τύπτοιτο τύπτοιο, τύψαιτο τύψαιο. τύπτοιτο: the third person has been constructed out of the first person by turning the (final) syllable -μην into -το. Dual. Τυπτοίμεθον, τύπτοισθον, τυπτοίσθην. Plural. Τυπτοίμεθα: every first person with inflectional -μ- combined with a long syllable (i.e., -μην or -μαι as opposed to -μι) forms the plural by turning the final syllable into -μεθα. τύπτοισθε: we have told that every third person singular form with inflectional -τ- constructs the second per-

13 The present tense forms are announced by the morphological label χρόνου ἐνεστῶτος καὶ παρατατικοῦ (‘of the present and imperfect tense’) since the optative mood has no distinct imperfect tense. Such ‘double-tense’ labels, used by Theodosius to introduce present, aorist or perfect tense forms where, respectively, no separate imperfect, future or pluperfect tense forms are available, are also attested in several conjugation tables (cf. Fournet 1999, I 225).

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son plural form by turning its final syllable into -θε; and if the letter -τ- is preceded by a vowel, then this second person plural form additionally receives the letter -σ-, but if it has an unaspirated consonant in its penultimate syllable, then it turns this unaspirated consonant into an aspirated one. τύπτοιντο: every third person with inflectional -τ- becomes the third person plural by receiving before the letter -τ- the letter -ν- while keeping the penultimate syllable of the first person.

It should be kept in mind that the study object of the Κανόνες was not the everyday spoken language of the 4th – 5th century AD. Dual forms (δυϊκά), for instance, were no longer used in daily spoken Greek already from the 5th century BC on, and, similarly, the optative mood14 had almost completely disappeared by Theodosius’ time.15 Instead, the Κανόνες, as well as the inflection tables available to us, clearly aimed at a better comprehension of classical literary Greek and especially of classical Attic. Such learning tools were needed since the spoken language was departing more and more from the classical Greek of the 5th – 4th century BC, while, on the other hand, classical Attic was increasingly considered the ideal cultural language.16 In this light, the classical Greek displayed within the canons and the tables fulfilled both a descriptive and a normative purpose: as a literary language it provided access to the great authors of the past; as a ‘regularized’ language, it provided students with a norm by means of which they were able to improve their linguistic usage in view of the ἑλληνισμός. However, this twofold aim does not explain the occasional presence of unusual or even nonexistent, purely artificial constructions, such as, in the nominal canon quoted above, the dual and plural forms of the proper name ‘Theon’ or, in P.Rain. 3.33B, the future imperative forms. The Κανόνες and the inflection tables indeed include a number of grammatically possible formations that were only very rarely found in the texts of the (post-)classical authors or that had never occurred in literary or spoken usage at all.17 The reason for this peculiar, at least from our point of view, phenomenon has to be sought in the desire for absolute regularity or ἀναλογία. 14 Cf. Mandilaras 1973, 271–273. 15 Cf., in addition to the dual and optative forms in the canons just quoted, also those listed in the verbal paradigm of νικάω. 16 Cf. Wouters 1988, 80. 17 The conjugation table of νικάω also contains a number of very rare formations (i.e., the perfect optative active forms and the medio-passive dual forms ending in -μεθον [cf. Harry 1905, 351–352; id. 1906, 55–58 and Weems 1981, 169]) and purely artificial constructions (i.e., the non-periphrastic perfect optative passive forms, artificially based on the stem νενικηκ- of the corresponding active forms [cf. Fournet 1999, I 231–232]).

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In constructing morphological canons or tables, grammarians apparently aimed at completeness and uniformity, rather than at linguistic reality or contextual plausibility, and, accordingly, what mattered to students was to learn the ideal system in its entirety.18

3. Theodosius and his Byzantine Successors on the Participle We will now focus on the place of the participle within the verbal morphology of, firstly, Theodosius and, secondly, his Byzantine successors.

3.1. Theodosius Let us start with the place occupied, within Theodosius’ Κανόνες, by the canons for the inflection of the participle through its different tenses and voices. The first of these canons, for example, displaying the inflection rules for the present participle active of the model verb τύπτω, reads as follows: Περὶ μετοχῶν. Μετοχαὶ ἐνεργητικαί. Χρόνου ἐνεστῶτος καὶ παρατατικοῦ.19 ̔Ενικά. Τ ύ π τ ω ν : πᾶν ῥῆμα ὁριστικὸν εἰς ωè λῆγον προσθέσει τοῦ νè ποιεῖ τὴν μετοχήν, λέγω λέγων, τύπτω τύπτων, τύψω τύψων. τ ύ π τ ο υ σ α : πᾶσα μετοχὴ διὰ τοῦ ν¶τ¶ κλινομένη, τρέπουσα τὸ τέλος τῆς γενικῆς εἰς σ¶α¶ καὶ τὴν παραλήγουσαν φύσει μακρὰν ποιοῦσα, τὸ θηλυκὸν ποιεῖ, λέγοντος λέγουσα, θέντος θεῖσα, ζευγνύντος ζευγνῦσα. Τ ύ π τ ο ν : πᾶσα μετοχὴ διὰ τοῦ ν¶τ¶ κλινομένη ἀποβολῇ τῆς τ¶ο¶ς¶ τὸ οὐδέτερον ποιεῖ, λέγοντος λέγον, ποιοῦντος ποιοῦν. Δυϊκά. Τύπτοντε: πᾶσα δοτικὴ ἑνικῶν εἰς ῑ ἐκφωνούμενον λήγουσα τροπῇ τοῦ ῑ εἰς εè τὸ δυϊκὸν ποιεῖ, Αἴαντι Αἴαντε. τ υ π τ ο ύ σ α : πᾶσα δοτικὴ ἑνικῶν εἰς ηè λήγουσα τροπῇ τοῦ ηè εἰς ᾱ τὸ δυϊκὸν ποιεῖ, τῷ Πέρσῃ τὼ Πέρσα· οὕτω τῇ τυπτούσῃ τὰ τυπτούσα. Πληθ. Τ ύ π τ ο ν τ ε ς : πᾶσα εὐθεῖα δυϊκῶν εἰς εè λήγουσα προσθέσει τοῦ ςè τὸ πληθυντικὸν ποιεῖ, ἔρωτε ἔρωτες, τύπτοντε τύπτοντες. τ ύ π τ ο υ σ α ι : πᾶσα εὐθεῖα δυϊκῶν εἰς ᾱ λήγουσα προσθέσει τοῦ ῑ τὸ πληθυντικὸν ποιεῖ, τὼ Αἰνεία οἱ Αἰνεῖαι, τὰ λεγούσα αἱ λέγουσαι.

18 A more extensive discussion on the content and context of the inflection paradigms and other didactic tools for language instruction can be found in Weems 1981, passim; Morgan 1998, 152–189; Wouters 1999, and Cribiore 2001, 210– 215. 19 Cf. supra, n. 13.

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τ ύ π τ ο ν τ α : πᾶν πληθυντικὸν οὐδέτερον εἰς ᾱ λήγει· τὸ γὰρ βέλη τείχη ἀπὸ συναιρέσεως γέγονε τοῦ βέλεα τείχεα.

Theodos. Can. 77.1–20 On (the) participles. The active participles. Of the present and imperfect tense. Singular. Τύπτων: every indicative verb ending in -ω forms the participle by adding the letter -ν, for instance, λέγω λέγων, τύπτω τύπτων, τύψω τύψων. τύπτουσα: every participle that is inflected with -ντ- constructs the feminine form by turning the genitive ending into -σα and by making the penultimate syllable long by nature, for instance, λέγοντος λέγουσα, θέντος θεῖσα, ζευγνύντος ζευγνῦσα. Τύπτον: every participle that is inflected with -ντ- constructs the neuter form by dropping the (final) syllable -τος, for example, λέγοντος λέγον, ποιοῦντος ποιοῦν. Dual. Τύπτοντε: every dative singular form ending in a pronounced -ι (i.e., no ι subscriptum) constructs the dual form by turning the letter -ι into ε, for instance, Αἴαντι Αἴαντε. τυπτούσα: every dative singular form ending in -η constructs the dual form by turning the letter -η into -α, for instance, τῷ Πέρσῃ τὼ Πέρσα; in this way (we get) τῇ τυπτούσῃ τὰ τυπτούσα.

Plural. Τύπτοντες: every nominative dual form ending in -ε constructs the plural form by adding the letter -ς, for example, ἔρωτε ἔρωτες, τύπτοντε τύπτοντες. τύπτουσαι: every nominative dual form ending in -α constructs the plural form by adding the letter -ι, for instance, τὼ Αἰνεία οἱ Αἰνεῖαι, τὰ λεγούσα αἱ λέγουσαι. τύπτοντα: every neuter plural form ends in -α; for, the forms βέλη and τείχη have been constructed by contraction out of the forms βέλεα and τείχεα.

When taking a closer look at the place of this and the subsequent canons for the participle, we immediately notice that, for both the model verb τύπτω and the model verb τίθημι, they are listed at the end, behind those for the other verbal moods. In relation with the conjugation tables available to us, this comes as no surprise, since, as mentioned above, in these paradigms, the inflection of the participle also always occupies the final place. Nor is it, from our point of view, surprising that the inflection of participle forms is included in the inflection of the verb. However, from the point of view of ancient Greek grammar, it should be a cause of surprise, because, as we have seen, from the 1st – 2nd century AD onwards, the participle was a separate part of speech. As such, it did not belong to the moods of the verb and was not treated at the same level as the indicative, the optative, the subjunctive, the imperative and the infinitive, but as a word class in its own right. From this perspective, its inflection was presumably always relegated to the end of the canons and conjugation lists in order to preserve some distinction between the

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moods proper and the participle.20 With regard to the canons, this reason seems to find confirmation in the following statement of Choeroboscus (in Theod. II 296.23–24):21 πληρώσας ὁ τεχνικὸς τὰ εἰς ωè λήγοντα ῥήματα, ἔρχεται ἀκολούθως καὶ διαλαμβάνει περὶ τῶν μετοχῶν τῶν εἰς ωè ληγόντων ῥημάτων (‘after completely dealing with the verbs ending in -ω, the grammarian [i.e., Theodosius] goes on to treat the participle forms of the verbs ending in -ω’). In addition, the keeping of a certain distance between the moods proper and the participle is also reflected in Choeroboscus’ occasional use of the formula αἱ μετοχαὶ καὶ αἱ λοιπαὶ ἐγκλίσεις (‘the participles and the rest of the verbal moods, i.e., the four moods besides the one which is dealt with at that moment’). As for the conjugation tables, on the other hand, an additional element that might point to the participle being distinguished to some extent from the moods proper, apart from its final position, is its classification system. If we compare the way in which the participle forms and the moods proper are arranged, the inflection system of the participle clearly varies more from table to table than that of the moods proper and is thus less stable.22 While in the table of the verb νικάω presented above, the participle forms are classified, respectively, by voice, number and tense (cf. supra, n. 10), other tables present an arrangement according to gender, voice, tense and number, etc.23 In short, the picture arising from the conjugation tables and from Theodosius’ canons for the participle is one of partial inclusion and partial independence: as derived from the verb, the participle is included within the inflectional verbal system; as a separate part of speech, its forms are always listed at the end and its classification system shows less uniformity than that of the moods proper. This picture, already briefly described in earlier studies, such as those of Fournet (1999, I 226; 228) and Wouters (1988, 67–68), is certainly not incorrect. However, it is incomplete, and it is exactly at this point that Theodosius can add to our knowledge of the ancient grammatical tradition, because, when taking a look at his canons for the inflection of the moods proper, we notice that the participle, and in particular its nominative and genitive singular form, often plays a key role in them. More specifically, the participle appears to be involved in the canons for the moods proper in a twofold way. Accordingly, in what follows, I 20 21 22 23

Cf. Wouters 1988, 67–68. Cf. Wouters 1988, 67, n. 17. Cf. Fournet 1999, I 226. In accordance with Theodosius’ canons (cf. the canon for the participle quoted above), in the Tabula, the participle forms are arranged according to voice, tense, number and gender.

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distinguish two groups of participle rules,24 though it must be said that a strict separation cannot always be made.25 The first group contains rules in which a given verb form is in a practical way derived from the genitive masculine/neuter singular of the corresponding participle. While the participle forms themselves are derived from the corresponding indicative forms,26 conversely, the participle also serves as the basis or starting point for the construction of several indicative and optative forms, viz. the first person plural present or future indicative active form (τύπτομεν, τύψομεν, τίθεμεν and θήσομεν), the first person singular imperfect indicative active form (ἔτυπτον) and all the first person singular optative active forms (τύπτοιμι, τύψαιμι, τιθείην etc.), as well as the first person singular aorist optative passive (τυφθείην, τυπείην and τεθείην). For illustration, I quote the rules for the formation of τύπτομεν (τύψομεν), ἔτυπτον and τύπτοιμι (τύψαιμι etc.), respectively: (1)

Πληθυντικά. Τ ύ π τ ο μ ε ν : ἐνεστώτων καὶ μελλόντων (i.e., τύψομεν: Theodos. Can. 53.15) τῆς τελευταίας συλλαβῆς τῆς γενικῆς τῆς μετοχῆς ἀποβαλλομένης τῆς τ¶ο¶ς¶ πρό τε τοῦ νè λαμβανομένου τοῦ μ¶ε¶ τὸ πρῶτον πρόσωπον τῶν πληθυντικῶν γίνεται, λέγοντος λέγον λέγομεν, ποιοῦντος ποιοῦν ποιοῦμεν, λέξοντος λέξον λέξομεν·

Theodos. Can. 44.14–1827 Plural. Τύπτομεν: when in the present and in the future tense the final syllable -τος of the genitive of the participle is deleted and before the letter -ν the letters -με- are inserted, the first person plural is formed, for instance,

λέγοντος λέγον λέγομεν, ποιοῦντος ποιοῦν ποιοῦμεν, λέξοντος λέξον λέξομεν.

(2)

Ἑνικά. Ἔ τ υ π τ ο ν : ἡ γενικὴ τῆς μετοχῆς τοῦ ἐνεστῶτος ἀποβάλλουσα τὴν ἐσχάτην συλλαβὴν καὶ τὴν ἄρχουσαν αὔξουσα χρονικῶς ἢ συλλαβικῶς τὸν παρατατικὸν ποιεῖ·

Theodos. Can. 45.7–9 24 To my knowledge, Matthews (1991, 195–197; 1994, 106–107) is the only scholar who briefly refers to a few of these participle rules, while discussing ancient treatments of inflection. 25 Within the confines of this paper, it is not possible (nor desirable) to quote or cite all rules of the two groups involved, but, since these rules generally reveal a similar pattern, those quoted or cited can be assumed to be representative of the whole body of rules. 26 Cf., for instance, the canon for the participle quoted above, where the nominative masculine singular form τύπτων is derived from the corresponding indicative form τύπτω by adding the letter -ν. 27 Cf. also Theodos. Can. 83.19–22: τίθεμεν (θήσομεν: ibid. 86.10).

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Singular. Ἔτυπτον: when the genitive of the present participle drops its final syllable and provides its initial syllable with a temporal or syllabic augment, it forms the imperfect tense. (3)

Ἑνικά. Τ ύ π τ ο ι μ ι : πᾶσα μετοχὴ ἐνεργητική, τὸ τέλος τῆς γενικῆς τρέψασα εἰς μ¶ι¶ καὶ πρὸ τοῦ μè δεξαμένη τὸ ῑ παραιτησαμένη τε τὰ μὴ δυνάμενα σὺν αὐτῷ ἀκουσθῆναι στοιχεῖα, τὸ εὐκτικὸν ἐνεργητικὸν ποιεῖ, τύπτων τύπτοντος τύπτοιμι, τετυφώς τετυφότος τετύφοιμι·

Theodos. Can. 68.4–728 Singular. Τύπτοιμι: every active participle forms the active optative after having turned the genitive ending into -μι, received before the letter -μthe letter -ι-, and rejected the letters that are phonetically incompatible with this -μ-,29 τύπτων τύπτοντος τύπτοιμι, τετυφώς τετυφότος τετύφοιμι.

To the second group belong rules in which the participle plays a “structural” role in the formation of a given verb form in that it serves as an indicator or reference point for how this given verb form has to be derived from another one. As such, these rules do not simply describe the construction of a form out of another form, but provide an additional structural element, viz. the participle, that theoretically underpins this construction and, as such, points to a deeper insight into the structure and coherence of the verbal system. Furthermore, these rules, contrary to those of the previous group, include all moods proper. In most of them, it is the nominative masculine singular form of the participle that serves as reference point, and more specifically the issue whether or not it ends in -ς, whether it has an acute accent on the final syllable and whether it is inflected by means of -ντ-, e.g.: (4)

τ ύ π τ ε τ ε : τὰ εἰς μ¶ε¶ν¶ πληθυντικὰ τροπῇ τῆς μ¶ε¶ν¶ εἰς τ¶ε¶ τὸ δεύτερον ποιοῦσιν, τὴν δὲ παραλήγουσαν οὐ τρέπουσι μὲν ὅτε εἰς ςè λήγει ἡ μετοχή, ὡς ἐπὶ παρακειμένου ὑπερσυντελίκου ἀορίστου πρώτου,

28 Cf. also Theodos. Can. 69.2–3: τετύφοιμι; 93.21–22: τεθείκοιμι etc. Compare with 93.14–17: τιθείην. 29 I.e., as Choeroboscus explains (in Theod. II 262.6–7), the letter -ν-, which after the substitution of the ending -μι for -τος cannot precede the letter -μ-. As also mentioned by this author (in Theod. II 262.27–263.10; 266.26–31), the contracted present and future participle forms in -οῦντος additionally drop the letter -υ-, since three vowels (i.e. ο, υ and ι) cannot form part of the same syllable (ποιοῖμι, χρυσοῖμι, τυποῖμι).

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τρέπουσι δὲ ὅτε οὐκ εἰς ςè, ὡς ἐπὶ ἐνεστῶτος παρατατικοῦ μέλλοντος καὶ ἀορίστου δευτέρου.

Theodos. Can. 44.19–2330 τύπτετε: the plural forms ending in -μεν form the second person by turning the final syllable -μεν into -τε; as for the penultimate syllable, they do not change it when the participle ends in -ς, like in the perfect, the past

perfect and the first aorist tense; but they do change it when the participle does not end in -ς, like in the present, imperfect, future and second aorist tense. (5)

τ ύ π τ ῃ : πᾶν πρῶτον πρόσωπον ἔχον τὸ μè κλιτικὸν τοῦ τρίτου προσώπου τὸ τè ἤτοι τρέπον εἰς σè ποιεῖ τὸ δεύτερον, ὡς τὸ πεποίημαι πεποίησαι πεποίηται, ἢ ὑποστέλλον τὸ τè τοῦ τρίτου καὶ κρᾶσιν ποιούμενον τῶν φωνηέντων, ὡς τὸ τύπτομαι τύπτῃ τύπτεται· καὶ ὅσα μὲν εἶχον τὴν ἐνεργητικὴν μετοχὴν εἰς ςè ὀξύτονον, ἐκεῖνα τροπῇ τοῦ τè εἰς σè ποιεῖ τὸ δεύτερον, ὅσα δὲ μὴ εἰς ςè ὀξύτονον, ἐκεῖνα ἐνδείᾳ τοῦ τè καὶ κράσει·

Theodos. Can. 54.6–1231 τύπτῃ: every first person with inflectional32 -μ- forms the second person either by turning the letter -τ- of the third person into -σ-, like πεποίημαι πεποίησαι πεποίηται, or by removing the letter -τ- of the third person and by combining the vowels into one vowel, like τύπτομαι τύπτῃ τύπτεται; and the first person forms that have the active participle in -ς

and with an acute accent on its final syllable, those construct the second person by turning the letter -τ- into -σ-, but the first person forms that do not have the active participle in -ς and with an acute accent on its final syllable, those construct the second person by dropping the letter -τ- and by combining the vowels into one. (6)

̔Ενικά. Τ ύ π τ ο ι μ ι : […] (cf. supra, rule 3) εἰ μέντοι εἴη εἰς ςè ὀξύτονος ἡ μετοχὴ διὰ τοῦ ν¶τ¶ κλινομένη, τὸ τέλος τῆς γενικῆς οὐκ εἰς μ¶ι¶ ἀλλ’ εἰς η¶ν¶ τρέπεται, δοθείς δοθέντος δοθείην, στάς στάντος σταίην.

Theodos. Can. 68.4–1033

30 Cf. also Theodos. Can. 46.14: ἐτύπτετε; 83.22–24: τίθετε etc. Compare with 54.19–21: τύπτεται, for which cf. also 55.20–22: ἐτύπτετο; 87.3–5: τίθεται etc. 31 Cf. also Theodos. Can. 56.19–21: τέτυψαι; 86.21–87.3: τίθεσαι; 88.21–25: ἔθου and ἔδου etc. Compare with 46.14–47.5: ἔτυπτον (3rd plural). 32 I.e., pertaining to the inflectional part of a given word, as opposed to the term θεματικός (‘primary’, ‘belonging to the base form’). 33 Cf. also Theodos. Can. 69.2–4: τετύφοιμι; 71.6–9: τυφθείην etc.

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Singular. Τύπτοιμι: […] Yet, if the participle ends in -ς, has an acute accent on its final syllable and is inflected with -ντ-, the genitive ending is not turned into -μι, but into -ην, for instance, δοθείς δοθέντος δοθείην, στάς στάντος σταίην.

As for the infinitive, the imperative and the subjunctive, the forms of these moods are reported to end, respectively, in -ναι, -θι and -ῶ provided that the participle ends in -ς, has an acute accent on its final syllable and is inflected with -ντ-. The rule for the imperative, for example, reads as follows: (7)

Ἑνικά. Τ ύ φ θ η τ ι : πᾶσα μετοχὴ εἰς ςè ὀξύτονος διὰ τοῦ ν¶τ¶ κλινομένη εἰς θ¶ι¶ ποιεῖ τὸ προστακτικόν, διδούς δίδοθι, ἱστάς ἵσταθι· οὕτως οὖν τυφθείς τύφθηθι ἔδει εἶναι, ἀλλὰ διὰ τὸ κακόφωνον τῆς ἐπαλληλίας τῶν δασέων τύφθητι φαμὲν διὰ τοῦ τè.

Theodos. Can. 66.18–2134 Singular. Τύφθητι: every participle ending in -ς, having an acute accent on its final syllable and being inflected with -ντ- forms the imperative in -θι, such as διδούς δίδοθι, ἱστάς ἵσταθι. And in this same way it ought to be τυφθείς τύφθηθι, but because of the ill-sounding sequence of aspirated consonants we say τύφθητι with -τ-.

Secondly, apart from this main subgroup pertaining to the nominative masculine singular form of the participle, there is the rule according to which the infinitive forms of different tenses are the same if the corresponding participle forms are likewise the same: (8)

Τ ύ ψ α ι : ὁ […] ἀόριστος […]· οὐ συνεζεύχθη δὲ τῷ μέλλοντι, ἐπειδὴ μηδὲ ἡ μετοχή· ὧν γὰρ αἱ μετοχαὶ συνεμπίπτουσιν, τούτων καὶ τὰ ἀπαρέμφατα.

Theodos. Can. 62.10–13 Τύψαι: the aorist tense has not been coupled together with the future tense

since this is not the case for the participle either. For, of the tenses of which the participles coincide in form, of those tenses also the infinitives coincide.

Finally, I also classify under the second group a rule that takes the dative masculine/neuter plural form of the participle as reference point, saying that in the present and future indicative active the third person plural has

34 Cf. also Theodos. Can. 67.4–6: τύπηθι; 86.3–4 and 92.5–7: δός θές ἕς; 91.10– 12: τίθετι etc. For the infinitive, cf. 89.23–25: τιθέναι; 90.8–9 and 24–25: θεῖναι and τεθῆναι. For the subjunctive, cf. 75.21–23: ἐὰν τυφθῶ; 76.2–5: ἐὰν τυπῶ; 95.27–28: ἐὰν τιθῶ.

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the same sound as the dative plural of the corresponding participle (τύπτουσι, τύψουσι, τιθεῖσι and θήσουσι).35 Needless to say on the basis of all these rules that the participle contributes to the construction of the canons for the moods proper, and in particular of those for the indicative and optative, since within these two moods both groups of participle rules are represented.

3.2. Theodosius’ Byzantine Successors Let us now take a look at Theodosius’ Byzantine successors, in order to see how they have dealt with his participle rules in their commentaries or grammatical works.36 3.2.1. Ioannes Charax The first grammarian who is known to have written a commentary on Theodosius’ Κανόνες is Ioannes Charax.37 Although his period of activity cannot be dated with certainty, this Christian grammarian must have lived between the 6th and the 9th century AD. Part of his commentary has come down to us in the form of excerpts made by the ninth-century Alexandrian patriarch Sophronius. These excerpts suggest that Charax was a teacher and that, accordingly, his commentary originated as a series of lectures or as a syllabus on the Κανόνες. As pertains to the participle rules, Charax in general seems to agree with Theodosius. While reading through the excerpts, I found only one critical remark on a participle rule, viz. on the one which concerns the infinitive tense forms. Whereas Theodosius, as we have seen, states that, if the participle forms for different tenses are the same, then also the corresponding infinitive forms are the same (cf. supra, rule 8), Charax

35 See Theodos. Can. 44.23–45.4: τύπτουσι (53.15: τύψουσιν). Cf. also 83.24– 26: τιθεῖσι (θήσουσι: 86. 10). Theodosius’ adoption of the present indicative form τιθεῖσι, which occasionally occurs in epic and Ionic Greek, is likely to be inspired by the principle of ἀναλογία (cf. supra, p. 410). As for the corresponding Attic form τιθέασι, this is explained as an Ionic formation resulting from the addition of the letter -α- and the shortening of the penultimate (84.1–2). Cf. also Choerob. in Theod. II 334. 9–14 (τιθεῖσι, ἱστᾶσι, διδοῦσι, ζευγνῦσι) and 23–26 (τιθέασι, διδόασι, ζευγνύασι), who, however, identifies the forms ending in -ασι as typical Attic constructions. 36 Again, it is not possible to treat all rules involved. 37 A brief presentation of this author and his writings can be found in Wilson 1996, 68–69; Kaster 1988, 391–392 (no. 199) and Buchwald et al. 1991, 178.

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argues for the other way round, since the infinitive is the root of the verb:38 (9)

Ἀο ρ ί σ τ ο υ π ρ ώ τ ο υ . Τ ύ ψ α ι . […] οἱ οὖν λέγοντες διὰ τὰ ἀπαρέμφατα διίστασθαι τὰς μετοχὰς φυσικωτέρᾳ δείξει κέχρηνται· ἀρχὴ γὰρ καὶ ῥίζα τὰ ἀπαρέμφατα, τῆς δὲ ἀρχῆς διαιρεθείσης ἢ τῆς ῥίζης, διαιρεθήσεται εὐλόγως καὶ τὰ ἐξ αὐτῶν· οἱ δὲ τὸ ἄλλο λέγοντες, τεκμηριώδει.

Charax in G.G. IV 2, 430.15–33 First aorist tense. Τύψαι. […] Thus, those who state that the participles differ from each other because of the infinitives make use of a more natural mode of proof. For, the infinitives are the beginning and the root, and when the beginning or the root has been distinguished, then also the forms deriving from it will be reasonably distinguished. Those, on the other hand, who state the other thing [i.e., that, conversely, the infinitives differ from each other because of the participles] make use of an artificial mode of proof.

In addition, I also encountered one new participle rule, in which the accentuation of the active participle serves as an indicator for the accentuation of the medio-passive infinitive (G.G. IV 2, 431.4–8), as well as two participle rules to which Charax adds an extra comment. After referring to Theodosius’ participle rule for the construction of the second person singular present indicative medio-passive form τύπτῃ (cf. supra, rule 5), for instance, he goes on to state: (10)

Ἰστέον δὲ ὅτι ἐπὶ τῆς δευτέρας καὶ τρίτης τῶν περισπωμένων ἄλλως κανονίζονται ταῦτα τὰ δεύτερα· τὰ γὰρ τρίτα ἐνεργητικὰ δεύτερά ἐστι παθητικὰ καὶ φωνῇ καὶ γράμματι, οἷον βοῶ βοᾷς βοᾷ βοῶμαι βοᾷ, χρυσῶ χρυσοῖς χρυσοῖ χρυσοῦμαι χρυσοῖ·

Charax in G.G. IV 2, 425.27–3039 38 Unlike the other moods, the infinitive does not show persons, numbers and what Charax calls a βούλησις ψυχῆς (‘intention of the soul’)—see Charax in G.G. IV 2, 410.1–2, 37–38—, such as expressing a wish (optative) or giving an order (imperative). As such, it is considered to be the most simple or elementary mood, from which the four other ones originate and into which they equally resolve, just as bodies (σώματα) resolve into the elements (στοιχεῖα) out of which they have been composed (410.38–411.11). In accordance with its status of verbal root, the infinitive should occupy the first place within the series of the moods, but, since some grammarians doubt whether the infinitive is really to be treated as a mood, it is accorded the second place after the indicative mood (411.11–15). Cf. also Choerob. in Theod. II 5.10–30, 209.10–33, 211.20–30). Both Byzantine grammarians seem to be indebted to Apollonius Dyscolus at this point; see A.D. Synt. 324.10–328.6; Fragm. 85.27–86.32 and Lallot 1997, II 189, n. 134; 193–194, n. 149 and 1998, 165–166.

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But one has to know that in the second and the third conjugation of the contract verbs, these second person forms are constructed otherwise. For, the active third person forms are (identical with) the passive second person forms both in sound and in written form, such as βοῶ βοᾷς βοᾷ βοῶμαι

βοᾷ, χρυσῶ χρυσοῖς χρυσοῖ χρυσοῦμαι χρυσοῖ.

3.2.2. Choeroboscus Of the grammarian Georgius Choeroboscus,40 who was a teacher in 9thcentury Constantinople, a very extensive commentary on the Κανόνες survives, which, just like Charax’ one, originated as a series of lectures. As Choeroboscus indicates in the Prolegomena to this commentary (in Theod. I 103.7–9 and II 1.8–15), knowledge of the nominal and verbal inflection is useful for preventing both ‘barbarisms’ (errors in individual words) and ‘solecisms’ (syntactic errors). Out of his concern for ἑλληνισμός, what Choeroboscus aimed at was to teach his students correct (classical) literary Greek, either as a second language or as a form of Greek different from the everyday spoken language.41 With regard to Choeroboscus’ treatment of Theodosius’ participle rules,42 we obtain a similar picture as for Charax: Choeroboscus in general agrees with Theodosius, adds to the rule for the infinitive tense forms the same critical remark as Charax (cf. supra, rule 9)43 and presents in a few cases either an additional comment to a rule44 or a new rule. 39 For the second rule to which Charax has added a comment, cf. Charax in G.G. IV 2, 432.38–433.1: τύφθητι (= addition to Theodosius’ rule for the imperative ending in -θι [cf. supra, rule 7]). 40 A presentation of Choeroboscus and his grammatical works is provided by, e.g., Hunger 1978, II 11–23 (passim) and 50; Kaster 1988, 394–396 (no. 201); Buchwald et al. 1991, 181–182; Stammerjohann et al. 1996, 185–186, s.v. ‘Choeroboscus, Georgius’ (D. Gambarara); Wilson 1996, 69–74 and Dickey 2007, 80–81. 41 Cf. Robins 1993, 112. 42 A few participle rules can also be found in Choeroboscus’ Epimerismi in Psalmos, a set of parsing exercises providing grammatical explanations of words selected from the Psalms (cf. Robins 1993, 130–138 for a brief presentation of this work). Similarly, the Epimerismi Homerici occasionally display a participle rule, but whether these anonymously transmitted grammatical explanations of Homeric words have likewise been composed by Choeroboscus is not certain. 43 Choerob. in Theod. II 216.3–9. Compare with 223.9–17; 219.26–28; 222.20– 23; 223.30–32; 224.34–225.3; 230.31–34. 44 Cf. Choerob. in Theod. II 260.3–12 (forms of which the participle ends in μενος have the optative in -μην [cf. supra, rules 3 and 6]); 237.21–238.15 (imperative in -θι [cf. supra, rule 7]: some grammarians remove the condition ‘being inflected with -ντ-’ and, accordingly, also construct the second singular

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One of these new rules, for instance, takes the genitive plural of the participle as reference point, saying that, in Attic, the third person plural present imperative active has the same sound (ὁμόφωνον) as the genitive plural of the corresponding participle (τυπτόντων [τιθέντων] and τυψάντων [θέντων]).45 In addition, we find Choeroboscus twice correcting an element within a rule. When commenting on Theodosius’ rule for the formation of ἐτύπτετο (cf. supra, n. 30), for instance, he remarks: (11)

Ἰστέον δὲ ὅτι περιττῶς προσέθηκε τὸ ‘ὀξύτονον’ ὁ τεχνικός, οἷον ‘τὴν δὲ παραλήγουσαν τρέπει, ὅταν μὴ ἔχῃ τὴν ἐνεργητικὴν μετοχὴν εἰς ςè ὀξύτονον’· [[ἤρκει γὰρ εἰπεῖν ‘εἰς ςè’ μόνον]]· ἰδοὺ γὰρ τὸ ἐτυψάμην ἐτύψατο τὴν ἐνεργητικὴν μετοχὴν εἰς ςè μόνον ἔχει, οὐ μὴν καὶ ὀξύτονον, τύψας γάρ ἐστι, καὶ ὅμως ἐφύλαξε τὴν παραλήγουσαν.

Choerob. in Theod. II 184.6–1046 One has to know that the grammarian superfluously added the condition “having an acute accent on the final syllable”, viz. in the rule “(the first person ἐτυπτόμην) changes its penultimate syllable (i.e., in addition to turning its ending -μην into -το) when it does not have the active participle in -ς with an acute accent on its final syllable.” [[For it was sufficient to mention only the condition ‘in -ς’]]. Because, look, the active participle of ἐτυψάμην ἐτύψατο—that is, τύψας—only ends in -ς, without having in addition an acute accent on its final syllable, and, nevertheless, the penultimate has been preserved.

Lastly, in three cases, Choeroboscus also offers an alternative rule in addition to Theodosius’ one, such as in in Theod. II 34.14–35.3, where he proposes to derive τύπτομεν from the corresponding first person

person perfect imperative active form with -θι [τέτυφθι instead of τέτυφε]) (compare with 240.11–241.2 and 251.2–5) etc. 45 Choerob. in Theod. II 236.12–17. Cf. also 189.14–21; Gaisford 1842, III 34.19–24 (penultimate of the first person singular indicative passive); 229.12– 230.2 (accentuation of the medio-passive infinitive ~ Charax [cf. supra, p. 422]); 84.31–33; 132.33–133.6; 134.7–15; 137.28–31; 142.36–143.5; 283.11– 14; 340.22–24 (accentuation of the participle in -ων as indicator for the tense [i.e., imperfect or second aorist] of the corresponding indicative form) and Gaisford 1842, III 92.26–32 (participle [whether or not ending in -ς and having an acute accent on its final syllable] as indicator for the accentuation of certain compound verb forms). 46 For the second correction, cf. Choerob. in Theod. II 220.7–11; 230.19–24; 357.30–358.6 and 360.27–29: infinitive in -ναι: removal of the condition ‘being inflected with -ντ-’ (cf. supra, n. 34).

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singular form τύπτω while simultaneously referring to Theodosius’ derivation out of the participle τύπτοντος (cf. supra, rule 1).47 3.2.3. Theodorus Prodromus (?) Finally, I would like to present a grammatical manual of the 12th century, dedicated to the wife or the daughter of the Byzantine emperor Manuel I Comnenus (1118–1180).48 This manual is interesting in that its author—probably Theodorus Prodromus49—on several points disagrees with Theodosius.50 For, after referring to the participle rule for the construction of the indicative form τύπτομεν (cf. supra, rule 1), he adds the following comment: (12)

ἐμοὶ δὲ οὐκ ἀρέσκει οὗτος ὁ λόγος· κάλλιον δέ μοι φαίνεται ἀπὸ τοῦ πρώτου τῶν ἑνικῶν τοῦ τύπτω τὸ πρῶτον τῶν πληθυντικῶν γίνεσθαι τὸ τύπτομεν·

[Theodos.Gr.] 154.23–26 Goettling51 As for me, I am not pleased with this rule. It seems better to me to form the first person plural τύπτομεν out of the corresponding first person singular τύπτω.

Subsequently, he also criticizes Theodosius’ participle rule for the corresponding third person plural form τύπτουσι (cf. supra, p. 420f.): (13)

ἐμοὶ δὲ οὐδὲ τοῦτο ἀρέσκει· τί γὰρ εὔλογόν ἐστι τὰ ὁριστικά, ἅτινα πρῶτα τῶν ἄλλων εἰσίν, ἀπὸ τῶν ὑστέρων τῶν μετοχῶν, κανονίζεσθαι· 47 For the other two cases, cf. Choerob. in Theod. II 39.14–37: ἔτυπτον and II 333.1–334.2: τίθεμεν. 48 Cf. Goettling 1822, XVII. 49 Cf. Goettling 1822, XVI–XVII and Hilgard 1894, CXXVII. Theodorus Prodromus was a versatile Byzantine writer, closely connected with the court circles during the reigns of Manuel I (1143–1180) and his predecessor. For more information on this author and the many prose and poetical works attributed to him, cf., e.g., Krumbacher [1897] 1970, II 749–760 and 804–806; Hunger 1978, II 113–114 and passim; Buchwald et al. 1991, 720–724; ODB III 1726– 1727, s.v. ‘Prodromos, Theodore’ (A. Kazhdan). 50 Drawing on internal evidence, Hilgard 1894, CXXVIII–CXXIX states that the author did not have at his disposal Theodosius’ original Κανόνες, but a grammatical manual comparable to the preserved Guelferbytana erotemata (9th–12th century; see Hilgard 1894, XX–XXXVII). Nonetheless, for the issue at stake it is not crucially important whether he had direct or indirect access to Theodosius’ rules. 51 Compare with Choeroboscus’ alternative rule cited above, p. 424f.

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[Theodos.Gr.] 155.6–11 Goettling As for me, I am not pleased with this (rule) either. Why is it reasonable to construct the indicative forms, which come before the forms of the other moods, out of the participle forms, which come last? It seems better to me to form the third person plural τύπτουσι out of the corresponding first person plural τύπτομεν.

As for the imperfect form ἔτυπτον, on the other hand, Theodorus Prodromus does agree with Theodosius (cf. supra, rule 2) in deriving it from the participle (155.17–20; 158.10–11 Goettling).52 However, further on,53 again a participle rule is questioned, viz. that for the construction of the active optative forms (cf. supra, rule 3), although in this case Theodosius’ use of it is eventually justified with the argument that there is no alternative rule available:54 (14)

καὶ ἀποροῦμεν ἐνταῦθα· διατί τοῦτο γίνεται καὶ διατί ἀπὸ τῶν μετοχῶν ὑστέρων οὐσῶν τὰ εὐκτικὰ πρῶτα ὄντα κανονίζονται, μᾶλλον δέ, διατί ἡ μετοχὴ ἄλλου μέρους λόγου ὑπάρχουσα παράγει τὸ ῥῆμα, ἄλλο μέρος λόγου ὑπάρχον;

[Theodos.Gr.] 171.19–23 Goettling And here we raise the question: why does this happen?; why are the optative forms, which come first, constructed out of the participle forms, which come last? Or rather, why does the participle, which belongs to one part of speech, construct the verb, being another part of speech?

To my knowledge, Theodorus Prodromus is the only grammarian who explicitly criticizes or questions several of Theodosius’ participle rules, not only by arguing that the participle comes after the indicative or the optative mood, but also by reasoning that the participle is a part of speech different from the verb. As for Charax and Choeroboscus, the only passage of their commentaries which possibly shows a little affinity 52 This may seem somewhat surprising, since, as shown by Choeroboscus (cf. supra, n. 47), it was not impossible to adopt an alternative construction out of the first person singular indicative active form τύπτω. 53 Cf. also 170.5–11 Goettling, where the author prefers to construct the imperatives τύφθητι and τύπηθι out of the corresponding indicative forms. 54 As the author explains (171.23–172.24 Goettling), the participle rule is necessarily used because, apart from ἔτυπτον and ἔτυπον, the (first person singular) indicative active forms do not contain in the penultimate the letter -ο- needed to construct, after the addition of the letter -ι-, the diphthong -οι- typical for the optative.

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with the passages at stake here is the one in which they add, as seen above, a critical remark to the participle rule for the infinitive forms on the ground that the infinitive is the root (ῥίζα) of the verb and, thus, precedes the participle. In addition, another passage of their commentaries may be worth mentioning in this respect, as it possibly sheds some light on the question of why Charax and Choeroboscus, unlike Theodorus Prodromus, did not put in doubt the position of the participle within the rules for the moods proper. More specifically, it is a passage in which Charax and Choeroboscus seek to justify why Theodosius constructs in the present indicative the dual forms out of the corresponding plural forms instead of out of the corresponding singular forms, a construction that, interestingly, is also criticized by Theodorus Prodromus:55 (15)

ἀποροῦσι δέ, τί δήποτε τὰ πρῶτα ἐκ τῶν ὑστέρων κανονίζει, φημὶ δὴ τὰ δυϊκὰ ἀπὸ τῶν πληθυντικῶν· πρὸς οὕς φαμεν, ὅτι οἱ κανόνες οὐκ εἰσὶ φυσικοί, ἵνα τὴν τάξιν φυλάξωσιν, ἀλλὰ παρατηρήσεις εἰσί, δι’ ὧν εὐκόλως δυνατὸν τὸ ῥῆμα κλίνεσθαι, καὶ ὅθεν εὔκολοι λαμβάνονται· τὰ πληθυντικὰ οὖν σαφῆ καὶ πᾶσι φανερά, τὰ δὲ δυϊκὰ τοσοῦτόν εἰσι δυσχερῆ, ὥστε καὶ ἰδιώταις μηδ’ ὅλως γινώσκεσθαι, […]· διὰ τοῦτο ἐκ τῶν προδήλων καὶ πᾶσιν ἐγνωσμένων πληθυντικῶν τὰ δύσκολα καὶ τοῖς πολλοῖς ἄγνωστα ἐκανόνισεν.

Charax in G.G. IV 2, 418.38–419.756 (Some) raise the question why Theodosius constructs what comes first out of what comes last, I mean the dual forms out of the plural forms. To those we say that the canons are not “natural” (rules) so that they (would have to) respect the order, but observations by means of which the verb can be easily inflected, and hence they are easily understood. Well then, whereas the plural forms are clear and manifest for everyone, the dual forms are so difficult that even the citizens do not understand them at all. Therefore, Theodosius has constructed the difficult (dual) forms, unknown to most people, out of the very clear plural forms, known to everyone.

Although this justification is attested only here, it is possible that Charax and Choeroboscus, if necessary, would have likewise defended the role of the participle within the rules for the moods proper, i.e., by arguing that the canons are didactic rules created for the sake of clarity and ease, rather than for the sake of highlighting the natural sequence of the moods. In any case, the criticism of Theodorus Prodromus seems to be isolated within the Byzantine grammatical tradition, because in the fol55 153.32–154.3 Goettling. 56 Cf. Choerob. in Theod. II 33.30–34.4 for Choeroboscus’ similar comment.

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lowing centuries, Theodosius’ participle rules continued to meet with general approval among grammarians, such as Manuel Moschopulus in the 12th–13th century57 and Demetrius Chalcondyles in the 15th–16th century.58 Furthermore, they are occasionally also attested in a varied corpus of Byzantine lexicographical and scholiastic material.

4. Conclusion I hope to have shown that Theodosius merits our attention within the field of ancient and Byzantine linguistics. More specifically, his Κανόνες appear to be the only ancient Greek work transmitted to us that testifies to the central position of the participle within the morphological system of the verb. Contrary to what we might expect on the basis of the preserved conjugation tables alone, viz. that the participle as a separate part of speech merely occupied a marginal place within the verbal system, Theodosius’ canons indicate that the participle played a key role in the inflection rules for the moods proper. Likewise, I hope to have demonstrated that the participle rules concerned were in general fully adopted by Theodosius’ Byzantine successors. We may wonder whether these rules always served their function of didactic tools effectively. In any case, they were continuously repeated during the Byzantine period in order to teach students correctly the verbal inflection of classical literary Greek. Moreover, as general rules with a wide applicability, they not only fitted within the grammarians’ striving for uniformity, but were also found to be so attractive that, accordingly, the τέχνη γραμματική gradually departed from its initial philological function of describing the linguistic elements in a literary text to become a “grammatical” science based on a coherent system of fixed rules and paradigms.

57 Cf., e.g., Krumbacher [1897] 1970, I 546–548; Hunger 1978, II 14; 70–71 and passim; Buchwald et al. 1991, 583–585; ODB II 1414, s.v. ‘Moschopoulos, Manuel’ (A.-M. Talbot) and Wilson 1996, 244–247. 58 Cf., e.g., Sandys 1908, 64–65; Geanakoplos 1973, passim; Hunger 1978, I 485 and II 14; Buchwald et al. 1991, 175; Maillard et al. 1995, 112.

The Orus Fragments in the Ethnica of Stephanus of Byzantium* Margarethe Billerbeck For Klaus Alpers on his 75th birthday ‘Wohl aber ist es die erste und dringendste Aufgabe aller Quellenforschung am Stephanos, zunächst Oros auszusondern’. So admonished the authoritative voice of Richard Reitzenstein who, in a learned chapter ‘Oros und seine Zeit’ in his Geschichte der griechischen Etymologika, laid the foundation for the modern study of one of the most important sources of the lexicon of Stephanus of Byzantium.1 His date of Orus to the middle of the 5th century can now be regarded as certain, and that the native Alexandrian exercised his profession as grammarian in Constantinople is attested by the vita of Hesychius of Miletus transmitted in the Suda (ω 201): Ὦρος, Ἀλεξανδρεύς, γραμματικός, παιδεύσας ἐν Κωνσταντίνου πόλει.2 If he was indeed a professor there at the imperial university, as is generally assumed, we can see in him a predecessor of Stephanus who could have had direct access to his works. Stephanus is in fact the first known author who cites Orus.3 A mere thirteen articles mention him by name, a very small number in the light of the great influence which has been ascribed to Orus as a source of Stephanus. We should not forget however that the Ethnica of Stephanus for the most part has been transmitted in a greatly shortened form and that the name *

1 2

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This edition began from a discussion of problems dealt with in my paper ‘Stephanos von Byzanz als Grammatiker’. Subsequently the exercise of editing the Orus fragments in the Ethnica served as an introduction for students to the study of ancient Greek grammarians. For their engaged contributions I thank Anne-Angélique Andenmatten and Vincent Roch. The final version owes much to the criticisms and suggestions of Bruce Karl Braswell. For the sigla of the Stephanus manuscripts see Billerbeck 2006, 5. Reitzenstein 1897, 287–350, here 332. For a general account of Orus and his writings the account of Wendel 1939, 1177–1183 remains fundamental; see further Alpers 1981, 87–101; Kaster 1988, 325–327 (no. 111); Ippolito 2008. Alpers 1981, 91.

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of Orus as source has probably been often omitted through the reworking of the epitomizer. In his detailed study of glosses of similar content that are ascribed to Orus in the Etymologicum Genuinum Reitzenstein noted much more material which he claims Stephanus could have incorporated in his Ethnica from his predecessor.4 In the following collection of the fragments deriving from Stephanus we have however forgone an attempt at reconstruction and included only those fragments which are expressly assigned to Orus. Carl Wendel identified some dozen titles of works by Orus,5 from which Stephanus cites two: the Περὶ ἐθνικῶν, presumably the main source of the lexicographer, and the Περὶ ὀρθογραφίας. In most cases the exact source is not indicated, for which reason the assignment to the one or other work has been made on the basis of an analysis of content. Περὶ ἐθνικῶν (F 2) was probably the original title of Orus’ work on the names of peoples, which was also cited in shortened form as Ἐθνικά (F1 and F3). As Reitzenstein rightly observed, the title as given in the Suda (ω 201): Ὅπως τὰ ἐθνικὰ λεκτέον (‘How one should call the names of peoples’) is a description of the purpose of Orus’ work rather than an exact title.6 This assumption is neatly confirmed by F 4. That it consisted of at least two books is clear from the articles Νικίου (book α´; cf. F 1) and Ταῦα (book β´; cf. F 2). From this an alphabetical order of the place-names was assumed. However, it is shown e.g. by the detailed discussion of the double radical words (F 3) and of the formation of ethnica in –νός (F 4) that the work had a mixed form consisting of systematic sections arranged according to grammatical aspects and a (following in each case?) lexicographical part arranged alphabetically. We must assume a similar structure for the work Περὶ ὀρθογραφίας which Stephanus cites once by name with the short title Ὀρθογραφία (F 9). As Wendel noted, ‘innerhalb jedes Abschnittes schlossen sich an die allgemeinen Regeln [...] die Beispiele in alphabetischer Folge an’.7 The attribution of the two following fragments (F 10 and F 11) to the Orthographia is based in the first instance on Orus’ discussion of the alternative 4

5 6 7

Reitzenstein 1897, 327–331; in our new edition of Stephanus (cf. Billerbeck 2006) the Orus citations he assumed for the Ethnica are noted in the Similia by ‘ex Oro’, e.g. α 4 (Ἄβαρνος), α 76 (Βοττεάτης), α 147 (Ἐκαδήμεια), α 253 (Ἀμαντία), β 55 (Βατίεια) and β 119 (Βολίνη). Wendel 1939, 1178–1182. Reitzenstein 1897, 316. Wendel 1939, 1180. For a detailed account of the Orthographia of Orus see Alpers 1981, 80–83, and especially for the arrangement of the work Alpers 2004, 47–50.

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spelling of names with a single vowel or diphthong (F 10 Αἰθαλία/Αἰθάλεια, F 11 Ὀρεστία/Ὀρέστειον); according to the Suda such questions were treated by Orus in his treatise Περὶ τῆς ει διφθόγγου, presumably a subsection of his work on orthography. Both in the fragments from the Orthographia and especially in those from the Περὶ ἐθνικῶν the influence of Herodian and his rules of word formation (κανόνες) are evident (cf. F 1, F 2, F 4, F 6, F 10).8 Consequently, we cannot completely deny Orus ‘mit seinem (ganz isolierten) anomalistischen Standpunkt’9 an analogical approach. To be sure, here too traces of Orus’ characteristic use of anomaly remain visible. This is the case in particular with the quotation from the comic Hermippus (F 9, cf. also F 5), also the title Οἰνωᾶτις Ἄρτεμις (F 7) as well as with the explanation of ‘Rhoiteion’ as foothills (F 12), which likely comes from Sch. A.R. 1.929. In all these cases passages from classical authors or their ancient interpreters can be used to demonstrate that Orus, in contrast to the analogists, adopted the forms he found in the παράδοσις. As Alpers showed in his reconstruction and detailed investigation of Orus’ atticistic lexicon, the alphabetically arranged Ἀττικῶν λέξεων συναγωγή, it was from the quotations collected there that the grammarian drew as needed for illustration in the Orthographia as well as in his work on the ethnica. ΠΕΡΙ ΕΘΝΙΚΩΝ (On Ethnica)

Book one F 1 (475.13 Meineke) Νικίου· κώμη Αἰγύπτου. Ἀρισταγόρας Αἰγυπτιακῶν β´ (FGrHist 608 F 3). ὁ οἰκήτωρ Νικιώτης, ὥς φησιν Ὦ ρ ο ς Ἐθνικῶν α´. ______________

Nικίου· κώμη Αἰγύπτου Berkel : post κώμη dist. QPNAld., non dist. R || 2 νικιώτης (ex νη-) R || ὥς ἔφη R || ἐθνικόν R

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Similia: Str. 17.1.14 (C 799.18) εἶθ’ ἡ Πλινθίνη καὶ Νικίου κώμη καὶ Χερρόνησος φρούριον, πλησίον ἤδη τῆς Ἀλεξανδρείας, Ptol. Geog. 4.5.49 (4.5.20) Προσωπίτης νομὸς καὶ μητρόπολις ἀπ’ ἀνατολῶν 8

9

Reitzenstein 1897, 332; Wendel 1939, 1181. The repeated reference of Stephanus to the Katholike Prosodia and the Orthographia of Herodian is clearly seen from the fact that in the epitome of the Ethnica they are mentioned some eighty times; whether in any given case we have a direct quotation or an indirect report e.g. through Orus is impossible to determine. Alpers 2004, 35.

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πρὸς τῷ Μεγάλῳ ποταμῷ Νικίου, Suid. ν 390 Νικίου: κώμη περὶ Αἴγυπτον, ταύτης ὁ οἰκήτωρ Νικιώτης, cf. etiam Inscr. Mus. Alex. no. 371 (saec. III vel IV) Σαραπίων Σαραπιόνος γυμνασιαρχήσας τῶν ἐν τῇ Νικίου γυμνασίων. ______________

Nikiou, village in Egypt. Aristagoras in the second book of his Aigyptiaca. The inhabitant ‘Nikiote’, as Orus says in the first book of his Ethnica. ______________

Commentary As Berkel saw, the lemma consists only of Νικίου, while κώμη is to be regarded as the determinative. This is shown by St.Byz. α 397 Billerbeck: Ἀργέου· νῆσος [...] Αἰγυπτία [...]. οἱ οἰκήτορες Ἀργεῶται, ὡς τῆς Νικίου Νικιῶται καὶ τῆς Χαιρέου Χαιρεῶται. καὶ αὗται γὰρ Αἰγύπτου πόλεις, as well as by the analogy of place-names, whose second member κώμη is used to form the ethnicon, e.g. Διοσκουροκωμήτης from Διοσκούρων κώμη (233.20 Meineke), Θρᾳκοκωμήτης from Θρᾳκῶν κώμη (317.3 Meineke), Ἱπποκωμῆται from Ἵππου κώμη (336.12 Meineke) and Μεγαλοκωμήτης from Μεγάλη κώμη (348.6–7 Meineke). The entries in Ptolemaeus (4.5.49) and in the Suda (ν 390) point in the same direction. A village called Νικίου is also mentioned by Strabo (17.1.14), who locates it west of Alexandria. Whether in the original article the lexicographer dealt with this spot or the metropolis Νικίου in the Delta of Lower Egypt or with both, remains uncertain; confusion in the epitome can certainly not be excluded. In forming the ethnicon Νικιώτης Orus has at any rate followed the canon typical for Egyptian compound place-names such as Νικίου πόλις, where the second member can be suppressed, cf. St. Byz. 677.18 Meineke Χαιρέου· πόλις Αἰγυπτία, κατ’ ἔλλειψιν τοῦ πόλις. τὸ ἐθνικὸν Χαιρεώτης, ὡς Νικιώτης.10 Book two F 2 (607.6 Meineke) Ταῦα· πόλις Αἰγύπτου. ὁ πολίτης Ταυίτης, ὡς Ὦ ρ ο ς ἐν β´ Περὶ ἐθνικῶν. ______________

10 For similar compound toponyms see Billerbeck 2006, 31 n.36; on both places and their distinction see Fornara 1994, 29.

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Similia: Hierocl. 725.4 Ταῦα, Ptol. Geog. 4.5.50 (4.5.21) Φθεμφουτὶ (Ταυανίτης add. cod. X) νομὸς καὶ μητρόπολις Ταούα, P.Lond. 3.921, l. 6 [τῆς] Ταυαειτῶν πόλεως, cf. etiam X.Eph. 4.1.4 διελθόντες μὲν δὴ Ταῦα (Hemsterhuis : ταῦτα cod.) ἐπὶ Λεοντὼ ἔρχονται πόλιν. ______________

Taua, city in Egypt. The citizen ‘Tauite’, as Orus in the second book of his On Ethnica. ______________

Commentary The ethnicon Ταυίτης is not attested elsewhere, nor can an exactly analogical stem be found. Lentz in his edition of Herodian (Kath. Pros. 303.23) indeed cites the Arcadian town Εὖα (283.12 Meineke = ε 145 Billerbeck - Zubler), but the accent remains disputed (Εὖα RQP, Εὔα N)11 and the ethnicon Εὐαῖος is formed differently. As in the case of F 1 it is an Egyptian place-name which is in question, and everything suggests that Orus, contrary to the epichoric ethnica formations Ταυανίτης and Ταυαείτης (cf. Similia), follows the canon; cf. St. Byz. 640.7 Meineke: Τύανα, πόλις μέση Κιλικίας καὶ Καππαδοκίας [...]. οἱ πολῖται Τυανεῖς [...]. λέγεται καὶ Τυανίτης καὶ Τυανῖτις θηλυκόν. [...] ἔστι καὶ Τύανα πόλις Αἰγύπτου, ᾗ μᾶλλον ἀναλογεῖ τὸ Τυανίτης διὰ τὴν Αἰγυπτίων χώραν, further α 322 Billerbeck (Ἄνθυλλα) and β 129 Billerbeck (Βοσίραρα). Without book number

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F 3 (256.14 Meineke = δ 151 Billerbeck–Zubler, cod. S) Δώτιον· [...] ἐκλήθη δὲ Δώτιον ἀπὸ Δώτου τοῦ Πελασγοῦ παιδός, ὡς Ἡρωδιανὸς ἐν η´ (Kath. Pros. 214.19–20) ‘Δῶτος ὁ Πελασγοῦ, ἀφ’ οὗ τὸ Δώτιον πεδίον’. ἐκ περιττοῦ τοίνυν Ὦ ρ ο ς ἐν τοῖς Ἐθνικοῖς τῇδε γράφει· ‘καὶ τὰ περὶ Θάμυριν ἐν Δωρίῳ παριστοροῦντος τοῦ ποιητοῦ (Il. 2.594–600), πάλιν Ἡσίοδος (fr. 65 Merkelbach - West) Δωτίῳ ἐν πεδίῳ φάσκει αὐτὸν τετυφλῶσθαι’. συντάσσει γὰρ τοῦτο τοῖς διχογραφουμένοις πρωτοτύποις τῶν ἐθνικῶν. ἐπάγει γοῦν· ‘οὐ γὰρ ὡς ἡ Καλχηδών καὶ Καρχηδών καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα λέγεται. ἡ μὲν γὰρ διὰ τοῦ λ περὶ τὸν Πόντον, ἡ δὲ διὰ τοῦ ρ {πρὸ} τῆς Λιβύης’. 11 In the Acta of the ecumenical councils of Ephesus (anno 431) and Chalcedon (anno 451) we find a certain Isaac mentioned as bishop of Ταυᾶ (I 1.2, p. 64.1 and I 1.7, p. 116.1 Schwartz) and again as bishop of Ταύα (II 1.1, p. 59.36, p. 81.30, p. 185.40, p. 194.34 Schwartz).

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ἡμεῖς δὲ προὔφθημεν δείξαντες διὰ πολλῶν μαρτυριῶν ἕτερον διὰ τοῦ ρ Δώριον καὶ ἕτερον τὸ διὰ τοῦ τ Δώτιον. ______________

7 γ’ οὖν

S || 8 καλχηδὼν (χη supra scr. alt. m.) S || 9 πρὸ secl. Billerbeck : πρὸς (sc. τῇ Λιβύῃ) Meineke in app. || 10 προὔφθημεν S : προὔθεμεν Tennulius || τὸ add. Ritschl ______________

Dotion, [...] the Dotian Plain was named after Dotus, the son of Pelasgus, as Herodian in the eighth : ‘Dotus, the son of Pelasgus, after whom the Dotian plain ‘. It is therefore superfluous, when Orus writes in the Ethnica as follows: ‘While the poet (i.e. Homer) mentions in passing the story of Thamyris in Dorion, Hesiod maintains on the contrary that he was blinded in the Dotian plain’. For classifies this among the ethnica whose radical are written in two different ways. At any rate, he adds: ‘For such (sc. as Dotion and Dorion) are not formed in the same way as Kalchedon and Karchedon; for the former with λ on the Pontus, while the latter with ρ in Libya (i.e. Africa)’. We have in fact anticipated this and shown by numerous proofs that Dorion with ρ is different from Dotion with τ. ______________

Commentary Stephanus here refers implicitly to the article Δώριον (251.6 Meineke = δ 149 Billerbeck–Zubler) and his discussion there of the Homeric zetema concerning the scene of the Thamyris legend. Whereas the lexicographer accepts the tradition which placed it in Dorion in the territory ruled by Nestor, Orus evidently adopted the objection, which had been raised earlier, that the Thracian singer could hardly have competed against the Muses in far-away Messenia (Dorion), but that the sacrilege and the subsequent blinding occurred in the Dotian Plain in Thessaly. In support of his argument Orus cites Hesiod who placed it there and explains the disagreement of the Homeric critics from the varying forms of the name Dorion/Dotion. Stephanus decidedly rejects this attempt to harmonize the two explanations and consequently treats Dorion and Dotion as two separate entries in his lexicon. From the citation of Orus about the varying forms of the names Reitzenstein drew the conclusion

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that his work Περὶ ἐθνικῶν was a mixture consisting of a systematic part and a lexicographical part which was not consistently followed.12 Without book title

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F 4 (15.9 Meineke = α 33 Billerbeck) Ἄγκυρα [...] τὸ ἐθνικὸν Ἀγκυρανός. τὰ εἰς νος ἐθνικά, ἐὰν ἀπὸ τῆς γενικῆς τοῦ πρωτοτύπου γένοιτο καθαρευούσης, τῷ α παραλήγει μακρῷ καὶ μιᾷ συλλαβῇ τῆς γενικῆς περιττεύει, οὐκ ἀναστρέφοντος τοῦ λόγου. οὐ γὰρ ὅσα τὸ α κατὰ τὴν παραλήγουσαν ἔχει, ταῦτα ἐκ γενικῶν προῆκται. τοῦ μὲν προτέρου παραδείγματος Ἀσιανός Καρδιανός Ὀλβιανός. Φασιανός ἀπὸ τῆς Φάσιος πόλεως, Τράλλιος Τραλλιανός, Σάρδιος Σαρδιανός. [...] ἡμάρτηται τὸ Βοτρυηνός, ἐὰν ἀπὸ τοῦ Βότρυος γέγονεν. ἐvτεῦθεν δὲ ὁ τύπος μιᾷ περιττεύει, σπανίως δὲ δυσίν, ὡς τὸ Ταυριανός καὶ Σκορπιανός καὶ Ζυγιανός, ἅπερ ἀπὸ τοῦ Σκόρπων καὶ Ταύρων καὶ Ζυγῶν παράγεσθαι ἔοικε, δυνάμενα καὶ αὐτὰ ἀπὸ προτέρων παράγεσθαι τοπικῶν, Ζυγίων Σκορπίων Ταυρίων. πρόσκειται οὐκ ἀναστρέφοντος τοῦ λόγου, διὰ τὸ Ἱσπανός Καρμανός Καμπανός Γερμανός Βρεττανός Ὠρητανός Ἀφρικανός Ἀλβανός Ὑρκανός . οὐδὲν γὰρ τούτων ἀπὸ γενικῆς καθαρευούσης. ὁ δὲ Ὦ ρ ό ς φησι· ‘τὰ μέντοι μὴ καθαρεύοντα τῷ η θέλει παραλήγεσθαι χωρὶς εἰ μὴ τῷ ρ παρεδρευόμενα διφοροῖτο, καθάπερ ἐπὶ τοῦ Ἀγκυρανός καὶ Θυατειρηνός {Γερμανός} καὶ Γαγγρηνός. ὧν τὰ μὲν παρὰ τὴν Ἄγκυραν συνεξέδραμεν τῷ Σωρανός Βοστρανός, τὰ δὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ τὰ Θυάτειρα καὶ τὰ Γάγγρα παρῆκται. ἀλλὰ καὶ θηλυκῶς λέγεται ἡ Γάγγρα’. ______________

1 ἐὰν RQPN : εἰ mavult Meineke || 2 γένοιτο Berkel : -οιντο RQPN || καθαρευούσης PN : καθαριευ- RQ || 5 γενικῶν Schneider 1849, 543: θηλυκῶν RQPN || ταῦτα ante Ἀσιανός exp. Q, om. RPN || 9 σκορπιανὸς PN : σκοπιανὸς RQ || 10 Σκόρπων Salmasius : σκορπίων RQP, σκορπίου N || παράγεσθαι ἔοικε Jacoby : παράγειν ἐοίκασι RQPN, παράγεσθαι δοκοῦσι Draco (16.26 Hermann) || 11 τῶν προτέρων R || 13 Ἱσπανός Berkel : ἱππανὸς RQPN || Βρεττανός Meineke : spatium 3 litt. ττανός R, spatium 4

12 Reitzenstein 1897, 316: ‘Oros hatte in einem zusammenhängenden Abschnitt über diejenigen Ethnika, welche von einem doppelten Wurzelwort, πρωτοτύπον oder θέμα, abgeleitet sind, d.h. also mit anderen Worten über Städte, deren Namensform zu schwanken schien, gehandelt. Das Werk war, wie die Buchangaben zeigen, jedenfalls nicht durchgehends lexikalisch, sondern in seinem einen Hauptteil nach grammatischen Gesichtspunkten geordnet.’ On this see also below F 4.

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litt. τανός Q, βριττανός Ppc(in spatio alt. m.)N || Ὠρητανός Holste : ῥητανός RQPN || 14 Ἀλβανός Berkel : ὀλβανὸς RQPN || 15 φησι (per comp.) τὰ μέντοι Q : αὐτὰ μέντοι R, spatium αὐτὰ μέντοι P, τὰ μέντοι N || μὴ RQPN : del. Berkel || τῷ η Casaubonus : τὸ η RQPN || 16 τῶ ρ PN : τὸ ρ RQ || διφοροῖτο Lobeck (1843, 198): διαφοροῖτο RQPN || 17 Γερμανός secl. Billerbeck || 19 τοῦ PN : τούτου RQP(in marg.) || τὰ om. P(add. in marg. alt. m.)N || post Θυάτειρα lac. 6 litt. indic. R ______________

Ankyra, [...]. The ethnicon ‘Ankyranos’ (Ankyran). The ethnica ending in –νος, if formed from the genitive of a radical containing a vowel before the ending, have a long α in the penultimate syllable and are a syllable longer than the genitive , whereby this grammatical rule does not apply in the reverse case. For not all which have an α in the penultimate syllable are derived from the genitive. To the first pattern ‘Asianos’ (Asian), ‘Kardianos’ (Kardian), ‘Olbianos’ (Olbian). ‘Phasianos’ (Phasian), from Φάσιος the city ; Τράλλιος ‘Trallianos’ (Trallian), Σάρδιος ‘Sardianos’ (Sardian). [...] The form ‘Botryenos’ (Botryen) is incorrect, if it is derived Βότρυος. Accordingly this type of derivation has a syllable more , seldom however two syllables more as in the forms ‘Taurianos’ (Taurian), ‘Skorpianos’ (Scorpian) and ‘Zygianos’ (Zygian), which appear to be derived from the ‘Skorpoi’, ‘Tauroi’ and ‘Zygoi’, although they too can be derived from original topica, ‘Zygios’, ‘Skorpios’ and ‘Taurios’. is relevant: ‘this grammatical rule does not apply in the reverse case’, on account of the ‘Hispanos’, ‘Karmanos’, ‘Kampanos’, ‘Germanos’, ‘Brettanos’, ‘Oretanos’, ‘Afrikanos’, ‘Albanos’, ‘Hyrkanos’. For none of these from the genitive which has a vowel before the ending. Orus says namely: ‘the , the radical of which does not end in a vowel, require an η in the penultima except for those with a ρ in the penultima which are spelled in two ways (i.e. with either α or η), as in the case of ‘Ankyranos’ and ‘Thyateirenos’ as well as ‘Gangrenos’. Of these some from a feminine ‘Ankyra’ have the same ending as ‘Soranos’ and ‘Bostranos’, while some are derived from ‘Thyateira’ and ‘Gangra’. But ‘Gangra’ is also used as a feminine’. ______________

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Commentary The fragment nicely illustrates why the Suda lists the work of Orus, in view of its content and leading aspect, under the ‘title’ Ὅπως τὰ ἐθνικὰ λεκτέον (‘How one should call the names of peoples’). The grammarians were evidently not in agreement according to which rule the atticizing form –ανός of the suffix –ηνός, common in Asia Minor, was to be formed.13 The ethnica Ταυριανός, Σκορπιανός and Ζυγιανός are standard examples, the canon of which was discussed by Herodian, as Stephanus shows: 577.8 Meineke: Σκορπιανός· ἔθνος. Ἡρωδιανὸς η´ ‘Ζυγιανός Ταυριανός Σκορπιανός’, similarly 628.14 Meineke: Τόξιοι καὶ Τοξιανοί· ἔθνος Ταυρικόν. Ἡρωδιανός η´. Derivation from tribal names by addition of iota, the first explanation given by our lexicographer, is mentioned again at 608.19 Meineke: τὸ ἐθνικὸν Ταυριανὸς πλεονασμῷ τοῦ ι, ὡς Ζυγιανός. If, however, the ethnica in –ανός were derived from an original topicon, given here in the plural forms (ἀπὸ ... τοπικῶν, Ζυγίων etc.) because of association with the previous enumeration (ἅπερ ἀπὸ τοῦ Σκόρπων καὶ Ταύρων καὶ Ζυγῶν), then they follow the usual canon of topica, e.g. α 92 Billerbeck: Αἰγά [...] τὸ τοπικὸν Αἰγαῖος, 424.6 Meineke: Μάγαρσος [...] τὸ τοπικὸν Μαγάρσιος, 506.15 Meineke: Πάρνης, Πάρνηθος [...] τὸ τοπικὸν Παρνήθιος λέγεται. In the controversy over the relevant canon Ritschl saw the traces of a heated dispute such as Orus was supposed to have had with Herodian his ‘acerrimo adversario’.14 On the systematic character of the fragment see n. 12 above.

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F 5 (33.17 Meineke = α 80 Billerbeck = B 4 b Alpers) Ἀθῆναι· πόλεις κατὰ μὲν ῏ Ω ρ ο ν ε´, κατὰ δὲ Φίλωνα (FGrHist 790 F 21) ς´. […] ὁ πολίτης Ἀθηναῖος καὶ θηλυκὸν Ἀθηναία. ἡ δὲ θεὸς Ἀθηναία λέγεται μονογενῶς. λέγεται δὲ καὶ ἐπὶ γυναικός, ὡς ἄλλοι μὲν πολλοί, Φιλήμων δὲ οὕτως ἐν Πτερυγίῳ (fr. 69 Kassel - Austin [PCG VII 262]) νυνὶ δ’ ὅταν λάβῃ τις εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν τὰς Ἱππονίκας τάσδε καὶ Ναυσιστράτας καὶ Ναυσινίκας, τὰς Ἀθηναίας λέγω. Δίδυμος (p. 351 [b] Schmidt) δέ φησιν ὅτι Ἀθηναίας λέγουσιν ἀντὶ τοῦ Ἀττικάς. ὁ δὲ Φρύνιχος (fr. 8 Borries) ἀνάττικόν φησιν εἶναι τὴν φωνὴν καὶ θαυμάζει πῶς ὁ Φερεκράτης (test. 10 et fr. 39 Kassel - Austin [PCG VII 104 et 122]) ἀττικώτατος ὢν χρῆται. ἀστὰς δὲ τὰς 13 On the type see Dittenberger 1907, 230–234; Schwyzer 1939, 490; Risch 1957, 63. 14 Ritschl 1834, 51.

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γυναῖκας ἔλεγον οὐ διὰ τὸ μὴ δύνασθαι λέγειν Ἀθηναίας, ἀλλ’ ἐπειδὴ καὶ τοὺς ἄνδρας ἀστοὺς ἐκάλουν. ______________

2 ἀθηναία

Q : ἀθηναῖα RPN || 4 πτερυγίων R || 7 Ἱππονίκας Westermann : -κὰς RQPN

______________

Athens, according to Orus five cities , but six according to Philon. [...] The citizen ‘Athenaios’ (Athenian), and the feminine ‘Athenaia’. The goddess is simply called ‘Athenaia’. is used also for a woman as many including Philemon in the Pterygion as follows: ‘But now, whenever someone takes into his house these ‘Hipponicai’, ‘Nausistratai’ and ‘Nausinicai’, the ‘Athenaiai’, I mean.’ Didymus says that they call ‘Athenaiai’ instead of ‘Atticai’. Phrynichus however says that the word is foreign to Attic and wonders how Pherecrates could use it when he is strictly Attic. They used to call the women astai (‘townswomen’) not because they could not call them ‘Athenaiai’, but because they referred to the men as astoi (‘townsmen’). ______________

Commentary Stephanus’ main reason for citing Orus was hardly, as Ritschl already remarked,15 for the number of cities with the name Athens, but rather for his position in the well-known controversy about the use of Ἀθηναῖοι and Ἀττικαί. On the basis of a detailed analysis of the sources and influence Alpers attributes the entire extract to Orus who in his Περὶ ἐθνικῶv, the direct source of Stephanus, made use of material from his atticistic lexicon.16 F 6 (250.14 Meineke = δ 148 Billerbeck–Zubler, cod. S) Δῶρα· νῆσος ἐν τῷ Περσικῷ κόλπῳ [...] ὁ νησιώτης Δωρίτης, ὡς τοῦ Στάγειρα Σταγειρίτης, Ἄβδηρα Ἀβδηρίτης. οὕτω καὶ Ὦ ρ ο ς . εἰ δὲ τῷ τῆς χώρας τύπῳ χαρακτηρισθῆναι δεῖ, Δωρηνός ὡς Σωφηνός Ἀραξηνός Νισιβηνός. ______________

15 Ritschl 1834, 57–58. 16 Alpers 1981, 57 and 196–197; Kassel - Austin 1989, 122.

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1 Δῶρα

Tennulius : Δώρα S || 3 Δωρηνός ... Σωφηνός Ἀραξηνός Νισιβηνός Berkel (coll. St.Byz. 477.3 et 5) : -ῆνος quater S ______________

Dora, island in the Persian Gulf; [...] the islander ‘Dorite’, as ‘Stagirite’ from Stageira and ‘Abderite’ from Abdera. So also Orus. If however one should form according to the pattern of the country, ‘Dorenos’, like ‘Sophenos’, ‘Araxenos’, ‘Nisibenos’. ______________

Commentary The formation of the ethnicon in -ίτης, as Stephanus s.v. Δῶρος (δ 150) prescribes for Δῶρον (256.4 Meineke), follows the analogy with place-names in the neuter plural, of which Στάγειρα (beside Στάγειρος) and Ἄβδηρα (beside Ἄβδηρος) and Γάβαλα are prime examples; cf. α 6 Billerbeck: Ἄβδηρα· [...] ὁ πολίτης Ἀβδηρίτης. καὶ γὰρ τοῦ Δίολκος [...] . καὶ ἀπὸ τῶν εἰς α οὐδετέρων εὑρίσκεται, ὡς Γάβαλα Γαβαλίτης. This canon was also adopted by Orus. That the local forms, as they are listed here, were familiar and discussed by the grammarians is shown by St.Byz. 476.17 Meineke: Νίσιβις· πόλις ἐν τῇ Περαίᾳ τῇ πρὸς τῷ Τίγρητι ποταμῷ. [...] τὸ ἐθνικὸν Νισιβηνός. ἔδει Νισιβίτης, ἀλλ’ ὁ τύπος Αἰγύπτιος καὶ Λίβυς, ὁ δὲ διὰ τοῦ ηνος παρὰ τὸν Εὐφράτην καὶ τὴν ἕω, ὡς Σωφηνός Ταβηνός Καμβυσηνός. F 7 (486.1 Meineke) Οἴνη· πόλις Ἄργους, Ἑκαταῖος Ἱστοριῶν α´ (FGrHist 1 F 4). τὸ ἐθνικὸν Οἰναῖος Οἰναία Οἰναῖον. Ὦ ρ ο ς δὲ Οἰνώην αὐτήν φησιν, ἧς τὸ ἐθνικὸν Οἰνωάτης καὶ θηλυκὸν Οἰνωᾶτις Ἄρτεμις, ἡ ἐν Οἰνώῃ τῆς Ἀργείας ἱδρυμένη ὑπὸ Προίτου. ______________

2 Οἰναία Οἰναῖον Xylander : oἰνευία ὄρος RQP || 3 οἰνωᾶτις PN : -ωάτις

oἰναίων RQPN || ὦρος N : RQ || ἡ om. R || ἐν οἰνώη P: ἐν οἰνόη RQ, ἐν νόη Ν || ἀργείας RN : ἀργίας QΡ ______________

Similia: E. HF 378–79 θηροφόνον θεὰν / Οἰνωᾶτιν (H. Stephanus, οἰνόα τίν’ cod. L); Hsch. ο 316 Οἰνᾶτις· Ἀρτέμιδος τῆς ἐν Οἰνόῃ τῆς Ἀργείας , cf. etiam Hsch. α 2634 ἀκρουχεῖ· ἄκρον ἔχει. Ἄκρον δὲ ὄρος τῆς Ἀργείας, ἐφ’ οὗ Ἀρτέμιδος ἱερὸν ἱδρύσατο Μελάμπους καθάρας τὰς Προιτίδας, et Hsch. ρ 348 ῥίον †Οἰνήναιον†· Οἰνόη τῆς Ἀργείας ὄρος χαλεπόν (SH 1105 ῥίον

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Οἰνηναῖον), Paus. 2.25.2–3 Οἰνόη, τὸ ὄνομα ἔχουσα, ὡς Ἀργεῖοί φασιν, ἀπὸ Οἰνέως. [...] (3) ὑπὲρ δὲ Οἰνόης (sc. χωρίου) ὄρος ἐστὶν Ἀρτεμίσιον καὶ ἱερὸν Ἀρτέμιδος ἐπὶ κορυφῇ. ______________

Oine, city in Argos. Hecataeus in the first book of his Historiae. The ethnicon ‘Oinaios, Oinaia, Oinaion’. Orus calls the city Oinoe, the ethnicon of which ‘Oinoates’ and for the feminine ‘Oinoatis Artemis’, who was honoured by Proetus in Argive Oinoe. ______________

Commentary A city called Οἴνη is not mentioned anywhere else in the literary sources. On the other hand, Meyer 1937, 2239.15–41, following Robert 1933, 428–429 (= 1969, 554–555), noted that the variation in the form of the name, Οἴνη (the usual form in inscriptions) and Οἰνόη (the usual literary form), is not at all unusual and is found in the case of all the places of this name. The same applies to the ethnicon Οἰναῖος as well as the demoticon Οἰναῖος which occurs frequently in the Athenian tribute lists. The Argolid locality, which is called a polis here, together with its sanctuary of Artemis Οἰνωᾶτις is well attested in the literary sources, though in the form Οἰνόη; Jacoby ad loc. (Comm. p. 319) rightly observed that the quotation from Hecataeus cannot be relied on. Whether the toponym Οἴνη, which is guaranteed here by the alphabetical order, is to be attributed to Stephanus or his epitomist is uncertain. There are in fact other inconsistencies which indicate that the article has been disturbed either in the transmission of the text or through the abridgement. First, there follows as the next but one lemma Οἰνόη, though only in reference to a city on the island Icarus in the eastern Aegean. It is also referred to by Strabo who mentions a sanctuary of Artemis there: 14.1.19 (C 639.10) Ἀρτέμιδος ἱερόν, καλούμενον Ταυροπόλιον. According to Stephanus the corresponding ethnicon is Οἰνοαῖος, which is confirmed by the analogy with Ὀγχόη (483.10 Meineke): ὡς τῆς Οἰνόης Οἰνοαῖος. Secondly, it is striking that, in the article Οἴνη in the transmitted order of the ethnica, the manuscripts RQPN as well as the Aldina punctuate after Οἰναῖος. This strongly suggests that the epitomist or else the scribe of the archetype failed to understand the two following forms Οἰνευία Οἰναίων. Whereas Xylander corrected them to the feminine (Οἰναία) and the neuter (Οἰναῖον), Ernst Grumach in his notes placed them in cruces. Against this correction and the resultant

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asyndetic ordering of feminine and neuter, which has been generally accepted, it must however be objected that it does not correspond to the linguistic usage of Stephanus who regularly links names in different genders with καί, e.g. 598.11 Meineke (see below F 9): λέγεται καὶ Ταινάριος καὶ Ταιναρία καὶ Ταινάριον. Accordingly, everything seems to indicate that our lexicographer not only discussed the widely distributed toponym Οἰνόη (on which see Meyer 1937, 2236–2244) but also the form of the name Οἴνη which survived in the epitome as a foil unrelated to the Orus quotation. F 8 (693.3 Meineke) Χήσιον· Ἰωνίας πολίχνιον, ὡς Ἀπολλόδωρος ἐν Χρονικῶν α´ (FGrHist 244 F 2). ὁ πολίτης Χησιεύς, ὡς Ἴλιον Ἰλιεύς, Σούνιον Σουνιεύς. Ὦ ρ ο ς δ’ ἀρσενικῶς αὐτήν φησι, καὶ οὐδὲ πόλιν, ἀλλὰ τόπον. ______________

Similia: St.Byz. 191.5 Meineke ἀπὸ τοῦ Χήσιος τὸ Χησιεύς, sed 256.10 Meineke τοῦ Χήσιον τὸ Χησιεύς, Sch. Call. Dian. 228 Χησιάς: ἀκρωτήριον τῆς Σάμου, Sch. Nic. Alex. 151 Χησιεῖς δὲ πρῶτον ᾤκησαν ἐν Σάμῳ, et Eutecnii paraphr. ibid. (p. 64 Papathomopoulos) Χήσιον δὲ ὁ τόπος κέκληται· ... τὸ δὲ ὄρος, ἐν ᾧ τὸ Χήσιον. ______________

Chesion, small town in Ionia, as Apollodorus in the first book of his Chronica. The citizen ‘Chesieus’, as ‘Ilieus’ Ilion, ‘Sounieus’ Sounion. Orus however treats it as masculine (i.e. Χήσιος) and that it is not a city but a place. ______________

Commentary The controversy here is not about the formation of the ethnicon which is attested exclusively in the form Χησιεύς, but rather about the varying gender of the place-name. It appears quite likely that Orus drew his conclusion from the scholion on Call. Dian. 228, where Χήσιον is missing in our manuscripts, but according to Pfeiffer (ad loc.) it was restored ‘prob. recte’ by J. Laskaris.17 The explanation of the scholion Χήσιον ἀκρωτήριον supports not only the determination of the locality as ‘place’ (τόπος), but could have induced Orus to take Χήσιος as an adjective; cf. EM 160.22 s.v. Ἀστυπαλαία, where according to Themista17 Οn J. Laskaris and his knowledge of the Ethnica of Stephanus of Byzantium see Billerbeck 2006, 23*.

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goras of Ephesus (FGH IV 512.1) there was a Samian phyle called (Σ)χησία.18 ΠΕΡΙ ΟΡΘΟΓΡΑΦΙΑΣ (On Orthography)

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F 9 (598.6 Meineke) Ταίναρος· πόλις, ἀπὸ Ταινάρου τοῦ Γεραιστοῦ μὲν ἀδελφοῦ, Διὸς δὲ παιδός. ὃς πλέων σύν Καλάβρῳ τῷ ἀδελφῷ καὶ τόπον τῆς Πελοποννήσου καταλαβών τινα Ποσειδῶνος ἱερὸν ἱδρύσατο, ὃ καλεῖται Ταίναρον. ἔστι καὶ Ταίναρος ὁ Ἰκαρίου υἱός ἀφ’ οὗ καλεῖται ἡ πόλις καὶ ἡ ἄκρα καὶ ὁ λιμήν. λέγεται δὲ ἀρσενικῶς καὶ θηλυκῶς. λέγεται καὶ Ταινάριος καὶ Ταιναρία καὶ Ταινάριον. εἰσὶ δὲ καὶ Ταινάριοι θῆκαι, ὡς Χάραξ ἐν Ἑλληνικῶν β´ (FGrHist 103 F 2). λέγεται καὶ ταιναρίζειν, ὡς Ἕρμιππος Θεοῖς (fr. 32 Kassel - Austin [PCG V 576]) ‘καὶ σὲ τί χρὴ παραταιναρίζειν;’. Ὦρος δέ φησιν ἐν τῇ Ὀρθογραφίᾳ Ταίναρον πεδίον τῆς Λακωνικῆς, καὶ Ταιναρισταί οἱ ἐν αὐτῷ. ______________

1 πόλις

Meineke in app. || γεραιστοῦ RQPN : Γεραίστου Meineke (sed cf. 203.6) || 3 πελοποννήσου R : πελοπονήσου QPN || 4 Ταίναρος ὁ Meineke in app. (ex Sch. A.R. 1.102) || 5 ἡ πόλις καὶ ἡ ἄκρα R, Sch. A.R. 1.102 : ἡ ἄκρα καὶ ἡ πόλις QPN || 7 θῆκαι Meineke in app. : θῆβαι RQPN || ἐν om. PN || 8 ὡς om. RQ || 9 σὲ τί RQPN : σέ τι Meineke || 10 πεδίον (ex παι-) P || Ταιναρισταί F. Bölte (RE IV A2 [1932] 2045.6, mon. Berkel, ex Hsch. τ 33) : ταιναρῖται RQP, -ίται Ν ______________

Fons: Sch. A.R. 1.102 Ταιναρίην: Φερεκύδης ἐν τῇ θ´ (FGrHist 3 F 39) φησὶν ὅτι Ἔλατος ὁ Ἰκαρίου γαμεῖ Ἐριμήδην τὴν Δαμασίκλου· τῶν δὲ γίνεται Ταίναρος, ἀφ’ οὗ Ταίναρον καλεῖται ἡ πόλις καὶ ἡ ἄκρα καὶ ὁ λιμήν. Similia: Ptol. Geog. 3.16.9 (3.14.32) Λακωνικῆς· ... Ταιναρία ἄκρα καὶ ἐν τῷ Λακωνικῷ κόλπῳ· Ταινάριον (sc. πόλις), Paus. 3.12.5 τέμενος Ποσειδῶνος Ταιναρίου—Ταινάριον δὲ ἐπονομάζουσιν, Hsch. τ 33 Ταινάρια (J. Pearson, -ρίας cod.) παρὰ Λακεδαιμονίοις ἑορτὴ Ποσειδῶνος καὶ ἐν αὐτῇ Ταιναρισταί. Ταίναρον γὰρ πεδίον Λακωνικῆς, Suid. τ 205 Ταινάριον κακόν: τὸ μέγα καὶ παρανομούμενον εἰς ἱκέτας· οἱ γὰρ Λακεδαιμόνιοι καταφυγόντας 18 On ‘Chesion’ / ‘Chesios’ and the varying orthography of the toponym see Bürchner 1899, 2272–2273.

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τοὺς Εἵλωτας εἰς Ταίναρον ἀπέκτειναν. καὶ Ταιναρίτης ὁ πολίτης. Cf. etiam IG V 1.210.1; 211.1; 212.1 Ταινάριοι (de celebrantibus). ______________

Tainaros, a city, after Taenarus, the brother of Geraestus and son of Zeus. When he sailed with his brother Calabrus, he took possession of a place on the Peloponnese and founded a temple of Poseidon which is called Taenarum. There is also Taenarus, the son of Icarius, after whom the city, the cape and the harbour are named. is used both as masculine and feminine.19 One also says ‘Tainarios, Tainaria, Tainarion’.20 There are also the tombs of Taenarus, as Charax in the second book of his Hellenica. Moreover there is the expression ταιναρίζειν (‘to celebrate the Tainaria’), as Hermippus in his The Gods: ‘Why must you celebrate the Tainaria so ridiculously?’ Orus says in his Orthography that Tainaron is a plain in Laconia and that Tainarists those who there. ______________

Commentary In light of F 5 it is probable that Orus borrowed the quotation of the comic poet from his atticistic lexicon for the Orthography; for the verb (παρα)ταιναρίζειν supplies the key to the proper understanding of the quotation which follows, as can be seen from the explanation in Hesychius (τ 33). It is not a question here of the ethnicon (Ταιναρῖται) of the inhabitants of Taenarus, but rather of the name of the participants and their association (Ταιναρισταί) at the festival of the Taenaria which was celebrated (ταιναρίζειν) in the sanctuary of Poseidon at Taenarum.21 The corruption of the original Ταιναρισταί to Ταιναρῖται may well be the source of the otherwise unattested Ταιναρίτης ὁ πολίτης in Suid. τ 205. Without book title F 10 (46.6 Meineke = α 120 Billerbeck) Αἰθάλη· νῆσος Τυρσηνῶν, Ἑκαταῖος Εὐρώπῃ (FGrHist 1 F 59). ἔοικε δὲ κεκλῆσθαι διὰ τὸ σίδηρον ἔχειν τὸν ἐν αἰθάλῃ τὴν ἐργασίαν

19 On the gender see Braswell 1988, 125 (comm. on Pi. P. 4.44[c]). 20 In addition, Orph. A. 205 calls Euphemus Ταιναριεύς. 21 On verbs in -ίζειν meaning ‘to celebrate a festival’ and the formation of the name of associations derived from that of the festival see Debrunner 1917, §§ 269–270; on the ‘Tainaria’ see the detailed discussion in Nilsson 19952, 67–69.

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ἔχοντα. Φίλιστος δὲ ἐν ε´ Σικελικῶν (FGrHist 556 F 21) Αἰθάλειαν αὐτὴν καλεῖ, καὶ Ἡρωδιανὸς (Kath. Pros. 275.31) καὶ Ὦρος. [...] τὸ ἐθνικὸν ἐκ τοῦ Αἰθάλεια Αἰθαλείτης, ὡς Ζελείτης, ἐκ δὲ τοῦ Αἰθάλη Αἰθαλίτης, ὡς Σινωπίτης Ἰοπίτης. δύναται τὸ Αἰθαλίτης ἀντὶ τοῦ Χῖος· οὕτω γὰρ ἡ Χίος ἐλέγετο. καὶ οἱ πολῖται Αἰθαλεῖς. ______________

3 Φίλιστος

Xylander : φίλιππος RQPN || 6 Ἰοπίτης Meineke (coll. St.Byz. 255.22; 334.1 et 3) : ἰοππίτης RQPN || τοῦ ante Χῖος om. RQ || 7 χίος N : χῖος RQP ______________

Similia: Αἰθαλία apud Ps.-Scyl. 6, A.R. 4.654 (Αἰθαλίη), Str. 2.5.19 (C 123.4) et 5.2.6 (C 223.26), vel Αἰθάλεια vel Αἰθαλία in codd. D.S. 4.56.5; 5.13.1; 11.88.4 ______________

Aithale (Elba), island of the Tyrrhenians; Hecataeus in the Europe. It seems to have received its name from its having iron ore which is processed amid soot (αἰθάλη). Philistus however in the fifth book of the Sicelica calls it Aethaleia, so too Herodian and Orus. […] The ethnicon from ‘Aithaleia’ ‘Aithaleïte’, like ‘Zeleïte’, but from ‘Aithale’ ‘Athalite’, like ‘Sinopite’ and ‘Iopite’. The ‘Aithalite’ can be used for Chian, for Chios used to be called thus. And the citizens Aithalians. ______________

Commentary The form Αἰθαλία, which is well attested (v. Similia), is notably missing— presumably as a result of the abbreviation of the original text; nevertheless it can be inferred from the variant Αἰθάλεια which Orus may well have discussed in the section on the diphthong ει. A trace of a grammatical discussion of the formations or derivations of the radical αἰθάλη (‘soot’) can be seen from Et. Sym. α 257 Lasserre–Livadaras (= α 260 Sell) s.v. αἰθάλειος· τὰ ἀπὸ τῶν εἰς λος βαρυτόνων ὑπὲρ δύο συλλαβὰς ὄντων μὴ ἐθνικὰ διὰ τῆς ει διφθόγγου γράφονται· αἰόλος, ὁ κατάστικτος, αἰόλειος, ὁ ποικίλος· αἴθαλος αἰθάλειος, σημαίνει δὲ τὸν καπνόν. F 11 (495.9 Meineke) Ὀρεστία· πόλις ἐν Ὀρέσταις, ἐν ὄρει ὑπερκειμένῳ τῆς Μακεδονικῆς γῆς, ἐξ ἧς Πτολεμαῖος ὁ Λάγου πρῶτος βασιλεύσας Αἰγύπτου. ὁ πολίτης Ὀρεστιαῖος. ἔστι καὶ ἄλλη ἐν Ἀρκαδίᾳ Ὀρεστία, ἣν

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Εὐδαίμων καὶ Ὦ ρ ο ς διὰ τῆς ει διφθόγγου γράφουσι , τὴν Ὀρέστειον. ______________

1 Ὀρέσταις

Meineke (cl. St. Byz. 494.25 Ὀρέσται) : ὀρεσταῖς RQPN || ὑπερκειμένω RPN : -μένων Q || 2 ἐξ ἧς RQ : ἐν ἧ PN || Λάγου Westermann : λαγοῦ RQPN || 4 ὁ ὦρος RQ

______________

Similia: Str. 7.7.8 (C 326.8) οἱ ὑπερκείμενοι καὶ συνάπτοντες τοῖς Ἰλλυρικοῖς ὄρεσι, τραχεῖαν οἰκοῦντες χώραν, [...] Ὀρέσται [...], οἱ μὲν πλησιάζοντες τοῖς Μακεδόσι μᾶλλον, οἱ δὲ τῷ Ἰονίῳ κόλπῳ cf. etiam Str. 9.5.11 (C 434.24) et 7. fr. 3.7 ἡ δ’ Ὀρεστὶς πολλή, καὶ ὄρος ἔχει μέγα μέχρι τοῦ Κόρακος τῆς Αἰτωλίας καθῆκον καὶ τοῦ Παρνασσοῦ· περιοικοῦσι δ’ αὐτοί τε Ὀρέσται [...]. ______________

Orestia, city in the territory of the Orestae in the mountain range lying above the land of Macedonia; from it Ptolemy, the son of Lagus, the first to rule Egypt. The citizen Orestiaean. There is also another Orestia, in Arcadia, which Eudaemon22 and Orus write with the diphthong ει, ‘Oresteion’. ______________

Commentary Only here is the form of the name Orestia attested. Doubtless it concerns Oresthasion to which Stephanus has dedicated a separate article (494.23 Meineke). There his authority is Pausanias who mentions the place several times in his description of Arcadia and notes the change of the name to Oresteion: 8.3.2 Φιγαλία δὲ καὶ Ὀρεσθάσιον {ἐν} χρόνῳ μεταβάλλουσι τὰ ὀνόματα, Ὀρέστειόν τε ἀπὸ Ὀρέστου κληθεῖσα τοῦ Ἀγαμέμνονος καὶ Φιαλία ἀπὸ [...] Φιάλου. This form of the name is in fact well attested, first by Pherecydes in the scholion on E. Or. 1645 (= FGrHist 3 F 135), where the poet explains Ὀρέστειον by the eponym Orestes, further Plu. Arist. 10.9, as well as Stephanus himself (s.v. Ὀρέσται) 495.4 Meineke: χωρίον τῆς Ἀρκαδίας, τὸ λεγόμενον Ὀρέστειον, where Orestes’ son of the same name died; cf. also Suid. o 536 Ὀρέστειον· ὄνομα τόπου. Reitzenstein concluded from Et. Gen. s.v. Ὀρέσται· ἔθνος Μακεδονίας, ὅτι Ὀρέστης ὁ Ἀγαμέμνονος εἰς Μακεδονίαν παρεγένετο, ἀφ’ οὗ καὶ τὸ τῶν Ὀρεστῶν ἔθνος ὠνόμασται. οἱ δὲ 22 On Eudaemon see Kaster 1988, 279 (no. 55); Meliadò 2005.

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ὅτι οὐκ εἰς μακρὰν ἦλθεν, ἀλλ’ εἰς Ἀρκαδίαν, ὅπου καὶ ἀπέθανεν καὶ ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ πόλις Ὀρέστειον καλεῖται. τοὺς δὲ ἐν Μακεδονίᾳ Ὀρέστας οἱ μὲν ἀπό τινος ἑτέρου, οἱ δὲ ἀπὸ τούτου ὠνομάσθαι , that Stephanus drew his reference from Orus’ work Περὶ ἐθνικῶν.23 If that was in fact the case, we would have another instance (see F 5 and F 9 above) of Orus transposing material from one work, here the Orthographia, to his Ethnica.

FRAGMENT FROM UNCERTAIN CONTEXT F 12 (547.7 Meineke) Ῥοίτειον. Ὦ ρ ο ς ἄκραν εἶναί φησι. καὶ πόλις δέ ἐστι Τρῳάδος. ὁ πολίτης Ῥοιτειεύς καὶ Ῥοιτειάς καὶ Ῥοιτηΐς διὰ τοῦ ι. ______________

2 Ῥοιτηΐς

Lobeck (1837, 24): ῥοιτίς RQPN

______________

Similia: Str. 13.1.30 (C 595.22) Εἶτα Ῥοίτειον, πόλις ἐπὶ λόφῳ κειμένη, et gentile τοῖς Ῥοιτειεῦσιν Eust. ad Il. 2.648 (I 487) τὸ δὲ Ῥύτιον τὸ ἐν Κρήτῃ προπαροξύνεται [...]. τὸ μέντοι Τρῳαδικὸν Ῥοίτειον, ὅπερ καὶ ἄκρα καὶ πόλις Τρῳάδος ἐστίν, ἐξήλλακται ὥσπερ τῇ τοπικῇ διαστάσει, οὕτω καὶ ταῖς δυσὶ διφθόγγοις, ἐν αἷς γράφεται. ἐθνικὸν δὲ καὶ τούτου καὶ ἐκείνου Ῥυτιεύς. περὶ δὲ τοῦ ῥηθέντος Τρωϊκοῦ Ῥοιτείου, ὅτι τε πόλιν ὁμώνυμον ἐπὶ λόφῳ εἶχε καὶ ᾐόνα συνεχῆ, et ad Il. 7.86 (II 407) Antip. Sid. AP 7.146 ἐπὶ Ῥοιτηίσιν ἀκταῖς, Q.S. 5.656 Ῥοιτηίδος […] ἀκτῆς Mela 1.18.96 et Plin. Nat. 5.125 Rhoetea litora et Rhoeteum (oppidum) ______________

Rhoiteion. Orus says that it is a promontory. There is however a city in the Troad. The citizen ‘Rhoiteieus’, and ‘Rhoteias’ and ‘Rhoteïs’ with ι. ______________

Commentary The feminine forms are attested only as adjectives and always in conjunction with ἀκτή. From A.R. 1.929 Ῥοιτειάδος ... ἀκτῆς the scholion ad loc. constructs a mistaken genealogy with an otherwise unknown eponym: ἀπὸ Ῥοιτείας τῆς Πρωτέως θυγατρός, similarly Sch. 23 Reitzenstein 1897, 323.

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Lyc. 583a Leone; see further Herter 1957, 944.33. It cannot be determined with certainty from which work Stephanus drew the Orus citation; the discussion in Eustathius (v. Similia) about the spelling of the name with the diphthong ει could point to an orthographical context. Orus’ geographical definition of Rhoiteion as a promontory indicates the scholion on A.R. 1.929 as his probable source.24 DUBIUM F 13 (607.3 Meineke) Ταρχώνιον, πόλις Τυρρηνίας, ἀπὸ Τηλέφου παιδὸς Τάρχωνος. ὁ πολίτης Ταρχωνῖνος, ὡς {Ὦ ρ ο ς ἐν β´ Περὶ ἐθνικῶν} Ἀσσώριον Ἀσσωρῖνος, ἢ Ταρχωνιεύς ὡς Ἱππωνιεύς. ______________

1 τάρχωνος

(ex τάρφ-) Rpc || 2 ὦρος ἐν β´ περὶ ἐθνικῶν post ταρχωνῖνος ὡς add. R (cancell. R1?), secl. Meineke ‘videntur e sequentibus [s.v. Ταῦα, cf. supra F 2] repetita esse’ || 3 ὡς QPN : ἢ R || Ἱππωνιεύς Xylander : ἱππο- RQPN ______________

Similia: Str. 5.2.2 (C 219.20) ἐλθὼν (sc. Τυρρηνός) δὲ τήν τε χώραν ἀφ’ ἑαυτοῦ Τυρρηνίαν ἐκάλεσε καὶ δώδεκα πόλεις ἔκτισεν οἰκιστὴν ἐπιστήσας Τάρκωνα (ἀφ’ οὗ Ταρκυνία ἡ πόλις), cf. St. Byz. s.v. Ταρκυνία (603.21 Meinene) Sch. Lyc. 1242b Leone δύο παῖδες Τηλέφου Τάρχων καὶ Τυρσηνὸς οἰκήσουσι τὴν Τυρσηνίαν ______________

Tarchonion, city in Tyrrhenia, after Tarchon, the son of Telephus. The citizen ‘Tarchonine’, as {Orus in the second book On Ethnica} ‘Assorion Assorine’, or ‘Tarchonieus’ like ‘Hipponieus’. ______________

Commentary That Stephanus, as in article Ταῦα (F 2), also drew here on the Ethnica of Orus can by no means be excluded. But from the fact that the source is given only in R (and then possibly deleted by the scribe) Meineke understandably concluded that it was an interpolation. 24 Reitzenstein 1897, 325: ‘Aus Oros stammt bei Stephanos nicht nur alles, was auf die Scholien zu Apollonios und Lykophron zurückgeht, sondern auch alle Scholien zu Kallimachos und wenigstens ein Hauptteil der Scholien zu Homer.’

V. Ancient Grammar in Interdisciplinary Context

Dionysius of Halicarnassus and the Scholia on Thucydides’ Syntax Casper C. de Jonge 1. Introduction εὐαρίθμητοι γάρ τινές εἰσιν οἷοι πάντα τὰ Θουκυδίδου συμβαλεῖν, καὶ οὐδ᾿ οὗτοι χωρὶς ἐξηγήσεως γραμματικῆς ἔνια.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, On Thucydides 51 (410.15–17)

For the men who can understand the whole of Thucydides can easily be counted, and even these cannot understand certain passages without a linguistic explanation.1 Thucydides has never been an easy read. If we may believe Dionysius of Halicarnassus, even native speakers at the end of the first century BC experienced serious problems in understanding parts of the historian’s work. The famous words of Dionysius, the scholar and historian who was active in Rome in the period of Augustus, are consolatory for modern students struggling with the syntax of Pericles’ funeral oration.2 But Dionysius’ observation is also highly interesting for the history of ancient scholarship. His reference to the necessity of a ‘linguistic explanation’ (ἐξηγήσεως γραμματικῆς) in his treatise On Thucydides 51 can be combined with another passage from the same work, in which he tells 1

2

References to the works of Dionysius of Halicarnassus are to the chapter, page and line number in the edition by Usener–Radermacher 1899 and 1904–1929. Translations of passages from Dionysius are adapted from Usher 1974 and 1985. I wish to thank Stephanos Matthaios for his valuable comments on an earlier version of this article. On Dionysius of Halicarnassus and his significance for the history of linguistics, see De Jonge 2008a. Dionysius’ rhetorical works inform us on the close connections between different language disciplines in antiquity, including philosophy, rhetoric, philology, technical grammar and music studies. The current article builds on my discussion of Dionysius’ criticism of Thucydides: De Jonge 2008a, 213–248.

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his readers that they should not imitate ‘those passages [of Thucydides] that are allusive and difficult to follow and require linguistic explanations’ (γραμματικῶν ἐξηγήσεων): τὰς δὲ αἰνιγματώδεις καὶ δυσκαταμαθήτους καὶ γραμματικῶν ἐξηγήσεων δεομένας καὶ πολὺ τὸ βεβασανισμένον καὶ τὸ σολοικοφανὲς ἐν τοῖς σχηματισμοῖς ἐχούσας μήτε θαυμάζειν μήτε μιμεῖσθαι.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, On Thucydides 55 (417.22–25) Those passages that are allusive and difficult to follow and require linguistic explanations, and those passages which contain much that is unnatural and makes the impression of solecism in the constructions deserve neither to be admired nor to be imitated.

From these two passages scholars have rightly drawn the conclusion that Dionysius was acquainted with linguistic annotations on Thucydides, which he used for his critical discussions of the historian’s style. Concerning the precise nature of this ἐξήγησις γραμματική (singular, Th. 51) or the ἐξηγήσεις γραμματικαί (plural, Th. 55), different views have been put forward. Usener believed not only that Didymus (the scholar who was active under Augustus and roughly contemporary with Dionysius) wrote a commentary on Thucydides, but he also suggested that the Alexandrian scholars had already produced annotations on the historian in an earlier period.3 He concluded that Dionysius had an edition of Thucydides with critical signs as well as scholia, which he consulted for his analysis of the historian’s linguistic characteristics.4 Luschnat specified that the ‘linguistic interpretations’ that Dionysius mentions could in fact be ὑπομνήματα (‘commentaries’):5 Diese Exegesen zu Thukydides dürften wohl Kommentare (ὑπομνήματα) gewesen sein und müssen aus einer Zeit stammen, die vor Dionys, also auch vor dem etwa gleichzeitigen Didymos, dem Nachlaßverwalter der älteren Alexandriner, liegt.

In reaction to Luschnat’s thesis, Pfeiffer rightly emphasized that the term ἐξηγήσεις is not a synonym of ὑπομνήματα (‘commentaries’) but pri3

4

5

Usener 1889, 72–73. In the same year, Wilamowitz-Moellendorff 1889, 163 expressed the contrary view: ‘(...) Exegese des Demosthenes oder Thukydides hatte man in Alexandreia nicht getrieben.’ The latter view has now proved to be untenable. Usener 1889, 74: ‘Utebatur exemplo Thucydidis notis criticis et scholiis instructo.’ See also Radermacher 1905, 969: ‘Wahrscheinlich hat er [i.e. Dionysius] eine Thukydidesausgabe ausgeschrieben, die mit kritischen Zeichen und Scholien ausgestattet war.’ Luschnat 1954, 23.

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marily refers to ‘individual interpretations’.6 On the other hand, ἐξηγήσεις could well be explanations of specific passages ‘in the course of a commentary’.7 Pfeiffer accepted the idea that a commentary on Thucydides was available in the Augustan period, and he concluded that this commentary was probably based on the work of earlier Alexandrian scholars: in his view, ‘it could not be very surprising if Aristarchus had also written the first commentary on Thucydides.’8

2. Dionysius and Ancient Scholarship on Thucydides Apart from Dionysius’ remarks on the indispensability of ‘grammatical explanations’, there is more evidence for the existence of early scholarship on Thucydides. Since Usener, scholars have observed that there are striking similarities between the grammatical observations in Dionysius’ Second Letter to Ammaeus (which illustrates the criticisms that he presented in his treatise On Thucydides) and the scholia on Thucydides.9 The Thucydides scholia constitute a collection of diverse material, which dates from different periods.10 Part of that material, however, is clearly based on very ancient sources. The parallels between Dionysius’ letter and the Thucydides scholia, which will be further explored in this paper, become more significant when we notice that Dionysius’ linguistic terminology in the Second Letter to Ammaeus differs from that in his other works.11 When we combine these facts, the obvious conclusion 6 7 8 9

Pfeiffer 1968, 223 and 225 n. 4. Pfeiffer 1968, 223. Pfeiffer 1968, 225. On the parallels between Dionysius’ Second Letter to Ammaeus and the Thucydides scholia, see Usener 1889, 99–109, Radermacher 1905, 968–969, Luschnat 1954, 22–25, and Ros 1968, 49–68. 10 The Thucydides scholia have been edited by Hude 1927. The study of Luschnat 1954 is important for our understanding of these scholia. See further Dover 1955, Kleinlogel 1964, and Luschnat 1970. Dickey 2007, 55 gives a brief characterization of this corpus. 11 The following differences in terminology (between Amm. 2 and Dionysius’ other works) are remarkable: (1) The term προσηγορία (appellative) occurs in Amm. 2 only (twice in Amm. 2.11). Elsewhere, Dionysius uses the term προσηγορικόν (fifteen times in Th., Comp., and Amm. 2.2, where it is repeated from Th. 24). (2) In Amm. 2 he refers to the voices as ἐνεργητικόν and ποιητικόν (active) and παθητικόν (passive). In Th. 24 (the point of departure for Amm. II), however, he employs the terms δραστήριον and παθητικόν, while in Comp. 6 he mentions ὀρθόν and ὕπτιον. See De Jonge 2008a, 159– 160.

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must be that Dionysius, who thinks that one needs ‘grammatical explanations’ for understanding Thucydides, composed his Second Letter to Ammaeus with the help of certain linguistic notes, which he probably found in a commentary.12 Some of these annotations were also transmitted in the philological tradition, so that they survive separately in the scholia on Thucydides. Apart from the scholia and Dionysius’ letter, there are two papyri that inform us about the ancient scholarship on Thucydides.13 P.Oxy. 6.853 conserves parts of a commentary on the second book of Thucydides. It is a polemical ‘Reply to Dionysius’, which demonstrates that there was a lively debate on Thucydides in the first century AD.14 The parallels between the papyrus commentary and the Thucydides scholia suggest that they made use of the same source, possibly an Alexandrian commentary.15 P.Vindob. Gr. 29247 preserves the remains of another commentary on the historian, which can be dated to the third century 12 Usener 1889, 73–74 concluded that both Dionysius’ letter and the Thucydides scholia could be traced back to one common source, namely earlier ‘scholia’, which existed before both Dionysius and Didymus: ‘(...) multo profecto plura exstant Dionysio scholiisque communia quorum consensum nisi ex communi fonte, scholiis Dionysio Didymoque antiquioribus, explicare nequas.’ 13 Luschnat 1954, 22–31. 14 P.Oxy. 6.853 (= Pack2 1536) belongs to the late second century AD, but the editors Grenfell - Hunt 1908, 109 argue that the commentary itself was written ‘soon after the beginning of the Christian era’. See also Luschnat 1954, 25–29. Canfora 2006, 745 calls this commentary the ‘Reply to Dionysius’. The commentary answers Dionysius on three criticisms that he raised against Thucydides’ arrangement of subject matter (Th. 9–20, Pomp. 3). First, Thucydides used his own chronological system of dividing history by summers and winters, instead of following one of the usual divisions by places, or chronologically by kings, priests, archons or Olympiads (Th. 9). Second, Thucydides did not begin his narrative at the true cause of the war (the Lacedaemonians’ worries about Athenian power), although he did recognize this as the true cause (Th. 10–11). Third, Thucydides was sometimes careless, turning from one subject to another without completing his accounts properly (Th. 13–19). Grenfell - Hunt 1908, 112–113 consider the possibility that the author of the response to Dionysius was Didymus or Caecilius of Caleacte, but rightly conclude that the identity of the commentator remains uncertain. 15 Grenfell–Hunt 1908, 109–111 thought that the agreements between P.Oxy. 6.853 and the scholia were rather limited, and concluded that ‘even an indirect influence upon them seems unlikely’ (111). However, Maehler 2007, 587–593 convincingly demonstrates that there are in fact striking parallels between the papyrus and the scholia, although their interests and perspectives diverge: both the commentary and the scholia seem to draw on one Alexandrian commentary, from which they have made different selections.

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AD.16 On the basis of the similarities between Dionysius, the scholia and the papyri, Luschnat has argued that all these texts were ultimately based on Alexandrian scholarly works, in particular commentaries of the type that we know from the two papyri.17 Rhetoricians, grammarians and lexicographers made use of these Alexandrian commentaries for their different purposes, but the essential contents of Hellenistic scholarship on Thucydides were transmitted in further commentaries, until they found a place in ancient collections of scholia (of the third and fourth centuries AD). We know two such collections, which preserve scholia separated from the text of Thucydides: the so-called ‘Patmos scholia’ and the so-called ‘Marcellinus scholia’.18 These scholia, which originally formed separate collections without the Thucydides text, were finally copied in the margins of our Thucydides manuscripts: the manuscript-scholia that we know are dated between the 10th and the 14th century. Since scholars have detected the connection between Dionysius and the Thucydides scholia, they have mainly used it for considerations concerning the antiquity and authority of the scholia and their usefulness for the constitution of the Thucydides text.19 However, the importance of these texts for the history of linguistics has not received the attention that it deserves. This article will explore the significance of Dionysius’ criticism and the Thucydides scholia for the history of syntax in the period before Apollonius Dyscolus. Dionysius’ analysis of Thucydides’ syntax is important for two reasons. First, it casts light on the technical terminology in which syntactic problems were discussed at the end of the first century BC, a period from which we have only fragments of technical grammar. Second, it demonstrates the strong connections between the ancient language disciplines: in antiquity, syntax was studied in various language disciplines, which include not only Alexandrian philology and Stoic philosophy—Dionysius mentions the Stoic ideas on 16 P.Vindob. Gr. 29247 (= Pack2 1535) was edited by Gerstinger 1925. See also Luschnat 1954, 29–31. 17 Luschnat 1954, 47–50. His reconstruction reveals that the ancient transmission of Thucydides annotations was extremely complex, as it involved grammarians, philologists, lexicographers and rhetoricians, who influenced and used each other’s works. His presentation of the exact lines between these disciplines (in the diagram on p. 48) remains hypothetical. Cf. Maurer 1995, 58 n. 1. 18 On the ‘Patmos scholia’, see Luschnat 1954, 31–35 and Dover 1955. On the ‘Marcellinus scholia’, see Luschnat 1954, 42–47: the Marcellinus’ Life of Thucydides was the introduction of a collection of scholia. 19 Maurer 1995, 58 n. 3 demonstrates that Dionysius had an ‘abnormally good text’ of Thucydides.

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syntax that he found in Chrysippus—but also rhetorical theory.20 Rhetorical treatises are not usually taken into account in histories of ancient scholarship. However, just like philologists, rhetoricians studied linguistic problems in the context of their criticism of literary works, and thereby contributed to the understanding of grammar.

3. Thucydides in Rome: Cicero and Dionysius Dionysius’ criticism of Thucydides should be understood in the context of the ‘Thucydidism’ that had emerged during the first century in Rome. In that period, Thucydides became a popular model for the writing of both history and oratory.21 The Athenian library of Apellicon of Teos, which Sulla brought to Rome in 83 BC, included ancient copies of Thucydides’ work, which in Rome became available for intellectuals like Cicero.22 Both Lucretius and Nepos translated passages from the Greek historian.23 In Orator (46 BC) Cicero tells us that recently a new group of writers had become active who called themselves ‘Thucydideans’: Ecce autem aliqui se Thucydidios esse profitentur, novum quoddam imperitorum et inauditum genus. Cicero, Orator 30 And here come some who take the title “Thucydideans,”—a new and unheard-of group of ignorant men. (transl. Hubbell)

Among the followers of Thucydides was of course the Roman historian Sallust (86–34 BC), who died a few years before Dionysius arrived in Rome.24 Another important figure in this context was the historian and 20 D.H. Comp. 4 (22.12–17) tells that Chrysippus’ treatises On the Syntax of the Parts of Speech were not useful for his own work on stylistic composition, since they adopted a dialectical approach. Nevertheless, it seems that his own discussion of natural word order (Comp. 5) was influenced by Stoic ideas; cf. De Jonge 2008a, 108–109. 21 On the reception of Thucydides in Rome and late antiquity, see Canfora 2006. The influence of Thucydides on later historiography is already evident in the work of Polybius. 22 Cic. Att. 4.10.1 mentions that he is ‘feasting’ on the library of Faustus Cornelius Sulla: hic pascor bibliotheca Fausti. Faustus inherited the library from his father. Cf. Canfora 2006, 729. 23 Lucr. 6.1138–1286; Nep. Them. 9.2–4 and Paus. 2.3–4. 24 On Sallust as an emulator of Thucydides, see Canfora 2006, 735–740. Quintilian (10.1.101) regards Thucydides and Sallust as one pair: nec opponere Thucydidi

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lawyer Quintus Aelius Tubero, whose father Lucius was a relative of Cicero.25 Cicero mentions both Tuberos (father and son) in his speech Pro Ligario.26 The younger Tubero, whose bulky Annales dealt with the history of Rome, was also the recipient of Dionysius’ treatise On Thucydides.27 Dionysius claims that he composed that work ‘for the special benefit of those who would wish to imitate Thucydides’, so it is plausible that his addressee Quintus Aelius Tubero was one of those imitators.28 It seems, then, that the Greek Dionysius helped his Roman patron (and his colleague in the writing of history) by providing him with a detailed account of Thucydides’ qualities and shortcomings, in order to facilitate the process of imitation (μίμησις).29 Cicero disapproved of the Thucydideans: in his view, the historian could only be a model for writing history, but not for oratory: as he points out, ‘those famous speeches [in Thucydides] contain so many dark and obscure sentences as to be scarcely intelligible (vix ut intellegantur)’: (...) Thucydides autem res gestas et bella narrat et proelia, graviter sane et probe, sed nihil ab eo transferri potest ad forensem usum et publicum. Ipsae illae contiones ita multas habent obscuras abditasque sententias vix ut intellegantur; quod est in oratione civili vitium vel maximum. Cicero, Orator 30 (...) Thucydides, on the other hand, gives us history, wars and battles—fine and dignified, I grant, but nothing in him can be applied to the court or to public life. Those famous speeches contain so many dark and obscure sen-

25 26

27

28 29

Sallustium verear (‘I should have no hesitation in matching Sallust with Thucydides’ [transl. Russell]). See Bowersock 1965, 130 and OCD s.v. ‘Aelius’. Cicero (Lig. 1) calls Quintus Aelius Tubero his ‘kinsman’ (propinquus meus). Quintus Aelius Tubero submitted the charge against Quintus Ligarius, who had been the legatus of Africa in 50 BC. Ligarius surrendered the province in 49 BC to the Pompeians and refused Lucius Aelius Tubero (who had been appointed governor by the senate) and his son Quintus to land in Africa. Some years later, Q. Aelius Tubero accused Ligarius before Caesar, but Ligarius was restored after Cicero’s defense in 46 BC. In his Roman Antiquities (1.80.1) Dionysius refers to the work of Quintus Aelius Tubero, ‘a shrewd man and careful in collecting his historical data’ (Τουβέρων Αἴλιος δεινὸς ἀνὴρ καὶ περὶ τὴν συναγωγὴν τῆς ἱστορίας ἐπιμελής). His ancestor and namesake Quintus Aelius Tubero is mentioned by Cicero in Brut. 117 as a Stoic philosopher, whose oratory was famous for its harsh and rough language. D.H. Th. 25 (364,14–16): τῶν βουλησομένων μιμεῖσθαι τὸν ἄνδρα. Cf. Usher 1974, 456: Dionysius was ‘a historian criticising another historian for the benefit of a third’.

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tences as to be scarcely intelligible, which is a prime fault in a public oration. (transl. Hubbell)

Cicero believes that Thucydides cannot teach us how to write successful speeches. The imitation of this Greek author should be restricted to historiography: Quis porro unquam Graecorum rhetorum a Thucydide quicquam duxit? At laudatus est ab omnibus. Fateor; sed ita ut rerum explicator prudens, severus, gravis, non ut in iudiciis versaret causas, sed ut in historiis bella narraret. Cicero, Orator 31 Furthermore, what Greek rhetorician ever took any examples from Thucydides? Everyone praises him, I grant, but as an intelligent, serious and dignified commentator on events—one to describe wars in history, not to handle cases in law courts. (transl. Hubbell)

In his Brutus Cicero expresses similar views, when he defends himself against the attacks of Caius Licinius Calvus and his fellow Attici. These representatives of Atticism thought that Roman orators should follow the example of Lysias and Hyperides with their pure language and plain style, but Cicero points out that Attica produced orators of various different types, including his own preferred model Demosthenes.30 Thucydides, who also came from Attica, could provide historians with good examples, but his speeches are useless: ‘Thucydidem,’ inquit, ‘imitamur.’ Optime, si historiam scribere, non si causas dicere cogitatis. Thucydides enim rerum gestarum pronuntiator sincerus et grandis etiam fuit; hoc forense concertatorium iudiciale non tractavit genus. Orationes autem quas interposuit—multas enim sunt—eas ego laudare soleo; imitari neque possim si velim, nec velim fortasse si possim. Cicero, Brutus 287 ‘Thucydides,’ you say, ‘we strive to imitate.’ Very good, if you are thinking of writing history, but not if you contemplate pleading cases. Thucydides was a herald of deeds, faithful and even grand, but our forensic speech with its wrangling, its atmosphere of the court-room he never used. As for the speeches which he introduced (and they are numerous) I have always praised them; but imitate them?—I could not if I wished, nor should I wish to, I imagine, if I could. (transl. Hendrickson)

In his treatment of the historian’s style, Dionysius goes one step further than Cicero. According to the Greek critic, Thucydides could not serve as a stylistic model at all: neither orators nor historians could profit from 30 The literature on Atticism is vast. Wisse 1995 gives an instructive discussion of the connection between the Roman Attici on the one hand and the Greek Atticism of Dionysius and Caecilius on the other.

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adopting his language and expression. When Dionysius disagrees with ‘certain reputable critics’ (τινες οὐκ ἄδοξοι σοφισταί) who think that Thucydides’ style could be imitated by historians (even if it is unsuitable for oratory), it is possible that he is thinking of Cicero:31 ἐπιχειροῦσι δέ τινες οὐκ ἄδοξοι σοφισταὶ λέγειν, ὅτι τοῖς μὲν πρὸς τὰς ὀχλικὰς ἐντεύξεις παρεσκευασμένοις καὶ τὰ δίκαια λέγουσιν οὐκ ἔστιν ἐπιτήδειος οὗτος ὁ χαρακτήρ, τοῖς δὲ τὰς ἱστορικὰς πραγματείας ἐκφέρουσιν, αἷς μεγαλοπρεπείας τε δεῖ καὶ σεμνολογίας καὶ καταπλήξεως, παντὸς μάλιστα προσήκει ταύτην ἀσκεῖν τὴν φράσιν τὴν γλωττηματικήν τε καὶ ἀπηρχαιωμένην καὶ τροπικὴν καὶ ἐξηλλαγμένην τῶν ἐν ἔθει σχημάτων ἐπὶ τὸ ξένον καὶ περιττόν.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, On Thucydides 50 (409.13–21) But certain quite reputable critics try to argue that, although this style is not suitable for an orator intending to address a popular audience, or for a litigant, those who are producing a work of history, which requires an impressive, dignified and striking style, should find Thucydides’ recondite, archaic, figurative language, which diverges from normality towards the novel and the extravagant, eminently appropriate to employ.32

In this passage we find some of Dionysius’ most important objections against Thucydides.33 His criticism of the historian’s style especially concerns the poetic diction, the variety of figures, the dissonance of composition and the speed with which ideas are expressed.34 According to Dionysius, Thucydides’ writing is far removed from everyday language. We will see that he describes many passages from Thucydides as ‘unnatural’ and as ‘departing’ from normal linguistic usage. In particular, he points out that the historian’s style does not preserve ‘logical order’ (ἀκολουθία), that it makes the impression of solecism (σολοικισμός), and that it is ‘grammatically incongruent’ (ἀκατάλληλος). 31 De Jonge 2008a, 214–215 against Pavano 1958, 196 and Goudriaan 1989, 266 n. 3. Leeman 1956, 198 and Aujac 1991, 161 suppose that Dionysius refers to the views of Caecilius of Caleacte. 32 Dionysius proceeds to explain that, according to these ‘reputable critics’, Thucydides did not write for the man in the street but rather for the well-educated elite. We do not find this particular argument in Cicero, but his criticism of Thucydides’ ‘dark and obscure sentences’ (Orat. 30: obscuras abditasque sententias), which almost nobody understands, is clearly related to Dionysius’ view. Both Dionysius and Cicero emphasize that a public speech should be clear and understandable. 33 On Dionysius’ criticism of Thucydides’ style and subject matter, see especially Pavano 1936 and Grube 1950. 34 D.H. Th. 24 (363.10–12): τὸ ποιητικὸν τῶν ὀνομάτων, τὸ πολυειδὲς τῶν σχημάτων, τὸ τραχὺ τῆς ἁρμονίας, τὸ τάχος τῶν σημασιῶν.

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4. Dionysius’ Second Letter to Ammaeus: Thucydides’ ‘Variations’ Dionysius’ treatise On Thucydides warned the historian Quintus Aelius Tubero as well as other readers against the dangers of Thucydides’ treatment of both subject matter and style. Dionysius’ criticism is at times rather severe, so it is not surprising that his stylistic observations provoked the reaction of at least one of his readers:35 a certain Ammaeus, who is also the dedicatee of Dionysius’ On the Ancient Orators, expressed his disappointment in the treatise On Thucydides, because the stylistic observations were not illustrated with citations from the historian’s work.36 In his response, the Second Letter to Ammaeus, Dionysius reluctantly agrees to fulfill Ammaeus’ wish to add more examples, ‘adopting,’ as he says, ‘the didactic instead of the epideictic method’.37 This letter can thus be regarded as an appendix to the treatise On Thucydides, focusing on the characteristics of Thucydides’ language and grammar. Having repeated the stylistic criticisms that he presented in On Thucydides, Dionysius proceeds to discuss a number of characteristics for which he adduces illustrative citations from Thucydides (Amm. 2.3– 17).38 His discussion includes examples of the historian’s archaic and unusual vocabulary (Amm. 2.3), his syntax or ‘versatile constructions’ (Amm. 2.4–14), his composition of enthymemes and periods (Amm. 2.15) and his figures of antithesis and parallelism (Amm. 2.16–17). I will 35 The Second Letter to Ammaeus is thus important evidence of the lively scholarly debates between Greek and Roman intellectuals in the Augustan Period. A similar document is Dionysius’ Letter to Pompeius, which responds to another reader’s objections against the views that he expressed in On Demosthenes. 36 D.H. Amm. 2.1. See also D.H. Orat.Vett. 1 (3.6). Hidber 1996, 96–97 points out that Ammaeus is a Roman nomen gentile. Ammaeus was thus either a Roman (who may have acted as Dionysius’ patron) or a freed slave. 37 D.H. Amm. 2.1 (422.6): τὸ διδασκαλικὸν σχῆμα λαβὼν ἀντὶ τοῦ ἀποδεικτικοῦ. 38 D.H. Amm. 2.2 (422.21–424.7) loosely announces the structure of his discussion of Thucydides by repeating the views that he expressed in Th. 24 (361.12– 362.18). On the differences between this plan and the actual contents of the letter, see Warren 1899, who thinks that some irregularities should be solved by assuming lacunas in the text, while others are caused by Dionysius’ ‘hastiness or carelessness’ (1899, 319). In fact, we should not believe that Dionysius aims to illustrate each of the points in his summary successively: the repetition of his observations from Th. 24 (361.12–362.18) = Amm. 2.2 (422.21–424.7) is not a precise ‘plan’ of the illustrations that follow, but rather a general introduction that reminds the readers of his ideas on Thucydides’ style.

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concentrate on the second of these items, the treatment of Thucydides’ syntax. The following scheme gives an overview of Dionysius’ analysis, dealing with (A) Thucydides’ treatment of words and phrases, (B) his use of the parts of speech (nouns and verbs in particular), (C) his use of the accidentia of the parts of speech (voice, number, gender, case, tense) and (D) his treatment of things and persons: Dionysius on Thucydides’ syntax (Amm. 2.4–14): A. Words and Phrases 1. The interchange of words and phrases: a) Thucydides expresses one noun or verb in more nouns or verbs (periphrasis): ὅταν μὲν οὖν μίαν λέξιν εἴτε ὀνοματικὴν εἴτε ῥηματικὴν ἐν πλείοσιν ὀνόμασιν ἢ ῥήμασιν ἐκφέρῃ (Amm. 2.4) b) Thucydides expresses a phrase in a single word (Amm. 2.4) B. Parts of Speech: Nouns and Verbs 2. The interchange of nouns and verbs: a) Thucydides casts the verbal parts of speech in the form of nouns: τὰ ῥηματικὰ τῆς λέξεως ὀνοματικῶς σχηματίζει (Amm. 2.5) b) Thucydides turns nouns into verbs: ὅταν ... τὰ ὀνόματα ποιῇ ῥήματα (Amm. 2.6) C. Accidentia of the Parts of Speech (voice, number, gender, case, tense) 3. Voice: the interchange of active and passive: a) Thucydides employs the active instead of the passive: τό ... ῥῆμα ἐνεργητικόν ... ἀντὶ τοῦ παθητικοῦ (Amm. 2.7) b) Thucydides uses the passive instead of the active: ὅταν δὲ ἀντὶ τοῦ ποιητικοῦ τὸ παθητικὸν παραλαμβάνῃ (Amm. 2.8) 4. Number: the interchange of singular and plural: a) Thucydides uses the singular instead of the plural: ἑνικὰ μὲν ἀντὶ πληθυντικῶν (Amm. 2.9) b) Thucydides uses the plural instead of the singular: ἀντὶ δὲ τοῦ ἑνικοῦ τὸ πληθυντικόν (Amm. 2.9) 5. Gender: the interchange of masculine, feminine and neuter (a–b); and the construction of two congruent words with different genders (c): a) Thucydides gives a feminine word a masculine form: τὸ θηλυκὸν ἐκφέρων ἀρρενικῶς (Amm. 2.10) b) Thucydides makes the feminine neuter: οὐδέτερον πεποίηκεν τὸ θηλυκόν (Amm. 2.10)39 39 Most examples in this chapter concern words with an unusual gender (τάραχος for ταραχή, τὸ βουλόμενον for τὴν βούλησιν), but the final exam-

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c) Thucydides constructs masculines with feminines: τὰ ἀρρενικὰ τοῖς θηλυκοῖς συντάττοντες (Amm. 2.11)40 6. Case: the interchange of genitives, datives and accusatives, resulting in unusual constructions (syntax that makes the impression of solecism) (a– b); and the combination of two congruent words with different cases (c): a) Thucydides uses a genitive instead of an accusative (which is required by the verb): τὰς γενικὰς ἀντὶ τῶν αἰτιατικῶν πτώσεων (Amm. 2.11) b) Thucydides uses a dative instead of an accusative (which is required by the verb) (Amm. 2.11) c) Thucydides combines a dative participle (instead of a genitive) with a genitive pronoun and a genitive participle (Amm. 2.12) 7. Tense: the combination of verbs in different tenses (present and future): Thucydides combines a future tense with a present tense (Amm. 2.12, two examples) 8. The syntax of collective nouns (the interchange of ‘the signifying’ and ‘the signified’): a) Thucydides combines a singular collective noun with a plural verb (constructio ad sensum); i.e. he changes from the signifying (the form, which is singular) to the signified (the meaning, which is plural): ἐπὶ τὸ σημαινόμενον πρᾶγμα πληθυντικόν (Amm. 2.13) b) Thucydides refers to one subject first with a plural, then with a singular collective noun (Amm. 2.13) D. Things and Persons 9. The interchange of things and persons: a) Thucydides treats things as persons (Amm. 2.14) b) Thucydides treats persons as things (Amm. 2.14). The idea of ‘alteration’ or ‘interchange’ is clearly a guiding principle in Dionysius’ treatment: Thucydides is constantly said to ἀποστρέφειν (‘to turn away’), ἀλλάττειν, ἐναλλάττειν, ἐξαλλάττειν (to change’) and ple (Th. 4.78.3) concerns the construction of an adjective with a feminine noun (ἰσονομίᾳ τῷ ἐπιχωρίῳ instead of ἰσονομίᾳ τῇ ἐπιχωρίῳ). In this case, Dionysius’ criticism clearly involves a syntactic observation. The Thucydides MSS have τὸ ἐγχώριον (not τῷ ἐπιχωρίῳ), which Hude (in his Teubner edition) changes into [τὸ] ἐγχωρίῳ. 40 My scheme follows the order of Dionysius’ discussion, but I have brought together his observations on gender (from Amm. 2.10 and 2.11) and on cases (from Amm. 2.11 and 2.12).

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ἀντικατηγορεῖν (‘to substitute’). More precisely, Thucydides departs from that which is usual and ‘natural’: he is said to ἀντιστρέφειν τὴν φύσιν (‘to reverse the natural use’), ἀναστρέφειν τὰς χρήσεις (‘to invert the normal uses’), ἀλλάττειν τὰς φύσεις (‘to alter the natural uses’), and ἐξαλλάττειν τὴν συνήθη φράσιν (‘to change the customary usage’). His constructions are consequently presented as ἀποστροφαί (‘changes’), ἐναλλαγαί (‘variations’) and ἀντιμετατάξεις ἐκβεβηκυῖαι τῶν συνήθων σχημάτων (‘interchanges that depart from the normal forms’). Throughout his works, Dionysius’ stylistic theory is based on the idea that there is one normal, usual way of expressing an idea: this ‘natural’ expression, which corresponds to (or consciously imitates) the common usage of ordinary people, is presented as the basic or default mode. Lysias is the perfect example of a writer who adopts a ‘natural’ style by imitating the everyday language of untrained laymen. On the other hand, there are authors who depart from the normal usage by ‘changing’ usual words, constructions and word order, thus adopting a more artificial style. The most extreme realization of such ‘unnatural’ or artificial style is Thucydides: when his constructions are described as ‘changes’ or ‘variations’, the idea is that his style deviates in various respects from the underlying default expression. Since the importance of clarity (σαφήνεια) is at the heart of Dionysius’ rhetorical teaching, he always prefers the ‘natural’ expression to the deviating variation. It has disturbed some modern scholars that his preference for clear and straightforward language frequently leads to negative judgments on Thucydides’ writing (or Plato’s, for that matter).41 But we should bear in mind that Dionysius’ criticism results from the anxiety of a teacher who realizes that his students (and colleagues) should primarily aim at intelligibility, an ideal that does not go hand in hand with imitation of the more difficult Thucydidean passages. Despite his objections against the historian’s style, however, Dionysius hesitates to qualify it as ungrammatical. It is presumably the high status of the classic Thucydides that forces Dionysius to describe his constructions not as ‘solecisms’, but rather as ‘making the impression of solecism’ (σολοικοφανεῖς).42 Thucydides’ ‘interchanges’ present themselves on various levels of a text: the level of the units of language (words and phrases), that of the parts of speech (nouns and verbs), that of the accidentia of the parts of speech (voice, number, gender, case, tense), that of form and meaning 41 See e.g. Norden 19153, 96. 42 See D.H. Th. 29 (373.23), Th. 53 (413.2–4), Th. 55 (417.24) and Din. 8 (308.3). See also Amm. 2.2 (424.5–6): σολοικισμῶν λαμβάνοντα φαντασίας.

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(the ‘signifying’ and the ‘signified’) and that of subject matter (things and persons). Dionysius’ treatment of Thucydides’ variations of the parts of speech and their accidentia (voice, number, gender, case and tense) reminds us of the substitutions or interchanges that Aristarchus mentions in his comments on Homer.43 Many of these changes are also discussed in the ancient rhetorical treatises on figures, for instance in Caecilius of Caleacte On Figures and in Longinus On the Sublime.44 It is clear that the concept of (linguistic or stylistic) ‘variation’ formed an important subject in the common ground between the disciplines of philology and rhetorical theory. The focus on variation in ancient stylistic analysis was so fruitful that it survived in modern times: scholars still consider variatio (or μεταβολή) to be characteristic of Thucydides’ style.45 Not all of Dionysius’ observations mentioned above belong to ‘syntax’ in a strict sense, but several of his ideas are clearly concerned with the construction (σύνθεσις, σύνταξις) of the parts of speech.46 His analyses of passages from Thucydides reveal a strong awareness of the conditions of grammatical agreement. According to Dionysius, a feminine noun should be combined with a feminine article and adjective (Amm. 2.10: ἰσονομίᾳ τῇ ἐπιχωρίῳ, not ἰσονομίᾳ τῷ ἐπιχωρίῳ would be correct in Th. 4.78.3); the verb προτιμᾶν governs the accusative, not 43 See e.g. Aristarchus fr. 55–57 Matthaios, with Matthaios 1999, 309–318: Aristarchus argues that Homer sometimes uses the active instead of the passive, and the passive instead of the active. He employs this principle in order to establish the correct Homeric text. For further examples of Homeric interchanges according to Aristarchus, see Matthaios 1999, 331–340 (the interchange of verbal tenses), 589–592 (the interchange of adverbs and prepositions) and 592–597 (the interchange of prepositions). 44 Caecil. Cal. fr. 75 Ofenloch deals with ‘alteration (ἀλλοίωσις) in relation to a noun, cases, numbers, persons and tenses’: the interchange of gender (feminine, masculine, neuter), the interchange of number (singular and plural) and the interchange of tense (present and past). Long. 23–27 treats the ‘changes of case, tense, person, number and gender’ (αἱ τῶν πτώσεων χρόνων προσώπων ἀριθμῶν γενῶν ἐναλλάξεις). He gives examples of the variation of number (23–24), tense (25) and person (26–27). His next topic is periphrasis (28–29), which we can compare with Dionysius’ treatment of periphrasis in Amm. 2.4. Longinus’ chapter on the variation of tense (25) presents an interpretation of the so-called historical present: see De Jonge 2008b, 8–13. 45 See especially Ros 1968. 46 Dionysius uses both συντιθέναι (σύνθεσις) and συντάττειν (σύνταξις) for the process of ‘combining’ words. The art of composition includes both grammatical construction (‘syntax’ in a more narrow sense) and euphonic combination (rhythm, melody). For συντάττειν, see e.g. Amm. 2.11: οἱ δὲ τὰ ἀρρενικὰ τοῖς θηλυκοῖς συντάττοντες (‘those authors who construct masculines with feminines.).

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the genitive (Amm. 2.11 on Th. 8.64.5), and the feminine noun πόλεις should be combined with a feminine participle, hence προτιμήσασαι rather than προτιμήσαντες (ibidem); the participle καταπλαγέντες (‘fearing’) should be combined with an accusative, not a dative (Amm. 2.11 on Th. 4.10.2); finally, a collective noun in the singular should be combined with a verb in the singular rather than the plural (Amm. 2.13 on Th. 6.35.1). When we consider the relevance of these syntactic observations for the history of syntax, it is important to emphasize that they are part of a critical evaluation of Thucydides’ style. Similar discussions of syntactic problems in the context of the analysis of literary texts can be found in the philological tradition, already in the fragments of Aristarchus. We will see that the Thucydides scholia contain observations on Thucydides’ syntax that correspond to Dionysius’ annotations. Unlike the rhetoricians and philologists, Apollonius Dyscolus (second century AD) will study syntax in its own right, independent from the literary context and style of specific authors. However, both the rhetorical and the philological tradition are relevant for the development of ancient syntactic theory: the analysis of specific grammatical constructions in a concrete literary text doubtlessly stimulated the grammarians to develop a systematic framework that could not only describe but also analyze syntax on a more abstract level.

5. Dionysius and the Scholia on Thucydides’ Syntax From their own perspectives, both rhetoricians and philologists are interested in the causes of (apparent) grammatical irregularity and in syntactic constructions that can be regarded as ‘variations’ or ‘changes’ from normal usage. Let us now look more closely at some of Dionysius’ observations on Thucydides’ syntax, comparing his views with the corresponding notes of the scholiast.

5.1. Nouns and Verbs One of the feautures of Thucydides’ syntax is his reversal of the natural use of nouns (ὀνόματα) and verbs (ῥήματα): Ὅταν δὲ ἀντιστρέψας ἑκατέρου τούτων τὴν φύσιν τὰ ὀνόματα ποιῇ ῥήματα, τοῦτον τὸν τρόπον ἐκφέρει τὴν λέξιν, ὡς ἐν τῇ πρώτῃ βύβλῳ περὶ τῆς αἰτίας τοῦ πολέμου γράφει·

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[Th. 1.23.6] ‘τὴν μὲν οὖν ἀληθεστάτην αἰτίαν, λόγῳ δὲ ἀφανεστάτην,

τοὺς Ἀθηναίους οἴομαι μεγάλους γινομένους ἀναγκάσαι εἰς τὸ πολεμεῖν.’47 βούλεται γὰρ δηλοῦν, ὅτι μεγάλοι γιγνόμενοι οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι ἀνάγκην παρέσχον τοῦ πολέμου· πεποίηκεν δὲ ἀντὶ τῆς ἀνάγκης καὶ τοῦ πολέμου ὀνοματικῶν ὄντων ῥηματικὰ τό τε ἀναγκάσαι καὶ τὸ πολεμεῖν.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Second Letter to Ammaeus 6 (427.7–16) But when he reverses the natural use of both of these parts of speech and turns nouns into verbs, he produces the following kind of expression, as he writes in the first book concerning the cause of the war: ‘Now the most genuine cause, though given least publicity, I consider to have been the fact that growing Athenian power made it necessary for them to go to war.’ For he wants to signify that growing Athenian power imposed upon them the necessity of war. But for the nouns ‘necessity’ and ‘war’ he has substituted the verbs ‘made it necessary’ and ‘to go to war’.

The example that illustrates the substitution of verbs for nouns is Th. 1.23.6, the final words of which are ἀναγκάσαι εἰς τὸ πολεμεῖν. According to Dionysius, ‘Thucydides wants to make clear (βούλεται γὰρ δηλοῦν) that growing Athenian power imposed upon them the necessity of war (ἀνάγκην ... τοῦ πολέμου).’ But, he points out, for the nouns ἀνάγκη and πόλεμος Thucydides has substituted the verbs ἀναγκάσαι and πολεμεῖν. The first part of Dionysius’ explanation is identical with the interpretation that we find in the scholia: τοὺς Ἀθηναίους ... ἀναγκάσαι ἐς τὸ πολεμεῖν· τὰ ὀνόματα ῥήματα ἐποίησεν. βούλεται γὰρ δηλοῦν, ὅτι μεγάλοι γινόμενοι οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι ἀνάγκην παρέσχον τοῦ πολέμου.

Scholia on Thucydides 1.23.6 He has turned the nouns into verbs. For he wants to make clear that growing Athenian power imposed upon them the necessity of war.

Dionysius and the scholiast use the same words: βούλεται γὰρ δηλοῦν, ὅτι μεγάλοι γι(γ)νόμενοι οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι ἀνάγκην παρέσχον τοῦ πολέμου.48 In the scholia, this explanation is preceded by the words τὰ 47 Dionysius’ citation is a short adaptation of the actual text in Thucydides. The complete sentence (Th. 1.23.6) is as follows: τὴν μὲν γὰρ ἀληθεστάτην πρόφασιν, ἀφανεστάτην δὲ λόγῳ, τοὺς Ἀθηναίους ἡγοῦμαι μεγάλους

γιγνομένους καὶ φόβον παρέχοντας τοῖς Λακεδαιμονίοις ἀναγκάσαι ἐς τὸ πολεμεῖν. 48 There is a small difference here between γιγνόμενοι (Dionysius) and γινόμενοι (scholia). Thucydides (1.23.6) wrote γιγνομένους, in correspondence with classical Attic usage (γίγνομαι became γίνομαι in Attic after 300 BC). Accord-

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ὀνόματα ῥήματα ἐποίησεν ‘he has turned the nouns into verbs’. How should we explain the fact that the scholiast gives the verbatim text that we find in Dionysius? It is possible that the latter copied these words from a commentary, but we cannot exclude the possibility on the other hand that this particular scholion was based on the work of Dionysius. The phrase βούλεται δηλοῦν looks like an expression that we typically find in the explanations of scholia.49 But we should notice that the combination of the words βούλεται δηλοῦν (‘he wants to make clear’) is rather frequent in Dionysius, whereas in the Thucydides scholia it occurs only at this passage.50 When introducing paraphrases, the scholia on Thucydides normally use the words βούλεται εἰπεῖν (‘he wants to say’) or βούλεται δεῖξαι (‘he wants to demonstrate’). If it is true that the scholia are not independent from Dionysius’ rhetorical works, this implies that the connections between rhetoric and philology are even stronger than commentators have realized. It seems plausible that, just as Dionysius used grammatical annotations for his rhetorical work, philologists likewise made use of the observations that they found in treatises of rhetoric and criticism. We have already encountered another instance of the influence of rhetorical criticism on philology in P.Oxy. 6.853 (second century AD), a commentary that replies to Dionysius’ views on Thucydides. The exact relationship between the two traditions remains uncertain, but it is in fact more interesting to observe how a specific grammatical idea (the substitution of verbs for nouns), is employed in rhetoric on the one hand and philology on the other. The scholia point to the grammatical variation in order to explain the text and to make it understandable. Dionysius, on the other hand, uses this example to demonstrate the shortcomings of Thucydides’ style, which he finds unsuitable for imitation. He does not want his students (nor his colleague Quintus Aelius Tubero) to use verbs where nouns are more natural. His

ing to the MSS, Dionysius’ quotation of Thucydides has γινόμενους (the later form), whereas his own paraphrase has γιγνόμενοι (the classical form). The identical paraphrase in the scholia, on the other hand, has γινόμενοι (the later form). However, it seems impossible to draw conclusions from this variation, which we find in the transmission of many ancient texts. 49 The phrase βούλεται δηλοῦν does occur in some scholia on Homer, e.g. Sch. Il. 8.185b and in the scholia on Pindar, e.g. Sch. Pindar, O. 7, 24c. 50 For βούλεται δηλοῦν, see D.H. Th. 29 (374.22), Th. 30 (375.25–376,1), Th. 31 (378.5), Amm. 2.4 (426.12), Amm. 2.8 (428.12–13), Amm. 2.14 (433.17). The scholia on Thucydides do have the expression with the aorist infinitive, βούλεται δηλῶσαι: see Sch. Th. 3.45.4.

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grammatical analysis thus supports his position in the debate on Thucydides as a model for imitation.

5.2. The Syntax of Gender and Case: Thucydides’ Solecism The difference between the approaches of rhetoric and philology can be further demonstrated by another example, which concerns Thucydides’ use of cases: ἐν οἷς δὲ τὰς πτώσεις τῶν ὀνομάτων καὶ τῶν προσηγοριῶν καὶ τῶν μετοχῶν καὶ συναπτομένων τούτοις ἄρθρων ἐξαλλάττει τοῦ συνήθους, οὕτως σχηματίζει [τῇ φράσει]· [Th. 8.64.5] ‘σωφροσύνην γὰρ λαβοῦσαι αἱ πόλεις καὶ ἄδειαν τῶν πρασσομένων ἐχώρησαν ἐπὶ τὴν ἄντικρυς ἐλευθερίαν, τῆς ἀπὸ τῶν Ἀθηναίων ὑπούλου εὐνομίας οὐ προτιμήσαντες.’ οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἀκολούθως τῇ κοινῇ συνηθείᾳ σχηματίζοντες τὴν φράσιν τῷ τε θηλυκῷ γένει τῆς προσηγορίας τὸ θηλυκὸν ἂν ἔζευξαν μόριον, καὶ τὴν πτῶσιν [τῆς μετοχῆς] τὴν αἰτιατικὴν ἀντὶ τῆς γενικῆς ἔταξαν τὸν τρόπον τόνδε· ‘σωφροσύνην γὰρ λαβοῦσαι αἱ πόλεις καὶ ἄδειαν τῶν πρασσομένων ἐχώρησαν ἐπὶ τὴν ἄντικρυς ἐλευθερίαν τὴν ἀπὸ τῶν Ἀθηναίων ὕπουλον εὐνομίαν οὐ προτιμήσασαι.’ οἱ δὲ τὰ ἀρρενικὰ τοῖς θηλυκοῖς συντάττοντες, ὥσπερ οὗτος πεποίηκεν, τὰς γενικὰς ἀντὶ τῶν αἰτιατικῶν πτώσεων παραλαμβάνοντες σολοικίζειν ἂν ὑφ᾿ ἡμῶν λέγοιντο.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Second Letter to Ammaeus 11 (430.12–431.9) When he departs from normal usage with regard to the cases of proper nouns, appellatives, participles, and the articles attached to them, he formulates in the following way: ‘For the states, having acquired a moderate constitution and security in their actions, moved towards downright independence, taking no heed of the hollow pretence of law and order offered by the Athenians.’ Now those who construct their sentences in conformity with generally recognized usage would have subjoined to the noun in the feminine gender the feminine form and would have placed the accusative instead of the genitive case, as follows: [paraphrase]51 But those authors who construct masculines with feminines, as Thucydides has done, and use genitives instead of accusatives, could be said by us to be committing solecism.

51 Here Dionysius presents a paraphrase of Th. 8.64.5, by ‘correcting’ the grammatical construction of the original. On this method of rewriting (metathesis), see De Jonge 2005.

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In this passage, Dionysius tells us that Thucydides does not write as ‘those who construct the expression in conformity with common usage’ (ἀκολούθως τῇ κοινῇ συνηθείᾳ σχηματίζοντες τὴν φράσιν). The historian could even be said to be committing solecism (σολοικίζειν). Concerning the example that he quotes (Th. 8.64.5), Dionysius has two objections: first, Thucydides has combined the noun πόλεις (feminine) with the participle προτιμήσαντες (masculine); second, he has combined οὐ προτιμήσαντες (‘taking no heed of’) with a genitive (τῆς ... ὑπούλου εὐνομίας) instead of an accusative. Dionysius corrects both ‘mistakes’ and rewrites the sentence with the words τὴν ἀπὸ τῶν Ἀθηναίων ὕπουλον εὐνομίαν οὐ προτιμήσασαι. The construction of προτιμήσαντες (‘honour’, ‘take heed of’) with a genitive (εὐνομίας) has apparently also worried the scholiast: he explains the passage as follows: σωφροσύνην γὰρ λαβοῦσαι αἱ πόλεις [...]: εὐβουλότεραι γὰρ γενόμεναι ἐχώρησαν ἐπὶ τὴν ἄντικρυς ἐλευθερίαν, τῆς ὑπὸ τῶν Ἀθηναίων ὑπούλου εὐνομίας οὐδὲν φροντίσαντες· τοῦτο γάρ ἐστι τὸ προτιμήσαντες.

Scholia on Thucydides 8.64.5 ‘For having become more prudent, the states moved towards downright independence, showing no regard for the hollow pretence of law and order offered by the Athenians.’ For that is what προτιμήσαντες means.

We observe that where the scholia merely explain the construction by offering a different verb (φροντίζειν) that governs the genitive, Dionysius objects to the construction and reproaches Thucydides for his ungrammatical Greek. In other words, Dionysius seems to borrow the linguistic explanations from philologists; but instead of sanctioning the unusual constructions as characteristic of Thucydides’ style and language, he objects to them and regards them as bad models for the production of new texts. Although he uses the term σολοικίζειν (‘to commit solecism’), Dionysius is careful to present this verdict on Thucydides in a general and cautious way: ‘those authors [plural] who construct masculines with femines, as he has done, could be said by us to be committing solecism (σολοικίζειν ἂν ὑφ᾿ ἡμῶν λέγοιντο).’ With this rather periphrastic formulation it seems that Dionysius tries to mitigate his tone, possibly thinking of his audience, which included Ammaeus, but perhaps also Quintus Aelius Tubero (the addressee of his On Thucydides) and other enthusiastic supporters of Thucydides.

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5.3. A Syntactic Analogy A further example of Thucydides’ unusual constructions is illuminated by an interesting analogy: καὶ ἔτι τὰ τοιαῦτα· [Th. 4.10.2] ‘καὶ μὴ τῷ πλῆθει αὐτῶν καταπλαγέντες’· οὐ γὰρ ἐπὶ τῆς δοτικῆς πτώσεως ἐσχηματίσθαι τὴν λέξιν ἥρμοττεν, ἀλλ᾿ ἐπὶ τῆς αἰτιατικῆς· ‘καὶ μὴ τὸ πλῆθος τῶν πολεμίων καταπλαγέντες.’ οὐδὲ γὰρ ‘τῇ παρὰ τῶν θεῶν ὀργῇ φοβεῖσθαι’ λέγοιτ᾿ ἄν τις, ἀλλὰ ‘τὴν τῶν θεῶν ὀργήν.’

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Second Letter to Ammaeus 11 (431.9–15) The following words also have this fault: ‘not frightened by their number’. This word should not have been constructed in the dative case but in the accusative: ‘not fearing the number of the enemies’. So, too, no one would be said ‘to fear through the anger of the gods’ but rather ‘to fear the anger of the gods’.

In Th. 4.10.2: καὶ μὴ τῷ πλῆθει αὐτῶν καταπλαγέντες (‘not frightened by their number’), Dionysius would prefer an accusative instead of the dative: καὶ μὴ τὸ πλῆθος τῶν πολεμίων καταπλαγέντες. Interestingly, he explains his objection to the construction of καταπλαγέντες by comparing the usage of the verb φοβεῖσθαι (‘to fear’), which normally takes the accusative and not the dative. This is a remarkable piece of syntactic analysis, which we may compare with the Alexandrian procedure of analogy. Dionysius argues that καταπλήττομαι takes the accusative and he tries to prove this by comparing this verb to another verb (φοβοῦμαι), which can be used with the same meaning. According to Dionysius, one would not say τῇ παρὰ τῶν θεῶν ὀργῇ φοβεῖσθαι, but rather τὴν τῶν θεῶν ὀργήν (accusative). It is possible to draw a comparison between Dionysius’ comments on this particular Thucydidean construction and the ideas of the syntactician Apollonius Dyscolus. Of course, the difference between these two scholars should be taken into account: Dionysius’ argument forms part of the analysis of a given sentence from Thucydides, whereas the syntactician Apollonius Dyscolus develops a theory of syntax independent from the literary context. Nevertheless, the two scholars use similar types of argument, in particular concerning the construction of the verb φοβεῖσθαι (‘to fear’). According to Apollonius, this is one of those verbs that do not indicate an activity (ἐνέργεια) but still require the accusative. He explains this construction by assuming an ellipsis of the preposition διά (which requires the accusative) in the construction of verbs like φοβοῦμαι, τρέμω, φεύγω and φρίσσω:

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Καὶ ἕνεκα τοῦ τοιούτου ἐπιστάσεως ἄξια τὰ τοιαῦτα, τρέμω σε, φεύγω σε, φρίσσω σε, τοῦτον φοβοῦμαι, ὡς οὐδεμιᾶς ὄντα ἐνεργείας ἐμφατικὰ φέρεται ἐπ᾿ αἰτιατικήν.

Apollonius Dyscolus, Syntax III 166, 413.5–7 In this connection we must not overlook verbs of fearing—τρέμω σε (‘I am frightened of you’), φεύγω σε (‘I run away from you’), φρίσσω σε (‘I am horrified of you’), τοῦτον φοβοῦμαι (‘I am afraid of him’)—because they govern the accusative even though there is no action [to pass over from subject to object]. (transl. Householder)

Dionysius’ analogy between καταπλήττομαι and φοβοῦμαι (by which he intends to prove that the former verb requires an accusative, just like the latter) is paralleled by another passage in Apollonius Dyscolus, where the grammarian argues that the verb δέομαι takes the genitive because it signifies something similar as λείπομαι with the genitive:52 καὶ δῆλον ὅτι τὸ δέομαι σοῦ οὐ κατὰ τῆς τοιαύτης ἐννοίας παραλαμβάνεται· τοιοῦτο γάρ τι σημαίνει· τῆς σῆς βοηθείας λείπομαι.

Apollonius Dyscolus, Syntax III 167, 415.11–12 Obviously δέομαι σοῦ (‘I beg you’, genitive) is not based on the same underlying meaning, but means, approximately, ‘I am in want of your assistance’ (τῆς σῆς βοηθείας λείπομαι). (transl. Householder)

Both Dionysius and Apollonius Dyscolus argue for a certain grammatical construction on the basis of the meaning of the verb that is to be constructed. The passages mentioned thus illustrate the close connection that exists between ancient syntax and semantics. Just like Aristarchus before him, Dionysius establishes the correctness of a construction on the basis of semantic considerations.53 Where the philologist and the rhetorician employ their syntactic arguments in the context of textual and literary criticism, Apollonius Dyscolus will develop an autonomous and systematic theory that explains the correctness of grammatical constructions in general, irrespective of the style or literary context of a specific author.54

52 In Synt. III 76, 340.2–10 Apollonius has already argued that the synonymy (or rather the similar semantic value) of the active verbs δεῖ and λείπει results in the same construction of the two verbs. Cf. Lallot 1997, II 259 n. 406. 53 For Aristarchus already the meaning of words is a decisive factor in determining the correctness of a syntactic construction. See e.g. his views on the σχῆμα πρὸς τὸ νοητόν (constructio ad sensum): Aristarchus fr. 82 Matthaios (= Sch. Il. 2.278a), with Matthaios 1999, 384. 54 On syntax and semantics in Apollonius Dyscolus, see Sluiter 1990, 50–54.

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5.4. Grammatical Agreement: τὸ κατάλληλον When discussing Thucydides’ use of tenses, Dionysius explicitly states that the historian’s style deviates from syntactic agreement: Ἡ δὲ παρὰ τοὺς χρόνους τῶν ῥημάτων ἐκβεβηκυῖα τὸ κατάλληλον φράσις τοιαύτη τίς ἐστι· [Th. 2.39.4] ‘καίτοι εἰ ῥᾳθυμίᾳ μᾶλλον ἢ πόνων μελέτῃ, καὶ μὴ μετὰ νόμων τὸ πλέον ἢ τρόπων ἀνδρείας ἐθέλοιμεν κινδυνεύειν, περιγίνεται ἡμῖν τοῖς τε μέλλουσιν ἀλγεινοῖς μὴ προκάμνειν καὶ ἐς αὐτὰ ἐλθοῦσι μὴ ἀτολμοτέροις τῶν ἀεὶ μοχθούντων φαίνεσθαι’· ἐνταῦθα γὰρ τὸ μὲν ἐθέλοιμεν ῥῆμα τοῦ μέλλοντός ἐστι χρόνου δηλωτικόν, τὸ δὲ περιγίγνεται τοῦ παρόντος. ἀκόλουθον δ᾿ ἂν ἦν, εἰ συνέζευξεν τῷ ἐθέλοιμεν τὸ περιέσται.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Second Letter to Ammaeus 12 (431.16–432.3) The style that deviates from the syntactic congruence with regard to the tenses of verbs is of the following kind: ‘And yet, if we should choose to face danger in a spirit of easy indifference rather than after laborious preparation, and with courage born of habit rather than from respect for the law, we gain the advantage of not suffering hardships when they are yet to come, while in actually confronting them we show ourselves no less courageous than those who are always toiling.’ Here ἐθέλοιμεν is a verb indicating the future, while περιγίγνεται indicates the present. The construction would have been regular if he had joined περίεσται with ἐθέλοιμεν.

Dionysius’ discussion of Thucydides’ use of tenses is especially interesting for the terminology of τὸ κατάλληλον. This term typically refers to the grammatical agreement between different words.55 When the parts of speech are ‘in agreement with each other’ (κατάλληλα), the complete construction will be correct. We find this terminology not only in Dionysius of Halicarnassus, but also in the Homeric scholia.56 Specific words or phrases can be qualified as ‘in agreement’ (κατάλληλος) οr ‘lacking agreement’ (ἀκατάλληλος), but Dionysius also knows the more general concept of ‘consistency’ or ‘syntactic regularity’: Thucydides’ 55 Blank 1982, 28 argues that καταλληλότης (‘correct construction’) is the representative of ἀναλογία in Apollonius’ Syntax. 56 Blank 1982, 55–57 discusses various examples from both the scholia and Dionysius. It can be one word, a combination of words or a complete sentence that is said to be κατάλληλος or ἀκατάλληλος. The neuter adjective τὸ κατάλληλον can designate a proper ‘relation in linguistic accidence’, more generally ‘that which is proper or allowed’, or ‘the sense [...] or the intent of an utterance.’ The term has a Stoic background: according to D.L. 7.59, the Stoics defined solecism as λόγος ἀκαταλλήλως συντεταγμένος.

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style departs from τὸ κατάλληλον. Such observations imply that there is a regular and grammatically correct expression underlying the syntactically incorrect version of Thucydides. We should note that there is still a difference between τὸ κατάλληλον, which plays a role in the rhetorical and philological analysis of literary texts, and the abstract concept of καταλληλότης, which Apollonius Dyscolus places in the center of his theory of syntax: the latter term marks the transition to the study of syntax in its own right.57 Another term that will acquire an important status in Apollonius’ Syntax is ἀκολουθία, originally a Stoic term that designates logical order and consistency.58 According to Dionysius, Thucydides’ use of tenses in the example cited above (2.39.4) is not regular (ἀκόλουθον), because περιγίγνεται indicates the present, whereas ‘the future verb’ ἐθέλοιμεν (in fact a present potential optative in a conditional clause) indicates the future.59 The latter view may surprise modern students, but we should realize that ancient scholars like Aristarchus and Apollonius Dyscolus relate the optative mood to wishes, which they closely associate with the future.60 A final example of bad syntax is discussed in the subsequent passage: [Th. 4.10.3] ‘τοῦ τε γὰρ χωρίου τὸ δυσέμβατον ἡμέτερον νομίζω, ὃ

μενόντων μὲν ἡμῶν σύμμαχον γίνεται· ὑποχωρήσασι δὲ καίπερ χαλεπὸν ὂν εὔπορον ἔσται.’ τὸ μὲν γὰρ γίνεται τοῦ παρόντος ἐστί, τὸ δὲ ἔσται τοῦ μέλλοντος χρόνου δηλωτικόν. γέγονεν δὲ καὶ παρὰ τὰς πτώσεις σχηματισμὸς ἀκατάλληλος· ἐπὶ μὲν γὰρ τῆς γενικῆς πτώσεως ἐξενήνοχεν τό τε μετοχικὸν ὄνομα τὸ μενόντων καὶ ἀντονομαστικὸν τὸ ἡμῶν, ἐπὶ δὲ τῆς δοτικῆς τὸ ὑποχωρήσασιν· οἰκειότερον δ᾿ ἦν καὶ τοῦτο κατὰ τὴν αὐτὴν ἐξενηνέχθαι πτῶσιν.

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Second Letter to Ammaeus 12 (432.3–13) 57 Sluiter 1990, 50 points out that ‘καταλληλότης refers to the mutual relationships of the constituents of a sentence; it is the notion into which symmetry of structure and semantics merge.’ 58 On the concept of ἀκολουθία in Dionysius, see De Jonge 2008a, 260–262; for the role of this concept in the works of Apollonius Dyscolus, see Sluiter 1990, 13–16. 59 Note that Stuart Jones–Powell (OCT) read ἐθέλομεν instead of ἐθέλοιμεν (the reading of most MSS and D.H.) in Th. 2.39.4. 60 See Aristarchus fr. 74 Matthaios, with Matthaios 1999, 369–370; A.D. Synt. III 98–100, 354.11–357.10 and III 124, 375.7–10, with De Jonge 2008a, 240. Modern readers will notice that the construction of Th. 2.39.4 (εἰ with the optative in the protasis with a primary tense of the indicative in the apodosis) is in fact not uncommon: in such cases the present indicative in the apodosis refers to general present time.

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‘I consider the inaccessibility of the spot to be in our favour, but this helps us only if we stand our ground: if we withdraw, the position, though difficult in itself, will be easily occupied by the enemy.’ Now γίγνεται refers to the present, but ἔσται indicates the future. There is also an irregular construction with regard to the cases: for he has put the participle μενόντων and the pronoun ἡμῶν in the genitive case, but ὑποχωρήσασιν in the dative; whereas the latter would more properly have been expressed in the same case as the two former.

The second example of the variation of tenses (Th. 4.10.3) contains two mistakes. First, the verb γίνεται (in the first part of the sentence) refers to the present, whereas ἔσται (in the second part) points to the future. Second, there is an incongruent construction (σχηματισμὸς ἀκατάλληλος): Thucydides has expressed the participle μενόντων and the pronoun ἡμῶν in the genitive case, but ὑποχωρήσασι in the dative. According to Dionysius, it would be more appropriate to put ὑποχωρήσασι in the genitive as well. Indeed, some modern scholars think that the dative in Thucydides’ text is corrupt: Hude prints a crux in his Thucydides edition, and Ros thinks that the form is only explained by Thucydides’ preference for variation and discontinuity.61 It is interesting that a scholion gives a paraphrase of the passage, in which ὑποχωρήσασι is indeed changed into the genitive ὑποχωρησάντων: ὑποχωρήσασι δὲ [...]: ὑποχωρησάντων δέ, καίπερ δυσέμβατον ὄν, εὐεπίβατον γενήσεται τοῖς Λακεδαιμονίοις.

Scholia on Thucydides 4.10.3 But when we have withdrawn, the position, though difficult in itself, will be easily crossed by the Lacedaemonians.

Again, it is clear that Dionysius and the scholiast agree in their interpretation of the syntactic construction. But whereas the scholiast only paraphrases the text in order to explain it, Dionysius labels the construction as incongruent, thereby making clear that his students should not imitate this style: in his view, both orators and historiographers should primarily aim at clarity (σαφήνεια) and purity of language, while avoiding this kind of grammatical irregularity.

61 Ros 1968, 62: ‘Nur die Vorliebe des Thuk[idides] für Inkonzinnität kann uns den Dat[iv] an dieser oft besprochenen Stelle einigermaßen erklärlich und annehmbar machen.’

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6. Dionysius, Trypho and the History of Syntax Dionysius’ analysis of Thucydides’ syntax, with its parallels in the scholia, forms an interesting chapter in the history of syntax before Apollonius Dyscolus. Analyzing many examples of grammatical irregularity, Dionysius reveals a clear interest in syntactic correctness. The differences between Dionysius and Apollonius should of course not be overlooked. The rhetorician analyzes the constructions in a given text of a specific author, just as Aristarchus had done in his commentaries on Homer and other authors. Similar syntactic observations may also have been part of a Hellenistic commentary on Thucydides (perhaps by Aristarchus himself), which seems to have guided Dionysius and later scholars. Apollonius Dyscolus, on the other hand, disengages himself from the literary context and develops an independent theory of syntax, which aims not only to describe but also to explain the correctness or incorrectness of grammatical constructions in general. When we consider Dionysius’ relevance for the history of syntax, it is useful to compare his work with that of the contemporary grammarian Trypho, who was one of Apollonius Dyscolus’ most important predecessors in technical grammar. Just like Dionysius, Trypho was active in Rome in the Augustan period.62 He wrote numerous treatises, including works devoted to separate parts of speech (On Articles, On Conjunctions, On Adverbs). The references in Apollonius Dyscolus’ Syntax indicate that Trypho was certainly interested in syntactic problems, which he discussed in the context of his word class theories. On the one hand, Trypho differs from philologists and rhetoricians (like Aristarchus and Dionysius) because he separated grammatical phenomena from the literary context in which they were traditionally studied.63 On the other hand, he did not grant syntax the autonomous status that it acquired in the work of Apollonius Dyscolus, because Trypho’s syntactic observations were still subordinated to his treatment of separate word classes. There is no evidence that he wrote a special treatise on syntax, as scholars have claimed in the past.64 However, as a technical grammarian, he 62 Both Trypho and Dionysius came to Rome in 30 BC. 63 Matthaios 2003, 127: ‘Tryphon hat aber offensichtlich einen höheren Abstraktions- und Systematisierungsgrad als die alexandrinischen Philologen erreicht, indem er seine Diskussion aus dem durch die Untersuchung der literarischen Sprache bedingten Kontext herauslöste und sie in eine theoretische Reflexion über Sprache allgemein einbaute.’ 64 Barwick 1957, 26 believed that Trypho wrote a work Περὶ συντάξεως, but Matthaios 2003 convincingly demonstrates that the fragments of Trypho do not support this claim: in fact, Apollonius Dyscolus makes clear that the syntactic

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played an important role in the transmission and development of grammatical ideas between the Alexandrian philologists and the syntactician Apollonius Dyscolus. Unfortunately, we possess only a few fragments in which Trypho has something to say on the syntax of the parts of speech, so that it is difficult for us to gain a complete notion of his terminology.65 It is in this respect that Dionysius’ work is especially helpful and informative. Since we have only fragments from Trypho (and other grammarians of this period), the Second Letter to Ammaeus forms important evidence for the discourse in which syntactic problems were discussed in the Augustan age. As we have seen, Dionysius employs two technical terms that will later be of crucial importance in Apollonius’ Syntax: ἀκολουθία (‘regular order’) and τὸ κατάλληλον (‘grammatical agreement’).66 Dionysius’ letter is thus an indispensable document for our knowledge of syntactic terminology in the second half of the first century BC. What else does our examination of Dionysius and the scholia add to our knowledge of the history of ancient syntax? In the development of syntactic theory, various ancient language disciplines played their parts. Traditionally, scholars point especially to philosophy and philology, ‘the two sources’ of technical grammar.67 We should now add rhetoric as a third relevant discipline for the history of syntax. The contribution of rhetoric should be seen in the same light as that of philology. It was in the context of the detailed criticism of given literary texts (be it by Homer, Thucydides or other classical authors) that the analysis of difficult grammatical constructions took place in the first instance. Philologists like Aristarchus and rhetoricians like Dionysius developed an interest in the grammatical correctness of the texts that they studied, and they

observations of Trypho that he mentions were part of his works on specific parts of speech. 65 See the discussion of the relevant fragments in Matthaios 2003. 66 Of these terms, only ἀκολουθία is found in the extant fragments of Trypho, namely in fr. 33 von Velsen. However, in this passage (Apollonius Dyscolus, Syntax II 133, 230.18), Uhlig rightly accepts Schneider’s emendation ἀμφιβολίαν for ἀκολουθίαν (von Velsen follows Bekker’s edition). See Matthaios 2003, 104–105. In general, it should be emphasized that the few fragments of Trypho do not allow us to draw conclusions on his terminology. 67 Lallot 1997 I, 13: ‘Les deux sources de la grammaire alexandrine’. The scope of this paper does not allow me to address the Stoic influence on the history of syntax or to elaborate on Dionysius’ reference to Chrysippus’ ‘handbooks of the syntax of the parts of speech’ (Comp. 4): of course, his knowledge of these Stoic treatises casts light on Dionysius’ usage of ἀκολουθία (‘regular order’) and τὸ κατάλληλον. See further De Jonge 2008a, 108–110.

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generated or refined the terminology that enabled them to describe the correctness of a given construction. The activities of the philologists primarily aimed at establishing the correct text of the author discussed and at explaining its difficulties. Rhetoricians on the other hand concentrated on the practical use of a classical text as a model for the production of new texts. Although the focus of philologists and rhetoricians was thus slightly different, it is not possible or desirable to separate these disciplines entirely (we should note that the Alexandrian scholars, too, regarded their ancient texts as models for new literary works). Dionysius’ discussion of Thucydides’ syntax illustrates that the work of philologists and rhetoricians is extremely interrelated, and in some respects it might be more sensible to treat both groups as one category of ‘scholars’.68 From their different perspectives, Aristarchus and Dionysius drew similar conclusions about the language, syntax and style of specific authors. And, as a by-product of their careful and detailed analysis of exemplary texts, these scholars also contributed to the understanding of grammatical phenomena, and thus prepared the way for the emancipation of syntax theory in its own right.

7. Conclusion The parallels between Dionysius’ Second Letter to Ammaeus and the Thucydides scholia show us how important it is to recognize the strong connections between grammar, philology and rhetorical analysis. As a rhetorician, Dionysius knew and used the theories from many disciplines, including philosophy, music theory, poetic criticism and philology. For the illustrations of his criticism of Thucydides he used the grammatical notes of earlier philologists, which he may have found in an Alexandrian commentary. Conversely, Dionysius’ works were available to later philologists, who answered his views on Thucydides’ subject matter (P.Oxy. 6.853). It is possible, as we have seen, that the surviving Thucydides scholia are not independent of Dionysius’ Second Letter to Ammaeus: later scholiasts seem to have known the rhetorician’s works, just as he had employed the notes of their predecessors. Both Dionysius and the scholia point to grammatical particularities in Thucydides’ style, but they do so for different purposes. The scholia explain difficult passages in order to make them understandable, but for 68 It is regrettable that rhetoricians are usually ignored in modern treatments of ‘ancient scholarship’: for example, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Demetrius, Longinus are not mentioned in Dickey 2007.

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Dionysius these passages support his view that Thucydides’ style is unsuitable for imitation by either historians or orators. His analysis of the historian’s syntax was an important argument for his position in the first century BC debate on Thucydides as a model. In a period during which so-called ‘Thucydideans’ had presented themselves as imitators of the Greek historian, Dionysius chose to emphasize the dangers of Thucydides’ style, because it does not always preserve the important quality of clarity. While Cicero had argued that Thucydides could be a model for the writing of history only, Dionysius claims that even for that purpose the Greek historian’s style should not be imitated. It remains doubtful that Dionysius really convinced his friend and colleague Quintus Aelius Tubero, who seems to have regarded Thucydides as a useful and inspiring guide. ‘The men who can understand the whole of Thucydides can easily be counted, and even these cannot understand certain passages without a linguistic explanation.’ Dionysius’ famous remark proves to be instructive for more than one reason: not only does this observation remind us of the fact that even an ancient Greek rhetorician found the historian’s syntax at times rather difficult, but also—and more importantly—it opens fascinating perspectives on the strong and complex connections between ancient philology and technical grammar, rhetorical theory and literary criticism.

Imposition of Names in Ancient Grammar and Philosophy Anneli Luhtala 1. Introduction The imposition of names was, it appears, a topic that belonged to the domain of philosophy rather than grammar in Antiquity. This topic puzzled philosophers from Plato through to his Late Antique commentators, but I am not aware that this problem was discussed in detail in any grammar that is preserved to us from Antiquity, apart from Varro’s De lingua latina. Etymological method continued to be used fairly regularly in grammars, but its use was almost exclusively restricted to the definitions of the parts of speech and grammatical terms. In the absence of a theoretical discussion, it is not immediately obvious what position the grammarians took in the debate set out as signification by nature and by convention. In this paper I will show that in Apollonius Dyscolus’ grammatical works the imposition of names (θέσις ὀνομάτων) involved a more complex set of questions concerning the relationship between language and reality than the mere correctness of the names. It primarily concerns the assignment of ontological categories to things in the external world. Apollonius’ framework of description depends heavily on Stoic logic, in which the parts of speech were explicitly related to ontological categories; in earlier philosophical contexts, the relationship between linguistic and ontological categories had been only implicit. Thus, there were, as a matter of fact, two ways in which language was related to reality by ancient philosophical schools. The first of these discussions was initiated in Plato’s Cratylus, when the parts of speech system had not yet evolved, and the linguistic discussion focused almost exclusively on nouns. The second discussion originated in the Sophist, where two different parts of speech were recognized, the noun and the verb, which were implicitly related to ontological categories. The noun and the verb came to be regarded as the parts of speech that were relevant for the philosophers’ propositional analysis.

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When language study became the province of philologists and grammarians, the number of parts of speech gradually increased, adding up to eight, nine or even eleven during the first centuries BC and AD. Then the philosophers raised the question, of whether all of them were entitled to be called ‘parts of speech’. Apollonius Dyscolus seems to have provided the most salient answer to this question by recognizing the noun and the verb as the principal parts of speech, and by providing a raison d’être for all the (eight) parts of speech. Here the term ‘imposition’ assumes the meaning ‘imposition of the parts of speech’ alongside the traditional ‘imposition of names’ to things.

2. From Etymologies to the Parts of Speech System 2.1. Plato: the Cratylus and the Sophist I will start by giving a brief survey of the two ways in which language was related to reality in ancient philosophy. The first consists of the study of etymologies—a topic discussed extensively in Plato’s Cratylus. This dialogue focuses on the ability of individual words to convey reliable knowledge about reality, and the question often takes the form, of whether words are capable of separating being. In this dialogue, the questions of meaning and truth were inextricably linked to each other, and the difference between being meaningful and being true was not yet grasped; this is the achievement of a later dialogue, the Sophist, which marks the beginning of dialectic. Here it is established that truth and falsehood are a property of a statement, which consists of two parts of speech, a noun and a verb, e.g. ‘Man learns’.1 Hence a shift takes place in the development of linguistic analysis, from individual words and their names to different parts of speech and their functions in a sentence. In the Cratylus, no distinction is drawn between various parts of speech, and etymological analysis involves mainly proper and common nouns as well as adjectives.2 A theory of the first or primary words is put forward, which are no longer analyzable into their constituent parts. Only these words are said to be representations of things (422a–c, 433d), and they convey the natures of things by imitation. A name is defined as ‘a vocal imitation of what it imitates; and that someone who imitates something with his voice names what he imitates’ (423b). All other 1 2

Denyer 1991, 128, 148–182; Borsche 1991, 155. Barney 2001, 5 notes the presence of verbs in the infinitive form (414a8–b1), and participles (421c5).

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words are composed of them, and the correctness of all names, whether primary or derivative, consists of displaying the nature of the thing it names (422d, 428e).3 These are the essential ingredients of the theory of meaning based on nature. The linguistic discussion of the Sophist involves two different parts of speech (or linguistic functions), names and verbs, which are said to be two kinds of vocal sounds expressing being (οὐσία, Sophist 261d–262a). The parts of speech are now described semantically rather than etymologically: the verb is a vocal form which signifies actions and the name signifies those who perform the actions (261d–262a).4 Moreover, the parts of speech are now understood as parts of a statement, a minimal expression, which can be true or false. Plato calls these parts of speech the ‘first’ or ‘primary’ (πρῶται)s. The discussion on the parts of speech of the Sophist is implicitly related to ontological categories. The linguistic section 261d–262a is preceded by a long discussion on ontological categories, known as ‘the five genera of being’,5 and the two discussions are obviously related to each other. Although a clear correspondence cannot be confirmed between the two topics in the Sophist, the presence of linguistic and ontological discussion in the same text is hardly accidental. The same tacit parallelism is also present in Aristotle’s early works, which were heavily influenced by the themes of the Sophist, namely the Categories and the Peri hermeneias.6

2.2. Aristotle: the Categories and the Peri Hermeneias In the Categories, Aristotle puts forward an ontological theory that is thought to be related to the theory of the ‘five genera’ of the Sophist. The ten categories, according to Aristotle, are a classification of things (τὰ ὄντα) said ‘without combination’, and include substance, quantity, 3 4

5 6

The correctness of every name was intended to consist in its expressing the nature of one of the things that are (422c–d). The terms ὄνομα and ῥῆμα are ambiguous between word classes and predicational functions until the Stoics differentiated the terminology, ὄνομα and ῥῆμα being word classes (and corporeal items), and ‘case’ and ‘predicate’ being functions (and incorporeal λεκτά). For the sake of convenience, I will use the terms ‘name’ and ‘verb’ here, because the ῥῆμα is defined as signifying action; in the Peri hermeneias, I will translate ῥῆμα as predicate, as it is defined as that which is said of something else. This ontological theory did not influence later semantic discussions and will therefore be ignored here. Kneale–Kneale 1962, 45, 76; Pinborg 1975, 76.

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quality, relation, place, time, situation, state, action, and being-actedupon. Overlaps with linguistic categories are obvious, and commentators from late Antiquity onwards have wondered whether Aristotle was classifying words or things.7 The contents of this treatise remains ambiguous, and ‘the true resolution of the ambiguity seems to be given by Porphyry when he states that, as things are, so are the expressions which primarily express them’.8 In the first four chapters of the Peri hermeneias Aristotle sets out a simple theory of meaning, which was enormously influential on later semantic discussions. This theory recognizes three items: (1) things in the real world, (2) thoughts or affections in the human soul and (3) words, which are symbols of the affections in the soul. According to this semantic triad, the affections in the soul are likenesses of things, whereas words are symbols of the affections. The introduction of the term σύμβολον into this discussion is important, since words are no longer regarded as images or likenesses of anything. The linguistic discussion at the beginning of the Peri hermeneias involves two parts of speech (or two predicational functions), the name and the predicate, which can form a minimal statement or a proposition. Both are defined as ‘spoken sounds significant by convention’ (16a19) and the predicate is said to be that which con-signifies time and is always a sign of what is said of something else. Here a clear distinction is drawn between the ways in which the name and the predicate signify: the predicate says something about the referent of the name. In these definitions we are not told what each part of speech signifies, but this does not mean that semantics is ignored altogether. In the Categories, it is claimed that every simple expression signifies either a substance or quality or one of the other categories (Cat. 4.1b25–2a4). Thus, it would seem to follow that the combined expressions discussed 7

8

‘Although it (the Categories) has been extremely influential, it is very difficult to interpret with any confidence. On the face of it, it is a classification of types of predicate (kategoriai). [...] Two major ambiguities are especially noteworthy. In the first place it is unclear whether Aristotle is classifying symbols or what they symbolize, words, or, in a very wide sense, things. This is a question which has exercised commentators since ancient times. Secondly, it is not clear whether Aristotle is concerned with predicates only or with terms in general, including subjects [...] Aristotle was almost certainly unaware of the ambiguity that puzzles his commentators. [...] If, however, he had been able to ask the question, Aristotle would almost certainly have answered that he was dealing with things and not with words.’ (Kneale–Kneale 1962, 23, 25). See Kneale–Kneale 1962, 27. According to the conclusion of Kneale/Kneale, ibid., ‘Aristotle is classifying types of being (ta onta), but he uses the linguistic expressions as a clue to the differences between types of being’.

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in the Peri hermeneias also signify the Categories; these two texts are related to each other and are meant to be studied together. The tacit parallelism between the ontological and linguistic categories implied in the Sophist continues in the Categories and Peri hermeneias, and permits us to conclude that Aristotle did not dismiss language as a tool for separating being.9 It is generally thought that because Aristotle adhered to the conventionalist position, he regarded the relationship between language and reality to be wholly arbitrary. This reading results from the failure to study the Peri hermeneias together with the Categories. Aristotle certainly dismissed at least the strongest version of the naturalist thesis, according to which all words are based on the first words, which imitate the nature of things; however, there is hardly any reason to think that Aristotle would have ignored the existence of a certain number of onomatopoetic words in the Greek language. Moreover, he occasionally resorted to the etymological method in this own works.10 What was only implicit in the works of Plato and Aristotle was made explicit in Stoic logic, where the nominal parts of speech are directly related to ontological categories. The Stoics defined proper and common nouns as signifying substance and quality, and the pronoun as signifying pure substance (D.L. 7.58). Substance and quality are the first two of the four Stoic categories; quality was further divided into common and peculiar.11

3. The Philosophers’ versus Grammarians’ Parts of Speech The status of the grammarians’ eight parts of speech as opposed to the philosophers’ two parts was discussed in several philosophical and grammatical works, starting with the Middle Platonist Plutarch (46–120 AD). Inspired by the Sophist, he raised the question of why Plato should have recognized only two parts of speech, the noun and the verb, and dismissed all other parts of speech, if Homer had included them all in a 9 I do not have a clear idea what Aristotle means by saying ‘not as an instrument’. According to Sluiter, 1997, 192, ‘(Crat. 388b12) lurks in the background, and its tenets are rejected quite apodictically. The reason why “being significant as an instrument” is opposed to “being significant by convention” appears to be that the “instrument theory” stems from that part of the Cratylus where Socrates convinces Hermogenes, that Cratylus is at least partially right’. 10 Sedley 2003, 37 and n. 20. 11 For the Stoic categories, see Long–Sedley 1987, I 166–176 and II 169–178; for the Stoic definitions of the parts of speech, see Luhtala 2000, 78–85.

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single verse (Quaest. Plat. 1009c). He drew a distinction between two kinds of words, (1) those which form significant expressions with one another, namely nouns and verbs, and (2) those which signify nothing either by themselves nor in association with one another. Such are conjunctions, articles and prepositions. He defends the view that only the noun and the verb are parts of speech, because they can signify and form a proposition without the other parts. According to him, the other parts of speech do contribute to speech, but in a different way, just as salt contributes to a dish of food and water to a barley-cake (1010c).12 A different metaphor is used by Ps.-Apuleius, who compares the two kinds of words with the structure of a ship, where not all parts are of equal importance. He claims that ‘adverbs, pronouns, participles, conjunctions and other such things which grammarians list are no more parts of speech than ornamented curved sterns are parts of ships and hair of men; or at least they are fit to be classed in the general structure of speech like nails, pitch and glue’ (transl. Londey–Johanson 1987, 85).13 The earliest surviving answer to this question by a grammarian is the one given by Apollonius Dyscolus, who established the noun and the verb as the principal parts, and related the meanings of all the other parts to these two. His position is reflected both in Priscian’s work and the Scholia on Dionysius Thrax’ Tekhne. I will now proceed to analyze it in detail in order to show in which way his parts of speech system was thought of as being based on nature.

4. Apollonius on the Ordering of the Parts of Speech The most relevant context, in which Apollonius reflects upon this issue, is the order of the parts of speech, which is, he says, based on nature.14 It 12 In accordance with the Sophist, he maintains that the noun and the verb were first invented in order to signify agents and patients as well as action and undergoing action (1009d). 13 The same metaphor is used by Priscian and Ammonius. For the development of this theme in ancient grammar and philosophy, see Luhtala 2005, 129–137. 14 There is also a discussion which is explicitly related to the debate with the philosophers concerning the parts of speech, preserved by the Scholiasts on Dionysius Thrax’ Tekhne (515.19–521.37), and attributed to Apollonian by Schneider (G.G. II 3, 31.23–25): ‘Quare non dubito totam illam egregiam disputationem, quae in scholiis Londinensibus ad Dion. Thr. 515,19–521,37 Hilg. servata est, ut desumptam ex Apollonii de merismo libro, tanscribere’. Since the philosophical doctrine in this discussion is largely Platonist rather than Stoic (Plato and Aristotle being mentioned by name), I have argued that this passage

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is part of a wider discussion that illustrates his view of the orderliness of grammar’s subject matter.15 The order of the parts of speech is, according to him, comparable to the ordering of the letters in the alphabet, that of the cases of the noun and that of the tenses of the verb, because all these orderings are determined by nature. It is important for the grammarian to justify such orderings, he points out, since some grammarians have argued that such matters have been arranged arbitrarily. If there is order in some issues, it must be granted in all issues, he concludes (Synt. I 13, 15.6f.). In this context Apollonius’ use of the term imposition (θέσις) is ambiguous, referring simultaneously to the placement of the parts of speech in their ordering and to the imposition of the parts of speech or their names, and the question arises whether they amount to the same thing. Apollonius starts by relating the order of the parts of speech to the minimal statement, which consists of a noun and a verb, just like the philosopher’s logical proposition. This is because the ordering of the parts of speech is, according to Apollonius, an imitation of a sentence (I 14, 16.12f.). They are the primary parts of speech, to which the ordering and the meanings of all the other parts are related. Apollonius compares the difference between the primary and the others parts with the distinction between vowels and consonants as follows: the principal parts of speech are like vowels which are complete even in isolation whereas the others parts require the presence of the principal parts just as consonants require the presence of vowels. The non-principal parts of speech include prepositions, articles and conjunctions, which are said to cosignify with the principal parts (I 12, 13.1f). Apollonius proceeds to posit a mutual order for the noun and the verb, claiming that the noun necessarily precedes the verb because disposing (διατιθέναι) and being disposed (διατίθεσθαι) are properties of bodies and name-giving pertains to bodies, on which depends the property of the verb, namely action and the undergoing of action (I 16, 18.5–8). This passage is remarkable in at least two respects: firstly, it associates name-giving with bodies, which reflects, as far as I can see, the tenets of Stoic materialism.16 Secondly, the noun names the objects and is not genuinely Apollonian, but contains reworking by later commentators (Luhtala 2003, 218–222). Priscian discussed this topic in this treatise on the participle (G.L. II 551.18–552.17). 15 Blank 1982, 11–19. 16 In the corresponding passage Priscian has replaced bodies with substance (Inst. gramm. 17.14, G.L. III 116.25–27), which probably reflects influence from contemporary Platonism, which had incorporated the Aristotelian categories into its framework. See Luhtala 2005, 85–87.

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the verb signifies something that pertains to these objects; thus, the verb has no referent of its own. This description suggests that the noun and the verb signify differently, as they do in the philosopher’s propositional analysis as well. The meaning of the verb is to dispose (διατιθέναι) and to be disposed (διατίθεσθαι); these verbs in all likelihood reflect the Stoic idea that the leading part of the soul is in a certain disposition (διάθεσις), when a person acts or is acted upon.17 According to Apollonius, the imposition of names (positio nominum) involves bodies. He moreover defined the noun as assigning a common or peculiar quality to bodies (or things); this definition is preserved by Priscian and the Scholiasts.18 Hence the imposition of names or nouns amounts to assigning ontological categories to external objects, whereby they are named and identified. The verb signifies action and the undergoing of action which is the crucial property of bodies. According to Stoic physics, only bodies properly exist and bodies are defined in terms of their being capable of acting and undergoing action.19 Thus, the principal parts of speech, the noun and the verb, are based on nature, in that they are related to the physical world, described by Apollonius in terms of Stoic physics. No etymological justifications for their names are provided in arguing for the nature and the order of the noun and the verb.20 Their mutual ordering is based on logical considerations; action and the undergoing of action cannot exist without the prior existence of bodies. Moreover, they are capable of forming a complete statement on 17 The Greek technical term διάθεσις of the verb, covering the active-passive distinction, retains its physical and psychological connotations unlike its Latin equivalent, genus verbi. Priscian uses this term, which was standard practice among the Latin grammarians, but he also gives the Latin equivalent affectus for the Greek διάθεσις: Significatio vel genus, quod Graeci affectum vocant verbi, in actu est proprie, ut dictum est; vel in passione (G.L. II 373.10–12). See Luhtala 2000, 168–173. 18 Priscian attributes to Apollonius the definition of the noun that he uses: […] secundum Apollonium: Nomen est pars orationis, quae unicuique subiectorum corporum seu rerum communem vel propriam qualitatem distribuit (G.L. III 481.2–4). His definition of noun is as follows: Nomen est pars orationis, quae unicuique subiectorum corporum seu rerum communem vel propriam qualitatem distribuit (G.L. II 56.29– 57.1). It is a literal translation of Apollonius’ definition, preserved by the Scholiasts; however, Apollonius’ definition additionally mentions ‘with case’ (πτωτικόν, Sch. D.T. 524.9–10). According to Priscian, the proper noun has undergone a propria positio (G.L. III 152.15). 19 Long–Sedley 1987, II 333–343. 20 However, Apollonius does elaborate on the primacy of the noun by saying that the term ὄνομα acquired general applicability, so that all parts of speech may be called ὀνόματα (Synt. I 18, 19.2–4).

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their own—a description which is based on one of the definitions of the proposition in Stoic logic.21 The above discussion suggests that the noun and the verb were invented for the sake of their syntactical roles, as constituents of a minimal statement. This implies that their invention involved at least some grammatical features; the noun and the verb must be in the third person and the noun in the nominative case.22 The syntactical orientation of Apollonius’ argument also becomes evident in the placement of the pronoun. Apollonius goes on to argue that a complete statement can also consist of a verb and pronoun, and more precisely, a pronoun in the first or second person, e.g. ‘I walk’, ‘you walk’. He further raises the question as to why the pronoun should not follow the noun in the order of the parts of speech, even if the pronoun can replace the noun (in a sentence).23 Apollonius explains that the pronoun was invented for the sake of the verb and therefore the pronoun must necessarily come after the verb. Nouns are always in the third person, whereas verbs exhibit three different persons, he explains, and pronouns were invented in three persons in order to complete the construction of the verb. Moreover, when they are overtly expressed, they are emphatic; in an unmarked case, the first and second person pronouns are understood in the verb (Synt. I 15, 17.15–18.4). This view of the raison d’être of the pronoun is peculiar to Apollonius and was adopted only by Priscian among the Latin grammarians, who generally define the pronoun as that which can replace the noun. They regularly support this view with an etymological analysis of its name.24 Apollonius fails to resort to etymological justification when arguing for the raison d’être and the ordering of the pronoun and this is clearly because he did not think that the pronoun was invented in order to substitute for the noun.25 It was invented because of the three persons of the verb, as has been explained above. In what sense then is the pronoun based on nature? The word nature is not mentioned in Apollonius’ discussion at all, nor is the term 21 ‘A judgment is […] a thing complete in itself (πρᾶγμα αὐτοτελές)’, D.L. 7.65. 22 Priscian makes it explicit that the first imposition of names takes place in the third person: ipsa positio prima nominum non ad aliquem sed de aliquo habet locutionem (G.L. II 585.21–22). 23 This was the normal ordering of the parts of speech in Latin grammar before Priscian: the pronoun comes after the noun and is followed by the verb. 24 E.g. Pompeius in G.L. V 199.21: Pronomen dictum est, quoniam fungitur officio nominis. 25 However, Apollonius mentions this property of the pronoun in his definition of the pronoun (Pron. 9.11–13).

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imposition; he merely talks about the invention of the pronoun and its placement in the ordering. Thus, neither Apollonius nor Priscian makes it explicit, but the following interpretations suggest themselves. There is nothing in the physical world, consisting of bodies, that necessitates the invention of pronoun, since the noun names and identifies the bodies, and the verb says what they are doing and what is happening to them. However, it can be inferred that the bodies involved in action and the undergoing of action are generally human beings, and pronouns are needed in their speech acts, which involve the first and the second persons. Moreover, the prior invention of the verb in three persons necessitated the invention of the pronouns. Thus, the pronoun is needed in order that a speech act can take place between two human beings; nature now has to do with human speech. As to the status of the pronoun in terms of its imposition, nothing emerges from the present context. However, Apollonius distinguishes between two statuses of the pronoun in his treatise on the pronoun, primitive (πρωτότυποι, primitiva) and derived (παράγωγοι, derivativa).26 I interpret these terms so that the primitive pronouns have come into existence by an imposition and the others through derivation.27 The participle is ordered immediately after the principal parts because it owes its properties to both the noun and the verb, which is borne out by its name. It is derived, Apollonius argues, from the verb because verbs show no case inflection, and cannot be joined to other verbs without a conjunction, (that is, within one and the same sentence), and therefore, the participle was invented to serve as the noun of the verb, so to speak (Synt. I 21, 23.8f.). It is noteworthy that the etymological argument is now used for the first time: the participle is duly placed after the verb, from which it originates, as is shown by its name. Moreover, the participle derives from the verb, and has no intrinsic meaning of its own. According to Priscian, its derivation from the verb is by nature.28

26 Cf. Priscian in G.L. II 577.6–9: Species pronominum bipertita est, alia enim sunt primitiva, alia derivativa. Primitiva: ego, mei, tu, tui, sui; derivativa: meus tuus suus. Et primae quidem personae primitivum est ego et reliqui casus sequentes. 27 Apollonius uses the term θεματικοί when talking about the primitive pronouns. This corresponds, I think, Priscian’s positivae. I do not know why Brandenburg 2005, 221 should have translated Apollonius’ πρωτότυποι ‘irregular’ (‘unregelmässig’) (Brandenburg 2005, 221). 28 ‘Participium est igitur pars orationis, quae pro verbo accipitur, ex quo et derivatur naturaliter, genus et casum habens ad similitudinem nominis’ (G.L. II 552.18–20). Unfortunately, Apollonius’ treatise on the participle has not been preserved to us.

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It would seem fair to assume that since the participle was invented by derivation, its invention did not take place by an imposition, and this is, in fact, what we learn from Priscian. When explaining why the Stoics did not establish the participle as a distinct part of speech, Priscian points out that it is the only part which is always derived and has no imposition of its own (in primitivis et in sua positione), whereas the other parts of speech were invented by a first imposition.29 Yet the participle has undergone an imposition of some kind. Apollonius argues that through its imposition the participle received its name, which is in accordance with its origin in the verb and the noun; it derives its meaning and tense from the verb, and case and gender from the noun (Synt. I 22, 1–10). Its ordering after the verb and noun is in accordance with the imposition of its name (θέσις τοῦ ὀνόματος). Now a shift takes place in the meaning of imposition. Neither Apollonius nor Priscian talk about the imposition of the participle (positio participii) but rather about the imposition of its name (positio nominationis, i.e. participii).30 Now the question arises by which process the participle received its properties from the noun, i.e. case and gender, by its derivation from the verb or by the imposition of its name. Neither grammarian provides an answer to this question. In his book dedicated to the participle Priscian argues that all the non-principal parts of speech receive their names from their affinity with the principal parts of speech rather than from some intrinsic meaning of their own. He goes on to quote the etymological definitions of all the non-principal parts.31 At this point Priscian also reveals that the parts of speech, or at least some of them, have been named by the grammarians’ 29 ‘Ideo autem participium separatim non tradebant [sc. Stoici] partem orationis, quod nulla alia pars orationis semper in derivatione est nullam propriam positionem habens, nisi participium. Ceterae enim partes primo in positione inventae sunt, ad quam etiam derivativa aptantur (G.L. II 549.3–6). My interpretation is based on Lipsius’ emendation: prima in positione. ‘Quantum ergo ad hoc, id est quod in primitivis et in sua positione non inveniuntur participia, videntur stoici bene fecisse’ (G.L. II 549.19–21). 30 Cf. Priscian in G.L. II 119.12–21: manifestum autem, quod ipsius quoque positio nominationis, (thesis tou onomatos) qua participium nominatum est, non bene servaretur, nisi post nomen et verbum poneretur participium, cum ex eis utrisque per confirmationem pendens ea pars accipiebatur, quomodo post masculinum et femininum eorum abnegativum neutrum. 31 ‘Nec solum participium non ab aliqua propria vi, sed ab affinitate nominis et verbi nominatum est, sed aliae quoque quinque partes orationis non a sua vi, sed ab adiunctione, quam habent ad nomen verl verbum, vocabulum acceperunt: pronomen enim dicitur, quod pro nomine ponitur, et adverbium, quod verbo adiungitur, et praepositio, quae tam nomini quam verbo praeponitur, et coniunctio, quae coniungit ea, et interiectio, quae his interiacet. Unde est dicendum, quod, si non sit nomen et verbum, nec alia pars orationis constare poterit’ (G.L. II 551.10–18).

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conscious act. Since the participle has received some of its properties from the noun and others from the verb, it is so to speak between the noun and the verb. Therefore, the grammarians have rationally (rationabiliter) given the name ‘participle’ to this part of speech.32 Here the grammarian acts as the agent of the rationalist grammar. The article is placed after the noun and the participle because it is joined to them both; however, it cannot be joined to pronouns, which are thus placed after the article (Synt. I 23, 24.11–25.2). Then comes the pronoun for the aforementioned reasons (I 24, 25.4f.), given by Apollonius. Apollonius goes on to argue that the preposition has not undergone a first imposition, nor does it derive its name from any characteristic meaning of its own. Its name, ‘placed in front of’, is based on the syntactic position of the preposition in front of the noun and the participle. Moreover, its existence is not prior to the other parts, to which it is attached; on the contrary, their existence is prior: if they did not exist, the preposition could not exist. Thus, the preposition takes its name from its syntactic position as preceding the declinable parts, but according to nature it comes after them (Synt. I 26, 26.10–27.5).33 Nature requires the placing of the preposition in the sixth position among the parts; here, too, it is in all likelihood the rationalist grammarian that acts on behalf of Nature. In his treatise on the adverb, Priscian argues that the prepositions are always positivae rather than derived.34 This would seem to imply that, although the preposition did not undergo a first imposition, it nevertheless did undergo an imposition of some sort. When arguing for the placing of the adverb, Apollonius again resorts to the etymological argument: its name, ἐπίρρημα, suggests that it is joined to verbs. As the name of the adverb moreover reveals that it is the adjective of the verb, Apollonius proceeds to posit an analogy with 32 ‘Itaque cum et verbi quaedam sua prohibent hoc esse nomen, id est tempora et significationes, et nominis propria prohibent esse verbum, id est genera et casus—quaecumque enim pars orationis habet genera apud Graecos vel Latinos, habet et casus, et quaecumque habet casus, habet et genera, exceptis paucis indeclinabilibus, mansit participium medium inter nomen et verbum. unde rationabiliter hoc nomen est ei a grammaticis inditum per confirmationem duarum partium orationis principalium’ (G.L. II 551.4–18). 33 Cf. Priscian in G.L. III 120.16–121.2: Apparet autem etiam, quod praepositio non primam habens positionem neque antiquiorem aliis dictionibus post supra dictas ponitur, unde neque nominationem a propria aliqua significatione accepit, sed quia supra dictis praeponitur partibus, quae si non ante sint, neque ea constare possit—quod etiam de participio diximus-, ex quibus etiam ordinationem accepit [...] ergo natura quidem posterior est, constructione vero principalis. 34 ‘Et adverbia quidem derivativa possunt ese, praepositiones vero positivae sunt omnes, si sequimur Graecorum auctoritatem’ (G.L. III 25.27–28).

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the adjective or epithet. The relation between the adjective and the noun is similar to that between the verb and the adverb, he claims (Synt. I 27, 27.6–9). The placement of the adverb after the preposition follows from the fact that the verb comes after the noun; hence, that which is joined to verbs (i.e., the adverb) comes after that which is joined to nouns (i.e., the preposition). As to the status of the adverb, it is either derived or originates in itself; the latter kind of adverbs are called πρωτότυπα (Adv. 146.2).35 Finally, the conjunction conjoins the other parts of speech and has, according to Apollonius, no meaning of its own without the material support (ὕλη, materia) of other words, just as physical bonds are no use if there are no physical objects to connect (Synt. I 28, 27.10–13). No etymological argument is presented to explain its name, but this absence is probably accidental. I will now briefly summarize what ‘imposition’ and ‘nature’ mean in the ordering of the parts of speech. The noun names objects in the external world and identifies them by assigning them substance and quality. In this context nature refers to the physical world. The verb says something about this object, viz. that it is acting or undergoing action. Both physical and logical arguments are involved as to the mutual ordering of the noun and the verb, whereas etymological arguments are ignored. The term imposition amounts to the imposition of the parts of speech. The pronoun represents the grey area between the principal and the non-principal parts of speech. As Apollonius admits, it can form a complete sentence with the verb, without any other part. (Thus, it satisfies the criterium of a principal part). It refers to external objects, insofar as they are human beings, the raison d’être of the pronoun being to make a speech act between human beings possible. Its invention is also necessitated by the verb which had already been invented in three persons. Apollonius does not offer a convincing argument for placing the participle rather than the pronoun immediately after the principal parts. With the participle, there is a shift in argumentation, in that reference is no longer made to objects in the physical world; the subsequent parts are instead related to the principal parts of speech. Thus, we are totally in the realm of human speech. Now the etymological argument is used to show that the names of the parts of speech are in accordance with their ordering. However, etymological analysis is always a secondary argument; the parts of speech have their primary justification in the 35 Cf. Priscian in G.L. III 63.7–9: Species primitiva et derivativa. Primitiva quidem, quae a se nascitur, ut ‘non, ita, ceu, saepe’; derivativa vero, quae ab aliis nascitur, ut ‘clanculum, saepius saepissime, docte’ a docto, […].

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various aspects of human speech. As to the status of the participle, it is always derived from the verb and we are told that it was not invented by a first imposition. However, it nevertheless did undergo an imposition, which seems to amount to the imposition of its name, but it is not clear by which process, by derivation from the verb or by the imposition of its name, it received its grammatical features from the noun, case and gender. When discussing the name of the participle, Priscian makes it explicit that it results from the rationalist grammarians’ conscious act.36 The preposition has neither undergone a first imposition, nor is its name derived from any intrinsic meaning of its own. Its name is based on its syntactical position in front of the noun. This time the name of the part of speech is not in accordance with its nature; that is with the natural ordering of the part in question. As to the status of the preposition, we do not learn what kind of imposition it underwent but we are told that the prepositions were always positivae rather than derived. As for the adverb, the etymological argument is used to show that it was invented in order to be associated with the verb. Its status as a part of speech is either derived or primitive. The primitive words must have come into existence by means of imposition, though not by a first imposition. Finally, we are not told what kind of imposition the conjunction underwent, but it was ordered last because it has no meaning of its own and serves to join the other parts. The etymological argument is not used, although it is certainly relevant; its absence is probably accidental.

5. Other Natural Orders I concluded above that nouns and verbs were invented for the sake of the minimal statement in Apollonius’ discussion on the order of the parts of speech. This implies that the noun was invented in the third 36 In the first book of his treatise on syntax, Apollonius remarks that ‘the collected research on Hellenism is extremely useful, serving to correct readings in poetry and everyday language as well and even judging the imposition (thesin) of words by the ancients (para tois arkhaiois) […] (Synt. 51.7–10; transl. Blank 1982, 15). However, he must have been aware of the fact that at least some of the grammatical terms must have come into existence by a conscious act of one or more grammarians. Apollonius explores the various grammatical terms for the pronoun used by various grammarians and their definitions in great detail at the beginning of his treatise on the pronoun (e.g. σημείωσις, παρονομασία, ἀντώνυμον, ἰσωνυμία) without once raising the question, by what kind of imposition these various terms had emerged.

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person and in the nominative case and the verb in the third person and in the indicative mood. However, two other discussions on the orderly nature of language preserved by Priscian are inconsistent with this position.37 The discussion on the case inflection of the noun suggests that the noun was invented without any case at all, and the first imposition of verbs is regarded as taking place in the first person rather than the third. This inconsistency is tantalizing as all these discussions are likely to derive from Apollonius. To what extent they all go back to Stoic logic is a matter that cannot be explored within the limits of this article. Priscian introduces the notion of case as follows: ‘Case is a declination of the noun or other case-inflecting word, which takes place primarily at the end of the word. The nominative or direct case,—as some scholars prefer to call it—is called ‘case’ because it falls from the generic noun to the specific’.38 Here we come across the rare notion of ‘generic noun’, which is almost certainly inspired by the Stoics.39 The Peripatetics explained the origin of the term ‘case’ so that all the oblique cases fell from the basic form, the nominative, which was not regarded as a case by them. The Stoics had to justify their use of the term ‘case,’ which includes even the nominative. The Stoics answered, according to Ammonius, that all cases, including the nominative, fall from the mind (Amm. in Int. 42.20–43.24). Priscian’s view was in all likelihood adopted from Apollonius, as it is also quoted by the Scholiasts, who propose a slightly different interpretation of it: ‘It is a case because it falls from the generic noun (γενικὸν ὄνομα) and it is called direct because it shows directly the substance of states of affairs and is construed with direct verbs, that is active’ (Sch. D.T. 548.27–30). Furthermore, the Scholiasts attribute the following view to Apollonius and Herodian: ‘The generic noun comprises everything covered by the expression of noun, just as the genus man does; the nominative case falls from the generic onto me, onto you, and onto every state of affairs’. In the discussion above on the ordering of the parts of speech, the noun and the verb are described as syntactic units, whereas the present account presupposes that the generic noun is an abstract entity of some 37 Since Apollonius’ treatises on the noun, verb and participle have not been preserved to us, I will largely rely on Priscian’s work. 38 ‘Casus est declinatio nominis vel aliarum casualium dictionum, quae fit maxime in fine. Nominativus tamen sive rectus, velut quibusdam placet, quod a generali nomine in specialia cadit, casus appellatur—ut stilum quoque manu cadentem rectum cecidissse possumus dicere [vel abusive dicitur casus, quod ex ipso nascuntur omnes alii] -, vel quod cadens a sua terminatione in alias facit obliquos casus’ (G.L. II 183.20–184.5). 39 Priscian generally uses this term in another sense, as referring to genus words, such as ‘animal’ (G.L. II 61.28).

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sort, which does not bear the feature ‘case’ at all. According to this interpretation, the noun was not in the first place a syntactic unit but receives case (and the other accidents) only afterwards, by an imposition of some kind. The idea of two impositions reminds us of the theory of two impositions, put forward by Porphyry, to which Stoic origin has been proposed by Sten Ebbesen.40 It is worth noting that in Stoic logic ‘case’ belonged to the component of meaning whereas the parts of speech belonged to the component of corporeal expressions, which is compatible with the idea of two impositions.41 Priscian goes on to discuss the nature and order of cases, holding the view that the cases have different meanings or functions, and that they

40 ‘To my mind, a Hellenistic, and more specifically a Stoic, origin of the notion of the double imposition remains a plausible hypothesis. On the Stoic theory the first imposition will have created the prototypa of words for real things (onta = somata), whereas it took a separate step to introduce words for quasithings (‘sayable’, for instance), and generally to introduce the vocabulary of dialectic’ (Ebbesen 2005, 300–301). 41 Boethius expounds Porphyry’s theory of two impositions as follows: Having discussed various names, Aristotle turns to the properties of words themselves, and he called words showing case inflection nouns and those showing tense verbs. (Omnibus vero nominibus ordinatis, ad ipsorum rursus vocabulorum proprietates figurasque reversus est, et huiusmodi vocabuli formam, quae inflecti casibus possit, nomen vocavit; quae vero temporibus distribui, verbum.) The first imposition of names was at issue when things are subjected to understanding and senses; for instance, when we say that a certain thing is a human being, homo. (Prima igitur illa fuit nominum positio, per quam vel intellectui subjecta vel sensibus designaret [...] primum nomen sit ipsum rei vocabulum: ut, verbi gratia, cum quaelibet res homo dicatur.) The second imposition considers the individual properties and forms of nouns. For instance, when homo is called a noun, whereby the meaning of the word is not at issue but the form, that is, that it shows case inflection. (Secunda consideratio, qua singulas proprietates nominum figurasque perspicerent [...] Quod autem ipsum vocabulum, id est homo, nomen vocatur, non ad significationem nominis ipsius refertur, se ad figuram, idcirco quod possit casibus inflecti.) Thus, the first imposition of names is based on the meaning of the word, and the second on form. The first imposition assigns names to things, whereas the second imposition assigns names to names. (Ergo prima positio nominis secundum significationem vocabuli facta est, secunda vero secundum figuram: et est prima positio, ut nomina rebus imponerentur, secunda vero ut aliis nominibus ipsa nomina designarentur.). Since homo is the name of a subjected substance, it is a name of the human being. (Nam cum homo vocabulum sit subiectae substantiae, id quod dicitur homo, nomen est hominis, quod ipsius nominis appellatio est.) For we say: what kind of word is homo? And we can correctly answer, ‘noun’. (Dicimus enim, quale vocabulum est homo? et proprie respondetur, nomen.) (Boethius Cat. 159a–c; Porph. in Cat. 57–58).

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have been named according to their most important meanings.42 (There are good reasons for thinking that it is the rationalist grammarians that have named them.) The nominative is the first case, which falls from the generic to the individual. It is by means of the nominative, which is also called the direct case, that naming (nominatio) takes place. It is called direct, because it originates first by nature or by imposition, and the oblique cases originate from it.43 Yet another discussion is devoted by Priscian to the order of cases, which is said to be based on nature: the nominative is placed first, since this case was first put forth by nature, and it defends its first place in that it inheres in verbs as if the most preeminent case.44 This discussion is almost certainly derived from Apollonius: the idea that the nominative inheres in the verb is definitely Apollonian, appearing only in Apollonius and Priscian. In the above discussion on the ordering of the verb, we concluded that the verb was invented in the third person. From Priscian’s discussion on mood we learn that the first imposition of verbs is in the first person and in the indicative mood, and this is, according to Priscian, based on nature. There are good reasons for thinking that the context is Apollonian, since no other Latin grammarian discusses this. This is in all likelihood part of the same discussion on the orderliness of the subject matter of grammar as the ordering of the parts of speech. Moods are, according to Priscian, various inclinations of the mind, showing its varying dispositions. There are five moods, of which the indicative is the first, being also called definitive. The indicative mood is that by means of which we indicate or define, what we or other people do and it is placed first because it is perfect in all persons and because all the other moods derive from it. It is also from this mood that nouns, verbs and participles are derived, e.g. duco ducens duxi ductus dux.45 Fi42 Having discussed the names of the cases, Priscian states: Multas tamen alias quoque et diversas unusquisque casus habet significationes, sed a notioribus et frequentioribus acceperunt nominationem, […] (G.L. II 186.4–5). 43 ‘Est autem rectus, qui et nominativus dicitur. Per ipsum enim nominatio fit, ut nominetur iste Homerus, ille Virgilius. Rectus autem dicitur, quod ipse primus natura nascitur vel positione et ab eo facta flexione nascuntur obliqui casus’ (G.L. II 185.11–14). 44 ‘Ordo quoque naturalis eis datus est: quippe nominativus, quem primum natura protulit, ipse primum sibi locum defendit, unde verbis quoque intransitive iste quasi egregius adhaeret’ (G.L. II 186.13–15). 45 ‘Modi sunt diversae inclinationes animi, varios eius affectus demonstrantes. Sunt autem quinque: indicativus sive definitivus, imperativus, optativus, subiunctivus, infinitus. Indicativus, quo indicamus vel definimus, quid agitur a nobis vel ab aliis, qui ideo primus ponitur, quia perfectus est in omnibus tam personis quam temporibus et quia ex ipso omnes modi accipiunt regulam et derivativa nomina sive verba vel participia ex hoc nascuntur, ut duco ducens duxi ductus dux’ (G.L. II 421.17–24).

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nally, it is the first mood because the first imposition of the verb, which appears to be put forth by nature, takes place in this mood, as the nominative case in the noun; or else, this is the first mood, because it signifies the substance or essence of the state of affairs, which is not the case in the other moods. That is why the authority of the most learned (scholars) have placed it as the first mood.46 Priscian goes to mention that some other scholars have preferred to place the infinitive as the first mood, but they erred, in his opinion, as one should not start from something that is imperfect and indefinite.47 Furthermore, the imposition of the indicative takes place in the present tense.48 Finally, it is argued that the first person is the first among the persons, and it is the cause of the other persons.49 Among numbers, the singular is naturally the first50 and among genera verbi, the active.51 As a final point, I will return to the verb. In his discussion on the raison d’être of the parts of speech, Apollonius failed to talk about the imposition of the verb. He rather described its signification in terms of action and undergoing of action. Thus, the verb would seem to have διάθεσις rather than θέσις, and the verb would seem to signify differently from the noun. The discussion on the pronoun confirms this idea, when Apollonius claims that ‘the imposition of nouns entails that nouns are in the third person, as opposed to the pronouns, which were invented in three persons, like the verb, in order that the pronoun should indicate both the imposition of name (θέσις ὀνόματος) and the ordering of the verb (τάξις ῥήματος)’ (Synt. I 19, 21.6). Here, too, Apollonius seems to avoid saying that the verb has undergone a θέσις. 46 ‘[…] et quia prima positio verbi, quae videtur ab ipsa natura esse prolata, in hoc est modo, quemadmodum in nominibus est casus nominativus, et quia substantiam sive essentiam rei significat, quod in aliis modis non est. Neque enim qui imperat neque qui optat neque qui dubitat in subiunctivo substantiam actus vel passionis significat, sed tantummodo varias animi voluntates de re carente substantia. Deinde hunc primum auctoritas doctissimorum tradidit modum in declinatione verborum’ (G.L. II 421.26–422.6). 47 ‘Sciendum tamen, quod quidam ausi sunt infinita ponere prima, sed male; non enim oportet statim a re imperfecta aut dubia incipere’ (G.L. III 422.6–7). 48 ‘[…] positio indicativi verbi ab ipso [sc. praesenti tempore] incipit’ (G.L. II 422.26– 27). 49 ‘Similiter prima persona praeponitur aliis, quia ipsa loquitur et per eam ostenditur et secunda, ad quam loquitur […]’ (G.L. II 423.8–10); ‘[…] causa naturaliter ante causativa esse solet. […] causa autem fit secundae et tertiae personae prima persona; iure igitur illis praeponitur, quae sunt causativae’ (G.L. II 423.13–15). 50 ‘A singulari quoque incipimus, quod hic naturaliter primus est numerorum, qui duplicatus vel multiplicatus facit numerum pluralem’ (G.L. II 423.15–17). 51 ‘Et activa ideo prima proferuntur, quod naturaliter praecedit actus ante passionem, quae esse non potest, nisi sit actus’ (G.L. III 423.17–19).

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However, in his treatise on the verb Priscian says that the verb has indeed undergone a first imposition. Moreover, this imposition involves grammatical features, i.e., the first person of the verb in the indicative mood, from which the other moods are derived. Now the verb is said to be invented in the first person. It is difficult to know to what extent Priscian is guided here by the general vocabulary pertaining to word formation, which uses the terms prima positio vs derivatio.52 There is some evidence to suggest that the verb was not invented by the Stoics as a syntactical unit, but rather as a generic verb comparable to the generic noun; the generic verb would be the infinitive, which lacks every reference to a speech act. According to Apollonius, Tryphon has claimed in his On Articles that infinitives are sometimes verbal nouns, and sometimes verbs. Apollonius refutes this idea by saying that “it is possible to establish once and for all that every infinitive is a kind of verbal noun, though the Stoics call only the infinitive ‘verb’, but indicatives like περιπατεῖ, or γράφει they call κατηγόρημα or σύμβαμα, and so likewise with the other moods’ (Synt. I 50, 43.14–44.1, transl. Householder 1981, 37). However, Stoic logic must be inconsistent at this point, since verbs are regularly exemplified in the first person singular in Stoic logic (D.L. 7.58). Apollonius maintains that the verb was invented in the indicative rather than the infinitive mood; it is the infinitive that is, according to him, derived from the indicative mood.

6. Conclusions To conclude, the invention of the parts of speech and their subsequent ordering is part of Apollonius’ discussion on the orderly nature of language. In this discussion language is related to nature in two different ways. The noun and the verb are directly related to objects in the external world, whereas all the other parts of speech are related to these two parts of speech, that is, to the realm of human speech. The noun and the verb are therefore called the principal parts of speech; the position of the pronoun remains ambivalent in this division. Apollonius justifies the grammarian’s use of eight parts of speech, but he nevertheless shares the philosophers’ position, according to which only the noun and the verb are directly related to ontology.

52 ‘Species sunt verborum duae, primitiva et derivativa, quae inveniuntur fere in omnibus partibus orationis. Est igitur primitiva, quae primam positionem ab ipsa natura accepit, ut ‘lego, ferveo, domo, facio’’ (G.L. II 427.11–13).

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Although Apollonius’ theory is sophisticated, it nevertheless involves many uncertainties. It is not quite clear, to what extent grammatical features were involved in the imposition or invention of the parts of speech. For instance, the noun was invented as a syntactical unit in the ordering of the parts of speech, but there is also evidence to suggest that the noun was created as an abstract unit, to which case was assigned only later. In the latter case, the noun would seem to have undergone two impositions, one in which it was assigned its ontological meaning, and the other in which it was assigned grammatical features, such as case. This reminds us of the theory of the first and the second impositions, put forward by Porphyry. (However, it was not possible to pursue this argument within the limits of this paper.) Moreover, Apollonius’ (and Priscian’s) terminology is occasionally inadequate. Priscian makes it explicit that the preposition and the participle have not undergone a first imposition, but these types of words are nevertheless called positiva or primitiva; thus, they must have undergone some kind of an imposition, for which no name is provided by these grammarians. These infelicities are to some extent due to the fact that Apollonius depended heavily on Stoic logic, but could not always adhere to its tenets. Moreover, some of the inconsistencies were already present in the Stoic theory itself.

Neoplatonic Commentators on Aristotle: The ‘Arbitrariness of the Linguistic Sign’ Maria Chriti For a long time after Plotinus, the practice of philosophy was synonymous with writing commentaries on the works of Plato and Aristotle. One of the main virtues of these commentators’ work is their creative assimilation and ‘incorporation’ of philosophical principles ranging from the Presocratic, Platonic and Aristotelian through to those of their contemporaries, an achievement which renders them philosophers in their own right.1 The Neoplatonic commentaries in particular are very informative about the curricula of the Athenian and Alexandrian Schools, and also about the teacher-student relationships which existed between most of the commentators,2 explaining certain similarities between their writings,3 as it is obvious in the small sample of their texts quoted in this paper. In this paper I would like to focus on what the Neoplatonic commentators had to say about a specific aspect of language. Just as in the writings of Aristotle which they commentate on, these scholars never gathered all their thoughts on language in one place, but rather set them down here and there in their more or less extensive commentaries on Aristotle’s treatises of Organon, on Physics, Metaphysics, On the Soul, and On Memory. Although historians of linguistics and classicists are generally in agreement as to the main principles of ‘Aristotelian linguistics’,4 there still is a lot to be inquired concerning these principles’ ‘reception’ by

1 2 3 4

I am most grateful to S. Matthaios and P. Kotzia for their remarks on this article. See Sorabji 1990, 24–25. Sorabji 1990, 5–7. Sorabji ibid.; Kotzia 1992 also illustrates the relations among commentaries on Aristotle’s Categories. See for example the chapter ‘Greece’ in Robins 1988, 463; see also Weidemann 1991; Asher–Simpson 1994, 214–215; Robins 1997, 19–20; Ax 2006a, 197ff.; Ax 2000b, 19–39; Arens 2000, 367ff.; Formigari 2001, 15–38; Farago 2004, 19–20; Chapman–Routledge 2005, 2–5.

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later philosophers. One of the issues which fascinated Aristotle was how language relates to thought and to reality. In the ‘nature vs convention’ debate, one of the great controversies of ancient Greek thought, Aristotle’s position was that language is the product of convention: this means that words are used as ‘symbols’ for things, in order to facilitate human communication.5 The commentators stressed the role of concepts as ‘intermediates’ between objects and words, using for them the terms ἔννοιαι or νοήματα.6 In this paper I will examine the way in which the Neoplatonic commentators Porphyry, Ammonius, Simplicius, Philoponus and Boethius developed the Aristotelian idea that there is no natural, inherent connection between spoken sounds and concepts, a view which itself belongs to the language-as-convention approach. It is worth drawing attention to the ideas of these philosophers on what is for linguists perhaps the most basic aspect of language: the ‘arbitrary’ relation between spoken sounds and concepts, explicitly formulated by the ‘father’ of modern linguistics, F. de Saussure. Saussure proposed the following basic principle regarding the ‘linguistic sign’: the connection between sequence of sounds and concept is ‘arbitrary’ and, generally, the linguistic sign itself is ‘arbitrary’. As an example he used the ‘idea’ of ‘sister’, which has no inherent connection with the relevant sound sequence in French s-ö-r (s-o-e-u-r): (1) […] le signe linguistique est arbitraire. Ainsi l’idée de ‘soeur’ n’est liée par aucune rapport intérieur avec la suite de sons s-ö-r qui lui sert de significant; il pourrait être aussi bien représenté par n’importe quelle autre: à preuve les differences entre les langues et l’existance même de langues differentes: le signifié ‘bœf’ a pour significant b-ö-f d’un côté de la frontier, et o-k-s (Ochs) de l’autre. F. de Saussure, Cours de linguistique générale [1916] 1995, 100 5

6

See Int. 16a3–4: Ἔστι μὲν οὖν τὰ ἐν τῇ φωνῇ τῶν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ παθημάτων σύμβολα; 16a26–28: τὸ δὲ κατὰ συνθήκην, ὅτι φύσει τῶν ὀνομάτων οὐδέν ἐστιν, ἀλλ’ ὅταν γένηται σύμβολον; see also Int. 24b1–2. Aristotle expresses the same idea in Soph. ref. 165a6: ὀνόμασι ἀντὶ τῶν πραγμάτων χρώμεθα ὡς συμβόλοις; see Ax 2000a, 32–33; Ax 2000b, 51–53. The term σύμβολον is generally used by Aristotle to highlight the conventional relation between what is denoted and the means it is denoted by: Rh. 1416b1–2; EN 1133a29–31, Pol. 1274a10, 1280a36–38, 1294a34–35, 1280a39; See Fattal 1995 and, specifically on the terms σύμβολα, ὁμοιώματα, σημεῖα, see Pépin 1985. These terms were also used by Aristotle: de An. 430a26–31, 431b6–9, 432a14– 16; EN 1177a15, 1179b15; Metaph. 1073b12 etc.; for the commentators’ use see for example Amm. in Int. 17.20ff, 18.30–35, 21.19–21, 34.4–8, 36.15–18; Simp. in Cat. 9.31–32, 10.19, 11.31–32, 12.3, 12.15–18, 42.3–6, 69.11–17.

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[...] the linguistic sign is arbitrary. There is no internal connexion, for example, between the idea ‘sister’ and the French sequence of sounds ‘s-ö-r’ which acts as its signal. The same idea might as well be represented by any other sequence of sounds. This is demonstrated by differences between languages and even by the existence of different languages. The signification ‘ox’ has as its signal b-ö-f on one side of the frontier, but ‘o-k-s’ (Ochs) on the other side. (transl. Bally)

According to this view, there is no natural connection between spoken sounds and concepts. As evidence for this, Saussure cited the existence of different languages: the same ‘idea’ is represented by different sound patterns from language to language and there is no reason why any one of these sound patterns rather than others should be united with this concept; and this, in fact, is one of the main arguments Aristotle gives for the conventional nature of language in the famous ‘semantic passage’ in On Interpretation,7 the philosopher Aristotle explicitly states that spoken sounds are not the same for all:8 (2)

Ἔστι μὲν οὖν τὰ ἐν τῇ φωνῇ τῶν ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ παθημάτων σύμβολα, καὶ τὰ γραφόμενα τῶν ἐν τῇ φωνῇ. Κ α ὶ ὥ σ π ε ρ ο ὐ δ ὲ γ ρ ά μ μ α τ α π ᾶ σ ι τ ὰ α ὐ τ ά , ο ὐ δ ὲ φ ω ν α ὶ α ἱ α ὐ τ α ί · ὧν μέντοι ταῦτα σημεῖα πρώτων, ταῦτα πᾶσι παθήματα τῆς ψυχῆς, καὶ ὧν ταῦτα ὁμοιώματα, πράγματα ἤδη ταὐτά.

Aristotle, On Interpretation 16a4–9 Now spoken sounds are symbols of affections in the soul, and written marks symbols of spoken sounds. A n d j u s t a s w r i t t e n m a r k s a r e n o t t h e s a m e f o r a l l m e n , n e i t h e r a r e s p o k e n s o u n d s . But what these are in the first place signs of—affections of the soul—are the same for all; and what these affections are likenesses of—a c t u a l t h i n g s — a r e a l s o t h e s a m e (transl. Ackrill)

Ammonius developed Aristotle’s argument that spoken sounds are not the same for all in his commentary on On Interpretation, extending it, like Saussure, to the existence of different languages, and referring to a line

7

8

Contemporary scholarship traces in this passage the very first attempt for a ‘semantic’ approach of language: See for example Irwin 1982; Weidemann 1982, 241; Manetti 1996; Sedley 1996; Verbeke 1996; Givon 2001, 4; Weidemann 1991, esp. 170–173 and 176 ff.; Ax 2000a, 28–34; Ax 2000b, 59–60; Modrak 2001, 1. I will not comment on σύμβολα and παθήματα τῆς ψυχῆς since they are not relevant to the discussion here.

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in the Iliad in which Homer talks about peoples who speak different tongues:9 (3)

[...] (πανταχοῦ γὰρ τὸ αὐτὸ ἀνθρώπου εἶδος, καὶ ἵππου καὶ λέοντος, καὶ νόημα ὡσαύτως τὸ αὐτὸ παρὰ πᾶσι περί τε ἀνθρώπου καὶ λίθου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων πραγμάτων ἑκάστου), φωναὶ δὲ καὶ γράμματα οὐ παρὰ πᾶσι τὰ αὐτὰ (φωναῖς τε γὰρ ἄλλαις μὲν Ἕλληνες, ἄλλαις δὲ Φοίνικες, Αἰγύπτιοι δὲ ἄλλαις χρῶνται· ‘ἄλλη γὰρ ἄλλων γλῶσσα’ (cf . Il. 2.804) φησὶν ἡ ποίησις.

Ammonius, On Aristotle’s ‘On Interpretation’, CAG IV 5, 19.10–15 Busse Now, since things and thoughts are the same among all peoples (for everywhere the species of man or horse or lion is the same, and similarly the thought concerned with man or stone or any other thing is the same), while vocal sounds and letters are not the same among all peoples (for Greeks use different vocal sounds from Phoenicians, as do Egyptians) (transl. Blank)

Having started by looking at On Interpretation, with its brief description of the language-as-convention approach, let us move on to look at Categories, since it was Aristotle’s characterization of language as a quantity which prompted the observations of Porphyry and Simplicius regarding the non-natural connection between spoken sounds and concepts: (4)

Τοῦ δὲ ποσοῦ τὸ μέν ἐστι διωρισμένον, τὸ δὲ συνεχές· καὶ τὸ μὲν ἐκ θέσιν ἐχόντων πρὸς ἄλληλα τῶν ἐν αὐτοῖς μορίων συνέστηκε, τὸ δὲ οὐκ ἐξ ἐχόντων θέσιν. ἔστι δὲ διωρισμένον μὲν οἷον ἀριθμὸς καὶ λόγος, συνεχὲς δὲ γραμμή, ἐπιφάνεια, σῶμα, [...] ὥστε ὁ μὲν ἀριθμὸς τῶν διωρισμένων ἐστίν. ὡ σ α ύ τ ω ς δ ὲ κ α ὶ ὁ λ ό γ ο ς τ ῶ ν δ ι ω ρ ι σ μ έ ν ω ν ἐ σ τ ί ν · (ὅτι μὲν γὰρ ποσόν ἐστιν ὁ λόγος φανερόν· καταμετρεῖται γὰρ συλλαβῇ μακρᾷ καὶ βραχείᾳ· λέγω δὲ αὐτὸν τὸν μετὰ φωνῆς λόγον γιγνόμενον)· πρὸς οὐδένα γὰρ κοινὸν ὅρον αὐτοῦ τὰ μόρια συνάπτει· οὐ γὰρ ἔστι κοινὸς ὅρος πρὸς ὃν αἱ συλλαβαὶ συνάπτουσιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἑκάστη διώρισται αὐτὴ καθ᾽ αὑτήν.

Aristotle, Categories 4b20–37 Of quantities some are discrete, others continuous; and some are composed of parts which have position in relation to one another, others are not composed of parts which have position. Discrete are number and language; continuous are lines, surfaces, bodies,[…]. Hence number is one of the discrete quantities. Similarly language also is one of the discrete quantities 9

Il. 2.804: ἄλλη δ᾽ ἄλλων γλῶσσα πολυσπερέων ἀνθρώπων; see also Od. 18.175–7: ἄλλη δ᾽ ἄλλων γλῶσσα μεμιγμένη· ἐν μὲν Ἀχαιοί, / ἐν δ᾽ Ἐτεόκρητες μεγαλήτορες, ἐν δὲ Κύδωνες / Δωριέες τε τριχάϊκες δῖοί τε Πελασγοί.

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(that language is a quantity is evident, since it is measured by long and short syllables; I mean here language that is spoken). F o r i t s p a r t s d o n o t join together at any common boundary. For there is no common boundary at which the syllables join together, b u t e a c h i s s e p a r a t e i n i t s e l f (transl. Ackrill).

The category ‘quantity’, which gave rise to much discussion concerning the different types of quantity,10—’lines’, ‘surface’, for instance— includes λόγον. According to Ackrill,11 λόγος is considered as ‘quantity’ in the sense that spoken sound is produced in real time, which is measurable: the length of syllables—long or short—is a matter of ‘length’ of time. Ildefonse–Lallot12 note that λόγος is composed of measurable parts and that two new criteria are introduced concerning the specific category: a) the common limit between parts and b) the position of each part, the one in relation to the others. Λόγος, which is considered as διωρισμένον ποσόν, is divided into syllables that are not connected at a ‘common point’. Time and speech, Ildefonse–Lallot13 continue, are constituted of parts which have no θέσιν the one in relation to the other, with θέσις having a strictly spatial meaning. Let us focus on the Aristotelian passage, where the first interesting point is that Aristotle takes the syllable to be the minimal phonetic unit, not in general, but with the potential to be combined with other such units in order to yield meaning. The philosopher defines minor elements of λόγος, as well as ‘syllable’ in his Poetics: (5)

Τῆς δὲ λέξεως ἁπάσης τάδ᾽ ἐστὶ τὰ μέρη, στοιχεῖον συλλαβὴ σύνδεσμος ὄνομα ῥῆμα ἄρθρον πτῶσις λόγος. στοιχεῖον μὲν οὖν ἐστιν φωνὴ ἀδιαίρετος, οὐ πᾶσα δὲ ἀλλ᾽ ἐξ ἧς πέφυκε συνθετὴ γίγνεσθαι φωνή ... ταύτης δὲ μέρη τό τε φωνῆεν καὶ τὸ ἡμίφωνον καὶ ἄφωνον. ἔστιν δὲ ταῦτα φωνῆεν μὲν ἄνευ προσβολῆς ἔχον φωνὴν ἀκουστήν, ἡμίφωνον δὲ τὸ μετὰ προσβολῆς ἔχον φωνὴν ἀκουστήν, οἷον τὸ Σ καὶ τὸ Ρ, ἄφωνον δὲ τὸ μετὰ προσβολῆς καθ᾽ αὑτὸ μὲν οὐδεμίαν ἔχον φωνήν, μετὰ δὲ τῶν ἐχόντων τινὰ φωνὴν γινόμενον ἀκουστόν, οἷον τὸ Γ καὶ τὸ Δ ... συλλαβὴ δέ ἐστιν φωνὴ ἄσημος συνθετὴ ἐξ ἀφώνου καὶ φωνὴν ἔχοντος· καὶ γὰρ τὸ ΓΡ ἄνευ τοῦ Α †συλλαβὴ καὶ† μετὰ τοῦ Α, οἷον τὸ 10 See for example Ackrill 1968, 91–92; Lallot–Ildefonse 2002, 266–267 stress the fact that Aristotle’s choice of an adjective right after οὐσία, reveals that we have to deal with categories which no longer exist per se, but presuppose a substratum. They also highlight that examples of quantity are adjectives, while quantity subdivisions are given by nouns such as αριθμός, λόγος, γραμμή. 11 1968, 92. 12 2002, 267. 13 2002, ibid.

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Aristotle, Poetics 1456b20–1457a6 Verbal style in general can be analyzed into the following categories: element, syllable, connective, noun, verb, conjunction, inflection, proposition. An element is an indivisible sound—not of any kind, but one from which a composite sound can naturally arise […]. A syllable is a non significant articulate sound combining a stop and a vowel [...]. A connective is a non-significant sound which neither prevents nor produces a single, semantic utterance from a combination of several sounds [...]. An article is a nonsignificant sound marking the beginning, end, or dividing-point of a semantic utterance, its natural place being either at the extremities or in the middle (transl. Halliwell).

Minimal elements are φωνήεντα (vowels), ἡμίφωνα, actually semivowels, i.e., consonants that have some kind of sound (which for him are fricatives) and ἄφωνα, consonants that are mute (i.e., stops).14 Aristotle defines ‘syllable’ as the minimal complex sound consisting of a stop plus a vowel, or a stop plus a fricative.15 The other interesting thing that Aristotle says with regard to language as a quantity is that, there is no connecting element which fulfills the role of a common boundary for syllables; rather each one is defined on its own. Porphyry, Ammonius and Simplicius analyze Aristotle’s remark here and add that ‘it is not the signified which connects the syllables of a word in a specific way’, which means that ‘it is not the case that each syllable reveals one aspect of the essential nature of the signified’. Let us start with Porphyry’s commentary on Categories:

14 See also [Arist.] Aud. 804b8–11; on the elementary distinctions concerning consonants and made before the grammarians, see Allen 1987, 1–12; Lallot 1998, 99–101; Ax 1986, 10ff. and 42ff.; Weidemann 1991, 174; see also Ax 2000a, 25–26 and 36. 15 Porphyry, Ammonius, Simplicius, Philoponus, are also interested in ‘elements’ of speech and syllables. These Neoplatonic commentators subscribe to the Aristotelian view that syllable itself is a ‘non significant spoken sound’ (ἄσημος φωνή) consisted of ‘elements’, but they consider it (and not the elements) as the minimal unit of any σημαντικὴ φωνή: Porph. in Cat. 101.30–34, 102.2–8, 104.26–30; Amm. in Cat. 5.25–26, 11.3–7, 22.21–23.1, 23.8–11, 57.13–15; Amm. in Int. 60.11, 25.6–9, 31.6–8, 32.28–33, 33.27–28, 38.7–8, 40.23–25, 61.14–62.7; Simp. in Cat. 124.9–12; 16–18, 132.8–14; 21–24, 133.1–3, 139.6– 10; Philop. in Cat. 25.19–20, 26.33–36, 54.32–34, 89.7–10; Philop. in Ph. 20.10–19, 90.1–3, 247.1–3.

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{Ἀ.} Εἰ γὰρ διωρισμένον ἐστὶν ποσὸν ἐκεῖνο, οὗ μὴ ἔστι κοινὸν ὅρον λαβεῖν τῶν μορίων καὶ οὗ οὐδὲν ἔστιν λαβεῖν κοινόν, ὃ συνδεῖ τὰ μόρια, οὐδὲν δὲ ἔστι λαβεῖν, ὃ συνδεῖ τὰς συλλαβὰς πρὸς ἀ λ λ ή λ α ς , διωρισμένον ἄρα ποσὸν εἶεν ἂν αἱ συλλαβαὶ καὶ ὁ λόγος. οἷόν ἐστιν ὄνομα Σωκράτης· τ ί δ ή ἐ σ τ ι τ ὸ σ υ ν ά π τ ο ν τ ὴ ν σ ω συλλαβὴν πρὸς τὴν κρα ἢ τὴν κρα πρὸς τὴν της, οὐκ ἂν ἔχοιμεν εἰπεῖν. οὐ γὰρ τὸ σημαινόμενον. καὶ γὰρ ἡ βλίτυρι φωνὴ ἁπλῶς ἔχει τὰς τρεῖς συλλαβὰς κειμένας καὶ οὐ συναπτομένας ὅρῳ.

Porphyrius, On Aristotle’s ‘Categories’, CAG IV 1, 102.2–9 Busse If a discrete quantity is one where there is no common boundary of its constituent parts and where there is nothing common to the parts which joins them together, and it i s n o t p o s s i b l e t o f i n d a n y t h i n g w h i c h j o i n s s y l l a b l e s t o o n e a n o t h e r , then syllables and speech will be a sort of discrete quantity. For example, Socrates is a noun: w e cannot say what joins the syllable ‘so-’ with the syllable ‘-cra-’ or the syllable ‘-cra-’ with the syllable ‘-tes’. For i t i s n o t w h a t i s s i g n i f i e d t h a t d o e s s o , since the word b l i t u r i merely has three syllables adjacent to one another, not connected by any boundary, for it does not signify anything (transl. Strange)

To Aristotle’s ‘οὐ γὰρ ἔστι κοινὸς ὅρος πρὸς ὃν αἱ συλλαβαὶ συνάπτουσιν’ (Cat. 4b36–37; see [4]) Porphyry adds ‘οὐ γὰρ τὸ σημαινόμενον’, taking a proper name as an example: he explains that the syllables of a proper name assigned to some individual are not joined together on the basis of anything. He invokes the existence of nonsignificant sounds as evidence. As it is obvious in [5], Aristotle defines in his Poetics as non-significant sounds the syllables, the ‘conjunctions’, the ‘articles’ and everything which is uttered but is not a ‘name’, ‘names’ being nouns and adjectives,16 a verb or a ‘logos’. Porphyry’s ‘non-significant’ word blituri (βλίτυρι) is one of the Stoics’ typical examples of words devoid of meaning, along with skindapsos (σκινδαψός) and knax (κνάξ).17 For the commentators, the existence of these ‘non-significant sounds’ constituted proof that the contribution of syllables is limited to the phonetic realization, once we grant that the absence of a signified does not prevent us from breaking down a nonsignificant word into syllables.

16 See Arist. Po. 1456b37–1457a9 for the term ἄσημοι φωναί and 1457a10–18 for ‘names’ as nouns and adjectives. 17 On the issue of whether these three ‘words’ are non-significant sounds or not see Kotzia 1994. See also Ax 1986, 100, 136 and 2000a, 32.

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Simplicius makes the same point in his commentary on Categories, giving the same example with the proper name Socrates: (7)

καὶ γὰρ ἐν τούτῳ οὐδὲν ἔστι κοινὸν λαβεῖν, ὃ συνάπτει α ὐ τ ο ῦ τ ὰ μ έ ρ η , οἷον ἐν τῷ Σωκράτης οὐδὲν ἔστι κοινὸν τῶν συλλαβῶν λαβεῖν, ὃ συνάπτει αὐτὰς πρὸς ἀλλήλας. ο ὐ δ ὲ γ ὰ ρ τ ὸ σ η μ α ι ν ό μ ε ν ο ν ἔ σ τ ι ν ε ἰ π ε ῖ ν ὅ τ ι σ υ ν ά π τ ε ι α ὐ τ ά ς · καὶ γὰρ αἱ ἄσημοι φωναί, οἷον τὸ βλίτυρι, ὡσαύτως καταμετροῦνται καὶ οὐ συνάπτονται.

Simplicius, On Aristotle’s ‘Categories’, CAG VIII 124.14–19 Kalbfleisch […] for it is not possible to find in this anything comm o n t h a t j o i n s i t s p a r t s ; in ‘Socrates’, for instance, it is impossible to find anything which makes the syllables cohere with one another. B e cause clearly one cannot say that it is the signified which m a k e s t h e m c o h e r e , since non-significant words such as ‘blituri’ can equally be measured and their syllables do not cohere (my translation)

This view is reiterated in Philoponus’ commentary on Physics A, 184a23–b14, where Aristotle discusses the relationship between ‘name’ and ‘definition’: a name expresses a whole, whereas a definition ‘analyzes’ this whole into its particular senses:18 (8)

[...] πέπονθε δὲ ταὐτὸ τοῦτο τρόπον τινὰ καὶ τὰ ὀνόματα πρὸς τὸν λόγον· ὅ λ ο ν γάρ τ ι κ α ὶ ἀ δ ι ο ρ ί σ τ ω ς σ η μ α ί ν ε ι , ο ἷ ο ν ὁ κύκλος, ὁ δὲ ὁρισμὸς αὐτοῦ διαιρεῖ εἰς τὰ καθ’ ἕκαστα.

Aristotle, Physics A, 184a23–b14 Much the same thing happens in the relation of the name to the formula. A name, e.g. ‘round’, means vaguely a sort of whole: i t s d e f i n i t i o n a n a l y z e s t h i s i n t o i t s p a r t i c u l a r s e n s e s (transl. Hardie - Gaye).

Philoponus says on the matter: (9)

διότι οὐχ ὥσπερ τὸ ὅλον αὐτὸ διαιρεῖται εἰς τὰ μέρη, οὕτω δὴ καὶ τὸ ὄνομά ἐστι τὸ ὑπὸ τοῦ ὁρισμοῦ διαιρούμενον, ἀ λ λ ὰ τ ὸ ὑ π ὸ τ ο ῦ ὀ ν ό μ α τ ο ς σ η μ α ι ν ό μ ε ν ο ν δ ι α ι ρ ε ῖ ὁ ὁ ρ ι σ μ ό ς , [...] ο ὐ γ ὰ ρ ἡ αν μὲν εἰ τύχοι συλλαβὴ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου δηλοῖ τὸ ζῷον, ἄ λ λ η δ ὲ τ ὸ λ ο γ ι κ ό ν , εἰ μὴ ἄρα κατὰ τὸ σημαινόμενον· τοῦ γὰρ σημαινομένου ὑπὸ τοῦ ὀνόματος μέρη ἐστὶ τὰ μέρη τοῦ ὁρισμοῦ [...].

Philoponus, On Aristotle’s ‘Physics’, CAG XVI 1, 20.10–19 Vitelli […] for it is not the name which is analyzed by the definition, in the way that a whole is divided into its parts, rather a definition analyzes what is 18 See also Arist. Top. A, 101b39.

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signified by the name, […] t h u s i t i s n o t t h e c a s e t h a t t h e s y l l a ble ‘hu’ in ‘human’ signifies ‘animal’, and the other, ‘rat i o n a l ’ ; on the contrary, it is the signified that is analyzed, because the parts of a definition are parts of that which is signified by the name […]. (my translation)

As it can be seen, Philoponus explains further that ‘what is analyzed is not the name itself but that which it signifies’; it is not the case that each syllable of the name expresses a characteristic of the signified which corresponds to some part of the definition. Thus the syllables of the name do not themselves have meanings which contribute to the meaning of the name. As an example, the commentator uses the definition of ‘man’ which already occurs in a fragment of the Stoic Poseidonius (1st c. BC) as ‘ζῷον λογικὸν θνητὸν, νοῦ καὶ ἐπιστήμης δεκτικόν’ (fr. 309a) and is used with minor variations by second-century authors such as Sextus Empiricus,19 Galen,20 Clement of Alexandria,21 and Nemesius.22 All these writers explain that a definition comprises a thing’s various attributes.23 Alexander of Aphrodisias in his commentary on Aristotle’s Metaphysics mentions the definition of ‘man’ noting that ‘every separate meaning of what is signified by a name has its own place in the relevant definition’.24 Philoponus comments on the same idea stressing that meanings can be analyzed but names cannot: there can be no one-to-one correspondence between each syllable of a name and some part of the relevant definition. We may replace a name with a definition, but its segmentation into syllables does not correspond to the structure of the 19 S.E. P. 2.26.1–3: ἄλλοι ἔφασκον ἄνθρωπον εἶναι ζῷον λογικὸν θνητόν, νοῦ καὶ ἐπιστήμης δεκτικόν; M. 7.269.4–6: τούτων δὲ οἱ μὲν οὕτως ἀπέδοσαν ‘ἄνθρωπός ἐστι ζῷον λογικὸν θνητόν, νοῦ καὶ ἐπιστήμης δεκτικόν’. 20 Gal. De meth. med. 151.11–14: καθάπερ, οἶμαι, καὶ ὁ ἄνθρωπος αὐτὸς, ἵνα μὴ λέγηται ζῶον λογικὸν θνητὸν, ἕνεκα συντομίας ἄνθρωπος ὠνομάσθη, λόγου τινὰ δύναμιν ἐχούσης τῆς ἄνθρωπος προσηγορίας; see also Gal. De Diff. Pul. 8.739.12. 21 Clem. Al. Strom. 8.6.21.2–3: τῷ γοῦν τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ὅρῳ τὸ γελαστικὸν προστεθὲν ποιεῖ τὸ ὅλον ζῷον λογικόν, θνητόν, χερσαῖον, πεζόν, γελαστικόν. 22 Nemes. De nat. hom. 294.94–95: διὸ καὶ τὸν ἄνθρωπον ὁρίζονται, ζῷον λογικὸν, θνητὸν, νοῦ καὶ ἐπιστήμης δεκτικόν. 23 Clem. Al. Strom. 8.6.21.6. 24 Alex. Aphr. in Metaph., CAG I 161.3–5 Hayduck: οὐ γάρ ἐστι τῇ λέξει ἴσον ἄνθρωπος καὶ ζῷον λογικὸν θνητόν. ἕ κ α σ τ ο ν δ ὲ ὁ ρ ι σ τ ὸ ν ὀνόματος χώραν πρὸς τὸν ἀποδιδόμενον αὐτοῦ ὁρισμὸν ἔχει.

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definition, precisely because syllable structure reveals nothing about the structure of meaning. Let us now return to On Interpretation, where Aristotle, again talking about the contribution of syllables to meaning, stresses, from a different point of view this time, that this contribution has to do with sound alone: (10)

Λόγος δέ ἐστι φωνὴ σημαντικὴ ἧς τῶν μερῶν τι σημαντικόν ἐστι κεχωρισμένον... ἀ λ λ ’ ο ὐ χ ὶ τ ο ῦ ἀ ν θ ρ ώ π ο υ σ υ λ λ α β ὴ μ ί α . οὐδὲ γὰρ ἐν τῷ μῦς τὸ υς σημαντικὸν, ἀλλὰ φωνή ἐστι νῦν μόνον.

Aristotle, On Interpretation 16b27–32 A sentence is a significant spoken sound, some part of which is significant in separation,…t h e s i n g l e s y l l a b l e s o f ‘ a n i m a l ’ , o n t h e o t h e r hand, signify nothing. Nor is the ‘ice’ in ‘mice’ signific a n t ; h e r e i t i s s i m p l y a s p o k e n s o u n d (transl. Ackrill).

In this extract, the philosopher gives an example of a name which contains a part with a meaning of its own: ὗς, which means ‘wild boar’ in ancient Greek, is contained within the word μῦς ‘mouse’; but he stresses that while ὗς is a ‘significant sound’ on its own, it is non-significant in its capacity as part of the word μῦς: it is simply a sound in the word which contains it. As Ammonius notes, Aristotle clarifies the fundamental difference between names and verbs on the one hand, which are significant in their own right, and all other spoken sounds, the latter including conjunctions, prepositions, and the syllables which constitute names and verbs; this difference lies in their signifying function (see the passage cited in [11] where Ammonius explains the non-significant function of ‘sounds’ which are not names or verbs), the same function which Aristotle refers to in Poetics, and which also characterizes syllables. Syllables are only parts of names and verbs in the sense that they are part of their linguistic realization, since they make no contribution to the meaning of the words to which they belong, continues Ammonius, likening names and verbs to the basic parts of a ship:25

25 Blank 1996, 140, n. 64, notes that ‘this is a common simile, known already to Apollonius Dyscolus in the early second century as Peripatetic’. Lallot 1998, 231, refers to Sch. D.T. 515.19, in which it is stated that ‘for the Peripatetics, only name and verb are parts of speech and the rest are used ἕνεκα συνδέσεως’. As Luhtala 2005, 130 notes, the ship metaphor, according to which ‘the structure of language is compared to the structure of a ship, where not all parts are

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(11)

ὥσπερ γὰρ τῆς νεὼς αἱ μὲν σανίδες εἰσὶ τὰ κυρίως μέρη, γόμφοι δὲ καὶ λίνον καὶ πίττα συνδέσεως αὐτῶν καὶ τῆς τοῦ ὅλου ἑνώσεως ἕνεκα παραλαμβάνονται, τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον κἀν τῷ λόγῳ σύνδεσμοι καὶ ἄρθρα καὶ προθέσεις καὶ αὐτὰ τὰ ἐπιρρήματα γόμφων τινῶν χρείαν ἀποπληροῦσι.

Ammonius, On Aristotle’s ‘On Interpretation’, CAG IV 5, 12.20–13.6 Busse For just as the planks of a ship are properly speaking its parts, while bolts, sail-cloth and pitch are also added to hold them together and for the unity of the whole, in the same way in the sentence conjunctions, articles, prepositions and adverbs themselves fill the job of bolts, but they would not correctly be called parts inasmuch as they cannot be put together and on their own produce a complete sentence (transl. Blank).

Any spoken sound which is not a noun or a verb is obviously not considered to be bearer of meaning in its own right; syllables are treated on a par with these parts of speech: their role is to contribute to spoken sounds.26 Later in the same commentary Ammonius also stresses that syllables are not significant, but only contribute to pronunciation:27 (12)

ἄλλως τε τὰ μ έ ρ η τ ῶ ν ὀ ν ο μ ά τ ω ν κ α ὶ ῥ η μ ά τ ω ν κ α τ ὰ μ ό ν η ν τὴν ἐκφώνησιν, ἀλλ’ οὐ κατὰ τὴν σημαντικὴν δύναμιν λέγοιντο ἂν εἶναι αὐτῶν μέρη· διὸ καὶ πρότερον ἐλέγετο μηδὲν μέρος αὐτῶν εἶναι σημαντικὸν κεχωρισμένον.

Ammonius, On Aristotle’s ‘On Interpretation’, CAG IV 5, 60.19–22 Busse Moreover, the parts of names and verbs would be said to be ‘parts’ of them only in pronunciation, not in respect o f t h e i r s e m a n t i c f o r c e . Hence it was also said previously that none of their parts was significant when separated (transl. Blank)

The crucial point which Ammonius is making here is that one cannot decompose the meaning of a name on the basis of its decomposition into syllables, because the parts which comprise the name are joined together in a random way and do not themselves signify anything, unlike names and verbs.

of equal weight’, occurs in the Περὶ ἑρμηνείας of Pseudo-Apuleius, in Priscian’s grammar, and in Ammonius’ commentary. 26 The Stoic background of this approach is evident: According to Diogenes Laertius (7.57–58), Chrysippus claimed that connectives’ role is just to join the other ‘parts of speech’ and not to signify or indicate anything. More comments on this subject would not be relevant to the discussion here. 27 See Ax 2000b, 51.

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As for Aristotle’s mouse example, Ammonius explains that by νῦν (‘now’; see [13, line 2]), he means ‘in the event that υς is part of μῦς’. Without the μ , υ ς does not mean ‘mouse’—nor even a part of the animal in question—but ‘wild boar’, absolutely by chance (see [13], line 6: κατὰ τύχην): (13)

ο ὐ δ ὲ γ ὰ ρ ἐ ν τ ῷ μ ῦ ς , φησί, τ ὸ υ ς σ η μ α ν τ ι κ ὸ ν , ἀ λ λ ὰ φ ω ν ή ἐ σ τ ι ν ῦ ν μ ό ν ο ν , τοῦτο δέ ἐστι ὅτι τὸ υς καθ’ ἑαυτὸ μὲν λεγόμενον σημαίνει τὸν χοῖρον, ὅ τ α ν δ ὲ ὡ ς μ έ ρ ο ς α ὐ τ ὸ τ ο ῦ μ ῦ ς ὀνόματος λάβῃς, παντάπασίν ἐστιν ἄσημον, καὶ νῦν, ὅπερ ἐστὶν ἐν τῷ θεωρεῖσθαι ὡς μέρος, φωνή ἐστι μόνον, οὐδὲν διαφέρουσα μιᾶς τῶν ἀσήμων. [...] ἀλλὰ κατὰ τύχην συνηνέχθη τῷ σημαίνοντι τὸν χοῖρον ὀνόματι, διόπερ ὡς μέρος ἁπλοῦ ὀνόματος τοῦ μῦς λαμβανόμενον οὐδὲν οὐδὲ κατὰ φαντασίαν σημαίνει· ο ὐ δ ε ὶ ς γ ὰ ρ τ ὸ μ ῦ ς ἀ κ ο ύ σ α ς ὄ ν ο μ α ε ἰ ς ἔ ν ν ο ι α ν ἔ ρ χ ε τ α ι τ ο ῦ ὑ ό ς , καθάπερ ὁ τ ὸ Κ ά λ λ ι π ο ς ἀ κ ο ύ σ α ς ἢ τ ὸ τ ρ α γ έ λ α φ ο ς οὐκ ἀνεννόητος μένει τοῦ ἵππου ἢ τοῦ ἐλάφου.

Ammonius, On Aristotle’s ‘On Interpretation’, CAG IV 5, 61.28–33 Busse ‘For neither is the us in mus (‘mouse’) significant’, he s a y s , ‘ b u t i t i s n o w s i m p l y a v o c a l s o u n d ’ : that is to say, that the ‘ u s ’ s a i d b y i t s e l f , s i g n i f i e s ‘ s w i n e ’ , b u t w h e n y o u take it as part of the name ‘mus’ (‘mouse’), it is totally meaningless, and ‘now’, i.e. in its being seen as a part, it is merely a vocal sound, in no way different from any m e a n i n g l e s s v o c a l s o u n d [ ...] b u t c o i n c i d e d b y c h a n c e w i t h t h e n a m e s i g n i f y i n g s w i n e , and hence, taken as part of the simple name ‘mus’, signifies nothing, not even in one’s imagination. F o r no one who hears the name ‘mus’ comes to think of a s w i n e in the way that one who hears Kallipos (‘fair-horsed’) or ‘tragelaphos’ (‘goat-stag’) does not remain unreminded of a horse or stag (transl. Blank).

At the end of this passage Ammonius refers to compound words. Aristotle notes that in compound words, the parts do call to mind their meanings (see [14]: βούλεται μέν), in contrast with the case of μῦς and ὗς; an ancient Greek hearing, say, the word Κάλλιππος or τραγέλαφος would have been reminded of a horse and a stag respectively. Nevertheless, even in compound words we must not think that the contribution of the constituent parts of such words is significant:28 (14)

28 See Weidemann 1991, 180ff.

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Ἐν γὰρ τῷ Κάλλιππος τὸ ἵππος οὐδὲν αὐτὸ καθ᾽ ἑαυτὸ σ η μ α ί ν ε ι , ὥ σ π ε ρ ἐ ν τ ῷ λ ό γ ῳ τ ῷ κ α λ ὸ ς ἵ π π ο ς . οὐ μὴν οὐδ᾽ ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς ἁπλοῖς ὀνόμασιν, οὕτως ἔχει καὶ ἐν τοῖς πεπλεγμένοις· ἐ ν ἐκείνοις μὲν γὰρ οὐδαμῶς τὸ μέρος σημαντικόν, ἐν δὲ τ ο ύ τ ο ι ς β ο ύ λ ε τ α ι μ έ ν , ἀ λ λ ᾽ ο ὐ δ ε ν ὸ ς κ ε χ ω ρ ι σ μ έ ν ο ν , οἷον ἐν τῷ ἐ π α κ τ ρ ο κ έ λ η ς τ ὸ κ έ λ η ς .

Aristotle, On Interpretation 16a18–22 For in ‘Whitfield’ the ‘field’ does not signify anything in i t s o w n r i g h t , a s i t d o e s i n t h e p h r a s e ‘ w h i t e f i e l d ’ . Not that it is the same with complex names as with simple ones: in th e l at ter the part is in no way significant, in the former it has some f or c e b ut i s n ot s i gn i f ic a nt of an yth i n g in sep a r a t io n , for example the ‘boat’ in ‘pirate-boat’ (transl. Ackrill).

Aristotle’s example with ἐπακτροκέλης becomes more interesting if we think that κέλης is a ‘riding horse’ and its combination within the ‘pirate-boat’ illustrates Aristotle’s ‘βούλεται μέν’ in a more intriguing way. It is like ‘space-ship’ where ‘ship’ is not a regular one, although βούλεται μέν. Let us go back to Κάλλιπος: For Aristotle the ἵππος part of the word Κάλλιππος is merely a sound and does not function in the same way as it does in the phrase καλὸς ἵππος, where we have two words.29 The philosopher makes the same point in Poetics using a different example: (15)

ὄνομα δέ ἐστι φωνὴ συνθετὴ σημαντικὴ ἄνευ χρόνου ἧ ς μ έ ρ ο ς ο ὐ δ έ ν ἐ σ τ ι κ α θ ’ α ὑ τ ὸ σ η μ α ν τ ι κ ό ν · ἐν γὰρ τοῖς διπλοῖς οὐ χρώμεθα ὡς καὶ αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτὸ τὸ σημαῖνον, ο ἷ ο ν ἐ ν τ ῷ Θ ε ό δ ω ρ ο ς τ ὸ δωρος οὐ σημαίνει.

Aristotle, Poetics 1457a10–14 A noun is a non-temporal compound semantic sound, w h o s e p a r t s d o not carry their own meaning: for instance, in the name ‘ T h e o d o r u s ’ t h e ‘ - d o r u s ’ e l e m e n t l a c k s m e a n i n g (transl. Halliwell).

Though in the case of the name Θεόδωρος, δωρος is not a word in its own right like ἵππος in Κάλλιππος, his point in both examples is that there are cases where a part of spoken sound has meaning if articulated

29 In his article ‘L’invention du nom propre dans la tradition grecque ancienne’ (2007, 238) which is a survey on the levels of the couple’s ‘proper namecommon name’ invention by the philosophers and the Greek grammarians, Lallot notes that Aristotle’s purpose is obviously to distinguish a ‘double name’ from a composite λόγος in which we can recognize the same constituents.

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or written separately, but that this meaning is not part of the meaning of the name which contains it (in combination with something else). Ammonius takes this one step further, stating that one word invariably has one meaning, even if it is a compound word and refers indirectly to its constituents. When these compounds are broken up, Ammonius continues, it is as if they become ‘dead things’ in terms of signifiying; just like syllables generally and syllables like the υς in μῦς, so the constituents of a (compound) word are ‘non-significant sounds’, even though they bring their meanings to mind; as far as signifying is concerned, they ‘die’ when severed from the word to which they belong: (16)

ἁπλῶν γάρ εἰσι νοημάτων σημαντικὰ τὰ τοιαῦτα ὀ ν ό μ α τ α , κἂν δοκῇ τινα κατὰ τὴν λέξιν σύνθεσιν ἔχειν, ὥσπερ οἱ λόγοι τῶν συνθέτων εἰσὶ δηλωτικοὶ νοημάτων κατὰ τὰ πρότερον περὶ τούτων διωρισμένα. καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ Κάλλιππος τοίνυν, εἴπερ ἐστὶν ἁπλοῦ δηλωτικὸν νοήματος τοῦ ἀνθρώπου, ᾧ κεῖται τοῦτο τὸ ὄνομα, δῆλον ὅτι τὸ ἵππος ὅταν ὡς μέρος αὐτοῦ λαμβάνηται, οὐκ ἔχει τὴν αὐτὴν δύναμιν τῷ καθ᾽ ἑαυτὸ λεγομένῳ· κ α θ ᾽ ἑ α υ τ ὸ μ ὲ ν γ ὰ ρ ὡ ς ὄ ν ο μ α ῥ η θ ὲ ν τὸ ἵππος σημαίνει τὸ τοιόνδε ζῷον, ὅταν δὲ ὡς μέρος τοῦ Κάλλιππος ληφθῇ, ἀποσπασθὲν τῆς οἰκείας ὁλότητος, νεκρόν τι κατὰ τὸ σημαίνειν γίνεται.

Ammonius, On Aristotle’s ‘On Interpretation’, CAG IV 5, 33.18–31 Busse For s u c h n a m e s s i g n i f y s i m p l e t h o u g h t s , even if some seem to have composition in their word-structure, just as sentences signify compound thoughts, according to what was previously defined about them. Also in the case of ‘Kallippos’, therefore, since it indicates the simple thought of the man whose name this is, it is clear that ‘(h)ippos’, when taken as a part of it, does not have the same force as when it is said by itself. Said by itself as a name, ‘(h)ippos’ signifies this sort of animal. But when it is taken as a part of ‘Kallippos’, then, broken off from its proper whole, it becomes a d e a d t h i n g a s f a r a s s i g n i f y i n g i s c o n c e r n e d (transl. Blank).

Aristotle’s and Ammonius’ moderate stance regarding the case of compound words, which do call to mind the meanings of their constituents recalls what Saussure says about the semantic ‘transparency’ of several words in which the absolute arbitrariness of the linguistic sign is moderated.30 However, Ammonius seems more uncompromising when talking about ‘dead constituents’. I would like to end my discussion of the disconnection between concepts and spoken sounds by looking at the way in which it was treated by the Roman Neoplatonist Boethius, who studied philosophy 30 Saussure [1916] 1995, 102–103.

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in Greece but is widely acknowledged to have been independent from his clearly Greek sources to a significant degree.31 The relevant passage from his commentary on Aristotle’s On Interpretation is the following: (17) Nec in eo quod est s o r e x r e x ( μῦς, υς) significat, sed v o x e s t n u n c s o l a ( φωνή ἐστι νῦν μόνον). in duplicibus vero significat quidem, sed n o n s e c u n d u m s e ( καθ᾽ ἑαυτὸ), quaemadmodum dictum est. In eo, quod est sorex, rex videtur quidem aliquid significare, s e d c u m t o t o n o m i n e c o n s i g n i f i c a t potius quam quidquam per se ipsum designat [...] id est i n e o q u o d e s t s o r e x r e x p e r s e n i h i l s i g n i f i c a t ( καθ᾽ ἑαυτὸ […] παντάπασίν ἐστιν ἄσημον), s e d t a n t u m q u i d d a m c o n s i g n i f i c a t [ ...] Boethius, On Aristotle’s ‘On Interpretation’, I 69.8–19 Meiser For neither is the rex in sorex (‘mouse’) significant, but i t i s n o w s i m p l y a v o c a l s o u n d : In complex names it signifies something, but not in its own right when it is said in combination. In the case of sorex, rex seems indeed to signify something, but it is significant in combination with the rest of the name and is n ot sign if ica nt o f a n yt h in g in sepa ra t io n […] and this means that in the vocal sound sorex, rex does not signify anything in its own right, but rather in combination… (my translation).

As well as rendering the Greek terms accurately in Latin, Boethius gives an example equivalent to Aristotle’s μῦς; the Greek example leads us from a mouse to a wild boar, the Latin from a mouse to a king. To recap: Porphyry, Ammonius, Simplicius, Philoponus and Boethius emphasize and develop the idea that there is nothing fixed or inevitable about the connection between spoken sounds and concepts; the particular sequence of sounds is a matter of chance; syllables contribute only to what is uttered, not to the formation of the meaning expressed, and we must therefore consider a word as a whole, even if we recognize that it contains another word within it. What triggered these ideas in the Neoplatonic commentators was Aristotle’s characterization of language as a quantity in Categories, his description of the function of syllables in On Interpretation, his thoughts on compound words both in the latter work and in Poetics and his distinction between name and definition in Physics, while they incorporate terms and ideas from the Stoics, writers of Late Antiquity, and also older commentators. This drawing is indicative of the typical way in which these philosophers worked, as noted in the opening remarks of this paper. 31 On Boethius’ sources see among others Magee 1989, 1–7 and 49–63. See also Marenbon’s ‘Introduction’ (2009, 1–10) in his late work The Cambridge Companion on Boethius (2009) and especially Cameron’s article (2009) about Boethius’ philosophy of language.

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Independently of the extent to which Saussure’s example with the sound sequence s-ö-r may resemble the formulations of Porphyry, Ammonius, Simplicius, Philoponus, or indeed Boethius, the writings of these commentators on Aristotle show above all that they were interested in the ‘arbitrary’ connection between spoken sounds and concepts: in agreement with modern linguistics they explicitly denied that there was any inherent relation between spoken sounds and meaning, although they diverge from modern linguistics in that for them, as for Aristotle, only names and verbs signify. The dissociation between spoken sounds and meaning is just one of the issues which can be traced in the commentators’ densely-written texts; this specific approach is connected with their approach of ‘voice’ as ‘phonetic material’, for the production of which certain organs of the body should cooperate, whether it comes to human, or non human beings. Their distinctions among different types of ‘voices’ lead them to the conclusion that human language is not the only system of signs which exists, but that it is the most highly-developed of such systems, encompassing all others. Their interpretations concerning the connection of language and reality through thinking, show that we have to deal with interesting linguistic approaches which may trigger scholars to reevaluate these commentators’ writings from this specific perspective and to realize that they deserve to be taken more seriously by philosophers of language, and by historians of linguistics.

List of Contributors WOLFRAM AX is Professor of Classics at the University of Cologne. His research interests include ancient grammar and rhetoric, Latin grammar and stylistics of the Renaissance, parody, comics on Antiquity, Varro, Quintilian, Donatus and Priscian. His main publications are: Laut, Stimme und Sprache, Studien zu drei Grundbegriffen der antiken Sprachtheorie (Göttingen 1986), Lexis und Logos. Studien zur antiken Grammatik und Rhetorik (ed. F. Grewing; Stuttgart 2000), Von Eleganz und Barbarei. Lateinische Grammatik und Stilistik in Renaissance und Barock, (Wiesbaden 2001), Lateinische Lehrer Europas. Fünfzehn Portraits von Varro bis Erasmus von Rotterdam (Cologne 2005) and Text und Stil. Studien zur antiken Literatur und deren Rezeption (ed. Chr. Schwarz; Stuttgart 2006). LOUIS BASSET is Professor Emeritus at the University Lumière Lyon 2. His research interests include syntax of ancient Greek and ancient grammar. He is the author of Les emplois periphrastiques du verbe grec, Lyon 1979, and of La syntaxe de l’imaginaire. Étude des modes et des negations dans l’Iliade et l’Odyssée, Lyon 1989. Many of his articles have been gathered in L’imaginer et le dire, Scripta Minora (ed. I. Boehm ), Lyon 2004. He his co-editor inter alia of Bilinguisme et terminologie grammaticale grecolatine, Orbis/Supplementa 27, 2007. MARGARETHE BILLERBECK is Professor of Classics at the University of Fribourg (Switzerland). Her research interests include Greek and Roman popular philosophy, Seneca’s Tragedies, and more recently Greek grammar and lexicography. She is the author (with B.K. Braswell) of The Grammarian Epaphroditus (2007) and is currently editing the Ethnika of Stephanus of Byzantium (vol. I, 2006; vol. II, 2010). PETER BING is Professor of Classics at Emory University. His research interests include ancient poetry and drama, especially of the Hellenistic period. He is the author of The Scroll & the Marble: Studies in Reading and Reception in Hellenistic Poetry (Ann Arbor 2009) and Area Editor for Greek Literature of The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Greece and Rome (Oxford 2010).

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GUILLAUME BONNET is Professor of Ancient Linguistics at the University of Burgundy (France). His research interests include Latin ancient grammar praxis and terminology. He is the author of an edition of Dositheus’ Ars grammatica for the bilingual classics ‘Guillaume Budé’ collection, and yet collaborating to the first modern (French) translation of Priscian’s Institutio grammatica (in press). BRUCE KARL BRASWELL is Senior Research Fellow in Classics at the University of Fribourg (Switzerland). His research interests include early Greek poetry, especially Pindar, Greek lexicography, and the History of Classical scholarship. He is the author (with Margarethe Billerbeck) of The Grammarian Epaphroditus (2007) and is currently editing the fragments of the commentary on Pindar by Didymus of Alexandria. MARIA CHRITI is Researcher at the Centre for the Greek Language (Thessaloniki). Her research interests include Aristotle’s linguistic approaches and their perception by his commentators. She has participated in all the projects of the Linguistic Devision in CGL, and also in its ‘Electronic Portal for the Greek language’. She is co-editor (with A.-F. Christidis & M. Arapopoulou) of A History of Ancient Greek: From the Beginnings to Late Antiquity (Cambridge 2007) and also of Language, Society, History: The Balkans (Thessaloniki 2007). STELIOS CHRONOPOULOS is ‘Wissenscaftlicher Mitarbeiter’ at the Seminar of Classical Philology of the University of Freiburg, Germany. He finished his diesseration on the dramatic function of personal ridicule in Aristophanes in 2009. His research interests include laughter in ancient literature and the relationship between drama and rhetoric. He has published papers on prosopography and comedy. MARCO FANTUZZI is Visiting Professor of Greek Literature at Columbia University, New York, and Professor of the same discipline at the University of Macerata in Italy. His research interests include Greek tragedy and New Comedy, Hellenistic poetry, Greek verse-inscriptions, Greek and Latin poetry of the 1st cent. BC, Greek and Latin metrics. Among his publications are: Tradition and Innovation in Hellenistic Poetry (with R. Hunter), Cambridge 2004; Ricerche su Apollonio Rodio: diacronie della dizione epica, Rome 1988; Bionis Smyrnaei Adonidis epitaphium, Liverpool 1985. He is working on a large scale commentary of the Rhesus ascribed to Euripides and the monograph Achilles in Love. He has edited A Companion to Greek and Latin Pastoral (with Th. Papanghelis), Leiden

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2006, and Struttura e storia dell’esametro greco (with R. Pretagostini), Rome 1995–1996. RICHARD HUNTER is Regius Professor of Greek at the University of Cambridge and a Fellow of Trinity College. His research interests include Hellenistic poetry and its reception in Rome, ancient literary criticism, and the ancient novel. His most recent books are The Hesiodic Catalogue of Women: Constructions and Reconstructions (Cambridge 2005), The Shadow of Callimachus (Cambridge 2006), (with Ian Rutherford) Wandering Poets in Ancient Greek Culture (Cambridge 2009) and Critical Moments in Classical Literature (Cambridge 2009). Many of his essays have been collected in On Coming After: Studies in Post-Classical Greek Literature and its Reception (Berlin 2008). CASPER C. DE JONGE is Assistant Professor in Ancient Greek Language and Literature at Leiden University. His research interests include the history of ancient grammar, rhetoric, and literary criticism. He is the author of Between Grammar and Rhetoric. Dionysius of Halicarnassus on Language, Linguistics and Literature (Leiden – Boston 2008). JEAN LALLOT, formerly Professor of ancient Greek linguistics at the École Normale Superieure (Paris), is now retired. As a specialist of Alexandrian grammar, he has published French translations (with commentary) of the Techne of Dionysius Thrax (2nd ed., Paris 1998) and of the Syntax of Apollonius Dyscolus (Paris 1997). He is also the author (in collaboration) of translations of Aristotle (Poetics, Categories). FRÉDÉRIC LAMBERT is Professor of Linguistics at the University of Bordeaux 3. His research interests include the history of grammatical theories in Greek antiquity, especially Apollonius Dyscolus, syntax and semantics of ancient Greek (aspect, coordination) and syntax and semantics of contemporary French (coordination, discourse particles). He is the author of Apollonios Dyscole: la syntaxe et l’esprit, in: P. Swiggers—A. Wouters (eds), Syntax in Antiquity (Leuven 2003, 133–152), “Les noms des langues chez les grecs”, in: Histoire Epistémologie Langage 31/2 (2009): La nomination des langues dans l’histoire (15–28), “Le participe à valeur coordinative en grec ancien”, in: Les formes non finies du verbe -1- Travaux linguistiques du Cerlico, 19 (2006), 13–31, and “Pourquoi met-on une virgule devant et?”, Cahiers de grammaire 30 (2006), 205–218. ANNELI LUHTALA is University Lecturer in the Department of Classics at the University of Helsinki. Her interests include ancient and early

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medieval grammar, especially syntactical theory and philosophy of language. She is the author of On the Origin of Syntactical Description in Stoic Logic (Münster 2000) and Grammar and Philosophy in Late Antiquity (Amsterdam 2005), and of several articles on the development of early medieval grammatical theory. JOHN LUNDON is Researcher and Teacher (Wissenschaftlicher Mitarbeiter) at the Institut fur Altertumskunde in the University of Cologne. His research interests include literary and subliterary papyri and the history of ancient scholarship. He is the author of ‘Il nuovo testo lirico nel nuovo papiro di Saffo’, in: G. Bastianini / A. Casanova (eds.), I papiri di Saffo e Alceo, Florence 2007, 149–66; ‘Die fehlende Silbe im neuen Kölner Sappho-Papyrus’, in: ZPE 160 (2007), 1–3; and the The Scholia Minora in Homerum: An Alphabetical List, Version 2.0 (10/09/2008). STEPHANOS MATTHAIOS is Assistant Professor of Ancient Greek Literature at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. His research interests include ancient linguistics, ancient Greek and Byzantine lexicography, Homeric scholarship in Antiquity and the history of the Greek Language. He is the author of Untersuchungen zur Grammatik Aristarchs: Texte und Interpretation zur Wortartenlehre (Göttingen 1999) and co-editor of the volumes Linguistische und epistemologische Konzepte—diachron (with P. Schmitter; Münster 2007) and Das Adverb in der Grammatikographie (with A. Kärnä; Münster 2007–2008). He has cooperated with H. van Thiel on the edition of the D-Scholia on the Iliad (D-Scholia in Iliadem, ed. H. van Thiel, Cologne 2000). FRANCO MONTANARI is Professor of Ancient Greek Literature at the University of Genova (Italy). He is a member of international research centers and associations (Féderation Internationale des Associations des Études Classiques-FIEC, International Council for Philosophy and Humanistic Studies-ICPHS, Societé Internationale de Bibliographie Classique-SIBC, Fondation Hardt pour l’Étude de l’Antiquité Classique, Centro Studi sui papiri e i documenti antichi ‘G. Vitelli’ of Florence), Director of the ‘Centro Italiano dell’Année Philologique’ and of the ‘Aristarchus’ project (www.aristarchus.unige.it). He published the new Ancient Greek-Italian Dictionary ‘GI—Vocabolario della lingua greca’ and numerous scientific works. RENÉ NÜNLIST is Professor of Classics at the University of Cologne. His research interests include early Greek poetry, literary criticism (ancient and modern) and papyrology (esp. Menander). He is a co-founder

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of the Basel commentary on the Iliad (2000–) and the author of Poetologische Bildersprache in der frühgriechischen Dichtung (1998) and The Ancient Critic at Work: Terms and Concepts of Literary Criticism in Greek Scholia (2009). FILIPPOMARIA PONTANI is Associate Professor of Classical Philology at the Università di Venezia ‘Ca’ Foscari’. His research interests include Homeric exegesis, Classical and Hellenistic poetry, ancient grammar, mythography and allegory, Byzantine manuscripts and Humanistic Greek. He is the editor of the Scholia in Homeri Odysseam (vol. 1, Rome 2007; vol. 2, Rome 2010), and the author of a book on the history of Greek exegesis on the Odyssey (Sguardi su Ulisse, Rome 2005), of an annotated edition of Heraclitus’ Homeric Questions (Pisa 2005), and of several contributions on the Homeric studies of Petronius, Eustathius, Isaac Porphyrogenitus, Guillaume Budé etc. PHILOMEN PROBERT is University Lecturer in Classical Philology and Linguistics at the University of Oxford. Her research interests include ancient Greek accentuation, Herodian, and Greek historical syntax. She is the author of A New Short Guide to the Accentuation of Ancient Greek (Bristol Classical Press 2003) and Ancient Greek Accentuation: Synchronic Patterns, Frequency Effects, and Prehistory (Oxford 2006). MARTIN SCHMIDT has been a member of the staff of the Lexikon des frühgriechischen Epos (LfgrE) in Hamburg since 1974. From 1991 to 2001 he was a member of the Parliament of the state of Hamburg (for the Greens). His research focuses on Homer and ancient and modern Homeric scholarship. He is the author of Die Erklärungen zum Weltbild Homers und zur Kultur der Heroenzeit in den bT-Scholien zur Ilias (Zetemata 62, Munich 1976); some 600 contributions to the LfgrE (that was completed in 2010), including articles on basileus, demos, dike, Zeus, laos, hieros, horkos, Olympos, Ouranos, polis, phylon, phretre, Okeanos; contributions to the HAS (Handwörterbuch der antiken Sklaverei) on slaves and slavery in Homer and Hesiod; as well as various articles and reviews, in journals and proceedings, mainly on Homerica and on ancient scholarship INEKE SLUITER is Professor of Greek at Leiden University. Her research interests include ancient and medieval ideas on language and their sociocultural contexts. Her most recent book (with Rita Copeland) is Medieval Grammar and Rhetoric. Language, Arts and Literary Theory, AD 300– 1475 (Oxford 2009, 972 pages).

520

List of Contributors

KONSTANTINOS SPANOUDAKIS is Assistant Professor at the University of Crete. His research interests include Hellenistic, Imperial and Late antique poetry. He is the author of Philitas of Cos (Leiden 2002), of numerous articles on Hellenistic and Late antique poetry, and co-editor with Flora Manakidou of Alexandrine Muse. Tradition and Innovation in Hellenistic Poetry (Athens, 2008). PIERRE SWIGGERS is Professor (Linguistics; Romance Languages) at the University of Leuven (KULeuven) and the University of Liège (ULiège), Belgium. He is also Senior Research Director at the Flemish Fund for Scientific Research (F.W.O.-Vlaanderen). His research interests include: historiography of linguistics (from Antiquity to Modern Times), theoretical linguistics, philosophy of language, historical and descriptive linguistics (Indo-European; Semitic), logic and the methodology of science. He is the author of Histoire de la pensée linguistique (Paris, 1997), and editor (with A. Wouters) of several volumes on ancient grammar and philosophy of language. VALERIE VAN ELST is a PhD student at the Centre for the Historiography of Linguistics at K.U.Leuven (Research Unit of Greek Studies) under the supervision of Professor Pierre Swiggers and Professor Alfons Wouters. Her research interests include Greek and Latin grammaticography, ancient and Byzantine grammatical instruction, and the question of how the participle as a part of speech emerged and developed throughout Greco-Roman tradition. She is co-author (with A. Wouters) of ‘Quintilian on the ΚΛΙΣΙΣ ΧΡΕΙΑΣ. A Visit to the Class of the grammaticus’ (in: Hyperboreus 11.2 [2005], 247–274) and author of ‘Grieks (aan)leren in de Oudheid. Het getuigenis van de papyri’ (in: Handelingen der Koninklijke Zuid-Nederlandse Maatschappij voor Taal- en Letterkunde en Geschiedenis 62 [2009], 119–146). LOUISE VISSER is Researcher at the Centre for the Historiography of Linguistics of the Faculty of Arts, Catholic University of Leuven. Her research interests include: cultural, educational and scientific history of Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, and especially Latin grammatical texts 300–1000 AD. She is the author of: ‘The Status of the Adverb and the Analysis of Adverbs of Place in Latin Grammars of Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages’, in S. Matthaios – P. Schmitter (eds.), Linguistische und epistemologische Konzepte—diachron. Münster 2007, 61–76, and ‘The description of the Adverb in the Early Middle Ages’, in Beiträge zur Geschichte der Sprachwissenschaft 17 (2007): Das ‘Adverb’ in der Grammaticographie (ed. by A. Kärnä – S. Matthaios), 119–158.

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ALFONS WOUTERS is Professor for Greek at the University of Leuven (KU Leuven) in Belgium. His research interests include the ancient Greek and Latin grammarians, and especially, the grammatical papyri. He is the author of The Grammatical Papyri from Graeco-Roman Egypt. Contributions to the Study of the ‘Ars Grammatica’ in Antiquity (Brussels 1979).

Abbreviations ANRW

Haase, W. – Temporini, H. (eds.), Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt. Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung, Berlin – New York 1972ff.

BNJ

Brill’s New Jacoby: www.brill.nl.

CAG

Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca, 23 vols., 3 suppl. vols., Berlin 1882–1909. Corpus Christianorum Series Latina, Turnhout 1953ff. Austin, C. (ed.), Comicorum Graecorum fragmenta in papyris reperta, Berlin – New York 1973. Bastianini, G. – Haslam M. – Maehler, H. – Montanari, F. – Römer, C.E. (eds.), Commentaria et lexica Graeca in papyris reperta, Berlin – New York 2004ff. Corpus Medicorum Graecorum, Leipzig – Berlin 1908ff.

CCSL CGFPR CLGP CMG DNP

Cancik, H. – Schneider, H. (eds.), Der Neue Pauly. Enzyklopädie der Antike, 16 vols., 5 suppl. vols., Stuttgart – Weimar 1996–2008.

FDS

Hülser, K., Die Fragmente zur Dialektik der Stoiker. Neue Sammlung der Texte mit deutscher Übersetzung und Kommentaren, 4 vols., Stuttgart 1987–1988. Müller C. (ed.), Fragmenta Historicorum Graecorum, 5 vols., Paris 1841–1870. Jacoby, F. (ed.), Fragmente der Griechischen Historiker, Berlin – Leiden 1923–1958; Schepens, G. et al. (eds.), FGrHist Continued, Leiden 1998ff.

FGH FGrHist

G.G.

Grammatici Graeci, Leipzig 1867–1910 (Reprint: Hildesheim 1965). G.G. I.1 G.G. I.3

Dionysii Thracis Ars grammatica, ed. G. Uhlig, Leipzig 1883. Scholia in Dionysii Thracis Artem grammaticam, ed. A. Hilgard, Leipzig 1901.

524

Abbreviations

G.G. II.1 G.G. II.2 G.G. II.3 G.G. III, I.1. G.G. III, II.1 G.G. III, II.2 G.G. IV.1

G.G. IV.2

GI G.L.

Apollonii scripta minora, ed. R. Schneider, Leipzig 1878. Apollonii Dyscoli De constructione libri quattuor, rec. G. Uhlig, Leipzig 1910. Librorum Apollonii deperditorum fragmenta, rec. R. Schneider, Leipzig 1910. Praefatio. Herodiani Prosodia catholica, ed. A. Lentz, Leipzig 1867. Reliqua scripta prosodiaca pathologia orthographica, ed. A. Lentz, Leipzig 1868. Scripta de nominibus verbis pronominibus adverbiis et liber monadicorum, ed. A. Lentz, Leipzig 1870. Prolegomena. Theodosii Alexandrini Canones, Georgii Choerobosci scholia, Sophronii Patriarchae Alexandrini excerpta, ed. A. Hilgard, Leipzig 1889. Choerobosci scholia in Canones verbales et Sophronii exerpta e Characis commentario, ed. A. Hilgard, Leipzig 1894.

Montanari, F., Vocabolario della lingua greca, Torino 20042. Grammatici Latini ex recensione H. Keilii, 7 vols., 1 suppl. vol., Leipzig 1855–1880 (Reprint: Hildesheim 1961). G.L. I

G.L. II

G.L. III

G.L. IV G.L. V

Flavii Sosipatri Charisii Artis grammaticae libri V, Diomedis Artis grammaticae libri III, ex Charisii Arte grammatica excerpta, ex rec. H. Keilii, Leipzig 1857. Prisciani Grammatici Caesariensis Institutionum grammaticarum libri XVIII, ex rec. M. Hertzii, vol. I libros I–XII continens, Leipzig 1855. Prisciani Grammatici Caesariensis Institutionum grammaticarum libri XVIII, ex rec. M. Hertzii, vol. II libros XIII–XVIII continens, Leipzig 1859. Probi, Donati, Servii qui feruntur de Arte grammatica libri. Notarum Laterculi, ex rec. T. Mommseni, Leipzig 1864. Artium scriptores minores. Cledonius, Pompeius, Julianus, Excerpta ex commentariis in Donatum,

Abbreviations

G.L. VI

G.L. VII

G.L. VIII

525

Consentius, Phocas, Eutyches, Augustinus, Palaemon, Asper, De nomine et pronomine, De dubiis nominibus, Macrobii excerpta, Leipzig 1868. Scriptores artis metricae: Marius Victorinus, Maximus Victorinus, Caesius Bassus, Atilius Fortunatianus, Terentianus Maurus, Marius Plotius Sacerdos, Rufinus, Mallius Theodorus, fragmenta et excerpta metrica, Leipzig 1874. Scriptores de orthographia: Terentius Scaurus, Velius Longus, Caper, Agroecius, Cassiodorus, Martyrius, Beda, Albinus. Audacis Excerpta, Dosithei Ars grammatica, Arusiani Messii exempla elocutionum, Cornelii Frontonis Liber de differentiis, fragmenta grammatica, Leipzig 1880. Anecdota Helvetica quae ad grammaticam Latinam spectant ex bibliothecis Turicensi Einsidlensi Bernensi, ed. H. Hagen, Leipzig 1870.

GRF

Funaioli, H. (ed.), Grammaticae Romanae fragmenta, Leipzig 1907 (Reprint: Stuttgart 1969).

IEG

Schmidt, M.L. (ed.), Iambi et Elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum cantati, 2 vols., Oxford 1989–19922. Inscriptiones Graecae, Berlin 1873ff.

IG LfgrE LSJ

OCD ODB

PCG

Lexikon des frühgriechischen Epos, begr. v. B. Snell, hrsg. v. Thesaurus Linguae Graecae, Göttingen 1955–2010. Liddell H.G. – Scott, R., A Greek-English Lexicon. Revised and augmented by Sir H.S. Jones with the Assistance of R. McKenzie, Oxford 19409; with a Revised Supplement, Oxford 1996. Hornblower, S. – Spawforth, A. (eds.), The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Revised Edition, Oxford 20033. Kazhdan, A.P. – Talbot, A.-M. – Cutler, A. et al. (eds.), The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, 3 vols., New York - Oxford 1991. Kassel, R. – Austin, C. (eds.), Poetae Comici Graeci, Berlin – New York 1983ff.

526

Abbreviations

RE

Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. Neue Bearbeitung, begonnen von G. Wissowa, fortgeführt von W. Kroll und K. Mittelhaus, herausgegeben von K. Ziegler und W. John, Munich 1893–1978.

SGLG

Sammlung griechischer und lateinischer Grammatiker, Berlin – New York 1974ff. Pleket, H.W. – Stoud, R.S. et al. (eds.), Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum. New Series, Amsterdam 1976/77ff. Lloyd-Jones, H. – Parsons, H.-P. (eds.), Supplementum Hellenisticum, Berlin – New York 1983. Arnim I. von (ed.), Stoicorum veterum fragmenta, 4 vols., Leipzig 1903–1924 (Reprint: Stuttgart 1979).

SEG SH SVF TrGF TLG VS

Snell, B. – Kannicht, R. – Radt, S. (eds.), Tragicorum Graecorum fragmenta, 5 vols., Göttingen 1971–2004. Thesaurus Linguae Graecae: www.tlg.uci.edu Diels, H. – Kranz, G. (eds.), Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, 3 vols., Berlin 1951–19526.

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General Index accent / accentuation: 335; 338; 339; 422; 424 n. 45 accidentia: 338; 378; 380; 385 actio: 332; 346 action: 481–482; 484 n. 12; 486; 491 adjacency: 350; 351; 357 adjacent: 349; 350; 351; 353; 359 adjective: 482; 491; 507 adverb: 318; 339; 362; 364; 404; 484; 490–492 — classes of adverbs: 323–329 — adverbia demonstrandi: 328 — adverbia separandi: 328 Aelius Tubero, Q.: 457; 460; 467; 469; 478 ἀκούω, “take in a given sense”: 163 n. 25 Alcaeus: 19 Alexander of Aphrodisias: 499 Alexandrian scholars/grammarians: 12; 16; 18; 21; 55–85 Alexandrian scholarship/ grammar: 11; 20; 21; 22; 55–85 allegory / allegorical interpretation: 17; 18; 19; 20; 21; 34; 105–117; 170 n. 68 Ammonius (pupil of Aristarchus): 277–278 Ammonius (Hermeiou): 500; 501; 504; 508; 509; 510; 511; 512; 513 analogy: 87–88; 99–102; 270–273; 291–310; 341; 342; 343; 410; 414; 421 n. 35; 470–471; 472 n. 55 anaphora: 256; 259; 260; 261; 264; 265–266

anastrophe: 254–255 Antidorus of Cyme: 63–67 Antipater of Tarsus: 318 ἀντὶ τοῦ: 170; 170 n. 65 Apellicon of Teos: 456 Apollodorus of Athens: 182 Apollonius Dyscolus: 11; 270– 273; 275–279; 290; 322; 347; 348; 349; 350; 355; 358; 359; 455; 465; 470–471; 473; 476– 483 — his view of grammar and Homeric language: 98–102 [Arcadius]: 285–290 Aristarchus: 11; 12; 17; 18; 20; 21; 24; 39; 88; 92; 96–97; 99; 105– 117; 270–273; 280; 318; 453; 464–465; 471; 475; 477 — on Pindar: 181; 183; 184; 192 Aristodemus: 194 Aristonicus: 112 n. 23; 114; 115 Aristophanes: 24; 207–223 Aristophanes of Byzantium: 11; 24; 348 Aristotle: 14; 15; 19; 28; 35; 39; 116; 117 n. 32; 318; 347; 499; 500; 501; 502; 503; 505; 506; 511; 512 — Categories: 599; 502; 505; 513 — On Interpretation: 499; 501; 502; 507; 508; 513 — On Memory: 499 — Metaphysics: 499; 507 — Organon: 499 — Physics: 499; 513 — Poetics: 12; 14; 503; 508; 511; 513 — Politics: 14

564

General Index

— On the Soul: 499 — and Hellenistic scholarship: 47–52 ars grammatica / artes grammaticae: 55–85; 324; 328; 331; 333; 334; 335; 375; 376; 378 article: 484; 485, 490 — article ellipsis: 252–254 articulation: 504; 509; 511 ἀτ(τ)αταῖ, accent of: 284–290 Atticism: 91–95; 269–290; 458 attribute: 255; 265–269 auctoritas: 402 barbarism (barbarismus): 96–97; 101–103; 336; 337; 338; 342; 423 Bible: 15 biography: 12; 13 Boethius: 500; 512; 513 bookhands: 167; 167 n. 48 book summaries: 159 Caecilius of Caleacte: 454 n. 14; 458 n. 30; 458 n. 31; 464 canon(s): 410; 411; 413 n. 15; 414; 415; 416 n. 23; 417 n. 26; 421; 427; 428 — morphological: 414 — nominal: 410; 413 — verbal: 410 case: 382; 383; 391; 392; 394; 399; 402; 403; 461–464; 468– 471; 474; 481; 485; 486 n. 18; 488–489, 492–495 casus: 380; 382; 392; 393; 394; 398; 401; 402 Catenae: 15; 16 Chaeris: 192 Christian homilies: 15; 16 Choeroboscus: 281–282 chria: 364–365 Chrysippus: 111; 355; 357; 358; 456; 476 n. 67; 509

Chrysippus (the Pindar commentator): 192 Cicero: 456–459, 478 clarity (σαφήνεια): 463; 474 Clement of Alexandria: 507 Comanus of Naucratis: 351 combination: 349; 350; 351; 352; 353; 354; 356; 359 — of concepts: 349 comedy: 207–223 commentary/-ies: 11; 13; 14; 15; 16; 20; 21; 159; 421; 423; 427; 452–455; 467; 475; 477 — commentaries vs. monographs: 163–166; 176 n. 93 — coverage of commentary: 167 — mythographic commentaries: 159 — on the Odyssey: 161 — relation to scholia in medieval manuscripts: 160; 160 n. 7; 168; 176 — spacing as articulation in commentaries: 162; 162 n. 22; 163; 163 n. 29; 171; 171 n. 71 comparatio: 382; 384; 385; 402 comparison: 382; 383; 384; 385; 404 compartmentalization: 393 n.23 compounds: 336; 337; 339; 367– 374; 388; 510; 511; 512; 513 — compound order: 370 concept/meaning (ἔννοια/νόημα): 500; 501; 502; 503; 507; 508; 509; 511; 512; 513 coniunctio: 342 conjugation: 388; 391; 394; 405; 410; 423 — lists: 416 — table(s): 407 n. 8; 408; 409 n. 11; 410; 412 n. 13; 414 n. 17; 416; 428 conjunction: 484–485; 488; 491– 492; 505; 508 continuatio: 373

General Index

convictio: 342 Corinthian inventions: 185; 195 Corpus Hippocraticum: 15 Cos: see Theocritus — Orchomenian refugees in-: 225–230 Crates: 111–113; 114 n. 28 critical signs: 173–174; 173 n. 85; 452 declension: 382; 383; 391; 392; 393; 394; 395; 399; 405; 410 declinatio: 382; 384; 385; 388; 392; 393; 394; 398 defective verb / participle: 403 defence: 107, 109 deixis of the mind: 263; 264 Demo: 106 n. 5 Democritus: 11; 28 Demosthenes: 458 derivation: 389; 488–490; 492; 497 Derveni Papyrus: 15; 105 n. 2; 112–113; 117 n. 32 deviance: 308 diachrony: 244–245; 247–248 dialects (Greek): 97–98 dicola (as separators) in commentaries: 162 n. 22 Didymus: 181–182; 196–197; 452; 454 n. 12, n. 14 — aesthetic criticism: 195–196 — citation of earlier poets: 187– 191 — citation of historians: 182–187 — on Demosthenes: 14 — misplaced ingenuity: 194–195 — relevance of the myth: 191– 192 — on Pindar: 181–197 — textual criticism – conjectures: 193 — textual criticism – defence of manuscript readings: 193–194 Diogenes Laertius: 357; 509

565

Dionysius (Sicilian tyrant): 199– 200 Dionysius of Halicarnassus: 356; 359; 451–478 Dionysius Scytobrachion: 348 Dionysius Thrax: 351; 352; 353; 355; 359 — Techne grammatike: 313; 318 diorthosis: 162; 162 n. 24; 163 n. 26; 270; 273; 276 n. 16 diple: 173 n. 85 diple obelismene: 175 discriminating value: 266 disposition: 485–486; 495–496 Donatus commentary: 375; 376; 378; 381; 382; 383; 384; 388; 390; 391; 395 ecthesis: 169; 169 n. 58; 171; 171 n. 70 elementa orationis: 326; 338; 340 elementary school: 331 elocutio: 332; 346 enallage: 253 enarratio poetarum sive auctorum: 331; 334 ending: 390; 391; 392; 394; 395 -εων, accent of genitive plurals in: 277–279 epsilon-theta style: 167; 167 n. 46 Eratosthenes: 19; 29; 30; 55–85 — definition of scholarship/grammar: 55–85 — Grammatika: 57–85 Erbse, H.: 22 Erotian: 348 Etymologicum Magnum: 282–284 etymology: 245; 342; 379; 380; 479–481; 483; 486–487; 489; 491–492 Euripides: 41–53; 199–206 — Hypotheses to plays of -: 201– 206 — Melanippe the Wise: 202–206 — Hellenistic reception of -: 199– 206

566

General Index

— xenophilotatos: 200–201 Eustathius: 21; 105–110; 114; 115 n. 23; 117 exception: 292; 293; 307; 308 explanation (ἐξήγησις): 451–454 fiction: 107; 109 figura (σχῆμα): 252; 253; 255; 380; 398; 402 fluid transmission: 168 φόβος, meaning in Homer according to Aristarchus: 50–51 φωριαμός, accent of: 282–284 form (compositonal): 380; 399; 403 Frye, N.: 20 Galen: 15; 507 gender: 385; 392; 393; 394; 399; 402; 406 n. 4; 408 n. 10; 416; 416 n. 23; 461–465; 468–469; 489; 492 — feminine: 418 — masculine: 408 n. 10; 410; 417; 417 n. 26; 418; 420; 421 — neuter: 408; 417; 421 genus, genera: 380; 384; 385; 392; 393; 394; 398; 401 glossaries: 159 γράφω: 170; 170 n. 66; 170 n. 67 grammar: 1–4; 13; 22; 23; 55–85; 416 — ancient definitions: 68–79 — teaching: 313; 405 — types of grammar: 332–333; 335; 340 grammarian(s): 405; 406; 410; 414; 421; 423; 422 n. 38; 424 n. 44; 427; 428 — Alexandrian: 1–4; 406 — Byzantine: 410; 422 n. 38 — Greek: 407 — rhetoric of -: 292 — self-styling of -: 292; 302ff.; 309–310

grammatical agreement: 459; 472– 474; 476 grammatical manual: 405 n. 1; 407; 407 n. 8; 408; 425; 425 n. 50 grammatical papyri: 313; 406; 407 n. 8; 408; 410 grammatical science: 1–4; 55–85; 407 n. 6; 429 grammatical tradition — ancient Greek: 1–4; 405–406; 407–408; 417 — Byzantine: 428 grammatice: 331; 333; 336; 337; 340 grammaticus, teacher of grammar: 331; 332; 337; 338; 342 Habron: 270–273 Harpocration: 348 Hector in the Rhesus: 43–45 hellenismos: 87; 270; 273; 276 n. 16; 408; 410; 413; 423 Heraclitus (allegorist): 113 n. 25; 115–117 — Homeric problems: 18 hermeneumata: 365 Hermippus of Smyrna: 199–201; 348 Herodian: 11; 269–290 — his view of Homeric language: 99 — Ps.-Herodian, On solecism and barbarism: 96–97; 102–103 Hesychius: 22 hexis: 68–78 hidden problems: 305 historiography: 452; 456–460; 463; 478 Homer: 17; 19; 20; 21; 24; 27–40; 105–117; 119–158; 271–273; 274; 276 — as an Athenian: 91–92 — as foundational text: 88–89 Homeric commentaries: 161–166 Homeric heroes: 119–158

General Index

— language of -: 97 Homeric scholarship/criticism: 15; 17; 18; 20; 21; 119–158 Homeric scholia: 88; 91; 97; 119– 158 — formation of Homeric scholia: 175–176 Homerica: 159 Homerica aporemata: 48–52 Homeridai: 36 homonyms: 381; 382; 383; 384; 385; 386 homonymy: 258 Horace: 33 Hyperides: 458 hypomnemata: 11; 14; 15; 16; 159 — vs. syggrammata: 163–166; 176 n. 93 hypotheseis: 159 Hypsicrates: 209 n. 7 identity as Greeks: 93–95 idiomata: 365 imitation (μίμησις): 457–458; 463; 467; 477–478; 480; 485 impersonal verb: 403 impersonalia: 401 imposition of names/namegiving: 479–480; 485–486; 487 n. 22; 488–492; 494–498 — first imposition: 489; 492; 496–497 — theory of two impositions: 494; 498 inchoative verb / participle: 388; 403 indefinite (ἀοριστῶδες): 263 inflection: 393; 408; 408 n. 10; 410; 412; 414; 415; 417 n. 24; 423; 428 — paradigms: 414 n. 18 — rules: 414; 428 — system: 416 — tables: 413 interjection: 365 interpretation of poetry: 38–40

567

κανόνες: 291; 296; 301; 306; 310 καταλληλότης: 297; 305; 459;

472–474; 476 Kavafis, K.: 87 komodoumenoi: 207–223 Kuran and Arabic language: 89–91 Lamb, C., Tales from Shakespeare: 202; 205 language — and reality: 500; 514 — and thought: 500 — as-by convention: 500; 501; 502 — as-by nature: 501 — as quantity: 502; 503; 504; 513 — human -: 513 — instruction: 414 n. 18 — teaching process: 410 latinitas: 332; 334; 335; 336; 340;341 Latte, K.: 22 layout of text: 167 λεκτά: 355; 359 lemmata: 164–166; 169; 171; 171 n. 70; 175 lexica: 159 lexical singularity: 291–295; 303– 305 lexicography: 11; 13; 15 λέξις: 352; 353; 355; 359 linguistic correctness: 292 linguistics: 11; 13 — ancient: 405 n. 2; 428 — Arabic: 89–91 — Aristotelian: 499 — Byzantine: 428 — Hebrew linguistics and Greek: 90–91 — history of linguistics: 514 logical order (ἀκολουθία): 459; 473; 476 logical proposition: 356 λόγος: 352; 353; 354; 355; 356; 357; 358; 359 Longinus: 464

568

General Index

Lucretius: 456 Lysias: 458; 463 meaning: 351; 353; 358; 480–481; 482; 485; 489; 495 μεσότης: 318 metalepsis: 257 metaphor: 110 n. 15; 114 metaplasmus: 336 metrical feets: 335; 338 Metrodorus of Lampsacus: 28; 29 μονήρης λέξις: 291–310 monographs (syggrammata): 159; 165 n. 37 mood: 412; 415; 416; 417; 418; 420; 421; 422 n. 38; 427; 428; 493; 495–497 — imperative: 413; 416; 420; 422 n. 38; 423 n. 39; 424; 424 n. 44; 426 n. 53 — indicative: 416; 417; 421; 423; 427 — infinitive: 416; 420; 420 n. 34; 422; 422 n. 38; 424; 424 n. 45, n. 46; 427 — optative: 408; 409 n. 11; 412; 413; 416; 417; 421; 426; 427 — subjunctive: 416; 420; 420 n. 34 morphology: 379; 390; 392; 393; 396; 397 — inflectional: 405; 410 — verbal: 414 Museum (in Alexandria): 55–85; 160; 172 mythography: 12; 13; 17; 106 n. 5; 108 Mythographus Homericus: 159 mythological exempla: 105 n. 4; 108 name: 505; 506; 507; 508; 513 nature: 479–498 Nepos: 456 nomen: 379; 382; 384; 385; 386; 389; 394; 398; 401; 402

noun: 378; 379; 380; 381; 382; 384; 385; 386; 387; 388; 389; 392; 393; 394; 397; 399; 402; 404; 406; 407; 410; 461–463; 465–468; 479–480; 484–498; — common -: 480; 483 — definition of -: 486 — generic -: 493–494 — proper -: 480; 483; 486 n. 18 — specific -: 493 νυκτηγορία/νυκτεγερσία: 52–53 number: 380; 399; 403; 408; 416; 416 n. 23; 422 n. 38; 461–464 — dual: 408 n. 10; 413; 413 n. 15; 414 n. 17; 427 — plural: 408 n. 10; 417; 419 n. 31; 421; 424; 426; 427 — singular: 408 n. 10; 417; 418; 420; 423; 425; 427 numerus: 380; 398; 401 nuntiatio: 384; 385 obelos: 173 n. 85 Olympus: 111–113; 163–164; 164 n. 30 Ὅμηρον ἐξ Ὁμήρου σαφηνίζειν: 108 ὁμοιότης: 293; 294f.; 303; 308; 310 ὀνομαστὶ κωμῳδεῖν: 207–223 opisthographs: 167 n. 46; 169 orthoepeia: 334; 336 orthographia, orthography: 334; 341; 366 orthographists: 361 Orus: 429–447 — anomaly/analogy: 431 — Atticistic lexicon: 431; 438; 443 — canons: 432–433; 437, 439 — On Ethnica: 430–434; 438; 446; 447 — On Orthography: 430–431; 442–443, 446 Oxyrhynchus: 160; 172

General Index πάγετος, accent of: 284–290 paideia: 12; 21 Palaephatus: 106 n. 5 πανικὸς φόβος: 42–52 παπαῖ, accent of: 284–290 paradigm: 383; 385; 390; 391; 393; 394 — paradigm type: 391; 393 paragraphos: 163; 163 n. 25; 163 n. 29; 171; 175 paraphrases: 159 paroemiography: 12; 13 παρώνυμα: 168 n. 51 participium: 378; 380; 381; 382; 384; 385; 386; 388; 389; 392; 393; 498–499; 401–402 — participia defectiua: 401; 402 — participia inchoatiua: 401 — participia mobilia: 393; 394; 395 participle: 378–404; 405–428; 480 n. 2; 484; 493 n. 37; 488–492; 498 — autonomous status of the -: 406–407; 416; 428 — canon(s) for the -: 415; 416 n. 23; 417 n. 26 — definition of the -: 406 — grammatical description of the -: 407 — inflection of the -: 408; 414; 415 — forms: 405–428 — rule(s): 417–418 parts of speech (partes orationis): 334; 338; 339; 340; 378; 397; 398; 401; 461; 463–478; 479–498 — definitions of the -: 479; 483 — invention of the -: 488–489; 491; 493; 498 — order of the -: 484–487; 491– 492; 493–494 — principal -: 484–486; 489; 491; 498 Pasquali, G.: 22 pathology: 100–101; 308; 310

569

Peripatetic scholarship and rhetoric: 336 person: 422 n. 38; 487; 492; 495– 496 — first: 424 n. 45; 425; 426 n. 52; 426 n. 54 — second: 422–423; 424 n. 44 — third: 421; 424; 426 personal joke: 207–223 personification: 116 — in grammatical theory: 299 Pfeiffer, R.: 12; 22 Philistus of Syracuse: 184 Philitas: 33 Philodemus: 40 Philoponus: 500; 504; 506; 507; 513 Philoxenus: 351 philosophy of language: 514 phonetics / phonology: 335; 338 — phonetic realization: 503; 505; 508; 509; 510; 511; 513 Pindar: 24; 32–33 Pindarion, Ptolemy: 92–93; 96; 102 Plato: 15; 16; 27–40; 116; 242; 271–272; 318; 463; 499 — Hippias Minor: 29 — Ion: 27–40 — origin of language: 242 — Protagoras: 29; 35–36 Plotinus: 499 ‘poet-scholar’: 79–85 poetic licence: 100–101; 106–108; 109; 252–253; 256; 258–259 Porphyry: 105 n. 2; 108 n. 8; 500; 504; 505; 513 praepositio: 402 predicate: 355; 356 predication: 481 n. 4; 482; 482 n. 7 preposition: 362–363; 403; 484– 485; 490–492; 498; 508 pre-positive article: 251–252; 257–263 Presocratics: 499

570

General Index

progymnasmata: 331 pronoun (ἀντωνυμία): 257–258; 339; 483; 487–488; 490–491; 497 proposition: 479; 482; 484; 485; 486; 487 prose: 351; 352; 353; 354; 355; 358 — prose rhythm: 338 Protagoras: 16; 30; 31 punctuation marks: 335 Pythaenetus (historian of Aegina): 186 quality: 482–483; 491 — common and peculiar -: 483; 486 quantity: 481; 503 recte loquendi scientia: 331; 334; 337 regula: 390; 391; 395 rhapsodes: 27–40 Rhesus ascribed to Euripides — chronology: 53–54 — and Iliad 10: 52 rhetoric: 12; 13; 110 n. 15; 115; 451–478 — study of -: 331; 332 Rome: 456–459 rules: 291; 292; 294; 296; 301; 304; 306; 307; 390; 396 — didactic -: 428 — didactic tool(s): 410; 414 n. 18; 428 — inflectional -: 408 Saussure, F. de: 500; 501; 512; 513 scholia: 14; 22; 23; 105–117 — classes in the medieval manuscripts: 175; 175 n. 90; 176 — on Aristophanes: 207–223 — on Homer: 88; 91; 97; 119– 158 — exegetical scholia on Homer: 119–158

— scholia minora: 159 — on Thucydides: 451–478 scribe #A5 (Oxyrhynchus): 167; 167 n. 47 σημειόω: 174–175 semi-pronoun: 266 sense of history: 241–250 Sextus Empiricus: 92–93; 96; 98– 102; 507 side meaning of plurality: 261–262 sign for (ὁ) ποιητής: 161–162 significatio (genus uerborum): 380; 384; 385; 386; 393; 398; 401; 402 signification — significant sounds: 508; 510; 513 — non significant sounds: 505; 508; 510; 511 — signified (σημαινόμενον): 504; 505; 506; 507 — signifier: 504; 513 significationes: 324 Simichidas: 225–237 Simonides: 16; 35–36; 184–185 Simplicius: 500; 504; 505; 506; 513 singular, rhetoric of the: 305–309 Socrates: 16; 27–40 solecism (soloecismus): 96–97; 101– 103; 336; 337; 338; 339; 342; 423; 459; 463; 468–469 Sophists: 16 Sosibius: 348 sound: 481–482 — spoken sounds: 500; 501; 502; 503; 512; 513 speaker indications: 161–162 statement: 480–482; 485–486; 493 Stesimbrotus of Thasos: 29 stichometry: 162; 162 n. 20 Stoics: 111; 355; 357; 358; 359; 406; 407 n. 5; 455–456; 457 n. 27; 472 n. 56; 476 n. 67 Strabo: 29; 40

General Index

Strato, parody of Homeric language: 93; 95 style: 451–452; 456–460; 463– 465; 467; 477–478 subscriptio: 165–167 substance: 481; 483; 483 n. 16; 491; 493; 496 syggrammata: 11; 15; 16; 159; 165 n. 37 — vs. hypomnemata: 163–166; 176 n. 93 syllable: 418 n. 29; 503; 504; 505; 507; 508; 509; 511; 513 — final: 419; 420; 424 n. 45 — penultimate: 421 n. 35; 424 n. 45; 426 n. 54 symbol: 482 συνήθεια: 284; 285–290; 298; 299; 301; 303; 304 σύνθεσις: 352; 353; 354; 355; 357 syntagm: 361–374 — vs. casual sequence: 368 συντάσσειν/συντάσσεσθαι: 347; 350; 352; 356; 358 syntax: 348; 349; 451; 455–456; 461–462; 464–465; 468–478 σύνταξις: 347; 348; 349; 350; 351; 352; 353; 354; 355; 356; 357; 358; 359 — τῶν νοητῶν: 349; 359 teaching Greek: 406; 421; 423 — grammatical (and rhetorical): 91–95; 313 tempus: 380; 382; 384; 385; 386; 387; 388; 390; 391; 393; 398; 401; 402 tense: 382; 383; 385; 386; 387; 388; 390; 391; 393; 394; 395; 399; 402; 403; 406 n. 4; 408; 412; 416; 416 n. 23; 420; 422; 424; 461–464; 472–474; 485; 489; 494 n. 41 — aorist: 408 n. 10; 412 n. 13; 417; 424 n. 45

571

— future: 408 n. 10; 412 n. 13; 417; 418 n. 29; 421 — imperfect: 412 n. 13; 417; 424 n. 45; 426 — past perfect/pluperfect: 412 n. 13 — perfect: 408 n. 10; 412 n. 13; 414 n. 17; 424 n. 44 — present: 408 n. 10; 412; 414; 417; 421; 423; 424; 427 terminatio: 392; 393 terminology of exegesis: 163; 163 n. 29; 169–170; 172 Theocritus: 225–237 — and Cos: 231–234 — and Orchomenos: 236–237 Theotimus: 185 Thessaloniki: 15; 21 Thucydides: 451–478 Timaeus of Tauromenium: 183; 184 τινές: 170; 170 n. 66 tmesis: 371 τριήρων, accent of: 280–282 truth and falsehood: 480–481 Trypho: 318; 347; 349; 350; 351; 475–477 Tyrannion: 351; 353 uniqueness (totalizing value): 259– 261 usage: 270–274 — frequent -: 303–305 — Homeric -: 174 — linguistic: 413 — literary: 413 — natural: 452; 459; 463; 467 — spoken: 413 usus: 372–374 utterance: 352; 357 variation: 460–465 Varro: 273 verb: 378; 379; 380; 384; 387; 388; 389; 390; 392; 396; 397; 399; 402; 403; 406; 407; 408;

572

General Index

410; 412; 415; 416; 427; 428; 461–463; 465–468; 472–474; 481; 482; 483; 484–487; 491– 492; 493; 497; 505; 508; 509 — athematic -: 412 — form(s): 417; 418; 424 n. 45 — model: 412; 414; 415 — thematic: 412 verba Latina/peregrina, foreign words: 336 verba propria translata, transferred word: 336; 337 verba usitata/ficta, neologisms: 336; 337 verbum: 388; 389; 398; 401; 402 verse: 353; 354 Villoison, J.-B.-C. d’A.: 90 virtutes elocutionis: 332 virtutes et vitia orationis: 334; 336; 340

voice (diathesis): 385; 386; 387; 388; 394; 399; 402; 403; 406 n. 4; 408 n. 10; 412; 416; 416 n. 23; 461; 463–464 — active: 408 n. 10; 414; 414 n. 17; 417; 421; 422; 424; 426 — medio-passive: 414 n. 17; 422; 423; 427 n. 45 — passive: 408 n. 10; 412; 414 n. 17; 417; 424 n. 45 Wolf, F.A.: 22 word class(es): 335; 338; 339; 340; 342; 378; 379; 380; 381; 383; 387; 389; 396; 397; 399; 402 Xenophon, Symposium: 34; 38 Zenodotus: 22; 24

Passages Index Aelius Dionysius (Erbse) δ 34: 289 n. 43 σ 22: 289 n. 43 σ 39: 289 n. 43 Aeneas Tacticus 27: 43–45, 50 Aeschylus Persae 686–8: 196 n. 24 Agathocles (FGrHist 472) F 9 (= fr. 9 Montanari): 113 n. 18 Alexander Aphrodisiensis In Aristotelis Metaphysica commentaria (CAG I) 161.3–5: 507 In Aristotelis Topicorum libros octo commentaria (CAG II.2) 122.26: 294 176.9: 294 Ammonius Grammaticus (Nickau) gl. 231: 187 gl. 303: 354 gl. 453: 354 Ammonius Philosophus In Aristotelis de Interpretatione commentarius (CAG IV.5) 12.20–13.6: 508–509 19.10–15: 502 33.18–31: 511–512 42.20–43.24: 493 60.19–22: 509 61.28–33: 509–510

Anecdota Oxoniensia 3.413.19: 64 n. 34 3.310.24: 79 n. 87 Anonymus ad Cuimnanum Expositio Latinitatis (CCSL 133D) 142.16–22: 387 Antipater Sidonius AP 7.146: 446 Apollodorus Atheniensis (FGrHist 244) F 2: 441 F 69: 182 Apollonius Dyscolus De adverbiis (G.G. II.1) 120.9–14: 322 n. 20 160.19–23: 276; 284–285 168.10–21: 322 n. 22 De conjunctionibus (G.G. II.1) 235.11–14: 350 241.13: 92–93 n. 21 247.4–6: 350 Fragmenta (G.G. II.3) 31.23–25: 484 47.15ff.: 168 n. 51 85.27–86.32: 422 n. 38 122–129: 407 n. 7 De pronominibus (G.G. II.1) 7.20–24: 258–259 9.11–13: 487 44.11–13: 101 51.23–27: 350 71.22–25: 89 n. 8 71.22–72.4: 270–273 72.16: 89 n. 8 De syntaxi (G.G. II.2) I 1, 1.2–2.2: 98 n. 40

574

Passages Index

I 1, 2.1: 249 I 18, 19.4: 247 I 21, 23.10–24.1: 406 n. 4 I 24, 25.6: 247 I 25, 26.1–4: 258 I 26, 26.12: 247 I 42, 38.5–6: 254 I 43, 38.11–12: 259 I 43, 38.12–39.3: 260 I 43, 39.3–6: 261 I 43, 39.6–9: 260 I 44, 39.9–11: 263 I 57, 49.10–15: 252–253 I 57, 49.15–50.2: 257 I 60: 305 n. 36 I 60, 51.7: 247; 247 n. 10 I 60–62, 51.1–53.11: 99 I 62, 52.8–10: 100 n. 49 I 62, 53.9–13: 254 I 63, 53.18–54.1: 262 I 64, 55.7–11: 262–263 I 64, 55.17–20: 252 I 71, 61.8–10: 259–260 I 100, 83.15–84.1: 265 I 102, 85.17–18: 265 I 108, 91.7–92.3: 255 I 110, 93.10–94.4: 262 I 117, 99.4–6: 256 I 118, 99.9–11: 261 I 118, 100.9–12: 256 I 121, 102.11–15: 266 I 127–128, 107.7–11: 254 I 133, 110.2: 265 I 135, 111.12–13: 266 II 31, 148.16–149.3: 264 II 31, 149.2–4: 258 II 49, 162.4–8: 101 II 77, 183.14–184.1: 98 II 90, 193.17: 101; 248 II 116, 216.5: 101 n. 54 II 125, 223.10: 101 II 133, 230.18: 476 n. 66 II 150–151, 244.12– 246.5: 270–273 II 157, 251.7–10: 100 n. 49

II 151–152, 245.6–247.8: 89 n. 8 III 25–26, 292.9–16: 406 n. 4 III 34, 300.12: 248 n. 12 III 42, 308.4: 247–248 III 51, 317.13: 92–93 n. 21 III 59–62, 324.10–328.6: 422 n. 38 III 62, 328.13: 244 n. 5 III 76, 340.2–10: 471 n. 52 III 77: 305 III 166, 413.5–7: 471 III 166, 413.13: 100 n. 50 III 167, 415.11–12: 471 Apollonius Rhodius 1.929: 446 4.654: 444 Appendix Probi (G.L. IV) 196.13–197.6: 366 [Arcadius] 51.1–4: 276; 284–285 68.16–20: 283 68.21–69.2: 282–284 69.3–7: 283 93.1–8: 285–289 93.9–13: 286 156.16–24: 280 208.16–19: 285–290 Aristagoras Historicus (FGrHist 608) F 3: 431 Aristarchus Feine: fr. 2: 182 fr. 21: 184 fr. 42: 191 Matthaios: fr. 55–57: 464 n. 43 fr. 82: 471 n. 53 fr. 125A: 89 n. 8; 270–273 Aristodemus (FGrHist 383) F *11: 193

Passages Index

Aristonicus (Razzetti) fr. 51: 182 Aristophanes Acharnenses 88–90: 216; 222 379–82: 215 605: 221 887: 220 Aves 1378–9: 218 Equites 78: 221–222 1080–5: 217 1373f.: 211 n. 12 Pax 987–1016: 220 Fragmenta fr. 422 K. – A.: 211 n. 12 Aristoteles Analytica posteriora 2.10.93b29–32: 67 n. 47 2.19.99b17: 70 n. 55 2.18.99b20–100b5: 75; 75 n. 77 Categoriae 4.1b25–2a4: 482 4.2a3: 74 n. 69 6.4b20–37: 502–503 9.11b13–14: 74 n. 69 De divinatione per somniis 2.464b5–7: 295 Ethica Nicomachea 6.3.1139b31–32: 71; 75 6.4.1140a9–10: 71 De interpretatione 1.16a3–4: 500 1.16a4–9: 501 1–2.16a18–22: 510 2.16a19: 482 2.16a26–28: 510 4.16b27–32: 507–508 Metaphysica 4.20.1022b10: 75 n. 75 4.23.1023a23–25: 74 n. 74

575

De partibus animalium 1.1.639a1: 70 n. 55; 75 n. 79 Poetica 6.1450b16–18: 84 n. 110 6.1450a33–35: 84 n. 110 20.1456b20–1457a6: 503–504 20.1457a10–14: 511 22.1459a8: 295 24.1460a5–b2: 217 n. 21 Physica 184a23–b14: 506 Sophistici elenchi 165a6: 500 Topica 1.8.103b15–16: 68 n. 48 4.2.121b34: 75 n. 76 4.4.124b39: 75 n. 76 6.6.145a34: 75 n. 77 8.1.156b35: 70 n. 55 Fragmenta Περὶ ποιητῶν (Gigon) fr. 1002: 60–61 n. 20; 61 n. 24 [Aristoteles] Aporemata Homerica (Gigon) fr. 383: 51 fr. 384: 49–50 Problemata 30.2.955b1: 69 Ars Ambianensis (Cod. Sang. 877) p. 453: 388 p. 453–544: 392 Ars Ambrosiana (CCSL 133C) 144.27–29: 389 148.139–142: 396 154.325–329: 384–385 Artemidorus Oneirocritica 2.25 (145.11–12 Pack): 295 Asclepiades Myrleanus Müller: fr. I: 77; 78

576

Passages Index

fr. II: 66 fr. III: 57 n. 13 fr. VI: 57 n. 13 fr. VII: 57 n. 13 FGrHist: F 9: 57 n. 13 F 11: 57 n. 13 Athenaeus 4.139c: 182 n. 8 9.382c: 93 Auctor ad Herennium 4.17: 340 Audax (G.L. VII) 361.2–9: 370 n.10 Augustinus De civitate dei 2.9: 210 n. 10 [Augustinus] Regulae (G.L. V) 506.30: 374 n.14 Bacchylides 21: 190 21.1–3: 190 Boethius In Aristotelis De Interpretatione commentaria (Meiser) I 69.8–19: 512–513 Callimachus (Pfeiffer) test. 16: 64 n. 34; 81 n. 93 Aetia fr. 1.17–18: 81; 81 n. 97 fr. 17.8–10: 166 fr. 18.6–8: 166; 166 n. 42 fr. 43: 183 fr. 46: 183 fr. 77: 194 fr. 75.8: 81 fr. 196.1: 194

Epigrammata ep. 23: 60 n. 20; 66–67 n. 46; 80 n. 91 Fragmenta fr. 461–464: 62 n. 28 fr. 612: 80 n. 91; 81 [Caper] (G.L. VII) 105.1: 361 n.1 Chaeris (Berndt) fr. 20: 191 Charax Historicus (FGrHist 103) F 2: 442 Charax Ioannes (G.G. IV.2) 410.1–2: 422 n. 38 410.37–38: 422 n. 38 410.38–411.11: 422 n. 38 411.11–15: 422 n. 38 418.38: 244 n. 5 418.38–419.7: 427 425.27–30: 422–423 430.15–33: 422 431.4–8: 422 432.38–433.1: 422–423 n. 39 Charisius Ars grammatica (Barwick) 3.37: 373 15.5–6: 374 n.14 193.10–13: 386; 386 n. 16 231.12–14: 388 284.2: 372 379.13–15: 388 379.24–380.1: 363 Choeroboscus Epimerismi in Psalmos (Gaisford) 34.19–24: 424 n. 45 92.26–32: 424 n. 45 Scholia in Theodosii Canones I (G.G. IV.1) 103.7–9: 423 118.18–20: 410

Passages Index

Scholia In Theodosii Canones II (G.G. IV.2) 1.8–15: 423 5.10–30: 422 n. 38 33.30–34.4: 427 n. 56 34.14–35.3: 424 39.14–37: 425 n. 47 84.31–33: 424 n. 45 132.33–133.6: 424 n. 45 134.7–15: 424 n. 45 137.28–31: 424 n. 45 142.36–143.5: 424 n. 45 184.6–10: 424–425 189.14–21: 424 n. 45 209.10–33: 422 n. 38 211.20–30: 422 n. 38 216.3–9: 423–424 n. 43 219.26–28: 423–424 n. 43 220.7–11: 424 n. 46 222.20–23: 423–424 n. 4 223.9–17: 423–424 n. 43 223.30–32: 423–424 n. 43 224.34–225.3: 423–424 n. 43 229.12–230. 2: 424 n. 45 230.19–24: 424 n. 46 230.31–34: 423–424 n. 43 236.12–17: 424 n. 45 237.21–238.15: 423–424 n. 44 240.11–241.2: 423–424 n. 44 251.2–5: 423–424 n. 44 260.3–12: 423–424 n. 44 262.6–7: 418 n. 29 262.27–263.10: 418 n. 29 266.26–31: 428 n. 29 283.11–14: 424 n. 45 296.23–24: 416 296.27–297.13: 406 n. 4 333.1–334.2: 425 n. 47 334.9–14: 421 n. 35 334.23–26: 421 n. 35 340.22–24: 424 n. 45 357.30–358.6: 424 n. 46 360.27–29: 424 n. 46 Chrysippus Stoicus fr. 183: 355

fr. 184: 356 fr. 207: 357 fr. 241: 358 fr. 373: 358 fr. 1000: 359 Cicero Brutus 117: 457 287: 458 Epistulae ad Atticum 4.10.1: 466 n. 22 Pro Ligario 1: 457 n. 25 Orator 27.94: 114 n. 27 30: 456–458; 459 n. 32 31: 458 De Oratore 3.41.166: 114 n. 27 De Republica 4.10–11: 210 n. 10 Tusculanae Disputationes 3.27: 97 n. 36 Cledonius (G.L. V) 43.21: 366 n. 5 Clemens Alexandrinus Stromateis 1.16.79.3: 58 8.6.21.2–3: 507 Comanus (Dyck) fr. 3: 351 Congregatio Salcani filii de uerbo (Löfstedt) 260.10–12: 385 260.15–18: 388 Consentius (G.L. IV) 349.21: 366 349.25: 368 Crates (Broggiato)

577

578

Passages Index

fr. 21: 111 n. 18 David Prolegomena Philosophiae (CAG XVIII.2) 10.31.27–32.9: 66–67 n. 46 Demetrius De elocutione 99–102: 115 128: 214 n. 19 241: 97 n. 36 Didymus Grammaticus (Schmidt) p. 351 (b): 437 Dio Chrysostomus 12.66: 98 n. 38 53.1: 27–28; 30; 61 n. 24 Diodorus Siculus 4.56.5: 444 5.13.1: 444 11.48.5–8: 184 n. 9 11.88.4: 444 Diogenes Laertius 7.58: 483; 497 7.59: 472 n. 56 7.63: 355 7.64: 355 7.65: 487 7.72: 357 7.81: 358 Diomedes Ars grammatica (G.L. I) 310.1ff.: 364 311.3–7: 365 320.11–12: 386 328.25–28: 394–395 n. 24 436.28–29: 373 436.17: 376 n.14 Dionysius Halicarnassensis Antiquitates Romanae 1.80.1: 457 De compositione verborum 4: 476 n. 67 4.22.12–17: 456 n. 20

4.31: 357 5: 456 n. 20 6: 453 n. 11 De Dinarcho 8.308.3: 463 n. 42 Epistula ad Ammaeum 2 1: 460 n. 36 1.422.6: 460 n. 37 2: 453 n. 11 2.422.21–424.7: 460 n. 38 2. 424.5–6: 463 n. 42 3–17: 460 3: 460 4–14: 460–462 4: 461; 462 n. 44 4.426.12: 467 n. 50 5: 461 6: 461 6.427.7–16: 466 7: 461 8: 461 8.428.12–13: 467 n. 50 10: 461–462; 464 11: 453 n. 11; 462; 464–465 11.430.12–431.9: 468–469 11.431.9–15: 470 12: 462 12.431.16–432.3: 472 12.432.3–13: 473–474 13: 462; 465 14: 462 14.433.17: 467 n. 50 15: 460 16–17: 460 Epistula ad Pompeium 3: 454 n. 14 De oratoribus veteribus 1.3.6: 460 n. 36 De Thucydide 9: 454 n. 14 9–20: 454 n. 14 10–11: 454 n. 14 13–19: 454 n. 14 24: 453 n. 11 24.361.12–362.18: 460 n. 38 24.363.10–12: 459 n. 34

Passages Index

25.364.14–16: 457 n. 28 29.373.23: 463 n. 42 29.374.22: 467 n. 50 30.375.25–376.1: 467 n. 50 31.378.5: 467 n. 50 50.409.13–21: 459 51.410.15–17: 451 53.413.2–4: 463 n. 42 55.417.22–25: 452 55.417.24: 463 n. 42 Dionysius Thrax Ars grammatica (G.G. I.1) 5.2–3: 76; 98 n. 40; 245; 245 n. 7 6.1: 245 11.1–4: 352 22.4–5: 352 26.5: 246 n. 9 59.3: 243–244 59.4: 244 n. 6 60.3–4: 406 n. 4 72.4–73.2: 318 n. 3 73.2–74.2: 321 n. 17 73.3–86.1: 323 78.1: 322 n. 21 79.2–3: 327 70.2–3: 352 125–132: 410 Fragmenta (Linke) fr. 47: 92 n. 16 Donatus Ars maior (Holtz) 610.8–9: 369 621.3–7: 394–395 n. 24 624.1–5: 367 624.5–9: 368 640.2–3: 362 644.2: 378 644.3–4: 380 644.4–5: 378 645.13–14: 388 n. 17 645.13–646.12: 381 n. 12 648.4–5: 362 648.10–11: 362

579

[Dositheus] (G.L. VII) 426.4–7: 365 Empedocles VS 31 B 44: 112 n. 22 Ennius Annales 609: 371 Ephorus (FGrHist 70) F 21: 187 Eratosthenes Berger: fr. I A 16: 83 n. 104 fr. I A 17: 83 n. 105; 84 n. 108 fr. I A 19: 83 n. 105 fr. I A 20: 84 n. 109 fr. I A 21: 84 n. 109 FGrHist 241: T 1: 56 n. 9 T 2: 64 n. 34 T 3: 64 n. 34 T 8: 58 T 9: 55 n. 2 Powell: fr. 31: 57 n. 12 Strecker: fr. 35: 57 n. 12 Etymologicum Genuinum α 900 Lasserre-Livadaras: 275 s.v. Ὀρέσται: 445 Etymologicum Magnum Gaisford: 160.22: 441 714.17–18: 278 n. 19 804.17–23: 283–284; 285 β 129 Livadaras-Lasserre: 111 n. 18 Etymologicum Symeonis α 257 Lasserre-Livadaras (= α 260 Sell): 444

580 Euphorion fr. 54 Powell (= fr. 78 Lightfoot): 190 Euripides Bacchae 302–305: 50 Hercules furens 378–9: 439 Iphigenia Taurica 700: 195 [Euripides] Rhesus 15: 42 17–22: 43 36–40: 44; 54 87–89: 42; 45 138–139: 45–46 Eusebius Caesariensis Praeparatio Evangelica 10.11.3: 64 n. 34 Eustathius 3.23: 109 n. 13 40.28–32: 109 n. 13 40.33–35: 115 n. 19 157.24–30: 110 n. 14 561.28ff.: 106–109 614.5–6: 109 n. 13 937.10–17: 115 n. 29 1645.64: 83 n. 104 Gellius 2.21.6–7: 373 7.2: 359 Hecataeus (FGrHist 1) F 4: 439 F 59: 443 Heraclides Ponticus (Wehrli) fr. 167: 61 n. 24 Heraclitus Allegoriae 5.2: 115 n. 30

Passages Index

37: 116 Hermippus Comicus fr. 32 K. – A.: 442 Herodianus (G.G. III) Prosodia catholica (G.G. III, I.1) 214.19–20: 433 275.31: 443 303.23: 433 394.18–24: 309 Περὶ κλίσεως ὀνομάτων (G.G. III, II.2) 634.5–24: 295 770.29–771.25: 305 Περὶ μονήρους λέξεως (G.G. III,II.2) 908ff.: 291–310 909.12: 100 n. 51 933.18–20: 287–288; 289 n. 42 [Herodianus] Philetaerus 317: 278 n. 22 De soloecismo et barbarismo (Nauck) 311.5–10: 96 Hesiodus fr. 65 M. – W.: 433 Hesychius α 2634: 439 ο 316: 439 ρ 348: 439 τ 33: 442 Homerus Ilias 1.586–94: 111 2.135: 93 n. 21 2.572: 189 2.594–600: 433 2.804: 502 2.804–5: 97 n. 37 2.867: 97 n. 37 4.437–438: 97 n. 37 5.385: 17 5.385–404: 105 n. 4; 108 7.76: 168

Passages Index

8.185–197: 115 8.489–491: 47 9.502–512: 116 10.10: 51 10.194–202: 46–48 13.358–60: 113; 114; 115 n. 29 17.247: 51 21.257–8: 190 24.25–30: 108 24.753: 166; 166 n. 42 Odyssea 5.292–3: 190 7.232: 194 14.384: 188 18.175–7: 502 Horatius Ars poetica 345: 166 n. 39 Epistulae 1.20.2: 166 n. 39 Hypothesis ad Eur. Melanippen TrGF 5.1, (44) i Kannicht: 202–206 Ioannes Alexandrinus 5.10–11: 278 19.4–12: 277–279; 281 n. 25 19.20–22: 278 36.12–20: 287–288; 289 n. 42 Isocrates Panathenaicus 18: 30 [Longinus] 23–27: 464 n. 44 28–29: 464 n. 44 Lucianus Demonax 26: 95 n. 31 Gallius 23: 97 n. 36 Adversus Indoctum 15: 200 n. 2

[Lucianus] Macrobii 27: 64 n. 34 Lucretius 5.1057–8: 298 5.1089–90: 298 6.1138–1286: 456 n. 23 Marius Victorinus (G.L. VI) 56.6: 371 Moeris (Hansen) μ 12: 278–279 π 77: 278 n. 22 Nemesius De natura hominum 294.94–95: 507 Neoptolemus Parianus (Mette) fr. 6a–b: 84 n. 110 Nepos Pausanias 2.3–4: 456 n. 23 Themistocles 9.2–4: 456 n. 23 Oribasius Synopsis 5.19.2: 196 n. 25 Orus (Alpers) B 4 b: 437 Ovidius Metamorphoses 1.64: 373 2.528: 371 Parmenides VS 28 B 11: 112 n. 22

581

582

Passages Index

Papyri Brit. Mus. Add. MS. 37516: 408–409 DerveniPapyrus, col. XII: 112 P.Berol. 9780: 14 P.Berol. 9917: 313 P.Hamb. II 136.10–20: 164 n. 31 P.Harr. 59: 320; 323 P.Heid. Siegmann 197: 320; 323, 327 P.Lond.Lit. 182: 88; 320; 321; 322; 323; 327 P.Mich. inv. 3688: 166 n. 42 P.Mil.Vogl. I 19: 166 n. 39 P.Oxy. 853: 454; 467; 477 P.Oxy. 1086, ii 52–53: 170 n. 65 P.Oxy. 1087, i 21–ii 28: 168 n. 51 P.Oxy. 2192: 209 n. 7 P.Oxy. 2455: 202–204 P.Oxy. 4452, fr. 1.17–8: 168 P.Rain. 1.19: 408; 410 P.Rain. 3.33B: 413 P.Turner 39, fr. A, l. 2: 57 n. 12 P. Vindob. Gr. 29247: 454–455 P.Wash.Univ. II 63, i 6–11: 172 n. 77 P.Yale 1.25: 320; 323; 327; 406 n. 4; 408 P. Yale 1.25, ll. 13–16: 406 n. 3 P.Yale 1.25. ll. 16–18: 406 Pausanias 2.25.2–3: 439 3.12.5: 442 5.10.1: 194 n. 17 8.3.2: 445 Pherecrates test. 10 K. – A.: 437 fr. 39 K. – A.: 437 Pherecydes (FGrHist 3) F 39: 442 F 135: 445

Philemo Comicus fr. 69 K. – A.: 437 Philemon (Reitzenstein) 395.34: 278 n. 22 Philicus SH 677: 65 Philistus (FGrHist 566) F 21: 443 F 96: 184 Philitas (Spanoudakis) test. 11: 65 n. 41; 81 n. 92 Philo Byblius (FGrHist 790) F 21: 437 Philodemus De poematis 1.163.2–4 Janko: 98 n. 38 1.187.21–24 Janko: 98 n. 38 5, 13.9–28 Jensen: 84 n. 110 Volumina rhetorica 2, 38.2–15 Longo Auricchio: 72 Philolaus VS 44 A 16: 112 n. 22 Philoponus Ioannes In Aristotelis Physica commentaria (CAG XVI.1) 20.10–19: 506 Philoxenus (Theodoridis) fr. 339: 275 fr. 411: 352 Photius Bibliotheca 533a38–41: 290 n. 44 Lexicon 429.7 Porson, s.v. πήχεων: 278 n. 22

Passages Index

Phrynichus Ecloga (Fischer): gl. 217: 278 n. 22 Pindarus Isthmia 2.8: 195 Nemea 1.33: 191 5.6: 188 6: 186 6.31: 186 7.61–63: 189 9: 189; 192 9.40: 187 9.48: 188 10.25–8: 189 Olympia 1: 182 2: 183 2.12–5: 184; 185 2.83–8: 32–33 6.92–3: 184 8.30–3: 190 9.22: 193 10.13: 193 10.70: 190 13.18–22: 185 13.20–2: 195 Pythia 1.33–4: 191 4: 186 5: 186 5.26: 185 5.43–4: 185 10.36: 195 Fragmenta 68 Sn. – M.: 187 Plato Alcibiades 2 147b5–10: 20 n. 3 Cratylus 388b12: 483 401b: 242; 242 n. 3 414a8–b1: 480 414b6–c3: 70

414c: 242 n. 3 418c: 242; 242 n. 3 421c5–422a–c: 480 422c–d: 481 428e: 481 423b: 480 433d: 480 Ion 530b–c: 27; 31–33 530c–d: 28–30; 34–37 532b–c: 30 535c: 34 n. 27 538d: 39 539d–e: 39–40 Phaedrus 268e: 69 Philebus 55e–56d: 78 n. 85 Protagoras 338e–9a: 35–36 339a ff.: 16 339b: 39 Respublica 378c–e: 116 n. 31 606e–7a: 37 608a: 40 Sophistes 261d–262a: 481 [Plato] Epinomis 977b: 112 n. 22 Minos 318d–e: 108 n. 9 Plinius Naturalis Historia 2.172: 371 n.11 Plotinus 6.1.25: 358 Plutarchus De audiendis poetis 14d: 205–206 19e: 116 n. 31 19e–f: 110 n. 15

583

584

Passages Index

De Iside et Osiride 51 (371f.): 196 n. 25 Quaestiones Platonicae 1009c–d: 484 1010c: 484 Timoleon 14–15: 96; 97 n. 36 [Plutarchus] De Homero 2.8: 98 n. 38 2.8–14: 92 Pompeius (G.L. V) 197.24: 295 Commentum artis Donati (G.L. V) 149.19–150.12: 385 Porphyrius In Aristotelis Categorias commentarium (CAG IV.1) 102.2–9: 504–505 Praxiphanes (Wehrli) fr. 8: 60–61 n. 20 fr. 9: 60–61 n. 20 fr. 10: 58 Priscianus Institutio de nomine et pronomine et uerbo (Passalacqua) 23.1–7: 394–395 n. 24 Institutiones grammaticae (G.L. II– III) II 56.29–57.1: 486 II 61.28: 493 II 119.12–21: 489 II 178.17: 368 II 179.12: 366 II 183.9–12: 368 II 183.12–14: 371 II 183.20–184.5: 493 II 186.4–5: 495 II 186.6: 366 II 186.13–15: 495

II 373.10–12: 486 II 423.8–10: 496 II 423.13–15: 496 II 423.15–17: 496 II 427.11–13: 497 II 441.11: 366 II 449.7–11: 366; 366 n.5 II 548.4–7: 407 n. 6 II 549.3–6: 489 II 549.19–21: 489 II 551.4–18: 490 II 551.10–18: 490 II 551.18–552.17: 485 II 552.18–20: 489 II 564.12–18: 394–395 n. 24 II 568.16–17: 388 II 577.6–9: 488 II 585.21–22: 487 III 6.12: 394–395 n. 24 III 25.27–28: 490 III 63.7–9: 491 III 90.7–12: 364 III 116.25–27: 485 III 120.16–121.2: 490 III 152.15: 486 III 175.8: 366 III 185.21: 366 III 197.16–20: 363 III 201.11–12: 364 III 423.17–19: 496 III 481.2–4: 486 Partitiones duodecim uersuum Aeneidos principalium (G.L. III) 475.28: 361, 372 Partitiones (Passalacqua) 66.19–24: 394–395 n. 24 116.1–12: 384 [Probus] Instituta artium (G.L. IV) 54.3: 368 139.6–36: 390 n. 18 140.7–38: 395 n. 26 142.12–143.21: 381 n. 13 Ptolemaeus Grammaticus ο 117: 353

Passages Index σ 142: 353

Pythenaeus (FGrHist 299) F 2: 186 Quintilianus Institutio oratoria 1.4–8: 331–346 1.4.4: 79 n. 87 1.5.68: 367 1.6.4–9: 296 1.6.16: 297; 298 1.8.20: 182 n. 8 2.17.41: 71 n. 60 10.1.101: 456 n. 24 Sacerdos Ars grammatica (G.L. VI) 444.7–15: 390 n. 18 Scaurus (Biddau) 19.2: 361 n.1 Scholia in Apollonium Rhodium 1.102: 442 1.929: 431; 447 Scholia in Aristophanem Acharnenses 88: 216 118: 211 122: 211 153: 217 n. 21 381a: 215 604f: 221–222 649a: 216 702b: 213 n. 16 Aves 575a: 217 n. 21 1379b: 218–219 Equites 84b: 217 n. 21 253: 213 n. 16 1085a, c: 217–218 1381 a, c: 222

585

Nubes 112b: 217 n. 21 349c: 213 n. 16 542b: 208 n. 5 Pax 1008a: 219–220 Ranae 710a: 212 n. 14 967a: 213 Vespae 34 col. 1: 213 n. 17 Scholia in Dionysii Thracis Artem grammaticam (G.G. I.3) 3.11–13: 73 3.19ff.: 60 n. 20; 66 n. 43 7.23ff.: 60 n. 20; 67 7.25–29: 79 n. 87 8.32–9.22: 68 n. 49; 68 n. 50 9.23–10.19: 77 n. 82 11.9–14: 77 n. 83 14.30: 245–246; 246 n. 8 100.9–10: 328 101.9–10: 327 107.1–108.11: 68 n. 49 114.23–24: 66 n. 43 115.20–119.39: 68 n. 49 118.10–12: 72 120.35–121.3: 66 n. 43 157.18–27: 68 n. 50 159.11–160.23: 58 n. 17 160.10–12: 58–59 160.11–23: 59; 66 n. 43 162.2–4: 79 n. 87 162.22–163.30: 77 n. 82 163.31–164.4: 66 n. 43 164.5–8: 73 164.23ff.: 60 n. 20 165.15–166.12: 77 n. 82 167.5–25: 77 n. 82 167.26–28: 79 n. 87 168.14–18: 77 n. 83 169.26: 295 192.8–14: 92 n. 17 223.4: 246 n. 9 229.35–36: 73 229.36–37: 60–61 n. 20

586 254.33–255.3: 406 n. 4 255.25–256.7: 406 n. 4 279.7–8: 327 289.37: 75 n. 79 298.30–40: 77 n. 82 301.10–22: 77 n. 83 301.16–21: 310 303.22f.: 295 309.9: 294; 301 447.31–448.5: 66 n. 43 448.6ff.: 60–61 n. 20 448.19–31: 77 n. 82 452.30ff.: 78 n. 84 490.7–27: 92 n. 17 515.19–521.37: 484 524.9–10: 486 548.27–30: 493 Scholia in Euripidem (Schwartz) Orestes 1645: 445 Scholia in Homerum Ilias 1.5 (D): 127 n.21 1.5–6: 127 n.21 1.18 (D): 111; 113 1.29d: 149 1.44a: 111 n. 17 1.53–5: 245 1.225c: 148 1.366a: 155; 156 n.45 1.454: 130 n.25 1.591c: 111 n. 18 1.591 (D): 112 2.122a: 130 n.25 2.130–3: 130 n.25 2.278a: 471 n. 53 2.371 (D): 92 n. 16 2.599b: 276 2.865: 162 n. 24 2.867a: 97 n. 37; 130 2.867 (D): 97 n. 37 2.872a: 130 n.25 3.179: 149 3.182a: 152

Passages Index

3.305: 113 n. 23 3.350: 134 3.506: 134 4.13: 129 4.32a: 108 n. 9 4.140b: 125 4.154: 150 4.158a: 134; 150 4.162: 134 4.223a: 153 4.235–9: 151 4.286b: 151 4.313: 151 4.400: 97 n. 37 4.437: 97 n. 37; 130 5.48: 150 5.70: 130 5.71–2: 134 5.385 (D): 18 n. 2; 105–110 5.542a: 134 5.734–6: 124 n.17 6.1a: 123 6.58–9b: 135; 147 6.62a: 147 6.234: 129 6.373: 136 6.401: 156 6.405: 156 6.450–4b: 133; 156 6.467: 156; 157 6.474: 156; 157 7.17–8: 124 7.194: 134 7.346b: 97 n. 37 7.398: 151 7.443–64c: 143 7.445: 143 7.450: 143 7.451a: 143 8.0: 124 8.2a: 128 8.9a: 137 8.78: 143 8.91: 52–53 8.133b: 131 8.141–2a: 143

587

Passages Index

8.175: 132 8.180: 133 8.185b: 467 n. 49 8.195a: 115 8.196–7: 132 8.209b: 123 8.216: 144 8.217a: 125 8.236: 144 8.242a: 157 8.246a: 123 8.261–6: 124 8.274–6a: 124 8.335: 144 8.339–40: 128 8.345–7: 134 8.350: 123 8.368: 108 n. 10 8.470–6: 125 8.497: 132 8.498–9a: 133 8.515b: 133 8.542: 130 8.562: 130 n.25 9.0a: 144 9.133a: 172 n. 78 10.1: 52 10.13b: 131 10.14–6: 125 10.17: 151 10.25a: 150 10.43a: 141 10.194: 47–48 10.274b: 126 10.295: 126 10 364b: 57 n. 12 10.446: 134 10.449: 134 11.0: 121 11.11a: 124 n.17 11.16: 151 11.17a: 147 11.17b: 147 11.52–3: 137 11.72c: 144 11.78: 144

11.90–8: 152 11.116–7: 129 11.121b: 134 11.151a: 152 11.154: 152 11.181–2: 140 11.192b: 127 11.197–8: 131 11.233: 152 11.243: 137 11.270d: 116 11.273: 138 11.278–9a: 151 11.278–9b: 152 11.288–9: 133 11.300b: 125 11.304: 129 11.304–5: 125 11.336a: 145 11.407–10: 138 11.432–3: 132 11.512–3: 139 11.558–62: 145 11.575–7: 139 11.599: 139 11.600–1a: 140 11.604c: 126 11.677–761: 140 11.808: 134 11.809a/c: 140 11.813a: 141 11.826a: 141 11.833–6: 141 12.1–2a: 141 12.13–5: 126 12.3–35: 142 12.37a: 145 12.110a: 133 12.173a: 145 12.179–80: 126; 145; 155 12.181: 145 12.334a: 157 12.437: 145 13.1a: 146 13.41a: 130 n. 28 13.197: 92 n. 16

588

Passages Index

13.203c: 135 13.348a: 127 13.359a: 114 13.827: 92 n. 16 14.139–41: 153 14.151: 128 14.512: 97 n. 37 15.18 (D): 110 n. 14 15.326–7: 146 15.390: 141–142 15.418: 146 15.610–4b: 155 15.690–5: 146 16.101–11: 125 16.119: 146 16.399–418: 128 16.569a: 129 16.800a: 127 16.814–5: 131 16.833–4: 132 17.205a: 128 17.207–8a: 127 17.214a: 162 n. 24 17.401–2: 136 17.453–5: 126 17.603–4a: 129 17.755–7: 146 18.151–2: 127 18.444–56b: 155; 156 n.45 19.233–4: 57 n. 12 19.119b: 116 23.174–6: 136 23.184: 137 24.6–9b: 156 24.25–30: 108 n. 9 24.215b: 130 n 25 24.228a: 282–283 24.282: 57 n. 12 24.664: 133 Odyssea 3.71a: 97 8.294: 97 n. 37 8.352: 110 n. 16 12.63b (D [Ernst]): 110 n. 14 18.17: 92 n. 16

Scholia in Lycophronem 583a: 446 1242b: 447 Scholia in Nicandrum Alex. 151: 441 Scholia in Pindarum Nemea 1, inscr. a: 182 n. 7 1.49c: 191 5.10a: 188 6.53a: 186 7.89b: 189 9.95a: 186 10.49b: 188 1, inscr. a: 182 n. 6 1.35c: 182 2.29d: 182 6.158b–c: 184 7.24c: 467 n. 49 8.41a: 190 9.34c: 193 10.17a, c: 193 10.55c: 193 10.83a: 190 13.27a: 194 13.29a–b: 184 Pythia 1.137b: 97 n. 37 5.34: 185 10.51a–b: 195 10.55a–b: 195 10.55a: 195 10.56a, b: 195; 196 Scholia in Theocritum Arg. 7, 76.16: 233–234 7.21a, 84.17: 228–231 Scholia in Thucydidem 1.23.6: 466 4.10.3: 474 3.45.4: 467 n. 50 8.64.5: 469 Semonides test. 19 Campbell (= test. 61 Poltera): 183

Passages Index

Seneca Epistulae 88: 20 88.37: 182 n. 8 Sergius Primae expositiones de prioribus Donati (G.L. VIII) 155.29: 380 [Sergius] Explanationes in artem Donati (G.L. IV) 513.28–32: 395–396 514.38–515.24: 382–383 529.1–533.20: 62 n. 30 530.24–25: 63 543.20: 366 n. 5 Servius Commentarius in artem Donati (G.L. IV) 417.9–12: 390–391 417.28–418.2: 395 n. 25 440.21–25: 388 Sextus Empiricus Adversus mathematicos 1.44–49: 66 n. 42 1.47: 66 1.57: 77; 98 n. 40; 310 1.59: 79 n. 87 1.60–65: 77 n. 82 1.66–71: 77 n. 83 1.72–73: 78 1.72–75: 77 n. 82 1.73: 78 1.74: 77 1.76: 72 1.176–177: 87 n. 3 1.199: 274 n. 12 1.202–206: 92–93 1.226: 294 1.227: 294 1.236: 295 1.241–247: 96 1.250: 98 n. 40; 310 1.252: 57 n. 13

589

7.269.4–6: 507 Πυρρώνειοι ὑποτυπώσεις 2.26.1–3: 507 Simias Rhodius (Fränkel) test. a: 65 n. 41 test. b: 65 n. 41 Simplicius In Aristotelis Categorias commentarium (CAG VIII) 124.14–19: 505–506 In Aristotelis Physica commentaria (CAG IX) 589.33: 170 n. 66 Stephanus Byzantius (Meineke: M., Billerbeck: B., Billerbeck – Zubler: B.–Z.) 4.16 M. = α 4 B.: 430 n. 4 5.14 M. = α 6 B.: 439 15.9 M. = α 33 B.: 435 33.1 M. = α 76 B.: 430 n. 4 33.17 M. = α 80 B.: 437 38.1 M. = α 92 B.: 437 46.6 M. = α 120 B.: 443 56.1 M. = α 147 B.: 430 n. 4 82.23 M. = α 253 B.: 430 n. 4 97.5 M. = α 322 B.: 433 112.7 M. = α 397 B.: 432 160.17 M. = β 55 B.: 430 n. 4 174.14 M. = β 119 B.: 430 n. 4 177.5 M. = β 129 B.: 433 191.5 M. = β 199 B.: 441 233.20 M. = δ 94 B.–Z.: 432 250.14 M. = δ 148 B.–Z.: 438 251.6 M. = δ 149 B.–Z.: 434 256.4 M. = δ 150 B.–Z.: 439 256.10 M.= δ 150 B.–Z.: 441 256.14 M. = δ 151 B.–Z.: 433 283.12 M. = ε 145 B.– Z.: 433 317.3 M. = θ 57 B.–Z.: 432

590

Passages Index

325.1ff. M.: 168 n. 51 336.12 M. = ι 89 B.–Z.: 432 348.6–7 M.: 432 424.6 M.: 437 475.13 M.: 431 476.17 M.: 439 483.10 M.: 440 486.1 M.: 439 494.23 M.: 445 495.4 M.: 445 495.9 M.: 444 506.15 M.: 437 547.7 M.: 446 577.8 M.: 437 598.6 M.: 442 598.11 M.: 441 603.21 M.: 447 607.3 M.: 447 607.6 M.: 432 608.19 M.: 437 628.14 M.: 437 640.7 M.: 433 677.18 M.: 432 693.3 M.: 441 Strabo 1.1.10: 84 n. 109 1.2.3: 83 n. 105; 84 n. 109 1.2.15: 83 n. 104 1.2.17: 83 n. 105; 84 n. 108 2.5.19: 444 5.2.2: 437 5.2.6: 444 7.7.8: 445 7. fr. 3.7: 445 8.6.6: 97 n. 37 9.5.11: 445 13.1.30: 446 14.1.19: 440 14.2.19: 65 n. 41; 81 n. 92 14.2.28: 97 n. 37 14.12.13: 65 n. 41 17.3.22: 64 n. 34; 81 n. 92 17.1.14: 431 Strato Comicus fr. 1 K.–A.: 93; 95

Suetonius De grammaticis 10.4: 55 n. 2; 62 n. 27 Suidas (Alder) ε 2898: 56 n. 9 ν 390: 432 ο 536: 445 ο 657: 57 n. 13 π 3038: 87 n. 2 σ 431: 65 n. 41 τ 205: 442; 443 ω 201: 429; 430 Synagoge lekseon chresimon (Cunningham) α 2519 (Σb): 278 n. 19 Tatuinus Ars grammatica (CCSL 133) 80.5: 389 80.25–81.52: 393–394 82.100–83.117: 386 Terentius Andria 829: 372 Theagenes VS 8 A 1a: 60–61 n. 20 Theocritus 7.24–25: 235–236 16.104–109: 236–237 Theodorus Prodromus (?) [Theodos.Gr.] (Goettling) 153.32–154.3: 427 n. 55 154.23–26: 425 155.6–11: 426 155.17–20: 426 158.10–11: 426 170.5–11: 426, n. 53 171.19–23: 426–427 171.23–172.24: 426 n. 54 Theodosius Canones (G.G. IV 1) 19.20–20.14: 411–412

Passages Index

41.11–13: 280–282 41.14–16: 277–279283; 281 n.25 44.14–18: 417–418 44.19–23: 419 44.23–45.4: 421 n. 35 45.7–9: 418 46.14: 418 n. 30 46.14–47.5: 419 n. 31 53.15: 417; 421 n. 35 54.6–12: 419 54.19–21: 418 n. 30 55.20–22: 418 n. 30 56.19–21: 419 n. 31 62.10–13: 420–421 66.18–21: 420 67.4–6: 420 n. 34 68.4–7: 419 68.4–10: 420 69.2–3: 418 n. 28 69.2–4: 419 n. 33 70.1–18: 412–413 71.6–9: 419 n. 33 75.21–23: 420 n. 34 76.2–5: 420 n. 34 77.1–20: 414–415 83.19–22: 417 n. 27 83.22–24: 418–419 n. 30 83.24–26: 421 n. 35 84.1–2: 421 n. 35 86.3–4: 420 n. 34 86.10: 417 n. 27; 421 n. 35 86.21–87.3: 419 n. 31 87.3–5: 419 n. 30 88.21–25: 419 n. 31 89.23–25: 420 n. 34 90.8–9: 420 n. 34 90.24–25: 420 n. 34 91.10–12: 420 n. 34 92.5–7: 420 n. 34 93.14–17: 418 n. 28 93.21–22: 418 n. 28 95.27–28: 418 n. 34 Theognostus 158.11–30: 288–289

591

Theotimus (FGrHist 470) F 1: 185 Thucydides 1.3.3: 97 n. 37 1.23.6: 466 2.39.4: 472 4.10.2: 465; 470 4.10.3: 473–474 4.78.3: 461–462 n. 39; 464 6.35.1: 465 8.64.5: 464; 468 Timaeus (FGrHist 566) F 18.6ff.: 186 F 18.10ff.: 186 F 21.6ff.: 186 F 49: 184 F 93b: 183 F 96: 184 F 145: 185 Trypho Fragmenta (de Velsen) fr. 33: 476 n. 66 fr. 38: 350 fr. 49: 350 fr. 56: 350 fr. 65: 275 De tropis (Spengel) 193.9–11: 110 n. 15 Tyrannio (Haas) test. 5: 62 n. 30 fr. 1: 351 fr. 59: 62 n. 30 Varro De lingua Latina 5–10: 334 9.1: 273 10.10: 295 10.82: 294 Goetz – Schoell: fr. 84: 62 n. 30

592 Funaioli: fr. 49: 340 fr. 234: 79 n. 87 fr. 237: 340 fr. 282: 62 n. 30 Velius Longus (G.L. VII) 56.15: 361 n. 1

Passages Index

Vergilius Georgica 3.381: 371 Vita Euripidis p. 5 Schwartz I (= T A 1 III 4 Kannicht): 199 Xenophon Ephesius 4.1.4: 433