Palladas and the Yale Papyrus Codex (P. CtYBR inv. 4000) [1 ed.] 9004521348, 9789004521346, 2022026460, 2022026461, 9789004521353

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Palladas and the Yale Papyrus Codex (P. CtYBR inv. 4000)

Papyrologica Lugduno-Batava Edidit Institutum Papyrologicum Universitatis Lugduno-Batavae Moderantibus W. Clarysse, K. Donker van Heel, F.A.J. Hoogendijk, S.P. Vleeming

VOLUMEN XXXIX

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/plb

Palladas and the Yale Papyrus Codex (P. CtYBR inv. 4000) Edited by

Maria Kanellou Chris Carey

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustrations: Papyrus drawing from M. J. Raven, Papyrus van bies tot boekrol (1982), p. 24; P. CtYBR inv. 4000: I. Yale Digital Collections. With Kind Permission of Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Kanellou, Maria, editor. | Carey, Christopher (Classicist), editor. Title: Palladas and the Yale Papyrus Codex (P. CTYBR inv. 4000) / edited by Maria Kanellou, Chris Carey. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, [2023] | Series: Papyrologica Lugduno-Batava, 0169–9652 ; volumen xxxix | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022026460 (print) | LCCN 2022026461 (ebook) | ISBN 9789004521346 (hardback ; acid-free paper) | ISBN 9789004521353 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Palladas—Criticism and interpretation. | Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library. Manuscript. CtYBR inv. 4000. Classification: LCC PA4261.P38 P35 2023 (print) | LCC PA4261.P38 (ebook) | DDC 888/.002—dc23/eng/20220608 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022026460 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022026461

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 0169-9652 isbn 978-90-04-52134-6 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-52135-3 (e-book) Copyright 2023 by Maria Kanellou and Chris Carey. Published by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau, V&R unipress and Wageningen Academic. Brill has made all reasonable efforts to trace all rights holders to any copyrighted material used in this work. In cases where these efforts have not been successful the publisher welcomes communications from copyright holders, so that the appropriate acknowledgements can be made in future editions, and to settle other permission matters. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Acknowledgements vii Abbreviations viii Contributors xi 1 Introduction 1 Maria Kanellou and Chris Carey 2 Observations on the Yale Papyrus Codex: Epigrammatic Grouping and Subgeneric Variety 7 Maria Kanellou and Chris Carey 3 Skoptic Epigram in the Yale Papyrus Codex 21 Lucia Floridi 4 Palladas Sequences in the Greek Anthology and the Yale Papyrus Codex 30 Kathryn Gutzwiller 5 Palladas’ Philosophical and Gnomic Epigrams and the Yale Papyrus Codex 42 Ginevra Vezzosi 6 Imagery in the Yale Papyrus Codex: A Semiotic Probe 54 William J. Henderson 7 A Sarmatian Family of Mediocre Prytaneis 66 Rodney Ast 8 Suffering from Gout: Intermingling Greek and Latin Material in the Yale Papyrus Codex 74 Maria Kanellou Appendix 1 87 Appendix 2 88 Bibliography 89 General Index 96 Index Locorum 99

Acknowledgements We would like to thank all scholars who participated in the international conference that took place at University College London in 2014 and from which this book originates, as well as the following for their generous support of the event: University College London, Department of Greek and Latin (A. G. Leventis Fund), the Classical Association, the Institute of Classical Studies, and King’s College London. Our warm thanks also go to Edith Hall with whom we co-organised the conference, and to Gesine Manuwald (Head of the Department of Greek and Latin at UCL) for having supported the project. Many thanks are also due to Brill Academic Publishers, and especially Gera van Bedaf for her patient support throughout, and the anonymous reviewer for their useful suggestions, and last but not least, to Katherine McHugh, PhD candidate at UCL, for her editorial assistance.

Abbreviations This list contains the abbreviations used in the book, including those of editions of original texts. The principal editions of epigrams are abbreviated A–B, HE, FGE, GPh, and W in references to epigrams, but follow the Harvard system (author–date) in regular citations in the footnotes. In Rodney Ast’s chapter, papyri and papyrological tools are cited according to the ‘Checklist of Editions of Greek, Latin, Demotic, and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca, and Tablets’, available at http:// www.papyri.info/docs/checklist. The abbreviations of Greek titles follow the Greek-English Lexicon edited by Liddel, Scott, and Jones (LSJ), and, wherever this is not possible, the Oxford Classical Dictionary (OCD). The abbreviations of the Latin titles follow the OCD, and the abbreviations of the journals in the Bibliography L’Année philologique. Greek names are for the most part transliterated, though absolute consistency in such matters is impossible and we have used the Latinised form when it is so established that the alternative would strike the reader as odd. A–B Austin, C. and Bastianini, G. (eds) (2002), Posidippi Pellaei quae supersunt omnia, Milan AP Anthologia Palatina (Palatinus Heidelbergensis Gr. 23 + Parisinus Suppl. Gr. 384) APl Anthologia Planudea (Marcianus Gr. 481) Beckby Beckby, H. (ed.) (1957–8), Anthologia Graeca, 4 vols, Munich (2nd edn 1965 (vols 1–2) and 1968 (vols 3–4)) Colonna Colonna, A. (ed.) (1951), Himerii declamationes et orationes cum deperditarum fragmentis, Rome Cougny Cougny, E. (ed.) (1890), Epigrammatum Anthologia Palatina cum Planudeis et appendice nova epigrammatum veterum ex libris et marmoribus ductorum, 3 vols, Paris CPG von Leutsch, E. L. and Schneidewin, F. G. (eds) (1839–51), Corpus Paroemiographorum Graecorum, 2 vols, Göttingen CPR Corpus Papyrorum Raineri, Vienna CPR XXXIII The Vienna Epigrams Papyrus (G 40611) DELG Chantraine, P. et al. (eds) (1968–80), Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue grecque: Histoire des mots, 4 vols, Paris E Sylloge Euphemiana F. Floridi, L. (ed.) (2014), Lucillio: Epigrammi: Introduzione, testo critico, traduzione e commento (Texte und Kommentare 47), Berlin FGE Page, D. L. (ed.) (1981), Further Greek Epigrams: Epigrams before A.D. 50 from the Greek Anthology and Other Sources, Not Included in Hellenistic Epigrams or The Garland of Philip, Cambridge Fl. Floridi, L. (ed.) (2007), Stratone di Sardi: Epigrammi: Testo critico, traduzione e commento (Hellenica 24), Alessandria Fld. Floridi, L. (ed.) (2020), Edilo: Epigrammi: Introduzione, testo critico, traduzione e commento (Texte und Kommentare 64), Berlin Gentili–Prato Gentili, B. and Prato, C. (eds) (1979–85), Poetarum elegiacorum testimonia et fragmenta, 2 vols, Leipzig GG Hilgard, A., Lentz A., Schneider, R., and Uhlig, G. (eds) (1867–1910), Grammatici Graeci, 4 vols, Leipzig (repr. 1965, Hildesheim) GPh Gow, A. S. F. and Page, D. L. (eds) (1968), The Greek Anthology: The Garland of Philip and Some Contemporary Epigrams, 2 vols, Cambridge

Abbreviations Jäkel Jäkel, S. (ed.) (1964), Menandri Sententiae; Comparatio Menandri et Philistionis, Leipzig Harder Harder, A. (ed.) (2012), Callimachus: Aetia, 2 vols, Oxford HE Gow, A. S. F. and Page, D. L. (eds) (1965), The Greek Anthology: Hellenistic Epigrams, 2 vols, Cambridge I. Portes Bernand, A. (ed.) (1984), Les portes du désert: Recueil des inscriptions grecques d’Antinooupolis, Tentyris, Koptos, Apollonopolis Parva et Apollonopolis Magna, Paris K–A Kassel, R. and Austin, C. (eds) (1983–2001), Poetae Comici Graeci, 8 vols, Berlin LGPN IV Fraser, P. M. and Matthews, E. (eds) (2005), A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names: Volume IV: Macedonia, Thrace, Northern Regions of the Black Sea, Oxford LSJ Liddell, H. G. and Scott, R., rev. Jones, H. S. et al. (eds) (1996), A Greek-English Lexicon with a Revised Supplement, repr. of the 9th edn, Oxford (1st edn 1843) Meineke Meineke, A. (ed.) (1842), Delectus poetarum Anthologiae Graecae cum adnotatione critica: Accedunt coniectanea critica de Anthologiae Graecae locis controversis, Berlin Odorico Odorico, P. (1986), Il prato e l’ape: Il sapere sentenzioso del monaco Giovanni, Vienna OLD Glare, P. G. W. (ed.) (1968–82), Oxford Latin Dictionary, Oxford (2nd edn 2012) P Codex Anthologiae Palatinae (Palatinus Heidelbergensis Gr. 23 + Parisinus Suppl. Gr. 384) Paton Paton, W. R. (ed.) (trans.) (1816–18), The Greek Anthology, 5 vols (Loeb Classical Library 67, 68, 84–6), London (several reprints) P. CtYBR inv. 4000 The ‘Yale Epigram Codex’ (CtYBR: Research Libraries Information Network’s designation for the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library) P. Mil. Vogl. Papiri della Università degli Studi di Milano RE Pauly, A., Wissowa, G., and Kroll, W. (eds) (1894–1980), Real-Encyclopädie die classischen Altertumswissenschaft, Stuttgart Perry Perry, B. E. (ed.) (1952), Aesopica: A Series of Texts Relating to Aesop or Ascribed to Him or Closely Connected with the Literary Tradition that Bears his Name, Urbana, Ill. (repr. 2007) Pf. Pfeiffer, R. (ed.) (1949–53), Callimachus, vol. 1: Fragmenta, vol. 2: Hymni et epigrammata, Oxford PG Migne, J.-P. (ed.) (1857–66), Patrologiae cursus completus: Series Graeca, 161 vols, Paris PMG Page, D. L. (ed.) (1962), Poeti Melici Graeci: Alcmanis, Stesichori, Ibyci, Anacreontis, Simonidis, Corinnae, poetarum minorum reliquias, carmina popularia et convivialia quaeque adespota feruntur, Oxford (repr. 1967) Pl Codex Anthologiae Planudeae (Marcianus Gr. 481) PLF Lobel, E. and Page, D. (eds) (1955), Poetarum Lesbiorum Fragmenta, Oxford (2nd edn 1963) P. Oxy. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri (1898–), London Sider Sider, D. (ed.) (1997), The Epigrams of Philodemos: Introduction, Text, and Commentary, Oxford SB Sammelbuch griechischer Urkunden aus Ägypten (1915–) SEG Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum (1923–)

ix

x S–M Snell, B. and Maehler, H. (eds) (1975–80), Pindari carmina cum fragmentis, 2 vols, Leipzig SGO Merkelbach, R. and Stauber, J. (eds) (1998–2004), Steinepigramme aus dem griechischen Osten, 5 vols, Stuttgart, Munich SH Lloyd-Jones, H. and Parsons, P. (eds) (1983), Supplementum Hellenisticum (Texte und Kommentare 11), Berlin Sternbach Sternbach, L. (ed.) (1890), Anthologiae Planudeae Appendix Barberino-Vaticana, Leipzig Thesleff Thesleff, H. (ed.) (1965), The Pythagorean Texts of the Hellenistic Period, Turku TLG Stephanus, H. (ed.) (1831–65), Θησαυρὸς τῆς ἑλληνικῆς γλώσσης / Thesaurus Graecae Linguae, 8 vols, Paris V Voigt, E.-M. (ed.) (1971), Sappho et Alcaeus: Fragmenta, Amsterdam W Wilkinson, K. W. (ed.) (2012), New Epigrams of Palladas: A Fragmentary Papyrus Codex (P. CtYBR inv. 4000) (American Studies in Papyrology 52), Durham, NC West (= IEG) West, M. L. (ed.) (1989–92), Iambi et elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum cantati, 2 vols, Oxford (1st edn 1971–2) Y. Ypsilanti, M. (ed.) (2018), The Epigrams of Crinagoras of Mytilene: Introduction, Text, Commentary, Oxford Young Young, D. (ed.) (1961), Theognis, Ps.-Pythagoras, Ps.-Phocylides, Chares, anonymi aulodia, fragmentum teliambicum, Leipzig (2nd edn 1971)

Abbreviations

Contributors Rodney Ast is Senior Research and Teaching Associate at the Heidelberg University, Institute for Papyrology, Germany. Chris Carey is Emeritus Professor of Greek at University College London, Department of Greek and Latin, UK, and a Fellow of the British Academy. Lucia Floridi is Associate Professor of Classical Philology, Department of Classical Philology and Italian Studies, University of Bologna, Italy. Kathryn Gutzwiller is John Miller Burnam Professor of Classics, Department of Classics, University of Cincinnati, USA. William J. Henderson is Emeritus Professor of Greek and Latin Studies, Department of Languages, Cultural Studies and Applied Linguistics, University of Johannesburg, South Africa. Maria Kanellou is Research Fellow at the Academy of Athens, Research Centre for Greek and Latin Literature, Greece.

Chapter 1

Introduction Maria Kanellou and Chris Carey 1

The Yale Papyrus Codex

The last few decades have been kind to students of ancient epigram, with the publication of no less than three epigram papyri. The year 2001 saw the publication of the Milan Papyrus (P. Mil. Vogl. VIII 309), which preserves 112 epigrams that have been attributed to Poseidippos of Pella. Only two of these poems (15 A–B = HE 20 (Tzetzes Chil. 7.660) and 65 A–B = APl 119) were previously known to us, both ascribed in their sources to Poseidippos. More recently, in 2015, Peter Parsons, Herwig Maehler, and Francesca Maltomini published the Vienna Epigrams Papyrus (G 40611), dating from the late 3rd century BCE and including the opening lines of 226 epigrams along with stichometric information; in this case, only one incipit is attributed with certainty to a poet already known to us from the Greek Anthology, that is, Asklepiades (col. i. 14 survives as the opening line of AP 12.46 = HE 15).1 Where previously we were dependent mainly on the medieval tradition, these fragmentary ancient sources allow us a glimpse of the vast wealth of material that failed to make the transition to the modern world. This improves our perception of the genre’s thematic richness and popularity in antiquity as well as of the process of publication and dissemination, since what we get from the medieval manuscripts comes mediated through successive processes of collection, selection, and anthologisation. In between the publication of these two papyrological finds the Yale papyrus codex (P. CtYBR inv. 4000) came to light. Its first editor, Kevin Wilkinson, attributed the surviving epigrams of the codex to Palladas of Alexandria. Ιn comparison to the Milan Papyrus, the Yale papyrus codex attracted relatively little interest. This lukewarm response is perhaps understandable, given the difficulties created by its fragmentary state, but still surprising, since this is the only surviving codex offering us a substantial body of epigrams (c.60), however poorly preserved, from the imperial period.2 It is to the Yale papyrus epigrams that the present volume is devoted, itself the outcome 1 For bibliography on these two papyri and epigrams in general, see Kanellou/Petrovic/Carey (2019) 11–12. 2 On papyri dating from the imperial age, see Maltomini (2019) 217–19.

of an international conference held at University College London and focused on this stimulating papyrological discovery.3 Τhe Yale papyrus codex, as we now have it, is the result of the reconstruction of several papyrus fragments that the Beinecke Library of Yale University purchased from Gallerie Nefer in February 1996. The fragments in question were collected in a box along with other papyrus scraps, mainly documentary accounts, inventoried as P. CtYBR inv. 4715–24. It is likely that the items in the box were gathered from different sources by a collector or dealer (Robert Babcock states that the box is said to have previously belonged to a collector of Egyptian artefacts who put it together in the 1950s and 60s in Geneva).4 The codex probably consisted of six bifolia. The codicological reconstruction was based on comparison with the manuscripts classified in Eric Turner’s The Typology of the Early Codex (1977). Its size – its height must have been at least 24–5 cm, with its breadth being roughly half of its height – matches the category of single quire codices of 24 pages in Turner’s classification, most of which date from the 3rd and 4th centuries CE.5 Based on Babcock’s (hypothetical) calculations of the inscribed lines per page (38 lines), the average length of the epigrams (approximately 8 lines long), and the recurrent use of titles, the six bifolia would have contained approximately 864 lines of written text (22 pages of inscribed text, one page of more or less ten fewer lines (the ‘front’) and another one blank (the ‘back’)).6 He calculated that the codex would have originally included roughly 96 epigrams7 (of which only about 60 badly damaged epigrams survive, as noted above). Ruth Duttenhöfer offers a reasoned case for assigning the codex approximately to the period between 280 and 340 CE. She notes that we have a ‘cursive documentary script under the influence of the chancery style’.8 This would point to a date somewhere in the 3rd and 4th centuries. She also notes that the codex exhibits writing in 3 The conference took place in 2014 (it was organised by the editors of this volume and Edith Hall). 4 For this information, see Babcock (2012) 1 with n. 1. 5 Babcock (2012) 1 with n. 3 and 7–8. 6 Babcock (2012) 10–11. 7 Babcock (2012) 10. 8 Duttenhöfer (2012) 15.

© Maria Kanellou and Chris Carey, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004521353_002

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Kanellou and Carey

brown ink, which though used in the 2nd and 3rd centuries became typical in the 4th century.9 This would make a date at or near the beginning of the 3rd century less likely. She also points out that the codex shows no tendencies towards the Byzantine style; this would suggest a date before the second half of the 4th century. On the basis of comparison with dated documents she finds that the closest parallels date from the last two decades of the 3rd century and the first four of the 4th century.10 The metrics of the text are broadly consistent with the papyrological evidence. Akihiko Watanabe concludes that the relaxed metrics of the epigrams ‘suggest a date after the mid-second century A.D. and before the revival of strict prosody in the fifth century’.11 The metre of the epigrams is the elegiac couplet, and (assuming that titles are consistently used throughout the codex) the length varies from shorter poems of one to four couplets to others that exceed ten lines, some reaching eight couplets or more.12 Of course, it is always possible that our understanding of the length of the Yale papyrus epigrams is to some degree distorted by the accidental omission of titles. Brevity was a desirable feature of the epigrams anthologised in Meleager’s and Philip’s Garlands. In his prooemium (AP 4.2.3–6 = GPh 1.3–6), Philip stresses brevity as the ‘arena’ where he competes with Meleager:13 … ἀντανέπλεξα / τοῖς Μελεαγρείοις ὡς ἴκελον στεφάνοις. / ἀλλὰ παλαιοτέρων εἰδὼς κλέος, ἐσθλὲ Kάμιλλε, / γνῶθι καὶ ὁπλοτέρων τὴν ὀλιγοστιχίην (‘… Ι in my turn plaited a wreath14 resembling those of Meleager. But you know, noble Kamille, the glory of the older poets; learn also the short verses of the younger ones’). Parmenion 9 10

11 12 13

14

Duttenhöfer (2012) 16 says that the Yale papyrus codex exhibits handwriting in two types of ink: pages 1–8 are written in brown ink; pages 9–23 in black; page 24 is blank. Duttenhöfer (2012) 12–18 and for the comparanda 16 n. 49. The dating has not gone unchallenged, however. In particular, reservations about the palaeographical date of the codex have been expressed by Ast (2014), who objected that a wider timeframe should be allowed, on the ground that the script is paralleled in papyri dating from the second half of the 4th century. Watanabe (2012) 40. See the table charts in Wilkinson (2012a) 25–6. In Meleager’s Garland 71 epigrams are longer than eight lines, while in Philip’s Garland just one (see Gow/Page (1968) I, xxxvii). For the length of the epigrams composed by Asklepiades, Hedylos, Kallimachos, and Poseidippos, see Bowie (2007) 104–9. On epigrammatum longum, see the essays in Morelli (2008). Οn the length of epigrams, see Neger (2019) 181–3 with further bibliography. For the epigrams, we have used Paton’s edition. The plural στεφάνοις could reflect the inclusion of numerous poets in Meleager’s Garland, or point to the use of epigrammatic sequences on various topics, or even refer to epigrammatic books (Cameron (1993) 19–33 suggested that Meleager’s Garland consisted of four books, divided by subgenre).

(AP 9.342.1–2 = GPh 11.1–2), a contributor to Philip’s Garland, also says that ‘an epigram of many lines does not, I say, conform to the Muses’ law’15 (φημὶ πολυστιχίην ἐπιγράμματος οὐ κατὰ Mούσας / εἶναι …).16 In the Milan Papyrus only a few epigrams are longer than eight lines (19, 63, 74, and 78 A–B).17 Brevity does not seem to have been a desideratum of the epigrams preserved in the Yale papyrus codex, and Wilkinson argues that the statistics for them look closer to those for the epigrams composed by Agathias (with 27 epigrams out of 97 being longer than eight lines) and by Martial (88 out of 1172 epigrams are longer than fourteen lines). He suggests that the Byzantine anthologists’ preference for brevity may partly explain the survival of just 37 W and part of 28 W (its last four verses), in the Greek Anthology.18 A striking feature of the codex is the Egyptian colour of several of its poems:19 we find Alexandria (21 W), the cities of Hermopolis (7, 9, and 21 W), Lykopolis (29 W), and the village of Skinepoïs (22 W); 29 W is about Triphis – this is the Greek name for the lion goddess Repyt  – venerated in Athribis of the Panopolite nome. In addition, some of the epigrams could have been inspired by current political affairs. The topicality of the Yale papyrus epigrams suggests, as Wilkinson rightly notes, that the codex was intended (perhaps exclusively) for a local readership  – and we have no proof that the collection was widely circulated.20 In turn, this could further explain (together with their length) why just two of them survive in the Greek Anthology. The question posed by Wilkinson is a valid one: ‘Is the relentless topicality of the Yale poet extraordinary?’21 It is hard to believe that a poetic form 15 16

17 18 19 20 21

Translation from Paton (1998) 185. Cf. Cyrill. AP 9.369: πάγκαλόν ἐστ’ ἐπίγραμμα τὸ δίστιχον· ἢν δὲ παρέλθῃς / τοὺς τρεῖς, ῥαψῳδεῖς, κοὐκ ἐπίγραμμα λέγεις (‘an epigram of two lines has every merit, but if you exceed three lines you are a rhapsode, not an epigrammatist’, translation (adapted) from Paton (1998) 203). For Kyrillos (of unknown date), see Page (1981) 115, who cites the isopsephon Leon. AP 6.327 = FGE 6: εἷς πρὸς ἕνα ψήφοισιν ἰσάζεται, οὐ δύο δοιοῖς· / οὐ γὰρ ἔτι στέργω τὴν δολιχογραφίην (‘one verse here gives the same figures as the other, not a distich the same as a distich, for I no longer care to be lengthy’, translation from Paton (1999a) 473). Both epigrams stress brevity as a feature of the genre. In general, the Milan Papyrus epigrams are longer than the ones composed by Poseidippos and preserved in the Greek Anthology (see Sider (2004) 39–40, cited by Wilkinson (2012a) 27). Wilkinson (2012a) 26–7. There are, though, exceptions: see Pall. AP 10.56 (18 verses). Wilkinson (2012a) 35. See Ast pp. 66–73 and Floridi pp. 27–9 in this volume. See Babcock (2012) 8, who tentatively suggested that the epigrams could have been produced in Hermopolis. Wilkinson (2012a) 35–6; the question is posed on page 36.

3

Introduction

that thrived in antiquity22 and attracted a huge number of poets of varying poetic talent, gradually absorbing almost any topic and theme, would not have encompassed more local topics in order to be enjoyed by a local, perhaps a very local, audience/readership. The reference to the small village of Skinepoïs (the only mention in all Greek literature) makes more sense if we take the codex to preserve epigrams intended for a local readership, not for the wider Greco-Roman world.23 Turning now to the presentation of the texts in the codex, the surviving twenty-two titles look perfunctory24 and seem relatively unsystematic in their usage: ἄλλο ὁμοίως (‘another [epigram] on a similar topic / in a similar vein’) appears twice; ἄ̣λλα ὁμοίω̣ς (‘others/more on a similar topic / in a similar vein’) appears once but its use, as Wilkinson rightly notes, is unclear: it may suggest that more than one epigram was placed under this title or that the title introduced a single epigram;25 ἄλλο appears three times and due to the codex’s fragmentary state we cannot be certain whether it simply marks a division between two epigrams or signals a juxtaposition of epigrams which are closely linked thematically, especially since we also encounter the titles (a) ἄλλο ὁμοίως and (b) ἄλλο εἰς Νε̣ ῖ̣ [̣ λον] (‘another one on Neilos’, p. 5, l. 26) serving this purpose. The form of the title in p. 10, l. 19 is unclear: it could be ἄλλ[ο, but it could also be ἄλλ[ο ὁμοίως or even ἄλλ[α or it could have been followed by the prepositional phrase εἰς + accusative, as elsewhere in the codex. Also ambiguous is the function of the title ἄλλα π̣ρ[ὸ]ς δουλι̣[ (‘others against/to (?) slave/slavish (?)’, p. 3, l. 18);26 it is not clear if it indicates that more than one epigram follows, or suggests a connection with the preceding epigram, or signifies the transition to another theme/thematic grouping. Intriguing is also the fragmentary title on page 17 line 3 ἄλλο . . επι̣ ν[̣ that based on the surviving scraps is unique in form in the codex. Here, we could have e.g. ἄλλο ἀ̣ν̣επ̣ιν̣[or ἄλλο ε̣ὐ̣επ̣ιν̣[ that would give us ἄλλο ἀνεπ̣ιν̣[όητον (‘another obscure [epigram]’) or, contrariwise, ἄλλο εὐεπι̣ ν̣[όητον (‘another easy to understand’). Apart from these titles, we have the formula εἰς + accusative for denoting

the subject matter of an epigram,27 the title ἐπ{ε}ιστολ̣[ὴ] τῷ [αὐ]τ̣ῷ (‘a letter to the same person’, p. 4, l. 20), and the lacunose … πρυ]ταν⟨ε⟩ίας ἄλλ(ων)/ἄλλ(ου) (‘on the prytanies of others/of another’ (Ast) or ‘on the campaigns of others’ (Wilkinson), p. 11, l. 27)’.28 To sum up, as far as the use of ἄλλο in the codex’s titles is concerned, we have ἄλλο three times, ἄλλο ὁμοίως two times, ἄλλ ̣ α ὁμοίως̣ once, ἄλλο or ἄλλα combined with a descriptive prepositional phrase twice, one case (ἄλλ[ο) in which the exact form of the title is uncertain, and ἄλλο . . επ̣ιν̣[ discussed in the preceding paragraph. Based on these figures (even from this small sample of surviving titles), we appear to have no attempt at a consistent use of titles. In addition, two titles suggest ignorance of the identity of the central figure (taken to be real, as it seems), indicating that they were not added by a poet but either by an editor, who could have extracted epigrams and sequences of epigrams from an original anthology, or by a scribe:29 (a) εἴς τινα Δημήτριον (‘on a certain Demetrios’) (p. 6, l. 5)30 and also εἴς τινα Ἑρμοπολ(ίτην) μ[οιχεία]ς ἐγκαλ̣[ούμενον] (‘on a certain citizen of Hermopolis accused of adultery’, p. 5, l. 10).31 In both these cases, the originator of the titles seems to have known only what he found in the poems. If we are close to the truth with the suggested restorations for the title ἄλλο . . επ̣ιν̣ [as ἄλλο ἀνεπ̣ιν̣[όητον or ἄλλο εὐεπ̣ιν̣[όητον, this would confirm that the titles were added by an editor or a scribe. Wilkinson has reasonably argued that the epigrams belong to a single-author collection due to the lack of ascriptions in the codex; none of the twenty-two surviving titles mentions an author’s name.32 The thematic pairs of epigrams, the verbal and geographical links between them, and the consistency in style33 support this view, but admittedly do not constitute bulletproof criteria. The imitation, ‘recycling’, and adaptation of thematic and verbal material lie at the core of the poetic form. Thematic grouping and juxtaposition of epigrams is also not exclusive to single-author collections, as exemplified 27 28

22

23 24 25 26

Not only do thousands of epigrams survive through the medieval tradition and hundreds in papyri, either in fragmentary state or as incipits, but also thousands of them have been inscribed on tombs and statues. For a study of the interrelationship between literary and inscriptional epigram, especially with regard to literariness, see Hunter (2019). Wilkinson (2012a) 35. Wilkinson (2012a) 25. Wilkinson (2012a) 24. For the title, see Wilkinson (2012a) 124.

29 30 31 32

33

See, though, the clumsy title εἰς τὸν ὑπογε̣ γραμμέν̣ ον (‘οn the undermentioned (?)’, p. 12, l. 32). On 26 W (p. 11, ll. 27–35), see Ast in this volume pp. 66–73, with earlier bibliography on the topic. Floridi (2014b) 5 suggests that a scribe could have introduced titles (and errors) while copying from a complete book of poetry. Cf. Wilkinson (2012a) 25. For the title, see Wilkinson (2012a) 136. Wilkinson (2012a) 30–3. He argues that the poet’s name could have been included at the top of the first page and perhaps on the last page (Wilkinson (2012a) 31). Benelli (2015) argues that we have a multi-author anthology with some epigrams perhaps by Palladas; cf. Floridi (2016a) 52–3. See Wilkinson (2012a) 30–3.

4

Kanellou and Carey

by the sequences preserved from Meleager’s Garland and Agathias’ Cycle in the Greek Anthology. Regina Höschele has also recently argued that subtler modes of arrangement exist in Philip’s Garland, too.34 However, unless new papyrological evidence related to the Yale papyrus codex changes the present picture, current evidence tips the scale in favour of the codex preserving epigrams from a single-author anthology. The question that follows is an obvious one: if this is a single-author anthology, can we identify the author? Wilkinson attributed the epigrams to Palladas of Alexandria,35 a prolific poet, as is evident from the c.150 epigrams that survive under his name in the Greek Anthology.36 In these poems a unique and striking poetic persona emerges, querulous and scornful, identifying himself as a Hellene (that is, as a non-Christian) and a poor schoolteacher (γραμματικός), unhappily married and embittered by life, at the same time learned and widely read in Greek poetry, and sharply witty, with a gift for trenchant and elegant formulation. Modern scholars tend to take the speaker’s statements in Palladas’ poetry as autobiographical.37 This is not demonstrably false, but we should not rule out the possibility that this is in part an assumed persona with the poems including different levels of fictionalisation. Palladas’ poetry reinvigorates the tradition of skoptic epigram as personal invective and 34

35

36

37

These are the juxtaposition of model and variation; the interweaving of epigrams based on thematic, structural, verbal, or intertextual connections; epigrammatic pairs or series; and clusters on key themes within individual letter groups. See Höschele (2019). The attribution of the Yale papyrus poems to Palladas has gained the acceptance of several scholars (see e.g. van Opstall (2014) 158 n. 2 for a related list; Colombo (2021) 79 n. 2); Gutzwiller (2019) 365 says that ‘the Yale Codex indicates that Palladas’ lifetime production of epigrams was much greater than suspected in the past’); Agosti (2019) 598 argues that at the present state of research the traditional chronology is preferable, ‘while it would also be possible that the Yale codex preserved an anthology of the early production of the poet’. The attribution to Palladas has also met resistance (see n. 32 and pp. 4–5 of this chapter). As Baldwin (1985) 267 puts it: ‘Quantitively at least, Palladas is numéro uno in the Anthology.’ There is no obvious reason not to accept the designation ‘Palladas of Alexandria’. Palladas in fact tells us nothing directly about his origin or place of residence. What information we do get comes not from his poems but from the MSS. The lemmata of AP 9.393 and 11.204 point to Egypt and the designation Ἀλεξανδρεύς is added to his name in the ascriptions to several of his epigrams; cf. Vezzosi in this volume n. 31. The ascription to him of the poem to the Neoplatonic philosopher Hypatia (AP 9.400), if genuine, would be consistent with (but would not demand) residence in Alexandria (for bibliography on this epigram, see Floridi (2016a) 51 n. 2). Contrast Baldwin (1985).

iambic themes play a key role in it.38 The most compelling argument for the attribution of the Yale papyrus poems to this poet is that 37 W (p. 21, ll. 4–8), also preserved (with some variants) in the Greek Anthology as AP 9.379, was attributed by the corrector of the Palatine MS (‘C’), to Palladas. The epigram in question turns a proverb on its head: contrary to popular opinion, ‘even a sheep would bite good and unmeddlesome men, though not even a snake would dare to bite bad men’.39 Lines 28–31 in page 12 are also preserved as AP 9.127 (with a different hemiepes in v. 4) and are gnomic in tone, comparing old wine that has turned into vinegar with an old man’s bitter anger.40 The epigram (which in the Yale papyrus codex forms part of a longer poem that occupies lines 17–31) could have been composed by Palladas (it matches his style and themes), but in all our sources it is without ascription41 and so one cannot unequivocally accept the attribution. Ιn support of the attribution, Wilkinson pointed to a number of affinities between the Yale papyrus epigrams and those attributed to Palladas in the Greek Anthology (such as the low register vocabulary, thematic and metrical similarities). However, some features shared by the Yale poet and Palladas form generic or subgeneric characteristics of the poetic form (such as wordplay, the use of personal names containing a joke and of jokes based on a word’s multiple connotations) and so they do not help us much with the question of authorship.42 In addition, the codex is too fragmentary to determine whether the poems collectively attempted to create a single coherent persona.43 This means that the seeming thematic bond created by the topics of poverty and old age shared in first-person declarations of the Yale papyrus epigrams and the poems of Palladas preserved in the Greek Anthology may prove to be specious. The same applies to the possible description of the speaker in 4 W (p. 4, ll. 31–2) as a διδάσ̣[κα]λος (‘teacher’). In other words, though the two 38 39 40 41

42 43

See e.g. Henderson, W. J. (2008a) and (2008b). On the epigram (and its translation), see Henderson, W. J. pp. 61–3 and Vezzosi p. 52 in this volume. On the epigrams, see Henderson, W. J. p. 60 and Kanellou/Carey pp. 7–8 in this volume. Both the Palatine Corrector and Planudes labelled it as ἀδέσποτον. It is without ascription in the syllogae minores E, Σπ, and H, where it is followed or preceded by an epigram/epigrams composed by Palladas (see Wilkinson (2012a) 42 with n. 170). Kanellou (2014) 134. Cf. Kanellou/Carey in this volume n. 50 (p. 12); for a different opinion, see Gutzwiller in this volume pp. 37–8. The assumption that the figure we meet in Palladas’ poetry as preserved in the Greek Anthology is the Palladas of the real world should not be used as the basis for denying the authenticity of the new poems, as though the poet could have only one mode and the Palladas of the Anthology is all that there was.

5

Introduction

sources definitely share some topics (and that is a basic feature of the genre), we might not have such a close match between the persona in the Palladan epigrams and the one(s) presented in the codex, as has been suggested. If we are to attribute the codex to one of the named epigrammatists whose work survives in the Greek Anthology, Palladas remains a viable candidate on the basis of the limited evidence at our disposal. But the attribution of the new epigrams to him raises problems, mainly because the assignment of the codex approximately to the period between 280 and 340 CE in the editio princeps44 contradicts previously accepted dates for Palladas: till the middle of the 20th century the poet was believed to have lived between the middle of the 4th and the middle of the 5th century,45 while the work of scholars such as Bowra and Cameron placed him in the period c.319–400 CE.46 Wilkinson in contrast tentatively placed the poet’s birth in the 250s or 260s and argued that his career as an epigrammatist spanned at least from c.300 until the early 330s.47 He based the redating of Palladas on several factors: Duttenhöfer’s dating of the codex,48 the Latin imitations of some Palladan epigrams by Ausonius and by the poets of Epigrammata Bobiensia, and his own interpretation of poems from the Yale papyrus codex49 and others attributed to Palladas in the Greek Anthology, where he proposed that certain historical allusions should be read against the backdrop of Constantine’s reign (324–37 CE). Wilkinson’s attribution of the Yale papyrus epigrams to Palladas, his redating of the poet and interpretation of individual Yale epigrams has sparked a lively and heated debate,50 but no consensus has so far been reached. 44 45 46

47 48 49

50

See pp. 1–2 in this chapter. See Wilkinson (2012a) 55 nn. 262 and 263 for bibliography on the topic. On Palladas’ date, see Vezzosi in this volume pp. 46–7. Bowra (1959); Cameron (1964a), (1964b), (1965b) (cited by Wilkinson (2012a) 55; Dijkstra (2014) 371 n. 3; Floridi (2016a) 51 n. 2). Ast (2014) proposed a wider timeframe for the Yale papyrus codex (offering comparanda from Hermopolis that date from the second half of the 4th century; see n. 10 in this chapter; cf. Floridi in this volume n. 31). If right, this would not exclude Palladas as a possible candidate for those adopting the ‘traditional’ dates for Palladas. Wilkinson (2012a) 54–6. See pp. 1–2 of this chapter. See his interpretation of the use of Hermopolis’ official epithets σεμνοτάτη and λαμπροτάτη in the Yale papyrus codex and of 26 W, which he sees as an attack on the Εmperor Galerius presented as inferior to his predecessor Diocletian and, more generally, as a satire of tetrarchic titulature. For bibliography on the topic, see the following footnote. See Wilkinson (2012a) 54–7; cf. Wilkinson (2009), (2010a), (2010b), and (2015a). Scholars have objected that Palladas’ poems fit better a later historical context. See Ast (2014); Dijkstra

2

The Collective Volume

The present volume does not attempt to offer a single coherent answer to the questions that have been raised by the publication of the Yale papyrus codex. Individual positions are taken and different angles of approach are presented, adopting complementary or even contradictory approaches to various issues ranging from the interpretation of individual epigrams to the larger issue of the attribution of the collection. In consequence, as well as moving the research on this epigrammatic collection forward, the book also offers a basis for comparison with the work other poets and other ancient anthologies, expanding in the process our understanding of the epigram as a poetic form and its rich and complex history. Chapter 2 (Kanellou and Carey) examines the nature of the codex’s epigrammatic sequence in pages 10–13, which has been characterised as purely political. It is argued that there are traces suggesting that non-political poems were also included. The chapter also examines the issue of the categorisation of the Yale papyrus epigrams into skoptic and epideictic ones. It questions the value of the term ‘epideictic’ for hermeneutic purposes and argues that the division of epigrams based on Kephalas’ editorial work proves to be too rigid to capture the complexity of epigram as a poetic form, and might not even mirror the ancient criteria for the creation of collections of epigrams. In addition, two epigrams – 35 W which seems to address the symptoms of love and 33 W with its treatment of Phaethon’s death – suggest that the codex included epigrams that could have been perceived by their poet (or compiler) and their original readership as belonging to subgeneric subdivisions other than skoptic and the ‘epideictic’. In the process of examining both issues, the chapter offers new interpretations of several Yale papyrus epigrams. From a different angle, Chapter 3 (Floridi) examines the ‘flexibility’ that the generic boundaries between epideictic and skoptic epigrams exhibit, and again reaches the conclusion that our classifications based on the Byzantine anthologists’ categorisations do not necessarily correspond to those of ancient poets. Floridi also examines the degree to which techniques (such as the parody of an epigrammatic form, second-person addresses, puns, hyperbole, and the use of mythical exempla) and themes common in skoptic epigrams are employed by the Yale poet. She also addresses the issue of topicality and other elements of the codex to reach larger conclusions about the development of skoptic epigram in antiquity. (2014); Benelli (2016); Cameron (2016a) and (2016b); Floridi (2016a) and in this volume n. 31; Colombo (2021).

6 Other chapters offer a comparative study between the codex and Palladas’ known epigrams from the Greek Anthology, and reach tentative conclusions about the authorship of the Yale papyrus epigrams and Palladas’ date. Chapter 4 (Gutzwiller) examines three Palladan sequences that survive in the Greek Anthology: AP 9.165– 75 on anger, AP 7.681–8 on Gessios, and AP 11.283–5 on a consul called Damonikos. Supporting the attribution of the codex to Palladas, Gutzwiller detects possible connections with the Yale papyrus epigrams in relation to the chosen themes, style, named persons, the speaker’s characteristics, and the organisational techniques employed. Chapter 5 (Vezzosi) focuses on epigrams from both the Yale papyrus codex and the Greek Anthology that could be characterised as philosophical and gnomic. Vezzosi first examines how Palladas incorporates in his poetry influences and material from different philosophical schools (Epicureanism, Stoicism, Cynicism, and Pythagoreanism) as well as commonsense worldly wisdom, and then turns her attention to the Yale papyrus epigrams where an association with philosophical schools can be detected (that is, 2 W with Pythagorean doctrines; 3 and 12 W with Cynicism). She also briefly discusses the issue of Palladas’ date, arguing that the poet probably lived from the second half of the 4th to early 5th century. Chapter 6 (Henderson) turns our attention to the use of both figurative language (metaphors, similes, idiomatic expressions) and mythical exempla in the Yale papyrus epigrams. Building on the work of Wilkinson, Henderson presents us with a range of possible thematic reconstructions for several poems and explores the way in which figurative language contributes to the development of meaning in the texts examined. He also revisits and offers new insights for 37 W (p. 21, ll. 4–8) and lines 28–31 of page 12 (28 W), both of which have survived in the Greek Anthology. Language is again the focus of Chapter 7 (Ast), though from a different perspective. Ast discusses 26 W (p. 11, ll. 27–35), with its reference to a ‘fourfold Sauromates’, within the context of the Yale papyrus

Kanellou and Carey

epigrams lampooning local politicians. He examines the meaning of πρυτανεύω and of the πρυτανεία motif in the codex, arguing that the codex’s local colour also applies to the ‘Sauromates epigram’, and that even if the last line is meant to invoke imperial titulature, an allusion to Emperor Galerius (as proposed by Wilkinson) seems improbable. This, we add, has implications for any conclusions on dating the poem and its author. The epigram’s basic point for Ast is that, regardless of the exact meaning of the phrase ‘fourfold Sauromates’, the poem mocks ‘a member of this ‘foreign’ (i.e. Sarmatian) family, [who] despite his inherited membership in the bouleutic class, was not the hotshot he imagined himself to be’.51 The last chapter of this book, Chapter 8 (Kanellou), argues that the literary value of the Yale papyrus epigrams is much higher than the scraps would at first suggest. The chapter focuses on 4 W, in which an old man suffers from gout, and shows how the poem reworks a rich poetic tradition, including Greek and probably Latin epigram and Greek comedy. In parallel, the chapter illustrates how the genre absorbed and miniaturised themes and motifs from comedy, with Lucian AP 11.403 forming a unique case study as the same poet seems to have explored the same theme in both epigram and comic paratragedy. Neither the volume nor any of the chapters claims to be the last word on the Yale papyrus codex. The aim is rather to stimulate further discussion of this fascinating and elusive text. Anything which adds to our knowledge of the Greek epigram merits in-depth study and this text, as well as throwing up tantalising questions of attribution and textual interpretation, complements what we had previously at our disposal, both medieval and papyrological, and offers insights into the range and nature of epigram collections in the imperial period. If these chapters individually or collectively provoke further attempts at interpretation, this slim book will have achieved its purpose. 51

See Ast p. 73 in this volume.

Chapter 2

Observations on the Yale Papyrus Codex: Epigrammatic Grouping and Subgeneric Variety Maria Kanellou and Chris Carey With the Yale papyrus codex we are clearly dealing with a book of some sort; and a collection of epigrams. The question is: what kind of a book of epigrams? What was in it and how was it organised? Unfortunately, the damaged state of the codex makes it difficult to give a precise answer to these questions. But we can at least detect organisational principles at work and get a sense of some of its contents. Given that no ascriptions survive, it is more likely that we are dealing with a single-author anthology of epigrams (though absolute certainty is impossible).1 Based on the surviving fragments, there are undeniably thematic and verbal links among the epigrams and certain epigrams similar in content are placed together. No internal clear-cut subgroups can be detected based on either subgenre, as in the Greek Anthology, or theme as in the Milan Papyrus (P. Mil. Vogl. VIII 309), where headings ‘divide’ the material into subsections. This chapter discusses two issues relating to the scope and shape of the collection: the first, more specific, is the content of the epigrammatic sequence in pages 9–13, which the first editor took to be (in modern terms) purely political in content, while the second addresses the more general question of subgeneric variety as a feature of the codex. 1

Epigrammatic Grouping in the Codex

As noted above, it has been argued that pages 9–13 of the Yale papyrus codex include an extended series of political epigrams,2 and indeed most epigrams in these pages deal with/are connected with a political matter. If ‘Eρμῆς̣ ̣ is the correct transcription in page 14 (line 7),3 the political material could have extended further. Hermes was a trickster and the patron of thieves (see e.g. the Homeric Hymn to Hermes 176–81), and the epigram’s topic could be similar to the preceding one, that is, 30 W (p. 13, ll. 26–31)

1 On the issue, see the Introduction of this volume pp. 3–4. 2 Wilkinson (2012a) 32. A list with the epigrams of pages 9–13 can be found in p. 22 of this volume. 3 Wilkinson (2012a) 172.

dealing with a corrupt politician who stole from a city.4 This is of course uncertain. Even if the transcription is correct and the poem is connected to stealing in some way, it is equally possible that the epigram’s subject matter was non-political. Theft is a recurrent motif in the iambographic tradition, specifically in the work of Hipponax, to which epigrammatic satire is heir. Among the surviving skoptic epigrams dealing with thieves Loukillios AP 11.176 is of particular relevance as it combines the motif of stealing with the god Hermes: the thief Aulos steals a statue of the god and boasts that he proved himself better in the ‘art’ of his patron deity.5 However, that does not mean that we should unhesitatingly characterise all surviving fragmentary epigrams in pages 9–13 as political. We should not rule out the possibility that non-political epigrams were included in this sequence, perhaps linked through (now lost) verbal or thematic links to other epigrams. We begin with an examination of the last four verses of epigram 28 W (p. 12, ll. 17–31). These verses, which are gnomic in character, also survive as an independent quatrain in the Greek Anthology (28 W p. 12, ll. 28–31 = AP 9.127): ἂν περι⸢λ⸣ειφθῇ̣ μ̣ι⸤̣ κρὸν ἐν ἄγγεσιν ἡδέος οἴνου,⸥ εἰς ὄξος τρέπετ̣αι τοῦ⸤το τὸ λειπόμενον·⸥ οὕτω ἀπαντλήσας τὸν ὅλον̣ ⸤βίον, εἰς βαθὺ δ’ ἐ⸥λθ̣ ὼ ̣ ̣ν τῆς ζωῆς ὁ γέρων γ̣ίν̣ ε̣ τ̣⸤α⸥ι ̣ ⸤ὀ⸥ξ̣⸤ύχολ⸥ο̣ς. If a little sweet wine is left over in jars, this remainder turns to vinegar. Likewise, having drawn off his entire life, and reached the bottom of his existence, the old man becomes irascible.6 4 Cf. Wilkinson (2012a) 172. We cannot, though, be certain how many epigrams p. 13 included and where exactly the one on the corrupt politician started. 5 For theft in Hipponax’s poetry, see e.g. frs 3a, 32, 79, and 117 West. For theft and poverty (another motif that appears in the Yale papyrus codex and has its roots in iambos), see West (1974) 29–30 and 146–7; Degani (1984) 265–6; Brown (1997) 80; Carey (2009b) 163; Allan (2019) 10. On thieves, see AP 11.174–84, with Floridi’s (2014a) commentary on the Loukillian epigrams (and further parallels). 6 Translation from Henderson, W. J. in this volume p. 60. Regarding the Yale papyrus epigrams, we follow the edition of Wilkin­son (2012a) unless otherwise stated. Translations have been adapted.

© Maria Kanellou and Chris Carey, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004521353_003

8

Kanellou and Carey

An old man’s bitterness resembles vinegar; people change with age as sweet wine will turn into vinegar, if left in a jar. Was this about politics? Nothing in the surviving lines suggests a political context. It is conceivable that the verses concerned a specific politician mentioned earlier in the poem; in this case we might suppose that the poem was largely topical with a more generalising tone at its close. But beyond the occurrence of political poems in the immediate context, there is no obvious reason so to suppose. And we have to accept the possibility (also raised by Wilkinson7) that lines 18–27 of page 12 formed a separate epigram whose title has been omitted by mistake. This, if true, would mean that pages 9–13 included a non-political epigram (p. 12, ll. 28–31) on the general theme of bitterness engendered by age. Based on current evidence, the quatrain is actually closer in theme to other epigrams in the codex where the speaker emphasises his old age, and it is noteworthy that in all other cases in this codex where the topic of old age appears, nowhere is the context political: in 4 W (p. 4, ll. 20–37) the speaker is an old man who suffers from gout (τό̣ δε γῆρας [ἔχω] χρείαν θ̣ερ̣ απε̣ί[ας], ‘my ̣ old age, I [have] need treatment’); 34 W (p. 17, ll. 3–9) is about an old man (ε̣ἰμὶ ̣ μέν εἰμι γέρων …, ‘I am, yes I am old’) and seems to be somehow connected to love;8 and 35 W (p. 18, ll. 1–9), probably about the destructive power of love, has nothing to do with politics.9 Nowhere else in the codex does old age feature in a political context. Τhe same applies to the theme of anger (ὁ γέρων γ̣ίν̣ ε̣ τ̣⸤α⸥ι ̣ ⸤ὀ⸥ξ⸤ύχολ⸥ο ̣ς, ‘the old man becomes irascible’, p. 12, l. 31) that ̣ we also meet in 12 W (p. 6, l. 14; θυμοῦ, ‘anger’), an epigram possibly linked with Cynicism.10 Epigram 28 W could then have been non-political and may (for all we know) owe its location on page 12, as suggested above,11 to a (now lost) verbal or thematic linkage with the preceding epigram(s). Moreover, the content of some of these lacunose epigrams remains uncertain, and some epigrams look like better candidates for addressing political issues or referring to political personalities than others. One such case is 22 W (p. 10, ll. 13–18) in which we read about a man called Lasthenes and a man from the Egyptian village of Skinepoïs (who may or may not be the same person):

7 8 9 10 11

Wilkinson (2012a) 167. As he says, ‘[i]t is possible, however, that a title was inadvertently omitted’. On 34 W, see p. 19 in this chapter. On 35 W, see pp. 16–19 in this chapter. On 12 W, see Henderson, W. J. pp. 57–8 and Vezzosi p. 52 in this volume. See p. 7 in this chapter.

[. .] . λ̣α̣[ αλλ . [ οὔτε φιληρετμ̣[ πεμψα . [ Λασθένεος πρ̣[ ± 22 ]θον 17 ὁ Σκινεπωΐτη̣[ς … … neither oar-loving … sent … of Lasthenes … a man from Skinepoïs … Lasthenes could be a real or fictional person. The name is fairly common; Wilkinson offers epigraphical attestations and refers to individuals of the name who played a role in significant historical events, such as the Cretan general who fought against Rome in the early 60s BCE and the Olynthian accused by Demosthenes of betraying his city to Philip of Macedon.12 None of these candidates can be ruled out in such a fragmentary poem, but the local reference to the Egyptian village of Skinepoïs suggests rather that our Lasthenes is an otherwise unknown individual. If this is a fictive figure, the name might have been used because of its etymology (deriving from λαός ‘people’ and σθένος ‘strength’) or allude to the figure of Lasthenes in Aischylos’ Seven against Thebes 620–4,13 one of the defenders chosen by Eteokles, praised for having an old man’s wisdom in the body of a man in his prime. In this case, the name could imply similar features for our Lasthenes, too.14 The name’s etymology and potential linkage to the Lasthenes of Aischylos would match a political content. The epithet φιληρετμ̣[(used exclusively by Homer of the Phaeacians, with just one exception15) would fit a mythic context, but Homeric epithets are redeployed far too imaginatively in Greek epigram to place too much weight on this. This is about as far as conjecture will take us. A political reading also remains a possibility for 19 W (p. 9, ll. 22–4). The poem could concern a man called

12 13 14

15

See Wilkinson (2012a) 157. The passage is noted by Wilkinson (2012a) 157. One can compare the use of Aristeides in 13 W (p. 6, ll. 21–9), whose identity (Aristeides the Just or a namesake?) remains uncertain. For this epigram, see Henderson, W. J. in this volume pp. 55–6. It was also later used by Nonnos of Panopolis, as Wilkinson (2012a) 157 observes.

9

Observations on the Yale Papyrus Codex

Gestios.16 At this stage its content is irrecoverable given that only the last few words/letters of its verses survive and the transcriptions are uncertain (in l. 23 Wilkinson (2012a) 83 and 151 gives:]ναι εἶχον ἂν εἶπεν or εἶχον ἀνεῖπεν17). But if the epigram proves to concern the Gessios from the Palladan epigrams preserved in the Greek Anthology (AP 7.681–818 and APl 317),19 then we would have another political poem in pages 9–13 of the Yale papyrus codex. In contrast to the preceding two epigrams, a political topic seems a far less likely scenario for 20 W (p. 9, ll. 25–9) because no political elements or possible connections to other political epigrams (as in the case of 19 W) can be detected. Let us examine the poem:

[ἄλ]λο

ειμ̣ . . [ . . ]ρ̣[ ±6 ] ἐπὶ γῆς ἐστι γ̣. . . . ει . . . πάν[τοτε] πα̣ τρῴζων εσ̣ . [ . . ] . π̣ν̣ια . ι ̣ . οὐκ ἔσται πῖ̣ ο̣ ν̣ ̣ τέμενος τόδ̣ ε . [ . . . ] . . . [ . . ]. . . .20 ἀλλὰ κενὸν Μουσῶν ἠρίον̣ ἀλ̣ ̣λο̣ ̣τρ̣ ̣[ί]ω̣ν̣.

Another [epigram]

. . . on earth is . . . always acting like his father . . . there will not be this rich shrine/this will not be a rich shrine . . . but a cenotaph of others’/foreign Muses. The epigram could open with the first person declaration εἰμί, as does 34 W (εἰ̣ μ̣ ὶ μέν εἰμι …, ‘I am, yes I am …’).21 Wilkinson’s transcription οὐκ ἔστα νη̣ὸν̣ ̣ τέμενος τό̣δε (‘he/ it did not stand (?) … this precinct a temple’) creates two problems: the presence of the intransitive aorist ἔστα followed by a noun in the accusative, and the dialectical mixing in the combination of the Doric-Aeolic ἔστα with the Ionic νηόν.22 Peter Parsons offers an alternative 16 17 18 19

20 21 22

γέστιοσην in l. 24 is transcribed by Wilkinson (2012a) 83 as Γέστιος ἦν (‘it was Gestios’); less likely is  – as Wilkinson (2012a) 151 notes – the transcription γ’ ἕστιος ἦν (‘and he was the hearth’s’). Perhaps we are meant to punctuate as εἶχον· ἀνεῖπεν (‘I/they had; (s)he announced/proclaimed’) or change into εἶχον ἂν εἰπεῖν (‘I/ they could have said’). On this epigrammatic sequence, see Gutzwiller in this volume pp. 38–41. The transcription and association with Gessios has met resistance, see e.g. Henderson, W. J. (2016b) 100 n. 5; Floridi in this volume p. 22, n. 7 with further bibliography. But see Gutzwiller in this volume pp. 38–41, who accepts the association. For this verse, we follow Peter Parson’s suggestion (see the main text). We cannot rule out the possibility that the epigram opened with the conditional particle: εἰ μ[ὲν (‘and if’) or εἴ μ[οι (‘if to/for me’). Wilkinson (2012a) 153.

transcription which seems more promising: οὐκ ἔσται π̣ῖο̣ ν̣ ̣ τέμενος τό̣δε (‘there will not be this rich shrine’ or ‘this will not be a rich shrine’). This looks like an echo of Pindar’s Pythian 4.56 πρὸς πῖον τέμενος Κρονίδα (‘to the fertile precinct of Kronos’ son’), as Parsons argues.23 If he is right, this would give us another example of adaptation of earlier poetry in this codex,24 possibly combined with another intertext in the last verse. As Wilkinson notes, the phrase κενὸν Μουσῶν ἠρίον̣ (‘a cenotaph of Muses’) may adapt Kallimachos fr. 633 Pf.: Μουσέων κεινòς ἀνὴρ ἀτέει (‘a man devoid of the Muses is mad/a fool’).25 The precise meaning of the final couplet remains unclear. On its own the phrase κενὸν … ἠρίον̣ could describe a real tomb. But the addition of Μουσῶν (‘a cenotaph of Muses’) gives us a metaphor. The essential idea may well be lack of poetic talent or erudition, as suggested by Wilkinson.26 Since the verses probably start with an individual, the phrase could dismiss him as talentless and derivative (Μουσῶν … ἀλ̣ λ̣ ο̣ τ̣ ρ̣ [̣ ί]ω̣ν)̣ . The ‘cenotaph’ could be his intellect or his poetic corpus. It could mean ‘other people’s poetry’ or ‘someone else’s poetry’; if so, an obvious intertext (here inverted) would be the vigorous assertion of originality in Aristophanes’ Wasps 1022 (οὐκ ἀλλοτρίων ἀλλ’ οἰκείων Μουσῶν στόμαθ’ ἡνιοχήσας, ‘holding the reins of a team of Muses that were his not someone else’s’27). Alternatively, the double reference to a site/structure (τέμενος, ἠρίον)̣ could indicate a place (a city? a library?), in which case Μουσῶν … ἀλ̣ ̣λο̣ ̣τρ̣ ̣[ί]ω̣ν̣ may mean ‘of foreign Muses’, the point being that this place is, or risks being, a

23

24 25 26 27

We would like to thank Peter Parsons for sharing his thoughts with us (through email). He says, ‘As for dialect, p. 9.28 οὐκ ἔϲτα νη̣ὸν̣ ̣ τέμενοϲ τόδε apparently presents Doric ἔϲτα alongside Ionic νηὸν: ed. pr. notes the difficulty, and that of the syntax, with an accusative noun following an intransitive verb. We can avoid both these problems by redistributing the series of upright strokes to give οὐκ ἔϲται π̣ῖο̣ ν̣ ̣ τέμενοϲ τόδε: πῖον τέμενοϲ then contrasts with κενὸν … ἠρίον in the next line’. Given the epigram’s lacunose state, it is difficult to make suggestions about the intertext’s effect. Perhaps since Pindar’s passage is about the successful Greek colonisation of Libya, the point may be that instead of a rich outpost of Greek culture in North Africa this place/person is culturally bereft. On this issue, see pp. 10–20 of this chapter; Kanellou in this volume pp. 74–86; Floridi in this volume pp. 27–9. Wilkinson (2012a) 153. Pfeiffer prints †κενòς†; κεινòς is Heyne’s correction (as mentioned by Pfeiffer). Wilkinson (2012a) 153. The phrase belongs to Aristophanes’ self-description as a dramatist (see e.g. Sommerstein (2004) 101 (for the translation) and 215). Cf. Antiphan. AP 11.322.1–2 = GPh 9.1–2 … μούσης / ἀλλοτρίης … (‘the poetry of others’). Both texts are noted by Wilkinson (2012a) 153.

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place devoid of local creativity. At this point we are so far from solid ground that possibilities multiply without any basis for choosing between them. What we can say is that these verses do not appear to be political, at least on the basis of what survives, but could relate to or emerge from poetic rivalry or squabbles. We can however be pretty sure that the epigram plays with conventions of sepulchral, and especially cenotaphic, epigrams.28 The last line varies the standard expression ‘empty tomb’ employed in cenotaphic epigrams either in the first verse or, as here, in the last one. Asklepiades AP 7.500.1 = HE 31.1 employs the exact same phrase κενὸν ἠρίον: the dead merchant Euippos invites the traveller who passes by his empty tomb to inform his father Melesagoras about his death when he comes to Chios (cf. the most common expression κενεὸν σῆμα in Call. AP 7.271.4 = HE 45.4, Pers. AP 7.539.6 = HE 9.6, and Pancrat. AP 7.653.4 = HE 3.4; κενὸν … τύμβον in Leon. AP 7.652.7–8 = HE 15.7–8; κενεὸς τάφος in Marc.Arg. AP 7.395.1 = GPh 20.1). In addition, the deictic pronoun τό̣δε (l. 28) directs our attention to this (metaphorical?) shrine/tomb that the reader is invited to imagine as being visible; the epigram thus plays with a popular inscriptional convention of sepulchral and ekphrastic epigrams, in which the speaking voice invites the epigram’s recipient either to look at or imagine an artefact or building or space, including a tomb or its occupant. The first editor suggests an association of 20 W with 19 W and in turn with Gestios/Gessios.29 But nothing in (what survives of) the text connects 19 and 20 W. Even the title [ἄλ]λο (‘another’) preceding 20 W cannot secure a strong connection with 19 W, given the unsystematic use of the lemma in this codex.30 One can compare the specific title of 9 W, that is, ἄλλο εἰς Νε̣ ̣ῖ[̣ λον (‘another on Neilos’) that follows 8 W ‘on Neilos of Hermopolis’ (ε[ἰ]ς Νε̣ῖλ̣ ον Ἑρμοῦ πόλ̣ (εως)) and indicates that we have a thematic pair. Its use would be superfluous, if ἄλλο in this codex instantly implied that 9 W was another epigram on Neilos. On balance, based on what survives from 20 W, any linkage to a political affair or a politician remains a matter of conjecture. Though much remains uncertain, the evidence such as it is suggests that pages 9–13 may well have included epigrams that were unconnected with politics (such as 20 and 28 W). If this is a single-author collection, the poet 28 29 30

For cenotaphic epigrams, see most recently Cairns (2016) 265–75. Wilkinson (2012a) 152–4. Also doubtful is the association which he suggests between the epigram and the destruction of the Alexandrian Museum. On the issue of titles in this codex, see the Introduction of this volume p. 3.

could have varied the sequence on politics by inserting epigrams on other subjects, juxtaposed with the ‘political’ ones on the basis of minor thematic and/or verbal links that have been lost in this badly preserved codex. In support of this suggestion, it should be observed that although it is inescapably true that ‘material on similar topics appears together’, with thematic connections often strengthened through geographical and/or verbal links,31 there are cases where the epigrams seem to be more loosely arranged. This, in our opinion, is exemplified by 1 W (p. 3, ll. 9–17) and 2 W (p. 3, ll. 18–32) that differ considerably in content: the first one may be about relocation due to war and the second one concerns Pythagorean dietary ethics. Wilkinson argues that they might have been placed together due to the subtle linkage created between them through the use of Latin loanwords,32 or perhaps also due to other verbal or minor thematic links that are now lost. This could be true. However, the idea of juxtaposition based on Latin loanwords contrasts sharply with the very visible links between the following two epigrams (3 and 4 W, p. 4 ll. 4–19 and ll. 20–37), both of which are addressed to and concern a certain Klematios.33 In addition, epigram 28 W, mentioned above,34 does not seem to be connected with what precedes and follows it in page 12. The use of titles specifying (no matter how accurately or perfunctorily) the content of each epigram ‘separated’ the collection into small units, some of which had closer thematic/verbal interrelations than others. 2

Subgeneric Variety in the Codex

2.1 Skoptic Epigrams It is an undeniable fact that several epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex can be classified as skoptic. For instance, 7 W (p. 5, ll. 10–14) mocks an adulterer called Hermaios (see the epigram’s title εἴς τινα Ἑρμοπολ(ίτην) μ[οιχεία]ς ἐγκαλ[̣ ούμενον], ‘οn a certain Hermοpolite citizen accused of adultery’). The theme itself is one found elsewhere in comic and satiric genres.35 It is also almost certain that 8 W (p. 5, ll. 15–25) lampoons a man called Neilos: ε[ἰ]ς Νε̣ῖλ̣ ον Ἑρμοῦ πόλ̣ (εως) ο[± 4 ε]ὐ̣δαίμων̣ ‘Eρμο̣ῦ πό̣λις ὡς ευ̣ . [

31 32 33 34 35

Wilkinson (2012a) 31. Wilkinson (2012a) 33. On 4 W, see Kanellou’s chapter in this volume pp. 81–5. See pp. 7–8 of this chapter. See e.g. Hippon. fr. 30 West; Ar. Ach. 848–50 and Pax 978–85.

11

Observations on the Yale Papyrus Codex

[. .] . . ἄλλαι π̣ροπετῶς αλλ . . . . υ[ . . . [. .] . . ι χ̣ ορον πάλιν . δ̣[. .] . . [.] . [ δυστυχεῖ ἂν̣ π̣ρόφ̣α̣σιν̣ ̣ [ 19 Νεῖλο[ς ὁ] μ̣ηδ̣ ̣αμόθ̣ε̣ν̣ θ̣υ . [ Νεῖλος ὁ̣ το̣ υ̣ χώρ ̣ ο̣ υ . αι[̣ Νεῖλος ὃν ἐν κλοιῷ . . ο . . . [ καὶ τῶν ἀνδροφό̣ν̣[ων Νεῖλος ὃς̣ ̣ ἐκ στα⟨υ⟩ροῦ κ̣ . [ 24 νῦν τῆς λα⟨μ⟩προτάτης̣ π̣[ On Neilos from Hermopolis … fortunate Hermopolis … … others hastily … … (…)dance again … [would give] a motive/pretext/reason to the unfortunate … Neilos, the man from nowhere … Neilos who is the land’s … Neilos whom in a collar … and of/from (?) the murderers … Neilos who from the cross … now of the most splendid …36 Although much of the detail must remain obscure, there are features in these lines enabling us to grasp the tone and detect generic positioning. The poem opens with a makarismos – Hermopolis is blessed as ‘fortunate’ – which seems to be formulaic in the context of this codex.37 This may be simply an honorific address; but equally it may imply that the city’s good fortune derives from its treatment of the Hermopolite Neilos. This Neilos, who features in lines 20–5, could be a real person – the name is very common in and after the Hellenistic period.38 With this possibility in mind, we should avoid taking anything in the poem as fact beyond name and location. Lampoon distorts and the real Neilos, if there was one, may have borne little real resemblance to the figure we meet in this poem. In addition, we do not have to suppose that the reader believed all of this, any more than the audience of Athenian Old Comedy really believed that their politicians were foreigners and ex-slaves.39 Hyperbolic mockery

is a useful way of aligning speaker and audience against a target of attack. But equally possibly Neilos may be a fictive figure and the poem could be an exercise in poetic aggression of a sort common in the epigrammatic tradition, or the name may be a pseudonym for a real person, a satiric ploy long established by this date.40 Given the geographical context, it is difficult not to see a play on the personal name and the river god Nile. The play is perhaps most pronounced in the repetition of Νεῖλος, which may parody the structure of hymns in honour of the river god, as Wilkinson notes.41 In another later (perhaps originally inscriptional) epigram, Anonymous AP 1.100, the name Neilos is repeated twice. Here, it is clear that the first verse refers to the divine Nile, while the second one to Saint Neilos of Ankyra (who died in c.430 CE). In contrast to 8 W, the poem praises Saint Neilos, but the epigram is useful for our purposes as it suggests that comparisons with the Nile were not uncommon and that the Yale papyrus poet might be adapting here a literary topos:42 εἰς Νεῖλον μοναχὸν τὸν μέγαν ἐν τοῖς ἀσκηταῖς Νείλου μὲν ποταμοῖο ῥόος χθόνα οἶδε ποτίζειν, Νείλου δ᾽ αὖ μοναχοῖο λόγος φρένας οἶδεν ἰαίνειν. On Neilos the great ascetic monk The stream of the river Nile knows to water the earth, and the word of the monk Neilos knows to ease the mind.43 In this epigram there is no geographical connection with Egypt, and while in 8 W any contrast between Neilos and the divine river is implied (at least in what survives), the basis of the comparison here is in the name. The praise is accentuated through the repetition of sounds in almost all words (see the bold letters), the use of identical terms (Nείλου and οἶδε(ν)), and the double chiasmus: Νείλου ποταμοῖο ~ Νείλου μοναχοῖο and οἶδε ποτίζειν ~ οἶδεν ἰαίνειν. Returning to the Hermopolite Neilos of 8 W, the adverb μ̣η̣δ̣αμόθ̣ε̣ν̣ (‘from nowhere’) in line 20 could be a reference 40

36 37

38 39

Our translation. The exact same phrase is also used in 21 W (p. 9, l. 31); cf. τὴν σεμνοτάτην Ἑρμ[οῦ] πόλιν̣ (p. 5, l. 13), which formed an official epithet for Hermopolis; see Wilkinson (2012a) 137. For another possible reading of the opening line, though, see n. 54 of this chapter. Wilkinson (2012a) 138. See e.g. Ar. Ra. 674–85; Pl.Com. fr. 183 K–A.

41 42

43

In Old Comedy the salient examples are the portrayal of Kleon as the slave Paphlagon in Aristophanes’ Knights and of Hyperbolos as Marikas in the homonymous comedy of Eupolis. Wilkinson (2012a) 139. Cf. the much later comparison of a rhetor called Neilos with the river Nile in a skoptic epigram included in the Vaticanus Graecus 753 dated to the 11th century: Nείλου καταρράκται με βάλλοιεν πλέον / ἢ Νικολάου ῥήτορος μελῳδίαι (‘may the waterfalls of Nile hit me more than the melodies of rhetor Nikolas’). Text and translation (adapted) from Paton (1999a) 42–3.

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to his insignificant or obscure place of birth (meaning ‘from the back of beyond’, ‘from the boondocks’) or it could indicate his low social origins, as in Demosthenes’ Against Meidias 148: πονηρὸν καὶ βίαιον καὶ ὑβριστὴν … καὶ μηδένα μηδαμόθεν (‘a wicked, violent, insolent man … a nobody, a son of nobody’). In both cases, there is an implicit contrast between the man’s low origins and Nile’s divine parentage.44 The following θυ̣ . [ may conceivably expand the disparaging description of Neilos. The traces are consistent with an oblique case, or a compound, of θυμός.45 Neilos, at least as we meet him in the poem, has also a criminal past. The phrase ἐν κλοιῷ (‘in a prisoner’s wooden collar’, l. 22) creates the image of an imprisoned criminal.46 The noun κλοιός, apart from denoting the restraining collar associated with the treatment of prisoners, may be doing here double duty. Since it is also used of a collar for restraining fierce dogs to prevent them from biting, it may metaphorically also suggest that Neilos has a savage nature.47 Such an implication agrees with the reference to murderers in line 23. The image of criminality reaches a climax in the phrase ἐκ στα⟨υ⟩ροῦ (‘from the cross’, l. 24). This looks like capital punishment for what must be a serious crime, possibly – given the presence of τῶν ἀνδροφό̣ν̣[ων (l. 23) – homicide.48 The most interesting detail may be the preposition ἐκ (‘from’). This may suggest a narrow escape. A verb form that denotes escape (such as ἔφυγεν/φυγών, ἀπέδρα/ἀπέδρας, or ἐξέδρα/ἐκδράς) or the release from bonds (such as ἐλύθη/λυθείς) might have stood in the vicinity. If Neilos was a real person, the punishment could have been remitted49 or he could have escaped. The mockery would be more effective, if he was still alive to be pilloried in verse. Αlternatively, in line 24 we may have an image of agonising cries from the cross (with a verb form

44 45

46 47 48 49

Already in Hesiod’s Th. 337–8, Nile’s father is Okeanos and his mother Tethys. In the latter case a word such as θυμοφθόρος might fit (‘noxious’, ‘troublesome’), e.g. Νεῖλο[ς ὁ] μ̣η̣δ̣αμόθ̣ε̣ν̣ θ̣υμ̣[οφθόρος ἠδὲ πονηρός/πανοῦργος (‘Neilos, the man from nowhere, the troublesome, the villain’); in the former perhaps something like Νεῖλο[ς ὁ] μ̣η̣δ̣αμόθ̣ε̣ν̣ θ̣υμ̣[όν τε κακὸς καὶ ἀναιδής (‘Neilos, the man from nowhere, the man with an evil and shameless soul’). Others may have better suggestions; the aim here is merely to show that θυμ̣ is a possible reading for line 20. See LSJ, s.v. κλοιός Α 2. See LSJ, s.v. κλοιός Α. Wilkinson (2012a) 139 rightly cites as a parallel Pall. AP 9.378, in which a murderer is saved by Sarapis only to be crucified in the future. Compare what happened with Sandokes, the governor of Aiolian Kyme, who was crucified and then freed by king Darios (Hdt. 7.194).

such as ἐβόα/βοῶν/βοήσας standing close by), οr the image of him hanging from it (with e.g. κρεμαστός/κρεμασθείς). There is another suggestive detail at the close of (what survives of) this poem. The phrase νῦν τῆς λα⟨μ⟩προτάτης̣ π[̣ (‘now of the most splendid …’) seems to contrast these references to past crime and punishment with a current situation. One way of reading the ending would be to suppose that Neilos has at last ceased to be a problem; we might for instance imagine something like νῦν τῆς λα⟨μ⟩προτάτης̣ π̣[ατρίδος50 ἐξέπεσεν/ἐξέφυγεν (‘now he has been ejected from/quit the illustrious homeland’). This is not, however, the only reconstruction of poem and narrative available. The change of tone and direction, and the word λα⟨μ⟩προτάτης̣ (‘the most splendid’, l. 25) open the possibility that what we have is a before-and-after account contrasting the current fortune of the attack’s target, Neilos, with his earlier degraded condition. If so, the epigram could adapt the ‘rags to riches’ motif. A parallel for this reconstruction, and a possible poetic model for the Yale poet, is Anakreon’s attack on Artemon (388 PMG), a poem which, as Athenaeus informs us (12.533f), presents Artemon rising ἐκ πενίας εἰς τρυφήν (‘from poverty to luxury’): καὶ γὰρ Ἀνακρέων αὐτὸν [sc. τὸν Ἀρτέμωνα] ἐκ πενίας εἰς τρυφὴν ὁρμῆσαί φησιν ἐν τούτοις· πρὶν μὲν ἔχων βερβέριον, καλύμματ᾿ ἐσφηκωμένα, καὶ ξυλίνους ἀστραγάλους ἐν ὠσὶ καὶ ψιλὸν περὶ πλευρῇσι ⟨δέρμ᾿ ᾔει⟩ βοός, νήπλυτον εἴλυμα κακῆς ἀσπίδος, ἀρτοπώλισιν κἀθελοπόρνοισιν ὁμιλέων ὁ πονηρὸς Ἀρτέμων, 5 κίβδηλον εὑρίσκων βίον, πολλὰ μὲν ἐν δουρὶ τιθεὶς αὐχένα, πολλὰ δ᾿ ἐν τροχῷ, πολλὰ δὲ νῶτον σκυτίνῃ μάστιγι θωμιχθείς, κόμην πώγωνά τ᾿ ἐκτετιλμένος· νῦν δ᾿ ἐπιβαίνει σατινέων χρύσεα φορέων καθέρματα 10 † παῖς Κύκης † καὶ σκιαδίσκην ἐλεφαντίνην φορεῖ γυναιξὶν αὔτως ⟨ἐμφερής⟩. Indeed Anakreon says in the following lines that Artemon shot from poverty to luxury:

50

If π̣[ατρίδος is right, it could mean ‘my fatherland’ (i.e. the speaker’s), or ‘his fatherland’ (i.e. Neilos’), or ‘our fatherland’ (i.e. both the speaker’s and Neilos’ fatherland). Such a restoration could have implications for the question of the representation of the poetic persona(e) in the codex (see the Introduction of this volume p. 4). This restoration attributes to Hermopolis the adjective λα⟨μ⟩προτάτης̣ used for the city’s titulature from 267 CE and thoughout late antiquity, as noted by Wilkinson (2012a) 139.

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He used to go about in an old cap, a wasped hood, with wooden dice in his ears and around his ribs a hairless oxhide, the unwashed wrapping of a wretched shield — that scoundrel Artemon, consorting with bread-women and ready whores, devising a fraudulent living; often he had his neck in the stocks, often on the wheel; often his back was flogged with a leather whip and his hair and beard plucked out. But nowadays the son of Kyke (?) rides in a carriage wearing gold earrings, and he carries an ivory parasol exactly like the ladies.51

realistically all one can do is note the possibility of a political dimension, and if the ‘rags to riches’ reading is correct, it remains entirely possible that Neilos (a public figure or not, a real or imaginary person) has simply married well, or achieved eminence or wealth.55 Uncertainties, already legion, are increased by the possibility that the last line is enjambed and that the adjective τῆς λα⟨μ⟩προτάτης̣ does not refer to Hermopolis, but agrees with a noun such as τύχης (‘luck’) or τιμῆς (‘honour’) in the preceding line. Epigram 9 W (p. 5, ll. 26–8) is also about Neilos:

There are no verbal echoes, apart from a small but important detail: the emphatic use of νῦν (‘now’) near the end of both poems. In the case of Artemon, the adverb clearly marks the transition from a debased past to a better pre­ sent (νῦν δ’ …, v. 10). It may have played the same transitional role in line 25 of 8 W. There is a broad similarity of structure and a convergence on points of detail. In Anakreon’s poem again we have an extensive account of a shameful past life, rich in detail, which is succeeded by an account of a more blessed present, in this case a life of luxury (ll. 10–12). The degraded past shows specific points of convergence. Like Neilos, Artemon was associated with lowlife characters and lived a life of crime (vv. 1–6), one which exposed him to painful and publicly humiliating physical punishment (vv. 7–9). There is one further point worth exploring in this reconstruction. As Anakreon’s poem shows, anyone can be attacked on the basis of an (allegedly) undeserved change of fortune and anyone enjoying fame, prestige, or wealth can be reminded of his or her embarrassing past. But the ‘rags to riches’ trope is common enough in political attacks52 to raise the possibility – especially in the context of a codex which includes other political attacks  – that Neilos could have been a public figure. The person who emerges in the poem is presented as a lowlife in origin and conduct, but Greek political diatribe allowed ample space for satiric distortion and exaggeration, as mentioned above.53 The epigram’s last line could then indicate Neilos’ current elevated position in the city of Hermopolis.54 But

ἀμφοτέροις ὄνομ’ ἐ̣στὶ . . . . . [ γράμμασιν ἓξ ειστο̣ . . . . . [

51 52 53 54

Εdited text and translation (slightly adapted in v. 11) from Campbell (2006) 74–7. See e.g. Lys. 25.30, 27.9, and 28.1; D. 3.29 and 24.124. Cf. e.g. D. 18.129 and [D.] 25.51–3; for the comic theatre, see e.g. Carey (1994). See p. 11 in this chapter. Anyone seeking a dramatic contrast might consider e.g. νῦν τῆς λα⟨μ⟩προτάτης̣ π̣[ατρίδος ἀστυνόμος (‘now he is an official for public order’) or π̣[ρεσβύτερος πόλεως (‘now he is an alderman

ἄλλο εἰς Ν̣ε̣ῖ[̣ λον

Αnother [epigram] on Neilos Both have the name … six letters … Given that the couplet is at the bottom of page 5 and the top of page 6 is missing, we cannot know how long the epigram was. The title is ambiguous, since out of context it could refer either to the river god Nile or to a mortal Neilos. Since, however, 9 W follows 8 W that mocks a Hermopolite Neilos, the first editor plausibly identified 9 W as another skoptic epigram targeting the mortal Neilos and including a wordplay on the shared name.56 The epigram could have the form of a riddle, with the reader being invited to guess who are the ἀμφότεροι (‘both’) whose name consists of six letters. This would mean that the name did not occur in the poem (especially if it consisted of just this distich), or that it was withheld till its end to maintain the puzzle. Moreover, if this is a riddle, the name’s repetition in 8 W and, above all, the use of the title ἄλλο εἰς Ν̣ε̣ῖ[̣ λον would reduce the riddle’s impact. This in turn would suggest that the title was added by an editor. The epigram’s basic point could be that those six letters are all (apart from location) that connect the divine and bounteous river with the

55 56

of the city’). In such a scenario, the description of Hermopolis in line 16 might prove to be ironic (Hermopolis is not in fact fortunate as Neilos now holds a prominent position in it). Any attempted restoration remains speculative. E.g. νῦν τῆς λα⟨μ⟩προτάτης̣ π̣[ατρίδος ἐστὶ φάος (‘now he is the glory of his illustrious homeland’). Wilkinson (2012a) 139–40.

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shabby and vicious mortal. Apart from 8 and 9 W, there are several other epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex that can be categorised as skoptic.57 2.2 Epideictic Epigrams All non-skoptic epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex were classified as epideictic by the first editor, though he himself observes that the distinction between skoptic and epideictic is not always clear-cut.58 The survival, with some variants, of (a) the last four verses of 28 W (p. 12, ll. 17–31),59 where old wine that has turned into vinegar is compared with an old man’s anger, and (b) 37 W (p. 21, ll. 4–8), which opens with the proverb ‘even a sheep would bite a wicked man’ and turns it on its head, in AP Book 9 (as AP 9.127 and 9.379, respectively), offers some justification for the use of the term ‘epideictic’, since this is the title prefixed to AP Βook 9. However, the subgeneric label ‘epideictic’, is (as Wilkinson reminds us) problematic.60 Also, even if we accept the label ‘epideictic’, another question arises: can we be certain that the codex included only skoptic and epideictic epigrams? Before answering this question, some observations follow concerning the subgeneric title ‘epideictic’. a) The term ‘epideictic’ originates in the rhetorical tradition. We first encounter it to designate a category of speech in rhetorical treatises of the 4th century BCE, where epideictic as a genre is distinguished from speeches written for the law courts or for contexts of public debate. As the etymology (from epideixis, ‘display’61) suggests, the terminology characterises speeches which were written not to achieve an immediate practical goal but for perform­ ance. For Aristotle the core content of this kind of oratory is praise and blame (Rh. 1358b), and these remained the staple of epideictic oratory throughout antiquity. Since both praise and blame need to be rooted in the collective value system if they are to win over their audience, there is almost inevitably a larger moralising dimension in such speeches from our earliest examples. By the imperial period the opportunities for oratorical performance had expanded and with it the thematic range of the genre. Oratory found a role in a wide range of occasions, familial 57 58 59 60 61

See Floridi’s list in this volume pp. 21–3, which is based on Wilkinson (2012a) 28–30. Wilkinson (2012a) 30; cf. Floridi’s chapter in this volume pp. 21–5. On 28 W, see pp. 7–8 in this chapter; Henderson, W. J. p. 60 in this volume. Wilkinson (2012a) 30. See Livingstone/Nisbet (2010) 52, with further bibliography, who rightly argue that the term’s usefulness is ‘open to question’. Cf. e.g. Lauxtermann (1998); Mindt (2019) 205. See LSJ, s.v. ἐπίδειξις Α 2.

and civic, both sacred and secular, and in consequence its scope had widened to address and reflect on a broad spectrum of human experience.62 As far as epigrams are concerned, though the term ‘epideictic’ has been widely used in modern criticism, according to the surviving material no ancient source uses it to denote an epigrammatic category. We first find it in the 10th-century Palatine Anthology (AP, p. 358) that is considered to largely reproduce the arrangement of epigrams in Konstantinos Kephalas’ compilation.63 It has been argued that Kephalas may have borrowed the term from Agathias’ Cycle,64 but the hypothesis is not unproblematic. Agathias’ collection consisted of seven books and, based on their description in the Cycle’s prooemium (AP 4.3), this was their content: Book 1 included epigrams written ‘as an offering to the old gods’ (ὡς προτέροις μακάρεσσιν ἀνειμένα, AP 4.3.115); Book 2 epigrams inscribed in places, or on statues and other works of art; Book 3 epigrams on tombs; Book 5 mocking/abusive epigrams; Book 6 epigrams ‘stolen’ by Kytherea; Book 7 epigrams related to Bakchos, dances, drinking, cups, and banquets. Book 4 – the one that matters for us – is described as follows: ὅσσα δὲ καὶ βιότοιο πολυσπερέεσσι κελεύθοις / γράψαμεν, ἀσταθέος δὲ τύχης σφαλεροῖσι ταλάντοις, / δέρκεό μοι βίβλοιο παρὰ κρηπῖδα τετάρτην (‘and for what we wrote for life’s widely diverse pathways and for the slippery scales of unstable fortune, look to my book’s fourth foundation’, AP 4.3.124–6).65 62

63 64

65

Pernot (2017) 257 lists hymns in praise of gods, encomia to countries, humans, and abstractions (including mock encomia), delivered in contexts ranging from family events such as weddings and funerals to civic events and religious festivals. For the evolution and expansion of epideictic oratory as an artform, see more fully Pernot (2015) 1–28. The range is extended further if with Gunderson (2017) 267 we include the fictive speeches and narratives of declamatio, with their focus on the imaginative reworking of common political, moral, and social themes, under epideixis. For the role of ekphrasis in epideictic oratory, see Webb (2009), esp. 131–65. See e.g. Cameron (1993) 122–6; Sider (1997) 45. Lauxtermann (1998) 534–7. Lauxtermann also suggested that Kephalas might have taken the term from the Palladas Sylloge, though he himself found this explanation less plausible. Moreover, in AP Book 9 we have only one long (AP 9.313–37) and one very short (AP 9.563–8) sequence from Meleager’s Garland. Cameron (1968) 324–31 and (1993) 19–33 argued that Meleager divided his epigrams into four books, each one containing a different subgenre: the erotic, the sepulchral, the anathematic, and the epideictic one. This is plausible, but we cannot know what kind of titles he would have given to his books, and if he used the term ‘epideictic’, how he would have perceived it. Translation from Smith (2019) 23. Modern scholars, following Kephalas’ categorisation, divide the Cycle as follows: (1) anathematic epigrams (see AP 4.3.113–16); (2) ekphrastic

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The two-line description of Agathias’ fourth book suggests partial overlap with his other books, since almost any human story can be made to fit under the description ‘life’s widely diverse pathways’ and any change of fortune (in love, marriage, financial status, a death, the destruction of a city/monument, etc.) can in theory exemplify ‘the slippery scales of unstable fortune’. However, Agathias’ description also places emphasis on change and diversity, which suggests that the book focused on incidents, narratives, and reflections which illuminate the vagaries of life, the diversity of human behaviour, and the ironies inherent in human existence. In comparison to Kephalas’ anthology, Agathias’ Book 4 must have been narrower in compass, since AP Book 9 gives the impression that almost any kind of theme/epigram could be made to fit under the label ‘epideictic’. It is always possible that Agathias used more descriptive headings (not summary titles), which could have resembled to some degree the indicators in AP 4.3. But if Agathias used the term ‘epideictic’ as the title of his Book 4, it seems that for him it had a more precise meaning than it did for Kephalas. This is further suggested by the following: Firstly, Kephalas makes no mention of changes of fortune (a point of emphasis for Agathias) in his description of Book 9; on the contrary, he says that the book concerns events that happened or could have happened.66 Secondly, Agathias and Kephalas categorised and arranged the same material differently: Kephalas’ Book 9 definitely included epigrams on works of art taken to be epideictic, while Agathias devoted a separate book on such poems (his Book 2). This observation holds true, regardless of whether we accept that AP Book 9 is the outcome of the merging of two books – the first containing

66

(AP 4.3.117–20); (3) funerary (AP 4.3.121–3); (4) epideictic and protreptic (AP 4.3.124–6); (5) skoptic (AP 4.3.127–9); (6) erotic (AP 4.3.129–31); (7) sympotic (AP 4.3.131–3). The list is from Agosti (2019) 601. In comparison to Agathias’ Cycle, Kephalas’ division was less systematic: apart from the thematically arranged books, Book 13 includes epigrams in unusual meters. From this book, much of the material could fit well represented subgenres in the Palatine Anthology (e.g. Theoc. AP 13 = HE 13 is a fictitious epitaph on Hipponax; other such epigrams are placed in Book 7 (Phil. AP 7.405 = GPh 34, Leon. AP 7.408 = HE 58, and Alc.Mess. AP 7.536 = HE 13)). This is the description of Book 9 in AP, p. 358: οὐδὲ τοῖς παλαιοῖς ἠμέληται τὸ ἐπιδεικτικὸν εἶδος, ἀλλ’ ἔστι καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐπιγράμμασιν εὑρεῖν καὶ ἑρμηνείας ἐπίδειξιν καὶ πραγμάτων γενομένων ὄντως ἢ ὡς γενομένων ἀφήγησιν (‘nor did the ancients ignore the epideictic form, and [lit. but] one can find even in epigrams the presentation of an exposition and a narrative of actual events or of what are presented as events’).

epideictic and the second ekphrastic epigrams.67 On the basis of this hypothesis the first of these two constituent books ended at AP 9.583, but what matters for us is that we certainly find epigrams on artworks before this point.68 It seems inescapable that for Kephalas an epigram on a work of art could be categorised as epideictic. In addition, epigrams that were probably included in Agathias’ fourth book now feature not only in AP Book 9 but also in AP Book 10 that includes the so-called protreptic epigrams (ἐπιγράμματα προτρεπτικά), a category whose title again derives from the rhetorical tradition.69 All this means that since no direct evidence exist that Agathias used the term for taxonomic purposes, it is open to question whether anthologists in the imperial period would treat ‘epideictic’ as a distinct category of epigram, using the term as a way of demarcating any of their work. But even if we choose to retain the term ‘epideictic’ as a label for a subgenre of epigram recognisable in some form in the imperial and early Byzantine period, and if we accept that Agathias himself might have used the term, as noted above,70 his description of Book 4 suggests that the term would have had a different meaning for him than it did for Kephalas. This both complicates its use for the Yale papyrus epigrams and minimises its usefulness for hermeneutic purposes. b) We should also bear in mind that since Agathias (and this applies to all ancient anthologists) incorporated epigrams composed by others in his collection, the current position of some poems in the Greek Anthology, even in what seems to be an ‘original epigrammatic sequence’, may diverge from the perception of the poems by their creator and original readership/audience. To give just one example, three epigrams currently placed in Book 9 of the Greek Anthology, AP 9.764–6, form a short thematic group on mosquito nets. The first two were composed by Paul the Silentiary, while the third is a variation on the topic by Agathias himself. This could have been Agathias’ original epigrammatic sequence. But can we be sure about this? Do we have a short epigrammatic sequence originally placed in Agathias’ Book 4, or could Paul the Silentiary 67 68

69 70

It is worth noting that it is also questionable whether ancient authors and compilers used the term ‘ekphrastic’ to denote an epigrammatic category (see Zanker (2003)). It has been argued that there is a huge lacuna in Book 9 between AP 9.583 and 584 and that in Book 9 one book of epideictic and one book of ekphrastic epigrams have been merged, after the loss of the end of the former and the beginning of the latter (see Argentieri (2007) 155 with related bibliography in n. 27; Zanker (2003) 60). Further investigation of this topic is required. E.g. Pl. Euthd. 278c; Isoc. 1.3; Arist. Rh. 1358b 15, 23 and Rh.Al. 1.1. See the preceding paragraph in this page.

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AP 9.765, with its erotic colour71 and no implication about any change of fortune, have initially belonged to Agathias’ Book 6 (the erotic epigrams)? And could AP 9.764 and 9.766, both of which are humorous in tone,72 have been included in Agathias’ Book 5 (the skoptic epigrams), while Kephalas brought all three together? What we want to stress is that these possible scenarios demonstrate that the anthologisation process is not a ‘neat’ one. The story of the transmission of these epigrams becomes more complicated, when we reflect that we cannot know for sure how exactly Paul the Silentiary and his original readership perceived the mosquito epigrams; perhaps Paul and his readership considered AP 9.765 to be erotic and AP 9.764 to be skoptic, or perhaps Paul (like Philip of Thessalonike) was not interested in the epigrams’ subgenre, in contrast to Agathias and Kephalas. This takes us to a larger point. We encounter the majority of the ancient epigrammatic production in the pages of the Greek Anthology, a collection which forms the end result of successive editorial and filtering processes, and that encounter shapes our understanding of the surviving material consciously or otherwise. However, we cannot assume that ancient poets approached the creative process with the same perspective with which we approach the act of reading and interpretation. The notion of genre is as old as Homer and epigrammatists must have been acutely aware of differences of topic, tone, voice, and persona and their implications for the alignment of poems and poets in terms of tradition, influence, and model. Even a poetic form as rich and varied as epigram rests on a shared sense of genre. But beyond broad affiliation poets may have been far less worried about precise taxonomic labels. Genre in a living tradition is a flexible, almost organic, entity,73 a set of expectations shared by writers and audience/readership rather than a set of exclusive generic markers. Though our earliest sources74 indicate 71 72

73

74

The mosquito net calls itself the net of ‘tender Paphia’ (v. 2) and hangs around the bridal bed to enable the sleeper to enjoy the breezes. In Paul.Sil. AP 9.764 the personified mosquito net compares its defensive art to a city’s wall. Agath. AP 9.766 is similar in tone: the mosquito net calls itself the fairest because it saves mosquitoes from death while simultaneously guarding men’s beds. The observations of Depew/Obbink (2000) 2–3 and Most (2000) 16–18, that the imposition of firm generic categories with explicit rules emerge from and follow, rather than precede, the more implicit and organic interactions of authors and texts, apply to epigram, even in an age of vigorous editing and corpus creation such as the Hellenistic period or of the rhetorical schools of the imperial period, in which generic rules became increasingly prescriptive. For lyric genres recognised by Homer, see Carey (2009a) 21.

that poets must always have been aware of differences between genres, and the sense of genre hardened during the imperial period under the influence of the rhetorical tradition, creative writers are always more interested in exploring the boundaries of and intersections between poetic forms than in following a template. In this sense genre is far less important for poets than for editors attempting to compile collections of divergent material, for whom taxonomy is of critical importance. This is as true of epigram as of other poetic forms, and if we view epigrammatists solely through the categories of medieval or even ancient anthologists, we risk misunderstanding the nature of the corpus. All this means that epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex that have been categorised as ‘epideictic’ may have not been perceived as such by their creator and original readership/audience. 2.3 Subgeneric Variety Turning now to the question posed at the beginning of the preceding section, even if we retain Kephalas’ categories, we argue that ‘skoptic’ and ‘epideictic’ do not fully cover the content of the Yale papyrus codex. Taking also into account that meagre scraps survive from several poems and others have not left even a trace, for a considerable number of epigrams in the codex no judgement can be made.75 We begin with 35 W (p. 18, ll. 1–9): [ ±29 ] . . αγ . [ [ ±18 ] . χειμεπα . [ [ ± 22 ] . κατάγνυται, ἡ γὰρ ἄρ̣[η]ξι̣ ς̣ [ ±15 φθ]έ̣γματι τραυλὰ λαλῶ [ ±20 ] . ὑποτρ̣έχει ὄμματα δ’̣ ἀ̣χλύς 5 ̣ [ ±15 ]κ̣ος ἐμὸ̣ς τρέφεται [ ±20   ]νο̣ μ̣ αι ἐς̣ πόδας ἄκρους [ ±15 γί]ν̣ομαι ὠχρότερος [ ±17 λιπ]οθυμήσαντα δεή̣σε̣ι 9

75

76

… … … is shattered, for the help (?) … with my voice (?) I stutter … … runs under and mist (covers? wraps? is poured down over?76) my eyes … my … (?) is nourished Αt the UCL conference that took place in 2014, Gianfranco Agosti argued that 33 W (p. 16, ll. 14–19) could be funerary; cf. Henderson, W. J. in this volume n. 85. For our interpretation of 33 W, see pp. 19–20 in this chapter. See pp. 17–18 in this chapter.

Observations on the Yale Papyrus Codex

17

… to the tips of my feet … I become paler … it will be necessary having fainted The epigram was originally thought to concern the effects of old age (weakness, babbling, failing eyesight, and paleness) and to be epideictic.77 Scholars have, however, identified a number of affinities with the locus classicus for the symptoms of love, Sappho 31 V.78 Indeed, already in archaic poetry, similar phrasing and concepts were used for the description of death, old age, and love,79 and therefore we cannot be certain beyond any doubt about the content of 35 W. It is entirely possible that the epigram explored the motif of love as sickness, reworking the Sapphic fragment either directly or indirectly, since ἡ ἐρωτικὴ νόσος (‘lovesickness’) and its symptoms (problems with speech, weakness, failing eyesight, paleness, body paralysis, etc.) became a widespread topos in literature. Here, we make some observations in support of the idea that this epigram could be erotic in theme. In line 4, the phrase τραυλὰ λαλῶ is better translated as ‘I stutter’, rather than ‘I babble’,80 because the verb when employed for humans, in particular for children, expresses stammering (see e.g. Ar. Nu. 862 and 1380–90; it is used also for the swallow’s twittering81). The supplement φθ]έ̣γματι (l. 4), which was proposed by Wilkinson,82 matches this interpretation (‘with my voice I stutter’). For speechlessness as a symptom of lovesickness, see e.g. Sappho fr. 31.9 V ἀλλὰ †καμ† μὲν γλῶσσα †ἔαγε† (‘but my tongue is broken’); Theokritos’ Idyll 2.108–9, where Simaitha says: οὐδέ τι φωνῆσαι δυνάμαν, οὐδ᾿ ὅσσον ἐν ὕπνῳ / κνυζεῦνται φωνεῦντα φίλαν ποτὶ ματέρα τέκνα (‘nor could I speak a word, nay, not so much as babes that whimper in their sleep calling to their mother dear’83); Menophilos Damaskinos SH 558.6: … ὑπ᾿ ἀμφασίῃ δ᾿ ἀλεγεινῇ (‘under a grievous

speechlessness’, said by the speaker after seeing a naked girl). Ιn our epigram, speechlessness turns into faltering speech. Moreover, intriguing is the use of τρέφεται in line 6. Meleager AP 5.176.3–4 = HE 6.3–4 shows that the verb could be employed in an erotic context: ἦ γὰρ ὁ παῖς τούτοισι γελᾷ, καὶ πυκνὰ κακισθεὶς / ἥδεται· ἢν δ᾽ εἴπω λοίδορα, καὶ τρέφεται (‘for indeed the boy [sc. Eros] laughs at this, and delights in being ever reproached; and if I curse, he even grows bigger’84). The example from Meleager makes it possible that ἔρως, πόθος, or ἵμερος occurred either in this or in the next line (with an enjambment for emphasis): ‘my love/desire is nurtured’. Moreover, the words ὑποτρέ̣ χει ὄμματα δ’̣ ἀχ̣ λύς,̣ apart from adapting the Sapphic ὐπαδεδρόμακεν (in the phrase ‘a subtle fire has run under my flesh’, fr. 31.10 V),85 rework the Homeric formula of the type κατὰ δ’ ὀφθαλμῶν κέχυτ’ ἀχλύς (‘and a mist has been poured over his eyes’) expressing death on the battlefield. In Iliad 16.341–3 Akamas, hit by Meriones, falls from his car and down over his eyes a mist is shed; in Iliad 5.696 the formula describes the moment when the wounded Sarpedon is on the verge of death; in Iliad 20.421 it expresses not death, but Hektor’s reaction when seeing his brother Polydoros lying dead, killed by Achilles. Carrying the notion of death, the formula puts emphasis on the moment when the Trojan hero is overcome with grief as he sees his brother’s corpse.86 As with other Homeric formulae describing death in war,87 the phrase was reused in antiquity to express the destructive power of E/eros. In Archilochos fr. 191.1–2 West, we read ‘for such a desire for love coiling itself up under my heart, poured a thick mist down over my eyes’88 (τοῖος γὰρ φιλότητος ἔρως ὑπὸ καρδίην ἐλυσθεὶς / πολλὴν κατ’ ἀχλὺν ὀμμάτων ἔχευεν). In our epigram, a verb such as κρύπτει (‘hides’, ‘covers’), εἰλύει (‘wraps’), οr κακκέχυται (‘is poured down over’) could open line 6 (‘and mist covers/wraps/is poured down

77

84 85

78

79 80 81 82 83

Wilkinson (2012a) 30 and 178–9; cf. Floridi p. 22 and Gutzwiller pp. 37–8 in this volume. For the interpretation of 35 W, see Wilkinson (2012a) 178–9; Polemis (2013); Kanellou (2014); Floridi (2015), who in pp. 63–5 suggests that 35 W could be skoptic treating old age as an impediment to love (this is one of the readings of the poem offered by her). E.g. both Sapphic frs 58 and 31 V refer to the speaker’s skin, heart, and knees but to describe old age and love, respectively. Wilkinson (2012a) 177–8 offers both translations as alternatives. See LSJ, s.v. τραυλός; cf. Sens (2011) 153 for τραυλίζει in Asclep. AP 12.162.4 = HE 23.4. Wilkinson (2012a) 178 also suggests: φλέγματι (‘malignant humour), πλέγματι (‘combination of words’), and δήγματι (‘bite’, ‘sting’). Edited text and translation from Gow (1973) I, 24–5.

86

87 88

Edited text and translation (adjusted) from Paton (1999a) 212–13. Polemis (2013) suggested [αὐτίκα πῦρ χρῶ λεπτὸν] ὑποτρέχει (‘at once a slender fire darts over my skin’). See also Il. 20.321, where Poseidon throws mist over the eyes of Achilles and rescues Aeneas. Here the formula, although it does not denote death, has a negative force too, since it expresses the means through which Poseidon prevails over Achilles. Cf. Od. 20.357 where κακὴ δ’ ἐπιδέδρομεν ἀχλύς (‘and an evil mist spread over [the house/them]’) is used in Theoklymenos’ prophecy about the death of the suitors (cf. Pl. Ion 539b); cf. Argon. 4.1524–5 which describes Mopsos’ death from a snakebite and employs vocabulary that matches Homeric descriptions of death in war, including the concept of ‘the mist that spreads over one’s eyes’. Cf. Kanellou (2017) 40–1. Translation (slightly adapted) from Gerber (2006) 205. Cf. A.R. 3.725–6.

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over my eyes’). If the Yale papyrus epigram is indeed about love, the reworking of the Homeric motif would accentuate the connotations of E/eros’ cruelty and annihilating power.89 A further observation: Apollonios Rhodios at Argonautica 3.962–3 uses phraseology similar to 35 W and Sappho fr. 31 V in order to portray Medea’s ‘lovesick suffering’ (κάματον … δυσίμερον, v. 961). The phrase ὄμματα δ’ αὔτως / ἤχλυσαν (‘and her eyes, unbidden, grew dark’, vv. 962–3) resembles ὄμματα δ’̣ ἀ̣χλύς̣ in 35 W, and in general reinvigorates the idea that the one who is in love cannot see anything (see Sappho fr. 31.11 V). In both Sappho and Apollonios Rhodios, it is the sight of someone (the anonymous girl and Jason, respectively) that causes the destructive symptoms of eros (see Sappho fr. 31.7 V and Argon. 3.958, 960). The phrase ἐκ δ’ ἄρα οἱ κραδίη στηθέων πέσεν (‘straightway her heart fell out from her breast’, Argon. 3.962) adapts the Sapphic καρδίαν ἐν στήθεσιν ἐπτόαισεν (‘made my heart trembling in my breast’, fr. 31.6 V). Both texts refer to speechlessness (Sappho fr. 31.9 V and Argon. 9.367), and Argonautica 3.964–5 refreshes the concept of going weak at the knees in the idea that Medea’s knees cannot bear her backward or forward, leaving her feet rooted on the ground.90 Though we cannot be sure, it is possible that 35 W alludes to the passage in Apollonios (especially if this is an erotic epigram) or both poets adapted the same archaic sources (Sappho and Homer). In the same vein, in 35 W the Homeric phrase ἐ̣ς πόδας ἄκρους (l. 7) could be part of a phrase adapting the motif of limb-loosening eros, especially if the echo was more sustained and ἐκ κεφαλῆς preceded ἐ̣ς πόδας ἄκρους, as it does in Iliad 16.640.91 As with the Homeric formula related to the mist, this phrasing too describes death in a vivid and dreadful way: Sarpedon’s corpse on the battlefield is covered with darts, blood, and dust from head ‘to the 89

90 91

Cf. Archil. fr. 193 West, where we have another description of love as bringing (metaphorical) death. Homeric material is adapted here, too: δύστηνος ἔγκειμαι πόθῳ / ἄψυχος, χαλεπῇσι θεῶν ὀδύνῃσιν ἕκητι / πεπαρμένος δι’ ὀστέων (‘I am in the throes of desire, miserable and lifeless, pierced through my bones with grievous pangs thanks to the gods’; translation from Gerber (2006) 209). Τhe phrase ὀδύνῃσιν … πεπαρμένος is drawn from Il. 5.399 (see LSJ, sv. πείρω Α I). For an analysis of the related passage (Argon. 3.948–65), see e.g. Acosta-Hughes (2010) 53–7. Wilkinson (2012a) 178–9 notes that the phrase appears in the same sedes in Homer and that ἀχλύς is common in Homer and usually appears at the conclusion of a line. He also mentions AP 9.597 (to which we refer in the next paragraph). For him ‘the extant portions contain no obvious references to or phrases deriving from Homer’ (Wilkinson (2012a) 53).

tips of his feet’ (Il. 16.638–40). In Kometas Scholastikos AP 9.597.1, a man’s paralysis ‘from his hips to the tips of his feet’ is described (ἀπ’ ἰξύος ἐς πόδας ἄκρους). Here the phrase stresses the severity of the man’s physical condition, and prepares the reader for his description as being halfway between life and death and metaphorically a corpse (vv. 1–4).92 In 35 W the phrase could denote the speaker’s total submission to eros. If the epigram’s theme is erotic, ἐ̣ς πόδας ἄκρους may have been combined with a verb expressing trembling, as in Sappho fr. 31.13–14 V  … ]τρόμος δὲ / παῖσαν ἄγρει (‘and a trembling seizes all of me’; cf. Sappho fr. 130 V). Unfortunately, the ending ]νο̣ μ̣ αι of the preceding verb is highly uncertain, as the papyrus is heavily damaged and unhelpful. But if Wilkinson’s reading is correct, something like κραδαί]νο̣ μ̣ αι (‘I am shaken’) would fit.93 Another possibility would be μαραί]ν̣ο̣μαι (‘I am faint from head to toe’; cf. Sappho fr. 31.15–16 V  … τεθ⸤νάκην δ᾿ ὀ⸥λίγω ᾿πιδε⸤ύης / φα⸥ίνομ᾿ ἔμ᾿ αὔτ[̣ ᾳ, ‘and it seems to me that I am little short of dying’94). In Menophilos Damaskinos SH 558, a hexameter poem with the title Πλοκαμῖδες (‘Locks’), speechlessness and body paralysis are put together as symptoms of love, while the language offers (without implications of poetic debt) a parallel for the expression ἐκ κεφαλῆς … ἐ̣ς πόδας ἄκρους in an erotic context. The speaker has traversed Europe, Africa, and Asia and marvelled at innumerable beautiful things. However, for him, nothing can be compared with the beauty of a girl’s locks that inspire in him ‘traditional’ symptoms of eros: … ὑπ᾿ ἀμφασίῃ δ᾿ ἀλεγεινῇ / θυμὸς ἅδην πεπότητο, λύθεν δέ μοι ἅψεα πάντα95 / ἐκ κεφαλῆς εἰς ἴχνος … (‘and under a grievous speechlessness my soul unceasingly hovered, and all my joints were loose from head to toe’, vv. 6–8).96 Summing up, it is probable that 35 W adapted two Homeric phrases in two consecutive hexameters (ll. 5 and 7) placing them at the end of the lines (cf. Il. 5.696 and 16.343, 16.640). This kind of structure and phraseology would emphasise the destructive power of E/eros. To conclude, irrespective of the view we take of the term ‘epideictic’ for taxonomic purposes in relation to epigram, in our opinion, 35 W is best treated as an erotic epigram, probably conveying a sympathetic portrayal of 92 93 94 95 96

For an analysis of this epigram, see Agosti (2006–7) 7–11; Giommoni (2017) 194–5. E.g. – ⏑ ⏑ or – – ἐκ κεφαλῆς δὲ κραδαί]ν̣ο̣μαι ἐ̣ς πόδας ἄκρους. Translation from Campbell (2002) 81. The phrase reworks the Homeric formula λύθεν δέ οἱ ἅψεα πάντα (‘and all his joints were loose’), used in Od. 4.794 and 18.189 for the effect of sleep on Penelope. For the poem, see Magnelli (2016) 44–6.

19

Observations on the Yale Papyrus Codex

the experience; if this is right, it may have belonged to a now lost sequence of epigrams dealing with the theme of love from various perspectives. The preceding poem, 34 W (p. 17, ll. 3–9), which includes a reference to love, could have belonged to this section of epigrams dealing with love: ἄλλο . . επι̣ ν[̣ 97 ε̣ἰ̣μὶ μέν εἰμι γέρων ου̣[ [. .] . . [. . .] . η χα̣ λ̣ επῶς̣ [ [. .] . δι γὰρ θῆναι δέομαι [ † μ’ ῆς † κίγχρου δέομ̣ αι [ 7 ἀλλὰ φιλητο[.] . [. .] . ιαπ[ βούλο̣μαι [ ± 5 ] . . . [ Another … I am, yes I am old … … with difficulty … … for I need to put … … I lack/need millet … but love[… (?) I want … Τhe epigram’s fragmentary state makes it difficult to interpret. However, based on what survives, we can be sure about two elements of it: (a) we have an emphatic first-person declaration of old age (ε̣ἰ̣μὶ μέν εἰμι γέρων, ‘I am, yes I am old’), and (b) there is a reference to love in some form in line 9, where we read ἀλλὰ φιλητο[. The second word of this phrase, as Wilkinson argues, could be a form of φιλητός (‘to be loved’, ‘worthy of love’98) οr φιλήτωρ (‘the lover’).99 In the second case, if βούλο̣μαι of line 9 is somehow linked to ἀλλὰ φιλητο[, this might express the speaker’s desire for a lover (ἀλλὰ φιλήτο[ρα … βούλο̣μαι; see Archilochos 196a.35 West: πολλὸν σὲ βούλο̣[μαι, ‘Ι much want [to have?] you’). We cannot exclude the possibility that we have a form of the rare name Φίλητoς,100 but even so this could be a speaking name (‘the Beloved’) and relate somehow with the theme of love. We might also 97

For a possible reconstruction of this title, see the Introduction of this volume p. 3. 98 See LSJ, s.v. φιλητός. 99 Wilkinson (2012a) 177. We may also have erotic-sympotic vocabulary elsewhere in this codex. See Wilkinson (2012a) 123 and 135: one of the suggestions for p. 3, l. 17 is ἀλλ’ ἀγαπ ̣ ῶ̣ πί[ν]ω[ν (‘but I love to drink’); we may have φιλοτήσι̣ ο̣ ν (‘of friendship or love’) or φιλότης (‘friendship’) in p. 5, l. 6, and [οἰν]οποτ[εῖ]ν̣ (‘to drink wine’) in p. 5, l. 8. 100 Wilkinson (2012a) 177.

have a form of the rare ἀφίλητος (ἀλλ’ ἀφίλητο[ς, ‘but I am unloved’); the rarity of the word reduces probability but does not exclude it. Whichever reading is right, it seems very likely that this is a poem about love in old age. The adverb χα̣ λ̣ επῶς̣ (l. 5) could describe old age.101 Κίγχρου in line 7 might be a sexual metaphor, e.g. for semen or potency. We do not find this use of the word elsewhere, but plant metaphors occur elsewhere for sexual parts,102 and millet seed pods are (broadly) phallic in shape. The point could be roughly that the old man has the desire for love and sex but not the capacity. The theme of love in old age is an old one, and can be treated either sympathetically, as in Ibykos 286 PMG, or humorously as the basis for mockery or self-mockery, as in Strato AP 12.240.103 The poem, within Kephalas’ rather inflexible categories, could be characterised as skoptic, epideictic, or even erotic. Without more of it, it is difficult to say much more. 33 W (p. 16, ll. 14–19) is another epigram that suggests that subgeneric variety was a feature of the collection preserved in the Yale papyrus codex: [  ±30    ] Φ̣α̣έθοντα [  ±23   ] π̣αρ’ ’Ηριδανῷ [  ±25   ]να καὶ σὺ δ’ ἀδελφόν [  ±21  ] . . ν̣ οἰχόμενον [  ±21  ]ιτο σοι·104 εἰ ⸢γ⸣ὰρ ἐγείρω 19

… Phaethon … beside the Eridanos … and even you/and also you a brother … the departed … for/to you (?); for if I stir

The surviving verses may form part of a lament for Phaethon’s death addressed by one of his sisters, the Heliades, or all of them collectively, to Zeus, as suggested by Wilkinson.105 Alternatively, they could be addressed by a speaker to an addressee who has lost a brother (καὶ σὺ δ’ ἀδελφόν, ‘and even/also you … a brother’, l. 17), comparing

101 Wilkinson (2012a) 177. See Strat. AP 12.240.3 where the phrase χαλεπὸν … γῆρας (‘hard to bear/painful old age’) is used for old age as an impediment to sex. 102 Henderson, J. (1991) 117–20. 103 For the former treatment of the topic, cf. Ar. Ach. 993–9 and possibly Anacr. 418 PMG; for the latter Thgn. 457–60 West. For the notion that sexual desire wanes (or, depending on perspective, should wane) with age, cf. Archil. fr. 48.6 West. 104 Here we could have the dative singular of the second-person pronoun. 105 Wilkinson (2012a) 175–6.

20 his/her lament with that of the Heliades. In this context the participle οἰχόμενον (l. 18) may well be a euphemistic reference to the death of the addressee’s brother. On this reading, the speaker could be offering a mythical exemplum to console the addressee by showing that grief and loss are part of the human condition from which not even immortals are free. For this use of the myth the most obvious parallel would be Achilles’ attempt to console Priam at Iliad 24.601–20. Confronted with the grieving Priam, Achilles invites him to join him in eating, as did Niobe, who suffered a greater loss than the king of Troy. Another apt parallel (though here of suffering rather than specifically death) would be Pindar’s consolation to the ailing Hieron of Syracuse at Pythian 3.83–103, where unable to offer physical relief he notes that even the greatest heroes such as Peleus and Kadmos suffered grief and loss alongside the great blessings they enjoyed. Based on either reconstruction, this lacunose epigram could – according to the reader’s perspective – be classified in Kephalas’ terms as epideictic or sepulchral, bringing together the motifs of myth and lament and grief for the loss of a loved one. Book 7 of the Greek Anthology includes no epitaph mentioning Phaethon; on the contrary, we find him in a number of skoptic epigrams.106 However, the story would be as appropriate as any other for a case of grief for a lost brother, and a fictitious inscriptional epitaph in Ovid’s Metamorphoses 2.327–8 suggests (with no implications of poetic debt) that the topic of Phaethon’s death was not alien to the subgenre of epitaphs: hic situs est Phaethon, currus auriga paterni, / quem si non tenuit, magnis tamen excidit ausis (‘here lies Phaethon, driver of his father’s chariot, which even if he could not handle, nevertheless he died in a great undertaking’).107 106 Lucill. AP 11.104, 131, and 214, cited by Wilkinson (2012a) 175. Elsewhere Phaethon stands for the sun, see Anon. AP 1.10.54, Maced. AP 5.223, and Paul.Sil. AP 5.274. 107 Translation from Coleman (2008) 24.

Kanellou and Carey

To conclude, it is highly probable that the Yale papyrus codex included epigrams that could readily fit into subgenres other than the skoptic and epideictic within Kephalas’ system of classification, especially since theme, and not subgenre, was the principal criterion for the arrangement of the poems. Think of Philodemos AP 11.30 = GPh 27 and Strato AP 12.240; both refer to old age as an impediment to love, but the first one is placed in Book 11 (the skoptic epigrams) and the other one in Book 12 (the homoerotic ones). If both poems were found in a papyrus, such as the Yale codex, bearing no ascriptions and subgeneric divisions, it would be again difficult to choose between these two subgenres (and this would apply to a great number of epigrams now allocated to different books in the Greek Anthology). The difficulty in discerning the subgenre of several Yale papyrus epigrams points to the chameleonic nature of epigram as a poetic form that inescapably leaves exposed overlaps in themes and techniques when one tries (as Kephalas did) to divide it into subgeneric categories.108 Kephalas’ anthology placed this versatile, almost all-encompassing, poetic form into ‘subgeneric boxes’ that naturally minimise the epigrams’ allusive potential. In all probability, the Yale poet (and in fact ancient epigrammatists in general) did not care about subgeneric divisions as much as we do, because we have approached the greatest part of the surviving epigrammatic production through the lens of Kephalas’ work.

108 Several epigrams bridge elements that we now consider to be prime features of specific subgenres based on the editorial criteria of the Byzantine anthologist. It is an epigram’s placement in a specific book of the Greek Anthology that turns our attention to this or that element in it. On Nicarch. AP 5.39, D.L. AP 7.112, and Strat. AP 12.243, see Kanellou in this volume pp. 77–8 and 80–1; in all epigrams mockery is a basic feature regardless of subgeneric division. For the fluidity between the erotic and skoptic subgenres, see Kanellou (2019).

Chapter 3

Skoptic Epigram in the Yale Papyrus Codex Lucia Floridi In what follows, I first examine the generic nature of the epigrams contained in P. CtYBR inv. 4000 and how they fit into the traditional epigrammatic subcategories.* Then, I proceed to a comparison of the Greek skoptic epigrams known from the Greek Anthology (and other sources) with the skoptic ones found in the new papyrus codex. The paper concludes with some considerations on what the Yale poems can tell us about the history and development of Greek skoptic epigram.1 1

The Generic Nature of the Epigrams in the Yale Papyrus Codex

As recognised by the editor princeps, epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex, where the content is at least broadly recoverable, are similar to items in Books 9 and 11 of the Greek Anthology, i.e. they are either epideictic or skoptic. According to Wilkinson, there are at least six skoptic epigrams (7, 8, 9, 24, 26, and 30 W), and another three should possibly be added to the list (2, 19, and 20 W). However, some of the epideictic epigrams also have much in common with the satirical ones (1, 3, 4, 17, 21, 29, 33, 34, and 35 W), and others still may have appeared in the papyrus codex, although they are too fragmentary to be identified as such, or may have been included in the part of the book which is now lost2

* This paper profited from the advice of Regina Höschele, Francesca Maltomini, and Francesco Valerio, as well as from discussion with the two editors and other participants at the conference. Thanks are due especially to Maria Kanellou, who has also kindly commented on an earlier written version of this chapter, and to Chris Carey, for their editorial care. 1 For the purposes of this chapter, it makes no difference whether the papyrus is considered to be a single-author collection (with the epigrams attributed to Palladas), as argued by Wilkinson (2012a) 41–57, or a multi-author anthology (possibly including poems by Palladas), as suggested by Benelli (2015). My scepticism, as expressed in Floridi (2014b) and (2016a), mainly concerns the backdating of Palladas’ poetry to the age of Constantine, since some of Palladas’ epigrams transmitted through the Greek Anthology better fit a later historical context. Objections to the backdating of Palladas’ previously known poetry have also been raised by Dijkstra (2014); Benelli (2016); Cameron (2016b). 2 Wilkinson (2012a) 30.

© Lucia Floridi, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004521353_004

The content of the epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex can be summarised as follows:3 1 W (p. 3, ll. 9–17): a first-person speaker describes a (forced?) move to a certain place and mentions the need to speak Latin or side with the Romans. (E/S) 2 W (p. 3, ll. 18–32): on a Pythagorean dictum. (E/S) 3 W (p. 4, ll. 4–19): the poem is addressed to a certain Klematios; the narrator laments his poverty. (E/S) 4 W (p. 4, ll. 20–37): a request for help addressed to Klematios, where gout – a typically skoptic theme – seems to play a prominent role. (E/S) 5 W (p. 5, ll. 1–4): very fragmentary. (ND) 6 W (p. 5, ll. 5–9): very fragmentary. (ND) 7 W (p. 5, ll. 10–14): on Hermaios of Hermopolis, accused of adultery. (S) 8 W (p. 5, ll. 15–25): on Neilos of Hermopolis, a criminal. (S) 9 W (p. 5, ll. 26–8): another epigram on Neilos (probably with a pun on the name Neilos). (S) 10 W (p. 6, ll. 1–4): very fragmentary. (ND) 11 W (p. 6, ll. 5–9): on a certain Demetrios (traces of the word ἰαμβικ̣ . [, ‘iambic’, l. 6, survive). (S?) 12 W (p. 6, ll. 10–20): the epigram refers to the Cynics and anger. (E/S) 13 W (p. 6, ll. 21–9): on Aristeides (the Just?), with a possible quotation of a passage of Kallimachian verse (ἐ̣κ̣εῖνο τὸ Καλλιμάχειο̣ ν̣ ̣, l. 28). (E/S) 14 W (p. 7, ll. 1–8): on Helladios. Very fragmentary. (ND) 15 W (p. 7, ll. 9–15): too lacunose to understand the content; there might be a reference to an emperor, addressed as Καῖσαρ. (ND)4 3 The list is based on Wilkinson (2012a) 28–30. (E) and (S) indicate epigrams which are clearly epideictic or skoptic, respectively; (E/S) epigrams which may be either epideictic or skoptic; (S?) and (E?) epigrams which may be skoptic or epideictic, but whose content does not allow us to draw more precise conclusions regarding their nature; (ND) epigrams whose content is not determinable. 4 This says nothing about the content, but it is noteworthy that an address to Καῖσαρ opens Loukillios AP 9.572 = 2 F., i.e. Loukillios’ proem to his second book of epigrams. Loukillios addresses a (δέσποτα) Καῖσαρ (probably Nero) as a reminder that the emperor is the primary addressee of his collection also in AP 11.116.1 = 39.1 F., 11.132.1 = 41.1 F., 11.185.1 = 72.1 F., and 11.247.5 = 97.5 F. Addresses to a Καῖσαρ are common in encomiastic epigrams: e.g. Antip. Thess. AP 9.297.4 = GPh 47.4; Crin. AP 9.562.7 = GPh 24.7 = 24.7 Y.

22

Lucia Floridi

16 17

26 W (p. 11, ll. 27–35): political satire. An attack against Galerius, according to Wilkinson; more probably, an attack against a local politician.11 (S) 27 W (p. 12, ll. 1–6): very fragmentary. Only the word πρυτανεία survives; considering that the preceding epigrams seem to be political attacks and that material on similar topics appears together in the Yale papyrus codex,12 this one may be similar in content, too. (E/S) 28 W (p. 12, ll. 17–31): = AP 9.127: on the anger of an aged man. (E) 29 W (p. 12, ll. 32–4): reference to the Egyptian goddess Triphis. (E) 30 W (p. 13, ll. 1–32): on a politician incapable of stealing now like he did in the past. (S) 31 W (p. 14, ll. 1–27): very fragmentary. (ND) 32 W (p. 15, ll. 19–24): very fragmentary. (ND) 33 W (p. 16, ll. 14–19): on Phaethon. Possibly a lament uttered by the Heliades to Zeus, who destroyed their brother,13 or by the speaker/poet to a contemporary who has also (like the Heliades) lost a brother.14 (E?) 34 W (p. 17, ll. 3–9): first-person declaration of old age. (E/S: see Phld. AP 11.30 = GPh 27 = 19 Sider, or Strat. AP 12.240 = 81 Fl., on old age as an impediment to love) 35 W (p. 18, ll. 1–9): description of the effects of old age (according to Wilkinson15), or, probably, of love as sickness (the epigram reworks Sapph. fr. 31 V)16 or both (old age as an impediment to eros?17) (E/S or erotic)

W (p. 7, ll. 25–7): very fragmentary. (ND) W (p. 8, ll. 1–25): a list of foods. Parallels in AP may suggest satirical (e.g. Pall. AP 9.377 and Ammian. AP 11.413, both complaining about the poor quality of food) as well as ‘epideictic’ purposes (e.g. Phld. AP 11.35 = GPh 22 = 28 Sider, an invitation poem; Phld. AP 9.412 = GPh 20 = 29 Sider, remarks on life and death). (E/S) 18 W (p. 9, ll. 17–21): very fragmentary. The last word may be δι]χοστασίας (‘dissension’, ‘sedition’5). (ND) 19 W (p. 9, ll. 22–4): very fragmentary. Wilkinson tries to connect this epigram to Palladas’ poems on Gessios,6 but the reading Γέστιος (l. 24) is very uncertain7 and the poem’s content is best regarded as irrecoverable. (ND) 20 W (p. 9, ll. 25–9): although I find it doubtful that this is another epigram on Gessios, and that it contains a reference to the Alexandrian Museum,8 the expression κενὸν Μουσῶν ἠρίον̣ (‘a cenotaph of Muses’, l. 29) might allude to a lack of poetic talent and thus suggest skoptic content. (S?)9 21 W (p. 9, ll. 30–3): on the ‘destruction’ of the poet’s (?) native city (apparently, Alexandria: l. 33), according to the lemma (εἰς τὴ̣ ν τῆς πατρίδος̣ ̣ κατασ̣ κ̣ α̣ φ ̣ ̣ ήν).10 ̣ (E/S) 22 W (p. 10, ll. 12–18): very fragmentary. A certain Lasthenes and a resident of the village of Skinepoïs are mentioned. (ND) 23 W (p. 10, ll. 19–23): there is mention of ‘twenty devourers of the common stock’, who have taken the place of a single man of unknown identity. It may be a political attack. (E/S) 24 W (p. 10, ll. 24–9): political satire: Heron bribed to go to Hades. (S) 25 W (p. 11, ll. 22–6): reference to a politician. (S?)

5 6 7 8 9 10

and APl 40.6 = GPh 36.6 = 36.6 Y.; Thallos AP 6.235.2 = GPh 2.2; Leon. AP 6.321.2 = FGE 1.2, AP 6.328.2 = FGE 7.2, AP 9.349.2 = FGE 26.2. See LSJ, s.v. διχοστασία. See AP 7.681–8 and APl 317, with Floridi (2013) 99–104. On the Gessios sequence in the Greek Anthology, see also Gutzwiller in this volume pp. 38–41. See e.g. Henderson, W. J. (2016b) 100 n. 5: ‘the hesitant connection of γεcτιοcην […] with Palladas’ epigrams on a certain Gessios (AG 7.681–8; 16.317) seems forced’; Benelli (2016) 992–3. As suggested by Wilkinson (2012a) 152–4. On this poem, see also Kanellou/Carey in this volume, pp. 9–10, who rightly point out that the epigram plays with the conventions of sepulchral – and especially cenotaphic – epigram. A metaphorical destruction, if one accepts van Minnen’s supplement εἵνε̣ ̣κα̣ ̣ ν̣[αύ]λω ̣ ̣ [ν̣] (‘as a consequence of their transportation dues’) instead of Wilkinson’s εἵνε̣ κ̣ α̣ ̣ ν[̣ ίκ]ης̣ ̣ (‘for the sake of victory’): Wilkinson (2012a) 156.

11

12 13 14 15 16 17

As pointed out by Ast (2014) and in this volume pp. 66–73. The different interpretation depends on the meaning attributed to πρυτανεία, πρυτανεύειν, and πρύτανις: ‘imperial campaign’, ‘imperial campaigning’, and ‘emperor’ for Wilkinson (2012a) 162; ‘city council presidency’, ‘to serve as city council president’, and ‘city council president’ for Ast (2014) and in this volume. The latter interpretation seems like the most natural way to understand the words (pace Wilkinson (2015b)): see Dijkstra (2014) 372; Papathomas (2016) 426; Cameron (2016a) 51–2. On 26 W, see now also Colombo (2021), whose chronological conclusions about the date of the poem (and thus of Palladas) are very similar to those reached by Ast. Wilkinson (2012a) 31–3. On thematic sequences in the codex, see Gutzwiller’s chapter in this volume. As tentatively suggested by Wilkinson (2012a) 175. As alternatively suggested by Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 19–20. Wilkinson (2012a) 178–9. See Polemis (2013); Floridi (2015); Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 16–19. For this (hypothetical) reading, see Floridi (2015) 63–5. This epigram opens up the possibility that the Yale papyrus codex contained, in the part that is now lost, poems other than epideictic

23

Skoptic Epigram in the Yale Papyrus Codex

36 W (p. 19, l. 33): very fragmentary. A reference to Kallimachos may open the poem. (ND) 37 W (p. 21, ll. 4–8): = AP 9.379: reworking of a proverb. (E)18 As the above list makes clear, it is often difficult to draw a distinction between skoptic and epideictic material: the generic nature of many epigrams is unclear, and the boundary between the two subgenres is blurred in several cases. The very nature of the epideictic epigram, to be sure, is not straightforward, as Wilkinson himself recognises:19 the label ‘epideictic’ was probably used by the Byzantines to classify epigrams which could not easily fit into other categories, and the very early existence of the subgenre has been reasonably called into question.20 On a purely descriptive level, a common feature of the epigrams collected in the first part of Book 9 of the Greek Anthology, which may have determined their standing as a book (and the very denomination ‘epideictic’), is their rhetorical nature. Although they were probably composed for completely different purposes, at some point they came to be regarded as texts constructed according to well-established rhetorical rules and reflecting school practices; thus, they were gathered together.21 As far as we can judge, some epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex are rhetorical in this sense: 21 W, on the ‘destruction’ of Alexandria, might be connected to the motif of the lament over a city destroyed by war or a natural catastrophe (see e.g. Antip.Sid. AP 9.151 = HE 59; Agath. AP 9.153; Douris AP 9.424 = HE 1; Barb. AP 9.425, 9.426);22 33 W, on Phaethon, if really uttered by the Heliades (as we have seen, speaker(s) and addressee are uncertain), could be interpreted as an ethopoiia (words that a famous, mythological character could have pronounced in given circumstances),23 although mythological exempla can obviously also serve satirical purposes.24 Other poems rework/comment on proverbs and famous dicta (e.g. 2,

37 W), as do many epigrams in AP Book 9 (see e.g. Arch. AP 9.339 = GPh 23, on the raven and the scorpion, or Antip.Thess. AP 9.23.7 = GPh 71.7, on the proverbial contrast between mother and stepmother), and the only two epigrams that are also preserved in the Greek Anthology (28 and 37 W) are actually included in this very book. When it comes to skoptic epigram, there are certainly poems which meet (or could meet) the two prerequisites which, according to the loose definition proposed by Blomqvist, make a poem skoptic: (a) they are witty (e.g. 7, 8, 9 W)25 and (b) they ridicule, or just make fun of, a specific target – be that a person (e.g. 7, 8, 24 W) or a group of people (23 W), an object or a place, or a phenomenon.26 But how accurate is this modern definition of skoptic epigram? Did whoever assembled the collection in the papyrus codex perceive the difference between skoptic and epideictic epigram as we do? The label σκωπτικὰ ἐπιγράμματα is used in the lemma of the codex Palatinus Gr. 23 (P) to define the satirical material contained in the second part of Book 11, but, to my knowledge, this is the first time the definition is put forward. Agathias, whose Cycle included a skoptic section, introduces it with the words ὁππόθι κερτομέοντες ἐπεσβόλον ἦχον ἀοιδῆς / γράψαμεν … (‘where we sarcastically wrote poems with an abusive tone’, AP 4.3.128–9).27 Before the Byzantine era, skoptic epigram is never explicitly defined as such, although the word σκῶμμα is used by the Neronian poet Loukillios  – the ‘father-figure’ of the subgenre  – with reference to sympotic jokes. When attacking grammarians, who take part in the symposium and spoil its joyful atmosphere with their pedantic discussions, he accuses them (inter alia) of being incapable of telling jokes (οἷς οὐ σκῶμμα λέγειν … φίλον, ‘who care not for making a joke’, AP 11.140.3 = 49.3 F.). Although we can be fairly certain that, in Loukillios’ view, the jokes required 25

18 19 20

21 22 23 24

or skoptic ones. On this point, see also Kanellou (2014) 134–5; Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 16–20. On the epigram, see Henderson pp. 61–3 and Vezzosi p. 52 in this volume. Wilkinson (2012a) 30. Lauxtermann (1998). For further observations on the label ‘epideictic’, related to the subgeneric variety of the epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex, see Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 14–16. As Chris Carey points out to me, it may be significant that for Aristotle the focus of epideictic oratory is praise and blame (Rh. 1358b): from a rhetorical perspective, skoptic as a variety of blame can reasonably be included within epideictic. Rossi (2002). Rossi (2002) 166. Rossi (2002) 171–2. See p. 26 in this chapter.

26 27

Σκῶμμα, and its cognate verb, σκώπτειν, refer to the act of mocking or deriding, not necessarily in an explicitly hostile sense: see Halliwell (2008) 18 and n. 41. In what is probably its first occurrence in Greek literature, h.Cer. 203, the verb (παρα)σκώπτειν is used with reference to the jokes with which Iambe made Demeter laugh, when the goddess was desperate because of the loss of Persephone. Σκῶμμα and laughter seem thus always to have been associated: mockery aims to provoke laughter. For a similar association in a sympotic context, see P. Berol. 13270 (4th–3rd century BCE), adespota elegiaca 27.5–6 West = fr. ade­ spoton 12.5–6 Gentili–Prato = Anon. FGE 135.5–6 … ἐς ἀλλήλους τε φ[λ]υαρεῖν / καὶ σκώπτειν τοιαῦθ’ οἷα γέλωτα φέρειν (‘to prate and mock each other in order to provoke laughter’). As remarked by Ferrari (1989) 222, ‘σκώπτω del v. 6 non ha altre attestazioni nell’elegia e in tutta la lirica’ (‘σκώπτω in v. 6 has no other occurrence in elegy and in all lyric poetry’). Blomqvist (1998) 46. Translation from Tueller (2014) 195.

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to create a suitable sympotic atmosphere included (skoptic) epigrams, the word here does not specifically refer to the satirical sympotic epigram.28 The issue of definition raises the issue of classification. If imperial epigrammatists did not call their satirical epigrams ‘skoptic’, did they at least perceive them as such? Or – to put it in a different way – did they perceive their satirical epigrams as something different from non-satirical epigrams (such as those we call ‘epideictic’ or ‘admonitory’)? To answer this question, one should note that the Yale papyrus codex does not contain anything like a proper skoptic section: the epigrams, as far as we can judge, are mainly classified by theme,29 so that skoptic and epideictic poems are intertwined. Single short sequences of purely skoptic epigrams might survive, but the clear impression one gets is that epigrams are arranged, in this collection, according to criteria unrelated to their generic nature. As in the case of the Milan Papyrus, the theme appears to be more important than the subgenre (at least, as this is understood in modern classifications).30 The Yale papyrus codex thus shows that in the 3rd–4th centuries CE,31 books of epigrams were still arranged without much concern for the subgeneric categories we are used to from later collections.32 The same principle had probably already been applied to the books of skoptic 28

29 30 31

32

Σκῶμμα/σκώπτειν and epigrams are also linked by Diogenes Laertius when introducing the attack of Theokritos of Chios (FGE 1) on Aristotle: ἀπέσκωψε δ’ εἰς αὐτὸν ἐπίγραμμα καὶ Θεόκριτος ὁ Χῖος (‘even Theokritos of Chios mocked him in an epigram’). Wilkinson (2012a) 31–3. For selection and arrangement criteria in the Milan Papyrus, see e.g. Krevans (2005) and Gutzwiller (2005a). The editio princeps offers, on paleographical grounds, a very narrow time frame for the date of the papyrus, i.e. 280–340 CE: see Duttenhöfer in Wilkinson (2012a) 15–16. As pointed out by Ast (2014), however, the hand can just as likely be dated to the second half of the 4th century CE (an opinion shared, for instance, by Guido Bastianini, who offers a further parallel for a later date: see Floridi/Maltomini (2016) 48 and n. 113). Nor are the other arguments used to connect the epigrams to specific historical circumstances more secure, since they rest on a specific reading/interpretation of the text ‘that is not necessarily the only, or even the most likely, one’, as Dijkstra (2014) 372 argues. I thus consider it more sensible to allow for a wider time frame that does not exclude the second part of the 4th century CE. It might be worth noting, as remarked also by Gutzwiller in this volume (n. 4), that a later date for the codex would avoid conflict between the time of the production of the codex and Palladas’ dating to c.319–400 CE. Namely, Kephalas’ anthology and, before that, Agathias’ Cycle, probably the structural model for Kephalas, and possibly also Meleager’s Garland, which might have been composed of four books, divided by subgenre: see Cameron (1993) 19–33. See also

authors such as the Neronian Loukillios and Nikarchos, the main representatives of the subgenre. Although what survives of a Nikarchian book from the 2nd century CE displays an exclusively skoptic tone (and exclusively sexual themes),33 Loukillios is credited, in AP Book 11, with ‘admonitory’ poems whose moralising tone would make them suitable for inclusion in Book 10.34 Apparently they are in Book 11 because they were composed by Loukillios, the skoptic poet par excellence,35 and they were probably gathered together with the properly skoptic pieces already found in a Loukillian book – Kephalas, as is well known, usually preserves the order of his sources in arranging the material.36 Satirical and admonitory poems may be very similar, as they often have a similar structure (with a second-person address), similar themes (the censuring of human weaknesses), and, ultimately, a similar aim (according to Theophrastos ap. Plu. Mor. 631e, ὀνειδισμὸς γάρ ἐστιν τῆς ἁμαρτίας παρεσχηματισμένος τὸ σκῶμμα, ‘the joke is a disguised reproach for a mistake’).37 Therefore, it is a fair assumption that authors of skoptic epigrams did not care much about the ‘generic’ nature of their poems: being witty might have been, in most cases, their aim, but comments on events, people, and their vices can take a rich variety of tones, which does not necessarily square well with our perception of the epigrammatic subgenres. The first lesson that P. CtYBR inv. 4000 teaches us, then, is that we should always remember that our subgeneric categories are artificial, and that they do not necessarily meet ancient classification requirements. This is all the more true when it comes to non-inscriptional epigrammatic subgenres, that is, to those epigrams conventionally labelled ‘skoptic’, ‘sympotic’, ‘epideictic’, ‘gnomic’, ‘erotic’, etc., where the perception of content and tone – and thus of the ‘subgenre’ they belong to  – is subjective, and can vary considerably from reader to reader. Authors and editors, apparently, could be more concerned about theme than ‘subgenre’, and their classificatory choices could affect the very reception of a poem.38 This is something that the Milan Papyrus, with its peculiar headings, has

33 34 35 36 37 38

Gutzwiller (1998) 276–322, whose reconstruction of the Garland is based on Cameron’s hypothesis. P. Oxy. 66.4502, published by Parsons (1999). On the papyrus, see Morelli (2015). See AP 11.338 = 121 F., 11.339 = 122 F., and 11.390 = 123 F. There is no real need to deny Loukillios’ authorship of the poems: see Floridi (2014a) 79–80. Cameron (1993) 88. On the similarities between satire and admonitory poetry, see Nisbet (2006). Even when concerned with ‘subgenre’, the tendency of epigram to combine different tonal and thematic elements means that categorisation is always, to some degree, fluid. In addition, the

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already shown us: epigrams which would have been classified as amatory in Meleager’s Garland were included in the Lithika section, affecting the reader’s view, who was invited to forget about girls and love and to concentrate on stones.39 But while the Milan papyrus probably reflects a pre-Meleagrian mode of classification, and thus reveals a time in the history of the transmission of epigrams when categories were still in the process of being created, the Yale papyrus codex comes from a later, post-Meleagrian time, and still shows that epigrams could be arranged within a collection with little or no attention to ‘subgenres’.40 Having made this point, I shall now concentrate on the epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex which, according to our perception, can be labelled as skoptic. My aim is to reach some conclusions through their association and comparison with the skoptic epigrams known from the Greek Anthology and other sources. 2

The Features of Greek Skoptic Epigram

Many have argued that Greek skoptic epigram is a typical product of the Neronian era,41 but, like many other epigrammatic subgenres, it actually appears for the first time during the Hellenistic period, when the epigram frees itself from its inscriptional origins and becomes an independent literary genre.42 It is worth noting that the most ancient skoptic epigrams are mainly preserved through sources other than the Palatine Anthology, or in books other than Book 11: skoptic epigram was probably not particularly congenial to the ancient collectors, in particular

39 40

41

42

poets sometimes consciously toy with generic expectations when writing their compositions: see Sens (2002). Krevans (2005) esp. 84–5. The incipit of the Yale papyrus codex is lost, so we do not know whether it was prefaced by a generic label, but in what survives of the codex there are only thematic titles. In any case, even if a generic label had been used, it would have included at least two types (if not more: see n. 17 in this chapter) – i.e. epideictic and skoptic – which are quite separate in our perception. E.g. only with Loukillios did it become ‘un vero e proprio tipo di ben definita natura’ (‘an actual type of poem with a definite character’), according to Longo (1967) 92–3. Practised by other poets from the 1st and 2nd centuries CE – and by Martial, who refined the genre, dooming his Greek precursors to oblivion – it would have been an ephemeral phenomenon, which ‘comes from nowhere … and goes nowhere’, to quote Nisbet (2003) 209 (but see the objections raised by e.g. Gutzwiller (2005b)). On the development of Greek skoptic epigram in the Hellenistic age, see Blomqvist (1998); Floridi/Maltomini (2016) esp. 34–6; Floridi (forthcoming); on Hedylos and skoptic epigram, see Floridi (2020) 29–32. See also Geffcken (1917) 103, 109, 115–16; Longo (1967) 92–111; Schatzmann (2012) 89–94; Floridi (2014a) 9–14.

to Meleager, on whose choices our knowledge of the Hellenistic epigram depends. Apparently, Meleager did not select, for instance, Hedylos’ or Poseidippos’ epigrams on gluttons (preserved in Ath. 8.344f–345b and 10.414d), but he did include satirical epitaphs and dedications, arranging them alongside serious poems of the same sort (this may be why many Hellenistic skoptic epigrams were not transmitted in AP Book 11, but in AP Book 6, among dedications, or AP Book 7, among epitaphs). The genre may thus have been practised more systematically than we can tell on the basis of existing evidence. This is now further suggested by the recently published CPR XXXIII (last quarter of the 3rd century BCE), containing a list of 226 epigram incipits: as far as we can judge, many of its poems are skoptic and deal with themes which, until now, were believed to be typical of the 1st and 2nd centuries CE.43 Be that as it may, a quick look at the material collected in AP or preserved by Athenaeus and other sources allows us to recognise some specific features which characterise the genre from the Hellenistic era onwards.44 2.1 Structure As regards the form, two main tendencies can be detected: (1) Satire is expressed through traditional epigrammatic forms, revisited in an ironic or clearly parodic way. Mock epitaphs and dedications aiming to make fun of people and their vices are frequent. Some typical examples include Leonidas of Tarentum AP 7.455 = HE 68, on an old bibulous woman called Maronis, who after her death is upset not because she misses her husband and children, but because the Attic cup standing on her grave is empty; Automedon AP 11.324 = GPh 6, a dialogic dedication in which Phoibos denounces the rapacity of the temple guardian. Mock dedications also constitute a favourite topic of Loukillios, who uses an anathematic structure, especially to mock unsuccessful athletes.45 Inscriptional schemes and themes can also be found in poems which have nothing to do with the traditional types, but have a skoptic tone: see e.g. Philodemos AP 11.30.1 = GPh 27.1 = 19.1 Sider, where the metaphorical death of a man’s penis is described through the typical epitaphic formula ὁ πρὶν ἐγώ (‘I who previously’); also, in Loukillios AP 11.174 = 64 F., 11.176 = 66 F., 11.246 = 96 F., 11.253 = 99 F., and 11.312 = 116 F.,

43 44 45

Parsons/Maehler/Maltomini (2015) 15; Floridi/Maltomini (2016) 20–36; Floridi (forthcoming). What follows is mostly based on Floridi (2014a) 9–21. E.g. AP 11.80 = 12 F., 11.81 = 13 F., 11.84 = 15 F., and 11.258 = 103 F. On Loukillios’ epigrams on athletes, see esp. Robert (1968). On skoptic epigram and traditional epigrammatic subgenres, see Floridi (2010).

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ekphrastic and epitaphic themes and structures are used to mock several targets ­— thieves, dancers, poets, etc. (2) Satire is expressed in different forms, inherited from the two genres traditionally designed to express mockery and blame, iambos and comedy.46 In this case, the epigram often takes the form of a second-person address:47 the poet addresses his target directly to launch a criticism or attack.48 The speaker may adopt an overtly friendly tone, so that the criticism, when it arises, comes across as more cutting because it is unexpected.49 Sometimes the σκῶμμα can take the form of an ironic wish,50 or of a story.51 Poetic quotations and allusions,52 hyperboles,53 mythical exempla used in a comic way,54 puns,55 plays with names,56 and (para)logical inferences57 can add to the efficacy of the joke.

ugly women,58 people with foul mouths,59 gluttons,60 misers,61 short/thin people,62 envious,63 lazy ones,64 etc. In addition, there is a clear taste for scatological material and sex (this is especially true for Nikarchos). Particularly widespread in Book 11 is satire on professionals, attacked because of their incompetence: grammarians and philologists,65 philosophers,66 doctors,67 athletes,68 poets,69 singers and actors,70 etc. The individual categories are usually grouped together in Book 11, under clear thematic headings, as though to provide a catalogue of human vices and weaknesses (on boxers, on doctors, on women, etc).

2.2 Themes As regards themes, although there are examples of attacks against individuals, there is a tendency to mock specific human categories for their moral or physical vices. Favourite targets for their physical/moral defects are old/

The Yale papyrus codex differs from the picture drawn above in several respects:

46

47

48 49 50 51

52 53 54

55

56 57

The points of contact between iambos/comedy and skoptic epigram have been investigated by Brecht (1930); see also Schatzmann (2012) 96–105; Kanellou (2019) and in this volume pp. 74–86. On ‘iambic’ invective in Palladas’ epigrams, see Henderson, W. J. (2008a). Nisbet (2003) 168 and Fain (2008) 156–9 note that apostrophes and second-person forms are rare in Loukillios and Nikarchos, and become more common after Ammianos (perhaps because of Martial’s influence). But direct apostrophes are attested in Greek skoptic epigrams from the very beginning, as the examples quoted here show. E.g. Autom. AP 11.346 = GPh 8; Antiphan. AP 11.348 = GPh 10; Lucill. AP 11.68 = 5 F., 11.76 = 8 F., 11.78 = 10 F., and 11.259.5 = 104.5 F. An early example is provided by Hedyl. Ath. 8.345a–b = HE 9 = 9 Fld.; see also Antip.Thess. AP 11.219 = GPh 98. E.g. Lucill. AP 11.206 = 81 F. E.g. Hedyl. AP 11.123 = HE 11 = 11 Fld.; Parmen. AP 11.4 = GPh 12; narration is widespread in Lucill. AP 11.79 = 11 F., 11.83 = 14 F., 11.85 = 16 F., 11.87 = 17 F., 11.89 = 19 F., 11.90 = 20 F., 11.91 = 21 F., 11.92 = 22 F., 11.93 = 23 F., 11.94 = 24 F., 11.95 = 25 F., etc. E.g. Autom. AP 11.361.3 = GPh 9.3, quotation from Il. 9.503. E.g. Antip.Thess. AP 11.327 = GPh 8; Lucill. AP 11.240 = 94 F., 11.245 = 95 F., 11.247 = 97 F., 11.249 = 98 F. E.g. Hedyl. Ath. 8.344f–345a = HE 8 = 8 Fld., Ath. 8.345a–b = HE 9.5–6 = 9.5–6 Fld.; Autom. AP 11.319 = GPh 5; Lucill. AP 11.88 = 18 F. = 25 F., 11.104 = 30 F., 11.107 = 33 F., 11.116 = 39 F., 11.131 = 40 F., and 11.239 = 93 F. On mythological burlesque in epigrams, see Kanellou (2019). E.g. Hedyl. Ath. 8.344f = HE 7 = 7 Fld., based on the double meaning of χορδή (‘string of a lyre or harp’ and ‘sausage’); Phld. AP 11.318 = GPh 28 = 31 Sider, a series of puns based on the language of astrology; Lucill. AP 11.69.2 = 6.2 F. and 11.139 = 48 F. E.g. Marc.Arg. AP 11.320 = GPh 34. E.g. Strat. AP 12.245 = 87 Fl.

3

Skoptic Epigram in the Yale Papyrus Codex

3.1 Techniques (1) Parody of traditional epigrammatic forms – a favourite with earlier skoptic epigrammatists  – does not seem to occur, as far as evidence allows us to judge. Apart from the single reference in 20 W, where the expression κενὸν Μουσῶν ἠρίον̣ (‘a cenotaph of Muses’, l. 29) plays with the idea of the cenotaph, a common motif in funerary epigram,71 there is just one possible instance of parody on p. 5, ll. 15–25 (8 W), but it is quite different from the kind of parody we are used to from the Palatine Anthology. Here, the form of a hymn devoted to the river god Nile probably becomes the medium for mocking a local criminal named Neilos. The hymnic repetition of Νεῖλος in lines 20–4 serves the purpose of blaming a Hermopolite malefactor, exactly as in Martial 5.24, where the gladiator Hermes is addressed in the manner usually reserved for 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71

E.g. Antiphil. AP 11.66 = GPh 51; Myrin. AP 11.67 = GPh 4; Lucill. AP 11.68 = 5 F. and 11.69 = 6 F.; Bass. AP 11.72 = GPh 10; Nicarch. AP 11.73. E.g. Antip.Thess. AP 11.219 = GPh 98. E.g. Hedyl. Ath. 8.344f–345a = HE 7 and 8 = 7 and 8 Fld., Ath. 8.345a–b = HE 9 = 9 Fld.; Posidipp. HE 16 = 121 A–B. E.g. Antiphan. AP 9.409 = GPh 6 and 11.168 = GPh 8. E.g. the series AP 11.88–96, 11.99–107, and 11.109–11. Lucill. AP 11.192 = 76 F. Lucill. AP 11.276 = 108 F. and 11.277 = 109 F. E.g. the series AP 11.138–40; see also Herodikos SH 494 = FGE 1. AP 11.153–8. AP 11.112–26. AP 11.76–86. AP 11.127–37. AP 11.185–9. As suggested by Kanellou/Carey in this volume. See n. 9 in this chapter.

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Skoptic Epigram in the Yale Papyrus Codex

gods because of his ‘divine’ name,72 as a witty way to show the fanaticism of the crowd. (2) Second-person addresses in skoptic contexts do occur (7 W, against Hermaios the adulterer; 30 W, against a politician who stole from an unidentified city), but the poor state of the codex makes it impossible to tell whether the poet shows empathy for the person whom he addresses. There are puns (e.g. 9 W, which may contain a play on the six letters of the name Νεῖλος, an appropriate match for both the criminal who is satirised in the previous epigram and the deified river; the epigram resembles skoptic pieces such as Ammian. AP 11.15, 11.181, 11.230, 11.231, and Nicarch. AP 11.17),73 and paralogical inferences (26 W).74 No clear examples of hyperbole occur, but a certain degree of surrealism is found in the epigram on Heron who was bribed to go to Hades (24 W; several epigrams in AP Book 11 are located in Hades: e.g. Lucill. AP 11.133 = 42 F. and 11.143 = 52 F.). No clear instances seem to occur of mythical examples used in a comic way (in 33 W the myth of Phaethon does not seem to be used in a skoptic way, although the epigram’s content is difficult to judge, due to its poor state of conservation; nothing can be made of the mention of Oinomaos in 11 W). 35 W contains a reworking of previous poetry75 and 4 W amalgamates motifs and themes from Greek epigram, Greek comedy, and possibly Latin epigram;76 8 W, based on the motif of comparisons of mortals with the river god Nile, could rework the ‘rags to riches’ motif, with Anakreon’s attack on Artemon (388 PMG) being a possible intertext;77 another epigram, that is, 20 W, might allude in line 28 to Pindar’s Pythian 4.56 πρὸς πῖον τέμενος Κρονίδα (‘to the fertile precinct of the son of Kronos’), if Peter Parsons is right in reading οὐκ ἔσται πῖον . . . . τέμενος τό̣δε (‘it will not be this fertile precinct’ / ‘this will not be a fertile precinct’),78 instead of Wilkinson’s οὐκ ἔστα νηὸ̣ ̣ν̣ τέμενος τόδ̣ ε (‘he/it did not stand (?) … this pre�cinct a temple’); in addition, the expression δυσὶ δοῦλος at 4 W p. 4, l. 35 might be a borrowing from a Menandrian sentence (Comp. 2.118–19 Jäkel).79 Otherwise, quotations 72 73 74 75 76 77 78

79

Wilkinson (2012a) 139. On 8 W, see Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 10–13. On the technique of punning on a person’s name in the Yale papyrus codex, see Wilkinson (2012a) 51; Ast, Gutzwiller, and Kanellou/Carey in this volume. For 9 W, see Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 13–14. I.e. Sapph. fr. 31 V.: see p. 22 in this chapter. See Kanellou in this volume pp. 74–86. As argued by Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 12–13. I would like to thank Peter Parsons for sharing his thoughts on this epigram (through e-mail) with me. See Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 9–10 (who also argue for possible Aristophanic and Kallimachian reworkings in the text). As suggested by Wilkinson (2012a) 134.

and/or allusions to other poets do not seem to occur, although this aspect is particularly difficult to evaluate (the extremely lacunose state of the poems makes it impossible to provide an interpretation for the occurrences of a form of the Homeric adjective φιλήρετμος (‘fond of the oar’) in 22 W, and of δημοβόρος (‘devourer of the common stock’) in 23 W,80 as well as for the probable mention of Kallimachos in 13 and 36 W). 3.2 Themes As far as we can judge, there is neither satire on physical defects nor scatological material. Sex also seems to be absent (apart from the epigram on the adulterer Hermaios, which involves sex, but without aischrology; nothing sure can be said of 34 and 35 W, both of which might have dealt with an erotic theme).81 The targets of the attack seem to be exclusively political enemies or transgressors of social norms (adulterers and criminals are censured). The political tone makes it likely that the epigrams attack individuals, and not stock characters, although it is always difficult to determine whether a character is real or fictitious. A clear connection between a name and the theme of a poem is not necessarily evidence of a nomen fictum: just as the deceased’s name can provide the author of an epitaph with some inspiration for the conceptual core of the praise, a name can suggest the form of mockery (and mere coincidence cannot be ruled out).82 Let us take, for instance, the epigram on the adulterer Hermaios of Hermopolis. Hermes is a kind of patron of adulterers and the name Hermaios is also connected to the name of a city, i.e. Hermopolis. Is Hermaios a contemporary of the poet or is this a fictional name, selected for its comic potential? If the epigram had been composed by Loukillios or Nikarchos, we would probably consider it a fictional name. But the general topicality which characterises the papyrus codex makes it likely that real people are involved here. Nevertheless, it should be noted that individuals are censured for specific vices which can coincide with vices traditionally censured in skoptic epigrams — for instance, theft and adultery. The poems of the Yale papyrus codex thus seem to differ quite a lot from the skoptic poems in AP Book 11, and especially from the Neronian skoptic epigrams, both in the techniques employed and in content. As far as content is concerned, the most striking feature of the new 80 81 82

On the Homeric borrowings in the Yale papyrus codex, see Wilkinson (2012a) 53; for 23 W, see also Henderson, W. J. in this volume pp. 56–7. See p. 22 in this chapter. On this point, see Floridi (2014a) 27–30, with some examples.

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poems is their pronounced topicality, i.e. they are linked to specific places (there are clear references to Upper Egypt: Hermopolis, Lykopolis, Skinepoïs, and the goddess Triphis, whose cult centre was located near Panopolis)83 and probably to specific, contemporary people, though they cannot be identified with any certainty.84 In contrast, Neronian skoptic epigrams avoid making too many references to contemporary issues, and their targets are more generic. It should also be noted that the only example of parody of another genre in the Yale papyrus codex – the mock-hymn of Neilos – is strongly linked to Egypt and an Egyptian audience. The geographical reality to which the poems allude may also be significant for a better understanding of the skoptic tone which is so prevalent in many epigrams, since the Egyptians were known for their sense of humour (they were, according to many ancient sources, φιλοσκόμμωνες, ‘fond of jesting’).85 It may also be significant that Nikarchos, one of the most important representatives of the skoptic genre, is usually credited with an Egyptian origin).86 But topicality is not an innovation within the genre. In fact, early (i.e. Hellenistic) skoptic epigrams often target individuals:87 Alkaios of Messene, for instance, wrote political attacks against Philip (AP 9.518–19 = HE 1–2). Later on, a change seems to have occurred: judging from the surviving material in the Palatine Anthology, attacks against individuals become rarer in Philip’s Garland, and are usually directed towards people of a lower standing in society.88 Blomqvist might be at least partially right in attributing this to political factors, though the dynamics of transmission have certainly affected our perception of the history of the genre, too.89 When poems of topical interest lose their connection with a specific historical/ social context, they tend to be considered unworthy of further copying.90 Under the Roman Empire, apparently, 83 84

85 86 87 88

89 90

On the poems’ topicality, see also Wilkinson (2012a) 35–6; Ast in this volume pp. 66–73. Even the reference to the Sarmatian campaigns of Diocletian and Galerius recognised by Wilkinson is dubious, as shown by Ast (2014) and in this volume pp. 66–73. Objections to the historical context suggested by Wilkinson for the epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex may also be found in Dijkstra (2014) 372 and Henderson, W. J. (2016b) 100. For some sources and bibliography, see Agosti (2001) 236 n. 82. Parsons (1999) 38–9; Schatzmann (2012) 23–5. Blomqvist (1998) 54–5. See, for instance, the attacks on a gluttonous actor by king Juba of Mauretania (Ath. 8.343f = FGE 1), on the writer Parthenios by Erykios (AP 7.377 = GPh 13), and on the astrologer Antikrates by Philodemos (AP 11.318 = GPh 28 = 31 Sider). More on this point in Floridi (forthcoming). As the Milan Papyrus, with its strongly Ptolemaic focus, has clearly shown. Another example is offered by an anthology of

it was not ‘safe’ to attack men in power.91 Greek epigrammatists who lived from the 1st century BCE up until the 1st century CE worked under the protection of (powerful) Roman patrons: they could choose between composing poetry which commented on contemporary people/ events in a eulogistic way (as was the case with Leonidas of Alexandria and Krinagoras) and poetry that aimed to be funny without being ‘dangerous’ (this was apparently Loukillios’ choice. Nero was his patron: there was no way he could speak ill of the powerful people of his day).92 During this period, political attacks become nearly non-existent or anonymous.93 Skoptic epigram almost exclusively targets generic human categories, such as skinny people, bad doctors, unsuccessful athletes, and so on, and references to real places and people become rare. However, topicality appears to become central again in the epigrams of the 2nd-century poet Ammianos, who seems to write about contemporary people (namely Antonius Polemon, the famous rhetorician from Smyrna, if the identification proposed by scholars is correct),94 and places (the Lydian town of Mastaura, Smyrna and its Stratonikeion, and Metropolis, which is perhaps to be identified with the city between Ephesos and Smyrna bearing this name).95 Palladas’ work also includes many references to people and events of his time (although the different identifications and dates proposed for the poet clearly show the difficulties which arise whenever we try to frame ancient poetry within a specific historical context by relying solely on the poets’ words).96 Therefore, topicality comes as no real surprise: skoptic epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex offer confirmation of a development of the post-Neronian satirical epigram that we can already detect from the scant remains of post-Neronian skoptic poems in the Palatine Anthology.

91 92 93

94 95 96

4th-century Egyptian iambic poets that is now lost, but was still read by Photios: see Hammerstaedt (1997) and Miguélez Cavero (2008) 79–83. And this is generally true for all court poetry, as the fate of Sotades, for instance, clearly shows: see Floridi (forthcoming). Nisbet (2003) 113–33, however, has attempted to read some of Loukillios’ epigrams as concealed attacks against the emperor, but see my objections in Floridi (2014a) 3–5. For Imperial Rome, see also, for instance, the anonymous ‘pasquinades’ studied by Cupaiuolo (1993). Attacks against men in power continue to be anonymous under Byzantine emperors: see, for instance, the two anonymous epigrams (AP 11.270–1) against Anastasios (5th–6th century CE). See Nisbet (2003) 144–5, with further bibliography. Nisbet (2003) 134–64. For a useful overview of the different chronologies proposed for Palladas, along with the relevant bibliography, see Wilkinson (2012a) 55–6.

Skoptic Epigram in the Yale Papyrus Codex

4 Conclusions Given the very fragmentary nature of the material, any conclusion based on it should be considered provisional. Having said this, I will now summarise the issues raised by my survey: – The difficulty in distinguishing between epideictic and skoptic epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex is an important reminder of how our classifications do not necessarily correspond to the ancient ones: the only difference between ‘epideictic’ and ‘skoptic’ in the papyrus codex seems to lie in the tone of the poems. Themes and techniques are grosso modo identical, the only difference being that skoptic epigrams are ironic and funny, while the rest offer food for thought without making prominent use of humour. – There is a predilection for topicality and politics. The epigrams comment on contemporary people/events and are written for an Egyptian audience. Their invective seems to be linked to the local community at least to some degree, a feature that also characterised Archaic and Classical skoptic/iambic poetry and Hellenistic skoptic epigrams. How, then, are we to explain this difference in comparison to the Neronian skoptic epigram? We do not have much biographical information about the skoptic poets. The differences noted between Ammianos/Palladas and Loukillios/Nikarchos might be attributed to historical circumstances (epigrammatists could not speak up against men in power under Nero, and thus preferred to direct their satire against ‘harmless’ targets), as well as to biographical reasons (we know for sure that Loukillios worked under the protection of Nero, while Ammianos and Palladas may have been independent epigrammatists, who did not work under the direct control of the Imperial household).97 – This predilection for topicality also involves more realism (or a different kind of realism: Loukillios did not refrain from criticising his contemporaries, but he did so in a more nuanced way; social criticism is not absent from his epigrams, although it is usually directed against types of people, and not recognisable individuals). Surrealism and hyperbole – the landmark of Neronian skoptic epigrams98 – are not completely 97 98

On the status of the professional man of letters in Upper Egypt, see Miguélez Cavero (2008) 97–9. Floridi (2014a) 31–4.

29 absent, but they are certainly less marked than in Loukillios and Nikarchos. – As regards the form of the poems, while Hellenistic skoptic epigrams and the genre-defining poems of Loukillios often resort to parody of inscriptional types in order to show that they belong to the genre of epigram, this technique becomes rarer in later skoptic authors (Palladas, for instance, has only one clear example, i.e. AP 6.85). This choice may certainly depend on the poets’ personal taste, but another explanation is possible: by the 3rd or 4th century CE, skoptic epigram had become a perfectly defined type, and skoptic authors no longer needed to stress their literary roots through a connection with the origins of the genre. – Apparently, with some exceptions,99 there are no embellishments of parody and learned allusions (although this aspect is very difficult to evaluate).100 Did this depend on the audience of the papyrus codex? Was direct satire, not mediated by literature, preferred because the audience was not expected to appreciate (or even recognise) any literary quotations and allusions? This seems quite unlikely. As Laura Miguélez Cavero’s study has shown, literary production in Upper Egypt between 200 and 600 CE was very rich and learned, and ‘literary culture was taken into account when talking about everyday life in the towns of the province (Antinoopolis, Hermopolis, Panopolis) and Alexandria’.101 A possible explanation might be that the Yale papyrus codex sought to differentiate itself from contemporary eulogistic poetry by using a different expressive code. The avoidance of excessive references to literary culture might constitute a ‘mark of distinction’ for a collection that chooses satire and personal attacks over encomia and eulogy. But this and many other thoughts prompted by the papyrus are certainly destined to remain tantalisingly speculative hypotheses for the moment, and future decipherments and supplements to the texts might change the picture considerably. 99 See p. 27 in this chapter. 100 Kanellou/Carey pp. 7–20 and Kanellou pp. 74–86 in this volume, for instance, believe that the literary value of the Yale papyrus codex is greater than the scraps let us realise. 101 Miguélez Cavero (2008) 377; see also Eunapios VS 493, according to whom Egyptians ἐπὶ ποιητικῇ … σφόδρα μαίνονται (‘are really crazy for poetry’).

Chapter 4

Palladas Sequences in the Greek Anthology and the Yale Papyrus Codex Kathryn Gutzwiller The Milan Papyrus attributed to Poseidippos (P. Mil. Vogl. VIII 309) shows that epigram collections of the 3rd century BCE were arranged in thematic groups, often with sophisticated arrangement within groups.1 Meleager’s Garland, produced about 100 BCE, not only extended thematic grouping to multi-authored anthologies but also, particularly in his erotic book (now divided into AP Books 5 and 12), produced thematic linkages across clusters of poems and even between the opening and closing sequences of books.2 Despite its very fragmentary condition, the most recent epigram collection to be published, the Yale papyrus codex (P. CtYBR inv. 4000),3 of the late 3rd or 4th century CE, also shows evidence of recurring themes, repeating keywords, and so perhaps sequencing. The collection was attributed by its editor to Palladas, and the evidentiary basis for the attribution has convinced many though not all scholars.4 1 Ed. maior Bastianini/Gallazzi/Austin (2001); ed. minor Austin/ Bastianini (2002). On sequences, see Gutzwiller (2002) and (2005a). 2 Gutzwiller (1998) 276–322. 3 Ed. maior Wilkinson (2012a). 4 The question of attribution is partially tied to uncertainties about the date of the papyrus’ production. The evidentiary basis for Wilkinson’s attribution to Palladas (2012a) 41–2 is the presence of lines from two epigrams that are probably (AP 9.379) or possibly (AP 9.127) the work of Palladas together with other similarities to Palladas in style and subject matter. As Ast (2014) points out, this evidence places the burden of proof on those who would dispute Palladas’ authorship; cf. Kanellou (2014) 134 (‘a plausible candidate’); Dijkstra (2014) 371 (‘likely’); Henderson, W. J. (2016b) 99 (‘argued persuasively’); Cameron (2016b) 111 (‘a possibility’). Since the previously accepted date for Palladas was c.319–400 CE and since Ruth Duttenhöfer in Wilkinson (2012a) 15–16 found the closest parallels to the papyrus’ script between 280 and 340, there appeared to be a disjunction of dates. Wilkinson (2009), (2012a) 154–6, (2015a), and (2015b) has sought to solve that problem with a series of arguments placing the composition of some of the epigrams in the 320s or 330s, that is, the age of Constantine rather than that of Theodosios. For concerns about his arguments for the early date, see Ast (2014); Dijkstra (2014) 371–2; Henderson, W. J. (2016b) 100; Cameron (2016a) and (2016b); Floridi (2016a); Agosti (2019) 597–8; Benelli (2016) dates Palladas to late 4th/early 5th century, and dismisses his authorship of the papyrus codex. Importantly, however, Ast (2014) has argued that the documentary script on the papyrus could belong to the later 4th century; see too Dijkstra (2014) 372; Benelli (2015) 53. This possibility would avoid any conflict between the time of the production of the papyrus and a 4th century dating of Palladas.

© Kathryn Gutzwiller, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004521353_005

Of the 150 or so epigrams by Palladas preserved in the Palatine Codex, a fair number fall into continuous sequences, which likely originated in one or more author-organised epigram books. His epigrams came into the Byzantine epigram compendium compiled by Kephalas of Constantinople not directly from any such epigram books but from a late antique anthology known as the Palladas sylloge, which included earlier imperial epigrams.5 My purpose in examining select Palladas sequences is twofold. One is to analyse the degree to which the fragmentary Yale papyrus codex bears similarity to the preserved Palladas sequences. The second is to illustrate that Palladas used the editorial technique of sequencing to move beyond the kinds of jokes found in earlier skoptic epigram and to create an autobiographical perspective offering a moral critique of his contemporary culture. 1

Categories of Sequences

The evidence for sequencing in the Yale papyrus codex, much of which has been discussed by Kevin Wilkinson,6 may be divided into four categories: 1. Headings between epigrams that indicate sequential poems on the same topic, through forms of ἄλλος, the adverb ὁμοίως, or repeated subject headings.7 The headings are like those found among the Greek Anthology epigrams, but there is no way to distinguish a heading that originated in an ancient collection from a lemma attached by a Byzantine scribe or a manuscript corrector. Therefore, similarities 5 The date of this lost sylloge is controversial. Cameron (1993) 78–96 has argued for a 4th century CE date for a wide-ranging collection derived from earlier anthologies and from Palladas. Lauxtermann (1997) has concluded, however, that the sylloge was formed in the 6th century CE. 6 See Wilkinson (2012a) 42–5 on themes, 46–8 on first-person statements, and 52–3 on keywords. He notes that some of Palladas’ sequences in the Greek Anthology ‘were probably excerpted from an original context more or less en masse and exhibit the same technique’ of linkage by keywords (53). 7 2 W p. 3, l. 18, ἄλλα πρ̣ [ὸ]ς δουλι[̣ ; 4 W p. 4. l. 20, ἐπ{ε}ιστολ̣[ὴ] τῷ [αὐ-] τῷ ̣ ; 6 W p. 5, l. 5 ἄλλ ̣ α ὁμοίω̣ς; 7 W p. 5, l. 10, εἴς τινα Ἑρμοπολ(ίτην) … ; 8 W p. 5, l. 15, ε[ἰ]ς Νεῖ̣ λ̣ ον Ἑρμοῦ πόλ̣ (εως); 9 W p. 5, l. 26, ἄλλο εἰς Ν̣ε̣ῖ[̣ λον; 26 W p. 11, l. 27, πρυ]ταν⟨ε⟩ίας ἄλλ(ων).

Palladas Sequences in the Greek Anthology & THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

between epigrams offer better clues to a possible Palladas authorship than do headings. 2. The repetition of proper nouns in sequential epigrams, such as the two poems addressed to Klematios (3 and 4 W p. 4, ll. 7 and 28), two epigrams on a citizen of Hermopolis (7 and 8 W p. 5, ll. 12 and 16), and two concerning Neilos, apparently a person (8 W p. 5, ll. 20, 22, and 24, with the headings on 8 W p. 5, l. 15 and 9 W p. 5, l. 26). 3. Repetition of keywords and similar themes in proximity: pages 11–13 (or possibly 9–13), where contemporary political issues are a major concern; πρύτανις and related forms appear as keywords (26 W p. 11, ll. 26–7, 32 (?), 33–4; 27 W p. 12, l. 3; and 30 W p. 13, l. 30). 4. Repetition in close proximity to a first-person voice: the two Klematios epigrams, voiced by a poverty-stricken man (3 and 4 W p. 4, ll. 19, 24–7, and 30); epigrams voiced by an old man (34 W p. 17, ll. 4, 6–7, 9; 35 W p. 18, ll. 4, 6, 8; and 37 W p. 21, l. 6). The clusters of Palladas epigrams in the Palatine Codex can be divided, somewhat arbitrarily, into three types: 1. Pairs of connected epigrams. For instance, an epigram on Pamphilion’s dedication of her hair to Isis is followed by a poem addressed to the ‘heavenly razor’, made by Charis on Hephaistos’ forge, with which her locks were shorn (AP 6.60–1).8 Somewhat differently, AP 10.72–3 concern the theme of ‘bearing’ with life’s adversity, through play with the verb φέρω.9 2. Short sequences, usually of three or four epigrams. One such on the turning of a temple to Tyche into a tavern plays on the theme of the goddess Fortune, true to her own nature, learning to bear the fate of Misfortune as she adapts to life as a tavern owner (AP 9.180–3). Another sequence on the theme of arrogance (AP 11.299–302) is marked by ὑβρίζεις as its first word and ὕβριν as its last.10 3. Longer groups, which display thematic sequencing at least in part – AP 7.681–8, 9.165–76, 10.44–63, 8

9

10

Palladas was fond of Kallimachos (AP 9.175), and so we might imagine that these two extravagant epigrams, likely for a genuine dedication, served as an epigrammatic homage to the older poet’s ‘Lock of Berenike’ (fr. 110 Harder). See too Pall. AP 9.502–3 with jokes on odd words and medical cures, AP 11.54–5 on wine as a remedy against care, AP 11.289–90 on a money-lender who dies counting his profits, and AP 11.340–1 on the satirist’s art. See too Pall. AP 10.50–2 on agreement or disagreement with famous Greek poets, and Pall. AP 10.55–7 on women and σωφροσύνη (‘prudence’).

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10.77–99,11 and 11.283–93.12 In the most interesting sequences, the literary texture of the connections, with linkage by keywords, strongly suggests an origin in an edition made by Palladas himself. Of course, the process of transmission, through ancient anthologies and through rearrangements made by Kephalas, resulted in intrusions and particularly extractions within sequences. With that caveat in mind, I here discuss two of these sequences and part of another (as arranged in the Palatine Codex) in order to illustrate Palladas’ method of arrangement; in all three cases, parallels in the Yale papyrus codex emerge. 2

The Sequence on Anger

AP 9.165–75 could be considered two separate but related sequences, since the first three epigrams are voiced in the third person and form a tight thematic unit, whereas all but one of the remaining poems are voiced in the first person and show a looser, autobiographical progression. I treat the eleven poems as a unit, however, because the core theme of the sequence – anger – is introduced by the first word in the first poem – ὀργή – and continues with playful references to Achilles’ μῆνις.13 It is anger, of men and gods, that ties together the subsidiary themes of marriage, grammar, poetry, and poverty.14 The shorter group of AP 9.165–7 falls into a common type of skoptic epigram targeting a particular type of person, here women. The central thesis is that men are justifiably angry at women because they are by nature a destructive force, which is shown by authorities no less than Hesiod and Homer. Logistically, Palladas begins with the origin of woman, recalling Hesiod’s Pandora story

11

12 13 14

Not discussed here are Pall. AP 10.44–63 and 10.77–99, which contain general pessimistic advice about life, though they include some sequential poems somewhat casually connected by theme or vocabulary. The intervening section, AP 10.64–76, contains four Palladas epigrams scattered among epigrams from Agathias’ Cycle. Most likely all the Palladas poems in AP Book 10 came from a single original source, anthologised in late antiquity. This last sequence is on mixed skoptic themes; for Pall. AP 11.283–5 and its connection to Pall. AP 7.681–8, see pp. 38–41 in this chapter. I stop the sequence at Pall. AP 9.175 because AP 9.176, though attributed to Palladas, lacks the same themes. Henderson, W. J., who offers good readings for most of these poems, nevertheless ignores sequencing, treating those on women (2009a) separately from those on poverty (2009b).

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Kathryn Gutzwiller

as told in both the Theogony and the Works and Days (AP 9.165):15 ὀργὴ τοῦ Διός ἐστι γυνὴ πυρὸς ἀντιδοθεῖσα δῶρον, ἀνιηρὸν τοῦ πυρὸς ἀντίδοτον� ἄνδρα γὰρ ἐκκαίει ταῖς φροντίσιν ἠδὲ μαραίνει καὶ γῆρας προπετὲς τῇ νεότητι φέρει. οὐδ᾽ ὁ Ζεὺς ἀμέριμνος ἔχει χρυσόθρονον ῞Ηρην,  πολλάκι γοῦν αὐτὴν ῥίψεν ἀπ᾽ ἀθανάτων ἠέρι καὶ νεφέλῃσι μετήορον� οἶδεν Ὅμηρος, καὶ Δία συγγράψας τῇ γαμετῇ χόλιον. οὕτως οὐδέποτ᾽ ἐστὶ γυνὴ σύμφωνος ἀκοίτῃ, οὐδὲ καὶ ἐν χρυσέῳ μιγνυμένη δαπέδῳ.16 

5

10

Zeus’ anger is a woman, a gift given in response to fire, a painful counter-gift for fire. She burns up a man with worries, withering him, and brings old age cascading onto youth. It’s not a carefree Zeus who holds golden-throned Hera, but often he hurled her out of the immortal company high up in the air and clouds. Homer knows and wrote tales of even Zeus being angry at his wife. So never is a woman in sync with her husband, not even when having sex on a golden floor. In this abbreviated version, Zeus’ anger at Prometheus for the gift of fire to men produced the destructive ‘countergift’ (ἀντίδοτον) of woman, and the anger (χόλος) of Zeus is thematised throughout the story. Palladas’ repetitive phrasing in πυρὸς ἀντιδοθεῖσα / δῶρον, ἀνιηρὸν τοῦ πυρὸς ἀντίδοτον (vv. 1–2)17 directly recalls the name Pandora, whose etymological importance is spelled out in Op. 81–2: Πανδώρην, ὅτι πάντες Ὀλύμπια δώματ᾽ ἔχοντες δῶρον ἐδώρησαν, πῆμ᾽ ἀνδράσιν ([Hermes called this woman] ‘Pandora because all the gods living on Olympos gave her gifts, as a bane for men’).18 Note that the syntax of the first phrase, assisted by aural similarity, equates ὀργή with γυνή, as if

15 16 17

18

Hesiod thematises the anger (χόλος) of Zeus throughout (Th. 533, 554, 561, 568, 615; Op. 47, 53). I print Beckby’s text (1965) unless otherwise noted by the pre­ sence of an apparatus criticus. Based on Hes. Th. 570, ἀντὶ πυρὸς τεῦξεν κακὸν ἀνθρώποισιν (‘as a price for fire [Zeus] made an evil for humans’) and 585, τεῦξε καλὸν κακὸν ἀντ᾽ ἀγαθοῖο (‘he made a lovely evil in place of something good’), Palladas gives an unusual meaning to ἀντίδοτον, which is normally just a gift given in exchange. Palladas’ ἄνδρα at the opening of AP 9.165.3 picks up Hesiod’s ἀνδράσιν in Op. 82; in its own context it links back sonically to ἀνιηρόν in v. 2, which does the work of Hesiod’s πῆμ(α). As in Hesiod, it is men to whom women bring pain.

Zeus’ anger manifested itself in the form of woman.19 Turning from Hesiod to Homer, the poet reminds us that Zeus himself was not untroubled in his relationship with Hera, and, he says, Homer described ‘Zeus being angry at his wife’ (Δία … τῇ γαμετῇ χόλιον, v. 8), a phrase recalled later in AP 9.173.6. The second poem opens with verbal linkage back to the preceding one through the words Ὅμηρος and γυναῖκα (AP 9.166): πᾶσαν Ὅμηρος ἔδειξε κακὴν σφαλερήν τε γυναῖκα, σώφρονα καὶ πόρνην ἀμφοτέρας ὄλεθρον. ἐκ γὰρ τῆς Ἑλένης μοιχευσαμένης φόνος ἀνδρῶν καὶ διὰ σωφροσύνην Πηνελόπης θάνατοι. Ἰλιὰς οὖν τὸ πόνημα μιᾶς χάριν ἐστὶ γυναικός,  αὐτὰρ Ὀδυσσείῃ Πηνελόπη πρόφασις.

5

Homer has shown every woman to be evil and deceitful, both the pure and the whore to be ruin. For from Helen’s infidelity came the slaughter of men and from Penelope’s faithfulness multiple deaths. So the work that is the Iliad was for the sake of one woman, and Penelope offered an excuse for the Odyssey. Homer has shown, the poet says, that every woman, whether chaste or whore, is a source of ruin, since in the Iliad Helen’s adultery causes the slaughter of men and in the Odyssey Penelope’s virtue results in death. Playing with the traditional blame directed at Helen opposed to the fidelity of Penelope, Palladas states that the Iliad exists as a book, an object of labour (πόνημα), for the sake of one woman, just as the Odyssey exists because Penelope was the cause of, or excuse for, the deaths of many, perhaps meaning the returning Ithakans as well as wooers killed by Odysseus. The double meaning of πόνημα, which refers to both the labour of composition and the labours of the warriors at Troy, sets up the surprise ending, where Penelope becomes not only her husband’s πρόφασις (repeated at AP 9.169.1) for his long journey, but also the poet’s πρόφασις for telling the story of his nostos.20 The beginning of the next epigram, AP 9.167, marks the first three poems as a short sequence by reworking the opening couplet of AP 9.165:

19 20

The noun γυνή can be read here as a reference to any woman but also makes specific reference to Pandora, called simply ‘woman’ in Hes. Th. 513 and Op. 80, 94. Cf. Henderson, W. J. (2009a) 88–9.

Palladas Sequences in the Greek Anthology & THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

ὁ Ζεὺς ἀντὶ πυρὸς πῦρ ὤπασεν ἄλλο, γυναῖκας· εἴθε δὲ μήτε γυνὴ μήτε τὸ πῦρ ἐφάνη. πῦρ μὲν δὴ ταχέως καὶ σβέννυται· ἡ δὲ γυνὴ πῦρ ἄσβεστον, φλογερόν, πάντοτ᾽ ἀναπτόμενον. Zeus gave in place of fire another fire — women. I wish neither woman nor fire had appeared. At least fire is quickly doused, but woman is fire unquenchable, flaming, always kindled. Woman, who embodied Zeus’ anger in AP 9.165.1, has now become womankind (γυναῖκας, v. 1), equated with the fire for which the woman (Pandora) was in the first epigram the penalty (πυρὸς ἀντίδοτον). In Hesiod it is from Pandora that there came the ‘destructive race  … of women’ (τῆς γὰρ ὀλώιόν ἐστι γένος καὶ φῦλα γυναικῶν, Th. 591; cf. 600). Womankind is called ‘another fire’, πῦρ … ἄλλο, perhaps with a play on ἄλλο as a sequencing element in epigram books, and then, worse yet, an ‘unquenchable fire’. The verbal repetition and ring composition in AP 9.165–7 are reminiscent of certain short sequences in Meleager’s Garland, though the slippery, suggestive semantics is more characteristic of Palladas. At the opening of AP 9.168, the first-person voice of the poet appears in γεγάμηκα, signaling a turn from divine themes to more directly personal ones: ‘μῆνιν οὐλομένην’ γαμετὴν ὁ τάλας γεγάμηκα καὶ παρὰ τῆς τέχνης μήνιδος ἀρξάμενος. ὤμοι ἐγὼ πολύμηνις, ἔχων διχόλωτον ἀνάγκην, τέχνης γραμματικῆς καὶ γαμετῆς μαχίμης. 3 Pl διχόλ.: P τριχόλ. An unhappy man, I married a wife who is ‘destructive wrath’, I who also began in my profession with ‘wrath’. Oh poor much-wrathful me, forced to be doubly angry by the art of grammar and a battling wife. Zeus’ ὀργή is replaced by Achilles’ μῆνις and the generic γυνή with Palladas’ own γαμετής. The move is from the epic to the commonplace, the divine to the human, the universal to the individual, with the suggestion that all’s the same on earth as in heaven. Μῆνις and γαμετής are syntactically equated, as if the poet’s wife is anger personified;21 in the last line she is called ‘combative’ (μαχίμη), a word emphasised by the sound play with 21

Cf. Pall. AP 11.381, πᾶσα γυνὴ χόλος ἐστίν· ἔχει δ᾽ ἀγαθὰς δύο ὥρας, / τὴν μίαν ἐν θαλάμῳ, τὴν μίαν ἐν θανάτῳ (‘every woman is anger: she has two good seasons, one in the marriage chamber and one in death’), varying Hippon. fr. 68 West.

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γραμματικῆς and γαμετῆς. In the first pentameter, however, Palladas specifies that his profession is the reason he begins with anger. This refers to teaching the opening of the Iliad to school boys, but it also alludes to the poet’s own feelings of anger. In the second couplet the poet calls himself πολύμηνις (‘mightily angry’), a unique word that differs only in one letter from πολύμητις, a common Homeric epithet for Odysseus (e.g. Il. 1.311). Like/unlike the ‘much clever’ Odysseus, Palladas is ‘mightily angry’ because he has a double, inescapable source of resentment  — his διχόλωτον ἀνάγκην (‘necessity for double anger’), meaning both his profession as a grammarian and his quarrelsome wife. Gianfranco Agosti has suggested that, as a poet in the iambic tradition, Palladas in AP 9.168 presents a metapoetic image of himself cohabiting with wrath in the form of both a combative spouse and boring grammar.22 This reading is strongly reinforced by an epigram found in the Sylloge Euphemiana, a collection with origins in the era of Kephalas’ anthology (E 74 = Cougny III, 145):23 ‘μῆνιν ἄειδε’ μαθὼν καὶ ‘μῆνιν ἄειδε’ διδάξας, ‘οὐλομένην’, γαμετὴν ἠγαγόμην ὁ τάλας· πᾶν δ’ ἦμαρ μάχεται, καὶ παννυχίη πολεμίζει, ὡς παρὰ τῆς μητρὸς προῖκα λαβοῦσα μάχην. ἢν δὲ θέλω σιγᾷν, καὶ μαρναμένῃ ὑποείκειν,  ὅττι περ οὐ μάχομαι, τοῦδ’ ἕνεκεν μάχεται.

5

Having learned ‘sing of wrath’ and taught ‘sing of wrath, destructive’, I, unhappy man, took a wife. All day she fights and all night she battles, since she got fighting from her mother as a dowry. If I want to be silent and give in to her argument, that I’m not fighting she takes as a reason to fight. Manuscripts ascribe the poem variously to Palladas, an unknown Palladios, or Agathias, but scholars have generally accepted Palladas’ authorship.24 The poem was likely once part of the sequence we are examining. This supposition is supported by its position in the Sylloge Euphemiana directly preceding a Palladas poem preserved in the Greek Anthology, AP 11.378 (= E 75), which is discussed below.25 The first couplet of E 74 recalls, with linkage, the opening of AP 9.168 just discussed, by repetition of four words — μῆνιν, οὐλομένην, γαμετήν, and ὁ τάλας. In addition, the four

22 23 24 25

Agosti (2001) 227. Maltomini (2008) 109–10. Schneidewin (1855) 30; Franke (1899) 19; Cameron (1993) 262–3. See p. 35 in this chapter.

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occurrences of the root μαχ- in the remainder of E 74 recall μαχίμης, the last word in AP 9.168. Here, the poet’s experience of learning and teaching the Iliad’s opening is said to have preceded causally his marriage to a woman who battles him night and day. Silence is impossible because she battles over that as well. The metapoetic implication is strongly marked by the double quotation of μῆνιν ἄειδε (‘sing wrath’). Originally an imperative addressed to the Muse, here it becomes self-directed as the speaker, husband and poet, bids himself both to sing about wrath and to act out wrath through quarrel and blame. The next epigram in the sequence begins with yet another variant of the Iliad’s first line, μῆνις Ἀχιλλῆος (AP 9.169): μῆνις Ἀχιλλῆος καὶ ἐμοὶ πρόφασις γεγένηται οὐλομένης πενίης γραμματικευσαμένῳ. εἴθε δὲ σὺν Δαναοῖς με κατέκτανε μῆνις ἐκείνη, πρὶν χαλεπὸς λιμὸς γραμματικῆς ὀλέσει. ἀλλ᾽ ἵν᾽ ἀφαρπάξῃ Βρισηίδα πρὶν Ἀγαμέμνων,  τὴν Ἑλένην δ᾽ ὁ Πάρις, πτωχὸς ἐγὼ γενόμην.

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The ‘wrath of Achilles’ became the cause of ‘destructive’ poverty for me too when I became a grammarian. I wish that wrath had killed me, along with the Danaans, before oppressive hunger from grammar destroys me. But in order that in a past age Agamemnon snatch Briseis and Paris take Helen, I have become a pauper. This poem introduces the theme of poverty. Achilles’ anger is now claimed as the cause of the poverty that Palladas suffers as a grammarian, and it is now πενίη (rather than μῆνις as in the Iliad) that is ‘destructive’ (οὐλομένη, v. 2). He wishes that anger had killed him along with the Danaans, before ‘oppressive hunger’ (χαλεπὸς λιμός, v. 4) produced by grammar can do so (ὀλέσει, v. 4). The last couplet links back rather subtly to the previous two epigrams where he reactivates the wrath that fuels the plot of the Iliad by his marriage to a wrathful, combative woman. Now, in another chronological paradox confounding topic and teacher, his adoption of the profession of grammarian has preserved, or made possible anew, the ancient liaisons of Agamemnon with Briseis and of Paris with Helen, both the cause of anger and resulting destruction. The phrase πτωχὸς ἐγὼ γενόμην (v. 6) offers a striking conclusion, making it clear that to be a grammarian, to teach the core curriculum of Homeric epic, is to be poor. In becoming a beggar, Palladas marks himself as a latter-day Odysseus,

who in turn played a πτωχός in the Odyssey.26 He not only feels the wrath of Achilles but also suffers the poverty of Odysseus in disguise. The following three epigrams are related to the war theme in the preceding sequence, but also offer strategies for dealing with poverty, the new theme associated with the Odyssey (AP 9.170–2): νηδὺν ἀναίσχυντον στιβαροῖς ᾔσχυνα λογισμοῖς σωφροσύνῃ κολάσας ἔντερον ἀργαλέον· εἰ γὰρ ἔχω τὸν νοῦν ἐπικείμενον ὑψόθι γαστρός, πῶς μὴ νικήσω τὴν ὑποτασσομένην; I have shamed my shameless belly with harsh reasoning, correcting with moderation my troublesome innards. For if I have a mind that is located above my stomach, how can I not conquer that part arrayed beneath? ὄργανα Μουσάων, τὰ πολύστονα βιβλία πωλῶ εἰς ἑτέρας τέχνης ἔργα μετερχόμενος. Πιερίδες, σῴζοισθε· λόγοι, συντάσσομαι ὑμῖν· σύνταξις γὰρ ἐμοὶ καὶ θάνατον παρέχει. I’m selling the implements of the Muses, books filled with groans, as I change to the work of another profession. Pierian goddesses, farewell; words, I take my leave of you. For syntax prepares even death for me. ἐλπίδος οὐδὲ Τύχης ἔτι μοι μέλει, οὐδ᾽ ἀλεγίζω λοιπὸν τῆς ἀπάτης· ἤλυθον εἰς λιμένα. εἰμὶ πένης ἄνθρωπος, ἐλευθερίῃ δὲ συνοικῶ· ὑβριστὴν πενίης πλοῦτον ἀποστρέφομαι.27 Neither Hope nor Fortune still concerns me, and I no longer care about their deception: I’ve put into port. I am a poor man, but freedom is my housemate. I turn away from wealth, an abuser of poverty. In AP 9.170 the poet examines his earlier attempt to control the hunger in his belly with reason. The last line recalls the military theme of the earlier epigrams with νικήσω and ὑποτασσομένην. How has he not ‘conquered’ 26 27

The word πτωχός is common in the Odyssey, e.g. 16.273 of Odysseus. Beckby prints the two couplets as separate poems, as in Sylloge L (codex Laurentianus 32.16). I follow P and Pl in printing a quatrain. Note the similarity of the first couplet to Anon. AP 9.49.

Palladas Sequences in the Greek Anthology & THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

with reason the demands of his belly, which is literally ‘placed under’ his mind, or in the military sense ‘drawn up in ranks’ or ‘arrayed’ under it? With thought progression continuing in the next epigram (AP 9.171) he decides to sell his books and change his profession.28 His persona as Odysseus the beggar is evidenced in πολύστονα βιβλία (‘books filled with groans’), which refers to the sufferings recounted in the Homeric epics as well as his own misery in teaching them. The reader may also be asked to recall the only appearance of the adjective πολύστονος in the Odyssey, in the famous scene in which the returning Odysseus disguised as a beggar first meets with Penelope. There he requests that his wife not ask his identity or his homeland to avoid causing him painful memories as he is ‘very full of woe’ (μάλα δ᾽ εἰμὶ πολύστονος, Od. 19.118). Picking up the pun in ὑποτασσομένην, the similar compound συντάσσομαι in AP 9.171.3, meaning ‘I bid farewell’, in turn sets up the grammatical-military pun in the pentameter (v. 4) where σύνταξις, standing for ‘syntax’ or ‘battle order’, is that which will bring the death of the poet. The theme of changing life’s course continues in the third poem, where Palladas asserts an indifference to Hope and Fortune and embraces poverty as a form of freedom. He disavows striving for wealth, which, he says, abuses poverty. Here the Odysseus role reappears in the second line, as the poet offers the metaphor of safe arrival from a voyage (ἤλυθον εἰς λιμένα). Palladas embraces poverty as a morally good choice because it allows him to live freely. Modifying the Odyssey analogy of reunion with Penelope (cf. AP 9.166.6), he chooses to continue life as a pauper and so to have ‘freedom’ (ἐλευθερίη) as his housemate. Odysseus’ happy homecoming to his estate and his wife is rejected in favour of a skoptic overturning of what is normally valued. The coherence of the sequence becomes even more obvious if we assume that AP 11.378 (= E 75) originally occurred somewhere in it: οὐ δύναμαι γαμετῆς καὶ γραμματικῆς ἀνέχεσθαι, γραμματικῆς ἀπόρου καὶ γαμετῆς ἀδίκου. ἀμφοτέρων τὰ πάθη θάνατος καὶ μοῖρα τέτυκται. τὴν οὖν γραμματικὴν νῦν μόλις ἐξέφυγον, οὐ δύναμαι δ᾽ ἀλόχου τῆς ἀνδρομάχης ἀναχωρεῖν·  εἴργει γὰρ χάρτης καὶ νόμος Αὐσόνιος.

28

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To what profession? Verse writing? In AP 11.291 Palladas argues that writing skoptic verse, though lucrative, does not benefit the city.

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I cannot endure my wife and my job as a grammarian, nonpaying grammar and mean wife. Suffering from both has produced death and a fated end. Just now I barely escaped the job of grammarian, but I’m not able to retire from my husband-battling wife: our marriage contract and Roman law prevent it. Unable to endure either wife or grammar (γαμετῆς καὶ γραμματικῆς in v. 1, with the sound play repeated in vv. 2 and 4), the poet proclaims that he has now escaped grammar but cannot be rid of his ‘man-battling’ wife because of legal barriers. The adjective ἀνδρομάχης recalls μαχίμης in AP 9.168.4 as well as words from the same root in the epigram from the Sylloge Euphemiana (E 74). The play on the name Andromache fits well with the Iliadic theme running throughout the sequence.29 Since Palladas will not acquire a kind and faithful Penelope to accept his condition of poverty, he must continue to live with his ‘husband-battling’ wife, who is the opposite of Hektor’s loving and accepting Andromache. Evidence that the poem belongs in this sequence comes too from χάρτης, referring in the last line to an unbreakable marriage contract; the word will reappear in AP 9.174.4 for a discarded scrap of papyrus in which his monthly pay is callously wrapped. The next epigram in the sequence, voiced in the third person, once again plays cleverly on the opening of the Iliad (AP 9.173): ἀρχὴ γραμματικῆς πεντάστιχός ἐστι κατάρα· πρῶτος ‘μῆνιν’ ἔχει, δεύτερος ‘οὐλομένην’, καὶ μετὰ δ᾽ ‘οὐλομένην’ Δαναῶν πάλιν ‘ἄλγεα’ πολλά· ὁ τρίτατος ‘ψυχὰς εἰς Ἀίδην’ κατάγει· τοῦ δὲ τεταρταίου τὰ ‘ἑλώρια’ καὶ ‘κύνες’ ἀργοί,  πέμπτου δ᾽ ‘οἰωνοὶ’ καὶ ‘χόλος’ ἐστὶ ‘Διός’. πῶς οὖν γραμματικὸς δύναται μετὰ πέντε κατάρας καὶ πέντε πτώσεις μὴ μέγα πένθος ἔχειν;

5

The beginning of studying grammar is a five-line curse: The first line has ‘wrath’, the second ‘destructive’, and after ‘destructive’ again many ‘pains’ of the Danaans. The third line leads down ‘souls into Hades’; The curse of the fourth line is ‘spoils’ and swift ‘dogs’, and of the fifth ‘birds’ and ‘Zeus’ anger’. How then is a grammarian to avoid great suffering after five curses and five cases/falls? 29

For similar play on the name, cf. AP 5.71, perhaps by Palladas. The poem is ascribed to him in the Appendix Barberino-Vaticana 54 Sternbach, but to Rufinos (with the heading τοῦ αὐτοῦ) in the Palatine.

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The beginning of grammar, Palladas says, is a five-line curse, which he illustrates by quoting keywords from each of the Iliad’s first five lines. In the case of the fifth, he misquotes Homer’s Διὸς … βουλή (Il. 1.5) as χόλος … Διός. Zeus’ ‘plan’ for the action of the epic is thus replaced with his ‘wrath’, a solipsistic misreading of the Iliad designed to recall the focus on Zeus’ anger in AP 9.165. In the last couplet the poet associates the five curses with five πτώσεις, ‘falls’ in the sense of both ‘disasters’ and grammatical ‘cases’, a pun like the one on syntax as in AP 9.171 — this being a characteristic of the later part of the sequence. Examples of how the wealthy have done him violence follow in AP 9.174–5. First, Zeus’ wrath morphs into the wrath of Sarapis: ἐνθάδε παιδεύουσιν ὅσοις κεχόλωτο Σάραπις, τοῖσιν ἀπ᾽ ‘οὐλομένης μήνιδος’ ἀρχομένοις· ἔνθα τροφὸς κατὰ μῆνα φέρει μισθὸν μετ᾽ ἀνάγκης, βύβλῳ καὶ χάρτῃ δησαμένη πενίην· ὡς δὲ κάπνισμα τιθεῖ παρὰ τὸν θρόνον, ὡς παρὰ τύμβον, τὸν μικρὸν χάρτην, τὸν παραριπτόμενον. κλέπτει δ᾽ ἐξ ὀλίγου μισθὸν καὶ χαλκὸν ἀμείβει καὶ μόλιβον μίσγει καὶ τὸ ἔθος δέχεται. ἢν δέ τις εἰς ἐνιαυτὸν ἄγῃ χρυσοῖο νόμισμα, ἑνδεκάτῳ μηνί, πρὶν προφέρειν, μετέβη, ἀγνώμων δὲ φανεὶς καὶ τὸν πρότερον διασύρας γραμματικὸν στερέσας μισθὸν ὅλου ἔτεος.

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the Iliad and Sarapis’ hostility. Palladas then recounts the humiliation he suffers when a lowly nurse is sent to deliver his monthly pay and steals a share, or when his employer in the eleventh month of an annual contract reneges and pays nothing for the year. So treated, he becomes an object of ridicule (διασύρας, v. 11), a victim of invective who has the capacity to return the favour in verse. AP 9.175, seemingly the last poem in this sequence, returns to the theme of selling his books introduced in AP 9.171: Καλλίμαχον πωλῶ καὶ Πίνδαρον ἠδὲ καὶ αὐτὰς πτώσεις γραμματικῆς πτῶσιν ἔχων πενίης. Δωρόθεος γὰρ ἐμὴν τροφίμην σύνταξιν ἔλυσε πρεσβείην κατ᾽ ἐμοῦ τὴν ἀσεβῆ τελέσας. ἀλλὰ σύ μου πρόστηθι, Θέων φίλε, μηδέ μ᾽ ἐάσῃς συνδέσμῳ πενίης τὸν βίον ἐξανύσαι. 5 Θέων Meineke: θεῷ P: θῶ Pl

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I’m selling Kallimachos, Pindar, and those [books about] cases since I have a disastrous case of grammatical poverty. For Dorotheos dissolved the contract that supported me sending an unholy embassy against me. But you, dear Theon, be my ally and don’t let me end my life in conjunction with poverty.

Once again, we find reuse of keywords from the sequence — κεχόλωτο, οὐλομένης μήνιδος, χάρτῃ/ην, γραμματικόν. In Egypt, those who have angered Sarapis, the patron god of both healing and material advancement,30 become teachers who ‘make their start’ (ἀρχομένοις, v. 2; cf. AP 9.168.2) from ‘destructive anger’, a play on both the opening of

Palladas is now selling his copies of Kallimachos and Pindar, notoriously difficult poets, and perhaps those he particularly prized. As the first word in the poem, Καλλίμαχον may continue play with the root μαχ-, now referring to an author who is a ‘beautiful struggle’, that is, an intellectual struggle in which Palladas takes pleasure. He will also sell the very ‘cases’ of grammar, apparently his grammatical handbooks,31 since he himself has a disastrous ‘case’ of poverty. The grammatical puns continue as the poet takes revenge on Dorotheos, apparently the employer unnamed in AP 9.174, but named here as the former student who ridiculed him by violating the σύνταξις (‘contract’ or ‘syntax’, v. 3) that was Palladas’ livelihood. Dorotheos is also a speaking name, perhaps ‘god’s gift’, linking back to the first poem in the sequence, which begins with Zeus’ anti-gift to man. In the end, Palladas asks a new godlike patron, Theon apparently, to prevent him from ending his life in ‘conjunction’ (συνδέσμῳ, v. 6) with poverty, yet again punning on the grammar he teaches. This sequence that starts by thematising poetic

30

31

Here that lot who have angered Sarapis become teachers who make their start with ‘destructive anger’. A nurse is compelled every month to bring the pay, with poverty bound up in papyrus and paper. Like a bit of incense she places a scrap of discarded paper by the teacher’s seat, as if by a tomb. She steals from the little wage there is, exchanges bronze, mixes in lead, and receives her usual cut. If someone is to give a gold coin for a whole year’s work, in the eleventh month, before paying, he switches — so showing himself unfair and mocking his former teacher by depriving him of pay for a whole year.

Fraser (1972) I, 258–9. For Sarapis as the punisher of the wicked, see Pall. AP 9.378.

On these, written to be useful in the study of Homer, see Cribiore (2001) 141 and 211–15.

Palladas Sequences in the Greek Anthology & THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

beginnings thus signals its conclusion with death and destitution, as the poet bitterly multiplies and clusters jokes on his own profession as grammarian. Palladas seems to have taken great care in composing this sequence, and that suggests it played a special role in some epigram collection. Although we have no evidence for the placement of the sequence in a poetry book, it is reasonable to speculate that the series, beginning with Zeus and ending with a nod to the poet’s death, had a programmatic, probably prooemial function (or possibly was later combined from introductory and conclusory sequences).32 In fact, the inspiration for Palladas’ sequence was likely an epigram by Loukillios (AP 9.572), which begins by quoting the opening lines of the Theogony, Iliad, and Odyssey, as the poet seeks a suitable beginning for his second epigram book dedicated to Nero. Another of Loukillios’ skoptic epigrams, AP 11.279, satirises all grammarians because they possess anger, wrath, and bile (ὀργὴν καὶ μῆνιν καὶ χόλον, v. 2). In our sequence, Palladas inhabits the persona of a grammarian who is an object of epigrammatic ridicule, exploring from an autobiographical perspective what it means to live his life in that subject position.33 As a grammarian, he sees life always through the lens of literature and the grammatical rules needed to understand it. He suffers from Achilles’ wrath as did the Greeks at Troy, or is married to an Andromache forever battling him, or is Odysseus forced to embrace his role as beggar. The life of a grammarian is to be entangled in grammar, suffering the πτῶσις of poverty, the loosening of σύνταξις in the breaking of an employment contract or in mistaken sentence structure, and ending life in conjunction (συνδέσμῳ) with poverty. This kind of deconstruction of a skoptic stance against grammarians is designed not just to amuse but also, more seriously, to speak what 32

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Strat. AP 12.1 opened his Muse Paidike with the old motif of ‘beginning with Zeus’ (cf. Arat. Phaen. 1) and ends with a disclaimer of his own pederastic tendencies (AP 12.258). Cf. too Pall. AP 10.92, which might be read as an introductory poem for a little epigram collection, dedicated to an unnamed magistrate; if the Sextus of AP 10.99 is the magistrate, then AP 10.92–9 constitutes a sequential extract from that libellus; cf. Catull. 116 for invective directed toward a former friend as book closure. Henderson, W. J. (2016a) 365–6 and 367 has also concluded that AP 7.681–8 on Gessios (see pp. 38–41 in this chapter) may have originated in Palladas’ own epigram book. The thrust of my discussion in this chapter is essentially that of the paper I delivered at the 2014 Palladas conference. Henderson subsequently reached similar conclusions concerning the Gessios sequence (Henderson, W. J. (2016a)). In Pall. AP 11.54 he again paints himself as the object of ridicule, complaining that women ‘mock’ (ἀποσκώπτουσι, v. 1) him because he has grown old; cf. Henderson, W. J. (2009a) 95–6.

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remains unspoken in a genre based on ridicule, that is, what it feels like to be ridiculed.34 Connections between this programmatic sequence and the Yale papyrus codex, though tenuous, nevertheless deserve attention. In particular, the two long poems addressed to Klematios (3 W p. 4, ll. 4–19 and 4 W p. 4, ll. 20–37) bear comparison to the sequence, in that the themes of penury and anger arise from a teacher (διδάσ[̣ κα-] λος, 4 W p. 4, l. 31), who addresses a patron or friend. Just as in AP 9.175.5–6 Palladas asks his addressee Theon (Θέων φίλε, v. 5) to help him with his poverty, so the poet of the Yale papyrus codex directly asks Klematios (addressed as φίλτατε Κλημάτιε, 4 W p. 4, ll. 26–8; cf. ]ε̣ Κλημά̣ τ̣ ιε, 3 W p. 4, l. 7, and ὦ̣ φίλ[ε, 4 W p. 4, l. 34), for assistance. The phrase ‘you were angry’ (ἔσχες ἐν ὀργῇ, 3 W p. 4, l. 8) followed by references to the son of Agenor (3 W p. 4, l. 9), probably Kadmos, and the Muses (3 W p. 4, l. 10) resembles the thematising of anger in the context of mythical figures in the AP sequence. The last clause of the first Klematios poem – ο̣[ὕν]εκα καὶ πένομα[ι] (‘because I was poor’, 3 W p. 4, l. 19) – closely resembles the last clause in AP 9.169, i.e. πτωχὸς ἐγὼ γενόμην (‘I became a beggar’; cf. εἰμὶ πένης ἄνθρωπος, ‘I am a poor man’, AP 9.172.3). Although the Klematios pair is very different in form from the sequence in AP Book 9, the number of thematic parallels is striking. There are random similarities elsewhere on the papyrus as well, such as a reference to rich people and wives (32 W p. 15, ll. 22–3), two references to Kallimachos (13 W p. 6, l. 28; 36 W p. 19, l. 33), and scattered use of the first person to create the persona of a poet who is elderly, poor, and bitterly angry. Particularly noteworthy is a quatrain (28 W p. 12, ll. 28–31), a variant of AP 9.127, which was transmitted anonymously, but is perhaps by Palladas. The papyrus version ends ὁ γέρων γ̣ίν̣ ̣ετ⸤̣ α⸥ι ̣ ⸤ὀ⸥ξ̣⸤ύχολ⸥ο̣ς (‘the old man becomes bitterly angry’), as the poet puns on an old man’s sharp anger likening it to ὄξος (‘vinegar’).35 Another epigram (34 W p. 17, ll. 4–9) begins ε̣ἰμ̣ ὶ μέν εἰμι γέρων (‘I am old, I am’), and continues with other first-person forms. 35 W p. 18, ll. 4–8 preserves a fragmentary first-person description of the physical effects of old age: τραυλὰ λαλῶ (‘I speak in a trembling voice’); ὑποτρ̣έχει ὄμματα δ̣’ ἀχ̣ λύς̣ (‘a mist runs over my eyes’); ἐμὸ̣ς τρέφεται (‘my … is nourished’); ]ν̣ο̣μαι ἐς̣ πόδας ἄκρους (‘I … to my toes’); γί]ν̣ομαι ὠχρότερος (‘I am becoming paler’), perhaps a satiric version of Sappho fr. 31 34

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See Agosti (2001) for invective, or the ‘iambic idea’, in late antique poetry, including Palladas, and Henderson, W. J. (2008a) on Palladas’ mixture of iambic-type invective with epigram form. On 28 W, cf. Henderson, W. J. in this volume p. 60.

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V.36 In other words, the persona of the first-person speaker found throughout the papyrus is entirely congruent with the persona that Palladas projects in his programmatic sequence and elsewhere in his anthologised epigrams. 3

Two Political Sequences

I will discuss more briefly two connected sequences that are both on political themes. Of particular importance is Palladas’ Gessios sequence, AP 7.681–8, because the name Gestios (an alternative spelling of Gessios, both unusual names) seems to occur on the Yale papyrus codex. The eight poems of this sequence appear in the sepulchral book of the Palatine Anthology, but do not belong there, since they are more suited to a skoptic context.37 In the Palatine Codex five of the Gessios epigrams (AP 7.683–4, 7.686–8) are repeated just before AP 11.283,38 which opens a series of skoptic poems by Palladas; this duplication indicates that, in the sylloge that was Kephalas’ (direct or indirect) source for the Palladas epigrams, the Gessios sequence appeared just before the sequence in AP Book 11 where it was more appropriate, and from there it was moved, likely by Kephalas, to AP Book 7.39 The three epigrams, AP 11.283–5, that immediately follow the duplicated Gessios poems concern a corrupt official, and so bear thematic similarity to those epigrams. The first poem in the AP Book 7 sequence reports the essence of Gessios’ story, apparently written for an 36 37

38 39

On 34 and 35 W, cf. Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 16–19. There is a possibility that another epigram about a Gessios, APl 317, attributed to Palladas by Planudes, was once included in the AP Book 7 sequence: κωφὸν ἄναυδον ὁρῶν τὸν Γέσσιον, εἰ λίθος ἐστί, / Δήλιε, μαντεύου, τίς τίνος ἐστὶ λίθος (‘as you look upon the deaf-mute Gessios, Delian [Apollo], pronounce, if he is stone, who is the statue of whom’). In Planudes the epigram appears just before another epigram, APl 318, on a painting of a rhetor who remains silent in life as in art. Franke (1899) 17 concluded that this Gessios differs from the one in the Palladas sequence who is not a rhetor, and scholars have since been divided in their opinions. But as Floridi (2013) 100 points out in her study of the skoptic motif of the mute rhetor, Gessios is not named a rhetor in APl 317, and Planudes may have misconceived the basis for the skoptic treatment of the figure. Does it possibly refer to a statue of Gessios that has become like its subject because the dead Gessios is now rendered deaf and mute? This interpretation would be clearer within the sequence on Gessios’ demise; cf. Henderson, W. J. (2016a) 366, independently. They appear in the order AP 7.683, 7.684, 7.688.3–4, 7.686, 7.688.1–2, 7.687. A number of such duplications occur in the AP due to careless disregard, probably on the part of Kephalas, during a reorganisation of the material.

audience familiar with the underlying events, which scholars have variously reconstructed (AP 7.681):40 oὐκ ἀπεδήμησας τιμῆς χάριν, ἀλλὰ τελευτῆς, καὶ χωλός περ ἐὼν ἔδραμες εἰς Ἀίδην, Γέσσιε Μοιράων τροχαλώτερε· ἐκ προκοπῆς γάρ, ἧς εἶχες κατὰ νοῦν, ἐξεκόπης βιότου. Not for high office did you leave your homeland, but for death, and though lame, you darted into Hades, swifter running, Gessios, than the Fates. For in place of the success you expected, you succeeded from life. Gessios departed from his homeland because of his ambition to gain high office but instead met with death. Mockery of a physical deformity like lameness (χωλός, v. 2) is a threadbare motif in skoptic poetry,41 which is here adapted to a paradoxical association with Gessios’ run (ἔδραμες, v. 2) to Hades, swifter (τροχαλώτερε, v. 3) than his own fate.42 The play on the similar sounds in προκοπῆς and ἐξεκόπης enhances the mockery. Since the scazon, a limping version of iambic or trochaic verse favoured by Hipponax, is a signal metrical pattern for invective, the use of both χωλός and τροχαλώτερε (cf. the metrical terms χωλίαμβος, τροχαϊκός) in the first poem of the sequence offers a metapoetic gesture toward the generic type of epigram in which Palladas here writes.43 The remainder of the sequence expands on the general premise that Gessios has violated the old principle of ‘nothing in excess’ (AP 7.683.1). What we learn about the nature of his ambition for office and his downfall – from the final two epigrams – is only that he foolishly believed two astrologers who forecast his ascension to a consulship. The sequence finds coherency, not in narrative, but in thematic linking accomplished by verbal repetition between poems.

40

41 42

43

For a full survey of biographical reconstructions of Gessios’ life, see Henderson, W. J. (2016a) 351–5, concluding with discussion of the important studies of Bowra (1960a) and Cameron (1964a). For an earlier literary reading ignoring the sequencing, see Henderson, W. J. (2008a) 107–9. On lameness, cf. Anon. AP 11.273 and Pall. AP 11.307; in the latter there is a punning sexual insult (τὸν πόδα χωλόν, v. 2). Palladas’ image was perhaps influenced by Nicarch. AP 5.39, where a man who loves banquets prefers to pass into Hades lame from gout than healthy as a racer. Following Bowra (1960a) 93, Cameron (1964a) 289–92 surmises that Gessios’ lameness refers to broken legs he suffered during crucifixion. On the motif of gout, see Kanellou in this volume pp. 74–86. Cf. Herod. 1.71, χωλὴν δ᾽ ἀείδειν χώλ᾽ ἂν ἐξεπαίδευσα (‘I would have taught a lame woman to sing lamely’).

Palladas Sequences in the Greek Anthology & THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

The second epigram, for instance, repeats key verbal elements from the first – εἰς Ἀίδην, Γέσσιε, Μοιράων (vv. 2–3) – as it reworks the image of Gessios’ death as a race against Fate (AP 7.682):44 Γέσσιος οὐ τέθνηκεν ἐπειγόμενος παρὰ Μοίρης· αὐτὸς τὴν Μοῖραν προὔλαβεν εἰς Ἀίδην. Gessios’ death was not hastened by Fate, but he himself advanced ahead of his Fate into Hades. Here we find the skoptic motif of mockery through assertion of the impossible. The third epigram (AP 7.683) begins by attributing the adage μηδὲν ἄγαν (‘nothing too much’) to the ‘wisest of the seven sages’ (τῶν ἑπτὰ σοφῶν ὁ σοφώτατος). Gessios has suffered because he was unpersuaded (μὴ πεισθείς, v. 2) by this core piece of wisdom. Instead, though he was a ‘reasonable’ (λόγιος, v. 3) person, he came to experience the reproach of being the ‘most unreasonable’ (ἀλογώτατον, v. 3) because of his desire to ascend to heaven (that is, the consulship). He thus resembled Bellerophon who hybristically wished to learn the ‘rules of the stars’ (ἀστροθέτους κανόνας, v. 6), a reference to those, including Gessios, who ‘trust in irrational astrologers’ (πειθομένους ἀστρολόγοις ἀλόγοις, AP 7.687.4). As scholars have observed,45 the wordplay in this third poem ends with an alliterative, scatological pun, Γέσσιος echoing in χεσεῖν (AP 7.683.8): unlike the bold Bellerophon, Gessios did not even have a heart strong enough to shit. The opening of the next poem (AP 7.684) links back to μηδὲν ἄγαν at the opening of the preceding one: μηδεὶς ζητήσῃ μερόπων ποτὲ καὶ θεὸς εἶναι μηδ᾽ ἀρχὴν μεγάλην, κόμπον ὑπερφίαλον. Let no one of mortals seek ever to be a god or for high office, an overweening boast. The verb ζητήσῃ also links forward to the opening couplet of the following epigram, where it appears twice (AP 7.685.1–2): ζητῶν ἐξεῦρες βιότου τέλος εὐτυχίης τε ἀρχὴν ζητήσας πρὸς τέλος ἐρχομένην. 44 45

Henderson, W. J. (2016a) 357 notes that AP 7.682 ‘expands on the thought of 681’. Waltz et al. (1941) 143 n. 1; Peek (1949) 167; Cameron (1964a) 291; Henderson, W. J. (2008a) 108–9. Bowra (1960a) 93 explains the pun by suggesting Gessios was starved before his execution.

39

By seeking you found the end of life and of good fortune, when you sought an office leading toward your end. The word εὐτυχίης here also links backwards and forward, as it repeats θνητῆς εὐτυχίης, the ‘mortal good fortune’ with which Gessios was not content in the last line of AP 7.684, and it anticipates ἔτυχες τιμῆς in AP 7.685.3 where the τιμή that Gessios has ‘chanced upon’ may mean either ‘high office’ or ‘penalty’ of death.46 In this first couplet of AP 7.685 there is also a pun on ἀρχήν, here ‘office’, while its proximity to βιότου τέλος … τέλος (cf. τελευτῆς and βιότου, AP 7.681.1, 4) suggests also ‘beginning’, the opposite of ‘end’. Clearly this play on multiple meanings of words and repetition of words and sound elements plays a major role in the style of Palladas’ skoptic poetry. The final three epigrams concern Gessios’ recognition, which came too late, of how he brought about his own death. In AP 7.686 one Baukalos, presumably already in Hades, recognises Gessios when he is just dead and even ‘more lame’ (χωλεύοντα πλέον, v. 2) – perhaps a reference to the form of his punishment  – and asks how he has come to suffer such a fate. Greatly vexed (μέγ᾽ ὀχθήσας, v. 5), Gessios answers at the conclusion of the poem, with the only words he speaks in the sequence: τὸ στρῆνος καὶ θάνατον παρέχει (‘arrogance brings even death’, v. 6). The gnomic reply contains an important etymological pun that to my knowledge has not previously been noticed. The noun στρῆνος is quite rare,47 as is the related verb στρηνιάω, which is glossed in ancient lexica with ἀτακτῶ (‘to act without control’). Hesychios (Σ 2002) defines the verb as ‘to be hybristic because of wealth, and to act impatiently’ (τὸ διὰ πλοῦτον ὑβρίζειν, καὶ βαρέως φέρειν).48 The Latin verb gessio, gestio has exactly the same range of meaning; the OLD offers ‘desire eagerly’, ‘act impatiently’, or ‘act without restraint,’ ‘exalt’. Significantly, in the Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum (II 438) the verb is given as a gloss for στρηνιῶ. In other words, in Hades, Gessios, perhaps demonstrating his nature in his anger, recognises that his own name defines his character, and so has brought upon him a horrible death. In the next epigram (AP 7.687) we learn that shortly before his death, Gessios discovered (ἔγνω, v. 1) the deception of an oracle and blamed his own belief (τὴν ἰδίην γνώμην, v. 3) in astrological learning. The last epigram (AP 7.688) concludes the sequence with a generalising lament for the human race — ‘empty-headed’ 46 47 48

Cameron (1964a) 284 notes the double meaning. As noted also by Henderson, W. J. (2016a) 362. A theme elsewhere in Palladas; see AP 10.93, 11.299, 11.302. Cf. too AP 9.172.4 = 9.172b.2 Beckby.

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Kathryn Gutzwiller

(ἀνεμώλιον, v. 3), ‘angry at themselves’ (αὐτοχόλωτον, v. 3; cf. AP 7.686.5), and ‘knowing nothing until the end of life’ (ἄχρι τέλους βιότου μηδὲν ἐπιστάμενον, v. 4, echoing ζητῶν ἐξεῦρες βιότου τέλος, AP 7.685.1, and τελευτῆς and βιότου in the opening poem of the sequence). The pun on Gessios’ name is one of several thematic links to another sequence, AP 11.283–5, which undoubtedly followed in Kephalas’ source.49 Although these three poems do not name the corrupt official, the lemma labels him a ὕπαρχος (‘consul’), called Damonikos, a name and title apparently taken from an epigram lost from the sequence. Damonikos is surely, like Gessios, a speaking name, meaning ‘conqueror of the people’. The official is twice presented as an amazing paradox, an unbelievable wonder (παράδοξον ἐθαυμάσαμεν καὶ ἄπιστον, ‘we marvelled at a paradox, an incredible thing’, AP 11.283.3; παράδοξον ἐθαυμάσαμεν, ‘we marvelled at a paradox’, AP 11.285.1). He is satirised as a thief who hypocritically weeps as he steals (δάκρυα πῶς κλέπτων εἶχες ἑτοιμότατα, ‘[we marvelled] how when stealing you had tears ready at hand’, AP 11.283.4; κλέπτων δάκρυσι κερδαλέοις, ‘stealing with profitable tears’, AP 11.283.6; ἔκλαιεν κλέπτων, κλεπτομένους ἐλεῶν, ‘he wept as he stole, pitying the victims of his theft’, AP 11.285.2) and so reveals himself to be an ‘effeminate’ (θηλυφανές, AP 11.285.1) who claims ritual purity when stealing but is in fact sexually polluted in body. We again recognise Palladas’ trademark use of puns.50 In the first epigram the official, who came ‘from the land of Chalkis’ (Χαλκίδος ἐκ γαίης, AP 11.283.5), has ‘denuded’ the poet’s city, presumably Alexandria, of ‘its coinage’ (ἀπεχάλκισε, v. 5). In the following poem, AP 11.284, he is said to hail ‘from the land of the Lotus-Eaters, a mighty leader’, and is ‘back-mounted from the land of Chalkis’ (Χαλκίδος ἐκ γαίης ἀντιοχευόμενος, v. 2), locations that likely allude to an Egyptian origin and to his most recent posting. Both phrases also contain homosexual puns. Since the lotus bud looks remarkably like the head of a penis, eating lotus figures his corrupt governance as an oral rape of the Egyptian people (i.e. the Lotus-eaters of the Odyssey). The unique word ἀντι-οχευόμενος (‘back-mounted’) referring to anal penetration, defines his relationship with his superiors in Antioch so that his predations against the people are paradoxically offset by his own submission to higher officials.51 The accusation of sexual subordination in AP 11.284 leads in AP 11.285 to a restatement of the paradox 49 50 51

Cf. Henderson, W. J. (2008a) 109–11. The puns typical of Palladas’ style are here employed for sexual obscenities. Both characteristics are found in other skoptic poets; see Floridi (2016b) 81–8 (Nikarchos) and 90–2 (Ammianos). This second pun is explained by Aubreton (1972) 274 n. 3, who compares Strat. AP 12.238.3–4. Cf. Pall. AP 11.306 for similar

set out in the first epigram and so includes his impurity of body. The opening statement in AP 11.283 that it is not possible ‘to express in words the streams of your vices’ (πάντα … ῥήμασιν ἐξειπεῖν ῥεύματα σῶν παθέων, vv. 1–2) is picked up by πάθος ἄλλο in AP 11.285.1: ῥεύματα (‘streams’), at the beginning of the sequence now echoes in the final word of the last poem, ῥύπου (‘filth’), referring to the semen that flows from his unclean body. This πάθος ἄλλο is not just ‘another vice’ – pathetic sex – in addition to his thievery but also the subject of another epigram in the same sequence, as the interlinear use of ἄλλο would commonly indicate. Note that the ring composition between the first and third epigrams together with the ἄλλο joke in the third repeat a pattern found in the first three epigrams in the AP Book 9 sequence, discussed above.52 The most important parallel on the Yale papyrus codex to these two related sequences is obviously the phrase Γέστιος ἦν (‘I/he was Gestios’, 19 W p. 9, l. 24), which concludes a ruined epigram of a single couplet. The past tense implies that Gestios is dead, as in the AP sequence. In a speculative mood, we might even imagine that this pithy, pointed conclusion followed from a similar etymological play on στρῆνος, so that the message of the epigram would be that Gestios’ hybristic behaviour has confirmed he was indeed ‘Gestios’. The papyrus epigram apparently belongs to the section dealing with contemporary political issues that extends through page 13. The preceding poem ends with δι]χοστασίας (‘civil strife’, 18 W p. 9, l. 21), and the two following poems concern heritage (π̣ατρῴζων, 20 W p. 9, l. 27) and the destruction of Alexandria, Palladas’ home (πατρίδο̣ς̣, in the title of 21 W p. 9, l. 30). 23 W p. 10, l. 23 (δημοβ[όρ-) preserves the Homeric adjective δημοβόρος (‘devouring the people’), an insult hurled by Achilles at Agamemnon for his greedy abuse of power (Il. 1.231). In formation and meaning, it has a close similarity to the name of the corrupt Δαμόνικος. There follows a first-person epigram on local attempts to stop stasis by sending ambassadors to Hades, perhaps meaning Rome, which offers a parallel to Gessios’ descent to Hades (AP 7.681.2, 7.682.2, and 7.686.3).53 The letters επλουτε̣ι ̣ with ὑπῆρχεν and π̣ρύτανις (25 W p. 11, ll. 23, 25–6) indicate another poem on greedy officials, like the ὕπαρχος Damonikos. Wilkinson has noted that the topic of theft in office at the bottom of page 13 is reminiscent of the Damonikos sequence, and his attractive supplement to line 31, ἔκλεπτες πιθαν[οῖς δάκρυσι] τῆς πόλεως (‘you stole

52 53

accusations of sexual profligacy, based on a woman’s travels between the great cities of the empire. See p. 33 in this chapter. On 24 W (p. 10, ll. 24–9), see Ast in this volume pp. 69–70.

Palladas Sequences in the Greek Anthology & THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

from the city with persuasive tears’), derives from that similarity.54 We have in the Yale papyrus codex, then, a long section on political matters in Egypt, in which there appear both a poem on Gestios/Gessios and a poem on a corrupt official, Damonikos or someone like him. At the very least we may conclude that the epigrams on the papyrus share with Palladas’ anthologised epigrams on Gessios and Damonikos certain themes and a very rare name, all within a few pages. The arrangement of epigrams in the Palatine Anthology shows that Palladas used epigram sequencing, in the 54

Wilkinson (2012a) 170–1.

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manner of sophisticated Hellenistic collections, to extend the scope and complexity of his epigrammatic poetry. Looking darkly through the lacunae on the Yale papyrus codex, we find a variety of similarities in theme, style, and named persons, as well as in organisational techniques. While these similarities are not probative as to the authorship of the new collection, they do provide strong circumstantial evidence linking the epigrams on the papyrus to Palladas. It is a common phenomenon in classical scholarship that the attribution given new discoveries is initially rejected by some, only later to be generally accepted. It remains to be seen if this will be the fate of the Yale papyrus codex.

Chapter 5

Palladas’ Philosophical and Gnomic Epigrams and the Yale Papyrus Codex Ginevra Vezzosi This chapter deals with the cultural world of Palladas, in particular with the use of material drawn from various philosophical schools in the epigrams of the Greek Anthology that are attributed to him.* My aim is to illuminate the ways in which Palladas adapts material from different schools of philosophical thought and to determine whether such influences exist in the epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex that were attributed to the same poet by Kevin Wilkinson.1 This type of comparative study, as we shall see, cannot give us a definitive answer to the question of the authorship of the new epigrams; however, it can still lead us to interesting conclusions and a deeper appreciation of the philosophical trends detected in the Yale papyrus codex. 1

Features of Palladas’ Gnomic and Philosophical Epigrams

As the editor of the Yale papyrus notes, the codex could have been thematically organised, and the surviving epigrams are mainly either skoptic or epideictic, corresponding thematically to a significant part of Palladas’ epigrammatic production handed down to us in the Greek Anthology.2 In fact, a key feature of Palladas’ poetry is its thematic variety, and the question arises as to how many epigrammatic subgroups his poetry could be divided into. Could each of these subgroups contribute to a better evaluation of the others and the creation of a more complete picture of him as a poet? What are the implications of the attribution to him of the new epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex? * I would like to thank the audience of the conference that took place at UCL (in 2014) for its helpful suggestions as well as Gianfranco Agosti, Chris Carey, Lucia Floridi, Luis Arturo Guichard (who kindly shared his forthcoming work on Palladas’ epigrams with me), Maria Kanellou, Enrico Magnelli, and Pietro Verzina for their help and comments on earlier versions of this chapter. 1 Wilkinson (2012a). Only two outdated monographs on Palladas are currently available: Franke (1899) and Zerwes (1956). The chapter draws on my thesis (Vezzosi (2014)), which is available at http:// elea.unisa.it/handle/10556/1914. 2 On the topic of subgeneric variety in the Yale papyrus codex, see Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 10–20.

© Ginevra Vezzosi, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004521353_006

Palladas is certainly one of the most widely represented authors in the Greek Anthology (168 epigrams are attributed to him with varying degrees of certainty), and his corpus consists of epigrams often diverse in terms of theme, metre, and style. We could categorise them into four subgroups:3 (a) the so-called Homeric epigrams, which rework or simply borrow material from Homer,4 (b) epigrams with philosophical or gnomic content, (c) skoptic epigrams, and (d) a less definable category in which we have to include many other epigrams of varying content that do not seem to belong to any known subgenre.5 Even at first glance the heterogeneous nature of Palladas’ corpus is evident, and its vastness and wide thematic variety raise the possibility that in certain cases we may be dealing with epigrams composed by other authors and transmitted in the Greek Anthology under the name of Palladas.6

3 We have no reason to suppose that Palladas would have categorised his poems in this way. But the subdivision is useful for analytical purposes; it helps us to bring together and examine in the same hermeneutical frameworks epigrams with similar content and characteristics. 4 See e.g. Pall. AP 9.173.1–4 ἀρχὴ γραμματικῆς πεντάστιχός ἐστι κατάρα· / πρῶτος ‘μῆνιν’ ἔχει· δεύτερος ‘οὐλομένην’, / καὶ μετὰ δ᾽ ‘οὐλομένην’, Δαναῶν πάλιν ‘ἄλγεα’ πολλά· / ὁ τρίτατος ‘ψυχὰς εἰς Ἀΐδην’ κατάγει (‘The beginning of grammar is a curse in five lines. The first has the word ‘wrath’; the second ‘pernicious’ and after that ‘many woes’ of the Greeks; the third ‘leads the souls to Hades’ (translation (slightly adapted) from Guichard (2017) 158)). For the ‘Homeric epigrams’, see Guichard (2017) and (2021). As Guichard (2021) 58 argues: ‘The use of Homer to be found in the epigrams by Palladas varies somewhat from one subgenre to another. In the skoptic ones, as we have seen, use is often made of parodic-satirical methods. In those epigrams with more classroom-focused subject matter, application is made of more erudite references and the narrative context’. For the epigrams I have used Paton’s edition, unless otherwise stated. Translations of texts are mine unless otherwise stated. 5 See e.g. Pall. AP 9.180, 10.89, 11.288, and 11.301. In this category, we can also include a few erotic epigrams composed by Palladas such as AP 5.257. On erotic hints in the Yale papyrus codex, see Polemis (2013); Kanellou (2014) 135; Floridi (2015); Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 16–19. 6 For problems of attribution and authenticity, see Franke (1899) 23–4; Zerwes (1956) 4–6. In his forthcoming work on Palladas, Guichard divides Palladas’ epigrams into three categories: certa, dubia, and perdubia. For perdubia epigrams, see e.g. AP 9.134 (ἄδηλον; Cγρ: νομίζω δ’ ὅτι Παλλαδᾶ ἐστι τοῦ Ἀλεξανδρέως, ‘and I think

Palladas ’ Philosophical and Gnomic Epigrams & THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

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Palladas’ Gnomic and Philosophical Epigrams

Palladas’ Corpus

Number of epigrams Number of verses Hexameters Variations of the hexameter form

48 202 86 16

168 728 323 19

Spondees

I II III IV V 20 40 19 20 1 19,6% 39,2% 18,6% 19,6% 1,9%

I II III IV V 100 137 84 73 3 25,5% 32,1% 21,21% 18,4% 0,7%

Bucolic diaeresis Violations of Hilberg’s bridge rules Meyer’s 1st law Meyer’s 2nd law Meyer’s 3rd law

71,97% 6,02% 0,86% 9,3% 27,09%

37,7% 5,6% 3% 10,9% 13,07%

The cluster of gnomic and philosophical epigrams attributed to Palladas is very prominent in the poet’s oeuvre. It can be argued that it is at the core of his literary production or, at least, one of its most important thematic subgroups characterised by the greatest consistency and unity in theme, metre, and style when compared to the rest of the epigrams attributed to him. It is a substantial group that consists of 48 epigrams. The themes, as said above, are homogeneous and sometimes repetitive: mal de vivre, absurdity of life, radical pessimism, supremacy of Fortune in human affairs, materialistic conception of existence, and refusal of civil engagement. Besides thematic criteria, problems of ascription concern only a small number of philosophical and gnomic epigrams, and this is another reason for singling them out as a specific subgroup (see Appendix 1). Тhe Palatine Anthology includes all epigrams considered here to be philosophical or gnomic, the Planudean Anthology preserves almost all of them (apart from two), while the attribution to Palladas is unanimous in nearly every case (see Appendix 1). From a philological point of view, the text of the gnomic and philosophical epigrams is mostly unproblematic since only eight of them (see Appendix 2) contain significant textual variants and the resolution of the emerging textual problems is quite straightforward.7 This means that we are undoubtedly dealing with a fairly homogeneous tradition. that it belongs to Palladas of Alexandria’), 9.399 (Παλλαδᾶ erasit C), 9.500 (ἄλλο), 9.501 (s.a.n.), and 15.20 (s.a.n.). 7 For AP 10.84, see Zerwes (1956) 113; Beckby (1968) III, 520; Henderson, W. J. (2010) 247. For AP 10.82, see Sternbach (1902) 398;

Another basic feature of these epigrams is their tendency to be metrically consistent. Their metrical homogeneity seems to distinguish them from the other epigrams attributed to Palladas, as can be seen in the Table above.8 As the Table shows, though, in many respects the metrical practice in Palladas’ gnomic and philosophical epigrams reflects that in the larger corpus attributed to him, these poems exhibit a consistency not just in theme, but also in a number of formal aspects: (a) the distribution of spondaic feet, (b) the high use of the bucolic diaeresis, and (c) the breach of a number of ‘rules’, when compared to Palladas’ corpus as a whole.9 Of these, the most striking are the relative frequency of the bucolic diaeresis, which is twice as high in this subset of poems than in the surviving corpus taken as a whole, and the breach of Meyer’s 3rd law (on the avoidance of word end after the fifth princeps

Zerwes (1956) 280; Cameron (1965a) 218; Beckby (1968) III, 518; Bowra (1970) 253–66; Pontani (1978–81) III, 446; Henderson, W. J. (2008b) 123–4. For AP 10.87, see Kalinka (1902) 293; Weisshäupl (1902) 33–4; Luck (1958) 456; Bowra (1960b) 120; Cameron (1965a) 226–9; Baldwin (1985) 269. For AP 9.134, see e.g. Zerwes (1956) 34; Beckby (1968) III, 86; Conca/Marzi/Zanetto (2005–11) II, 219 n. 134. For AP 10.61, see Beckby (1968) III, 506; Conca/Marzi/Zanetto (2005–11) II, 650. For AP 10.96, see Zerwes (1956) 109; Barbieri (2002–3) 121; Conca/Marzi/Zanetto (2005–11) II, 668. For AP 9.379, see Franke (1899) 11; Zerwes (1956) 116; Beckby (1968) III, 236; Wilkinson (2012a) 41; Henderson, W. J. pp. 61–3 in this volume; p. 52 in this chapter. For AP 11.289, see Zerwes (1956) 309. 8 The sources of these data are Vezzosi (2014); Guichard’s forthcoming work on Palladas. 9 For Hilberg’s and Meyer’s laws, cf. Guichard (2004) 119.

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Ginevra Vezzosi

in a hexameter verse with a masculine caesura), which is again twice as common in this ‘category’ of poems. This overview does not aim to support any hypothesis about the authenticity of the other Palladan subgroups mentioned at the beginning of this section. What it does show is that we can be fairly certain that the philosophical and gnomic epigrams attributed to Palladas belong to a well-defined poetic personality and come to us via a coherent and uniform textual tradition. By implication, this subgroup should be the starting point when outlining a cultural portrayal and the poetics of Palladas, a solid core from his corpus without which we might not truly understand his oeuvre. At the very least, such a subgroup should not be underestimated. 2

Palladas’ Philosophical Views

In this section, I sketch a cultural profile of Palladas as it emerges from his philosophical and gnomic epigrams in order to compare it with the content of the epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex: Palladas’ Eclecticism and His Use of Schools of Philosophy Despite the aforementioned unity of the subgroup in theme, metre, and style, it must be pointed out that when we speak about Palladas’ philosophical culture we have to deal with the issues of multiplicity and eclecticism. Let me explain this. It would be fruitless to try to frame Palladas’ philosophical views within a single well-defined philosophical school.10 Palladas eludes any clear-cut definition since he is essentially non-systematic in his use of philosophical beliefs/schools; that is, he shows an inherent tend­ency to pass from one philosophical belief to another.11 Often in one and the same epigram we find traits of conflicting philosophical schools.12 In brief, we can say that, paradoxically, Palladas’ systematic use of philosophical schools consists in a non-systematic approach to them which is flexible and unstructured but, at the same time, not incoherent. In other words, Palladas uses a sui generis eclecticism that is not purely philosophical. It is exactly this eclecticism that distinguishes him as a well-defined and unique talent. 2.1

10 11

12

Luck (1958) 457; cf. Vezzosi (2014) 83. See Luck (1958) 456–7: ‘Fragments of different philosophies follow each other abruptly. He adopts them for the moment, whenever they happen to bring out the point of one particular epigram and abandons them if they do not suit his purpose any longer. Today, he may be a Cynic, tomorrow an Epicurean, without transition.’ See e.g. Pall. AP 10.45, 10.73, 10.77, and ‘Pall.’ AP 10.58.

Below, I offer a brief overview of Palladas’ philosophical epigrams in order to then examine whether any similarities to the poems of the Yale papyrus codex exist. Firstly, we have epigrams that use the different schools of Hellenistic philosophy (Epicureanism, Stoicism, and Cynicism)13 for their existentialist perspective, as well as Pythagoreanism.14 Secondly, Palladas employs a wide heritage of commonsense worldly wisdom, evident in his frequent use of wisdom quotes, that resembles Cynicism in certain aspects15 and deals with such themes as the critique of wealth and praise of poverty,16 the exaltation of moderation,17 and the exhortation to search for peace of mind.18 Palladas’ great literary debt to commonsense worldly wisdom, apparent for instance in his AP 10.45, 10.46, 10.51, 10.59, 10.72, 10.73, 10.77, and ‘Pall.’ 10.81, has received insufficient attention in academic research. In his philosophical epigrams, Palladas expresses his philosophical and moral views by using technical terms that belong to different schools of thought, which sometimes diverge even from the perspective he adopts. Let us, for instance, examine AP 10.45: ἂν μνήμην, ἄνθρωπε, λάβῃς, ὁ πατήρ σε τί ποιῶν ἔσπειρεν, παύσῃ τῆς μεγαλοφροσύνης. ἀλλ’ ὁ Πλάτων σοὶ τῦφον ὀνειρώσσων ἐνέφυσεν, ἀθάνατόν σε λέγων καὶ φυτὸν οὐράνιον. ἐκ πηλοῦ γέγονας· τί φρονεῖς μέγα; τοῦτο μὲν οὕτως εἶπ’ ἄν τις, κοσμῶν πλάσματι σεμνοτέρῳ. εἰ δὲ λόγον ζητεῖς τὸν ἀληθινόν, ἐξ ἀκολάστου λαγνείας γέγονας καὶ μιαρᾶς ῥανίδος.19

5

If you call to mind, human, how your father sowed you, you would desist from your arrogance. But dreaming Plato has implanted a delusion in you, saying you are immortal and a heavenly offshoot. ‘You’re made of clay; why do you think big?’ That’s what one might say, dressing it in grander form. But if you seek the true statement, you are born from unbridled lust and a disgusting droplet.20

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

See e.g. Pall. AP 10.45, 10.51, 10.59, and 11.349; cf. Henderson, W. J. (2011) 120. See e.g. Pall. AP 10.46; cf. Henderson, W. J. (2010) and (2011). See Barbieri (2002–3). See e.g. Pall. AP 9.394. See e.g. Pall. AP 10.51. See e.g. Pall. AP 10.77. Words that disclose a clear connection with Epicureanism, Cynicism, or Neoplatonism are marked in bold letters. Translation from Henderson, W. J. (2011) 120.

Palladas ’ Philosophical and Gnomic Epigrams & THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

Words such as τῦφος (v. 3) are employed on an evident Epicurean basis,21 according to which Palladas tries to demolish the Platonic concept of the immortality of the soul. The word τῦφος is, as William J. Henderson points out, a technical term of Cynicism. One can compare Sextus Empiricus’ Against the Mathematicians 8.5–6: … Μόνιμος, ὁ κύων, τῦφον εἰπὼν τὰ πάντα, ὅπερ οἴησίς ἐστι τῶν οὐκ ὄντων ὡς ὄντων (… ‘Monimos, the Cynic, who said that every notion of nonexistent things as existing things is a delusion’).22 Furthermore, the phrase φυτὸν οὐράνιον (v. 4) recalls a famous passage from Plato’s Timaios 90a, that is, ὄντας φυτὸν οὐκ ἔγγειον ἀλλ’ οὐράνιον (‘not being a terrestrial plant, but rather a celestial one’), which should also be considered a motif of Platonic heritage. We find it in Themistios (Or. 13.170a ὅστις ἐκείνῳ [sc. τῷ θεῷ] παραπλήσιος ἐν τῇ γῇ, οὗτος φυτὸν οὐκ ἔγγειον, ἀλλ’ οὐράνιον, ‘anyone who is similar to a god on earth, is not a terrestrial, but rather a celestial plant’), Synesios (De providentia 1.10.61), Christian authors such as Eusebius of Caesarea (Praeparatio Evangelica 8.14.66),23 and in its varied form ἱερὸν φυτόν (‘sacred plant’) in Gregory of Nazianzus (Carmen de se ipso PG 37.1369.3–4 = Carmen 2.1.44.221 = Euripides’ Medea 431). In the same vein, let us take a look at Palladas AP 10.46: ἡ μεγάλη παίδευσις ἐν ἀνθρώποισι σιωπή· μάρτυρα Πυθαγόραν τὸν σοφὸν αὐτὸν ἔχω, ὅς, λαλέειν εἰδώς, ἑτέρους ἐδίδασκε σιωπᾷν, φάρμακον ἡσυχίης ἐγκρατὲς εὑρόμενος. The great lesson to learn among humans is silence. As a witness I have the sage Pythagoras himself. He, knowing how to speak, taught others to be silent, having discovered this potent drug for quietude.24 Silence is defined as a φάρμακον ἡσυχίης ἐγκρατές (v. 4), an expression that alludes to two related but distinct philosophical ideas: ἡσυχία, which is a major principle in Stoic25 and Epicurean26 philosophy, and ἐγκράτεια, which is a prerequisite for a happy life in Pythagoreanism.27 Additionally, in ‘Palladas’ AP 15.20, we read:

σιγῶν παρέρχου τὸν ταλαίπωρον βίον, αὐτὸν σιωπῇ τὸν χρόνον μιμούμενος· λαθὼν δὲ καὶ βίωσον, εἰ δὲ μή, θανών. Pass silently by this miserable life of suffering, copying time itself by your silence. And live unnoticed; if not, as if you were dead.28 Verse 3 echoes the Epicurean gnome of λάθε βιώσας (‘live unnoticed’), as Henderson argues.29 Palladas adapts the maxim by adding in the last verse the phrase εἰ δὲ μή, θανών (‘if not, as if you were dead’) which seems to express his acceptance of the Stoic principle of cotidie mori (‘to die every day’). He reworks this principle elsewhere, for example, in AP 11.300.2: σίγα, καὶ μελέτα ζῶν ἔτι τὸν θάνατον (‘be silent and meditate on death while still alive’). The epigram ‘merges’ two philosophical principles, perhaps to recommend two alternative paths to wisdom and support the argument for a quiet life with an appeal to two different philosophical schools of thought.30 Palladas, Neoplatonism, and the Issue of His Date Several epigrams suggest Palladas’ acquaintance with Neoplatonism: for example, in AP 10.78 he affirms the immortality of the soul; in AP 10.88 he draws the image of the soul imprisoned in the body; in AP 9.170 we have the principle of the prevalence of intellect over lust advocated within Neoplatonism, too (νηδὺν ἀναίσχυντον στιβαροῖς ᾔσχυνα λογισμοῖς, / σωφροσύνῃ κολάσας ἔντερον ἀργαλέον, ‘I lashed my shameless belly with sturdy arguments, chastising the vexatious gut with temperance’, vv. 1–2).31 In AP 11.305 the speaker taunts an unidentified target who pretends to be an expert in both grammar and Platonic philosophy. But since he is ignorant in both disciplines, he pretends to be a Platonist when among grammarians and a grammarian when among Platonists:

2.2

28 29

21 22 23 24 25 26 27

See Epicur. Epistula ad Herodotum 63–6 for the rejection of the immortality of the soul. See Henderson, W. J. (2011) 121. See Rodighiero (2003–4) 86. Translation (slightly adapted) from Henderson, W. J. (2012) 15. See Plutarch’s Against Colotes 1124 A and 1124 B; Cicero’s Lucullus 93; Sextus Empiricus’ Against Mathematicians 7.416. See Usener (1977) 325. See Iamblichos’ Life of Pythagoras 72–3.

45

30 31

Translation (adapted in vv. 1 and 3) from Henderson, W. J. (2011) 128. Henderson, W. J. (2011) 128–9. Henderson links the phrase εἰ δὲ μή, θανών with the eternal silence that death brings and translates (following Paton (2005) 123) ‘and live unnoticed; if not, you will be when dead’. Cf. e.g. Pall. AP 10.45, 10.46, 10.52, 10.57, and ‘Pall.’ AP 10.58. Translation (adapted) from Henderson, W. J. (2009b) 225. In Neoplatonism, σωφροσύνη is a technical term indicating the third part of the soul: see Zerwes (1956) 262. For Palladas’ use of Neoplatonic doctrines, see Stella (1949) 311; Zerwes (1956) 177; Irmscher (1961) 460. Nine lemmata define the poet as Ἀλεξανδρεύς (Pall. AP 7.607, 7.610, 7.681, 7.683, 9.165, 9.441, and ‘Pall.’ AP 5.71, 9.134, 15.20) and one as Αἰγύπτιος (Pall. AP 9.175).

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τέκνον Ἀναιδείης, ἀμαθέστατε, θρέμμα Μορίης, εἰπέ, τί βρενθύῃ μηδὲν ἐπιστάμενος; ἐν μὲν γραμματικοῖς ὁ Πλατωνικός· ἂν δὲ Πλάτωνος δόγματά τις ζητῇ, γραμματικὸς σὺ πάλιν. ἐξ ἑτέρου φεύγεις ἐπὶ θάτερον· οὔτε δὲ τέχνην  οἶσθα γραμματικήν οὔτε Πλατωνικὸς εἶ.

Rumour, if any evil befalls you, at once is proved to be true, and often the rapidity of events anticipates her.35 5

Son of Shamelessness, most stupid man, creature of Folly, tell me, why do you swagger when you know nothing? Among grammarians you’re the Platonist; but if someone asks you Plato’s doctrines, you’re a grammarian again. You flee from one to the other; yet you neither know the art of grammar nor are you a Platonist.32 The first verse accumulates a series of insults, while the chiasmus in verses 3–4 (γραμματικοῖς ὁ Πλατωνικός – Πλάτωνος … γραμματικός) ‘structurally imitates the behaviour of Palladas’ victim altering his self-styled qualities according to his environment’.33 I believe that this skoptic epigram attests to Palladas’ interest in Neoplatonism. The poet’s target (we cannot know if he was a real figure or not), could be a pseudo-Neoplatonic philosopher who pretended to combine expertise not only in his doctrine but also in grammar. The example of Synesios, the bishop of Cyrene and student of Hypatia, who according to the Suda (Σ 1511) wrote books on a variety of topics including some on grammar and others on philosophical themes (ἔγραψε βιβλία διάφορα, γραμματικά τε καὶ φιλόσοφα …), shows that there was an interest in both disciplines in (at least some) Neoplatonic circles.34 AP 10.89, on the other hand, possibly implies a special linkage between Palladas and Synesios: εἰ θεὸς ἡ Φήμη, κεχολωμένη ἐστὶ καὶ αὐτὴ Ἕλλησι, σφαλεροῖς ἐξαπατῶσα λόγοις. Φήμη δ’, ἄν τι πάθῃς, ἀναφαίνεται εὐθὺς ἀληθής· πολλάκι καὶ Φήμην ἔφθασεν ἡ ταχυτής. If Rumour is a goddess, she too is angry with the Greeks and cozens them with deceptive words.

32 33 34

Εdited text and translation (slightly adapted) from Henderson, W. J. (2012) 9. Bougioukli (2019) 38. Cf. Henderson, W. J. (2012) 9. Cf. Synesios’ Ep. 154.1–10 to Hypatia, clearly stressing Synesios’ interest in literature and Greek language; see Synesios’ Dio (e.g. 4.22–6, 5.1–4, and 17.1–5). For the relationship between Palladas and Synesios, see Cracco Ruggini (2004).

Synesios writes in his Epistle 43.9–10 (408 CE): εἰ μὲν θεός ἐστιν ἡ Φήμη κατά τινα τῶν παρ’ ἡμῖν ποιητῶν, σὺ διεχρήσω τὸν μακαρίτην Αἰμίλιον … λέγει μὲν γὰρ ἡ Φήμη ταῦτα, ψεύδεσθαι δὲ οὐ θέμις, οὖσαν θεόν. εἰ δὲ Ἡσίοδος μὲν οὐδὲν λέγει, πολλὰ δὲ λέγεται μάτην, καὶ τοῦτο περὶ σοῦ τῶν πολλῶν ἐστιν ἕν … If Rumour is a goddess, as one of our poets considers it, it was you who made away with the blessed Aimilios … This is the story which Rumour has recounted, and it is not ordained that a divinity should lie. But if Hesiod doesn’t say anything, or he says a lot of things, but to no purpose, and if this thing concerning you is one of many …36 According to Stella, Synesios draws on Palladas AP 10.89.1 and not on Hesiod’s Works and Days 763–4, which reads as follows: φήμη δ’ οὔ τις πάμπαν ἀπόλλυται, ἥντινα πολλοὶ / λαοὶ φημίξουσι· θεός νύ τίς ἐστι καὶ αὐτή (‘Rumour never wholly dies away when many people voice her: even Rumour is in some ways divine’).37 Although Hesiod is a possible intertext (if we take παρ’ ἡμῖν to imply ancient Greek literature generally),38 the syntactical structure of the text probably points to Palladas. Firstly, the expression τινα τῶν παρ’ ἡμῖν ποιητῶν can indicate not only spatial but also temporal proximity and so it could stand here for an author who lived in the age of Synesios. Secondly, Rumour’s divine status is questioned in Palladas’ and Synesios’ texts (a hypothetical sentence is used in both cases: εἰ μὲν θεός ἐστιν ἡ Φήμη (Synesios) and εἰ θεὸς ἡ Φήμη (Palladas)), whereas in Hesiod her deification is a fact (an affirmative sentence is used: θεός νύ τίς ἐστι καὶ αὐτή). If this is right and Palladas is the implicit intertext, this means that Synesios casts doubt on Hesiod’s statement about Rumour’s divine hypostasis, as Palladas has done before him. Synesios does not allude to the Hesiodic concept of Rumour but 35

36 37 38

Translation (adapted) from Paton (1999b) 49. On this epigram and its connection to the issue of Palladas’ date, see e.g. Wilkinson (2009) 53–4; Henderson, W. J. (2010) 243–6; Cameron (2016c) 109; Guastella (2017) 160. Translation (adapted) from Fitzgerald (1926) 113. The Hesiod passage is also quoted and discussed by Aischines in his speech Against Timarchos (1.128–9). Stella (1949) 382–3. Translation (slightly adapted) from Evelyn-White (1914) 59. Garzya (1989) 146 n. 1 translated ‘as a poet of ours says’ thinking of Hesiod.

Palladas ’ Philosophical and Gnomic Epigrams & THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

to Palladas’ doubts about Hesiod’s assertion. He contrasts Palladas with Hesiod, as is implied in the corresponding pair εἰ μέν … εἰ δέ, and makes use of Palladas’ hypothetical setting; Hesiod is recalled later on and explicitly opposed (εἰ δὲ Ἡσίοδος, ‘but if Hesiod’). Epistle 43 is important for an additional reason: it may help us to pin down the date of the poet since Synesios (c.370–415 CE) – if our interpretation of the phrase κατά τινα τῶν παρ’ ἡμῖν ποιητῶν is correct – considers Palladas more or less his contemporary.39 Moreover, the affinities between several of Palladas’ epigrams, which are preserved in the Greek Anthology, and the work of Gregory of Nazianzus (c.329–90 CE) strengthens the hypothesis that the poet lived in the second half of the 4th and early 5th century. I stress that I am not making any conjecture about who is the model and who is the imitator. However, the thematic and verbal links between Palladas and Gregory of Nazianzus (see the selected case studies below) are essential for a better understanding of the cultural environment in which our poet lived and worked: 1. Gregory of Nazianzus Carmen 1.2.31.7–8 γνῶθι σεαυτόν, ἄριστε, πόθεν καὶ ὅστις ἐτύχθης, ῥεῖά κεν ὧδε τύχῃς κάλλεος ἀρχετύπου. Know yourself, my fine fellow, where you came from and who you are, so you might easily obtain the archetypal beauty. Cf. Palladas AP 11.349.1–4 εἰπὲ πόθεν σὺ μετρεῖς κόσμον καὶ πείρατα γαίης ἐξ ὀλίγης γαίης σῶμα φέρων ὀλίγον. σαυτὸν ἀρίθμησον πρότερον καὶ γνῶθι σεαυτόν, καὶ τότ’ ἀριθμήσεις γαῖαν ἀπειρεσίην.

2. Gregory of Nazianzus AP 8.151.1–2 αἰεί σοι νόος ἦεν ἐς οὐρανόν, οὐδ’ ἐπὶ γαίης ἤρειδες χθαμαλῆς ἴχνιον οὐδ’ ὀλίγον. Your mind was ever in heaven, nor did you set foot at all on this low earth.41 Cf. ‘Palladas’ AP 9.400.1–342 ὅταν βλέπω σε, προσκυνῶ, καὶ τοὺς λόγους, τῆς παρθένου τὸν οἶκον ἀστρῷον βλέπων· εἰς οὐρανὸν γάρ ἐστι σοῦ τὰ πράγματα. When I see you and your arguments, I kneel, contemplating the astral house of the virgin; because your interests are in heaven.43 Due to space limitations, I offer a brief discussion of the first example only. Both Gregory of Nazianzus and Palladas adapt the well-known and widely used Delphic motto γνῶθι σεαυτόν (‘know yourself’).44 For Christian Gregory, self-awareness brings one closer to the κάλλος ἀρχέτυπον (‘archetypal beauty’), that is, God.45 For Palladas, his addressee46 should measure and know himself before aspiring to measure the boundless earth (ἀριθμήσεις γαῖαν ἀπειρεσίην). The skoptic epigram discusses ‘the limits of human knowledge’, as Henderson observes. Both the phrase γαῖαν ἀπειρεσίην and πείρατα γαίης are Homeric 41 42 43

Tell me, how come you measure the cosmos and earth’s ends, when you have a small body of a little earth. Measure yourself first and know yourself and then go and count the infinite earth.40

39

40

On Palladas’ date, see e.g. Stella (1949) 377; Zerwes (1956) 344; Cameron (1965b); Bowra (1970) 265–6; Wilkinson (2009), (2010a), and (2012a) 41–2; Vezzosi (2014) 11–34; Benelli (2016); Floridi (2016a); cf. the Introduction of this volume p. 5. Translation from Henderson, W. J. (2012) 10.

47

44 45 46

Translation (slightly adapted) from Paton (2000) 467. For the attribution of this epigram to Palladas, see Vezzosi (2014) 303–6. My translation. Cf. Gregory of Nazianzus Carmen 1.2.31.41–2 and Pall. AP 10.51.6; Gregory of Nazianzus Carmen 1.2.15–16 and ‘Pall.’ AP 10.118 (on the analogies, see Stella (1949) 383); Gregory of Nazianzus Carmen 2.1.13.168 and ‘Pall.’ AP 9.500.4. The phrase γλυκερὸς πόνος used in Pall. AP 9.5.1, which adapts, as Maria Kanellou suggests to me, the Sapphic bittersweet eros, is frequently used by Gregory of Nazianzus (see. e.g. Carmen 2.1.50.45 and 1.2.2.435). The misogynistic allusion to Pandora in Pall. AP 9.167.1 (ὁ Ζεὺς ἀντὶ πυρὸς πῦρ ὤπασεν ἄλλο, γυναῖκας, ‘Zeus, instead of fire, bestowed another fire, women’), which takes us back to Hesiod (see Gutzwiller in this volume pp. 32–3), should be related to Gregory of Nazianzus Carmen 1.2.29.115–17 (ἀντὶ πυρὸς πῦρ ἄλλο, καλοῦ κακόν, ‘instead of fire another fire, bad for good’). As Kanellou suggests to me Palladas and Gregory of Nazianzus could have adapted the same earlier poetic models. For the Delphic maxim, see e.g. Tränkle (1985). For the meaning of this phrase in the work of Gregory of Nazianzus, see e.g. Or. 17.9; for κάλλος ἀρχέτυπον, see esp. Or. 38.13. The addressee could be an astronomer or a philosopher (see Henderson, W. J. (2012) 9–13).

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(Il. 20.58 and 14.200, respectively) and, as Henderson notes, in both cases they are applied to gods: Poseidon can shake the ‘infinite earth’ and Hera can see the ends of the ‘bountiful earth’. These intertexts strengthen the idea that the addressee is trying to achieve unattainable goals.47 Additionally, the poem appears to mock its target because he stays focused on the phenomenal world, trying to measure what is in fact unmeasurable, before having achieved a greater goal: to know himself. Both through the antithesis between the earth’s magnitude and the addressee’s small body (vv. 1–2) and the use of the Delphic maxim, the poet urges his addressee to think of and re-evaluate his place in the world.48 Personified Tyche and the Question of Palladas’ ‘Christianity’ Finally, central to Palladas’ corpus is the concept of fortune, as the poet dedicates fifteen epigrams to personified Tyche.49 We can consider these epigrams to be both gnomic and philosophical due to their treatment of Tyche. For Palladas Tyche represents a negative and irrational force that controls human life. An important aspect of Tyche in Palladas’ epigrams is her changeability; it is highly probable that the poet drew the motif from Menander where Tyche’s changeability is expressed through the term ῥεῦμα (‘current’).50 As Zerwes underlines, in Palladas’ world we find a sort of ‘determinism’ in the sense that events do not happen casually but are negatively determined by Tyche herself.51 So we cannot consider Palladas an agnostic because, although he rejects the Olympian pantheon, he still believes in an irrational and illogical universe that Tyche symbolises.52 Besides Tyche, in Palladas we come across other divine entities: the δαίμων (a term that often seems to stand for a universal divine entity), the θεός (‘god’), and Μοῖρα (‘Fate’). Palladas does not offer a specific and detailed description of these deities as he does for Tyche (see e.g. Pall. AP 10.57 (θεός), 10.77 (δαίμων, Mοῖρα), 10.34 (δαίμων) and, above all, 10.88 (θεός) where, however, an important feature of this obscure divinity transpires, its immortality). The evocation of gods in Palladas’ oeuvre leads us to the vexata quaestio of the use of Christian ideas. It would be easy,

2.3

47 48 49 50 51 52

See Henderson, W. J. (2012) 9–13. See Bougioukli (2019) 33–4. See ‘Pall.’ AP 9.134, 10.81, 11.383 and Pall. AP 9.172, 9.180, 9.181, 9.182, 9.183, 10.62, 10.65, 10.80, 10.87, 10.93, 10.96, 11.303. See Barbieri (2002–3) 114; cf. Bowra (1960b); Pall. AP 10.62 and 10.87. Zerwes (1956) 350. Cf. Bowra (1960b) and (1970); Cameron (1965a) and (1965b); Barbieri (2002–3).

but mistaken, to postulate a close bond between Palladas and Christianity on the basis of his many allusions to Christianity and its dogmata in, for instance, AP 9.441, 10.88, 10.90, 10.91, 11.384, and ‘Pall.’ 11.282, as well as the frequent use of material from the New and Old Testaments.53 See, for instance, the following examples: 1. ‘Palladas’ AP 10.58 γῆς ἐπέβην γυμνὸς γυμνός θ’ ὑπὸ γαῖαν ἄπειμι· καὶ τί μάτην μοχθῶ γυμνὸν ὁρῶν τὸ τέλος; Onto earth I came naked and naked under the earth I’ll go. So why do I work in vain seeing the naked end?54 Cf. Ecclesiastes 5.14 καθὼς ἐξῆλθεν ἀπὸ γαστρὸς μητρὸς αὐτοῦ γυμνός, ἐπιστρέψει τοῦ πορευθῆναι ὡς ἥκει, καὶ οὐδὲν οὐ λήμψεται ἐν μόχθῳ αὐτοῦ, ἵνα πορευθῇ ἐν χειρὶ αὐτοῦ. As he came naked from his mother’s womb at birth, so shall he return as he came; he shall get from his work no reward which he may take away in his hand. Cf. Job 1.21 αὐτὸς γυμνὸς ἐξῆλθον ἐκ κοιλίας μητρός μου, γυμνὸς καὶ ἀπελεύσομαι ἐκεῖ· ὁ Kύριος ἔδωκεν, ὁ Κύριος ἀφείλατο. Naked I came out of my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart; the Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. 2. Palladas AP 11.349.1–2 εἰπὲ πόθεν σὺ μετρεῖς κόσμον καὶ πείρατα γαίης ἐξ ὀλίγης γαίης σῶμα φέρων ὀλίγον. Tell me, how come you measure the cosmos and earth’s ends, when you have a small body of a little earth. and Palladas AP 11.349.5–6 εἰ δ’ ὀλίγον πηλὸν τοῦ σώματος οὐ καταριθμεῖς, πῶς δύνασαι γνῶναι τῶν ἀμέτρων τὰ μέτρα;

53 54

See Fogazza (1980). On the issue of Palladas’ ‘Christianity’, see Vezzosi (2014) 102–6. Edited text and translation from Henderson, W. J. (2010) 246.

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49

and if you can’t add up your body’s little bit of clay55 how can you know the measures of things unmeasurable?

3

Palladas AP 10.45.5–6

Having offered an overview of important aspects of the poet’s gnomic and philosophical epigrams in the Greek Anthology, I now proceed to the central question of this chapter: Are there any affinities in Palladas’ treatment of philosophical schools in his epigrams preserved in the Greek Anthology and the poems of the Yale papyrus codex? The first observation to be made is that there are no gnomic and philosophical epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex, while, as Wilkinson notes, from the 126 protreptic epigrams in Book 10 of the Greek Anthology, forty are attributed to Palladas, and most of them are gnomic and philosophical.60 How can we explain the absence of such epigrams, so prominent in Palladas’ work, in the Yale papyrus codex? The editor offers two possible explanations: (a) it is possible that a lost part of the codex contained gnomic and philosophical epigrams, or (b) one might assume that epigrams belonging to this subgenre circulated independently from ‘collections of his more jocund skoptic and epideictic epigrams’.61 A question arises: does any evidence exist in the Greek Anthology to support the idea that epigrams composed by Palladas and belonging to different subgenres circulated separately? Several of Palladas’ gnomic and philosophical epigrams in the Greek Anthology are grouped together in long sequences, such as AP 10.44–65 and 10.72–99.62 However, within these epigrammatic sequences, which contain poems composed by other poets too, we find non-gnomic and non-philosophical epigrams and these collocations may be the result of editorial intervention which took place during anthologisation. Therefore, an independent circulation of gnomic and philosophical epigrams, though conceivable, cannot be supported by evidence. More to the point, a clear-cut distinction between Palladas’ skoptic and gnomic-philosophical epigrams is often impossible. While it is true that Palladas composed epigrams that could be characterised as exclusively skoptic or gnomic-philosophical,63 skoptic and gnomic elements can often be merged in the same epigram.64 This raises an interesting question. If a clear-cut distinction

ἐκ πηλοῦ γέγονας. τί φρονεῖς μέγα; τοῦτο μὲν οὕτως εἶπ’ ἄν τις, κοσμῶν πλάσματι σεμνοτέρῳ. ‘You’re made of clay; why do you think big?’ That’s what one might say, dressing it in grander form.56 Cf. Genesis 3.19 ἐν ἱδρῶτι τοῦ προσώπου σου φάγῃ τὸν ἄρτον σου ἕως τοῦ ἀποστρέψαι σε εἰς τὴν γῆν, ἐξ ἧς ἐλήμφθης· ὅτι γῆ εἶ καὶ εἰς γῆν ἀπελεύσῃ.57 With the sweat of your brow you will get your bread till you go back to the earth from which you were taken: for earth you are and to the earth you will go back. Bowra was correct in affirming that ‘if Palladas became a Christian, it does not seem to have affected his general view of things at all deeply and we may suspect that in his conformity he was more pratiquant than croyant’.58 In fact, I would argue that the picture of a Christian Palladas is not at all plausible when we take into consideration epigrams such as AP 10.84, where human life is described as a valley of tears without any chance for happiness, AP 10.85, where it is stated that men are kept alive only to die like a drove of randomly slaughtered pigs, and AP 10.90, where he regrets that pagan culture is dead. Nothing could be less Christian than thinking that the human race is destined to materialistic dissolution. The idea that Palladas reached, as Bowra argued, a compromise with Christian authorities for practical reasons (in order, for instance, not to lose his job as a grammarian because he was a pagan),59 although it cannot be proved, seems probable (see e.g. Pall. AP 9.175). In sum, one observes the same kind of flexibility that we have detected in Palladas’ use of various philosophical schools, in his use of Christian and non-Christian ideas.

55 56 57 58 59

Translation from Henderson, W. J. (2012) 10. Edited text and translation from Henderson, W. J. (2011) 119–20. The translations of the biblical texts (that of Ecclesiastes 5.14 is slightly adapted) can be found at https://www.o-bible.com. Bowra (1970) 263. Bowra (1970) 263. On AP 9.175, see Vezzosi (2014) 22–3.

60 61 62 63 64

Palladas’ Gnomic and Philosophical Epigrams and the Yale Papyrus Codex

Wilkinson (2012a) 43. Wilkinson (2012a) 43. On sequences in Palladas’ epigrams in the Greek Anthology and in the epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex, see Gutzwiller’s chapter in this volume. For skoptic epigrams, see e.g. Pall. AP 11.204, 11.255, 11.280, and 11.285; for gnomic and philosophical epigrams, see e.g. Pall. 10.59, 10.65, 10.72, and 10.73. See e.g. Pall. AP 10.49, 10.60, 10.87, and 10.98.

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between these kinds of epigrams did not exist for Palladas or his readers, what would it mean to find in the Yale papyrus codex an author whose poems are different from the gnomic and philosophical ones composed by Palladas and preserved in the Greek Anthology? Moreover, what would the lack of characteristic themes such as the personified Tyche, the motif of carpe diem, and the criticism of Christianity reveal to us? These are some of the most distinctive themes in the work of Palladas and, in a way, help us to reconstruct most effectively the cultural environment in which the poet lived as well as his poetic personality. Although we do not have in the Yale papyrus codex any poems that could be categorised as gnomic-philosophical, can we discern any influences from philosophical schools in the codex? As has been argued, the epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex look like local texts.65 They seem to be closely related to Egypt, where they were produced. I agree with Wilkinson’s suggestion that the codex may represent an earlier stage in the transmission of Greek epigram that is anterior to anthologisation.66 This is very important for understanding the Byzantine selection criteria.67 What matters for us is that in Palladas’ epigrams from the Greek Anthology, the Egyptian or Alexandrian cultural environment is always employed in association with Palladas’ philosophical and cultural interests68 and, in addition, geographical elements never constitute the basis of an epigram. In contrast, the Yale papyrus codex is full of references to Egyptian cities and includes a skoptic epigram (8 W p. 5, ll. 15–25) about Neilos, a Hermopolite criminal, that adapts, according to Wilkinson, ‘the form of a hymn of praise that would have been typical of the divine Nile’.69 The insistence on local Egyptian elements is not characteristic of Palladas as we know him from the medieval tradition, and this must raise some doubt about the attribution of the new epigrams to the poet. Let us now consider specific epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex in order to conduct a comparative study between the two sources and examine whether there are any traces of philosophical influences in the epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex. To begin with, epigram 2 W (p. 3, ll. 18–32) includes a reference to Pythagoras’ notorious 65 66 67 68 69

See Wilkinson (2012a) 35–6; Ast pp. 66–73, Floridi pp. 27–9, and Kanellou/Carey pp. 2–3 in this volume. Wilkinson (2012a) 34. The Yale Papyrus codex includes, as we know, two epigrams that were also preserved in the Greek Anthology: 28 W (p. 12, ll. 28–31) = AP 9.127 and 37 W (p. 21, ll. 4–8) = AP 9.379. See Vezzosi (2014) 12, 15–16, 19–23, and 295. Wilkinson (2012a) 139. On this epigram, see Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 10–13.

ban on eating beans and possibly to the vegetarianism that is appropriate for a philosopher, as suggested by the terms ⸢κ⸣ρέα τετραπό̣δ̣ω̣ν̣ (‘meat of four-legged animals’, l. 26), βρώματι (‘food’, l. 27), and βρ̣ ̣ώ̣ματα παν̣[τ]οδ̣απά̣ (‘all kinds of food’, l. 30).70 It is possible that this is a skoptic epigram in which the Pythagorean dictum is treated humorously: note the use of the expression τὸ̣ ̣ γ̣ελοιότατον̣ ̣ (‘the most ridiculous’, l. 25) and especially the probably satiric exhortation to follow the Pythagorean prohibition to eat fava beans (οἱ κύαμοι φάβ̣ α ν[ῦ]ν ὀν[ομ]αζόμ̣[ε]ν̣οι κ[ / ἐχθρ̣οὶ τῷ Σαμ̣[ί]ῳ σ[φό]δρ̣ α γ̣ε Πυθαγ̣[όρᾳ.] / κείνο̣υ̣ τ̣ὴν̣ ̣ [π]ρ̣όρ̣ ρησιν ὀ[χή]σ̣ομεν̣· ἶσον υ ̣[ / καὶ κ̣υ̣ά̣μ̣ο̣υς τ̣[ρ]ώ̣γ̣ειν̣ [κ]αὶ̣ πατέ̣ ρων κεφ̣[αλάς], ‘The beans now called fava beans … are strongly hated by Pythagoras of Samos. We shall continue to follow his doctrine: it is the same thing … to eat fava beans and the heads of our fathers’, ll. 19–22). In the Greek Anthology, Palladas frequently uses Pythagorean doctrines, but he tends to do so seriously: for instance, in AP 10.46, Palladas defines silence as a sign of culture, praising Pythagoras for the five-year period of silence that he prescribed to his pupils. Another good example is also Palladas AP 10.98: πᾶς τις ἀπαίδευτος φρονιμώτατός ἐστι σιωπῶν, τὸν λόγον ἐγκρύπτων, ὡς πάθος αἰσχρότατον. Every uneducated man is wisest if he remains silent, hiding his speech like the most disgraceful disease.71 Here, Palladas describes human ignorance metaphorically as the most shameful illness, and adapts inter alia a principle attributed to Pythagoras himself (see ἀπαιδευσία πάντων τῶν παθῶν μήτηρ, ‘the lack of education is the mother of all passions’, Sententiae Pythagoreorum 2.1 = Stob. 2.31.96). In addition, AP 10.73 suggests the influence of the Pseudo-Pythagorean Carmen aureum (‘Golden Verses’):72 εἰ τὸ φέρον σε φέρει, φέρε καὶ φέρου· εἰ δ’ ἀγανακτεῖς καὶ σαυτὸν λυπεῖς, καὶ τὸ φέρον σε φέρει. If the gale of Fortune bears you, bear with it and be borne; but if you rebel and torment yourself, even so the gale bears you.73

70 71 72 73

See Wilkinson (2012a) 124–7; Henderson, W. J. in this volume p. 61. Translation (slightly adapted) from Paton (1999b) 53. On this poem, see Thom (1995). Translation (slightly adapted) from Paton (1999b) 41.

Palladas ’ Philosophical and Gnomic Epigrams & THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

The verb ἀγανακτέω is typical of Attic prose74 and rare in poetry, since it appears only in the work of three poets, that is, Aristophanes (V. 187, 1003, Ra. 1006, and Lys. 499), Menander (Sam. 271), and Pseudo-Pythagoras’ Carmen aureum 17–18 Young: ὅσσα δὲ δαιμονίαισι τύχαις βροτοὶ ἄλγε’ ἔχουσιν, / ἣν ἂν μοῖραν ἔχῃς, ταύτην φέρε μὴδ’ ἀγανάκτει (‘mortals have so many torments from the divine fate, bear the fate you have and do not rebel’). In Pseudo-Pythagoras, the verbal form occupies the same metrical position as in Palladas’ epigram and is used in the same context: the exhortation not to resist one’s destiny. Though we cannot be absolutely sure of a link between the verses, the similarity of context combined with the use of a word rare in verse and in the same metrical position makes direct influence highly likely. Let us now move on to another thematic circle, that is, epigrams dealing with poverty, a theme that appears in both Palladas’ epigrams in the Greek Anthology and in the poems of the Yale papyrus codex and that can acquire, as is suggested here, a philosophical and moral hue. In epigram 3 W (p. 4, ll. 4–19), in the phrase … τῆς γὰρ ἀπλάστ̣[ου] / [εἰμὶ π]ροαιρέσεως, ο̣[ὕν]εκα καὶ πένομα[ι] (ll. 18–19), the verb πένομαι features, as Wilkinson notes, only in two other poems from the Greek Anthology, one of which is Palladas AP 11.303.75 On Wilkinson’s interpretation of the phrase (‘for [I am] of the unfeigned sort, wherefore I am also poor’),76 the poet tells us that he is poor because he cannot restrain himself from criticising others. For this reason, he turns for help to a certain Klematios, who features also in the next epigram. Wilkinson further notes that the adjective ἄπλαστος in line 18 is generally interpreted as ‘truth�ful’, ‘direct’, and ‘unfeigned’.77 He rightly points out that Palladas is often concerned with the theme of poverty; in many epigrams of the Greek Anthology he complains about his own misery as an underpaid grammarian.78 It should be noted, though, that in 4 W (p. 4, ll. 20–37) we have no apparent reference to grammar or the occupation of grammarian (only in l. 28 of 9 W (p. 5, ll. 26–8) do we read the term γράμμασιν). A sole possible related reference might be διδάσ̣[κα]λος in line 31 of 4 W, but this term is never used by Palladas in his epigrams preserved in the Greek Anthology.79 I would like to propose another interpretation of the expression ἀπλάστ̣[ου] … π]ροαιρέσεως in 3 W, especially appropriate if this is, indeed, an epigram composed by 74 75 76 77 78 79

See DELG, s.v. I, 21. Wilkinson (2012a) 130. Wilkinson (2012a) 128. Wilkinson (2012a) 128–9. Wilkinson (2012a) 43. On 4W, see Kanellou’s chapter in this volume.

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Palladas.80 The phrase, interpreted as a genitive of quality, could be translated as ‘I (have made) an honest life choice, for this reason I am also poor’.81 As mentioned above, in the Greek Anthology Palladas complains about his poverty, considering it a drawback that is brought upon him because of his job as a grammarian (e.g. AP 9.168, 9.169, 9.171, and 9.175). Elsewhere, however, in Palladas’ gnomic and philosophical poems, we meet the idea of poverty as one’s life choice. This is a concept related to Cynicism and in general to philosophical doctrines that are supportive of moderate conduct (e.g. Epicureanism, Pythagoreanism, and Stoicism). In particular, the poet argues against the hybris of the rich, and presents poverty as a more honest and natural life choice in AP 9.172, 9.394, 10.54, 10.60, and 10.61. In these epigrams, Palladas’ approach to poverty is unquestionably philosophical: for instance, he defines poverty as the mother of temperance (AP 10.61), criticises rich people for their avidity (AP 10.61), and exalts human moderation (AP 10.54). Therefore, the theme of poverty in his work features not only as an autobiographical and satirical topic related to his activity as a grammarian, but it also expresses a deeper moral value. Such a moral undertone may be detected in epigram 3 W of the Yale papyrus codex, but given the very fragmentary state of the codex, every hypothesis is bound to be speculative.82 Apart from 3 W, other epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex also seem to draw on Cynic doctrines. This is an interesting parallel between Palladas’ epigrams in the Greek Anthology and the new epigrams, given that Cynicism is the philosophical school to which Palladas seems to be most attracted, even if his references to and usage of Cynic thought are never explicit.83 In general, only 80 81

82

83

Cf. AP 11.385.1 in which Palladas uses the adjective πλαστός (πλαστὸν ἔχεις τὸν ἔρωτα, ‘your love is inauthentic’). The dissociation of wealth and honesty has a long tradition in Greek ethical thinking. It is found as early as Solon (fr. 15 West) and forms the basis of the plot of Aristophanes’ Wealth (see esp. Ar. Pl. 87–91). It is noteworthy that in 3 W (p. 4, l. 13) we have the prepositional phrase μέχρι τέλους which features only partly in the manuscript tradition of Palladas. Pall. AP 7.688.4 in P has ἄχρι τέλους, while μέχρι τέλους is attested in Pall. AP 7.684.6 in Pl. The phrase μέχρι τέλους is, of course, common and cannot help us with the problem of the authorship of the epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex. It is interesting though that it is employed, as Wilkinson (2012a) 129 rightly notes, in Ps.-Phokylides AP 10.117.4 τούτους ἐξ ἀρχῆς μέχρι τέλους ἀγαπῶ (‘these I love from beginning to end’) because Phokylides was an important model for Palladas (see Vezzosi (2014) 52 and 54 e.g. on Pall. AP 9.394 and its relationship with Ps.-Phokylides’ Sententiae 44, Pall. AP 10.51 and Ps.-Phokylides’ Sententiae 36, ‘Pall.’ AP 10.81 and Ps.-Phokylides’ Sententiae 27, and Pall. AP 10.65 and Ps.-Phokylides’ Sententiae 25). See e.g. Pall. AP 10.60, 10.61, and 10.85.

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very rarely does Palladas openly refer to or describe the philosophical schools from which he borrows material.84 Epigram 11 W (p. 6, ll. 5–9) includes names and terms that could be associated, as Wilkinson has shown, to Cynicism, such as Δημήτριον (‘Demetrios’), Οἰνόμαος (‘Oinomaos’), σμῖλα (‘knife’), and ἔχε̣ι ὀδόντα̣ς̣ (‘has teeth’).85 Most importantly, epigram 12 W (p. 6, ll. 10–20) uses the adjective κυνικούς̣ (‘dog-like’, ‘Cynic’, l. 15).86 Even if the content of these two fragmentary epigrams is not completely clear, they present a clear contrast to Palladas’ epigrams from the Greek Anthology, where terms and phrases deriving from schools of philosophy are employed to express philosophical beliefs: for instance, to exalt spiritual freedom (e.g. Pall. AP 9.172) or cynical laughter on life (e.g. Pall. AP 10.72). However, given that we have some indications of philosophical influences in 3, 11, and 12 W, the hypothesis that the codex included a (now lost) section with gnomic and philosophical epigrams becomes stronger. In page 20 of the codex, the critical sign χρ, which is used to mark ‘a passage of special value’,87 might have indicated the switch from one epigrammatic subgenre to another. The subsequent subgenre could have been the philosophical and gnomic epigrams. In fact, epigram 37 W (p. 21, ll. 4–8) on the next page is ‘Palladas’ AP 9.379:88 φασὶ παροιμι⸤ακῶς· ‘κἂν οἶς δάκοι ἄνδρα πονηρόν.’⸥ ἀλλ’ ἐγώ· ‘οὐχ̣ οὕ̣τ̣⸤ω’, φημί, ‘προσῆκε λέγειν·⸥ ἀ̣λλὰ δάκοι κἂν οἶς ⸤ἀγαθοὺς καὶ ἀπράγμονας ἄνδρας,⸥ τοὺς δὲ κακοὺς̣ ⸤δεδιὼς δήξεται οὐδὲ δράκων.’⸥

8

The old saying goes, ‘Even a sheep would bite a wicked man’. But I say, ‘It is not right to speak in this way; on the contrary, even a sheep would bite good men who are minding their own business, but not even a snake would dare to bite bad men.’89 This is a poem that merges two proverbs transmitted by the paremiographical tradition and has philosophical implications (Aesop. Prov. 12 = CPG II, 229 τὸν ἀτυχῆ καὶ πρόβατον δάκνει, ‘even a sheep will bite an unfortunate

84 85 86 87 88

89

See e.g. Pall. AP 10.45 and 10.46. See Wilkinson (2012a) 141–2. Translation from Wilkinson (2012a) 141 and 143. Turner (1987) 15, cited by Wilkinson (2012a) 181. In both P and Pl the authorship of this epigram is given as uncertain (ἄδηλον); the Palatine Corrector (C) ascribed it to Palladas. On this issue, see e.g. Franke (1899) 11; Wilkinson (2012a) 41–2 and 182–3. Translation (adapted) from Wilkinson (2012a) 182.

man’ and Diogenian. 5.87 = CPG I, 268 = Apostol. 9.35 = CPG II, 471 κἂν αἲξ δάκῃ ἄνδρα πονηρόν, ‘even a goat would bite a wicked man’).90 It is interesting that paremiographical sayings are often used by Palladas (see e.g. ‘Pall.’ AP 10.58 and compare it with Apostol. 5.41e = CPG II, 344 and Diogenian. 8.51 = CPG II, 773 = CPG I, 315; Pall. AP 9.394 with Apostol. 18.41a = CPG II, 728). Although we do not have sufficient evidence to reach a definitive conclusion about the epigram’s attribution to Palladas, I offer some relevant observations.91 Gianfranco Agosti, accepting the reading ὗς ‘pig’ (Beckby) in AP 9.379 (vv. 1 and 3), proposed that the ἐπανόρθωσις (‘amendment’) of line 3 veils an anti-Christian hint.92 The reading οἶς attested in the Yale papyrus codex (ll. 5 and 7 – clearly a better version – could match such an interpretation. According to the proverb’s ‘corrected version’, even a sheep, the most harmless among the animals, could do evil against just and peaceable people and this could suggest that Christian goodness and mildness is, ultimately, fruitless. 4 Conclusions To sum up, there might have been a now lost section in the Yale papyrus codex with gnomic and philosophical epigrams, as Wilkinson has argued — 37 W could have belonged to this subsection. In general, we can discern an intermittent and limited usage of material from philosophical schools in what we have: 2 W adapts Pythagoras’ reputed ban on eating beans and 3, 11, and 12 W can be linked with Cynicism. The use of material associated with prominent schools of philosophy and their representatives creates a link to Palladas’ epigrams preserved in the Greek Anthology. However, this is not a secure basis for arguing in favour of Palladan authorship for the new epigrams since, as has been shown in this chapter, there are differences in the way the material is used in Palladas’ epigrams in the Greek Anthology and the ones in the Yale papyrus codex. Moreover, although we acknowledge that the Yale papyrus epigrams are very fragmentary and lacunose, there is an evident lack of material from the philosophical schools that formed primary models in Palladas’ poetry, that is, Epicureanism and Stoicism.93 90 91 92 93

Both texts are cited and translated in Wilkinson (2012a) 183. Cf. the interpretation of the text by Henderson, W. J. in this volume pp. 61–3. See Beckby (1968) III, 236; Agosti (2001) 242 n. 125. Just to note here some unrecognised parallels between the AP epigrams attributed to Palladas and the ones in the Yale papyrus codex: τὸν ὅλον ⸤βίον in 28 W (p. 12, l. 30) is attested in Pall. AP 10.78.2; the terms κλ̣ηρ̣ ̣ονόμος in 26 W (p. 11, l. 33) and σεμνή in

Palladas ’ Philosophical and Gnomic Epigrams & THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

In addition, there are other differences between Palladas’ epigrams in the Greek Anthology and the Yale papyrus epigrams that make the problem of authorship even more complicated. For instance, while Menander is one of Palladas’ basic models in his epigrams in the Greek Anthology,94 in the Yale papyrus codex only the phrase δυσί δοῦλος (p. 4, l. 35) might be a borrowing from Comparatio Menandri et Philistionis: ἐλεύθερος πᾶς ἑνὶ δεδούλωται,

94

32 W (p. 15, l. 20) feature in ‘Pall.’ AP 9.500.3 and 9.400.4, respectively. However, these AP epigrams are dubious and they cannot help us with the much debated issue of authorship. As Raines (1946) 95 argues: ‘The most persistent imitator of Menander is Palladas of Alexandria’. This is confirmed by the great number of adaptations of material from Menander, above all from the Sententiae: e.g. ‘Pall.’ AP 11.56.3 θνητὰ λογίζου (‘let your thoughts befit a mortal’, translation (slightly adapted) from Paton (1999b) 97); cf. Men. Sententiae 246 Jäkel θνητὰ καὶ φρόνει (‘and think of mortal things’); Pall. AP 10.90.5 Ἕλληνές ἐσμεν ἄνδρες ἐσποδωμένοι (‘we Greeks are men reduced to ashes’, translation from Paton (1999b) 49); cf. Men. fr. 641 K–A Ἕλληνές εἰσιν ἄνδρες οὐκ ἀγνώμονες (‘the Greeks are men not senseless’, v. 1); Pall. AP 9.394.1 χρυσέ … ὀδύνης καὶ φροντίδος υἱέ (‘gold … son of pain and anxiety’); cf. Men. Dys. 88 ὀδύνης … υἱός (‘son of pain’). See Vezzosi (2014) 55–8 and 62.

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νόμῳ, / δυσὶν δὲ δοῦλος, καὶ νόμῳ καὶ δεσπότῃ (‘every free man is a slave to one thing alone, the law, but a slave is a slave to two things, both the law and a master’, 2.118– 19 Jäkel).95 On the other hand, as Wilkinson has shown, there are similarities between the Yale papyrus epigrams and the texts of Gregory of Nazianzus and, as I mentioned above, Palladas’ epigrams in the Greek Anthology also bear resemblances to Gregory’s work.96 One thing is certain: the issue of the authorship of the Yale papyrus epigrams is very intriguing and more research is required to reach a definitive conclusion. For example, Palladas’ borrowing, adaptation, and amalgamation of material from Theognis, the tragic authors (above all Sophokles), low-level worldly wisdom, pre-Socratic culture (borrowings from the Seven Sages of Greece), and Christian authors97 constitute an identification mark of his poems in the Greek Anthology. If we were to find these strands in the new epigrams, then the attribution would gain in plausibility. 95 96 97

Wilkinson (2012a) 134. See pp. 47–8 in this chapter. See Wilkinson (2012a) 134 for Palladas’ use of patristic literature; cf. Cameron (1965b) for Palladas’ use of Christian language.

Chapter 6

Imagery in the Yale Papyrus Codex: A Semiotic Probe William J. Henderson 1 Introduction Tyche, the same ‘goddess of papyrus’ who has been thanked for the Milan Papyrus of Poseidippos (among others),*,1 was crueler in the case of the Yale papyrus codex. For a literary critic the Yale papyrus codex is an epigrammatic archaeological site, requiring meticulous sifting through the remains of once whole poems which had the power to communicate to contemporary minds. Imagery, here understood in the broad, semiotic sense of signs that embody thought and feeling, create concrete ‘pictures’, and invite imaginative responses, is a major vehicle of meaning. The purpose here is to examine the remnants of the Yale papyrus for any traces of figurative language, be it simile, metaphor, or mythological exemplum. Given the fragmented state of the papyrus text, this examination can be no more than a probe, like a rover on the surface of a planet searching for traces of water or life. Semiotics provides one such ‘vehicle’ for tracing and evaluating any signs of figurative language. Furthermore, just like the astrophysicist, the classicist relies on known and accumulated science to provide meaning, context, and evidence for the examined material. Briefly and perforce at the risk of oversimplification, semiotics is the study of signs (σημεῖα) which stand for or refer to something, and in the process of communication convey or represent abstract reasoning and thought in a more concrete way. Every sign is referential, standing in the place of a concrete or abstract object. Signs can be icons (maps, photographs, pictures), indexes (road signs), symbols (traffic signs, Cross, Crescent), metaphors, sim­iles, fables, or myths. Signs form relations with other signs to create sign systems or codes. Language (and its expression in speech and writing) is one of the largest and most important systems of signs or codes; others are religion, myth, the visual arts, history, and science.2 * I wish to thank the editors, Chris Carey and Maria Kanellou, firstly, for inviting me to contribute to this volume and, secondly, for their comments and suggestions on earlier drafts, and their generous assistance in the final stages. For any errors of judgement or fact I alone am responsible. 1 Seidensticker (2015b) 9. 2 Eco (1976) 9–14 lists inter alia zoo semiotics, olfactory signs, tactile communication, codes of taste, medical semiotics, musical codes,

© William J. Henderson, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004521353_007

Within literature itself the focus is on metaphors and similes, symbols, and codes (for example, metrical and genre codes). The signification of each sign has been accumulated and developed by conventions in a particular society and time, and a shared conscious and unconscious knowledge and agreement on the meaning of signs. The meaning of sign systems is also shaped by a ‘social agreement’ or inherited conventions among the speakers of the language. Meaning is generated from this ‘semiotic base’, and surfaces as speech or writing. Interpretation of the signs, therefore, entails a knowledge (hereditary for a member of the particular community, consciously learnt or researched by an outsider) of the cluster of meanings embodied and evoked by the sign. The meanings of signs are generated synchronically by the writer and contemporary audience or readers; in both oral and literary form, the signs are understood more readily, with all the range of nuances, emotions, and connotations, than in the case of non-contemporary readers.3 Researchers approaching the signs or system of signs (a poem, for example) long after the original creation and communication, must find means to get as close as possible to that situation in order to understand the potential meaning(s) for a contemporary audience/readership. Of course, achieving the original synchronicity is impossible. Whereas Palladas’ contemporaries were familiar with his appearance, his voice on the occasions when he recited his verses, and his personal opinions on contemporary events and conditions, we cannot even be sure of the exact period of his life. Some 1,600 years or more separate us from his life, cultural, political, and historical environment and his poetry.4 However, this does not mean the text is closed to us as non-contemporary readers. A text can still convey its basic meaning despite different codes, circumstances, written languages, unknown alphabets, secret codes, cultural codes, mass communication. 3 See e.g. Eco (1979) 6–10 (author and reader), 21 (intertextuality), 53 (suggestiveness), 68 and 78 (metaphor); Eco (1984) 7 (signs), 9–14 (semiotic fields), 16–17 (abstract and concrete signs), 174: ‘… without doubt verbal language is the most powerful semiotic device that man has invented …’. 4 For bibliography on the issue of his date, see the Introduction of this volume p. 5.

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and contexts which allow the text to be decoded, though with different connotations.5 Open texts such as poems ‘work at their peak revolutions per minute only when each interpretation is reechoed by the others, and vice versa’.6 Poetry deliberately sets out to create suggestiveness to stimulate the reader’s response, which in turn engages thought, emotion, and imagination.7 Author and reader together create the work which ‘is effectively open to a virtually unlimited range of possible readings, each of which causes the work to acquire new vitality’.8 For a classical scholar, approaching the text in a different place, time, and language, this means examining the signs and attempting to establish their meaning(s) and context, by searching for (ancient) evidence as close to the signs in time as possible in order to build up some idea of the contemporary meaning(s) attached to them. In the case of a fragmentary corpus like the one surviving in the Yale papyrus codex, where so much of the text has been lost, a semiotic approach complements the tools of traditional philology in helping to reconstruct the topic of individual poems and to recover at least in part the thematic scope and range of the collection. 2

Metaphors, Similes, Idioms

2.1 Metaphors When we turn to the Yale papyrus codex, there are several metaphorical expressions which, because of uncertain textual reading, cannot be interpreted with any confidence. We begin with 13 W (p. 6, ll. 21–9): ] . τις ἀδωροδόκ[ος . . .] . . . . ] . σθωτων[. . .]π . [. . .] . [.]ν ] . . ος Ἀριστε̣ ίδης̣ ε . . . [. .] . . ]ειν ἄξι[̣ ό]ν̣ ἐστι[. .] . . [ 25 ] . ς τὸν πρὶν βίον . . . . τ̣ο̣ . . . ]σου τῆς φιλο̣ χ̣ ρημα̣ τ̣ [̣ ία]ς̣ ] . ἐ̣κ̣εῖνο τὸ Καλλιμάχειο̣ ̣ν̣ . . . . ]κτουσαν νυμφ{ε}ίον ουτε . . . . 29 … some incorruptible man … … … Aristeides … … is worthy … 5 6 7 8

Eco (1976) 139. Eco (1979) 7. Eco (1979) 53. Eco (1979) 63. Earlier, Eco (1976) 267 proposed that in practice there is an empirical limit to the significations.

… the previous life … … of the love of money … … that Kallimachian … … the bridegroom … I begin analysis of the fragment with its last verse as it may contain a metaphorical expression. In the context of such a lacunose epigram, the last verse can be restored in more than one way, and Kevin Wilkinson has proposed the alternatives: ὑλα]κτοῦσαν νυμφ{ε}ίον (‘[a woman] barking at the bridegroom’) and πλεονε]κτοῦσαν νυμφ{ε}ίον (‘defrauding the bridegroom’).9 The first restoration invites a metaphorical reading and if it is correct, the iunctura would be unique: some woman (the bride? a relative?) ‘barks’ at a bridegroom by way of rebuke.10 The comparison to or metaphorical representation of a woman as a bitch has its roots in the poetry of the archaic period. In Hesiod’s Works and Days 67 Pandora is endowed with ‘a shameless mind and a cunning character’ (… κύνεόν τε νόον καὶ ἐπίκλοπον ἦθος) by none other than Hermes, the god of trickery himself; in Semonides fr. 7.12–20 West inquisitiveness, peering, prowling, and endless talking are singled out as some of the characteristics of the ‘dog-woman’;11 and in Aischylos’ Agamemnon 1228, Kassandra visualises Klytaimnestra as a ‘hateful bitch’ (μισητῆς κυνός). In Homer the adjective κυνώπης (feminine: κυνῶπις), meaning ‘dog-eyed’ and metaphorically ‘shameless’, is applied to both mortals and gods. For instance, in Odyssey 8.319 it is applied by Hephaistos to his wife Aphrodite after she has cheated on him with Ares (… κυνώπιδος εἵνεκα κούρης, ‘for the sake of [Zeus’] shameless daughter’).12 In our epigram, the image of the woman ‘barking’ at the bridegroom would draw on this negative female stereotype of shamelessness, indicating lack of integrity and/ or lack of moderation and restraint. Moreover, the term ὑλα]κτοῦσαν would make this woman not just bitch-like in behaviour but also relentlessly noisy like the ‘dog-woman’ in Semonides fr. 7.14–20 West: πάντῃ δὲ παπταίνουσα καὶ πλανωμένη λέληκεν, ἢν καὶ μηδέν’ ἀνθρώπων ὁρᾷ. παύσειε δ᾽ ἄν μιν οὔτ᾽ ἀπειλήσας ἀνήρ, οὐδ᾽ εἰ χολωθεὶς ἐξαράξειεν λίθῳ ὀδόντας, οὐδ᾽ ἂν μειλίχως μυθεόμενος, 18 οὐδ᾽ εἰ παρὰ ξείνοισιν ἡμένη τύχῃ· ἀλλ᾽ ἐμπέδως ἄπρηκτον αὑονὴν ἔχει. 9 10 11 12

Wilkinson (2012a) 145. LSJ, s.v. ὑλακτέω II. Cf. Wilkinson (2012a) 145. For this fragment, see pp. 55–6 of this chapter. See LSJ, s.v. κυνώπης with examples.

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And peering and prying everywhere she barks even if she sees no-one. A man/her husband cannot stop her with threats, not even if in anger he bashes out her teeth with a stone, nor if he speaks gently with her; even when she is sitting among strangers, she must keep up her pointless howl. Semonides’ ‘dog-woman’ is nosy, prone to gossip and loquacious, possibly also a scold, like the bad wife in Hesiod’s Works and Days 704–5 (ἄνδρα … / εὕει ἄτερ δαλοῖο, ‘she roasts her husband without fire’). Of course, we cannot know for sure why in 13 W the woman would hound the bridegroom, but the reason might lie in the text’s emphasis on money (τῆς φιλ̣ο̣χρημ̣α̣τ̣[ία]ς̣, l. 27) suggesting her mercenary nature. Alternatively, the root cause of the woman’s bitchy behaviour might be the man’s unwillingness to obtain money by dishonest or shameless means, since in line 22 we have the characterisation ἀδωροδόκ[ος (‘incorruptible’). The combination of poverty and marital unhappiness is a motif found in Palladas AP 9.168: the poet states that he is unhappily married and a grammarian, a profession closely linked to poverty in other epigrams, for instance, AP 9.169. While the existence of AP 9.168 cannot help us with the question of authorship, it might help us with the reconstruction of the poem’s context, since it adds weight to the suggestion that in 13 W we are dealing with a woman causing problems to the bridegroom. But who is this bridegroom? We have the following options: Firstly, a man called Aristeides, a real or fictional character (Ἀριστ̣είδη̣ς, l. 24). Secondly, Aristeides ‘the Just’ of Athens, given that the poem refers to incorruptibility (ἀδωροδόκ[ος, l. 22) and in some way to worthiness (ἄξι ̣[ό]ν̣ ἐστι, l. 25), qualities that can be ascribed, as Wilkinson notes, to the Athenian statesman upheld as an exemplum of honesty and fairness.13 Thirdly, the poem could refer to two male characters, that is, to an individual who is compared to Aristeides ‘the Just’ (i.e. he is ‘a second Aristeides’, incorruptible like the Athenian statesman), with a restoration of ἄλλ]ος Ἀριστ̣είδη̣ς in line 24. In all cases, the use of the name Aristeides could carry certain connotations based on allusions to Aristeides ‘the Just’. Whoever the bridegroom is, the use of terms that concern ethical and non-ethical behaviour (ἀδωροδόκ[ος, l. 22 and τῆς φιλ̣ο̣χρημ̣α̣τ̣[ία]ς̣, l. 27) seems to construct an antithesis between the woman mentioned in the last line and the man in question, whether we accept the metaphorical ὑλα]κτοῦσαν νυμφ{ε}ίον (‘barking at the bridegroom’) or 13

Wilkinson (2012a) 144. Apart from ἀδωροδόκ[ος, Wilkinson offers the alternative ἀδωροδόκ[ητος.

the alternative πλεονε]κτοῦσαν νυμφ{ε}ίον (‘defrauding the bridegroom’). In any case, in the last line, the epigram’s invective is mainly directed against the woman; she is the main target of the attack, like so many others in epigrammatic poetry (the man could also be mocked as accepting this kind of behaviour). In such a context, the name ‘Aristeides’, deriving from aristos and the patronymic -ides, whether the ‘Just’ or another, could emphasise the difference of character between him and the woman and/or encapsulate the long-established patriarchal view of and attitude to women. If this is Aristeides ‘the Just’, the poem might perhaps humorously refer to the statesman’s marriage, from which he had two daughters (see Plutarch Arist. 1; could the poem even be about dowry?) The epigram could also draw from and adapt the ancient discussion over Aristeides’ financal state. For instance, as Plutarch tells us (Arist. 1), some sources argue that Aristeides passed his life in severe poverty, though Demetrios of Phaleron contradicted this view in his Sokrates (that has not survived). The phrase τὸν πρὶν βίον (‘former life’, l. 26) could concern changes in Aristeides’ financial state/living circumstances14 (this perhaps being the reason for the woman’s rebuke?) Antipater of Thessalonike AP 9.149–50 = GPh 68–68A and Philip of Thessalonike AP 9.255 = GPh 46 concern an Aristeides who was poor and committed suicide.15 Any intertextual linkage cannot, however, be ascertained due to the very fragmentary state of the Yale papyrus epigram. The next metaphor requiring elucidation is εἴκοσιν ἀντ’ αὐτοῦ δημοβ[όρ- (‘instead of him twenty devourers of the people’) in 23 W p. 10, l. 23. Τhe remaining text is meagre and baffling, but the supplement seems inescapable and a political context has been plausibly suggested.16 The use of the language of voracity to describe corrupt, ruthless, or destructive rule is established already in Homer (δημοβόρος βασιλεύς, ‘people-devouring king’, said of Agamemnon in Il. 1.230;17 cf. Hes. Op. 264: βασιλῆς … δωροφάγοι, ‘kings … devouring bribes’) and found in early Greek political poetry (Alc. 70.7 and 129.23 V). Since both the preceding epigram and the following one have a local colour (22 W p. 10, 12–18 refers to the village of Skinepoïs and 24 W p. 10, ll. 24–9 concerns local discord), 23 W is also more likely to be about local officials (rather than rulers), the metaphor of the ‘twenty devourers’ summoning up the image of

14 15 16 17

We know that he was exiled. See Wilkinson (2012a) 144–5 for the related ancient sources. Both poems are also mentioned in Wilkinson (2012a) 144. Wilkinson (2012a) 158. See Wilkinson (2012a) 158.

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corruption as predation and aggrandising the misconduct they are accused of. Another metaphor, that of disease, occurs at 29 W (p. 12, ll. 32–4): (Triphis says to the people of Lykopolis) εἰς τὸ νόσημα φυγεῖν τοῦτο μόλις θέλετε (‘you hardly want to flee into this disease’, l. 34). There is nothing in the surviving text to indicate the circumstances, and the title of the epigram (εἰς τὸν ὑπογ̣εγραμμέν̣ ον, ‘to the addressed/accused/ inscribed’) is too ambiguous to offer any assistance. However, Wilkinson has proposed that the theme may be political and that Triphis’ warning could be directed at political strife or rebellion (more specifically aimed at her temple?).18 Indeed, we can go some way to reconstruct topic and context. The phrase μόλις θέλετε treats the ‘disease’ as a matter of choice, which seems to rule out a literal meaning for νόσημα. The language of disease has a wide semiotic range in Greek metaphorical discourse.19 But the identification of the polis as the addressee, and the use of the plural, evidently referring to the citizens as a group, make the disease a collective affliction, which offers strong support for the view that Triphis’ warning is directed at political strife or rebellion, given the frequency of instances of νόσημα applied to political disorder.20 If this is correct, the succinct reference to Triphis’ suffering, whether it refers to her cult and/or her shrine or simply her empathy with the city as a local goddess, suggests that political crisis is not a new phenomenon. Whatever detail lurks behind the enigmatic εἰς τὸν ὑπογεγραμμέ ̣νον, the title seems to associate ̣ the political problems with a specific individual, whether an official or an agitator, who may himself be part of the νόσημα.21 Αnother metaphor is found at 11 W (p. 6, ll. 5–9). Here are lines 6–8:

18 19

Wilkinson (2012a) 168–9. See briefly Faraone (1999) 43–8 and for an overview of the early Greek sources Cyrino (1995). For the extensive and diverse use of the language of disease in tragedy, see Mitchell-Boyask (2008) 18–44. 20 LSJ refers to Pl. R. 544c and D. 19.259 (‘etc.’). One can add D. 19.262; Aeschin. In Ctes. 3.81; Isoc. 10.34, 12.99; Plu. Lyc. 8.1, Sull. 4.4, Pomp. 17.1, Mor. 49c, 60d, 147c (TLG). See more generally Brock (2013) 69–82. 21 In an email communication with the editors, Peter Parsons suggested a different reading from the editio princeps, taking πόλι as vocative and θέλετε as imperative: ἡ Τρῖφις τάδε φησί· ‘Λύκων πόλι, πολλὰ παθ̣οῦσ̣α̣, / εἰς τὸ νόσημα φυγεῖν τοῦτο μόλις θέλετε’ (‘Triphis says this: ‘Lykopolis, you who have suffered much, hesitate to rush into this disease”). For my purposes, the message remains essentially the same on either reading: a warning against some ‘disease’. Cf. Ast’s chapter in this volume p. 68.

]μνησθῇς καὶ ἰαμβικ̣ . [   ±10 ]ι ̣ ] ἀ̣παγγείλῃς Οἰνόμαος . [ ]ι σμῖλα ἔχε̣ι ὀδόντα̣ς̣ .[ ±4 ] . [ . . ] . ε̣γκας you may recall and iambic … and report Oinomaos … the knife has teeth … The title states that the epigram was directed ‘at a certain Demetrios’ (εἴς τινα Δημήτριον, l. 5) and the presence of ἰαμβικ̣ . [ (‘iambic’) in line 6, whether it refers to metre or slander, situates the poem firmly in the world of iambic invective (ψόγος).22 In this context, the reference to the teeth may metaphorically allude to the ‘“biting” invective’,23 and the knife with teeth may actually be the poet’s epigram(s) (with σμῖλα standing more likely – at a literal level – for the tool of the scribe rather than that of the sculptor). Wilkinson’s reference to Babrios’ prologue to Book 2, line 14 καὶ τῶν ἰάμβων τοὺς ὀδόντας οὐ θήγω (‘and I do not sharpen the teeth of the iambs’)24 may not clinch this interpretation, but certainly makes it plausible. Oinomaos (l. 7) – given that the name is very rare – could signify the mythical king of Pisa (cf. Anon. AP 9.480 that uses the myth of Oinomaos, his daughter Hippodameia, and Pelops) or perhaps the 2nd-century Cynic philosopher of Gadara.25 It may also be relevant that biting is associated with the Cynics.26 We move on to the remnants of 12 W (p. 6, ll. 10–20) with its few complete words. Here are lines 14–20: ] . θυμοῦ γω̣ . . . [ ±9  ] . . [ ]ους κυνικοὺς ̣ σι . . . [ ] . ς φιλάδελφον̣ π[.] . . . . [.] . . [ μισ]τ̣ύλλων κον̣ ίᾳ μαν̣ία̣ μ̣α̣ν̣ . . . . [ 22

23 24 25

26

Cf. LSJ, s.v. ἰαμβικός (of invective): Arist. Po. 1449b8; (of the metre): D.H. Comp. 18; Heph. 5; s.v. ἴαμβος II (of the metre): Archil. fr. 215 West; Pl. Ion 534c; ἴαμβος III (of the poem, especially lampoon): Pl. Lg. 935e; Arist. Pol. 1336b20; and add ἰαμβεῖον (Kritias fr. 4.4 West). Wilkinson (2012a) 142 refers to Mel. AP 7.352 = HE 132, Phil. AP 7.405 = GPh 34, and Pall. AP 11.291. For this epigram, see Wilkinson (2012a) 141–2. See also Vezzosi in this volume p. 52. Wilkinson (2012a) 142. Wilkinson (2012a) 142. For the two alternatives, see Wilkinson (2012a) 142. Although the name is very rare, it is noteworthy that AP 9.749, a simple epigram about an image of Eros carved on a cup, is ascribed to a certain Oinomaos (FGE 1). Page (1981) 73 argues that the epigrammatist cannot have lived later than the middle of the 1st century BCE. This suggests that the Yale poem might concern another Oinomaos, fictional or non-fictional. See e.g. D.L. 6.60; Stob. 3.22.40; Luc. Bis Acc. 33.

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] . ιος πρίειν οὐ δύναται . . . [ 18 ] . ευοντων βο̣τάναι δύο και ̣ . . [ ] . δους μ̣υν̣α̣ . και . [.]ρ̣[. .]ρ . [ … anger … … dog-like/Cynic … … brother/sister lover … cutting up in the dust (?) madness (?) … … to bite/gnaw is unable … … two plants … … mouse … If we accept the possibility that the Oinomaos mentioned in 11 W is the Cynic philosopher, the appearance of the word κυνικούς̣ in line 15 together with what look like possible allusions to philosophical beliefs, then we have the tantalising possibility that we are dealing with an epigrammatic pair. Here, it is possible that the epigram attacks its target – perhaps the Demetrios mentioned in 11 W if these two poems form a paired sequence – for his philosophical beliefs as a Cynic. The connection between the poems may extend to the imagery. While in the preceding epigram we had the phrase ‘the knife has teeth’, here the poet refers to ‘cutting up’ (μισ]τύ̣ λλων, l. 17) and ‘biting’/‘gnawing’ (πρίειν, l. 18), terms that should also in my view be taken metaphorically for invective or criticism. The possible reference to ‘anger’ (θυμοῦ, l. 14)27 would support this reading. The occurrence of φιλάδελφον̣ (l. 16) in the semantic cluster of θυμοῦ, κυνικούς,̣ (probably) μισ]τύ̣ λλων, (possi�bly) μαν̣ί̣α, and πρίειν is mysterious. It is unlikely to refer to Ptolemy II and Arsinoe II, as in Poseidippos (36.5, 37.7, and 119.1 A–B), who clearly enjoyed a special relationship with the ruling family.28 Its basic meaning is ‘loving one’s brother/sister’, which can be innocent brotherly affection or an insidious suggestion of incest. The pejorative sense would be appropriate here, but precision and certainty are out of our reach. Also difficult to decode is βοτ̣ άναι (l. 19), which Wilkinson translates as ‘plants’ without any comment.29 Of the various meanings and uses given by 27 28

29

Wilkinson’s translation (2012a) 143; LSJ, s.v. θυμός II 4. Wilkinson (2012a) 143. For Poseidippos as a ‘court poet’, see e.g. Seidensticker (2015b) 13–14. Poseidippos’ epigrams 78, 79, 82, 87, and 88 A–B enthusiastically celebrate Ptolemaic victories in the Greek national games, thereby enhancing the dynasty; cf. Hose (2015) 299–303, 303–5, 307–9, 315–16, and 316–17. See also Stephens (2004) 163: ‘The centrality of Arsinoe to the Anathematika in combination with the sixth section on victories in chariot and horse racing (Hippika), where Ptolemaic queens are again foregrounded, gives the epigrammatic collection as a whole a decidedly imperial focus.’ Wilkinson (2012a) 143.

LSJ, plants (but apparently not, in this case, for making clothes) or herbs could fit the context of an attack on or criticism of the Cynical way of life.30 Plants could refer to the vegetarian diet of the Cynics which is summarised by Diogenes Laertius in his life of Menedemos (6.1.104: ἔνιοι γοῦν καὶ βοτάναις καὶ παντάπασιν ὕδατι χρῶνται ψυχρῷ …, καθάπερ Διογένης …; ‘some at least live on plants and entirely on cold water …, like Diogenes …’); if Wilkinson’s readings for line 17 are correct, herbs could be used metaphorically for their pharmacological or therapeutic use,31 perhaps recommended to the addressee to cure his ‘ailment’, that is, the madness of the cynic lifestyle evidenced in his dishevelled condition (κον̣ ίᾳ, ‘in the dust’, l. 17).32 Finally, there is the tantalising suggestion μ̣ῦν̣ (‘mouse’) in line 20.33 This small animal appears in texts about Cynicism. We have the anecdote about the Cynic Diogenes related by Diogenes Laertius (6.22; cf. 6.40). After observing how a mouse scurried about, without looking for a place to sleep, not fearing the dark and not searching for dainty bits, the philosopher realised how to adapt himself to circumstances.34 If the restoration μ̣ῦν̣ is right and a connection with Cynicism is implied here, this would continue the thread of thought on Cynic philosophy that we observed in the preceding lines. All the signs discussed in this section originally formed a coherent sign system, since they were generated from the same semiotic base or semantic domain. What we have on the surface is only the broken words, on which only a partially coherent account of the remaining signs can be recovered. 2.2 Similes When it comes to similes, only two clear examples are retrievable. One is at 4 W p. 4, l. 30: ξηρότερ̣όν̣ με κρίνου (‘me, drier than a white lily’). For Wilkinson the simile refers to the narrator’s poverty – he translates ‘me, (who am) more destitute than a beggar’.35 Certainly this is part of the point. From the context we understand that someone who is old, sick – suffers from gout – and in need of help speaks: γῆρας (‘old age’, l. 21), χρείαν θ̣ερ̣ απε̣ί[̣ ας] (‘need for treatment’, l. 21), νόσημα ποδῶν (‘disease of the 30 LSJ, s.v. βοτάνη III and IV. 31 A search of the TLG generated 480 loci. 32 The term μαν̣ία̣ could alternatively be in the dative, with κον̣ ίᾳ as the fem. dat. sing. of the adjective κόνιος (‘in dusty madness’). 33 Suggested by Wilkinson (2012a) 144. 34 Cf. Leon. AP 6.302 = HE 37, where the mice are advised to go elsewhere for food since there is barely enough for the poet to eat — only crumbs and salt on which he learnt from his ancestors to survive. For the influence of Cynicism, see Gutzwiller (1998) 110–12. 35 Wilkinson (2012a) 130 and 133.

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feet’, l. 22), [. . μ]όνον̣ ̣ ἀνδράποδον (‘a single slave’, l. 25), συντελέ̣[σ]ῃς (‘you should (not?) make a contribution’, l. 27), and συμπράξῃς (‘you should help’, l. 28).36 Hesychios’ definition (K 4135) says about κρίνον: ‘lily: something dry; it is applied in the case of a beggar and a corpse and a castaway’ (κρίνον· τὸ ξηρόν. τάσσεται καὶ ἐπὶ πτωχοῦ καὶ νεκροῦ καὶ ἐκπεπτωκότος), evidently because they are all emaciated or desiccated. The tertium comparationis is, therefore, emaciation or desiccation, which in 4 W seems to be caused (partly at least) by poverty. We can recall Elektra who complains of the withered state of her body (E. El. 239): οὐκοῦν ὁρᾷς μου πρῶτον ὡς ξηρὸν δέμας (‘so you see first how dry my body is’), caused by her impoverished circumstances (El. 207–10). The only other recorded simile involving the lily in a context of poverty is found in Oration 6.181c of Emperor Julian (who ruled 355–63 CE). Julian writes that he told some friends ‘that it would be better for them to be servants than masters and to be poor, more naked than the lily of the field, than to be rich as they now are’ (ὡς τούτοις ἄμεινον ἦν οἰκέταις γενέσθαι μᾶλλον ἢ δεσπόταις, καὶ πένεσθαι τοῦ κρίνου γυμνοτέροις οὖσιν ἢ πλουτεῖν ὥσπερ νῦν).37 Οbviously, the lily figures here because of its fragility and vulnerability  — the conditions of poverty. The text may actually draw from the Gospel according to Matthew 6.28–9 (written c.80–90 CE), where humans are also compared to lilies, with the flower’s ‘nakedness’ emphasising its natural beauty in a context where Christians are urged not to worry about secondary earthly needs such as food, drinking, and clothes, but first to pursue the kingdom of God and his righteousness: ‘And why do you worry about clothing? Consider how the lilies of the field grow; they neither toil nor spin; I tell you that not even Solomon in all his glory was dressed like one of them.’38 The occurrence of the simile in Julian’s oration may be contemporary with or later than the Yale papyrus epigram, but the force of the sense would still be relevant, especially if it were proverbial. Apart from connotations of poverty, the phrase ξηρότερ̣ό̣ν με κρίνου could also emphasise the speaker’s fragile and decayed condition caused by his old age. The flower is an apt image to express the loss of youth, vigour, or beauty. For this reason, the translation ‘me, drier

than a white lily’ seems preferable, since it preserves the ambiguity. Generally speaking, lilies feature in many contexts. Their freshness and beauty are highlighted in landscape description and symbolised in ornate golden sculpture;39 together with other flowers, lilies are used for garlands,40 regarded as items of luxury,41 used to describe feminine beauty,42 and, sacred to Hera, are offered as gifts of courtship, as in Theokritos’ Idyll 11.56, where the Cyclops Polyphemos says: ἔφερον δέ τοι ἢ κρίνα λευκὰ / ἢ μάκων’ ἁπαλὰν ἐρυθρὰ πλαταγώνι’ ἔχοισαν (‘I would have brought you either white lilies or the tender poppy with its red petals’). However, (importantly for our purposes) because of its rapid deterioration, in Idyll 23.30 the flower carries connotations of fading, wilting, and even death when a love-sick pining youth laments: λευκὸν τὸ κρίνον ἐστί, μαραίνεται ἁνίκα πίπτει43 (‘the lily is white, it wastes away as soon as it falls’); Meleager, who links Anyte’s epigrams to lilies (AP 4.1.5 = HE 1.5), had possibly this association in mind.44 The lily is also closely linked to death in Diogenianos’ Centuria 5.10 (2nd century CE): ἔταττον οὖν τὸ μὲν κρίνον ἐπὶ τοῦ τεθνηκότος, τὴν δὲ κολοκύντην ἐπὶ τοῦ ὑγιοῦς (‘they, therefore, applied the lily to the deceased, the colocynth to the healthy’).45 This contrast goes back to the New Comedy poet Diphilos (c.340–260 BCE), as quoted by Zenobios (2nd century CE) who explains in almost identical language: ἔταττον οὖν τὸ μὲν κρίνον οἱ ἀρχαῖοι ἐπὶ τοῦ τεθνηκότος, τὴν δὲ κολυκύντην ἐπὶ τοῦ ὑγιοῦς (‘therefore, the old people applied the lily to the deceased, the colocynth to the healthy’, Centuria 4.18). Zenobios then cites the following lines from Diphilos, unfortunately without providing context, speaker, or addressee: ἐν ἡμέραισιν αὐτὸν ἑπτά, σοι, γέρον, / θέλω παρασχεῖν ἢ κολοκύντην ἢ κρίνον (‘in seven days to you, old man, I wish to offer that, either colocynth or lily’, fr. 98 K–Α).46 Although the speaker’s motivation for the offer is not clear, he promises to give either colocynths

36 On 4 W (esp. ll. 26–8), see Kanellou in this volume pp. 81–5. 37 LSJ, s.v. κρίνον: ‘prov., … of a needy man’, e.g. Poll. 6.197. Κρίνον was the generic name for the white lily, Lilium candidum; e.g. Thphr. HP 6.6.8–9 (LSJ). 38 Ev.Matt. 6.28–9: καὶ περὶ ἐνδύματος τί μεριμνᾶτε; καταμάθετε τὰ κρίνα τοῦ ἀγροῦ πῶς αὐξάνουσιν· οὐ κοπιῶσιν οὐδὲ νήθουσιν· λέγω δὲ ὑμῖν ὅτι οὐδὲ Σολομὼν ἐν πάσῃ τῇ δόξῃ αὐτοῦ περιεβάλετο ὡς ἓν τούτων. Cf. Ev.Luc. 12.27.

39 40 41 42

43 44 45 46

Landscape: Mel. AP 5.144 = HE 31; Nonn. D. 10.169–74, 45.157, 47.16–21; ornamentation: Paus. 5.11.1; Vetus Testamentum Graece Redditum Exodus 25.34; Plu. Num. 8.4. Cf. e.g. Ath. 27.14; Mel. AP 5.147 = HE 46, where a garland is composed of violets, narcissus, myrtle berries, lilies, crocuses, hyacinths, and roses. Cf. e.g. Ath. 12.78. Cf. Mel. AP 5.144 = HE 31, where Zenophila’s beauty surpasses that of lilies and other flowers. A maiden’s thighs and ankles are compared to a lily (whiteness) and anemone (rosy) respectively by Nonnos in D. 15.224–5; cf. D. 16.80, where the lily is associated with snowy arms. Text from Gow (1973) I, 178; for the textual problems, see Gow (1973) II, 411. Cf. Skinner (2005) 103. Von Leutsch/Schneidewin (1839–51) I, 250. Von Leutsch/Schneidewin (1839–51) I, 88.

60 (for their medicinal benefits, if the old man is still alive) or lilies (for their symbolic significance as a gesture of respect, if the old man has died). The close correlation of the Diogenian and Zenobian definitions of the symbolic significance of the colocynth and lily, namely of life versus death, indicates established proverbial use.47 The spectrum of the semantic field of lilies thus moves from their dazzling beauty when fresh to their quick and inevitable fading, dryness, and death. The simile in 4 W must therefore refer to the narrator’s withered state, caused by his advancing age and poverty. If this is correct, the simile seems unique in extant Greek literature. The other simile forms part of 28 W (p. 12, ll. 17–31), and was already known to us as Anonymous AP 9.127 (with a different hemiepes in its final verse). This poem, too, deals with ageing (28 W p. 12, ll. 28–31): ἂν περι⸢λ⸣ειφθῇ̣ μ̣ι⸤̣ κρὸν ἐν ἄγγεσιν ἡδέος οἴνου,⸥ εἰς ὄξος τρέπετα̣ ι τοῦ⸤το τὸ λειπόμενον·⸥ οὕτω ἀπαντλήσας τὸν ὅλον̣ ⸤βίον, εἰς βαθὺ δ’ ἐ⸥λθ̣ ̣ὼ̣ν τῆς ζωῆς ὁ γέρων γ̣ίν̣ ε̣ τ̣⸤α⸥ι ̣ ⸤ὀ⸥ξ⸤ύχολ⸥ο ̣ς. ̣ If a little sweet wine is left over in jars, this remainder turns to vinegar. Likewise, having drawn off his entire life, and reached the bottom of his existence, the old man becomes irascible. Wilkinson has noted the wordplay with ὄξος and ὀξ̣ύχολ̣ος (ll. 29 and 31),48 and it can be added that the second word is relatively rare.49 Also, more can be said about ἀπαντλήσας (l. 30). LSJ glosses ἀπαντλέω as ‘draw off from’ and ‘lighten’, citing only the metaphorical use at Euripides’ Orestes 1641 as an example of the former meaning. In a literal sense the word is used mostly of water,50 but also of other liquids.51 A few metaphorical uses can be gleaned from the TLG: the above-mentioned Euripides’ Orestes 1641: θανάτους τ’ ἔθηκαν, ὡς ἀπαντλοῖεν χθονὸς / ὕβρισμα θνητῶν ἀφθόνου πληρώματος (‘and they [sc. the gods] caused deaths in order to draw off the outrage done to earth by an excessive number of mortals’); 3.220 Cougny: ἡ σὴ βίβλος

47 LSJ, s.v. κολοκύνθη ἀγρία: ‘colocynth, Citrullus colocynthis … symbolic of health, from its juicy nature, … as a lily was of death.’ Cf. Skinner (2005) 110 n. 37. Michael Apostolios quoted the same words in the 15th century in his Centuria 8.45 (see von Leutsch/ Schneidewin (1839–51) II, 443). 48 Wilkinson (2012a) 168. 49 LSJ, s.v. ὀξύχολος: Sol. 13.26; S. Ant. 955; Luc. Fug. 19. 50 Poll. 10.31.2; Philostr. VA 8.11.13; Etym. Magn. 114.17, ἀντλία. 51 E.g. body fluids: Pl. R. 407d6.

William J. Henderson

πάρεστι τοῖς αἱρουμένοις / λόγους ἀπαντλεῖν καὶ καταρδεύειν φρένας, / βρύουσα πηγὴ δαψιλέστατον πόμα ([about Plutarch] ‘Your book is available to those who choose to draw words and sprinkle thoughts, a swollen fountain, a most abundant draft’); Philostratos’ Life of Apollonios 7.23: οὕτω τι ἐδουλώθην ὑπὸ τοῦ περὶ αὐτὸν δέους, ὡς ἀπαντλεῖν τῆς οὐσίας (‘I was so enslaved through anxiety over it [sc. my wealth], that I drew off from my substance’);52 8.21: ὥσπερ τοὺς Γύγας φασὶ καὶ τοὺς Κροίσους ἀκλείστους παρέχειν τὰς τῶν θησαυρῶν θύρας, ἵν’ ἀπαντλεῖν εἴη τοῖς δεομένοις (‘as they say Gyges and Kroisos left the doors of their treasuries unlocked, so as to allow the needy to draw off from them’). In this environment, based on surviving evidence, the specific metaphor of the old man drawing off the remainder of his life is unique. It is also noteworthy that the terminology belonging to the sphere of the simile (leftover wine going sour, ὄξος),53 in the first couplet, becomes part of the application to an old man in the second couplet: his life is ‘drawn off’ or drained to the bottom (εἰς βαθύ), resulting in his temperament or nature becoming sour (ὀξ̣ύχολο̣ς). This technique of merging the tenor and vehicle of a comparison is found elsewhere in epigrammatic verse, for example in Palladas AP 10.85. In this pessimistic epigram, humans are compared to a herd of pigs; while pigs at least are slaughtered to provide food, human life and death seem to have no logic (πάντες τῷ θανάτῳ τηρούμεθα, καὶ τρεφόμεσθα / ὡς ἀγέλη χοίρων σφαζομένων ἀλόγως, ‘we are all herded and reared for death like a herd of pigs being slaughtered for no reason’).54 Words in the hexameter (τηρούμεθα, καὶ τρεφόμεσθα) anticipate the simile drawn from pig-farming in the pentameter. Another example is Meleager AP 5.204 = HE 60, in which the image of the ‘ship-prostitute’ is used as the tool for attacking a woman called Timarion: terminology describing a ‘fallen’ woman is interwoven with terminology referring to ships.55 2.3 Other Modes of Comparison Idiomatic expressions, which set up parallels from two semantic domains, are essentially similes inviting comparison. There are two such cases in the Yale papyrus 52 53 54 55

For the sense of squandering, see LSJ, s.v. ἀντλέω II 3. For the image, cf. Theoc. Id. 15.148 with Gow (1973) II, 303. See Henderson, W. J. (2010) 248. See also e.g. Mel. AP 12.157 = HE 119 and 12.159 = HE 108, Antiphil. AP 9.415 = GPh 43, Phil. AP 9.416 = GPh 52. For these epigrams, see Kanellou (forthcoming), who also brings to our attention Alc. fr. X14 col. ii PLF in which it is highly probable that Alkaios described an aged and diseased hetaera in terms applicable to an old ship. Cf. Horace Carm. 1.5.5–16.

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codex. At 2 W p. 3, l. 22 there is the reference to eating beans and fathers’ heads:

transmigration of souls. The fact that the expression was quoted in essentially the same terminology over such a long period (from Plutarch in the 1st–2nd century to John Chrysostom in the mid-4th to early 5th century), and even in non-Pythagorean contexts, is witness to its continued relevance and intriguing meaning. We remain as puzzled as the ancient critics. The other idiomatic expression occurs at 37 W (p. 21, ll. 4–8):

ἶσον υ . [ καὶ κυ̣ ά̣ μ̣ ο̣ υ̣ ς τ[̣ ρ]ώ̣γ̣ειν̣ [κ]αὶ̣ πατέ̣ ρων κεφ̣[αλάς.] [that it is] the same … both to eat beans and the heads of fathers. Wilkinson’s detailed commentary convincingly situates the words within the context of Pythagorean dietary restrictions.56 The reference is clearly a variation of Pythagoras’ reputed dictum, ἶσόν τοι κυάμους τε φαγεῖν κεφαλάς τε τοκήων (‘to eat beans is the same as to eat the heads of fathers’, Thesleff 159), with φαγεῖν replaced by τ[̣ ρ]ώγ̣ ̣ ειν,̣ τοκήων by πατέ̣ ρων, and τε … τε by καὶ … [κ]αί̣ . The point of the dictum was that the consumption of beans was to be avoided as much as devouring a father’s head, an exaggeration that puzzled ancient minds. Flatulence, as suggested by Cicero (Div. 1.62, 2.119) and Diogenes Laertius (8.24) does not seem to be sufficient reason. According to Diogenes Laertius (8.39–40, 45), Pythagoras had a positive phobia regarding beans, which contributed to his death, when in flight from his enemies he refused to cross a bean-field and was killed. Diogenes also cites Aristotle for a list of other possibilities (8.34): they are shaped like testicles, they resemble the gates of Hades (presumably by the way they open), they are harmful, they have the form of the world, and, as instruments of voting, they symbolise oligarchy. Again, this does not explain the interdiction. Porphyry (mid-2nd–early 3rd century CE) may have been closer to the truth when he explained (VP 43.10): κυάμων παρῄνει ἀπέχεσθαι καθάπερ ἀνθρωπίνων σαρκῶν (‘he used to advise to avoid beans like human bodies’, that is, corpses). This notion may have been behind Horace’s gibe about the belief that deceased relatives were reincarnated as beans, when he mocks the extravagant wishes of people dwelling in Rome who longed for beans: o quando faba Pythagorae cognata … / … ponentur …? (‘O when will beans, Pythagoras’ relatives, be set [before me]?’, Sat. 2.6.63–4). This idea recurs in Pliny, who mentions the dulling of the senses and sleeplessness, and adds: aut ut alii tradidere, quoniam mortuorum animae sint in ea (‘or, as some have related, because the souls of the dead are in them’, HN 18.30.118).57 This would fit in with the Pythagorean theory of metempsychosis or

φασὶ παροιμι⸤ακῶς· ‘κἂν οἶς δάκοι ἄνδρα πονηρόν.’⸥ ἀλλ’ ἐγώ· ‘οὐχ̣ οὕ̣τ̣⸤ω’, φημί, ‘προσῆκε λέγειν·⸥ ἀλλ ̣ ὰ δάκοι κἂν οἶς ⸤ἀγαθοὺς καὶ ἀπράγμονας ἄνδρας,⸥ τοὺς δὲ κακοὺς̣ ⸤δεδιὼς δήξεται οὐδὲ δράκων.’⸥ 

A proverb says: ‘Even a sheep would bite a wicked man.’ But I say: ‘We ought not to speak like that; but even a sheep would bite good and unmeddlesome men, though not even a snake would dare to bite bad men.’ This epigram is also preserved, with some textual variants, as ‘Palladas’ AP 9.379:58 φασὶ παροιμιακῶς· ‘κἂν ὗς δάκοι ἄνδρα πονηρόν·’ ἀλλὰ τόδ’ οὐχ οὕτω φημὶ προσῆκε λέγειν· ἀλλὰ ‘δάκοι κἂν ὗς ἀγαθοὺς καὶ ἀπράγμονας ἄνδρας, τὸν δὲ κακὸν δεδιὼς δήξεται οὐδὲ δράκων’.59 

Wilkinson (2012a) 125–6. See also Vezzosi in this volume p. 50. Cf. Kiessling/Heinze (1961) 309–10 n. 63.

4

A proverb says: ‘Even a pig would bite a wicked man’; but I say we ought not to speak like that, but: ‘Even a pig would bite good and unmeddlesome men, though not even a snake would dare to bite a bad man.’ As Wilkinson has pointed out, there are differences between the Yale papyrus poem and AP 9.379: (a) οἶς for ὗς (l. 5 and l. 1), (b) ἀλλ’ ἐγώ· (l. 6) for ἀλλὰ τόδ’ (l. 2), and (c) τοὺς δὲ κακοὺς̣ (l. 8) for τὸν δὲ κακόν (l. 4). This is to be expected in the case of a proverbial expression which is used over a long period, as the versions of Aesop 290 Perry (τὸν ἀτυχῆ καὶ πρόβατον δάκνει, ‘even a sheep will bite an unfortunate man’) and Diogenianos 5.87 (κἂν αἴξ δάκῃ ἄνδρα πονηρόν, ‘even a goat would bite a wicked man’), which predate Palladas, show.60 The variations also

58 56 57

8

59 60

The authorship has been ascribed to Palladas by the Palatine Corrector (C). On the issue, see Wilkinson (2012a) 182. Text from Paton (1998) 208. Wilkinson (2012a) 182–3.

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exhibit how flexible a text can be as a consequence, no doubt, of mainly oral transmission, but also scribal error, arising from the close similarity in pronunciation between the words οἶς and ὗς.61 The differences, however, go beyond the reading οἶς. Punctuation and the structure, as printed in modern editions, are also affected. In Paton’s text of the Greek Anthology, the structure of the epigram is narrator – proverb (l. 1), narrator’s objection (ll. 2–3 init.), revised proverb (ll. 3 fin.–4),62 while in Beckby’s edition narrator – proverb (l. 1), narrator’s objection (ll. 2–3 init.), revised proverb (l. 3 fin.), and narrator’s alternative (l. 4).63 The latter format achieves both antithesis and balance between the two couplets: the direct quotation of the proverb with the narrator’s objection (first couplet) and the revised proverb with the narrator’s proposal (second couplet), reinforced by the chiastic ἄνδρα πονηρόν … ἀλλὰ … ἀλλὰ … τὸν δὲ κακόν. In the Yale papyrus codex version, this balance is disturbed by the switch from singular to plural (ἄνδρα πονηρόν … ἀλλ’ … ἀλλ ̣ ὰ … τοὺς δὲ κακούς)̣ 64 and the allocation of the direct words of the proverb to one line and the narrator’s explanation to the rest. From this perspective of poetic technique Palladas’ epigram as preserved in the Greek Anthology seems to me more artistically composed than the version in the Yale papyrus codex. Wilkinson’s defence of the reading οἶς (ll. 5 and 7 of 37 W; and for ‘Pall.’ AP 9.379. 1 and 3) is persuasive up to a point. Various scholars have questioned the appropriateness of a pig in AP 9.379.1 and suggested alternatives, all of which seek an animal more timid and docile than a pig: the mouse (μῦς Manuzio (1503)), goat (αἴξ Franke (1899) 78), and sheep (οἶς first Nauck (1880) 172–4).65 This line of thinking requires a meek animal that will become aggressive, if provoked. Sheep rarely bite, even when provoked: they have no teeth in the upper jaw; their instinct is rather

61

62 63

64

65

This is also evident in the Milan Papyrus. Epigrams 15 and 65 A–B show significant differences from what Tzetzes Chil. 7.660 and Posidipp. APl 119 (and Him. Or. 48.14.1 p. 20 Colonna) transmit. Cf. Gasser (2015) 76; Seidensticker (2015a) 267. Paton (1998) 208. Beckby (1968) III, 236; see also Wilkinson (2012a) 182; Henderson, W. J. (2013) 82. For the rhetorical effect (refutatio sententiae), see the discussion in Aristotle Rh. 1395a20–33 and Pat Easterling’s commentary on Sophokles’ Trachiniai (1982) 72. Although there is neat antithesis between ἀγαθοὺς καὶ ἀπράγμονας ἄνδρας and κακούς̣, and another chiasmus in the second couplet: biting – good and unmeddlesome men and bad men – biting. See Wilkinson (2012a) 182–3; cf. Ast (2014) 4; Vezzosi in this volume p. 52.

to butt.66 If οἶς is read in the first line, the proverb states a moral lesson or warning: despite its inbred reluctance even a sheep will bite a wicked person. This interpretation is supported by the earlier occurrence of the proverb in Aesop. However, when οἶς is read in AP 9.379.3, the logic breaks down: even a sheep would bite good people is hardly much of a moral guide. When I discussed this epigram a few years ago, before I had the opportunity to see the editio princeps of the Yale papyrus codex, I accepted ὗς as the difficilior lectio.67 I argued that the pig features in the proverb as a stupid, greedy, and omnivorous animal that will even bite an evil man, not on moral grounds, but because it will bite anything.68 Palladas was, therefore, rephrasing the proverb to mean that the pig would even bite a righteous man because it would not discriminate between good and evil. The snake is introduced as a strongly contrasting creature that is notorious for its sudden and aggressive behaviour, even at the slightest provocation. At the end, comes the witty, hyperbolical point: even a snake dares not bite an evil person, since it fears it would itself be ‘poisoned’ in the process. The poet is ‘correcting’ the proverb into a much stronger moral judgement, expressing his conviction that the wicked escape punishment.69 My own view was and still is that, rather than οἶς being corrupted to ὗς in AP 9.379, the latter was altered to the easier οἶς. It is, of course, possible that line 1 had οἶς (the traditional proverb) and line 3 ὗς (Palladas’ correction). It certainly would make interpretation easier and give the epigram the required logical progression: the proverb with a meek sheep (to warn against wrongdoing), altered to a stupid, aggressive, and omnivorous pig (to show lack of moral judgement), and capped with a deadly snake (to reveal the lack of punishment for the wicked). This reading of AP 9.379 would illustrate the poet’s verbal skill in the subtle play on οἶς and ὗς and, in effect, correcting the original proverb twice. There is, however, equal rhetorical merit in keeping the repetition of ὗς, but changing the meaning of the proverb itself. The word ἀπράγμονας, occurring in both AP 9.379.3 and 37 W (l. 7), requires further comment. The word is applied to those who are ‘free from business’/‘easy-going’, in particular those who refrain from meddling in politics or public affairs.70 There is no indication in the epigram that 66 See several sites online. 67 Henderson, W. J. (2013) 82–3. 68 For the qualities of the pig, cf. Pi. O. 6.90 and fr. 83 S–M; Ar. Lys. 684; Pl. La. 196d; Crates Com. fr. 4 K–A. 69 Thus, too, Labarbe (1968) 382: ‘la méchanceté toujours épargnée’ (‘wickedness always spared’). 70 LSJ, s.v. ἀπράγμων.

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the poet is referring to political figures who are wicked; he clearly targets any form of wrongdoing. In terms of the animal imagery in the proverb, the word refers generally to those who mind their own business, specifically to those who do not irritate or provoke others.

Phaethon’s grieving sisters, the Heliades; and the participle οἰχόμενον almost certainly has the meaning of θανόντα (‘the deceased’), since other uses do not fit the context here.75 Similarly, the word ἐγείρω (‘awaken’, ‘rouse’, ‘raise’) can only have the metaphorical sense of starting to sing a song or play an instrument, here probably a lament or threnody, which the speaker/poet or one of the Heliades is uttering.76 This would accord with the pathos aroused by the grief of the Heliades, as noted by Ovid (Met. 2.342: miseras querellas, ‘pitiable complaints’; 2.346: plangorem dederant, ‘they had beaten their breasts’; 2.364: inde fluunt lacrimae, ‘hence flow tears’), by Pliny (HN 37.11: sorores luctu mutatas in arbores populos lacrimis electrum … fundere iuxta Eridanum amnem, ‘… that the sisters, changed through grief into poplar trees, pour forth electrum with their tears  … along the Eridanos river’),77 by Dionysios Periegetes (291: Ἡλιάδες κώκυσαν, ὀδυρόμεναι Φαέθοντα, ‘the Heliades wailed, lamenting Phaethon’), and by Nonnos (D. 38.94–5: καὶ θρασὺν ἡβητῆρα παρ’ ὀφρύσιν Ἠριδανοῖο / Ἡλιάδες κινυροῖσιν ἔτι στενάχουσι πετήλοις, ‘and along the banks of Eridanos the Heliades still mourn the rash youth with their plaintive leaves’; 38.432–4: γνωταὶ δ’ ὠκυμόροιο δεδουπότος ἡνιοχῆος / εἰς φυτὸν εἶδος ἄμειψαν, ὀδυρομένων δ’ ἀπὸ δένδρων / ἀφνειὴν πετάλοισι κατασταλάουσιν ἐέρσην, ‘But the sisters of the prematurely fallen charioteer changed their shape into trees, and from the weeping trees they drip rich dew with their leaves’). All these authors but Nonnos predate Palladas. From the statement of Diodoros of Sicily (5.23) and the many versions that survive we know that it was a popular topic among poets and painters.78 In these texts, Phaethon is an exemplum intended to warn against excessive ambition and its destructive consequences. Wilkinson notes that Loukillios (1st century CE) is the only poet in the Greek Anthology to mention Phaethon (AP 11.104, 131, and 214).79 Two of the references to Loukillios emphasise his

3

Myth and Deities

In the case of mythology, the semiotic base from which we understand texts has been generated and shaped by centuries of exposure to Greek and Latin literature. Greek myths, therefore, have the power to excite our interest and imagination, even if only a few details are available. When myth features as exemplum it is essential to establish its function or particular application in the text. Problems of interpretation arise when that text is heavily damaged and offers little or no information on the function of the myth. As Wilkinson points out, there is only one occurrence of a myth in the Υale papyrus codex that is more than a fleeting reference, namely that of Phaethon at 33 W (p. 16, ll. 14–19):71 [  ±30    ] Φα̣ έ̣ θοντα [  ±23  ] π̣αρ’ ’Ηριδανῷ [  ±25   ]να καὶ σὺ δ’ ἀδελφόν [  ±21 ] . . ν̣ οἰχόμενον [  ±21  ]ιτοσοι· εἰ ⸢γ⸣ὰρ ἐγείρω 19 … Phaethon … beside the Eridanos … and you also brother … departed … so many (?);72 for if I stir up Wilkinson’s suggestion that these opening lines may have formed part of a lament addressed to Zeus (the σύ?) by Phaethon’s sister(s) (as a group or a sole sister) seems conceivable.73 However, it is at least as likely that the speaker/poet is addressing a contemporary who has also (with emphasis on καὶ σύ) lost a brother; the speaker then compares his/her lament with that of Phaethon’s sisters.74 The references to the banks of the Eridanos (π̣αρ’ ’Ηριδανῷ) and a brother (ἀδελφόν, the only brother mentioned in the ancient narratives of the myth) conjure up 71 72 73 74

The precise identity and role of the ‘son of Agenor’ (p. 4, l. 9) and of Oinomaos (p. 6, l. 7) are uncertain (for 11 W, see p. 57 in this chapter); see Wilkinson (2012a) 129 and 142. Cf. Kanellou/Carey in this volume p. 19. Wilkinson (2012a) 175–6. See Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 19–20.

75 LSJ, s.v. οἴχομαι II, a euphemism for θνῄσκω (cf. Il. 22.213, 23.101; A. Pers. 546; S. Ph. 414, El. 146; E. Hel. 134; And. 1.146; Pl. Phd. 115d); cf. Wilkinson (2012a) 176. 76 LSJ, s.v. ἐγείρω I 2 with ἀοιδάν, λύραν, μέλος, θρῆνον; cf. Pi. N. 10.21: ἀλλ’ ὅμως εὔχορδον ἔγειρε λύραν (‘all the same, awaken the well-strung lyre’); Cratin. 237.1 K–A: ἔγειρε δὴ νῦν, Μοῦσα, Κρητικὸν μέλος (‘so awaken now, Muse, the Cretan song’); S. OC 1778: θρῆνον ἐγείρετε (‘raise a lament’). 77 Pliny (HN 37.11) states that, as far as he knows, the first poets to treat the theme were Aischylos, Philoxenos, Euripides, Nikander, and Satyros. 78 See Wilkinson (2012a) 175. 79 Hadrian AP 9.137 = FGE 3, mentions Phaethon, but as referring to the sun.

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destructive ambition.80 In AP 11.104, Menestratos rides an ant as if it were an elephant, lands on his back, and, as he is dying, calls on Envy and exclaims that this is how Phaethon died. Menestratos is being lampooned (as Phaethon) for his unrealistic ambitions, and sarcasm is evident in the comparison of his minute ‘ride’ (an ant) with the elephant and the fiery chariot driven by Phaethon.81 In AP 11.131, a poet called Potamon and a surgeon called Hermogenes are depicted as more destructive than Deukalion and Phaethon.82 Ovid presents a highly dramatic and detailed account of the myth (Met. 1.750–2.400) which points out Phaethon’s boastfulness (magna loquentem, ‘talking big’, 1.751), pride (superbum, ‘boastful’, 1.752), tendency to anger (ferox, ‘fierce’, 1.758; iram, ‘anger’, 1.755), and insistence to drive the chariot despite his father’s entreaties (flagratque cupidine currus, ‘and he burns with desire for the chariot’, 2.104). When he loses control of the chariot, regret (et iam mallet equos numquam tetigisse paternos, ‘and now he would prefer that he had never touched his father’s horses’, 2.182), ignorance, confusion, and fear (ignarus stupet, ‘not knowing what to do, he is dazed’, 2.191; trepidus, ‘panic-stricken’, 2.194) result.83 However, the fact that the lines form the beginning of the epigram indicates that the Phaethon myth is not here employed as an exemplum in a skoptic epigram where one would expect a preamble or an introduction to the personage about to be lampooned. Instead, the epigram seems to express sympathy for rather than criticism of Phaethon.84 We are led to the conclusion that the epigram is a lament, a use of epigrammatic form not unknown in the Greek Anthology.85 80

81 82 83 84 85

In Lucill. AP 11.214, Menestratos has painted portraits (or created poetic descriptions) of Deukalion and Phaethon; the narrator asks which one is worth anything, and concludes that each should be treated according to their fate: Phaethon to be destroyed by fire, Deukalion by water. The idea of destruction by fire alludes to Phaethon’s unrestrained ambition and its destructive consequences both for the earth and himself. For the epigram, see Floridi (2014a) 411–13. See further Floridi (2014a) 205–8. See Floridi (2014a) 234–6. Wilkinson (2012a) 176 mentions the now unpopular view that Ovid’s version was known in late antique Egypt. Cf. Wilkinson (2012a) 175–6. See e.g. Erinn. AP 7.712 = HE 2; Diosc. AP 5.52 = HE 6 and 7.485 = HE 25; Alc.Mess. AP 7.412 = HE 14; Theodorid. AP 7.527 = HE 8; Mel. AP 7.182 = HE 123. See also Floridi in this volume p. 22. At the UCL conference that took place in 2014, Gianfranco Agosti argued that the epigram could be funerary and used GVI 2000 = SGO 21/07/02 to back up this idea. Yet another possibility is that the poem is consolatory, that the use of myth resembles e.g. Achilles’ attempt to console Priam at Il. 24.601–20; see Kanellou/ Carey in this volume pp. 19–20.

Based on what remains from the Yale papyrus codex, the lack of any substantial use of myth is reflected in the brief appearance of only six deities.86 The lack of context and secure text hampers the critic. Moira is possibly blamed for the narrator’s circumstances or mocked for her style of dress (1 W p. 3, l. 15).87 The narrator feels alienated from the Muses (3 W p. 4, ll. 10–11), and conceives of them as foreign and absent from a tomb — a possible metaphorical indication of the speaker’s/poet’s sense of no longer needing the Muses invoked by Homer and Hesiod, or a reference to his lack of poetic inspiration or erudition (20 W p. 9, l. 29).88 Kalliope seems to be rebuked as inspirer of the poetry that has made the poet poor; her golden sheen (χ̣ρ̣υσῆ̣) is deceptive (4 W p. 4, l. 34).89 Hermes appears as the divine protector of Hermopolis (7 W p. 5, ll. 13, 15, 16; 21 W p. 9, l. 31) and possibly as the patron deity of thieves (31 W p. 14, l. 7).90 Pluto is the god of the Underworld (24 W p. 10, l. 27).91 Triphis, a local Egyptian goddess, warns a certain Lykopolis about a threatening ‘disease’ (29 W p. 12, l. 33).92 These meagre remains of mythological material are in strong contrast to the use of myth, deities, and demigods – and in particular the debunking of myth and mocking of deities – in Palladas’ epigrams that we know from the Greek Anthology: Tantalos as an example of a spare diet (AP 9.377), Herakles as a discarded statue (AP 9.441), the Christianised Olympians (AP 9.528), and Aphrodite in a carpe diem exhortation (AP 11.62) appear only once each. Appearing twice are Odysseus homesick at Kirke’s (AP 9.395) and the Kirke-myth being corrected (AP 10.50), Niobe turned to stone (AP 10.47) and as a pantomime figure (AP 11.255), Zeus as a lousy lover (AP 5.257)93 and as sympathetic to murderers (AP 10.53), and Eros turned into a frying-pan (AP 9.773) and with a dolphin in the sea 86

87 88

89 90 91 92 93

There is also a play between a Hermopolite criminal called Neilos and the divine river Nile in 8 W (p. 5, ll. 15–25) and 9 W (p. 5, ll. 26–8). The epigrams, however, primarily seem to concern the mortal; see Wilkinson (2012a) 137–9; Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 10–14. See also 4 W (p. 4, ll. 20–37), where Gout is possibly deifed, with Kanellou in this volume pp. 81–5. Wilkinson (2012a) 120 and 122–3. Wilkinson (2012a) 128 (but not just Kalliope), 129, 152, 153; on the epigram, see Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 9–10, who further suggest that the poem could be about ‘a place devoid of local creativity’. For the diminished role of the Muses, see Floridi (2014a) 105–6, 110 (on Lucill. AP 9.572), 495 (on Lucill. AP 11.312). Wilkinson (2012a) 134. Wilkinson (2012a) 135–8, 155, and 172. For 31 W, see Kanellou/ Carey in this volume p. 7. Wilkinson (2012a) 158–9. Wilkinson (2012a) 168–9; p. 57 in this chapter. For a detailed discussion of the theme of Zeus’ seduction of Danae in Greek epigram, see Kanellou (2019).

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Imagery in the Yale Papyrus Codex: A Semiotic Probe

instead of with his bow and arrows (APl 207). Tyche, on the other hand, turns up ten times: as a tavern-keeper (AP 9.180), in changed circumstances (AP 9.181–3), as a stream (AP 10.62), as an enslaver of humans (AP 10.77), as toying with human lives (AP 10.80), as a strumpet (AP 10.87 and 10.96), and in control of human lives (AP 11.62).94 Tyche is conspicuously absent in the Yale papyrus codex, but this can simply be due to the damaged state of the papyrus caused by δυστυχία (‘ill fortune’). The occurrence of mythological material is also evident in the epigrams of P. Mil. Vogl. VIII 309 that have been attributed to Poseidippos of Pella.95 Pegasos, engraved on jasper as soaring after throwing Bellerephon, figures in an ekphrasis (14 A–B).96 The boulder that Polyphemos, who often dived with Galateia, placed at the entrance of his cave, is surpassed by a massive rock hurled out of the sea by Poseidon (19 A–B).97 Rhadamanthys and Aiakos appear in an epitaph for a devotee of Demeter and Kore (43 A–B).98 Several deities make their appearance: Poseidon and Demeter (20 A–B),99 Zeus and Ares (33 A–B),100 Moira (44 and 55 A–B),101 Hades (60 and 100 A–B),102 Helios (68 A–B),103 Apollo (95 A–B),104 Asklepios (96, 97, 99, and 101 A–B),105 and Paian (98 A–B).106 So, all in all, even considering the bad state of the Yale papyrus codex, the almost complete absence of myth is a little disappointing.

94

On Palladas’ ekphrastic epigrams on Eros and Tyche, and in particular the iconoclastic process of disfigurement and transformation, see Bing (2019) 329–36. On the personified Tyche, see also Vezzosi in this volume p. 48. 95 For a bibliography on the Milan Papyrus, see Seidensticker/ Stähli/Wessels (2015) 423–40 and Kanellou/Petrovic/Carey (2019) 12 n. 66. An online discussion, edited by F. Angió, M. Cuypers, B. Acosta-Hughes, and E. Kosmetatou, can be found at http://chs.harvard.edu/CHS/article/display/1341. 96 Gasser (2015) 73–4. 97 Gasser (2015) 96–7 and 100–6. 98 Petrovic (2015) 188–91. 99 Gasser (2015) 107–9. 100 Baumbach (2015) 146–8. 101 Petrovic (2015) 191; Seidensticker (2015c) 224–6. 102 Bär (2015) 241–4; Männlein-Robert (2015) 367–70. 103 Seidensticker (2015a) 276. 104 Männlein-Robert (2015) 349–53. 105 Männlein-Robert (2015) 356–61, 365–7, and 370–4. 106 Männlein-Robert (2015) 361–4.

4 Conclusions This chapter has aimed at presenting a literary, and more specifically, a semiotic analysis of the metaphors, similes, idioms, mythology, and deities traceable in the Yale papyrus codex. Sifting through the ‘debris’ of the papyrus with the aid of a semiotic ‘probe’ and analysing the ‘samples’ using the methodology of philology have yielded the following results: There are five possible metaphors. Four of them (in 11, 12, 13, and 29 W) have secure enough text or terminology on which to base a possible interpretation; the fifth in 23 W contains a vivid metaphor which resonates in contexts of cruel and corrupt rule. The two similes in 4 and 28 W and the idiomatic expressions in 2 and 37 W allow a reasonable amount of interpretation to be extracted. The single use of myth in 33 W presents some verbal triggers that stimulate the imagination. Six deities (Moira, Kalliope, Hermes, Pluto, Triphis, and the Muses) appear, but their functions in the epigrams are unclear (we also have the allusions to the river god Neilos, and a daimonion, possibly the personified Gout). There are indications of unusual, perhaps even unique, usage of the simile with οἶς (‘sheep’) in my reading of the proverb at 37 W. Though the poor physical state of the papyrus inevitably limits any attempt to reconstruct the contents, I hope to have shown that a semiotic approach combined with traditional philological tools allows us to get a fuller sense of the thematic range of the collection, and to sharpen our understanding of individual poems. In addition, apart from the pairing of 37 W with ‘Palladas’ AP 9.379, there are two cases I would tentatively put forward in defence of Palladan authorship. The first is the occurrence of ‘biting’ and ‘cutting up’ as metaphors of epigrammatic invective in 11 W (p. 6, l. 8) and 12 W (p. 6, ll. 17–18); especially as a possible pair they are vivid and aggressive enough to have been composed by Palladas, but for some unknown reason were omitted from the Greek Anthology. The second is the ageing man/wine simile in 28 W; both the unusualness, if not uniqueness, and the technique of interweaving tenor and vehicle provide tenuous links to Palladas AP 10.85 and the Anonymous AP 9.127, ascribed to Palladas by Jacobs.107 However, the technique is not unique but, as mentioned above, appears also in other epigrams such as Meleager AP 5.204. 107 See Wilkinson (2012a) 42, citing Jacobs (1803) 102.

Chapter 7

A Sarmatian Family of Mediocre Prytaneis Rodney Ast By nature, skoptic epigrams tend to be rooted in time and place.*,1 They are the product of specific past circumstances, details of which are often hard to recover. This obscurity often frustrates attempts at using them as sources for ancient history. Even if one can glimpse the actual circumstances and targets of the poems, the view is nearly always partial and indirect. Furthermore, interpretations sometimes say more about one’s own historical interests than about the subject matter itself. All of this makes the business of reading epigrams as history quite messy. Still, it is an exercise worth doing as long as the epigrams are met on their own terms. This chapter focuses on the ‘Sauromates epigram’ (26 W p. 11, ll. 27–35 of the Yale papyrus codex). It attempts to show that a close reading of the poem reveals a sim­ ilar interest in the kind of topical subject matters found in other poems of the codex and in verses attributed to Palladas, especially in local officials who suffer from greed, corruptibility, and other flaws.2 It argues that this topicality contributes to the elusiveness of the ‘Sauromates epigram’ because, as with other epigrams, the subject of the poem is unknown to us, but was most likely a municipal, not an imperial, official. The epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex are rife with allusions to specific places and people, many of which are associated with Egypt’s southern Thebaid region. Several of the people might have been locally significant public figures in their day but at our distance they are quite obscure. These include a man named Klematios (4 W p. 4, ll. 20–37), two people from Egypt’s Hermopolite nome called Hermaios and Neilos (7 W p. 5, ll. 10–14 and 8 W p. 5, ll. 15–25), a Demetrios (11 W p. 6, ll. 5–9),3 a Gestios * I thank the editors for inviting me to contribute to their collective volume and for their comments on an earlier draft of this chapter. 1 This is stressed, rightly in my view, in Nisbet (2003) xv and 12, though the rule does not apply of course to epigrams on stereotyped figures such as the ones composed by Loukillios. 2 On the topicality of the papyrus codex, see also Wilkinson (2012a) 35–6; Floridi in this volume pp. 27–9. Recently, Colombo (2021) has advanced an interpretation that overlaps somewhat with the pre­ sent chapter, even though the two were written independently of each other. 3 The title of 11 W reads εἴς τινα Δημήτριον (‘on a certain Demetrios’). The lack of specificity in τινα coupled with the commonness of the name Demetrios suggests that this is a minor contemporary figure,

© Rodney Ast, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004521353_008

who could be the Gessios found in the epigrams attributed to Palladas in the Greek Anthology (19 W p. 9, ll. 22–4 and 20 W p. 9, ll. 25–9),4 a certain Lasthenes who may have been a resident of the Lykopolite village of Skinepoïs (22 W p. 10, ll. 12–18),5 a Heron (24 W p. 10, ll. 24–9), and a corrupt council chairman whose name is not preserved or was never openly stated (30 W p. 13, ll. 1–32). Aside from these local personalities, there are a handful of references to mythical and religious figures,6 and maybe to a Caesar (15 W p. 7, ll. 9–15).7 On the whole, the setting of the poems in the Yale codex can be described as parochial. Before looking at ways in which the ‘Sauromates epigram’ fits this setting, I give here the Greek text found in the editio princeps followed by a translation. πρυ]ταν⟨ε⟩ίας ἄλλ(ων) [    ± 25    ] ἐπ̣ίφθο̣νον εἶναι [   ± 14   ] ο̣ υ̣ [ ]̣ ν̣ ὁ Σαυρομ̣ άτης [   ± 17   ] ̣ ε̣ἰ[̣ ς] Ἰνδούς ποτε πλεύσας  [   ± 12   ]εν θαῦμ̣α̣ μέν ἐστιν ἴσως, ἀλλὰ [δὶς ἐπρυτάνε]υσ̣ ε πα̣ ρ̣ ᾿ ἡ[μ]ῖ ̣ ν̣ ̣ καί, τὸ μέγιστον, δὶς̣ π̣ρ̣[υτα]νε̣ ύ̣ σα̣ ντος κλ̣ηρ̣ ̣ονόμος γέγονεν. τέσσαρ̣ ες οὖ̣ν εἰς [τ]αὐτὸ̣ ̣ σ̣υν̣[ε]λθ̣ οῦσαι πρυτανεῖα̣[ι] οὐκ ἂν ἐποί[̣ η]σα̣ ̣ν Σ̣α̣υρ̣ ̣ομάτ̣ην̣ ̣ [τ]ετραπλῇ{ν}.

4 5

6

7

30

35

not a historical person such as Demetrios of Phaleron; cf. Wilkinson (2012a) 141–2. This individual has been viewed as a key figure to establishing Palladas’ date; Wilkinson (2012a) 151–2 cites the relevant scholarship. It is unclear from the fragmentary state of the verses whether the Skinepoite resident and the man named Lasthenes are the same person. The name Lasthenes is not common in contemporary sources, and if he is not the Skinepoite resident, then the reference could be to a historical or literary figure; see Wilkinson (2012a) 157; Kanellou/Carey in this volume p. 8. There is the god Hermes (31 W p. 14, ll. 1–27) – other references are to his city, Hermopolis (7 W p. 5, ll. 10–14 and 8 W p. 5, ll. 15–25) – Fate (2 W p. 3, ll. 18–32), Kalliope and the Muses (3 W p. 4, ll. 4–19 and 20 W p. 9, ll. 25–9), Pluto (24 W p. 10, ll. 24–9), Triphis (29 W p. 12, 32–4), Phaethon and his sisters (33 W p. 16, ll. 14–19), possibly Oinomaos, father of Hippodameia (11 W p. 6, ll. 5–9), and a descendant of Agenor (3 W p. 4, ll. 4–19). See Henderson, W. J. in this volume pp. 63–5. The word Καῖσαρ possibly appears twice, but in each instance the reading is very tenuous.

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On the prytanies of others (or of another)8 … is enviable … the Sauromatian … once having sailed to the Indians … it is amazing perhaps, but he served for us as head of the council on two occasions and, what is best, he was the heir to one who served as council chair twice. Still, even if these four stints as head of the council were added together, they would not make a fourfold Sauromates.9 1

The Poet and the City

The ‘Sauromates epigram’ is framed by what I term the prytania motif, which is announced already in the title: [πρυ]ταν⟨ε⟩ίας ἄλλ(ων) (‘on the prytanies of others (or of another))’. The first editor interpreted πρυτανεύω and its cognates in this epigram as referring to military campaigning. This interpretation led to the conclusion that the unnamed ‘Sauromatian’ of the poem was the Emperor Galerius. Details of this argument are laid out elsewhere and do not need to be reviewed here.10 It is important just to note that the identification of the subject with Galerius had implications for the editor’s dating of both the poem and Palladas himself.11 8

9 10 11

The simple slash used to abbreviate αλλ- in the title of the epigram is not by itself semantically important and can be used with other grammatical cases besides the genitive – a graphically similar stroke abbreviates ἄλλ(α) in P. Oxy. 56.3874.24 (c.345/6?; the image can be accessed at http://papyri.info/ddb�dp/p.oxy;56;3874). Normally the context will show which inflec� tion is meant, but the context here is ambiguous and ἄλλ(ου) is also possible (‘on the prytanies of another man’ (?)). The nominative ἄλλ(ο) (‘another poem’, i.e. on prytanies, εἰς πρυ]ταν⟨ε⟩ίας) seems unlikely because one would expect ἄλλο before the pre­positional phrase describing the epigram, as with ἄλλο εἰς Νε̣ ̣ῖ[̣ λον on p. 5, l. 26 (9 W). The translations given throughout this chapter are my own. The interpretation was set out in most detail in Wilkinson (2012b); see also Wilkinson (2012a) 58–60 and (2015b) 90–2. I omit any consideration of the date of the codex and, by extension, the poet himself, because these issues are not relevant here; for discussion elsewhere, see Wilkinson (2009), (2012a) 54–7, (2012b); Colombo (2021). A topic related to the date of Palladas is the identity of the poet of the epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex; for bibliography on this, see the Introduction of this volume p. 5 and Gutzwiller’s chapter p. 30, n. 4. For the most part, I limit myself to the epigrams preserved in the codex, which I take as being composed by a single individual. Occasionally, however, I adduce verses attributed to Palladas that focus on themes and situations related to my argument, especially those dealing

If one stays closer to the text and its context, then the perspective shifts from emperors and their campaigns to local politicians. To see this, let us look first at the meaning of the verb πρυτανεύω and its cognates, since this really is the crux of the matter. While πρύτανις can carry the general sense of a ‘chief’, ‘leader’, or ‘high authority’,12 the verb πρυτανεύω is unparalleled in the meaning ascribed to it in the editio princeps, ‘to campaign militarily’.13 Basically, the term denotes the principal ­representative of some fixed body, whether a tribe, a council, or even an army, as in Pindar’s Pythian 2.58, where Hieron of Syracuse is addressed as the ‘leader and lord over many beautifully-crowned streets and the army’ (πρύτανι κύριε πολλᾶν μὲν εὐστεφάνων ἀγυιᾶν καὶ στρατοῦ), or in Herodotos 6.110, where πρυτανεία describes a system in which each Athenian general occupied the office of chief army commander for a day (πρυτανηίη τῆς ἡμέρης).14 However, the word is nowhere synonymous with στρατεύω or ἐπιστρατεύω (‘to campaign militarily’ or ‘to wage war’).15 Of the attested meanings of the term πρυτανεύω, none suits the 3rd/4th-century context of the epigram better than the very common one: ‘to serve as the head of the city council’.16 The prytanis acted as chief representative of the city council (βουλή) for his term of office.17 The position is best attested in 3rd-century papyri from Roman Egypt, which is unsurprising given that, beginning in the early part of that century, municipal status was extended to metropoleis throughout the province. Responsibilities of the office included calling and presiding over meetings of the council. At these, the prytanis introduced business for discussion and voting, and was thus in a position to see policies through. Nominations to city offices were also to some degree in his hands, as were municipal financial matters. Generally described, the prytanis ensured that the business of the city was conducted smoothly, while also serving as a link to the central government, which

12 13

14 15 16 17

with corrupt or incompetent local politicians. The commonality of these themes might suggest they were composed by a single person, but this is not a topic I investigate. Wilkinson (2015b) surveys the use of the term and its cognates from the archaic period to late antiquity. In Wilkinson (2012a) 163, the editor translates the verb as ‘to campaign’; in Wilkinson (2015b) 91, he prefers the translation ‘to wield authority’, although, as Cameron (2016a) 51–2 points out, his overall interpretation hinges on the verb meaning ‘to campaign successfully’. See Wilkinson (2015b) 88. Cameron (2016a) 51–2. Preisigke (1927) s.v. and (1931) Abschnitt 8 (Ämter). The standard work on councils in Egypt is still Bowman (1971), the third chapter of which (53–67) is devoted to the office of prytanis. The title proedros was sometimes used synonymously with prytanis.

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was represented by the court of the prefect. His term of office seems to have been one year; this was almost certainly the case for the 3rd and early 4th centuries, while for the later part of the 4th century the situation is less clear. Furthermore, the office of prytanis could be held iteratively and even in two consecutive years, though examples of the latter are rare.18 The position of prytanis was marked by prestige, as is obvious from the many references not only to current but also to former prytaneis in documents dating to the 3rd and 4th centuries.19 A fitting example is P. Oxy. 44.3184a.4–6, a memorandum dated Oct./Nov. 296 that contains a list of village liturgists and is addressed to a man named Aurelius Asclepiades, also called Achillion, who was a former hypomnematographos, gymnasiarch, city councillor, and two-time prytanis of the glorious and most glorious city of the Oxyrhynchites: γε(νομένῳ) / ὑπομ(νηματογράφῳ) γυμ(νασιάρχῳ) βου(λευτῇ) δὶς πρυτανεύσαντι τῆς λαμ(πρᾶς) / καὶ λαμ(προτάτης) Ὀξυρυ(γχιτῶν) πόλεως. Just as the person being attacked in the epigram under discussion, Αsclepiades was prytanis twice. As the head of the council, chosen by its members and possibly confirmed by the prefect, a prytanis had to be of bouleutic status, which was also hereditary, if not de jure then at least de facto.20 Thus, it is not surprising to find in the ‘Sauromates epigram’ the poet talking about a two-time prytanis who was the heir to another two-time prytanis (ll. 32–3). The former may have inherited his bouleutic status from the latter, or at least the necessary property to claim such status. On the basis of this status, he was then eligible to serve as the prytanis of his city. The prytania motif plays a prominent role not only in the ‘Sauromates epigram’, but also in other verses clustered around pages 11–13 of the Yale papyrus codex. In several of these the text is too poorly preserved to reveal the precise meaning of the word. For example, πρύτανις appears as the last word of epigram 25 W (p. 11, ll. 22–6), the one directly preceding the ‘Sauromates epigram’. Although the poem is very fragmentary, the mention of wealth (there is 18 19

20

For discussion of tenure, see Bowman (1971) 61–5. A search of the Duke Databank of Documentary Papyri (www .papyri.info) reveals that there are references to acting or former prytaneis in over 200 extant documentary papyri. P. Oxy. 17.2110, minutes recorded on 6 Oct. 370 of a meeting of the Oxyrhynchus city council, is among the latest attestations of the office; so too P. Worp 26, a fragment concerned with municipal affairs at Herakleopolis that references the πρυτανεία and dates to the late 4th/early 5th century. See Bowman (1971) 28–32 on the hereditary nature of membership in the gymnasial classes, from which leading bouleutai were drawn. Whether sons inherited bouleutic status per se or rather inherited the property that made them eligible for this status is unclear; in practice, such a distinction was likely immaterial.

a πλουτ- word in l. 23, likely a verb and perhaps a conative or ingressive imperfect) and maybe gold (χ]̣ ρ̣υσός, l. 25) suggests a greedy and corrupt municipal politician as the intended target.21 Then comes the ‘Sauromates epigram’ itself (ll. 27–35), featuring four instances of the term πρυτανεύω and its cognates. On the next page, the word πρυτανεία crops up at the end of line 3, but there is nothing else in the verses that might shed light on the context.22 It is noteworthy that the same page contains the first couplet of a poem (29 W p. 12, ll. 32–4) addressed to the city of Lykopolis by the goddess Triphis, whose cult centre was at Tripheion, aka Athribis. In these verses, the goddess probably warns the city, which is said to have suffered much, of some impending affliction (τὸ νόσημα) that it should avoid fleeing towards.23 The editor, who understands the poet to say that Triphis suffered much, suggests that the context is political and the affliction some local ‘strife’, perhaps even the destruction of the goddess’ temple at the end of the 3rd or beginning of the 4th century.24 While the epigram does not use any form of the word πρυτανεία, it shares with other poems in this section an apparent concern for the well-being of a city (polis). On page 13 (ll. 30–1), we get more, albeit our last, musings on the topic of πρυτανεία, and here the meaning can be more or less determined: πρυτανεύων refers to a council head. These are the relevant lines: οὐ δύνασαι κλέπ̣[τειν ± 8 ] . . σως πρυτανε[ύων] ἔκλεπτες πιθαν[οῖς δάκρυσι] τῆς πόλεως. You are not able to steal … as (ὡς) in your time as head of the council you stole from the city while shedding specious tears.

21

22 23

24

Wilkinson (2012a) 162 offers a similar interpretation: ‘… the appearance of πλουτεῖ (or perhaps ἐπλούτει) in line 23, and possibly also χρυσός (or φιλόχρυσος) in line 25, might suggest a connection with the politician accused of stealing from the city (page 13, lines 30–31).’ See Wilkinson (2012a) 162. ἡ Τρῖφις τάδε φησί· ‘Λύκων πόλι, πολλὰ παθο̣ ῦσα̣ ,̣ / εἰς τὸ νόσημα φυγεῖν τοῦτο μόλις θέλετε’ (‘Triphis says this: ‘Lykopolis, having suffered much, hardly do you want this, to flee towards affliction”). I am indebted to Peter Parsons for this interpretation, which he communicated to the volume editors in an email dated 20/3/21. It differs from that of the first editor in taking Λύκων πόλι as vocative (not dative) and as subject of the participle παθ̣οῦσ̣α̣. Cf. Henderson, W. J. in this volume p. 57. Wilkinson (2012a) 169. Similarly, van Minnen (2016) 56–7 connects the poem with the secularisation of the Tripheion, which he suggests Palladas took to be the punishment for the revolt in Upper Egypt against Diocletian.

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The reference to the polis points to municipal politics and leaves no doubt that the subject of the verses (and the target of the poet’s ridicule) is a city official.25 Just as the council chairman in the fragmentary poem before the ‘Sauromates epigram’ may have enriched himself, this one is accused of stealing. The lines are reminiscent of verses ascribed to Palladas (AP 11.283) in which a foreigner from Chalkis is said to steal from the city while crying lucrative tears (the name of the city is not stated, and the foreigner is not called a prytanis):26 πολλοὶ πολλὰ λέγουσιν, ὅμως δ’ οὐ πάντα δύνανται ῥήμασιν ἐξειπεῖν ῥεύματα σῶν παθέων· ἓν δ’ ἐπὶ σοῦ παράδοξον ἐθαυμάσαμεν καὶ ἄπιστον, δάκρυα πῶς κλέπτων εἶχες ἑτοιμότατα. Χαλκίδος ἐκ γαίης ἀπεχάλκισε τὴν πόλιν ἡμῶν, κλέπτων, καὶ κλέπτων δάκρυσι κερδαλέοις.

5

People are doing a lot of talking, but still they are not able to express in words all the streams of your vices. And we were astonished by one thing that occurred when you were in office, which contradicted all expectations, something quite unbelievable, how you could cry so readily while stealing. Coming from the land of brazen Chalkis, he stripped our city of brass by his thieving, and while thieving he shed lucrative tears.27 A whiner from Chalkis (Χαλκίδος ἐκ γαίης) cunningly stripped (ἀπεχάλκισε) the poet’s city of cash, and Palladas drives home the point with an ethnic pun. The technique, discussed more below, of punning on a person’s name or place of origin is also the hallmark of several epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex. Elsewhere in the codex, the poet targets local officials in a way reminiscent of Palladas in the Anthologia Palatina. At the bottom of page 10 (ll. 24–9 (24 W)) there is a partially preserved epigram, possibly in dialogue form,28 about a certain greedy official named Heron who is nominated to act as an ambassador to the Underworld

25

26 27

28

As Cameron (2016a) 52 states: ‘The man is not just a thief but an embezzler, stealing public funds placed in his trust as prytanis of the city council’. Wilkinson (2012a) 162 ad l. 26 finds the meaning of πρυτανεύων unclear; cf. Wilkinson (2015b) 92 n. 29. Wilkinson (2012a) 170–1 points out the similarity between 30 W (p. 13, ll. 30–1) and Pall. AP 11.283. For Palladas’ epigrams, I use Paton (1999b). There is a pun in κερδαλέος: it can denote something that is ‘cunning’ or ‘lucrative’, both of which meanings are operative here; see Henderson, W. J. (2008a) 109. See Wilkinson (2012a) 159.

apparently on behalf of a city.29 The reason for the embassy is local discord (στάσις), which requires the intervention of a member of the municipal elite; thus, here as well, the register is very much in keeping with the ‘Sauromates epigram’:

ἄλλο

τὴν στάσιν εἰ παῦσαι θέλομεν καὶ τὴν̣ [ἔ]ρ̣ιν̣ ̣, ὄντως θαυμαστὴν γνώμην βούλομαι εἰσαγαγεῖν· χειροτονήσωμεν πρὸς τὸν Πλούτωνα κατελθεῖν πρεσβευτάς. – τίνας οὖν πείσομεν; – οὐκ ἄπορον. κείσθω πέντε τάλαντα· πάλιν πει̣ σθήσεται Ἥρων

28

Another [epigram]

If we want to stop the discord and fighting, I shall introduce a truly amazing motion: Let us nominate ambassadors to go down to Pluto. – And whom shall we persuade? – There is a way! Lay out five talents and Heron will be persuaded again … The first speaker states that the only way to end the unrest and fighting in the city (the precise locality is not specified) is to send ambassadors to the Underworld, presumably to settle a peace treaty. The interlocutor asks whom they should appoint for this,30 and the speaker comes up with the ‘great’ idea of paying a man named Heron five talents to go there. Apparently, this Heron had previously accepted money to act as ambassador on a major (should we assume futile?) embassy, for it is suggested that for the right price he would likely agree to do it again (πάλιν πε̣ισθήσεται). The editor maintains that the background for the poem could have been a local dispute that required the intervention of municipal liturgists, who were sought to finance an embassy to some official mediator.31 Although the parallel he cites from a documentary papyrus is actually not applicable to the situation implied in the poem,32 29

30 31 32

The name Heron could be a play on the word ‘hero’ (ἥρως), evoking the image of mythical heroes who undertook such trips (e.g. Odysseus and Aeneas); on this point, see Wilkinson (2012a) 51. Furthermore, the fact that Pluto, the god of wealth, and not Hades is referred to in line 4 underscores the theme of money in the epigram (I thank Maria Kanellou for pointing this out to me). It is possible that this is a question posed by the speaker himself. Wilkinson (2012a) 158–9. Wilkinson (2012a) 159 refers to the petition P. Leit. 5 (Tebtynis; c.180 CE) and summarises it saying that a certain Orsenouphis tries ‘to get out of the liturgy of tax-collecting on the grounds that he is ἄπορος … As evidence, [the man] cites an earlier letter from an official excusing him from being an ambassador on the same grounds (P.Leit. 5.19–39)’. Orsenouphis’ earlier complaint,

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he is right, in my view, to identify the background of 24 W as that of the municipal politics of liturgical nominations, in which money and status were intertwined. He suggests that Heron was perhaps ‘known for his unwillingness to perform civic duties without extraordinary remuneration’,33 whereas I wonder if Heron is mocked for his tendency to do anything for money, even go to the Underworld. In either case, the dramatic setting of the poem urges one to think of a meeting of the local council where difficulties of the city were discussed and motions to solve them were voted on; the speaker presents himself as having taken part in the meeting but, by mocking Heron, he distances himself from the described situation. The theme of an embassy sent to the Underworld recurs in AP 10.97, another epigram ascribed to Palladas. In it the speaker calls himself a ‘councillor of the dead’:

implies that the speaker, a grammarian, has spent his lifetime in the service of the local elite, whom he probably educated and supported with his skills as a writer and probably a rhetorician. He is in this respect not unlike other teachers of the period.36 The poet apparently jokes that his burdensome responsibility to this municipal body would somehow accompany him to the grave. His stance hints at the complex relationship between the composer of this kind of political satire and the municipal environment that he called home. This environment is what furnished him with much of the subject matter for his skoptic poetry. Returning now to the ‘Sauromates epigram’, let us explore this subject matter in greater detail.

λίτραν ἐτῶν ζήσας μετὰ γραμματικῆς βαρυμόχθου,34 βουλευτὴς νεκύων πέμπομαι εἰς ἀΐδην.

The target of the ‘Sauromates epigram’ is a ‘Sauromatian’. By riffing on the subject’s Sarmatian ethnos (26 W p. 11, ll. 29 and 35),37 the poet exploits the same skoptic strategy observed in the epigram on the corrupt official from Chalkis quoted above (Pall. AP 11.283), and this strategy is observed elsewhere in the codex. For example, in 7 W (p. 5, ll. 10–14), Hermaios, who hails from Hermes’ city of Hermopolis, is taken to task for his adulterous ways. And in the verses that follow (8 W p. 5, ll. 15–25) Neilos, also from Hermopolis and apparently a criminal, is perhaps

After spending a pound of years with the laborious gram- marian’s art I am now being sent to Hades as a councillor of the dead. Whatever ‘councillor of the dead’ means, there is a clear connection made between an embassy to the Underworld and the city council, because in Egypt of the 3rd and 4th century, where there was a councillor (βουλευτής), there was also a city council (βουλή).35 Thus, the epigram

33 34 35

however, concerned his appointment to the council of elders (πρεσβυτερεία) and not to the post of ambassador (πρεσβευτής): Ὀρσενούφ[ε]ως / Ὀρσε[νο]ύ̣[φε]ως ἐντυχόντο[ς τ]ῷ κρατίστῳ δι[οι-] / κητῇ Αὐρ̣ ηλίῳ Πτολεμα[ί]ῳ ἐπὶ τῷ ἄπ[ορ]ον̣ ̣ / ὄντα⟦ς⟧ δεδόσθαι εἰς πρεσ̣ ̣ β̣[υτε]ρείαν … (‘when Orsenouphis, son of Orsenouphis, petitioned the most honourable dioiketes Aurelius Ptolemaeus about his nomination to the council of elders despite his being without means …’, P. Leit. 5.20–3). Elders, the πρεσβύτεροι, performed a range of functions mostly centred on agriculture and irrigation such as storage of grain, organisation of canal work, collection of dues, etc. They also frequently filled in as village clerks, see Tomsin (1952); Derda (2006) 168–76. It took probably a person of higher status, such as a prytanis (as in P. Oxy. 14.1662 (17 July 246)) to act as ambassador on behalf of a city before a central authority. Wilkinson (2012a) 158. Here, I prefer the MS reading (Paton (1999b) 52 prints βραχυμόχθου). Wilkinson (2012a) 159–60 also sees in this couplet a reference to the city council; so too Cameron (1965b) 28, who interprets the poem as a kind of swan song for the pagan cause, as does Bowra (1959) 267, even if the latter does not find in βουλευτής (v. 2) a reference to a city councillor. The expression ‘a pound of years’ is generally thought to refer to the number of solidi in a pound of gold, see bibliography in Wilkinson (2009) 40 n. 21. From

2

36

37

The Name Game

Constantine onwards, this number was 72 solidi (hence the belief that the poet is talking about his 72 years), 1/72 of a pound being the established weight, but it is perhaps worth noting that under Diocletian the weight was 1/60 of a pound; for discussion of the change in weight, see Bagnall (2009) 191. At any rate, AP 10.97 is similar to 24W (p. 10, ll. 24–9) in its handling of the combined themes of money and journeys to the Underworld. One is reminded of Libanios, whose relationship with members of the city council at Antioch was sometimes fraught. We see this, for example, in Or. 31, To the Antiochenes for the Teachers of Rhetoric (360/1), Or. 35, To Those Who Do Not Speak (388), and Or. 48, To the City Council (fourth quarter of the 4th century), which touch on such themes as the loss of educated provincial youths to careers in the imperial administration rather than in municipal offices; the trend for city councillors not to make good use of their rhetorical education; the need for teaching assistants to be supported by the city; the contravention of laws forbidding the sale of curial properties to non-council members. See Malosse (2014) 90–2; Bradbury (2014) 229; Ast (2015). Sarmatian ethnicity/-ties are notoriously difficult to define. For insight into the problem, see Dan (2017). What she says on p. 112 about the ancient historian applies equally, if not more, to the ancient poet: ‘When using ethnicities, ancient historians – and presumably also political and military chiefs as well as their public – were expressing rough identities, and they were aware of this’.

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contrasted with the river/god Nile.38 Finally, in another epigram for Neilos (ἄλλο εἰς Νε̣ ̣ῖ[̣ λον]; 9 W p. 5, ll. 26–8), there may be a play on the man’s name and the river/ god Nile, as the poem opens with the suggestive statement ἀμφοτέροις ὄνομ᾿ ἐσ̣ τὶ (‘for both exists the name …’).39 Given these examples, it is not surprising to find the poet playing on a name in the ‘Sauromates epigram’. That the ethnic origin of the Sarmatian in the ‘Sauromates epigram’ is important to the satire is obvious, but one might also wonder if this Sarmatian was actually named ‘Sarmates’ (an ethnonym meaning ‘a man from Sarmatia’), and if the joke turned on a correlation between the name and the ethnic. The name Sarmates turns up in many documents from Egypt written between the 3rd and the 6th century.40 The first secure attestation of it is in a papyrus dating to 184/5, a fragmentary Panopolite contract dealing with a division of land (CPR 17b.1.29) in which the Sarmates alluded to may be a pre-Antonine Aurelius (the editors restore Αὐρηλ]ίου Σαρμάτου Τυραννίου).41 From the 3rd century, the name occurs all over Egypt, from Hermopolis to Oxyrhynchus to various locations in the Arsinoite nome and the Great Oasis.42 The latest secure attestation is in P. Köln 3.158.12, a contract of loan from Herakleopolis dating to the end of the 6th century (18 Oct. 599). During this four-hundred-year period, we encounter more than 100 individuals who bear the name. Of special interest is the Sarmates who appears in a 3rd-century letter found at Oxyrhynchus, i.e. P. Oxy. 17.2150. The back of the papyrus preserves the address: ἀπ(όδος) εἰς τὴν οἰκ(ίαν) Σαρμάτ(ου) πρυτανεύσ(αντος) π(αρὰ) Διδύμου (‘deliver to the house of the former council head (prytanis) Sarmates, from Didymos’). I am not suggesting that this particular Sarmates has anything to do with the council chairman of the ‘Sauromates epigram’, only make the point that this document offers proof of at least one head of a city council named Sarmates.43 The historical circumstances behind the abrupt appearance of the name Sarmates in Egypt around the beginning of the 3rd century have not, as far as I know, been examined, nor is this the place to conduct such an examination. Interestingly, the sudden occurrence of the 38 39 40 41 42 43

Wilkinson (2012a) 138–9. On this epigram, see Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 10–13. Wilkinson (2012a) 139–40. On this epigram, see Kanellou/Carey in this volume pp. 13–14. See too Colombo (2021) 86–7. See P. J. Sijpesteijn’s comments at CPR 17b.1.29n. For these occurrences, which are too many to be listed here, see Trismegistos People: www.trismegistos.org/namevariant/4356; cf. also http://www.trismegistos.org/place/7069. Other curiales bearing this name are gathered by Colombo (2021) 87.

name is not paralleled elsewhere in the Roman Empire, but this may be due to the absence of comparable everyday texts surviving from places outside Egypt.44 The more general topic of Sarmatian migration has, by contrast, been the subject of numerous studies.45 While I would not insist that the Sarmatian in the ‘Sauromates epigram’ was a man named Sarmates, the ubiquity of the name coupled with the poet’s habit of punning on names makes it quite possible. Moreover, the frequent occurrence of the name in Egypt suggests there was a large pool of ‘Sarmatians’ to target. And one last point, about the spelling: although Σαρμάτης is the orthographical rule in texts from Egypt, it does not work metrically in 26 W; Σαυρομάτης, however, does.46 3

Sailing to ‘India’

Our Sarmatian sailed to the Indians (l. 30), and with Ἰνδούς the poet could be referring to either India or Africa.47 According to the editor, ε̣ἰ[̣ ς] Ἰνδούς ποτε πλεύσας refers to Galerius’ campaign in Egypt in 294/5, during which he is thought to have fought the Blemmyes south of the first cataract.48 Εἰ̣ [̣ ς] Ἰνδούς ποτε πλεύσας would be a grand way 44

45 46

47

48

After Egypt, the next best source of documents mentioning the name is, unsurprisingly, the Kimmerian Bosporos; see LGPN IV ad Σαρμάτας and Σαυρομάτης, the latter referring exclusively, it seems, to the line of Bosporan kings with the name Tiberius Julius Sauromates. See Dan (2017) who cautions against simplistic views of Sarmatian migration patterns and ethnicity, which she sees as a Greek and Roman construct. Dan (2017) 114–15 talks about the tendency among modern historians and some ancient authors to conflate, whether rightly or wrongly, the designations Sauromatian, Sarmatian, and Syrmatian (e.g. Pliny the Elder says in HN 4.80 that the Sarmatians were called Sauromatians by the Greeks); while no explicit justification exists for doing this, clear distinctions among the terms are similarly lacking. See Schneider (2004), esp. 23–35, and (2015) for a discussion of the extension westwards of the geographical designation embodied by the term ‘India’, and the fact that, particularly from the 3rd century CE onwards, the term ‘Indian’ could also refer to Ethiopians, Axumites, etc. Wilkinson (2012a) 164–5, (2012b) 43–4, and (2015b) 90–1. In (2012a) 164, he argues that ‘Greek and Latin authors used the term “Indians” to refer, not only to residents of the Indian subcontinent, but also to people living south of Egypt or in the Eastern Desert between the Nile and the Red Sea’. While it is true that India could denote Ethiopia and other parts of eastern Africa located on the Indian Ocean, it likely did not refer to Egypt’s Eastern Desert, if by Eastern Desert we understand the area served by the roads connecting Koptos with the harbours of Myos Hormos and Berenike. There is a lot of bibliography on the subject of the Eastern Desert to which one could refer,

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to describe sailing up the Nile, but this is poetry and we can admit some poetic licence. There is nothing, however, in the expression that necessarily entails military campaigning, and what is more, mobility was not limited to emperors and soldiers. The poet could easily be alluding to a merchant or even a member of the local elite, two classes of individuals involved in Eastern trade, which is known to have extended via the Red Sea and over the Indian Ocean as far as India. For instance, a city councillor (βουλευτής), whose epithet [ἐ]ρυθραικός suggests that he participated in some way in the Red Sea trade, set up a dedicatory inscription at Koptos (modern Quft) around the year 260 CE (I. Portes 90); details of the man are unclear due to the fragmentary state of the dedication.49 Similarly, two dedicatory inscriptions from the year 209, which were found during excavations conducted in 2015 and 2018 at the Red Sea harbour of Berenike, were commissioned by a city councillor (βουλευτής) from Koptos.50 This councillor obviously had commercial interests in the Eastern trade routes; there would have been no other reason for him to set up the monuments at the port. Where exactly his interests took him is impossible to say, but they could easily have led him or his agents to India, whether this India was the same as what we call India, or was Ethiopia, or some other place on the Indian Ocean side of the African continent.51 Given such evidence for the involvement of

49 50

51

thanks to extensive recent excavations. For general treatment of the region, see e.g. Cuvigny (2003); Sidebotham (2011). Some of the thousands of Greek texts, mainly ostraca, found over the past several decades have been published in the volumes O. Claud. 1–4, O. Did., O. Krok. 1–2. Berenike texts are available in O. Berenike 1–3; most of them date to the 1st and 2nd century, a smaller number to the 3rd century and later (O. Berenike 3.272, a fragmentary papyrus, may be as late as the 5th century). Very recent finds from the port confirm that the Blemmyes occupied it in the late 4th and early 5th century; see Ast/Rądkowska (2020). I thank Federico de Romanis for pointing out this inscription to me and for his kind advice. The inscriptions, which are in Greek and still unpublished, were found along with other dedications in the forecourt of Berenike’s central Temple of Isis. For a recent report on these activities, see Sidebotham et al. (2019). A further 5th/6th-century inscription (SB 22.15373 = SEG 44.1435), which was found in 1993 at the northern Red Sea coastal site of Abu Sha’ar, refers to an indicopleustes (‘one who travels to India’) named Andreas. Although the extant text does not associate him with a local administrative office, Andreas probably had commercial interests in ‘India’, which the editors of the inscription identify with Ethiopia; see Bagnall/Sheridan (1994) 112. A couple of 4th-century papyri from Oxyrhynchus mention a tax for the ‘sailors of India’ (SB 5.7756.17–18, Sept. 27, 359; P. Oxy. 48.3408.17–18, 4th century); see Gascou (2018) 8–14 for discussion of the late antique evidence for trade between Egypt and the East.

city officials in trade with India, it is not at all far-fetched to think that the epigram in the Yale papyrus codex refers to travel conducted or sponsored by a member of the municipal elite, or even by somebody who became a member of the elite after travelling to India, which had the potential to be a very lucrative undertaking. I should mention, too, that in the De prosodia catholica (On prosody in general), which survives in fragments and epitomes harking back to Herodian,52 in a section describing masculine names ending in -της, ‘Sauromates’ is defined as an ‘Indian ethnos’: Ἰαζαβάτης ἔθνος παρὰ Μαιῶτιν, οὓς Σαυρομάτας φησὶν Ἔφορος. Σαρμάτης ἔθνος Σκυθικόν, Σαυρομάτης ἔθνος Ἰνδικόν. The Iazabates nation lies along the Maiotis (i.e. the Sea of Azov), and Ephoros calls the people there Sauromatas. The Sarmates nation is Skythian, while the Sauromates nation is Indian. GG III, I 1, 72

What, if anything, this could have to do with our epigram, I am unsure (this is the messiness referred to at the beginning of this chapter), but perhaps in the poet’s mind his ‘Sauromatian’ was at home sailing around ‘India’. I should caution, though, that the location and conception of India and the Indian are similar to that of Sarmatia and the Sarmatian: they are so confused in ancient sources that one can find ‘evidence’ to support almost any claim.53 4 Conclusion The Sarmatian of the Yale papyrus codex served as the head of the city council (prytanis) twice and was heir to a man who also served twice, but it is in the last two lines that we get the brunt of the joke, which depends on a pun. Despite being ‘a Sauromatian’, the man in question was not a ‘fourfold Sauromates’, even if he and his father were city chiefs a total of four times. The joke surely turns on the Sarmatian ethnicity rather than on the prytanis title. But what does it mean to be a ‘fourfold Sauromates’? Alan Cameron admits that he has no idea what it means.54 I have argued elsewhere that it could be an allusion to imperial titulature, as the editor’s interpretation entails,55 52 53 54 55

For a brief description of the surviving witnesses and original composition of this treatise, see Dickey (2014) 334–5. See n. 46 in this chapter. Cameron (2016a) 52. Ast (2014).

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and I would add that any literate city councillor would have been acquainted with how this titulature was formulated from his dealings with dated documents. On this interpretation, the final couplet could mean that even if we added up the target’s and his father’s four stints as prytaneis, they would not have made this municipal leader, whose name could even have been Sarmates, someone of the status of an emperor who bore a Sarmaticus title. The basis for the comparison would have been the analogous name, not any military achievements. But, as Cameron observes, there is a fundamental problem with understanding Σ̣α̣υρ̣ ̣ομάτ̣ην̣ ̣ [τ]ετραπλῇ{ν} as Sarmaticus IV because there is no good reason for the poet to write Σαυρομάτην instead of the actual victory title Σαρματικόν, if the victory title was meant.56 If Cameron’s caution is warranted, one should perhaps look for an explanation that accounts for the term ‘Sauromates’. The name Sauromates is reminiscent, first and foremost, of the line of Bosporan kings Tiberius Julius 56

Cameron (2016a) 51.

Sauromates I–IV.57 Unfortunately, very little information survives on the later two kings who bore this name. For instance, about Sauromates IV we only know that he died around 275/6.58 Whether the ‘fourfold Sauromates’ referred in some way to one of them is impossible to say. My purpose in mentioning them is simply to suggest that the key to understanding the last line of the epigram may depend on something outside our immediate frame of reference that is either no longer available to us or has been so obscured that we cannot see the connection (this is the messiness again). Regardless of this and whatever the last line is meant to invoke, be it imperial titulature or something more ethnically Sarmatian, the basic point seems to be that a member of this ‘foreign’ (i.e. Sarmatian) family, despite his inherited membership in the bouleutic class, was not the hotshot he imagined himself to be. 57 58

Cf. n. 44 in this chapter. This is deduced from numismatic evidence. See Gajdukevič (1971) 470 and 574 (on Sauromates IV); cf. Gajdukevič (1971) 357– 8, 459, 474, and 574 (on Sauromates III).

Chapter 8

Suffering from Gout: Intermingling Greek and Latin Material in the Yale Papyrus Codex Maria Kanellou πᾶς δ’ ἀνεχέσθω τῶν πασχόντων ἐμπαιζόμενος καὶ σκωπτόμενος· τοῖον γὰρ ἔφυ τόδε πρᾶγμα.

intertexts can be detected,4 shows that the literary value of the codex is greater than we have thought so far.5

So let everyone who suffers [from gout] put up with being taunted and scoffed at. For this is how things stand.

1

Τrag. 332–4

∵ With these words the paratragic Podagra ends.*,1 The verses underline that gout in antiquity was a cause for ridicule and mockery of those suffering from it,2 and, as we shall see, in literature the disease is treated as a deserved punishment for the hedonistic lifestyle of the rich. Several Greek epigrams survive, including the Yale papyrus epigram 4 W (p. 4, ll. 20–37), in which the disease plays a key role. By examining the life cycle of the motif within the genre in combination with the analysis of material from the Podagra and the Ocypus – two comic paratragic plays of the imperial period – and Latin epigram, I argue that what remains from 4 W indicates that its poet adapted and amalgamated motifs and themes from Greek epigram, Greek comedy,3 and possibly Latin epigram. In turn, the absorption and reuse of material from different literary sources in 4 W, together with the existence of other epigrams in the Yale papyrus codex where possible * I would like to thank Eileen Sabur, English teacher at the Alperton Community School in London, for polishing the English of this chapter, as well as Chris Carey and Lucia Floridi for their useful comments. 1 On the play’s title in the MS tradition (where we also find e.g. Tragodopodagra), see e.g. Karavas (2008) 30–1. 2 Cf. Lucian’s Τrag. 181–5 where the deified Gout says that her ‘initiates’ (that is, those suffering from gout) say ludicrous things and become a spectacle of laughter and ridicule when they are carried to the baths, being supported by others. 3 Greek comedy is, of course, one of the main sources of skoptic epigram. See p. 76 and the analysis of the epigrams in this chapter.

© Maria Kanellou, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004521353_009

The Motif of Gout in Various Literary Sources

Let us first examine the epigrams from the Greek Anthology and then focus on the one in the Yale papyrus codex to see if there are any influences, and if so, how the later epigrammatist varied and refreshed the motif of gout. We begin with AP 11.414 = HE 12 that is attributed to Hedylos:6 λυσιμελοῦς Βάκχου καὶ λυσιμελοῦς Ἀφροδίτης γεννᾶται θυγάτηρ λυσιμελὴς Ποδάγρα. From limb-loosener Bakchos and limb-loosener Aphrodite a daughter is born, the limb-loosener Gout. The repetition of λυσιμελής instantly catches the reader’s attention and brings about certain effects due to the word’s inherent associations.7 The adjective’s roots are to be found in the archaic period. For example, in Hesiod’s Theogony 120–2 it is attributed to Eros, a cosmogonic deity 4 Texts with possible adaptations of material from the poetic tradition include: 35 W (p. 18, ll. 1–9) with the reworking of Sappho; 20 W (p. 9, ll. 25–9) where we possibly have Pindaric, Kallimachian, and Aristophanic intertexts; 8 W (p. 5, ll. 15–25) is based on the motif of comparisons of mortals with the river god Nile and could rework the ‘rags to riches’ motif, with Anakreon’s attack on Artemon (388 PMG) being a possible intertext. See Kanellou/Carey pp. 7–20 in this volume. 5 See, for instance, van Opstall (2014) 161: ‘Being too scanty, the fragments have little literary value.’ This chapter does not consider the issue of the authorship of the Yale papyrus epigrams, as the poet’s identity does not affect the argument. I believe that the epigrams belong to a single-author collection. But even if one day papyrological evidence should come to light proving that the Yale papyrus codex includes the work of more than one poet, this would not affect the argument. 6 On this epigram, cf. Floridi (2020) 167–70, written independently from this chapter. For the epigrams, I have used Paton’s edition. The translations of texts are mine unless otherwise stated. 7 This epigram (as the other skoptic epigrams included in this chapter) could have originated in a sympotic context.

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who conquers the mind of gods and humans alike (‘and Eros, who is the most beautiful among the immortal gods, the limb-loosener, overpowers the mind and sage counsel in the breasts of all gods and all humans’);8 in Theogony 910–11 it describes the non-personified eros (‘desire’) that trickles down from the Graces’ eyes as they glance9 (τῶν καὶ ἀπò βλεφάρων ἔρος εἴβετο δερκομενάων / λυσιμελής· …).10 We also have a characteristic use of the word in Sappho’s famous fr. 130.1 V Ἔρος δηὖτέ μ’ ὁ λυσιμελὴς δόνει (‘once more Eros, the limb-loosener, shakes me’) that underlines the god’s/emotion’s overpowering effect on mind and body.11 The adjective’s negative associations are enhanced, as scholars have noted, by the occurrence of formulae similar in sense and phraseology, of the type ὑπὸ γούνατ᾽ ἔλυσε and λῦσε δὲ γυῖα (‘loosened the knees’), in the Homeric epics for death on the battlefield.12 For instance, in Iliad 13.410–12 Deiphobos’ spear pierces Hypsenor’s liver ‘and immediately loosened his knees’ (εἶθαρ δ᾽ ὑπὸ γούνατ᾽ ἔλυσε).13 In Odyssey 14.69 this association between eros and the notion of dying becomes more explicit since death is linked with Helen’s beauty: Eumaios tells the disguised Odysseus that Helen ‘loosened the knees of many men’ (πολλῶν ἀνδρῶν ὑπὸ γούνατ᾽ ἔλυσε), an intense phrase stressing that the princess caused the death of many warriors because of Paris’ destructive eros for her. Similar in sense is Odyssey 18.212, where the effect of Penelope’s beauty on the wooers is expressed with the phrase: τῶν δ’ αὐτοῦ λύτο γούνατ’, ἔρῳ δ’ ἄρα θυμὸν ἔθελχθεν (‘the suitors’ knees were loosened, indeed their minds bewitched by desire’); the idea of going weak at the knees foretells their death, as does Telemachos’ wish that ‘the limbs of each man were loosened’ (λελῦτο δὲ γυῖα ἑκάστου, Od. 18.238).

8

9 10 11

12 13

ἠδ᾽ Ἔρος, ὃς κάλλιστος ἐν ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι, / λυσιμελής, πάντων τε θεῶν πάντων τ᾽ ἀνθρώπων / δάμναται ἐν στήθεσσι νόον καὶ ἐπίφρονα βουλήν. Cf. Hes. Op. 66: the (erotic) sorrows that Aphrodite sheds upon Pandora’s head are ‘limb-eating’ (γυιοβόρους μελεδώνας). The text here is based on Most’s translation (2006) 77. Both texts are mentioned in Gow/Page (1965) II, 298. I have used Most’s edition (2006) 12 and 76. Cf. Alkman fr. 3.61 PMG: λυσιμελεῖ τε πόσῳ, τακερώτερα / δ’ ὕπνω καὶ σανάτω ποτιδέρκεται (‘with a limb-loosening desire she is looking [at me] more meltingly than sleep and death’, translation from Breitenberger (2007) 228 n. 97); Archilochos fr. 196 West. In Od. 20.57 and 23.343 λυσιμελής is attributed to sleep and in E. Supp. 47 to death; see Breitenberger (2007) 85, 148, 151–2, and 241 n. 55. See Breitenberger (2007) 148 and Thornton (2018) 26–7. Thornton is the source for using Il. 13.410–12, Od. 14.69, and 18.212–13 here (likewise most of the archaic material). Cf. Ιl. 5.176, 11.579, 13.360, 15.291, 17.349, 22.335, 24.498, and Od. 24.238.

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Hedylos applies the adjective to Bakchos who stands metonymically for wine, drinking, and the symposium,14 and to Aphrodite who signifies (as she often does) desire and sex. Wine has mind-dissolving qualities and makes one lose control over the body, leading even to death;15 desire and passion can have similar consequences, as the texts in the preceding paragraph show. When reading the epigram’s second verse, though, it becomes evident that the two gods are introduced to reify the causes of ‘limb-loosening’ gout: so, one is urged to think of excessive indulgence in wine consumption and sex. The adjective λυσιμελής maintains its associations of destruction; the epithet is literally true of this disease since, as it progresses, gout can lead to stiffness and limited range of motion.16 Its use in the second line comes as a surprise that arrests attention and underscores (through the re­ petition) the causal link between pleasure and ailment. The distich, as if expressing a dogmatic truth, mocks in its simplicity the hedonistic lifestyle of rich men, which was perceived in antiquity as the trigger of the disease: the poet lampoons this type of behaviour through the humorous idea that from two ‘limb-loosening’ parents, only a ‘limb-loosening’ child can be born, while the disease’s genealogy gives the couplet a Hesiodic aura. Moreover, the theogonic language and the compound adjective with its epic associations invite us to expect an equally lofty ending. The resultant bathos underscores the mundanity and indignity of the result of self-indulgence; high living leads to an undignified and painful outcome. This belief about the disease’s pathogenesis is attested in both literature and medical texts. As we shall see, in the Greek Anthology the disease is always presented as a fitting punishment for this particular lifestyle, and so in AP 11.414 the triple repetition of λυσιμελής stresses, and probably simultaneously warns of, the inevitability of the destructive consequences of an excessively hedonistic 14

15 16

Cf. Lucian AP 11.403.5: πόμα Βάκχου (‘draught of wine’). The idea of wine as ‘wearying one’s knees’ is old: see Od. 18.241, where the motif of ‘going weak at the knees’ due to death (Od. 18.238) is intermingled with the one of drinking that produces the same symptom: Telemachos wishes that the wooers’ knees were loosened, resembling Iros’ posture whose head now hangs as if he were drunk and cannot stand upon his feet; this state, though (as we know), is the outcome of his fight with Odysseus. For death and wine in epigram, see Cairns (2016) 243–65; Nicarch. AP 11.1. Gow/Page (1965) II, 298 miss this point when arguing that the appropriateness of the adjective to gout is not obvious. The severity of the pains caused by this disease is a recurrent topos; see e.g. Lucian’s Trag. 1–29, 119–24, 297–307, 310–11; cf. pp. 76 and 80, and nn. 18 and 91 in this chapter; see also Ps.-Lucian’s Ocyp. 15–16, 29–30, 35–6, 67, 71, 77, 145, and 150–1.

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lifestyle. One can recall, for instance, Lucian’s The Dream or The Cock 23, where the rooster (that is, reincarnated Pythagoras) tells his master Mikyllos, who complains about his poverty, that the rich due to intemperance suffer from ‘gout, tuberculosis, pneumonia, and dropsy; for these are the consequences of those lavish dinners’ (οἱ δὲ ὑπ’ ἀκρασίας … ποδάγρας καὶ φθόας καὶ περιπλευμονίας καὶ ὑδέρους; αὗται γὰρ τῶν πολυτελῶν ἐκείνων δείπνων ἀπόγονοι17). In Lucian’s Menippos (Nekyomanteia) 11 gout is one of the punishments of the rich and the money-lenders whom the Cynic philosopher sees in the Underworld (οἵ τε πλούσιοι καὶ τοκογλύφοι … καὶ ποδαγροί; cf. Aristophanes’ Heroes fr. 322 K–A mentioned in the next paragraph).18 In a later medical source, Aulus Cornelius Celsus’ De medicina 4.31, abstinence from wine, meat, and sex for a whole year (cum toto anno a vino, mulso, Venere19 sibi temperassent) secures protection from gout. Old Comedy offered epigrammatists fertile background for such comic treatments of the disease. In Aristophanes’ Wealth 559–60, gout is closely associated with rich people: Poverty accuses Wealth that ‘… with him men are gouty and pot-bellied and thick-calved and obscenely fat’20 (… παρὰ τῷ μὲν γὰρ ποδαγρῶντες / καὶ γαστρώδεις καὶ παχύκνημοι καὶ πίονές εἰσιν ἀσελγῶς). In Aristophanes’ Heroes fr. 322 K–A gout is included in the list of diseases sent as a well-deserved punishment by the chorus of nameless heroes to the unjust ones: ‘we keep a close watch on the unjust, both thieves and muggers, to them we give diseases: enlargement of the spleen, coughs and dropsy, running nose, mange, gout, madness, ulcerous skin, swollen glands, shivers, fever’ (vv. 5–11).21 Here, what matters for our purposes is that gout is perceived as a well-earned punishment, an idea implied in AP 11.414 and explored (as we shall see) more clearly and emphatically in other epigrammatic variations. Although we cannot pin down any specific intertexts from comedy for our epigram, the fact 17

18

19 20 21

Text and translation (adapted) from Harmon (1919) 218–19. The term ἀπόγονοι resembles the idea of gout as being the ‘offspring’ of two gods in AP 11.414. It seems that such allegories were usual in the treatment of the topic. Cf. Lucian’s Trag. 9–15, where the gouty man argues that the pains from the disease would be a worse punishment in the Underworld for the ones who committed crimes and offences while alive, even compared to the tortures inflicted on Tantalos, Ixion, and Sisyphos. Venus is used metonymically, as is Aphrodite in Hedylus’ epigram. Edited text and translation from Sommerstein (2001) 86–7. κἀναθροῦντες τοὺς ἀδίκους / καὶ κλέπτας καὶ λωποδύτας / τούτοις μὲν νόσους δίδομεν‎· / σπληνιᾶν βήττειν ὑδερᾶν / κορυζᾶν ψωρᾶν ποδαγρᾶν / μαίνεσθαι λειχῆνας ἔχειν‎ / βουβῶνας ῥῖγος πυρετόν. The translation is based on the comments of the online Oxford Scholarly Edition of the fragment and on Halliwell (2015) 243–4.

that the disease was treated already in Old Comedy, especially by one of its masters, must have contributed to its widespread use in later works. The specific disease is the focal point not only of several epigrams, but also of two plays: the paratragic Podagra and the ironically named Ocypus (‘Swift-Footed’), attributed to Lucian.22 Both of these works are based on the idea of a deified powerful Gout, and poke fun at those suffering from the condition. As will be argued, such plays, where there is an evident overlap with the epigrams in the motifs employed, testify to the continuous influence of comedy on the shortest of the poetic forms.23 Regarding Hedylos AP 11.414, it should also be said that the disease is used ambiguously. Of course, Ποδάγρα (v. 2) denotes the disease, but since two gods are said to be her parents, she is also personified and humorously deified (this is why I capitalise the term). Not only do the Podagra and the Ocypus emphatically use this variation of the motif but, as we shall see, other epigrams also, including the one in the Yale papyrus codex. In each case her genealogy brings about different effects. In our epigram, ‘her parents’ denote the causes of the disease. In Podagra 2–6, she is the offspring of Kokytos (the river in Hades24) and Megaira (one of the Furies), and her nurse is Alekto (another Fury); this genealogy stresses the severity of pains caused by the disease and draws on the idea of the Furies as vengeful/punitive deities.25 As we shall see, the 22

23 24 25

Scholars, nowadays, tend to consider the Podagra as an authentic play of Lucian, while they agree that the Ocypus was probably not – the Ocypus has plausibly been attributed to Akakios, a friend of Libanios (4th century CE), based on a letter written by the latter (Lib. Ep. 1301). See e.g. Karavas (2005) 235–42 and (2008) 31–8, with earlier bibliography on the topic; Magnelli (2017) 1–2. Petridou (2018) 490 rightly calls the Podagra ‘a ludic encomium of gout’ (490); King (2018) 121 succinctly reminds us that the Podagra ‘is one example of the Second Sophistic penchant for adoxon and is clearly intended as a humorous parody of both tragedy and gout sufferers’; cf. Anderson (1979) 150; the edition of both paratragic plays by Zimmermann (1909) remains useful; see also e.g. Setti (1910); Tedeschi (1998); Karavas (2005) 235–327; de Hoz (2014). Though both texts show clear affinities with Athenian Old Comedy, the issue of performance is less clear: as Hawkins/Marshall (2016) 15 say, the Ocypus is ‘a short piece consisting of fewer than two hundred lines of iambic trimeters that expects a performance context of some sort, but precisely what is not known’. Karavas (2008) 42–3 (citing earlier bibliography) argues that the Podagra was not destined to be performed on stage, but it was intended for private entertainment. Research on the influence of comedy on epigram (and not just Hellenistic epigram, but imperial and later epigram, too) is a desideratum. Still useful is Brecht (1930). The choice of the specific river is not accidental since it is the river of wailing. In Trag. 99–111, the chorus of gouty men makes Podagra one of the primordial deities as her father is the Titan Ophion (her

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Yale papyrus epigram reveals the poet’s efforts to show his own originality by reworking a topic that was not explored to its full potential within the genre. Closely related to our discussion is Nikarchos AP 5.39, offering a cynical treatment of the well-known concept of carpe diem.26 A man states that he does not care whether he goes to Hades with gouty legs or as a runner, and for this reason he is determined to continue enjoying the banquets: οὐκ ἀποθνήσκειν δεῖ με; τί μοι μέλει, ἤν τε ποδαγρὸς ἤν τε δρομεὺς γεγονὼς εἰς Ἀΐδην ὑπάγω; πολλοὶ γάρ μ’ ἀροῦσιν,27 ἔα χωλόν με γενέσθαι· τῶνδ’ ἕνεκεν γὰρ ἴδ’ ὡς οὔποτ’ ἐῶ θιάσους. Μust I not die? Why should it bother me if I go to Hades with gouty feet or having become a runner? Since many will lift me [sc. when dead], let me become lame; for that reason, see that I never miss a banquet. The epigram clearly amalgamates the motifs of drinking and of gout, as Hedylos AP 11.414 does. Although epigrams with similar content (see e.g. Strato AP 11.19, an exhortation to enjoy drinking and sex while alive28) are preserved in Book 11 of the Greek Anthology, this one has been transmitted in Book 5. It has been argued that this may mean that there are hidden sexual allusions in the poem.29 But the poem could have been categorised as erotic because of the erotic connotations implied in the speaker’s devotion to a symposiastic lifestyle that inherently alludes to drinking and sex. The boundaries between erotic and skoptic epigrams were often blurry,30 and epigrams that included both erotic and skoptic elements/connotations

26 27 28

29

30

mother is Moira, Klotho is her nurturer, and if we accept the emendation Πλουτώ (v. 111), Plouto breastfed her (on the issue, see e.g. Karavas (2008) 107–8 and Lagioia (2014) 545–6)). For the motif in relation to this poem, see Schatzmann (2012) 264, who offers related examples and bibliography. αἰροῦσιν in P and ἐρέουσιν in Pl. See Schatzmann (2012) 263–4 for the emendations that have been proposed. For an explanation of my preference, see the main text. See esp. vv. 1–2: ‘Both drink and make love now, Damokrates; for we shall not drink forever or have sex forever with boys’ (καὶ πίε νῦν καὶ ἔρα, Δαμόκρατες· οὐ γὰρ ἐς αἰεὶ / πιόμεθ’, οὐδ’ αἰεὶ παισὶ συνεσσόμεθα). For συνεῖναι as a euphemism for sex, see Henderson, J. (1991) 159. The lemmatist wrote πρὸς ἔρωτα καὶ τοὺς θιάσους (‘to love and banquets’); this does not help us since Strato AP 11.19, also on the topic of carpe diem, is categorised as skoptic, as mentioned in the main text. See Kanellou (2019).

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were categorised as erotic or skoptic based on the perception of the Byzantine scholars. It is clear that we have a hopeless drinker, and that the epigram is self-ironic, since the man recklessly declares that he does not care if he ends up lame: enjoying the symposia (and their pleasures) while still alive is what matters for him (vv. 3–4). The last line, with γὰρ ἴσως in P and Pl, has been variously emended, and remains problematic. From the proposed emendations, I find Meineke’s γὰρ ἴδ’ ὡς the most plausible one (it brings minor changes to the transmitted text).31 Repetition is a common element in the group of epigrams on gout (see AP 11.414 and 11.229); by following Meineke each of the last two verses would include γάρ and an imperative comprised of just two letters (ἔα and ἴδ’ due to the elision). In addition, in this case, the second distich would match the first one where repetition is also a prominent feature: we have two questions, the duplication of ἤν τε, and the recurrence of the first-person personal pronoun in verse 1 (με … μοι). This repetition of words and sounds32 (it should be noted that verb types of γίγνομαι are employed in vv. 2 and 3: γεγονὼς and γενέσθαι) underscores the idea that the speaker does not care about his well-being at all, only about symposiastic pleasures, and therefore intensifies the self-irony. Let us now turn our attention to verse 3. Τhe γάρ clause precedes the fact explained for emphasis. I find Meineke’s emendation ἀροῦσιν compelling: the man declares cynically that since many33 will lift him (we imply) to put him into the tomb, it does not matter if he ends up being lame. Nobody walks to their grave. The term πολλοί (emphatic by position) may also make the point that the man’s convivial lifestyle wins him friends; the implication is that his fellow symposiasts, the ones participating in the banquets of verse 4, will grieve for his death and attend his funeral. One can compare Strato AP 11.19.3–4, which concerns the same custom (burial), with the speaker exhorting Damokrates to bind their heads with garlands and scent

31

32 33

For the emendations that have been proposed, see Schatzmann (2012) 263–4 and 266–7, who favours Unger’s Xάρι, σούς (266–7), though we do not need a named interlocutor for the poem to work and, as we note here, repetition is a basic feature of this poem and so there is no good reason why we should not preserve γάρ. See e.g. the alliteration of -ει in δεῖ and μέλει (v. 1) and of ε in ἔα (v. 3), ἕνεκεν and ἐῶ (v. 4). In P and Pl we have πολλοί and there is no reason to emend it into πῶλοι, as suggested by Unger (1844) (cf. Schatzmann (2012) 263 and 266).

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themselves before others (ἑτέρους) bring wreaths and ointments to their tombs.34 In any case, the use of a runner in the treatment of this topic is not surprising; it is a natural enough choice since this type of athlete depends on his feet. Let us remember Juvenal (13.96–7), who cynically suggests that Ladas – a famous runner of the 5th century BCE – would have exchanged his fame as a winner of the Olympian Games with a rich man’s gout (pauper locupletem optare podagram / nec dubitet Ladas …, ‘if Ladas is poor, let him not hesitate to opt for the rich man’s gout’). In addition, in the Ocypus the protagonist is lame due to gout, unable to stand upright by himself: κλεψίχωλον πόδα (‘hiding the lameness of his foot’, v. 33), σὺ χωλός ὤν (‘you being lame’, v. 41), πρόχωλον … βίον (‘a crippled life’, v. 146), χωλὸς μὲν ἂν ᾖς (‘if you are lame’, v. 147).35 Trying to hide his condition, he lies that he strained his foot while running (see vv. 56–7). The play’s title (‘Swift-Footed’) hinges on the humorous contrast with the condition of its protagonist. Related to the topic is also Diogenes Laertius AP 7.112 on the Peripatetic philosopher Lykon of Troas. The epigram is preserved in Diogenes Laertius 5.68 and before he quotes it, Diogenes specifies that gout led to Lykon’s death (νόσῳ ποδαγρικῇ) when he was seventy-four years old: οὐ μὰ τόν, οὐδὲ Λύκωνα παρήσομεν, ὅττι ποδαλγὴς κάτθανε· θαυμάζω τοῦτο μάλιστα δ’ ἐγώ, τὴν οὕτως Ἀΐδαο36 μακρὴν ὁδὸν εἰ πρὶν ὁ ποσσὶν ἀλλοτρίοις βαδίσας ἔδραμε νυκτὶ μιῇ.

There is humour in the poem (as in all epigrams using the motif): gout was a chronic disease and the joke lies in the concept that the gouty Lykon, who could not walk alone, managed to reach the Underworld swiftly, that is, in just one night (vv. 3–4). The terms βαδίσας ἔδραμε are juxtaposed to intensify the contrast, and therefore the joke. Diogenes could have been influenced by Nikarchos AP 5.39 given the similarities in the vocabulary employed, δρομεὺς – ἔδραμε and εἰς Ἀΐδην – Ἀΐδαο, and the similar ending of the first verse in both poems: ποδαγρὸς and ποδαλγής. We should not also forget that apart from gout, lameness was another motif in skoptic poetry,38 and jokes based on the contrast between a man’s inability to walk fast and the speed with which one ‘ran’ to Hades did exist. This is exemplified by the survival of Palladas AP 7.681 on Gessios who ‘though lame ran to Hades’ (καὶ χωλός περ ἐὼν ἔδραμες εἰς Ἀΐδην, v. 2).39 As in Diogenes’ epigram, the terms expressing slowness and speed (χωλός … ἔδραμες) are placed closely to accentuate the humour; and we have a reference to Hades, too. Palladas might have been influenced by Diogenes Laertius (perhaps he also knew of Nikarchos’ poem) or he might have used a set of vocabulary common in the treatment of the theme. The motif recurs in Ammianos AP 11.229, directed at an anonymous target.40 The epigrammatist states in hyperbole that this man should have become gouty one hundred years (!) ago: ὀψέ41 ποθ’ ἡ Ποδάγρα τὸν ἑαυτῆς ἄξιον εὗρεν, ὃν ποδαγρᾷν πρὸ ἐτῶν ἄξιον ἦν ἑκατόν.

No, in faith, neither shall we neglect to tell how Lykon died of gout. The thing that surprises me most is that he who formerly walked with other people’s feet managed in one night to run the long way to Hades.37

Late in the day has Gout found him who deserved her, him who deserved to be gouty a hundred years ago.42

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35 36 37

Schatzmann (2012) 266 suggests that if we accept αἴρουσιν, we can attribute a sexual meaning to the verb: ‘Der Sprecher würde damit zum Passiven’ (‘The speaker would thus become the passive partner in sex’). However, αἴρω is usually employed for the lifting of a woman’s legs during sex (see Henderson, J. (1991) 173, cited by Schatzmann (2012) 266). Alternatively, Schatzmann suggests that the verse might mean that since many men carry the speaker wherever he wants (this interpretation gives αἴρουσιν a more general sense), he does not care if he becomes lame. The perception of the speaker as being already in a state in which he needs to be carried contrasts verse 3 that suggests that he (at least for now) is not lame. Edited texts and translations (slightly adapted) from Macleod (1967) 360 and 374. I capitalise the term. Translation (slightly adapted) from Paton (2000) 67.

39 40 41

42

See e.g. Hippon. fr. 20 West; Nicarch. AP 11.121; cf. Herodas 8.60; see Gutzwiller in this volume p. 38. Lameness lies in a way at the heart of skoptic poetry, as reflected in Hipponax’s choliambs (‘limping iambs’). On the epigram, see Gutzwiller in this volume p. 38, who also suggests that Palladas might have been influenced by Nikarchos’ epigram. I capitalise Ἀΐδην. Nisbet (2005) 160 identifies the anonymous target as Marcus Antonius Polemon because ‘part of the legend of Polemon’s life is his painful trouble with gout’. Cf. Anon. AP 6.283.4 = HE 39.4, ὀψέ γ’ Ἀθηναίη Κύπριν ἐληΐσατο (‘late in the day Athena despoiled Cypris’), said of a prostitute who turns to weaving in old age. In both cases, the adverb stresses the target’s advanced age, while in Ammianos’ epigram there are further connotations (see the main text in this page). Translation from Paton (1999b) 181. I capitalise Ποδάγρα in v. 1.

INTERMINGLING GREEK & LATIN MATERIAL IN THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

The idea that gout is an appropriate punishment from which the speaker’s target should have suffered much earlier (due to his lifestyle, as we deduce, based on the related epigrams) is highlighted in a number of ways: (a) the repetition of the terms ποδάγρα and ἄξιον, with the polyptoton-like effect of Ποδάγρα / ποδαγρᾷν, which gives us both the personified deity and the condition, (b) the repetition of the concept of delay (with ὀψέ and πρὸ ἐτῶν … ἑκατόν) enclosing the intervening words; it is as if we have a miniature ring composition, (c) the alliteration (of ε in five words, of α in seven words, and of o in ten words), and (d) the hyperbole in the use of πρὸ ἐτῶν … ἑκατόν.43 Here, Gout is personified through the idea of ‘finding’ her victim, perhaps a discreet play on her representation as a hunter (v. 1; cf. Luc. AP 11.403). Two more surviving epigrams vary the motif. I first discuss Lucian AP 11.403, because it associates gout with the rich, a common theme as we have already seen: μισόπτωχε θεά, μούνη Πλούτου δαμάτειρα, ἡ τὸ καλῶς ζῆσαι πάντοτ’ ἐπισταμένη, εἰ δὲ καὶ ἀλλοτρίοις ἐπιϊζομένη ποσὶ χαίρεις, ὁπλοφορεῖν44 τ’ οἶδας, καὶ μύρα σοι μέλεται, τέρπει καὶ στέφανός σε, καὶ Αὐσονίου πόμα Βάκχου. ταῦτα παρὰ πτωχοῖς γίνεται οὐδέποτε. τοὔνεκα νῦν φεύγεις πενίης τὸν ἀχάλκεον οὐδόν, τέρπῃ δ’ αὖ Πλούτου πρὸς πόδας ἐρχομένη.

5

Goddess who hate the poor, sole tamer of Wealth, who always know what it means to live well,45 and though you like to settle on the feet of others46 and know how to bear arms, you are also fond of ointments, and a garland and the draught of Italian wine delights you. These things are never found among the poor.

43 44 45

46

The distich has been unjustly characterised as ‘oddly attenuated and even anodyne’ by Mulligan (2015) 722. Modern editions (e.g. Paton (1999b) 264) use the emendation πιλοφορεῖν (‘to wear felt’), but I explain in p. 80 why we should not emend the transmitted text. The meaning is not that the goddess ‘ever knows to live well’ (see e.g. Paton (1999b) 265; cf. Rolleston (1914) 44). Gout (as a deified personification) reifies the negative effect of luxury; she understands what the good life is all about, and thus she can separate the rich – her targets – from the poor. Rolleston (1914) 44 gathered all epigrams related to gout, but there are problems in the translations that he offers. For instance, here, the goddess does not ‘walk with the feet of others’ but sits on the feet of others.

79

Τherefore you avoid the penniless threshold of poverty,47 but take pleasure in attacking the feet of Wealth.48 The epigram makes fun of the luxurious hedonistic life of rich men that leads them to suffer from gout. It is a ‘mock hymn’ characterised by the ‘comic application of epithets’ to the deified disease (see e.g. the unicum μισόπτωχε),49 which parodies addresses to gods in non-skoptic poetry. In this respect, the epigram resembles the paratragic Podagra attributed to Lucian. If the epigram’s author is Lucian too – and I do not think that there is any strong argument against this50 – then, we have a poet exploring a topic (Gout as a personified deity) in different literary forms. Here, Gout attacks only rich men and the personified Wealth himself, while the use of ἀλλοτρίοις (v. 3) suggests that the speaker is not her victim (she attacks other men), and so by implication he is poor.51 In the Podagra, however, the gouty man is poor (see εὐναῖς ἐν ἀστρώτοισι τείρομαι δέμας, ‘I wear out my body on a bed without sheets’, v. 65; πτωχὸς ποδαγρῶν, ‘being a poor gouty man’, v. 70). In our epigram, Gout hates the poor (v. 1) and avoids them (v. 7), the reason being that they cannot afford a lifestyle that would ‘please’ her (v. 6; the repetition of poverty in μισόπτωχε and πτωχοῖς highlights the idea). This means that the living circumstances of the poor cannot generate gout: the ointments, the garlands, and the Italian wine52 (vv. 4–5) are all symposiastic elements that only the elite could enjoy (all three elements are summarised in the 47 48 49 50

51 52

The phrase τὸν ἀχάλκεον οὐδόν inverts the formula ‘brazen threshold’ used for palaces (e.g. for the palace of Alkinoos in Od. 7.83 and 89; cf. Paton (1999b) 265 n. 3). See LSJ, s.v. οὐδός. Τhe translation is slightly influenced by Paton (1999b) 265. The quotations are from Nisbet (2005) 180 n. 29. The fact that there are differences in the treatment of the motif in the epigram and the Podagra could be a sign of the poet’s ability to handle the same topic in different and original ways, and does not constitute an adequate reason for doubting the attribution to Lucian. We should also take into account that gout (deified or not) is a common motif in Lucian’s work: see p. 76 in this chapter; additionally, Kronos is old and gouty in Lucian’s Saturnalia 28. Of course, verse 3 alludes to the symptoms experienced by the sufferer. Paton (1999b) 264–5 says: ‘[t]he point lies in these things being remedies for the gout as well as luxuries, but I have no idea what is the “garland” alluded to’; cf. Baldwin (1975) 332. Since remedies aimed at curing gout, this cannot be the meaning. The idea of Gout taking pleasure in certain things/activities (vv. 4–5 and 8) must denote the luxurious and excessive lifestyle that causes the disease. The phrase Αὐσονίου πόμα Βάκχου (v. 5) adapts a formula that we find, for instance, in Asclep. AP 12.50.5 = HE 16.5 (Βάκχου ζωρὸν πόμα).

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infinitive τὸ καλῶς ζῆσαι of v. 2,53 and the goddess’ predilection for the rich is underlined through the repetition of the verb τέρπω in vv. 5 and 8). In both texts, though, the goddess cannot be defeated (by either medicines or other gods).54 In AP 11.403 Gout is powerful: she attacks and settles on the feet of men (v. 3), and – this has passed unnoticed – she overpowers Wealth himself; Πλούτου, both in verses 1 and 8, is ambiguous, standing both for the common noun and the personified god (hence my use of the capital in order to make the point). The epigram humorously deifies not just Gout, but also Wealth, who signifies collectively the rich. In this way, the humour is underlined. The influence of Aristophanes’ Wealth with its personified god is clear, and it is not accidental that in Lucian’s Timon 20–1 the god Ploutos is blind and lame, too (as in Aristophanes). In the first verse, Gout overpowers Wealth and the poet uses the term δαμάτειρα (‘tamer’). Types of δαμάζω are employed in comic treatments of the deified disease: see Podagra 251 (ἐδάμασα πλείστους, ‘I tamed many’) and Ocypus 13 (δαμασθείς, ‘having been tamed’). Additionally, in the Podagra the goddess declares her power over gods of healing (vv. 143–5), and the chorus praises her as being more powerful than Zeus and Hades (vv. 195–7; cf. v. 249).55 If both the epigram and the Podagra were composed by Lucian, then the poet reworked the same theme, that is, the concept of Gout as a mighty goddess who defeats other gods. In the epigram’s last distich, in ring composition, Gout takes delight in attacking Wealth’s feet. The idea underscores bitterly that those who lead a hedonistic life will (deservedly, as we know from other poems) suffer from the disease. Τhe verb τέρπῃ (v. 8) echoes τέρπει of verse 5 and links the cause (the symposia and drinking) with the negative outcome (the attack of Gout). Based on this interpretation, the MS reading ὁπλοφορεῖν (‘to bear arms’) in verse 4 can be defended. An armed image of Gout fits the representation of her as a combative warrior goddess (already in v. 1); the reader is urged to imagine her with arms befitting warriors/hunters for two reasons. Firstly, the etymology of the term itself, deriving from πούς (foot’) and ἄγρα (‘hunting’, ‘prey’56), supports 53 54 55

56

See Nisbet (2005) 31. See e.g. Lucian’s Trag. 85, 138–9, 191–203, and 310–11; cf. the next paragraphs in this page; Ov. Pont. 1.3.23 (cited by Schatzmann (2012) 264). See Trag. 140–77 for a list of all treatments failing against Gout. In verses 275–90, she sends the personified Ponoi to attack the two Syrian physicians that claimed that they could comfort the pains caused by her. See LSJ, s.v. ἄγρα.

such an image of the personified disease: Gout makes feet her prey (see Trag. 188; the joke in Ocyp. 137–9 based on the word’s etymology). Secondly, ὁπλοφορεῖν resembles other such allegorical representations of her. In the Podagra the pains caused by Gout are described as an arrow of thunderbolt worse than the ones sent by Zeus (v. 299; cf. v. 119); in the Ocypus similar vocabulary is used: τείνω δὲ νεῦρον οἷα τοξότης ἀνὴρ / βέλος προπέμπων καὶ λέγειν βιάζεται said by Gout (‘and Ι stretch the cord as if I were a male archer, throwing my arrow [the victim] is even forced to say …’, vv. 37–8); in verse 158 the gouty man describes the pains as arrows piercing his legs (κατὰ ποδῶν τοξεύομαι; cf. v. 169). Τhe representation of Gout as a powerful goddess is also attested in the following verses: she binds the feet of her victims, attacking their joints (Ocyp. 3–4, cf. vv. 21, 149); she laughs at the ones wounded by her (v. 5), and overpowers men (v. 13, 109; cf. Trag. 30757). No association between the epigram and the Ocypus is implied here (there is the problem of the play’s date and of its ascription), but the existence of the latter shows that vocabulary related to weaponry was employed for both the personified goddess and the disease; the epigram could have been influenced by this strand in the motif’s variation. Τhe last epigram from the Greek Anthology to be briefly discussed is Strato AP 12.243, a homoerotic epigram with clear skoptic elements: εἴ με τὸ πυγίζειν ἀπολώλεκε, καὶ διὰ τοῦτο ἐκτρέπομαι58 ποδαγρῶν, Ζεῦ, κρεάγραν με πόει. If buggery has destroyed me utterly, and because of it I turn away [sc. from active penetration] since I am gouty, Zeus, turn me into a meathook. The speaker, who used to take pleasure in anal sex, ends up suffering from gout and asks Zeus to transform him into a meathook. Zeus is chosen as the addressee because the god is a lover of boys too59 (so he is expected to sympathise with the man) and a master of shape-shifting (the wish involves a metaphorical transformation). The epigram, as do many others, mocks the speaker and simultaneously pokes fun at Zeus and his shape-shifting ability

57 58

59

On the motif of Gout overpowering gods, see n. 54 of this chapter. I use the emendation ἐκτρέπομαι (Maxwell-Stuart (1975) and Clarke (1978)) instead of ἐκτρέφομαι (P; cf. Paton (1999b) 404). See Floridi (2007) 374 for another interpretation of ἐκτρέπομαι here. Cf. Floridi (2007) 374.

INTERMINGLING GREEK & LATIN MATERIAL IN THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

with which he often satisfies his erotic desires.60 The exact meaning of the use of the κρεάγρα has puzzled scholars. As will become clear, the joke is obscene and it is based on the kind of sex that the gouty man, the former active partner in the sexual act, is ready to enjoy in the future. The epigram’s comic subtext enables us to decipher the meaning of the metaphor. Both the terms κρέας and κρεάγρα are used in comedy with sexual connotations and Strato could have been influenced by their comical treatment. The term κρέας is a metaphor for the penis,61 and in Aristophanes’ Knights 769–72 it is clear that the torture that the Sausage-Seller imagines being imposed on him includes him being dragged by his testicles with a meathook. If he does not love and cherish Demos, he should be cut up and boiled with mincemeat, be grated with cheese into a savoury mash, and then ‘be dragged by his balls with a meathook to Kerameikos’:62 καὶ τῇ κρεάγρᾳ τῶν ὀρχιπέδων ἑλκοίμην εἰς Κεραμεικόν (v. 772). Clarke’s interpretation of AP 12.243, which has met with some acceptance, that the man wishes that Zeus gives him ‘the will-power to take his κρεάγρα out of the receptacles (in this case, πυγαί) he has had it in, with devastating consequences for his health’,63 cannot be right; it is difficult to see how the sense required (with its rejection of the role of κρεάγρα) can be extracted from a prayer to be turned into a κρεάγρα. In addition, the term etymologically means ‘the item with which you grab the meat’, and not the ‘meat’ itself; in the latter case, κρέας and not κρεάγρα would be more appropriate as a metaphor (compare Aristophanes where the kitchen utensil is clearly used for seizing and dragging the man by his testicles).64 On the contrary, there is no good reason to deny that within the compound κρεάγρα (deriving from κρέας and ἄγρα), κρέας maintains its metaphorical sense of ‘penis’. 60 61

62 63

64

For mythological burlesque in epigram and Zeus’ transformations, see Kanellou (2019). See Henderson, J. (1991) 129. Κρέας can also denote the female genitals (Ηenderson, J. (1991) 144), but in the epigram the word κρεάγρα cannot refer to heterosexual sex since there are no heterosexual epigrams in Strato’s Musa Puerilis. For the paraphrasis of the Aristophanic text, I draw from Sommerstein (1997) 83. The text inside the quotation marks is slightly adapted. Clarke (1978) 438–9, cited by Floridi (2007) 374. Maxwell-Stuart’s interpretations (sexual inactivity (1972) 233 and restoration of sexual ability in the sense ‘let me be able to make the sign of sexual bargaining’ (1975) 381–2), cited by Floridi (2007) 374, are not convincing. Chris Carey suggests to me that as a meathook skewers meat, this could suggest active penetration, the joke being that if the man turns into a meathook he at least gets to penetrate meat.

81

The speaker imagines being transformed into a utensil that can be used to grab a man’s ‘meat’, meaning his genitals. The metaphor, especially given that the κρεάγρα was ‘a hook shaped like a hand with bent fingers’ (see the scholia on the Knights 77265), could allude to sexual acts involving the use of one’s hands, that is, masturbation either for self-satisfaction or for the stimulation and satisfaction of another man. This interpretation becomes stronger if we think of another Aristophanic passage. In the Assemblywomen 1002–4, the term κρεάγρα is used for a hag’s hand as she tries to force Epigenes, a young man, into having sex with her. Epigenes says: ‘Why should we buy hooks any more to haul up buckets, when we could let an old biddy like this down into our wells and grab the buckets that way?’66 (τί δῆτα κρεάγρας τοῖς κάδοις ὠνοίμεθ’ ἄν, / ἐξὸν καθέντα γρᾴδιον τοιουτονὶ / ἐκ τῶν φρεάτων τοὺς κάδους ξυλλαμβάνειν;). It is important that a person’s hand is compared to a hook, and moreover in Aristophanes we may have a sexual joke since κρεάγρα, and not its synonym ἁρπάγη, is used. The use of the κρεάγρα may suggest that the old woman tries to grip with her hand the man’s ‘bucket’, meaning his genitals. But even if the κρεάγρα is simply used for her hand, this still suffices to strengthen the point that in our epigram the metaphor is employed for sexual acts performed with the gouty man’s hand. If this is right, the joke is hilarious: the one whose feet have been seized by gout (πούς and ἄγρα) will now ‘seize’ another man’s or his own ‘meat’ (κρέας and ἄγρα). Ηow self-ironic! 2

The Motif of Gout in the Yale Papyrus Epigram (4 W p. 4, ll. 20–37)

Let us now focus on the Yale papyrus epigram in order to see if there are any similarities to and influences from the epigrams discussed so far. No heading interrupts this sequence of lines, and I take the verses (as Wilkinson did) to form a single poem.67 The presence of a man called Klematios in both 3 and 4 W suggests that the two poems formed an epigrammatic pair.68 Here is 4 W: 65 66 67 68

See Sommerstein (2007) 225 (note on verse 1002). Translation from Sommerstein (2007) 121. It goes without saying that if a title was inadvertently omitted, this would change the interpretation of the verses. See also the title of 4 W, which directs us back to Klematios of 3 W (p. 4, ll. 4–19). Due to space limitations, I do not analyse 3 W. On titles, see the Introduction of this volume p. 3; Wilkinson (2012a) 22–5.

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ἐπ{ε}ιστολ̣[ὴ] τῷ [αὐ]τ̣ῷ [  ±10 ] τ̣όδε γῆρας [ἔχω] χρείαν θ̣ε̣ραπε̣ί [̣ ας] [πρὸς τὸ φιλ]όπλουτον τοῦ̣[το] νόσημα ποδῶν. [ ±10  ]λ[̣ .]υτωμεν[.] . [.] . . . . δε̣ . . . . [.].[ [ ±4] . [ . ] . ο̣ν τι γέρα̣ς̣ κἀμὲ̣ τὸ̣ ̣ δα̣ιμόν̣ι[ο]ν. [. . μ]όνο̣ν̣ ἀνδράποδον δ[ύ]ναμαι μ̣[ ±5 π]ε̣πᾶ̣σ̣θ[α]ι ,̣  25 [κ]αί σε βοηθῆσαι βούλομαι οὐχ ἵ[να μο]ι [ ̣ ̣ συντελέ̣[σ]ῃς, ἄφεσιν γὰρ ἔδωκ̣ά σοι, ἀλλ’ ἀπιών [μοι69 πρ[ὸς] τόδε συμπράξῃς, φίλτατε Κλημάτιε. θαυμάζ̣ε̣ις μὲν ἄ[κ]ρ̣ως πό̣θε̣ν̣ ἔστιν̣ η αὐτ̣ο . [. . .]αι ξηρότερ̣ό̣ν με κρίνου το[. .] . ι̣ν̣ε . [.] . α [  30 κα̣ ὶ πρὸς σαυτὸν̣ ἐρεῖ̣ [̣ ς δ]έ· ‘διδάσ[̣ κα]λος ἢ παραπα̣ ίω̣ [̣ ν] [±4 ]δ̣ω . . [±4] . [ ±7 ]ε̣ἶδεν ὄναρ;’ [ ±6 ] . . . [ . ] . . . [. .] . [. . ο]ὐ̣δ’ εἶδον ὀνείρους̣ [±4 ] . . . . χρ̣ ̣υσῆ̣ δ’, ὦ̣ φίλ[ε, Κ]αλλιόπη [ ±6 ] . . . . νεπαλευσας[̣ . . ]ιως δυσὶ δοῦλος  35 [ ±8 ] . . . νους . . [ . . ] . όμενος [   ±12  ] . . . . . οτ[ . ]ντ̣ ε[̣ . ]νη̣ σθε

Α letter to the same

… my old age, [I have] need of treatment [for] this wealth-[loving] disease of the feet. … … a certain gift and/even me … the divinity. … a single slave I am able to own … and I want you to help me, not so that you contribute money to me (for I granted you a release),70 but so that, O dearest Klematios, you depart (drink?71) and assist me/ cooperate/work with me in this.72 Are you wondering in utter amazement how it is possible … me, drier than a white lily …? 69

Ι take both subjunctives to belong to subordinate clauses introduced by οὐχ ἵ [̣ να (l. 26). Wilkinson (2012a) 132–3 reconstructs ll. 26–8 differently. Wilkinson (2012a) 132 suggests ἀλλὰ πιὼν [ (‘come now  … have a drink’) or ἀλλ’ ἀπιὼν [ σὺ (‘come now, on your way out, …’). Given the lacunae, which make precise recovery of the context impossible, both readings of the participle seem equally possible. We could have e.g. ἀλλὰ πιών [μοι / πρ[ὸς] τόδε συμπράξῃς (‘but so that you drink and assist me in this / cooperate/work with me in this’). 70 If the words belong to Klematios (by applying οὐχὶ [̣ λέγε]ι [̣ ν] in l. 26, as suggested by Wilkinson (2012a) 133), the meaning would change. I find it more likely that the two subjunctives are used by the same person to emphasise the request for help. 71 See n. 69 in this chapter. 72 The pronoun might refer to the man’s old age (l. 21), the gift in question (l. 24), or perhaps synoptically to the need to find a treatment for gout (l. 21).

And you will also say to yourself: ‘A teacher is either a fool … he saw a dream/vision in sleep’? … nor did I see dreams … and, O friend, golden Kalliope … a slave to two73 … … The first observation to be made is that in 4 W the epigrammatist refreshes the motif of gout, which may well be deified here. Of course, the lacunae make any reading tentative. But in line 24 we have the term τ̣ὸ̣ δα̣ιμόν̣ι[ο]ν, and it has been suggested plausibly that the divinity in question is Gout.74 If this is correct, it offers us a possible similarity between 4 W and both the Podagra and the Ocypus, where one finds similar vocabulary employed for the deified disease: τίνα δαιμόνων (‘which god’, Trag. 75), δαίμων (‘goddess’, Trag. 127 and 132), ὡς δαίμονι πληγείς (‘as if wounded by a god’, Ocyp. 109), and δαίμων τάχα κρατῶν τις ἐξωθεῖ ποδός (‘perhaps a powerful god knocks me off my feet’, Ocyp. 111). If the divinity in question is indeed Gout, this would suggest that apart from any possible influences from his epigrammatic predecessors, the poet could have also adopted aspects of the motif’s use in comic dramas such as these (if not specifically these ones). It should however be noted that the text’s fragmentary state leaves open to question the identity of the deity; another possible candidate in such a context dealing with poverty75 is Penia, who is personified and/or deified in several sources: for instance, in Alkaios fr. 364 V, Aristophanes’ Wealth (415–626), Plato’s Symposium (203b–e), Theognidea e.g. 267–70 351–4, 649–52, West, Herodotos’ Histories 8.111.1, and Plutarch’s Life of Themistokles 21.1. Regarding the interpretation of the term γέρα̣ς̣ (l. 24), Wilkinson connects τὸ̣ ̣ δαι̣ μόνι̣ [ο]ν with the offering of a gift (supplying δεξόμενο̣ν at the beginning of the line); if the divinity (i.e. Gout on his interpretation) receives a gift, she will cure (or leave) the afflicted man.76 Τhis is a possible reconstruction of the situation, but the state of line 24 rules out any secure reconstruction of the couplet. It

73 74 75

76

Translation (adapted) from Wilkinson (2012a) 130. Wilkinson (2012a) 131–2. See p. 83, nn. 79 and 100 in this chapter. For P/penia and old age, see e.g. Thgn. 173–8, 1129–32 West; for P/penia as teaching shameful things to men, see E. El. 376; Thgn. 388–91 and 649–52 West; [X.] Ath. 1.5. The idea that old age and poverty were two wounds hard to be cured had a proverbial value; see CPG II 344. The epigram seems to play on this association. Wilkinson (2012a) 131–2.

INTERMINGLING GREEK & LATIN MATERIAL IN THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

is possible, for instance, that γέρα̣ς̣ refers metaphorically and ironically to a misfortune brought to the man as a ‘gift’ from the divinity in question (if Gout is the deity, then γέρα̣ς̣ could be the ailment itself);77 or the sick man may present himself as the divinity’s (Gout’s?) ‘war prize’;78 or again – since according to the title (‘a letter to the same’) this is an epistolary epigram – 4 W may play with the motif and the term may refer to a gift that (supposedly) accompanies the epigram-letter. As we have seen, Greek epigrams reflect the idea that gout is an apposite punishment for the hedonistic lifestyle of the rich, and we may have here a man who tries to present himself as an unfitting sufferer: in line 25, there is mention of a ‘single slave’ and, if the meaning is that the gouty man possesses just one slave, then the statement aims to indicate his poverty, as Wilkinson argues.79 In the same vein, his declaration that he is drier than a white lily (l. 30) stands for his ‘withered state’, a consequence of his old age (τό̣ δε γῆρας, l. 21) and possibly of his poverty.80 Perhaps, apart from any other connotations, the use of ξηρότερ̣ο̣ν (‘drier’, l. 30) also implies that the man does not drink wine/cannot afford wine, and so he cannot indulge in the lifestyle traditionally associated with gout. Of course, the Podagra concerns a poor victim of Gout, so it is also possible that the man in 4 W is truly poor. In any case, Klematios, to whom the epigram-letter is addressed, is amazed, even incredulous (ll. 29–30).81 Given that gout affected both young and old men, the reason for Klematios’ utter surprise could spring from the man’s claim to be poor or to have been affected by gout though being a pauper. The treatment of the topic shows 77 78 79

80 81

The enigmatic -ον preceding τι could be the end of an adjective agreeing with γέρας; something like λυγρόν/κακόν/φαῦλόν τι γέρας (‘baneful/evil prize’) could fit the context. Again, if we imagine -ον as the termination of an adjective with γέρας, we might hazard οἰκτρόν τι γέρας (‘a pitable prize’) or sarcastically καλόν τι γέρας (‘a fine prize’; see LSJ, s.v. καλός IV). For the association of modest means with the ability to purchase only one slave, cf. Lysias 24.6. See Wilkinson’s suggestion (2012a) 131 for l. 23 οὐ π]λ̣[ο]υτῶ μέν (‘I am not a wealth man’). Wilkinson (2012a) 132 offers an alternative reading based on which the speaker presents himself as a metaphorical victim of Gout: ‘[ὢν μ]όνον̣ ̣ ἀνδράποδον δ[ύ]ναμαι μ[̣ ηδέν γε π]επ ̣ ᾶσ̣ θ̣ [α]ι ̣ (“Since I am merely a slave, I am capable of owning nothing at all”)’. Metaphorical language of slavery is used in literature for patients suffering from the disease, as Wilkinson notes (comment for line 35, (2012a) 134), but I find it unlikely that gout is here presented as the reason for the man’s lack of financial means. The meaning of the metaphor is analysed by Henderson, W. J. in this volume pp. 58–60. The verb θαυμάζω is also used in D.L. AP 7.112.2. The verb is very common and so we cannot be certain if this is an adaptation.

83

originality, since it adapts the topos of the disease’s role as a punishment of the rich (see Wilkinson’s φιλ]όπλουτον (l. 22) which I find persuasive due to disease’s strong association with wealth), while in parallel the epigrammatist adds new – unattested in Greek epigram – elements to the motif’s variation. The fact that it is only in Lucian’s Podagra that Gout’s victim is poor suggests – if this is not the outcome of the poet’s effort at originality – that he was influenced either by a specific strand in the motif’s reception, unattested elsewhere in the surviving epigrams, or by Lucian’s play itself (or even by another such comedic play or poem that has not survived).82 In line 25, the term ἀνδράποδον creates a comic effect based on the wordplay between it and νόσημα ποδῶν (l. 22).83 There are some Greek sources in which metaphorical language that denotes bondage is used for the victims of the disease.84 But more interestingly, there is an epigram, a non-Greek one, Martial 9.92 that combines all three motifs of slavery, poverty, and gout and, intriguingly, presents further similarities to our epigram.85 I suggest that the epigrammatist of 4 W could have known of Martial’s work and that in his poem he combined material from the motif’s treatment in various sources. Wilkinson spotted two Latin loanwords in the Yale papyrus codex (κούκλαι = cucullus? and φάβα (= faba) in p. 3, ll. 15 and 19) and he suggested that ‘there are occasional indications that he [for Wilkinson Palladas] might have known some Latin poetry, perhaps at least Ovid, Martial, and Juvenal’.86 As he also notes, not much research has been conducted on Palladas’ relationship with Latin literature,87 and – I add – the same applies for the Yale papyrus epigrams and any possible connections with Latin poetry. If this is a single-author collection, then we have a poet expressing his engagement with Latin language at two levels: the use of Latin loanwords as colloquialisms and the absorption and reworking of Latin poetry. Palladas used Latin vocabulary to a greater 82

83 84 85 86 87

Wilkinson (2012a) 46 with n. 197 also argues that the epigrammatist ‘appears to be familiar with Lucian of Samosata’ directing the reader to 4 W; cf. Wilkinson (2012a) 131, where the editor notes that the gouty man is poor in both 4 W and Lucian’s Trag. 70. As suggested by Wilkinson (2012a) 50 and 132. See Wilkinson (2012a) 134. Language of slavery/oppression is also used to stress Penia’s power over men; see e.g. Alkaios fr. 364 V; Ar. Pl. 532–4; Thgn. 173–8 and 181–2 West. Gout is the ‘prop’ of two more epigrams composed by Martial, that is, 1.98 and 7.39. Wilkinson (2012a) 46 and 54. Wilkinson (2012a) 46 n. 196.

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extent than any other epigrammatist,88 and if a thorough study proved his engagement with Latin literature, then we could have another similarity with the poet of the Yale papyrus epigrams. I hope that this chapter will encourage research in this direction. Let us examine Martial 9.92 where it is humorously suggested that being a slave is preferable to a rich man’s life; among the disadvantages of being rich the speaker (Gaius) mentions his suffering from gout in his foot and hand. The phrase podagra cheragraque secatur adapts Catullus 71.2 podagra secat, which is used against a rival lover who suffers from gout because of sex (ipse perit podagra, 71.6):89 quae mala sint domini, quae servi commoda, nescis, Condyle, qui servum te gemis esse diu. dat tibi securos vilis tegeticula somnos, pervigil in pluma Gaius ecce iacet. Gaius a prima tremebundus luce salutat  tot dominos, at tu, Condyle, nec dominum. ‘quod debes, Gai, redde’ inquit Phoebus et illinc Cinnamus: hoc dicit, Condyle, nemo tibi. tortorem metuis? podagra cheragraque secatur Gaius et mallet verbera mille pati.  quod nec mane vomis nec cunnum, Condyle, lingis, non mavis quam ter Gaius esse tuus?

5

10

Condylus, you lament that you have been so long a slave; you don’t know a master’s troubles and a slave’s gains. A cheap little mat gives you carefree slumbers: there’s Gaius lying awake all night on feathers. From daybreak on Gaius trembling salutes so many masters: but you, Condylus, don’t salute even your own. ‘Gaius, repay what you owe’, says Phoebus, and from yonder so says Cinnamus: nobody says that to you, Condylus. You fear the torturer? Gaius suffers from gout in foot and hand90 and would rather take a thousand lashes. 88

89 90

Wilkinson (2012a) 54. Wilkinson (2012a) 46 n. 196 is right to doubt Franke’s opinion ((1899) 79) that ‘Palladas has nothing in common with Martial except for banalities of the genre’ (as paraphrased by Wilkinson) given that no thorough study of the issue exists. Another epigrammatist who uses Latinisms is Nikarchos; see Floridi (2016b) 89–90. Due to space limitations, I do not analyse Martial 9.92; for an analysis, see Henriksén (2012) 356–60. Apart from the disease, ‘gout in hand’ might also imply stinginess when combined with verses 7–8, as is the case in Martial 1.98: litigat et podagra Diodorus, Flacce, laborat. / sed nil patrono porrigit: haec cheragra est (‘Flaccus, Diodorus goes to law and suffers with gout in the feet. But he gives nothing to his counsel. That’s gout in the hand.’) Edited text and translation from Shackleton Bailey (2002) 114–15.

You do not vomit of a morning or lick a cunt, Condylus; isn’t that better than being your Gaius three times over?91 Βoth 4 W and Martial 9.92 employ the motifs of gout and slavery, and a number of further affinities open up the possibility that the Yale papyrus epigrammatist used and adapted certain features of the Latin poem. In both epigrams there is the concept of quid pro quo: in Martial’s epigram the gouty man must repay his creditor, ‘Gaius, pay me back what you owe’ (v. 7), while in 4 W the gouty man refers to a past ‘release’ (ἄφεσιν). The term can denote inter alia freedom from servitude, or legal release from a financial debt or claim.92 Whether one follows Wilkinson’s reconstruction (‘you should provide assistance, for I granted you a release’) or the one suggested here (‘and I want you to help me, not so that you contribute money to me (for I granted you a release), but so that …), the idea of returning a past favour is present. According to the reconstruction proposed in this chapter, the meaning that best suits ἄφεσιν is the one of release from a financial debt or claim (‘… not so that you contribute money to me (for I have let you off any debt), but so that you assist me in this / cooperate/work with me in this (i.e. offer practical help with a problem)). Additionally, in 4 W the gouty man is (or pretends to be) poor and the slave’s poverty is a prominent element in Martial’s poem, too. Moreover, both poems refer to sleep: in Martial’s poem Gaius cannot sleep at nights while the slave sleeps without any worries (vv. 3–4), and in our Yale papyrus epigram there is a mention of a dream/dreams (ll. 32–3). Last but not least, in both poems ‘speaking’ names are used that carry significant connotations. In Martial 9.92 Condylus derives from the Greek κόνδυλος which means both ‘knuckle’ and ‘punch’.93 This makes it an apt name for a slave who is subject to blows (see vv. 9–10); it stresses his inferior status which (in this specific occasion) is still 91

92 93

Verses 9–10 stress the severity of the pains from gout; this is a common motif, as we have seen. See n. 16 in this chapter. Edited text and translation (adapted) from Shackleton Bailey (2006) 310–13. See LSJ, s.v. ἄφεσις. See LSJ (see also κονδυλίζω, ‘strike with the fist’); cf. e.g. Ar. Eq. 411–12, Lys. 366, and Pax 123 and 256. Henriksén (2012) 358 says, ‘[it] would seem clear  … that Condylus here is a fictitious name, although it is not obvious why Martial thought it appropriate for a slave; perhaps it would have suggested thinness’. Suggestions why Martial could have used this specific name are offered in the main text. The same name is used in Martial 5.78.30. Howell (1995) 161 (cited in Soldevila/Castillo/ Valverde (2019) xli; cf. Henriksén (2012) 358) suggested that this is an appropriate name for someone playing the tibia, that is, a flute originally made of bone.

INTERMINGLING GREEK & LATIN MATERIAL IN THE YALE PAPYRUS CODEX

in some respects better than that of his master. At the same time, the name emphasises the humorous contrast between the gouty Gaius and the healthy Condylus (‘Knuckle’), whose kondyloi have not been affected by the disease. One may compare the use of the word in Ocypus 27–8: ἀντέδακα τοῦτον ἀθεράπευτον εὐστόχως, / ὡς ἦν ἔθος μοι κονδύλου ποδὸς τυχεῖν ([Gout says] ‘I bit him back with a well-aimed bite that cannot be healed, in my usual way to hit the foot knuckle’).94 In the same vein, in our Yale papyrus epigram, the name Klematios (a real or fictional character) creates witty effects.95 The name derives from κλῆμα, meaning ‘twig’, ‘branch’, and especially ‘vine-twig’,96 and it creates a particularly humorous effect because the poem is about a gouty man who asks help from a person whose name is associated with wine, one of the basic causes of this disease, when consumed in excess. The same person may be urged to drink.97 Τhe similarities, although some of them are based on tentative readings of the fragmentary 4 W, open up, at least, the possibility that Martial 9.92 is an intertext. In the last surviving part of 4 W (ll. 31–2), Klematios is said to pose a question to himself that involves a teacher and a dream. Wilkinson suggests: ‘And will you also say to yourself: “A teacher is either a fool or a liar if he claims to have seen such a vision”?’98 If the statement in lines 31–2 does not have a general force, but concerns the situation at hand, and if the divinity of line 24 is Gout, the unnamed man could be a teacher and the distich could point to Klematios’ incredulity that Gout visited that man in a dream (since he claims to be poor; compare the phrase χ̣ρ̣υσῆ̣ … Κ]αλλιόπη (l. 34) that could be ironical since teachers, as Wilkinson notes, were proverbially poor99). Could this imply Klematios’ disbelief that the man is in fact sick? The lacunose state of the epigram destines any reading to be hypothetical.100 94

Cf. Lucian’s Trag. 202 περικονδυλοπωροφίλα (‘loving chalk-stones on the knuckles’) (LSJ). 95 The name is unattested before the 3rd century CE, as Wilkinson (2012a) 128–9 tells us. Wilkinson believes that Klematios is a historical figure and suggests an early 4th-century Hermopolite rhetor as a possible candidate. It is at least equally possible that Klematios is a fictional character, but even if he was a historical figure, the connotations of the name would still invite laughter in such a context. 96 See LSJ, s.v. κλῆμα Α. 97 See n. 69 in this chapter. 98 Wilkinson (2012a) 133. 99 See Wilkinson (2012a) 133 and 134 for lines 31–2 and 34. 100 I am wondering, for instance, if παραπ̣αί̣ω̣[ν] (l. 31), which is rare in poetry, should be taken to indicate that the epigram is influenced by Aristophane’s Wealth where we have the agon between the personified Penia and old Chremylos, and where Penia herself connects gout with rich men (Pl. 559). In Pl. 508, Penia

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This is not the first poem to combine deception with gout; the combination appears elsewhere, though in other forms. In the Ocypus, the gouty man arrays a series of fake causes for the pain that he feels; in fact, the topic was quite popular (see e.g. the elegiac poem in P. Oxy. 31.2532 that mocks the tendency of those suffering from gout to disguise the nature of their disease).101 In Martial 7.39, a man feigns gout to avoid saluting his patrons. Here, we could have a man claiming to be undeservingly gouty – he is not (or claims not to be) rich. It is a pity that only fragments of this epigram survive.102 If the poem was influenced by Martial 9.92, then I wonder – and this is, of course, only hypothetical  – if the reference to ‘a slave to two’ (l. 35) does not refer to Gout and Kalliope,103 but to two creditors as in Martial 9.92. However, equally possibly, the phrase can refer to Gout/gout and Poverty/poverty. 3

Conclusions

As the analysis of the selected epigrams shows, there is a tendency in the epigrammatic genre to absorb and miniaturise themes and motifs that were explored already in Athenian Old Comedy and survived through the ages in Greek comic paratragedies of the imperial era. As far as Lucian AP 11.403 is concerned, we most likely have one poet who used and innovatively adapted the same topic in two poetic forms: epigram and paratragedy. Epigram 4 W amalgamates and reinvigorates material from Greek epigram, Greek comedy, and possibly Latin epigram (Martial 9.92). In combination with other instances of adaptation of earlier poetry in the Yale papyrus codex,104 4 W suggests that

101 102 103 104

accuses the old men that they are ‘comrades of the order of balderdash and lunacy’ (translation from Sommerstein (2001) 83). The dream may not consider G/gout, but P/poverty and wealth or even the Muse Kalliope who is mentioned in line 34. See e.g. Watson/Watson (2003) 320. Cf. Wilkinson (2012a) 132. The poem ‘was originally at least eighteen lines in length and continued at the top of the subsequent page (now lost)’, as Wilkinson notes (2012a) 130. Wilkinson (2012a) 134, who also suggests that here we might have an echo of Comparatio Menandri et Philistionis (2.118–19 Jäkel). See n. 4 in this chapter. Additionally, a common feature between iambos (see e.g. Hippon. frs 26 and 26a West), Greek comedy, and the Yale papyrus codex is the use of lists of foods characterised by a certain level of granularity. In 17 W (p. 8, ll. 1–25) we have a long list of foodstuffs. The poet could have been inspired by the use of food in Greek comedy and iambos (research is required in this direction), and perhaps also by Martial (whose epigrams include long lists of food items). It is also possible that 33 W (p. 16, ll. 14–19), which deals with (or uses) Phaethon’s death, employed material from earlier treatments of the myth

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other poems too in the Yale papyrus codex could bear the influence of diverse literary genres, and both Greek and Latin sources. Unfortunately, the lacunose state of the poems makes it often difficult for us to detect any intertexts and subtexts. The possible existence of Latin echoes (e.g. Aischylos wrote (a now lost) tragedy with the title Heliades and Euripides’ Phaethon survives only in fragmentary form).

in 4 W is a fascinating prospect and I hope, as mentioned earlier in this chapter,105 that further research will be conducted on the reception of Latin poetry in the epigrams of the Yale papyrus codex as well as in Palladas’ epigrams preserved in the Greek Anthology. 105 See p. 84 in this chapter.

Appendix 1 The ascriptions of the philosophical/gnomic epigrams in the related sources:1 AP 5.72 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; caret Pl AP 9.134 ἄδηλον P (C); Παλλαδᾶ P (Cγρ); ἀδέσποτον Pl AP 9.170 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 9.172 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 9.379 ἄδηλον P, Pl; Παλλαδᾶ P (Cγρ); ? P. CtYBR inv. 4000 AP 9.394 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 9.399 Παλλαδᾶ P (erasit C); caret Pl AP 9.400 Παλλαδᾶ P1; s.a.n. P2, Pl AP 9.499 ἄδηλον P, Pl AP 9.500 ἄλλο P; ἄδηλον Pl AP 10.34 Παλλαδᾶ P, Pl AP 10.45 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 10.46 Παλλαδᾶ P; τοῦ αὐτοῦ Pl AP 10.51 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl AP 10.52 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl; s.a.n. SC AP 10.54 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 10.58 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl1, Pl2; Λουκιανοῦ codex Riccardianus 25, Michael Apostolios 5.41e = CPG II, 344, Ioannes Georgides 263 Odorico; s.a.n. SC, SD, SGO 17/12/02 (from Megiste-Lykia) AP 10.59 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl AP 10.60 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl AP 10.61 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl AP 10.62 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl AP 10.63 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 10.65 Παλλαδᾶ P; τοῦ αὐτοῦ Pl

AP 10.72 Παλλαδᾶ P; τοῦ αὐτοῦ Pl; s.a.n. SC, SD AP 10.73 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl; s.a.n. SC, SD AP 10.75 Παλλαδᾶ P; τοῦ αὐτοῦ Pl AP 10.77 Παλλαδᾶ P; τοῦ αὐτοῦ Pl AP 10.78 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 10.79 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 10.80 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 10.81 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl; Φιλήμονος codex Laurentianus 5.10 AP 10.82 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; s.a.n. Pl AP 10.84 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl; s.a.n. SC, SD AP 10.85 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 10.87 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P1; s.a.n. P2; Παλλαδᾶ Pl; s.a.n. SGO 03/02/46 AP 10.88 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl AP 10.90 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl AP 10.91 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl AP 10.93 s.a.n. P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 10.95 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; s.a.n. Pl AP 10.96 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; s.a.n. Pl AP 10.98 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl AP 11.282 s.a.n. P; τοῦ αὐτοῦ (Loukillios) Pl AP 11.289 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 11.300 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P, Pl AP 11.305 τοῦ αὐτοῦ P; Παλλαδᾶ Pl AP 11.349 Παλλαδᾶ P, Pl; s.a.n. SC, SD AP 15.20 s.a.n. P1, P2; caret Pl

1 Unless otherwise specified, τοῦ αὐτοῦ = ‘of Palladas’. Abbreviations used: AP = Anthologia Palatina; Cγρ = corrector of P; s.a.n. = sine auctoris nomine; S = Sylloge Parisina; SC = Sylloge Crameriana; SD = Sylloge Diltheiana. For the repetition of certain epigrams in the MSS (P1 and P2; Pl1 and Pl2), see Beckby’s edition. The list does not contain epigrams that could be described as gnomic/philosophical but have a clear skoptic side, too. Such epigrams are mentioned in the footnotes of Chapter 5.

© Maria Kanellou and Chris Carey, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004521353_010

Appendix 2 Textual variants in the philosophical/gnomic epigrams:1 AP 9.134 v. 7: παίζοιτ’ ἵετε θέλοιτε οὓς P; παίζοιτε στροφέοιτε ὅσους Pl AP 9.379 v. 1: ὗς P, Pl; οἶς P. CtYBR inv. 4000; μῦς edd. vett. || v. 2: ἀλλὰ τόδ’ οὐχ οὕτω P, Pl; ἀλλ’ ἐγώ· ‘οὐχ̣ οὕ̣τ⸤̣ ω’ P. CtYBR inv. 4000 || v. 3: ὗς P, Pl; οἶς P. CtYBR inv. 4000; μῦς edd. vett. || v. 4: τὸν δὲ κακὸν P, Pl; τοὺς δὲ κακοὺς P. CtYBR inv. 4000 AP 10.61 v. 2: σωφροσύνας P; σωφροσύνης Pl AP 10.82 v. 1: ἄρα μὴ P; μή που Pl

AP 10.84 v. 4: φερόμενον P, SC, SD; συρόμενον Pl AP 10.87 v. 1: γελῶμεν P1, P2; γ’ ἕλωμεν SGO 03/02/46 || v. 2: τύχην τε πόρνης ῥεύμασιν κινουμένην P1, P2; πινῶντες ἢ τρυφῶντες ἢ λελουμένοι SGO 03/02/46 AP 10.96 v. 2: ἀκαίρους μεταβολὰς τὰς τοῦ βίου P; ἀκαίρους τοῦ βίου μεταστροφὰς Pl || v. 9: ἐξ ἀδήλου φαινομένης P; τῷ βίῳ φανερουμένης Pl AP 11.289 v. 3: Εὐρώπης Pac; ἐν ῥοπῆς Ppc m. rec.; ἐν ῥοπαῖς Pl

1 Abbreviations used: edd. vet. = editiones veteres; m. rec. = manu recentiore; Pac = P ante correctionem; Ppc = P post correctionem. See also n. 1, p. 87 of this volume.

© Maria Kanellou and Chris Carey, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004521353_011

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General Index This index lists references to Greek and Latin texts as found in the main text and the footnotes. To avoid repetition, footnote references are not listed separately in cases where the footnote merely expands on the discussion of a passage in the main text. Ancient authors and their texts are gathered in the Index Locorum. References to Palladas and the Yale Papyrus Codex are spread in this book. Achilles 17, 20, 31, 33, 34, 37, 40, 64 n. 85 Agamemnon 34, 40, 56 Aiakos 65 Akamas 17 Alekto 76 Alexandria 2, 4 n. 36, 22, 23, 29, 40, 50 allusions to earlier poetry in  4 W 74–86 8 W  10–13, 27, 74 n. 4 13 W 21, 37, 55–6 20 W 9–10, 22, 26, 27, 64, 74 n. 4 22 W  8, 27 23 W 27, 40–1, 56–7 35 W  16–19, 22, 27, 29, 38, 74 n. 4 36 W 23, 27, 37 Agathias’ Cycle 3–4, 14, 15–16, 23, 24 n. 32, 31 n. 11  Andromache 35, 37 anger 4, 6, 8, 14, 21, 22, 31–8, 39–40, 42 n. 4, 57–8, 60, 64 divine 31–3, 36, 37, 46 Antonius Polemon 28, 78 n. 40 Aphrodite 55, 64, 74–6 Apollo 38 n 37, 65 Ares 55, 65 Aristeides (the Just?) 8 n. 14, 21, 55, 56 Artemon 12–13, 27, 74 n. 4 Asklepios 65 athletes 25, 26, 28, 77, 78 Aurelius Asclepiades 68 Bakchos 14, 74, 75 beans 50, 52, 60–1 Bellerophon 39, 65 biting 12, 14, 17 n. 86, 52, 57–8, 61–2, 65, 85 Briseis 34 carpe diem 50, 64, 77 Chalkis 40, 69, 70 Christianity 4, 11, 45, 47, 48–9, 50, 52, 53, 59, 64 city council (boule) 6, 22 n. 11, 66–73 collar  11, 12 comedy 6, 11, 13 n. 53, 26, 27, 59, 74, 76, 81, 85–6 Condylus 84–5 consul/consulship 6, 38–9, 40 crimes/criminals: adultery 3, 10, 21, 27, 32, 70 corruption, see politics/politicians  imprisonment 12 murder 11, 12, 64 punishment 12, 13, 39, 74–85 stealing 7, 22, 25, 26, 27, 36, 40, 64, 68–9, 76 cutting 57–8, 65 Damonikos 6, 40, 41 Deiphobos 75

delusion (typhos) 44–5 Demeter 23 n. 25, 65 dictum 21, 23, 50, 61 disease: literal 60 n. 55, 76 metaphorical of human ignorance  50 of political situations  57, 64, 68 of the Cynic lifestyle  58 of feet, see G/gout  Dorotheos 36 dreams 44, 82, 84, 85 eclecticism 44–5 Egypt/Egyptians  1, 2, 4 n. 36, 8, 11, 22, 28, 29, 36, 40, 41, 50, 64 n. 83, 66–72 Epigenes 81 epigram: admonitory 24 ekphrastic 10, 14–5, 25–6, 65 n. 94 epideictic passim; see esp. 14–16 erotic 14–16, 17–9, 22, 27, 30, 42 n. 5, 77 Homeric influences 8, 17–18, 27, 31–6, 40, 42, 47–8, 56, 75 homoerotic 20, 80–1 mock dedications 25–6 philosophical/gnomic 4, 6, 7–8, 39, 42–53 skoptic passim sepulchral 10, 14, 20, 25, 38–41, 78 cenotaphic 9–10, 22, 26 mock epitaphs  25–6 see also the individual epigrams in the Index Locorum epigrammatic sequences/pairs 2 n. 14, 3–4, 5, 6, 7, 10, 15–16, 19, 24, 30–41, 49, 58 see also the Index Locorum E/eros: deity/personified emotion 17–18, 57 n. 25, 64, 65 n. 94, 74–5 eros/desire 17–18, 19, 20, 22, 75, 80–1 symptoms/lovesickness 5, 8, 17, 18, 22, 37–8, 47 n. 43 ethopoiia  23 Eumaios 75 fathers’ heads 50, 60–1 figurative language 6, 54–65 Gaius 84–5 Galerius 5 n. 49, 6, 22, 28 n. 84, 67, 71 Gessios/Gestios 6, 8–9, 10, 22, 37 n. 32, 38–41, 66, 78 gnome 45, 47–8 G/gout 6, 8, 21, 38 n. 42, 58, 65, 74–86 grammar/grammarian 23–4, 26, 31, 33–7, 42 n. 4, 45–6, 49, 51, 56, 70 Hades 22, 27, 35, 38, 39, 40, 42 n. 4, 61, 64, 65, 69, 70, 76, 77, 78, 80 Hektor 17, 35

97

General Index Helen 32, 34, 75 Heliades 19–20, 22, 23, 63, 66 n. 6, 85–6 n. 104 Helios 65 Hephaistos 31, 55 Hera 32, 48, 59 Herakles 64 Hermaios 10, 21, 27, 66, 70 Hermes 7, 26–7, 32, 55, 64, 65, 66 n. 6, 70 Hermopolis/Hermopolite 2, 3, 5 nn. 46 and 49, 10–12, 13, 21, 26, 27, 28, 29, 31, 50, 64, 66, 70, 71, 85 n. 95 Heron 22, 27, 66, 69–70 Hieron of Syracuse 20, 67 Hypatia 4 n. 36, 46 hyperbole 5, 11, 26, 27, 29, 62, 78–9 Hypsenor 75 iambos  4, 7, 21, 26, 28 n. 90, 29, 33, 37 n. 34, 38, 57, 78 n. 38, 85–6 n. 104 idioms 6, 60–3, 65 imagery 54–65 India 67, 71–2 invective passim Kallimachos 2 n. 13, 9, 21, 23, 27, 31 n. 8, 36, 37, 55, 74 n. 4 Kalliope 64, 65, 66 n. 6, 82, 85 Kephalas 5, 14, 15–16, 19, 20, 24, 30, 31, 33, 38, 40 Kirke 64 Klematios 10, 21, 31, 37, 51, 66, 81–2, 83, 85 Klytaimnestra 55 knife 52, 57, 58 Kore 65 Ladas (athlete) 78 Lasthenes 8, 22, 66 lameness 38, 78 lily (krinon) 58–60, 82, 83 Lykon of Troas 78 Lykopolis/Lykopolite 2, 28, 57, 64, 66, 68 maxim, see gnome meat-hook (kreagra) 80–1 Megaira 76 Meleager’s Garland 2, 3–4, 14 n. 64, 24 n. 32, 25, 30, 33 Menippos 76 mist (achlys) 16–18, 37–8 mockery passim Moira (Fate) 38, 39, 48, 64, 65, 76–7 n. 25 mosquito nets 15–16 mouse 58, 62 Muse(s) 2, 9–10, 22, 26, 34, 37, 63 n. 76, 64, 65, 66 n. 6, 85 n. 100 mythological exempla 5, 6, 20, 23, 26, 27, 63–5 names: fictive 8, 11, 27 speaking  16, 36, 40, 84–5 Neilos: criminal (8 W) 3, 10–14, 21, 26–7, 28, 31, 50, 64 n. 86, 66, 70–1 rhetor 11 n. 42 Saint Neilos of Ankyra 11 Nero 21 n. 4, 28, 29, 37 Nile 10–14, 26–7, 50, 64 n. 86, 65, 70–2, 74 n. 4 Niobe 20, 64

Odysseus 32, 33, 34–5, 37, 64, 69 n. 29, 75 Oinomaos 27, 52, 57–8, 63 n. 71, 66 n. 6 old age/man 4, 7–8, 14, 17, 19, 20, 22, 26, 31, 37–8, 58–60, 65, 78, 81, 82–3, 85 n. 100 Paian 65 Palladas of Alexandria passim date 5, 6, 21 n. 1, 28, 30 n. 4, 47, 54, 66 n. 4 life 4, 28, 44–52, 54 poems in the Greek Anthology, see the Index Locorum and the Yale Papyrus Codex, see the Index Locorum Pandora 31–2, 33, 47 n. 43, 55, 75 n. 8 paratragedy 6, 74–5, 77–80, 82–3, 85 Paris 34, 75 parody passim Pegasos 65 Penelope 18 n. 95, 32, 35, 75 Phaethon 5, 19–20, 22, 23, 27, 63–4, 66 n. 6, 86 n. 104 Philip’s Garland  2, 4, 28 philosophical schools: Cynicism/Cynics 6, 8, 21, 44, 45, 51–2, 57–8, 76 Epicureanism 6, 44, 45, 51, 52 Neoplatonism 4 n. 36, 44–6 Pythagoreanism 6, 10, 21, 44, 45, 50–1, 52, 61 Stoicism 6, 44, 45, 51, 52 pig, see sheep vs pig Pluto 64, 65, 66 n. 6, 69 poetic rivalry 10, 22 political unrest 55–6, 69–70 politics/politicians 2, 5, 6, 7, 8–10, 11, 13, 22, 27, 28, 29, 31, 38–41, 55–6, 62–3, 66, 67–70 Polydoros 17 Polyphemos 59, 65 Poseidon 17 n. 86, 48, 65 poverty/beggary  4, 7 n. 5, 12–13, 21, 31, 34–7, 44, 51, 56, 58–60, 64, 76, 78, 79, 82–5 personified/deified (Penia) 76, 82, 85 Priam 20, 64 n. 85 proverbs 4, 14, 23, 52, 59, 60, 61–3, 65, 82 n. 75, 85 prytanis (and cognates) 3, 6, 22, 31, 40, 66–73 puns 5, 21, 26, 27, 35, 36, 37, 38 n. 41, 39, 40, 69, 71, 72 Pythagoras 45, 50, 52, 61, 76 ‘rags to riches’ motif 12–13, 27, 74 n. 4 Red Sea 72 Rhadamanthys 65 riddles 13–14 Rumour (Pheme) 46–7 Sarapis 12 n. 48, 36 Sarpedon 17, 18 Sarmates 6, 66–73 second-person addresses 5, 24, 26, 27 semiotics 54–65 sex 19, 24, 26, 27, 32, 38 n. 41, 40, 75–6, 77–8, 80–1, 84 sheep vs pig 52, 61–2 silence  34, 45, 50 simile 6, 54, 58–60, 65 Skinepoïs 2, 3, 8, 22, 28, 56, 66 skōmma/skōptein  23, 24, 26 slaves/slavery 3, 11, 53, 59, 60, 65, 82–5 snake 4, 17 n. 86, 52, 61–2

98

General Index

Tantalos 64, 76 n. 18 teacher 4, 34, 36, 37, 70, 82, 85 tears 40, 41, 49, 63, 68–9 Telemachos 75 Theon 36, 37, 48 titles in anthologies  1, 2, 3, 8, 10, 13, 14–15, 24–5, 26, 30–1, 35 n. 29, 57, 66 n. 3, 67, 81, 83 tomb 3, 9–10, 14, 36, 64, 77–8 topicality 2–3, 5, 8, 27–8, 29, 66 Triphis 2, 22, 28, 57, 64, 65, 66 n. 6, 68 Tyche (Fortune) 14–16, 31, 34–5, 39, 43, 48, 50–1, 54, 65

wine drawn off 7–8, 60, 65 war: literal 8, 10, 17–18, 23, 33–6, 67 metaphorical 17–18, 26, 33–6, 83 death on the battlefield 17–18, 75 wealth/the rich 12–13, 34–5, 37, 39, 44, 51, 59, 60, 68, 69 n. 29, 74–80, 82–5 deified/personified (Ploutos) 69, 76, 79–80 women: mockery of wives 25, 32–5, 37, 56 of women 26, 31–4 of old women 25, 26, 81 ‘dog-woman’ 55–6 intercourse with, see sex worldly wisdom 6, 44, 53

Underworld, see Hades

Zeus 9, 19, 22, 27, 32, 33, 35–6, 37, 47 n. 43, 55, 63, 64, 65, 80–1

soul 12 n. 45, 18, 35–6, 42 n. 4, 45, 61 surrealism  27, 29 symposium  19 n. 99, 23–4, 75, 77, 79–80

wine/drinking 4, 7–8, 14, 19 n. 99, 31 n. 9, 59, 60, 65, 75–6, 77, 79–80, 83, 85

Index Locorum Literary Sources Adespota AP 1.10.54 20 n. 106 AP 1.100 11 AP 6.283.4 = HE 39.4 78 n. 41 AP 9.49 34 n. 27 AP 9.480 57 AP 9.583 15 AP 9.584 15 n. 68 AP 11.270–1 28 n. 93 AP 11.273 38 n. 41 APl 318 38 n. 37 FGE 135.5–6 = adesp. elegiaca 27.5–6 West = fr. adespoton 12.5–6 Gentili–Prato (= P. Berol. 13270 ) 23 n. 25 Aesop 290 Perry Prov. 12 = CPG II, 229

61 52

Agathias AP 4.3 14–15, 23 AP 9.153 23 AP 9.766 15–16 Aischines In Ctes. 3.81 In Tim. 1.128–9

57 n. 20 46 n. 36

Aischylos Ag. 1228 55 Pers. 546 63 n. 75 Th. 620–4 8 Alkaios fr. 70.7 V fr. 129.23 V fr. 364 V fr. X14 col. ii PLF

56 56 82, 83 n. 84 60 n. 55

Alkaios of Messene AP 7.412 = HE 14 64 n. 85 AP 7.536 = HE 13 14–15 n. 65 AP 9.518–19 = HE 1–2 28 Alkman fr. 3.61 PMG

75 n. 11

Ammianos AP 11.15 27 AP 11.181 27 AP 11.229 77, 78–9 AP 11.230 27 AP 11.231 27 AP 11.413 22 Anakreon 388 PMG 418 PMG

12–13, 27, 74 n. 4 19 n. 103

Andokides 1.146

63 n. 75

Antipater of Sidon AP 9.151 = HE 59 23 Antipater of Thessalonike AP 9.23.7 = GPh 71.7 23 AP 9.149–50 = GPh 68–68A 56 AP 9.297.4 = GPh 47.4 21 n. 4 AP 11.219 = GPh 98 26 nn. 49 and 59 AP 11.327 = GPh 8 26 n. 53 Antiphanes AP 9.409 = GPh 6 AP 11.168 = GPh 8 AP 11.322.1–2 = GPh 9.1–2 AP 11.348 = GPh 10

26 n. 61 26 n. 61 9 n. 27 26 n. 48

Antiphilos AP 9.415 = GPh 43 AP 11.66 = GPh 51

60 n. 55 26 n. 58

Aratos Phaen. 1

37 n. 32

Archias AP 9.339 = GPh 23 23 Archilochos fr. 48.6 West fr. 191.1–2 West fr. 193 West fr. 196 West fr. 196a.35 West fr. 215 West

19 n. 103 17 18 n. 89 75 n. 11 19 57 n. 22

Apollonios Rhodios Argon. 3.725–6 17 n. 88 3.948–65 18 n. 90 3.958 18 3.960 18 3.962 18 3.962–3 18 3.964–5 18 4.1524–5 17 n. 86 9.367 18 Aristophanes Ach. 848–50 10 n. 35 993–9 19 n. 103 Ec. 1002–4 81 Eq. 411–12 84 n. 93 772 81 769–72 81

100

Index Locorum

Aristophanes (cont.) Lys. 366 84 n. 93 499 51 684 62 n. 68 Nu. 862 17 1380–90 17 Pax 123 84 n. 93 256 84 n. 93 978–85 10 n. 35 Pl. 87–91 51 n. 81 415–626 82 508 85 n. 100 532–4 83 n. 84 559 85 n. 100 559–60 76 Ra. 674–85 11 n. 39 1006 51 V. 187 51 1003 51 1022 9 Heroes fr. 322 K–A 76 Aristotle Po. 1449b8 Pol.1336b20 Rh. 1358b 1358b15 1358b23 1395a20–33 Rh.Al. 1.1

57 n. 22 57 n. 22 14, 23 n. 20 15 n. 69 15 n. 69 62 n. 63 15 n. 69

Asklepiades AP 7.500.1 = HE 31.1 10 AP 12.46 = HE 15 1 AP 12.50.5 = HE 16.5 29 n. 52 AP 12.162.4 = HE 23.4 17 n. 81 Athenaeus 8.343f = Juba of Mauretania FGE 1 8.344f = Hedylos HE 7 = 7 Fld. 8.344f–345a = Hedylos HE 7–8 = 7–8 Fld. 8.344f–345a = Hedylos HE 8 = 8 Fld. 8.344f–345b = Hedylos HE 7–9 = 7–9 Fld. 8.345a–b = Hedylos HE 9 = 9 Fld. 10.414d = Poseidippos HE 16 = 121 A–B 12.78 12.533f = Anakreon 388 PMG 27.14

28 n. 88 26 n. 55 26 n. 60 26 n. 54 25 26 nn. 49, 54 and 60 25, 26 n. 60 59 n. 41 12 59 n. 40

Aulus Cornelius Celsus De medicina 4.31 76 Automedon AP 11.319 = GPh 5 26 n. 54 AP 11.324 = GPh 6 25

AP 11.346 = GPh 8 AP 11.361.3 = GPh 9.3

26 n. 48 26 n. 52

Babrios 2.14 57 Barboukallos AP 9.425 23 AP 9.426 23 Bassos AP 11.72 = GPh 10

26 n. 58

Catullus 71.2 84 71.6 84 116 37 n. 32 Cicero Div. 1.62 61 2.119 61 Luc. 93 45 n. 25 Demosthenes 3.29 13 n. 52 18.129 13 n. 53 19.259 57 n. 20 19.262 57 n. 20 21.148 12 24.124 13 n. 52 [Demosthenes] 25.51–3

13 n. 53

Diodoros of Sicily 5.23 63 Diogenes Laertius 5.68 = AP 7.112 78 6.1.104 58 6.22 58 6.40 58 6.60 57 n. 26 8.24 61 8.34 61 8.39–40 61 8.45 61 Diogenianos Centuria 5.10 = CPG I, 250 5.87 = CPG I, 268 8.51 = CPG II, 773 = CPG I, 315

59 52, 61 52

Dionysios of Halikarnassos Comp. 18

57 n. 22

Dionysios Periegetes 291 63

101

Index Locorum Dioscorides AP 5.52 = HE 6 AP 7.485 = HE 25

64 n. 85 64 n. 85

Diphilos fr. 98 K–A

59–60

Douris AP 9.424 = HE 1 23 Epicurus Ep. Hdt. 63–6

45 n. 21

Epigrammatic Sequences/Pairs AP 6.60–1 31 AP 7.681–8 6, 9, 22 nn. 6 and 7, 31, 37 n. 32, 38–41 AP 7.683–4 38, 39 AP 7.686–8 38 AP 9.149–50 56 AP 9.165–7 31–3 AP 9.165–75 6, 31–7 AP 9.170–2 34–5 AP 9.174–5 36 AP 9.180–3 31 AP 9.313–37 14 n. 64 AP 9.502–3 31 n. 9 AP 9.563–8 14 n. 64 AP 9.764–6 15–16 AP 10.44–63 31 AP 10.44–65 49 AP 10.50–2 31 n. 10 AP 10.55–7 31 n. 10 AP 10.64–76 31 n. 11 AP 10.72–3 31 AP 10.72–99 49 AP 10.77–99 31 AP 10.92–9 37 n. 32 AP 11.54–5 31 n. 9 AP 11.76–86 26 n. 68 AP 11.88–96 26 n. 62 AP 11.99–107 26 n. 62 AP 11.109–11 26 n. 62 AP 11.112–26 26 n. 67 AP 11.127–37 26 n. 69 AP 11.138–40 26 n. 65 AP 11.153–8 26 n. 66 AP 11.174–84 7 n. 5 AP 11.185–9 26 n. 70 AP 11.270–1 28 n. 93 AP 11.283–5 31 n. 12, 38, 40 AP 11.283–93 31 AP 11.289–90 31 n. 9 AP 11.299–302 31 AP 11.340–1 31 n. 9 Erinna AP 7.712 = HE 2

64 n. 85

Erykios AP 7.377 = GPh 13

28 n. 88

Etymologicum Magnum 114.17

60 n. 50

Eunapios VS 493

29 n. 101

Euripides El. 207–10 59 239 59 376 82 n. 75 Hel. 134 63 n. 75 Med. 431 45 Or. 1641 60 Supp. 47 75 n. 11 Eusebius of Caesarea PE 8.14.66 45 Gregory of Nazianzus Carmen de se ipso PG 37.1369.3–4 =  Carmen 2.1.44.221 45 Carmen 1.2.2.435 47 n. 43 1.2.15–16 47 n. 43 1.2.29.115–17 47 n. 43 1.2.31.7–8 47–8 1.2.31.41–2 47 n. 43 2.1.13.168 47 n. 43 2.1.50.45 47 n. 43 Or. 17.9 47 n. 45 38.13 47 n. 45 AP 8.151.1–2 47 Hadrian AP 9.137 = FGE 3

63 n. 79

Hedylos AP 11.123 = HE 11 = 11 Fld. AP 11.414 = HE 12 HE 7 = 7 Fld. = Ath. 8.344f HE 7–8 = 7–8 Fld. = Ath. 8.344f –345a HE 7–9 = 7–9 Fld. = Ath. 8.344f –345b HE 8 = 8 Fld. = Ath. 8.344f –345a HE 9 = 9 Fld. = Ath. 8.345a–b

26 n. 51 74–7 26 n. 55 26 n. 60 25 26 n. 54 26 nn. 49, 54 and 60

Hephaistion (grammarian) Enchiridion 5

57 n. 22

Herodas 1.71 8.60

38 n. 43 78 n. 38

Herodian De prosodia catholica GG III, I 1, 72

72

Herodikos SH 494 = FGE 1

26 n. 65

102

Index Locorum

Herodotos 6.110 67 7.194 12 n. 49 8.111.1 82 Hesiod Op. 47 32 n. 15 53 32 n. 15 66 75 n. 8 67 55 80 32 n. 19 81–2 32 82 32 n. 18 94 32 n. 19 264 56 704–5 56 763–4 46–7 Th. 120–2 74–5 337–8 12 n. 44 513 32 n. 19 533 32 n. 15 554 32 n. 15 561 32 n. 15 568 32 n. 15 570 32 n. 17 585 32 n. 17 591 33 600 33 615 32 n. 15 910–11 75 Hesychios K 4135, s.v. κρίνον 59 Σ 2002, s.v. στρηνιῶντες 39 Himerios Or. 48.14.1 p. 20 Colonna

62 n. 61

Hipponax fr. 3a West fr. 20 West fr. 26 West fr. 26a West fr. 30 West fr. 32 West fr. 68 West fr. 79 West fr. 117 West

7 n. 5 78 n. 38 85 n. 104 85 n. 104 10 n. 35 7 n. 5 33 n. 21 7 n. 5 7 n. 5

Homer Il. 1.1 34 1.5 36 1.1–5 36 1.230 56 1.231 40 1.311 33 5.176 75 n. 13 5.399 18 n. 89 5.696 18

9.503 26 n. 52 11.579 75 n. 13 13.360 75 n. 13 13.410–12 75 14.200 47–8 15.291 75 n. 13 16.341–3 17 16.343 18 16.638–40 18 16.640 18 17.349 75 n. 13 20.58 47–8 20.321 17 n. 86 20.421 17 22.213 63 n. 75 22.335 75 n. 13 23.101 63 n. 75 24.498 75 n. 13 24.601–20 20, 64 n. 85 Od. 4.794 18 n. 95 7.83 79 n. 47 7.89 79 n. 47 8.319 55 14.69 75, 75 n. 12 16.273 34 n. 26 18.189 18 n. 95 18.212 75 18.212–13 75 n. 12 18.238 75, 75 n. 14 18.241 75 n. 14 19.118 35 20.57 75 n. 11 20.357 17 n. 86 23.343 75 n. 11 24.238 75 n. 13 Homeric Hymns h.Cer. 203 23 n. 25 h.Merc. 176–81 7 Horace Carm. 1.5.5–16 60 n. 55 Sat. 2.6.63–4 61 Iamblichos VP 72–3

45 n. 27

Ibykos 286 PMG

19

Isokrates 1.3 15 n. 69 10.34 12.99

57 n. 20 57 n. 20

Juba of Mauretania Ath. 8.343f = FGE 1

28 n. 88

Julian Or. 6.181c 59

103

Index Locorum Juvenal 13.96–7 78 Kallimachos AP 7.271.4 = HE 45.4 10 fr. 633 Pf. 9 fr. 110 Harder 31 n. 8 Kometas Scholastikos AP 9.597.1 18 Krates fr. 4 K–A

62 n. 68

Kratinos fr. 237.1 K–A

63 n. 76

Krinagoras AP 9.562.7 = GPh 24.7 = 24.7 Y. APl 40.6 = GPh 36.6 = 36.6 Y.

21 n. 4 22 n. 4

Kyrillos AP 9.369

2 n. 16

Leonidas of Alexandria AP 6.321.2 = FGE 1.2 AP 6.327 = FGE 6 AP 6.328.2 = FGE 7.2 AP 9.349.2 = FGE 26.2

22 n. 4 2 n. 16 22 n. 4 22 n. 4

Leonidas of Tarentum AP 6.302 = HE 37 58 n. 34 AP 7.408 = HE 58 14–15 n. 65 AP 7.455 = HE 68 25 AP 7.652.7–8 = HE 15.7–8 10 Libanios Ep. 1301 Or. 31 35 48

70 n. 36 70 n. 36 70 n. 36

Loukillios AP 9.572 = 2 F. AP 11.68 = 5 F. AP 11.69 = 6 F. AP 11.69.2 = 6.2 F. AP 11.76 = 8 F. AP 11.78 = 10 F. AP 11.79 = 11 F. AP 11.80 = 12 F. AP 11.81 = 13 F. AP 11.83 = 14 F. AP 11.84 = 15 F. AP 11.85 = 16 F. AP 11.87 = 17 F. AP 11.88 = 18 F. AP 11.89 = 19 F. AP 11.90 = 20 F. AP 11.91 = 21 F. AP 11.92 = 22 F.

21 n. 4, 37, 64 n. 88 26 nn. 48 and 58 26 n. 58 26 n. 55 26 n. 48 26 n. 48 26 n. 51 25 n. 45 25 n. 45 26 n. 51 25 n. 45 26 n. 51 26 n. 51 26 n. 54 26 n. 51 26 n. 51 26 n. 51 26 n. 51

76 n. 22

AP 11.93 = 23 F. 26 n. 51 AP 11.94 = 24 F. 26 n. 51 AP 11.95 = 25 F. 26 n. 51 AP 11.104 = 30 F. 20 n. 106, 26 n. 54, 63–4 AP 11.107 = 33 F. 26 n. 54 AP 11.116 = 39 F. 26 n. 54 AP 11.116.1 = 39.1 F. 21 n. 4 AP 11.131 = 40 F. 26 n. 54, 64 AP 11.132.1 = 41.1 F. 21 n. 4 AP 11.133 = 42 F. 27 AP 11.139 = 48 F. 26 n. 55 AP 11.140.3 = 49.3 F. 23–4 AP 11.143 = 52 F. 27 AP 11.174 = 64 F. 7 n. 5, 25–6 AP 11.176 = 66 F. 7, 25–6 AP 11.185.1 = 72.1 F. 21 n. 4 AP 11.192 = 76 F. 26 n. 63 AP 11.206 = 81 F. 26 n. 50 AP 11.214 64 n. 80 AP 11.239 = 93 F. 26 n. 54 AP 11.240 = 94 F. 26 n. 53 AP 11.245 = 95 F. 26 n. 53 AP 11.246 = 96 F. 25–6 AP 11.247 = 97 F. 26 n. 53 AP 11.247.5 = 97.5 F. 21 n. 4 AP 11.249 = 98 F. 26 n. 53 AP 11.253 = 99 F. 25–6 AP 11.258 = 103 F. 25 n. 45 AP 11.259.5 = 104.5 F. 26 n. 48 AP 11.276 = 108 F. 26 n. 64 AP 11.277 = 109 F. 26 n. 64 AP 11.279 37 AP 11.312 = 116 F. 64 n. 88 AP 11.338 = 121 F. 24 n. 34 AP 11.339 = 122 F. 24 n. 34 AP 11.390 = 123 F. 24 n. 34 Lucian / Pseudo-Lucian AP 11.403 6, 75 n. 14, 79–80, 85 Bis Acc. 33 57 n. 26 Fug. 19 60 n. 49 Gall. 23 76 Nec. 11 76 Ocyp. 3–4 80 5 80 13 80 15–16 75 n. 16 21 80 27–8 85 29–30 75 n. 16 33 78 35–6 75 n. 16 37–8 80 41 78 56–7 78 67 75 n. 16 71 75 n. 16 77 75 n. 16 109 80, 82 111 82 137–9 80

104

Index Locorum

Lucian / Pseudo-Lucian (cont.) 145 75 n. 16 146 78 147 78 149 80 150–1 75 n. 16 158 80 169 80 195–7 80 249 80 251 80 Sat. 28 79 n. 50 Tim. 20–1 80 Trag. 1–29 75 n. 16 2–6 76 9–15 76 n. 18 70 83 n. 82 75 82 85 80 n. 54 99–111 76–7 n. 25 111 76–7 n. 25 119 80 119–24 75 n. 16 127 82 132 82 138–9 80 n. 54 140–77 80 n. 55 143–5 80 181–5 74 n. 2 188 80 191–203 80 n. 54 195–7 80 202 85 n. 94 249 80 251 80 275–90 80 n. 55 297–307 75 n. 16 299 80 332–4 74 307 75 n. 16, 80 310–11 75 n. 16, 80 n. 54 Lysias 24.6 25.30 27.9 28.1

83 n. 79 13 n. 52 13 n. 52 13 n. 52

Makedonios Consul AP 5.223

20 n. 106

Markos Argentarios AP 7.395.1 = GPh 20.1 AP 11.320 = GPh 34

10 26 n. 56

Martial 1.98 83 n. 85, 84 n. 90 5.24 26–7 5.78.30 85 n. 93 7.39 83 n. 85, 85 9.92 83–6

Meleager AP 4.1.5 = HE 1.5 AP 5.144 = HE 31 AP 5.147 = HE 46 AP 5.176.3–4 = HE 6.3–4 AP 5.204 = HE 60 AP 7.182 = HE 123 AP 7.352 = HE 132 AP 12.157 = HE 119 AP 12.159 = HE 108

59 59 nn. 39 and 42 59 n. 40 17 60, 65 64 n. 85 57 n. 22 60 n. 55 60 n. 55

Menander fr. 641 K–A 53 n. 94 Comparatio Menandri et Philistionis  2.118–9 Jäkel 27, 53, 85 n. 103 Sententiae 246 Jäkel 53 n. 94 Dys. 88 53 n. 94 Sam. 271 51 Menophilos Damaskinos SH 558

17, 18

Michael Apostolios Centuria 8.45 = CPG II, 443 9.35 = CPG II, 471 5.41e = CPG II, 344 18.41a = CPG II, 728

60 n. 47 52 52 52

Myrinos AP 11.67 = GPh 4

26 n. 58

New Testament Ev.Luc. 12.27 59 n. 38 Ev.Matt. 6.28–9 59 Nikarchos AP 5.39 20 n. 108, 38 n. 42, 77–8 AP 11.1 75 n. 15 AP 11.17 27 AP 11.73 26 n. 58 AP 11.121 78 n. 38 P. Oxy. 66.4502 24 n. 33 Nonnos of Panopolis D. 10.169–74 59 n. 39 15.224–5 59 n. 42 16.80 59 n. 42 38.94–5 63 38.432–4 63 45.157 59 n. 39 47.16–21 59 n. 39 Oinomaos AP 9.749 = FGE 1

57 n. 25

Old Testament Ec. 5.14 48, 49 n. 57 Ex. 25.34 59 n. 39 Ge. 3.19 49 Jb. 1.21 48

Index Locorum Ovid Met. 1.750–2.400 64 1.751 64 1.752 64 1.755 64 1.758 64 2.104 64 2.182 64 2.191 64 2.194 64 2.327–8 20 2.342 63 2.346 63 2.364 63 Pont. 1.3.23 80 n. 54 Palladas of Alexandria (asterisk denotes  epigrams with problems of ascription) *AP 5.71 (or Rufinos) 35 n. 29, 45 n. 31 AP 5.257 42 n. 5, 64 AP 6.60–1 31 AP 6.85 29 AP 7.607 45 n. 31 AP 7.610 45 n. 31 AP 7.681 38, 39, 41, 45 n. 31, 78 AP 7.681–8 6, 9, 22 nn. 6 and 7, 31, 31 n. 12, 37 n. 32, 38–40, 41 AP 7.682 39, 41 AP 7.683 38 n. 38, 39, 45 n. 31 AP 7.684 38 n. 38, 39, 51 n. 82 AP 7.683–4 38 AP 7.685 39, 40 AP 7.686 38, 39–40, 41 AP 7.686–8 38 AP 7.687 38, 39 AP 7.688 38, 39–40, 51 n. 82 AP 9.5.1 47 n. 43 *AP 9.127 = 28 W (p. 12, ll. 28–31) 2, 4, 6, 7–8, 10, 14, 22, 23, 30 n. 4, 37, 50 n. 67, 52–3 n. 93, 60, 65 *AP 9.134 42–3 n. 6, 43 n. 7, 45 n. 31, 48 n. 49 AP 9.165 31–3, 36, 45 n. 31 AP 9.165–7 31–3 AP 9.165–75 6, 31–7 AP 9.166 32, 35 AP 9.167 32–3, 47 n. 43 AP 9.168 33–4, 35, 36, 51, 56 AP 9.169 32, 34, 37, 51, 56 AP 9.170 34–5, 45 AP 9.170–2 34–5 AP 9.171 34–5, 36, 51 AP 9.172 34–5, 37, 39 n. 48, 48 n. 49, 51, 52 AP 9.173 32, 35–6, 42 n. 4 AP 9.174 35, 36–7 AP 9.175 31 nn. 8 and 13, 36–7, 45 n. 31, 49, 51 AP 9.174–5 36 AP 9.176 31 n. 13 AP 9.180 42 n. 5, 48 n. 49, 65 AP 9.180–3 31 AP 9.181 48 n. 49

105 AP 9.182 48 n. 49 AP 9.183 48 n. 49 AP 9.181–3 65 AP 9.377 22, 64 AP 9.378 12 n. 48, 36 n. 30 *AP 9.379 = 37 W (p. 21, ll. 4–8) 2, 4, 6, 14, 23, 30 n. 4, 31, 43 n. 7, 50 n. 67, 52, 61–3, 65 AP 9.393 4 n. 36 AP 9.394 44 n. 16, 51, 51 n. 82, 52, 53 n. 94 AP 9.395 64 *AP 9.399 42–3 n. 6 *AP 9.400 4 n. 36, 47, 52–3 n. 93 AP 9.441 45 n. 31, 48, 64 *AP 9.500 42–3 n. 6, 47 n. 43, 52–3 n. 93 *AP 9.501 42–3 n. 6 AP 9.502–3 31 n. 9 AP 9.528 64 AP 9.773 64 AP 10.34 48 AP 10.44–63 31 AP 10.44–65 49 AP 10.45 44 nn. 12 and 13, 44–5, 45 n. 30, 48–9, 52 n. 84 AP 10.46 44, 44 n. 14, 45, 45 n. 30, 50, 52 n. 84 AP 10.47 64 AP 10.49 49 n. 64 AP 10.50 64 AP 10.50–2 31 n. 10 AP 10.51 44, 44 nn. 13 and 17, 47 n. 43, 51 n. 82 AP 10.52 45 n. 30 AP 10.53 64 AP 10.54 51 AP 10.55–7 31 n. 10 AP 10.56 2 n. 18 AP 10.57 45 n. 30, 48 *AP 10.58 44 n. 12, 45 n. 30, 48, 52 AP 10.59 44, 44 n. 13, 49 n. 63 AP 10.60 49 n. 64, 51, 51 n. 83 AP 10.61 43 n. 7, 51, 51 n. 83 AP 10.62 48 nn. 49 and 50, 65 AP 10.65 48 n. 49, 49 n. 63, 51 n. 82 AP 10.72 44, 49 n. 63, 52 AP 10.73 44, 44 n. 12, 49 n. 63, 50–1 AP 10.72–3 31 AP 10.72–99 49 AP 10.77 44, 44 nn. 12 and 18, 48, 65 AP 10.77–99 31 AP 10.78 45, 52–3 n. 93 AP 10.80 48 n. 49, 65 *AP 10.81 44, 48 n. 49, 51 n. 82 *AP 10.82 43 n. 7 AP 10.84 43 n. 7, 49 AP 10.85 49, 51 n. 83, 60, 65 AP 10.87 43 n. 7, 48 nn. 49 and 50, 49 n. 64, 65 AP 10.88 45, 48 AP 10.89 42 n. 5, 46–7 AP 10.90 48, 49, 53 n. 94 AP 10.91 48 AP 10.92 37 n. 32

106

Index Locorum

Palladas of Alexandria (cont.) AP 10.92–9 37 n. 32 AP 10.93 39 n. 48, 48 n. 49 AP 10.96 43 n. 7, 48 n. 49, 65 AP 10.97 70 AP 10.98 49 n. 64, 50 AP 10.99 37 n. 32 *AP 10.118 47 n. 43 AP 11.54 37 n. 33 AP 11.54–5 31 n. 9 *AP 11.56.3 53 n. 94 AP 11.62 64, 65 AP 11.204 4 n. 36, 49 n. 63 AP 11.255 49 n. 63, 64 AP 11.280 49 n. 63 AP 11.282 48 AP 11.283 38, 40, 69, 70 AP 11.283–5 6, 32 n. 12, 38, 40 AP 11.283–93 31 AP 11.284 40 AP 11.285 40, 49 n. 63 AP 11.288 42 n. 5 AP 11.289 43 n. 7 AP 11.289–90 31 n. 9 AP 11.291 35 n. 28, 57 n. 22 AP 11.299 39 n. 48 AP 11.299–302 31 AP 11.300.2 45 AP 11.301 42 n. 5 AP 11.302 39 n. 48 AP 11.303 48 n. 49, 51 AP 11.305 45–6 AP 11.306 40 n. 51 AP 11.307 38 n. 41 AP 11.340–1 31 n. 9 AP 11.349 44 n. 13, 47–8, 49 AP 11.378 = E 75 33, 35 AP 11.381 33 n. 21 AP 11.383 48 n. 49 AP 11.384 48 AP 11.385.1 51 n. 80 *AP 15.20 42–3 n. 6, 45, 45 n. 31 APl 207 64–5 APl 317 9, 22 n. 6 and 7, 38 n. 37 *E 74 = Cougny III, 145 (or Palladios  or Agathias) 33–4, 35 see also Appendix 1 Paul the Silentiary AP 5.274 20 n. 106 AP 9.764 15–16 AP 9.765 15–16 Pausanias 5.11.1

59 n. 39

Pankrates AP 7.653.4 = HE 3.4 10 Parmenion AP 9.342.1–2 = GPh 11.1–2 AP 11.4 = GPh 12

2 26 n. 51

Perses AP 7.539.6 = HE 9.6 10 Philip of Thessalonike AP 4.2.3–6 = GPh 1.3–6 AP 7.405 = GPh 34 AP 9.255 = GPh 46 AP 9.416 = GPh 52

2 14–15 n. 65, 57 n. 22 56 60 n. 55

Philodemos AP 9.412 = GPh 20 = 29 Sider AP 11.30 = GPh 27 = 19 Sider AP 11.35 = GPh 22 = 28 Sider AP 11.318 = GPh 28 = 31 Sider

22 20, 22, 25 22 26 n. 55, 28 n. 88

Philostratos VA 7.23 60 8.11.13 60 n. 50 8.21 60 Pindar fr. 83 S–M 62 n. 68 N. 10.21 63 n. 76 O. 6.90 62 n. 68 P. 2.58 67 3.83–103 20 4.56 9, 27 Plato Euthd. 278c 15 n. 69 Ion 534c 57 n. 22 539b 17 n. 86 La. 196d 62 n. 68 Lg. 935e 57 n. 22 Phd. 115d 63 n. 75 R. 407d6 60 n. 51 544c 57 n. 20 Smp. 203b–e 82 Ti. 90a 45 Plato (comic poet) fr. 183 K–A

11 n. 39

Pliny HN 4.80 71 n. 46 18.30.118 61 37.11 63 Plutarch Adv. Col. 1124 A 45 n. 25 1124 B 45 n. 25 Arist. 1 56 Lyc. 8.1 57 n. 20 Mor. 49c 57 n. 20 60d 57 n. 20

107

Index Locorum 147c 57 n. 20 631e 24 Num. 8.4 59 n. 39 Pomp. 17.1 57 n. 20 Sull. 4.4 57 n. 20 Them. 21.1 82 Pollux 6.197 10.31.2

59 n. 37 60 n. 50

Porphyry VP 43.10 61 Poseidippos 14 A–B 15 A–B = HE 20 (Tzetzes Chil. 7.660) 19 A–B 20 A–B 33 A–B 36.5 A–B 37.7 A–B 43 A–B 44 A–B 55 A–B 60 A–B 63 A–B 65 A–B = APl 119 68 A–B 74 A–B 78 A–B 79 A–B 82 A–B 87 A–B 88 A–B 95 A–B 96 A–B 97 A–B 98 A–B 99 A–B 100 A–B 101 A–B 119.1 A–B 121 A–B = HE 16 = Ath. 10.414d Pseudo-Phokylides AP 10.117.4 Sententiae 25 27 36 44

65 1, 62 n. 61 2, 65 65 65 58 58 65 65 65 65 2 1, 62 n. 61 65 2 2, 58 n. 28 58 n. 28 58 n. 28 58 n. 28 58 n. 28 65 65 65 65 65 65 65 58 26 n. 60 51 n. 82 51 n. 82 51 n. 82 51 n. 82 51 n. 82

Pseudo-Pythagoras Carmen aureum 17–18 Young

51

Pythagoras Sententiae 2.1

50

Sappho fr. 31 V fr. 58 V fr. 130 V

17–18, 22, 27 n. 75, 37–8 17 n. 79 18, 75

Semonides fr. 7 West

55–6

Sextus Empiricus M. 7.416 45 n. 25 8.5–6 45 Solon fr. 13.26 West fr. 15 West

60 n.49 51 n. 81

Sophokles Ant. 955 El. 146 OC 1778 Ph. 414

60 n. 49 63 n. 75 63 n. 76 63 n. 75

Stobaios 2.31.96 = Sent. Pyth. 2.1 50 3.22.40 57 n. 26 Strato AP 11.19 77–8, 77 n. 29 AP 12.1 37 n. 32 AP 12.238.3–4 40 n. 51 AP 12.240 = 81 Fl. 19, 19 n. 101, 20, 22 AP 12.243 80–1 AP 12.245 = 87 Fl. 26 n. 57 AP 12.258 37 n. 32 Suda Σ 1511

46

Synesios De providentia 1.10.61 45 Dio 4.22–6 46 n. 34 5.1–4 46 n. 34 17.1–5 46 n. 34 Epistle 43.9–10 46–7 154.1–10 46 n. 34 Thallos AP 6.235.2 = GPh 2.2

22 n. 4

Themistios Or. 13.170a 45 Theodoridas AP 7.527 = HE 8

64 n. 85

Theognidea 173–8 West 181–2 West 267–70 West 351–4 West 388–91 West 457–60 West 649–52 West 1129–32 West

82 n. 75, 83 n. 84 83 n. 84 82 82 82 n. 75 19 n. 103 82, 82 n. 75 82 n. 75

108

Index Locorum

Theokritos AP 13 = HE 13 14–15 n. 65 Idyll 2.108–9 17 11.56 59 15.148 60 n. 53 23.30 59 Theokritos of Chios FGE 1

24 n. 28

Theophrastos HP 6.6.8–9

59 n. 37

[Xenophon] Ath. 1.5

82 n. 75

Zenobios Centuria 4.18 59 fr. 98 K–A 59–60 Inscriptions GVI 2000 = SGO 21/07/02 64 n. 85 I. Portes 90 72 SB 22.15373 = SEG 44.1435 72 n. 51 SGO 03/02/46 87, 88 SGO 17/12/02 87, 88 Ostraca O. Berenike 1–3 71–2 n. 48 O. Berenike 3.272 71–2 n. 48 O. Claud. 1–4 71–2 n. 48 O. Did. 71–2 n. 48 O. Krok. 1–2 71–2 n. 48 Papyri CPR 17b.1.29 71 G 40611 = CPR XXXIII (Vienna Epigrams  Papyrus) 1, 25 P. Berol. 13270 23 n. 25 P. Mil. Vogl. VIII 309 (Milan Papyrus) 1, 7, 30, 65  see also Poseidippos P. CtYBR inv. 4000 (Yale Papyrus Codex) 1 W (p. 3, ll. 9–17) 10, 21, 64 2 W (p. 3, ll. 18–32) 6, 10, 21, 30 n. 7, 50, 52, 61, 66 n. 6 3 W (p. 4, ll. 4–17) 6, 10, 21, 31, 37, 51, 51 n. 82, 52, 64, 66 n. 6, 81 4 W (p. 4, ll. 20–37) 3, 4, 6, 8, 10, 21, 27, 30 n. 7, 31, 37, 51, 53, 58–60, 64, 66, 74, 81–6 5 W (p. 5, ll. 1–4) 21 6 W (p. 5, ll. 5–9) 21, 30 n. 7 7 W (p. 5, ll. 10–14) 21, 23, 27, 30 n. 7, 31, 64, 66, 66 n. 6, 70 8 W (p. 5, ll. 15–25) 10–14, 21, 23, 26–7, 30 n. 7, 31, 50, 64 n. 86, 66, 66 n. 6, 70, 74 n. 4

9 W (p. 5, ll. 26–8)

2, 10, 13–14, 21, 23, 27, 30 n. 7, 31, 51, 64 n. 86, 67 n. 8, 70–1 10 W (p. 6, ll. 1–4) 21 11 W (p. 6, ll. 5–9) 21, 27, 52, 57–8, 63 n. 71, 65, 66, 66 nn. 3 and 6 12 W (p. 6, ll. 10–20) 6, 8, 21, 52, 57–8, 65 13 W (p. 6, ll. 21–9) 8 n. 14, 21, 27, 37, 55–6, 65 14 W (p. 7, ll. 1–8) 21 15 W (p. 7, ll. 9–15) 21, 66 16 W (p. 7, ll. 25–7) 22 17 W (p. 8, ll. 1–25) 21, 22, 86 n. 104 18 W (p. 9, ll. 17–21) 22, 40 19 W (p. 9, ll. 22–4) 8–10, 21, 22, 40, 66 20 W (p. 9, ll. 25–9) 9–10, 21, 22, 26, 27, 40, 64, 66, 66 n. 6, 74 n. 4 21 W (p. 9, ll. 30–3) 2, 11 n. 37, 21, 22, 23, 40, 64 22 W (p. 10, ll. 12–18) 2, 8, 22, 27, 56, 66 23 W (p. 10, ll. 19–23) 22, 23, 27, 40–1, 56–7, 65 24 W (p. 10, ll. 24–9) 21, 22, 23, 27, 40 n. 53, 56, 64, 66, 66 n. 6, 69–70 25 W (p. 11, ll. 22–6) 22, 40, 68 26 W (p. 11, ll. 27–35) 3 n. 28, 5 n. 49, 6, 21, 22, 27, 30 n. 7, 31, 52–3 n. 93, 66–73 27 W (p. 12, ll. 1–6) 22, 31 28 W (p. 12, ll. 17–31); ll. 28–31 = AP 9.127 2, 4, 6, 7–8, 10, 14, 22, 23, 30 n. 4, 37, 50 n. 67, 52–3 n. 93, 60, 65 29 W (p. 12, ll. 32–4) 2, 21, 22, 57, 64, 65, 66 n. 6, 68 30 W (p. 13, ll. 1–32?) 7, 21, 22, 27, 31, 40–1, 66, 68–9 31 W (p. 14, ll. 1–27) 22, 64, 66 n. 6 32 W (p. 15, ll. 19–24) 22, 52–3 n. 93 33 W (p. 16, ll. 14–19) 5, 16 n. 75, 19–20, 21, 22, 23, 27, 63–4, 65, 66 n. 6, 85–6 n. 104 34 W (p. 17, ll. 3–9) 3, 8, 9, 19, 21, 22, 31, 37–8 35 W (p. 18, ll. 1–9) 5, 8, 16–19, 21, 22, 27, 31, 37–8, 74 n. 4 36 W (p. 19, l. 33) 23, 27, 37 37 W (p. 21, ll. 4–8) = AP 9.379 2, 4, 6, 14, 23, 30 n. 4, 31, 43 n. 7, 50 n. 67, 52, 61–3, 65 P. CtYBR inv. 4715–24 1 P. Köln 3.158.12 71 P. Leit. 5 69–70 n. 32 P. Oxy. 14.1662 69–70 n. 32 P. Oxy. 17.2110 68 n. 19 P. Oxy. 17.2150 71 P. Oxy. 31.2532 85 P. Oxy. 44.318a.4–6 68 P. Oxy. 48.3408.17–18 72 n. 51 P. Oxy. 56.3874.24 67 n. 8 P. Oxy. 66.4502 24 n. 33 P. Worp 26 68 n. 19 SB 5.7756.17–18 72 n. 51 Sylloge Euphemiana E 74 = Cougny III, 145 33–4, 35