Acusilaus of Argos' Rhapsody in Prose: Introduction, Text, and Commentary 3110616955, 9783110616958

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Ilaria Andolfi Acusilaus of Argos’ Rhapsody in Prose

Trends in Classics – Supplementary Volumes

Edited by Franco Montanari and Antonios Rengakos Associate Editors Evangelos Karakasis · Fausto Montana · Lara Pagani Serena Perrone · Evina Sistakou · Christos Tsagalis Scientific Committee Alberto Bernabé · Margarethe Billerbeck Claude Calame · Jonas Grethlein · Philip R. Hardie Stephen J. Harrison · Richard Hunter · Christina Kraus Giuseppe Mastromarco · Gregory Nagy Theodore D. Papanghelis · Giusto Picone Tim Whitmarsh · Bernhard Zimmermann

Volume 70

Ilaria Andolfi

Acusilaus of Argos’ Rhapsody in Prose

Introduction, Text, and Commentary

ISBN 978-3-11-061695-8 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-061860-0 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-061703-0 ISSN 1868-4785 Library of Congress Control Number: 2018955786 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2019 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Editorial Office: Alessia Ferreccio and Katerina Zianna Logo: Christopher Schneider, Laufen Printing: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com



ἁπλοῦς ὁ μῦθος τῆς ἀληθείας ἔφυ (Eur. Phoen. 469)

Contents Acknowledgments  IX Abbreviations and Editions  XI  Introduction  1 . Life and Works  1 . Sources and Testimonies  4 . Writing Genealogies: Scope, Aims, and Strategies  7 . A Cosmogony in Prose: How to challenge Hesiod and the Poets (Frs. 1 and 6–22)  15 . The Chauvinistic Acusilaus: How to dismantle an Ancient Prejudice (Frs. 23–28)  19 . Other Sagas: From Heracles to the Trojan War (Frs. 29–43)  22 . Language and Style  23 . Acusilaus as a ‟Prose Rhapsodeˮ?  28  Commentary  Fr. 1  34 Fr. 2  38 Fr. 3 40 Fr. 4  41 Fr. 6  45 Fr. 6A  52 Fr. 7  54 Fr. 8  55 Fr. 9–10  57 Fr. 11  60 Fr. 12  62 Fr. 13  63 Fr. 14  65 Fr. 15  67 Fr. 17 68 Fr. 18  72 Fr. 19  74 Fr. 20  77 Fr. 21  82 Fr. 22  84 Fr. 23  95

VIII  Contents Fr. 24  100 Fr. 25  103 Fr. 26  106 Fr. 27  108 Fr. 28  110 Fr. 29  118 Fr. 30  120 Fr. 31  122 Fr. 33  123 Fr. 34  126 Fr. 35  128 Fr. 36  129 Fr. 37  132 Fr. 38  134 Fr. 39  135 Fr. 40  139 Fr. 41  141 Fr. 42  143 Fr. 43  144 Fr. 44  145 Fr. 45A  147 Fr. 46  148 Bibliography  151 General Index  167 Index of Greek  175 Index Locorum  177

Acknowledgements This book is a revised and expanded version of the second half of my Italian doctoral dissertation (“Preplatonic Epic Exegesis: Hecataeus of Miletus and Acusilaus of Argos “Rhapsodes in Prose””), written in Rome, Oxford, and Bristol, and defended in March 2016 at the University of Rome “La Sapienza”. Since then, I have translated into English the whole section about Acusilaus and wrote the introduction anew. I would have not been able to deal with this additional amount of work without the generous support of the “Italian Institute for Historical Studies” in Naples and the Humboldt Foundation, which awarded me respectively a one- and a two-years post doctoral fellowships. To both institutions I owe my deepest thanks. I am also grateful to the Hardt Foundation for a two-weeks scientific stay in September 2015. Over the years, many people contributed to the development of this commentary in many different ways. My supervisor, Roberto Nicolai, has read the entire manuscript before submission to the publisher and offered invaluable instruction of matters great and small. My thesis examiner, Robert Fowler, has been the first to think that I had something relevant to say about Acusilaus: since my visiting fellowship in Bristol in 2014, he has always been generous with his time and encouragement. To both of them I owe a very large intellectual debt. I am also thankful to the other two examiners of my dissertation, Adele Cozzoli and Alessandro Barchiesi, for their helpful recommendations. Much of the transformation of the thesis into a book took place in Naples and in Heidelberg. I thank my mentor at the “Instituto Croce”, Andrea Giardina, for his support. I am also very grateful to my host in Heidelberg, Jonas Grethlein, not only for his hospitality, but also for his willingness to discuss my work and provide thoughtful feedback on it. This book has benefited, at various stages, from comments on drafts by numerous people, who gave me invaluable advice and saved me from several slips: Luca Bettarini, Albio Cesare Cassio, Thomas Kuhn-Treichel, Enrico Emanuele Prodi, Athanassios Vergados, and Gertjan Verhasselt. Needless to say, whatever mistakes and faults remain are solely my responsibility. In occasion of several conferences I had the chance of discussing with people who shared with me their ideas and helped me refine my views on early Greek mythography, such as the panel on mythography at “The VIII Celtic Conference in Classics” organized by Scott Smith and Stephen Trzaskoma in 2014, the seminar series “Seminari di Letteratura Greca Luigi Enrico Rossi” on Hesiod and his reception at Rome “La Sapienza”, the King’s College London Postgraduate Conference in 2015, the fellows’ research seminar at the Institute in Naples in 2017, and finally the “Gräzistisches Forschungskolloquium” in Heidelberg in 2018. To https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110618600-202

X  Acknowledgements all of them I am most grateful. I also thank Luuk Huitink for his stimulating criticism of my overall approach to early Greek prose. A special thank goes to my colleague and friend Elena Spangenberg Yanes, who read the whole manuscript prior to submission, even if its topic lies far away from her research interests, and to Irene Giaquinta and Jessica Romney, who helped me at proof stage. I would like to thank Serena Pirrotta at De Gruyter for her crucial role in keeping the publication of this book on track. The series “Trends in Classics” had provided a congenial home for it and I truly thank its editors, Franco Montanari and Antonios Rengakos, for accepting it. Special thanks are due to the whole staff at De Gruyter for their patience and attentive care during the book production, and to Ben McGuire and Rachel Monland, who have carefully proofread the manuscript. I dedicate this book to my family and to Tommaso: without their tireless moral support it would have never seen the light and I would have not been able to weather all the difficulties that came along the way. Heidelberg, October 2018

Abbreviations and Editions Abbreviations BNJ:

CPF: CPF 1.1***

I. Worthington (ed.), Brill’s New Jacoby (http://www.brillonline.nl), 2007–. Corpus dei Papiri Filosofici Greci e Latini, Firenze, 1982–.

= Corpus dei Papiri Filosofici Greci e Latini. Testi e Lessico nei papiri di cultura greca e latina. Parte I: Autori noti. Vol. 1***: Nicolaus Damascenus-Platonis Frag-

menta, Firenze, 1999. EGEF: EGM: FGrHist:

C. Tsagalis (ed.), Early Greek Epic Fragments. I, Antiquarian and Genealogical Po-

etry, Berlin/Boston 2017.

R.L. Fowler (ed.), Early Greek Mythography. I, Text and Introduction, Oxford 2000;

II, Commentary, Oxford 2013.

F. Jacoby (ed.), Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker. Erster Teil: Genealogie

und Mythographie (Leipzig 1923, Leiden 19572); Zweiter Teil: Zeitgeschichte (1926–1930, 1961–19632); Dritter Teil: Geschichte von Städten und Völkern (Horo-

graphie und Ethnographie) (1940, 1955–19572). FHG:

C. Müller (ed.), Fragmenta Historicorum Graecorum. I, with T. Müller, Paris 1841;

II, 1848; IV 1851; V 1, 1873; V 2 ed. V. Langlois, 1872. FHS&G: IACP:

W. Fortenbaugh/P. Huby/R. Sharpied/D. Gutas (eds.), Theophrastus of Eresus,

Sources for his Life, Writings, Thought and Influence, 2 vols., Leiden 2016.

M.H. Hansen/T.H. Nielsen (eds.), An Inventory of Archaic and Classical Poleis, Ox-

ford 2004. IG: LGPN: LIMC: OF:

Inscriptiones Graecae, Berlin 1873–.

Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, http://www.lgpn.ox.ac.uk.

Lexicon iconographicum mythologiae classicae, Zürich 1981–1999.

A. Bernabé (ed.), Poetae Epici Graeci. Testimonia et Fragmenta. Pars II, fasc. 1–2: Or-

phicorum et Orphicis similium testimonia et fragmenta (Leipzig 2004–2005); Pars II,

fasc. 3: Musaeus-Linus-Epimenides-Papyrus Derveni-Indices (Leipzig 2007). PEG: PMG: PMGF: RE: SEG: SH: TrGF:

A. Bernabé (ed.), Poetae Epicae Graeci. Pars I: Testimonia et fragmenta, Leipzig 1987. M. Davies (ed.), Poetae Melici Graeci, Oxford 1962.

M. Davies (ed.), Poetarum Melicorum Graecorum Fragmenta, I, Oxford 1991.

A. Pauly/G. Wissowa/W. Knoll (eds.), Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen

Altertumswissenschaft, Stuttgart 1893–1972.

Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum, Leiden 1923–.

H. Lloyd-Jones/P.J. Parsons (eds.), Supplementum Hellenisticum, Berlin 1983.

Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta. I, Didascaliae tragicae, Catalogi tragicorum et tragoediarum, Testimonia et fragmenta tragicorum minorum, eds. B. Snell, R. Kan-

nicht (Göttingen, 1986); II, Fragmenta adespota, eds. B. Snell, R. Kannicht (1981);

III, Aeschylus, ed. S. Radt (1985); IV, Sophocles, ed. S. Radt (1977); V, Euripides (2 vols.), ed. R. Kannicht (2004).

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110618600-203

XII  Abbreviations and Editions − For ancient Greek authors, abbreviations are those found in the Oxford Classical Dictionary, with a few trivial divergences.

− For ancient Latin authors, the abbreviations in the Thesaurus Linguae Latinae have been followed.

− Abbreviations of periodicals are those recommended in the American Journal of Philology (AJA), 95 (1991), 1–16 (and available at https://www.ajaonline.org/submissions/abbreviations).

− The text of Acusilaus’ fragments and the apparatus are based on Fowler’s EGM, with modifications and updates. I have also used Fowler’s numeration, which is almost identical with Jacoby’s. − Fragments where Acusilaus’ name has been restored and supplemented are marked with *. When he is not mentioned, but the content of the text testifies to an ascription to him, fragments are marked with **.

Editions

Modern editions of texts are those listed in EGM, with the exception of:

− M. Broggiato (ed.), Cratete di Mallo. I frammenti: edizione, introduzione e note, La Spezia 2001.

− F. Pontani (ed.), Scholia Graeca in Odysseam, I-, Roma 2010–.

− S. Radt (ed.), Strabons Geographika, Göttingen 2002–2011.

− H. van Thiel (ed.), D-Scholia to the Iliad, available on line at http://kups.ub.uni-koeln.de/1810/.

The text of the fragmentary authors is cited from the following editions: Aristotle and his school:

V. Rose (ed.), Aristotelis qui ferebantur librorum fragmenta, Leipzig . F. Wehrli (ed.), Die Schule des Aristoteles, Basel/Stuttgart –.

Early Mythogra-

EGM. For authors not included in EGM, quotations are from FGrHist.

phers/ Historians: Demetrius of

R. Gaede (ed.), Demetrii Scepsii quae supersunt, Diss. Greifswald .

Scepsis: Mnaseas of

P. Cappelletto (ed.), I frammenti di Mnasea. Introduzione, testo e commento,

Patara:

Milano .

Presocratics:

A. Laks/G.W. Most (eds.), Early Greek Philosophy, Cambridge MA/London . H. Diels (ed.), Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, Berlin – (ed. W. Kranz).

Pherecydes of

H.S. Schibli (ed.), Pherekydes of Syros, Oxford .

Syros: Comic Poets:

R. Kassel/C. Austin (eds.), Poetae Comici Graeci, Berlin/New York, –.

Epic Poets:

PEG, EGEF (see above).

M.L. West (ed.), Greek Epic Fragments, Cambridge MA/London .

Abbreviations and Editions  XIII

Hesiod:

R. Merkelbach/M.L. West (eds.), Fragmenta Hesiodea, Oxford . G.W. Most (ed.), Hesiod I: Theogony. Works and Days. Testimonia (Cambridge

MA/London ); II: The Shield. Catalogue of Women. Other fragments (Cambridge MA/London ). Iambic and

M.L. West (ed.), Iambi et Elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum cantati, I–II, Oxford,

Elegiac Poets:

–.

Lesbian Poets:

E.M. Voigt (ed.), Sappho et Alcaeus, Amsterdam .

Lyric Poets:

PMG/PMGF (see above).

Bacchylides:

H. Maehler (ed.), Bacchylidis carmina cum fragmentis, Leipzig .

Callimachus:

R. Pfeiffer (ed.), Callimachus I: Fragmenta, Oxford . G. Massimilla (ed.), Callimaco. Aitia, Libri primo e secondo, Pisa ; Libri terzo e quarto, Pisa .

A. Harder (ed.), Callimachus: Aetia ( vols.), Oxford/New York . Nicander of Colophon:

O. Schneider (ed.), Nicandrea, Leipzig .

A.S.F. Gow/A.F. Scholfield (eds.), Nicander. Poems and Poetical Fragments, Cambridge .

Pindar:

B. Snell/H. Maehler (eds.), Pindari carmina cum fragmentis, Leipzig . I. Rutherford (ed.), Pindar’s Paeans. A Reading of the Fragments with a Survey of the Genre, Oxford .

Simonides:

O. Poltera (ed.), Simonides lyricus. Testimonia und Fragmente. Einleitung,

Stesichorus:

M. Davies/P. Finglass (eds.), Stesichorus, The Poems, Cambridge 2014.

Tragic Poets:

TrGF (see above).

kritische Ausgabe, Übersetzung und Kommentar, Basel 2008.

Works Cited in the Apparatus by Author’s Name Aegius

B. Aegius (ed.), Apollodori Atheniensis Bibliotheces sive de deorum

Barnes

J. Barnes (ed.), Homeri Odyssea et in eandem scholia sive interpretatio ve-

Bergk

Th. Bergk, “Lesefrüchte: Zu den Pindarischen Scholien”, in: Neue Jahrbü-

Blomfield

J. Blomfield, “Sapphonis Fragmenta”, in: Museum Criticum 1, 1826, 1–31.

Böckh Boll Broggiato Bücheler

origine, Roma 1555.

terum, Cambridge 1711.

cher für Philologie und Paedagogik 135, 1878, 37–46.

A. Böckh (ed.), Pindari opera quae supersunt. II 1, Scholia, Leipzig 1819. apud Deubner

M. Broggiato (ed.), Cratete di Mallo, I frammenti: edizione, introduzione e note, La Spezia 2001.

F. Bücheler, “Philodemus ΠΕΡΙ ΕΥΣΕΒΕΙΑΣ”, in Jahrbücher für classische

Philologie 11, 1865, 513–541.

XIV  Abbreviations and Editions Buttmann Cardauns

P. Buttmann (ed.), Scholia antiqua in Homeri Odysseam, Berlin 1821.

B. Cardauns (ed.), M. Terentius Varro, Antiquitates Rerum divinarum, 2 vols.,

Mainz 1976. (Natalis)

Natalis Comitis Mythologiae sive explicationis fabularum libri decem, Pa-

Comes

dova 1567.

Davies Deubner

see PMGF

L. Deubner, Bewerkungen zu einigen literarischen Papyri aus Oxyrhynchos, Heidelberg 1919.

Diels

see Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker.

Dietze

J. Dietze, “Die mythologischen Quellen für Philodemos Schift περὶ εὐσεβείας”, in: Jahrbuch für Philologie 153, 1896, 218–226.

Dindorf

W. Dindorf (ed.), Scholia graeca in Homeri Odysseam, 2 vols., Oxford 1855.

Eberhart

H. Eberhart, “Scholien mit Hellanikosbruchstück und Simonideszitat”, in:

Mitteilungen aus der Papyrussammlung der Giessener Universitätbibliothek, IV. Literarische Stücke, Giessen 1935.

Facius

J.F. Facius (ed.), Pausaniae Graeciae Descriptio, Leipzig 1794–1796.

Gomperz

T. Gomperz, “Zu Philodem περὶ εὐσεβείας”, in: Zeitschrift für die

Gomperz2

Herkulanische Studien. II, Philodem, Über Frömmigkeit, Leipzig 1866.

Gronovius Hercher Heyne Heyne2

österreichischen Gymnasien, 15, 1864, 637–648, 731–736.

J. Gronovius, Thesaurus Graecorum Antiquitatum 1, Lyon 1667. R. Hercher (ed.), Apollodori Bibliotheca, Berlin 1874.

C.G. Heyne (ed.), Ad Apollodori Atheniensis bibliothecam notae cum commentatione de Apollodoro … et cum Apollodori fragmentis, Göttingen 1783. In: Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres: Mémoires 1 (1815), 377.

Holwerda

D. Holwerda (ed.), Prolegomena de comoedia, scholia in Acharnenses, Eq-

Hommel

A. Hommel (ed.), Platonis Convivium, Leipzig 1834.

Jacoby

see FGrHist

Janko

apud EGM

uites, Nubes, pars I, Groningen 1977.

Jones

H.L. Jones (ed.), Strabo, Geography, Books 10–12, Harvard 1928.

Kassel

apud EGM

Kaye Keil

J. Kaye, “On Certain Greek Historians mentioned by Dionysius of Halicar-

nassus”, in: Museum Criticum 1, 1814, 216–225.

H. Keil (ed.), Apollonii Argonautica. II, Prolegomena et scholia vetera, Leipzig 1854.

Kirchhoff

A. von Kirchhoff, Die homerische Odyssee, Berlin 18792.

Körte

apud Kordt

Kordt Kramer Lasserre Lobeck

A. Kordt, De Acusilao, Diss. Basel 1903.

G. Kramer (ed.), Strabonis Geographica, 3 vols., Berlin 1844–1852.

F. Lasserre (ed.), Strabon, Géographie. Tome VII. Livre X, Paris 1971.

C.A. Lobeck, Aglaophamus. De theologiae mysticae Graecorum causis, 2 vols., Könisberg 1829.

Abbreviations and Editions  XV

W. Luppe, “Neileus ἀποικία nach Milet: Mythographus Homericus P. Oxy.

Luppe

4096 fr. 3”, in: Eikasmos 7, 1996, 207–210.

P. Maas, Kleine Schriften, München 1973 (63–64).

Maas

E. Montanari, P.Oxy. 1611, in: CPF 1.1***.

Montanari

M. Mueller, De Seleuco Homerico, Diss. Göttingen 1691.

Mueller Müller

see FHG

K.O. Müller, Orchomenos und die Minyer (= Geschichte hellenischer

K.O. Müller

Stämme und Städte 1, Breslau 18842, ed. F.W. Schneidewin)

A. Nauck, “Über Philodemus περὶ εὐσεβείας”, in: Mélanges gréco-romains

Nauck

tires du Bulletin de l’Académie imperiale des sciences de St-Pétersbourg, 2, 1859–1866, 585–626, 627–638.

D. Obbink (ed.), Philodemus, On Piety. Part 1, Oxford 1996.

Obbink

Philodemus, On Piety. Part 2, forthcoming (apud EGM).

Obbink2

F. Oehler (ed.), Q.S.F. Tertulliani quae supersunt omnia, Leipzig 1853.

Oehler

A.J.E. Pflugk, De Theopompi Chii Vita et Scriptis, Berlin 1827.

Pflugk

R. Philippson, “Zu Philodems Schrift über die Frömmigkeit I”, in: Hermes

Philippson

55, 1920, 225–278. Quaranta

apud Obbink (1996, 27–28).

A. Rzach, “Beiträge zu Hesiodos”, in: Wien. Stud. 5, 1883, 177–204.

Rzach

H. Sauppe, Commentatio de Philodemi libro qui fuit de pietate, Göttingen 1864.

Sauppe

“Aus Philodemus Buche περὶ εὐσεβείας”, in: Philologus 21, 1864, 139–141.

Sauppe2

M. von Schanz, Specimen Criticum ad Platonem et Censorinum pertinens,

Schanz

Göttingen 1867.

G. Schmid, Philodemea, St. Petersburg 1885.

Schmid

“Ad papyrus Graecas, praesertim Herculanenses coniecturae”, in: Bulletin

Schmid2

de l’académie Impériale des Sciences de St.-Pètersbourg 22/2, 1905, 013– 035.

Schmidt

M. Schmidt (ed.), Didymi Chalcenteri grammatici Alexandrini fragmenta

Schober

A. Schober (ed.), Philodemi De pietate pars prior, Diss. Königsberg 19233.

quae supersunt omnia, Leipzig 1854.

“Ein Homerzitat bei Philodem περὶ εὐσεβείας”, in: Rh. Mus. 70, 1915, 638–

Schober

2

639.

apud R. Wagner (ed.), Mythographi Graeci. I, Apollodori Bibliotheca, Leip-

Staverenus

zig 1894.

F.W. Sturz (ed.), Pherecydis fragmenta … fragmenta Acusilai, Gera 1789.

Sturz

Pherecydis fragmenta … fragmenta Acusilai, editio altera, Leipzig 1824.

Sturz2 Welcker

F.G. Welcker (ed.), Hesiodus, Theogonie, Elberfeld 1865.

West

apud EGM

Westermann

U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Platon, Berlin 19202.

Wilamowitz Wilamowitz

A. Westermann, Gerardi Ioannis Vossii de historicis Graecis libri tres auc-

tiores et emendatiores, Leipzig 1838.

2

Pindaros, Berlin 1922.

XVI  Abbreviations and Editions Wilamowitz3

‟Pherekydesˮ, in: SPAW 1926, 125–146 (= Kleine Schriften, 5.2, Berlin 1937, 127–156).

 Introduction . Life and Works Acusilaus’ life is shrouded in mystery: despite what happened with his illustrious colleague Hecataeus of Miletus, for whom one can infer something from Herodotus’ Histories,1 very scanty evidence for him is available. Acusilaus’ name, Ἀκουσίλαος, is sometimes attested differently: T 4 EGM (= Men. Rhet. 338.5, p. 14 Russell-Wilson, cf. fr. 45A) has Ἀκουσίλεως, which occurs three times in the LGPN (between the 4th and 3rd cent. BC in Thrace and in the Cimmerian Bosporus), and fr. 9 (Phld. piet. N 1088 VII, cf. fr. 6c) has Ἀκουσιλάς, which has twelve occurrences (esp. in Crete, but also in Rhodes, in sites of the Adriatic Sea like Issa, in the Cyclades, in the Cimmerian Bosporus, 4th cent. BC and after). The lexicon of the Suda gives details of his father’s name, Cabas,2 of his hometown, Argos, and of his φάτρα, Cercadai (T 1 EGM = Sud. α 942 Adler). The text of the Suda actually states that Acusilaus was an Argive from the town of Cercas close to Aulis. This information is likely to derive from a misunderstanding that occurred in antiquity: Aulis would seem to be a mistaken version of Nauplia and Cercas (IACP, 601) might stem from the Argive φάτρα, Cercadai (cf. IG IV 530, SEG XXIX 361). This reconstruction has been proposed by Fowler EGM II, 623.3 Cabas is a very obscure name, since there are no other occurrences. Pàmias (2015, 65) has illustrated the possibility that the entry in the Suda was influenced by Acusilaus’ treatment of the Cabeiri in fr. 20: accordingly, ancient biographers may have drawn on this piece of information to name his father and may have inferred the family’s involvement with homonymous mysteries. Also, in Pàmias’ view (2015, 66–67) the mention of a city like Cercas near Aulis is to be believed: first of all, it is relevant that Acusilaus was said to have come from the Boeotian coastline in order to prove his relationship with Hesiod,4 and secondly that this area was wellknown for bronze craftsmanship, a piece of information that matches the anec-

 1 Herodotus’ portrait of Hecataeus is, however, far from being a trustworthy testimony: see S.R. West 1991. 2 T 11a EGM (= D.L. 1.41) names Acusilaus’ father as Κάβα or Σκάβρας, a name attested three times in the LPGN: see Fowler EGM II, 623. 3 See also Piérart 2000, 298–300. 4 As Jacoby 19572, 375 recognized. Toye, BNJ, ad loc. proposes that the Suda may have confused two different authors named Acusilaus: the first, Acusilaus of Argos, and a second from Boeotia, an alleged forebear of the local historiography of his birthplace. This hypothesis is risky and unnecessarily duplicates the entities involved. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110618600-001

2  Introduction dote about the discovery of bronze tablets on which Acusilaus was to base his work (cf. § 1.3). On this point, the loss of certain types of evidence, especially archaeological evidence, may skew our interpretation: however, the hypothesis that the Suda drew from Acusilaus’ text and from his (widely accepted) relationship with Hesiod for these lines deserves consideration. The most controversial issue is chronological collocation: the Suda calls him simply ἱστορικὸς πρεσβύτατος, a “very ancient historiographer” and both Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Thuc. 5.1–3 = T 2 EGM) and Flavius Josephus (Ap. 1.13 = T 3 EGM) place him generically before the Persian and Peloponnesian Wars. Upon closer investigation of surviving fragments, modern scholars have attempted to individuate a more precise collocation, especially taking into account (more or less) likely intertextual relationships with other authors. In particular, a group of scholars since Mazzarino (1966, 60, 70) has placed Acusilaus in the first half of 6th cent. BC, previous to the other most ancient mythographer, Hecataeus of Miletus, thus challenging Jacoby’s arrangement in his collection. According to Mazzarino, it is undeniable that Acusilaus, with his cosmogonic interests, shared an intellectual milieu with Epimenides of Crete (600–590 BC). This assumption is strengthened by a textual reference (in frs. 9–10 both Acusilaus and Epimenides know a story in common about the Hesperides) and by Acusilaus’ occasional inclusion among the Seven Sages (T 11a EGM = D.L. 1.41; T 11b EGM = Clem Al. Strom. 1.59.5).5 Other arguments have been put forward in support of this chronology: Pellegrini (1974, 161–162) mentions fr. 23 as testimony of a polemic with the local epic poem Phoronis, and, more broadly, the whole section on Argive genealogies (including frs. 24 and 25) matches well with the political situation of the Peloponnesian cities (Argos, Tiryns and Sparta) in 6th cent. BC. Consequently, Acusilaus must have worked before the Battle of Sepeia (494 BC). As I will argue in the commentary on the Argive section, the political situation inferrable from these fragments has little to do with Acusilaus’ chauvinism (Pellegrini 1974) or with his treatment of sources (Fontana 2012, 405–411), but is mainly based on the interpretation of Homer. Also, Lanzillotta 2009 posits Acusilaus prior to Hecataeus: in particular, he sees in a fragment by Hecataeus (FGrHist 1 F 102c), which deals with the river Inachus, a polemic against Acusilaus’ fr. 23, in which Inachus is said to be Phoroneus’ father. Lanzillotta believes that this Argive version of Inachus’ story, which Hecataeus directly attacked, stems from Acusilaus’ work, but one cannot exclude the possibility that someone else before him told this story or that Hecataeus was referring to oral accounts that he came to know independently. All in all, these speculations are based only on opinions that cannot be further  5 Mazzarino’s interpretation has recently been endorsed by Pàmias 2015, 69.

Life and Works  3

investigated. In Acusilaus’ case, the total lack of references to him and his biography, together with the absence of incontrovertible termini post quem and ante quem, makes it particularly difficult to establish a positive chronology. Perhaps the safest thing is to place him at the end of 6th century among the most ancient prose-writers, following that to which ancient sources testify.6 In ancient testimonies, Acusilaus is named ἱστορικός (T 1 EGM), ἱστοριογράφος (T 5 EGM) and ἀρχαῖος συγγραφεύς (T 2 EGM).7 If the first two labels are inappropriate, since they refer to a literary genre that would emerge only later (cf. § 1.3), the last well suits his broad interests, including cosmogony, theogony, and the most remote eras of Greece’s past. Calame 2004, 232 has proposed translating συγγραφεύς as “compiler, collector”: according to his analysis, the main task of a συγγραφεύς was to collect information encompassing what we now regard as rhetoric, philosophy, politics, medicine, and history. His aim was to be at society’s service in the manner of a poet. Acusilaus’ task did include what Calame identified in his research but, as far as the meaning of συγγραφεύς is concerned, it seems to be more generically that of “prose-writer”.8 Only one work has been attributed to Acusilaus, entitled Γενεαλογίαι (T 1 EGM, fr. 3) or Περὶ Γενεαλογιῶν (fr. 37) and once cited as ἱστορίαι (fr. 1). Modern scholarship refers to it with the title Genealogies, as with the work of Hecataeus of Miletus. The report that his book was forged (T 7 EGM = Sud. ε 360 Adler) is not trustworthy, since parts of his text were cited by an ancient witness like Plato (fr. 6a, cf. 23a).9 Like all extant pieces of early Greek mythography, Acusilaus’ Genealogies are written in Ionic dialect and in prose (cf. § 1.7). A peculiarity of his book set among those of his peers is the dedication of the opening section to a theogony: however, for want of evidence we will never know whether this choice was actually so isolated.10 This circumstance, however, is still  6 Cf. Fowler EGM II, 624. 7 Over this passage, modern debate runs hot: while it is generally agreed that Dionysius’ claims should not be taken at face value (contra Gozzoli 1970–1971 and Toye 1995), complete scepticism on its trustworthiness (as displayed in Porciani 2001, 34–63, esp. 59–63, and 2006, 176–181) has, however, been slightly downplayed by Fowler 1996, 63–64 (20132, 48–49) and more recently EGM II, 673–674. 8 For instance, in Plat. Phaedr. 235c and 257d–258d, the generic meaning of “prose-writers” fits the context better. See Ferrucci 2000, 110–111, according to whom συγγραφεῖς are not necessarily also λογογράφοι. 9 According to Fowler EGM II, 624, this accusation might be a response to the claim Acusilaus made that he had “copied” his text from the bronze tablets dug up in his garden. 10 In their editions, Müller and Jacoby postulated the existence of a theogonic section for Pherecydes of Athens as well. This view has been dismissed by later scholarship: see Uhl 1963, 13–15, Dolcetti 2004, 21–23, Fowler EGM II, 713.

4  Introduction striking and is perhaps responsible for Acusilaus’ occasional presence in the number of the Seven Sages (T 11a, b EGM; see Fowler 2001, 105). Ancient witnesses mention Book 1 and Book 3 of the Genealogies: from this we can infer that Acusilaus’ work spanned across at least three books. Fr. 1, which is about Achelous’ prominence, is allocated to the first book: it presumably dealt with theo-cosmogonic themes. Frs. 2, 3 and 4 are from Book 3 and are all connected with Homer (with the content of his poems but also with Homeric tradition in general, as is the case with fr. 2 about the location of the Homerids). This most likely means that frs. 39–43, with their Homeric content, were part of Book 3, while frs. 6–22 are to be placed in Book One.

. Sources and Testimonies Our knowledge of the texts of early Greek mythography is, unfortunately, not direct but exclusively indirect. In the case of Acusilaus, we have the incredible luck to be able to work with a long word-for-word quotation preserved in a miscellaneous papyrus (fr. 22): but this is an exception rather than the rule. Sources are manifold, but for Acusilaus there are some recurring witnesses: Philodemus in his De pietate (where he appears 8 times), Ps. Apollodorus’ Library (9 times), and above all scholiastic literature (19 times). In the latter case, one often finds materials from the D-scholia to Homer, usually known as “Mythographus Homericus” (here Acusilaus appears 5 times). There are also very early citations, like that by Plato (fr. 6a and a possible allusion to fr. 23a). As far as the chronological range is concerned, a testimony by the Suda speaks of a hypomnema to Acusilaus composed during the age of Hadrian by Sabinus. If true, this information would imply that his Genealogies were still available at that time (T 12 EGM = Sud. α 942 Adler).11 The most substantial amount of material comes from scholia (esp. on Pindar and Apollonius of Rhodes): this is evidence of the way in which Acusilaus text was primarily received, namely as an erudite source for mythological discussion. This kind of testimony has an interest in shedding light on points of detail and it is highly likely that their writers attempted to do so by consulting compendia.12  11 Bultrighini 1990, 83 finds that Pausanias’ interest in Acusilaus, together with the alleged existence of this commentary, testify to the mythographer’s success in the age of Hadrian. Porciani 2001, 26–27 thinks that the Suda may have drawn on the work of Sabinus when it speaks of the bronze tablets in T 1 (ἃς λόγος εὑρεῖν). 12 On ancient Greek scholarship and its formation, see Dickey 2007 and Montana 2011, along with further critical literature.

Sources and Testimonies  5

In his consistent attempts to dismiss foolish ancient beliefs about Greek gods and heroes in the first book of De pietate, Philodemus mentions Acusilaus always in connection with other authorities in the field of mythography, like Hesiod, Epimenides of Crete, and Pherecydes of Athens. As Cameron 2004, 94–95 has persuasively argued, the way in which he cites Acusilaus strongly suggests that Philodemus did not know his text at first hand but based his exposition on some kind of mythological compendia.13 Philodemus engaged in a clear dispute with such authorities and mentioned them one after the other in order to achieve an effect of rhetorical “accumulation”. Among their number, Acusilaus happens to be the most cited: in every case but one Philodemus uses him when discussing theogonic issues (Salati 2012, 214): whether this is because he had access only to the contents of Books 1 and 2 (directly or via a compendium) is not possible to say. However, what matters most is that as a source Philodemus was not entirely devoted to transmitting Acusilaus’ text in its original form. His implementation of early mythographic materials is very well described by Salati 2012, with discussion of related passages. The problems with Ps. Apollodorus’ citations in his Library, the peak of actual mythography, are similar in ways. Differently from Philodemus, here the impersonal character of the narration has perhaps misled scholars in their assessment of the value of its citations. There has been a long debate over Ps. Apollodorus’ treatment of myth and his sources, which must have served as intermediaries between him and the earliest texts he mentions (Cameron 2004, Kenens 2013). However, considerable papyrological discoveries regarding the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women have shown substantial agreement with the Library in the narrative section where they overlap (M.L. West 1985, 44–45). By contrast, when handling theogony, Ps. Apollodorus’ arrangement has been proven different from that of Hesiod’s Theogony with its Orphic elements (M.L. West 1985, 121– 126).14 The reason he treated these Hesiodic poems so differently is an unsolved problem, one that should lead us to (at least partially) reconsider M.L. West’s position (see the useful summary in Most 2017, 230–233, also discussing the views of West and Cameron on the issue). Moreover, in recent years (Tzraskoma 2013) Ps. Apollodorus’ own creative contribution to the shaping of his materials has been also highlighted. This should warn the reader not to take Ps. Apollodorus as

 13 On this point see also Salati 2012, 233. On Philodemus and his mythographic sources, see Henrichs 1975. 14 As a consequence Acusilaus, due to his connection with Hesiod, might have been associated with Orphic theogonies himself (esp. frs. 6b and c).

6  Introduction a faithful witness, considering both his range of possible intermediate sources and his literary engagement with them. The D-Scholia to the Iliad (and its Odyssean equivalent, the V-Scholia) include parts of a Greek mythographical work, conventionally said to come from the pen of the “Mythographus Homericus” (henceforth MH). The MH’s work is also known through direct transmission, since matching papyri (from 1st cent. AD) have been discovered,15 a circumstance which testifies that the subscriptions appended to the historiae are not as late as some have thought.16 Over the scope and nature of this mythographical work scholars have been in debate since the 19th century.17 It was arranged in historiae that followed the narrative order of the Homeric poem: a historia was basically a narrative gloss, which expanded on what was only briefly alluded to in the quoted verses. These stories deal with both well-known and obscure pieces of Greek mythology, and they do so without recording variants and dissenting voices, displaying only one among the possible narratives (van Rossum Steenbeek 1998, 87). At the end of these narratives we find subscriptions like ἡ ἱστορία παρὰ “X” or “X” ἱστορεῖ. The level of accuracy of such pieces has also been debated: in scholarly discourse one finds sceptical positions, like those taken by Schwartz 1881, 441–445 and Cameron 2004, 104–106, while van der Valk 1963, 342–413 and Montanari 1995, 141–143, 154–164 are more optimistic about their value.18 In most cases, when it is possible to put their testimony to the test,19 the subscriptions seem to be more or less reliable as far as  15 Discussion on the papyri and their relationship to the text of the scholia is to be found in Montanari 1995 and van Rossum Steenbeek 1998, 85–118, who come to partially differing conclusions. A new edition of the D-Scholia by van Thiel is available online at http://kups.ub. unikoeln.de/1810/. For the one case of a papyrus containing the MH’s commentary on the Odyssey (PSI X 1173), see Luppe 1996, van Rossum Steenbeek 1998, 99–100, Montanari 2002, Pontani 2005, 126–130. 16 Schwartz 1881 thought them to have been added by Byzantine scholars. 17 Since Schwartz 1881 and his hypothesis on the genesis of the corpus, which is now untenable after the discovery of the papyri. The contribution of modern scholarship is well outlined in Meliadò 2015, 1086–1088. 18 Lünstedt 1961, II–IV, who defends their validity, offers a survey of these subscriptions. Van Rossum Steenbeek 1998, 111 presents all three cases in which subscriptions preserved in papyri do not match the corresponding ones in the scholia. A very intricate issue is that regarding the relationship between the MH, which sometimes recorded the name of Apollodorus in the subscriptions, and the Library: see the latest contribution by Pagès 2017, also for a discussion of previous scholarship on the subject. 19 See the case of the historia in Σ V Hom. Od. 13.259 p. 570 Dindorf, about Idomeneus’ nostos to Crete. The historia is here attributed to Lycophron. While in Homer the Cretan hero successfully makes his return to his homeland (Od. 3.191–192), Lycophron has him die in Colophon together with the seers Calchas and Sthenelus (Alex. 424–438). This episode, however, takes place

Writing Genealogies: Scope, Aims, and Strategies  7

contents are concerned. However, each case must be assessed separately: as will be shown in the commentary on frs. 39 and 43, linguistic nuances prove that the story has been reshaped to meet later narrative standards. And, as van Rossum Steenbeek 1998, 90 notes, “although the subscriptions mention many authors, the phrasing does not modulate with respect to changes in authorship. On the contrary, similar wording and constructions occur in stories which are ascribed to different authors”. The style of those narratives is the same as that of the hypotheseis of epics, tragedies and comedies: short sentences, simple syntax and vocabulary, and extensive use of participles (Pàges 2017, 77). Lastly, both Ps. Apollodorus’ Library and the MH are to be handled with care and ought not be expected to be fully accurate when it comes to citing earlier mythographers.20 All in all, two points emerge from this discussion: the first is that we should beware of how our sources dealt with Acusilaus and how they became acquainted with his work. Secondly, two-thirds of extant fragments come from scholiastic or properly mythographic collections: this circumstance greatly affects our sense of Acusilaus’ production, since it has all been reduced to its informative value. This was the interest that those sources had at heart: their aim was to bring to light precious and lesser-known narrative passages in order to embellish their mythological discussion further. Thus the fragments do not allow a reconstruction of narrative style, narrative patterns, or Acusilaus’ possible engagement as first-person narrator.

. Writing Genealogies: Scope, Aims, and Strategies Genealogical literature usually appears to modern readers as a peripheral and, all in all, a lower-level genre. This assumption, however, is based especially on its evolution in later times, when it moved from a relatively central position, on a par with historiography, to the margins, into a category modern scholars call sub-literary, providing readers with information they needed for other purposes (understanding poetry, ornamenting orations, showing off at educated

 after Idomeneus’ return to Crete, where he discovers that Leuco has usurped his kingship (1214– 1223). The scholium says that after a storm occurs during the trip from Troy the hero finds shelter in Colophon, where he dies: a piece of the story that does not belong to Lycophron, despite the subscription ἡ δὲ ἱστορία παρὰ L. 20 See the remarks by Pagès 2017, 78, who agrees on the fact that “traces of genuine texts by early Greek mythographers are hardly recognizable” since they are summarized and “those abridgements seem to have led to the loss of the originals”.

8  Introduction parties, etc.) rather than being read in its own right as statement of cultural patrimony, often with contentious interpretations. (Fowler 2016, 43)

The description of its later manifestations is far from the first genealogists like Hecataeus of Miletus, Pherecydes of Athens, and Acusilaus himself. Their activity was far from being that of an erudite antiquarian such as the author of Ps. Apollodorus’ Library was: on the contrary, archaic genealogists were involved in the reshaping of the inherited lore, including cosmogonies and the very first stages of human history, in order to make a difference in their own times.21 This is especially true for Hecataeus of Miletus, who is portrayed by Herodotus in the role of the “tragic warner” in the fifth book of the Histories. Also, Hecataeus’ encounter with the Egyptian priests, usually regarded as a product of Herodotean fiction (S.R. West 1991), perhaps draws on a related fact, namely that Hecataeus was especially keen on proving the nobility and exceptional nature of his own lineage (in this passage Herodotus claims that he attempted to prove that his family had a divine forebear). In the case of Pherecydes a specific relationship of commitment to Cimon has been proposed (Piccirilli 1985, 68, 71; Dolcetti 2004, 9–16), and for Acusilaus we can take into consideration the section of extant fragments dealing with the early history of Argos, which has often been read as a case of remarkably zealous patriotism. Genealogies had a political and socio-cultural relevance. Accordingly, they were fluid (to fit new circumstances as they evolved), selective, arranged in sections (branches that could involve and relate different people between them) and by means of filiation, patrilinear or matrilinear (Fowler 1998, 3–4).22 Perhaps this is one explanation for the (almost total) absence in Greek thought of a creator God shaping things and men. Notable exceptions to this tendency are Aphrodite/Philia in Empedocles and the more famous Demiurge in Plato’s Theaetetus, which would have dramatically decreased the creative engagement with the past arranged by Acusilaus and his peers.23 In addition, the nature of the catalogue itself, with its inclusion of long lists of sometimes obscure figures, discourages a certain approach to this kind of text:

 21 The “militant” nature of genealogies has been appreciated especially in Italian scholarship of the past century: see Nenci 1966, 642–643 and Tozzi 1966, 56 n. 3. This interpretation lies at the heart of the very useful overview on genealogists by Zunino 2015. 22 Finkelberg 2005, 65–89 focused on the matrilinearity displayed in the earliest genealogies: kingship through marriage would seem to prove that dynastic succession was through the female line (from father to son-in-law), a pattern shared initially by Hittite culture, in which queens played a powerful role. 23 See discussion in Solmsen 1963.

Writing Genealogies: Scope, Aims, and Strategies  9

the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women and the “Catalogue of Ships” included in the second book of the Iliad, for instance, are generally more appreciated for their documentary and antiquarian nature than for their poetic art. Nevertheless, this prejudice can easily be challenged if we consider the dynamic of oral communication and of composition-in-performance. As Minchin (1996) has demonstrated well, catalogues as well as narrative sections are part of the entertainment, a “performance within a performance” and a public display of the bard’s mastery: the longer the list, the more outstanding the reciter (Minchin 1996, 16).24 Thus, genealogical literature is also a display of virtuosity which, in Thucydides’ opinion (1.21.1), was without utility, providing only temporary amusement.25 Such amusement was also delivered in sections of narrative that must have numbered a good many, though in most cases they did not survive: ancient sources were much more interested in matters of detail than in reporting a whole story as it was narrated by Acusilaus or Hecataeus or Pherecydes.26 In spite of this limitation, we know that Greek genealogies were not arranged in king lists like those in the Bible: they were constantly interwoven with narrative pieces. This would be one reason why genealogies must have met audiences’ tastes for such a long time: Polybius (9.1.4) too disparaged this type of production and, some time earlier, Plato portrayed the sophist Hippias (Hipp. Mai. 285d) entertaining the Spartans with speeches about the lineages of men and heroes, the founding of ancient cities, and all sorts of antiquarian topics. In addition, Plato (Theaet. 174e–175b) found it ridiculous for men to prove their nobility by means of divine genealogies, as Hecataeus was said to have done in Egypt.27 A third relevant feature which has attracted attention relates to the development of critical scrutiny with the emergence of literacy. This line of enquiry has  24 The sense of the lists’ grandeur and impressiveness is magisterially described by Eco 2009, 15–18, 113–122. Perceau 2002, 13–35 has studied Homeric catalogues as a specific mode of enunciation, one which creates a sympathetic connection with the audience (185–197). 25 On the passage from Thucydides, see discussion in Ferrucci 2000, 110–112, who places emphasis on the performativity involved in the composition of these λογογράφοι. Thanks to a careful lexical investigation, Ferrucci rightly distinguishes them from those συγγραφεῖς mentioned by Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Thuc. 5.2). This does not mean, however, that Thucydides did not have some of the latter in mind, but rather that his focus was on performativity (λογογράφοι) and not on their activity of preserving memories of ancient times (συγγραφεῖς). 26 On the narrative character of ancient genealogical literature, see Varto 2015, 128–129, who posits that it consisted mainly of genealogical stories, rather than of lists. This assumption is not entirely supported by the evidence, yet it has the merit of reassessing the narrative aspect of such works, which, even if not predominant, was by all means important. 27 As Thomas 1989, 173 rightly notes, Plato did not find genealogies linking men with gods implausible, but only pointed out that they were irrelevant to the education of a nobleman.

10  Introduction been outlined notably by Thomas 1989 (and further studied by Bertelli 2001, Fowler 1998, 2–4, and others), and bases itself on the solid ground of anthropological evidence. It was already clear that perception of the earliest times was useful to communities’ self-definitions: cross-cultural studies have demonstrated that, especially in preliterate societies, “the individual has little perception of the past except in the terms of the present” (Goody/Watt 1963, 310). Pieces of historical memory, which no longer have relevance to the contemporary situation, were to be forgotten or replaced. From this perspective, one can easily imagine how both ancient and recent ancestors were to be remembered for their importance, while the generations between tended to be forgotten (anthropologists call this process of genealogical shrinkage “telescoping”: see Thomas 1989, 156–158). Literate approaches to lists inevitably led to a consistent arrangement of genealogies. However, while the impact of the new technology of writing on the genealogists’ enterprise is undeniable, scholars have also stressed that literacy was not decisive in the process: suffice it to consider how writing did not bring about the rise of critical examinations in Near Eastern literate cultures.28 Rather, writing actually enhanced the possibilities of comparing different data and rearranging genealogical lines between them, in order to reach consistency. This does not mean that genealogists were already concerned with chronology,29 but only that they made comparisons of the length and extension of branches and lines to overcome difficulties and to support their own reconstructions. Composing genealogies was a creative process (Thomas 1989, 190), especially in consideration of their sociocultural value: “it is not that there is no history at all in them, but history is only one ingredient in the recipe, and not often the most important one” (Fowler 1998, 3). This said, the social role of genealogies inevitably calls forth one of the most recent and stimulating installments in the study of ancient history, namely the notion of “intentional history” (intentionale Geschichte), borrowed from Medieval Studies and applied to the Greek world especially by Gehrke (esp. 1994, 2001 and 2010). This approach proved fruitful for describing the emergence of ethnic communities’ self-defined identities:

 28 Bertelli 2001, 68–72, with reference to the earlier bibliography (esp. the pioneering works by Goody/Watt, Ong, Hartog, and Havelock). Cf. also Lloyd 1987, 70–73. Comparative evidence stresses the importance of not considering catalogues and lists as a pure product of a literate mind: see Seydou’s (1989) observations on African Fulani poetry and some useful reflections by Calame 2006. 29 Pace Fontana 2012, 393–395. On this point, see Varto 2015, 122–128.

Writing Genealogies: Scope, Aims, and Strategies  11

members of a community do not assume that their identity is based on “soft” elements, such as intentionality or consciousness, but on hard facts of nature. They understand and describe themselves as a unit determined by physical factors, as a community of relatives who are connected through blood ties and who are descended from the same ancestors […] This is particularly important for the content and structure of intentional history. It does not only stress the early, even primordial origins of a community but its specific character as a group of relatives in a narrower and/or wider sense as well. We may speak of ‘invention of traditions’, but the group and its members (and not infrequently our own societies, too) consider these traditions to be true, and they believe in them; they are the core of their identity. (Gehrke 2010, 17)

When it comes to the earliest periods of history, such a creative engagement with the past comes swiftly into action: the present dimension mirrors itself onto ancient ages, in order to provide an authoritative explanation for and to legitimize the contemporary situation. A self-evident instance of this process is the creation of leaders for colonial undertakings: they often are fictitious figures, built up to represent the origins, and consequently the identity-based roots, of the community.30 These slanted retrospective accounts are not to be regarded as deliberate distortions of truth: on the contrary, they are indicative of the examined social group and of the intimate relationship between memory and identity (Giangiulio 2007, 23). This goes hand in hand with ethnicity not being associated with a biological race, but as a social construct primarily based on a shared myth of descent set in a specific territory, and then reinforced by linguistic, common religious and cultural features (Hall 2002, 9–19).31 The paradigm provided by “intentional history” is undoubtedly apt for approaching ancient Greek genealogies (Varto 2015), and Acusilaus especially, since there are fragments on Argive proto-history that might in part be read in terms of an Argive propaganda. However, its application to Hecataeus of Miletus is more difficult, since his “intentional” narrations seem not at all consistent with and do not go back to one single source.32 Also, for Acusilaus we have a theogonic section which seems not to be oriented at all by such needs of legitimization. The term itself can display ambiguities: what piece of history is not made through intentional choices?33 Moreover, if the past is conceived  30 Useful references for this issue are Musti 1985 and Pellizer 1991, 110–123, though they do not employ “intentional history” or related concepts. 31 Discussion on ethnicity in cultural terms has moved forward: see McInerney 1999 and Malkin 2001. Finkelberg 2005, 16–22 offers a clear overview of the most stimulating contributions on the subject. 32 See discussion in Fowler EGM II, 662–668. 33 As explained by Gehrke 2010, 16, the concept of intentionality comes from ethnosociology (Mühlmann) and deals with the sense of belonging to an ethnic group, which is determined not by biology but by subjective and collective self-categorization. This specific point fits the pattern

12  Introduction of only in light of the society’s present (“homeostatic” transformation), this nonetheless occurs by means of a process of selection, which keeps only those pieces of information that are of relevance for contemporary circumstances. This account of the process is far from stating that these stories were invented anew to fit new needs: “information that is retained still comes from the past” (Vansina 1985, 190–191). Perhaps it is preferable to speak of “cultural memory” (since J. Assmann 1992 and A. Assmann 2001).34 This category better formulates the way in which myth and history are not an antinomian pairing: every culture has a connective structure of memory, identity, and social continuity (J. Assmann 2011, 2–3) that underlies both myth and history. This is because cultural memory transforms factual into remembered history, thus turning it into myth. Myth is foundational history that is narrated in order to illuminate the present from the standpoint of its origins. […] Through memory, history became myth. This does not make it unreal – on the contrary, this is what makes it real, in the sense that it becomes a lasting, normative, and formative power. (J. Assmann 2011, 38)

Accordingly, discussion on whether Acusilaus, Hecataeus, and Pherecydes of Athens were historians did not make sense for their own time: their activity cannot be anachronistically defined in those terms. What is more, the emergence of literacy had an even more significant repercussion in the birth of literary prose. The literary genre of mythography, of which genealogies are one of the main components, had quite loose boundaries in the archaic age: a comparable attitude to enquiry into and speculations about the beginning of the world and the first stages of human history is to be found in the production of the so-called Presocratics. Nevertheless, the choice of prose to treat topics that were privileges of (epic, but also choral) poetry deserves careful consideration. If prose was the medium of authoritative speech as Goldhill 2002, 5 said, it is equally important to consider the conventions of literary communication. Prose texts were not exclusively conceived for specific occasions of performance, and their written nature allowed for their circulation far from the author’s presence (Fowler EGM II, XI–XII, Andolfi 2017, 196). It is a real pity that so little of the production of early mythographers has survived: while the “bones” of

 of genealogies very well, but the term, by including the word “history”, runs the risk of marking a distinction between myth and history that it theoretically denies. 34 The Assmanns’ research on the topic of memory owes much to Halbwachs and his definition of “collective memory”, on which see J. Assmann 2011, 21–23.

Writing Genealogies: Scope, Aims, and Strategies  13

genealogies had more chances of transmission for their informative character, which attracted the attention of scholars and collectors of information (whose son was “x”, who gave birth to “y”, where the “z” family was settled in antiquity…), on the other hand the “flesh” of such works, including narrative sections, survived only in very rare circumstances. Their simple and paratactic style probably appeared too underdeveloped to ancient sources in comparison with that of Herodotus, so that they did not bother to cite such passages extensively. Luckily enough, in the case of Acusilaus one can form an idea of his style thanks to fr. 22, a passage preserved in a miscellaneous papyrus. However, what may seem an elementary and rather unpolished style is likely to have been consistent with a particular literary taste, since, as Bravo (2001, 84–85) has argued, it is similar, as far as one can tell, to that of the fragments of the “Epic Cycle”, where the narration is swift and concise (cf. § 1.7). In addition, the highly disputed passage on the earliest prose writers by Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Thuc. 5.5) makes mention of the charm, χάρις, of these works – a notable feature that helped them survive for so long. In Acusilaus’ work we are lacking any sign of authorial presence or comments regarding any of the aspects involved in writing genealogies.35 Perhaps for this reason, some scholars have emphasized the role of a brief statement in the Suda (α 942 Adler = T 1 EGM) which mentions that when Acusilaus composed his work, he based it on some bronze tablets he found in his father’s back garden: Ἀκουσίλαος· Κάβα υἱός· Ἀργεῖος ἀπὸ Κερκάδος πόλεως οὔσης Αὐλίδος πλησίον. ἱστορικὸς πρεσβύτατος. ἔγραψε δὲ Γενεαλογίας ἐκ δέλτων χαλκῶν, ἃς λόγος εὑρεῖν τὸν πατέρα αὐτοῦ ὀρύξαντά τινα τόπον τῆς οἰκίας αὐτοῦ. Acusilaus: son of Caba. He was an Argive from the city of Cercas, close to Aulis. He is a very ancient historian. He wrote Genealogies based on bronze tablets, which a story recounts that his father discovered after having dug up a place in his house.

While Mazzarino (1966, 61) read this testimony enthusiastically as witness to the dawn of historiography being based on ancient documents, more recently Pàmias 2015 has stressed the meta-literary value of this story. In his opinion, the very opening formula points specifically to the proem of the Genealogies (56: ἃς λόγος εὑρεῖν seeming to recall expressions like τάδε λέγειν in Hec. fr. 1 EGM, an adventurous reconstruction). Moreover, the metal on which these texts were inscribed, bronze, also seems a meaningful element, since in ancient Greek mythology

 35 Mazzarino 1966, 60–61 (cf. Fontana 2012, 385) perhaps over-interpreted the anecdote of the bronze tablets in T 1 in this regard.

14  Introduction metalworkers are often associated with particular properties of sight and consequently with transcendental knowledge (62). Such critical views have had the merit of reassessing the scope of a testimony too easily dismissed: however, we cannot know just where the Suda took its cue for this phrase about Acusilaus. To trust the lexicon as a faithful witness referring to Acusilaus’ own words is difficult to do, also in consideration of the fact that the same Suda, in quite a similar manner, recounts that Pherecydes (of Athens, but this testimony is better attributed to Pherecydes of Syros) gained his exceptional knowledge from some secret Phoenician books (T 1 EGM = Sud. φ 214 Adler).36 These preliminary remarks notwithstanding, this passage still has something significant to tell us about the reception of his work, a reception that was probably (but not definitely) oriented by something he himself wrote.37 Moreover, we should keep in mind that the discovery of an old, forgotten document is a very ancient literary topos, dating at least from the epics of Gilgamesh (Fowler EGM II, 4 n. 4). What may have prompted the Suda’s sources to make this whole story up is not simply Acusilaus’ sensitivity to the role of the written record, but more importantly the secret and elite character of such knowledge, which was kept hidden from indiscrete eyes. What is especially relevant is where the tablets were located: while Pherecydes and his polymathy were best explained by postulating the use of very ancient and erudite material from abroad (this would explain the presence of the Phoenicians), in the case of Acusilaus everything connected with his book starts in his father’s garden, in his family house. He is the heir to his family’s tradition, transmitted from father to son: and what else would one have expected from a book on genealogies (cf. Jacob 1994, 181–182)? As briefly mentioned above, another element on which Pàmias has focused his attention is the metal on which the text is alleged to have been engraved:  36 On the practice of hiding books, see Andolfi 2017, 193–194. 37 Cf. Fowler EGM II, who believes that this story might come from the proem of the book. The Suda’s account is maintained as trustworthy in Toye 2016, who proposed to see it as testimony to Acusilaus’ activity as a chrêsmologos: according to this adventurous hypothesis, the content of the bronze tablets consisted of oracles. At this point, Toye should have mentioned how these prophecies fit within the genealogical account of Acusilaus’ book: one interesting parallel not mentioned by Toye would be the “prophecy on the past” that Aristotle (Rhet. 3.17.10) attributed to Epimenides of Crete, who has often been mentioned in relation to Acusilaus. Nevertheless, while for Epimenides a rich biographical legend flourished, as testified by the account of Diogenes Laertius, for Acusilaus this would be an isolated piece of evidence. It is more likely then that Epimenides’ legend influenced the invention of the anecdote about Acusilaus. See also Porciani 2001, 26–27, who put forward the hypothesis that the Suda is not paraphrasing Acusilaus’ text (or its forgery), but an ancient hypomnema to it (based on his interpretation of the expression ἃς λόγος εὑρεῖν).

A Cosmogony in Prose: How to Challenge Hesiod and the Poets (Frs. 1 and 6–22)  15

bronze, which can be linked to prophesying and significant alterations of sight.38 Still, this should not be taken too far: Acusilaus (and his father) are not moulding bronze, they are only said to have discovered inscribed bronze tablets. Our focus should instead be on the difference between bronze and other materials. To this end, a line from Sophocles’ Women of Trachis is illuminating. Deianira tells the chorus that she scrupulously followed the Centaur’s instructions like they were indelible writing on a bronze tablet (l. 683, χαλκῆς ὅπως δύσνιπτον ἐκ δέλτου γραφήν, literarily: “writing hard to wash out”): by saying this, she underlines that she remembered the precise words by heart. The hapax δύσνιπτον “serves to emphasise the hardness, the stability with which the writing has implanted itself […] as opposed to the ease with which a message written on a waxed tablet could be erased” (Ceccarelli 2013, 203). Returning to Acusilaus, what bronze evokes is precisely the same idea of a message that cannot be wiped away, of a fixed text jealously preserved within his family. Lastly, this anecdote may also indicate an ancient interpretation of Acusilaus as sharing features with Orphism, especially when it comes to non-Hesiodic theogonies (cf. § 1.4). This is not to claim that he actually shared something with Orphism, but that similarities in content (writing about theogony and sometimes differently from Hesiod: cf. fr. 6) may have led ancient commentators to see them as close to each other (cf. T 4 EGM by Menander Rhetor, listing Hesiod, Acusilaus and Orpheus together). Moreover, the selectiveness of the revealed truth and the importance of written transmission in Orphic tradition (detected by Detienne 1989, 113–115)39 may also have contributed to establishing a connection for later sources.

. A Cosmogony in Prose: How to Challenge Hesiod and the Poets (Frs. 1 and 6–22) Among his peers, Acusilaus was the only one who, as far as we can tell, opened his Genealogies with a section on theogony. Despite the scantiness of our evidence, this circumstance has its significance. In antiquity, he was regarded as an authority when it came to genealogies of gods and his reputation as Hesiod’s

 38 See the first part of the book by Camassa 1983, and more recently Blakely 2006 for a crosscultural approach. 39 Further thoughts on this topic in Funghi 1997, 29, who interestingly notices that in Orphic tradition there is an inclination to keep the text open, so that despite its written nature it does not come to a crystallization.

16  Introduction imitator testifies to this as well. Also, Menander Rhetor (338.5) considered Acusilaus an exponent of mythical/genealogical hymns together with Hesiod and Orpheus: he and the poets must have had a lot in common. He seems to be the only one among genealogists to dedicate a whole opening section to such themes: though even Hecataeus did not reject the possibility of making a history of the gods,40 neither he nor Pherecydes seem to have devoted the first section of their works to such issues. In this regard, Acusilaus is closer to the Presocratics’ interests in cosmology – even if they developed these interests in considerably different directions: for this reason, Acusilaus appears not only in Jacoby’s Fragmente, but also in the collection by Diels-Kranz. Again, Epimenides treated similar topics, but he seems to have done so in poems and not prose and, more importantly, he is not a genealogist proper. The two probably shared some preoccupations but developed them differently. Similar ideas can be put forward regarding Eumelus of Corinth, who for his focus on Corinthian history is far closer to Acusilaus, however, than Epimenides. But differently from Argos, Corinth had not had the good fortune of being sung in any significant epic poem: Eumelus’ Corinthiaca had to fill a serious gap for the identity of its community.41 A significant parallel literary production that deserves serious consideration is that of Pherecydes of Syros, another archaic figure surrounded by an aura of mystery, and usually included among the Presocratics. His contribution to the emergence of philosophical speculation has primarily to do with theological rather than physical aspects, “since nature and divinity are tied together in the tradition of which Hesiod is the primary representative” (Granger 2007, 135). He was credited in antiquity, together with Anaxagoras, as the first author to have published a book in prose (cf. the testimonies discussed by Schibli 1990, 2–5), and this circumstance connects Acusilaus more closely with him than Epimenides. He too was sometimes included in the canon of the Seven Sages (T 4 Schibli = R 10 L.–M. = D.L. 1.42). Reaction to Hesiod’s theogony was part of an intellectual climate that would ultimately lead to actual philosophy: Acusilaus and Pherecydes of Syros were on the side of early Milesian thinkers as well. Furthermore, these specific interests in theo-cosmogony were especially shared by the Pythagorean school and by Orphic tradition. This is not, however, to claim that a close relationship existed between them: on the contrary, Pherecydes’ theogony maintained the existence without generation of three cosmic entities, Zas (Zeus),

 40 For instance, in fr. 21 he maintained that Perseus was the son of Zeus and Danaë. Moreover, according to Herodotus (2.143.4), when he met the Egyptian priests Hecataeus claimed that his genealogy was sixteen generations in length and that its first member was a god. 41 Cf. the observations by M.L. West 2002, 125–126.

A Cosmogony in Prose: How to Challenge Hesiod and the Poets (Frs. 1 and 6–22)  17

Chronos and Chthonie and, as far as one can tell from the evidence, he consistently refrained from sketching a genealogical development in the first part of his theogony (for instance, Chronos produced elements from his own seeds), while only in the second generation do we find the union of two elements giving birth to offspring (the evidence is outlined and discussed in Schibli 1990, 14–21). And what is more important, early Greek philosophers, Pherecydes included, did not focus on heroic and human genealogies. So the first section of the Genealogies sets Acusilaus in a territory distant from genealogists proper: this notwithstanding, the simultaneous presence of both elements, the theogonic and the genealogical, marks a significant difference between Acusilaus and Pherecydes of Syros (as well as Epimenides). Ancient commentators seem to have had difficulty too in defining Acusilaus’ literary identity, and they found in Hesiod the closest available model for his book, thanks to the alleged predominance of catalogues interwoven with narrative sections: this is because in the Hesiodic corpus one finds two poems of capital importance for reading the Genealogies, namely the Theogony for the first part and the Catalogue of Women for the second. If a structural similarity seems crystal clear, already in ancient times the specific nature of this relationship was interpreted in different ways. On the one hand, Clement of Alexandria wrote that Acusilaus (and also Eumelus of Corinth)42 rendered Hesiodic poetry into prose (T 5 EGM = Strom. 6.26.8 τὰ δὲ ῾Ησιόδου μετήλλαξαν εἰς πεζὸν λόγον καὶ ὡς ἴδια ἐξήνεγκαν Εὐμηλός τε καὶ ᾽Ακουσίλαος οἱ ἱστοριογράφοι); on the other, Flavius Josephus maintained that Acusilaus disagreed with Hesiod and confuted him in his work (T 6 EGM = Ap. 1.16 ὅσα μὲν ῾Ελλάνικος ᾽Ακουσιλάῳ περὶ τῶν γενεαλογιῶν διαπεφώνηκεν, ὅσα δὲ διορθοῦται τὸν ῾Ησίοδον ᾽Ακουσίλαος). Modern scholars have explained this contradiction variously:43 the best way to read these two testimonies is to consider their very similar agendas. Both Clement and Josephus wanted to prove a point: the former attempted to show that the Greeks did not develop

 42 Eumelus of Corinth was without doubt a poet: however, in this passage Clement perhaps refers to a version in prose of his poems, in particular of the cyclic Titanomachy, which was attributed to him in antiquity and treats a Hesiodic subject. This is suggested by Pausanias’ use (2.1.1) of Eumelus thanks to a prose version of his Corinthiaca: see Fowler EGM II, 656. 43 Fowler EGM II, 625–626 tests both Clement’s and Josephus’ claims by listing all the fragments whose themes are treated in Hesiod and comes to the conclusion that “the fragments clearly bear out Clement against Josephus, though of course both exaggerate for their own purposes” (626). By contrast, Lanzillotta 2005 privileges Josephus’ judgement: in his view, Josephus’ knowledge of Greek historiographers seems more accurate and his references pertinent, while Clement generally speaks of an appropriation of similar ideas (and not of plagiarism proper). Cf. Jacob 1994, 177–184.

18  Introduction original thinking on history and accused them of plagiarism, while the latter focused on how much different Greek historiographers diverged and, consequently, were not to be trusted. Their descriptions are highly biased and each chose the slant which suited best his argument. To contextualize and better assess Clement’s and Josephus’ judgements, we should look at the extant fragments. As far as one can tell, it seems that Clement refers to the theogonic section, while Josephus’ claim is proven correct in the fragments on Argive genealogies. They are both partially right. Whatever one’s views on Acusilaus’ debt to the Hesiodic corpus, we should not neglect that the “Epic Cycle” was also moulded by similar components – even if the narrative element here must have predominated over the catalogic element typical of Hesiod. The “Cycle” was not limited to poems dealing with the Trojan War, but also included compositions on the Theban saga and, as now seems probable, a Titanomachy44 (perhaps together with a Theogony: see D’Alessio 2015, 199–200). This is not to argue that Acusilaus had a specific model in mind, but only to suggest that he is not Herodotus and could have treated gods and humans on the same level as epic poets did. In the final analysis, genealogists’ works arranged in prose the contents of an epic cycle, which were seen as a continuous ‘whole’ and without interruptions among sections. Thus, Acusilaus chose as his starting point the births of the gods, and then moved forward to deal with the beginning of mankind and human genealogies: a very ambitious and epic treatment of the subject. Hesiod’s influence on this section of the Genealogies is indisputable. However, in this commentary it will be shown that Hesiod is not the only point of reference: in some instances, Acusilaus probably had a Homeric text in mind (an observation valid also for the second section, that on human history). This is, for example, especially true for: fr. 1, where the prominence of Achelous betrays a Homeric influence; fr. 2, which deals with the bardic guild of the Homerids; fr. 3, an undeniable case of Homeric exegesis (Acusilaus is cited in a scholion to Il. 23); fr. 4, about the Phaeacians; and fr. 9, on the role of Iris as messenger to all the gods. The rest of the surviving fragments actually deal mostly with Hesiodic subjects (a crystal clear case of this is fr. 15 above all, an explicit exegesis of a passage from the Works and Days), but not always. The most surprising case is that of fr. 6 (reported in four different testimonies: 6a, b, c, d), which treats the generation of  44 Debiasi 2004, 71–73 maintains that the author of the Titanomachy is Eumelus of Corinth, following M.L. West 2002, 110–118, despite the majority of ancient sources citing the poem as anonymous.

The Chauvinistic Acusilaus: How to Dismantle an Ancient Prejudice (Frs. 23–28)  19

Eros: unfortunately, the four witnesses all give details that do not match with one another and one struggles to attribute all the accounts to the same writer. All the problems brought up by this fragment will be discussed in the commentary: I can say here that the greatest complication is the conflation of Hesiodic and Orphic elements in the theogony, which is reminiscent of ancient judgements on Acusilaus and his literary enterprise. In addition, frs. 10, 14, 17, 20, 21 and 22 treat subjects that are extraneous to the Hesiodic corpus as we know it, or treat its subjects in an original way: these pieces of evidence are the most stimulating to analyze, since they allow modern readers to appreciate Acusilaus’ own contribution to the mythographic field.

. The Chauvinistic Acusilaus: How to Dismantle an Ancient Prejudice (Frs. 23–28) A long-standing scholarly prejudice posits Acusilaus as a prominent celebrator of his native city, a view supported in antiquity by Pausanias. Recent studies have left this picture unchallenged, but a systematic re-examination of the evidence leads to a partly differing conclusion. The key issues are two. The first is that the ancient epics affected Acusilaus in his emphasis of Argos’ emerging role in early Greek times. The second is that Pausanias’ accounts of the Argive tradition, which are highly responsible for the reception of Acusilaus as chauvinistic, were strongly influenced by the Athenian reworking of Argive mythical patterns, which presumably occurred at the time of the historical alliance between these two cities in 5th cent. BC. But what vision of past ages really belonged to Acusilaus? In this regard, it is particularly unfortunate that we are no longer able to read the local epic poem Phoronis, which is usually assumed to have played a central role in celebrating Argos and in informing Acusilaus’ account.45 Furthermore, the approximately ten surviving fragments of the poem deal with Argive topics only twice, and this circumstance is quite frustrating: in one of them (fr. 1 PEG, EGEF) Phoroneus, son of Inachus, is said to have been the first man on earth, in another (fr. 4 PEG, EGEF) there is mention of Callithyia, the first priestess of Hera in Argos. The rest of the surviving evidence does not deal explicitly with Argive traditions: one fragment is about the Phrygian smiths called Idaean (fr. 2 PEG, EGEF), one about the Couretes playing the flute (fr. 3 PEG, EGEF), another about Hermes  45 A Phoronis also appears in the list of Hellanicus’ books, but it is not clear what relationship there was between it and his Argolica: see Fowler EGM II, 684.

20  Introduction receiving his name from Zeus (fr. 5 PEG, EGEF), and a final fragment about Athena animating the battle (fr. 6 PEG, EGEF).46 So even if the title of this poem seems to speak for itself, we must be cautious about its content and about Acusilaus’ direct engagement with it. However, in fr. 23a Clement of Alexandria flagged intertextual relationships with the Phoronis, saying that Acusilaus made Phoroneus the first man and the poet of the Phoronis the father of mortal men. As will be argued at length in the commentary on this section, Argos represented the origins of early Greece in a wide range of testimonies which were not exclusively Argive: a first reason to free Acusilaus from this charge. We should entertain the possibility that, when referring to a very remote past where political boundaries were still quite blurred, Acusilaus used epic material as a source. When he speaks about Argos he is referring to its original and Homeric dimension, as if it were an embryonic Greece, united in its organization, but already displaying differences within it.47 The composition of Agamemnon’s army in the Iliad is itself a perfect metaphor for this dualism. As it turned out, in early times a primordial conception of Greece was hidden under the label of ‘Argos’. In charting his Argive genealogies, Acusilaus had in mind the prestigious tradition of the Homeric poems and not the Hesiodic corpus.48 In choosing Homer, and not the Catalogue of Women, we may envisage an “intentional” use of the evidence he might have had at hand. For instance, fr. 25 (from Ps. Apollodorus’ Library) is generally said to report another patriotic genealogy. In this peculiar account, Pelasgus is not the earthborn progenitor of the Arcadian people that he is in the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women, and this might again evoke an idea of chauvinism. If Pelasgus was the son of Niobe and Zeus like Argus, this means that Acusilaus was in some way denying and downgrading Arcadian claims for autochthony by putting their hero within the genealogical tree under Phoroneus, the real ‘father of all men’. Presumably this kinship might also have reflected the political situation of Acusilaus’ time, when Argos was allied to the Arcadian city Tegea against Sparta (in around 460 BC: cf. Hdt. 9.35). This habit of making the past closely resemble the present is borne witness by the role of ancient genealogies in preliterate societies  46 See commentary by Tsagalis EGEF, 409–432. 47 For this use in Homer, see Wathelet 1992, 99–106, and Brillante 2004, 37–39. The Catalogue of Women, on the contrary, meant by ‘Argos’ the city, with only one occurrence that seems to indicate the whole region: see Cingano 2004, 59. 48 See Koiv 2003, 313, who rightly sees the origins of Argive imperialism in the Archaic epics; contra Hall 1995, who lays his stress on the 5th century BC. The evidence of material culture also indicates the 8th century BC as a likely starting point for the Argive hegemony: see Morgan/ Whitelaw 1991.

The Chauvinistic Acusilaus: How to Dismantle an Ancient Prejudice (Frs. 23–28)  21

as social charters. Nevertheless, even in this circumstance a Homeric echo might have played a role. Though it is not possible to locate these people on a map following Homer’s divergent indications, in the second book of the Iliad the expression τὸ Πελασγικὸν Ἄργος (2.681), apparently a designation of Achilles’ realm, includes the Argolid, Peloponnese, and Thessaly: perhaps Acusilaus simply wished to explain why Argos was ‘Pelasgic’. I am not denying that Acusilaus may have shaped this genealogy, which was so important for defining and promoting the identity and the collective memory of his territory, according to the present circumstances. Yet such genealogical construction was not random, but had its roots in some kind of authoritative tradition, such as the Homeric epics. His work was in Ionic dialect, as if designed to reach a wide audience outside Argive boundaries, which one might regard as pan-Hellenic. Responsibility for this long-standing opinion lies principally with Pausanias, who dealt in the second book of his Periegesis with the Argolid and its traditions. For instance, in fr. 24 he explicitly shows his disappointment with Acusilaus’ genealogies: Acusilaus made Mycenaeus, son of Sparton, the eponymous hero of Mycenae. Sparton was Phoroneus’ son, and this was unacceptable for Pausanias, since the Spartans did not know any Sparton. Here too it is possible to scale down Acusilaus’ chauvinism by mentioning the role of the Argives in the epics. Moreover, Pausanias’ opinions have been shaped according to traditions, which are not proper to Argos, but belonged to the Athenian reworking of Argos’ image (Bultrighini 1990, 51–110). When Argos became Athens’ ally in the 5th century, Argive traditions were reshaped according to the new political situation to explain the new status of alliance through a mutual projection of past and present dimensions onto each other. This process was inevitable in order to depict Argos in the most reassuring way to the Athenians: its past as a conquering and unscrupulous power did not testify in favour of its reliability as a political ally.49 In the commentary on this section, it will be outlined how Pausanias’ perception of the Argive past was influenced by the Athenian political agenda. Evidence in this section deals mainly with the most remote times: fr. 23 is about Phoroneus and fr. 24 about his descendants, who would rule the Peloponnese, fr. 25 about the genealogies involving Argus and Pelasgus, fr. 26 about that of Io, fr. 27 about that of Argus Panoptes, and fr. 28 about the Proetides’ frenzy. As emerges from this summary, there are some important pieces missing: the most noticeable is the absence of any fragment dealing with the story of Danaus  49 For the interpretation of Argos as a rising and aggressive power that was about to replace the old and traditional realm of Thebes, see the brilliant essay by Musti 2004, on which much of the discussion in the commentary is based. Piérart 1985 and 1992 are also relevant to this point.

22  Introduction and his daughters, which would have been set between frs. 26 and 28. Regrettably too, important figures in Argive myth-history, like Melampus and Perseus, do not feature in the extant fragments. These circumstances considerably affect our appreciation of Acusilaus’ shaping of the Argive section, and make it risky to resort to an easy conclusion about his “intentional” engagement with it.

. Other Sagas: From Heracles to the Trojan War (Frs. 29–43) The third and last set of fragments brings together those dealing with heroic acts, which are not Argive proper. Several different topics are treated: Heracles’ saga, Boreas’ kidnapping of Orithyia, Zeus’ punishment of Actaeon, Deucalion and his offspring, the Argonauts’ saga and the Trojan War (which probably featured in the third book). As mentioned, the Trojan fragments may have been part of Book 3, like frs. 2–4, which all have a Homeric subject. However, special care should be taken in commenting on frs. 30, 39, 40, and 43, whose witness is the so-called “Mythographus Homericus”, a mythological commentary on the Iliad and the Odyssey which, according to modern scholars, dates to 1st cent. AD (see § 1.2). Of the various topics covered, Heracles is dealt with only in fr. 29: on this occasion Acusilaus connects the episode with Europa’s abduction by Zeus and maintains that the god did not turn into a bull, but simply sent one to abduct her.50 In fr. 30 he comments on another girl’s abduction: that of Orithyia by Boreas, which is part of the Athenian lore, while fr. 31 is about the death of their children. Fr. 33 treats the myth of Actaeon: here Acusilaus supports an almost unknown version of the events, whereby Zeus punishes Actaeon for desiring his aunt Semele. Fr. 34 presents his vision of Deucalion’s genealogy, according to which he is the son of Prometheus and Hesione, and fr. 35 must have been part of the famous account of Deucalion and Pyrrha generating the human race. Fr. 36

 50 The tendency towards a rationalistic mindset behind the storytelling of the early Greek mythographers has been identified especially in Hecataeus of Miletus’ fragments: this interpretation must be seriously qualified, considering that in some cases he eliminates what is regarded as especially irrational and fantastical not by his own choice but on the basis of local stories, as in the case of fr. 26 (see Andolfi 2017b, 91–93 on modern debate over Hecataeus’ rationalism and 93–99 for a discussion of allegedly rationalistic examples). Secondly, Hecataeus did not display rationalistic attitudes on a regular basis in the extant fragments (Fowler EGM II, 666–667). On Acusilaus’ rationalism much less has been written: see Fowler 1996, 72 n. 72 (20132, 61 n. 72), and Fontana 2012, 412, who speaks of a rational principle, coherently with her overarching interpretation of Acusilaus as the first historian with a method.

Language and Style  23

treats the love story of Endymion and Selene. Then we have fragments on the Argonauts: in fr. 37, Acusilaus states that the Golden Fleece changed its colour to purple when it came into contact with sea water. Fr. 38 is again about the saga of the Argonauts and specifically Aeëtes’s genealogy. Lastly, the fragments on the Trojan War are especially interesting: fr. 39 reports an original explanation for Aphrodite’s strategy during the war (she only apparently supported the Trojans, but really wanted Priam’s dynasty to perish), fr. 40 deals with the death of Eurypylus, son of Telephus, fr. 41 lists Menelaus’ and Helen’s children, fr. 42 presents Scylla’s genealogy, and fr. 43 regards Ithaca’s beginnings. In several cases Acusilaus is in disagreement with the Catalogue of Women and presents another version of the facts. Again, in this section as in the previous two, there is a good amount of Homeric exegesis, a feature that has been rarely recognized.51 However, it should be borne in mind that ancient witnesses are not always to be trusted unquestioningly (cf. § 1.2). As has already been said in the previous section, there are important missing pieces that prevent us from having a full sense of Acusilaus’ shaping of the narrative: for instance, no traces of the two expeditions against Thebes, the most significant part of the myth celebrating Argos’ power, have survived. Also, there are no clues for us to infer where exactly the book ended.

. Language and Style A fundamental issue to be discussed regards the language and style of the early prose-writers, a topic that, despite its importance, has been rarely treated at length since Lilja 1968. This kind of investigation is not only important for describing the evolution of prose writing in itself, but also for deducing the purposes of the literary communication embedded in these works (Fowler 2006). In fact, one can easily charge their unadorned style with being the main factor in confining such productions to the margins of the Greek literary system, and ask what role they could have had in the archaic age, when Greeks had far more attractive storytellers in their epic bards and choral poets. The language of early prose has always been considered as being indisputably in Ionic dialect, regardless of the author’s homeland. Of course, in the process of transmission texts must have had a good chance of encountering vulgarization and the alteration of Ionic forms to Ionic-Attic ones. This is the idea that has

 51 With the exception of Fontana 2012, 387, 390, 392, who highlights the presence of poetic exegesis in some fragments.

24  Introduction moved editorial practice for the texts of early Greek mythography, and it is very apparent in Fowler’s treatment in EGM I. The editor is well aware of the difficulties of his task on this specific point (EGM I, XLIV–XLV), however, given all the problems linked to the contemporary language of inscriptions and to Herodotus’ book (Pasquali 1934, 315–318, Wilson 2014, VI). On this last point, we should never forget how problematic the dialectal reconstruction of Herodotus’ text is and the way in which Ionic prose was subjected to the critical intervention of ancient scholars, who operated according to their own vision of literary dialects. See, for instance, the presence of uncontracted forms like καλέεται, which occur often in Herodotus, but are attested as being contracted in Ionic inscriptions.52 Of course one can decide to take Herodotus as a dialectal model for mythographers, with all the unresolvable issues that this brings, since it is the closest model to hand. However, the testimony of fr. 22, the longest quotation we have of early Greek mythography as a whole, surviving in a papyrus scroll, gives food for thought on this point. This extraordinary text, analyzed for its linguistic and stylistic features, contributes to describing a “submerged” universe of storytelling that has almost escaped scholarly attention. The text displays the expected Ionic forms: μίσγεται (57), Ποσ̣ε̣ιδέων (58, 61– 62), Λαπιθέων (81), πέτρην ἐπιτιθεῖσιν (81–82). Predictably too, there is also some vulgarization, such as the sporadic presence of initial aspiration (78), and forms like γίγνεται (69), Κενταύροις (71) and ποιοῦν̣τ̣α (77). Other problematic forms are analyzed in detail in the commentary, but they are all acceptable in an Ionic context. And yet there is a completely unexpected dialectal form, the Doric infinitive τεκέ̣ν, which appears as a supralinear correction. As argued in the commentary, there are several interpretative options here. One may think that it stems directly from Acusilaus: in this case he might have willingly or accidentally included the Doric form in an Ionic discourse. In this circumstance, the inclusion could be due to the influence of the rising Doric prose tradition,53 but also to that “continental” poetic tradition which had also dealt with myth since Hesiod’s time.54 Moreover,  52 Tribulato 2016, 170–174 offers a very useful overview of the significant difficulties that modern editors face when dealing with Herodotus’ Ionic dialect, e.g. the presence of Attic influences and hyper-Ionic forms. See also Corcella 1989, 235–251, esp. 244–248 on linguistic issues (this last reference is a review of Rosén’s edition of Herodotus, whose views on language are available in Rosén 1962, an interesting yet controversial book whose conclusion was that of accepting the variety of linguistic forms as the result of different recensiones from the Hellenistic age). 53 On this topic, Cassio 1989 is a fundamental starting point. Vessella 20162, 367–370 dates the emergence of Doric prose to the 5th century, and so not too far in time from Acusilaus. 54 For “continental” features in Hesiod see the seminal article by Morpurgo Davies 1964. Cf. also Pavese 1967 for the existence of this “continental” literary tradition.

Language and Style  25

post-Homeric epics actually display the presence of such “extraneous” forms in their verses (Lulli 2009, 183–186), as do other late-archaic poetic productions, prominent among them Simonides’ elegy for Plataea (see Lulli 2007, 227–241 for discussion and further bibliography).55 The inclusion of such forms would have added to the poetic and literary range of the passage. By contrast, as far as one can tell, this form is too isolated to let us speak of a “mixed dialect”: it could also be a correction by a local editor in later times – Doric prose dealing with myth existed in the 4th cent. BC, as in the cases of Agias and Dercylus (studied by Cassio 1989). Unfortunately, given the isolation of this Doric form, a definitive word on the problem is not possible. Then, at ll. 67–68, we find the puzzling phrase ἡλίσκετο μάλιστα χρημάτων, whose overall meaning is inferrable from the context: this is an extremely brachylogic way of writing that might come from colloquial discourse. An odd juxtaposition with, a few lines below, the unaugmented iterative without contraction πολεμέεσκε, which might well be Ionic, but is also common in Homer (cf. commentary): the tone changes strangely and completely. As far as stylistic analysis is concerned, one striking feature is the generalized use of the present tense to tell the story – with the exception of three imperfects expressing an indefinite continuation of a state in the past (59: ἦν) and the iterative nature of an action (67: ἡλίσκετο, 70: πολεμέεσκε), and two aorists, στήσας (72) and ἰδώ̣ν (76), which serve to describe actions, which occurred in the past and bore consequences on the plot. All the main actions are in present tense, a circumstance that seems to have no close parallels in other quotations of early Greek mythography.56 The best treatment of this so-called “historical present” is still von Fritz 1949, who carefully reads passages from Pherecydes of Syros and  55 But see also other cases in the elegiac corpus: in Tyrtaeus there is a short-vowel accusative in –ας (see also Xenoph. fr. 1.13 W.) and in Theognis (260) the conjectural infinitive φεύγεν: cf. Willi 2016, 447–448. 56 By contrast, Lilja 1968, 111 finds in this fragment “as much variety in the use of tenses as fr. 105 of Pherecydes” (see discussion at 101–104 and 111–112), while the almost exclusive use of the present tense to tell the story seems to me to be a striking deliberative choice. The situation is much more nuanced for Pherecydes of Syros, for instance, whose employment of tenses is more varied (with the exception of fr. 68 Schibli): see von Fritz 1949. For Hecataeus’ style, which is different again, see Fränkel 1955, 61–64, 1962, 391–394 and Müller 2006, 38–40. One can notice that he uses aorists, imperfects, and presents as verbs of the principal clauses as well. For Pherecydes of Athens, see Lilja 1968, 104–110, Dräger 1995, and Fowler 2006. Despite their analyses of fr. 105 EGM, which has always been considered the ideal instance of a mythographic text, this piece has not the same trustworthiness as the papyrus with fr. 22, since it is cited in Σ Pind. Pyth. 4.133a p. 117 Drachmann (ll. 6–19) and ends with the subcription ἡ ἱστορία παρὰ Φερεκύδει. This circumstance should lead us to be cautious in commenting on this piece as though it is a wordfor-word quotation from Pherecydes. Cf. § 1.2.

26  Introduction Herodotus to describe its employment in the earliest prose.57 However, reading fr. 22, one might take issue with von Fritz’s conclusion: according to him, in early Greek there are no such occurrences of a “fleeting” or “galloping” present, since its employment was still linked mainly to its aspect character (Aktionsart), and this is true indeed for passages he discussed. Contrastingly, Acusilaus’ piece does not resemble the texts of Pherecydes of Syros and Herodotus, in which the present tense serves to remove events “from the time coordinate on which the reader occupies a point at the time of reading, or from the actuality of his time and, as the events unfold one after the other like the pictures in a picture book, the pace of narration is slackened” (von Fritz 1949, 199), or the tense has dramatic purposes in underlining the climactic phases of the story (ibidem, 196). The description by von Fritz fits fr. 1 well (Ὠκεανὸς δὲ γαμεῖ Τηθὺν… τῶν δὲ γίνονται τρισχίλιοι ποταμοί), but not fr. 22. The story is certainly set in the past: Caeneus was the strongest among men of that time (64–65 τῶν ἀνθρώπων τῶν τότε). How should we interpret this choice of tense? Perhaps by seeing a desire to sum up the facts, to provide the audience with a summary on the matter: Caeneus’ tale of gender transformation and subsequent invulnerability could not find room in the Homeric epics. When people recount the plot of a book or a film, they do it in the present (von Fritz 1949, 189). If we had a more precise idea of where in the book Acusilaus placed the account, this case could be investigated even further. But it is impossible to tell whether this feature applied to the whole corpus or if, instead, only this passage was structured in such a way. The employment of the present tense to narrate events of the past was completely extraneous to Homer. However, in Acusilaus’ prose there are other elements, which bear witness to a debt to the language of poetry. First of all, as noted by Lilja 1968, 24, in fr. 22 there is an impressive sequence of dactyls in ll. 64–65 ἰ]σχὺν ἔχοντα [με]γ̣ίσ]τ̣[η]ν τῶν ἀνθρώπων τῶν τότε, which is basically a full hexameter split into two equal parts. Secondly, fr. 1 is another hemiepes (Ὠκεανὸς δὲ γαμεῖ). Frs. 1, 2 and 6 by Pherecydes of Syros also have this strong dactylic rhythm (see Dover 1997, 160–161). As far as poetic expressions are concerned, perhaps only πολεμέεσκε might be a suitable candidate (see discussion in the commentary).58  57 Modern bibliography on the issue of the “historical/narrative present” is copious: a contemporary overview of the problems involved, with discussion of the most interesting contributions of modern scholarship also outside the field of Classical studies proper, is Grethlein 2014. Moreover, for the historical present in Thucydides, see the collection of essays edited by Lallot, Rijksbaron, Jacquinod and Buijs in 2011. 58 Schick 1955, 102 is wrong in considering κεντοίη and ἄτρωτος as poeticisms also: cf. commentary ad loc. and Lilja 1968, 24.

Language and Style  27

The syntactic arrangement is almost exclusively that of parataxis: the moments of the story are associated by the use of a (narrative) καί. In fr. 1, sequences of the genealogy are divided from one another by a (catalogic) δέ (Lilja 1968, 79).59 Components of the sentences are placed in a row, one after the other, a λέξις εἰρομένη (Arist. Rhet. 3.1409a 24), a “descriptive style” (der schildernde Stil by Fränkel 1955), which in this case is more an “informative” one. Moreover, sentences display the repetition of words (Ποσειδέων 57 and 61) and pronouns within the space of a few lines (ll. 59, 60, 61, 65, 70, 76, 79).60 The employment of adjectives is very limited and only occurs when strictly necessary. Brief, concise, unadorned and swift: this seems to have been Acusilaus’ own style, while Hecataeus’ was different, and perhaps Pherecydes’ was too.61 One convincing explanation for this tendency could have been the wide scope of Acusilaus’ enterprise: all the events from the theogony to the war of Troy had to be treated, and it was not possible to do so in greater detail. “Quantity over quality” from our modern reader’s point of view. A similar inclination has been detected as a feature of the lost poems of the “Epic Cycle” (Bravo 2001), poems which seem to have been very distant from the Homeric epics in their language, diction, metrics, and narrative art (the text discussed by Bravo shows unexpected language features, on which see Lulli 2009, 183–185). Like Acusilaus’ work, these poetic pieces appear to our eyes less than irresistible, as far as literary pleasantness is concerned. In the piece of early epic analyzed by Bravo 2001,62 P.Oxy. 2510, in a few lines we find several events compressed. Moreover, other features of style, like the repetition of words, the presence of anaphoric pronouns and the parsimonious and at times inelegant use of adjectives (Bravo 2001, 73–74), are similar to those detected in fr. 22.63 All in all, this “informative” style, despite its conciseness, also encompasses heterogeneous features: there is a strong Ionic basis, but there is room for brachy-

 59 On the so-called Καί-Stil see Trenkner 1948, Lilja 1968, 73–100, Dover 1997, 70–76. 60 Despite this wealth of pronouns, there is the omission of the subject for ἀποθνῄσκει in the very last line (Trenkner 1948, 68). 61 Müller 2006, 39–40 makes a good point in stressing how different Acusilaus’ and Hecataeus’ prose styles must have been. Whereas for the latter there are concrete hints of his literary mastery as a storyteller, for the former, despite the precious testimony of the papyri, his prose style seems far less elaborate. 62 This piece has been placed both within the Little Iliad and the Aethiopis; Bravo’s argument in favour of the former option seems convincing overall. 63 The presence of narrative summaries is also detected in local epic poems by Tsagalis EGEF, 48, 89 (about Eumelus of Corinth). M.L. West 2002, 121 has explained them rather as previews of what will be told later at greater length.

28  Introduction logic sentences taken perhaps from colloquial language, for a Doric element, and for verb forms that were part of the epic linguistic range. This paratactic style has sometimes misled scholars and prevented them from appreciating literary features belonging to early literary prose. In spite of the simple arrangement of the syntax, the style did not aim at reproducing an unelaborated transcript of colloquial discourse. From fr. 22 the impression is of a clumsy attempt to use different elements displaying a wide range of linguistic expressions, but merged oddly together. And yet if such narrative production in poetry and prose flourished, this means that it must have met the taste of some type of audience. But which audience(s)? It is very hard to infer what kind of literary communication lies in the background of Acusilaus’ work, but an answer will be delineated in the next section.

. Acusilaus as a “Prose Rhapsode”? Our brief overview of the sections of Acusilaus’ fragments should have outlined how the content of his book closely resembles that of the Hesiodic corpus and of the “Epic Cycle”:64 it opens with a theogony and continues with heroic sagas. For these reasons, Acusilaus is the heir of the epic genealogic and narrative tradition, perhaps he more than anyone else among his peers. The label “mythographer”, which has been applied to him and is now very widespread in scholarship after Fowler’s Early Greek Mythography, connects him clearly to later developments of the genre, to that mythography which burgeoned with the Library by Ps. Apollodorus. If, as I have argued elsewhere (Andolfi 2018), for Hecataeus the definition of “mythographer” proves weak, for Acusilaus the situation is different. While for his Milesian counterpart there is evidence to infer that he displayed a strong authorial personality in his work, for Acusilaus we have nothing like Hecataeus’ fr. 1. The stylistic analysis carried out by Fowler 2006 lays stress on the impersonality of the narration, a feature very visible in fr. 22 – the only good candidate for such stylistic-narratological analysis. From this “internal” point of view, Acusilaus would look indeed like Ps. Apollodorus’ ideal predecessor. However, such similarities should not lead us to draw swift conclusions, first of all because matters of style are only one element in the picture, which also and above all includes a specific context for literary communication, and secondly because fr. 22 is an isolated testimony, and consequently one cannot assume that

 64 No traces are left of the didactic mood of the Works and Days, and there is no reason to suspect that it was present.

Acusilaus as a “Prose Rhapsode”?  29

Acusilaus kept the same narrative pace throughout the work. This piece might come from anywhere in the book and yet not be a true indicator of the way the narration progressed. As far as the context is concerned, here our knowledge is remarkably poor.65 But some facts are clear. Unlike epic and lyric poets, prose writers did not perform on a specific occasion for a specific committee (Fowler EGM II, XII): a first significant difference. However, this does not imply that these literary pieces did not receive an actual performance, since they might be Thucydides’ target in 1.21.1 (ὡς λογογράφοι ξυνέθεσαν ἐπὶ τὸ προσαγωγότερον τῇ ἀκροάσει ἢ ἀληθέστερον): the prose-writers censured here aimed at inducing pleasure in the audience for the duration of a performance, while the historian’s book is meant to last forever. The age of composition and the topic itself of Acusilaus’ book (theogony and heroic genealogies) make it plausible to envisage some manner of public lectures,66 which in the 4th cent. BC took place even when books were not made up of narrative segments – see Zeno’s case in Plat. Parm. 128 de. To assume the existence of books written exclusively for consultation by highly literate people is in theory anachronistic if applied to the 6th–5th century BC. But after reading the extant fragments of this early Greek mythography, one might easily be loath to believe that such books were meant for any kind of public performance, given the abovementioned flat and impersonal style. Why would the Greeks have bothered to listen to such accounts – some might say – when they could find much more riveting narrations listening to a rhapsode singing Homer or Hesiod? This objection stems from a deep-seated prejudice and romantic illusion that we modern readers have, namely that the Greeks were exclusively fond of outstanding instances of poetry like the Homeric epics. On the contrary, other manifestations of epic poetry did exist: they did not come down to our times because at a certain point in history they must not have been appreciated anymore.67 But this does not mean that they were never successful; indeed, the genre of narrative epic never died out, at least this kind, which survived as long as Callimachus’ reform and his famous polemic against the cyclic poems. They must have met  65 Fowler EGM II, XII (about Hecataeus’ fr. 1 EGM) is open to the possibility that works by early mythographers were read before an audience, but in his opinion the text that has come down to us is addressed to readers. 66 Cf. remarks by Calame 2004, 242, who writes favourably about the possibility of public lectures. For further bibliographical references see Calame 2004, 242 n. 49 and Andolfi 2018: 96– 101. 67 On the concept of a literary canon and the consequent process of “submersion” of those works falling outside of it, see Nicolai 2014. For such submersion occurring in the case of local epic sagas, which were not part of a “cycle”, see Lulli 2014.

30  Introduction audiences’ expectations in a different way from Homer. As outlined in § 1.7, the style of passages from the “Epic Cycle”, and perhaps also from local poems, shares the early mythographers’ swift and concise narrative rhythm. They had the feature of encompassing as many events as possible in a comprehensive narrative arc. The same literary taste may lie at the root of Acusilaus’ literary enterprise, as far as one can tell: the only significant difference is that he worked in prose. The field of poetry was already very busy: besides rhapsodes, there were of course choral poets, and sympotic poetry too must have dealt with such mythtelling.68 Through prose, the informative aim of such writing could be achieved well: the absence of the limitations imposed by metre, for instance, allowed the compression of even more information and the avoidance of descriptive adjectives – sometimes helpful for completing the metre.69 As Cicero put it, sine ullis ornamentis (T 8 EGM = de orat. 2.53). Moreover, the impersonality that Acusilaus (but also Pherecydes of Athens) adopted in narrating resembles that of the rhapsodes, who speak about themselves only in extraordinary circumstances (see the famous case of the “blind man from Chios” in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo). Hecataeus of Miletus, on the contrary, proudly states that he is writing according to his own truth (fr. 1): his poetics is the same as that of contemporary poets like Pindar. In addition, Hecataeus’ narrative art, as far as one can tell, must have involved more variety and stylistic ranges (see Andolfi 2018): this may be one of the reasons that led Herodotus to acknowledge him as one of his predecessors. Though operating in similar territory, Acusilaus’ production appears more conservative and traditional than Hecataeus’. Other significant similarities can easily be detected, of course, in the topics treated. This almost goes without saying, since the common mythical subject is self-evident, especially in the case of Acusilaus, where we find a comprehensive narrative cycle, starting from the very beginning of the universe and reaching at least as far as the Trojan War. Not only does he share a style and pace of narration with the later poems discussed above, but also other features. First of all, the attention given to what was supernatural when it comes to heroes: the Homeric epics in this regard are generally cautious. One striking instance is the story of Caeneus’ gender transformation (fr. 22), a tale about an actual superhero, which no one would have dared to insert into the Iliad, for instance. As far as we know, such accounts were not absent from the poems of the “Epic Cycle”, which in this

 68 See Xenoph. fr. 1 W. and Ibyc. PMGF S 151, whose condemnation of those singing myths at a symposium only makes sense if it was a widespread phenomenon. 69 However, metre is not completely absent from frs. 1 and 22 – the only verbatim quotation we have. See discussion at § 1.7.

Acusilaus as a “Prose Rhapsode”?  31

regard differed from their Homeric counterparts, much more reluctant in this respect (Griffin 1977, 40–43).70 Other instances of the marvellous are discussed in the commentary (e.g. frs. 33, 35, perhaps 29).71 Also, as argued in the commentary on fr. 39 which discusses Aphrodite’s hidden agenda during the war at Troy, it is likely that Herodotus, in the section of his proem dedicated to the series of women’s abductions, has parodied what post-Homeric epics but also a book of genealogies were like. If Herodotus did play with this pattern of repeating and multiplying episodes that served as an explanation for historical circumstances (Węcowski 2004, 149–155), Acusilaus is one likely target of such a polemic, given the “cyclic” arrangement of his book, which covers so much narrative ground and which would have been of interest to his contemporary audience. Yet he added something more to this, which to some extent paved the way for Herodotus. In cases like that of fr. 39, but also fr. 17, he seems to have developed a special attention for describing what exactly motivated the characters’ actions. About Coronis in fr. 17, for example, he even took issue with what Pindar believed: in doing so he did not substantially change the plot in itself, but rather explained why the girl acted that way. This might well bring to mind Herodotus’ reworking of the Trojan War at 2.120, where he assumed that the true Helen never made it to Troy – she was safe in Egypt while a phantom reached the city with Paris.72 This new version, however, did not change the fact that some sort of a Helen was in Troy and that the war occurred, but did save the woman from the outrageous charge of being unfaithful to her husband. Moreover, in the manner of a rhapsode, who was expected to clarify what was no longer fully intelligible to his audience, Acusilaus seems to have offered instances of poetic exegesis. The most evident case is that of fr. 15, where the scholiast reporting his passage explicitly says that Acusilaus discussed a problem raised by a passage of Hesiod’s Works and Days – how many winds did the poet know? Other almost certain cases are fr. 35, where the dyeing of the Golden Fleece purple after immersion in sea water has something to do with the Homeric “purple sea”, and fr. 39, where Acusilaus attempts to give consistency to Aphrodite’s behaviour during the Trojan War by postulating that she acted as a double agent. Another is fr. 41, where discussion focused on the existence of a son, cited in the Odyssey, whom Menelaus must have had with a slave woman.

 70 Danek 2015, 376 comes to a similar conclusion about the Nostoi. 71 Cf. the commentary on fr. 29, which some have read in the light of the rationalization of myth, but which also entails a supernatural element. 72 On Homeric exegesis and/or polemic in the passage from Herodotus, see Kim 2010, 32, Nicolai 2012, and Donelli 2016, 13–15.

32  Introduction Thus, why not consider Acusilaus as a later rhapsode composing in prose? “Rhapsody in prose” is a twofold definition that seems to dovetail nicely with such an ambiguous literary production (Andolfi 2018, 96–101). The same term has been used sporadically in modern scholarship to refer to Herodotus (Hartog 1988) and to Gorgias (Schiappa 1999, 101–102) in order to highlight respectively a debt to the pan-Hellenic epics and to a specific performance culture. In each case we are speaking of rhapsodes without Muses and of individuals displaying their own personality with remarkable awareness. But the expression has also been employed to describe a different kind of production, namely the patchworks of commonplaces compiled by erudite writers in the Renaissance (Ong 1976, 111– 112). These two different applications of the same term have of course something in common: they refer to the activity of stitching together collected materials into a consistent whole (the rhapsode as one who “sews together” pieces of song). They might have done so by singing or reciting a piece before an actual audience and/or by writing things down. This option solves the problems raised by the contents of Acusilaus’ Genealogies which, by displaying prowess in theogonic matters, seemed so distant from Hecataeus of Miletus’ pioneering geographical and ethnographic interests. The work of an early mythographer sums up what a complete epic cycle was: from the beginning of the world to the heroic age. This does not automatically mean that he wanted to compile an encyclopaedia in the modern sense of the word: he probably did not make references to his sources like Ps. Apollodorus did, nor did he seem to have registered different versions of the same plot. His activity as a mythographer has more in common with the epic poet (Calame 2004, 232–233): he is an observer of the tradition, of which he could offer explanations, rectifications, and expansions. Moreover, like a rhapsode, in the narration he hid himself: he let the stories speak by themselves. We cannot say whether they arrived to treatments of contemporary history, as is the case with Simonides’ elegy for Plataea: no evidence is left. Nor can we say for certain that other mythographers did not hint at theogonies at all at the beginning of their works.73 Every book, as a product of a literary process, must have had its own peculiarities while inscribing

 73 Evidence at hand, however, shows that such a topic was certainly not prominent: the focus on Thessaly shown in fragments from Book 1 of Hecataeus’ Genealogies has led scholars to think it dealt with Deucalion and his offspring (Pearson 1939, 97–99). The content of Pherecydes’ Book 1 is more disputed and the literature is divided on this point: see Jacoby 19572, 387, who maintains that there might have been space for a theogony, contra Uhl 1963, 13, Dolcetti 2004, 21, and Fowler EGM II, 713–715.

Acusilaus as a “Prose Rhapsode”?  33

itself in a wider context.74 However, Acusilaus’ activity as a genealogist was of significance for the culture of his own time: he was at the service of his city, and his writings aimed at substituting the epic heritage (Calame 2004, 232). This was not intended as a form of modern encyclopaedia, but is better thought of as a “tribal encyclopaedia” (Havelock 1963, 92). From the extant fragments we can appreciate the wide breadth of his narrative, which touches on Athenian (frs. 30– 31) as well as Argive myths, and tells stories otherwise unknown at such an early epoch (see fr. 22). Like an epic cycle, like an encyclopaedia: whatever one’s views on this point, the scope of such works was without doubt universal and pan-Hellenic.

 74 Hecataeus might be defined as a rhapsode in prose as well, though on the basis of slightly different observations: see Andolfi 2018, 96–101.

 Commentary Book 1 fr. *1 Ὠκεανὸς δὲ γαμεῖ Τηθὺν ἑωυτοῦ ἀδελφήν· τῶν δὲ γίνονται τρισχίλιοι ποταμοί · Ἀχελῷος δὲ αὐτῶν πρεσβύτατος καὶ τετίμηται μάλιστα. Macr. Sat. 5.18.9 (322.3 Willis). Didymus enim (p. 85 Schmidt), grammaticorum omnium facile eruditissimus, posita causa quam superius Ephorus (FGrHist 70 F 20a) dixit alteram quoque adiecit his verbis: ἄμεινον δὲ ἐκεῖνο λέγειν, ὅτι διὰ τὸ πάντων τῶν ποταμῶν πρεσβύτατον εἶναι Ἀχελῷον τιμὴν ἀπονέμοντας αὐτῷ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους πάντα ἁπλῶς τὰ νάματα τῷ ἐκείνου ὀνόματι προσαγορεύειν. ὁ γοῦν Ἀκουσίλαος διὰ τῆς πρώτης ἱστορίας δεδήλωκεν, ὅτι Ἀχελῷος πάντων τῶν ποταμῶν πρεσβύτατος. ἔφη γάρ· «Ὠκεανὸς — μάλιστα». __________ (Acus.) 1 ἑωυτοῦ West: ἑαυτοῦ codd. τρισχίλιοι codd.: τρισχείλιοι Fowler (Macr.) 4 post πρεσβύτατος add. ὃς Schmidt 6 Ἀκουσίλαος Gronovius (ad tab. Rrr): Ἀγησίλαος P, Ἀγεσ- N.

This is the only fragment belonging with certainty to the first book of Acusilaus’ Genealogies, and perhaps to its very beginnings (τῆς πρώτης ἱστορίας). Macrobius, via Didymus, quotes a passage from Ephorus (FGrHist 70 F 20a) explaining why men usually call streams by Achelous’ name:1 the historian saw the influence of a ritual occurring in Dodona in this usage, where people used to swear oaths in Achelous’ name.2 He states that three thousand rivers were born from Oceanus’ union with Tethys, but the most ancient and honorable one was the Achelous. These lines directly show how close the relationship with the Hesiodic text must have been and how pervasive the cosmogonic tradition built around Oceanus and Tethys’ partnership was. The Achelous, one of the biggest rivers in Greece, began from springs at Mount Pindus (between Epirus and Thessaly): it divided Aetolia and Acarnania and emptied into the Ionian Sea near the Echinadian islands (cf. Hdt. 2.10.3 and Thuc. 2.102.2–4). However, ancient Greeks knew at least six rivers called in this

 1 For Ephorus’ interest in distinguishing proper and common names, see Nicolai 2013, 233. Molinari/Sisci 2016, 93–96 discuss modern etymologies of the name. 2 On this connection between Achelous and Dodona, see the discussion in D’Alessio 2004, 32– 33, who traces it back to a Zenodotean variant in Hom. Il. 16.234 and to Pind. fr. 249b Sn.–M. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110618600-002

fr. *1  35

way (Molinari/Sisci 2016, 61): probably because its name was generally equated with water, as is well attested in the lexical usage of 5th century poetry (e.g. Eur. Andr. 167, Bacch. 519, 625; Ar. Lys. 381).3 A textual problem has been discussed since the 17th century: in Macrobius’ quotation, Ephorus mentions Ἀγησίλαος, and not Ἀκουσίλαος, as the author he is quoting from. This piece of information hardly makes sense: the historiographer Agesilaus and his work Italica, which we know through a quotation by Ps. Plutarch (Parall. min. 312e), are likewise obscure. The emendation made by Gronovious is very likely, and editors have accommodated it within the text since then. Coherently with his editorial criteria, Fowler (EGM I) printed a text restoring Ionic dialect wherever possible: the received ἑαυτοῦ is emended to ἑωυτοῦ (following West), and τρισχίλιοι is substituted by τρισχείλιοι (see EGM II, 625). While the first intervention recreated a widely attested feature in Ionic literary texts, the latter is less convincing. The form χείλιοι occurs as such in Arch. 101 W. and in Xenoph. F 3 W., while Herodotus’ manuscripts unanimously have χίλιοι, even in compounds (e.g. τρισχίλιοι: 2.7.1, 2.149.1, 4.85.4; τετρακισχίλιοι: 2.9.1; ἐξακισχίλιοι: 2.9.2; δισχίλιοι: 2.175.2). However, the passage of the Theogony under discussion has χίλιαι (364).4 In this case, Fowler’s emendation is not compelling, since both forms could well be Ionic, while the latter presents an assimilation. This passage, of course, reminds the reader of Hesiod’s theogony, since he was the first to mention Achelous among Oceanus and Tethys’ offspring (Th. 337– 340) and to state that they conceived three thousand rivers overall (364–370).5 Furthermore, as it has increasingly come to be recognized, this text displays a connection with Homer as well:6 Achelous’ supremacy above all its siblings is implicitly claimed by Achilles in his speech in Il. 21.193–197, where he states that not even the powerful Achelous could resist Zeus’ attack. This can be justifiably read as referring to its prominence among all other rivers (the second half of Acusilaus: it is the most venerable one), yet it does not openly state that it is the most ancient one (the first half of the fragment). However, this is easily inferable:  3 Fontana 2012, 393 believes that Acusilaus identified the origin of this lexical usage in Achelous’ elderliness, a reconstruction that does not match with the quotation: Ephorus’ point is that of proving that in a more ancient source Achelous is said to be the oldest of all rivers, with no reference to the linguistic issue. 4 M.L. West 1998, XXXVI thinks that χείλιοι is a poetic form that should be consistently restored in the Iliad, as suggested by scrutiny on papyri, while χίλιοι belongs to prose. 5 M.L. West 1966, 268 believes that Acusilaus’ text came from Hesiod and maintains Th. 364 τρὶς γάρ χίλιαί εἰσι, rejecting τρὶς γάρ μυρίαι, as it is in a Pindaric scholion (Ol. 5.1) on the basis of this fragment and of a parallel passage in WD 252, which is responsible for the inexact variant. 6 Lanzillotta 2009, 34, Fowler EGM II, 12.

36  Commentary one can find it attested in Homeric scholia (Σ Tb Hom. Il. 21.194) and Acusilaus made this further step as well. In this way, he connects the very beginning of his theogony to the Homeric world, where this was only implicitly suggested, but he distances himself from the Hesiodic one significantly, which argues that the Styx was the most important river (Th. 777). Acusilaus’ “Homericity”, in this case, cannot be explored further: it would be very interesting indeed to know whether the Argive mythographer believed Oceanus and Tethys to be the origin of everything, as it is in Hom. Il. 14.201–204, 246, 302, or, on the contrary, if he agreed with Hesiod and maintained that they both belonged to the race of Titans (Th. 133–136). Perhaps the Hesiodic version is slightly more likely to have been chosen, since Chaos is the primeval force in Acusilaus’ fr. 6, a circumstance that would hardly fit in with Homeric cosmogony as we know it from the fourteenth book of the Iliad. But what is even more curious about this Homeric echo is the possibility that Acusilaus did not come to the conclusion that Achelous was the most ancient river because of its exceptional strength by himself, but that he found a more specific hint of this in the Homeric text (Fowler EGM II, 12). The abovementioned passage from book twenty-one of the Iliad arouses suspicion, since antiquity and ancient scholiastic material testifies that: according to scholia A and to the text of Genavensis 44, Zenodotus athetized line 195, οὐδὲ βαθυρρείταο μέγα σθένος Ὠκεανοῖο. Also Megacleides (end 4th cent./beginning 3rd cent. BC), who authored a work On Homer, did not read this line,7 as scholia A demonstrate. Centuries later, the Homeric scholar Seleucus (1st cent. AD) followed Zenodotus’ instincts in athetizing the line, as reported by P.Oxy. 221 (col. IX, ll. 8–11), which contains the fullest ancient commentary on this passage, while Aristarchus and Crates of Mallus (fr. 29 Broggiato) kept it as genuine.8 Interestingly, the prominence of Achelous is also attested in P.Derv. (col. XXIII, esp. l. 10), where Zeus conceived Oceanus and immediately thereafter Achelous, who was to become the origin of the sea and of all waters (cf. M.L. West 1983, 92, 115, D’Alessio 2004, 20– 23). Despite the evident disagreement with Acusilaus in the overall picture (Achelous’ supremacy is over other rivers and not over Oceanus himself), the agreement on some sort of leadership by Achelous over other rivers is significant. Full

 7 Pasquali 1934, 225–228 demonstrated that Megacleides did not edit Homeric poems, but only offered a discussion of the most controversial passages. On Megacleides, see also Pontani 2005, 38–39. 8 D’Alessio 2004, 17, Fowler EGM II, 12–13, Broggiato 2001, 192. Other relevant ancient witnesses are Panyassis, Callimachus, and a lyric poem in P.Berol. inv. 13270 discussed by D’Alessio 2004, 31.

fr. *1  37

discussion of this material is included in D’Alessio 2004, 16–23, who concludes that the ancient discussion on this passage provides us with ample evidence that the text read by Megakleides and Zenodotos was probably already in circulation in the Archaic period, and that there are good reasons to think that it may represent an earlier textual stage than the longer version, which replaced it in the vulgata (19–20).

The omission of this line has serious consequences for the appreciation of the passage as a whole: if one does not read it, the text says that Achelous, and not Oceanus, was the origin of all streams. As Pasquali 1934, 227 already pointed out, the insertion of l. 195 was functional to restore consistency within Homeric mythology and to eliminate an unorthodox peculiarity that did not match the cosmogonic account in book fourteen of the Iliad, where Oceanus’ predominance is unquestionable. The passage lacking l. 195 needed to be normalized by bringing Oceanus back to his usual function through the insertion of a verse that, in Pasquali’s opinion, blends Hom. Il. 18.607 and Hes. Th. 265 together (cf. D’Alessio 2004, 33–34, Fowler EGM II, 12–13). This is not to say that Acusilaus witnessed an earlier stage of that Homeric passage: Oceanus is still the one all rivers originated from, and this is a striking difference indeed with what that passage of Iliad 21 must have claimed in its earlier version (and with the Orphic theogony cited in the Derveni Papyrus and in P.Oxy. 221).9 Nevertheless, Acusilaus, who still endorses the orthodox cosmogonic view of Oceanus and Tethys, finds Achelous a better candidate than Styx to play the role of the leader of rivers. The Homeric text apparently supported him in this choice in any version: in the latter case, Achelous was described as the most powerful river as well, but always subject to Oceanus’ authority.10 If this interpretation reveals itself to be true, there is no reason to infer that Achelous’

 9 For Achelous as the earliest Greek source of all waters and for Oceanus as a later character imported from Near-Eastern traditions (since it is not present in cult practices, as Achelous was), see Wilamowitz 1931, 189 (see also Fowler EGM II, 11). D’Alessio 2004, 27, instead, believes that Achelous has Oriental features as well, considering its mythological resemblance to Tiāmat (the Sea) in the poem Enūma Eliš and its iconography as a bull, taken from Mesopotamic models. On Achelous’ iconography, see also Isler 1970, 44–108, LIMC s.v. Achelous and the recent monograph by Molinari/Sisci 2016, 69–99. 10 Similar considerations can be offered about Paus. 8.38.10; it is not necessary to imagine that his text lacked l. 195.

38  Commentary leading role is the result of an Argive reshaping of Greek cosmogony (Lanzillotta 2009, 34–35).11 This aspect will be analyzed in depth when commenting on fr. 23.

Book 3 fr. 2

Harp. (pl.; epit. codd. DE) ο 19 (p. 222.10 Dindorf, 191 Keaney) unde (ex epit.) Phot. (p. 331.18 Porson), Suda ο 248 (3.524.13 Adler). Ὁμηρίδαι: Ἰσοκράτης Ἑλένῃ (10.65). Ὁμηρίδαι γένος ἐν Χίῳ, ὅπερ Ἀκουσίλαος ἐν γʹ Ἑλλάνικος ἐν τῇ Ἀτλαντιάδι (frg. 20 EGM) ἀπὸ τοῦ ποιητοῦ φασιν ὠνομάσθαι. Σέλευκος δὲ ἐν βʹ περὶ βίων (frg. 76 Mueller) ἁμαρτάνειν φησὶ Κράτητα νομίζοντα ἐν ταῖς Ἱεροποιΐαις (frg. 126* Broggiato) Ὁμηρίδας ἀπογόνους εἶναι τοῦ ποιητοῦ· ὠνομάσθησαν γὰρ ἀπὸ τῶν ὁμήρων, ἐπεὶ αἱ γυναῖκές ποτε τῶν Χίων ἐν Διονυσίοις παραφρονήσασαι εἰς μάχην ἦλθον τοῖς ἀνδράσι, καὶ δόντες ἀλλήλοις ὅμηρα νυμφίους καὶ νύμφας ἐπαύσαντο, ὧν τοὺς ἀπογόνους Ὁμηρίδας λέγουσιν. __________ 4 φασιν Fowler: φησιν codd.

5 βίων Harp. pl. G.: βίον cett.

Fragment 2 is of great importance when studying the ancient debate on the rhapsodic guild of the Homerids.12 The fact that this is already mentioned in early authors like Acusilaus is a terminus ante quem for the activity of this γένος (cf. also Pind. Nem. 2.1, usually dated to 485 BC), and, as Harpocration (2nd cent. AD) seems to suggest, for its location in Chios, as in other sources as well (Pind. fr. 264 Sn.–M., Certamen Hom. et Hes. 13–15 Allen; Strab. 14.1.35).13 Moreover, Acusilaus and Hellanicus agree in taking the name Homerids from their “father”, Homer:14 it is likely that, in Book 3, Acusilaus discusses the genealogy of Homer,  11 Lanzillotta 2009, 35 argues that Achelous’ cult must have had relevance in Argos and in the Argolid, despite the lack of epigraphic evidence in this territory, as some pieces of literary testimony would suggest. Despite the contribution of such evidence, they can only show that Achelous was also and not exclusively worshipped in Argos. See also Lanzillotta’s view (35–36) on the alleged polemic between Hecataeus (FGrHist 1 F 102c) and Acusilaus (fr. 23c) regarding the role of Inachus (and Achelous), discussed at § 1.1 of the Introduction. 12 A helpful commented collection of relevant ancient testimonies is in Sbardella 2012, 253–257. 13 See also the testimonies by Hellanicus (fr. 5 EGM), Pherecydes (fr. 167 EGM), and Damastes (fr. 11 EGM), which offer an actual genealogical reconstruction for Homer, making him a descendant of Orpheus. Cf. Fowler EGM II, 213 for Hellanicus, placing both poets in Atlas’ genealogical tree, 603–604 for Acusilaus. 14 Nowadays, scholars believe that things went the other way round: the guild of Homerids named its founder after its own name. They have demonstrated that the suffix –idai did not originally have

fr. 2  39

as he mentions his alleged “offspring” and treats the name Ὁμηρίδαι as a patronymic compound. Far more extensive is the account by Crates (to be identified with Crates of Mallus, according to Broggiato 2001, fr. 126), who speaks explicitly of Homer’s descendants (ἀπογόνους) and offers a very curious story on the makeup of this family. The definition of γένος for the Homerids reflects the fictitious relatedness that was believed to exist between the poet and his epigones.15 Plus, this belief fitted the genealogical pattern in Acusilaus’ work. Also, the most heatedly debated testimony about them, Σ Pind. Nem. 2.1c p. 29 Drachmann (ll. 9–18), maintains that they originally called themselves Ὁμηρίδαι, Homer’s family members who performed his poems without interruptions (Ὁμηρίδας ἔλεγον τὸ μὲν ἀρχαῖον τοὺς ἀπὸ τοῦ Ὁμήρου γένους, οἳ καὶ τὴν ποίησιν αὐτοῦ ἐκ διαδοχῆς ᾖδον);16 eventually, this label came to include other rhapsodes outside the family proper (μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα καὶ οἱ ῥαψῳδοὶ οὐκέτι τὸ γένος εἰς Ὅμηρον ἀνάγοντες). A complete account on the Homerids as γένος is in Ritoòk 1970, who pinpoints how these alleged family ties are also attested for modern guilds of singers, though they stand for professional relationships. However, this kind of description of bardic guilds as families based in a specific territory (in this case, Chios) is not inconsistent with the wandering activity of the members (Ferreri 2004, 219), as is testified for other γένη, like the Iamids, a family of seers based in Elis, but active in other areas of the Greek world (see Flower 2008, 93–94, as well as the important remarks in Burkert 1982, 2–10 on the terms “craft” and “sect”). Finally, Homerids seem to fit better within the category of professional guilds and crafts, rather than of a family proper or a sect.

 the function of forming patronymics, but instead, how it served to refer to professional groups. The suffix was eventually recognized as patronymic proper, as one can see from the pairs: AsclepiusAsclepiads, Melampus-Melampids, and so forth. On these points, see Durante 1957, Càssola 1991, XXIX–XXX, M.L. West 1999, 374–376, Pòrtulas 2000, 44, Burkert 2001, 206–207, Ferrari 2007, 3–17 and 2010, 27–29, Sbardella 2012, 16–20. The etymology of the name Homer has been explained differently and there are two most credited options. The first one (identified by Durante 1957 and further developed by M.L. West 1999) sees a link with *ὅμαρος, ὁμήγυρις, referring to assemblies and so to public performances (Sbardella 2012, 19). The second one, which I prefer and which was already known in antiquity, is based on ὁμηρέω (“linking together”: IE *sm, Greek ὁμοῦ and ἅμα, plus the root ἀρ- of ἀραρίσκω) and alludes to the fact that rhapsodes sung in succession, one after the other (Nagy 1979, 296–300, Ferrari 2010, 28–29, Sbardella 2012, 19). For other possible interpretations, see Graziosi 2002, 52–62. 15 Since Wolf’s Prolegomena, Homeric scholars have long debated the interpretation of the word γένος and its reference to an actual blood tie with Homer: see the very rich overview by Ferreri 2004, 198–216. 16 Cf. also Σ Pind. Nem. 2.1e p. 31 Drachmann (ll. 16–19), Certamen Hom. et Hes. 13–15 Allen, Strab. 14.1.35.

40  Commentary This testimony, too, has been read with emphasis on Acusilaus’ “Argiveness”, perhaps not unfairly this time: Graziosi 2002, 153–154 discusses ancient passages proving how Homer was worshipped by Argive people, both in their hometown and in Chios (Certamen Hom. et Hes. 302–308 Allen, Ael. VH 9.15). This devotion was especially deserved, since the poet celebrated the Argive people in his poems (cf. Hdt. 5.67): for once in the endless dispute about Homer’s hometown, “it seems that the most Panhellenic poet chose them, and not that he was theirs by the right of citizenship or burial” (Graziosi 2002, 154).

fr. 3 Κλεωνύμου δ’ Ἀγχίσης· τοῦ δὲ Ἐχέπωλος. Σ (Τ) Hom. Il. 23.296c (5.415.1 Erbse). “Ἀγχισιάδης Ἐχέπωλος”· Ἀκουσίλαος ἐν τρίτῳ Γενεαλογιῶν κύριον ἤκουσε τὸ Ἐχέπωλος οὕτως· “Κλεωνύμου — Ἐχέπωλος”. καὶ Φερεκύδης ἐν τῷ †γ΄ (frg. 20 EGM)· “Κλεώνυμος δὲ ὁ Πέλοπος ᾤκει Κλεωνῇσι καταστήσαντος Ἀτρέως· τοῦ δὲ γίνεται Ἀγχίσης, τοῦ δὲ Ἐχέπωλος”. This fragment presents a clear case of Homeric exegesis: as ancient scholia show (Σ AbT Hom. Il. 4.458, A 23.296 and the source itself of the fragment, T 23.296), one might wonder whether Ἐχέπωλος was actually a proper name or just an epithet (“he who has horses”).17 Scholia do not always report the names of the authorities they draw on, but on this occasion, Acusilaus and Pherecydes are mentioned: they both agree that Echepolus is a proper name. The impasse may have been caused by the homonymy with Echepolus, Thalysius’ son, a Trojan warrior, and/or by the story that Homer told about this (Anchises’) Echepolus.18 He was a Greek hero who managed to avoid involvement in the Trojan War by paying Agamemnon off with a beautiful horse: his name actually refers to the story he was involved in. Since these characters took part in the war at Troy, that would provide a link between this piece of text and that of fr. 2: one might think that Acusilaus, in addressing the Trojan subject, also dedicated space to discussing Homer’s own genealogy.19  17 The testimony of Σ Hom. Il. 4.458 refers to another character, who had the same name. It testifies the existence of this ambiguity (proper name or epithet?). 18 This Anchises should not be confused with the more famous one, Aeneas’ father. 19 Cf. Fowler EGM II, 627: “Fr. 2 on the Homeridai is also from the third book, which tempts one to speculate that Akousilaos mentioned the Homeridai precisely in connection with the Iliadic part of his book”. See also Lanzillotta 2005, 40–41, who sees a further link with fr. 2 in the city of

fr. 4  41

Acusilaus’ genealogy runs as follows: Echepolus was the son of Anchises, who was son of Cleonymus (eponymous of Cleonae, a city in Argolid, between Argos and Corinth).20 Pherecydes confirms this genealogy and adds something more: Cleonymus was Pelops’ descendant and resided in Cleonae, since Atreus set him up there. As Homer says in the same passage of book twenty-three (295– 299), Echepolus, lord of Sicyon, became very wealthy and could afford to bribe Agamemnon with a fine horse so as not to take part in the Trojan expedition. Here, Homer and Pherecydes disagree in placing this dynasty, but this is perhaps not so relevant as far as the story is concerned: both Sicyon and Cleonae were within Agamemnon’s realm (Hom. Il. 2.569–577). One cannot be completely confident in saying which option Acusilaus chose: on one hand, the mention of an eponymous hero named Cleonymus seems to suggest the location of Cleonae, on the other, the scholion’s silence might imply that Acusilaus did not add anything new to what Homer had already said (the same scepticism is shared by Jacoby 19572, 376).

fr. 4 Σ (L+) Ap. Rhod. 4.981–992 (302.13 Wendel). “Κεραυνίῃ εἰν ἁλὶ νῆσος,/ᾓ ὕπο δὴ κεῖσθαι δρέπανον φάτις ... ᾧ ἀπό πατρός/μήδεα νηλειῶς ἔταμε Κρόνος … Δρεπάνη τόθεν ἐκλήϊσται/οὔνομα, Φαιήκων ἱερὴ τροφός. ὣς δὲ καὶ αὐτοί/αἵματος Οὐρανίοιο γένος Φαίηκες ἔασιν”. Ἀκουσίλαος ἐν τῇ γ΄ φησίν ὅτι ἐκ τῆς ἐκτομῆς τοῦ Οὐρανοῦ “ῥανίδας” ἐνεχθῆναι συνέπεσεν, τουτέστι σταγόνας, κατὰ τῆς γῆς, ἐξ ὧν γεννηθῆναι τοὺς Φαίακας· οἱ δὲ τοὺς Γίγαντας. καὶ Ἀλκαῖος δὲ (frg. 441 Voigt) λέγει τοὺς Φαίακας ἔχειν τὸ γένος ἐκ τῶν σταγόνων τοῦ Οὐρανοῦ. Ὅμηρος δὲ (Od. 5.35, 7.56 sqq.) οἰκείους τοὺς Φαίακας τοῖς θεοῖς φησι διὰ τὴν ἀπὸ Ποσειδῶνος γένεσιν.  Sicyon, which, in his opinion, refers to the guild of the Homerids, according to the testimony of Hdt. 5.67.1 (Cleisthenes, a tyrant of Sicyon, banned rhapsodic performances in the city, since epic poems celebrated his enemy Argos). This reconstruction is weak for two reasons: first of all, it assumes that Acusilaus knew that Sicyon was Echepolus’ home, and this cannot be stated for sure (Pherecydes thought he was based in Cleonae). Secondly, as Cingano 1985 demonstrated, when Herodotus mentioned Homeric poems in that passage, it is highly likely that he meant the Theban cycle, and not the Trojan one: in this case, the presumed connection with the story of Echepolus vanishes. 20 On Cleonae, see Paus. 2.15.1. Lucian. Charon 23 describes the site as deserted and uninhabited, while Strab. 8.6.19 restores a more positive image. Pausanias again is the only one after Acusilaus and Pherecydes, as far as we can tell, who mentions the local dynasty’s possible connection with Pelops (Cleonymus would be either Pelops’ son or born from one of Asopus’ daughters).

42  Commentary __________ 4 ἐν τῇ γ΄ L

This is the last testimony one can safely place within the Genealogies: it comes from the third book and addresses a Homeric subject as well, namely the genealogy of the Phaeacians. According to Apollonius’ Argonautica, they sprung from Uranus’ blood as a consequence of his castration. In addition, Apollonius was aware of two different stories about the naming of the island. The first aition is closely connected with the Phaeacians’ birth (4.982–986): the sickle used to castrate Uranus was hidden on the island, which took the name Drepane, “sickle” in Greek (cf. Lycophr. Alex. 761–762 and Timaeus FGrHist 566 F 79, who both know that tool as the one used by Zeus to castrate Cronus).21 In the second story, they named it Drepane after the sickle used by Deo (= Demeter), an agricultural deity, who taught the Titans how to harvest crops (4.986–987).22 No information of that kind is referenced in Acusilaus: from the scholion, one can merely infer that he knew about the aition of Cronus’ sickle, which he used to castrate his father, and that he was aware of Scheria’s, the Phaeacians’ island, identification with Corcyra in ancient times.23 The legend of the sickle used for Uranus’ eviration was also associated with Zancle in Sicily, a colony of Chalcis (in ancient Sicilian, the name meant “sickle” according to Thuc. 6.4.5: see Antonelli 2000, 27); this, however, had no connection with the location of the Phaeacians’ island. It is more likely that Acusilaus believed them to be based in Corcyra.24 For the Drepane– Scheria–Corcyra metonomasy, see the discussion in Antonetti 2009, who argues that Corcyra was presumably the original name for the island. Acusilaus’ genealogical account of the Phaeacians conflicts with both Homer and Hesiod: while the former makes them descendants of Poseidon (esp. Hom. Od. 7.56, 13.130; cf. 5.35), the latter does not include them in Uranus’ offspring, which, in the Theogony, includes the Erinyes, the Giants, the Meliads, and also Aphrodite, who sprang from his genitals (Th. 183–198). It would seem that Acusilaus created a supplement to these Hesiodic verses: it is certain he did not follow Homer on this point. Plus, the text of the scholion seems to suggest that Acusilaus substituted the Giants with the Phaeacians: while he said that they sprang from  21 On the contrary, Lycophron (Alex. 869–870) localizes Uranus’ castration at Drepanon in Sicily. 22 A story perhaps also known to Eumelus of Corinth: see Debiasi 2004, 77 and Antonetti 2009, 325. 23 However, equating Scheria with Corcyra is not unequivocally demonstrable: for other identification possibilities, sometimes based on bizarre etymologies, see Pellizer 2006, 100–102. 24 Antonelli 2000, 28–29 argues that the identification of Scheria with Corcyra follows the legend about the sickle chronologically, on the basis of Arist. fr. 512 Rose (cf. Hellan. fr. 77 EGM).

fr. 4  43

Uranus’ sperm, others (like Hesiod) were aware of the same story about the Giants (in the Theogony they are not the only ones born on that occasion). The scholion omits the rest of Acusilaus’ genealogical list: there is perhaps room to argue that the scholiast’s report was not entirely accurate.25 But more importantly, Acusilaus’ version supports the claim for the Phaeacians’ autochthony, which was also shared by Alcaeus (fr. 441 Voigt) and by Conon (FGrHist 26 Dieg. 3).26 This is not a mere matter of detail, especially considering the existence of a later story on the island’s origins: according to Hellanicus (fr. 77 EGM) the name Cercyra (with a different vocalism for Corcyra) came from the homonymous nymph, Asopus’ daughter, who was the mother of Phaeax, eponymous hero for the Homeric population. If one accepts the identification of the Homeric Scheria with Cercyra, then the nymph’s partner should be Poseidon (see Fowler EGM II, 555). This story had Corinthian roots and competed with the one mentioned above: we know that the inhabitants of Corcyra wanted to be autonomous from their mother-city Corinth (Thuc. 1.25.3–4), so it is easy to understand why they preferred to identify themselves with the mythical Phaeacians, and not as the descendants of one of Asopus’ daughters. By contrast, the story of Drepane and the Phaeacians pinpoints how the population was born from the land itself: a strong claim for autochthony. Nevertheless, despite this visible discrepancy from Homer, there are a couple of passages in the Odyssey that may back such an account – without ruling out that the geophysical formation of the island played a role in the making of the tradition (cf. Fontana 2012, 391, who sees it as the only reason). Hom. Od. 7.56– 63 introduces Alcinous’ genealogy, revealing that he is linked to the leader of the Giants, Eurymedon, through his daughter Periboea, who gave birth to Nausithous, Alcinous’ father. In another passage (Hom. Od. 6.4–10), Nausithous is said to have been the one who led the Phaeacians to Scheria: they originally lived in Hyperea (probably in Sicily: Σ Hom. Od. 6.4.e 1–3, III 146.56–61 Pontani), but the Cyclopes urged them to move elsewhere.27 The genealogical link between

 25 One should not rule out the fact that other creatures sprung from Uranus’ castration in Acusilaus’ genealogy, as they did in Hesiod: the scholiast was merely interested in citing Acusilaus as an earlier authority for Apollonius’ account (cf. Jacoby 19572, 376). 26 Tozzi 1967, 604 argues that Alcaeus is Acusilaus’ source for the story, a circumstance that is seemingly unverifiable. Plausibly, Fontana 2012, 390–391 believes that Alcaeus’ testimony reports a poetic brachylogy and that the poet only wanted to allude to the Phaeacians as being relatives of the Giants, as it is in Homer and Hesiod (this should be the meaning of ἔχειν τὸ γένος). 27 These lines in the Odyssey may betray an allusion to the political tension between Chalcis (represented by the Cyclopes) and Eretria (hidden under the Phaeacians): see Antonelli 2000,

44  Commentary Phaeacians and Giants in these verses shows that their races belonged to different chronological stages (Antonelli 2000, 29). Moreover, in Hom. Od. 7.205–206, Alcinous describes his people as very close to the gods (cf. Od. 5.35, 6.203, 19.279), together with the Cyclopes and the savage tribes of Giants (οὔ τι κατακρύπτουσιν, ἐπεί σφισιν ἐγγύθεν εἰμέν,/ὥς περ Κύκλωπές τε καὶ ἄγρια φῦλα Γιγάντων). It was already clear that the Cyclopes and the Phaeacians represented an antithetic couple: the former are cruel, wild men, the latter are gentle and civilized people, living in the richest land of all. However, the passage adds a third element to this couple as well, the Giants, who join the Cyclopes as savages and contribute to isolating the virtuous population.28 Both the Cyclopes and the Giants were Uranus’ offspring according to Hesiod (Th. 139–146, 180–187) even if they were spawned in different moments – Uranus and Gaia conceived the Cyclopes and the Giants sprang from earth later, after Uranus’ eviration. Based on this line of reasoning, it is not so absurd to imagine the Phaeacians as their brothers, and, consequently, as autochthonous. Unfortunately, the loss of any information about the Cyclopes’ and Giants’ genealogy in Acusilaus makes this assumption only hypothetical: one cannot say whether he connected them as brothers (as it seems to be in Hom. Od. 7.205–206, in light of Hes. Th. 139–146 and 180–187) or as belonging to slightly different chronological stages (see Hom. Od. 7.56–83, where Alcinous’ father is the son of a Giant’s daughter).29 All in all, we can agree on the fact that Acusilaus believed the Phaeacians to be among Uranus and Gaia’s children, as the Giants, the Meliads, and the Erinyes were in Hesiod. Regrettably, one cannot say what the Argive mythographer claimed about the latter to reach consistency within this branch of his theogony. Moreover, despite the fact that its genealogy was divergent from Acusilaus’ overall, the Odyssey somehow suggested that the birth of this Homeric population was to be placed very early in time. Acusilaus also maintained that the Phaeacians had always been based on the island, as Alcaeus might have thought as well, and this is particularly interesting: by embracing this account, it seems that Acusilaus supported Corcyra’s claims for independence from the mother city.

 31–33. Chalcis, according to Hecataeus of Miletus (FGrHist 1 F 105), was Asopus’ daughter along with Corcyra, so the two enemy cities were seen as sisters: cf. Rossignoli 2004, 339. 28 For the Phaeacians’ island as a symbol of prosperity, as if it was earthly paradise, see Crema 2011, 40–45, which discusses the very rich prior bibliography. 29 Lanzillotta 2005, 45–46 is unsure whether Acusilaus and Alcaeus actually compare Homer’s and Hesiod’s versions, since Giants and Phaeacians often overlap in the epics.

fr. 6  45

Without book number fr. 6

a Plat. Symp. 178 ab (ed. Burnet) unde Stob. Ecl. 1.9.12 (1.115.2 Wachsmuth–Hense). τὸ γὰρ ἐν τοῖς πρεσβύτατον εἶναι τὸν θεὸν τίμιον, ἦ δ’ὅς (sc. Φαῖδρος), τεκμήριον δὲ τούτου· γοναὶ γὰρ Ἔρωτος οὔτ' εἰσὶν οὔτε λέγονται ὑπ' οὐδενὸς οὔτε ἰδιώτου οὔτε ποιητοῦ, ἀλλ’ Ἡσίοδος (Th. 116–117, 120) πρῶτον μὲν Χάος φησὶ γενέσθαι αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα Γαῖ’ εὐρύστερνος, πάντων ἕδος ἀσφαλὲς αἰεί, ἠδ’ Ἔρος. [φησὶ μετὰ τὸ Χάος δύο τούτω γενέσθαι, Γῆν τε καὶ Ἔρωτα]. Παρμενίδης δὲ (28 B 13 D.–K.) τὴν γένεσιν λέγει· πρώτιστον μὲν Ἔρωτα θεῶν μητίσατο πάντων. Ἡσιόδῳ δὲ καὶ Ἀκουσίλεως ὁμολογεῖ. __________ 3 γοναὶ Stob., prob. Wilamowitz (2.169 n. 2): γονῆς Plat. 5 sqq. αὐτὰρ — φησὶ, Παρμενίδης — πάντων om. Stob. 8 del. Hommel; Parmenidis verba seclusit Heyne2 11 Ἡσιόδῳ — ὁμολογεῖ: ante φησὶ (8) transp. Schanz (45), suppleto ὃς ante φησὶ ὁμολογεῖ: ξύμφησιν Stob.

b Dam. Pr. 124 (3.163.19 Westerink-Combès)=Eudemi frg. 150 Wehrli. Ἀκουσίλαος δὲ Χάος μοι ὑποτιθεσθαί δοκεῖ τὴν πρώτην ἀρχήν, ὡς πάντῃ ἄγνωστον, τὰς δὲ δύο μετὰ τὴν μίαν, Ἔρεβος μὲν τὴν ἄρρενα, τὴν δὲ θήλειαν Νύκτα, ταύτην μὲν ἀντὶ ἀπειρίας, ἐκείνην δὲ ἀντὶ πέρατος· ἐκ δὲ τούτων φησὶ μιχθέντων Αἰθέρα γενέσθαι καὶ Ἔρωτα καὶ Μῆτιν, τὰς τρεῖς ταύτας νοητὰς ὑποστάσεις, τὴν μὲν ἄκραν Αἰθέρα ποιῶν, τὴν δὲ μέσην Ἔρωτα κατὰ τὴν φυσικὴν μεσότητα τοῦ Ἔρωτος, τὴν δὲ τρίτην Μῆτιν, κατ’αὐτὸν ἤδη τὸν πολυτίμητον νοῦν. παράγει δὲ ἐπὶ τούτοις ἐκ τῶν αὐτῶν καὶ ἄλλων θεῶν πολὺν ἀριθμὸν κατὰ τὴν Εὐδήμου ἱστορίαν. 1

c Σ (K) Theoc. Id. 13.1/2c (258.8 Wendel). “ᾧτινι τοῦτο θεῶν ποκα τέκνον ἔγεντο”· ἀμφιβάλλει (sc. Θεόκριτος), τίνος υἱὸν εἴπῃ τὸν Ἔρωτα. Ἡσίοδος μὲν γὰρ Χάους καὶ Γῆς, Σιμωνίδης (PMG 575) Ἄρεος καὶ Ἀφροδίτης, Ἀκουσίλαος Νυκτὸς καὶ Αἰθέρος,

46  Commentary Ἀλκαῖος (frg. 327 Voigt) Ἴριδος καὶ Ζεφύρου, Σαπφὼ (frg. 198 Voigt) Γῆς καὶ Οὐρανοῦ καὶ ἄλλοι ἄλλων. __________ 2 ἀμφιβάλλει — εἴπῃ Wendel: ἀμφιβάλλουσι — εἶπε cod., ἀμφιβάλλουσι, τίνος υἱὸν εἰπε dubit. coni. Fowler 3 Ἀκουσίλαος cod.: Ἀκουσίλας Jacoby 4 Ἴριδος Gaisford apud Wendel: Ἔριδος cod. Γῆς Blomfield (14), Wendel: Ἀφροδίτης cod.

d (= FGrHist 2 F 5) Phld. Π. εὐσ. N 1610 III + 247 VΙa (p. 77 Schober, 61 et 19 Gomperz). Iterum tractavit Heinrichs, GRBS 13 (1972) 78 n. 32. 5

10

15

1

5

ἐμ μέν τισι]ν ἐκ Νυκτὸς καὶ Ταρ]τάρου λέγεται τὰ π]άντα, ἐν δέ τισιν ἐ]ξ Ἅιδου καὶ δι[ …]μ· ὁ δὲ τὴν Τιτανο]μαχίαν γράψας ἐξ] Αἰθέρος φησίν], Ἀκουσί[λ]αος δ’ἐκ] Χάους πρώτου τἆ]λ̣λα. ἐν δὲ τοῖς ἀνα]φερομένοις εἰς Μο]υσαῖον γέγραπται Τάρ]τ̣αρον πρῶτον εἶτα Ν]ύκτα [τε] καὶ τρίτον] Ἀέρα γεγο247VΙa (init. columnae) νέναι], ἐν δὲ τοῖς εἰς Ἐπι]μενίδην ἐξ Ἀέρος] καὶ Νυκτὸς πάντα σ]υστῆναι λέγεται.]

__________ Fragmenta coniunxit Schober; omnia supplevit Quaranta nisi alios nominatos 6 suppl. Nauck Νυκτὸς: ιουκτος Ν 8 τά] Nauck, π]άντα Quaranta 9 ]κ N spatium post αιδου indicat N 9 sq. Αἰ|[θέρ]ος Nauck 10 ]μ dubium: Δι|[ώνη]ς̣ Janko, Δι|[ός] { ̣} Quaranta; Δη|[οῦς̣] dub. Fowler 10 frg. 1 OF 12 ἐξ] Nauck 14 suppl. Nauck 15 suppl. Sauppe 16 sq. suppl. Nauck

fr. 6  47

16 –οις: – ως Ν 17 ]καιον N Musaei frg. 52 PEG 19 suppl. Angeli apud Obbink2 1 τρίτον] Schober Ἀέρα Bücheler: δερα N 3 sq. Epimen. frg. 6b EGM 5 τὰ πάντα Bücheler: sine articulo Schober σ]υστῆναι Gomperz 6 suppl. Schober

This is perhaps the thorniest issue in Acusilaus’ theogony: Eros’ conception and birth. The controversies came about not because of a scantiness of evidence, as is often the case: on the contrary, we can find four testimonies on this same subject, which all report a different story from the others. There are some similarities between 6b and 6c, but not full agreement. Recent contributions have attempted to work this problem out, even addressing the critical text of one witness (Plato: 6a), but their conclusions are not fully persuasive. In order to come up with a sensible reconstruction, the four testimonies will be analyzed and the collected data will be put to the test. Very recent treatments on this subject have been Lanzillotta 2009b and Pàmias 2012, who endorsed Plato’s and Damascius’ testimonies, respectively, as the most trustworthy sources for understanding what Acusilaus really meant. This is neither convincingly demonstrated nor verifiable with this evidence at hand: as will be argued, every witness had his own sources and his own agenda. A closer look at each of them will reveal the complexity of the reconstruction. The first relevant passage is 6a. It comes from one of Plato’s most famous dialogues, the Symposium, which is indeed about Eros. This is a very contentious passage, whose problems have affected our appreciation of Acusilaus’ theogony in light of the other testimonies. It is Phaedrus speaking, who maintains that Eros is the earliest and most venerable among all gods: to prove his argument, he cites poets and prose-writers who held the same belief, namely Hesiod, Acusilaus, and Parmenides. We are told that in the Theogony (116–117, 120: it omits 118–119, which are about Tartarus),30 Hesiod states that everything began with Chaos, and then Gaia and Eros emerged. Parmenides (28 B 13 D.–K. = D 16 L.–M.) believes that Eros was the first one to be conceived, and Acusilaus agrees with Hesiod. Phaedrus’ essential point needing to be corroborated by authoritative quotations is

 30 Lanzillotta 2009b, 1078 believes that, in Acusilaus, Tartarus is regarded as a physical place and not a primeval principle. For this reason, Phaedrus’ quotation is missing those two lines. Actually, the situation is more complex: Aristotle omits the same verses (Metaph. 984b 27). But what is even more noteworthy, Aristotle quotes the same passage from Parmenides, but in reverse order from that of Plato. Perhaps, as Schwabl 1959 proposes, this brief quotation comes from a different interpretation of the syntax of Hesiod’s lines, where Τάρταρα was read as the object of the previous ἔχουσι (“… shelter for the immortals who dwell on the snowy peak of Mount Olympus and foggy Tartarus …”).

48  Commentary that Eros is honourable, as he does not have any “parentage, genealogy”.31 This is the reading in Stobaeus, while the majority of Platonic manuscripts have γονῆς, “parents”. Fowler, after Wilamowitz, saw a trivialization in this reading and chose γοναί, which restores consistency with the piece by Parmenides (τὴν γένεσιν λέγει), where, however, Eros’ parents are not mentioned either: the grammatical subject of the verb remains out of sight – in the original context it is the Goddess –, but it is clearly implied, since Eros is the object of the action. This is because the verb μητίσατο actually means “thinking into existence”, and it does not refer to physical generation, to giving birth to something, like τίκτει (Leitao 2012, 192). Furthermore, Acusilaus’ name comes only after Parmenides’ verse: his text is not quoted by Phaedrus (Ἡσιόδῳ δὲ καὶ Ἀκουσίλεως ὁμολογεῖ).32 It has no contribution to the argumentation: without this sentence, nothing changes. In terms of rhetorical strategy, it would have been much more effective to add more authorities to this (too short) list or to give Acusilaus’ own words, to impress the audience with a solemn quotation. In addition to these considerations, one can also note that, in a similar passage in Aristotle’s Metaphysics about Eros (984b: see n. 30), the philosopher quotes the same passages, first Parmenides and then Hesiod. Since there is a good chance that both Plato and Aristotle were quoting the same 5th cent. BC source,33 Acusilaus’ absence here could corroborate the view that the phrase Ἡσιόδῳ δὲ καὶ Ἀκουσίλεως ὁμολογεῖ is a glossa, which was brought into the text at an early stage of transmission. This reflects the widespread opinion that many ancient readers had about Acusilaus, namely that he merely translated what Hesiod said in verses into prose (T 7 EGM, Clement of Alexandria: see Introduction, § 1.1). Greek poetry was aware of Eros’ parents: see Alc. fr. 327 Voigt, Sapph. fr. 198 Voigt, Pind. fr. 122 Sn.–M., Simon. fr. 575 PMG = 263 Poltera.34 So when Phaedrus states that no one has ever mentioned Eros’ parents, he willingly lies. However,

 31 This is the right translation for γοναί: cf. Fowler EGM II, 5, contra Pàmias 2012, who interpreted it in the sense of “offspring”, which solves the problem of inconsistency among these testimonies, but is not consistent with Phaedrus’ argumentation in the dialogue. To prove Eros’ prominence within the Greek pantheon, the lack of parents could be crucial, and not the lack of descendants. 32 This sentence had been moved immediately after Hesiod’s quotation by Schanz: this solution perhaps confers more consistency to the passage, but it is not required. 33 This source would be Hippias’ Synagoge, according to Classen 1965, 176 n. 1, and Mansfeld 1981, 267 n. 16, both quoted and approved by Pàmias 2012, 535 and n. 12. See also Mansfeld 1986, 1–7 and Patzer 1986, 43–48. 34 In three of these occurrences (Sappho, Pindar, and Simonides), his mother is Aphrodite. For an orientation about poetic treatment, see Lasserre 1946 and Breitenberger 2007, 137–194.

fr. 6  49

whatever one’s view of the genuineness of the phrase Ἡσιόδῳ δὲ καὶ Ἀκουσίλεως ὁμολογεῖ may be, the mention of Acusilaus’ theogony serves to prove Phaedrus’ case. The sentence merely points to the fact that the Argive mythographer does not know any parents of Eros: this is the peculiarity that Phaedrus (and Plato) wanted to point out. In addition, what frs. 6b and 6c show is that Acusilaus follows another thread woven into ancient Greek thought, which was not Hesiod’s. All in all, Plato’s passage does not play a fundamental role in understanding Acusilaus’ specific handling of Eros, but it is of relevance when approaching the entire theogonic system, where Chaos is a primeval principle and Eros came into existence at a very early stage. Modern scholars (esp. Pàmias 2012; cf. also Fowler EGM II, 5) take the testimony 6b, from the Neoplatonist philosopher Damascius (5th–6th cent. AD), into close consideration. His account is the richest in details and informs our appreciation of several ancient theogonies (e.g. those by Epimenides and Pherecydes of Syros). According to him, Acusilaus posits Chaos as the primeval principle, followed by two elements, Erebus (male) and Night (female). Aether, Eros, and Metis had their origins in the intercourse between the two aforementioned elements (ἐκ δὲ τούτων […] μιχθέντων). Damascius then warns the reader that his source, the Peripatetic Eudemus (fr. 150 Wehrli: see the full discussion in Betegh 2002), keeps on describing this theogony, but he deliberately omits this part, since it falls outside the scope of his account (Betegh 2002, 344). On the one hand, Damascius’ testimony, although it was much later than the Symposium, is based on an earlier source, Eudemus. It would apparently seem like a better candidate for understanding Acusilaus’ theogonic commitment due to the accuracy of the description and the peculiarity of his account, which owes very little to Hesiod yet has a lot in common with other concurrent cosmogonies. On the other hand, one should put this to the test where possible. We are lucky enough to read what Damascius says about the Homeric and Hesiodic theogonies and to establish his level of trust accordingly: while he does not register any particular exegesis worth discussing for Hesiod, the situation is more nuanced for Homer. The Neoplatonist philosopher emphasizes the role of Night as the beginning principle of the cosmos, as it is in Hom. Il. 14.259 and 261, a vision that ostensibly disagrees with Eudemus and with the work to which scholars have traced back his account, again, Hippias’ Synagoge.35 According to Damascius, one should not believe  35 See Snell 1944, 177–182, and Classen 1965, 175–178, esp. 177; cf. Betegh 2002, 350–351 for further bibliographic references and discussion on this topic. As Betegh rightly recalls, ancient reception (Plato, Aristotle) knew Homeric theogony exclusively starting with Oceanus and Tethys.

50  Commentary Eudemus when he says that, in Homer, everything began with Oceanus and Tethys: he rather shares the prominence of Night with Orpheus on the basis of the above-mentioned line in the fourteenth book of the Iliad (3.162.22 WesterinkCombès). Undoubtedly, Night (and darkness in general) is frequently regarded as the primeval element in ancient theogonies, because it represents what is still obscure and indistinct (see a rich overview in Bremmer 2008, 3–6 and M.L. West 1994, 303–304). If this is true, its presence in Acusilaus would not come as a surprise. Still, one can question how much of this comes from Acusilaus and how much from Damascius’ own reworking. Furthermore, Damascius’ line of reasoning, which mostly consisted of allegorical interpretations, highly influenced the way he presented Eudemus’ material: he organized the earliest stages of ancient theogonies into triads, according to the Neoplatonic ontological hierarchy. After the two items, the “ineffable”, ἀπόρρητον, and the “one”, ἕν, there is a triad of henadic principles (the “one-all”, ἕν πάντα, the “all one”, πάντα ἕν, and “the unified”, ἡνωμένον) and the triad of the intelligible (encompassing the “intelligible being”, the “intelligible life”, and the “intelligible intellect”: see Betegh 2002, 339). For instance, in Acusilaus’ case, Chaos is the “one”, Erebus the “one-all”, Night the “all-one” (“unified” is not mentioned); the triad of the intelligible is made up of Aether, the “intelligible being”, Eros, the “intelligible life”, and Metis, the “intelligible intellect” (Betegh 2002, 342). The “intelligible intellect” marks the boundary of Damascius’ interests, and for this reason his account stops here. The original role attributed to Metis here is strikingly at odds with Hesiod, but this could well be attributed to Damascius’ effort to complete his triads (and Metis perfectly fits that spot: Fowler EGM II, 6). The last relevant testimony is a piece of information included in a scholion to Theocritus, perhaps coming from the work of Theon of Alexandria (1st cent. BC),36 which is focused on Eros’ parentage. Among many options, Hesiod and Acusilaus are mentioned: the former maintains that Eros is the son of Chaos and Gaia, the latter knows him as the offspring of Night and Aether. The scholiast is plainly wrong about Hesiod, and this amplifies our doubts about his accuracy in reporting Acusilaus’ version as well. It seems like the scholiast wanted to reduce every testimony he had at hand into a common framework and did not entertain the possibility that Eros might have sprung up without parents. This probably occurred because he based his account on a catalogue-like source, where such differences were not reported and there were only lists with gods’ names (Toye BNJ, ad loc., Pàmias 2012, 536–537). What is useful about this testimony is how it  36 For Theon’s scholarly activity on Theocritus, see Pagani 2007, 288–290.

fr. 6  51

again links Eros to Night and Aether, which in Damascius was his sibling, not his father. In both cases, however, Eros is created by other entities that are associated with darkness, air, and wind (Leitao 2012, 192 n. 19). In conclusion, a few words on Philodemus’ passage (6d) are in order. This last testimony does not add anything significant to the discussion. The mention of Acusilaus only confirms that Chaos was the origin of everything, in agreement with the Hesiodic theogony. On this passage, and on the other authorities quoted by Philodemus here, see the discussion in Salati 2012, 217–221. What in these accounts can plausibly go back to Acusilaus’ work? The prominence of Eros within the cosmogony: in each account, he appears in the second or third stage. Whether he was actually born by a parental couple is a more complicated matter: while Phaedrus in Plato’s Symposium is direct in affirming that there was no parentage, Damascius is equally clear in speaking about a mixing between female and male elements. The confusing genealogy passed down in the Theocritean scholia is not helpful in dispelling doubts between these two testimonies, since it does not differentiate one, which emerged from two elements, from what emerged after them. Philodemus’ quotation (6d) only confirms the role of Chaos as a primeval force, in agreement with the previous three. Evidence from the outside can give a little help. The case has often been made that Acusilaus is influenced by Orphic theogonies here, like the one implied in Aristophanes’ parody (Birds 676–703), where Chaos is the primeval principle, together with Night, Erebus, and Tartarus.37 In this account, Eros “Protogonos”38 actually lacked parents, since he emerged from a cosmic wind-egg (695: ὑπηνέμιον ᾡόν) deposited in Erebus’ folds by Night.39 Eros mixes with Chaos within Tartarus and gives birth to a race of birds. The cosmic egg is an Orphic feature, also attested in Ps. Epimenides (fr. 6 EGM = 46 OF), in another Aristophanean passage (Gerytades, fr. 170 K.– A., on which see Cassio 1978) and perhaps by a fragment of Euripides’ Hypsipyle (TrGF 758a Kann.).40 Moreover, in the theogony discussed in the Derveni Papyrus,

 37 Even though this passage is a comical pastiche, which bears on other kinds of theogonic stories: see Bernabé 1995, 2004, 73–75 and 2008, 1219–1222, Betegh 2004, 148–149, and Santamaría Álvarez 2016b, 210–211. 38 Protogonos, the firstborn, is the Orphic god Phanes and is occasionally identified with Eros and Metis: see Santamaría Álvarez 2016b, 206–208 for references to ancient sources and modern bibliography. 39 The presence of a cosmic egg is attested in cosmogonies of other ancient cultures, esp. Phoenician: see for instance M.L. West 1994, Bremmer 2008, 15–16, and Luján 2011. 40 However, it is important to note that early Orphic texts do not register the presence of such an egg, which is attested in Epimenides and in later texts (such as the Theogony of Hieronymus and Hellanicus: see M.L. West 1983, 226, Betegh 2004, 140–146, Bernabé 2008, 312). Scholars

52  Commentary a first-born element appears (col. XVIII l. 15 and XVI l. 3), which is identified as Eros in other sources (cf. col. XIII l. 4).41 Another point which links Acusilaus to accounts of this sort is the (provisional) absence of Gaia from the picture, who is the second created entity in Hesiod: she is left out in Acusilaus as well as in the Birds theogony, where the poet states that Heaven, Gaia, and Aether were not there yet (694). One can only conclude the discussion by noting how the situation is unfortunately confusing, but it is undeniable that, in this case, Acusilaus shared certain points with traditions from an Orphic background. It would be tempting to suggest that Eros was a non-generated principle in Acusilaus, as well as in Hesiod (6a), which emerged after some kind of cooperation between Night and Erebus (6b), like the wind-egg mentioned by Aristophanes and later Orphic sources.42 This point, however, may be destined to remain in darkness forever.

fr. *6A Tert. nat. 2.2.15 (ed. Borleffs) = Varro, Antiquitates rerum divinarum frg. 23 Cardauns. Acusilaus trinam formam divinitatis ducit, Olympios, Astra, Titanios, de Caelo et Terra; ex his, Saturno et Ope, Neptunum, Iovem et Orcum, et ceteram successsionem. __________ 2 Acusilaus anon. apud Sturz2: actesilaus cod., Arcesilaus ed. pr. 1625 suppl. Borleffs 3 Titanios Oehler: Titaneos cod. post ex his, Saturnum et Opem supplendum ex dubit. coni. Borleffs

This testimony, missing in Jacoby’s collection but added in EGM, is quite controversial. The attribution to Acusilaus seems quite safe: the other possible name,  tend to believe that references by Classical age authors support the assumption that the egg already figured in earlier accounts (Bremmer 2008, 15, contra Betegh 2004, 149). How the Derveni theogony addressed this issue is debated, although a Protogonos appears (see text above): see Bernabé 2002, 101, Betegh 2004, 158–159, Leitao 2012, 46–49 (also for a useful overview of the previous bibliography). 41 On this passage see discussion in Santamaría Álvarez 2016. 42 Leitao 2012, 192 has put forward a similar hypothesis, arguing that also 6a implicitly confirms the existence of the wind-egg in Acusilaus: “Whereas Hesiod can be said to have given Eros no parents, the same cannot be said for Acusilaus, unless Phaedrus thinks that Night’s laying an egg in the folds of Erebus or Aether, likely the version of Acusilaus, does not constitute true sexual reproduction. In any event, he has supposed the egg-laying mother Acusilaus seems to have recognized for Eros”.

fr. *6A  53

the Platonic philosopher Arcesilaus, does not make much sense within a theogonic context. In addition, the reading actesilaus is compatible with Acusilaus from a palaeographical point of view. What is really striking is Tertullian’s claim that Acusilaus underscored a threefold division of divinities, which encompasses Olympian gods, Stars, and Titans. The second half of his testimony is difficult to interpret: it is hard to uphold the ablatives Saturno et Ope as they stand in the text – are they explaining to whom ex his refers? But it would be an odd syntactic usage. As a solution, one might emend it to Saturnum et Opem (Fowler EGM II, 19 n. 64), which would restore the genealogy as we know it from Hesiod,43 but this might also be a trivialization of the text. It is clear that Tertullian’s source is organized following a pattern: it must have started with three divisions (2.2.14 … Dionysius Stoicus trifariam … speciem; 15 aeque Acusilaus trinam formam), it went on with twofold (16 Xenocrates Academicus bifariam) and fourfold ones (17 Aegyptorium plerique quattuor deos). Perhaps if one considers that Cronus/Saturnus was known as one of the Titans, it could be argued that Saturno et Ope is a glossa penetrated into the text to explain whom ex his refers to: the Titans’ list was quite long, and a new genealogical branch could stem only from two items. The inclusion of the Olympians so early in the theogony is hard to maintain. In Fowler EGM II, 19, the accuracy of Tertullian’s testimony was put to the test: in his attack on pagan tradition after Acusilaus, he cited Xenocrates and his theogonic beliefs. Luckily enough, it is possible to compare this piece with other ancient accounts on the same topic. It seems that, according to Cicero (nat. deor. 1.34), Xenocrates believed the stars to be Olympian gods as well. This affirmation resembles what Tertullian said about Acusilaus, a point that he, however, completely omits about Xenocrates (nat. deor. 2.2.5): Xenocrates Academicus bifariam facit Olympios et Titanios, qui de Caelo et Terra. This fact could show that Tertullian might have simply attributed what was part of Xenocrates’ doctrine to Acusilaus instead. While Acusilaus’ expertise in treating the Olympians’ and Titans’ stories is well-attested from extant fragments, this would be the only mention of stars. Hesiod was credited in antiquity with a work entitled Astronomy, of which very little survives, but whose approach blending astronomy into cosmology and mythology is the most obvious reference. As is well-known, astronomy itself offered fertile ground for Pythagorean inquiry (Burkert 1972b, 299–321). Tertullian’s polemic against Greek paganism and its mythology cannot have been mild, and his quoting an ancient source was strictly meant to make it look laughably impossible. It was not his intention to handle this information with  43 Cf. in the apparatus the proposed integration by Borleffs.

54  Commentary care. Instead, it had to reach future readers in order to appear worse than ever. This is evidence against his trustworthiness, by all means. Tertullian, of course, did not read Acusilaus and Xenocrates in their original vestiges, but he must have accessed their texts via mythological compendia (Cameron 2004, 309). It has also been suggested that Varro, with his book Antiquitates rerum divinarum, might be Tertullian’s source here, and that Acusilaus’ insertion is due to him (Jocelyn 1980, 115). Whatever one’s views on the intermediate source(s) between Acusilaus and Tertullian may be, one can see a very similar organization in triads in this account – which is at work in Damascius’ fr. 6b, but from an exegetical viewpoint – as well as in couplets and quartets. Such a specific arrangement must have belonged to mythological compendia, which tended to be organized this way.

fr. 7 Σ (R2WLZ+) Hes. Th. 134 (30.4 Di Gregorio) unde Etym. Gen. AB (Etym. Magn. 523.50). “Κοῖόν τε” […] οὗτοι δέ (sc. Κοῖος, Κρεῖος, Ἰαπετός), ὡς Ἀκουσίλαος, Τιτᾶνες καλοῦνται καὶ Τιτανίδες. __________ 2 Ἀκουσίλαος Etym: Ἀρκεσίλαος Σ

This brief fragment looks like an actual comment Acusilaus made on Hes. Th. 134, where Uranus and Gaia’s offspring are listed, but the definitions Τιτᾶνες and Τιτανίδες are missing. They appear named as such in Ps. Apollod. 1.1.3 as well, a passage that closely resembles the Hesiodic account in content, but that may owe to the Argive mythographer on this specific point. Acusilaus is glossing the text with this information that will not occur in the Theogony. However, the female name Τιτανίδες is actually quite rare in ancient Greek language: for full reference, see Fowler EGM II, 19 (the name can both mean Titaness or stand for “primeval”). As far as one can tell, this is the earliest instance of this feminine noun in ancient Greek. For the spread of this suffix in the Greek nominal system, see Alonso Déniz 2017, as well as for an orientation on further bibliography.

*fr. 8  55

*fr. 8 Phld. Π. εὐσ. N 433 V (p. 92 Schober, 32 Gomperz). Iterum tractavit Luppe, Philologus 129 (1985) 151–155. 10

15

20

Ἡσίοδος] δὲ μετὰ τὴν τῶν] Τιτάνων ταρτάρω]σ̣ιν ἐπαναστῆν]αί φησι τῶι Διῒ τ]ὸ̣ν Τυφῶ, τὸ̣[ν δ’ Οὐρ]α̣νὸν Ἀ[κο]υ̣σίλαος] δείσαντα τοὺς Ἑκατ]όνχειρας μὴ ]νται ταρταρῶσαι] διότι τοι[ ]δε τούτους [

finis columnae

__________ 10-11 Hes. Th. 820 sqq. 11 suppl. Bϋcheler 12 sq. suppl. Quaranta 13 spatium indicat N 14 suppl. Bϋcheler 15 suppl. Bϋcheler τυφω̣ ( ̣) τ [̣ N: Τυφῶ̣[να] Bϋcheler, Τυφῶ̣ Luppe 16 δ’] Bϋcheler, Οὐρ]α̣νὸν Quaranta 16 sq. suppl. Philippson 18 suppl. Quaranta 19 ἀνθιστῶ]νται Bϋcheler: περιγένω]νται Philippson, ἐπιθῶ]νται Schober 20 init. suppl. Quaranta, ante διότι spatium indicat N 20 sq. τοι | [αῦτ’ εἶ]δε τούτους [ἀδικήσαντας] Diels, τοι[ού | τους εἶ]δε· τουτους[ Philippson, τοι[οῦ | τον εἶ]δε τούτους [ ἔχοντας | κράτος Schober

This quotation by Philodemus is the first of quite a long series: he constantly mentions Acusilaus and Hesiod together in addressing theogonic events.44 Unfortunately, only tattered fragments of Philodemus’ treatise survived from Herculaneum’s library and this complicates reconstruction. What is more, the original papyrus has been lost and only a reproduction can be consulted (available online at https://www.epikur-wuerzburg.de/vh2/VH2_02_060.jpg). However, if the reading is correct, Philodemus cites Hesiod as a source for the story of Typhon’s rebellion,45 when the Titans were confined in Tartarus (Th. 820–868). The following citation is from Acusilaus: the mythographer mentioned the HundredHanders (or Hecatoncheires, or Centimanes), named Briareus, Cottus, and Gyges

 44 This circumstance led scholars to believe that this association was present in Philodemus’ source: cf. Introduction, § 1.2. 45 For the form Τυφῶ̣ versus Τυφῶ̣[να] (by Bϋcheler) see Luppe 1985, 151.

56  Commentary according to Hesiod, who were imprisoned by a worried Uranus. The reading Οὐρ]α̣νόν seems very likely here: the papyrus shows traces of the edge of the alpha and confirms this integration. However, in the Theogony, Hesiod says that Uranus did not let his offspring come up into the light (154–159): the problem is that the Hundred-Handers are not listed among them, but stand apart in another group, with the Cyclopes. In the following part of the story, Zeus convinces them to take part in the fight with the Titans, on the Olympians’ side (617–663). Τhis account indicates that the Hundred-Handers were still imprisoned at that moment of the story. The major question mark here stands in the middle link of the chain, namely what happened during Cronus’ reign: in the Theogony, it seems likely that Cronus was supposed to release his brothers, including the Hundred-Handers, but this does not happen and Zeus is the one who sets them free. In his Library, Ps. Apollodorus (1.1.5) filled in this missing piece by stating that Cronus actually freed them and later put them in chains again. There are two available options here (Fowler EGM II, 26). The first one is that in Hesiod, and in Acusilaus as well, only Titans were released from confinement in Cronus’ time: also in 207–210, only Titans are mentioned as Uranus’ offspring. Otherwise, another option could be to question the reading Οὐρ]α̣νόν: one can suspect that Cronus’ name must have been integrated into the line. This possibility is less likely than the first, since the copy of the papyrus shows clear traces of an alpha. It is a true pity that we cannot know anything more about Acusilaus’ handling of this topic, considering the variety of treatment it had in the epics. For instance, in the cyclic Titanomachy, Aegean (Briareus) did not fight on the side of the Olympians, but with the Titans (fr. 3 PEG, EGEF; he is also inserted in a different genealogy: cf. D’Alessio 2015, 203, Tsagalis EGEF, 53–56). The substantive Ἑκατ]όνχειρας is not used in Hesiod, who nevertheless describes such creatures as having one hundred hands in Th. 150. It would not be employed much during the archaic age: cf. Hom. Il. 1.402 (speaking of Briareus) and Pind. Paean. fr. 52i (A) Sn.–M. = B3 Rutherford (where it should refer to Eris: cf. Finglass 2005). In Homer’s passage, it looks like Briareus was the only one of his brothers to take part in the war against the Titans, yet this does not contradict Hesiod completely, since the alliances are the same. As far as one can tell, Acusilaus is likely to have been in line with the Hesiodic story. Philodemus might have mentioned the Hundred-Handers, since they are Tartarus’ guardians in later sources (cf. Ps. Apollod. 1.2.1). Titans could have been the main focus: Typhon’s rebellion occurred after their imprisonment (and he would have joined them there).

fr. 9–10  57

fr. 9–10 Phld. Π. εὐσ. N 1088 VII (p. 86 Schober, 43 Gomperz). 12

15

20

25

30

Ὅμηρ[ος μὲν γὰρ οὐ μόνο[ν τοὺς ὀνε[ίρ]ο̣υς ἀγ[γέλους τῶν [θ]εῶν, ἀ[λλὰ καὶ τόν [θ’] Ἑρμῆ Δ[ιὸς ἄγγελόν φησιν εἶναι καὶ τὴν Ἶριν. ἔνιοι δὲ τα[ύτη]ν καὶ τῆς Ἣρας, Ἀκουσίλας δὲ καὶ θεῶν πάντων, Φερεκύδης δ’ ὁ Ἀθηναῖος καὶ τὸν Ἑρμῆ. καὶ τὰς Ἁρπυίας τὰ μῆ[λα φ]υλάττειν Ἀκο[υσί]λ̣αος, Ἐπιμενίδης δὲ καὶ τοῦτο καὶ τὰς αὐτὰς εἶναι ταῖς Ἑσπερίσιν· ὁ δὲ τὴν Τινομαχίαν < > μὲν μῆλα φυλατ- [ finis columnae

__________ 12 suppl. Quaranta 13 suppl. Gomperz 14 ὀνε[ίρ]ο̣υς Quaranta; ἀγ[γέλους Gomperz2 15 suppl. Gomperz 16 θ’] Schober, Δ[ιὸς ἄγ- Quaranta 20 post ρας indicat N spatium; sim. in 26, 29 Ἀκουσίλας dubit. Fowler 22 Pherec. frg. 130 EGM 26 Epimen. frg. 9 EGM 27 τουτε N 30 Τινομαχίαν Nauck et Sauppe2 (140) frg. 9 PEG = 10 EGEF 31 φυλατ [|τεσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν Ἑσπερίδων, | ὑπὸ δὲ τῶν Ἁρπυιῶν τὸν Τάρταρον e.g. Schober

In this passage by Philodemus, again, one finds mention of Acusilaus twice, while discussing the role of some mythological characters that were subjected to specific tasks. In this light, it is easy to see why frs. 9 and 10 come one after the other. Textual issues concerning these fragments do not have consequences for the understanding of Acusilaus’ position. The piece numbered as fr. 9 is about Iris: Philodemus states that Homer did not designate dreams as the gods’ messengers exclusively (cf. Il. 2.26), but also Hermes (Od. 5.29), and Iris (Il. 2.786), who were at Zeus’ disposal. Other unnamed authorities (ἔνιοι) found that Iris was

58  Commentary also subject to Hera’s will, a claim that is supported by Homeric passages like Il. 18.166–168, and, according to Acusilaus, to the will of every god. This last piece of information is present in Homer as well, who defines Iris as a messenger for all gods in Il. 15.144, while Hesiod does not mention those who send Iris, but on one occasion says that Zeus gave her a message to relate (Th. 784). All in all, in this case it looks like Philodemus did not have a clear view of the issue: all claims he reports about the gods’ messengers are supported by the Homeric text. On the other hand, fr. 10 deals with a more complicated subject, namely the identity of the keepers of the Hesperides’ apples, which were the object of Heracles’ eleventh labour. The story told by Philodemus is indeed peculiar: according to Acusilaus, the Hesperides were not the guardians of their pomes, but the Harpies were. Epimenides of Crete (fr. 9 EGM) also offered a relevant argument in support of this view, since he identified the Harpies with the Hesperides. Such an account clearly contradicts Hesiod, who in the Theogony (215–216) speaks of the Hesperides in that role. This discrepancy when it comes to the theogonic field is not isolated (cf. frs. 4 and 6) and needs to be investigated further. As briefly mentioned above, the problem of the identity of the Hesperides is closely tied to Heracles’ labour, a topic addressed in the epic Titanomachy attributed to Eumelus of Corinth (7th cent. BC: see frs. 8 and 9 PEG = 12, 10 EGEF), which is quoted immediately after Epimenides by Philodemus, and in other ancient texts (see the full overview by Bernardini 2011, 159–165 and Fowler EGM II, 291–299). The syntactic connection, however, marked by a δέ, suggests that the epic poet did not simply conform to Acusilaus’ or Epimenides’ vision, but that he probably had something to add to the picture.46 A very important aspect of this labour was its location: together with the task of stealing Geryon’s cattle, this one on the Hesperides’ garden was located in the remote West of the world. This assumption was of course strengthened by the etymology of their name, which identifies them as “goddesses of the evening”, and, despite some disagreeing voices (cf. Pherec. fr. 17 EGM and Ps. Apollod. 2.5.11, on which see Dolcetti 2004, 144–147, Bernardini 2011, 159–160, Fowler EGM II, 294–295, Salati 2016, 125), this western placement was by all means the most successful (see Hes. Th. 215–216, 517–519, 746–754). Unfortunately, there is no clue here that suggests anything

 46 Bernardini 2011, 167 argues that the Titanomachy saw the same overlap between Hesperides and Harpies (a point that does not seem to be suggested by the text, which interrupts while telling the poet’s story: cf. Debiasi 2004, 96, Salati 2012, 231). The latter were located on the western side of the world, according to the fact that Heracles reached their garden by asking the Sun to lend him its cup. However, there is no certainty that Acusilaus mentioned the garden of the Hesperides in connection with Heracles’ labour.

fr. 9–10  59

about Acusilaus’ placement of the garden: the very fact that he substitutes the Hesperides with the Harpies (and does not equate them as Epimenides did, as mentioned by Tozzi 1967, 592) casts a bit of doubt on their widely accepted placement in the far West. It cannot be ruled out, because it makes perfect sense to place the apples in an inaccessible and very remote region, but there is not enough evidence to infer that Acusilaus promoted such a placement.47 For instance, one should consider the case of a mythographer like Hecataeus of Miletus, who placed Geryon’s island Erythia in Epirus, not in Iberia (fr. 26 EGM: on this myth see Andolfi 2017b, 100). Most importantly, the Hesperides’ apples could well be mentioned without referring to Heracles’ eleventh deed: this point has been raised by M.L. West 2002, 113 and D’Alessio 2014, 94 (cf. also 2015, 207), who both show how many other contexts could have hosted such a reference and whose observations also work when referring to Acusilaus’ quotation (cf. also Tsagalis EGEF, 67–69). In Greek mythology, Harpies, Mermaids, and Hesperides were closely connected (Fowler EGM II, 30), and Epimenides’ identification of two items on this list is evidence of it. This topic is vast and cannot be examined at length here, but I would like to suggest that Harpies and Hesperides overlapped in Hesiod’s time as well. The Hesperides’ names are attested almost unanimously in Greek sources: for Hesiod (fr. 360 M.–W.= 299ab Most), they are Aegle, Erytheia, Hesperethusa; for Apollonius of Rhodes (4.1427–1428): Aegle, Erytheis, Hespere; in Ps. Apollodorus (2.5.11): Aegle, Erythia, Hesperia and Arethusa – while later sources from the Roman world present a more variegated picture. Their most prominent features are speed and rapacity – their name is formed on the same root as ἁρπάζειν – and on one occasion Atalanta is compared to a Harpy for taking back the golden pomes she lost during a running competition (fr. 76.30 M.–W. = 48.30 Most). Their activity as rapacious thieves must have suggested that they could also work in the opposite direction, namely, preventing others from stealing things from them.48 For instance, Pherecydes of Syros (fr. 83 Schibli = D 13 L.– M.) stated that the Harpies were guardians of Tartarus. Furthermore, a significant testimony from the field of pottery says something further on this overlap. An Attic pyxis, dated between 500–470 BC and now at the British Museum (available  47 See the discussion by Salati 2016, 127–131, who argues in favour of the western placement, on the basis of Hesiodic passages about the Harpies and of Acusilaus’ treatment of the Heracleian saga (cf. fr. 29), meant to promote the hero’s fame well beyond the geographical boundaries of the Peloponnese. 48 Lanzillotta 2005, 66 quotes Apollonius Rhodius’ description of the Hesperides, καλαὶ καὶ ἐύφρονες (4.1411), to underline how they might seem inadequate for such a task and, on the other hand, how the Harpies fit that role much better.

60  Commentary on line at http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection_object_details.aspx?objectId=461230&partId=1), presents an unusual triad of Hesperides: Hippolyta, Thetis, and Mapsaura. This last name presents a curious etymology, meaning “rush of wind”, and points to a feature of the Harpies: see Hes. Th. 266–269 (ἡ δ’ ὠκεῖαν τέκεν Ἶριν/ἠυκόμους θ’ Ἁρπυίας, Ἀελλώ τ’ Ὠκυπέτην τε,/αἵ ῥ’ ἀνέμων πνοιῇσι καὶ οἰωνοῖς ἅμ’ ἕπονται/ὠκείῃς πτερύγεσσι). Also, in Homer the Harpies are connected with gusting winds as well (cf. Od. 1.241 and 14.371). Plus, the syntagm μάψ αὖραι, “winds blowing in vain”, which occurs in Hes. Th. 872, can offer another explanation for the name, which is much more suitable for a Harpy than for one of the Hesperides. This later and further piece of evidence testifies to the overlap between Harpies and Hesperides already maintained by Epimenides’ fr. 9. Moreover, the drawing on the pyxis might also suggest that the Harpies were in charge of protecting the pomes in the Hesperides’ garden, as it is in Acusilaus’ fr. 10.

fr. 11 Phld. Π. εὐσ. N 242 II A + 247 II (p. 81 Schober, 5 et 15 Gomperz). Iterum tractavit Luppe, Tyche 10 (1995), 103–106. 6

1

5

] τὸν Πρωτέα δὲ μάντ]ιν Ὅμηρος ὧδε διαγρ]άφει· “γέρων ἅλι[ος νημερτὴς ἀθάν[ατος Πρωτεύς” καιτ[ εγον Φόρκ[ εἶναι τοῦτον̣ [ τινες εἰδ . [ Φόρκυν, καὶ [ἐκ Φόρκου Γραίας [ καὶ Ἀκουσίλ[αος.

247 II (init. columnae)

__________ Fragmenta coniunxit Schober 7 Πρωτέα δὲ] Schmid μάντ]ιν Schober 8 Ὅμηρος] Gomperz2 ὧδε] Schober διαγρ]άφει Kassel: συγ]γράφει Schober, οὕτως γρ]άφει Luppe 1 Hom. Od. 4.383– 385 ἅλι[ος νημερ- Schober2: αλλ N 6 εἰδ . : litterae rotundae sinistra pars: Εἰδο̣[θέας vel Εἰδο̣[ῦς πατέρα Schober 7 [ἐκ Schober Φόρ]|κου Gomperz2 8 Γραίας [Ἡσίοδος Schober (cf. Th. 270), [οὕτως suppl. Kordt 9 suppl. Quaranta 8–9 Γραίας [Ἡσίοδος]. καὶ Ἀκουσίλ[αος

fr. 11  61

Τι]θωνὸν μὲν [λέγει (Schober) πλαίον [τι γερόν]τιον (Bücheler) καὶ [ἰσχνὸν] (Fowler) ἐν τοῖς [ἀναφερο]μένοις ε[ἰς αὐτόν] (suppl. Bücheler) dub. Fowler

Also in this case, the lacunose state of the papyrus does not allow us to say much about Acusilaus’ treatment of the myth. Philodemus is discussing another ridiculous belief: some goddesses came into the world as old women and some humans were gifted with immortality by the gods. The extant text opens with a quotation from Homer (Od. 4.384–385) about the seer Proteus and then goes on to cite Phorcys, another sea-divinity like Proteus and Nereus. At l. 6 it is perhaps possible to make out the name Εἰδο̣[θέας, which appears in the same Homeric passage as Proteus’ daughter. Proposed integrations give ll. 4–6 a possible meaning: “some have said that Proteus was son of Phorcys, but others that Phorcys was son of Eidothea” (Fowler EGM II, 32). Acusilaus’ involvement in this discussion is to reference Phorcys’ daughters. In his opinion, as well as Hesiod’s, they were to be identified with the Graeae. By contrast, some have also suggested (Luppe 1989, 105) using different punctuation and accommodating Acusilaus’ name within the syntax of the following lines (about Typhon), a solution that is not theoretically impossible, but does not restore a fluid syntactical phrase, as outlined by Fowler (EMG II, 32 n. 115; cf. Salati 2016, 119). Perhaps Hesiod’s name should be reconstructed in the lacuna (sic Schober) on the basis of Th. 270 and on Philodemus’ tendency to quote the two of them together (cf. frs. 8, 13, 19).49 If one follows this line of interpretation, Acusilaus states only that the Graeae were Phorcys’ offspring; if not, he would uphold the whole genealogical segment Eidothea–Phorcys–Graea (Salati 2016, 119–120; Lanzillotta 2005, 67 follows Tozzi 1967, 597 in choosing the second option). Focusing on the unquestionable information we have, Acusilaus upheld a genealogy already attested in Th. 270–273; the Graeae’s name comes from their appearance, since they have always had grey hair.50 Since the Graeae are sisters of Echidna, who gives birth to Typhon, the ‘subject’ of the next fragment, we can assume that this piece formed a genealogical continuum with fr. 12 (contra Toye

 49 However, on a general basis, it should not be overlooked that Epimenides is cited with Acusilaus almost as often as Hesiod (frs. 6d, 10, 12). This is of course not the case with this text, where Epimenides’ name could not be integrated for reasons of space. 50 As noted by M.L. West 1966, 245, Cycnus shared the same peculiarity. In WD 181, grey hair is a prerogative of Iron Age. Cf. Pherec. fr. 11 EGM, where the Graeae are described as horrific, with one eye and one tooth, and act as the guardians of the Gorgons: see Fowler EGM II, 253–254. One cannot tell for sure if Acusilaus also considered them to be monstrous, since pottery evidence also depicts them as graceful girls (see references in LIMC s.v. Graiai, M.L. West 1966, 244, Ogden 2013, 97–98).

62  Commentary BNJ, ad loc., who thinks of the theogonic context or Perseus’ deed against the Gorgon, as it is in Pherecydes’ fr. 11 EGM). About their exact localization, nothing further can be inferred in Acusilaus: Hesiod left this information out while placing the rest of Phorcys’ offspring on the western side of the word, while Pherecydes probably put them in the West with the Gorgons.51

*fr. 12 Phld. Π. εὐσ. N 433 VIb (p. 85 Schober, 46 Gomperz). 10

15

20

25

κα[ διος[ ἐν πρ ̣[ καί Ἀκουσίλα[ος καὶ Ἐπιμενίδη̣[ς καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοί. [ Ἐπιμενίδη[ Τυφων[ τος Διὸς[ βασίλειον σ[ της[ καθισ[̣ παρα[ ὁ Ζεὺς[ ον ἰδὼ[ν ναι λεγ[

__________ 12 sq. nomina agnovit Bücheler 14 sq. suppl. Diels: [Ἐπι] | μενίδη[ς λέγουσι καὶ] | πολλοὶ [ἄλλοι Ἐπι] | μενίδη[ς γοῦν. Schmid2 15 sqq. παρ’ Ἐπι] | μενίδη[ι δ’ἀναβὰς] | Τυφῶν [καθεύδον] | τος Διὸς [ἐπὶ τὸ βα] | σίλειον, ἐ[πικρα] | τήσ[ας δὲ τῶν πυλῶν] | καθικ[έσθαι μὲν ἔσω] | παρα[βοηθήσας δὲ] | ὁ Ζεὺς [καὶ τὸ βασίλει] | ον ἰδὼ[ν ληφθὲν κτεῖ] | ναι λέγ[εται κεραυνῶι Diels; deinde παρὰ δ’ Ἔπι] | μενίδη[ι παρέρπει] | Τυφῶν [καθεύδον] | τος Διὸς [εἰς τὸ βα] | σίλειον ὥ[στ’ ἐγκρα] | τὴς [τῆς βασιλείας]

 51 According to Ogden 2013, 98 and Fowler EGM II, 254, Hesiod places Phorcys’ offspring in the West, while this piece of information (Th. 274) seems to me not to belong to the Graeae. Salati 2016, 120 (cf. M.L. West 1966, 246) agrees on this point, and nevertheless argues in favour of the Graeae’s placement in the West for both Hesiod and Acusilaus, so as to reach consistency within the placement of the whole monstrous family.

fr. 13  63

| καθί̣σ̣ταται. καὶ] West apud Obbink2, qui ipse παρ’ Ἀ[κουσιλάωι] | ὁ Ζεὺς[ περὶ βασίλει] | ον ἰδὼ[ν κατακτεῖ] | ναι (hoc West) λέγ[εται pergit; in 23 (post Ζεὺς) περὶ τὸ Κάσι | ον dub. Fowler (coll. Hdt. 3.5.3, Ps. Apollod. 1.6.3)

The lacunose condition of the text makes it very hard to imagine what was going on in this passage. The only sure fact is that Acusilaus, whose name was restored by Bücheler, as was that of Aeschylus (Prom. 351–376), dealt with the story of Typhon’s rebellion, together with Epimenides and others (e.g. Pind. Pyth. 1.15 and other mythographers, for whom see Fowler EGM II, 27–30). Typhonomachy was a topic discussed more than once by Philodemus: he must have found it especially suitable to the description of ancient Greek impiety (cf. Salati 2012, 227). As one can see in the apparatus, there are several possibilities of integrating these lines that, however, properly refer to Epimenides’ fr. 10 EGM (he is cited at ll. 15–16). Obbink’s supplement for ll. 22–25 (quoted by Fowler EGM I): παρ’ Ἀ[κουσιλάωι] | ὁ Ζεὺς[ περὶ βασίλει] | ον ἰδὼ[ν κατακτεῖ] | ναι makes good use of extant letters, but the absence of the article in περὶ βασίλει]ον is hard to justify, as stressed by Fowler, who, on the basis of Ps. Apollod. 1.6.3, cautiously hypothesizes something like περὶ τὸ Κάσιον – Mount Casion, which rises over Syria, the end point of Typhon’s flight from Zeus (Fowler EGM II, 28). In his discussion, Fowler added that “in any case, one would rather expect Epimenides’ imaginative version not to be repeated (or foreshadowed) in Akousilaos” (ibidem). That is because, if one follows West’s supplement (on the basis of Diels’ conjecture) for Epimenides’ fr. 10, he would tell a story where Typhon actually managed to enter Zeus’ palace while he was asleep and, by accepting Obbink’s reconstruction for the following lines, Acusilaus would have set their battle close to Zeus’ palace. By contrast, if we accept Fowler’s reconstruction on the basis of Ps. Apollod. 1.6.3, this would have taken place at Mount Casion (cf. also Hdt. 3.5.3). For the connections that the individual story told by Epimenides has with ancient Oriental cultures, see M.L. West 1997, 303 and Ogden 2013, 75–80.

fr. 13 Phld. Π. εὐσ. N 247 I (p. 82 Schober, 14 Gomperz). Iterum tractavit Luppe, WJA 20 (1994–1995) 79–83. 12

15

Ἡσίοδος δὲ καὶ] Ἀκουσίλαος Ἐχίδν]ης καὶ Τυφῶνος κύ]να Κέρβε-

64  Commentary

20

ρον ἀθά]νατον καὶ ἄλλα τ]ερατώδη φ[ασὶ τέκν]α, τόν τε ἀετὸν] τὸν καθ’ `Ἡσ´ίο̣δον τὸ τ]οῦ Προμ[η[θέως ἧπαρ ἐσθίοντα

__________ 12 Hes. Th. 306 sqq. 13 suppl. Kordt: μὲν καὶ] Bücheler 14 Kordt post Bücheler (ἐξ Ἐχίδν]ης) 15 init. suppl. Bücheler κύ]να Gomperz2 τέκ]να Schober 16 init. suppl. Bücheler ἀθά]νατον 18 τόν τε Schmid: τονγε N 19–21 suppl. Körte 17 init. suppl. Gomperz2, fin. Obbink2 Bücheler 19 Hes. Th. 523 21 dubit. coni. Gomperz2: ἐκ τῶν αὐτῶν φησι γεγενῆσθαι Φερε | κύδες ὁ Ἀθηναῖος (vide frg. 7 EGM): autem Luppe: καὶ ὕστερον, ὑφ’ Ἡρα | κλέους κατατοξευ | όμενον ἐκ τούτου | γεγενῆσθαί φησι (vel λέγει) | Φερεκύδες ὁ Ἀθη | ναῖος

In this passage of the De pietate, Philodemus discusses how impious writers represented the gods and their appearance, both in the shape of beautiful creatures and monstrous ones. In this regard, his account could not avoid handling the horrifying offspring from Phorcys (already mentioned in fr. 11) and Ceto and, consequently, the following one from Echidna and Typhon (cf. frs. 12 and 14) listed in Hes. Th. 304–336. Acusilaus and Hesiod are mentioned together, as to suggest that they operated in agreement when making Cerberus the son of Echidna and Typhon. By contrast, Pherecydes, whose name can be distinguished thanks to a plausible supplement (cf. apparatus), presents an original view by including the eagle torturing and biting Prometheus (Salati 2012, 226, contra Toye BNJ, ad loc. and Gantz 1993, 22, who erroneously place Acusilaus and Pherecydes on the same page about the eagle). Philodemus focuses on Cerberus, Hades’ keeper, defining it as an immortal hound.52 Apparently, the qualification of Cerberus as immortal is not explicit in any ancient text, and perhaps this is Philodemus’ own addition (Salati 2012, 226), yet it was probably prompted by epithets such as the Hesiodic ἀμήχανον, οὔ τι φατειόν, ἀναιδέα, κρατερόν (Th. 310–312). Plus, in the canonical story about Heracles and Cerberus, the hero has to fetch him from Hades, and he subdued the monster by leading him out onto earth (and did not slay him). Plus, a few lines above (305), Echidna, Cerberus’ mother, is described as ἀθάνατος νύμφη καὶ ἀγήραος ἤματα πάντα, suggesting that, in a way, she might have transferred such

 52 The physical description of Cerberus varies among ancient sources: see Ogden 2013, 104–115 and M.L. West 1966, 253, who also mentions a twelve-headed Cerberus attested in P.Oxy. 2454 l. 25 (a piece of Hellenistic tragedy about Heracles on Oeta).

fr. 14  65

features to her children. However, what is more important to note is that the text should have called Cerberus a dog, l. 14 κύ]να, restored by Gomperz on the basis of Hes. Th. 311 (Ἀίδεω κύνα χαλκεόφωνον). This lets us infer that Acusilaus shares this point with Hesiod and disagrees with Hecataeus of Miletus’ fr. 27ab EGM, which quite strikingly describes Cerberus as an incredibly frightening snake.53 As Salati 2012, 226 points out, Gomperz’s supplement at l. 14 is more compelling, because it fits the space in the papyrus better (Schober had proposed τέκ]να, which is one letter too long) and it is likely a correct integration. As seen before, Acusilaus and Hesiod are quoted together, perhaps on the basis of a mythological compendium available to Philodemus, where the two of them were sometimes associated (esp. fr. 19, but also fr. 11, where Hesiod’s name is only proposed as an integration).

fr. 14 Σ (α (= GCV) β (= KRpv) +) Nic. Ther. 12a (39.12 Crugnola). “ἀλλ’ ἤτοι κακοεργὰ φαλάγγια, σὺν καὶ ἀνιγροὺς/ἑρπηστὰς ἔχιάς τε καὶ ἄχθεα μυρία γαίης/Τιτήνων ἐνέπουσιν ἀφ’ αἵματος, εἰ ἐτεόν περ . . . Ἡσίοδος (frg. 367 M.–W.) κατέλεξε”. περὶ γοῦν τῆς τῶν δακνόντων θηρίων γενέσεως, ὅτι ἐστὶν ἐκ τῶν Τιτάνων τοῦ αἵματος, παρὰ μὲν τῷ Ἡσιόδῳ οὐκ ἔστιν εὑρεῖν. Ἀκουσίλαος δέ φησιν ἐκ τοῦ αἵματος τοῦ Τυφῶνος πάντα τὰ δάκνοντα γενέσθαι. Acusilaus’ dialogue with Hesiod’s Theogony involves not only the rectification and imitation of what the poet said, but sometimes also an improvement of his material. Fr. 14 is a case of the latter: Hesiod did not explicitly discuss the birth of biting creatures, while Acusilaus said they originated from Typhon’s blood, presumably when he was slain by Zeus. This was another option available in the very early stages of theogony, when reproduction does not always involve a sexual partner: the same circumstance occurs for the Phaeacians in fr. 4 (cf. also Hes. Th. 178–187 and creatures born from Uranus’ blood). In the opening of his Theriaca (8–12), Nicander of Colophon affirms that biting creatures stem from the Titans’ blood, as it is in Hesiodic catalogic poetry (Ἡσίοδος κατέλεξε). However, this was not verified by the scholiast, who could not find this information in  53 On this representation of Cerberus, usually taken for an example of Hecataean rationalism, yet better derivable from a common ancient religious belief, see Andolfi 2017b, 96–97. The representation as a snake could also have been prompted by the Hesiodic description of its parents as displaying snake-like features (Echidna: Th. 299; Typhon: 825), inherited by Chimaera (Th. 322), as pointed out by Ogden 2013, 107.

66  Commentary Hesiod (παρὰ μὲν τῷ Ἡσιόδῳ οὐκ ἔστιν εὑρεῖν); on the contrary, he was aware of Acusilaus’ genealogy, where such creatures came from Typhon’s blood. Here, the scholiast’s statement is quite surprising, considering that he might have based his claim about Acusilaus on mythological compendia, where the latter is often mentioned with Hesiod (Cameron 2004, 94–95). If Nicander was referring to a passage that was not available in the scholiast’s time,54 the loss of this Hesiodic passage must have occurred very early in the textual transmission. Perhaps it is safer to imagine that Nicander’s memory was slippery and that he instinctively associated the Titans with Hesiod. Acusilaus’ own contribution filled in a lacuna that probably, in a way, harks back to Hesiodic tradition once again. Hesiod describes Typhon as having one hundred snaky heads (Th. 825), a feature shared by Aeschylus’ and Pindar’s portrayals (Prom. 353 and Pyth. 8.15–16, Ol. 4.6–7, fr. 91 Sn.–M.),55 which may be the reason behind Acusilaus’ supplement to this genealogy (cf. Fowler EGM II, 27). By contrast, no evidence of Acusilaus’ description of Typhon’s creation has survived, and this is unfortunate. We know quite a lot about his offspring (see also fr. 13 above), but cannot say much about his parents. This would have been interesting because the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (305–355) presented a very different version of Typhon’s generation, although he came into the world for the same reason as always, that is, taking Zeus’ place. According to the Hymn, he was Hera’s son, since the goddess prayed to Earth and Sky to give her a child that could compete with Zeus in strength – she was upset with him since he gave birth to Athena without involving her as the biological mother, while she was left to deal with their crippled son, Hephaestus.56 Then, when Typhon was born, he was nurtured by a she-dragon, δράκαινα (a noun first attested here: see Richardson 2010, 126), a monster defeated by Apollo.57

 54 On Nicander’s scholiastic tradition, which was large, see Dickey 2007, 65–66. On the apparently wrong attribution to Hesiod, see Spatafora 2007, 97, which mentioned Cazzaniga’s hypothesis that Nicander alludes here to the Titanomachy. More generally on his debt to Hesiod, see Overduin 2014, 29–31. 55 For ancient literary and artistic representations of Typhon and on its Near Eastern background, cf. Ogden 2013, 69–80. 56 Cf. also Stesich. fr. 273 D.-F., who shares this detail. In a scholion to Il. 2.783 (b) Gaia plays the role of the upset divinity scheming against Zeus and planning Hera’s pregnancy. This genealogy for Typhon partially contradicts Hesiod and Aeschylus, who say that he arose from Earth (which, however, is one of the addressees of Hera’s prayer): cf. M.L. West 1966, 379–384, esp. 383. For an analysis of the Homeric passage see Richardson 2010, 126–128. 57 For the meaning of δράκων to describe a huge serpent, see Ogden 2013, 2–4.

fr. 15  67

Interestingly enough, as Toye BNJ, ad loc. briefly mentions, another earth– born snake god, named Ophion, occurs in Pherecydes of Syros’ fragments (frs. 73, 78–82 Schibli = D 11–12 L.–M.) as Cronus’ opponent (on this, see the discussion by Schibli 1990, 78–103 and Granger 2007, 143–144 with reference to previous bibliography). Typhon, through his counterpart Ophion, had also become “the plaything of the Orphic tradition of symbolic but obscurantist theogonies” (Ogden 2013, 78).58 Another failed attempt to steal the throne from the legitimate king carried out by a monster with snake-like features, whose name directly indicates its appearance.59 Pherecydes’ account is much more documented than Acusilaus’ – it presents several original points, as Schibli has outlined – yet it represents further useful evidence for the ancient association of Typhon with a snake.

fr. 15 Σ (R2WLZ) Hes. Th. 379 (68.4 Di Gregorio). “ἀργεστὴν Ζέφυρον”. Ἀκουσίλαος δὲ τρεῖς ἀνέμους εἶναί φησι κατὰ Ἡσίοδον· Βορρᾶν, Ζέφυρον καὶ Νότον· τοῦ γὰρ Ζεφύρου ἐπίθετον τὸ ἀργεστὴν φησιν. Fragment 15 is a surprising testimony: it attests a case of Hesiodic exegesis by Acusilaus. The passage of this Hesiodic scholion proves the existence of an actual ζήτημα: how many winds did Hesiod know? According to the poet’s statement in Th. 379–380, there should be three winds: Zephyr, Boreas, and Notus, yet the epithet ἀργεστής, “brightening”, often in reference to Zephyr (e.g. Th. 870), was confusing for the very existence of a wind called Argestes. In addition, the existence of four winds is attested in the Odyssey (5.295–296): Eurus, Notus, Zephyr, and Boreas. The epithet ἀργεστής is used for Notus, the southern wind (Hom. Il. 11.306, 21.334), and never for Zephyr. Discussion on these two options is present in M.L. West 1966, 271, who concludes by saying that “the scholium on this line appears to be a confused conflation of the improbable explanation that Argestes is the east wind here, with the absurd one that Argestes is the west wind and Zephyrus the east wind”. This is because, in the Hesiodic triad of winds, there is room for an eastern one, but Argestes seems to be a west-northwest wind (ibidem). Editors

 58 Cf. also the case of Orpheus’ song in Ap. Rhod. 1.503–511, where the primeval divine couple formed by Ophion and Eurynome is overthrown by Zeus and Rhea. For a discussion of this passage and reference to the previous modern bibliography, see Santamaría Álvarez 2014, 133–136. 59 Cf. also Σ A Hom. Il. 8.479, where Ophion was the leader of the Giants’ rebellion against Zeus.

68  Commentary have placed this testimony following the section on Typhon, like the Hesiodic model. Acusilaus should have mentioned the winds when dealing with the conclusion of the Typhonomachy, as it is in the Theogony (869–871): unlike all the other winds generated by Typhon upon his imprisonment, these three directly came from the gods and were favourable to men’s activities. Acusilaus defended the former interpretation, and he actually reads ἀργεστής as an adjective, not as a proper noun. As Fowler EGM II, 34 notes, “the scholiast is more emphatic than usual”. One might have expected him to say something vague, like “Acusilaus also knew three winds”; on the contrary, we are told that he in some way explains the text and analyzes it in its grammatical structure.60 The expression Ἀκουσίλαος δὲ τρεῖς ἀνέμους εἶναί φησι κατὰ Ἡσίοδον highlights this: surprisingly, the scholiast is not saying that there were three winds according to Acusilaus, but that Acusilaus finds that Hesiod knows three winds. This means that Acusilaus acted as an exegete of the Hesiodic passage and offered his own interpretation of this discussed line. This does not directly imply that Acusilaus agreed with Hesiod on this point, since he may also have quoted him to prove him wrong (Fowler EGM II, 34), but unfortunately his own viewpoint was not relevant for the scholiast.

fr. *17 Σ (BEFGQ+) Pind. Pyth. 3.25c (2.67.4 Drachmann). “χόλος δ’ οὐκ ἀλίθιος/γίνεται παίδων Διός. ἁ δ’ ἀποφλαυρίξαισά νιν/ἀμπλακίαισι φρενῶν ἄλλον αἴνησεν γάμον κρύβδαν πατρός,/πρόσθεν ἀκερσεκόμαι μειχθεῖσα Φοίβῳ”· ἄλλως· εἰ γὰρ ὁ πατὴρ αὐτὴν ἐβεβίαστο συγγενέσθαι τῷ Ἴσχυϊ, συνέγνω ἂν αὐτῇ ὁ Ἀπόλλων, διὰ τί δὲ προὐτίμησε τὸν Ἴσχυν τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος; Ἀκουσίλαός φησιν, ὡς κατὰ δέος ὑπεροψίας θνητῷ βουληθεῖσα συνεῖναι. 5 Ἀκουσίλαος: Ἀγησίλαος Pr

This passage is another striking testimony, but for different reasons than those analyzed above. While all the previous pieces of text dealt with names and other types of information relevant for theogonic genealogies, in this case we meet another feature embodied in Acusilaus’ narration, namely his interpretation of human behaviour. Here, he quite strikingly detects the underlying intentions that

 60 Cf. Jacoby 19572, 378, who thinks Acusilaus is only discussing the number of the winds, and not their denominations. The scholion, however, tells something further than that.

fr. *17  69

lead to specific actions. This same spirit inspires the account in fr. 39, when addressing the Trojan War. In fr. 17, the main subject is Coronis’ vicissitudes, as told by Pindar (Pyth. 3.8–37). This young girl was the daughter of Phlegyas, the king of the Lapiths. She gave birth to Asclepius after having intercourse with Apollo. Unexpectedly, she did not want to be with the god despite her pregnancy; instead, she cheated on him with a mortal man from Arcadia named Ischys, without her father’s knowledge. When Apollo was informed of what happened, Artemis shot her and her body was burned on a pyre; however, Apollo saved the baby she was carrying in her womb. In a fragment by Pherecydes (fr. 3 EGM), Apollo himself killed Ischys. The newborn Asclepius was then raised by the Centaur Chiron. The story then goes on, with Asclepius becoming a formidable healer, who nevertheless will not stay within human boundaries and will eventually bring a dead man back from Hades. Archaic testimonies for this story, in addition to Pindar and Acusilaus, are Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women (frs. 59–61 M.–W. = 164, 239– 240 Most) and the Homeric Hymn to Asclepius. As far as we can tell, he focused on an explanation of the girl’s unconventional decision to choose a common human being over a god.61 From Pindar’s viewpoint, Coronis was guilty of rejecting Apollo, and she deserved to be punished. Acusilaus’ comment is curiously divergent, and was regarded by the scholiast as worth mentioning. In his opinion, Coronis was frightened by the prospect of mating with a god: the syntagm κατὰ δέος ὑπεροψίας shows that her fear was being scorned by her divine partner,62 presumably because humans grow old and lose their original physical attractiveness, while gods do not. All in all, Coronis proved to be far more pragmatic than many other mythological characters: affairs involving a human and a divine partner do not end well, as the famous story of Tithonus and Eos demonstrates. The same point contributed to Marpessa’s decision to marry her mortal love Idas instead of Apollo: according to a story generally ascribed to Simonides (PMG 563 = °°353 Poltera), she feared that the god would leave her when she grew old (Σ bT Hom.

 61 There are some divergences between Hesiod and Pindar in the plot. For instance, according to fr. 60 M.–W. (= 239 Most) Apollo’s informer of Coronis’ unfaithfulness was a raven, a detail absent from the Pindaric story, where the god already knew by himself, and that in small part reduces the gravity of her misbehaviour (Arrighetti 1985, 31). It is evident how “the Pindaric text adds another layer of blame by highlighting her disrespect towards the social norms and expectations for a woman of her age” (Stamatopoulou 2017, 73). For a full and critic overview of these sources, see Solimano 1976, 9–40. For an overall discussion of Pythian 3 as a case of Hesiodic reception, see Stamatopoulou 2017, 65–76. 62 On this interpretation agree Fowler EGM II, 74 and Lanzillotta 2005, 80–81.

70  Commentary Il. 9.557–558 ἡ δὲ δείσασα, μὴ ἐπὶ γήρᾳ καταλίπῃ αὐτὴν ὁ Ἀπόλλων, αἱρεῖται τὸν Ἴδαν).63 As Alcman PMGF 1.16–17 states, humans are meant to marry humans. In the Pindaric ode, the poet also emphasizes Coronis’ guilt in order to illustrate Asclepius’ hybristic attitude, which is outlined in the following section of the ode as in line with his mother’s. One may perhaps imagine that Acusilaus dealt with Asclepius’ impious behaviour differently, and consistently, with his partial forgiveness of Coronis’ conduct. It might have seen Asclepius’ story from a different angle, especially considering that Pindar “divests the maiden of the passive and probably guiltless role she would have held in her ehoie” (Stamatopoulou 2017, 74). It is important to underline how the Pindaric version became widespread as compared to Acusilaus’ (and perhaps also to Hesiod’s): for this reason, the scholiast was interested in reporting an element of the story that he felt was innovative. If one now considers the text from a genealogical point of view, by accepting Coronis as Asclepius’ mother, Acusilaus seems to disagree with Hesiod, who, in fr. 50 (= 53ab Most), knows Arsinoe in that role.64 According to Pausanias (2.26.7), Hesiod, or some other bard, interpolated those verses in the Catalogue to please the Messenians – Arsinoe was one of the Leucippides.65 Pausanias then found Pindar’s and Acusilaus’ versions more trustworthy (cf. also Hom. h. 16.1–3). Also, Philodemus mentioned Arsinoe, but not Coronis, in his catalogue of women loved by Apollo, which should be based on Hesiod (P. Herc. 243 III = col. 277 ll. 7454– 7480 Obbink in D’Alessio 2005, 206–207). Arsinoe’s maternity was very likely acknowledged also by Crates of Mallus (fr. 80 Broggiato = 52 M.–W. = 57 Most), who, while speaking on the following part of the story (Apollo avenging his son), says that this piece was taken from the “Catalogue of Leucippides”, and Arsinoe was indeed Leucippus’ daughter. However, the situation is far more complex, since the Pergamene scholar Artemon says that, in Hesiod, Coronis is Asclepius’ mother (fr. 60 M.–W. = 239 Most). Also, fr. 59 M.–W. (= 164 Most) should be what

 63 Against the authenticity of the ascription of the song to Simonides, see Poltera 2008, 587–588. 64 Fr. 50 is probably based on the work by the scholar Asclepiades of Myrlea: see Schwartz 1960, 23 and D’Alessio 2005, 177. However, this fragment has also been attributed by Jacoby to Asclepiades of Tragilus (FGrHist 12 F 32), an opinion now strengthened by Villagra 2011, who argues in favour of the ascription of a new piece devoted to Asclepius’ story to this Asclepiades. 65 Ps. Apollod. 3.10.3 maintained both possibilities, but in the end he endorsed Arsinoe. Isyllus of Epidaurus said that she was an Epidaurian girl, Aegle, and that she was later called Coronis: see E.J. Edelstein/L. Edelstein 1945, 24. On Isyllus’ hymn see Fantuzzi 2010, 183–189, with reference to the previous bibliography. Cf. also Ap. Rhod. 4.616–617, Diod. Sic. 4.71.1, and Aristeides FGrHist 444 F 1, who resolves the impasse by postulating that Arsinoe’s name as a maiden was Coronis.

fr. *17  71

is left of the Coronis-ehoie, a fact that confirms that Coronis actually was featured in the Catalogue (pace M.L. West 1985, 69–72). This evident inconsistency has been the object of much scholarly literature,66 but there are basically two main solutions to work this problem out: the first one involves attributing the Arsinoe version to the Catalogue of Women and the Coronis version to a different Hesiodic genealogic poem, the Great Ehoiai (Dräger 1997, 158, Hirschberger 2004, 334–335, D’Alessio 2005, 208–210),67 and the second one is based on seeing these versions as two alternative rhapsodic variants (Solimano 1976, 18–22 and Ercolani 2001, 203–204).68 If we follow the former option, this testimony would further strengthen the case of those who saw an independent poem in the Great Ehoiai, and not merely an extended version from the Catalogue, considering the importance and number of inconsistencies (see the discussion by D’Alessio 2005). Nonetheless, should this be true, the latter possibility remains valid, considering that ancient sources do not mention either of the two poems with their respective titles, when speaking of Arsinoe and Coronis.69 Moreover, as the ambiguity of Crates’ testimony shows (fr. 18 below), like in Pausanias’ passage quoted above, there is room to argue that this dilemma on Asclepius’ maternity could derive from the existence of two rhapsodic variants, both belonging to the Catalogue.70

 66 Since Leo 1894, 351 and Wilamowitz 1886, 78–83. For the state of the art, see bibliographic references in the most updated researches by Ercolani 2001, 202–207, D’Alessio 2005, 208–210 and Cingano 2009, 120. 67 Evidence from papyri has shown that the Coronis-version cannot belong to the Great Ehoiai (as it had been postulated by Leo 1894, 351 and retained by Most 2007, 310–311): see D’Alessio 2005, 208. 68 The existence of different redactions of the Catalogue is held by Casanova 1979, 236–240 (see also Wilamowitz 1886, 78–83 and 1905, 123), while M.L. West 1985, 69–72 resolves this inconsistency by postulating that Coronis did not feature in the Catalogue at all (fr. 59 M.–W. is better referred to Phlegyas’ mother). 69 Cf. D’Alessio 2005, 209, who acknowledges that the second option cannot be completely ruled out, but prefers to think the two versions as occurring in two different poems. On the same page Cingano 2009, 120. Contra Casanova 1979, 239–240 and Ercolani 2001, 204 and n. 63 (with a discussion of the previous bibliography in support of his view), who believe the Great Ehoiai to be an enlarged version the Catalogue. 70 On this point see the discussion by Ercolani 2001, 205 n. 65, whose conclusions on the existence of rhapsodic variants are inscribed in a wider picture, where the Great Ehoiai are an expanded version of the Catalogue. On the contrary, D’Alessio 2005 has built a strong case for considering them as two poems originally independent. This, however, does not mean that these poems cannot overlap in some circumstances or that they could not be mutually contaminated, if performance demanded it. See the singular case of the Metisgeschichte, for which two different versions are both ascribed to the Theogony, discussed at length by Ercolani 2001.

72  Commentary At this point, it is not possible to tell whether Acusilaus thought he was following Hesiod on this matter or not. Asclepius’ genealogy was probably inserted when dealing with Coronis, Phlegyas’ daughter, and when treating Aeolus’ family (Phlegyas was related to Sisyphus, according to Paus. 9.34.10, 36.1).71 The story of Ischys and Coronis must have been set in Thessaly, according to ancient evidence about both characters (see also the discussion by Toye BNJ, ad loc.).72 Ischys was Caeneus’ brother (see discussion of fr. 22).

fr. 18 Phld. Π. εὐσ. N 247 IVA + 242 IVA + 247 IVB* (p. 80 Schober, 17, 6–7 Gomperz), 247 IVb 1–9 iterum tractavit Luppe, Philologus 129 (1985) 151–155; 5–21 Henrichs, CErc 5 (1975) 8 sq. 21

25/4

30/9

5

±8 ]λο ̣ τας ±5 Ἀπό]λλων[α ±6 ]κ̣αί φησιν ±6 ]καὶ περι ±6 ]σαι ἄνδρα ±5 σ]υνγενικῶς ±7 ]ης δὲ καὶ ±6 ]λ̣οσδουˋoˊυ±7 ]ωνπο ±12 Πίν-] δαρος δέ [φησιν ὑπὸ Διὸς φο[βηθέντος μή τινί πο[τ’ ἐπ’ αὐτὸν ὅπλα κατ[ασκευάσωσι. τὸν Ἀσκλ[ηπιὸν δ’ ὑπὸ Διὸς κα[τακτανθῆναι γεγρ[άφασιν Ἡσίοδος καὶ [

242 IV a

247 IV b (init. columnae)

 71 According to Toye BNJ, ad loc., this section could also be part of Ischys’ genealogy (he was slain by Apollo), but considering that he is not Asclepius’ father, I saw the other option more likely. 72 By contrast, Pindar made Ischys a man from Arcadia, in order to make Coronis look even guiltier (Wilamowitz 1886, 60). This reworking of the character was based on Arcadian claims on Asclepius, for which see Solimano 1976, 28–29.

fr. 18  73

10

15

δρος καὶ Φε̣[ρεκύδης ὁ Ἀθηναῖος [καὶ Πανύασσις καὶ Ἄν̣[δρων καὶ Ἀκουσ[ίλαος καὶ Εὐριπίδ[ης ἐν οἷς λέγει: “ Ζ[εὺς γὰρ κατ]ακτὰς πα[ῖδα τὸν ἐμόν”.

* I have not quoted entirely the papyrus’ text, since part of 247 IV b and all 242 IV b exclusively deal with other authors.

__________ Fragmenta coniunxit Schober. Omnia suppl. Nauck sine alios nominatos 30 Pind. frg. 266 Sn.–Maeh. periit unus versus inter columnas 1 suppl. Schober 2 suppl. Nauck: φο[νεύεσθαι Luppe 3 suppl. Fowler (post Luppe πο[τ’ ἐφ’ἑαυτὸν): πο[τε θεῶν Philippson (ἄλλωι θεῶν iam Bergk) 4 suppl. Bergk 6 suppl. Körte: κα[θαιρε] | θῆναι Dietze (222), κε[ραυνω] | θῆναι Nauck 7 γεγρ[άφασιν Luppe: γέγρ[αφεν Nauck 7 sq. Hes. frg. 51 M.–W. 8 sq. [Πείσαν] | δρος Schober = frg. dub. 17 PEG 9 sq. Pherec. frg. 35 EGM 11 ]δοσις Ν Panyasidis frg. 26 PEG Andronis frg. 17 EGM (dubium) 12 sq. suppl. Bücheler: Εὐριπίδ[ης ὡσαύτως Obbink2 14 Eur. Alc. 3

This piece of text is again on Asclepius, since Philodemus here lists gods and demigods that happened to die. Before Asclepius, he refers to the Cyclopes, which Pindar (fr. 266 Sn.–M.) described as being slain by Zeus. According to this passage, Zeus killed Asclepius: a detail of the story that seems to have been accepted in other ancient accounts as well (e.g. Hes. fr. 51 M.–W.= 55–56 Most; cf. E.J. Edelstein/L. Edelstein 1945, 53–56). Philodemus mentions the ‘usual’ ones, Hesiod and Pherecydes, as well as Panyassis, Andron, Euripides, Telestes, who authored an Asclepius (PMG 806–807), the composers of the Carmen Naupactium (fr. 11 PEG = 10c EGEF) and of the Nostoi (missing from PEG, fr. 9 W.). The most famous account is of course in the prologue of Euripides’ Alcestis (1–7): Apollo had to serve King Admetus to make amends for a sin he committed – he lost his mind and slew the Cyclopes to avenge his dead son.73 This issue will be examined in depth in the commentary on the next fragment. However, going back to the Asclepius plot, Philodemus does not mention Pindar, who, as we have seen, told his story extensively in the third Pythian:

 73 By contrast, in Pherecydes’ opinion (fr. 35 EGM) Asclepius was shot by Zeus at Delphi. See Fowler EGM II, 78 with reference to other bibliographic items.

74  Commentary according to Pindar, Zeus’ intervention was necessary because Asclepius went as far as to bring a dead man back from Hades by means of his medical art. He had no other choice but to strike him with his thunderbolt, the typical punishment for those who dared to challenge the gods (cf. Fowler EGM II, 74). Philodemus does not mention precisely here how this execution occurred and for what reasons, since his narration here was focused on the deaths themselves of gods and demigods (Salati 2012, 221). Whether or not there were significant inconsistencies with Pindar’s account, one cannot say for sure. As Fowler (EGM II, 74) aptly sums up, based on the whole narration, “the story of Asklepios presents a series of episodes revolving around existential questions of life vs. death and mortality vs. immortality. From this perspective, the story of Admetus and Alkestis is not a sequel to the Asklepios myth, but its conclusion”. The fil rouge linking Asclepius’ story to Admetus and Alcestis is evident in the following fragment, fr. 19.

fr. 19 Phld. Π. εὐσ. N 433 VIII (p. 88 Schober, 34 Gomperz), cui accedit in ll. 2–9 P.Herc. 433 IX 2–9 suprapositum quod vocatur nuper ab Obbink agnitum. 1

5

10

Ἄν]δρων δ’ ἐν̣ [τοῖς Συνγενικοῖς ˻Ἀ˼ [δμήτωι λέγει ˻τὸν Ἀ˼ πόλλω θητεῦσ˻αι Δ˼[ιὸς ἐπιτάξαν ˻τος· Ἡ˼ σίο̣δος δὲ ˻καὶ Ἀκο˼[υσ̣ίλαος μέλλ˻ειν μ˼[ὲν εἰς τὸν Τάρ˻ταρον˼ [ὑπὸ τοῦ Διὸς ἐ˻μβλη˼ θῆναι, τῆς δ[ὲ Λητοῦς ἱκετε{ο}υσά[σης ἀνδρὶ θητε̣ῦ̣[σαι.

__________ suppl. Nauck nisi alios nominatos 1 Andronis frg. 3 EGM [τοῖς Bücheler 3 sq. suppl. Quaranta 5 εγκταξ- N τος[ N 433 VIII, τος η cum spatio P.Herc. 433 IX Hes. frg. 54 (b) M.– W. 6 fin. suppl. Quaranta 7 μελλειν[ N 433 VIII, μελλεινμ̣ [ P.Herc. 433 IX fin. suppl. Bücheler 9 ε[ N 433 VIII, εμβλη[ P.Herc. 433 IX (suppl. iam Quaranta) 10 suppl. Kordt: [Λητοῦς δ’] Bücheler 12 spatium indicat N

fr. 19  75

This is the last piece involving Asclepius’ story that has survived. Philodemus quotes Hesiod and his Catalogue (fr. 54b M.–W. = 59b Most), followed by Acusilaus. This time, one can also find hints of Hesiod’s verses preserved in P.Oxy. 2495 fr. 1 (a) (fr. 54a M.–W. = 58 Most). The text points to Brontes, one of the Cyclopes, and to the wrath of Zeus, who was about to throw him (Apollo?) down into Tartarus and then kill him, but in the end, he did not (l. 12 εἰ μὴ ἄρ’ […). Of course, this would have been a harsh but suitable punishment for immortals who attempted to rebel against Zeus’ will, and Apollo murdered the Cyclopes to avenge the death of his son Asclepius. But, as perhaps one might expect, Apollo was saved by the intercession of his mother, who begged Zeus to spare him and to give him a different penalty, namely to serve in a mortal man’s house as a shepherd. This piece of information is attested here and nowhere else, and fits very nicely with the story as told by other sources, like Euripides. It is unfortunate that Philodemus does not explicitly say why Apollo needed to be punished. From frs. 18 and 19, we know that a) Zeus killed Asclepius and then b) Apollo was cast down into Tartarus and then sent to serve Admetus, but we are missing the middle link that connects these two episodes of the story. However, it is easy to infer that Apollo’s wrath ended with the slaying of the Cyclopes, as it is in Hesiod (fr. 52 M.–W.= 57 Most) and in Euripides’ Alcestis. As far as one can tell, this seems to be the only available option to explain the reasoning behind the punishment inflicted on the god. Despite this, when discussing Asclepius’ death, Philodemus mentions other kinds of immortals who died (which is, in a way, a problem: see below). For the case of the Cyclopes, he quotes Pindar fr. 266 Sn.–M.: here the Cyclopes’ slayer is not Apollo, but Zeus himself, worried that their mastery in forging weapons may eventually hurt him. The Pindaric account does not link the death of the Cyclopes to Asclepius’ story, but it is very hard to envisage how Acusilaus could have managed the section between a) and b) differently. This part of the narration was included in the Hesiodic corpus as well, fr. 52 M.–W.: according to Crates of Mallus (fr. 80 Broggiato), Apollo’s slaying of the Cyclopes as revenge for the loss of his son was an episode featuring what he called the “Catalogue of the Leucippides” (ἐν τῷ τῶν Λευκιππίδων καταλόγῳ), a detail that would be shared by Asclepiades (of Myrlea or of Tragilus), who knows Arsinoe, one of the Leucippides, as Asclepius’ mother (contra the Pergamene scholar Artemon: see discussion above on fr. 17). The definition of this work with that title is ambiguous by all means: Wilamowitz 1886, 79–82 believed that this was a poem included in the Hesiodic corpus in its own right, while Dräger 1997, 85–86 was keen to identify it with the Great Ehoiai (cf. Cohen 1986, 139 n. 29) and D’Alessio 2005, 209 n. 134 found it more convincing to place this within the Catalogue, considering that Philodemus does not regard the other catalogic poem as

76  Commentary Hesiodic proper.74 While objections to Dräger’s argument stand on firm ground, the attribution to the Catalogue itself raises another difficulty, namely the abovementioned reconstruction that sees Arsinoe featured in the Great Ehoiai, and Coronis in the Catalogue.75 The question is then still open: perhaps the hypothesis of alternative rhapsodic variants coexisting within the Catalogue is corroborated by cases like this. It is also worth mentioning that Crates quotes this passage to point to a Hesiodic self-contradiction. While in Th. 142 the Cyclopes are described as resembling the gods in everything but the eyes (they were notoriously one-eyed),76 then how was it possible for Apollo to slay them?77 This inconsistency is hard to fix. Casting down into Tartarus was the only way to get rid of older generations of immortal creatures, as it was for the Titans, the Cyclopes’ brothers. Perhaps the Cyclopes were here associated with other monstrous beings, like the Hydra slain by Heracles.78 Moreover, Heracles also seems to have murdered the Giants (Hes. fr. 43a.65 M.–W.= 69 Most): they belonged to an earlier generation, nonetheless,

 74 D’Alessio 2005, 178, who incontrovertibly shows how Philodemus uses the Catalogue (Ehoiai) as a Hesiodic poem, while he mentions the Great Ehoiai as composed by someone else, “the composer of the Great Ehoiai”. 75 D’Alessio 2005, 209 also recognizes that Crates’ quotation is the only element that could raise problems in accepting the Arsinoe-GE and Coronis-Catalogue division, “but this may possibly have referred to the GE, even unambiguously so, if the daughters of Leucippus did not appear in the Catalogue”. 76 Mainly, but not exclusively one-eyed: see references in Mondi 1983, 21, 33–34 (who believes the Cyclopes were not originally one-eyed) and LIMC s.v. Kyklopes. 77 On this passage, see the commentary by Broggiato 2001, 240–241, also for an overview of Crates’ poetic exegesis. 78 It is debated whether the Hesiodic and Homeric Cyclopes (in the latter case only represented by a character playing the part of an ogre, Polyphemus) are the same creatures. At first glance, they have almost nothing in common (Gantz 1993, 12). This impression is also strengthened by Polyphemus’ genealogy, since he is Poseidon’s son and commentators starting from Aristotle (fr. 172 Rose) wondered how could he be considered as a Cyclops, having no Cyclopean blood in his veins. Also, Hellanicus must have found it awkward, since he postulated the existence of three kinds of Cyclopes (fr. 88 EGM). An innovative contribution to the subject is without a doubt Mondi 1983, who essentially attempts to demonstrate that the episode in the ninth book of the Odyssey should be read in the light of an opposition between the Cyclopes (as we know them from Hesiod) and the man-eating ogre Polyphemus (a traditional motif in ancient folklore). However, it should be noted that the Homeric opposition between the Cyclopes and Phaeacians could actually allude to the conflict of Chalcis and Eretria: see commentary on fr. 4. Bremmer 1987, 139 notes that the Cyclopes were “out of place in the new order instituted by Zeus”: that is why they needed to get out of the scene (he also agrees on the fact that Homer considerably reshaped the Cyclopes’ role).

fr. 20  77

they were sometimes confused with older creatures like the Titans (Gantz 1993, 447). For instance, Giants and Cyclopes are quoted together in a line of the Odyssey (7.206) and defined, with the Phaeacians, as “the closest creatures to the gods” (cf. fr. 4). Despite this, Pausanias (8.29.2) says that, in Homer’s opinion, the Giants were mortal. But more relevant to this discussion are Pindar’s testimony about Zeus killing the Cyclopes (fr. 266 Sn.–M., quoted by Philodemus above)79 and Pherecydes’ fr. 35 EGM, where Apollo is guilty of the murder of the Cyclopes’ sons. This detail testifies to the actual existence of a problem concerning the Cyclopes’ mortality, which Pherecydes decided to solve by postulating the existence of mortal sons in between, who took their parents’ place in the story (cf. Fowler EGM II, 54). Occurrences like this proved how this issue was critical in Crates’ and Pherecydes’ eyes.

fr. 20 Strab. 10.3.21 p. 236 Radt (2.389.13 Kramer). Ἀκουσίλαος δ’ ὁ Ἀργεῖος ἐκ Καβειροῦς καὶ Ἡφαίστου Κάμιλλον λέγει· τοῦ δὲ τρεῖς Καβείρους, †οἷς νύμφας Καβειρίδας. Φερεκύδης (frg. 48 EGM) δ’ ἐξ Ἀπόλλωνος καὶ ῾Ρητίας Κύρβαντας ἐννέα, οἰκῆσαι δ’αὐτοὺς ἐν Σαμοθρᾴκῃ· ἐκ δὲ Καβειροῦς τῆς Πρωτέως καὶ Ἡφαίστου Καβείρους τρεῖς καὶ νύμφας τρεῖς Καβειρίδας· ἑκατέροις δ’ ἱερὰ γίνεσθαι. __________ 2 Καβειροῦς Lobeck (1209) et Kramer (coll. Steph. Byz. κ 3 Billerbeck): Καβείρου CDac, Καβείρους †οἷς: ὧν WDpc Κάδμιλος vel –ίλος Steph. Byz. loc. cit., Καδμῖλον Jones, Κάδμιλον Lasserre kno, καὶ τρεῖς vel καὶ ἴσας K.O. Müller (454), τρεῖς δὲ Kordt (25), ἴσας δὲ Holwerda, οἷς < > Diels et Radt, οἷς Jacoby 4 Καβειροῦς Kramer: Καβείρου codd.

This testimony presents several problems, starting from its very text. Unfortunately, Strabo’s text includes a locus desperatus, l. 2: †οἷς (cf. apparatus for speculative supplements). Perhaps one effective solution would be to postulate an omission before the pronoun of (οἷς): “after them (the Cabeiri), they gave birth to the Cabeirides”, but the sentence is likely to be far more corrupt than that. Difficulties in assessing the exact meaning of the sentence are also caused by the lack of evidence regarding the Cabeirides, obscure characters featured in literary sources only here and in Steph. Byz. s.v. Καβειρία. As modern commentators have unanimously held, Acusilaus here mentions the Cabeiri, minor divinities

 79 Philodemus’ text is uncertain at some points: see the apparatus in Fowler EGM I and Luppe 1985, 151–155, who prints a different text than Snell-Maehler’s edition.

78  Commentary connected with homonymous mysteries, as descendants of Hephaestus. Yet the god was not their father, as Pherecydes believes (fr. 48 EGM, quoted after Acusilaus by Strabo), but their grandfather: Cabeiri’s father was Camillus (or Cadmilus),80 the son of Hephaestus and Cabeiro. His presence is somehow surprising in this context, yet reveals an early case of religious syncretism. However, the final result of this process is rather confusing and makes it hard to describe how the Cabeiri and their cult must have been. The situation is even more complicated by the fact that such mysteries were not to be divulged, a circumstance that should be kept in mind when approaching this particular kind of religious matter.81 Acusilaus said that Camillus was the Cabeiri’s father, and this is the first point where we should focus our attention: he is not usually connected to these divinities, as other sources know him as part of the mysterious “Megaloi Theoi”, Great Gods, worshipped in Samothrace. Their primary function was to offer protection to sailors (Σ Ap. Rhod. 1.917–918) and they were at the root of those Samothracian mysteries of which little is known, including the proper names of the gods, but whose structure may have resembled the Eleusinian ones (see a lucid analysis by Bremmer 2014, 21–36, esp. 35). More specifically, Camillos figures in the number of the “Megaloi Theoi” in one of the rare occurrences where they are named,82 namely a fragment by Mnaseas of Patara (3rd cent. BC), FGH 154 F 27 = fr. 17 Cappelletto: they are Axlerus, Axiokersa, and Axiokersus (= Demeter, Persephone and Hades), joined by a fourth, named Cadmilus, who was their servant

 80 Fowler EGM I and Radt, in their editions, print Κάμιλλον as a lectio difficilior in Strabo’s text: this is not, however, evidence for Acusilaus, but exclusively for Strabo, also in consideration of the fact that he was not quoting the mythographer. The name occurred in several variants: see Hemberg 1950, 316–317 and Beekes 2004, 467–468 (though with some imprecisions: for instance Κάμιλλον is not used by Acusilaus himself, but by Strabo when speaking of Acusilaus). This name must be Anatolian: Beekes 2004, 465–466. 81 Modern bibliography on the Cabeiri and on the Great Gods of Samothrace is copious. Two important monographs on the Cabeiri are those by Hemberg 1950 and Cruccas 2014; for the Samothracian gods, see Cole 1984 and Dimitrova 2008. A very fine overview of both is in Bremmer 2014, while Musti 2001 offers an intriguing overall interpretation of the origins and developments of the cult of the Cabeiri on the basis of the Semitic etymology and of its sexual implications. Against this etymology, see Beekes 2004. Beschi 1996–1997 offers a collection of literary and epigraphic references to the Cabeiri, and Beschi 1998 is focused on their representations in Lemnian art. For Herodotus’ passage and its relationship with the view of his predecessors and contemporaries, see Fowler 2013. 82 They are named “the Gods of Samothrace” in foreign inscriptions, and Samothracian testimonies have the “Great Gods” attested only later (1st cent. BC): see Hemberg 1950, 74–81, 104– 118, Cole 1984, 2–4, Dimitrova 2008, 244–249, Bremmer 2014, 33–34.

fr. 20  79

(= Hermes).83 As Bremmer 2014, 35 notes, thanks to SEG LIII 1786, it is now possible to find confirmation for this audacious statement: in a curse tablet, datable to the early 6th cent. BC and coming from Antioch, the same names occur (cf. Hollmann 2003, 67–82). Moreover, in an inscription from Imbros (IG XII 8.74), Camillus is equiparated to Hermes again and worshipped with the Cabeiri. The presence of this divine triad made up of one female and two male characters seems to be a firm point: Bremmer 2014, 36 astutely points out that, starting from Hesiod fr. 177 M.–W. (= 121 Most), we see such triads featured in the Samothracian pantheon (Dardanus–Harmonia–Iasion and esp. Iasion–Cybele–Corybas). By contrast, Acusilaus does not posit Camillus in this group, but instead in the branch of the Cabeiri: this identification was not a unique innovation, since the gods of Samothrace overlap with them in our sources so often that scholars have also believed that the Cabeiri could actually hide under the masks of these mysterious gods, especially when considering a possible etymological relationship with the Semitic root k(a)bīr, “great”.84 This etymology has encountered resistance among scholars, and other options are available,85 but the exact one probably still escapes us. They were especially worshipped in the Troad, Lemnos, Imbros, and in Thebes, but ancient sources saw an attractive link with the unnamed Great Gods of Samothrace. There is one passage that unequivocally establishes a close connection between the two in earlier times. Herodotus refers to them twice and these passages (esp. the former) are significant to the above-

 83 However, the passage must not be fully attributed to Mneseas’ work, as well outlined by Cappelletto 2003, 191–195, esp. 192. The only piece of information to be referred to him is that the Cabeiri were worshipped in Samothrace, while the list containing their names probably comes from Dionisiodorus (FGrHist 68 F 1), the other authority mentioned later in the scholium, who, according to Jacoby, must have been a local Boeotian historiographer. 84 Since Scaliger, scholars have generally endorsed this etymology (e.g. M.L. West 1997, 58, Cole 1984, 2, and, in the latest analysis, Musti 2001, 144; references to earlier bibliography are in Hemberg 1950, 318–325), despite notable exceptions (listed in Beekes 2004, 468–469). In more recent times, it has been challenged especially on the basis of phonological problems worth considering (Beekes 2004, 469–470: the Semitic k(a)bīr would have given in Pre-Greek *kab-air-oi). Cf. also Fowler 2013, 10. However, this does not exclude that the connection with k(a)bīr worked like a case pseudo-etymology (or folk-etymology): even if it was not a real etymology, that was how people used to mean it. 85 See Hemberg 1950, 321–322 for an etymology based on the root of κάειν, “to burn”, which is very implausible and probably stems from the Cabeiri’s alleged relation to Hephaestus. Beekes 2004, 472 proposes an origin in Asia Minor, in connection with the Greek word κόβειρος, “jester”, a non-Indo-European word, which would have been taken from substratum language. Artistic representations (Chloi, Thebes) and a lemma by Hesychius (s.v. Κάβειροι· καρκίνοι) suggest a link with crabs: see Cruccas 2014, 21.

80  Commentary mentioned syncretism: in 2.51–52, he speaks of Hermes’ ithyphallic statues, which must have been known to those who were initiated into the Cabeiri’s mysteries celebrated in Samothrace. The same identification was held by Stesimbrotus of Thasos (FGrHist 107 F 20). In addition, in 3.37.3, where Herodotus deals with Cambyses’ mockery of Hephaestus’ statue at Memphis, he says that the impious king dared to enter their temple, which was the prerogative of priests: in this account, the Cabeiri were Hephaestus’ sons. So Herodotus is one of the most authoritative sources that identified the Cabeiri with the Samothracian gods (Fowler 2013, 7–8). The genealogical link Herodotus sees between Hephaestus and the Cabeiri in 3.37.3 suggests that their cult was localized in Lemnos rather than in Samothrace, as it is also in Aeschylus’ Cabeiroi, TrGF 95–97a Radt (where Jason and his crew were drunk on stage). This cult was important in Lemnos, as well as in Imbros: as far as one can tell from archaeological evidence and inscriptions, Hermes overlaps with Camillus here (see Hemberg 1950, 38–43, Beschi 1998, 53–57, Ficuciello 2010, 48, Cruccas 2014, 31–36). Acusilaus may have reported a Lemnian tradition or, as is equally possible, may have shared the general belief that led to the overlapping of all those metallurgist divinities (Telchines, Corybantes, Dactyls: see Strab. 10.3.7–23). The Cabeiri were not actual metalworkers and were regarded as such only through their blood tie with Hephaestus (Blakely 2006, 13, 16), as they are in Callimachus’ fr. 115 Pfeiffer (= 65 Massimilla, 113e Harder).86 Herodotus’ claim about the Cabeiri was not universally shared: Strabo (10.3.20) remarks that Demetrius of Scepsis (fr. 61 Gaede = FGrHist 2013 F 61) disagrees with Stesimbrotus, since their cult was especially relevant in the cities of the Troad, in Lemnos, and Imbros. Another centre for the Cabeiri cult, as important as Lemnos, is Thebes, as archaeological excavations have shown: also, Lycophron (Alex. 219; cf. 162) associated Cadmus with Cadmilus, and Hellanicus (fr. 23 EGM) set the wedding of Cadmus and Harmonia in Samothrace (and not in Thebes).87 The number of the Cabeiri was originally two and, for this reason, they overlap with the Dioscouri, also considering the fact that they were often accompanied by a female deity (Hemberg 1950, 274, Cruccas 2014, 22, 44–47). As is evident  86 On this fragment, see Massimilla 1996, 385–388, who confirms the identification of Tottes and Onnes with the Cabeiri (Hemberg 1950, 137–140), but dismisses Pfeiffer’s localization of the story in the West and reconstruction of the plot with good arguments. More thoughts on the placement of the story in Borgonovo/Cappelletto 1994, 13–17 and Harder 2012, 878–881. 87 Cf. Ephorus FGrHist 70 F 120: Cadmus kidnapped Harmonia when leaving Samothrace. This story left traces in cultic practice: see Bremmer 2004, 28. On the Cadmilus-Cadmus identification, see Lycoph. Alex. 162, 219, and Nonn. 4.85–89. Bibliographic references on the issue of “Cadmus the Phoenician” are available in Fowler EGM II, 39–40.

fr. 20  81

from Theban evidence, the Cabeiri were a pair, namely a Cabirus and a Pais, who was supposed to pour wine. A third character, Mother, could also join them (Paus. 9.25.5–6, for the role of Demeter in the Cabeiran cult). In this way, a triad of Eleusinian influence could be restored.88 At Thessalonike, Cabeiro is only one, but has two brothers (Hemberg 1950, 205–210). More interestingly for our purposes is the Lemnian reconfiguration of the cult, where three Cabeiri and three Cabeirides descended from a couple of parents (Hephaestus and a Great Goddess; Hemberg 1950, 160–170, Beschi 1998, 46–47): this is the most similar arrangement to the one established by Acusilaus. What Acusilaus did with this tradition has passed almost in silence, but it is paramount to pose the problem, even if a solution cannot be found. First of all, the role of Camillus as the father of the Cabeiri is in want of an explanation. Acusilaus probably felt the necessity to posit a middle link between Hephaestus and the Cabeiri: why he did so is hard to infer. Perhaps because he wanted to make a distinction between them and other deities actually connected to craftsmanship, or, more probably, he needed to rid himself of a genealogical impasse. The pair of Cabeiri, Cabirus and Pais, was identified with Hephaestus and Camillus: an older and a younger boy (Hemberg 1950, 261–262, 280, 288) involved in pederastic activities, the latter immortalized in activities such as pouring wine (Bremmer 2014, 45–46). The insertion of a female character, Cabeiro,89 restores the initial triad. What is even more surprising, Strabo tells us who Camillus’ parents were, but does not bother to mention with whom he generated the Cabeiri: we lack an essential point to form a full reconstruction. Also, speculations do not stand on any firm ground, since there are no occurrences of a female partner for Camillus. Acusilaus made another pair of triads follow the first one: three Cabeiri and three Cabeirides. The recurrence of the number three may actually point to further influence from the Samothracian mysteries. The presence of Camillus as a fourth god in the Samothracian triad made him an unfixed character that could be moved elsewhere in the genealogy, so Acusilaus restored another group of three (two males, one female) to complete the branch. Camillus’ identification with Hermes is difficult to maintain within this picture, but unless we were to find the complete passage by Acusilaus on some papyrus, it is not possible to understand what his reworking of the tradition really was. However, the localization in

 88 Evidence from the Hellenistic and Roman ages connects the Cabeiri’s cult with the triad of mother-man-woman: see Cruccas 2014, 56–59. 89 For the name Cabeiro, see Beekes 2004, 471. Cruccas 2014, 22 says that, according to Lemnian evidence, Cabeiro shares some features with Aphrodite, whose presence dovetails nicely with that of Hephaestus. Beschi 1996–1997, 22 proposes identification with the Great Goddess of Lemnos.

82  Commentary Lemnos proposed by Fowler (EGM II, 37 and 2013, 5) is indeed possible on the basis of the discussion above.90 Camillus’ insertion into this genealogy by Acusilaus has been interpreted by Bremmer 2014, 35 as if the mythographer testified that he originally belonged to the Cabeiri, but had been moved to the genealogy of the Samothracian gods in the course of time. This is a possibility, but I would be more inclined to detect an early case of cross-fertilization between the two cults, the Cabeiri (of Lemnos, Thebes, and so forth) and the “Megaloi Theoi” of Samothrace. Acusilaus perhaps did not explicitly identify the two, as Herodotus and Stesimbrotus did later: the localization of the cult in Lemnos, if correct, would testify against it. On the contrary, it can be held that the seeds of identification or contamination between these two mysteries were already sown, as the recurring triad structure suggests.

fr. 21 Ps. Apollod. Bibl. 3.12.6 (3.156, p. 151 Wagner). ὁ δὲ Ἀσωπὸς ποταμὸς Ὠκεανοῦ καὶ Τηθύος· ὡς δὲ Ἀκουσίλαος λέγει, Πηροῦς καὶ Ποσειδῶνος, ὡς δέ τινες, Διὸς καὶ Εὐρυνόμης. __________ 1 ποταμὸς R: -μοῦ cett. Natalis Comes (8.17)

2 ὡς μὲν Ἀκουσίλαος λέγει, ὡς δὲ
, Πηροῦς κτλ. (cf. frg. 1) coni.

The text of fr. 21, as it is printed by modern editors, presents some difficulties for interpreters. From fr. 1, one learns that Acusilaus regarded all rivers as offspring of Oceanus and Tethys: how could it be possible, then, that Asopus belongs to another branch? This is an objection that immediately comes to mind when reading the fragment; nevertheless, it can be quite completely dismissed if one considers how ancient sources selected the material they quote. In fr. 1, the attention was focused on the prominence that Achelous held over other rivers; as background information, Oceanus and Tethys gave birth to all flowing waters (and Hes. Th. 337–345 mentions Asopus in this group). This does not necessarily imply that some other river could not have had a different story: perhaps that was the case for Asopus, and Acusilaus may have discussed this soon after his discussion on Achelous. Another view, reported by Ps. Apollodorus, is anonymous, but

 90 If one prefers placement in Samothrace, then fr. 20 should be moved to the Argonauts’ sections: cf. Ap. Rhod. 1.915–921, where they stopped there to be initiated into the mysteries.

fr. 21  83

definitely less problematic than Acusilaus’.91 Paus. 2.12.4 reports a local story from Phlius, where Asopus was the son of Poseidon and Celuse (cf. Strab. 8.6.24). Several streams happened to be named after Asopus in ancient Greece: of course, the most famous is in Boeotia (e.g. Hom. Il. 4.383, 10.287), but Pausanias (2.5.2, 2.12.4; cf. Diod. Sic. 4.72) knew another one in the territory of Phlius and Sicyon in Peloponnese. Ancient literary traditions about these are discussed in Olivieri 2007. However, looking at Apollodorus’ text and its context, Acusilaus is quoted when speaking about the Boeotian Asopus. These remarks notwithstanding, there is still one difficulty to overcome. The couple of Poseidon-Pero is problematic: in the epics, she is the god’s niece, since she is Neleus’ daughter. She was contended for by numerous suitors, but she ended up with Bias, Melampus’ brother (cf. Hom. Od. 11.287–291; Hes. fr. 37.8 M.–W. = 35 Most; Ps. Apollod. 1.9.12). This occurrence would actually point to a peculiarity belonging to Acusilaus’ work that, as such, cannot be contextualized or explained further than that. Nevertheless, it is worth considering the possibility that a textual lacuna affects this passage, as Natalis Comes pointed out in the 16th century: by positing it after Ἀκουσίλαος λέγει, consistency with fr. 1 is restored, as is agreement with Hesiod (see Fowler EGM II, 79). However, the most probable corruption has probably affected the personal name Πηροῦς. As Fowler EMG II, 79 incidentally remarks, here Pero could be related to her grandmother Tyro, “who fell in love with Enipeus and mated with Poseidon disguised as him”. Tyro is a character that would actually fit this passage better (Τυροῦς): she was in love with the river god Enipeus, but Poseidon disguised himself as the latter, and she gave birth to the twins Neleus and Pelias (Hom. Od. 11.235–257; Hellan. fr. 125 EGM; Diod. Sic. 6.7.1; Ps. Apollod. 1.9.8). This story is, however, set in Thessaly, but Neleus’ reign would be in Pylus and Pelias’ in Iolcus: if one accepts this emendation, there are no further clues to place Asopus in a Greek region, but the Peloponnesian placement seems the closest to his alleged brothers. Another possible solution, less effective from a textual point of view but more attractive for its location, is that of Πειρήνης, who had children with Poseidon as well. She is regarded as the daughter of Achelous (Paus. 2.2.3), of Ebalus (Hes. fr. 258 M.–W.= 196 Most), and of Asopus himself (Diod. Sic. 4.72.1), and is clearly connected to Corinth, where the Boeotian Asopus was supposed to have emptied. Other hypotheses are in Jacoby 19572, 379.

 91 Eurynome was the daughter of Oceanus (Hom. Il. 18.399; Hes. Th. 358) and was one of Zeus’ partners in giving birth to the Charites (Hes. Th. 907, Callim. fr. 6 Pfeiffer, Harder = 8 Massimilla). Both her coupling with Zeus and her origin as a fluvial divinity, often associated with Tethys (they saved Hephaestus together when he was thrown from Olympus, Hom. Il. 18.405), make her a very suitable candidate as an alternative mother for Asopus.

84  Commentary

fr. 22 P. Oxy. XIII 1611 (saec. III ineuntis p. C.) frg. 1.38 sqq. + duo frg. exigua et numeris carentia edd. Grenfell et Hunt. Fortasse ὑπόμνημα ad comicum quendam poetam. ii >—— ὅ]τι τὸ π̣αρ ὰ ̣ Θεοφράστωι λ[ε]γ[ό]μενον ἐ̣ν τῶι δευτέρωι Περὶ βασιλείας πε̣ρὶ τοῦ Καινέως δόρατος τοῦτο: “καὶ οὗτός ἐστιν ὡς ἀληθῶς ὁ τῶι σκήπτρωι βασιλεύων ο τῶι δόρατι καθάπερ ὁ Κα̣ινεύς· ἄξιον γὰρ κρα]τεῖν ὁ Καινεὺς τῶι δόρ]α̣τι ἀλλ’ οὐχὶ τῶι σκή-

40

45

iii 50

55 ☧

60

65

πτ]ρωι καθάπ̣[ερ ̣ ̣] | . ̣ ̣ ̣] ̣ βασιλεῖς [ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣] | οὐ ̣ ̣ ̣] ἐδύνατο.” π̣[ρὸς] | τ̣ῆς ὑπ’ Ἀ]κουσιλάου [τοῦ] | Ἀργε̣ίου κατ̣αλ[εγομένης] ἱστορίας ἀπολῦ̣σα[ι δεῖ· λέγει γὰρ περὶ Καινέω[ς οὕτως· «Καινῆι δὲ τῆι Ἐλάτου μίσγεται Ποσιδων· ἔπειτα (οὐ γὰρ ἦν αὐτῇ ὄ̣σι̣ ον παῖδας ⟦τ⟧ `τεκὲ̣ν οὔτ̣’´ ἐξ̣ἐκείνου οὔτ’ ἐξ ἄλλου οὐδενός) ποιεῖ αὐτὴν Ποσ̣ε̣[ι]δέων ἄνδρα ἄτρωτο]ν̣ [ἰ]σχὺν ἔχοντα [με]γίσ]τ̣[η]ν τῶν ἀνθρώπων τῶν τότε, καὶ ὅτε τις̣ αὐ-

fr. 22  85

τὸν κεντοίη σιδήρωι ἢ χαλκῶι ἡλίσκετο μάλιστα χρημάτων. καὶ γίνεται βασιλεὺς οὗτος Λαπιθέων καὶ τοῖς Κενταύροις πολεμέεσκε. ἔπειτα στήσας ἀκόν-

70

iv

75

80

/ / 85

[τιον ] [ ] σ̣ι δ’ ουκη̣ε̣ | κε[ Ζεὺς ἰδὼν αὐ̣τ̣[ὸν τα]ῦ̣τα ποιέον̣τ̣α ἀπειλεῖ καὶ ἐφορμᾶι τοὺς Κενταύρους· κἀκε[ῖ]νοι αὐτὸν κατ̣ακόπτουσιν ὄρθιον κατὰ γῆς καὶ ἄνωθεν πέτρην ἐπιτιθεῖσιν σῆμα, καὶ ἀποθνήισκει». τοῦτ’ ἔ[σ]τιν γὰρ ἴσως τὸ τῶι δόρατι ἄρχειν τὸν Καινέα.

__________ 38 Theophr. frg. 600 FHS&G 49–50 καθάπ[ερ οἱ π]ο | [λλο]ὶ Grenfell/Hunt, οἱ [πο]λ | [λοὶ] Montanari, οἱ πρ]ό̣ | [τερο]ι Maas, οἱ ἐν θρ]ό[νω]ι Diels, οἱ δ]ί | [καιο]ι dubit. Fowler 50 [ἐσφάλη] Grenfell/Hunt, [ἡγεῖτο] Boll, [ἄρχειν] dubit. Fowler (ἀξιῶν supra correcto) 51 γὰρ] Grenfell/Hunt, μὴν] Boll, οὐ | [κέτ’] dubit. Fowler π̣[ρὸς] Grenfell/Hunt: μ̣[ετὰ] Montanari 54 suppl. Boll, Deubner 59 αὐτῇ Deubner: -τοις pap. ὄ̣σ̣ι̣ον scripsi: ἱ̣ε̣ρ̣ὸν edd. `τεκέ̣νουτ´ (τε ex ου corr.) fort. man.2 61 αὐτὴν Grenfell/Hunt: -τον pap. 69 γίνεται West: γιγνεται pap. 72 sq. ἀκόν[τιον ἐν ἀγορᾷ τούτῳ | κελεύει θύειν, θεοῖ]σι Grenfell/Hunt (cf. Σ Ap. Rhod. 1.57–64a): ἀκόν[τιον ἐν ἀγορᾷ θεὸν | ἐκέλευεν ἀριθμεῖν. θεοῖ ] σι Boll (cf. Σ D Hom. Il. 1.264) 75 θεοῖ] | σι δ’ οὐκ ε̣ἴ{ε}σ̣κε[ν (sc. θύειν). ὁ δὲ dub. Fowler 77 ποιέον̣τ̣α West: ποιουν̣τ̣α pap. 80 ορειον pap. corr. ed. pr. coll. Pind. frg. 128f 8–9 Maeh. σχίσαις ὀρθῷ ποδὶ γᾶν et Agatharchide De mari Erythraeo 7 εἰς τὴν γῆν … καταδῦναι … ὀρθόν τε καὶ ζῶντα 84 τὸ Grenfell/Hunt: τι pap. Cf. Σ D Hom. Il. 1.264, P.Oxy. III 418.9 sqq. (mythographum Homericum).

This is the most valuable surviving testimony for early Greek mythography. An extraordinarily long citation, word by word (28 lines), is legible thanks to a

86  Commentary quotation transmitted in a miscellaneous papyrus, P.Oxy. 1611 (beginning of 3rd cent. AD). According to Arrighetti’s analysis, this papyrus contains what should be a shorter version of a longer hypomnema (possibly a commentary on an ancient comedy).92 The quality and prestige of the texts quoted (esp. Acusilaus’) suggest that Didymus was the most probable source for this material (fr. 1 was also transmitted by him).93 A notation on the margin of the papyrus at l. 56, the sigla ☧ indicates the beginning of the quotation.94 This piece served a double purpose: it was supposed to elucidate the meaning of an obscure expression in Theophrastus, so it works as a λῦσις (l. 54 ἀπολῦσ̣α[ι), and to explain a problem arising from a passage in Euripides, so it also solves a ζήτημα (Arrighetti 1968, 80). However, it is hard to envisage how Acusilaus’ account on Caeneus could have helped, since it is not clear how the whole story sheds further light on Theophrastus’ claim that Caeneus was not a king holding a sceptre, since it was not possible for him to have one, but only his spear (Montanari CPF 1.1***, 865–866, who also suggests that Theophrastus was basing his account on a lost source). While Acusilaus’ story explains why Caeneus is symbolically linked to his spear, this is not sufficient to explain why a sceptre had to be excluded. In particular, this text, focused on the story of a heroine, resembles other papyrological testimonies, like PSI X 1173 (3rd cent. AD) with its collection of historiae under the lemmata of the Odyssey books 11–13 about heroines in Hades, like Procris.95 The text of the papyrus is what was established by Fowler in EGM, but in one circumstance I chose a different reading. Line 59 is especially in need of a closer look. The reading ἱε̣ρ̣ὸν is not the only one possible and, quite surprisingly, there is only little discussion on textual problems in modern bibliography. The most consistent difficulty with the reading ἱε̣ρ̣όν, which is of course possible from a mere palaeographic point of view, is its syntactical usage with the infinitive, meaning “to be licit, to be allowed by the gods”. In Greek, this is actually

 92 Arrighetti 1968 (reprinted with minor changes in Arrighetti 1987, 204–228) is completely devoted to clarifying the nature and scope of P.Oxy. 1611. He rightly challenges the definition of “Extracts from a Work on Literary Criticism” attributed to the text by its first editors, Grenfell/ Hunt 1919. In particular, see Arrighetti 1968, 89–98 (= Arrighetti 1987, 218–28) for discussion of other interpretations and for the attribution to Didymus. 93 See the articulate discussion in Arrighetti 1968, 96–98 (= 1987, 225–228) with mention of other scholars (also Grenfell/Hunt) who supported this view. 94 ☧ should stand for χρ(ῆσις), “passage”: see Grenfell/Hunt 1919, 142, McNamee 1981, 109. 95 On PSI 1173 see Arrighetti 1977, 53, Fowler 1993, Luppe 1997, van Rossum-Steenbeek 1998, 99–100 and Montanari 2002, 135–138. The most ancient collection of this sort of historiae is included in P.Oxy. III 418 (1st–2nd cent. AD), which closely follows the order of appearance of heroes in the first book of the Iliad.

fr. 22  87

expressed by θέμις or ὅσιον (cf. fas in Latin: see also Fowler EGM II, 161). The reading ἱε̣ρόν did not convince Wilamowitz 1969, 477 n. 1 and Maas 1973, 65, who proposed a reading of πρὸς/ἐς ἔρον, a solution that is not persuasive. Another attempt to read the text better comes from Diels, in his edition of the Vorsokratiker: [ἔπ]ερον, an Ionic psilotic and contracted form for ἐφίμερον, “erwünscht”, “welcomed”. This correction is more diagnostic than acceptable in itself, since this peculiar form, as far as one can tell, has never been attested in Greek. However, the conjectural attempts by Maas and Diels demonstrate that there is no need to improve the text in its meaning. The overall understanding of the passage works: Poseidon and Caene could not bear any children because divine will was against them. The most effective and reasonable solution is to read ὄ̣σ̣ιον, whose construction with the infinitive is frequent in Greek, with this same meaning. From a palaeographic analysis on the line, this reading is as possible as ἱε̣ρ̣όν, but, especially in the case of the first letter, all that remains is a dot whose position is too low to be the top of an iota. As far as the second letter is concerned, both ε and σ are possible readings, since there is no extant trace of a horizontal line, which would suggest ε. We see the same situation for the third letter: ρ is possible, since, in the papyrus, rho can be written with a high ring (cf. l. 62 ἄνδρα ἄτρω-), but extant traces are also compatible with an iota.96 Considering textual evidence, the reading ἱερόν is as possible as ὅσιον, but the latter imposes itself, as it better fits the syntactic context.97 Other two points in line 59 are worth considering closely. The first one is the correction of the papyrus’ αὐτοῖς into αὐτῇ, as suggested by Deubner 1919, which Fowler accepts (while Jacoby preferred the form αὐτῷ, on the basis of l. 61 αὐτόν). This inconsistency and confusion with Caene’s/Caeneus’ gender led Grenfell/Hunt to emend αὐτόν into αὐτήν in l. 61. This sexual ambiguity must have confused many readers: even the declension itself of Καινῇ in l. 57 could belong both to a feminine name in -η or to a male name in -ευς. In recent times, Pàmias 2012b, 51 has defended the transmitted text αὐτοῖς, which is regarded as a lectio difficilior: Caene and Poseidon could not have their own offspring because of  96 On the handwriting of this papyrus, see Funghi/Messeri 1989, 38 n. 5, who underline the common features with “Bacchylidean” style (cf. Cavallo 2008, 105), as well as its efforts to achieve verticality. 97 Toye, BNJ, ad loc. surprisingly distinguishes between ἱερόν as “sacred” (“related to matters concerning religious matters”) and ὅσιον as “profane” (“matters that could be freely discussed without causing offence to the gods”). As reference, he quotes Parker 1983, 330, who nevertheless states that ὅσιον has a base meaning of “permitted or enjoined by the gods, inoffensive or pleasing to the gods”. On ὅσιον see the lucid discussion by Peels 2015, esp. 225–230, about ἱερόν and ὅσιον representing two different levels of sacrality.

88  Commentary divine will. However, the transmitted text seems to be inconsistent with what follows, since afterward we read οὔτ̣’ ἐξ̣ ἐκείνου οὔτ’ ἐξ ἄλλου οὐδενός (note the use of two negations together). It is clear from this portion of text that sterility affected only Caene, since she could not have children “neither from him nor from anyone else”. The main problem here is the interpretation of ἄλλου οὐδενός: does this refer to gods, or to men in general? Was she able to get pregnant with mortal offspring? Pàmias 2012b, 51 seeks confirmation of his argument in the following quotation in the papyrus’ text, from Euripides’ Alcmaeon in Corinth (TrGF F 73a Kann.) where Apollo makes similar considerations about relationships between a divine and mortal partner as meant to be childless: he complains about Manto, Tiresias’ daughter, who did not bear him any children, but was actually able to become pregnant with twins from her mortal husband Alcmaeon.98 If this was the point, one can easily prove it wrong: unions between gods and mortal beings are common indeed and are functional to give birth to heroes (e.g. Zeus and Alcmene: Heracles or Aphrodite and Anchises: Aeneas)!99 As Poseidon famously stated in a line of the Odyssey (11.250 and also Hes. fr. 31.2–3 M.–W. = 30 Most): οὐκ ἀποφώλιοι εὐναὶ ἀθανάτων. On the contrary, problems occur when a mortal and immortal engage in a long-term relationship, as the famous case of Tithonus and Eos testifies. However, despite the similarities between these two texts, one should not take for granted that Euripides’ and Acusilaus’ passages perfectly overlap: there is the issue of the transformation into man that must be taken into consideration and that occurs only in Caenis’ story. That said, she was by all means sterile, so there was no point in her being a woman any longer. The last issue regarding line 59 is the striking Doric form τεκέ̣ν, which appears as a supralinear correction:100 the presence of an accent on the epsilon makes us sure that this is a Doric infinitive, and not something like τεκέειν, which occurs in Ionic prose and is largely attested in Herodotus, and marks the exceptionality of the form. Nevertheless, it remains isolated: in the rest of the quotation there are the expected Ionic forms (l. 57 μίσγεται, ll. 58, 61–62 Ποσ̣ε̣[ι]δέων, l. 70 Λαπιθέων,  98 According to Ps. Apollod. Epit. 6.3, the seer Mopsus was the son of Manto and Apollo. According to the “Epic Cycle” (Epig. fr. 3 PEG), the Epigones were the ones that sent Manto from Thebes to Delphi: here she received an oracle and met Apollo perhaps on this occasion. 99 Grenfell/Hunt 1919, 143 also comment on the impossibility of a god and a woman having children: “Acusilaus’ remark seems very naïve, in light of the legends about children of the gods by mortals”. Waldner 2000, 64–65 surprisingly believes that it was not allowed to give birth to children in sanctuaries. Cf. Tosetti 2008, 51–54 on the interpretative problems raised by this passage and Apollo’s statement in the Euripidean fragment. 100 Most of the letters were lost in a lacuna, but this is the only possible reading: see Grenfell/Hunt 1919, 143.

fr. 22  89

l. 81 πέτρην, l. 82 ἐπιτιθεῖσιν). This isolated Doric feature could be explained in two different ways: as Acusilaus’ own “slip”, which led to the inclusion of a form in his own dialect, or as a later attempt to give Doric colouring to a text written by an Argive. Greek prose in Doric did exist, as outlined in Cassio 1989, and it covered a range of subjects, including mythography.101 Yet in Acusilaus, one finds only one isolated Doric form, a case which closely resembles that of Alcmaeon of Croton’s 24 B 1 D.–K. = D 4 L.–M., where the Ionic Κροτωνιήτης coexists with the Doric ἔχοντι. As Burkert 1962, 767 n. 1 and Cassio 1989, 142 (1989b, 271 n. 2) believe, there is no need to postulate the existence of some sort of “mixed dialect” or linguistic pastiche: the most effective solution is to attribute the sporadic presence of Doric features to the intervention of a local editor, who wanted to colour the text superficially with Doric. This impression is further strengthened by the papyrus, which shows an accent on τεκέ̣ν: this is not common at all in ancient papyri and it highlights the exceptionality of the form. However, a third option is also available: the insertion of Doric forms might be original and may have been considered highly literary by the author. Doric dialect was the language of choral lyric, for instance, a literary genre, which was the recipient of myths as well. This interpretation could fit in well with other linguistic features displayed in this passage, which show how Acusilaus’ language was not flat, but made up of manifold colours. See discussion in Introduction, § 1.7. In his edition, in line with his editorial criteria, Fowler restores other Ionic forms, when possible: for instance, l. 69 γίνεται (pap. γιγνεται) and l. 77 ποιέον̣τ̣α (pap. ποιουν̣τ̣α). The papyrus also carries a non-psilotic form, ἐφορμᾶι (l. 78), instead of the expected ἐπορμᾶι, and κἀκεῖνοι (l. 79), which comes from ἐκεῖνος (Fowler EGM II, 628). Contraction occurs as expected at l. 61 ποιεῖ and l. 78 ἐφορμᾶι. The optative κεντοίη (l. 66) is also attested in Pherec. fr. 105 (ποιοίη): cf. Grenfell/Hunt 1919, 143 and Fowler EGM II, 628, 717. Other relevant poetic forms are the unaugmented iterative past πολεμέεσκε and the optative κεντοίη. The first form can be regarded as belonging to Ionic dialect, but also to epic, since it occurs mostly in Homer and Herodotus.102 Among post-Homeric Ionic poets, one can find Mimn. fr. 14.10 W., Hippon. 78.11 and 104.48 W., where, in the latter case, this iterative form fits in well with Hipponax’s

 101 Cf. Cassio 1989b for the interesting case of PSI IX 1091, which cannot be ascribed with certainty to the Argolic area. There are no cogent arguments for placing it chronologically, but the presence of a paratactic style and of the present tense would lead us not to exclude the late classical age. 102 For a linguistic orientation on these forms, see Fantini 1950, Wathelet 1973 (Homer), Zerdin 2002, and Ittzés 2008.

90  Commentary Kunstsprache and serves parodic aims (cf. Bettarini 2017, 44–49, also for literary occurrences in other dialects). Dover 1997, 87 and Fowler EGM II, 628 consider it possible that forms like this, rather, come from vernacular and ordinary speech, a circumstance that is hard to prove, also considering that such forms do not occur in inscriptions. On the contrary, literary evidence leads us to argue that unaugmented iteratives were used as refined and solemn forms, whose use helped to provide a precious touch to prose. This is also suggested by the absence of contraction of the group –εε–, which does not occur in Ionic inscriptions (though it does in some Doric ones: see Dover 1997, 89), but in epic language and, again, in Herodotus (cf. πωλέεσκε and ποιέεσκε in Herodotus, who Ps. Longinus 13.3 famously called “the very Homeric”).103 Secondly, κεντοίη is an unexpected form of optative: this is perhaps Attic, but may be acceptable in Ionic as well (e.g. Pherec. fr. 105 ποιοίη). This form was avoided by Herodotus, but used in Homer (Od. 4.692: φιλοίη; 9.320: φοροίη), and Chantraine 1973, 265 thinks that such forms are analogic formations in late archaic Ionic (see Grenfell/Hunt 1919, 143 for other occurrences in archaic authors). In conclusion, the linguistic analysis of the text demonstrates that it vacillates between solemn and literary diction and simple and concise style. As far as the dialect itself is concerned, the transmission of the text may have considerably modified its original language in two ways: by banalizing proper Ionic forms into Attic ones, but also by inserting a prominent feature of Doric Greek as an homage to Acusilaus’ homeland. Nonetheless, it is possible that the isolated Doric feature was part of Acusilaus’ own linguistic range, aimed at amplifying the literary tone of the passage. The topic of this quotation is no less interesting than the papyrus itself: it tells the story of a girl named Caene/Caenis, Elatus’ daughter,104 who asked Poseidon to turn her into a man when she found out she could not conceive the god’s child. Plus, not only did he make her wish come true, but he also gave him impenetrability: thanks to this invulnerability, weapons could not hurt him at all. Caeneus was the strongest hero of his time. He became king of the Lapiths and fought  103 The fact that πολεμέεσκε as such could not be included in a hexameter (Fowler EGM II, 628) is not a hindrance to this end: the suffix and the general formation of such past tenses could well be used outside metric contexts. Dover 1997, 90 avoids speaking about epic reminiscences, since it is then hard to explain why uncontracted –εε– survived, against the loss of genitives in –οιο or infinitives in –μεν/–μεναι. One can argue that Ionic prose borrowed some linguistic elements from epic language that were somehow adaptable to its new context and not as strictly epic as genitives in –οιο. 104 Cf. Stesich. fr. 183.9 D–F. Εἰλατίδαο δαίφρονος. Elatus is clearly a speaking name from ἐλάτη, “silver fir”.

fr. 22  91

against the Centaurs.105 The text is then lacunose, but its general line of development can be reconstructed based also on other ancient accounts (esp. Pind. fr. 128f 8–9 Sn.–M., cf. MH in P.Oxy. III 418.9 ff. and Σ A Hom Il. 1.264). Zeus decided to punish Caenis’ hybristic behaviour, since he forced his people to worship his own spear as if it were a god. The Centaurs were stirred up to fight against him, and they managed to kill him by burying him alive under a mass of rock. This story should explain the motto τὸ τῷ δόρατι ἄρχειν τὸν Καινέα. The interpretation of the phrase ἡλίσκετο μάλιστα χρημάτων (ll. 67–68) is very difficult: authoritative readers like Wilamowitz 1969, 477 n. 1 and Maas 1973, 65 struggled. It is extremely brachylogic, but, all in all, it should mean something like “(if anyone attacked him with iron or bronze,) he was absolutely sure to lose” (Fowler EGM II, 629, and n. 14 for other translation examples in modern languages). Fowler has collected several passages that could help shed light on this mysterious expression, but none of them is close enough to explain the phrase as a whole. In its stylistic components, this passage is a perfect instance of the archaic “καί-Stil” of early Greek prose, outlined by Dover 1997, 71. One of the most recognizable elements of this style is the use of the present tense in narrative accounts. The whole story is told in the present: there are only three imperfect verbs (59: ἦν indicates a perpetuous state, the other two, 67: ἡλίσκετο, 70: πολεμέεσκε, underline the iterative nature of the action). This stylistic arrangement, far from being merely a stylistic convention called the “historical present”, could have responded to specific aims, as the survey on the use of present tense in narrative by von Frintz 1949 has demonstrated: unfortunately, we know nothing about the precise provenience of this passage and its context, and that makes it difficult to say anything definitive. Plus, unlike epic diction, the presence of ornamental adjectives is very limited. Both of these features mark a discontinuity with Homeric diction; nonetheless, they recur in later poems belonging to the “Epic Cycle”.106 In dissonance with a well-established scholarly prejudice, Bravo 2001 identified a specific literary style in this early prosaic evidence. Its conciseness was not a question of naiveté or lack of skill, but is better interpreted as a specific literary taste of that age, particularly focused on the “practical” side of story-telling by

 105 This presumably occurred during the feast for the wedding of Pirithous and Hippodamia, since Pind. fr. 166 Sn.–M. 106 As far Acusilaus is concerned, Pàmias 2012b, 51 n. 5 rightly suggests that “el lenguaje de Acusilao se presenta en continuidad directa con la tradición épica y contemporànea a ésta”. Very intriguing considerations are put forward in Bravo 2001, 84–89, who detects a strong link between the style of later epic poetry and the first prose works.

92  Commentary means of a quick and concise narration of facts. The style of Acusilaus’ fragments is discussed in detail in Introduction, § 1.7. Moreover, this passage was analyzed in its narratological features by Calame 2004, 239–240, who read it in comparison with narrative accounts preserved in ancient scholia. In the latter, one finds an articulated prose style, with sentences interlaced one with the other and the aorist as the main tense used, which underlines the aetiological nature of such passages. By contrast, fr. 22 does not display any such elements: on this basis, Calame dismisses the possibility that Acusilaus may have offered the earliest examples of a new explicative attitude toward this mythic account, a hypothesis that may have been suggested by the opening explanation on the causes of Caenis’ infertility, but that is not supported by the whole structure of the passage. However, the newness of an attitude should be assessed on the basis of what came before it, and not on what occurs afterward: the creation of ancient scholia is much later than Acusilaus, and such texts are not the perfect choice against which to measure his degree of innovation and originality. For instance, one can point to Hecataeus of Miletus’ extant fragments to notice that he was not keen on offering any kind of interpretation for his characters’ behaviour. Moreover, in fr. 17 and 39, Acusilaus shows special care in identifying the reasons that underlie people’s actions, that is, an apparently impious choice by a mortal and the fickleness of gods. Ancient literary sources featuring this story are not lacking, and they differ only in minor points: a comprehensive collection can be found in Delcourt 1953, 130–150 and Decourt 1998, 3–20. Plus, there are also relevant artistic testimonies, especially about Caeneus’ involvement in the battle between the Lapiths and the Centaurs (LIMC s.v. Kaineus, Decourt 1998, 23–27). At first glance, one of the most striking features is the absence of any allusion to her transformation into a man until Plato (Leg. 944d): in the epics, Caeneus is mentioned as a valorous hero, who distinguished himself in the fight against the Centaurs (Hom. Il. 1.262–265 and Hes. Scut. 178–179; cf. also Hom. Il. 2.746). As far as the female character Caene/Caenis is concerned, there may be an occurrence of her name in the Catalogue of Women as Καινίδα (fr. 87 M.–W.= 165 Most). Her name was already attested in the form Καινίς, formed with an unambiguous feminine suffix, while in Acusilaus, Καινῆι could hypothetically both refer to a name in the first declension and to a masculine in –ευς.107 However, as Fowler EGM II, 160 rightly notes, our witness to the Hesiodic passage, Phlegon of Tralles (second half of 2nd cent. AD),  107 Several hypotheses are available for the etymology of the name. Delcourt 1953, 136: καινός, D’Angour 2011, 79–84: Hebrew qāyin (that would explain why Caeneus was identified with his spear), Fowler EGM II, 161–162: κάμνω.

fr. 22  93

could have made it up. By contrast, Homer passed over the first part of the story in silence: as has come to be increasingly recognized, Homeric poems (despite other poems in the “Epic Cycle”) avoided including fantastic and supernatural features (Fowler EGM II, 159, on the basis of Griffin 1977, 40–43). The episode of transgender Caeneus, who also obtained the gift of invulnerability,108 found no proper room in the Iliad or in the Odyssey. In the Aethiopis, instead, Ajax may have been described as invulnerable as well, but there is no clear evidence for this (M.L. West 2013, 162 and Davies 2016, 84–89).109 Moreover, another relevant element to explain the exclusion of this part of the story in Homer is that the fight between the Lapiths and Centaurs belonged to the generation before the heroes of the Trojan saga: according to the narrative principle identified by Monro (1901, 9, 93, 140), epic poems should not overlap with each other.110 The situation was perhaps different for the Catalogue of Women, which did not respond to such narrative rules.111 Finally, Caeneus’ peculiar death is not typical of epic heroes; on the contrary, it resembles that of monstrous creatures like Typhon, trapped in Tartarus (Hes. Th. 868) or buried alive under Aetna (Pind. Pyth. 1.15–20).112 The story of Caenis/Caeneus has offered food for thought to modern scholars’ investigations within different fields. Contributions revolve around two main problems, namely, the transgender transformation and the second half as a paradigmatic story about a despotic tyrant who based his own power on strength without any kind of legitimization. Recently, D’Angour 2011, 74–84 has emphasized the presence of sexual symbolism: Caenis was made “impervious to penetration”. Also, Caenus’ death in the erect position could allude to sexual transformation (D’Angour 2011, 78). He also suggests that the hybristic action of worshipping the spear points to Caeneus’ identification with iron weaponry, “which resists penetration and destruction, and can be disposed of only by being buried” (ibidem).113 This feature is shared by Caeneus’ people, the Lapiths, who

 108 A gift all sources agree on: Σ Plat. Leg. 944d, Ps. Apollod. Epit. 1.22. 109 As it seems to be on the basis of hyp. Soph. Aj. and Sophr. fr. 31 K.–A. Cf. also Plat. Symp. 219e and Palaeph. Incred. 10–11, where Ajax, Caeneus and Cycnus are all ἀτρώτοι. 110 These two episodes are also built on the same pattern: the fight between the Lapiths and Centaurs began after a woman’s kidnapping, planned by guests of her husband. 111 Lanzillotta 2005, 96 argues in favour of Acusilaus’ dependence on the Catalogue, but an intertextual relationship is not possible to prove. 112 For heroes’ deaths, see Segal 1998, 23–25 and Keith 1999, 232. 113 D’Angour’s (2011, 79–84) proposed etymology for the name Caeneus from the Semitic root qāyin, “spear” (cf. the name of the biblical character Cain), dovetails nicely with his own interpretation, but it is adventurous. A similar interpretation was also suggested by Delcourt 1953 (cf. Forbes-Irving 1990, 156–157).

94  Commentary wielded crafted weapons, while their rivals, the Centaurs, were tree-wielding warriors.114 Bremmer 2015 is more focused on the initiatory contexts of this story, and offers a very informative overview about the main topics involved in the plot (rituals of maturation by means of sex-changes, tales of hybristic kings and invulnerable heroes in Greek mythology), complemented by Fowler EGM II, 160– 162 with footnotes.115 And, what is even more noteworthy, Bremmer interprets Caeneus’ invincibility as a feature of “ecstatic warriors whose insensibility to wounds was represented as invulnerability” (Bremmer 1999, 192, also quoted in Bremmer 2015, 277–278, and M.L. West 2007, 449–451). Contra Forbes-Irving 1990, 157, who found it safer to consider this story an “entirely imaginative construction”. My inclination would be to stress this taste for the marvellous: Caeneus is by all means a super-hero, whose existence was placed in a remote past – before the Trojan War. The whole passage, dealing with sexual transformation, with the gift of impenetrability and with an atypical death for human beings, underlines that the story’s attractiveness lies in its supernatural dimension. Furthermore, Pàmias 2012b explored another peculiar element in Acusilaus’ story, namely the “sacred sterility” (as he calls it) that affected Caenis. This is a feature that neatly distinguishes this specific account from later ones, where the girl explicitly asks to be granted a sex-change after she had intercourse with Poseidon.116 According to his analysis, infertility of that sort would lead to the birth of a tyrant. Pàmias found a parallel passage in Hdt. 5.92, where the historian speaks about Labda’s sterility: she was not able to bear a child to Aetion, who consulted the oracle in Delphi to understand why this was happening. The response stated that the couple would have had an heir, the future tyrant of Corinth, Cypselus. Pàmias believes this story to be shaped on the basis of the story  114 Since Hom. Il. 1.267; cf. D’Angour 2011, 78–79, Bremmer 2015, 274. 115 Sex-changes related to initiations: see the cases of Mestra (Hes. fr. 43bc M.–W. = 70–71 Most, cf. Hellan. fr. 7 EGM) and Leucippus (Nicand. fr. 45 Schneider: but this is not properly a parallel passage, since Leucippus was originally a girl raised as a boy, and then her mother managed to have her turned into a man) in Bremmer 2015, 269–272. Cf. also the story of Tiresias’ sex-change in SH 733: Tiresias was a girl and was Apollo’s lover, but when she refused to lie with the god again, he turned her into a man so she could learn about real sexual pleasure. Discussion on kings affected by hybris in Bremmer 2015, 275 (e.g. Salmoneus in Hes. fr. 30.12–19 = 27 Most, and Pelias in Hes. Th. 996) and on invulnerable heroes (Cycnus, Talos, Achilles, and Ajax) at 276– 277. Cycnus is the more pertinent comparison, since in the other cases the heroes also have a weak spot. On the act of worshipping the spear, see Parthenopeus in Aesch. Sept. 529–530 and Idas in Ap. Rhod. 1.466–470. 116 Ps. Apollod. Epit. 1.22 ᾐτήσατο; Plur. Mor. 75e κατ’ εὐχὴν; Ov. met. 12.202 da, femina ne sim; Hyg. fab. 14.4 cui petentem. Cf. Σ Lucian. Gall. 19, where the girl achieved her aim without losing her virginity.

fr. 23  95

of Caeneus, which became “en exemplum mίtico de un gobernante despótico y tiránico basado en la fuerza de la lanza y no en una autoridad legίtima” (Pàmias 2012b, 52). However, the correspondence between these two passages is too weak to see a direct echo of one onto the other:117 Caenis’ sterility could not be overcome even with Poseidon’s own intervention. To conclude on this piece: this citation, in its conciseness and swift pace, is an invaluable testimony for understanding some peculiarities of early Greek mythography. Particularly as pertains to language, Acusilaus seems to have assembled ingredients from different literary genres in his recipe. This accumulation of elements was probably meant to make his prose seem like a precious piece. Moreover, the quick pace of narration suggests that he may have made a summary of the story and rapidly collected everything available on it. The supernatural element involved in the transsexual transformation did not find a place in Homer, but it was not banned from other later epic poems, which share Acusilaus’ same taste for telling (even) extravagant stories in a brief but comprehensive way.

Argive Genealogies fr. 23 a Clem. Al. Strom. 1.102.5 (2.66.5 Stählin-Früchtel-Treu) unde Eus. Praep. Evang. 10.12.9 p. 497c (1.603.4 Mras). ἦν δὲ κατὰ τὴν Ἑλλάδα κατὰ μὲν Φορωνέα τὸν μετὰ Ἴναχον ὁ ἐπὶ Ὠγύγου κατακλυσμὸς καὶ ἡ ἐν Σικυῶνι βασιλεία, πρώτου μὲν Αἰγιαλέως, εἶτα Εὔρωπος, εἶτα Τελχῖνος, καὶ ἡ Κρητὸς ἐν Κρήτῃ. Ἀκουσίλαος γὰρ Φορωνέα πρῶτον ἄνθρωπον γενέσθαι λέγει. ὅθεν καὶ ὁ τῆς Φορωνίδος ποιητὴς (frg. 1 PEG, EGEF) εἶναι αὐτὸν ἔφη “πατέρα θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων”. ἐντεῦθεν ὁ Πλάτων ἐν Τιμαίῳ (22a) κατακολουθήσας Ἀκουσιλάῳ (test. 10 EGM) γράφει· “καί ποτε προαγαγεῖν βουληθεὶς αὐτοὺς περὶ τῶν ἀρχαίων εἰς λόγους τῶν τῇδε τῇ πόλει τὰ ἀρχαιότατα λέγειν ἐπιχειρεῖ περὶ Φορωνέως τε τοῦ πρώτου λεχθέντος καὶ Νιόβης καὶ τὰ μετὰ τὸν κατακλυσμόν”.

 117 This story certainly alludes to Caeneus’ tragic end by means of a genealogical link with Aetion, who was his descendent. That was like saying that this family has tyranny in its blood. As far as Herodotus is concerned, the sentence that Pàmias uses to argue sacred sterility is the following: ἐκ δέ οἱ ταύτης τῆς γυναικὸς οὐδ’ ἐξ ἄλλης παῖδες ἐγίνοντο. By these words, however, Herodotus just said that Aetion is the one who is sterile: he is not able to have any offspring. When he visits the Pythia at Delphi, the situation changes, because she announces the unpropitious birth of his son, while Caenis’ sterility in Acusilaus seems like an unchangeable condition.

96  Commentary b Julius Africanus apud Eus. Praep. Evang. 10.10.7 p. 488d (1.592.9 Mras) = Africani Chronicon frg. XXII Routh (Reliquiae Sacrae 2 Oxonii 18462, 272). τὰς δὲ πρὸ τούτων (sc. τῶν Ὀλυμπιάδων) ὡδί πως τῆς Ἀττικῆς χρονογραφίας ἀριθμουμένης, ἀπὸ Ὠγύγου τοῦ παρ’ ἐκείνοις αὐτόχθονος πιστευθέντος, ἐφ’ οὗ γέγονεν ὁ μέγας καὶ πρῶτος ἐν τῇ Ἀττικῇ κατακλυσμός, Φορωνέως Ἀργείων βασιλεύοντος, ὡς Ἀκουσίλαος ἱστορεῖ, μέχρι πρώτης Ὀλυμπιάδος, ὁπόθεν Ἕλληνες ἀκριβοῦν τοὺς χρόνους ἐνόμισαν, ἔτη συνάγεται χίλια εἴκοσιν … (vide Hell. frg. 47a EGM). c Georg. Sync. Ecl. Chron. 71.23 Mosshammer. ὥστε οὐδὲν ἀξιομνημόνευτον Ἕλλησιν ἱστορεῖται πρὸ Ὠγύγου, πλὴν Φορωνέως τοῦ συγχρονίσαντος αὐτῷ καὶ Ἰνάχου τοῦ Φορωνέως πατρός, ὃς πρῶτος Ἄργους ἐβασίλευσεν, ὡς Ἀκουσίλαος ἱστορεῖ. Fragment 23 is the first in the “Argive series” and encompasses three testimonies. Unfortunately, none of them is a direct quotation: the content is summarized in other words. Fr. 23 deals with one of the most relevant issues in Argive genealogy, namely Phoroneus’ position in the genealogical tree as the first human man in history. Before discussing it in depth, it is worth briefly analyzing the three different accounts included in fr. 23. The richest in detail is the testimony of Clement of Alexandria (23a). Phoroneus is chronologically inserted next to the deluge occurring at the time of Ogyges, which is the most ancient in Greek history. In this respect, Clement adds that, in Acusilaus’ reconstruction, Phoroneus was the first man, as was the case in the homonymous epic poem, Phoronis. In the end, Clement quotes a passage by Plato (Tim. 22a) that, in his opinion, echoes Acusilaus’ vision of Argive genealogy. However, the Platonic testimony is consistent with the mythographer only as far as Phoroneus is concerned: in Critias’ speech, the flood mentioned is not Ogyges’, but Deucalion’s (cf. Fowler EGM II, 118). Passage 23b by Julius Africanus confirms Clement’s claim: Ogyges’ deluge took place at the time of Phoroneus, who was king of Argos. This is a further detail that is missing in 23a, where only Greece in general was mentioned, yet Phoroneus is not given the title of first man, perhaps because this testimony focuses on the chronological link between the flood and the king. Conclusively, Syncellus in the Byzantine age shared the same interest in chronology as Julius: Ogyges is said to be contemporary of Phoroneus, Inachus’ son, who was the first king of Argos. In this last case, it seems that Inachus holds a leading role, which was held by Phoroneus in the other testimonies.

fr. 23  97

This survey of sources demonstrates that Acusilaus posits Phoroneus in the highest position of the genealogical tree. He was the son of Inachus, who was likely the first king of Argos, but Phoroneus was the first human king: Inachus was first a river and was rationalized into a human king only in later times, as one can see from Syncellus’ passage. Phoroneus is also chronologically linked to Ogyges’ flood, yet this element probably belongs not to Acusilaus, but to the later sources quoting him, who must have had chronological interests.118 The first problem that arises: did Acusilaus regard Phoroneus as the first man in Greece or in Argos? Clement never mentions Argos, only Greece. So does Critias, in a speech quoted in 23a as an ancient case of Acusilaus’ reception. On the other hand, Julius Africanus and Syncellus write that Phoroneus was the first king of Argos. This dilemma can be easily solved when we consider that the most ancient traditions referring to the Greek past were about Argos. There is a fragment by Dionysius of Halicarnassus that states this very clearly (FGrHist 251 F 1 παλαίτατα δὲ τῶν Ἑλληνικῶν τὰ Ἀργολικά, τὰ ἀπὸ Ἰνάχου λέγω). As Homeric usage testifies, when speaking about the most ancient times, “Argive” and “Greek” overlapped in meaning (Thuc. 1.3.3; see Wathelet 1992, 102–106, Brillante 2004, 38–39). In other words, the Greeks living in the most distant past were all Argive, and Phoroneus was the first man to set foot on Greek soil. Another interesting element is the synchronism that our sources establish between Phoroneus and Ogyges’ flood. Even though Acusilaus is unlikely to have developed a real interest in chronology, this synchronism in later sources is significant. Ogyges was well-known as an Athenian hero, as written by ancient Atthidographers.119 However, another Ogyges was the first king of Thebes: according to Pausanias (9.5.1), he ruled over the Hectenes, the most ancient population living in Boeotia, and before Pausanias, Corinna called Thebes “Ogygia” (PMG 671).120 The parallel drawn between Argos and Thebes in later times mirrors what the socio-cultural context of early Greek history looked like to authors like

 118 On this point, modern scholarship has mistakenly held that Acusilaus actually had chronological interests. According to Pellegrini 1974, 160, fr. 23c is evidence of that. Plus, she argues that the synchronism between Phoroneus and Ogyges, and consequently between Argive and Attic history, displays Acusilaus’ will to prove the former older than the latter (157). Fontana 2012, 395 also believes that chronology was one of the criteria Acusilaus organized his material around. These two studies failed to assess the context in which Acusilaus’ thought is reported and of later authors’ reworking of this information. 119 See Philoc. FGrHist 328 F 92 and Jacoby’s related commentary. 120 Debate has run hot in modern times on Corinna’s chronology, since Lobel’s doubts on her being an archaic poetess; doubts which, however, seem now to have been dismissed (see Burzacchini 2011 with further bibliographic references).

98  Commentary Clement. After the collapse of Mycenaean dominance, Argos and Thebes became the most prominent cities, but they emerged in different ways.121 While the former distinguished itself for innovation, the latter presented itself as the heir of the old tradition. Argos was destined to exert crucial influence at the time, while Thebes was close to fading out (Musti 2004, esp. 274–276). Argos was responsible for the destruction of other Mycenaean fortresses. Furthermore, the Trojan and Theban epics are nothing if not celebrations of Argos’ vigorous dynamism (Musti 2004, 275).122 The leading role Argos played must have been retrojected onto primeval times and, more specifically, onto the first two kings, Phoroneus and Ogyges. In the 4th cent. BC, Athens attempted to claim equal prestige to those cities. In the abovementioned Platonic passage, Critias wanted his city, Athens, to compete with Argos: the Egyptian priest whom Solon met showed him how the Athenian race was the most honourable one, with its origin in Gaia and Hephaestus (Tim. 23be). Claims of the kind were necessary in light of the well-established supremacy of the Argive cult for this part of Greek history (cf. Lanzillotta 2009, 48–49). Building on this point, it appears rather unlikely that Acusilaus adopted a completely different viewpoint in this portion of the narration than in the theogonic section. Argos’ prominence was not, or at least not exclusively, dictated by Acusilaus’ chauvinistic will. He did not need to put forward any patriotic claim: Argos was already the leading power in the most ancient stages of human history.123 Furthermore, the influence the poem Phoronis might have had on Acusilaus may have been overrated: with the exception of frs. 1 and 4 PEG (= 1, 4 EGEF), there is no striking celebration of Argos.124 Of course, this poem focuses on Phoroneus, father of all men, but it cannot be said for certain whether Acusilaus actually depends on it. Undoubtedly, Phoroneus has a prominent role in Argive genealogies. He usually occupies an aboriginal position on the tree. If the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women really provides the basis for the second book of Ps. Apollodorus’ Library,

 121 The prominence given to the war between Argos and Thebes in the epics is undeniable and, despite the loss of dedicated poems, traces remained also in Homer (like in the “Catalogue of Ships”) and in Hesiod: see discussion in Cingano 2004. 122 Cf. the first line of the Thebaid, fr. 1 PEG: Ἄργος ἄειδε, θεὰ, πολυδίψιον ἔνθεν ἄνακτες. 123 Cf. for instance Pellegrini 1974, who strongly supports the idea of a patriotic reworking of ancient traditions by Acusilaus. 124 A striking example is fr. 2 PEG, EGEF, about the discovery of metallurgic art by the Idaean Dactyls. If this poem really was about celebrating Argos, one would have had Phoroneus in this role, as it is also attested elsewhere. However, it is also possible that in the poem Phoroneus discovered fire and just then the Dactyls were in the position of developing their art (see Brillante 2004, 41–42 and Tsagalis EGEF, 417).

fr. 23  99

then Hesiod agrees on this point as well.125 The most articulated ancient account of Phoroneus is by Pausanias: according to his reconstruction, the most ancient facts about the Argolid went as far back as Inachus’ time, who was regarded by some as the first king that later gave name to the river. In other opinions, Phoroneus, son of Inachus the river, was the first human inhabitant of the region (2.15.4–5). Moreover, it was he who gathered the others into a community: the place where they first met was called “Phoroneus’ city” (ibidem).126 That part of Phoroneus’ story was acceptable to Pausanias; however, in other passages of his Periegesis, he strongly disagrees with Acusilaus. Bultrighini 1990, 51–110, convincingly demonstrated that, when Pausanias deals with Argos, he bases his account on Athenian traditions. When the two cities became allies, the image of Argos in Athenian tradition needed to be reworked in order to strengthen the effectiveness of the league. Accordingly, the Peloponnesian city was described as being connected to Athens since its mythical-historical past. The most prominent example of this strategy is in the plot of Aeschylus’ Suppliants, which retrojected an anachronistic representation of a democratic Argos onto the remote past. Pausanias seems only to have accepted Argive accounts that posed Athens and Argos on the same level. Phoroneus, from an Athenian viewpoint, was well-suited for the role of a cultural hero, the Argive version of Theseus. For instance, both characters are credited with a synoecism.127 The same Athenian influence on Argive traditions is evident in a text transmitted by a papyrus (P.Oxy. 1241, col. IV 3 ff.): here, Phoroneus promotes the institution of the first court of law. However, Pausanias was not willing to accept other traditions about Phoroneus and his cultural role, such as the discovery of fire (Paus. 2.19.5) or the introduction of cereals from Africa to Greece (Σ Eur. Or. 932 pp. 189–190 Schwartz). Such inventions seem to have been appropriated by the Argives for themselves. Modern scholars, starting with Jacoby 1922, 378, have put forward the hypothesis that Phoroneus was not originally an Argive hero, but a Tirynthian one.128 This circumstance figures into a wider picture, in which the Argives  125 Cf. Hellanicus, who placed Phoroneus at the top of his Argive genealogical tree as well, in his work Phoronis (Fowler EGM II, 244). 126 Surprisingly, Paus. 2.15.5 appears as Phoronis fr. 7 PEG (and Paus. 2.19.5 as fr. 8) in the section fragmenta dubia, an editorial choice that is not shared by Tsagalis in EGEF. 127 Pellegrini 1974, 160 comes to similar conclusions, but with the substantial difference that Pausanias is not reporting a tradition stemming from Acusilaus, despite the fact that the mythographer might have actually endorsed that. 128 A point emphasized especially by Pellegrini 1974, who constantly mentions Phoroneus as a Tirynthian hero and the Phoronis as a Tirynthiam poem. On the same page, see the latest commentary by Tsagalis EGEF, 409. Cf. Stoessl, RE s.v. Phoronis, col. 647, who regards Acusilaus

100  Commentary progressively integrated some Tirynthian cults into their own. This is especially relevant for fr. 26: in these cases, we find that two similar characters end up merging into one other. As far as Phoroneus is concerned, despite numerous points of contact between the Tirynthian and Argive pantheons, there is no evidence and no need to trace a process of “Argivization” back to Phoroneus (Piérart 1992, 127). On the contrary, the fact that there is only one father for all men in this territory, Phoroneus, leads us to trust that he was accepted in both Argos and Tiryns (cf. Fowler EGM II, 240). Furthermore, had things been that way, Pausanias probably would not have missed the chance to blame the Argives for the appropriations of a foreign hero. In conclusion, fr. 23 does not support the overall interpretation of Acusilaus as a chauvinistic writer: Inachus and Phoroneus appear at the top of the genealogical tree beginning in the Catalogue of Women. In addition, starting with the Homeric poems, Argos has always had a prominent position in the earliest phases of Greek human history.129

fr. *24 Paus. 2.16.3 (1.143.9 Rocha–Pereira). Περσεὺς δὲ ὡς ἀνέστρεψεν ἐς Ἄργος – ᾐσχύνετο γὰρ τοῦ φόνου τῇ φήμῃ – Μεγαπένθην τὸν Προίτου πείθει οἱ τὴν ἀρχὴν ἀντιδοῦναι, παραλαβὼν δὲ αὐτὸς τὴν ἐκείνου Μυκήνας κτίζει [. . .] (4) Ὅμηρος δὲ ἐν Ὀδυσσείᾳ γυναικὸς Μυκήνης ἐν ἔπει τῷδε ἐμνήσθη· “Τυρώ τ’ Ἀλκμήνη τε ἐυστέφανός τε Μυκήνη” (Od. 2.120). ταύτην εἶναι θυγατέρα Ἰνάχου γυναῖκα δὲ Ἀρέστορος τὰ ἔπη λέγει, ἃ δὴ Ἕλληνες καλοῦσιν Ἠοίας μεγάλας (Hes. frg. 246 M.–W.)· ἀπὸ ταύτης οὖν γεγονέναι καὶ τὸ ὄνομα τῇ πόλει φασίν. ὃν δὲ προσποιοῦσιν Ἀκουσιλάῳ λόγον, Μυκηνέα υἱὸν εἶναι Σπάρτωνος, Σπάρτωνα δὲ Φορωνέως, οὐκ ἂν ἔγωγε ἀποδεξαίμην, διότι μηδὲ αὐτοὶ Λακεδαιμόνιοι. Λακεδαιμονίοις γὰρ Σπάρτης μὲν γυναικὸς εἰκών ἐστιν ἐν Ἀμύκλαις, Σπάρτωνα δὲ Φορωνέως παῖδα θαυμάζοιεν ἂν καὶ ἀρχὴν ἀκούσαντες. __________ 7 φασίν. ὃν Facius: φάσιον β

Ἀκουσιλάῳ Porson apud Kaye (220 n. 5): ἀκοῦσι β

This fragment deals with a very intricate issue, namely the five clans ruling the Argolid (Proetides, Amitaonides, Perseides, Pelopides, and Heraclides) and their  version as Tirynthian, but leaves the question open about the epic poem. This point is further discussed in the commentary to fr. 26. 129 A similar point has been made by Fontana 2012, 386.

fr. *24  101

movements within the region. The issue is complex because what Pausanias wrote is not consistent with accounts on the same topic by Strabo and Diodorus Siculus (see Dorati 2007 for a thorough discussion of this problem). However, Pausanias said that Perseus, Acrisius’ grandson, and Megapenthes, Proetus’ son, arranged to exchange kingdoms: the former gave Argos to the latter and received Tiryns in return.130 After that, Perseus founded a new city, Mycenae (cf. Strab. 8.6.19, Ps. Apollod. 2.2.4, but also Hec. fr. 22 EGM). On this point, there seems to be overall agreement; unfortunately, one cannot say much about epic poems featuring Perseus and his clan, where there is no specific mention of their location.131 But Acusilaus did not agree about Perseus’ being the first founder of the city. At this point of the narration, Pausanias includes other stories related to the foundation of Mycenae: Homer (Od. 2.120) mentions a woman with that name, and the poet of the Great Ehoiai (fr. 246 M.–W. = 185 Most) says that she, Inachus’ daughter, was the one who gave her name to the new city. In this way, Mycenae’s foundation is placed far back in time and it is as ancient as Argos (cf. fr. 25). Pausanias did not raise any objections to these accounts; he reserved his protestation for the last one, by Acusilaus.132 According to him, the eponymous hero of Mycenae is a male character, named Mycenaeus, son of the almost unknown Sparton, who was son of Phoroneus. This story sounded unacceptable to Pausanias, also because the Spartans did not know a hero called Sparton. Their namesake is a woman, Sparte, represented by a statue in Amyclae. Other ancient accounts enhance the overall picture: for instance, in the “Epic Cycle” (Nost. fr. 9 PEG), there was a heroine named Mycenae that was even Inachus’ daughter and the mother of Argus Panoptes (also in Σ Hom. Od. 2.120a, I 274.98–100 Pontani). Plus, a scholion to Euripides (Σ Eur. Or. 1246 p. 211 Schwartz; cf. also 932 pp. 189–190) presents a unique Argive genealogical tree, where Phoroneus’ brother, Phegeus, has two sons, Sparton and Menessenus. This Sparton would be Mycenaeus’ father, as it is in Acusilaus. As we have seen, Pausanias could not accept the fact that Argos was the ancestor of Sparta and Mycenae. That claim was actually bold: it is self-evident how the name Sparton was built upon that of Sparta.

 130 This problem has been astutely resolved by Hall 1997, 94–95 by postulating that Acrisius’ and Proetus’ dynasties were not complementary, but competitive genealogies. Contra Finkelberg 2005, 86–87, who rather believes that alternative succession between these two clans allowed the male line to become king by means of marriage. 131 With the partial exceptions of Hes. Scut. 81, where Amphitryon is in Tiryns, and Hes. Th. 292, with Heracles at Tiryns. 132 Ἀκουσιλάῳ in Pausanias’ text is an integration by Porson that has been unanimously accepted.

102  Commentary As ancient sources demonstrate well, the so-called Achaean (pre-Dorian) phase was genealogically difficult to interpret in the regions where the Dorians settled. For this reason, this blank space was filled with fictitious eponymous heroes, whose names had to be incontrovertibly connected to Dorian cities. Sparton fits in here perfectly: the Dorians manipulated the Achaean past in order to connect themselves to that earlier phase of Greek history. This operation is described very well in Musti 1985, 49–51. Heroes like Sparton and Mycenaeus are “toponymic heroes” (definition by Hall 1997, 88–89): they are the “linchpins” to which genealogy gravitates, but they are not exclusively and entirely bound to it, since their position can vary to meet different needs. By contrast, heroes that impute origin to a dynasty (e.g. Danaus-Danaids) do not share this feature. “Toponymic heroes” were successfully used when describing a polis’ most ancient times, with the goal of making it seem like an older settlement (ibidem). This said, Acusilaus may have retrojected the current political situation in the Peloponnese (Mazzarino 1966, 62) onto the most remote past (the Achaean age). Sparta and Mycenae could not have been part of the same family, since they would have allied against Argos. However, also in this case, another interpretation can be suggested. In a disputed passage from the Homeric “Catalogue of Ships” (Il. 2.559–580), there are two different contingents belonging to the Argolid, namely that of Argos with Diomedes and that of Mycenae with Agamemnon. Another passage (Il. 4.376–378) also testifies to the fact that the two cities were independent from one another. Already from the epics, Argos and Mycenae seem to have been two separate, if not rival, entities (cf. Visser 1997, 456–458). Whatever one’s views on the reasons for this circumstance in Homer,133 the existence of such passages was sufficient in itself for claiming a genealogy where Mycenaeus and Argus (fr. 25) belong to two different branches, even without taking the actual political situation in the 6th–5th century into consideration.134 Moreover, the genealogy sketched out by Acusilaus does not entail a clear supremacy for Argos, but only the early existence of a bipartite branch. The Spartans stem directly from the ancestor hero, while Argos owes his prominence to the coupling of Niobe and Zeus (fr. 25). In this way, Argos is not an ancestor for  133 Cf. Cingano 2004, 65–68 (also for previous literature on the problem), who is right in arguing that the surprising division among Diomedes and Agamemnon in the “Catalogue of Ships” does not owe to historical reasons, but it is better explained in terms of organization of the mythical subject. See also Fowler EGM II, 237. Agamemnon’s clan joined the Argive family later: Hall 1997, 91–93 has argued that he originally was located in Laconia. 134 As far as archaeological excavations can testify, Classical Mycenae seems to have been nothing in comparison with the flourishing Argos: see Tomlinson 1972, 31–33. See also Thucydides’ famous remarks in 1.10.1.

fr. 25  103

Sparta and Mycenae: even if the latter cities seem to have been downgraded – the other branch has the ennobling element of “theogeniture” – however, they do not depend on one another. It is relevant that here Acusilaus acknowledges the antiquity of Sparta above all: cf. also the genealogy in Steph. Byz. μ 231 Biller., where Sparton appears as Phoroneus’ brother.135 This is not as surprising as it may seem, when we think about the relevance that Sparta held in the culture of the archaic period (see a collection of essays in Powell 2018, esp. Calame). The lines of Argos and Sparton faced each other in a way that resembled the situation that was more or less contemporary to Acusilaus: after the Argives’ defeat at Sepeia (494 BC, see Hdt. 6.76–83), Argos kept on pursuing political expansion in the region, as discussed in Vannicelli 2004. Another relevant element is the absence of Perseus as the founding hero of Mycenae, the “culture hero” firmly established in the city.136 We unfortunately do not know how Acusilaus dealt with the branch of Perseides, so the only inferable conclusion is that he wanted the main cities of the Argive plain to have emerged more or less in the same remote past. Mycenae is genealogically connected and submitted to Sparta: the city had passed through its historical apogee and could not be placed in a leading position.

fr. 25 Ps. Apollod. Bibl. 2.1.1 (2.2, p. 50 Wagner) unde Tzetzes ad Lycoph. Alex. 177 (86.27 Scheer). Νιόβης δὲ καὶ Διός (ᾗ πρώτῃ γυναικὶ Ζεὺς θνητῇ ἐμίγη) παῖς Ἄργος ἐγένετο, ὡς δὲ Ἀκουσίλαός φησι, καὶ Πελασγός, ἀφ’ οὗ κληθῆναι τοὺς τὴν Πελοπόννησον οἰκοῦντας Πελασγούς. Ἡσίοδος δὲ (frg. 160 M.–W.) τὸν Πελασγὸν αὐτόχθονά φησιν εἶναι. The last four fragments addressing Argive genealogies (25–28) are all cited in the Library of Ps. Apollodorus, an ancient witness that should be treated with special care and attention. Scholars have speculated on the kind of sources he might have consulted. See Introduction, § 1.2. Modern readers should make sure not to consider Ps. Apollodorus’ testimonies as quotations: the Library was not only an ancient collection about mythology, but was aimed to be a text worth reading for  135 Cf. Fowler EGM II, 237 n. 5: “affiliating Sparta at the level of Inachus rather than Phoroneus emphasizes the independence even more, attaching Sparta to the region rather than the city of Argos as in Akousilaos”. 136 The association Perseus-Mycenae could be very early according to a stele depiction attributed to the early phases of Grave Circle A in Mycenae: see Hall 1997, 96.

104  Commentary its own literary value. He must have had his sources, but he did not follow them slavishly.137 As far as Pelasgus’ place in the genealogy is concerned, Ps. Apollodorus in the second book cites Acusilaus’ and Hesiod’s story, but puts it on hold. He comes back to it at 3.8.1 and develops the following part of the genealogy; this is an evident case of cross-reference (Trzaskoma 2013, 80–81). That said, I shall examine the text in detail. Acusilaus is here mentioned because of a peculiar feature in his story about the Inachids. While an earlier version cited by Ps. Apollorodus identified Argus as Niobe and Zeus’ son, Acusilaus added a second son named Pelasgus to that picture. The inhabitants of the Peloponnese took the name Pelasgians from him. Niobe, not to be confused with the woman of the same name who bragged she had more children than Leto, should be Phoroneus’ daughter here (Ps. Apollod. 2.1.1, Paus. 2.22.5).138 Acusilaus’ quotation then stops: it is hard to suppose that the whole paragraph is based on his work. He was, rather, mentioned as regards Pelasgus’ position in the Argive Stammbaum. There is another reason that leads us to consider the following part irrelevant for Acusilaus: the genealogy sketched here resembles that of Σ Eur. Or. 1246 p. 211 Schwartz (discussed above), with minor changes (cf. fr. 24).139 Acusilaus’ arrangement had enormous consequences: suffice it to say that, in Hesiod, Pelasgus is autochthonous (fr. 160 M.–W. = 110 abc Most; cf. Asius of Samus, fr. 8 PEG, EGEF).140 Once again, this peculiarity has been explained in reference to Acusilaus’ zealous patriotism: Pelasgus was a descendent of Phoroneus and Argus’ brother. Mazzarino 1966, 67–69, focused on this brotherhood as opposing that between Mycenaeus and Sparton (fr. 24) – the latter prevented Argos from expanding during the 6th century BC. According to this interpretation, this is another case of projection of present conditions and ongoing conflicts onto the past. Surprisingly, it has been noted only recently that Acusilaus might have built this genealogy on different grounds than those commonly assumed. Turning to Homer’s text can broaden our appreciation: as Fontana 2012, 386–387 proposed (but also Toye BNJ, ad loc.), in Homer Argos is designated τὸ Πελασγικὸν Ἄργος  137 This point has been strongly argued by Trzaskoma 2013. 138 Fowler EGM II, 237–239 supposes that Niobe was originally Inachus’ daughter, like Io (cf. also Tsagalis EGEF, 413). 139 Kenens 2011, 143 records another case in which Ps. Apollodorus draws his narration on these scholia. 140 The problems arising from the study of the Pelasgians inevitably include Pelasgus as well. They are very well addressed in useful entries like Fowler 2003, Sourvinou-Inwood 2003 (esp. 108–121), Gruen 2011, 238–243, and McInerney 2014, 25–28, 34–53, which also discuss previous bibliography.

fr. 25  105

(Il. 2.681). In that same passage from the second book, Pelasgic people are cited as allies of the Trojans when speaking of Larissa (in Thessaly).141 However, Hellanicus (fr. 36 EGM) also knew an Argive Larissa, around which Argos grew: this piece of information is confirmed by Pausanias (2.24.1), who mentions that Argos’ acropolis took its name from Pelasgus’ daughter, Larissa. The existence of two different Larissa toponyms may be the consequence of the existence of two Pelasgi: the former belonging to the Inachids, the latter being the ancestor of Thessalian people (Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 1.17.3). In this testimony, Acusilaus was an exegete of the Homeric text, a line of interpretation that is corroborated by what has been argued about previous fragments (frs. 23–24). By Argos, the mythographer meant an embryonic Greece, not fully developed, split into parts yet forming a united whole. Despite the fact that well-established tradition, including Hesiod, had Pelasgus as ancestor of the Arcadians, an Argive Pelasgus did not disappear completely from the scene.142 This is the case of the famous Argive king in the Suppliants by Aeschylus; however, the overall genealogical tree is different, since this Pelasgus is son of Palaechthon “the earth-born” (Suppl. 250–251), whose speaking name, “ancient earth”, stresses this feature even more. This was Aeschylus’ way of merging what was most likely the most accepted representation of Pelasgus as earth-born with the Argive version, which was functional to the political message delivered in his play.143 The most striking fact is the substantial difference between Acusilaus and Hesiod. However, as has sometimes emerged in theogonic fragments, the mythographer prefers to take Homer as the point of reference in some cases. Perhaps that occurred because in the Catalogue of Women the overall scope was different from Acusilaus’: in the Hesiodic poem, Greece is described as neatly divided into smaller entities, with specific ancestors, like Pelasgus with the

 141 Brillante 2004, 38 interprets Πελασγικὸν Ἄργος as a toponym inclusive of the Argolid, Peloponnese, as well as Thessaly. Sourvinou-Inwood 2003, 108–112 argued that, in the Homeric epics, Pelasgians were non-Greek people who had lived in Greece in the earliest times and that had moved elsewhere. The situation then considerably changes in other archaic testimonies (112– 121). Consequently, according to this view, “the myths and representations of the Pelasgians as Greeks are later constructs, perhaps of archaic genealogical poetry” (120). Plus, Sourvinou-Inwood allows that one facilitating factor in this process might have been that Homeric passages involving the Pelasgians were also connected to the name of Hellas (121 n. 88). 142 On the contrary, Pausanias could not deny Pelasgus’ autochthony and blames the Argives for constructing an Argive Pelasgus: cf. Bultrighini 1990, 80–96. 143 For the interplay of references to Greeks and barbarians embedded in this play (and also in Pelasgus himself), see Mitchell 2006, esp. 219.

106  Commentary Arcadians.144 By contrast, in Acusilaus’ Genealogies, Phoroneus, the common ancestor, and Argos, the embryonic Greece, rise above all local differences.

fr. 26 Ps. Apollod. Bibl. 2.1.3 (2.5, p. 51 Wagner). Ἄργου δὲ καὶ Ἰσμήνης τῆς Ἀσωποῦ παῖς Ἴασος, οὗ φασιν Ἰὼ γενέσθαι. Κάστωρ δὲ ὁ συγγράψας τὰ Χρονικὰ (FGrHist 250 F 8) καὶ πολλοὶ τῶν τραγικῶν Ἰνάχου τὴν Ἰὼ λέγουσιν. Ἡσίοδος δὲ (frg. 124 M.–W.) καὶ Ἀκουσίλαος Πειρῆνος αὐτήν φασιν εἶναι. ταύτην ἱερωσύνην τῆς Ἥρας ἔχουσαν Ζεὺς ἔφθειρε. φωραθεὶς δὲ ὑφ’ Ἥρας τῆς μὲν κόρης ἁψάμενος εἰς βοῦν μετεμόρφωσε λευκήν, ἀπωμόσατο δὲ ταύτῃ μὴ συνελθεῖν· διό φησιν Ἡσίοδος οὐκ ἐπισπᾶσθαι τὴν ἀπὸ τῶν θεῶν ὀργὴν τοὺς γινομένους ὅρκους ὑπὲρ ἔρωτος. __________ 2 Ἴασος Aegius: ἶσος codd. φασιν R: φησιν cett. 3 suppl. Wilamowitz3 (64 n.2) Kirchhoff (328): αὐτὴν δὲ ἀπωμόσατο codd.: ἀπωμ. δὲ ταύτην Epit. Vat.

6 ταύτῃ

Acusilaus and Hesiod (fr. 124 M.–W. = 72 Most) agree once again: according to both, Io’s father was a man named Peiren.145 Acusilaus’ contribution to the debate on Io stops here, and the boundaries of his quote are clear. Ps. Apollodorus informs us that there were several options for her paternity: Iasus (Paus. 2.16.1, Ps. Apollod. 2.1.3, Σ Eur. Or. 932 pp. 189–190 Schwartz), Inachus (Bacch. fr. 19.18 Maeh., Hdt. 1.1.3, Diod. Sic. 5.60.4, Paus. 1.25.1 and 3.18.13, and also in drama, Aesch. Prom. 589–590, 705, and Soph. Inach. TrGF frs. 269a–295a Radt), and Peiren. As far as the quotation from Hesiod is concerned, the situation is different: at the end of the famous story about Io’s metamorphosis, Ps. Apollodorus mentions the poet again and a proverb arising from that particular episode. For this case, it is reasonable to argue that Apollodorus’ involvement with Hesiod in the passage is constant. On the contrary, Acusilaus would be only mentioned later with fr. 27: his contribution to Io’s story is very limited and deals exclusively with her paternity. To assess the genealogical value of the passage, Jacoby 1922 provides a fundamental contribution, shedding light on the role of Peiren in the Argive

 144 M.L. West 1985, 27–30, 137–171; on the creation of “Hellenes”, see Fowler 1998, 9–15. 145 According to M.L. West 1985, 76–77, Peiren could be an onomastic variant for Peiras, Peiranthus and Peirasus, personal names that occur in other Argive genealogies that resemble the one in the Library (see Paus. 2.16.1, Σ Eur. Or. 932, Hyg. fab. 124, 145.2). On this point, see Hirschberger 2004, 289–290. On the multiple choices for Io’s father, see Dowden 1989, 118–124.

fr. 26  107

religion:146 he was credited with the foundation of Hera’s temple in Argos and the Goddess’ xoanon made from Tirynthian pear-wood. Peiren’s daughter was Callithyia (or Callitheia), the first priestess of Hera in Argos (e.g. Phoronis fr. 4 PEG, EGEF, Callim. fr. 100 Pfeiffer, Harder = 203 Massimilla, Σ Arat. 161 p. 161.15 Martin; other sources in Fowler EGM II, 238).147 By contrast, according to Pausanias, the cult of Hera was originated in Tiryns and Peirasus, Argus’ son, had the xoanon built there; the xoanon eventually reached Argos when Tiryns was destroyed (Paus. 2.17.5).148 In his work Argolica, Demetrius argued that the statue was manufactured in Tiryns, but that the Argives were its commissioners and it was made with pear-wood from Argos (FGrHist 304 F 1: see Fontana 2012b). Jacoby 1922, based on a glossa by Hesychius (Ἰὼ Καλλιθύεσσα, ι 1185 = Hes. fr. 125 M.–W. = 304 Most)149 identifying the Tirynthian maiden Callithyia with the Argive heroine Io, argued that the two figures merged into one another when Argos eventually conquered Tiryns, Mycenae, and Midea (in the beginning of the 5th cent., after the Persian Wars).150 In his opinion, this happened for two different reasons. On one hand, Hesiod used this mergence to shape a pan-Hellenic genealogy; on the other, Acusilaus did it according to the usual chauvinistic agenda that he had in the second part of his book. This specific aspect of Jacoby’s reconstruction can be partially challenged, if one considers that Acusilaus’ genealogies are not a product of a vivid imagination, but bear witness to widespread beliefs of his time. According to analysis by Hall 1995, 609–610, since Peiren/Peirasus was a character originally tied to the Tirynthian tradition, he needed to be substituted by an Argive figure, like Iasus, in order to achieve consistency (Paus. 2.16.1, Ps. Apollod. 2.1.3, Σ Eur. Or. 932 pp. 189–190 Schwartz). Accordingly, the same process occurred with Io-Callithyia, who was incorporated into the Argive pantheon later. In this regard, Hellanicus must have played a significant role, with his work entitled Catalogue of the Heraion’s Priestesses, where, according to Hall, this substitution first took place. In this respect, Acusilaus’ genealogy does not yet represent evidence of a completed appropriation of the Tirynthian cult by Argos, but it bears witness, together with the Catalogue of Women, to a process of

 146 The kernel of Jacoby’s argument was already in Meyer 1989, 90–92. 147 For the Phoronis, see Tsagalis EGEF, 422–424, with relevant literature. 148 Dowden 1989, 118–119 believes that Peiren was a speaking name containing a pre-Greek root for “pear” (Latin pirum), so he would be the “Pear-man”. 149 The form Callithyessa proves that Callithoe had nothing to do with sacrifices; she is the “fair-runner”, like the wandering Io (Fowler EGM II, 239, cf. Piérart 2000b, 414–415). 150 There is no certainty about the exact date, which might oscillate between 479–460 BC: see Moggi 1974, 1251–1256 for relevant testimonies.

108  Commentary “Argivization” that was still occurring: Peiren was not yet substituted by Iasus (Koiv 2003, 315–316, Fowler EGM II, 238). It is undeniable that Argos and Tiryns shared a lot when it comes to heroes and religious traditions, as this is uncontrovertibly demonstrated by archaeological discoveries at the Argive Heraion (on which see Hall 1995, 597–606). However, one should not forget that in the Homeric “Catalogue of Ships” Argos and Tiryns are portrayed as one political union (559: οἵ δ’ Ἄργος τ’ εἶχον Τίρυνθά τε τειχιόεσσαν).151 In this case as well, an imputation to Acusilaus of deliberate chauvinism should be avoided. As the agreement with the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women and the archaeological findings prove, the progressive subordination of Tiryns to Argos was inevitably reflected in the political, cultural, and therefore genealogical identity of the Argive leading entity.

fr. 27 Ps. Apollod. Bibl. 2.1.3 (2.6, p. 52 Wagner). Ἥρα δὲ αἰτησαμένη παρὰ Διὸς τὴν βοῦν φύλακα αὐτῆς κατέστησεν Ἄργον τὸν πανόπτην, ὃν Φερεκύδης (frg. 66 EGM) μὲν Ἀρέστορος λέγει· Ἀσκληπιάδης δὲ (FGrHist 12 F 16) Ἰνάχου· Κέρκωψ δὲ (Hes. frg. 294 M.–W.) Ἄργου καὶ Ἰσμήνης τῆς Ἀσωποῦ θυγατρός. Ἀκουσίλαος δὲ γηγενῆ αὐτὸν λέγει. __________ 3 Κέρκωψ Aegius: Κέκροψ codd.

This third Argive fragment is loosely connected with the others: Acusilaus argued that Argus, Io’s watchman, called Panoptes, “he who sees all”, sprung from earth.152 This character in the Argive saga was probably already known in the Iliad: in 2.103 the epithet ἀργειφόντης, attributed to Hermes, might refer to him killing Argus Panoptes.153 Ps. Apollodorus discusses his genealogy at length: Pherecydes (fr. 66 EGM) referred to him as son of Aristor, Asclepiades (FGrHist 12 F 16) as son of Inachus, and Cecrops of Miletus (in Hes. fr. 294 M.–W. = 230 Most) as

 151 For Tiryns’ inclusion in Argos’ part of the reign and consequent separation from Mycenae, see Wathelet 1992, 116, Visser 1997, 458–462 and Cingano 2004, 65–67. 152 On Argus and his monstrous nature, see discussion in Ibáñez Chacón 2006 and Sforza 2013, also for references to ancient iconography. 153 Burkert’s theory (1972, 181–189) that this is a form of first-sacrifice myth has been challenged by Dowden 1989, 135–137.

fr. 27  109

son of Argus and Ismene (Asopus’ daughter).154 Acusilaus did not address this problem, because he considered Argus to be earth-born, as in Aeschylus (Suppl. 305: Ἄργον, τὸν Ἑρμῆς παῖδα Γῆς κατέκτανεν; cf. Prom. 567, where the words εἴδωλον Ἄργου γηγενοῦς are often omitted by the editors).155 This agreement with Aeschylus testifies to the fact that, whatever its origins, this was not regarded as a piece of local Argive information. On the contrary, it sounded just as acceptable to the ears of an Athenian audience in the 5th century. As discussed above (fr. 23), a piece like The Suppliants represents Argos as the ancestor of Greek democracy in order to strengthen its image as a new Athenian political ally. As a result, one can conclude that Argus Panoptes as an autochthonous creature was a genealogical construction welcomed outside Argos as well.156 Moreover, as Brelich 1958, 138 shows, earth-born (γηγενής) is not a synonym for autochthonous (αὐτόχθων). The former does not necessarily belong to that territory afterwards, while the latter is tied to the land one sprang from and will rule. Other exceptional creatures share this feature with Argus Panoptes: for example, the HundredHanders (see Sforza 2013, 16). For this reason, he is not a figure directly competing with Argus, Niobe’s son. As far as the limits of the citation are concerned, Ps. Apollodorus, as he usually does, interrupts his narration to signal the presence of a genealogical debate. While he regards Argus as Agenor’s son in the previous section (2.1.2), only when he comes to Io’s story does he discuss other genealogical aspects for the creature. This circumstance is unusual for Ps. Apollodorus, who generally discusses genealogical variants as soon as the character involved appears. This could be explained by the fact that in the Library Io was Iasus’ daughter and Argus’ granddaughter. So, Hera would have chosen Io’s grandfather as her watchman: this detail may have generated some perplexity, so Ps. Apollodorus mentions other possibilities with Argus born at an earlier time. Literary testimonies on this character have been recently investigated by Villagra 2017, who has built a case to see, in Argus Panoptes, a character fundamentally attached to Io, introduced into Argive genealogy only in later times. Pherecydes of Athens would be the one who accommodated him within the Argive line, while Acusilaus, whose opinion is

 154 Cecrops of Miletus was credited in antiquity with a book entitled Aegimius, which is part of the Hesiodic corpus: see Cingano 2009, 123–129. 155 See also Serv. Aen. 7.790: Argum … Arestoris sive Terrae filium. 156 On the contrary, Pellegrini 1974, 169–170 argues that Acusilaus deliberately chose to avoid the presence of a monster like Argus, who could have had a negative effect on local religion, in the Argive genealogy. This assumption goes against the evidence, since fantastic aspects are not avoided at all in Acusilaus. See Introduction, § 1.7.

110  Commentary held in great regard as a “local source”, testifies to the fact that this monstrous creature did not originally belong to the royal line. Argus Panoptes was involved in other enterprises as well, like the killing of Echidna and of the Taurus that devastated Arcadia (Ps. Apollod. 2.4.1). According to Villagra 2017, these stories have been improperly attributed to this Argus, since they are better suited to Argus, son of Niobe and Zeus (fr. 25). Toye (BNJ, ad loc.) argues that this section of the Library dealing with the life of Panoptes also comes from Acusilaus; however, recent studies on Ps. Apollodorus have highlighted that the mythographer consulted later compendia and had no direct access to ancient books like Acusilaus’. For this reason, the following part might be based on Acusilaus, as well as on other sources (cf. above about fr. 25).

fr. 28 Ps. Apollod. Bibl. 2.2.2 (2.26, p. 58 Wagner). καὶ γίνεται Ἀκρισίῳ μὲν ἐξ Εὐρυδίκης τῆς Λακεδαίμονος Δανάη, Προίτῳ δὲ ἐκ Σθενεβοίας Λυσίππη καὶ Ἰφινόη καὶ Ἰφιάνασσα. αὗται δὲ ὡς ἐτελειώθησαν, ἐμάνησαν, ὡς μὲν Ἡσίοδός (frg. 131 M.–W.) φησιν, ὅτι τὰς Διονύσου τελετὰς οὐ κατεδέχοντο, ὡς δὲ Ἀκουσίλαος λέγει, διότι τὸ τῆς Ἥρας ξόανον ἐξηυτέλισαν. Of the Argive fragments, this last piece is the most challenging one: almost all ancient references on the Proetides’ madness have come down to us in fragmentary form. Proetus was the founder of Tiryns: after he argued with his brother Acrisius, they decided to divide the Argive plain between them. Acrisius kept Argos and Proetus founded a new city, Tiryns (Hes. frs. 129, 135 M.–W. = 77, 241 Most; Paus. 2.16.2, Ps. Apollod. 2.2.1). Moreover, the picture is further complicated by the presence of an important character like Melampus in the plot, who does not appear in Acusilaus’ fragments. The only ancient text that could be of help is once again the Catalogue of Women, whose lacunose state is particularly frustrating for this section. The commentary will develop as follows: first of all, discussion will be held about ancient testimonies that are preserved. Second, we will turn to the Catalogue of Women and other epic fragments that are of relevance. In conclusion, the testimony about Acusilaus will be analyzed, also in light of the other passages. a) In Bacchylides’ eleventh ode, the earliest source we have on the topic, the madness of the Proetides features in the narrative section of the song (40–112). The poet claimed that these girls went mad at Tiryns because of Hera’s will, since they dared to declare that their house was richer than the goddess’ sanctuary. They would recover only thirteen months later in Arcadia, after a long wandering

fr. 28  111

journey, thanks to the intervention of Artemis. A very similar plot is in Callim. h. 3.233–236.157 b) Herodotus’ account (9.34.1–2) is completely different from the one in a). The madness is not a divine punishment for the Proetides, but for all Argive women, who would then be healed by the seer Melampus. After that, he asks the Argives for a reward in exchange for his services, namely a part of the kingdom. Unfortunately, Herodotus does not mention the name of the king that accepts this compromise, or other details that may anchor the story to a specific moment of Argive myth-history: the negotiation seems to have occurred between the seer and the Argives, as if they were members of a direct democracy (Dorati 2004, 303). While Bacchylides clearly identifies the reasons behind this punishment, Herodotus does not explain why the Argive women were driven crazy – his interest lies in Melampus claiming a reward for his services, not in the story in itself. However, in Herodotus (2.49.1–2), Melampus is the one who revealed Dionysus to the Greeks. From this perspective, Dionysus would be a good candidate for punisher of the women (though the illness might also have had another cause, different from an angered god). In conclusion, Herodotus’ story seems like another episode from what was told by Bacchylides, as will be argued in due course: there are no common elements between the two. c) Thirdly, there is Pausanias (2.18.4), who stressed a point that was only suggested in Herodotus, namely that the madness of the women was connected with a key episode of Argive history: the institution of the triarchy. During Anaxagoras’ reign (he was Megapenthes’ son and Proetus’ grandson), women were struck by this madness and then healed by Melampus. As a reward for his healing, the seer asks for one third of the kingdom for himself and another third for his brother Bias. A similar account is in Diod. Sic. 4.68.4–5.158 In another passage, Pausanias addresses the madness of the Proetides, who were healed by Melampus as well, at Artemis’ sanctuary in Arcadia, near Lusis (8.18.7–8). The presence of both stories in the same work is significant: Melampus features in two similar episodes, one linked to the Argive triarchy and involving all women of the city, therefore having political relevance, and the other dealing only with Proetus’ daughters, whose healing took place in Arcadia, at Artemis’ temple. Plus, the mention of both testimonies in the same work shows that Pausanias found it likely that

 157 On the Bacchilidean ode and its engagement with the myth, see Seaford 1988, Bernardini 2004, 135–138, Cairns 2005, and Currie 2010, with discussion of previous modern studies on the subject. 158 On this passage and its minor points of dissonance with Pausanias, see Dorati 2004, 305.

112  Commentary Melampus was the healer in both cases, even if they happened in two different moments of myth-history (Proetus’ and then Anaxagoras’ reigns).159 d) To the accounts analyzed above, one should add another by Pherecydes (fr. 114 EGM), reported in a scholium to the Odyssey in the form of a historia.160 As it is in Bacchylides, also here the Proetides cause Hera’s wrath and consequent punishment by claiming that their father’s house was richer than her temple. Their madness lasted for ten years and caused much suffering to the girls and to their family.161 Melampus was then attracted to Argos with the promise of getting one half of the rule and the hand of one of the princesses. He accomplished his task by praying and making sacrifices to Hera (Dionysus had no part in this version).162 Interestingly, there is no mention of Melampus’ brother Bias and, consequently, no reference to the triarchy. It is difficult to tell whether Pherecydes placed this episode in Argos or in Tiryns: Proetus is regarded as Argos’ king, but it could indicate the whole plan and not exclusively the city of Argos, so Tiryns is still possible (Dorati 2004, 301 n. 32). As far as Pherecydes is concerned, one can conclude that his story should have more closely resembled the one by Bacchylides, though with differences,163 while having nothing in common with the Herodotean account. e) The last (and integral) testimony is that of Ps. Apollodorus (2.2.2). Here, the Proetides were driven crazy when Acrisius was king of Argos and Proetus was king of Tiryns. It was a punishment from Hera in Acusilaus, and from Dionysus in Hesiod. Melampus asked for two thirds of the realm as a reward, one for himself and one for his brother, but Proetus at first was not keen on the agreement. As a consequence, the madness spread and struck the Argive women as well: they  159 On this point and on Melampus’ chronology as it is in the fifteenth book of the Odyssey, see Fontana 2012, 397–404. 160 For the transmission of materials attributed to early mythographers in forms of historiae, see Introduction, § 1.2. 161 Currie 2010, 216–225 finds that Bacchylides here rationalizes the myth, because ten years of madness was too long: accordingly, the seer spent ten years in Tiryns before the episode of the madness. In Bacchylides and in the Homeric scholion quoting Pherecydes, there is a hexametric clause, ἤδη γάρ plus ἔτος and an ordinal number, which recurs in Homer (217). This hint leads Currie to argue that both Bacchylides and Pherecydes depended on an earlier epic poem, which he calls “Hesiod”, meaning the poet of the Catalogue. Moreover, in this lost source the Proetides were mad for ten years, as it is in Pherecydes (218–225). 162 As Fowler EGM II, 171–172 rightly remarks, in Pherecydes’ account, Melampus healed the girls “without recourse to his special skills”. 163 Currie 2010, 222–225 and Fowler EGM II, 170 have appreciated the agreement of these two sources and argue in favour of a common earlier source, like the Phoronis. Currie 2010, 214–215 believes that this source could well be the Catalogue or another hexametric poem.

fr. 28  113

were driven so mad that they killed their own sons. At this point, Proetus, moved by the gravity of the situation, accepted Melampus’ conditions. Despite this, his eldest daughter, Iphinoe, did not make it and died. Ps. Apollodorus maintains what Pausanias wrote; however, he structures the episode into two different moments, in order to merge the story of the Proetides’ madness with that of the Argive women into one single account, which would eventually lead to the institution of the triarchy. The earliest narration of these events is in the Catalogue of Women. From frs. 131–133 M.–W. (= 79–83 Most), one learns that Melampus came to Argos with his brother Bias and that the seer received part of the kingdom as a reward for healing Proetus’ daughters. As a consequence of their frenzy, the Proetides indulged in lewdness and “had the flower of their youth destroyed” (fr. 132 M.–W.): they were also afflicted by strong eczema and hair loss (fr. 133 M.–W.).164 In this last fragment, some scholars, including Hesiod’s latest editor, G.W. Most, believe that Hera is the subject of this sentence, if one takes into consideration a fragment by Philodemus, P.Herc. 1609 VIII (text in Henrichs 1974). This, of course, is a possibility, but Philodemus may have also been referring to Acusilaus or Pherecydes (Henrichs 1974, 300, Fowler EGM II, 172). However, two longer Hesiodic fragments can help, frs. 37 (= 35 Most, PSI XIII 1301) and 129 M.–W. (= 77 Most, P.Oxy. 2487 fr. 1). The first is about Melampus, who obtained Pero’s hand for his brother. In the middle of the papyrus text, the story continues with the description of him coming to Argos, where Proetus was king (l.10 οἵ δὲ καὶ εἰς Ἄργος Προῖ[το]ν̣ πά̣[ρα δῖον ἵκοντο). There is also mention of a healing (l.14 μαντοσύνηις ἰήσατ’) and a reward (l.12 κλῆρ̣ον).165 Of course, there must also have been the name of the deity who caused the madness (l.15 ἠλοσύνην ἐνέηκε χολωσα̣[μεν-). Both Hera and Dionysus have been proposed as integrations within this line (cf. apparatus by M.– W.). The most interesting piece of evidence that emerges from fr. 37 is that Proetus is king of Argos at this time.166 That means that the exchange of kingdoms with Acrisius already took place, but it is also possible that Argos stands for the whole Argive valley here. Plus, in fr. 129, the division of the realm between Acrisius and Proetus is recounted. Originally, Acrisius was king of Argos and Proetus was king  164 These elements can be explained with reference to cultic practice involving virgins that were about to get married: see Costanza 2009, 3–4 and discussion below. See also D’Acunto 2016, 230–238 for an examination of relevant pottery testimonies from the Argive area. 165 Dorati 2004, 299–300 is sceptical about the fact that κλῆρος had a connection with royal succession. 166 Casadio 1994, 58–60 believes that the presence of Melampus in fr. 37 M.–W. has incontrovertibly shown that Dionysus was the god involved in the Catalogue. Contra Costanza 2009, 10– 11. On the relationship between Dionysus and Melampus, see also Jost 1992, 181.

114  Commentary of Tiryns (l.10 Ἀκρίσιος μὲν ἄρ’ Ἄ]ρ̣γει ἐυκτί[τ]ωι ἐμβασί[λ]ευεν; ll.16–17 Προῖτος δ’ αὖ Τίρυ]ν̣θ̣α ἐυκ[τ]ίμε[νο]ν πτολίεθρον/νάσσατο). Unfortunately, when Proetus’ genealogy is presented, the text is interrupted. Modern scholars have attempted to reconstruct this important passage through the use of two late testimonies that may have drawn on the Catalogue, namely Ps. Apollodorus and Probus (fr. 131 M.–W. = 79–80 Most). This attempt creates more problems than solutions: Ps. Apollodorus and Probus do not agree with each other. As we saw above, in the Library the mythographer argues that the story was set in Tiryns and that the deity involved was Dionysus in Hesiod, while Probus gives Hera that role and seems to place the tale in Argos (in Verg. ecl. 6.48 ‘Proetides implerunt’. Proeti filiae regis Argivorum. Hesiodus docet ex Proeto et Stheneboea Amphidamantis natas. has, quod Iunonis contempserant numen, insania exterritas, quae crederent se boves factas, patriam Argos reliquisse, postea a Melampode Amythaonis filio sanata ita uti ***).167 The issue about which deity was involved in the punishment is still open.168 As far as the placement is concerned, one may be more inclined to believe that it was Tiryns, because in fr. 129 Proetus is the king of Tiryns (M.L. West 1985, 79).169 One possibility that has been put forward is that both versions were Hesiodic, but that each one refers to different poems, namely the Catalogue (Hera) and the Melampodia (Dionysus).170 The latter poem must have dealt with the topic, but extant evidence does not offer any textual proof that can corroborate this point. Plus, the performative nature of such epic poems and the circulation of alternative versions that could even coexist should lead us to be cautious in arguing this.171 A more persuasive option that goes back to Schwartz 1960, 373– 375 (see also Dowden 1989, 75–76 and Cairns 2005, 41) is seeing in fr. 37 M.–W. not a reference to the Proetides’ frenzy, but to that of the Argive women healed  167 It cannot be completely ruled out that Argos has the usual epic meaning here. 168 Merkelbach had a preference for Hera (see apparatus in M.–W.); Most 2007 shared his view (cf. also Burkert 1972, 191) and printed the goddess’ name, followed by Costanza 2009, whose article offers an analysis of the papyrus and a rich apparatus. Bernardini 2004, 136 trusts Ps. Apollodorus and speaks of Dionysus as the divinity involved. 169 In fr. 37 M.–W., one might think that Argos means the Argive valley (Dorati 2004, 299) or that Proetus already exchanged kingdoms (Fontana 2012, 404). 170 Cf. Costanza 2009, 11, on the basis of previous work by Nilsson and Vian (cf. also Koiv 2003, 318). Against this view there is M.L. West 1985, 79, who left the matter of the angered divinity in Hesiod open. On the Hesiodic Melampodia, see Löffler 1963, Huxley 1969, 54–59, Cingano 2009, 121–123, and Cozzoli 2016, 145–162. 171 Costanza 2009, 11 also argues that Ps. Apollodorus may have simply attributed to Hesiod what he found out to be the most widespread opinion against a less well-known version of the story (that of Acusilaus), a possibility that is, however, difficult to prove, and which would need some parallel cases in order to be persuasive.

fr. 28  115

by Melampus, whose aim was to obtain a part of the kingdom.172 In this way, one can easily assume that Ps. Apollodorus confused the two episodes and attributed intervention to Dionysus in the wrong plot – he was involved in the women’s madness, not in the Proetides’. And although Hesiod endorses a version that cuts across the neat division between a story featuring Hera and the Proetides and another one with all Argive women and Dionysus (Seaford 1988, 130), nonetheless Melampus’ intervention, which at first glance might seem to be dictated by Dionysus, also fits in well with Hera storyline (Seaford 1988, 130–131, Costanza 2009, 6–10). That said, when it comes to the Proetides, Hera is the most probable solution in Hesiod: the description of their frenzy (eczema, hair loss, etc.) and the consequent resolution of the plot with marriage lead us in this direction. Homeric passages referring to the seer do not help much: in the fifteenth book of the Odyssey (225–247), Melampus stole Iphicles’ cattle in order to make Pero marry his brother, but he was imprisoned and managed to come back only a year later. After completing this task, he went to Argos, where he got married and had a long genealogy (248–258). A similar story is told in brief in Hom. Od. 11.287–297, although Melampus is not mentioned by name.173 It is impressive that there was room in the Odyssey for a character that does not have an actual effect on the main narration. Plus, this Homeric excursus shows that Melampus’ role in Argos was well-established in myth-telling. Proetus is also mentioned in the Homeric epics (Il. 6.160–185), speaking about Bellerophon finding shelter in Argos, but in this case, too, there is nothing about the madness of his daughters. On Homer, see further Dorati 2004, 297–298. It is now time to turn to Acusilaus. According to Ps. Apollodorus, the Proetides were afflicted by madness and were punished for not having honoured Hera’s xoanon, which is supposed to have been in Tiryns.174 The missing piece is: who heals the Proetides? Artemis or Melampus? Jacoby 19572, 381 is the only one to find Artemis as the most suitable candidate for Acusilaus, as it is in Bacchylides. On the other hand, there seems to be scholarly agreement on the fact that the intervention of Artemis is a peculiar choice by Bacchylides, who  172 Contra Casadio 1994, 59–60, who emphasizes Melampus’ role as necessary in both stories. 173 Currie 2010, 214 mentions this last Homeric passage and rightly argues that the allusive character of this description is due to the presence of a longer narration elsewhere in the epic field. In conformity with so-called “Monro’s law”, the poet did not want to overlap with that other account. The same observation could be valid for the Catalogue, which only alludes to Melampus’ story (this last conclusion is weaker, since the lacunose state of the text does not allow us to draw firm conclusions). 174 Cf. the commentary to frs. 26–27. Pellegrini 1974, 167 is alone in arguing that there is no reason to link the xoanon to Tiryns.

116  Commentary presented the myth according to an agenda (Artemis was especially worshipped in Metapontum, the homeland of the ode’s commissioner).175 Other elements would lead to Melampus, who represents the healer in the Catalogue. Plus, Ps. Apollodorus does not specify that Acusilaus differs from Hesiod in this regard, but this point is slippery, given that he based his work on later compendia. 176 In addition, the complete absence of Melampus from Acusilaus’ extant fragments does not help in the reconstruction. Even if Ps. Apollodorus does not say whether the story involved a political revolution caused by Melampus’ intervention, it could be reasonably held that this was not the case and that Acusilaus treated the myth of the Proetides as an initiatory myth for girls of marriage age. If Hera was involved in Hesiod as well, then there is further evidence of the process of appropriation of Tirynthian religious tradition within Argos (starting from Jacoby 1922; cf. Dorati 2004, 309). The presence of Hera’s xoanon is explicit to this end and Costanza 2009 has rightly sustained that the Proetides’ error could have been that of neglecting a marriage, like in the case of the Danaids. Plus, Artemis’ role as healer would fit very nicely in this picture. The plot differences in Bacchylides’ ode could well have been motivated by its commissioning and the audience’s expectation for that song. By contrast, those who believed that Dionysus was the offended divinity in Hesiod resorted to different conclusions. According to this line of interpretation, Acusilaus stands against Hesiod and endorses a Tirynthian tradition rather than an Argive one. Fontana 2012, 405–411 finds that this was dictated by the desire to give chronological consistency to the story,177 while Pellegrini 1974, 167–168 believes that Acusilaus wanted to oppose the traditional cult of Hera with the popular one of Dionysus, which was emerging and was already accepted in Athens. Those emphasizing the religious value of the story are certainly right. The initiatory value of the story cannot be doubted, since

 175 See Bernardini 2004, 137–138, Currie 2010, 225–238, and Costanza 2010, 5–7 with reference to previous bibliography. 176 Dorati 2004, 301–302 regards Ps. Apollodorus’ testimony in a more optimistic way, since the mythographer would not have passed other points of divergence between Hesiod and Acusilaus in silence if they actually occurred. 177 Fontana 2012, 395–411, esp. 401, argues that fr. 28 is a clear instance of Acusilaus’ historical method of inquiry. She maintains that the choice of Tiryns over Argos was due to Acusilaus’ will to correct Hesiod on a chronological basis. According to Fontana’s careful calculation, Homeric poems testify that Melampus could not have been alive in Proetus’ time. For this reason, in some accounts, one finds an intermediate character like King Anaxagoras, who was made up to restore chronological consistency. Moreover, by having Melampus younger than Proetus, the seer can be consequently linked to the Trojan War, and to Pero and Bias’ wedding. This reading goes too far in the direction of attributing Acusilaus with an anachronistic sensitivity to chronology.

fr. 28  117

everything ended in marriage. On the other hand, the political value of the plot involving Dionysus and all Argive women is beyond all question, since it is tied with the institution of the triarchy. Of all relevant scholarly contributions to this subject, Seaford 1988 offers a particularly sharp analysis, whose general framework is worth quoting here. He explains the Hera/Artemis vs. Dionysus dualism very effectively: Artemis relinquishes her mortal devotees and so becomes a goddess of marriage. She and Hera, representing two stages of female life, combine at the point of a transition vital to the continuity of the civilized community, the conversion of girls into the wives of citizens. But Dionysus, in spanning this complementarity of Artemis and Hera, subverts the marital transition it articulates. The transition he imposes is into an association, the maenadic thiasos (as we see most clearly in the Bacchae) is imagined as antithetical to the civilised community of the polis […] Artemis inspires a temporary virginity in the wild as a prelude to civilised sexual union. But the maenadic thiasos is imagined as at home in the wild; as involving illicit sex there with outsiders; as entirely out of male control; and as a renewing in married women that centrifugal opposition to marriage that had supposedly been permanently overcome in their marital transition. (Seaford 1988, 127)

So it is not important to determine whether or not Melampus played a role in Acusilaus’ plot: Hera’s involvement clearly suggests that, in his story, there was no room for the disruptive power of Dionysus against society, which would ultimately have led to a new political order, but, on the contrary, that the dynamic is to be inscribed within the society and has mainly to do with an initiatory aspect. It is also important to stress that there is no point in saying which story is older, since they appear to be completely different in scope. Later on, the presence of Melampus led to some confusion of these two separate moments.178 Moreover, I would like to add that this episode has a lot in common with what happened in Thebes with the Bacchae. As already seen about fr. 23, in post-Mycenaean Greece Argos and Thebes shared a leading role. It is likely, then, that the existence of a Dionysiac episode was a doublet for the Bacchae’s story.179 Plus, Hesychius knows of an Argive religious cult, Ἀγράνια or Ἀγριάνια, dedicated to the dead and in honour of one of the Proetides that did not make it in the end.180  178 More on this initiatory context in Gourmelen 2007. 179 A similar point is made by Hall 1997, 97. 180 Hesych. α 750 Ἀγράνια· ἑορτὴ ἐν Ἄργει ἐπὶ μιᾷ τῶν Προίτου θυγατέρων; α 788 Ἀγριάνια· νεκύσια παρὰ Ἀργείοις. This cult is explicitly associated with Argos and the Proetides, but there is no mention of Dionysus. Koiv 2003, 319 posits a division between the story set in Tiryns and the one in Argos, claiming that both of them had a ritual background, an initiatory cult to Hera in the former case, this Agrania festival in the latter.

118  Commentary This testimony does not confirm that Dionysus’ cult was important and had ancient roots in Argos, but rather that there was a process of assimilation between the traditions and myths of Argos and Thebes. Further evidence on the Agrania in Argos and in Boeotia, where the cult was especially celebrated, are in Burkert 1972, 189–200, Dowden 1989, 82–85, Casadio 1994, 85–99, with previous bibliography. It is clear that two different stories with some shared features came to influence each other and ultimately merged into one. In the first case, Hera punishes the girls for their hybris, and at the end Artemis rescues them; in the latter, the madness is the necessary condition that leads to the arrival of Melampus and to a new and unique political system, the triarchy.181 The existence of both myths in Pausanias’ Periegesis, where the only common point is Melampus’ presence, allows us to envisage this process of contamination. As far as Acusilaus’ contribution is concerned, the presence of the xoanon recalls the Tirynthian environment, as in the case of Peiren and Io Callithyia.182 Jacoby was right in pointing to this fragment as another piece of evidence of this osmosis between Argos and Tiryns. A numismatic study from Argos proves that Hera’s cult was not an earlier one: she makes her first appearances on coins after Tiryns’ destruction (about 421 BC). The most venerable god in Argos was Apollo Lycius (Hall 1995, 611–612). As far as the healer is concerned, it could be either Artemis or Melampus, and it would not make a difference: in Acusilaus, it seems to be the case of a ritual involving girls of marriageable age. In each case, the story would have ended with weddings and with the restoration of order.

Other Sagas fr. 29 Ps. Apollod. Bibl. 2.5.7 (2.94, p. 78 Wagner). ἕβδομον ἐπέταξεν ἆθλον τὸν Κρῆτα ἀγαγεῖν ταῦρον. τοῦτον Ἀκουσίλαος μὲν εἶναί φησι τὸν διαπορθμεύσαντα Εὐρώπην Διΐ, τινὲς δὲ τὸν ὑπὸ Ποσειδῶνος ἀναδοθέντα ἐκ θαλάσσης, ὅτε καταθύσειν Ποσειδῶνι Μίνως εἶπε τὸ φανὲν ἐκ τῆς θαλάσσης.

 181 M.L. West 1985, 78–79 shares this view and believes that these two stories, separated in origin, merged quite early, already in the Catalogue. 182 Cf. a passage in the Phoronis, fr. 4 PEG, EGEF, l. 2: Ἥρης Ἀργείης. This testifies that the adjective “Argive” kept that extensive Homeric meaning.

fr. 29  119

According to Apollodorus, Eurystheus wanted Heracles to fetch the Cretan bull (his seventh labour), which, in Acusilaus’ opinion, was the one that carried Europa. Two elements in this account arouse scholarly interest: the first is that there is no metamorphosis of Zeus into a bull, but rather an actual animal; the second is that Europa’s kidnapping is linked to one of Heracles’ deeds. Acusilaus is the earliest reference arguing that Zeus did not turn himself into a bull, but that he had a real one accomplish the task.183 This casts itself as a major novelty, since Zeus’ metamorphosis occurred already in the Catalogue of Women and in Bacchylides.184 Such metamorphoses, caused by divine lust, are well testified within ancient Greek religion,185 e.g. in the Odyssey, where there are several passages portraying gods turning themselves into birds.186 For this reason, Acusilaus’ choice seems peculiar and may lead one to see a rationalizing intervention, usually referred to Hecataeus of Miletus’ myth-treatment.187 Plus, in some scholars’ view, not only does Acusilaus avoid what was explicitly supernatural, but he also connects that episode with one of Heracles’ deeds chronologically (Fontana 2012, 384 developing a indication by Tozzi 1967, 599). This assumption, however, is not strengthened by other texts (cf. Introduction, § 1.7). It is highly improbable that Acusilaus knew of a chronology for Heracles that differs much from the Hesiodic one. Since, according to the Boeotian poet, Europa’s father was Agenor’s son, living nine generations before Heracles, then it is not at all likely that Acusilaus places these events on the same chronological level. So, as noted by Jacoby 19572, 381, if the bull lived that long, it was a supernatural creature as well, or, as Fowler EGM II, 286 believes, perhaps Acusilaus did not acknowledge a chronological problem. If that were the case, we would have another piece of evidence to argue against the existence of an interest in chronology at this stage (following Varto 2015, 122–128). However, the discrepancy in chronology seems too conspicuous – it is not only a matter of one or two generations: Jacoby’s hypothesis of a supernatural bull is, all in all, more persuasive, and fits nicely with the few other occurrences of the extraordinary that one can find in extant evidence (esp. frs. 22, 33, 35).

 183 Cf. Diod. Sic. 4.60.1, 5.78.1. There would be also a fragment by Euripides, TrGF 820a Kann., but 820b speaks clearly of a metamorphosis by Zeus. For this problem, see Fowler EGM II, 286. 184 Hes. fr. 140 M.–W. (= 89 Most), Bacch. fr. 10 Maeh. The position of a fragment by Aeschylus, TrGF 99 Radt, is problematic (or willingly ambiguous, as Fowler EGM II, 286 thinks). 185 See Buxton 2009, 158–162, also for previous bibliography. 186 Ibidem, 29–48. 187 On the alleged Hecataean rationalism, see Andolfi 2017b, with an overview of previous literature arguing in favour of it.

120  Commentary

fr. 30 Σ (CHMPaVamouX) Od. 14.533. “Βορέω ὑπ’ ἰωγῇ”. ᾽Ερεχθεὺς ὁ τῶν ᾽Αθηναίων βασιλεὺς ἴσχει θυγατέρα τοὔνομα ᾽Ωρείθυιαν κάλλει διαπρεπεστάτην. κοσμήσας δὲ ταύτην ποτὲ πέμπει κανηφόρον θύσουσαν εἰς τὴν ἀκρόπολιν τῇ Πολιάδι Ἀθηνᾷ. ταύτης δὲ ὁ Βορέας ἄνεμος ἐρασθεὶς λαθὼν τοὺς βλέποντας καὶ φυλάσσοντας τὴν κόρην ἥρπασεν. καὶ διακομίσας εἰς Θρᾴκην ποιεῖται γυναῖκα. γίνονται δὲ αὐτῷ παῖδες ἐξ αὐτῆς Ζήτης καὶ Κάλαϊς, οἳ καὶ δι᾽ ἀρετὴν μετὰ τῶν ἡμιθέων εἰς Κόλχους ἐπὶ τὸ νάκος ἔπλευσαν ἐν τῇ Ἀργοῖ. ἡ δὲ ἱστορία παρὰ Ἀκουσιλάῳ. __________ 1 ᾽Ερεχθεὺς post ᾽Αθηναίων suppl. M.: om. HPaX 6–7 οἳ — Ἀργοῖ om. C ἠϊθέων coni. Sturz, ἡμιθέους Barnes Ἀργοῖ Barnes: ἀργῶ vel ἀργῷ codd. om. HPaX

6 ἡμιθέων codd: 8 ἡ — Ακουσιλάῳ

Boreas’ kidnapping of Orithyia is one of the most famous episodes of Athenian mythology, since the girl was King Erechtheus’ daughter.188 Ancient literary sources were very interested in the story (e.g. Pherec. fr. 145 EGM, Simon. PMG 534,189 Hdt. 7.189,190 Ap. Rhod. 1.211–223, Paus. 1.19.5; Aeschylus also dedicated a satyr play to the topic). However, the most famous treatment is in Plato (Phaedr. 229 bc): on the banks of the Ilisus, Socrates tells Phaedrus a clearly rationalized version of this myth, following an exegetical trend that spread between the 5th and 4th centuries BC.191 The children born from this marriage, the twins Zetes and Calais, took part in the Argonauts’ expedition. This mythical abduction is absent from the Homeric epics: there are no traces of this story. From the scholium citing Acusilaus, one might assume that the mythographer offered a rich description of the story: for instance, the attention devoted to Orithyia (who distinguished herself for beauty and who was ready to worship Athena while wearing the typical dress of a canephore) and the repre-

 188 Her name, “Mountain-rusher”, suggested an untameable girl (Fowler EGM II, 460), a metaphor typical for virgins that were not yet married and needed to be tamed. On the pattern of “marriage by capture”, see the pioneering book by Dumézil 1979 and the anthropological remarks by Barnes 1999. 189 On this, see M.L. West 1993, 3–4. This text is not included in Poltera’s edition. 190 Herodotus does not explicitly mention a kidnapping, but only that Orithyia and Boreas got married: for this reason, the Athenians claimed to be related to Boreas and asked for his help against the Persians. 191 When Phaedrus asks Socrates if he actually believes the kidnapping story, the Socratic reply implies that many would have not believed it (229c Ἀλλ’ εἰ ἀπιστοίην, ὥσπερ οἱ σοφοί, οὐκ ἂν ἄτοπος εἴην).

fr. 30  121

sentation of the kidnapping itself (Boreas succeeded in his task, even though the girl was not left unattended). The abduction took place when she was in the acropolis: this is one important difference with later sources like Plato, who wrote that it occurred along the banks of the Ilisus (cf. Paus. 1.19.5, Ps. Apollod. 3.15.2).192 Acusilaus then also mentions Thrace as the place where the wedding took place (as it is in Apollonius of Rhodes). Recently, Finkelberg 2014 based an overall interpretation of local Greek myths vs. pan-Hellenic ones on this myth. By adopting a global approach to Greek myth, where literary and artistic representation cannot but interact with each other, one can appreciate that this story had good success in the visual arts (LIMC s.v. Boreas, Oreithyia and Gantz 1993, 243) thanks to its link with the Athenian victory over the Persians. In this specific case, Finkelberg shows how Orithyia’s canephore dress was not an isolated detail that one might regard as Acusilaus’ own contribution or as the intervention of the compiler of the MH. It actually fitted her role in the Panathenaic festival processions (2014, 90), a role also suggested by the interpretation of iconographic accounts (94). Finkelberg 2014, 89, 93 also guessed that, in Acusilaus, the kidnapping may have occurred in the Areopagus,193 but even if one maintains its placement on the banks of the Ilisus, the fact may well have occurred along the way of the Panathenaic procession (91). But the greatest problem is the subscript ἡ δὲ ἱστορία: on its level of accuracy, see the discussion in the Introduction, § 1.2. In the scholia to the Iliad and the Odyssey, this subscript is more or less reliable, although not in every detail. Accordingly, there must be doubts regarding the pertinence of the whole passage to Acusilaus. Yet maybe the lack of any hint of rationalization in a story that suited that exegetical practice well shows that there has not been much reworking in Acusilaus’ text. Plus, the fact that Boreas was an ally of Athenian people at the time of Persian Wars linked the myth to the historical context of the 5th century. Consequently, for Acusilaus, one should rather think of some other reason: his interest in the matter may have been in the children of the couple, who were part of the Argonauts’ expedition (see fr. 31).

 192 Another possible placement was Mount Brilessus (= Pentelicon) for Simonides: see Fowler EGM II, 461. 193 See also Plat. Phaedr. 229 d, where the Areopagus is explicitly mentioned: this Platonic locum, however, has been suspected to be a later glossa (see the apparatus in Moreschini 1985). Whatever the nature of this sentence, it might come from Acusilaus and/or from the visual art examples described by Finkelberg.

122  Commentary

fr. 31 Ps. Apollod. Bibl. 3.15.2 (3.199, p. 163 Wagner). Ὠρείθυιαν δὲ παίζουσαν ἐπὶ Ἰλισσοῦ ποταμοῦ ἁρπάσας Βορέας συνῆλθεν· ἡ δὲ γεννᾷ θυγατέρας μὲν Κλεοπάτραν καὶ Χιόνην, υἱοὺς δὲ Ζήτην καὶ Κάλαϊν πτερωτούς, οἳ πλέοντες σὺν Ἰάσονι [καὶ] τὰς Ἀρπυίας διώκοντες ἀπέθανον, ὡς δὲ Ἀκουσίλαος λέγει, περὶ Τῆνον ὑφ’ Ἡρακλέους ἀπώλοντο. __________ 1 παίζουσαν Staverenus: περῶσαν codd.

3 del. Hercher

This passage by Ps. Apollodorus completes the picture drawn by the fragment discussed above. As stated, it is likely that Acusilaus was interested in Boreas and Orithyia’s marriage for its genealogical consequences, namely their children, Zetes and Calais, who were to become Argonauts and would go on to die while chasing the Harpies (Ibyc. PMGF S 292, Aesch. TrGF F 260 Radt, Teles. PMG 812). In contrast, Acusilaus believed that Heracles killed them in Tenos. This latter option is not isolated in ancient literature: it has also survived in Apollonius Rhodius, where Heracles himself kills the twins on the occasion of the funeral games for Pelias (1.1298–1308). Moreover, historiography also recorded different motivations for Heracles’ murdering them: Stesimbrotus of Thasos (FGrHist 107 F 19, 5th cent. BC) writes about a dispute over gifts from Jason at the end of the expedition,194 Aenesidamus (FGrHist 600 F 1, 4th–3rd cent. BC) says that Heracles acted in self-defence, and Semos of Delos (FGrHist 396 F 19, 3rd cent. BC) claims that the hero reacted this way after being defeated in a footrace. In Apollonius’ poem, Zetes and Calais were accused of making Jason leave Heracles in Mysia when the hero was desperately looking for Hylas. Plus, Homer tells us that Heracles had good reason for revenge against Boreas, since the wind helped Hera drive the hero to Cos (Il. 15.24–33, cf. 14.249–256).195 It is hard to imagine what opinion Acusilaus may have had on the topic, but Apollonius’ story, with the involvement of Heracles’ love affair with Hylas, looks very much like an original contribution by the Hellenistic poet (Fowler EGM II, 210). The Homeric motivation for the deed is much more likely in this case. The fact that Acusilaus and Apollonius shared the same localization should not be overlooked, especially because we know that poets of the Hellenistic age  194 An episode like this partially acted as a doublet for the quarrel over Achilles weapons between Ajax and Odysseus in the Trojan saga (cf. Currie 2016, 239–245 for an overview on the subject). 195 The same story is in Nicander fr. 15 Schneider = Gow-Scholfield.

fr. 33  123

had a taste for erudite and lesser-known versions of myths that they could find in early Greek mythographers. This is perhaps mostly a scholarly prejudice: there may also have been local stories, that were not disseminated, but have only intermittently survived.196

fr. 33 Ps. Apollod. Bibl. 3.4.4 (3.30, p. 114 Wagner). Αὐτονόης δὲ καὶ Ἀρισταίου παῖς ᾽Ακταίων ἐγένετο, ὃς τραφεὶς παρὰ Χείρωνι κυνηγεῖν ἐδιδάχθη, καὶ ὕστερον ἐν τῷ Κιθαιρῶνι κατεβρώθη ὑπὸ τῶν ἰδίων κυνῶν. καὶ τοῦτον ἐτελεύτησε τὸν τρόπον, ὡς μὲν οὖν Ἀκουσίλαος λέγει, μηνίσαντος τοῦ Διὸς ὅτι ἐμνηστεύσατο Σεμέλην, ὡς δὲ οἱ πλείονες, ὅτι τὴν Ἄρτεμιν λουομένην εἶδε. __________ 2 κυνηγεῖν Wilamowitz3 (151): κυνηγὸς codd.

add. Wagner ex. Epitt. Vat.

The tragedy of Actaeon is an episode in the Theban saga and was well-known in antiquity: his own hounds tore him apart on Mount Cithaeron at Zeus’ command. Acusilaus gave the fact that Actaeon wooed Semele as the motivation for this. From what Ps. Apollodorus wrote, one might be misled and think that this was a peculiarity of Acusilaus; on the contrary, Hesiod (frs. 217A and 346 M.–W. = 161ab Most; perhaps also frs. 162 and 305 Most) and Stesichorus (fr. 285 D.–F.) shared this view. Less convincing is the inclusion of Aeschylus (TrGF 221–224 Radt: Semele and 241–246: Toxotides) in this group, who may not have agreed.197 But Ps. Apollodorus is certainly right in claiming that the most familiar versions were others: Actaeon was punished by Artemis, because he hybristically showed off his hunting abilities as better than the goddess’ (Eur. Bacch. 337–340), or because he happened to see her bathing (Callim. h. 5.107–118) or because he paid suit to her (Diod. Sic. 4.81.4: this story in a way resembles the archaic one featuring Semele). Bearing on Ps. Apollodorus’ text, however, Lacy 1990, 33 believes that the plot including Artemis was as old as the one with Semele. Despite the fact that

 196 On the subject of Greek “submerged literature” and its definition, see the essays collected in Colesanti/Giordano 2014. 197 On Aeschylus, see Gantz 1980, 156–157, although in fr. 241 Actaeon looks explicitly like a zealous devotee to Artemis, focused on preserving his virginity (in a similar way to Hippolytus, as Forbes-Irving 1990, 87 also noted). For this reason, his pursuit to Semele (or to Artemis in Diodorus Siculus’ account) does not fit the poet’s description of this character. This matter has been recently reassessed by Hadjicosti 2006, with reference to previous studies.

124  Commentary Ps. Apollodorus could rely on mythological compendia, which included early materials, in this case his judgement was highly influenced by later texts, like the Callimachean hymn. Moreover, it should be noted that, in the other archaic references (Hesiod, Stesichorus) featuring Semele as the desired partner, Actaeon’s death by means of his metamorphosis into a deer is arranged by Artemis herself. Actaeon’s father was Aristaeus, son of Cyrene, who is commonly associated to Boeotia (for problems arising from this point, see Fowler EGM II, 149 n. 89). His punishment could easily be explained: Zeus had to prevent his union with Semele, since she would have been pregnant with Dionysus, Zeus’ own son. As Fowler writes, “Aktaion could then be a figure analogous to Pentheus, whose interference threatens the worship of Dionysos” (EGM II, 371).198 Zeus’ direct intervention is only testified here and in one vase dated to about 440 BC. (LIMC suppl. 2009 add. 124: see Fowler EGM II, 371 n. 68). As mentioned, Acusilaus’ testimony on Actaeon’s death fitted in with a common view in the archaic age. To this end, the discovery of two papyri has been paramount: the first text is Hesiod, fr. 346 M.– W. (= 161b Most), based on Philodemus (piet. 6552–6555 Obbink = P.Herc. 1648 VII 3), according to whom in the Catalogue of Women Actaeon attempted to seduce Semele. Merkelbach and West, in their edition, regarded this testimony as spurious, but the subsequent discovery of another piece of evidence, P.Mich. 1447 II, 1–6 (published in 1978) changed the picture. This text was numbered 217A in the latest edition of the collection by Merkelbach and West, released in 1990 (and 161b in the edition by Most), and briefly tells the story of Actaeon’s death following the Catalogue.199 This episode could well have been part of the Cyrene-ehoie or of one Cadmus’ daughters (see Janko 1984, 300). Thanks to this testimony, we know that Artemis figured in Hesiod as well, since she was the one who turned him into a deer to feed his hounds. Moreover, another piece of testimony is of relevance, namely a group of anonymous archaic hexameters composed in “postHomeric language” reported in P.Oxy. 2509 (text in Janko 1984, 301). Its first editor, Lobel, ascribed them to the Catalogue of Women in 1964;200 this opinion,

 198 Cf. also on the same page n. 68, discussing the hypothesis that Semele may have already been pregnant at the time of Actaeon’s advances and that the hunter might have acted as a human husband for her. 199 The papyrus was first edited by Renner 1978, but the main reference for its study is Janko 1984. 200 In Lobel’s (1964, 5, 6) opinion, one argument was the presence, in l. 3 of the papyrus, of the name ΝΗΙΣ to refer to Chiron’s wife, an occurrence that is Hesiodic, according to Σ Pind. Pyth. 4.182 pp. 123–124 Drachmann (= fr. 42 M.–W. = 163 Most). Contra Depew 1994, 414, who thinks that Naiades is an appellative and not a proper name (but Lobel himself doubted this point).

fr. 33  125

however, was fiercely condemned by M.L. West.201 This notwithstanding, studies on this text (esp. Casanova 1969 and Janko 1984) have strengthened the case of Lobel’s original attribution, but only Hirschberger 2004 has printed the fragment as fr. 103 in her edition. Another element adds to this situation: after the abovementioned portion of text including Acusilaus’ quotation, Ps. Apollodorus (3.4.4) inserted some hexameter verses, written in epic language that may well come from a Hellenistic epyllion. In her edition, Hirschberger 2004 adventurously printed this text as fr. *39 (Fragmente ungewisser Wekzuweisung).202 This piece of poetic composition quoted by the mythographer is the part of narration preceding that of P.Oxy. 2509. In recent times, Debiasi 2013 has made a case for reading both texts as belonging to the poem Europia by Eumelus of Corinth: this attribution would fit the texts better, for linguistic features, shared by the Hesiodic language, for narrative elements including long pieces of narration, and for the content of the Europia, where Pentheus’ sad fate was also recounted and the Dionysiac element was functional to the development of the plot.203 Although Debiasi’s argumentation is intriguing, it is perhaps safer to stick to the easiest solution and not postulate the existence of another, different epic account, since we can be sure about the presence of Actaeon’s story in the Catalogue of Women. But whoever actually authored these pieces, Hesiod or Eumelus, it does not make a difference as far as Acusilaus is concerned: according to Clement of Alexandria, both he and Eumelus used to draw on Hesiod (Strom. 6.26.8 = Τ 5 EGM). In antiquity, they were both considered the Boeotian poet’s heirs, the former in prose, the latter in poetry (see Introduction, § 1.3). One missing detail in Acusilaus’ quotation is about Actaeon’s metamorphosis into a deer, before his killing, and that is a true pity, considering that from extant fragments one can infer that he actually included supernatural events like this one. When Pausanias quotes Stesichorus’ account on Actaeon, he refers to a rationalizing version of his metamorphosis: the hunter was not turned into a deer, but he simply wore a mantle made from deer skin.204 But unfortunately, we know nothing about Acusilaus’ treatment here.

 201 M.L. West 1966b, 22, in reviewing Lobel’s edition, defines this text as “an incoherent epic pastiche involving Chiron, Actaeon, and a prophecy about Dionysus”, that shares nothing with Hesiod. 202 See Hirschberger 2004, 491–494. 203 Debiasi 2013, 209 analyzes the traces of Dionysiac cults in Corinth from the archaic age and argues in favour of a relationship linking the Bacchiades with Dionysus. 204 Debiasi 2013, 223 n. 157 briefly examines this problem.

126  Commentary

fr. 34 Σ (HMaPaQ+) Od. 10.2. “Αἰολίην δ’ ἐς νῆσον ἀφικόμεθ’· ἔνθα δ’ ἔναιεν/Αἴολος Ἱπποτάδης”· Δευκαλίων, ἐφ’ οὗ ὁ κατακλυσμὸς γέγονε, Προμηθέως μὲν ἦν υἱός, μητρὸς δὲ, ὡς πλεῖστοι λέγουσι, Κλυμένης, ὡς δὲ Ἡσίοδος (frg. 4 M.–W.) † Πρυνόης, ὡς δὲ Ἀκουσίλαος Ἡσιόνης τῆς Ὠκεανοῦ [τοῦ Προμηθέως]. ἔγημε δὲ Πύρραν τὴν Ἐπιμηθέως καὶ Πανδώρας τῆς ἀντὶ τοῦ πυρὸς δοθείσης τῷ Ἐπιμηθεῖ εἰς γυναῖκα. γίνονται δὲ τῷ Δευκαλίωνι θυγατέρες μὲν δύο Πρωτογένεια καὶ Μελάνθεια, υἱοὶ δὲ Ἀμφικτύων καὶ Ἕλλην. οἱ δὲ λέγουσιν ὅτι Ἕλλην γόνῳ μὲν ἦν Διὸς λόγῳ δὲ Δευκαλίωνος. ἐξ οὗ Ἕλληνος Αἴολος πατὴρ Κρηθέως, Ἀθάμαντος, Σισύφου. ἄλλος δέ ἐστιν ὁ Ἱππότου παῖς· ὁ δὲ Ἱππότης υἱὸς Μίμαντος. τρεῖς γὰρ Αἰόλους φασὶ γεγενῆσθαι, πρῶτον τὸν τοῦ Ἕλληνος, δεύτερον τὸν ἐξ Ἱππότου καὶ Μελανίππης, τρίτον τὸν ἐκ Ποσειδῶνος καὶ Ἄρνης. πρὸς τοῦτον δέ φησιν ὁ Ἀσκληπιάδης (FGrHist 12 F 26) τὸν ἐκ Ποσειδῶνος. φυλάσσει δὲ Ὅμηρος τὸ εἰπεῖν ἐξ Ἱππότου. __________ 3 add. Dindorf 4 Πρυνόης HPa: Πρυνείης Ma, Προνόης Dindorf, Πανδώρας Sturz2; cf. Hell. frg. 6 EGM del. West 5 Πανδώρας τῆς — δοθείσης Buttmann: Πανδώραν τὴν— δοθεῖσαν codd. ἀντὶ HPa: ἀπὸ MaQ 8–9 πατὴρ—παῖς Buttmann coll. Eus. Od. 1644.9: ἄλλος δέ ἐστιν ὁ Ἕλληνος παῖς, πατὴρ δὲ Κρηθέως Ἀθάμαντος Σισύφου codd. 11–12 add. Buttmann τὸ Dindorf: τῷ codd.

According to Acusilaus, Deucalion was Prometheus and Hesione’s (one of the Oceanids) son. In this scholion, we read that the most common opinion was that Deucalion’s mother was Clymene (ὡς πλεῖστοι λέγουσι): however, as far as one can tell, there are not many ancient references that validate this assumption (they are quite late ones, like Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 1.17.3; on this point, see also Fowler EGM II, 114). This genealogical arrangement, the Homeric scholiast says, was not the same as Hesiod. Regrettably, on this specific point, it is not clear what the Catalogue of Women had. In fr. 4 M.–W. (= 5 Most), the mother’s name seems to be hopelessly corrupt to Merkelbach and West, followed by Fowler (†Πρυνείης), while it is preferable to read Πρυνόης (Most).205 All the names attested were suspected by M.L. West 1985, 50 to be “doubtless corrupted”. The other testimony we have, fr. 2 M.–W. (= 3 Most), surprisingly gives the name Pandora, an option that, of course, would be difficult to believe, when one thinks about the famous

 205 Prynoe is an otherwise unknown character in Greek mythology. However, this reading is based on the stemma codicum of these scholia. Fowler, following Merkelbach-West, prints the reading of a codex descriptus with a crux: see Pontani 2005, 526–527.

fr. 34  127

accounts that Hesiod has on her in both the Theogony and the Works and Days.206 Plus, in fr. 5 M.–W. (= 2 Most), she features as a κούρη in Deucalion’s house.207 So, even though we have two testimonies regarding Deucalion’s mother, they both seem to be corrupt: “we must admit that we do not know who she was, except that she was not Clymene or Hesione” (M.L. West 1985, 51; cf. Hirschberger 2004, 172–176). There is, however, a testimony by Strabo (9.5.23) explicitly stating that Pandora was Deucalion’s mother in some (unnamed) authors’ opinion,208 but there is still the possibility that this text features an omission (Casanova 1979b, 164, following Schwenck 1857, 562).209 Generally speaking, Deucalion’s hypothetical mothers can be found among Oceanus’ daughters: Clymene is one of the Oceanids in Hes. Th. 351, Asia is as well (Hes. Th. 359), and Hesione too, according to Acusilaus (though she is missing from the Hesiodic catalogue of the Oceanids).210 Once again, Aeschylus may have agreed with Acusilaus: in his Prometheus Bound (560), Hesione is Oceanus’ daughter and Prometheus’ wife. The presence of Deucalion as a son of this couple would have certainly been likely in this genealogical framework. Perhaps the tragedian had Acusilaus as a source, or they both depended on a lost epic text. A good candidate is the Titanomachy, usually ascribed to the “Epic Cycle” and sometimes attributed to Eumelus.211 Furthermore, a possible influence from the Phoronis cannot be ruled out.212

 206 Most here prints Pandora’s name without crux. 207 In his analysis, M.L. West 1985, 50–52 postulates the existence of two Pandoras (Pandora, Epimetheus’ wife and Pyrrha’s mother, and Pandora II, Deucalion’s daughter). Contra Casanova 1979b, 155–187, Dräger 1997, 32–41, Osborne 2005, 8–10. 208 In his commentary on Apollodorus of Athens (FGrHist 244 F 164), Jacoby points to him as Strabo’s likely source for this surprising genealogy. 209 Strabo’s text states ἔνιοι δὲ διελόντες δίχα τὴν μὲν πρὸς νότον λαχεῖν φασι Δευκαλίωνι καὶ καλέσαι Πανδώραν ἀπὸ τῆς μητρός. There is, however, the possibility that a genitive τῆς Πύρρας referable to ἀπὸ τῆς μητρός was cut out. 210 In antiquity, there were other characters named Hesione, for instance a Trojan princess, Laomedon’s daughter and Priam’s sister, who was rescued by Heracles when her father attempted to offer her as a sacrifice (see Hellan. fr. 26b EGM, Diod. Sic. 4.42.3–7, Ps. Apollod. 2.5.9). 211 On the Titanomachy, see the useful overview by D’Alessio 2015, 202–204. 212 Cf. Fowler EGM II, 113 also for other options.

128  Commentary

fr. 35 Σ (A) Pind. Ol. 9.79a (1.283.9 Drachmann). “λίθινον γόνον”. κοινὰ τὰ περὶ Δευκαλίωνα καὶ Πύρραν. καὶ ὅτι τοὺς λίθους κατόπιν ῥίπτοντες ἀνθρώπους ἐποίουν, μαρτυρεῖ ᾽Ακουσίλαος. This fragment deals again with Deucalion. According to the most thorough piece of ancient mythography, Ps. Apollod. 1.7.2, his story, which famously involves the creation of the human race, was divided into two moments. The first encompasses a deluge; the latter is about the birth of humans from stones thrown onto the ground. These two narratives may not have originally belonged together, but they have been linked to one another since Pindar (Ol. 9.43–46) and Epicharmus (fr. 120 K.–A.). The scholiast quotes Acusilaus here regarding the second episode (the stones turning into human beings) without mentioning the flood. It almost goes without saying that a story like this involved a supernatural aspect, and suggests once again that Acusilaus did not reject such interventions in his book. Whether or not Acusilaus included a description of such a flood is not possible to say. This was a typical element of ancient narratives about the origins of the world,213 although in early testimonies like the Catalogue of Women there are no traces of it (M.L. West 1985, 55). And yet the story about the human race stemming from stones figures in fr. 234 M.–W. (= 251 Most), where Deucalion is credited with giving birth to the Leleges.214 It is difficult to escape the idea that there was an etymological play between λαός, “people”, and λᾶας/λᾶος, “stones” behind this account (Hirschberger 2004, 478–479, Fowler EGM II, 114). Both words are well attested in Greek starting with the epics, and there are two passages that are perhaps evidence for this story being attested already in Homer. As far as the deluge is concerned, there may be an allusion to it at the beginning of the twelfth book of the Iliad (3–35), when the Greeks built a wall without sacrificing to the gods (cf. Thuc. 1.11.1). As a consequence, Apollo and Poseidon, who had previously built the Trojan walls and were proud of this accomplishment, asked Zeus to have the Achaean wall torn down. They managed to achieve its demolition, but only after Troy’s defeat (Il. 7.433–463). The way the wall is destroyed really seems like a flood: Apollo instigated all Trojan rivers, Zeus sent down incessant and heavy rain, and Poseidon demolished it from its grounds with tidal waves (12.13–

 213 The modern bibliography on this topic is enormous: see Bremmer 2008, 101–116 for a discussion and for previous references. 214 Here the Catalogue presents a different geographic location than Pindar: see M.L. West 1985, 52.

fr. 36  129

35).215 Narrative pieces like this one, involving destruction by means of a flood, should not come as a surprise: according to an ancient tradition, the War of Troy was nothing more than a way to get rid of a large number of human beings, since the earth was too populated (Cypria fr. 1 PEG).216 The other passage is from the twenty-fourth book of the Iliad (605–613): during the sad story of Niobe and her offspring, at l. 611 Zeus turned them into stones (λαοὺς δὲ λίθους ποίησε Κρονίων). As Richardson 1993, 341 notes, “turning people into stones is a common motif in folk-tales, but there may be the influence from the similarity of λαός and λᾶας, as in the story of Deucalion”. Other epic passages of relevance are Il. 2.319, when Zeus turned a snake to stone in Aulis before the Achaeans sailed to Troy, and Od. 13.162–163, when Poseidon petrified a ship belonging to the Phaeacians. However, these passages only prove that the gods turned people and objects to stone as a form of punishment, which also became a literary topos. And, most importantly, in the story of Deucalion and Pyrrha, this happened the other way round, with a transformation from stones to human life (and not from life to stone).

fr. 36 Σ (L+) Ap. Rhod. 4. 57–58 (264.3 Wendel). “Οὐκ ἄρ’ ἐγὼ μούνη μετὰ Λάτμιον ἄντρον ἀλύσκω,/οὐδ’ οἴη καλῷ περιδαίομαι Ἐνδυμίωνι”. Λάτμος ὄρος Καρίας, ἔνθα ἔστιν ἄντρον, ἐν ᾧ διέτριβεν ᾽Ενδυμίων . . . τὸν δὲ ᾽Ενδυμίωνα ῾Ησίοδος μὲν (frg. 10a.58 M.–W.) Ἀεθλίου τοῦ Διὸς καὶ Καλύκης , παρὰ Διὸς εἰληφότα τὸ δῶρον “ἳν αὐτῷ ταμίαν εἶναι θανάτου”, ὅτε θέλοι ὀλέσθαι· καὶ Πείσανδρος (FGrHist 16 F 7) καὶ Ἀκουσίλαος καὶ Φερεκύδης (frg. 121 EGM) καὶ Νίκανδρος ἐν β´ Αἰτωλικῶν (frg. 6 Schneider) καὶ Θεόπομπος ὁ ἐποποιός (frg. deest SH; cf. SH 765–766) . . . ἐν δὲ ταῖς Μεγάλαις Ἠοίαις (frg. 260 M.–W.) λέγεται τὸν Ἐνδυμίωνα ἀνενεχθῆναι ὑπὸ τοῦ Διὸς εἰς οὐρανόν, ἐρασθέντα δὲ Ἥρας εἰδώλῳ παραλογισθῆναι [τὸν ἔρωτα] νεφέλης καὶ ἐκβληθέντα κατελθεῖν εἰς Ἅιδου.

 215 Problems related to this passage are discussed in Scodel 1982 and Porter 2011. For the influence of Near Eastern literature, see M.L. West 1997, 377–380. 216 There is an interesting cross-cultural parallel with the Akkadian poem Atrahasis: see Scodel 1982, 40–41, and Bremmer 2008, 109.

130  Commentary __________ 4 add. Fowler ex P 5 ἵν αὐτῷ Rzach (201): ἐν αὐτῷ L, ἑαυτῷ A add. Fowler: ἑλέσθαι A 6 add. Fowler ex P; lacunam ante καὶ Π. statuit Wendel 7 ὁ ἐποποιός Pflugk (9 n. 2): ἐν ἐποποιοῖς L, ἐποποιοῖς P 10 del. Keil: διὰ τὸν ἔρωτα post νεφέλης P

This scholiastic testimony gathers ancient authorities like Hesiod, Pherecydes, Peisander, and Acusilaus himself together; however, it is important to take its textual boundaries into careful consideration. Since EGM I, the second part of the scholion – the one following these authors’ names – has also been printed for the first time. This portion of text refers to the Great Ehoiai and to Epimenides. In fact, the above-mentioned authorities only agree on the genealogical sequence, which belonged to Hesiod’s Catalogue, but not on the whole plot that follows. The scholiast starts his discussion with a passage of the Argonautica, in which Selene reveals her love for Endymion (4.57–58), whom she used to meet in a cave at Mt. Latmus (in Caria). The first occurrence of this love story must have been in Sappho (fr. 199 Voigt), and it was popular from the Hellenistic age onwards (cf. Agapiou 2005, 21–45, Fowler EGM II, 134). In the first quotation of Hesiod, which also involves the other authorities named above (frs. 245 M.–W./10a 58–65 = 10 Most), Endymion is the son of Aethlius (Zeus’ son) and Calyces, so his ultimate origin was divine. The scholiast does not continue with a description of his genealogical line, but at l. 63 we read that he was Aetolus’ father.217 According to the account that follows, Endymion distinguished himself for his devotion to Zeus. As a result, he received a special gift, namely that he could be his own agent of death and aging: he could choose when to grow old and when to die. However, fr. 260 M.–W. (= 198 Most), quoted here and coming from the Great Ehoiai, seems to be at odds with this: Endymion fell in love with Hera, and so he did not receive a reward, but a punishment from Zeus, who had him sent to Hades. This could be explained if we imagine that Endymion was well-acquainted with the gods and had access to Olympus: in this sense, he was surely one of Zeus’ favourites. Epimenides’ version (fr. 12 EGM) is slightly different: he maintained that Endymion himself confessed his guilt to Zeus and asked him for life-long sleep. Far more complicated is the plot in Ps. Apollodorus (1.7.5), perhaps because, in its limited length, some passages were cut out: Endymion, who according to some was Zeus’ son, was loved by Selene. He was given the opportunity to choose one gift from Zeus, and he decided to  217 Fr. 10a appeared for the first time in Merkelbach and West’s collection in the OCT edition (editio minor) published in 1990: it comes from a large papyrus published in 1981. Most in 2007 printed 10 and 10a one after the other. Endymion’s story must have belonged to the beginning of Book 1 of the Catalogue, despite a (mistaken) attribution to Book 5: see D’Alessio 2005, 180–181.

fr. 36  131

sleep forever, in order to stay young and beautiful. This story is remarkable in many regards, especially because eternal rest is a far more proper punishment than reward. It works much better as a penalty for desiring Hera. For this reason, Fowler EGM II, 134 thinks that there may have been some sort of confusion between two different characters. But perhaps the two parts of the story included in the Hesiodic corpus are not as inconsistent as they seem at first glance. Endymion may actually have been Zeus’ favourite, receiving the gift of managing death and old age as he wished.218 In the meantime, he must have had his offspring in order to keep his genealogical line alive. Then, in the following part of the story, he lost this privilege, because he fell in love with Zeus’ wife, and he was punished and sent to Hades or condemned to an eternal sleep (as if he used the gift he received previously to punish himself). But there is, of course, no need to find consistency between the Catalogue and the GE, as they are likely to have been two separate poems and could have easily referred to different traditions (D’Alessio 2005). Acusilaus must have included this piece within the genealogy of Deucalion, more specifically dealing with Aetolian genealogy. As is often the case with fragments of indirect tradition, it is not possible to say anything about the story’s development in Acusilaus, who is cited only for genealogical reasons. How Selene could have become part of this plot is open to speculation. Sappho should be the earliest occurrence for this: in her story, Endymion is no longer guilty for illicit lust, but he himself is the object of the goddess’ desire. Moreover, the setting in Asia Minor fits in well with Selene and her prominence in Near Eastern religions, but it also makes it difficult to identify this Endymion with Deucalion’s descendent (Agapiou 2005, 21–23). This plot shift well suited Sappho’s poetics, especially after the publication of P.Köln 21351 about the sad ending of Eos and Tithonus’ love, which had a lot in common with the myth in question. In the first case, Eos was not able to give her beloved endless youth, because her main concern was making him immortal; in the latter, Selene managed to preserve Endymion from human aging with an everlasting state of sleep. Perhaps it is not a coincidence that these two divinities represent dawn and the moon, respectively, entities that are so closely connected to human life, marking its schedule.

 218 Cf. D’Alessio 2005, 181, who, however, concludes by saying that the two versions ascribed to Hesiod “look contradictory rather than complementary”.

132  Commentary

fr. 37 Σ (L+) Ap. Rhod. 4.1146–1148 (307.23 Wendel). “τοῖον ἀπὸ χρυσέων θυσάνων ἀμαρύσσετο φέγγος”. περὶ δὲ τοῦ δέρους ὅτι ἦν χρυσοῦν οἱ πλεῖστοι ἱστοροῦσιν. Ἀκουσίλαος δὲ ἐν τῷ Περὶ Γενεαλογιῶν πορφυρευθῆναί φησιν ἀπὸ τῆς θαλάσσης. __________ 3 ἀπὸ Wendel coll. Simon. PMG 576: ὑπὸ P

The quest for the Golden Fleece is one of the most representative stories in Greek mythology. This object was known for being truly golden, and everybody seems to agree on this point starting with the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women (fr. 68 M.–W. = 38 Most). Acusilaus is an extravagant exception: according to him, the Fleece turned purple in colour after being immersed in seawater.219 It may have been golden originally, because the text explicitly addresses the dyeing effect carried out by the sea. At first glance, one might be tempted to put such a testimony among the cases of “rationalization” in early Greek mythography (treated by Fowler 1996, 71–72), but this is not the case. Gold and purple were both luxurious in antiquity, and they match each other well (Bremmer 2006, 21). But how can one explain the link between sea and purple? Again through literary exegesis. In Homer, the sea is commonly defined as πορφύρεος;220 consequently, it may have been able to give a different hue to the fleece, like a “dye bath”, as indicated by the verb πορφυρευθῆναι. Ancient Greek perception and appreciation of colours was far from ours: for them, colours were perceived as inherent features of material objects and not abstract categories. Moreover, colours were not perceived according to their hue alone, but also to brightness, texture, contrast, movement. For instance, πορφύρεος was also connected to the sea, because it can be used to describe the surging sea, as in Homer, with reference to its movement.221 That said, this adjective also encompassed a reference to the hue (red/purplish): since Mycenaean Greek, po-pu-re-jo, the  219 Fowler EGM II, 198 noted that the ram could actually swim in Pind. Pyth. 4.161 and in Hes. fr. 254 M.–W. (=192 Most), while for Hecataeus (fr. 17 EGM) it is more likely that it was flying, since he was carrying Helle, who eventually fell into the sea. 220 See Tozzi 1967, 601, Fontana 2012, 384 n. 11. 221 The particular and to some extent extravagant usage of words denoting colours led scholars in the Nineteenth Century (Gladstone) to postulate a visual deficiency for Greek people, an option that today, after decades of cognitive studies, no one can consider any longer. On ancient perception of colours, from literary texts, see for instance D’Avino 1958, Irwin 1974, Lyons 1999, Warburton 2007, and Clements 2016. Specifically, on πορφύρεος, Ferrini 1999 offers a well documented and thorough discussion.

fr. 37  133

adjective has referred to dyed fabrics. When it comes to the fleece turning purple, one can imagine that something like that may have happened: in Greek, πορφύρα is used both for the colour and for the shellfish from which the dye is taken.222 Moreover, the meaning of χρῶμα itself, “skin”, “colour of the skin”, and then “colour”, applies to the fleece and its dyeing. There are other features that concur that this is not a case of rationalization and, by contrast, suggest that poetic exegesis has influenced Acusilaus’ reworking of the myth. For instance, Simonides agrees with him on this point (PMG 576 = 242 Poltera = Σ Eur. Med. 5 p. 142 Schwartz): the scholiast citing the poet says that he actually knew two different stories, one having a golden fleece, the other mentioning a further dye in purple.223 Even though Simonides seems to have chosen a “vivid use of colour imagery in the extant fragments of his poetry” (Acosta Hughes 2010, 200), one should not forget his resonant criticism towards tradition, which may also have displayed itself in rationalistic reworking of myths. The text of the scholion is even more explicit in stating that πορφύρεος has the same dyeing power as the related shellfish, which live in seawater (δέρας· τὸ δέρμα. τοῦτο οἱ μὲν ὁλόχρυσον εἶναί φασιν, οἱ δὲ πορφυροῦν. καὶ Σιμωνίδης ἐν τῷ εἰς Ποσειδῶνα ὕμνῳ ἀπὸ τῶν ἐν τῇ θαλάττῃ πορφυρῶν κεχρῶσθαι αὐτὸ λέγει). The Homeric “purple sea” was to some extent problematic to explain, since it described how bright waters are when they move. By contrast, in Acusilaus and Simonides, the word’s meaning is based on its dyeing capacity, and on the resulting colour. However, the testimony related to Simonides is further evidence for the existence of this Purple Fleece elsewhere, and makes it less likely that it was Acusilaus’ own invention. Perhaps one was based on the other, or they both relied on a previous source, or they developed it independently, with the Homeric epithet as a jumping-off point. Both gold and purple are luxurious and suit the exceptionality of the fleece. In Hittite cultic tradition, there is an object named kurša, which had a lot in common with the Greek fleece, but it was not enriched by any precious element like its Greek counterpart (discussion in Bremmer 2008, 314– 317). Perhaps an oscillation between golden and purple fleece actually existed, though it is not attested nowadays, since the golden version is dominant.

 222 Etymology for πορφύρα is debated: see references discussed in Ferrini 1999, 53–57. 223 It is commonly held that this fragment came from the Hymn to Poseidon: for a survey on Simonidean fragments dealing with the Argonauts, see Acosta-Hughes 2010, 198–206.

134  Commentary

fr. 38 Σ (L+) Ap. Rhod. 2.1122a (206.21 Wendel). “Ἄργος δὲ παροίτατος”. εἷς τῶν Φρίξου παίδων οὗτος. τούτους δὲ ῾Ηρόδωρός (frg. 39 EGM) φησιν ἐκ Χαλκιόπης τῆς Αἰήτου θυγατρός· Ἀκουσίλαος δὲ καὶ ῾Ησίοδος ἐν ταῖς Μεγάλαις ᾽Ηοίαις (frg. 255 M.–W.) φασὶν ἐξ ᾽Ιοφώσσης τῆς Αἰήτου. καὶ οὗτος μέν φησιν αὐτοὺς δ΄, Ἄργον, Φρόντιν, Μέλανα, Κυτίσωρον· ᾽Επιμενίδης (frg. 15 EGM) δὲ πέμπτον προστίθησι Πρέσβωνα. __________ 4 οὗτος utrum Apollonius an Hesiodus incertum ᾽Επιμενίδης P: ᾽Επιμένης L

5 Κυτίσσωρος Ap. Rhod., Κύτωρον P

This is the last piece of evidence for Acusilaus’ interest in the Argonauts. The subject of this genealogical excursus in the scholium is Argus, son of Phrixus (Ap. Rhod. 2.1122, Ps. Apollod. 1.9.1).224 This fragment addresses the most variable feature of genealogic catalogues: the names of women involved. Here, Acusilaus and Hesiod (fr. 255 M.–W. = 193 Most) are on the same page: while Herodorus (fr. 39 EGM) knew Argus’ mother to be Chalciope, one of Aeëtes’ daughters married to Phrixus,225 the other two have Iophossa in that role, a woman otherwise unknown. Pherecydes (fr. 25 EGM) was also interested in the subject and allowed more than one possibility for the name of this woman: see discussion in Fowler EGM II, 203 about this unusual case of a mythographer implicitly discussing alternatives (she was named Evenia, but Iophossa and Chalciope were nicknames). The scholiast keeps with his survey by mentioning the names of the four children born from this marriage (and a fifth one added by Epimenides fr. 15 EGM).226 In this case, Acusilaus agrees with the account in the Great Ehoiai, a poem that gave space to the Argonauts’ saga (see D’Alessio 2005, 195–199 for a survey of the fragments). Acusilaus’ standpoint towards this poem does not differ from the other Hesiodic ones: he is sometimes in agreement, sometimes not.

 224 He is not to be confused with Argus, son of Arestor, who built the homonymous ship that carried Jason and his companions (e.g. Ap. Rhod. 1.111–112). However, in Ps. Apollod. 1.9.16 the builder of the ship is Argus son of Phrixus. 225 For Chalciope, see Ap. Rhod. 2.1149 and Ps. Apollod. 1.9.1. 226 It is not certain whether οὗτος refers to Hesiod or to Apollonius (but the former option is more likely), but this matter does not affect the discussion on Acusilaus.

fr. 39  135

fr. 39 a Σ (A, *B (4.246.15 Dindorf), D ZQXAR (van Thiel) Il. 20.307. “νῦν δὲ δὴ Αἰνείαο βίη Τρώεσσιν ἀνάξει”. Ἀφροδίτη χρησμοῦ ἐκπεσόντος ὅτι τῆς τῶν Πριαμιδῶν ἀρχῆς καταλυθείσης οἱ ἀπ’ Ἀγχίσου Τρώων βασιλεύσουσιν, Ἀγχίσῃ ἤδη παρηκμακότι συνῆλθεν. τεκοῦσα δ' Αἰνείαν καὶ βουλομένη πρόφασιν κατασκευάσαι τῆς τῶν Πριαμιδῶν καταλύσεως, Ἀλεξάνδρῳ πόθον Ἑλένης ἐνέβαλε, καὶ μετὰ τὴν ἁρπαγὴν τῷ μὲν δοκεῖν συνεμάχει τοῖς Τρωσί, ταῖς δὲ ἀληθείαις παρηγόρει τὴν ἧτταν αὐτῶν, ἵνα μὴ παντελῶς ἀπελπίσαντες ἀποδῶσι τὴν Ἑλένην. ἡ ἱστορία παρὰ Ἀκουσιλάῳ. __________ 6 μὴ om. ZA

7 ἱστορεῖ Ἀκουσίλαος QX

b P. Berol. 13282 (saec. III p. C.) ed. W. Müller, FBSM 10 (1968) 118; iterum tractavit F. Montanari, Atti del XVII congresso internazionale di papirologia (Neapoli, 1984) 229–242. Mythographus Homericus. ….. .. απλ.. [ ±21 τὴν τῶν Πριαμιδῶν ἀρχήν. ἡ̣ [ἱστορία παρὰ Ἀκουσιλάῳ __________ suppl. Montanari 1 τ̣ῇ ἀπλο[ίᾳ Müller, τῇ ἁπλότ[ητι Luppe (209) κατέλυσε τὴν κτλ. e.g. Montanari Finem fabulae hic esse patet ex iis quae in papyro sequuntur.

*c P. Oxy. LXI 4096 (saec. II p. C.) frg. 3 ed. P. Schubert; iterum tractaverunt M. Haslam, ZPE 110 (1996) 116, M. van Rossum-Steenbeek, ZPE 113 (1996) 24. Mythographus Homericus. ….. -ρὰ Ἀκ]ο̣υσ̣[ιλάωι ἱστο|ρεῖ Ἀκ]ο̣υσ̣[ίλαος dub. Fowler

sequitur fabula ad Il. 20.403 pertinens

This fragment testifies to a curious story about the origins of the Trojan War: when Aphrodite came to know of an oracle about a new dynasty which was to rule Troy after Priam, she decided to have intercourse with Anchises, the founder of this dynasty, even though he was no longer young and attractive. From this union, she gave birth to Aeneas. As a consequence, the goddess acted in order to

136  Commentary make sure that the oracle came true: she prompted Paris to kidnap Helen, an action that led to the war, during which she pretended to be on the Trojans’ side. Based on her agenda, she discouraged them from giving Helen back – otherwise, the war would have ended before the house of Priam fell. At the end of this account, one finds the usual subscription by the MH, ἡ ἱστορία παρὰ Ἀ. For the degree of trustworthiness we should ascribe to such historiae, see Introduction, § 1.2. Considering that our knowledge of the texts on which the MH based his accounts is only partial, each case should be assessed individually. As far as this testimony is concerned, the most striking textual clue is the use of the word πρόφασιν, “alleged motive”, a superficial pretext that is either true or false. This historia is a clear attempt to give consistency to events that do not belong to the plot of the Iliad, nor to what must have happened in the Cypria. However, the use of such a word, which is full of significance for historiographical research in the following centuries,227 suggests that this account, attributed to Acusilaus, had undergone subsequent manipulation. This notwithstanding, Helen’s abduction may well be suspected as not being the real motive underlying the war. As Węcowski 2004, 149–155 has convincingly demonstrated, the proem of Herodotus’ Histories could be read as a parody of these stories about kidnapping women, which had become an explanatory point of reference for historical events. In addition, Herodotus also found that “this pattern gathers together different episodes with no causal nexus” and he is probably also parodying “the mechanical way of multiplying and binding stories which was characteristic of some poets of the so-called “Epic Cycle” and of post-Homeric epic in general” (152). Accordingly, it would not be surprising if Acusilaus found it unsatisfying to trace the origins of the Trojan War simply to the abduction of a woman. By identifying a political calculation by Aphrodite as an actual cause for the war, Acusilaus attempted to gain deeper insight into the most famous armed conflict involving Greece of all time. To some readers, this might look like “an over-attentive and imaginative reading of Homer” (Horsfall 1987, 14), but this is actually a shrewd attempt to make sense of some inconsistencies that interpreters have found in the story of the Trojan War.228 Of course Aphrodite would have liked the idea that her son’s  227 The opposition between πρόφασις and αἰτία is the cornerstone of Thucydides’ and Polybius’ historical causation: see Hornblower 1991, 64–66, Pelling 2000, 82–111, Occhipinti 2016, 162–170 (Thucydides), and Walbank 1972, 157–163 (Polybius). 228 According to Fontana 2012, 384, this passage is a good example of Acusilaus’ rationalism, since he assessed the causes of the Trojan War by stressing Aphrodite’s political ambition. However, it is more appropriate to speak in terms of poetic exegesis than of rationalism: the account cited by the MH does not show that the mythographer got rid of the marvellous, but it provides

fr. 39  137

descendants were going to rule the city after Priam, so why help the Trojans and their king? Her involvement in the events leading up to the war would also make the audience assume that she was pushing for the fall of Troy. We know from the Iliad that Priam and Anchises’ lineages did not enjoy the best relationship: in Il. 13.459–460 it is explicitly stated that Aeneas was not honoured by Priam as he deserved, and this circumstance upset him. These couple of verses may well be an explanation for Aeneas’ presence in the second line of battle, when he was supposed to be a Trojan leader (Il. 12.98–100), but they also fit in well with Acusilaus’ plot. Moreover, in Il. 3.383–417, after the duel between Menelaus and Paris, Aphrodite meets Helen and, against the woman’s will, she urges her to stay with her Trojan partner, saying she would otherwise provoke further hostilities and let her die. This passage is of relevance here (Toye BNJ, ad loc.): we see the goddess’s will to keep the war going very clearly – after that duel, Helen might well have come back to the Greeks, and that seemed to be her wish. While this is an isolated testimony to Aphrodite as a double agent, ancient tradition has more often presented a case for Aeneas’ own betrayal. The earliest evidence for this seems to be a fragment by the 4th century BC writer Menecrates of Xanthus (FGrHist 769 F 3 = Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 1.48.3), who claimed Aeneas had secretly helped the Greeks in exchange for his own safety and a bribe. For later reception of this version, see Scafoglio 2013, who has also argued that accounts of Aeneas’ betrayal were already present at the time of oral epics (see the abovementioned passage in the thirteenth book of the Iliad and a neglected testimony for the Little Iliad = Tzetzes’ commentary on Lycoph. Alex. 1232, where Aeneas is said to have been released by the Greeks during the sack of Troy). The multiform epic tradition in oral stages may have recorded more than one possibility for Aeneas, stressing either his loyalty to his people (and consequently to the ruling dynasty) or his bitter indignation at being treated unfairly. Acusilaus, however, chooses a specific arrangement for this episode, which differs from that of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite and also partly from the Iliad itself. In the historia cited above, Aeneas’ conception is a consequence of the oracle, since Aphrodite is already aware of it when she seduces a no-longer-young Anchises. In the Hymn, she reveals the prophecy after intercourse with Anchises (196–197), who is still a young and beautiful shepherd here, while in the Iliad Poseidon’s prediction is placed at the end of the war (20.302–308). The chronological conflict with the Iliad can be solved by assuming that Poseidon reveals his prophecy here not for the first time. However, discordance with the plot of the  a different interpretation of the story, underlining Aphrodite’s hidden thoughts and consequently giving coherence to her sometimes unmotivated actions.

138  Commentary Hymn can hardly be fixed: here, Aphrodite momentarily falls for a mortal man, the beautiful Anchises, because she is a victim of the gods’ revenge. The subsequent disclosure of Aeneas’ future, however, is consolatory for the goddess, who felt ashamed for having slept with a shepherd (198–199, 247–255). In Acusilaus she consciously did this: she wants the future king of Troy to come from her family and, to achieve this, she willingly has sexual intercourse not with a handsome man, but with someone no longer in the prime of life. She acts like a conniver and in the following years she conspires against the Trojans, whom she openly declares to help. Although most scholars believe that the accounts about Aeneas and the related prophecy by Poseidon belong to a later layer of the Iliad, perhaps dictated by a clan of Aeneads in the Trojan region,229 Acusilaus looked for consistency in the whole narration of events linked to the war. In addition, Anchises’ age in Acusilaus is also an element worth discussing. This choice can be explained in only one way: one of the most iconic representations of the burning of Troy is that of Aeneas carrying his old father on his shoulder in an attempt to escape, which, according to the very much debated Tabula Iliaca Capitolina, featured also in Stesichorus’ Iliou Persis.230 This was successful in the art from the second half of the 6th century BC onwards (see details in Gantz 1993, 102, 715–716, Scafoglio 2013, 1–2 n. 3, Fowler EGM II, 563–564). Whatever one’s view on the Tabula, this can hardly be coincidental. So, Anchises met Aphrodite when he was no longer young: it would make sense to have him old by the city’s fall, also taking into account that the war was ten years long. As is well-known, Poseidon’s prophecy on the illustrious future of Aeneas’ descendants reached Rome (esp. Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 1.53.4–5, who in his account on the Trojan origins of Rome says that Arctinus of Miletus and Hellanicus also had Aeneas running from Troy and coming to Italy, before in the end going

 229 For the sections about Aeneas as not belonging to the core of the Iliad, see Reinhardt 1956, 1–14, Hoekstra 1969, 39–40, Cássola 1975, 244–247, M.L. West 2011, 63. For the influence of the clan of Aeneads in the growing interest in Aeneas see, among others, Cássola 1975, 244–247, Janko 1982, 158, M.L. West 2001, 7, Munn 2006, 106–114, Faulkner 2008, 4–7 (less peremptory), Richardson 2010, 30. Contra van der Ben 1980, 41–55, Smith 1981, esp. 49–52, Clay 1989, 166– 170, Olson 2013, 5–9 (which does not completely rule out the previous hypothesis). See these works also for references to other bibliographic entries. 230 Debate on the actual authenticity of the scene referred to in Stesichorus has run hot. See an accurate discussion in Davies/Finglass 2013, 428–436 (esp. 433–436 in favour of its value as a source for Stesichorus’ poem), which rightly underlines how the aim of the artist who depicted the tablets was not that of a faithful reproduction of the poems involved. On this point, cf. Squire 2011, 35–39, 88–176, and Petrain 2004.

fr. 40  139

back to his homeland).231 Acusilaus’ version, however, despite being so unusual, would have been irremediably lost to us were it not for the MH.

fr. 40 a Σ (CHMMaPaQV X) Od. 11.520. “ἀλλ’ οἷον τὸν Τηλεφίδην κατενήρατο χαλκῷ (sc. Νεοπτόλεμος),/ἥρω’ Εὐρύπυλον· πολλοὶ δ’ ἀμφ’ αὐτὸν ἑταῖροι/Κήτειοι κτείνοντο γυναίων εἵνεκα δώρων./κεῖνον δὴ κάλλιστον ἴδον μετὰ Μέμνονα δῖον”. Εὐρύπυλος ὁ Ἀστυόχης καὶ Τηλέφου τοῦ Ἡρακλέους παῖς λαχὼν τὴν πατρῴαν ἀρχὴν τῆς Μυσίας προΐσταται. πυθόμενος δὲ Πρίαμος τῆς περὶ τούτου δυνάμεως ἔπεμψεν ὡς αὐτὸν ἵνα παραγένηται σύμμαχος. εἰπόντος δὲ αὐτοῦ ὡς οὐκ ἐξὸν αὐτῷ διὰ τὴν μητέρα, ἔπεμψεν ὁ Πρίαμος τῇ μητρὶ αὐτοῦ δῶρον [Ἀστυόχῃ] χρυσῆν ἄμπελον. ἡ δὲ λαβοῦσα τὴν ἄμπελον ἔπεμψεν τὸν υἱὸν ἐπὶ τὴν στρατείαν. Νεοπτόλεμος δὲ ὁ Ἀχιλλέως αὐτὸν ἀναιρεῖ. ἡ δὲ ἱστορία παρὰ Ἀκουσιλάῳ. amou

__________ 7 ὁ Πρίαμος om. HMaPaQX del. Buttmann Ἀστυόχῃ — ἄμπελον om. HMaPaQX (χρυσῆν ἄμπελον postea addidit X); super Ἀστυόχῃ add. C τῇ τὴν ἄμπελον om. HMaPaQX 8–9 Νεοπτόλεμος— ἀναιρεῖ: ὃν Νεοπτόλεμος ὁ τοῦ Ἀχιλλέως υἱὸς ἀναιρεῖ HMaPaQX 9 ἡ δὲ — Ἀκουσιλάῳ om. HMaPaQX

**b PSI X 1173 (saec. iii p.C.) frg. 4v ed. Coppola. Mythographus Homericus ———

105

“τὸν] Τηλεφ[ί]δην”: Εὐρύπυλος ὁ Τηλ]έ̣φου καὶ Ἀσ̣τ̣υόχης Ἡρακλέ̣α πά]π̣πον ἔχ[ων ] ̣ ἀρχ[ήν

….. Versuum numeratione editionis Florentinae continua usus est Fowler; l. 103 = fr. 4v l.11 105 ]π̣’πον finem supplevit Fowler; deinde τὴν πατρῴ[αν] ἀρχὴ[ν ἔλαχε e.g. Fowler 106 τὴν suppl. dubit. Coppola

 231 In antiquity, the text of the prophecy oscillated between having Aeneas ruling over the Trojans or ruling over all people: see Σ Tb Hom. Il. 20.307 and discussion in Erskine 2001, 100–101.

140  Commentary This is another piece known to us because of the MH, from both direct and indirect tradition. The Homeric passage commented on here is about Eurypylus’ (son of Telephus) death. This testimony is not, however, focused on the plot itself, but on the behaviour of Astyoche, Eurypylus’ mother and Priam’s sister. At first, she prevented her son from joining the war, but she was bribed with a piece of golden jewellery sent by Priam and changed her mind. This story looks very much like what happened to Amphiaraus: he was betrayed by his wife Eriphyle, who revealed where her husband had hidden himself to avoid taking part in the mission against Argos. Polynices bribed her with Harmonia’s necklace, which Hephaestus had forged.232 The same expression, γυναίων εἵνεκα δώρων, recurs in this passage and in Hom. Od. 15.247, speaking about Eriphyle (M.L. West 2013, 191): this formula confirms that these two episodes were narrative doublets. According to Σ BQ Hom. Od. 11.521 p. 518 Dindorf (= Ilias Parva fr. 29 PEG), the jewellery given to Astyoche was a work of Hephaestus as well. For the device of narrative doublets in the epics, see Cingano 2011, esp. 5–6. Here we have a narrative that features in both the Trojan and Theban sagas, where a woman betrays one of the men closest to her after receiving a jewel as a bribe.233 As shown for fr. 39 above, the MH could present a later reworking of the authors he ascribed his historiae to. However, in this specific case, I cannot detect any such elements. On the contrary, the use of an expression like γυναίων εἵνεκα δώρων, which is metrical, suggests that whoever composed this historia must have had the Homeric text in mind. Eurypylus must have been relevant in the plot of the Little Iliad (see Argumenta and fr. 30 PEG), as is demonstrated by Proclus’ summary. In the Odyssey (11.522), he is said to be the most beautiful of all heroes after Memnon, and Book 8 of Quintus Smyrnaeus is completely dedicated to his final duel against Neoptolemus – ironically enough, Achilles’ son killed Telephus’ son. Is Eurypylus’ importance in the Posthomerica a consequence of the relevance he had in the “Epic Cycle”? This episode was represented in art already in the 6th century BC (see LIMC s.v. Eurypylus), so one can safely assume that it was popular in literature as well. As far as we can tell, however, there was only one Sophoclean tragedy on  232 Σ QV Hom. Od. 11.326 p. 507 Dindorf; Ps. Apollod. 3.6.2, 3.7.2 and 5; Diod. Sic. 4.65.5–6. In a scholium to Iuvenal (6.655 p. 118 Wessner), we find further elaboration on this: Astyoche did not want Eurypylus to join the Trojan war, because Achilles made Telephus swear that neither he nor any other member of his family would ever have fought against the Greeks. In this testimony, the assimilation to the story of Amphilochus and Eriphyle is so pervasive that Astyoche is treated as Eurypylus’ wife. 233 There is also Scylla, who betrays her father not only because she was in love with Minos, but also because she received some golden pieces of Cretan jewellery in Aesch. Choeph. 613–622.

fr. 41  141

Eurypylus’ sad fate: in quite a long passage that has survived (TrGF 210 Radt), Astyoche cries for her son’s death, who was killed by the same spear that had saved her husband earlier. From this text, it is unfortunately not possible to infer whether she felt responsible for having sent her son to die.

fr. 41 Ps. Apollod. Bibl. 3.11.1 (3.113, p. 145 Wagner). Μενέλαος μὲν οὖν ἐξ Ἑλένης Ἑρμιόνην ἐγέννησε καὶ κατά τινας Νικόστρατον, ἐκ δούλης †Πιερίδος γένος Αἰτωλίδος†, ἢ καθάπερ Ἀκουσίλαός φησι Τηρηΐδος, Μεγαπένθη, ἐκ Κνωσσίας δὲ νύμφης κατὰ Εὔμηλον (frg. 6 EGM) Ξενόδαμον. __________ 2 add. Westermann 2–3 Αἰτ. vel [Αἰτ.] Heyne (730), [Πιερίδος] γένος Αἰτ. —φησι [Τηρηΐδος] Hercher, probaverunt Diels et Jacoby, γένος Αἰτωλίδος secludendum dubit. Fowler coll. Σ Od. 4.12

Among the surviving fragments dealing with the Trojan War, we find this testimony regarding Menelaus and Helen’s offspring. Unfortunately, the passage is complicated by some textual problems that partially affect our understanding. In surveying different accounts on Menelaus and Helen’s children, Ps. Apollodorus also mentions Acusilaus: in his opinion, Menelaus also had a son, Megapenthes, from another woman named Tereis.234 This name, which occurs nowhere else, has been suspected of being a corruption: slaves were usually named after their ethnicity.235 This is very likely another hint of Homeric exegesis: in Od. 4.10–12 (and in the passage included in Od. 15.100–124), one learns of Megapenthes, who was born to Menelaus by an unnamed slave.236 It is easy to infer that “this started the

 234 If one reads the text with the emendations accepted by Diels and Jacoby, it says that Menelaus had Megapenthes from an Aetolian slave named Pieris. In Acusilaus, this woman was a Pierian named Tereis. 235 Fowler EGM II, 529 suspects that this name, despite not being an ethnicity, could be somehow linked to Tereus and consequently to Thrace. I wonder whether it could be a name built on the verb τηρέω, the meaning of which, “to take care”, well suits a slave. 236 According to S.R. West 1990, 194, the name Megapenthes describes Menelaus’ suffering after his wife’s abduction, as the common image of him is that of the “wronged husband” (since antiquity: see Σ Hom. Od. 4.11e II 182.88 Pontani ὁ γὰρ Μενέλαος κατὰ τὸν καιρὸν τῆς ἁρπαγῆς τῆς Ἑλένης ἐμίγη τινὶ δούλῃ, καὶ ἔτεκεν υἱὸν καὶ ἐκάλεσεν αὐτὸν φερωνύμως Μεγαπένθην· κατὰ γὰρ τὸν καιρὸν τοῦ διὰ τὴν Ἑλένην πένθους ἐτέχθη). Cf. Kanavou 2015, 91 (with n. 11) and 145.

142  Commentary game of guessing her identity” (Fowler EGM II, 529). Moreover, the Odyssey passage, together with another in the Iliad (3.175), is clear in stating that Helen had only one daughter (Hermione),237 while Menelaus was the father of one son and one daughter, since, at the time of Telemachus’ arrival in Sparta, both of them were getting married.238 This circumstance must have drawn attention to giving a name to the mother of this child. The situation is further complicated by the presence of another illegitimate child, Nicostratus,239 or Xenodamus in a fragment by Eumelus (fr. 9 PEG = 32 EGEF; see Tsagalis EGEF, 152). In the latter case, the mother of the child was a slave from Cnossus. Ps. Apollodorus does not explicitly mention his sources for Nicostratus; however, the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women names him as the second child of Helen and Menelaus (fr. 175 M.–W. = 248 Most). This passage is evidently at odds with the tradition of the Odyssey. The poet Cinaethon (fr. 3 PEG, EGEF) and a passage by Sophocles also testify to the fact that both children were born before the Trojan War (Soph. El. 539–541). As is easy to imagine, there was also a tradition about Helen and Paris’ children, which presents interpretative problems as well (see Hirschberger 2004, 472). In a problematic text that may belong to the Cypria (fr. 12 PEG), it is stated that Helen had a son, whose name was Pleisthenes, and another one, Aganon, that she bore to Paris. Problems involving a male heir of Menelaus and Helen come from the fact that for some reason Hermione was commonly recognized as their only legitimate child: see, for instance, the reference Sappho made to her in fr. 16 Voigt or Hermione’s speech in Euripides’ Andromache, where she blatantly claims as much (898–899 ἥνπερ μόνην γε Τυνδαρὶς τίκτει γυνὴ/ Ἑλένη κατ’ οἴκους πατρί). Consequently, Megapenthes, Xenodamus and also Nicostratus (in Paus. 2.18.6, 3.19.9) were considered sons of a slave. But what is really important here is that, once again, Acusilaus acts as an exegete of the Homeric text and fills in the gap of the name of the slave that bore a child to Menelaus. The interest in naming obscure female characters is a recurring feature of mythography, and, more broadly, of genealogical literature itself. That said, one cannot rule out that Acusilaus also  237 According to Fowler EGM II, 529, in this line, παῖς “could mean a boy rather than Hermione”, but in Homer there are other occurrences where it is used to speak about a girl, like Il. 1. 20, 443 referred to Chryseis. 238 Hom. Od. 4.1–4. See also 262–264 for the idea that Helen had only one child (ὅτε μ’ ἤγαγε κεῖσε φίλης ἀπὸ πατρίδος αἴης,/παῖδά τ’ ἐμὴν νοσφισσαμένην θάλαμόν τε πόσιν τε/οὔ τευ δευόμενον, οὔτ’ ἂρ φρένας οὔτε τι εἶδος). Hermione would have been born before the war, even if according to S.R. West 1990, 193, she “would be a rather elderly bride”. 239 As in the case of Megapenthes, this name has also been interpreted as a speaking-name recalling the Greeks’ victory at Troy: see S.R. West 1990, 193.

fr. 42  143

knew of another son for Menelaus, or children born from the relationship between Paris and Helen: among those κατά τινας Ps. Apollodorus might have included him as well. 240 As a consequence, there might also be the possibility that Acusilaus knew Nicostratus as Helen and Menelaus’ legitimate child.

fr. 42 Σ (L+) Ap. Rhod. 4.825–831g (295.18 Wendel). “Σκύλλης ... ἣν τέκε Φόρκῳ/νυκτιπόλος Ἑκάτη, τήν τε κλείουσι Κράταιϊν”. Ἀκουσίλαος Φόρκυνος καὶ Ἑκάτης τὴν Σκύλλαν λέγει· Ὅμηρος δὲ (Od. 12.124) οὐχ Ἑκάτην ἀλλὰ Κράταιϊν ἀμφοτέροις οὖν Ἀπολλώνιος κατηκολούθησεν. ἐν δὲ ταῖς Μεγάλαις Ἠοίαις (frg. 262 M.–W.) Φόρβαντος καὶ Ἑκάτης ἡ Σκύλλα. Στησίχορος δὲ ἐν τῇ Σκύλλῃ (PMGF 220) †εἴδός τινος† Λαμίας τὴν Σκύλλαν φησὶ θυγατέρα εἶναι. This is another standard case of concurring genealogies. According to Acusilaus, Scylla was Phorcys and Hecate’s daughter. Therefore, the scholiast to Apollonius of Rhodes mentions Homer, whose version in the Odyssey was clearly different: in Od. 12.124–125 Scylla’s mother is named Crataeis. The genealogy for Scylla in Apollonius is a mixture of these two: the poet states that Crataeis was another name for Hecate. Conclusively, the scholiast also quotes the Great Ehoiai (fr. 262 M.–W. = 200 Most) and Stesichorus (fr. 182 D.–F.): in the latter case, the text is corrupt, and it may be in the former as well. As Fowler (EGM II, 32) has pointed out, Phorbas, who is Scylla’s father here, may well be Phorcys, if one hypothesizes a minuscule confusion between β and κ. Other possible genealogies are briefly mentioned in Fowler EGM II, 32. However, one finds later references to Phorbas as Lapithes’ son and Augeas’ father, who ruled over the Eleans (Diod. Sic. 4.69.2, 5.58.5; Ps. Apollod. 2.5.5), yet Phorcys seems to be a far better candidate for fathering a monstrous creature like Scylla. The placement of this fragment among the extant ones is particularly tricky: Jacoby and Fowler placed it with those addressing the Trojan War and, more precisely, the Nostoi. Yet this is not the only option available: the Scylla section could also come after the one on her father Phorcys, which is also addressed in fr. 11 (cf. Toye BNJ, ad loc.). This last option is probably more likely than the first,  240 Cf. Fowler 1996, 78 about two passages by Pherecydes. In scholiastic literature, such expressions are recurring and “in scholiasts’ Greek, the locution ‘Pherekydes does not say X but Y’, where X is a proposition such as ‘the father of Doias and Akmon is so-and-so’, does not normally mean that in Pherekydes there was an explicit denial that X was the case; it means that Pherekydes is silent about X and says rather Y”. Cf. also EGM II, 211.

144  Commentary considering the genealogical structure of the work, and it can well be placed in the theogonic section.

fr. 43 Σ (CMVamou) Od. 17.207. “ἐπὶ κρήνην ἀφίκοντο/… τὴν ποίησ’ Ἴθακος καὶ Νήριτος ἠδὲ Πολύκτωρ”. Πτερελάου παῖδες ῎Ιθακος καὶ Νήριτος ἀπὸ Διὸς ἔχοντες τὸ γένος ᾤκουν τὴν Κεφαλληνίαν. ἀρέσαν δὲ αὐτοῖς τοῦτο καταλιπόντες τὰ σφέτερα ἤθη παραγίνονται εἰς τὴν ᾽Ιθάκην. καὶ τόπον ἰδόντες εὖ πεποιημένον εἰς συνοικισμὸν διὰ τὸ τῶν παρακειμένων ὑψηλότερον εἶναι κατοικήσαντες δεῦρο τὴν ᾽Ιθάκην ἔκτισαν. καὶ ἐκ μὲν τοῦ ᾽Ιθάκου ἡ νῆσος ἐπωνομάσθη ᾽Ιθάκη, τὸ δὲ παρακείμενον ὄρος ἐκ τοῦ Νηρίτου Νήριτον. ἡ δὲ ἱστορία παρὰ Ἀκουσιλάῳ. __________ 2 Πτερελάου Barnes (coll. Eust. Od. 1815.10): Περελάου παῖδες Va, om. rell.

One last piece on the Trojan War is once again quoted by the MH: Homer, in Od. 17.205–207, mentions a fountain built by Ithacus, Neritus and Polyctor, and this circumstance led to the insertion of a related historia. Acusilaus’ account is about the foundation of Ithaca: two brothers, Ithacus and Neritus, left their homeland Cephalonia and moved to Ithaca. When they found a place suited to establishing a city, they named the island Ithaca after the first brother and Mount Neritus after the second.241 BQ scholia to the same passage expand the narration further: here there is a third character, Polyctor, who was mentioned in the Homeric verses, but is missing from Acusilaus’ account, who gives his name to another place in Ithaca.242 With respect to genealogy, Ithacus and Neritus are said to be Pterelaus’ sons;243 however, they do not appear among his sons in Ps. Apollodorus (2.4.5). In Hes. fr. 150.30–32 M.–W. = 98 Most the people of Cephalonia are descendants of Hermes and Calypso. The construction of this foundation story is not surprising at all. Moreover, a passage in the “Catalogue of Ships” (Hom. Il. 2.632–636) also shows that  241 Toye, BNJ, ad loc. and Fowler EGM II, 556 hypothesize that the reason for leaving Cephalonia could have been an attack led by Amphitryon against the Teleboans: after that Cephalus, Amphitryon’s ally, moved to Cephalonia and named the island after him (see Paus. 1.37.6, Ps. Apollod. 2.4.6–7; cf. Pherec. fr. 13b EGM, Herod. fr. 15 EGM). 242 οὗτοι Πτερελάου παῖδες καὶ Ἀμφιμέδης. καὶ ἀπὸ μὲν Ἰθάκου Ἰθάκη, ἀπὸ δὲ Νηρίτου Νήριτον ὄρος, ἀπὸ δὲ Πολύκτορος Πολυκτόριον τόπος ἐν τῇ Ἰθάκῃ. As Fowler EGM II, 556 writes, this place looks like an invention of the scholiast. 243 On Pterelaus, see Fowler EGM II, 261–263.

fr.*44  145

Odysseus was thought to have ruled over both Ithaca and Cephalonia: this circumstance confirms that the two islands could well be connected.244 Consequently, this historia might be aetiological in its purpose, or better, it may come directly from the interpretation of the Homeric text itself. And perhaps such characters (Ithacus, Neritus) did not name themselves, but took their names from Ithaca and Mount Neritus. As pointed out for fr. 39, one should be careful in assigning everything reported in this historia to Acusilaus. In this case, too, one finds a lexical hint that proves that the passage underwent later reworking, namely the word συνοικισμόν, indicating an act of synoecism. This word is most recorded in the Imperial Age and onwards (Strabo, Pausanias, Diodorus Siculus, Arrian, Plutarch, and scholia), while nouns with the same root like συνοίκισις and συνοικίζω are employed by Thucydides (e.g. 1.24, 2.15, 3.2, 3.3, 6.5), with the precise meaning of uniting small villages into one city.245 This does not mean, of course, that early mythographers did not address this subject, which was one of their signature topics (see Pol. 9.1–2). While, on one hand, it is very likely that Acusilaus touched on the topic in his book, on the other, we cannot tell in which terms he narrated this piece.

Fragmenta Dubia fr.*44 ῾Υπερόχης Εὐρύπυλος· οὗ Ὄρμενος· οὗ Φέρης· οὗ Ἀμύντωρ· οὗ Ἀστυδάμεια ἡ Τληπολέμου μήτηρ. Σ (BCDEQ) Pind. Ol. 7.42a (1.210.14 Drachmann). “τὸ δ’ Ἀμυντορίδαι/ματρόθεν Ἀστυδαμείας”· ἐναντίως τῷ ποιητῇ τὰ περὶ τῆς μητρὸς Τληπολέμου ἱστορεῖ ὁ Πίνδαρος. Ὅμηρος μὲν γὰρ αὐτὴν Ἀστυόχην ἀποκαλεῖ καὶ Ἄκτορος εἶναι θυγατέρα βούλεται ἐν οἷς φησιν (Il. 2.658) “ὅν τέκεν Ἀστυόχεια”. ἔοικε δὲ ὁ Πίνδαρος ἐντετυχηκέναι †τῷ Ἀχαιῷ† ἱστοριογράφῳ· ἐκεῖνος γὰρ οὕτως γενεαλογεῖ· “῾Υπερόχης — μήτηρ”. καὶ αὐτὸς δὲ Ἀμύντωρ εἰς Δία τὸ γένος ἀνάγει· ἔνιοι δὲ καὶ υἱὸν Ἀμύντορα τοῦ Διὸς εἶναι λέγουσιν. __________ (Acus.) 1 Ὑπερόχου E: -όχη C

 244 On this passage, see Visser 1997, 589–598. 245 With the meaning of “to wed someone to”, the verb previously occurs in Hdt 2.121.5.

146  Commentary (Schol.) 4 in Ἀστυόχεια desinit D 5 †τῷ Ἀχαιῷ†: παλαιῷ C: τῷ ἀρχαίῳ Βöckh (166 n. 1), τῷ Ἀργείῳ vel Ἑκαταίῳ Müller, prob. Wilamowitz2 (366 n.1), τῷ ἀρχ. Bergk (39) 6 καὶ αὐτὸς: κατ’ ἄλλους dub. Müller

This fragment is conjecturally attributed to Acusilaus, but may also belong to Hecataeus: it all depends on how we choose to emend the transmitted †τῷ Ἀχαιῷ† ἱστοριογράφῳ. Both possibilities are likely in this genealogical context, yet the correction of Ἀχαιῷ into Ἑκαταίῳ looks like the most effective solution (cf. Wilamowitz 1922, 366 n. 1. Fowler EGM II, 629, rather, opts for ἀρχαίῳ and for the loss of the proper name). In this piece, which may well be by one early mythographer, one can note once again how they often focused on giving names to heroes’ mothers. Pindar, in his seventh Olympian (23–24), names Tlepolemus’ mother Astydameia. According to the scholiast, he may have taken this name from Acusilaus (or Hecataeus). This name choice for the girl is worth noting, since Homer calls her Astyoche (Il. 2.658) and regards her as Actor’s daughter, if we equate Astyocheia with Astyoche in Il. 2.513.246 In the genealogy presented here, Astydameia is the daughter of Amyntor, who is Ormenus’ grandson. Pherecydes of Athens (fr. 80 EGM) knows her as Astygenia, and others refer to her as Antigone. Hesiod (fr. 232 M.–W. = 175 Most) agrees in naming her Astydameia, but her father is not the Thessalian Amyntor, as in Pindar and Acusilaus, but rather Ormenus, the eponym of Ormenion (cf. Il. 2.734: it should be situated in Thessaly). Ormenus was known as Amyntor’s father in the Iliad (10.266) and, in the “Catalogue of Ships”, we find Eleon, where Amyntor was settled, listed as a Boeotian city (2.500). The scholiast quoting fr. 81 EGM of Pherecydes tries to explain this inconsistency by assuming that there were two Amyntors, but this is a very weak solution, since homonymous heroes should not have homonymous fathers. Therefore, one should assume that Amyntor moved to Boeotia (Fowler EGM II, 326). For a thorough treatment of the problems involved in this genealogy, see Fowler EGM II, 324–326 and Toye BNJ, ad loc. If this fragment really does come from Acusilaus’ work, we would have another valuable quotation, which, however, presents itself in a very unusual form, with the relative pronoun οὗ, where early Greek mythographers usually use τοῦ. See Fowler EGM II, 629, who also discusses the possibility that it might be a genitive for ὅς, ille. It may also be worth considering here that the scholiast did not cite an excerpt from Acusilaus (or whoever it is), but only a genealogy he found

 246 The presence of a Minyan character here, Actor, is at odds with common placements for this story, which involve Thessaly, Thesprotia, or Boeotia. Fowler EGM II, 325 thinks that the scholiast must have been confused.

fr. *45A  147

in a compendium: there is one single branch connecting Eurypylus, son of Hyperoche, to Astydameia, who would eventually give birth to Tlepolemus.

fr. *45A P.B.U.G. inv. 307 = P. Giss. Bibl. 40 (saec. II ineuntis p. C.) i ed. Kuhlmann. Scholia ad ignotum scriptorem.

5

10

__________

(verso) . . . . . ] ̣ (αι) ἐ(πι)τ̣ρ̣ [ . . . . .] . ἀ(λλ’) ὁ μ(ὲν) Ἀκουσί]λ̣εως ψεύδ[εται, ἀλη]θ̣[εύει] δ̣(ὲ) π(ερὶ) αὐτ(ῶν) Ἑλλάνι(κος) λέγω]ν̣ [ἔτ]η νγ, ἐ(πί) τ̣ε̣ τ̣(ῆς) Αὐλί(δος) ἐν τούτ(οις)· ] “ἐς Αὐλίδα ο΄ ] ε̣ια  ἐγένετο δη ] ̣ με ἔπειτα ἀ]δικί(ης) (τοῦ) (Αἴ)αντος ]τ(ῆς) πάτρ(ης) (τοῦ) (Αἴ)αντος ]λιηες τ̣(ῆς) θεοῦ ] δ̣α̣α̣υ̣τα [ ̣ ] ̣ δε [ [ ]ε . . . . .

] ]

1 ἐ(πὶ) Τρ̣[οίαν Eberhart: Τ̣ρ̣[οίας dubit. Fowler 2 ἀ(λλ’) Fowler, cetera Kalbfleisch apud Eberhart (hodie haec papyri particula deperdita est) 3 init. suppl. Kalbfleisch 3–4 Hellan. frg. 152A EGM 4 λέγω]ν̣ e.g. Fowler ἔ[τη] Jacoby 5 suppl. Fowler ο(ὖν) interpretatus est Eberhart 6 Ἰφιγέν]εια Eberhart, parum veri similiter, ἱέρ]εια dubit. Jacoby 7 sqq. ἔπειτα | [δὲ γενομένης τῆς ἀ]δικίης τοῦ Αἴαντος | [παρά τῶν ἐνοίκων] τῆς πάτρης τοῦ Αἴ | [αντος ἐλάμβανον οἱ Ἰ]λιῆες τῆς θεοῦ | [ἵλασμα e.g. Eberhart

The Giessen papyrus deals with an episode linked to the saga of the heroes’ return from Troy. It contains a citation from Hellanicus (fr. 152A EGM) and it only briefly mentions Acusilaus. Ajax Oileus raped Cassandra in Athena’s temple, and the goddess harshly punished his sacrilegious act by sending a storm and sinking the Greek ships. In addition, as expiation for Ajax’s crime, the Locrians had to send two highborn maidens to Troy every year. If they managed to reach the temple safe and sound, they would serve the goddess; if someone caught them along the

148  Commentary way, they would be killed.247 We do not know whether this ritual occurred every year or if the girls were meant to serve Athena for a lifetime (Graf 2000, 254–257), because sources do not agree on this point (Hughes 1991, 166–178). In the case of this papyrus, we see that Acusilaus and Hellanicus had different views on the topic, though details are difficult to infer. The scholiast says that Acusilaus was wrong, while Hellanicus was right, and accordingly, that the citation belongs to the second author. Hellanicus speaks about Aulis (l. 5), and fifty-three years (l. 4), but at l. 7 there seems to be another number, forty-five. In light of the disagreement between the two mythographers, one can infer that in l. 1, speaking about Acusilaus, there was a reference to Troy (cf. Eberhart’s supplement at l. 1). The first discrepancy regards the place of the maidens’ service, where Acusilaus is in agreement with all other ancient sources, and Hellanicus updates his account (and is right in doing this, according to the scholiast) with a mention of Aulis. However, as Fowler writes (EGM II, 553), “it seems too bold to imagine that in this papyrus Hellanikos says that the girls were sent to a temple of Athena Ilias at Aulis for (only) 53 years until the punishment lapsed”.248 Although discussion of this papyrus inevitably leads to speculative rumination, this lack of agreement in itself that we find between Acusilaus and Hellanicus, but more broadly between all ancient sources, confirms the idea that they tried to build a narrative arc around certain scraps in epic poems (cf. Fowler EGM II, 553).249

fr. 46 Joseph. AJ 1.108 (1.25.9 Niese). Ἡσίοδός τε (frg. 356 M.–W.) καὶ Ἑκαταῖος (frg. 35 EGM) καὶ Ἑλλάνικος (frg. 202 EGM) καὶ Ἀκουσίλαος καὶ πρὸς τούτοις Ἔφορος (FGrHist 70 F 238) καὶ Νικόλαος (FGrHist 90 F 141) ἱστοροῦσι τοὺς ἀρχαίους ζήσαντας ἔτη χίλια. In this passage, Josephus claims that, in cultures other than his own, human lifespans were also considerably longer. Examples of extraordinary longevity in the Hebrew Bible (e.g. Methuselah living 969 years!) would not have surprised its  247 However, there are some inconsistencies in all the sources (for the most part literary, but there is also an epigraphy) that make the case for the Locrian maidens’ tribute being difficult to appreciate and to describe. A very instructive overview is in Hughes 1991, 166–184. 248 There have been, however, scholars who believe that the final destination for the maidens was not Troy, but the temple of Athena Ilias in Locris: see Graf 2000, 268–269. 249 For Ajax’s role in the Iliou Persis, see Rösler 1987, whose description of the plot involving the Locrian maidens has been, in part, rightly challenged by S.R. West 1990b.

fr. 46  149

readers. This claim is not totally untrue for Greek traditions, though we cannot find examples of someone living one thousand years (though this number may well be an emphatic hyperbole): one might think of the Golden Age in the Hesiodic Works and Days, or about legends regarding Epimenides of Crete, who slept for about fifty years before waking up again. Among the writers that Josephus mentions in this section of Jewish Antiquities, one finds Manetho, Berossus, Ephorus: for these examples, we actually have further evidence to prove Josephus right on this point. For instance, Ephorus (FGrHist 70 F 112ab) claims a lifespan of three hundred years for some Arcadian kings (cf. e.g. Manet. FGrHist 609 F 3a). The same would also apply to Hesiod: if Endymion could decide when to die by himself (fr. 10a. 60–62 M.–W. = 10 Most), Sarpedon was given a life three times longer than average (fr. 141.20–21 M.–W. = 90 Most on the basis of Ps. Apollod. 3.1.2). Despite what other commentators have said, Josephus may not have only inserted Acusilaus here in order to achieve rhetorical emphasis (Toye BNJ, ad loc.), nor is his account completely fictitious (Fowler EGM II, 121). On the contrary, this claim could be based on some sort of literary evidence. When he says τοὺς ἀρχαίους, he perhaps has some privileged individuals in mind, as is the case in the Hebrew tradition, or he does not care about accuracy and extends this acknowledgment to ancient mortal men more broadly. Should one accept this piece as authentic, we have no clues to place it with precision among the extant evidence, since it could refer to multiple situations. However, this testimony would further support the idea that early Greek mythographers were inclined to accept marvellous elements as such in their own stories,250 which fell outside the scope of the Homeric epics.

 250 Doubts have been raised whether one should attribute this testimony to Hecataeus of Miletus, Hecataeus of Abdera, or Ps. Hecataeus: see Fowler EGM II, 121. However, this list including Acusilaus and Hellanicus as well would suggest that the Milesian is the one involved here. Modern resistance to attributing this piece to him comes from a deeply-rooted scholarly prejudice, which regards him as a pioneering figure in rationalistic approaches to Greek myth: see Andolfi 2017b.

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General Index abduction 22, 31, 120–121, 136–137 Acarnania 34 Achaeans 129 Achelous 4, 18, 34–38, 82–83 Achilles 21, 35, 94 n.115, 122 n.194, 140 Acrisius 101, 110–114 Actaeon 22, 123–125 Actor 146 Admetus 73–74 Aeëtes 23, 134 Aegean 56 Aegle 59 Aegle [Coronis] 70 n.65 Aeneads 138 Aeneas 88, 135–139 Aeolus 72 Aeschylus 63, 66, 80, 109, 119 n.183, 120, 123, 127 – Suppliants 99, 105 Aether 49–52 Aethlius 130 Aetion 94 aetiology 92, 145 Aetolia 34, 131, 141 n.234 Agamemnon 20, 40, 41, 102 Agenor 109, 119 Agias 25 Ajax 93, 122 n.194 Ajax [Oileus] 147–148 Alcestis 73-74 Alcinous 43–44 Alcmaeon 88 Alcmaeon [of Croton] 89 Amitaonides 100 Amphiaraus 140 Amphilochus 140 n.232 Amphitryon 144 n.241 Amyntor 146 Anaxagoras [of Clazomenae] 16 Anaxagoras [Proetus’ grandson] 111–112, 116 n.177 Anchises [Aeneas’ father] 88, 135–138 Anchises [Echepolus’ father] 40–41 Andron 73 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110618600-005

Antigone 146 Aphrodite 8, 23, 31, 42, 48 n.34, 81 n.89, 88, 135–139 Apollo 66, 69–72, 73, 75–77, 88, 94 n.115, 128 A. Lycius 118 Apollonius of Rhodes 4, 42–43, 59–60, 121, 122, 134, 143 Arcadia 69, 72 n.72, 110–111 Arcadian, kings 149 Arcadians 20, 105–106 Arcesilaus 53 Arctinus, of Miletus 138 Areopagus 121 Argestes 67 Argolid 21, 38 n.11, 41, 99, 100, 102, 105 n.141 Argonauts 22, 23, 82, 120–121, 122, 133– 135 Argos [city] 1, 2, 8, 16, 19–23, 38 n.11, 41, 96–100, 101–105, 107–108, 109, 110– 118, 140 Argus [hero] 21–22, 102, 104–105, 107 Argus [Panoptes] 22, 101, 108–110 Argus [son of Phrixus] 134 Aristaeus 124 Aristarchus 36 Aristophanes 51–52 Arrian 145 Arsinoe 70–71, 75–76 Artemis 69, 111, 116–118, 123–124 Artemon 70, 75 Asclepiades [son of Aristor] 108 Asclepiades [of Myrlea] 70, 75 n.64 Asclepiades [of Tragilus] 70, 75 n.64 Asclepius 39 n.14, 70–77 Asopus 41, 43, 44 n.27, 82–83, 109 Astydameia 146–147 Astygenia 146 Astyoche 140–141, 146 Astyocheia 146 Atalanta 59 Athena 20, 66, 120, 147–148 Athens 21, 98–99, 116

168  General Index Atlas 38 Atrahasis 129 Atreus 41 Attic 59, 97 n.118 – dialect 23, 90–91 Augeas 143 Aulis 1, 13, 129, 148 Axiokersa 78 Axiokersus 78 Axlerus 78 Bacchylidean, style (papyri) 87 n.96 Bacchylides 110–112, 115, 116, 119 Berossus 149 Bias 83, 111–113 Bible 9, 148 Boeotia 1, 83, 97, 118, 124–125, 146 Boreas 22, 67, 120–123 Briareus 55-56 bribe 41, 137, 140 Brilessus, Mount 121 n.192 Brontes 75 Cabas 1 Cabeiri 1, 77–82 Cabeirides 77, 81 Cabeiro 78, 81 Cadmilus: see Camillus Caene 87, 88, 90, 92 Caeneus 26, 30, 72, 86–95 Calais 120, 122 Calchas 6 Calyces 130 Callimachus 29, 36, 80 Callitheia see Callithyia Callithyia 19, 107, 118 Calypso 144 Cambyses 80 Camillus 78–82 Casion, Mount 63 Cassandra 147 catalogues 8–9, 10 n.28, 17, 50, 65, 70, 76, 127, 134 Cecrops, of Miletus 108, 109 n.154 Celuse 83 Centaurs 91, 92–94 Centimanes see Hundred–Handers

Cephalonia 144 Cephalus 144 n.241 Cerberus 64–65 Cercadai 1 Ceto 64 Chalciope 134 Chalcis 42, 76 n.78 Chaos 36, 47, 49–51 Charites 83 chauvinism 2, 19–22, 98–100, 107–108 Chimaera 65 n.63 Chios 30, 38–40 Chiron 69, 124 n.200 Chronos 17 Chryseis 142 n.237 Chthonie 17 Cimon 8 Cithaeron, Mount 123 Cleisthenes 40 n.19 Clement, of Alexandria 17–18, 20, 48, 96–98, 125 Cleonae 41 Cleonymus 41 Clymene 126–127 Colophon 6 n.9 colours, perception of 132 compendia, mythological 4–5, 54, 66, 110, 116, 124 Corcyra 42–44 Corinth 83, 94, 125 Coronis 31, 69–72, 76 Corybantes 80 Corybas 79 Cos 122 Cottus 55 Crataeis 143 Crates, of Mallus 36, 39, 70–72, 75, 76 Crete 1, 6 n.19 Critias 96–98 Cronus 42, 53, 56, 67 “cultural memory” 12 Cybele 79 Cyclopes 43–44, 56, 73, 75–77 Cycnus 61 n.50, 93 n.109, 94 n.115 Cyrene 124

General Index  169

Dactyls [Idaean] 80, 98 n.124 dactyls 26 Damascius 47, 49–51, 54 Danaids 102, 116 Danaus 21, 102 Dardanus 79 Delphi 73 n.73, 88 n.98, 94 deluge see flood Demeter 42, 78, 81 Deo 42 Dercylus 25 Deucalion 22, 32 n.73, 96, 126, 127, 128– 129, 131 Didymus 34, 86 Diodorus, Siculus 101, 123 n.197, 145 Diomedes 102 Dionysus 111–119, 124–125 Dioscouri 80 Dodona 34 Doric 25 – dialect 24–25, 28, 88–90 Drepane 42–43 Drepanon 42 n.21 Ebalus 83 Echepolus [Anchises’ son] 40–41 Echepolus [Thalisius’ son] 40 Echidna 61, 64–65, 110 Echinadian, islands 34 Eidothea 61 Elatus 90 Eleans 143 Eleon 146 Eleusinian, mysteries 78, 81 Elis 39 encyclopaedia 32 Endymion 130–131, 149 Enipeus 83 Enūma Eliš 37 n.19 Eos 69, 88, 131 Ephorus 34–35, 80 n.87, 149 “Epic Cycle” 13, 18, 28, 32, 88 n.98, 91, 101, 127, 136, 140 – Aethiopis 27 n.62, 93 – Cypria 129, 136, 142 – Epigones 88 – Iliou Persis 138, 148 n.249

– Little Iliad 27 n.62, 137, 140 – marvellous 30, 93 – narration 13, 92, 136 – Nostoi 31 n.70, 73, 143 – style 27, 30, 92 – Titanomachy 17, 127 – Theogony 17 n.42 Epimenides, of Crete 2, 5, 14 n.37, 16–17, 49, 51, 58–59, 60, 61, 63, 130, 134, 149 Epirus 34, 59 Erebus 49, 50–52 Erinyes 42, 44 Eriphyle 140 Eris 56 Eros 19, 47–52 Erytheia 59 Erytheis 59 Erythia 59 ethnicity 11, 141 etymology 34 n.1, 39 n.14, 42 n.23, 58, 60, 78–79, 93, 128, 133 n.222 Eudemus 49–50 Eumelus, of Corinth 16–17, 18 n.44, 27 n.63, 42 n.22, 58, 125, 127, 142 – Corinthiaca 16 – Europia 125 Europa 22, 119 Eurus 67 Eurymedon 43 Eurynome 67 n.58, 83 n.91 Eurypylus 23, 140–141, 147 Eurystheus 119 Evenia 134 exegesis 23, 31, 76, 132–133, 136 n.228 – character’s behaviour 31, 68, 70, 91– 92, 140 – Hesiodic 18, 31, 49, 67 – Homeric 18, 23, 31, 40, 133, 141 – words 67–68 Fleece, Golden 23, 31, 132–133 flood 96–98, 128–129 Fulani, poetry 10 n.28 Gaia 44, 47, 50, 52, 54, 66 n.56, 98 genealogies 2, 7–13, 17, 18, 20–21, 29, 31, 68, 98, 101 n.130, 103, 106, 107, 143

170  General Index – chronology 10, 96–97, 112 n.158, 116, 119 – “homeostatic” transformation 12 – matrilinear/patrilinear 8 – socio–cultural relevance 8–13 – telescoping 10 Geryon 58–59 Giants 42–44, 67 n.59, 76–77 Gilgamesh 14 Golden, Age 149 Gorgias 32 Gorgons 61 n.50 Graea 61 Graeae 61–62 Great Gods, of Samothrace 78–80 Gyges 55 Hades 64, 69, 74, 78, 86, 130 Harmonia 79, 80, 140 Harpies 59–60, 122 Harpocration 38 Heaven 52 Hebrew 93 n.107, 148 Hecataeus [of Abdera] 149 n.250 Hecataeus [of Miletus] 1–3, 8, 9, 11, 12, 16, 22, 25, 27–29, 30–33, 38 n.11, 44 n.27, 59, 65, 92, 119, 132 n.219, 146, 149 n.250 – encounter with the Egyptian priests 9, 16 – Genealogies 3, 32 Hecate 143 Hecatoncheires: see Hundred–Handers Hectenes 97 Helen 23, 136–137, 141–143 – phantom in Egypt 31 Hellanicus 38, 43, 76 n.78, 80, 105, 107, 138, 147–148, 149 – Catalogue of the Heraion’s Priestesses 107 – Phoronis 19 n.45, 99 n.125 Hephaestus 66, 78–83, 98, 140 Hera 19, 58, 66, 107, 109, 110–118, 122, 130–131 Heracles 22–23, 58–59, 64, 76, 88, 101 n.131, 119, 122, 127 n.210 Heraclides 100

Hermes 19, 57, 79–80, 81, 108, 144 Hermione 142 Herodotus 1, 8, 13, 16 n.40, 18, 26, 30– 32, 41 n.19, 78 n.81, 80–82, 88, 89, 90, 95 n.117, 111–112, 120 n.190, 136 – dialect 24, 35, 90 – “rhapsode in prose” 32 heroes 5, 9, 30, 86 n.95, 88, 93–94, 108, 140, 146, 147 – “culture h.” 102 – eponymous h. 21, 41, 101, 102 – return of the h. 147 – “toponymic h.” 102 Hesiod 1, 2, 5, 15, 16, 18, 19, 20, 24, 28, 29, 31, 34, 35, 36, 43, 44, 47–48, 49, 50, 51–52, 53, 54, 55–56, 58, 59, 61–62, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69–72, 73, 75, 76, 79, 83, 93, 98, 99, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 112, 113–116, 119, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 130, 131, 132, 134 n.226, 142, 146, 149 – Aegimius 109 n.154 – Astronomy 53 – Catalogue of Women 5, 9, 17, 20, 23, 69, 71, 75, 76, 92–93, 98, 100, 105, 107–108, 110, 112–116, 118, 119, 125, 128, 132, 142 – Great Ehoiai 71–72, 76, 101, 130–134, 143 – Melampodia 114 – Theogony 5, 17, 18, 35, 42–44, 47–48, 54, 56, 58, 65, 68, 127 – Works and Days 18, 28 n.64, 31, 67–68, 127, 149 Hesione 22, 126–127 Hesperethusa 59 Hesperia 59 Hesperides 2, 58–60 Hippias 9 – Synagoge 48 n.33, 49 Hippodamia 91 n.105 Hippolyta 60 Hittite 8 n.22, 133 historia/historiae 6–7, 86, 112, 136, 137, 140, 144–145 Homer 2, 4, 6, 9, 18, 20–23, 25, 26, 27, 29, 30, 31, 35, 36, 37, 38–40, 40–41,

General Index  171

42, 43, 44, 49, 50, 56, 57, 60, 61, 66, 69, 76–77, 89–90, 93, 95, 97, 98, 100, 101, 102, 104, 105, 108, 112 n.161, 115, 116, 120, 122, 124, 126, 128, 132, 133, 136, 137, 140–143, 144–145, 146, 149 – “Catalogue of Ships” 9, 98, 102, 108, 144, 146 – Hymn to Apollo 30, 66 – Iliad 6, 9, 20, 21, 22, 30, 35–37, 40, 50, 86 n.95, 93, 108, 121, 128, 129, 137, 138, 142, 146 – Odyssey 6 n.15, 22, 31, 43, 44, 67, 76 n.78, 77, 86, 88, 93, 112 n.159, 115, 119, 121, 140–142, 143 Homerids 4, 18, 38–39, 41 n.19 Hundred–Handers 55–56, 109 Hydra 76 Hylas 122 Hyperea 43 Hyperoche 147 hypotheseis 7 Iamids 39 Iasion 79 Iasus 106–107, 108, 109 Idas 69, 94 n.115 Ilisus 120–121 Imbros 79, 80 immortality 61, 64, 74, 75, 76, 88, 131 Inachids 104 Inachus 2, 19, 38, 96, 97, 99, 100, 101, 103, 105 n.138, 106, 108 “intentional history” 10–11, 21–22 Io 21, 106–108, 109–110, 118 Iolcus 83 Ionian, sea 34 Ionic 89 – dialect 3, 21, 23–25, 35, 87, 88–90 Iophossa 134 Iphicles 115 Iphinoe 113 Iris 18, 57 Ischys 69, 72 Ismene [Asopus’ daughter] 109 Isyllus, of Epidaurus 70 n.65 Ithaca 23, 144–145 Ithacus 144

Jason 80, 122, 134 n.224 Josephus, Flavius 2, 17, 148–149 – Jewish Antiquities 148 Julius, Africanus 96–97 kurša 133 Labda 94 Lapithes 143 Lapiths 69, 90, 92, 93 Larissa [Argive] 105 Larissa [Thessalian] 105 Leleges 128 Lemnos 79, 81 n.89, 82 Leucippides 70, 75 Leucippus 70, 76 n.75, 94 n.115 literacy 9–10, 12 Locris 148 n.248 Locrians 147 Lusis 111 Manetho 149 Manto 88 Mapsaura 60 Marpessa 69 marvellous 31, 94, 136 n.228, 149 Megacleides 36 Megapenthes [Menelaus’ son] 141 Megapenthes [Proetus’ son] 101, 111 Melampus 22, 39 n.14, 83, 110–118 Meliads 42, 44 Memnon 140 Memphis 80 Menelaus 23, 31, 137, 141–143 Menessenus 101 Mermaids 59 Mestra 94 n.115 metamorphosis 106, 119, 124, 125 Methuselah 148 Metis 49–51, 71 n.70 Midea 107 Mnaseas, of Patara 78 Monro 93, 115 n.173 Muses 32 Mycenae 21, 101–103, 107, 108 n.151 Mycenaean

172  General Index – age 98, 117 – dialect 132–133 Mycenaeus 21, 100–102, 104 Mysia 122 mythography [genre] 4–6, 12–16, 28–30, 89, 95, 132, 142 Mythographus Homericus (MH) 6–7, 22, 91, 121, 135, 136, 139–140, 144 Nausithous 43 Neleus 83 Neoptolemus 140 Nereus 61 Neritus 144–145 Neritus [Mount] 144 Nicander 65–66, 122 n.195 Nicostratus 142–143 Night 49–52 Niobe 20, 102, 104, 109–110, 129 nostoi see Heroes, returns Notus 67 Oceanids 126–127 Oceanus 34–37, 50, 82–83, 127 Odysseus 122 n.194, 145 Ogyges 96–97 Ogygia [Thebes] 97 Olympians [gods] 53–54, 56 Onnes 80 n.86 Ophion 67 orality 2, 9, 137 Orithyia 22, 120–121, 122 Ormenion 146 Ormenus 146 Orpheus/Orphism 15, 16, 38 n.13, 50, 67 n.58 Palaechthon 105 Panathenaic, festival 121 Pandora 126–127 Panyassis 31, 73 Paris 32, 136, 137, 142–143 Parmenides 47–48 Parthenopeus 94 n.115 Pausanias 4 n.11, 17 n.42, 19–22, 41 n.20, 70, 71, 77, 83, 97–101, 105, 107, 111, 113, 118, 125, 145

Peiren 106–108, 118 Peisander 130 Pelasgians 104–105 Pelasgus [Arcadian] 104–105 Pelasgus [Argive] 20–21, 22, 104–105 Pelias 83, 94 n.115, 122 Pelopides 100 Peloponnese 21, 59, 83, 102, 104, 105 n.141 Pelops 41 Pentheus 124, 125 performance 9, 12, 29, 32, 39 n.14, 41 n.19, 71 n.70 Periboea 43 Pero 83, 113, 115, 116 n.177 Perseides 100 Perseus 16 n.40, 22, 62, 101, 103 Persian, Wars 2, 107, 121 Phaeacians 18, 42, 43, 44, 65, 76 n.78, 77, 129 Phaedrus 47–49, 51 n.42, 52, 120 Phanes 51 n.38 Phegeus 101 Pherecydes [of Athens] 3–5, 8–9, 12, 14, 16, 25, 27, 30, 32 n.73, 38 n.13, 40, 41, 62, 64, 68, 73–74, 77, 78, 108–110, 112–113, 130, 134, 143 n.240, 146 Pherecydes [of Syros] 14, 16–17, 26–27, 49, 59, 67 Philodemus 4–5, 51, 55–58, 61, 63–65, 70, 73–77, 113, 124 Phlegon, of Tralles 92 Phlegyas 69, 71–72 Phlius 83 Phorbas 143 Phorcys 61–62, 64, 143 Phoroneus 2, 19, 20–21, 96–100, 101, 103, 104, 106 Phoronis 2, 19, 96, 98–100, 107, 112 n.163, 118 n.182, 127 Phrixus 134 Pieris 141 n.234 Pindar 4, 30, 31, 35 n.5, 48 n.34, 66, 69– 72, 73–74, 75, 77, 128, 146 Pindus, Mount 34 Pirithous 91 n.105

General Index  173

Plato 3, 4, 8, 9, 47–49, 51, 92, 96, 98, 120, 121 Plutarch 35, 145 Polyctor 144 Polynices 140 Polyphemus 76 n.78 pottery 59, 61 n.50, 113 n.164 Presocratics 12, 16 Priam 23, 127 n.210, 135–137, 140 Procris 86 Proetides 21, 100, 110–117 Proetus 101, 110–116 Prometheus 22, 64, 126–127 prose 12–13, 16, 17, 18, 23–28, 29–33, 35 n.4, 47, 88–92, 95, 125 – emergence of p. 12–13 – “historical present” 25–26, 91 – style 25–28, 89–92 “prose rhapsode”/“rhapsody in prose” 29–33 Proteus 61 Protogonos 51–52 Prynoe 126 n.205 Ps. Apollodorus 4–7, 8, 20, 28, 32, 56, 58–59, 82–83, 98, 103, 104, 106, 108– 110, 112–116, 119, 123–125, 128, 130, 141–143, 144 Ps. Hecataeus 149 n.250 Pterelaus 144 Pylus 83 Pyrrha 22, 127 n.207, 129 Pythagoras/Pythagoreanism 16, 53 Quintus, Smyrnaeus 140 rationalism 22 n.50, 65 n.53, 119 n.187, 133, 136 n.228, 149 n.250 Renaissance 32 rhapsodes 30, 32, 39 Rhea 67 n.58 Sabinus 4 Salmoneus 94 n.115 Samothrace 78–82 Scheria 42–43 Scylla 23, 143 Scylla [and Minos] 140 n.233

Selene 23, 130–131 Seleucus 36 Semele 22, 123–124 Sepeia, battle of 2, 103 Seven Sages 2, 4, 16 Sicyon 41, 83 Simonides 25, 32, 48 n.34, 69, 70 n.63, 121 n.192, 133 – Hymn to Poseidon 133 – Plataea [elegy] 25, 32 Solon 98 Sparta 2, 20, 21, 101–103, 142 Spartans 9, 101 Sparton 21, 101–103, 104 Stars 53 Stesichorus 123-124, 125, 136, 143 – Iliou Persis 138 Sthenelus 6 n.19 Strabo 77, 78, 80–81, 101, 127, 145 Styx 36–37 submerged, literature 24, 123 n.196 Syncellus 96 syncretism, religious 78, 80 synoecism 99, 145 Tabula Iliaca Capitolina 138 Talos 94 n.115 Tartarus 47, 51, 55–56, 59, 75–76, 93 Tegea 20 Telchines 80 Teleboans 144 n.241 Telephus 23, 140 Telestes 73 Tenos 122 Tereis 141 Tereus 141 n.235 Tertullian 53–54 Tethys 34–37, 49, 82–83 Thebes 21 n.49, 23, 79, 80–82, 88 n.98, 97, 98, 117, 118 theogony 3–5, 15, 27, 28, 29, 32, 35–37, 44, 47, 49–52, 53 Theon, of Alexandria 50 Thesprotia 146 n.246 Thessalonike 81 Thessaly 21, 32 n.73, 34, 72, 83, 105, 146 Tiāmat 37 n.9

174  General Index Tiresias 88, 94 n.115 Tiryns 2, 100, 101, 107–108, 110, 112–118 Titans 36, 42, 53–54, 55–56, 65–66, 76– 77 Tithonus 69, 88, 131 Tlepolemus 146–147 Tottes 80 “tribal encyclopaedia” 33 Troad 79 Trojan War 18, 22–23, 30, 31, 40–41, 69, 93–94, 98, 116 n.177, 129, 135–139, 140–142, 143, 144–145 Trojans 105, 135–139 Troy 7 n.19, 27, 31, 40, 128, 129, 135–138, 142 n.239, 147–148 Typhon 55–56, 61, 63, 64–65, 66, 67, 68, 93 Typhonomachy 63, 68 Tyro 83

Uranus 42–44, 54, 56, 65 Varro 54 wall, Trojans’ 128 winds, the number of 31, 60, 67–68 Xenocrates 53–54 Xenodamus 142 xoanon 107, 115–116, 118 Zas 16 Zeno 29 Zenodotus 36 Zephyr 67 Zetes 120, 122 Zeus 16–17, 20, 22, 36, 42, 56, 57, 63, 65–67, 73–75, 76, 77, 83 n.91, 88, 91, 102, 104, 110, 119, 123–124, 129, 130– 131

Index of Greek  175

Index of Greek αἰτία 136 n.227 Ἀκουσιλάς 1, 46, 57 Ἀκουσίλαος 1, 13, 17, 34, 35, 38, 40, 41, 45, 46, 54, 55, 57 63, 65, 67, 68, 77, 82, 83, 96, 103, 106, 108, 110, 118, 123, 126, 128, 129, 132, 134, 135, 141, 143, 148 Ἀκουσίλεως 1, 45, 48, 49 ἀργειφόντης 108 ἀργέστης 67 Ἄργος 21, 98, 104, 105 n.141, 108, 113 αὐτόχθων 109

λαός 129 Λαπιθέων 24, 85, 88 λογογράφοι 3 n.8, 9 n.25, 29

γένος 38, 39, 43 n.26 γηγενής 109 γίγνεται 24, 85, 89 γοναί 45, 48 γονῆς 45, 48

παῖς 103, 106, 123, 126, 139, 142 n.237 Πελασγικόν [Ἄργος] 21, 105 n.141 πέτρην 24, 85, 89 ποιοῦντα 24, 85, 90 πολεμέεσκε 25, 26, 90, 91 πορφύρεος 132 πορφυρευθῆναι 132 Ποσειδέων 24, 27, 84, 88 πρόφασιν 135, 136

δράκαινα 66 δύσνιπτον 15 ἑαυτοῦ 35 ἕν [ἕν πάντα, πάντα ἕν, ἡνωμένον] 50 ἐπιτιθεῖσιν 24, 85, 89 ἐφορμᾶι 85, 89 Ἐχέπωλος 40–41 ἑωυτοῦ 35 ζήτημα 67, 86 θέμις 87 ἱερόν 86, 87 ἱστορεῖ 6, 96, 135 ἱστορικός 2, 3, 13 Κάβα 1, 13 κἀκεῖνοι 89 καλέεται 24 Κάμιλλον 77–78 Κενταύροις 24, 85 κεντοίη 27 n.58, 85, 89 λᾶας/λᾶος 129 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110618600-006

μίσγεται 24, 84, 88 *ὅμαρος 39 n.14 ὁμηρέω 39 n.14 Ὁμηρίδαι 38–39 ὅσιον 84, 87 οὗ 145–146

Σκάβρας 1 συγγραφεύς/συγγραφεῖς 3, 9 n.25 συνοικίζω 145 συνοικισμόν 145 συνοίκισις 145 τεκέν 24, 84, 88–89 τηρέω 142 n.235 Τιτανίδες 54 τρισχείλιοι 34, 35 τρισχίλιοι 26, 34, 35 φάτρα 1 φεύγεν 25 n.55 χάρις 13 χείλιοι 35 χίλιαι 35 χρῶμα 133

Index Locorum Aelian VH 9.15

40

Aenesidamus FGrHist 600 F 1

122

Aeschylus Choeph. 613–622 Prom. 351–376 353 560 567 589–590 705 Sept. 529–530 Suppl. 250–251 305 TrGF 95–97a Radt 99 221–224 241–246 260

105 109 80 119 n.184 123 123 122

Alcaeus fr. 327 Voigt fr. 441

46, 48 41, 43

Alcman PMGF 1.16–17

70

140 n.233 63 66 127 109 106 106 94 n.115

Alcmaeon D 4 Laks–Most = 24 B 1 Diels–Kranz 89

1.466–470 1.503–511 1.915–921 1.1298–1308 2.1122 2.1149 4.57–58 4.616–617 4.982–986 4.986–987 4.1411 4.1427–1428

94 n.115 67 n.58 82 n.90 122 134 134 n.225 130 70 n.65 42 42 59 n.48 59

Archilochus fr. 101 West

35

Aristeides FGrHist 444 F 1

70

Aristophanes Av. 676–703 51 Lys. 381 35 fr. 170 Kassel–Austin 51 Aristoteles Metaph. 984b 27 fr. 512 Rose fr. 172

47 n.30 42 n.24 76 n.78

Asclepiades of Tragilus FGrHist 12 F 16 108 F 32 70 n.64 Asius of Samus fr. 8 PEG, EGEF

104

Apollodorus of Athens FGrHist 244 F 164 127 n.208

Bacchylides Od. 11.40–112 fr. 10 Maehler fr. 19.18

110–111 119 n.184 106

Apollonius of Rhodes 1.111–112 134 n.244 1.211–223 120

Callimachus hymni 3.233–236

111

Anonymous in SH 733

94 n.115

https://doi.org/10.1515/ 9783110618600-007

178  Index Locorum 5.107–108 123 fr. 6 Pfeiffer, Harder = 8 Massimilla 83 n.91 fr. 100 Pfeiffer, Harder = 203 Massimilla 107 fr. 115 Pfeiffer = 65 Massimilla, 113e Harder) 80 Carmen Naupactium fr. 11 PEG= 10c EGEF

73

Certamen Homeri et Hesiodi 13–15 Allen 302–308

38 40

Cicero de orat. 2.53 nat. deor. 1.34

30 53

Cinaethon fr. 3 PEG, EGEF

56

Clement of Alexandria Strom. 1.59.5 2 6.26.8 17, 125 Conon FGrHist 26 Dieg. 3

43

Corinna PMG 671

97

Crates of Mallus fr. 29 Broggiato fr. 80 fr. 126*

36 70, 75 38

Cypria fr. 1 PEG fr. 12

129 142

Damascius 3.162.22

50

Damastes fr. 11 EGM

38 n.113

Demetrius (of Argos ?) FGrHist 304 F 1 107 Demetrius of Scepsis fr. 61 Gaede = FGrHist 2013 F 61 80 Diodorus Siculus 4.42.3–7 4.60.1 4.65.5–6 4.68.4–5 4.69.2 4.71.1 4.72.1 4.81.4 5.58.5 5.60.4 5.78.1 6.7.1

127 n.210 119 n.183 140 n.232 111 143 70 n.65 83 123 143 106 119 n.183 83

Diogenes Laertius 1.41 1.42

1 n.2, 2 16

Dionisiodorus FGrHist 68 F 1

79 n.83

Dionysius of Halicarnassus Ant. Rom. 1.17.3 105, 126 1.48.3 137 1.53.4–5 138 Thuc. 5.1–3 2 5.5 13 FGrHist 251 F 1 97 Ephorus FGrHist 70 F 20a F 112ab F 120

34 149 80 n.87

Epicharmus fr. 120 Kassel–Austin 128

Index Locorum  179

Epigones fr. 3 PEG

88 n.98

Epimenides of Crete fr. 6 EGM = 46 OF fr. 9 EGM fr. 10 fr. 12

51 58 63 130

Eudemus fr. 150 Wehrli

49–50

Eumelus frs. 8 and 9 PEG = 12, 10 EGEF 58 fr. 9 PEG = 32 EGEF 142 Euripides Alc. 1–7 Andr. 167 898–899 Bacch. 337–340 519 625 TrGF 73a Kannicht 758a 820ab

123 35 35 88 51 119 n.183

Flavius Josephus Ap. 1.13

2

Hecataeus of Miletus fr. 17 EGM fr. 22 fr. 27ab FGrHist 1 F 102c F 105

132 n.219 101 65 2, 38 n.11 44 n.27

Hellanicus fr. 5 EGM fr. 7 fr. 23 fr. 26b fr. 36 fr. 77 fr. 88

38 n.13 94 n.115 80 127 n.210 105 42 n.24 76 n.78

73 35 142

fr. 125 fr. 152A

83 147–148

Herodorus fr. 15 EGM fr. 39

144 n.241 134

Herodotus 1.1.3 2.7.1 2.9.1 2.9.2 2.10.3 2.49.1–2 2.51–52 2.121.5 2.149.1 2.175.2 3.5.3 3.37.3 4.85.4 5.67.1 5.92 6.76–83 7.189 9.34.1–2

106 35 35 35 34 111 80 145 n.245 35 35 63 80 35 41 n.19 94 103 120 111

Hesiod Scut. 178–179 Th. 116–117 120 133–136 134 139–146 142 150 154–159 178–187 180–187 183–198 215–216 265 266–269 270 270–273 274

92 45, 47 47 36 54 44 76 56 56 66 44 42 58–59 37 60 61 61 62 n.51

180  Index Locorum 304–336 64 305 64 310–312 64 311 65 322 65 n.53 337–340 35 337–345 82 351 127 358 83 n.91 359 127 364–370 35 379–380 67 517–519 58 617–663 56 746–754 58 777 36 820–868 55 825 65 n.53, 66 868 93 869–871 68 870 67 872 60 907 83 n.91 996 94 n.115 W.D. 181 61 n.150 252 35 n.5 fr. 2 Merkelbach–West = 3 Most 126 fr. 4 M.–W. = 5 Most 126 fr. 10a. 60–62 M.–W. = 10 Most 129–130, 149 fr. 30.12–19 M.W. = 27 Most 94 n.115 fr. 31.2–3 M.–W. = 30 Most 88 fr. 37 M.–W. = 35 Most 83, 113, 114– 115 fr. 42 M.–W. = 163 Most 124 n.200 fr. 43a65 M.–W.= 69 Most 76 fr. 43bc M.–W = 70–71 Most 94 n.115 fr. 50 M.–W. = 53ab Most 70 fr. 51 M.–W.= 55–56 Most 73 fr. 52 M.–W. = 57 Most 75 fr. 54a M.–W. = 58 Most 75 fr. 54b M.–W. = 59b Most 75 fr. 59 M.–W. = 164 Most 71–72 frs. 59–61 M.–W. = 164, 239–240 Most 69

fr. 60 M.–W. = 239 Most 69, 70 fr. 68 M.–W. = 38 Most 132 fr. 76.30 M.–W. = 48.30 Most 59 fr. 87 M.–W.= 165 Most 92 fr. 124 M.–W. = 72 Most 106 fr. 125 M.–W. = 304 Most 107 fr. 129 M.–W. = 77 Most 110, 113 fr. 131 M.–W. = 79–80 Most 110, 114 frs. 131–133 M.–W. = 79–83 Most 113 fr. 135 M.–W. = 241 Most 110 fr. 140 M.–W. = 89 Most 119 n.184 fr. 141.20–1 M.–W. = 90 Most 149 fr. 150.30–2 M.–W. = 98 Most 144 fr. 160 M.–W. = 110 abc Most 103, 104 fr. 175 M.–W. = 248 Most 142 fr. 177 M.–W. = 121 Most 79 fr. 217A M.–W. = 161b Most 123–124 fr. 232 M.–W. = 175 Most 146 fr. 234 M.–W. = 251 Most 128 frs. 245 M.–W. / 10a 58–65 = 10 Most 130 fr. 246 M.–W. = 185 Most 100, 101 fr. 254 M.–W. = 192 Most 132 n.219 fr. 255 M.–W. = 193 Most 134 fr. 258 M.–W.= 196 Most 83 fr. 260 M.–W. = 198 Most 129–130 fr. 262 M.–W. = 200 Most 143 fr. 294 M.–W. = 230 Most 108 fr. 346 M.–W. = 161b Most 123, 124 fr. 360 M.W. = 229a Most 59 fr. 162 Most 123 fr. 305 Most 123 Hesychius α 750 Latte-Cunningham α 788 ι 1185 Hipponax fr. 78.11 West fr. 104.48

89 89

Homer hymni Homerici h. 3 (h. Apol.) 305–355 66 h. 5 (h. Aphr.) 196–197 137

117 n.180 117 n.180 107

Index Locorum  181

198–199 247–255 h. 16 1–3 Il. 1.20 1.262–265 1.267 1.402 1.443 2.26 2.103 2.319 2.500 2.513 2.559–580 2.569–577 2.632–636 2.658 2.681 2.734 2.746 2.786 3.175 3.383–417 4.376–378 4.383 6.160–185 7.433–463 10.266 10.287 11.306 12.3–35 12.13–35 12.98–100 13.459–460 14.201–204 14.246 14.249–256 14.259 14.261 14.302 15.24–33 15.144 16.234 18.166–168 18.399 18.405

138 138 70 142 n.237 92 94 n.114 56 142 n.237 57 108 129 146 146 102 41 144 145 21, 105 146 92 57 142 137 102 83 115 128 146 83 67 128 128–129 137 137 36 36 122 49 49 36 122 58 34 n.12 58 83 n.91 83 n.91

18.607 20.302–308 21.193–197 21.334 23.295–299 24.605–613 Od. 1.241 2.120 3.191–192 4.1–4 4.10–12 4.262–264 4.384–385 4.692 5.29 5.35 5.295–296 6.4–10 6.203 7.53–83 7.56 7.56–63 7.205–206 7.206 9.320 11.235–257 11.250 11.287–291 11.287–297 11.522 12.124–125 13.130 13.162–163 14.371 15.100–124 15.225–247 15.247 15.248–258 17.205–207 19.279

37 137 35 67 41 129 60 100 6 n.19 142 n.238 141 142 n.238 61 90 57 41–42, 44 67 43 44 44 41 43 44 77 90 83 88 83 115 140 143 42 129 60 141 115 140 115 144 44

Hyginus fab. 14.4 124 145.2

94 n.116 106 n.145 106 n.145

182  Index Locorum Ibycus PMGF S 151 S 292

30 n.68 122

IG IV 530 XII 8.74

1 79

Ilias Parva Argumenta fr. 29 PEG fr. 30

fr. 15 Schneider, Gow–Scholfield 122 n.195 fr. 45 Schneider 94 n.115 Nonnus of Panopolis 4.85–89 80 n.97

140 140 140

Nostoi fr. 9 PEG fr. 9 West

101 73

Ovid met. 12.202

94 n.116

Iuvenal 6.655

140 n.232

P.Berol. 13270

36 n.6

Lucian Charon 23

41 n.20

Lycophron Alex. 162 219 424–438 761–762 869–870 1214–1223 1232

80 n.87 80 n.87 6 n.19 42 42 n.21 7 n.19 137

P.Derv. col. XVI l. 3 XIII l. 4 XXIII l. 10 XVIII l. 15

52 52 36 52

P. Herc. 243 III 1609 VIII 1648 VII 3

70 113 124

Manetho FGrHist 609 F 3a

P.Köln 21351

131

149

Menander Rhetor 338.5

P. Mich. 1447 II, 1–6

124

1

P. Oxy. 221 col. IX 418. 9 1241, col. IV 3 2454 2487 fr. 1 2495 fr. 1 (a) 2509

36 85, 91 99 64 n.52 113 75 124

PSI 1173 1091 1301

6 n.15, 86, 139 89 n.101 113

Menecrates of Xanthus FGrHist 769 F 3 137 Mimnermus fr. 14.10 West

89

Mnaseas of Patara fr. 17 Cappelletto = FGH 154 F 27 78 Nicander of Colophon Ther. 8–12 65

Index Locorum  183

Palaephatus Incred. 10–11

93

Parmenides D 16 Laks–Most = 28 B 13 Diels–Kranz 45, 47 Pausanias Per. 1.19.5 1.25.1 1.37.6 2.2.3 2.5.2 2.12.4 2.15.1 2.15.4–5 2.16.1 2.16.2 2.17.5 2.18.4 2.18.6 2.19.5 2.22.5 2.24.1 2.26.7 3.18.13 3.19.9 8.18.7–8 8.29.2 8.38.10 9.5.1 9.25.5–6 9.34.10

120 106 144 n.241 83 83 83 41 n.20 99 106, 107 110 107 111 142 99 104 105 70 106 142 111 77 37 n.10 97 81 72

Pherecydes of Athens fr. 3 EGM 69 fr. 11 61 n.50, 62 fr. 13b 144 n.241 fr. 17 58 fr. 25 134 fr. 35 73, 77 fr. 48 78 fr. 66 108 fr. 80 146 fr. 81 146 fr. 105 25 n.56

fr. 114 fr. 145 fr. 167

112 120 38 n.13

Pherecydes of Syros fr. 83 Schibli = D 13 Laks–Most 59 frs. 73, 78–82 Schibli = D 11–12 L.–M. 67 Philochorus of Athens FGrHist 328 F 92 97 n.119 Philodemus piet. N 1088 VII Phoronis fr. 1 PEG, EGEF fr. 2 PEG, EGEF fr. 3 PEG, EGEF fr. 4 PEG, EGEF n.182 fr. 5 PEG, EGEF fr. 6 PEG, EGEF Pindar Nem. 2.1 Ol. 4.6–7 7.23–24 9.43–46 Pyth. 1.15 3.8–37 4.161 8.15–16

1, 57

19, 95 19, 98 n.124 19 19, 98, 107, 118 20 20

38 66 146 128 63 69 132 n.219 66

fr. 52i (A) Snell–Mahler = B3 Rutherford 56 fr. 91 Sn.–M. 66 fr. 122 Sn.–M. 48 fr. 128f 8–9 Sn.–M. 85, 91 fr. 166 Sn.–M. 91 n.105 fr. 249b Sn.–M. 34 n.2 fr. 264 Sn.–M. 38 fr. 266 Sn.–M. 73, 75, 77 Plato Hipp. Mai. 285d

9

184  Index Locorum Leg. 944d Parm. 128 de Phaedr. 229 bc 229 d 235c 257d–258d Symp. 219e Theaet. 174e–175b Tim. 22a 23be

92 29 120 121 n.193 3 n.8 3 n.8 93 9 95, 96 98

3.7.2 3.7.5 3.8.1 3.10.3 3.15.2 Epit. 1.22 6.3

140 n.232 140 n.232 104 70 n.65 121 93 n.108, 94 n.116 88 n.98

Ps. Longinus Subl. 13.3

90

Ps. Plutarch Parall. min. 312e

35

142 46, 48 130

Plutarch Mor. 75e

94 n.116

Polybius 9.1–2 9.1.4

145 9

Sappho fr. 16 Voigt fr. 198 fr. 199

Probus in Verg. ecl. 6.48

114

Scholia Ap. Rhod. 1.917–918

78

Scholia Arat. 161

107

Scholia Eur. Med. 5 Or. 932 1246

133 99, 101, 106–107 101, 104

Ps. Apollodorus Bibl. 1.1.5 1.2.1 1.6.3 1.7.2 1.7.5 1.9.1 1.9.8 1.9.12 1.9.16 2.1.1 2.1.3 2.2.1 2.2.2 2.2.4 2.4.5 2.4.6–7 2.5.5 2.5.9 2.5.11 3.1.2 3.4.4 3.6.2

56 56 63 128 130 134 83 83 134 n.224 17 n.42, 103–104 106–107 110 110, 112 101 144 144 n.241 143 127 n.210 58 149 123, 125 140 n.232

Scholia Hom. (D) Il. 1.264 85, 91 (b) Il. 2.783 66 n.56 (AbT) Il. 4.458 40 (A) Il. 8.479 67 n.59 (bT) Il. 9.557–558 70 (Tb) Il. 20.307 139 n.231 (Tb) Il. 21.194 36 (A) Il. 23.296 40 Od. 2.120a (I 274.98–100 Pontani) 101 (E) Od. 4.11e (II 182.88 Pontani) 141 n.236 Od. 6.4.e 1–3 (III 146.56–61 Pontani) 43 (QV) Od. 11.326 140 n.232 (bQ) Od. 11.521 140 (V) Od. 13.259 6 n.19

Index Locorum  185

Scholia Lucian. Gall. 19

94 n.116

Scholia Pind. Nem. 2.1c Ol. 5.1 Pyth. 4.182

39 35 n.5 124 n.200

Scholia Plat. Leg. 944d

93 n.108

SEG XXIX 361 LIII 1786

1 79

Semos of Delos FGrHist 396 F 19

122

Servius in Verg. Aen. 7.790

109 n.155

Simonides PMG 534 563 = °°353 Poltera 575 = 263 Poltera 576 = 242 Poltera

Stesimbrotus of Thasos FGrHist 107 F 19 122 F 20 80 Strabo Geogr. 8.6.19 8.6.24 9.5.23 10.3.7–23 10.3.20 14.1.35

41 n.20, 101 83 127 80 80 38, 39 n.16

Suda α 942 Adler ε 360 φ 214

1, 4 3 14

Telestes PMG 806–807 812

73 122

120 69 45 132–133

Tertullian nat. 2.2.14–17

53

Sophocles (hyp.) Aj. El. 539–541 Trach. 683 TrGF 210 Radt 269a–295a

Thebaid fr. 1 PEG

98 n.122

93 n.109 142 15 141 106

Sophron fr. 31 Kassel–Austin

93 n.109

Thucydides 1.3.3 1.11.1 1.21.1 1.24 1.25.3–4 2.15 2.102.2–4 3.2 3.3 6.5

97 128 9, 29 145 43 145 34 145 145 145

Timaeus FGrHist 566 F 79

42

Titanomachy fr. 3 PEG, EGEF

56

Stephanus of Byzantium μ 231 Billerbeck 103 Stesichorus fr. 182 Davies–Finglass 143 fr. 273 66 n.56 fr. 285 123

186  Index Locorum Xenophanes fr. 1 West fr. 3

25 n.55, 30 n.68 35