Animals in Greek and Roman Religion and Myth [1 ed.] 9781443898218, 9781443894876

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Animals in Greek and Roman Religion and Myth

Animals in Greek and Roman Religion and Myth Proceedings of the Symposium Grumentinum Grumento Nova (Potenza) 5-7 June 2013

Edited by

Patricia A. Johnston, Attilio Mastrocinque and Sophia Papaioannou

Animals in Greek and Roman Religion and Myth Edited by Patricia A. Johnston, Attilio Mastrocinque and Sophia Papaioannou This book first published 2016 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2016 by Patricia A. Johnston, Attilio Mastrocinque, Sophia Papaioannou and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-9487-7 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-9487-6

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS .............................................................................. ix EDITORS’ PREFACE ................................................................................... xiii NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS ......................................................................... xv INTRODUCTION ............................................................................................. 1 Sophia Papaioannou PART I: ANIMALS AND COMMUNICATION WITH THE DIVINE CHAPTER ONE ............................................................................................ 19 Sacrificial Animals in Roman Religion: Rules and Exceptions Dimitrios Mantzilas CHAPTER TWO ........................................................................................... 39 Men and Animals in Lucretius’ De rerum natura Giampiero Scafoglio CHAPTER THREE ........................................................................................ 51 Vox naturae: The Myth of Animal Nature in the Late Roman Republic Fabio Tutrone CHAPTER FOUR .......................................................................................... 85 Numero avium regnum trahebant: Birds, Divination, and Power amongst Romans and Etruscans Daniele F. Maras CHAPTER FIVE.......................................................................................... 115 Constructing Humans, Symbolising the Gods: The Cultural Value of the Goat in Greek Religion Giuseppina Paola Viscardi

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CHAPTER SIX............................................................................................ 141 How to Understand the Voices of Animals Thomas Galoppin PART II: THE RELIGIOUS SIGNIFICANCE OF INDIVIDUAL ANIMALS IN GREECE AND ROME CHAPTER SEVEN ...................................................................................... 171 ੘ ʌİȡıȚțઁȢ ੕ȡȞȚȢ: The Symbology of the Rooster in the Cult of the Kabiroi Emiliano Cruccas CHAPTER EIGHT ....................................................................................... 189 Persephone’s Cockerel Augusto Cosentino CHAPTER NINE ......................................................................................... 213 Birds and Love in Greek and Roman Religion Attilio Mastrocinque CHAPTER TEN .......................................................................................... 227 Flying Geese, Wandering Cows: How Animal Movement Orients Human Space in Greek Myth Claudia Zatta CHAPTER ELEVEN .................................................................................... 237 The Dolphin in Classical Mythology and Religion Marie-Claire Beaulieu CHAPTER TWELVE.................................................................................... 255 Unusual Sacrificial Victims: Fish and Their Value in the Context of Sacrifices Romina Carboni CHAPTER THIRTEEN ................................................................................. 281 The Importance of Cattle in the Myths of Hercules and Mithras Patricia A. Johnston CHAPTER FOURTEEN ................................................................................ 299 Lament on the Sacrificed Bull in Ovid, Metamorphoses 15.120-42 Gérard Freyburger

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN .................................................................................... 309 Horse Riders and Chariot Drivers Henry John Walker CHAPTER SIXTEEN ................................................................................... 335 The Horse, the Theology of Victory, and the Roman Emperors of the 4th century CE Tiphaine Moreau CHAPTER SEVENTEEN .............................................................................. 361 Fierce Felines in the Cult and Imagery of Dionysus: Bacchic Mania and What Else? Maja Miziur CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ................................................................................. 393 Through Impurity: A Few Remarks on the Role of the Dog in Purification Rituals of the Greek World Alessio Sassù CHAPTER NINETEEN ................................................................................. 419 Acting the She-Bear: Animal Symbolism and Ritual in Ancient Athens Diana Guarisco CHAPTER TWENTY ................................................................................... 431 The Symbolism of the Hornet in the Greek and Roman World Marianna Scapini PART III: ANIMALS IN GREEK AND ROMAN MYTH CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ........................................................................... 449 Inventing the Phoenix: A Myth in the Making through Words and Images Françoise Lecocq CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO .......................................................................... 479 The Language of Animal Metamorphosis in Greek Mythology Kenneth S. Rothwell, Jr. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE ....................................................................... 495 Animals and Mythology in Vandalic Africa’s Latin Poetry Étienne Wolff

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GENERAL INDEX....................................................................................... 507 INDEX LOCORUM...................................................................................... 509

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER FOUR Fig. 1. Etruscan black-figure lip-cup (around 540-530 BCE): detail of the tondo. New York, Fordham University Collection. Fig. 2. Golden ring from Caere (mid-6th century BCE). Rome, Museo di Villa Giulia, from the Castellani Collection. Fig. 3. Drawing of the right panel of the chariot from Monteleone di Spoleto (around 575-550 BCE). New York, Metropolitan Museum. Fig. 4. Golden brooch from Vulci, Ponte Sodo (around 675-650 BCE). München, Staatliche Antikensammlungen. Fig. 5. Stele from via Righi, Bologna (early 6th century BCE). Bologna, Museo Civico Archeologico. Fig. 6. Stele of Marano di Castenaso, Bologna (around 625-600 BCE). Villanova di Castenaso, Museo della Civiltà Villanoviana. Fig. 7. Faliscan red-figure stamnos of uncertain origin (around 375-350 BCE). Bonn, Antikensammlung der Universität Bonn. Fig. 8. Etruscan red-figure stamnos of uncertain origin (mid-4th century BCE). Oxford, Ashmolean Museum. CHAPTER SEVEN Fig. 1: Pergamon, relief of a rooster from the Heroon of Diodoros Pasparos. Fig. 2: Pergamon, relief of a pilos from the Heroon of Diodoros Pasparos. Fig. 3: Terracotta statue of Zeus and Ganymede. Archaeological Museum at Olympia. CHAPTER EIGHT Fig. 1: Pinax Type 2/11, Persephone abducted by Hades, Reggio Calabria, National Archaeological Museum. Fig. 2: Pinax Type 8/22, Persephone enthroned and Dionysus, Reggio Calabria, National Archaeological Museum. Fig. 3: Pinax Type 4/1, Kore and Aphrodite picking flowers, Reggio Calabria, National Archaeological Museum. Fig. 4: Terracotta statue of Zeus and Ganymede, Archaeological Museum at Olympia.

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Fig. 5: Marbble Relief from m Harpy Tomb b, East Side (ddetail from th he centre), London, British Museeum. CHAPTER NINE Fig. 1a, 1b: A Aureus of Fauustina the You unger (from a pprivate collecction). Fig. 2: Undeefined denariuus of Domitia (from an onlinne commerciaal cataloguue). Fig. 3: Terraacotta from thee sanctuary off “Fondo Pattuurelli”, Capuaa, Museo Campanoo at Capua. Fig. 4: Harppokrates ridingg a duck. Prov venance Unknnown. CHAPTER ELEVEN Fig. 1. Cup oof Exekias. Munich, M Antikeensammlungenn, inv. 2044. Fig. 2. Tombb of Hunting and a Fishing, second chambeer, back wall (detail). ( Fig. 3. Etrusscan cinerary urn, u Musée Calvet, Avignonn, E49. Clichéé Musée Calvet A André Guerrannd. Collection Nani di San T Trovaso, Venisse, Achat de la Fonndation Calveet, 1841 CHAPTER TWELVE Fig. 1. Etrusscan stamnos with w Artemis (?), on one sidde, and two fiigures with fishh, on the opposite side. Fig. 2. Atticc black-figure olpe with sacrrifice (?) of tuuna fish for Po oseidon. Fig. 3. Relieef from Parium m with a fish on o altar. CHAPTER THIRTEEN Fig. 1: Mithhras Tauroctonny, Louvre. Fig. 2a, 2b, 2c: Cup from Via Giuseppee Luigi Passallaqua. Fig. 3: Taurooctony/Mithraaeum, Neuenh heim, Heidelbberg. Fig. 4: Hercules attackingg Cerberus; found in the Miithraeum of Sttockstadt. Saalburgg museum (CIIMRM 1180). CHAPTER SIXTEEN Fig. 1: Funeeral mensa of Tharos. T Museum of Cagliarri (Sardinia). 4th cent. CE. Fig. 2: RIC 7: 364, Ticinuum, n. 36, pl. 9. 9 Fig. 3: Aquiilea, 352-354: RIC 8, 196. Gallus G Caesar . R.: Christogram and brought down horse of the enemy. Fig. 4: Kertcch Missorium m representing Constantius I I (337-361).

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Fig. 1: Dionysus mainomenos. Red-Figure Athenian stamnos, Eretria, Vulci, 500-450, London, British Museum E439. Fig. 2: Death of Pentheus, Borowski cup, attributed to Douris Painter. Fig. 3: The J. Paul Getty Museum, Villa Collection, Malibu, California, Gift of Seymour Weintraub 75.AE.106. Bull and Lions, Black-figured column krater, attributed to the Painter of Munich 1736. Side B. Fig. 4: Death of Pentheus, Red-Figure Athenian stamnos, attributed to Berlin Painter, Etruria, Cervetri, 525-475, Oxford, Ashmolean Museum: 1912.1165. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Fig. 1: Plan of the Agora of Messene. Fig. 2: The temple of the goddess Messene and the nearby well.

EDITORS’ PREFACE

This volume contains a selection of papers originally presented at the international conference on “The Role of Animals in Ancient Myth and Religion”, which was held with great success in Grumento Nova, Italy, from June 3rd to 5th, 2013, bringing together seasoned scholars and young researchers of Ancient Religion. The production of a volume that involves the contributions of more than 20 scholars depends on many individuals’ diligence, hard work, and promptitude. First and foremost, the editors of this volume wish to express their gratitude to the contributors themselves, who observed the various deadlines, willingly complied with the suggestions addressed to them, and were patient with delays that the editing of a ca. 500-page long volume brings with it. A few preliminary comments might prove helpful. The abbreviations follow those listed in the Liddell-Scott-Jones, A Greek-English Dictionary 9th edition, L’ Annee Philologique, or the Oxford Classical Dictionary, 3rd edition. For the sake of clarity the titles of little-known works mentioned in each paper, and the names of their authors, are recorded in full. There is no comprehensive bibliography at the end of the volume; instead, each chapter is followed by its own bibliography which includes the full citations to texts noted in the respective chapter. A comprehensive list of the illustrations discussed in several of the papers is included at the beginning of the volume after the note on contributors. All Greek and Latin passages quoted in the main text and the footnotes are followed by English translations. Longer quotations in the main texts are indented. Double quotes have been used only for quotations from modern authors or for special terms. To each of the museums and art collections, as well as to individual collectors, who have so kindly given their permission for the publication of material in their possession we extend our sincere thanks. The volume approaches the scholarly study of Greek and Roman religion from many different disciplinary backgrounds. From the very beginning editors and contributors joined forces to produce a collection of original arguments in engaging and jargon-free prose, which would appeal to a broad community of readers, both professional students of the classical antiquity and the general educated public. Of course not every aspect of the role of animals in Greek and Roman religion was covered, but we hope that the questions raised and the arguments advanced in the following pages will inspire further study in a most promising area of antiquity.

NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Marie-Claire Beaulieu is an Assistant Professor of Classics at Tufts University. Her main research interests are in Greek religion and Digital Humanities. Her book, The Sea in the Greek Imagination (University of Pennsylvania Press), proposes that the sea marks the boundary between mortals, immortals, and the dead in Greek mythology and religion. In Digital Humanities, Marie-Claire Beaulieu is working on making the creation and dissemination of knowledge about the ancient world more accessible through online tools. She is the principal investigator of the Perseids Project and the Associate Editor of the Perseus Digital Library. Romina Carboni completed her PhD at the University of Tübingen (2011). Previously she completed her BA degree (2002) and her specialisation in Classical Archaeology (2006) at the University Cagliari, where she worked under a two-year contract on the Young Researchers project at the University of Cagliari. She is now field director for the ISTHMOS survey and excavation project in the Punic-Roman city of Nora (south Sardinia). Also, as the recipient of a post-doctoral, three-year grant at the University of Cagliari she is currently engaged with a project that explores the religion of Roman Sardinia. Augusto Cosentino graduated with honours from the University of Messina. He received his PhD in History of Religions at the University ‘La Sapienza’ of Rome, and a second PhD at the University of Messina. From the same institution he has received a second post-doctoral degree. He also holds an MA in Christian archaeology from the Pontifical Institute of Christian Archaeology. He studies Greek and Roman religion, Gnosticism, Judaism, and Early Christianity. He collaborates with the “Collana di testi patristici” (Editrice Città Nuova), for which he has published an Italian translation and commentary of Irenaeus of Lyon’s Against Heresies (Ireneo di Lione, ‘Contro le eresie’; introduzione, traduzione e note a cura di A. Cosentino, 2009) and most recently a translation and commentary of the Testament of Solomon (Testamento di Salomone; introduzione, traduzione e note di A. Cosentino, 2013) He is editorial manager of the Journal Open Theology (De Gruyter). He has

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taught history of religions at the University of Messina and the University of Calabria, and now he teaches Latin and Greek at the Liceo Classico. Emiliano Cruccas completed his degree (2002) and his specialisation in Classical Archaeology (2006) at the University of Cagliari, and received his PhD from the University of Tübingen (2011). He worked on a twoyear contract at the Young Researchers project at the University of Cagliari. He is now field director for the ISTHMOS survey and excavation project in the Punic-roman city of Nora (south Sardinia), and he holds a three-year postdoctoral grant at the University of Cagliari. Gérard Freyburger is Professor Emeritus of Latin Language and Literature at the University of Strasbourg, where he was Director of the Centre d’Analyse des Rhétoriques Religieuses de l’Antiquité (CARRA). As a specialist in Roman Religion, he has published numerous papers in this field. Moreover, he published a book entitled Fides. Etude sémantique et religieuse des origines jusqu’à l’époque d’ Auguste (Les Belles Lettres, 2004); and, in collaboration with M.L. Freyburger and J.C. Tautil, the book Sectes religieuses en Grèce et à Rome dans l’Antiquité païenne (Les Belles Lettres, 2005). Together with F. Heim, he has recently published a French translation of the first volume of the Handbuch der lateinischen Literatur (Brepols). He is presently working on a commentary and a French translation of Censorinus’ De die natali for the Collection des Universités de France (Brepols). Thomas Galoppin studies the history of ancient Greek and Roman religions at the École Pratique des Hautes Études, in Paris. He is currently completing his PhD thesis on “Animals and Ritual Power in the ‘Magical’ Practices of the Roman Empire”. Diana Guarisco received her Laurea from the University of Bologna (1998) with a thesis on the epigraphic evidence of the cult of Artemis in Attica. Since 2001 she is a research collaborator of Professor D. M. Cosi, the chair of Religions of the Classical World and History of Religions at the University of Bologna. In 2010 she completed her PhD at the University of Florence with a thesis on local and panhellenic features of the cult of Artemis in Attica. In 2011 she received a grant from the Ancient History Department of the University of Bologna for a research project on the “twin” sanctuaries of Artemis in Attica. A product of this research is the monograph Santuari “gemelli” di una divinità. Artemide in Attica (“Twin” sanctuaries of a divinity. Artemis in Attica), Bologna 2015.

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In the past five years she has delivered several papers at international conferences on the cult of Artemis in Attica, as well as on cults of early Rome and their revival under Augustus. Patricia A. Johnston has been Professor of Greek and Latin Languages and Literature at Brandeis University in Waltham, Massachusetts, since 1975. Her research focuses on Vergil and Latin Poetry, as well as on the Ancient Mystery Cults. Her publications include studies of Vergil’s Golden Age, Mystic Cults of Magna Graecia, and more recently a commentary on Aeneid VI and a translation of Vergil’s Aeneid (2012). As past president of the Vergilian Society she established their annual Symposia Cumana, which she continued to organise, with Giovanni Casadio, for the next eighteen years. More recently she has been coorganizing, with Attilio Mastrocinque, Sophia Papaioannou, and László Takács, the annual Symposium Classicum Peregrinum, which has progressed from Grumento Nova to Verona to Budapest. Françoise Lecocq, Lecturer in Latin at the University of Caen-Normandy, focuses her research on the ancient and contemporary phoenix. In about fifteen articles, she has reviewed the understanding of the myth in a variety of original approaches and conclusions. She studied in particular the legendary bird in its connections with Egyptian religion and the Roman Empire, and the building of the myth from Herodotus to Lactantius and Claudian, in the Greek novels and Christian religion, and in iconography. More recent publications focus on the modern metamorphoses of the phoenix in texts and images of the 20th and 21st centuries. She recently published two articles one entitled, Le phénix et son Autre, Poétique d’un mythe, L. Gosserez (ed.), University Press of Rennes, 2013, and one on the translations of the Bible: “Y a-t-il un phénix dans la Bible? À propos de Job 29.18” (Kentron 30, 2014). Dimitrios Mantzilas studied Classics at the University of Athens. He obtained an MA (1996) and a PhD in Latin Studies (2000) at the ParisSorbonne University. His dissertation title was: Les Divinités dans l’œuvre poétique d’Ovide (Lille, 2002). From 2004 until 2013 he taught as Adjunct Lecturer in Latin language and civilisation at the Universities of Ioannina, Patras, and Thrace. Nowadays he is an Independent Researcher, text editor and translator, and also offers private tutoring. He has presented papers at International Conferences and has published articles on various themes related to Roman Religion and Magic, Medical Texts, Roman Music, Laevius, Ovid, Plautus, Alcestis Barcinonensis, Roman women, Carmina

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Burana, and the Evolution and Survival of Latin. His recent publications include four commentaries: on Cicero’s Somnium Scipionis (2005), Plautus’ Mostellaria (2014), the Res Gestae Divi Augusti (2014) and Cicero’s Pro Archia Poeta (2015); and he has contributed to a volume on Callimachus (1997). Daniele Federico Maras received his PhD in Archaeology (Etruscology, 2002) and a Specialisation degree in Classical Archaeology (2004) at the Sapienza University of Rome, where he taught Epigraphy of Pre-Roman Italy from 2006 to 2010. He has been a visiting scholar at UMass Amherst (2011), Margo Tytus Visiting Scholar Fellow at the University of Cincinnati (2014), Associate Research Fellow of the Italian Academy for Advanced Studies at Columbia University (2014-15), and Samuel H. Kress Lecturer for the Archaeological Institute of America (2015-16). He has is a member of the Board of Teachers for the PhD in Linguistic History of Ancient Mediterranean at the IULM University of Milan. He is the author of Il dono votivo. Gli dei e il sacro nelle iscrizioni etrusche di culto (2009), and, with G. Colonna, of the Corpus Inscriptionum Etruscarum, II.1.5, dedicated to Veii and the Faliscan area (2006). He is also editor of the volumes: Corollari. Scritti di antichità etrusche e italiche in omaggio all’opera di Giovanni Colonna (2011); Theodor Mommsen e il Lazio antico (2009, with F. and M. Mannino); Storie della prima Parma. Etruschi, Galli, Romani: le origini della città alla luce delle nuove scoperte archeologiche (2013, with D. Locatelli and L. Malnati). Attilio Mastrocinque is Professor of Roman History at the University of Verona, where he has taught since 1995. He has been invited professor at the École Normale Supérieure (Paris, 1993), and in 2007 held courses at the École Pratique des Hautes Études – Ve section des sciences religieuses (Paris) as director of studies. Since 2005 he has been Director of the archaeological excavations on the Roman Forum of Grumentum (Lucania). His major publications include: Studi sulle guerre Mitridatiche (Stuttgart, 1999); From Jewish Magic to Gnosticism (Tübingen, 2005); Des mystères de Mithra aux mystères de Jésus (Stuttgart, 2009); Kronos, Shiva & Asklepios. Studies in Magical Gems and Religions of the Roman Empire (Philadelphia, 2011); Les intailles magiques du Départment des monnaies médailles et antiques (Paris, 2014). Maja Miziur-MoĨdzioch studied Classical Philology and Mediterranean culture and Art History at the University of Wrocáaw. She wrote her PhD dissertation (entitled: “Exotic animals in life, culture and imagination of

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the Hellenistic period: Big cats”) at the Department of History of the same University. She completed part of her doctoral research at the University of Liverpool on a two-year internship. She has published on animals in antiquity (“Exotic Animals as a Manifestation of Royal luxuria. Rulers and Their Menageries: From the Pompe of Ptolemy II Philadelphus to Aurelian”, Phasis. Greek and Roman Studies, vol. 15-16 (2012-2013), 451-65) and art (“Technika enkaustyczna i portrety mumiowe a styl pierwszych ikon chrzeĞcijaĔskich z VI i VI wieku na przykáadzie ikon z klasztoru ĝw. Katarzyny na Synaju”, Dzieáa i Interpretacje, 13 (2012), 121-33.). Tiphaine Moreau recently (November 2015) defended her doctoral dissertation, entitled, Divine, Imperial and Ecclesiastic Authority through the associations ‘Emperor-Cross’ in the texts of the Fourth and Fifth centuries, at the University of Limoges. She is currently a tenure-track teacher of History at a French high school. Previously, she studied at the University of Western Brittany (Brest, 2008-11), and taught as Lecturer at the same university (2012-13). With Bertrand Lançon she co-authored the book, Constantin. Un Auguste chrétien (Paris, 2012). She has published several articles on such diverse topics as fear, the horse, networks and the Cross in the fourth and fifth centuries, and has edited the proceedings of a conference on the networks in Late Antiquity which she co-organised with A. Bodin (Réseaux et contraintes dans l’Antiquité Tardive, Revue des Études Tardo-Antiques, 2014). Her research focuses on the many aspects of power and authority in Late Antiquity, and the construction of networks (social and administrative) in the Eastern Roman Empire. Sophia Papaioannou is Associate Professor of Latin Literature at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens. Her teaching and research interests include Augustan literature and poetics, Roman comedy, and Latin epic. Her recent publications include the volume Terence and Interpretation (Newcastle, 2014) and the joint edition (with Patricia Johnston and Edit Kraehling) of the papers presented at the 2011 Symposium Cumanum, under the title Idyllic Poetic Landscapes in Antiquity: Arcadia, the Golden Age, and the Locus Amoenus. Special Issue of AAntAScHung 53 (2013) [2014]. Kenneth S. Rothwell, Jr., is Professor and Chair of the Classics Department at the University of Massachusetts, Boston. He has published two monographs: Politics and Persuasion in Aristophanes’ Ecclesiazusae (Leiden, 1990) and Nature, Culture and the Origins of Greek Comedy. A

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Study of Animal Choruses (Cambridge, 2007). He was also the translator of a volume in the I Tatti Renaissance Library, Federico Borromeo: “Sacred Painting” and “Museum” (Cambridge, MA, 2009). His teaching interests include ancient comedy, Athenian democracy, and the history of science. Alessio Sassù is a PhD student at the University of Verona. He received his MA in Classical Archaeology at La Sapienza University of Rome and he was member of the Italian School of Archaeology at Athens (SAIA) from 2010 to 2011. He is primarily interest in ancient Greek cults and religion, specifically the Athenian ritual practices from the Archaic to the Classical period. He published an essay on the votive deposits of the Athenian Agora in the 7th cent. BCE (“Depositi votivi e funzioni cultuali collettive nell’Atene di VII secolo a.C.”, Thiasos 5, Rome 2014, 37-50). Currently he works on the transfer modalities of Greek art objects (war booty, Roman art trade) in the Republican period (3rd-1st cent. BCE). Giampiero Scafoglio holds a PhD in Classics from the University of Naples “Federico II”, where he was also a postdoctoral fellow. He was lecturer at the University of Salerno, at the Pontifical University of Southern Italy and at the University of Naples “L’Orientale”. At present he teaches Latin at the Second University of Naples and is visiting fellow at the University of Nantes. He is author of several articles on the Greek epic cycle, Roman tragedy, Vergil, and the poetry and poetics of Late Antiquity (in particular, Ausonius). He is also the author of two books: “L’Astyanax di Accio. Saggio sul background mitografico, testo critico e commento dei frammenti” (Bruxelles, 2006); “Noctes Vergilianae. Ricerche di filologia e critica letteraria sull’Eneide” (Hildesheim-New York, 2010); and is coeditor (with E. Amato and E. Gaucher-Rémond) of Variations sur le mythe. La légende de Troie de l’Antiquité Tardive au Moyen Âge (Nantes, 2014). Marianna Scapini holds a PhD in Classics from the University of Verona. Her PhD research project concerned the political aspects of initiation rites for women in the Roman world between the Late Republic and the end of the 1st century CE. Her doctoral dissertation is to be published in the series ARYS (Antigüedad: Religiones y Sociedades) (Universidad de Huelva). Her research focuses on Greek and Roman history, civilization, and art. She has published two books, respectively, on the Greek influences upon Roman historiographers, and on the social and political implications of Dionysian cults within the Roman world, focusing

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especially on iconographic sources. In 2014, she was a guest postdoctoral fellow in Heidelberg (Ruprecht-Karls-Universität) on a DAAD Scholarship. She is currently a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Verona and visiting scholar at the Universitat Pompeu Fabra in Barcelona. Fabio Tutrone is a Research and Teaching Fellow in Latin literature at the University of Palermo, where he also obtained his PhD in Greek and Latin Philology and Culture in 2009. He has held visiting positions at the Department of Classics at Columbia University and at the Fondation Hardt in Geneva. His research concerns the history of Roman literature, science, and philosophy, with special regard to Lucretius and Seneca. He has worked consistently on the ancient representation of animals and humananimal relationships. His publications include Filosofi e animali in Roma antica: Modelli di animalità e umanità in Lucrezio e Seneca (2013), Evil, Progress, and Fall: Moral Readings of Time and Cultural Development in Roman Literature and Philosophy (edited with R. R. Marchese, 2014), as well as several papers on literary topics of ethical and anthropological interest. He is currently taking part in a nationally funded project on ancient myth coordinated by Maurizio Bettini. Giuseppina Paola Viscardi graduated in Classics and received a doctorate in History of Religions at the University of Naples “Federico II”. Since 2012 she has been instructor and teaching assistant in History of Religions and Cultural Anthropology at the University of Salerno. Her primary research interests focus on thematic issues inherent to the functional articulation of ancient pantheon, with specific reference to the Greek one, and to the symbolic configurations of deities, such as Artemis, closely linked to initiatory practices, policies of civilisation, and selfbuilding processes of the human society. At present, she is working on a research project on cultural dynamics and religious identities in the historical setting of ancient Campania. Henry John Walker was born in Ireland and studied Classics at Trinity College, Dublin. He obtained a PhD in Classics at Cornell University. He has taught Greek and Latin at Bates College since 1993. He has published three books: Theseus and Athens (Oxford, 1995); Valerius Maximus. Memorable Deeds and Sayings (Hackett, 2004); The Twin Horse Gods: The Dioskouroi in Mythologies of the Ancient World (I. B. Tauris, 2015).

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Étienne Wolff is Professor of Latin Language and Literature at the University of Paris Ouest (Nanterre). His main field of research is on Late Antiquity, and particularly the literary production in Gaul in the fourth and fifth centuries and in Africa in the era of the domination of the Vandals (fifth to sixth centuries). He has published books on Latin literature (for example, Martial ou l’apogée de l’épigramme, Rennes, PUR, 2008), and numerous editions and translations of Latin texts as diverse as Dracontius’ Works (Les Belles Lettres, 1995 and 1996), the anonymous Carmina Burana (Imprimerie nationale, 1995), the Confabulationes of Poggio Bracciolini (Les Belles Lettres, 2005), the De reditu suo of Rutilius Namatianus (Les Belles Lettres, 2007), the Expositio Virgilianae continentiae and the Mythologiae of Fulgentius (Lille: Presses universitaires du Septentrion, 2009 and 2013). Claudia Zatta’s research interests include Greek language and literature, Greek tragedy, philosophy, and classical myths. Her essays have appeared, among other venues, in Arethusa, Classical Antiquity, and Quaderni Urbinati di Cultura Classica, and she has published a monograph on the figure of Proteus in Homer and the subsequent literary tradition, Incontri con Proteo (Venice, 1997). Long interested in the animal question, she is currently working on a book that addresses the status of animals as creatures of nature in Aristotle and Presocratic philosophy.

INTRODUCTION SOPHIA PAPAIOANNOU

Throughout antiquity animals were an organic part of the human world. An animal sacrifice was a prime means of human communication with the divine, as well as a major social and political event—its abolition in the fourth century CE essentially became the ideological boundary between the ancient culture of paganism and the Postclassical world of Christianity. Although anthropomorphic, the deities of the Greco-Roman pantheon had their favourite animals and routinely communicated their will through them, and on occasion took for themselves the shape of animals when visiting the world of the mortals. The religions of the Mesopotamian kingdoms, the Eastern Mediterranean, and the Levant honoured deities of hybrid—half-human, half-animal—physical identities, or worshipped animals as incarnations of the gods on earth. Priests were trained to discern meaning in the flight of birds, decode divine messages inscribed on the innards of the animals, and comprehend a variety of marvellous occurrences that involved animals as divine omens carrying some message from above. The foundation of the very city of Rome is contingent on the manifestation of avian omens to the Roman twins contesting for the title of founder, while the idea of Athenian autochthony is epitomised in the association of the two earlier legendary kings of the city, Cecrops and Erichthonius, with the snake. In myth the aetiological origins of several kinds of animals are to be found in the world of humans: numerous animals were originally humans who underwent transformation as a punishment for some grave transgression or because they insulted, often involuntarily, some deity in one way or other. In monumental iconography rituals and cultic events involving animals predominate. Greek and Roman art abounds in representations that immortalise a univocal relationship between god and animal/victim—an artistic immortalisation made possible only because of the exclusiveness of the interdependency between a god and a particular animal. Divine displeasure is routinely communicated through prodigies manifested in the unusual behaviour or appearance of animals (cows that talk, births of animal monsters), which special professional religious

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Introduction

officers are expected to decode. The cryptically significant character of an animal is best celebrated in literature, specifically poetry, where animals become allegories for the revolutionary or the sublime, but also for what is held to be pedantic and old. The diversity that distinguishes the relationship between the divine and the animal world has survived and come down to us either because it was deliberately recorded, in art and literature, or by accident, in the aftermath of archaeological discoveries that brought to light sacrificial spaces littered with animal remains. The incredible variety of the ways animals define human interaction with religion and culture communicated through myth inspired the organisation at Grumento Nova, in the Basilicata region of Italy, of the symposium entitled “The Role of Animals in Ancient Myth and Religion”, in the summer of 2013, and generated the collection of the papers in the present volume. As the ancient sources, both literary and material, involve their audience directly in the act of interpreting, but not always explaining clearly, their interaction with animals, the role of interpreter falls upon the modern critic. The papers in this collection bring together various methodologies for assessing the presence of animals in ancient Greco-Roman myth and religion, as this presence is recorded in art, archaeology, and literature, across a period of several centuries, from Preclassical Greece to Late Antique Rome. Several of these papers are in close interaction with others in the volume (most conspicuously, for instance, there are three papers on the religious significance of the cock, by Cruccas, Cosentino, and Mastrocinque, which obviously interact, and are therefore sequentially arranged), and several arguments extend across individual papers. All discussions in their own particular ways enriched and expanded the umbrella theme of the conference. All in all, the twentythree papers in this collection have been organised in thematically related sections, and each of them, both individually and as part of a complex unit, explores more or less prominent aspects of the contribution of specific animals to the political and cultural sides of human interaction with the divine in Ancient Greece and Rome.

Part I: Animals and Communication with the Divine Part One of the volume includes papers that examine the many facets of animal sacrifice, approaching it as a cultural, political, and literary phenomenon. The first three papers discuss various issues of the culture and ideology of animal sacrifice in Republican Rome. Dimitrios Mantzilas, whose paper opens this collection, briefly gathers and

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categorises the particular rules that, according to official Roman religion, governed animal sacrifices to individual deities. These rules dictated that each deity be honoured through sacrifice of an animal of the same sex and of a certain colour. Nevertheless, tradition records several occasions when these rules were not followed, and Mantzilas devotes the bulk of his paper to discussing those divergences from the pattern, which he attributes to the fact that “they originated from an ancient era before the gods had a specific gender and thus it did not matter what gender of animal was sacrificed to them” (p. 53). Mantzilas points out that the rules of sacrifice at Rome according to Greek tradition (Graeco ritu) were often responsible for the fact that on occasion the gender of the victim did not reflect the gender of the honoured deity, but this was justified by the fact that the particular deity had been imported from Greece, while for the purely Roman gods such a thing would never have been allowed. There are recorded occasions when the rule of the same sex of the proffered animal and of the deity being honoured was not followed, not even for deities of non-Hellenic origin—specifically Fons, Veiovis, or Robigo—without any reasonable explanation. Mantzilas suggests that the lack of an explanation can be attributed to the fact that Roman religion is characterised by complex cultural interactions, a process that involves the importation of rites from various cultures (Greek, Etruscan, Roman, Egyptian, Syrian, and other) and their amalgamation with traditional aspects of Roman religion. The next paper in Part One discusses the intercrossing of politics and poetics in the treatment of animals in the philosophical epic of Lucretius, De rerum natura. Lucretius takes part in a broader discourse in the Late Republic that condemned the injuring of animals and urged against animal sacrifice. Similar views are recorded in Varro’s De re rustica and in Cicero’s works. For Giampiero Scafoglio (“Men and Animals in Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura”), Lucretius’ overall attitude towards animals is clearly positive. Lucretius, Scafoglio argues, often expresses a negative judgment about men, and the ambitions and passions that deprive them of freedom and dignity, but also exhibits admiration for animals, as they embody a simple and pure way of life, in accordance with nature. This is already stated in the opening of the DRN, in the invocation of Venus as the goddess foremost of sexual union and regeneration of nature, a deity primarily welcomed and followed by the animals which come together under the impetus of sexual desire and celebrate the triumph of spring. This celebration of nature and living according to the call of nature clashes with traditional religion, which is a source of anxiety and fear but also of violence and cruelty inflicted by men both upon other men (such as the

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Introduction

sacrifice of Iphigeneia) and upon animals (such as the sacrifice of a calf). According to Lucretius, animal sacrifice is a cruel act, and differs little from human sacrifice. The two are joined in the sacrifice of Iphigeneia, where a calf takes the place of the maiden, while Agamemnon’s cruelty is contrasted with the moving agony of the heifer desperately searching in the fields for the calf sacrificed in Iphigeneia’s place (2.352-66). In short, Scafoglio argues, animals provide examples of a lifestyle in accordance with nature, one that reflects ideals of inner balance, detachment from passions and freedom from troubles, i.e., the ideals advocated by Epicureanism. Scafoglio proves this by identifying and discussing a selection of passages from the Lucretian epic. The philosophical understanding of animal life in the texts of the Late Republic, primarily in Lucretius but also in Cicero and Sallust, is the focus of the next paper, by Fabio Tutrone (“Vox Naturae: The Myth of Animal Nature in the Late Roman Republic”). Tutrone is inspired by the interpretation of animal life as a physiological condition allowing the understanding of the basic rules of the cosmos, and he acknowledges that the establishment of the dialectical opposition between nature and culture as a typical cultural feature of Western mentality, already present in Late Republican philosophical thought, is bolstered by the creation of a clearcut distinction between man and animal. He then proceeds to study the articulation of this philosophical debate as recorded in the texts of leading authors and thinkers of the Late Roman Republic, namely, Cicero, Sallust, and Lucretius. He observes that, although Latin writers often appeal to conflicting doctrines (Epicurean hedonism, Stoic teleology, Platonic spiritualism, and so on), explicitly criticising rival theories, they all seem to share a fundamental point of classical cosmological reflections: the consideration of animal behaviour as the mirror or voice of Nature (e.g. Cic. Fin. 2.32, 3.62; Lucr. 5.1028-90). This age-old notion, according to Tutrone, dates back to Greek (and especially Hellenistic) philosophy, whose various traditions had interpreted the evidence offered by animals in significantly diverging ways. Tutrone, however, considers that it can be deceptive to see the texts of Latin authors as mere sources for earlier conceptions; instead he urges that they be seen as results of a process of reception, in the proper sense, emphasising their tendency to adapt the conceptual paradigms of philosophy to the inputs of cultural history. The three papers coming next in Part One discuss the cultural context and politics of interpreting omens involving animals. Daniele Federico Maras, in his “Numero Avium trahebant: Birds, Divination, and Power among Romans and Etruscans”, focuses on the Etruscan discipline of interpreting bird omens, which evidently dates from much earlier than the

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Romans of the Late Republican and Imperial times believed. Maras’ starting point is the information on divination recorded in Cicero’s texts. Cicero regards as part of the disciplina of the Etruscan haruspices the divination through the reading of entrails (libri haruspicini), the interpretation of lightning bolts (fulgurales), and an assortment of various divinatory and ritual matters (rituales). However, Maras judges the reading of the flight of birds, the libri augurales, to have been a Roman specialty: Cicero having himself been an augur, his testimony has often been cited, even in the most recent literature, as evidence of the extraneity of auspicium (as part of the augurium) to the Etruscan lore and the haruspicine science. As a matter of fact, recent studies, Maras points out, have shown that divination through the observation of birds was effectively practiced by the Etruscans at least as early as the 4th century BCE (and probably earlier). And perhaps even the observation of birds on the occasion of the foundation of a town (hinted at by the myth of the twelve vultures of Romulus vs. the six vultures of Remus) could have been part of the foundation ritual Etrusco ritu, according to the Etrusca disciplina, as testified to by Classical authors. A careful analysis of the sources—literary as well as archaeological—, leads, according to Maras, to presumption of an Etruscan or possibly Roman-Etruscan context to accommodate myths, sacred rituals, and iconographic religious representations featuring birds, and so throws some light on the cultural context inside which the close relationship between the ritual practice of the auspicium/augurium and the exercise of power in the Roman tradition developed. Giuseppina Viscardi’s chapter, entitled “Between Gods and Men: The Role of Animals in Human Creation and God Representation”, moves from Roman to Greek religion and looks at how animals in a more abstract religious context were perceived either as an ‘other’ remote from oneself or as the ‘other side’ of oneself, and in any case, as an embodiment of the sacred force released from nature. Viscardi’s case study of the way nature and the divine communicate their will to man through an animalintermediary is the goat. In the context of Greek religion, from the Archaic period onwards, the goat, whose presence is commonly associated with the cults of Artemis and Dionysus, symbolises both death and re-generation. In relation to mystery and initiation rituals as well as propitiatory practices, the goat pertains both to the feminine, in terms of sexual energy out of control, and to the masculine, in terms of military power and conquest over one’s enemy. This double symbolism of the animal in question is closely tied to its apotropaic function, and it is illustrated in the Hellenistic myth of the constellation of Amaltheia as related by ps.-

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Introduction

Eratosthenes (Catasterismoi 1.13). According to this myth Zeus, hidden inside a cave on Mount Ida of Crete, drank the milk of Amaltheia, a divine goat, daughter of Helios. Zeus’ association with the goat continues: during the Titanomachy he wore the goat skin (hence his cult title Zeus Aigiochos), a weapon that made him unbeatable and terrifying because it featured on it the Gorgoneion, the head of a Gorgon, that petrified his opponents. Thus, Zeus appeared with a double nature (diplasion), both human-like (as baby) and divine (as warrior), in a myth that has been viewed also as relating to the transition from the monarchic rule to the new religious order of the polis. The last paper of the first section by Thomas Galoppin, entitled “How to Understand the Voices of Animals”, examines the ties of snakes with religion, more precisely divination and magic. Galoppin argues that the cooking and eating of snakes was employed as means of communication with the divine and learning the future. In Greek mythical discourse, Galoppin notes, it is possible for seers to acquire the ability to understand the languages of animals. In some texts concerning ‘magical’ practices, the seer can accomplish this either by having an animal, specifically a snake or a bee, touch his ears, or through the ingestion of all or part of an animal. A passage from Pliny the Elder’s Natural History links the myth and the practice: the passage tells the story of Melampus, the mantis par excellence, whose ears have been licked by snakes to ensure his prophetic skill. Pliny also invokes a ‘Democritus’ who may have been ordered to eat the heart of a snake as a possible way to acquire the ability to understand the birds. Galoppin identifies the source of Pliny’s information on the ‘Democritus’ anecdote with a collection of texts composed by the socalled magoi, authors of texts in which the animals are the objects of practices at the crossroad between medicine, religion, and wonder. These texts may also have influenced the author of the so-called Orphic Lithika. A particular passage from this poem (Lithika 691-747) details a ritual practice that describes the cooking of a serpent in order to make one understand the language of animals. Overall, Galoppin shows how the magical practice, by reshaping the model as recorded in myth, in the case of the cooking of the snake in the Orphic Lithika, defines anew the relationship between humans, gods, and beasts.

Part II: The Religious Significance of Individual Animals in Greece and Rome The second part of the volume contains papers devoted to the religious significance of various animals, examining topics such as the animals’

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special ties with a particular deity, special rituals, iconography, the importance and popularity of cults, and the depiction of animals on monumental iconography. The first group studied comprises the religious role of birds. The opening paper by Emiliano Cruccas centres on the cock and its association with the cult of the Thracian Kabiroi (“੘ ʌİȡıȚțઁȢ ੕ȡȞȚȢ: The Symbology of the Rooster in the Cult of the Kabiroi”). The cult of the Kabiroi and the Great Gods exhibits in its development through the centuries a great number of regional differences and syncretism with local cults. Cruccas aims at showing that birds of various kinds, and above all roosters, were important vehicles of symbolism within the Kabiric cult. The roosters were depicted as votive gifts on vases and terracotta figurines. Cruccas believes that the principal feature of these iconographic elements was the relationship, on the one hand, with the homosexual element often associated with the ephebic age, and, on the other hand, with the Hieros Gamos ritual. Further, the iconography of the roosters on the reliefs of the Heroon of Diodoros Pasparos in Pergamon shows features and structures which encourage connection with the cult of the Kabiroi and the Great Gods. Augusto Cosentino in his “Persephone’s Cockerel” examines the significance of the frequent depiction of the cockerel on specific collections of figurative representations of the goddess Persephone wherein she is depicted in the company of various animals. The cockerel is shown on the Locrian pinakes and on various statuettes, and evidently its presence was not accidental, but was in fact a real attribute of the goddess. Cosentino’s investigation corroborates Persephone’s particular link to this bird, and proposes to attribute it to the chthonic values of the bird (the cockerel of Persephone seems to be opposed to the meaning of the solar rooster, with whom a long list of solar deities were associated, from Apollo, his mother Leto and her sister Asteria, to the popular RomanPersian Mithras and the Zoroastrian Ahura Mazda), but also to the idea of fertility, a theme incompatible with the domain of the chthonic gods. In addition, a specific cultic significance is highly probable in the depiction of Persephone holding a cockerel. Attilio Mastrocinque’s paper, “Birds and Love in Greco-Roman Religion”, adds further details to the complex religious symbolism of the cockerel. After noting the prominence and frequency of the cock among the animals represented on Greek and Roman religious iconography (along with doves, geese, ducks, and other domestic avians), from the Archaic age onwards, Mastrocinque focuses on those representations of the cock that he considers to be tied to love. These are to be found on artefacts that were erotic offerings made as gifts by young people in preparation for, or

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Introduction

even celebration of, their marriage. Cocks are also featured on several objects connected to childbirth, or even denoting the involvement of erotic violence (i.e., rape). Mastrocinque argues that the erotic subtext of this iconography interacted with, or at least originally came from, the Egyptian tradition, where the goose is the hieroglyph signifying ‘the child’. And even though the erotic element was not part of the Egyptian context surrounding the goose, Mastrocinque promptly identifies behind the artistic rendering of the cock on Greek iconography some distinct Egyptian cultural influences. The next paper, by Claudia Zatta (“Flying Geese, Wandering Cows: How Animal Movement Orients Human Space in Greek Myth”), the last one on birds, moves on from the cock to birds more generally and the goose more specifically, and examines how these animals embody the coexistence of wilderness and civilisation, and offer a model for the study of this phenomenon in human nature. Zatta’s study begins from the realisation that certain animals in antiquity developed complex roles as intermediaries between universes. They facilitated interaction between gods and humans, but served also a more practical role, for they directed men safely to reach foreign, previously unexplored lands. In those newly discovered places, men were to build new cities or even personally encounter the gods. Birds operated as scouts for the wilderness: they guided civilised humans from geographically specific and familiar places and into the wilderness, where nature rather than culture rules. Zatta further observes that, as a result of their immersion in a territory governed by nature, humans subconsciously behaved like animals themselves, thus proving that wildness, innate in all living creatures, never truly disappears but only stays dormant under the rule of civilisation. To outline the inherent presence of the uncivilised in the human soul, and its resurfacing when circumstances necessitate it, Zatta identifies certain Boeotian myths (associated with the sanctuary of Trophonius and the foundation of the very city of Thebes), which revolve around geese and cows. These ordinary domestic animals, nonetheless, under special circumstances regress to their wild status. In both instances, animals, the animate beings of the natural world, lead humans, the animate agents of culture, to the conquest of wilderness and creation of landscape anew. Following these four papers on birds, Part Two continues with two papers on the religious significance of sea creatures. As in Zatta’s paper, these two papers explore the animals as intermediaries. Marie-Claire Beaulieu discusses the presence of the dolphin in myth and religion. Beaulieu’s thesis is that, in Greco-Roman antiquity, the dolphin was conceived as an intermediary that facilitated transitions between the

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worlds of mortal men, immortal gods, and the dead in Hades. The dolphin was particularly appropriate for this role since it had strong ties to all three realms. By citing numerous sources from throughout antiquity, Beaulieu nicely illustrates the special triple symbolism of dolphins. Their human side is disclosed by the fact that traditionally the ancients attributed human intelligence and emotions to dolphins, which made them almost equal to men. They were thought to have a taste for music, to feel a sense of community with their fellow dolphins, and to seek friendship for no material advantage. The ties of the dolphin to the Underworld are evidenced in the belief that dolphins were thought to respect their dead and observe burial customs. When a dolphin died, its fellows carried it to land to prevent fish from eating its body, and they performed the same service for men. The special love bestowed on the dolphins by the gods, Beaulieu continues, is evidenced by the fact they could not be hunted or eaten without sacrilege. They were often the messengers and companions of the gods, in particular of Poseidon, Apollo, Dionysus, Aphrodite, Eros, the Nereids, and the Muses. Beaulieu closes her study with a comparative examination of popular myths and iconography. The dolphin here is not necessarily part of some religious context, but its presence is nonetheless marked by the same liminal symbolism. No less intriguing and certainly less commonly known is the role of the fish in Greek cult generally. Romina Carboni, in her “Unusual Sacrificial Victims: Fish and Their Value in the Context of Sacrifices”, admits as much when she begins her study by acknowledging that the fish was a kind of animal not ordinarily used as sacrificial victim in the Greek and Roman religions. Even in the East there are only two occasions where fish feature prominently in cult: they have powers of divination in Lycia and in the temple of Atargatis in Syria. Similarly, scholars do not usually regard fish as typical sacrificial victims because it is only with difficulty that they can be brought to the altar alive. Nevertheless, Carboni cites evidence of sacrifices of fish for a limited number of gods, such as Hecate and Poseidon. An offering of įİ૙ʌȞĮ in Kamiros is documented, this being a city associated fairly exclusively with Hecate, where not only fish were sacrificed but also puppies, and both animals were cooked on the altar (“ʌȑııİ IJĮȪIJĮ[Ț]”= coque hic). Similarly, on the basis of iconographic testimony on an Attic black-figure olpe, a representation bearing all the elements of a sacrifice scene with fish, Carboni suggests that sacrifices of fish may also have been made to Poseidon. Through her analysis of these, and other, literary sources, Carboni draws a clear picture of the presence and role of fish in Greek religion, introducing a variety of intriguing explanations for the choice of these sacrificial victims.

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Introduction

Bulls, among the commonest sacrificial victims, and horses, are treated in the next four papers comprising a third sub-unit in Part Two. Patricia Johnston, in “The Importance of Cattle in the Myths of Hercules and Mithras”, examines the role of bulls in the myths of Hercules and Mithras. Central to the depictions of Mithras is the tauroctony, where he kills a bull, with complex meanings springing from the details of this deed and its depiction. In later Rome, evidence has been found that links Mithras with Hercules, among whose feats were encounters with bulls, in particular the Cretan Bull, with its varied associations with Minos and the Minotaur. Hercules is also known for herding the cattle of Geryon in one of the labours imposed by Eurystheus, and for his encounter, particularly as recounted in Vergil’s Aeneid 8, with Cacus at the future site of Rome. Johnston examines the parallels between these two figures, both closely linked to bulls, and their related struggles and connections with the phenomenon of deification. A second paper on bulls by Gerard Freyburger, titled “Lament upon the Sacrificed Bull in Ovid, Metamorphoses 15.120-42”, explores the significance of the bull in the Pythagorean philosophy of the transmigration of the soul, as treated in the closing book of Ovid’s epic. In Metamorphoses 15, Ovid introduces Pythagoras and gives him a long speech to deliver, wherein he puts forward the theory of metempsychosis and tells his listeners not to eat meat. In order to substantiate his case, in lines 127-42 Ovid describes an ox being brought to the altar to be sacrificed and pitifully laments its fate. However, in doing so, he questions the act of sacrifice itself which was the most important ritual in Roman religion, and thus questions, along with it, other pagan beliefs as well. Next come the divine associations of horses, which are analysed in two papers. Henry Walker, in “Horse Riders and Horse Gods”, examines the fascination with horse-riding that is to be found throughout Greek literature. He observes that similar attitudes towards horse-riding are recorded in sources from the East. An unknown activity in the Homeric poems, where neither gods nor heroes are ever mentioned riding horses, by the time that Sappho praised the beauty of cavalry in Poem 16, horseriding had been embraced by the Greeks. Homer mentions horse-riding twice in his epics, but only in similes (Iliad 15.679 and Odyssey 5.371). Further, on each occasion, horse-riding is presented as something slightly ridiculous. Similarly, in the ancient Sanskrit collection of Vedic hymns, the ‫ۿ‬gveda, there is only one reference to human horse-riding (RV 1.162), and no god ever rides a horse apart from the Maruts, the rowdy young storm gods (RV 5.61). Walker states that the Vedic hymns and the Homeric epics are faithfully preserving an aspect of bronze-age culture:

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people drive chariots, they do not ride horses. In the Bronze Age, horseriding was an activity of young men of low status, so the horse gods are likewise depicted as young men, and they are not quite respectable. This outlook on the subject Walker notes, is also perceptible in the way both cultures view certain deities associated with riding—the AĞvins in the Vedic tradition, and the Dioskouroi in Greek myth. The AĞvins must struggle for the right to receive offerings of soma (RV 1.116); the Dioskouroi are part-time gods who are only allowed a timeshare on Olympus (Odyssey 11.301-4). Both sets of horse gods have a mortal father (Vivasvant in India, Tundareos in Greece), and their ambiguous position among the gods puts them much closer to human beings. The AĞvins “come most readily with help” (RV 5.76) and rescue people from difficult situations, the Dioskouroi are “saviours” (Homeric Hymn 33.6), performing rescue operations at sea and on the battle-field. From the 7th century onwards, however, riding is regarded as the defining activity of a nobleman. Still, this image of the commanding horseman and the association with leadership and status that henceforth came to be accepted as natural is, Walker argues, in reality is quite artificial. Homer’s rejection of horse-riding reveals exactly that. Walker further points out that careful consideration of the ancient Greek sources from the Classical period (both the cynical fables of Aesop and the texts of Xenophon, a devoted horserider) leads to the conclusion that the ideal of the noble horseman was always believed to be a man-made illusion, a considerable amount of effort being required to maintain its effectiveness. Much less well-known is the relationship of the horse to early Christianity, which Tiphaine Moreau discusses next in her paper (“The Horse, the Theology of Victory, and the Roman Emperors in the 4th century CE”). Taking into consideration both art and literature, Moreau notes that, as much in representation as in perception, the horse is central to the symbolism of victory. This is attested by ample representations, both in Christian graves and in the coinage of the Christian Roman emperors of the fourth century, where it can be seen in joint depiction with the monogram of Christ. The horse as symbol of victory is endorsed by its best known presence in the Bible, in the Book of the Apocalypse, but it is also noteworthy that horses are accorded such high status in Greco-Roman myth, as a companions (or attributes) of Greek and Roman heroes and gods and participants in the accomplishments (which often are triumphant victories in war) of their masters. When Christians appropriated this ideology of victory, by analogy they perceived the horse as a symbol of victory over death or over the (infidel) enemy. The final section of Moreau’s paper explores the mystic symbolism, both Christian and pagan,

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Introduction

of the horse in the fourth century, undertakes to illustrate the various ways in which these two ideologies interact with each other. The three papers in the final section of Part Two identify how various animals become an integral part of religious rituals and practices associated with specific deities, and, as a result of this intimate relationship, come to be considered the sacred animals of these gods. The section opens with a paper by Maja Miziur (“Fierce Felines in the Cult of Dionysus: Bacchic mania and What Else?”) which studies the association of wild felines (leopards, wild cats, panthers) with the cult of Dionysus, and specifically with mania, a standard feature of the Bacchic cult in all ancient sources. She points outs that Dionysus’ female followers, the maenads or ‘mad women’, are typically depicted clad in leopard pelts or holding a wild cat. Miziur notes that the origins and the meaning of these felines in the context of the Dionysian cult have not been properly explored—a problem her study at hand proposes to address and even possibly resolve. To this end, she begins by examining the literary data corresponding to the earliest vase representation of Dionysus, and then moves on to the frightening characteristics and feminine aggression of felines—already identified and recorded in earlier studies (Otto 1965 and Markoe 2000) but without references to mania. Miziur points out that wild felines first appear in Dionysian imagery in the second half of the 6th century BCE, in battle scenes depicting the Gigantomachy or the myths of the theomachoi Pentheus and Lycurgus, and, markedly, in each of these representations introduce a different aspect of mania (martial, or vengeful, or drunken). For Miziur these wild felines ultimately symbolise Bacchic madness because of their ferocity. Bacchic acts were as terrifying and uncontrollable as those cats, and the maenads are personifications of mania anthropomorphised. The wild felines embody mania zoomorphised. Miziur’s paper closes with an underscoring of the correspondence between the manic behaviour of the maenads and various aspects of the Dionysus’ madness, which rationalise the presence of wild cats in the god’s cult and imagery. The next study, by Alessio Sassù, is devoted to another type of potentially wild and fierce animal, the dog, and its ties throughout antiquity to the goddess of the night and darkness, Hecate. Sassù, however, does not focus on the ferocity of the dog, but instead sets out to analyse the most interesting relevant function, in concept and ritual, albeit relatively little-known, namely the practice of dog sacrifice. It was performed in close relation to funerary rituals, or rituals of chthonic character of some other kind. The funereal/chthonic dimension of the dog’s cultic image can be explained by the fact that the animal in question

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was widely regarded as unclean (hence Sassù’s title: “Through Impurity: A Few Remarks on the Role of the Dog in Purification Rituals of the Greek World”). Sassù shows that dogs were sacrificed as early as the Mycenaean period in purification rituals and rites of passage involving the deceased, and that the sacrifice of a dog could also be part of the practice of the worship of female deities that oversee childbirth, Eilioneia (the Argive name for Eileithyia) and Hecate, or, in Sparta, even of Enyalios, a deity usually entrusted with the growth of the ephebes. Sassù identifies more cases where the use of this animal seems to be related to the performance of purifying rituals, both in public and in private contexts, which were dictated by particular forms of miasma. It is also interesting— and relatively little studied—that these ritual sacrifices of purification from miasma are often near sacred areas and sometimes next to burial sites of men and/or babies (Athens, Lemnos, Messene). The ample available archaeological evidence enables Sassù to put together an intriguing picture of this little-known sacrificial ritual of purification. In Diana Guarisco’s contribution, “Acting the She-Bear: Animal Symbolism and Ritual in Ancient Athens”, the Athenian arkteia, a female pre-marriage rite performed in honour of Artemis, is taken to be the best known and the most studied example of a rite characterised by animal symbolism in Greek polytheism. Despite the lack of evidence to facilitate understanding of what “acting the she-bear” meant concretely, the connection with the animal is surely the main feature of the rite. The foundation myth of the arkteia together with ancient Greek mythology and zoology provide for Guarisco an interesting key to penetrating the symbolic meaning of the she-bear in the rite, stressing the animal’s ambivalence between tameness and wildness, the identity and otherness of this creature by comparison with man. Observant of the fact that young people not yet integrated into civic community were understood similarly, Guarisco concludes that the she-bear represents the state that young girls have to leave behind in order to assume their adult role as brides and mothers. This interpretation harmonises with the meaning that some fables and proverbs attribute to the garment known as the krokotos, the other puzzling symbol of the arkteia. Finally, Marianna Scapini, looks at the “Symbolic Significance of the Hornet”, which she identifies with the mysterious ȠੇıIJȡȠȢ, the insect responsible for inducing madness and Bacchic-like frenzy. The hornet was a wild creature known to feast on meat (a detail recalling the homophagy of the maenads), to move in swarms which nonetheless do not follow some organised structure, just like the possessed Bacchants, while its movement, a whirling, was seen to parallel the whirling of the maenads.

14

Introduction

Scapini makes a convincing argument for the hornet as agent of Dionysiac-like madness. She corroborates her arguments by citing a wide variety of sources, both ancient and more recent, which, on the one hand, describe the behaviour of hornets and, on the other, mention a number of cases of ‘possession’, namely instances when an animal (specifically an insect) has attacked a human, who, as a result, has begun behaving like this “animal”.

Part III: Animals in Greek and Roman Myth The third and final section of the volume comprises three papers that discuss metamorphosis and animal myths. In the first paper, Françoise Lecocq examines the multifaceted role of the mysterious legendary phoenix, the unique bird that was reborn from its own ashes and underwent proteiform transformation across the centuries, as it adapted to the ideals of different ages, cultures, and religions (title of the paper: “Inventing the Phoenix: A Myth in the Making Through Ancient Texts and Images”). The reportedly Egyptian phoenix is first attested in Greek literature in Herodotus, who speaks of its periodical appearances in the Sun City of Egypt, but does not offer any explanation for the origin of its name or any justification for its role. For Herodotus, the phoenix is one of the many marvels of nature he records in his Histories—a creature that transgresses the common laws of reproduction and life. Herodotus’ approach is typical of the reception of the phoenix in Greece and Rome— just a wonder of nature, a creature with no particular connection to the divine, of no allegorical or etiological significance. For Lecocq the phoenix as a symbol of some deeper meaning was a creation of Imperial Roman literature. Imperial authors devised associations, firstly, between the avian phoenix, the palm tree, whose name in Greek sounds exactly the same, ‘phoinix’ (in Ezekiel the Tragedian and Ovid), and the legendary cinnamon birds (in Pliny the Elder); and subsequently, between the phoenix and the funeral pyre, not least on account of the funerary use of spices, products of the Far East and India, which, not surprisingly, became the new homeland of the phoenix in the later tradition (Martial, Statius, Greek novels). From pagan literature the phoenix entered the writings of the Early Christian authors (from St. Clement to Lactantius and Claudian), and secured a place among the symbols of rising Christianity, along with new details in its legend, new forms, and new meaning. Interestingly, the pagan and the Christian phoenix evolved simultaneously and informed each other continuously in terms of symbolism. In the Christian tradition, the unique avian was seen as an exemplum of resurrection (Tertullian,

Animals in Greek and Roman Religion and Myth

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Origen, Ambrose) and even as an allegorical icon of Christ himself (both in the popular version of the mythological Physiologus and in the writings of the Church Fathers). At the same time, in the pagan ideology it was considered to be an official embodiment of the cyclical renewal of the world with the coming of the Golden Age (from the Antonine dynasty onwards), and an auspicious symbol of Rome’s eternity. In “the Language of Metamorphosis in Greek Mythology”, Kenneth Rothwell discusses the question how the Greeks conceived of the actual physical changes that occur when a person took on an animal appearance. He argues for the employment of special vocabulary in the description of an animal transformation and examines the language used by Archaic and Classical Greek authors in their attempt to determine what they imagined was happening during a metamorphosis. Thus, one unchanging feature in describing metamorphoses was the use of ȖȓȖȞȠȝĮȚ. This verb, however, is so neutral that it can hardly be classified as a description of physical change. Similarly, a person undergoing transformation into an animal is sometimes described as ‘resembling’ (İੁįȩȝİȞȠȢ) an animal, a term no less neutral. As a result, additional language was used to give a more precise and vivid description of the transformation process. This additional vocabulary has evolved over time. In Homer, when Circe transforms Odysseus’ comrades into pigs, the changes seem to be additions to their bodies (Odyssey 10.239-40) and Circe’s agency is explicit (10.338). In Aeschylus’ Agamemnon the transformation of Procne occurs when ‘the gods cast a winged body around her’ (1146) as if the new shape were not a bodily change but a garment thrown upon her. In the later 5th century, however, poets adopted new approaches. Fragments of Sophocles’ Inachus include a remarkably specific description of Io’s transformation into a cow: ‘She took on the shape of a cow’ (ਥțȕȠȣIJȣʌȠ૨IJĮȚ) and ‘grew a head like a bull’ (ijȪİȚ țȐȡĮ). The notion of growth from within is also found in Aristophanes’ Birds, where characters grow wings (789). In Euripides’ Bacchae, Cadmus is told of his future: ‘You, undergoing a change, will become a serpent and your wife, being made into an animal, shall change into the form of a snake’ (1330-1). Rothwell’s argument is particularly original when he suggests that the varied literary treatments of metamorphosis were influenced by late fifth-century ideas of the human body as known from the Hippocratic corpus. At the close of his study Rothwell shows how the role of the divinity as an agent of the change was de-emphasised and that the change was seen increasingly as an organic growth out of the existing human body. Etienne Wolff’s paper, on “The Place and Function of the Animals in the Vandal Period Poems of the Anthologia Latina”, closes the volume

16

Introduction

with a study of the frequency and the significance of several popular myths of animal transformation recorded in the Anthologia Latina, a collection of myths composed shortly before 433 in Vandal Africa. This mythological composition brings together contemporary poems and some older ones that were added later. Wolff limits his study to the poems that indisputably date from the Vandal period. In the myths recorded in those poems animals occupy a rather important place. Most of the animals undergoing transformation are anthropomorphised or have specific patterns of behaviour that are symbolic. Wolff believes that these animal myths of metamorphosis recorded in the Anthologia can be interpreted allegorically, and he accordingly sets out to produce a typology of the phenomenon.

PART I: ANIMALS AND COMMUNICATION WITH THE DIVINE

CHAPTER ONE SACRIFICIAL ANIMALS IN ROMAN RELIGION: RULES AND EXCEPTIONS DIMITRIOS MANTZILAS

It is known that Roman religion was based on various rules, and was rigid and complicated. But what happened when these rules were not respected, despite being obligatory?1 Arnobius describes two fundamental rules that governed Roman religion. Firstly, each deity was satisfied by the sacrifice of an animal belonging to the same sex: masculine to male gods, female to goddesses.2 1 The theme of deviations in the gender and sexual orientation of divinities formed part of my thesis; see Mantzilas (2000) 21-3 (introduction) and 804-6 (specialised bibliography), (2002) 705-7 (annexes). For the ancient texts discussed we have used translations by F. Barham (Cicero), H. Bryce-H. Campbell (Arnobius), E. Carry (Dionysius of Halicarnassus), E. Carry & H.B. Foster (Cassius Dio), R.A. Caster and J.W. Crawford (Macrobius), W. Heinemann (Livy), W.D. Hooper and H.B. Ash (Cato; Var, R), R.G. Kent (Var, L), A.S. Kline (Juvenal; Ovid; Vergil, G.), D. La Londe (Servius, A.) B. Perrin (Plutarch), J.C. Rolfe (Gellius), E.T. Sage and A.C. Schlesinger (Livy), Th.C. Williams (Vergil, A.), J.C. Zadoks (Festus), with some slight alterations when necessary, for reasons of clarification. For a few Latin texts there are no official translations; I earnestly strove to render them in English as accurately as possible. 2 Arnob. Adv. Nat. 7.19.1-2 nam dis feminis feminas, mares maribus hostias immolare abstrusa et interior ratio est vulgique a cognitione dimota, ‘for in sacrificing female victims to the female deities, males to the male [deities], there is a hidden and very secret reason’; 19.3; Cic. Leg. 2.29 nam illud ex institutis pontificum et haruspicum non mutandum est, quibus hostiis immolandum quoique deo, cui maioribus, cui lactentibus, cui maribus, cui feminis, ‘It is not desirable to change the regulations which the pontiffs and haruspices have made respecting the appropriate sacrifices due to each god: this one to the adults, that one to the suckling, this one to the male that one to the female’; cf. Krause (1894) chapter VI. Quae cuique deo animalia immolatae sint?, 31-43; Meyer (1913) 2498-500; Krause (1931) 236-82; Scheid (1998) 73, (2007) 267; Prescendi (2007) 32-3; Faraone/Naiden (2012).

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Chapter One

Secondly, a white3 sacrificial animal was offered to a celestial god, while underworld deities received a black4 one. There was always a symbolic relationship between the sacrifice and the god to whom it was offered. The nature of the animal mirrored the mythology accompanying each god and the role the god played.5 There are, though, several examples of deviations from the rule regarding the sex of the victims, where an animal of the other gender was chosen: one of the most famous is the sacrifice of a goat to Faunus Lupercus6 during the Lupercalia (February 15), a festival intended for the procreation of women. Moreover, the Luperci, that is the corporation of sacerdotes (priests) who flagellated women with strips of goat skin in order to make them fertile,7 were dressed in goatskins.8 There is also a description of a sacrifice offered by the priest, Numa, in a sacred grove. At the time, Rome was experiencing a drought. Numa offered a female sheep as a burnt offering to Somnus and Faunus,9 and then Faunus appeared to him in a dream and gave him the solution. Elsewhere, a female sheep was offered by Numa to Fons. 10 Fortuna 3

See Krause (1931) 244-5, for examples concerning the terminology of white (albus, niveus, candens, candidus) or black (atrus, niger, furvus) colours. 4 Arnob. Adv. Nat. 7.19.3-4 … quae in coloribus ratio est, ut merito his albas, illis atras conveniat nigerrimasque mactari? Quia superis diis… atque ominum dexteritate pollentibus color laetus acceptus est ac felix hilaritate candoris, at vero diis laevis sedesque habitantibus inferas color furvus est gratior et tristibus suffectus e fucis…, ‘what relation is there in the colours, so that it is right, and fitting that to these white, to those dark, even the blackest victims are slain? Because […] to the gods above and [those] who have power to give favorable omens, the cheerful color is acceptable and propitious from the pleasant appearance of pure white; while, on the contrary, to the sinister deities, and those who inhabit the infernal seats, a dusky color is more pleasing, and [one] tinged with gloomy hues’; 20.1-2; 20.4. 5 Serv. A. 3.118; 12. 170; G. 2.380; Var. R. 1.2.19; Plin. Nat. Hist. 8.50. 6 Plut. Rom. 21.4-5 ıij‫ޠ‬IJIJȠȣıȚ Ȗ‫ޟ‬ȡ Į‫ݭ‬ȖĮȢ, ‘For the priests slaughter goats’. 7 Plut. Rom. 21; Caes. 61; Ov. Fast. 2.425ff.; Juv. 2.142; Serv. A. 8.343; Fest. exc. 202 L. 8 Dion. Hal. Rom. Ant. 1.80; Serv. A. 8.663. 9 Ov. Fast. 4.652-3 hic geminas rex Numa mactat oves. / Prima cadit Fauno, leni cadit altera Somno, ‘Here Numa sacrificed twin ewes. The first fell to Faunus, the second to gentle Sleep’. 10 Ibid. 3.300 Huc venit et Fonti rex Numa mactat ovem, ‘Numa approached and sacrificed a sheep / an ewe to Fons / to the spring’. According to Schilling (1993) I, 145, this refers to a particular divinity of a specific fountain situated on the Aventine hill; on the contrary, Wissowa (1912²) 221, cites the passage among those referring to Fons, the protector of fountains. We accept Wissowa’s opinion.

Sacrificial Animals in Roman Religion: Rules and Exceptions

21

received the sacrifice of a calf on April 10, a day before her festival (11-12 April), under the liturgical name Fortuna Iovis puer primigenia.11 Julius Caesar offered a sacrifice to Fortuna Caesaris before he left Rome in December 49 BCE, when the prodigy of the escaped bull occurred.12 It was explained as a sign of the coming victory which Caesar would achieve overseas.13 A two-year-old ram was the sacrifice offered in the sanctuary (atrium Vestae) of Vesta on the first day of February. The same sacrifice also took place on the same day in the temple of Tonans and on the summit of Jupiter’s citadel.14 A calf or heifer15 was offered by the urban praetor for Hercules Invictus in the Circus Maximus,16 on the 12th or the 13th of August, Graeco ritu (‘according to the Greek ritual’). 17 In his capacity as acknowledged protector of the earth, 18 along with Ceres, Hercules received a pregnant sow19 on the 21st of December. The same agricultural deity enjoyed an offer of pigs.20 Aesculapius received a goat21 11 Fast. Praen. (Biduo Sacrific)ium maximu(m) (fit) Fortunae Prim(i)g(eniae). Vtro eorum die eius oraclum patet IIviri vitulum i(mmolant), ‘Two days after the biggest sacrifice takes place for Fortune Primigenia. On the second of these days her oracle opens and the Two Priests sacrifice a calf’; cf. Porte (1985) 46 and 121. 12 D. C. 41.39.2 ... IJ߲ ȉȪȤ߯ șȪȠȞIJȠȢ ‫ ݸ‬IJĮࠎȡȠȢ ‫݋‬țijȣȖޫȞ ʌȡ‫ޥ‬Ȟ IJȚIJȡȫıțİıșĮȚ, ‘... while he was sacrificing to Fortune, the bull escaped before being wounded’. 13 See Weinstock (1971) I, 116. 14 Ov. Fast. 2.69-70 Ad penetrale Numae Capitolinumque Tonantem / Inque Iouis summa caeditur arce bidens, ‘At Numa’s sanctuary, and the Thunderer’s on the Capitol, and on the summit of Jove’s citadel, a two year old ewe is sacrificed’. 15 Var. L. 6.54 quod praetor urbanus quotannis facit, cum Herculi immolat publice iuvencam, ‘… with that which the City Praetor offers every year, when on behalf of the state he sacrifices a heifer to Hercules’; cf. Serv. A. 8.183 nam de hoc bove immolato Herculi carnes carius vendebantur causa religionis, ‘because the flesh of this calf sacrificed to Hercules is sold more expensively because of its holiness’; Dion. Hal. Rom. Ant. 1.40.3 șުȠȞIJİȢ ȝ‫ޡ‬Ȟ ܿȗȣȖĮ į‫ޠ‬ȝĮȜȚȞ ܻȞ‫ ޟ‬ʌߢȞ ‫ݏ‬IJȠȢ, ‘offering up every year a heifer that had not known the yoke’; Liv. 1.7.12 Ibi tum primum bove eximia capta de grege sacrum Herculi… factum, ‘Then and there men took a choice victim from the herd, and for the first time made sacrifice to Hercules’. Despite the abundance of sources, the gender of the animal remains ambiguous. 16 Fast. Allif.; Fast. Amit. Herculi Invicto ad circum maxim(um), ‘[For] Hercules Invictus near the Circus Maximus’. 17 Var. ap. Macr. 3.6.17; Serv. A. 8.276; Liv. 1.7.3; Str. 5.230 șȣıȓĮȞ ‫ݒ‬ȜȜȘȞȚțȒȞ, ‘a Greek sacrifice’. 18 Porph. Hor. S. 2.6.12; Hist. Aug. Commod. 10.9. 19 Macr. 3.11.10 Herculi et Cereri faciunt sue pregnante panibus mulso, ‘A pregnant sow, bread, and honeyed wine are offered to Hercules and Ceres’. 20 Var. R. 2.49… quod initiis Cereris porci immolantur, ‘… that pigs are sacrificed at the initial rites of Ceres’.

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Chapter One

in his temple on the Isola Tiberina, while the Greek ritual offered him hens. 22 For the biform divinity Robigo or Robigus 23 the intestines of a male or female dog or of a male or a female sheep were burnt as an offering24 (the Latin words used, canes and ovis, are epicene, i. e. nouns of common gender).25 An annual sacrifice of heifers and calves, together with a pig and a ram, was dedicated to Juno by her priestesses in Falisci.26 A special praying formula was addressed to the anonymous divinity, to which a grove was dedicated, along with a pig sacrifice.27 Every year a 21 Serv. G. 2.380 … item capra Aesculapio, qui est deus salutis, cum capra numquam sine febre sit, ‘… in the same way a she-goat [is offered] to Asclepius, who is a god of healing, because there is never a goat without fever’. The text presents cases of animal offerings to gods per similitudinem, ‘using comparison’, or per contrarietatem, ‘through opposition’, meaning that the animals have a positive or a negative effect in relation to the god’s main function. This case belongs to the second category. 22 Paul. Fest. 110.17 L. 23 According to some writers the divinity is a male one, called Robigus; see Var. L. 6.16; Ver. Fl. (CIL 1.236; 316 etc.). Others consider it feminine, having the name Robigo or Rubigo; see Ov. Fast. 4.901ff.; Col. 10.342; Tert. Spect. 5; Lact. Inst. 1.20.17; August. C. D. 4.21. 24 Ov. Fast. 4. 907-8 Flamen in antiquae lucum Robiginis ibat, / Exta canis flammis, exta daturus ovis, ‘A priest was going to the grove of old Mildew, to offer the entrails of a dog and a sheep to the flames’; 935-6 Tura focis vinumque dedit fibrasque bidentis / Turpiaque obscenae–vidimus–exta canis, ‘He offered the incense and wine on the hearth, Sheep’s entrails, and (I saw him) the foul guts of a vile dog’; Col. 10.342-3 Hinc mala Rubigo viridis ne torreat herbas, / sanguine lactentis catuli placatur et extis, ‘For this reason, the evil Rubigo is appeased with the blood and guts of a young dog still suckling on its mother, so that she does not burn the wheat grass’. 25 See the remarks made by Wright (1917) 32-54, who, after examining various cases of gender deviation, concludes that the instability of them lies on the fact that many animal names contain both genders. 26 Ov. Am. 3.13-18 Ducuntur niveae... iuvencae... / Et vituli nondum metuenda fronte minaces / Et minor ex humili victima porcus hara / Duxque gregis cornu per tempora dura recurvo, ‘white heifers are led by, to the crowd’s applause […] and horned bullocks, whose foreheads don’t threaten yet, and lesser victims, pigs from humble sties, and rams, with curving horns on their solid brows’. The mixture of male and female victims is impressive. 27 Cato Agr. 139 Lucum conlucare Romano more sic oportet. Porco piaculo facto, sic verba concipito: "Si deus, si dea es, quoium illud sacrum est, uti tibi ius est porco piaculo facere illiusce sacri coercendi ergo harumque rerum ergo…, ‘The following is the Roman formula to be observed in thinning a grove: A pig is to be sacrificed, and the following prayer uttered: “Whether thou be god or goddess to whom this grove is dedicated, as it is thy right to receive a sacrifice of a pig for the

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23

massive crucifixion of live dogs upon a gibbet of elder took place, between the temples of Iuventas and Summanus, while ganders were worshipped, to honour the Capitoline geese.28 The Romans considered the flesh of sucking whelps to be so pure a meat, that they sacrificed one to Genita Mana, the goddess of infant mortality.29 In Anatolia, the priests stood above a hole covered with a grid, on which they had killed a bull30 for Magna Mater during the Taurobolium or Taurobolia. The bull’s testicles—which ritually replaced those of the eunuch priests of the goddess—were offered separately,31 as well as his blood, which was used in the revival of the imaginary sacrificial animal. A similar procedure took place in another festival of Magna Mater, the Criobolium, where a ram was sacrificed in her honour. 32 Trivia, i.e. Hecate, was honoured in the Balkan Peninsula with the bowels of dogs.33 In the liturgical calendar of the Arval Brethren two castrated rams were offered, or two oves (= male or female sheep) sive deo sive deae, i.e. both for masculine or feminine divinities without distinction.34 The Penates also

thinning of this sacred grove...”’. It belongs to a series of religious rites applicable to farming, aiming also at the protection of the farmer’s family. 28 Serv A. 8.652 canes qui tunc dormientes non senserant, cruci suffigebantur, anseres auro et purpura exornati in lecticis gestabantur, ‘the dogs who had not become aware, sleeping at the time, are hung on the cross, while the ganders, adorned with gold and purple, are carried on sedans’; Plin. Nat. Hist. 29.14 (57); Plut. Fort. Rom. 12; Lyd. Mens. 4.114; Ael. Anim. 12.33. 29 Plin. Nat. Hist. 29.14 (58) Genitae Manae catulo res divina fit, ‘A young whelp is sacrificed to Genita Mana’. She also received a bitch; see Plut. Quaest. Rom. 52. 30 Prud. Gent. 1006-85. 31 CIL 13.1751 vires except, ‘[he] cut off the testicles’; 12.1567 loco vires conditae, ‘the place where the testicles were hidden’; 13.522; 525 … vires tauri, quo proprie per taurobolium publice factum fecerat consacravit, ‘… [he] consecrated the bull’s testicles, there where he made the taurobolium, which happened in public’. 32 CIL 6.510 Taurobolio criobolioque in aeternum renatus, ‘reborn to eternity during the Taurobolium and the Criobolium’. 504; 512; cf. Carm. Contr. Pagan. 62. 33 Ov. Fast. 1.389 Exta canum vidi Triviae libare Sapaeos, ‘I have seen a dog’s entrails offered to Trivia by Sapaeans’. 34 CIL 6.2107 a + b 9 (Henzen, 144) sive / deo sive deae verb(eces) n(umero) II, ‘whether it be a god or a goddess rams, two in number [are offered]’; 6.2099 II.3 sive deo sive dea, in cuius tutela hic locus locusve / est, oves II, ‘whether it be a god or a goddess under whose protection this grove or place is two sheep [are offered]’; 6.2099 II.10 sive deo sive dea, oves II, ‘whether it be a god or a goddess two sheep [are offered]’; 6.2104 a 2 sive deo sive dea ov(es) n(umero) II, ‘whether

24

Chapter One

received a cow35 from the Arval Brethren, a sacrifice they also offered to the god Honos.36 The same priests sacrificed rams for the Divi, the term used to refer to deified emperors and empresses.37 Once Aristaeus’ bees were ruined by the Nymphs, Proteus advised him to offer to them four bulls and four heifers, a black ewe to Orpheus and a calf to Eurydice.38 Jupiter received a heifer39 from Numa, a goat40 from the Flamen Dialis as a sign of the beginning of the grape harvest (auspicatio vindemiae), and a female sheep41 called Ovis Idulis42 on the Ides of each month. Under the ritual name of Jupiter Stone (Iuppiter Lapis), the god was offered a sow by

it be a god or a goddess, sheep, two in number [are offered]’; cf. Paladino (1988) 76-7. 35 CIL 6.2042.38 (Henzen, 85) ante domum Domitianam dis penatibus vaccam, ‘... in front of the Domitian residence a cow to the Penates’. 36 CIL 6.2044 I c d 5 (Henzen, 121) … eod[em d]ie sa[cratiss/[m --- va](cc(am) Hon[or]I, ‘… the same day the most sacred cow [is offered] to Honor’. 37 CIL 6.2099 II 14-5 and 23 (Henzen, 148-9) ante Caesareum divis n(umero) XVI verbec(es) / immolavit n(umero) XVI, ‘… in front of the Caesareum to a number of sixteen deities he sacrificed rams, sixteen in number’; 2104.4 ante Caes{a}raeum divis n(umero) XX verbec(es) n(umero) XX, ‘…in front of the Caesareum to a number of twenty deities he sacrificed rams, twenty in number’; 2107.12. 38 Verg. G. 4.538-47 Post… Orphei… nigram mactabis ovem lucumque revises: placatam Eurydicen vitula venerabere caesa. ‘Then, sacrifice to Orpheus a black ewe, and revisit the grove: worship Eurydice, placate her with the death of a calf’; cf. 550-8. 39 Ov. Fast. 3.375-6 Tollit humo munus caesa prius ille iuvenca, / Quae dederat nulli colla premenda iugo, ‘The king first sacrificed a heifer that had never known the yoke, then raised the gift from the ground’. 40 Var. L 6.16 hic dies Iovis… nam flamen Dialis auspicatur vindemiam et ut iussit vinum legere, agna Iovi facit, ‘this is a day sacred to Jupiter [...] for the special priest of Jupiter makes an official commencement of the vintage, and when he has given orders to harvest the grapes, he sacrifices a goat to Jupiter’. The grape harvest ended officially on October 11 with the feast called Meditrinalia. 41 Ov. Fast. 1.56 Idibus alba Iovi grandior agna cedit, ‘While a larger white ewelamb falls to Jupiter on the Ides’. For Schilling (1993) I, 100, agna can be here either masculine or feminine; see contra Krause (1931) 268-70. 42 Paul. Fest. 104.17 L Idulis ovis dicebatur, quae omnibus Idibus Iovi mactabatur, ‘It is called ewe-lamb belonging to the Ides, because it is slaughtered in honour of Jupiter on every Ides’; Macr. 1.15.16 Sunt qui aestiment Idus ab ove Iduli dictas, quam hoc nomine vocant Tusci et omnibus Idibus Iovi immolatur a flamine, ‘There are those who think that the Ides are named after the sheep belonging to the Ides, which the Tuscans call by this name and which is sacrificed on the Ides of every month to Jove by the priest’.

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25

the Fetials. 43 Bacchus was the recipient of a female goat 44 and so was Ve(d)iovis.45 Krause,46 in order to rectify this gender issue, corrects capra to capro, a correction also proposed for the text written by Varro concerning the sacrifice of a female goat to Jupiter by the Flamen Dialis. Another example is the sacrifice of a female pig which joined Romulus and Titus Tatius under the auspices of Jupiter Stator.47 When he attempted to explain the Vergilian text and the sacrificial deviation in it, Servius48 mentioned that female immolations had a greater value, an opinion which Krause defines as arbitrary and falsified, invented solely to justify the text of Vergil.49 However, a text by Ovid50 concerning

43

Serv. A. 8641 Iungebant foedera porca foedera dicta sunt a porca foede et crudeliter occisa; nam cum ante gladiis configeretur a fetialibus inventum ut silice feriretur ea causa, quod antiqui Iovis signum lapidem silicem putaverunt esse, ‘The treaties are linked to the sow: they are called “treaties” from the sow which is shamefully and cruelly “treated”; for, while the sow was pierced by swords, she was hit with a stone by the Fetials for this reason, because the ancient people believed that the flint stone was a representation of Jupiter’; Servius tries to explain why there is a confusion concerning the swine’s sex, insisting that porca should be porcus. 44 Ov. Fast. 1.360-1 … Bacche… / … nocuit quoque culpa (sui) capellae, ‘… Bacchus [...] the goat also suffered for her crime’. 45 Gel. 5.12.12 immolaturque ritu humano capra, eiusque animalis figmentum iuxta simulacrum stat, ‘… and a she-goat is sacrificed to him in the customary fashion, and a representation of that animal stands near his statue’. 46 Krause (1931) 270. 47 Verg. A. 8.640-1 Armati Iovis ante aram paterasque tenentes / stabant et caesa iungebant foedera porca, ‘[The rival kings Romulus and Tatius] who stood in arms before Jove’s sacred altar, cup in hand, and swore a compact o’er the slaughtered swine’. 48 Ibid. 8.641 … In omnibus sacris feminini generis plus valent victimae, ‘In all the rituals the female victims are more valuable’. Schilling (1993) I, 146-7, also suggests that when this is a thanksgiving sacrifice, aiming at the divinity’s approval (litatio), then the feminine victims are preferable. 49 Krause (1931) 243; cf. Serv. A. 1.62 Foedus autem dictum vel a fetialibus, id est sacerdotibus per quos fiunt foedera, vel a porca foede, hoc est lapidibus occisa, ut ipsi “et caesa iungebant foedera porca”, ‘A treaty, however, is named either from the Fetials, that is the priests through whom treaties are made, or from the polluted sow, which is struck with stones, as they themselves “join treaties with the slaughtered sow”’. Another text contradicts Servius’ one: during the sacrifices of inauguration or pacification a pig is immolated; see Var. R. 2.49 initiis pacis, foedus cum feritur, porcus occiditur, ‘at the rites that initiate peace, when a treaty is made, a pig is killed’. 50 Ov. Fast. 2.359-80.

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the sacrifice of a small goat offered to Faunus by Romulus and Remus,51 negates the hypothesis of Krause. On the contrary, Livy, giving primacy to the male victims, mentions a failed sacrifice of three cattle 52 offered to various deities, among which was the goddess Salus, who rejected even the substitute offering. The aforementioned text by Servius offers one more interesting piece of information: if the sacrifice fails, whether due to a refusal by a god to accept the sacrifice (as seen in the viscera), or to the wrong choice of the victim (hostia), or because the victim escapes (hostia effugia), it could be re-attempted with a new sacrifice called succidanea hostia (victim of substitution),53 but in the case of a second failure, the sacrifice had to be abandoned. A female victim could be substituted for a male one, but the opposite was impossible.54 It was also possible to change not the sex but the colour 55 of the victim or even the species. 56 Arnobius gives an explanation for these deviations, according to which there is a distinction 51

Ibid. 2.361 Cornipedi Fauno caesa de more capella…, ‘A she-goat was sacrificed to cloven Faunus, as usual’. Schilling (1993) I, 124, in order to provide an explanation for the sacrifice of a goat to Faunus, insists on the hellenisation of his cult and adds that Ovid is not interested in defining the sex of the victim (Ov. Fast. 2.361 capella; 445 caprum; I.357 caper; 361 capellae). In my view, however, the divinity, which is sometimes either masculine (Faunus) or feminine (Fauna) demands victims of both sexes. 52 Liv. 41.15.3 Alter consul curam adiecit, qui… tribus bubus perlitasse negavit, ‘the other consul brought additional anxiety by reporting that he had failed to obtain a favorable omen after sacrificing three cattle’; 15.4 senatus maioribus hostiis usque ad litationem sacrificari iussit, ‘The Senate directed him to continue sacrificing full-grown victims until he received a favorable omen’. 53 See the analysis made in Capdeville (1971) 302ff., which remains the most thorough study on the matter to this day. I would like to thank him personally for his pertinent remarks and suggestions. 54 Serv. A. 8.641 Denique si per marem litare non possent, succidanea dabatur femina; si autem per feminam non litassent, succidanea adhiberi non poterat, ‘Finally, if they could not make a sacrifice with a male [victim], a female was given as a substitute: but if they could not make a sacrifice with a female one, a substitute could not be provided’. 55 Gel. 4.6.2, where victims, probably white, were substituted by red ones (see below). 56 The only related text is the one by Paul. Fest. 49.17 L Cervaria ovis, quae pro cerva immolabatur, ‘Cervine sheep, which was offered instead of a hind’, also repeated in 57.5 L Cervaria ovis dicitur, quae pro cerva immolator, ‘It is called cervine sheep, the one which is sacrificed instead of a hind’; cf. Capdeville (1971) 311ff., for cases of animal disguise to look like other animals, considered the most convenient for a particular deity.

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neither of species nor of sexes among the gods.57 It is true, however, that in the texts where the rule is violated, there is no indication that this is a sacrifice that had failed and was therefore being repeated. At this point we would like to point out the curious fact that the sacrifices offered to male divinities were usually castrated (apart from animals victimised to Mars, Neptune, Janus, and Genius); in other words they were deprived of their masculinity. The theory of animistic numina (called “numinism”) originates mainly from a quotation by Augustine of Hippo citing information derived from Varro, that the Romans had worshipped their gods without images for one hundred and seventy years,58 from 753 BCE to about 580 BCE. In truth, there are even more ancient images of the old gods, in wood or stone, with their symbols and attributes, their artistry being cruder. Initially having an abstract form,59 deities gradually acquired a more concrete one. We would like to propose a theory related both to Arnobius and the theory of numinism: in early times, there were no particular representations or depictions of deities, and images of numina existed only in an abstract form in the mind and imagination of their devotees.60 They had neither age, nor face, nor characteristic attributes. In this era, the divinities had either no sex at all (asexual deities), or—more commonly—they exhibited characteristics of both sexes (androgynous deities), two categories already described by Brelich,61 along with a third, the deified abstractions. Later, through assimilation with the Greek gods, writers and artists began to give 57

Arnob. Adv. Nat. 8.19.2-3 … sed si vicerit ratio atque obtinuerit veritas, differentiam generum nullam in diis esse neque ullis sexibus eos esse discretos…, ‘… but if reason has demonstrated and truth declared, that among the gods there is no difference of species, and that they are not distinguished by any sexes…’. 58 Var. ap. August. C. D. 4.31 Dicit etiam antiquos Romanos plus annos centum et septuaginta deos sine simulacro coluisse, ‘He [Varro] also says that the ancient Romans for more than a hundred and seventy years worshipped gods without an image’. 59 A striking example is the prayer to Jupiter made by the pontifices; see Serv. A. 2.351 “Iuppiter Optime Maxime, sive quo alio nomine te appellari volueris”; nam et ipse ait: “sequimur te, sancte deorum, quisquis es”, ‘Jupiter Optimus Maximus, or if you wish to be called by any other name. For [Vergil] himself [A. 4.576] said: “We follow you, holy one of the gods, whoever you are”’. 60 The theory is not new: see for example Bayet (1947) 112, who writes about a primordial bisexual creature; Gagé (1963) 27; Eliade (1968) 352-4; Weinstock (1971) 100, 174, 177, 182-4, 186-9, 193; Kakridis (1987) III, 339; Eliade (1992³) 215-7. 61 Brelich (1949) 18, a book brought to my attention by Professor A. Mastrocinque whom I would like to thank.

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divinities one or more images, features, looks and expressions, attributes, sacred animals and attendants—in short, a concrete and strongly anthropomorphic iconography.62 There are, however, several elements that have survived in worship and in the names and epithets of some deities which remind us of this archaic period. These are both pre-mythological and aniconistic. Exceptions to the rules of sacrifice are part of a series of strange phenomena associated with the Roman religion for which different interpretations have been given. These interpretations include the suggestion that the exception was the result of mistakes or of the ignorance of the writers who wrote about them. The exceptions are associated either with the names and epithets of the gods, or with their sexual characteristics (homosexuality, bisexuality, biformity, hermaphroditism, androgyny, cross-dressing), or even with their religious practices. The first of these unstable categories63 includes duplicate names:64 we know of a number of deities that occur with both a male and a female name. In this case, only one of the two hypostases of gods (sometimes etiologically explained as a god and its acolyte/consort or as two members of the same family, for example brother and sister or husband and wife) finally prevailed in the official cult as the most powerful. This category of divinities,65 i.e. gods that are at times male and at other times female,66 includes Flora and Florus, Cacus and Caca, Pomona and Pomonus, Tellus and Tellumo, Robigus and Robigo, Liber and Libera, Faunus and Fauna, Iuventas and Iuventus, Ianus and Iana, Silvanus and Silvana, Mars and Cerfus Martius, Iuppiter and Dione, Iuppiter and Dea Dia, Iuppiter Libertas and Libertas, Ruminus and Rumina. There is also the special case of Pales, with two gods of the opposite sex hiding behind the same name. It should, at this point, be noted that most of these gods are associated with the fertility both of humans and of the earth. It is also possible to add the cases of Iuturna and the Dioskouroi, Fortuna Barbata and Barbatus 62

A similar procedure took place in the Etruscan religion, where there is s great deal of interaction with the Greek and the Roman religion. See Cristofani (1993) 921. 63 I borrowed the term from Sharrock (2002) 95-107, who examines a string of ambiguous cases in Greco-Roman mythology. 64 For most of these deities, see various chapters and bibliography in Mantzilas (2000 and 2002); see also Id. (2006) 53 n. 119. 65 I retained the Latin names of the divinities in order to show the difference between their masculine and feminine form. 66 Cf. Gerhard (1897²) II, 135, pl. 141; 153, pl. 166; Dumézil (1974²) 668-9. Similar ambiguous Egyptian deities are Atum, Seth, and Amen/Amenet.

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Fortunius, Victoria and Iuppiter (or Hercules or Mars) Victor, Dius Fidius and Fides, Mars and Maurta, Fors and Fortuna, Maius and Maia, and Semo Sancus and Semones, where a pair (or trio) of deities appears as the masculine and feminine aspect of the same divine being. A second case is that of adjectives that reveal an ambiguous sexuality, such as Fortuna Virilis,67 Fortuna Barbata,68 and Venus Barbata,69 Venus Aphroditos,70 but also Jupiter Muliebris and Jupiter progenitor genitrixque (mother and father),71 where the adjectives are in stark contrast to the sex of the divinity; this happens mainly with deities that represent the ultimate masculinity (Jupiter) or femininity (Venus). Many myths72 include a gender issue, such as the castration of Attis and his priests, the androgyny of Agdistis, of Hymenaeus and Hermaphroditus, the double nature of Dionysus-Bachomet, the transgressive women Myrrha and Byblis, the change of gender of Tiresias, of Sithon, of Caenis/Caeneus, of Iphis and of the Coronides. Some of them (Iphis, Hermaphroditus) are stories about the failure of progression into adult sexuality, the case also of Phaethon, Pentheus, Actaeon, and Narcissus. Their common characteristic is fluidity in developing and maintaining gender. The numerous acts of homosexual love73 between gods or gods and mortals which appear in the works of many writers are an alternative to the more frequent acts of heterosexual love. The eternal virginity of some characters demonstrates an asexual nature. Such characters include the warrior Athena/Minerva (who also demonstrates masculine behaviour), the huntress Artemis/Diana, with her acolytes, Hippolytus/Virbius and also Vesta 74 and her priestesses, the

67

She was worshipped on April 1st, together with Venus Verticordia, forming a strange androgynous couple. 68 August. C. D. 4.11; 6.1; Tert. Nat. 2.1. 69 Ar. Fr. 702 CAF (I, 563 Kock); Laev. Poet. Fr. 26 Morel; Philoch. Atthis (FGrHist 3 B 328, F 184 Jacoby); Macr. 3.8.2-3; cf. Serv. A. 2.632. 70 Macr. 3.8.2-3; cf. Hesych. s. v. 71 Valer. Solan. ap. August. C. D. 7.9 Iupiter omnipotens, regum rex ipse deumque, Progenitor, genetrixque deum, deus unus et omnes, ‘Jupiter almighty, begetter of kings and things and gods, and mother of gods, unique and universal god’; cf. 4.11; Syn. Hymn. 3, 26 Steph (for Zeus); Orph. H. 6.4 (for the Moon); 9.18 (for Physis); 31.10 (for Metis), all of them presented as both male and female. 72 For more details, one can consult (Grimal) 1951, under each particular lemma; cf. Casadio (2003) 231-68. 73 For more details, see Calimach (2002). 74 However in the penus of her temple a gigantic phallus was kept, bearing various symbolisms of procreation and fertility.

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Vestals, who were buried alive if they violated their vows of virginity.75 Another form of virginity is seen in the case of deities born by parthenogenesis, such as, birth from the body of a father (Minerva is born from the head of Jupiter and Bacchus from his thigh; Venus was born from the testicles of Ouranos cast into the sea by Cronos/Saturn) or even born without the presence of a father (Juno gave birth to Mars, after smelling a flower, Orion was born from the urine of three gods; the Aloades were created from the waves with which Iphimedeia washed her chest). Other phenomena are the indeterminate sex of the god Genius (protector of the male gender) and his doublet, Juno 76 (protector of the female gender), a famous statue which was permanently veiled so that no one knew if it represented the goddess Fortuna or the king Servius Tullius,77 the simultaneous presence of a boy and a girl at rites dedicated to the god Terminus,78 and the cult of Athena Tritogeneia, worshipped by women disguised as men. As regards the parendysia (‘cross-dressing’), the cases of Mnestra, of Jupiter, of Vertumnus, of Achilles, of Athena, and of Hercules are typical. Another factor which is related to the official Roman religion was the exclusion of men or women from the rites and shrines of a deity–usually– of the opposite sex, including also Adonis, 79 revered by women only, Hercules, 80 in his sanctuary called Ara Maxima, worshipped by men dressed as women, Silvanus, 81 assimilated to Faunus, at the sacrifice offered to him by farmers, Bona Dea,’ 82 and the famous annual ritual

75

Plut. Num. 9-10; Quaest. Rom. 96; Dion. Hal. Rom. Ant. 2.67.4; 8.79.5; Liv. 8.15.7ff.; Serv. A. 11.206; Plin. Ep. 4.11; Suet. Dom. 8. 76 For Genius, see CIL 6.111; 2099.1.1; 2107.9; cf. Brelich (1949) 13-16. For Iuno, see CIL 5.6407; 6954; 7237; 7472; 6.2128; 15502; 8.1140; 10.1009; 1023; 11.1324; 12.3063-6; 13.1735. 77 Ov. Fast. 6.569ff.; Dion. Hal. Rom. Ant. 4.40.7; V. Max. 1.8.11; Plin. Nat. Hist. 8.194; 197. 78 Ov. Fast. 2.649-52 79 See Mantzilas (2000) 311-2. 80 Lyd. Mens. 4.67; cf. Bayet (1926) 314, 356, 449; Porte (1985) 173-4. Women were excluded; see Plut. Quaest. Rom. 60; Macr. 1.12.28; Prop. 5.9.69; Gel. 11.6.2. 81 Schol. Juv. 6.447 caedere Silvano porcum quia Silvano mulieres non licet sacrificare; cf. CIL 6.579 Imperio Silvani ne qua mulier velit in piscina virili descendere; si minus, ipsa de se queretur. 82 The exclusion applied either to her cult (Macr. 1.12.28; cf. CIL 1².2186; 5.759; 761-2; 6.53-4; 57-8; 61-3; 71-3; 30853; 36765-6; 9.684; 805; 2996; 4635-6; 5421; 6304-5; 14.3437, which are dedications made only by women) or her temple of

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dedicated to her, which was mystical and private and carried out in the house of the most important dignitary in Rome, and Mater Matuta 83 (during the Matralia of June 11), celebrated only by the univirae matrons, i.e. those who were married only once, a rule applied also to the cult of Fortuna Muliebris84 and the two Pudicitiae.85 The expression si(ve) deus, si(ve) dea, ‘whether you are a god or a goddess’, sive mas, sive femina, ‘whether you are a man or a woman’ and its variants, 86 used in invocations, is sometimes interpreted as an expression which refers to all divinities. Using this expression ensured that no deity could be accidentally omitted and thus provoked into seeking revenge.87 There is also a theory claiming that it is a formal expression used in the Roman religion to cover all possibilities in recognition of the limits of human knowledge concerning divine power. 88 Sometimes, however, it is interpreted as a reference to the primitive, predeistic stage of Roman religion, when belief was still focused on ambiguous animistic spirits89 and the faithful did not know the sex of the deity invoked.90 Analogous oscillations are found in the Etruscan religion, associated almost exclusively with deities of personification,91 with Achvizr (perhaps an acolyte of Turan, the Etruscan equivalent of Aphrodite/Venus), Alpan or Apanu (an underworld divinity of love), Evan (another attendant of Turan), Leinth (associated to the Lares), Mean or Meanpe (equivalent of Nike/Victoria), Lasa (a divinity of the dead) and the male, female or androgynous T(h)Alana or Talna (probably the Greek Thallo).92 Modern scholars disagree on the sex of Thuf(ltha) or Thupltha, an entity of fate and Bona Dea Subsaxana (Fest. 348 L). The same exclusion in Faunus’ cult is related to the identification of Bona Dea to Fauna. 83 Tert. Monog. 17. 84 Ibid. 17; Serv. A. 4.19; cf. Wissowa (1904) 254-60, 294ff. 85 Fest. 282 L. 86 Cato Agr. 139; Gel. 2.28.3; CIL 1.801; 6.110; 1.632 + 6.110 + 6.30694; 8. Suppl. 3.21567 B 7-10; 1¹.1114 = 14.3572; 6.111; Macr. 3.9.7; Serv. A. 2.351; Dessau 4016; cf. above the inscriptions of the Arval Brethren. 87 Brelich (1949) 10; Guittard (2002) 45-6, observes that it is a crafty precaution of the Roman who is anxious not to commit an impiety (piaculum), when addressing a deity whose name or exact nature he ignores. Also see the recent analysis of Ferri (2013) 46-54; and cf. Alvar (1988) 236-73. 88 Courtney (1999) 109. 89 For example, Salmon (1967) 148-9. 90 Bertholet (1934) 3ff.; Wagenvoort (1947) 80. 91 See de Grummond (2005) 303, with discussion of all sexually ambiguous deities; cf. also Sowder (1982) 105-7, 113, 115-6, 124; Rallo (1974). 92 For these divinities see Bonfante and Bonfante (2002) 198, 200-1, 206.

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divination equivalent to the Roman Favor. 93 Some other interesting information originates from Servius, 94 according to whom the Etruscan Penates contain not male but three female divinities. Another phenomenon is the discordance, in terms of sex identification, between some Greek or Roman solar and lunar deities and their Etruscan equivalents, 95 thus Apollo and Helios/Sol, two masculine deities are replaced by the feminine Canatha, Cautha, or Catha (whose name has also many more variants) and by UĞil, appearing mainly as male, but also, on the back of a hand mirror, as a female entity. The opposite occurs with Selene/Luna whose homologous deity is the masculine Tiu(r), perhaps also MariĞ Tiөsta, a lunar aspect of MariĞ (the Etruscan Ares/Mars). The principal divinity of the night, Nyx/Nox, becomes Cilens, an equivalent of Nocturnus. 96 Last but not least, Velthume, Veltha, Vethune, or Veltune (the Roman Voltumna or Volturna), identified nowadays as an epithet of Tinia (the Etruscan equivalent of Zeus/Jupiter), appears as bisexual, confused with Vertumnus.97 Regarding the second rule, i.e. the rule governing the colour of the animal to be sacrificed, the sacrificial exceptions were very few in number, because the offer of a “white” victim was also acceptable provided that it had at least a white spot on the forehead98 or on the legs.99

93

See de Grummond (2005), where the sex of the deity is being discussed. It is considered to be masculine by Cristofani, Colonna, and Maras, and feminine by Cherici and de Grummond (where one can see all bibliographical references). Moreover Buranelli (1989) 75, suggests that Thuf could be a male name and Thufltha a female one, forming a couple similar to that of several Roman deities already mentioned; cf. Maras (2015) 3-4, who proves the existence of an androgynous couple Favor-Fortuna but hesitates to accept an eventual identification of it with Thuf and Thufltha. 94 Serv. A. 2.325: Tusci Penates Cererem et

alem [scr. Talem] et Fortunam dicunt, ‘The Etruscans call Ceres and Pales and Fortuna [by the name] “Penates”’; cf. Var. Men. fr. 506. 95 See Maras (2007) 101-16. Regarding the general problem of defining the ambiguous gender of Etruscan divinities, a problem that has preoccupied various scholars, see Maras (2007) 101 and n. 1; cf. de Grummond (2008) 419-28, where the tendency of leaving the sex of the deity undefined is reported. 96 Pl. Am. 2.72; Mart. Cap. Nupt. 1.46ff. 97 Prop. 4.2.41-6. See also Dumézil (1975) 78-82; Cristofani (1985) 75-88; (1993) 9; cf. Ov. Fast. 6.409-10 and Frazer’s commentary (1931) ad loc. 98 Hor. C. 4.2.54-60. 99 Isid. Etym. 12.1.52.

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When it was impossible to find such a victim, the whiteness was “created” with the help of chalk (hostia cretata).100 Arnobius clarifies that celestial gods, and those who have the power to give favourable predictions preferred the colour white, while, on the contrary, gods who predicted ill for the future and those who inhabited the underworld preferred a dark-coloured or dark-stained sacrifice. However, with some irony, Arnobius stresses that only the skin of the victims is black and that their meat, bones, teeth, fat, brain, and medulla are not; neither are the other elements that accompany the sacrifices, such as the incense and the ingredients used for libations (seeds, milk, oil, blood). He also suggests that the sacrifices should be dyed black or even purple!101 Our interpretation would be that sometimes the same deity may have both an earthly nature and an underworld existence. Characteristic examples are the Dioskouroi and Persephone/Proserpina,102 who lived for a time in the Underworld and for a time on Earth, Jupiter, who becomes Veiovis in the underworld environment, Mercury, assimilated to Hermes Psychopompos and others. But the most interesting cases are those in which a red victim was sacrificed.103 One such sacrifice was involved in the worship of Vulcan (on the 23rd of August), established by Domitian. The god enjoyed the sacrifice of a red calf and a pig, in order to prevent arson in Rome.104 In addition to the case of Vulcan there are three festivals linked to one other. The first one is the Cerealia (April 19), the festival of Ceres, where the priests released red foxes into the Circus Maximus, with lighted torches on their backs, a symbol perhaps of the recently completed harvest.105 Similar cases include Samson’s foxes in the Bible, and also the burning beasts and birds at the Iranian festival of Sadah.106 Another Roman festival was dedicated to Robigo/Robigus (April 25). It was called Robigalia, a name associated with ruber, ‘red’. This involved the offering of the intestines of a dog (probably red) and of a sheep, and was performed to protect the summer crop from being burned by the sun. 100

Juv. 10.65-6; Lucil. 1145 M. Arnob. Adv. Nat. 7.20.3-5. 102 In her Greek cult, Persephone received a coq; see Burkert (2003) 480. 103 See Krause (1931) 246 for the terminology used (rutilus, rufus, rufulus, robus). 104 CIL 6.826 = 30833 Volcanalibus… omnibus annis vitulo robeo et verre, ‘At the Volcanalia every year [he is honoured] with a red calf and an uncastrated pig’; cf. Fast. Philoc. 105 Ov. Fast. 4.681-2 … missae vinctis ardentia taedis / Terga ferant volpes, ‘… foxes are loosed then, carrying torches fastened to scorched backs’. 106 See Dumézil (1974²) 380 n. 3. 101

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The third is the movable feast of Augurium Canarium (which fell every year in April or May), where they sacrificed a red dog to mitigate the destructive power of the constellation of the Dog (Sirius or Canis Maior).107 We believe that these were three spring festivals in which red or burning animals were sacrificed in order to avoid—using white magic— the heat caused by the constellation mentioned above.108 There also exists some information concerning an offering to Jupiter, Mars, and other unnamed deities of red sacrifices as a substitute for others, probably white. 109 A red bull was also sacrificed to Jupiter Stone (Iuppiter Latiaris).110 Another text details the sacrifice of a red calf to Jupiter.111 Two similar examples are known from ancient sources, the offer of a red heifer by the Israelites and of red oxen by the Egyptians.112 107

Fest. 39.13-16 L ... ad placandum caniculae sidus frugibus inimicum rufae canes immolanabtur, ut fruges flavescentes ad maturitatem perducerentur, ‘... redhaired dogs were sacrificed to conciliate the Dogstar, hostile to the crops, so that the crops may yellow and attain full maturity’; 358.27-30 L rutilae canes, id est procul a rubro colore, immolantur [...] canario sacrificio pro frugibus deprecandae saevitiae causa sideris caniculae, ‘Reddish dogs, that is not far from the red colour, are sacrificed [...] to avert the Dogstar’s rage by sacrificing a dog on behalf of the crops’; cf. Plin. Nat. Hist. 18.14; Turchi (1939) 85; Schilling (1967-8) 33-4, where the association between the red colour and the constellation of the Dog is discussed; Zaganiaris (1975) 322-8. 108 See Mantzilas (2000) 290. For the relationship between the three festivals, see Deubner (1911) 328; Eitrem (1915) 170; Porte (1985) 152-8 109 Gel. 4.6.2 ... hostiis maioribus Iovi et Marti procuraret et ceteris dis, quibus videretur, lactantibus. Ibus uti procurasset, satis habendum censuerunt. Si quid succidaneis opus esset, robiis succideret, (‘[the consul] should make expiation to Jupiter and Mars with full-grown victims, and with unweaned victims to such of the other gods as he thought proper. They decided that it should be regarded as sufficient for him to have sacrificed with these. If there should be any need of additional victims, the additional offerings should be made with red victims’), in a text, where the writer explains the meaning of hostiae succidaneae. 110 Arnob. Adv. Nat. 2.68.1 In Albano antiquitus monte nullos alios licebat quam nivei tauros immolare candoris: nonne istum morem religionemque mutastis atque, ut rufulos liceret dari, senatus constitutum sanctione?, ‘On the Alban hill, it was not allowed in ancient times to sacrifice any but snow-white bulls: have you not changed that custom and religious observance, and [has it not been] enacted by decree of the senate, that reddish ones may be offered?’. 111 Juv. 8.155-7 Interea, dum lanatas robumque iuvencum / more Numae caedit, Iovis ante altaria iurat / solam Eponam et facies olida ad praesepia pictas, ‘And then, though he sacrifices sheep, or a red bullock, In Numa’s rites, he swears by the horse-goddess Epona at Jove’s altar, by the painted icons on his rank stable’. 112 Bible Numbers 19 and Plut. Isis & Osiris 31, respectively.

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Other minor rules 113 refer to sacrifices of adult animals (hostiae maiores) or to animals still suckling (hostiae lactentes) that were offered to greater or lesser gods, respectively; to the immolation of sterile or pregnant sacrifices, or to the sacrifice of animals that had never been yoked. It was essential for the sacrifice to be impeccable, so it was carefully examined and replaced if it was regarded as unsuitable (i.e., not satisfying the criteria required to be classified as hostia propria). To sum up, according to the official Roman religion, each deity required the sacrifice of an animal of the same sex and of the appropriate colour. However there were many exceptions, especially to the first rule, as we have demonstrated, exceptions that can only be explained by the fact that they originated from an ancient era before the gods had a specific gender so that it did not matter what gender of animal was sacrificed to them. Exceptions to the gender rule have also been explained as being the result of the fact that the sacrifice was made in accordance with Greek sacrificial rules (Graeco ritu),114 which could violate the fundamental rule of sacrifices, while for the purely Roman gods such a thing would never have been allowed. Unfortunately, this theory does not cover cases such as those of Fons, Veiovis, or Robigo, which do not come from Greece. Behind the syncretism that characterises Roman religion, i.e. a mixture of Greek, Etruscan, Roman, Egyptian, Syrian, and other rites that changed over the centuries to form an amalgam, enriching Roman religion, both in its public and in its private expression, a combination of Greek sacrificial rules and aniconism can be observed. This explains the otherwise seemingly strange deviation from the usual rules of sacrifice.

Bibliography Alvar, J. (1988) “Matériaux pour l’étude de la formule sive deus, sive dea”, Numen 32.2, 236-73. Bayet, J. (1947) Histoire politique et psychologique de la religion romaine. Paris: Payot. Bertholet, A. (1934) Das Geschlecht der Gottheit. Tübingen: Mohr. Bonfante, G. and Bonfante L. (2002) The Etruscan Language: An Introduction. Manchester: Manchester University Press. 113

Arnob. Adv. Nat. 7.18; cf. Krause (1931) 246ff. As Scheid (1998) 33-5, has shown, the term Graeco ritu is not precise, because, in reality, the ritual was made in a “Roman” way that seems exotic to Greeks, and because there was not a single Greek religion, common to all cities. It is therefore impossible to specify which particular cult it refers to; cf. Capdeville (1971) 283323.

114

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Brelich, A. (1949) Die geheime Schutzgottheit von Rom. Zurich: RheinVerlag. Buranelli, F. (1989) La raccolta Giacinto Guglielmi. Roma: Catalogo mostra, Palazzi Apostolici Vaticani, Stanze di S. Pio V (23 maggio-29 luglio 1989). Burkert, W. (2003) La religione greca di epoca arcaica e classica. Milano: Jaca Book. Calimach, A. (2002) Lovers’ Legends: The Gay Greek Myths. New Rochelle: Haiduk Press. Capdeville, J. (1971) “Substitutions de victimes dans les sacrifices d’animaux à Rome”, MEFR(A) 83, 283-323. Casadio, G. (2003) “The Failing Male God. Emasculation, Death, and Other Accidents in the Ancient Mediterranean World”, Numen 50, 231-68. Clemen, H. (1934) “Römische Feste und Ovid’s Fasten”, HG 45, 88-95. Courtney, E. (1999) Archaic Latin Prose. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Cristofani, M. (1985) “Voltumna: Vertumnus”, AnnFalna 2, 75-88. —. (1993) “Sul processo di antropomorfizazzione nel pantheon etrusco”, QAEI 22, 9-21. Dumézil, G. (1966, 1974²) La religion romaine archaïque. Paris: Payot. —. (1975) Fêtes romaines d’été et d’automne suivi de Dix questions romaines. Paris: Gallimard. Eitrem, S. (1915) Opferritus und Voropfer der Griechen und Römer. Kristiania: J. Dybwad. Eliade, M. (1968) Traité d’histoire des religions. Paris: Payot. —. (1954, 1992³) Mythes, rêves et mystères. Paris: Gallimard. Faraone, C. A. and Naiden, F. S. (eds.) (2012) Greek and Roman Animal Sacrifice: Ancient Victims, Modern Observers. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ferri, G. (2013) “The Bond between Rome and its Gods”, in G. Sfameni Gasparro, A. Cosentino, and M. Monaca (eds.), Religion in the History of European Culture. Proceedings of the 9th EASR Annual Conference and IAHR Special Conference, 14-7 September 2009, Messina, Palermo: Biblioteca dell’Officina di Studi Medievali, 39-59. Frazer, J. G. (ed. and trnsl.) (1931) Ovid. Fasti. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; and London: William Heinemann Ltd. Gagé, J. (1963) Matronalia. Essai sur les dévotions et les organisations cultuelles des femmes dans l’ancienne Rome. Brussels: Latomus. Gerhard, E. (ed.) (1843-1867, 1897²) Etruskische Spiegel. 4 vols. Berlin: G. Reimer.

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Grimal, P. (1951, 2011-15th edn) Dictionnaire de la mythologie grecque et romaine. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Grummond, N. De (2005) “Roman Favor and Etruscan Thuf(ltha): A Note on Propertius 4.2.34”, Ancient West and East 4.2, 296-317. —. (2008) “Moon over Pyrgi: Catha, an Etruscan Lunar goddess?”, AJA 112.3, 419-28. Guittard, Ch. (2002) “Sive deus sive dea: les Romains pouvaient-ils ignorer la nature de leurs divinités?”, REL 80, 45-6. Henzen, W. (ed.) (1874, reprint 1974) Acta Fratrum Arvalium quae supersunt. Accedunt fragmenta Fastorum in Luco Arvalium effossa. Berlin: Georg Reimer. Kakridis, I.-Th. (ed.) (1987) ǼȜȜȘȞȚțȒ ȂȣșȠȜȠȖȓĮ [Greek Mythology]. 5 vols. Athens: Ekdotiki Athinon (in Modern Greek). Krause, K. (1894) De Romanorum hostiis quaestiones selectee. Diss. Marburg. —. (1931) Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, Suppl. 5. Stuttgart: Pauly, col. 236-82, s. v. hostia. Mantzilas, D. (2000, 2002) Les divinités dans l’œuvre poétique d’Ovide. Diss. Paris; Lille: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion and A. N. R. T. —. (2006) “Ǿ ȡȦȝĮȧțȒ șİȐ Rumina. ȅȚ ȣʌȠıIJȐıİȚȢ IJȘȢ, Ș Ficus Ruminalis, Ș ȜȪțĮȚȞĮ țĮȚ ȠȚ ȐȜȜİȢ șİȩIJȘIJİȢ” [The Roman Divinity Rumina: her Hypostases, Ficus Ruminalis, the She-wolf, and the other Divinities], Archaignosia 14, 31-58. Maras, D. F. (2007) “Divinità etrusche e iconografia greca: la connotazione sessuale delle divinità solari ed astrali”, Polifemo 7, 10116. —. (2015) “Fortuna Etrusca”, in A. Ancillotti, A. Calderini, and R. Massarelli (eds.), Forme e strutture della religione nell’Italia mediana antica. Atti del Terzo Congresso Internazionale di Studi Umbri, IRDAU, Istituto di Ricerca e Documentazione sugli Antichi Umbri, Perugia-Gubbio, 21-25 settembre 2011. Rome (forthcoming), 3-4. Meyer, H. (1913) Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. Stuttgart: Pauly, col. 2498-500, s.v. hostia. Paladino, I. (1988) Il calendario liturgico dei Fratres Arvales. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Porte, D. (1985) L’étiologie religieuse dans les Fastes d’Ovide. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Prescendi, F. (2007) Décrire et comprendre le sacrifice. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Rallo, A. (1974) Lasa. Iconografia e esegesi. Florence: Sansoni.

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Salmon, E. T. (1967) Samnium and the Samnites. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Scheid, J. (1998) La religion des Romains. Paris: Armand Colin. —. (2007) Sacrifices for Gods and Ancestors, in J. Rüpke (ed.), A Companion to Roman Religion. Malden, MA and Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 263-71. Schilling, R. (1967-8) “Religion et magie à Rome”, AEHE 75, 33-4. —. (ed. and trnsl.) (1993) Ovide. Les Fastes. 2 vols. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Sharrock, A. (2002) “Gender and sexuality”, in Ph. Hardie (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Ovid. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 95-107. Sowder, C. (1982) “Etruscan Mythological Figures”, in N. de Grummond (ed.), A Guide to Etruscan Mirrors. Tallahassee, FL: Archaeological News, 100-28. Turchi, N. (1939) La religione di Roma antica. Bologna: Licino Cappelli Editore. Wagenvoort, H. (1947) Roman Dynamism. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Weinstock, S. (1971) Divus Iulius. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Wissowa, G. (1904) Gesammelte Abhandlungen zur römischen Religionsund Stadtgeschichte. Munich: C. H. Beck. —. (1902, 1912², reprint 1971) Religion und Kultus der Römer. Munich: C. H. Beck. Wright, H. W. (1917) The ‘sacra Idulia’ in Ovid’s Fasti. A Study in Ovid’s Credibility in Regards to the Place and the Victim of this Sacrifice. Diss. Newark. Zaganiaris, M. (1975) “Sacrifices de chiens dans l’antiquité classique”, Platon 27, 322-8.

CHAPTER TWO MEN AND ANIMALS IN LUCRETIUS’ DE RERUM NATURA GIAMPIERO SCAFOGLIO

Lucretius often expresses a negative judgment about men who are enthralled by ambitions and passions, so that they lose both freedom and dignity. By contrast, his attitude to animals seems to be one of indulgence and even admiration, for they embody a simple and pure way of life, in accordance with nature.1 The Venus invoked in the hymn at the opening of Lucretius’ poem is the goddess of the sexual union and the regeneration of nature. She is not the goddess worshipped by men in the temples with prayers and rituals, but a goddess that is part of nature. Not surprisingly she is primarily welcomed and followed by animals, which celebrate the triumph of spring and come together under the impulse of sexual desire (1.10-20): nam simul ac species patefactast verna diei 10 et reserata viget genitabilis aura favoni, aeriae primum volucris te, diva, tuumque significant initum perculsae corda tua vi. inde ferae pecudes persultant pabula laeta et rapidos tranant amnis: ita capta lepore 15 te sequitur cupide quo quamque inducere pergis. denique per maria ac montis fluviosque rapacis frondiferasque domos avium camposque virentis omnibus incutiens blandum per pectora amorem efficis ut cupide generatim saecla propagent. 20

1

The only systematic and wide-ranging work on this subject is, as far as I know, Tutrone (2012) 29-154. For the rest, there are limited and ‘selective’ contributions, focusing on particular aspects, such as Saylor (1972) 306-16; Shelton (1996) 4864; Gale (1991) 414-26; Paolucci (2007) 111-8.

40

Chapter Two Indeed, as soon as the springtime face of day makes an appearance and the fertilising wind freely blows from the West, the birds that fly in the sky are the first to celebrate you, goddess, and your coming, as they are struck to the heart by your strength. Thus, domestic animals and wild beasts2 run and jump like crazy through the lush fields and ford the whirling rivers: each animal, seduced by your charm, eagerly follows you wherever you want. In short, through seas and mountains, the rushing rivers, the leafy trees that are home to birds and the green fields, you inspire a sweet love in the hearts of all creatures and make sure that they reproduce and renew their species.

As is well known, the hymn to Venus raises a controversial issue. Lucretius, in fact, subscribes to the Epicurean theory according to which the gods live in the intermundia (the empty spaces between the infinite worlds) and take no part in human affairs. He regards religion as one of the main causes of the evils that afflict humans. Why then does he invoke Venus in the proem to the poem? It is clear that Venus is a symbolic figure, but the commonly accepted explanation, namely that she is a metaphor for katastematic pleasure (the pleasure, that is, which accompanies well-being as such) proclaimed by Epicurus as the supreme good, 3 does not hold. In my view, the Venus invoked here by Lucretius is not a philosophical metaphor, but a symbol of sexual love and reproduction, that is, the creative strength of nature. The prototype for this Venus is the seductive goddess celebrated in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite, with which Lucretius’ passage has many points of contact, intertextual and thematic. 4 In the Homeric Hymn Aphrodite is the goddess who inveigles and captivates the animals through her own power of attraction, which is the power of love. Nevertheless the poet of the Hymn devotes only a few lines to the irresistible erotic desire the goddess inspires in the animals, while Lucretius greatly expands on this issue, making it the centrepiece of his portrait of Venus. The behaviour of animals under the influence of the goddess and in the throes of sexual desire, is described by Lucretius as a natural phenomenon, and

2

I agree with Ernout (1946) 119-24, and Citti (1982) 321-37, in considering ferae and pecudes as two distinct words, with an asyndeton. Cf. Bentley’s amendment too, ferae et pecudes. The translations are mine, here and throughout. 3 Cf. Giancotti (1978) 192-217, with an extensive bibliographical review; but see also Asmis (1982) 458-70; Canfora (1982) 63-77. 4 Cf. De rer. nat. 1.14-20 ~ Hymn 68-74; Gale (1994) 209-10. On the figure, attitude, and meaning of the goddess in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite: Faulkner (2008) 3-22; Scafoglio (2009) 87-98.

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yet a wonder due to the divine strength to which it bears witness. It is a miracle, renewed every year in the spring. Love, thus conceived, is contrasted with war, which brings death and destruction and is represented by Mars, who also appears in Lucretius’ proem (1.29-40). The poet begs Venus to grant peace to the Romans, exhausted by several decades of civil war. Mars indeed is her lover: she can persuade and subdue him through the power of love, appeasing his impulse to violence. Thus, the opposition between love and war is polarised in the dualism between animals and humans: Venus is the goddess of love ruling over animals in joy and serenity; Mars is the cruel god of war dominating humans. The poem thus opens with an invocation of Venus which is actually a tacit appeal to men and an invitation from the poet to his peers to aobandon the bloody path of war and adopt the pure and happy mode of life of the animals. Lucretius’ hymn to Venus therefore lies outside the realm of official religion, a root cause of anxiety and fear, but also a source of violence and cruelty, inflicted by men on other men and on animals. The sacrifice of Iphigeneia is a striking example of the suffering caused by men to men (1.84-101). Lucretius’ sarcasm is cogent when he states that ‘the best of the Achaeans, the bravest warriors, shamefully stained the altar of the virgin goddess Diana with the blood of Iphigeneia’ (1.84-6): Aulide quo pacto Triviai virginis aram Iphianassai turparunt sanguine foede ductores Danaum delecti, prima virorum.

Lucretius takes up a myth already narrated by Aeschylus and Euripides, to show the tragic consequences of religion, which he understands as a dark and bloody perversion, based on absurd superstitions and ancestral fears.5 The human sacrifice, which is brutally cruel in itself, appears more ruthless because the victim is an innocent and helpless girl; her bewildered and frightened feelings are described with deep psychological insight (1.87-92): cui simul infula virgineos circum data comptus ex utraque pari malarum parte profusast, et maestum simul ante aras adstare parentem sensit et hunc propter ferrum celare ministros

5

90

On Lucretius’ view of religion cf. Minyard (1985) 33ff. and esp. 37-41; Summers (1995) 32-57. On the Iphigeneia-episode: Kenney (1974) 24-30; Perutelli (1996/1998) 193-207; Keith (2000) 108-18.

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Chapter Two aspectuque suo lacrimas effundere civis, muta metu terram genibus summissa petebat. As soon as the bandage wrapped around her beautiful hair fluttered down over either cheek, and she saw her father looking so sad, standing on the altars, and the priests hiding a knife, and the people weeping at the sight of her, she remained silent in fear and fell to the ground, onto her knees.

The sacrifice of this innocent girl appears to the poet even more cruel, because the father himself endorses it: nec miserae prodesse in tali tempore quibat / quod patrio princeps donarat nomine regem, ‘now it might not help her that she was the first to give the king the father’s name’ (1.93-4). Men’s perversion is emphasised by the comparison between human sacrifice and marriage, since marriage was both the next logical step for a girl of Iphigeneia’s age and the pretext that brought Agamemnon’s daughter to Aulis (1.95-9).6 What is the purpose of this barbaric ritual? It is to provide a safe journey for the Greek fleet, which is about to leave for the long and terrible ordeal awaiting them at Troy. The bloody sacrifice is a perversion leading to another perversion—indeed, the worst perversion, namely war. The attitude is one that is typical of the human race. The sacrifice of Iphigeneia can be compared to the sacrifice of a calf, a frequent practice in Roman religion (2.352-4): nam saepe ante deum vitulus delubra decora turicremas propter mactatus concidit aras sanguinis expirans calidum de pectore flumen. In fact, often in front of the splendid temples of the gods, at the altars where incense burns, a calf is sacrificed, exhaling from his chest a warm river of blood.

The calf, like Iphigeneia, is an innocent victim of human cruelty: men and animals are indeed equally victims of the violence inspired by religion, but only men are responsible. The behaviour of Agamemnon (the father who authorises the killing of his daughter) is in stark contrast with 6

‘In fact she was raised by the hands of men and was brought trembling to the altars, not in order to celebrate marriage accompanied by the famous Hymenaeus, but to die as a sad victim of her own father, within an impure rite, while being pure herself, just at the age of wedding’. Cf. Bataille (1962) 90-1; Hersch (2010) 88-9. On the literary theme ‘death instead of wedding’, i.e. ‘marriage to Death’: Lyne (1998) 158-9.

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that of the young cow, which finds no peace and desperately runs through the fields, looking for her calf (2.355-60):7 at mater viridis saltus orbata peragrans novit humi pedibus vestigia pressa bisulcis, omnia convisens oculis loca, si queat usquam conspicere amissum fetum, completque querellis frondiferum nemus adsistens et crebra revisit ad stabulum desiderio perfixa iuvenci. But the orphaned mother, ranging throughout the green woodlands, recognises the footprints pressed on the ground by cloven hoofs, peering carefully at all places and hoping to see somewhere her lost calf. Then she stops and fills the dense wood with her moaning, and often comes back to seek within the stable, since she is pierced by the nostalgia for the calf.

So animals are pure and innocent, because they are unrelated to the human perversions of religion and war. Moreover, animals have feelings more sincere and profound than those of men, who are rather in the grip of passions and ambitions, such as the desire for military glory that drives Agamemnon to sacrifice his daughter. Another typically human perversion is love, conceived of not as a sexual overture for the purpose of reproduction (such as that symbolised by Venus in the proem of the poem), but as a furious passion that engages and subdues man, impelling him towards ruinous and self-destructive behaviour.8 Lucretius in Book 4 accordingly cites a number of aberrations originating from passion: violence and frustration (4.1075-1120), extravagance and squandering of heritage (4.1121-32), remorse and jealousy (4.1133-40), so overwhelming as to lead to inability to comprehend or desire (4.1153-69). Only at the end does Lucretius examine the possibility of a natural and genuine relationship between man and woman, namely a purely sexual union without emotional involvement, following the example of animals (4.1192-1200): Nec mulier semper ficto suspirat amore, quae conplexa viri corpus cum corpore iungit et tenet adsuctis umectans oscula labris; nam facit ex animo saepe et communia quaerens 7

Comparison suggested by Townend (1965) 95-114; Saylor (1972) 307-8; Lanata (1994) 40-1; Tutrone (2012) 61. 8 Among others, cf. at least Brown (1987) 47-100 and passim; Nussbaum (1989) 159; Salem (1997) 169ff. and passim.

44

Chapter Two gaudia sollicitat spatium decurrere amoris. nec ratione alia volucres armenta feraeque et pecudes et equae maribus subsidere possent, si non, ipsa quod illarum subat, ardet abundans natura et Venerem salientum laeta retractat. But the woman does not always pretend, when she makes love sighs, clinging to a man in a close embrace, body to body, and kissing passionately his lips. Indeed she often does it from the heart and stimulates him to reach the goal of love, looking for mutual pleasure. All the female animals—such as birds, domestic and wild animals, sheep and mares— could never submit to the males, if their nature would not go into heat, overflowing, and would not be happy to respond to the Venus of those who try to make sexual approaches.

It seems that Lucretius reverses the famous theory of the two Venuses, detailed by Plato in his Symposium. According to the Greek philosopher, there are two Venuses presiding over two kinds of love: the heavenly Venus, who inspires spiritual love, typical of pure and elect souls; and the earthly Venus, who encourages sexual love, a rude and vulgar instinct.9 On the contrary, Lucretius condemns sentiment and passionate involvement as a (human) perversion, in contrast with the natural kind of love, which is identified with sexual instinct. Still, the sexual instinct must remain within the limits of the satisfaction of a natural need, without crossing over into lust and the unrestrained search of pleasure. Lust is a human perversion too, while the proper expression of love is seen only in the mode of life and sexual approach of animals. Even infertility in some women is attributed by Lucretius to the voluptuous attitudes that they adopt during intercourse (4.1269-77). Indeed the best way of conceiving children is to behave in the manner of animals (4.1263-8): et quibus ipsa modis tractetur blanda voluptas, id quoque permagni refert; nam more ferarum quadrupedumque magis ritu plerumque putantur concipere uxores, quia sic loca sumere possunt pectoribus positis sublatis semina lumbis. nec molles opus sunt motus uxoribus hilum.

9

Cf. Plato, Sym. 180d-185c (the speech of Pausanias). Of course, I do not claim that there is a direct relationship between Lucretius and Plato’s Symposium, although this cannot be excluded.

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How to enjoy the sweet pleasure of love is a matter of primary importance; indeed it is mostly believed that wives conceive children more easily in the position of animals and the manner of quadrupeds, because this way the seed can reach its own location, when the chest is bent down and the hips are lifted. Wives have no need to make voluptuous movements.

Lucretius’ discourse on love at the end of Book 4 reveals a misogynistic attitude, as well as contempt and fear of love and sex, but his moral condemnation also involves men, who are beguiled by women, i.e. carried away by passion and the desire for pleasure. The polemical target for the poet thus becomes the human being as such (regardless of gender) in contrast to animals, which provide a positive model. People’s aberrations in relation to love (whether emotional disorders or sexual perversions) reflect their unbalanced mode of life, detached as it is from nature, which is the guide for animals. To tell the truth, it was not always so. There was a remote time when men lived in a pure and simple way, just like the animals. This is what Lucretius says in his “history of humanity”, in Book 5 (772ff.).10 A long time ago men and animals were born together, in the same way, from the earth herself who then arranged to feed puppies and children, making milk gush from her own cracks (5.783-825). This is why the earth was named ‘mother’, being the mother of all creatures (5.795-6 and 821-5). Primitive men were strong and rude: they were able to live in the midst of nature, ranging here and there without a home, like wild animals (5.925-32). They were not able to cultivate the land or perform any kind of work, and they did not have any need to do so, since the earth spontaneously provided the means for their livelihood; they quenched their thirst with water from the springs and slept in caves in the mountains (5.933-61). In those times men and women had sexual intercourse out of mutual desire, in the woods, without love or lust: sometimes men raped women or availed themselves of their charms in exchange for simple gifts such as acorns or pears (5.962-5). It seems that primitive men quite naturally embodied the lifestyle that characterises animals and that ensures them a life free of worries, fears, and anxieties. But Lucretius admits that primitive men also had to fight to live, facing difficulties and encountering hazards: they hunted animals ‘by clubs and throwing stones’, but sometimes they were devoured by wild beasts, which became their ‘living graves’ (5.966-8). This turning point in the 10

Among other works on this important and controversial subject cf. Manuwald (1980) passim; Bertoli (1980) passim; Blickman (1989) 157-91; Farrell (1994) 8195; Campbell (2003) 1-18 and passim; Tutrone (2012) 113-54.

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description of primitive life seems to be too sharp, as the poet abruptly jumps from a harmonious and quasi-idyllic conception to a realistic and dramatic representation of suffering and death (even a hyper-realistic representation, I would say, given the intensity of the pathos): perhaps the subtext to this is a juxtaposition of two (or more) different literary sources on primitive human life.11 Nevertheless Lucretius adds that in those days huge numbers of people did not die in a single day in war, or in a shipwreck during a storm, as happens in his own time (5.999-1010): so the ancient lifestyle, closer to nature and foreign to war and other modern activities such as navigation is always better than the civilised (unnatural and perverse) lifestyle. Indeed, the discovery of fire marked the beginning of progress, which led men to nurture ambitions of power and wealth and fight each other for honour and supremacy (5.1105-35). Even the establishment of justice (laws, courts, etc.), which served to put an end to violence and wrongdoing, became a source of unhappiness for men (5.1136-60): inde metus maculat poenarum praemia vitae, ‘from then on, the fear of punishments prevents the enjoyment of the gifts of life’ (5.1151). The fear of meteorological phenomena and natural disasters led to the birth of religion, since men attributed to divine beings the events that they could not explain: they founded religious worship and rites in hopes of avoiding the wrath of gods and obtaining their benevolence (5.1161-1240).12 The discovery of metals resulted in the construction of weapons, as well as in the development of increasingly sophisticated techniques of war (5.124196). The stages of progress were accompanied step by step by an unrelenting moral degradation, culminating in the invention and testing of war strategies, that quintessential perversion of civilisation (5.1305-7): sic aliud ex alio peperit discordia tristis, horribile humanis quod gentibus esset in armis, inque dies belli terroribus addidit augmen. Thus the sad discord produced, one after the other, things just made to seem horrible to armed men, and the fear of war consequently increased day by day.

11

Cf. Fredouille (1972) 11-27; Novara (1981) 313-86, notably 319-23; Schiesaro (1990) 91-168; Salem (1997) 187-221; Campbell (2003) 179ff. (including a detailed list of earlier studies). 12 Here is another controversial issue in the De rerum natura: is this ‘genealogy’ of religion consistent with Epicurus’ thought? Cf. Giancotti (1981) 45-78 and 317-54; Gigandet (1998) 168-206 and passim.

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So, as a result of progress, men turned away from the state of nature (the mode of life of animals, I would say) and arrived at that condition of cruelty and fear that characterises them in modern times, as we can see from the beginning of the poem, where Lucretius begs Venus to intercede with Mars to free ‘the mortals’ from the cares and sufferings of war. Within this process of moral degradation, men embroiled even animals in their perversion. Men’s foolish attempt to make use of animals in war (5.1308-49) resulted in horrible carnage, with the crazed beasts blindly assailing and massacring the soldiers of the two opposing armies.13 In the primitive age men were simple and uncorrupted, like animals, but animals later became instruments of suffering and death, when they entered the human world and joined in such typically human activities as war. Finally, in the dramatic description of the plague of Athens (6.1138ff.), Lucretius focuses on sufferings and death of both men and animals. 14 However, men fell into a condition of physical and moral degradation that led them to commit all sorts of turpitudes and abominations: selfmutilations (6.1208-12); abandonment of sick people, even family members (6.1238-42); abandonment of the dead in the streets and public places (6.1262ff.); even accumulation of corpses in the temples, as well as neglect of worship and burial rites (6.1272-86). Animals, by contrast, were dying quickly and simply, i.e. with the simplicity that characterises their way of being and living (6.1215ff.).15 Special attention (and admiration) is given to dogs; Lucretius emphasises their loyalty, in striking contrast to men who abandoned family and friends for fear of contagion: cum primis fida canum vis / strata viis animam ponebat in omnibus aegre, ‘in particular dogs, with their strong loyalty, were dying painfully, lying in the streets’. In short, in the De rerum natura animals provide examples of a way of life in accordance with nature, reflecting ideals of inner balance, detachment from passions and freedom from troubles, that are the ideals 13

While it is possible that this account derives from historical wars in which wild beasts were actually used as weapons (Schrijvers [1970] 296-308), venationes probably inspired Lucretius’ images (McKay [1964] 124-5; Kenney [1972] 20-2). This account is compared to Plato’s myths by Segal (1986) 3-34, expressing as it does “a poetic truth” concerning the savagery and absurdity of war. Cf. La Penna (1995) 32-48; Tutrone (2012) 139-47. 14 On the plague of Athens in general cf. Bright (1971) 607-32; Gale (1994) 208ff. and passim; Salem (1997) 223-46. 15 On the death of animals: Bollack (1978) 421-2; Bonelli (1984) 277 (who talks about “sad and suffering animals, for which one feels the compassion that, immediately before, was denied to men”); especially Tutrone (2012) 147-54.

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advocated by Epicureanism. Lucretius, however, does not derive this appreciation of animals from Epicureans (as far as we know): it seems that Epicurus, as well as his disciples and followers, placed animals in a moral position lower than men, because of their lack of reason.16 Therefore, the paradigmatic role attributed by Lucretius to animals as positive examples, opposed to the errors and flaws of men, reflects his own understanding of the world, his particular awareness and sensitivity, ultimately his tendency to interpret philosophy in a personal and original way.

Bibliography Asmis, E. (1982) “Lucretius’ Venus and Stoic Zeus”, Hermes 110, 458-70. Bataille, G. (1962) L’Impossible. Histoire de rats, suivi de Dianus et de L’Orestie. Paris: Éditions de Minuit. Bertoli, E. (1980) Tempora rerum. Modalità del progresso umano in Lucrezio. Verona: Libreria universitaria. Blickman, D. R. (1989) “Lucretius, Epicurus and Prehistory”, HSCPh 92, 57-191. Bollack, M. (1978) La Raison de Lucrèce. Constitution d’une poétique philosophique. Avec un essai d’interprétation de la critique lucrétienne. Paris: Éditions de Minuit. Bonelli, G. (1984) I motivi profondi della poesia lucreziana. Brussels: Peeters. Bright, D. (1971) “The Plague and the Structure of De Rerum Natura”, Latomus 30, 607-32. Brown, R. D. (1987) Lucretius on Love and Sex. A Commentary on De Rerum Natura IV, 1030-1287. Leiden/New York: Brill. Campbell, G. (2003) Lucretius on Creation and Evolution: A Commentary on De Rerum Natura Book Five, Lines 772-1104. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Canfora, L. (1982) “I proemi del De rerum natura”, RIFC 110, 63-77. Citti, V. (1982) “Lucr. 1, 14, Ferae pecudes”, Orpheus 3, 321-37. Ernout, A. (1946) Philologica. Paris: Librairie C. Klincksieck. Farrell, J. (1994) “The Structure of Lucretius’ Anthropology”, MD 33, 8195. Faulkner, A. (ed.) (2008) The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite. Introduction, Text, and Commentary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 16

The ideas and positions of Epicurus and Epicureans (such as Hermarchus and Philodemus of Gadara) about animals are discussed in Tutrone (2012) 64-72 and passim.

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Fredouille, J. C. (1972) “Lucrèce et le double progrès contrastant”, Pallas 19, 11-27. Gale, M. (1991) “Man and Beast in Lucretius and the Georgics”, CQ 41, 414-26. —. (1994) Myth and Poetry in Lucretius. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Giancotti, F. (1978) Il preludio di Lucrezio e altri scritti lucreziani ed epicurei. 2nd edition. Messina/Florence: G. D’Anna. —. (1981) Origini e fasi della religione nella storia dell’umanità di Lucrezio. Naples: Bibliopolis. Gigandet, A. (1998) Fama deum: Lucrèce et les raisons du mythe. Paris: J. Vrin. Hersch, K. H. (2010) The Roman Wedding: Ritual and Meaning in Antiquity. Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press. Keith, A. M. (2000) Engendering Rome. Women in Latin Epic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kenney, E. J. (1974) “Vivida vis: Polemic and Pathos in Lucretius I.62101”, in T. Woodman and D. West (eds.), Quality and Pleasure in Latin Poetry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 18-30. Lanata, G (1994) “Antropocentrismo e cosmocentrismo nel pensiero antico”, in S. Castiglione and G. Lanata (eds.), Filosofi e animali nel mondo antico. Pisa: Edizioni ETS, 17-49. La Penna, A. (1995) Da Lucrezio a Persio: saggi, studi, note. Milan: Sansoni. Lyne, R. O. A. M. (1998) Words and the Poet: Characteristic Techniques of Style in Vergil’s Aeneid. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Manuwald, B. (1980) Der Aufbau der Lukrezischen Kulturentstehungslehre (De Rerum Natura 5. 925-1457). Mainz; Wiesbaden: Steiner. McKay, K. L. (1964) “Animals in War and Isonomia”, AJPh 85, 124-35. Minyard, J. D. (1985) Lucretius and the Late Republic: an Essay in Roman Intellectual History. Leiden: Brill. Novara, A. (1981) Les idées romaines sur le progrès d’après les écrivains de la République, tome I. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Nussbaum, M. C. (1989) Mortal Immortals: Lucretius on Death and the Voice of Nature, “Philosophy and Phenomenological Research” 50, 303-51. Paolucci, P. (2007) “Il mondo animale nell’opera di Lucrezio. Poikilia del genere didascalico (alcuni mirabilia del VI libro)”, in A. M. Andrisano (ed.), Animali, animali fantastici, ibridi, mostri, “Annali on line di Lettere – Ferrara”, Speciale 1, 111-18. Perutelli, A. (1996/1998) “Ifigenia in Lucrezio”, SCO 41, 193-207.

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Salem, J. (1997) L’atomisme antique: Démocrite, Epicure, Lucrèce. Paris: Hachette. Saylor, Ch. F. (1972) “Man, Animal and the Bestial in Lucretius”, CJ 67, 306-16. Scafoglio, G. (2009) “La via per l’immortalità. Un’interpretazione dell’Inno omerico ad Afrodite”, RPh 83, 87-98. Schiesaro, A. (1990) Simulacrum et imago. Gli argomenti analogici nel De rerum natura. Pisa: Giardini. Schrijvers, P. H. (1970) Horror ac divina voluptas. Etudes sur la poétique et la poesie de Lucrèce. Amsterdam: A M. Hakkert. Segal, C. P. (1986) “War, Death and Savagery in Lucretius: The Beasts of Battle in V, 1308-1349”, Ramus 15, 1-34. Shelton, J. A. (1996) “Lucretius on the Use and Abuse of Animals”, Eranos 94, 48-64. Summers, K. (1995) “Lucretius and the Epicurean Tradition of Piety”, CPh 90, 32-57. Townend, G. (1965) Imagery in Lucretius, in D. R. Dudley (ed.), Lucretius. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 95-114. Tutrone, F. (2012) Filosofi e animali in Roma antica. Modelli di animalità e umanità in Lucezio e Seneca. Pisa: Edizioni ETS.

CHAPTER THREE VOX NATURAE: THE MYTH OF ANIMAL NATURE IN THE LATE ROMAN REPUBLIC FABIO TUTRONE

1. Signifying mirrors. Animals, sources, and conceptual transformations In a famous passage of his First Epistle to the Corinthians, Paul describes the imperfect and obscure character of human knowledge, while envisaging the admirable clarity of divine eschatological realities. As Paul puts it, ‘now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully’. 1 Of course, the Christian author’s mystic discourse is intended to oppose present and future, material world and metaphysical truths, in a peculiarly spiritual sense which has nothing in common with the discussions of Classical scholars. Nevertheless, such a resolute incitement to a bipartite consideration of things, interpreting the evidence at our disposal as a puzzling, secondrate reflection of the real world, should not sound unfamiliar to philologists. As a typically post-Romantic (and post-positivist) discipline, Classical Philology has tended to construct its own mystic view of history. 2 In this view, Latin authors and the whole heritage of Roman philosophical texts have frequently figured as a sort of deforming mirrors, that is to say, as inaccurate and partial reproductions of Greek thought. While Greece has traditionally been considered the lost heaven of ancient 1

1 Corinthians 13.12. For a critical discussion of the idealist-positivist tradition of Classical Studies and its ideological mysticism see Romano (1997), and Cozzo (2011). Cozzo (2006) interestingly highlights the enduring influence of positivist methodological approaches on present-day scholarship.

2

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philosophy, the original dimension one should always try to rescue, the works of Roman thinkers have basically been used as sources–Quellen, in the meaningful vocabulary of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries Altertumswissenschaft.3 As Carlos Lévy pointed out, even in our day “the suspicion remains that the Roman philosopher was a philosophizing Roman, namely someone who saw philosophy as an object and did not define it as a subject. The Roman philosopher may well maintain that there is nothing more important in his life than philosophy, but the fact that he was a consul, the advisor of a prince, or an emperor himself, seems to belie such a statement”.4 Like other contemporary scholars of ancient philosophy, Lévy has subjected Hermann Diels’ “phylogenetic” view of the doxographic tradition (and its on-going influence on academic research) to harsh criticism. 5 He rightly remarked that the transmission of philosophical tenets, like that of rhetorical doctrines, undergoes a complex and, so to speak, multifocal elaboration. 6 Thus, instead of going in search of one (irremediably lost) original source, one should strive to see the progressive manipulation of beliefs as “a continuous and plural process of creation” (“un processus de création continu et pluriel”).7 Remarkably, an analogous methodological perspective has been 3

Moatti (1997) 20, has compared the proclivity of modern scholars to assume “systematic filiations” (as unrelated to the dynamics of acculturation) with the socalled “illusion of origins” perceptively described by Marc Bloch. Cf. Bloch (1952) 5-9: “le problème subsistera toujours de savoir pourquoi la transmission s’opéra à la date indiquée: ni plus tôt, ni plus tard. Une contagion suppose deux choses: des générations de microbes et, à l’instant où le mal prend, un “terrain”. Jamais, en un mot, un phénomène historique ne s’explique pleinement en dehors de l’étude de son moment”. 4 Lévy (1996a) 15. 5 I refer, of course, to the famous collection of Diels (1879). A fundamental revision of Diels’ approach—or, as they put it, “a partial farewell” to his method (106-9)—has been carried out by Mansfeld and Runia (1997), who call for a more careful consideration of contexts, genres, and individual authors in the analysis of doxographic accounts. 6 Lévy (1996b) 117 sharply observes that while scholars are not keen to imagine a continuous and linear tradition between Aristotle’s Rhetoric and Cicero’s De inventione, they are in the habit of applying a much more rigid paradigm to the field of philosophical knowledge. However, expressions of discontent concerning the canonical method of source-criticism are more and more common among Classical scholars. Not without a certain amount of regret, Mansfeld (1999) 14, notices that “Quellenforschung (or Quellenanalyse, Quellenkritik) enjoys a bad reputation today, especially among students of ancient philosophy”. 7 Lévy (1996b) 121-2.

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adopted in the cultural-anthropological study of animal figures on the basis of Dan Sperber’s path-breaking contributions. In particular, Sperber’s book La contagion des idées 8 has inspired a series of stimulating investigations on the ancient representation of animals and its symbolic background.9 The focal point of such investigations, of course, is not the identification of a supposedly linear tradition. On the contrary, a kind of conceptual epidemiology enables detection of permanent and varying features of each animal type, for it is precisely the adjustment of certain elements that denotes the peculiarity of writers, ages, and social milieus.10 I believe that it is worth applying this original perspective to the comprehensive framework of Roman philosophy, accepting the fact that Cicero’s or Lucretius’ presentations are not mere simplifications (or distortions) of Greek sources, but highly relevant stages of a centurieslong transformation. Indeed, it seems that, once again, animals (and their critics) can offer a thought-provoking pattern for intellectual analysis.11 Curiously, in the ancient tradition animals experience a similar condition to that of Latin philosophical texts, since they are frequently depicted as mirrors or voices of an underlying reality which is difficult to capture elsewhere. Such a reality, of course, can be either positive or negative, desirable or execrable, and hence animals appear at the same time as idealised and disgusting mirrors. By and large, the interpretation of such living reflections is controversial, for different writers and lines of thought tend to evoke the model of animal behaviour for different

8

Sperber (1996). See e.g. Bettini (1998), Franco (2003a), and Li Causi (2003), (2008). 10 Sperber (1985) 74-5 sees “causal explanations of cultural facts as necessarily embedded in a kind of epidemiology of representations”. When discussing differences and similarities between epidemiology sensu proprio and its analogical application to the field of human culture, Sperber purposely points to the prevalence of transformation processes in the dynamics of knowledge transmission: “epidemiology of diseases occasionally has to explain why some diseases are transformed in the process of transmission. Epidemiology of representations, on the contrary, has to explain why some representations remain relatively stable, i.e. why some representations become properly cultural”. Cf. also the wide-ranging treatment of Sperber (1996) 79-135. 11 As is well-known, in his influential study of primitive totemism, Lévi-Strauss (1962) claimed that animals are “good to think with” (“bons à penser”), opening the way to further researches on the symbolic construction of animals and its general theoretical significance (see, for instance, the reappraisal of Sperber [1975]). With regard to Classical scholarship, the heuristic potential of similar researches has been highlighted by Bettini (1998) 219-48, and Franco (2003b). 9

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purposes.12 As a rule, however, when animals are raised to the rank of positive mirrors, they are presented as embodiments of Nature. The identification between animal life and natural values, zoological data and allegedly cosmic principles, has been rightly recognised by cultural anthropologists as a characteristic feature of the Western mentality. In particular, the traditional binary opposition between nature and culture (which, far from being “universal”, is embedded in the culture of the West) runs parallel with the argumentative contrast between man and animal, presuming a biological—if not ontological—gap between human and nonhuman beings.13 The history of Western thought has been shaped by the combination of primitivist and progressive views, alternately praising or denigrating animals as the quintessence of a “state of nature”.14 From the long-term perspective of conceptual history, the period I shall be focusing on in the present paper—the so-called Late Republic—seems to be of special interest, since it is in these years that some of the most influential writings dealing with the problem of humanity and beastliness, anthropocentrism and animal nature, come out.15 The frequent recurrence of themes relating to the animal condition in different authors of this time—themes such as bestialisation, human identity, and sociability—can easily be connected to a shared cultural milieu. It is certainly no accident 12 See Dierauer (1977) 194: “die Tiere als vox naturae—mit dieser Metapher liesse sich nicht bloss die Position der Epikureer, sondern ebensosehr die gewisser Sophisten sowie der Stoiker und vor allem der Kyniker wiedergeben. Unterschiedlich war nur die Art, wie man diese Stimme der Natur interpretierte, welchen Ausruf man daraus heraushörte”. 13 See Rivera (1999) and Descola (2005), though in this case, too, the work of Claude Lévi-Strauss has proven inspiring and groundbreaking (cf. e.g. LéviStrauss [1967] XVI). As Descola (2005) points out, even if the heritage of the Graeco-Roman world made a fundamental contribution to the development of the nature/culture dichotomy—it may suffice to mention the Roman opposition between ager and silva, cultivated land and wild space—the establishment of our current dichotomy is strongly indebted to modern age naturalism. 14 See the classical treatment of Lovejoy and Boas (1935). 15 Indeed, one should not forget that in the Middle Ages and the modern era Latin texts were among the main sources of philosophical knowledge. When Thomas Aquinas and Francis Bacon reshaped the Stoic concept of natural law, for instance, they basically drew on authors such as Cicero and Seneca. Here and elsewhere, I employ the term conceptual history with explicit reference to the interpretive approach primarily known as Begriffsgeschichte. For the purposes of Classical scholarship, special attention should be paid to Reinhart Koselleck’s view of historical temporality as a meta-physiological dimension inherently involving the presence and transformation of concepts: see now Koselleck (2002).

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that in the age of civil wars, when traditional moral values and social models began to crumble, Roman writers felt the need to investigate the origins of human community, its salient features, and, by contrast, the notion of animality. Therefore, instead of dissecting the Latin texts at our disposal in search of their sources, we should rather adopt a systemic perspective allowing us to detect the intellectual exchanges occurring across the Greek and Roman worlds. Cicero and Philodemus are not selfconscious doxographers requiring ‘comparatist’ surveys after the style of Diels’ tables.16 They are part of a wide-ranging process of reception and conceptual rearrangement which gives new meaning to previous ideological traditions. Interestingly, one of the focal points of this process concerns the moral and cognitive status of animals as well as their role as mirrors of cosmic truths. To all appearances, the cultural and epistemological myth of animal nature—i.e. the typically Western idea that animals embody a perennial state of nature, as opposed to human society— receives important inputs from the first century BCE discussion on ethics and natural philosophy. An exhaustive review of all the extant texts of the late Republic focusing on such matters is beyond the scope of this paper. It will suffice to take into account a series of representative passages from the words of Sallust, Cicero, and Lucretius to get a sense of the ideological relevance of zooanthropological issues17 to the cultural debate of this period.

2. Sallust on cattle. A dualistic ethics for the crisis of the mos maiorum Since most of the remarks made so far evidently concern the field of philosophy and theoretical constructs, it may be useful to start our quick survey with an author who is not renowned for his philosophical interests: the purportedly “pragmatic” historian Gaius Sallustius Crispus. 16

See Diels (1879) 529-50. However, the fact that in our day Diels’ cladistic approach frequently draws methodological criticism should not obscure its evident merits as an epoch-making reappraisal of largely neglected (or misunderstood) traditions. Diels’ contribution to the development of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries Altertumswissenchaft is properly highlighted in Calder and Mansfeld (1999). 17 In its proper scholarly meaning, zooanthropology is the study of man-animal relationships and their many-sided cultural significance. See the presentation provided by Marchesini and Tonutti (2007) 11-13, who include the stereotypic representation of animals as pre-cultural beings among the main concerns of zooanthropological inquiry.

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At the beginning of his De coniuratione Catilinae, Sallust justifies the choice of literary otium—which he famously presents as an alternative form of civic engagement—on the basis of a morally compelling cosmological picture: Omnes homines, qui sese student praestare ceteris animalibus, summa ope niti decet, ne vitam silentio transeant veluti pecora, quae natura prona atque ventri oboedientia finxit. Sed nostra omnis vis in animo et corpore sita est: animi imperio, corporis servitio magis utimur; alterum nobis cum dis, alterum cum beluis commune est. Quo mihi rectius videtur ingeni quam virium opibus gloriam quaerere et, quoniam vita ipsa qua fruimur brevis est, memoriam nostri quam maxume longam efficere. (Cat. 1.1-3). It becomes all men, who desire to excel other animals, to strive, to the utmost of their power, not to pass through life in obscurity, like the beasts of the field, which nature has formed groveling and subservient to appetite. All our power is situated in the mind and in the body. Of the mind we rather employ the government; of the body, the service. The one is common to us with the gods; the other with the brutes. It appears to me, therefore, more reasonable to pursue glory by means of the intellect than of bodily strength, and, since the life which we enjoy is short, to make the remembrance of us as lasting as possible. (trnsl. Watson [1896]).

In order to revise (or, more precisely, to widen) the traditional Roman view of a free man’s political duties, the writer appeals to a long-lived anthropocentric conception of the cosmos. An active spiritual life, based on a virtuous use of reason and memory, is said to constitute the original vocation of man, whereas animals are depicted as irrational and greedy beings par excellence. Sallust’s intellectual purpose is to extend the Roman model of a worthy human life by moving the focus of such a model from the collective ideal of direct engagement to the more radical (and universal) notion of animus or rationality. In anthropological terms, one might say that our text proposes a shift to a different paradigm of anthropopoiesis18: what makes men human and worthy of their status is not only the assumption of political responsibilities, but, more basically, a 18

The problem of anthropopoiesis is at the core of the present-day anthropological debate. By this term, scholars refer to the symbolic devices employed by human cultures in order to construct a standard pattern of humanness. See e.g. Affergan at al. (2003): “‘Renaissance’ de l’homme comme être social et fabrication de modèles et de fictions d’humanité, l’anthropopoiésis se saisit des figures de l’humain qui, constitutives du fait de civilisation, traversent les cultures et informent les démarches de l’anthropologie”. Cf. also Allovio and Favole (1996), and Calame and Kilani (1999).

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correct use of those rational faculties which mankind shares with the gods. Commentators usually recall the vaguely Platonic character of Sallust’s proemial statements. 19 And there is no doubt that Plato’s ethically significant portrayal of prone animals in the Republic exerted a profound influence on this and other classical descriptions.20 However, one should not undervalue the impact of Stoic models, since, as the case of Cicero will show, Stoic anthropocentrism played a very important role in the late Republican discussion on animal and human paradigms (as well as in the development of Roman philosophical anthropology as a whole). In particular, the idea that, unlike beasts, men and gods share the gift of reason—so that the animus/ȜȩȖȠȢ functions as a hierachic cosmological criterion—seems to reflect a crucial Stoic tenet. 21 In the conceptual repertory of first-century Roman writers, however, long-lived Platonic stereotypes and widespread Stoic principles tended to merge. Above all, as mentioned earlier, our main efforts should not be directed at the identification of single sources, but at a careful recognition of the author’s ideological aims, seen in their broader cultural context. Indeed, Sallust’s reception of previous theoretical patterns is also shaped by traditional common-sense beliefs. The writer was perfectly aware that in his readers’ imagery—even in the imagery of those who had not read Plato, but simply 19

See, most recently, Ramsey (2007) 55-6. Cf. Plato, Rep. 586a-b. On the enduring influence of Plato’s ethicalcosmological representation see Lanata (1994) 20-2, and Pinotti (1994). 21 On the Stoics’ reason-based cosmology and its anthropocentric structure see now Wildberger (2006), esp. I.205-75. As is well-known, the pre-eminence of animus and intellectual activities over the corporeal dimension is stressed in the proem of the Bellum Iugurthinum (1-2) as well. In the past, several scholars indeed suggested that Sallust’s historiographic ideology was influenced by Stoicism, or even by Posidonius (cf. e.g. Pantzerhielm and Thomas [1936] and Altheim [1956]), thus engaging in controversy with the supporters of a Platonising interpretation (see the overview provided by Colish [1985] 292-8). Similar conflictual reconstructions clearly reflect the above-mentioned approach of Quellenforschung, and La Penna (1968) 36, is certainly right in claiming that “quando si tratta di concetti così generici e diffusi, la ricerca di fonti precise diventa impossibile ed inutile”—though La Penna himself does not refrain from making his own suggestions concerning Sallust’s sources. Besides the considerable impact of the Roman milieu (to which I shall now refer), one should also bear in mind the ascendancy of protreptic treatises and their largely shared arguments, since, independently of specific philosophical orientations, such treatises often resorted to a rhetorical contrast between man’s rational vocation and animal bodiliness: see La Penna (1968) 21-3, while Wagner (1910) and Bignone (1950) 221-3, go too far in seeing, respectively, Posidonius and Aristotle (qua authors of a Protrepticus) as the main sources of Sallust’s proems. 20

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lived in an agro-pastoral society like Rome—animals appeared as morally and cognitively inferior beings. He deliberately exploited such a commonsense association in order to support his dualistic and moralistic conception of life: a conception of primary importance to Sallust’s discourse on the late Republican crisis and its fundamental causes.22 In more general terms, the symbolic opposition between animal and human status (that is to say, between animal and human nature, for man’s physiological vocation is said to be culture, culminating in the practice of ethical virtues) underpins all of Sallust’s works. The moral and political crisis of Rome is depicted by the Latin historian as a form of collective bestialisation, a general repudiation of the use of reason for the sake of eagerness and violence. In the famous picture of chapter 5, Catilina’s animus is openly said to be ferox (‘savage’ or ‘untamed’).23 Likewise, the corrupted citizens betraying the values of the mos maiorum are typically described as committed to ‘beastly’ vices such as lubido, avaritia, and socordia.24 In Sallust’s eyes, a similar process of moral degeneration may have appeared as a paradoxical and improper return to primitive savagery, since in the so-called archaeology of the Bellum Catilinae the native inhabitants of Latium, the Aborigines who mingle with the Trojans, are labelled as a genus hominum agreste, a ‘wild kind of men’, unaware of laws, government, and non-migratory life.25 An analogous description is 22

Cf. Momigliano (1992) 504-11, and Paul (1984) 9-11. Cf. Cat. 5.7-8. Throughout the work, Catiline’s impetuous behaviour is variously assimilated to the vehemence of wild animals. In 52.35, for instance, Catiline and his army are said to threaten Rome ‘with their jaws’ (faucibus). And at the very beginning of his First Catilinarian Oration (1.1), Cicero himself had presented the conspiracy as a relentless chained beast. On such disparaging depictions and their folk background see Tutrone (2010a) 220-4. 24 In light of its easily discernible etymological origin, the recurrent term socordia/ secordia (which is frequently taken in the more common meaning of ‘laziness’ by Sallust’s interpreters) implies a polemic reference to the degradation of inner faculties: see e.g. Cat. 4.1; 52.29; Iug. 1.4; 2.4; 31.2; 85.22. 25 Cf. Cat. 6.1-3. On Sallust’s reconstruction of the origins of Rome and its intellectual peculiarities see Briquel (2006), who regards Ateius Philologus as the historian’s fundamental source. Much more interesting, however, is Briquel’s comparison between the Sallustian account and such well-known treatments of Roman primitive history as Cato’s Origines, Vergil’s Aeneid, and the late antique Origo Gentis Romanae. On the basis of this comparison, Briquel connects Sallust’s emphasis on inter-ethnic fusion and rejection of other common versions with the purpose of calling for civic harmony–an extremely urgent purpose in the age of civil wars. Moreover, Briquel (pp. 96-7) points to the possible Catonian origin of the description of the Aborigines as a savage people (cf. also Richard [1983] 411, 23

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applied to the first inhabitants of Africa, the Gaetulians and Libyans, in the ethnographic digression of the Bellum Iugurthinum: Africam initio habuere Gaetuli et Libyes, asperi incultique, quis cibus erat caro ferina atque humi pabulum uti pecoribus. Ii neque moribus neque lege aut imperio quoiusquam regebantur: vagi palantes quas nox coegerat sedes habebant. (Iug. 18.1-2). In the beginning Africa was inhabited by the Gaetulians and Libyans, rude and uncivilized folk, who fed like beasts on the flesh of wild animals and the fruits of the earth. They were governed neither by institutions nor law, nor were they subject to anyone’s rule. A restless, roving people, they had their abodes wherever night compelled a halt. (trnsl. Rolfe [1931]).

The pre-cultural condition of such primitive peoples is characterised not only by nomadism and absence of laws, but also by pasturing and the consumption of raw flesh.26 Given that the author later explains how these savage tribes, mingling with more civilised peoples of foreign origin, created a powerful and extended kingdom, the analogy with the Roman archaeology of the Catiline is even more striking.27 As Robert Morsteinand Martinez-Pinna [2002] 55-6). What is certain is that Vergil, Aen. 9.603-13, took up the same anthropological pattern when characterising the Latins as a durum a stirpe genus, alien to the refinements of civilisation. And annotating Vergil’s text, Servius, ad Verg. Aen. 9.600, refers indeed to Cato’s and Varro’s similar presentations, thus confirming the long-standing relevance of such culturally embedded representations. 26 On Sallust’s interest in ethnography and his relationship to a long tradition of ethnocentric patterns see Oniga (1995), who devotes special attention to this African excursus (Iug. 17-19). Oniga (esp. 23-50) offers a perceptive reconstruction of the ancient discussion on cultural norms, climatic determinism, and social evolution—a discussion ranging from Homer and Herodotus to Aristotle, Posidonius, and beyond. In the Aristotelian tradition, in particular, peripheral peoples tend to be assimilated to a state of anti-cultural animality, both in a positive and a negative sense; cf. also Sassi (1988), and Bettini (1992). Oniga (78-9) rightly parallels Sallust’s account of African prehistory with the reconstructions of primitive Italy in Cato, Vergil, and Sallust’s own Catiline. While Thomas (1982) 96 had suggested that Vergil’s description in Aen. 8.314-36 represents “a conscious reminiscence of Sallust’s Libyan ethnography”, the extensive material gathered by Oniga supports the view that all these texts rely on widespread cultural beliefs. 27 Cf. 18.3-12. Remarkably, in the history of the Numidians, too, a prominent role is played by the move of a mythological hero (Hercules, who strongly evokes Aeneas) and his wandering companions. See Moatti (1997) 264, and MorsteinMarx (2001) 192-3.

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Marx pointed out, a careful comparison between the two passages “reveals that the Numidians are represented as archetypal ‘anti-Romans’, like the Romans an imperial people but occupying the opposite cultural pole”.28 But it is clear that in Sallust’s view a degrading regression to the animalistic stage of human life is always possible as a consequence of moral degeneration. From the writer’s critical standpoint, the first-century Roman Republic is very close to a similar involution—an involution which, in light of Sallust’s proems, looms over mankind as a whole. The opposition between nature and culture, brutishness and civilisation—or, in Lévi-Strauss’ terms, raw and cooked29—operates on both a synchronic and a diachronic level in Sallust’s historiography. It is no accident that the “materialistic” men of the proem of the Bellum Catilinae are explicitly likened to cattle (veluti pecora) in the same way as the early inhabitants of Africa (uti pecoribus). The writer’s representation of cultural and pre-cultural life, as well as his emphasis on omophagy, nomadism, and the lack of a political dimension, reflect a structured system of socio-anthropological patterns, magisterially investigated in the studies of the so-called École de Paris.30 What is worth noting here is that in late Republican literature the representation of man’s “animal” origins—the rearrangement of the topos of șȘȡȚȫįȘȢ ȕȓȠȢ, which dates back at least to the sophistic age31—plays an impressive and intellectually significant role. Sallust is not the only writer of his age interested in exploring the first stages of human society, the distinctive features of human beings, and their relationship to a destabilising animality. Behind both the Bellum Catilinae and the Bellum Iugurthinum there is an intense intellectual debate, variously reworking the lines of previous literary and philosophical traditions.32

28

Morstein-Marx (2001) 195. The radical cultural otherness of Numidians is stressed by the fact that even when they grow into a more orderly and complex society, they maintain a series of peculiar ethical features which are antithetical to the Roman model of civilisation—first of all, their unjustified bellicosity and nomadic instability. Broadly speaking, the war against Jugurtha appears as “a war between Roman civilization and the mobile, treacherous, seminomadic ‘Other’” (180). 29 Cf. Lévi-Strauss (1964). 30 See esp. Vernant (1972), (1978), Vidal Naquet (1975), Detienne and Vernant (1979). Such works, which focus on the Greek world, are admittedly influenced by Lévi-Strauss’ view of nature, culture, and binary oppositions. 31 See Dierauer (1977) 25-39. 32 A stimulating survey into the breadth of this debate, with special regard to the Roman attitude towards human progress, has been carried out by Novara (1982).

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3. Cicero on what man is not. Anthropocentrism and Roman humanitas One of the most famous and influential discussions of man’s primitive life is recorded in the first chapters of Cicero’s De inventione, a work probably dating to 91-88 BCE. 33 Starting from the observation that in human (and Roman) history the power of speech (eloquentia) has been perniciously separated from the ideal of wisdom (sapientia), Cicero endeavours to show that in its original form the eloquentia characterising mankind was a fruitful and even salvific faculty, for the earliest “animal” phases of human history were overstepped precisely through the use of reason and language.34 In Cicero’s view, it was the later unnatural divorce of wisdom and eloquence—i.e., in more philosophical terms, of language and virtuous rationality—which disrupted man’s progressive development.35 But in the beginning human beings ceased to live bestiarum modo thanks to the fact that linguistic communication spread moral knowledge across the community.36 As regards the philosophical background to the opening of the De inventione, attention has recently been drawn to the impact of Philo of Larissa and Academic thought. The fact that Cicero’s early work is influenced by teachings in the Platonic tradition, should not, however, lead us to overlook the concomitant influence of Stoic doctrines, especially in light of the author’s long philosophical training under the Stoic Diodotus.37 Indeed, not only does Cicero argue that eloquence and wisdom 33

See Kennedy (1972) 106-10. Cf. Cicero, Inv. 1.1-3. Although scholars are often keen to dismiss Cicero’s historical reconstruction in his early treatise as a philosophically insignificant piece (echoing Cicero’s own modest self-assessment of the De inventione: De or. 1.5), such a detailed theoretical introduction brings together relevant notions of the ancient anthropological debate—notions which had clearly been central to the author’s Bildung. What is more, the passage’s great influence on European thought makes it worthy of careful consideration. As Beckman (1993) 6, remarked, “this particular version of the origins of civilization appealed so much to the concerns of the humanists that it became a commonplace in Renaissance thought”. 35 See Cicero, Inv. 1.4-5. 36 Cicero, Inv. 1.2-3. In Cicero’s account, a kind of original civilising hero (quidam magnus vir et sapiens) is said to have understood the great potential of the human mind and brought the people together through his sensible speeches. 37 On Cicero’s house philosopher Diodotus see Brut. 309; Luc. 115; Fam. 9.4; Att. 2.20.6. The lack of references to specific philosophical orientations has led some to see the praise of language in the De inventione as a merely rhetorical topos; see Solmsen (1932) 153, and Barwick (1963) 21-4, whose Quellenforschungen point 34

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freed mankind from primitive beastliness, but he also expressly remarks that it is language that distinguishes man from other animals.38 Generally speaking, the twofold character of the Stoic concept of ȜȩȖȠȢ, which covers both the field of “external” language (ȜȩȖȠȢ ʌȡȠijȠȡȚțȩȢ) and that of inner rationality (ȜȩȖȠȢ ਥȞįȚȐșİIJȠȢ), 39 seems to underlie the first chapters of the treatise—for wisdom or sapientia embodies the perfection of reason, ideally directing linguistic expression. In accordance with his own rhetorical interests, Cicero emphasises the importance of speech to the process described, since, as he says, ‘no wisdom which was silent and destitute of skill in speaking could have had such power as to turn men on a sudden from their previous customs, and to lead them to the adoption of a different system of life’.40 Even if, as in Sallust’s depiction, the animal

to the Isocratean tradition. By contrast, Lévy (1992) 98-101, and (1995) 155-64, has thoroughly explored the theoretical implications of the passage, placing special emphasis on Cicero’s debt to his teacher Philo. But, the profound influence of Academic tenets seems in this case to have become inextricably intermingled with widespread Stoic beliefs. After all, a representative text cited by Lévy himself (Nat. Deor. 2.148) attests to Cicero’s awareness that Stoic and Neoacademic thinkers agreed on the cosmological centrality of ȜȩȖȠȢ. And, as indicated during our analysis of Sallust’s proems, in the late Republican debate the wide acceptance of certain core principles made school barriers less rigid—not to mention the fact that, as Lévy (1992) 104-9, notes, the traditional connection between Platonism and Stoicism became even closer in this period, so that Cicero, Fam. 15.4.16, could confidently claim to spread the same ‘true and old philosophy’ (philosophia vera illa et antiqua) as Cato the Younger. Also see Bonazzi (2007) 121-4. 38 Inv. 1.5.23-8. Cicero also notes that, in respect to many other qualities, humans are ‘lower and weaker’ (humiliores et infirmiores) than the beasts—a point which clearly connects his reconstruction to the tradition of sophistic anthropology exemplified by Plato’s Protagoras (320c-322d). In the Platonic myth, however, it is not ȜȩȖȠȢ that releases mankind from its original weakness, but ‘technical knowledge’ (਩ȞIJİȤȞȠȢ ıȠijȓĮ) and the use of fire, which in turn lead to the development of language (322a). On the importance of Plato’s Protagoras to both Academic and Stoic philosophy see Alesse (2007). 39 On this foundational Stoic division (presumably drawing on Plato, Theaet. 189e190a), and the controversy with the Academy it aroused, see Labarrière (2005) 6581. 40 Inv. 1.3: (trnsl. Yonge [1888]). Though Cicero’s emphasis on the power of rhetoric–namely, on the linguistic side of ȜȩȖȠȢ–is indisputable, Kastely (2002) 241, goes too far in claiming that “Cicero’s myth separates reason and eloquence”. According to Kastely, “it was not reason but eloquence that made the crucial difference in the rise of the human species as a cultural animal, as an animal governed, in part, by nomos”. As mentioned earlier, Cicero’s main concern is precisely to call for a sound conjunction of sapientia (viz. virtus) and eloquentia, a

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world incarnates the primacy of corporeal force and the savage essence of human life, Cicero identifies the real source of man’s aberrance as a perverse employment of reason for the mere sake of self-satisfaction, thus embracing the Stoic idea of a ‘subversion of reason’ (įȚĮıIJȡȠij੽ IJȠ૨ ȜȩȖȠȣ) peculiar to mankind. 41 In Cicero’s portrayal, language and rationality are intimately connected, and when the human mind deviates from the right path, such deviation results in a corrupted eloquence. In the symbolic structure of Ciceronian thought, however, those men who reject their rational and linguistic vocation are usually downgraded to the same level as beasts—a polemic strategy deep-rooted in folk imagery.42 A censorious passage from the late treatise De officiis shows the relevance of Stoic anthropocentric rationalism to the construction of Cicero’s humanism (and, more specifically, to his view of social ethics and personal identity). While categorically separating man from the instinctual realm of animals, Cicero equates sensualist humans with beasts, for some people would be ‘men only in name, not in fact’ (non re sed nomine): Sed pertinet ad omnem officii quaestionem semper in promptu habere, quantum natura hominis pecudibus reliquisque beluis antecedat; illae nihil sentiunt nisi voluptatem ad eamque feruntur omni impetu, hominis autem mens discendo alitur et cogitando, semper aliquid aut anquirit aut agit videndique et audiendi delectatione ducitur. Quin etiam, si quis est paulo ad voluptates propensior, modo ne sit ex pecudum genere, sunt enim conjunction which becomes even more necessary in ages of moral corruption (cf. 1.5, with the compelling exempla of Cato, Laelius, Scipio, and the Gracchi). Likewise, at the beginning of human history, the power of speech induced men to accept the principles discovered by reason (ea quae ratione invenissent, 1.3), and the original civiliser (he himself being a sapiens) gained the attention of other humans thanks to his ability in reasoning and speaking (propter rationem atque orationem, 1.2). 41 Cf. Inv. 1.3, where the author describes the emergence of ‘a certain sort of complaisance’ (commoditas quaedam), ‘a false copyist of virtue’ (prava virtutis imitatrix), ‘without any consideration for real duty’ (sine ratione officii)’. Cicero’s reference to the malicious distortion of a good natural disposition, producing a kind of “symmetrical” imitation of virtue, hints at the typically Stoic view that vice is a rational deviation parallel and opposite to virtue: cf. SVF 3.228-36, and Grilli (1963). The topic is variously debated in Cicero’s works (see esp. Leg. 1.31-2; 47), and in the Roman philosophical debate more generally, as it directly concerns the problem of the origin of evil and that of the end of pleasure (see e.g. Bellincioni [1978] 33-6, and Berno [2003] 25-29, both focusing on Seneca). 42 It may be sufficient to recall that in Classical Latin words like bestia and belua are commonly used as terms of reproach.

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Chapter Three quidam homines non re sed nomine, sed si quis est paulo erectior, quamvis voluptate capiatur, occultat et dissimulat appetitum voluptatis propter verecundiam. (Off. 1.105). But it is essential to every inquiry about duty that we keep before our eyes how far superior man is by nature to cattle and other beasts: they have no thought except for sensual pleasure and this they are impelled by every instinct to seek; but man’s mind is nurtured by study and meditation; he is always either investigating or doing, and he is captivated by the pleasure of seeing and hearing. Nay, even if a man is more than ordinarily inclined to sensual pleasures, provided, of course, that he be not quite on a level with the beasts of the field—for some people are men only in name, not in fact—if, I say, he is a little too susceptible to the attractions of pleasure, he hides the fact, however much he may be caught in its toils, and for very shame conceals his appetite. (trnsl. Miller [1913]).

Under the lens of a properly anthropological analysis, Cicero’s celebrated ideal of humanitas appears as a powerful anthropopoietic pattern. The echo of Plato’s ethics-based cosmology (which we have already noticed in Sallust)43 becomes even stronger in this section of the De officiis as a result of the author’s pervasive anti-Epicurean polemic. Many years after the composition of his work on rhetorical invention, Cicero regarded the animal side of human nature as an extremely dangerous (and already overwhelming) ingredient of social life. In his opinion, the escalation of struggles, murders, and political personalism affecting Rome’s declining Republic can be traced back mostly to the loss of a virtuous feeling of community. 44 Above all, Cicero blames the primacy of sensory and individual experiences (tendentiously connected with Epicurean philosophy) as a morally destabilising factor and compares it to a self-degrading bestialisation.45 43

See above n. 20. See Atkins (2005) 505-14, and Picone (2012), who both highlight the constructive (and not merely nostalgic) character of the De officiis. As Atkins observes, “in de Officiis, in short, we can see Cicero using the resources of his philosophical education to articulate a conservative moral response to the revolution through which he was living. The mos maiorum is given its most intelligent restatement; and in the process, the language of honestas, dignitas, officium, beneficia, and gloria is reshaped to meet present needs. The four virtues of De officiis are borrowed from Greek philosophy; but they are analysed in sharply contemporary terms” (513). 45 On Cicero’s (and Panaetius’) polemic against Epicurus’ “bestializing” materialism see Narducci (1987) 20-1. However, it is now generally admitted that Cicero’s relationship to Epicureanism was not restricted to criticism and 44

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In order to invert the course of this general involution, Cicero’s late philosophical works endeavour to define a standard paradigm of humanity (which is meant to be universal in spite of its clear cultural embeddedness), by readapting the most salient features of Stoic natural philosophy to the needs of Roman culture. To such an ambitious project (as to almost all the processes of anthropopoiesis), the characterisation of the symbolic role of animals is of paramount importance. 46 In a strikingly large number of passages, Cicero points to the constitutive primacy of human beings as well as to the providential view that animals have been created for the sake of men. Additionally, it is made clear that men do not owe justice to other animals, since, according to Stoic doctrine, justice originates from the rational creation of bonds, and reason is the exclusive prerogative of men and gods.47 The second book of the De natura deorum provides remarkable evidence of Cicero’s re-use of Stoic anthropocentric cosmology, including as it does Balbus’ enthusiastic presentation of Stoic theology (and teleology). At the very end of the work, it is Balbus’ idea of a providentially ordered cosmos, corresponding to the needs of men, which is said to have convinced Cicero. 48 In Balbus’ view, the body itself of human beings, with its different organs and limbs, attests to nature’s teleological plan. In accordance with a well-known commonplace of Classical and Hellenistic philosophy, for instance, man’s upright posture is interpreted as a natural privilege leading to the practice of contemplation.49 denigration (see Lévy [2001] and Maso [2008]). Moreover, the author’s depiction of a radically individualistic—if not asocial—Epicurean ethics (a depiction largely accepted and reinforced by the later Western tradition) has been validly questioned by scholars, especially since the survey of Long (1985). 46 On the crucial role of animals in man’s self-definition see Shepard (1996) and Rivera (1999). Rivera (67-9) further develops Marshall Sahlins’ critique of sociobiology (Sahlins [1976]), showing how the “bestialization” of animals (i.e. their conceptual degradation as deficient beings) is closely connected with the “bestialization” of men, especially of rival social agents—a type of discourse widely attested in Cicero and other Classical authors. 47 A comprehensive account of the Stoic anthropocentric view of animals and mananimal relationships is offered by Dierauer (1977) 199-252, and Sorabji (1993) 122-57. Sorabji (136) interestingly remarks on the connection between hierarchic cosmology, dualistic psychology, and political imperialism emerging from works such as Cicero’s De re publica. 48 Nat. Deor. 3.95. 49 Ibid. 2.140. The long history of this cultural topos, from Diogenes of Apollonia to Aristotle and the Stoics, is briefly recalled by Lanata (1994) 19-21, whose discussion relies on Geoffrey Lloyd’s path-breaking studies of common-sense

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At the same time, a wide-ranging section of Balbus’ speech is devoted to praise the physical and intellectual qualities of animals. Even if these are not endowed with reason and language, their instinctual behaviour is said to reveal ‘a certain cunning and shrewdness’ (machinatio quaedam atque sollertia).50 The description of such faculties—effected via an assortment of mirabilia dating back to the Peripatetic tradition 51 —is nonetheless intended to confirm the existence of immanent divine providence. Another well-known Ciceronian work bearing witness to the Roman reception of biological arguments is the De finibus bonorum et malorum. In Book 3, Cato illustrates the principles of Stoic ethics, devoting special attention to their physical and psychological basis: the so-called oikeiosis theory. According to this theory, every living being has a natural instinct of “social appropriation” (‘appropriation’ is indeed the basic meaning of the Greek ȠੁțİȓȦıȚȢ, derived from the adjective Ƞੁțİ૙ȠȢ). The Stoics argued that the creation of social bonds—following a first phase of selfappropriation—is the primary teleological inclination of every animal and proceeds in progressive stages. 52 Like the Epicureans (whose ethical polarities (low/high, left/right etc.) and their scientific relevance (see Lloyd [1966]). 50 Nat. Deor. 2.123. The Latin hendiadys seems to correspond to the Greek concept of ijȡȩȞȘıȚȢ, the “practical intelligence” perceived in writers from the time of Aristotle onwards as typically characterising animals (see Labarrière [2005] 12147). Whether Cicero borrowed similar notions from Peripatetic sources or embraced them through Stoic mediations (first of all through Posidonius and Panaetius, as scholars usually suggest following Hirzel [1877] 191-244) is very hard—if not impossible—to know. Cf. Dierauer (1977) 224-45. 51 Ibid. 2.121-31. As Rocca (2003) 49-57, pointed out, in spite of its adherence to Stoic cosmology, Cicero’s extensive treatment of animal ethology is largely indebted to Peripatetic thought. Several of the author’s exemplifications can be traced back to the ninth book of the Historia Animalium, a text which underwent a complex process of transmission before reaching its present form (Düring [1950], Balme [1991] 1-13) and had a great impact on the ancient biological debate (Dierauer [1977] 162-70, Vegetti [1996] 58-71). It is widely agreed that the Historia was a kind of “open text” in the history of the Peripatetic school, and it has been often surmised that its ninth and tenth books are distinctively postAristotelian (cf. Sharples [1995] 32-5). To be sure, an enduring tradition of zoological speculations arose from the works of Aristotle and his early followers (Theophrastus in primis), heavily influencing the Hellenistic and Roman worlds. The breadth of such a multi-faceted heritage appears to justify dismissal of the simplistic approach of Reinhardt (1926) 139-41, who overstated the influence of Posidonius’ fusion of Stoic and Peripatetic materials. 52 On the Stoic doctrine of oikeiosis and its various theoretical connections see Engberg-Pedersen (1990), Pemproke (1996), Long (1996b), Radice (2000), and

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theory is expounded by Torquatus in the first book of the De finibus), the Stoics saw in animal behaviour an irrefutable proof of their views. However, their overall analyses and conclusions differed widely from those of Epicurus, for they pointed to the unbridgeable distance between human and animal sociability and advocated man’s exclusive possession of reason. Cato explicitly reasserts the exclusion of animals from a reasonbased cosmopolitan society as well as from the field of justice and morality: Et quo modo hominum inter homines iuris esse vincula putant, sic homini nihil iuris esse cum bestiis. Praeclare enim Chrysippus, cetera nata esse hominum causa et deorum, eos autem communitatis et societatis suae, ut bestiis homines uti ad utilitatem suam possint sine iniuria. (Fin. 3.67) But just as they (scil. the Stoics) hold that man is united with man by the bonds of right, so they consider that no right exists as between man and beast. For Chrysippus well said, that all other things were created for the sake of men and gods, but that these exist for their own mutual fellowship and society, so that men can make use of beasts for their own purposes without injustice. (trsnl. Rackham [1951]).

Animals nevertheless play a prominent role in Cato’s discourse and in Stoic arguments generally. Despite their radical marginalisation as irrational agents, they are continuously cited as evidence for pivotal ethical principles. A few paragraphs before making the anthropocentric claim just quoted, for instance, Cato mentions the caring attitude of non-human beings towards their offspring as a proof of the naturalness of parental love. Interestingly, he reports the Stoic belief that ‘when we observe the labor that animals spend on bearing and rearing their young, we seem to be listening to the actual voice of nature’ (naturae ipsius vocem, Fin. 3.62). Although in the De finibus Cicero contradicts both the Stoic and the Epicurean ideals of moral good, abstaining from making any explicit statement on his own preference,53 his above-mentioned appreciation of Bees (2004). On the role of animals in this theory see Sorabji (1993) 122-33. In recent times, Algra (2003) has convincingly called for a comprehensive contextualisation of the “mechanism of social appropriation” as a central issue of ancient ethics, far beyond the specific problem of the Stoics’ debt to the Aristotelian tradition—a problem famously raised in Book 5 of the De finibus: see Magnaldi (1991), and Lévy (1992) 381-7. 53 Even Antiochus’ system, carefully illustrated by Piso in Book 5, is criticised by Cicero in the second part of the same book. A perceptive discussion of Cicero’s philosophical position at the time he wrote the De finibus is offered by Lévy

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Stoic cosmology predisposes us to take similar assumptions into proper account. On the one hand, Cicero seems to accept the tenets of Stoic rationalist universalism, as this allows him to support a cosmopolitan idea of law, justice, and political community, which is totally consistent with the Roman experience.54 The severe denigration of animals discussed so far is a necessary corollary to this fundamental proposition. On the other hand, however, the inherent ambiguity of the Stoic appeal to natural law reverberates through Cicero’s own philosophical arguments. 55 It is noteworthy that when Cato illustrates the natural foundations of human altruism—a point important for Cicero’s model of humanitas and imperialist tutelage—the image of the bulls taking care of their offspring is coupled with that of philanthropic heroes such as Hercules and Liber: Ita non solum ad discendum propensi sumus, verum etiam ad docendum. Atque ut tauris natura datum est ut pro vitulis contra leones summa vi impetuque contendant, sic ii, qui valent opibus atque id facere possunt, ut de Hercule et de Libero accepimus, ad servandum genus hominum natura incitantur. (Fin. 3.66). So strong is our propensity not only to learn but also to teach. And just as bulls have a natural instinct to fight with all their strength and force in defending their calves against lions, so men of exceptional gifts and capacity for service, like Hercules and Liber in the legends, feel a natural impulse to be the protectors of the human race. (trsnl. Rackham [1951]).

Once again, animals are said to mirror a physical truth of social and political relevance. Their paradigmatic behaviour serves as an inspiring myth, in an epistemological sense, along with the deeds of mythological

(1992) 377-444. According to Lévy, “c’est dans le refus de donner une adhésion définitive à l’Ancienne Académie ou au Portique et dans la volonté de dépasser le dilemme que se trouve le Cicéron de la Nouvelle Académie” (443). 54 Cicero’s efforts to rework the Stoic idea of natural law in view of Rome’s international role have been sensibly highlighted by Watson (1996) 225-34. For a penetrating survey of the evidence provided by the De legibus and De re publica see Ferrary (1995) 68-70. 55 On the ambiguities of the Stoic ideal of a “reason that accords consistently with Nature’” see Long (1996a) 150-1. As Holowchak (2008) 38, observed, the Stoics “speak of ‘nature’ both normatively and descriptively. […] The ambiguity is captured in two senses of Stoic naturalism in today’s literature—cosmological and anthropological naturalism”.

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figures traditionally associated with the process of culturalisation.56 In the intellectual debate of the late Republic, the Stoic identification of animals with the “voice of Nature”, in combination with a rationalist and providential view of social life, must have sounded particularly attractive. While arguing for the cosmological supremacy of mankind (as well as for the humanist vocation of the most powerful human beings), Cicero, engaged intellectual as he was, enlisted the aid of the legitimising myth of Nature and its “zoological” basis. His strenuous efforts as a political thinker were consistently supported by the folk view of animality as a pre-cultural and archetypal condition. However, Cicero himself tells us that the evidence provided by animals concerning natural truths was highly controversial. In the second book of the De finibus, where the Epicurean view of catastematic pleasure as the supreme good is confuted, Epicurus is said to have regarded animals and children as ‘mirrors of nature’ (specula naturae). 57 And we know that the use of zoological arguments in support of ethical and scientific doctrines was a common practice of Cicero’s pugnacious contemporaries, Lucretius and Philodemus. They both seem to have put into effect Epicurus’ exhortation for careful consideration of elementary beings.58

4. The importance of being animals. Lucretius the Epicurean against the mystique of logos For the purposes of the present survey, it may suffice to discuss an especially eloquent passage from Lucretius’ De rerum natura. Indeed, while expounding the contents of Epicurean philosophy for the benefit of Roman readers, Lucretius makes numerous references to the paradigmatic value of animals, since he regards these as both analogical images of physical truths and morally significant agents. As I have dealt elsewhere

56

On Hercules’ characterisation as a civiliser hero and its aftermath in the Roman tradition see Galinsky (1972) 126-52. Sallust’s use of the Hercules myth in his African excursus has already been mentioned (cf. above n. 27). And such a politically significant myth becomes even more prominent from the Augustan age onwards. 57 Fin. 2.32 58 On the Epicurean attitude towards animals and its original combination of primitivist and rationalist ideas see Dierauer (1977) 194-8. Generally speaking, though Epicurus’ philosophy calls attention to every living being’s tendencies and emotional faculties, its understanding and practice require a proper use of reason. See also Annas (1993) 61-2.

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with the ideological implications of the poet’s attitude to animals,59 I shall not insist further on this point. Nonetheless, it is worth mentioning here that Lucretius’ use of animal figures was aimed at achieving a very different goal from the demonstration of man’s superior position. Unlike Cicero and Sallust, the Epicurean poet does not aim to remind human beings of any cosmological privilege—for he simply believes that no cosmological privilege exists. As is well-known, Lucretius’ atomistic world relies on purely material processes of transformation, excluding any providential or metaphysical principle. Neither is man’s upright posture a sign of divine will, nor is reason a gift reflecting a teleological plan. Of course, Lucretius glorifies the role of ratio as a cognitive instrument allowing mankind to understand Epicurus’ precepts (and thus to live ‘a life worthy of the gods’).60 But our author considers rationality an inherited biological trait like the lions’ bravery or the deer’s timidity.61 In more general terms, Lucretius seems to suggest a basic ontological continuity between human and non-human beings, arguing that both emerged out of a process of spontaneous generation.62 Differences of degree—not a physiological gap—are said to separate men and animals. Lucretius’ famous account of the origin of language can persuasively illustrate the far-reaching repercussions of a similar view as well as its notable originality in the context of late Republican thought. As mentioned earlier, Cicero gives special prominence to the linguistic side of Greek ȜȩȖȠȢ, thus reflecting the ideals of a society largely based on the political use of language. By contrast, Lucretius takes up the Epicurean view that linguistic expression originated accidentally from spontaneous attempts to communicate and developed by trial and error.63 According to the poet, human language differs from animal expressivity because of its more 59 See Tutrone (2012) 27-154. Important remarks on the subject can also be found in Saylor (1972), Segal (1986), Gale (1991), Shelton (1996), and Scafoglio (this volume) 60 Cf. DRN 3.314-22. Lucretius’ enthusiastic assertion that Epicurean philosophy can lead to a god-like life (digna dis vita) has inspired the title of Konstan’s insightful research on Epicurus’ materialistic psychology: Konstan (2008). 61 Ibid. 3.741-53. On this passage and its ethological background see Schrijvers (1999) 40-54. 62 See the scientific cosmogony at 5.783-825, and the perspicuous comments of Waszink (1964), Schrijvers (1999) 1-15, and Campbell (2003) 41-90. On the ancient doctrine of spontaneous generation see Sissa (1997). 63 On the Epicurean theory of the origin of language, with special regard to Lucretius’ exposition, see Schrijvers (1999) 55-80, Verlinsky (2005), and Reihnardt (2008).

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sophisticated character, but both phenomena share the same natural root. It is on the basis of such cogent analogy that Lucretius draws a strikingly lively picture of animal behaviour:64 Postremo quid in hac mirabile tantoperest re,/ si genus humanum, cui vox et lingua vigeret,/ pro vario sensu varia res voce notaret?/ Cum pecudes mutae, cum denique saecla ferarum/ dissimilis soleant voces variasque ciere,/ cum metus aut dolor est et cum iam gaudia gliscunt./ Quippe et enim licet id rebus cognoscere apertis./ Inritata canum cum primum magna Molossum/ mollia ricta fremunt duros nudantia dentes,/ longe alio sonitu rabies restricta minatur,/ et cum iam latrant et vocibus omnia complent;/ at catulos blande cum lingua lambere temptant/ aut ubi eos lactant, pedibus morsuque potentes/ suspensis teneros imitantur dentibus haustus,/ longe alio pacto gannitu vocis adulant,/ et cum deserti baubantur in aedibus, aut cum/ plorantis fugiunt summisso corpore plagas./ Denique non hinnitus item differre videtur,/ inter equas ubi equus florenti aetate iuvencus/ pinnigeri saevit calcaribus ictus Amoris/ et fremitum patulis sub naribus edit ad arma,/ et cum sic alias concussis artibus hinnit?/ Postremo genus alituum variaeque volucres,/ accipitres atque ossifragae mergique marinis/ fluctibus in salso victum vitamque petentes,/ longe alias alio iaciunt in tempore voces,/ et quom de victu certant praedaque repugnant./ Et partim mutant cum tempestatibus una/ raucisonos cantus, cornicum ut saecla vetusta/ corvorumque gregis ubi aquam dicuntur et imbris/ poscere et inter dum ventos aurasque vocare./ Ergo si varii sensus animalia cogunt,/ muta tamen cum sint, varias emittere voces,/ quanto mortalis magis aequumst tum potuisse/ dissimilis alia atque alia res voce notare! (DRN 5.1056-90). Lastly, what is so wonderful/ if the human race, with vigorous voice and tongue/ endowed, should mark things out with voices/ differing according to their different feelings? Dumb cattle and wild beasts of every kind/ make noises quite distinct and different/ when they are gripped by fear or pain, or joy/ wells up within them. And the evidence/ for this lies in plain facts well known to all./ Angry Molossian hounds, when first they draw back/ their flabby jowls and bare their teeth and growl/ with rage suppressed, make sounds quite different/ from when they bark and fill the place with din./ And when they lick their pups with loving tongue/ and toss them with paws and nibbling them/ pretend to make sweet tender mouthfuls of them,/ far different then the playful yelps they make/ from when they howl abandoned in the house/ or whimper cringing from the master’s whip./ In neighing too, there is a difference/ when a young 64

To all appearances, Aymard (1951) 104, did not go too far in defining these lines as “la description la plus vivante et la plus nuancée de l’animal que nous ait laissée la littérature latine”.

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Chapter Three stallion in the prime of life/ pricked by the spurs of winged love runs wild/ among the mares, and from his flaring nostrils/ snorts out his challenge to arms, and when he’s weak/ at other times and neighs with quaking limbs./ Lastly, among the different types of birds,/ ospreys, sea hawks, and gulls amid waves/ seeking their life and living from the sea,/ at other times make very different cries/ from when they are fishing and struggling with their prey./ And some birds change their voices with the weather, as ancient ravens do and flocks of rooks,/ or so they say, when they cry out for rain/ to bring them water, or summon wind and storm./ Therefore if animals are caused by different feelings, dumb though they be, to utter different sounds, so much the more and with compelling reason/ must we suppose that men could in those days/ mark different things by different sounds of speech. (trnsl. Melville [1997]).

As Elisabeth de Fontenay remarked, in this passage “the constraints of theory have given way to the pleasure of letting animals enter the poem”.65 In effect, our poet is frequently inclined to put forth similar “ethological” arguments, for in the De rerum natura, too, animals appear as mirrors and voices of natural truths, contributing substantially to the reader’s epistemic advancement. When attacking and deconstructing, by means of a powerful animal imagery, the widespread view of language as a providential prerogative, Lucretius openly challenges the mystique of ȜȩȖȠȢ established by other contemporary thinkers under the influence of Stoic and Platonic tenets. 66 It would be unforgivably reductive to see the author’s vivid demonstration of Epicurus’ doctrine as a piece of perfunctory (if not doxographic) divulgation 67 —especially because Lucretius’ emphasis on 65

De Fontenay (1998) 129. In the all-embracing interpretation of Moatti (1997), esp. 301-16, a methodological appeal to reason and rationalistic systematisations underpins the Roman intellectuals’ varied responses to the late Republican crisis. The increasing interest in physical research, usually founded on an anthropocentric perspective, would be one of the main signs of this cultural phenomenon. However, in contrast with the mainstream, Lucretius—whose stand is recurrently labelled as “radical” and “dogmatic” by Moatti (cf. 46; 169-74)—seems to intensify the anti-finalistic polemics of Epicurean philosophy, promoting an alternative concept of nature and rationality. See Tutrone (2012) 113-54. 67 While it is clear that Lucretius’ creative exposition of Epicurean views is far removed from doxography sensu proprio, scholars have variously remarked on the role of doxographic writings in the construction of the poet’s arguments; see e.g. Rösler (1973), Mansfeld (1990) 3143-54, and Runia (1997). No doubt, compendia and résumés of various kinds were commonly used by Latin writers in Lucretius’ day, and it would be quite odd to suppose that our poet made no use of them. Nevertheless, as Lévy (1996b) warned, their influence as a source of philosophical 66

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animal communication and his neglect of mankind’s linguistic development are a unicum in the Epicurean tradition.68 In De rerum natura Book 5, Lucretius deals with several problems of socio-anthropological interest, and his careful treatment is inextricably linked to the dynamics of the Roman debate. Like Sallust, Cicero, and Varro,69 the Epicurean poet engages in a complex reconstruction of the earliest phases of human history, paying special attention to the process of culturalisation by which mankind overcame its original beastliness.70 The discussion on the origin of language is a key section of this fascinating reconstruction. Though it is clear that Lucretius rearranges the materialist and casualist anthropology developed in classical thought since the fifth century BCE, a wide-ranging scholarly discussion has arisen over the sources and ideology of Lucretius’ account.71 If we enlarge the scope of knowledge should not be overrated, nor is it safe to see all such works as belonging to a linear and unitary heritage. Runia’s assumptions (99-102) concerning the role of the Placita in Philo of Alexandria, Cicero, Lucretius, and even Catullus eloquently exemplify the conceptual “reductionism” of a similar approach. It is also significant that on the basis of his phylogenetic connections, Runia (98) adheres to the thesis argued in Furley (1978) on the outdatedness of Lucretius’ arguments—a thesis further developed by Sedley (1998). 68 The comparison with Epicurus, Ep. Herod. 75-76, Diogenes of Oinoanda, fr. 12.col 2.11-col 5.14 Smith, and Diodorus Siculus, Bibl. 1.8.3-4, is particularly striking. Though a large part of the Epicurean literature dealing with linguistic issues is now lost, Lucretius’ focus on the “animal” stage of language—in spite of Epicurus’ notes on human peculiarities—can hardly be explained without referring to the poet’s polemic with late Republican humanism. See Novara (1982) I 351-2, and Lehmann (2004) 48-9. 69 The evidence provided by Varro concerning the late Republican attitude to cultural history deserves much more careful attention than one can devote here. The De re rustica shows that this erudite “archaeologist of memory and language” (cf. Moatti [1997] 143) offered a stage-by-stage account of the origins of human society, presumably indebted to the Peripatetic Dicaearchus of Messana (cf. Rust. 1.2.15-6; 2.1.3-10). Varro’s interest in historical and anthropological matters (also emerging from the etymological explanations of De lingua latina) relies on his epoch-making investigations of early Roman history. It is indeed regrettable that only scattered fragments of Varro’s monumental Antiquitates survived. In all likelihood, the author elaborated a sophisticated interpretation of the myth of Saturn’s age and discussed the development of civilisation with special regard to the evolution of technical knowledge. See Reischl (1976) 82-142, Novara (1982) I 445-70, and Van Nuffelen (2010) 167-8. 70 5.925-1457. 71 It may suffice to mention the thorough surveys by Furley (1978), Sasso (1979), and Manuwald (1980).

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our inquiry, however, we can easily see that defining the intrinsic “degree of animality” of human beings—as well as the reasons for a re-emergence of man’s savage nature—was a common purpose of Roman intellectuals in the age of civil wars. The infraction and implosion of standard cultural rules, due to violent political changes, inevitably led to a rethinking of the borders between humanity and naturality. In the lines immediately preceding our passage, 5.925-1027, Lucretius notably describes the life of early men (who, like other animals, are said to have been born from the earth) and remarks that ‘they wandered in the way of beasts’ (volgivago vitam tractabant more ferarum, 5.932). Compared to the men of the poet’s day, however, such beast-like humans seem far less aggressive, for Lucretius sarcastically notes (cf. 5.999-1010) that they had no experience of war, sailing, excessive wealth, and malicious poisonings. Even if one might surmise that polemical comments of this kind recurred in some of the author’s sources (as ethical-didactic aims have been inherent in the reconstructions of primitive history since the beginning of Greek literature),72 they must have sounded particularly meaningful in first-century Rome. Later on, at 5.1011-27, Lucretius maintains that the creation of parental and social bonds softened the brutal nature of primitive mankind. 73 Nevertheless, it is clear that neither the creation of human society nor the development of linguistic communication caused relevant discontinuities in man’s intrinsically animal status. According to the poet, the human race can wholly fulfil its vocation to reason (which is seen as a special, but not providential condition) only by accepting and practising Epicurus’ word. On the other hand, when irrational and destructive inclinations prevail, men seem to degenerate into something worse than animals. Lucretius’ moralising reconstruction of primitive history includes a wild-eyed 72

By and large, moral and ideological principles (perceived as relevant to the writer’s present) underpinned ancient histories of civilisation. This is true of both the main forms of genealogical account discussed by Classical authors (forms, of course, overlapping each other): the so-called golden age myth, which emphasised mankind’s gradual decadence from its original happiness, and the theory of human primitive animality, which pointed to the role of progress, knowledge, and material circumstances (see Boys-Stones [2001] 3-27). While the former view was deeprooted in ancient religious thought and appeared as early as Hesiod (see Gatz [1967], and now Currie [2012]), the latter was characteristic of the anti-teleological tradition (to which Lucretius belongs) and originated from sophistic-presocratic rationalism—perhaps from Democritus’ anthropology: cf. Cole (1967) and Cartledge (1998) 20-5. 73 On this section and its relationship to Epicurean contractualism see Campbell (2003) 252-83.

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depiction of the use of animals in early warfare which powerfully corroborates this last assumption. In such an impressive passage, even savage beasts like lions and boars become instruments and victims of man’s senseless violence.74 Lucretius might well have agreed with Cicero on the dangers of moral regression resulting from the repudiation of reason.75 But the Epicurean poet rejected the idea that embracing an anthropocentric cosmology could contribute to avoidance of such degeneration. Rather than this, he preferred to put his trust in Epicurus’ irenic hedonism, arguing for an antiteleological and materialistic view of the cosmos. The inconstant and vacillating image of animals he projected can be interpreted as supporting both Cicero’s humanism and Lucretius’ physicalism, for in each of these cases—as in most Western traditions—animals were cited as evidence of underlying imperatives: the irresistible voice of a mythical Nature.

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See 5.1308-49. Whereas some scholars were so struck by Lucretius’ description that they regarded it as a proof of the poet’s insanity (cf. Bailey [1947] 1529, Beye [1962-63] 167, and Bonelli [1984] 238), other more careful interpreters drew attention to the ethical significance of the passage and its close connection with the Epicurean method of analogical demonstration (see De Grummond [1982], Schiesaro [1990] 159-68, and La Penna [1995]). For a special focus on the text’s zoo-anthropological implications see Tutrone (2010b). 75 Novara (1982) I 385-443, suggests that a sort of “distance dialogue” connects Lucretius’ history of mankind and Cicero’s proem to the third book of De re publica (and she also mentions Balbus’ speech in Nat. Deor. 2.81-163). But what is primarily worthy of attention is the wide-ranging anthropological debate involving a number of different writers and trends.

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—. (1996a) “Philosopher à Rome”, in C. Lévy (ed.), 7-20. —. (1996b) “Doxographie et philosophie chez Cicéron”, in C. Lévy (ed.), 109-23. —. (ed.) (1996c) Le concept de nature à Rome: La physique. Actes su séminaire de philosophie romaine de l’Université de Paris XII-Val de Marne (1992-1993). Paris: Presses de l’École Normale Supérieure. —. (2001) “Cicéron et l’épicurisme: la problématique de l’éloge paradoxal”, in C. Auvray-Assayas and D. Delattre (eds.), 61-75. Lévi-Strauss, C. (1962) Le totémisme aujourd’hui. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. —. (1964) Mythologiques: Le cru et le cuit. Paris: Plon. —. (1967) Le structures élémentaires de la parenté. Paris-La Haye: Mouton. Li Causi, P. (2003) Sulle tracce del manticora: La zoologia dei confini del mondo in Grecia e a Roma. Palermo: Palumbo. —. (2008) Generare in comune: Teorie e rappresentazioni dell’ibrido nel sapere zoologico dei Greci e dei Romani. Palermo: Palumbo. Lloyd, G. E. R. (1966) Polarity and Analogy: Two Types of Argumentation in Early Greek Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Long, A. A. (1985) “Pleasure and Social Utility. The Virtues of Being Epicurean”, in H. Flashar and O. Gigon (eds.), 283-324. —. (ed.) (1996) Problems in Stoicism. 2nd edition. London: Athlone Press. —. (1996a) “The Logical Basis of Stoic Ethics”, in Stoic Studies. Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 134-55. —. (1996b) “Hierocles on Oikeiosis and Self-Perception”, in Stoic Studies. Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 250-63. Lovejoy, A. O. and Boas, G. (1935) Primitivism and Related Ideas in Antiquity. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Magnaldi, G. (1991) L’Ƞ‫ݧ‬țİȓȦıȚȢ peripatetica in Ario Didimo e nel De Officiis di Cicerone. Florence: Le Lettere. Mansfeld, J. (1990) “Doxography and Dialectic: The Sitz im Leben of the Placita”, in W. Haase (ed.), 3056-3229. —. (1999) “Sources”, in K. Algra, J. Barnes, J. Mansfeld, and M. Schofield (eds.), 3-30. Mansfeld, J. and Runia, D. T. (1997) Aetiana: The Method and Intellectual Context of a Doxographer (Volume One: The Sources). Leiden: Brill. Manuwald, B. (1980) Der Aufbau der lukrezischen Kulturentstehungslehre (De rerum natura 5,925-1457). Mainz/Wiesbaden: Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur zu Mainz. Marchesini, R. and Tonutti, S. (2007) Manuale di zooantropologia. Rome: Meltemi.

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Marincola, J., Jewellyn-Jones, L., and Alasdair Maciver, C. (eds.) (2012) Greek Notions of the Past in the Archaic and Classical Eras: History Without Historians. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Martínez-Pinna, J. (2002) La prehistoria mítica de Roma: Introducción à la etnogénesis latina. Madrid: Universidad Complutense. Maso, S (2008) Capire e dissentire: Cicerone e la filosofia di Epicuro. Naples: Bibliopolis. Melville, R. (trnsl.) (1997) Lucretius: On the Nature of the Universe. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Miller, W. (trnsl.) (1913) M. Tullius Cicero: De Officiis. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press. Moatti, C. (1997) La Raison de Rome: Naissance de l’esprit critique à la fin de la République. Paris: Seuil. Momigliano, A. (1992) “The Crisis of the Roman State and the Roman Historians (from Sallust to Tacitus)”, in: Nono contributo alla storia degli studi classici e del mondo antico. Rome: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 503-19. Morstein-Marx, R. (2001) “The Myth of Numidian Origins in Sallust’s African Excursus (Iugurtha 17.7-18.12)”, AJPh 122.2, 179-200. Narducci, E. (1987) “Una morale per la classe dirigente”, in A. Resta Barrile (trnsl.), 5-62. Novara, A. (1982) Les idées romaines sur le progrès d’apres les écrivains de la République (essai sur le sens latin du progrès). 2 vols. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Oniga, R. (1995) Sallustio e l’etnografia. Pisa: Giardini. Pantzerhielm-Thomas, S. (1936) “The Prologues of Sallust”, Symbolae Osloenses 15-16, 140-62. Paul, G. M. (1984) A Historical Commentary on Sallust’s Bellum Jugurthinum. Liverpool: F. Cairns. Pemproke, S. G. (1996) “Oikeiosis”, in A. A. Long (ed.), 114-49. Picone, G. (2012) “Di generazione in generazione: mores, memoria, munera nel de officiis di Cicerone”, in G. Picone and R. R. Marchese (eds. and trnsl.), VII-XXXVI. Picone, G. and Marchese, R. R. (eds. and trnsl.) (2012) M. Tullio Cicerone: De officiis: Quel che è giusto fare. Turin: Einaudi. Pinotti, P. (1994) “Gli animali in Platone: metafore e tassonomie”, in S. Castignone and G. Lanata (eds.), 101-22. Poliakov, L. (ed.) (1975) Hommes et bêtes: Entretiens sur le racism (Actes du Colloque tenu du 12 au 15 Mai 1973 au Centre Culturel International de Cerisy-la-Salle). Paris: Mouton. Rackham, H. (trnsl.) (1951) Cicero: De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum.

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Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Radice, R. (2000) “Oikeiosis”: Ricerche sul fondamento del pensiero stoico e sulla sua genesi. Milan: Vita e Pensiero. Ramsey, J. T. (ed.) (2007) Sallust’s Bellum Catilinae. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press. Reinhardt, K. (1926) Kosmos und Sympathie: Neue Untersuchungen über Poseidonios. Munich: C. H. Beck. Reinhardt, T. (2008) “Epicurus and Lucretius on the Origins of Language”, CQ 58.1, 127-40. Resta Barrile, A. (trnsl.) (1987) Cicerone: I doveri. Milan: Rizzoli. Richard, C. J. (1983) “Ennemis ou alliés? Les Troyens et les Aborigènes dans les Origines de Caton”, in H. Zehnacker and G. Hentz (eds.), 40312. Reischl, B. (1976) Reflexe griechischer Kulturenstehungslehren bei den augusteischen Dichtern. Diss. Munich: Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität. Rocca, S. (2003) Animali (e uomini) in Cicerone (De Nat. Deor. 2, 121161). Genoa: Compagnia dei librai. Rolfe, J. C. (trnsl.) (1931) Sallust. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Romano, E. (1997) “L’antichità dopo la modernità: Costruzione e declino di un paradigma”, Storica 3.7, 7-48. Rösler, W. (1973) “Lukrez und die Vorsokratiker: Doxographische Probleme im 1. Buch von De rerum natura”, Hermes 101, 48-64. Rowe, C. and Schofield, M. (eds.) (2005) The Cambridge History of Greek and Roman Political Thought. Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press. Runia, D. T. (1997) “Lucretius and Doxography”, in K. A. Algra, M. H. Koenen and P. H. Schrijvers (eds.), 93-103. Sahlins, M. D. (1976) The Use and Abuse of Biology: An Anthropological Critique of Sociobiology. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Saylor, C. F. (1972) “Man, Animal, and the Bestial in Lucretius”, CJ 67, 306-16. Sassi, M. M. (1988) La scienza dell’uomo nella Grecia antica. Turin: Bollati Boringhieri. Schiesaro, A. (1990) Simulacrum et imago: Gli argomenti analogici nel De rerum natura. Pisa: Giardini. Schrijvers, P. H. (1999) Lucrèce et les sciences de la vie. Leiden, Boston and Köln: Brill. Sedley, D. (1993) Lucretius and the Transformation of Greek Wisdom. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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nourritures dans le système du sacrifice en Grèce ancienne”, Bulletin du Centre Thomas Moore 23, 3-14. Vidal-Naquet, P. (1975) “Bêtes, hommes et dieux chez les Grecs”, in L. Poliakov (ed.), 129-142. Wagner, C. (1910) De Sallustii prooemiorum fontibus. Diss. Leipzig: R. Noske. Waszink, J. H. (1964) “La création des animaux dans Lucrèce”, Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire 42, 48-56. Watson, J. S. (trnsl.) (1896) Sallust’s Conspiracy of Catiline and The Jugurthine War. Philadelphia: D. McKay. Watson, G. (1996) “The Natural Law and Stoicism”, in A. A. Long (ed.), 216-38. Wildberger, J. (2006) Seneca und die Stoa: Der Platz des Menschen in der Welt. 2 vols. Berlin: De Gruyter. Yonge, C. D. (trnsl.) (1888) The Orations of Marcus Tullius Cicero. vol. 4. London: George Bell and Sons. Zehnacker, H. and Hentz, G. (eds.) (1983) Hommages à Robert Schilling. Paris: Les Belles Lettres.

CHAPTER FOUR NUMERO AVIUM REGNUM TRAHEBANT: BIRDS, DIVINATION, AND POWER AMONGST ROMANS AND ETRUSCANS DANIELE F. MARAS

1. An Ancient Controversy Some works of Cicero, such as the De natura deorum, the De haruspicum responsio and especially the De divinatione, testify that at least at the end of the Republican period there was an open polemic between the two major Roman priestly castes that dealt with divinatory rituals: the augures and the haruspices.1 Cicero was an augur himself, and of course he made a point of the priority and better level of interpretation of the gods’ will by the augural science, vis-a-vis the haruspicy. Moreover the latter followed a foreign tradition, which continued to be linked to the Etruscan religion for a long time after the disappearance of the Etruscans themselves in every other cultural or political aspect. The augures with their science presented themselves as the keepers of the true, national method of knowledge, and compliance to the will of the gods. Nonetheless an official body of haruspices was instituted for public consultations and kept alive during the imperial period, while independent public and private haruspices were working and consulted at all social levels until Late Antiquity.2

* I offer my hearty thanks to Nancy de Grummond, Arianna Medoro, Dan-El Padilla Peralta and other colleagues and friends for their support and advice. Unless otherwise noted all translations or ancient texts are my own. 1 Santangelo (2013) 23-32. 2 Santangelo (2013) 15 and 95-6; Haack (2006) esp. 9-10.

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It has been noticed how the haruspices preserved jealously the foreign origin of their science, and were never included in the main priestly groups of the Roman religion, such as the augures, the flamines, and the pontifices. We can thus infer that the exotic provenance of haruspicy, boasting a divine origin dating from before the foundation of Rome itself, was somehow functional to its widespread and long-lasting success. Therefore, a controversy with the genuine Roman lore of the augures was unavoidable, and left traces in the ancient literature on the subject. In particular, since the interests of the Etruscan “discipline” were extended to every natural phenomenon, as potentially bearing a sign of the gods’ will, and since the discipline above all else specialised in the interpretation of thunderbolts and other atmospheric phenomena, the augures claimed as their own exclusive knowledge the correct interpretation of the flight of birds, that is to say the auspicium. As a matter of fact, the core of the augural science was in the rituals of auspicium, performed in a specific form and according to exact rules. These were listed and explained in the so-called libri augurales. These, Cicero himself proposes in opposition to the three series of books on the haruspicy, respectively called libri haruspicini (on the divination through the reading of entrails), fulgurales (on the interpretation of lightning bolts), and rituales (on further divinatory and ritual matters).3 It is not by chance that Cicero does not mention the auspicium, presumably considering it part of the augurium, since it was the main point of the opposition; and even though at first glance the science of the haruspices is presented as more articulated and complete, when compared with the libri augurales, the great orator disposed of it by means of a quote from Cato that belittled and dismissed it as a fraud: ‘It looks marvellous’ he says ‘that a haruspex doesn’t burst into laughter when meeting another haruspex!’.4 Though obviously partial, and potentially biased, Cicero’s testimony is often used in modern literature to indicate that divination through the observation of birds was not practiced by the Etruscans, or at the most that

3

Cic. Div. 1.72: Quorum alia sunt posita in monumentis et disciplina, quod Etruscorum declarant et haruspicini et fulgurales et rituales libri, vestri etiam augurales… ‘Some of these [scil. methods of divination] are based on record and lore, as is evident from the Etruscan books on divination through the reading of entrails, on the interpretation of lightning bolts and on ritual matters, as well as from your augural books’. 4 Cic. De nat. deor. 1.71: Mirabile videtur quod non rideat haruspex cum haruspicem viderit.

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it was just a secondary, minor branch of the divinatory techniques.5 In actuality, apart from Cicero’s testimony, there are other Classical literary sources that attribute to the Etruscan seers competence and knowledge of divination through the observation of birds, called in Greek oionoscopy and in Latin auspicium. Most recently Gerard Capdeville devoted a paper to the subject of birds and divination in central Italy, which was recently published in the proceedings of a congress on “Forms and Structures of Religion in ancient Central Italy” that took place in Perugia and Gubbio in 2012. 6 For the occasion Capdeville collected and studied the whole corpus of literary sources referring to the subject, with special emphasis on Rome and Etruria, thus providing an impressive reference work. In this paper I will endeavour to draw on, and add to, some of the available information, from the point of view of the archaeological and visual sources, on the observation of birds in the Etruscan divinatory techniques. I will then examine some episodes from the Roman legends, trying to analyse them against what we know about the rituals, in the light of the controversy between haruspices and augures in the Late Republican period.

2. Visual reference for the auspicium in Etruria A famous Etruscan representation of auspicium is part of the pictorial frieze of the Tomb François in Vulci, where the founder of the tomb Vel Saties is dressed as a triumphant general, in a toga picta, who is about to turn to contemplate a bird being set free by the boy Arnza, who acts as an assistant.7 The scene is depicted on the left side of the door of the right chamber of the tomb, and a similar scene was probably represented on the other side of the door, as a small fragment of the frieze shows, where the name of Arnza appears again. Unfortunately, it is impossible today to determine what difference there is, if any, between the two scenes, for the preservation of the latter is too fragmentary. In actuality two rituals of auspicium could be applying to two different moments: if the better preserved is to be interpreted as the divination before a triumph—for Vel Saties is wearing a “triumphal” toga picta—, the other scene could be from a prior time (before a battle? before investment as a magistrate?), or 5

van der Meer (2011) 80 n. 414; Briquel (1995) 21-2; Jannot (1998) 43-4; Rasmussen (2003) 149; Maggiani (2005) 53; de Grummond (2013) 543; Maras (forthcoming2). See already Catalano (1960) 199 n. 14. 6 Capdeville (forthcoming). 7 See for instance Jannot (1998) 43.

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from a different moment in the same ceremony.8 Therefore, even without the help of literary sources, the existence of such a representation is itself enough to show that the Etruscan culture actually knew and used forms of divination through the observation of birds, at least from the 4th century BCE onwards, in parallel with other Italian peoples. In confirmation, a recent work by Nancy de Grummond9 assembled a number of references to birds in the iconography of statuettes dedicated to the goddess Thufltha in the 4th and 3rd century BCE. In particular she remarked on how the votive deposit of Montecchio included ed statuettes representing: – a child holding a water bird (perhaps a small goose); – a woman holding an unspecified small bird (perhaps a dove?); – a candelabrum whose feet are modelled on a lion’s pawns topped by birds with outspread wings.10 De Grummond further proposed to identify an inscribed bronze stab from Tarquinia as a fowling rod (which is of course possible, but cannot be considered sure); and to reconstruct a famous statuette from Vulci in the Vatican Museum (from the Guglielmi collection) as a representation of the deity as a young fowler with the features of a satyr.11 From this last piece of evidence de Grummond argued that Thufltha should be considered a male god; but, since the inscription actually mentions Thufl ĝuuris (in genitive), a word I interpret as ‘ĝuri (acting in the sphere) of Thufltha’, no change in the gender of Thufltha is implied: the satyr-like statuette could be a representation of ĝuri in his fatidic function, presumably linked to fowling and the auspicium; this is in keeping with the core of de Grummond’s hypothesis, which I accordingly consider very plausible. It is thus very suggestive in this respect that the donor of the Guglielmi statuette, Arnth Muras, has the same name as the man buried in the main chamber of the Tomb François. Considering the chronology they are very likely to be the same person.12

8

Roncalli (2009) 252-3 with further secondary literature. de Grummond (2005). 10 de Grummond (2005) 304-7; on the votive deposit see also Maras (2009) 261. 11 de Grummond (2005) 307-12. 12 Would it therefore be possible to infer a special relationship between the gens Muras of Vulci and the auspicium, perhaps through their connection with the Disciplina? 9

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Thufltha is a goddess of fate, most probably corresponding to Fortuna in the Roman pantheon, 13 so that her connection with divination is not surprising. But it is certainly remarkable that the visual representation relates chiefly to birds, as though the Etruscan equivalent of the Roman auspicium was something like a specialty of this goddess. Actually, there are further votive statuettes and images of birds that are dedicated to other gods, such as Cel, goddess of the Earth,14 or Tec ĝans, a mysterious deity (presumably a god), who also received the famous Arringatore. 15 But of course not all these testimonies are definitely connected with divination, and it would be imprudent to cite them in this context. All things considered, however, from these visual sources it is possible to argue that at least from the 4th century BCE onwards divination through birds was present in Etruria, confirming what some literary sources claim. But what of the Archaic and Classical periods? The possibility of identifying before the Hellenistic period references to divination through the observation of birds is surely worth investigating. One famous visual document possibly referring to the auspicium is a bronze plaque, decorating the handle of a jug dating from the last decade of the 5th century BCE. This plaque represents a priest sitting on a blocklike structure and gazing at the sky;16 a simplified variant of the plaque has recently been found in tomb no. 28 of the necropolis of the Palazzina at Sarteano, dating from the early 4th century BCE.17 This figure is a kind of pendent of a similar plaque representing a haruspex at work, studying the entrails of a sacrificial animal.18 There is no doubt that both scenes have to do with divination, though it is impossible to determine if the former priest is looking at birds, or bolts of lightning, or some other prodigy in the sky.19 More interesting with respect to my argument is the representation at Tarquinia, in the Tomba degli Auguri (530/20 BCE), of a magistrate holding a lituus and watching two athletes start a wrestling match in front of him. The scene is completed by three cauldrons, which of course are the 13

Maras (forthcoming1). Maras (2009) 446-7; Maras (forthcoming2). 15 Maras (2009) 254; van der Meer (2011) 44. 16 Arezzo, Museo G.C. Mecenate: from the zone between Pozzuolo and San Fatucchio, near Lake Trasimeno (F. Gamurrini, in NSc 1895, 332-4 fig. 1-2). 17 Minetti and Rastrelli (2001) 58-9 n. 28.30. 18 Amsterdam, Allard Pierson Museum: uncertain origin, dating from the first quarter of the 4th century BCE. 19 Torelli (2000) 280 and 592 n. 150-1; Roncalli (2010) 123. See below. 14

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prize for the winner, and by two birds flying over both wrestlers towards the magistrate. Similarly, birds are flying over a pair of boxers on the facing wall, but this scene is ill preserved. Originally the man with the lituus, and the man following him, had been interpreted as augurs (hence the name of the tomb); but more recently they have been correctly recognised as agonothetes, the organisers of the games, wearing the magistrates’ insignia and symbols for the occasion.20 This of course means that they are being vested with the authority and functions of magistrates,21 and they are apparently exercising these as they perform a ritual of auspicium, presumably to divine who is destined to be the winner, in a religious context of funerary games.

3. Parallels between literary and visual sources: Tarquinius and the prodigy of the eagle As regards literary sources, it is difficult to find historical reference to divination in the Archaic period, except for legends and myths, amongst which a particular relevance has been attached by scholars to queen Tanaquil interpreting the prodigy of the eagle on the Ianiculum. 22 The future queen is depicted as an expert in divination by Livy, who says she had been trained in the interpretation of portents occurring in the sky, as was usual for Etruscan women.23 In my opinion, modern literature on the subject has not sufficiently highlighted the fact that the words used by Livy were carefully selected: they refer to a peculiar category of natural phenomena, classified together

20

G. Bartoloni, in Sprenger and Bartoloni (1981) 105 n. 79-83; Steingräber (2006) 92-3; Ambos and Krauskopf (2010) 140. 21 Colonna (1976). 22 Liv. 1.34.8: Ad Ianiculum forte ventum erat; ibi ei carpento sedenti cum uxore aquila suspensis demissa leviter alis pilleum aufert, superque carpentum cum magno clangore volitans rursus velut ministerio divinitus missa capiti apte reponit; inde sublimis abiit. Accepisse id augurium laeta dicitur Tanaquil, perita ut volgo Etrusci caelestium prodigiorum mulier, ‘[Tarquinius] had come, as it happened, as far as the Janiculum. There, as he was sitting in a carriage with his wife, an eagle descended upon him gently lifting its wings and took his cap away; then, it soared high above the carriage yelling and, as if sent by a deity for that service, it deftly put the cap back upon his head and departed on high. It is said that this augury was joyfully accepted by Tanaquil, who was a woman expert in celestial prodigies, as was usual among the Etruscans’. 23 Briquel (1995) 21; Khariouzov (2013) 53-68.

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on the basis of their place of origin (prodigia caelestia).24 According to Festus, in the epitome by Paulus Diaconus, in the Roman tradition portents of thunder and lightning were called caelestia auguria.25 We thus have a hint of two possible components of what Livy calls ‘portents happening in the sky’: above and beyond the flight of birds and meteorological events, it is likely that phenomena involving lights,26 and stars or planets (that is to say astrology) will also have to be included in the category. Finally, Dionysius of Halicarnassus records that there were two further types of auguria, differing from the caelestia, and founded respectively on signs appearing in mid-air and on the earth.27 In this context, the pair of bronze plaques we mentioned in passing before, representing haruspices at work, respectively inspecting entrails and looking at the sky, can be considered a wonderful visual representation of two of the three major categories recorded by Dionysius, encompassing the skills of the Etruscan and Roman soothsayers.28 To return to Tarquinius Priscus’ prodigy of the eagle, the competence of Tanaquil in interpreting the prodigy of the eagle was part of her broader divinatory knowledge, 29 deriving from her initiation into the Disciplina Etrusca,30 and embracing further skills too.31 In 2001 Jocelyn Penny Small purported to recognise a representation of the legend of Tarquinius entering Rome in a group of Volterran urns depicting a kingly man helping 24

Maggiani (2005) 65. Paul. ex Fest. 56.16 L.: Caelestia auguria vocant, cum fulminat tonat, ‘They call celestial auguries either when lightning flashes, or when it thunders’. 26 Note that Tanaquil herself, in Livy’s account, refers to the prodigy of fire witnessed by Servius Tullius in his youth (Liv. 1.39.1-3) as caelestis… flamma, ‘celestial flame’ (Liv. 1.41.3), thus implicitly including it among the caelestia prodigia that were her competence. 27 Dion. Hal. 2.64.4: Į੡ȖȠȡĮȢ… ਖʌȐıȘȢ IJોȢ ȝĮȞIJȚțોȢ ʌĮȡ’ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ ੕ȞIJĮȢ ਥʌȚıIJȒȝȠȞĮȢ IJોȢ IJİ ʌİȡ੿ IJ੹ Ƞ੝ȡȐȞȚĮ țĮ੿ IJ੹ ȝİIJȐȡıȚĮ țĮ੿ IJ੹ ਥʌȓȖİȚĮ, ‘augurs… skilled in all sorts of divination in use among them (scil. the Romans), whether founded on signs appearing in the heavens, in mid-air or on the earth’. Also see Serv. ad Aen. 8.275: sunt enim numina aliqua tantum caelestia, aliqua tantum terrestria, aliqua media, ‘in fact, some deities are only heavenly, others only terrestrial, others in mid-air’. 28 See also Roncalli (2010) 123, who refers to them—perhaps too explicitly—as a haruspex and an augur. 29 Serv. ad Aen. 2.683: auguriorum perita, ‘expert in auguries’. 30 Arnob. adv. nat. 5.18.4: Etruriae disciplinarum perita, ‘expert in Etruscan lore’. 31 See for instance Schol. Juv. 6.566d: Tanaquil… quae dicitur mathematicam artem optime scisse, ‘Tanaquil… who is said to have been excellently skilled in mathematics’. Also see Sil. Ital. Pun. 13.818-20; Auson. Parent. 30.5. 25

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a woman climb off a chariot, with the charioteer still on the vehicle and the horses trampling underfoot a second kingly figure; there are a number of demons and accessory figures in the background.32 The scene had been otherwise interpreted as pertaining to the cycle of Pelops and Hippodameia; but Small convincingly demonstrated that this interpretation does not fit with all the details. 33 On the contrary, the key for recognition of Tarquinius Priscus in the figure on the left, helping his wife to alight from the chariot, is a bird attached to his hat, which appears in at least four replicas of the scene: 34 It does not look exactly like an eagle, but we should make allowances for the limitations of available space in an urnrelief and for the accessory character of the detail. Still, these Volterran urns date from the 1st century BCE, and of course reflect the Romanisation of northern Etruria: they cannot be evoked as a reliable testimony concerning Etruscan beliefs and legends.35 On the other hand, the relation between literary and pictorial sources is much more significant, although certainly problematic, when representations dating from the Archaic period are involved. As a matter of fact, literary sources referring to legendary times often find adequate comparisons in schemes from the visual arts, even though it is impossible to speak of the identity of tales and represented scenes. As regards the legend of Tarquinius entering Rome, I would like to cite the unusual case of an eclectically designed Etruscan black-figure lip-cup (around 540-530 BCE),36 imitating the Laconian style but not free from the influence of the Athenian Little Masters.37 Represented in the tondo 32

Small (2001). In consideration of the freedom shown by the Etruscan craftsmen in representing scenes from Classical mythology, and their ability in using cartoons, it is also possible to suggest cross-interpretations in cases of this kind: an original Hellenising visual scheme for a Greek myth may have been modified to represent a similar Etruscan legend or a local variant of the tale. 34 Small (2001) 150 nn. 1-4. 35 Moreover the Latin inscription on one of the urns, belonging to a C. Caesius, illustrates the Roman cultural framework into which the production and commission of these funerary items were inserted, as Small correctly points out; Small (2001) 141-2. 36 Cavaliere and Udell (2012) 339 n. 7.050 (see also a splendid photo of the tondo on pages 132-3). 37 The shape of the kylix with a tall black-varnished stem and a deep bowl (tot. h. 11.1 cm), as well as the layout of both external sides, presenting a Siren with open wings between lotus blossoms and palmettes, are familiar from vases belonging to the production of the Little Masters; the addition of red and white colouring is also suggestive of Attic production. On the other hand it is the local painter that is 33

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(fig. 1) is a four-horse chariot in frontal perspective, whose charioteer is being attacked by a bird of prey that is flying towards his head. The man, clearly astonished, seems to be defending himself with the whip. 38 Obviously this is no representation of Tarquinius Priscus’ prodigy of the eagle, since the king was travelling on a carpentum39 and the charioteer in the representation has neither a hat nor companions. But the scheme cannot be regarded as completely unrelated to the legend. In fact, it is likely that the scene on the kylix illustrates a Greek myth— or, rather, an Etruscan interpretation of a Greek myth 40 —; but it is certainly possible that the existence of this rare schema in Etruscan art could provide evidence for the origin of the legend of the prodigy of the eagle in Etrusco-Roman lore, which similarly involves a wheeled vehicle.

responsible for the simple rendering of the eyes, both of human and animal figures, and for the frieze with alternate drops surrounding the tondo. 38 Unfortunately the vase comes from the market and was bought in New York at Christie’s in 1999 (sale cat. June 4, 1999, lot 72). It arrived at Fordham University as a gift in 2006 along with the rest of the Collection, including approximately 270 works of art acquired over thirty years by the former owners, William and Jane Walsh (Cavaliere and Udell [2012] 11). I would like to thank Jennifer Udell for the opportunity of publishing here this kylix, so calling the attention of scholars to it, and for them having discussed with me a possible interpretation of the scene. 39 But note that a chariot is also the vehicle of the kingly figure in the Volterran relief-urns represented by Small (2001) as depictions of the legend. The broad definition of the carpentum as a ‘two-wheeled carriage’—therefore interpretable as a chariot—is an understatement by Small (2001) 139-40; see G. Colonna, in Emiliozzi (1999) 15-23; Crouwell (2011) 70-3. 40 It is not possible to deal extensively with the subject here; but two alternative possibilities would be worth being explored in future: 1) The scene may illustrate the myth of Pelops, the famous charioteer, regarded mythologically as the founder of the Olympic Games, who was kidnapped by Poseidon and brought to the home of Zeus, as was Ganymedes somewhat later, according to Pindar (Olymp. 1.42-5). Conflation of the myths of Pelops and Ganymedes could therefore be responsible for the presence of a chariot and an eagle in our kylix. 2) The scene may represent Phaethon on the chariot of the Sun, falling after being hit by Zeus’ lightning: in this case the bewildered charioteer would be staring in terror at the eagle, symbol of Zeus and messenger of his will, which takes the place of the customary lightning bolt.

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4. Portents in the heavens and on the earth, and the foundation of towns If confirmed, such a match between visual arts and literary legends could shed light on some features of archaic ritual and its history, providing an interesting opportunity for investigating the meaning of Roman myths in the light of motifs and scenes in the Etrusco-Italic visual repertory. It is therefore worth looking for possible parallels and comparanda: in this paper we will confine our focus to the field of the relations between birds and divination. In this regard, by no means irrelevant to the preceding is the case, recently recognised by Françoise-Heléne Massa-Pairault, 41 of a pair of Etruscan archaic golden rings, dating from the mid-6th century BCE and reiterating the same scene (fig. 2): a priestly figure with the lituus in a wild environment, observing a heron, as a small animal (perhaps a weasel or a marten) runs towards him. There is a spiral-shaped space filler in front of him. Massa-Pairault is reminded of a snake, and draws an analogy between the scene on the rings and founding myths involving animals, such as the legends of the origin of Ardea, centred on a heron, 42 and Lavinium, involving an eagle, a wolf, and a fox.43 It is interesting to notice that in this scene an auspicium is in progress, and the lituus is being used in its ritual function. But together with birds—in this case a heron— terrestrial animals are also represented, again showing that the Etruscan soothsayers took into consideration both signs appearing in the heavens and those appearing on the earth (prodigia caelestia and terrestria). In my opinion the two golden rings, probably produced at a workshop of Caere, represented not a legend or a myth, but an actual divination ritual, clearly identified with the priestly figure or magistrate who performed it, and in each case presumably belonging to the person in question. The scene was thus arguably a symbol of the public office occupied by its owner, and the ring itself a symbol of his rank.44 Comparison between an Archaic visual source and some Early Imperial literary sources provides useful information on both: the legends known to Vergil and Dionysius were compiled from original Archaic 41

Massa-Pairault (2011). Verg. Aen. 7.411. 43 Dion. Hal. 1.59. 44 The lituus (curved stab), the sella magistratualis (folding stool) and the suppedaneum (footstool) are symbols of the high rank of the magistrate performing the ritual of divination in the exercise of his functions. On the lituus see now Ambos and Krauskopf (2010) 139-44. 42

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rituals; the symbolic representation of an auspicium with birds and ground animals presumably hinted at a foundation ritual, characteristic of the duties of a high magistrate. From a methodological point of view, it is important to highlight that in this case visual arts and literature do not depend on each other: both derive from a common, ritual (or otherwise lost) source, rendering it impossible to determine which of the two came first. Pictorial representations are not illustrations of literary passages, either written or oral but matching and comparing enables us to reconstruct the cultural context from which they emerged.

5. The scheme of the “fighting warriors with a bird” In continuation of our survey of visual representation of birds as signs of the gods’ will—and therefore material for divination 45 —special importance is attached to a common iconographic schema traceable throughout the Archaic period, showing a duel (or single combat): a fight between two warriors with a bird flying over one of them. As far as it is possible to tell, the bird is often a bird of prey, and is looking in the direction of the loser, thus somehow foreseeing a future event. This is apparent in the representation of the duel between Achilles and Memnon on the right panel of the chariot from Monteleone di Spoleto (second quarter of the 6th century BCE; fig. 3). The bird flying over Achilles seems to be menacing his opponent. It is apparently not a vulture scavenging on the dead body of Antilochos as he lies on the ground.46 It seems to present some similarities with the pair of birds nose-diving towards a dead deer on the frontal panel of the chariot. These too have been interpreted as divine signs of the glorious and tragic destiny of Achilles, which is sealed as soon as Thetis gives divine weapons to her son:47 the animals framing the scene all have their role in this symbolic and metaphoric context. But the schema of “fighting warriors accompanied by a bird” is not occasional but belongs in a larger and well-established tradition. Probably the earliest known example of the schema is one appearing on a golden brooch from Vulci and dating from the second quarter of the 7th century BCE (fig. 4). In its centre it shows two armed men facing one another—on opposite sides of a triangular protrusion from the ground—surrounded by 45

On some possible symbolic values of birds represented in visual arts from the Iron Age to the Orientalising period see Medoro (2012). 46 M. Bonamici, in Emiliozzi (1999) 185. 47 M. Bonamici, in Emiliozzi (1999) 184-5.

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five birds, with a lion on each side and one more bird flying over them from right to left.48 Of course the meaning of the scene was apparent to the Etruscan craftsman who fashioned it as well as to the Vulcian aristocrat who owned the brooch: the asymmetric details of the composition have to be regarded as meaningful. We can infer, from the fact that the majority of birds are moving to the left and from the peculiarity that one of them, on the lower right, is moving to the left and spreading its feet as though landing, that the warrior on the right is favoured by the gods and is destined to win the duel.49 The profusion of birds in this early variant of the schema, as well as the presence of the lions—perhaps hinting at the heroic but beastly ferocity of the warriors—may either mean that this is one of the earliest examples of a scene of this kind, unrelated to any established conventions, or that its associations are with a lost (perhaps literary) context in which the scene was embedded. The craftsman’s choice of including a detail such as the feet of just one bird among many suggests that something is still missing that might enable us completely to understand the meaning of the scene.50 A generation later, in the third quarter of the 7th century BCE, an ivory relief from the series found in the tumulus Montefortini at Comeana 51 shows a scene of fighting over the body of a fallen man, not far from the representation on the right panel of the chariot of Monteleone di Spoleto. As a matter of fact it has been interpreted as a heroic duel: 52 probably again Achilles versus Memnon. Therefore, if the feathered “blossom” appearing in front of the best-preserved warrior can be interpreted as being

48

Medoro (2012) 264; Menichetti (2012) 396. Even the triangle-shaped figure protruding from the ground between the warriors may foreshadow death for one of the warriors, if we compare it with the series of seven triangles—topped by circular shapes and underlying the same number of towers—alternating with warriors on an olla from the Tomb ‘of Bocchoris’ at Tarquinia (around 690-670 BCE). It has in fact been interpreted by Giovanni Colonna as the earliest Etruscan representation of the Seven against Thebes, implying that the triangles are funerary mounds (‘tumuli’) and the circles cippi (Colonna [2013] 10-3). It is worth noting that a sub-circular geometric decoration is also hanging over the triangle in the middle of the aforementioned brooch, though seemingly separated. Also see Medoro (2012) 264, who suggests that the triangle-shaped figure is a hill. 50 Medoro (2012) 264. 51 Bettini and Nicosia (2000). 52 Bettini and Nicosia (2000) 248-9 n. 293. 49

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a bird’s tail, this could be the earliest known occurrence of the schema of the “fighting warriors accompanied by a bird” illustrating this Greek myth. Dating from the beginning of the 6th century BCE, the Felsinian stele from Via Righi at Bologna depicts the fighting between two footsoldiers and two horsemen (fig. 5).53 In the upper frieze a bird is flying behind the warrior on the left, who is evidently blowing a bugle, thus providing a variant of the schema in which the bird follows the favoured warrior. Seemingly consistent with this variant is the slightly earlier stele of Marano di Castenaso (fig. 6),54 where a fighting scene is inserted into the middle of a frieze of four ducklings moving from right to left. Features in common with those of the Felsinian steles are to be found in a duel scene on the embossed decoration of a situla of the Kurdish type, found in the so-called first “Tomba del Guerriero” at Sesto Calende, in the Golaseccan area, and dating from the beginning of the 6th century BCE: behind the warrior on the right a bird is depicted looking to the right, while in the upper frieze a series of similar-looking birds move from left to right.55 The same schema may have been repeated on an almost identical situla from the second “Tomba del Guerriero” at Sesto Calende; but the ill-preserved state of its surface precludes verification of this.56 A bird taking part in a mythological battle scene can be found on a cylinder-stamp used for decorating three Caeretan impasto braziers dating from the mid-6th century BCE: 57 it is represented as flying behind Hercules, who is armed with a bow and arrow and faces three centaurs charging towards him; since the bird is looking in the direction of the monsters, this presumably hints at their imminent defeat. In one of the scenes represented in the reliefs on the tripod Loeb C in Munich’s Museum Antiker Kleinkunst (inv. no. BrSL 68), dating from the second half of the 6th century BCE, we see a duel between two warriors over the dead body of a third man; the fighter on the left has an 8-shaped shield decorated with the head of a lion (above) and a gorgoneion (below), very similar to the shield represented in the chariot of Monteleone di Spoleto. Behind him, on the left of the picture, a bird is roosting on a perch, looking back in the direction of the fighters. We are therefore justified

53

Malnati (2008) 152 pl. 6.3. Discovered in 2007 and preserved in the Museo della Civiltà Villanoviana at Villanova di Castenaso, near Bologna; Malnati (2008) 150 pl. 4.1. 55 Cfr. Biondelli (1867) pl. II, and de Marinis (1975) 216 and pl. II. 56 Cfr. de Marinis (2009) 176-7. 57 Respectively Pieraccini (2003) 104-5 n. D4.01-02, and Serra Ridgway (2010) 104 n. D4.03. 54

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in suspecting that this is also a representation of the duel between Achilles and Memnon.58 A well-known black-figure amphora of the Paris Painter, dating from 530-520 BCE, shows a pair of partridges resting on the ground between the legs of two fighting warriors; 59 both birds are facing left, in the direction of a warrior dressed in a short, red chiton, and followed by a woman holding a spindle. It is possible, therefore, that the artist meant to project his opponent—represented in heroic nudity—as the winner.60 In the late 6th and early 5th century BCE, we find further occurrences of birds in battle contexts in some vase paintings attributed to the Micali Painter, such as an amphora in the Vatican Museum depicting Hercules’ Gigantomachy (with a bird perching on the thigh of the last giant facing the hero61), a hydria in Trieste with a duel (with two birds between the fighters and each looking at one of them; a third bird is on the ground behind the warrior on the right and facing right),62 and an amphora from Orvieto (where a bird is flying from right to left over a fallen warrior and between two opponents). 63 A black-figure kelebe of the same period in Rome showing the fighting between a centaur and a hoplite also has a bird flying towards the former.64 The schema of the bird present during a fight or at times flying between the opponents features on pottery from later periods as well, but inserted into broader narrative scenes. This is the case, for instance, with a Faliscan red-figure stamnos of uncertain origin,65 dating from the second quarter of the 4th century BCE, which shows fighting between Greeks and

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Notwithstanding the observations of Simon (1974) 34. Martelli (1987) 300-1 n. 103; Scheffer (2006) 511. 60 Possibly Achilles vs. Hector in presence of Andromache? 61 Vatican, Museo Gregoriano Etrusco (inv. no. 34604): Beazley (1947) pl. III.4; Scheffer (2006) 508 (with an incorrect reference to the Walters Art Gallery of Baltimore). 62 Trieste, Museo Archeologico: Torelli (1981) 172 fig. 74; Scheffer (2006) 508. The prevalence of birds facing right could be significant, as in the case of the brooch from Vulci (see above). 63 Berlin, Antikensammlung (inv. no. 3212): Dohrn (1937) pl. 9 n. 307; Scheffer (2006) 509 (with an incorrect attribution to Perugia). The direction of the bird’s flight and the presence of a further bird, perching behind the warrior on the left and facing left as well, point to the meaning of the omen. 64 Rome, Museo Nazionale Etrusco di Villa Giulia (inv. no. 74941): Proietti (1980) 225 n. 302. 65 Bonn, Antikensammlung der Universität Bonn, Inv. no. 1569; Bentz (2008) 32-3 n. 21. 59

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Celts (fig. 7):66 one of the main figures on side A, a bare-chested horseman in a mantle, is rushing to the right towards a foot warrior holding a shield. Although the representation is fragmentary, it is possible to see the wing of a bird that is flying towards the foot warrior, foreshadowing his fate. The bird must be on its way to join its companions, clearly carrion-birds that are feasting on the entrails of a dead enemy on the ground. The schema thus acquires a natural, albeit grim, aspect.67 Another red-figure stamnos of the same period, of south-Etruscan production (fig. 8),68 shows Athena stabbing a naked giant with her sword: a bird of prey is swooping down towards the latter from the left. And in the fighting of Greeks and Amazons depicted on an amphora-like krater from the second half of the 4th century,69 a flying bird is looking over the shoulder of a Greek warrior towards an Amazon falling to the ground, evidently defeated. Finally, an example of an artefact that goes against the trend: a kalyxkrater from Perugia, of Vulcian production, dating from the last decades of the 4th century BCE and representing Hercules fighting for Hippolyte’s belt (which has been depicted as intertwined with snakes).70 In the field two birds are resting on the ground and two are flying:71 one of them is swooping down towards Hercules and his opponent, but appears to have its eyes on the hero. It seems therefore that, in this case, the bird is flying towards the winner, rather than the loser. But it is worth noting that there are other winged creatures implicated with the fate of the falling Amazon: two female demons are depicted as though they were conducting Hippolyte’s soul to the afterworld. They can thus probably be regarded as a representation of impending death—more

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A. Boix, in Bentz (2008) 32. A vulture landing among fallen warriors can be seen also in an earlier relief on a stone cippus from the necropolis of Le Pianacce (Chiusi), tomb 13, now in the museum of Sarteano, dating from ca. 470 BCE; Minetti (2012) 118. On the inclusion of birds in battle scenes as well as in other contexts in Etruscan vasepainting, which “seem, with a few, rather late exceptions, more curious than actually threatening”, see Scheffer (2006) 508-11. 68 Oxford, Ashmolean Museum. Inv. no. 1917.54. LIMC II.1, 1984, s.v. Athena/Minerva, 1069 n. 223 (G. Colonna). I warmly thank Alice Landi for drawing my attention to this and several other entries in this survey. 69 Leningrad, Hermitage. Inv. no. B1841. L.I. Gatalina, in Schade and Kunze (1988) 253 n. D1.19. 70 Martelli (1987) 326 n. 173. 71 The figure standing between the flying birds is not the goddess Athena, as Scheffer (2006) 511 supposes, but a second Amazon. 67

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explicit than ominous birds and in accordance with the somewhat different perspectives of the Hellenistic period.72 Far from being complete, this short survey highlights how the schema of “fighting warriors accompanied by a bird” has been handed down in the visual arts, continuously from the Orientalising to the Hellenistic period. In such representations, the function of birds can be seen as being halfway between a metaphor—of a kind common in epic poetry, for it enables an analogy to be drawn between the hero and a bird of prey—and a narrative device foreshadowing the outcome of the fighting through an omen, in this case a flight of birds. The latter meaning is made clear again thanks to the close comparison with a Latin narrative scheme. I refer to the duel between Marcus Valerius Corvus and a warrior from Gaul in 348 BCE (Liv. 7.26.3-6), when a raven roosted on the Roman’s helmet and then attacked his astounded opponent, distracting him until he was defeated. Livy says that this miraculous event made the fighting seem less glorious, for it openly showed that the result was the gods’ will. 73 Later representations of the scene, presumably deriving from the Roman legend, have been recognised in the relief decorations of some Etruscan urns; 74 but, as in the case of Tarquinius entering Rome, the existence of an ancient, pan-Italic visual scheme of the bird being involved in a duel prompt us to investigate in greater depth the relation between narrative and pictorial representations. Because of the origin of Valerius Corvus’ opponent scholars have often compared the legend with a feature of Celtic religion, in which birds—especially crows—play an important role.75 But acknowledgement of the Italian context to which the narrative scheme originally belonged opens new stimulating perspectives. The actual identity between the legend and the iconography has given rise to a hypothesis that the legendary tale of Marcus Valerius Corvus, along with his cognomen, has its origins in a picture representing his duel in accordance with the schema of the “fighting warriors accompanied by a bird”. Such a picture might have been preserved amongst the imagines maiorum of the Valerii, which were shown on the occasion of every family funeral, and were most 72

On the spread of figures of demons in battle contexts and other mythological scenes in Etruria see Krauskopf (1987) and Jannot (1997). 73 Liv. 7.26.3: Minus insigne certamen humanum numine interposito deorum factum, ‘the human challenge became less glorious because of the interference of the gods’ will’. 74 Small (2001) 137-8 and 144 nn. 27-8, with museum references and secondary literature. 75 See for instance Davies (1979).

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probably supplemented by an account of the legend.76 The utilitarian view explaining the presence of the bird as a divine sign—a typical occurrence at showings of the picture—was thus incorporated into the narrative of the legend by the annalists. It was most probably through sources very close to the gens Valeria (most probably Valerius Antias himself) that Livy received the information that the gods’ will was made manifest by the intervention of a crow. Minus insigne certamen humanum numine interposito deorum factum:77 what better description could we find for the meaning of the “fighting warriors accompanied by a bird”?

6. Numero avium regnum trahebant As may be discovered from the literary sources, in an Etrusco-Roman context, a further important instance of divination through the observation of birds deserves additional attention. The reference is to the mythical controversy between Romulus and Remus which determined who was to be the founder of Rome, and concluded eventually with the death of the latter. Birds, and their numbers, were the subject of this dispute. The story of how Romulus—the allegedly saintly founder of Rome, deceived his brother Remus like a common swindler, is one that has provoked unease among the annalists recording it. 78 It raises the important question of whether the ritual challenge between the twins should be identified as an auspicium or as an augurium.79 A recent work by Elena Tassi Scandone demonstrated that Romulus’ sighting of twelve vultures is recorded exclusively in a number of literary sources that can be traced to the annalistic tradition. The augural lore has come down to us through a different set of sources. 80 According to Scandone’s hypothesis, the number had been established (probably in the mid- or late Republican period), in order to institute a correspondence with the number of lictors accompanying the consul. On the other hand, Remus’ six vultures are paralleled by the six lictors accompanying the praetor, effectively the called conlega minor of the consul.81 In the opinion of Tassi Scandone, the purpose of such correspondence was to dispose of the tradition of the Etruscan origin of the lictors, in a context of 76 See Rutledge (2012) 115-21, on visual literacy in ancient Rome, with special regard to triumphs, and p. 121, on the iconic value of Valerius Corvus’ crow. 77 See above, note 73. 78 Dion. Hal. 1.86.3; Plut. Rom. 10.9.5. 79 Tassi Scandone (2001), included a full list of earlier studies. 80 Tassi Scandone (2001), esp. 187-96. 81 Tassi Scandone (2001) 180-1.

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purification of Roman institutions from actual or supposed Etruscan influence. Actually this tendency towards rejection of foreign influence in Roman divinatory practices has affinities with Cicero’s arguments against the haruspices, with which I began.82 The same series of sources is also responsible for the tradition of Romulus’ deceitfulness, involving a doubling of the number of birds seen by the future founder; furthermore, since in the augural tradition there is no hint of this deception by Romulus, we may justifiedly infer that it was an addition from the annalistic tradition. There is disagreement between authors in this regard: according to Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Plutarch there was purposeful deceit, which angered Remus.83 According to Diodorus Siculus, Romulus was simply mistaken. He misunderstood the ritual, but concluded that the omens were good, and the astonished Remus replied that even on these uncertain premises it appeared that the future town was destined to prosper. 84 Finally, according to the Origo gentis Romanae, having heard what Remus had seen, Romulus doubled the number of vultures in the prodigy and the birds duly appeared. Remus then remarked that this was a good omen for the future of the town.85 The disagreement between the sources over this point could be a sign that the different opinions derive from a misunderstanding or a reinterpretation of the original meaning of the myth. In this connection one useful hypothesis could be that the idea of deceit masked what was originally ritual behaviour: this could also explain its recurrence in the annalistic, “secular” sources, as opposed to the augural, “religious” ones. If we accept this working hypothesis, it is possible to suppose that in the original myth the difference between the two omens of Romulus and Remus was that the former had been an auspicium impetratum (or impetrativum): Romulus declared what he would have seen before starting the ritual. Thus, even though Remus had a positive auspicium oblativum (not declared, according to the Etruscan tradition86), the major, favourable 82

Santangelo (2013) 26-32. Dion. Hal. 1.86.3-4, Plut. Rom. 10.9.5. 84 Diod. Sic. 8.5. 85 Origo gent. Rom. 23.2-4. 86 Serv. ad Aen. 1.398: …in libris reconditis lectum esse, posse quamlibet avem auspicium adtestari, maxime quia non poscatur, ‘in the hidden books is written that whatever bird can give an auspice, especially because it has not been requested’. Catalano (1960) 314-5. Rasmussen (2003) 162, notes that the adjective oblativus does not recur in the sources until the 4th century CE; for our purposes, more important is the concept of impetrare, which is already familiar to Cicero (Div. 2.35); also Santangelo (2013) 68 n. 118, where additional studies are listed. 83

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omen of Romulus, obtained through the correct ritual of the Roman augures,87 was much superior and won him the victory.88 It is therefore probable that the augurium Romuli had been regarded as a foundation myth both of the auspicium impetratum and of the augural ritual:89 further evidence for this comes from Cicero’s passages asserting that Romulus instituted the priesthood of the augures in relation to the tribes, and was an optimus augur himself.90 Fixing the foundation of Rome as the beginning of the augural ritual and lore, the augural sources evidently intended to highlight its close links with the existence of the town itself, presenting the augures as the keepers of the original, national Roman religious practice. 87

Serv. Auct. ad Aen. 3.89: Augurium enim est exquisita deorum volontas per consultationem avium aut signorum, quod tunc peti debet, cum id quod animo agitamus per augurium a diis volumus impetratum, ‘An augurium is an investigation of the gods’ will through the interpretation either of birds or of signs; when it has to be requested, we want to get from the gods through the augurium what we have in mind’. See also Serv. ad Aen. 6.190 and Serv. Auct. ad Aen. 6.194, where also an augurium oblativum is mentioned; Capdeville (forthcoming). 88 Also see Santangelo (2013) 218, who notes that according to Serv. ad Aen. 2.691, in the augurium the second sign always predominates. In this connection it is also remarkable that Aulus Gellius defines Remus’ auspicia as inrita, ‘invalid’, and therefore inferior to those of Romulus (13.14.5: Remus urbis condendae gratia auspicaverit avesque inritas habuerit superatusque in auspicio a Romulo sit, ‘Remus took auspices in order to found the town, got invalid birds and was surpassed by Romulus in auspicating’). Here Gellius is probably quoting an augural source—perhaps Antistius Vetus (Catalano [1960] 298 n. 201)—and it is worth noting that according to Cic. Leg. 2.21: quaeque augur iniusta, nefasta, vitiosa, dira defixerit, inrita infectaque sunto, ‘whatever thing the augur declares to be unjust, illicit, flawed, or ill-omened, let them be invalid and unaccomplished’. We can thus infer that Remus’ auspicia were not compliant with the augural prescriptions. 89 The difference between auspicium (oblativum) and augurium (impetrativum) is stated also by Serv. ad Aen. 4.340: …in iure augurali auspicium dicitur quod non petentibus nobis ad ea, quae in animo habemus, ‘in the augural law an auspicium is said to be when we do not ask for what we have in mind’. But in a further important passage (Serv. ad Aen. 1.398) the former is said to be a sort of augurium too: hoc enim interest inter augurium et auspicium, quod augurium et petitur et certis avibus ostenditur, auspicium qualibet avi demonstratur et non petitur: quod ipsum tamen species augurii est, ‘this is the difference between augurium and auspicium: that the former is requested and revealed by certain birds, while the latter is shown by any bird and is not requested: however, this is a form of augurium too’. Catalano (1960) 86-9; Tassi Scandone (2001) 185-6. 90 Cic. Div. 1.3; Cic. De Rep. 2.16. See Catalano (1960) 562-3; Rasmussen (2003) 149.

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As I mentioned before, probably with the intent of nationalising the institutional origin of the lictors, the annalists introduced the narrative device of Romulus’ deceit, linking the number of twelve and six vultures to the corresponding number of lictors of the consuls and the praetor.91 Unfortunately, this compounded a misunderstanding of the differing ritual behaviours of the aspirant founders, so that the foundation myth of the augural ritual was hidden (perhaps on purpose?) behind the anthropological scheme of the trickster-founder. But in addition to the augural and annalistic traditions, a different tradition was also known, postulating an Etruscan origin for the foundation ritual of Rome and depicting Romulus as an initiate tof the Etruscan disciplina.92 Similarly, an obscure passage of Pliny relating to Umbricius Melior 93 has been convincingly interpreted by Dominique Briquel as evidence for an Etruscan interpretation of the legend of Romulus’ twelve vultures.94 It is therefore worth looking at the legend from this different point of view in order to verify the relation between Etruscan and Latin rituals of observation of birds. In this connection, some help comes from another Roman legend, also belonging to the augural lore: the tale of Attus Navius’ childhood and the beginning of his divinatory skills.95 After showing an outstanding innate aptitude for divination, the young shepherd Attus was sent to Etruria to be trained by the most learned of the Etruscan soothsayers.96 Appending the learned ‘discipline’ to his natural “gift”, Attus was thus able to outmanoeuvre not only the Roman soothsayers, but also the Etruscan haruspices, as is demonstrated in the episode of the controversy against king Tarquinius Priscus. 97 As in the case of Plutarch’s judgement on Romulus, the legend of Attus shows that the augural tradition acknowledged Etruria as the source of the ‘discipline’ and the true origin of Roman divination. 98 But the augures considered 91

Tassi Scandone (2001) 173-82. Plut. Rom. 11.1; noncommittal is the testimony of Dion. Hal. 2.65.1: ʌȩȜİȦȢ ȠੁțȚȗȠȝȑȞȘȢ ਫ਼ʌ’ ਕȞįȡઁȢ ਥȝʌİȓȡȠȣ ȝĮȞIJȚțોȢ, ‘having the town been founded by a man expert of divination’. See Maras (2012) 231. 93 Plin. Nat. Hist. 10.6.19. 94 Briquel (1995); see also Tassi Scandone (2001) 186-7. 95 And this, according to Briquel (2005) 67-8, is also a founding myth of the auspicium, with its sacred rules and tools. 96 Dion. Hal. 3.70.5; Briquel (2005) 66-8. It is striking the closeness with the expression ‘the most famous of the Etruscan soothsayers’, used by Dion. Hal. 4.59.3, and Plin. Nat. Hist. 28.15.3. 97 Briquel (1986) 79-82; Id. (2005). 98 Briquel (1986). 92

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their own heroes and founders superior and themselves as the keepers of an advanced divinatory system, perfected through the work of generations of priests, which eventually made haruspicy obsolete.99 This is the background to Cicero’s attacks against the haruspices dealing with prophecies—a form of divination that he considers deceptive and misleading 100 —, whereas the augures have the important task of determining whether the gods are favourable or unfavourable in relation to specific actions or events. On the other hand, Cicero acknowledges the political role of haruspicy in interpreting portents and prodigies,101 which are often said by the sources to be beyond the reach of the augures.102 Only the competence on the auspicium remained controversial, for the flight or song of birds either comes after a declaration and a specific consultation—and thus is within the competence of the augures (auspicium impetrativum)—, or happens spontaneously, as a portent implying a message from the gods—and is thus within the competence of the haruspices (auspicium oblativum). 103 This paper is an attempt to resolve this ancient controversy, originating from Cicero’s times at the latest and still of interest to modern scholarship.104

99

Catalano (1960) 572-3 n. 46. Cic. Div. 2.70: non enim sumus ii nos augures, qui avium reliquorumve signorum observatione futura dicamus, ‘we augurs are not as who foresee future events through the observation of birds or other signs’. 101 Rasmussen (2003) 177-82; Santangelo (2013) 32. 102 Jannot (1998) 44-6; Rasmussen (2003) 35-52; see also Santangelo (2013) 84-9. 103 But see again Serv. ad Aen. 1.398: quod ipsum tamen species augurii est, ‘however, this is a form of augurium too’. 104 See for instance Coli (1951) 77-8; Catalano (1960) 124-93; Briquel (1976) 157; Tassi Scandone (2001); Santangelo (2013) 218-9. 100

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Illustrations Fig. 1: Etruscan black-figure lip-cup (around 540-530 BCE): detail of the tondo. New York, Fordham University Collection (adapted from Cavaliere and Udell [2012]).

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Fig. 2: Golden ring from Caere (mid-6th century BCE). Rome, Museo di Villa Giulia, from the Castellani Collection (adapted from Massa-Pairault [2011]).

Fig. 3: Drawing of the right panel of the chariot from Monteleone di Spoleto (around 575-550 BCE). New York, Metropolitan Museum (adapted from Emiliozzi [1999]).

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Fig. 4: Golden brooch from Vulci, Ponte Sodo (around 675-650 BCE). Munich, Staatliche Antikensammlungen (adapted from Torelli [2000]).

Fig. 5: Stele from via Righi, Bologna (early 6th century BCE). Bologna, Museo Civico Archeologico (adapted from Malnati [2008]).

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Fig. 6: Stele of Marano di Castenaso, Bologna (around 625-600 BCE). Villanova di Castenaso, Museo della Civiltà Villanoviana (adapted from Malnati [2008]).

Fig. 7: Faliscan red-figure stamnos of uncertain origin (around 375-350 BCE). Bonn, Antikensammlung der Universität Bonn (adapted from Bentz [2008]).

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Fig. 8: Etruscan red-figure stamnos of uncertain origin (mid-4th century BCE). Oxford, Ashmolean Museum (adapted from LIMC).

Bibliography Ambos, C. and Krauskopf, I. (2010) “The curved staff in the Ancient Near East as a predecessor of the Etruscan lituus”, in L. B. van der Meer (ed.), Material aspects of Etruscan religion, Proceedings of the international colloquium (Leiden, May 29-30th, 2008), Bulletin Antike Beschavung, Suppl. 16, 127-53. Beazley, J. D. (1947) Etruscan Vase Painting. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Bentz, M. (ed.) (2008) Rasna. Die Etrusker, Catalogue of the Exhibition (Bonn, 2008-2009). Bonn: Michael Himhof Verlag. Bettini, C. and Nicosia, F. (2000) “Gli avori da Comeana (Firenze), tumulo di Montefortini, tomba a tholos”, in Principi etruschi tra Mediterraneo ed Europa, Catalogue of the Exhibition (Bologna, 2000). Venice: Marsilio, 246-65, n. 299-335. Biondelli, B. (1867) Di una tomba gallo-italica scoperta a Sesto Calende sul Ticino, Memorie dell’Istituto Lombardo di Scienze e Lettere, Classe di Lettere, Scienze Morali e Storiche 10. Milan: Istituto Lombardo di Scienze e Lettere. Briquel, D. (1976) “La triple fondation de Rome”, Revue d’histoire des Religions 189, 145-76. —. (1986) “Art Augural et etrusca disciplina: le debat sur l’origine de l’augurat romain”, in La divination dans le monde étrusco-italique, 3. Actes de la table ronde. Paris: Ecole normale supérieure, 22 mars 1986. Caesarodunum Suppl. 56. Tours: Université de Tours, 68-100.

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—. (1990) “Divination étrusque et mantique grecque. La recherche d’une origine hellénique de l’«Etrusca disciplina»”, Latomus 49, 321-42. —. (1995) “Sur un fragment d’Umbricius Melior: l’interprétation par un haruspice de la légende de fondation de Rome?”, in Les ecrivains et l’Etrusca disciplina de Claude à Trajan, Actes de la table ronde, Dijon, 9 juin 1995, Caesarodunum, suppl. 64, 1995, 17-26 (= Bulletin de l’Association Guillaume Budé 1, 1996, 32-43). —. (2005) “Considérations sur la légende d’Attus Navius”, Res Antiquae 2, 61-82. Capdeville, G. (forthcoming) “L’uccello nella divinazione in italia centrale”, in A. Ancillotti and A. Calderini (eds.), Forms and Structures of Religion in Ancient Central Italy, Proceedings of the International Congress (Perugia-Gubbio, 2011). Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Catalano, P. (1960) Contributo allo studio del diritto augurale. Turin: Giappichelli. Cavaliere, B. and Udell, J. (ed.) (2012) Ancient Mediterranean Art. The William D. and Jane Walsh Collection at Fordham University. New York: Fordham University Press. Coli, U. (1951) “Regnum”, Studia et Documenta Historiae et Iuris 17, 1168. Colonna, G. (1976) “Scriba cum rege sedens”, in Mélanges offerts à J. Heurgon, Collection de l’ École Française de Rome 27. Rome: École Française de Rome, 187-92. —. (2013) “Prima di Demarato. Un’eco della Tebaide epica nella tomba tarquiniese detta di Bocchoris”, in Dall’Italia. Omaggio a Barbro Santillo Frizell, 3-18. Florence: Polistampa. Crouwel, J. H. (2011) Chariots and other Wheeled Vehicles in Italy before the Roman Empire. Oxford: Oxbow Books; Oakville: David Brown Book Co. Davies, M. I. (1979) “L’oiseau sur le casque: le corbeau divin des Celtes, M. Valérius Corv(in)us, et Tite-Live 7, 26”, in Bronzes hellénistiques et romains. Tradition et renouveau, Actes du Ve Colloque international sur les bronzes antiques, Lausanne, 8-13 mai 1978, Cahiers d’Archéologie romande 17, 127-32. de Grummond, N. T. (2005) “Roman Favor and Etruscan Thufl(tha): a note on Propertius 4. 2. 34”, Ancient West and East, 4.2, 296-317. —. (2013) “Haruspicy and Augury: Sources and procedures”, in: J. MacIntosh Turfa (ed.), The Etruscan World, 539-556. London/New York: Routledge.

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de Marinis, R. C. (1975) “Le tombe di guerriero di Sesto Calende e le spade e i pugnali hallstattiani scoperti nell’Italia nordoccidentale”, in N. Caffarello (ed.), Archeologica. Scritti in onore di A. Neppi Modona. Firenze 1975, 213-69. —. (2009) “Sesto Calende, la seconda tomba di guerriero”, in R. C. de Marinis, S. Massa, and M. Pizzo (eds.), Alle origini di Varese e del suo territorio. Le collezioni del sistema archeologico provinciale. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 162-203. Dohrn, T. (1937) Die schwarzfigurigen etruskischen Vasen aus der zweiten Hälfte des sechsten Jahrhunderts. Berlin: Triltsch & Huther. Emiliozzi, A. (ed.) (1999) Carri da guerra e principi etruschi, Catalogue of the Exhibition (Viterbo-Roma, 1998-1999). Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Jannot, J.-R. (1997) “Charu(n) et Vanth, divinités étrusques plurielles”, in F. Gautier and D. Briquel (eds.), Les Étrusques les plus religieux des hommes. État de la recherche sur la religion étrusque, Proceedings of the International Congress (Paris, 1992). Paris: Documentation française, 139-66. —. (1998) Devins, Dieux et Démons. Regards sur la religion de l’Étrurie antique. Paris: Picard (English translation: Religion in Ancient Etruria. Madison, WI: Univ. of Wisconsin Press, 2005). Krauskopf, I. (1987) Todesdämonen und Todesgötter im vorhellenistischen Etrurien. Kontinuität und Wandel, Biblioteca di Studi Etruschi 16. Florence: Olschki. Khariouzov, A. (2013) Prodigien in der römischen Königszeit: eine motivgeschichtliche und narratologische Analyse im 1. Buch des Livius, Klassische Philologie 5. Berlin: Frank und Timme. Maggiani, A. (2005) “La divinazione in Etruria”, in Thesaurus Cultus et Rituum Antiquorum (ThesCRA) 3, Basel/Los Angeles: LIMC, 52-78. Malnati, L. (2008) “Armi e organizzazione militare in Etruria Padana”, in Annali della Fondazione per il Museo C. Faina di Orvieto 15, 147-86. Maras, D. F. (2009) Il dono votivo. Gli dei e il sacro nelle iscrizioni etrusche di culto, Biblioteca di Studi Etruschi 46. Pisa/Rome: F. Serra. —. (2012) “Roma e la disciplina etrusca”, in A. Giardina and F. Pesando (eds.), Roma caput mundi. Una città tra dominio e integrazione. Milan: Electa, 229-35. —. (forthcoming1) “Fortuna Etrusca”, in A. Ancillotti, A. Calderini, and R. Massarelli (eds.), Forms and Structures of Religion in Ancient Central Italy, Proceedings of the International Congress (Perugia-Gubbio, 2011). Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider.

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—. (forthcoming2). “Religion”, in A. Naso (ed.), Handbook of Etruscology. Boston: De Gruyter. Martelli, M. (ed.) (1987) La ceramica degli Etruschi. Novara: De Agostini. Massa-Pairault, F.-H. (2011) “Locus Ardea quondam dictus avis ou variations sur le sujet d’une histoire”, in D. F. Maras (ed.), Corollari. Scritti di antichità etrusche e italiche in omaggio all’opera di Giovanni Colonna, Studia Erudita 14. Pisa-Rome: F. Serra, 61-9. Medoro, A. (2012) “Tra la terra e l’acqua: la rappresentazione degli uccelli tra l’età del Ferro e l’Orientalizzante”, in P. Amann (ed.), Kulte–Riten –religiöse Vorstellungen bei den Etruskern und ihr Verhältnis zu Politik und Gesellschaft, Proceedings of the Congress (Wien, 2008). Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 253-71. Menichetti, M. (2012) “La guerra, il vino, l’immortalità. Alle origini del trionfo etrusco-romano”, in P. Amann (ed.), Kulte–Riten–religiöse Vorstellungen bei den Etruskern und ihr Verhältnis zu Politik und Gesellschaft, Proceedings of the Congress (Wien, 2008). Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 393-406. Minetti A. (2012) La Necropoli delle Pianacce nel Museo Civico Archeologico di Sarteano. Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana. Minetti A. and Rastrelli, A. (2001). La necropoli della Palazzina nel Museo civico archeologico di Sarteano. Siena: Sistema dei musei senesi. Pieraccini, L. (2003) Around the hearth: Caeretan cylinder-stamped braziers. Studia Archaeologica 120. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Proietti, G. (ed.) (1980) Il museo nazionale etrusco di Villa Giulia. Rome: Quasar. Rasmussen, S. W. (2003) Public Portents in Republican Rome. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Roncalli, F. (2009) “Mito, leggenda e disciplina etrusca visti da Roma”, in Annali della Fondazione per il Museo C. Faina di Orvieto 16, 239-59. —. (2010) “Between Divination and Magic: Role, Gesture and Instruments of the Etruscan Haruspex”, in L. B. van der Meer (ed.), Material aspects of Etruscan religion, Proceedings of the international colloquium (Leiden, May 29-30th, 2008), Bulletin Antike Beschavung, Suppl. 16, 117-26. Rutledge, S. H. (2012) Ancient Rome as a Museum. Power, Identity and the Culture of Collecting. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Santangelo, F. (2013) Divination, Prediction and the End of the Roman Republic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Schade, G. and Kunze, M. (eds.) (1988) Die Welt der Etrusker. Archäologische Denkmäler aus Museen der sozialistischen Länder, Catalogue of the exhibition (Berlin, 1988). Berlin: Henschelverlag. Scheffer, C. (2006) “Sinister Birds and Other Unpleasant Etruscan Motifs”, in E. Herring et alii (eds.), Across Frontiers: Etruscans, Greeks, Phoenicians and Cypriots. Studies in Honour of David Ridgway and Francesca Romana Serra Ridgway, Accordia 6. London: Accordia Research Institute-University of London, 507-15. Serra Ridgway, F. R. (2010) Pithoi stampigliati ceretani: una classe originale di ceramica etrusca, ed. by L. C. Pieraccini. Studia Archaeologica 178. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Simon, E. (1974) Der thebanische Sagenkreis und andere griechische Sagen in der etruskischen Kunst. Mainz a. Rh.: von Zabern. Small, J. P. (2001) “Hats Off: The Entry of Tarquinius Priscus into Rome?”, Etruscan Studies 8, 131-51 (available online at: http://scholarworks.umass.edu/etruscan_studies/vol8/iss1/6). Sprenger, M. and Bartoloni, G. (1981) Etruschi. L’arte. Milan: Jaca Book. Steingräber, S. (2006) Abundance of Life. Etruscan Wall Painting. Los Angeles: The John Paul Getty Museum. Tassi Scandone, E. (2001) “ ‘Auspicium’ o ‘augurium Romuli’? Sul problema del rapporto tra ‘auspicium’ e ‘imperium’ ”, in Iuris vincula. Studi in onore di Mario Talamanca. Rome: Jovene, 151-96. Torelli, M. (1981) Storia degli Etruschi. Rome/Bari: Laterza. —. (ed.) (2000) Gli Etruschi, Catalogue of the Exhibition (Venice, 2000). Milan: Bompiani. van der Meer, L. B. (2011) Etrusco Ritu. Case studies in Etruscan ritual behaviour. Louvain/Walpole, MA: Peeters.

CHAPTER FIVE CONSTRUCTING HUMANS, SYMBOLISING THE GODS: THE CULTURAL VALUE OF THE GOAT IN GREEK RELIGION GIUSEPPINA PAOLA VISCARDI

1. Transition: sacrificing goats, fixing margins, watching human and political boundaries 1.1. Death of a parthenos and thusia of a goat: the power of Artemis over transitions According to Liliane Bodson, in the ancient world animals were perceived either as an incarnation of the sacred power emanating from the natural environment, or as the primordial link with nature and the Other: “L’‘autre vivant’ que l’homme découvrait à la fois si proche et si différent de lui est apparu, par le mystère de son comportement, comme le relais primordial et, d’abord, l’incarnation de la force sacrée confusément perçue dans le milieu naturel”.1 This has affected the religious attitude of men towards animals, which oscillates between trust and diffidence, assimilation and opposition, through different forms of symbolisation and identification. People tend to identify a god with an animal, 2 and to associate the economic and existential value of the animal with the power it has or had in the cultural context to which it belongs,3 through a dense * An early version of this essay was presented as a contribution to the Sixth Celtic Conference in Classics, in the Animals in the Greek and Roman Worlds Panel, held at the University of Edinburgh on 28-31 July 2010. 1 Bodson (1978) VI-VII. 2 See Gernet and Boulanger (1932). 3 See Durkheim (1912); Lévi-Strauss (1962).

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network of mythical representations and cultural attitudes. But people also tend to empathise with the animal, or even to explain the existence of many animal species from metamorphoses of heroes, who end their mythical lives by turning into animals. One interesting example of the complex relationship between men and animals is that of the goat, an animal widely attested in the ancient basin of the Mediterranean Sea, and associated with the symbols of death and regeneration. 4 I propose to analyse the goat within the Greek world, focusing, in particular, on its link with Artemis or Dionysus, as a divine hypostasis, or with Zeus and Athena, as an instrument of divine power. The sacrifice of the goat is extremely widespread as far as the rituals of Artemis are concerned,5 even though the goat is not a typical victim in Greek sacrifice,6 where “different rules applied in different sanctuaries for the choice of animal to be sacrificed”, and “wild animals were not normally allowed”.7 In those myths and rituals where the goat appears as a protagonist, the status of the goat as a nocturnal animal is clear, and so are its relationship with the impervious mountains and caves where it lives, the link with the pre-Demetrian vegetative cycle, 8 and the oscillation between domesticity and wildness: “Goats, who grazed in the mountains, represented marginal space and were considered marginal sacrificial animals; at Athens, goats were associated with the fringes of the community and were therefore banned from the Acropolis (see Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae 13.587a). Sacrifice of a goat, like acknowledgment of Artemis Agrotera, signified an unusual or dangerous situation”.9 The goat is less passive than the sheep, but more suitable than the deer or the roe deer to entertain a utilitarian and affectionate relationship with human beings.10 In this sense, one can say that the goat is connected with marginal space and with the overcoming of (physical or cultural) thresholds. Such aspects are typical of Artemis, with whom the goat shares the ambiguous condition of mediator between nature and culture. The notion of boundary is strictly related to the notion of death, meant as a passage from one condition to the other, and as a metaphor of change. In the mythical memory of the sacrifice of Iphigeneia in Aulis, the maiden daughter of Agamemnon is raised high above the altar, enwrapped in her 4

See Bodson (1978) 122-8. Cf. Higgins (1967) 52. Cf. Brelich (1969a) 255. 6 Cf. Vernant (1990) 127. 7 Pedley (2005) 80. 8 Cf. Lévêque (1985) 117-25. 9 Guettel Cole (2000) 479. 10 Cf. Detienne (1972) 63-6; Vernant (1990) 127. 5

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robes, and laid face-down ‘as if she were a young goat’ (įȓțĮȞ ȤȚȝĮȓȡĮȢ).11 In some myths, the image of the goat acquires meanings related to women’s fertility and to the uncontrolled sexual energy of the parthenos and the nymphe, and alludes to invincibility and death on the battlefield in the context of propitiatory rites performed before a battle. As regards the feminine, the goat represents the nymphe’s inclination to give in to sexual impulses, which threaten the gyne’s matrimonial norms. In this perspective, the sacrifice of a goat to Artemis can symbolise the consecration of a parthenos to the goddess: through her metaphorical death, 12 the maiden renounces the destabilising component of women’s nature. Just to give an example we can mention the ancient legend of Baros or Embaros, the father who sacrificed a goat in place of his own daughter (ǺȐȡȠȢ ਲ਼ ਯȝȕĮȡȠȢ ĮੇȖĮ ੪Ȣ IJ੽Ȟ șȣȖĮIJȑȡĮ ਩șȣıİȞ) to appease the wrath of the goddess, as one can read in the paroemiographical sources relating to the mythical origin of the Athenian proverb: ‘You are Embaros, that is to say prudent, wise’ (ਯȝȕĮȡȠȢ İੇ: IJȠȣIJȑıIJȚ ȞȠȣȞİȤȒȢ, ijȡȩȞȚȝȠȢ).13 Sphage and thusia of goats are usually connected with the immolation of a parthenos, and meant as a remedy to a dangerous situation, as atonement for a sin committed either by an individual or by the community, or as a propitiation of divine intervention.

1.2. Death of a pais horaios and sacrifice of substitution: the role of Dionysus Aigobolos At times, at the opposite end of alterity stands Dionysus, the god of Bacchic inebriation, who is entrusted with the initiatory transformation of the mystes. In the logos related to the foundation of the cult of Dionysus Aigobolos, the goat-shooter or goat-slayer, attested at Potniae in Boeotia, where there is the temple of Dionysus Aigobolos,14 Pausanias reminds us that ‘when they were sacrificing to the god, they [the mystai] grew so violent with wine (șȪȠȞIJİȢ IJ૶ șİ૶ ʌȡȠȒȤșȘıȐȞ ʌȠIJİ ਫ਼ʌઁ ȝȑșȘȢ ਥȢ ੢ȕȡȚȞ) that they actually killed the priest of Dionysus’; due to the sacrilege, a violent calamity (ȞȩıȠȢ ȜȠȚȝȫįȘȢ) struck the community; therefore, the 11

Aesch. Ag. 231-7. The theme of the death of the parthenos is inseparable from the courotrophic nature of the goddess, who has the power of life and death over the young for her specific role as huntress; cf. Marinatos (1998). 13 Pausanias Att. apud Eustathius, Comment. ad Homeri Iliadem 2.732; see, also, Photius, Lexicon 692 (Theodoridis); Suidas. s.v. ਯȝȕĮȡȩȢ İੁȝȚ; Appendix proverbiorum 2.54; Michael Apostolius 7.10. 14 See Hughes (1991) 141-3. 12

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oracle of Delphi ordered that a pais horaios, ‘a boy in the bloom of youth’, had to be sacrificed to Dionysus, but ‘a few years afterwards the god substituted a goat as a victim in place of the boy’ (਩IJİıȚ į੻ Ƞ੝ ʌȠȜȜȠ૙Ȣ ੢ıIJİȡȠȞ IJઁȞ șİȩȞ ijĮıȚȞ ĮੇȖĮ ੂİȡİ૙ȠȞ ਫ਼ʌĮȜȜȐȟĮȚ ıijȓıȚȞ ਕȞIJ੿ IJȠ૨ ʌĮȚįȩȢ).15 This episode mirrors the myth concerning the sacrifice of Iphigeneia in Aulis, where we find the typical scheme of the myth of foundation (transgression—punishment—atonement). However, the ways in which things happen here have bearing on a different dimension, the mysticalorgiastic one. Connected with such a dimension is hybris, evoked in the sacrilegious act carried out by Agamemnon (șȣIJ੽ȡ șȣȖĮIJȡȩȢ). 16 Blood, poured on the altar of the god in an excess of violence (੢ȕȡȚȢ) due to uncontrolled inebriation (ȝȑșȘ), allows hybris to return to the realm of the norm, which represents the basis of civic order. The god becomes Aigobolos when the life of the youth (ȞȑȠȢ) is offered to him.

1.3. Death on the battlefield and military power: sphage of goats to Artemis Agrotera In the cultural perspective of the polis, consecration (= țĮșȚȑȡȦıȚȢ) represents the telos, the final phase of the biological and political improvement of a citizen. Sacrifice underlines his social status and, at the same time, safeguards civic order. Every year, at Agrae, beyond the Ilissos river, where the temple extra muros of Artemis Agrotera, the goddess of the wilderness and the hunt, is situated, Athenians (whose ephebes begin their military service with a sacrifice to her) sacrifice five hundred goats to the goddess in order to commemorate the victory at Marathon.17 In Sparta, as in other Greek cities, a goat is sacrificed to Agrotera before the battle.18 ‘The arrangement made by Lycurgus with a view to the actual fighting (İੁȢ IJઁȞ ਥȞ ੖ʌȜȠȚȢ ਕȖ૵ȞĮ)’ 19 entails—unlike the thusiai, ‘burnt-offerings’ celebrated before the expedition or along the borders—a sphage, that is a sacrifice through throat-cutting, where the victim’s blood evokes the warriors’ bloodshed in the battle. 20 In all the previously mentioned examples, our sources refer to atypical conflicts, related to wars 15

Paus. 9.8.2 (trnsl. Jones and Omerod [1918]). Aesch. Ag. 224-5. With regard to the theme of the human sacrifice as a mythical device with the capacity to underline the symbolism of death inherent in the initiatory practices see Brelich (1969b) 203-7. 17 Xen. Anab. 3.2.12; see, also, Plut. Mor. 862B.10; Ael. VH 2.25.5. 18 Xen. Hell. 4.2.20. 19 Xen. Rep. Lacedaem. 13.8 (trnsl. Marchant and Bowersock [1925]). 20 Paus. 9.13.4; Plut. Lyc. 22. 16

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which were aimed at destroying a whole population or territory,21 as ‘when the Persians and their followers came with a vast array to blot Athens out of existence’, according to Xenophon’s evidence.22 Regardless of whether the victim is an individual or a whole community, the consecration of animals is carried out in order to avoid the danger of excessive bloodshed, to exorcise the threat, by directing it against the enemy. On a religious plane, such a possibility presupposes violation of the borders of what is permissible: the hybris which may replace episteme (skill) and sophia (wisdom, craft), virtues which—together with arms— should always characterise a good Greek soldier,23 is the same hybris the myth evokes through the violent murder of the maiden, which is symbolically associated with the sphagion, the offering by throat-cutting consecrated to Artemis before the battle. In this respect, as Guettel Cole remarks, Artemis was perceived as “a divinity associated with turning back an enemy’s attack, both in legend and in fact … At Athens, Artemis Agrotera was recognised as necessary to the ritual process that contributed to the formation of the male community … As Agrotera, Artemis represented the borderlands in need of military protection, inspiring the intense masculine passions male citizens required in order to transform themselves into the soldiers war compelled them to become”.24

2. Transgression: violating norms and subverting rules (between divine portents and human skill) 2.1. Hybris of the army and menos of soldiers: the Gorgon’s mask and the goatskin shield Moreover, in the critical moment before the attack, the sphage corresponds to the threshold that separates life from death, peace from the battle, but also the threshold which separates the hoplitic order from the fury of weapons. The warrior, possessed by menos (‘ferocity’), transfigured in his looks, his hair dishevelled, utters horrible cries resembling those of Athena Aigiochos (‘aegis bearer’, an epithet 21

See Ellinger (1993) 228-9, and id. (2009). Xen. Anab. 3.2.11 (trnsl. Brownson [1922]). 23 Hdt. 9.62.3: ȁȒȝĮIJȚ ȝȑȞ ȞȣȞ țĮ੿ ૧ȫȝૉ Ƞ੝ț ਸ਼ııȠȞİȢ ਷ıĮȞ Ƞੂ ȆȑȡıĮȚ, ਙȞȠʌȜȠȚ į੻ ਥȩȞIJİȢ țĮ੿ ʌȡઁȢ ਕȞİʌȚıIJȒȝȠȞİȢ ਷ıĮȞ țĮ੿ Ƞ੝ț ੖ȝȠȚȠȚ IJȠ૙ıȚ ਥȞĮȞIJȓȠȚıȚ ıȠijȓȘȞ, ‘Now the Persians were neither less valorous nor weaker, but they had no armor; moreover, since they were unskilled and no match for their adversaries in craft’; trnsl. Godley (1920). 24 Guettel Cole (2000) 477-8. Also Vernant (1991) 44-57; 195-206. 22

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qualifying both Zeus and Athena). He takes on the aspect of a Gorgonic mask. Beginning with Homer, ‘the head of the dread monster, the Gorgon’ (īȠȡȖİȓȘ țİijĮȜ੽ įİȚȞȠ૙Ƞ ʌİȜȫȡȠȣ), ‘a portent of Zeus that beareth the aegis’ (ǻȚઁȢ IJȑȡĮȢ ĮੁȖȚȩȤȠȚȠ), appears at the centre of Athena’s aegis, ‘the tasselled aegis fraught with terror’ (ĮੁȖȓįĮ șȣııĮȞȩİııĮȞ įİȚȞȒȞ), ‘all about which Rout is set as a crown, and therein is Strife, therein Valor, and therein Onset, that maketh the blood run cold’, 25 or on Agamemnon’s shield, upon which ‘was set as a crown the Gorgon, grim of aspect, glaring terribly’ (īȠȡȖઅ ȕȜȠıȣȡ૵ʌȚȢ ਥıIJİijȐȞȦIJȠ įİȚȞઁȞ įİȡțȠȝȑȞȘ). 26 The Gorgon’s presence is evoked by the image of Hector, who, with ‘Gorgon’s eyes’ (īȠȡȖȠ૨Ȣ ੕ȝȝĮIJ’ ਩ȤȦȞ),27 scatters death and panic on the battlefield, moving his horse in every direction. The Gorgon’s face symbolises terror as a dimension of the superhuman, as the effect of estrangement, one which is due to her manifestation as prodigy (IJȑȡĮȢ=lat. monstrum), monster (ʌȑȜȦȡ), head (țİijĮȜȒ) terrifying and awful to behold (įİȚȞȒ IJİ ıȝİȡįȞȒ).

2.2. The goat and the hurricane: the cultural meanings of aegis and kataigis The otherness marked by the Gorgon’s face erases the boundaries between permissible and impermissible, shifting everything back to the primordial chaos, and signalling the danger that some great energeia (=force) might overflow, violating the norm and causing a metaphorical storm (ĮੁȖ੿Ȣ=țĮIJĮȚȖȓȢ, i.e., ‘hurricane’).28 This release of stormy energy is implied in the common etymology of aix, aigis, and kataigis.29 The short 25

Hom. Il. 5.733-42 (trnsl. Murray [1924]). Hom. Il. 11.36-8. 27 Hom. Il. 8.348. 28 Hesych. s.v. ĮੁȖȓȢ: ੑȟİ૙Į ʌȞȠȒ țĮ੿ ਴Ȟ Įੂ ȁȓȕȣııĮȚ ijȠȡȠ૨ıȚ įȠȡȐȞ (Hdt. 4.189) țĮ੿ ਲ ਕʌȩıIJȚȜȥȚȢ IJ૵Ȟ ੑȝȝȐIJȦȞ (‘Sharp blast, and the hide which is held by the Libyan women, and the emission of light in (or by) the eyes’); see, also, Suidas s.v. ǹੇȖİȢ: IJ੹ ȝİȖȐȜĮ țȪȝĮIJĮ ਥȞ IJૌ ıȣȞȘșİȓ઺. țĮ੿ ਥʌĮȚȖȓȗȦ ਥʌ੿ IJȠ૨ ıijȠįȡ૵Ȣ ʌȞȑȦ. IJȠ૨ ਕıIJȑȡȠȢ IJોȢ ĮੁȖઁȢ ȜȐȝȥĮȞIJȠȢ ıijȠįȡȠ੿ ʌȞȑȠȣıȚȞ ਙȞİȝȠȚ, ਩ȞșİȞ IJઁ ȜȐȕȡȠȢ ਥʌĮȚȖȓȗȦȞ. țĮ੿ IJઁ ijȠȕİȡȫIJĮIJȠȞ (‘Large waves, in the common tongue. Also ‘rush upon’—twice in Homer of a ‘stormy wind’: I go-at up—in place of ‘I blow forcefully’. When the star of the goat shines the winds blow forcefully, hence the [phrase]: ‘huge rushing upon (wild goating up)’. And ‘Aegaean Sea’, the most fearful one’). 29 See Liddell and Scott (1996) s.v. ĮੁȖȓȢ, ȓįȠȢ, (Į૕ȟ, cf. ȞİȕȡȓȢ); s.v. țĮIJĮȚȖȓȢ, ȓįȠȢ; s.v. țĮIJĮȚȖȓȗȦ. A) ĮੁȖȓȢ: ‘goatskin’, 1. worn as a dress [Hdt. 4.189; Eur. Cycl. 360]; 26

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armor made of goat’s skin worn by Athena and copied by the Greeks from the cloaks of Libyan women30 is also associated with the storm cloud that accumulates around the head of Zeus Aigiochos (aegis-bearing), the ‘cloud-gathering god’ (ĮੁȖȓȠȤȠȢ ǽİȪȢ ȞİijİȜȘȖİȡȑIJȘȢ).31 When Zeus shakes the aigis to generate a sound and dreadful thunder, he produces an effect similar to that of the Gorgon’s head.

2.3. War and craftiness: the prodigies of Artemis and the trick of Dionysus Melanaigis A similar effect appears in those war contexts where Artemis intervenes, not as a fighting goddess, but as a ‘guide’ and ‘tutelary deity’, Hegemone and Soteira. 32 In such contexts, the goddess acts mostly at night, through brilliant epiphanies, hence her epithet Phosphoros, ‘lightbringer’; and she is the protagonist of terata, ‘portents’ or ‘prodigies’, aiming to subvert the normal rules of fighting, so that war becomes sophisma, ‘ingenious contrivance’, and apate, ‘trick, deceit’.33 2. hence, especially the skin shield of Zeus [Hom. Il. 5.738]; lent by him to Athena [Il. 2.447]; to Apollo [Il. 15.318]; 3. later, with fringe of snakes and Gorgon’s head, the aegis of Athena [Aesch. Eum. 404; etc.] dress worn by priestess of Athena [Lyc. fr. 23.], ornament worn on the breast [Poll. Onom. 5.100]; 4. rushing storm, hurricane, terrible as the shaken aegis [Aesch. Ch. 593; Pherecr. fr. 117 Kock; etc.] = țĮIJĮȚȖȓȢ. B) țĮIJĮȚȖȓȢ: ‘squall descending from above, hurricane’ [Democr. fr. 14 Diels; Arist. De Mundo 395a.5; Anthol. Gr. 7.273 (Leonidas); etc.]; metaph., of ‘gusts of passion’ [Philod. Herculanensii volumina. Collectio altera 1251.6]; of ‘battles’ [Tzetzes, Historiarum variarum chiliades 1.984]. C) țĮIJĮȚȖȓȗȦ: ‘rush down like a storm’ [ʌȡ੿Ȟ țĮIJĮȚȖȓıĮȚ ʌȞȠ੹Ȣ ਡȡİȦȢ: Aesch. Sept. 63; cf. Strabo 16.4.5; etc.]; ıIJȡȩȝȕȠȢ țĮIJĮȚȖȓȗȦȞ: ‘a rushing roaring sound’ [Aesch. fr.195 Nauck; ਥțȞİijȓĮȢ țĮIJĮȚȖȓıĮȢ ਥȢ IJ੽Ȟ ਕȖȠȡȐȞ; etc.]; of the sea [Anth. Gr. 10.16.9 (Theaetetus)]: metaph., of ‘pain and sickness’ [Ps.-Hipp. De Morbo Sacro 3.7]. 30 Hdt. 4.189. 31 Hes. Op. 99: ĮੁȖȚȩȤȠȣ ȕȠȣȜૌıȚ ǻȚઁȢ ȞİijİȜȘȖİȡȑIJĮȠ, ‘by the will of Aegisholding Zeus who gathers the clouds’. 32 The close link existing between the mask of the Gorgo and the iniatory ritualism inherent into the cults of Artemis is testified to by the votive masks found at the sanctuary of the Ortheia; cf. Burkert (1977) 226, 301. 33 At Athens, Artemis Phosphoros was included among the divinities named in official prayers of the governing bodies of the polis; cf. Guettel Cole (2000) 480. From this, one obtains some insight into the political role of Artemis as guarantor of the safety and the democracy of the polis on the basis of the equation phaos= salvation (the light, being a sign of the divine manifestation, becomes its symbol as well); cf. Zografou (2005) 538-40.

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Pausanias tells us that, when a hostile army of Sicyonians was about to invade their territory, the inhabitants of the ancient city of Hyperesia (as it was called by Homer), 34 situated in the northwestern part of the Peloponnese, as they thought themselves no match for the Sicyonians, collected all the goats they had in their country, and after gathering them together tied torches to their horns. When the night was far advanced, they set the torches alight, thus creating the illusion that the army was twice its actual size. Suspecting that allies were coming to the help of the Hyperesians, and that the flames came from their fires, the Sicyonians deserted their positions and went home. Ever since, the city of Hyperesia has been known by the name of Aigeira, because of the salvation obtained thanks to the intervention of the goats (੥ʌİȡȘıȚİ૙Ȣ į੻ IJૌ IJİ ʌȩȜİȚ IJઁ ੕ȞȠȝĮ IJઁ Ȟ૨Ȟ ȝİIJȑșİȞIJȠ ਕʌઁ IJ૵Ȟ ĮੁȖ૵Ȟ); and where ‘the most beautiful goat, which led the others’ (ਲ țĮȜȜȓıIJȘ țĮ੿ ਲȖȠȣȝȑȞȘ IJ૵Ȟ ਙȜȜȦȞ), crouched down, the Hyperesians consecrated a shrine to Artemis Agrotera, since such a prodigy could only be considered a sophisma of the goddess.35 In the foundation myth of the Apatouria festival, by which the Athenians celebrated the enrolment of the young ephebes at the age of sixteen into the phratries (political sub-division of the tribes),36 it is said that, once upon a time, a disagreement arose over the border between the 34

Hom. Il. 2.573. Paus. 7.26.1-3. See Guettel Cole (2000) 479: “During battle, Artemis Agrotera inspired soldiers at critical moment, who sometimes claimed to be marked by the appearance of the goddess herself. Dramatic epiphany of the goddess, described as accompanied by a flash of light, was associated with the moment of crisis or the turning point of battle”. A similar trick was narrated about the origin of Aigai’s name (Cilicia), with connections with Aigai in Macedonia. On those legends, see Robert (1983) 497-9. In regard to the etymological origin of the name “Aigai”, also see the recent article by Fischer-Bossert (2007) 23-30: “Many of the Greek cities whose name begins with the initial syllable Aig- struck coins with a goat, using the goat, aix, as a canting badge. As in other cases, scholars willingly embraced the implied attribution, without asking why the Greeks had adopted the convention in question. For some time there has been a challenge to the attribution to Aigai in Macedonia of certain Late Archaic Macedonian staters showing a goat. In other cases, the “goat badges” are certainly authentic. It is argued that this canting badge is derived from popular etymology, leading from the 4th century BCE to some fanciful historical aetiologies. The syllable aig- has nothing to do with goats but with the geographical position of the cities concerned, which were all situated in coastal regions. They were to keep the name even if for some reason they were moved inland, and newly founded cities could use the traditional name without being on the coast”. 36 See Labarbe (1953); Brelich (1961) 55-60; Vidal-Naquet (1981) 102-66. 35

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states of Athens and Boeotia, in the region called Melainai, or the Black Lands. At that time, the Boeotian king was named Xanthos, the Pale Man. The Athenian king, last in the line of the great hero Theseus, was named Thymoites. Instead of a battle between armies, the Athenians and Boeotians agreed to settle the border dispute through a duel between their two kings. The Boeotians were pleased, because Thymoites was old and was likely to lose to the younger Xanthos. But, at the last minute, Thymoites was replaced by the young hero Melanthos, the Dark Man, fighting with the Athenians. The Boeotians protested that Melanthos was not the king of Athens, but the Athenians said that if Melanthos won, he would become king in the place of Thymoites. So the duel began between the Pale one and the Dark one, but Melanthos was too young and not strong enough to defeat Xanthos. They fought and Xanthos began to tire Melanthos. Suddenly, as Xanthos moved in for the killing stroke, Melanthos had an idea and sprang aside from Xanthos’ blow, saying: “Xanthos, you don’t fight according to the rules, you have an ally by your side!” Xanthos then turned to look, giving Melanthos just enough time to hit him from the back. Thus, thanks to Melanthos’ trick (ਕʌȐIJȘ), the Athenians won and the young hero became king of Athens.37 According to other versions of the myth, a shadowy figure wearing a gown of black goatskin really had appeared behind Xanthos.38 If this were so, it would seem that the victory of Melanthos was due not to some human stratagem, but to direct intervention by Dionysus, the god famous for his trickery, as suggested by the epithet Melanaigis.39 The appearance of the god in the contest, just like the portents of Artemis in the clash between Hyperesians and Sicyonians at Aigeira, resolved the dispute and established the tradition.40

3. Foundation: establishing the order and defining the identity (wearing the goat-skin) 3.1. The myth of the Amalthean Goat: unveiling the twofold nature of the deity Also of note is the version of the myth that seeks to explain the origin of the epithet aigiochos, attributing it to Musaios. The story is part of a 37

Hellanicus FGrH 4 F125. Michael Apostolius 3.31. 39 Suidas s.v. ਝʌĮIJȠȪȡȚĮ. 40 See Spineto (2008) 63-4. 38

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Hellenistic myth told by Eratosthenes in regard to the catasterismos of the goat Amaltheia.41 In this myth, the child Zeus is entrusted by Rhea (the Great Mother from Crete) to Themis (that which is laid down or established by custom), and then by Themis to Amaltheia, so that he may be brought up away from Cronos. Thus, Zeus is nourished with the milk of the goat Amaltheia (Helios’ daughter) which was hidden nearby in one of the caves of Crete because it was dreadful to look at.42 Reaching manhood (ਥȜșȩȞIJȠȢ IJȠ૨ ʌĮȚįઁȢ İੁȢ ਲȜȚțȓĮȞ), Zeus has to fight the Titans, but he is short of weapons, so he wears Amaltheia’s skin (Ƞ੝ț ਩ȤȠȞIJȠȢ ੖ʌȜĮ, șİıʌȚıșોȞĮȚ Į੝IJ૶ IJોȢ ĮੁȖઁȢ IJૌ įȠȡઽ ੖ʌȜ૳ ȤȡȒıĮıșĮȚ) which renders him invulnerable and inspires fear (įȚȐ IJİ IJઁ ਙIJȡȦIJȠȞ Į੝IJોȢ țĮ੿ ijȠȕİȡઁȞ) ‘because it has the Gorgon’s countenance in the middle of the lower part of its back’ (įȚ੹ IJઁ İੁȢ ȝȑıȘȞ IJ੽Ȟ ૧ȐȤȚȞ īȠȡȖȩȞȠȢ ʌȡȩıȦʌȠȞ ਩ȤİȚȞ), and he uses it as a weapon. By means of this device (techne) the god appears to be ‘twofold’ or ‘double’, diplasion (later form for diplasios: ǻȚઁȢ IJૌ IJȑȤȞૉ ijĮȞȑȞIJȠȢ įȚʌȜĮıȓȠȞȠȢ). Zeus defeated the Titans, and in the aftermath of his victory covered the bones of the goat with a new skin, and changed it into a constellation.

3.2. The goat as a tool to implement the god’s sovereignty The Amalthean Goat nourishes the baby Zeus (ਕȝĮȜșİȪİȚȞ=IJȡȑijİȚȞ),43 and becomes a reliable ally later on, when Zeus has reached adulthood. Goat’s milk is nourishing, the goatskin functions as a weapon of war, protecting him from foes and helping to defeat them (ĮੁȖ੿Ȣ=੖ʌȜȠȞ):44 the goat’s monstrous appearance spreads panic and fear, the goat’s family relationship with Helios Hyperionides conjures up magical and therapeutic skills, similar to those of the pharmakides, or Thessalian sorceresses, the Sun-god’s daughters or descendants, such as Pasiphae, Circe, Medea. 41

Ps.-Eratosth. Catasterismoi 1.13.23-41; cf. Ps.-Hyg. Astronomica 2.13. On the quoted source see the comments in Colli (20054) 315-7. 42 As regards the monstrous appearance of the goat also see the example of Chimaira, the fire-breathing hybrid monster (Hom. Il. 6.179; 16.328 and Hes. Theog. 319; etc.), whose name, ȤȓȝĮȚȡĮ, means “young goat”. 43 Hesych. s.v. ਕȝĮȜșİȪİȚǜ ʌȜȘșȪȞİȚ, ʌȜȠȣIJȓȗİȚ, ‘makes multiple and wealthy’, ‘enriches’; Photius. Lexicon s.v. ਕȝĮȜșİȪİȚȞǜ ਕȞIJ੿ IJȠ૨ IJȡȑijİȚȞ, ‘in the place of cause to grow’, or ‘increase, bring up, rear’; Etymologicum Magnum 76.40: ਕȝĮȜșİȪıİȚ: ʌȜȒșİȚ Į੡ȟİȚ, ‘will increase quantity or number’. 44 Hesych. s.v. ǹੁȖȓȠȤȠȢǜ ĮੁȖȚįȠ૨ȤȠȢ, ੒ IJ੽Ȟ ĮੁȖȓįĮ ਩ȤȦȞ. ĮੁȖ੿Ȣ į੻ ੖ʌȜȠȞ, ‘aegisbearer, who holds the goatskin; goatskin is the tool’ (implement of war, arms, and armour).

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Zeus’s disguising himself with the goat-skin is authentic magic, revealing techne, artistic cunning comparable to the sophismata of Artemis. This skill in deception, exposing the duplicity of the god, the moral ambiguity of his actions, is something like a foundational act of Zeus’ new cosmic order. In sum, the goat in the classical tradition is present in a variety of ritual and religious contexts. It is part of foundational mythology, and it is used as a medium between men and gods in the context of sacrificial practices of propitiation or atonement. The goat-skin, moreover, is a theriomorphic disguise of human beings or as a gown worn by the deity. In all these cases, the goat is tied to the cultural symbolism of alterity, against which the social man needs to fight in order to define his own identity. 45 As embodiment of the ‘other’, then, the goat is associated with Artemis and Dionysus, traditionally regarded as deities of the margins (or of otherness),46 but it also exhibits the qualities of Zeus, the Olympian ruler, and his daughter Athena, the goddess of the metis, who both in turn assimilate the essence of the animal when they wear the goatskin.

3.3. The techne of Zeus diplasion: a comparison with the myth of the Promethean sacrifice With respect to the skin, in particular, it is also worth remembering the sacrifice of Prometheus as reported in Hesiod: … for when the gods and mortal men had a dispute at Mecone, even then Prometheus was forward to cut up a great ox and set portions before them, trying to befool the mind of Zeus (ǻȚઁȢ ȞȩȠȢ). Before the rest he set flesh and inner parts thick with fat upon the hide (૧૖ȞȩȢ), covering them with an ox paunch; but for Zeus he put the white bones dressed up with cunning art (įȩȜȚĮ IJȑȤȞȘ) and covered (țĮȜȪȥĮȢ) with shining fat.47

The skin shares the same function as the fat, a container which conceals the real nature of what it contains: on the one hand, the nourishing but perishable meat is reserved for the men; on the other, the white bones are destined for the gods, to whom the smoke coming from the bones burnt on the sacred altars is consecrated. Dora, the hide of beasts (the skin when taken off the carcass), such as rhinos or ox-hide, becomes a kind of phroura, something that guards and protects what is 45

In this respect see Vernant (1985) 28-30. Cf. Ellinger (1978) 7-10; Frontisi-Ducroux and Vernant (1983) 68. 47 Hes. Theog. 535-41 (trnsl. Evelyn-White [1936]). 46

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hidden under the skin. Metaphorically, wearing another skin, that is, changing skin, involves a transformation, a change, a process of becoming something else other than oneself. Thus Zeus’ or Athena’s use of the goatskin (and Dionysus’ as well, in the Apatouria) entails the act of dealing with alterity, thereby defining (delineating and delimiting ) one’s own identity. This may begin to explain the association between the aigis melaina of Dionysus Melanaigis in Athens and the mythical conflict between Melanthos and Xanthos, which is traditionally linked to the historical moment of delineation of territorial boundaries between Attica and Boeotia (around 508 BCE). The skin of Amalthea, used by Zeus as a gown of empowerment in the battle against the Titans belongs to a similar context, as does as does the aigis worn by Athena—the goddess born from the head of her father after Zeus had swallowed Metis —and therefore conceived as the goddess of war, but also as the goddess of metis. 48 Finally, war and metis are both associated with the goat, whose sacrifice is carried out by the Greeks as propitiation prior to battles, as a way to exorcise fears, both on and off the battlefield, as an accompaniment to the initiatory passage from the pre-political dimension to the civilised dimension of the polis, and as a way of defining oneself in relation to the city one lives in, and the social groups to which one belongs.

Selected Sources A. CONSECRATION OF THE PARTHENOS TO ARTEMIS A.1. IPHIGENEIA’S SACRIFICE AT AULIS Aeschylus, Agamemnon 231-7 ijȡȐıİȞ į' ਕȩȗȠȚȢ ʌĮIJ੽ȡ ȝİIJ' İ੝Ȥ੹Ȟ įȓțĮȞ ȤȚȝĮȓȡĮȢ ੢ʌİȡșİ ȕȦȝȠ૨ ʌȑʌȜȠȚıȚ ʌİȡȚʌİIJો ʌĮȞIJ੿ șȣȝ૶ ʌȡȠȞȦʌો ȜĮȕİ૙Ȟ ਕȑȡįȘȞ, ıIJȩȝĮIJȩȢ IJİ țĮȜȜȚʌȡ૴ȡȠȣ ijȣȜĮțઽ țĮIJĮıȤİ૙Ȟ ijșȩȖȖȠȞ ਕȡĮ૙ȠȞ Ƞ੅țȠȚȢ. Her father, after a prayer, bade his ministers lay hold of her as, enwrapped in her robes, she lay fallen forward, and with stout heart to raise her, as if she were a young goat, high above the altar; and with a gag upon her lovely mouth to hold

48

On the metis of the god see Detienne and Vernant (1974) 102-8.

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back the shouted curse against her house—by the bit’s strong and stifling might. (trnsl. Smyth [1926]).

A.2. THE EMBAROS’ TALE AT MOUNYCHIA/PIRAEUS Pausanias Atticista apud Eust. Comment. ad Homeri Iliadem 2.732 ੒ į' Į੝IJઁȢ ȆĮȣıĮȞȓĮȢ ੂıIJȠȡİ૙ țĮȓ IJȚȞĮ ਯȝȕĮȡȠȞ ਥʌ੿ İ੝Ȥૌ ıȠijȓıĮıșĮȚ. ੂįȡȪıĮIJȠ ȖȐȡ, ijȘıȓ, ȂȠȣȞȣȤȓĮȢ ਝȡIJȑȝȚįȠȢ ੂİȡȩȞ. ਙȡțIJȠȣ į੻ ȖİȞȠȝȑȞȘȢ ਥȞ Į੝IJ૶ țĮ੿ ਫ਼ʌઁ ਝșȘȞĮȓȦȞ ਕȞĮȚȡİșİȓıȘȢ ȜȠȚȝઁȢ ਥʌİȖȑȞİIJȠ, Ƞ੤ ਕʌĮȜȜĮȖ੽Ȟ ੒ șİઁȢ ਥȤȡȘıȝ૴įȘıİȞ, İ੅ IJȚȢ IJ੽Ȟ șȣȖĮIJȑȡĮ șȪıİȚ IJૌ ਝȡIJȑȝȚįȚ. ǺȐȡȠȢ į੻ ਲ਼ ਯȝȕĮȡȠȢ ਫ਼ʌȠıȤȩȝİȞȠȢ Ƞ੢IJȦ ʌȠȚȒıİȚȞ ਥʌ੿ IJ૶ IJ੽Ȟ ੂİȡȦıȪȞȘȞ IJઁ ȖȑȞȠȢ Į੝IJȠ૨ įȚ੹ ȕȓȠȣ ਩ȤİȚȞ, įȚĮțȠıȝȒıĮȢ IJ੽Ȟ șȣȖĮIJȑȡĮ, Į੝IJ੽Ȟ ȝ੻Ȟ ਕʌȑțȡȣȥİȞ ਥȞ IJ૶ ਕįȪIJ૳, ĮੇȖĮ į੻ ਥıșોIJȚ țȠıȝȒıĮȢ ੪Ȣ IJ੽Ȟ șȣȖĮIJȑȡĮ ਩șȣıİȞ. ੖șİȞ İੁȢ ʌĮȡȠȚȝȓĮȞ, ijȘıȓ, ʌİȡȚȑıIJȘ «ਯȝȕĮȡȠȢ İੇ», IJȠȣIJȑıIJȚ ȞȠȣȞİȤȒȢ, ijȡȩȞȚȝȠȢ. Pausanias Atticistas also says that Embaros acted shrewdly about such a vote. After you have built, they say, a temple to Artemis Munichia, come to this event and being a bear was killed by the Athenians, a plague broke out, of which the oracle foretold the dissolution, if someone had sacrificed his daughter to Artemis, and Baros or Embaros, after promising that it would act accordingly in exchange for the life time priesthood for his genos, prepared his own daughter (for the sacrifice), but hid her in the innermost part of the sanctuary (adyton). Then, he adorned a goat with a robe and sacrificed it in place of (as if it were) the daughter. From this—Pausanias says—it comes the proverb: “You’re Embaros”, that is to say prudent, wise. (trnsl. by author).

B. THE CONSECRATION OF THE PAIS HORAIOS TO DIONYSUS AIGOBOLOS Pausanias 9.8.2 ਥȞIJĮ૨șĮ țĮ੿ ǻȚȠȞȪıȠȣ ȞĮȩȢ ਥıIJȚȞ ǹੁȖȠȕȩȜȠȣ. șȪȠȞIJİȢ Ȗ੹ȡ IJ૶ șİ૶ ʌȡȠȒȤșȘıȐȞ ʌȠIJİ ਫ਼ʌઁ ȝȑșȘȢ ਥȢ ੢ȕȡȚȞ, ੮ıIJİ țĮ੿ IJȠ૨ ǻȚȠȞȪıȠȣ IJઁȞ ੂİȡȑĮ ਕʌȠțIJİȓȞȠȣıȚȞǜ ਕʌȠțIJİȓȞĮȞIJĮȢ į੻ Į੝IJȓțĮ ਥʌȑȜĮȕİ ȞȩıȠȢ ȜȠȚȝȫįȘȢ, țĮȓ ıijȚıȚȞ ਕijȓțİIJȠ ੅ĮȝĮ ਥț ǻİȜij૵Ȟ IJ૶ ǻȚȠȞȪı૳ șȪİȚȞ ʌĮ૙įĮ ੪ȡĮ૙ȠȞǜ ਩IJİıȚ į੻ Ƞ੝ ʌȠȜȜȠ૙Ȣ ੢ıIJİȡȠȞ IJઁȞ șİȩȞ ijĮıȚȞ ĮੇȖĮ ੂİȡİ૙ȠȞ ਫ਼ʌĮȜȜȐȟĮȚ ıijȓıȚȞ ਕȞIJ੿ IJȠ૨ ʌĮȚįȩȢ. Here (at Potniae) there is also a temple of Dionysus Goat-shooter. For once, when they were sacrificing to the god, they grew so violent with wine that they actually killed the priest of Dionysus. Immediately after the murder they were visited by a pestilence, and the Delphic oracle said that to cure it they must sacrifice a boy in the bloom of youth. A few years afterwards, so they say, the god substituted a goat as a victim in place of their boy. In Potniae is also shown a well. The mares of the country are said on drinking this water to become mad. (trnsl. Jones and Omerod [1918]).

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C. GOAT’S SACRIFICE TO ARTEMIS AGROTERA AT ATHENS Xenophon, Anabasis 3.2.11-12 ਥȜșȩȞIJȦȞ ȝ੻Ȟ Ȗ੹ȡ Ȇİȡı૵Ȟ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ıઃȞ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌĮȝʌȜȘșİ૙ ıIJȩȜ૳ ੪Ȣ ਕijĮȞȚȠȪȞIJȦȞ IJ੹Ȣ ਝșȒȞĮȢ, ਫ਼ʌȠıIJોȞĮȚ Į੝IJȠ੿ ਝșȘȞĮ૙ȠȚ IJȠȜȝȒıĮȞIJİȢ ਥȞȓțȘıĮȞ Į੝IJȠȪȢ. țĮ੿ İ੝ȟȐȝİȞȠȚ IJૌ ਝȡIJȑȝȚįȚ ੒ʌȩıȠȣȢ țĮIJĮțȐȞȠȚİȞ IJ૵Ȟ ʌȠȜİȝȓȦȞ IJȠıĮȪIJĮȢ ȤȚȝĮȓȡĮȢ țĮIJĮșȪıİȚȞ IJૌ șİ૶, ਥʌİ੿ Ƞ੝ț İੇȤȠȞ ੂțĮȞ੹Ȣ İਫ਼ȡİ૙Ȟ, ਩įȠȟİȞ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ țĮIJ’ ਥȞȚĮȣIJઁȞ ʌİȞIJĮțȠıȓĮȢ șȪİȚȞ, țĮ੿ ਩IJȚ Ȟ૨Ȟ ਕʌȠșȪȠȣıȚȞ. For when the Persians and their followers came with a vast array to blot Athens out of existence, the Athenians dared, unaided, to withstand them, and won the victory And while they had vowed to Artemis that for every man they might slay of the enemy they would sacrifice a goat to the goddess, they were unable to find goats enough; so they resolved to offer five hundred every year, and this sacrifice they are paying even to this day. (trnsl. Brownson [1922]). Plutarch, De Herodoti malignitate 862B.10 ਝʌĮȖȖİȓȜĮȢ į੻ IJ੽Ȟ ਥȞ ȂĮȡĮș૵ȞȚ ȝȐȤȘȞ ੒ ਺ȡȩįȠIJȠȢ *** ੪Ȣ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞੂ ʌȜİ૙ıIJȠȚ ȜȑȖȠȣıȚ, țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ Ȟİțȡ૵Ȟ IJ૶ ਕȡȚșȝ૶ țĮșİ૙Ȝİ IJȠ੡ȡȖȠȞ. İ੝ȟĮȝȑȞȠȣȢ ȖȐȡ ijĮıȚ IJȠઃȢ ਝșȘȞĮȓȠȣȢ IJૌ ਝȖȡȠIJȑȡ઺ șȪıİȚȞ ȤȚȝȐȡȠȣȢ ੖ıȠȣȢ ਗȞ IJ૵Ȟ ȕĮȡȕȐȡȦȞ țĮIJĮȕȐȜȦıȚȞ, İੇIJĮ ȝİIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ȝȐȤȘȞ, ਕȞĮȡȓșȝȠȣ ʌȜȒșȠȣȢ IJ૵Ȟ Ȟİțȡ૵Ȟ ਕȞĮijĮȞȑȞIJȠȢ, ʌĮȡĮȚIJİ૙ıșĮȚ ȥȘijȓıȝĮIJȚ IJ੽Ȟ șİȩȞ, ੖ʌȦȢ țĮș' ਪțĮıIJȠȞ ਥȞȚĮȣIJઁȞ ਕʌȠșȪȦıȚ ʌİȞIJĮțȠıȓĮȢ IJ૵Ȟ ȤȚȝȐȡȦȞ. Moreover Herodotus, as many say, has in relating the fight at Marathon derogated from the credit of it, by the number he sets down of the slain. For it is said that the Athenians made a vow to sacrifice so many kids to Artemis Agrotera, as they should kill barbarians; but that after the fight, the number of the dead appearing infinite, they appeased the Goddess by making a decree to immolate five hundred to her every year. (trnsl. Goodwin [1874]). Aelian, Varia Historia 2.25.5 ਝșȘȞĮ૙ȠȚ į੻ IJૌ ਝȖȡȠIJȑȡ઺ ਕʌȠșȪȠȣıȚ IJ੹Ȣ ȤȚȝĮȓȡĮȢ IJ੹Ȣ IJȡȚĮțȠıȓĮȢ. The Athenians offer up as a votive sacrifice three hundred goats to Agrotera.

D. GOAT’S SACRIFICE TO ARTEMIS AGROTERA AT SPARTA Xenophon, Hellenica 4.2.20 Ƞ੝țȑIJȚ į੻ ıIJȐįȚȠȞ ਕʌİȤȩȞIJȦȞ, ıijĮȖȚĮıȐȝİȞȠȚ Ƞੂ ȁĮțİįĮȚȝȩȞȚȠȚ IJૌ ਝȖȡȠIJȑȡ઺, ੮ıʌİȡ ȞȠȝȓȗİIJĮȚ, IJ੽Ȟ ȤȓȝĮȚȡĮȞ, ਲȖȠ૨ȞIJȠ ਥʌ੿ IJȠઃȢ ਥȞĮȞIJȓȠȣȢ, IJઁ ਫ਼ʌİȡȑȤȠȞ ਥʌȚțȐȝȥĮȞIJİȢ İੁȢ țȪțȜȦıȚȞ. ਥʌİ੿ į੻ ıȣȞȑȝİȚȟĮȞ, Ƞੂ ȝ੻Ȟ ਙȜȜȠȚ ıȪȝȝĮȤȠȚ ʌȐȞIJİȢ Ƞੂ IJ૵Ȟ ȁĮțİįĮȚȝȠȞȓȦȞ ਥțȡĮIJȒșȘıĮȞ ਫ਼ʌઁ IJ૵Ȟ ਥȞĮȞIJȓȦȞ, ȆİȜȜȘȞİ૙Ȣ į੻ țĮIJ੹ ĬİıʌȚȑĮȢ ȖİȞȩȝİȞȠȚ ਥȝȐȤȠȞIJȩ IJİ țĮ੿ ਥȞ Ȥȫȡ઺ ਩ʌȚʌIJȠȞ ਦțĮIJȑȡȦȞ.

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And when the armies were now not so much as a stadium apart, the Lacedaemonians sacrificed the goat to Artemis Agrotera (Goddess of the chase), as is their custom, and led the charge upon their adversaries, wheeling round their overlapping wing in order to surround them. When they had come to close encounter, all the allies of the Lacedaemonians were overcome by their adversaries except the men of Pellene, who, being pitted against the Thespians, fought and fell in their places—as did also many of the other side. (trnsl. Brownson [1918-21]). Xenophon, Constitution of the Lacedaemonians 13.8 ȝȐȜĮ į੻ țĮ੿ IJȐįİ ੩ijȑȜȚȝĮ, ੪Ȣ ਥȝȠ੿ įȠțİ૙, ਥȝȘȤĮȞȒıĮIJȠ ȁȣțȠ૨ȡȖȠȢ İੁȢ IJઁȞ ਥȞ ੖ʌȜȠȚȢ ਕȖ૵ȞĮ. ੖IJĮȞ Ȗ੹ȡ ੒ȡȫȞIJȦȞ ਵįȘ IJ૵Ȟ ʌȠȜİȝȓȦȞ ȤȓȝĮȚȡĮ ıijĮȖȚȐȗȘIJĮȚ, Į੝Ȝİ૙Ȟ IJİ ʌȐȞIJĮȢ IJȠઃȢ ʌĮȡȩȞIJĮȢ Į੝ȜȘIJ੹Ȣ ȞȩȝȠȢ țĮ੿ ȝȘįȑȞĮ ȁĮțİįĮȚȝȠȞȓȦȞ ਕıIJİijȐȞȦIJȠȞ İੇȞĮȚǜ țĮ੿ ੖ʌȜĮ į੻ ȜĮȝʌȡȪȞİıșĮȚ ʌȡȠĮȖȠȡİȪİIJĮȚ. ਩ȟİıIJȚ į੻ IJ૶ Ȟȑ૳ țĮ੿ țİȤȡȚȝȑȞ૳ İੁȢ ȝȐȤȘȞ ıȣȞȚȑȞĮȚ țĮ੿ ijĮȚįȡઁȞ İੇȞĮȚ țĮ੿ İ੝įȩțȚȝȠȞ. The following arrangements made by Lycurgus with a view to the actual fighting are also, in my opinion, very useful. When a goat is sacrificed, the enemy being near enough to see, custom ordains that all the fluteplayers present are to play and every Lacedaemonian is to wear a wreath. An order is also given to polish arms. It is also the privilege of the young warrior to comb his hair before entering battle, to look cheerful and earn a good report. (trnsl. Marchant and Bowersock [1925]). Pausanias 9.13.4 ਥȞIJĮ૨șĮ țĮ੿ Į੝IJ૶ ȀȜİȠȝȕȡȩIJ૳ țĮ੿ ȁĮțİįĮȚȝȠȞȓȦȞ IJ૶ țȠȚȞ૶ ıȘȝİ૙Į ਥȖȑȞİIJȠ ਥț IJȠ૨ șİȠ૨. IJȠ૙Ȣ ȕĮıȚȜİ૨ıȚȞ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ਥȢ IJ੹Ȣ ਥȟȩįȠȣȢ ʌȡȩȕĮIJĮ İ੆ʌİIJȠ șİȠ૙Ȣ IJİ İੇȞĮȚ șȣıȓĮȢ țĮ੿ ʌȡઁ IJ૵Ȟ ਕȖȫȞȦȞ țĮȜȜȚİȡİ૙Ȟ: IJĮ૙Ȣ į੻ ʌȠȓȝȞĮȚȢ ਲȖİȝȩȞİȢ IJોȢ ʌȠȡİȓĮȢ ਷ıĮȞ ĮੇȖİȢ, țĮIJȠȚȐįĮȢ Ƞੂ ʌȠȚȝȑȞİȢ ੑȞȠȝȐȗȠȣıȚȞ Į੝IJȐȢ. IJȩIJİ Ƞ੣Ȟ ੒ȡȝȒıĮȞIJİȢ ਥȢ IJ੽Ȟ ʌȠȓȝȞȘȞ ȜȪțȠȚ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȝ੻Ȟ ʌȡȠȕȐIJȠȚȢ ਥȖȓȞȠȞIJȠ Ƞ੝į੻Ȟ ȕȜȐȕȠȢ, Ƞੂ į੻ IJ੹Ȣ ĮੇȖĮȢ IJ੹Ȣ țĮIJȠȚȐįĮȢ ਩țIJİȚȞȠȞ. The Lacedaemonian kings were accompanied on their expeditions by sheep, to serve as sacrifices to the gods and to give fair omens before battles. The flocks were led on the march by she-goats, called katoiades (‘leading the sheep’) by the herdsmen. On this occasion, then, the wolves dashed on the flock, did no harm at all to the sheep, but killed the goats called katoiades. (trnsl. Jones and Omerod [1918]). Plutarch, Lycurgus 22 ȉȩIJİ į੻ țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȞȑȠȚȢ IJ੹ ıțȜȘȡȩIJĮIJĮ IJોȢ ਕȖȦȖોȢ ਥʌĮȞȚȑȞIJİȢ, Ƞ੝ț ਥțȫȜȣȠȞ țĮȜȜȦʌȓȗİıșĮȚ ʌİȡ੿ țȩȝȘȞ țĮ੿ țȩıȝȠȞ ੖ʌȜȦȞ țĮ੿ ੂȝĮIJȓȦȞ, ȤĮȓȡȠȞIJİȢ, ੮ıʌİȡ ੆ʌʌȠȚȢ, ȖĮȣȡȚ૵ıȚ țĮ੿ ijȡȣĮIJIJȠȝȑȞȠȚȢ ʌȡઁȢ IJȠઃȢ ਕȖ૵ȞĮȢ. įȚઁ țȠȝ૵ȞIJİȢ İ੝șઃȢ ਥț IJોȢ IJ૵Ȟ ਥijȒȕȦȞ ਲȜȚțȓĮȢ, ȝȐȜȚıIJĮ ʌİȡ੿ IJȠઃȢ țȚȞįȪȞȠȣȢ ਥșİȡȐʌİȣȠȞ IJ੽Ȟ țȩȝȘȞ ȜȚʌĮȡȐȞ IJİ ijĮȓȞİıșĮȚ țĮ੿ įȚĮțİțȡȚȝȑȞȘȞ, ਕʌȠȝȞȘȝȠȞİȪȠȞIJȑȢ IJȚȞĮ țĮ੿ ȁȣțȠȪȡȖȠȣ ȜȩȖȠȞ ʌİȡ੿ IJોȢ țȩȝȘȢ, ੖IJȚ IJȠઃȢ ȝ੻Ȟ țĮȜȠઃȢ İ੝ʌȡİʌİıIJȑȡȠȣȢ ʌȠȚİ૙, IJȠઃȢ į੻ ĮੁıȤȡȠઃȢ ijȠȕİȡȦIJȑȡȠȣȢ. […] ਵįȘ į੻ ıȣȞIJİIJĮȖȝȑȞȘȢ IJોȢ ijȐȜĮȖȖȠȢ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ʌȠȜİȝȓȦȞ ʌĮȡȩȞIJȦȞ, ੒ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ ਚȝĮ IJȒȞ IJİ ȤȓȝĮȚȡĮȞ ਥıijĮȖȚȐȗİIJȠ țĮ੿ ıIJİijĮȞȠ૨ıșĮȚ

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Chapter Five

ʌĮȡȒȖȖİȜȜİ ʌ઼ıȚ țĮ੿ IJȠઃȢ Į੝ȜȘIJ੹Ȣ Į੝Ȝİ૙Ȟ ਥțȑȜİȣİ IJઁ ȀĮıIJȩȡİȚȠȞ ȝȑȜȠȢǜ ਚȝĮ į’ ਥȟોȡȤİȞ ਥȝȕĮIJȘȡȓȠȣ ʌĮȚ઼ȞȠȢ, ੮ıIJİ ıİȝȞ੽Ȟ ਚȝĮ țĮ੿ țĮIJĮʌȜȘțIJȚț੽Ȟ IJ੽Ȟ ੕ȥȚȞ İੇȞĮȚ, ૧ȣșȝ૶ IJİ ʌȡઁȢ IJઁȞ Į੝ȜઁȞ ਥȝȕĮȚȞȩȞIJȦȞ țĮ੿ ȝȒIJİ įȚȐıʌĮıȝĮ ʌȠȚȠȪȞIJȦȞ ਥȞ IJૌ ijȐȜĮȖȖȚ ȝȒIJİ IJĮ૙Ȣ ȥȣȤĮ૙Ȣ șȠȡȣȕȠȣȝȑȞȦȞ, ਕȜȜ੹ ʌȡ઻ȦȢ țĮ੿ ੂȜĮȡ૵Ȣ ਫ਼ʌઁ IJȠ૨ ȝȑȜȠȣȢ ਕȖȠȝȑȞȦȞ ਥʌ੿ IJઁȞ țȓȞįȣȞȠȞ. Ƞ੡IJİ Ȗ੹ȡ ijȩȕȠȞ Ƞ੡IJİ șȣȝઁȞ ਥȖȖȓȞİıșĮȚ ʌȜİȠȞȐȗȠȞIJĮ IJȠ૙Ȣ Ƞ੢IJȦ įȚĮțİȚȝȑȞȠȚȢ İੁțȩȢ ਥıIJȚȞ, ਕȜȜ' İ੝ıIJĮș੻Ȣ ijȡȩȞȘȝĮ ȝİIJ’ ਥȜʌȓįȠȢ țĮ੿ șȡȐıȠȣȢ, ੪Ȣ IJȠ૨ șİȠ૨ ıȣȝʌĮȡȩȞIJȠȢ. In time of war, too, they relaxed the severity of the young men’s discipline, and permitted them to beautify their hair and ornament their arms and clothing, rejoicing to see them, like horses, prance and neigh for the contest. Therefore they wore their hair long as soon as they ceased to be youths, and particularly in times of danger they took pains to have it glossy and well-combed, remembering a certain saying of Lycurgus, that a fine head of hair made the handsome more comely still, and the ugly more terrible. [2]… And when at last they were drawn up in battle array and the enemy was at hand, the king sacrificed the customary she-goat, commanded all the warriors to set garlands upon their heads, and ordered the pipers to pipe the strains of the hymn to Castor; [3] then he himself led off in a marching paean, and it was a sight equally grand and terrifying when they marched in step with the rhythm of the flute, without any gap in their line of battle, and with no confusion in their souls, but calmly and cheerfully moving with the strains of their hymn into the deadly fight. Neither fear nor excessive fury is likely to possess men so disposed, but rather a firm purpose full of hope and courage, believing as they do that Heaven is their ally. (trns. Perrin [1924])

E. THE GORGON’S MASK AND THE GOATSKIN SHIELD Homer, Iliad 11.36-8 ਗȞ į’ ਪȜİIJ’ ਕȝijȚȕȡȩIJȘȞ ʌȠȜȣįĮȓįĮȜȠȞ ਕıʌȓįĮ șȠ૨ȡȚȞ țĮȜȒȞ… IJૌ į’ ਥʌ੿ ȝ੻Ȟ īȠȡȖઅ ȕȜȠıȣȡ૵ʌȚȢ ਥıIJİijȐȞȦIJȠ įİȚȞઁȞ įİȡțȠȝȑȞȘ, ʌİȡ੿ į੻ ǻİ૙ȝȩȢ IJİ ĭȩȕȠȢ IJİ. And he (the son of Atreus) took up his richly dight, valorous shield… and thereon was set as a crown the Gorgon, grim of aspect, glaring terribly, and about her were Terror and Rout. (trnsl. Murray [1924]). Homer, Iliad 8.348-9 ਰțIJȦȡ į' ਕȝijȚʌİȡȚıIJȡȫijĮ țĮȜȜȓIJȡȚȤĮȢ ੆ʌʌȠȣȢ īȠȡȖȠ૨Ȣ ੕ȝȝĮIJ’ ਩ȤȦȞ ਱į੻ ȕȡȠIJȠȜȠȚȖȠ૨ ਡȡȘȠȢ. But Hector wheeled this way and that his fair-maned horses, and his eyes were as the eyes of the Gorgon or of Ares, bane of mortals. (trnsl. Murray [1924]). Homer, Iliad 5.733-42 ǹ੝IJ੹ȡ ਝșȘȞĮȓȘ țȠȪȡȘ ǻȚઁȢ ĮੁȖȚȩȤȠȚȠ ʌȑʌȜȠȞ ȝ੻Ȟ țĮIJȑȤİȣİȞ ਦĮȞઁȞ ʌĮIJȡઁȢ ਥʌ’ Ƞ੡įİȚ ʌȠȚțȓȜȠȞ, ੖Ȟ ૧’ Į੝IJ੽ ʌȠȚȒıĮIJȠ țĮ੿ țȐȝİ ȤİȡıȓȞǜ

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਴ į੻ ȤȚIJ૵Ȟ’ ਥȞį૨ıĮ ǻȚઁȢ ȞİijİȜȘȖİȡȑIJĮȠ IJİȪȤİıȚȞ ਥȢ ʌȩȜİȝȠȞ șȦȡȒııİIJȠ įĮțȡȣȩİȞIJĮ. ਕȝij੿ į’ ਙȡ’ ੭ȝȠȚıȚȞ ȕȐȜİIJ’ ĮੁȖȓįĮ șȣııĮȞȩİııĮȞ įİȚȞȒȞ, ਴Ȟ ʌİȡ੿ ȝ੻Ȟ ʌȐȞIJૉ ĭȩȕȠȢ ਥıIJİijȐȞȦIJĮȚ, ਥȞ į’ ਯȡȚȢ, ਥȞ į’ ਝȜțȒ, ਥȞ į੻ țȡȣȩİııĮ ੉ȦțȒ, ਥȞ įȑ IJİ īȠȡȖİȓȘ țİijĮȜ੽ įİȚȞȠ૙Ƞ ʌİȜȫȡȠȣ įİȚȞȒ IJİ ıȝİȡįȞȒ IJİ, ǻȚઁȢ IJȑȡĮȢ ĮੁȖȚȩȤȠȚȠ. But Athena, daughter of Zeus that beareth the aegis, let fall upon her father’s floor her soft robe, richly broidered, that herself had wrought and her hands had fashioned, and put on her the tunic of Zeus, the cloud-gatherer, and arrayed her in armour for tearful war. About her shoulders she flung the tasselled aegis, fraught with terror, all about which Rout is set as a crown, and therein is Strife, therein Valor, and therein Onset, that maketh the blood run cold, and therein is the head of the dread monster, the Gorgon, dread and awful, a portent of Zeus that beareth the aegis. (trnsl. Murray [1924]). Herodotus 4.189 ȉ੽Ȟ į੻ ਙȡĮ ਥıșોIJĮ țĮ੿ IJ੹Ȣ ĮੁȖȓįĮȢ IJ૵Ȟ ਕȖĮȜȝȐIJȦȞ IJોȢ ਝșȘȞĮȓȘȢ ਥț IJ૵Ȟ ȁȚȕȣııȑȦȞ ਥʌȠȚȒıĮȞIJȠ Ƞੂ ਰȜȜȘȞİȢǜ ʌȜ੽Ȟ Ȗ੹ȡ ਲ਼ ੖IJȚ ıțȣIJȓȞȘ ਲ ਥıș੽Ȣ IJ૵Ȟ ȁȚȕȣııȑȦȞ ਥıIJ੿ țĮ੿ Ƞੂ șȪıĮȞȠȚ Ƞੂ ਥț IJ૵Ȟ ĮੁȖȓįȦȞ Į੝IJૌıȚ Ƞ੝ț ੕ijȚȑȢ İੁıȚ ਕȜȜ੹ ੂȝȐȞIJȚȞȠȚ, IJ੹ į੻ ਙȜȜĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ țĮIJ੹ IJ੩ȣIJઁ ਩ıIJĮȜIJĮȚ. ȀĮ੿ į੽ țĮ੿ IJઁ Ƞ੡ȞȠȝĮ țĮIJȘȖȠȡȑİȚ ੖IJȚ ਥț ȁȚȕȪȘȢ ਸ਼țİȚ ਲ ıIJȠȜ੽ IJ૵Ȟ ȆĮȜȜĮįȓȦȞǜ ĮੁȖȑĮȢ Ȗ੹ȡ ʌİȡȚȕȐȜȜȠȞIJĮȚ ȥȚȜ੹Ȣ ʌİȡ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ਥıșોIJĮ șȣıĮȞȦIJ੹Ȣ Įੂ ȁȓȕȣııĮȚ, țİȤȡȚȝȑȞĮȢ ਥȡİȣșİįȐȞ૳, ਥț į੻ IJ૵Ȟ ĮੁȖȑȦȞ IJȠȣIJȑȦȞ ĮੁȖȓįĮȢ Ƞੂ ਰȜȜȘȞİȢ ȝİIJȦȞȩȝĮıĮȞ. It would seem that the robe and aegis of the images of Athena were copied by the Greeks from the Libyan women; for except that Libyan women dress in leather, and that the tassels of their goatskin cloaks are not snakes but thongs of hide, in everything else their equipment is the same. And in fact, the very name betrays that the attire of the statues of Pallas has come from Libya; for Libyan women wear the hairless tasselled “aegea” over their dress, colored with madder, and the Greeks have changed the name of these aegeae into their aegides. (trnsl. Godley [1920]).

F. THE GOAT AND THE HURRICANE Aeschylus, Libation Bearers 585-93 {ȋȠ.} ʌȠȜȜ੹ ȝ੻Ȟ Ȗ઼ IJȡȑijİȚ įİȚȞ੹ įİȚȝȐIJȦȞ ਙȤȘ, ʌȩȞIJȚĮȓ IJ’ ਕȖțȐȜĮȚ țȞȦįȐȜȦȞ ਕȞIJĮȓȦȞ ȕȡȪȠȣıȚ: ʌȜȐșȠȣıȚ [ȕȜĮıIJȠ૨ıȚ] țĮ੿ ʌİįĮȓȤȝȚȠȚ ȜĮȝʌȐįİȢ ʌİįȐȠȡȠȚ, ʌIJĮȞȐ IJİ țĮ੿ ʌİįȠȕȐȝȠȞĮ țਕȞİȝȩİȞIJ’ ਗȞ ĮੁȖȓįȦȞ ijȡȐıĮȚ țȩIJȠȞ.

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Chapter Five

Many are the horrors, dread and appalling, bred of earth, and the arms of the deep teem with hateful monsters. Likewise between heaven and earth lights hung high in the air draw near; and winged things and things that walk the earth can also tell of the stormy wrath of whirlwinds. (trnsl. Smyth [1926]). Aeschylus, Seven against Thebes 62-8 ıઃ į' ੮ıIJİ ȞĮઁȢ țİįȞઁȢ ȠੁĮțȠıIJȡȩijȠȢ ijȡȐȟĮȚ ʌȩȜȚıȝĮ, ʌȡ੿Ȟ țĮIJĮȚȖȓıĮȚ ʌȞȠ੹Ȣ ਡȡİȦȢǜ ȕȠઽ Ȗ੹ȡ ț૨ȝĮ ȤİȡıĮ૙ȠȞ ıIJȡĮIJȠ૨ǜ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟįİ țĮȚȡઁȞ ੖ıIJȚȢ ੭țȚıIJȠȢ ȜĮȕȑǜ țਕȖઅ IJ੹ ȜȠȚʌ੹ ʌȚıIJઁȞ ਲȝİȡȠıțȩʌȠȞ ੑijșĮȜȝઁȞ ਪȟȦ, țĮ੿ ıĮijȘȞİȓ઺ ȜȩȖȠȣ İੁįઅȢ IJ੹ IJ૵Ȟ șȪȡĮșİȞ ਕȕȜĮȕ੽Ȣ ਩ıૉ. So you, like the careful helmsman of a ship, secure the city before Ares’ blasts storm down upon it; for the wave of their army now crashes over the dry land. Seize the first opportune moment for doing this. For all else, I, on my part, will keep a reliable eye on the lookout, and you, by learning from my certain report what happens beyond the gates, shall remain unharmed. (trnsl. Smyth [1926]).

Pausanias 2.23.1 ਥȞIJİ૨șİȞ ਥȡȤȠȝȑȞȠȚȢ ੒įઁȞ țĮȜȠȣȝȑȞȘȞ ȞĮȩȢ ਥıIJȚȞ ਥȞ įİȟȚઽ ǻȚȠȞȪıȠȣǜ IJઁ į੻ ਙȖĮȜȝĮ İੇȞĮȚ ȜȑȖȠȣıȚȞ ਥȟ Ǽ੝ȕȠȓĮȢ. ıȣȝȕȐıȘȢ Ȗ੹ȡ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਰȜȜȘıȚȞ, ੪Ȣ ਥțȠȝȓȗȠȞIJȠ ਥȟ ੉ȜȓȠȣ, IJોȢ ʌȡઁȢ IJ૶ ȀĮijȘȡİ૙ ȞĮȣĮȖȓĮȢ, IJȠઃȢ įȣȞȘșȑȞIJĮȢ ਥȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȖોȞ įȚĮijȣȖİ૙Ȟ IJ૵Ȟ ਝȡȖİȓȦȞ ૧૙ȖȩȢ IJİ ʌȚȑȗİȚ țĮ੿ ȜȚȝȩȢ. İ੝ȟĮȝȑȞȠȚȢ į੻ șİ૵Ȟ IJȚȞĮ ਥȞ IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌĮȡȠ૨ıȚȞ ਕʌȩȡȠȚȢ ȖİȞȑıșĮȚ ıȦIJોȡĮ, Į੝IJȓțĮ ੪Ȣ ʌȡȠ૊İıĮȞ ਥijȐȞȘ ıijȓıȚ ǻȚȠȞȪıȠȣ ıʌȒȜĮȚȠȞ, țĮ੿ ਙȖĮȜȝĮ ਷Ȟ ਥȞ IJ૶ ıʌȘȜĮȓ૳ IJȠ૨ șİȠ૨ǜ IJȩIJİ į੻ ĮੇȖİȢ ਙȖȡȚĮȚ ijİȪȖȠȣıĮȚ IJઁȞ ȤİȚȝ૵ȞĮ ਥȢ Į੝IJઁ ਷ıĮȞ ਱șȡȠȚıȝȑȞĮȚ. IJĮȪIJĮȢ Ƞੂ ਝȡȖİ૙ȠȚ ıijȐȟĮȞIJİȢ IJȐ IJİ țȡȑĮ ਥįİȓʌȞȘıĮȞ țĮ੿ įȑȡȝĮıȚȞ ਥȤȡȒıĮȞIJȠ ਕȞIJ੿ ਥıșોIJȠȢ. ਥʌİ੿ į੻ ੒ ȤİȚȝઅȞ ਥʌĮȪıĮIJȠ țĮ੿ ਥʌȚıțİȣȐıĮȞIJİȢ IJ੹Ȣ ȞĮ૨Ȣ Ƞ੅țĮįİ ਥțȠȝȓȗȠȞIJȠ, ਥʌȐȖȠȞIJĮȚ IJઁ ਥț IJȠ૨ ıʌȘȜĮȓȠȣ ȟȩĮȞȠȞǜ țĮ੿ įȚĮIJİȜȠ૨ıȚȞ ਥȢ IJȩįİ IJȚȝ૵ȞIJİȢ ਩IJȚ. As you go from here along a road called Hollow there is on the right a temple of Dionysus; the image, they say, is from Euboea. For when the Greeks, as they were returning from Troy, met with the shipwreck at Caphereus, those of the Argives who were able to escape to land suffered from cold and hunger. Having prayed that someone of the gods should prove himself a savior in their present distress, straightway as they advanced they came upon a cave of Dionysus; in the cave was an image of the god, and on this occasion wild she-goats had gathered there to escape from the storm. These the Argives killed, using the flesh as food and the skins as raiment. When the storm was over and the Argives, having refitted their ships, were returning home, they took with them the wooden image from the cave, and continue to honor it to the present day. (trnsl. Jones and Omerod [1918]).

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G. PORTENTS OF ARTEMIS AND TRICK BY THE GOATS Pausanias 7.26.2-4 ੘ȝȒȡȠȣ į੻ ਥȞ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਩ʌİıȚȞ ੥ʌİȡȘıȓĮ ੩ȞȩȝĮıIJĮȚ: IJઁ į੻ ੕ȞȠȝĮ IJઁ Ȟ૨Ȟ ਥȖȑȞİIJȠ ੉ȫȞȦȞ ਥʌȠȚțȠȪȞIJȦȞ, ਥȖȑȞİIJȠ į੻ ਥʌૃ ĮੁIJȓ઺ IJȠȚઽįİ. ȈȚțȣȦȞȓȦȞ ਕijȓȟİıșĮȚ ıIJȡĮIJઁȢ ਩ȝİȜȜİȞ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌȠȜȑȝȚȠȢ ਥȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȖોȞ: Ƞੂ į੻—Ƞ੝ Ȗ੹ȡ ਥįȩțȠȣȞ ਕȟȚȩȝĮȤȠȚ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȈȚțȣȦȞȓȠȚȢ İੇȞĮȚ—ਕșȡȠȓȗȠȣıȚȞ ĮੇȖĮȢ, ੒ʌȩıĮȚ ıijȓıȚȞ ਷ıĮȞ ਥȞ IJૌ Ȥȫȡ઺, ıȣȜȜȑȟĮȞIJİȢ į੻ ਩įȘıĮȞ ʌȡઁȢ IJȠ૙Ȣ țȑȡĮıȚȞ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ įઽįĮȢ, țĮ੿ ੪Ȣ ʌȡȩıȦ ȞȣțIJઁȢ ਷Ȟ, ਥȟȐʌIJȠȣıȚ IJ੹Ȣ įઽįĮȢ. [3] ȈȚțȣȫȞȚȠȚ į੻—ੁȑȞĮȚ Ȗ੹ȡ ıȣȝȝȐȤȠȣȢ IJȠ૙Ȣ ੥ʌİȡȘıȚİ૨ıȚȞ ਵȜʌȚȗȠȞ İੇȞĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ijȜȩȖĮ [țĮ੿] ਥț IJȠ૨ ਥʌȚțȠȣȡȚțȠ૨ ʌȣȡȩȢ—Ƞੂ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੅țĮįİ ਥʌĮȞȒȡȤȠȞIJȠ, ੥ʌİȡȘıȚİ૙Ȣ į੻ IJૌ IJİ ʌȩȜİȚ IJઁ ੕ȞȠȝĮ IJઁ Ȟ૨Ȟ ȝİIJȑșİȞIJȠ ਕʌઁ IJ૵Ȟ ĮੁȖ૵Ȟ, țĮ੿ țĮșȩIJȚ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ਲ țĮȜȜȓıIJȘ țĮ੿ ਲȖȠȣȝȑȞȘ IJ૵Ȟ ਙȜȜȦȞ ੭țȜĮıİȞ, ਝȡIJȑȝȚįȠȢ ਝȖȡȠIJȑȡĮȢ ਥʌȠȚȒıĮȞIJȠ ੂİȡȩȞ, IJઁ ıȩijȚıȝĮ ਥȢ IJȠઃȢ ȈȚțȣȦȞȓȠȣȢ Ƞ੝ț ਙȞİȣ IJોȢ ਝȡIJȑȝȚįȩȢ ıijȚıȚȞ ਥʌİȜșİ૙Ȟ ȞȠȝȓȗȠȞIJİȢ. [4] Ƞ੝ ȝ੽Ȟ țĮ੿ Į੝IJȓțĮ Ȗİ ਥȟİȞȓțȘıİȞ ǹ੅ȖİȚȡĮȞ ਕȞIJ੿ ੥ʌİȡȘıȓĮȢ țĮȜİ૙ıșĮȚ, ਥʌİ੿ țĮIJ' ਥȝ੻ ਷ıĮȞ ਩IJȚ Ƞ੄ ੱȡİઁȞ IJ੽Ȟ ਥȞ Ǽ੝ȕȠȓ઺ IJ૶ ੑȞȩȝĮIJȚ. Homer in his poem (Iliad. 2.573) calls the city (Aegeira) Hyperesia. Its present name was given it while the Ionians were still dwelling there, and the reason for the name was as follows. A hostile army of Sicyonians was about to invade their territory. As they thought themselves no match for the Sicyonians, they collected all the goats they had in the country, and gathering them together they tied torches to their horns, and when the night was far advanced they set the torches alight. [3] The Sicyonians, suspecting that allies were coming to the help of the Hyperesians, and that the flames came from their fires, set off home again. The Hyperesians gave their city its present name of Aegeira from the goats (aiges), and where the most beautiful goat, which led the others, crouched, they built a sanctuary of Artemis the Huntress, believing that the trick against the Sicyonians was an inspiration of Artemis. [4] The name Aegeira, however, did not supersede Hyperesia at once, just as even in my time there were still some who called Oreus in Euboea by its ancient name of Hestiaea. (trnsl. Jones and Omerod [1918]).

H. DIONYSUS MELANAIGIS AND THE FOUNDATION MYTH OF THE APATOURIA Hellanicus, FGrH 4 F125 ȤȡȩȞ૳ į੻ ੢ıIJİȡȠȞ ȖİȞȠȝȑȞȘȢ IJȠ૙Ȣ ǺȠȚȦIJȠ૙Ȣ ਕȝijȚıȕȘIJȒıİȦȢ ʌȡઁȢ ਝșȘȞĮȓȠȣȢ, ੪Ȣ ȝȑȞ IJȚȞİȢ, ʌİȡ੿ ȅੁȞȩȘȢ țĮ੿ ȆĮȞȐțIJȠȣ, ੪Ȣ įȑ IJȚȞİȢ, ʌİȡ੿ ȂİȜĮȚȞ૵Ȟ, țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ǺȠȚȦIJ૵Ȟ ਕȟȚȠȪȞIJȦȞ IJȠઃȢ ȕĮıȚȜȑĮȢ ʌȡȠțȚȞįȣȞİ૨ıĮȚ ʌİȡ੿ IJોȢ ȤȫȡĮȢ İੁȢ ȝȠȞȠȝĮȤȓĮȞ țĮIJĮıIJȐȞIJİȢ, ȄȐȞșȚȠȢ ȝ੻Ȟ ੒ IJ૵Ȟ ǺȠȚȦIJ૵Ȟ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ ਫ਼ʌȠįȑȤİIJĮȚ, ĬȣȝȠȓIJȘȢ į੻ ੒ IJ૵Ȟ ਝșȘȞĮȓȦȞ ਕȡȞİ૙IJĮȚ, ȜȑȖȦȞ IJ૶ ȕȠȣȜȠȝȑȞ૳ ȝȠȞȠȝĮȤİ૙Ȟ IJોȢ ਕȡȤોȢ ʌĮȡĮȤȦȡİ૙Ȟ. ȂȑȜĮȞșȠȢ į੻ ਫ਼ʌȠıIJ੹Ȣ IJઁȞ țȓȞįȣȞȠȞ ਥʌ੿ IJઁ ȕĮıȚȜİ૨ıĮȚ IJ૵Ȟ ਝșȘȞ૵Ȟ Į੝IJઁȞ țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਥȟ Į੝IJȠ૨, ੒ʌȜȚıȐȝİȞȠȢ ʌȡȠ૊İȚ, țĮ੿ ʌȜȘıȓȠȞ IJȠ૨ ȄĮȞșȓȠȣ ȖİȞȩȝİȞȠȢ İੇʌİȞ “ਕįȚțİ૙Ȣ, ੯ ȄȐȞșȚİ, ıઃȞ ਦIJȑȡ૳ ਥʌ’ ਥȝ੻ ਸ਼țȦȞ țĮ੿ Ƞ੝ ȝȩȞȠȢ, ੪Ȣ ੪ȝȠȜȩȖȘIJȠ”. ȄȐȞșȚȠȢ į੻ IJĮ૨IJĮ ਕțȠȪıĮȢ ȝİIJİıIJȡȐijȘ, șİȐıĮıșĮȚ ȕȠȣȜȩȝİȞȠȢ İ੅ IJȚȢ Į੝IJ૶ ਦʌȩȝİȞȠȢ İ੅Șǜ țĮ੿ ȝİIJĮıIJȡĮijȑȞIJĮ ȕĮȜઅȞ Į੝IJઁȞ ਕʌȑțIJİȚȞİȞ, țĮ੿ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ IJોȢ ਝIJIJȚțોȢ ਥȖȑȞİIJȠ. ੖șİȞ

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IJȠ૙Ȣ ਝșȘȞĮȓȠȚȢ țȡĮIJȒıĮıȚ IJોȢ ȤȫȡĮȢ ਩įȠȟİȞ ਦȠȡIJ੽Ȟ ਙȖİȚȞ, ਴Ȟ ʌȐȜĮȚ ȝ੻Ȟ ਝʌĮIJȘȞȩȡȚĮ, ੢ıIJİȡȠȞ į੻ ਝʌĮIJȠȪȡȚĮ ਥțȐȜȠȣȞ, ੪Ȣ ਕʌઁ IJોȢ ȖİȞȠȝȑȞȘȢ ਕʌȐIJȘȢ. At a later time, a dispute arose between Athenians and Boeotians—according to some people, over the demes of Oinoe and Panactos; according to others, over the region of Melainai. As the Boeotians demanded that the two kings (of Boeotia and of Athens) fight for the territory, facing each other in a single combat, Xanthos, the king of the Boeotians, accepted, but Thymoites, the Athenian king, refused, and said that he would give the power to anyone who wanted to fight in his place. Melanthos, therefore, came forward, willing to take the risk for the kingdom of Athens, and after he armed himself, came up to Xanthos and said: “You wrong me, Xanthos: you have come against me with someone else by your side, and not alone, as we have agreed”. Xanthos, having heard these words, turned back to see if anyone followed him, and as he was turned, Melanthos killed Xanthos and became the king of Attica. Hence, the Athenian conquered the land and determined to celebrate a public festival, formerly called Apatenoria, and subsequently Apatouria, by the deceit that took place. (trnsl. by author). Michael Apostolius 3.31 ਝʌĮIJȠȪȡȚĮ į੻ ਷Ȟ ਦȠȡIJ੽ ਝșȒȞૉıȚȞ, ਴Ȟ ਷ȖȠȞ ਥʌ੿ IJȡİ૙Ȣ ਲȝȑȡĮȢ. ਥțȐȜȠȣȞ į੻ IJ੽Ȟ ȝ੻Ȟ ʌȡȫIJȘȞ ǻȠȡʌȓĮȞ, ਥʌİȚį੽ ijȡȐIJȠȡİȢ ੑȥȓĮȢ ıȣȞİȜșȩȞIJİȢ İ੝ȦȤȠ૨ȞIJȠ. IJ੽Ȟ į੻ įİȣIJȑȡĮȞ ਝȞȐ૦૧ȣıȚȞ ਕʌઁ IJȠ૨ șȪİȚȞǜ ਩șȣȠȞ į੻ ǻȧ੿ ĭĮIJȡȓ૳ țĮ੿ ਝșȘȞઽ. IJ੽Ȟ į੻ IJȡȓIJȘȞ ȀȠȣȡİ૵IJȚȞ ਕʌઁ IJȠ૨ IJȠઃȢ țȠȪȡȠȣȢ țĮ੿ IJ੹Ȣ țȩȡĮȢ ਥȖȖȡȐijİȚȞ İੁȢ IJ੹Ȣ ijĮIJȡȓĮȢǜ ਲ į੻ ĮੁIJȓĮǜ ʌȩȜİȝȠȢ ਷Ȟ ਝșȘȞĮȓȠȚȢ ʌȡઁȢ ǺȠȚȦIJȠઃȢ ʌİȡ੿ ȂİȜĮȓȞȦȞ, ੔ ਷Ȟ ȤȦȡȓȠȞ ਥȞ ȝİșȠȡȓȠȚȢ. ȄȐȞșȚȠȢ į੻ ǺȠȚȦIJઁȢ ʌȡȠıİțĮȜȑıĮIJȠ IJઁȞ ਝșȘȞĮȓȦȞ ȕĮıȚȜȑĮ ĬȣȝȠȓIJȘȞǜ Ƞ੝ įİȟĮȝȑȞȠȣ į੻, ȂȑȜĮȞșȠȢ ਥʌȚįȘȝ૵Ȟ, ȂİıȒȞȚȠȢ ȖȑȞȠȢ ਕʌઁ ȆİȡȚțȜȣȝȑȞȠȣȢ IJȠ૨ ȃȘȜȑȦȢ, ਫ਼ʌȑıIJȘ ਥʌ੿ IJૌ ȕĮıȚȜİȓ઺. ȂȠȞȠȝĮȤȠȪȞIJȦȞ į੻ ਥijȐȞȘ IJ૶ ȂİȜȐȞș૳ IJȚȢ ੕ʌȚıșİȞ IJȠ૨ ȄĮȞșȓȠȣ IJȡĮȖોȞ ਥȞİȚȝȑȞȠȢ ȝȑȜĮȚȞĮȞ. ਩ijȘ Ƞ੣Ȟ Į੝IJઁȞ ਕįȚțİ૙Ȟ įİȪIJİȡȠȞ ਸ਼țȠȞIJĮǜ ੒ į੻ ਕʌİıIJȡȐijȘǜ ੒ į੻ ʌĮȓıĮȢ ਕʌȠțIJİȓȞİȚ Į੝IJȩȞ. ਥț į੻ IJȠȪIJȠȣ ਸ਼ IJİ ਦȠȡIJ੽ ਝʌĮIJȠȪȡȚĮ țĮ੿ ǻȚȠȞȪıȠȣ ȂİȜĮȞĮȚȖȓįȠȢ ȕȦȝઁȞ ਥįȠȝȒıĮȞIJȠ. ੒ į੻ ĬĮȡȖȘȜȚȫȞ ਥıIJȚ ȝ੽Ȟ ਝșȘȞĮ૙ȠȢ, țĮș' ੔Ȟ țĮ੿ ਦȠȡIJ੽ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞȠȢ țĮ੿ ਝȡIJȑȝȚįȠȢ, ĬĮȡȖȒȜȚĮ ȜİȖȠȝȑȞȘǜ ਥȞ ઞ ਸ਼ȥȠȣȞ ਕʌĮȡȤ੹Ȣ IJ૶ șİ૶ IJ૵Ȟ ʌİijȘȞȩIJȦȞ țĮȡʌ૵Ȟ, ੆ıIJĮȞIJȠ į੻ ਥȞ Į੝IJૌ țĮ੿ ȤȠȡȠ੿ țĮ੿ ਕȖઅȞ ĬĮȡȖȒȜȚĮ. ਯijȠȡȠȢ į੻ ਥȞ įİȣIJȑȡ઺ ijȘıȓȞ, ੪Ȣ įȚ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ IJ૵Ȟ ੒ȡȓȦȞ ਕʌȐIJȘȞ ȖİȞȠȝȑȞȘȞ ਥțȜȒșȘ. ʌȠȜİȝȠȪȞIJȦȞ Ȗ੹ȡ ਝșȘȞĮȓȦȞ ʌȡઁȢ ǺȠȚȦIJȠઃȢ ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ IJોȢ ȂİȜĮȞȓĮȢ ȤȫȡĮȢ ȂȑȜĮȞșȠȢ ੒ IJ૵Ȟ ਝșȘȞĮȓȦȞ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ ȄȐȞșȠȞ IJઁȞ ĬȘȕĮ૙ȠȞ ȝȠȞȠȝĮȤ૵Ȟ ਕʌĮIJȒıĮȢ ਕʌȑțIJİȚȞİȞ. The Apatouria was a festival of the Athenians, that was celebrated for three days. They called the first festival day, ‘Dorpeia’, because the members of phratries come together and are entertained in the evening; the second day [they called] ‘Anarrysis’, on account of the sacrificing (literally, drawing back the head of a sacrificial victim)—they used to sacrifice to Zeus Phratrios and to Athena; and the third [they called], ‘Koureotis’, from the enrolment of youths (kourous) and maidens into the phratries. The reason (sc. for establishing the festival) is the following: the Athenians were fighting a war against the Boeotians over Kelainai, which was a place in their borderlands. Xanthios, a Boeotian, challenged the

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Athenian king, Thymoites [to a fight]. When Thymoites did not accept, Melanthos, an expatriate Messenian from the stock of Periklymenos the son of Neleus, stood up to fight for the kingdom. While they were engaged in single combat, someone wearing a black goat-skin (aegis) appeared to Melanthos from behind Xanthios. So [Melanthos] said that it was not right to come two against one. [Xanthios] turned round. [Melanthos] smote him and killed him. And from that day onwards they founded the festival Apatouria (i.e. from the deceit, ਕʌȐIJȘ, accomplished) and built an altar to Dionysus “of the Black Aegis”. The Thargelion is an Athenian month during which the Athenians celebrate a festival in honour of Apollon and Artemis, called Thargelia; on this occasion, they used to cook early fruits for the god and there were also dances and a race called thargelia. Ephorus offers a second explanation by saying that the festival is so called on account of the deception that took place at the borders, when the Athenians were fighting against the Boeotians in the land of Melaina, and the king of the Athenians Melanthos killed the Theban Xanthos, after having tricked him, in a single combat. (trnsl. by author). Suidas Lexicon alpha.2940 : ਦȠȡIJ੽ įȘȝȠIJİȜȒȢ. ਵȖİIJȠ į੻ ʌĮȡ’ ਝșȘȞĮȓȠȚȢ ਥʌ੿ IJȡİ૙Ȣ ਲȝȑȡĮȢǜ… țĮȜȠ૨ıȚ į੻ IJ੽Ȟ ȝ੻Ȟ ʌȡȫIJȘȞ ǻȩȡʌİȚĮȞ, ਥʌİȚį੽ ijȡȐIJȠȡİȢ ੑȥȓĮȢ ıȣȞİȜșȩȞIJİȢ İ੝ȦȤȠ૨ȞIJȠǜ IJ੽Ȟ į੻ įİȣIJȑȡĮȞ ਝȞȐȡȡȣıȚȞ, ਕʌઁ IJȠ૨ șȪİȚȞǜ ਩șȣȠȞ į੻ ǻȚ૗ ĭȡĮIJȡȓ૳ țĮ੿ ਝșȘȞઽǜ IJ੽Ȟ į੻ IJȡȓIJȘȞ ȀȠȣȡİ૵IJȚȞ, ਕʌઁ IJȠ૨ IJȠઃȢ țȠȪȡȠȣȢ țĮ੿ IJ੹Ȣ țȩȡĮȢ ਥȖȖȡȐijİȚȞ İੁȢ IJ੹Ȣ ijȡĮIJȡȓĮȢ. ਲ į੻ ĮੁIJȓĮǜ ʌȩȜİȝȠȢ ਷Ȟ ਝșȘȞĮȓȠȚȢ ʌȡઁȢ ǺȠȚȦIJȠઃȢ ʌİȡ੿ ȀİȜĮȚȞ૵Ȟ, ੔ ਷Ȟ ȤȦȡȓȠȞ ਥȞ ȝİșȠȡȓȠȚȢ. ȄȐȞșȚȠȢ į੻ ǺȠȚȦIJઁȢ ʌȡȠİțĮȜȑıĮIJȠ IJઁȞ ਝșȘȞĮȓȦȞ ȕĮıȚȜȑĮ ĬȣȝȠȓIJȘȞ. Ƞ੝ įİȟĮȝȑȞȠȣ į੻, ȂȑȜĮȞșȠȢ ਥʌȚįȘȝ૵Ȟ ȂİııȒȞȚȠȢ, ȖȑȞȠȢ ਕʌઁ ȆİȡȚțȜȣȝȑȞȠȣ IJȠ૨ ȃȘȜȑȦȢ, ਫ਼ʌȑıIJȘ ਥʌ੿ IJૌ ȕĮıȚȜİȓ઺. ȝȠȞȠȝĮȤȠȪȞIJȦȞ į੻ ਥijȐȞȘ IJ૶ ȂİȜȐȞș૳ IJȚȢ ੕ʌȚıșİȞ IJȠ૨ ȄĮȞșȓȠȣ IJȡĮȖોȞ Į੅ȖȚįĮ ਥȞȘȝȝȑȞȠȢ ȝȑȜĮȚȞĮȞ. ਩ijȘ Ƞ੣Ȟ ਕįȚțİ૙Ȟ Į੝IJઁȞ įİȪIJİȡȠȞ ਸ਼țȠȞIJĮ. ੒ į੻ ਥʌİıIJȡȐijȘ. ੒ į੻ ʌĮȓıĮȢ ਕʌȠțIJİȓȞİȚ Į੝IJȩȞ. ਥț į੻ IJȠȪIJȠȣ ਸ਼ IJİ ਦȠȡIJ੽ ਝʌĮIJȠȪȡȚĮ, țĮ੿ ǻȚȠȞȪıȠȣ ȂİȜĮȞĮȚȖȓįȠȢ ਥįȠȝȒıĮȞIJȠ. A public festival. It was celebrated amongst [the] Athenians for three days […]. They call the first [day] Dorpeia, when the members of phratries come together and are entertained in the evening; the second [they call] Anarrysis, on account of the sacrificing (literally, drawing back the head of a sacrificial victim) – they used to sacrifice to Zeus Phratrios and to Athena; and the third [they call] Koureotis, from the enrolment of youths and maidens into the phratries. This is the reason: the Athenians had a war on against the Boiotians over Kelainai, which was a place in their borderlands. Xanthios, a Boiotian, challenged the Athenian king, Thymoites [to a fight]. When he did not accept, Melanthos, an expatriate Messenian from the stock of Periklymenos the son of Neleus, stood up to fight for the kingdom. While they were engaged in single combat, someone wearing a black goat-skin aegis appeared to Melanthos from behind Xanthios. So [Melanthos] said that it was not right to come two against one. [Xanthios] turned round. [Melanthos] smote him and killed him. And from this was generated both the festival Apatouria (i.e. from the deceit, ਕʌȐIJȘ, involved) and “by the Black Aegis” as an epithet of Dionysus. (trnsl. Whitehead [2000]).

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I. THE MYTH OF THE AMALTHEAN GOAT Ps.-Eratosthenes, Catasterismi 1.13.23-41 (17.5-23 Olivieri) ਫıȤȘȝȐIJȚıIJĮȚ į’ ਥȞ IJȠȪIJ૳ ਲ ǹ੃ȟ țĮ੿ Ƞੂ ਯȡȚijȠȚ. ȂȠȣıĮ૙ȠȢ ȖȐȡ ijȘıȚ ǻȓĮ ȖİȞȞȫȝİȞȠȞ ਥȖȤİȚȡȚıșોȞĮȚ ਫ਼ʌઁ ૮ȑĮȢ ĬȑȝȚįȚ, ĬȑȝȚȞ į੻ ਝȝĮȜșİȓ઺ įȠ૨ȞĮȚ IJઁ ȕȡȑijȠȢ, IJ੽Ȟ į੻ ਩ȤȠȣıĮȞ ĮੇȖĮ ਫ਼ʌȠșİ૙ȞĮȚ, IJ੽Ȟ į' ਥțșȡȑȥĮȚ ǻȓĮǜ IJ੽Ȟ į੻ ǹੇȖĮ İੇȞĮȚ ਺ȜȓȠȣ șȣȖĮIJȑȡĮ ijȠȕİȡ੹Ȟ Ƞ੢IJȦȢ ੮ıIJİ IJȠઃȢ țĮIJ੹ ȀȡȩȞȠȞ șİȠȪȢ, ȕįİȜȣIJIJȠȝȑȞȠȣȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȝȠȡij੽Ȟ IJોȢ ʌĮȚįȩȢ, ਕȟȚ૵ıĮȚ īોȞ țȡȪȥĮȚ Į੝IJ੽Ȟ ਩Ȟ IJȚȞȚ IJ૵Ȟ țĮIJ੹ ȀȡȒIJȘȞ ਙȞIJȡȦȞǜ țĮ੿ ਕʌȠțȡȣȥĮȝȑȞȘȞ ਥʌȚȝȑȜİȚĮȞ Į੝IJોȢ IJૌ ਝȝĮȜșİȓ઺ ਥȖȤİȚȡȓıĮȚ, IJ੽Ȟ į੻ IJ૶ ਥțİȓȞȘȢ ȖȐȜĮțIJȚ IJઁȞ ǻȓĮ ਥțșȡȑȥĮȚǜ ਥȜșȩȞIJȠȢ į੻ IJȠ૨ ʌĮȚįઁȢ İੁȢ ਲȜȚțȓĮȞ țĮ੿ ȝȑȜȜȠȞIJȠȢ ȉȚIJ઼ıȚ ʌȠȜİȝİ૙Ȟ, Ƞ੝ț ਩ȤȠȞIJȠȢ į੻ ੖ʌȜĮ, șİıʌȚıșોȞĮȚ Į੝IJ૶ IJોȢ ĮੁȖઁȢ IJૌ įȠȡઽ ੖ʌȜ૳ ȤȡȒıĮıșĮȚ įȚȐ IJİ IJઁ ਙIJȡȦIJȠȞ Į੝IJોȢ țĮ੿ ijȠȕİȡઁȞ țĮ੿ įȚ੹ IJઁ İੁȢ ȝȑıȘȞ IJ੽Ȟ ૧ȐȤȚȞ īȠȡȖȩȞȠȢ ʌȡȩıȦʌȠȞ ਩ȤİȚȞǜ ʌȠȚȒıĮȞIJȠȢ į੻ IJĮ૨IJĮ IJȠ૨ ǻȚઁȢ țĮ੿ IJૌ IJȑȤȞૉ ijĮȞȑȞIJȠȢ įȚʌȜĮıȓȠȞȠȢ, IJ੹ ੑıIJ઼ į੻ IJોȢ ĮੁȖઁȢ țĮȜȪȥĮȞIJȠȢ ਙȜȜૉ įȠȡઽ țĮ੿ ਩ȝȥȣȤȠȞ Į੝IJ੽Ȟ țĮ੿ ਕșȐȞĮIJȠȞ țĮIJĮıțİȣȐıĮȞIJȠȢ, Į੝IJ੽Ȟ ȝȑȞ ijĮıȚȞ ਙıIJȡȠȞ Ƞ੝ȡȐȞȚȠȞ [țĮIJĮıțİȣȐıĮȚ] *** The Goat and the Kids assume here a certain form. According to Museus, in fact, when he was only just born, Zeus was entrusted by Rhea to Themis, and then by Themis to Amalthea, and Amalthea, who has a she-goat, gave Zeus to the animal for suckling. The she-goat was a daughter of Helios and was so much fearful that the gods at the time of Cronos, disgusted by the outward form of the young creature, begged the earth to hide it in one of the underground caves in Crete. And the Earth, after having hidden it, entrusted the she-goat to the care of Amalthea, who fed Zeus on the milk of the goat. Then, when Zeus was in the manhood age, for he had to fight with the Titans, but was devoid of weapons, it was prophesied that he would use the skin of the she-goat as a weapon, both for the invulnerability and the awfulness of it, due to the fact that the goatskin had the face of the Gorgon displayed in the middle of its external side. And Zeus did these things, and, by this contrivance, showed himself as ‘twofold’; then, after having covered the bones of the (killed) Goat with another skin, he revived and made it immortal: it is said that it [has become] a star in the sky. (trnsl. Evelyn-White [1936]). Ps.-Hyginus, Astronomica 2.13 Musaeus autem dicit Iovem nutritum a Themide et Amalthea nympha; quibus eum mater Ops tradidisse existimatur. Amaltheam autem habuisse capram quandam ut in deliciis, quae Iovem dicitur aluisse. Nonnulli etiam Aega Solis filiam dixerunt, multis candore corporis praestantem, cui contrarius pulchritudinis horribilis aspectus exsistebat. Quo Titanes perterriti petierunt a Terra, ut eius corpus obscuraret; quam Terra specu quodam celasse dicitur in insula Creta. Quae postea Iovis fuisse nutrix, ut ante ostendimus, demonstratur. Sed cum Iuppiter fidens adulescentia, bellum contra Titanas appararet, responsum est ei, si vincere vellet, ut aigos pelle tectus et capite Gorgonis bellum administraret, quam aegida Graeci appellaverunt. Itaque facto eo, quod supra declaravimus, Iuppiter Titanas superans regnum est adeptus, et reliqua ossa aigos caprina pelle contecta, anima

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donavit et stellis figuratam memoriae commendavit; et postea, quibus ipse vicerat tectus, Minervae concessit. But Musaeus says Jove was nursed by Themis and the nymph Amalthea, to whom he was given by Ops, his mother. Now Amalthea had as a pet a certain goat which is said to have nursed Jove. Some have called Aex the daughter of Sol, who surpassed many in beauty of body, but in contrast to this beauty, had a most horrible face. Terrified by it, the Titans begged Terra to hide her body, and Terra is said to have hidden her in a cave in the island of Crete. Later she became nurse of Jove, as we have said before. But when Jupiter, confident in his youth, was preparing for war against the Titans, oracular reply was given to him that if he wished to win, he should carry on the war protected with the skin of a goat (aigos), and the head of the Gorgon. The Greeks call this the ‘aegis’. When this was done, as we have shown above, Jupiter, overcoming the Titans, gained possession of the kingdom. Covering the remaining bones of the goat with a skin, he gave life to them and memorialised them, picturing them with stars. Afterwards he gave to Minerva [Athena] the aegis with which he had been protected when he won. (trnsl. Grant [1960]).

Bibliography Belayche, N., Brulé, P., Freyburger, G., Lehmann, Y., Pernot, L., and Prost, F. (eds.) (2005) Nommer les dieux: théonymes, épithètes, épiclèses dans l’Antiquité. Turnhout: Brepols. Bodson, L. (1978) c,(5$ =:,$. Contribution à l’étude de la place de l’animal dans la religion grecque ancienne (Academie Royale de Belgique). Brussels: Palais des Académies. Brelich, A. (1961) Guerre, agoni e culti nella Grecia arcaica. Bonn: Habelt Verlag. Brelich, A. (1969a) Paides e parthénoi. Incunabula Graeca 36. Rome: Edizioni dell’Ateneo. Brelich, A. (1969b) “Symbol of a Symbol”, in J. M. Kitagawa and C. H. Long (eds.), 195-207. Brownson, C. L. (ed. and trnsl.) (1918-1921) Xenophon. Hellenica. Xenophon in Seven Volumes, 1 and 2. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: Heinemann. —. (ed. and trnsl.) (1922) Xenophon. Anabasis. Xenophon in Seven Volumes, 3. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: Heinemann. Burkert, W. (1977) Griechische Religion der archaischen und klassischen Epoche. Stuttgart/Berlin/Köln: Kohlhammer. Colli, G. (20054) La sapienza greca I (1st ed. 1977). Milan: Adelphi.

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Detienne, M. (1972) Les jardins d’Adonis. La mythologie des aromates en Grèce, avec préface de J.-P. Vernant. Paris: Gallimard. Detienne, M. and Vernant, J.-P. (1974) Les ruses de l’intelligence: la mètis des Grecs. Paris: Flammarion. Durkheim, É. (1912) Les formes élémentaires de la vie religieuse. Paris: Alcan. Ellinger, P. (1978) “Le gypse et la boue. Sur les mythes de la guerre d’anéantissement”, Quaderni Urbinati di Cultura Classica 29, 7-35. —. (1993) La Légende nationale phocidienne. Artémis, les situations extrêmes et les récits de guerre d’anéantissement. Paris/Athens: de Boccard. —. (2009) Artémis, déesse de tous les dangers. Paris: Larousse. Evelyn-White, H. (ed. and trnsl.) (1936) Hesiod, Homeric Hymns, Epic Cycle, Homerica. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: Heinemann. Revised edition. Fischer-Bossert, W. (2007) “Die Ziegen von Aigai”, Schweizerische Numismatische Rundschau (Revue Suisse de Numismatique) 86, 23-30. Frontisi Ducroux, F. and Vernant, J.-P. (1983) “Figures du masque en Grèce ancienne”, Journal de Psychologie 1-2, 56-75. Gernet, L. and Boulanger, A. (1932) Le Génie grec dans la religion. Paris: Albin Michel. Godley, A. D. (ed. and trnsl.) (1920) Herodotus. The Histories. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Goodwin, W. W. (ed. and trnsl.) (1874) Plutarchus. De Herodoti malignitate. Cambridge: Press of John Wilson and son. Graf, F. (ed.) (1998), Ansichten griechischer Rituale, GeburstagsSymposium für Walter Burkert, Castelen bei Basel 15 bis 18 März 1996. Stuttgart und Leipzig: Teubner. Grant, M. (ed. and trnsl.) (1960) Ps.-Hyginus. Astronomica. Lawrence: University of Kansas Press. Guettel Cole, S. (2000) “Landscapes of Artemis”, The Classical World («The Organization of Space in Antiquity») 93/5, 471-81. Higgins, R. A. (1967) Greek Terracottas. London: Methuen. Hughes, D. D. (1991) Human Sacrifice in Ancient Greece. London/New York: Routledge. Jones, W. H. S. and Omerod, H. A. (eds. and trnsl.) (1918) Pausanias. Description of Greece. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: Heinemann. Kitagawa, J. M. and Long, C. H. (eds.) (1969) Myths and Symbols. Studies in Honor of Mircea Eliade. Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press.

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Labarbe, J. (1953) “L’age correspondant au sacrifice du koureion et les donnes historiques du sixieme discours d’Isee”, Bulletin de l’Academie Royale de Belgique 39, 358-94. Lévêque, P. (1985) Bêtes, dieux et hommes. L’imaginaire des premières religions. Paris: Messidor. Lévi-Strauss, C. (1962) La pensée sauvage. Paris: Plon. Liddell, H. G. and Scott, R. (1996) A Greek-English Lexicon, 9th edn with a revised Supplement. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Marchant, E. C. and Bowersock, G. W. (eds. and trnsl.) (1925) Xenophon, Constitution of the Lacedaemonians. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: Heinemann. Marinatos, N. (1998) “Goddess and Monster. An Investigation of Artemis”, in F. Graf (ed.), 114-25. Murray, A. T. (ed. and trnsl.) (1924) Homer Iliad. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: Heinemann. Pedley, J. (2005) Sanctuaries and the Sacred in the Ancient Greek World. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Perrin, B. (ed. and trnsl.) (1914) Plutarch, Lycurgus. In: Plutarch’s Lives. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: Heinemann. Robert, L. (1983) “Documents d’Asie Mineure XXIII-XXVIII”, Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique 107, 497-599. Smyth, H. W. (ed. and trnsl.) (1926) Aeschylus vol. 1. Suppliant Maidens, Persians, Prometheus, Seven against Thebes. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. —. (ed. and trnsl.) (1926) Aeschylus vol. 2. Agamemnon; Libation Bearers; Eumenides; Fragments. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Spineto, N. (2008) “La religione come fattore d’integrazione nel mondo greco”, in N. Spineto (ed.), 49-71. —. (ed.) (2008), La religione come fattore d’integrazione. Modelli di convivenza e di scambio religioso nel mondo antico, Atti del IV Convegno Internazionale del Gruppo di Ricerca Italo-Spagnolo di Storia delle Religioni (Torino, 29-30 settembre 2006). Alessandria: Edizioni dell’Orso. Vernant, J.-P. (1985) La mort dans les yeux. Paris: Hachette. —. (1990) Figures, Idoles, Masques. Conferences, essays et leçons du Collège de France (1980-1983). Paris: Juillard. —. (1991) “The Figure and Functions of Artemis in Myth and Cult”, in F. I. Zeitlin (ed.), 195-206. —. (1981) Le chasseur noir. Formes de pensée et formes de société dans le monde grec. Paris: Maspero.

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Whitehead, D. (ed. and trnsl.) (2000) Suidas Lexicon. Suda on-line (SOL) and the Stoa consortium (http://www.stoa.org/sol). Zeitlin, F. I. (ed.) (1991) Mortals and Immortals: Collected Essays by Vernant. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Zografou, A. (2005) “Les Phôsphoroi et la Tholos d’Athènes”, in N. Belayche, P. Brulé, G. Freyburger, Y. Lehmann, L. Pernot, and F. Prost (eds.), 531-42.

CHAPTER SIX HOW TO UNDERSTAND THE VOICES OF ANIMALS THOMAS GALOPPIN

In Greek and Roman antiquity, literature reveals a number of magical practices which, by involving consumption of animal parts, often in a less than appetizing way, were supposed to grant special abilities. It was believed, for example, that swallowing the heart of a hoopoe, a mole, or a falcon would provide knowledge of the future, the deepest secrets of men and women, as well as insight into animal communications (Porphyry Abst. 2.48.1; Plin. Nat. Hist. 30.19; Cyranides 1.21.98-131). The attempt to comprehend animal communication has been a particular motif of myths and narratives in different societies. In the Egyptian story of Setne, a magical formula provides for the magician who pronounces it the ability to understand what animals are saying.1 In another context, the legend of Sigurd tells that the hero, after he defeated the dragon Fafnir, tasted the blood from its heart and then understood what birds were saying.2 Still, outside the various fictional narratives, one can seriously ask whether animals have the equivalent of a language, and whether it is possible for human beings to understand it.3 Such a question, linked to the problem of animal intelligence, was already being debated in ancient philosophy.4 The marvellous character of such communication explains why it would have developed at least in myths or in the context of “magic”. Perhaps the most interesting example of a ritual practice aimed at conferring the capacity to understand animals is a relatively unknown Greek poem which was part of a collection of 774 Greek verses, known as the Orphic Lapidary, which deals with stones and their marvellous

1

Agut-Labordère and Chauveau (2011) 26. Boyer (1992) 310 and 318. 3 Lestel (2009) 206-7. 4 See Porphyry Abst. 3.3-4 especially. 2

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properties.5 Halleux and Schamp, the French editors and translators of this text, dated it from the first part of the 2nd century CE and judged the poetry to be of good quality. 6 The word “orphic” should perhaps be removed from the title, 7 so I will call the poem the Lapidary or, in Greek, the Lithika. While the poem in some parts does contain Pythagorean features,8 the term “magic” is a more accurate description of its contents.9 Indeed, the Lithika introduce themselves as a teaching of treasures that can provide happiness (੕ȜȕȠȢ) to the wise and heroic man, to whom ‘people will give the name magos’ (મ țİȞ ਥʌȦȞȣȝ઀ȘȞ ȜĮȠ੿ IJİ઄ȟȦıȚ ȝ੺ȖȠȚȠ, 72). This introduction describes the magos in terms that remind us of a particular embodiment of the Pythagorean “hero” (1-90) 10 whose models are Heracles, Asclepius, and Chiron: mortals or demi-gods who have proved their virtue and wisdom, and have been rewarded after death (7-14). There follows a short narrative (91-164), and after that, a man called Theiodamas, ‘the divine man’, offers to the anonymous narrator his knowledge of the stones.11 The catalogue contains a range of stones, from those used to bring about the more mundane effects (agricultural prosperity, a good wedding, the efficacy of the contractual religious rituals), to the most powerful stones, whose effectiveness elevate their owner to the status of a heroic healer (particularly with regards to serpents’ 5

On the marvellous stones and the genre of the lapidary: Lancellotti (2001). Halleux and Schamp (1985) 45-57. They compare the Lithika with the poems of Theocritus (p. 51: “un écrivain cultivé qui, sans être nécessairement un professionnel, avait pratiqué avec assiduité au moins Homère et Théocrite”). Bidez and Cumont (1938) I, 128-30 held that the Lithika were a reworking of the lapidary of the “Magus Damigeron”, a theory with which Halleux and Schamp agree. But despite several common features between the Lithika and the Damigeron-Evax, it seems difficult to draw a connection between the two. King (1865) 5-8 argued for a date in the Hellenistic period. 7 This name is of Byzantine origin; see Demetrius Moschus, in Halleux and Schamp (1985) 80-1 (Summary of the Lithika of Orpheus by Demetrius Moschus). 8 As, for example, some details like the use of the heroes as models of virtue, the place granted to Euphorbus (otherwise known as Pythagoras’ incarnation), the prohibition of animal sacrifice. On the other hand, Orpheus is never referred to and the chronology of the different speakers in the poem is incompatible, even for a mythological narrative, with the mythical biography of Orpheus (Helenus is a hero of the Trojan War, and Orpheus is known to be of the preceding generation of heroes). I suppose we may credit the anonymous author with a certain knowledge of the most important myths of ancient Hellenism. 9 Schamp (1981), commenting on another ritual in the poem, states that the Lithika deal with the theurgical system. 10 On the Pythagorean models of heroism, see Détienne (1962). 11 Thus the Orphic lapidary actually begins in 165, with Theiodamas’ speech. 6

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bites) and soothsayer (as in the extract discussed in detail below). At least part of the scene takes place in Troy during the famous Trojan War—a most Hellenic environment. The end of the poem (400-770), including the passage about animal communications, is allegedly told by Helenus, a son of Priam and a seer. In this passage the anonymous author describes the way one should capture, cut, and cook a dragon-snake for the purpose of divination and understanding of animal languages. This text introduces the ritual by which one may acquire a marvellous skill, and thus offers a perfect case study for the analysis of the intertwining of the ritual and the marvellous in what has been called “magic”. The words ascribed to Helenus are said to be an oracle, as he himself acknowledges: ‘this is the oracle that the son of Leto... told to reveal’ (ȁȘIJȠǸįȘȢ ਪȠ ȝ੻ ȤȡȘıȝȠ૨... ijȘıȚ ʌȚijĮȪıțİȚȞ, 762-3). We may identify some features of a verse oracle in the text from lines 698 to 744.12 These features include the instructive formula ‘I command’ (ਙȞȦȖĮ 13 ) + infinitives14, as in 701 (țȜ૊ȗİȚȞ ਙȞȦȖĮ, ‘I command to invoke’), and in 720-1 (ਙȞȦȖĮ ȝ૙ȟĮȚ, ‘I command to mix’). One also finds such structural elements as ȖȐȡ and ਥʌİȓ introducing explanatory sections, as in 726 (IJȑȡʌȠȞIJĮȚ ȖȐȡ, ਥʌİȓ țȑ IJȚȢ ਥȞ IJİȜİIJૌıȚ, ... ‘for they are delighted when someone in the rituals...’), or what seems to be an apostrophe to the recipient, followed by an assertion of mantic authority in 698 (Ǽੁ į’ ਙȖİ įȑȤȞȣıȠ ȝ૨șȠȞ· ਥȖઅ į’ ਥįȐȘȞ, IJȐ țİ ȜȑȟȦ, ‘Come on! receive the myth: ǿ know what I am saying’). These usages suggest that this is the language of Apollo.15 Lines 698 to 744 may well be an oracular prescription inserted into the Lithika, presumably Apollonian in letter and in spirit, as the oracles of Apollo often gave ritual prescriptions using old-fashioned, Homeric, poetry.16 It seems impossible to tie this text to some particular place or, in the case of an oracular prescription, to any oracular shrine. Helenus performs as an independent seer, revealing the words of Apollo to a Greek hero, Philoctetes. Apollo here could be the same as the Trojan god who took part in the war, known as Apollo Smintheus when he used his arrows 12

See the text in full accompanied by my translation at the end of this paper. A word typical of Homeric poetry. See Parke and Wormell (1946) 146-7 n. 363.1 for its use in a Delphic context. 14 Halleux and Schamp (1985) 49-50: “Aux parenthèses et subordonnées près, un passage est d’un bout à l’autre rédigé à l’infinitif. L’emploi de ce mode avec valeur impérative est bien connu. L’isolement du morceau dans le poème suggère que l’auteur indique ainsi sa source, peut-être une recette magique”. 15 See Fontenrose (1978) 174-86. 16 See Busine (2005) 159-72. 13

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against the Greek army on behalf of his priest Chryses (Il. 1.35-52). Alternatively, he may be the Apollo Thymbraeus in whose shrine, not far from Troy, Helenus acquired his skill according to a legend: indeed, when Helenus and his sister Cassandra were babies and were sleeping in the temple of Thymbra, snakes came to them and licked their ears and eyes, thus granting them their mantic abilities (Anticlides, FGrH 140 F17 [Jacoby]).17 This story contains the key theme of the snake as a purveyor of mantic skills. The joint presence of the theme of oracular power and its Apolline patronage in the story form the interface against which oracular divination was practised and may also facilitate understanding of what is going on. Snakes constitute a second, basic element. The ritual described by Helenus occurs outdoors, in a sacred space marked by several altars (ਥʌ੿ ȕȦȝ૵Ȟ, 699). Not everything is described in detail in the poem, but the strong points of the ritual receive close attention. By means of preliminaries (ʌȡ૵IJĮ ȝ੻Ȟ, 699), libations and hymns are offered to the Earth and to the Sun (699-702). Then (įİȪIJİȡȠȞ, 704) a certain stone called liparaios is burnt on an altar, and the fragrant smoke draws the snakes out of their holes (703-7). Three kouroi, which in an epic context means ‘young warriors’, dressed in linen and armed with two-edged swords, catch the first serpent that coils around the altar (70811). This serpent is cut into pieces, three for each kouros—nine cuts in total (712-5). Those parts (ȝȠ૙ȡĮȚ) match with three verses and three points of reference: the Earth, the Sun, and the oracle. Then the meat of the snake is cooked in an earthen cauldron or a tripod (716-23). The ingredients added to it are: olive oil, wine, salt, spices (pepper). The meat is boiled in oil and wine, and the taste is enhanced by condiments. Invocations and imprecations are sung during the cooking (724-30). These imprecations repel the avenging demon (the Erinye Megaera), while the invocations please the celestial gods who send down the pneuma (breath) upon the hierai moirai, the consecrated parts: this is the highlight of the ritual. Part of the meat is eaten and the remains are buried, with libations of milk, wine, oil, and honey (731-7). Crowns of olive wood are made. The practitioner goes back home, head covered, without looking back or speaking to anyone (737-44). Back in his own palace (megaron), he makes a burnt offering of spices to the gods.

17

See Davreux (1942) 66. The narrative of Anticlides and other stories of that sort belong to the genre of the epic, not to paradoxography. See Graf (2009a) 76 and Ogden (2013) 138-43.

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After describing the ritual, Helenus declares that thereafter he found himself able to foresee the future and to understand the chirping of birds as well as the cries of the wild carnivores of the earth:18 ȉĮ૨IJ’ ਥȖઅ ਥțIJİȜȑıĮȢ, ੖ıĮ IJ’ ਩ııİIJĮȚ, ੖ııĮ IJİ țȠ૨ijȠȚ / ੕ȡȞȚșİȢ țȜȐȗȠȣıȚȞ, ਥʌȓıIJĮȝĮȚ, ੖ııĮ IJİ șોȡİȢ / ੩ȝȘıIJĮ੿ IJİIJȡȐʌİȗȠȚ ਥȞ੿ ıijȓıȚȞ ੩ȡȪȠȞIJĮȚ. (7457) After having performed these things, I know what will happen, what the light birds are screaming and what the carnivorous four-footed beasts are roaring to each other.

The development of mantic abilities and particularly the foreknowledge acquired through the understanding of animals, is a long tradition. Ornithomancy in general consists of observing the behaviour of birds, but, as Auguste Bouché-Leclercq has already stated, the most excellent ornithomancy is made possible through understanding the language of the birds.19 As the birds have access to the celestial space, which is denied to humans, they are able to perceive the thoughts of the gods, and when they are perched on trees, they communicate this information through their own manner of speech to the ears of the man capable of hearing and understanding (Plut. De soll. 22 [975a]; Porphyry Abst. 3.5.5). 20 This ability is recognised in some mythical seers (more ‘hearers’ in that case) and some half-historical, half-legendary men: Melampus, Tiresias, Pythagoras (Amm. 22.13), and Apollonius of Tyana and his disciples (Philostr. VA 1.20; Porphyry Abst. 3.3-4). In the case of Melampus and Tiresias, the understanding of the birds’ speech seems to be intuitive21: they had never learned it, it has never been taught to them and they never had to conduct a linguistic decoding. According to a story from about the 5th century BCE, the transmission of this ability to the seer was made by a snake or by some god or being who was close to the snake (such as 18

We may not be surprised by the silence of fish and aquatic animals, as they are rarely thought to be ‘speaking’ animals (Plut. De soll. 22 [975 B]), even if they actually are. The poetic, binary formulation evokes, I think, the whole of the ‘speaking’ animal world. 19 Bouché-Leclercq (1963) 135. See also Johnston (2008) 110-2 (‘Becoming a mantis’) and, recently, Patera (2012). 20 ਥʌĮțȠ૨ıĮȚ țĮ੿ ıȪȞİıȚȞ ਩ȤİȚȞ (Porphyry Abst. 3.3.6). The voices of the animals are not even a ‘rational’ speech (ȜȠȖȩȢ) but screams (ijșȑȖȟİȦȢ). 21 According to Hdt. 9.93-5, Evenius received from the gods a ‘natural mantic ability’ (emphuton mantiken). Grottanelli (2003) 214-5 explains emphuton by referring to Homer and Plutarch, and speaks of an ‘inborn gift’.

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Athena, in one version of the Tiresias legend).22 The story of Melampus is paradigmatic: 23 as his servants were killing snakes, the seer showed compassion for their young, which he rescued and raised. In return, the reptiles licked his ears during his sleep. Waking up, a little frightened, Melampus realised that he now understood all that birds around him were saying (Apollod. 1.9.11-13). The actual deed of the snakes was a purification: ਥȟİțȐșĮȚȡȠȞ; they cleaned out his ears, as Athena had done for Tiresias (Apollod. 3.6.7): įȚĮțĮșȐȡĮıĮȞ. From then onwards, the ability to understand the voices of animals looks like a natural ability, which might be hindered in the normal conditions of human beings, when their ears are polluted.24 In this way, the act of divination may appear to others as if the seers/hearers are just listening to conversations of animals through the door and in the process have learned some secrets about the future and some of the thoughts of gods, as it is the case for Helenus, according to the Lithika. Moreover, it is suggested that some seers should be called language interpreters rather than omen exegetes, as in the case of Apollonius of Tyana: įȚĮȜİȖȠȝȑȞȠȣ įȑ ʌȠIJİ ʌİȡ੿ țȠȚȞȦȞȓĮȢ țĮ੿ įȚįȐıțȠȞIJȠȢ, ੖IJȚ Ȥȡ੽ IJȡȑijİȚȞ IJİ ਕȜȜȒȜȠȣȢ țĮ੿ ਫ਼ʌ’ ਕȜȜȒȜȦȞ IJȡȑijİıșĮȚ, ıIJȡȠȣșȠ੿ ȝ੻Ȟ ਥțȐșȘȞIJȠ ਥʌ੿ IJ૵Ȟ įȑȞįȡȦȞ ıȚȦʌ૵ȞIJİȢ, İੈȢ į੻ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ʌȡȠıʌİIJȩȝİȞȠȢ ਥȕȩĮ, ʌĮȡĮțİȜİȪİıșĮȓ IJȚ įȠț૵Ȟ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਙȜȜȠȚȢ, Ƞੂ įȑ, ੪Ȣ ਵțȠȣıĮȞ, Į੝IJȠȓ IJİ ਕȞȑțȡĮȖȠȞ țĮ੿ ਕȡșȑȞIJİȢ ਥʌȑIJȠȞIJȠ ਫ਼ʌઁ IJ૶ ਦȞȓ. ੒ ȝ੻Ȟ į੽ ਝʌȠȜȜȫȞȚȠȢ İ੅ȤİIJȠ IJȠ૨ ȜȩȖȠȣ ȖȚȖȞȫıțȦȞ ȝȑȞ, ਥij’ ੖ IJȚ Ƞੂ ıIJȡȠȣșȠ੿ ʌȑIJȠȚȞIJȠ, ʌȡઁȢ į੻ IJȠઃȢ ʌȠȜȜȠઃȢ Ƞ੝Ȥ ਦȡȝȘȞİȪȦȞ Į੝IJȩ, ਥʌİ੿ į੻ ਕȞȑȕȜİȥĮȞ ਥȢ Į੝IJȠઃȢ ʌȐȞIJİȢ țĮ੿ ਕȞȠȒIJȦȢ ਩ȞȚȠȚ IJİȡĮIJ૵įİȢ Į੝IJઁ ਥȞȩȝȚıĮȞ, ʌĮȡĮȜȜȐȟĮȢ ੒ ਝʌȠȜȜȫȞȚȠȢ IJȠ૨ ȜȩȖȠȣ ‘ʌĮ૙Ȣ’ İੇʌİȞ ‘੭ȜȚıșİȞ ਕʌȐȖȦȞ ʌȣȡȠઃȢ ਥȞ ıțȐijૉ țĮ੿ țĮț૵Ȣ Į੝IJȠઃȢ ȟȣȜȜİȟȐȝİȞȠȢ Į੝IJઁȢ ȝ੻Ȟ ਕʌİȜȒȜȣșİ, ʌȠȜȜȠઃȢ į’ ਥıțİįĮıȝȑȞȠȣȢ ਕʌȠȜȑȜȠȚʌİȞ ਥȞ ıIJİȞȦʌ૶ IJ૶ įİ૙ȞȚ, ੒ į੻ ıIJȡȠȣșઁȢ ʌĮȡĮIJȣȤઅȞ Ƞ੤IJȠȢ ʌȡȩȟİȞȠȢ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਙȜȜȠȚȢ ਸ਼țİȚ IJȠ૨ ਦȡȝĮȓȠȣ țĮ੿ ʌȠȚİ૙IJĮȚ Į੝IJȠઃȢ ȟȣııȓIJȠȣȢ’. (Philostr. VA 4.3).

22

The story of Melampus is known from the Library of Pseudo-Apollodorus (1.9.11-13) but could go back to a Melampodia assigned to Hesiod; the story of Tiresias is a version of the legend also in Ps.-Apollodorus’ Library (3.6.7), which originates allegedly in Pherecydes of Athens (beginning of the 5th c. BCE, fr. 50 [Müller I, 85]). Tiresias, however, is blinded, so he cannot directly practise ornithoscopia (see Aesop, Fabulae 89 Loayza = 110 Chambry). See also Brisson (1976). 23 And Melampus is the paradigm of the migrant seer, a type of a diviner that proliferated during the Archaic age: Flower (2008) 27 and 42. 24 Porphyry, Abst. 3.3.7: curiously, a mother urinates in the ears of her son to disempower him.

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Once, as he held forth on fellow feeling, preaching that we must nourish one another and be nourished in return, sparrows were sitting silently on the branches. But another one flew to join them and began to chirp loudly, as if it was passing some message to the others, and on hearing it they piped up and then took off flying after the first one. Apollonius pursued his argument knowing why the sparrows had flown, but not explaining (ਦȡȝȘȞİȪȦȞ) it to his audience. When however everyone looked up at the birds, and some foolishly took this for an omen, Apollonius laid aside his topic and said, ‘A slave boy had slipped carrying wheat grains in a tray. Now he has gone off without picking them up properly, but leaving a lot of them scattered in such-and-such an alley. Since the sparrow happened to be nearby, it has come to invite the others to this bonanza, and makes them its dinner guests’. (trnsl. Jones [2005]).

The example of Apollonius, a well-known Pythagorean of the end of the 1st century CE, shows the ability to understand the speech of animals as a means of distinguishing this wonder-maker and philosopher from the rest of men. Apollonius himself, further, serves as the interpreter or translator (ਦȡȝȘȞİȪȦȞ) of a kind of communication which has no relationship to the human language. This skill of Apollonius was a gift to him from the gods: since Apollonius, as a Pythagorean and a theios aner,25 was most closely associated with no other god but Apollo himself. Pythagoreanism and Apollonian philosophy are reflected in the text of the Lithika, especially with regards to divine communication. To begin with, the understanding of birds was traditionally considered naturally dependent on Apollo’s power, as the god himself declared in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes: țĮ੿ ȝ੻Ȟ ਥȝોȢ ੑȝijોȢ ਕʌȠȞȒıİIJĮȚ, ੖Ȣ IJȚȢ ਗȞ ਩ȜșȘȚ / ijȦȞોȚ IJ’ ਱į੻ ʌȠIJોȚıȚ IJİȜȘȑȞIJȦȞ ȠੁȦȞ૵Ȟǜ / Ƞ੤IJȠȢ ਥȝોȢ ੑȝijોȢ ਕʌȠȞȒıİIJĮȚ, Ƞ੝į’ ਕʌĮIJȒıȦǜ / ੔Ȣ įȑ țİ ȝĮȥȚȜȩȖȠȚıȚ ʌȚșȒıĮȢ ȠੁȦȞȠ૙ıȚȞ / ȝĮȞIJİȓȘȞ ਥșȑȜȘıȚ ʌȐȡİț ȞȩȠȞ ਥȟİȡİİȓȞİȚȞ / ਲȝİIJȑȡȘȞ, ȞȠȑİȚȞ į੻ șİ૵Ȟ ʌȜȑȠȞ Įੁ੻Ȟ ਥȩȞIJȦȞ, / ijોȝ’ ਖȜȓȘȞ ੒įઁȞ İੇıȚȞ, ਥȖઅ įȑ țİ į૵ȡĮ įİȤȠȓȝȘȞ. (HH 4.543-9). He will profit from my utterance who comes on the cry or the flights of valid omen birds: that man will profit from my utterance, and I shall not deceive him. But he who puts his trust in omens of vain utterance, and wants to enquire after a prophecy beyond my intention, and to know more than the eternal gods, I declare he will journey for nothing, though I shall take his offerings. (trnsl. West [2003]).

25

Bieler (1935).

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According to this passage, there are some birds which are omens, and it is Apollo who is responsible for interpreting the meaning of their voices and flights. Whoever wants to profit from the meaning of these omenbearing birds needs the approval of Apollo, otherwise the birds will not tell the truth. That is why in the Lithika three parts of the snake are dedicated to ‘a very learned, trustful oracle’ (șİȠʌȡȠʌȓȘȢ ʌȠȜȣǸįȝȠȞȠȢ, ਕȥİȪıIJȠȚȠ, 715). The aim of the ritual for the partaker is partly to acquire the same abilities that Melampus or Tiresias did, with divine approval. Secondly, there is a special link between the traditional mantic power and its revived and ritualised transmission in the Lithika through the serpent. In the Life of Apollonius written by Philostratus, from which comes the story in Philostr. VA 4.3, the text also records an account of the habits of some people in India who eat the heart or liver of dragon-snakes in order to understand animals (Philostr. VA 3.9). 26 This occurs on the occasion of Apollonius’ journey in India, before he proved that skill at Ephesus. But even before this story, Philostratus had recounted that Apollonius had achieved an understanding of animals among the Arabians, who eat hearts or livers of snakes: ਯıIJȚ Ȗ੹ȡ IJ૵Ȟ ਝȡĮȕȓȦȞ ਵįȘ țȠȚȞઁȞ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ੑȡȞȓșȦȞ ਕțȠȪİȚȞ ȝĮȞșİȣȠȝȑȞȦȞ, ੒ʌȩıĮ Ƞੂ ȤȡȘıȝȠȓ, ȟȣȝȕȐȜȜȠȞIJĮȚ į੻ IJ૵Ȟ ਕȜȩȖȦȞ, ıȚIJȠȪȝİȞȠȚ IJ૵Ȟ įȡĮțȩȞIJȦȞ Ƞੂ ȝ੻Ȟ țĮȡįȓĮȞ ijĮıȓȞ, Ƞੂ į੻ ਸʌĮȡ. (Philostr. VA 1.20). For indeed all Arabs share the ability to hear birds predicting everything that oracles do, and they understand dumb animals by eating the hearts of snakes, or by another account the livers. (trnsl. Jones [2005]).

The ability to understand the animals is here clearly considered for its mantic consequences. But it appears that what was an ability shared by some special men among the Greeks, at least in mythical times, it became, at least in Apollonius’ text, the quality of some eastern peoples—a trait exhibited by people of a specific geographical location. Another important detail of the original snake tale is transformed, even reversed in the literary tradition: the snakes which originally were active agents in enabling men to understand animal conversations, by cleaning their ears, later, by being eaten, became a means for the acquisition of the very same ability. A variation on this reversal may be found in the Natural History of Pliny the Elder: 26

These serpents are described as giant snakes hunted by Indians; the story is clearly different from the one recorded in the Lithika.

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Qui credat ista, et Melampodi profecto auguri aures lambendo dedisse intellectum avium sermonis dracones non abnuat, vel quae Democritus tradit nominando aves quarum confuso sanguine serpens gignatur, quem quisquis ederit intellecturus sit alitum colloquia... (Plin. Nat. Hist. 10.137).27 Anybody who would believe that sort of thing would also assuredly not deny that snakes by licking the ears of the augur Melampus gave him the power to understand the language of birds, or the story handed down by Democritus, who mentions birds from a mixture of whose blood a snake is born, which, whoever eats it will understand the conversations of birds... (trnsl. Rackham [1940]).

This passage shows how some writings altered the mythological model: by mixing blood from different species of birds, one would purportedly obtain a serpent in order thereafter to eat it. It is well known that the name of “Democritus” (who was supposed to be a pupil of Osthanes, the magus) may conceal a pseudonymous author such as Bolos of Mendes who, during the Hellenistic period, compiled many recipes of a “magical” nature. 28 More precisely, this Bolos belonged to a group of “pseudo-democritean”, “pseudo-pythagorean” as well as “pseudo-orphic” authors 29 who used to collect data about marvels of natural history (mirabilia) and practices that were considered “magical”,30 which in turn were frequently reported as originating in the Persian empire or some other eastern territory.31 This literature circulated in Rome during the 1st century BCE in “neopythagorean” groups or groups of “learned

27

See also Plin. Nat. Hist. 29.72, Democritus quidem monstra quaedam ex his confingit, ut possint auium sermones intellegi; ‘Democritus indeed invents some weird stories about snakes, how for instance they make it possible to understand the language of birds’; trnsl. Jones (1963). 28 About the identification of Bolus of Mendes, see Wellmann (1928), GaillardSeux (2009) and WĊcowski (2011). 29 Martín Hernández (2008) and (2010) 75-126 (ch. 4, “La literatura mágica y ‘pseudocientífica’ atribuida a orfeo”), especially p. 107-26 on the Lithika. 30 I make a distinction between a theoretical aspect, the ‘marvels’ or mirabilia— which belonged to the things that were extraordinary by nature, the paradoxa, that is, descriptions of natural facts and material objects—, and a practical or technical aspect, the ‘magic’ or artes magicae, which may include all extraordinary phenomena; both merge during the imperial period into the notion of physica, ‘natural (remedies, powers)’. See Mudry (2004). 31 See Momigliano (1975) 2, 9 and 141-9 about the development of the image of the magi in Greek culture.

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magicians”. 32 Apollonius of Tyana, as well as whoever would have practiced the ritual described in the Lithika, stands at the crossroads of different trends: 1) mantic power, as if inspired by Apollo, to conduct divination through the understanding of the language of animals; 2) a pseudepigraphic tradition, supported also by “Pythagorean” intellectuals, that reversed the passive seer/hearer into an active wonder-maker, and the active serpent into a passive material; 33 3) a theoretical rooting of the practice in some imaginary oriental location, which brought about the transformation of the model of the Greek diviner (the mantis) into a disciple of oriental wonder-makers (the magoi).34 That is why in the Lithika, before describing the ritual, Helenus claims that the miraculous stone was passed on to him from the hands of Dolon, a Trojan spy known in the Iliad. Dolon had received it from his father, the herald Eumedes, who received it as a gift in “Assyria”—that is, in the Near Eastern area—from the magoi themselves (691-7).35 The knowledge, then, comes from the oriental magoi and is passed on to Greece through the Trojan city. 36 As a result of this new, eastern origin, the Greek mythological tradition about some very special manteis grew in value. The ability to understand the language of animals is closely connected to snakes. Is this because of a special relationship between the snakes and the gods, especially with Apollo? Or is this because the snakes would have conveyed a symbolic meaning concerning divination or, rather, were supposed to possess a trait which enabled them to understand the language of animals? First of all, the connection between serpents, especially drakontes, and the manifestation of supernatural powers is an important feature of myth and religion in ancient Greece as well as in other cultures of the past. In the Lithika, the noun drakon can refer to a real creature, which could be identified as a species of the Colubridae family, particularly the genus 32

Dickie (1999) and (2001) 117-23. That is, a magical practice using or adapting an ancient mythical pattern. For another example of a mythical pattern moving back and forth between “myth” and “magic” throughout antiquity see Faraone (2013). 34 Carastro (2007). 35 Dolon and Eumedes are known from Hom. Il. 10.414-7. Dolon has never been a character really loved or admired, and his role in the epic is anything but honourable. Is it possible that a wordplay on the name of Dolon’s father (even if not recorded in the Lithika), Eumedes could have led to his function as an intermediary between Asia and Greece? 36 About the magoi see De Jong (1997). 33

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Elaphe quattuorlineata (common name: ‘four-lined snake’), which is involved in some Greek cults.37 This family of snakes, which can be 1.6 metres long, is not venomous, as stated by Nicander, who relates their habits and their fight against eagles (Nicander, Theriaca 438-57). The theme of a snake fighting with a bird, particularly an eagle, is an omen in Iliad 12.200-10. 38 It is quite important that snakes and birds could independently be omens, but they could be an omen together, as well. Snakes could be a symbol of both chthonic powers and mantic ability. Representative examples include the serpent Pytho of Delphi, 39 the bearded drakon representing Zeus Meilichios, 40 or even the snakes of Asclepius and Trophonios. The snake, furthermore, especially where the aetiology of an oracle is concerned, is one of the main manifestations of the generating and divinatory forces of Earth.41 An important example is the snake which is central to the cult of Glaukon, the god of the oracle of Abonuteichus in Asia Minor. This snake is a manifestation of Apollo; the body of a dragon-snake represents the god (Luc. Alexander). Here, in the Lithika, the snake is coiled around an altar where a ‘sacrifice’ (thuele) has just been performed. In the legend of Melampus, the cleaning of the ears by young snakes follows the killing of adult ones. In a variant, it is a single serpent, captured at an altar after the sacrifice of an ox, that is killed.42 However, in the Lithika, there is no animal sacrifice but rather the burning of an unidentified stone (liparea) whose smoke had attracted the snake. It might be an example of the natural law of “sympathy”, that physical things are connected to each other. If that law is in effect in this case, it means that the serpent and the stone take part in the same nature and power.43 From Pliny the Elder we learn that the stone has the capacity to summon wild beasts:44 De liparea hoc tantum traditur, suffita ea omnes bestias evocari. (Plin. Nat. Hist. 37.172). 37

Bodson (1981). Three snakes formed an omen, interpreted by Apollo himself during the construction of the Trojan walls, according to Pind. O. 8.48-61. 39 About prophetic dragons in a sanctuary of Apollo in Epirus, which are said to be the offspring of Pytho, see Ael. NA. 11.2. 40 Gourmelen (2012). 41 Küster (1913) and Bodson (1978) 68-92. Elsewhere in the poem (407), Earth is called the mother of snakes. 42 See Parke (1967) 166-7. 43 Wellmann (1928); Kroll (1934); Jones (1950-1); Gordon (1997); Gaillard-Seux (2003); Gordon (2007), (2010a), and (2010b). 44 Note that the name in Latin is liparea and in Greek liparaios. 38

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Chapter Six As for the ‘liparea’, the only fact that is reported is that, when it is burnt, all beasts are flushed from their hiding-places by its fumes. (trnsl. Eichholtz [1962]).

It is surprising that fumigating attracts snakes; usually, the magical recipes are intended to repel them. But the verb evocari used by Pliny may have a technical sense related to a kind of burnt offering usually intended to attract gods. In the same ascending movement, the rising smoke of the liparaios lures the snakes out of their subterranean place to the altar. The image of the drakon emerging from the ground and drawn out around an altar might be depicted on the numerous paintings of the serpentiform genius loci visible on the walls and “lararia” of Pompei. 45 The great popularity of this serpent as a divine figure or image of supernatural power completes the divine aspect of birds in the epic and divinatory traditions of Greece.46 Halleux and Schamp identified the liparaios with a possible volcanic stone, probably from the homonymous islands (Lipara).47 One of them, the Sacred Island (Hieraia), was known in antiquity for its sanctuary of Hephaistos Liparaios. 48 The name of this stone may therefore have a geographical origin as well as a religious one. It refers to the volcanic activity and the powers of the subterranean world (Strab. 6.2.11),49 and we may recall that prophetic powers were sometimes emanations from the underground, as in Delphi (Cic. Div. 1.115; Plut. De Defect. 43.433e ).50 It seems, though, that the liparaios and the drakon imitate the invocation of chthonic, prophetic, powers by fumigating.51

45

Fröhlich (1991). See Boyce (1942) for the interpretation. Schnapp-Gourbeillon (1981) 161-2. 47 Halleux and Schamp (1985) 322 n. 5. See Theophrastus On Stones 14: a smooth black rock, close to the pumice (or obsidian, volcanic glass–rhyolite, liparite). Theophrastus asserts that the liparaios is found in separate ‘cups’ amid the pumice. 48 RE 13.1, 719 (ed. 1926); see Theoc. Id. 2.133-4 where the enchantress Simaitha compares the fire of love with the fire of volcanoes (ਯȡȦȢ į’ ਙȡĮ țĮ੿ ȁȚʌĮȡĮ઀Ȧ / ʌȠȜȜ੺țȚȢ ਞijĮ઀ıIJȠȚȠ ı੼ȜĮȢ ijȜȠȖİȡઆIJİȡȠȞ Į੅șİȚ; ‘Often Love / Fires up a hotter blaze than Hephaestus kindles on Lipara’; trnsl. Verity [2002]). 49 About some relations between magic, Pythagoreanism and the volcanic activities of Sicily see Kingsley (1995) 71-194. 50 The existence of fumes at Delphi is still debated but remains an important feature of the legend of the oracle: Johnston (2008) 47-50 and Graf (2009b). 51 For the connection between Apollo, as a Sun-god, and chthonic powers see Faraone (2004). 46

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The treatment of the serpent is violent. We may think of the mythical fights of heroes or gods with marvellous serpents, and particularly the fight of Apollo against Pytho (HH 3.300-74),52 which as a rule leads to the foundation of a city or a sanctuary. After it is eaten, its remains are to be buried. There is a special treatment known for the relics of purifications in ancient Greece (Hp. Morb. Sacr. 1.12), 53 but instead of the anticipated laurel crown, here it is olive wood that is to be worn, which brings to mind Athena, the goddess who cleaned the ears of Tiresias and whose sanctuary, on the Athenian Acropolis, was supposed to be guarded by a fictitious snake which received offerings of honey cakes (Hdt. 8.41).54 That is, at least, an indication that the Apolline character of the text is embedded in a plurality of symbols and that the entire ritual, as well as the symbol of the serpent, are to be understood in the context of a polytheistic system with, probably, several strata or components in its own elaboration. Between the catching and the eating of an animal there seems to be no place for a “sacrifice”, as the text itself strictly forbids the sacrifice of living beings (‘for the sacrifice of the living is not allowed by divine law’, Ƞ੝ Ȗ੹ȡ ਙȖİȚȞ șȑȝȚȢ ਥıIJ੿ șȣȘȜ੽Ȟ ਥȝȥȪȤȠȚȠ, 701). This could have been a point in the Pythagorean orientation of people like Apollonius of Tyana or Porphyry, who avoided meat, and who were precisely the kind of people interested in understanding animal communications (see Porphyry Abst. 3.3-4 especially). But here, obviously, the prohibition of animal sacrifice does not necessarily mean the prohibition of the killing of beasts, which is tacit here and absolutely not the point. Moreover, the scene is centred on the preparation of the meat. There is no knife or machaira but swords, and the cooks are young warriors, clothed in linen dress, which suggests ritual precautions.55 The young warriors or kouroi, as opposed in the epic to the gerontes—the

52

Given that she was looking upon this ritual as a sacrifice and interpreting it with Delphi as a model in mind, Harrison (1899) 223 wrote: “We have no actual record of a snake-sacrifice at Delphi, but in the Orphic Lithika, a treatise abounding in records of ancient custom and ritual, there is a curious and detailed account of the sacrifice of snakes for mantic purposes. A mantic stone is melted and snakes are allured by its smell, the snake that comes nearest to the fire is seized by three boys in white garments and cut into nine portions [quotation of the verses 712 to 715] where the portion for earth, and the mantic intent are germane to the cultus at Delphi”. On the dragon fights in general see Ogden (2013). 53 Parker (1983) 229. 54 Sourvinou-Inwood (2011) 53-5. 55 There are certain plants cut with two-edged swords during “magical” gathering: Delatte (1961) 92 and 167; Theophrastus, HP 9.8.7-8; Marcellus, 27 and 87.

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elders—,56 are also part of the ritual and the mythical domain of Apollo.57 The meat boils in a cauldron or a tripod, which is an Apolline symbol as well as an archaic instrument of cooking.58 The purpose of the ingredients is only to enhance the taste and the value of the meal, making the meat edible. The recipe recalls one given by Dioscorides, the pharmacological author, about the cooking of the viper in oil and wine, with salt and dill (Diosc. 2.16). Many texts provide evidence of the cooking of snakes for medical purposes in antiquity. 59 Even if the vocabulary used here to describe the food is religious (hierai moirai, 730), and even if the context involves religious features—invocations and imprecations, Erinye and gods, the altar and the divinatory purpose itself—, the victim is unusual, and no part of it is given to a god or burnt on the altar.60 What we do have here is only the cutting and cooking of meat. During the cooking, someone has to say performative words; 61 possibly this is the function given to Helenus as mantis/magos. The first clue is the imprecations directed against Megaera. It reminds us of the function devoted to the magi in the Papyrus of Derveni, where “magoi” are said to pronounce imprecations against the Erinyes during rituals (P. Der. col. 17). This association calls to mind the ritual function of the Persian magi as stated already in Herodotus (1.132): the magi are essential in the quasi-sacrificial rituals of the Achaemenids because they speak the incantations during the cutting of the meat. The analogy with the ritual of the Lithika is noteworthy. Then, the cutting of the snake evokes a cosmological scheme. The preliminary libation is addressed to Helios and Gaia, and both provide structure. The cutting of the serpent into nine parts takes this structure into account: the parts are for 1) the Earth, 2) the Sun, and 3) the divinatory power which may be interconnected with the others.62 We may also think 56

Jeanmaire (1939) 11-111. See p. 387-411 about the koros amphithales who may have participated in the ritual slaying of the serpent Pytho by Apollo during certain ceremonies at Delphi (Plut. De Defect. 418 a-b). 57 Hom. Il. 1.473 (țȠ૨ȡȠȚ ਝȤĮȚ૵Ȟ), Graf (2009a) 103-8. 58 The tripod has been seen as a Delphic symbol by Harrison (1899). The tripod is also a symbol used in the temple of Apollo Smintheus at Troy: Parke (1985) 177-8. 59 Gaillard-Seux (2012). It appears that the cooking of snakes is meant to remove the venom of the flesh. 60 About sacrifice and magic in the Roman Empire see Johnston (2000) and (2002), and also Zografou (2008) and (2013). 61 For the mechanics of prayers in a magical context see Graf (1991), Aubriot (2005). 62 Should we compare with Theophrastus, HP 9.5.2 (‘... when they have brought up the cinnamon, they divide it in three parts and draw lots for the it with the sun; and whatever portion falls to the lot of the sun they leave behind; and they say that,

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of the same tripartite structure of the world with an additional division, at the end of the ritual, between birds (sky) and quadrupeds (earth). In my view, the pneuma—or the divine emanation—is identical with the divinatory power which interconnects the whole and allows man to access this cosmic level. The mathematical cutting of the snake may, in this context, be a symbol of this tripartite cosmological structure. This kind of cosmological structure that is closely tied to divination recalls the story of the death of the first Sibyl at Delphi: ... ੒ ȝ੻Ȟ ȈĮȡĮʌȓȦȞ ਥȝȞȒıșȘ IJ૵Ȟ ਥʌ૵Ȟ, ਥȞ ȠੈȢ ੢ȝȞȘıİȞ ਦĮȣIJȒȞ, ੪Ȣ Ƞ੝į’ ਕʌȠșĮȞȠ૨ıĮ ȜȒȟİȚ ȝĮȞIJȚțોȢ, ਕȜȜ’ Į੝IJ੽ ȝ੻Ȟ ਥȞ IJૌ ıİȜȒȞૉ ʌİȡȓİȚıȚ IJઁ [țĮȜȠȪȝİȞȠȞ] ijĮȚȞȩȝİȞȠȞ ȖİȞȠȝȑȞȘ ʌȡȩıȦʌȠȞ, IJ૶ į’ ਕȑȡȚ IJઁ ʌȞİ૨ȝĮ ıȣȖțȡĮș੻Ȟ ਥȞ ijȒȝĮȚȢ ਕİ੿ ijȠȡȒıİIJĮȚ țĮ੿ țȜȘįȩıȚȞ· ਥț į੻ IJȠ૨ ıȫȝĮIJȠȢ ȝİIJĮȕĮȜȩȞIJȠȢ ਥȞ IJૌ Ȗૌ ʌȩĮȢ țĮ੿ ੢ȜȘȢ ਕȞĮijȣȠȝȑȞȘȢ ȕȠıțȒıİIJĮȚ IJĮȪIJȘȞ ੂİȡ੹ șȡȑȝȝĮIJĮ ȤȡȩĮȢ IJİ ʌĮȞIJȠįĮʌ੹Ȣ ੅ıȤȠȞIJĮ țĮ੿ ȝȠȡij੹Ȣ țĮ੿ ʌȠȚȩIJȘIJĮȢ ਥʌ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ıʌȜȐȖȤȞȦȞ ਕij’ ੰȞ Įੂ ʌȡȠįȘȜȫıİȚȢ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȚȢ IJȠ૨ ȝȑȜȜȠȞIJȠȢ. (Plut. De Pyth. 398c-d [Stephanus]). ... Sarapion recalled the verses in which she sang of herself: that even after death she shall not cease from prophesying, but that she shall go round and round in the moon, becoming what she called the face that appears in the moon; while her spirit, mingled with the air, shall be for ever borne onward in voices of presage and portent; and since from her body, transformed within the earth, grass and herbage shall spring, on this shall pasture the creatures reared for the holy sacrifice, and they shall acquire all manner of colours and forms and qualities upon their inward parts, from which shall come for men prognostications of the future. (trnsl. Babbitt [1936]).

Plutarch transcribed and adapted the verses ascribed to the Sibyl herself. In these words the priestess predicted her own death and the fate of her divinatory power, her mantike.63 Bruce Lincoln suggests that we read this myth as a cosmological narrative, with the three parts of being, soul (psyche), 64 breath (pneuma), and body (soma), corresponding as soon as they leave the spot, they see this take fire. Now this is sheer fable (ȝ૨șȠȢ)’; trnsl. Hort [1916])? 63 It is interesting to think about the Sibyl in this oracular context. The word peplos used at the end of the ritual ceremony and designates commonly a feminine dress and the covering of the head, is not Greek but recalls the Roman ritus: the question of who speaks to whom, and where, is still open. For the Sibyl as an alternative but similar to Apollo’s “voice”, see Belayche (2004). For women conducting mantic activities, see Flower (2008) 211-39. 64 The term psyche is used in the narration of the same story in Clem. Strom. 1.70.4.

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respectively to the celestial bodies—the Sun, soul of the world, reflecting on the Moon as the prophetic inspiration on the medium; the air, with voices and omens; and the earth (the body), and through it the entrails of cattle. 65 In that sense, it is close to the division in the Lithika: Sun, pneuma, Earth. It seems that the cooking of the serpent is a way to manipulate divine cosmic powers, with all of them incorporated into the reptile. Eating it could cause one to comprehend this principle of cosmic divine inspiration, which leads to the understanding of the voices of the animals as the voices of divine nature. It is, indeed, the pneuma that conveys the understanding of animals. In Stoic philosophy, the unifying element of the universe is to comprehend the sympathy between separated things. Since at least as early as Cleanthes, the cosmic pneuma which permeates the world was identified with Zeus.66 For Seneca, the cosmic spiritus (=pneuma) is identified with Jupiter (=Zeus): ‘You wish to call him Nature? You will not be mistaken. It is he from whom all things are naturally born, and we have life from his breath’ (Sen. Quaest. Nat. 2.45.2: ‘Vis illum naturam vocare, non peccabis; hic est ex quo nata sunt omnia, cuius spiritu vivimus’, trnsl. Corcoran, [1971]). Zeus’s breath, from a stoic point of view, is the generating force of the world, that is, “Nature”. An emanation of Zeus/Jupiter is sometimes localised at Delphi, as the centre of the world (Luc. 5.93-6). The cosmic parts of the serpent inspired by the divine pneuma could have been an image of the animation of the world. Many texts testify that from a “neopythagorean” point of view the world is thought of as a living being, animated, ‘animal’ (zoion). ȉ੹Ȣ į੻ ȖȠȘIJİȓĮȢ ʌ૵Ȣ; ਻ IJૌ ıȣȝʌĮșİȓ઺, țĮ੿ IJ૶ ʌİijȣțȑȞĮȚ ıȣȝijȦȞȓĮȞ İੇȞĮȚ ੒ȝȠȓȦȞ țĮ੿ ਥȞĮȞIJȓȦıȚȞ ਕȞȠȝȠȓȦȞ, țĮ੿ IJૌ IJ૵Ȟ įȣȞȐȝİȦȞ IJ૵Ȟ ʌȠȜȜ૵Ȟ ʌȠȚțȚȜȓ઺ İੁȢ ਨȞ ȗ૶ȠȞ ıȣȞIJİȜȠȪȞIJȦȞ. (Plotinus, Ennead 4.4.40). But how do magic spells work? By sympathy and by the fact that there is a natural concord of things that are alike and opposition of things that are different, and by the rich variety of the many powers which go to make up the life of the one living creature. (trnsl. Armstrong [1984]).

Plotinus, the founder of the Neoplatonic School, expresses here the theory of a living world whose components are kept together by sympathy—an idea which has been elaborated by Stoicism—and whose 65

Lincoln (1998). Cleanthes, Hymn to Zeus 12-13: įȚ੹ ʌȐȞIJȦȞ | ijȠȚIJઽ. See Verbeke (1945) 55 and Thom (2005) 87-9.

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life is ensured by powers (dunameis). A ‘sorcerer’ (goes) manipulates those powers by means of this sympathy. This theoretical explanation of how magic works is consistent with the ritual of the Lithika: the magus manipulates the sympathies between stones and animals and then summons the power of cosmic animation, which is divine in essence. But why does this holistic and pantheistic system pays so much attention to the understanding of the voices of birds and terrestrial beasts? ijȡȐıȦ į੻ IJĮ૨IJĮ ੖șİȞ ਩ȤİȚ IJઁ șȑıijĮIJȠȞ ʌ૵Ȣ ਩ȤİȚ | IJȡȠʌ੽Ȟ ȕȓȠȣ. ੔ į੻ ȜȑȖİȚ, ਥıIJ੿ IJȠ૨IJȠ. ੯ ʌȐıȘȢ ijȪıİȦȢ ȝİIJĮȝȠȡijȠȣȝȑ|ȞȘ ijȪıȚȢ ਲ ʌȐȞIJĮ ȖȚȞȫıțȠȣıĮ IJ੹ ĮੁȞȠ૨ȞIJĮ ਥȞ Ƞ੝ȡĮȞ૶, ਕȑȡȚ, ȖĮȓૉ țĮ੿ | ੑȡȞȑȦȞ IJ੹ IJȡĮȣȜȠȘȤȠ૨ȞIJĮ ȝȑȜȘ ਥȞĮİȡȓȦȞ ਘ į’ ਙȜȜĮ ȝȣț઼IJĮȚ ȖȑȞȘ IJİ|IJȡĮʌȩįȦȞ, țȣȞ૵Ȟ ਫ਼ȜȐıȝĮIJĮ, ਦȡʌİIJ૵Ȟ ıȣȡȓıȝĮIJĮ, IJȠȪIJȦȞ ਙțȠȣ ıઃ ijșȑȖ|ȝĮIJĮ ʌĮȞIJઁȢ IJȡȩʌȠȣ ȝȣȩȢ, ȖĮȜોȢ, ȝȣȠȖȐȜȠȣ, ਕıțĮȜĮȕȫIJȠȣ ȖȑȞȘ ıȓȜijȘȢ, | ਖʌȐıȘȢ ıijȘțઁȢ țĮ੿ ȝİȜȓııȘȢ ʌĮȞIJȠȓĮȢ. (Cyranides 1.21.81-7 [Kaimakis]). I will say the things from which the divine word knows how change in life occurs. It says the following: ‘Oh, the transformed nature of every nature, you who knows all the things that grant praise in the sky, in the air, on the earth, and the twittering songs of the aerial birds, and whatever else the species of quadrupeds bellow, the barkings of dogs, the hissings of the reptiles; pray, hear the voices of all sort, of these creatures: of the rat, the weasel, the shrewmouse, the gecko, of the species of the cockroach, of all wasps and of any sort of bee’. (trnsl. by author).

This is a quotation from an unknown poem, inserted in the Cyranides, a compilation of magical properties of animals, plants, and stones. 67 It looks like a prayer that could have well been pronounced during the ritual of the Lithika. We know from mythological sources that the understanding of the voices of animals has been conceived as a natural ability, an ability which ordinary men do not have, but need a “cleaning” to acquire. Here, it appears as an ability of the essential nature (physis) of a man who, being part of the holistic Nature, retains a memory of all the voices of the divine world that need to be re-activated. When someone understands the whole, then one understands the voice of Nature itself, which is the expression of the divine soul and the animating principle in the world that one understands. In some particular cases the ingestion of the heart of a divinatory animal bestows the divinatory power on the consumers according to the nature of this animal (Porphyry, Abst. 2.48.1; Origen, Against Celsus 4.88). In the case of the serpent, which is an image of 67 For the Cyranides, see Kaimakis (1976) and Waegeman (1987). About insertions of pieces of poetry, see West (1982) and Jordan (2005).

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divine powers, whoever consumes it is able henceforth to possess the divine ability to communicate with the animal world.68 The transformation of the myth of the seer into the practice of the magus is linked with a fusion of orientalism and Hellenism, mythography and natural history—but it is still a history of marvels, intended to sustain the ambition, or the dream—of establishing a contact between man, gods and animals. At the crossroad of these mythical and practical trends stands a man like Apollonius of Tyana, whose abilities allow him to move beyond the limits of human understanding, in the direction of both animals and gods. Parallel to the understanding of animal communications is the ability of magicians to speak in the language of animals, as attested in the magical papyri: a baboon and a falcon stand in the boat of the Egyptian Sun-god and greet him in their own language, which is interpreted by the practicioner (ȤȚ ȤȚ ȤȚ ȤȚ ȤȚ ȤȚ ȤȚ IJȚʌ IJȚʌ IJȚʌ IJȚʌ IJȚʌ IJȚʌ IJȚʌ, PGM XIII.158159). He knows how to name the god in ‘bird-language’ (ੑȡȞİȠȖȜȣijȚıIJȓ, PGM XIII.148).69 In this way, too, animal communication leads to gods. But this is an Egyptian knowledge, while in the Lithika we find Greek, Apolline, prophetic traditions. Both cases, however, link gods and animals so closely that it is possible to see the beasts, especially the snake, as expressions of the divine power itself. This fundamental element has disappeared in more recent recordings of the practice. In the Kerygmata, a summary of the Lithika by an anonymous Byzantine writer, the following is written about the liparaios: ... ੖ȞIJȚȞĮ țĮ੿ ȜȑȖȠȣıȚȞ ਥȞ ਝııȣȡȓ઺ ȖȓȞİıșĮȚ țਕțİ૙șȑȞ ʌȠIJİ ʌĮȡ੹ ȂȑȝȞȠȞȠȢ İੁȢ ȉȡȠȓĮȞ țȠȝȚıșોȞĮȚ țĮ੿ IJ૶ ȆȡȚȐȝ૳ IJ૶ ȕĮıȚȜİ૙ IJ૵Ȟ ȉȡȫȦȞ ੪Ȣ ȝȑȖĮ IJİ į૵ȡȠȞ ʌȡȠıİȞİȤșોȞĮȚ. ȉȠ૨IJȠȞ įȑ ijĮıȚ țĮ੿ IJȠઃȢ ਥȞ ǹੁȖȪʌIJ૳ țĮ੿ ǺĮȕȣȜ૵ȞȚ ȝȐȖȠȣȢ ʌİȡ੿ ʌȠȜȜȠ૨ IJȓșİıșĮȚ. ȆȠȜȜ੹ Ȗ੹ȡ ʌȡઁȢ IJ੹Ȣ ਥʌ૳į੹Ȣ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ țĮ੿ ȖȠȘIJİȓĮȢ ıȣȝȕȐȜȜİıșĮȚ, țĮșȘȝİȡȠ૨Ȟ į੻ įȚ੹ IJȠȪIJȠȣ țĮ੿ ੕ijİȚȢ țĮ੿ įȡȐțȠȞIJĮȢ. ਝȜȜ੹ țĮ੿ ʌȓȞȠȞIJĮȢ ਥț IJȠȪIJȠȣ IJȠ૨ ȜȓșȠȣ ȝĮȞIJȚțȠઃȢ ȖȓȞİıșĮȚ țĮ੿ ੑȡȞİȠıțȩʌȠȣȢ țĮ੿ ਖʌȜ૵Ȣ ੮ıʌİȡ ੑȡȖȐȞ૳ IJ૶ IJȠȚȠȪIJ૳ ȤȡોıșĮȚ ʌȡઁȢ ʌ઼ıĮȞ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ IJોȢ IJȑȤȞȘȢ įȪȞĮȝȚȞ. (Kerygmata 23, in Halleux and Schamp (1985) 164-165). ... some say that it came into being in Assyria and that once it had been brought to Troy by Memnon and offered to Priam, king of the Trojans, as a great gift. They say also that the magi in Egypt and Babylon have a very 68

The myth of birds’ language is also, fundamentally, an aetiology of poetry: Pellizer (2010). 69 Here, the animals have a symbolic, cosmological meaning related to time; Tardieu (2013).

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high opinion of it. For it contributes significantly when joined to their incantations and sorceries, while snakes and dragons are also tranquillised by it. What is more, when they drink of this stone, they become prophets and interpreters of the flight of the birds. In a word, they make use of it as a tool for all the power of their art. (trnsl. by author).

It is noteworthy that here the author either completely censored the ritual and the use of the snake, or did not know about it. On the contrary, all power relies solely on the nature of the stone, which, originally, was intended to summon wild beasts. As I have intended to examine the intertwining of the marvellous and the religious, I would like to stress that a Christian reinterpretation of the lapidary rejected the ritual element associated with the cooking of the snake and strengthened the marvellous, more acceptable, aspect of the stone. This case shows how the use of an animal might have been part of a late “magical” stereotype.70 ****************** Below follows a copy of the text of the Lithika edited in 1985 by Robert Halleux and Jacques Schamp,71 with my English translation, and explanatory notes when I differ from Halleux and Schamp’s translation: ȉȠ૙Ƞ į’ ਪțȘIJȓ ȝ’ ਥțİ૙ȞȠȢ ਕȝȠȚȕȒįȘȞ ਕȡȑıĮıșĮȚ ੂȑȝİȞȠȢ, ȜȚʌĮȡĮ૙ȠȞ ਥʌȓțȜȘıȚȞ ʌĮȡ੹ ʌĮIJȡઁȢ ੭ʌĮıİȞ ਕijȞİȚȠ૙Ƞ ȜĮȕઅȞ ȜȓșȠȞ, ੖Ȟ ʌȠIJ’ ਙȡ’ Į੝IJઁȢ ਥȜșઅȞ ੉ȜȚȩșİȞ țȡĮIJİȡઁȞ ȝİIJ੹ ȂȑȝȞȠȞĮ țોȡȣȟ, ıȒȝĮIJ’ ਥȝİ૙Ƞ ʌȠȡȩȞIJȠȢ ਕȞİȣȡઅȞ ਝııȣȡȓȘșİȞ ȤȡȣıȠ૨ IJȚȝȒİȞIJȠȢ ਕȡİȓȠȞĮ įİ૨ȡȠ țȩȝȚııİ, ȝȣȡȓĮ țİ૙șȚ ȝȐȖȠȚıȚ ʌȠȡઅȞ ʌȠȜȣǸįȝȠıȚ į૵ȡĮ. Ǽੁ į’ ਙȖİ įȑȤȞȣıȠ ȝ૨șȠȞ· ਥȖઅ į’ ਥįȐȘȞ, IJȐ țİ ȜȑȟȦ. Ȇȡ૵IJĮ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੣Ȟ ıʌȑȞįȠȞIJĮȢ ਕȞĮȚȝȐțIJȦȞ ਥʌ੿ ȕȦȝ૵Ȟ – Ƞ੝ Ȗ੹ȡ ਙȖİȚȞ șȑȝȚȢ ਥıIJ੿ șȣȘȜ੽Ȟ ਥȝȥȪȤȠȚȠ – ਾȜȚȠȞ İ੝ȡȪȠʌĮ țȜ૊ȗİȚȞ ੢ȝȞȠȚıȚȞ ਙȞȦȖĮ țĮ੿ ȤșȩȞĮ ʌȓİȚȡĮȞ, ʌȐȞIJȦȞ IJȡȠijઁȞ Ƞ੝șĮIJȩİııĮȞ. ǻİȪIJİȡȠȞ Į੣IJ’ Į੅șȦȞȠȢ ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ ȜȓșȠȞ ਺ijĮȓıIJȠȚȠ IJȒțİȚȞ, ਲįİȓૉ IJĮȞĮȠઃȢ șȑȜȖȠȞIJĮ įȡȐțȠȞIJĮȢ ੑįȝૌ, IJ੽Ȟ ਙȡĮ țİ૙ȞȠȚ ਕȞİȡȤȠȝȑȞȘȞ ਥıȠȡ૵ȞIJİȢ, ıʌİȡȤȩȝİȞȠȚ ʌȠIJ੿ ȕȦȝȩȞ, ਕȠȜȜȑİȢ ਥțʌȡȠȝȠȜȩȞIJİȢ 70

695

700

705

I am very grateful to the organisers of the conference, who made it possible for me to present this paper. I would also like to thank Nicole Belayche and Christopher Faraone, for their useful comments and help, as well as all those who corrected my English. All the mistakes still remaining are my own. 71 Lithika 691-747, in Halleux and Schamp (1985) 119-22.

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Chapter Six ȤȘȡĮȝȩșİȞ, ૧ȫȠȞIJĮȚ ਥijİȡʌȪȗȠȞIJİȢ ਚʌĮȞIJİȢ. ǹ੝IJ੹ȡ ਩ʌİȚIJĮ ȜȓȞȠȚȠ ȞİȩʌȜȣIJĮ ijȐȡİĮ țȠ૨ȡȠȚ ਦııȐȝİȞȠȚ IJȡİ૙Ȣ, ੑȟઃ ijȑȡȦȞ ਙȝijȘțİȢ ਪțĮıIJȠȢ ਛȠȡ, ਕȞĮȡʌȐȗİȚȞ ੕ijȚȞ ĮੁȩȜȠȞ, ੖Ȣ țİ ȝȐȜȚıIJĮ țȞȓııȘȢ ੂȝİȓȡȦȞ ʌȣȡઁȢ ਥȖȖȪșȚ įȚȞİȪૉıȚ. ȉȠ૨ į੻ įȚĮȝİȜİȧıIJ੿ įĮǸȗİȚȞ ਥȞȞȑĮ ȝȠȓȡĮȢ· IJȡİ૙Ȣ ȝ੻Ȟ ਥʌ੿ țȜોıȚȞ ʌĮȞįİȡțȑȠȢ ਱İȜȓȠȚȠ, IJȡİ૙Ȣ į’ ਦIJȑȡĮȢ ȖĮȓȘȢ ਥȡȚȕȫȜȠȣ ȜĮȠȕȠIJİȓȡȘȢ, IJȡİ૙Ȣ į੻ șİȠʌȡȠʌȓȘȢ ʌȠȜȣǸįȝȠȞȠȢ, ਕȥİȪıIJȠȚȠ· IJ੹Ȣ į੻ ȜȑȕȘȢ țİȡȐȝȠȚȠ IJİIJȣȖȝȑȞȠȢ ĮੂȝĮIJȠȑııĮȢ įİȟȐıșȦ· țĮ੿ į૵ȡȠȞ ਥȜȐȧȞȠȞ ਝIJȡȣIJȫȞȘȢ ਱į੻ ȝȑșȣ ǺȡȠȝȓȠȚȠ țĮȜİııȚȤȩȡȠȣ țĮIJĮȤİȪİȚȞ, ਥȞ į’ ਚȜĮȢ ਕȡȖİȞȞȠઃȢ ȕĮȜȑİȚȞ, șİȡȐʌȠȞIJĮȢ ਥįȦįોȢ· ਥȞ įȑ ıijȚȞ țĮ੿ įȡȚȝઃȞ ਥʌȒȜȣįĮ țȩțțȠȞ ਙȞȦȖĮ ȝ૙ȟĮȚ ૧ȣıȠȤȓIJȦȞĮ, ȝİȜĮȖȤȡȠȓȘȞ, ਥȡȓIJȚȝȠȞ· ਥȞ į੻ țĮ੿ ੖ııĮ ʌİȡ ਙȜȜĮ ȝİIJ’ ਕȜȜȒȜȠȚıȚ ȝȚȖȑȞIJĮ ੆ȝİȡȠȞ ਥıʌȑȝʌȠȣıȚȞ ਥįȘIJȪȠȢ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȚıȚȞ. ਜ਼ijȡĮ į’ ਥȞ੿ IJȡȓʌȠįȠȢ țȡȑĮ ȖĮıIJȑȡȚ įȐȝȞĮIJ’ ਥȩȞIJĮ, IJȩijȡĮ į੻ țȚțȜȒıțİȚȞ ȝĮțȐȡȦȞ ਙȡȡȘțIJȠȞ ਦțȐıIJȦȞ Ƞ੡ȞȠȝĮ· IJȑȡʌȠȞIJĮȚ ȖȐȡ, ਥʌİȓ țȑ IJȚȢ ਥȞ IJİȜİIJૌıȚ ȝȣıIJȚțઁȞ ਕİȓįૉıȚȞ ਥʌȫȞȣȝȠȞ Ƞ੝ȡĮȞȚȫȞȦȞ. ਕȡ઼ıșĮȚ į੻ ȂȑȖĮȚȡĮȞ ਕʌȩʌȡȠșȚ ʌĮijȜȐȗȠȞIJȠȢ ıİȣȑȝİȞĮȚ IJȡȓʌȠįȠȢ țĮțȠȝȒȤĮȞȠȞ· ਥȢ į’ ਙȡĮ IJȠȪȢ Ȗİ ʌȞİ૨ȝĮ įȚȧʌİIJ੻Ȣ ਩ȞįȠȞ ਙȖİȚȞ ੂİȡ੹Ȣ ਥʌ੿ ȝȠȓȡĮȢ. ੘ʌʌȩIJİ į’ ਦȥȠȝȑȞȠȚıȚȞ ਥʌ੿ țȡİȐİııȚȞ ੆țȘIJĮȚ, įĮȓȞȣıșĮȚ IJȩIJ’ ਩ʌİȚIJĮ țȠȡȑȞȞȣıșĮȚ ȝİȝĮ૵IJĮȢ Į੝IJȩșİȞ ਥț IJȡȓʌȠįȠȢ· IJ੹ į੻ ȜİȓȥĮȞĮ ȖĮ૙Į țĮȜȪʌIJȠȚ· țĮȓ ıijȚȞ ਥʌȚıʌİ૙ıĮȚ ȜİȣțઁȞ ȖȐȜĮ țĮ੿ ȝȑșȣ ਲįઃ țĮ੿ Ȝȓʌ’ ਥʌȒȡĮIJȠȞ Į੣IJİ ȝİȜȓııȘȢ ਙȞșȚȝȠȞ İੇįĮȡ țĮ੿ ıIJȑȥĮȚ ʌȜȑȟĮȞIJĮȢ ਕțȡȩįȡȣĮ țĮȡʌȠijȩȡȠȚȠ ʌĮȡșİȞȚțોȢ ਕijİȜȩȞIJĮȢ ਥȜĮȓȘȢ, ਕȝij੿ į੻ țȩȡıĮȚȢ ıijȦȧIJȑȡĮȚȢ ʌȑʌȜȠȣȢ ਦȜȑİȚȞ ȠੇțȩȞįİ țȚȩȞIJĮȢ· ȝȘį੻ ȝİIJĮıIJȡȦij઼ıșĮȚ, ਥʌİȓ ț’ ਕʌȠȞȩıijȚ IJȡȐʌȘıșİ, ਕȜȜ’ Įੁİ੿ ʌȡȠIJȑȡȘȞ ਥȢ ਕIJĮȡʌȚIJઁȞ ੕ııİ ijȑȡȠȞIJĮȢ ਩ȡȤİıș’ ਥȢ ȝȑȖĮȡȠȞ ȝȘį੻ ʌȡȠIJȚȝȣșȒıĮıșĮȚ, İ੅ țȑȞ IJȚȢ ȟȪȝȕȜȘIJĮȚ ੒įȓIJȘȢ ਩ıIJ’ ਗȞ ੆țȘıșİ ਥȢ įȩȝȠȞ· ਩ȞșĮ į’ ਩ʌİȚIJĮ șȣȘȜ੹Ȣ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚȞ ਥȟĮ૨IJȚȢ ૧ȑȗȠȞIJĮȢ ਕȡȫȝĮIJĮ ʌȠȚțȓȜĮ țĮȓİȚȞ. ȉĮ૨IJ’ ਥȖઅ ਥțIJİȜȑıĮȢ, ੖ıĮ IJ’ ਩ııİIJĮȚ, ੖ııĮ IJİ țȠ૨ijȠȚ ੕ȡȞȚșİȢ țȜȐȗȠȣıȚȞ, ਥʌȓıIJĮȝĮȚ, ੖ııĮ IJİ șોȡİȢ ੩ȝȘıIJĮ੿ IJİIJȡȐʌİȗȠȚ ਥȞ੿ ıijȓıȚȞ ੩ȡȪȠȞIJĮȚ

710

715

720

725

730

735

740

745

As for that, he,72 eager to please me, sent to me in return the stone called liparaios, having taken it from his wealthy father, who had received it 72

Dolon son of Eumedes (Lithika 686-90).

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when he left Ilium to be with the mighty Memnon and become his herald, and who found in Assyria, as I brought to his knowledge, a thing more precious than gold, and offered (in exchange) numerous gifts to the very learned magi. Come on! receive the myth: ǿ know what I am saying. First, when making libations upon bloodless altars73–for the sacrifice of the living is not allowed by divine law–I command to invoke by hymns the wide-eyed Sun and the wealthy Earth, fruitful nurse of everything. Secondly, melt above the fiery Hephaistos’ fire this stone that enchants the long snakes by a sweet smell; they, seeing its smoke rise, haste to the altar, going forth in crowds out of their holes, all of them creeping in a rush. But then, three lads, wearing linen, newly washed mantles, each holding a sharp double-edged sword, seize a glittering snake, especially the one which, longing for the exhalation, rolls about close around the fire. Limb by limb, let it be divided into nine parts: three to invoke the all-seeing Sun, three others for the very fertile Earth, feeder of people, and three for a very learned, trustful oracle. May a cauldron made of earth receive the bloody (flesh); and pour the oil, gift of the Unwearied, and the wine of Bromios who calls for the dance, add in white salt, companion of the victuals; I command also to mix into them a piquant, foreign, black-skinned, highlyprized grain with shrivelled coat;74 and also as many other (ingredients) as necessary so that, mixed with one another, they send to men the desire to eat.75 While the meat is subdued in the belly of the tripod, summon the ineffable name of each of the blessed ones; for they are delighted when someone sings in the rituals the mystic name of the celestial gods. May the curses drive the mischief-plotting Megaera far away from the boiling tripod. Then, they lead the breath fallen from Zeus [or ‘from the sky’] within the sacred parts. When it comes upon the cooked meat to be ready, may those who seek to feast be satiated immediately from the tripod; the earth shall hide the remains; and on that, white milk and sweet wine shall be poured, and furthermore, the delightsome oil or the flowered food of the bees, and crowns plastered with the wood bearing fruits, removed from the virgin olive tree; and around one’s own temples, the peplos76 shall be set on the way home. Do not turn around, when have reached far away, but the two eyes should always be kept forward on the path; go to the palace without addressing anyone, even a traveller met on the road, before arriving at the house. Once inside the house, then, one shall burn various spices, performing again sacrifices to the immortals. 73

Halleux and Schamp (1985) translate: ‘sur un autel non sanglant’ (upon a bloodless altar); yet, the Greek form is in the plural not in the singular. 74 Halleux and Schamp add in the translation the name of this grain: ‘poivre’ (pepper). 75 Halleux and Schamp translate: ‘et toutes les épices dont le mélange intime provoque chez les hommes le désir de manger’ (and all the spices whose intimate mixing induces in men the desire to eat). 76 Halleux and Schamp translate peplos as ‘habit’ (dress, cloth).

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Chapter Six After having performed these things, I know what will happen, what the light birds scream and what the carnivorous four-footed beasts roar to each other.

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Tardieu, M. (2013) “‘Ceux qui font la voix des oiseaux’: les dénominations de langues”, in M. Tardieu, A. Van den Kerchove, and M. Zago (eds.), 143-53. Tardieu, M., Van den Kerchove, A., and Zago, M. (eds.) (2013) Noms barbares. Vol. I. Formes et contextes d’une pratique magique. Turnhout: Brepols. Thom, J. C. (2005) Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus. Text, Translation, and Commentary. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Trinquier, J. (2008) “La fabrique du serpent draco: quelques serpents mythiques chez les poètes latins”, Pallas 78, 221-55. Verbeke, G. (1945) L’évolution de la doctrine du pneuma, du stoïcisme à S. Augustin. Étude philosophique. Louvain: Institut Supérieur de Philosophie. Waegeman, M. (1987) Amulet and alphabet. Magical amulets in the first book of Cyranides. Amsterdam: Gieben. WĊcowski, M. (2011) “Pseudo-Democritus, or Bolos of Mendes”, BNJ 263, Leiden: Brill. Wellmann, M. (1928) Die ĭȣıȚțȐ des Bolos Demokritos und der Magier Anaxilaos aus Larissa. Berlin: Akademie der Wissenschaften. West, M. L. (1982) “Magnus and Marcellinus. Unnoticed acrostics in the Cyranides”, CQ 32, 480-1. Zografou, A. (2008) “Prescriptions sacrificielles dans les papyri magiques”, in V. Mehl and P. Brulé (dir.), 187-203. —. (2013) Papyrus Magiques Grecs: le mot et le rite. Autour des rites sacrificiels. Ioannina: Université de Ioannina.

PART II: THE RELIGIOUS SIGNIFICANCE OF INDIVIDUAL ANIMALS IN GREECE AND ROME

CHAPTER SEVEN ੘ ȆǼȇȈǿȀઁȈ ੕ȇȃǿȈ: THE SYMBOLOGY OF THE ROOSTER IN THE CULT OF THE KABIROI EMILIANO CRUCCAS

Introduction The origins and influences of the Kabiric cult can be traced back to different geographical and cultural settings, linked to Semitic, Tyrrhenian, and Greek religious substrata. The etymology of the name by which they are listed derives from the Semitic root kabir- (meaning ‘big’), 1 an interpretation connected to the name Megaloi Theoi of the Greek tradition. The cult seems to have had its origin around the ninth and eighth centuries BCE on the islands of Lemnos and Samothrace, and in Thebes in Boeotia, with a subsequent dissemination throughout Greece and Asia Minor until the late Roman period.2 The particularity of this religious phenomenon is in fact linked mainly to the wide geographical and chronological diffusion, as evidenced by the 1

Musti (2001) 141-3. We can agree with the line of thought that sees the cult of the Kabiroi as a derivation and expression of a religiosity that has its roots in Asia Minor, or more generally, in the East. Still, it should be noted that the evolution of the rituals over the centuries was heavily influenced by the location, society, and time in which a particular sanctuary or a particular inscription were placed. It can be said, in light of the archaeological, epigraphical, and literary data, that the Kabiroi and the Great Gods are basically the same deities. The name they are mentioned under, depends on chronology, the geographical location of the cult, and the character of the worship, for it is possible that the former name, Kabiroi, was used during mystical rituals. The number of the divinities in the group (a couple, a triad etc.) also varies, and the inconsistency is caused by factors that have to do with geography and chronology. On this theme see Hemberg (1950) 258-69, Cole (1984) 2-4, Schachter (2003) 112-3. 2

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many syncretisms which originated from contacts with the local pantheon. Because of these regional differences, the cult has many ritual associations: the earliest sources seem in fact to link the cult to fertility rites, while in the Hellenistic age, and then in the Roman age the Kabiric religion assumes eschatological and soteriological context, 3 while maintaining a strong link with ceremonies of a mystical nature and rituals related to ephebic games, rites of passage, and sacred marriage. Because of the factors stated above and because of the diversity of the available data, it is difficult to identify beyond doubt the characteristics of the Kabiric cult. While from the Hellenistic age we have at our disposal rich literary and epigraphic documentation related to Samothrace,4 which attest to some fairly defined ritual, we do not have reliable data on the specific elements of the cult during the Archaic period, either on Samothrace or in the shrines of Lemnos and Thebes. In Hellenistic and Roman times the cult of Samothrace took on a mysteric form,5 as the ritual was divided into two phases, the myesis and the epopteia. Despite some concerns advanced recently,6 this characteristic seems to be confirmed also in other sanctuaries of the Great Gods/Kabiroi, such as that of Lemnos, The presence of large meeting halls inside these sanctuaries (telesteria), as at Eleusis, represents a factor which suggests the presence of a mystery cult. The practice of the cult at Lemnos is also confirmed by Cicero: Omitto Eleusinem sanctam illam et augustam, ubi initiantur gentes borarum ultimae, praetereo Samothraciam eaque quae Lemni nocturno aditu occulta coluntur silvestribus saepibus densa (Cic. N.D. 1.42.119). I say nothing of the holy and awe-inspiring sanctuary of Eleusis, where tribes from earth’s remotest confines seek initiation, and I pass over Samothrace and those occult mysteries, which throngs of worshippers at dead of night in forest coverts deep do celebrate at Lemnos (trnsl. Rackham [1933]).

3

On the salvific function of the cult of the Kabiroi see Cruccas (2007). A collection of ancient literary documents related to Samothrace is already outlined in Lewis (1958); more recently, in Dimitrova (2008), we find a collection of epigraphic documents related to the sanctuary of the island. 5 It is not surprising in this regard to note that the main deities of the Eleusinian sanctuary were Demeter and Persephone-Kore, who were coincidentally also the central figures of the Sanctuary of Andania, where they are recorded with the name of the Great Goddesses. On this important religious centre of Messenia see Zunino (1997), Deshours (2006), and Lo Monaco (2009) 55-62. 6 Clinton (2003) 57 4

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From the data obtained from the excavations of the main sanctuaries, the mystery ritual was probably not the only religious event that took place inside the sanctuary of Samothrace. It is evident from the presence of different structures, their great number and variety, that there must have been multiple phases of the cult, which probably took place at different times of the year and which had as participants, depending on the circumstances, different groups of people, a categorisation made probably on the basis of social class, gender, and age. It seems clear from the archaeological evidence, and also from the iconographic and literary testimony, that elements related to the ephebicwarrior7 ambit in some cases, and in other cases those related to the sphere of sexual love and to the sacred marriage, were part of the rituals that took place in the Kabiric sanctuaries. The presence, for example, of circular areas or of real theatres inside the Kabiric sanctuaries may be an indication of their use in mystery rituals, particularly during the so-called thronosis 8 phases, but it seems more likely that these structures were used during sacred performances 9 to replicate, as shown by the pictures on some Kabiric vases, the episodes which were part of the mythical apparatus of the cult.10 A fundamental 7 Along these lines, one can mention the tombstones with representations of dead warriors from Boeotia, dating from the late fifth to early fourth centuries BCE, as suggested by M. Daumas (2001); the geographical location and the presence of some iconographic elements common to the list of the so-called Kabiric vases may connect these findings to the Theban Kabiric cult. 8 Clinton (2003) 65. In fact this term identifies, according to Edmonds (2006) 34766, simply the terrifying Corybantic ritual (Ustinova [1998] 509-11) and not the sitting in silence with head covered, typical of the mystery cult of Eleusis. In the former ritual the faithful, surrounded by dancers armed with shields, would likely witness an experience not far from death, as mentioned by Plato (Pl. Euthd. 277d. Edmonds). The dance of these Curetes-Corybantes deliberately produced a loud noise, just like in the mythical episodes of the birth of Zeus and Dionysus, as a result of which episodes the experiences related to the processes of birth and death are intimately connected—which is typical of mystery cults. The confusion between the myesis and the thronosis may have been engendered by the presence of figures such as Corybantes, often linked to the Kabiric mystery cults and confused with them, but also may have been associated with deities such as Hecate, whose presence in the Eleusinian ritual is well attested (Zografou [2010] 71-83). But, as rightly pointed out in Edmonds (2006) 348-9, the mystical experience of the Eleusinian ritual was characterised by a performance more peaceful compared to the Corybantic ecstasy of the thronosis. On Hecate see Carboni (2015). 9 Burkert (2003) 506. 10 Nielsen (2002) 133-6.

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part of these ritual dramatic representations must surely have been the hieros gamos, probably centred on the figures of Cadmus and Harmonia. Among the most famous Kabiric vases, there is one depicting a nuptial procession.11 Here the group moves from right to left, introduced by the figure of a male dancer in oriental dress, wearing a long-sleeved tunic closed by a girdle. This male figure seems to be performing his movements on tiptoe, while raising his arms, and he is wearing a band around the head, on which there is a Persian tiara. The dancer is followed by two other male figures, one on the shoulders of the other. The figure standing on the shoulders of the other is playing the double flute and has his head decorated with a band and branches; the other figure carrying the aulos is naked and is holding a stick in the right hand. At the centre of the representation there is a pair of racing ithyphallic donkeys whose heads are also adorned with branches, in the act of pulling a two-wheeled cart, on which a woman and a man are sitting. Both the man and the woman seem to be wearing masks; the woman’s is adorned with perhaps a flower, the man’s with branches with leaves. The female figure is turning her head back towards her companion who is completely wrapped in a himation; the woman is also wearing a himation and is holding a round-shaped object, perhaps a tympanon or a mirror. Behind the cart we can see a second male figure, nude except for a cloth placed on his shoulders, trying to jump over the vehicle. The scene is hard to interpret, but we can postulate that it shows a hierogamy revisited in a burlesque style.12 Before the sacred marriage there must have been 13 the search for a kidnapped female figure, the preamble to mythical tales often related in sanctuaries during mystic rites, as happened at Eleusis. The search for the maiden after her abduction seems to represent an important part of the ceremonies of which the mystai were the protagonists, both in the Eleusinian sanctuary, where the central figure of the episode was played by Core, and in the sanctuaries of Samothrace and Thebes, where the couple Cadmus-Harmonia seems to have been a convincing parallel to the one formed by Hades and Persephone.14 Another decorative element that points to the presence of the same theme in Samothrace is the representation of a pre-nuptial dance 15 in the frieze of the so-called Hall of choral 11

Athens National Museum 424. Daumas (1998) 65-6. 13 Daumas (1998) 84; contra Clinton (2003) 68. 14 Clinton (2003) 66-7. 15 The importance of dance in ceremonies dedicated to the Great Gods is confirmed by a passage in Statius (Stat. Ach. 1.830-2), in the episode of the dance 12

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dancers.16 At Thebes there is a dedication ‘to husband’ (ȉȅ ĬAMAKO) written on a vase found in the main building of the sanctuary, indisputable evidence for the presence of a divine couple.17 A figure in the Kabiric pantheon, related to this aspect of the sacred marriage, is the so-called Hermes Kadmilos. This figure completes the group of the Great Gods and supports the main triad of mother-bridegroom, as seen in the relief depiction on the funeral monument of Haterii.18 From a different perspective, Hermes undoubtedly represents a figure that, by his psychopompos nature, firmly belongs to the episode of the recovery of the maiden from the underworld.19 One element that helps us place these themes in context comes from the iconographic analysis of the figures of Kabiroi devotees and the decorative elements of the sanctuaries. The presence in the sanctuaries of some animals, especially swans and roosters, in the place of attributes or votive gifts taken to the deity, seems a better way of framing the cultural sphere of reference. 20 The rooster is certainly a common animal in the modern world, but it was not so for the Greeks.21 Ancient sources call it ɉİȡıȚțઁȢ ੕ȡȞȚȢ, 22 ‘The Persian bird’. This bird reportedly arrived in Greece after the first contacts between the kingdom of Persia and the Greek colonies of Asia Minor.23 It is exactly this alien nature, with respect

of the daughters of Lycomedes for Odysseus who was a character repeatedly connected with the sanctuary of Samothrace. 16 Clinton (2003) 67-8. A new and exciting interpretation of the frieze was recently proposed in Marconi (2010) 125-33, concerning choral dances performed by young women sent by various cities during the celebrations in the Sanctuary of the Great Gods in Samothrace. 17 Daumas (1998) 61-3; Schachter (2003) 122: “The existence of a secret ‘Husband’ means that there was also a secret ‘Wife’. She would have been the goddess called ‘Meter’ (Mother) in the second century AD”. 18 On the funerary monument of the Haterii family see mainly Giuliano (1968), Coarelli (1979), and Sinn (1993) which includes a detailed bibliography. 19 Clinton (2003) 68. The association with Kadmilos-Kasmilos may also be the result of the ithyphallic nature that was typical of this character; see Burkert (1993) 181-2. Varro informs us that in Rome Camillus was a figure linked to sacred marriage ceremonies (Varr. L.L. 7.34). 20 Daumas (1998) 45-6, fig. 3, 1-2. A glass rooster from the Hellenistic era was found in the Kabirion of Thebes; cf. Braun and Haevernick (1981) 110 n. 123, figs. 34, 44. 21 Paladino (1984) 237 22 Ar. Birds 277ff.; 483ff.; 707; 833 and related scholia. Ath. 14.655; Suid. s.v. ਝȜİțIJȠȡȓįİȢ and s.v. ɉİȡıȚțઁȢ ੕ȡȞȚȢ. On this theme see Peters (1913) 380ff. 23 Cumont (1942) 285-7.

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to the Greek world, which could result in the distinct presence of the rooster in “transitional” stages of human life. Indeed, according to the testimony of Aelianus, the cock would assist women in childbirth, and its presence made them feel safer at that particularly dangerous moment: ʌȣȞș‫ޠ‬ȞȠȝĮȚ į‫ݼ ޡ‬IJȚ ܿȡĮ țĮ‫ ޥ‬IJ߲ ȁȘIJȠ߿ ijަȜȠȞ ‫݋‬ıIJ‫ޥ‬Ȟ ‫ܻ ݸ‬ȜİțIJȡȣޫȞ IJާ ‫ݻ‬ȡȞİȠȞ. IJާ į‫ ޡ‬Į‫ݫ‬IJȚȠȞ, ʌĮȡ‫ޢ‬ıIJȘ ijĮı‫ޥ‬Ȟ Į‫ރ‬IJ߲ IJ‫ޣ‬Ȟ įȚʌȜ߱Ȟ IJİ țĮ‫ ޥ‬ȝĮțĮȡަĮȞ ‫ޏ‬į߿ȞĮ ‫ޏ‬įȚȞȠުı߯. IJĮࠎIJ‫ ޠ‬IJȠȚ țĮ‫ ޥ‬ȞࠎȞ IJĮ߿Ȣ IJȚțIJȠުıĮȚȢ ܻȜİțIJȡȣޫȞ ʌ‫ޠ‬ȡİıIJȚ, țĮ‫ ޥ‬įȠțİ߿ ʌȦȢ İ‫ެރ‬įȚȞĮȢ ܻʌȠijĮަȞİȚȞ. (Aelian. de nat. an. 4.29). And I learn that the Cock is the favourite bird of Leto. The reason is, they say, that he was at her side when she was so happily brought to bed of twins. That is why to this very day a Cock is at hand when women are in travail, and is believed somehow to promote an easy delivery (trnsl. Scholfield [1958]).

The fact that the cock presides over the course of time and signals the transition from one part of the day to the next, certainly caused the link of the particular animal to liminality. The connection with the sun and the coming of the day is as common in ancient sources as it is in modern studies. In the East in particular, the rooster was often connected with the moon and its apotropaic functions. Especially well-known is the association between the rooster and the Anatolian god Mên. This deity is identified with the moon:24 he bears the ancient male name of the celestial body (ȝȒȞȘ), and is identified with the Roman Lunus (meaning ‘moon’) as well.25 Representations of the this male god on Hellenistic reliefs26 and on some pottery from the Black Sea, dated between the first century BCE and the first century CE, depict him as a youth similar to Attis, outstretched on the back of a big rooster or riding it.27 In Greek religion, certain deities were appointed to supervise the transition from one condition of human existence to another.28 Asclepius is a good example: he was responsible for the transition from sickness to health: therefore it does not seem to be a 24 In the sanctuary of the Great Gods, the deities referred to often form a triad; a member of this triad is a female figure, variously interpreted as a Great Goddess, such as Helen, sister of the Dioskouroi, or Artemis Hecate. At Samothrace, according to literary sources, a part of the sanctuary in the Archaic period was explicitly dedicated to the goddess Trigemina who was connected with the phases and cycles of the moon (Ar. Peace 277-8 and related scholia). 25 Lunas (1979) 321. 26 Lane (1971) 6-7, n. 10, Pl. VII. 27 Kobylina (1976) 7-8, 25-6. 28 Paladino (1984) 240.

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coincidence to find the rooster among the most common sacrificial offerings to this god, in whose sanctuaries the breeding of roosters appears to have been commonplace. 29 This information is recorded in Plato’s Phaedo. In the same passage we also read how Socrates, on his deathbed, feels that a rooster should be sacrificed to Asclepius, who cured him from the pain of living. 30 Socrates’ wish implies that the rooster was being offered at the time of transition from life to death as well.31 Along these lines belong also the cult association between Persephone, the rooster, and gods like Hermes in his role as psychopompos.32 A link between the rooster and the Kabiric cult seems detectable in a building in Pergamon, whose function is not clear, but certainly belongs in a religious context linked to the ephebic sphere.33 This building is a large structure of worship that lies south of the citadel and is composed of smaller buildings, an odeion, a vestibule, and a large room of 8 metres by 8 metres with a large alcove facing the centre of the north wall; here the head of a cult statue and some marble reliefs on the foundations were found, which led scholars initially to interpret the complex as a Heroon.34 The large quadrangular room is richly decorated, 35 and has a raised podium of 2.30 metres in height 36 consisting of grey marble orthostats alternating with 18 white marble reliefs, three of which were found in situ, set on bases and surmounted by decorated capitals. These marble reliefs are decorated in a rather peculiar way: one of the reliefs has the image of a rooster with a palm tree attached to a band (fig. 1), while on a second example there is a pilos surrounded by olive branches and enclosed by a band, surmounted by a sixteen-pronged star (fig. 2). The last relief represents a group of weapons and armour.37 The presence at the Museum of Marseille of a relief from Pergamon with a rooster identical to that 29

Among others, Pl. Phaedo 118. On this subject see Paladino (1984) 240. Pl. Phaedo 118.7-8. 31 Paladino (1984) 240. 32 Paladino (1984) 241. 33 In relation to Pergamon we can quote here the so-called țȡȚȠȕંȜȚĮ, “[...] ceremonies that included the ritual of hunting a ram ȝİIJĮʌĮȚį઀Į between two opposing teams of young people, and the sacrifice of the animal by ਩ijȘȕȠȚ winners, the ritual of the hunt of the sacrificial victim, which consisted of the spectacle of a fictitious hunt, and the consequent sacrifice of the prey/victim by the winning team [; all these] have been traced by scholars to the ȝȣıIJȒȡȚĮ of ȝİȖ੺ȜȠȚ ȀȐȕİȚȡȠȚ” (D’Amore [2009] 167). 34 Filgis, Radt (1986) 11-32; Daumas (1998) 206. 35 Filgis, Radt (1986) 23-4. 36 Filgis, Radt (1986) 15. 37 Filgis, Radt (1986) 20-1; Daumas (1998) 206-7. 30

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described above, but with a relief oriented in the opposite direction, has enabled the reconstruction of the original arrangement of the reliefs inside the room at the Pergamon building, with two groups of twin reliefs, placed facing each other. It is difficult to attribute to the building the function of a gymnasium.38 German scholars have suggested that both the builders and the owners of this building complex showed particular interest in the section devoted to war- and athletics. The high number of weapons present amidst the findings, and the rooster, an animal that is the symbol of combat, seem to support this interpretation. The bird, its sashes, and its olive branches suggest the Kabiric initiation, as can also be seen from the analysis of vase-paintings from the Theban sanctuary.39 Conversely, the pilos is an obvious reflection of the world of the Great Gods, since this was the distinctive headgear of the Dioskouroi, characters who identified with the Megaloi Theoi. The relationship between the Dioskouroi and the soteriological aspects characteristic of the religion of the Kabiroi/Great Gods was highlighted almost seventy years ago by F. Cumont, who emphasised how the divine twins presented mythological and iconographic peculiarities in keeping with beliefs about the afterlife in the Hellenistic period, which were at the core of the most popular philosophical doctrines of the time. The division of the world into two hemispheres advocated by many mythographers and philosophers would support the association of the Dioskouroi and the division of the world into two hemispheres. The presence of the piloi, in particular, each depicted with a star on top, would provide an explicit link to the two hemispheres of the world. The function of the pilos as a way of conjoining Dioskouroi and Kabiroi may also derive from the fact that, as was correctly pointed out by M. Daumas, this headpiece was commonly represented on the head of Hephaestus, the leading deity associated with the Kabiroi on Lemnos. For the purposes of the present paper, of special note is the presence of roosters in the decorative elements of this structure, since the connection between these animals and the cult of the Great Gods/Kabiroi is also confirmed by statuettes that depict them on the arms of young men, and by their presence in depictions on vases for symposia 40 from the main sanctuaries. We are confronted with a particular iconographic and symbolic value: the depiction of the passage from puberty to sexual maturity. This is a stage evidently immortalised by these small votive 38

Filgis, Radt (1986) 68. Daumas (1998) 210. 40 On this subject, see Ure (1951). 39

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statues which express a situation and a liminal period of life, a transsexual moment of the biological cycle. In this context, the image of the rooster is of great significance because of its connection with an important transitional phase in the cycle of life and nature, enlarging its role in a complex ritual such as that of the Kabiroi. There are some even more distinct connections between this animal and the cultic areas related to the religion of the Kabiroi, as shown by numerous Attic red-figure41 vases and by notable pottery from Olympia with a rooster in the hands of Ganymede (fig. 3),42 the Trojan youth taken into heaven by Zeus to be his cupbearer. The image of this divine couple represents a convincing parallel to that formed by Kabiros and Pais in the Theban pantheon.43 Even more interesting is the transsexuality of the rooster: according to ancient sources, a hen which had beaten a male of its species in combat would change its plumage and crow like a rooster, and the defeated male would assume the appearance and habits of the female. 44 This transsexuality seems to be reflected in the numerous terracotta figurines of young men still in puberty, which were found in large numbers in the Kabiric sanctuaries. It is therefore not surprising that we find the rooster as an animal-symbol of this ephebic initiation. There is further support for this from ancient sources. Aelianus,45 citing Mnaseas, informs us of the existence of a sanctuary, not precisely located geographically and 41

Sichtermann (1988) 156-7, in particular nn. 12, 22, 28, 41, 44, 48, and 50. The examples featured a depiction of Ganymede on the run from Zeus with a rooster in his hand or nearby him; they are dated between 490 and 450 BCE. 42 Sichtermann (1988) 157 n. 56. The group of statues in terracotta, a little over a metre high, dates from around 470 BCE. 43 In the Kabirion of Thebes the divine triad consisted of a god (Kabiros), his consort, and a young man (Pais). In iconographic representations of the wellknown Kabiric vases, the Kabiros-Pais couple has some features not very different from those of other more well-known male couples: the god is depicted during a symposium in the manner of Heracles and Zeus, while the young man serves him a drink. On the topic of the Kabiric vases and the relative iconographic relationship see in particular Daumas (1998). Throughout the Greek world the figure of the rooster is connected to the homoerotic relationship between erastés and erómenos, and the link between ephebeia and weapons. As pointed out for example in Cardosa (2002) 102, in Elis there was a male beauty contest, for which the prize was weapons (Theophrastus, fr. 111); these weapons, were dedicated by the winner at the statue of Athena on the Acropolis, and, as Pausanias recounts (6.26.3), they had a rooster depicted on the helmet. 44 Aelian. de nat. an. 5.5 and Plin. Nat. Hist. 10.155. 45 Aelian. de nat. an. 17.46.

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dedicated to Heracles and Hebe.46 Here roosters and hens were bred with strict separation of the sexes: the females of the group lived in the area of the shrine sacred to Hebe; the males lived in the area sacred to Heracles. A river marked this division but during the mating period the roosters would fly over the river, an action that according to Aelianus reflects purifying intentions. The role of the water in the pre-nuptial phase as a means of catharsis and as the giver of fertility is also emphasised in the ancient sources.47 In conclusion, it seems important to highlight two aspects in particular: firstly, the presence in this description of a watercourse, as found in many shrines dedicated to the Kabiroi,48 and secondly, the important role played by the separation ritual, followed by the union between the two sexes, as in the rituals of the Great Gods, culminating in hierogamy. Although these facts do not provide solid evidence concerning the Kabiric ritual, they certainly clarify the sacral scope of reference to which these sacred rituals were connected. A further example comes from the notes on Locrian pottery depictions with images of roosters offered as a gift to Persephone, alone or paired with Hades, on the occasion of prenuptial sacrifices.49 It is not coincidental that the other victims presented as a gift by young girls about to marry are bulls and rams, also the sacrificial animals found 46

Heracles is often connected with the Kabiroi and with the mythological figures related to the cult, such as the Dactyls of Mount Ida (Paus. 9.19.5). On this subject see Hemberg (1950) 184, 229. 47 Schol. E. Ph. 347; Aeschin. Ep. 10.3; Paoletti (2004) 9. According to Classical sources, in the case of Thebes, the river assigned this function was the Ladon (E. Ph. 347), which runs not far from the sanctuary and flows into Lake Hylia. On this subject see Pirenne-Delforge (1994) 148-9. In the case of the Kabirion of Thebes, the river involved is the Thespius, which also flows into the lake near the capital of Boeotia, after skirting the sanctuary and following a route parallel to that of the river Ladon. Related to this is the use of loutrophoroi in pre-nuptial ceremonies, depicted on Attic vases; cf. Pirenne-Delforge (1994). These ceremonies exhibit many common features with other similar rites of passage in the Etruscan and Italic world, as recently pointed out in Torelli (2009) 124-5. 48 The role played by the watercourses in the Kabiric cult is confirmed both by written sources and by archaeological data. The structure of the sanctuaries was often influenced by the presence of rivers, as occurred for example in Samothrace. Accordingly the architectural plan of a sanctuary was organised around the watercourses, which not only separated buildings and areas related to different phases of the ritual, but actually pointed towards certain architectural choices for certain structures such as the Propylaea at the eastern entrance to the sanctuary; cf. McCredie (1979) 2-6. 49 Torelli (1977) 166-7. The divine couple to whom the sacrifice was made were Hermes and Aphrodite, referred to as șİȠ੿ ȖĮȝȒȜȚȠȚ (see Hesych. s.v. īĮȝȒȜȚĮ).

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most frequently in connection with the Kabiric cult.50 The reference is to a series of cult stages linked to the transition to adulthood, common to many of the rituals of the Greek world: from the gift of balls and children’s toys to the gods,51 and the dedication of the virginal girdle,52 up to the ritual cutting of hair. An example of this comes from Diodorus Siculus,53 who recalls how in the temenos dedicated to Geryon in Agyrion in Sicily, the young men of the city paid homage to Iolaus, Heracles’ loyal companion, with the offering of a lock of hair. The young people who did not grant this votive offering to the deity were struck down with aphasia and fell into a comatose state similar to death.54 The fact that this offering was for Iolaus shows an interesting parallel between the pair of Heracles and Iolaus, and the Kabiros-Pais couple in the Kabiric cult, both evoking an erastès/eromenos couple.55 We should not forget to note, finally, the constant presence of a female deity: often identified with Aphrodite, 56 in the Kabiric pantheon. In an alternative reading this figure inherits the role of the Anatolian Mother Goddess and probably acts as supervisor of relationships and unions between the two sexes. It is no coincidence that during Hellenistic and Roman times, the period of the greatest diffusion of the Kabiric cult when it seems to have acquired a universal character, there was a Hellenistic hymn, attributed to a member of the family of the Ptolemies, which honoured Aphrodite,57 in connection with the Dioskouroi, as the “Lady of the Sea”58 and, at the same time, as goddess of marital union.59

50

Torelli (1977) 167-8; on the ram as a votive offering see Cruccas (2007) 66-8. Torelli (1977) 163-8. One of the best-known rituals in the Greek world concerned the gift of the ball; we should also note the ritual at the arrephoria in Athens, on which see Cruccas (2008), where earlier studies are recorded. 52 Suid. s.v. Ȝȣı઀ȗȦȞȠȢ ȖȣȞ੾ (defined here as a ritual connected to the sexual union between a man and a woman), and Anth. Pal. 7.324 (referring to the wedding night). On this issue, see Brulè (2001) 183 and in particular Giuman (2002) 227-9. 53 D.S. 4.24.1 and 5. 54 Girone (2003) 23 n. 20. Concerning the gift of hair in the earlier stages of marriage see Brulè (2001) 182-3 and Burkert (2004) 118-9. 55 Daumas (1998) 43-4. 56 As in one of the main Kabiric sanctuaries, at Lemnos, where the goddess Kabeiro is identified with Aphrodite thanks to an inscription, which confirms the presence of a temple built in her honour, and records the “Thracian” epiklesis; see Accame (1948) 91; Burkert (2001) 79 n. 13. For a general overview see Beschi (2005) and (2006). 57 The papyrus that restored the hymn probably came from Hermopolis in Egypt, the ancient Magna Hermoupolis, reportedly the site of many temples with Greek 51

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In sum, it should be emphasised in light of the above that the Kabiric cult, though diversified by different regional characteristics, focused on rites of passage, involving young women and men at various stages and in particular at the outset of the periods of puberty and adulthood, as viewed from the standpoint of a sacred union between the sexes.

Illustrations Fig. 1: Pergamon, relief of a rooster from the Heroon of Diodoros Pasparos (after Filgis, Radt 1986).

cults, among which the temple to Aphrodite șİ੹ ȝİȖȓıIJȘ; see Barbantani (2005) 136-7. 58 Textual sources (Paus. 2.4.7) mention Aphrodite, “Lady of the Sea”, in syncretic relationship with Isis or Astarte, and celebrated with some İ੡ʌȜȠȚĮ or ʌİȜȐȖȚĮ invocation (epiklesis). 59 Barbantani (2005) 141. The Kabiroi are celebrated as tutelary deities especially of sailors and navigators; on the subject see Cruccas (2007); for considerations regarding the Theban cult see Gadaleta (2009), esp. 361-2.

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Fig. 2: Pergamon, relief of a pilos from the Heroon of Diodoros Pasparos (after Filgis, Radt 1986).

Fig. 3: Terracotta statue with Zeus and Ganymedes (after Sichtermann 1988) (also available on the public domain - Wikimedia commons).

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Bibliography Accame, S. (1948) “Iscrizioni del Cabirio di Lemno”, ASAA 19-21 (194143), 75-105. Angiolillo, S. and Giuman, M. (eds.) (2007) Il Vasaio e le sue storie. Giornata di studi sulla ceramica attica in onore di Mario Torelli per i suoi settanta anni. Cagliari, Cittadella dei Musei, 20 Giugno 2007. Cagliari: AV Barbantani, S. (2005) Goddess of Love and Mistress of the Sea. Notes on a Hellenistic Hymn to Arsinoe-Aphrodite (P. Lit.Goodsp. 2, I-IV). AS 35, 135-65. Beschi, L. (2005) “Il primitivo Telesterio del Cabirio di Lemno (campagne di scavo 1990-1991)”, ASAA 81 (2003), 963-1022. Beschi, L. et alii (2006) “Il Telesterio ellenistico del Cabirio di Lemno”, ASAA 82 (2004), 225-341. Bianchi, U. (ed.) (1984), Transition Rites. Cosmic, social and individual order. Proceedings of the Finnish-Swedish-Italian Seminar held at the University of Rome “La Sapienza” (Rome, 24-28 March 1984). Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Bodel, J. and Kajava, M. (eds.) (2009), Dediche sacre nel mondo grecoromano. Diffusione, funzioni, tipologie. Institutum Romanum Finlandiae, American Academy in Rome, 19-20 Aprile 2006. Rome: Institutum Romanum Finlandiae Braun, K. and Haevernick, Th. (1981) Bemalte Keramik und Glas aus dem Kabirenheiligtum bei Theben. Das Kabirenheiligtum bei Theben, 4. Berlin: De Gruyter. Brulé, P. (2001) Les femmes grecques à l’époque classique. Paris: Pluriel Histoire. Burkert, W. (1993) “Concordia Discors: the literary and the archeological evidence on the sanctuary of Samothrace”, in N. Marinatos and R. Hägg (eds.), 178-91. —. (2001) “Jason, Hypsipyle, and new fire at Lemnos: a study in myth and ritual”, in Savage Energies. Lessons of Myth and Ritual in Ancient Greece. Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press, 64-84. —. (2003) La religione greca di epoca arcaica e classica. Milan: JacaBook (1st ed. 1977). —. (2004), s.v. Initiation, in ThesCRA II, 91-124. Carboni, R. (2015) Dea in limine. Culto, immagine e sincretismi di Ecate nel mondo greco e microasiatico (TAF 17). Rahden/Westf.: Verlag Marie Leidorf.

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Cardosa, M. (2002) “Il dono di armi nei santuari delle divinità femminili in Magna Grecia”, in A. Giumlia-Mair and M. Rubinich (eds.), 99-103. Clinton, K. (2003) “Stages of Initiation in the Eleusinian and Samothracian Mysteries”, in M. B. Cosmopoulos (ed.), 50-78. Coarelli, F. (1979) “La riscoperta del sepolcro degli Haterii. Una base con dedica a Silvano”, in G. Kopcke and M. B. Moore (eds.), 255-69. Cole, S. G. (1984) Theoi Megaloi: the cult of the Great Gods at Samothrace. Leiden: Brill. Colpo, I., Favaretto, I., and Ghedini, F. (eds.) (2002) Iconografia 2001. Studi sull’immagine. Rome: Edizioni Quasar Cosmopoulos, M. B. (ed.) (2003) Greek Mysteries. The Archaeology and Ritual of Ancient Greek Secret Cults. London/New York: Routledge Cruccas, E. (2007) “Odisseo e i Grandi Dei di Samotracia. Reminescenze cultuali e questioni iconografiche”, in S. Angiolillo and M. Giuman (eds.), 61-74. —. (2008) “ȆĮȡșȑȞȠȚ e ıijĮȚȡȓıİȚȢ. Alcune considerazioni sul rituale delle arrephoroi attraverso l’analisi di un frammento di hydria conservato al Museum Schloß Hohentübingen”, Siris 8, 5-20. Cumont, F. (1942) “Le coq blanc des Mazdéens et les Pythagoriciens”, CRAI 1942, 284-300. D’Amore, L. (2009) “Dediche sacre e ginnasi: la documentazione epigrafica di età ellenistica”, in J. Bodel and M. Kajava (eds.), 161-80. Daumas, M. (1998) Cabiriaca. Recherches sur l’iconographie du culte des Cabires. Paris: De Boccard. —. (2001) “Stèles béotiennes d’initiés des dieux Cabires”, in G. Hoffmann and A. Lezzi-Hafter (eds.), 125-35. Della Fina, G. M. (ed.) (2009), Gli Etruschi e Roma. Fasi monarchica e alto-repubblicana. Atti del XVI Convegno Internazionale di Studi sulla Storia e l'Archeologia dell'Etruria (2008), (Annali della Fondazione per il Museo "C. Faina" XVI). Rome: Edizioni Quasar Deshours, N. (2006) Les Mystères d'Andania. Étude d'épigraphie et d'histoire religieuse. Bordeaux: Ausonius. Dimitrova, N. (2008) Theoroi and Initiates in Samothrace. The Epigraphical Evidence (Hesperia Supplement 37). Princeton: Princeton University Press. Edmonds III, R. G. (2006) “To sit in solemn Silence? Thronosis in Ritual, Myth, and Iconography”, AJPh 127, 347-66. Filgis, M. N. and Radt, W. (1986) Die Stadtgrabung. Teil 1. Das Heroon. Altertümer von Pergamon. Berlin: De Gruyter. Gadaleta, G. (2010) “La zattera di Odisseo e il culto cabirico a Tebe”, Ostraka 18.2, 357-75.

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Ginouves, R. et alii (eds.) (1994) L’eau, la santé et la maladie dans le monde grec (BCH Supplement 28). Paris: CNRS et Fondation SingerPolignac. Girone, M. (2003) “Una particolare offerta di chiome”, EA 35, 21-42. Giuliano, A. (1968) Documenti per servire allo studio del monumento degli «Haterii». Rome: Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Giuman, M. (2002) “Il cinto della regina. Eracle e Ippolita: esegesi di un episodio mitico tra rito e funzione”, in I. Colpo, I. Favaretto, F. Ghedini (eds.), 225-37. Giumlia-Mair, A. and Rubinich, M. (eds.) (2002) Le Arti di Efesto. Capolavori in metallo dalla Magna Grecia. Trieste: Silvana Editoriale Hemberg, B. (1950) Die Kabiren. Uppsala: Almqvist and Wiksells. Hoffmann, G. and Lezzi-Hafter, A. (eds.) (2001) Les pierres de l’offrande. Autour de l’oeuvre de Christoph W. Clairmont. Zurich: Akanthus Kobylina, M. N. (1976) Divinités Orientales sur le Littoral Nord de la Mer Noire. Leiden: Brill. Koch, G. (ed.) (1993) Grabeskunst der römischer Kaiserzeit. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Kopcke, G. and Moore, M. B. (eds.) (1979) Studies in Classical Art and Archaeology. A Tribute to Peter Heinrich von Blanckenhagen. New York: Augustin. Lewis, N. (1958) Samothrace I: the Ancient Literary Source. New York: New York University, Institute of Fine Arts. Lo Monaco, A. (2009) Il crepuscolo degli dei d’Achaia. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Lunas, S. (1979) Recherches sur la Lune I. Leiden: Brill. Marconi, C. (2010) “Choroi, ThƝoriai and International Ambitions: The Hall of Choral Dancers and its Frieze”, in O. Palagia and B. D. Wescoat (eds.), 106-35. Marinatos, N. and Hägg, R. (eds.) (1993) Greek Sanctuaries. New Approaches. London/New York: Routledge. McCredie, J. R. (1979) “Samothrace: Supplementary Investigations. 19681977”, Hesperia 48, 1-44. Musti, D. (2001) “Aspetti della religione dei Cabiri”, in S. Ribichini, M. Rocchi and P. Xella (eds), 141-54. Nielsen, I. (2002) Cultic Theaters and Ritual Drama. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Paladino, I. (1984) “Il gallo e i riti di passaggio in Grecia”, in U. Bianchi (ed.), 237-49. Palagia, O. and Wescoat, B. D. (eds.) (2010) Samothracians Connections. Essays in honor of James R. McCredie. Oxford: Oxbow Books

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Paoletti, O. (2004) “s.v. Purification”, in ThesCRA II, 3-35. Peters, J.P. (1913) “The cock”, JAOS 33, 363-96. Pirenne-Delforge, V. (1994) “La Loutrophorie et la «Prêtresseloutrophore» de Sicyone”, in R. Ginouves et alii (eds.), 147-55. Rackham, H. (trnsl.) (1933) Cicero: De Natura Deorum; Academica. Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: Heinemann. Ribichini, S., Rocchi, M., and Xella, P. (eds.) (2001) La questione delle influenze vicino-orientali sulla religione greca. Stato degli studi e prospettive della ricerca. Atti del colloquio internazionale, Roma, 2022 maggio 1999. Roma: CNR Schachter, A. (2003) “Evolution of a Mystery Cult. The Theban Kabiroi”, in M. B. Cosmopoulos (ed.), 112-42. Schmaltz, B. (1974) Das Kabirenheiligtum bei Theben V. Terrakotten aus dem Kabirenheiligtum bei Theben. Berlin: De Gruyter. Scholfield, A. F. (trnsl.) (1958) Aelian, On Animals. With an English translation. Vol. i (Books i-iv). Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann. Sichtermann, H. (1988) “s.v. Ganymedes”, in LIMC IV, 154-70. Sinn, F. (1993) “Zu den Personendarstellungen aus den Hateriergrab”, in G. Koch (ed.), 229-35. Torelli, M. (1977) “I culti di Locri”, in Atti del Sedicesimo convegno di studi sulla Magna Grecia, Taranto 3-8 ottobre 1976. Naples: Arte Tipografica, 147-84. —. (2009) “Religione e rituali dal mondo latino a quello etrusco: un capitolo della protostoria”, in G. M. Della Fina (ed.), 119-54. Ure, A. D. (1951) “Koes”, JHS 71, 194-7. Ustinova, Y. (1998) “Corybantism: The Nature and Role of an ecstatic Cult in the Greek Polis”, Horos 10-12, 503-20 . Zografou, A. (2010) Chemins d’Hécate. Portes, routes, carrefours et autres figures de l’entre-deux. Liège: Centre international d’étude de la religion grecque antique. Zunino, M. L. (1997) Hiera Messeniaka. La storia religiosa della Messenia dall'età micenea all'età ellenistica. Udine: Forum Edizioni.

CHAPTER EIGHT PERSEPHONE’S COCKEREL AUGUSTO COSENTINO

At the beginning of the twentieth century, at Mannella, near Locri (Southern Italy) a favissa was found containing a wealth of archaeological material. Especially interesting were the tablets known as pinakes.1 These are tablets showing a series of figures, the majority referring to the myth of Kore-Persephone.2 Many depict the most important moment of the myth, the scene of Kore’s abduction by Hades (fig. 1). A number of them represent some divine or human character producing a tribute, such as gifts and offerings, to Persephone, who is depicted alone or with her husband Hades, in the Underworld (fig. 2). One very interesting group of pinakes is made up of scenes that do not seem closely related to the myth: they are scenes of toilette, wardrobe preparation etc., in which it is not always possible to tell if the woman represented is Persephone or an attendant. Finally, there are a few scenes which depict other subjects. In all the pinakes, the depictions exhibit a number of objects not always relevant to the abduction of Persephone theme. We can divide 1

On the pinakes see Zancani Montuoro (1935); Putortì (1937); Zancani Montuoro (1940), (1954a), (1954b), (1955), (1959), (1960); Lissi (1961) 97-101; Zancani Montuoro (1964); Richter (1965); Barillaro (1967); Prückner (1968); Zuntz (1971), 164-8; Schinko (1973) 59-90; Sourvinou-Inwood (1973) 12-21, and (1974) 12637; Ciurletti (1976); Simon (1977a) 15-20; Torelli (1977) 156-85; Simon (1977b) 463-77; Arias (1977) 512-33; Gigante (1977) 641-6; Barra Bagnasco (1977) 115 n.24; Sourvinou-Inwood (1978) 101-21; Torelli (1979) 91-112; Gullini (1980); Spigo (1980-1981) 781-5; Paoletti (1981) 58-69; Spigo (1982) 151-62; Orlandini (1983) 461-3 figg. 461-72; Arias (1984) 97-102; Arias (1984); de Franciscis (1985) 209-16; Giuffré Scibona (1986-87) 73-90; Spigo (1987) 21-4; Spigo (1988) 120-1, tabls. xlvii, i; Parra (1989) 559-65; Costamagna and Sabbione (1990) 102-5; Lissi Caronna et al. (1996-99); Lissi Caronna et al. (2000-3) and (2004-7); Mertens Horn (2005) 49-57; Parra (2013) 323-32. 2 On versions of the myth see Sfameni Gasparro (1986); Scarpi (2002). On KorePersephone and her cult see Zuntz (1971); Parca and Tzanetou (2007).

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them into three different categories depending on their iconographic significance: 1. Objects with a narrative function. Sometimes these objects are part of the narrative, for example the kalathos, which is the basket that Persephone was using to pick flowers and fruit when her abductor took her by surprise (fig. 1). 2. Objects with a symbolic and cultic function. Some of the objects depicted are not closely linked to the mythical story, but rather perform a symbolic function: for example, the ball, which indicates the transition from a carefree childhood to adulthood and marriage. Other objects, such as the phiale, are related to the cult of Persephone. 3. Items with a merely decorative purpose. In some cases, an object is inserted into the scene as a mere filler or embellishment, without any reference to the myth, and without any allusion to cult practices. To understand under which category we can put the cockerel, 3 it is necessary to analyse the depictions where it occurs, the position of the cockerel in the scene, the mythological references evoked, and the iconographic or textual parallels with other contexts.4 The abundance of objects in the pinakes is not only due to an artistic horror vacui, but also to the artist’s anxiety to gather, inside a few square inches, a series of symbols and messages simple enough for the faithful to decipher. The holes at the top of the pinakes, often still intact, signify how these ex-votos were placed inside the sanctuary, in order to tell the story of the goddess—“the goddess”, and not “the goddesses”, because Persephone’s mother, Demeter, seems almost entirely absent from the representations.5 3 Recent studies and sources on the cock in the Greek world is to be found in Pintus (1986) 243-67; and Paladino (1986) 238 and nn. 4-6. 4 The Locrian pinakes are not the only monumental representations of the cockerel; to these a series of Locrian terracotta figures should be added. For example, there is a clay group with a child, a cockerel, and a pig, now in the British Museum (Higgins [1969] 118-9 and Pl. LIV); also, a winged female figure riding a cockerel (see below, p. 200); and some clay agalmata in the shape of a cockerel. 5 Many scholars have remarked on this peculiarity of the Locrian cult and myth. It would seem to refer to one of the many versions of the myth, different from the Eleusinian standard. However, the scholar who first found the pinakes, Paolo Orsi (Orsi [1909] 468), stated that “animale eminentemente eleusino è il gallo, quasi immancabile nelle nostre tavolette”. Still, among the many epigraphic references dedicated to the Locrian Persephone there is a clear dedication “to the goddesses”. From Medma, a Locrian sub-colony with a clear affinity to the homeland also in the local production of pinakes, we find a dedication to Demeter; in this dedication Demeter is referred to as Elouia, an epithet for which several explanations have been given, including that of “Elousia” or “Eleusinia”. Finally, we have the

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Among all these objects in the pinakes, the cock occupies a place of considerable importance; in fact, it occurs frequently in many different scenes of the Persephone narrative. Thus, we find the cockerel in the preliminary stage of the tale, when Kore is picking fruit or flowers (fig. 3), then in the scenes of the abduction (fig. 1), and finally in the domestic scenes indoors. Sometimes it seems to be a filler, appearing for example under a dresser. On other depictions, it seems to have a greater importance because it is situated at the centre of the scene. In some scenes, the cock is depicted in some non-realistic pose: for example, in some depictions of Persephone’s abduction, it is on the head or on the neck of the horses which draw Hades’ chariot. In other scenes, the goddess, at the moment of being carried off by her abductor, gestures for help with one hand while holding a cockerel in the other (fig. 1). In all, it is evident that the presence of the cock has a symbolic meaning, which is informed by the iconography of the pinakes; but for us, this iconography is hard to decode. The pinakes may be subjected to two different lines of interpretation: we can apply a literal interpretation, according to which the scenes represent human characters (the worshippers or the priestesses of Persephone); and we can look at them from a mythological perspective, according to which the figures represent Persephone herself. For the modern interpreter the two levels are obviously distinct from one another, but for the ancients they formed a single, overlapping reality. The scenes of toilette or wardrobe, without any specific references to the mythical narrative, belong to the realistic sphere, while the scenes of abduction, which represent the tale with great vividness and freshness, belong to the mythical sphere. Nevertheless, the scene of abduction seems to evoke the moment when the girl leaves her family and makes the transition to a new marital status, accompanied by her bridegroom. A series of pinakes showing the so-called “consented abduction”, in which Persephone is

existence of a month “Damatrios” in the Locrian calendar; see Costabile (1991) 133. Also of note is the fact that Attic black-figure vases depicting Eleusinian scenes were found in the excavations of Mannella, along with the pinakes; see Procopius (1952) apud Torelli (1977) 158 n. 16. I want also to mention a very problematic fragmentary pinax, which could represent Demeter in mourning during her search for her abducted daughter. On the other hand, it is undeniable that the Locrian sanctuary was primarily dedicated to Persephone, for that sanctuary was a Panhellenic fanum Proserpinae, as Livy defines it. The prevalence of Persephone emphasises the chthonic role of the kore, rather than the motherdaughter relationship as goddesses of fertility and of the seasonal cycle. According to Giangiulio (1994) 35, 51 n. 109, the myth of Eleusis was well-known in Locri.

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offering no resistance to her abductor, unlike in the other series of tablets, suggests this interpretation. The numerous scholars who have studied the Locrian pinakes have proposed three main interpretations for the cock: 1. A chthonic meaning, according to which priority is given to the concept of Persephone as queen of the Underworld. Some scholars recognise in the cock, which appears in funerary reliefs, the soul of the deceased.6 Reliefs with Hermes as psychopomp carrying a cockerel could be interpreted in this context. 2. The cock as a fertility animal, linked to the wedding and to the abduction as an event related to marriage. Prückner introduced a variant reading, by linking the cock to Aphrodite, and drawing a close parallel (almost an overlap) between Aphrodite and Persephone. 7 He views Aphrodite as the goddess of sensual love symbolised by the cock, and Persephone as the goddess of marital love. According to Prückner, the cock was raised in the gardens of Aphrodite in Locri; the presence of the animal on the pinakes created a link between the two goddesses. 3. The cockerel as a solar animal. This meaning is self-evident, since the cock crows at sunrise. To gain a better understanding of the specific meaning of the cock in the Locrian pinakes, and the relationship between this animal and Persephone, it is necessary to be familiar with its cultural associations. It is also necessary to examine the written sources, and look for correspondences between literature and iconography. Macchioro was the first scholar to interpret the side-by-side placement of Persephone and the cock in the Locrian pinakes in an Orphic context: “Non vi è alcun dubbio che tutte queste scene si svolgono nell’oltre tomba; basterebbe a dimostrarlo la frequenza del gallo, noto simbolo funebre; ed è perciò assai notevole che l’ambiente oltremondano da esse esibito è identico a quello che il rito funebre italo-greco cercava con tanta cura di costruire intorno al defunto, cioè l’ambiente domestico; qui come là noi troviamo il defunto circondato dei suoi mobili, dei suoi ornamenti 6

Cf. Tonks (1907) 332. Prückner’s interpretation is sharply disputed by Sourvinou-Inwood (1974) 133: “Most of the reasons for which Prückner takes away types from Persephone to give them to Aphrodite are based on a petitio principii or on hypothesis built upon hypothesis; often his conclusions and classification are demonstrably wrong, as when he attributes to Aphrodite, which he does very often, scenes in which the main cult attribute is a cock, a bird which is not only a universal Greek chthonic symbol, but also belongs to the Locrian Persephone in those scenes in which her identity has not been doubted even by Prückner himself”. 7

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personali, dei suoi gioielli; il defunto che vive, insomma, in queste tavolette proprio quella vita che il rito funebre presuppone, ed usa proprio quegli arnesi che il rito richiede”.8

In Macchioro’s interpretation, the cock connotes the afterlife. Even though this reading is not explicit, it was perfectly understandable to the people who gazed at the scenes. In this interpretation, the scenes representing ordinary life, too, refer to the afterlife, implying that even in the Underworld the deceased woman continues her everyday activities. If we accept this overall interpretation of the pinakes, we must distinguish between the pinakes which narrate the myth (and, in particular, its central episode, the rape), and those which represent life in the next world as a happy continuation of earthly life. In this interpretation, the cock has a purely symbolic meaning, as a key image alluding to the afterlife. In any case, this does not explain the presence of the cock in the scenes of abduction. Bianchi, speaking of the pinakes, says that the cock has a “special reference to the world of the Beyond”, and on account of this reference it should be called “the mystic cock”. He questions, further, the meaning of the cock on some BoeȠtian busts, and he finds the depiction of the cock on them to resemble the egg symbol, in “a context of a Dionysian religiosity of some Orphic type”.9 Giannelli attributes the Locrian cockerel to Hades rather than to Persephone. He also suggests that this animal is linked with the Orphic world: “è questi l’antico Zagreus, il dio sotterraneo, ipostasi di Hades, sbranato dai Titani e rigenerato da Zeus come ‘nuovo Dioniso’, il Dionysus-Zagreus della dottrina orfica”.10 Very popular at the start, the ‘Orphic’ theory later lost its appeal, mainly because it did not find favour with the scholar who devoted all her energy to reconstructing, reading, and interpreting the pinakes: Paola Zancani Montuoro. 11 In recent years, however, this Orphic interpretation has been revisited to some extent, notably by Mertens-Horn and Giangiulio, who correlate the pinakes with the Orphic gold lamellae.12 In any case, an Orphic interpretation purely and solely of the Locrian pinakes is reductionist to say the least: although 8

Macchioro (1930) 275. Bianchi (1976) 12. 10 Giannelli (1924) 225. Cf. also Oldfather (1927). 11 Zancani Montuoro (1935), (1940), (1954a), (1954b), (1955), (1959), (1960), (1964). 12 Mertens-Horn (2005) 49-57, and (2005-6) 7-77; Giangiulio (1994) 9-53. On the relations between the pinakes and Orphic leaves, see Bernabé and Jiménez San Cristóbal (2011) 93 n. 144; 95ff.; Bernabé and Jiménez San Cristóbal (2008) 284ff. 9

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Dionysus is depicted on the pinakes, 13 he does not appear as a major character, but is simply one god among many: the pinakes also feature Hermes, whose role as a psychopomp14 should be emphasised, and Ares.15 In this respect, the possible relationship between the cock and Orphism is still an open issue.16 According to some ancient sources, one of the taboos imposed on his disciples by Pythagoras was against touching a white cockerel. 17 But a passage in Porphyry’s Life of Pythagoras seems to contradict this. He asserts that Pythagoras avoided bloody sacrifices, except those of suckling pigs and cocks.18 In a work by Lucian of Samosata, titled The Dream of the Cockerel, the protagonist is a cock that is revealed, in a parody, to be the reincarnation of Pythagoras. 19 Furthermore, the Golden Verse of Pseudo-Pythagoras speaks out against the sacrifice of the cock: “Nourish the cockerel and do not sacrifice it, because it is consecrated to the moon and to the sun”.20 Cumont, in his learned article Le coq blanc des Mazdéens et les Pythagoriciens, claims that it was Pythagoreans who brought the sacredness of the cock from the East to the West. The cock came from the 13

In the texts of the lamellae Persephone plays an important role, so much so that Musti (1984) 63, following Pugliese Carratelli (1965) 36ff., divides them into two sets: one that he defines “mnemosinia”, and the other that he calls “eleusiniolocrese o persefonica”. Although he notes some ideological discrepancy between the two series, he believes that this second series was created in an Orphic environment. On the relationship between Dionysus and Persephone see Mora (2006) 239. A comparison of the Dionysus represented on pinakes with an Apulian krater now at the Toledo Museum of Art (Ohio) in found in Torjussen (2006) 94. 14 Hermes in the myth of Persephone in the Hymn to Demeter 2.377ff. 15 Cf. Pintus (1986) 245-6; Paladino (1986) 242 n. 27; Montagnani (2008) 17. 16 Graves (1948) 404 calls the cock an “orphic bird of resurrection”, but he does not justify this assertion. Di Bello (1975) 189 notes that various coins at Lesbos were minted in connection with the cult of Orpheus (which, according to the mythic tradition, had been killed by the Maenads on the shore of the island). Some specimens show the cock on the reverse. 17 Diog. L. 8.1; Pythagoras, in Iamb. Adhortatio ad Philosophiam 21.17; Plut. Quest. Conv. 4.5.2d; de stoic. repugn. 32; Luc. Gall.; Ael., VH 4.17; Iamb. VP 1.28.87; 2.10.146; Porph. VP 36; Suid. s.v. Pythagoria symbola. A scholium to Lucian (p. 280, 23 Rabe) affirms the sacredness of Eleusinian ‘domestic birds’ (ੑȡȞ઀șȦȞ țĮIJȠȚțȚį઀ȦȞ). 18 Porph. VP 36: ș઄ȦȞ IJİ șİȠ૙Ȣ ਕȞİʌĮȤș੽Ȣ ਷Ȟ, ਕȜij઀IJȠȚȢ IJİ țĮ੿ ʌȠʌ੺Ȟ૳ / țĮ੿ ȜȚȕĮȞȦIJ૶ țĮ੿ ȝȣȡȡ઀Ȟૉ IJȠઃȢ șİȠઃȢ ਥȟȚȜĮıțંȝİȞȠȢ, / ਥȝȥ઄ȤȠȚȢ į' ਸ਼țȚıIJĮ, ʌȜ੽Ȟ İੁ ȝ੾ ʌȠIJİ ਕȜİțIJȠȡ઀ıȚȞ țĮ੿ / IJ૵Ȟ ȤȠ઀ȡȦȞ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਖʌĮȜȦIJ੺IJȠȚȢ. 19 Cf. Skutsch (1959) 115. 20 See Pintus (1986) 244 and n. 3 for references to sources.

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Iranian world invested with a sacral aura, and was known in Greece as the “Persian bird”.21 I believe that Cumont’s emphasis on the sacredness of the cock is exaggerated, but I cannot exclude the possibility that, at least in the Pythagorean tradition, it may draw on some Eastern influence. In the pinakes the cock is related to Persephone, but we do not know if this sacredness has some Pythagorean background. On the other hand, we should note that the cock entered the Greek world quite late: unknown in Homer and Hesiod, the first known mention is in Theognis (6th century BCE), who flourished about half a century before the production of the pinakes. There is also a hermeneutic tradition, according to which the figure of the cock on the pinakes can be interpreted in a realistic sense, as an animal living in the sanctuary. We know that the ritual feature is present in the pinakes. As we said, in these tablets there is a significant overlap between mythic and ritual levels, to the point that it is sometimes impossible to distinguish between them. In some scenes, however, the ritual element is stronger, so we can see them as meta-ritual representations of some sort. The study of representations of the cock elsewhere in the Greek world may help us better to explain the figures on the Locrian tablets. The cock appears in Late-Corinthian pottery, 22 and in subsequent periods the representation of a cockfight is a recurring theme, 23 being a common decorative motif reflecting the natural combativeness and aggressiveness of the animal. 24 There are, moreover, some depictions of the so-called dance of the cock. 25 In the religious sphere, the importance which the sacrifice of cocks had in connection with the cult of Asclepius is well known.26 The cock is associated not only with Asclepius, but also with other deities: in particular with Hermes and Dionysus, but with Apollo and Athena as well.27 It is worth reflecting again on the value of the cock as a liminal and transitional animal. Ida Paladino argued for the nature of the cock as a guarantor of transition,28 by quoting an excerpt from Aelian’s De natura 21 Cratin. apud Ath. 9.374d; Ar. Av. 277ff.; 483ff.; 707; 833; Schol. Ar. Av. 485; 707; 833; 835; Ath. 14.655a; Suid., s.v. ਝȜİțIJȠȡ઀įİȢ and ȆİȡıȚțઁȢ ੕ȡȞȚȢ. See Cruccas’ chapter in the present volume. 22 Mylonas (1940) 191. 23 Cf. Csapo (1993) 1-28; Padgett (2002) 36-48; Csapo (2006). 24 This makes it synonymous with ‘swaggerer’; see Nisetich (1977) 262 n. 91. 25 Lawler (1952) 321 and 324, n. 7; Bieber (1944) 125. 26 Pintus (1986) 245; Edelstein (1998) 296-9. 27 Cf. Pintus (1986) 245-6; Paladino (1986) 240-2. 28 Paladino (1986) 237-49.

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animalium.29 Aelian records that the cock, having witnessed Latona giving birth to the twins Apollo and Artemis, acts as an assistant to pregnant women (et quod etiam nunc et parientibus adsit faciles partus efficiat). Eric Csapo notes that “in antiquity the cock, like the sphinx, was a liminal creature. Its habit of crowing at dawn made it a symbol of transition from night to day and darkness to light. As a marker of time and transitions, it is associated with birth, death, and rebirth, and thus gains a close association with liminal deities such as Leto, Hermes, Demeter/Persephone, and Asclepius. Adolescence was also closely connected to death and rebirth: Artemidorus [1.54], the ancient dream interpreter, claims that dreams about adolescence signify marriage for the bachelor and death for the aged”.30 The transition marked by the cock can refer to the changes of young women who, upon marriage, leave behind their girlhood to assume a new identity as brides. It may also signify the transition from life to death, 31 from night to day, 32 or from dream to reality. 33 The Locrian pinakes can refer to all these expressions of transition, for Persephone is not only the maiden who, through abduction, becomes a bride, but also transitions from light to darkness as she becomes the queen of the Underworld. Here, we may note the role of the cockerel as a psychopomp. There are some very interesting Locrian terracottas alluding to this, for they represent a winged female figure riding on a cockerel. According to Costabile and Meirano, this figure is the human soul being carried to Hades by the cockerel in obvious evocation of the journey to the Underworld.34 Similarly, for Bernabé and Jiménez San Cristóbal, “cocks allude to the world of the afterlife: as intermediaries between the soul and the Beyond, they intercede between the world of the dead and that of the living”.35 Finally, there remains the problem of finding a specific connection between the cock and the world of Demeter. We might note that there is

29

Aelian. de nat. an. 4.29. Csapo (2006) 16. 31 Cf. Paladino (1986) 241. 32 See Paladino (1986) 239 (also adding the role of guardian of the changes in the weather); Montagnani (2008) 15. 33 Pintus (1986) 247-8. 34 Costabile and Meirano (2006) 73-80. 35 Bernabé and Jiménez San Cristóbal (2008) 286; cf. also p. 284. 30

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no reference to the cock in other sanctuaries of Demeter.36 Nevertheless Porphyry, Abst. 4.16, is worth considering in this respect: But most theologists say that the name of 'Perrefattes' is derived from nourishing a ringdove: for the ringdove is sacred to this Goddess. Hence, also, the priests of Maia dedicate to her a ringdove. And Maia is the same with Proserpine, as being obstetric, and a nurse. For this Goddess is terrestrial, and so likewise is Demeter. To this Goddess, also, a cock is consecrated; and on this account those that are initiated in her mysteries abstain from domestic birds. In the Eleusinian mysteries, likewise, the initiated are ordered to abstain from domestic birds, from fishes and beans, pomegranates and apples; which fruits are as equally defiling to the touch, as a woman recently delivered, and a dead body. But whoever is acquainted with the nature of divinely-luminous appearances knows also on what account it is requisite to abstain from all birds, and especially for him who hastens to be liberated from terrestrial concerns, and to be established with the celestial Gods. Vice, however, as we have frequently said, is sufficiently able to patronize itself, and especially when it pleads its cause among the ignorant.37 (trnsl. Taylor [1823]).

Although late (3rd century CE), this passage is very interesting: it describes the votive offering of a cock to the goddess Demeter, and is related to the abstention from contact with domestic animals practised by the initiates.38 Porphyry’s list of Eleusinian taboos seems to belong more to the Orphic-Pythagorean world than to that of Demeter.39 The sacredness attributed to the cock seems somehow parallel to the Pythagorean 36

We find a few examples only in Corinth and Cyrene (on the similarities between Corinthian and Cyrenaic pottery see Ferri [1929]. Pugliese Carratelli [1964] 32-4 argues for a common origin in the Spartan world). Cf. White (1984) 22. 37 Porph. Abst. 4.16: IJોȢ į੻ ĭİȡȡİij੺IJIJȘȢ ʌĮȡ੹ IJઁ ij੼ȡȕİȚȞ IJ੽Ȟ ij੺IJIJĮȞ ijĮı੿Ȟ Ƞੂ ʌȠȜȜȠ੿ IJȠ੡ȞȠȝĮ IJ૵Ȟ șİȠȜંȖȦȞ· ੂİȡઁȞ Ȗ੹ȡ Į੝IJોȢ ਲ ij੺IJIJĮ. įȚઁ țĮ੿ Įੂ IJોȢ ȂĮ઀ĮȢ ੂ੼ȡİȚĮȚ IJĮ઄IJȘȞ Į੝IJૌ ਕȞĮIJȚș੼ĮıȚ. ȂĮ૙Į į੻ ਲ Į੝IJ੽ IJૌ ĭİȡıİijંȞૉ ੪Ȣ ਗȞ ȝĮ૙Į țĮ੿ IJȡȠijઁȢ Ƞ੣ıĮ· ȤșȠȞ઀Į Ȗ੹ȡ ਲ șİઁȢ țĮ੿ ǻȘȝ੾IJȘȡ ਲ Į੝IJ੾. țĮ੿ IJઁȞ ਕȜİțIJȡȣંȞĮ į੻ IJĮ઄IJૉ ਕijȚ੼ȡȦıĮȞ. įȚઁ țĮ੿ ਕʌ੼ȤȠȞIJĮȚ Ƞੂ IJĮ઄IJȘȢ ȝ઄ıIJĮȚ ੑȡȞ઀șȦȞ ਥȞȠȚțȚį઀ȦȞ. ʌĮȡĮȖȖ੼ȜȜİIJĮȚ Ȗ੹ȡ țĮ੿ ૅǼȜİȣı૙ȞȚ ਕʌ੼ȤİıșĮȚ țĮIJȠȚțȚį઀ȦȞ ੑȡȞ઀șȦȞ țĮ੿ ੁȤș઄ȦȞ țĮ੿ țȣ੺ȝȦȞ ૧ȠȚ઼Ȣ IJİ țĮ੿ ȝ੾ȜȦȞ, țĮ੿ ਥʌ' ੅ıȘȢ ȝİȝ઀ĮȞIJĮȚ IJં IJİ ȜİȤȠ૨Ȣ ਚȥĮıșĮȚ țĮ੿ IJઁ șȞȘıİȚį઀ȦȞ. ੖ıIJȚȢ į੻ ijĮıȝ੺IJȦȞ ij઄ıȚȞ ੂıIJંȡȘıİȞ, ȠੇįİȞ țĮș' ੔Ȟ ȜંȖȠȞ ਕʌ੼ȤİıșĮȚ Ȥȡ੽ ʌ੺ȞIJȦȞ ੑȡȞ઀șȦȞ, țĮ੿ ȝ੺ȜȚıIJĮ ੖IJĮȞ ıʌİ઄įૉ IJȚȢ ਥț IJ૵Ȟ ȤșȠȞ઀ȦȞ ਕʌĮȜȜĮȖોȞĮȚ țĮ੿ ʌȡઁȢ IJȠઃȢ Ƞ੝ȡĮȞ઀ȠȣȢ șİȠઃȢ ੂįȡȣȞșોȞĮȚ. ਕȜȜ' ਲ țĮț઀Į, ੖ʌİȡ ʌȠȜȜ੺țȚȢ ਩ijĮȝİȞ, ੂțĮȞ੽ ıȣȞĮȖȠȡİ઄İȚȞ ਦĮȣIJૌ, țĮ੿ ȝ੺ȜȚıIJĮ ੖IJĮȞ ਥȞ Ƞ੝ț İੁįંıȚ ʌȠȚોIJĮȚ IJȠઃȢ ȜંȖȠȣȢ... 38 On abstention during the Eleusinian mysteries cf. Magnien (1938) 201ff. 39 According to Sourvinou-Inwood (1978) 108, Porphyry’s excerpt extends the association between the cock and Demeter beyond Eleusis, to the entire Greek world.

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akousmata (‘rumours’). We cannot exclude that Porphyry (or his source) has confused different traditions. Nonetheless, we can acknowledge common ground and points of contact between the Orphic-Pythagorean environment and the environment of Demeter.40 The Orphics often reused and redesigned myths and deities, and interpreted them from a mysteriosophical perspective. 41 In this respect, it is possible that in the Eleusinian ritual context there was a form of abstention taken up later by Orphics and Pythagoreans. Returning to the pinakes, we cannot rule out the possibility that we are dealing with a realistic representation, and the cocks were really inside the sanctuary. Several tablets seem to show cultic scenes. In these, once again, the cock appears as the main figure.42 Another interesting parallel is the iconography of Zeus kidnapping Ganymede.43 A cockerel appears not only on some painted vases, but also on an important piece of statuary, the terracotta acroterion on the temple of Zeus at Olympia: the acroterion shows a bearded Zeus grabbing from behind the young Ganymede, who is clutching a cockerel (fig. 4).44 Also worth mentioning is an amphora with the figure of Ganymede in the centre, crowned by Hebe, with Zeus and a cockerel in front of him.45 A 40

On the relationship between Orphism and Eleusis cf. Graf (1974) 182-6; Burkert (2006) 34-7; Bernabé and Jiménez San Cristóbal (2008) 66-6; Bernabé (2009) 8998; Graf (2011) 60-2; Bremmer (2013) 39-41. 41 Bianchi (1978) 54 wrote: “An example (or perhaps the example) of this mysteriosophy is to be found–in Greece–in the Orphic tradition. […] The category of ‘mysteriosophy’, as it is expressed in the Orphic experience, implies a reinterpretation of the spirituality of the mystery cults, on the basis of a distinctive feeling about the destiny of the soul. […] This mysteriosophical experience, as we have described it, is nour’ished by many elements of the spirituality, the imagery, and the terminology of the mysteries; nevertheless, ... it involves something new”. Bernabé and Jiménez San Cristóbal (2008) 186 note that “Orphism can be defined as a mysteriosophic religion, since the Orphic IJİȜİIJĮȓ are oriented towards the acquisition of eschatological knowledge that enables initiates, and only initiates, to know the nature of the soul, its situation in the world, and how to liberate it from its mortal condition”; For other examples on this peculiar category, and its historico-religious aspect, cf. Bianchi (1975) 52; Bianchi (1978) 159ff. 42 It cannot be ruled out that the cockerels were sacrificed to Persephone. We know the sacrifices of cocks to Dionysus, Kore, Hermes, and Asclepius; see Burkert (1985) 368 n. 2. 43 Cf. Sichtermann (1988) no. 12, 22, 28, 44, 48, 50, 56, 73. 44 In the scenes with Ganymede, Bruneau (1962) 193-4 gives an erotic meaning to cock (cf. Mastrocinque, next chapter in this volume). 45 Staatliche Antikensammlungen, München, no. 834. Amphora factory unknown, from Nola, 510-480 BCE.

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krater by the Berlin Painter shows Ganymede playing with a hoop and holding a cockerel in his left hand, while, on the opposite side of the vase, Zeus pursues him armed with a long spear.46 A kylix by the Penthesilea Painter shows the abduction of Ganymede, with Zeus grabbing the boy’s left hand as Ganymede holds a cockerel in his right.47 Finally, there is a pelike on which a beardless male figure offers a cockerel to a young shepherd, with a leopard and a dog pictured at the bottom (the couple are identified by most scholars as Zeus and Ganymede).48 The iconography of these scenes of Zeus and Ganymede recalls Persephone’s abduction on the pinakes (fig. 1). Commentators note the meaning of the cock as a courting gift of Zeus.49 All these examples date from roughly the same period as the Locrian pinakes, i.e. the early decades of the fifth century BCE.50 Another interesting comparison is that of a relief from Chrysapha in Laconia, dating from the middle of the sixth century BCE, which shows a divine couple on a throne. Behind the throne, on the left, there is a long snake, while on the right side of the relief, at the bottom, there are two much smaller attendants: the first, a male, is carrying in his hands a cockerel and what seems to be an egg, while the second, a female, is carrying a flower and a pomegranate.51 Most scholars prefer to interpret the couple on the

46

Berlin Painter, Ganymede plays with the circle, holding a cockerel, a gift from the courtship of Zeus. ca. 500-490 BCE (Paris, Louvre). 47 National Archeological Museum of Spina, Ferrara. Penthesilea Painter, ca. 450 BCE. 48 Château-Musee, Boulogne-sur-Mer. Pelike with red figures. See Van Straten (1995) no. 221 V, 235. 49 According to Neils (1992) 37, a cock would be a typical gift of an elderly man to his younger lover. Adult men, through the gift of geese, quail, porphyrions, or cockerels, were able to seduce younger males (Ar. Av. 705ff.). See also Padgett (2002) 44, who notes that “Related to this kind of symbolism is the role of cocks in the imagery of male courting. Cocks were a favourite love token from a mature man to a handsome boy”. Even Paladino (1986) 243 observes that “un elemento tipico dei riti iniziatici è l’insistenza da una parte su una certa ambiguità sessuale – espressa da forme di transessualità (…) o di omosessualità (…) – e dall'altra su una rigida separazione dei sessi. (…) Circa il primo aspetto, va sottolineato come – per le credenze di cui era oggetto – il gallo si prestasse molto ad una caratterizzazione rituale sul piano della transessualità”. 50 There is another painting, dating from the mid-fourth century BCE, on a tombstone decorated with frescoes from Paestum (loc. Vannulo), which represents a cockerel (National Archaeological Museum of Paestum, Inventory no. 31735). On the significance of the cock in this context cf. Pontrandolfo (1997) 59, 64. 51 See Dillon (2002) 34 and the bibliography cited therein; 306 nn 121-2; Montagnani (2008) 18.

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throne as a heroic couple.52 In my opinion, however, the scene is set in the Underworld (as underlined by the serpent), and the offerings identify the couple as Hades-Persephone. From the point of view of iconographic technique, the scene seems quite similar to the pinakes.53 Another comparison comes from a funerary monument known as the Harpy Tomb, discovered in the Anatolian city of Xanthos and now kept at the British Museum (fig. 5). In the centre of the relief, on the east side of the tomb, there is an enthroned deity (perhaps Hades), in front of whom stands a smaller attendant offering a cockerel.54

Conclusions The pinakes are unique in the Greek world; only the pinakes of Francavilla in Sicily are comparable to them.55 They constitute a specific aspect of the Locrian Persephoneion, the most important in Magna Graecia, at least in some periods. The iconographic similarities of the pinakes with the Laconian reliefs and with the Anatolian Harpy Tomb may suggest that the peculiar aspects of the Locrian cult could have been subjected to influences beyond the ‘orthodox’ Eleusinian ritual tradition. But the excerpt from Porphyry attests to the presence of the cockerel in the Eleusinian world. Furthermore, it is well known that the reputation of the Eleusinian mysteries and the cult of Demeter at Eleusis soon spread beyond the borders of Attica. It is therefore likely that an important Persephoneion, such as that of Locri, would be influenced by them. Moreover, we cannot ignore the influence of Orphism, even if it the nature of this influence is still unclear. From the Locrian pinakes, Persephone emerges as the wife of Hades rather than the daughter of Demeter. The cock on the pinakes appears in connection with Persephone,56 though it would seem more logical for it to function as an attribute of Hades.57 It

52

Jones (2010) 15. Giuffré Scibona (1986-87) 73-90 already noted the iconographic convergence between the Locrian pinakes and many reliefs from Laconia. 54 See Tonks (1907) 324-5; esp. the comparison with Locrian pinakes on 332-3. 55 Spigo (1980-81), (1982), (1987), (1988), (2000a), (2000b). 56 Cf. Richter (1913) 175; Sourvinou-Inwood (1978) 106-11; Hadzisteliou Price (1978) 173-4. 57 The discovery of some ithyphallic representations of the cockerel in the Greek world affirms its function as a symbol of fertility; see Csapo (1993) 1-28. Burton (2011) 5 notes as “To a degree, Hades’ and Persephone’s attributes are interchangeable (...). And to some extent, there are equivalences”. On the 53

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seems to symbolise the status of the woman-bride.58 The almost obsessive recurrence of this animal on the Locrian pinakes shows that it was inextricably linked to the ritual narrative depicted on the tablets and had a clearly symbolic function. In the collective imagination, the cock evoked different and often contradictory meanings: it was a solar animal in the depth of the Underworld;59 and it was an animal which stood for sexuality and combativeness, while it was associated with the goddess who symbolises the transition from the maiden Kore to the bride Persephone.60

transsexual appearance of the cockerel, see n. 49 above. The male cockerel can also assume maternal functions. 58 Mastrocinque (next chapter in this volume) gives a very different interpretation of the cock. 59 With regard to the chthonic meaning of the cockerel in the pinakes, we have a remark made by Carcopino visiting the National Museum of Reggio Calabria (this remark was never published by the scholar himself, but was reported by Mosino [1989] 35): “Carcopino spiega chen –a suo parere– il gallo è il marcatempo, è l’orologio di Persefone, che, durante i sei mesi d'esilio negli inferi, dove il sole è invisibile, conta il passare dei giorni dal canto del gallo. Il gallo, infatti, ad ogni alba, sottoterra canta, come è sua abitudine. Senza il gallo-orologio la dea sarebbe rimasta all'oscuro della successione dei giorni e dei mesi”. Even Bernabé and Jiménez San Cristóbal (2008) 286 note that “[c]ocks allude to the world of the afterlife: as intermediaries between the soul and the Beyond, they intercede between the world of the dead and that of the living”. Paladino (1986) 239-40 emphasises the lunar association of the cockerel, present in the oriental world and possibly also in Greece. 60 The etymological explanation given in the twelve-century Etymologicum Magnum 60.32 (ed. Kallierges), notes that there are two words in Greek for the cockerel, alektor and alektruon: this second term may also mean someone who has ‘no bed’, and so someone who is a ‘virgin, without the nuptial bed’.

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Illustrations Fig. 1: Pinax Type 2/11, Persephone abducted by Hades, Reggio Calabria, National Archaeological Museum.

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Fig. 2: Pinax Type 8/22, Persephone enthroned and Dionysus, Reggio Calabria, National Archaeological Museum.

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Fig. 3: Pinax Type 4/1, Kore and Aphrodite picking flowers, Reggio Calabria, National Archaeological Museum.

Images of the pinakes (figg. 1, 2, 3) from E. Lissi Caronna, C. Sabbione, L. Vlad Borrelli (edd.), I Pinakes di Locri Epizefiri. Musei di Reggio Calabria e di Locri, Atti e Memorie della Società Magna Grecia IV Serie. Copyright © 1996-2007 by Società Magna Grecia. Reprinted by permission of Società Magna Grecia, 2015.

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Fig. 4: Terracotta statue of Zeus and Ganymede, Olympia Archaeological Museum. Image by Joanbanjo (Own work). Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

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Fig. 5: Marble Relief from Harpy Tomb, East Side (centre detail), London, British Museum. Image by Twospoonfuls (Own work). Licensed under GFDL via Wikimedia Commons.

Bibliography Arias, P. E. (1977) L’ arte locrese nelle sue principali manifestazioni artigianali, in: AA.VV. Locri Epizefirii. Atti del XVII Convegno dì Studi sulla Magna Grecia, Taranto 1976, I, 512-33. Naples: Arte tipografica. —. (1984) “Su di un pinax locrese”, in Studi di antichità in onore di G. Maetzke, I, 97-102. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Barillaro, E. (1967) “Il ratto di Persefone dal suo santuario di Locri”, Magna Graecia II/1, 5-6. Barra Bagnasco, M. (1977) Locri Epizefiri, I. Ricerche nella zona di Centocamere. Le fonti letterarie e epigrafiche. Florence: Sansoni. Bernabé, A. (2009) “Orpheus and Eleusis”, Thracia 18, 89-98. Bernabé, A. and Jiménez San Cristóbal, A. I. (2008) Instructions for the Netherworld. The Orphic Gold Tablets. Leiden/Boston: Brill. —. (2011) “Are the “Orphic” gold leaves Orphic?”, in: G. E. Radcliffe (ed.) The “Orphic” Gold Tablets and Greek Religion. Further along the path, 68-101. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bianchi, U. (1975) The History of Religions. Leiden: Brill. —. (1976) The Greek Mysteries. Leiden: Brill.

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—. (1978) Selected Essays on Gnosticism, Dualism and Mysteriosophy. Leiden: Brill. Bieber, M. (1944) “Two Attic Black-Figured Lekythoi in Buffalo”, AJA 48, 121-9. Bremmer, J. (2013) “Divinities in the Orphic Gold Leaves: Euklês, Eubouleus, Brimo, Kore, Kybele and Persephone”, ZPE 187, 35-48. Bruneau Ph. (1962) “Ganymède et l’aigleௗ: images, caricatures et parodies animales du rapt”, Bulletin de correspondance héllenique 86, 193-228. Burkert, W. (1985) Greek religion. Transl. by J. Raffan. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. —. (2006) Kleine Schriften III. Mystica, Orphica, Pythagorica. Göttingen: Vanderhoeck and Ruprecht. Burton, D. (2011) “Hades: Cornucopiae, Fertility and Death”, in A. Mackay (ed.), 32nd Annual Conference of the Australasian Society for Classical Studies Selected Proceedings, 1-7. Auckland. Ciurletti, G. (1976) Un pinax locrese nella collezione «Paolo Orsi» del Museo Civico di Rovereto. Trento: Temi. Costabile, F. and Meirano, V. (2006) “Il viaggio dell’anima verso l’Ade e le Aparchai degli Eidola alati nei riti funebri del mondo locrese (Locri, Kaulonia e Medma)”, in F. Costabile (ed.), Polis 2: Studi Interdisciplinari sul Mondo Antico, 73-82. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Costabile, F. (ed.) (1991) I ninfei di Locri Epizefiri. Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino. Costamagna, L. and Sabbione, C. (1990) Una città in Magna Graecia. Locri Epizefiri. Reggio Calabria: Gangemi Editore. Csapo, E (1993) “Deep Ambivalence: Notes on a Greek Cockfight (Part I)”, Phoenix 47, 1-28. —. (2006) “Cockfights, Contradictions, and the Mythopoetics of Ancient Greek Culture”, Inaugural lecture delivered to the Arts Association on 4 May. Arts: The Journal of the Sydney University Arts Association 28, 9-41. Available online at: http://openjournals.library.usyd.edu.au/index.php/ART/article/viewFile /5676/6349 de Franciscis, A. (1985) “Caulonia e Locri: a proposito di una tabella votive”, RStorCalabr VI, 209-16. Di Bello, F. (1975) “Dibattito, in Orfismo in Magna Grecia”, in Atti del XIV Convegno di Studi sulla Magna Grecia, Taranto, 6-10 ottobre 1974, 185-94. Naples: Arte Tipografica. Dillon, M (2002) Girls and Women in Classical Greek Religion. London/ New York: Routledge.

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Edelstein, L (1998) Asclepius: Collection and Interpretation of the Testimonies. Volume 1, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Ferri, S. (1929) Divinità ignote. Nuovi documenti di arte e di culto funerario nelle colonie greche. Florence: Sansoni. Giangiulio, M. (1994) “Le laminette auree nella cultura religiosa della Calabria greca: continuità e innovazione”, in Storia della Calabria: la Calabria antica, II. Età italica e romana, 9-53. Rome/Reggio Calabria: Gangemi Editore. Giannelli, G. (1924) Culti e miti della Magna Grecia. Contributo alla storia più antica delle colonie greche in Occidente. Florence: Sansoni. Gigante, M. (1977) “La cultura a Locri, in AA.VV. Locri Epizefirii”, in Atti del XVII Convegno dì Studi sulla Magna Grecia, Taranto 1976, I, 641-6. Naples: Arte Tipografica. Giuffré Scibona, C. (1986-87) “Lo sposo di Persephone a Locri: tipologia e ideologia della coppia nella religiosità demetriaca”, Quaderni dell'Istituto di archeologia dell'Università di Messina II, 73-90. Graf, F. (1974) Eleusis und die orphische Dichtung Athens in vorhellenistischer Zeit. Berlin: De Gruyter. —. (2011) “Text and ritual: The Corpus Eschatologicum of the Orphics”, in G. E. Radcliffe (ed.), The “Orphic” Gold Tablets and Greek Religion. Further along the path, 53-67. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Graves, R. (1948) The White Goddess. London: Cassell. Gullini, G. (1980) La cultura architettonica di Locri Epizefirii. Documenti e interpretazioni. Taranto: Istituto per la storia e l’archeologia della magna grecia. Hadzisteliou Price, Th. (1978) Kourotrophos. Cults and Representations of the Greek Nursing Deities. Leiden: Brill. Higgins, R. A. (1969) “Terracottas”, The British Museum Quarterly 33, 117-20. Jones, C. (2010) New Heroes in Antiquity: From Achilles to Antinoos, Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press. Lawler, L. B (1952) “Dancing Herds of Animals”, CJ 47.8, 317-24. Lissi, E. (1961) “La Collezione Scaglione a Locri”, in Atti e Memorie della Societa Magna Grecia, n.s. IV, 67-128. Lissi Caronna, E., Sabbione, L. and Vlad Borrelli, L. (eds.) (1996-99) I Pinakes di Locri Epizefiri. Musei di Reggio Calabria e di Locri, Parte I, Atti e Memorie della Società Magna Grecia IV Serie. —. (2000-3) I Pinakes di Locri Epizefiri. Musei di Reggio Calabria e di Locri, Parte II, Atti e Memorie della Società Magna Grecia IV Serie II.

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—. (2004-7) I Pinakes di Locri Epizefiri. Musei di Reggio Calabria e di Locri, Parte III, Atti e Memorie della Società Magna Grecia IV Serie III. Macchioro, V. (1930) Zagreus. Studi intorno all'Orfismo. Florence: Vallecchi. Magnien, V. (1938) Les Mystères d'Éleusis. Leurs origines. Le rituel de leurs initiation. Paris: Payot. Mertens-Horn, M. (2005-6) “Initiation und Mädchenraub am Fest der lokrischen Persephone”, MDAI(R) 112, 7-77. —. (2005) “I pinakes di Locri: immagini di feste e culti misterici dionisiaci nel santuario di Persefone”, in A. Bottini (ed.), Il rito segreto. Misteri in Grecia e a Roma. Catalogo della mostra (Roma, 22 luglio 2005 - 8 gennaio 2006), 49-57. Milan: Electa. Montagnani, S. (2008) “Riflessioni sul ruolo della donna a Locri Epizefirii. Cultualità femminile e mondo dorico in una prospettiva di “Gender Archaeology”’, Quaderni di Donne e Ricerca 10. Mosino, F. (1989) “Il gallo di Persefone”, Calabria Sconosciuta 45, 33-5. Musti, D. (1984) “Le Lamine Orfiche e la religiosità d’area locrese”, Quaderni Urbinati di Cultura Classica n.s. 16/1, fasc. 45, 61-83. Mylonas, G. E. (1940) “Greek Vases in the Collection of Washington University in St. Louis”, AJA 44, 187-211. Neils, J. (1992) Goddess and Polis: The Panathenaic Festival in Ancient Athens. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Nisetich, F. J. (1977) “The Leaves of Triumph and Mortality: Transformation of a Traditional Image in Pindar’s Olympian 12”, TAPA 107, 235-64. Oldfather, A. W. (1927) “Lokroi”, in RE, XIII 2, 1289-1363. Orlandini, P. (1983) “Le arti figurative”, in G. Pugliese Carratelli (ed.), Megale Hellas, 461-3, figg. 461-72. Milan: Libri Scheiwiller. Orsi, P. (1909) “Locri Epizefiri: Resoconto Sulla Terza Campagna Di Scavi Locresi”, Bollettino d’Arte 3, 406-28, 463-82. Padgett, J. M. (2002) “Objects of Desire: Greek Vases from the John B. Elliott Collection”, Record of the Art Museum, Princeton University 61, The Bequest of John B. Elliott, 36-48. Princeton: Princeton University Art Museum. Paladino, I. (1986) “Il gallo e i riti di passaggio in Grecia”, in U. Bianchi (ed.), Transition Rites. Cosmic, social and individual order. Proceedings of the Finnish-Swedish-Italian Seminar held at the University of Rome “La Sapienza”, 24th-28th March 1984, 237-49. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider.

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Paoletti, M. (1981) “Contributo al corpus delle terrecotte medmee e Carta archeologica di Rosarno”, in AA.VV., Medma e il suo territorio. Materiali per una carta archeologica, 47-92. Bari: De Donato. Parca, M. and Tzanetou, A. (eds.) (2007) Finding Persephone. Women’s Rituals in the Ancient Mediterranean. Bloomington/Indianapolis: University of Indiana Press. Parra, M. C. (1989) “Pinakes da Hipponion: alcune note”, in AnnPisa XIX, 2, 559-65. —. (2013) “Pinakes, Tra Grecia e Magna Grecia”, in G. Graziadio and others (eds.), ĭȚȜȚțȒ ȈȣȞĮȣȜȓĮ. Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology for Mario Benzi, BAR International Series, 2460, 323-32. Oxford: Archaeopress. Pintus, G. M. (1986) “Storia Di Un Simbolo: Il Gallo”, Sandalion 8-9, 243-67. Pontrandolfo, A., Rouveret, A., and Cipriani, M. (1997) Les tombes peintes de Paestum. Paestum: editions Pandemos. Procopio, G. (1952) “Vasi a figure nere del Museo Nazionale di Reggio Calabria”, Archeologia Classica 4/2, 153-61. Prückner, H. (1968) Die lokrischen Tonreliefs. Mainz: P. von Zabern. Pugliese Carratelli, G. (1965) “Culti e dottrine religiose in Magna Grecia”, in Santuari di Magna Grecia. Atti del Quarto Convegno di Studi sulla Magna Grecia. Taranto-Reggio Calabria, 11-16 Ottobre 1964, 19-45. Naples: Arte Tipografica. Putortì, N. (1937) “Iakchos sui pinakes di Locri”, L’Italia Antichissima 9, 1-11. Richter, G. M. A. (1913) “Classical Department: Accessions of 1912. Sculptures, Terracottas, and Miscellaneous Objects”, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 8, 173-9. —. (1965) “Notes on the Furniture of the Locrian pinakes”, Klearchos 7, 105-14. Scarpi, P. (ed.) (2002) Le religioni dei misteri, vol. I. Eleusi, Dionisismo, Orfismo. Milan: Fondazione Valla. Schinko, M. (1973) “Pinakes di tipo locrese nel Museo archeologico di Vibo Valentia”, Klearchos XV, 59-90. Sfameni Gasparro, G. (1986) Misteri e culti mistici di Demetra. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Sichtermann, H. (1988) “Ganymedes”, LIMC IV.1, 154-69. Zurich/ Munich: Artemis. Simon, E. (1977a) “Criteri per l'esegesi dei pinakes locresi”, Prospettiva 17, 15-20.

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—. (1977b) “La scultura di Locri Epizefiri”, in AA.VV. Locri Epizefirii. Atti del XVII Convegno dì Studi sulla Magna Grecia, Taranto 1976, I, 463-77. Naples: Arte Tipografica. Skutsch, O. (1959) “Notes on Metempsychosis”, CP 54, 114-6. Sourvinou-Inwood, C. (1973) “The Young Abductor of the Locrian Pinakes”, BICS 20, 12-21. —. (1974) “The Boston Relief and the Religion of Locri Epizephyrii”, JHS 94, 126-37. —. (1978) “Persephone and Aphrodite at Locri: A Model for Personality Definitions in Greek Religion”, JHS 98, 101-21. Spigo, U. (1980-81) “Ricerche a Monte S. Mauro, Francavilla di Sicilia, Acireale, Adrano, Lentini, Solarino”, Kokalos 26-27, 781-5. —. (1982) “Ricerche a Francavilla di Sicilia”, BCASic, 151-62. —. (1987) “Forme e tipi della ceroplastica delle città greche della Sicilia e della Calabria meridionale”, Magna Grecia 23, 21-4. —. (1988) La statua marmorea di Mozia e la scultura di stile severo in Sicilia”. Atti della giornata di studio, Marsala 1986, 120-121, tav. xlvii, i. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. —. (2000a) “I pinakes di Francavilla di Sicilia (Parte I)”, Bollettino d’Arte 111, 1-60. —. (2000b) “I pinakes di Francavilla di Sicilia (Parte II)”, Bollettino d’Arte 113, 1-78. Taylor, T. (trnsl.) (1823) Select Works of Porphyry; containing his four books on Abstinence from Animal Foood; his treatise on the Homeric Cave of the Nymphs; and his Auxiliaries to the Perception of Intelligible Natures. London: Thomas Rodd. Tonks, O. S. (1907) “An Interpretation of the So-Called Harpy Tomb”, AJA 11, 321-38. Torelli, M. (1977) “I culti di Locri”, in AA.VV. Locri Epizefirii. Atti del XVII Convegno dì Studi sulla Magna Grecia, Taranto 1976, I, 147-85. Naples: Arte Tipografica —. (1979) “Considerazioni sugli aspetti religiosi e culturali”, in D. Musti (ed.), Le tavole di Locri. Atti del Colloquio sugli aspetti politici, economici, culturali e linguistici dei testi dell’archivio locrese, Napoli 1977, 91-112. Rome: Edizioni dell’Ateneo & Bizzarri. Torjussen, S. S (2006) “Dionysus in the Underworld. An Interpretation of the Toledo Krater”, Nordlitࣟ: Tidsskrift i litteratur og kultur, 85-101. Van Straten. F. T. (1995) Hiera Kala. Images of Animal Sacrifice in Archaic and Classical Greece. Religions in the Graeco-Roman World, 127. Leiden/New York/Köln: Brill

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White. D. (1984) The Extramural Sanctuary of Demeter and Persephone at Cyrene, Lybia: Background and Introduction to the Excavations. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology. Zancani Montuoro, P. (1935) “Il giudizio di Persefone in un pinakion locrese”, in Paolo Orsi, Archivio Storico di Calabria e Lucania. Supplement to vol. V, 195-218. —. (1940) “Tabella fittile locrese con scena del culto”, Rivista Istituto Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte 7, 205-24. —. (1954a) “Note sui soggetti e sulla tecnica delle tabelle di Locri”, Atti e Memorie della Società Magna Grecia, n.s. 1, 73-108. —. (1954b) “Il rapitore di Core nel mito locrese”, Rendiconti Accademia Archeologia Lettere e BB.AA. di Napoli, n.s. 29, 79-86. —. (1955) “La teogamia di Locri Epizefirii”, Archivio Storico Calabria e Lucania 24, 283-308. —. (1959) “Il tempio di Persefone a Locri”, Rendiconti Accademia Nazionale Lincei, s. 8, 14, 225-32. —. (1960) “Il corredo della sposa”, Archeologia Classica XII, 37-50. —. (1964) “Persefone e Afrodite sul mare”, in L. Freeman Sandler (ed.), Essays in Memory of Ȁ. Lehmann (Marsyas, Suppl. I), 386-95. New York: Institute of Fine Arts, New York University. Zuntz, G. (1971) Persephone. Three Essays on Religion and Thought in Magna Grecia. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

CHAPTER NINE BIRDS AND LOVE IN GREEK AND ROMAN RELIGION ATTILIO MASTROCINQUE

No one has described the role of little domestic birds in love and youth better than Catullus: Passer, deliciae meae puellae (Cat. 2.1)

and Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque, et quantum est hominum venustiorum. Passer mortuus est meae puellae. (Cat. 3.1-3)1

Images of children—both boys and girls—with a little bird are known from the very beginning of Greek art. In fact, some archaic korai from Miletos and Samos are represented with a dove or similar birds in their hands, as an offering.2 Images of doves, chickens or cocks, geese, ducks, and similar domestic animals have been discovered in many Greek sanctuaries from the Archaic to the Hellenistic age. These sanctuaries were mostly dedicated to goddesses who presided over the passage from childhood to adulthood and marriage. For example, terracotta cocks and doves were discovered at Locri, in the sanctuary of Persephone, where pinakes with images of a cock offered to Persephone have come to light as well. This ritual offering has been correctly interpreted by Mario Torelli3 as a form of offering of toys and other symbols of childhood. We will presently see that those 1

See Thomas (1993) 131-42. See also some archaic alabastra, in Belli (1970) 225. 3 Torelli (1977) 147-84; cf. also Torelli (1984) 141-3. 2

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animals had a more multifaceted meaning, for they were connected with Eros and marriage, and they symbolised civilisation, breeding, fidelity, and concord. They were, further, peculiarly connected with the world of young women. It is impossible to deal here with all the kinds of birds to be found among the terracotta (or marble4) offerings to gods of love and marriage. My research is restricted to figures of doves and cocks, and to those of Eros riding on a dove, or a goose, or some similar tame bird.

1. Eros and Doves Doves everywhere in the ancient Mediterranean world were considered creatures of Aphrodite5 and other goddesses of love. Aphrodite was called Dione at Dodona, where her doves were famous, and her priestesses were also called “doves”.6 Authors refer to Ascalon’s doves.7 At Ascalon (on the Palestinian coast) and at Aphrodisias, in Caria, doves, sacred to Aphrodite, lived undisturbed.8 In Hierapolis, Syria, doves were sacred to Derketo,9 a local counterpart to Aphrodite. Venus Erycina, too, had her sacred doves. We are told, in fact, that, when Venus went to Libya, doves disappeared from Eryx, in Sicily, but then came back, along with their mistress.10 Terracotta statuettes representing Eros were dedicated in many sanctuaries, especially in the Magna Graecia, among both Greeks and Italic peoples. On these statuettes, Eros is often represented in the 4

As in the temple of Aphrodite at Daphni, Attica: Pirenne-Delforge (1994) 73-4. Plut. De Is. et Os. 379D: ਰȜȜȘȞİȢ ȝ੻Ȟ Ȗ੹ȡ ਩Ȟ Ȗİ IJȠȪIJȠȚȢ ȜȑȖȠȣıȚȞ ੑȡș૵Ȣ țĮ੿ ȞȠȝȓȗȠȣıȚȞ ੂİȡઁȞ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘȢ ȗ૶ȠȞ İੇȞĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ʌİȡȚıIJİȡ੹Ȟ; Aelian. de nat. an. 4.2: ਕșȪȡȝĮIJĮ Ȗ੹ȡ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘȢ ʌİȡȚıIJİȡ੹Ȣ İੇȞĮȚ ઋįȠȣıȚ; Artemid. Onirocr. 2.20: ıȘȝĮȓȞȠȣıȚ į੻ Įੂ ʌİȡȚıIJİȡĮ੿ țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ਥȞ IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌȡĮııȠȝȑȞȠȚȢ ਥʌĮijȡȠįȚıȓĮȞ įȚ੹ IJઁ ਕȞĮțİ૙ıșĮȚ IJૌ ਝijȡȠįȓIJૉ; Apollodorus Gramm. FHG fr.19a: ਲ ʌİȡȚıIJİȡ੹ ੂİȡ੹ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘȢ; Athen. 9.51.32. 6 Her. 2.55; cf. Strab. 7.1.1a. 7 Philo, de Providentia 2.64; cf. Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica 8.64); Tibullus 1.7.17-18. Cf. on coinage: Meshorer (1985) no. 42; Belayche (2001) 227. 8 Philo, de Providentia 2.107 (in Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica 8.14); Robert (1971) 81-105. In Cyprus doves were sacred to Aphrodite: Diogenianus Gramm. Corpus paroemiographorum Graecorum, Centuria p.1. 9 Luc. Dea Syr. 14; 33; Cornutus, de nat. deorum, p. 6 Lang. See van Berg (1972); Will (1985); Lightfoot (2003); Gehrke (2009) 85-144. 10 Athen. 9.51.6. On a coin struck at Eryx and showing Venus playing with a dove see de Ciccio (1948) 1-4. On Aphrodite and the dove on coins from other Greek cities see Welz (1959) 33-7. 5

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company of small birds, or riding on a domestic bird. This phenomenon is very common in the Hellenistic age. Eros is winged, but a boy without wings appears as well, in similar contexts. Eros himself was similar in appearance to doves, and his image was probably the result of the anthropomorphism of Greek religion, which preferred not to have gods in the form of animals, but in the form of humans, albeit sometimes including animal features, such as horns or wings. The Apis bull, for example, was transformed by the Greeks into a young, bull-headed man. The eastern part of the Mediterranean world preferred to depict Aphrodite or Astarte (i.e., the Phoenician Aphrodite) together with her doves, whereas the western part preferred to have Eros as her companion. Eros was known to the Greeks from the Archaic age. The Hesiodic Eros, born from Chaos or Nyx, is an amorphous deity. He, or rather it, is the force of sexual attraction. It does not have iconographic representation. Eros, the son of Aphrodite, is a different deity altogether. From the age of Sappho onward, Eros was thought of as the son of Aphrodite. 11 The iconography of the winged boy could have been conceived only within this second tradition, in connection with the cult of Aphrodite.

2. Doves, Cocks, and Love Affairs The dove is the most clearly defined avian symbol or patron of a certain form of love. Several birds were supposed to favour or to symbolise human behaviours, and domestic birds in particular were involved in love relations. An animal’s behaviour determined what this animal could represent, or symbolise, for humans. A very explicit assertion about the symbolic meaning of doves is provided by a coin of Faustina the Younger (fig. 1). On this coin a dove appears with the inscription CONCORDIA, thus signifying that this animal was a symbol of marital concord.12 The same inscription accompanies a peacock on a coin of Domitia Longina (fig. 2), the wife of Domitian, thus casting the peacock, too, as a symbol of marital concord.13 The peacock was sacred to Juno, the goddess of marriage, whereas the dove was sacred to Venus. 11 On those two different traditions see Lasserre (1946) 130-49; also Hermary, Cassimatis and Vollkommer (1986) 850. 12 RIC III, p. 93-4, no. 503; cf. Antoninus Pius: p. 72, no. 380. On doves and marital concord see Antico (1980-81) 31-46. 13 RIC II, pp. 179-80, no. 212. On the peacock as Juno’s symbol see Moscetti and Melis (1994); RIC III, p. 118, nos. 709-10 (quadrantes with owl, eagle, and peacock).

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The dove was supposed to be very faithful to its partner, as if in a perfect marriage.14 Doves were monogamous, and one of them could mate again only if its partner was dead.15 Couples of doves were described as kissing each other before having sex.16 A pair of doves, in short, behaved similarly to a human married couple. The turtle-dove was supposed to be ȝȩȞĮȞįȡȠȢ (having but one husband), obviously along the same lines.17 But what of the wild pigeon, the ijȐIJIJĮ? This bird resembled the dove in appearance, but its behaviour was so very different that it became the inspiration for several Greek proverbs: ȁĮȕİ૙Ȟ ijȐIJIJĮȞ ਕȞIJ੿ ʌİȡȚıIJİȡ઼Ȣ,18 ‘take a wild pigeon rather than a dove (i.e. a tame one)’. In full, this proverb runs as follows: ĭȐIJIJĮȞ ਕȞIJ੿ ʌİȡȚıIJİȡ઼Ȣ, ਦIJĮȓȡĮȞ ਕȞIJ੿ ȞȪȝijȘȢ,19 ‘take a wild pigeon rather than a dove, take a whore instead of a bride’. Artemidorus similarly writes that: ĭȐııĮȚ țĮ੿ ʌİȡȚıIJİȡĮ੿ ȖȣȞĮ૙țĮȢ ıȘȝĮȓȞȠȣıȚ, ijȐııĮȚ ȝ੻Ȟ ʌȐȞIJȦȢ ʌȠȡȞȚțȐȢ, ʌİȡȚıIJİȡĮ੿ į੻ ਩ıș’ ੖IJİ ȠੁțȠįİıʌȠȓȞĮȢ țĮ੿ țȠıȝȓĮȢ,20 ‘the wild pigeons and the doves symbolise women. The wild ones stand for the whores, and the tame ones for the women at the head of a household’.

3. Cocks The cock likewise is a signifier of love, though of a different kind. They were offered as presents by a lover to his beloved. Plutarch, in fact, writes: ‘They give to their beloved a horse, a cock, or something else’.21 A cock is frequently represented on ancient vase paintings in the company of a young boy, or of Eros himself. The cock was reputed to have an excessive, even offensive sexual desire. 22 A Greek expression

14

Aelian. De nat. an. 3.44. Arist. Hist. animal. 612b; Plin. Nat. Hist. 10.104; Aelian. de nat. an. 3.1 (ȆİȡȚıIJİȡ੹Ȟ į੻ ੑȡȞȓșȦȞ ıȦijȡȠȞİıIJȐIJȘȞ țĮ੿ țİțȠȜĮıȝȑȞȘȞ ਥȢ ਕijȡȠįȓIJȘȞ ȝȐȜȚıIJĮ ਕțȠȪȦ ȜİȖȩȞIJȦȞ· Ƞ੝ ȖȐȡ ʌȠIJİ ਕȜȜȒȜȦȞ įȚĮıʌ૵ȞIJĮȚ, Ƞ੡IJİ ਲ șȒȜİȚĮ, ਥ੹Ȟ ȝ੽ ਕijĮȚȡİșૌ IJȪȤૉ IJȚȞ੿ IJȠ૨ ıȣȞȞȩȝȠȣ, Ƞ੡IJİ ੒ ਙȡȡȘȞ, ਥ੹Ȟ ȝ੽ ȤોȡȠȢ ȖȑȞȘIJĮȚ); Dionys. Per. Ixeuticon sive De aucupio 1.25. 16 Athen. 2.2.16; Dionys. Per. Ixeuticon sive De aucupio 1.25; Plin. N.H. 10.158. 17 Cyranides 3.43.2. 18 Plat. Theet. 199b. 19 Aelian. Epistulae rusticae 19; Arsenius Paroemiogr. Apophthegmata, Corpus Paroemiographorum Graecorum, II, centuria 17.81b. 20 Artemid. Onirocr. 2.20. 21 Plut. Quaest. conv. 622f țĮ੿ Ȗ੹ȡ ਗȞ ੆ʌʌȠȞ țĮ੿ ਕȜİțIJȡȣȩȞĮ țਗȞ ਙȜȜȠ IJȚ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਥȡȦȝȑȞȠȚȢ įȚį૵ıȚ. 22 Arist. Hist. animal. 488b; Athen. 9.46: ਕȜİțIJȡȣઅȞ ਕijȡȠįȚıȚĮıIJȚțઁȞ IJઁ ੕ȡȞİȠȞ. 15

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was, įȓțȘȞ ਕȜİțIJȡȣȩȞȠȢ ıȣȝʌȜȑțİıșĮȚ, ‘have sex like a cock’, 23 which meant “call a woman out of her room (the ȖȣȞĮȚțȫȞ) for the sake of lust”. Each cock had many hens at its disposal, was aggressive and warlike, and therefore it was not supposed to be a model of fidelity for married human couples. The cock in short is connected to peculiar forms of love. These kinds of love were never conjugal but purely sexual, and aimed at the satisfaction of the stronger party, while the weaker party was often subjected to wrongful treatment, even violence: thus a cock is involved when one cheats on his partner; and even when a lover rapes his beloved who may be either a girl or a boy. In Greek iconography a cock is conspicuously held by people who have been raped, and in particular by Ganymede and Kore. Several specimens among the famous terracotta slabs (pinakes) from the temple of Persephone at Locri show Hades raping Kore who is holding a cock.24 Other pinakes show the offering of a cock to the goddess.25 Cocks could display homosexual behaviour, too. Aristotle 26 notices that cocks were offered to several gods in their temples and they lived without the company of hens. When a newly offered cock arrived, the others mounted him. Plutarch mentions several famous cases of homosexual love affairs between Agamemnon, Heracles, or Apollo and their beloved boys, and puts forward an analogy between the behaviour of these mythological heroes and gods with that behaviour of cocks. He adds that homosexual relations of cocks had a very ominous meaning.27 Therefore it is not surprising to find a cock in depictions of the scene of the rape of Ganymede. Ganymede is represented as holding a cock and playing with a hoop when Zeus raped him.28 Two well-known 5th century

23

Plut. Quaest. conv. 654f. Quagliati (1908) 136-234, part. 154-5, figs. 18-19; see also Cosentino’s paper in the present volume. 25 Quagliati (1908) 145, fig. 5; 186, fig. 39; 197, fig. 47; 202-3, figs. 51-2; 211, fig. 59; cf. 226-7, figs. 75, 77; Persephone on the throne and holding a cock: Quagliati (1908) 175-7, fig. 29-31; and more recently Lissi Caronna et al. (2007) figs. 1-28; 11-33, 6875, 88-107. 26 Arist. Hist. animal. 614a. 27 Plut. Bruta animalia ratione uti 990E: ਕȜİțIJȡȣઅȞ į' ਕȜİțIJȡȣȩȞȠȢ ਥʌȚȕĮȓȞȦȞ, șȘȜİȓĮȢ ȝ੽ ʌĮȡȠȪıȘȢ, țĮIJĮʌȓȝʌȡĮIJĮȚ ȗȦȩȢ, ȝȐȞIJİȫȢ IJȚȞȠȢ ਲ਼ IJİȡĮIJȠıțȩʌȠȣ ȝȑȖĮ țĮ੿ įİȚȞઁȞ ਕʌȠijĮȓȞȠȞIJȠȢ İੇȞĮȚ IJઁ ȖȚȖȞȩȝİȞȠȞ. 28 Sichtermann (1988) nos. 11, 22, 28, 44, 48, 73 24

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BCE vase paintings depict a winged boy (i.e. Eros) rolling a hoop and holding a bird, which in one of the depictions is a cock.29 How to interpret this kind of iconography? We have defined the presence of the cock on images of rape as a symbol (an allusion to a fact), as an incentive (the presence of the bird encouraged a fact to happen), as a gift (the bird was given as a present to one’s beloved, and therefore became a mediator between lovers), as an omen (its presence forecast the future). We might also mention a myth which may help us understand such a presence and perhaps add another function: the bird was also an accomplice. Lucian 30 tells the story of a cock which narrates its own adventure. Once he was a boy, called Alektryon, a friend of Ares. Ares took him everywhere, even when he was meeting Aphrodite. Ares feared that Helios could see them and report him to Hephaestus who was Aphrodite’s husband. Alektryon’s mission was to be alert and call Ares when the sun was rising. On one occasion, however, the boy fell asleep. As a result, Ares punished Alektryon, transforming him into a cock, destined to crow at sunrise forever. Alektryon is the Greek word for the cock, and the bystander Alektryon performed the same role as the cock on vase paintings, where a rape or other non-marital sexual behaviour was depicted as imminent. Evidently the presence of a cock among those scenes had become an established convention, so a myth was created around it. In his well-known book Les jardins d’Adonis, Marcel Detienne described a code according to which the Greeks classified plants associated in one way or another with love. Many perfumed plants were assigned to the sphere of seduction, whereas odourless or foul-smelling vegetables were linked to chastity. Mythology and rituals concerning plants were sometimes conceived in accordance with this code. Birds are still little studied in relation to love; this paper wants only to suggest a possible route for future research. The judgment of the Greeks depended on the real or supposed behaviour of birds. Apparently they were familiar with two extremes of behaviour: the wild and the tame, i.e. nature vs. culture. Wild birds were more similar to gods than to men. In particular birds of prey, such as eagles or owls were similar to Zeus or Athena, and not to men. By contrast tame animals lived in the sphere of human civilisation. Their sexual behaviour was not uniformly licentious and was 29

Hermary, Cassimatis, and Vollkommer (1986) no. 748a-b. Depictions of Erotes with fighting cocks are collected in Hermary, Cassimatis, and Vollkommer (1986) nos. 749-54. 30 Lucian, Gallus 3.

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more or less similar to human behaviour, of women and of men alike. The behaviour of monogamous and faithful birds was similar to that found in a lawful, harmonious and loving marriage. Birds whose behaviour differed from this model were associated with other more unruly human forms of love and sex.

4. Aphrodite and Eros riding on a Bird Eros or a beautiful boy, or even a girl, were sometimes represented as riding on the back of a tame bird (fig. 3).31 This type of iconography was ancient. Aphrodite, in particular, was depicted in this way from the Archaic age onward. This iconography was another means of symbolising the power of Aphrodite and Eros. Doves or Erotes drew the chariot of Aphrodite32: they were in fact very similar to each other. Among votive offerings to Greek or southern-Italian sanctuaries, Eros or a boy (i.e. a boy either with or without wings) is accompanied by domestic birds. Geese, ducks, swans, peacocks, cocks, doves, all appear on these votives, but never wild birds. Lovely tamed winged animals were indeed a good match for the winged divine boy. They were deemed worth caressing and loving, like the beautiful young god. When Eros rode on one of those birds, a problem of size arose for the sculptor: a dove is too small for a boy to ride, hence sometimes the size of the dove is exaggerated. Likewise, the choice of another, bigger animal, such as the goose or the swan, was probably dictated by the necessity for proportion, and, if this is the case, it can be assumed that the specific behaviour of each bird was not essential any more. Swans and geese had no specific sexual behaviour in Greek literature, but they were similar to doves and good for riding. On the other hand, we know that both swans and doves were involved in myths of seduction: Zeus transformed himself into a swan to seduce and have intercourse with Leda, whereas he assumed the form of a dove in order to have a love affair with Phthia.33 31

See Ovid, Am. 1.2.48: tu gravis alitibus. The authors of Mythographi Vaticani, vol. I, 175; vol. II, 33 tell the story of Aphrodite and Eros who competed in picking flowers; Aprodite won thanks to the help of the nymph Peristerà who was consequently punished by Eros and transformed into a dove. Because of that, doves and swans drew Aphrodite’s chariot. We know of one image of Eros driving a chariot drawn by a goose: Hermary, Cassimatis, and Vollkommer (1986) no. 204. 33 Athen. 9.51.29: ǹ੝IJȠțȡȐIJȘȢ ਥȞ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਝȤĮȚțȠ૙Ȣ (FHG IV, 346) țĮ੿ IJઁȞ ǻȓĮ ੂıIJȠȡİ૙ ȝİIJĮȕĮȜİ૙Ȟ IJ੽Ȟ ȝȠȡij੽Ȟ İੁȢ ʌİȡȚıIJİȡ੹Ȟ ਥȡĮıșȑȞIJĮ ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȣ ĭșȓĮȢ ੕ȞȠȝĮ ਥȞ ǹੁȖȓ૳; cf. Aelian, Varia historia 1.15. 32

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5. Th he Geese and the Chiild In the prrevious pages we discussed d how tame biirds in associaation with humans servved in a varietty of roles: as a symbol, as an incentive, as a gift, as an omen,, as an accom mplice. To theese we might add the depicction of a tame bird as a hierogllyph. This hieroglyph h is a peculiar Egyptian combinationn of a symbollic bird, such as a duck or a goose, and the local version of E Eros, i.e., Harppocrates. The iconnography of Eros E or of a boy b on the baack of a goosee brought about a verry peculiar reesult in the Hellenistic agge, when Grreeks and Macedonianns introduced to Egypt the custom c of prooducing and dedicating d similar statuuettes. In the Greek, G Etrusccan, and Cypriiot worlds som me of the statuettes deedicated to sannctuaries repreesented a babyy holding a sm mall bird. In Egypt, hhowever, the image of th he baby in ssimilar statueettes was specifically modelled afteer Eros riding g on a bird. Erros was often n replaced by Harpocraates, i.e., Horuus the child, the most cheriished form off Horus in Hellenised E Egypt and in areas where Egyptian cullts were praccticed. As Harpocratess took over thee role of Eros, the bird assum med a new meaning. As a mattter of fact, thhe bird was no ot the only aniimal in the staatuettes of the riding H Harpocrates. Harpocrates H waas depicted ass riding on the back of different annimals: a donkkey, a ram, a bovid, a cam mel, a horse, a dog, a cock, a dolpphin, an elephhant, a frog, a hippopotam mus, a lion, a goose, a peacock, or a snake.34 Sttill, the Egypttian monumennts show con nsiderable 35 preference ffor ducks or geese, g calling g to mind the iconography of votive statuettes in Magna Graeccia. When thhis form of votive v religio on was introdduced in Egy ypt, many people recoggnised in the duck d and the goose the sym mbol of the so on. In fact the hieroglyyph representting the son was shaped as an Egypttian duck (Daphila accuta: ) and was w followed by a seated m male figure. Horapollo, H in his late-foour century CE E treatise on hieroglyphs, h w writes that: “W When they [sc. the Egyyptians] want to write ‘son n’, they draw w the hierogly yph of an Egyptian gooose”. 36 Connsequently thee aforementiooned Greek statuettes assumed another meaninng in Egypt: the t Egyptianss recognised a specific 34

Tran Tam T Tinh, Jaeger, Pooulin (1988) no os. 280-354. See for ex. Kaufmann (19915) pl. 21.147 and 143; Brecccia (1934) 29 (g goose); pl. X (swan), XIV.56, XV.557 (goose), XV.60 (goose XIV.54; XV.58 (chicken), XIV.55 or duck); Graaindor (1939) no. n 16 (Harpocrrates on two geeese); Dunand (1979) ( no. 227 and pl. L LXXXVI (duck)); Tran Tam Tiinh, Jaeger, Pouulin (1988) nos. 280-354; Török (1995)) 76-7, nos. 84-55, pl. XLVII. 36 Horapollo, Aeg. I.53: ȊੂઁȞȞ į੻ ȕȠȣȜȩȝİȞȠ ȠȚ ȖȡȐȥĮȚ, ȤȘȞĮĮȜȫʌİțĮ ȗȦȖȡĮ ĮijȠ૨ıȚ; cf. van de Walle and J.Vergote (1943) 81; Crev vatin and Tedesschi (2002) 113 3. 35

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child riding on the back of the hieroglyphic symbol of the child and the son. 37 That child was Harpocrates, the perfect child: he was always represented with his right forefinger in his mouth, his hair shaved on half of his head and arranged in a braid on the other side (fig. 4). The name of Harpocrates signifies ‘Horus the child’, ‘Horus the son’, hr- p3- hrd: Harpe chrot.38 During the 2nd or 3rd centuries CE several lapis lazuli gems were cut, upon which Harpocrates is depicted as riding a duck or a goose and is accompanied by the inscription ȀȡĮIJȠȣȐș, i.e. hrd wa‘ty, ‘unique son’.39 The form ȋȡȐIJȘȢ recurs in the magical papyri with the meaning ‘son’,40 as in the name of Harpocrates himself. This Harpocrates in short was the “idea” of a child, an idea which took shape as a result of a complex interfusion of images, names, and sacred symbols. This iconography was very successful for it spread widely outside Egypt, is amply evidenced by several Late Hellenistic terracotta figurines from Tarsus, representing Eros on a goose wearing the crown of Harpocrates.41 These figurines are kept in many museums, but they were rarely among the findings of professional excavations; rather, they were sold by traders of antiquities to individual collectors and museums. The few findings in regular excavations show that they came mostly from private houses.42 The traditional warrior and King Horus, by contrast, was worshipped in temples.43 Harpocrates was the protector of children,44 and sometimes holds the club of Heracles as a symbol of protection.45 One could inquire about possible Egyptian influences on votive terracottas of Magna Graecia as a form of feedback. But this is difficult to prove, and only two things can be said with certainty: this iconography of children on the back of geese or ducks does not correspond to reality, 37

See in particular Bayer-Niemeier (1988) 105 and no. 133; Török (1995) 77. Tran Tam Tinh, Jaeger and Poulin (1988) 415; cf. Bonner (1950) 198-9; Bakowska (2004) 299-314. On the idea of the “son” in the Egyptian tradition see Assmann (2004) 93-8. 39 Michel (2004) 275-6, no. 19.8; Berry (1969) no. 159; see also Bonner (1950) nos. 214-5, and 198-9; Michel (2001), no. 135; Sylloge gemmarum gnosticarum, I, no. 23; Gundel (1992) 253, no. 172; Mastrocinque (2014) nos. 18-20. 40 PGM XII, 229. 41 Besques (1972) 278, no. D 2233 pl. 348b. 42 See Nachtergael (1985) 223-39, and, in particular, for the specimens with Harpocrates riding on a duck or a goose: 225-6 (Naucratis), 226-7 (Canopos and Alexandria). See now Boutantin (2013). 43 Frankfurter (1998) 132-4. 44 Tran Tam Tinh, Jaeger and Poulin (1988) 443. 45 Breccia (1934) no. 48C; Tran Tam Tinh, Jaeger and Poulin (1988) 147-54; Török (1995). 38

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because a chhild cannot truuly ride on thee back of thosse animals eveen if they are bigger thhan a dove. In concluusion, the brieef analysis pu ut forth in the previous pag ges, of the multifacetedd meanings of tame birrds in anciennt iconographies and literatures, pproves that tam me birds weree not only cheerished companions of men, as thhey are nowaadays, but allso symbols, omens, acco omplices, incentives, gifts, or evenn hieroglyphiic ideas. Theyy were thoug ght of as sharing the ppower of som me gods, at thee same time thheir lives, feattures, and shapes mirroored human liives and humaan behaviourss. Human bein ngs, tame birds, and goods were interrconnected, an nd this intercoonnection wass a means of compreheending and poossibly improv ving the humaan condition.

Illustra ations Fig. 1a, 1b: A Aureus of Faustiina the Younger (from a privatte collection).

Fig. 2: Undeffined denarius of o Domitia (from m an online com mmercial catalo ogue: http://www.taantaluscoins.com m/browse.php??type=2&sbt=2& &sbc=74&cur= =1).

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Fig. 3: Terracotta from the sanctuary of “Fondo Patturelli”, Capua, Museo Campano at Capua.

Fig. 4: Harpocrates riding a cock. Provenance Unknown. Copied from Breccia (1934): copyright expired.

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Bibliography Antico, V. M. (1980-81) “Diffusione e significato della colomba nel mondo pagano e cristiano della XI regio augustea”, Atti Centro Ricerche e Documentazione sull’Antichità Classica 11, 31-46. Assmann, J. (2004) Ägyptische Geheimnisse. Munich: Fink. Bakowska, G. (2004) “La rappresentazione di Arpocrate sulle gemme magiche.” in: R. Burri (ed.), Ad limina. 2, Inconto di studio tra i dottorandi e i giovani studiosi di Roma, Swiss Institut of Rome, Febr.Apr. 2003, 299-314. Alessandria: Edizioni dell’ Orso. Bayer-Niemeier, E. (1988) Griechisch-römische Terrakotten. LiebighausMuseum alter Plastik. Bildwerke der Sammlung Kaufmann, I. Melsungen: Gutenberg. Belayche, N. (2001) Iudaea-Palaestina: the pagan Cults in Roman Palestine (second to fourth century). Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Belli, C. (1970) Il tesoro di Taras. Milan: Berard. Berry, B. Y. (1969) Ancient Gems from the Collection of Burton Y. Berry. Indiana: Indiana University Art Museum. Besques, S. (1972) Musée national du Louvre. Catalogue raisonné des figurines et reliefs en terre-cuite grecs, étrusques et romains. III. Époque hellénistique et romaine. Grèce et Asie Mineure. Paris: Editions des Musees Nationaux. Bonner, C. (1950) Studies in Magical Amulets chiefly Graeco-Egyptian. Ann Arbor/London: University of Michgan Press. Boutantin, C. (2013) Terres cuites et culte domestique. (RGRW 180). Leiden: Brill. Breccia, E. (1934) Monuments de l’Égypte gréco-romain, II.2. Bergamo: Istituto italiano d’arti grafiche. Ciccio, G. de (1948) “Di un tetradramma inedito di Catana e di un hemibolo di argento e la litra di bronzo di Eryx”, Numismatica 14, 1-4. Crevatin, F., and Tedeschi, G. (2002) Horapollo l’Egiziano, Trattato sui geroglifici. Testo, traduzione e commento, a cura di F. Crevatin and G. Tedeschi. Milan: Il Torcoliere. Dunand, F. (1979) Religion populaire en Égypte romaine (EPRO 76). Leiden: Brill. Frankfurter, D. (1998) Religion in Roman Egypt. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Gehrke, H.-J. (2009) “Kulte und Akkulturation. Zur Rolle von religiösen Vorstellungen und Ritualen in kulturellen Austauschprozessen”, in H.J. Gehrke and A. Mastrocinque (eds.), Rom und der Osten im 1. Jahrhundert V. Chr. (Akkulturation oder Kampf der Kulturen?). Akten

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des Humboldt-Kollegs, Verona, 19.-21. Februar 2004, 85-144. Cosenza: L. Giordano. Graindor, P. (1939) Terres cuites de l’Égypte gréco-romain. Antwerpen: De Sikkel. Gundel, H. G. (1992) Zodiakos. Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philip von Zabern. Hermary, A., Cassimatis, H., and Vollkommer, R. (1986) “Eros”, in LIMC III, 850-942. Düsseldorf: Artemis. Kaufmann, C. M. (1915) Graeco-ägyptische Koroplastik. Leipzig: H. Finck. Lasserre, F. (1946) La figure d’Éros dans la poésie grecque. Lausanne: Imprimeries réunies. Lightfoot, J. L. (2003) Lucian on the Syrian Goddess. Edited with Introduction, Translation, and Commentary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lissi Caronna, E., Sabbione C, and Vlad Borrelli, L. (2004-2007) I pinakes di Locri Epizefiri. Musei di Reggio Calabria e di Locri (Atti e Memorie della Società Magna Grecia Quarta Serie 3). Rome: Arbor Sapientiae. Mastrocinque, A. (2014) Les intailles magiques du Départment des monnaies médailles et antiques. Paris: Éditions de la Bibliothèque nationale de France. —. (ed.) (2004) Sylloge gemmarum gnosticarum, I (Bollettino di Numismatica. Monografia 8.2.I). Rome: Museo Nazionale Etrusco di Villa Giulia. Meshorer, Y. (1985) City-Coins of Eretz Israel and the Decapolis in the Roman Period. Jerusalem: Israel Museum. Michel, S. (2001) Die magischen Gemmen im Britischen Museum, edited by P. and H. Zazoff. London: British Museum Press. —. (2004) Die magischen Gemmen. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Moscetti, E., and Melis, M. (1994) La Triade Capitolina. Archeologia e culto. Palestrina. Nachtergael, G. (1985) “Les terres cuites ‘du Fayoum’ dans les maisons de l’Égypte romaine”, Chronique d’Égypte 60, 223-39. Pirenne-Delforge, V. (1994) L’Aphrodite grecque (Kernos Suppl. 4). Athens/Liège: CIERGA. Quagliati, Q. (1908) “Rilievi votivi arcaici in terracotta di Lokroi Epizephyrioi”, Ausonia 3, 136-234. Robert, L. (1971) “Les colombes d’Anastase et autres volatiles”, Journal des Savants 81-105.

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Sichtermann, H. (1988) “Ganymedes”, in LIMC IV.1, 154-69. Düsseldorf: Artemis. Thomas, R. F. (1993) “Sparrows, Hares, and Doves: A Catullan Metaphor and its Tradition”, Helios 20, 131-42. Torelli, M. (1977) “I culti di Locri.” In: Locri Epizefiri. Atti del XVI convegno di studi sulla Magna Grecia. Taranto 1976, 147-84. Naples: Arte Tipografica. —. (1984) Lavinio e Roma. Rome: Quasar. Török, László (1995) Hellenistic and Roman Terracottas from Egypt, Bibliotheca Archaeologia 15. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. Tran Tam Tinh, V., Jaeger, B., and Poulin, S. (1988) “Harpokrates”, in LIMC IV, 415-45. Düsseldorf: Artemis. van Berg, P.-L. (1972) Corpus Cultus Deae Syriae (CCDS). I: Les sources littéraires. Leiden: Brill. Welz, K. (1959) “Die Tauben der Aphrodite”, Gazette Numismatique Suisse 9, 33-7. Will, E. (1985) Le sanctuaire de la déesse syrienne (Exploration archéologique de Délos 35). Paris: De Boccard.

CHAPTER TEN FLYING GEESE, WANDERING COWS: HOW ANIMAL MOVEMENT ORIENTS HUMAN SPACE IN GREEK MYTH CLAUDIA ZATTA

Aristophanes’ Birds opens with a most unusual scenario: a dead-end path into a rocky, wooded place, two men, a crow, and a jackdaw. The men are seemingly disoriented, each of them following the bird with which he is paired. It takes the first 60 lines of the play for us to understand what is happening. The men are two Athenian citizens who have decided to leave Athens, at the time deeply embroiled in chaotic judicial business, and now in search of a better place to live, one that is devoid of business, an ਕʌȡȐȖȝȦȞ IJȩʌȠȢ. Not knowing where that place may be, they bought the crow and the jackdaw at the bird market in the city, and with the birds as their guides they have begun a journey to find the hero Tereus who, being now a hoopoe, from his flights probably knows where in the world such a carefree place exists. In fact, the beginning of the play captures the moment before a discovery. Something in the crow’s voice has changed and the two men suddenly realise they have reached their destination. Soon afterwards the servant of Tereus appears, and, at that point, we can also imagine, the crow and the jackdaw fly away—if it is true, indeed, that, as Dunbar argues in her commentary, real birds, and not dummies, accompanied the actors on stage.1 With this beginning Aristophanes offers a dramatic rendition of a role which animals have often played in Greek myth, that of intermediaries between humans and geographical unknowns. Not only different species of birds, ravens—black, or white—larks, but also snakes and various mammals, cows, goats, dolphins, and even fish, all figure in Greek myths and their role is to guide humans, and to rescue them from a situation of 1

Dunbar (1995) 130-1.

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impasse.2 An emblematic case is that of Phalanthus who was rescued from a shipwreck by a dolphin and brought safely to land in Magna Graecia, where he founded the city of Taras (Paus. 10.13.10). Even in historical times the community of Taras commemorated the mythical event by minting coins that most likely represented Phalanthus as a rider on the back of a dolphin.3 Along the same lines, the Colonides claimed that a lark led their ancestor Colaenus from Attica to Messenia where, high on the ground not far from the sea, he founded the city of Corone (Paus. 4.34.8). Two ravens or crows were responsible for guiding the army of Alexander the Great in the desert of Libya to the temple of Ammon (Plut. Alex. 27; Strab. 17.1.43; Arr. An. 3.5), while a hare showed the inhabitants of Boiai, in Laconia, the place where they were to found a new city after they were expelled from their own (Paus. 3.22.12). In Greek myth, however, animals do not only possess a knowledge of geographical spaces, which transcends that of humans, and use it for the benefit of humans, their biped fellows— something perhaps to be expected on account of their superior mobility, versatile habitats, and closeness to nature. In the process of leading humans to discover geographic unknowns, animals also contribute to the very definition of that space which lies for the first time before human eyes, and is transformed into a landscape. Their animals’ movement in a virgin territory, at least from the point of view of the human visitors, creates landmarks and designs trajectories, thereby imposing upon the newly-trodden space coordinates that make it legible, meaningful, and memorable to man. Ultimately in that space, which opens before humans as a neutral expanse, animals give rise to a topography of the sacred that will progressively accrue, diversify, and, in the case of the foundation of cities, expand onto urban grounds.4 Focusing on local myths from Boeotia, I shall discuss the role of animals, first, in the discovery of the oracle of Trophonius and the consequent spatial definition of his sanctuary in the territory of Lebadea, and, then, in the multi-staged process that leads to the foundation of Thebes. After following how, in mythical terms, the geography of these sites takes shape under the guidance of animal trails, I shall consider 2

Kapper (1942) 228-46; Vian (1963) 76-80; a number of Italic people, such as the Picenes, the Hirpini, and the Sabines, had foundation myths which revolved around the guidance of animals; these myths Donà discusses in relation to the ritual of the ver sacrum (2003) 25-77; see respectively Strab. 5.4.2 and 5.4.12. 3 According to Brauer (1986) 32-5, another attribution could be that of Taras, the eponymous ‘hero’. 4 On the phenomenon of territorialisation across cultures in a comparative perspective see Detienne (1990).

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different aspects—from pragmatic to rather symbolic ones—that manifest and, at the same time, structure, the particular relationship which animals entertain with spaces and which lies at the core of this analysis centred on the Boeotian myths. To this effect, in the second part of my discussion attention will move to the myth of Io’s wanderings and to the story of a primeval lark existing before the earth. But let us begin with the Boeotian myths.

1. Designing the landscape of Boeotia Pausanias is a major source on the sanctuary of Trophonius. Having himself once made an inquiry of the oracle, he describes with an abundance of detail the layout of the site, the origin of the oracle, and the ritual of consultation. We learn that originally the inhabitants of Boeotia did not know that they had an oracle in their midst. At one point, they fell under the grip of a long drought and, to put an end to the calamity, they sent an embassy with representatives from all the Boeotian cities to the oracle of Delphi. The god gave them the usual cryptic response: to find a cure they had to consult the oracle of Trophonius in Lebadea. The ambassadors then went to Lebadea, but even in situ they were unable to locate the oracle. Finally, Saon, the eldest among them, a Boeotian from the city of Acraephnium, and therefore unfamiliar with the territory around Lebadea, followed a swarm of bees into a cave where he found the oracle and learnt from Trophonius IJ੽Ȟ ੂİȡȠȣȡȖȓĮȞ IJ੽Ȟ țĮșİıIJȘțȣ૙ĮȞ, țĮ੿ ੒ʌȩıĮ ʌİȡ੿ IJઁ ȤȡȘıIJȒȡȚȠȞ įȡ૵ıȚȞ ਙȜȜĮ, ‘the customary ritual and all the observances kept at the oracle’ (Paus. 9.40.1-2). Discovered by a swarm of bees, the oracle of Trophonius became the centre of a complex landscape, wherein the most important points were identified by the intervention of another animal, a goose. A local myth of Boeotia tells us that Kore, daughter of Persephone, and the nymph Hercyna were playing in a meadow close to the site where the city of Lebadea lay, and that the nymph was holding a goose, most likely a pet. Domestic animals already appear in the Odyssey, where Penelope is revealed to be the fond keeper of the twenty geese that are in her courtyard (Od. 19.535-8).5 Geese are said to be lovers of love and wisdom in Pliny, who records that a goose was so attached to the philosopher Lacydes of Cyrene that it never left him day or night, but followed him everywhere in public and into the bath (Nat. Hist. 10.26; cf. Aelian. de nat. anim. 7.41). Hercyna’s goose, however, suddenly flew away from the arms of this 5

Pollard (1977) 87.

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nymph into a hollow cave where it hid under a stone. Kore entered, removed the stone and picked the bird up. From that hole in the ground water flowed and formed a river, which was given the name of Hercyna after the girl. And at the time of his visit to Lebadea, Pausanias could, on the bank of the river, still see a temple, dedicated to Hercyna, hosting inside it a statue of the nymph with a goose in her arms. On the other hand, in the same cave where the goose had hidden he saw the sources of the river and two not easily identifiable statues: they were holding sceptres with snakes curling around them. On the basis of these attributes, they could have represented either Trophonius and Hercyna, or Asclepius and Hygeia, the divine personification of Health (9.39.2-3). In addition, by the side of the river, and probably inside the cave, there was the tomb of Arcesilaus, one of the heroes from Boeotia, who met his death at Troy and whose bones later were brought home by Leitus. But the most famous things in the sanctuary were, according to Pausanias, the temple and image of Trophonius, erected, we may presume with certainty, after the discovery of the oracle in the cave by that Saon who had followed the swarm of bees. The oracle itself, we learn, was located up on the mountain (9.39.9) and, higher up, there was also an area called the Maid’s hunt (șȒȡĮ) and a temple of King Zeus. Thus situated inside a territory dense with mythology and religious associations—the limited space of this paper dictates that we pass them over6—the sanctuary of Trophonius lay on the ground of a space that was once pristine and that had achieved focal points and boundaries, spatial definition and orientation ‘under’ the movement of animals, first of the bees and then of the goose. The endpoint of the goose’s flight became the source of the river Hercyna, whose stream above ground physically separated the sacred area of the sanctuary-to-be from the urban area of Lebadea, where humans lived. And the river itself provided the only water those consulting Trophonius could use. It is interesting that Pausanias set before his account of the flying goose a description of the actual settlement of Lebadea, which was originally located on high ground and then moved to the adjacent plain after the mysterious arrival of Lebadus from Attica (39.9.1). Not interested in tackling the problematic chronology of the different events that determined the geography of Lebadea at large, Pausanias accounts for it 6

For instance, it is remarkable that Hera was worshipped in the sanctuary under the name of Europa, taking on an epithet that refers to the myth of Europa in which, once more, animals become leaders and take humans into unknown places. If, in the case of Europa, the bull was Zeus in disguise, the myth still reveals a feature that appears in many of these stories that present animals as guides, namely the will and openness of humans to follow the animals.

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‘spatially’ and conflates the displacement of the polis to a lower ground with the emergence of the river. Hence he mixes in a flat temporality the actions of Lebadus and the goose, allowing us to infer a similarity of roles between the human and the animal. For each creature—man and goose alike—in its own way has been actively involved in the creation and definition of the landscape of that area. Located further south than Lebadea and towards Attica, the city of Thebes owes its origin to the journey of another animal. When, in search of his sister Europa, Cadmus came to the oracle at Delphi, Apollo commanded him to stop looking for his sibling, to follow, instead, a cow and found the city of Thebes where the animal would stop to rest. Different versions of the myth (Paus. 9.12.1; Apoll. 3.4.1; Schol. Eur. Ph. 638) agree that the animal belonged to the herd of Pelagon, a man of Phocis. Thus, again as in the case of Hercyna’s goose, Cadmus’ guide was a domestic animal, but one that had, in addition, a distinct physical stigma.7 It was marked on both shoulders by a white circle resembling a full moon, according to Pausanias, or just a full moon, according to Hyginus. Ovid, on the other hand, makes the cow stand out because it showed no marks of the yoke, as if it were a sacrificial animal. 8 Encountering Cadmus in the vicinity of Delphi,9 the cow guided him on a long journey from Phocis to Boeotia, across the river Cephisus and the plains of Panopeus (Met. 3.19). At the spot on the ground where the cow lay down (or rather “fell”) to rest,10 Cadmus founded the city of Thebes fulfilling in this way the oracle of Apollo. As in the myths relating the creation of the sanctuary of Trophonius, here too the cow played the role of a guide: Pausanias calls it ԭȗıȞȬȟ and Apollodorus ȜįȚȡİșȗȪȣ. The animal led Cadmus on a long journey across regions—one of them, Boeotia, still unnamed at the time of the cow’s passing—and through foreign habitats, across the river Cephisus. Subsequently, as in the case of the animals involved in the creation of Trophonius’ sanctuary, the cow’s path and its endpoint likewise drew a trajectory that transformed an unknown space into a landscape. The animal led Cadmus on a long 7

Donà remarks that the presence of domestic animals, and especially cattle, in myths of foundation, is a harbinger of future prosperity (2003) 36. 8 Already in the Greek version of the myth the cow is qualified as ਕįȐȝĮIJȠȢ, ‘untamed’ (Eur. Phoen. 640). 9 Both Pausanias (9.12.1) and the scholiast to Euripides, Phoen. 638 claim that Cadmus bought the cow from Pelagon. 10 It is interesting to notice that both in Euripides, Phoen. 640 and in the scholium on line 638 the animal’s arrest is described in terms of “falling”—respectively ʌȑıȘȝĮ and ʌȓʌIJİȚȞ—suggesting somewhat abnormal behaviour.

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journey across regions—one of them, Boeotia, still unnamed at the time of the cow’s passage—and through foreign habitats, across the river Cephisus. Subsequently, as in the case of the animals involved in the creation of Trophonius’ sanctuary, the course of the cow’s peregrinations and its terminal point likewise described a trajectory that transformed an unknown space into a landscape. The spot where the cow’s journey came to an end became the spatial point of departure for the city of Thebes insofar as it provided a site for the city’s first sacred monuments. Pausanias tells us that in that very spot Cadmus built an altar and erected a statue to Athena. The cow itself became the first victim to be sacrificed in the area designated for the foundation of the new city, and in this way inaugurated Thebes’ religious life. Cadmus thus complied with the injunction of the oracle of Delphi, which the scholiast to Euripides’ Phoenissae has preserved for us verbatim. The oracle had ordered Cadmus to sacrifice the cow once the animal had indicated unmistakably, by lying on the ground, that they had arrived at the site-to-be of Thebes (Schol. Eur. Phoen. 638; Apoll. 3.4.1; cf. Ov. Met. 3.17-18).11 Interestingly, there is another city in Boeotia that locals linked to the journey of Cadmus’ cow. According to Pausanias, the inhabitants of both Harma and Mycalessus agreed that the city of Mycalessus owed its name—and probably also its foundation—to the fact that the cow guiding Cadmus to the future site of Thebes mooed while passing through that area (9.19.4). In this way, by voice and body alike the animal gave signs which would have a tangible impact on the surrounding territory.

2. Travelling with animals In the realm of nature, as Aristotle states, individual animals play the role of guides. In his History of Animals the philosopher distinguishes, 11 An interesting parallel to Cadmus’ cow is, in Roman mythology, a myth of foundation that involves another bovine pioneer and a branch of the Samnites. The myth conjoins the role of the animal as a guide with its sacrifice and the consequent foundation of a settlement. Afflicted by a famine, the Samnites consulted the oracle of Ares and were told to consecrate to the gods the children born that year. When they came of age, the young Samnites left their fatherland under the guidance of a bull. As soon as the bull stopped to lie on the ground at some place, the Samnite youths declared war against the people inhabiting the place at the time, sacrificed the animal to the god Ares who had given the oracle, and finally, victorious, settled down (Strab. 5.4.12). Cf. Vian (1963) 79 who remarks on the popularity of cattle as animals that lead to the foundation sites for cities. .

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within the group of the “political” animals, those that are under a leader (ਫ਼ij’ ਲȖİȝȩȞȠȢ) from those that are without one. Cranes, bees, and wasps, for instance, undertake some common activity under the leadership of ਲȖİȝȩȞİȢ, which are members of the group (Hist. Anim. 488a9-12). Leaders are therefore responsible for guiding swarms of bees or wasps to found other colonies in places that they consider good for a settlement, in this way displaying a higher knowledge of the territory than their fellow members. Leaders, also, guide the flocks of cranes during the long migration that takes place every year across continents, from the Northern lands of Scythia to the marshes of the Nile in Egypt. Similarly, in the myths just discussed, a swarm of bees, a goose, and a cow play a role that within some species of animals is performed by some individual member of the swarm or pack. These myths, however, ascribe to animals the role of the leader in situations where those to be led are not conspecifics, but human beings. It is remarkable that almost all the accounts here analysed imply that, in following the animals through unknown spaces, man must adapt to their movement which, perceived and described from a human perspective, lacks linearity and regularity of even pace. For, even though the movement of the animals eventually orients men and leads them to the place they are destined to reach, the very movement of these animals is in fact per se disorienting in the same way that unknown spaces may also be. The bees that led Saon to the discovery of the oracle of Trophonius were turning in different directions, ਕʌȠIJȡȑʌİıșĮȚ, and doing so suddenly. The cow that led Cadmus went on a ‘roundabout path’ (ʌİȡȓIJȡİʌȠȢ… țȑȜİȣșȠȢ), says the scholiast (Eur. Phoen. 638, line 7 Schwartz).12 Already in Aristophanes’ dramatic rendition of the discovery of the dwelling place of Tereus, the movement of the birds is described as fundamentally erratic. Euelpides emblematically asks the bird, most likely the jackdaw which is leading him: IJȓ ੯ ʌȩȞȘȡૃ ਙȞȦ țȐIJȦ ʌȜĮȞȪIJIJȠȝİȞ; ਕʌȠȜȠȪȝİșૃ ਙȜȜȦȢ IJ੽Ȟ ੒įઁȞ ʌȡȠijȠȡȠȣȝȑȞȦ (‘why are we erring, ʌȜĮȞȪIJIJİȚȞ, up and down? We will die being carried forward aimlessly by stages’, Av. 3-4). From this question we understand that the disorientation the character feels is due not only to the unfamiliarity of the place he has 12 The LSJ does not list the adjective ʌİȡȓIJȡİʌIJȠȢ, ‘roundabout’, which qualifies țȑȜİȣșȠȢ in Schwartz’ edition of Euripides’ scholia, and which I take as deriving from ʌİȡȚIJȡȑʌİȚȞ, ‘to turn and bring round’. The LSJ follows instead Dindorf’s edition of Euripides’ scholia and lists ʌİȡȓIJȡȚʌIJȠȢ, ‘smooth-worn’, from ʌİȡȚIJȡȓȕİȚȞ, ‘to wear away all round’. However, in light of the descriptions of animal movement analysed in this essay ʌİȡȓIJȡİʌIJȠȢ seems more appropriate to qualify the journey of Cadmus’ cow.

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reached, but also to the way—up and down, back and forth, persistently off-course—he has travelled in order to get there.13 Similarly erratic was the journey of Io, who was urged forward, rather than led, by another animal, a gadfly. A hybrid cow with a human mind, Io did not travel in the fashion of Cadmus’ cow, which was self-motivated, but ‘followed’ another animal, as humans in other myths do. In her journey Io too seemed disoriented as a man would be, and not merely because the gadfly was stinging her. When she reached Prometheus enchained on the Caucasus mountains, she asked the Titan where in the world she had erred, ʌȜĮȞȐıșĮȚ (Aesch. Prom. 565), echoing both the language and the confusion of Aristophanes’ character. Proving his foresight, the Titan revealed her past and future wanderings, projecting a bizarre, non-linear itinerary that for a long time has puzzled scholars in search of a rational, linear route unfolding in the context of human geography. The desire for pathos, aetiological and ideological factors may all have contributed to the depiction of Io’s exotic travelogue, as White has argued,14 but, ultimately, there is a more natural and simple explanation for it: Io was following a gadfly’s elliptical trajectory, projected hyperbolically across continents. In Aeschylus’ Suppliants, on the other hand, the daughters of Danaus transmuted the roundabout path of their ancestress into a linear route, retracing it from the perspective of humans that had not experienced firsthand animal guidance. Io, sing the maidens, ʌȠȜȜ੹ ȕȡȠIJ૵Ȟ įȚĮȝİȚȕȠȝȑȞĮ ij૨ȜĮ, įȚȤૌ įૃ ਕȞIJȓʌȠȡȠȞ ȖĮ૙ĮȞ ਥȞ Į੅ı઺ įȚĮIJȑȝȞȠȣıĮ ʌȩȡȠȞ țȣȝĮIJȓĮȞ ੒ȡȓȗİȚ (‘passing through many tribes of men… cleaved the waves of the strait, in accordance with destiny, and thus defined the boundary of the land on its distant side’, Aesch. Suppl. 542-6). Here in graphic language that emphasises the “cutting” and “dividing” of the cow’s passage the maidens seem to be alluding to the same effect of animal movement that is illustrated in the mythical examples from Boeotia. While traversing the strait that divides Europe from Asia Io defined geography and created boundaries. In her case, the geographical features were already there, but it is as if Io through her passage revealed and transfixed them at once. And the name of the area, as we know, would forever carry the memory of her passage: from then on that stretch of water that separates Europe from Asia would be known by the name of Bosphorus—the strait of the cow. In the next and last myth, the relationship between animals and space is emblematically interconnected, and, in presenting it, we are back to where we started: Aristophanes’ Birds. One of the strategies Pisthetaerus 13 14

Cf. Payne (2010). White (2001) 216-20.

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adopts to persuade the birds to found a city in the air and challenge the Olympians, was to evoke their ancient lineage, which was so ancient as to precede even the existence of the earth. To this effect, Pisthetaerus does not only create a theogony where the winged Eros steps into the spotlight. He also presents another parallel myth of the origins where a lark, țȩȡȣįȠȢ, is the primeval being. No earth and no other creatures existed yet, it seems, apart from the lark’s father. And when he died, because there was no ground, the lark buried him in its head and a crest sprang from it as a sign of burial. Here, turning its very body into a burial ground, the animal itself becomes space, a piece of land to be defined, and the crest that springs from its head is at once both a landmark, and the memorial of a burial and of religious piety (Ar. Av. 471-5). 15 To conclude, if in antiquity animals are often intermediaries between gods and humans, 16 a further specialisation of this go-between role consists in their providing a bridge for men to reach geographic unknowns. Still working as divine emissaries, animals lead humans to discover places where they are to found cities or, as in the case of Trophonius, to encounter the gods. The paths they follow unfold through the wild, or, at any rate, the unfamiliar, and are often elliptical, forcing humans to walk off the beaten track and temporarily behave, and thereby themselves become like the animals of nature. At the same time, however, the fact that, in the Boeotian myths analysed above, the goose and the cow are domestic animals that strike off in an independent path shows also that, at least in the realm of myth, animals are never fully domesticated or tamed but preserve a special visceral connection with nature. As we have seen, animals do not offer mere guidance. Importantly, in Greek myth animals also create or, at least, contribute to the creation of the human landscape. As they guide humans to unfamiliar places, they initiate a topography of the sacred. In one word, animals territorialise. To the bees, the goose, and the cow that were instrumental in designing the landscape of the sanctuary of Trophonius or in anchoring the first sacred stone of Thebes in the newly defined territory of Boeotia we can add the hare that guided the inhabitants of Boiai in Laconia to the site of their future city, as mentioned at the beginning of this paper. Once again, animal movement introduces difference into the undifferentiated: the 15

A similar myth involving, this time, a hoopoe appears in Aelian’s On the Nature of Animals. Originally a prince, a hoopoe was exiled with both his parents and, when they died, the bird split its own head with a sword to bury them inside it (16.5). About the burial by the phoenix of its dead parents cf. also Hdt. 2.73. 16 On animals’ roles and their subsequent changes in ancient religion from Classical Greece through Christianity see Gilhus (2006).

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creation of a landscape is an act of spatial definition. Looking for a place to settle, the exiles of Boiai received an oracle that Artemis would show them the way. And when they encountered a hare on the shore—indeed a strange place to find such an animal!—they followed it to the myrtle bush behind which it disappeared. It was there at the site of the bush that the exiles founded their new city and, respectful of the tradition, they still worshipped the old myrtle and praised Artemis Saviour when Pausanias visited their area many centuries later (Paus. 3.22.12).

Bibliography Brauer, G. C. (1986) Taras: Its History and Coinage. New York: A. D. Caratzas. Detienne, M. (1990) “Qu’est-ce que c’est un site?” in M. Detienne (dir.) Tracés de foundation, 1-16. —. (1990) “Apollon Archéghète. Un modèle politique de territorialisation” in M. Detienne (dir.) Tracés de foundation, 301-11. —. (dir.) (1990) Tracés de foundation. Louvain/Paris: Peeters. Donà, C. (2003) Per le vie dell’altro mondo. L’animale guida e il mito del viaggio. Catanzaro: Rubbettino editore. Dunbar, N. (1995) Aristophanes’ Birds. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gilhus, I. S. (2006) Animals, Gods and Humans. New York: Routledge. Krappe, A. (1942) “Guiding Animals”, The Journal of American Folklore 55, 228-46. Payne, M. (2010) The Animal Part: Human and Other Animals in the Poetic Imagination. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Pollard, J. (1977) Birds in Greek Life and Myth. London: Thames and Hudson. Schwartz, E. (ed.) (1887) Scholia in Euripidem, volumen II. Berolini: G. Reimer. Vian, E. (1963) Les origins de Thèbes, Cadmos et Sparte. Paris: Klincksieck. White, S. (2001) “Intimations of Theodicy in Prometheus Bound” JHS 121, 107-40.

CHAPTER ELEVEN THE DOLPHIN IN CLASSICAL MYTHOLOGY AND RELIGION MARIE-CLAIRE BEAULIEU

Introduction No sea creature was more prominent than the dolphin in Greek literature, folklore, and mythology.1 Despite its feral nature,2 poets insisted that the dolphin enjoyed the very civilised pleasure of music. 3 The dolphin’s gentle behaviour and intelligence made it a welcome sight to sailors, who believed that dolphins brought luck and guided ships to safe harbour. 4 When sailors were unlucky and suffered shipwreck, it was thought that dolphins rescued the living and brought the dead to shore for burial, showing a concern for human funerary rites that was unique in the animal world.5 In fact, dolphins appeared so dedicated to their friendship with humans that they were considered sacred and could not be hunted or eaten.6 1

See collected sources in Stebbins (1929). Scut. 211-3; Il. 21.22-6; Hom. Hymn to Apollo 401. Cf. Od. 12.96-7, Archil. fr. 122 (West), Opp. Hal. 2.551. 3 Pind. Nem. 6.64; Pyth. 2.51; Pind. fr. 125, 69-71 (Bowie); Ar. Ran. 1345; Eur. El. 435; Hel. 1454-6 (țĮȜȜȚȤȩȡȦȞ įİȜijȓȞȦȞ). 4 Ar. Ran. 1317-9, with schol. See also: Artem. 2.16, 110; Isid. Orig. 17.6, 11; Lucan, B.C. 5.552. See Andreae (1986). 5 Arist. H.A. 631a; Ael. N.A. 12.6; Plin. Nat. Hist. 9.33. Plut. Soll. An. 985b: dolphins attend the cremation of one of their fellows. Also A.P. 7.214 (Archias), 215 (Anyte), 216 (Antipater). Cf. Il. 23.70-6. See Vermeule (1979) 2-8; Garland (1985) 101-3. Parody in Aesop. 75 (Hausrath and Hunger), in which a dolphin rescues a shipwrecked monkey instead of a man. Also, in the story of Coeranus (Ath. 13.606d-e; Ael. N.A. 8. 3; Plut. Soll. An. 985a-c), grateful dolphins attend the funeral of a man who saved their fellow dolphin from a fisherman. 6 Plut. Soll. An. 984c-d;. Conv. 163a; Ath. 282e; Opp. Hal. 5.416; Ael. N.A. 12.6. 2

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Overall, then, the dolphin is a positive animal figure whose associations reach far beyond the strictly marine domain. What is more, in addition to being men’s friend and helper in the sea, and prone to showing a special concern for funerary rites, the dolphin accompanies the gods: it is therefore an intermediary between mortals, immortals, and the dead. But how did images and narratives articulate this mediating function of the dolphin? What constants and variables can we discern across the wide variety of contexts in which dolphins appear, such as the story of Arion, the Homeric Hymn to Dionysus, and Etruscan funerary imagery?

The Story of Arion The story of Arion first appeared in Herodotus and remained popular until the end of the Roman period. Besides Herodotus’ account, from which all others stem, Plutarch’s account is also notable, because of its thorough investigation of the religious significance of the story. 7 According to Herodotus, Arion of Methymna was the best singer of his time and Periander, tyrant of Corinth, retained him as court entertainer. While in service at Corinth, Arion went to perform in Italy and Sicily. After his time abroad, he hired a Corinthian ship to return home. On the way, the crew conspired to kill him and take the valuables he had earned for his singing.8 The crew offered Arion a choice: either to kill himself, after which the crew would bury him on land, or to leap into the sea immediately and forgo burial. Realising that he would soon die, Arion requested to sing and play the lyre one last time dressed in his stage regalia, and the crew agreed. The song sung, Arion climbed onto the stern of the ship and threw himself into the sea, where a dolphin rescued him and brought him to shore at Cape Taenarum. From there, Arion made his way back to the court of Periander, who punished the pirates. Finally,

7

Hdt. 1.24-5; Plut. Conv. 161b-f. Cf. Plut. Soll. An. 984d. See also: Cic. Tusc. 2.67; Ov. Fasti 2.79-118; Plin. Nat. Hist. 9.8; Fronto 237; Ap. Met. 6.29; A.P. 9.88 (Phil. Thess.); Dio Chrys. Cor. 37; Opp. Hal. 5.448-452; Aulus Gellius 16.19.1213, 16; Tz. Chil. 1.17.403. See Perutelli (2003); Bowra (1963); Giangrande (1974); Burkert (1983) 196-204. 8 In Hyg. Fab. 194 and Astr. 17.3, Arion is attacked by his own slaves instead of the crew. In Fab. 194, the slaves are crucified near the dolphin’s memorial on the beach where Arion landed at Cape Taenarum. This version of the story may be influenced by the fact that Taenarum was a sanctuary for slaves.

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Arion commissioned a statue of himself riding the dolphin and dedicated it in Poseidon’s shrine at Taenarum.9 The story has important funerary overtones. Aulus Gellius 16.19.12-13 and 16 describes Arion’s musical performance on the ship as ‘a song of consolation in his predicament’ (carmen casus illius sui consolabile), while Tzetzes Chiliades 1.17.403 calls it a funerary song (ȝȑȜȠȢ ਥʌȚșĮȞȐIJȚȠȞ). More importantly, we note that Arion lands at Taenarum.10 This promontory was widely believed in antiquity to be an entrance to the Underworld. 11 Taenarum is one of the many locations from which Heracles is said to have entered Hades to fetch Cerberus,12 and Theseus and Peirithous descended into the Underworld from Taenarum in their quest for Persephone.13 There was also an oracle of the dead in a cave near the sanctuary of Poseidon. 14 Thus, Arion enters the Underworld as he dives into the water—a katabasis of sorts—and comes back out when he emerges at Taenarum. In this context, the dolphin plays the role of psychopomp by escorting Arion through death and back to life. As Arion’s guide and helper, the dolphin mediates between the world of the living and that of the dead. The dolphin’s intervention in the story of Arion is by no means an isolated occurrence. We are reminded of folk tales where the animal rescues shipwrecked sailors and brings those who have died to shore for burial. We are also reminded of the stories of Hesiod15 and Melicertes,16 in 9

Hdt. 1.24; A.P. 16.276 (Bianor); Apd. 3.25.7; Serv. ad Verg. Ecl. 8.55; Ael. N.A. 12.45; Paus. 3.25.7; Solin. 7. 10 Bianor, A.P. 9.308, indicates that Arion landed at the Isthmus. This may originate in a contamination with the myth of Melicertes. 11 Pind. Pyth. 4.43 with schol.; Ar. Ran. 187; Schol. Ar. Ach. 509; Men. fr. 842 (Kock); Pomp. Mel. 2.51; Hor. Carm. 1.34.10 with schol.; Sen. Tr. 402; Lucan 9.36; Stat. Theb. 1.96; 2.48; Apul. Met. 6.18.20; Orph. Arg. 1369; Serv. ad Verg. Georg. 4.466; Tzet. ad Lyc. Al. 90; Suda s.v. Tainaron; Solin. 7, 8. 12 Eur. Her. 23; Paus. 3.25.5; Palaeph. Incr. 39; Tzet. Chil. 2.36.398. 13 Ap. Rhod. 1.102 with schol; Hyg. Fab. 79; Orph. Arg. 41; Verg. Georg. 4.467; Ov. Met. 10.13; Sen. H.F. 587; H.O. 1061. 14 Pomp. Mel. 2.45; Strab. 8.363; Paus. 3.25.4. See Ogden (2001). 15 Hesiod’s body was thrown into the sea and brought back to shore by dolphins: Paus. 9.38.3-4; Certamen, 224-36 (Allen); Plut. Soll. An. 969e, 984d; Conv. 162be; Pollux 5.42; Suda, s.v. Hesiodos 9-11 (Merkelbach-West); Thuc. 3.96.1; Tzet. Vita Hesiodi 34-40 (Merkelbach-West). See Beaulieu (2004). 16 Apd. 3.4. 3; Pind. fr. Isthm. 5-6; Arg. Pind. Isth. 4; Call. fr. 91 (Pfeiffer); Eur. Med. 1284 with scholia; Hellanicos, FGrH 4 F 165; Musaios, FGrH 455 F 1; Arist. fr. 637 (Rose); Hyg. Fab. 2.4; Ov. Fasti 6.485; Met. 4.506-42; Paus. 1.44.8-11; 2.1.3-8; Plut. Quaest. Rom. 16; Conv. 677b; Paus. 2.1.7; Ael. Aristid. Or. 3.25.13;

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which the protagonists’ dead bodies are found in the sea by dolphins and brought to land to receive heroic honors. In all cases, whether the men are dead or alive, the dolphin prevents the loss of their bodies in the sea and ensures that they find their proper place: the living among the living, the deceased in the tomb. The dolphin mediates not only between life and death but also between men and gods. Indeed, Arion’s rescue by a dolphin is the occasion of a religious experience. According to Plutarch, Arion leaps into the sea fully prepared to die, but instead comes into contact with the gods.17 Plutarch writes that after his leap into the sea, once he is on the dolphin’s back, Arion does not conceive so much a fear of death or a desire to live as pride for his salvation, since his experience makes him appear as a favourite of the gods, and since he is now in a position to acquire ‘a sure opinion’ about the gods (įȩȟĮȞ ȕȑȕĮȚȠȞ). 18 In other words, Plutarch considers Arion’s rescue to have been a divine revelation during which he learned that the gods intervene in human affairs to save their favourites.19 Plutarch thus foregrounds the agency of the gods in Arion’s salvation by showing the justice done to him and affirming twice that the gods directed the entire turn of events.20 Plutarch writes that divine justice “sees all things done on land and on the sea”, and thereby assures his readers that the gods

27.29; 28.13; Luc. Dial. Mar. 8; Schol. to Od. 5.334; Schol. Ap. Rhod. 3.1240; Servius ad Verg. Aen. 5.241; Tzet. ad Lyc. Al. 21, 107, 229. 17 Plutarch in Conv. 161b-162b compares Arion’s performance to the singing of swans before their death. This clear allusion to Plato’s Phaedo signals Arion’s knowledge of his imminent death as well as his inspired state. Indeed, Plato Phd. 84e-85a writes that swans know the moment of their death and sing most beautifully at that time. In the dialog, Socrates adds that, contrary to popular belief, swans do not behave in this manner because they are lamenting their own death, but rather because they are happy that they will soon join the god whose servants they are. 18 Plut. Conv. 161e. 19 This religious interpretation, which is quite elaborate in Plutarch, may have already been present in Herodotus’ account. As Gray (2001) 17 demonstrates, Herodotus focuses on the divine intervention on Arion’s behalf and connects the story with that of Alyattes by embedding the former into the latter. In Gray’s view, Herodotus intends to show that both Arion and the Lydian king relied on the gods to save them when their lives were threatened. 20 Plut. Conv. 162a: ʌĮȞIJȐʌĮıȚȞ ĮੁıșȑıșĮȚ șİȠ૨ țȣȕİȡȞȒıİȚ ȖİȖȠȞȑȞĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ țȠȝȚįȒȞ, ‘he fully realised that his rescue was effected by divine guidance’; 162b: ੕ȞIJȦȢ Ƞ੣Ȟ ਥȠȚțȑȞĮȚ șİȓ઺ IJȪȤૉ IJઁ ʌȡ઼ȖȝĮ, ‘and really the event seemed divinely directed’. See Van der Stockt (2005).

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punish bad deeds and reward good ones.21 In Plutarch’s rendition of the story, the dolphin carries out divine justice by saving Arion. Both Plutarch and Herodotus are silent on the exact identity of the gods involved in Arion’s adventure. It seems that both authors choose to leave this point unclear in order to designate the immortals in general. Nonetheless, specific gods, especially Poseidon and Apollo, play a role in the story. Poseidon is important,22 since Arion’s itinerary takes him from Tarentum, a city whose patron deity was Poseidon, to Taenarum, one of Poseidon’s most important sanctuaries.23 In addition, in Plutarch’s account, Arion’s adventure happens during a night of celebration following a threeday sacrifice and offering to Poseidon. Finally, Arion dedicates a statue of himself riding the dolphin in Poseidon’s shrine. The dolphin, as a marine animal and a frequent companion and messenger of Poseidon, is highly appropriate in this context. Besides Poseidon, Apollo also plays an important role in this complex narrative. The dolphin’s intervention cannot fail to recall Apollo’s epiphany in the form of a dolphin in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo and his epiclesis as Delphinius.24 Moreover, according to Herodotus, Arion sang the Orthian Nome, a hymn to Apollo, before jumping into the sea. 25 According to Plutarch, Arion was divinely inspired (੒ȡȝૌ IJȚȞȚ įĮȚȝȠȞȓ૳) to sing the Pythian Nome as a supplication for his safety and that of those on board. In both cases, Arion sings hymns intended for the worship of Apollo, and 21

Plut. Conv. 161f. See Gray 2001, 14. She points out that the hymn of the pseudo-Arion credits Poseidon with the rescue: Ael. N.A. 12.45. 23 On the sanctuary at Taenarum, see Cummer (1978); Günther (1988); Mylonopoulos (2003), presenting a comprehensive archaeological, historical, and religious study of the sanctuary. 24 Although the exact character and attributes of Apollo Delphinius are still largely unclear, it seems that his cult was above all connected with the ceremonies surrounding the coming of age of boys, while Arion is an adult man. See Graf (1979) 22; Vilatte (1988); Rothwell (2007) 66-70. The myth of Icadius, an alternative Delphic foundation myth, features the founder’s rescue by a dolphin: Serv. ad Verg. Aen. 3.332; Testament of Epicteta: IG XII 3, 330. Etym. Magn. s.v. Eikadios. Cf. the myth of Enalus: Myrsil. FGrH 477 F14=Plut. Soll. An. 984e; Anticlid. FGrH 140 F4=Ath. 11.15, 466 c-d. Fuller account in Plut. Conv. 163a-d. See also the myth of Taras and Phalanthus: Paus. 10.10.8-10; Diod. Sic. 8.20-21; Strab. 6.3.2-6; Iust. 3.4; Diod. Sic. 15.66.3; Pol. 12.6b; Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 19.1; Polyaenus 2.14.2; Aristot. fr. 611.57 (Rose); Probus ad Verg. Georg. 2.197; 4.125; Serv. ad Verg. Aen. 3.551; 6. 773; Sil. Ital. 11.16; Ps-Acro ad Hor. Carm. 2.6.12; Porph. ad Hor. Carm. 2.6.11-12. 25 Also in schol. to Clem. Al. Prot. 1.3.3.11. 22

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he seems to be invoking the god of the lyre in his last hour, even while the narrative is intertwined with references to Poseidon. In addition to Poseidon and Apollo, we detect the presence of Dionysus in the narrative. It is discreet in Herodotus: Arion is simply credited with the invention of the dithyramb.26 In much more elaborate fashion, Plutarch showcases the importance of Dionysus by having the helmsman of the ship warn Arion of the pirates’ murderous intentions. Evidently, this part of the story is meant to recall the pious helmsman in the Homeric Hymn to Dionysus. 27 In the story, Dionysus is a passenger on a Tyrrhenian ship manned by pirates who plot to capture him and demand a ransom for him. Among the crew, only the helmsman refuses to participate in the attack, because he recognises that the passenger must be a god. When Dionysus displays his power by making wine flow on the ship, then grows a vine on the mast, and finally attacks the pirates under the guise of a lion, he spares the helmsman on account of his piety (Hymn Bacch. 15-21). The other pirates throw themselves into the sea to avoid being killed, and they are metamorphosed into dolphins. Both in the Hymn and in Plutarch’s account of Arion’s adventure, the helmsman serves as a foil for the crew and shows that pious men can be found even in the most unlikely situations. Moreover, in the Hymn, the helmsman recognises that his comrades are attempting to defy divine power. By introducing the same figure in his own narrative, Plutarch signals that a divine intervention is about to take place. In both stories, this divine action is embodied by the dolphin. The animal rescues Arion from the pirates, and in the Hymn, Dionysus’ vengeance culminates with the pirates’ transformation into dolphins.

The Tyrrhenian Pirates The close parallel drawn by Plutarch emphasises the similarities between the story of Arion and the Homeric Hymn to Dionysus, especially as regards the role of the dolphin in the narrative. As we have just seen, the dolphin is the agent of divine action in both stories. Moreover, in the Hymn as in the story of Arion, the dolphin facilitates a passage through 26

Hdt. 1.23. The Suda, s.v. Arion, credits Arion with inventing the tragic style and says that he was the first to establish a chorus, to sing a dithyramb, to provide a name for what the chorus sang, and to have satyrs speaking in verse. See Zimmermann (2000) 16. 27 Philostr. Imag. 1.19 also puts the story of the Tyrrhenian pirates in parallel with that of Arion. He draws a further parallel with the story of Melicertes. Hyginus, Astron. 2.17.2 offers both the story of the Tyrrhenian pirates and the story of Arion as aetiologies for the constellation of the Dolphin.

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death. In the Homeric Hymn, all the pirates—except the helmsman—jump into the sea in order to avoid being killed by Dionysus, who has taken the shape of a lion (Ƞ੄ į੻ șȪȡĮȗİ țĮțઁȞ ȝȩȡȠȞ ਥȟĮȜȪȠȞIJİȢ ʌȐȞIJİȢ ੒ȝ૵Ȣ ʌȒįȘıĮȞ, ‘they leapt overboard all at once to avoid an evil fate’, lines 512). Like Arion, the pirates choose a leap into the sea over an immediate and bloody death.28 This option leaves open only the slimmest chance of survival, but as always in Greek myths, the possibility is actualised by a miraculous or divine intervention and death is avoided. The dolphins appear when death is imminent to carry the men through a symbolic Underworld and beyond. As a result, the pirates’ current life ends when they leap into the sea, but their metamorphosis is the beginning of a new experience. The pirates’ feelings before leaping into the sea explain the purpose of Dionysus’ action when he transforms them into dolphins. In the Homeric Hymn to Dionysus, the pirates are first scared, and then astonished (Hymn Bacch. 48-50: ਥijȩȕȘșİȞ, ਥțʌȜȘȖȑȞIJİȢ). In later sources, their fear is so intense that it is described as madness.29 For instance, Ovid, Met. 3.670 writes: sive hoc insania fecit sive timor, ‘either madness or fear caused this’. Apollodorus 3.5.3 reports: Ƞੂ į੻ ਥȝȝĮȞİ૙Ȣ ȖİȞȩȝİȞȠȚ țĮIJ੹ IJોȢ șĮȜȐIJIJȘȢ ਩ijȣȖȠȞ țĮ੿ ਥȖȑȞȠȞIJȠ įİȜij૙ȞİȢ, ‘and they, in madness, fled down into the sea and became dolphins’. We note that Apollodorus uses ਥȝȝĮȞİ૙Ȣ ‘frenzied’, a strong word which may indicate Dionysiac madness.30 Apollodorus may have been aware of Aglaosthenes’ Naxiaca (FGrH 499 F3=Hyg. Astr. 2.17.2) in which the pirates are turned mad by Dionysiac frenzy. In this account, Dionysus guesses the pirates’ plot and commands his retinue to sing. The pirates are so taken by the melody that they start dancing, and as they dance, they are seized with the desire to throw themselves into the sea.31 Many centuries later, Nonnus, Dionysiaca 28

In Herodotus 1.24, the pirates plot to throw Arion overboard and take his money. The choice presented to him is phrased in no uncertain terms: Į੝IJઁȞ įȚĮȤȡ઼ıșĮȓ ȝȚȞ, ੪Ȣ ਗȞ IJĮijોȢ ਥȞ Ȗૌ IJȪȤૉ, ਲ਼ ਥțʌȘį઼Ȟ ਥȢ IJ੽Ȟ șȐȜĮııĮȞ IJ੽Ȟ IJĮȤȓıIJȘȞ, ‘either to kill himself and receive burial on land, or else to jump into the sea immediately’. 29 Except for Servius, ad Verg. Aen. 1.67: terrore se illi in fluctus dedere praecipites, ‘out of terror they flung themselves headlong into the sea’. 30 On mania see Connor (1988). 31 Hyg. Astr. 2.17.2=Aglaosthenes, FGrH 499 F3: Quod Liber suspicatus, comites suos iubet symphoniam canere; quo sonitu inaudito Tyrrheni cum usque adeo delectarentur, ut etiam in saltationibus essent occupati cupiditate, se in mare inscii proiecerunt et ibi delphini sunt facti. ‘Liber suspected this and ordered his retinue to sing a chorus. The Tyrrhenians were so delighted by this unfamiliar music that, even while they were dancing, they were taken by a desire to throw themselves into the sea, and there they became dolphins’.

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45.152-3 reworks the scene as a full-blown instance of Bacchic fury: ȉȣȡıȘȞȠ੿ į’ ੁȐȤȘıĮȞ, ਥȕĮțȤİȪȠȞIJȠ į੻ ȜȪııૉ İੁȢ ijȩȕȠȞ ȠੁıIJȡȘșȑȞIJİȢ, ‘the Tyrrhenians shouted and reveled, goaded to flee by their madness’. In this progressive re-interpretation of the pirates’ fear into Dionysiac madness, we see that the god’s show of power is first an awe-inspiring moment, and later becomes represented as the overwhelming distraction characteristic of the worshippers of Dionysus. In this perspective, the transformation of the pirates into dolphins represents their entry into the Dionysiac world, where they start worshipping the god with revelry. This interpretation of the pirates’ transformation is not confined to Postclassical sources, but is in fact already present in sympotic imagery from the Archaic and Classical periods, which associates dolphins with drinking, wine, and the Dionysiac kǀmos. For instance, on a Corinthian kylix in the Louvre, a comast gives a rhyton to a dolphin.32 On an Attic kylix also preserved in the Louvre, satyrs and dolphins are reveling together.33 Finally, on an Attic-style black-figure kratƝr in the Louvre, a symposium is depicted surrounded with dolphins and marine birds.34 In these scenes, dolphins are part of the cast of Dionysiac figures that celebrate the symposium, an association which provides a context for the metamorphosis of the Tyrrhenian pirates.35 Moreover, on many sympotic vessels, drinkers and comasts are actually transformed into dolphins, much in the way the Tyrrhenian pirates are metamorphosed by Dionysus. As suggested by Descoeudres, this metamorphosis represents the transformation operated on men by Dionysus at the symposium. 36 For instance, a famous Athenian blackfigure cup kylix (570-560 BCE, Rome, Villa Giulia, 64608) shows a dolphin endowed with arms playing the pipes between another, smaller dolphin and a fish. A frieze of ivy decorating the interior rim of the cup emphasises the Dionysiac context.37 A Samian black-figure cup (ca. 540 BCE) depicts a warrior surrounded by a double frieze of transforming dolphins among which some still have human body parts. 38 Lastly, an Etruscan black-figure hydria (ca. 500 BCE, perhaps from Vulci) formerly 32

Paris, Louvre, MNC 674. Beazley, ABV, 635, no 34. 34 CVA France, 19, Louvre 12, pl. 160, 580-570 BCE. 35 A similar association between dolphins and the symposium appears on Etruscan mirrors. See Descoeudres (2000) 329. 36 Descoeudres (2000) 332. 37 Spivey and Rasmussen (1986) 6. 38 From a private collection. See Descoeudres (2000) 332 and n. 33 for a full bibliography. 33

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in the Toledo Museum of Art shows six men in the process of being transformed into dolphins on its main panel.39 Five of them have already traded their human heads, torsos, and arms for dolphin heads and flippers, while the last one has a dolphin tail in place of legs. At the far left, a branch of ivy indicates that the metamorphosis is being accomplished in a Dionysiac setting.40 In view of all this material, we can reevaluate the famous cup of Exekias, on which Dionysus sails in a dolphin-shaped boat whose mast is entwined in a vine while seven dolphins swim around the ship (fig. 1).41 It has often been said that the cup illustrates the Homeric Hymn to Dionysus. However, nothing on the cup undisputedly represents the Tyrrhenian pirates. So, while it is still possible that the cup illustrates the Hymn, it is also possible that it simply shows sympotic imagery in which dolphins are members of the god’s retinue of revelers.42 Whatever the case may be, we observe that in Dionysiac settings, the dolphin signals the presence of the god and his overwhelming power over his worshippers, who are literally transformed by Dionysiac frenzy. As Dietrich puts it, the action of Dionysus “led man out of himself to a better existence”.43 In the case of the Tyrrhenian pirates, recognising Dionysus is a deadly experience through which they leave their old selves behind and are metamorphosed 39

The Toledo Museum of Art, 82.154. CVA, The Toledo Museum of Art, 2, 1984, pl. 90. 40 Further examples: a Pontic amphora from Cerverteri (end of the 5th century BCE, CVA Musei Capitolini, 2, 1965, pl. 33) attributed to the Paris painter represents three men with dolphin tails and human bodies and legs pursuing four women. The skyphos of Boston (Museum of Fine Arts, 20, 18) represents six warriors mounted on dolphins riding towards a piper. On the other side, six smaller warriors are riding on ostriches also towards a piper and another smaller masked figure. A frieze of ivy decorates the upper lip of the cup. A cup in the Louvre (Paris, CA 1924) shows seven armed dolphin riders and a piper with big ivy leaves among them. A lekythos in the Kerameikos Museum in Athens (Brommer [1942] fig. 5) has a warrior riding a dolphin on the one side, while a piper and a frieze of ivy decorate the other side. The psykter of Oltos (Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1989.281.69) shows six hoplites riding dolphins. In front of each rider’s mouth runs the retrograde inscription ǼȆǿǻǼȁĭǿȃȅȈ. Lastly, a small terracotta statuette from Tanagra dating back to the end of the 6th century BCE (Brommer [1942] fig. 9) represents a warrior on a dolphin. On all these artifacts, and on their connection with dramatic performances, see Rothwell (2007) 36-80. 41 Rothwell (2007) 63-5; Descoeudres (2000) 334. 42 The scene could also conceivably represent Dionysus’ arrival in a boat, which was celebrated in the festivals of many Greek cities. On these festivals, see Burkert (1983 [1972]) 200-1; Bonnechere (1994) 202 and notes. 43 Dietrich (1992) 56.

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into Dionysiac dolphins. Just as in the story of Arion, the dolphin in Dionysiac contexts represents the transforming effect of a contact with the divine, an experience which coincides with a passage through death in the Homeric Hymn to Dionysus.

Etruscan Funerary Frescoes The same association between the dolphin, Dionysus, and the passage through death is found on Etruscan funerary frescoes, which are known to have integrated and re-interpreted some Greek motifs in their traditional imagery.44 Indeed, both the Tomb of Hunting and Fishing (Tarquinia, end of 6th century BCE; fig. 2)45 and the Tomb of the Lionesses (Tarquinia, ca. 520 BCE) 46 place marine representations featuring dolphins in direct parallel with symposium scenes. The second chamber of the Tomb of Hunting and Fishing shows an elaborate marine landscape in which dolphins leap in and out of the water and aquatic birds fly above the waves. In the middle of the back wall, a fowler targets the flying birds with a sling and several men are fishing in a small boat. On the left wall, among some lively dolphins and birds, a man dives into the waves from a rock while another, smaller figure climbs up. Above, a symposium scene occupies the pediment. Similarly, in the Tomb of the Lionesses, a marine frieze with leaping dolphins and flying birds runs on the lower register of all four walls. Above are shown banquet scenes with dancers, reclining drinkers, and a krater decorated with ivy, while the pediment displays the two felines which gave the tomb its name. While it has often been claimed that Etruscan funerary frescoes were strictly decorative and bore no particular connection to death or to the deceased, it is impossible to ignore that both the Tomb of Hunting and Fishing and the Tomb of the Lionesses are contemporary with the rich Dionysiac imagery we have just explored, some of which is known to have circulated in Etruria.47 Therefore, when analysing the frescoes of the Tomb

44

On the assimilation of Greek motifs in Etruscan funerary imagery, see Jannot (2005) 60-61; Krauskopf (2006). 45 Steingräber (1986) no. 50. 46 Steingräber (1986) no. 77. 47 E.g. Etruscan black-figure hydria (ca. 500 BCE; Toledo Museum of Art, 82.154) showing six men in the process of being transformed into dolphins. Pontic amphora from Cerverteri (end of the 5th century BCE, CVA Musei Capitolini, 2, 1965, pl. 33) attributed to the Paris painter representing three men with dolphin tails and human bodies and legs pursuing four women. The Attic kylix of the Villa

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of Hunting and Fishing and the Tomb of the Lionesses, it is legitimate to think that the parallel between the symposium and the marine representations recalls the relationship between Dionysus and dolphins as it appears on vases and in the Homeric Hymn. The frescoes, as an ensemble, represent a transition between life and death in a Dionysiac setting. 48 In this perspective, it matters little whether the banquet represents the funerary feast, the continual banqueting of the dead in the afterlife, or the banquets enjoyed by the deceased during his life.49 In all cases, the association of the Dionysiac themes with the sea, and in particular with the dolphin, evokes a spiritual transition. The tomb itself, as the point of juncture between life and death,50 provides a context for the representations which emphasises their eschatological significance. In favour of this interpretation, we observe that the movement of animals and human figures in the marine landscape seems to evoke the departure for the afterlife, as aquatic birds fly from the water to the sky, dolphins leap up and down into the water, and men dive from land to sea.51 As one of the animals prominently represented on the frescoes, the dolphin thus helps emphasise the transition between life and death under the sway of Dionysus that is illustrated in the tombs. 52 Similar marine imagery is quite common in contemporary and later Etruscan tombs, although Dionysiac themes are not always present. The Tomba Dei (Magliano in Toscana, ca. 600 BCE), 53 the Grotta Dipinta (Bomarzo, end of 4th century BCE), 54 the Tomb of the Dolphins at Populonia (mid-3rd century BCE),55 and the Tomb of the Dolphins at Vulci Giulia (570-560 BCE, Rome, Villa Giulia, 64608) showing a dolphin playing the pipes seems to have come to Etruria through trade. 48 Descoeudres (2000) 330. 49 Moretti (1970); Descoeudres (2000) 327; Steingräber (2006) 191 (with bibliography). Holloway (2003) 376 and 384 notes that the symposium was not a funerary theme in Greece, but was persistent in Etruscan funerary painting. 50 See D’Agostino (1983). 51 See D’Agostino (1982) 44; Ampolo (1993). On diving as a gesture representing death, see Deonna (1953). Cf. the Tomb of the Diver, Paestum, ca. 475 BC, where the diver is surrounded by sympotic representations. See Cerchiai (1987); Warland (1998); Holloway (2003). On water-birds as symbols of the soul’s departure to the afterlife in funerary contexts see Vermeule (1979) 7-11; Turcan (1959). 52 Cf. similar imagery in the Tomba del Letto Funebre (Tarquinia, ca. 460 BCE, Steingräber (1986) no. 82) and in the Tomba 5898 [Tomba con Coroncine] (Tarquinia, ca. 510 BCE, Steingräber (1986) no. 167). 53 Steingräber (1986) no. 30. 54 Steingräber (1986) no. 2. 55 Steingräber (1986) no. 36.

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(after 280 BCE)56 all show leaping dolphins on the walls or dolphins and hippocamps in the pediments. Cinerary urns also commonly feature dolphins and other marine creatures such as hippocamps and Tritons (fig. 3).57 In some tombs, the dolphin is the only animal present and is placed in direct parallel with funerary representations. For instance, the three intact walls of the Bruschi Tomb (end of 3rd–first half of 2nd century BCE)58 depict a funerary procession in the upper register, while the lower register is occupied by a frieze of leaping dolphins and stylised waves. The pilasters show Charun with a hammer and a draped woman, a representation which reemphasises the overall chthonic decoration of the tomb and thus attracts further attention to the contrasting marine frieze. In the Tomb of the Typhon (Tarquinia, mid-2nd century BCE),59 the marine frieze occupies the upper register and shows red and blue dolphins leaping in and out of the waves. The right wall, under the frieze, shows a funerary procession complete with psychopompic demons, one of them carrying a hammer. In these tombs, the marine and chthonic themes are directly juxtaposed, a sharp contrast which recalls the divide between life and death that the tomb contains and expresses. By its rather incongruous presence in the chthonian context of the tombs, the dolphin bridges the gap between the sea and the Underworld and also between life and death.

Conclusion Here again, the dolphin mediates between men and gods and between life and death. As we have seen, these two functions are deeply intertwined, since the contact between men and gods is often accomplished or represented through the experience of death. Such mediation takes place in a wide variety of contexts involving different gods and different sets of associations, which overlap to make the dolphin a complex yet consistent figure in the Greek bestiary.60

56

Buranelli (1987). E.g. Avignon, Musée Calvet, inv. E49. Lid: 80-50 BCE. Basin: end of 3rdbeginning of 2nd century BCE. 58 Steingräber (1986) no. 48. 59 Steingräber (1986) no. 118. 60 Further contexts in which the dolphin regularly appears include the g of Eros and Aphrodite: see Murgatroyd (1995); Isler (1985); Reho-Bumbalova (1981); L’Orange (1962); Schauenburg (1976); Deonna (1922). The dolphin is thought to accompany these divinities on account of its association with both love and eschatology. 57

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Illustra ations Fig. 1: Cupp of Exekias. Munich, Antikensammlunggen, inv. 2044 4. Image: Wikimedia C Commons, publiic domain.

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ond chamber, b ack wall (detaiil). Image: Fig. 2: Tombb of Hunting annd Fishing, seco Wikimedia C Commons, publiic domain.

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Fig. 3: Etrusccan cinerary urrn, Musée Calvet, Avignon, E E49. Cliché Musée Calvet André Guerraand. Collectionn Nani di San Trovaso, T Venisee, Achat de la Fondation Calvet, 1841.

Bibliogrraphy Ampolo, C.. (1993) “Il tuffo t e l’oltreetomba: una nota sulla To omba del Tuffatoree e Plut. Mor. 563e”, PP 48 8, 104-8. Andreae, B.. (1986) “Delpphine als Glucckssymbole”, in H. Roth (eed.), Zum Problem m der Deuttung fruhmiittelalterlicherr Bildinhaltee, 51-5. Sigmarinnge: J. Thorbeecke. Beaulieu, M M.-C. (2004)) “L’héroïsation du poètte Hésiode en e Grèce anciennee”, Kernos 17,, 103-17. Bonnechere, P. (1994) Le sacrifice hu umain en Grèèce ancienne. Athènes/ Liège: Prresses universsitaires de Liège. Bowra, C. M M. (1963) “Arion and the Dolphin”, MH 220, 164-81. Brommer, F. (1942) “D Delphinreiter. Vasenbildeer fruher Ko omodien”, Archäoloogischer Anzeeiger 57, 66-76 6. Buranelli, F. (1987) “La tomba t del Dellfino di Vulci””, Bollettino d’ d Arte 72 (42), 43--6.

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Burkert, W. (1983 [1972]) Homo Necans (P. Bing, trnsl.). Berkeley: University of California Press. Cerchiai, L. (1987) “Sulle tombe del Tuffatore e della caccia e pesca. Proposta di lettura iconological”, DArch 4(2), 113-23. Connor, W. R. (1988) “Seized by the Nymphs: Nympholepsy and Symbolic Expression in Classical Greece”, ClAnt 7, 155-83. Cummer, W. (1978) “The Sanctuary of Poseidon at Tainaron, Lakonia”, Ath. Mitt. 93, 35-43. D’Agostino, B. (1983) “L’immagine, la pittura, e la tomba nell’ Etruria arcaica”, Prospettiva 32, 2-12. D’Agostino, B. & Cerchiai, L. (1999) Il mare, la morte, l’amore. Gli Etruschi, I Greci e l’immagine. Rome: Donzelli. Deonna, W. (1922) “L’oeuf, les dauphins et la naissance d’Aphrodite”, RHR 85, 157-66. —. (1953) Le symbolisme de l’acrobatie antique. Brussels: Latomus. Descoeudres, J.-P. (2000) “Les dauphins de Dionysus”, in Homère chez Calvin, Mélanges Olivier Reverdin, 325-34. Geneva: Droz. Dietrich, B. C. (1992) “Divine Madness and Conflict at Delphi”, Kernos 5, 41-58. Garland, R. (1985) The Greek Way of Death. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Giangrande, G. (1974) “La danse des dauphins chez Arion et chez Anacréon”, RPh 48 (2), 308-9. Graf, F. (1979) “Apollon Delphinios”, MH 36, 2-22. Gray, V. (2001). “Herodotus’ Literary and Historical Method: Arion’s Story”, AJPh 122, 11-28. Günther, K. (1988) “Der Poseidontempel auf Tainaron”, Antike Welt 19 (2), 58-60. Holloway, R. R. (2003) “The Tomb of the Diver”, AJA 110 (3), 365-88. Isler, H. P. (1985) “Eros auf dem Delphin?”, Lebendige Altertumswissenschaft. Festgabe zur Vollendung des 70. Lenensjahres von Hermann Vetters, 74-6, plates XII-XIII. Vienna. Jannot, J.-R. (2005) Religion in Ancient Etruria (trnsl. J. Whitehead). Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Krauskopf, I. (2006) “The Grave and Beyond in Etruscan Religion”, in N. Thomson de Grummond and E. Simon (eds.), The Religion of the Etruscans, 66-89. Austin: The University of Texas Press. L’Orange, H. P. (1962) “Eros Psychophoros et sarcophages romains”, Acta ad archaeologiam et artium historiam pertinentia I, 41-7. Moretti, M. (1970) New monuments of Etruscan painting. (trnsl. D. Kiang). Pennsylvania: University Park.

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Murgatroyd, P. (1995) “The Sea of Love”, CQ 45 (1), 9-25. Mylonopoulos, J. (2003) Peloponnesos Oiketerion Poseidonos. Heiligtumer und Kulte des Poseidon auf der Peloponnes. Liège: Centre international d’étude de la religion grecque antique. Ogden, D. (2001) “The Ancient Greek Oracles of the Dead”, Acta Classica 44, 167-95. Perutelli, A. (2003) “Tante voci per Arione”, MD 51, 9-63. Reho-Bumbalova, M. (1981) “Eros e delfino su di una lekythos di Apollonia Pontica”, MNIR 43 N.S. 8, 91-9. Rothwell, K. (2007) Nature, Culture and the Origins of Greek Comedy: A Study of Animal Choruses. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schauenburg, K. (1976). “Erotenspiele I”, AW 7, 39-52. Spivey, N., & Rasmussen, T. (1986) “Dioniso e i pirati nel Toledo Museum of Art”, Prospettiva 44, 2-8. Stebbins, E. B. (1929) The Dolphin in the Literature and Art of Greece and Rome. Menasha, WI: George Banta. Steingräber, S. (1986) Etruscan Painting: Catalogue Raisonné of Etruscan Wall Paintings. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. Steingräber, S. (2006) Abundance of Life: Etruscan Wall Painting (R. Stockman, trnsl.). Los Angeles: The J. Paul Getty Museum. Turcan, R. (1959) “L’âme-oiseau et l’eschatologie orphique”, RHR 155, 33-40. Van der Stockt, L. (2005) “Plutarch and dolphins: love is all you need”, in J. Boulogne (ed.), Les Grecs de l' Antiquité et les Animaux. Le Cas Remarquable de Plutarque, 13-21. Lille: Université Charles-de-Gaulle. Vermeule, E. (1979) Aspects of Death in Early Greek Art and Poetry. Berkeley: University of California Press. Vilatte, S. (1988) “Apollon-le-dauphin et Poseidon l’Ébranleur: structure familiale et souveraineté chez les Olympiens: à propos du sanctuaire de Delphes”, in M.-M. Mactoux and É. Geny (eds.), Mélanges Pierre Levêque, 1. Religion, 307-30. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Warland, D. (1998) “Tentative d’exégèse des fresques de la tombe “du Plongeur” de Poseidonia”, Latomus 57 (2), 261-91. Zimmermann, B. (2000) “Eroi nel ditirambo”, in V. Pirenne-Delforge and E. Suarez de la Torre (eds.), Héros et Héroïnes dans les mythes et les cultes grecs, 15-20. Liège: CIERGA.

CHAPTER TWELVE UNUSUAL SACRIFICIAL VICTIMS: FISH AND THEIR VALUE IN THE CONTEXT OF SACRIFICES ROMINA CARBONI

Introduction That the consumption of meat for the Greeks was closely linked to the sacred sphere and sacrifice is indisputable, and there is also no doubt that animal sacrifice constituted the most important act of the Greek religion:1 it was “the mark of union” between men and the gods, who were invoked in this way in order to enlist their aid or thank them for their benevolence.2 After the consecration to the god, the chosen animal was killed at the altar and then gutted. The bones, which were part of the sacrifice intended for the gods, were placed on the pyre to burn on the altar. At the end of the sacrifice the men gathered for a banquet and ate the flesh of the sacrificial victims.3 The sacrifice of an animal was in fact also a moment of political and social cohesion. Proof of this are the community practices that accompanied the ceremony: the procession to the altar, the circular trough that delimits the sacrificial area and includes the animal and the participants in the ritual, the washing of hands, the throwing of grains of

1

The publications on this subject are numerous; see among others Ekroth (2007), with a detailed bibliographical list. 2 See Hom. Il. 1.40-1. Sources speak of the indignation of the gods when men forgot to make sacrifices in their honor. See by way of example Hom. Od. 9.533ff. 3 For Ekroth (2007) 251, “[t]he gods, who receive the smoke from the bones burnt on the altar, manifest their immortality by only inhaling this vapour, as they do not need to digest any meat. Men, on the other hand, have to eat to survive and by consuming the meat they demonstrate their mortality”. See also Ekroth (2008a).

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barley on the altar,4 and not least, the collective moment represented by the sacrificial banquet which closed the ceremony.5 We should of course remember that in ancient Greece there must have been various degrees of sacredness, so not all of the findings related to the killing of animals can automatically be traced to the thysia, the bloody sacrifice.6 Archaeozoological studies conducted in different Greek sanctuaries are giving us some very interesting answers on the question of how different treatments of animal remains—degree and type of fragmentation of the bones, the presence of cut marks and the traces of burns—may provide insights into how the animals were killed. This type of research has allowed us to determine, for example, that the remains of animals such as dogs and horses, as well as those of various wild creatures, could find a place in sacred contexts alongside the bones of cattle and sheep.7 We are talking, however, about a minority of remains when compared to the total percentage of animal bones found in the sanctuaries, because animals such as dogs and horses were in fact rarely used for thysia: “The reasons […] could simply have been a desire or need to increase the amount of meat for consumption, but the meat from these species may occasionally have fulfilled a particular function within the ritual reflecting local practices or traits of the divine recipient. […] we should not totally rule out some kind of ritual treatment of the animal and its meat, though different from that taking place at a thysia”.8 Among the favourite victims for sacrifices, mainly domesticated animals,9 the most common were cattle and sheep. The ox, more precisely the bull, was considered the noblest of the sacrificial victims, followed by the sheep, the goat, and finally the piglet, which was the most common 4

For a description of the different stages of the ceremony see Vernant (1990) 73ff.; Burkert (2003) 147ff. 5 See the observations in Lippolis (2012) especially those discussing evidence from Attica. 6 The first mention of the term is made in H.Cer. 312. See Ekroth (2002) where additional studies are listed. The sacrificial victims were chosen according to a set of precise rules; these rules varied, however, depending on the location and the cult in question. See Hermary and Legoilloux (2004) 95ff. 7 See Gardeisen (1996) 804, Chart 1, 819 (for evidence of horse remains), Studer and Chenal-Velarde (2003) 180 and Leguilloux (1999) 451, Chart 7 (for evidence of dog remains). On the cathartic and purifying character of the sacrifice of dogs in connection with the gods of the Underworld see Carboni (2014). For the different methods of cooking meat see Ekroth (2008a and 2008b). 8 Ekroth (2007) 263 9 Exceptions do exist, as recorded in Paus. 7.18.11-13, and confirmed by archaeological evidence; see, among others, Bammer (1998) 35, tab. 1.

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and also the poorest sacrifice. 10 If sacrifices of chickens were equally common,11 the same could not be said of other birds, such as the goose,12 the dove, or, to introduce the theme of this paper, the fish. This classification should reflect the records of favourite sacrificial victims, even though in reality there was no official list that classified the various animals as more or less suitable for sacrifice. It is no coincidence that the most recent studies in the field of archaeozoology show that the sacrificial victims must have been more diverse than has long been thought. Only a combined analysis of literary, iconographic, and archaeological data on the subject can provide a comprehensive overview of the situation and allow us to understand what in fact was understood as an “unusual” sacrifice for the ancients.

Sacrifices of Fish in Literary Sources Literary sources mention few cases in which the death of fish in the Greek world appears to be related to the sacrificial context. The killing of fish is normally linked to its consumption for food;13 only rarely and in exceptional cases was it done for a ritual purpose. The consumption of fish for the Greeks assumes an ambivalent value which reflects the dual nature of the sea, which is a source on the one hand of life, and on the other, of death. If for the Greeks it was generally meat, rather than fish, that was sacred, the contrary was customary for several of the populations living on the edge of the Mediterranean.14 The sacredness of fish among the Syrians is attested in some sources:15

10

These data are confirmed by archaeozoological studies; the evidence is discussed in Lefèvre-Novaro (2010) 38. 11 Roosters were sacrificed to Dionysus, Core, Hermes, and Asclepius (Pl. Phd. 118). See Matz (1964) 44-52 (regarding the connection with Dionysus) and the article of E. Cruccas in this volume (concerning the relationship with Asclepius). 12 Sacrifices of geese are attested for Isis (Paus. 10.32.16). 13 For the Greeks, a fish-based diet is a characteristic of the Ichthyophagi of the north-eastern coast of Africa, the Arabian Peninsula, and today’s Balochistan. See Longo (1987) 14ff. 14 See Longo (1987) on the cultural dimensions of special diets among the various populations around the Mediterranean. According to Bouché-Leclercq (1879) 1512, the practice of divination based on the observation of the behaviour of fish is associated with the outskirts of civilisation. On this subject see, among others, the contributions in Lefèvre-Novaro and Mouton (2008), and especially the article by Kim Beerden therein. 15 See Burkert (1997) 227ff.

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Chapter Twelve ȂİIJ੹ IJĮ૨IJĮ Ȁ૨ȡȠȢ ਥȟİȜĮ઄ȞİȚ ıIJĮșȝȠઃȢ IJ੼IJIJĮȡĮȢ ʌĮȡĮı੺ȖȖĮȢ İ੅țȠıȚȞ ਥʌ੿ IJઁȞ ȋ੺ȜȠȞ ʌȠIJĮȝંȞ, ੕ȞIJĮ IJઁ İ੣ȡȠȢ ʌȜ੼șȡȠȣ, ʌȜ੾ȡȘ į' ੁȤș઄ȦȞ ȝİȖ੺ȜȦȞ țĮ੿ ʌȡĮ੼ȦȞ, Ƞ੠Ȣ Ƞੂ Ȉ઄ȡȠȚ șİȠઃȢ ਥȞંȝȚȗȠȞ țĮ੿ ਕįȚțİ૙Ȟ Ƞ੝ț İ੅ȦȞ, Ƞ੝į੻ IJ੹Ȣ ʌİȡȚıIJİȡ੺Ȣ. (Xen. An. 1.4.9) After this Cyrus marched four stages, twenty parasangs, to the Chalus River, which is a plethrum in width and full of large, tame fish; these fish the Syrians regarded as gods, and they would not allow anyone to harm them, or the doves, either. (trnsl. Brownson [1998]).

The sacredness connected to some aquatic creatures did not necessarily imply that they could not be eaten, but rather that they should be consumed as part of the sacred banquets. The testimony concerning the goddess Atargatis is interesting in this regard. According to Athenaeus, the real name of the goddess is Gatis, so Atargatis should be interpreted as “without gatis”—without fish. The etymology is related to the Queen Gatis’ love for fish and an edict she issued that barred everybody else from the consumption of this food: țĮ઀IJȠȚ Ȗİ ૅǹȞIJ઀ʌĮIJȡȠȢ ੒ ȉĮȡıİઃȢ ੒ ਕʌઁ IJોȢ ıIJȠ઼Ȣ ਥȞ IJİIJ੺ȡIJ૳ ʌİȡ੿ įİȚıȚįĮȚȝȠȞ઀ĮȢ Ȝ੼ȖİıșĮ઀ ijȘıȚ ʌȡંȢ IJȚȞȦȞ ੖IJȚ ī੺IJȚȢ ਲ IJ૵Ȟ Ȉ઄ȡȦȞ ȕĮı઀ȜȚııĮ Ƞ੢IJȦȢ ਷Ȟ ੑȥȠij੺ȖȠȢ ੮ıIJİ țȘȡ૨ȟĮȚ ਙIJİȡ ī੺IJȚįȠȢ ȝȘį੼ȞĮ ੁȤșઃȞ ਥıș઀İȚȞ· ਫ਼ʌ' ਕȖȞȠ઀ĮȢ į੻ IJȠઃȢ ʌȠȜȜȠઃȢ Į੝IJ੽Ȟ ȝ੻Ȟ ૅǹIJĮȡȖ੺IJȚȞ ੑȞȠȝ੺ȗİȚȞ, ੁȤș઄ȦȞ į੻ ਕʌ੼ȤİıșĮȚ. ȂȞĮı੼ĮȢ į' ਥȞ įİȣIJ੼ȡ૳ ʌİȡ੿ ૅǹı઀ĮȢ ijȘı੿Ȟ Ƞ੢IJȦȢ (FGrH III 155)· ‘ਥȝȠ੿ ȝ੻Ȟ ਲ ૅǹIJĮȡȖ੺IJȚȢ įȠțİ૙ ȤĮȜİʌ੽ ȕĮı઀ȜȚııĮ ȖİȖȠȞ੼ȞĮȚ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ȜĮ૵Ȟ ıțȜȘȡ૵Ȣ ਥʌİıIJĮIJȘț੼ȞĮȚ, ੮ıIJİ țĮ੿ ਕʌȠȞȠȝ઀ıĮȚ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ ੁȤșઃȞ ȝ੽ ਥıș઀İȚȞ, ਕȜȜ੹ ʌȡઁȢ Į੝IJ੽Ȟ ਕȞĮij੼ȡİȚȞ įȚ੹ IJઁ ਕȡ੼ıĮȚ Į੝IJૌ IJઁ ȕȡ૵ȝĮ. țĮ੿ įȚ੹ IJંįİ ȞંȝȚȝȠȞ ਩IJȚ įȚĮȝ੼ȞİȚȞ, ਥʌ੹Ȟ İ੡ȟȦȞIJĮȚ IJૌ șİ૶, ੁȤș૨Ȣ ਕȡȖȣȡȠ૨Ȣ ਲ਼ ȤȡȣıȠ૨Ȣ ਕȞĮIJȚș੼ȞĮȚ· IJȠઃȢ į੻ ੂİȡİ૙Ȣ ʌ઼ıĮȞ ਲȝ੼ȡĮȞ IJૌ șİ૶ ਕȜȘșȚȞȠઃȢ ੁȤș૨Ȣ ਥʌ੿ IJ੽Ȟ IJȡ੺ʌİȗĮȞ ੑȥȠʌȠȚȘıĮȝ੼ȞȠȣȢ ʌĮȡĮIJȚș੼ȞĮȚ, ਦijșȠ઄Ȣ IJİ ੒ȝȠ઀ȦȢ țĮ੿ ੑʌIJȠ઄Ȣ, Ƞ੠Ȣ į੽ Į੝IJȠ੿ țĮIJĮȞĮȜ઀ıțȠȣıȚȞ Ƞੂ IJોȢ șİȠ૨ ੂİȡİ૙Ȣ. (Ath. 8.346c-e) And yet the Stoic Antipater of Tarsus, at least, says in the fourth book of his work on Superstition, that it is asserted on the part of some authorities that Queen Gatis of Syria was such a fish-lover that she published an edict forbidding anyone to eat fish ‘apart from Gatis’ [ater Gatidos]. Not understanding this phrase, the masses call her Atargatis, and abstain from fish. But Mnaseus, in the second book of his work On Asia says: ‘In my opinion Atargatis was a cruel queen, and ruled the peoples harshly, even to the extent of forbidding them by law to eat fish; on the contrary, they must bring them to her because of her fondness for that food. For this reason the custom still holds that whenever they pray to the goddess, they bring her offerings of fish made of silver of gold; but for the priests bring to the goddess, every day, real fish which they have fancily dressed and served

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on the table. They are boiled or baked, and the priests of the goddess, of course, consume the fish themselves’. (trnsl. Burton Gulick [1927-41]).

The legends about this goddess, known to the Greeks as Derketo,16 are numerous. The reference to gold and silver fish is attibuted to the historian Xanthus of Lydia. According to Diodorus Siculus, Xanthus reports a story in which Atargatis and her son Ichthys were thrown into the lake and eaten by fish. She suffered a painful death and as a result she became the Great Goddess of Askalon to whom gold and silver fish were offered, along with actual fish from the lake; the latter were then eaten by the priests during the banquet following the sacrifice.17 According to the account of Ktesias, Derketo fell in love with a young man and became pregnant to him, was thrown into the lake after having conceived a son, and was turned into a fish but retained her human head. For this reason the Syrians refrained from eating fish and honoured Derketo and her son as gods.18 In Babylon the god Marduk-Adad was honoured in his temple with sacred fish;19 from evidence on monuments from Babylon we are aware of the existence of representations of priests in the form of these animals. This cultic link with fish is also attested, according to Antonetti, “in the context of Syrian gods in Greece or in those Hellenised areas, but in permanent contact with Syria”.20 Yet, among the Greeks, it is generally not connected to the major shrines, but is rather attested in areas which we would call marginal, both geographically and socially.21 In Apollonia, on the peninsula of Chalcidike, fish were sacred and connected to funeral sacrifices. At the Olynthiac River, which flowed into Lake Bolbe, there was the tomb of Olynthos, son of Heracles and the woman after whom the lake was named. Every spring the people of Apollonia used to offer sacrifices to their dead and also to the tomb of Olynthos, their local hero. As an offer of thanks for the sacrifice made in honour of her son, the goddess of the lake facilitated the arrival of copious fish for the benefit of the inhabitants of Apollonia:22 ૅǹʌȠȜȜȦȞ઀ĮȞ IJ੽Ȟ ȋĮȜțȚįȚț੽Ȟ į઄Ƞ ʌȠIJĮȝȠ੿ ʌİȡȚȡȡ੼ȠȣıȚȞ ૅǹȝȝ઀IJȘȢ țĮ੿ ૅȅȜȣȞșȚĮțંȢ· ਥȝȕ੺ȜȜȠȣıȚ į' ਕȝijંIJİȡȠȚ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ǺંȜȕȘȞ Ȝ઀ȝȞȘȞ. ਥʌ੿ į੻ IJȠ૨

16

Plin. Nat. Hist. 5.81. FGrH 765 F17. 18 D.S. 2.4.2-3. 19 See by way of example Dölger (1922) 215ff., Taff. 17. 4-6, 9; 18. 1, 3, 9. 20 Antonetti (2004) 166. 21 Burkert (1997) 231. 22 Ath. 8.334e-f. 17

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Chapter Twelve ૅȅȜȣȞșȚĮțȠ૨ ȝȞȘȝİ૙ંȞ ਥıIJȚȞ ૅȅȜ઄ȞșȠȣ IJȠ૨ ૽ǾȡĮțȜ੼ȠȣȢ țĮ੿ ǺંȜȕȘȢ ȣੂȠ૨. țĮIJ੹ į੻ IJઁȞ ૅǹȞșİıIJȘȡȚ૵ȞĮ țĮ੿ ૅǼȜĮijȘȕȠȜȚ૵ȞĮ Ȝ੼ȖȠȣıȚȞ Ƞੂ ਥʌȚȤઆȡȚȠȚ įȚંIJȚ ʌ੼ȝʌİȚ ਲ ǺંȜȕȘ IJ੽Ȟ ਕʌંʌȣȡȚȞ ૅȅȜ઄Ȟș૳, țĮ੿ țĮIJ੹ IJઁȞ țĮȚȡઁȞ IJȠ૨IJȠȞ ਕʌ੼ȡĮȞIJȠȞ ʌȜોșȠȢ ੁȤș઄ȦȞ ਥț IJોȢ Ȝ઀ȝȞȘȢ İੁȢ IJઁȞ ૅȅȜȣȞșȚĮțઁȞ ਕȞĮȕĮ઀ȞİȚȞ ʌȠIJĮȝંȞ. ਥıIJ੿ į੻ ȕȡĮȤ઄Ȣ, ੮ıIJİ ȝંȜȚȢ țȡ઄ʌIJİȚȞ IJઁ ıijȣȡંȞ· ਕȜȜ' Ƞ੝į੻Ȟ ਸIJIJȠȞ IJȠıȠ૨IJȠȞ ਩ȡȤİIJĮȚ ʌȜોșȠȢ ੁȤș઄ȦȞ ੮ıIJİ IJȠઃȢ ʌİȡȚȠ઀țȠȣȢ ਚʌĮȞIJĮȢ ੂțĮȞઁȞ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ਦĮȣIJ૵Ȟ Ȥȡİ઀ĮȞ ıȣȞIJȚș੼ȞĮȚ IJ੺ȡȚȤȠȢ. șĮȣȝĮıIJઁȞ į੼ ਥıIJȚ IJઁ ȝ੽ ʌĮȡĮȜȜ੺IJIJİȚȞ IJઁ IJȠ૨ ૅȅȜ઄ȞșȠȣ ȝȞȘȝİ૙ȠȞ. ʌȡંIJİȡȠȞ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੣Ȟ ijĮıȚ IJȠઃȢ țĮIJ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ૅǹʌȠȜȜȦȞ઀ĮȞ ૅǼȜĮijȘȕȠȜȚ૵ȞȠȢ IJ੹ ȞંȝȚȝĮ ıȣȞIJİȜİ૙Ȟ IJȠ૙Ȣ IJİȜİȣIJ੾ıĮıȚ, Ȟ૨Ȟ į' ૅǹȞșİıIJȘȡȚ૵ȞȠȢ. įȚ੹ IJĮ઄IJȘȞ Ƞ੣Ȟ IJ੽Ȟ ĮੁIJ઀ĮȞ ȝંȞȠȚȢ IJȠ઄IJȠȚȢ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȝȘı੿ IJȠઃȢ ੁȤș૨Ȣ IJ੽Ȟ ਕȞ੺ȕĮıȚȞ ʌȠȚİ૙ıșĮȚ, ਥȞ ȠੈȢ IJȠઃȢ IJİIJİȜİȣIJȘțંIJĮȢ İੁઆșĮıȚ IJȚȝ઼Ȟ. (Ath. 8.334e-f). Round Apollonia, in the Chalcidic peninsula, flow two rivers, the Sandy and the Olynthiac. Both empty into Lake Bolbe. On the Olynthiac is a monument to Olynthus, the son of Heracles and Bolbe. In the months Anthesterion and Elaphebolion, so say the inhabitants, Bolbe sends the broiler to Olynthus, and at this time a limitless quantity of fish go up from the lake into the Olynthiac River. Now it is a stream so shallow that it hardly covers the ankle, nevertheless such a quantity of fish comes that all the inhabitants round about can put up preserved fish sufficient for their needs. The strange part of it is that the fish do not pass beyond the monument of Olynthus. They say, to be sure, that in earlier times the people of Apollonia brought the customary offerings to the dead in the month of Elaphebolion; but to-day they bring them in Anthesterion. For this reason, therefore, the fish make the ascent only in these months, being those in which people are in the habit of honoring the dead. (trnsl. Burton Gulick [1927-41]).

At the edge of the Greek world there is a legend concerning a sacred fish, the pompilos, the ‘pilot fish’, that guides sailors and protects navigators. It is said that several specimens of this sea creature, sacred to Poseidon as well as to the Samothracian gods,23 were caught by Epopeus, a fisherman from the island of Icarus, who ate them with his son during a banquet. As a punishment for violating the taboo regarding the ban on eating sacred fish, a short time later the fisherman was swallowed by a sea monster:24

23 Dalby (2003) 39-40. The sacrifice of fish that is found in the mystery cult of the Thracian horsemen seems also to be linked to the great gods of Samothrace. See Dölger (1928) 143-50; Dölger (1922) 420ff. 24 Food taboos existed for all the sacred animals and could be broken only on special occasions. See Antonetti (2004) 171ff.

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ʌȠȝʌ઀ȜȠȢ, ੔Ȟ țĮȜ੼ȠȣıȚȞ ਖȜ઀ʌȜȠȠȚ ੂİȡઁȞ ੁȤș઄Ȟ, įȚȘȖİ૙IJĮȚ ੪Ȣ Ƞ੝ ȝંȞȠȞ IJ૶ ȆȠıİȚį૵ȞȚ ੒ ʌȠȝʌ઀ȜȠȢ ਥıIJ੿ įȚ੹ IJȚȝોȢ, ਕȜȜ' ੖IJȚ țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ IJ੽Ȟ ȈĮȝȠșȡ઻țȘȞ țĮIJ੼ȤȠȣıȚ șİȠ૙Ȣ. ਖȜȚ੼Į ȖȠ૨Ȟ IJȚȞĮ ʌȡİıȕ઄IJȘȞ IJ૶ ੁȤș઄Ț IJȠ઄IJ૳ țંȜĮıȚȞ ਫ਼ʌȠıȤİ૙Ȟ ਩IJȚ IJȠ૨ ȤȡȣıȠ૨ Ȗ੼ȞȠȣȢ țĮIJ' ਕȞșȡઆʌȠȣȢ ੕ȞIJȠȢ. ੕ȞȠȝĮ į' ਷Ȟ Į੝IJ૶ ૅǼʌȦʌİઃȢ țĮ੿ ਥȟ ૅǿț੺ȡȠȣ ਷Ȟ IJોȢ Ȟ੾ıȠȣ. țĮ੿ IJȠ૨IJȠȞ Ƞ੣Ȟ ਚȝĮ IJ૶ ȣੂ૶ ਖȜȚİ઄ȠȞIJĮ țĮ੿ Ƞ੝ț İ੝IJȣȤ੾ıĮȞIJĮ ਙȜȜȦȞ ੁȤș઄ȦȞ ਥȞ IJૌ ਙȖȡ઺ ਲ਼ ʌȠȝʌ઀ȜȦȞ Ƞ੝ț ਕʌȠıȤ੼ıșĮȚ IJોȢ IJȠ઄IJȦȞ ਥįȦįોȢ, ਕȜȜ੹ ʌ੺ȞIJĮȢ ȝİIJ੹ IJȠ૨ ȣੂȠ૨ țĮIJĮșȠȚȞȘșોȞĮȚ țĮ੿ ȝİIJ' Ƞ੝ ʌȠȜઃ į઀țĮȢ ਥțIJ૙ıĮȚ IJોȢ įȣııİȕİ઀ĮȢ· țોIJȠȢ Ȗ੹ȡ ਥʌİȜșઁȞ IJૌ ȞȘ੿ IJઁȞ ૅǼʌȦʌ੼Į ਥȞ ੕ȥİȚ IJȠ૨ ʌĮȚįઁȢ țĮIJĮʌȚİ૙Ȟ. (Ath. 7.283a-b) “The pompilos, which voyagers of the deep call the sacred fish,” relates that the pompilos is held in honour not only by Poseidon, but also by the gods who preside over Samothrace. An old fisherman, at any rate, underwent punishment because of this fish in the days when the Golden Age still prevailed on earth. His name was Epopeus, and he came from the island of Icarus. Well, he went fishing with his son, and not having any luck in the catch with other fish than pompilos, he did not refrain from eating them, but in company with his son feasted on them altogether. And after a little while he paid the penalty of his impiety; for a sea-monster attacked his ship and swallowed Epopeus before his son’s eyes. (trnsl. Burton Gulick [1927-41]).

When we discuss the sacredness of fish, we cannot forget the story of Dictys, the fisherman from the island of Seriphos, who fished out of the sea the chest in which Danae and the baby Perseus25 were hidden. The fishermen of Seriphos, out of respect for this myth, refrained from fishing for a certain type of fish, the tettix enalios, and if this fish was caught it was returned into the water.26 This ban, for the fishermen of Seriphos, was connected to the figure of Perseus,27 prince of fish, who loved to play with marine creatures. In addition to the sacred character of fish, literary sources testify to the use of fish in sacrifices, albeit more rarely. An interesting case is the one connected to the goddess Hecate who received sacrifices of fish, especially mullet: ਥȞ į੻ IJ૶ ૅǹȖȡȠ઀ț૳ ૽Ǽț੺IJȘȢ ȕȡઆȝĮIJĮ ਩ijȘ IJ੹Ȣ ȝĮȚȞ઀įĮȢ İੇȞĮȚ țĮ੿ IJ੹Ȣ IJȡȚȖȜ઀įĮȢ. (Ath. 8.358f). Now in The Farmer he had said that sprats and mullets were Hecate’s food. (trnsl. Burton Gulick [1927-41]). 25

Apollod. 2.4. Aelian. de nat. an. 13.26. 27 Paus. 2.18.2. 26

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Athenaeus stresses that the mullet, as red as blood, is sacred to Hecate because of the similarity between the two names: the goddess is addressed with the epithet trimorphic, that is ‘she who has a triple form’, and the Greek word for mullet was trigle and then trigla, which likewise means ‘of triple form’: IJૌ į੻ ૽Ǽț੺IJૉ ਕʌȠį઀įȠIJĮȚ ਲ IJȡ઀ȖȜȘ įȚ੹ IJ੽Ȟ IJોȢ ੑȞȠȝĮı઀ĮȢ țȠȚȞંIJȘIJĮ· IJȡȚȠį૙IJȚȢ Ȗ੹ȡ țĮ੿ IJȡ઀ȖȜȘȞȠȢ, țĮ੿ IJĮ૙Ȣ IJȡȚĮț੺ıȚ į' Į੝IJૌ IJ੹ įİ૙ʌȞĮ ij੼ȡȠȣıȚ. …ૅǹʌȠȜȜંįȦȡȠȢ į' ਥȞ IJȠ૙Ȣ ʌİȡ੿ șİ૵Ȟ IJૌ ૽Ǽț੺IJૉ ijȘı੿ ș઄İıșĮȚ IJȡ઀ȖȜȘȞ įȚ੹ IJ੽Ȟ IJȠ૨ ੑȞંȝĮIJȠȢ ȠੁțİȚંIJȘIJĮ· IJȡ઀ȝȠȡijȠȢ Ȗ੹ȡ ਲ șİંȢ. (Ath. 7.325a, 325b). The triglê, on account of the syllable in its name which is common to the epithets of Hecate, is dedicated to her. For she is the goddess of the three ways and looks three ways, and they offer her meals on the thirtieth day. […] Apollodorus, in his treatise “On the Gods,” says that the triglê is sacrificed to Hecate because of the associations in the name; for the goddess is tri-form. (trnsl. Burton Gulick [1927-41]).

We also know that in Athens there was a statue of Hecate Triglathena, which received a sacrificial offering of mullet. 28 The latter was also venerated at the Eleusinian Mysteries by the initiated, who abstained from eating it. According to an account by Aelian, this abstention was due to the fact that the mullet reproduced three times a year, or because it ate the sea hare, which is poisonous for man.29 This type of fish was considered unclean. It is therefore interesting to note the link between the goddess Hecate and a marine species considered unclean, “It ‘delighted in polluted things,’ and ‘would eat the corpse of a fish or a man’”. 30 This correlation is not surprising when we take into consideration that of the five fish probably banned at Eleusis, two, the melanouros and erythrinos,31 were sacred to the chthonic gods—it seems because of the reference in the name to the colour of death (mela-, black) and blood (erythr-, red), respectively—as well as to sacredness of the three-formed trigle, and the mainis, the sprat, to Hecate: ȂİȜ੺ȞșȚȠȢ į' ਥȞ IJ૶ ʌİȡ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ਥȞ ૅǼȜİȣı૙ȞȚ ȝȣıIJȘȡ઀ȦȞ (FHG IV 444) țĮ੿ IJȡ઀ȖȜȘȞ țĮ੿ ȝĮȚȞ઀įĮ, ੖IJȚ țĮ੿ șĮȜ੺IJIJȚȠȢ ਲ ૽Ǽț੺IJȘ. (Ath. 7.325c).

28

Ath. 7.126; Leake (1841) 492; Dölger (1922) 318. Aelian. de nat. an. 9.51. 30 Parker (2001) 362. 31 Iamb. VP 24.109. 29

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But Melanthius, in his work On the Eleusinian Mysteries, includes the sprat with the triglê because Hecate is a sea-goddess also. (trnsl. Burton Gulick [1927-41]).

At Kamiros there is evidence of an offer of įİ૙ʌȞĮ normally intended only for Hecate, and sometimes to Hecate and Hermes together. The protein for this dinner included puppies and fish, both of which had to be cooked on the spot.32 Evidence of other sacrifices of fish has been found in Boeotia and Attica. In this regard it should be noted that the biggest eels in Lake Copais, a location known for its fish, were sacrificed by the Boeotians to all gods. Prior to the sacrifice, the eels had a crown of flowers put on their heads and were sprinkled with flour. 33 Although we do not know the underlying reasons for this sacrifice, it is worth noting that eels are treated here like land-sacrificial victims and are prepared for sacrifice in the same way. An explanation may perhaps be found in the fact that eels, unlike other fish, do not die immediately after being caught, but can live for an extended time out of water, and can even crawl on land that is moist. Another interesting testimony in relation to sacrifices of fish comes from Halai, a village in Attica, where, as an act of gratitude for the day’s good catch, the first tuna of the day was offered to Poseidon. This became the solemn meal for the priest and the nobles inside the temple: Ƞ੝ Ȥȡ੽ șĮȣȝ੺ȗİȚȞ İੁ ੂİȡİ઀ȦȞ IJȡંʌȠȞ ਥȖȤ੼ȜİȚȢ ș઄ȠȞIJĮȚ, ੒ʌંIJİ țĮ੿ ૅǹȞIJ઀ȖȠȞȠȢ ੒ ȀĮȡ઄ıIJȚȠȢ ਥȞ IJ૶ ʌİȡ੿ Ȝ੼ȟİȦȢ (p. 174 Wil) IJȠઃȢ ૽ǹȜĮȚ੼ĮȢ Ȝ੼ȖİȚ șȣı઀ĮȞ ਥʌȚIJİȜȠ૨ȞIJĮȢ IJ૶ ȆȠıİȚį૵ȞȚ ਫ਼ʌઁ IJ੽Ȟ IJ૵Ȟ ș઄ȞȞȦȞ ੮ȡĮȞ, ੖IJĮȞ İ੝ĮȖȡ੾ıȦıȚ, ș઄İȚȞ IJ૶ șİ૶ IJઁȞ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ ਖȜંȞIJĮ ș઄ȞȞȠȞ, țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ șȣı઀ĮȞ IJĮ઄IJȘȞ țĮȜİ૙ıșĮȚ șȣȞȞĮ૙ȠȞ. (Ath. 7.297e) We need not wonder that they sacrifice eels like other victims, seeing that Antigonus of Carystus also, in his work “On Diction,” says that the people of Halae, when they celebrate a festival to Poseidon in the tuna season, offer to the god in the event of a good catch the first tuna caught; and this offering is called a thynnaion. (trnsl. Burton Gulick [1927-41]).

Sacrifices of Fish in Iconography If evidence of the sacrifices of fish in literary sources is scarce, the same is also true of iconographic attestations. Beyond the simple

32 33

See Carboni (2015), with an updated list of earlier studies on the topic. Ath. 7.297d.

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representations of fish as decorative elements,34 depictions of sacrificial scenes featuring fish are few and sometimes difficult to understand. Interesting in this regard is the representation on an Etruscan stamnos which is reminiscent of the cultic traditions of the Greek world35 (fig. 1). According to Schneider-Herrmann,36 on one side of the vase there is a god, presumably Artemis, dressed as an Amazon and accompanied by a deer, and in the background there is a tree and a bird. On the opposite side of the vase the representation is centered on two figures, a woman and a boy. The woman, sitting on a block of stone, is wearing a mask and her arms and legs are covered with a piece of cloth which has the same pattern as the garment worn by Artemis on the other side of the vase. The female figure is resting her left hand on her knee, while her right arm is extended forward in the direction of the boy who is carrying in his hands what seems to be a fish.37 He is holding the animal with both hands above the head of the seated female figure, who is gazing upwards. The boy is looking into the distance and reaching out holding the aquatic creature. The gesture could be interpreted as an offering to the goddess depicted on the other side of the vase. The animal is not represented well: the white eye and the mouth are rendered very clearly and the tail is tucked under its body, perhaps to make the fish easier to carry. This aquatic creature has been identified as a dolphin, but in reality it looks more like a fish:38 even so, the identification matters little for both dolphins and fish were equally offered to Artemis. The presence of the tree and the bird on the one side of the vase, as well as that of the fish on the opposite side, arouse one’s curiosity, since none of these attributes is common to Artemis. However, as Pausanias reminds us, the daughter of Leto was worshipped in the Peloponnese as a goddess or nymph of the trees.39 Near the city of Orchomenus, Pausanias notes, there was a wooden statue of Artemis that was located within, or between, the branches of a large cedar.40 Similarly, the association of fish with the goddess in not so strange if one thinks of her representations such 34

Bevan (1986). “Funnel Group”. Date: second half of the 4th century BCE; see SchneiderHerrmann (1970) 52ff., pl. 29. 1-2 (including the bibliography in the notes). 36 Schneider-Herrmann (1970) 54. 37 On the diffusion of the schematic sitting figure/standing figure in South Italiot and Etruscan pottery of the 4th century BCE, see Herrmann-Schneider (1970) 55 (and the bibliography in the notes). 38 Schneider-Herrmann (1970) 55. 39 Paus. 8.13.2. 40 See the considerations in Moggi and Osanna (2003) 352. 35

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as the Potnia Theron and her bond with the sea. It is not by chance that the temples of Artemis were found in close proximity to water sources, rivers, springs, lakes or swamps, and that the goddess was also worshipped as a Nymph.41 Pausanias also points out that in the Peloponnese, specifically Phigalia, there was an unusual image of the cult of Artemis with a fish’s tail: .

IJ੽Ȟ į੻ Ǽ੝ȡȣȞંȝȘȞ ੒ ȝ੻Ȟ IJ૵Ȟ ĭȚȖĮȜ੼ȦȞ įોȝȠȢ ਥʌ઀țȜȘıȚȞ İੇȞĮȚ ʌİʌ઀ıIJİȣțİȞ ૅǹȡIJ੼ȝȚįȠȢ· ੖ıȠȚ į੻ Į੝IJ૵Ȟ ʌĮȡİȚȜ੾ijĮıȚȞ ਫ਼ʌȠȝȞ੾ȝĮIJĮ ਕȡȤĮ૙Į, șȣȖĮIJ੼ȡĮ ૅȍțİĮȞȠ૨ ijĮıȚȞ İੇȞĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ Ǽ੝ȡȣȞંȝȘȞ… IJȘȞȚțĮ૨IJĮ į੻ țĮ੿ șȣı઀ĮȢ įȘȝȠı઀઺ IJİ țĮ੿ ੁįȚ૵IJĮȚ ș઄ȠȣıȚȞ. ਕijȚț੼ıșĮȚ ȝ੻Ȟ į੾ ȝȠȚ IJોȢ ਦȠȡIJોȢ Ƞ੝ț ਥȟİȖ੼ȞİIJȠ ਥȢ țĮȚȡઁȞ Ƞ੝į੻ IJોȢ Ǽ੝ȡȣȞંȝȘȢ IJઁ ਙȖĮȜȝĮ İੇįȠȞ· IJ૵Ȟ ĭȚȖĮȜ੼ȦȞ