Greek Translations of Roman Gods 3111071790, 9783111071794, 9783111072173, 9783111072227, 2022951396

Citation preview

Bradley Buszard Greek Translations of Roman Gods

Bradley Buszard

Greek Translations of Roman Gods

ISBN 978-3-11-107179-4 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-107217-3 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-107222-7 Library of Congress Control Number: 2022951396 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2023 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Cover image: Door lintel with four busts of gods from the tomb of the Haterii. Today in the Museo Gregoriano Profano ex Lateranense, Musei Vaticani, Italy, Inv. 10018. Image: Arachne, FA219309_21730, https://arachne.dainst.org/entity/164841. Photographer: Raoul Laev. Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com

Acknowledgements This book is dedicated with love and gratitude to my wife Michelle, whose support, encouragement, and patience have made this project and my entire academic career possible. I would also like to thank De Gruyter’s editors and their anonymous reviewer, who gave the manuscript careful scrutiny and offered many thoughtful suggestions for improvements. My research assistant, Lydia Shearin, did extensive work checking the numerous references. Many teachers, mentors, and friends have inspired and helped me over the years. I would like to single out two for their influence on the current work. The first is Philip Stadter, who made me a Plutarchan. His enthusiasm, intellect, generosity, and energy were inspirational, and led directly to my decision to pursue Greek historiography as my primary area of study. He was a gifted teacher, a supportive mentor, and later a good friend. He passed recently and is dearly missed. The second is Jerzy Linderski, who first sparked my interest in this particular topic. Among his students, Dr. Linderski was admired as much for his affability as for his acumen, and was also notorious for two endearing quirks in his teaching. One was his habit of leading the occasional class in Latin, bravura performances that I unfortunately never witnessed first hand. The other was his penchant for adhoc discussions of thorny topics in Roman historiography or religion. After extemporizing for some ten or fifteen minutes he would arrive at a dramatic pause, gaze around the room with a glint in his eye, and say “Someone should work on this.” The scholarly problems in question were massive ones, far too ambitious for a doctoral dissertation, and we students knew better than to take them on at that stage in our careers. One of these desiderata was a comprehensive study of the Greek translations of Latin, however, and the idea stuck with me. I tucked it away in a remote corner of my mind for over a decade until I could give it the attention it deserved. This project owes its inception in large part to Dr. Linderski’s offhand suggestion. The standard proviso still applies, of course. Neither Dr. Linderski, nor the editors, nor the reviewer, nor anyone else but me is responsible for any shortcomings that remain.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783111072173-001

Abbreviations Ancient works: Ap. Appian C.D. Cassius Dio De. uir. ill. Aurelius Uictor, De uiris illustribus D.H. Dionysius of Halicarnassus Antiquitates Romanae D.S. Diodorus Siculus M.A. Monumentum Ancyranum (Augustus’ Res Gestae) Pl. Plutarch De ad. et am. (De adulatore et amico / Quomodo adulator ab amico internoscatur) De Al. Magn. fort. (De Alexandri Magni forte aut uirtute) De laud. ipsius (De laude ipsius / De se ipsum citra inuidiam laudando) Q.R. (Questiones Romanae) Pol. Polybius Str. Strabo Zon. Zonaras Modern works (URLs as accessed on 18 Nov. 2022): ANRW Aufstieg und Nidergang der Römischen Welt. Berlin and New York: Walter De Gruyter. ΒΑ Barrington Atlas of the Greek and Roman World. Ed. Richard J.A. Talbert. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton UP. 2000. CIG Corpus inscriptionum Graecarum. A. Böckh et al. Berlin: G. Reimer. 1828 – 1877. CGL G. Goetz et al. Corpus glossariorum latinorum. Leipzig: B.G. Teubner. 1888 – 1923. IG Inscriptiones Graecae. IGR Inscriptiones Graece ad res Romanas pertinentes. ILS Inscriptiones Latinae selectae. Dessau. 5 Vols. 1892– 1916. Inscr.It. Inscriptiones Italiae. Degrassi. Rome: La Libreria dello Stato. 1931– 1963. Latte Latte, K. Römische Religionsgeschichte. Munich: C.H. Beck’sche. 1960. LTUR Steinby, E.M., ed. 1996. Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. 5 Vols. Roma: Edizioni Quasar MRR Broughton, T. R. S. The Magistrates of the Roman Republic. 3 vols. Chico: Scholars Press. 1984. NP Cancik, H., H. Schneider, et al. edd. Brill’s New Pauly. Leiden: E.J. Brill. 1996 – 2011. OLD Glare, P.W.G. ed. Oxford Latin Dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 1996. Og. Ogilvie, R.M. A Commentary on Livy Books 1– 5. Oxford: Oxford UP 1965. P&A Platner, S.B. and T. Ashby. A Topographical Dictionary of Ancient Rome. London: Oxford UP. 1929. Rosch. Roscher, H.W. Ausfü hrliches Lexicon der Griechischen und Rö mischen Mythologie. B.G. Teubner. 1884– 1937. RIC II Mattingly, H. et al. The Roman Imperial Coinage. Volume II: Vespasian to Hadrian. London: Spink. 1926. Available online at http://numismatics.org/ocre/. RRC Crawford, M. Roman Republican Coinage. Cambridge. 1974. Available online at http://numismatics.org/crro/. SEG Supplementum epigraphicum Graecum. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783111072173-002

VIII

Sm SNG

Abbreviations

Smythe, H.W. Greek Grammar. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP. 1920. British Academy. Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum. 1931– 2005. Database accessible online at http://www.sylloge-nummorum-graecorum.org. SNG Cop. Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum: Copenhagen. The Royal Collection of Coins and Metals. Danish National Museum. 1942– 2002. SNG Paris Cabinet des Médailles, Bibliothéque Nationale. Sylloge Nummorum Graecorum: Paris. 1993 – 2003. Syl. Dittenberger, W. Sylloge Inscriptionum Graecarum. Wiss. Wissowa, G. Munich; C.H. Beck’sche. Religion und Kultus der Rö mer. 1912.

Contents Introduction 1 The Evolving Greek Translation of Rome Syncretized Roman Gods 18 19 Aesculapius Apollo 20 Bellona 21 Camenae 25 27 Castores Ceres 30 Diana 32 36 Felicitas and Fortuna Fors Fortuna 37 Fortuna ᾿Aποτρόπαιος 38 38 Fortuna Breuis Fortuna Εὔελπις 39 Fortuna Muliebris 40 42 Fortuna Obsequens Fortuna Primigenia 43 Fortuna Priuata 45 Fortuna Publica 45 46 Fortuna Redux Fortuna Respiciens 46 Fortuna Uirgo 47 Fortuna Uirilis 48 Fortuna Uiscata 49 Fortuna 49 Hercules 58 lmperial Cult 65 Iuno 74 Iuno Cinxia / Iugis / Iuga 75 Iuno Lucina 75 Iuno Moneta 77 Iuno Quiritis / Curitis 78 Iuno Regina 79 Iuno Sororia 80

5

X

Contents

Iuppiter 81 81 Iuppiter Capitolinus Iuppiter Elicius 83 Iuppiter Feretrius 83 (Dius) Fidius 86 87 Iuppiter Inuentor Iuppiter Inuictus and Uictor 87 88 Iuppiter Lapis Iuppiter Latiaris 90 Iuppiter Liber / Libertas 91 91 Iuppiter Rex Iuppiter Stator 92 Iuppiter Territor 94 94 Iuppiter Tonans Latona 95 Liber 95 97 Libera Mars 98 Mater Magna 103 Mater Matuta 110 114 Mercurius Minerua 115 Neptunus 118 120 Pan Salus 122 Saturnus 125 Sol 129 Tellus 130 Uenus 132 ᾿Aφροδίτη Ἐπιταλάριος 135 Uenus Erycina 136 Uenus Genetrix 137 Uenus Libentina 140 Uenus Murcia 141 Uenus Uictrix 142 144 Uesta Uictoria 150 Uolcanus 153

Contents

Unsyncretized Roman Gods 158 159 Aius Locutius Bona Dea 161 Carmentis 167 Clementia 171 176 Concordia Consus 179 186 Egeria Faunus 191 Fides 200 203 Genius Honos 207 Ianus 211 221 Inuidia Iustitia 222 Iuuentas / Iuuentus 223 225 Lares Libertas 231 Mens 233 Ops 235 238 Pax Penates / Dii Penates 240 Picus Martius 246 248 Pietas Quirinus 250 Siluanus 258 Spes 259 Terminus 260 Uirtus 263 Conclusion Bibliography

267 269

Index of Greek Words Index of Ancient Authors General index

311

284 288

XI

Introduction The English word “translation” encompasses a broad range of complex processes. It can be based in speech – the translation of a word, a phrase, or a longer text from one language to another – and it can also be non-verbal, as when “translating” one ritual, tradition, or work of art into another. Even if we constrain ourselves to the simplest form of verbal translation, finding the best word for a common physical object, we still must grapple with the semiotic difficulties of signifier and signified within the source and target languages, paying careful attention to the wider context and connotations of each word. Such problems are compounded immensely when translating words for the many objects and institutions of one culture that have no exact equivalent in the target language. There is no English equivalent for Schadenfreude or terroir or Mensch, and translators of such concepts cannot use simplistic word-for-word equivalences. How could one translate Pasqua for a reader unfamiliar with Christianity? Greeks attempting to understand Latin words and Roman customs, and then to render them in their own tongue, were confronted with the same problems, and they attacked them with relish and considerable acuity. Romans were their partners in this enterprise, as each group identified and created cultural and linguistic parallels and distinctions, engaging in an ongoing give and take that reached back to the earliest prehistoric stages of their interactions. The processes by which they did so are inherently fascinating, and worthy of study on their own merits. Yet a broad study of the Greek translation of Rome will also provide innumerable insights into Greek and Roman culture, as well as their attitudes toward and understanding of each other. And from a more utilitarian perspective, it will give essential guidance for the modern readers of Greek texts on Rome, who need to know what a specific Greek writer might have in mind when referring to a Roman στρατηγός, ἱερεύς, μάντευμα, or ἐπίτροπος. The need for such a study was evident to scholars already in the mid-nineteenth century, but instead of undertaking it themselves they foisted it upon their students, and the earliest attempts to address Greek translation in print were university dissertations. The first was completed in 1852, when Cassell’s published the final volume of Karl Weber’s sprawling De Latine scriptis quae Graeci veteres in linguam suam transtulerunt. ¹ Weber’s work was too ambitious for his

 Unlike Weber, I have chosen to employ only i and u when rendering Latin words. The use of j and J is now moribund, but v and V are still in common usage, and especially the latter. By excluding capital V, I incur some unfamiliar forms, like Uenus, but avoid absurdities like having Virtus and https://doi.org/10.1515/9783111072173-003

2

Introduction

resources, though, and the end result was unsystematic and of uneven quality. Four subsequent dissertations tried to render the subject more tractable by restricting themselves to specific types of language. In 1894, Maximilian Mentz sifted through Greek translations of Roman magistracies. A decade later, David Magie examined Greek translations of selected Roman legal and religious terminology. Viktor Reichmann’s 1943 dissertation focused on literature, employing the Monymentum Ancyranum, papyrus translations of Virgil, and material from late antiquity. Hugh Mason in 1974 studied translations of Roman political vocabulary.² Other scholars have constrained their investigations to single authors, such as Schweighäuser’s Lexicon Polybianum, Dubuisson’s Le latin de Polybe, and Famerie’s Le latin et le grec d’Appien. A third group of studies reduced their scope even further, to the political vocabulary of individual authors. These include Nordström’s De institutorum Romanorum vocabulis Dionysii Halicarnassensis Quaestiones, Vrind’s De Cassii Dionis vocabulis quae ad ius publicum pertinent, and Freyburger’s Aspects du vocabulaire politique et institutionnel de Dion Cassius. These projects all make important contributions, but none of them claims to be comprehensive.³ These scholars did not lack acumen or energy, but were unable to deal with the vast scope of the topic. A comprehensive study requires the examination of thousands of terms sifted from tens of thousands of citations, and should address Roman religion, politics, law, finance, games and festivals, the calendar, Italian topography, Roman names, weights and measures, the army, and various social topics like familial relations and marriage. It should also encompass a broad chronological span, from the middle Republic to the Seuerans, and even beyond when appropriate. And it should take into consideration the evidence of inscriptions, which can provide important insights into literary translations. We are better able to address this need in the 21st century. In the first place, translation studies have made great strides within classics, particularly in the wake of Jorma Kaimio’s ground-breaking 1979 survey of the topic. Important studies have been devoted to Roman names and transliteration, code switching, bilingualism, language hybridization, Roman Hellenization, and the Roman adaptation

uirtus appear together on the same page. U in English and many European languages is also a better match for the original sound of consonantal u in Latin (see Buszard 2018).  Mason’s dissertation as later published consists primarily of a lexicon, to which a closer examination of selected political terms is appended.  J.S. Reid reviewed Vrind briefly but favorably in JRS 13. Mason was reviewed critically by DrewBear (1976) and more generously by Habicht (also 1976). Drew-Bear and Habicht both emphasized that further work was needed.

Introduction

3

of Greek literary models.⁴ Significant progress has also been made from the Greek side, including Adams’ studies of Greek-Latin bilingualism at Delos and elsewhere, Bettini’s examination of the ἑρμηνεύω complex, several studies of Aeolism, especially relevant for Dionysius of Halicarnassus, and the investigations of Plutarchan translation by Boulogne and Padovani.⁵ All of this work is directly relevant. The joint exchange of ideas between Romans and ancient Greeks means that studies of translation from either side inform the other, and the modern habit of categorizing a scholar or scholarship as Hellenist or Latinist is inappropriate. Another crucial advantage of the modern era is the wide availability of modern databases, which make possible a systematic collation and interrogation of the source material that earlier generations could never have imagined. The close reading of many sources is still necessary, but the resulting dataset can now be updated, searched, and re-organized with unprecedented ease. Made publicly accessible, a database of translations will also provide scholars an important tool for independent research. Monographs on independent topics are indispensable for analysis and synthesis, but such works are necessarily subject to individual scholars’ perspectives and interests. Others will wish to interrogate the data differently, even in ways that never occurred to the researcher who first compiled the data set. And a public database will permit searches not only by Greek or Latin word – a function that can be performed adequately by written indices – but also by roots and partial words, by related terms, by topic, or by any of these in combination. Just as importantly, a database can grow and live on after its original compiler in ways that written works cannot. Future scholars may add sources that will become an integral part of the dataset. As a counter example, compare the recurring addenda and corrigenda to the Greek lexicon of Liddell, Scott, and Jones, which are an essential but clumsy way to accommodate our growing knowledge of the Greek language. They have been made necessary by the limitations of 19th and 20th-century publishing technology, limitations that no longer exist. This new opportunity has motivated the creation of the Greek Translations of Latin (henceforth GRETL). The GRETL project will comprise a series of monographs examining Greek translations of native Roman concepts – this volume on Roman Gods being the first – and a database providing access to the many thousands of

 On transliteration see Kantola 2013 (building on Dittenberger 1872); Wessely 1903; Eckinger 1892. On code switching see Swain 2002. On bilingualism see Adams 2003. On language hybridization see Biville 2002. On Roman Hellenization see Rawson 1989. For the Roman adaptation of Greek literary models see Feeney 2005 and Goldberg 2005.  See Bettini 2012, 122– 43; Adams 2002 and 2003. On Plutarch, see Padovani 2018, 184– 232; Buszard 2011; Boulogne 1994. On Aeolism, see De Paolis 2011; Ascheri and De Paolis 2011; Stevens 2006.

4

Introduction

literary citations employed in researching the project.⁶ The database will make the raw data accessible to other scholars, while the topical monographs will analyze the data it contains, examining the ways in which Greek authors translate Roman terms and institutions into their own words and traditions. A more detailed description of the GRETL database and the material it contains should clarify its importance and its limitations. The fields of each record contain the Greek word employed, best guesses as to the Latin word being translated, the full ancient reference, and a comment field, a sort of catch-all that may contain a brief explanation of context, perhaps a cross-reference or two to comparanda, and whatever thoughts occurred to the compiler at the time the data was recorded. A typical example, one of over 16,000 at the time of writing, runs thus: greek_word: κληρονόμος latin_equivalent: heres author: Cassius Dio citation: 44.35.2 comment: heirs of Caesar’s property if Octavius’ does not receive his inheritance; cf. Suetonius Diu. Iul. 83.2

As helpful as such information may be, a search for κληρονόμος or heres, perhaps limited to a particular author or authors, would provide only a mass of raw data. There is very little synthesis or analysis. Monographs like the current volume will provide the broader context. Within the monographs, the idea of translation will be construed broadly, incorporating the varying attitudes and explications of different Greek authors, with special attention paid to the ways in which Greek writers assimilated and differentiated various aspects of Greek and Roman cultures for their audience. What topics interested the authors and their readers? How did genre affect their approach? To what degree did they assume familiarity with Roman words and concepts? What aspects of Rome and Latin elicited the least or the most comment, and why? How did translation evolve from the early analyses of Polybius to those of later writers like Appian and Dio? To what degree can we see the writers themselves taking an active part in the creation of new translations?⁷ By comparing

 The database can be accessed online at http://buszard.cnu.edu (accessed on 18 Nov. 2022).  Notably absent from this list are issues of accuracy. The accuracy of a translation can be important for the modern historian, and will not be ignored, but as Simon Price long ago noted, it is not a very interesting hermeneutic approach (1984, 85). Surprising analogies, translations, and etymologies, like the conflation of Iuppiter Elicius and Feretrius, or Plutarch’s analysis of Lucina and the iuniores, reveal interesting choices and perspectives, regardless of whether they are correct or attested in Latin sources.

The Evolving Greek Translation of Rome

5

the approach in different authors we can tease out important insights into their interests, their readers, and the development of Greek interactions with Romans and Latin. For this volume, which concerns Greek attitudes to the Roman gods, I have tried to address such questions by sifting from the database all Greek discussions of the gods themselves, their mythologies, their cult, and their cult sites. The main sources for this volume and for GRETL as a whole are Polybius, Diodorus Siculus, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Strabo, Plutarch, Appian, Cassius Dio, and the Monumentum Ancyranum, which contains the Latin of Augustus’ Res gestae and a Greek translation of unknown provenance. Other sources are also consulted where appropriate. In this volume, for example, the Jewish historian Josephus, who rarely translates or discusses Roman institutions in detail, makes important contributions under Inuidia, Pax, and Saturnus. Pausanias, a periegete living and writing under the Antonines, offers implicit criticism of Roman rulercult. Herodian, a contemporary of Cassius Dio, provides useful insights into Greek views of Hercules, Ianus, Libertas, Pax, and Saturnus, and is especially important for Mater Magna, whose origins and relocation to Rome evidently fascinated him. Polyaenus, a Bithynian rhetorician and polymath, is known today primarily for his tactical treatise, the Στρατηγήματα; he also appears in this volume under Consus. The sixth-century antiquarian John Lydus and his contemporary Procopius both contribute to the discussion of Ianus. Two non-literary sources are also represented. The more important by far is epigraphy. The evidence it provides is very different from that in literary sources, possessing little to no narrative context, and introducing a host of difficult questions about provenance, audience, and purpose. Inscriptions nonetheless provide crucial insights into the literary translations that are this project’s main focus, and will be adduced frequently (e. g., under Clementia, Fortuna, Genius, Honos, Iuno, Iuppiter, Iustitia, Mater Matuta, Minerua, Salus, Saturnus, and Uirtus). The second source, the Byzantine glossaria, is less helpful. Being collections of Latinto-Greek translations, the glossaria might seem at first glance to be a treasure trove, even a good foundation upon which to build this entire study. They were compiled late, however. The earliest were written several centuries after the western empire had collapsed, and they prove to be unreliable and contradictory, as will be seen under Genius and Lares.

The Evolving Greek Translation of Rome Given the chronological scope of this study and the rhetorical sophistication of Greek writers, generalizations about Greek translation can easily grow too broad. It will prove more beneficial to think of translation as an evolutionary proc-

6

Introduction

ess. Biological evolution is an apt model because, like Greek translations of Latin, it has no telos. Like biological species, later translations are not necessarily superior or more sophisticated than earlier ones. We cannot even say that later translations evince greater familiarity with Rome than earlier ones, since some of the earliest Greek writers on Rome were Romans. Context vis-à-vis prior translation is nonetheless important. We can observe the influence of earlier translations on the later, and the reaction of later translations against the earlier (all too often couched in scholarly polemic). The origins of the Greek translation of Latin predate Roman history, and the first steps in the process can only be described in generalities. We know that Greeks traded at the Forum Boarium beside the Tiber in the early years of the Roman Republic, perhaps even as early as the eighth century B.C.E., and would have needed to communicate with the natives in order to do business.⁸ These early traders would have developed standard translations relevant to mercantile exchange and the pragmatic necessities of basic communication, and would also need to understand basic social, political, and legal concepts like the nundinae and dies nefasti that impinged on their affairs. As the more curious and personable among them became more fluent, a resident bilingual community would have developed, and likely would have spoken a hybrid language. It is they who would have established the first equivalences between a wider range of Roman concepts and Greek traditions. The process would have been bi-directional, which is why we encounter Greek influence even on conservative systems like Roman law and religion from the third century B.C.E., well before the Roman conquests of the Greek east. Translations for more recondite concepts would certainly have existed, but may not have been regularized until Greek ethnographers and historians turned their attention to Rome. The first to do so were Greek residents of Magna Graecia, and little remains of them now but their names. They were succeeded by a Sicilian exile, Timaeus of Tauromenium, one of the most influential historians of the Hellenistic period, and by Hieronymus of Cardia. Both of them wrote about Pyrrhus, and Timaeus may even have included in his work a pocket history of Rome. The Punic wars soon followed, and the Roman victory generated a pro-Carthaginian polemic written in Greek by Philinus of Acragas. It was answered by Fabius Pictor, the first Roman to write history. He too did so in Greek. Unfortunately, the translations employed by Fabius, his predecessors, and his earliest successors do not

 The clearest physical evidence for early Greek presence and influence there are the acroteria of Hercules and Minerua from ca. 530 B.C.E. See Cornell 1995, 147– 50 and 161– 2, with extensive bibliography in the notes. On early bilingualism, cf. Swain 2002.

The Evolving Greek Translation of Rome

7

survive in situ. And none of the translations found in their so-called fragments can be positively attributed to them.⁹ The recoverable history of Greek translation begins with Polybius. Born around 200 B.C.E. to an important Achaean family, Polybius was taken to Rome in 167 B.C.E. as a political hostage. He established himself as a sort of mentor to Scipio Aemilianus, an ambitious young noble only half his age, and spent much of the next twenty years as a Roman resident.¹⁰ He was thus ideally placed to learn the inner workings of the Roman state. Loosely put, his purpose in writing his history was to explain how Rome had so swiftly gained mastery of the known world (Pol. 1.1.5), a goal that sets the rhetorical approach of his entire work. In it, he explains many Roman institutions in detail, and assumes little prior knowledge on the part of his readers; however familiar Greek residents of Rome may have been with Latin, Polybius clearly did not anticipate much familiarity among Greeks elsewhere. His translations of Roman political and military terminology are as fascinating as they are invaluable to the historian, especially those within his sixth book, with its survey of the Roman constitution and army. He is almost entirely uninterested in Roman religion, however, and his only contributions to the current volume are bits of topography (e. g., 2.18.2, 3.22.1), his translation of an oath to Iuppiter Lapis (3.25.6 – 9), and a digression on the goddess Fortuna, in which he takes a dim view of Scipio’s willingness to credit Fortuna for his successes (10.2.5 – 12). The latter passage is particularly interesting for the differences it reveals between Roman views of Fortuna and Polybius’ views of Τύχη, differences of which Polybius himself was well aware. We suffer a gap over the succeeding century, and possess no major source of translations until the arrival of Diodorus Siculus, a Sicilian Greek from the town of Agyrium who undertook a universal history of the known world, from the beginning of time until his own day. He is thus the sole surviving exponent of the traditions of Roman historiography already practiced by the Greek writers of Magna Graecia more than two centuries before. Diodorus lived and worked during the last years of the Republic, and resided in the city of Rome for much of that time, from about 45 until at least 36 B.C.E.¹¹ He gained his initial fluency in Latin while still in Sicily (D.S. 1.4.4). His long sojourn in Rome would have provided him the opportunity to improve it, and to acquire a good knowledge of Roman topography. His sit-

 See Buszard 2015, 22– 4; Buszard 2011, 146 – 7; Gabba 1991, 13 – 15; Brunt 1980. The remnants of such authors are mainly descriptions of their narratives, not true fragments of the original texts. Fragmentary historians will be mentioned in GRETL only when their excerptors give explicit information on the original text being paraphrased.  See Walbank 1972, 6 – 8; Walbank 1970, 1.1– 6.  See Muntz 2017, 1– 4; Rathmann 2016, 12– 117; Sacks 1990, 160 – 203.

8

Introduction

uation was very different from that of Polybius, however. He was very much an outsider, with no connections to the Roman nobility that we know of. As a result, his perspective at times is very different from that of Latin sources. He objects to the idea of malevolent Fortuna, for example, in a way that no Latin source does (D.S. 31.11.12). He also assimilates Iuno and Ἥρα more thoroughly than other writers, and treats Moneta as distinct from Iuno (14.116.6). Yet he also gives fascinating translations of important Latin documents, like the Italian oath to Drusus (D.S. 37.11.1). And he contributes a very extensive and idiosyncratic narrative of Hercules’ wanderings in Italy, some of which is appended to the labor of Geryon’s cattle, while other parts depict the hero as a general leading a military expedition into Italy (D.S. 4.17– 4.24). Such passages are important from a purely historical perspective. Many of them would be entirely unknown to us if he had not discussed them. They also provide insights into how Sicilian Greeks translated and understood Rome. Some of the traditions and perspectives in Diodorus would have been familiar to Romans, but many would not, and some were peculiar to his native city. Though it does not impinge directly on his narrative, there was a theory already circulating in the Rome of his day, prevalent among Greeks and Romans alike, that Romans were essentially Greek. One aspect of the idea was geneaological, involving traditions that Arcadian Greeks led by Euander had settled Rome, had established early Roman traditions, and had interbred with various others (e. g., Latini, aborigines, Rutuli, Trojans) to produce the original Roman stock. Another was linguistic, based on certain similarities between Latin and Aeolic, which was the Arcadian dialect of Greek. The linguistic aspect has given its name to the entire complex in scholarship, and it is today known as Aeolism.¹² The earliest traces of Aeolism that have been suggested are probably spurious. The fourth-century philosopher Heraclides Ponticus reportedly called Rome a Greek city, but did so in the process of misrepresenting the Gallic sack, not in discussing Euander’s Arcadians (Pl. Cam. 22.3). John Lydus, writing in the sixth century C.E., asserted that the Romans of Romulus’ day displayed (δείκνυται) the Greek language, “…as Cato (the Elder) says…” (Mag. R. 1.5; p.14.20 per TLG), but the only mention of Aeolic is by Lydus himself, not Cato (pace Stevens 2006, 123). We reach firmer ground in Diodorus’ time. Uarro connected consonantal Latin u with Aeolic digamma; Tyrannion (fort. the elder) and Philoxenus of Alexandria attributed the absence of Latin dual to the Romans’ origin as Aeolian colonists (ἄποικοι). Aeolism persisted among Romans and resident Greeks into the first century C.E. De Paolis (2015, 616) has noted an important difference between the Greek and Latin writers, however: the Latin authors put Greek and Latin on an even level. They generally

 See Buszard 2018; De Paolis 2015; Ascheri 2011; Stevens 2006.

The Evolving Greek Translation of Rome

9

agreed that Latin and Arcadian Greek are connected, but did so without subordinating Roman traditions to Greek ones. This is in stark contrast to our next major Greek source, the most famous proponent of Aeolism, Dionysius of Halicarnassus. Dionysius too resided in Rome, from about 30 B.C.E. to at least 8 B.C.E., and probably several years beyond. These dates put him in the city just after Diodorus and make him a contemporary of Livy. He composed many works on rhetoric, ten of which have been preserved, and an extensive history of early Rome in twenty books, eleven of which have survived. He tried to marry his rhetorical theories to his historiography, resulting in a complex interplay between his narratives that has been the object of recent scholarly attention.¹³ His history, the Ῥωμαϊκὴ ᾿Aρχαιολογία, now usually referred to by the Latin equivalent Antiquitates Romanae, will be his most important work within GRETL. Dionysius’ Aeolism begins early in the work and is pervasive. Its clearest expression, to take one example from dozens, is his programmatic statement on the Latin language, where he argues for its (and the Romans’) extensive dependence on Greek traditions: The Romans speak a tongue that is neither properly barbarian nor exactly Greek, but rather a mixture of both, the majority of which is Aeolic. From the many interminglings, they have gained only the failure to pronounce some sounds correctly. In other respects, they preserve whatever indications there are of Greek ancestry as no other colonists do (D.H. 1.90.1).¹⁴

Dionysius’ phrase for colonists, τῶν ἀποικησάντων, is an echo of Tyrannion and Philoxenus of Alexandria, placing him squarely in the tradition of the Aeolists of the preceding generation. And he is assiduous in pursuing this agenda throughout his history. He subscribes to theories deriving Rome from Arcadians, from other Greeks, and from Trojans, and these are all much the same for him, since Greek traditions had long derived Trojans from Greeks anyway.¹⁵ As Preston (2001, 100 – 1) has noted, Dionysius’ program effectively obliterates the idea of a Roman culture: his Roman contemporaries Cicero and Uarro may have emphasized native Roman uirtutes and mores, but for Dionysius everything admirable in Rome goes back to Greece. In fact, Romans were for him even more Greek than the Greeks themselves, since they preserved traditions that others had abandoned.¹⁶ So while explicit Aeolism often shapes his narrative choices and his analyses, it is

 See de Jonge and Hunter 2019; Delcourt 2005; Fox 1993; Gabba 1991, 1– 5 and 9 – 12.  All translations from Greek or Latin in this volume are my own. I have tried to be as literal as I can, and in particular to avoid imprecise modern analogies as far as possible.  D.H. 1.61.1; see Ascheri 2011, 65 – 9.  E. g., D.H. 2.9.2 and 2.12– 14; see Ascheri 2011, 68 – 9, nn. 10 – 11.

10

Introduction

also implicit in his admiration for Roman religiosity, which is a prominent feature in his discussions of Roman gods, their rites, and their cult sites. Dionsysius seems to have sought out Roman companions and investigated Roman traditions more than Diodorus did. He tells us that he learned Latin while in Rome (D.H. 1.7.2), and that he cultivated friends among the Roman elite (Comp. 1.4; D.H. 3.29.7). He conducted some of his research through personal interviews (D.H. 1.6.3), and refers frequently to his own autopsy (e. g., D.H. 1.55.2, 2.72.18, 4.14.3 – 5, and 4.26.5). He also consulted Latin authors, including Cato, Uarro, and Ualerias Antias (but never explicitly Livy), and he cites them frequently. He also tends to give these Latin authors precedence over Greek ones, as will be seen in his discussions of Carmenta and Fortuna Muliebris. Because the scope of his history is confined to early Rome, the period in which much of Roman culture was traditionally supposed to have been established, Dionysius is engaged throughout in translating Roman concepts and customs into Greek, and his translations will feature prominently in almost every part of this volume. At approximately the same time Dionysius was wandering the city, Augustus composed his Res gestae, a public catalog of his accomplishments. It was one of four documents he deposited with the uirgines Uestales for safe keeping (Suetonius Aug. 101.4). An early version was supposedly mounted in his Mausoleum, which he completed in 28 B.C.E. (Suetonius Aug. 100.4), with minor additions made after his death in 14 C.E.¹⁷ The document was promulgated throughout the empire, and survives primarily in the copy inscribed on a temple in Ancyra, which today is referred to as the Monumentum Ancyranum. A Greek translation of unknown provenence, probably written by a native Greek speaker (Wigtil 1982), is appended to the text in Ancyra, and is an important source of near-contemporary Greek translations for all the Latin terms Augustus used in writing the document. In many instances, the Monumentum provides the earliest Greek equivalents for Latin terms, especially for topographical features like temples. We do not know the extent to which the Greek text in Ancyra was employed elsewhere, or received Augustus’ imprimatur, or whether he even vetted it himself, so it stands on its own as an independent translation, no more or less authoritative than those of literary Greek authors, from whom it often differs. Yet another contemporary of Dionysius was Strabo, a Greek philosopher who wrote in several genres. Most of his works have perished, and he is today known primarily for his seventeen volume Γεογραφική, a geographical inquiry of the known world. Strabo was originally from the Pontic city of Amaseia, but traveled

 See Brunt and Moore 1967, 5. For the Greek and Latin texts see Scheid 2007; Ehrenberg and Jones 1955, 1– 31.

The Evolving Greek Translation of Rome

11

extensively, repeatedly visiting the city of Rome, and seems to have toured much of Italy, including perhaps Sicily and the Bay of Naples. When in Italy, he associated with Romans, studied Roman topography, and doubtless improved his facility with Latin. His circle of friends and patrons included P. Seruilius Isauricus, Cn. Calpurnius Piso, and C. Aelius Gallus, the first praefectus Aegypti and the inventor of Roman love elegy. It seems likely that he also acquired Roman citizenship.¹⁸ If he ever met Dionysius or his circle of friends, he never mentions them, and if he was interested in Aeolism, it made little impression upon his surviving work. Strabo’s geography is important not only because of its descriptions of Roman and Italian topography, but because Strabo’s wide-ranging excursions encompass many other topics, and many explicit translations of Latin, especially in his fifth and sixth books (Dueck 2000, 89 – 91). Strabo was sensitive to the problems of translation, though his presumptions about his readers’ knowledge of Latin and Rome can be confusing. Sometimes they are revealing, like his discussion of Mars (Str. 5.4.2), in which he assumes the reader will know the Latin term for war (bellum) but not the term for woodpecker (picus). More difficult are his silences. In an earlier passage, for instance, he describes Demetrius Poliorcetes treating the Castores as if they were the Διόσκουροι and makes no comment himself (Str. 5.3.5). We cannot tell whether he accepts Demetrius’ depiction or if the problems of that assimilation are so obvious to him that he feels no need to explain them to his readers. His text is a fascinating resource all the same, and in this volume will be adduced often in connection with cult sites of the Roman gods. After the decline of Aeolism, discussions of the relationship between Greece and Rome evolved into a new form. Its origins may have lain in Greek petitions to the emperor, which have been preserved for us only indirectly in works like the Embassy to Gaius by Philo of Alexandria. Its first concrete traces appear in the extensive corpus of Plutarch of Chaeroneia, and it takes explicit literary form in the susbsequent works of Aelius Aristides, Fauorinus, Philostratus, Lucian, and Dio of Prusa, writers who sought to redefine Greek culture and its proper relationship with Rome, debating Greek identity and translating Roman culture in ways that emphasized Greek distinctiveness. They are now sometimes referred to collectively as the “Second Sophistic,” a phrase appropriated from Philostratus. The term is perhaps useful when referring to the rise of Greek rhetoric under Tra-

 See Dueck 2000, 85 – 106. Στράβων was a Greek name before it began to appear in Rome, so Strabo’s name could have been given him at birth or acquired later (Pothecary 1999).

12

Introduction

jan, although its broader use implies a homogeneity inappropriate for writers in different genres and generations.¹⁹ Plutarch was extensively engaged in this conversation, and of all the writers normally discussed in the context of the Second Sophistic, he is by far the most important translator of Rome, dealing with Roman institutions directly in dozens of works.²⁰ The most extensive of these are the collection of parallel Lives, paired biographies of eminent Greeks and Romans that often end in a synkrisis, or comparison, emphasizing the differences between a pair’s two subjects.²¹ For GRETL, the most important are the Roman Lives and the Life of Pyrrhus, which directly involves third-century Rome. Certain works among Plutarch’s wide-ranging philosophical essays, now referred to as the Moralia, are also invaluable. Three in particular stand out: the De Fortuna, the De Fortuna Romanorum, and the wideranging Quaestiones Romanae (henceforth abbreviated Q.R.). The latter work, combining the Greek literary traditions of aetiology and philosophical problemata, is framed as a collection of questions about Roman institutions, followed by one or more answers derived from ethics, etymology, historical inquiry, myth, physical nature, arithmetic, and even botany.²² The answers are generally based on Greek traditions and often assume Hellenic cultural superiority. The same is not always true of Plutarch in general, however. He was a sophisticated rhetorician, and in different works he adopts different rhetorical stances, sometimes appearing more as a Greek, sometimes more Roman. Sometimes we find very similar treatments of a topic in different works; at other times, his emphasis is radically different, even when he is clearly working from the same set of notes. Ancient authors were all steeped in rhetoric, and many wrote in a sophisticated and studied manner, but their rhetorical sophistication is often invisible because they survive in one work only, and in this one work their rhetorical stance is more or less consistent. Plutarch addresses relevant concepts and translations in

 Thus Whitmarsh 2001b, 41– 5. The bibliography on the Second Sophistic is extensive. The most detailed analysis is in Whitmarsh’s 2001 monograph and in Whitmarsh’s and Preston’s contributions to Goldhill’s 2001 volume. For a survey of the discussion see Fields 2009 and Ostenfeld 2002. Swain 1997 and 1996 are particularly good for Plutarch. Bowie 1974 remains fundamental.  In this volume Plutarch will often be the only Greek author to address and translate a particular aspect of cult. He is the only one to explain the picus Martius, for instance, and Saturnus’ connection to agriculture and wealth, and the operation of the aerarium in Saturnus’ temple, and the link between Carmentis and childbirth.  Scholarship on Plutarch has blossomed over the past half-century. To list only a few of the more salient works, see Brenk and Van Der Stockt 2010; Pelling 2002; Duff 1999; Boulogne 1994; Wardman 1974; Jones 1973; Russell 1973; Ziegler 1964. On Plutarch’s etymologies, a central issue for GRETL, see Padovani 2018, especially pp. 184– 232, and Buszard 2011.  See Preston 2001; Boulogne 1992.

The Evolving Greek Translation of Rome

13

some two dozen works, and his translations must always be interpreted in the context of the rhetorical framework in which they appear. In the Life of Camillus, for example, he is reticent to equate Mater Matuta with Λευκοθέα, while at Q.R. 267D he accepts the equivalence without question. He adopts a cynical attitude towards etymology in the Romulus and Numa, while he embraces etymological explanations enthusiastically in the Q.R. He is receptive to the idea that gods mated with mortals in De fortuna Romanorum (321B–C), but rejects the idea entirely in Numa (4.4– 5). His preference for Greek explanations in the Quaestiones Romanae (e. g., QR 276A) is countered by his preference for native Roman traditions in his Roman Lives (e. g., Numa 13.10). In De fort. Rom., he prefers a transparently worse translation for Mens (Γνώμη) to a better one (Εὐβουλία) because it suits his rhetorical position. These variations are a feature of Plutarch’s writing, not a flaw, and they require a nuanced approach. An evolution from Dionysius’ Aeolism to Plutarch is evident, all the same. Where Dionysius tried to make Romans into Greeks, Plutarch differentiates Romans from Greeks and barbarians as a third category of people, former barbarians civilized by Greek influence, but not really Greeks either.²³ The shift is due in part to the new dialectic between Greece and Rome, in which he was an innovator, and also to his liminal position as a member of both cultures. He was a citizen and resident of the small but proud city of Chaeroneia, having famously joked that he did not wish to leave it and cause the population of the small town to shrink further (Dem. 2.2). Yet he was also a Roman citizen, who had received consular honors. He had many friends among the Roman elite, including the consuls L. Mestrius Florus, who sponsored Plutarch’s Roman citizenship, and Q. Sosius Senecio, a confidant of Trajan and the dedicatee of many of Plutarch’s works.²⁴ To varying degrees, Plutarch’s readers were in a similar position. Greece and Rome were by his day growing more integrated and familiar with each other, so unlike Polybius, Diodorus, and Dionysius, Plutarch can assume a considerable familiarity with Rome among his readers.²⁵ One important reflex of this shift is Plutarch’s abiding interest in the Latin language and Latin etymology, matching presumably the interests of his readers. Despite his many Latin citations, Plutarch’s facility in Latin has sometimes been underestimated (e. g., Ziegler 1964, 289). The basis of this misconception is a single

 See Preston 2001, 86 – 8 and 99 – 109.  Florus was the source of Plutarch’s Roman name, L. Mestrius Florus Plutarchus. On Plutarch’s Roman travels and friends see Sirinelli 2000, 181– 98; Jones 1971, 48 – 64; Ziegler 1964, 17– 21, 51– 60.  That he does so inconsistently – sometimes explaining at length an institution that would seem too prominent to require it, and at other times giving no explanation at all – is only further evidence of his fascinating uaratio and rhetorical flexibility.

14

Introduction

passage, Dem. 2, in which Plutarch regrets that he lacked leisure time to study Latin while in Rome, and so postponed his study of Roman literature (συντάγματα) until later in life. His point there, however, is that he feels himself unqualified to evaluate the rhetorical gifts of Demosthenes and Cicero, not that he is incompetent or unwilling to consult Latin sources in a more general way. And it would be strange indeed if someone like Plutarch, who was a Roman citizen, who had received consular honors, who had visited Rome on multiple occasions, who regularly cited Latin historians, and who had prominent Roman friends and patrons, were not fluent in Latin. This is a crucial point when assessing the accuracy of his translations, of course, and of interpreting his etymological analyses, but it also informs our reading of his unsourced translations, many of which he may have invented himself. Appian of Alexandria floruit in the generation following Plutarch, which made him a contemporary of Lucian and Aelius Aristides. One might expect him to be engaged in the Second Sophistic dialectic, but this is not so. His history of Rome and its wars does not address directly the prevailing Greek conversations of his day. The explanation is probably to be found in his social and political status. He was no ordinary Greek resident of Rome, but an important member of the imperial administration. Having gained Roman citizenship as a relatively young man of about thirty years, he moved to Rome, pleaded cases before the emperors, perhaps serving as aduocatus fisci, and by virtue of his services – and the intercession of M. Cornelius Fronto – rose to the rank of procurator, spending in all some forty years in the city.²⁶ He was still very much Greek, and stressed the importance of Alexandria in his history of Rome, but whatever views he held on the contemporary attempts to situate Greece within the Roman world, they are not prominent in his writing. His intimate familiarity with Rome makes him an important and fascinating source of translations nonetheless. Although his Ῥωμαϊκά ostensibly concerns military matters, he casts a wide net, and his translations of Roman gods and their cult will be discussed frequently in this volume. His Latin must also have been very good. One clue to his sensitive ear is his dissatisfaction with the common Greek rendering of the Latin vowel U. Other Greeks writing before and after him use the Greek diphthong ΟΥ. Appian must have thought the sound was a poor approximation, and introduced a new symbol in its place.²⁷ Another clue is his eager-

 Appian gives a brief autobiography of himself at Praef. 15, in which he mentions a longer autobiography that does not survive. On Fronto’s advocacy cf. Fronto Ad Pium 10.2. See Famerie 1998, 1– 13; Brodersen 1993, 352– 4; Gowing 1992, 9 – 18.  The innovation was a dead end. Orthography had become too fixed, and no one else adopted it. Claudius had failed to impose his own innovations to the Latin alphabet a century before (see Grundy 1907, 11– 12).

The Evolving Greek Translation of Rome

15

ness to translate and refer to Latin inscriptions and sources, which sometimes has the additional benefit of permitting us to compare his Greek to a Latin original.²⁸ Appian was once denigrated as a poor excerptor of superior writers, but his true value is recognized in more recent scholarship, and he will feature frequently within GRETL. The relatively settled and responsible administration of the Antonines provided the context for the writers of the Second Sophistic, and when the Antonines failed the dialectic in which Greeks engaged changed substantially. The shift must have begun in the chaos that followed the feckless misrule of Commodus, which ended in the rise of the Seuerans, a dynasty from the thoroughly Romanized colonia of Leptis Magna in north Africa. A watershed moment came in 212 C.E., when Septimius Seuerus’ elder son Caracalla issued the constitutio Antoniniana, which extended Roman citizenship throughout the imperium Romanum. This was not so revolutionary a move as it may seem. For one thing, it could only have extended to free men.²⁹ And Caracalla’s motivation was probably designed to increase his tax base (C.D. 78.9). But it also acknowledged a new reality, that eminent Greeks and their descendants, domi nobiles from the Roman perspective, had been acquiring Roman citizenship for centuries now, and the political distinctions between Roman citizens of Italy and those elsewhere had become less important. It was in this context that Cassius Dio arose, the first true Roman insider among Greek writers since the middle Republic. He was nobilis by birth: his father, a Bithynian from Nicaea, had been consul suffectus. Dio himself, beginning under the emperors Commodus and Pertinax, climbed the ranks from praetor to consul suffectus, to proconsul in Africa, and even to consul ordinarius in 229, under Seuerus Alexander.³⁰ He maintained great affection for Nicaea, the city of his birth, but spent much of his adult life either in the city of Rome or in his villa in Capua.³¹ He was very much a citizen of two worlds, which were themselves more closely aligned and more familiar with each other than at any time before. He wrote in Greek, but spoke Latin as a native, and could no doubt think like a native of the increasingly cosmopolitan capital when he chose. A good example of his Roman perspective within this volume is his treatment of Minerua medica, an aspect of

 It also provides important insights into lost works, like Augustus’ Commentarii (see Famerie 1998, 29 – 30).  Ulpian’s broad description in the Digest – in orbe romano qui sunt – does not imply citizenship for women or slaves (Dig. 1.5.17).  See Martinelli 1999, 16 – 20; Gowing 1992, 19 – 32.  Gowing (2016, 117– 18) lays out the chronology of Dio’s residence in Rome and Capua, which he bases on the chronology established by Fergus Millar (1964). Gowing’s article also provides an insightful look into Dio’s relationship with, and attitudes towards, the city of Rome.

16

Introduction

the goddess alien to Greek ᾿Aθηνᾶ, which he takes in stride (C.D. 47.41.3). He also invents many new translations for Roman institutions that are more specific than those of his predecessors (see Martinelli 1999, 32– 4). Having lived through times of unrest, and having served in the senate under Commodus, an emperor suffering from delusions of divinity, Dio was especially interested in the intersection of religion and politics (see under Neptunus and Salus). He is also intrigued by omens, which he frequently uses to explain political and military events (Gowing 1992, 29 n.31). He is the latest major source for GRETL, and his insights are among the most intriguing. For all these writers, the proper analysis of their translations will require close reading and detailed comparison, which is what the main body of this and subsequent volumes will undertake. Each writer had his own particular interests and peculiarities. They did share certain predilections in common, however. Many of their discussions of Roman gods, for instance, are prompted by the vowing, erection, operation, reconstruction, and destruction of physical shrines. Prominent examples include the temple of Aesculapius, Sulla’s temple of Fortuna Breuis, Numa’s temple and altar to the mysterious Τύχη Εὔελπις, and the temple of Saturnus and the aerarium that it contained. Many other discussions of Roman gods are prompted by prodigies, like the bee portent at the temple of Aesculapius, the sparrow and grasshopper portent in the temple of Bellona, the dog and lightning portents at the temple of Ceres, and the various occasions when statues of Uictoria moved of their own accord. Greek authors also take a special interest in certain rites, like the closing of Ianus Geminus, the elite rites of Bona Dea, and Aesculapius’ role in the ludi Romani. Along the way, they often digress to examine etymologies, either to critique them as too credulous or to draw upon them as evidence. They enjoy pointing out salient instances of Roman morality and religiosity (and the lack thereof ), like when Aemilius prayed that his personal good fortune would not bring disaster upon Rome, or when Caracalla called in vain upon Aesculapius, Serapis, and Apollo Granis. They also like to elaborate on colorful details, τὸ μυθῶδες as Thucydides and Polybius would categorize them, including such favorites as the colloquies of Numa and Egeria, and the visitation of the Castores in Rome after a military victory. Greek writers at times have surprisingly little to say about deities that are prominent in Latin authors, and the aspects they do choose to discuss can also be quite different. They appear not to have been at all interested in Spes, for example, and their interest in Salus is limited almost exclusively to her importance for the imperial house. They ignore some prominent rites, like the ludi Apollinares (the exception being C.D. 47.18.6), while others, like the elite rites of Bona Dea, are the only aspect of a particular god they discuss. Portents involving Uictoria in Greek are usually harbingers of defeat and disaster, not of military success. And Greeks

The Evolving Greek Translation of Rome

17

debate at length the doliola supposedly contained within the aedes Uestae, something Latin sources never even mention. Other differences derive from outsider perspectives on Roman cult and culture and the Latin language. As already noted, Polybius disagrees with Scipio’s attitude towards Fortuna, and Diodorus, Plutarch, and Appian are equally unsatisfied with the Roman concept of malevolent Fortuna. This happens because Greek writers tend to lump Felicitas and Fortuna together as Τύχη. Dionysius and Plutarch also misconstrue the meaning of Fors in Fors Fortuna, and so confuse her with Fortuna Uirilis. Plutarch gets confused by the Nonae Capratinae, misunderstands Iuppiter Elicius, and misses the connection between the Camenae and springs because he thinks of the Camenae as Μοῦσαι. Even the insider Dio occasionally adopts unRoman views. He confuses Uenus Uictrix with Iuppiter Inuictus, and like Plutarch he equates Bellona to Ἐνυώ, overlooking the importation of the goddess Mâ from Comana and her subsequent incorporation into the amalgamated cult of Mâ-Bellona. Greek writers tend to group the Roman lares, genii, and lemures together as δαίμονες. All ignore Ceres’ importance for women’s lives. To call such readings erroneous would be correct, but would lead nowhere interesting. The focus within GRETL will be on the implications of these readings for the Greek views of Rome, especially when the differences lead to narrative commentary on Roman society and on the differences between Roman and Greek traditions.

Syncretized Roman Gods Viewed from the broadest perspective, we can see that Greeks discussed and translated Roman gods in one of two ways. Some deities appeared to be analogous to the members of their own pantheon, and Greek authors generally agreed upon a native equivalent. Other gods were more or less foreign, and no ready equivalent existed. As Dionysius puts it when discussing temples built by Romulus and T. Tatius, some gods were hard to render in Greek (D.H. 2.50.3). This volume is accordingly organized into two halves. The first addresses those gods that were syncretized to Greek equivalents, the second, those that were not. The group of deities discussed in this section were similar enough to Greek gods that Greek writers were able to begin from the standard Greek equivalent and spend the bulk of their time addressing perceived idiosyncrasies in Roman traditions and cult. This process has sometimes been referred to as interpretatio Graeca, and is as much a historiographical process as it is a linguistic one.¹ For some equivalents, like Iuppiter / Ζεύς and Uenus / ᾿Aφροδίτη, the two deities’ attributes and personality made the parallel so obvious that distinctive features are best observed in specific incarnations, like Iuppiter Feretrius or Uenus Genetrix. Greek writers often try to translate the epithets of these incarnations into something comprehensible to their readers, like Dionysius’ Πίστιος for Dius Fidius, his Ὑπερφερέτης for Iuppiter Feretrius, and Cassius Dio’s Τύχη Ἐπανάγωγος for Fortuna Redux. For other gods, like the Mars / Quirinalis / Ἄρης / Ἐνυάλιος complex, the parallel was more complicated, and Greek interpretations conflict. At times, the process of assimilation goes too far. Dionysius, for example, extends the parallel between Liber and Διόνυσος to connect Libera with Persephone, ignoring the native Roman connection between Libera and Ariadne. Diodorus, Dionysius, and Plutarch all fail to link Moneta with Iuno, probably because she had no parallel in Greek Ἥρα. The presumption of equivalence is so thorough for Apollo and Hercules that Roman idiosyncrasies are wholly obscured, and Greek writers treat the two gods as a pair of Greek emigrants.

 Clifford Ando (2005) rightly stresses that interpretatio Romana (like interpretatio Graeca) was never a solely linguistic exercise. Rüpke (2012) agrees (p. 244), and goes further, emphasizing the complexity and variability of panthea, and arguing that interpretationes were not so much a process of translation as the creation of a middle ground between two systems. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783111072173-004

Aesculapius

19

Aesculapius Greek ᾿Aσκληπιός had a rich mythological history, including his birth to Apollo and Koronis, his rearing by Cheiron, and his resurrection of Hippolytus. Greek discussions of Aesculapius, his Roman incarnation, ignore all that, and focus instead upon two interwoven and distinctively Roman aspects of the god: the mythology of his arrival into the city and the foundation of his temple on Tiber Island.² Roman sources records that the temple was built in 293 B.C.E. in response to a plague, which prompted a consultation of the libri Sibyllini by the XVuiri sacris faciundis. Their recommendation to the senate was that the god ᾿Aσκληπιός be brought from Epidaurus to Rome, and an embassy was sent out under the leadership of Q. Ogulnius for that purpose.³ When it returned home it bore a serpent on board, an incarnation of the god’s presence, and it was this serpent that chose the site of the god’s temple.⁴ Only three Greek sources mention the temple, and of them, only one is interested in the foundation narrative. Dionysius notes only that the entire Isola was consecrated to the god (D.H. 5.13.4). Cassius Dio only mentions a monstrum that later occurred there, involving a swarm of bees that gathered inside it in 43 B.C.E., marking the onset of the triumuiratus and portending a new round of proscriptions (C.D. 47.2.3). Plutarch is the only Greek to discuss the foundation of the temple (Q.R. 286D). His external details, like the connection to Epidaurus and the tradition that a serpent chose the temple site, match Roman sources well enough. But when interpretating the serpent’s actions he is more circumspect than they are, willing to say only that the Romans believed Aesculapius to have communicated his preference through the animal’s behavior. Roman sources give the serpent agency, perhaps even as an incarnation of Aesculapius; Plutarch describes it, at most, as the god’s tool.

 They mention two other aspects of Aesculapius, but only in passing. Dionysius includes him among the many gods paraded in the ludi Romani (D.H. 7.72.13); Cassius Dio mentions Caracalla’s vain appeals to Aesculapius, Serapis, and Apollo Grannus, a Celtic god of healing, as evidence that the gods care more about deeds than cult (C.D. 77.15.6).  The Latin name Aesculapius is accordingly derived from Αἰσχλαπιός, the god’s name in Epidaurus (Wiss. 307 n.1). Latin sources on Aesculapius include Ual. Max. 1.8.2, Livy 10.47.6 – 7, and Ovid Met. 15.622– 744.  Pausanias 3.23.6 – 7 records a similar legend from Epidaurus Limera. See Graf and Ley NP 1.102– 103; Benedum 2001; Latte 225 – 7; Wiss. 306 – 9. On the temple itself see Degrassi LTUR 1.21– 2.

20

Syncretized Roman Gods

Apollo Unlike his twin sister Ἄρτεμις, who was syncretized to Diana, Greek Apollo had no close Roman equivalent, and Latin authors universally retained his Greek name (e. g., M.A. 19; Cicero Q. fr. 2.3.3). He was a very important god at Rome all the same, one whose worship reportedly went back to the earliest days of the Republic (Wiss. 293). Apollo first appears in Rome as a god of healing, and according to both Dionysius and Livy he was one of the six gods honored in Rome’s first lectisternium, which was motivated by a plague and celebrated at the behest of the senate and duumuiri. ⁵ He grew especially prominent in state cult once Augustus began to celebrate a special connection between the god and himself, a connection that, according to one tradition, began at the princeps’ birth (Suet. Diu. Aug. 94.4; C.D. 45.1.2). After his naval victory over Antony and Cleopatra, Augustus honored Apollo Actius with an enlarged temple, a dedication of captured ships, and a festival called the Actia, and throughout his reign he continued to reinforce their special bond through literature, architecture, and cult.⁶ Greek authors never describe Apollo as a distinctly Roman god, and only rarely mention him in a Roman context. Polybius and Diodorus never do so, and Appian only records the Greek origin of Apollo’s statue on the Palatine (Ap. Ill. 30.1). Dionysius has little to add beyond the first lectisternium noted above. He and Plutarch do record a pair of Roman embassies to Delphic Apollo, but they describe them just as they do embassies by Greeks.⁷ On the other hand, the close associations between Apollo and Roman dynasts and emperors do catch Plutarch’s and Dio’s interest, not so much because they are distinctly Roman but because they add colorful detail to a leader’s character. Sulla, for instance, possessed a tiny statue of Delphic Apollo that he carried when at war, and according to Plutarch he credited Apollo for his many successes (Sull. 29.11– 12). Brutus reportedly used Apollo as his army’s watchword at Philippi (Pl. Brut. 24.7). Lucullus named one of his most lavish dining-rooms Apollo (Pl. Luc. 41.6 – 7). Caligula impersonated Apollo, among several other gods (C.D. 59.26.6), and Nero emulated him (C.D. 61.20.5; 63.20.5). Most famous-

 D.H. 12.9.2; Livy 5.13.4– 8; see Dumézil 1996, 442– 3. Apollo’s inclusion in the lectisternium is natural, given the plague that motivated it. Ogilvie (Og. 655 – 7) discusses the rite’s origin and commonalities between the six gods who were honored.  Ἄκτιος (C.D. 50.12.7; 51.1.2). Versnel (1994, 289 – 334 and 1985) has pointed out several structural similarities between Apollo and Mars that suggest a complex and very early influence. See also Miller 2009; Graf NP 1.88 – 90; Latte 221– 5; Wiss. 293 – 7; Rosch. 1.1.446 – 9.  One is the legendary embassy sent to Delphic Apollo by Tarquinius Superbus (D.H. 4.69.3; cf. Livy 1.56.4– 5). The other is a set of dedications made at Delphi by T. Quinctius Flamininus (Plutarch Flam. 12.11– 12).

Bellona

21

ly, Augustus built his own house adjacent to the temple to Apollo that he constructed on the Palatine (C.D. 49.15.5; 53.1.3; fort. 55.10.5; see LTUR 1.54– 57). Greek sources also mention Apollo twice when cult objects are involved in portents. In one, a statue of Apollo weeps for three days after the death of Scipio Aemilianus (C.D. 24.84.2). In the other, an ominous flock of crows fly from his temple in Caieta (Pl. Cic. 47.8). Plutarch uses the legend of the crow portent, doubtless a later invention, as a literary device, much as Dio does the bee portent on Tiber Island mentioned above under Aesculapius. The crows presage Cicero’s murder and bring the literary tension to its climax. Dio likewise uses the portent of Apollo’s statue to give special weight to Scipio’s death. In this case, there may also be traces of Roman religio hidden in the details. The episode involves “seers” (μάντεις) who advise “the Romans” to cut the statue into pieces and drop it into the sea. While Dio’s language is vague – the Romans are unspecified and μάντις can mean almost anything – the involvement of μάντεις and the Roman collective suggests that we may be dealing with an actual consultation of religious experts (augures? XVuiri?) by the Roman senate. In another author we might suspect Latin sources, but we can hardly rule out Dio’s own imagination here. He was intimately familiar with the operation of the Roman political and religious machinery. Dio and Plutarch also give us our only Greek references to the Roman cult of Apollo, and again, neither is particularly interested in the cult itself. Plutarch records Cato Uticensis’ priesthood of the god, which he seems to have acquired as a young man, soon after coming into his inheritance and moving out of his uncle’s house (Pl. Cat. Min. 4.1). As far as we know Cato had not yet traveled abroad, so Plutarch’s word for priesthood, ἱερωσύνη, should translate the Latin sacerdotium. He mentions the priesthood only in passing, however, perhaps to mark Cato’s transition into adulthood. Dio’s reference is to the ludi Apollinares (τὰ ᾿Aπολλώνια, 47.18.6). This is an important Roman rite, but Dio’s reference is very brief and reveals no particular interest in the ludi themselves. He names them only in a list of many posthumous honors bestowed upon Iulius Caesar.

Bellona Greeks associated Roman Mars with Ἄρης, their own god of war, and it was a natural step for them to translate Roman Bellona, a goddess associated with Mars, as Ἐνυώ, a Greek goddess that was closely associated with Ἄρης.⁸ Certainly, the attrib-

 Cf. Livy 8.9.6. The Mars-Ἄρης equation also contributes to the frequent rendering of Quirinus as Ἐνυάλιος, as discussed below under Mars and Quirinus. By the fourth century B.C.E. Bellona had

22

Syncretized Roman Gods

utes of Roman Bellona and Ἐνυώ were a close match: both goddesses were thought to be violent and ill-suited to orderly civic life, for which reason their primary temples were built outside city boundaries. The similarities between the two were complicated by Bellona’s shifting identity at Rome, however, where her native cult (and that of Uirtus) gradually took on characteristics of the mother-goddess Mâ of Comana, which Sulla had brought back to Rome from Cappadocia in 92 B.C.E.⁹ The Ἐνυώ-Bellona equivalence must have been firmly established before Sulla’s time, however, since Greek writers continued to use Ἐνυώ as their standard translation, and associated Mâ instead with Magna Mater. By doing so they misrepresented Sulla’s special connection to the goddess and obscured the more recent eastern elements in her cult. Plutarch, the Greek who mentions Bellona most frequently, discusses her primarily in his Life of Sulla, beginning with an omen of 88 B.C.E., when the conflict between Marius and Sulla threatened to break into open war. He describes a meeting of the senate in the temple of Bellona (ναὸς τῆς Ἐνυοῦς), which is disturbed by a sparrow that flies in with a grasshopper in its mouth, bites the insect in half, and flies away with half of it remaining in its beak (Sull. 7.12– 13). The τερατοσκόποι, by which Plutarch probably means haruspices, correctly interpret the prodigy in view of the connection between Sulla and Bellona, as portending civil dissent.¹⁰ Unless we choose to believe in sparrow prodigies, the omen must be the product of later myth-making, which placed it in a location that highlighted the special connection between the dictator and the goddess, albeit in a temple that was founded well before Cappadocian Mâ entered Roman cult.¹¹ Plutarch never addresses the eastern connection or its complications. By all appearances, they are invisible to him. The same is true of other Greek narratives involving Mâ-Bellona. Later that same year, for instance, a divinely inspired servant supposedly prophecied to Sulla that he brought him victory over the Marians from Bellona. Plutarch, also our source for this story, attributes it to Sulla himself, who publicly espoused the personal connection between the goddess and himself (much as he did Felicitas), and must have mentioned it in his memoires. Again, though, Plutarch translates and treats Mâ-Bellona simply as Ἐνυώ, and the reader might wonder why the message came from Bellona (Sull. 27.12). A less overt form of the same thing hap-

acquired an identity and cult distinct from those of Mars. See Latte 281– 2; Wiss. 151– 3; Rosch. 1.1.774– 7. On the epigraphic evidence, see Lloyd-Morgan 1996, 124– 6.  See Graf NP 2.589; Wiss. 348 – 51; Rosch. 2. 2. 2215 – 25. See under Uirtus for the Uirtus Bellonae combination.  On τερατοσκόποι cf. C.D. 2.1 = Zon. 7.11.  Given the supposed date of the prodigy, the temple in question should be that of the original Roman Bellona in the Circus Flaminius, vowed by Ap. Claudius Caecus in 296 B.C.E.

Bellona

23

pens in both Plutarch and Cassius Dio when they describe a horrific senate meeting of 82 B.C.E. (Pl. Sull. 30.3 – 4 and C.D. 30 – 35, frag. 109.5). Sulla had brought several thousand Samnite captives from Antemnae to Rome, then summoned the senators to the aedes Bellonae, where he lectured them calmly over the sound of the Samnites being massacred outside. The atrocity took place in the Campus Martius, either in the Circus Flaminius (Plutarch) or the nearby Uilla Publica (Dio), and to make his point Sulla needed to call the senate together within earshot. There were many temples close enough to be suitable, and neither Plutarch nor Dio explains why he chose an aedes Bellona (Ἐνυεῖον in both). They are thinking of the goddess in their own terms, as Ἐνυώ, and are either forgetting or ignorant of Sulla’s special relationship with Mâ-Bellona. In some instances, Greek authors describe older aspects of Bellona, and there the analogy with Ἐνυώ is a better fit. Mâ is not involved, for example, when Plutarch describes Cicero’s contio held before the temple of Bellona, where he rebukes the people for quarreling in the theater (Pl. Cic. 13.4). Cicero summons the people directly from the theater, and the only standing theater in Rome at this time is the newly-built theater of Pompey in the Campus Martius, so the shrine in question must be the adjacent temple of Bellona in the Circus Flaminius. Yes, this is the same shrine in which Sulla had held his terrible senate meeting, but in this case the site was chosen by simple proximity. Plutarch’s phrase τὸ τῆς Ἐνυοῦς ἱερόν is also apt, since Romans continued to refer to the temple as the aedes Bellonae after Sulla (e. g., Seneca Clem. 1.12.2).¹² Old Roman Bellona is also involved when Dio describes Octauian’s declaration of open war against Cleopatra. Octauian calls the people to her temple (Ἐνυεῖον) and he himself as fetialis declares a iustum bellum by throwing a spear, as had been done at that site for centuries (C.D. 50.4.5). Less clear is Dio’s description of a prodigy that occurred in an unknown temple of Bellona (Ἐνυεῖόν τι) and presaged the end of the Republic. Dio notes that a swarm of bees occupied the Capitolium adjacent to the statue of Heracles in 48 B.C.E., and that μάντεις recommended the destruction of all Roman shrines to the eastern gods Isis and Serapis. When their instructions were carried out a shrine of Bellona was also accidently destroyed, and jars of human flesh were found among its rubble (C.D. 42.26.2). We have no evidence that the goddess’ temple in Circo was damaged at this time, and there is no reason to connect such a find to the native worship of Bellona. The jars could be taken as evidence of human sacrifice, however, and so of the ecstatic eastern version of her cult (Graf NP 2.590;

 To judge by the Excerpta Ursiniana, Dio may have referred to the same temple when describing the erection of an equestrian statue ἐν τῷ Ἐνυείῳ during the reign of Antoninus (Exc. UG 9, perhaps drawn from book 70).

24

Syncretized Roman Gods

Wiss. 349). An innovative and foreign cult of Bellona at the site would go a long way in explaining the inclusion of her temple in the general destruction, perhaps by a frightened mob acting on its own initiative. Yet Dio makes no comment, evidently perceiving no distinction between Mâ-Bellona and the older native deity. The only instance in which a Greek narrative touches upon the importation of Mâ into Rome is found early in Plutarch’s Sulla, and it is confused by multiple layers of Greek misunderstanding.¹³ According to Plutarch, it was said (λέγεται) that the goddess whom the Romans learned to worship from the Cappadocians, whether Σεμέλη or ᾿Aθηνᾶ or Ἐνυώ, appeared to Sulla in an encouraging dream during his march upon Rome. She placed a thunderbolt into his hand and instructed him to hurl it at his enemies, who were destroyed (Sull. 9.7– 8). Plutarch’s use of λέγεται means that he did not find the story in Sulla’s memoirs. Wherever he got it, his sources must have misrepresented the goddess involved, and were probably contradictory. If they had said simply Bellona or Ἐνυώ, then Plutarch would simply have written Ἐνυώ, as he does everywhere else. From what we know of Sulla’s career we might have expected Plutarch’s sources to mention Fortuna or Felicitas, but they were wholly native, unconnected with Cappadocia. Nor should Mater Magna be involved, since Rome had brought that goddess to Rome from Galatia, and Cappadocia and Galatia were separate entities until Uespasian combined them into a single province. Even then, the name of the province Galatia-Cappadocia maintained their distinction. Nor does Plutarch or any other Greek source ever equate Mater Magna with any of the goddesses he mentions. Plutarch’s quandary can only be explained by inferring multiple levels of confusion. Fortuna shared a temple with Mater Matuta (Sartoria, LTUR 2.281– 5), so a naive observer might have switched or conflated them. An equally naive observer might also have confused Mater Matuta with Mater Magna. And a writer working after Uespasian’s provincial reform might have conflated Cappadocia and Galatia. Surely no single author could have been careless enough to commit all those errors, but some combination of them might generate the variants found in Plutarch, in which case the goddess involved in the dream might originally have been Fortuna, not Bellona or Mâ-Bellona. Alternatively, the original source might have referred to the goddess simply as Mâ, and so set off a chain of misunderstandings that led at length to Plutarch’s “Σεμέλη or ᾿Aθηνᾶ or Ἐνυώ.” Either way, Plutarch likely could have solved the puzzle himself, if only he had been aware of Sulla’s importation of Mâ from Cappadocia and of her incorporation into the cult of Bellona.

 Strabo does describe Cappadocian Mâ as Ἐνυώ, but the reference appears in his twelfth book, which concerns modern Asia minor. He makes no connection with Roman Bellona or the Mâ-Bellona complex (Str. 12.2.3)

Camenae

25

Camenae The Camenae, originally goddesses of Italian springs, became identified with the Greek Μοῦσαι in Greek and Latin literature by the third century B.C.E.¹⁴ Waszink (1956, 139 – 48) put forward an explanation for the standard Μοῦσαι translation based on Latin literature and Roman cult. He proposed as its source Liuius Andronicus, who uses Camena to translate Μοῦσα in his translation of the Odyssey. Hardie (2016, 63 – 72) has more recently proposed an earlier synthesis, with Ap. Claudius Caecus playing a leading role. An endemic translation would have been more influential than the innovation of an individual writer, however, and the main emphasis should be on the likelihood, noted by Waszink and Hardie alike, that the Camenae were associated with prophecy even earlier, through their association with Egeria and Carmenta. The Greeks must have been involved in the syncretic process too, but the mechanism and its relation to Roman traditions is obscure because the connection between Egeria and the Camenae is conflicted. On one hand, her behavior was similar to that of a Μοῦσα, variously instructing, having intercourse with, and even marrying the lawgiver king Numa.¹⁵ This colorful tradition dominates the Greek narratives.¹⁶ Yet translations of Egeria in Greek differ from those of the Camenae. Greek writers call the former θεά, νύμφη, or δαίμων, never Μοῦσα. And when referring to them together, Plutarch says Ἐγερία καὶ αἱ Μοῦσαι, not αἱ ἄλλαι Μοῦσαι (Numa 13.2). Egeria is distinct enough from the Camenae in Greek sources to merit a section of her own. Here we will examine the Greek treatment of the Camenae as a collective. Plutarch’s Numa is now the only Greek text to do so, but that may not have always been the case.¹⁷ Dio appears to have discussed the Camenae as well, though his original narrative has not survived. The sole remaining trace of it is a fragment preserved in the 13th century codex Monacensis, which does not mention Egeria or single out any Μοῦσα acting independently. According to the codex, Dio wrote that Numa consecrated a precinct to the Μοῦσαι because he knew people despise what is similar to themselves, and revere as greater that which is invisible and dissimilar, because of their faith in the divine (C.D. 1.6, frag. M.10). This all sounds as if the

 Cf. Liuius Andronicus Od. fr. 1 and Ennius Ann. 487 Sk. (from Uarro Ling. 7.25). See Hardie 2016; Walde NP 9.324; Og. 102; Latte 76 – 9; Wiss. 219 – 21; Rosch. 1.1.846 – 8.  Though they were usually depicted as virgins, Μοῦσαι did have sexual relations with mortals: one of them (accounts differ) gave birth to Ῥῆσος; Καλλιόπη was the mother of Ὀρφεύς.  It is also a prominent theme in Latin authors (e. g., Livy 1.19 – 21; Ovid Fast. 3.261– 264; Seruius Aen. 1.8).  Dionysius’ discussions are all focused on Egeria.

26

Syncretized Roman Gods

Μοῦσαι had no earlier role to play in Italian cult, certainly not as animistic spirits of local springs. And if the codex’s word for dissimilar, ἀλλοῖον, has been retained from Dio, it might even imply that he described Numa’s Μοῦσαι as a foreign import, doubtless meaning a Greek one, and may have involved it in the tradition linking Numa’s innovations with Pythagoras.¹⁸ On the other hand, other Latin and Greek sources hint that Egeria was Numa’s invention, and this might be the point of Dio’s comment. Without the language and context of Dio’s original narrative we cannot push this one word very hard. Plutarch not only keeps the Camenae distinct from Egeria (Numa 4.1– 2), he categorizes Egeria as a goddess or mountain nymph, while calling the Camenae Μοῦσαι (Numa 8.10 – 12). In this instance, his syncretism is less thorough than it might have been. He focuses much of his attention on one Camena in particular who is very much Italian: her name is Tacita, which Plutarch explains as meaning “silent” (σιωπηλή) or “speechless” (ἐνεάς), an etymology that is as foreign to Greek as it is transparent in Latin.¹⁹ So when Plutarch subsequently links Tacita to the importance of silence within Pythagoreanism, he is not inserting the Camenae wholesale into the Pythagorean tradition. As with the other Pythagorean elements adduced in Numa, he is perfectly willing to point out Greek parallels for the king’s wisdom, but stops short of appropriating that wisdom to Greek culture. Slightly later in the Life, however, Plutarch’s syncretism does lead him to a peculiarly Greek conclusion. The passage in question concerns the ancile, a small shield (πέλτη) that falls miraculously from the sky during a plague. Egeria and the Μοῦσαι, the two acting in concert but distinct, reveal to Numa that the future well-being of the city will depend on the preservation of the ancile (Numa 13.2– 4). The Romans respond to the miracle by crafting eleven identical decoys, by creating the salii, and by establishing a precinct sacred to the Μοῦσαι, whose spring will supply the water for the daily purification of the aedes Uestae. ²⁰ Yet Plutarch does not link the Μοῦσαι with the spring, even though their new precinct and the spring occupy precisely the same location. He claims instead that the precinct is where the ancile landed, and that it is also a place where the Μοῦσαι have held

 Roman authors debated the validity of this tradition. Cicero seems skeptical, while Ouid incorporates it without question. Plutarch makes it a central theme in the Life of Numa and uses it to problematize simplistic assumptions about Roman and Greek culture. See Buszard 2011, 155 – 7 and Preston 2001, 103 – 4.  On Tacita, the mother of the Lares compitales, see Padovani 2018, 210 – 13; Silke, NP 14.105; Wiss. 174 and 235; Rosch. 5.2.  The Camenae were not otherwise closely linked with Uesta. They were housed in various other shrines, including an aedicula in a grove, the aedes Honoris Uirtutisque, and the aedes Herculis Musarum, whereas Egeria was connected with Aricia in Latium (Hardie 2016, 50 – 2; Wiss. 219 – 21).

Castores

27

discussions with the king. The tradition he has recorded preserves the original nature of the Camenae as goddesses of springs, but springs are not prominent in Greek traditions about the Μοῦσαι and he seems to have missed the connection.

Castores The Laconian Κάστωρ and Πολυδεύκης, collectively called the Διόσκοροι or Ἄνακες, were brought by Greek immigrants into Magna Graecia, imported thence into Italic communities like Lauinium and Ardea, and from there to Rome, traditionally in the early fifth century B.C.E., to be worshipped there as the Castores. ²¹ The twin gods’ temple in the forum Romanum is rendered in Latin as aedes Castorum and aedes Castoris, reflecting the subordinate position of Pollux at Rome. Though not paralleled by Greek cult, the superiority of Castor was nonetheless implicit in Greek traditions, since only Κάστωρ in Greek myth was the son of Ζεύς, while Πολυδεύκης was originally mortal, the son of Leda and the Spartan king Tyndareus. M. Bibulus remarked on this unjust state of affairs in a bitter jest about Caesar’s name eclipsing his own: “Just as the aedes founded for the twin brothers is named for Castor alone, so is the munificence of Caesar and myself attributed to Caesar alone” (Suetonius Diu. Iul. 10.1; C.D. 37.8.2). The difference in Greek and Latin usage is starkest in Mon. Anc. 20, where the Greek translator renders Augustus’ aedes Castoris as ὁ ναὸς τῶν Διοσκόρων. Greek sources on the Roman Castores are concerned above all with the aedes in the forum Romanum. The story of its creation, following a Roman victory over Latin forces, is twice told by Plutarch (Aem. 25.2– 4; Cor. 3.5 – 6) and once by Dionysius (D.H. 6.13.1– 5).²² The emphasis in both writers is less on the temple itself than on the Roman victory and on various colorful details associated with it. In Plutarch, such details are further subordinated to his main points, the origin of the cognomen Ahenobarbus and the awarding of the first corona ciuica. Along the way, though, he does include several anecdotes from the legends surrounding the temple’s origin: that the Διόσκοροι were said to have appeared in the battle; that they were also seen in the forum afterwards, two beautiful and tall figures watering their horses and proclaiming the Roman victory; that they touched the beard of the first man to greet them, the ancestor of the Ahenobarbi,  See Sheer NP 4.520; Nielsen LTUR 1.242; Latte 173 – 6; Wiss. 216 – 7; Rosch. 1.1.1154– 77.  For a full catalog of the sources, see Santi 2017, 1– 41. Greeks never mention the aedes Castoris in the Circus Flaminius (Coarelli LTUR 1.246). The βωμοὶ Διοσκούρων that Strabo places on the river Sagra in Bruttium were already in place by the 6th century B.C.E., and so were Greek in origin (Str. 6.1.10).

28

Syncretized Roman Gods

and turned it from black to red (Aem. 25.3). He also mentions two legendary innovations that supposedly shaped the Castores’ later cult: that the spring where the Castores appeared was the site of their later aedes, and that the day of the Roman victory, Idus Quintiles, was sanctified to them (ἐν τῷ Ἰουλίῳ μηνὶ εἰδούς; Cor. 3.6). Dionysius’ details agree fairly well with Plutarch’s, but the Castores themselves are a more central interest in his narrative. He includes even more picturesque elements than Plutarch, some doubtless of his own invention. His Διόσκοροι are taller and more beautiful than ordinary mortals, appear on horseback in front of the dictator, and lead a cavalry charge that routs the opposed Latini. ²³ When they and their horses afterwards appear in the forum, as they also do in Plutarch, they are dressed as soldiers having just returned from battle, their horses bathed in sweat. The fountain at which they water their horses is near the aedes Uestae (i. e., at the site of the aedes Castoris in Dionysius’ day). They announce the Roman victory to inquiring bystanders (Ahenobarbus is not specified) then leave the forum, never to be seen again. It is worth pausing at this point to compare Livy’s narrative of the same events, which is less picturesque than those of Dionysius and Plutarch, and more concerned with the religious machinery involved. He is the only one of the three to mention a vow, for instance (2.42.5). And while all three writers connect the temple with the Roman victory, Livy’s Castores make no appearance in the field or back at Rome. His aedes Castoris results solely from uota made by the dictator Postumius in the midst of the battle. And while he too mentions the Idus Quintiles, just as Plutarch does, Livy marks it as the day of the temple’s dedication, not the day of victory.²⁴ So much for the foundation of the temple. Dionysius’ narrative goes on to describe three memorials (σημεῖα) associated with the Διόσκοροι in his own day, material that clearly would have fascinated Greek readers, many of whom would be curious how Roman cult compared with their own. The temple is the first, but unlike Livy, Dionysius gives the aedes itself scant attention. He lavishes more prose on the transuectio equitum and the lacus Iuturna, two memorials that were distinctly Roman. The transuectio was an elaborate annual rite beginning with a series of costly sacrifices (θυσίαι) made by the pontifices (οἱ μέγιστοι ἱερῆς) on the Idus Quintiles. Dionysius gives the date for the rite and describes it in part, but does not give its Roman name. Perhaps he does not know it; perhaps he thinks it unimportant. Nor does he name the other monument, a nearby spring that he claims is  He uses the Attic spelling; other writers prefer the Ionic Διόσκουροι.  Ouid (Fast. 1.705 – 706) disagrees with both authors on this point, dating the temple’s dedication to January 27th (…quae uenturas praecedit sexta Kalendas, i. e., ante diem sextum Kalendas Februarias).

Castores

29

dedicated to the Διόσκοροι and named in their honor (καλουμένη τῶν θεῶν τούτων). The latter phrase is an intriguing problem. No fons Castoris is otherwise known, so this spring must be the lacus Iuturnae, which matches his description and is well-attested in Latin sources (e. g., Ualerius Maximus 1.8.1; Ouid Fast. 1.708).²⁵ Why, then, the odd description? An error is unlikely. Dionysius is fond of autopsy, and the spring was centrally located. He must have passed by the site countless times during his years in Rome. It seems more plausible that he recorded accurately a colloquial name for the spring that he heard from contemporaries. Certainly, it could have retained an association with the miraculous appearance of the Castores, even if its official name ascribed it to Iuturna. Scattered throughout Strabo, Augustus, Plutarch, Appian, and Dio are many other passing references to the aedes Castoris, usually referred to as the Διοσκορεῖον, that have little to do with the Castores or their cult, and it will suffice here to summarize them: L. Caecilius Metellus mounted a portrait of the courtesan Flora in the aedes Castoris (νεὼς τῶν Διοσκούρων) when he refurbished the temple (Pomp. 2.4; cf. Cicero Scaur. 46); the consul Opimius occupied it before the murder of C. Gracchus (Ap. B.Ciu. 1.25[113]); the consuls of 88 B.C.E. tried to suspend public business at a contio near it (Pl. Sull. 8.6); Sulla observed the murder of Lucretius Ofella from its tribunal (Pl. Sull. 33.5); Cato Uticensis broke into a contio there to oppose Metellus Celer’s bill recalling Pompey (Pl. Cat. min. 27); Caesar addressed a later contio there in support of his land bill (C.D. 38.6.2); a crow ominously pecked out the names of the consuls Antonius and Dolabella from a tablet inside it (C.D. 45.17.6). Three further passages from Dio directly address the aedes itself. In the first, Tiberius rebuilds the shrine in A.D. 6, adding his brother Drusus’ name to his own on the inscription (C.D. 55.27.4). In the second, Caligula separates the aedes into two parts and converts the resulting structure into a vestibule for his palace (C.D. 59.28.5). In the third, Claudius restores the aedes to its former state and purpose (C.D. 60.6.8). Augustus mentions the temple too, calling it the aedes Castoris, which his translator renders as ναὸς τῶν Διοσκόρων (M.A. 20). The most interesting translation involving the shrine purports to be the earliest one. We read in Strabo that Demetrius Poliorcetes blamed the Romans for building a temple of the Διόσκουροι in their ἀγορά while permitting the Antiates to practice piracy against Greece, the homeland of those same Διόσκουροι

 Caligula could have covered the spring when he incorporated the temple precinct into his palace, but this would have no bearing on earlier writers like Ualerius and Ouid. And even though the soil upon which the nearby aedes sat was marshy enough to necessitate re-plumbing of the temple columns by Uerres in 74 B.C.E. (Cicero Uerr. 2.133; Nielsen LTUR 1.244), and further repairs and remodeling during the Principate, Dionysius says that the spring was held sacred in his day. It cannot have gone missing during the Republic.

30

Syncretized Roman Gods

(Str. 5.3.5). The tale is fascinating, whatever its historicity. Demetrius was older than Pyrrhus, and surely knew very little, if anything, about Rome. This would explain why he could treat the Castores as identical to his own Διόσκουροι, emphasizing a seafaring element in their cult that would not have been prominent in the Roman state cult, especially at so early a date, when Roman power was confined to the Italian peninsula and Rome as yet had no navy. Yet this anecdote is not necessarily Greek in origin. The naval anachronism and attribution of such an opinion to Demetrius could easily have come from either side of the Adriatic, or from both sides working in collaboration. Most Greeks (and some Romans) could have passed the story along naively, unaware that naval matters would have played little part in a state cult of the Castores during the middle Republic. Most Romans (and some Greeks) would have understood the story in a more sophisticated fashion. From their perspective, Demetrius was a Greek king making a Greek complaint, and interpreting the Castores as viewed in his own culture.

Ceres Ceres was a very old Italic deity, worshipped in Rome as early as the regal period. She was originally a goddess of agriculture, and as such was associated with the earth-goddess Tellus. She was also associated early on with boundaries and women, and in conjunction with Liber was the protector of Roman libertas. ²⁶ By the mid-third century B.C.E., and perhaps as early as the fifth, she was assimilated by Greeks and Romans alike with Δημήτηρ. The Roman cult conserved distinctive aspects of earlier Italic practice, but her equivalence with Δημήτηρ is never questioned in Greek texts. Five of the Greek references to Ceres and are mere asides, and reveal little about the writers’ attitudes towards the goddess and her cult. Dionysius records the proposed redistribution of land by Sp. Cassius, for which he was executed and his belongings confiscated; bronze statues from them were dedicated in the temple of Ceres. ²⁷ Plutarch mentions the cancellation of the ludi Ceriales (ἑορτὴ Δήμητρος), the plebeian festival to Ceres, by Fabius Cunctator after the disaster at Cannae (αἱ θυσίαι καὶ ἡ πομπή; Fab. 18.2). Cassius Dio mentions Caesar’s creation of two aediles Ceriales, the plebeian magistrates to whom the cura annonae was

 There was also cult of the personified Libertas. See Pellam 2014; Graf NP 3.158 – 62; Spaeth 1996, 1– 16; Latte 161– 2; Le Bonniec 1960; Wiss. 297– 304; Rosch. 1.1.859 – 66.  ἀνέθηκε…τῇ Δημήτρι (D.H. 8.79.3). Livy records the dedicatory inscription: ex Cassia familia datum (2.41.10).

Ceres

31

thereafter entrusted.²⁸ Two portents are also noted. In the first, preceding the battle at Philippi, one dog dragged another to the shrine of Ceres and buried it there (C.D. 47.40.3). The second concerns a pair of lightning strikes on the shrines of Luna and Ceres (Σελήνη καὶ Δημήτηρ), in response to which the augures (μάντεις) delayed the election of a colleague for Carbo until after the summer solstice (Ap. B.Ciu. 1.78[359]).²⁹ Three other passages are more revealing of Greek attitudes towards Roman Ceres. In all three, Greek writers subtly reshape the native cult of the goddess, obscuring distinctions that they themselves record. The first two are from Dionysius, who twice glosses over difficulties raised by his translation of the Roman triad Ceres, Liber, and Libera as Δημήτηρ, Διόνυσος, and Κόρη. He first employs this translation when he records the locatio (κατασκευαί) of a temple to the three gods by Postumius after his victory at Lake Regillus, and again when he describes the same temple’s dedication (καθιερόω) on the Aventine above the carcer of the Circus Maximus. ³⁰ This combination of deities was Italic, foreign to Greece and Magna Graecia alike.³¹ For Dionysius, his translations should have been a problem. They conflict with his own narrative, which asserted earlier that Roman worship of Ceres excluded wine (D.H. 1.33.1); if Liber were associated with Ceres and equivalent to Διόνυσος, the role of the god of wine would require some explanation. His translation also creates a mismatch between Greek Κόρη and Roman Libera, the former invoking a maternal connection with Διόνυσος via the Ζαγρεύς tradition, and the latter a marital one with Liber via the Roman assimilation of Libera with ᾿Aριάδνη (see under Libera). Dionysius is probably not silent out of ignorance or carelessness, but because of his Aeolism. He is more interested in emphasizing the two cultures’ similarities than their differences. The third passage comes from Plutarch’s Life of Romulus, and is a good example of that author’s rhetorical flexibility. In some contexts, Plutarch is much more eager than Dionysius to discuss peculiar aspects of Roman culture; the Quaestiones Romanae and the Life of Numa are only the most obvious examples. His priorities

 οἱ δύω τὴν ἀπὸ τῆς Δήμητρος ἐπίκλησιν φέρουσιν (C.D. 43.51.3). See Spaeth 1996, 86 – 90; Graf NP 3.162.  Strabo also mentions a ἱερὸν τῆς Δήμητρος in the small Sicilian town of Enna that was damaged in the first Servile war (Str. 6.2.6). Enna was a Greek town, at least since its conquest by Dionysius the elder, and the sanctuary would have little or nothing to do with Roman or Italic Ceres.  D.H. 6.17.2 & 6.94.3. Dionysius’ plural κατασκευαί is misleading; the structure was a singular aedes Cereres Liberi Liberaeque (e. g., Livy 3.55.7). The site was under restoration when Dionysius resided in Rome, and he never saw the finished shrine himself. Perhaps he was himself confused about its form. See Coarelli LTUR 1.260 – 1.  See Spaeth 1996, 7– 8; Boyd 1960, 149; le Bonniec 1958, 292– 305.

32

Syncretized Roman Gods

are different in Romulus, however. In a passage devoted to Romulus’ laws, he describes one concerning husbands who disown their wives for unsubstantial reasons, meaning anything but poisoning, adultery, and the substitution of a bastard (Rom. 22.3). The law orders the husband to consecrate half of his property to Δημήτηρ. From the Roman perspective, this makes good sense. Ceres was closely connected with motherhood and with marital fidelity.³² Greek Δημήτηρ was not a goddess of marriage, however. Her female associations seem to have been confined to motherhood and fertility, especially in connection with the Athenian Thesmophoria. ³³ For Greek readers following along closely, Plutarch’s narrative would have problematized the equivalence of Δημήτηρ and Ceres. In another context one might expect him to comment on the difference, and perhaps to weigh in with his own interpretation, yet he says nothing. Either the mismatch between Δημήτηρ and Ceres escaped his notice or, more likely, he ignored it because it was irrelevant to the Life’s main themes.

Diana Unlike ᾿Aπόλλων, her twin brother in Greek culture, Diana had a distinct Latin name, implying that she had a separate Roman cult predating the arrival of Ἄρτεμις. By historical times, she had become deeply enmeshed with the traditions of her Greek counterpart, and in literature had lost whatever distinct Italic identity she had once possessed.³⁴ The early date of the goddesses’ amalgamation is further attested by the tradition of the first lectisternium, in which Diana is honored alongside ᾿Aπόλλων, a Greek import of the early Republic, and Λητώ, their mother in Greek mythology (D.H. 12.9.2; cf. Livy 5.13.6). Like Ἄρτεμις, Diana was associated with the boundary between nature and civilization, with hunting, with beasts, and with transitions in women’s lives, including wedding and childbirth (Pl. Q.R. 264C). According to Roman tradition, the temple of Diana erected by Servius Tullius on the mons Auentinus was inspired by the one in Ephesus (Livy 1.45.2), so the ver-

 The Paelignians also associated her with Uenus (Spaeth 1996, 103 – 23), and the Paelignian inscriptions mention a joint female priesthood of Ceres and Uenus (Spaeth 1996, 3 and bibliography in n.15).  The law’s other injunction, that the wife must make sacrifices to the dii inferi (χθόνιοι θεοί), is a better match. Greek Δημήτηρ was connected with chthonic forces through her daughter Περσεφόνη, her son-in-law (and brother) Ἅιδης, and the Eleusinian mysteries.  See Holland 2002; Scheid NP 4.357– 8; Latte 169 – 73; Wiss. 247– 52; Rosch. 1.1.1002– 11.

Diana

33

sion of Diana worshipped by him, as by T. Tatius even earlier (D.H. 2.50.3), was believed to have been quite Greek already.³⁵ There were several Diania, temples to Diana, in and about Rome. Many of them were built outside the pomerium (Venditelli LTUR 2.11– 16). The Aventine temple is the most prominent exception. Its site was traditionally chosen by Seruius Tullius (Festus 432 s.v. Seruorum dies festus), and it lay well inside the pomerium as extended during the reign of Ancus Martius (D.H. 3.43.1). This is the temple usually mentioned in Greek sources, though only as a location for various events (e. g., Pl. Gracch. 37.5; Ap. B.Ciu. 1.26[115]). More interesting by far is Plutarch’s description of the Dianium located in the Uicus Patricius (Πατρίκιος Στενοπός; Q.R. 264C), because his discussion also addresses the goddess’ cult and mythology, and shows how those two aspects could intersect. His topic in this particular quaestio is why, of all the Diania in Rome, men were excluded from the Uicus Patricius temple alone. Unusually, he gives only a single answer, which is based on a legend: a man once tried to rape a woman who was worshipping there and was torn to pieces by dogs; men thereafter avoided the precinct through divine fear (δεισιδαιμονία, perhaps also meaning superstition). The similarity of this tale to the Greek myth of Actaeon, a hunter who is torn apart by his dogs after stumbling on Ἄρτεμις bathing in the woods, does not imply a Greek interpolation. Thanks to the early and thorough assimilation of the two goddesses, Plutarch may well have found the tale in a Roman source. Our most informative discussions of Diana concern the story, told by multiple Latin and Greek authors, of the Aventine temple’s foundation and of an important sacrifice made there in its early days. The narrative is not very informative for Diana herself, but it affords us an excellent opportunity to compare the Latin and Greek terminology for several religious concepts, at least as they were described in the Augustan age and afterward.³⁶ The surviving Latin sources for the episode are Livy 1.45, Ual. Max. 7.3.1, and De uir. ill. 7.9. Ualerius appears to be an independent voice in this episode, differing  The Heneti (i. e., Ueneti) in Strabo’s day specified that two of their temples were devoted to Argive Ἥρα and Aetolian Ἄρτεμις (Str. 5.1.9). The Ueneti were perhaps Illyrian in origin, and were definitely not Greek, so the Greek names for the two goddesses, assuming Strabo is not translating them for his readers, indicate a later date for their temple foundations. Neither is connected to Roman cult, however. See Holland (2002) for a survey of Diana’s cult sites throughout Italy (13 – 17) and of the votary inscriptions (22– 168), especially those from Lake Nemi. On the Nemi terracottas, see Moltesen 2009.  We know from Plutarch Q.R. 264D that Iuba (in Greek) and Uarro (in Latin) had discussed the foundation in the late Republic, and that their narratives differed, but the only relevant detail that survives from either author is Uarro’s note at LL 5.43 that Aventine Dianium was a commune Latinorum…templum.

34

Syncretized Roman Gods

from Livy in some details, if not in essentials. The narrative in De uir. ill. is a patchwork of earlier material, in some places copying entire sentences from Livy’s narrative, elsewhere contradicting him. Livy and De uir. ill. include details on the temple’s foundation; Ualerius tells only of the sacrifice. In summary, the story begins with the temple of Ἄρτεμις in Ephesus, which was built in common by the ciuitates Asiae (Livy; De uir. ill.). Inspired by their example, and wishing to bond the Latini more closely with Rome, Seruius Tullius convinces the Latini to join the Roman populus in building a Dianium on the mons Auentinus. Our authors call this shrine both a fanum (Livy; De uir. ill.) and a templum (Livy, Ualerius). Sometime afterwards, a great cow is born, either to one Latinus (De uir. ill) or to a Sabinus pater familiae (Livy; Ualerius). The man is informed, either by a uates (Livy), or through a responsum by oraculorum auctores (Ualerius), or through a somnium (De uir. ill.), that whoever sacrifices the cow (immolasset, per all three) to Auentinensis Diana will give his populus (De uir. ill.) or ciuitas (Livy; Ualerius) imperium (all three), making it domina of nations (Ualerius). But when the man brings his cow to the fanum (De uir. ill.) or ara (Livy; Ualerius), the sacerdos (De uir. ill.) or antistes fani (Livy; Ual. Max.) cleverly convinces him that he must first wash himself in the uiuum flumen (De uir. ill.; Livy), imposing a religio upon him (Ualerius; religione tactus per Livy). The priest sacrifices the cow himself while the man is washing and wins dominion for Rome. Despite the many differences in these three accounts, there several details that are consistent. All of course refer to Diana by the same name, and the two that mention Ephesian Ἄρτεμις (Livy; De uir. ill.) also refer to that goddess as Diana. All three use imperium for the prize to be won. All three use the verb immolare for the sacrifice of the cow. The remaining terminology, on the other hand, shows the flexibility of Latin vocabulary and the inconsistency of the story’s details. Most important from a religious perspective are the interchangeability of fanum and templum, the similar functions performed by uates, oraculum auctores, and somnia, and the inclusion of the antistes templi within the more generic category of sacerdotes. The Greek sources for the same episode are D.H. 4.26, Pl. Q.R. 264C–D, and Zon. 7.9.11– 12, which is derived from the second book of Cassius Dio. Dionysius’ account concerns only the construction of the temple; Plutarch discusses only the sacrifice. Dio apparently covered both events, but more briefly than his predecessors, at least as represented in Zonaras’ rendition. All three have idiosyncrasies. Zonaras discards the antistes and sacerdos for a generic Roman citizen. Plutarch includes source citation and some antiquarian details absent from the Latin sources, including names for the Sabine man, Curiatius Antro (Ἄντρων Κοράτιος), and the Roman priest, Cornelius (Κορνήλιος). Dionysius discusses an annual festival at the temple and includes a bit of autopsy, mentioning a bronze στήλη that was in-

Diana

35

stalled within the temple by Seruius and was still extant in his day: upon it were inscribed the founding decrees and the names of the participating cities in archaic Greek letters, a detail supporting Dionysius’ Aeolism. In general, the adaptation of Latin terminology by the Greek sources is quite close, though the discrepancies between the Latin sources themselves complicate one-to-one correlations. The Dianium itself, called fanum and templum in the Latin sources, is called ᾿Aρτεμίσιον (Pl.), νεώς (D.H., Zon.), and ἱερόν (all three sources). The neuter ᾿Aρτεμίσιον is exactly equivalent to Latin Dianium, which is used of the Auentine aedes Dianae in Ualerius and in the De uir. ill.; Livy uses it in reference to shrine of Diana on the Uicus Cyprius (1.48.6). Greek νεώς would seem the nearest equivalent to Latin aedes, referring specifically to the building housing the cult statue, but it can also refer to the shrine in its entirety, making it an adequate match for Latin templum and fanum, which in their technical sense should refer to the temple precinct and ground, but are often used more loosely to indicate the temple as a whole. The most generic of all the Greek terms is ἱερόν, which is equally applicable to templum and aedes. Within the narrative of the sacrifice, Livy’s uates is matched fairly well by Plutarch’s prophet (μάντις), and Zonaras’ oracle (χρησμός) is a good match for Ualerius’ oraculorum auctores. The act of sacrificing, described in Latin by the noun sacrificium (Livy; Ualerius) and the verb immolare (all three), is matched by compounds of ἱερεύω in Plutarch (τοῦ καθιερεύσαντος; τοὺς καλλιεροῦντας) and by θύω in Zonaras. The verbs sacrificare and ἱερεύω, meaning to make something holy (sacer/ ἱερός), are also a close match. Finally, we have the deceptive Roman who sacrifices the cow. He is called a sacerdos in De uir. ill. and an antistes in Livy and Ualerius. Plutarch calls him a ἱερεύς, a generic equivalent of sacerdos, in his main narrative, and implies that Iuba had done likewise. He also says that Uarro had called him a νεωκόρος. As far as we know, Uarro wrote only in Latin, so Plutarch’s νεωκόρος must translate a Latin term, probably the word antistes that was also used by Livy and Ualerius. In these narratives, then, ᾿Aρτεμίσιον translates Dianium (and aedes Dianae); νεώς and ἱερόν construed loosely equate to fanum and templum; μάντις translates uates; χρησμός translates oraculum (subsumed in the periphrasis oraculorum auctores); ἱερεύω translates sacrificare and incorporates immolare; ἱερεύς translates sacerdos; νεωκόρος translates antistes. The full implications of these translations are perhaps tangential to the cult of Diana, but they are central to understanding any Greek discussion of Roman rites and priesthoods.

36

Syncretized Roman Gods

Felicitas and Fortuna Fortuna and Felicitas were the Roman deities of chance and of lasting success.³⁷ They are sometimes conflated in Latin sources, and are often indistinguishable in Greek, where both are usually translated as Τύχη. The theory that Greeks translated Fortuna and Felicitas respectively as Τύχη and Εὐτυχία does not stand up to scrutiny, since counter-examples can readily be found in several authors.³⁸ The superlative εὐτυχέστατος, for instance, is used by Plutarch for Seruius Tullius, the king renowned for his special relationship with Fortuna, and the one credited with founding several of her temples (Pl. Q.R. 273B; Q.R. 281D-E). And while Εὐτυχής is a frequent rendering of Felix in Sulla’s cognomen, Dionysius’ similar cognomen for Sp. Maelius, Εὐδαίμων, cannot mean Felix or be connected to any cult of Felicitas because Maelius was killed centuries before the first attested worship of that goddess.³⁹ The clearest evidence is Cassius Dio’s use of Τυχαῖον both for the earliest known temple of Felicitas – dedicated by L. Licinius Lucullus in 146 B.C.E. (C.D. 22– 29 frag. 76.2) – and for a shrine of Fortuna Respiciens (C.D. 42.26.4).⁴⁰ So when Dio mentions an otherwise unknown ναὸς Εὐτυχίας, planned by Caesar and completed by M. Aemilius Lepidus (C.D. 44.5.2), we cannot be certain which goddess is involved.⁴¹ Context is also less helpful than we might expect. The older and more diverse of the two goddesses, Fortuna, was particularly important to Roman slaves, craftsmen, and women, but the Greek sources ignore such aspects and focus mainly on her role in Rome’s rise to power. Plutarch in De fortuna Romanorum is especially interested in this idea. At 325C he credits Rome’s Τύχη for the timely honking of the sacred geese; at 322A he credits divine Fortuna (θεία Τύχη) for the long peace of

 E. g., Ual. Max. 7.1.2. See Miano 2018; Billington 1996; Schaffner NP 5.377; Graf NP 5.506 – 7; Latte 176 – 83; Wiss. 256 – 68; Rosch. 1. 2.1473 – 5, 1503 – 58. A third related god, Bona Euentus, is known from inscriptions, coins, and Uarro, but is never mentioned in Greek sources. See Miano 2018, 161– 71 on the evolution of Greek Τύχη and 171– 5 on the earliest surviving translations of Fortuna as Τύχη, from the second century B.C.E.  Miano (2018, 132– 5) is correct that Felicitas is translated by Εὐτυχία within Plutarch’s Sulla, but neither Plutarch nor any other Greek writer uses the name consistently.  For Σύλλας Εὐτυχής see Ap. B.Ciu. 1.97[451] and C.D. 56.38.2; see D.H. 12.1.1 for Εὐδαίμων. Dionysius is our only source for the latter; when Livy discusses Maelius (4.13 – 14) he never mentions a cognomen.  The former temple, again called Τυχαῖον by Dio (43.21.1), witnessed the axle of Caesar’s chariot break during the triumphal procession of 46 B.C.E. (cf. Suetonius Iul. 37.2). LSJ, s.v. Τυχαῖον, assumes the passage refers to a temple of Fortuna.  Tortorici LTUR 2.245 – 6 and P&A 207 attribute it to Felicitas.

Felicitas and Fortuna

37

Numa’s reign; at 324B he refers to Rome’s Fortuna as their great δαίμων, one greater than, and distinct from, those of Macedon, Athens, and others. Given such ambiguities, Greek references to Τύχη are more readily understood when they mention a certain aspect of Fortuna, which we can then connect to a specific cult or temple. Even better, Greek authors, Plutarch especially, sometimes try to explain the goddess’ cult epithets for their readers, and their explanations can reveal much about their own conceptions of the Roman goddess. In all, they discuss fourteen incarnations: Fors Fortuna, Fortuna ᾿Aποτρόπαιος, Fortuna Breuis, Fortuna Εὔελπις, Fortuna Muliebris, Fortuna Obsequens, Fortuna Primigenia, Fortuna Priuata, Fortuna Publica, Fortuna Redux, Fortuna Respiciens, Fortuna Uirgo, Fortuna Uirilis, and Fortuna Uiscata.

Fors Fortuna For Greeks, this aspect of the goddess bore a tricky name. The nominative form of the adjective fortis (“strong”) and the genitive form of the noun fors (“chance”) are identical, and the latter was used in phrases like fanum Fortis Fortunae. ⁴² Compounding the problem was the aspect of Fortuna named Uirilis (q.v.), which to a Greek would be indistinguishable from a (nonexistent) Fortuna Fortis, and it is hardly surprising that our Greek sources on Fors Fortuna, Dionysius and Plutarch, confuse the two. Both authors make this mistake in connection with a shrine of Fortuna on the right bank of the Tiber (of which there were several). Dionysius mistranslates Fors Fortuna as Courageous Fortuna (Τύχη ᾿Aνδρεία) and ascribes the foundation of her temple to Seruius Tullius (D.H. 4.27.7; cf. Uarro loc. cit.). Plutarch places the same temple beside the river and transliterates the epithet, clearly mistaking its genitive form for the nominative (as Φόρτις).⁴³ He also gives three false translations based on this error, linking it with strength (Ἰσχυρά), nobility (᾿Aριστευτική), and courage (᾿Aνδρεία). None of these pertain to Fors Fortuna as Romans understood her, though they do at least elucidate Plutarch’s understanding of the Latin adjective fortis. Dionysius’ and Plutarch’s misidentification of the goddess also permits two broader insights into their translations. For one thing, each writer must have felt confident in his Latin. The epithet Fors would not have deceived

 Uarro Ling. 6.17. Fors Fortuna is well represented in Latin sources (e. g., Livy 10.46.14; Ovid Fast. 6.773; Tacitus Ann. 2.41), but is not discussed in LTUR. See instead Miano 2018, 91– 4 and P&A 1929, 212– 14.  De fort. Rom. 319 A–B. Plutarch Brut. 20.3 also mentions a shrine to Fortuna that lay beyond the Tiber within the horti Caesaris, the gardens that Iulius Caesar had willed to the people. It may or may not be the same temple.

38

Syncretized Roman Gods

them if they had bothered to check their translation with a native Roman. That they made the same error independently also suggests that their erroneous translation was accepted more broadly, that they were the inheritors of an earlier Greek misconception. Their translations are chance survivals of a larger and more complex process, verbal and written, that is now mostly invisible to us.

Fortuna ᾿Aποτρόπαιος This aspect presents an unsolved, and perhaps insoluble problem. Plutarch mentions at Q.R. 281E a temple to Τύχη ᾿Aποτρόπαιος built by Seruius Tullius. The epithet does not transparently match any of the known aspects of Fortuna. J.B. Carter (1900, 62) claimed with undue confidence that Fortuna Mala was a “reasonably certain” translation; Coarelli (1988, 274) has suggested instead Fortuna Redux. Aronen (LTUR 2.267– 8) mentions both Mala and Redux as possible alternatives, and Miano has listed these along other suggested epithets of the goddess in a useful table (2018, 81). P&A (215) record an even older theory (e. g., Rosch. 1. 2.1514) that ᾿Aποτρόπαιος renders Auerrunca, related to the god Auerruncus, an idea that Carter too blithely dismissed. It finds support in Uarro, who connects the name Auerruncus with the verb auerto (Ling. 7.102), which is in turn a fair match for Greek ἀποτρέπω, and hence also for Dionysius’ mention of certain θεοὶ ἀποτρόπαιοι invoked during civil unrest of 461 B.C.E. (D.H. 10.2.6). I myself find this explanation the most satisfying of the three. That Plutarch would offer such an obscure rendering without explanation is no surprise; he was simply a good writer. He mentions the goddess in a list of ten shrines of Fortuna founded by Seruius, in a quaestio that concerns primarily Fortuna Breuis, and a fuller explanation of the epithet would have served only to clog up his narrative.

Fortuna Breuis Another conundrum. Plutarch, our only source, asks at Q.R. 281D-E why Seruius built a ἱερόν to Μικρά Τύχη. He also renders the goddess’ epithet as Βρέβεμ, so his claim must ultimately go back to a Latin source. No such building is attested elsewhere in Greek or Latin, leading some to disregard Plutarch’s Βρέβεμ as transliterating a purely literary expression (see Aronen LTUR 2.268). In doing so, we would be disregarding Plutarch’s testimony in the absence of any evidence to the contrary. Our information on antiquity is not so complete that we can make such an assumption. If the silence troubles us too much, then a better solution would be to say instead that Breuis was colloquial, not literary perhaps in refer-

Felicitas and Fortuna

39

ence to one of the goddess’ temples or statues, much like association of the lacus Iuturnae and the Castores (q.v.).

Fortuna Εὔελπις Among the temples of Fortuna that Plutarch attributes to king Seruius are a shrine (ἱερόν; Q.R. 281D–E) and altar (βωμός; De fort. Rom. 323 A) of Τύχη Εὔελπις that were situated on the μακρὸς στενωπός. Plutarch’s Greek βωμός and ἱερόν translate an ara and probably sacellum, the latter perhaps incorporating the former (Aronen, LTUR 2.269), and his μακρὸς στενωπός is probably the uicus Longus, running between the colles Quirinalis and Uiminalis (P&A 575). As was the case with Fortuna ᾿Aποτρόπαιος and Fortuna Breuis, no other reference to Τύχη Εὔελπις survives; unlike them, we know of no Latin equivalent for the term Plutarch is translating. He offers no transliteration, as he did with Βρέβεμ, so we do not even know that a Latin word lies behind it. Nor is Εὔελπις used elsewhere as an epithet for a god. Carter (1900) suggests Felix, which should be chronologically impossible for a temple erected by Seruius. Coarelli suggests instead connecting the temple and altar with the archaic aedes Fortunae et Matris Matutae in the Forum Boarium (1988, 324). The physical remains at the site are a good match for Plutarch’s narrative – they include both the archaic temple and an even older altar with an Etruscan inscription – but Tutela, Coarelli’s suggestion for the word translated by Εὔελπις, is a stretch. A better solution would be to draw on the connection between Fortuna and the goddess Spes. Dionysius and Dio both use the root noun Ἐλπίς to translate Spes, and clear evidence survives linking the worship of the two gods outside of Rome, including dedicatory inscriptions to Spes in the temple of Fortuna Primigenia in Praeneste (CIL 14.2853, 14.2867) and a temple of Salus and Fortuna together in Capua (CIL 10.3775).⁴⁴ If Plutarch’s compound Εὔελπις can also refer to Spes, just as Εὐτυχία and Τύχη both translate Fortuna, then his phrase Τύχη Εὔελπις could refer to a shrine honoring Spes and Fortuna together within Rome. Or perhaps he has misrepresented an ara to Spes within a sacellum to Fortuna (or vice versa). One of the latter combinations may be more likely, given that we never hear elsewhere of Spes and Fortuna sharing a temple. Either way, the location of the shrine and altar remains a problem, since we know of no temple of Spes or Fortuna on the uicus Longus. There was a temple of Spes in the vicinity of the nearby uia Lata, but μακρὸς would be a poor translation for lata. Plutarch’s

 See Latte 238 and s.v. Spes.

40

Syncretized Roman Gods

Latin was better than that. And besides, the temple in question was Diocletianic or later, requiring us to postulate an earlier shrine at the same site (Aronen, LTUR 2.267). It would seem that Plutarch is again our only source for a cult site that would otherwise be entirely unknown.

Fortuna Muliebris A better attested aspect of the goddess. Fortuna Muliebris is referenced twice in Latin and three times in Greek, where she is called alternatively Γυναικεία Τύχη and Τύχη γυναικῶν. All surviving Greek and Latin sources on the goddess concern themselves with the foundation of her temple, which was supposedly located near the fourth milestone on the Uia Latina, though its remains have not yet been identified (Miano 2018, 95 – 8). The temple’s erection was prompted by Coriolanus’ invasion of Rome, which according to legend was stopped by Coriolanus’ mother and other Roman matronae. After the invading army’s departure, the senate and Roman people voted to honor the women’s actions by consecrating a templum to Fortuna Muliebris, complete with aedes, ara, and simulacrum. Livy’s account is brief, noting only that a templum to the goddess was built and dedicated (2.40.11); Ualerius Maximus (1.8.4) records only the shrine’s location and a famous prodigy that occurred therein. For a fuller account we must rely upon our two Greek sources, Dionysius and Plutarch, who were keenly interested in Coriolanus’ attack on his native city. Plutarch describes the heroic intercession of the Roman matronae twice, once in De fort. Rom. 318F–319A and once more, at greater length, in Cor. 33.1– 38.1. His narratives in the two passages are quite different. In De fort. Rom. Plutarch compresses the invasion and intercession, giving most of his attention to a prodigy that occurred during the temple’s dedication (καθιέρωσις), in which the goddess’ sacred image is said (λέγεται) to have spoken aloud, saying “Rightly have you consecrated me, women of the town, in accordance with the city’s law” (ὁσίως με πόλεως νόμῳ, γυναῖκες ἀσταί, καθιδρυσάσθε). In Coriolanus, Plutarch gives more detail about every facet of the invasion, intercession, and temple dedication. He notes that it was the senate who ordered the temple built, and expands on his λέγεται from De fort. Rom., specifying that it was the Romans (Ῥωμαῖοι) who recorded the goddess’ proclamation. This time he mentions two sacred images, one paid for by the senate and one by the women themselves, and specifies that it was the second image (ἄγαλμα) that spoke. The goddess’ words are also quite different. When placed in the temple, the second statue says “By divinely-favored law have you given me, women” (θεοφιλεῖ με θεσμῷ γυναῖκες δεδώκατε; Cor. 37.5).

Felicitas and Fortuna

41

Plutarch seems to be having difficulty harmonizing and translating his source material. His λέγεται in De fort. Rom. implies doubt about the specific language he attributes to Fortuna. He likewise apologizes when introducing the goddess’ speech in Coriolanus, saying her words were “something like the following” (τι τοιοῦτο). Contradictory sources would explain the discrepancies concerning the number of statues and the author of the dedications (γυναῖκες, γυναῖκες ἀσταί, or senators). He also seems to be having trouble fitting the Greek language to the goddess’ original speech. We possess a Latin version of Fortuna’s speech from Ualerius Maximus, who records it as rite me, matronae, dedistis riteque dedicastis (1.8.4). If Plutarch is consulting Ualerius or finding similar language in another source, then Latin rite poses a difficult challenge. He renders it with νόμος in De fort. Rom. and with θεσμός in Coriolanus, neither of which really captures the range of the Latin adverb. The verbs dedistis and dedicastis are also difficult, not so much in their meaning but in their alliteration. One can imagine Plutarch wrangling with various Greek combinations before giving up. In the end, Plutarch separated the two verbs, rendering dedistis with δίδωμι in Coriolanus and dedicastis with καθιδρύω in De fort. Rom. By splitting them, Plutarch treats them as synonymous, which they are not. He would have realized this, of course, and by writing λέγεται and τι τοιοῦτο he gives himself space to treat the goddess’ words more freely. As usual, Dionysius gives a far longer account than Plutarch, incorporating several additional details and translations of religious terminology (D.H. 8.55.2– 8.56.4). His matronae request a ἱερόν to Fortuna at the spot where they interceded with Coriolanus, and wish to inaugurate annual sacrifices therein. The senate and people gladly vote a temple precinct (τέμενος=templum), complete with a temple building (νεώς=aedes), altar (βωμός=ara), and cult image (ξόανον=simulacrum) in honor of the women’s deeds. As in Plutarch’s Coriolanus, the women themselves pay for a second image, which Dionysius this time calls an ἄγαλμα, apparently changing his vocabulary purely for the sake of variety. When he shifts to the goddess’ actual words, however, Dionysius, like Plutarch, grows more worried about the niceties of translation. As in Coriolanus, it is the second image that speaks, and Dionysius renders its words as ὁσίῳ πόλεως νόμῳ γυναῖκες γαμεταὶ δεδώκατέ με. He too seems unsatisfied with his translation of the goddess’ words, and signals its inadequacy with τοιόσδε, just as Plutarch does with τοιοῦτο. Having afforded himself the same license, he makes some of the same choices that Plutarch does. His translation for rite is ὅσιος νόμος, matching Plutarch’s νόμος in De fort. Rom. (and not his θεσμός in Coriolanus). Conversely, he uses γυναῖκες γαμεταί instead of ἀσταί for matronae, translates dedistis with the same δεδώκατε that we find in Coriolanus, and ignores dedicastis. He elsewhere uses καθιδρύω for dedicare (e. g., D.H. 13.3.1), just as Plutarch does in De fort. Rom., so its absence here is not for the lack of a ready translation. The two

42

Syncretized Roman Gods

authors seem to have decided separately that the Latin verbs were too repetitive to retain if their nice alliteration could not be represented. Were Dionysius and Plutarch really trying to render words like those in Ualerius? Dionysius wrote before Ualerius, so direct influence is impossible. Yet his γαμεταί suggests that he saw matronae as well as the dedistis riteque dedicastis in his source.⁴⁵ Its wording must have been something very close to the version in Ualerius. Fortunately, Dionysius gives his readers some details on his research, noting that an account of the two statues was recorded in τῶν ἱεροφαντῶν γραφαί, meaning probably the libri pontificales, an older and more imposing authority than Ualerius. Might he have consulted them directly? He does not say so, but he does emphasize that his rendering of the goddess’ words has been translated from Latin (ἐξερμηνευόμενος; Λατίνη φωνή) and that he has recorded a native version (ἐπιχώριος ἱστορία), which is typical of Dionysius, the Greek author who is most apt to prioritize Latin sources. Here he must have either accessed the libri himself or consulted a Latin source that cited them, which would make his account the earliest rendition of Fortuna’s speech, and based on the earliest Roman sources.

Fortuna Obsequens Servius (Aen. 1.720) tells us that Q. Fabius Gurges after the Samnite wars consecrated a temple to Uenus Obsequens, so named because that goddess had submitted to his desires (quod sibi fuerit obsecrata).⁴⁶ No Latin reference to Fortuna Obsequens survives, but it must have been a similarly propitious aspect of that goddess. Our only Greek references to her are two passages in Plutarch that refer to a temple built by Seruius Tullius. At Q.R. 281E he mentions a ἱερὸν Τύχης Μειλιχίας in passing as one of Seruius’ many temples to Fortuna. At De fort. Rom. 322F he says more, transliterating the goddess’ Latin name as Ὀψεκουένς and offering two translations drawn from other Greek observers, some of whom rendered the name as Πειθήνια, while others favored Μειλίχια. Πειθήνια, etymologically linked to obedience (πείθω, πιθανός), captures that side of Obsequens very well, including even the connotation of subservience that obsequor can imply. Μειλίχια means gentle, implying

 Dionysius further includes a tradition that the worship of Fortuna Muliebris was to be performed solely by uniuirae, especially those recently married. Tertullian connects this tradition instead with Mater Matuta (De Monog. 17), so either Dionysius, his source, or Tertullian has transferred the rite to the wrong goddess (Carroll 2019, 9). The temple housing both Mater Matuta and Fortuna in the Forum Boarium may have added to the confusion (Sartorio, LTUR 2.281– 5).  The connection between this idea and the act that funded the temple, the successful prosecution of certain matronae for stuprum by Gurges as aedilis, is obscure (see Livy 10.31.8 – 9).

Felicitas and Fortuna

43

a contrast with Fortuna’s harsher side, the fickle nature common to the Greek conception of Τύχη. The former is a literal translation of Obsequens and the latter more of an interpretive paraphrase. Both translations imagine a version of the goddess foreign to Greek Τύχη, whose favors were ever fraught with danger, and often mere precursors to impending disaster. Πειθήνια and Μειλίχια could only have been invented and understood by Greeks who were aware of the Roman point of view.

Fortuna Primigenia Primigenia is mainly famous today for her gigantic temple complex in Praeneste, so it is fitting that three of our four references to her in Greek concern temples. Yet Strabo is the only one to mention the Praeneste complex, and even he only mentions it in passing. He refers to it as τὸ ἱερὸν τῆς Τύχης (Str. 5.3.11), using precisely the same phrase that he does for the fanum Fortunae in Umbria, so he does not accord it any particular prominence. Even stranger, he notes only its oracles (χρηστήρια). He says nothing about its size, which makes a profound impact on the modern visitor, even with much of the original shrine still buried. The temple complex was truly massive in antiquity, occupying perhaps the same area as all of modern Palestrina (Graf NP 5.506; Miano 2018, 16 – 41). One wonders if Strabo or any of our Greek sources ever visited the site. Plutarch twice mentions a temple of Primigenia located in Rome, but not the most prominent one, which was was her aedes on the mons Quirinalis. ⁴⁷ Plutarch’s references are to the more obscure shrine on the mons Capitolinus. ⁴⁸ At Q.R. 281E he includes it in the list of Seruius’ foundations, where, as already noted, his primary interest is in Fortuna Breuis. He does not give the goddess’ Roman name, but his translation, Τύχη Πρωτογένεια, is an obvious match for the Latin epiclesis. Latin and Greek share the -gen- root, and the ordinal prefix Primi- is a close match for Greek Πρωτο-. The translation is also an old one, having been applied to the Praenestine incarnation by Hellenistic Greeks as early as the second century B.C.E. (Miano 2018, 173 – 4). Even so, Plutarch elsewhere seems unsure whether some of his readers would be familiar with the goddess. When he mentions the same temple at De fort. Rom. 322F, this time in a list of Numa’s temples to Fortuna,  It was dedicated in 194 B.C.E. by Q. Marcius Ralla (Livy 34.53.5 – 6; Coarelli LTUR 2.285), and was one of three shrines to Fortuna on the same hill honoring different aspects of the goddess.  The only Latin evidence for the temple is epigraphic: tu, quae Tarpeio coleris uicina Tonanti… Fortuna (CIL 14.2852 = ILS 3696), and perhaps also the Fortun(ae) Prim(igeniae) in C(apitolio) as reconstructed by Degrassi in the fasti fratrum Arualium (see Coarelli LTUR 2.286).

44

Syncretized Roman Gods

he gives the goddess’ Latin name (transliterated as Πριμιγένεια), and explains its meaning with a variant of the same translation (…Πρωτόγονος τις ἂν ἑρμηνεύσειε). De fort. Rom. is now generally thought to be an unfinished essay of Plutarch’s youth. If this is so, then the shift might be evidence of Plutarch’s evolving attitude towards translating Latin. With age and experience, and perhaps envisioning a more cosmopolitan audience, he might have grown more confident that his readers would know of Primigeneia and could make the elementary translation between Latin and Greek themselves. His most elaborate discussion of Primigenia is his inquiry into her nature at Q.R. 289B–C. The question that opens his discussion is a broad one: why do the Romans honor her?⁴⁹ He offers three answers from different perspectives, one from legend, one from etymology, and one from philosophy. The first, the one he says most Romans themselves believe, is that Seruius, who reputedly became king by chance (κατὰ τύχην, ὥς φασιν), was the son of a servant girl, and marked his rise by founding the goddess’ cult. This is explanation by way of folktale, with the name Primigenia commemorating Seruius’ original status (cf. Livy 1.39.6 and Og. 159 – 60). The second explanation is that τύχη gave Rome its start and birth (ἀρχή and γένεσις), a vague equivalence based on etymology and unconnected with any specific event or personality. It leads smoothly to a third and broader explanation, that Τύχη is the beginning (ἀρχή) of all things, an idea that Plutarch himself calls more philosophical, and more based in nature (φιλοσοφώτερος; φυσικώτερος). By their very structure, the answers within Plutarch’s Quaestiones create opposition. Here, they read as if the etymological, legendary, and philosophical explanations are mutually exclusive, with Plutarch giving pride of place to the more sophisticated philosophical approach. An isolated reading would also suggest a dichotomy between Greece and Rome, with most Romans preferring the Seruius legend, and presumably the other two ideas being favored by Greeks. This is only true in a rhetorical sense, however. We cannot assume that Plutarch felt that way himself. In a different context he can argue forcefully that traditional and philosophical interpretations are complementary (e. g., Per. 6). By extension, Romans could believe in the Seruius legend and also accept the philosophical explanation. And some would likely have done so, since the idea of Τύχη as the first ἀρχή was a stoic one, and as such would have appealed to many Romans as well as Greeks.⁵⁰ At the most, we might see here Plutarch’s preference for a more sophis Plutarch uses the same translation here as at Q.R. 281E (…Πριμιγένειαν ἣν ἄν τις εἴποι Πρωτογένειαν…).  E. g., in Chrysippus’ and Posidonius’ works Περὶ εἱμαρμένης, listed and very briefly described in Diogenes Laertius 7.149 (καθ’ εἱμαρμένην δέ φασι τὰ πάντα γίνεσθαι…).

Felicitas and Fortuna

45

ticated understanding, not a blanket rejection of folk tradition. Whatever the rhetorical preoccupations of the Q.R., we certainly should not read into this passage an actual or perceived dichotomy between Greek sophistication and Roman naiveté.

Fortuna Priuata Plutarch mentions a ἱερόν of Ἴδια Τύχη on the Palatine at De fort. Rom. 322F. The temple is otherwise unknown. It should probably be understood as a shrine to Fortuna Priuata, in contradistinction to the better-attested Fortuna Publica. We have no other information whatever on this aspect of the goddess, and Plutarch makes no comment on her cult.

Fortuna Publica One of the tres Fortunae on the mons Quirinalis, Fortuna Publica is referred to in Latin inscriptions as Fortuna Publica citerior because it lay nearer the city center than its two companions (see Coarelli LTUR 2.286; P&A 216 – 17). Cassius Dio, the only Greek to mention her temple, calls her Τύχη Δημόσια and records a thunderbolt striking her aedes, one of several portents occurring in 47 B.C.E. (C.D. 42.26.3). He mentions three bolts in all, one striking the aedes, one the Capotolium, and one Caesar’s gardens, which also obliterated an unfortunate horse. He records another prodigy in the same sentence that may involve the same aspect of Fortuna, but the reference is less clear. It concerns the spontaneous opening of the doors of a temple he calls the Τυχαῖον. Dio’s shift from ναὸς τῆς Τύχης to Τυχαῖον is not in itself problematic, and he makes no other differentiation between the two temples, so it would seem that this Τυχαῖον should also be the aedes Fortunae Publicae citerior. But if so, then his singular Τυχαῖον ignores the other two Τυχαῖα in the same location, which would be an odd choice for one who resided in Rome, off and on, for some fifty years, and who should have known the topography of the mons Quirinalis well. Still, when Dio refers to a prodigy involving a different shrine of Fortuna in the subsequent sentence, that of Respiciens, he marks the shift very clearly (ναὸς ἕτερος Τύχης), so it seems on balance that we should interpret Dio’s ναὸς Τύχης Δημοσίας and Τυχαῖον as referring to the same shrine, the alteration representing nothing more than a bit of uariatio.

46

Syncretized Roman Gods

Fortuna Redux Greek discussion of Redux is limited to an altar erected by the senate in honor of Augustus’ return from Syria in 19 C.E.⁵¹ Cassius Dio mentions the altar’s foundation (ἱδρυθῆναι) and translates the goddess’ name very literally as Τύχη Ἐπανάγωγος (C.D. 54.10.3). While the verb ἐπανάγω and the noun ἐπαναγωγή are both well attested elsewhere, Dio’s adjective is hapax legomenon, and may be a word he coined himself. Augustus also describes the altar and its attendant rites at M.A. 11, though the Latin text is badly damaged and the word altar (ara) is missing. The text is generally restored as (aram Fortunae Reducis ante ae)des Honoris et Uirtutis ad portam || (Capenam pro reditu meo se)natus consacrauit. The parallel Greek translation reveals the shrine’s form (βωμός), occasion (ὑπὲρ τῆς ἐμῆς ἐπανόδου…ἐκ Συρίας εἰς Ῥώμην), sponsor (ἡ σύγκλητος), and date (the consulship of Q. Lucretius and M. Uinucius), making the identification of the altar certain and allowing us to locate it next to the temple of Honos et Uirtus and the porta Capena. For some reason, Augustus’ Greek translator eschewed the more literal approach later taken by Dio, rendering Augustus’ Fortuna Redux as Τύχη Σωτήριος, which is not an obvious choice. Miano (2018, 159) sees in it an oblique reference to Fortuna saving Augustus from harm, and so returning him to Rome. This is a fair interpretation, though it would not have been accessible to most Greeks. But why might such an expedient have been necessary? Dio’s later innovation is not so brilliant that Augustus’ translator could not have done something similar. It seems more likely that he modulated his translation to suit his audience. The final product was to be a widely published inscription, not a work of literature. Worried that a neologism would confuse a less erudite Greek reader, he preferred an epithet that was more interpretive than literal. Σωτήριος is never elsewhere applied to Τύχη, but it is a standard Greek epithet for Ζεύς (LSJ 2). It had, at least, the virtue of familiarity. And even if it carried none of the literal meaning of Redux, the fuller explanation of the occasion was there in the inscription and would provide the necessary context.

Fortuna Respiciens Plutarch and Dio mention a ἱερόν of Τύχη devoted to Fortuna Respiciens, an aspect of the goddess attested centuries earlier in Plautus.⁵² Plutarch mentions the god-

 Coarelli LTUR 2.275; Wiss. 263 – 4; Rosch. 1. 2.1525 – 8.  The reference is indirect. Hegio says Respice, to which Ergasilus replies Fortuna quod tibi nec facit nec faciet, me iubes (Cap. 834). See Miano 2018, 115 and n.63.

Felicitas and Fortuna

47

dess twice, once at De fort. Rom. 323A, where he places her shrine on the mons Esquilina (ἐν Αἰσκυλίαις), and again at Q.R. 281E. We possess no other evidence for a temple of Fortuna on the Esquiline, and the silence has generated some consternation in Roman archaeology (Anselmino and Strazzulla, LTUR 2.276 – 7). Dio and Plutarch both find Respiciens difficult to render in Greek. Dio’s distress is explicit. He refers to her shrine only as “another temple of Τύχη,” and complains that the Romans gave her a name that is difficult for Greeks to express (οὐκ εὐαφηγήτον Ἕλλησι; C.D. 42.26.4). The problem was the Latin combination of spicere with the prefix re-. Greek possessed the adverb πάλιν for “back,” and had verb stems like βλέπω, ὁράω, and σκοπέω for “look,” but had no combination of those two that would give the appropriate meaning. Attested compounds like ἀναβλέπω and ἀποβλέπω would mean to look up or away instead of backwards. Something like παλιμβλέπω would do the job, but would require a neologism. Dio was not afraid of innovation, as we have just seen in the case of Ἐπανάγωγος, but here his daring or his imagination failed him. He offers no translation for Respiciens, and settles for a longer description of its meaning. Faced with the same problem, Plutarch at least attempts a solution. Unable to say “looking back,” he settles for Ἐπιστρεφομένη, which retains the force of the re- prefix by using the middle-voice, ἐπιστρέφομαι meaning to “turn oneself back,” and leaves the visual aspect of spicere implicit in the act of turning. To judge from Plutarch and Dio, the Greek understanding of Respiciens differed significantly from the native Roman one. Our best evidence for its native meaning comes from Cicero, who connects the idea of respiciens with rendering assistance (ad opem ferendam; De leg. 2.28). Cassius Dio, in the passage just discussed, claims that Romans honored this aspect of Fortuna because of the importance of focusing one’s eyes and reason both forward and back, on both the past and the future, and of remembering one’s origins. This explanation is consistent with Plutarch, whose Ἐπιστρεφομένη can also refer to self-reflection (LSJ 2). Their interpretation is more philosophical than Cicero’s, which is pragmatic, with military and political overtones. The absence of a ready translation for respiciens and the disconnect between the Roman and Greek interpretations of the epithet suggest that the goddess was unfamiliar to Plutarch, Dio, and their readers.

Fortuna Uirgo Plutarch twice mentions Τύχη Παρθένος, meaning Fortuna Uirgo, a little-known aspect of the goddess, to whom the “little togas” (togulae) of girls were brought (Wiss. 257). At Q.R. 281E Plutarch mentions the goddess’ name; at De fort. Rom. 322F–323A he notes also an aedes (ἱερόν) devoted to her, located next to the “Mossy Spring,”

48

Syncretized Roman Gods

the Fons Muscosus (Μουσκῶσα Κρηνή). The location of this spring and the neighboring temple of Fortuna are an unsolved problem (Aronen Fortuna Uirgo, LTUR 2.279 – 80; Aronen Fons Muscosus, LTUR 2.259 – 60), but the identification of temple’s dedicatee as Fortuna Uirgo is confirmed by Uarro (De uita pop. Rom. frag. 17). Arnobius in the 4th century C.E. called her Fortuna Uirginalis (Ad. nat. 2.67.3), but his testimony is too late and too rhetorically florid to cast doubt on Uarro’s evidence.

Fortuna Uirilis As already noted, Greek sources conflate Fortuna Uirilis with Fors Fortuna, two aspects of the goddess that are kept distinct in our Latin sources (e. g., fasti Praen. ad Kal. Apr.; Ouid Fast. 4.145). The two references to Τύχη ᾿Aνδρεία discussed under Fors Fortuna, D.H. 4.27.7 and Plutarch De fort. Rom. 319A–B, refer to the fanum Fortis Fortunae on the right bank of the Tiber, which was traditionally attributed to Numa. We possess two possible references to Fortuna Uirilis from Plutarch. One occurs at De fort. Rom. 323A, where he mentions a precinct (ἕδος) of Τύχη Ἄρρην beside the altar of ᾿Aφροδίτη Ἐπιταλάριος. He gives no information about its foundation or cult, and the precinct has not been identified, but the epithet seems clear. It is nowhere else applied to Τύχη, and is a close match for Uirilis. Less clear is an earlier passage from De fort. Rom., where Plutarch hesitantly credits Ancus Marcius as the first to apply (παρονομάζω) the name ᾿Aνδρεία to Τύχη (318E).⁵³ We might take ᾿Aνδρεία as a variant for Ἄρρην, but it seems more likely that it translates Fors Fortuna. If we could assume absolute consistency in the historical tradition, then this should be impossible. Ancus Marcius could hardly have established Fors Fortuna if Numa had built her temple two generations before, as Dionysius claims (D.H. 4.27.7). Such an assumption would be naive, however, and leave us with no explanation for Plutarch’s decision to alter the epithet ᾿Aνδρεία to Ἄρρην within the same work. Plutarch and Dionysius probably drew upon different traditions which attributed the cult of Fors Fortuna to different kings. Plutarch’s Τύχη ᾿Aνδρεία at 318E must have translated Fors Fortuna, by way of grammatical misconception, leaving his Ἄρρην at 323A as our sole reference to Fortuna Uirilis in Greek.  Plutarch goes further at De fort. Rom. 322D, crediting Ancus Marcius with a temple as well. The passage is an elaboration of 318E, and Wyttenbach and others have thought it wholly spurious. It may instead be an earlier version of 318E written by Plutarch himself and left in situ, a sign of incomplete revision in an early work (thus Babbitt ad loc.).

Felicitas and Fortuna

49

Fortuna Uiscata Completely absent from Latin sources, a Fortuna Uiscata (or Uiscatrix) is twice mentioned by Plutarch. At Q.R. 281E he transliterates the epithet Uiscata as Βισκᾶτα – the alternate Βισκατρῖκεμ appears in another manuscript – and translates her name as Τύχη Ἱξευτήρια, meaning Fortuna the Fowler, the epithet indicating that we are captured from afar by her, and fasten ourselves to misfortunes. His translation is reminiscent of his Ἐπιστρεφομένη for Respiciens, in that Ἱξευτήρια is not a literal translation of Uiscata. The Latin word actually means “smeared in bird lime” (OLD). Ἱξευτήρια does capture the purpose of bird lime, however. It also harmonizes with the interpretation of Seneca Ep. 8.3, in which the author warns Lucilius to avoid the uiscata beneficia of Fortuna, which are snares (insidiae) posing as gifts (munera). Plutarch also refers to the goddess by the nearly identical epithet Ἱξεύτρια in the earlier De fort. Rom. 322F, where he offers essentially the same explanation, adding only that the title may strike the reader as ridiculous (γελοῖον). His rhetorical stance was evidently less generous in his earlier years.

Fortuna When no specific aspect of Felicitas or Fortuna is invoked by an author, we must be selective. Many instances of τύχη and its compound forms have little to do with Roman religio. When Strabo (5.2.10) refers to the modern town of Fano as τὸ ἱερὸν τῆς Τύχης, for instance, we might expect some shrine of Fortuna to be present at the site, especially when the equivalent Latin name for the town is Fanum Fortunae, as is well attested in Latin sources from the Principate onwards (e. g., Pliny HN 3.113; Tacitus Hist. 3.50). Yet we have no evidence at all for the worship of Fortuna there (Miano 2018, 69 – 70). The name is no more than a topographical reference. Many other instances are patently colloquial, throwaway phrases like κατὰ τύχην and παρὰ τῆς τύχης that mean nothing more than “by chance” and “surprisingly.” Such expressions are particularly common in Plutarch’s De fort. Rom., an epideictic work contrasting τύχη and ἀρετή (e. g., 320B and 321B). When τύχη and compounds like εὐτυχής, ἐπιτυχής, and εὐδαίμων are applied to Rome and Roman duces, however, they do often bear religious significance. The adjectives in particular are a close match for the Latin concept of fortunatus dux, meaning a general imbued by Fortuna (or Felicitas) with notable good luck in battle (OLD, s.v. fortuna n.4). Given his interest in individual statesmen, it is no surprise that many such passages appear in Plutarch. When he describes Augustus sending one of his grandsons to war, for instance, Plutarch has him pray that the gods grant the lad his own Τύχη (Pl. De fort. Rom. 319E), which sounds very

50

Syncretized Roman Gods

much like Felicitas, or Fortuna in the fortunatus sense.⁵⁴ Two further examples come from Plutarch’s narrative of Philippi in the Life of Brutus. Before the battle begins, Plutarch’s Cassius grasps Messala’s hand and encourages him to take heart, looking to Τύχη, which they would be wrong to doubt (Brut. 40.3). Plutarch cites Messala himself as his source for the conversation, which is strong evidence that Cassius did refer to Fortuna or Felicitas, or at least that Messala described him doing so after the fact. Later in the same chapter, Plutarch has Brutus tell Cassius that he will go into battle praising Τύχη, grateful that his life since Caesar’s assassination has been one of freedom and glory (Brut. 40.8). Messala is not cited explicitly this time, but the proximity of the two statements suggests that Brutus’ praise is also meant for one of the two goddesses. A good example of Rome’s collective Fortuna is found in Plutarch’s Crassus. When Crassus’ son is killed by Parthians, and his head is paraded around on a spear, his father bears up nobly, reassuring his men that the disaster is his alone, and that the great reputation and Τύχη of Rome stands unbroken and undefeated in them (Crass. 26.6). Clear examples like these are not in the majority. Most references to Roman Τύχη are more difficult to evaluate. In general, divine forces are most apt to be involved when references of this sort cluster around a particular general, a dux whom the Romans would have called fortunatus or felix. ⁵⁵ Greek authors describe Τύχη as a prominent force in the careers of six Romans: Sulla, Aemilius Paullus, Scipio Aemilianus, Sertorius, Pompey, and Caesar, and passages describing them are the ones most likely to concern Roman Felicitas and Fortuna. Though Sulla is now the most famous devotee of Felicitas, Plutarch is the only Greek to pick up on this aspect of his career and propaganda, which he discusses at De fort. Rom. 318C–D and twice more in the man’s Life. The discussions at De fort. Rom. and Sull. 34.3 – 5 were clearly worked up from the same notes. In them, Plutarch describes a Sullan inscription in Greece, in which Sulla gave Τύχη most of the credit for his successes. According to Sull. 34.3, he even commanded Romans to address him as Felix (Φῆλιξ), a cognomen Plutarch translates with Greek Εὐτυχής. In both passages, Plutarch also notes that Sulla used a different name among the Greeks, L. Cornelius Sulla Ἐπαφρόδιτος, the name that was engraved on the aforementioned inscription. His preference for Ἐπαφρόδιτος in a Greek context instead

 Augustus’ prayer was unsuccessful. At M.A. 14 Augustus laments that For(tuna), translated as Τύχη, snatched C. and L. Caesar away. He used similar language in his will: …atrox Fortuna Gaium et Lucium filios mihi eripuit… (Suetonius Tib. 23).  Though Felicitas was the younger goddess, the two adjectives became interchangeable at some point. For example, a prodigy from Sulla’s infancy as recorded in De uir. ill. conflates them: Cornelius Sylla, a fortuna Felix dictus… (75.1).

Felicitas and Fortuna

51

of a more literal Εὐτυχής or Εὐδαίμων helps explain why other Greek authors overlooked his connection to Τύχη. At Sull. 6.4– 13 Plutarch discusses Sulla’s attitude towards Τύχη and the divine in general, contrasting his attitude and career with those of one Timotheus of Conon, who was angered when Τύχη was given the credit for his successes (which successes promptly ceased). Sulla not only accepts the same accusation with equanimity, he welcomes it, either as a boast or because it is his true opinion, and as a consequence, Τύχη continues to favor him for his entire life. The comparison with Timotheus is an implicit example of a key difference between the Greek and Roman attitudes towards Τύχη and Felicitas, one that Plutarch clearly recognized, and one that disturbed Polybius, as we will soon see. By strict chronology the career of Aemilius Paulus should involve only Fortuna. He died a generation before Lucullus dedicated his temple, and the cult of Felicitas, if it existed at all, was not a part of state religion. And in broad terms, the vicissitudes of Fortuna that he suffered and his attitude toward the goddess before and after these reversals suit better the Roman conception of the older goddess. The narrative of these events was a popular one among Greek and Roman historians alike, and the main shape of the story was consistent. Aemilius’ unbroken string of military successes against Perseus were followed by a disaster in his own household, when two of his sons died in the days surrounding his triumph. Aemilius bore his grief well, celebrating his triumph as he had planned, then burying his sons, and afterward gave a report of his campaigns before a contio of the Roman people. In it, he described his initial fears that Fortuna would demand a penalty for his many successes, as well as his prayer that the penalty would not also involve disaster for Rome itself, and expressed his confidence that Fortuna would now be satisfied with his own suffering. These elements are present in all four surviving accounts of his career: the Latin version by Livy (45.41) and the Greek versions of Diodorus, Plutarch, and Appian. Livy’s and Diodorus’ versions of these events are inconsistent when referring to the goddess involved, but Livy’s changes appear to be mere anachronism. He conflates Felicitas and Fortuna in Aemilius’ speech, contrasting publica felicitas with priuata fortuna at one point, then yokes Rome’s felicitas with secunda fortuna publica immediately afterward. Diodorus’ inconsistency is more pointed, the Sicilian seemingly determined to avoid any suggestion of vengeful Tύχη (D.S. 31.11.2). He begins with Tύχη, as we might expect, when he is describing the easy flow of Aemilius’ fortunes. But when he describes the growing danger that Aemilius’ unbroken luck might invite some catastrophic reversal, he drops Tύχη, and speaks instead of the commander’s good fortune (εὐποτμία). He grows even more vague when Aemilius himself perceives the danger, and describes the Roman commander praying to “the god” (τῷ θεῷ) that his family alone might suffer to ensure Rome’s

52

Syncretized Roman Gods

safety. The threat shifts in stages from the province of a particular goddess to a general threat of divine envy. Vicious Tύχη was part of Greek tradition, but apparently not an idea that Diodorus was willing to entertain, at least for so good a man as Aemilius. Appian’s narrative follows Diodorus’ example (Mac. 19.3). He never invokes Tύχη for Aemilius’ suffering, and reserves even the stem -τυχ- for good fortune alone. It is “the divine element” (τὸ δαιμόνιον) all along that begrudges Aemilius’ success (εὐτυχία) and kills his children. Appian also excises Fortuna completely from Aemilius’ speech, even within the consul’s prayer to spare the Roman state, in which Aemilius repeats his own earlier assertion that “the divine” is envious (φθόνερος γὰρ ὁ δαίμων). As we will also see in discussing Pompey’s downfall, Appian rejects the concept of Tύχη as a malevolent goddess, and exonerates her by substituting the generic idea of a jealous δαίμων in her place. Not so Plutarch. His narrative of this episode is the longest, the most frightening, and contains the fullest depiction of Τύχη, her beneficent and terrifying aspects alike (Aem. 34– 6). The most positive episode occurs quite a bit earlier in the Life, when he relates an omen spoken by Aemilius’ daughter just after he has been given the command against Perseus. The newly appointed dux arrives home to find the girl crying. When he asks the reason for her tears, she says, “Our Perseus has died,” meaning their dog of the same name. Aemilius is swift to claim the omen, and invokes Τύχη: ἀγαθῇ τύχῃ ὦ θύγατερ καὶ δέχομαι τὸν οἰωνόν (Aem. 10.8). Plutarch cites Cicero (Diu. 1.103) as his source, and while Cicero’s account does agree in many details, his Aemilius says only Accipio, mea filia, omen; he never mentions Fortuna. Plutarch has inserted Τύχη himself. Perhaps it is only an offhand comment, in the manner so natural to Greek (LSJ s.v. τύχη III.4), but the effect within the narrative is to bring the goddess into play. After concluding his narrative of Aemilius’ campaigns, Plutarch transitions to its aftermath with an ominous preamble: there is a divine force (δαιμόνιον) responsible for mixing evils in the lives of all men (Aem. 34.8). And, sure enough, Aemilius’ sons are soon dead. Everyone at Rome suspects the influence of Τύχη (Aem. 35.3), and all are horrified at the savagery of this force. Likewise Aemilius himself, whose speech contains elements of those in Livy, Diodorus, and Appian, but is much darker in its depiction of fortune, and leaves the reader no doubt that Aemilius thinks the malevolent δαιμόνιον is Τύχη (Aem. 36). The commander confesses to the contio that he never feared anything mortal, but has always been terrified by Τύχη, which he calls a most untrustworthy and inconsistent thing (36.3). And after recounting his military success, much as he does in Livy 45.41.3 – 6, he again invokes his fear, which was heightened by the good flow of his affairs (εὔροια, echoing Diodorus); he suffered no danger from his enemies, but he dreaded a change from the god (ὁ δαίμων) because of his success (εὐτυχία),

Felicitas and Fortuna

53

knowing that Τύχη grants no unalloyed good, nothing without nemesis. Disaster having now struck his own family, however, he expresses his confidence that Τύχη will have satisfied herself with the example of his own suffering, and will refrain from harming the Roman people. No simple pattern emerges from these accounts. All agree that good luck is an unreliable thing, and unqualified success should be viewed with suspicion, if not outright dread. Yet their depictions of Fortuna are quite different. Diodorus shifts from Τύχη to πότμος, and then generic divinity as Aemilius’ fortunes change. Appian’s account is even more careful to shift blame away from Τύχη and onto the divine (τὸ δαιμόνιον). These shifts would make sense if Aemilius’ story dealt with Roman Felicitas, but it should not. Only Plutarch’s narrative entertains the idea of malicious Τύχη, and in doing so matches traditional Greek attitudes towards Τύχη and the Roman conception of Fortuna in the early 2nd century B.C.E. He is the one author to describe Aemilius’ Fortuna without anachronism or distortion. Plutarch was particularly interested in Roman cult, as confirmed by the subject matter of many Quaestiones Romanae, and his depiction of Τύχη in the Aemilius is probably a result of his careful attention. Aemilius’ son, Scipio Aemilianus, was a contemporary of Lucullus, the founder of the temple of Felicitas, so the references to Τύχη that concern Scipio might refer to Felicitas as well as Fortuna. Oddly enough, those references are few. Only Polybius and Appian even mention Scipio’s Τύχη. True, Scipio’s career was well outside Dionysius’ chronological scope, and Diodorus and Dio are only sporadically interested in Roman gods, but it is strange that Plutarch, who writes more on Roman gods and religion than our other Greek authors, never addresses it. Perhaps he did so in his Life of Scipio, if that work did concern Aemilianus and not Africanus, but it has not survived. Felicitas and Fortuna are usually ignored by Polybius, but his narrative of Scipio’s career contains the one great exception.⁵⁶ For him, the Fortuna of Scipio is a personal matter, and he gives a long digression arguing that his friend gave Τύχη far too much credit for his many successes. Polybius seeks to deny entirely the goddess’ role in Scipio’s victories, a skeptical perspective that was rare among Greeks and Romans alike.⁵⁷ He complains that all other writers describe Scipio as ἐπιτυχής, as if that trait should make a man more divine or wonderful than if he succeeds through prudence and careful planning (10.2.5 – 6), and adds that Scipio himself is partly to blame for the misconception, having attributed his achievements to  Their absence might seem surprising, given Polybius’ strong interest in his own conception of Τύχη (Walbank 1970, 16 – 26), but Polybius generally excludes Roman religio from his narrative.  It is similar to the one espoused by Timotheus of Conon, which Plutarch contrasted with Sulla’s more successful attitude.

54

Syncretized Roman Gods

divine favor (θεῖα ἐπίπνοια), much as Lycurgus credited the Pythia for his own innovations (10.2.11– 12). Most strikingly, he claims that Scipio did so for military reasons, to instill greater confidence in his subordinates. He could be partially correct on this point. Polybius knew Scipio well. But whatever Scipio told Polybius, his Greek mentor is probably mistaken in imputing his own skepticism to his younger friend. Scipio’s propaganda would not be inconsistent with personal faith in his own Felicitas, and the idea that he was a fortunatus dux could have been as encouraging to him as it was to his men. Polybius has interpreted Scipio’s actions through the lens of his own prejudices. As we would expect, Appian offers a more favorable view of Scipio’s Τύχη. He too describes the confidence that Scipio’s success imparts to his troops, but without injecting any cynicism. The soldiers seem to have viewed the favor of Τύχη as a sort of congenital condition passed down to their commander from Scipio Africanus (Pun. 104). In doing so, they make no distinction between blood relationship and adoption, in accordance with the usual Roman attitude. The men are thus emboldened, believing that Scipio is favored by the same spirit (δαιμόνιον) that had given his grandfather a superhuman ability to know the future. And the soldiers are not the only ones. That same year the Roman senate sends an embassy to Scipio (149 B.C.E.) in order to investigate the army’s disposition. It returns a favorable report, praising both Scipio’s expertise and his fortuna (ἐπίτευξις; Pun. 105). Plutarch is our only source for the role of τύχη in Sertorius’ career, which he develops into an organizing theme for the Sertorius-Eumenes pair. He describes both subjects as men who had won great successes but suffered a violent and unjust τύχη in the end (Sert. 1.11). The Latin sources for Sertorius’ career, including nearly all of Sallust’s Historiae, have been lost, so we cannot tell whether the depiction of τύχη is Plutarch’s own or he encountered it elsewhere. It matches well his treatment of Τύχη as a divine force in Aemilius, but it also matches traditional Greek and Roman views of the goddess. It is also difficult in Sertorius to assess the degree to which τύχη is a goddess, personified and equivalent to Roman Fortuna. One possible clue in this regard is Plutarch’s claim that Sertorius experienced a worse τύχη than other famous generals (e. g., Philip, Antigonus, Hannibal). He found it (her?) a harsher enemy than his human foes, yet made himself through his own exertions equal to the τύχη of Sulla, even though he was an exile, commanding barbarians (Sert. 1.10). If we can assume some consistency between the Lives of Sulla and Sertorius, then this should be a personified Τύχη, a goddess steadfastly favorable to Sulla and equally steadfast in opposing Sertorius. Several generations prior, Sallust had asserted that previous historians had unjustly ignored Sertorius’ accomplishments through inuidia (Hist. frag. 1.88). Perhaps Plutarch consulted Sallust directly (he cites him elsewhere, though not in this Life), or perhaps the passage of time had by Plutarch’s day encouraged a general reconsidera-

Felicitas and Fortuna

55

tion of Sertorius’ career. Either way, through Sallust, or as part of some broader reevaluation, Plutarch came to view Sertorius as a sort of antithesis to the fortunatus dux, admirable in many respects but ultimately unsuccessful because he lacked Fortuna’s favor. The vicissitudes of Fortuna also play an important role in Greek depictions of Pompey’s career. The majority of the man’s life was blessed with brilliant success, and it would have been hard for a contemporary observer to say whether inconstant Fortuna or steadfast Felicitas was at work. Cicero’s Pro lege Manilia mentions Fortuna thirteen times and Felicitas five. Greek writers never had to make that distinction explicit; they could just say Τύχη. So it is in much of Plutarch’s Pompey. He has Τύχη conspiring to grant Pompey a portion of the credit for Crassus’ defeat of Spartacus, when he kills 5000 fugitives from the battle and claims the final victory in the slave revolt for himself (Pl. Pomp. 21.3).⁵⁸ He also describes Τύχη rescuing Pompey during his Mithridatic campaign, when his delays are resolved by the fortuitous news that Mithridates has killed himself (Pl. Pomp. 41.4). Plutarch pushes Τύχη a bit closer to Felicitas, a steadfastly positive force, when he describes Pompey’s τύχη ἀγαθή guiding him through a fierce storm (Pl. Pomp. 50.3). Cassius Dio in turn has A. Gabinius stress Pompey’s good fortune when proposing his extraordinary command against the pirates: Gabinius praises Pompey’s character and expertise, of course, but stresses above all his τύχη ἀγαθή (C.D. 36.27.5). In retrospect, it became clear to everyone that Pompey’s early successes had been aided by Fortuna, not Felicitas. Thus Uelleius’ literary epitaph: in tantum in illo uiro a se discordante Fortuna (2.53.3). The pattern in the Greek sources parallels the one seen in Aemilius’ career. Plutarch, Appian, and Dio all describe Pompey’s downfall, but only Plutarch is willing to address the part played by Τύχη. He frames his analysis as a dialogue between Pompey and his wife Cornelia, who rejoins her husband as he flees from Pharsalus (Pomp. 74– 5). She expresses her regret that she has infected Pompey with her bad Τύχη, contrasting his earlier power with his current lowly state and blaming herself for his downfall (74.5 – 6). It is almost as if a Sertorius married a Sulla and corrupted his Felicitas. Pompey comforts Cornelia by reminding her of Τύχη’s volatility: they were both fooled because she favored him longer than usual, and should take comfort from the hope that she may choose to favor him once again (75.1). Effectively, he says that she has mistaken Fortuna for Felicitas. Plutarch is writing in Greek, however, and cannot easily represent the Roman dichotomy between Fortuna and Felicitas.

 In this regard he surpasses Crassus, who had also enjoyed the favors of Τύχη against Spartacus (Pl. Crass. 11.10).

56

Syncretized Roman Gods

Unlike the Aemilius, however, Pompey does contain a passage in which Plutarch clearly distances Τύχη from misfortune. It comes after the death of Mithridates, at the high tide of Pompey’s good luck (42.12– 13). Pompey expects to return home from war to the praises of the people and the warm embrace of his family, but word reaches him that his wife at the time, Mucia, has been caught in an adulterous affair.⁵⁹ He investigates the matter, finds the claim to be true, and divorces her. Plutarch’s comment on the episode is that some spirit (δαιμόνιον) is responsible for mixing evils in with the favors of Τύχη. We might take this for mere rhetoric if we had not already encountered similar statements in the descriptions of Aemilius’ downfall by Diodorus and Appian. Like those two authors, Plutarch seems unwilling here to portray Τύχη as a malicious entity, so he keeps her a wholly positive force and interpolates an unnamed δαιμόνιον to explain misfortune. The dichotomy in such passages mirrors the split between Felicitas and Fortuna that had arisen at Rome, and around the same time. The difference was that Greeks never invented a new persona for their malevolent δαιμόνιον, and this led to difficulties in translation. Plutarch is only distinct from the other Greek writers in that he can retain the more negative aspects of Τύχη when he considers it appropriate in his narrative to do so. The τύχη of Iulius Caesar is discussed several times in Greek sources. Two are merely incidental.⁶⁰ Three others could well involve the goddess. In one, Plutarch’s narrative of the famous Bona Dea incident involving Clodius, Plutarch makes a general comment on τύχη as it impinged on Caesar’s domestic misfortunes. In his view, the accusation of adultery against Caesar’s wife shows that τύχη was a danger for everyone. Even Caesar could suffer from τύχη ἄχαρις in his private life (Caes. 9.1). Is the goddess Τύχη really involved here? If other sources are our yardstick, then no. The incident is described by Cicero (e. g., Att. 1.12.3), Suetonius (Iul. 6.2, 74.2), and Cassius Dio (37.45), and not one mentions Fortuna in this connection. None of these would constrain Plutarch’s authorial opinion, however, and given his comments on Τύχη elsewhere in the Life, he may be imagining it as a personified force. Certainly, his readers would be free to do so. Caesar’s fortunes in crossing between Italy and Illyria are also described by Plutarch and Cassius Dio, though the particular crossings involved differ. In Plutarch’s Life, Τύχη is involved in his departure from Apollonia. Caesar hires out a skiff wearing a disguise, hoping to make his crossing in secret. A strong wind  Plutarch cites Cicero’s correspondance as his source for Mucia’s adultery, but no such letter has survived.  Plutarch writes that all of Rome finally acceded to Caesar’s τύχη once he had defeated his rivals and appointed himself dictator (Caes. 57.1). Appian calls Caesar εὐτυχέστατος ἐς πολέμους (Ap. Ill. 15).

Felicitas and Fortuna

57

blows up and the boat’s owner decides to turn back, but Caesar reveals himself to the man and encourages him to continue, telling him that he carries Caesar and his Τύχη (Pl. Caes. 38.5 – 6). The crossing fails (38.6), but Caesar and his helmsman survive, and Caesar’s overall campaign ends in the great victory at Pharsalis. Plutarch gives a slightly longer version of the same story at De fort. Rom. 319C, and there Caesar also tells the captain to entrust his sails to Τύχη. Dio does not mention Τύχη in the episode (C.D. 41.46.3), but just a few chapters prior he describes Caesar sacrificing to Τύχη before making an earlier crossing from Brundisium (C.D. 41.39.2). There, the intended victim bolts away, flees the city, and swims across a lake, a prodigy that Caesar takes as an auspicious sign for his own departure. In each instance, an apparent initial misfortune is no real setback, and Caesar’s confidence in Τύχη proves justified in the end. This conception parallels the Roman conception of Caesar as the felix or fortunatus dux, in which the divine force of Τύχη operates as Roman Felicitas. Caesar’s personal Fortuna is mentioned one further time by Cassius Dio, and in a peculiar combination. Dio writes that the senators of Rome marked their acquiescence to Caesar’s mastery with vows to his Ὑγίεια and Τύχη (C.D. 44.50.1). No other source records these vows, and the pairing of Ὑγίεια and Τύχη is uncommon. Salus, who lies behind Dio’s Ὑγίεια, is usually associated instead with Aesculapius and Apollo. ⁶¹ Yet Dio records similar honors for Plautianus, praefectus praetoria under Septimius Seuerus, to whose Τύχη Roman soldiers and senators swear an oath, praying publicly on behalf of his safety (σωτηρία; C.D. 75.14.7). Similar combinations for other emperors are mentioned elsewhere in Xiphilinus (e. g., Dind. 161.20). Plautus too brings Fortuna and Salus together at Asin. 712– 18, albeit in a bantering way. Given all that, Dio’s inclusion of Τύχη here is probably not mere rhetorical elaboration but represents either the actual presence of Fortuna in the senatorial uota or at least a later tradition that described them. After Caesar’s death, the Τύχη of Rome becomes enmeshed with the Τύχη of the emperor, explicitly so in the rites of Fortuna Redux. This development might also be reflected in Augustus’ prayer at De fort. Rom. 319E on Gaius’ and Lucius’ behalf. Our only other Greek source for this development is Dio, and his attitude towards it is not very clear. When he describes Caligula declining sacrifices to his Τύχη in the early and more restrained days of his rule, the rites may be an extension of the then normal sacrifices to Fortuna Augusta (C.D. 59.4.4; cf. Wiss. 263). On the other hand, when Dio recounts a dream in which Τύχη appears to Galba, the

 See under Salus. Weinstock (1971, 217– 18) adduces parallels to Dio’s story from Plutarch, Pliny, the acta of the fratres Aruales, and Greek and Latin epigraphy, but none of them mentions Fortuna or Τύχη.

58

Syncretized Roman Gods

narrative reads as though the goddess’ favor is entirely personal (C.D. 64.1.2 & Xiph. S186.22). Dio’s most tantalizing evidence is his translation of the formula by which Nerua adopted Trajan. According to Xiphilinus, Dio rendered the words as ἀγαθῇ τύχῃ τῆς τε βουλῆς καὶ τοῦ δήμου τῶν Ῥωμαίων καὶ ἐμοῦ αὐτοῦ Μάρκον Οὔλπιον Νερούαν Τραϊανὸν ποιοῦμαι (C.D. 68.3.4). No Latin text for this formula survives, so we are left wondering what Dio’s ἀγαθὴ τύχη might have been in Nerua’s original Latin. Perhaps Nerua said simply Fortuna and Dio has added the qualification ἀγαθὴ himself. Or perhaps Nerua named Felicitas and Dio used Τύχη ἀγαθή in the absence of a Greek equivalent. That would be a perceptive choice. The problem with this theory is that Dio does not consistently differentiate Fortuna and Felicitas elsewhere, so it would be odd if he were so careful here. The most likely translation is the literal equivalent bona fortuna, which was a common enough phrase (OLD 1b), and one lacking any known cult tradition.

Hercules Like Apollo, Hercules (Ἡρακλῆς) was a Greek import, without a native equivalent, who became an important part of Italic cult very early on. He was honored in the first lectisternium (D.H. 12.9.2) and worshipped by the fourth century B.C.E. at the Ara Maxima in the Forum Boarium. ⁶² He was later integrated into Augustus’ public image.⁶³ Some authors are very interested in Hercules and some hardly at all. Polybius ignores him entirely; Appian records only that Hercules Inuictus (᾿Aνίκητος) was Pompey’s watchword before Pharsalus (B.Ciu. 2.21[76]). On the other hand, Dionysius, Strabo, Plutarch and Dio all discuss him to some degree, and Diodorus describes his Italian adventures at great length. Between them, they focus on three aspects of the god-hero: imitation of him by various powerful Romans, peculiar aspects of his Roman cult, and his legendary exploits in Rome and throughout Italy. Greek writers several times describe emulation of Hercules by Romans, but never by admirable ones. Instead, we have less reputable characters like Caligula, Nero, Antony, and Commodus impersonating him, the former two doing so rather

 Livy 5.13.5 – 6, matching the βωμός at D.H. 6.1.4. Hercules was among the Greek gods who entered Roman cult indirectly, through the mediation of neighboring Latin states (Wiss. 271– 2). On Hercules in early Italy and Rome see Stafford 2012, 194– 7; Bonnet 2008; Coarelli 1988, 60 – 77; Galinsky 1972, 126 – 7; Latte 213 – 21; Wiss. 271– 84; Rosch. 1. 2. 2253 – 98.  On the Augustan connections see Hegyi 2016; Miller 2014, 439 and 457– 60; Harrison 2005, 118 – 24; Hekster 2004. Several shrines and altars honor aspects of Hercules that are not found in the Greek sources (e. g., Hercules Oliuarius and Syllanus; see Coarelli 1988, 198 – 204 and Coarelli et al. LTUR 3.11– 26).

Hercules

59

indiscriminately (Ap. B.Ciu. 3.16; C.D. 59.26.6, 63.20.5) and the latter pair more persistently (Pl. Ant. 4.1– 2, 36.7, 60.5; C.D. 72.7.2, 72.15.3 – 6, 72.20.2, 72.22.3). Alexander the Great had famously emulated Greek Ἡρακλῆς (Stafford 2012, 142– 6), and imitation of Alexander was a necessity for those who would be seen as his successors, but those Romans who attempted to do so via Hercules fell well short of Alexander’s example. In both Greek and Latin sources, the three emperors who appropriated the god rank among the very worst, and Antony too had many character flaws (Hegyi 2016, 159 – 60). Their emulation of Ἡρακλῆς is seen as part of the disconnect between their character and their propaganda, a theme that becomes a cliché in the Greek historiographical tradition. Hence Dio’s use of Septimius Severus’ temple to Hercules and Bacchus as an example of that emperor’s prodigality (C.D. 77.16.3).⁶⁴ Conversely, Plutarch is the only Greek to show any interest in Hercules’ cult at Rome. Many aspects of the cult were supposed to have been established by Hercules himself. Two episodes concern sacrifices made to Hercules, which he records without any comment: one is an extravagant votive sacrifice made by Sulla and Crassus, which he describes twice (Crass. 2.3, 12.3; Sull. 35.1); the other is a sacrifice performed by Aemilius Paulus before Pydna (Pl. Aem. 17.11). Somewhat more interesting is a Quaestio in which Plutarch ponders why Romans teach their children to swear by Hercules only in the open air (Q.R. 271B). He offers as one possible explanation Hercules’ foreign origin, by which he means the god’s Greek roots, glossing over the role played by neighboring Italian states as intermediaries between the Roman and Greek traditions. Given his interest in Hercules’ cult, it is surprising how little attention Plutarch gives to Hercules’ initial exploits in Rome. He does mention him briefly in origin stories for the name Roma (Pl. Rom. 2.1) and for the gens Fabia (Pl. Fab. 1.2), but the only episode that really catches his interest is not part of the foundation legends. It concerns a later encounter between the god and the meretrix (ἑταίρα) Larentia Fabula – distinct from the earlier Acca Larentia, nurse of Romulus – that occurred inside the god’s temple. He tells the story twice (Rom. 5.1– 4; Q.R. 272F–273B), and his two narratives describe Larentia’s interaction with the god very differently. In each version, an aedituus (ζακόρος) of Hercules’ sanctuary who is fond of gambling challenges the god to a game of dice. He loses, and as his penalty must prepare Hercules a feast and bring him a woman, locking her inside the building. This woman is Larentia. The god “encounters” her (ἐντυγχάνω) that night, a term that can, but need not, imply sexual relations, and tells her to go into the forum the next  The disconnect is all the more outrageous because Romans had made Hercules their model of stoic sacrifice and endurance. Uirgil depicts him as an important precursor of Aeneas, especially in the Cacus episode of book eight (Galinksy 1972, 131– 49), which links the god in turn with Augustus and the public ethos of the state.

60

Syncretized Roman Gods

day and befriend the first man she meets. She does so, and the man turns out to be a wealthy older bachelor named Tarrutius, who takes her on as his lover. She outlives him and inherits much of his property. Upon her own death she bequeaths most of it to the state. The differences in Plutarch’s two narratives involve a shift in his usage of the verb ἐντυγχάνω. In Romulus, he leans hard into its sexual connotation, noting that Larentia was honored in her later years as a woman loved by the god (θεοφιλή). And she does not die, being transubstantiated at the later Uelabrum. In the Quaestiones, Plutarch excludes sexual relations with the god altogether. He again uses ἐντυγχάνω to describe Hercules’ visitation, but specifies that it did not occur in human fashion (οὐκ ἀνθρωπίνως). Larentia later dies a normal death, and her honors are tied solely to her generous bequest. Plutarch never weighs these two interpretations against each other. He adopts a more rationalizing tone in Q.R., as he often does, but without any explicit condemnation of a more salacious reading. In Romulus, he is dealing with a mass of legendary material – see the introduction to the pair at Thes. 1 – and some traditions held that his subject became a god (see under Quirinus). Though Plutarch is sceptical of this claim, it still provides a logical framework in which to tell the story of Larentia as another apotheosis. We can see Plutarch finessing his material to match its rhetorical context. Hercules’ corporeal exploits may not have intrigued Plutarch much, but they are of great interest to Strabo, Dionysius, and Diodorus, all of whom examine the traditions linking Hercules to Euander’s Arcadians and the founding of Rome. These events were supposed to have occurred as the hero made his way back to Argos to show Eurystheus the cattle of Geryon, in the process of which he seems to have wandered through every square inch of Italy. Strabo’s account, which he calls legendary (μυθώδης), is steeped in Aeolism. It is part of his discussion of the Sabines and Latium in book five, and is partially or wholly derived from the history of L. Coelius Antipater, whom he cites (5.3.3). According to Strabo, Nicostrate, the mother of the Arcadian king Euander, was skilled in divination (μαντεία = uaticinatio), and foresaw Hercules’ ultimate apotheosis. Euander shared this information with the hero when he passed through, and established a templum (τέμενος) and sacra (θυσία) in his honor. The most intriguing detail is that Strabo calls these sacra “Greek sacrifices” (θυσία Ἑλληνική), and claims that the Romans still practiced them in his own day. This is where he cites Antipater, saying that his Roman predecessor took the rite as proof that Rome was originally founded as a Greek city. Aeolism was not a Greek imposition; it was a widely held Roman view as well.⁶⁵

 This concludes Strabo’s description of Hercules in Rome itself. In book six he mentions in pass-

Hercules

61

Strabo’s contemporary Dionysius was also very interested in Hercules, and the hero is featured several times in the first book of his Antiquitates. Dionysius begins with an otherwise unknown tradition, in which Hercules established a colony of Peloponnesian Greeks and Trojans on the mons Capitolinus a few years after the neighboring Arcadian settlement was founded (D.H. 1.34). Hercules is not his primary interest in the passage, however. He focuses instead on the origin of the settlers and the original name of the hill, mons Saturnius (see Saturnus). As evidence for the name, he cites Italian mythographers and an unknown poet named Εὔξενος (who might just be Ennius), so his reference to the hill as Σατόρνιος must reflect a Latin source. In case the name should be opaque to his Greek readers he also explains that its Greek equivalent is λόφος Κρόνιος. Dionysius uses the story as an opportunity to claim a Greek origin for the Capitoline, which he corroborates by reference to the ara Saturni of his own time (cf. D.H. 1.38.2), and to adduce the Roman tradition that all Italia was once known as Saturnia (cf. Ennius An. 25, Uirgil Aen. 8.358). The latter point leads Dionysius to the Geryon labor, during which Hercules gives Italia its historical name (D.H. 1.35). His source this time is the Lesbian mythographer and ethnographer Hellanicus, a contemporary of Herodotus, according to whom Hercules’ Italian perambulations were in pursuit of a truly astonishing calf, which escaped the herd while on the road to Argos, bolted south through the entirety of the Italian peninsula, and swam the straits of Messana into Sicily. In Dionysius, Hercules chases the animal south, interrogating the locals along the way for guidance, but they speak little Greek, so they call the animal by its Latin name, uitulus (οὐίτουλος).⁶⁶ The great hero accordingly decides to name the land through which he pursued the beast Uitulia (Οὐιτουλία), and because he is Hercules the name sticks, changing only slightly in the passing centuries. Unlike the Capitolium story, this one apparently had no native support. Romans did link Italia with uitulus (e. g., Festus 228 s.v. Italia), but Hellanicus (via Dionysius) is the only source for the Hercules connection. Not surprisingly, for so early an author, Hellanicus seems to have been unaware of the other languages of the peninsula, like Oscan and Etruscan, which Hercules would have encountered on his way to Sicilia. Romans knew of them, and Dionysius surely did as well, which may explain why Dionysius prefers the account of the fifth-century historian Antiochus of Syracuse, who traced the land’s name to

ing Hercules’ rout of Campanian giants (Str. 6.3.5) and a bronze statue of Ἡρακλῆς that was taken from Tarentum and placed on the mons Capitolinus by Fabius Maximus (Str. 6.3.1). The same statue is discussed by Plutarch (Fab. 22.8) and Dio (C.D. 42.26.1).  Strabo too has Hercules traversing the peninsula, completing the large mound separating lacus Lucrinus in Campania from the sea, but says that he is driving the cattle of Geryon, not chasing a single calf (Str. 5.6.1).

62

Syncretized Roman Gods

an ancient king (D.H. 1.35.3). Yet by recounting Hellanicus’ story, Dionysius has preserved a tradition in which Latin etymology was combined with Greek legend, a fine example of the complexities of Greek and Roman interaction. Dionysius gives a fuller account of Hercules’ Italian adventures a few chapters later, organizing his narrative into two sections, both of which are marked by Aeolism. The first (D.H. 1.39 – 40) corresponds to Strabo’s Euander narrative. The second is a historicizing account, a “truer” (ἀληθέστερος) one in Dionysius’ words, which transforms Hercules from a hero into a conquering general (D.H. 1.41– 4). It expunges many of the familiar mythical elements from the episode and offers in their place more mundane explanations. Dionysius does not name his sources in this second section, his only citation being Aeschylus’ Prometheus Unbound, which he adduces only to support one small aspect of the tale (D.H. 1.41.3). Greek and Latin authors alike are surely involved, and the Euhemerizing influence of Hellenistic writers is evident (see Galinsky 1972, 129 – 30). When we compare the first part of Dionysius’ account with Strabo, we find several points of agreement. One already noted is its inclusion within the narrative of the Geryon labor. Another is the role of Euander’s mother Carmenta in revealing Hercules’ divine fate.⁶⁷ Both authors describe the sacrifices established for Heracles by Euander, and both emphasize their Greek nature. The differences between their accounts are not disagreements so much as a product of Dionysius’ greater scope. Strabo never mentions Heracles’ fight with the monster Cacus – a popular story in Roman literature (Livy 1.7.4– 7; Uirgil Aen. 8.184– 279; Prop. 4.9; Ovid Fast. 1.543 – 586) – whereas Dionysius gives an extended version, ending with the establishment of an altar to Iuppiter Inuentor (Ζεὺς Εὑρέσιος) and the sacrifice of a calf to the same in accordance with Greek customs (νόμιμα Ἑλληνικά; D.H. 1.39.4). Dionysius also gives an elaborate description of the sacrifices to Hercules, including the hero’s selection of the gentes Potitii and Pinarii for the future performance the rites. He explains the reason for the Pinarii’s inferior role at the ceremony, describes the later transfer of the responsibility for the sacrifices to serui publici, and gives the name and location of the ara maxima (βωμὸς μέγιστος) in the Forum Boarium (βοαρία ἀγορά) that Hercules established for the rites (D.H. 1.39.4– 6; cf. Livy 1.12.11– 15). The historicizing version that follows was not an innovation. Dionysius says that many of his predecessors had put the god’s career into a historical framework (D.H. 1.40.6). The loss of these narratives may be only happenstance, or it may be that the historicized Hercules was less appealing to the wider public and to later generations, who neither read nor copied the authors who described him. Whatev-

 Her Greek name differs. Strabo calls her Νικοστράτη; Dionysius calls her Θέμις.

Hercules

63

er his appeal, this Hercules is certainly a very different character, a great general who traverses the world at the head of a huge army, performing great civic works, overthrowing despots, and establishing more civilized forms of government.⁶⁸ This mundane Hercules leads a Greek army into the peninsula in order to subdue it, fighting Ligurians in the north, besieging and defeating those he encounters to the south. Cacus is humanized in this version, being merely a particularly brutal leader who raids the Greek camp during the night and retreats back to his fortifications. The Greeks then defeat and kill him, and Hercules gives the surrounding territory to contingents of his army, which is how Euander and the Arcadians end up in Latium. Euander’s family is also very different from the one in extant Roman versions. Lauinia is still a daughter of Euander, as we would expect, but Pallas is now the son of Lauinia and Hercules, the grandson of Euander and not the son. Latinus is the son of Hercules and an unnamed Hyperborean girl that the hero had brought along on his expedition. Many other details are unfamiliar. Faunus is a king of aboriginal Italians; Latinus dies in battle against the Rutuli; Pallas dies before puberty; Turnus is absent. Aeneas is still Latinus’ gener (κηδεστής; D.H. 1.43), but precisely how is unclear. The episode concludes with Hercules’ foundation of Herculaneum (πολίχνη ἐπώνυμος) in Campania and his departure for Sicilia. Hercules’ adventures in Sicilia are also central to the Hercules digression by Diodorus, which fills a third of his fourth book. The digression is our longest surviving narrative of the hero’s Italian exploits, and our second longest account of Hercules’ labors in toto (trailing only that of pseudo-Apollodorus). Like most later accounts, Diodorus describes twelve labors, not ten (4.10.6 – 4.27). The tenth of these, the most elaborate by far, is the cattle of Geryon, during which Hercules traverses all of Italy and Sicily (4.17– 4.24) and ends up in Diodorus’ home town of Agirium (᾿Aγύριον). Diodorus begins Hercules’ Italian adventures with the Liguri, as Dionysius does, but his details and emphasis differ (D.S. 4.20; D.H. 1.41.3), and his narrative diverges after Hercules reaches the Tiber (D.S. 4.21). He leaves Euander and the Arcadians out entirely, and the occupants of the later site of Rome are instead a small band of ancestral Romans living on the mons Palatinus. Hercules meets two of their leaders there. One is named Pinarius, who is an individual instead of a gens (the Petitii and the later role of the two gentes in the god’s cult go unmen D.H. 1.41.1. Nepos Hann. 3 says Hercules was the first to lead an army south through the Alps, as commemorated in the local toponym saltus Graius. Dionysius does not deny the labor of Geryon that he just recounted, but in the narrative that follows he tries to distinguish it from the hero’s Italian accomplishments, pointing out that Italia is not on the route between Spain and Argos (blithely ignoring the wandering uitulus).

64

Syncretized Roman Gods

tioned). The other is named Cacius (Κάκιος), a variant of Cacus who is neither monster nor chieftain. His identity as Cacus is confirmed by Diodorus’ description of the scalae Caci (κλῖμαξ Κακία) as having been erected in his honor. Hercules is pleased by his warm reception among the Palatine community and tells the locals of his impending deification, promising that those who vow to give him a tenth of their property will live a more fortunate life. Diodorus notes that this tradition was current in his own time, and cites as examples the donations of Lucullus, who gave a tenth of his considerable fortune to elaborate feasts in the god’s honor, and the temple of Hercules in the Forum Boarium, in which sacrifices were performed from the proceeds of other such donations. As Diodorus follows the hero’s progress south through Italy, and eventually into Sicily (4.23 – 4), his itinerary follows a coastline replete with Greek cities, and some of the traditions that he relates about Hercules’ various deeds, including various construction projects, the banishment of crickets from the toe of the Italian peninsula, and a wrestling match with the demigod Eryx, are absent from Latin sources.⁶⁹ The closer Hercules’ path takes him to Agirium the more likely it is that Diodorus will be privy to, and intrigued by, obscure local traditions. Where Strabo, for example, merely records the existence of a temple of Ἥρα near Κρότων called the Λακίνιον, Diodorus explains its foundation, which began with Hercules’ slaying of the cattle rustler Λακίνιος, and the town’s name, which was inspired by Hercules’ accidental killing of a man named Κρότων (Str. 6.1.11; D.S. 4.24.7). His prolixity reaches its zenith in Agirium, where Hercules excavates a small lake named in his honor and founds two religious precints (τεμένη), one to Geryon (Γηρυόνη) and another to Iolaos, who accompanied Hercules on the labor. He also describes annual sacrifices that were still offered to Iolaos in his day, during which the locals entered Iolaos’ τέμενος through a “gate of Hercules” and celebrated Hercules himself with annual games that featured gymnastics and horse racing (D.S. 24.3 – 6). Throughout, Diodorus tends not to distinguish Italian, Sicilian, and older Greek ideas. For him, a native of Sicily during the late Republic, the entire mass was an amalgam into which he was born and in which he had always lived. This may be why his version of the hero’s exploits interweaves the mythological and historicizing elements that Dionysius chooses to separate. His Hercules, for instance, has a retinue incorporating Iolaus and a full army (D.S. 19.1), and he not only defeats bands of barbarian brigands, but subdues monsters and nature (D.S. 19.4). True, Diodorus’ home town had been a Greek city since the fourth century B.C.E., and the honors that he lists there are evolutions of a cult honoring a local Greek Ἡρακλῆς, but such concerns do not extend to his entire narrative. Local Sicilian traditions

 Uirgil alludes to a different version of the Eryx encounter as a boxing match (Aen. 5.410 – 11).

lmperial Cult

65

aside, his Ἡρακλῆς and Hercules are so thoroughly blended that the details of his narrative cannot be attributed to Greek or Roman traditions alone. Many of the traditions he records about the hero’s exploits in Latium have Latin support.⁷⁰ His historicizing details can admittedly be idiosyncratic: we have no other source for his peculiar versions of Cacus and Pinarius, for example. Yet he seems quite familiar with the contemporary topography of Hercules’ cult in Rome, including the scalae Caci (albeit with its name altered), the aedes Herculi, and the contemporary tithes and sacrifices in the god’s honor. The same can be said of Dionysius. The structure of his diptych narrative makes it more difficult to parse, but each of his two accounts contains a mix of familiar and idiosyncratic elements. On one hand, his alternate names for the mons Palatina and Italia, the Uitalia etymology, the mythological Cacus story, the ara of Iuppiter Inuentor, the Potitii and Pinarii, and the sacrificia by νόμιμα Ἑλληνικά are all supported by other sources, Greek and Latin, and should have been familiar to many of his Roman contemporaries. On the other, his human Cacus, his odd arrangement of Euander’s family, and his account of Hercules’ settlement of the Palatine and rule as an ancient king all stand alone. Yet even these traditions may have been current in Rome; they are not concentrated in Dionysius’ rationalizing narrative but mixed in throughout. And the rationalized narrative was itself drawn from many sources, as Dionysius himself states (1.41.1). We have no reason to presume any dichotomy between native material and a Hellenic substratum. We must be dealing with a more complex admixture of two connected traditions, Greek and Latin, that by Dionysius’ time were conversant with one another, aided by growing bilingualism on the both sides (Adams 2003, 14– 17; Biville 2002, 78; Holford-Strevens 1993, 203 – 7). Some of the material was doubtless more mainstream at Rome, but Greek and Roman traditions there would have been interwoven from very early on, when the stories of Hercules in Rome were first being formulated among the Italian and Greek traders of the Forum Boarium.

lmperial Cult The Roman incarnation of ruler cult is a complex topic and has been studied extensively. While its practice varied widely over time and geography, it has proven  The same is true of Strabo. Strabo’s use of Antipater’s history, for instance, means that much of his material was known in Rome, even his more peculiar claims. His assertion that Carmentis was Euander’s mother and not his wife, for instance, is combined with a claim that she was originally named Nicostrate, a tradition that also appears in later Latin (Aurelius Uictor Or. 5.2; Seruius Aen. 8.336).

66

Syncretized Roman Gods

useful on the large scale to divide its different forms geographically, into the eastern and western empires. The Greek east had a centuries-old practice of ruler cult to build upon, and imperial cult there developed along lines already established by religion, philosophy, and the cult of Hellenistic kings. The Latin west lacked this precedent and the imperial cult there developed differently.⁷¹ In the west, and particularly in the city of Rome itself, the usual practice during the Principate was to honor a revered former emperor as diuus (divine), not deus (a god), and to honor a living emperor indirectly as diui filius, often in conjunction with a deified Roma. Domitian was flattered as Dominus et Deus, and justly or not has been held up as the exception who proved the rule.⁷² There is no Greek adjective equivalent to diuus, so the Roman distinction between diuus and deus does not translate into Greek. This did not pose a problem for Greek writers because their attitude towards Roman rulers, both in our sources and on the ground, did not require it. Instead, two other models prevailed, both of which were inherited from Hellenistic practice. In one, the emperor was understood as a god manifest (θεὸς ἐπιφανής). In the other, he was a hero (ἥρως) and a representative of the divine on earth, sent by the gods and fated to return to them at death. As Fears puts it, “A heros represented a very particular form of divine patron and might be invoked in circumstances or for a function felt to be inadequately fulfilled by one of the great, traditional gods” (1988, 1010). The θεός-model is known primarily from inscriptions. It was already employed as early as Augustus’ reign, as is evident in the so-called “Calendar” decree, in which the cities of Asia minor honored Augustus for his benefactions by moving the first day of their new year to his birthday.⁷³ There was a degree of quid pro quo involved. The cities hoped that the new emperor would be a benefactor (εὐερ-

 Fishwick’s eight volumes on imperial cult, written over a period of two decades (1987– 2005), are the standard reference for the western empire. Nothing of comparable scope exists for the Roman east. Price’s 1984 study is the most extensive survey. More recent analyses include Buraselis 2020; Camia 2018; Horster 2017, 598 – 601; Herz 2007; Liebeschuetz 2000; and Fears 1988, 1009 – 14. Spawforth 1997 discusses the early stages of imperial cult at Athens.  Suetonius claims that Domitian began dictating a letter with the phrase dominus et deus noster hoc fieri iubet (Dom. 13.2). Dio mentions Domitian’s wish to be thought a god (θεός), and his joy in being called dominus et deus (δεσπότης καὶ θεός; C.D. 67.4.7). The phrase was not part of Domitian’s imperial propaganda, however, and his role in encouraging such flattery seems to have been exaggerated in the posthumous denigration of his character (Jones 1992, 108 – 9).  The text of the decree has been reconstituted from four copies: I.Priene2014 16, CIG 3957a from Apamea, CIG 3902b from Eumenea, and SEG 56.1233 from Metropolis. Herz (2007, 307– 8) discusses them all and offers a good translation. An updated composite text and translation of the decree has been compiled by the Judaism and Rome project and is now available at http://www.judaism-androme.org/augustus’s-birthday-and-calendar-reform-asia (accessed on 18 Nov. 2022).

lmperial Cult

67

γέτης) and savior (σώτηρ) for his subjects.⁷⁴ C. Caesar (son of Iulia and Agrippa) and Drusus (son of Uipsania Agrippina and Tiberius) were also honored in similar fashion in Athenian inscriptions, as νέος (θεὸς) Ἄρης (IG II2 3250 and IG II2 3257). The dedications were probably motivated by eastern military commands given them in 2 B.C.E. and 17– 20 C.E. respectively (Spawforth 1997, 187). Caligula was honored as θεός by Assos (IGR 4.251) and Cyzicus (θεός and ὁ νεὸς Ἥλιος; IGR 4.145; see Herz 2007, 308 – 10), both in Asia minor. By 61 /2 C.E. the Iulio-Claudian gens also had a priest at Athens, one Ti. Claudius Nouius who is referred to in a local inscription as the ἀρχιερεὺς τοῦ οἴκου τῶν Σεβαστῶν (IG II2 1990).⁷⁵ The hero-model, that of a divine representative on earth, had a long history in Greek thought. Iron-age dedications at bronze-age tombs show that it was already employed as early as the eighth-century (Snodgrass 1980, 38 – 40), and in the classical period it was applied to heroic founders (οἰκίσται). According to Plutarch, who cites Duris of Samos, Lysander was the first living Greek to have altars erected for him and to receive sacrifices as if he were a θεός (Lys. 18.5). Dion received similar honors (Dion 19.1). Philosophers, including especially the stoics, developed an intellectual framework for the concept based on the idea that men through their accomplishments might attain divinity (e. g., Aristotle, Eth. Nic. 7 1145a.22– 25). As ruler-cult developed under the Hellenistic kings, the role of divine representative generally involved the emulation of a mythological hero like Ἡρακλῆς or ᾿Aσκληπιός, mortals with extraordinary abilities who performed great deeds and were accepted among the gods upon their death (Herz 2007, 314– 15). Alexander famously emulated both Ἡρακλῆς and Achilles, but there is no clear evidence for cult of Alexander while he was alive. It was his successors who established the idea of a divine heroic king. Ptolemy I Soter was deified posthumously by his son, Ptolemy II Philadelphus, and Philadelphus was subsequently worshipped as a god while still alive. The Seleucids and Antigonids did likewise from the third century onwards.⁷⁶

 Spawforth (1997, 183 – 6) discusses two other relevant inscriptions from Athens. One comes from a small rotunda on the Acropolis from early in Augustus’ reign, and mentions a priest, a ἱερεὺς θεᾶς Ῥώμης καὶ Σεβαστοῦ Σωτῆρος ἐπ’ ᾿Aκροπόλει (IG II2 3173). The second is from the theater of Dionysius. Of Iulio-Claudian date, and perhaps from as early as Augustus’ rule, it marks a seat reserved for the ἱερεὺς Σεβαστοῦ Καίσαρος (IG III 253), apparently a different priest than the one mentioned on the rotunda. Neither inscription mentions Roma.  Spawforth (1997, 189 – 91) thinks it an evolution of the office mentioned in IG III 253.  Ptolemy II Philadelphus and Arsinoe were worshipped as θεοὶ ἀδελφοί; Demetrius Poliorcetes received flattering prayers as the son of Ποσειδών and ᾿Aφροδίτη (Athenaeus 6.253e); Antiochus III Doson established a priesthood of his wife’s cult in Caria. See Fears 1988, 1012– 13 and Walbank 1981, 212– 18.

68

Syncretized Roman Gods

The hero-model was also the one that appealed to Roman sensibilities, perhaps aided by the penchant for stoicism among Roman elites. It was first applied to Romans in the east when, in the second century B.C.E., Chalcis and Pergamum instituted municipal cults for T. Quinctius Flamininus and M’. Aquilius respectively, and it became the dominant form taken by the eastern cult of Caesar, Augustus, and their successors. It was also evident in visual arts, even those produced at Rome. Perhaps the most pervasive example is the prevalence of Ἡρακλῆς on the reverse of Trajanic coins (e. g., RIC II Trajan 50) and even on the obverse of one denarius (RIC II Trajan 773). The idea of a hero conquering the forces of chaos for the benefit of mankind was well suited to Trajan’s propaganda. It also agreed with a senatorial decree that named him Optimus (Pliny Pan. 88) and fashioned him as Iupiter’s representative on earth (Liebeschuetz 2000, 988). Acceptance of the hero-model seems to have spread gradually to the west with time. Hadrian’s beloved Antinous was openly worshipped in the guise of the ἥρωες Androclus and Adonis (Horster 2017, 599), and Commodus’ impersonation of Ἡρακλῆς is well known from Herodian (14.8), and from the beautiful and beautifully preserved marble bust of him as Heracles that was unearthed from the horti Lamiani in 1874. Hadrian and Commodus were unpopular with more traditional elements in Rome, however, where resistance to such propaganda remained problematic. The hero-model is also the dominant one among Greek literary sources, which include Diodorus, Dionysius, Plutarch, and Cassius Dio.⁷⁷ Liebeschuetz (2000, 985) maintains that the attitudes of Greek writers towards the imperial cult were not different in kind from those of the majority, merely better articulated, and this is true insofar as their writings do not demonstrate a skeptical or dismissive attitude. Yet their exclusive preference for the hero-model distinguishes them from Greek inscriptions. These writers and their audience were a literate elite, and their perspectives were not always perfectly aligned with those of the wider Greek communities. In this regard they are more like the Romans themselves than their fellow Greeks. Despite their avoidance of the θεός-model, the earlier Greek writers translate diuus with the noun θεός, the word that had been regularly used for Hellenistic kings (Price 1984, 81). It is first employed by Diodorus, who refers to the recently deceased Iulius Caesar as the man who was named a god on account of his deeds (ὁ διὰ τάς πράξεις ἐπονομασθεὶς θεός; D.S. 5.21.2). The overall expression is euhemeristic, fully in keeping with the Hellenestic hero-model, but θεός is not  Polybius has nothing to contribute; he wrote too early to deal with imperial cult per se, and he has nothing to say about the eastern cult granted to Republican heroes like Flamininus and Aquilius. Appian too is silent, perhaps because he thought the cult irrelevant to his narrative. On the epigraphic evidence, see now Camia 2018, 112– 37.

lmperial Cult

69

a word that fits very well. Diodorus’ participle ἐπονομασθεὶς is the key to his meaning: compounds of the ὀνομ- stem are often used by Greek authors for Latin cognomen and cognominare. Though the cognomina they translate and describe are occasionally inherited, they are more often acquired by character and deeds. Plutarch at Cat. mai. 1.2– 3 explains for his readers the Roman custom of granting a cognomen to men who gained prominence by their own efforts, which is why they replaced Cato’s inherited cognomen (ἐπώνυμος) Priscus with the honorific cognomen Cato, meaning clever or experienced (i. e., catus). Appian uses παρονομάζω in the same way to describe Pompey’s cognomen Magnus. Dio uses ἐπονομάζω for the cognomina Cunctator, given to Fabius Maximus (C.D. 14), and Diues, given to Crassus (C.D. 17). Given this context, it seems likely that Diodorus is thinking of θεός as an honorary cognomen, and so as a translation for Latin diuus, the title bestowed upon Caesar by the senate on or about January 1st, 42 B.C.E. (Weinstock 1971, 386 – 91). Even though Diodorus does not use the word ἥρως he seems to understand Caesar’s title in a similar way, as one bestowed officially because of his deeds. The equivalence of θεός and diuus is even clearer in two instances from the Monymentum Ancyranum, where the epithet is applied to Caesar and Augustus. The earlier example appears in the main body of the text, where the translator renders Augustus’ aedes Diui Iulii as ναὸς θεοῦ [Ἰ]ουλίου (M.A. 19). The later one is found in the praefatio to the inscription, composed after Augustus’ death. There Augustus is called Σεβαστὸς θεός, a reference to the title diuus, which was granted the dead Augustus by the senate in its consecratio of September 17th, 14 C.E. (Diuo Augusto honores caelestes a senatu decreti). The word θεός could be confusing all the same, and the few other times it is applied to an emperor or a legendary Roman hero it is always qualified. The most confusing example is where Dionysius uses θεός to describe Aeneas’ apotheosis after a battle with the Rutuli (D.H. 1.64.4– 5). Dionysius’ earlier statements about Aeneas’ cult are more straightforward, and he consistently applies the heromodel to understand Aeneas’ divinity, whether it be the ἡρῷον of Aeneas in Ambracia (D.H. 1.50.4) or the many hero-temples (ἡρῷα) and monuments that Aeneas received after he left mortal life (D.H. 1.54.2). In his Rutuli narrative, however, Dionysius’ description is complicated first by pragmatism – there were some who thought Aeneas had simply drowned in a river – and then by a blend of vocabulary, especially when he writes that some Latini thought that Aeneas had joined the gods (εἰς θεοὺς μεταστῆναι) and built for him a shrine (ἡρῷον) bearing the inscription πατρὸς θεοῦ χθονίου, ὃς ποταμοῦ Νομικίου ῥεῦμα διέπει. Fortunately for us, Livy describes the same event, and his Latin echoes Dionysius’ blend of θεός and ἥρως (1.2.6). He notes that a shrine honoring Iouis indiges lay above the river Numicus, where Aeneas vanished, yet he is reticent to call Aeneas a deus

70

Syncretized Roman Gods

or even hero, substituting “whatever we should call him,” quemcumque eum dici fas est. Given the parallel to Dionysius, it seems likely that such ambivalence was a salient feature of the narrative, as was singularly appropriate for a hero who was the child of Uenus. The other θεός translations come from Dio, who always uses the term in a context of flattery and propaganda.⁷⁸ In one example, he records a law of the triumuiri forbidding anyone to carry an image of Caesar in their funeral processions, “…as if Caesar truly had become a god” (καθάπερ θεοῦ τινος ὡς ἀληθῶς ὄντος; C.D. 47.19.2). When he translates the inscription on the ἡρῷον that Nero had built for Poppaea Sabina, he renders the original Latin to say that the women (sc. of Rome) had built the shrine for Σαβίνα θεὰ ᾿Aφροδίτη, using θεός to imply that Poppaea was not merely a ἥρως but an actual incarnation of Uenus on earth (C.D. 63.26.3). This particular instance of the manifest god model is especially implausible, given Poppaea’s lack of commensurate deeds. It is just the type of excess one might have expected from Nero, and Dio’s narrative carries more than a whiff of authorial disdain (cf. Kragelund 2010). Two other instances involve funeral speeches, a context in which rhetorical excesses were to be expected. One is in the peroration of Antony’s eulogy for Caesar, which features a nice rhetorical ascension: “He has died, this father, this pontifex maximus, this sacrosanctus, this hero, this god” (οὗτος ὁ πατήρ, οὗτος ὁ ἀρχιερεὺς ὁ ἄσυλος ὁ ἥρως ὁ θεὸς τέθνηκεν…. C.D. 44.49.1). The other is in Tiberius’ funeral speech for Augustus, in which Tiberius refers to his grandfather Iulius Caesar as ἡμίθεος (C.D. 56.36.2). Latin had no word for demigod, so this term is evidently an equivalent for diuus, the word Tacitus has Tiberius apply to Augustus in the parallel passage of the Annales (11.2).⁷⁹ Outside of eulogistic rhetoric and Dio’s criticism of flattery, the θεός translation was abandoned in later Greek. Divinized emperors were heroes (ἥρωες) and their temples were ἡρῷα. Many examples of this translation also come from Dio, and since they are all brief it will suffice to catalogue them. The first several concern Iulius Caesar. Soon after narrating the rise of the triumuiri, Dio records their prohibition against seizing anyone taking refuge within Caesar’s

 Bowersock (1973, 202– 6) attributed Dio’s negative view of the Imperial cult to the abuses of Commodus and Elagabalus. Buraselis (2020, 6) argues that Dio’s attitude was a natural development of earlier reservations. I agree with his preceptive reading of Pausanias 8.2.4– 6 (pp. 2– 3), but I think he overinterprets Plutarch’s criticism of Antony and Nero in Quomodo adulator ab amico internoscatur 56D–F (pp. 3 – 4).  Dio’s labeling of Caesar as ἡμίθεος may have evolved from the tradition that Augustus, like ᾿Aσκληπιός, was really fathered by Apollo. In his case, the conception was supposed to have occurred when his mother Atia visited the temple of Apollo (Suetonius Aug. 94.4, citing the Θεολεγούμενα of Asclepias of Mendes).

lmperial Cult

71

ἡρῷον, the aedes Diui Iulii they had started building next to the regia (C.D. 47.18.4).⁸⁰ Years later, while the aedes is still unfinished, Octauian has its foundations, the κρηπὶς τοῦ Ἰουλιείου ἡρῴου, decorated with the rostra of the ships he captured at Actium (C.D. 51.19.2). The dedicatio of the ἡρῷον soon follows (C.D. 51.22.4). When his sister Octauia dies, Augustus has her body laid out there, ἐπὶ τοῦ Ἰουλιείου ἡρῴου (C.D. 54.35.4). He also has sacred precincts set aside in Ephesus and Nicaea honoring Roma and Caesar, the latter of whom Dio calls Ἥρως Ἰούλιος (i. e., diuus Iulius; C.D. 51.20.6). When discussing Augustus’ funeral procession, Dio notes that Caesar’s imago was omitted because he had joined the ἥρωες (C.D. 56.34.2). Dio generally refers to Augustus and later emperors as heroes as well. In Tiberius’ funeral speech for Augustus, only a few moments after Dio describes Tiberius calling his step-father ἡμίθεος, Tiberius refers to the deified Augustus as ἥρως (C.D. 56.41.9). A ἡρῷον for the ascended princeps is then voted by the senate, and many others are to be built elsewhere (C.D. 56.46.3 – 4). Citizens would not always undertake such labor willingly, and Dio describes the people of Cyzicus losing their independence in part because they have failed to complete a local ἡρῷον for Augustus (C.D. 57.24.6). The ἡρῷον in Rome is eventually finished and dedicated by Caligula (C.D. 59.7.1). Dio also calls the aedes for Poppaea Sabina a ἡρῷον (C.D. 63.26.3). When Septimius Seuerus comes to power he honors Pertinax with a ἡρῷον (C.D. 74.4.1). In a politically adroit move Seuerus also grants ἡρωικαὶ τιμαί, apparently a declaration of diuus status, to Commodus, a man he had but recently abused (C.D. 75.8.1). Dio also refers to Roman heroes in ways tangential to imperial cult. One instance concerns Caracalla, who erects a ἡρῷον for a famous juggler and magician of the preceding century named Apollonius of Cappadocia (C.D. 77.18.4). This is a hero-cult in the purely Greek sense, and a risible one. More difficult is Dio’s mention of θεωρίαι ἥρωσι, festivals of the heroes, that Septimius Seuerus held in the imperial palace (C.D. 76.3.3). Greek writers describe two other classes of Roman heroes that might be involved here. One comprises the great Romans of the past. Dionysius, for example, describes a battle in the earliest Republic near a grove sacred to the hero Horatius Cocles (ἱερὸς ἥρωος Ὁράτιου; D.H. 5.14.1). When describing the aftermath of the Gallic sack, Plutarch has Roman senators urge the people not to abandon the ἡρῷα and tombs of their fathers (Pl. Cam. 31.3). The second group comprises the Lares, the Roman gods of households  Antony’s own ἡρῷον, built for him in Egypt by Cleopatra, offered no similar protection. Antony’s son with Fuluia, M. Antonius Antyllus, took refuge there when his father was killed, but despite Antyllus’ betrothal to Iulia maior (who was only eight years old at the time) Octauian had him dispatched (C.D. 51.15.5).

72

Syncretized Roman Gods

and crossroads. Dionysius refers to the lar familiaris of Tarquinius’ house as ὁ κατ’ οἰκίαν ἥρως (D.H. 4.2.3; cf. Pliny HN 36.204). He also uses ἥρωες for the Lares sought out by the young Nauius Attus (D.H. 3.70.2– 3), and when describing the shrines of the Lares Compitales, the καλιάδες προνωπίοις ἥρωσι, which were established by Seriuius Tullius (D.H. 4.14.3). The overlap between the imperial cult and the Lares was always close, since Augustus had restored the moribund collegia compitalicia and combined their cult with that of his own Genius. ⁸¹ And even if the Lares Compitales were not originally ancestral spirits, they were certainly thought of as such by Romans of the historical period. There is no indication that Dio is conflating or confusing these groups, but the inherent ambiguity of the translation ἥρως prevents our knowing the object of Seuerus’ actual ceremonies. No Greek author ever denies that a good emperor could merit worship upon his death.⁸² It is the fundamental assumption of the imperial cult shared by the western and eastern empire. Attempts have nonetheless been made to impose a skepticism upon ancient sources that is not actually there, and since a close reading of the Greek sources allows us to rule it out, it is worth addressing here. The most direct approach that I have identified is an article by Kenneth Scott (1929), who tries to show how Plutarch, Cassius Dio, and Suetonius were critical of Hellenistic ruler cult and of the imperial cult that was its successor in the east. The evidence employed does not bear close scrutiny. Much of it comes from Plutarch’s De laud. ipsius (1929, 130) and from De ad. et am. (passim), rhetorical contexts in which flattery of divinity is always going to be cast in a negative light. Most of the examples adduced from elsewhere concern flawed men like Demetrius Poliorcetes (1929, 117– 18; 131), Antigonus Monophthalmus (1929, 125), Cleitus (1929, 123 – 4), and Nero (1929, 122), ersatz Alexanders and Caesars whose meager accomplishments did not merit the flattery showered upon them. As for Alexander himself, Scott conflates Alexander’s adoption of Persian habits and superstition with the cult of Alexander after his death (1929, 118 – 20), the latter being something Plutarch’s Alexander never addresses. Plutarch’s actual recommendation in the Life is his typical middle path: superstition and arrogant incredulity concerning the divine are both misguided (Alex. 75.2). Μηδὲν ἄγαν. In support of his thesis Scott cites one other passage, Romulus’ apotheosis at Pl. Rom. 28, that is actually an argument against skepticism. Plutarch describes two traditions, one in which Romulus was done away with by the Roman senators, and one in which he vanished to join the gods. Those arguing for apotheosis cata Horace Carm. 4.5.33 – 5; Ouid Fast. 5.145 – 6.  The indirect critique of Imperial cult that Buraselis has identified in Pausanias 8.2.4– 6 (2020, 2– 3) is attached to that author’s denigration of contemporary morality, and not directed at Marcus Aurelius per se.

lmperial Cult

73

logued various signs and portents as their evidence.⁸³ The others preferred a mundane explanation in which the senators killed Romulus, chopped his body into portable chunks, and carried the pieces away to be discarded elsewhere, leaving no trace of the man to mark his passing (one wonders what became of the blood). Plutarch gives his own advice for the proper interpretation of such traditions. The safe path, he judges, is to follow Pindar, who said: The body of all follows mighty death, Yet an image of the eternal remains alive: For this alone is from the gods. (fr. 131b Snell.)

Pindar is never obvious, and there is an odd dichotomy here between the body (σῶμα) and something else less corporeal. Normally we would presume a division between body and spirit, but the idea of the body following death conflicts with the traditional depiction of Ἑρμῆς Ψυχοπομπός, he who guides the spirits of the dead to Hades, not their bodies. The “image of the eternal” in the next line, αἰῶνος εἴδωλον in Pindar’s Greek, confounds things further. Pindar does not sing of an ordinary spirit, but one like Ἡρακλῆς, whose divine spirit had ascended to Olympus, and whose εἴδωλον was encountered by Odysseus in Hades (Od. 11.601– 27). The contrast is not between body and soul, then, but between the mundane and eternal aspects of an extraordinary person, one who might aspire to a kind of immortality, a theme appropriate to an epinikian context. The third line is a crucial addition within Romulus. The idea that an extraordinary individual’s immortality came from the gods fits perfectly the hero-model of ruler cult, and such would be the natural interpretation for a Greek reading these lines in or after the Hellenistic period. Plutarch frames his own thoughts in a simpler dichotomy between ψυχή and σῶμα. He says the divine element comes from the gods, and to them it returns, not with the body, and only if it is utterly cleansed of the body, like lightning flashing from a cloud (Rom. 28.9). We should not therefore send the bodies of the good along with their spirits, a thing unnatural (παρὰ φύσιν), but should think rather that their virtues, their spirits, and their divine justice are borne up according to nature

 More important for Romulus’ contemporaries, fictional though they may be, was a man named Iulius Proclus, who claimed to have met Romulus’ deified spirit and to have received instructions that he was to be worshipped henceforth as Quirinus. Cf. Cicero Diu. 2.20, Livy 1.16, and D.H. 2.63.3, and see under Quirinus. The relevant portion of Dio has not survived. In the epitome of Dio by Zonaras, the senators kill Romulus and Proclus’ claim is a lie (7.4). Proclus lies in Cicero’s version as well, but the apotheosis of Romulus remains a possibility.

74

Syncretized Roman Gods

(κατὰ φύσιν), ascending from humans to ἥρωες, from ἥρωες to δαίμονες, and ultimately from δαίμονες to θεοί (Rom. 28.10). Scott discusses this passage because he takes Plutarch’s οὐ νόμῳ πόλεως (Rom. 28.10) as condemnation of the entire idea of ruler-cult (1929, 130 – 1). That misses the point entirely. An exceptional person can ascend to divinity, but only by virtue and merit, not by human decree. Those who accept divinity by fiat and flattery, like Nero, are ipso facto unworthy of it.

Iuno Iuno is always equated to Ἥρα in Greek. She had two primary spheres of influence, women and warriors. As a goddess of women, Greek and Latin authors alike emphasize Iuno’s Latin origins; as a warrior goddess she is described as an amalgam of native and foreign deities, including Argive Ἥρα, Iuno Regina (Uni) from Etruria, and the Italian Iuno Curis from Falerii and Gabii.⁸⁴ Greek interest in Iuno is uneven. Polybius says nothing about her, and Diodorus very little. Appian’s only contribution is to mention the aedes Iunoni Liciniae near Crotona, which he generically labels a ἱερὸν τῆς Ἥρας (B.Ciu. 5.133[550]). Strabo mentions only shrines of Iuno and Argive Ἥρα outside the city of Rome, in Gallia Cisalpina, Picenum, Campania, and Crotona, and includes only brief antiquarian notes: the Ueneti have an ἄλσος of Argive Ἥρα (5.1.9); Cuprae Fanum is so named because Cupra is the Etruscan name for Ἥρα (5.4.2); the hero Ἰάσων built the ἱερόν of Argive Ἥρα in Lucania (6.1.1; cf. Pliny HN 3.70). Almost all of our information on the Roman cult of Iuno comes from Dionysius and Plutarch, and especially from the latter’s Quaestiones Romanae. Iuno’s roles were too numerous for either of them to attempt a systematic analysis. While Plutarch explains etymological link between Iuno and the month Iunius (e. g., Pl. Num. 19.5), he never mentions her importance for certain days on the calendar, such as the Kalandae and the nonae Caprotinae. Nor does either man mention Iuno Sospita, a warrior aspect of the goddess imported from Lanuvium. Their attention is given primarily to six other incarnations: Iuno Cinxia, Lucina, Moneta, Quiritis, Regina, and Sororia. ⁸⁵

 See Johnston and Mastrocinque 2017; Graf NP 6.1108 – 9; Rosch. 2.1.574– 615; Wiss. 181– 91. Latte’s main section on Iuno is at 166 – 9, but he spreads his discussion over many sections of his monograph.  Greek translation of the Iunones, spirits of deceased females, will be discussed along with that of their male equivalents, the lares.

Iuno

75

Iuno Cinxia / Iugis / Iuga As the goddess governing much of women’s lives, one of Iuno’s primary responsibilities was marriage, as is evident from her central role in the Matronalia and in some of her Latin epithets. Iugis and Iuga referred to marriage itself; Cinxia was derived from the nuptial loosening of the girdle (i. e., cingula; see Wiss. 186). Greek Ἥρα too was in charge of marriage, but Dionysius ignores this aspect of Iuno and misses an opportunity to apply his Aeolism. Plutarch does make the connection, though in an uncritical manner. In Q.R. 264B he parrots a hypothesis of unknown provenance that the five torches in Roman wedding ceremonies represented the five deities whom Roman women call upon for assistance in labor: ᾿Aφροδίτη, Ἄρτεμις, Πειθώ, Ζεὺς Τέλειος, and Ἥρα Τελεία. The list is a mess. Only the first two names, representing Uenus and Diana, make much sense in Rome. The third is spurious because Πειθώ had no Roman cult.⁸⁶ Nor is there any Roman parallel for Ζεὺς Τέλειος or Ἥρα Τελεία. Ἥρα Τελεία in Latin should be something like Iuno Termina, but no such incarnation is attested. Ζεὺς Τέλειος looks like Iuppiter Terminus, but Roman Iuppiter and Terminus are almost always distinct, and neither has anything to do with childbirth.⁸⁷ Τέλειος and Τελεία are purely Greek incarnations of Ἥρα and Ζεύς, mentioned by Aristophanes Thesm. 973 and explained by a scholiast as being in charge (πρυτάνεις) of marriage (Suda, s.v. Τελεία). As familiar as he was with many aspects of Roman culture, it seems Plutarch knew little of Roman marriage ceremonies.

Iuno Lucina Another aspect of women’s lives overseen by both Ἥρα and Iuno was childbirth. Lucina, Iuno’s epiclesis in this capacity, was derived from lux and meant “she who brings children into the light.” Dionysius and Plutarch both discuss her and associate her with Ἥρα. Dionysius takes notice of Lucina when discussing a Seruian law ordering that money be donated into her treasury for every child born (D.H. 4.15.5). He explains for his readers that Lucina is equivalent to Greek Εἰλείθυια, an attendant deity of Ἥρα, whose name was derived from ἐλυθ-, an Attic stem of ἔρχομαι, and denoted “she who comes at need” (LSJ s.v. Εἰλείθυια). The Latin and Greek etymologies do not match, as Dionysius must have realized,  Cicero explains to his readers that Ennius used the otherwise unknown name Suada to translate Greek Πειθώ (Ann. 308 = Brut. 59), a clear indication that no native equivalent existed.  They are linked only in one inscription from Ravenna: IOV(I) TER(MINALI) M(ARCUS)… V(OTUM) L(IBENS) S(OLVIT) (CIL 9.351 = AE 1991, 692).

76

Syncretized Roman Gods

since he offers Φωσφόρος as an interpretive translation of her name. He seems unbothered by the difference, however, and his narrative links the two goddesses based entirely on their function. In doing so he creates a fiction, describing a separate goddess of childbirth at Rome where none existed. His eagerness to assimilate Rome to Greece has carried him too far. Plutarch in his discussion of Lucina freely blends Greek and Roman traditions, a good example of the kind of assimilative thinking that was involved in the Greek and Roman evolution of the Roman pantheon, even though it leads him in this instance to a place that Latin sources do not follow. The first part of his narrative accords well with Roman views. For one, he associates Lucina directly with Greek Ἥρα, not with Εἰλείθυια, as Dionysius had done (Q.R. 282B–D). And many of his etymologies are found in Latin sources: his derivation of Iuno (Ἰουνώ) from “new” (τὸ νεόν) and “younger” (τὸ νεώτερον) is a connection Ouid makes with Latin iuuentas and iunior (Fast. 1.41); his interpretation of Lucina (Λουκῖνα) as “bright” (φαεινή) and “shining” (φωτίζουσα) and the link he makes between it and the light of the moon are also in Cicero, who connects Lucina to luna and lucere (Nat. D. 2.68).⁸⁸ Plutarch’s claim that Romans associated the months with Iuno because she really is the moon in a material sense (ἐν ὕλῃ) is couched in a philosophical tone, and it too seems to be consistent with views expressed in Latin. At this point, however, he shifts from specific ethnography to a more universal perspective, and pursues his own train of thought. He appeals to Timotheus of Miletus, a fifth century author who probably never heard of Rome, and who called the moon “swift-birthing” (ὠκυτόκος; frag. 28). Plutarch explains Timotheus’ adjective in a very generic way, saying women “seem to give birth well” (εὐτοκεῖν γάρ…δοκοῦσι) during the light of a full moon, meaning that all women are identical in this regard. His comment has nothing to do with Rome in particular or with Iuno Lucina. Yet he transitions to it via an etymology linking Latin iunior with the goddess of childbirth. The suggestion is idiosyncratic. For Romans, iuniores in the plural was an age classification and a military term, as Plutarch himself recognizes elsewhere.⁸⁹ A link between the iuniores and Iuno Quiritis would make sense, as we shall soon see, but not one involving childbirth, the moon, or Iuno Lucina. Plutarch has conflated different aspects of Iuno that Romans kept distinct.

 Likewise the Roman poets who apply the epithet Lucina to Diana (see Padovani 2018, 223 – 4).  Romans believed that iuniores and seniores were separate groupings in the pre-Seruian army, one defending the city and the other fighting in the field (cf. Livy 1.43.1; Pl. Num. 19.5).

Iuno

77

Iuno Moneta The incarnation Moneta was linked with Iuno Regina in Roman thought, as evident in a votive inscription from the city itself.⁹⁰ Romans seem to have understood the epithet as meaning “Iuno who warns” or “advises” (monere), but did not agree on its origin. Cicero follows many others (a multis) in linking Moneta to a divine voice that issued from the aedes Iunonis on the Arx following an earthquake (Diu. 1.101). Isidore of Seville in his fifth-century C.E. compendium says that Moneta was so named because she warned against minting impure or underweight money (16.18.8). The Suda entry for Μονήτα, written in Greek but based on a Latin etymology, opines that Moneta means “advisor” (σύμβουλος) and refers to advice that Iuno gave Rome during the Pyrrhic war. The famous incident in which Iuno’s geese on the Arx warned the Romans of an impending Gallic assault in 390 B.C.E. may also be involved, though the link is never made explicit (e. g., Livy 5.47.1– 6; Ovid Fast. 6.183 – 6). Whatever her origin, Latin sources agree that Moneta’s temple on the Arx was built by Camillus in accordance with a vow he made in 345 B.C.E. while fighting the Aurunci (Livy 7.28.4– 6). But this date raises chronological problems. This Moneta cannot be connected with the mint, as Isidore would have it, since the first Roman coins were minted in the third century B.C.E. Nor can the name be traced to the Pyrrhic wars, which were fought three generations after Camillus’ vow. If Moneta refers to the geese on the Arx, as is perhaps implicit in Livy and Ovid, then the name Moneta preceded the aedes Iunonis Monetae on the Arx by some 45 years, a delay that should elicit some consternation but never does.⁹¹ The Roman disagreement about Moneta’s origin and roles is reflected by a persistent disconnect between Iuno and Moneta in our Greek sources, Diodorus, Dionysius, and Plutarch. Diodorus mentions the geese incident, and goes further than Livy and Ovid in linking them to Iuno (χῆνες ἱεροὶ τῆς Ἥρας), but describes the birds only as sacred to Ἥρα, not specifically to Moneta (D.S. 14.116.6). His interest in Roman religion is spotty, so in isolation we could construe the generalization as a symptom of his indifference. It is less easy to disregard Dionysius, who is deeply interested in Roman cult. Yet like Diodorus he makes no connection between the ἱεροὶ Ἥρας χῆνες and Moneta (D.H. 13.7.3). Even Plutarch, our most prolific Greek source on Roman religion, treats Moneta and Iuno as separate entities in his Life of Camillus. When he describes the geese alerting M. Manlius and the other Romans  IUNONI MONETAE REGIN[AE] SACRUM… (CIL 6.362 = ILS 3108). See Graf NP 6.1109; Wiss. 190.  The Roman explanations are now recognized as being too limited. Moneta was also connected with weights and measures, e. g., the pes monetalis, and with memory. Hence her connection with the Roman mint and the lists of magistrates on linen rolls (libri lintei; Livy 4.20.8). See Meadows and Williams 2001, 29 – 30 and 48 – 9.

78

Syncretized Roman Gods

on the Arx to the Gallic incursion, he mentions only Ἥρα (Cam. 27.2). When Manlius later turns demagogue, is condemned, and is hurled from the mons Tarpeius, Plutarch describes his house on the Arx being razed and a temple to Moneta (Μονῆτα alone) built in its place (Cam. 36.9; cf. Rom. 20.5 & Livy 6.20.13). These details should confirm the etymological link between the name Moneta and the warning of Iuno’s geese, and is precisely the kind of detail that Plutarch likes to expand upon, but he never makes the connection, not in Camillus, not in Romulus, not in the Moralia (cf. De fort. Rom. 325C & Q.R. 287C). His failure to connect Iuno with Moneta manifests itself in another problem in his narrative, the location of the geese. Plutarch describes them performing their heroic honking at Iuno’s aedes (νεώς τῆς Ἥρας, Cam. 27.2), and we know of no aedes dedicated to Iuno on the Capitolium or Arx at so early a date. We cannot take the νεώς to be the cella of Iuno Regina in the Capitolium, since doing so would depend on the little-attested Regina-Moneta connection and would strain the meaning of νεώς. Cicero’s mention of an aedes Iunonis at Diu. 1.101 is no help because Cicero does not date his uox prodigy or mention the geese; he is probably referring to a separate incident. There was an auguraculum on the hill, and geese could certainly have been used there for divination (Og. 734), but νεώς does not translate auguraculum. It seems rather that Plutarch is referring anachronistically to the aedes Iunonis Monetae before it was even built, and perhaps also conflating it with the cella of Iuno Regina. He would surely have spotted the error if he had recognized Moneta as an aspect of Iuno, but the Greek assimilation of Iuno to Ἥρα argued against it. Moneta’s role in the story does not concern warriors or women.

Iuno Quiritis / Curitis Quiritis (Curitis in the Sabine spelling) combines Iuno’s martial and marital spheres of influence, a surprising union that interested Greek and Roman commentators alike. Our main Greek source is Plutarch, who tries to explain the connection while discussing the traditional parting of a Roman bride’s hair with a spear (Q.R. 285C–D).⁹² He offers three explanations for the ritual, bringing Iuno in for the final and most elaborate of the three. According to it, Iuno is not only the goddess of marriage, but also holds the spear sacred, which would explain why most of her statues lean upon a spear, and why she is called Curitis (Κυρῖτις),

 Dionysius mentions the worship of a Κυριτία by T. Tatius, doubtless also referring to Curitis (D.H. 2.50.3).

Iuno

79

after the ancients’ name for spear (κύρις). The iconographic point is nearly correct: statues of Iuno did often lean on a staff. And while we have no evidence for depictions of Iuno Curitis with a spear, Iuno Sospita is often shown holding a hasta, typically aloft. Perhaps our evidence for Curitis is insufficient; or perhaps Plutarch has conflated the postures and cult implements of Sospita and Curitis. The κύρις etymology, on the other hand, misses the mark entirely. While Curitis and curis are both Sabine in origin, the name Quiritis / Curitis is properly derived from *co-uiria, as are quirites and Quirinus (OED s.v. curis and Graf NP 6.1108). And yet, unlike his etymology for Iuno Lucina, this one has Latin support. The Roman grammarian Festus explains that Iuno was called Curitis because Romans thought she carried a hasta (154 s.v. curitim), an inference that blurs the line between Curitis and Sospita in the very same way Plutarch does. He also claims that Iuno Curitis was so named from the hasta she carried, which was called a curis in the Sabine tongue (168 s.v. Caelibari hasta). Festus specifically credits the Sabines, not Plutarch’s more generic “ancients” (οἱ παλαιοί), but his point is otherwise the same. His arguments are so similar to Plutarch’s, in fact, that the two men must either have derived them from a lost common source or reached similar conclusions because the curis etymology had broad currency in both Roman and Greek traditions. Perhaps its propagation had also been encouraged by the iconography of Iuno Sospita.

Iuno Regina Romans also associated Regina with warriors, though one would not know it from our Greek sources, for whom Regina was the chief goddess of Etruscan cities that Rome conquered, especially the Iuno Regina worshipped at Ueii and later brought to Rome after the city’s conquest by Camillus. Both Dionysius and Plutarch describe these events in detail, but they do not discuss the goddess’ cult, and only Dionysius explicitly names the goddess Regina. ⁹³ Her later importance in Rome is generally ignored in Greek, being mentioned only by the translator of the Res Gestae, at the point where Augustus mentions an aedes he built for Iuno Regina (Ἥρα Βασιλίς, M.A. 19). Neither Dionysius nor Plutarch speak of her as a goddess of warriors. Nor do any Greek authors mention her worship at Ardea and Lanuuium. ⁹⁴ Etruscan importations aside, she exists in Greek only as a member of the

 βασίλεια (D.H. 13.3.1); cf. Pl. Cam. 5.5 & 6.1.  Graf NP 6.1109; Wiss. 187. Other likely Reginae include the Iuno who was the guardian deity of Perusia (Ap. B.Ciu. 5.49[206]), and the Iuno at Falerii, whose worship Dionysius uses to bolster his

80

Syncretized Roman Gods

Roman Capitoline triad, and is not distinguished from Iuppiter and Minerua as a separate entity. Dionysius, for instance, mentions her repeatedly, but only as one of dedicatees of the Capitolium vowed by Tarquinius Priscus.⁹⁵ Cassius Dio includes Regina implicitly in his description of spoils dedicated by Augustus to Iuppiter, Iuno, and Minerua on the Capitolium (C.D. 51.22.3). Regina and her role in the triad may also lie behind Plutarch’s claim that Romans considered Iuppiter and Iuno to be Rome’s protectors (πολιοῦχοι; Q.R. 286A), but the absence of Minerua makes the attribution uncertain.

Iuno Sororia Dionysius mentions Iuno Sororia in his narrative of the Horatii and Curiatii, the six legendary brothers who fight for the sovereignty of Latium, but he incorrectly connects Sororia with soror, “sister.” As both he and Livy tell the story, the Curiatii are defeated by the Horatii and the sole surviving Horatius returns to Rome in triumph. He is met by his sister, who berates him for murdering his cousin, her betrothed. Horatius is incensed and runs her through on the spot (D.H. 3.21.1– 7; Livy 1.26.2– 5). Horatius is acquitted, but his murder requires public expiation. Dionysius describes the pontifices (ἱεροφάνται) erecting two altars, one to Ianus Curiatius, and one to Iuno, “…to whom is allotted the regard for sisters” (…ἐπισκοπεῖν ἀδελφάς, D.H. 3.22.7). Livy (1.27.12– 14) also describes the expiation but makes no mention of Iuno or the two altars. Dionysius is our only source for the soror/ sororia etymology. It seems obvious, but it is wrong. The proper interpretation is provided by Festus: Sororiare – mammae dicuntur puellarum, quum primum timescunt (396 s.v. Sororiare). Iuno Sororia was actually concerned with female puberty, not with sisters.⁹⁶ Yet the false etymology is based in Latin, not Greek. Dionysius certainly knew enough Latin that he could have generated it on his own, soror being such a basic word, but he could just as easily have preserved for us a naïve Roman interpretation that Livy omits.

argument that the Pelasgi who settled Italy were Greeks (D.H. 1.21.1). Polybius (34.11.9 – 11), Diodorus (4.24), and Strabo (6.1.11) mention a temple of Ἥρα at Cape Lacinium, but the city is not Etruscan and we cannot gauge the importance of Iuno there.  D.H. 3.69.1, 4.59.1, 4.61.4; cf. Livy 1.38.7 and 1.55.1, which mention only Iuppiter.  See Og. 117 for discussion of the rites and bibliography.

Iuppiter

81

Iuppiter The prominence and the many attributes of Iuppiter make him one of the most frequently mentioned of the Roman gods in Greek sources.⁹⁷ He is closely related to Greek Ζεύς by etymology (PIE *di-/diu‐) and by his nature as a sky god, so many of the references treating him as Greek Ζεύς are unrevealing. Sometimes aspects of Ζεύς are falsely attributed to Iuppiter. This happens even in Plutarch, who usually careful to avoid false assimilation. His claim that the oak is favored by Iuppiter, for instance, is imported from Greek tradition.⁹⁸ Likewise his Ζεὺς Τέλειος (Q.R. 264B), described above under Iuno Cinxia. A more subtle appropriation infiltrates his narrative of Camillus’ triumph over Ueii, where Camillus earns the people’s envy by employing a four-horse chariot (τέθριππος = quadriga). Plutarch writes that such a chariot was normally associated with the “king and father of the gods” (βασιλεὺς καὶ πατὴρ θεῶν; Cam. 7.2). The “king” reference is correct. The τέθριππος is a clear reference to Iuppiter, whose temple on the Capitoline had a quadriga on the roof (cf. Livy 5.23.6; Og. 679 – 80). And the concept of a king Iuppiter fits well with the god’s traditional position in the Capitoline triad and his association with the Roman monarchy (Beard et al. 1998, 59 – 60). Plutarch’s idea of a father Iuppiter is less satisfactory. It hearkens back to the PIE roots of his name, *diespiter (Wiss. 113), but does not suit the god’s Roman cult. It is often encountered in Greek, however, from the affectionate dialogues between Ζεύς and ᾿Aθηνᾶ in the Odyssey to the orations of Dio of Prusa. Dio’s twelfth oration, for example, twice refers to Olympian Ζεύς as father (12.22; 12.75), and his thirty-sixth says all men build altars to king Ζεύς and address him in their prayers as father (36.36). In general, the Greek analyses of specific aspects of Iuppiter, with their expansions and commentary, will reveal more of Greek attitudes towards Rome than those of Iuppiter in isolation. Thirteen of his many aspects are discussed in Greek: Capitolinus, Elicius, Feretrius, (Dius) Fidius, Inuentor, Inuictus, Lapis, Latiaris, Liber/ Libertas, Rex, Stator, Territor, and Tonans.

Iuppiter Capitolinus Iuppiter Optimus Maximus (I.O.M.) was worshipped in the Capitolium, the oldest temple of Iuppiter in Rome.⁹⁹ The most common Greek translations are adjectival  See Graf NP 6.1111– 16; Dumézil 1996, 176 – 204; Koch 1937; Wiss. 113 – 29; Rosch. 2.1.618 – 762. Latte’s discussion of Iuppiter, like that of Iuno, is spread throughout his work.  Q.R. 286A; cf. Ζεὺς Πολιεύς and the digression on the corona ciuica at Cor. 2.3.  Cornell 1995, 102 and 128; Latte 80; Wiss. 125 – 9. See Graf NP 6.1114– 15 on the Capitoline triad.

82

Syncretized Roman Gods

forms rendering Iuppiter Capitolinus. One variant is Ζεὺς Καπετώλιος, which appears repeatedly in Polybius, Diodorus, and Dionysius, and the other is Ζεὺς Καπιτώλιος, an alternate spelling appearing in all of our texts except that of Polybius. Neither of these forms matches Roman usage. Latin possesses the adjective Capitolius, but does not employ it for Iuppiter. The Greek form Καπιτωλῖνος, a transliteration of the usual Latin epiclesis, also appears occasionally (e. g., D.H. 1.34.1), and is completely interchangeable with the other two variants.¹⁰⁰ No Greek rendering of the full title I.O.M. exists, and our only Greek hint of the epithet Maximus comes from Dio, who applies the Greek equivalent of its positive form to the god’s aedes (ὁ Ζεὺς ὁ ἐν τῷ μεγάλῳ ναῷ, C.D. 54.4.3). The prevalence of Καπετώλιος variants in Greek reflects the dominance of the Capitolium in Greek discussions of I.O.M. The building was clearly well known to Greeks, since Greek authors never bother to explain the epithet, whether referring to the temple (Pol. 3.22.1, 6.19.6; Pl. Num. 7.4; Ap. Gall. 1.1; C.D. 49.15.2) or to the god himself (Pol. 2.18.2; D.S. 37.11.1; D.H. 6.67.2; Pl. Pub. 14.1; Ap. Syr. 40.209; C.D. 37.44.1). Most frequently mentioned are its construction and dedication (e. g., D.H. 5.35.3; Pl. Pub. 14.1), but we also learn of its involvement in an omen (Pl. Pub. 13.1), its role as a site of supplication (Pl. Cor. 33.1), and its use in housing the libri Sibyllini (D.H. 4.62.5). The Capitolium aside, I.O.M. and his cult receive only sporadic attention. Greek authors never mention his importance to triumphatores (cf. Pliny HN 15.134) or augures (cf. Cicero Leg. 2.20). Diodorus does include Καπετώλιος in the oath sworn by Italici to M. Liuius Drusus (D.S. 37.11.1), an oath that is of considerable interest for Mars, and Dionysius notes that Καπετώλιος was invoked in a speech by Ap. Claudius (D.H. 6.68.2), but neither author makes any further comment. Given I.O.M.’s political importance, he may also be the incarnation of Iuppiter that Plutarch describes appearing in a dream to the eques C. Aurelius, and ordering him to demand publicly the reconciliation of Crassus and Pompey (Pl. Crass. 12.4). Plutarch never makes the connection explicit, however. Conversely, the Iuppiter celebrated in ludi magni is correctly identified by Dionysius as Καπιτώλιος Ζεύς (7.68.3; cf Livy 2.36.2). Greek writers seem to have recognized that I.O.M. was a central figure in Roman religion, but they must have thought his cult too bland or too familiar to be very interesting to their readers.

 Diodorus, for example, refers to T. Quinctius Capitolinus as Καπιτώλιος at 11.67.1, then as Καπιτωλῖνος at 11.77.1.

Iuppiter

83

Iuppiter Elicius Iuppiter as Elicius was connected with the summoning and interpretation of signs, especially lightning.¹⁰¹ In Latin etymologies Elicius was derived from elicere, meaning “to summon” (Uarro Ling. 6.95; Livy 1.20.7). Plutarch is the only Greek to mention this aspect of Iuppiter, which he does in connection with an interview between the Iuppiter and the lawgiver king Numa (Num. 15.3 – 10). Ouid relates the same story at Fast. 3.285 – 398 and his account differs in several respects. Ouid links the story of Numa’s interview with Elicius to the ancilia and the creation of the Salii; in the Life of Numa they are separate events, and the chronology between them is inverted. Ouid’s Numa is told by his wife, the goddess Egeria, to capture Picus and Faunus and to learn from them how to summon (elicere) the god; Plutarch breaks this part of the tale into two variants, one in which Picus and Faunus do everything, and one in which Egeria tells Numa how to alter the horrific formula of Iuppiter’s charm (15.9). The interview itself proceeds along similar lines in each author, with Numa mollifying the god and changing his demand for human sacrifice into one of onions, hair, and fish (or sprats in Plutarch’s version), but the language used to describe the god’s mood differs: Ouid says that Iuppiter laughed or smiled (risit, 3.343), whereas Plutarch says that the god was ἵλεως, meaning “gracious” (Num. 15.10). This is how Plutarch understands the epithet Elicius, which he accordingly transliterates as Ἱλήκιος, with rough breathing and an η.¹⁰² In Numa, he is generally skeptical of etymologies that assimilate early Rome to Greece, and especially those associated with the reign of Numa (Buszard 2011). In this instance, he must have thought a gracious Iuppiter more suitable than a laughing one, and so accepted the Greek ἵλεως etymology, even though Ἱλήκιος was a very poor transliteration of Elicius. His religious sensibilities outweighed his skepticism and his linguistic acumen.

Iuppiter Feretrius As Feretrius, Iuppiter received the spolia opima, the arms of an enemy commander captured in battle by a Roman dux who commanded under his own auspices.¹⁰³

 Graf 2006 NP 6.1112; Wiss. 121. See also under Egeria and Faunus. The modern theory that he was associated with the opening of water reservoirs is not mentioned by ancient sources (see Dumézil 1996, 178).  Ziegler was right to reject the sophomoric correction to Ἰλίκιος in the codd.  See Padovani 2018, 213 – 16; Graf 2006 NP 6.1113; Latte 126, 204– 5; Wiss. 117; Rosch. 2.1.670 – 9. Plutarch records a tradition that Numa established three classes of spolia opima, one dedicated

84

Syncretized Roman Gods

The first dedication was believed to be that of Romulus (Livy 1.10.6), which was later followed by those of M. Claudius Marcellus and A. Cornelius Cossus.¹⁰⁴ According to Augustus (per Livy 4.20.5 – 11), the dux in question had to be a consul, but Cossus had been a consular tribune, and the evidence for Augustus’ self-interested assertion was spurious.¹⁰⁵ Greek sources interpret Feretrius in two ways. One derives Fer- from the Latin verb ferire, meaning “to strike.” Plutarch is the only author to pursue this idea, which he does at length when recounting the spolia opima of Romulus (Rom. 16.5) and Marcellus (Marc. 8.7– 8). He offers three explanations of ferire (τύπτειν) in this context: it refers either to the striking of an enemy in battle, or to the striking of a treaty, or to a lightning strike. Only the first two possibilities are attested in Latin sources.¹⁰⁶ The connection between lightning and a sky god is logical enough, yet this is the only time such a connection is mentioned for Feretrius. Plutarch attributes it to ἕτεροι, so the idea is not his own. His sources seem to have conflated Feretrius and Elicius, something our Greek and Latin sources otherwise avoid. The conflation is all the more intriguing because the original authors of the lightning theory must have based it on ferire, and so must have been conversant with Latin. The second etymology derives Feretrius from a verb common to Latin and Greek, ferre /φέρω, meaning “to carry.” Plutarch draws upon this etymology too in Marcellus, making the connection to φέρω through the Greek word for litter (φέρετρον), and doing so because a litter was used to ferry the spolia opima to the Capitolium (Marc. 8.7). Here Plutarch’s Latin fails him, however, and he conflates ferre and ferire (τὸ γὰρ τύπτειν φέρειν οἱ Ῥωμαῖοι καλοῦσιν). And even though ferre and φέρω are transparent cognates, even though feretrum is the Latin word for bier, Plutarch describes this hypothesis as purely Greek, and even feels obliged to defend it, arguing that early Latin was closer to Greek and contained many such Greek words.¹⁰⁷ The etymology needed no such defense. Livy, for instance, derives Feretrius from Latin ferculum, the litter that carried Roto Feretrius and awarded 300 asses, the second to Mars and awarded 200 asses, and the third to Quirinus and awarded 100 asses (Marc. 8.9).  Pl. Marc. 8.6. Plutarch describes Marcellus’ vow to Φερέτριος Ζεύς at Marc. 6.12 and his defeat of the enemy general at 7.1– 4. According to Dio, the senate also granted to Iulius Caesar the right to dedicate spolia opima (C.D. 44.4.3). We have no indication that he ever did so.  See Og. 563 – 4.  Cf. foedus ferire in Cicero Cael. 34 and Livy 9.4.5. For the link between Feretrius and striking an enemy dux see Propertius 4.10.45 – 6. The connection between Iuppiter and oaths is also evident in Dius Fidius and Iuppiter Lapis (q.v.).  He offers a similar defense for Greek interpretations of Talasius at Rom. 15.4 and of flamines at Num. 7.10.

Iuppiter

85

mulus’ spolia (1.10.5 – 6). And Plutarch sometimes follows Livy rather closely, as for instance in Camillus’ Life. But his explanation of φέρετρον in Marcellus had to have come from elsewhere. If he had known of Livy’s etymology he could simply have cited it. Perhaps Plutarch developed it independently. Or perhaps he read the ferculum theory long before, perhaps even in Livy, and over the course of time mistook it for his own idea. He would not be the first or last author to do such a thing. The φέρω connection is made by two other Greek sources, neither of whom feels compelled to defend the connection. One is the Greek translator of Augustus’ Res Gestae, who renders Augustus’ Feretrius with the epithet τροπαιοφόρος (M.A. 19). This is a fine choice, facilitated by the Greek penchant for compounds, encompassing both the action of ferre and the nature of the object carried.¹⁰⁸ The other source is Dionysius, who offers three explanations of Feretrius on the occasion of Romulus’ inaugural dedication of spolia opima (D.H. 2.34.4). One suggestion, Ὑπερφερέτης, means roughly “pre-eminent.” It contains the stem -fer-, but Dionysius explains the translation more as a glorification of Iuppiter’s overall importance than an explanation of Feretrius in particular: “…he lords it over all things, and has encompassed the whole nature (φύσις) and movement (κίνησις) of the universe (τὰ ὄντα).” The connotations of Dionysius’ language are more philosophical than religious, and it would be intriguing if we could isolate a strain of Roman philosophical thought in his explanation. The emphasis on movement in particular is evocative of Stoicism, which was thriving in Rome in the first century B.C.E.¹⁰⁹ Dionysius’ style is not well-suited to such inquiries, unfortunately. His views on philosophy are too eclectic to isolate, and are always closely intertwined with his rhetorical theory.¹¹⁰ Dionysius’ other two suggestions are proper translations, and are reminiscent of the τροπαιοφόρος in M.A. 19. In one, he derives Feretrius from φερ- via the substantive stem φορ-, explaining that some of his sources (τινές) interpreted the combination as meaning “spoil-bearing” (σκυλοφόρος). The substitution of “spoils” (σκῦλα) for the more usual “trophy” (τρόπαιον) is in a sense more accurate, since a τρόπαιον should properly commemorate the defeat of an entire enemy force. Little is lost or gained though, since τρόπαια normally incorporated σκῦλα, and the defeat of an enemy commander would often imply the defeat of his entire force. Dionysius’ use of the suffix -φόρος, on the other hand, introduces an ambiguity. He does not explain his meaning as fully as Plutarch does, so φόρος  Livy noted this penchant too when describing the prodigies of 208 B.C.E: faciliore ad duplicanda uerba Graeco sermone (27.11.5).  Cf. the language of the stoic Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus: φύσεως ἀρχηγέ (2); σὺ…ὃς διὰ πάντων φοιτᾷ (12– 13).  See Fornaro 2004, 482; Wooten 1994, 130; Hurst 1982, 858 – 9.

86

Syncretized Roman Gods

could refer to the cart referenced in Plutarch and Livy or to the god’s temple, where the spolia were dedicated and housed. For all we know, he may not even have known the Latin term ferculum. That, at least, is the impression given by his third translation, τροπαιοῦχος. The substitution of “have” (ἔχω) for “carry” (φέρω) suggests that he is interpreting the -φόρος suffix as holding rather than carrying, and that σκυλοφόρος therefore refers to Feretrius’ temple rather than a ferculum. Τροπαιοῦχος also has a Greek precursor in the catalog of epithets of Ζεύς in Aristotle (Mu. 401a23). For Greek readers familiar with the name, its application to Iuppiter would reinforce Dionysius’ Aeolism.

(Dius) Fidius The connection between Iuppiter and oaths, as embodied in I.O.M. and Iuppiter Lapis, led Romans to associate him with Dius Fidius. ¹¹¹ The two gods may once have been distinct (Festus 266 s.v. Medius fidius), but Fidius came to be connected with fides, meaning “faithfulness,” and hence with Iuppiter, who enforced oaths and alliances, while the name Dius, interpreted as light, was naturally associated with Iuppiter as the god of the sky (Dumézil 1996, 199 – 200). The assimilation went back at least to the time of Cato the elder (D.H. 2.49.2), and his cult is well attested in Latin, but Dionysius is the only Greek to mention him, and only as a matter of incidental topography. One passage of his Antiquitates records the foundation of the god’s temple on the mons Quirinalis, which was built by Tarquinius Superbus and was dedicated in the fifth century by Sp. Postumius (D.H. 9.60.8). Another probably concerns the god’s temple on the mons Uiminalis, on the site of the former Collis Mucialis (see Uarro Ling. 5.52). Dionysius does not describe the temple itself, but he does mention an ancient treaty between Rome and Gabii, engraved on a wooden shield, which may have been housed inside it (D.H. 4.58.4). The banal details aside, two interesting points emerge. One is that Dionysius consistently identifies Dius Fidius with Iuppiter, adopting wholesale the assimilation then current in Rome. He had access to the sources we now have, and more, but adhered to the views of the Romans around him. He also seems to have perceived the oddity of the archaic word Fidius, and tried to capture it in Greek for his readers. There was a ready equivalent to fidelis in the Greek adjective πιστός (“faithful”), but instead of writing Ζεὺς Πιστός he chose to render the odd name Fidius with the hapax Πίστιος instead, using a word that he may have invented

 See Graf 2006 NP 6.1114; Latte 126 – 7; Wiss. 129 – 31; Rosch. 1.1.1189 – 90.

Iuppiter

87

himself. His decision to do so demonstrates an impressive sensitivity to Latin nuance.

Iuppiter Inuentor Although there are no Latin references to the exact name Iuppiter Inuentor, his characteristics were embedded in Roman legend. Solinus (De mirabilibus mundi 1.7) and the Origo gentis Romanae (6.5) mention an altar erected by Hercules to pater Inuentor, and Ouid mentions a sacrifice to Iuppiter by Hercules after his defeat of Cacus that must concern the same aspect of the god (Fast. 1.579). The only author to refer directly to Iuppiter Inuentor is Dionysius, who describes Hercules killing Cacus and then dedicating an altar to Iuppiter in commemoration of the recovery of his cattle, which Cacus had hidden inside a cave. Dionysius situates the altar by the Porta Trigemina (D.H. 1.39.4), which was near the temple of Hercules Uictor and perhaps within the Forum Boarium. ¹¹² Iuppiter Inuentor he renders as Ζεὺς Εὑρέσιος, meaning “Ζεύς who finds.” Εὑρέσιος is yet another hapax, apparently another neologism of Dionysius’ own creation. Unlike Fidius, inuentor was a common Latin adjective, and Dionysius would doubtless have used a common Greek adjective if he could. No such word is attested, and he apparently decided to invent one rather than translate the Latin adjective with a participle like Εὑρίσκων. The translation problem was slightly different from the one posed by Fidius, but he again solved it with an innovation.

Iuppiter Inuictus and Uictor These two epithets represent distinct aspects of Iuppiter in Latin.¹¹³ The former was vowed a temple on the Idus Iuniae (Ovid Fast. 6.650), the latter on the Idus Apriliae (Ovid Fast. 4.621). The former’s temple, likely built on the mons Palatinus, is not mentioned by Livy and so was probably vowed and dedicated in a period covered by a lost portion of his text (Coarelli LTUR 3.143); the latter’s temple was probably the one vowed in 295 B.C.E. by Q. Fabius Rullianus (Livy 10.29.14), and is probably to be identified with the shrine on the mons Quirinalis. ¹¹⁴

 See Coarelli 1999, 351– 2 and Coarelli LTUR 3.22 & 4.62  Graf 2006 NP 6.1113; Latte 153 – 4; Wiss. 123; Rosch. 2.1.679 – 82.  Ouid Fast. 4.621– 624; Degrassi Inscr.It. XIII.2, 440. See Coarelli LTUR 3.161.

88

Syncretized Roman Gods

Inuictus and Uictor are combined here because Cassius Dio, our only Greek source, conflates them via the ambiguous translation Νικαῖος. The three relevant passages all involve monstra affecting shrines of Iuppiter. One concerns a lightning strike on the god’s altar before the battle of Philippi (C.D. 47.40.2), another the spontaneous and miraculous opening of a temple of Ζεὺς Νικαῖος when the emperor Claudius dies.¹¹⁵ We have no corroborating evidence for either event to help us decide whether Inuictus or Uictor is involved. The third passage is Dio’s list of portents from the year 43 B.C.E., and his reference is confused. One of the lightning strikes he mentions falls upon an “aedes of Iuppiter Capitolinus in the Νικαῖον” (ἐς τὸν νεὼν τῷ Διὶ τῷ Καπιτωλίῳ ἐν τῷ Νικαίῳ ὄντα; C.D. 45.17.2). This description is problematic. How could the aedes of I.O.M. be within a Νικαῖον? We do possess Latin evidence for a shrine to Inuictus on the mons Capitolinus in the patristic authors of the fourth century C.E. and later, a few of whom mention a templum Capitolii Inuicti Iouis (De Spirito, LTUR 3.153), but this would mean either that an unknown templum Inuicti had been inaugurated on the mons Capitolinus or that Iuppiter Inuictus and I.O.M. had merged somehow in the third century. The former is unlikely, and anyway would not explain Dio’s expression. The latter is remotely possible, but would mean that that Dio was the only author to preserve an otherwise unknown shift in the cult of Iuppiter. The simplest explanation is that the patristic writers failed to distinguish two aspects of Iuppiter, whose cult was then moribund. As for Dio, I incline to Degrassi’s theory, discussed below under Uenus Uictrix, that he misplaced a strike upon the aedes Capitolinae Ueneris. The only other option is to obelize the text.

Iuppiter Lapis An aspect of the god related to I.O.M., Dius Fidius, and Iuppiter Feretrius, Iuppiter Lapis enforced fidelity to oaths.¹¹⁶ Lapis is not properly an epithet of Iuppiter, though it could easily be taken as such from the Roman formula Iouem lapidem iurare, a dual accusative construction that actually means “to swear to Iuppiter by stone.”¹¹⁷ The procedure was employed for treaties, so we have detailed information about the oath from Polybius, the Greek author who is normally least in-

 C.D. 60.35.1 = Zon. 11.11. The event is not mentioned in the Apocolocyntosis or in Suetonius’ list of portents at Claud. 46.1.  Wiss. 117– 18; Rosch. 2.1.674– 6. Cf. Latte 126 – 8 on Dius Fidius.  Graf NP 6.1114 and Walbank 1.351– 3. A lapis was also involved in declarations of war by the fetiales, but Greek sources do not discuss Iuppiter’s role in the procedure (see Dumézil 1996, 179 – 80).

Iuppiter

89

terested in Roman cult. He provides a Greek version of an oath to Iuppiter Lapis in his description of an early compact between Rome and Carthage (Pol. 3.25.6 – 9). We also possess a Latin version of a similar oath in Festus (239 s.v. Lapidem silicem), providing us a rare opportunity to compare Greek and Latin renderings of the same formula.¹¹⁸ In both versions, the person taking the oath grasps a stone – for state functions the stone was a silex retrieved by the fetiales from the temple of Iuppiter Feretrius – the oath is recited, and the stone cast away. Polybius and Festus both emphasize the concept of “good things” (τἀγαθά / bonis) and include a clause restricting the penalties suffered to the one swearing falsely. Polybius introduces his version with the pragmatic observation that the Carthaginians swore their own oath, while the Romans swore by Iuppiter Lapis (Ζεὺς Λίθος). His text of the Roman oath runs thus: “If I swear truly, may I have good things. If I should intend or do anything otherwise, may all others be safe in their own fatherlands, under their own laws, enjoying their own lives, temples, and tombs, but may I alone be cast out, just as this stone is now.¹¹⁹ In Festus, the formula reads: “If I knowingly deceive, then may the city and arx be safe, but may Dispiter throw me out from good things, just as I (do) this stone.”¹²⁰ There are several prominent differences. Polybius begins with the rewards of fidelity, whereas Festus jumps straight to the consequences of infidelity. Polybius’ catalogue of things to be protected is specific, while Festus’ salua urbe arceque is broader and more inclusive. In Polybius, immunity is sought for all others, in their plural fatherlands; in Festus, immunity is sought only for the city and citadel of Rome. Most strikingly, Festus’ formula names Dispiter, while Polybius leaves the god out of the spoken formula altogether. Polybius’ choices make his version of the oath more inclusive than the one in Festus. His ἐπὶ τῶν ἰδίων βίων, ἱερῶν, τάφων could apply equally to Rome and Carthage, whereas Festus’ salua urbe arceque is limited to the Roman side. Festus’ mention of Dispiter would likewise be comprehensible and potent only for Romans and other Italians who could connect the god with the stone. It would have meant nothing to Carthaginians. By emphasizing the stone instead of the god, Polybius’ formula becomes concrete and comprehensible by Romans, Carthaginians, and Greek readers alike. His version is also likely to be more accurate. For one thing, his specificity is the type of language common to Roman religious and

 The Carthaginian oath is also mentioned by Cicero (Fam. 7.12.1), Gellius (1.21.4), and Apuleius (De deo Soc. 5), none of whom report its words.  εὐορκοῦντι μέν μοι εἴη τἀγαθά· εἰ δ’ ἄλλως διανοηθείην τι ἢ πράξαιμι, πάντων τῶν ἄλλων σῳζομένων ἐν ταῖς ἰδίαις πατρίσιν, ἐν τοῖς ἰδίοις νόμοις, ἐπὶ τῶν ἰδίων βίων, ἱερῶν, τάφων, ἐγὼ μόνος ἐκπέσοιμι οὕτως ὡς ὅδε λίθος νῦν (3.25.8).  Si sciens fallo, tum me Dispiter salua urbe arceque bonis eiciat, ut ego hunc lapidem.

90

Syncretized Roman Gods

legal formulas. We also know that he made use of documentary sources (Walbank 1970, 1.31– 3), and may have examined the text of this oath directly. And he had access to elite Roman friends, the Scipios, whose ancestors were involved in the negotiations with Carthage and who could explain the meaning of the oath and the procedures it involved. Festus conversely did not consult the original treaty directly. His work was an epitome, and for the sake of brevity he may have deviated from his source, the Augustan antiquarian Uerrius Flaccus, who may not have consulted the treaty either. Plutarch too renders an oath by Iuppiter Lapis in his Life of Sulla. As a precondition to assuming the consulship of 87 B.C.E., Cinna swore his allegiance to Sulla. Plutarch describes him ascending the mons Capitolium with a stone in his hand and swearing his oath in the presence of many witnesses, calling down curses upon himself (ἐπαρασάμενος ἑαυτῷ), that he be expelled (ἐκπεσεῖν) from the city just as the rock from his hand if he does not maintain his good will towards Sulla, and then throwing the stone down to the ground (Sull. 10.7– 8). Plutarch’s version is the least detailed of the three. His Cinna skips over the rewards of fidelity, just as the oath in Festus does, and leaves out the clause restricting the consequences of faithlessness to himself. Yet Plutarch, like Polybius, leaves Iuppiter out of it. True, there would have been no official records of Cinna’s oath for Plutarch to consult, even if were disposed to do so, but he does cite Sulla’s memoirs, and may have found a version of the oath there. Given such resources, it seems likely that the two Greeks have translated the lapis formula more faithfully than the Latin author, that their exclusion of Iuppiter from it matched the original Latin wording, and that Festus’ inclusion of Dispiter was an interpretive decision by an author unfamiliar with the original text of the oath he described.

Iuppiter Latiaris Iuppiter Latiaris was a very ancient incarnation of the god. He was the patron god of the Latini, his own name transparently being related to theirs, and was worshipped at a temple established by Tarquinius Superbus on the mons Albanus. ¹²¹ Greeks rendered his name as Λατιάριος, whether referring to the god himself, to the feriae Latinae held annually in his honor (τὰ Λατιάρια, C.D. 47.40.6), or to the cognomen Latiaris (C.D. 58.1.1; cf. Tacitus Ann. 4.68). Despite his importance and antiquity, Greek authors do not describe his cult in any detail. The only distinction to

 D.H. 4.49.2. See Graf NP 6.1113 – 14; Dumézil 1996, 204; Latte 144– 6; Wiss. 124– 5; Rosch. 2.1.686 – 93.

Iuppiter

91

be extracted from their various asides is a quirk of vocabulary: Latin authors sometimes apply Latiaris to mons Albanus itself (e. g., collis Latiaris, Uarro Ling. 5.52). Our surviving Greek texts do not.

Iuppiter Liber / Libertas On rare occasions Iuppiter is referred to as Liber and Libertas, two epithets that may or may not refer to the same god.¹²² The only secure reference to him in Greek is in the translation of Augustus’ Res gestae, where the princeps lists an aedes to Iuppiter Libertas among three he constructed on the mons Auentinus. ¹²³ His Greek translator renders the name as Ζεύς Ἐλευθέριος, a formulation that is much more common for Greek Ζεύς than for his Roman equivalent.¹²⁴ The aedes in question is probably identical to the shrine to Iuppiter Liber mentioned on the Kalandae Septembres in the Fasti Arualium (CIL 1.2, p. 214), and may also be the one described as an aedes Libertatis by Livy.¹²⁵ The translation of the noun Libertas with the adjective Ἐλευθέριος is linguistically imprecise, but Ζεύς Ἐλευθερία would not match Greek usage. It would distract Greek readers and highlight a distinction between Roman and Greek religion, neither of which would be appropriate in a propagandistic inscription. Aeolism was also thriving in Rome when the inscription was translated, and that might have made the elision between Iuppiter and Ζεύς easier.

Iuppiter Rex Dionysius uses the phrase Ζεὺς Βασιλεύς in his narrative of the Roman foundation myth. Greek writers always use βασιλεύς to translate rex when discussing Rome, so Dionysius’ phrase must be read as a translation of Iuppiter Rex, even though Rex is

 Sheid 2007, 56; Latte 70; Wiss. 120, 138 – 40; Rosch. 2.1.661– 5.  M.A. 19.2; cf. Andreussi LTUR 3.144.  E. g., Simonides 6.50.4; Plato Thg. 121a6; Strabo 9.2.31; Suda, s.v. Βασίλειος and Ἐλευθέριος. Cassius Dio also uses Ζεύς Ἐλευθέριος when translating Thrasea Paetus’ blood-libation to Iuppiter Liberator (C.D. 62.26.4), yet another aspect of Iuppiter honored in state cult, with a seven-day festival held in October (Wiss. 459 – 60). Dio in that instance is not dealing with cult per se, but echoing a rhetorical trope employed by Tacitus for the suicides of Seneca and Paetus (Ann. 15.64, 16.35).  24.16.19; see Elm 2006, 34– 5. Iuppiter Libertas is also mentioned on a squared stone from Fauentia (CIL 11.657) and on a dedicatory base from Tusculum (CIL 14.2579).

92

Syncretized Roman Gods

not among the epithets applied to Iuppiter in Latin sources.¹²⁶ Dionysius uses the epiclesis when describing Romulus’ prayer for a sign that he should rule Rome. The future king is answered by a propitious lightning flash, clearly a response from Iuppiter (D.H. 2.5.1). The question is whether Dionysius is translating an idea shared by Romans or introducing the epithet himself. We have no corroboration for this aspect of Dionysius’ story in the foundation narratives of Livy, Plutarch, and Cassius Dio, but the epithet Βασιλεύς is not inherently surprising. The survival of words like regia and rex sacrorum means that Roman antipathy to reges after the expulsion of the Tarquinii posed no obstacle to a Rex Iuppiter. And Rex would be a title appropriate to Iuppiter’s position in Roman cosmology, matching the preeminence of Ζεύς in the Greek pantheon (Dumézil 1996, 179). There were also regal aspects of Iuppiter that paralleled the cult of Ζεὺς. The sacrifices to him made by the rex sacrorum and the flamen Dialis within the regia (βασίλειον), for example, resembled the annual religious duties of the βασιλεύς in classical Athens, another city that was vehemently opposed to autocracy (Scott LTUR 4.190). The absence of the epithet from Latin sources does imply that Iuppiter Rex was not a formal part of Iuppiter’s cult, and so did not merit frequent discussion, but the title itself would not have struck a Roman reader as an alien idea, especially when retrojected into the regal pre-history of Rome. Even if Dionysius did not encounter the phrase Iuppiter Rex in a Latin text, his Ζεὺς Βασιλεύς is a viable translation of the Roman conception of Iuppiter in a broader sense, and may reflect contemporary usage, much like his attribution of the lacus Iuturnae to the Castores (q.v.).

Iuppiter Stator Like Inuictus and Uictor, Iuppiter Stator is a military aspect of the god, in this case honoring his power to make Roman troops stand firm in battle.¹²⁷ Greeks are interested in two aspects. One is the legend in which Romulus vowed a shrine to Iuppiter in order to halt a rout of the Roman army; the other is the historical temple of Stator at the base of the mons Palatinus, which was vowed and dedicated by M. Atilius Regulus in 294 B.C.E. Dionysius and Plutarch both discuss the Romulus legend, and both try to explain the meaning of the epithet Stator for their readers.¹²⁸ Dionysius translates the name as Ζεὺς Ὀρθώσιος, and says Romulus chose the epithet because the  On βασιλεύς for rex, cf. D.S. 8.6.3; D.H. 1.82.6; Pl. Num. 2.3; Ap. Proem. 6.20; C.D. 44.9.1. Cf. also μεσοβασιλεύς for interrex and ἱερῶν βασιλεύς for rex sacrorum.  See Graf NP 6.1113; Latte 153 – 4; Wiss. 122– 3; Rosch. 2.1.679 – 86.  Latin accounts include Livy 1.12.3 – 7; Ouid Fasti 6.793 – 4; Florus 1.1.13; [Aur. Uict.] De uir. ill. 2.8.

Iuppiter

93

god made the Roman army stop (στῆναι; 2.50.3). Ὀρθώσιος is a sensitive interpretive choice. Dionysius could easily have translated the epithet with its cognate and captured its transitive force via a first aorist participle like Στήσας, but by switching verbs he has better captured the idea that Iuppiter reinvigorated the Roman people. The verb ὀρθόω often connotes the idea of restoration (LSJ II) that is implicit in the Latin epithet, an idea that might have been obscured if he had used ἵστημι, which Greek more often uses in a concrete sense. He had lived so long in Rome and had become so comfortable with the language that he could perceive subtle differences between ἵστημι and Latin stare. Plutarch lived much of his life in Greece, and while he too was probably aware of the connotations of Stator, he was more sensitive than Dionysius to the possibility that his readers might not be fluent in Latin. So even though he uses both ἵστημι and ὀρθόω, as Dionysius does, he keeps the two ideas distinct, reserving one for the name and actions of Stator and using the other to interpret them: “(Romulus) prayed to Iuppiter to stop (στῆσαι) the army, and not to ignore the downfall of Roman affairs, but to restore them (ὀρθῶσαι). They made their initial stand (ἔστησαν) at the site of the current temple of Iuppiter Stator (Στάτωρ), which one might translate as Ἐπιστάσιος” (Rom. 18.8 – 9). The word Plutarch uses to translate Stator, Ἐπιστάσιος, could have caused confusion. It is a rare word, and could be derived from middle ἐφίσταμαι instead of the active and transitive ἐφίστημι. Nor is it ever applied to Greek Ζεύς. Plutarch’s careful explanation and his repeated use of ἵστημι in the passage keep his readers on the right path. Plutarch and Appian also mention Stator in connection with his historical temple, which in antiquity was identified with the one Romulus’ vow supposedly established.¹²⁹ It was to this temple that Cicero summoned the senate for his first Catilinarian speech, an occasion that prompts Plutarch to offer another translation of the epithet, Ζεὺς Στήσιος (Cic. 16.3). This translation seems to be an innovation on Plutarch’s part; no earlier reference to an adjective στήσιος is attested in any capacity. Yet Appian adopts the same translation a generation later, describing the friends of M. Calpurnius Bibulus hauling him into the temple of Στήσιος Ζεύς in order to protect him from Caesar’s partisans (B.Ciu. 2.11[40]).¹³⁰ The rarity of the term suggests either that Appian is following in Plutarch’s footsteps or that the two authors borrowed from a common Greek source, now lost. Both theories are problematic. On one hand, we have no candidates for a common source; on the other, Plutarch does not describe Bibulus’ rescue in his Life of Caesar, which  Livy 10.36.11. See Coarelli LTUR 3.155 – 7; Graf NP 6.1113; Dumézil 1996, 186 – 7; Wiss. 123; Rosch. 2.1.650.  The codd. contain the illogical Κτήσιος, which Gelenius emended to Στήσιος. Viereck follows Gelenius in his Teubner text.

94

Syncretized Roman Gods

is the Life that Appian would most naturally have consulted for the episode. Appian does seem to have consulted Plutarch elsewhere (e. g., for Sulla’s career), so on balance the second explanation is more likely.

Iuppiter Territor In Latin Iuppiter Territor is known only from an altar inscription from Tibur: Sancto Ioui Territori sanctum. ¹³¹ The sole textual reference to this aspect of the god is in Greek, in Dionysius’ description of an altar erected to Iuppiter on the summit of the mons Sacer at the conclusion of the first secessio plebis (D.H. 6.90.1). His translation, Ζεὺς Δειμάτιος, captures well the active force of Territor, which according to Dio refers to the fear the Romans felt at that time.

Iuppiter Tonans Like Fulgur and Fulminator, Tonans is an epithet honoring Iuppiter as god of the sky, and so also of lightning strikes (cf. Elicius, Feretrius, Inuictus, and Rex above).¹³² Greek Ζεύς is likewise associated with lightning in the Greek tradition from Homer onwards, and in this capacity is described most often by the stems βρεμ- and βροντ- (e. g., Il. 1.354; 8.133). Greek writers use the latter stem for Tonans. We possess two secure translations, both of which refer to an aedes that Augustus’ dedicated to the god in 22 B.C.E. Augustus himself mentions it in the Res Gestae, and his translator renders Tonans with the form Βροντήσιος, following the adjectival pattern of epithets like Στήσιος and Εὑρέσιος (M.A. 19). Cassius Dio also mentions the temple, and his translation is more literal in a grammatical sense, matching the participial form of the Latin epithet with Βροντῶν (C.D. 54.4.2; cf. Suetonius Diu. Aug. 29.3). A third apparent reference is probably illusory. In his Life of Cato the elder, Plutarch describes Cato’s joke that his wife only embraces him after a great thunderclap, making him a happy man indeed when Iuppiter thunders (Cat. Mai. 17.7). In translating the quip Plutarch uses the genitive absolute Διὸς βροντῶντος, his participle matching Dio’s Βροντῶν. The problem with taking Βροντῶν here as Ton CIL 14.3559 = ILS 3028. A squeeze of the inscription can be viewed at https://cil.bbaw.de/ace/ search?page=1 (accessed on 18 Nov. 2022). Festus (414 s.v. Sacer mons) mentions the altar but not the epithet.  See Graf NP 6.1112; Latte 81; Wiss. 121– 2; Rosch. 2.1.747– 8. Greek authors do not discuss Iuppiter Fulgur or Fulminator.

Liber

95

ans is that we have no Latin evidence for the use of Tonans until Augustus. Romans during the Republic preferred other epithets like Fulgur, so Plutarch could only mean Tonans via anachronism. More likely, βροντῶντος here is his own word, and does not represent an epithet at all. Greeks regularly use the stem βροντfor thunder when they describe omens that block public business at Rome (e. g., βροντῆς γενομένης; Ap. B.Ciu. 1.30[134]), and such usage does not invoke Iuppiter or Ζεύς in any specific sense.

Latona Roman Latona, whose name is derived from the Doric variant of Λητώ (WolframAslan NP 7.295), is almost entirely absent from Greek sources. Dionysius is the only author to mention her, including her name in the first lectisternium, along with her son Apollo (D.H. 12.9.2; cf. Livy 5.13.6). Plutarch has Brutus mention Λητώ, but only in a quote from the Iliad, when making a toast (Il. 16.849; Brut. 24.6). Brutus’ knowledge of Homer identifies him as a philhellene, an important aspect of Plutarch’s sympathetic depiction, and he invokes an entirely Greek Λητώ.

Liber Liber, Libera, and Ceres formed a triad of agricultural gods associated also with the protection of libertas. ¹³³ Liber was a god of germination, and was associated with wine as early as the sixth century B.C.E. He is accordingly translated by all Greek sources as Διόνυσος. Dionysius records the earliest attested cult of the Roman and Italic Liber Pater in the construction of an aedes to Ceres, Liber, and Libera (Δημήτηρ καὶ Διόνυσος καὶ Κόρη), which was begun by the dictator A. Postumius in 496 B.C.E., in fulfillment of his uota after the battle of Lake Regillus (D.H. 6.17.2– 4). The shrine was situated on the mons Auentinus, next to the carcer of the Circus Maximus, and its dedicatio by the consul Sp. Cassius followed three years later (D.H. 6.94.3). Postumius’ uota are also mentioned by Tacitus Ann. 2.49, who records the reconstruction of the original aedes by Augustus and its rededication by Tiberius (see Furneaux 1896, 1.343). Prescendi (NP 7.485) imagines Greek sources deriving the three gods from Eleusis, probably extrapolating from Pl. Aet. Rom. 289A (see

 Pellam 2014; Prescendi NP 7.485 – 6; Dumézil 1996, 377– 8; Latte 70, 161– 2; Wiss. 297– 304; Rosch. 2021– 9.

96

Syncretized Roman Gods

below). Neither Dionysius nor Tacitus say this, however, and Wissowa’s theory of a Greco-Campanian intermediary is more likely (Wiss. 298). Postumius’ temple aside, the Greek discussion of Liber is limited to Plutarch, who is ambivalent about his identity. When he addresses Liber at Q.R. 288F– 289A, he examines the god’s name, asking why Romans referred to Διόνυσος as Liber Pater. The question itself and all three of his answers assume the equivalence of Liber and Διόνυσος.¹³⁴ The first hypothesis is that Liber “…is the father of freedom (ἐλευθερία) for drinkers,” an answer based on the equivalence of Latin liber and Greek ἐλευθερία. Surprisingly, at least for readers familiar with his treatment of Iuppiter Stator in Romulus, Plutarch never spells out his translation, presuming his readers have sufficient familiarity with Latin to follow him.¹³⁵ His other two answers then equate the two gods. One of them – “…because he provides the libation (λοιβή)” – derives Liber from a near homonym in Greek, arguing for an ancient affinity between the Greek and Latin languages. This is a late example of Aeolism, and the type of answer we might expect from Dionysius. The third answer, borrowed from the first-century B.C.E. writer Alexander Polyhistor, takes Liber as a translation of Διόνυσος Ἐλεύθερος, the incarnation of the god worshipped at Ἐλευθεραί in Boeotia, which implies that Liber is a Greek immigrant. Such, in retrospect, is the general impression of all three answers to this question. At Q.R. 271B, however, Plutarch pulls his readers in the opposite direction. There he asks whether Roman children are told to swear by Liber and Hercules in the open air because each god is a stranger to Rome (οὐκ ἐπιχώριος…καὶ ξένος). From 288F we would expect a clear affirmative, but Plutarch allows room for doubt: “…they do not swear under a roof by Διόνυσος either, since he too is a stranger. If, that is, he really is Διόνυσος.” The last remark is in Plutarch’s own voice, which gives it extra weight. F.C. Babbitt was disturbed enough by Plutarch’s inconsistency that he emended the manuscripts’ Διόνυσος to ἀπὸ Νύσης in his Loeb edition (1936), referring to the legendary birthplace of the god. This clever idea is unsupported and unnecessary. Plutarch in the Q.R. is rather like Aristotle, at least as represented in the philosopher’s surviving esoteric works. He does not seek perfect consistency but enjoys wrangling with difficult questions in the moment, adopting a conversational style that allows for shifts in opinion at various stages. Such is also the normal pattern between the Lives and their concluding synkrises. Neither discussion of Liber in the Q.R. is dogmatic. Plutarch sees

 Cf. Padovani 2018, 225 – 6. Plutarch not only transliterates the name, he even tries to represent the Latin accusative form Liberum Patrem (Λίβερουμ Πάτρεμ), which is a rarity in Greek writers.  This is why we cannot construct an imagined reader applicable to all of Plutarch’s works. His assumptions about his readers can even shift within a single work.

Libera

97

many similarities between the Roman god and Greek Διόνυσος, yet also enough of a difference that he can express doubts about their equivalence. These doubts are reinforced in the Lives, where Plutarch emphasizes the distinctions between Liber and Διόνυσος. In most Roman Lives, Plutarch endeavors to keeps Greek Διόνυσος out of Rome. When describing the rites of Bona Dea (᾿Aγαθή), for instance, he draws a firm contrast between Roman and Greek views: Greeks believed her to be the unspoken mother of Διόνυσος, and connected certain aspects of her festival with myths of the Greek god; Romans believed her to be nymph married to Faunus (Caes. 9.4– 5).¹³⁶ While Plutarch does not weigh in on the debate himself, his general skepticism of the Greek ethnography and etymology concerning Rome in the Lives lends weight to the native tradition. Likewise in Marcellus, in a digression prompted by the conquering general’s ouatio, Plutarch contradicts those Greeks who derive ouatio from εὐασμός and link the ritual with Διόνυσος (Marc. 22.7). The εὐάζειν / ouare etymology is sound, actually, but Plutarch firmly denies the Greek god’s involvement in the Roman rite. Among the Roman Lives, Διόνυσος is a recurring theme only in the Life of Antony, and is so prominent there because Plutarch’s subject emulated the Greek god at Ephesus (Ant. 24.4), Cilicia (Ant. 26.5), and elsewhere (Ant. 60.5), as part of his evolution from Roman statesman to eastern potentate. Such references have nothing to do with Roman Liber. Dionysius may have accepted the essential equivalence of Liber and Διόνυσος, but Plutarch does so only when it suits his rhetorical purpose.

Libera The existence of Roman Libera may well have contributed to Plutarch’s doubts about Liber. She was a fertility goddess and the consort of Liber, and had no parallel in Greek cult.¹³⁷ Perhaps that is why she is nearly absent from Greek sources. Dionysius is the only Greek writer to mention her, and only as a member of the agricultural triad, Ceres, Liber, and Libera, on the occasion of their joint temple’s erection on the mons Auentinus after the battle of Lake Regillus (D.H. 6.17.2). Dionysius

 I disagree with Ziegler’s punctuation of this passage in his Teubner edition. His period at the end of 9.5 would put the explanatory ὅθεν clause in Plutarch’s own voice, when it should properly be a continuation of the oratio obliqua introduced by Ἕλληνες (sc. φασί).  Roman poets did nonetheless associate her with Ariadne. In Ovid Fast. 3.512, for instance, Dionysius says to Ariadne, …tu mihi iuncta toro mihi iuncta uocabula sumes, | nam tibi mutatae Libera nomen erit…. There was also a cult of Ariadne on Naxos that was closely associated with Διόνυσος, but nothing indicates that it was a fertility cult. See Pl. Thes. 20.8 – 9 and cf. Prescendi NP 7.486; Dumézil 1996, 377– 8; Rosch. 1.1.542– 3.

98

Syncretized Roman Gods

translates Libera as Κόρη, which is an odd choice. He is perhaps drawing upon the Orphic tradition of Διόνυσος Ζαγρεύς, in which Διόνυσος is the son of Ζεύς and Περσεφόνη (a.k.a. Κόρη), but in doing so he transforms a Roman consort into a Greek mother. A more cautious solution would have been to concede that Libera had no Greek equivalent, but such an admission would undermine Dionysius’ Aeolism.

Mars In historical times Mars was exclusively the Roman god of war.¹³⁸ Such is the depiction of him in our Greek sources as well, where he is often translated as Ἄρης. Plutarch elaborates on the equation when describing the sacrifice of the October equus to Mars: horses are spirited, warlike, and martial (᾿Aρήιος), and so are an appropriate animal for the god of war (Q.R. 287B).¹³⁹ The equivalence was not a straightforward one, however. Mars could also be translated as Ἐνυάλιος, which was a Greek epithet of Ἄρης (e. g., Plutarch Praec. 801e), and was also a common Greek translation for Quirinus, the deified Romulus. As a result, traditions about Mars and Quirinus are occasionally confused. Dionysius and Plutarch both address this problem directly. When Dionysius discusses Quirinus and the origins of the Sabine city of Cures, saying that the Sabines first gave to Ἔνυάλιος the name Κυρῖνος, he writes, “They are unable to say accurately whether he is Ἄρης or some other possessing honors similar to Ἄρης. For some believe that one god, responsible for martial contests, is signified by either name” (2.48.2). Dionysius seems to have known nothing of Oscan, the language of the Sabines, so his “they” must refer to Latin and Greek authorities who conflated Quirinus and Mars, perhaps via inconsistent references to Ἔνυάλιος and Ἄρης. The same translations also give Plutarch fits when describing Romulus’ deification. At Q.R. 285C–D, a passage already discussed under Iuno Quiritis, he gives an explanation of the martial connection similar to the one Dionysius offers: “The ancients once called a spear ‘curis’ (κύρις), for which reason Ἐνυάλιος is called Quirinus (Κυρῖνος)” When he addresses the same issue in Romulus, Plutarch grapples more openly with the discrepancies in his Greek sources, some of which referred to the deified Romulus as Ἐνυάλιος and others as Κυρῖνος. Some of the latter also

 Gordon NP 8.397– 401; Latte 114– 16; Wiss. 141– 53; Rosch. 2385 – 438.  Plutarch makes an error on the name of the month in the same quaestio, exchanging December, the tenth month in archaic Rome, for October, the tenth month in the Rome of his own day. His detailed treatment of the calendar in Num. 19 shows that he should have known better.

Mars

99

connected the δόρυ (i. e., quiris) in the Regia with Ἄρης, and for that reason referred to the warlike (ἀρήιος) god Romulus as the spear-god Quirinus (Rom. 29.1). The translations Ἄρης, Ἐνυάλιος, and Κυρῖνος being so readily confused in Greek, an ambiguity could be introduced or retained even by the most careful author. This happens twice to Appian, when he records sacrifices to the warlike gods, the θεοὶ Ἐνυάλιοι, first by L. Mummius Achaicus after his Spanish victories (Hisp. 57), and later by Sulla after his defeat of Archelaus at Chaeronea (Mith. 45). The expression θεοὶ Ἐνυάλιοι does not match any in Latin, and the sacrifices are not mentioned elsewhere. Plutarch does describe the trophies that Sulla erected after the battle (Pl. Sul. 19.9), and he lists as their dedicatees ᾿Aφροδίτη, Νίκη, and Ἄρης, but these do not match a standard Roman formula either, and the presence of ᾿Aφροδίτη means that they cannot be θεοί Ἐνυάλιοι mentioned by Appian. If Appian had meant Mars alone, he should have used the singular Ἄρης, as he does at Reg. 1.1. If he had meant Quirinus, then he should have used a singular Ἄρης, Ἐνυάλιος, or Κυρῖνος. His plural θεοὶ Ἐνυάλιοι might refer to Mars and Quirinus together, in which case Appian understands them to be distinct gods. Or it might comprehend other martial deities like Bellona and Minerua. The problematic nature of the Ἐνυάλιος translation prevents our knowing. In general, though, Greek authors do try to keep Mars and Quirinus distinct. When Polybius reproduces the oath sworn by Roman representatives in a treaty with Carthage, he lists the three guarantors of the oath separately: Iuppiter Lapis (Ζεὺς λίθος), Mars (Ἄρης), and Quirinus (Ἐνυάλιος).¹⁴⁰ When Plutarch lists the three types of spolia opima, he too is careful to distinguish Ἄρης from Κυρῖνος (Marc. 8.9). The Campus Martius is consistently rendered as πεδίον τοῦ Ἄρεος or Ἄρειον πεδίον, whereas the mons Quirinalis is either transliterated or rendered as λόφος Ἐνυάλιος.¹⁴¹ Nor does any confusion arise from other uses of the adjective Martius, such mens Martius (D.H. 2.70.2; Pl. Num. 13.7) or legio Martia (Ap. B.Ciu. 3.45[185]; C.D. 45.13.3), which are always transliterated. Mars’ role as the progenitor of Romulus and Remus was a central part of the foundation myth of Rome, and is always mentioned by Greek authors who discuss the period. The details in most accounts are thin, however. Strabo mentions the tale only in passing, much as Livy does (Livy 4.1– 2), and his only comment on the tradition is to introduce it with μυθεύεται, meaning the episode is a matter of legend and not history (Str. 5.3.2). Dionysius pauses a bit longer to express his skepticism of this naive and morally dubious tradition, framed in a nice renuntiatio (D.H.  Pol. 3.25.6. For the oath itself, see under Iuppiter Lapis.  πεδίον τοῦ Ἄρεος or Ἄρειον πεδίον in D.H. 5.13.2, M.A. 12, Pl. Luc. 43.3, Ap. B.Ciu. 1.89[407], C.D. 39.64.1; transliterated in D.S. 14.117.1, D.H. 2.62.5, Ap. B.Ciu. 3.92[378], C.D. 1.6; λόφος Ἐνυάλιος in D.H. 9.60.8.

100

Syncretized Roman Gods

1.77.2– 3). Appian gives a brief and unconventional account, ignoring the usual story of divine visitation upon the twins’ mother and tracing their divine descent through Rhea Siluia to Faunus, the son of Mars (Reg. 1– 1a; cf. D.H. 1.31.2). Cassius Dio does not address the legend directly, but he does describe Laeuinus referring to Mars, in a letter to Pyrrhus, as the ancestor (προπάτωρ) of the entire Roman people (C.D. 9 = Zon. 8.3.5). Diodorus may have said something about Mars and the twins in book 8 of his history, but if so, it has not survived in the fragments. The only detailed treatments of the story are from Plutarch, who discusses it in the Life of Romulus and twice in the Moralia. The specifics vary, but each time he places special emphasis upon an aspect of the story that Livy never mentions, a woodpecker.¹⁴² As is typical in other accounts, the twins’ mother, named Rhea, or Siluia, or Ilia, is found to be pregnant, despite her uncle’s decision to make her a uirgo Uestalis and forestall a prophesied threat to his lineage and rule. She gives birth to twin boys who are larger and more beautiful than the human norm, reflecting their divine parentage. Amulius in consternation orders them exposed (Rom. 4.2; De fort. Rom. 320B). The boys, by one mechanism or another, end up on the banks of the Tiberis, where they are nursed by the famous she-wolf. At this point Plutarch introduces the woodpecker (δρυοκολάπτης = picus), a bird sacred to Mars, who aids the boys by feeding them from its own claws (Rom. 3.2– 5; Q.R. 268F; De fort. Rom. 320D). According to Plutarch, it was the miraculous intervention of this animal that lent credence to Siluia’s outlandish claim of divine intercourse (Rom. 4.2). While the woodpecker is mentioned often in Latin literature, it does not enter into Roman historiography.¹⁴³ Perhaps the detail was too familiar or too undignified for Roman annalists. Its importance in Rome’s foundation legend would have been lost to us if not for Plutarch’s antiquarianism. Although Strabo does not describe Mars’ role in founding Rome, he does credit him with establishing two other Italian peoples, the Piceni and the Sabelli. He bases these attributions on Latin etymologies, and while the stories have little to do with Mars himself, his treatment reveals intriguing assumptions about his readers’ knowledge of Latin. In explaining the Piceni he presumes his readers’ ignorance. He describes them being led to their current homeland by a woodpecker – Mars’ bird appears again – and is careful to explain the Piceni / picus connection, transliterating the Latin word for woodpecker (πῖκος) to make his point clear (Str. 5.4.2). Yet for the origin of the Sabelli, who were supposed to have been derived from the Sabini, he offers no help at all (Str. 5.4.12). According to him, the Sabini had a tradition that they had dedicated an entire year’s produce as an offering to Mars dur-

 This is the picus Martius, also discussed below under that heading.  OLD s.v.; Wiss. 145 n.5; Rosch. 2. 2. 2430 – 31.

Mars

101

ing their wars with the Umbrici. When famine followed all the same, they realized that they should also have dedicated the year’s crop of children, and immediately consecrated them to the god. When these children reached maturity, they left home to found a colony, following a divinely inspired bull to their new homeland, and there sacrificing the animal to Mars. This is the origin story Strabo credits for the name Sabelli, explaining it as a pet name given the consecrated children by their parents. He does not explain the underlying etymology, though, assuming that his readers will understand it. His confidence in them is surprising, since the etymology is an amalgam of Greek and Latin. The colonists were devoted to the god of war, so their parents gave them a name derived from bellum, the Latin word for war, to which Strabo or his sources have appended a Greek ζα-, a Homeric alternative for δια- (e. g., ζάθεος, ζαφλεγής). Strabo apparently expects his readers to recognize the word bellum as well as the Greek prefix, and so to understand the meaning of the name ζα-belli. Taking the two passages together, his presumed readers resemble modern Latin students. Most would know the word for war, but very few of them would know the word for woodpecker. The implication is that Strabo imagines his readers as having learned Latin by rote, and not immersion, with a curriculum more focused on politics than ornithology. In all this, Strabo presumes an equivalence between Roman, Sabine, and Picene incarnations of Mars, a naive but unsurprising assumption for a Greek who was not a resident of Italy. A fascinating counter-example survives in a fragment from Diodorus. According to Posidonius, Diodorus recorded an oath before Mars sworn by the Italici to M. Liuius Drusus (D.S. 37.11.1), who was then assassinated, and whose land bill on the Italians’ behalf was invalidated by senatorial opposition. Drusus is directly quoted in the fragment, and refers to Mars there as ὁ πατρῷος αὐτῆς (sc. τῆς Ῥώμης) Ἄρης, evidently distinguishing Roman Mars from Italian incarnations. The fragment is intriguing for two reasons: first, because the distinction between Italici and Romans is a rather narrow one to emphasize for a Greek readership; second, because the oath invokes Mars as a protector of borders, one of the god’s non-military roles, which are usually ignored by Greek authors (see Gordon NP 8.400). Either Diodorus is being exceedingly peculiar and particular, even for a Greek resident of Italy, or he is faithfully rendering a Latin source, perhaps even the actual text of the original oath (see further under Sol). Three temples of Mars make an appearance in Greek. The earliest is a νεὼς Ἄρεος in Suna, which is mentioned by Dionysius in his extensive topographical survey of the neighborhood of archaic Reate (D.H. 1.14.2). The entire section is adapted from Uarro’s lost Antiquitates, and many of its details are highly problematic. Of the shrine itself, Dionysius says only that it was very old. The other passages concern temples to Mars Ultor. One rather loosely translates Ultor as ᾿Aμύντωρ, mean-

102

Syncretized Roman Gods

ing “defender” or “champion,” in a reference to the forum Augusti temple at M.A. 21.¹⁴⁴ This usage of the word has a Homeric antecedent: when Telemachus asks Odysseus who will defend them against the suitors, Odysseus applies it to ᾿Aθηνᾶ and Ζεύς (Od. 16.256 – 61). By this choice, Augustus’ translator creates the impression of a god more focused on protecting Augustus than avenging Caesar’s murder. There are also two translations of Mars Ultor by Cassius Dio that are more literal. One mentions the dedication of three daggers to Ultor by Caligula (C.D. 59.22); a second refers to a temple of Ultor supposedly ordered by Augustus for the Capitolium after of his recovery of the Parthian standards from Phraates (C.D. 54.8.3). Dio in both passages calls the god Ἄρης Τιμωρός. Oddly enough, no trace of this Capitolium shrine survives. Nor is it mentioned in Latin sources. Dio’s claim seems to be supported by numismatic evidence, but some doubt remains whether he might have accidentally misplaced the more famous temple complex in the forum Augusti (see Reusser LTUR 3.230 – 1). Such a mistake is unlikely. Dio was long a resident in Rome, and is our best Greek source on the forum Augusti, the dedication of which he describes at length (55.10.1– 8). Lastly, we have Plutarch’s and Dio’s descriptions of a pair omens involving Mars, both portending military invasion. Dio’s prodigy, for which he is the only source, warns of Pompey’s ultimate defeat at Caesar’s hands: a votive helmet and shield of Mars on the Capitolium, perhaps associated with a sacellum there, are struck by thunderbolts as Pompey first touches land at Dyrrachium. ¹⁴⁵ Plutarch’s omen portends Hannibal’s invasion. Among the several prodigies Livy records from that same time are a rift in the sky at Falerii, through which a great light shone, and certain divining lots that “were diminished” without external influence (sortes sua sponte adtenuatas, 22.1.11). By “diminished” Livy means that the very tablets upon which the lots were inscribed shrank, a universally bad omen that also occurred at Caere in the previous year.¹⁴⁶ He also records that one of the lots bore the inscription “Mars brandishes his spear” (Mauors telum suum concutit). Plutarch conflates these two prodigies, stating that tablets (γραμματεῖα) fell out of the sky at Falerii, and that they bore the inscription Ἄρης τὰ ἑαυτοῦ ὅπλα σαλεύει (Fab. 2.2), which reduces Mars’ telum to generic ὅπλα, shifts Livy’s sortes from Rome to Falerii, obscures their very nature as lots, and transforms the inscription on one of the lots into a message from the heavens. Livy would not have divided one prodigy into two, so Plutarch is either compressing them himself or following an earlier source that did so. The latter is more likely, given Plutarch’s  LSJ cite Euripides Or. 1588 as evidence that ἀμύντωρ can also mean “avenger,” but the more common meanings would serve the context of Augustus’ inscription just as well.  C.D. 41.14.3; cf. Tagliamonte LTUR 3.226.  Livy 21.62.4; see Weissenborn 1888 ad loc.

Mater Magna

103

general meticulousness and his skill in rendering Latin vocabulary. The confusion surely arose because of the very peculiar Roman tradition of shrinking sortes, a concept alien to Greek writers. Confused by the Latin account, Greek observers resorted to paraphrase or faulty exegesis, and over time the distinctive nature of the omen was lost.

Mater Magna Magna Mater, identified in Latin by various permutations of her full title, Magna Deum Mater Idaea, was an Anatolian import, who had long been familiar to Greeks in her eastern incarnation as Κυβέλη and ἡ Μήτηρ τῶν θεῶν.¹⁴⁷ Latin sources disagree on the precise spot of her origin, whereas Greek writers all agree that she came from Pessinus in Phrygia.¹⁴⁸ The rites of Phrygian Κυβέλη were too familiar to Greek readers to offer much scope for commentary or translation, whether linguistic or cultural. The only Greek writers to address her Roman cult are Arrian and Dionysius, and they do so only briefly.¹⁴⁹ Arrian refers to her as Phrygian Rhea (ἡ Ῥέα ἡ Φρυγία), a familiar association in the Greek tradition (e. g., Strabo 10.3.12; D.S. 3.57.2). The specific rites he mentions are ritual mourning for the castration of Attis (πένθος…πένθεται) and the bathing of the goddess’ statue (Tact. 33.4). His interest is not in the cult itself; his point is that Romans were willing to import foreign traditions. Dionysius’ treatment is longer and serves a related but contrary purpose, to demonstrate Roman restraint in religious matters even when importing other cults (D.H. 2.19.1– 5). He attributes this restraint to the precedent set by Romulus himself, who supposedly expunged from Roman tradition such unseemly tales as the succession myth of the gods and ecstatic rites like those of Dionysus and Persephone. When Rome later imported Mater Magna (whom he calls the Ἰδαῖα θεά), they dissociated themselves from the pedantic fables (τερθρεία μυθική) involved in her worship. Some of the  The appellation Magna seems to have been a Roman innovation (Belayche 2016). Few Greeks call her “Great” (i.e., Μεγάλη), not even the translator of M.A. 19, though Diodorus and Plutarch do so when describing an embassy to Rome (see below). She was linked with Ῥέα and called by many other names besides, including Ἄγδιστις and Δινδυμήνη (Str. 10.3.12; cf. Ar. Au. 877, Diog. Laert. 6.1.3). Diodorus gives an extended account of the eastern traditions at 3.58 – 9.  Uarro says Pergamum (Ling. 6.15); Ovid asserts the Trojan Mt. Ida (Fast. 4.263 – 4).  This is unfortunate for us, since the surviving accounts of the Roman cult are contradictory. The different traditions have been analyzed extensively. For an overview of the scholarship see Beard 2012; Takacs NP 8.458 – 9; Roller 1999; Latte 258 – 62; Wiss. 317– 27. The entry on “Meter” no. 11 in Rosch. 2.2, written by W. Drexler, extends from 2849 – 931, with 2910 – 17 addressing her cult in Rome.

104

Syncretized Roman Gods

more outlandish and indecorous aspects of her cult were retained but performed by Phrygian priests, not Roman citizens.¹⁵⁰ Dionysius’ Romans were not simply Greeks, but Greeks improved. They were the direct inheritors of Greek traditions, but also a filter, absorbing the best traditions of the Greek world and eschewing its excesses (cf. Ascheri 2011, 67– 9). Cassius Dio says nothing about the rites of Mater Magna, whom he calls Μήτηρ τῶν θεῶν, but he does mention two incidents from the late Republic that involved her cult statue on the Palatine. In 43 B.C.E. it turned, of its own accord, from east to west, presaging the deaths of Hirtius and Pansa at Mutina (C.D. 46.33.3). Several years later, perhaps in 38 B.C.E., people inspired by Mater Magna (κάτοχοι) warned of her anger against Rome, and an attempt was made to propitiate her.¹⁵¹ The senate ordered a consultation of the Sibylline books, and the remedy pronounced by the XVuiri was to take the goddess’ statue out into the sea and purify it. The act was duly performed, but the statue was somehow brought back late, and with difficulty, and the delay inspired consternation that was only alleviated when four palm trees sprouted around her temple and in the forum. If Greeks were not very interested in the goddess’ rites, they were certainly intrigued by the picturesque tale of her arrival into Rome in 205 B.C.E.¹⁵² Two authors, Strabo and Diodorus, give brief accounts as minor diversions from their main narratives. Two others, Herodian and Appian, go on at greater length and their choices are harder to evaluate. Each of the four presents a single narrative, generally free from alternatives. Unlike Plutarch, who seeks out different traditions to compare, especially in the Q.R., these narratives suppress complexities, sometimes to the extent that they introduce new problems, many of which are only noticeable when we weigh the narratives against each other and the Latin sources. The simplest of the four is Strabo’s. He mentions Mater Magna only very briefly, as part of his survey of Galatia (12.5.3). He has no reason to delve into the conflicting traditions of the goddess’ invitation to Rome, so he dispenses with the event in one sentence: Rome made the Pessinus temple famous when they sent for the cult image (ἀφίδρυμα) of the goddess, in accordance with the Sibylline prophesies (χρησμοί). Strabo’s narrative idiosyncrasies are few. He does record

 As Satterfield (2012) has argued, Dionysius probably has his chronology reversed, and the conservatism that he imputes to Romulus was actually a product of increasing Roman contacts with the larger Mediterranean world in the 2nd century B.C.E., well after Rome had imported the Phrygian cult.  C.D. 48.43.4. Though Dio narrates these prodigies under the consulship of Ap. Claudius Pulcher and C. Norbanus Flaccus, he also says that many of them occurred earlier.  See Beard 2012, 327– 8. For fuller accounts of the Latin sources see Satterfield 2012 n.1; Burton 1996 n.1; MRR 1.304.

Mater Magna

105

that the locals called the goddess Ἄγδιστις, but he himself refers to her as “Mother of the gods” (Μήτηρ τῶν θεῶν), as is typical in Greek writers. His decision to refer to the object retrieved as simply an image is more significant. As we will see, the goddess’ cult image was very peculiar. Strabo was either unaware of its oddity or chose a translation that sidelined a topic he considered irrelevant or uninteresting. Diodorus’ account is also brief. The goddess is only a background detail to his main point, that P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica Serapio (cos. 138 B.C.E.) was a noble man from a noble line. As part of his evidence, he describes the declaration by senatus consultum that Scipio’s grandfather, P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica (cos. 191 B.C.E.), was the best citizen in Rome. For context, Diodorus gives a few brief facts: a verse was found in the Sibylline oracles that instructed the Romans to found a temple to the great Mother of the gods (ἡ μεγάλη Μήτηρ τῶν θεῶν), and to retrieve her sacred objects (ἱερά) from Pessinus; the entire Roman people was to meet and escort her into Rome, with the men and women led by the best individual man and woman; the Romans decided that Scipio Nasica and a woman named Ualeria were to be those leaders (D.S. 34/35.33.2). In keeping his narrative brief and focused, Diodorus suppresses a host of details and variant traditions involving the nature of the sacred objects and the procedures followed, and has either erred or followed an obscure tradition in naming the woman Ualeria. Our other accounts call her Claudia Quinta. Herodian’s account is longer, and is motivated by his belief that the Greeks of his day were unaware of the goddess’ journey to Rome (1.11.1). His history begins with the reign of Commodus, almost 400 years after the goddess’ arrival, and to derail his narrative so early and so abruptly he must have been very eager to tell the tale. He seizes upon an opportunity in the murder of the usurper Maternus during the Megalesia, the annual festival of Mater Magna, and there introduces a long digression on the goddess’ origins that is not intrinsically relevant to Maternus’ death. He organizes his digression around three topics. The first section addresses the origin and nature of the goddess’ image (1.11.1); the third and longest recounts the goddess’ journey into the city (1.11.3 – 5). The middle section concerns Pessinus and Cybele’s Galatian priests, not Rome, so we can ignore it here (1.11.2). Herodian’s description of the cult image is all hearsay: “they say” (λέγουσιν) that her statue (ἄγαλμα) fell from the sky; neither its material nor its maker is known, nor whether it was fashioned by human hands; a story (λόγος) tells that it landed long ago in Phrygia, and the spot where it landed received its name from the fall. This last point involves a Greek etymology, deriving Πεσσινοῦς from ἔπεσον, so the λόγος had Greek antecedents. Whatever his sources, Herodian fails to reconcile them. He clearly read or heard that the cult image was a statue, and also that an object fell from the sky, so he assumes the image and the fallen object are identical. This was not the case. Arnobius saw the cult image himself a

106

Syncretized Roman Gods

century later and recorded its true appearance: a small stone, alternately dark and yellow, which was set into the face of a human image (simulacrum; Adv. nat. 7.49.3). From his description, the stone was likely a fragment of a meteorite, perhaps containing iron and sulfur. It was this object that was transported to Rome (cf. Livy 29.11.7– 8), and the image housing the stone was a later Roman addition. Herodian’s ἄγαλμα obscures these details. He was not a Roman resident, and he never saw the image himself. His subsequent account of the goddess’ trip to Rome is episodic and uneven. He begins with a vague date and motivation for the event: “they say” (φασίν) that when Roman affairs were expanding it was prophesied that their empire would increase if they sent for the “Pessinuntian goddess” (ἡ Πεσσινουντία θεός). We know from other sources like Livy (29.10.4) and Ouid (Fast. 4.255 – 60) that the date was 205 B.C.E., and that the cause was the consultation of the Sibylline books mentioned by Diodorus, which was in turn prompted by ominous showers of stones from the heavens. Herodian’s description of the embassy sent to retrieve the goddess (i. e., the stone) leaves out many of the details that Livy and others give, including the object’s size and composition, the embassy’s stopover in Delphi on their journey to Phrygia, and the existence of an earlier embassy to Delphi. Where Livy narrates the retrieval of the goddess in great detail, including the second embassy to Delphi and a visit to Attalus of Pergamum, who takes them to Pessinus and gives them a sacred stone (lapis sacer), the object that the natives call the Mater deum (29.11.1– 8), Herodian only mentions Rome’s legendary claim on the object, that the Phrygian Aeneas had founded Rome, a mythological detail that Ouid includes (Fast. 4.272) and Livy eschews (29.11.2– 3). Livy was more interested in the pragmatic details of the embassy, Herodian in the mythology. Herodian then skips directly from the oracle to the embassy’s return to Italy. He ignores the central point in Diodorus’ narrative, the role played by Scipio Nasica, and focuses instead on Claudia Quinta, whom he never names, a woman who was at that very moment under the capital charge of corruption (διαφθορά) and was “a priestess of the type of goddess for whom it was necessary to be a virgin.” In other words, a Uirgo Uestalis. No other source makes Claudia a Uestalis; in Latin she is more usually a matrona (e. g., Cic. Har. 27; Livy 29.14.12) and a famous exemplar of matronly virtue, all the more so because her forward attitude towards men had created the false impression that she was a wanton (e. g., Ouid Fast. 4.305 – 8; Sil. Pun 17.33 – 5). Herodian shifts to a more familiar tradition when he describes the boat carrying the cult image of Mater Magna halting in the mouth of the

Mater Magna

107

Tiber, held fast by the power of the goddess.¹⁵³ His unnamed Uestalis begs the people to let the goddess of Pessinus decide her case. Their permission given, she ties her sash to the prow of the goddess’ ship and prays that the ship will obey her if she is truly chaste and holy. To the amazement of all, it readily follows. Many of these details are preserved elsewhere, and most have variants. In some, Claudia is among the Roman matronae instructed beforehand to receive the goddess; others describe her acting alone. Sometimes she is famous for her chastity; sometimes she is saved by the miracle from a false charge of adultery. Herodian’s selection from this material fails to cohere, though, and as in his Pessinus narrative, it is hard to discern any central theme or guiding principle. He seems to have related (and misrepresented) whatever parts of the story piqued his interest, assuming that his readers would be intrigued by whatever aspects he chose to relate. Appian too offers a detailed account of the goddess’ arrival in Rome (Hann. 56). His depiction of Claudia Quinta is more familiar than Herodian’s, but in other respects his narrative is just as frustrating. By turns compressed and verbose, it oversimplifies the Roman embassy to Phrygia and confuses the nature of the object retrieved from Pessinus. It also misrepresents the role of Scipio Nasica. Appian begins with the religious underpinnings of the embassy. He gives a detailed explanation of the Roman procedures involved, including translations of the relevant Roman institutions: portents from Iuppiter (σημεῖα ἐκ Διός) prompt a consultation of the libri Sibyllini (τὰ Σιβύλλεια) by the Xuiri sacris faciundis (δέκα ἄνδρες). Thus far his narrative matches Livy’s account well (29.10.5), but it then diverges into strange territory. In Latin accounts, the connection between the prodigies and the war against Hannibal is generally clear. Livy makes the link explicit in the oracle, and also incorporates an oracular response to an earlier embassy to Delphi that predicts a great victory to come, a response that the senate accepts as independent corroboration of the Sibylline prophecy. Not so Appian, who dissociates the goddess’ arrival from the context of the Hannibalic war and describes the mission to Phrygia as a response to the prodigies only, as if religious and military affairs were unconnected. Appian also confuses the nature of the sacred object retrieved from Phrygia. His Xuiri declare that some “thing” will fall from the sky (ἐξ οὐρανοῦ τι) upon the town of Pessinus, where the Phrygians worship the mother of the gods (θεῶν Μήτηρ), and that the object must be brought back to Rome; news then arrives that a wooden image (βρέτας) has fallen on Pessinus. This again mistakes the image for the object. Appian interjects a touch of autopsy at this point, inform-

 Livy does not mention the event, but it is common in other Latin narratives (e. g., De uir. ill. 46.1; Sil. Pun. 17.23 – 5).

108

Syncretized Roman Gods

ing his readers that Romans of his time still celebrated the day that the Μήτηρ θεῶν came to Rome – another reference to the Megalesia, which he must have seen – but his autopsy is not investigative. He was unaware that the object from the sky was a stone, and that the same stone was later installed in the face of the goddess’ statue. Like Herodian, he must not have examined the image himself, even though he lived in Rome and could easily have done so. Appian is no more interested in the details of the Roman embassy than Herodian, so his narrative skips directly to the ambassadors’ return and their boat’s imprisonment in the mud of the Tiber. Like Livy, he identifies the primary woman involved by name and describes her as a matrona, not a Uestalis. Yet where Livy ignores the boat prodigy and focuses on collective action, describing Claudia as one of many matronae designated to escort the goddess into Rome, Appian makes the prodigy his central focus, and draws the reader’s attention to the individual actions of Claudia Quinta and Scipio Nasica. Unlike Herodian, he provides a motive for Claudia’s actions in the pronouncements of soothsayers (μάντεις), who declare that the boat will only proceed if led by a woman innocent of adultery. His treatment of Scipio Nasica is less satisfactory because he misunderstands his source material and distorts his narrative chronology. Diodorus and many Latin sources agree that Scipio was chosen to welcome the goddess because he was the best man in Rome; Appian incorrectly assumes from this that Scipio was sent to retrieve (μετάγω) the goddess from Pessinus, confusing retrieval with reception, inferre with accipere. His chronology is also baffling. Other writers who make Scipio and Claudia the representatives of the men and matronae sent to receive Mater Magna naturally introduce them together (e. g., Cicero Har. 27). Those who describe Claudia acting on her own initiative introduce Scipio first (e. g., Silius Italicus Pun. 17.23 – 5). Appian perversely introduces Claudia and describes her actions before discussing Scipio, even though he believes that Scipio was chosen and sent to Phrygia weeks earlier to retrieve the goddess. The story of the goddess’ retrieval was clearly a complex and confusing one, and the statue of Mater Magna was so odd that no one could have predicted its appearance without investigating it personally. Conversely, no one who had seen it could have forgotten the odd face of her cult image, so it is clear that none of our Greek sources had done so. Three of the four mistake her image for the stone that was retrieved from Pessinus, and the fourth, Diodorus, refers to it only with the plural ἱερά, a verbal hand-wave that implies no actual autopsy or understanding on his part. The two authors who do relate the story in some detail, Herodian and Appian, clearly think their readers will be interested, but just as clearly feel it necessary to excise some of its details, and prevent the story from occupying too much space in their narratives. In so doing, they distort their chronology and internal logic. Herodian is the more confused of the two, conveying lit-

110

Syncretized Roman Gods

because Romans are deeply reverent. Plutarch does praise Roman morality elsewhere, but not so much in Marius, where it would run counter to his theme of Roman decline in the late Republic (see Buszard 2005). Thus, the same incident is made an example of Roman virtue by Diodorus and of Roman arrogance by Plutarch. Polybius too has something to contribute to the discussion. He is not interested in the priests or cult per se, but he is very interested in embassies, many dozens of which are preserved from the lost books of his history. Although he does not describe the first-century embassy from Pessinus, he does mention an earlier one made to Cn. Manlius Uulso during his Galatian campaign in 189 B.C.E. (21.37.5). He identifies the ambassadors as Γάλλοι, by which he means the eunuch priests of Κυβέλη, and records their message as a promise of forthcoming victory, to which Manlius is of course receptive.¹⁵⁶ He also says that the ambassadors are representatives of Ἄττις and Βαττάκης, priests of Mater Magna (ἡ Μήτηρ τῶν θεῶν) in Pessinus, so either Battaces was a cult title associated with Mater Magna or Polybius’ Battaces was an ancestor of the one who later visited Rome.

Mater Matuta Mater Matuta was a very old Italic deity. She was depicted in votive statues from Satricum by the seventh century B.C.E. By the sixth century she was in Rome, sharing a temple in the Forum Boarium with Fortuna. ¹⁵⁷ She had three spheres of influence. One was the dawn, an association mentioned only in Latin sources that may have arisen through assimilation with Aurora. ¹⁵⁸ The other two were the sea and child rearing. These were also aspects of Greek Λευκοθέα, who was a sea goddess, the stem λευκ- having been connected with white sea foam, and who was also identified with Ino, the sister of Semele and nurse of her nephew, the god Διόνυσος. The latter similarities led Greeks and Romans alike to associate Matuta with Λευκοθέα and Ino.¹⁵⁹

 Polybius is using Γάλλοι as a ritual title. The Galli and Galatae he calls Γαλάται, not Γάλλοι. Livy calls the ambassadors Galli, which could have been confusing had he not also specified that they were from Pessinus (38.18.9).  Sartorio LTUR 2.281– 5; Coarelli 1988, 244– 53. Mater Matuta also had temple in Reg. VI, the memory of which is preserved in only one inscription (ILS 9346; see Bruun, LTUR 3.233).  matutinus a Matuta, quae significat Auroram uel, ut quidam, Λευκοθέαν (Priscian 2.53). Cf. Lucretius 5.656 and Nonius p.66. For discussion see Carroll 2019, 5 and Kaiser 2005, 201– 2.  The Roman combination of dawn and child-rearing – most obvious in the archaic votives of Mater Matuta at Satricum, which depict her holding a child with the disc of the sun about her head

Mater Matuta

111

The myths of Ino, the second wife of Athamas, are important to all discussions of Mater Matuta. They are wrapped up in the mythic cycles of Thebes and the Argo, and the richness of source material made them exceptionally malleable, resulting in narratives that are convoluted and contradictory.¹⁶⁰ Our fullest Latin narratives come from two passage of Ouid, and even they disagree. Mutatis mutandis, childrearing and the sea are still central to both, as they are in most other Greek and Latin discussions of the goddess.¹⁶¹ They are worth discussing in detail here because Ouid draws upon both Roman and Greek traditions. One of the two passages is Fast. 6.473 – 562. There Athamas is an adulterer, and Ouid uses his liaison with a treacherous serving girl to explain the exclusion of famulae from the Matralia, the festival of Mater Matuta. Ino later becomes the nurse of Διόνυσος after Semele is incinerated, causing Iuno to turn her anger upon Ino and her family. Ino and her son Melicertes somehow escape over the sea and find refuge in Euander’s Pallantium. There Iuno incites the local Bacchae to attack Melicertes, but Hercules is in the vicinity and comes to his rescue. Carmentis treats the two hospitably, feeding them cakes – hence the cakes used in the Matralia – and prophesies that they will become sea gods. Ino will be called Λευκοθέα by the Greeks, Matuta by the Romans, and her son will be known in the two languages as Παλαίμων and Portunus. And sure enough, a temple is later built for her in the Forum Boarium by the king Seruius Tullius. In the Metamorphoses the story is radically different. There Ouid never mentions Euander, Hercules, or Carmentis. It is Athamas who tries to kill Melicertes, not Arcadian Bacchae, and Ino and her son are transformed into gods by Neptunus acting at the behest of Uenus as soon as they jump into the sea (Met. 4.512– 42). Most Greek writers ignore Mater Matuta. Even Dionysius records only one detail that is tangentially relevant, as part of his discussion of Fortuna Muliebris. While describing the establishment of the temple and rites of that goddess after Coriolanus’ withdrawal, he notes that the women who crowned the goddess’ statue had to be uniuirae, and had to have married recently (D.H. 8.56.4).¹⁶² The uniuira

– recall the combination of dawn and childbirth in the cult of Iuno Lucina. See Carroll 2019, 3 – 10; Prescendi NP 8.460; Wiss 110 – 12; Rosch. 2. 2. 2462– 4.  See Halberstadt 1934, 27– 45.  E. g., Arnobius 3.23.2. Cicero twice equates Mater Matuta with Ἴνω-Λευκοθέα (Tusc. 1.12.28; Nat. D. 3.39); an inscription in Berytus also describes the cult of Λευκόθεα there as that of Mater Matuta (CIL 3.6680; Kaiser 2005). Halberstadt discusses the two Ouid passages in detail (1934, 65 – 9) and lists the Latin comparanda in full (67 n.1).  The second stipulation is an odd one. It is not an idea that Dionysius could have extracted from Latin uniuira, and it excludes Ueturia, the mother of Coriolanus and the primary heroine in the episode, who had been married and widowed many years prior.

112

Syncretized Roman Gods

stipulation contains an implicit link between this event and Mater Matuta that would be invisible if not for Tertullian, who writes that the women crowning Mater Matuta and Fortuna Muliebris alike had to be uniuirae (De Monog. 17.4). We cannot tell whether Dionysius and Tertullian were accessing the same sources, and it is unclear whether Dionysius himself would have connected the marriage requirement with Mater Matuta. The only Greek writer truly interested in the goddess is Plutarch, who discusses her temple and aspects of her cult several times in the Lives and Moralia. Considered together, they provide one of the best examples of Plutarch’s rhetorical flexibility. The most extensive passage is from the Life of Camillus. Plutarch there describes his subject being appointed dictator in the tenth year of the war against Ueii, at which point Camillus vows to dedicate a temple to the goddess “whom the Romans call Μήτηρ Ματοῦτα” (Pl. Cam. 5.1– 2).¹⁶³ To explain her significance, Plutarch ignores the Latin theory deriving Matuta from matutinus and expounds instead upon the parallel between her and Greek Ino and Λευκοθέα. He focuses primarily upon certain rites of the Matralia – leading a serving girl into the shrine and beating her with rods; driving her back out; matronae embracing the children of their siblings before their own – that recall the deeds of the nurses of Διόνυσος (here plural) and the sufferings inflicted upon Ino because of “the concubine,” the last being a reference to an Anatolian slave girl in the Ino tradition. Plutarch’s description of the Λευκοθέα traditions, and especially the last point, is obscure, positing readers who are as familiar with Λευκοθέα as they are unfamiliar with Mater Matuta. His syncretism is also strangely reticent. He will only suggest, in a potential optative, that such rites might lead one to equate Mater Matuta with Λευκοθέα (ταύτην ἄν τις νομίσειεν εἶναι). When Plutarch addresses the tradition of excluding female slaves from the temple of Mater Matuta at Q.R. 267D he adopts a completely different stance, assuming the equivalence of Λευκοθέα and the Roman goddess without question, and referring to her temple as the “temple of Λευκοθέα.” The rites he describes also differ somewhat from those in Camillus. The Roman women again lead a slave girl into the goddess’ temple and beat her with rods, but Plutarch adds a Roman prohibition excluding female slaves from the shrine, arguing that the beating represents the prohibition, and that the prohibition in turn is derived from a myth in which Ino is jealous of a slave girl’s relations with her husband. For this  Matuta is so alien a word that Plutarch must resort to transliteration. Contrast Mater Magna, a goddess whose name was so familiar and transparent to Greeks that Plutarch could call her Μεγάλη Μήτηρ without explanation (Mar. 17.9 – 11). In Livy’s version of the story (5.19.6) Camillus reconstructs and rededicates the temple first erected by Seruius, a point that Plutarch either overlooks or considers unimportant.

Mater Matuta

113

idea Plutarch has drawn from the traditions of his own native town, Chaeroneia. He explains that Greeks identified the slave in question as an Aetolian named Antiphera, and that this is why in Chaeroneia the steward of Λευκοθέα held a whip and proclaimed, “Let no male slave or female slave enter, neither Aetolian man nor Aetolian woman.” Plutarch’s narrative in this Quaestio presumes the complete equivalence of the Greek and Roman goddesses. His ready syncretism here and his hesitancy in Camillus must be rhetorical positions, not true indications of any personal belief. Plutarch also addresses twice more the Roman tradition that women favored their nieces and nephews over their own children during the Matralia. One passage is from Q.R. 267E, and follows immediately after Plutarch’s discussion of Chaeroneian Λευκοθέα. He offers two explanations. One is based in moral pragmatism: perhaps Romans favor their nieces and nephews over their own children because the custom is good and noble, and fosters goodwill among relatives. The other is based on syncretism and mythology: perhaps Romans do so because Ino loved her sister and reared her sister’s son, but was unfortunate in respect to her own children. The first explanation is generic moralism; the second assumes the equivalence of Mater Matuta and Λευκοθέα. The two are not mutually exclusive, of course, and provide a good example of the dual-determinism prevalent in Plutarch’s argumentation.¹⁶⁴ His final treatment of this same tradition comes at the end of the De fraterno amore, where he makes it his culminating example of φιλαδελφία. He begins from the Greek perspective: “When the sister of Λευκοθέα died, she raised the child and had him deified along with herself (492D).”¹⁶⁵ He then shifts to the Roman myth explaining why Roman women embrace their nieces and nephews instead of their own children in the Matralia, “…in the festival of Λευκοθέα, whom they name Ματοῦτα.” The Greek-Roman equation is essentially the same one he asserts confidently in Q.R. 267E; the novel and confusing part of the passage is his treatment of Ino and the child. In our other accounts, Semele dies and Ζεύς carries Διόνυσος to term in his thigh; the boy later deified along with Ino is her son Melicertes, the same boy Ouid describes being transfigured to Παλαίμων and Portunus. But Plutarch links the child reared and deified by Λευκοθέα to Semele’s death. The infant must be Semele’s child Διόνυσος. This contradicts all other variants, including those of Διόνυσος Ζαγρεύς. We know from Quaestiones Conuiuales 675E that Plutarch was familiar with the cult of Melicertes, so his assertion is no

 Cf. his story of Lampon, Anaxagoras, and the one-horned ram (Per. 6.2– 5).  His use of the name Λευκοθέα is proleptic; she is still human at this point and should properly be called Ino.

114

Syncretized Roman Gods

mere error. Quite the opposite, it is rhetorically beneficial. By linking the divinity of Διόνυσος to Λευκοθέα he creates a closer link between Λευκοθέα and her nephew, and also a better parallel to the edifying example of the Roman Matralia, the two combining to provide a strong conclusion to his work. In Camillus Plutarch goes out of his way to cast doubt on the Λευκοθέα – Mater Matuta equation; here he draws upon a very obscure, perhaps innovative line of Greek mythology to strengthen it.

Mercurius Mercurius was originally an Italian god of business, and through that connection was quickly assimilated with Greek Ἑρμῆς.¹⁶⁶ The syncretism was so complete by the late Republic that Greek authors give him scant attention. Most say nothing. Dionysius mentions only his inclusion in the first lectisternium, where he shares a couch with Ποσειδών.¹⁶⁷ Dio mentions only the repeated impersonation of him by Commodus, who even appeared in public holding a golden caduceus (72.17.3 – 4; 72.19.4). Plutarch mentions Mercurius twice in surveys of the Roman calendar (Numa 19.5; Q.R. 285B). In both passages he attributes the name of the month Maius to Μαῖα, the mother of Ἑρμῆς. Romans did believe the origins of Mercurius to be very old, so there would be no objection to Mercurius himself being honored in an ancient institution like the calendar.¹⁶⁸ But the idea that Romans would have so honored Maius, the obscure nymph who bore Mercurius, and by her Greek name, no less, is bizarre.¹⁶⁹ Yet Plutarch twice allows this strange idea to pass uncontested. Admittedly, he sometimes allows facile etymologies into the Q.R., as when discussing Mater Matuta, for instance, but he adopts a more skeptical stance in Numa, where he carefully weighs the traditions of Greek influence on the lawgiver king. The straightforward repetition of the Maius theory in this context is striking. Plutarch does include an alternate Latin theory linking Maius and Iunius with maiores and iuniores, but he grants it no greater weight, aside from placing it

 E. g., Ovid Fast. 5.85 – 6. See Phillips NP 8.710 – 13; Latte 162– 3; Wiss. 304– 6; Rosch. 2. 2. 2802– 31.  D.H. 12.9.2; cf. Livy 5.13.6. In the later Republic Mercurius and Neptunus both oversaw seafaring and commerce (see Og. 656).  Livy dated the god’s aedes on the Campus Martius to the earliest days of the Republic (Livy 2.21.7; cf. Dumézil 1996, 439 – 40).  From a more practical point of view, Romans could not have honored Μαῖα by her Latin name. She had no part in the native cult of Mercurius.

Minerua

115

in the rhetorically stronger second position.¹⁷⁰ From his perspective, Mercurius and Greek Ἑρμῆς must have become effectively identical, and the lack of interest from other Greek writers suggests that they shared this view.

Minerua The ready assimilation of Minerua and ᾿Aθηνᾶ in Roman culture and in descriptions of Roman culture by Greeks was a result of early cross-pollination between Latin, Etruscan, and Greek traditions.¹⁷¹ Unlike Mercurius, the Roman cult of Minerua retained many native aspects that were alien to Greek ᾿Aθηνᾶ, but Greek sources grant them relatively little attention. Even the goddess’ association with crafts is absent, perhaps because it would have seemed obvious from the Greek Arachne myth. Minerua accordingly draws less attention from Greek writers than we might expect for so important a goddess. Polybius and Diodorus ignore her altogether. In other authors she most often appears as a passing reference to some object or institution that bears her name. Examples include the town of Mineruium in Calabria (Ap. B.Ciu. 1.42[186]); the ara Mineruae at Circaeum (Str. 5.3.6); the shrines of Minerua in Iapygia (Str. 6.3.5), Luceria (Str. 6.3.9), and Oruinium (D.H. 1.14.3); the Mineruae Promontorium, site of an aedes Mineruae (᾿Aθήναιον), where some of Cassius’ ships were wrecked and beached (Str. 5.4.8; Ap. B.Ciu. 5.98[409]); the aedes Mineruae built by Augustus on the mons Auentinus, and rendered by his translator as ναὸς ᾿Aθηνᾶς…ἐν ᾿Aουεντίνῳ (M.A. 19); and the legio Minerua I (στρατόπεδον ᾿Aθηναῖον) in Dio’s list of legions constituted after Augustus (C.D. 55.24.3). Greeks do mention three aspects of Minerua distinct from Greek ᾿Aθηνᾶ, if only briefly. One is medical, and appears in an anecdote from Cassius Dio concerning the battle of Philippi. When Octauian falls ill before the battle, his physician is visited in a dream by Minerua (᾿Aθηνᾶ), who instructs him to lead his patient into the front lines (C.D. 47.41.3). This must be Minerua Medica, the healer, who appears in Latin literature and in inscriptions (e. g., Cicero Div. 2.123; CIL 11.1306 = ILS 3137). Greek ᾿Aθηνᾶ was not a goddess of healing, so her involvement with Octauian’s doctor should seem odd to a Greek reader, and Dio’s willingness to include it without comment is probably a symptom of his insider perspective. Greeks of his day were more familiar with Rome than those of earlier generations, no doubt, but surely not so familiar that many would know an entirely foreign aspect of Minerua’s cult.

 Also Num. 19.5. The second theory is nearer the mark. The actual derivation of Maius is related to magnus, and perhaps refers to an archaic Roman deity likewise named Maius (OLD, s.v.).  See Phillips NP 8.940 – 3; Latte 163 – 6; Wiss. 253 – 6; Rosch. 2. 2. 2982– 92.

116

Syncretized Roman Gods

A second aspect is the close relationship between Minerua and Mars, a thing foreign to Greek traditions of Ἄρης and ᾿Aθηνᾶ. Appian touches upon this tradition when he describes a sacrifice to the two gods by Scipio Aemilianus, in which the general girds himself (διαζωσάμενος) and burns spoils from the sack of Carthage in the traditional manner (κατὰ τὰ πάτρια; Pun. 133). The most interesting element of translation here is Appian’s apt use of διαζώννυμαι, which is a perceptive translation of the Roman concept of a sacrificulus succinctus, a person who binds up his clothing before performing a sacrifice.¹⁷² The third aspect is Minerua’s membership in the Capitoline triad, a prominent part of her cult with no parallel in Greek traditions. Dionysius mentions the triad repeatedly (D.H. 3.69.1, 4.59.1, 4.61.4), which is what we should expect. His residence in Rome and consequent familiarity with the Capitolium complex would have made the triad hard to miss. The same should have been true for Polybius, Appian, and Cassius Dio, but they do not mention it. Polybius is usually silent on religious matters, of course. Appian and Dio are not, so their failure to mention the Capitoline triad is likely a symptom of their unsystematic approach to Roman gods and religion. A curious reflex of Minerua’s assimilation to ᾿Aθηνᾶ was the Italian habit of attributing imagines of the goddess to legendary Trojan exiles. Strabo, our lone source for this practice, makes no claims of autopsy, and directly attributes some of the reports to other writers (συγγραφεῖς). He expresses skepticism, but only about the validity of the attributions, not their existence (Str. 6.1.14). Some of his sources were surely recording local traditions accurately. According to them, the citizens of Heracleia displayed a wooden statue of ᾿Aθηνᾶ τῆς Ἰλιάδος that, according to local legend, had shut its eyes when the city was sacked. They also mentioned statues of the goddess at Luceria, Lauinium, Rome, and Siris that were called Ἰλιὰς ᾿Aθηνᾶ by the locals. Heracleia and Siris were Greek colonies, so their ᾿Aθηνᾶ traditions may have had Greek origins; if Italian Minerua was involved, she was probably a later accretion to an existing cult. Lauinium and Rome, on the other hand, were Latin cities, and Luceria was a Samnite settlement in Apulia that was occupied by a Roman colonia during the middle Republic. As the citizens of these communities grew more familiar with Greek legends of the Trojan war they must have sought their own links to the famous and ancient traditions of Troy. By Strabo’s time, such distinctions would have become relatively commonplace, as the cross-pollination between various regions blended the Miner-

 Cf. also Appian Pun. 48. Ouid in the Fasti describes a succinctus minister performing sacrifices on the Nonis Ianuariis (Fast. 1.319). Later in the poem he also emphasizes Mars’ admiration for his sister-goddess and her military prowess (Fast. 3.681– 4).

Minerua

117

ua and ᾿Aθηνᾶ traditions together in complex ways, and Strabo’s skepticism would not have been a typical reaction, even among literati. The supposedly Trojan Mineruae would have corroborated the Aeolism of Dionysius, for example, and his failure to mention them suggests that he was ignorant of their existence, not that he doubted their provenance. Greeks address another intriguing aspect of Minerua that involved Cicero, who kept a statue of the goddess in his house that he refers to three times in his writings as urbis custos, once also connecting her explicitly with Minerua. ¹⁷³ Cicero’s name for the goddess presented two problems for a Greek translator. The first one was a relatively minor matter of gender. Cicero had to use the masculine custos because there was no feminine equivalent in Latin, whereas Greek possessed a feminine equivalent to φύλαξ in the word φυλακίς. Should a Greek translation follow Cicero’s usage or shift to the more appropriate feminine noun in Greek? The second problem was more significant. Since custos was not a standard epithet for Minerua, Cicero always included the clarifying genitive urbis when describing her. If a Greek writer were to translate Cicero’s expression literally, say as ᾿Aθηνᾶ πόλεως φυλακίς, he might evoke ᾿Aθηνᾶ Πολιάς, which would make Minerua sound like an alter-ego for the Athenian goddess. Plutarch and Cassius Dio both mention the statue, and both grappled with these problems. Their solutions are different, yet each manages to retain a distinctively Roman identity for the goddess. Plutarch’s solution, included in his translation of the statue’s dedicatory inscription, is to call the goddess ᾿Aθηνᾶ Ῥώμης φύλαξ (Cic. 31.6.4). He solves the first problem by following Cicero’s example literally, using the masculine φύλαξ; the second he resolves by substituting Ῥώμης for urbis instead of πόλεως. Cassius Dio’ solution is to translate the goddess as ᾿Aθηνᾶ Φυλακίς, dropping urbis altogether and using the Greek feminine φυλακίς as if it were a standard epiclesis (C.D. 38.17.5). Doing so creates a false impression about the goddess’ name, but it also prevents the reader from assuming too close a connection with Greek ᾿Aθηνᾶ, since φυλακίς was never among her epithets in Greece.¹⁷⁴ In applying custos to Minerua, Cicero seems to have had in mind a role similar to ᾿Aθηνᾶ Πολιάς, and was probably inspired by the Athenian example. Plutarch and Dionysius resist this assimilation, which would have obscured the distinctiveness of Cicero’s dedication.

 …te custos urbis Minerua…precor (Dom. 144; cf. also Leg. 2.42; Fam. 12.25). Cicero transferred the statue to the Capitolium before going into exile, simultaneously a sincere expression of religio and a lever that he was later able to employ against Clodius for political advantage. See Bodel 2008, 252– 5.  Plato uses φυλακίς to describe his hypothetical guardians in the Republic (R. 457c); Thucydides (1.117), Diodorus (D.S. 20.16.5), and Appian (B.Ciu. 5.72[4]) use it to describe ships. No source ever applies it to ᾿Aθηνᾶ.

118

Syncretized Roman Gods

A worse conundrum, at least from the modern perspective, is posed by the several appearances of the goddess Νίκη in a Roman context. In Greek this name could refer to an aspect of ᾿Aθηνᾶ, ᾿Aθηνᾶ Νίκη being an especially prominent figure in the architecture and literature of Athens.¹⁷⁵ But Νίκη was also the obvious choice to translate Uictoria, who had no connection with Minerua. So should the statue of Νίκη that Plutarch describes crowning Romulus in the temple of Uolcanus, supposedly erected by the legendary king himself (Rom. 24.5), be understood as an image of Minerua or one of Uictoria? And which goddess is involved in Cassius’ golden statue of Νίκη, which Appian describes toppling over (B.Ciu. 4.134[563]), portending its donor’s imminent downfall? The likely answer to all such questions is found in Cassius Dio’s reference to a prodigy in the temple of Νίκη at Tralles (C.D. 41.64.4). Caesar also mentions the prodigy in his Commentarii, and there he calls the goddess Uictoria (B.C. 3.105.6). The equivalence between Νίκη and Uictoria in this instance is certain. Since no other passage gives us cause to suspect that Νίκη is invoking Minerua, we should take Νίκη to mean Uictoria in all such cases.¹⁷⁶ One final, inadvertent point of confusion arises in the list of honors that Dio records for Octauian after Actium. According to him, the victor was granted the ψῆφος ᾿Aθηνᾶς, the proverbial “vote of Athena,” to decide evenly split juries (C.D. 51.19.7). Dio is not referring to a Roman custom; there never was a suffragium Mineruae. He is using a purely Greek expression derived from the goddess’ legendary exoneration of Orestes, a rhetorical flourish that would have been transparent to his original readers (see Aeschylus Eum. 734– 40; Philostratus U.S. 2.568).

Neptunus Neptunus was originally a god of fresh waters. His sphere expanded early on via Greek and Etruscan influences to incorporate the open sea.¹⁷⁷ When Greek writers later encountered the Hellenized Neptunus they in turn equated him with Greek Ποσειδών.¹⁷⁸ Their references to Neptunus himself generally have some connection

 Νίκη also had an independent existence as early as Hesiod, who makes her the daughter of Styx (e. g., Theog. 383 – 4; see West 1966, 272– 3).  For a fuller discussion of these passages, see under Uictoria.  See Phillips NP 8.661– 3; Latte 131– 2; Wiss. 225 – 9; Rosch. 2.2.201– 7.  Equine aspects of the Consualia also led both Greek and Latin writers to confuse Consus and Ποσειδὼν. The main historiographical consequence of the misconception is in the narrative of the rape of the Sabine women, in which Romulus invites the Sabine men to join in the first celebration of the Consualia. Livy joins Dionysius and Plutarch in naming the god honored by the festival Nep-

Neptunus

119

to the sea, the only exception being Dionysius’ inclusion of Neptunus in the first lectisternium (D.H. 12.9.2). So when Cassius Dio describes Agrippa Postumus referring to himself as Neptunus because he is an avid fisherman, he is presumably thinking about salt water fishing (C.D. 55.32.1). These two anecdotes aside, Greek discussions of Neptunus involve three things: sacrifices, politics, and temples. Appian addresses the first topic, and Cassius Dio the remaining two. Appian’s descriptions of the sacrifices occur when Roman generals in his narrative are about to embark on naval expeditions. One is offered by P. Cornelius Scipio, the later Africanus, before sailing to Africa (Ap. Pun. 13.50). His sacrifices are to Neptunus and Iuppiter, the commander evidently having chosen these gods in order to make a safe crossing to Africa and to win victory once he arrives. Appian is more specific and a bit more confusing when he describes Octauian’s later sacrifices and libations to “soft winds,” to “calm sea,” and to ᾿Aσφάλειος Ποσειδών before setting out against Sextus Pompey (Ap. B.Ciu. 5.98[406]). His association of Neptunus with the open sea is logical, but nothing like the epithet ᾿Aσφάλειος is ever attested for Neptunus in Latin. It is used by the chorus in Aristophanes’ Acharnians (682), however, and Plutarch mentions the nearly identical epithet ᾿Aσφάλιος in connection with Athens at the end of his Theseus (36.6). It seems Appian has attributed to Octauian an epiclesis used only by Greeks, offering an interpretive translation rather than a literal rendering of whatever Octauian might have actually said. Cassius Dio is generally interested in the intersection of religion and politics, and he several times adduces the cult of Neptunus when it has political implications. His earliest references to the god involve Sextus Pompeius, who styles himself the son of Neptunus because his father Magnus ruled over the sea (C.D. 48.19.2). The Roman people accept the affiliation, and they applaud loudly for a statue of Neptunus that is paraded in ludi circenses, in order to prod Octauian and Antony to cease their warring against Sextus (C.D. 48.31.5). Neptunus here is as much a political symbol as a god. Politics and religion intertwine again soon after, when Dio describes a storm that ravages the fleets of Octauian and Sabinus. Sextus is elated by his good fortune and portrays himself as the son of Neptunus in a more direct sense, donning a blue robe and having horses thrown into the Sicilian strait as a sacrifice to his supposed father (C.D. 48.48.5). Sextus’ example is followed generations later in a degraded fashion by Caligula. Dio narrates the mad emperor’s construction of a massive sea-bridge running from Bauli to Puteoli, after which he sacrifices to Neptunus and other gods and drives his chariot across it. Thereafter he

tunus Equestris, translated literally as Ποσειδὼν Ἵππειος in Greek (Livy 1.9.6; D.H. 2.30.3; Pl. Rom. 14.3 and Q.R. 276C). For more, see under Consus.

120

Syncretized Roman Gods

poses at times as Neptunus himself, even carrying a trident, because he has bridged so great an expanse of the sea (C.D. 59.26.5 – 7). Dio also describes what were apparently two separate shrines of Neptunus within the city of Rome, one in the Circus Flaminius and a second in the Campus Martius. The former, which he calls a Ποσειδώνιον, appears in a list of prodigies marking a tense period in the Hannibalic war, during which the temple’s doors and altar pour sweat (C.D. 17 frag. 57.60). Its location is confirmed by Livy, who mentions the same prodigy and identifies the temple’s altar as the ara Neptuni…in circo Flaminio (28.11.4). The existence, nature, and location of the second shrine is debated (Viscogliosi LTUR 3.341). Dio describes Agrippa erecting a στόα Ποσειδῶνος to commemorate Octauian’s naval victories, apparently referring to the same basilica Neptuni that was later restored by Hadrian (C.D. 53.27.1; cf. SHA Hadr. 19.10). A basilica is not an aedes, of course, but this basilica might have been associated with an aedes Neptuni that stood in the Campus Martius. If so, it may be the same aedes that Dio describes burning in the great fire during Titus’ reign (C.D. 66.24.2). All of this took place long before his time, and given the lack of contemporary evidence it would be no wonder if Dio’s topography in this instance were inaccurate. Strabo has nothing to add, unfortunately. The geographer does refer several times to Ποσειδών in Italy, but the references are not religious. Most concern the Campanian city of Paestum, which he calls by its Greek name, Ποσειδωνία (e. g., 5.4.13), and its residents, the Paestani, whom he calls Ποσειδωνιᾶται (e. g., 6.1.3). There is nothing in them germane to Neptunus himself. One further reference is to a shrine of Ποσειδών at the Columna Regia, the Ποσειδώνιον at Ῥηγίνων στυλίς in Strabo’s Greek (6.1.5). This would have been the temple at the western headland on the fretum Siculum, opposite the northeastern corner of Sicily (cf. Pliny HN 3.71, 3.73, 3.86). Regium, the large city nearby, was colonized by the Euboean city of Chalcis in the 8th century B.C.E., centuries before Roman influence encroached upon the area, so barring a fire the temple he refers to was likewise Greek or even pre-Greek in origin. And Strabo mentions only the building. He says nothing about the traditions or cult at the site.

Pan The cult of Πάν was of particular importance to Arcadians, the same Greeks credited by legend with settling the later site of Rome.¹⁷⁹ Dionysius naturally mentions

 E. g., D.H. 1.32.3; Livy 1.5.2. See Holzhausen NP 10.420 and Rosch. 3.1.1347– 481, with 1349 – 51 focusing on Arcadian Pan.

Pan

121

the worship of Pan at Rome in his narrative of the city’s pre-history and foundation. It was a topic interesting in itself and a useful prop for his Aeolism. Cassius Dio also addresses the god’s cult in Italy, and he makes an intriguing connection with Ἄρης that Dionysius does not. Dionysius mentions Pan twice. In one idiosyncratic passage he uses the association between Πάν and the hills and valleys of archaic Rome to support the tradition linking archaic Italy with Saturnus (D.H. 1.38.1). The role of Saturnus in ancient Italy was a popular topic, but only Dionysius invokes Πάν in this connection, perhaps because his narrative is the fullest Greek exposition of Aeolism to survive. A second passage concerns the Lupercal – an as-yet unidentified cave associated with Pan beneath the mons Palatinus – at which Romulus and Remus were supposedly suckled by the legendary she-wolf.¹⁸⁰ Dionysius reports that the precinct, cave, and spring were still shown to visitors in his day, so he probably visited the place himself (D.H. 1.79.1). He also records that the Romans called this site Λουπερκάλιον, which would be an odd transliteration of Lupercal. He is probably conflating the grotto with the annual rite of the Lupercalia, which began with a sacrifice at the Lupercal. If so, he is the only Greek writer to mention the link between Pan and the Lupercalia, mirroring the equation Roman authors make between Pan and Faunus Lupercus. ¹⁸¹ Dionysius’ eagerness to connect Arcadian Πάν to Italy and Rome is precisely what we should expect. More surprising is his failure to mention Πάν when he could have done so. Such is the case in his account of the rape of the Sabine women. In the surviving fragments of Dio’s narrative, Hersilia, the leader of the Sabine women, entreats the Roman and Sabine men by the gods Pan and Quirinus to show pity (C.D. 1.5 per M.7). Dio is alone in mentioning Pan here, a notable quirk in so popular a story (e. g., Livy 1.13.3; D.H. 2.45.6; Plutarch Rom. 19.4– 7). His combination of Pan with Quirinus, a Greek patron of herdsmen with a Sabine god of war, is certainly an unlikely one from a Roman perspective, but it does make sense if one combines the Greek syncretism of Quirinus and Ἄρης with the Greek association of Πάν and military panic (τὸ πανικὸν δεῖμα). Dio seems to have imposed or retained a Greek spin on the story that was ignored, rejected, or was unfamiliar to everyone else who mentions the event (see Og. 78 – 9). Dionysius was surely among the third group. He would hardly have resisted such a good opportunity to link Rome to Arcadia.

 Uirgil Aen. 8.342– 4 and Seruius Aen. ad loc. Cf. Coarelli LTUR 3.198 – 9; P&A 321.  E. g., Ovid Fast. 2.267– 8. Other Greek writers ignore this connection (e. g., Pl. Rom. 21.4; Ap. B.Ciu. 2.109[456]). See also under Faunus.

122

Syncretized Roman Gods

Salus The original cult of Salus at Rome seems to have been a harvest cult honoring the goddess as Salus Semonia. It also seems to have been connected in some way with oaths, and so with Dius Fidius. ¹⁸² The goddess was honored by an early Ara Salutis on the Mons Quirinalis, and then or soon thereafter was also associated with the health of the body politic as Salus Publica. ¹⁸³ The latter aspect gained prominence quickly, especially after it was made the dedicatee of a prominent aedes, which was vowed by C. Iunius Brutus Bubulcus in 311 B.C.E. and erected on the Mons Quirinalis in 302.¹⁸⁴ The goddess’ subsequent connection with individual health and health in general developed from her association with Greek Ὑγίεια, and is attested by several inscriptions linking Salus with Aesculapius, as also by various appeals to her in Plautus.¹⁸⁵ The connection between the two gods was affirmed and strengthened by a plague in 180 B.C.E., which prompted a consultation of the libri Sibyllini and the vowing of temples to Apollo, Aesculapius, and Salus, the Roman equivalents of ᾿Aπόλλων, Αἰσκλήπιος, and Ὑγίεια, the Greek gods of health and healing (Livy 40.37.2– 3). The same linkage motivates Sostrata’s appeal to Aesculapius and Salus in Terence’s Hecyra (338), which was produced in 165 B.C.E. Our Greek evidence is all later than Terence, and all of it translates Salus as Ὑγίεια. Greek writers’ interest in Salus is limited almost entirely to her public cult, even though private worship of Ὑγίεια was as common in Greece as the private cult of Salus was in Rome. The only reference to private cult comes from Plutarch’s Life of the elder Cato (1.5), a man Plutarch praises for his physical condition, which was outstanding in its strength (ἰσχύς) and its health (ὑγίεια). Accordingly, a statue honoring Cato’s censorship was housed in the aedes Salutis (ναὸς τῆς Ὑγιείας; Cat. mai. 19.4). Plutarch never mentions Ὑγίεια again, in this work or elsewhere, so the only effect of this anecdote is to emphasize Cato’s remarkable health. If his readers were interested in the goddess’ private cult, they would have to look elsewhere.

 Macrobius Sat. 1.16.8. See Graf NP 6.603; Wardle NP 12.907– 8; Winkler 1995, 23 – 6; Marwood 1988, 127; Latte 1960, 4.234; Wiss. 131– 3; Rosch. 4.295 – 301.  Coarelli LTUR 4.230 theorizes that the Ara Salutis might have been connected with Salus Semonia.  Livy 9.43.25, 10.1.9; see Coarelli LTUR 4.229 – 30 and Wiss. 132. Marwood (1988, 109 – 14) catalogues the surviving dedicatory inscriptions to Salus Publica.  E. g., Cist. 644; Marwood (1988, 12– 13) gives the full list. He also catalogues the nine inscriptions linking Salus and Aesculapius (92– 100) and the private dedications to Salus from around the Mediterranean (114– 23).

Salus

123

The only Greek author to show even passing interest in Salus Publica is Cassius Dio, and his attention, as often, is focused on politics. He is intrigued mainly by the connection between Salus and Roman emperors. Even his one mention of the broader cult of Salus Publica involves the imperial house: he notes that Augustus (in 11 B.C.E.) used the money set aside for statues of himself to erect instead images of Salus Publica (Ὑγίεια Δημοσία), Concordia, and Pax, and adds that the people had long been “doing this” (τοῦτ’ ἐποίουν; C.D. 54.35.2). He also notes that the practice was formalized, with donations made in a lump sum that was given to Augustus on the first of the year. The connection between Salus and Augustus, hazy in Dio because of his vague τοῦτο, is clarified by Suetonius, who records that the donations were made in fulfillment of vows pro salute eius, meaning pro salute Augusti (Diu. Aug. 57.1). Salus Publica may have been the dedicatee, but the process by which her statues were funded blurred the distinction between state welfare and the health of the emperor, a confusion that Dio’s narrative also fosters.¹⁸⁶ This cult of Salus Augusti, as it would later be called, had its beginnings in uota to Fortuna and to Salus Caesaris made on behalf of Iulius Caesar by the Roman senate.¹⁸⁷ No Latin source mentions these uota. Cicero, who was annoyed by a statue of Caesar placed in the aedes Salutis, comes closest when he complains repeatedly to Atticus about Caesar’s association with the god.¹⁸⁸ Even Dio shows no interest in the cult per se, only in the senatorial hypocrisy that fostered Caesar’s association with the goddess. The narrative setting is Antony’s funeral speech for Caesar. The people in the forum, already incensed by the speech itself, are inflamed even more when they realize that the same senators who made oaths to Caesar’s Ὑγίεια and Τύχη stood by and watched him die (C.D. 44.50.1). Riot and fire ensue. For Dio, the senatorial uota to Salus and Fortuna are important only as kindling. He shows more interest in rite of the augurium salutis, a ritual that was not actually connected with the cult of Salus. ¹⁸⁹ As an augurium, the god most directly involved was Iuppiter. The question put to him was whether it was permitted (fas

 Cf. Ouid Fast. 3.881– 2 and see Winkler 1995, 41– 5; Marwood 1988, 11; Weinstock 1971, 171– 4; Wiss. 329.  The earliest inscription to the Salus Augusti is on a statue base in Ostia from ca. 27 B.C.E. (CIL 14.4324). Another from Rome is dedicated to the Salus of Tiberius (CIL 4.1180). Uota to Salus Augusti and Salus Publica also appear regularly in the Acta Fratrum Arualium. See Marwood 1988, 37– 52 on Salus in the Acta and 100 – 9 for a full survey of the other inscriptions.  He mocks Caesar as a contubernalis Salutis (Att. 13.28.2), and tells Atticus that he prefers Caesar as a σύνναος of Quirinus instead of Salus (Att. 12.45). See Marwood 1988, 5 – 9; Weinstock 1971, 169 – 71 and 186.  See Marwood 1988, 131; Wiss. 133, nn. 3 & 4.

124

Syncretized Roman Gods

est) for prayers to be made on behalf of the salus of the Roman people. Cicero records a performance of the rite in 63 B.C.E., and praises the augur Appius Claudius (in the voice of his brother Quintus) for taking the augurium in proper systematic fashion, and so receiving an accurate warning of the civil unrest soon to come (Diu. 1.47). Tacitus also mentions a decision to reintroduce the augurium salutis in 49 C.E. and to institute annual performances of the rite thereafter (Ann. 12.23). Dio translates augurium salutis as τὸ οἰώνισμα τὸ τῆς Ὑγιείας, apparently mistaking the augurium for a rite of Salus, and describes two instances of its use. The first, involving the same augurium by Appius that Cicero mentions, serves as a narrative bridge to other omens portending the civil discord of Cicero’s consulship (C.D. 37.24.1– 25.1). Dio describes the process in some detail, plainly assuming that many of his readers will be unfamiliar with the rite. In one sense, his attempt to explain it is doomed to fail. The distinctions between auspicium and augurium are often confused in Latin, and are never sharply distinguished in Greek. Greek authors instead draw a distinction between the concrete and abstract, either translating the two rituals with bird-related words like οἰώνισμα, οἰωνισμός and οἰωνοί, which emphasize the mechanism, or with μαντεία, a word stressing the divine communication. The latter term is more ambiguous, since it could be applied to any consultation of the gods, including haruspicium and uaticinatio. In a valiant attempt to be specific, Dio includes in his explanation both the abstract and the concrete, explaining that the function of the augurium Salutis is a sort of μαντεία, and also that birds are involved (ὄρνιθες ἐπέπταντο). Yet the point he emphasizes most strongly is that this particular form of οἰώνισμα could only be undertaken when no legion was in the field, or was even preparing to fight, and so had not been performed for many years. He is also intrigued by the question put to the gods, which represented a degree of religious deference uncommon even to Roman cult (cf. C.D. 42.31.3). Roman scruples are the central focus of the episode. Dio mentions the augurium a second time after he narrates Octauian’s victory at Actium (51.20.4). This time, his emphasis is political. He leaves out most of the ritual details, trusting the reader to recall his earlier treatment, but repeats the stipulation that all Roman forces had to be inactive. The augurium could be performed and the gates of Ianus closed because Octauian’s victories over Antony had brought peace to the Roman world. Dio stresses Octauian’s pride that the ceremonies could be performed under his leadership, saying that the victor was prouder of holding the augurium and closing the doors of Ianus than of the many honorific decrees made to him by the senate (C.D. 51.20.4). He makes this as-

Saturnus

125

sertion in his own voice, attesting to Octauian’s sincere pleasure himself, and so sets the tone for his favorable depiction of the new princeps. ¹⁹⁰

Saturnus Originally, Saturnus seems to have been a god of sowing, harvest, agriculture, and wealth.¹⁹¹ His assimilation with the Greek Titan Κρόνος occurred early, and Greek writers of the historical period assume their equivalence without a second thought.¹⁹² The Κρόνος / Saturnus parallel also led Dionysius to equate Ops, the Roman spouse of Saturnus, with Ῥέα, the Greek wife of Κρόνος (D.H. 2.50.3, 3.32.4), a natural extension that appears in Romans authors as well (Uarro Ling. 5.57; Macrobius Sat. 1.10.19).¹⁹³ Much of the Greek interest in Saturnus concerns the god’s early role in Italy. According to one theory, Saturnus was an immigrant, having crossed to Italy by boat (Pl. Q.R. 274E). According to a second, Saturnus was a universal or autochthonous god who ruled over an Italian golden age.¹⁹⁴ Dionysius and Plutarch categorize the latter as native, but Greek influences and Italian traditions were by then too deeply enmeshed to be so readily isolated. Whether immigrant or native, Dionysius and Plutarch both depict Saturnus as a central figure in the early cult and culture of the peninsula, and never really distinguish him from Κρόνος. Dionysius does emphasize that Σατορνία was the original name of Italy (D.H. 1.18.2, 1.34.5, 1.35.3; cf. Uirgil Aen. 1.569), and he does attribute the name Σατορνία to the Sicels, who were later forced south to Sicily by Italians and Pelasgian immigrants from Dodona (D.H. 1.18.2, 1.20.5, 1.22.1).¹⁹⁵ But he muddies the waters when he describes

 Suetonius mentions this augurium too, but without any particular emphasis, lumping it together with other long-abandoned rites like the ludi Saeculares and ludi Compitalicii (Diu. Aug. 31.4).  See Mastrocinque NP 13.28 – 30; Latte 148; Wiss. 204– 8; Rosch. 4.427– 44.  Dionysius transliterates the god’s Latin name (Σάτουρνος) and translates him as Κρόνος in the same passage (D.H. 1.38.1). Augustus’ Greek translator translates aedes Saturni as ναὸς Κρόνου (M.A. 20).  For Ῥέα see under Ops.  D.H. 1.36.1; Pl. Q.R. 266F and 275 A; cf. Uirgil Aen. 8.319 – 25.  Diodorus and Appian show little interest in such traditions. Appian only mentions Saturnia when Sulla wins a military victory at an Etruscan town of the same name (i.e., Aurinia; Ap. B.Ciu. 1.89[410]). Diodorus says nothing at all, not even regarding the origin of the Sicels. He does mention a place in Sicily he calls Κρόνιον – a locale that R.J.A. Wilson identifies with a mountain on the island’s southwest coast (BA 47.C3) – and identifies it as the site of a battle between

126

Syncretized Roman Gods

the (supposedly Roman) belief that the Arcadians who first settled Rome held the mons Capitolinus sacred to Κρόνος, calling it the ὄρος Κρόνιος.¹⁹⁶ According to the same tradition there were human sacrifices to Κρόνος on the hill, though Hercules soon replaced them with sacrifices of animals and human effigies (D.H. 1.38.1– 2).¹⁹⁷ Plutarch at Q.R. 266E–F reports that Aeneas was the first to make these same sacrifices with head uncovered (capite aperto).¹⁹⁸ Is this Κρόνος an Arcadian version of the Greek god, or is he identical with Saturnus, or is he an amalgam of the two? Neither Dionysius nor Plutarch clarifies the distinction. And their attributions of certain traditions to the Romans alone are probably incorrect. On the contrary, the traditions linking Saturnus with Ianus offer further evidence of Greek and Roman syncretism. Macrobius, who gives the fullest Latin account, records that Ianus was a king who ruled over Italia when Saturnus arrived there in a fleet (Sat. 1.7.19 – 21). Macrobius’ source was a Greek writer, Protarchus of Tralles, who claimed that Ianus already had two faces and could see both past and future. Conversely, Herodian tells a similar story in Greek and cites it as a Roman tradition. According to him, Saturnus took refuge with Ianus when he was overthrown by Iuppiter, which explains the celebration of the Saturnalia at the beginning of the year (1.16.1– 2).¹⁹⁹ Cassius Dio seems to have recorded a version of the story that was closer to Protarchus. According to the 11th century Byzantine historian Cedranus, at any rate, Dio called Ianus a hero, not a god, and said that he gained his ability to see forward and backward when he entertained Saturnus as a guest (frag. 1.6 = Cedren. 1 p.295 10 Bekk.). This same tradition illuminates a quaestio from Plutarch, who asks at Q.R. 274E–275A why archaic Roman coins depict Ianus on one side and a ship on the other. Plutarch theorizes it was done because Saturnus crossed to Italy by boat, but his reasoning is obscure. The coin de-

Dionysius I of Syracuse and Carthage (15.16.3), but he never connects this place with the god’s mythology or cult, or with ancient theories of Sicel migration.  D.H. 1.34.1– 5. Cf. Uarro Ling. 5.41– 2; Uirgil Aen. 8.329. See Mastrocinque, N.P. 13.29.  Dionysius also says Hercules erected an altar for performing these sacrifices, a descendant of which survived near the aedes Saturni in the forum until at least the time of Augustus (D.H. 1.34.4, 6.1.4). Some Latin sources agree with him, while others attribute the first altar to the Pelasgians or Ianus (see Coarelli LTUR 4.236).  This does not imply that Aeneas was responsible for instituting the sacrifices themselves. Dionysius’ and Plutarch’s claims are mutually consistent, and may represent an older coherent narrative involving Saturnus, Hercules, and Aeneas.  Plutarch too observes that the month December was held sacred to Saturnus, and that it was the time of his largest festival, the Saturnalia (Pl. Q.R. 272E). Greek writers occasionally transliterate Saturnalia (e. g., Σατουρνάλια, C.D. 60.19.3) but more often call it τὰ Κρόνια (e. g., D.H. 4.14.4; Ap. Samn. 10.15). Dionysius links its foundation to a vow by Seruius Tullius at D.H. 3.32.4 and describes it as δημοτελεῖς ἑορταί vowed to Κρόνος and Ῥέα.

Saturnus

127

picts Ianus, not Saturnus, so why should a prow represent Saturnus? Plutarch must be assuming his readers’ knowledge of the legend connecting the two gods, which must have been more widely known among Greeks than our meager evidence would suggest. Among Greek writers, Plutarch takes the greatest interest in Saturnus’ early roles in the Roman pantheon. He is the only Greek to mention Saturnus’ chthonic nature, numbering him among the gods below (κάτω; Q.R. 272E). In discussing the belief (again, supposedly Roman) that Saturnus was the father of truth, he also discusses Saturnus’ connection with time, a conception based on Greek word play. He suggests that Romans, like some Greek philosophers, believed Κρόνος to be Χρόνος, the god of time, and since time reveals the truth, they thought Κρόνος must as well (Q.R. 266E–F). Plutarch’s etymological game does not work with Latin tempus and Saturnus, yet the idea is well attested in Latin sources from Cicero onward (e. g., Nat. D. 2.64; see Mastrocinque 29). Roman religious conservatism did not impede the adoption of an argument based entirely in the Greek language. Greeks are also interested in Saturnus’ temple, which housed the state treasury, the aerarium. The shrine’s early history is discussed by Dionysius, who records its origin in uota by Tullus Hostilius (D.H. 3.32.4), its foundation (ἵδρυσις = locatio?) on the site of an earlier altar placed by Tarquinius Superbus or T. Larcius, and its dedication in 495 B.C.E. by Postumus Cominius Auruncus (D.H. 6.1.4). Other authors are more interested in various events involving the temple than in the building itself. Plutarch describes the tribune M. Octauius’ attempt to block the implementation of Tib. Gracchus’ reforms of 133 B.C.E. by putting his personal seal on the temple doors, and so blocking access to the aerarium (Gracch. 10.8). Appian describes a senatorial oath taken there in support of Saturninus’ land bill (B.Ciu. 1.31[137]). Cassius Dio mentions a portentous wind that tore off the tabulae that had been posted around the aedes in 43 B.C.E., an omen presaging the deaths of Hirtius and Pansa (C.D. 45.17.3). Plutarch and Cassius Dio also discuss the aerarium within the temple. Dio uses a Greek idiom, calling it θησαυροί or θησαυροὶ δημόσιοι (e. g., 43.48.3; 44.25.5), the latter combining the Greek language for state treasuries (τὸ δημόσιον, Thucydides 6.31) and the treasuries at Delphi (…Κορινθίων τοῦ δημοσίου ἐστὶ ὁ θησαυρός, Herodotus 1.14). Plutarch prefers ταμιεῖον, also a common Greek word for treasury, but one that links the aerarium etymologically with the ταμίαι, the quaestores who administer it (e. g., Q.R. 275A). This accords with Plutarch’s greater interest in the functioning of the aerarium. He discusses its establishment and the creation of the first quaestores (Pub. 12.3), and ponders the connection between the aerarium and Saturnus (Q.R. 275A–C). His first hypothesis links the treasury to Saturnus’ rule over the golden age, equating paradise with literal gold. A second is based in the defensibility of the temple’s location, which presumes that the protection of the aerari-

128

Syncretized Roman Gods

um was its primary purpose. Plutarch’s most intriguing theory combines Saturnus’ connection to wealth and agriculture. For support he draws upon Saturnus’ iconography, in which the god often carried a sickle, and his oversight of markets, noting that the Roman market days, the nundinae, were held sacred to Saturnus. Plutarch is also the only Greek who demonstrates any awareness of the god’s agricultural and economic roles, perhaps because Greek traditions assigned these roles to Ἑστία and Ἑρμής, and not to Κρόνος. A fascinating problem is posed by Dio’s discussion of the day of Saturnus, ἡ τοῦ Κρόνου ἡμέρα. The Roman dies Saturni was an amalgam of two concepts, the seven-day week, which was Jewish in origin, and the idea of naming days after planets, which originated in Mesopotamia or Egypt. Our earliest Latin reference to a dies Saturni is an inscription from Pompeii (CIL 4.6779). The stone also refers to the month Quintilis, so its terminus ante quem is 44 B.C.E. The inscription should not have been cut much earlier than that, since it was the third Mithridatic war, and especially Pompey’s siege of Jerusalem in 63 B.C.E., that caused a large influx of Jewish refugees and slaves into Rome. After that, the dies Saturni appears fairly often in Latin literature. It is mentioned by Tibullus (1.3.18), and is alluded to in the Anthology Palatinus, Horace, Ouid, Perseus, Juuenal, and Tacitus.²⁰⁰ It was incorporated into Roman astrology by the second century C.E. (Uettius Ualens, 1.26.18). Dio’s explanation of the dies Saturni is a complex blend of four traditions. He says the Romans of his day had adopted it, by which he is means the two concepts together, the seven-day week and the dies Saturni. Here he is on firm ground; the Latin evidence all agrees. He also credits the Egyptians with the original idea of naming days after the planets, meaning the sun and moon and our planets Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. This is also plausible given the antiquity and the astronomical sophistication of the various Egyptian calendars (C.D. 37.18.2). Yet he also says that the Greeks of his day had not followed suit, which can only be true in a narrow sense. Any Roman blend of these ideas must surely have involved the Hellenistic east, where Jewish and Greek populations had coexisted for centuries.²⁰¹ Dio ignores the role played by the Ptolemaic and Seleucid citizens of Egypt and Mesopotamia.

 Smith 1913, 238 – 40 gives an excellent summary of the Latin evidence and its precursors.  The blend of Shabbat and the dies Saturni was later incorporated into Christianity and perpetuated by Christian Rome. It is still observed in Judaism and some Christian denominations, and is fossilized in the English word for Saturday. English is peculiar in this regard. Romance languages tend to preserve the name of Shabbat (e. g., French Samedi, Spanish Sábado, Italian Sabbato, Romanian sâmbătă), as does German Samstag. The pagan connection with Saturnus has also been excised from Swedish Lördtag, Danish Lørdag, and Norwegian Lørdtag.

Sol

129

He also fails to give the Jews their due credit for inventing the seven-day week, even though all of his references to the dies Saturni concern them directly. In describing Pompey’s capture of Jerusalem on the dies Saturni, when the Jews for religious reasons could offer no resistance, he calls the day ἡ ἡμέρα τοῦ Κρόνου (C.D. 37.16.2– 4, 37.17.3). He does likewise when describing a second conflict there, noting that C. Sosius, a legatus of Antony, was able to capture many Jews in Jerusalem for the same reason (C.D. 49.22.4). He does so again when he marks the dies Saturni, “… the day that the Jews even now most revere,” as the day on which Titus finally captured the city (C.D. 66.7.2). Dio’s ἡμέρα τοῦ Κρόνου in describing all three of these incidents must refer to shabbat, the Hebrew sabbath. Jewish writers never name it so. Their monotheism prevented them from attributing shabbat to Κρόνος or Saturnus, and when writing in Greek they prefer to transliterate shabbat as τὰ σάββατα (e. g., Exodus 20.8 – 11; Philo De Abrahamo 28.2; Josephus AJ 12.5.5). Whether through ignorance, prejudice, or simply as a reflex of his own perspective, Dio always refers to the Jewish day in Greek and Roman terms.

Sol Roman legend held that the state cult of Sol, their incarnation of the sun, went back to the rule of T. Tatius.²⁰² Despite its antiquity, Greek authors show little interest in the god or his cult, and in particular they never mention the important imperial incarnation of Sol Inuictus. Cassius Dio preserves an anecdote about Caracalla, who drove for the blues in the circus and bragged that he did so in the style of Sol (κατὰ τὸν Ἥλιον), but in Dio’s narrative the boast smacks more of Greek mythology than of Roman cult.²⁰³ Even Plutarch only mentions Sol once, and only to suggest that Romans reckoned the year as belonging to Iupiter because he and the sun god (Ἥλιος) were materially the same deity (ἐν ὕλῃ Ζεύς, Q.R. 282C). The one specifically Roman incarnation of the sun that drew Greek attention was Sol Indiges, an aspect of the deity that Sol Inuictus would be eventually replace. Our Greek sources on Indiges are Diodorus and Dionysius, each of whom mentions the god’s cult once. Dionysius’ reference is prompted by his visit to a cult site in Laurentum, where the locals pointed out two altars and a spring near the Laurentine coast, and explained that the altars marked the spot where the earth had spontaneously gushed forth fresh water for Aeneas and his Trojans.  D.H. 2.50.3; cf. Uarro Ling. 5.74. See Gordon, NP 13.607– 8; Latte 231– 3, Wiss. 315 – 17, Rosch. 4.1137– 53.  C.D. 77.10.1– 3. Latte (232) draws the same conclusion about numismatic depictions of Sol riding a quadriga.

130

Syncretized Roman Gods

According to them, the place was sacred to the sun (D.H. 1.55.2). Dionysius does not mention a cult epiclesis, but this must have been a cult site of Sol Indiges, who was worshipped at Lauinium and associated with a sacred grove in Latium (lucus Iouis Indigetis, Pliny HN 3.56). Dionysius’ autopsy does him credit, but he seems not to have pursued the question very far. Diodorus apparently did. He discusses Sol Indiges when describing the oath of loyalty taken by Italians to M. Liuius Drusus, which has already been discussed under Iuppiter and Mars (D.S. 37.11). In it, the Italians swear their support for Drusus by several Roman gods, including Gaea (Γῆ), Iuppiter Capitolinus, Rome’s Uesta (ἡ Ἑστία τῆς Ῥώμης), its native Mars (ὁ πατρῷος αὐτῆς Ἄρης), and its demigod founders (ἡμίθεοι κτίσται), meaning Romulus and Remus, and perhaps Aeneas. Also included in this list is Sol Indiges, which Diodorus translates as ὁ Γενάρχης Ἥλιος. The original meaning of Indiges is unclear; OLD suggests a derivation from indu- (an archaic form of in‐) and ago, hence “leading-in.” Diodorus renders it instead as “founder-” or “progenitor of the race,” a meaning drawn from the Latin noun indigena, which is in turn derived from indu- and -genus. It is possible that Diodorus made this connection himself, but he could also have heard it from the locals, since Romans of the late Republic understood Indiges in the same way.²⁰⁴

Tellus The personification of the earth in Roman religio is shared primarily among Ceres, embodying growth, and Terra Mater and Tellus, representing the physical earth.²⁰⁵ Greeks identified the same two aspects, and named them Δημήτηρ and Γῆ. When discussing Rome, however, Greek writers were more interested in Ceres than Tellus, and with one exception Greek texts ignore the cult of Tellus’ entirely. Nor do they mention her temple’s foundation on the mons Esquilinus. ²⁰⁶ Most references describe political events that occurred at her temple, which were only indirectly relevant to Tellus herself. It is curious that not one of these references specifies the shrine’s location. Dionysius notes that the aedes was built on land formerly owned by Sp. Cassius – a man who had tried to seize tyrannical power in the early days of the Republic, was condemned in the senate, and was then executed by his own father – but he never   and 

Cf. di patrii indigites…, Uirgil Georg. 1.498. See Phillips, NP 14.236; Latte 71– 3; Wiss. 192– 5; Rosch. 5.331– 45. Robigus, Flora, Ops, Consus, Quirinus are also involved (Dumézil 1996, 370, with bibliography in n.1). It was prompted by the uota of P. Sempronius Sophus in 268 B.C.E. (Coarelli, LTUR 4.24).

Tellus

131

states where that land lay (D.H. 8.79.3). Plutarch describes Marius taking refuge in a ἱερὸν Γῆς when Sulla entered the city in 88 B.C.E. (Sull. 9.14), but he never specifies where.²⁰⁷ Plutarch and Appian name the aedes itself, which they call τὸ τῆς Γῆς ἱερόν (Pl. Brut. 19.1; Ap. B.Ciu. 2.126[525]); Dio names the temple precinct, the templum, which he calls τὸ τῆς Γῆς τέμενος (C.D. 44.22.3). And Plutarch, Appian, and Cassius Dio all describe in detail a meeting of the senate held in the aedes Telluris after the murder of Caesar, but again do not record that shrine’s location. Plutarch mentions speeches given on that occasion by Antony, Cicero, and L. Munatius Plancus, arguing for amnesty. Dio focuses on Cicero, to whom he gives a very long speech, no remnant of which has survived from the Roman orator himself (C.D. 44.23 – 33).²⁰⁸ Taken together, their collective failure to situate the shrine is suggestive. As Roman residents, Dionysius, Appian, and Cassius Dio would surely have known its location, and they are often eager to share details about Roman temples with their readers. Plutarch even more so. Their seeming neglect does not demonstrate ignorance or a lack of interest, but their recognition that there was only one aedes Telluris, the one on the mons Esquilinus, and their implicit assumption that many of their readers would also know this. The one Greek reference to the cult of Tellus comes from Diodorus Siculus, and comes (yet again) from his translation of the oath sworn to M. Liuius Drusus by the Italians. Among the gods invoked by the Italians, Diodorus lists an incarnation of Γῆ that he describes as ἡ εὐεργέτις ζῴων τε καὶ φυτῶν (D.S. 37.11.1). This phrase has a parallel in Diodorus’ contemporary Horace. Tellus was prominent in Augustus’ celebration of the Ludi Saeculares, which was held in 17 B.C.E., slightly after Diodorus finished his history, and Horace included the goddess in his carmen saeculare, which he composed for that festival. In the carmen, Horace refers to Tellus as fertilis frugum pecorisque (Carm. saec. 30). While fertilis (bountiful) does not align with Diodorus’ εὐεργέτις (benefactor), the pairing of plants and animals, frugum pecorisque, is a close match for Diodorus’ ζῴων τε καὶ φυτῶν. As already noted, Diodorus is our only source for the Italian oath, so it is encouraging to find evidence, however indirect, that he (or his source) was trying to translate the Latin idiom faithfully.

 A reader familiar with Rome and Italy could make a good guess from circumstantial evidence. Sulla had approached Rome from Nola, which lay to the southeast, and his legati had seized the wall and gates at the mons Esquilinus, so even a reader unfamiliar with the aedes Telluris would imagine it in that same part of the city. Then again, a reader so familiar with Rome would already be familiar with the aedes itself.  Cicero mentions the meeting in his first Philippic and there confirms its location in the aedes Telluris (Phil. 1.31).

132

Syncretized Roman Gods

Uenus The pre-Hellenic origins of Roman Uenus and her cult are obscure. The etymology of her name is currently thought to reflect charm and veneration, i. e., from uenerari, but there is no sign of her in Roman cult before the 4th century B.C.E., by which point she was already being assimilated to Greek ᾿Aφροδίτη.²⁰⁹ Consequently, the Greek syncretism of Uenus and ᾿Aφροδίτη is extensive, as two examples from Plutarch’s Quaestiones Romanae will adequately demonstrate. In one, Plutarch seeks to explain the five torches lit at Roman weddings, and in doing so includes Uenus among the five gods invoked by women in childbirth (Q.R. 264B). As already noted under Iuno, two of these gods, Ζεὺς Τέλειος and Ἥρα Τελεία, are Greek conceptions, so the women Plutarch imagines calling upon them must be Greek, not Roman. Since the women are Greek, the ᾿Aφροδίτη to whom they appeal must likewise be the Greek incarnation of the goddess. The Hellenic perspective again dominates when Plutarch is discussing Romulus’ possible motivations for building the temple of Uulcan outside of Rome (Q.R. 275B). As his first explanation, Plutarch offers a theory that he himself concedes might be thought silly: perhaps Romulus did so because of the adulterous liaisons between ᾿Aφροδίτη and Ἄρης (e. g., Od. 8.266 – 369). In other words, the son of Ἄρης, Romulus, may have wished to keep Ἥφαιστος, his father’s amorous rival, outside the city walls. This explanation makes little sense from the Roman perspective, given that the aedes Uolcani lay within the Campus Martius (Manacorda LTUR 5.211). References to Uenus’ shrines must involve the Roman goddess, of course. One of the two authors to mention them, Strabo, describes briefly her shrines at Lauinium and Ardea (5.3.5).²¹⁰ The Lauinium temple (ἱερὸν ᾿Aφροδίτης) was a cult site for the Latini, but was managed by the Ardeatae, and the temple in Ardea (᾿Aφροδίσιον) was likewise the site of pan-Latin festivals. Both cities had been ravaged by Samnites long before, but Strabo’s present-tense description indicates that worship at the two sites continued. Cassius Dio mentions Uenus’ temples four times. Two of his references concern Hadrian’s temple to Uenus et Roma on the Uia Sacra, a site well attested and partially preserved, despite a fire that required extensive reconstruction under Maxentius in 307 C.E. (Cassatella, LTUR 5.121– 2). In one passage, Dio preserves for us the picturesque tale of the architect Apollodorus, whose criticisms of Hadrian’s design for the temple supposedly drove the emperor to have  See Pirenne-Delforge and Pironti 2017; Rivers NP 15.284– 5; Dumézil 1996, 421– 2; Latte 183 – 9; Schilling 1954, 15 – 30; Wiss. 288 – 93; Rosch. 6.183 – 209.  No Latin evidence for the temples survives. Rives (2009, 285) cites Pomponius Mela 2.71 and Pliny HN 3.57 for comparison, but neither passage has anything to say about the temples or worship of Uenus in Latium.

Uenus

133

him executed.²¹¹ Dio is also our earliest literary source for the temple’s name. It is called many things in later Latin, and Uenus’ name is often omitted.²¹² Dio translates it as τὸ ᾿Aφροδίσιον τὸ Ῥωμαῖον, which would in Latin equate to aedes or templum Ueneris et Romae (C.D. 71.31.1). Various coins minted by Hadrian indicate that the official names for the two goddesses were Uenus Felix and Roma Aeterna (e. g., RIC 2.265a and 2.280a), but aedes Ueneris Felicis et Romae Aeternae must have been too big a mouthful, and these epithets are not retained in literature. Dio’s references to two other temples are more obscure. The first is not precisely a shrine of Uenus herself, but of the deified Poppaea Sabina, the wife of Nero, who was assimilated to Uenus in death (if not already during her lifetime). While Dio is our only Greek source for this connection (63.26.3), the link between Uenus and Poppaea is confirmed in Latin by the pseudo-Senecan tragedy Octauia. Dio’s interest is only in her temple, which he describes Nero dedicating in 68 C.E., and in its inscription, in which Nero himself boasts that the Roman women had erected it for Σαβίνα, θεὰ ᾿Aφροδίτη (i. e., dea Uenus Poppaea). The temple has not survived. It may have been built in Campania (Kragelund 2010, 561– 6), the region that was devastated by an eruption of Vesuvius some fourteen years after the empress’ death. Dio also describes a mysterious temple of Uenus located on or at the base of the mons Palatinus, and is again our only source for the shrine. He calls it τὸ ᾿Aφροδίσιον τὸ κατὰ τὸ παλάτιον, and writes that Faustina, wife of M. Aurelius, prepared the nuptial bed for Septimius Seuerus and his bride Iulia inside it (C.D. 74.3.1). Platner and Ashby (1929, 14) mention and rightly discount the theory that the temple lay behind M. Brutus’ nickname for L. Crassus, Uenus Palatinus. Pliny the elder, our source for the nickname, says it that referred to Crassus’ use of foreign marble for the columns of his Palatine house (HN 36.7). Other theories would link this Uenus Palatina with Uenus Genetrix, Magna Mater, or the nymph Uenilia, but no consensus exists (see Palombi LTUR 1.48). Plutarch describes two other aspects of Uenus, and for each he is our only source.²¹³ One is her role in the Roman calendar, which he discusses twice in conjunction with the Roman month Aprilis. At Q.R. 285A–B, he asks why Romans do not marry in the month of Maius (Μάιος), and in his first hypothesis invokes Uenus, suggesting that Romans regard the months of Iunius and Aprilis as sacred

 C.D. 69.4.2– 5. The salacious author of the scriptores Historiae Augustae surprisingly omits the story.  E. g., templum urbis in Cassiodorus Chron. 142M; templum urbis Romae in Seruius Aen. 2.227.  He also mentions the Ueneralia at Q.R. 275E, but the Quaestio actually concerns the Uinalia. His conflation of the two festivals is intriguing, and will merit further discussion in a subsequent GRETL volume.

134

Syncretized Roman Gods

to Iuno and Uenus. Since both are marital goddesses (the theory goes) Romans prefer to shift their marriage date forward or back one month, from Maius into Aprilis or Iunius. This raises two intriguing issues. The more difficult one is that none of Uenus’ many incarnations have any known connection to the Roman sacrament of marriage. She is a goddess of lust, birth, funerals, even military victory, but not of marriage.²¹⁴ Perhaps the mismatch is connected to Plutarch’s reference to ᾿Aφροδίτη Ἐπιταλάριος (discussed below). Or perhaps Plutarch is thinking only of romance. Less confusing, but no less fascinating, is the deep syncretism involved in his connection of Uenus with Aprilis. He offers no details in the Q.R., but in the Life of Numa he elaborates on two conflicting theories for the name of the month (19.3 – 4). According to some of his authorities, the month was indeed named after ᾿Aφροδίτη, which is why Roman women sacrificed to her in Aprilis and crowned themselves with myrtle on the Kalendae Apriles. The etymology is Greek, of course, but it has native support. Uarro cites the second-century philhellenist M. Fuluius Nobilior and one Iunius (perhaps M. Iunius Congus Gracchanus) as agreeing that Aprilis was indeed dedicated to Uenus, and was so named because Uenus was ᾿Aφροδίτη (Ling. 6.33). Plutarch cites other authorities who disagreed, preferring a Latin etymology. According to them, the month was named ᾿Aπρίλλιον because that was the time when flowers and buds opened, an implicit reference to Latin aperire. The interesting point is that these latter sources did not object to the Greek basis of the ᾿Aφροδίτη etymology, only to a phonological problem: the labial in ᾿Aφροδίτη is aspirated, while the one in Aprilis (᾿Aπρίλλιον) is not. The assimilation of Uenus to ᾿Aφροδίτη was evidently so habitual for Plutarch and his predecessors that they never paused to ask why the Romans of Numa’s day would have created a month honoring the goddess’ Greek name.²¹⁵ And this in a Life where Plutarch is more skeptical of such connections than elsewhere. In the Life of Cato the younger, Plutarch mentions another of Uenus’ many associations, this time with gambling. Roman dicing involved a throw called the “Uenus throw,” in which all of the dice (tali) had a different face up (cf. Martial 14.14). This was the highest-scoring throw. Suetonius quotes a letter from Augustus to Tiberius describing his betting at a recent game of tali, in which the person who had thrown Uenus (qui Uenerem iecerat) took the entire pot (Aug. 71.2). Plutarch alludes to the same rules when he describes Cato’s habit of rolling dice with his din-

 Wedding sacrifices were made to Tellus and Ceres, and under the principate were often made to the emperor as well. A coin was also dedicated at the local shrine of the lares compitales (Treggiari 1991, 164– 7).  According to Macrobius, Uarro and the annalist [L.] Cingius (sic) did raise a chronological form of this objection, arguing that Romans and Latins would not have named a month after Uenus because they did not worship the goddess in Numa’s day (Sat. 1.12.12– 13).

Uenus

135

ner companions for the first choice of portions (Cato Min. 6.2). Whenever he lost, his friends would urge him to choose first anyway, but he would always decline, saying that Uenus was unwilling. Plutarch does not explain further, which is intriguing. He never mentions Uenus elsewhere in the Life, and we know of no connection between Cato and Uenus outside of gambling. Plutarch seems to have thought his readers would know the Uenus throw and understand his reference, even though we have no evidence that Greek gambling involved a comparable ᾿Aφροδίτη throw. Most other references to the name Uenus alone are too vague to be useful. As is the case with Iuno and Iuppiter, the more intriguing references involve specific aspects of the goddess. Of her many incarnations they discuss six: Erycina, Genetrix, Libitina, Murcia, Uictrix, and a mysterious ᾿Aφροδίτη Ἐπιταλάριος that is mentioned only by Plutarch.

᾿Aφροδίτη Ἐπιταλάριος At De fort. Rom. 323Α Plutarch describes an unknown altar of ᾿Aφροδίτη Ἐπιταλάριος that lay next to a precinct (ἕδος) of Fortuna Uirilis (Ἄρρην Τύχη). The passage poses two unsolved problems. One is topographical: the location of the ἕδος is unknown. The second is linguistic: the epithet Ἐπιταλάριος makes no sense. We might take the stem as a transliteration from Latin, referring perhaps to the ludus talarius, a kind of dance, or to the Roman marriage cry Talassio (e. g., Livy 1.9), but then we would be confronted with the linguistic oddity of a transliterated Latin root combined with a Greek prefix, something Greek writers generally avoid.²¹⁶ If we approach the word from the Greek perspective, then the stem is related to τάλαρος, a noun of Homeric antiquity for a woven basket (e. g., Il. 18.568). This raises a worse problem. The compound adjective, a hapax legomenon, would mean something like “in charge of baskets,” and we know of no such connection for Uenus. In fact, Horace describes Uenus’ son snatching a basket (qualum) away from a girl who thinks herself too busy for love (Carm. 3.12.4– 5). Neither solution is satisfactory. Of the poor options available, the hybrid combination of ἐπί and talarius is the least implausible.

 The only secure example I have identified is Strabo’s etymology for the Sabelli, discussed already under Mars (Str. 5.4.12).

136

Syncretized Roman Gods

Uenus Erycina Greek interest in Uenus Erycina is limited to her shrines. One is the temple of Erycina in Rome, adjacent to the porta Collina. The site is well attested in Latin sources (Coarelli LTUR 5.114– 6), but generates no particular interest in Greek authors, for whom it is a tangential detail. Strabo says only that it was noteworthy (ἀξιόλογος) for the colonnade surrounding it (6.2.5). Appian describes Sulla making his camp next to it after he rushed back to defend Rome from Marius (B.Ciu. 1.93[428]). A second site is the shrine at Eryx in western Sicily (see Schilling 1954, 239 – 48). Strabo includes it briefly in his survey of the island, and says that the temple was especially revered (τιμώμενον διαφερόντως, 6.2.5). He is particularly interested in the fact that it once housed female cult slaves, ἱερόδουλοι γυναῖκες. These slaves had been given to the goddess by grateful worshippers in fulfillment of vows, and had since disappeared, much like the site itself after the local population had declined. The details resemble Strabo’s later description of the cult of ᾿Aφροδίτη at Corinth, which once housed a thousand male and female courtesans (ἑταῖραι) in the days of Kypselos (8.6.20). By implication, it too had lost some or all of its temple prostitutes by Strabo’s day, perhaps because of a decline in population, perhaps also in conjunction with increased Roman presence in Eryx and Corinth after the conquest of Sicily in the third century B.C.E., and especially after the sack of Corinth in the second. In both passages Strabo is highlighting a change brought on by Roman occupation. Romans were as accustomed to prostitution as the Greeks, but temple prostitution was a foreign tradition, and they would not have taken particular care to preserve the institution if other factors caused it to decline. Dionysius describes what sounds like a third site dedicated to Uenus on the island, one containing an altar founded by Aeneas himself (D.H. 1.53.1), but it seems actually to have been part of the complex at Eryx. He says that legend (and hence not his own autopsy) placed the altar on the summit of a certain Mt. Elymos (Ἔλυμος) in western Sicily. Aeneas was said to have built it in honor of his mother before he departed for Italy. According to Dionysius, some of Aeneas’ fellow Trojans, weary of war and travel, remained behind. Their leaders were the Trojans Ἔλυμος and Αἴγεστος, equivalent to the Latin heroes Helymus and Acestes.²¹⁷ The city they established was called Segesta in the Latin tradition, Αἴγεστα in Greek, and lay some ten miles from Mt. Eryx.²¹⁸ So far so good. The link between the hero Helymus and Dionysius’ Mt. Elymos raises an issue, however. The

 Cf. Uirgil Aen. 5.711– 18 and Silius Italicus Pun. 14.45 – 6.  Cf. D.S. 14.48.4; D.H. 1.52.4; C.D. 11 = Zon. 8.9.

Uenus

137

transliteration of the name makes good enough sense; Greeks do occasionally drop initial aspiration from Roman names.²¹⁹ The problem is the mountain itself. Eryx is the only peak in the vicinity, and there is no Mt. Elymos or Helymus otherwise attested in Sicily or anywhere else. Dionysius must be accessing an alternate tradition where Mt. Eryx was originally named Mt. Elymos or Helymus, and the altar he mentions must have been associated with the same ἱερόν of Erycina that Strabo describes.²²⁰

Uenus Genetrix In Greek traditions, the idea of ᾿Aφροδίτη as mother and ancestor is Homeric and involves her son, the Trojan captain Aeneas. In Roman thought her connection with Aeneas, and hence the Iulii, is not quite as old, but does go back at least as far as Ennius (Ann. 52 = Nonius 378.15; frags. 49 – 50 Warmington). It was Iulius Caesar who either inaugurated or greatly enhanced her public cult, beginning with uota he supposedly made before his victory at Pharsalus in 48 B.C.E. His innovations impressed Greek observers as well, and his victory over Pompey and the consequent aedes Ueneris in Rome are the focus of almost every reference to Genetrix in Greek authors. Appian, our only source for the uota themselves, refers to Uenus in a surprising way. His Caesar does call upon Uenus as the founder of his line, as we might expect; in Greek he names her ᾿Aφροδίτη Πρόγονος, meaning “Ancestor,” a close translation of Genetrix (cf. LSJ II). But he then promises the goddess a temple as Nικήφορος (B.Ciu. 2.68[281]). He also has a propitious dream that same night in which he sees himself dedicating a temple to ᾿Aφροδίτη Nικήφορος (B.Ciu. 2.69[284]), a phrase that then becomes his army’s watchword before the battle of Pharsalus (B.Ciu. 2.76[319]). Nικήφορος translates Uictrix, the same aspect of Uenus that Pompey had honored earlier with his own temple (cf. Pl. Pomp. 68.2), so Appian has linked Caesar’s vow, dream, and watchword to the very incarnation of the goddess that had once aided Pompey. Only later, when describing Caesar’s work on the forum Iulium, does Appian revert to Genetrix, which he translates this time as Γενέτειρα (B.Ciu. 2.102[424]). His source for all this was probably C. Asinius Pollio, who was present at the battle as one of Caesar’s legati. Pollio may have heard about the vow and dream from Caesar himself, and he certainly would have known the watchword. This being the case, Appian’s description of Caesar’s origi-

 E. g., Ἔλβας for Helua (D.H. 5.58.1); ᾿Aδριανός for Hadrianus (Pl. Luc. 17.1 and Ap. Hisp. 38.153).  See Coarelli and Torelli 56 – 8; Rives NP 15.285 – 6.

138

Syncretized Roman Gods

nal uota is probably a faithful account of Caesar’s evolving conception of Uenus and of the cult most appropriate for her within the forum Iulium. Perhaps Caesar originally planned to appropriate Uictrix from Pompey, but he realized that doing so would be poor public relations, especially given his eagerness to demonstrate clementia. A temple to Genetrix would be suitably grandiose and distinctly Iulian, and less apt to step on Pompeian toes. Appian makes no explicit mention of any of this, but his faithful use of Pollio’s account allows us to reconstruct through him the development of Caesar’s propaganda. Appian’s variation between Πρόγονος and Γενέτειρα is symptomatic of a more pervasive issue: there was no standard Greek translation of Genetrix. Dio and Appian, our Greek sources on her aedes and the ludi that Caesar held at its dedicatio, both understand her significance, but can be inconsistent and vague when naming her, and we must sometimes combine their accounts and draw upon other sources to determine which aspect of the goddess is involved. Some instances are fairly straightforward. When Dio mentions the completion of the aedes itself, for instance, he says that Uenus is its dedicatee because she is the founder of Caesar’s family (᾿Aφροδίτη ὡς ἀρχηγέτις τοῦ γε͂νους).²²¹ His term ἀρχηγέτις is a fair translation of Genetrix, though he uses it in an explanatory clause, not as a proper epiclesis. Yet he only employs the term this one time. When describing a later celebration of her ludi produced by Antony and L. Scribonius Libo, the consuls of 34 B.C.E., he names her ᾿Aφροδίτη Γενέθλιος, another satisfactory translation, but again, one that he never repeats elsewhere (C.D. 49.42.1). Dio’s other two references to Genetrix require more effort to identify because he refers to her temple in each case as an ᾿Aφροδίσιον. The term is annoyingly vague, since there were several shrines of Uenus within the city. One passage involves a celebration of her ludi held by Octauian, and Dio provides us enough context to guess the temple’s identity. According to him, the games in question had languished after Caesar’s death and were celebrated with renewed extravagance by Octauian as a responsibility attending his inheritance. The honoree should logically be Uenus Genetrix (C.D. 45.6.4). The inference is confirmed by Appian’s account of the same ludi, which specifies that they honored ᾿Aφροδίτη Γενέτειρα, the same phrase he earlier used for Genetrix in the forum Iulium (Ap. B.Ciu. 3.28[107]). Dio’s second reference to an ᾿Aφροδίσιον is made when he describes Caesar’s infamous failure to rise before a deputation of Roman senators, and it raises a more difficult problem of translation (C.D. 44.8.1). If a temple is indeed involved, then there is no question about the identity of the temple itself. Suetonius describes the same event and specifies that it occurred in the shrine of Genetrix

 C.D. 43.22.2; cf. Pliny HN 2.93.

Uenus

139

(Iul. 78.1). The problem is that Plutarch’s description of the same event in his Life of Caesar places Caesar above the rostra (ὑπὲρ τῶν ἐμβόλων, Caes. 60.4), which lay in the forum Romanum, not the forum Iulium. We know of no aedes Ueneris close enough to the rostra for Plutarch’s description to harmonize with Dio’s, let alone that of Suetonius. Either Plutarch’s topography is utterly different or the term ἔμβολοι refers to something else. The latter may seem unlikely, but there is precedent for a different translation in Diodorus, who refers to the consuls nailing the newly completed twelve tables to the ἔμβολοι (D.S. 12.26.1). Taken literally this would be impossible, since the prows that gave their name to the rostra would not be captured until more than a century later (cf. Livy 8.14). Diodorus would have known this. If he is using ἔμβολοι in a looser sense, however, meaning a generic speaker’s platform, then he could be referring to the tribunal in front of the curia Hostilia. Plutarch’s ἔμβολοι, construed in the same way, would place Caesar above some other tribunal that was set up in the forum Iulium, perhaps in or on the aedes Ueneris Genetricis, which would then match Dio’s ᾿Aφροδίσιον. Genetrix might also lurk behind a generic reference to Uenus at the end of Plutarch’s Marius, where the author appends a scathing description of his subject’s son. He writes that the lad at first seemed daring in war, and was called a child of Mars (παῖς Ἄρεως), but that his later deeds caused him to be named a son of Uenus instead (…᾿Aφροδίτης υἱός; Mar. 46.8). This reads like a generic indictment of a young man’s licentious character. Yet an affiliation with ᾿Aφροδίτη would be an odd choice for Marius Minor, who was infamous for his cruelty, not his amorous affairs.²²² It makes better sense if we think of Uenus as Genetrix, and understand Marius’ link to the goddess as genetic, through his mother Iulia, the same woman who would later be honored in a funeral oration by her nephew Caesar. Perhaps, in his brief struggle against Sulla, the younger Marius sought to leverage his Iulian ancestry, and his claim to be ᾿Aφροδίτης υἱός may even have inspired the later propaganda of his more accomplished cousin.²²³

 Uelleius calls him “…uir in bello hostibus, in otio ciuibus infestissimus quietisque impatientissimus” (2.23.1). According to the periochae, Livy told how the younger Marius had the senator S. Licinus thrown from the Tarpeian rock, and said that he committed many more crimes (scelera) before his death (per. 80).  Intriguing though it may be, this question does not involve translation in a literal sense. Plutarch never says Γενέθλιος, Πρόγονος, or Γενέτειρα, and it is unclear whether he himself is imagining a connection between Marius and Genetrix.

140

Syncretized Roman Gods

Uenus Libentina Probably a distinct funereal goddess at one time, Libitina was by the late Republic associated with Uenus as both Libentina and Lubentina. ²²⁴ The connection was etymological, based on a perceived link between Libentina and libere / lubere, referring to pleasure. Dionysius and Plutarch, our two Greek sources for this incarnation, transliterate only the -i- form of her name, as Λιβίτινα. Neither mentions the Latin etymology or associates her with pleasure. They are more interested in her identity and cult. Dionysius mentions the goddess while describing the annual census instituted by Seruius Tullius, citing as his source the Annales of the 2nd century historian L. Calpurnius Piso Frugi. Wishing to know how many Romans had been born, died, and come of age, the king supposedly instituted a tax for each, from which revenues he would be able to make an accurate count. The tax for those who had died was to be paid to a deity that Dionysius calls “Uenus in the grove” (᾿Aφροδίτη ἐν ἄλσει), whom he says the Romans also call Λιβίτινα (D.H. 4.15.5).²²⁵ In Dionysius’ day, the goddess’ aedes was situated in a grove, a lucus, probably near the porta Esquilina (cf. Asconius Mil. 33), so via that slight metonymy, substituting the goddess for the shrine, his description ἐν ἄλσει was literally true. Perhaps Romans referred to Libitina in the same way, but Dionysius does not say so. His epiclesis might just as well be an informal reference he uses in place of a different name used by Romans, perhaps Lucaria (see Coarelli LTUR 3.189 – 90 and 5.117). Plutarch in his Life of Numa discusses the nature of Libitina. He names her the “so-called” Λιβίτινα, a phrase that suggests he had seen or heard the name used in isolation, either in his sources or from his contemporaries. Yet when Plutarch describes her role as overseer of the sacred rites for the dead, he debates which goddess she really is, unwilling to consider the possibility that she was ever a goddess in her own right (12.1– 3). His first theory links her with Περσεφόνη, which is a logical connection to make given the latter’s role in the afterlife, but one not attested Latin sources. His second theory is that she is an aspect of ᾿Aφροδίτη. This is less obvious from the traditional Greek perspective, since Greek ᾿Aφροδίτη is rarely funereal, but within the rhetorical framework of Numa, in which Plutarch is dubious

 The process may have been underway already in the middle Republic; a Lubentia is mentioned in Plautus Asin. 268. It was complete by the time of Uarro, who derives both Libentina and Libitina from lubendo (Ling. 6.47). Augustine later inverted the shift in spelling, calling her Lubentina but deriving her name from libido (B.Ciu. 4.8). See Wiss. 245.  Iulius Obsequens 12 also mentions a prodigy that occurred in the lucus Libitinae in 166 B.C.E. See Cornell 1995, 179 – 97 for historical analysis of the census and of the organization of the Roman people and army.

Uenus

141

of Greek influences in early Rome, the very strangeness of the idea might have been appealing. He supports it further by placing the explanation in the rhetorically stronger second position and crediting it to λογιώτατοι Romans.²²⁶ Plutarch is more willing to blend Greek and Roman traditions when he discusses Libitina at Q.R. 269A–B. His question there is why Romans sell funeral necessities in the τέμενος Λιβιτίνης, by which he means the lucus Libitinae, Dionysius’ ἄλσος. He first states categorically that Romans reckon Uenus to be Libitina, leaving out the Περσεφόνη theory, which the Romans perhaps did not favor. He then offers two explanations for the practice that blend Greek and Roman ideas freely. Both are framed as philosophical innovations by the king (τῶν Νομᾶ φιλοσοφημάτων). One hypothesis is that Numa housed the sales within the lucus in order to teach Romans to tolerate the idea of death, and not to flee from it as from a pollution. The other is that he linked birth and death within the same goddess to remind Romans that everything born must die. As already noted, Uenus and ᾿Aφροδίτη were closely associated with birth in both Greece and Rome. They were both also associated with death, though less obviously so from the Greek perspective. This being the Q.R. and not Numa, Plutarch encourages their assimilation, adducing support from the Delphic statue of ᾿Aφροδίτη Ἐπιτυμβία, to which the dead are summoned to receive libations.

Uenus Murcia Originally a local deity of the Aventine, Murcia’s original significance had been forgotten by historical times and Roman antiquarians had resorted to etymological reconstructions. The most frequently attested of these derived her name from myrtle (myrtus / μύρτος), which led to an association with Uenus, to whom myrtle was sacred.²²⁷ Plutarch is the only Greek to mention Murcia, and only tangentially. His main point is to explain why Roman women exclude myrtle from their worship of Bona Dea (᾿Aγαθή; Q.R. 268E). In doing so, he reverses the proper chronology of the names Murcia and Myrtia, alleging that the spelling Murcia (Μουρκία) was a more recent innovation, and that Myrtia (Μυρτία), which had in truth been generated by later etymology, was really the earlier form. By this reversed reckoning, he can explain the exclusion of myrtle from public cult of Bona Dea as an exclusion of Uenus, who would be an unwelcome intruder in a rite whose celebrants were to  A likely candidate would be Uarro, who discusses Libentina, and whom Plutarch cites as an authority several times in the Lives and Moralia.  E. g., the sacellum Murteae Ueneris in Uarro (Ling. 5.154). See Linderski NP 9.313; Wiss. 242; Rosch. 2.2.3231– 3. On her temple near the Aventine see Coarelli LTUR 3.289 – 90.

142

Syncretized Roman Gods

remain ritually pure. Plutarch’s spelling of Μυρτία and Μουρκία also incorporates a vowel shift from υ to ου, representing a shift from Greek υ to Latin u, which would also imply a Greek origin for the goddess. Plutarch is not nearly so eager a proponent of Aeloism as Dionysius, however, and would probably not have generated such an idea on his own. He need not have done so. Latin support is found in Pliny the Elder, who also reverses the chronology of the names, and who also renders the “older” spelling as Uenus Myrtea, using y for the Greek upsilon (HN 15.121). Yet again, a seemingly Greek analysis is supported by a Latin source, and what appears at first blush to be a Greek hypothesis proves to be the end product of a long and invisible dialogue between Greek and Roman cultures.

Uenus Uictrix The two descriptions of Uenus Uictrix in Greek are found in Plutarch’s Lives of Pompey and Marcellus, and they have been so thoroughly adapted to their rhetorical context that they cannot be reconciled. In Pompey he gives a recognizably Roman account of the goddess, while in Marcellus he seems unaware that the aspect in question is Uictrix and puts forward the very un-Roman view that Uenus is opposed to war. The Pompey passage involves the subject’s temple to Uictrix, which was built into his theater complex in the Campus Martius (Gros LTUR 5.120 – 1). Plutarch mentions it in conjunction with a deceptive dream that visited Pompey before his defeat at Pharsalus, in which the doomed commander sees himself entering his theater to great applause and decorating the temple of ᾿Aφροδίτη Νικήφορος with spoils (Pomp. 68.2). The epithet Νικήφορος is applied elsewhere to various Greek gods, including ᾿Aθηνᾶ and Ἔρως (LSG, s.v.), but given Pompey’s close and recent association with the goddess – he had dedicated her temple only four years before – the reference to Uenus Uictrix is especially appropriate. The Marcellus passage concerns Plutarch’s description of the ouatio that was granted to his subject after his successes in Sicily in 210 B.C.E. (Marc. 22). This is one of our most important accounts of the Roman ouatio, describing at length its origins, procedures, and meaning. The relevant aspect here is its fundamental nature. Plutarch initially describes the parade as a lesser form of the triumphus (μέγας vs. ἐλάττων), a characterization that matches the assessments of many Latin sources (e. g., Livy 39.29.6; Gellius 5.6.21), and adds that the ceremony originally honored those who resolved disputes without bloodshed, a claim also made in Latin by Pliny the elder (HN 15.125). Plutarch then adds an explanation that departs from the known Latin traditions. One of the strongest arguments supporting an originally pacific ouatio, in his opinion, is that the crown worn by the dux

Uenus

143

ouans was fashioned from myrtle (myrteus = μυρσίνη), a plant associated with Uenus, whom he calls “the god who most despises violence and wars” This was generally true of Greek ᾿Aφροδίτη (e. g., Il. 5.426 – 30), but not of Roman Uenus, whose militant side could arise even in the bedroom, as it often does in the parodic bellum amoris of Latin love elegy. Plutarch’s assertion is even less appropriate for the specifically military aspect of Uenus Uictrix, which was the aspect involved in the ouatio. When Pliny describes the first ouatio, in the passage cited above, he corroborates Plutarch’s claim that the ceremony was created to celebrate the peaceful resolution of a dispute, in this instance between Rome and the Sabines, but he connects the corona myrtea to Uenus Uictrix, the least pacific aspect of the goddess. The underlying idea seems to have been peace through strength: triumphatores conquered in battle; ouantes won their victories through the threat of violence. Plutarch’s shift to an overtly Greek ᾿Aφροδίτη is probably no accident. By suppressing the Uictrix connection in Marcellus, Plutarch supports his portrayal of the general as more than just a brilliant tactician. Marcellus was a man of his times, and he embraced war enthusiastically, but he was also a philhellene, and if not for his circumstances he would gladly have acquired a deeper understanding of Greek παιδεία (Marc. 1.3). Greek historiography may preserve two other references to Uictrix, but both are problematic. One is found in Dio, who records a dire prodigy of 43 B.C.E., in which a large number of thunderbolts fell ἐς τὸν νεὼν τὸν τῷ Διὶ τῷ Καπιτωλίῳ ἐν τῷ Νικαίῳ ὄντα (C.D. 45.17.2). As already noted under Iuppiter Inuictus, Greek νεώς more often than not refers to the temple building, the aedes, so this phrase should mean “into the aedes of Iupiter Capitolinus in the Νικαῖον,” which would make no sense at all. One problem is the proper interpretation of Νικαῖον. There was a cult of Iuppiter Uictor established on the mons Quirinalis, and Dio’s reference to a similar lightning strike on the ara of Νικαῖος Ζεύς in 42 B.C.E. should probably be understood as falling upon that site (47.40.2), but there was nothing like it on the Capitolium, where the huge temple of I.O.M. was situated. By Νικαῖον, Dio could mean the shrine of Uenus Uictrix on the Capitolium, a cult site attested in the fasti of the Fratres Aruales, but if so, his combination of Νικαῖον and νεὼς τῷ Διὶ τῷ Καπιτωλίῳ remains problematic because Uenus had no part in the Capitoline triad.²²⁸ His claim that a νεώς of Iupiter Capitolinus lay within the Νικαῖον must be wrong. Somewhere in the two centuries between the reported prodigy and Dio’s time the details were badly confused. This in itself is not so surprising.

 See Degrassi Inscr.It. XIII.2, 37, 95, and 518. Uenus’ capitolium temple is never called aedes Ueneris Uictricis in Latin literature, and Degrassi is probably right to identify it with the aedes Capitolinae Ueneris mentioned twice by Suetonius (Cal. 7; Galb. 18.2; see Palombi LTUR 5.119 – 20).

144

Syncretized Roman Gods

More intriguing is the fact that Dio, a consul suffectus and resident of Rome who must have known the layout of the Capitolium well, did not notice the error. Evidently, he was not all that interested in the topography of the Capitolium complex. The second passage is found in Plutarch’s Life of Sulla, and concerns the trophies dedicated by Sulla after his victory over Mithridates’ forces at Chaeroneia. Plutarch describes Sulla’s dedicatees thus: τοῖς τροπαίοις ἐπέγραψεν Ἄρη καὶ Νίκην καὶ ᾿Aφροδίτην (Sull. 19.9). One interpretation of this combination would be Mars, Uictoria, and Uenus. Uictoria is not often connected with Uenus, but this translation causes no serious difficulty. Still, the conjunction of Νίκη and ᾿Aφροδίτη is intriguing, irregardless of Plutarch’s confusion of Uictrix’s role in Marcellus’ ouatio. Perhaps a καί has been interpolated into the text, and Plutarch originally wrote Νίκην ᾿Aφροδίτην. It would make sense from a Roman perspective for Sulla to honor Uenus Uictrix, just as Caesar would do in his uota to Uenus a generation later (Ap. B.Ciu. 2.69[284]). None of the manuscripts have it so, however, and we have no other sources for Sulla’s dedication that might corroborate the hypothesis.

Uesta As the goddess of the hearth, Uesta was a Roman deity of great antiquity, perhaps having entered Italy with the Italic ancestors of the Romans, or perhaps having joined the Roman pantheon in the archaic merger of Romans and Sabines.²²⁹ Greek influence was also important from very early on, and Greek and Roman sources alike always equate her with Ἑστία. Cicero even says that Greeks supplied her name (Nat. D. 2.67). Unlike Iuppiter, Iuno, and Uenus, Uesta had no distinctive Roman epicleses for Greek observers to discuss, but they did find certain alien aspects of her cult fascinating nonetheless. Much of the time they are focused on the uestales, the virgin priestesses of the goddess, who will be addressed in a later GRETL volume among the other sacerdotes. ²³⁰ Those passages aside, they address their attention primarily to Uesta’s temple, sacred hearth, cult objects, and her role in Rome’s foundation. First, though, there are three brief references that concern the goddess herself. Two are only anecdotes: Dionysius records the tradition that she was worshipped by T. Tatius (D.H. 2.50.3); Appian preserves a tale in which C. Fabius Dorsuo Gabinus

 See Phillips NP 15.339 – 40; Wright 1996, 28 – 78; Latte 108 – 10; Wiss. 156 – 61; Rosch. 6.241– 73.  Wildfang 2006 gives a comprehensive survey of their history and significance from the Roman perspective. See also Cancik-Lindemaier 1996.

Uesta

145

was allowed to pass through the Gallic siege of the Capitolium and make the annual sacrifice to Uesta. ²³¹ A third reference is in Diodorus’ translation of the Italian oath to Drusus (D.S. 37.11.1). As already noted, the Italians called upon Iuppiter as Capitolinus, using an epithet peculiar to Rome, and they distinguished Roman Mars from their own god by calling him paternus (πατρῷος). Uesta was common to Romans, Italians, and Greeks alike, and she lacked Mars’ genealogical connection to Rome’s founders, so the Italians could only specify Roman Uesta by being very specific, calling her Ἑστία τῆς Ῥώμης. From their perspective, the phrase would have been necessary to distinguish Rome’s Uesta from their own. It was also helpful for Diodorus’ readers, who had to distinguish her from Greek Ἑστία. Several Greek passages discuss the idiosyncratic aedes Uestae, the round shrine of the goddess situated at the base of the mons Palatinum. Since the building was never inaugurated, it was not technically a templum (Gellius NA 14.7.7; Phillips NP 15.339 – 40). As a consequence, Greek sources should properly refer to it as a ἱερόν or νεώς, and never as a τέμενος. Nor should they apply to it any of the usual Greek translations for augurare, such as τεμενίζω, οἰωνίζομαι, and διαμαντεύομαι. Surprisingly enough, whether by careful attention or pure accident, the Greek sources are all correct on this point. Their most common formula when referring to the shrine is νεώς Ἑστίας, which Plutarch and Appian employ throughout their works. The anonymous translator of Augustus’ Res Gestae uses the same phrase to render Augustus’ aedes Uestae (M.A. 21). Cassius Dio is the odd man out, preferring Ἑστιαῖον, a typical Greek coinage of the sort used for many Roman shrines (e. g., C.D. V.1 p.569). Greeks never use ἱερόν, but this is not significant since there is no semantic distinction between ἱερόν and νεώς. In most passages, the aedes is simply a landmark. This was where Romulus made his vow to Iuppiter Stator and stopped the Sabine rout of Rome’s army (Pl. Rom. 18.9). Numa was said to have spent much of his time in its vicinity (C.D. 1 V.1), which was perhaps why he built the regia adjacent to it (Pl. Numa 14.1). Octauian’s mother and sister met him there when he returned to Rome in 43 B.C.E. (Ap. B.Ciu. 3.92[280]). In the same spot, a century later, Otho’s henchman Murcus killed Galba’s heir Piso (Pl. Galb. 27.4). Plutarch is intrigued by the peculiar shape of the aedes itself. In actuality, its shape was a product of its great antiquity, being modeled after the round huts of early Latium (Ovid fasti 6.261– 2; Scott LTUR 4.125). Plutarch links its form to the sacred fire within it, which prompts a digression on the nature of the universe

 He cites as his source the 2nd century B.C.E. historian Cassius Hemina (Ap. Gall. 6.1). Cf. Livy 5.46.2.

146

Syncretized Roman Gods

(Num. 11). His explanation, whether taken from other writers or elaborated from his own ideas – the grammar of the passage makes the extent of his contribution unclear – adopts a philosophical perspective. He rejects an uncited theory linking Uesta with Tellus and instead explains the building’s shape using the Greek models of Pythagoras and Plato, who, he says, place fire at the center of the cosmos and call it Ἑστία. The temple itself would then represent the surrounding cosmos, the περιφορά. In a sense, Plutarch is trying to have it both ways in this Life. At many points he refuses to confirm Pythagorean influence on Numa (e. g., Num. 22.5), yet he repeatedly adduces ideas that would suggest it. Certainly, the idea of a cosmic Uesta is about as far from Diodorus’ Ἑστία τῆς Ῥώμης as one can get. Within the shrine was the sacred hearth of Uesta, which was analogous to the fires of Ἑστία that were maintained within the civic halls (πρυτανεῖα) of Greek cities. It was such a familiar concept that Greek writers mention it only in passing, and draw no significant distinctions between it and their own traditions. Plutarch mentions the hearth when discussing various philosophical theories of fire in the Life of Camillus (Cam. 23.4– 5). His analysis is a universal one reminiscent of the digression in Numa 11, and may have been worked up from the same notes. Dionysius explains the hearth by equating Uesta to the earth, contra Plutarch. Yet he too connects it to Pythagorean dogma, placing Uesta at the center of the cosmos, where she kindles the celestial fires (D.H. 2.66.3). Strabo mentions the fire when he describes the rescue of Roman refugees from the Gallic sack by the Caeretani. These refugees included the uestales, who carried with them the immortal flame of Uesta. Strabo and Dionysius alike call this flame τὸ ἀθάνατον πῦρ (5.2.3; D.H. 1.69.4), which is an accurate translation of the Roman conception, the ignis sempiternus of the focus publicus (cf. Cicero Leg. 2.20), but also a formula associated with Greek Εστία (cf. Theophrastus De pietate fr. 2.13). Greeks seem to have found Roman diligence in guarding the sacred fire more distinctive than the fire itself. Diodorus certainly seems to have been deeply impressed by the care devoted to it. In describing the Marian massacre of 82 B.C.E., he offers the conceit that the sacred flame, guarded for ages, might well have been extinguished by the blood of Mucius Scaeuola, the pontifex maximus, had that unfortunate victim chosen to hide within the penus Uestae (D.S. 38/ 39.17). The narrative is hyperbolic in general, and the reader may well wonder if the flame was really so small or Mucius’ death so bloody that such a thing would have been possible. And besides, the flame had been extinguished without cataclysm at various times in previous centuries. It is still noteworthy that Diodorus chooses Uesta’s flame as the most sacrilegious target imaginable for Mucius’ blood.

Uesta

147

Plutarch too emphasizes Roman religious scruples in his discussion of the fire in the Life of Camillus. Tradition held that many citizens in the aftermath of the Gallic sack had contemplated a move to Ueii, which had recently been captured and was still intact. When Livy describes the episode, he gives Camillus a very long speech opposing the people’s desires, in which the dictator includes the fire of Uesta among a host of other binding religiones, like Iupiter Capitolinus, Mars Gradiuus, Quirinus, the auguria, the auspicia, the puluinaria, the ancilia, altars, temples, and public sacrifices (5.51– 4). The people are moved by his speech, and an omen decides the issue (5.55.1). The same omen is also decisive in Plutarch (Cam. 32.2), but his preceding narrative is very different. He describes Camillus’ speech as lengthy (πολλά διεξῆλθε) but does not reproduce it. Nor does he give Livy’s long list of arguments. He mentions only two, and credits them to the senate in general. One concerns a human head that was discovered in the foundations of the Capitolium and taken for a sign that Rome would be head of Italy. The other is the sacred fire of Uesta, which imposed an obligation. It had been re-lit by the uestales after the Gauls had departed, and to put it out again and flee the city would invite reproach (Cam. 31.4). Livy and Plutarch both emphasize the coercive power of Roman religio, but Livy does so through an avalanche of examples, while Plutarch stresses the sacred fire as the pre-eminent Roman duty. The sacred objects (τὰ ἱερὰ) stored within the aedes Uestae had parallels in Greek culture, such as the objects shown to initiates at Eleusis, but the specific objects involved would still have been distinctly Roman. Dio mentions them but is not particularly interested, noting only their removal for safekeeping during the conflicts between Antony and Dolabella in 47 B.C.E., another example of Roman religious scrupulosity (42.31.3). Dionysius and Plutarch are more intrigued, recounting at length various theories concerning the existence and nature of the objects. Their sources fell into two camps. Some denied the existence of the objects altogether, claiming that the Uestales guarded only the sacred fire (D.H. 2.66.1– 3; Pl. Cam. 20.4– 5). Others claimed there were indeed sacred objects guarded by the Uestales and attempted to identify them. Dionysius goes into the greater depth, discussing the ἱερὰ in two extended passages. In one, he describes certain objects reportedly brought to Italy from Troy by Aeneas. These include the Palladium, believed to be the wooden statue of ᾿Aθηνᾶ stolen out of Troy by Odysseus and Diomedes, and certain cult statues from Samothrace, which he identifies with the Penates housed within the aedes deum Penatium on the Uelia. ²³² As usual, Dionysius is keen to elaborate on an aspect of Roman culture that connects them with Hellenic tradition, and he expounds for

 P&A 388 – 9; Palombi LTUR 4.75 – 8. See further under Penates.

148

Syncretized Roman Gods

quite a while on the origins of these objects and on various theories that extended the Homeric tradition (1.68.1– 69.4). He also offers his own opinion, which affirms the existence of the objects and gives Rome boasting rights over Greece. He demotes the Palladium stolen by Odysseus to a twin or copy of the true one that Aeneas rescued, and argues that the real Palladium lay within the penus Uestae, having been entrusted to the uestales and the pontifex maximus (cf. Ovid Trist. 3.1.29). In a later passage he adds further details. In support of the objects’ existence, he cites an inscription still extant in his day as evidence that L. Caecilius Metellus had rescued the sacra from Uesta’s shrine during the fire of 241 B.C.E. (D.H. 2.66.4; cf. Pliny HN 7.141). As regards their nature, he again mentions the Palladium and adds another theory, that the objects included the statues from Samothrace, the very ones that he identified as state Penates in book one. He suddenly calls a halt to his investigations, however. Whether inspired by Metellus’ noble example or making a rhetorical escape from confused traditions, he ostentatiously declines to pursue the question further, opining that religious consideration should prevent anyone from delving further into the precise nature of objects whose identity was supposed to be secret. Plutarch recounts some of the same theories as Dionysius within his Life of Camillus. He himself seems to take the existence of the sacra as a given, as is implicit in his narrative of their rescue by the Uestales during the Gallic siege of the Capitolium. ²³³ He does mention those who deny the existence of the objects, but drops the idea immediately and focuses on their nature. He begins with the most common theory (πλεῖστος λόγος), which linked them to the Trojan Palladium and the cult images from Samothrace. He ignores or is unaware of Dionysius’ claim that the latter ended up as images of the state Penates, adducing instead a curious idea, gleaned from other sources, that the Romans, like the Greeks, used the sacred fire to maintain the purity of the sacra (Cam. 20.5). Since this theory assimilates Roman religio to Hellenic practice, it should have appealed to Dionysius. One presumes he did not encounter it. At any rate, it seems not to have impressed Plutarch. He does not elaborate on it further, and offers no personal opinion on its validity. Instead, he discusses a tradition not found elsewhere, that the sacra included jars (πίθοι) that were rescued during the Gallic sack. There were supposedly two of them, modestly sized, one empty and the other full and sealed; they were stored in the aedes Uestae, hidden from all but the uestales. Plutarch is highly skeptical of the theory, and scoffs at its proponents for pretending (προσποιοῦμαι) greater knowledge of such affairs than others. He argues that the jar theorists had miscon-

 Pl. Cam. 20.3. The parallel account of Strabo 5.2.3 does not mention the sacra.

Uesta

149

strued stories in which the uestales had hidden Uesta’s relics away inside two jars during the Gallic sack, and had placed them under the aedes of Quirinus (Cam. 20.7– 8). Various permutations of this story are mentioned in Latin sources. Livy’s narrative of the sack includes the sacra, uestales, the flamen Quirinalis, and the jars (5.40.6 – 10); Uarro (Ling. 1.157) and Festus (179, s.v. Doliola) mention the jars and sacra, but not the priests; Ual. Max. (1.1.10) and Florus (1.7) mention the sacra, uestales, and flamen Quirinalis, but not the jars. None of these writers include jars among the sacra themselves or mention anyone who does; they seem not to have known or respected the sources Plutarch criticizes. Plutarch is also the only author to involve Uesta directly in Rome’s foundation, doing so in the Life of Romulus. He includes the usual account, the earliest form of which he credits to the Hellenistic author Diocles of Peparethus. According to it, the Alban king Amulius is warned by an oracle to fear the offspring of his niece, the daughter of Numitor, and so forces her to join the uestales (Rom. 3.1– 3). This is the version of the story followed by Dionysius (D.H. 1.76), Strabo (5.3.2), Cassius Dio (per Zon. 1.7 and Tzetz. ad Lyc. v.1232), and many Latin sources (e. g., Livy 1.3.11). But Plutarch also prepends a very different story that he found in a history of Italy composed by another Greek named Promathion (Rom. 2.3 – 8; FGrH III 203). In it, a phallus rises from the hearth of Tarchetius, king of the Albans, who recognizes a monstrum when he sees one and sends to the oracle of Τηθύς in Etruria. The disconcerting response is that a virgin must have intercourse with the phallus. Tarchetius, apparently expecting a good outcome, orders one of his daughters to do so. She is unwilling, understandably enough, and sends one of her maids to do it instead. Tarchetius discovers the substitution in the course of time, and is about to execute both girls when Uesta appears to him in a dream and forbids it. He instead orders the girls imprisoned, and sets them to weaving, promising to marry them off once they have finished their tapestry. By night, when the girls are sleeping, he orders his servants to undo their work, so that they make no progress. They are still incarcerated when the maid gives birth to twins. Tarchetius orders the children destroyed, but they are instead exposed beside the Tiber, from which point the story of Romulus and Remus progresses along more familiar lines. Through Plutarch, then, we have access to two very different versions of the foundation myth from two equally obscure authors, Diocles and Promathion, one of which became the main tradition while the other fell into obscurity. While Promathion’s unraveled tapestry is an overtly Penelopean touch, Roman and Greek traditions were already deeply enmeshed in the middle Republic, and we cannot for this reason alone consider Diocles’ version the more authoritative one. Perhaps Diocles recorded the dominant legend among Romans in the middle Republic. Perhaps his version was more prevalent among Greek and Roman anti-

150

Syncretized Roman Gods

quarians alike. Certainly, a decisive factor in his favor was the decision by Fabius Pictor, the first native historian of Rome, to follow his account (Pl. Rom. 3.1). If one of the philhellenic Fabii thought his version preferable, then many of Fabius’ contemporaries would have felt similarly. And by preferring Diocles’ version, Fabius lent it his authority, which would have aided its eventual ascendance over Promathion’s tale among Greeks and Romans alike.

Uictoria Greeks typically translated Latin uincere with νικάω. When Cassius Dio translates ueni uidi uici, Caesar’s famous dictum after the defeat of Pharnaces, he writes …καὶ ἦλθε πρὸς τὸν πολέμιον καὶ εἶδεν αὐτὸν καὶ ἐνίκησε (C.D. 42.48.1). He also uses Νικήτωρ to render Uictrix in the name of Roman legions (55.23.3 – 6). Other translations of uincere were occasionally used. When Dionysius renders the infamous Gallic uae uictis, for example, he uses the phrase ὀδύνη τοῖς κεκρατημένοις, not τοῖς νενικημένοις (D.H. 13.9.2). Still, νικάω seems to have been the usual choice, and the identification of Uictoria with Νίκη was a natural extension of the practice. The equivalence is confirmed by parallel Greek and Roman accounts of a prodigy in the temple of Uictoria at Tralles, as recorded by Plutarch (ἐν ἱερῷ Νίκης; Caes. 47.2), Cassius Dio (ἐν τῷ τῆς Νίκης ναῷ; C.D. 41.61.3), and Caesar (in templo Uictoriae; B.C. 3.105.6). Greek Νίκη was variously associated with Ζεύς, Διόνυσος, and ᾿Aθηνᾶ, while Roman Uictoria was only occasionally associated with Mars, and her cult was generally independent of other gods.²³⁴ The distinctions seem to have dissuaded Greek authors from embracing the syncretism whole-heartedly, and they are unusually careful about keeping specifically Greek conceptions of Νίκη out of their discussions of her Roman counterpart. Dionysius does cite an Arcadian story that Νίκη was the daughter of Πάλλας (here distinct from ᾿Aθηνᾶ) but he does not go so far as to claim that later Romans believed the same (D.H. 1.33.1– 3). Roman overlap between Uictoria and Uenus Uictrix did cause some confusion, yet among the various passages where the distinction between them might have been unclear, only Dio’s reference to a Νικαῖον on the Capitolium is truly problematic.²³⁵ Dionysius is the only Greek author to discuss the temples and cult of Uictoria, and does so only briefly, which might strike one as odd, given his Aeolism. The one  Whether worship of Uictoria arose in Latium in the fourth century B.C.E. (Miano) or in the third (Fears, following Weinstock), some Greek cross-pollination was certainly involved. See Miano 2016; Scherf NP 15.399. Fears 1981; Latte 234– 5; Wiss. 139 – 41; Rosch. 6.294– 302.  C.D. 45.17.2; cf. Pl. Sull. 19.9 and Ap. B.Ciu. 2.68[281], and see under Uenus Uictrix.

Uictoria

151

shrine he mentions is the aedes Uictoriae at Cutiliae (D.H. 1.15.1); neither he nor any other Greek ever discusses her temples in Rome. And his only mention of the cult of Uictoria is a brief description of the annual sacrifices to the goddess performed at the foot of the mons Auentinus. He notes that they had supposedly been performed since the time of Euander, which implies a link with Arcadia (D.H. 1.32.5). Another seeming oddity is Uictoria’s role in a grandiose delusion of Caligula. According to Cassius Dio, the mad emperor claimed that the goddess herself had placed a crown on his head (59.26.5). The whole episode might have been posthumous slander, but real or not, it seems to have had deeper roots. Caligula’s boast meshes well with a tradition recorded by Plutarch, according to which Romulus had a statue of himself erected in a temple of Uulcanus, with Uictoria crowning him (Pl. Rom. 24.5). Plutarch is the only author to mention the story, so there was probably no such statue in the historical period, but Caligula’s claim, real or alleged, suggests that the tradition may have had greater currency than we would otherwise expect, and among Romans as well as Greeks. Cassius Dio mentions the goddess Νίκη once more, but this time her connection with Roman Uictoria is indirect. The passage describes a victory revel celebrated by the Britanni under Boudicca, the queen immortalized by British legend and Tacitus’ Annales. According to Dio, the revel was held in a grove of the god ᾿Aνδάτη, which he describes as the local equivalent for Νίκη (62.7.3). Only Dio mentions this celebration, and ᾿Aνδάτη is never mentioned elsewhere in Greek. Nor does she appear in Latin sources, not even in Tacitus, who describes the war against Boudicca in some detail.²³⁶ Between Dio and Tacitus, however, we can reconstruct a hypothetical link between ᾿Aνδάτη and Uictoria. Within his Boudicca narrative, Tacitus records an omen that occurred in Camulodunum, the Roman capital of Britannia: a statue of Uictoria spontaneously toppled over, presaging Roman disasters against the queen’s forces (Ann. 14.32.1). Camulodunum was a colonia (Ann. 14.31.2) built on the site of an earlier Britannic town, so its population should have included resident Britons as well as Romans. The local statue of Uictoria that Tacitus mentions might have been seen as ᾿Aνδάτη by the local natives, or even as syncretic amalgam of the two goddesses, depending on the worshiper’s perspective. And the Romans in Camulodunum, who had been interacting with the Britons daily, may have done likewise, syncretizing ᾿Aνδάτη and Uictoria themselves. If so, Dio could have inherited the syncretism from his sources and applied the well-established UictoriaΝίκη equation to the amalgam.

 A further complication, irrelevant here, is Boudicca’s appeal to the similarly-named goddess ᾿Aνδράστη at C.D. 62.6.2.

152

Syncretized Roman Gods

The remaining Greek discussions of Uictoria resemble the passage of Tacitus cited above; they all involve the goddess’ statues as harbingers of defeat and death. These were evidently the sorts of colorful details Greek readers enjoyed, and Greek authors found them useful in building suspense. In one prodigy, a charioteer-statue of Νίκη on the Capitolium drops its reins, warning of Otho’s defeat by Uitellius’ forces (Pl. Otho 4.8). Another cluster of passages concerns omens preceding the battle of Philippi. Plutarch tells of one incident during the ludi celebrated before the battle, in which a man carrying a golden statue of Νίκη belonging to Cassius stumbles and drops the statue on the ground (Brut. 39.4). Dio recounts a similar incident within Brutus’ and Cassius’ castra at Philippi, in which a boy parading a statue of Νίκη falls and drops the image (47.40.8). Appian mentions a golden statue of Νίκη erected by Cassius that falls over, presaging its sponsor’s impending defeat (B.Ciu. 4.134[563]). All three stories are variants of the same motif, with Plutarch’s and Dio’s tales being especially similar. The deviations between them are probably the results of oral transmission or literary uariatio, whether or not a real event lay behind the tradition. Since the tale could be understood as demonstrating the goddess’ favor for the victors, its spread may have been encouraged by pro-Augustan sources. Dio is particularly fond of omens in which a cult statue of Uictoria miraculously faces itself in a portentous direction.²³⁷ According to Zonaras, he told of one such event from the early days of the Republic, involving a bronze statue of Uictoria that had been erected on a stone pedestal in the forum. One day it was found standing on the bare ground and facing in the direction of the approaching Gauls (C.D. 8 = Zon. 8.1.2). Most seers (μάντεις, perhaps haruspices) were frightened, but an Etruscan named Manius interpreted the prodigy as a good omen: Uictoria had advanced and was now standing on firmer ground, foretelling Roman success in the war to come (Manius was ultimately proven correct). In another passage, this time from an extant portion of Dio’s text, a Νίκη in Germania behaves similarly on the eve of the battle of Teutoburg forest. Dio does not tell us the specific location or nature of the statue. It could be a Roman simulacrum, perhaps within castra of P. Quinctilius Uarus; or it could be a German statue of an equivalent native god, much like the ᾿Aνδάτη in Britannia. The former seems more likely in this instance, since Dio refers to the portent retrospectively, saying Augustus was told after the battle about a statue of Νίκη in Germania that had spontaneously turned to face Italy (C.D. 56.24.4). Unlike Britannia under Nero, Germania Antiqua had no well-established  Not all of Uictoria’s statues were ominous. Augustus erected one in the Curia Iulia after he celebrated his triple triumph that stayed put (C.D. 51.22.1). The statues of Νίκη that descended into Metellus Pius’ banquets after he won a victory over Sertorius were lowered mechanically (Pl. Sert. 22.3).

Uolcanus

153

Roman colonies, and it is hard to imagine how Augustus could have learned about a native German portent so soon after the disaster.

Uolcanus Uolcanus was a very old Roman god, possessing his own flamen and an open-air shrine with an altar, the area Uolcani or Uolcanal, which was associated with the lapis niger and lay adjacent to the archaic comitium (Dumézil 1996, 321– 2). Syncretism had set to work early, maybe as soon as the 6th century B.C.E., and certainly by the 4th, by which time Greeks and Romans both equated Uolcanus to Ἥφαιστος.²³⁸ The assimilation was thorough. Uolcanus in Latin literature became a god of craft, e. g., the fabricator of the tubae in the tubilustrium (Fast. 5.725), and Roman monuments adopted iconography that was likewise typical of Ἥφαιστος (Rosch. 6.364). The same is true of Greek writers. They delve into the cult epithets of other heavily assimilated Roman gods, like Fortuna, Iuno, and Iupiter, but Uolcanus’ native epithets, like Quietus and Mitis, they ignore entirely. In their place we find the attributes shared by his Greek equivalent. When Plutarch tells of the Romans’ decision to honor Horatius Cocles with a statue for his defense of the city, for instance, he explains their decision to place it within a ἱερὸν Ἡφαίστου as a consolation for the lameness that the hero incurred on behalf of his fellow Romans (Pub. 16.9). The implication, of course, is that Uolcanus is himself a lame god and yet also deserving of great honor. Plutarch is thinking of Roman Uolcanus as Ἥφαιστος. Again, when Plutarch says at Q.R. 276B that a mythological explanation for a Ἡφαίστου ἱερόν lying outside the city might be thought “silly” (as already discussed under Uenus), he might be referring to the idea that Mars would be jealous, or the fact that the temple lay in the Campus Martius, or the conceit that Romulus would be worried about such a trivial thing. He is not calling into question the basic equivalence of Uolcanus and Ἥφαιστος. As often, Greek writers are interested in the god’s shrines. We know of two sanctuaries in Rome, the Uolcanal and the aedes in the Campus Martius, and they discuss both.²³⁹ Plutarch investigates the location of the shrine extra urbem at Q.R. 276B. After giving the mythological theory associated with Romulus and Mars noted above, he offers two pragmatic hypotheses. One is political, that Romulus and Tatius may have placed the shrine outside the city so that they and the sen Becker NP 15.496. See also Cornell 1995, 162– 3; Latte 129 – 31; Wiss. 229 – 32; Rosch. 6.356 – 69.  Strabo says nothing about Uolcanus’ cult or temples. His only contributions are brief descriptions of Forum Uolcani, which was a volcanic plain in Campania (5.4.6), and of the volcanic island Thermessa, which he calls Ἱερὰ Ἡφαίστου (6.2.10).

154

Syncretized Roman Gods

ators could confer in peace. Plutarch is the only source to attribute such antiquity to the aedes Uolcani; the temple was in actuality no older than the third century B.C.E.²⁴⁰ He has either preserved a tradition that granted equal antiquity to the god’s shrine in the Campus Martius or he has confused it with the Uolcanal (see below). Plutarch’s other hypothesis ties Uolcanus to the fires that always threatened the city: the aedes was built outside the walls in order to give honor to the god in the very act of banishing (ἐξοικίζω) him. In Plutarch, the shrine is simultaneously a bribe and an expulsion. The same theory appears in Uitruuius, but the Roman writer says that shrines of Uolcanus were built outside of the city walls at the behest of Etruscan haruspices, in order that his violent power might be called out (euocata) from the city walls through sacrificial rites (religionibus et sacrificiis; 1.7.1). Evocation and banishment produce the same result, but the attitude behind them is different. Plutarch makes Ἥφαιστος an outcast from Rome, while Uitruius emphasizes the bonds (religio) that tie him to the city. Uitruuius’ description also bears the marks of Greek influence, however. In the same passage, he lists two other gods whose temples were to be sited outside the city, Uenus and Mars. In mythology, these two deities and Uolcanus were involved in a lovers’ triangle. There were many other gods with temples in the Campus Martius that Uitruuius could have mentioned. The four temples in the Largo Argentina, for example, honored Feronia, Iuturna, Fortuna Huiusce Diei, and the Lares Permarini. ²⁴¹ His choice of Uolcanus, his wife, and his rival seems too pointed to be random. He gives separate explanations for each relocation, however, and makes no allusion to the relevant Greek myths (e. g., Homer Od. 9.266 – 366), so the Olympian soap opera serves no function in his narrative. Most likely, the combination lay in his sources. The coincidence of the same three deities in Plutarch’s “silly” theory of a jealous Mars supports this idea. The pragmatic Uitruuius seems to have suppressed romantic elements of an older tradition that was influenced by mythology. Plutarch has preserved these elements, though only so that he might explicitly reject them. Dionysius is the only Greek author who unmistakably addresses the Uolcanal. He never translates or transliterates the Latin term, preferring instead to refer to it as a Ἡφαίστου ἱερόν. Greek ἱερόν usually translates Latin aedes or refers loosely to a templum containing an aedes. The Uolcanal possessed no temple building, so if Dionysius knows what he is doing – and we should not doubt him without

 When Uarro (Ling. 5.74) credits T. Tatius with the dedication of an ara to Uolcanus he is referring to the Uolcanal.  See Coarelli 1999, 315 – 20.

Uolcanus

155

cause – his ἱερόν must mean something more generic, like Latin fanum. ²⁴² In the first of two passages, Dionysius notes that Romans in the days of Romulus and Tatius conducted their business in the Ἡφαίστου ἱερόν that had been built on the newly constructed forum (D.H. 2.50.2). The sacred precinct was not a large one, but the early population of Rome was likewise much smaller, so there is nothing inherently implausible about that. Somewhat more difficult is his later description of Appius Claudius getting up onto the shrine (ἀναβὰς ἐπὶ τοῦ Ἡφαίστου τὸ ἱερόν) and calling a contio, while his opponents gather in another part of the forum (D.H. 11.39.1). The preposition ἐπὶ poses no problem, but in combination with ἀναβὰς it raises a question of interpretation. Since the ἱερόν in question is in the forum it must be the Uolcanal, which had no aedes. Dionysius either means that Claudius went up vertically, to stand on top of Uolcanus’ altar, or he is using the verb in a horizontal sense, meaning that Claudius crossed the forum and went “up to” the Uolcanal (LSJ ἀναβαίνω II.3.b). Since Claudius wishes to address a contio, the former seems the more likely solution. Plutarch’s references to shrines of Uolcanus are more vague, and his lack of specificity suggests he was unsure of the number and location of the god’s shrines. When he mentions the statue of Horatius Cocles in a Ἡφαίστου ἱερον at Pub. 16.9, for instance, it is only through other sources that we can positively connect his reference to the Uolcanal (e. g., Uir. ill. 11.2). And his two references to a ἱερὸν Ἡφαίστου in the time of Romulus are confused by his false belief in the great antiquity of the aedes in the Campus Martius. The first reference concerns Romulus’ dedication of a quadriga (τέθριππον) from Cameria in the ἱερὸν of Uolcanus (ἐν τῷ ἱερῷ τοῦ Ἡφαίστου; Rom. 24.5), a story for which Plutarch is the only source. The Uolcanal had no building in which to house a quadriga, and even its templum, assuming the precinct had been inaugurated, would have been too small to contain one and still allow for the public business that Dionysius describes. Plutarch must either be imagining a very different Uolcanal or he is thinking of the Campus Martius temple. If the latter, then the definite article τῷ implies that the Campus Martius temple was the only one in Romulus’ day, when in fact the only known archaic shrine was the Uolcanal. Things are no better in a second passage, where Plutarch records a grotesque tradition of Romulus’ death: the senators murder the king in the ἱερὸν Ἡφαίστου, carve up his body, and smuggle the pieces out in the sinus of their togae (Rom. 27.6).²⁴³ The need for such macabre secrecy implies that the murder must have occurred outside of plain sight. The historical Uolcanal would not do at all.  Greeks generally use τέμενος to translate templum in a more specific sense (cf. D.H. 4.83.1; Ap. B.Ciu. 2.102[424]).  Livy refers briefly to this perobscura fama, but he does not mention where the senate met (1.16.4).

156

Syncretized Roman Gods

Again, Plutarch and his source are either imagining a very different Uolcanal, which contained an aedes, or he has transposed the event into the Campus Martius. Plutarch is usually a careful author. His errors here would have been impossible if he had known the city better from recent first-hand experience. As we have seen many times already, Greek writers and readers were fascinated by legends involving the gods and early Rome. Another such story was the tradition that Uolcanus fathered Seruius Tullius, a tale addressed by Latin authors (e. g., Ouid Fast. 6.625 – 8) and by Dionysius and Plutarch. Dionysius attributes his picturesque version of the story, which concerns a mystical phallus that rose up from the palace hearth, to various Roman historians and native accounts (ἐπιχώριαι ἀναγραφαί; cf. Cornell 15 – 16). In it, a servant of the royal family named Ocrisia is first to spy the prodigy and duly informs the queen and king. The queen Tanaquil, employing her Etruscan expertise, foretells that the woman who copulates with the phallus will bear a superhuman child. Since Ocrisia first saw the phallus, she is given the task of mating with it. She obediently does so and in due time gives birth to the future king. Dionysius writes that some of his sources believed the phallus belonged to house’s Lar familiaris (ὁ κατ’ οἰκίαν ἥρως), while others named Uolcanus.²⁴⁴ In other words, some emphasized the hearth and others the fire that it contains.²⁴⁵ The striking thing about this tale is its similarity to Promathion’s Tarchetius story, which also mentioned Uolcanus. ²⁴⁶ Clearly the same themes were passed around between Roman legends in highly complex ways, involving multiple generations of oral transmission and a later period of literary sifting and reconciliation. The same process led to similar duplication in Homer.²⁴⁷ Uolcanus may already have been present in the oral traditions, but he could as easily have been added in the literary stages, whether by Promathion or by other Greek and Roman commentators. The specific details are forever lost to us. What we can say is that Dionysius in particular found these legends fascinating, and was ever eager to incorporate them into his narrative, even when they did not directly support his  Pliny (HN 36.204) is among the former.  D.H. 4.2.1– 3. Ocrisia spies the phallus because it is her responsibility to carry cakes to the fire. This is a service typically offered to the Lares Familiares by a house’s uilica (Cato Agr. 5.3). Another intriguing link between Uolcanus and the Lares Praestites appears on a silver denarius coined by L. Caesius in 112 B.C.E., which on its reverse depicts the two Lares Praestites and their hound, with a tiny bust of Uolcanus floating at the top. Flower (2017, 111) suggests two reasons for the gods’ association. One is that the small shrine of the Praestites may have been located next to the Uolcanal in the forum. The other is that worship of the Praestites and at the Uolcanal were both traditionally linked to the Sabine king T. Tatius.  See above under Uesta and under Lares.  Cf. Calypso and Circe, Eurynome and Eurycleia, and Melantho and Melanthius

Uolcanus

157

Aeolism. It is one of his most engaging features as a writer, and a good antidote for his interminable speeches. Plutarch tells a similar tale of Seruius’ birth at De fort. Rom. 323C. Uolcanus and the Lar familiaris (here ἥρως οἰκουρός) are again the likely culprits. There are a couple of significant changes from Dionysius’ story, however. For one, Plutarch’s Ocrisia informs only Tanaquil of what she has seen, not Tarquinius, and so it is Tanaquil who shuts her in the room with the god. Ocrisia’s choice and Tanaquil’s actions in this narrative befit Plutarch’s description of the queen as an intelligent (συνετή) and sober (φρενήρης) woman. That is only a passing detail on the work, and not a running theme. More revealing is the anecdote Plutarch appends, a tradition that the adult Seruius’ face glowed while he slept, revealing his birth from fire. This tale Plutarch attributes to the Roman annalist Ualerias Antias. Clearly, Romans shared the Greek appetite for such fables.

Unsyncretized Roman Gods We now turn to a second group of gods, those who lacked a standard Greek equivalent. As polytheists, Greek writers had no fundamental objection to gods that were unfamiliar to them. And they had no problem recognizing the divinity of such gods because of their many temples.¹ The difficulties lay in describing unfamiliar Roman gods in ways comprehensible to Greek readers. In such cases, an old adage often applies: the less one knows, the more one can say. Occasionally, Greek writers do little more than transliterate the gods’ names, but they more often seek out analogies based on cult attributes or practices and describe them at imposing length, adding numerous details on the gods’ roles within Roman religion as the writers understood them. Some gods seemed familiar enough to suggest analogies from Greek traditions. Dionysius compares Consus with Ποσειδών, for example, though the parallel was not so well-known or widely accepted as for the more syncretized deities, and required explanation (D.H. 1.33.2). In such cases, as with the more fully syncretized gods, the assimilation is sometimes overdone. Most Greek interpretations of Egeria, for instance, associate her with the Μοῦσαι and obscure native aspects that are discussed only by Dionysius. Other deities, like Genii and many of the personified abstractions – uirtutes and utilitates, as Cicero and Arnobius name them – were more alien.² The underlying conceptions resembled Greek ones, but Romans externalized and divinized them more freely than Greeks did. To understand better the choices Greeks made in translating and discussing them, it will prove useful to expand the scope of our study to include Greek translations of the concepts they embodied. In more difficult cases, Greek authors had recourse to a pair of analytic crutches. One was the concept of ἥρωες, the legendary semi-divine ancestors of Greek aristocracies. Two obvious examples of this model from the previous chapter were the divinized emperors and Hercules. They also appear in this section among Greek analyses of Ianus and the Lares Familiares. More often, Greeks employed the concept of δαίμονες, divine beings who were related to θεοί, but of lower rank (Pl. Rom. 28.10). Greek writers apply this model frequently, for Egeria, for Faunus and Picus, for the Genii, for the Lares, and for Quirinus, among others. The idea is so generically useful that Dionysius often uses θεοὶ καὶ δαίμονες as a catch-all for Roman gods. Yet even here, the conversations underlying these texts were almost never restricted to Greeks alone. Cicero suggests δαίμονες as a translation for Lares

 E. g., those of Fides, Genii, Honos, Iustitia, Libertas, Pax, and Uirtus.  On the utilites, see Cicero Leg. 2.28, Nat. D. 2.60 – 2, Arnobius Adu. nat. 4.1, and cf. Dumézil 1996, 400 – 6. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783111072173-005

Aius Locutius

159

Praestites (Tim. 38). Macrobius, Ammianus, and Seruius join in linking Roman Genii to δαίμονες, and in particular to Socrates’ famous δαίμων. Throughout this section, we will continue to see abundant evidence that Greeks and Romans were equal partners in translating Roman gods into Greek.

Aius Locutius Several Latin sources record the tale of Aius Locutius, a divine voice that warned Rome of the Gallic attack in the fourth century B.C.E. The details of the story vary.³ According to the most prominent tradition, a plebeius named M. Caedicius reported to the tribuni that while walking on the Noua Uia he had heard a divine voice, which ordered him to warn the magistrates of the Gauls’ approach, and to tell them to repair the gates and walls.⁴ Nothing was done, however, and the city was sacked. After the Gauls exacted their tribute and departed, the Romans expiated their neglect of the voice by honoring one Aius Locutius on the Noua Uia near the lucus Uestae, at the spot where Caedicius heard it speak. According to Cicero and Uarro (per Gellius 16.16) the Romans dedicated an ara to the god; Livy (5.50.5) says it was a templum, perhaps using the term as a loose substitute for fanum. Cicero characterizes the voice as a ueridica uox ex occulto missa and calls it Aius Loquens, while Livy calls it simply uox nocturna. Cicero emphasizes elsewhere (Diu. 2.69) that no one had known the god beforehand, and that it had received its sedes, ara, and nomen from the event. Uarro too says that Aius was called a god, and that it received its ara on the Uia Noua from the diuinitus uox. The insistence of Uarro and Cicero on the unknown nature of Aius Locutius is surprising, given another Roman legend from the early days of the Republic. According to it, a similar divine voice had been heard more than a century earlier in the silua Arsia, a grove in the ager Romanus, and had declared the Romans victors in their initial battle with Tarquinius’ Etruscan forces, giving them the courage to fight on and ultimately defeat their opponents. Ualerius Maximus (1.8.5) and Livy (2.7.2) attribute this voice to Siluanus, an appropriate god for the rural locale of the prodigy. Dionysius claims it was Faunus (Φαῦνος; D.H. 5.16.2– 3), which is nearly the same thing, since many Romans equated Faunus with Siluanus (e. g., Origo gentis  The variants are laid out in full in Rosch. (s.v. Aius Locutius, 1.1.204, and Indigitamenta, 2.1.191– 2). See Dubourdieu 2008 on the opposition between Aius Locutius and the Roman gods of silence, Angerona and Tacita. Desnier 2003 discusses the god’s Indo-European context. Latte (51) notes a parallel with Πάν at Marathon (Herodotus 6.105), but Greek sources do not mention it.  Cf. Livy 5.32.6 and Cicero Diu. 1.101.

160

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

Romanae 4.5). Uarro (Ling. 7.36) and Seruius (Georg. 1.10) even derive Faunus’ name from such proclamations (i. e., from fari / fando). Perhaps the problem with Caedicius’ divine voice was that the urban location of the lucus Uestae was already too settled for rustic deities like Siluanus or Faunus. Plutarch, the only Greek to discuss Aius Locutius, focuses on the prodigy’s expiatio, which was performed under Camillus. He mentions it twice in the Life of Camillus (14.2– 4, 30.4) and once at De fort. Rom. 319a. According to him, M. Caedicius was an obscure man (οὐκ ἐπιφανής instead of plebeius), who told the tribuni (χιλίαρχοι) that he had heard a voice greater than human while walking down the Noua Uia (Καινὴ Ὁδός). He was commanded to tell the magistratus (ἄρχοντες) that the Gauls would soon arrive. After the Gallic sack and departure, Camillus erected an aedes (νεώς, Cam. 30.4) or abode (ἕδη, De fort. Rom. 319a) of Aius Locutius on the spot where Caedicius had heard the voice. The details of Plutarch’s account generally follow Livy, as opposed to Cicero and Uarro, but there are interesting deviations. The first is his description of the voice, one greater than human (μείζων ἢ κατ’ ἀνθρωπίνην). In the Life of Publicola he describes the divine voice in the silva Arsia in similar fashion, saying nothing of the god’s identity but noting that the ground shook and that the voice was great (μεγάλη) and divine (θειόν; Pub. 9.6). Livy and Cicero emphasize the voice’s nocturnal and mysterious nature, while Plutarch stresses its supernatural magnitude. A second change is in the nature of Camillus’ dedication. In the Life of Camillus, Plutarch seems unaware that the shrine in his own day was a hedged altar (similar to his misunderstanding of the Uolcanal). He does seem to follow Livy at first, but instead of translating Livy’s templum literally as τέμενος, meaning a consecrated space, he renders it as νεώς, a word better matching Latin aedes. Taken literally, this would create a false impression. No such building ever existed. In De fort. Rom., he takes a more cautious line with the figurative ἕδη. It was an earlier work, and perhaps Roman topography and the accounts of Cicero and Uarro were fresher in his mind at the time of its composition. The most intriguing aspect of Plutarch’s narrative is his name for the god, Φήμη καὶ Κληδών, which is a clever and sensitive translation. The Latin words Aius and Locutius are derived from generic verb stems for speaking, aio and loqui, but in their substantive form are only ever used together, and always when referring to the god. Plutarch could have chosen to render the name with a neologism, but found an even better solution. Φήμη and Κληδών, like Latin Aius and Locutius, are derived from generic verb stems, φημί, meaning simply “to say,” and κλέω, meaning “to speak of ” or “to celebrate.” Neither verb has any particular religious significance, but the substantives derived from their stems do. A φήμη is usually a prophetic or divine utterance, and a κληδών most often refers to a prophecy or verbal omen. By using them in conjunction, with a

Bona Dea

161

neat hendiadys thrown in for good measure, Plutarch has captured not only the meaning but the deeper connotations of the Roman god’s name. Plutarch’s topography may have been shaky, but his ear for Latin was very good.

Bona Dea Our evidence on the early history, nature, and cult of Bona Dea, which is summarized in Rosch. 1.789 – 95 and laid out in full by Brouwer (1989, 322– 8), is complex and sometimes contradictory.⁵ Dumézil (1996, 350), Brouwer (1989, 231– 53), and Wiss. (216 – 19) have analyzed it all and theorize, based largely on Uarro (via Lactantius, Diu. inst. 1.22.9 – 11) that Bona Dea may have begun her existence as an attribute of Fauna, who in turn began as a feminized version of Faunus and evolved into Faunus’ wife, sister, or daughter.⁶ The attribute then took on a life of its own. We can say little else with certainty. The goddess that emerged in historical Rome was an amalgam of a Greek and an Italian predecessor, with several cults of each so thoroughly intertwined as to be impossible now to disentangle (Versnel NP 2.218) Greek writers discuss Bona Dea because of her state cult, which was celebrated by elite Roman women each December. They are especially interested in the political ramifications of the rites held in 63 and 62 B.C.E.⁷ The first of these was the occasion of a prodigy that occurred during the Catilinarian conspiracy. When the women made their sacrifice to the goddess in Cicero’s house the sacrifical fire blazed up to great height. Cicero’s wife, Terentia, took this as an omen and prompted her husband to take vigorous measures against the conspirators. The rites of 62 were the occasion of the infamous scandal involving P. Clodius Pulcher and Caesar’s wife Pompeia. Dressed as a woman, Clodius insinuated himself into the goddess’ ceremonies, from which men were strictly excluded, apparently seeking a liaison with Pompeia. These same events account for a good deal of our Latin evidence for the goddess, including passages from Cicero’s speeches (Har. resp.

 See also Padovani 2020, Mastrocinque 2014, and the helpful summary of Brouwer by Versnel (1992, 32).  She is sometimes also called Fatua or Faula. Plutarch’s Φαβόλα at Quaest Rom. 272F transliterates Fabula, which is probably another name for the same deity (Wiss. 216 and n.3); Latte 228 – 31. See Marcattili 2010 for a fresh survey of the archaelogical evidence.  The same preoccupation explains the silence of other authors. Polybius lived too early; Strabo was a geographer, not a historian, and no cult sites were involved; Dionysius’ history ended in the third century B.C.E. Diodorus’ book 40 may have mentioned the rites, but little of it has survived.

162

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

37) and letters (Att. 1.12.3, 1.13.3), and from Suetonius’ biography of Caesar (Iul. 6.2, 74.2).⁸ The Greek authors who mention Bona Dea are Appian, Cassius Dio, and Plutarch, and all three offer at least some information about her state ritual. Appian and Dio demonstrate limited interest in the goddess herself, their main concern being the political importance of the prodigy in Cicero’s house and the scandal in Caesar’s. Plutarch gives his readers more, offering several colorful details about both occasions in his Lives of Cicero and Caesar, and investigating aspects of the goddess’ cult directly in Q.R. 268D–E. In all, there are six aspects of Bona Dea that draw Greek attention. One is her name; the others are the time, celebrants, location, origin, and performance of her state rites. Appian and Dio seem reticent to translate Bona Dea directly, perhaps honoring the Roman prohibition against mentioning her true name (Cicero Har. resp. 17.37). They instead refer to her obliquely via her ceremonies. Appian describes them in vague terms like μυστήρια (Appian Sic. 7) and ἱερουργία γυναικῶν (Appian B.Ciu. 2.2[14]); Dio prefers longer and more specific periphrases.⁹ Plutarch is similarly reticent at Cic. 28.2, but elsewhere does try to translate her name. He gives his clearest rendition when describing the rites of 63 B.C.E. in the Life of Cicero, where he calls Bona Dea “the goddess that Romans name ᾿Aγαθή and the Greeks Γυναικεία” (19.4– 5). Plutarch’s use of ᾿Aγαθή to translate Bona is straightforward, containing connotations of both “good” and “fortunate,” just the sort of name he might use if his readers had never heard of the goddess.¹⁰ His second offering, Γυναικεία, meaning roughly “the women’s goddess,” is more intriguing. If this was really the standard Greek name for Bona Dea, it means that Greeks were not only aware of the goddess but had developed a non-Roman way to refer to her that was both epexegetical and respectful of Roman religious reticence. Γυναικεία is an oblique reference to Bona Dea, not a translation as such, and is akin to the more elaborate periphrases in Appian and Dio, all of which were presumably motivated by the same kind of religious prohibition that had motivated the evolution of Bona Dea from Fauna centuries before. It also emphasizes her December

 Macrobius (Sat. 1.12.21– 7) takes a broader interest, going on at length about the goddess’ nature and rites, her connections with other gods (Iuno, Proserpina, Faunus), and her synonyms (Ops, Fatua, Fauna), including a Greek example that he probably drew from Plutarch (ἡ θεὸς Γυναικεία). See Mastrocinque 2014, 34– 5.  E. g., ἱερὰ ὑπὸ τῶν ἀειπαρθένων ὑπὲρ τοῦ δήμου ποιηθέντα (C.D. 37.35.4). A subsequent attempt verges on the ridiculous: ἱερὰ ἅπερ αἱ ἀειπαρθένοι παρά τε τοῖς ὑπάτοις καὶ παρὰ τοῖς στρατηγοῖς ἄγνωστα ἐκ τῶν πατρίων ἐς πᾶν τὸ ἄρρεν ἐπετέλουν (C.D. 37.45.1).  Cassius Dio’s ἀγαθὴ ἡμέρα for dies auspicata at C.D. 51.19.6 carries similar connotations.

Bona Dea

163

rites – ceremonies to which no Greek, let alone a male Greek, would be admitted – and ignores the other aspects of her cult. The reticence of Γυναικεία raises the question of whether Greeks worshipped the goddess themselves. As polytheists, they would have had no objection to her worship when in Rome. We possess epigraphic evidence of this in a late Greek inscription from the city. The stone’s exact provenance is unknown, but it resides now within the Villa Albani (Brouwer 1989, 40 – 3). It contains the epitaph of a young freedman named Aurelius Antonius who died in the third or fourth century C.E. at the age of seven (IG XIV 1449). His epitaph’s author transliterated Bona Dea as the single word Βοναδία, assuming that the stone’s readers, presumably Greeks visiting or residing in Rome, would be familiar with Bona Dea under her Latin name. The epitaph mentions the goddess in order to record the surprising fact that the young Aurelius already held an honorary priesthood of the goddess when he died, evidently an indication of the boy’s status and sadly unfulfilled promise. Yet this is the sole Greek inscription to mention the goddess; we have no evidence that there was a Greek cult elsewhere operating under the name Βοναδία or Γυναικεία.¹¹ Nor is Γυναικεία ever used as an epiclesis for a Greek goddess in literature.¹² Instead, the adjective γυναικεῖος generally refers to profane matters like women’s clothing and women’s quarters, and appears in various medical euphemisms (LS&J). When read carefully, Plutarch’s translations of Bona Dea in Caesar and the Moralia confirm this interpretation. When he introduces the scandal of 62 B.C.E., for example, he says: ἔστι δὲ Ῥωμαίοις θεὸς ἣν ᾿Aγαθὴν ὀνομάζουσιν, ὥσπερ Ἕλληνες Γυναικείαν…” (Caes. 9.4). Translated strictly, this means “The Romans have a goddess they call ᾿Aγαθή, just as the Greeks Γυναικεία.” The second clause is compressed. The verb elided must be ὀνομάζουσιν, since a recurrence of ἔστι would require Ἕλλησι, a dative of possession matching Ῥωμαίοις. The implied object of the elided ὀνομάζουσιν must then be something like αὐτήν, with the entire clause meaning, “…just as the Greeks (name her) Γυναικεία.” In other words, Γυναικεία was a Greek name for a Roman god. Plutarch’s translation of the goddess’ name at Q.R. 268D, contains a more elaborate version of the same formula. The introductory question reads, διὰ τί τῇ γυναικείᾳ θεῷ ἣν ᾿Aγαθὴν καλοῦσιν…μυρσίνας οὐκ εἰσφέρουσι;” Unless θεῷ is an interpolation, and we have no reason to think that it is, Plutarch is here using γυναικεία as an adjective in attributive position.

 Dionysius’ silence on Bona Dea is also worth noting. If the goddess had possessed a parallel in Greek cult, then that fact would have been useful evidence in support of his Aeolism.  Dionysius and Plutarch use Γυναικεία Τύχη for Fortuna Muliebris (D.H. 8.55.3; De fort. Rom. 318F), but never for a Greek deity.

164

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

His phrase γυναικεία θεός means “women’s goddess,” just as Γυναικεία by itself does in his Caesar and Cicero. The timing of the state ritual honoring Bona Dea is mentioned twice by Plutarch. The two passages likely drew upon the same notes, but the ritual itself was not Plutarch’s primary interest, and he divided the information he gives between the two works. He records in Cicero that the ceremony was held once every year (19.5); in Caesar, he says that its most important rituals were conducted at night (9.8). The latter fact is significant for the Caesar narrative. Rites performed in the dark are consistent with the hypothetical links Plutarch draws there between Bona Dea and Περσεφόνη and Ἅιδης, as also with the supposedly Orphic nature of the ceremony (Caes. 9.6). And from a more pragmatic perspective, darkness would have aided Clodius in his infiltration of Caesar’s house. Conversely, the annual repetition of the ceremony has no larger relevance to Plutarch’s narrative in Cicero, and seems to have been included merely for color. From his placement of events in that Life, Plutarch must also have realized that the rites were celebrated late in the year, but its December date is not important in that context, and he never mentions it. Appian and Dio join Plutarch in describing the women celebrating the rites, and naturally so, since the exclusion of men was a central feature of Clodius’ offense. Appian mentions that fact twice when discussing the scandal, once calling the ceremony “a religious service for women” (ἱερουργία γυναικῶν; B.Ciu. 2.2[14]) and elsewhere stating more emphatically that it was restricted to women alone (μόναις γυναιξίν ἐξῆν ἐσελθεῖν; Sic. 7). Dio’s lone comment is a bit more informative. When he explains the exclusion of men from Caesar’s house, writing that the ceremonies were by tradition “unknowable” to anything male (ἄγνωστα…ἐς πᾶν τὸ ἄρρεν), he adds that the Uestales performed the ritual (37.45.1). Plutarch is again informative and unsystematic. In Caes. 9.7 and Q.R. 268E he points out in language similar to Dio that all things male (πᾶν τὸ ἄρρεν / πᾶν ἄρρεν) were excluded from the ritual, while at Cic. 19.4 he leaves this detail implicit; conversely, it is in Cicero alone that he notes the presence of the Uestales, describing the celebrants in Caesar and the Quaestiones merely as women of Rome.¹³ It would have been a simple matter for Plutarch to combine these facts if he had any desire to do so. He clearly did not. He offers up some details because they bear directly on a work’s main themes, while he includes others for his readers’ edification and entertainment alone. We can hardly fault him for his priorities –

 According to Cicero Mil. 72– 3 they were nobilissimae. No Greek ever mentions their status, perhaps because the rite’s location, always the house of a magistratus with imperium, made it obvious.

Bona Dea

165

his purposes are not ours – but his scattershot approach does make it easier for an error to slip through, as one does when he describes the location of the sacrifice in Cicero. There, he says the rite was performed annually in the house of the consul: …κατ’ ἐνιαυτὸν ἐν τῇ οἰκίᾳ τοῦ ὑπάτου (Cic. 19.5). Such was not always the case, as he would have realized if he had paused to think about it for a moment. Caesar was praetor and pontifex maximus, not consul, when Pompeia was accosted by Clodius. Plutarch himself explains at Caes. 9.7 that the wife of a praetor could also host the ceremonies (…ὑπατεύοντος ἢ στρατηγοῦντος ἀνδρός). Had Plutarch limited himself in Cicero to the one relevant fact, that Cicero was barred from his house because his wife was acting as host that year, then he would have remained on safe ground. Instead, he threw in an extraneous detail, probably off the cuff, without vetting it carefully. Even Homer nods. Plutarch is the only Greek to discuss the origin and nature of the rites, and he treats them as two sides of the same coin, intertwining them freely in his narratives. Along the way, he records many details that no man save Clodius could ever have observed, which suggests that men were allowed to know something of the rites to Bona Dea, even if they were barred from participating. Plutarch has little to say about either in Cicero, where he mentions only the fiery omen that occurred during the culminating sacrifice. This confirms only that there was a sacrifice and that the Romans followed the usual Greek and Roman procedure in roasting the sacrificial animal (Cic. 19.5; 20.1). In Caes. 9.4– 8 and Q.R. 268D– E he says much more, including several details about the goddess herself, her annual rites, and the ceremonial preparations that these rites required. He begins his analysis in Caesar with three competing traditions of the goddess’ origin. The first, oddly enough, is the claim of the Phrygians, who believed she was the mother of their king Midas. This colorful detail has no bearing on Plutarch’s larger discussion, though it does further testify to an awareness of Bona Dea outside Italy. Next, Plutarch records the Roman claim on Bona Dea as a local deity. He notes both here and at Q.R. 268D that they called her the spouse of the god (or μάντις) Faunus. In Caesar, however, Plutarch calls her a δρυάς, a word with no Latin equivalent. The Romans had fauni, minor rustic deities, but never speak of faunae; the female equivalents seem not to have existed. Plutarch’s misrepresentation of the Roman view is not so much carelessness as it is an overreach in syncretization. He has excogitated the existence of Italian δρυάδες, perhaps reflexively, from the individual god Faunus, the fauni, and from the name Fauna, all of which he could find in Latin sources (e. g., in Uarro). The third claim Plutarch addresses is based on a mythological connection between Bona Dea and the unmentionable mother of Διόνυσος (ἄρρητος; Caes. 9.4). This must be an oblique reference to Περσεφόνη in the Ζαγρεύς tradition, according to which Ζεύς impregnated Περσεφόνη while in the guise of a serpent (Brouw-

166

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

er 1989, 340 – 8). The logic of this theory would have been obvious to many readers. The mysterious nature of the rites of Bona Dea and their restriction to women were themselves reminiscent enough of the Bacchic rites to suggest a connection with Dionysus, whether the Bacchanalia were actually a factor in the development of the cult or not. Plutarch nonetheless offers two further details – the use of serpent iconography and of vine branches to decorate the rooms (σκηναί) in which the rites were held – that for him (ὅθεν) demonstrate conclusively the link between Bona Dea and Περσεφόνη (Caes. 9.5). And in case his readers are not yet convinced, he reinforces the Dionysiac connection further via a link to Orphism, noting that the acts performed by the women during the ritual are reputed to be reminiscent of those used in Orphic cult (Caes. 9.6). Yet there is a disconnect here that Plutarch does not address. If Bona Dea were Περσεφόνη and Greeks did call Bona Dea Γυναικεία, then Greeks should also have addressed Περσεφόνη as Γυναικεία. They did not. Whoever concocted this third theory, it seems to have had no basis in actual cult, Greek or Roman. Plutarch notes four other aspects of the goddess’ cult in Caesar and the Quaestiones. Two of these, the presence of festivities and music, he inserts casually into Caesar as embellishing details (Caes. 9.8); two others, the ritual exclusion of wine and myrtle, are the foci of Quaestio 20 (Q.R. 268D–E). Wine is not is not literally excluded, but the wine used in the ceremony was called milk. Plutarch’s explanation for the practice is based on the old trope, common to Greeks and Romans alike, that women cannot handle their wine. According to the relevant legend, Bona Dea (here the wife of Faunus) was caught drinking wine by her husband and beaten with myrtle rods, which would also explain the exclusion of myrtle from her rites.¹⁴ Plutarch offers a second and more elaborate hypothesis based on the association of myrtle with Uenus. Roman women had to be ritually pure for the ceremony, and their preparations involved a period of celibacy. A plant associated with Uenus, according to Plutarch, would be unwelcome in such an environment. The link between Uenus and myrtle is as well-attested in Rome as it is in Greece (s.v. Uenus Murcia), but the extension of this idea to encompass the rites of Bona Dea appears nowhere else (Brouwer 1989, 337). Given its absence in Latin

 The tradition is also described in Lactantius (Div. inst. 1.22.9 – 11) and Macrobius (Sat. 1.12.24); see Brouwer 1989, 327– 36. The substitution of milk for wine in the cult of Rumina also catches Plutarch’s interest in Q.R. 278C–D and Rom. 4.1– 2. His explanation in the latter case is that rumina was the Latin term for teat (θηλή) – connected in legend with the ficus Ruminalis and the teat of the wolf that suckled Romulus and Remus – and that wine, unlike milk, is bad for children. On Rumina see Prescendi 2021; Wiss. 242; Rosch. 2.1.219 – 20. The Latin sources include Uarro Ling. 5.54; Rust. 2.11.5; Tertullian Ad nat. 2.11.

Carmentis

167

sources and the general narrowness of Greek interest in Bona Dea, Plutarch probably invented the idea himself.¹⁵ Aside from the stricter historians, like Thucydides and Tacitus, the bounds of genre were rather fluid in antiquity. Despite this, the degree of Greek interest in Bona Dea does follow stereotypical genre patterns. The historians Appian and Dio describe only one aspect of the goddess’ rites, and do so only to the degree necessary for readers to understand Cicero’s exclusion from his house and the Roman outrage at Clodius’ offense. In their narratives, the rite is subsidiary to the political events, and extraneous details are few, even though their readers would presumably be intrigued by a ritual that no man (with one notorious exception) ever witnessed. Plutarch was not writing history (cf. Pl. Alex. 1), and his narratives devote more time to the goddess. In Cicero his digressions on Bona Dea are brief; in Caesar, where Clodius’ voyeuristic intrigues are a central issue, he treats the goddess’ annual rites at greater length. In Q.R. 20 the rites become the chief object of his attention.

Carmentis According to Latin sources, Carmentis was a prophet and the mother of Euander, the Arcadian founder of Pallantium. In Uirgil, Euander tells Aeneas that he was led to found his city by the tremenda monita of his mother (8.335 – 6).¹⁶ Ouid calls her Euandri parens, Parrhasia dea, and Tegea parens, the latter epithets derived from two Arcadian cities (Fast. 1.617– 36). At Fast. 1.461– 586 he calls her Arcadia dea and felix uatis, and describes the journey of Euander and Carmentis to Italy, as well as their encounter with Hercules at the town of Pallantium and the establishment of the Carmentalia. The cult of Carmentis in the later Republic and Principate matched the literary tradition. As a supernatural being skilled in prophecy, she was thought to have special knowledge of the past and future. In particular, she was worshipped as a goddess who knew the outcome of childbirth.¹⁷ Her cult involved two aspects, with two separate altars. One was devoted to Carmentis Prorsa and the other to Carmentis Postuerta, which Uarro interpreted as rectus partus and peruersus partus, apparently meaning normal and breech birth (Gelius 16.16). Ouid gives her names as  If so, it was a perceptive guess. See Versnel 1992, 44.  The full collection of sources can be found in Rosch. 1.851– 4.  In actuality, her role in childbirth likely preceded her reputation as a prophet. See Padovani 2018, 219 – 22; Dumézil 1996, 392– 4; Coarelli 1988, 248 and 327; Latte 136 – 7; Wiss. 219 – 21; Rosch. 1.851– 4.

168

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

Porrima and Postuerta (Fast. 1.633), just as Seruius does in his commentary at Aen. 8.336. Macrobius (Sat. 1.7.20) describes yet another pair of epithets, Anteuorta and Postuorta, incarnated as attendants to the goddess (diuinitatis comites). Greek interest in Carmentis is uneven. She is entirely absent from Appian and Dio, which is not surprising given the paucity of fragments from Dio’s first book and Appian’s Βασιλική. It is more surprising that Diodorus ignores her, especially given his long narrative of Hercules’ Italian adventures (4.20 – 4), yet another peculiarity in that author’s idiosyncratic account of ancient Italy. Of the remaining Greek sources, Dionysius, Strabo, and Pausanias discuss only the activities of Carmentis at Pallantium. Childbirth has nothing to do with Arcadia or Euander, so that aspect of her cult either escaped their notice or failed to capture their interest. Not so for Plutarch, who examines this and other aspects of Carmentis’ nature and cult in Romulus and in Q.R. 278B–C. Between them, these four authors discuss the goddess’ name, nature, and prophetic abilities, and also touch briefly on the Carmentalia and the porta Carmentalis, a gate bearing her name that was set in the western side of the Seruian wall. Though Romans usually referred to the goddess as Carmentis, and only rarely as Carmenta (e. g., Livy 1.7.8), Greeks always used the latter name. Plutarch transliterates it as Καρμέντα; Dionysius, Strabo, and Pausanias use Καρμέντη. Carmentis could easily have been rendered in the consonant declension as Καρμέντις, Καρμέντιδος, etc., so the Greek preference for the more obscure name is not motivated by linguistics, and the usage is too consistent to disregard. Most likely the pattern was set by an influential source, probably an early authority writing in Greek, like Fabius Pictor. Greek authors also record Greek names for Carmentis that are absent from Latin. Some of Plutarch’s sources claimed that she was originally named Θέμις when she first entered Italy, while others said she was called Νικοστράτη (Q.R. 278B). Plutarch is the only author to mention the former theory; Strabo (5.3.3) and Pausanias (8.43.2) corroborate the latter. Dionysius and Plutarch also delve further into the meaning of the goddess’ name. Their explanations are all supported by Latin sources, though the original evidence for one of them has not survived. Dionysius gives only one etymology, doubtless the correct one, tying Carmentis to prophecy.¹⁸ He translates Carmentis as θεσπιῳδός, “singing prophetically” – an adjective that Euripides applies to the Egyptian princess and seer Theonoë (Hel. 145) – explaining that carmina (κάρμινα) is the Latin word for songs (ᾠδαί).¹⁹ Plutarch examines her name in Rom. 21.2– 3,

 D.H. 1.31.1. On the connection between Carmentis and carmen see Dumézil 1970, 392 n.35 and Ogilvie 1965, 59 – 60.  Ouid gives the same explanation at Fast. 1.467.

Carmentis

169

in a discussion of the Carmentalia, and in Q.R. 278B–C, where he discusses the foundation of her shrine (cf. Livy 5.25.9 and 5.34). One of his theories derives Carmentis from prophecy and is a fairly close match to Dionysius. Plutarch’s translation of carmina in both passages is ἔπη, however, not ᾠδαί.²⁰ The connotations of carmina, ᾠδαί, and ἔπη are quite different, and each author has had to make a difficult choice. Latin carmen connotes both music and magic, and Greek has no exact equivalent for it. A substantive equivalent of Dionysius’ θεσπιῳδός would have worked nicely, but no such noun existed. By using ᾠδαί Dionysius captures the musical aspect of carmina and de-emphasizes the magical element. Plutarch’s ἔπη does the reverse, Greek epic not having been sung for many centuries. His solution has the additional benefit of invoking Homer, which is an appropriate choice for a character who was important in Roman epic and was associated with Hercules and Aeneas. Plutarch also discusses another etymology in Romulus and Q.R. 278C that he considers more likely (πιθανώτερον; Rom. 21.3), one derived from the ecstatic mental state of the inspired. In Q.R. Plutarch explains that the name Carmentis means deprived of mind, ἐστερημένος νοῦ, and refers to the worshippers’ ecstasies (θεοφορήσεις). Oddly enough, in this work he leaves out the etymological basis for the connection, which is Latin, either assuming that his readers will not care or, more likely, that they will be able fill in the gap themselves. He makes no such assumption in Romulus, however, explaining through transliterations that Romans use carere (καρῆρε) for στέρεσθαι and mens (μέντεμ) for νοῦς, in other words, that Carmentis is derived from carens mente. Plutarch is the only extant source to employ this etymology, but the idea is not his own. In both passages he credits others for the explanation (οἱ δὲ ἡγοῦνται at Q.R. 278C; ἔνιοι ἀφερμηνεύουσιν at Rom. 21.3). Like Dionysius (e. g., on Fortuna Muliebris), he tends to trust native explanations more, especially in the Roman Lives, and the original sources for this etymology would probably have been Latin. The only question is whether he consulted them directly or through a Greek intermediary. Several Greek writers address the origins of Carmentis, though their specifics vary widely. For them, as for the Romans, Carmentis was an ancient figure associated with the origins of the city. Most associate her with Hercules and Pallantium (e. g., Q.R. 278F).²¹ In conjunction with his carmina etymology in Romulus, Plutarch

 Plutarch’s transliteration of the same word varies, however. At Q.R. 278C he gives κάρμινα, matching D.H. 1.31.1; at Rom.21.2 he uses κάρμενα.  Ouid connects their festivals too, tracing their inception to the time of Hercules, when Carmentis sheltered and fed Ino (Fast. 6.529 – 32). Plutarch mentions a tradition linking the Carmentalia and the Matronalia to the merger between the Romans and Sabines under Romulus (Rom. 21.1).

170

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

also mentions a theory that Carmentis was Euander’s wife (Rom. 21.2), while in our other sources, Greek and Roman, she is his mother.²² Pausanias and Strabo call her a νύμφη, the latter crediting the Romans for the idea (a claim corroborated by Uirgil Aen. 8.336). Pausanias further specifies that she was the daughter of the Arcadian river Λάδων (cf. Athenaeus 8.6), and that she conceived Euander after a liaison with Ἕρμης. Greek sources usually emphasize Carmentis’ prophetic associations, a trait shared by Latin sources. Livy, for instance, says that Euander’s people marveled at his fatiloqua mother (Livy 1.7.8). In Uirgil, Euander tells Aeneas that he was led to found Pallantium by Fortuna, fatum, Apollo, and his mother’s tremenda monita, then shows him the porta Carmentalis, the gate honoring the uatis fatidica who first foretold of Pallantium and Aeneas’ people (Aen. 8.333 – 41).²³ So too in Dionysius, where Carmentis (as Θέμις) tells her son of the fated apotheosis of Hercules (D.H. 1.40.2). Strabo describes the same legend and stresses her great skill in divination (μαντική, 5.3.3). Plutarch calls her prophetic (μαντική again), and inspired (φουβαστική) to produce oracles (χρησμοί Rom. 21.2; Q.R. 278C). Plutarch seems to address one other important aspect of Carmentis, her connection with childbirth, but his analyses are complicated by a false equivalence between Carmentis and Μοῖρα. His clearest remarks on the matter are found at Rom. 21.2, where he mentions some who linked Carmentis to childbirth and to fate in general. These observers thought Carmentis governed the birth of men (κυρία ἀνθρώπων γενέσεως), and identified this as the reason she was honored by mothers (μητέρες = matres? matronae?). The same writers also thought she was Μοῖρα herself, however, and by this equation they obscured Carmentis’ connection with birth.²⁴ They must have written in Greek, and used γένεσις to mean more broadly the “race” and “generations” of humanity, and not only the physical ordeal of childbirth. Romans did connect foreknowledge of childbirth with prophecy, but they never equated Carmentis with a fully generalized fatum.

Whatever her legendary origins, the antiquity of her cult is adequately demonstrated by the existence of the flamen Carmentalis (Graf NP 2.113).  D.H. 1.31.1; Q.R. 278B; Strabo 5.3.3; Pausanias 8.43.2; Livy 1.7.8; Uirgil Aen. 8.333 – 41.  Dionysius and Plutarch also mention the porta Carmentalis, but as a purely topographical reference. Dionysius calls it the Καρμεντίδαι πύλαι, in the idiomatic Greek plural, noting that it lay near the mons Capitolinus and that it was always kept open (D.H. 1.32.1– 3; 10.14.2). Plutarch uses the singular, Καρμεντὶς πύλη, when he describes Pontius Cominius using it to sneak through the Gallic siege of Rome (Cam. 25.3).  It is worth noting that Plutarch never says he himself believes that Carmentis is Μοῖρα, befitting the cautious approach he adopts in Romulus.

Clementia

171

The nearest they ever came to a god of fate was a late equation of the Parcae with Greek Μοῖραι. Plutarch explores the same link in the Quaestiones Romanae, and there is less explicit on the relationship between childbirth and fate. The former he addresses through a Roman tradition (λόγος) regarding a lex Oppia, passed during the second Punic war, that outlawed the use of yoked carts by women (Q.R. 278B). The Roman women responded to the senate’s interference by withholding sex from their husbands, determined neither to conceive nor to give birth until the men changed their minds. Their husbands of course relented, and the women went on to bear many healthy children and found a shrine to Carmentis in thanks. They must have done so because of the goddess’ connection with childbirth. Plutarch never makes this connection explicit, however.²⁵ He shifts to from childbirth to fate, and cites again those sources who reckoned Carmentis to be Μοῖρα, proffering this equation as the reason matronae sacrificed to her (Q.R. 278C). This is essentially the analysis in Rom. 21.2, but with the explanatory connection to γένεσις left out.

Clementia Roman worship of Clementia as a goddess began in the time of Iulius Caesar, when Cicero and perhaps others elevated the generic idea of clementia to a more specific Clementia Caesaris. ²⁶ The most prominent honors of this new Clementia were supposed to have been one or more aedes. The primary one in Rome was voted to Caesar by the senate in 44 B.C.E., but never built (Weinstock 1971, 241– 3, 308 – 10). We have descriptions of its intended form in Greek sources and prospective depictions of it on the reverse of denarii issued by P. Sepullius Macer in 44 B.C.E. (e. g., RRC 480/21). The interior was apparently supposed to have included a statue group of Caesar and Clementia clasping hands.²⁷ As a concept, clementia was also central to Caesar’s undoing: Cicero later admitted to Atticus that Caesar’s assassination

 Ouid’s version of the same tale does so, and ties her two festivals, the twin Carmentalia held in Ianuarius, to the promotion of birth (Fast. 1.627– 8). Plutarch probably did not know Ouid; his sole citation of a Latin poet is of Horace Ep. 1.6 at Luc. 39.5. Livy’s narrative of the event focuses solely on the carts themselves (iuncta uehicula, 34.1.3) and the political machinations that led to the repeal of the lex Oppia twenty years later (34.8.1– 3).  See Várhelyi 2011, 116 – 20; Pardo 2008; Bloch NP 3.427– 8; Weinstock 1971, 236 – 40; Latte 321– 2; Wiss. 335 – 6; Rosch. 1.910 – 12. Angel 2008 discusses Cicero’s denigration of Caesar’s clementia in the 2nd Philippic, composed a few months after the dictator had been assassinated.  Appian describes the two figures as ἀλλήλους δεξιουμένων (B.Ciu. 2.106[443]). See Palombi, LTUR 1.279 – 80.

172

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

was only possible because of his clementia (Att. 14.22).²⁸ It continued to be an important part of Caesar’s biography after his death. Suetonius comments that Caesar employed it in all his domestic and military affairs (Diu. Iul. 75.1). Uelleius claims that Caesar used all of his victories clementer (2.56). And for later emperors, clementia remained an important virtue, even if honored more in the breach than the observance. Hence its prominence in Augustus’ golden shield (discussed below) and in Seneca’s De clementia, which was addressed to Nero. Clementia was eventually adopted fully into Roman cult; Pliny places it alongside Spes and Honos in his sampling of the innumeri dei that people worship (HN 2.14). Greek writers show only modest interest in the cult of Clementia, but are greatly intrigued by the Roman concept of clementia, and especially its role in Caesar’s career. Since Clementia only rose to the level of a deity and a standard Roman virtue in Caesar’s day, it is nearly absent from earlier Greek authors. Diodorus ignores it entirely. The closest Polybius comes to mentioning it is his occasional mention of Roman φιλανθρωπία, which he usually treats cynically, as a tool of policy. He admits only three unalloyed examples: Scipio’s φιλανθρωπία towards Carthaginian ambassadors (15.4.9), the φιλανθρωπία of Marcellus’ reply to a Rhodian ambassador (28.17.2. 28.17.11– 12), and an attempt by Roman legati to convince Peloponnesian Greeks of the senate’s πρᾳότης and φιλανθρωπία (28.3.3). None of these examples is demonstrably referring to clementia as a later Roman or Greek would have understood it. Greek discussions of clementia become more prominent under the Principate. Translating the word was not a straightforward process, however, since Greek lacked a single word that captured the Latin term’s full connotations. One might have expected them to connect Clementia with Ἔλεος, a god personifying pity that had been worshipped at Athens and elsewhere since the 2nd century B.C.E., but they do not, instead equating ἔλεος with miseracordia (see Pisano 2012, 178 – 80). Their standard translation seems to have been ἐπιείκεια, which Plutarch (Caes. 57.4), Dio (44.6.4), and Appian (B.Ciu. 2.106[443]) all use when describing the goddess honored in Caesar’s temple. The Greek translator of the Res Gestae also uses ἐπιείκεια for clementia when describing the clipeus aureus that was mounted in the Curia Iulia to honor Augustus.²⁹ Dionysius mentions Romulus’ ἐπιείκεια after defeating the Crustumerii (D.H. 2.36.2), Tarquinius Priscus’ ἐπιείκεια after defeating

 Cicero was not the first to comment on the dangers inherent in clementia; Várhelyi (2011, 117) highlights earlier examples from Roman mime.  M.A. 34. The virtues he lists, ἀρετή, ἐπείκεια (sic), δικαιοσύνη, and εὐσέβεια, are a close match for the Latin in the Res Gestae and on the clipeus: uirtus, clementia, iustitia, and pietas. The fourth virtue, missing from the Latin text of M.A. and from CIL 9.5811, has been preserved on the marble copy of the clipeus at Arles.

Clementia

173

Etruscans (D.H. 3.60.1– 2), and the ἐπιείκεια of T. Quinctius Capitolinus towards Roman plebeii (D.H. 9.50.2). Dio praises the ἐπιείκεια that Caesar displayed towards Cassius in 44 B.C.E. (C.D. 44.8.1), and in describing the later triumuiri he contrasts Caesar’s ἐπιείκεια with their harsh policies (C.D. 47.13.4). Appian has Antony praise Caesar’s ἐπιεικεία in his funeral speech in the forum (B.Ciu. 2.36[144]). Ἐπιείκεια was not a wholly satisfactory solution, though. The verb εἴκω means to give way, to be lenient, and the noun ἐπιείκεια denotes the tendency to apply that leniency to others. While it does render the general meaning of clementia well, it misses the specific political connotation that the Latin noun had acquired in the late Republic, the willingness to grant pardon (OLD 1c). So when Greek authors describe the clementia Caesaris more broadly, as opposed to the newly minted goddess, they avail themselves of other terms, and vary between them freely. One common alternative is χρηστότης, which accentuates goodness and kind nature more than pliancy. Dionysius uses χρηστότης to commend Appius and the other decemuiri for acting out of the common good (D.H. 10.57.4), implying a more generalized public clementia than the personal virtue Caesar promulgated. Dio uses it several times of Caesar himself. For him, it is the primary trait that distinguishes Caesar from Sulla, who resembled Caesar in other ways but was merciless to his political opponents (C.D. 43.50.2). He also describes many of Caesar’s contemporaries as being aware of his χρηστότης, but unable to convince themselves that a man with absolute authority will persist in his remarkable forbearance (C.D. 42.27.4). Most intriguing is Antony praise of Caesar’s χρηστότης in Dio’s version of his funeral speech (C.D. 44.47.1), which is an exact parallel to Appian’s use of ἐπιεικεία in his own rendition (B.Ciu. 2.36[144]). Both writers set up an implicit contrast with Caesar’s assassins, many of whom were the beneficiaries of that same χρηστότης / ἐπιεικεία. A third translation, φιλανθρωπία, refers to a love of humanity that stems from a recognition of the humanity one shares with others. Xenophon had earlier praised the φιλανθρωπία of Agesilaus (Ag. 1.22) and Cyrus (Cyr. 7.5.73) in terms similar to clementia, so it was a natural choice for Greeks translating clementia Caesaris when the occasion arose. Plutarch, Appian, and Dio all employ it for the clementia that Caesar granted to Pompey’s friends and allies (Caes. 34.7; Ap. B.C. 2.41[163]; C.D. 41.63.5).³⁰ It is also prominent in Antony’s funeral speech for Caesar in Appian (B.Ciu. 2.33[133]), and even more so in Dio (C.D. 44.45.3, 44.46.5 – 6, 44.49.3). Appian twice contrasts Caesar’s φιλανθρωπία to his use of force: once when Caesar crosses  Plutarch does not mention the dangers inherent in Caesar’s clementia directly. That he was aware of them all the same is clear in the synkrisis of the Theseus-Romulus, where he makes a charge against Theseus that could apply equally well to Caesar: excessive mildness in ruling is an error stemming from ἐπιείκεια and φιλανθρωπία (2.3).

174

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

the Rubicon and conquers all he meets by βία or φιλανθρωπία (B.Ciu. 2.35[141]), and again after his enemies have been defeated (B.Ciu. 2.38[150]).³¹ When Dio describes Cato’s decision to commit suicide at Utica, he stresses Cato’s confidence that Caesar will gladly pardon him for the sake of his reputation for φιλανθρωπία (C.D. 43.10.3), a specific instance matching a more general comment in the Bellum Africum, whose author (perhaps A. Hirtius) has L. Caesar express to the people of Utica his confidence in Caesar’s clementia (88.6).³² Φιλανθρωπία is more difficult to pin down when Caesar himself is not involved. Its use is much broader than Latin clementia. The problem is mostly constrained to the work of Dionysius, who favors the term but restricts himself to the history of the earlier Republic. Most often he uses it for concrete acts, like Tullus Hostilius’ grant of royal property among landless Romans (D.H. 3.1.5) or the grain dole (D.H. 4.24.5). Hence his tendency to refer to plural φιλανθρωπίαι (e. g., D.H. 3.31.3, 3.71.5, 5.64.2), something the Romans never did with clementia. Even generic instances of φιλανθρωπία in the singular may have concrete acts behind them. At D.H. 7.53.3, for instance, when Ap. Claudius boasts that Romans do not even exclude refugee enemies from φιλανθρώπια, he is probably referring to an event described at D.H. 5.36.3, where Etruscan soldiers fleeing from a defeat by Cumae are received by Roman farmers with φιλανθρώπιαι, the plural referring to multiple instances of individual acts. Taken all together, φιλανθρωπία in Dionysius seems to mean something more like generosity, closer to Latin benignitas or benificentia than clementia. One other term used of Caesar with some frequency is συγγνώμη, which emphasizes his forgiveness. Plutarch uses it only once, when describing Caesar’s forgiveness of Dolabella (Ant. 10.2). It is more common in Appian, who notes Caesar’s forgiveness of Athens (B.Ciu. 2.23[88]), of Cassius (also B.Ciu. 2.23[88]), and of his own soldiers after a defeat (B.Ciu. 2.17[63]). He also uses συγγνώμη in his comparison of Alexander and Caesar, both of whom were quick to grant it to those they had defeated (B.Ciu. 1.34[151]). Dio mentions Caesar’s willingness to bestow συγγνώμη upon Pompey’s allies (41.63.2), but more often emphasizes its rejection by opponents like Dolabella (42.32.2) and others who sail to Africa in spite of Caesar’s συγγνώμη (41.63.2). The same is sometimes true of Appian, whose triumuiri, for instance, deny συγγνώμη to those who aid the proscripti, (Ap. B.Ciu. 4.11[43]), while their own offer of συγγνώμη to Messala is spurned by him (Ap. B.Ciu. 4.38[160]).  Seneca employs the same opposition between clementia and uis in his advice to Nero (De clem. 2.3.3).  Dio also says that C. Cassius gave up fighting when he learned of Pompey’s death and gained ἄδεια from Caesar (C.D. 42.13.5), but ἄδεια lacks the connotation of compassion. It generally refers to amnesty, and is closer to Latin incolumitas or indutiae (cf. D.H. 11.46.5, C.D. 21 = Zon. 9.30.1).

Clementia

175

The same authors often use ἐπιείκεια, συγγνώμη, χρηστότης, and φιλανθρωπία in ways that map well onto Latin clementia but have nothing to do with Caesar. They describe many Romans as being known for their ἐπιείκεια, like Flamininus (Pl. Flam. 17.1), Aemilius Paullus (C.D. 15.57.24), Scipio Aemilianus (C.D. 21.70.9), Cicero (Pl. Cic. 19.6), Augustus (C.D. 53.6.1), Tiberius (C.D. 57.11.2), and Uespasian (C.D. 65.8.4). The συγγνώμη of earlier Romans is a prominent feature of Dionysius’ Coriolanus narrative (see Várhelyi 2011, 121– 30). Both Lucullus (Pl. Luc. 32.6) and Augustus (Pl. Ant. 79.4) are eager to display their χρηστότης to others, the former to Greek cities and the latter to the defeated Cleopatra. The φιλανθρωπία of Pompey is a common theme in Plutarch, who commends it directly and indirectly in three different works (Pl. Crass. 21.3; Pomp. 22.2; Cic. 40.5).³³ Other proponents include Antony (Pl. Ant. 3.10), Augustus (C.D. 56.39.1), and Hannibal (Ap. Ann. 43). The most important example of φιλανθρωπία from a religious perspective comes from Dio, who describes the senate’s sacrifices to Caligula’s Φιλανθρωπία (C.D. 59.16.10). Dio is referring to Caligula’s attempts to restore the cult of Clementia to the prominence it had briefly enjoyed under Caesar, and he uses the term to translate Clementia as a goddess.³⁴ This is the only such usage in Greek that has nothing to do with Iulius Caesar. Since none of the Greek translations is a fully satisfactory substitute for clementia they are often encountered in combination. Least interesting are those pairings that are close enough to be nearly redundant, like when Plutarch praises the πρᾴοτης and φιλανθρωπία of M. Claudius Marcellus (Fab. 22.8), or when he names Marcellus as the first man to show Roman εὐγνωμοσύνη and φιλανθρωπία to the Greeks (Marc. 20.1). Another frequent combination is φιλανθρωπία and χρηστότης, which is used by Dio as well as Plutarch. When Dio discusses Pompey’s generous treatment of pirates who submit, he calls it both φιλανθρωπία (C.D. 36.37.4) and χρηστότης (C.D. 36.37.5). He likewise praises the φιλανθρωπία and χρηστότης of Pertinax (C.D. 73.5.2). Plutarch expresses admiration for Cicero’s φιλανθρωπία and χρηστότης in Sicily and in Cilicia and Cappadocia (Dem.-Cic. synk. 3.4). In describing Fabius’ rescue of M. Minucius and his army from Hannibal, however, Plutarch praises a less common combination, εὐβουλία and χρηστότης (Fab. 13.7); and in reviewing the same event in the synkrisis he shifts to praise of Fabius’ χρηστότης and φρόνησις (Per.-Fab. synk. 2.2). Each pairing comprises opposites, with εὐβουλία and φρόνησις referring to Fabius’ intellect. His χρηστότης, his clementia

 Plutarch’s depiction clashes with Pompey’s harsher reputation among his Roman contemporaries. Cf. Weinstock 1971, 237 and n.3.  Cf. Suetonius Cal. 16.4 and see Weinstock 1971, 241.

176

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

in Roman terms, must therefore emanate from a different, less calculating part of his character. A peculiarly Greek view on clementia is that it can conflict with justice, δικαιοσύνη, a trait that in isolation would normally be thought of as a virtue. Although Plutarch praises Lucullus’ δικαιοσύνη and φιλανθρωπία (Luc. 29.6), elsewhere the two virtues do not coexist so easily. He says that Cato Uticensis generally adhered to a strict δικαιοσύνη that did not bend to ἐπιείκεια (Cat. min. 4.2), and that he was inconsistent when he prevented the senate from expelling Q. Metellus Celer from his tribunatus, which Plutarch calls a token of his subject’s φιλανθρωπία and μετριότης (Cat. min. 29.4). M. Brutus did use ἐπιεικεία and φιλανθρωπία to win the support of the Lycians (Brut. 30.6) and was simultaneously thought of as δικαιότατος (Pl. Brut. 32.2), but Plutarch also includes Cassius’ complaint that Brutus was too δίκαιος in situations that called for φιλανθρωπία (Brut. 35.3). The harsher side of δικαιοσύνη is clearer still in Dionysius: L. Brutus, who executed his own sons for treason, later boasted to the people that no law had been violated by any ἐπιείκεια of his (D.H. 5.10.4).

Concordia The Roman goddess Concordia, embodying political harmony, was given cult as early as the fourth century B.C.E., and is attested by material evidence of the early third century as Cucordia. ³⁵ Such a date would be consistent with the tradition that her earliest temple was vowed by Camillus, though Camillus is now considered a fictional construct, and the existence of an aedes Concordiae at such an early date is disputed (Akar 2013, 18 – 19; Ferroni LTUR 1.317). Whatever its true origins, the foundation of the temple, its refurbishing, and various events that occurred within it constitute the primary interest for Greek authors. Unlike Clementia, the goddess Concordia generated a standard Greek translation, Ὁμόνοια.³⁶ Greek consistency in this regard stands in stark contrast to the variety of terms that Greek writers employ for agreements in general. These include διαλλαγαί, used for the reconciliation effected by the Sabine women (Ap. Reg. 5.2), ἀνοχαί, used for the truce between Rome and Fidenae (D.H. 5.60.1), and συμφροσύνη / συμφρονέω, used for many political alliances, such as those between Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus (Ap. B.Ciu. 2.9[31] & 2.14), between the triumuiri (Ap.

 See Akar 2013, 16 – 17; Bloch NP 3.681; Latte 237– 8; Wiss. 328 – 9; Rosch. 3.914– 22.  They are more consistent in this regard than even Uarro, who once refers to Caesar’s concordia as a synonym for clementia (Ling. 7.93).

Concordia

177

B.Ciu. 4.17[66]), and between Antony and Sex. Pompey (Ap B.Ciu. 5.56[15]).³⁷ But Concordia is always Ὁμόνοια. When Cassius Dio names the statues that Augustus had erected to Salus, Concordia, and Pax, for instance, he translates the recipients as Ὑγιεία, Ὁμόνοια, and Εἰρήνη (C.D. 54.35.2; cf. Ovid Fast. 3.881– 2). When he describes an ominous sacrifice offered to Concordia by the senate upon the accession of Caracalla, the recipient is Ὁμόνοια (C.D. 77.1.4). When Plutarch, Appian, and Dio mention the aedes Concordia they always call it ναὸς Ὁμονοίας or Ὁμονόειον. Plutarch is the only Greek who discusses the tradition that an aedes Concordiae was vowed by Camillus. According to him, its construction followed the resolution of a conflict between patricii and plebeii. On his way to a meeting of the senate in which the people’s demands are to be debated, Camillus turns towards the Capitolium and prays to the gods that the situation be resolved for the best, sealing his request with a vow to erect a ναὸς Ὁμονοίας. After much debate the senate concedes that one of the consules for the next year will be plebeius. The people are overjoyed and on the next day vote in assembly to build the aedes Concordiae (Cam. 42.4– 6). Ouid preserves this tradition too, he but only mentions Camillus obliquely by his nomen Furius (Fast. 1.637– 42). Because Plutarch discusses Camillus’ temple in the legendary hero’s Life, he naturally makes Camillus the central focus of his narrative. While there was more than one temple of Concordia in Rome, the primary one, the one Pliny the Elder refers to without elaboration as “the temple of Concordia,” was the shrine at the western side of the forum abutting the tabularium. ³⁸ It was erected by the consul L. Opimius after the murder of C. Gracchus and his followers. Neither Greek nor Latin authors make any explicit connection between this shrine and the one supposedly erected by Camillus. Appian says simply that the senate ordered Opimius to build (ἐγείρω) an aedes Concordiae in the forum (Ap. B.Ciu. 1.26[120]). The verb Plutarch chooses for its construction, κατασκευάζω, implies a new building, not a refurbishment of an older structure (Gracch. 38(17).8). The most intriguing detail of Plutarch’s narrative from a literary point of view is the reaction it provokes. According to him, the erection of an aedes Concordiae right after the murder of C. Gracchus angered the people, who felt it an

 Bianco notes three of these examples (2013, 313 n.10), and more generally has shown just how broad the Greek vocabulary of political reconcilation can be, involving a wide range of terms used equivalently. Most common are compounds built with the prefix ὁμο- (e. g., ὁμολογέω, ὁμοφρονέω, ὁμοδοξέω, ὁμοφράζω). See also Akar 2013, 38 – 40.  It is called templum Concordiae at HN 34.73 and delubrum Concordiae at 35.66; see Coarelli 1999, 78. Sources on the temple’s location are given by Ferroni LTUR 1.316 – 17. Other shrines, like the aedes Concordiae on the Arx and the aedicula Concordiae on the Graecostasis are mentioned in Latin sources (see Giannelli LTUR 1.321; Platner and Ashby 1929, 137– 8.

178

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

arrogant gesture, as if Opimius were celebrating a triumph over the murder of Roman citizens.³⁹ In response, some brave and clever soul climbed up to the new temple’s entablature and wrote a biting epigram under its dedicatory inscription: ἔργον ἀπονοίας ναὸν ὁμονοίας ποιεῖ, meaning roughly “a mad deed creates an aedes Concordiae.” This is a snappy phrase in Greek, metrical and alliterative. The original In Latin must have been something along the lines of factum insaniae templum Concordiae facit. Either Plutarch or a Greek source he employed took the trouble not only to translate the grafitto but to capture the vandal’s wit, and perhaps even to improve upon it. Opimius’ temple was the site of prominent events in late Republic history, and Greek authors recording those events sometimes specified the temple as a colorful detail in their narratives. The most famous episode is Cicero’s examination of the Catilinarian conspirators in a meeting of the senate held there, which featured the interrogation of captured informers and the revelation of incriminating letters seized from Allobroge ambassadors. These events are described at length by Sallust (Cat. 44.1– 47.4) and Cicero (Cat. 3.7– 15), and both record the site of the senate meeting as the aedes Concordiae (Sallust Cat. 46.5; Cicero Cat. 3.21). Though Plutarch includes fewer details about the episode, he too thinks the location of the meeting, the Ὁμονοίας ἱερόν, deserves mention (Pl. Cic. 19.1– 4). He begins his narrative with the fact that Cicero chose the site of the meeting (Cic. 19.1), so his emphasis is less on the numinous than on Cicero’s apt use of religion as propaganda: by denouncing the conspiracy in this particular temple Cicero constitutes himself as the agent of order and harmony. Later events involving the same temple are mentioned by Dio. Like Plutarch, Dio is attuned to Roman exploitation of the goddess for rhetoric and propaganda. The earliest example comes from the end of Cicero’s career, which Dio marks with two very long speeches. The first is an attack on Antony by Cicero himself, a Greek pastiche of Cicero’s Philippics (C.D. 45.18 – 47); the other is an equally long rebuttal by the consularis Q. Fufius Calenus (C.D. 46.1– 28). The latter in his peroration urges Cicero to oblige Ὁμόνοια, beside whom they were deliberating (C.D. 46.28.3). This would have been a particularly telling point against Cicero, for whom concordia ordinum was a key policy. A second example follows a few years later in Dio’s narrative, after Antony impulsively orders Sextus Pompey killed (35 B.C.E.). In a move reminiscent of Opimius, Octauian celebrates Antony’s defeat of Sextus by dedicating statues, presumably of Antony and himself, in the Ὁμονόειον, and by granting

 Augustine would later quip that a dedication to Discordia would have been more fitting (De ciu. D. 3.25).

Consus

179

Antony, his wife Octauia, and their children the right to dine there (C.D. 49.18.6).⁴⁰ Octauian’s political appropriation of the temple was rebutted by divine prodigy four years later, when the same Ὁμονοίας ναός was visited by an owl, one of the omens Dio records presaging the final conflict between Octauian and Antony (C.D. 50.8.2). Dio mentions the temple one other time, and for once there is no rhetorical legerdemain or civil conflict at play. The passage concerns Tiberius, who assigned himself the repair of the Ὁμονόειον in 7 B.C.E. Dio says that he did so in order to inscribe his own and Drusus’ names on the shrine (C.D. 55.8.1), a sincere expression of his affection and grief for his recently deceased brother. The work needed doing – the temple was over 120 years old by then – and offered a prominent way for Tiberius to honor his brother. Neither Uelleius nor Tacitus mention the work, so we have no evidence that it struck other Romans as particularly noteworthy in either a positive or negative sense. And since Augustus was only 56 at the time and his grandsons Gaius and Lucius were still alive, Tiberius’ gesture would not have been overtly linked to the imperial succession. Tacitus’ brilliant excoriation of Tiberius has so thoroughly destroyed the emperor’s reputation that we can find ourselves surprised when other writers portray him favorably, and reflexively doubt their sincerity or acumen. Uelleius’ effusive praise of Tiberius has probably damaged his own reputation beyond repair. At least Dio’s narrative here has no overtly self-interested agenda.

Consus There are two modern theories about the original nature of Consus, neither of which is promulgated by ancient sources. The older and better-established line of thought interprets him as a harvest god, whose name was connected with condere in its agricultural sense, meaning “to store away” (OLD 2). This would explain why the god’s festivals, the twin Consualia, were celebrated at agriculturally significant times, with the earlier one falling on August 21st, marking the gathering of the harvest, and the later one falling on December 15th, when the produce that had been stored away for the winter (e. g., fructus conditus) would have been running low. It would also explain why each of these festivals was followed by one honoring the goddess Ops, one on August 25th (Opiconsiuia) and another on De-

 The same cynical spin lay behind Caesar’s temple of Concordia Noua (ναὸς Ὁμονοίας καινής), a shrine that was voted in honor of Pharsalis but never built (C.D. 44.4.5; Ferroni LTUR 1.321).

180

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

cember 19th (Opalia).⁴¹ A more recent theory advanced by Richardson (1992, 100) argues that the original function of Consus was to mark boundaries, hence the location of the god’s ara at the meta Murcia of the Circus Maximus, which was also a boundary stream on the archaic pomerium. ⁴² Latin sources focus on three other aspects of the god.⁴³ One is the tradition linking him with the rape of the Sabine women, according to which Romulus had a festival of Consus declared in order to provide a pretext for snatching the women from their families.⁴⁴ The second is an etymological theory linking the god’s name to condere, not in the agricultural sense mentioned above, but meaning rather to conceal (OLD 5). Consus was therefore a god of consilium, of strategy, because consilium must be kept secret to be effective. This theory was thought to explain why the ara Consi was kept hidden, covered with earth except when sacrifice was made to the god during the Consualia and on July 7th.⁴⁵ The third aspect is the equine connection made between Consus and Neptunus, a combination that evolved because horses were held sacred to Neptunus’ Greek analogue, Ποσειδών. One prominent equine aspect was the tradition of crowning horses with flowers during the Consualia. Another was the performance of ludi circenses in the festival, an aspect highlighted by Seruius, who calls the god Neptunus equestris (Aen. 8.635 – 6). Livy likewise calls the Consualia held by Romulus Neptuno equestri sollemnes (1.9.6). While Greek authors discuss the same three aspects of the god, and others as well, it is Consus’ connection with Romulus and the rape of the Sabine women that draws most of their attention. Dionysius, Strabo, and Polyaenus all address it, as  See Green 2009; Bernstein 1997, 417– 19; Scheid NP 3.774; Ogilvie 1965, 66 – 7; Latte 73 – 4; Wiss. 201– 4; Roscher 1.924– 7.  See also Green 2009, 65 – 7. On the ara Consi see Marcattili 2006 and Ciancio Rossetto LTUR 1.322. Miano (2015, 110 – 16) questions the agricultural associations of Consus and the condere etymology in particular, and suggests a broader, more political sphere of influence under the Roman monarchy. His main focus is Ops, not Consus, so he does not address Richardson’s theory.  Tertullian (De spect. 5.5 – 7) is the only source to mention all three. He also describes an inscription on the ara Consi that is now doubted, though in his defense he never claims to have copied the text verbatim (ara…in circo est demersa…cum inscriptione eiusmodi).  Cicero Rep. 2.12 and Ouid Fast. 3.199 link this initial festival with the later Consualia. Uarro Ling. 6.20 makes a distinction between the original ludi at which the Sabine rape occurred and the feriae publicae, meaning probably the two Consualia contemporary to him. Seruius presumes a similar distinction when he places the date of the Sabine rape in Martius (Aen. 8.635 – 6), confusing thereby the Consualia and the Equirria, which were were no longer celebrated in his day.  Uarro per Paulus Festus 142 s.v. Consposos; Augustine De ciu. D. 4.11; Seruius Aen. 8.635 – 6; John Lydus De mag. 1.30. See Green 2009, 73. Ogilvie (1965, 66) draws a parallel between the ara and puteales, underground shrines found at Rome and in Etruria, suggesting that this aspect of the god developed under Etruscan influence.

Consus

181

does Plutarch in his Life of Romulus. The same might have proven true for Appian and Cassius Dio if the relevant portions of their histories had survived intact.⁴⁶ Greek interest in Roman cult, strong though it may sometimes have been, was in this case exceeded by the Greek appetite for dramatic legend. Dionysius’ account, the earliest Greek one extant, draws upon traditions that Dionysius never fully explains, and appears unable to reconcile. He begins further back in Roman legend than any other source, centuries before the birth of Romulus, with the Arcadian Greeks who had supposedly settled archaic Latium. These Arcadians established a templum (τέμενος) and festival (ἑορτή) for the god they called Ἵππιος Ποσειδών (D.H. 1.33.2, matching Seruius’ Neptunus equestris). According to Dionysius, this festival, which the Arcadians called Ἱπποκράτεια, was called Consualia (Κωνσουάλια) by the Romans of his own day. So without naming the god himself Dionysius establishes a Greek origin for Consus and an equivalence with Ποσειδών that he will maintain later, even to the point of confusion. In his zeal to highlight the Arcadian roots of Roman culture he will return repeatedly to the idea that Consus is Ποσειδών, ignoring the contradictions that the equation generates. As a result, his subsequent treatment of the Sabine rape is a morass, drawn from multiple contradictory traditions that appear in various combinations, without attribution or authorial evaluation. Dionysius begins with Romulus. Having decided that Roman men must acquire wives by any expedient necessary, the king makes a vow (εὐχαί) to the god in charge of unspoken counsels (ἀπορρήτων βουλευμάτων, D.H. 2.30.3 – 4), for whom he will perform annual sacrifices and festivals if his plot succeeds. There is an implicit connection between Consus and counsel here that would be transparent in Latin (e. g., consilium, consul), but it is invisible in Greek. If Dionysius is aware of the etymology he never says so, and any of his Greek readers who lacked Latin would surely be wondering who this god might be. Dionysius next describes a meeting of the senatus, in which Romulus gains its leave to proclaim a feast and festival (ἑορτή; πανήγυρις) for Ποσειδών. Why Ποσειδών? Again, Dionysius does not say. The citizens of neighboring states soon arrive at Rome to attend the ἑορτή, at which point the king performs θυσίαι to Ποσειδών, providing cover for his men to enact the rape. Dionysius shuffles the religious terminology around haphazardly: θυσίαι are vowed; a πανήγυρις is performed; the vow and the subsequent celebration both involve ἑορταί. But the confusion has little to do with the god, since the rape has not yet occurred. Whatever deity Romulus addressed in his uota, it has done nothing for him so far, and Romulus is not dam-

 As always in this volume, Polybius stands apart. He begins his history proper in the 140th Olympiad (Pol. 1.3.1; ca. 220 B.C.E.) and never looks back to earlier legendary material.

182

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

natus uoti. In other words, the festival, whatever its nature, is not planned in fulfillment of the vow. Dionysius’ baffling narrative reads as though Ποσειδών and the unnamed god to whom Romulus made the vow are distinct. Readers who knew Latin might have been able to make the Consus / consilium connection and combine it with the Arcadian link between Ποσειδών and the Consualia from the previous book, but that would be expecting quite a lot. And readers without Latin would have had no chance. Clarity is not forthcoming. Dionysius never mentions the vow again. He instead skips forward several centuries to describe the Consualia of his own day (Κωνσουάλια; D.H. 2.31.2– 3). He frames his description with the perplexing assertion that the Romans of his time still celebrated the ἑορτή that Romulus founded, thus conflating what appeared to be three separate festivals, the one Romulus vowed to the unnamed god, the one he held for Ποσειδών, and the later Consualia. He then describes the contemporary festival in some detail, including chariot and horse races, and sacrifices on a buried ara located by the Circus Maximus. He probably witnessed the rites himself, but he seems unable to decide who it was all for. He knows that the Romans called the honoree by the name Consus (Κῶνσος), but cannot decide whether Consus was really the Ποσειδὼν Ἵππιος honored by the Arcadians. His confusion was apparently exacerbated by his Greek sources. Some of them connected Consus with the Greek earthshaker (Ποσειδὼν Σεισίχθων), saying that the god was honored by an underground altar because Ποσειδὼν holds the earth (D.H. 2.31.2), an explanation that would remind a Greek reader of the epicleses Γαιήοχος and Ἐνοσίχθων. Others went only half way, agreeing that the festival and horse races were for Ποσειδὼν but not the ara. Greek Ποσειδὼν was never worshipped with an underground altar, so they thought the ara must have honored another, unspoken god (ἄρρητος) who governs secret counsel (i. e., the consilium etymology). Unable to synthesize his evidence into a coherent picture, Dionysius rhetorically throws up his hands, concluding with the lame assertion that the truth of the matter is hard to determine (χαλεπὸν εἰπεῖν; D.H. 2.31.3). In his brief treatment of Romulus’ reign, Strabo offers a much simpler narrative of the Sabine rape, confining himself to the interpretation that linked the Consualia to Ποσειδὼν. This would seem to be an odd choice, since Strabo is not a proponent of Aeolism. He says nothing of an earlier Arcadian festival to Ποσειδὼν, and disregards the Arcadian foundation legend as μυθώδης (Str. 5.3.3). He nonetheless allows a Greek deity into Romulus’ plot against the Sabines: “(The king) declared one cavalry contest sacred to Ποσειδὼν, the one celebrated even today” (5.3.2). Unlike Dionysius, who delves into the origins and nature of the god, and enmeshes himself in contradictory traditions from which he never extricates himself, Strabo blithely assumes the equivalence of Consus and Ποσειδὼν, and never allows himself to be distracted by ritual or etymological considerations. The resulting narra-

Consus

183

tive is certainly more coherent, but it also papers over all the intriguing complexities. Plutarch discusses Consus and the Consualia in his Life of Romulus (14.3 – 5). From a purely literary perspective his narrative is a marked improvement over those of Strabo and Dionysius, offering much more detail than the former, while presenting it in a more coherent fashion than the latter. Like Strabo, Plutarch says nothing about Dionysius’ Arcadian connection or the theories about Ποσειδὼν Γαιήοχος, restricting his focus to the link with Ἵππιος Ποσειδών and the etymological connection between Consus and consilium. He does not combine the two, however. Like Dionysius and Strabo, he never considers the possibility that Consus was both Ποσειδών and the god of consilium. The absence of an analogous connection in the cult and mythology of Ποσειδών must have precluded it. And he is no more able to ascertain the nature of Consus than Dionysius was. His explanations are still superior to those of his predecessors, especially his analysis of consilium, which is strengthened by its explicit basis in Latin. Plutarch’s Romulus prepares his assault on the Sabines by publicizing a rumor that an ara of a certain god (θεός τις) has been found buried beneath the earth.⁴⁷ The Romans then name that god Consus (Κῶνσος). Plutarch records two explanations of the god’s nature. The simpler one is that Consus was ἵππιος Ποσειδών. The reasoning behind it is a pragmatic one: the ara lay in the Circus Maximus, and was only uncovered during equestrian games (ἱππικοὶ ἀγῶνες). Because Plutarch links Consus with ἵππιος Ποσειδών in context, not in a separate discussion, as Dionysius does, the connection between Consus and horses is immediately obvious. This is not the whole story, as Dionysius’ account reveals, but Plutarch’s presentation is far easier to follow. His analysis of the consilium etymology is also clearer than Dionysius’ because he explains fully the reasoning behind it, by way of the Greek stem βουλ-: Consus was thought to be a god of counsel (βουλαῖος) because the Romans of his day called advice (συμβούλιον) consilium (transliterated κωνσίλιον), just as they called their leading magistrates (ὕπατοι) consules (transliterated κώνσυλες), by which they meant advisors (πρόβουλοι). Perhaps Plutarch is willing to give the necessary Latin explanation that Dionysius omits because he is less eager than his predecessor to assimilate Greek and Roman traditions. By doing so, he is also able to explain more clearly why the buried ara is linked to the god’s name: it makes sense that it would be hidden underground, since counsel (βούλευμα) should likewise be unspoken and unseen. In the same passage, Plutarch also attempts to explain the calendar dates for the Consualia and the Sabine rape that was associated with it. We know that there

 This is discussed briefly in Padovani 2018, 203 – 4.

184

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

were four public rituals to Consus in historical times: two sacrifices – one performed by sacerdotes and Uestales, and another held in the god’s temple on the mons Auentinus – and the two Consualia, at which the ara in the Circus Maximus was uncovered and used.⁴⁸ We know from the nundinae on the fasti Praenestini (Inscr.It. XIII.2, 17) that the later Consualia was celebrated on the 15th of December (i. e., a. d. XVII Kal. Ian.). The date for the earlier one, August 18th, is given by Plutarch. He is not entirely confident in linking the festival to the Sabine rape, however. In concluding his narrative of the rape, as a transition to his narrative of the Sabine women’s intercessio, Plutarch says that the outrage was perpetrated “round about” the 18th of the month then called Septilis (περί τήν ὀκτωκαιδεκάτην ἡμέραν, Rom. 15.7), on the same date that his contemporaries celebrated the Consualia, the 18th of Augustus (Αὔγουστος) as they called it in his day. He had no doubts about the date of the historical festival, but hedges his bets when connecting it to the legendary event. He must have encountered discrepancies about its date in his sources, perhaps from writers like Dionysius who thought the origins of the rites were Arcadian. One other equestrian aspect of the Consualia attracted Greek attention and contributed to the association of Consus with Ποσειδών: Romans gave horses and donkeys (or mules) a respite from their work during the festival and crowned their heads with flowers. We have no literary evidence for this practice in Latin, though it does appear in the fasti Praenestini. ⁴⁹ Dionysius mentions this aspect of the festival when discussing the Arcadian Ἱπποκράτεια, which he considers a pre-Romulan version of the Consualia (D.H. 1.33.2). Plutarch investigates it as an aspect of the contemporary Consualia (Κωνσυαλίων ἑορτή; Q.R. 276C), and as his first hypothesis wonders whether horses and donkeys are honored because the festival honors Ποσειδὼν Ἵππειος. In general, the consilium aspects of Consus might seem a poor fit for the Greek god of seas and earthquakes, but in this context the equation of the two gods was an easy one to make. Ποσειδὼν had often been called Ἵππιος in Greek (e. g., Aeschylus Sept. 130, Pausanias 7.21.7– 8, Orph. 17.2). Between the

 The Aventine temple sacrifice was probably performed on the date of the temple’s dedicatio, which was either December 12th per the fasti Amiternini (CIL 1.2.245) or December 21st per the fasti Uallenses (CIL 1.2.240). The sacrifice by the Uestales is dated to July 7th (nonis Iuliis) and the fall Consualia to August 21st (a. d. XII Kal. Sept.) by Tertullian (De spect. 5.7), and both dates are generally accepted today.  Degrassi reconstructs the text as Cons(ualia) n(efas) p(iaculum) feriae Conso equi et [muli flore coronantur], with muli reconstructed from Dionysius (Inscr.It. XIII.2, 17). The reason Degrassi prefers the mules (ὀρεῖς) in Dionysius’ account over Plutarch’s donkeys (ὄνοι) is unclear. There is no literary or historiographical reason to do so. It may be simple pragmatism. Mules are better plow animals than donkeys, and so make a better match for horses from an agricultural perspective.

Consus

185

equine crowning performed as part of the Consualia and the location of the ara Consi within the Circus Maximus, Greek and Roman observers alike had more than enough material to support a Consus-Ποσειδὼν parallel. The assimilation of Consus and Ποσειδὼν and the resulting confusion between Consus and Neptunus raises a couple of difficult problems in our sources. One wonders, for instance, which god Dionysius has in mind when he includes Ποσειδών in the first lectisternium (D.H. 12.9.2). Dionysius places Ποσειδών on the same couch as Ἑρμῆς, a seating arrangement that may have been inspired by the mercantile connections of Mercurius and Neptunus, but this is hardly conclusive. Consus and Neptunus were both ancient members of the Roman pantheon, and Dionysius’ Ποσειδών could translate either one. Another problem is posed by the appearance of Ποσειδών in a series of omens that Cassius Dio lists from 206 B.C.E., during the consulatus of L. Ueturius Philo and Q. Caecilius Metellus, among which the doors and ara of the Ποσειδώνιον sweat (C.D. 17 frag. 57.60). A temple building is implied by the term Ποσειδώνιον and necessitated by the mention of its doors, but is this an aedes Neptuni or Consi? When Livy describes the same series of portents he specifies that the site in question was the ara Neptuni in circo Flaminio (28.11.4): he writes ara, not aedes or delubrum. And Dio says nothing about the Circus Flaminius. There was an aedes Neptuni in the Circus Flamininus, but it was not erected until after 42 B.C.E., having been vowed by Cn. Domitius Ahenobarbus in association with his victory at Philippi (RRC 519/1). Was there an earlier aedes in the same spot? If so, we have no evidence for it. There may have been, and Dio may simply have failed to mention the Circus Flaminius. Livy could also have failed to mention the temple doors. But that is a lot of silence to overlook. We might instead be dealing with a confusion between Neptunus and Consus. The original sources on the Punic wars were Fabius Pictor and L. Cincius Alimentus, both of whom wrote in Greek and would doubtless have rendered Consus as Ποσειδών. Livy or an intermediary might have read Ποσειδῶνος βωμός in their lists of the portents, and would have mistaken a reference to an ara and aedes Consi for one to Neptunus. ⁵⁰ As for Livy’s detail about the Circus Flaminius, Ahenobarbus’ recent temple there held the only aedes Neptuni in the city. Livy could have added the association with the Circus himself.

 The aedes and ara on the mons Auentinus, associated with the triumph of L. Papirius Cursor in 272 B.C.E., are a likely candidate (see Festus 315 s.v. Picta toga).

186

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

Egeria Greek authors associate Egeria with the Μοῦσαι, a connection tied to the evolution of the Camenae, originally goddesses of springs, into goddesses of inspiration. Yet unlike Latin sources, who generally treat Egeria as one of the Camenae, Greek sources never merge them fully.⁵¹ As already noted under the Camenae, we read of Ἐγερία καὶ αἱ Μοῦσαι, not αἱ ἄλλαι Μοῦσαι. The competing traditions about her nature and origin probably hindered their assimilation. Ouid tries to reconcile these traditions in the Fasti and Metamorphoses. His more succinct account is in Fasti 3.261– 76: Tell me, nymph, you who maintain the grove and pool of Diana; nymph, spouse of Numa, I have come to your deeds. There is a lake in the vale of Aricia girt with a dense wood, revered in ancient religio; here lies Hippolytus…. A stony stream flowed down, its murmur unclear: often I drank from there, though with scant sips. Egeria is the one who offers her waters, a goddess (dea) pleasing to the Camenae: she is the one who married (coniunx) and counseled Numa.

At Met. 15.482– 551 Ouid combines many of the same ideas in a more elaborate framework. Egeria is again Numa’s nympha coniunx (15.482) and is associated, though more loosely, in Greek fashion, with the Camenae. After Numa’s death she abandons the city for the nearby uallis Aricina and disturbs the rites of Diana there with her weeping. Hippolytus appears and tries to console her with his own story (15.497– 546), but to no avail, and Diana turns Egeria into a stream (the metamorphosis of the tale). There are three primary traditions evident in both passages, and all three are attested in Latin and Greek sources. In one, Egeria is associated with Diana Nemorensis and with Uirbius, the deified Hippolytus; in another she is associated with the Camenae as a goddess of springs; in a third, the Camenae are more like Greek Μοῦσαι and Egeria is the advisor, lover, and sometimes wife of the lawgiver king Numa.⁵² The link between Arician Egeria and Diana is primarily attested in Augustan poetry. The main Latin passages are the ones already cited from Ouid, in which it

 Nor did Greek authors ever venture to explain her name. It may originally have been linked to the cognomen Egerius. Dionysius tells how a nephew of Tarquinius Priscus named Tarquinius Arruns formerly had the cognomen Ἠγέριος, meaning indigent, but received the cognomen Collatinus in its place after being given charge of Collatia (D.H. 3.50.3, 4.64.3). Livy mentions the same Egerius, but with no mention of the change in his cognomen (3.38.1). Cf. Latte 170 – 1.  There was also a Roman tradition associating Egeria with childbirth that is never mentioned by Greeks: Egeriae nymphae sacrificant praegnantes, quod eam putabant facile conceptum aluo egerere (Festus 192 s.v. Egeria nymphae). See Wiss. 248– 9; Rosch. 1.1216 – 17.

Egeria

187

predominates. In each she is (or becomes) the personified spring that flows into the lacus Nemorensis. Uirgil mentions this side of Egeria in Aeneid 7. His primary interest lies in telling how the son of Hippolytus came to fight alongside Turnus, so he notes only one aspect of Egeria’s nature, calling her a nympha, and adds only that her abode was a sacred grove in Aricia (7.763 – 82). He never mentions the Arician spring, which would invite complications with the Camenae. The only Greek to mention Arician Egeria is Strabo, as part of his description of Aricia and the lacus Nemorensis (5.3.12).⁵³ He describes her much as Uirgil does, noting only that one of the springs feeding the lake is called Ἐγερία and that it is named after a δαίμων. He never mentions Egeria in his description of Rome, so he is able to avoid the other traditions concerning her, an excision aided by the scant attention he accords Numa in his geography (only two brief mentions in 5.3). On the other hand, his decision to categorize Egeria as a δαίμων and not more specifically as a νύμφη, like Uirgil does, is symptomatic of a larger pattern that bedevils Greek sources on the goddess. Like Latin authors, they use many terms for Egeria, including νύμφη, δρυάς, δαίμων, and θεά, but they do not follow any perceptible pattern. Since they have no consistent opinion on her status the words they use to describe her seem to shift at random. Egeria is very strongly associated with springs in Latin. In the Ouid passages cited above, she flees to Aricia after Numa’s death and is transformed into a spring. Her historical progression was actually the reverse. She and the Camenae began as goddesses of springs, receiving sacrifices as such on the 13th of August, Idibus Sextilis in the Fasti Ant., and Egeria herself was worshipped at Aricia long before she was at Rome. Her cult later spread, and a grove around a perennial spring devoted to the Camenae was named the uallis Egeriae in her honor.⁵⁴ This uallis lay somewhere outside the porta Capena. It was formerly thought to have lain just outside the city walls (e. g., Hardie 1998, 238) but consensus opinion now places it between the 2nd and 3rd mile markers (van der Kraan 2001; Rodríguez Almeida, LTUR 1.216). The Greek syncretism of the Camenae and Μοῦσαι obscures this connection as well. The only hint of it lies their occasional reference to her as a νύμφη. Yet the equivalence of nympha and νύμφη must always be interrogated. Without context, νύμφη is as likely to translate a Roman sponsa as it is a goddess (cf. Pl. Cato mai. 24.2; Seruius Aen. 10.551). Even when it appears in an appropriate context, Greek writers themselves cast doubt on the term’s applicability to Egeria. Diony-

 Strabo spells her name Ἐγερία, while Dionysius prefers Ἠγερία. Plutarch seems to have used both spellings, the former appearing in the Moralia and the latter in the Life of Numa.  Livy 1.21.3; Tacitus Hist. 4.53.2. See Ogilvie 1965, 102.

188

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

sius calls her a νύμφη only once, while discussing her relationship with Numa, and then calls the whole story fantastic (μυθολογοῦσιν), countering it with other sources who claimed that she was a Μοῦσα (the Μοῦσαι-Camenae syncretism at work) or that the entire relationship was a fiction invented by Numa (D.H. 2.60.4– 61.3). The Plutarchan corpus contains an anecdote taken from the third book of Dositheus’ Italian history, which told of a Laurentine named Comminius Super who had a son with the νύμφη Ἐγερία (Parallela minora 314B). The fate of the boy, also named Comminius, is an almost exact parallel to Greek Hippolytus, an incarnation of the Roman Uirbius, so this tale must somehow involve Arician Egeria. But whatever we make of Dositheus’ anecdote, it is no evidence that Plutarch himself connected Egeria with springs. The one time he calls her νύμφη he specifies that she is a νύμφη δρυάς, a tree-spirit (De fort. Rom. 321B). The majority of narratives involving Egeria concern her role as an advisor and consort to Numa. In Latin poetry, traditions of her advisory and amatory roles are accepted without question. Martial mentions Egeria obliquely in one epigram as Numae coniunx (6.47); Juvenal calls her Numa’s nocturna amica (3.12; see Hardie 1998, 238). Prose authors are more eager to play the cynic, and they look askance at tales of her sexual congress with the king. Livy does not deny her existence or divinity, but describes Numa’s relationship with her as a fiction (1.19.5). The king needed a miraculum so that his backward people’s fear of the gods would make them adopt his reforms. He would go alone to an isolated grove as if to meet with the goddess, and he later consecrated the same grove to the Camenae because that was where their councils with his coniunx Egeria were supposedly held (1.21.3). Seruius is equally skeptical, saying Numa fashioned (fingebat) Egeria into his lover in order to strengthen the authority of his laws (Aen. 7.763). Dionysius is also concerned with the nature of Numa’s relationship with Egeria, yet in his extensive account he manages to keep sex entirely out of the equation (D.H. 2.60.4– 61.3). His narrative consists mostly of a collection of conflicting interpretations. The first and more fabulous assessments he attributes to Roman sources (Ῥωμαῖοί φασιν, 2.60.4), but as his analysis progresses it becomes less clear what admixture of Greek writers may be involved. According to him, some of the less skeptical observers related (μυθολογοῦσιν) that a νύμφη named Egeria visited Numa and taught him royal wisdom. Others disputed her identification as a νύμφη, implicitly rejecting the connection between springs and the Camenae, and insisted that she was a Μοῦσα. According to Dionysius himself, Numa’s contemporaries doubted the very existence of Egeria, at least until she prepared a miraculously sumptuous feast on his behalf. Throughout all this, Dionysius’ language remains prudent, couching the possibility of intercourse in ambiguous terms (φοιτάω, ὁμιλία). One would never guess that sex or marriage was involved.

Egeria

189

Dionysius concludes with the confirmed skeptics, those who exclude everything fabulous (τὰ μυθώδη πάντα) from history. They argued in much the same vein as Livy, saying Egeria was a fiction (λόγος), invented to make those who fear the divine obey Numa’s laws. These sources defended their assertions with Greek parallels, even claiming that Numa was emulating Greek lawgivers like Minos and Lycurgus, who bolstered their authority by appealing to the divine. Minos alleged that Ζεύς was his companion (ὀμιλητής), and said that the god accompanied (φοιτάω) him to a cave on the Dictaean mount – Dionysius is again vague about whether sex was involved – where he dictated his law code to him. Lycurgus had recourse to Apollo, having supposedly received his own laws from the god at Delphi. Dionysius refuses to pick a side in this debate, however. As with Consus, he ends with a platitude, not a conclusion, saying this time that a full explication of such μυθικὰ ἱστορήματα would take too long. For more explicit opinions we must turn to Plutarch, who is openly interested in whether Numa could have been in a sexual relationship with Egeria. His opinions are contradictory because he modulates them, as always, to fit their rhetorical setting.⁵⁵ In his more succinct treatment, that of De fortuna Romanorum 321B–C, Plutarch is receptive to the idea that goddesses once mated with mortals, only doubting the idea that a goddess had sexual relations with this particular man. He argues that the idea of Ἐγερία, a νύμφη δρυάς, a δαίμων σοφή, having intercourse (συνουσία) with Numa through love (ἔρως), and helping him educate the city and organize its constitution is probably too fabulous (ἴσως μυθωδέστερον; cf. Sm. 1082c). He concedes that men like Peleus, Anchises, Orion, and Emathion mated with goddesses, but sex with a god was a hazardous enterprise. Those other men all had unhappy lives. Numa’s reign was long and blessed, and this fact, for Plutarch, rules out the possibility of sexual congress with Egeria. Numa’s true partner (σύνοικος), councillor (σύνεδρον), and colleague (συνάρχουσαν) was not Egeria but good Fortuna (ἀγαθὴ Τύχη), a conclusion that supports Plutarch’s overall thesis perfectly. The question of a sexual relationship is also central in the Life of Numa, where Plutarch again rejects the idea, but from a different rhetorical position. As in De fort. Rom. he begins with the legend expressed in clearly sexual language: Numa was said to enjoy (γεύομαι) a more reverent companionship, and was thought worthy of a divine marriage (γάμων θείων), spending time with the δαίμων Ἠγερία, who was infatuated with him (ἐράω; Numa 4.1– 2). As before, Plutarch notes the

 Lambardi argues that Plutarch’s use of δαίμων for Egeria demonstrates his personal resistance to the idea of a goddess mating with a man (1988, 247 & 252). Plutarch is too rhetorically flexible for his own opinions to be pinned down so easily.

190

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

legendary parallels, this time citing Attis, Rhodoites, and Endymion. But this time he does not concede their truth easily. He allows that a divinity might enjoy the company of a man – the gods love humans, after all, not horses or birds (a wry observation) – but casts doubt on the idea that the gods would enjoy a mortal body (σῶμα, 4.4– 5). He reinforces his skeptical position by raising and rejecting an Egyptian distinction between male and female partners (4.6), and it would seem at this point that he wants his readers to reject all legends of human and divine sex, a sentiment that would fit in well with Livy and Seruius, and something his readers would probably expect in the semi-historiographical context of a political biography. Then he springs a rhetorical surprise, expressed in the sexual language of male pederastic affairs, of lover (ἐράστης) and beloved (ἐρόμενος). Love (φιλία) between a man and a god, and a lust (ἔρως) based on that love, might still be appropriate. Those who tell the legends (μυθολογοῦσιν) of Phorbas, Hyacinthus, Admetus, and Sicyonian Hippolytus being the ἐρόμενοι of Apollo are not wrong. Nor are those who say that Pan was the ἐράστης of Pindar (4.8 – 9). And if the truth of such tales be granted, then one should also concede that the gods really did advise great lawgivers like Zaleucus, Minos, Zoroaster, Numa, and Lycurgus. But the gods associate with lawgivers in earnest (σπουδάζοντες), for the purpose of optimal instruction and advice; the poets they use for diversion (παίζοντες, 4.11). Plutarch has split the pederastic model into two distinct types of relationship, one physical and sensual, the other spiritual and intellectual. The merely sensual relationship with the divine is reserved for poets, while statesmen receive political instruction. This suppression of physical intercourse matches a Platonic tradition, according to which the relationship between Socrates and Alcibiades honored the same dichotomy. In the Symposium and elsewhere Plato depicts Alcibiades as consumed by his attraction to Socrates, while Socrates is not interested in sex at all, only in the philosophical and political instruction of his beautiful young admirer (e. g., Smp. 215a4– 222b7). By extension, Plutarch readily concedes that Egeria had an intellectual bond with Numa, but they would not have had sex because their relationship was too serious for that. Having excluded physical intercourse from the Egeria legend, Plutarch is free to address it in purely intellectual terms, which he does twice more in the Life. The goddess is of great help to Numa and to Rome in Plutarch’s narrative of Iuppiter Elicius (q.v.), her advice enabling the king to moderate the horrific charm against lightning that he receives from the god (Numa 15.9). She is also invaluable in dealing with the ancile, a buckler that falls from the sky, the protection of which is thereafter bound up with the continued success of Rome (Num. 13.2– 6). She and

Faunus

191

the Μοῦσαι (i. e., the Camenae) explain its significance to Numa and spell out what the Romans must do to protect and honor it.⁵⁶

Faunus The Romans had many conflicting traditions about Faunus. He was sometimes a god, sometimes a demigod,⁵⁷ was variously named Faunus, Fatuus, Fatuclus, Inuus, and Lupercus, and was at times identified with Siluanus, Aius Locutius, and Arcadian Πάν.⁵⁸ He also had a wife, who was usually a nymph and was variously called Fauna, Fatua, Fatucla, and Marica. ⁵⁹ The singular Faunus was further complicated by the existence of plural fauni, magical agrarian beasts of a lower order.⁶⁰ Greek sources say nothing about Inuus or about alternative names like Fatuus and Fatuclus, nor about the temple of Faunus on Tiber island that was dedicated in 194 B.C.E. (Livy 34.53.3). Their attention is drawn to Faunus’ origins, his cult, and his role in Numa’s appeasement of Iuppiter Elicius.

 Ouid deals with both of these stories in Fasti 3.275 – 384, but in his account, Egeria plays a smaller role in the king’s successes. Instead of explaining the charm for Iuppiter Elicius herself, she tells Numa to capture and consult Picus and Faunus (3.289 – 92). Neither she nor the Camenae appear in Ouid’s narrative of the ancilia.  Seruius (Aen. 8.314) places Faunus among the Italian indigenae, which he translates with Greek αὐτόχθονες, not ἀβορίγενες, as Greek writers do. The remoteness of the tradition allows Seruius to be ambiguous about Faunus’ divinity. He cites Hesiod’s Theogony for the human decline from gods to demigods, then heroes, then good people, then wicked, but does not identify Faunus’ status along this continuum. He notes at Aen. 10.551 that Faunus was accepted into the number of the gods, but there too Faunus’ status before his apotheosis is unclear.  Livy equates Faunus with Πάν (Lycaeus Pan) and Inuus (1.5.2). The connection to Πάν is also in Ouid (Fast. 2.267– 82). The name Lupercus is found in Iustinus (Epit. 43.1.7). Seruius (Aen. 6.775) explains that the name of the Italian town Castrum Inui refers to Latin Inuus, who is also Incubo, Fatuus, and Fatuclus, as well as Greek Πάν and Ἐφιάλτης. See Graf LTUR 5.368 – 70; Latte 83 – 9; Wiss. 208 – 16; Rosch. 1. 2.1454– 60.  Macrobius cites Cornelius Labeo’ assertion that Bona Dea was also called Fauna, Ops, and Fatua in the libri pontificum; Labeo derived Fauna from fauere and Fatua from fari (Sat. 1.12.21– 2). Seruius explains that the names Faunus and Fatui referred to the god’s ability to predict future events (Aen. 8.314). The names Fatuclus and Fatua, as also Faunus and Fauna, are tied etymologically to prophecy via fando (Aen. 7.47). Bona Dea seems originally to have been one of Fauna’s epithets (Wiss. 216 and see under Bona Dea). The real origins of Faunus’ and Fauna’s various names remain uncertain (Drummond 1971; Radke 1965, 119 – 21).  At Aen. 8.314, the very same line that prompts Seruius to discuss Faunus, Euander tells Aeneas haec nemora indigenae fauni nymphaeque tenebant. Uirgil also invokes fauni and dryades puellae in the proem of the Georgics (1.10 – 11).

192

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

Faunus began as a demigod or hero, a part of the royal lineage in the first Italian kings. The genealogy most influential on later Latin authors is the one in Uirgil, who derives the royal line from Saturnus, who begets Picus, who in turn begets Faunus, who then copulates with the nymph Marica and produces Latinus, whose daughter Lauinia eventually marries Aeneas.⁶¹ Through this marriage, Uirgil makes Faunus the great-grandfather of Ascanius, and places him in the line leading to Caesar and Augustus. Faunus must have joined the gods by death or transfiguration soon after begetting Latinus, for when the adult Latinus is disturbed by portents he is able to consult Faunus, his fatidicus father (Aen. 7.81– 2).⁶² Uirgil expands the genealogy further at Aen. 10.551, where he introduces an Italian Tarquitus, who is the son of Faunus and the nymph Dryope. ⁶³ Seruius corroborates Uirgil’s link between Faunus and Picus in his comment to Aen. 8.314, and he adds a further branch to the tree by making Bona Dea the daughter of Faunus (as had Cornelius Labeo, per Macrobius). Where the Latin sources generally emphasize Faunus’ connections to the Italic peoples, Greek sources are more interested in traditions linking Faunus to Euander and Ἡρακλῆς. There are many different variations, none of which matches Uirgil and Seruius in all of their particulars. Nor do the Greek sources weigh the variants against one another, not even Plutarch, who engages frequently in such debates in the Q.R. Dionysius’ discussion of Faunus’ genealogy is the most extensive, and his account will serve as the framework into which we can add the details given by the other Greek authors, and to which we can then compare the Uirgilian tradition. He begins by deriving Faunus’ line from Ἄρης, not from Saturnus (D.H. 1.31.2). He resists the tradition of a divine king, however, conceding that the Romans of his day worshipped Faunus with ancient sacrifices and songs as one of their native divinities (τῶν ἐπιχωρίων δαιμόνων), but distancing himself from the claim (ὥς φασιν) and emphasizing Faunus’ mortal status (as ἄνηρ) at the time of his rule. He also describes this descendant of Ἄρης – the number of intervening generations being unstated – as king of the ᾿Aβοριγῖνες, employing a term that is a distinctive feature of his history. Aborigines is a Latin compound that Dionysius uses dozens

 Aen. 7.45 – 9. Cf. also Suetonius Uit. 1; Arnobius 2.71; Lactantius Diu. inst. 1.22.9; Augustine De ciu. D. 8.5 and 18.15 – 16.  Seruius ad loc. draws upon a Greek etymology to elucidate the prophetic significance of Faunus, saying his name comes from the Greek ἀπὸ τῆς φωνῆς and signifies that he reveals the future by voice, not by signs. The idea is a linguistic fallacy, perhaps inspired by the connection between Faunus and Aius Locutius.  Seruius emphasizes ad loc. that Faunus did not beget Tarquitus after his apotheosis. It either occurred beforehand or Uirgil is introducing a different Faunus (quidam rusticus…non deus).

Faunus

193

of times to refer to the archaic Italians, far more often than any other author, Latin or Greek. Other Greeks do use the word, spelling it variously as ᾿Aβοριγῖνες or ᾿Aβορίγενες, but only rarely. Polybius, Dionysius, Strabo, Appian, and Cassius Dio all seem to prefer Ἰταλικός.⁶⁴ Dionysius is more cautious in this regard, never applying Ἰταλικός to the pre-Roman inhabitants of Italy, and his translation is probably the better one. For one, the Latin compound ab + origo is more descriptive of the status of ancient Italians as later Romans thought of them. It also avoids confusion with the contemporary Italici, many of whom were among Dionysius’ sources (e. g., D.H. 1.34.4).⁶⁵ Dionysius completes his genealogy for Faunus several chapters later, combining his bloodline with those of Hercules and Euander in ways very different from the Uirgilian tradition. As Dionysius tells it, Hercules at this time was conducting a war in Italy against Cacus, who was not a cattle rustling monster but a barbarian king, and Faunus joined with Hercules and his allies to help defeat him (D.H. 1.42.3). During or after this campaign Hercules mated with Lauinia, whom Dionysius describes as an Arcadian daughter of Euander, but the pairing came to naught when their son Pallas was killed (D.H. 1.43.1– 2). Some years earlier, however, Hercules had mated with a Hyperborean captive and had produced a daughter. This unnamed daughter married Faunus, and the son born to them was Latinus, whose daughter would later marry Aeneas. According to this tradition, then, Faunus was the son-in-law of Hercules and the great-grandfather of Ascanius, meaning that the Iulii were descendants of Mars and Hercules both. The former connection was familiar to Romans and Greeks alike, both from Faunus legends and from the Alban traditions of Romulus’ birth.⁶⁶ The descent from Hercules would have been more surprising. It is absent from our Latin sources and is unknown elsewhere in Greek. One possible inspiration for the idea is the legacy of Alexander III of Macedon, whose royal line claimed a descent from Ἡρακλῆς. Dionysius may have employed a source that assimilated Iulius Caesar to Alexander and retrojected that connection back onto Caesar’s ancestry.

 E. g., Pol. 1.3.4; C.D. 55.24.4. Suetonius refers to Faunus as Aboriginum rex (Uit. 1.2); Gellius describes the distant past as the Faunorum et Aboriginum saeculum (NA 5.21.7). Strabo uses it of the Uolsci and Hernici (5.3.2), and both he and Appian use it of the Latini (Str. 5.3.2; Ap. Reg. 1.2.3). Cassius Dio seems to have done likewise on occasion (per Zon. 7.1).  Dionysius also avoids Laurentes as metonymy for Italici or Romani (cf. Laurens, OLD 2). He uses it only to refer to Acca Larentia (D.H. 1.84.4) and the city and inhabitants of Laurentum (D.H. 5.54.1; 5.61.3).  An Ephesian inscription from 48 B.C.E. describes Iulius Caesar as the descendant of Mars and Uenus alike: …τὸν ἀπὸ Ἄρεως καὶ ᾿Aφροδε[ί]της θεὸν ἐπιφανῆ (Syll. 760). See Weinstock 1971, 183 and 296 n.9.

194

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

Aspects of Faunus’ genealogy are also mentioned by Diodorus, Plutarch, Appian, and Dio. Diodorus’ account would be our earliest, but it has only survived, if one can even use that word, as a vague citation in the sixth century Chronographia of John Malalas. In its current form it reads, “Picus, brother of one Ninus, one who was also Iuppiter (ὁ καὶ Ζεύς), was king of Italy, ruling over the west for 120 years…. The same…had a son named Faunus, whom he called Mercurius (Ἑρμῆς), after the name of the planet.” Malalas makes Picus the father of Faunus, just as Uirgil does, and the link he makes between Faunus and Mercurius is also found in Ouid (alipes deus, Fast. 5.99 – 100). But the absence of Saturnus and Mars in his narrative and his assimilation of Picus with Iuppiter are very strange. These oddities may not even come from Diodorus. In concluding the passage Malalas implies only that Diodorus wrote an account of Picus (περὶ οὗ συνεγράψατο Διόδωρος), not that Diodorus was responsible for the preceding genealogy. Plutarch’s corpus refers to Faunus’ genealogy and family three times, once in the Life of Caesar, once in the Q.R., and once in the Parallelae minora. The first two passages contain no surprises. In Q.R. 268D and Caesar 9.4 he says that Bona Dea (᾿Aγαθή) was the wife (συνοικήσασα / γυνή) of Faunus, which does conflict with the Uirgilian genealogy, where Bona Dea is the daughter of Faunus, but fits in easily enough with the family tree in Dionysius. Faunus traditionally mated with several women and goddesses, and even though Dionysius mentions only his relationship with the daughter of Hercules, there is no reason to assume he imagined their coupling to be exclusive or eternal.⁶⁷ The Parallelae minora do contain an oddity, but it does not derive from Plutarch himself. For one thing, most consider the Parallela minora spurious. Even if Plutarch was their author, his points on Faunus therein are taken from the Ἰταλικά of the prolific but now shadowy Greek author Dercyllus, who wrote that Faunus was the king who hosted Hercules in central Italy, and that he was the son of Ἑρμῆς (315C; FHGr. IV 387). The first idea is familiar from Dionysius, but the latter is not. The nearest parallel is Malalas’ assertion that Ἑρμῆς was an alternate name for Faunus. Perhaps Dercyllus was also behind Malalas’ bizarre linkage of Faunus and Iuppiter. Appian’s and Dio’s versions of the genealogy also contain idiosyncrasies. Appian pushes Latinus back two generations, a change that disrupts several parts of the family tree. His Latinus was the original king of the ᾿Aβορίγενες, and he married his daughter to Faunus, son of Ἄρης, becoming his father-in-law (κηδέστης), not his son, as Dionysius would have it. It was Faunus who then welcomed Aeneas into Italy, and Lauinia was his daughter, not the daughter of Euander, whom Appian

 In Q.R. 268D Plutarch also describes Faunus as a seer (μάντις), an adjective that can be applied to anyone from a mortal to Apollo himself (e. g., Aeschylus Ag. 1275).

Faunus

195

does not even mention (Reg. 1.1– 2). In Dio, on the other hand, Aeneas arrives into Italy and is met by Numitor, of all people, who has succeeded his father Faunus as king of the ᾿Aβορρίγενες (C.D. 1 = Zon. 7.1). This mass of conflicting tradition was, of course, a joint creation of Romans and Greeks. The variants are complex and often mutually contradictory, but a pair of salient points do emerge. Dionysius stands alone as the only Greek author to mention Euander in connection with Faunus. He did not invent the link himself (D.H. 1.43.2), but he is the only surviving author so invested in the Arcadian origins of Rome that he bothers incorporating the Arcadians into the city’s heroic genealogies, even though Euander’s only genetic contribution fails when his grandson Pallas dies. Conversely, all Greek writers derive Faunus from Ἑρμῆς or Ἡρακλῆς, ignoring the tradition linking Faunus to Saturnus. Mercurius and Hercules shared a mercantile association at Rome, and this connection could have motivated their prominence in the Greek genealogies. The network of legendary relationships between the Aborigines, Trojans, and Arcadians, between Faunus, Aeneas, and Euander, would certainly have been a topic of discussion between the Romans and Greeks who traded in the Forum Boarium, and resident Greek traders would have preferred a tradition that gave the mercantile gods a more central role in their tales of Faunus. This is particularly true of Hercules, who is mentioned in most Greek narratives of Faunus, whose temple can still be seen in the Forum Boarium, and whom Dionysius even inserts into the Alban family line. As for the cult of Faunus, Greek interest was restricted to the Lupercalia, the fertility rite held on February 15th. Romans and Greeks alike believed it to be an evolution of the Λύκαια, a festival reputed to have been brought into Italy by Euander and the Arcadian Greeks, and the perceived connection between them was extended to the gods that the Lupercalia and Λύκαια honored, Faunus and Πάν. Livy, for example, says that Euander established the running of the Lupercalia as a ritual brought over from Arcadia honoring Lycaeus Pan, whom the Romans then called Inuus (1.5.2). Ouid says much the same (Fast. 2.271– 302). Pompeius Trogus seems to have done likewise, linking Πάν and the Lupercalia to Lupercus, an alternate name for Faunus derived from the title of his priests.⁶⁸ As the Greek most intrigued by the Arcadian-Roman connection, Dionysius naturally includes the Lupercalia in his history. Like Livy and Ouid, he credits Euander with importing the rite, and he discusses it in some detail when a celebration of the festival occasions an ambush by Numitor’s men (D.H. 1.80.1). Dionysius focuses primarily on its similarities to the Arcadian Λύκαια, but makes the peculiar decision to spell the name of the festival Λουκαῖα, evidently hewing close to a Latin

 Iustinus Epit. 43.1.7; see Wiss. 209 & Rosch. 2. 2. 2162.

196

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

source who referred to Lucaea instead of Lupercalia, a fascinating example of a native Greek word going abroad, as it were, and returning home to a Greek narrative, having been transformed by the experience. The Latin source was almost certainly Q. Aelius Tubero, a Roman writer and jurist of the preceding generation, whom Dionysius cites for certain elements of the rite, including the initial sacrifice, the coverings made from skins of the sacrificed goats, and the half-naked race of the Luperci beginning at the Lupercal. Yet Dionysius only mentions the festival’s significance as a purification (καθαρμόν), not as a fertility rite (cf. Ouid Fast. 2.425 – 9). By doing so he suppresses a major discrepancy between the Lupercalia and the Λυκαῖα, which was a nocturnal rite of passage for young men. And he ignores another significant difference: while the Arcadian Λυκαῖα included a race honoring Πάν (Paus. 8.38.5), Πάν had to share honors with his father, Ζεὺς Λύκαιος (Rosch. 3.1.1350). Plutarch examines the festival’s purpose and origin twice in the Q.R. and several more times in the Lives. His most extensive treatment is in the Life of Romulus, where he draws from a number of different traditions. To explain the Lupercalia’s significance, he begins with its date, a dies nefas (ἐν ἡμέραις ἀποφράσι) in the month named Februarius, which he explains as meaning “purificatory” (καθάρσιος; Rom. 21.4). From its place in the calendar, he concludes, the Lupercalia might seem to be a rite of purification (καθάρσια). For his first stab at the festival’s origin, Plutarch emphasizes the Arcadian role, explaining that Lupercalia means Λύκαια in Greek, and that the rite was imported into Italy by Euander and his folk. All that is by way of introduction. Plutarch then leaves the Arcadians behind and turns his attention to the Romulus tradition, which is more appropriate to his context. He makes the transition by alleging that the Arcadian connection – deictic οὗτος pointing backwards (Sm. 1245) – should be well-known already, literally “common” (κοινόν), because the name Lupercalia could be related to the famous she-wolf (Rom. 21.5). This claim presumes his readers will recognize the equivalence of λύκαινα and lupa, which is a reasonable assumption, since some of them would know Latin, and others would recall his explanation of the λύκαινα / λοῦπα translation from earlier in the Life (Rom. 4.4). The wolf connection also explains why the Luperci began their run from the very spot where Romulus was supposedly exposed (and nursed). Plutarch’s detailed analysis of the Lupercalia itself follows (Rom. 21.6 – 10). He begins by cataloguing numerous aspects that differed from those in the Λύκαια, including the goat sacrifice, goat thongs, and naked run mentioned by Dionysius, as well as details about the number and status of the runners, the use of the bloody sacrificial knife and a goat hide dipped in milk, a ritual laugh, the sacrifice of a dog, the flagellation of bystanders by the Luperci during their run, and the belief that women struck by the Luperci would be fertile. His initial comment is that the de-

Faunus

197

tails of the rite make their meaning hard to guess (Rom. 21.6). Yet he finds this material so intriguing that he goes on to consider five possible interpretations, none of which have anything to do with etymology or Euander’s Arcadians. The first is from Butas, a Greek poet of historical elegies, who said that the festival memorialized a celebratory run from Alba Longa to the Lupercal that was made by Romulus’ men when they had defeated Amulius (not Numitor, as in Dionysius). According to Butas, the ritual use of the bloody sword and the goat thongs of the Luperci recalled the swords once brandished by Romulus and Remus, while the milk memorialized the wolf. A second theory, drawn from C. Acilius, connects Romulus, the Luperci, and Faunus. According to Acilius’ history, the Lupercalia memorialize a naked run made by Romulus and his men in pursuit of lost sheep, a run that began with a prayer to Faunus. The final three theories concern the dog sacrifice, and are presented as Plutarch’s own. He compares the Greek use of sacrificial puppies and suggests that this aspect of the Lupercalia could be purificatory; or it could honor the she-wolf, since dogs are the natural enemies of wolves. It could even be a ritual punishment for an animal that harasses the Luperci whenever they make their run, which presumes it was a later addition to the rites. The presentation in Romulus is not a simple reflection of Plutarch’s own views, however. When he addresses the Lupercalia elsewhere, the connection with the Arcadian Λύκαια usually takes center stage. His comment at Numa 19.8, that the Lupercalia resembles a purification in most respects, fits with Romulus well enough. In Caesar, however, while he notes that many authors claim the festival was originally one of shepherds, Plutarch states in his own voice, oratia recta, that it was connected with the Arcadian Λύκαια (Caes. 61.1). At Q.R. 290D he states flat out that the Romans call the Λυκαῖα the Lupercalia. And his two theories for the dog sacrifice at Q.R. 280C both assert the Arcadian connection as fact. In one, the sacrifice was instituted because the Lupercalia are the Λυκαῖα, and the dog is the enemy of the wolf. In the other, a dog is used because the sacrifice is made to Πάν (i. e., Πὰν Λύκαιος), and dogs are dear to Πάν because they guard his herds of goats. When it suits his narrative, Plutarch is as ready as Dionysius to accept the Λύκαια-Lupercalia parallel, meaning that he also accepts the Πάν-Faunus connection, and once does so explicitly. Plutarch was also intrigued by Faunus’ role in Numa’s encounter with Iuppiter Elicius. Our main Latin accounts for this legend are Ouid (Fast. 3.285 – 348) and Arnobius (5.1.4– 8), and their narratives are similar.⁶⁹ Both begin with Egeria, who in-

 Arnobius cites as his source the second book of Ualerias Antias. Pliny (HN 2.140) and Livy (1.20.7, 1.31.8) mention Numa’s connection with Elicius but say nothing about Egeria, Faunus, Picus, or any charm.

198

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

forms Numa that he can learn the rite for expiating (piare, procurare) lightning from Picus and Faunus, and explains the method by which he can capture them. Faunus and Picus are here rustic deities, and they frequent a stream at the base of the cliuus Auentinus. Numa sacrifices a sheep to the stream (Ouid only), then scatters cups of wine around it and hides with his men in a nearby cave. The gods come, drink the wine, and fall asleep, whereupon Numa and his men come out and bind them. According to Ouid, Faunus and Picus refuse to reveal the charm directly because it is not their prerogative; in both authors they promise to tell Numa how to bring Iuppiter down (elicere) in exchange for their release. When Numa follows their instructions and summons Iuppiter to learn the charm, the god keeps trying to ask for human sacrifice, but Numa keeps interrupting him with innocuous substitutions. When Iuppiter demands a head, Numa promises him an onion; when the god specifies the head of a human, Numa substitutes the hair; when Iuppiter insists on a life, Numa offers that of a fish. Amused, Iuppiter finally relents and the charm remains as Numa proposed.⁷⁰ Plutarch gives an extensive account of this story in his Life of Numa (15.3 – 11), and his narrative differs significantly from those of Ouid and Arnobius. Ouid, often an irreverent author, relates the tale in a fairly reverent tone. The polemical Arnobius uses it as an example of the ridiculous excesses of Latin poets. Plutarch strikes out on his own path. He rejects Numa’s tale as firmly as Arnobius does – calling it unlikely (πᾶσαν ὑπερβέβληκεν ἀτοπίαν), fabulous (μυθώδη), and laughable (γελοῖα) – yet offers it as an edifying example of the religious attitude of the archaic Romans (15.11). And unlike Ouid and Arnobius, who combine the various traditions into a consistent narrative for their readers’ respective edification or derision, Plutarch offers two separate traditions. According to one, Faunus and Picus give the charm to Numa directly, and neither Iuppiter nor Egeria are involved. The other, like the Latin narratives, involves Egeria and an interview with Elicius. While recounting the first tradition Plutarch draws upon Hellenizing parallels, not so much to assimilate Faunus and Picus to Greek gods as to make their behavior more familiar. One parallel is implicit: when caught, the two gods try to escape by changing shape. This is something they never do in Latin sources. Many of Plutarch’s readers would recognize such behavior from similar attempts by the Old Men of the sea, Πρωτεύς (Od. 4.450 – 63) and Νηρεύς (ps-Apollodorus 2.114– 15). The source of the motif is probably not Plutarch himself, whose usual style is to frame details of his own invention as hypothetical. Other more explicit parallels

 Numa’s haggling has eastern precedents in Gilgamesh’s quest to learn the charm against death from Utnapishtim (Gilgamesh 9) and in Abraham’s intercession on behalf of Sodom and Gommorah (Genesis 18:17– 33).

Faunus

199

follow: in some respects, he says, one might compare Faunus and Picus to the race of Σάτυροι (doubtless because of their rusticity) or Τιτᾶνες (perhaps because of their antiquity). Yet they are also said to have wandered Italy playing the same tricks as those called Ἰδαῖοι Δάκτυλοι by Greeks. These Δάκτυλοι, no less prominent than Πρωτεύς in literature, were δαίμονες associated with the Idaean Mother (sometimes figured as Ῥέα) and were involved in legends of Ζεύς and Ἡρακλῆς (Rosch. 1.1.940 – 41). Taken together, the implication of these Hellenizing parallels is that Plutarch thought Faunus and Picus would be unfamiliar to some of his readers, and so needed extensive contextualization. Plutarch’s second tradition contains many elements familiar from Latin sources. Egeria serves as Numa’s advisor (though her participation is not mentioned until later) and Faunus and Picus only tell Numa how to summon Iuppiter, with whom he must haggle over the formula for the lightning charm. His rendition of the conversation follows the same general lines as the Latin sources, and his intercessions result in the same three ingredients to the charm’s recipe: an onion, hair, and a fish. Iuppiter begins by demanding the sacrifice of a head: caede caput in Ouid, expiabis capite in Arnobius. Plutarch exacerbates the demand by putting it in the plural, κεφαλαί. The Latin versions of Numa’s reply contain a pun, as if the king had misheard the god asking for an onion: Ouid has caedenda est caepa; Arnobius has a more obscure form caepitio (or caepicio), matching more closely the ablative capite he uses for Iuppiter’s demand. Plutarch makes no attempt to replicate the pun, though his word for onions, κρομμύων, does at least begin with the same letter as κεφαλαί. Unfazed, Iuppiter tries again to specify a human head (hominis in Ouid, humano in Arnobius) and Numa offers another substitution, this time human hair (capillos / capillo); Plutarch has ἀνθρώπων and θριξίν. Iuppiter tries once more to demand a living person (anima / animali), and Numa substitutes a fish. Where Ouid has only the generic piscis, Arnobius makes an alliterative substitution for animali using the Greek word for a sprat, maena. Plutarch likewise has Numa answer Iuppiter’s demand for souls (ἐμψύχοις) with μαινίσι, using the same Greek word as Arnobius, even though his ἐμψύχοις loses the -m- and -n- alliteration. Arnobius is explicitly working this narrative up from Ualerias Antias, so maena was probably in the Latin tradition used by Antias in the first century B.C.E. Plutarch accessed this same tradition two centuries later, and could very well have gotten maena direct from Antias, whom he cites several times in his works, and once in the same Life (Numa 22.6). Greek and Latin accounts of the tradition must have been deeply intertwined. As part of his rhetorical stance against facile etymologies within Numa, Plutarch incorporates in the same narrative an attack on a particularly weak Greek etymology for Elicius. Ouid’s version of the story stresses the tremendous power of the god and Numa’s fear: corda micant regis, totoque e corpore sanguis fugit,

200

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

et hirsutae deriguere comae (Fast. 3.331– 2). Arnobius stresses Iuppiter’s reluctance (diu cunctatus, 5.1.7). Plutarch focuses on the shift from Iuppiter’s initial anger, which motivates the cruel conditions he tries to impose, to his amusement at Numa’s witty substitutions, and ties the change to the god’s epithet. As has already been noted under Iuppiter, Latin narratives derive Elicius from Latin elicere, referring to the act of summoning that is prescribed by Faunus and Picus. Plutarch chooses to proffer instead a Greek one that links Elicius to ἵλεως, which requires transliterating the god’s name with a rough breathing (Ἱλήκιος). Greek ἵλεως means gracious and propitious, and is closely related to ἱλαρός, meaning merry, so the etymology fits his narrative well enough. Yet he presents it in oratio obliqua (ἔνιοί φασιν; 15.8), making it clear that the etymology is not his own idea. He also shifts the epithet from the god to the place where his summoning occurred, saying that Romans called the spot Ἱλήκιος. And he introduces the legend with language appropriate to legend, not history (μυθολογοῦσιν), and calls the whole story improbable (πᾶσαν ὑπερβέβληκεν ἀτοπίαν; 15.3). Not satisfied with the etymology’s intrinsic weakness, Plutarch has fashioned a context that predisposes his readers to disbelieve it.

Fides The concept of Roman fides, or faithfulness, was familiar to Greeks as πίστις Ῥωμαίων. Hence the translation of Augustus’ populi Romani fides as δήμου Ῥωμαίων πίστις at M.A. 32. The parallel is most evident in the formulae for military surrender (deditio). Where Livy describes Boeotian ambassadors entrusting themselves in fidem Romanorum (42.44.1), Polybius says they entrusted their cities to the πίστις of Roman legati (27.1.2); where Livy describes an Aetolian embassy handing themselves and their possessions over to the fides of the Roman people (se suaque omnia fidei populi Romani permittere, 36.28.1), Diodorus says they entrust themselves εἰς τὴν πίστιν τῶν Ῥωμαίων.⁷¹ Dionysius describes tribuni swearing to resist the patricii with their strongest oath, that made by ἡ ἑαυτῶν πίστις (11.54.4; cf. 2.75.3 & Pl. Numa 16.1). The equivalence is not exact, however, as perceptive Greeks realized. When Polybius describes the aforementioned Aetolian capitulation, he notes that the Aetolians mistook πίστις for an offer of lenience, whereas the Romans un-

 D.S. 29.9. Similar appeals to Roman fides also appear elsewhere in Livy (e. g., 9.24.9) and in Ennius (Scen. 186 = 198 Warmington).

Fides

201

derstood it to mean abject surrender to their discretion (ἐπιτροπή; 20.9.10 – 11).⁷² He also describes the Boeotian deditio as going ὐπὸ τὰ δίθυρα τῶν Ῥωμαίων (27.1.6). Conversely, Appian (Hisp. 37.149) uses πίστις for an accord between Scipio and Masinissa that Livy describes as filia (28.35). Diodorus incorporates these differing expectations into his narrative when he has Hiero misrepresent the Roman understanding of fides: “Romans are always blathering about πίστις, and should not shield murderers, who despise πίστις most of all” (23.1.4). Hiero’s πίστις was a matter of personal morality, whereas Latin fides was more political.⁷³ In Rome Fides was also an object of state veneration, worshipped on the mons Capitolinus near the temple of IOM (Cicero Off. 3.104) as Fides publica (Ual. Max. 3.2.17), an abbreviation of the fuller phrase Fides publica populi Romani that survives on Roman diplomata. Her temple was built by A. Atilius Calatinus in the middle of the third century B.C.E. (Cicero Nat. D. 2.61), and each year on the Kalendae Octobres a procession was held in which the three flamines maiores rode to her temple in a shrouded carriage, their right hands and the statue of the goddess herself shrouded, symbolizing the need for Fides to be protected.⁷⁴ The Romans believed Fides to be a very ancient goddess, and some thought her origins Sabine, a tradition bound up with the belief that Numa Pompilius founded her cult.⁷⁵ Greeks, conversely, did not worship πίστις. When Theognis in his narrative of Pandora describes πίστις as a μεγάλη θεός he is mourning her absence in a poetic sense (οὐκέτι πιστοὶ ἐν ἀνθρώποισι δίκαιοι; Fr. 1.1135 – 40). He does not imply that she possessed formal cult. The dedications to Πίστις in Roman Greece, including an altar in Athens and a votive relief in Rhodes, were probably late and were all connected to Roman Fides. The depictions of Πίστις on coins from Epizephyrian Locri are also certainly of Roman Fides (Rosch. 3. 2. 2512). The absence of Πίστις cult explains why Greek authors say very little about Fides’ October ceremony, and never

 Walbank (1970) discusses deditio in his commentary and gives bibliography ad loc. Other examples of πίστις and ἐπιτροπή in Polybius’ surrender formulae occur at 20.10.2, 21.2.4, 21.4.13, and especially at 36.4.1– 3, where Polybius describes the significance of deditio at greater length.  Sierksma (2015, 529 – 31) has argued for civic πιστότης as a native Greek concept, but the passages she cites either concern Roman fides, like D.H. 2.75.3, or are only indirectly connected to state politics. Epictetus, Dionysius, and Plutarch all recognize the civic implications of personal πιστότης, but only the latter two link it to ἡ τῆς πόλεως πιστότης, and they do so only for Rome, as is discussed below.  The ceremony is described in Livy 1.21.4. Cf. also Livy 23.9.3; Pliny HN 11.250; Horace Carm. 1.35.21– 2; Seruius Aen. 1.292, 3.607, 8.636. On the temple see Reusser LTUR 2.249 – 52.  Uarro cites Paulus on the Sabine origins of Fides (Ling. 5.74). As for her antiquity, Silius calls her priscis numen populis (Pun. 1.329) and ante Iouem generata (Pun. 2.484). Uirgil describes her as cana (Aen. 1.292 & Servius ad loc.). See also Prescendi NP 5.415 & Wiss. 133 – 4.

202

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

mention possible connections between Fides and Iuppiter or Dius Fidius, despite translating the latter as Ζεὺς Πίστιος. For them, Fides is an idiosyncratic Roman deity representative of Roman concern for political reliability. Since Fides is a foundational virtue for Rome, Greeks are interested in Numa’s foundation of the aedes Fidei, which Dionysius and Plutarch both discuss.⁷⁶ Neither the temple nor the rites per se concern them so much as the connection between the state cult of Fides and the political virtue of fides publica. Both emphasize that Numa was the first person anywhere to establish a temple and lavish sacrifices to Fides publica, Dionysius making the assertion on his own authority (D.H. 2.75.3; cf. 5.68.4), and Plutarch recording it as a tradition received, perhaps from Dionysius himself (Numa 16.1). Both frame the cult as an important step in the establishment of Roman personal and political fides, Plutarch by observing that an oath sworn by Fides was still the strongest Roman oath in his day, and Dionysius by opining that the cult was bound in time to make the habits of individual Romans and the character of their city faithful (πιστός) and dependable. Plutarch in his Life of Flamininus also narrates a fascinating episode involving Fides from the Seleucid war.⁷⁷ The Chalcideans at that time had a firm alliance with Antiochus III, primarily because the king had married a young Chalcidean bride. Honoring this connection, they allowed Antiochus to use their city as a base against Rome, and so incurred the wrath of the consul M’. Acilius Glabrio. When Antiochus was defeated at Thermopylae in 191 B.C.E. he gathered up his bride and possessions and fled Greece, abandoning Chalcis to the tender mercies of the Romans. Glabrio intended to make an example of them, but they were saved by Flamininus, who interceded on their behalf.⁷⁸ In gratitude and relief they honored Flamininus with lavish votive dedications. A Chalcidian priest was elected to make annual sacrifices and libations to him, and they composed an extensive hymn that a chorus of girls still sang in Plutarch’s day. He quotes the final verses of it: We honor Πίστις of the Romans, The one most desirable to guard with oaths: Sing, girls, Of great Ζεύς, and Ρώμα, and Titus, along with Πίστις of the Romans:

 Appian and Dio also mention the shrine tangentially. Appian notes that a meeting of the senate was held in the Πίστεως ἱερόν (B.Ciu. 1.16.67); Dio mentions a portentous wind that scattered the tabulae (στῆλαι) posted around it and the aedes Saturni (C.D. 45.17.3).  He also touches upon it in the paired life (Phil. 17.1).  When Appian describes these events, he credits Glabrio for releasing Antiochus’ allies from their fears, saying nothing of Flamininus or Fides (Syr. 21.93). Livy ignores even Glabrio, praising instead Roman modestia post uictoriam (36.21.3).

Genius

203

Hail deliverer, The saviour Titus (Flam. 16.7).⁷⁹

Flamininus’ name is repeated, and is fittingly the final word of the hymn. The repeated invocation of Roman Πίστις is more surprising, since none of our sources mention a treaty between Chalcis and the Roman senate. Πίστις must refer to the broader treaty granting freedom to all Greek states that Flamininus had declared at the Isthmian games several years before (Flam. 10.4– 7). By implication, the Chalcideans credit Flamininus with leveraging this earlier treaty to mollify Glabrio. And from the way Πίστις is invoked along with Ζεύς, Ρώμα, and Titus, it seems the Chalcideans did understand her as a goddess. They are also honoring Πίστις as a political concept, which they leverage through cult to ensure Rome’s favor in the future. Such concerns would not stand in the way of a concomitant religious expression, yet they have evidently not syncretized Fides to a Greek goddess named Πίστις. Ζεύς in the fourth line probably signifies Roman Iuppiter, yet he is not Ζεὺς Ῥωμαίων. The syncretization between him and Iuppiter is sufficient to obviate such qualification. Πίστις is a δαίμων peculiar to Rome, and each time the chorus mentions her she is Πίστις Ῥωμαίων, the Fides Romanorum honored in treaties and on the Capitoline, for whom the Chalcideans have no native equivalent.

Genius Wissowa argued that the household genii were originally male analogues of the lares familiares: men had genii, while woman had Iunones; they represented one’s entire personality and life, and were thought to expire with the person they inhabit.⁸⁰ His interpretation does not mesh well with the larger Roman view, however. For one thing, other spirits, di manes, lemures, laruae, etc., survived the deceased. And over time, perhaps through Greek influence, the idea developed that genii resided in the gods as well, the earliest example being the invocation of Iouis genius on an aedes Iouis. ⁸¹ The same idea may lie behind the tradition that Octauian’s mother Atia was impregnated by serpents, which were imbued with or

 ἰήϊε Παιάν in the fifth line, which in earlier times was specific to ᾿Aπόλλων, is here applied in a more general sense to Flamininus, meaning savior and healer. In my translation, I have construed the superlative μεγαλευκτοτάταν in the second line with the epexegetical future infinitive φυλάσσειν.  Wiss. 175. See also Latte 104; Rosch. 2.1613 – 25.  CIL 1.603 (Rosch. 1. 2.1619). Offerings to the genius Iouis Liberi are also mentioned in CIL 9.3513. See Wiss. 180 n.11 for further examples.

204

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

represented the genius Apollinis. ⁸² At some stage, the Roman people too gained a collective genius. Seruius connected it with the unnamed god that protected the city, citing the inscription of a shield dedicated on the Capitoline that read genio urbis Romae, siue mas siue femina. ⁸³ Of all Roman deities the genii were the most foreign to Greek culture, and Greek authors do not interpret or translate them consistently. Most of the explicit attempts to translate genius into Greek are from Latin sources, oddly enough, and they are relatively late. The earliest is that of Apuleius, a native Greek speaker, in his dissertation on Socrates’ δαίμων. He there delineates two classes of δαίμων. One group, the lemures, are something like souls, animi humani. They depart the body at death and become the beneficent lares and the malevolent laruae. The other group inhabit the beati while alive, the eudaemones as Apuleius also names them, and he suggests, with considerable hesitation, that these spirits might be the ones called genii in Latin.⁸⁴ Two other authors attempt translations of genius in the fourth century, and by their time the equivalence of genius and δαίμων seems to have become more firmly established. One is Ammianus Marcellinus, an eastern Greek by birth despite being a Latin author, who connects genii with Socrates’ δαίμων in his narrative of the last days of Constantius. As he approaches the point of the emperor’s death Ammianus records the rumor that Constantius no longer saw secretum aliquid (21.14). The phrase is so vague as to be meaningless, and interpretations at the time varied. Ammianus focuses on the idea expressed by some that a genius had deserted Constantius, and investigates the story by comparing the emperor’s genius to those of Numa (i. e., Egeria) and Socrates. He then explains the role of such daemones by quoting a couplet from Menander – “A δαίμων accompanies every man | Immediately from birth, the guide (μυσταγωγός) of his life” – a sentiment that accords fairly well with Apuleius’ spirits of the beati. Ammianus’ contemporary Seruius also equates δαίμων and genius in his comment on Georg. 3.417, classing serpents among the good δαίμονες, “…which are called genii in Latin” (quos latine genios uocant). Unlike Ammianus and Apuleius, Seruius does not justify or explain his translation, perhaps assuming that it is familiar to many of his readers already. We find further translations in the glossaria, Greek-

 Suetonius records the story (Diu. Aug. 94), but never says genius outright.  Aen. 2.351. The literary phrases referring to this god are all variants of deus in cuius tutela urbs Roma est. The earliest is from Pliny, who cites a passage of Uerrius Flaccus, who in turn cited others who believed that Roman priests (sacerdotes) called upon the deus cuius in tutela id oppidum esset whenever the city was besieged (HN 28.18). Seruius (Aen. 2.351) and Macrobius (Sat. 3.9.3) describe the god in nearly the same language.  eum nostra lingua, ut ego interpretor, haud sciam an bono, certe quidem meo periculo poteris Genium uocare (De deo Socr. 15).

Genius

205

Latin lexica of uncertain provenance written in the seventh century C.E. or later. The glossae Graeco-Latinae and the Hermeneumata Einsidlensia give the well-attested δαίμων, but describe them as inhabiting a place, not a person: ὁ δαίμων ὁ ἐφορῶν τόπον τινά (CGL 3.321.19). The Hermeneumata gives οἱ θεοὶ κατοικίδιοι as a translation for lares as well as for genii (CGL 3.236.30), so we seem there to be dealing with a conflation of Apuleius’ genii and lemures. The Codex Harleniani makes a less felicitous suggestion, equating genius to individual τύχη (τύχη ἑκάστου ἀνθρώπου; CGL 2.461.19). This is a misrepresentation of earlier Greek sources, only possible because its author was out of touch with earlier pagan conceptions. The main translation in Latin texts is clearly δαίμων, and the tradition of Socrates’ δαίμων seems to have been important in its evolution. Genii are harder to pin down in Greek sources. Greek authors use δαίμων very broadly, and in ways that have nothing to do with Roman genii or lemures. Dionysius is particularly fond of the phrase θεοὶ καὶ δαίμονες as a catch-all for Roman divinities. He credits Romulus, for example, with establishing the proper worship of τὰ θεῖα καὶ δαιμόνια, including the construction of their temples, altars, and statues (D.H. 2.18.2), and with appointing rites of particular θεοί and δαίμονες to certain curiae (D.H. 2.23.1). He also says that Numa established the pontifices as lay interpreters of everything related to θεοί καὶ δαίμονες (D.H. 2.73.2). He often uses the phrase when he could have been more specific. When describing the declaration of a iustum bellum against the Aequi, for example, he has the fetiales call upon the θεοὶ καὶ δαίμονες as witnesses.⁸⁵ When Livy describes a portion of the same formula, the lead fetialis, the pater patratus, mentions only Iuppiter (1.24 & 1.32). When Polybius and Festus record the foedus struck with Carthage they likewise implicate Iuppiter as Dispiter and Iuppiter lapis (q.v.). Dionysius is not confusing the genius Romae with the ritus fetialis here. He is just using δαίμων generically. The same problem arises even when Greeks seem to use δαίμων in a more specific sense. In Appian’s Bellum Macedonicum, for example, Aemilius’ fears of a reversal of Fortuna after his victories over Perseus are not expressed in terms of Τύχη but of ὁ δαίμων, a word that here, as in Dionysius above, means nothing more specific than “the divine.” Aemilius worries that the gods will be envious of his success and visit horrors upon him, his family, or his people (Ap. Mac. 19.3; cf. Pl. Aem. 34– 6). Plutarch uses δαίμων similarly when discussing Pompey’s Fortuna, though he also clarifies his meaning with the more specific phrase δημόσια τύχη, by which he means Fortuna Romae, not the genius populi Romani (De fort. Rom. 324 A). Dionysius’ usage is broadest. He even uses κατὰ δαίμονα

 D.H. 10.23.1. The parallel narratives of Livy (2.25) and Cincius Alimentus (via Gellius N.A. 16.4.1) do not mention the rite.

206

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

in two completely different ways when narrating the death of Tullus Hostilius, once meaning nothing more than “by chance,” equivalent to Latin forte, and once referring to nemesis sent from the gods (D.H. 3.35.4– 5). Adding to the confusion is the Greek use of the compounds εὐδαίμων (D.H. 12.1.1) and εὐτυχής (Ap. Ill. 15.44) in translating felix and fortunatus, both of which are prevalent and seemingly interchangeable.⁸⁶ Even the most famous example of a personal genius, that of Iulius Caesar, is a problem for Greek authors, who seem to have confounded it with the idea of a lemur. Plutarch describes Caesar’s genius at Caes. 69.2, where he calls it Caesar’s μέγας δαίμων and says that the great man made use of it throughout his life. His description fits Apuleius’ genii very well. In the very same chapter, however, he applies the same term to the phantasm that appears to Brutus just before his defeat at Philippi. Plutarch describes it as a φάσμα of a huge, scowling man, and when Brutus asks its identity, it replies “Your δαίμων κακός, Brutus.” Plutarch describes the same scene in the Life of Brutus, and there too calls it a φάσμα and a δαίμων κακός (Brut. 36.7). Appian uses exactly the same language for it, either by coincidence, by employing Plutarch directly, or by employing an earlier Greek source that they shared (B.Ciu. 4.134.565). The idea that such a spirit would be particular to Brutus (ὁ σὸς δαίμων) may be nothing more than a rhetorical flourish, but Plutarch’s and Appian’s application of δαίμων to a lemur, perhaps even a larua, suggests a connection between the φάσμα and Caesar’s genius, and so makes a hash of Apuleius’ neat categories.⁸⁷ The problems inherent in the δαίμων translation are exacerbated by the Romans’ own imprecision and inconsistency. Florus too describes the visitation before Philippi, and he too has the spirit call itself Brutus’ malus genius (2.17), a contradiction of Apuleius, according to whom genii were spirits of the living beati, not the dead, and not mali. Latin authors were often nonchalant in distinguishing genii, lares, lemures, and di manes (Rosch. 1. 2.1617– 18), just as they often conflated other religious terms like aedes and templum, augurium and auspicium. Perversely, then, Greek understanding of the arcane (to them) concept of a genius was complicated by their growing familiarity with Roman traditions, fostered by many centuries of Greek and Roman cultural interaction. Roman sloppiness in this regard encouraged their own.

 The same cannot be said for the roots δαίμων and τύχη, nor for genius and fortuna, the Latin concepts they sometimes translate. Greek δαίμων can sometimes encompass Fortuna, but we possess no example prior to the ascendance of Christianity in which the inverse is true, with τύχη translating genius.  Likewise the stage direction in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar 3.4: “Enter the Ghost of Caesar.”

Honos

207

A similar combination is revealed when we compare Uarro’s and Plutarch’s thinking on genii and δαίμονες. According to Augustine, Uarro lumped lares and genii together with heroes as aeriae animae (De ciu. D. 7.6). Plutarch writes something that sounds very similar when investigating the role of δαίμονες in prophecy: his interlocutors Ammonius and Lamprias agree that δαίμονες are ψυχαί cloaked in air, the holy earthbound guardians of mortal men (De defect. orac. 431D–E), an idea that Lamprias traces back to Hesiod (Op. 123 – 5). Given the centuries of cross-pollination between Greek and Italian cultures, Hesiod may also have contributed to Uarro’s understanding, just as Uarro was frequently a source for Plutarch in turn. Yet Uarro’s animae and Plutarch’s ψυχαί differ significantly. The former comprise the lares, heroes, and genii, while Plutarch’s aerial ψυχαί are the δαίμονες, and are not further subdivided. If we combine the two ideas, as bilingual Greeks under the Roman empire may well have done, then the genii are equivalent to δαίμονες, which contradicts Apuleius, according to whom genii are only one species of δαίμονες. The only Greek discussion from which Apuleius’ lemures can be firmly excluded is Plutarch’s quaestio investigating the god who guards Rome (Q.R. 278F–279A). As already noted, the Romans never put a name to this deity, and Plutarch discusses possible explanations for their reticence, including the euocatio of Iuno from Ueii and various philosophical speculations. None of these ideas have anything to do with the genius Romae per se, and Plutarch never uses any word for the god but θεός. But if this god is identical with the genius Romae, as Seruius implies (Aen. 2.351), then Plutarch’s discussion would be the clearest reference to a genius in our Greek sources. He seems not to have made the connection himself, however. The absence of any translation for genius, even the generic δαίμων, in the quaestio suggests that he is unaware of any link between the unnamed deus and the spirits inhabiting individuals.

Honos The equivalent terms honor and honos in Latin have a broad range, comprehending politics, social status, appearance, privilege, and the physical manifestations of the same.⁸⁸ As we will see, the nearest equivalents in Greek, τιμή and δόξα, are equally broad. Roman depictions and descriptions of Honos as a god, however, take on a martial flavor that the Greek terms lack. He was tightly bound with

 Examples of the latter are in OLD 6. See Jacotot 2013 and Drexler 1961 for extensive surveys of the concept in Latin.

208

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

Mars (Wiss. 135 & 149), and was often conjoined with Uirtus, the goddess of martial manliness, in cult, on cameos, on the arch of Titus, and on many late Republic coins.⁸⁹ His great antiquity is attested by an archaic Latin inscription from near the Porta Collina (CIL 1.2.31), which was perhaps from an ara Honoris that had been superseded by an aedes (Cicero Leg. 2.58).⁹⁰ Plutarch is intrigued by the meaning of the name Honos, which he ponders briefly at Q.R. 266F–267A. His main point in the quaestio is to discuss the Roman practice of sacrificing to the god capite aperto, with head uncovered.⁹¹ While so doing he also suggests two translations for Honos, one being Δόξα, the same word he employs at De fort. Rom. 318D, and the other Τιμή. The two ideas are etymologically distinct, but in usage there is considerable overlap, with Τιμή referring to esteem granted (LSJ I) and intrinsic (LSJ III), and Δόξα covering much of the same ground (LSJ III & IV). Plutarch shows no preference for one or the other, keeping both words in play throughout the quaestio. On one hand he says that δόξα as a concept means brilliant, evident, and public; on the other, he says Romans uncover themselves for honored (τιμωμένοι) men and worship the god named for τιμή in the same way. Honos, Τιμή, and Δόξα are all such broad concepts that for him, at least, either translation is as good as the other. He is also interested in the temple complexes that Honos shared with Uirtus. ⁹² We know of two such shrines, and Plutarch discusses them both. One was Marius’ templum Honoris Uirtutisque, which was built with spoils taken from his victories over the Cimbri and Teutones. This templum is frequently mentioned by Cicero, thanks in part to the Arpinum connection shared by Cicero and Marius, and also because it was where the senate met to vote Cicero’s return from exile (P&A 259 – 60). It was perhaps located where the temple of Antoninus and Faustina now stands (Richardson 1978, 243). The other shrine lay just inside the Servian wall between the Porta Capena and the spring of the Camenae. Originally it was a temple to Honos alone, and was built by one of the Q. Fabii Maximi, perhaps Rullianus,

 Wissowa (149 n.4) notes inter alia dedications to Honos by legio XII Primigenia (CIL 13.6679) and to Genius Uirtus by legio I Italica (CIL 3.7591). See also Schaffner N.P. 6.479; Latte 235 – 7; Rosch. 2.2707– 9. For depictions of Honos et Uirtus in Roman art see Nilhous 1992 and Bieber 1945.  M. BICOLEIO V L HONORE DONOM DEDIT MERITO (CIL 1.2.31 & CIL VI 6.3692). See Schaffner NP 6.479; Palombi, LTUR 3.30 – 31; Richardson 1978, 243 – 4; Wiss. 150.  Wissowa and others have noted that sacrificing with head uncovered is to perform the act ritu Graeco, but the significance of their observation is unclear. John Scheid has pointed out exceptions (Mars, Saturnus) and shown how Latin ritus is more akin to mos, or τρόπος in Greek (D.H. 4.26.4). It refers to acts or attitudes, and not to the rituals themselves, which remained entirely Roman. See Sheid 1995, 18, 23 n.4, and 24– 8; cf. Schaffner NP 6.479; Wiss. 151.  See Palombi, LTUR 3.31– 5.

Honos

209

in conjunction with his establishment of the transuectio equitum during his censura of 304 B.C.E.⁹³ Plutarch describes the expansion of the Fabian complex by M. Claudius Marcellus in that man’s Life (Marc. 28.1– 2). He is interested primarily in explaining the religious circumstances that led Marcellus to alter his plans for the shrine, which would then house Uirtus separately, because it allows him to reinforce his depiction of Marcellus’ scrupulous religiosity. The construction begins during his subject’s fifth consulatus (208 B.C.E.; Marc. 27.7). Marcellus plans to use the spoils taken from Sicily to construct a ναὸς Δόξης καὶ ᾿Aρετὴς, but his original designs are blocked by priests (ἱερῆς) who object to the cohabitation of multiple deities within one shrine (ναός).⁹⁴ Marcellus bows to their wishes and begins building “an additional one” (προσοικοδομεῖν ἕτερον). Plutarch is not interested in the priests or the temple complex per se, and his descriptions of them are ambiguous. The parallel narrative of Ualerius Maximus 1.1.8 is more specific. According to him, Plutarch’s generic ἱερῆς, roughly equivalent to Latin sacerdotes, were actually pontifices. Plutarch’s ναός, which could mean aedes, templum, cella, or even puluinar (e. g., Mon. Anc. 19), conflates two completely different things. As Ualerius explains it, the pontifices objected to the two gods sharing the same chamber (cella), and Marcellus responded by housing them in entirely separate buildings (aedes). Plutarch touches upon the Marian temple when contrasting Fortuna with Uirtus at De fort. Rom. 318D. His discussion there is more focused on Roman religio, his main point being the religious priority of Fortuna, which for him is implicit in the greater antiquity of her shrines. By way of contrast, he adduces one aedes Uirtutis founded by Scipio Aemilianus and another relatively recent shrine that Romans “dubbed” the aedes Honoris et Uirtutis (τὸ Οὐιρτοῦτίς τε καὶ Ὀνῶρις προσαγορευόμενον). His description of the latter raises two interesting issues. One is his transliteration of Honor, in which he drops the initial Latin H, spelling the name with smooth breathing. Greek transliterations of Roman names beginning with other vowels – like ᾿Aδριανός for Hadrianus (Pl. Luc. 17.1) and Ἔλβας for Helua (D.H. 5.58.1) – are sometimes handled similarly, but names with an “o” in their first syllable, like Horatius, Hortensius, Hosidius, Hostilius, and Hostius, always retain their initial H. Plutarch is the only Greek to transliterate Honor, and it would

 According to Cicero, the Maximus in question is Q. Fabius Maximus Uerrucosus Cunctator (Nat. D. 2.61), but his attribution raises chronological problems (Richardson 1978, 244; contra P&A 258). There were other sites dedicated to Honos, like the ara at the Porta Collina (Cicero Leg. 2.58) and the shrine built by Pompey, but Greek sources do not mention them (see Richardson 1978, 24; Wiss. 150).  Cf. Ual. Max. 1.1.8; Livy 27.25.7– 9. See Richardson 1978, 243 – 4.

210

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

seem from the app. crit. that he dropped the initial H consistently.⁹⁵ This implies that the Latin pronunciation of Honor in his day, or earlier if his spelling is inherited, resembled its pronunciation in the Romance languages and English today. The second issue is the identity of the temple’s founder. The codices of 318D contain no less than three alternatives. One of these, Μακάριος, can be set aside. In Greek it means prosperous, happy, and blessed, equivalent to Latin Felix or Secundus, but neither is possible because Greek authors do not translate Roman names without first transliterating them. Nor can it be a transliteration, since the cognomen Macer is always spelled Μάκερ (D.H. 1.7.3) or Μακερῖνος (D.S. 12.33.1; D.H. 7.1.1). The other two alternatives in the codices are Μάριος and Μάρκελλος, both of which are historically plausible. Editors have decided between them according their interpretation of another version of the same passage that appears later in the text, where it disrupts the chronological flow of the work (322C). This later version may be a relic of an earlier draft, de fort. Rom. being an unfinished work, perhaps from very early in Plutarch’s career, or it might be a copyists’ error. Μάρκελλος is the sole reading of this later passage, which specifies him as the conqueror of Syracuse. Babbit in his Loeb edition takes this as an indication that Plutarch mentioned Μάρκελλος at 318D as well, whereas Nachstädt and his successors in the Teubner edition prefer Μάριος, apparently taking the Μάρκελλος variant at 318D as an incorrect scribal emendation borrowed from 322C. The solution to the problem lies in Plutarch’s use of προσαγορευόμενον, which only fits the Porta Capena complex. The word is not there to signpost the appearance of Latin vocabulary, since Plutarch prefers ὀνομάζω (Rom. 27.4) and καλέω (Crass. 11.11) for that purpose. It must refer to a new name for the complex, matching the Greek use of προσαγορεύω for the granting of new cognomina, like Publicola (D.H. 5.21.1) and Augustus (App. Ill. 13.39), names that were not inherited but were acquired at maturity. This usage does not fit Marius’ aedes, which had always housed Honos and Uirtus together (cf. Uitruuius 3.2.5). It does fit Marcellus’ complex, the name of which would have changed when the second aedes was added to it. Μάρκελλος must be the correct reading at 318D. The connection between Marcellus’ complex and the transuectio equitum, which he also founded, is oddly obscure in Greek. The author of the De uiris illustribus (32) associates the parade closely with Honos, identifying one of the god’s temples as the starting point for the transuectio, and naming Fabius Rullianus

 I refer to the Teubner text. Nachstädt and his successors were apparently of two minds when handling this problem. They emended the codices’ Ὀνώρει and Ὄνωρεμ to a rough breathing at Q.R. 266F while retaining the smooth breathing at 318D.

Ianus

211

as the procession’s founder. Two Greek authors, Dionysius and Cassius Dio, approach the topic from opposite directions, and neither makes the link with Honos explicit. Dionysius refers to the transuectio without ever mentioning Honos. He describes the parade as it had been reconstituted by Augustus in 17 C.E. after a period of neglect, and may have seen the rite himself, but leaves Honos out of his narrative, identifying as the parade’s starting point a temple of Mars that lay outside the city, not an aedes Honoris. ⁹⁶ Cassius Dio does the reverse, including Honos (Τιμή) and Uirtus (᾿Aρετή) alike in his description of Augustus’ reforms, but without commenting on the transuectio. He does mention a πανήγυρις of Honos and Uirtus, which Augustus had shifted to the days (sic) they occupied in his own time (C.D. 54.18.2), and this πανήγυρις may very well comprehend the transuectio. Dio’s reference to plural days for a rite that would require only a single day might imply there were other rituals involved. Or it might be an instance of alleotheta. The word πανήγυρις would certainly be appropriate for a parade, since Dio sometimes translates triumphare as πανηγυρίζω.⁹⁷ Even so, his failure to name or describe the transuectio is peculiar, given his long residence in Rome. He gives no indication that he knew of its existence or its connection with Honos.

Ianus Greek authors were fascinated by Ianus, an old, important, and complex deity that was quite unlike any member of the Greek pantheon.⁹⁸ While the Greek sources on Ianus are extensive, on balance they are later than for most other Roman gods, perhaps a testament to his unfamiliar nature. Polybius and Diodorus never mention him. Neither does Appian. The earliest references, the Greek translation of Ianus Geminus in M.A. 13 and the discussion of Ianus Curiatius in D.H. 3.22.7, are relatively brief. More extensive descriptions appear later, first in Plutarch and Athenaeus in the second century, then in Cassius Dio and Herodian in the third. Longest and lat D.H. 6.13.4. The martial nature of Honos and the god’s connection with the transuectio in De uir. ill. have led to some to connect this supposed templum Mauortis with the Porta Capena complex, but the latter lay inside the walls, not outside of them. See Richardson 1978, 244; cf. Schaffner NP 6.479.  E. g., C.D. 6 = Zon. 7.21. If so, then it seems Augustus moved the festival back two days, from 17 July, the day celebrating the foundation of the Porta Capena temple, to 15 July, the traditional day of the transuectio (Wiss. 150). Other theories include May 29 (Degrassi) and June 1 (Weinstock). See McDonnell 2006, 215 n.36 on the debate.  His name is linked etymologically with doorways (ianua), but the various ramifications of the ianua connection were and still are a matter of debate. “Transitions” might be a better term for his sphere of influence (see Mac Mahon 2003 and Grimal 1999, 39 – 44).

212

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

est are the descriptions by the Byzantine scholars Procopius and John Lydus in the sixth century. Some of Ianus’ many aspects, like his connections with Uesta, the rex sacrorum, the deuotio, and the Agonium either escaped the Greeks’ notice or did not interest them.⁹⁹ Their attention was given instead to his origins and appearance, his significance on Roman coins, his nature, his etymological links with Ianuarius and the Ianiculum, and his more specific incarnations, especially those of Ianus Curiatius and Ianus Geminus. Four Greek authors discuss Ianus’ origins: Plutarch, Herodian, Athenaeus, and Cassius Dio. As with Saturnus, they disagree whether Ianus was autochthonous or an immigrant.¹⁰⁰ According to Herodian, Ianus was a native. Even more, he was the eldest native god of Italy (ὁ θεὸς ἀρχαιότατος τῆς Ἰταλίας ἐπιχώριος), and at one early stage the god of Italy (ὁ τῆς Ἰταλίας θεός; 1.16). In this tradition Ianus was thought to have sheltered Saturnus when the latter was overthrown by his son, and the favor was supposedly commemorated by the name of Latium, which Herodian in a fit of Aeolism derives from the Greek stem λαθ-, meaning to lie hidden, a rather presumptuous etymology for a god he believed to be an Italian native. In Athenaeus, Ianus is an immigrant. At Deip. 15.46, as part of his discussion of garlands (στέφανοι), he records a fairly long quotation from the Περὶ λίθων of the otherwise unknown Dracon of Corcyra that addresses the god’s appearance, deeds, and genealogy as well as his origins. According to Dracon, Ianus came to Italy in search of greater πράγματα, meaning greater deeds and a greater theater of action. Dio’s discussion of Ianus, which survives only in an excerpt, may also have made him autochthonous, and seems to have focused especially on his connection to Saturnus. According to a fragment of C.D. 1 (Cedren. 1 p.295 Bekk.), Dio linked Ianus’ appearance to his origin, saying he received knowledge of the future and past as a reward for the hospitality he showed Saturnus, which is a more positive spin on the ξενία theme motivating the legendary punishments inflicted upon Lycaon and Tantalus. As often, Plutarch casts the widest net. He mentions both possibilities, saying Ianus was either a foreigner, reputedly (ὡς ἱστοροῦσι) a Greek by birth, who travelled from Perrhaebia to Italy and changed the habits and speech of the βάρβαροι living there, or he was a native of Italy who persuaded the wild people there to take up agriculture and civic life.¹⁰¹

 Extensive discussion of his many attributes can be found in Wiss. 103 – 13 and Rosch. 2.1.15 – 55.  Latin sources are likewise split. Ouid Fast. 1.89 – 90 and Macrobius Sat. 1.7.19 say he was autochthonous, while Seruius Aen. 8.357 makes him an immigrant. See Preston 2001 n.53.  Q.R. 269A. He also mentions the latter idea at Num. 19.9 – 10, and there does not mention his immigration. Preston 2001, 98 reads Plutarch’s two responses to the quaestio as both implying that Ianus was Greek, but given the Numa passage we cannot make that assumption.

Ianus

213

Greeks describe Ianus as two-faced, matching the usual Roman depiction of the god. Athenaeus writes that Dracon called him διπρόσωπος, specifying that his two faces were opposed, one looking forward and one backward. Procopius does likewise, and notes that the two faces of the god’s statue in the forum faced east and west (Goth. 1.25.21). Explanations for his appearance vary. Plutarch connects it to his civilizing influence, saying Romans depicted him as two-faced, here ἀμφιπρόσωπον, either because he was a Greek immigrant who changed one shape and habit for another or because he was believed to have changed the Italian people’s habits.¹⁰² His Ianus is the personification of a watershed moment, and his form embodies the change in the Italian way of life that he inspired. Herodian prefers a chronological explanation, derived from Ianus’ connection to the month Ianuarius and its position in the calendar: the statue of Ianus is twofaced because the year begins and ends with him (1.16.2). The frequent appearance of Ianus on Roman currency also piqued Greek curiosity.¹⁰³ Because their interest in Ianus developed late, Plutarch in Q.R. is the earliest author to address it (unless Dracon was earlier). He focuses particularly on coins of the Republic that featured a biformis Ianus on the obverse and the stern or prow of a ship on the reverse.¹⁰⁴ His first theory is that they were minted to honor Saturnus, a nod to the same legendary connection between Saturnus and Ianus that we also see in Herodian and Dio.¹⁰⁵ His second is that the coins honor two necessities of civic life, commerce and laws. The ship represents trade on the Tiber, and Ianus, the one who civilized Rome (as also in Q.R. 269A), represents the laws. Dracon also addressed Ianus’ bust on coins, though for him Ianus was an inventor god, firstly of crowns (hence Athenaeus’ interest in this passage), and then also of rafts and boats. Dracon even credits Ianus with the invention of money, which was supposedly why many cities in Greece, Italy, and Sicily stamped a two-headed face (πρόσωπος δικέφαλος) on one side of their currency and a raft, crown, or boat on the other. The latter theories are dubious. Dracon may be referring to Roman coins minted elsewhere, but most likely he is connecting Roman coins of Ianus with the many Ianiform coins of other nations, which depict biformis goddesses (SNG Paris 1126), biformis gods unrelated to Ianus, like Ζεύς (SNG 300.34) and the Διόσκουροι (RRC 290/1), and can even combine male and female representations (SNG Cop. 505). Ianus’ connection with these figures is distant at best. Dra-

 Num. 19.9 – 11; cf. Q.R. 269A. Plutarch’s περιποιήσαντα τὴν μορφὴν καὶ διάθεσιν at Num. 19.11 is echoed in John Lydus’ later description of Ianus as δίμορφος (4.1).  Examples include Crawford 35/1 and 59/2, and R. 7240 and 7331 in the British Museum Catalog.  Biformis comes from Ouid (Fast. 1.89); Uirgil prefers bifrons (Aen. 12.198).  Q.R. 274E–F. Plutarch never links the two gods explicitly. Ouid Fast. 1.229 – 54 and Macrobius Sat. 1.7.21 elaborate on their connection, which is discussed at greater length under Saturnus.

214

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

con’s claim that Ianus invented coinage also seems to be based on a misunderstanding. When Macrobius addresses the same tradition, he says that Ianus put a boat on the reverse of his coins in Saturnus’ honor when he first minted coins (cum primus…aera signaret), which perhaps implies that Ianus was the first to coin money in Italy, but not that he invented the practice (Sat. 1.7.22). Dracon’s obscurity seems to have been well deserved. Greeks also debated the nature of Ianus. Plutarch’s description is ambivalent, saying that he was either a very ancient δαίμων or a king (Num. 19.10). John Lydus’ Latin sources supposedly referred to Ianus variously as a god (Q. Lutatius Catulus), δαίμων (Gauius Bassus, Constantinus), or ἥρως (source unspecified; 4.2). I say supposedly because the Latin underlying Lydus’ Greek is unrecoverable. He may be translating Latin terms into Greek himself or his sources might have used transliterated Greek like daemon and heros. Lydus also claims that Cassius Dio, the one Greek author he cites, called Ianus a ἥρως, but this is unlikely. No other Greek text ever describes Ianus as a ἥρως. And Ianus’ own genealogy argues against it. According to Dracon, Ianus married his sister Camese (Καμήση), and she bore to him a son Aethex and a daughter Olistene, a tradition that also survives in Latin sources.¹⁰⁶ Ianus’ marriage was therefore incestuous, a thing Greeks accepted only in their gods (the idiosyncratic Ptolemies aside). He should be either a θεός or a divine figure like Aeolus, the keeper of the winds, whose sons and daughters intermarried (cf. Od. 10.7). If Dio believed that Ianus was a ἥρως, meaning either a demigod or a full human, we would expect him to add some comment about his marriage with Camese. Lydus does not mention one. The month Ianuarius is mentioned several times by Plutarch, an author who is very interested in the Roman calendar, and in some of these passages he draws a link to Ianus. ¹⁰⁷ In doing so, he sometimes assumes that his readers are as familiar with the Roman calendar as he. At Q.R. 277E, for instance, he places a festival on Idus Ianuariae (Ἰανουάριαι εἰδοί), without any explanation of Idus or Ianuarius, or any comparison to Greek dates. At De fort. Rom. 319B he dates Caesar’s departure  Seruius (Aen. 8.330) gives a slightly different version in which Camese, whom he names Camasena, bore Tiberis, the Roman river. Macrobius says that Camese and Ianus were the co-rulers of Italy, but the incest in his account is either absent or has been repressed. His version is taken from the Latin author Hyginus, who got it in turn from the Greek author Protarchus of Tralles, yet another instance where we can see Greek and Latin traditions interacting (Sat. 1.7.19). For other sources see Wiss. 107 n.6.  The only Greek discussions of Ianus and the calendar outside of Plutarch are a brief aside in Lucian (Pseud. 8) and the much later observation in Macrobius (Sat. 1.9.16) and John Lydus (4.2) that the god received sacrifice on every Kalends. Macrobius’ statement is taken from Uarro, while Lydus refers to the practice in his own city of Philadelphia. On the connection between Ianus, Iuno, and the Kalendae see Wiss. 103 – 4.

Ianus

215

from Brundisium without explanation as πρὸ μιᾶς ἡμέρας Νωνῶν Ἰανουαρίων, a Greek equivalent of ante diem primum Nonas Ianuarias. ¹⁰⁸ In other passages, Plutarch explains the meaning of Ianuarius, either doubting his readers’ knowledge or simply elaborating for the sake of narrative color. At Caes. 37.3, for instance, he takes the time to equate Ianuarius to Ποσειδεών (an alternate form for Ποσιδηιών), the 6th month of the Athenian calendar. Three times, at Mar. 12.3 and 45.3, and at Galb. 22.3, he notes that the Roman year begins on the Kalendae Ianuariae (Καλάνδαις Ἰανουαρίαις). Ianus enters into Plutarch’s calendar digressions twice more through antiquarian curiosity. In one passage he interrogates the Roman choice to reckon Ianuarius as the start of the new year (Q.R. 267F–268C). As he himself says at the end of the passage, the years pass by in a continuous cycle, and so have no inherent beginning or end, so why put Ianuarius first? His own statement on the question is astronomical – it makes sense for the new year to be placed at the winter solstice, the time when the sun turns about and begins moving closer to the earth – but the rest of his discussion is antiquarian.¹⁰⁹ He considers three traditions. The first is that the Roman calendar originally contained ten months, which would explain the names of months like Quintilis (Πέμπτος) and Sextilis (Ἕκτος).¹¹⁰ The second is that there were always twelve months, and that months like Quintilis and Sextilis were so named because Ianuarius and Februarius were originally reckoned eleventh and twelfth. Thus, the expiatory rites performed in Februarius were once performed at year’s end, a logical place for them, and remained in that month when its numerical position was altered. The purported reason for the change was that the first consuls entered office on the Καλάνδαι Ἰανυάριαι. Plutarch prefers a third idea, however, one that would accommodate either the ten- or twelvemonth model. According to its proponents, Martius was placed at the head of the calendar by Romulus, because he was warlike and reputedly Mars’ offspring, while Numa, a peaceful king who turned his people into farmers, revised the calendar to begin with Ianuarius, so honoring a god devoted to peace and agriculture. Plutarch calls this idea πιθανώτερον, more worthy of belief. It is as much biographical and psychological as it is historical, and so very much in Plutarch’s wheelhouse. For

 The usual Latin pattern for the day before a named day was pridie, not ante dium primum. This would be an odd mistake for someone like Plutarch to make on his own. Other Greeks less familiar with Latin were probably involved in the date’s transmission.  Astronomically speaking, Plutarch’s point is mistaken on two counts. More obviously, his solar system is geocentric. We also know now that the earth is closer to the sun in the northern hemisphere winter than in the summer.  For Latin parallels cf. Uarro Ling. 6.33 and Ouid Fast. 3.135 – 54.

216

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

him, an explanation rooted in psychology is more convincing than ones based on astronomical reckoning or political evolution. Ianus also appears in Plutarch’s survey of the entire Roman calendar at Num. 18 – 19. His points on Ianuarius there resemble some of those in Q.R., but they are not fleshed out as well, doubtless because he is covering much more material while trying to be succinct. At the start of the digression, he mentions the tradition that names like Nouember and December are remnants of a Roman calendar that originally had only ten months, taking the first hypothesis of the Q.R. passage as a given. Then, at its end, he describes the months Ianuarius and Februarius as those Numa added or moved. By way of explanation, he says only that Numa wished to move Martius from its prominent position because it was eponymous for Mars, and to give Ianus pride of place because he was civic (πολιτικός) and social (κοινωνικός). This is a cursory reference to the contrast between Numa and Romulus explained more fully in Q.R. Readers encountering this material for the first time would not be able to follow Plutarch’s reasoning here, but they would still be able to understand its salient points for the Life, that Numa was a civilizing force, as was Ianus, a pair very different from Romulus and Mars. Conversely, Plutarch and most other Greek authors show no interest in Ianus’ connection to the mons Ianiculus. Dionysius, Plutarch, Appian, and Dio all mention the Ianiculum repeatedly, but as far as we know only Dracon ever tied it to Ianus. According to Athenaeus, Dracon transliterated the mountain in the typical Greek fashion (Ἰανοῦκλον), and claimed that it took its name from Ianus because that was where the immigrant god first settled.¹¹¹ Dracon was drawing on a well-established Roman tradition, one recorded by Uirgil (Aen. 8.355 – 8), Seruius (Aen. ad loc.), and Protarchus of Tralles (via Macrobius, Sat. 1.7.19 – 25), and its absence from Greek sources is likely a product of narrative irrelevance, not evidence of Greek ignorance. Dracon also described a river and another mountain that were named Ianus (Ἰανός) in the god’s honor. These apparently lay outside of Italy, and were connected with legends of Ianus’ earliest deeds, before he migrated to Italy. No other source mentions either one, and no topographical candidates in Dracon’s home of Corcyra or elsewhere have been identified. Many of Ianus’ epicleses are translated and discussed in Greek authors, but the majority of them survive only in the fourth book of John Lydus’ chronological work on months (Περὶ τῶν μηνῶν). Lydus was a sixth century Byzantine author whose interpretations are chronologically and culturally far removed from pagan Greek

 Richardson (1996, 294– 5) argues that the name Ianiculum originally referred to a guardhouse protecting an approach to the Roman pomerium, and that it was later transferred to the height guarding the approach to Rome from Ueii.

Ianus

217

perspectives under the Republic and Principate. He is nonetheless an important source for the earlier Roman views of Ianus because his text contains numerous citations of earlier Latin authors, including Q. Lutatius Catulus, Gauius Bassus, Uarro, Longinus, and Cornelius Labeo. The first part of his discussion also contains many Greek translations and explanations of Ianus’ epithets. While some of them were clearly his own inventions, and his explanations for them sometimes miss the mark badly, others may represent older views, and if so, were part of a continuous literary tradition, since Lydus adopts the archaizing Attic style of his literary forbears. The first two chapters of Lydus’ fourth book describe ten incarnations of Ianus in all. His list seems to have been drawn from Cornelius Labeo. We know this because Macrobius also used Labeo for his discussion of Ianus at Sat. 1.9. Despite the many differences between the two versions, Macrobius is essential comparanda when evaluating Lydus’ analysis.¹¹² The first incarnation Lydus mentions is Ianus Consiuius, which he transliterates as Ἰανὸς Κονσίβιος – late Greek regularly uses β instead of ου for Latin u – and translates as βουλαῖος. This is an interpretive error generated by the confusion of consiuius with consilium, made by Lydus himself or later interpolator (Mastandrea 1979, 24). In actuality, Consiuius derives from conserere, as Macrobius (Sat. 1.9.16) correctly explains. Next Lydus gives two supposedly agricultural names, Ianus Cenulus and Cibullius, which he lumps together as referring to feasting (εὐωχιαστικός). Neither appears in Macrobius or is attested elsewhere. Lydus’ explanations are etymological. Cibullius he explains through Latin cibus, meaning food (τροφή). Cenulus should be related to cena, a connection he leaves implicit. Next, he lists the otherwise unknown Patricius (Πατρίκιος) and explains it as meaning Αὐτόχθων. This idea makes little sense within the traditional framework of Roman history. The city of Rome was supposed to have been settled by immigrants, beginning with the Arcadians of legend, and the patricii were no more autochthonous than the plebeii. To judge from Macrobius, Lydus invented Πατρίκιος from Labeo’s Ianus Pater, a better attested name that he misconstrued (Wissowa 109, n.8). Greeks under the principate translated patricius as εὐπατρίδης and εὐγενής. His next epithets are the pair Patulcius (Πατούλκιος) and Clusius (Κλούσιος), in conjunction with the very similar Clusiuius (Κλουσίβιος). Patulcius and Clusius  There are actually three Latin sources that used Labeo: Macrobius Sat. 1.9, Arnobius Ad nat. 3.29, and Seruius Aen. 7.607– 10. Macrobius is the most extensive and the most useful of the three for interpreting Lydus 4.1– 2. See Hooker 2017, 55 n.2 and the synoptic text and extensive commentary in Mastandrea 1979, 21– 43.

218

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

are connected with opening and closing, patere and claudere, and refer to the doors of Ianus Geminus. Lydus hints obliquely at this explanation by connecting them with doors (οἱονεὶ θυρεός). Clusiuius seems to be a doublet, an alternative form of Clusius. ¹¹³ Lydus mistakes it for a separate incarnation and interprets the name incorrectly as a combination of Clusius and uia, transforming Ianus Clusiuius into a god of travel (ὁδιαῖος). Next is Iunonius (Ἰουνώνιος), an epithet that is perhaps derived from Iuno’s association with the Kalendae of each month (Wissowa 103 – 4). Lydus explains the name as meaning aerial (ἀέριος), an idea that has support in Macrobius (Sat. 1.15.19 – 20) and so one that probably comes from Labeo. Next is Quirinus (Κυρῖνος), an epithet that was applied to Ianus Geminus from Augustus onward. It is linked to the deified Romulus and to Mars, and so is often translated as Ἐνυάλιος. Lydus explains it as meaning defender (πρόμαχος), an idea derived from Latin quiris, the Latin equivalent to the Sabine word for spear. This explanation too was probably in Labeo.¹¹⁴ Lydus’ final epithet, Curiatius, refers to the legend of the Horatii and Curiatii. Here at last we encounter an epiclesis that is well attested in Greek as well as Latin (Mastandrea 1979, 29 n.52). By comparing Lydus’ analysis of the name to earlier ones, we can see how far his views had diverged from those under the Principate. He claims that Curiatius means Protector of Nobles (ἔφορος εὐγενῶν), explaining that Horatius and Curiatius were names of patricii (εὐπατρίδαι). Like the other ideas of Lydus’ own invention, it goes well wide of the mark. Several earlier sources attest that the name refers to the legendary fight between the Horatii and Curiatii, and in particular to the surviving Horatius’ murder of his sister after the battle.¹¹⁵ Dionysius gives a detailed explanation that agrees well with the Latin narratives. According to him, Horatius was granted a pardon for his sister’s murder because of his father’s intercession, after which the king Tullus Hostilius ordered the ἱεροφάνται (meaning pontifices) to propitiate the θεοί and δαίμονες (a formula absent from Latin accounts) and to purify Horatius of his crime (D.H. 3.22.3 – 10). Most Latin sources pass over the propitiation without comment.¹¹⁶ Dionysius’ Greek readers would have been unfamiliar with the cult of Ianus Curiatius, so offers physical details as well: one altar was dedicated to Iuno because

 Seruius Aen. 7.610 and Arnobius Ad nat. 3.29 pair Clusiuius and Ianus Patulcius, just as Ouid does Patulcius and Clusius (Fast. 1.129 – 30). No one but Lydus gives both Clusius and Clusiuius.  Cf. Macrobius Sat. 1.9.16 and see also under Quirinus and Iuno Quiritis.  E. g., Livy 1.26.13; De uir. ill. 4.9; Schol. Bob. ad Cicero Mil. 7. See Graf NP 6.676; Mastandrea 1979, 29; Latte 133; Wiss. 104 n.4.  Schol. Bob ad Cicero Mil. 7 does mention it in a brief ablative absolute: constitutis duabus aris Iano Curiatio et Iunoni Sororiae.

Ianus

219

she watches over sisters, and another to Ianus, who was either a native god or spirit (ἐπιχώριος θεός or δαίμων) and was named Ἰανὸς Κοριατίων in memory of the brothers Horatius had killed in battle.¹¹⁷ Dionysius also mentions the tigillum sororium (ξύλον ἀδελφῆς), which he describes as a beam spanning the two altars under which Horatius had to pass.¹¹⁸ The aspect of Ianus that receives the most attention in Greek is that of Ianus Geminus, primarily because of his shrine in the forum. The structure was originally a pair of gates, one facing west and one east, and was expanded by Augustus to house the archaic bronze statue of the god (Turcan ANRW 17.1.376 – 80). Greeks were most interested in the tradition of closing its doors when all of Roman territory was at peace (cf. Livy 1.19.1– 2). The earliest Greek mention of the tradition and the temple is M.A. 13, where the Greek translator renders the gate as Πύλη Ἐνυάλιος. The Latin text is incomplete, but it can be restored based on the Greek translation and the near contemporary text of Horace Carm. 4.15.9 to read (Ianum) Quirin(um)…ter me princi(pe senat)us claudendum esse censuit. The reference to Ianus Geminus as Quirinus was an Augustan innovation, and was regularly applied to the god thereafter.¹¹⁹ Plutarch describes the gate twice, both times in conjunction with the closing of its doors. In the Life of Numa (20.1– 3) he describes the building as twin-doored (δίθυρος), and says the Romans call it the gate of war (πολέμου πύλη), a reference to the Latin phrase ianua belli (e. g., Silius Pun. 17.356). He explains the tradition of closing the doors to signify peace and mentions their closure in 235 B.C.E. and later under Augustus, all so that he can drive home his main point, that the doors remained closed for the entire 43 years of Numa’s reign, a testimony to the king’s justice (δικαιοσύνη) and mildness (πραότης). He recounts the same facts at De fort. Rom. 322B but with the emphasis reversed. The shrine, which he there calls τὸ τοῦ Ἰανοῦ δίπυλον (perhaps to aid the imagination of Greeks familiar with Athens’ dipylon gate) was opened immediately after Numa’s death, remained open 480 years, and was only briefly closed in 235 B.C.E. before being thrown open again for another two centuries, proof of Numa’s extraordinary fortuna. Emphasis aside, the details of the two passages are quite similar, which is by no means a given in Plutarch’s works.

 Dionysius’ genitive plural substantive Κοριατίων, equivalent to Curiatiorum, is unattested in Latin. It is more an interpretation than a literal rendering of Curiatius.  This too is described briefly in Schol. Bob.: superque eas iniecto tigillo, Horatius sub iugum traductus est. See Coarelli LTUR 5.74 and Mac Mahon 2003, 59.  Uarro Ling. 5.165 calls the shrine Ianus Geminus (referring to the 235 B.C.E. closure); Horace says Ianus Quirini, using a genitive variant reminiscent of Dionysius’ Ἰανὸς Κοριατίων; Suetonius has Ianus Quirinus (Diu. Aug. 22), and Florus has porta Iani (19.2). See Graf NP 6.676; Wiss 109 n.1.

220

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

Cassius Dio mentions Ianus Geminus three times. The first two passages refer to the closure of the temple doors during Augustus’ rule. For the first instance, that of 43 B.C.E. following Augustus’ victory at Actium, Dio provides the usual explanation, that the doors of Ianus (αἱ πυλαὶ τοῦ Ἰανοῦ) were closed because all of Rome’s wars had utterly ceased (51.20.4).¹²⁰ When he mentions Augustus’ subsequent closure of the temple in 25 B.C.E., there called τὸ τοῦ Ἰανοῦ τεμένισμα, he leaves the explanation out, trusting that his readers will remember the significance of the act from his earlier discussion (53.26.5). His third mention concerns a vote to close Ianus Geminus (Ἰανὸς Γέμινος) in 10 B.C.E., a procedure that was quickly aborted by Dacian and Dalmatian aggression (C.D. 54.36.2). Dio’s explanation of the closure rite in the first passage demonstrates his concern that some of his readers would not know its significance. Conversely, the variety of expressions he uses for the god and his temple afterward suggests a confidence either that his readers had good memories or that many of them would at least be aware of the god and would recognize his name.¹²¹ Our fullest description of the temple comes from the sixth century Byzantine scholar Procopius, who relates a very late attempt to open the temple doors, reviving a custom that had been neglected since the rise of Christianity (Goth. 1.25.18 – 25). As an advisor of Belisarius during the siege of Rome in 538 C.E., Procopius had ready access to the forum, and whatever physical details he gives for the shrine and its cult statue should be correct for his time. He assumes a fair bit of topographical curiosity on the part of his readers, who in those unstable times would not be able to visit the city themselves. He describes the temple of Geminus as lying in front of the curia (βουλευτήριον, meaning the curia Iulia as rebuilt by Diocletian) and a bit beyond the Tria Fata (Τρία Φᾶτα), which he understands as the Latin name for the Μοῖραι.¹²² The building itself he describes as a rectangular bronze structure just large enough to house the statue of Geminus.

 The same Greek phrase also appears in Suidas s.v. Ἴανος, though the accent on the god’s name is different (αἱ πυλαὶ τοῦ Ἰάνος).  Dio mentions Ianus twice more, but neither passage concerns Geminus. In one, a statue of Ianus falls over in 19 C.E., which is taken as a portent of Germanicus’ impending death (57.18.4). This cannot refer to the archaic bronze statue of Ianus Geminus, which was by this time housed in the narrow confines of the Geminus shrine. In the other, Didius Iulianus is abused by a Roman mob as he prepares to sacrifice to Ianus before the doors of the συνέδριον, by which Dio cannot mean Ianus Geminus, which was far too small a structure to house a meeting of the senate (73.13.3).  No remnants of Ianus Geminus have been found and its location is still uncertain, but it must have been near the intersection of the Argiletum and the forum, perhaps between the basilica Aemilia and the curia. See Tortorici, LTUR 3.92– 3 and figs. 56 – 7 on 3.416. Cf. Wiss. 108 – 9; Rosch. 2.1.15 – 20.

Inuidia

221

The enclosed statue of Ianus, which was some six feet tall, he describes as a bifrons (διπρόσωπον) figure of a human male, with one face to the east and one to the west, each staring into the opposing twin doors of the temple. Procopius was far removed from the pagan Roman experience, of course, so his understanding of Ianus’ cult, like that of his contemporary Lydus, is limited. Much of Ianus’ original significance had been forgotten in the long years since the suppression of pagan cults by Theodosius. This is why he erroneously calls Ianus the first of the Penates (Πένατες), a very odd connection to make for a deity whose cult was public and political (Graf NP 6.676; Mac Mahon 2003, 59).¹²³ Conversely, Procopius does correctly explain the sixth-century attempt to open the doors of Geminus as signifying the end of εἰρήνη and ἀγαθοὶ πράγματα, doubtless because this was a contemporary event, and involved an aspect of Ianus’ cult that had been discussed extensively by earlier Greeks.

Inuidia As far as we know, Inuidia had no cult. Latin poets do personify envy as a goddess (OLD 1b), but never in any literal fashion. The only prose author to mention any such thing, Cicero, does so as a contrafactual: one of his interlocutors, the Academic Skeptic C. Aurelius Cotta, questions the Stoic theology of Q. Lucilius Balbus by mocking the idea that Inuidentia might be thought a god (Nat. D. 3.17.44). A divine genealogy of Inuidia does survive, both in Greek and Latin, but it never seems to have manifested itself as a public cult in either civilization.¹²⁴ Despite all this, Cassius Dio describes Caligula sacrificing to Φθόνος (C.D. 59.17.4). The occasion is the emperor’s first crossing of his famous bridge between Puteoli and Bauli in 39 C.E. (see Wardle 2007). The incident is also described by Suetonius (Calig. 19) and is mentioned by Josephus (AJ 19.1.1– 2) and Seneca (De breu. uit. 18.5), but none of them mentions Inuidia or any sacrifice. Given the singularity of Dio’s account and the absence of any cult to Inuidia, the likeliest explanation is that he is invoking a literary topos, not recording a historical event. Greeks did not sacrifice to Φθόνος or Ζῆλος any more than Romans did Inuidia, but they did favor

 The Penates were associated with Uesta, not Ianus (e. g., Cicero Nat. D. 2.67– 8).  In Hesiod (Theog. 383 – 4), Envy (Ζῆλος) and Victory (Νίκη) are the children of Στύξ and the Titan Πάλλας. Pseudo-Apollodorus lists the children as Νίκη, Κράτος, Ζῆλος, and Βία (1.2.4). The Latin astrologer Hyginus makes Pallas a giant (gigans) and gives the longest list of children: Scylla, Uis, Inuidia, Potestas, Victoria, Fontes, and Lacus (Poet. astr. praef. 17.1). Latte and Wissowa have nothing on Inuidia, and the brief entries on Inuidia, Φθόνος, and Ζῆλος in Roscher’s Lexicon (Rosch. 2.1.263, 3. 2. 2473 – 5, and 6.562 respectively) say nothing of cult.

222

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

the literary motif of ὕβρις, the envy-arousing arrogance that led to divine envy (φθόνος), madness (ἄτη) and vengeance (νέμεσις). Among the more famous examples are Odysseus’ men devouring the cattle of the sun in childish ignorance (σφετέρῃσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν; Od. 1.7– 9), Xerxes’ ἀτάσθαλα and ἄχαρις rebuke of the Hellespont (7.35.2– 36.1), and especially Agamemnon’s treading of the purple cloths in Aeschylus, which Agamemnon himself knew to be an invidious path (ἐπίφθονος πόρος; Ag. 921). Whatever Caligula’s true actions and intent, the tradition of his bridge, so reminiscent of Xerxes’ bridge over the Hellespont, became likewise associated with divine envy, and the literate despot was imagined making an apotropaic sacrifice in order to avoid the downfall of his historical and literary forbears.¹²⁵

Iustitia Iustitia too seems not to have received any cult during the Roman Republic. If she did, no trace of it survives. Roman perceptions of the goddess evolved under Augustus and his successors, however, both in literature and in cult. Augustan poets refer to a personified Iustitia as a mythological figure of the golden age. Ouid describes her departure from earth, fleeing the crimes of humanity (Fasti 1.249), behaving in much the same way Pietas does in his Metamorphoses (1.149 – 50) and later in Statius’ Thebaid (11.457– 81). In praising the agrarian life, Uirgil says Iustitia’s last footsteps on earth were among agricolae (Georg. 2.273 – 4). The parallel rise of the cult of Iustitia may have begun with the golden clipeus honoring Augustus, which included iustitia among his virtues (M.A. 34). Subsequent evidence of cult includes the fasti Praenestini, which mention under January eighth a statue of the Iustitia Augusti (SIGNUM IVSTITIAE AUGUS[TI]…) that was dedicated by Tiberius in 13 C.E. during the consulate of C. Silius and L. Munatius Plancus. We also possess an undated inscription from a marble vase referring to one P. Aelius Timaeus as a sacerdos Iustitiae (CIL 6.2250).¹²⁶ The one Greek passage that may refer to Iustitia as a goddess comes from Plutarch’s Life of Numa, which says that the Romans urging Numa to ascend the throne called him a companion of Iustitia, a Δίκης ἑταῖρος (6.3). Ziegler chose to capitalize Δίκης in his Teubner edition, and he was right to do so. For one thing, Plutarch repeatedly describes Numa as the companion of deities, most famously

 Divine νέμεσις intrudes similarly into Plutarch’s analysis of the evil Fortuna that befell Aemilius’ sons (Aem. 36.9; see also under Fortuna).  See Latte 300; Wiss. 332– 3; Rosch. 2.1.762.

Iuuentas / Iuuentus

223

of Egeria, and the Camenae, and he seems to be framing the archaic Romans’ compliment in similar terms. He himself also mentions the Greek personification of Δίκη elsewhere (Alex. 52.6), following a tradition then went back to Hesiod (Theog. 901– 6). Admittedly, Greek δίκη does more often refer to justice in a human sense, and most often specifies legal justice, which was a Homeric usage (Il. 16.542) that persisted throughout classical Greek (LSJ IV). Likewise, Greek δίκη when applied to Rome typically refers to a trial (quaestio, iudicium, actio, etc.). When P. Scipio is charged with accepting bribes from Antiochus, for instance, a procedure that Livy calls a iudicium (38.52), Appian names it a δίκη (Syr. 40.210). This may explain why the Greek translator of Augustus’ Res Gestae rendered iustitia not as δίκη but as δικαιοσύνη (M.A. 34). By Plutarch’s day, Romans had described Iustitia as a deity for over a century, and however anachronistic it may have been for archaic Rome, Plutarch’s Roman and Greek contemporaries may very well have understood Δίκη as a goddess.

Iuuentas / Iuuentus The Roman goddess overseeing boys’ transition to manhood was originally called Iuuentus, and then Iuuentas as well from the 1st century B.C.E. onwards. Romans associated her with Greek Ἥβη by the third century B.C.E., via an association, perhaps topographical, between Iuuentas and Hercules, in conjunction with the Greek association of Ἡρακλῆς and Ἥβη (Wiss. 136 and 276). She was accordingly honored in a lectisternium performed at the aedes Herculis in 218 B.C.E, and a temple was built for her in the Circus Maximus a generation later, as discussed below.¹²⁷ Greeks never adopted the Roman equation, however, and never translated Iuuentus as Ἥβη. For them, she was always Νεότης. Roman youths entered manhood ritually by donning the toga uirilis and by making a cash payment to Iuuentus. Dionysius is the only Greek writer to discuss this ceremony. He cites L. Piso’s Annales in attributing its origin to Seruius Tullius, who was thereby able to track the number enrolled into the ranks of Rome’s men and so knew how many men were available for military service (τίνες στρατεύσιμον ἡλικίαν εἶχον; D.H. 4.15.5). Dionysius also refers to this time of life, the στρατεύσιμος ἡλικία, at D.H. 5.75.3 and 8.87.3, but does not mention the ritual payment to Νεότης again. Augustus used this same ceremony as the occasion for appointing his grandsons principes iuuentutis (Kunz NP 6.1152), and his successors likewise used the ap-

 Livy 21.62.9. See Kunz NP 6.1152, Latte 256, Wiss. 135 – 6, and Rosch. 2.1.764– 5.

224

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

pointment as a tool for publicly honoring their intended successors. Augustus himself mentions the honor being bestowed upon C. and L. Caesar in his Res Gestae, and while he refers to the goddess only indirectly, his Greek translator adopts the usual Greek translation of νεότης for iuuentus, rendering Augustus’ princeps iuuentutis as ἡγεμὼν νεότητος (M.A. 14.2). Cassius Dio does likewise when he mentions the ceremony, rendering C. Caesar’s and Macrinus’ elevation to princeps iuuentutis as to πρόκριτος τῆς νεότητος (C.D. 55.9.9; 78.17.1). The other passages that mention Iuuentus concern her shrines on the mons Capitolinus and in the Circus Maximus. Dionysius includes the former in his description of the Capitolium as begun by the Tarquins. As he tells it, her Capitolium shrine was one of many altars (βωμοί) of the θεοί and δαίμονες occupying the ground that the Capitolium was to encompass. For each one, the augures (οἰωνοπόλοι) performed an auspicatio (διαμαντεύομαι) before allowing it to be relocated. All the gods acquiesced but two, Terminus (Τέρμων) and Iuuentus (Νεότης), and their altars had to be incorporated into the complex. That of Iuuentus ended up in the antechamber (πρόναος) of Minerua, and that of Terminus within the temple enclosure (σηκός) itself. The augures took the intransigence of these gods as a sign that Rome’s boundaries and power would remain firm, and Dionysius confirms that they did so up to his own day, twenty-four generations later (D.H. 3.69.5). Pliny (HN 35.108) also says that Iuuentus was housed in the Capitolium, though he calls her shrine an aedicula, not an ara, housed within the Mineruae delubrum (i. e., cella). He says nothing about the date of her inclusion there, however. If Dionysius has it right, and the aedicula or ara of Iuuentus preceded the Capitolium, we should expect Latin sources to mention her intransigence as well. Most, including Cato (frag. 24P), our only source from the Republic, do not.¹²⁸ Livy and the much later Augustine (De ciu. D. 5.23) are the only authors to include Iuuentus, and Livy does so only sporadically. When he first mentions Terminus’ refusal to move, in its proper chronological position in his narrative, he ignores Iuuentus (1.55.2– 5). He only includes her later, when he has Camillus mention her in his speech urging the Roman plebs not to abandon the city (5.54.7). Ogilvie in his commentary to this passage traces Iuuentus’ inclusion to Uarro, but guesses that Livy included it in his narrative independently, which is a rather baffling combination (1965, 750). The Uarro theory itself is speculative. Ogilvie bases it on D.H. 3.69, and Dionysius does not mention Uarro there. But if the idea was Livy’s alone, then how did it get into Dionysius, who never cites his esteemed Roman contemporary?¹²⁹

 Later sources include Ouid Fast. 2.669 – 70; Augustine (De ciu. D. 5.21); Lactantius Diu. inst. 1.20.37; Seruius Aen. 9.446. See Ogilvie 1965, 210 and 750, and cf. under Terminus.  Augustine cites Livy often, and probably inherited the idea directly from him.

Lares

225

The idea that Iuuentus preceded the Capitolium was evidently in the Roman air, as it were, and Uarro, Dionysius, and Livy would have been able to access it directly because of their residence in Augustus’ Rome. Ideas can be disseminated orally as well. The other shrine mentioned by Greek sources is the aedes of Iuuentus vowed by M. Liuius Salinator in 207 B.C.E. and dedicated in the Circus Maximus by C. Licinius Lucullus in 193 B.C.E. (Livy 36.36.5 – 6). Augustus restored the temple in conjunction with his general resuscitation of Iuuentus’ cult, and his boast of aedem Iuuentatis…feci at M.A. 19 is a bit overdone. His Greek translator renders Augustus literally as ναὸν Νεότητος…ἐπόησε (sic). Cassius Dio is the sole author to record the reason for Augustus’ reconstruction project, a fire that incinerated the structure in 16 B.C.E. (C.D. 54.19.7). He translates aedes with the term μέγαρον, which is an uncommon word for shrines outside of Herodotus (e. g., 1.47), but one that Dio also uses for the aedes Marti Ultoris (C.D. 55.10.5). The association of the temple with the racetrack may have been linked in the Roman mind with Ἡρακλῆς and Ἥβη (Wiss. 136; Rosch. 2.1.765), but Dio follows the usual Greek practice and attributes the shrine to Νεότης.

Lares Though the Roman Lares and Penates are often mentioned together in ancient sources. their association does not imply their equivalence. As John Bodel has concisely put it, the Lares and Penates were “two distinct but related sets of deities – one generic and collective (the Lares), the other pluralistic and individualized in orientation (the Penates) – canonically paired and set in juxtaposition with each other.”¹³⁰ Classical Greek authors maintain the distinction and translate the Lares and Penates differently. Even in the late and uneven glossaria they are usually separate. The Lares are θεοί (2.121.13), δαίμονες (2.265.62), or ἥρωες κατοικίδιοι (2.121.14), while the Penates are πατρῷοι θεοί (2.399.59).¹³¹ Greeks were perhaps aided by differences in the gods’ physical depiction and location. The Lares were consistently represented by a pair of male figures, something that to Greek eyes might have resembled the Διόσκουροι, while the Penates were represented by a larger and wider assortment of statuettes. The household Lares were worshipped a shrine located near the family hearth, now usually referred to as a lararium, while the Penates were worshipped in one of the house’s public spaces.

 Bodel 2008, 249. See also Flower 2017, 48 – 52.  CGL 2.265.62 confuses them, however, translating Lares as δαίμονες ἤτοι θεοὶ κατοικίδιοι.

226

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

The specific identity and roles of the Lares were unclear in the late Republic, and perhaps always had been. According to Arnobius, for instance, the antiquarian P. Nigidius Figulus described them variously as household gods (tectorum domumque custodes) and as other native and foreign gods; Arnobius also says Uarro was unsure (haesitans) whether Lares were to be identified with genii, laruae, or the di manes. ¹³² Modern opinions fall into two camps. One interprets the Lares as spirits of the dead; the other understands them as gods associated with places, and with crossroads in particular.¹³³ They were in either case both public and private gods, worshipped within homes and also in various civic rites (Bodel 2008, 249 – 51). Greek authors discuss both aspects, although they ignore many of the public rites, including those of the Lares Alites, Curiales, Permarini, Praestites, and Querquetulani. They give their attention to three incarnations, the Lares Familiares, the Lares Praestites, and the Lares Compitales, and they grappled with the significance of the latter two in particular. They seem to have found the Lares Familiares alien and confusing. Most of their discussion involves the tradition in which Seruius Tullius is the son of the Lar Familiaris of Tarquinius Priscus. Our main Latin account of the tale is found in Pliny, who describes a phallus that appeared in the hearth of Tarquinius Priscus and the impregnation thereon of a servant of Tanaquil, whom he names Ocresia (HN 36.204). As already discussed under Uolcanus, Seruius was believed to have been the product of this supernatural union. In Pliny, it was the flame later seen dancing about the child’s head in his sleep that led the family to conclude that he was the son of Tarquinius’ Lar Familiaris. This belief later motivated Seruius to create the Compitalia honoring the Lares, thus linking the Lares Familiares with the Lares Compitales. Dionysius tells a rather different version of this story (D.H. 4.2). There are several alterations in the smaller details, like the timing of the flame prodigy and the servant’s name, which he spells Ὀκρισία, and one major one, an alternative theory that the boy’s father was Uolcanus. ¹³⁴ The link between Tarquinius’ Lar Familiaris and Seruius’ later creation of the Compitalia is accordingly also absent.¹³⁵ Diony-

 Adu. nat. 3.41.2. See Flower 2017, 8 – 9.  Flower, who argues for the second position in her recent monograph, gives extensive bibliography on the debate at 2017, 2 n.2. For earlier surveys, see Mastrocinque NP 7.247– 9, Latte 90 – 94, Wiss. 166 – 75, and Rosch. 2. 2.1868 – 97.  The latter idea predated Dionysius, and may have come to him through the Greek Promathion. See under Uolcanus.  As we shall see, Dionysius does describe the Compitalia in some detail, but he never connects the Lares Compitales to Seruius’ divine conception or to the appearance of miraculous flames over his head like Pliny does.

Lares

227

sius’ most intriguing choice is his name for Tarquinius’ Lar Familiaris, the κατ’ οἰκίαν ἥρως. For one thing, Dionysius is the only Greek to refer to a singular Lar as ἥρως, but this accurately reflects Latin usage (Flower 2017, 36 – 7). And besides, the story’s single phallus requires a single god; Pliny makes the same simplification without comment. More intriguing is the term ἥρως itself. The translation is similar to that in the Monumentum Ancyranum, in which Augustus’ aedes Larum is translated as νεὼν ἡρώων (M.A. 19), and to the ἥρωες κατοικίδιοι found in the glossaria (2.121.14).¹³⁶ It also connects the Lares Familiares with the Greek hero-cults, which honored the semi-divine founders of aristocratic lines. Such a deity would be appropriate for the hearth of a Tarquinius, who was not only a king of Rome but was born a noble Corinthian, a member of the city’s aristocratic Bacchiadae (D.H. 3.46 – 7). Yet while the equivalence works well enough for a Tarquinius, it is less satisfying as a general translation. Roman worship of Lares Familiares was not restricted to noble families. And Dionysius never applies ἥρως to the humbler Lares. Given that fact, and lacking any mention of the Compitalia, we cannot be sure that he is understanding the phallus in Tarquinius’ hearth as a Roman Lar. Plutarch draws upon the same tradition twice. One instance, his narrative at Rom. 2.4– 8, is drawn from Promathion’s history of Italy and is only distantly related to Dionysius’ account. It does contain a divine hearth-phallus, but the hearth in question is that of the Etruscan king Tarchetius, the gods involved are Greek Τέθυς and Uesta, and the resulting birth is that of Romulus and Remus, not Seruius Tullius. More familiar is his narrative at De fort. Rom. 323 A–C. He begins it with an entirely mundane variant, in which Ocrisia is captured in the sack of Corniculum, enslaved, given to Tanaquil, and then married off to one of Tarquinius’ clientes, to whom she bears the future king Seruius. He then gives an alternate story that is quite similar to the one in Dionysius. It too emphasizes fire over a hearth, invoking both Uolcanus and the ἥρως οἰκουρός as possible fathers, and describes the flames that appeared over Seruius’ head. Like Dionysius, Plutarch makes no connection between Seruius’ birth and his later establishment of the Compitalia. Once again, without Pliny we would not even guess that the Lares Familiares might be involved. The same problem haunts Plutarch’s discussion of dead ancestors at Q.R. 267A–B. The topic of Plutarch’s quaestio is a gender distinction in Roman funerals, according to which the sons of the deceased would walk with heads covered and  It might also be related to Cassius Dio’s use of ἥρως as an equivalent for Latin diuus when referring to the deified emperor in imperial cult (e. g., C.D. 51.20.6; 59.7.1). Cicero with considerable hesitation proposes δαίμων instead: quos Graeci δαίμονας appellant, nostri, opinor, Lares, si modo hoc recte conuersum uideri potest… (Tim. 38).

228

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

the daughters would leave their heads exposed and hair unbound. In the course of his theorizing Plutarch considers some intriguing aspects of Roman attitudes towards the dead. The first hypothesis he offers is that is that Roman sons are expected to worship their dead fathers as gods (θεοί). He returns to this idea shortly afterward with a citation of Uarro, who explained that Romans turned themselves about at a tomb in order to honor the memorials of their fathers as they do temples of the gods (θεῶν ἱερά). He also notes that Uarro described Romans looking for a bone in their parents’ ashes, and upon finding it saying that the deceased had become a god (θεός). It would be instructive to know Uarro’s exact vocabulary. Plutarch’s language is vague. His word for god throughout the entire quaestio is θεός, the most generic choice possible. According to Apuleius’ categories of the deceased, already discussed under Genius, the spirits of the deceased should be Lemures, and the beneficent ones among them should be Lares (De deo Socr. 15). Plutarch’s rendering of Uarro’s original Latin as “memorials of their fathers” (τὰ τῶν πατέρων μνήματα) may conceal something more specific, perhaps a reference to Roman Lararia. He himself gives us no sign that he has understood any such idea here, and his generic language suggests that he may have chosen not to complicate his narrative by delving deeper into such an unfamiliar aspect of Roman cult. He is more specific when discussing the Lares Praestites, the Lares that protected Rome’s walls.¹³⁷ These gods were worshipped at a small shrine, whose location is disputed, and was probably obscure already in Ouid’s day (Fast. 5.129 – 42). Coarelli places the shrine next to the aedes Uestae, but Flower is probably correct in locating it near the Uolcanal (2017, 111).¹³⁸ When Plutarch transliterates the deities’ title he emphasizes the distinctiveness of the Roman epithet Praestites (τῶν Λαρητῶν οὓς ἰδίως “πραιστίτεις” καλοῦσι), and then ponders why they are accompanied by a dog. Ouid addresses the same question in the Fasti, and gives several more or less facetious answers (e. g., compita grata deo, compita grata cani). Plutarch offers two explanations that he seems to take more seriously. The first is etymological, that Praestites means defending, literally “standing before” (προεστῶτες), and it is fitting that those who stand before a house be guards, fearsome to outsiders, like a dog, and gentle to those who share the house. By using the home as a metonym for the city, he mixes the gods’ spheres of responsibility, conflating the Praestites with Lares Familiares, which in fact represents faithfully the confusion inherent in the Lares, whose public and private roles are not easily separated (Bodel 2008, 249). The same blending of public and private is evident in Plutarch’s second explanation, which combines Greek and Roman

 Q.R. 276F–277 A. See Flower 2017, 108– 11; Mastrocinque NP 7.248; Wiss. 171– 3; Rosch. 2. 2.1871– 2.  Flower 2017, 111, contra Coarelli LTUR 3.175 – 6.

Lares

229

views. It is based on the Roman opinion (ὃ λέγουσιν ἔνιοι Ῥωμαίων) that the gods use such spirits (δαιμόνια) to punish the wicked and the unjust, an opinion shared by the stoics (οἱ περὶ Χρύσιππον). To Plutarch, the Lares resemble the Greek Ἐρινύες, shepherds of the people who oversee their lives and houses. They are attended by a dog and wear dog skins because they hunt out and pursue wrongdoers. Plutarch’s mixing of public and private in this Quaestio, combined with the absence of the Lares in his discussion of Roman ancestor cult at Q.R. 267A–B, suggests that he had no conception of Lares Familiares and Praestites as distinct entities, which implies in turn that he conceived of Tarquinius’ ἥρως οἰκουρός in De fort. Rom. 323C and Rom. 2 more as a hero in the Homeric sense, the divine or semi-divine ancestor of a Corinthian aristocrat.¹³⁹ A third aspect of the Lares, the Lares Compitales, though ignored by most Greek authors, seems to have intrigued Dionysius very much. The cause of his interest was likely Augustus’ renewal and transformation of their ancient rites, including the establishment of ludi compitalicii and numerous shrines of Lares Augusti. ¹⁴⁰ These innovations were focused upon the city of Rome itself and were underway by 7 B.C.E., overlapping the latter days of Dionysius’ residence in the city. They must have caught his attention. He nonetheless demonstrates more interest in the traditional worship of the Compitales than in Augustus’ modifications, both in the Compitalia celebrated in urban centers, and in the Paganalia, their rustic counterpart. As already noted, Dionysius does not connect the Compitalia with the legendary conception of Seruius Tullius. He does describe the adult Seruius establishing rites of the Penates Compitales, however (D.H. 4.14.3 – 4). By his account, Seruius ordered the residents of all streets (στενωποί) to erect a chapel (καλιάς) for the “her-

 The coincidence of dogs and Lares also occurs in the sole Greek mention of Mania, whom Plutarch calls Γενείτη Μάνη (Q.R. 277A–B). Uarro (Ling. 9.61) and Macrobius (Sat. 1.7.34– 5) identify her as the mother of the Lares, and Macrobius describes rites established at the dawn of the Republic, in which boys would sacrifice to her pro familiarium sospitate and households would hang effigies of her before doorways to avert danger. Plutarch asks two questions: why Romans sacrificed a dog, and why they prayed that none of the children born in the house would turn out “good” (χρηστός, perhaps translating bonus). He addresses the second question first with a transparent bit of etymology deriving Γενείτα from γένεσις. He then brings the dog into the mix. His other answers are a combination of supposition, based on the nature of dogs and Greek analogies involving Ἑκάτη, Argive traditions, and a Spartan treaty, all in all a strongly Hellenizing set of explanations. Preston emphasizes the otherness in Plutarch’s analysis (2001, 106 – 7), but he explains the only surprising aspect he mentions, that χρηστός might be a euphemism for the dead (οἱ τελευτῶντες), by an appeal to Aristotle. See also Padovani 2018, 216 – 19; Wiss. 174 and 240; Rosch. 2. 2. 2323 – 4.  See Flower 2017, 255 – 7. Suetonius mentions the ludi compitalicii at Aug. 31.4, but neither he nor any other Roman writer describes Augustus’ reform in any detail.

230

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

oes of the front of the house” (ἥρωες προνώπιοι), and decreed that every house would make an annual offering there. The sacrifices were to be made by slaves because their service would please the ἥρωες. Their festival was to be called the Compitalia (Κομπιτάλια), and held a few days after the Saturnalia. During the celebration slaves were permitted to remove every marker of their servitude, so that they might be better disposed towards their masters and less troubled by their miserable situation. Dionysius’ narrative contains several hints that he relied upon his own autopsy and interpretation. Most glaringly, we have his comment that the festival was practiced in his own day (ἔτι καὶ καθ’ ἡμᾶς). There are also odd inaccuracies in his translations, more than is usual for him. He twice uses στενωποί for compita, an odd substitution of streets for intersections, and when he asserts that Romans called streets compita he transliterates the Latin term as masculine instead of neuter (κομπίτους γὰρ τοὺς στενωποὺς καλοῦσι). Granted, the Greek language did not possess an exact equivalent for compita, but it did have the more specific τρίοδος and τετραοδία, which would have been a closer match than στενωποί. Dionysius chooses the translations he does because he is retrojecting later forms of worship into the early cult. Macrobius tells us that images of Mania were hung at the doorways of individual houses instead of at crossroad altars, a development that was probably necessitated by the expansion of the city and the consequently larger number of offerings (Sat. 1.7.34; see Flower 2017, 168). Autopsy of this later practice would explain Dionysius’ ἥρωες προνώπιοι, a phrase with no Latin parallel.¹⁴¹ Rural Romans also worshipped their own Lares, and their rituals too are mentioned by Dionysius. It is unclear whether he connects the rustic Lares with those worshipped in the Compitalia, though his vocabulary suggests that he is at least thinking of them in similar ways. In one instance, he uses ἥρωες to describe an appeal to the rural Lares by the boy Attus Neuius, more commonly known as Attus Nauius, the same youth who would grow to be a prominent augur during the reign of Tarquinius Priscus. According to Dionysius, the young man served as his father’s swineherd, and in that capacity once fell asleep, allowing some of the swine to wander off. After waking, in fear of the beating he would receive from his father, he went to the local chapel of the heroes – καλιὰς ἡρώων, the same terminology Dionysius employs for the shrines at the urban compita – and vowed to them the farm’s largest cluster of grapes if he could locate the missing swine (D.H. 3.70.2). No other author preserves the story, but we are probably on safe ground connecting this shrine with the rural Lares. Cato mentions similar

 Προνώπιοι emphasizes the neighborhoods, literally the outer faces of the houses (προνώπια), whereas Latin Compitales emphasizes the intersections of streets (compita).

Libertas

231

worship of the Lares to be performed at the corners, the compita, of his farmland (Agr. 1.5.3). These rural Lares were honored in the Paganalia, an annual festival equivalent to the urban Compitalia. Dionysius describes Seruius’ foundation of the rite in fairly close combination with that of the Compitalia, perhaps revealing a link between the two in his own mind that he never makes explicit (D.H. 4.15.3 – 4). According to his account, the king established rural districts (pagi) so that he could enumerate the citizens (pagani) in each. To ensure that the lists were well maintained, he established altars of the guardian gods of each district, upon which the rural citizens would make sacrifices during a new festival. All had to contribute a set amount, which would enable the local overseers to keep a kind of running census. Dionysius’ language for the gods involved, οἱ θεοὶ ἐπίσκοποί τε καὶ φύλακες τοῦ πάγου, clearly implicates the Lares. His emphasis on their role as local guardians is an accurate reflection of the multifaceted nature of the Lares, as is his conflation of various aspects of their cult. He does make one minor mistake in his interpretation of the name of the festival. Paganalia was connected with Latin districts (pagi), but he links it with Greek πάγοι, meaning hills. The similarity of the two words created an opening for his Aeolism.

Libertas Roman Libertas was a female goddess associated originally with the freedom of individual Romans.¹⁴² As time passed, her cult was also appropriated for civic purposes. Her shrines included the atrium Libertatis (a secular building housing the censors’ archives that Greek authors never mention) and perhaps also a temple of Libertas, Iuppiter Libertas, or Iuppiter Liber that Ti. Sempronius Gracchus built and dedicated in the later third century B.C.E.¹⁴³ Greeks had no matching goddess, though they did possess a close native equivalent for Iuppiter Libertas in Ζεὺς Ἐλευθέριος (= Ζεὺς Σωτήρ), who was the honoree of the Ἐλευθέρια, an annual festival celebrated at Plataea memorializing the Greek victory over Mardonius.¹⁴⁴ The

 Hence the typical portrayal of her holding a pileus and festuca, the cap and rod employed in the rite of manumission. See Elm 2006; Galinsky 2006 (with bibliography in his nn. 3 – 4); Latte 256; Wiss. 138 – 9; Rosch. 2. 2. 2031– 4.  Livy 24.16.19; Festus 247 s.v. Libertatis templum. See under Iuppiter Liber.  A temple, an Ἐλευθερίου Διὸς ἱερόν, was also erected (Strabo 9.2.31). See also D.S. 11.29.1, Dionysius De Thuc. 36, and the discussion by Wissowa at Rosch. 6.620 – 1.

232

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

parallel is not very useful here, since the connection between Libertas and Iuppiter Libertas is opaque, perhaps nonexistent.¹⁴⁵ That Greeks understood libertas as the Latin equivalent of their ἐλευθερία is clear from translations of the goddess and concept in Cassius Dio and Herodian. When describing Brutus’ preparations for the battle of Philippi, for instance, Dio records that the army’s watchword was ἐλευθερία.¹⁴⁶ We have no Latin source for the watchword, but the goddess Libertas was a prominent aspect of Brutus’ propaganda, and is frequently depicted on his coins (e. g., RRC 433/1; 501/1). Dio also mentions libertas in his narrative of the Perusine war, the inept insurrection against Octauian led by L. Antonius and Fuluia, ostensibly on behalf of M. Antonius. The Sabine inhabitants of Nursia fought with the rebels but soon surrendered to Octauian without penalty. Until, that is, they buried their dead and inscribed on their tombstones that the deceased had given their lives in defence of ἐλευθερία (C.D. 48.13.6). Octauian was not amused, and fined the Nursini into oblivion. Dio also mentions a statue of Libertas, an Ἐλευθερίας ἄγαλμα, that was built in the forum after the death of Seianus (C.D. 58.12.5).¹⁴⁷ Herodian records a similar event from the succeeding century, in which the senate celebrated Commodus’ death by replacing the emperor’s statue (ἀνδριάς) with one of Libertas (Ἐλευθερίας εἰκών; 1.15.1). The remaining Greek references to Libertas concern the temples honoring her that were sponsored by Clodius Pulcher and Iulius Caesar.¹⁴⁸ Clodius’ temple was the focus of intense political wrangling, and the religious aspects of its construction are not well explained because the Greeks who mention them, Plutarch and Dio, are less interested in Libertas herself than in the conflict between Cicero’s supporters and opponents, Milo and Clodius in particular. Plutarch says only that Clodius drove Cicero out of the city, burned down his house and in its place constructed an aedes Libertatis (ναὸς Ἐλευθερίας; Cic. 33.1).¹⁴⁹ This is not quite correct. Cassius Dio gives further details about the process and allows us to infer that the shrine was never completed. Cicero’s enemies confiscated his property, razed his house, transferred the land to Libertas (τῇ Ἐλευθερίᾳ ἀνείμε-

 See Scheid 2007, 56; Wiss. 120.  C.D. 47.43.1. Plutarch’s sources recorded it as ᾿Aπόλλων (Brut. 24.7).  Seianus’ overthrow was also memorialized in a dedication to Libertas at Interamna dated to 32 C.E., the year after his death. Its inscription reads Saluti perpetuae Augustae Libertatique publicae populi Romani (CIL 11.4170). Similar dedications honoring Libertas were inspired by the deaths of Nero (CIL 6.471) and Domitian (CIL 6.472). See Wiss. 139.  See the two articles by Papi in LTUR 3.188 – 9.  Cicero’s own references to the shrine mention an ambulatio, delubrum, and templum, but never an aedes. See Papi LTUR 3.188.

Mens

233

νον; C.D. 39.11.1) and consecrated (ἀνέθηκαν) it as a foundation (ἔδαφος) for the aedes (ναὸς Ἐλευθερίας; C.D. 38.17.6). Cicero was able to reclaim his property without undue complications the following year, and to defend it against a second attempt at confiscation.¹⁵⁰ A completed temple would have greatly complicated his efforts, so Dio’s ἀνέθηκαν must be a synonym for ἱερόω, denoting Latin consecratio, not dedicatio, which could only be performed on the completed building. The shrine to Libertas voted in Caesar’s honor was never completed either. Dio provides our sole reference to this structure, saying that the senate in 45 B.C.E., upon learning of Pompey’s defeat, bestowed upon Caesar the cognomen Liberator (Ἐλευθερωτής) and voted an aedes Libertatis (νεὼς Ἐλευθερίας) in his honor (C.D. 43.44.1).¹⁵¹ Dio never mentions the building again, and Caesar is dead less than a year later, so the construction could not have proceeded very far. And as we can see from Dio’s and Plutarch’s descriptions of Clodius’ shrine, Dio’s use of ναός here really gives us no idea what sort of building was intended.

Mens Cult of the goddess Mens originated in Magna Graecia, particularly in central and southern Italy, where she was worshipped as Mens Bona, the personification of wisdom and foresight.¹⁵² She was introduced into Rome after the Roman disaster at Lake Trasimena – a battle in which the Roman general C. Flaminius was notably lacking in both attributes – after consultation of the libri Sibyllini (Livy 22.9.10; Ouid Fast. 6.241– 2). Her temple was vowed by the praetor T. Otacilius Crassus in 217 B.C.E. and dedicated by the same man as duumuir aedibus dedicandis the following year.¹⁵³ Greek interest in Mens concerns the same temple. Plutarch is the only author to mention it, and does so only in his treatise De fortuna Romanorum, a work he is thought to have written as a juvenile exercise, as already noted in the discussion of Fortuna Primigenia, and to have revised partially in his maturity (see Nachstädt et

 C.D. 39.20.3. Cicero mentions the temple many times in his speeches (e. g., Dom. 108; Leg. 2.4). For the ancient references see Papi LTUR 3.188 – 9 and Wiss. 139 n.4. For more extensive analysis see Elm 2006, 36 – 7 and Berg 1997.  On Caesar Liberator see Elm 2006, 37; Weinstock 1971, 133 – 5; Wiss. 139. Libertas was appropriated in turn by the tyrannicides after murdering Caesar, and appears frequently on their coins (see Rosch. 2. 2. 2033).  See Phillips NP 8.698 – 9; Reusser LTUR 3.240 – 1; Mello 1968, 9 – 17; Latte 239 – 40; Wiss. 313 – 15; Rosch. 2798 – 2800.  Livy 22.10.10; 23.31.9. See Papi LTUR 3.189 and Mello 1968, 17– 31.

234

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

al. ad 316C). He offers there two digressions on Mens, which are phrased in nearly the same language. In the first, he makes the simplistic point that Romans must have valued Fortuna more than Mens (and Honos and Uirtus) because her temple was built much earlier (318E). He exaggerates the interval, however. He claims that the temple of Mens was built by M. Aemilius Scaurus at the time of the Cimbric wars, several centuries after the earliest temples of Fortuna, which is incorrect.¹⁵⁴ Scaurus did rebuild and rededicate the temple (Cicero Nat. D. 2.61), perhaps in his consulship of 115 B.C.E., but it was founded more than a century earlier. Plutarch’s seeming error strengthens his rhetorical point, though, not only by making the temple of Mens appear more recent, but by diminishing the goddess herself. In dissociating her from the XVuiri and the aftermath of Lake Trasimena he is able to reduce her sphere of influence from wisdom and foresight, aspects central to the Italian and Roman concept of Bona Mens, to mere intellectualism. He creates this impression by translating Mens as Γνώμη and then by claiming that Romans chose to honor her because they were beginning to embrace rhetorical artifice (λόγοι, σοφίσματα, and στρωμυλία). When Plutarch mentions the temple again a few chapters later he mostly repeats himself, pointing out for a second time that the temple of Mens was much later than that of Fortuna, and asserting again that it was dedicated by Aemilius Scaurus (322C). Critics have rightly identified this passage as a duplicate of 318E, but there is one very important difference: at 322C Plutarch offers two translations of Mens, Γνώμη and Εὐβουλία. The latter means good council, and is a better translation for the concept of Bona Mens than Γνώμη, incorporating the goddess’ larger significance and reflecting the real motive behind the temple’s creation, as a response to Flaminius’ disaster. For those very reasons it creates a narrative problem, distracting from the link Plutarch seeks to establish between the introduction of Mens and the rise of formal rhetoric in Rome. His solution is to introduce his translations at 322C with a sarcastic νὴ Δία, establishing a snide dichotomy between the introduction of a Roman goddess of wisdom and the influx of λόγοι, σοφίσματα, and στρωμυλία. The result does not comport well with Plutarch’s usual narrative persona, in which he shows respect for Roman gods and culture. I take 322C as an immature incarnation of the argument that Plutarch improved by the removal of Εὐβουλία at 318E, notwithstanding that term’s superiority to Γνώμη as a translation of Mens. In other words, he preferred the poorer translation because it suited better his rhetorical agenda and because it did not put him in the uncomfort-

 Plutarch transliterates Mens as Μένς, evidence that the vowel e in her name was short. Contrast his μῆνσα for mensa at Quaest. con. 726F. On Scaurus see Lewis 2001.

Ops

235

able position of sneering at Roman religion. The survival of the older version at 322C simply indicates that he did not complete his revision.

Ops Roman cult of the goddess Ops was very old. According to tradition, she was among the deities honored by T. Tatius in the earliest days of the city’s foundation, and her two festivals, the Opiconsiuia on Aug. 25 and the Opalia on Dec. 19, are listed among Numa’s institutions on Roman calendars.¹⁵⁵ For centuries, the center of her cult was the Sacrarium within the Regia, in which she was worshipped as Ops Consiua. ¹⁵⁶ A temple was finally built to Ops Opifera in the mid-3rd century B.C.E., and was struck by lightning in 186 B.C.E.¹⁵⁷ Despite her age and prominence, her original significance remains unclear. Most literary sources treat her as a goddess of the earth and agriculture. Prevalent though it may have been, this view is now considered too narrow. It was generated by ancient misconceptions about Consus, a god with whom she was affiliated early on, and exacerbated by her later association with Saturnus in an earth/sky duality assimilated to Greek Κρόνος and Ῥέα.¹⁵⁸ Wissowa already doubted the agricultural model a century ago, just as he doubted similar assumptions about Consus (Wiss. 203). In his longer discussion at Rosch. 3.1.935, he theorizes that the link between Ῥέα and Ops developed in the influx of Hellenization after the 2nd Punic War. Miano (2015, 99) has more recently argued that Ops was once a more generalized goddess of abundance, not an agrarian one only, and that she played an important political role supporting the Roman monarchy. According to Augustine (De ciu. D. 4.11) she was also involved with childbirth. The Greek author most interested in Ops is Dionysius. He discusses her in three passages, each time linking her with Saturnus and translating her as Ῥέα. The earliest passage of the three is a catalogue of early Roman temples and altars built by Romulus and T. Tatius (D.H. 2.50.3). It matches in many respects the Latin catalogue created by Uarro (Ling. 5.74), which he explicitly sourced from the Roman annales. In other respects, however, Dionysius’ version of the catalog differs sub-

 Uarro Ling. 5.74; D.H. 2.50.3. See Miano 2015, 103; Dumézil 1996, 397; Wolfram-Aslan NP 10.172; Latte 72– 3, 110 – 11; Wiss. 203 – 4; Rosch. 3.1.931– 7.  Uarro Ling. 6.21. See Aronen LTUR 3.361– 2; Pouthier 1981, 59 – 67.  Livy 39.22.4. See Aronen LTUR 3.362; Pouthier 1981, 139 – 62  …Iupiter ex Ope natust (Plautus Mil. 1082). Terra Ops, quod hic omne opus et hac opus ad uiuendum, et ideo dicitur Ops mater, quod terra mater (Uarro Ling. 5.64). Ops terra est, uxor Saturni, quam Graeci Rheam uocant (Seruius Aen. 11.532). Cf. also Fest. p.186 L and Macrobius Sat. 1.10.18 – 24.

236

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

stantially, and although he does cite the Roman antiquarian twice in neighboring passages (2.47.4; 2.48.4), he does not do so in the catalogue itself. It seems very unlikely that he could have used Uarro when composing it. Dionysius’ catalogue was probably derived from the annales, but through some other intermediary. Dionysius begins his catalogue with Ἥλιος and Σελήνη, a pair that Uarro includes later in his catalogue as Sol and Luna. Other parallels include Ἥφαιστος, matching Uolcanus, Ἄρτεμις, matching Diana Lucina, and Ἐνυάλιος, matching Quirinus. The one goddess lacking a parallel is Ἕστια, who should appear as Uesta in Uarro’s catalogue, but is absent. Dionysius concludes his list by saying that there were other gods he does not mention because their names are hard to render in Greek. From Uarro, we can see that these may have included Flora, Uediouis, Summanus, Larunda, Terminus, Uortumnus, and the Lares. Dionysius does discuss some of these elsewhere, but none of them has a close Greek equivalent. The two deities of interest here, Κρόνος and Ῥέα, Uarro lists them separately, fourth and first in his catalogue, as Saturnus and Ops, and the annales may well have done the same. Dionysius pairs them. Really, he could hardly have done otherwise. It would have been very odd for a Greek, even one less fond of Aeolism than Dionysius, to translate Ops as Ῥέα and not associate her with Κρόνος. Dionysius also translates Ops as Ῥέα at D.H. 7.72.13, and there the origins of the translation are less clear. Ῥέα appears near the end of his long description of the ludi magni, a rite that included a pompa, a ritual parade, that flowed from the Capitolium to the Circus Maximus. Included in the pompa were images of the gods, which Dionysius assimilates to those of Greek deities. As he describes them, they included the Olympian twelve (Ζεύς, Ἥρα, ᾿Aθηνᾶ, etc.) and a second grouping of older gods from whom the twelve were said to have sprung (i. e., the Titans) which are led off by Κρόνος and Ῥέα, apparently referring to Saturnus and Ops. At the outset of his narrative Dionysius seeks to establish the veracity of his report by citing Fabius Pictor as his source, emphasizing that Fabius was the first of the Roman historians, and that he reported not only from hearsay but from autopsy, and thus gave accurate testimony for the middle Republic (D.H. 2.71.1). Fabius wrote his history in Greek, so a reader would infer at this point that Fabius had translated Ops as Ῥέα and linked her with Κρόνος. But Dionysius immediately confounds this impression by introducing his own autopsy. The pompa ended in a sacrifice of oxen, which the Romans, according to Dionysius, performed in a manner very similar to Greek rites. Dionysius reinforces his claim with repeated citations of Homer (D.H. 2.72.15 – 17), then corroborates his claims by saying that he himself had seen them doing these things (ταῦτα) at the sacrifices in his own day (D.H. 2.72.18). How broadly should we construe ταῦτα? If it means sacrifices in general, then Dionysius’ description of the ludi magni should reflect what he found in Fabius. If it refers specifically to the sacrifices in the ludi magni, then Dionysius’ au-

Ops

237

topsy has intruded. Fabius may well have linked Ops with Ῥέα; his contemporary Plautus did so (Pouthier 1981, 163 – 72). But Dionysius muddies the waters too much for us to be sure. Dionysius’ third passage concerns the establishment of the Opalia, the festival to Ops celebrated on the 19th of December. According to him, it originated in a war between the Sabines and Seruius Tullius, during which Seruius vowed to establish annual feriae (ἑορταί) for Κρόνος and Ῥέα. As often, Dionysius concludes by noting that Romans still celebrated the festival in his own time, and specifies that it took place after the harvest (D.H. 3.32.4). Some connection between these feriae, the Opalia and the Saturnalia is suggested by their proximity in the calendar, and the relationship is mentioned several times by Latin sources. Ausonius (Ecl. 23.15 – 16) links them, as does Uarro (Ling. 6.22), though he is mostly interested in the festivals’ names. Macrobius (Sat. 1.10.18 – 24) expounds upon their connection at length, saying the Romans of his time thought the Opalia was celebrated on a day originally ascribed to a joint festival of Ops and Saturnus, and was so constituted because they were husband and wife, and both concerned with the harvest. He then connects the pair with Greek traditions by mentioning an ancient Athenian altar to Saturnus and Ops, which Philochorus, the third-century Atthidographer, had ascribed to Cecrops. Philochorus wrote in Greek, of course, and probably knew nothing of Roman Saturnus and Ops, so Macrobius’ citation only confirms that he himself thought of Saturnus and Ops as Κρόνος and Ῥέα. Dionysius naturally agrees with the Roman view that Macrobius records, welcoming the opportunity to assimilate Ops to her Greek counterpart. His Aeolism may also explain why he misses or ignores the connection between Ops and Consus, even though the two festivals of Ops, the Opeconsiuia and the Opalia, fell four days after the two celebrations of the Consualia in the Roman calendar (Pouthier 1981, 102– 13). Consus had no Greek equivalent, so his connection to Ops would contribute nothing to Dionysius’ rhetorical goals. The only other Greek to mention ops is Plutarch, and it is not at all clear that he is thinking of a goddess when he does so. He makes no mention of any equivalence with Ῥέα, and the etymologies he suggests have nothing to do with cult. As it turns out, however, by ignoring the Roman and Greek assimilation of the two goddesses he presents a version of ops that is more congruent with the original nature of Ops as it is now understood. The passage in question is a discussion of the spolia opima, for which Plutarch offers two explanations (Pl. Rom. 16.6). One of them is drawn from Uarro, whose Latin explanation for the name opima Plutarch explains by linking ops (accusative ὄπεμ) with περιουσία. We do not possess a Latin version of this fragment, so the actual word behind Plutarch’s περιουσία is unrecoverable. It was probably a term referring to the broader concept of resources, perhaps

238

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

copia or res. ¹⁵⁹ This view of ops agrees well with the reconstruction of Ops in Miano (2015, 99). Plutarch is not himself convinced, however, and offers a second etymology based on opus, meaning deed (τὸ ἔργον), that has nothing to do with ops as goddess or concept.¹⁶⁰ Having given the correct explanation, he rejects it in favor of a spurious one. One is reminded of Herodotus’ discussion of the summer rise of the Nile (2.19 – 24).

Pax The ancient world was a violent one, and warfare was a near constant state of affairs for Rome, a reality institutionalized by the open doors of the temple of Ianus and the annalistic division between civilian and military affairs, domus militiaeque. Peace in the sense of a universal cessation of hostilities was exceedingly rare, so although pax was an ancient concept it was not worshipped as a deity until the rise of Augustus, when Pax Augusta first appears as Paxs (sic) on the obverse of the quinarii issued by L. Aemilius Buca in 44 B.C.E (RRC 480/24). After Antony’s defeat, the goddess Pax rose to prominence. She was honored under Augustus in poetry and by statues and monuments, including the astonishing and muchdiscussed ara Pacis, and under Uespasian by the templum Pacis. ¹⁶¹ Greek writers largely disregard Latin poetry, so the physical manifestations of her cult represent their only interest in the goddess. Greeks always translate Pax with Εἰρήνη, their own incarnation of peace, who was part of Hesiod’s pantheon (Theog. 902) and received cult at Athens and elsewhere (Rosch. 1.1.1221– 2). They also use εἰρήνη and the related εἰρηναῖα when referring to a cessation of military hostilities, like the Roman treaty with Carthage after the first Punic war (Ap. Pun. 5.18).¹⁶² The full phrase Pax Augusta is not han-

 Appian uses περιουσία in a similar way when discussing Caesar’s debts, when Caesar is detained from leaving for Hispania Ulterior in 61 by creditors because he owed more than his resources (πλέονα τῆς περιουσίας ὀφλών; Ap. B.Ciu. 2.8.26).  Modern analyses of ops and opus disagree on whether the two words descend from a single root (Miano 2015, 102– 3). Plutarch treats them as unrelated.  The bibliography on the ara Pacis and templum Pacis is vast. For recent surveys and bibliography see Cornwell 2017 and the articles in AW 3.1 (2018) by Cornwell, Faust, and Liechtenberger. See also Scherf NP 10.659; Wiss. 334; Rosch. 3. 2.1719 – 22, and the LTUR articles on the ara pacis by Torelli (4.70 – 74) and on the templum pacis by Coarelli (4.67– 70).  For the formal agreement that marked the end of conflict, the indutiae or foedus, Greeks prefer more concrete words like σπονδαί, συνθῆκαι, διαλλαγαί, and διαλύσεις. The distinction is not absolute. Diodorus refers to a Roman foedus with the Samnites as εἰρήνη (D.S. 20.101.5; cf. Livy 9.45.1).

Pax

239

dled so consistently. The translator of the Res gestae gives a literal rendition, translating Augustus’ ara Pacis Augustae as βωμὸς Εἰρήνης Σεβαστῆς (M.A. 12; the sole Greek reference to the monument). But when Cassius Dio mentions the statues of Salus Publica, Concordia, and Pax Augusta that Augustus erected in 11 B.C.E. (C.D. 54.35.2) he leaves the epithet Augusta out of his translation, rendering Pax Augusta simply as Εἰρήνη. Ouid also leaves out Augusta when he mentions the same three gods in conjunction with Ianus. In his case, there was no need to include it. For one thing, he is using the ara Pacis as metonymy for the goddess herself, which would necessarily imply Pax Augusta (Fast. 3.881). And even if he were not, Pax meant Pax Augusta for him and his readers. The prominence of the shrine and the novelty of her cult obviated the need for further specificity. Dio’s Greek readers lived centuries after Ouid, and had a millennium of Hellenic Εἰρήνη worship behind them. They would not have linked Augustus with Pax so readily, and would probably have taken Pax for a peer of Salus and Concordia, two gods of much older lineage. Dio probably did so himself. The other Greek references to Pax concern Uespasian’s templum Pacis, which comprised an aedes, a temple precinct, and a surrounding forum, all dedicated in 75 C.E., during Uespasian’s sixth consulship. The completion of the templum is mentioned by Josephus (BJ 7.5.7) and Cassius Dio (C.D. 65.15.1), both of whom call it the τέμενος Εἰρήνης, precisely equivalent to templum Pacis, with τέμενος emphasizing the sacred precinct over the cult building and forum (cf. Suetonius, Uesp. 9.1). Josephus expands further on the art and riches it contained because some had been seized in the sack of Jerusalem. Dio may not have seen the spoils himself, since the building burned in 191 C.E. He and Herodian were both alive at the time of the fire, and both interpret the conflagration as an omen of the impending death of Commodus (C.D. 72.24.1; Herod. 1.14.2). Herodian from his distant vantage in Antioch claims the whole precinct burned to the ground (πᾶν τὸ τέμενος κατεφλέχθη), whereas Dio, a Roman resident, says only that fire burned τὸ Εἰρηναῖον, which might refer only to the cult building. Whatever the extent of the damage, it was soon repaired or rebuilt, since Ammianus describes Constantius II gazing upon it in 357 C.E. (16.10.14). It remained a jewel of Roman architecture through late antiquity. Procopius, who accompanied Belisarius to Rome in the sixth century C.E., doubtless saw it himself, and is the only Greek author to translate forum Pacis, the more usual Latin name for the complex.¹⁶³

 …διὰ δῆς ἀγορᾶς, ἣν φόρον Εἰρήνης καλοῦσι Ῥωμαῖοι (Goth. 4.21.11); cf. Martial 1.2.8.

240

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

Penates / Dii Penates Within Roman households, the Penates were an assortment of gods worshipped by a particular family. They were concretely represented by various statuettes and other objects located within the penus domi, the house’s larder (Bodel 2008, 258). Images of the Lares were occasionally found among the Penates in the excavations of Pompeii, but the Lares were distinct gods, as has already been discussed, and their primary shrines, later referred to as lararia, were located in the public areas of the house (Flower 2017, 48 – 52). Worship of the Penates, like that of the Lares, included public and private rites, with the Penates of individual households mirrored by two manifestations of the state Penates, the aedes deum Penatium on the Uelia, and the publici Penates populi Romani Quiritium, which were thought to be hidden within the penus Uestae, perhaps along with the Palladium. ¹⁶⁴ The association between Penates and the state hearth, the focus publicus, was a public manifestation of the private link between larder and hearth. Our main Greek source for the Penates is Dionysius, who focuses on public aspects of the Penates to such a degree that it is unclear whether he is even aware of their private aspect. Certainly, he is not very interested in it. The state Penates are another matter. The legends of their origin were involved in the Greek mythology of the Trojan war, and were associated with certain Great Gods worshipped on Samothrace, and so support his Aeolism. He describes the Penates’ origin, their journey to Italy, and their nature, location, and cult in his own day, and along the way draws repeated connections between Rome’s founding and epic Greek narratives. His presentation is not up to his usual standards, however. It is redundant, chronologically chaotic, and dispersed over two main passages and several subsidiary ones, symptoms of his inability to reconcile contradictory traditions. His first extended statement on the Penates is prompted by a monstrum that occurred in the early days of Alba Longa, during the rule of Ascanius (D.H. 1.67– 9). When the Albans moved from Lauinium, their original Italian home, they were obligated to maintain the state cult of their Penates, and so transferred the state Penates to a new shrine built in Alba Longa. The Penates were unwilling to comply with the move, however, and miraculously relocated themselves back to Lauinium overnight. The Albans tried once more and the same miracle occurred, so they bowed to the gods’ will and resolved the situation by sending 600 men with their families back to Lauinium to maintain the cult there (D.H. 1.67.1– 2). This is

 On the aedes Penatium see Palombi LTUR 4.75 – 8 and Palombi 1997; on the aedes Uestae see Scott LTUR 5.125 – 8.

Penates / Dii Penates

241

a typical edifying tale of Roman religio, the sort that Dionysius often finds attractive. A long digression on the Penates follows. Dionysius’ first topic is the gods’ name. He transliterates the Latin as Πενάτες and lists several Greek translations that he has encountered: Πατρῷοι, Γενέθλιοι, Κτήσιοι, Μύχιοι, and Ἑρκεῖοι. The translations have more to do with the Penates’ private cult than its public manifestations: Πατρῷοι and Γενέθλιοι refer to their connection with clan; Κτήσιοι is a domestic adjective highlighting their role as protectors of the household, a concept familiar to Greeks through Ζεὺς Κτήσιος; Μύχιοι emphasizes the location of the Penates in the penus of a house or temple, equivalent to Greek μυχός. Ἑρκεῖοι is similar to Κτήσιοι, emphasizing protection and again familiar to Greeks from Ζεὺς Ἑρκεῖος, but it misrepresents the location of the Penates, since Ζεὺς Ἑρκεῖος was a god of the courtyard (ἕρκος), a concept more appropriate to Roman Lares. None of these names really translates Penates, which had no close Greek equivalent, and Dionysius’ observation that they are not translations so much as descriptions of various aspects of the Penates is astute. His comment that they all amount to essentially the same thing, on the other hand, is patently untrue. One other author produced a list of Greek translations of Penates, and oddly enough it was a Latin author, the second century annalist L. Cassius Hemina. His list is preserved in Macrobius, also a Latin writer, who discusses the Penates at length and draws parallels between Greek and Latin traditions, including some of the points elaborated upon by earlier Greek authors. Unlike Dionysius, Macrobius emphasizes the distinctiveness of the Penates, calling them dii Romanorum proprii, and he includes Heminus’ list as a useful aid for Greek readers unfamiliar with them.¹⁶⁵ Heminus gave three translations: θεοὶ δυνατοί (“powerful”), θεοὶ χρηστοί (“propitious”), and θεοὶ μεγάλοι (“great”), and equated the Penates with the Great Gods of Samothrace.¹⁶⁶ None of these translations appear in Dionysius, and so far as we can tell, Hemina invented them himself. As translations go, they are pretty weak fare, vague and unimaginative. Their interest lies in the possibility that they may translate words applied to the Penates in Roman cult. Macrobius highlights θεοὶ μεγάλοι as particularly worthwhile, though the Uirgilian line he cites in support, cum sociis natoque Penatibus et magnis dis (Aen. 3.12), does not clearly identify the Penates as the magni di. ¹⁶⁷ His evidence is much better for

 Although Macrobius writes in Latin, it is not his native tongue (Sat. 1.11– 12), and he is sensitive to the needs of readers unfamiliar with Rome.  Cassius uero Hemina dicit Samothraces deos eosdemque Romanorum Penates proprie dici θεοὺς μεγάλους, θεοὺς χρηστοὺς, θεοὺς δυνατούς (Sat. 3.4.9). Macrobius’ dici is the passive infinitive in oratio obliqua.  See Coleman 1982, n.22.

242

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

the translation he later adds from Hyginus, θεοὶ Πατρῷοι.¹⁶⁸ For the Latin he once again adduces Uirgil, and this time the great poet’s di patrii (Aen. 2.702) and patriique Penates (Aen. 1.353) are a close match. So much for the name of the Penates. Dionysius’ digression moves abruptly on to its next topic, the Penates’ physical representations, which promises greater opportunities for his Aeolism. The subject implicitly includes the vexed question of their location, since one cannot talk about the form of the Penates without relying ultimately upon those who claimed to have seen them. Only the Uestales and Pontifices could view the objects in the Roman penus Uestae, however, and did not discuss them with the populace at large, so Dionysius of necessity shifts his attention from Rome to Lauinium, and to the evidence of Timaeus, a Sicilian Greek who was supposedly told in the third century B.C.E. by the inhabitants of Lauinium that the sacred objects within the penus (ἄδυτα) of their shrine were bronze and iron herald staves (κηρύκια) and a Trojan ceramic object of some sort. These objects would presumably be the Penates brought to Italy by Aeneas and left in Lauinium after the monstrum at Alba Longa.¹⁶⁹ Timaeus’ claim raises obvious questions. If the original sacred objects remained in Lauinium, then what was the source of the Penates in the penus Uestae in Rome? And what was the connection between the two sets of Penates? Dionysius ignores these questions, abandoning Timaeus and Lauinium alike with the specious apophasis that it would be improper to inquire further into matters that are sacrosanct. And he only maintains this stance for an instant. Almost immediately, he writes that the Παλλάδιον, a Trojan cult statue of ᾿Aθηνᾶ, was reputed to be housed within the penus Uestae in the forum (D.H. 1.69.4). Dionysius was vain about his craftsmanship, and cannot have been satisfied with his performance here. One suspects that he might not have mentioned Timaeus at all, were it not for his Aeolism. The Trojan ceramics were important to him because they tied Lauinium to Aeneas and the Trojan war. The real solution, of course, is that the Aeneas of legend never existed, and that the sacred objects at Lauinium and Rome arose independently, but no Latin or Greek author, least of all Dionysius, is willing to entertain that possibility.

 Πατρῷοι is the usual Greek translation in Dionysius and elsewhere (e. g., D.H. 1.46.4, 1.57.1, and 2.52.3). The Penates are also called the θεοὶ Πάτριοι in the summary list of Augustus’ temples that is appended to the Res gestae (app. 2), but they are translated as θεοὶ κατοικίδιοι at M.A. 19, an indication that the appendix may have been composed separately. Plutarch’s πάτριος θεός at De fort. Rom. 325F refers to the alarm raised by Iuno’s geese on the Capitolium, and probably has nothing to do with the Penates (cf. Cam. 27).  Uarro also attests to their continued presence in Lauinium in the first century B.C.E. (Ling. 5.144).

Penates / Dii Penates

243

Unanswered questions also mar Dionysius’ subsequent analysis of the Penates in the aedes deum Penatium on the Uelia. This shrine was open to the public, so Dionysius was able to rely upon on his own autopsy. He describes them as two archaic statues of young men, seated and holding spears, with their identity confirmed by an inscription. He himself refers to them as Τρωικοὶ θεοί (D.H. 1.68.1), emphasizing their sojourn in Troy and their connection to Greek epic, and writes that he has himself seen the figures and many other such imagines of the gods in archaic temples. Of course, their presence in Rome makes no sense if the Penates had refused to leave Lauinium and were still there in the third century B.C.E., as Timaeus claimed. And Dionysius’ remarks on Lauinium elsewhere only reinforce the impression that Timaeus was correct. Just a few chapters earlier he describes Aeneas sacrificing a piglet to the Πατρῷοι θεοί, and says there that the location of the sacrifice was the site of the Lauinium shrine in his own day (D.H. 1.57.1). In book two, he records a tradition that T. Tatius was murdered when he accompanied Romulus to Lauinium to make sacrifice to the Πατρῷοι θεοί (D.H. 2.52.3).¹⁷⁰ Both passages confirm the presence of the Penates in Lauinium; neither helps the reader understand how the Penates could also be displayed in Rome. Dionysius ignores the problem, and his autopsy of the two Penates figures is narratively marooned, wholly disconnected from his larger account of the origins and cult of the Penates. This is a glaring and surprising defect. Dionysius is usually more coherent. Leaving this central problem unresolved, Dionysius then makes a disorienting turn backwards in time to the origin and early history of the Penates, which he describes entering the world when ᾿Aθηνᾶ gave them and the Παλλάδια (here in the plural) to Pallas. Pallas then gave them to Dardanus as dowry for his daughter Chryse. They were brought by Dardanus from Arcadia to Samothrace, and from there to Asia, where they remained until Odysseus and Diomedes stole one of the Παλλάδια (or a copy of the sole true one) from Troy, leaving the remaining (or original) one and sundry sacred objects of the Great Gods (τὰ ἱερὰ τῶν μεγάλων θεῶν) to be rescued by Aeneas. The Samothracians maintained into historical times the cult of the Great Gods, which were thus to be identified with the Roman Penates. The connection seems to have been fairly well known. We read in Plutarch that it was a minority opinion of certain mythographers (Cam. 20.6). Macrobius notes that the theory was favored by Uarro and Cassius Hemina (Sat. 3.4.7– 9).¹⁷¹ Dionysius also cites in support an otherwise unknown mythogra-

 Plutarch discusses Tatius’ murder at Rom. 23.3, but does not mention the gods receiving the sacrifices.  Macrobius also records a theory supported by Nigidius Figulus and Cornelius Labeo equating the Penates with Apollo and Neptunus, the gods who built the walls of Troy (Sat. 3.4.6), but no Greek

244

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

pher named Satyrus, an obscure Callistratus, probably meaning Domitius Callistratus (RE 10.1748), and the epic poet Arctinus. The supposed link between the Penates and Samothrace strengthens further the ties between Roman and Greek culture, so Dionysius’ extended discussion of the topic is appropriate to his theme. He even suggests that there might be further such objects that are hidden from the uninitiated. Dionysius is so invested in the idea of Greek Penates that he returns to them in book two, repeating many of his points from book one and blending old and new claims in ways that exacerbates his readers’ confusion. His analysis is this time prompted by Numa’s foundation of the aedes Uestae, and concerns once again various theories about the objects contained therein (D.H. 2.66.2– 6). Dionysius acknowledges those who say it contains nothing except the sacred hearth, the focus publicus, but sides with others who argue that there are indeed sacred objects, the nature of which is known only to the Uestales and pontifices. For him, conclusive proof lay in the inscription attached to a statue on the Capitolium of L. Caecilius Metellus, consularis and pontifex maximus, honoring his rescue of the Penates from the aedes Uestae during a third century fire.¹⁷² So far so good. But Dionysius follows this presumed fact with further conjectures from his sources, and admits a new dispute, one that Plutarch also records: while many thought that there were multiple objects, the ones Dardanus had removed from Samothrace to Troy, others claimed that there was but one object, the Παλλάδιον.¹⁷³ Dionysius did not mention this dispute in his first discussion, and the reader would like to know what he thinks, but instead of addressing it he reverts to his initial point, agreeing with many of his sources (ἐκ πολλῶν πάνυ) that the penus did indeed house sacred objects, and not just the focus publicus. Even worse, he ends by reiterating the weak apophasis of book one: he believes there were objects of some sort in the aedes, but also thinks it inappropriate for himself or anyone else who respects the gods to probe too deeply into their precise nature. If it stood on its own, this passage would be confusing enough. Given his earlier treatment of the same subject, however, it seems redundant and poorly inte-

source mentions it. For a fuller discussion of the Latin sources see Bodel 2008, Bonfante NP 10.717– 18; Palombi 1997; Wiss. 161– 6; Rosch. 3. 2.1879 – 98.  The cause and extent of the fire are unknown, but fires in the heart of Rome were common. It seems unlikely that Uesta’s flame got out of control. We know that her aedes was struck by lightning a century later (Livy 45.16.5), and an earlier strike in a less portentous location may have been the culprit.  Plutarch calls this theory the prevalent one. Those claiming that the temple also housed the Penates, τὰ Σαμοθρᾴκια, were the smaller group of mythographers mentioned above (εἰσὶ δ’ οἱ μυθολογοῦντες; Cam. 20.6).

Penates / Dii Penates

245

grated, even sloppy. It never attempts to solve the problem of the Penates figures on the Uelia, nor that of the Penates remaining in Lauinium, nor of the nature of the objects in the penus Uestae and their relationship to the Παλλάδιον. And in light of Dionysius’ willingness to devote two separate passages to the question, and to discuss the Παλλάδιον, we certainly cannot take his rhetorical reverence at face value. It seems as though he never really figured out what he believed about the figures himself, and instead of thinking the problem through he twice used overt religiosity to paper over his failure to do so. This highly unsatisfactory narrative does still link Rome to Samothrace and to the Greek epic tradition. For Dionysius that was apparently enough to justify its inclusion. It was worth doing, even if he could only do it poorly. The Penates also appear in the Greek narratives of Coriolanus’ invasion, and especially in connection with the embassy to Coriolanus led by his mother Ueturia.¹⁷⁴ Plutarch describes the invasion at length but has little to say about the Penates. He mentions only the ones housed at Lauinium, and they appear only briefly (Cor. 29). Appian makes them a central feature of Ueturia’s speech (Ital. 5.4). Her initial pleas to Coriolanus having had no effect, she raises her hands to the sky and calls upon the Penates (θεοὶ Γενέθλιοι) as witness that two embassies of women had been sent by Rome in dire straits, one to the Sabine king T. Tatius, a stranger and foreign enemy who nonetheless gave way, and one to Coriolanus, a native son who seems poised to reject it. She then throws herself prostrate on the ground, and her son relents. Appian’s θεοὶ Γενέθλιοι is not the usual Greek phrase for Penates, so the reader might wonder whether he really has the Penates in mind. Confirmation of a sort is found in Livy, according to whom Ueturia says: “Did it not occur to you, when you caught sight of Rome, that your home and Penates were within those walls? (Livy 2.40.7). In Livy, however, the Penates are clearly the private incarnations belonging to Coriolanus’ own domus. Appian’s Penates could be public or private. Despite giving the longest and most elaborate version of Ueturia’s speech, Dionysius leaves the Penates out of it (D.H. 8.45.48 – 53). He does mention them slightly earlier, however, when narrating an embassy to Coriolanus undertaken by five of his closest friends. The group is led by M. Minucius, for whom Dionysius crafts a long speech, filled with plausible arguments. Yet it is Coriolanus himself, not Minucius, who invokes the Penates. He rejects his friends’ plea but is willing to make a counter proposal out of respect for his native land, for the graves of his ancestors, and for his Penates (θεοὶ Πατρῷοι; D.H. 8.35.2). I have three times written “his” in my English rendition, but there are no explicit possessives in Dionysius’ Greek. And

 Dionysius, Livy, and Appian all name her Ueturia. Plutarch calls her Uolumnia.

246

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

all three of the concerns he invokes have a personal claim on him and a general claim on all Romans. As in Appian’s narrative, we cannot tell whether Dionysius’ θεοὶ Πατρῷοι refer to Coriolanus’ Penates or those of the state. There is only one episode in which we can be sure a Greek author is referring to private Penates, Dionysius’ narrative of the combat between the Horatii and Curiatii. After describing the battle, Dionysius says that the father of the Horatii offered the sacrifices he had vowed beforehand to the θεοὶ Πατρῷοι (D.H. 3.21.9). Livy, our other source for the episode, says nothing about the Penates, or about any sacrifices whatsoever (1.26.9 – 14), so we have only the parallels within Dionysius to indicate that he means to invoke the Penates. The evidence is strong nonetheless, since Dionysius only ever uses θεοὶ Πατρῷοι for the Penates elsewhere in his work. The confirmation that these are private Penates follows. The elder Horatius’ sacrifice to them follows the murder of his daughter Horatia by her brother, who is enraged by her grief over her fiancée, one of the Curiatii that he has just killed. When Livy describes her murder and its aftermath, he emphasizes the shock and dismay of the Roman populace, and makes the father a pathetic figure, weeping and begging the people to spare his son, who had so recently won victory for them over the Albans. Dionysius portrays the elder Horatius as a harsh figure, a sort of Roman Creon, who thinks his daughter’s murder a noble and appropriate action, and so forbids the burial of her corpse. The very same day, he invites his relations to his house for a feast, and there sacrifices to his Penates, clearly meaning those of his own domus. Dionysius uses the murder by the younger Horatius, approved by his father, and seemingly condoned by his Penates, to highlight the darker side of archaic Roman virtue, which he calls raw, harsh, even bestial (D.H. 3.21.7– 8). He never hints that the elder Horatius is upset by his daughter’s death, torn as we might expect between grief and gratitude as he fulfills the vows to his Penates. His sacrifice instead reinforces his proud and celebratory attitude, and demonstrates the Romans’ excessive zeal in persecuting base behavior. It reads as if the father, the son, and their ancestral gods are united in approving of the murder, and it provides a stark and not entirely edifying contrast to the less stringent Roman habits of Dionysius’ own time.

Picus Martius The name Picus can refer to a rustic deity, an Italic king, and a bird, and sometimes to various combinations of the three. As deity and king, Picus was usually associated with Faunus, and the passages relevant to those aspects, addressing his genealogy (D.S. 6.5.1– 3) and the story of his capture by Numa (Pl. Numa 15.3 – 11), have already been discussed under that heading. Here we will concern ourselves

Picus Martius

247

only with his assimilation to a woodpecker, picus in Latin, and with his association in that respect with the god Mars. ¹⁷⁵ The association of woodpeckers with Mars intrigued Greek authors, who mention it several times. The earliest is Dionysius, who notes it when describing an ancient oracle of Mars located in a place in Latium that he calls Matiene (Ματιήνη). There a divinely sent woodpecker – called picus (πῖκος) by the aborigines, δρυοκολάπτης by Greeks – would land upon a wooden pillar (κίων) and sing prophecies (D.H. 1.14.5). Festus tells a similar story in Latin, but he associates the legend with the Picentes and refers not to a pillar but to a military standard, a uexillum (320 s.v. Picena regio). Matiene has not been identified, and Dionysius’ topography in this section is rife with problems, suggesting either that he has tapped into a very obscure tradition or that his sources have confused the story badly. Like Festus, Strabo notes the connection between the picus and Mars when recounting the foundation myths of Picenum. According to him, the Picentes traced their origin from the Sabines and took their name from the δρυοκολάπτης – a bird they considered sacred to Mars and called πῖκος – which led their ancestors to their new home (Strabo 5.4.2). Like Dionysius, Strabo translates and transliterates the bird’s name, since even Greeks who knew some Latin would be unlikely to know the Roman names for birds, especially those that were not commonly eaten (Pl. Q.R. 268F). The Greek author who discusses the picus Martius most often is Plutarch, and he is the only Greek to connect the bird with the legendary king Picus. When discussing the Latins’ reverence for the δρυοκολάπτης, he mentions the Roman tradition that the bird was originally the man Picus, who was transformed into a bird by his wife’s drugs, and as a bird prophesied to those who consulted him (Q.R. 268E). Ouid gives a different and much longer account of the same legend in the Metamorphoses, where it is not Picus’ wife Canens who transforms him, but Circe, angered by his rejection of her (Met. 14.320 – 96). Plutarch is none too enthralled by this theory, which he calls unbelievable (ἄπιστον) and monstrous (τερατῶδες), and this probably explains his decision to tell it so briefly, as only the first of three theories within a quaestio. He is much more interested in the woodpecker’s connection with Mars and in the related legend that the bird fed the infant Romulus and Remus. At Q.R. 269A he describes the woodpecker in heroic terms, as a courageous and proud creature, with a beak strong enough to overcome even an oak. For him, the bird’s character is a far better explanation for its sacred connection to Mars (ἱερὸς Ἄρεως) than

 Hence the full name picus Martius (e. g., Pliny HN 10.41; Arnobius 5.1.4– 8). See Phillips NP 11.236; Wiss. 212; Rosch. 3. 2. 2494– 6.

248

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

some naive transformation legend. He also mentions the Mars association whenever he relates the exposure legend of Romulus and Remus. The wolf who nursed the twins is perhaps better known now, but Plutarch was just as interested in the woodpecker who guarded them and brought them scraps of food. He mentions the story at Q.R. 268F and at De fort. Rom. 320D, where he again notes its sacred relationship to Mars (ἱερὸς ὄρνις Ἄρεως). He also has Remus recount the story to his grandfather Numitor at Rom. 7.7, and a bit earlier tells the story in his own voice, adding that the bird’s association with Mars lent credence to Rhea Siluia’s claim that the twins were sired by Mars himself (Rom. 4.2). In all this, Plutarch never gives the Latin name for the woodpecker, as Dionysius and Strabo both do. If we may presume a consistent rhetorical stance on this point, he may have avoided the word picus because it would invoke the legend of Picus’ transformation that he so disdained at Q.R. 268E.

Pietas The Roman virtue of pietas, a concept so broad as to be nearly untranslatable, was personified as a goddess by Plautus in the late third century B.C.E. (Curc. 639 – 40).¹⁷⁶ She was brought into state cult soon after, when M.’ Acilius Glabrio dedicated a temple to her in the forum Holitorium, in fulfillment of a vow that had been made by his father.¹⁷⁷ Our Greek sources all agree in equating Roman pietas with their concept of εὐσεβεία. The Greek term evolved out of Homeric σέβας, which sometimes referred to wonderment, and sometimes denoted a proper respect for the opinions of others, a concept similar to αίδώς (e. g., in Iris’ exhortation of Achilles at Il. 17.178). The latter meaning is also prevalent in the deponent verbs σέβομαι and σεβάζομαι. The noun εὐσεβεία developed in the fifth century as a compound noun that emphasized the same meaning of σέβας, and accrued an additional connotation of loyalty. All of these ideas were comprehended by Latin pietas, which made εὐσεβεία a good translation for the concept.¹⁷⁸ It was less satisfactory as the translation for a goddess, since we have no evidence that Greek εὐσεβεία was ever personified or worshipped. One inscription on the wall of a small building in Philippopolis, modern

 On the concept of pietas see the recent articles by Santangelo (2019) and Davis (2016). For a broad survey, see the dissertation by Murr (1948).  The dedicatio occurred in 181 B.C.E. (Livy 40.34.4; Ual. Max. 2.5.1). See Lanciotti 1997; Maharam NP 11.237; Wiss. 332; Rosch. 3. 2. 2499 – 505.  The same range of connotations established Σεβαστός as the standard translation for Augustus.

Pietas

249

Shahba in Syria, does begin Εὐσεβίης τόπος οὗτος (CIG 4633), but this small hamlet was the hometown of Philip the Arab, who set about rebuilding the town as a Roman colonia after claiming the throne in the mid-third century C.E. The inscription probably dates from this period and so probably refers to Roman Pietas (Rosch. 1.1.1437– 8). In practice, the mismatch between Greek εὐσεβεία and the Roman goddess Pietas is never a problem because the surviving literary references to Roman εὐσεβεία are not generally religious in nature. Many do not even involve the Roman concept; they are authorial comments from a Greek perspective. Examples include praise of Roman εὐσεβεία in general (D.S. 27.12.1; D.H. 1.5.3), of Roman institutions like the fetiales (D.H. 2.72.3), and of the εὐσεβεία of specific Romans like P. Scipio Nasica (D.S. 34/35.33.1). Polybius mentions εὐσεβεία twice, but never in reference to Rome (4.20.2, 16.12.9). Appian records a prodigy associated with the fall of Ueii in which he opines that something related to εὐσεβεία had been overlooked (ἐκλειφθῆναί τινα πρὸς εὐσέβειαν, Ital. 8.1), but Livy’s reference to the same prodigy mentions neglectae caerimoniae and intermissum sollemne, not pietas (5.17). Even the supposed opinions of Romans, like Seruius Tullius’ praise of the εὐσεβεία of the Horatii in Dionysius (D.H. 3.17.2) and the Roman admiration of Numa’s εὐσεβεία expressed in Plutarch (Num. 7.3), are just transposed authorial opinions.¹⁷⁹ We possess only two passages in which εὐσεβεία clearly refers to Roman pietas. One is in Appian, who records the watchword of the younger Cn. Pompeius before the battle of Corduba as εὐσέβεια (B.Ciu. 2.104.431). The watchword is not mentioned in the Bellum Hispanicum, and the comparison of Appian and Livy above makes it clear that the equivalence of pietas and εὐσεβεία cannot be taken for granted, yet it seems plausible that the Latin behind Appian’s εὐσέβεια might have been pietas. If so, then the Latin original may even have denoted the goddess, as Mendelssohn and Viereck suggest by using the capital Ε in their Teubner edition. The second passage comes from Cassius Dio. In discussing the cognomen of L. Antonius, consul of 41 B.C.E., Dio says that Lucius took on the name Pietas (Πιέτας) because of his εὐσέβεια towards his brother Marcus (48.5.4). This may be an error; the use of the noun Pietas in a name instead of the more common adjective Pius would be peculiar. But perhaps distinctiveness was what Lucius had in mind. Either way, Dio’s transliteration of Pietas confirms its equivalence with εὐσέβεια in his mind. The pairing is further confirmed by translations of the adjective pius, which Greeks always render as εὐσεβής. When Dio lists the new names for the Roman months decreed by Commodus, for example, he translates Pius, the new

 Cf. also Pl. Num. 12.4, Num. 14.4, Fab. 4.4, Aem. 3.3.

250

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

name for Aprilis, as Εὐσεβής (C.D. 73.15.3).¹⁸⁰ He also translates the name of Metellus Pius as ὁ Μετέλλος ὁ Εὐσεβής (37.37.1, 40.51.3). His translation of Antoninus Pius is ᾿Aντωνῖνος Εὐσεβής.¹⁸¹ Appian also uses Εὐσεβής for Metellus Pius (B.Ciu. 1.33.148). The very consistency of these parallels suggests that Greek authors were unaware of the Roman cult of Pietas. If they did know about it, then the absence of Greek cult for Εὐσέβεια would have made the translation less satisfactory, and might at least have elicited some comment. Their silence was to be expected, though. The goddess is not discussed much in Latin sources, so they would not have encountered her in their reading. And as for monuments, Glabrio’s temple and its neighbors had been torn down by Augustus to make room for the theater of Marcellus, probably before Dionysius arrived in Rome (C.D. 43.49.3). Among extant Greek writers, only Polybius could ever have seen it, and he excludes Roman religion from his work.

Quirinus Although Quirinus’ great antiquity is confirmed by archaic references to the Quirinalia and by the inclusion of the flamen Quirinalis among the flamines maiores, his origins and early cult are now obscure. By the time of our literary sources, he was connected with the deified Romulus, Mars, Iuppiter, and Ianus, and his earlier role as a protector of the combined Roman and Sabine peoples was forgotten. Many other aspects of the god, including his cult on the mons Quirinalis and his connections with Ianus, the Salii, and the Lupercalia are discussed by Latin authors but do not interest Greek writers. Greek discussions address instead the flamen Quirinalis, Quirinus’ name, his festivals, his temple on the mons Quirinalis, the mons itself, and above all the equation of Quirinus and the deified Romulus, which Dionysius, Plutarch, and Dio all incorporate into their narratives of early Rome.¹⁸²

 Dio’s translation is also consistent with medieval sources, like John of Antioch and Suidas s.v. Κόμοδος, but his substitution for Aprilis may be incorrect. See Bossevain’s Teubner ad loc. for comparanda and commentary.  C.D. 70.2.1 and 71.22.3. Plutarch (Cat. Mai. 24.11) and Dio (28.95.1 = V.92) also transliterate Pius as Πίος, the accent indicating that they heard the letter i as a short vowel.  Plutarch also seems to refer unknowingly to the goddess Hora Quirini at QR 275F–276A without ever mentioning Quirinus himself. He confuses her with an otherwise unknown Horta, whose temple gates, according to Antistius Labeo, were always kept open, and whose name was connected with Latin hortari. Plutarch incorrectly asserts that the -t- had been dropped from Horta’s name,

Quirinus

251

A full discussion of Roman priesthoods is too vast a topic to undertake in this volume, but there is room enough for a brief digression on the flamen Quirinalis, for which Plutarch is our only Greek source. One of Numa’s very first acts in Plutarch’s Life is to add the φλᾶμεν Κυρινάλιος to the existing flamines Dialis and Martialis, thus establishing the three flamines maiores, the more prestigious flamines of later Rome.¹⁸³ Plutarch does not comment on the special status of the flamines maiores as such, but in a discussion of the spolia opima elsewhere he does group together the three gods associated with them, Iuppiter, Mars, and Quirinus (Marc. 8.9). His ultimate source was the apocryphal commentaries of Numa, according to which the lawgiver had specified three types of spolia: the spolia opima, which were dedicated to Iuppiter Feretrius and rewarded with 300 asses, a second type dedicated to Mars and awarded 200 asses, and a third type dedicated to Quirinus and awarded 100 asses. Plutarch’s accounting is corroborated by Seruius Aen. 8.659 and Festus 302 s.v. Opima spolia, though the latter associates the third type of spolia more specifically with Ianus Quirinus, a combination avoided by Greek sources.¹⁸⁴ Whether Plutarch connected the spolia of these three gods and the preëminence of their flamines is unclear. Plutarch includes a discussion of Quirinus’ name and its significance in his Life of Romulus. He proceeds as he does more regularly in the Q.R., adducing various hypotheses without judging between them (Rom. 29.1– 2). One theory is based on the connection that some of his sources made between Quirinus and Greek Ἐνυάλιος (see under Mars); another is derived from the similarity others had observed between Quirinus and the word Quirites (among surviving writers only Plutarch ever makes the connection explicit). A third hypothesis, and the only one Plutarch explores in detail, focuses on the link between Quirinus and curis (κύρις), meaning spear-point. Dionysius, when recounting the history of the Sabine town Cures, says that the Sabines called spears cures as well (D.H. 2.48.4). Plutarch makes the same

an error that opens the way for an intriguing pair of etymologies. One is Latin, extending Labeo’s hortari etymology to include orator (transliterated as ὠράτωρ); the other is Greek, linking Hora with ὤρα to suggest that she was an attentive goddess (πολυωρητικὴ θεός). While discussing the Greek etymology Plutarch also asserts that many Roman epicleses were Greek in origin, a position consistent with that of the Q.R. in general. See Padovani 2018, 226 – 9; Wiss. 156; Rosch. 1. 2. 2712.  Num. 7.9. Cf. Gaius Inst. 1.112. In Livy, Numa creates the flamen Martialis as well as the flamen Quirinalis (1.20.2; see Ogilvie 1965, 97).  In one glaring example, the Greek translator of the Res Gestae renders Augustus’ Ianus Quirinus as πυλὴ Ἐνυαλιος (M.A. 13; cf. Ἐνυάλιος for Iuppiter Lapis in Pol. 3.25.6). Greek writers usually associate Quirinus with Mars, sometimes in combination with their own conflation of Ἄρης and Ἐνυάλιος. For further discussion see under Bellona (Ἐνυώ), Iuno Quiritis, and Mars. See also Padovani 2018, 204– 10; Brelich 2017, 192– 3; Doubordieu NP 12.359 – 60; Briquel 1996; Cornell 1995, 73 – 7; Wiss. 153 – 6; Rosch. 4.10 – 18.

252

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

connection, although he refers to the Sabines as “the ancients” (οἱ παλαιοί).¹⁸⁵ To it, he adds further links between spears, war, and Quirinus: Romans awarded a spear to those who had won glory in war; they named a spear housed in the regia after the god Mars (Ἄρης); they erected a statue of Ἥρα leaning on a spear that they called Iuno Quiritis (q.v.). Between them, these observations do link Quirinus with a spear (curis), and establish the spear as a common martial symbol at Rome, but Plutarch stops short of tying Quirinus to Mars directly. As he puts it, Romulus was called Quirinus because he was martial (ἀρήιος), or a spearman-god (αἰχμήτης θεός). He was not Ἄρης himself. This description comports with Roman traditions, in which Quirinus and Mars are related but not identical. Greek writers also discuss the Quirinalia and the Poplifugia, Quirinus’ primary festivals. Plutarch (Rom. 27– 9) and Dionysius (D.H. 2.56.5) both mention the Poplifugia, translating its name as ὄχλου φυγή, and saying that the rite memorialized an assembly’s flight during a fierce storm.¹⁸⁶ In other respects, their accounts differ. Dionysius’ version is mundane, saying only that Romulus remained behind when the other people ran for cover, and so exposed himself to senatorial assassination. Plutarch’s narrative, like Livy’s (1.16.1– 2), places the assembly in the Palus Caprae (αἰγὸς ἕλος), the so-called Goat’s Marsh that lay in the Campus Martius, describes the storm as something unnatural, and emphasizes the possibility that Romulus was deified. And Plutarch’s interest in the Poplifugia extends further than its relationship to Romulus. He describes ritual details, including the sacrifice of a goat and the shouting of common names in imitation of the lost and confused ancestors. He also addresses the festival’s date in the Roman calendar, explaining that the Romans celebrated it on July 5, the Nonae Capratinae, because the Latin word for goat (αἴξ) is capra (κάπρα). In this, he or his sources erred, however. His date for the Poplifugia is correct, but the Nonae Capratinae marked a festival of Iuno held two days later, on July 7.¹⁸⁷ He might have been confused by the etymological link with the goat, though that alone would probably not have led him astray. The shifting nature of the Nonae doubtless played a role as well. The Nonae are indeed the fifth day of most Roman months, but July is one of the four exceptions.¹⁸⁸

 He seems not to have recognized the word’s Oscan origins. He does the same thing in his discussion of Iuno Quiritis at Q.R. 285C–D, where he seems to be working from the same notes.  Macrobius records a different explanation, that the Poplifugia memorialized an ancient rout inflicted by the Etruscans (Sat. 3.2.14).  He makes the same mistake at Num. 2.1.  As the English doggerel goes, on March, July, October, and May, the Ides are on the fifteenth day, the Nones the seventh, but all besides have two days less for Nones and Ides. Plutarch must not have known the Greek equivalent, if any such existed.

Quirinus

253

Plutarch is our only Greek source on the Quirinalia, and in his description he preserves truly ancient information about the god (Q.R. 285D). The quaestio in which it appears has nothing to do with Quirinus himself, only with the tradition that Romans called the Quirinalia the Festival of Fools (μωρῶν ἑορτή = Stultorum Festa). Plutarch offers two explanations. The first, that it referred to Romans who did not know their own curia (φρατρία), he attributes to Iuba (FGrH III 470); the other, that it afforded a second opportunity for Romans who had failed to sacrifice with their curia in the Fornicalia, is elaborated upon by Ouid (Fast. 2.513 – 32). These are very old ideas. Latin Quirinus was originally linked to the curiae, and his name and curia are both derived from *co-uirites, referring to the Roman citizenry as a corporate body. The two explanations must have arisen before the god’s archaic cult was obscured by the Romulus narrative. Plutarch also makes a surprising assumption about his audience here. He does not bother to transliterate Latin curia or spell out the connection himself, even though the basis of the hypotheses is etymological. A century and a half earlier, Dionysius had felt it necessary to explain curia as φρατρία (D.H. 2.7.3); a generation after Plutarch, Appian would do the same in explaining leges curiatae (B.Ciu. 3.94.389). Plutarch must have thought that readers who were interested in his Q.R. would be conversant enough with the language and culture of Rome to supply the necessary translation of φρατρία and to connect curia, Quirites, and Quirinus themselves. Greeks occasionally mention the one shrine to Quirinus in Rome, an aedes that was built on the site of an earlier sacellum on the mons Quirinalis. It was vowed by the dictator L. Papirius Cursor in battle against the Samnites and dedicated by his son and namesake during his consulship of 293 B.C.E.¹⁸⁹ Greek sources generally refer to this aedes Quirini by transliteration, as Plutarch does in his brief mention of the νεὼς τοῦ Κυρίνου in Pl. Cam. 20.8. That passage aside, references to the temple generally concern later changes to the building and its surrounding precinct. Cassius Dio first mentions it when describing its destruction in the fire of 48 B.C.E., which he treats as a prodigy of Caesar’s impending war with Pompey (C.D. 41.14.3). Two books later, in a list of extravagant honors bestowed upon Caesar by the senate, he mentions a statue of Caesar that was placed in the aedes Quirini (ὁ τοῦ Κυρίνου ναός; C.D. 43.45.3), even though the temple had not yet been rebuilt. Perhaps Dio’s list comprehends Caesar’s entire career and the statue was dedicated before the fire occurred. Dio also records the reconstruction of the temple by Augustus. It was completed in 16 B.C.E., and the 76 columns incorporated in the refurbished building were later compared with the 76 years of Augustus’ life (C.D. 54.19.4;

 See the two articles by Coarelli LTUR 4.185 – 7. Vé examines Livy’s account of the temple’s construction and gives a survey of earlier bibliography (2010, esp. 197 n.2).

254

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

Xiph. Dind. p.97.8). Augustus in his Res Gestae claimed credit for having “built” (feci) the aedes Quirinus (ναὸς Κυρείνου), which was probably not much of an exaggeration given the extent of the damage (M.A. 19). Greek authors also mention the mons or cliuus Quirinalis – the hill that shared Quirinus’ name, and upon which his aedes stood – many times and for many reasons, using various translations, and often with no direct connection to Quirinus himself. Dionysius, for example, notes that Titus Tatius in his war against Rome encamped on a plain between the cliui Quirinalis (ὁ Κυρίνιος) and Caelius (D.H. 2.38.1); later he records the dedication of a temple to Dius Fidius by Sp. Postumius on the Quirinalis, which he there calls the Ἐνυάλιος λόφος (D.H. 9.60.8). In Appian, the Κυρινάλιος λόφος is where Octauian halts his troops after marching on the city (Ap. B.Ciu. 3.92.378). Several references involve Numa in some capacity. Cassius Dio notes that the king lived at times on the Quirinalis (Κυρινάλιος; C.D. 1.6 = V. 1). Plutarch adds a bit of apparent autopsy, saying that people in his day were still shown the house that Numa had built there (λόφος Κυρίνου; Pl. Num. 14.2). Dionysius says that Numa extended the city walls to include the Quirinalis (Κυρίνειος λόφος; D.H. 2.62.5), while Strabo claims it was incorporated into the walls later, under Seruius (ὁ Κυρῖνος λόφος; Str. 5.3.7). The only aspect of the hill directly relevant to the god concerns his connection with Romulus. When Dionysius and Plutarch discuss the apotheosis of the king, they both link Quirinus with the hill bearing his name. Plutarch connects the two directly from the perspective of his own time, saying that the shrine (ἰερόν) to Quirinus in his own day stood on the hill named Quirinalis (Κυρῖνος), and that the hill was named after the god (Pl. Rom. 29.2). Dionysius tells much of his narrative from the archaic perspective, making his description somewhat difficult to follow. When describing Romulus arraying his troops against Tatius and the Sabines on the λόφος Κυρίνιος, for instance, he emphasizes that the name Κυρίνιος did not yet apply, his implication being that the hill could not be called Quirinalis because the god Quirinus as such did not yet exist (D.H. 2.37.5). And when he later describes the reconciled Romulus and Tatius extending the city to encompass the mons Caelius and “the one called Quirinalis” (ὁ Κυρίνιος κληθείς), he hints again that the actual name Quirinalis would come later (D.H. 2.50.1). His readers would have to connect the dots from Quirinus to Romulus themselves, however. The apotheosis of Romulus was the most interesting aspect of Quirinus by far to Greek writers. Polybius has nothing to say about the god, and no mention of Quirinus survives in the fragments of the eighth book of Diodorus, so our earliest Greek account comes from Dionysius, who describes the apotheosis as an alternate tradition to the one in which Romulus was simply assassinated. His contemporary Livy does likewise, but Livy mentions the murder only briefly, and discounts it as a perobscura fama (1.16.4). For him and his readers, the story would evoke uncom-

Quirinus

255

fortable recent events and possibilities, especially since some had mooted the idea of naming Octauian Romulus instead of Augustus (Suetonius Aug. 7.2). Dionysius considers the story plausible and grants it much more attention, even recording two versions, with the senators and the newly enrolled citizens as the respective culprits (D.H. 2.56.3 – 5). In Livy’s account of the transfiguration, a man named Iulius Proclus sees Romulus descending from the skies (1.16.5 – 8), and is awestruck (petens precibus ut contra intueri fas esset). He reports to his fellow citizens Romulus’ admonition that the gods intend Rome to lead the world (caput orbis terrarum), and his command that the Romans should therefore cultivate military excellence. Livy never bothers to mention Quirinus in this narrative, or to equate him with Romulus, since his readers would be able to make that connection themselves, the tradition in Latin going back at least as far as Ennius (frag. 177 V). Nor does he bother to link these events with Numa, that king’s sole contribution being the creation of the flamen Quirinalis (1.20.2). Dionysius calls this entire story fabulous (μυθωδέστερα), and does what he can to make it more prosaic. He describes Iulius as a farmer descended from Ascanius – a connection that would be obvious to a Roman from the man’s name – who declares to his fellow citizens that he has just seen Romulus wearing his armor and departing from the city (presumably by walking); the king has ordered him to convey the news that his mortal life is over, that the δαίμων (genius? lar?) allotted to him at birth has led him to the gods, and that he is now Quirinus (Κυρῖνος). Unlike Livy, Dionysius must make the identification of Quirinus and Romulus explicit; he cannot assume that his readers will already know it. As part of his Aeolism, he also gives Numa a central role in ordaining the new god’s name and establishing his shrine and annual rites (D.H. 2.63.3 – 4). Because Dionysius has already established the Greek influences upon Numa, this shift Hellenizes the tradition in his narrative. Given his penchant for etymology (e. g., D.H. 2.22.3, 2.70.4, 4.17.2), it is a bit surprising that Dionysius does not comment on the connection between Quirinus and Quirites. The traditional explanation, implicit in his account and Livy’s, is associated with the union of Sabines and Romans, who merge politically and decide to refer to themselves thereafter as Quirites, a name adapted from the Sabine town Cures (D.H. 2.46.2; Livy 1.13.5).¹⁹⁰ They do so during Romulus’ rule, so the deified Quirinus must subsequently have chosen his new name to honor this decision and to emphasize his political connection to all Roman citizens. In Livy’s account, Iulius even addresses the Romans as Quirites before describing Quirinus’ apotheo-

 Dionysius gives the history of Cures in D.H. 2.48, and cites Uarro as his source.

256

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

sis, a reminder to Livy’s readers that the term was already in use. We know that some of Plutarch’s sources remarked upon the similarity between Quirinus and Quirites (Rom. 29.1– 2), so Dionysius should have noticed it too. The relationship between Κυρῖνος, Κυρῖται, and ἡ Κυριτῶν πόλις must have been transparent enough in Greek not to require comment. Cassius Dio also told the story of Romulus’ apotheosis, but we possess only a fragment of his account (C.D. 1.5 = Ioann. Antioch. fr. 32M), and cannot tell what his narrative emphasis might have been.¹⁹¹ Some interesting details do survive. If the fragment is faithful to its source, then Dio gave Iulius Proculus’ full name and made him an eques (ἱππεύς).¹⁹² As in Livy, Iulius’ message to the Romans must have preceded Numa’s reign, since the fragment includes Romulus’ command that they should choose a new king right away. It also mentions a dispute between Romans and Sabines over the royal succession. Dio seems to have excluded the awe and fear that Iulius expresses in Livy, as well as Quirinus’ political instructions and prophecy of world conquest. At least there is no hint of either in the fragment, which ends with the construction of a shrine to the new god (ναὸς Κυιρίνῳ). Dio’s Iulius addresses the people in the fragment as Quirites (Κυιρῖται), as he does in Livy, and calls the new god Quirinus (Κυιρῖνος), just as in Dionysius, but no explicit connection between Quirites and Quirinus is mentioned. Dio too seems to have thought his readers could make the link themselves. He may even have assumed they knew the Latin term. When narrating the mutiny of Caesar’s soldiers in 47 B.C.E., in which Caesar famously dismissed the men as Quirites, Plutarch (Caes. 51.2) and Appian (B.Ciu. 2.93.392) say “citizens” (πολῖται) instead of Quirites, as do most Latin accounts. Dio says Κυιρῖται, without further explanation.¹⁹³ Our most elaborate treatment of these events is found in Plutarch, in the Lives of Romulus and Numa. The longer account by far is the one in Romulus, and it con-

 A difficult problem is posed by another source on Dio 1.5, according to which Dio’s narrative of the Sabine women – an episode occurring during Romulus’ mortal lifetime – included a speech by Hersilia that appealed Pan and Quirinus (M. 7). Hersilia cannot have invoked Quirinus before he existed, and the paradox is too blatant to attribute to Dio himself. One of the fragments must be misrepresenting him.  The name is spelled Πρόκλος in the fragment, dropping a syllable from the Latin original. This is the standard Greek transliteration. In addition to the passages discussed here cf. D.S. 12.36.1 (as praenomen) and C.D. 56.46.2.  C.D. 42.53.3. Cf. Suetonius Diu. Iul. 70; Tacitus Ann. 1.42; Lucan 5.357– 60. On the Latin sources, see Chryssanthos 2001, 63 n.5.

Quirinus

257

tains several idiosyncrasies (Rom. 28.1– 3).¹⁹⁴ His description of Iulius, to begin with, is highly peculiar. He calls the man an Alban by origin, a respected patricius, and a trusted companion of Romulus, details that are never mentioned by other Greek writers. The first two might be inferred elsewhere by an alert and knowledgeable reader: Iulius’ descent from Ascanius in Dionysius means he must have been Alban, though it is unclear how many contemporary Greeks could have made that connection; and Dio’s description of Iulius as an eques would likewise mean that he was a patricius. The idea that he was a comrade of Romulus appears only in Plutarch, however, and is tied to that author’s narrative of the man’s encounter with Quirinus. After coming into the forum and swearing an oath – another peculiar detail – Plutarch’s Iulius claims that Romulus met him on the road, armed and appearing larger and more splendid than ever before. Iulius then describes himself upbraiding the king, as a companion might well do, asking why he left Iulius and the other patricii open to accusations that they had murdered him. Romulus’ reply is that the gods wish him to return to the heavens, whence he had come. As he bids Iulius farewell, he orders him to tell the Romans that they will achieve great power if they practice wisdom and courage, and that he himself will henceforth be their kindly god Quirinus (εὐμενὴς δαίμων Κυρῖνος). His parting command recalls his final promise in Livy, but with Roman success contingent, and based on good character, not on military skill. Plutarch is no more impressed with this story than Dionysius was, and spends the remainder of a very long chapter rejecting it as an implausible attempt to divinize mortal affairs (Rom. 28.4– 10). His complaint is a sophisticated and cosmopolitan one. He does not direct his attacks at Roman tradition. He compares Quirinus’ legend with Greek parallels, including one of Alcmena, and focuses his criticism on them instead. By doing so he avoids creating a cultural antithesis, advocating informed religiosity over naive superstition without elevating one culture over the other. The target of his objection is not apotheosis per se, but the transformation of human bodies (σώματα) to gods, an idea he rejects (παρὰ τὸ εἰκός). He prefers the more sophisticated views of Heraclitus and Pindar, who describe the elevation of the virtues (ἀρεταί) and souls (ψυχαί) of men to heroes, and thence to spirits (δαίμονες) and even gods (θεοί), a process that accords with nature (φύσις) and justice (δίκη).¹⁹⁵ His complaint excludes the naïve details of the Iulius

 In Num. 2.4 the story is brief, and less flattering to Romulus. Plutarch is more cynical about the senate’s motives and actions, and frames Romulus’ apotheosis as a senatorial cover story. He also reverses his narrative chronology, placing Iulius’ speech before Numa’s rise to the throne.  Cf. Heraclitus frag. DK B5: “And they even pray to these statues, as if someone were to converse with houses, knowing nothing of who the gods and heroes are.”

258

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

tradition but leaves the main thrust of the Roman narrative intact. Romulus’ body was not transubstantiated, yet Quirinus might very well be the deified Romulus, a divine manifestation of the former king’s spirit.¹⁹⁶

Siluanus There are several competing theories on the origins of Siluanus. The dominant hypothesis at the moment is etymological, that his name combines silua and the infix -no-, meaning “master of the forest.”¹⁹⁷ An older theory is that Siluanus began as an adjectival epithet of Faunus, and then developed an independent existence, much like Bona Dea (q.v.). This idea, which has since fallen out of favor, is based on the conflation of Faunus and Siluanus in our sources, and this same conflation is the only thing linking Siluanus to a Greek text. This singular passage, which has already been discussed under Aius Locutius, concerns a miracle from the early days of the Republic, when a divine voice was heard in the Silua Arsia declaring the Romans victors in their battle with Tarquinius’ Etruscan forces. Dionysius attributes the voice to Faunus (D.H. 5.16.2– 3), but we possess Latin sources that say Siluanus instead (Livy 2.7.2; Ualerius Maximus 1.8.5).¹⁹⁸ Dionysius apparently knew nothing of this. He never mentions Siluanus or connects him with Faunus and Aius Locutius. Other Greek writers show no interest in Siluanus at all. We have abundant physical and epigraphical evidence attesting to the god’s importance in Rome, Italy, and eventually throughout the Mediterranean, but he was primarily worshipped by the lower classes, and was not involved in state cult. All instances of the word Σιλουανός in Greek are instead transliterations of the cognomen Siluanus. Diodorus, for instance, refers to one consul of 485 B.C.E. as Κόιντος Φάβιος Σιλουανός.¹⁹⁹ Cassius Dio transliterates L. Siluanus as Λούκιος Σιλουανός at 54.6.2.²⁰⁰ M. Aurelius mentions another Σιλουανός at Med. 10.31.1.  At Num. 7.9 he equates φλᾶμεν Κυρινάλιος and ἱερεὺς Ῥωμύλου, also a tacit acceptance of the apotheosis.  See Holzhausen NP 13.468 – 9; Chioffi LTUR 4.312– 24; Aronen LTUR 4.324; Dorcey 1992; Latte, 83 n.1; Wiss. 213 – 16; Rosch. 4.824– 77.  The two gods are also associated by the Origo gentis Romanae (hunc Faunum plerique eundem Siluanum a siluis…esse dixerunt; 4.6) and Uirgil, by whom Faunus is called siluicola (Aen. 10.551). Cf. Wiss. 213 n.2.  D.S. 11.27.1. The correct name should be Q. Fabius Uibulanus.  Boissevain emended the Σιλανός of codd. VM to Σιλουανός. The cognomina Silanus and Siluanus were similar enough to be readily confused. In some instances, we have contemporary Latin evidence, like Cicero Fam. 10.30.1 for the Μάρκος Σιλανός at C.D. 46.38.6. Context identifies others,

Spes

259

Spes Roman Spes, the incarnation of hope, was utterly different from the Greek concept of ἐλπίς, which had no cult at all.²⁰¹ The mismatch in Roman and Greek perspectives is reminiscent of the distinction between Roman Felicitas, which has no Greek parallel, and Fortuna, which matches better the Greek concept of Τύχη. Like Felicitas, Romans thought of Spes as a positive force, referring to her often as bona Spes (e.g., Plautus Rud. 231), whereas Greek authors describe ἐλπίς even more negatively than Τύχη, denigrating it as a hindrance to good planning and the accurate assessment of reality. In Plutarch’s Pyrrhus-Marius, for example, Pyrrhus repeatedly allows his hopes to lead him onward to future misadventures (e.g., Pyrrh. 6.1– 2, 22.1, 33.1); Iugurtha is undone by the hopes he places upon Bocchus (Mar. 10.4); the fulfillment of Marius’ early hopes (Mar. 4.1, 8.8) makes him reliant upon them (Mar. 31.4, 36.3) and ultimately makes his lust for power and respect insatiable (Mar. 46.3 – 5).²⁰² The stark contrast between Greek and Roman views of hope would be a fertile topic to explore, but Greek authors do not address it. We possess only two references to Spes, and neither mentions the goddess or any details of her cult, only her temples, and these only in a cursory fashion.²⁰³ In one, Dionysius uses the archaic temple of Spes as a topographical marker, placing an ancient battle between Etruscans and the Roman forces under the consul Horatius Puluillus beside her temple (τὸ τῆς Ἐλπίδος ἱερόν), some eight στάδια from the city.²⁰⁴ In the second, Cassius Dio lists the burning of the Spei aedes (ναὸς Ἐλπίδος) among the various omens he records from the year 31 B.C.E. He places the shrine in the vicinity of “the Circus” (ὁ ἱππόδρομος; C.D. 50.10.3), by which he must mean the Circus Flaminius, with ναὸς referring to the aedes Spei in the forum Holitorium, which lay just to its south (Coarelli LTUR 4.336 – 7). Both authors are well aware of the goddess’ cult and treat the existence of her temples as a matter of course, so the general Greek silence on the cult of Spes is not a matter of ignorance. They simply had nothing interesting to say about it.

like the Σιλανοί at Pl. Cat. min. 21.3.4, Cic. 14.8.5, and Ant. 59.6. Other cases, like the unknown historian called Σιλανός at Str. 3.5.7, remain uncertain.  See Stiles 2018, 263 – 5; Büchli NP 13.724– 5; Latte 238; Wiss. 329 – 31; Rosch. 4.1295 – 7.  See Lateiner 2018; Buszard 2003, 62– 84.  Plutarch also mentions a temple and altar to Τύχη Εὔελπις that and cannot be identified. See under Fortuna.  Cf. Livy 2.51.2 (pugnatum ad Spei). The site was a high point on the eastern side of the city, inside the later porta Praenestina. See Coarelli LTUR 4.338; Ogilvie 1965, 367.

260

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

Terminus As the god of boundaries, Terminus was an important figure very early in Rome.²⁰⁵ He was originally distinct from Iuppiter, as has already been discussed under Iuno Cinxia. The later conjunction of the two gods was probably inspired by the presence of Terminus in the Capitolium complex and by conflation with the Greek Ὅριος Ζεύς (see below). Greek interest in Terminus is confined to the Terminalia, the annual festival in which Romans sacrificed to the god at boundary markers, and to the shrine of Terminus on the mons Capitolinus. ²⁰⁶ Dionysius devotes a chapter to the origins and nature of the Terminalia, and in doing so falls prey to an anachronism. He organizes his discussion of the rite chronologically, beginning with Numa’s creation of the festival and leading up to its contemporary practice, and it is at the end of the passage that his description goes astray. He claims there that Romans thought it sacrilegious to bloody their boundary stones, and that the sacrifices made at them were therefore agricultural (D.H. 2.74.4). This claim is contradicted by many Latin sources.²⁰⁷ As we will see, Romans in historical times did indeed believe that Numa had excluded animal sacrifices, but they nonetheless performed them. Dionysius has transferred a cult prohibition from archaic Rome into his description of contemporary practice, framing it in the present tense (ἡγοῦνται, θύουσιν), without any hint to the reader that traditions had changed. This is not only inaccurate, it represents a missed opportunity, since the slackening of ritual prohibitions would have supported a central theme in the passage, that the festival established by Numa stood in sharp contrast to the greed and usurpations of later Romans (D.H. 2.74.5). Dionysius advances this theme primarily by surrounding his description of the contemporary rite with antiquarian details on its original strictures, demonstrating Numa’s positive influence on Roman character via institutions of his that fostered individual frugality and wisdom, and collective harmony and justice (D.H. 2.74.1). Most of the details are supported elsewhere, and the use Dionysius makes of them is usually unremarkable. His claim that Romans believed the boundary stones themselves to be gods and sacrificed to them is corroborated by Pliny

 He is perhaps attested as far back as the lapis niger of the sixth-century B.C.E. See Phillips NP 14.294– 5; Latte 64, 80; Wiss. 136 – 8; Rosch. 6.336 – 47.  On the Terminalia (and their connection with the death of Turnus in the Aeneid) see De Sanctis 2005, 83 – 6.  Horace, for instance, mentions the sacrifice of a lamb at the Terminalia (Ep. 2.59). De Sanctis (2005, 83 n.23) gives a full listing of the sources.

Terminus

261

and Ouid.²⁰⁸ His description of Numa’s law, which ordained that anyone moving or removing a boundary stone would become sacred to the god (ἱερός), and could be murdered without incurring pollution, is also found in Paulus’ epitome of Festus.²⁰⁹ His observation that the Latin name for the boundary stones, the ὅροι τέρμιναι, was only one letter removed from the Greek word for boundaries (τέρμονες) is rather obvious, and gives etymological support for his assimilation of Greece and Rome. But Dionysius also says that the recipient of the sacrifices was Ὅριος Ζεύς, translating Terminus into the usual Greek deity of boundaries.²¹⁰ We have no evidence that Iuppiter was originally connected with Terminus or with boundary stones. The nearest archaic analogue, Iuppiter Lapis, governed oaths, not boundaries. In his eagerness to connect Numa’s Rome with Greece, Dionysius misrepresents archaic Terminus as an aspect of Iuppiter, not as a distinct god, a claim that he will himself contradict in his subsequent narrative of the foundation of the Capitolium. Plutarch discusses the Terminalia twice, in the Q.R. and the Life of Numa. The more detailed of the two passages is in Numa, and it is quite different from the one in Dionysius. Plutarch says, for instance, that Numa erected a joint shrine to Terminus and Fides, one that is not recorded in Dionysus or anywhere else.²¹¹ He also eschews the Aeolism of Dionysius’ facile τέρμονες / terminae etymology, explaining instead that Latin Τέρμων means ὅρος, a word with a broader semantic range that can denote a standard or a goal. And when he emphasizes Numa’s salutary influence on his people, he does so by contrasting Numa to Romulus, not to later Romans. Like Dionysius, he considers both contemporary practice and the rites’ origins, but he is careful not to confuse the two, and explains clearly the distinction that Dionysius misses: Terminus’ rites were originally bloodless, and animal sacrifices were only added later (Num. 16.2). These same sacrifices are the aspect of Terminus that interests Plutarch most. They are an important part of his Numa narrative and the central focus of Q.R. 15 (267C). Though the details and languages differ slightly in the two passages, Plutarch’s general thrust in each is the same: the sacrifices were bloodless because boundaries are essential to peace and justice. In his Life, Numa behaves as a phi-

 is et…ferias…relgiosas terminis agrorum (Pliny HN 18.2); Termine, siue lapis siue es defossus in agro stipes… (Fast. 2.641– 2).  Paulus adds that the offender’s cattle also became sacri (456 s.v. Termino).  Plato, for example, describes the primary law of Ὅριος Ζεύς as forbidding the moving of boundaries (Lg. 842e). The god’s festival also appears in the sacrificial calendar of the Tetrapolis of Marathon (SEG 50.168.11), suggesting an agrarian basis similar to the Terminalia.  Num. 16.1. Livy 1.21.4 mentions only the Fidei sollemne; Uarro Ling. 5.74 mentions an ara Termino erected by T. Tatius, doubtless meaning the one on the Capitolium discussed below.

262

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

losopher (φιλοσοφήσας); at Q.R. 276C he combines innate urbanity, justice, and political acumen with philosophy and acquired wisdom.²¹² In each passage, the king declares that the god of boundaries (ὅριος θεός), the guardian, witness, and guarantor of friendship, peace, and justice, must be pure.²¹³ The antithesis in both passages is again Romulus, who avoided setting borders because they constrain power and convict transgression (Num. 16.3). Without them, Romulus can cut off others’ land and consider it his own (Q.R. 276C). If there is any suggestion in either passage that later Romans had departed from the virtue of Numa’s day, it is implicit only in the change in their sacrificial practice.²¹⁴ Terminus’ shrine on the mons Capitolinus had a peculiar history. Tarquinius Superbus reputedly ordered the exauguratio of the fanum Termini there in order to make way for his new Capitolium temple, but the procedure failed. As Livy puts it, many other fana and sacella had been vowed, consecrated, and inaugurated there by T. Tatius, and all the deities involved acquiesced to the exauguratio except Terminus. The consequent incorporation of his shrine into the new Capitolium was taken as an omen portending the magnitude of the Roman imperium (1.55.1– 5). Seruius says much the same in his commentary Aen. 9.446, that Terminus alone refused to be moved and that his persistence signified eternal imperium for the city. So do Ouid (Fast. 2.669 – 72), Augustine (De ciu. D. 5.21), and Lactantius (Diu. inst. 1.20.37).²¹⁵ Pliny (HN 35.108) and Dionysius (D.H. 3.69.3 – 6) also describe the event, and they involve Iuuentas as well (q.v.). Dionysius is the only Greek writer to address this tradition, and he describes the augurs’ conclusion much as the Latin sources do, saying Terminus’ (and Iuuentas’) intransigence meant no circumstance would ever move the boundaries or change the vigor of Rome. He also notes that Rome’s continued strength in his own day confirmed their prediction (cf. Livy 1.55.3 – 4). His description of the physical shrine, on the other hand, is oddly inaccurate. He mentions two “altars,” one of Terminus and one for Iuuentas. He places one in the antechamber, the πρόναος, of Minerua’s cella, and the other in the cella itself (ἐν αὐτῷ τῷ σηκῷ), next to the goddess’ image. Lactantius and Seruius say that the shrine of Terminus was not an altar, but a boundary stone, the capitali immobile saxum of Uirgil Aen. 9.448, which was exposed to the sky through an opening in the prona pars of the Capitolium. This must equate to Dionysius’ πρόναος shrine. It is strange that Dionysius

 …ἀνὴρ δίκαιος καὶ πολιτικὸς ὢν καὶ φιλόσοφος γενόμενος….  In Num. 16.2 Terminus is the εἰρήνης φύλαξ καὶ δικαιοσύνης μάρτυς; in Q.R. 276C he is the ἐπίσκοπος καὶ φύλαξ φιλίας καὶ εἰρήνης.  He is especially subtle in Q.R. 276C, where the only hint at the change is an imperfect verb (…οὐδὲν ἔθυον αὐτῷ ζῷον).  See Tagliamonte LTUR 5.28; Ogilvie 1965, 210 – 11.

Uirtus

263

would conflate Terminus’ and Iuuentas’ shrines so far as to describe Terminus’ stone as an altar. It is also strange that he fails to mention the opening in the roof, especially since its careful preservation through several reconstructions is so reminiscent of the north porch of the temple of ᾿Aθηνᾶ Πολιάς on the Athenian acropolis, the so-called Erechtheion (cf. Pl. Pub. 14– 15). Surely, he must have visited the Capitolium repeatedly during his long residence at Rome, but his memory of it was clearly hazy, and instead of visiting the site again to confirm the details he seems to have worked up this part of his narrative from written sources.²¹⁶

Uirtus By the late Republic the concept of uirtus denoted both manliness (Uarro Ling. 5.73) and moral virtue (Cic. Inu. rhet. 2.159). The term may once have been more strictly defined, but as Romans gained familiarity with Greek culture their usage of uirtus broadened accordingly, until we reach fully bilingual authors like Cicero, who could espouse a rhetorical uirtus dicendi derived from Theophrastan ἀρεταὶ λέχεως (Cic. Or. 75).²¹⁷ The Greek language followed a different path. Originally, the ideas comprehended by uirtus were all denoted by ἀρετή, a word of Homeric antiquity that was applied to many types of excellence. By the later fifth century, Greek writers began to use a new term, ἀνδρεία, to specify military bravery. Neither is a particularly good translation for the Latin concept: ἀνδρεία shares uirtus’ connotations of “manliness,” but ἀρετή matches better its full semantic range. As a goddess, Uirtus oversaw courage and martial prowess, and later also the broader concept of civic virtue.²¹⁸ As a martial deity, she was often associated with Mars (e. g., Plautus Amph. 42), with Bellona as Uirtus Bellonae (CIL 5.6507, 13.7281), and especially with Honos, with whom she was often depicted, invoked, and worshipped (see under Honos). In her civic guise, Uirtus usually stood alone, whether on imperial coins, in speeches, or in the rites of the fratres Aruales (Wiss. 150 – 1; Rosch. 1. 2. 2708 – 9). In translating Uirtus, Greeks were faced with the same choice that bedeviled uirtus as a concept. They were forced to decide whether the goddess was acting in a military or moral capacity, and to translate her name with ᾿Aνδρεία or ᾿Aρετή accordingly. The result was a spurious dichotomy, alien to the original Latin.

 He may have consulted Uarro, who calls Terminus’ stone an ara at Ling. 5.74.  Balmaceda (2017, 19 – 25) traces the broadening of uirtus in later Republican literature to the bilingual Roman elite of the second century.  McDonnell 2006, 1– 11; Richardson 1978; Latte 235 – 7; Wiss. 149 – 151; Rosch. 6.336 – 47.

264

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

Greek analyses of uirtus as a concept, being more common and more elaborate than those of the goddess, provide necessary context for Greek discussions of her cult. The comparisons of ἀρετή and ἀνδρεία they contain developed out of Platonic ideas, in which ἀνδρεία is a species of ἀρετή. Plato’s Meno, for instance, lists ἀνδρεία alongside other ἀρεταί like σοφροσύνη, σοφία, μεγαλοπρέπεια, and “very many others” (Meno 74a). His Protagoras places ἀνδρεία among the ἀρεταί, and tries to convince Socrates that it is categorically different from σοφία, σοφροσύνη, δικαιοσύνη, and ὁσιότης because it can exist in the absence of the others (Prt. 349b–d; 359b). Some uses of ἀρετή and ἀνδρεία in the historiography of Rome have nothing to do with uirtus, or even Greek perceptions of uirtus. This is probably the case with the earliest example, which comes from Polybius. It appears in an unlocated fragment P 109v, which Weil and Nicolet in their 1977 Budé edition have listed as 6.11a. The fragment begins with an isolated ὅτι, the Greek equivalent of a quotation mark, and it says: “Those who train themselves well from youth must practice the ἔργα ἀρετῆς, and most of all ἀνδρεία.” This might be an authorial statement, not a translation of Latin of all. Or it might be the sententia uttered by some Greek character in his work. As in most fragments, we lack the necessary context to interpret it. Other instances in later authors clearly are authorial comments. Diodorus uses both terms in describing the young Pompey, who gained a good exchange for his ἀρετή and won the first rank because of his ἀνδρεία (38/39.10.1). He also says of Ti. Gracchus that he excelled his contemporaries in ἀνδρεία and φρόνησις, and was admired for his ἀρετή (29.26.1). Dionysius frames the senatorial response to an insincere Uolscian embassy in the same language: the senate responds that it would be disgraceful for Rome to lose what they have acquired by ἀρετή and ἀνδρεία through stupidity and cowardice (D.H. 8.10.3). The passage is a speech, a rhetorical show piece of Dionysius’ own invention. When Greeks attempted to translate Roman uirtus the ἀρετή / ἀνδρεία became a problem. The clearest instance comes from the Monumentum Ancyranum. Augustus describes therein a golden shield mounted in the Curia Iulia in his honor, and lists the virtues inscribed on it as uirtus clementia iustitia pietatis (M.A. 34). Augustus’ Greek translator, forced to choose between ἀνδρεία and ἀρετή, chose the broader semantic range of the latter. In one sense this was an inferior translation, given that uirtus was the only virtue in Augustus’ list with military connotations. On the other hand, the choice of ἀρετή imparts a more civic, less military tone to the Greek, and was probably a more politic choice for Augustan propaganda in the new Galatian capital, a fully pacified city that had already had sufficient experience of Roman military uirtus during the ravages of the Mithridatic wars. Plutarch also engages directly with Roman uirtus. The most straightforward instance is found in the Quaestiones Romanae, where he uses the broader ἀρετή to

Uirtus

265

describe Rome’s military glory, theorizing that Romans allowed religious dedications of military spoils to decay because they thought the glory died with those who first acquired it, and preferred fresh memorials of their ἀρετή (Q.R. 273D). Perhaps the military context was clear enough already, and the use of ἀνδρεία was unnecessary. His other discussions of the concept are more inventive, as if he is trying to put a fresh spin on an old trope. In the Mulierum uirtutes, for instance, he coins a gender-bending combination, explaining that he intends to compare ἀρετὴ γυναικεία and ἀνδρεία to those of men (243B).²¹⁹ He also uses the surprising combination of πολεμικὴ ἀρετή instead of ἀνδρεία when decrying the aged Marius’ inability to accomplish anything great in the Marsic war (Sull. 6.3). His most perceptive contributions come from Coriolanus, the subject of which suffers from a perverted confusion of ἀρετή and ἀνδρεία. In the very first chapter of the Life Plutarch frames Coriolanus’ skewed world view as endemic to Roman society as a whole, a flaw embodied in their collective respect for the military aspects of ἀρετή above all others (Cor. 1.6). As evidence, he adduces the Latin language itself, claiming that their sole word for ἀρετή was ἀνδρεία (misrepresenting uirtus), and that Romans therefore applied a word specific to ἀνδρεία for the entire class (meaning ἀρεταί in general). Plutarch is being disingenuous here, but he creates a clever and polemical take on Coriolanus’ eventual downfall: the great man will fail because he mistakes ἀνδρεία for the wider class of ἀρεταί. Having established this framework at the outset of the Life, Plutarch returns several times thereafter to the theme of ἀνδρεία, highlighting the consequences of Coriolanus’ limited understanding. When Coriolanus campaigns for office, for instance, he follows the usual Roman practice of perambulating the forum without a tunic, wearing a toga alone. Plutarch suggests that Romans did so in order to display better the wounds they had received in battle, the tokens of their ἀνδρεία (Pl. Cor. 14.2). Coriolanus had many such tokens from his 17 years of military service. Yet he thinks solely in terms of ἀνδρεία, and the limitations of his uirtus only cause him to behave arrogantly and offend the very people whose votes he requires. And because he sees victory as the proper goal of his ἀνδρεία, the citizens’ rejection of his candidacy enrages him, making him more abusive than ever, trapped in a downward spiral that will soon lead to his exile and treasonous invasion (Cor. 15.5). Plutarch has subjugated his translations to his literary purposes. By representing uirtus as equivalent to ἀνδρεία alone, he creates the impression that Coriolanus, and to a degree all Romans of that time, had no concept of civic virtue.

 The work’s Latin title, Mulierum uirtutes has masculine and military connotations beyond those of the Greek title, ᾿Aρεταὶ γυναικῶν, perhaps the clearest example of the semantic mismatch between ἀρετή and uirtus.

266

Unsyncretized Roman Gods

This does not represent his sole or true opinion of Rome, of course. He is capable of making very different arguments in different contexts. At Numa 19.9, for example, he offers his opinion that the lawgiver shifted Martius from the first to the third month when reforming the Roman calendar because he wished to emphasize civic matters over military (Numa 19.9), part of Numa’s necessary corrective measures after the reign of the military hero Romulus. All this lays interesting groundwork for the Greek translations of the goddess Uirtus. Every single one, including the epigraphic evidence and the literary instances already discussed under Honos, calls her ᾿Aρετή. An inscription from Aphrodisias, for instance, mentions one Flauiana (Φλαβιανή), daughter of L. Antonius Flauianus, who was a ἱερεία ᾿Aρετῆς (CIG 2786). Another example comes from Plutarch, who mentions briefly a ἱερόν of ᾿Aρετή founded by Scipio Aemilianus (De fort. Rom. 318D–E).²²⁰ Another is from Dio, who records among the omens of 38 B.C.E. a statue of Uirtus (᾿Aρετή) standing before one of Rome’s gates that fell on its face (C.D. 48.43.4).²²¹ It would seem that Greeks consistently understood Uirtus as the embodiment of a broader virtue than military prowess, and even Plutarch is unwilling to apply his rhetorical legerdemain to the goddess herself.

 Plutarch does mention ᾿Aνδρεία at De fort. Rom. 318F, but he is referring there to Fors Fortuna, not Uirtus. He also transliterates Uirtus’ name when describing a temple of Uirtus and Honos (Οὐιρτοῦτίς τε καὶ Ὀνῶρις; see under Honos).  A fragmentary inscription found near the castra praetoria, and so in proximity to the Portae Collina and Uiminalis, may refer to the statue’s restoration. It mentions Uirtus twice and contains the phrase SUM·RESTitu (CIL 6.3735).

Conclusion Several themes have emerged from the preceding analyses, some expected and others less so. Polybius’ general exclusion of Roman gods has made his contributions to this volume limited; Diodorus is naturally most expansive when discussing the traditions of his native Sicily; Dionysius’ Aeolism shapes many of his analyses and his narrative as a whole; Cassius Dio is intrigued by the political ramifications of Roman cult. Yet Dionysius eschews many easy opportunities to reinforce his Aeolism; Appian’s supposedly military narrative has provided numerous extended descriptions of Roman gods; Plutarch’s analyses and interests have varied widely. All writers have demonstrated a penchant for etymology and colorful episodes, and all are interested in physical aspects of Roman cult like temple complexes and statues, though their approaches have been unsystematic. Their one consistent trait has been their abiding concern for rhetoric and narrative context, which have been the dominant factors in their literary choices. The importance of rhetoric and context is clearest in Plutarch, from whom we have so many relevant works, but it would have been no less so for our other authors, all of whom were trained from youth in rhetorical flexibility through suasoriae. Dionysius’ Aeolism in the Antiquitates Romanae is best understood as a rhetorical stance, not a devout belief. Polybius’ exclusion of the gods has nothing to do with his personal attitude towards Roman religio. If pragmatic historians like Polybius and Appian were truly disinterested in Roman cult, they would not have allowed so many references to Roman priests and rites into their history. Yet Polybius twice mentions M. Aemilius Lepidus’ status as pontifex maximus (ἀρχιερεύς; 22.3.2; 32.6.5.). He notes P. Scipio’s position as one of the salii (σάλιος; Pol. 21.13.10). He elsewhere expounds further upon the salii, ranking them as one of the three priestly collegia (συστήματα) in Rome.¹ He describes more generic rites like sacrificium (θυσία; 3.112.8) and precationes (εὐχαί; 3.112.8), as well as the specifically Roman practices of auspicium (ὀρνιθεία; 6.26.4), supplicatio (ἐλινύες; 21.2.1), the denuntio belli of the flamines (προλέγω; 13.3.7), and the lustratio exercitus (καθαρμός; 21.41.9). Appian is also keenly interested in Roman rites and priests, describing lustrationes (καθαίρω; B.Ciu. 4.89[374]; Hisp. 18[73]), supplicationes (θύω at Hisp. 29[32]; θυσίαι καὶ ἀγῶνες at Pun. 135[642]; ἑορτάζω at Mith. 113[551]), the libri Sibyllini (Σιβύλλεια; Hann.

 Pol. 21.13.11. His full explanation has not survived. The other two collegia may have been the maiores flamines and the uirgines uestales. Cf. Ualerius Maximus 1.1; see Walbank 1979, 3.107 and Wiss. 484 n.6. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783111072173-006

268

Conclusion

56[233] and Mac. 2), and the pronouncements of the XVuiri sacris faciundis (Σιβύλλειον προαγόρευμα; B.Ciu. 2.110[460]). Rhetorical concerns also dominate when Greeks translate more mundane matters like Roman magistracies, assemblies, and senatorial procedures. When the context suits them, Greeks describe Roman political institutions in great detail; when it does not, they can be curt, even nonchalant. When describing the exile of Coriolanus, for example, Dionysius gives a proper description of the early Roman legislative process, including senatorial deliberation, senatus consultum, and ratification (ψηφίζομαι; δόγμα; κυρόω; D.H. 7.37.2). He also describes Brutus telling the people to reorganize themselves from comitia curiata to comitia centuriata in order to elect the first consules (D.H. 4.84.4). Yet he sometimes uses words like ψηφίζομαι haphazardly for senatorial and assembly procedures (cf. D.H. 5.63.1 and 5.70.4). So do Cassius Dio (37.36.3), Appian (cf. B.Ciu. 3.21[78] and 3.54[224]), and Plutarch (cf. Cic. 37.1 and Aem. 31.1), even though all three elsewhere demonstrate a firm understanding of the procedures involved. Dio in particular must have been intimately familiar with such matters from his political career. All of this is as we should expect. Greek writers were creative artists, and shaped their narratives to entertain and delight, as well as inform. No writer of skill and ambition would wish to sacrifice wit and charm entirely in the pursuit of rigid consistency. If some lesser talent ever did, the result would have been so tiresome that very few would have bothered to read it, much less have sent a slave to copy it by hand for inclusion in a personal library. Any work so dreary would be unlikely to survive, which perhaps explains the scant remains of ancient antiquarianism. Careful research and attention to detail were clearly not sufficient to elicit a wide readership over the millennia. The data of the GRETL database makes it abundantly clear that future volumes, even ones addressing such concrete matters as the military, law, and finance, will have to grapple with the same issues of shifting perspective that have taken up so much of this volume on the gods. This is a feature of ancient translation that we should embrace, since inconsistency need not trouble us unless we decide it should. Freed from the concern for “the hobgoblin of little minds,” we can focus our attention on the fascinating multiplicity of ancient attitudes and approaches. As this volume has demonstrated, the topics that divided Greek writers were precisely the ones that most engaged them and their readers, and their struggles to translate difficult concepts provide our best opportunities to observe their minds at work, to examine the collaborative process through which they and the Romans alike translated Roman institutions and language.

Bibliography Adams, James Noel. “Bilingualism at Delos.” Adams, James Noel, Mark Janse and Simon Swain. Bilingualism in Ancient Society: Language Contact and the Written Text. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2002. 103 – 127. Adams, James Noel. Bilingualism and the Latin Language. Cambridge: Cambridge U.P., 2003. Akar, Philippe. Concoria: un idéal de la classe dirigeante Romaine à la fin de la République. Paris: Sorbonne, 2013. Ando, Clifford. “Interpretatio Romana.” CPh 100.1 (2005): 41 – 51. Andreussi, Maddalena. “Consus, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 1. Rome: Quasar, 1993. 321 – 2. Andreussi, Maddalena. “Iuppiter Libertas, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 144. Angel, Natalie. “Clementia and Beneficium in the Second Philippic.” Cicero’s Philippics: History, Rhetoric and Ideology. Ed. Tom Stevenson and Marcus Wilson. Auckland: Polygraphia, 2008. 114 – 30. Anselmino, Lucilla and Maria José Strazulla. “Fortuna respiciens.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 2. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 276 – 8. Antoni, Silke. “Tacita.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 14. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2009. 105. Aronen, Jaakko. “Fons Muscosus.” Lexicon topographicam urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 2. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 259 – 60. Aronen, Jaakko. “Fortuna (Τύχη Εὔελπις).” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 269. Aronen, Jaakko. “Fortuna (Τύχη ᾿Aποτρόπαιος).” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 2. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 267 – 8. Aronen, Jaakko. “Fortuna Breuis.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 2. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 268. Aronen, Jaakko. “Fortuna Uirgo.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 2. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 279 – 80. Aronen, Jaakko. “Fortuna, templum nouum.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 2. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 267. Aronen, Jaakko. “Ops Consiva, sacrarium.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 361 – 2. Aronen, Jaakko. “Ops Opifera, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 362 – 4. Aronen, Jaakko. “Silvanus, lucus.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 324. Ascheri, Paola. “The Greek Origins of the Romans and the Roman Origins of Homer in the Homeric Scholia and in POxy. 3710.” From Scholars to Scholia: Chapters in the History of Ancient Greek Scholarship. Ed. Franco Montanari and Lara Pagani. Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 2011. 65 – 86. Büchli, Jörg. “Spes.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 13. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2008. 724 – 5. Babbitt, Frank Cole. Plutarch: Moralia. Vol. 4. Boston: Harvard UP, 1936.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783111072173-007

270

Bibliography

Balmaceda, Catalina. Virtus Romana: Politics and Morality in the Roman Historians. Chapel Hill, NC: UNC Press, 2017. Beard, Mary. “The Cult of the “Great Mother” in Imperial Rome: The Roman and the “Foreign”.” Greek and Roman Festivals: Content, Meaning, and Practice. Ed. J. Rasmus Brandt and John W. Iddeng. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2012. 323 – 62. Beard, Mary, John North and Simon Price. Religions of Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1998. Becker, Andrea. “Volcanus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 15. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2010. 496 – 8. Belayche, Nicole. “La Mater Magna: Megalè Mètèr?” Dieux des Grecs, dieux des Romains: Panthéons en dialogue à travers l’histoire et l’historiographie. Ed. Corinne Bonnet, et al. Brussels and Rome: Institut Historique Belge de Rome, 2016. 45 – 59. Benedum, Christa. “Betrachtungen zu Asklepius und dem Aesculapius der Römer.” WJA 25 (2001): 187 – 207. Berg, Carl. “Cicero’s Palatine Home and Clodius’ Shrine of Liberty: Alternative Emblems of the Republic in Cicero’s De domo sua.” Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History 8 (1997): 122 – 43. Bernstein, Frank. “Verständnis- und Entwicklunsstufen der archaischen Consualia. Römisches Substrat und Griechische Überlagerung.” Hermes 125.4 (1997): 413 – 46. Bettini, Maurizio. Vertere: Un’antropologia della traduzione nella cultura antica. Torino: Giulio Einaudi, 2012. Bianco, Elisabetta. “Concordia senza homonoia.” Historikά: studi di storia Greca e Romana 3 (2013): 287 – 322. Bieber, Margarete. “Honos and Virtus.” AJA 49.1 (1945): 25 – 34. Billington, Sandra. “Fors Fortuna in Ancient Rome.” The Concept of the Goddess. Ed. Sandra Billington and Miranda Green. London and New York: Routledge, 1996. 129 – 40. Biville, F. “The Graeco-Romans and Graeco-Latin: A Terminological Framework for Cases of Bilingualism.” Bilingualism in Ancient Society: Language Contact and the Written Text. Ed. J.N., M.Janse, and S. Swain Adams. Oxford: Oxford U.P., 2002. 77 – 102. Bloch, René. “Clementia.” Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 3. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2003. 427 – 8. Bloch, René. “Concordia.” Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 3. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2003. 682 – 3. Bodel, John. “Cicero’s Minerva, Penates, and the Mother of the Lares: An Outline of Roman Domestic Religion.” Household and Family Religion in Antiquity. Ed. John Bodel and Saul M. Olyan. Malden: Blackwell, 2008. 248 – 75. Bonfante, Larissa. “Penates (Di Penates).” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 10. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2007. 717 – 18. Bonnet, Corinne. “Le tradizloni eraclee nella Calabria tirrenica.” La Calabria tirrenica nell’antichita: nuovi documenti e problematiche storiche: atti del convegno, Rende, 23 – 25 novembre 2000. Soveria Mannell: Rubbettino, 2008. 343 – 52. Boulogne, Jacques. “Les “Questions Romaines” de Plutarque.” ANRW II.33.6 (1992): 4682 – 708. Boulogne, Jacques. Plutarque: un aristocrate Grec sus l’occupation Romaine. Lille: Lille UP, 1994. Bowersock, G.W. “Greek Intellectuals and the Imperial Cult in the Second Century A.D.” Le culte des suverains dans l’empire Romain. Vol. Entretiens sur l’antquité classique 19. Vandoeuvres-Genève: Fondation Hardt, 1973. 179 – 212. Bowie, E.L. “Greeks and their Past in the Second Sophistic.” Studies in Ancient Society. Ed. M.I. Finley. London: Routledge, 1974. 166 – 209. Boyd, M.J. “The Cult of Ceres at Rome (Review of le Bonniec 1958).” CR 10.2 (1960): 147 – 51.

Bibliography

271

Brelich, Angelo. “Quirinus: una divinità romana alla luce della comparazione storica.” Anabases 25 (2017): 191 – 249. Brenk, Frederick E. and Luc Van Der Stockt, edd. Gods, daimones, rituals, myths and history or religions in Plutarch’s works : studies devoted to professor Frederick E. Brenk by the International Plutarch Society. Ed. Frederick E. and Luc Van Der Stockt Brenk. Logan: Utah State University, 2010. Briquel, Dominique. “Remarques sur le dieu Quirinus.” RBPh 74.1 (1996): 99 – 120. Briquel, Dominique. “Aius Locutius.” Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 1. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2002. 408 – 9. Broderson, Kai. “Appian und sein Werk.” ANRW. Vol. II.34.1. Leipzig: Walter de Gruyter & Co., 1993. 341 – 63. Brouwer, H.H.J. Bona Dea: The Sources and a Description of the Cult. Leiden and New York: E.J. Brill, 1989. Brunt, Paul A. and J.M. Moore. Res Gestae Divi Augusti. London: Oxford UP, 1967. Brunt, Paul A. “On Historical Fragments and Epitomes.” CQ 30 (1980): 477 – 94. Bruun, Christer. “Mater Matuta (Reg. VI).” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 233. Buraselis, Kostas. “On Greek Intellectuals and the Roman Emperor Cult.” Mythos 14 (2020): 1 – 12. Burton, Paul J. “The Summoning of the Magna Mater to Rome (205 B.C.).” Historia 35.1 (1996): 36 – 63. Buszard, Bradley. The Thematic Unity of Plutarch’s Pyrrhus-Marius. Chapel Hill: Diss, 2003. Buszard, Bradley. “The Decline of Roman Statesmanship in Plutarch’s Pyrrhus-Marius.” CQ 55.2 (2005): 481 – 97. Buszard, Bradley. “Translating Rome: Plutarch’s Skeptical Etymology in Romulus and Numa.” McElduff, Siobha´n and Enrica Sciarrino. Complicating the History of Western Translation. Manchester, U.K. and Kinderhook, N.Y.: St. Jerome, 2011. 146 – 58. Buszard, Bradley. “The Nature and Provenance of the Greek Translations of Fabius Pictor.” CP 110 (2015): 22 – 51. Buszard, Bradley. “The Greek Transliteration and Pronunciation of the Latin Consonant U.” Glotta 94 (2018): 109 – 26. Camia, Francesco. “Which Relationship between Greek Gods and Roman Emperors? The Cultic Implications of the “Assimilation” of Emperors to Gods in Mainland Greece.” Arys 16 (2018): 105 – 37. Cancik-Lindemaier, Hildegard. “Priestly and Female Roles in Roman Religion: The Virgines Vestae.” Hyperboreus 2 (1996): 138 – 50. Carroll, Maureen. “Mater Matuta, ’Fertility Cults” and the Integration of Women in Religious Life in Italy in the Fourth to First Centuries BC.” PBSR 87 (2019): 1 – 45. Carter, Jesse Benedict. “The Cognomina of the Goddess “Fortuna”.” TAPhA 31 (1900): 60 – 68. Cassatella, Alessandro. “Venuset Roma, aedes, templum.” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 5. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 121 – 3. Chioffi, Laura. “Silvanus.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 312 – 24. Chryssanthos, Stefan. “Caesar and the Mutiny of 47 B.C.” JRS 91 (2001): 63 – 75. Ciancio Rossetto, P. “Consus, ara.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 1. Rome: Quasar, 1993. 322. Clark, Anna J. Divine Qualities: Cult and Community in Republican Rome. Oxford and New York: Oxford UP, 2007.

272

Bibliography

Coarelli, Filippo and Mario Torelli. Sicilia. 5. Rome: Laterza, 2000. Coarelli, Filippo. “Castor et Pollux in Circo.” Steinby, Eva Margareta. Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Vol. 1. Rome: Quasar, 1993. Coarelli, Filippo. “Ceres, Liber, Liberaque, aedes; aedes Cereris.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 1. Rome: Quasar, 1993. 260 – 1. Coarelli, Filippo. “Salus, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1993. 229 – 30. Coarelli, Filippo. “Salus, ara.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1993. 230. Coarelli, Filippo. “Fortuna Redux, ara.” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Maragareta Steinby. Vol. 2. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 275. Coarelli, Filippo. “Fortunae tres, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 2. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 285 – 7. Coarelli, Filippo. “Hercules Victor, aedes (ad portam Trigeminam).” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 22 – 3. Coarelli, Filippo. “Iuppiter Stator, aedes, fanum, templum.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 155 – 7. Coarelli, Filippo. “Lares Praestites.” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 175 – 6. Coarelli, Filippo. “Libitina, Lucus.” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 189 – 190. Coarelli, Filippo. “Lupercal.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 198 – 9. Coarelli, Filippo. “Murcia.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 289 – 90. Coarelli, Filippo. Il Foro Boario: dalle origini alla fine della repubblica. Rome: Quasar, 1988. Coarelli, Filippo. “Pax, templum.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 67 – 70. Coarelli, Filippo. “Quirinus, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 185 – 7. Coarelli, Filippo. “Quirinus, sacellum.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 187. Coarelli, Filippo. Roma. Roma-Bari: Laterza, 1999. Coarelli, Filippo. “Saturnus, ara.” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 236. Coarelli, Filippo. “Spes Uetus, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 338. Coarelli, Filippo. “Spes, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 336 – 7. Coarelli, Filippo. “Tellus, aedes.” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 24 – 5. Coarelli, Filippo. “Venus Erucina, aedes (ad portam Collinam).” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 5. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 114 – 16. Coarelli, Filippo. “Venus Libitina, lucus.” Lexicon Topographicam Urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 5. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 117. Coleman, Robert. “The Gods in the “Aeneid”.” G&R (1982): 143 – 68.

Bibliography

273

Cornell, Tim J. The Beginnings of Rome. London and New York: Routledge, 1995. Cornwell, Hannah. Pax and the Politics of Peace. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2017. Cornwell, Hannah. “Die Pax Romana und die Idee vom Imperium: Frieden in der römischen Antike.” AW 3.1 (2018): 17 – 21. Davis, Gregson. “Violent Retribution and Pietas: the Closure of the Aeneid Revisited.” Wordplay and Powerplay in Latin Poetry. Ed. Phillip Mitsis and Ioannis Ziogas. Vols. Trends in Classics, suppl. 36. Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 2016. 169 – 81. de Jonge, Caspar C. and Richard Hunter. “Introduction.” Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Augustan Rome. Ed. Caspar C. de Jonge and Richard Hunter. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2019. 1 – 33. De Paolis, Paolo. “La parentela linguistica fra greco e latino nella tradizione grammaticale latina.” Latin Linguistics in the Early 21st Century: Acts of the 16th International Colloquium on Latin Linguistics, Uppsala, June 6th-116 h, 2011. Ed. Gerd V.M. Haverlin. Uppsala: Danagård, 2015. 611 – 25. De Sanctis, Gianluca. “”Qui terminum exarasset…”.” SIFC 3.1 (2005): 73 – 101. De Spirito, Giiuseppe. “Iuppiter Optimus Maximus Capitolinus, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 153. Degrassi, Donatella. “Aesculapius, aedes, templum (insula Tiberina).” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Rome: Quasar, 1993. Delcourt, Anouk. Lecture des Antiquités romaines de Denys d’Halicarnasse: un historien entre deux mondes. Brussels: Académie Royal de Belgique, 2005. Desnier, Jean-Luc. “Aius Locutius et les voix de Rome.” Hommages à Carl Deroux IV – Archéologie et Histoire de l’Art, Religion. Ed. Pol Defosse. Brussels: Latomus, 2003. 339 – 50. Dittenberger, Wilhelm. “Römische Namen in griechischen Inschriften und Literturwerken.” Hermes 6 (1872): 129 – 155, 281 – 313. Dorcey, Peter F. The Cult of Silvanus: A Study in Roman Folk Religion. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1992. Doubordieu, Annie. “Quirinus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 8. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2008. 359 – 60. Drew-Bear, Thomas. “Rev. of Greek Terms for Roman Institutions: A Lexicon and Analysis by Hugh J. Mason.” CP 71.4 (1976): 349 – 55. Drexler, H. “Honos.” Romanitas 3.1 (1961): 135 – 57. Drummond, A. “Early Italian Deities.” CR 21.2 (1971): 239 – 41. Dubuisson, Michel. Le latin de Polybe: les implications historiques d’un cas de bilinguisme. Vol. Études et commentaires 96. Paris: Klincksieck, 1985. Dueck, Daniela. Strabo of Amasia : a Greek man of letters in Augustan Rome. London, New York: Routlege, 2000. Dueck, Daniela. Strabo of Amasia: A Greek Man of Letters in Augustan Rome. London and New York: Routledge, 2000. Duff, Timothy E. Plutarch’s Lives: Exploring Virtue and Vice. Oxford and New York: Oxford UP, 1999. Dumézil, Georges. Archaic Roman Religion. Trans. Philip Krapp. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins UP, 1996. Eckinger, Theodor. Die Orthographie lateinischer Wörter in griechischen Inschriften. Munich: Dr. C. Wolf & Sohn, 1892. Ehrenberg, Victor and A.H.M. Jones. Documents Illustrating the Reigns of Augustus and Tiberius. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1955. Elm, Dorothee. “The Cult of the Goddess Libertas in Rome and its Reflection in Ovid’s Poetry and Tibullan Love Elegy.” Vergilius 52 (2006): 32 – 44.

274

Bibliography

Famerie, Étienne. Le latin et le grec d’Appien: contribution à l’étude du lexique d’un historien grec de Rome. Hautes Études du monde gréco-romain. Genève: Droz, 1998. Faust, Stephan. “Frieden für Rome und das Imperium: Kaiser Augustus und der Altar der Pax.” AW 3.1 (2018): 22 – 6. Fears, J. Rufus. “The Theology of Victory at Rome: Approaches and Problems.” Aufsteig und Niedergang der römischen Welt. Ed. Hildegard Temporini. Vol. II.17.2. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1981. Fears, J. Rufus. “Ruler Worship.” Civilization of the Ancient Mediterranean. Ed. Michael Grant and Rachel Kitzinger. New York: Scribner’s, 1988. 1009 – 25. Feeney, Denis. “The Beginnings of a Literature in Latin.” JRS 2005: 226 – 40. Ferroni, Angela Maria. “Concordia Nova.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 1. Rome: Quasar, 1993. 321. Ferroni, Angela Maria. “Concordia, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 1. Rome: Quasar, 1993. 316 – 20. Fields, Dana Farah. The Rhetoric of Parrhēsia in Roman Greece. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2009. Fishwick, Duncan. The Imperial Cult in the Latin West. 8 vols. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1987 – 2005. Flower, Harriet I. The Dancing Lares and the Serpent in the Garden: Religion at the Roman Street Corner. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton UP, 2017. Fornaro, Sotera. “Dionysius of Halicarnassus.” The New Pauly. Vol. 4. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2004. 408 – 83. Fox, Matthew. “History and Rhetoric in Dionysius of Halicarnassus.” JRS 83 (1993): 31 – 47. Freyburger-Galland, Marie-Laure. Aspects du vocabulaire politique et institutionnel de Dion Cassius. Collections de l’Université des Sciences Humaines de Strasbourg. Études d’Archéologie et d’Histoire Ancienne. Paris: De Boccard, 1997. Furneaux, H. The Annals of Tacitus. 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon, 1896. Gabba, Emilio. Dionysius and the History of Archaic Rome. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of CA Press, 1991. Galinsky, G. Karl. The Herakles Theme: The Adaptations of the Hero in Literature from Homer to the Twentieth Century. Totowa: Rowman and Littlefield, 1972. Galinsky, G. Karl. “Vergil’s Use of Libertas: Texts and Contexts.” Vergilius 52 (2006): 3 – 19. Gianelli, Giuseppe. “Concordia in Arce, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 1. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 321. Goldberg, Sander. Constructing Literature in the Roman Republic: Poetry and Its Reception. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 2005. Gordon, Richard L. “Enyo.” Cancik, Hubert and Helmuth Schneider. Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 1. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2002. 1010. Gordon, Richard L. “Mars.” Cancik, Hubert and Helmuth Schneider. Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 8. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006. 397 – 401. Gordon, Richard L. “Sol.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 13. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2008. 607 – 10. Gowing, Alain M. The Triumviral Narratives of Appian and Cassius Dio. (Michigan monographs in classical antiquity). Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1992. Gowing, Alain M. “Cassius Dio and the City of Rome.” Cassius Dio: Greek Intellectual and Roman Politician. Ed. Carsten Hjort Lange and Jesper Majbom Madsen. Historiography of Rome and its Empire . Vol. 1. Boston: Brill, 2016. 115 – 35. Graf, Fritz. Apollo. London and New York: Routledge, 2009.

Bibliography

275

Graf, Fritz. “Bellona.” Cancik, Hubert and Helmuth Schneider. Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 2. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2002. 589 – 90. Graf, Fritz. “Carmentis.” Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 2. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2003. 1113 – 14. Graf, Fritz. “Ceres.” Schneider, Helmuth and Hubert Cancik. Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 3. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2003. 158 – 62. Graf, Fritz. “Faunus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 5. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2004. 368 – 70. Graf, Fritz. “Fortuna.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 5. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2004. 505 – 9. Graf, Fritz. “Ianus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 6. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2005. 676 – 8. Graf, Fritz. “Iuno.” Brill’s New Pauly 2005: 1107 – 11. Graf, Fritz. “Iuppiter.” Brill’s New Pauly 2005: 1111 – 17. Graf, Fritz. “Hygieia.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 6. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006. 603 – 4. Green, Carin. “The Gods in the Circus.” New Perspectives on Etruria and Early Rome: In Honor of Richard Daniel de Puma. Ed. Sinclair Bell and Helen Nagy. Madison: U of WI Press, 2009. 65 – 78. Grimal, Pierre. Le dieu Janus et les origines de Rome. Paris: Berg International, 1999. Gros, Pierre. “Venus Victrix, aedes.” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 5. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 120 – 1. Grundy, G.B. “The Transliteration And Pronunciation Of The Latin Letter V.” TPhS (1907). Habicht, Christian. “Rev. of Greek Terms for Roman Institutions. A Lexicon and Analysis by Hugh J. Mason.” Phoenix 30.4 (1976): 394 – 7. Halberstadt, Manfred. Mater Matuta. Frankfurt am Main: Vittorio Klostermann, 1934. Hardie, Alex. “Juvenal, the Phaedrus, and the Truth about Rome.” CQ 48.1 (1998): 234 – 51. Hardie, Alex. “The Camenae in Cult, History, and Song.” ClAnt 35.1 (2016): 45 – 85. Harrison, S.J. “Hercules and Augustus in Propertius 4.9.” Cairns, Francis. Papers of the Langford Latin Seminar 12. Cambridge: ARCA Classical and Medieval Texts, 2005. 117 – 31. Hegyi, Gyö rgy W. “Augustus, Hercules, and Horace.” Szabo´, A´da´m. From Polites to Magos: Studia Gyö rgy Ne´meth sexagenario dedicata. Budapest and Debrecen: University of Debrecen, 2016. 157 – 68. Hekster, Olivier. “The Constraints of Tradition: Depictions of Hercules in Augustus’ Reign.” Orbis antiquus: studia in honorem Ioannis Pisonis. Ed. Ioan Piso and Cristian Roman. Cluj-Napoco, Romania: Nereamia Napocae Press, 2004. 235 – 48. Herz, Peter. “Emperors: Caring for the Empire and Their Successors.” A Companion to Roman Religion. Ed. Jörg Rüpke. Oxford: Blackwell, 2007. 304 – 16. Holford-Strevens, L.A. “Utraque lingua doctus: Some Notes on Bilingualism in the Roman Empire.” Tria Lustra: Essays and Notes Presented to John Pinsent. Ed. H.D. Jocelyn. Liverpool: Liverpool Classical Papers, 1993. 203 – 13. Holland, Lora Louise. Worshipping Diana: the Cult of a Roman Goddess in Republican Italy. Chapel Hill: Chapel Hill UP, 2002. Holzhausen, Jens. “Pan.” Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 10. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2007. 420 – 1. Holzhausen, Jens. “Silvanus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 13. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2008. 468 – 9.

276

Bibliography

Hooker, Mischa. “John Lydus: On the Months (De Mensibus).” 2017. Roger Pearse. 2020. (accessed on 18 Nov. 2022). Horster, Marietta. “Cult.” The Oxford Handbook of the Second Sophistic. Ed. Daniel S. Richter and William A. Johnson. Oxford and London: Oxford UP, 2017. 597 – 611. Hunter, Richard and Caspar C. de Jonge. “Introduction.” Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Augustan Rome: Rhetoric, Criticism and Historiography. Ed. Richard Hunter and Caspar C. de Jonge. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2019. 1 – 33. Hurst, Andre´. “Un critique grec dans la Rome d’Auguste: Denys d’Halicarnasse.” ANRW. Ed. Hildegard Temporini and Wolfgang Haase. Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1982. Jacotot, Matthieu. Question d’honneur: les notions d’ “honos”, “honestum” et “honestas” dans la République romaine antique. Vol. Collection de l’École Française de Rome 479. Rome: École Française de Rome, 2013. Johannes, Scherf. “Pax [2].” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 10. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2007. 659. Johnston, Patricia A and Attilio Mastrocinque. “Hera and Juno: the Functions of the Goddesses in Prehistoric and Historic Greece and Rome.” AActHung 57 (2017): 137 – 42. Jones, Brian. The Emperor Domitian. London and New York: Routledge, 1992. Jones, C.P. Plutarch and Rome. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971. Kaimio, Jorma. The Romans and the Greek Language. Vol. Commentationes Humanarum Litterarum 64. Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1979. Kaiser, Ted. “Leucothea as Mater Matuta ad Colonia Berytus: A Note on Local Mythology in the Levant and the Hellenisation of a Phoenician City.” Syria 82 (2005): 199 – 206. Kantola, Urpo. Latinalaisten nimien varhaiset kirjoitusasut kreikankielisissä . Diss. U of Helsinki, 2013. Koch, Carl. Der römische Juppiter; Frankfurter Studien 14. Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann, 1937. Kragelund, Patrick. “The Temple and Birthplace of Diva Poppaea.” CQ 60.2 (2010): 559 – 68. Kunz, Heike. “Iuventus(‐as).” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 6. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2005. 1152. Lambardi, Noemi. “Le nozze ninfali di Numa.” Prometheus 14.1 (1988): 247 – 52. Lanciotti, Settimio. “Un uoto di troppo: il tempio a Pietas in Festo e nella tradizione liviana.” Pietas e allattamento filiale: la vicenda, l’exemplum, l’iconografia: colloquio de Urbino, 2 – 3 maggio 1996. Ed. R., Danese R.M., and Lanciotti, S. Raffaelli. Urbino: Quattro Venti, 1997. 103 – 21. Lateiner, Donald. “Elpis as Emotion and Reason(Hope and Expectation) in Fifth-century Greek Historians.” Hope in Ancient Literature, History, and Art. Ed. George Kazantzidis and Dimos Spatharas. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018. 131 – 49. Latte, Kurt. Römische Religionsgeschichte. Munich: C.H. Beck’sche, 1960. Le Bonniec, Henri. Le culte de Cérès à Rome des origines à la fin de la République. Paris: Klincksiek, 1958. Lewis, R.G. “Scope for Scaurus.” Athenaeum 89.2 (2001): 345 – 54. Ley, Anne. “Asclepius.” Cancik, Hubert and Helmuth Schneider. Brill’s New Pauly. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2002. 101 – 6. Liebeschuetz, J.H.W.G. “Religion.” Cambridge Ancient History. Ed. Alan K. Bowman, Peter Garnsey and Dominic Rathbone. Vol. 11. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2000. 984 – 1008. Liechtenberger, Achim. “Eirene / Pax – Frieden in der Antike.” AW 3.1 (2018): 8 – 12. Linderski, Jerzy. “Murcia.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 9. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006. 313.

Bibliography

277

Lloyd-Morgan, Glenys. “Nemesis and Bellona: a Preliminary Study of Two Neglected Goddesses.” The Concept of the Goddess. Ed. Sandra Billington and Miranda Green. London and New York: Routledge, 1996. 120 – 8. Magie, David. De Romanorum iuris publici sacrique vocabulis sollemnibus in Graecum sermonum conversis. Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1905. Maharam, Wolfram-Aslan. “Pietas.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 11. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2007. 237 – 8. Mahon, Mac, Ardle. “The Realm of Janus: Doorways in the Roman World.” TRAC 2002: Proceedings of the Twelfth Annual Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference, Canterbury 2002. Ed. Gillian Carr, Ellen Swift and Jake Weekes. Oxford: Oxbow, 2003. 58 – 73. Manacorda, Daniele. “Uolcanus, aedes.” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 211 – 13. Marcattili, Francesco. “Ara Consi in Circo Maximo.” Mélanges de l’École française de Rome 118 (2006): 621 – 51. Marcattili, Francesco. “Bona dea, ἡ θεὸς γυναικεία.” ArchClass 61 (2010): 7 – 40. Martinelli, Giovanna. L’ultimo secolo di studi su Cassio Dione. Genoa: Accademia Ligure di Scienze e Lettere, 1999. Marwood, Martin A. The Roman Cult of Salus. Vol. 465. Oxford: B.A.R., 1988. Mason, H.J. Greek Terms for Roman Institutions: A Lexicon and Analysis. Toronto: Hakkert, 1974. Mastandrea, Paolo. Un neoplatonico latino: Cornelio Labeone (testimonianze e frammenti). Vol. Études préliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’Empire romain 77. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1979. Mastrocinque, Attilio. “Lares.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 7. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2005. 247 – 9. Mastrocinque, Attilio . “Saturnus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 13. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2008. 28 – 30. Mastrocinque, Attilio. Bona Dea and the Cults of Roman Women. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2014. McDonnell, Myles. Roman Manliness: Virtus and the Roman Republic. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2006. Meadows, Andrew and Jonathan Williams. “Moneta and the Monuments: Coinage and Politics in Republican Rome.” JRS 91 (2001): 27 – 49. Mello, Mario. Mens Bona: ricerca sull’origine e sullo sviluppo del culto. Naples: Libreria scientifica, 1968. Mentz, Maximillian. De magistratuum Romanorum Graecis apellationibus. Jena: Nevenhahn, 1894. Miano, Daniele. “How Roman was Victory? The Goddess Victory in Republican Italy.” Apex: studi storico-religiosi in onore di Enrico Montanari. Ed. Giovanni Casadio, Attilio Mastrocinque and Claudia Santi. Rome: Quasar, 2016. 111 – 26. Miano, Daniele. “The goddess Ops in archaic Rome.” BICS 58.1 (2015): 98 – 127. Miano, Daniele. “Fortuna: Deity and Concept in Archaic and Republican Italy.” Oxford: Oxford UP, 2018. Millar, Fergus. A Study of Cassius Dio. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964. Miller, John F. Apollo, Augustus, and the Poets. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Miller, John F. “Virgil’s Salian Hymn to Hercules.” CJ 109.4 (2014): 439 – 63. Moltesen, Mette. “Diana and her Followers in a Late Republican Temple Pediment from Nemi.” From Artemis to Diana: the Goddess of Man and Beast. Ed. Tobias Fischer-Hansen and Birte Poulsen. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2009. 345 – 67. Moorton, Richard. “The Genealogy of Latinus in Vergil’s Aeneid.” TAPhA 118 (1988): 253 – 9.

278

Bibliography

Muntz, Charles E. Diodorus Siculus and the World of the Late Roman Republic. New York: Oxford UP, 2017. Muntz, Charles E. “The Argonautica of Diodorus Siculus.” TAPA 2018: 331 – 60. Murr, Marianne. Pietas in der römischen Literatur bis zur augusteischen Zeit. Innsbruck: U. Innsbruck, 1948. Nachstädt, W., W. Sieveking and J.B. Titchener. Plutarchi Moralia. Vol. 2. Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1971. Nielsen, Inge. “Castor, aedes, templum.” Steinby, Eva Margareta. Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Vol. 1. Rome: Quasar, 1993. 242 – 5. Nilhous, Margaret S. Honos and Virtus in Roman Art. Boston: Boston U.P., 1992. Nordström, Väinö. De institutorum Romanorum vocabulis Dionysii Halicarnassensis. Helsinki, 1890. Ogilvie, R.M. A Commentary on Livy Books 1 – 5. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965. Ostenfeld, Erik Nis. Greek Romans and Roman Greeks. Ed. Erik Nis Ostenfeld. Aarhus: Aarhus UP, 2002. Padovani, Francesco. Sulle tracce del dio: teonimi ed etimologia in Plutarco. Baden-Baden: Academia Verlag, 2018. Palombi, Domenico. “Aphrodision.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 1. Rome: Quasar, 1993. 48. Palombi, Domenico. “Clementia Caesaris, aedes.” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Vol. 1. Rome: Quasar, 1993. 279 – 80. Palombi, Domenico. “Honos, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 30 – 5. Palombi, Domenico. “Aedes deum Penatium in Uelia.” MDAI(R) (1997): 435 – 63. Palombi, Domenico. “Penates, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 75 – 8. Palombi, Domenico. “Uenus Uictrix (Capitolium).” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 5. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 119 – 20. Papi, Emanuele. “Libertas (1).” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 188 – 9. Papi, Emanuele. “Libertas (2).” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 189. Pardo, Mariachiara. “La costruzione della figura di Cesare nelle opere di Cicerone: il benefattore tiranno.” Clementia Caesaris. Modelli etici, parenesi e retorica dell’ esilio. Ed. Giusto Picone. Palermo: Palumbo, 2008. 237 – 58. Pellam, Gregory. “Ceres, the Plebs, and “Libertas” in the Roman Republic.” Historia 63.1 (2014): 74 – 95. Pelling, Christopher B.R. Plutarch and History. Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 2002. Pesando, Fabrizio. “Magna Mater, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 206 – 9. Philips, C. Roberts III. “Mens.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 8. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006. 698 – 9. Philips, C. Roberts III. “Mercurius.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 8. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006: 710 – 13. Philips, C. Roberts III. “Minerva.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 8. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006: 940 – 3. Philips, C. Roberts III. “Neptunus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 8. Leiden: Brill, 2006. 661 – 3.

Bibliography

279

Philips, C. Roberts III. “Picus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 11. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2007. 236. Philips, C. Roberts III. “Tellus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 14. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2009. 235 – 7. Philips, C. Roberts III. “Terminus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 14. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2009. 294 – 5. Pirenne-Delforge, Vinciane and Gabriella Pironti. “Vénus et Aphrodite: 60 and après la thèse de Robert Shilling.” Riligions de Rome. Dans le sillage des travaux de R. Shilling. Ed. Nicole Belayche and Yves Lehmann. Vol. RRR 21. Brepols: Turnhout, 2017. 29 – 45. Pisano, Carmine. “Divine Configurations of “Pity” in Greece and Rome: Eleos and Clementia.” Dieux de Grecs, Dieux de Romains: Panthéons en dialogue à travers l’histoire et l’historiographie. Ed. Corinne Bonnet, Vinciane Pirenne Delforge and Gabriella Pironti. Brussels and Rome: Institut Historique Belge de Rome, 2016. 173 – 86. Platner, Samuel Ball and Thomas Ashby. A Topographical Dictionary of Ancient Rome. London: Oxford UP, 1929. Pothecary, Sarah. “Strabo the Geographer: His Name and Its Meaning.” Mnemosyne 52.6 (1999): 691 – 704. Pouthier, Pierre. Ops et la conception divine de l’abondance dans la religion romaine jusqu’à la mort d’Auguste. Paris: Boccard, 1981. Prescendi, Francesca. “Fides – I. Religion.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Helmuth Schneider and Hubert Cancik. Vol. 5. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2004. 415 – 17. Prescendi, Francesca. “Liber, Liberalia.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 7. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2005. 485 – 6. Prescendi, Francesca. “Libera.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Schneider Helmuth. Vol. 7. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2005. 486. Prescendi, Francesca. “Mater Matuta.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 8. Rome: Quasar, 2006. 480. Prescendi, Francesca. “Réflexions sur le polythéisme romain au prisme d’une petite divinité: Rumina, la déesse de la mamelle allaitante.” Dieux de Rome et du monde romain en réseaux. Ed. Yann Berthelet and Françoise Van Haeperen. Vol. Scripta Antiqua 141. Bordeaux: Ausonius, 2021. Preston, Rebecca. “Roman Questions, Greek Answers: Plutarch and the Construction of Identity.” Being Greek under Rome: Cultural Identity, the Second Sophistic and the Development of Empire. Ed. Simon Goldhill. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2001. 86 – 119. Price, Simon R.F. “Gods and Emperors: the Greek Language of the Roman Imperial Cult.” JHS 104 (1984): 79 – 95. Price, Simon R.F. Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1986. Rüpke, Jörg. Religion in Republican Rome: Rationalization and Ritual Change. Empire and After Series. Philadelphia : University of Pennsylvania Press, 2012. Rüpke, Jörg. “Wie funktioniert Polytheismus: Götter, Bilder, Reflexionen.” Mediterraneo antico 15 (2012): 233 – 46. Radke, Gerhard. Die Götter Altitaliens. Munich: Aschendorff, 1965. Rathmann, Michael. Diodor und seine “Bibliotheke”: Weltgeschichte aus der Provinz. Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter, 2016. Rathmann, Michael. Diodor und seine “Bibliotheke:” Weltgeschichte aus der Provinz. Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 2016.

280

Bibliography

Rawson, Elizabeth. “Roman Tradition and the Greek World.” Cambridge Ancient History. Vol. 8. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 1989. 422 – 76. Reichmann, Victor. “Römische Literatur in Griechischer Übersetzung.” Philologus Supplementband 24.3 (1943): 1 – 152. Reid, J.S. “Review of Vrind 1923.” JRS 13 (1923): 213 – 14. Reusser, Christoph. “Fides populi Romani / publica.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 2. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 249 – 52. Reusser, Christoph. “Mars Ultor (Capitolium).” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. Steinby, E.M. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 5 vols. 230 – 1. Reusser, Christoph. “Mens.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 240 – 1. Richardson Jr., Lawrence. “Honos et Virtus and the Sacra Via.” AJA 82.2 (1978): 240 – 6. Richardson Jr., Lawrence. A New Topographical Dictionary of Ancient Rome. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1992. Richardson Jr., Lawrence . “The Janiculum and Ianicula in Ancient Rome.” Homenaje a José Ma Blázquez. Vol. Historia de Roma III. Madrid: Ediciones clásicas, 1996. 293 – 300. Rives, James B. “Venus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 15. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2009. 284 – 7. Roberts, C. Robert III. “Vesta.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 15. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2010. 339 – 40. Rodríguez Almeida, E. “Camenae, Camenarum fons et lucus.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 1. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 216. Roller, Lynn. In Search of God the Mother: the Cult of Anatolian Cybele. Berkeley: U of CA Press, 1999. Roscher, W.H. Ausfü hrliches Lexicon der Griechischen und Rö mischen Mythologie. Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1890 – 7. Russell, D.A. Plutarch. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1973. Sacks, Kenneth S. Diodorus Siculus and the First Century. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1990. Santangelo, Federico. “Pietas et guerra civil.” Auster 24 (2019): 9 – 26. Santi, Claudia. Castor a Roma. Un dio peregrinus nel Foro. Lugano: Agorà & Co., 2017. Sartorio, Giuseppina Pisani. “Fortuna et Mater Matuta, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 2. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 281 – 5. Satterfield, Susan. “Intention and Exoticism in Magna Mater’s Introduction to Rome.” Latomus 71.2 (2012): 373 – 91. Schaffner, Brigitte. “Felicitas.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 5. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2004. 377 – 8. Schaffner, Brigitte. “Honos.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 6. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2005. 478 – 9. Scheid, John. “Graeco Ritu: A Typically Roman Way of Honoring the Gods.” HSPh 97 (1995): 15 – 31. Scheid, John. “Consus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 3. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2003. 744. Scheid, John. “Diana.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Helmuth Schneider and Hubert Cancik. Vol. 4. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2004. 357 – 60. Scheid, John. Res Gestae Divi Augusti. Paris: L’Association Guillaume Budé, 2007. Scherf, Johannes. “Pax [2].” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 10. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2007. 659. Scherf, Johannes. “Victoria.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 15. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2010. 399 – 400.

Bibliography

281

Schilling, Robert. La religion Romaine de Vénus: depuis les origines jusqu’au temps d’Auguste. Paris: E. de Boccard, 1954. Schweighäuser, Johann. Lexicon Polybianum. London: Oxford U.P., 1822. Scott, Kenneth. “Plutarch and the Ruler Cult.” TAPhA 60 (1929): 117 – 35. Scott, Russel T. “Regia.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 189 – 92. Scott, Russel T. “Vesta, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 5. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 125 – 8. Sheer, Tanja. “Dioscuri.” Cancik, Hubert and Helmuth Schneider. Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 4. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2004. 518 – 20. Sierksma-Agteres, Susan J.M. “Πίστις and Fides as Civic and Divine Virtues: A Pauline Concept through Greco-Roman Eyes.” Paul’s Graeco-Roman Context. Ed. Cilliers Breytenbach. Leuven, Paris, and Bristol, CT: Peeters, 2015. 525 – 43. Silke, Antoni. “Tacita.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 14. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2009. 105. Sirinelli, Jean-François. Plutarque. Paris: Fayard, 2000. Smith, Kirby Flower. The Elegies of Albius Tibullus. New York, Cincinnati, and Chicago: American Book Company, 1913. Snodgrass, Anthony. Archaic Greece: The Age of Experiment. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of CA Press, 1980. Spaeth, Barbette Stanley. The Roman Goddess Ceres. Austin: UT Press, 1996. Spawforth, Anthony J.S. “The Early Reception of the Imperial Cult in Athens: Problems and Ambiguities.” The Romanization of Athens. Ed. Michael C. Hoff and Susan I. Rotroff. Vol. Oxbow Monograph 94. Oxford: Oxbow, 1997. 183 – 201. Stafford, Emma. Herakles. London and New York: Routledge, 2012. Stevens, Benjamin. “Aeolism: Latin as a Dialect of Greek.” CJ 102.2 (2006): 115 – 44. Stiles, Andrew. “Velleius Paterculus, the Adoptions of 4 CE, and the Spes Race.” Hope in Ancient History, Literature, and Art. Ed. George Kazantzidis and D. Spatharas. Vol. Ancient Emotions 1. Boston: De Gruyter, 2018. 259 – 74. Swain, Simon. Hellenism and Empire: Language, Classicism, and Power in the Greek World, A.D. 50 – 250. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1996. Swain, Simon. “Plutarch, Plato, Athens, and Rome.” Philosophia Togata II: Plato and Aristotle at Rome. Ed. Jonathan Barnes and Miriam Griffin. Oxford: Clarendon, 1997. 165 – 87. Swain, Simon. “Bilingualism in Cicero? The Evidence of Code-Switching.” Adams, James Noel, Mark Janse and Simon Swain. Bilingualism in Ancient Society: Language Contact and the Written Text. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2002. 128 – 67. Tagliamonte, Gianluca. “Mars, Sacrum.” Steinby, E.M., Ed. Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 226. Tagliamonte, Gianluca. “Terminus, fanum, sacellum, ara.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 5. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 27 – 8. Takacs, Sarolta. “Mater Magna.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 8. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006. 458 – 9. Torelli, Mario. “Pax Augusta, Ara.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 4. Rome: Quasar, 1999. 70 – 4. Tortorici, Eoardo. “Felicitas, naos.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 2. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 245 – 6.

282

Bibliography

Tortorici, Eoardo. “Ianus Geminus, aedes.” Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Ed. Eva Margareta Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 92 – 3. Treggiari, Susan. Roman Marriage: Iusti Coniuges From the Time of Cicero to the Time of Ulpian. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991. Turcan, Robert. “Janus à l’époque impèriale.” ANRW. Ed. Hildegard Temporini and Wolfgang Haase. Vol. 17.1. Berlin and New York: Walter De Gruyter, 1981. 375 – 402. Várhelyi, Zsuzsanna. “”To Forgive is Divine:” Gods as Models of Forgiveness in Late Republican and Early Imperial Rome.” Ancient Forgiveness: Classical, Judaic, and Christian. Ed. Charles L. Griswold and David Konstan. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2011. 115 – 33. van der Kraan, Guus. “Juvenal I, 3, 10 – 20: the Location of Egeria’s Abode.” Mnemosyne 54.4 (2001): 472 – 5. Vé, Karlis. “En lisant Tite-Live: la date et la contexte du vœu de la construction du temple du Quirinus.” BAGB 1 (2010): 197 – 209. Venditelli, L. “Diana Aventina, aedes.” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Vol. 2. Rome: Quasar, 1995. 11 – 16. Versnel, Hendrick S. “Apollo and Mars One Hundred Years after Roscher.” VRel 4.1 (1985): 134 – 72. Versnel, Hendrick S. “The Festival for Bona Dea and the Thesmophoria.” G&R 39.1 (1992): 31 – 55. Versnel, Hendrick S. “Saturn and the Saturnalia: the Question of Origin.” De agricultura: In memoriam Pieter Willem de Neeve (1945 – 1990). Ed. P. W. de Neeve and Heleen SancisiWeerdenburg. Amsterdam: J.C. Gieben, 1993. 98 – 120. Versnel, Hendrick S. Transition and Reversal in Myth and Ritual. Leiden, New York, and Köln: E.J. Brill, 1994. Versnel, Hendrick S. “Bona Dea.” Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 2. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2003. 717 – 718. Viereck, Paul. Appiani Historia Romana. 2 vols. Leipzig: Teubner, 1905. Viscogliosi, Alessandro. “Bellona, aedes in Circo.” Steinby, Eva Margareta. Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae. Vol. 1. Rome: Quasar, 1993. 190 – 2. Viscogliosi, Alessandro. “Neptunus, aedes in Campo.” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. E.M. Steinby. Vol. 3. Rome: Quasar, 1996. 341. Viscogliosi, Alessandro. “Neptunus, aedes in Circo.” Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Ed. E.M. Steinby. Vol. 3. Roma: Quasar, 1996. 341 – 2. Vrind, Gerard. De Cassii Dionis vocabulis quae ad ius publicum pertinent. Amsterdam, The Hague: University of Amsterdam, 1923. Walbank, F.W. A Historical Commentary On Polybius. 3 vols. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1970. Walbank, F.W. Polybius. Sather Classical Lectures. Vol. 42. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1972. Walbank, F.W. The Hellenistic World. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1981. Walde, Christine. “Muses.” Cancik, Hubert and Helmuth Schneider. Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 9. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2006. 322 – 5. Wardle, David. “Caligula’s Bridge of Boats – AD 39 or 40?” Historia 56.1 (2007): 118 – 20. Wardle, David. “Salus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 15. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2009. 907 – 8. Wardle, David. “Virtus.” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 15. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2010. 459 – 60. Wardman, Alan. Plutarch’s Lives. Berkeley and Los Angeles: U of CA Press, 1974. Waszink, J.H. “Camena.” C&M 17.1 (1956): 139 – 48.

Bibliography

283

Weber, Karl Friedrich. De Latine scriptis quae Graeci veteres in linguam suam transtulerunt. 4 vols. Hesse: Cassell, 1835 – 1852. Weinstock, Stefan. Divus Iulius. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1971. Weissenborn, Wilhelm. T. Livi Ab Urbe Condita Libri. Berlin: Weidmann, 1888. Wesseley, Carl. “Die lateinischen Elemente in der Gräzität der ägyptischen Papyrusurkunden.” WS 24 (1903): 40 – 77. West, Martin L. Hesiod: Theogony. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1966. Whitmarsh, Tim. “’Greece is the World:’ Exile and Identity in the Second Sophistic.” Being Greek under Rome: Cultural Identity, the Second Sophistic and the Development of Empire. Ed. S. Goldhill. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2001. 269 – 305. Whitmarsh, Tim. Greek Literature and the Roman Empire. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2001. Wigtil, David N. “The Translator of the Greek Res Gestae of Augustus.” AJPh 103.2 (1982): 189 – 94. Wildfang, Robin Lorsch. Rome’s Vestal Virgins. London and New York: Routledge, 2006. Winkler, Lorenz. Salus: vom Staatskult zur politischen Idee; Eine archäologische Untersuchung. Vol. Archäologie und Geschichte vol. 4. Heidelberg: Archäologie und Geschichte, 1995. Wissowa, Georg. Religion und Kultus der Rö mer. Munich: C.H. Beck’sche, 1912. Wolfram-Aslan, Maharam. “Latona.” Brill’s New Pauly. Vol. 7. Leiden: Brill, 2005. 295. Wolfram-Aslan, Maharam. “Ops [2].” Brill’s New Pauly. Ed. Hubert Cancik and Helmuth Schneider. Vol. 10. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2007. 172. Wooten, Cecil. “The Peripatetic Tradition in the Literary Essays of Dionysius of Halicarnassus.” Peripatetic Rhetoric After Aristotle. Ed. William W. Fortenbaugh and David C. Mirhady. New Brunswick and London: Transaction Publishers, 1994. Wright, Richard. Vesta: A Study on the Origin of the Goddess and her Cultus. Seattle: University of Washington, 1995. Ziegler, Konrat. Plutarchos von Chaironeia. Stuttgart: Alfred Druckenmüller, 1964. Ziegler, Konrat, Hans Gä rtner, and Claes Lindskog. Plutarchi: Vitae Parallelae. Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1973 – 2002.

Index of Greek Words ᾿Aγαθή (Bona Dea) 97, 141, 162 f., 194 ᾿Aγαθὴ Τύχη (Fortuna) 52, 55, 58, 189 Ἄγδιστις (Mater Magna) 103 (n. 147), 105 ἀθάνατον πῦρ (ignis sempiternus) 146 ᾿Aθηνᾶ (Minerua) 115−118 – ᾿Aθηνᾶ Ῥώμης φύλαξ (urbis custos) 117 – ᾿Aθηνᾶ Φυλακίς (urbis custos) 117 Ἅιδης 32 (n. 33), 164 Αἰσκυλίαις (mons Esquilina) 47 ᾿Aνδρεία (Uirtus) 263−265 ᾿Aνδάτη (Uictoria) 151 f. ᾿Aπόλλων (Apollo) 20 f., 32 τὰ ᾿Aπολλώνια (ludi Apollinares) 21 ἀποτρέπω (auerto) 38 Ἄρειον πεδίον (Campus Martius) 99 (n. 141) ᾿Aρετή (Uirtus) 263−265 Ἄρης (Mars) 21, 98 f., 101 f., 116, 132, 252 – Ἄρης ᾿Aμύντωρ (Mars Ultor) 102 (n. 144) – Ἄρης Τιμωρός (Mars Ultor) 102 – πατρῷος αὐτῆς Ἄρης (Mars) 130 Ἄρτεμις (Diana) 20, 32−34, 75, 236 ᾿Aρτεμίσιον (aedes Dianae; Dianium) 35 ἀρχιερεὺς (pontifex maximus) 67, 70, 267 Αἰσχλαπιός (Aesculapius) 19 (n. 3) ᾿Aσκληπιός (Aesculapius) 19 ᾿Aφροδίτη (Uenus) 132−135, 141 – ᾿Aφροδίτη Ἐπιταλάριος 135 – ᾿Aφροδίτη Ἐπιτυμβία 141 – ᾿Aφροδίτη Γενέλθιος (Uenus Genetrix) 138 – ᾿Aφροδίτη Γενέτειρα (Uenus Genetrix) 137−139 (n. 223) – ᾿Aφροδίτη ἐν ἄλσει 140 – ᾿Aφροδίτη Λιβίτινα (Uenus Libentina) 140 – ᾿Aφροδίτη Μουρκία (Uenus Murcia) 141 f. – ᾿Aφροδίτη Μυρτία (Uenus Murcia) 141 f. – ᾿Aφροδίτη Νικἠφορος (Uenus Uictrix) 137, 142 – ᾿Aφροδίτη Πρόγονος (Uenus Genetrix) 137 βασίλειον (regia) 92 βοαρία ἀγορά (Forum Boarium) Βοναδία (Bona Dea) 163

62

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783111072173-008

βωμός (ara) 39, 41 – βωμοὶ Διοσκούρων 27 (n. 22) – βωμὸς μέγιστος (ara maxima) 62 Γάλλοι (Galli) 110 (n. 156) Γενέθλιοι (Penates) 241, 245 Γῆ (Tellus) 130 f. Γνώμη (Mens) 234 Γυναικεία (Bona Dea) 162 γυναικεία θεός (Bona Dea) 162 (n. 8), 164 Γυναικεία Τύχη (Fortuna Muliebris) 40, 163 (n. 12) δαίμων (genius) 204 δαιμόνιον 52−54, 56 δεισιδαιμονία 33 δέκα ἄνδρες (Xuiri sacris faciundis) 107 Δημήτηρ (Ceres) 30−32 δικαιοσύνη (iustitia) 172 (n. 29), 176, 219, 223, 262 (n. 213), 264 Δίκη (Iustitia) 222 Διόνυσος (Liber) 18, 31, 95−97 – Διόνυσος Ἐλεύθερος (Liber) 96 – Διόνυσος Ζαγρεύς 98 Διοσκορεῖον 29 – ναὸς τῶν Διοσκόρων 27 – νεὼς τῶν Διοσκούρων 29 Διόσκουροι, Διόσκοροι (Castores) 27 – 30 Δόξα (Honos) 207 f. δρυάς 165, 187−189 δρυοκολάπτης (picus) 100, 247 Εἰλείθυια (Lucina) 75 f. Εἰρήνη (Pax) 177, 221, 238 (n. 162) ἐλευθερία (libertas) 91, 96, 231−233 ἐλινύες (supplicatio) 267 ἐλπίς (cf. Spes) 259 Ἐνυάλιος (Mars) 21 (n. 8), 98, 218 Ἐνυάλιος (Quirinus) 21 (n. 8), 99, 236 Ἐνυώ (Bellona) 21 f., 23, 251 (n. 184) ἑορτὴ Δήμητρος (ludi ceriales) 30 ἐπείκεια (clementia) 172 (n. 29) Ἐφιάλτης 191 (n. 58)

Index of Greek Words

ἐπίτροπος 1 Ἑρκεῖοι (Penates) 241 Ἑρμῆς (Mercurius) 114 f. ἑρμηνεύω 3 Ἑστία (Uesta) 128, 144−146, 236 ἑταίρα (meretrix) 59, 136 Εὐβουλία (Mens) 13, 175, 234 εὐγνωμοσύνη (clementia) 175 εὐδαίμων (felix; fortunatus) 36 (n. 39), 49, 51, 206 εὐσέβεια (pietas) 172 (n. 22), 248−250 Εὐτυχία 36 (n. 38), 39, 52 εὐχαί (precationes) 267 ζακόρος (aedituus) 59 Ζεύς (Iuppiter) 18, 81 – Ζεὺς Βασιλεύς (Iuppiter Rex) 91 f. – Ζεὺς Βροντήσιος (Iuppiter Tonans) 94 – Ζεὺς Βροντῶν (Iuppiter Tonans) 94 f. – Ζεὺς Δειμάτιος (Iuppiter Territor) 94 – Ζεὺς Ἐλευθέριος (Iuppiter Liber / Libertas) 91 (n. 124) – Ζεὺς Ἐπιστάσιος (Iuppiter Stator) 93 – Ζεὺς Εὑρέσιος (Iuppiter Inuentor) 62, 87 – Ζεὺς Καπετώλιος (Iuppiter Capitolinus) 82 – Ζεὺς Καπιτωλῖνος (Iuppiter Capitolinus) 82 – Ζεὺς Καπιτώλιος (Iuppiter Capitolinus) 82 – Ζεὺς Κτήσιος 93 (n. 130), 241 – (Ζεὺς) Λατιάριος (Iuppiter Latiaris) 90 – Ζεὺς Λίθος (Iuppiter Lapis) 89 – Ζεὺς Νικαῖος (Iuppiter Inuictus or Uictor) 88 – Ζεὺς Ὀρθώσιος (Iuppiter Stator) 92 f. – Ζεὺς Ὅριος (Terminus) 260 – 262 – Ζεὺς Πίστιος (Dius Fidius) 86 – 77 – Ζεὺς Σκυλοφόρος (Iuppiter Feretrius) 86 – Ζεὺς Σωτήρ (cf. Iuppiter Libertas) 231 – Ζεὺς Στάτωρ (Iuppiter Stator) 93 – Ζεὺς Στήσιος (Iuppiter Stator) 93 – Ζεὺς Τέλειος 75 – Ζεὺς Τροπαιοῦχος (Iuppiter Feretrius) 86 – Ζεὺς Τροπαιοφόρος (Iuppiter Feretrius) 85 Ζῆλος 221 (n. 124) Ἥβη (Iuuentas / Iuuentus) 223, 225 ἡμίθεος (diuus) 70 (n. 79), 71 Ἥλιος (Sol) 129, 236 – ὁ Γενάρχης Ἥλιος (Sol Indiges) 130

285

Ἥρα (Iuno) 8, 18, 74 – Ἥρα Βασιλίς (Iuno Regina) 79 f. – Ἥρα Εἰλείθυια (Lucina) 75 f. – Ἥρα Τελεία (luno Cinxia) 75 Ἡρακλῆς (Hercules) 58, 65 ἡμέρα τοῦ Κρόνου (dies Saturni) 128 ἥρωες προνώπιοι (Lares) 230 ἥρως (diuus) 66, 69 ἡρῷον (aedes) 70 f. Ἥφαιστος (Uolcanus) 153, 236 Θέμις (Carmentis) 168, 170 Θεοὶ Γενέθλιοι (Penates) 241, 245 Θεοὶ Δυνατοί (Penates) 241 Θεοὶ Κατοικίδιοι (Penates) 205, 225 (n. 131), 242 (n. 168) Θεοὶ Μεγάλοι (Penates) 241 Θεοὶ Χρηστοί (Penates) 241 θεὸς (diuus) 68 Θεῶν Μήτηρ (Mater Magna) 107, 109 (n. 155) θηλή (rumina) 166 (n. 14) θησαυροί (δημόσιοι) (aerarium) 127 θυσία (sacrificium) 28 θυσίαι καὶ ἀγῶνες (supplicationes) 267 Ἰανὸς 216 – Ἰανὸς Βουλαῖος (Ianus Consiuius) 217 – Ἰανὸς Εὐγενής (Ianus Patricius) 217 – Ἰανὸς Εὐπατρίδης (Ianus Patricius) 217 – Ἰανὸς Ἰουνώνιος (Ianus Iunonius) 218 – Ἰανὸς Κλουσίβιος (Ianus Clusiuius) 217 – Ἰανὸς Κλούσιος (Ianus Clusius) 217 – Ἰανὸς Κονσίβιος (Ianus Consiuius) 217 – Ἰανὸς Κυρῖνος (Ianus Quirinus) 218 – Ἰανὸς Πατούλκιος (Ianus Patulcius) 217 – Ἰανὸς Πατρίκιος (Ianus Patricius) 217 Ἰδαῖοι Δάκτυλοι 199 Ἰδαῖα θεά (Mater Magna) 103 ἱερεύς (sacerdos) 35, 258 (n. 196) ἱερεύω (immolare; sacrificare) 35 ἱερόν (aedes; sacellum; templum) 23, 35 ἱερός (sacer) 35 ἱεροφάνται (pontifices) 80 ἱερῶν βασιλεύς (rex sacrorum) 92 (n. 126) ἱερωσύνη (sacerdotium) 21 Ἴνω (Mater Matuta) 111 (n. 161) Ἱπποκράτεια (Consualia) 181, 184

286

Index of Greek Words

καθαίρω (lustrationes) 267 καθαρμός (lustratio exercitus) 267 Καινὴ Ὁδός (Noua Uia) 160 Καλλιόπη 25 (n. 15) Καρμέντα (Carmentis) 168 Καρμέντη (Carmentis) 168 Καρμεντίδαι πύλαι (porta Carmentalis) 170 (n. 23) Καρμεντὶς πύλη (porta Carmentalis) 170 (n. 23) Κάστωρ (Castor) 27 κληρονὀμος (heres) 4 Κομπιτάλια (Compitalia) 230 Κράτος 221 (n. 124) Κτήσιοι (Penates) 241 Κόρη (Libera) 31, 95, 98 Κρόνος (Saturnus) 125 – 129 Κυβέλη (Mater Magna) 103 Κυιρῖνος (Quirinus) 256 Κυρῖνος (Quirinus) 98, 218 Κῶνσος (Consus) 183 Κωνσουάλια (Consualia) 181 Κωνσυαλίων ἑορτή (Consualia) 184 Λάδων 170 Λατιάρια (feriae Latinae) 90 Λευκοθέα (Mater Matuta) 110 Λητώ (Latona) 95 Λουπερκάλιον (Lupercal) 121 λόφος Ἐνυάλιος (mons Quirinalis)

99

μακρὸς στενωπός (uicus longus) 39 μαντεία (uaticinatio) 60 μάντευμα 1 μάντις (augur; uates) 21, 35, 194 (n. 67) Μεγάλη Μήτηρ (Mater Magna) 109 Μεγάλη τῶν θεῶν Μήτηρ (Mater Magna) μέγιστοι ἱερῆς (pontifices) 28 μεσοβασιλεύς (interrex) 92 (n. 126) Μήτηρ Ματοῦτα (Mater Matuta) 112 Μήτηρ τῶν θεῶν (Mater Magna) 111 Μοῖραι (Parcae) 171 Μοῖραι (Tria Fata) 220 Μοῦσαι (Camenae) 17, 25, 186, 188 Μουσκῶσα Κρηνή (Fons Muscosus) 48 τὸ μυθῶδες 16 Μύχιοι (Penates) 241

105

Νεότης (Iuuentas / Iuuentus) 223 νεωκόρος (antistes) 35 νεώς (aedes; fanum; templum) 35 Νίκη (Uictoria) 118, 150 Νικοστράτη (Carmentis) 62 (n. 67), 168 νύμφη (goddess) 187 νύμφη (sponsa) 187 νύμφη δρυάς (tree-spirit) 188 ξόανον (simulacrum)

41

οἰώνισμα τῆς Ὑγιείας (augurium salutis) Ὁμόνοια (Concordia) 176 ὀρνιθεία (auspicium) 267 Ὀρφεύς 25 (n. 15)

124

Πάν (Pan) 120 f. – Πὰν Λύκαιος 197 Πατρίκιος Στενοπός (Uicus Patricius) 33 Πατρῷοι (Penates) 225, 241 πεδίον τοῦ Ἄρεος (Campus Martius) 99 πέλτη (ancile) 26 Πένατες (Penates) 221 Περσεφόνη 98, 140 f., 164−166 ἡ Πεσσινουντία θεός (Mater Magna) 106 πῖκος (picus) 100 Πίστιος (Dius Fidius) 86 πίστις Ῥωμαίων (fides) 203 Πολυδεύκης (Pollux) 27 Ποσειδών (Neptunus) 118 – ᾿Aσφάλειος Ποσειδών 119 – Ἵππιος Ποσειδών (Neptunus Equestris) 181 – Ποσειδών Ἵππειος (Neptunus Equestris) 184 – Ποσειδὼν Σεισίχθων 182 Ποσειδωνία (Paestum) 120 προλέγω (denuntio belli) 267 πρᾴοτης 172 Ῥέα (Mater Magna) 109, 109 (n. 155) Ῥέα (Ops) 235 f. Ῥέα Φρυγία (Mater Magna) 103 Ῥῆσος 25 (n. 15) σάλιοι (salii) 267 Σάτυροι 199 Σελήνη (Luna) 31, 236 Σεμέλη 24

287

Index of Greek Words

Σιβύλλεια (libri Sibyllini) 107 Σιλουανός (Siluanus) 258 σιωπηλή 26 Στύξ 221 (n. 124) Συγγνώμη (Clementia Caesaris) 174 f. σύγκλητος (senatus) 46 συντάγματα 14 συστήματα (collegia) 267 Τέθυς 227 τερατοσκόποι (haruspices) 22 τέμενος (templum) 41 τέμενος Λιβιτίνης (lucus Libitinae) 141 Τέρμων 224 Τιμή (Honos) 207 f. Τιτᾶνες 199 Τυχαῖον (aedes Felicitatis / Fortunae) 36 (n. 40), 45 Τύχη (Felicitats / Fortuna) 36 – Ἴδια Τύχη (Fortuna Priuata) 45 – Μικρὰ Τύχη 38 – Τύχη ᾿Aνδρεία (Fors Fortuna) 37 – Τύχη ᾿Aποτρόπαιος 38 – Τύχη Ἄρρην (Fortuna Uirilis) 48 – Τύχη Βισκᾶτα (Fortuna Uiscata) 49

– Τύχη γυναικῶν / Γυναικεία Τύχη (Fortuna Muliebris) 40 – Τύχη Δημόσια (Fortuna Publica) 45 – Τύχη Ἐπανάγωγος (Fortuna Redux) 46 – Τύχη Ἐπιστρεφομένη (Fortuna Respiciens) 47 – Tύχη Εὔελπις 16, 39, 259 (n. 203) – Τύχη Ἱξευτήρια (Fortuna Uiscata) 49 – Τύχη Μειλιχίας (Fortuna Obsequens) 42 – Τύχη Παρθένος (Fortuna Uirgo) 47 Ὑγίεια (Salus) 122 – Ὑγίεια Δημοσία (Salus Publica)

123

Φαῦνος (Faunus) 159 Φήμη καὶ Κληδών (Aius Locutius) 160 Φθόνος (Inuidia) 221 φιλανθρωπία (clementia) 173 φλᾶμεν Κυρινάλιος (flamen Quirinalis) 251 φρατρία (curia) 253 Φωσφόρος (Lucina) 75 f. χθόνιοι θεοί (dii inferi) 32 (n. 33) χρησμός (oraculum) 35 χρηστότης (clementia) 173

Index of Ancient Authors Aeschylus Ag. 921 222 1275 194 (n. 67) Eum. 734 – 40 118 Sept. 130 184 AE 1991, 692 75 (n. 87) Ammianus Marcellinus 16.10.14 239 21.14 204 Appian Ann. 43 175 B. Ciu. 1.16.67 202 (n. 76) 1.25[113] 29 1.26[115] 33 1.26[120] 177 1.30[134] 95 1.31[137] 127 1.33.148 250 1.34[151] 174 1.42[186] 115 1.78[359] 31 1.89[407] 99 1.89[410] 125 1.93[428] 136 1.97[451] 36 2.2[14] 162, 164 2.8.26 238 (n. 159) 2.9[31] 176 2.11[40] 93 2.14 176 2.17[63] 174 2.21[76] 58 2.33[133] 173 2.35[141] 174 2.36[144] 173 2.38[150] 174 2.41[163] 173 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783111072173-009

2.68[281] 137, 150 (n. 235) 2.69[284] 137, 144 2.76[319] 137 2.93.392 256 2.102[424] 137, 155 (n. 242) 2.104.431 249 2.106[443] 171 (n. 27), 172 2.109[456] 121 2.110[460] 268 2.126[525] 131 3.16 59 3.21[78] 268 3.28[107] 138 3.45[185] 99 3.54[224] 268 3.92[280] 145 3.92[378] 99 (n. 141) 3.94.389 253 4.11[43] 174 4.17[66] 177 4.38[160] 174 4.89[374] 267 4.134[563] 118, 152 4.134.565 206 5.49[206] 79 5.56[15] 177 5.72[4] 117 5.98[406] 119 5.98[409] 115 Gall. 1.1 82 6.1 145 Hann. 56[233] 268 Hisp. 18[73] 267 29[32] 267 37.149 201 38.153 137 (n. 219) 57 99 Ill. 13.39 210 15 56 (n. 60)

Index of Ancient Authors

15.44 206 30.1 20 Ital. 8.1 249 Mac. 2 268 19.3 52, 205 Mith. 45 99 113[551] 267 Praef. 15 14 (n. 26) Proem. 6.20 92 (n. 126) Pun. 5.18 238 13.50 119 48 116 (n. 172) 104 54 105 54 133 116 135[642] 267 Reg. 1 – 1a 100 1.1 – 2 195 1.1 99 1.2.3 193 (n. 64) 5.2 176 Samn. 10.15 126 (n. 199) Sic. 7 162, 164 Syr. 21.93 202 (n. 78) 40.209 82 40.210 223 ps-Apollodorus 1.2.4 221 (n. 124) 2.114 – 15 198 Apuleius De deo Socr. 15 204 (n. 84), 228 Aristophanes Ach. 682 119 Au. 877 103 (n. 147)

Thesm. 973 75 Aristotle Eth. Nic. 7 1145a.22 – 25 67 Mu. 401a23 86 Arnobius Ad. nat. 2.67.3 48 2.71 192 (n. 61) 3.23.2 111 (n. 161) 3.29 217 (n. 112), 218 (n. 113) 3.41.2 226 (n. 132) 4.1 158 (n. 2) 5.1.4 – 8 197, 247 (n. 175) 5.1.7 200 7.49.3 106 Arrian Tact. 33.4 103 Asconius Mil. 33 140 Athenaeus Deip. 6.253e 67 (n. 76) 8.6 170 15.46 212 Augustine De ciu. D. 3.25 178 (n. 39) 4.8 140 (n. 224) 4.11 180 (n. 45), 235 5.21 224 (n. 128), 262 5.23 224 7.6 207 8.5 192 (n. 61) 18.15 – 16 192 (n. 61) Marcus Aurelius Med. 10.31.1 258 Aurelius Uictor Or. 5.2 65 (n. 70)

289

290

Index of Ancient Authors

[Aurelius Uictor] De uir. ill. 2.8 92 (n. 128) 4.9 218 (n. 115) 11.2 155 32 210 46.1 107 (n. 153) Ausonius Ecl. 23.15 – 16 237 Bible Genesis 18.17 – 33 198 Exodus 20.8 – 11 129 Caesar B.C. 3.105.6 118, 150 [Caesar] B.A. 88.6 174 Cassiodorus Chron. 142M 133 (n. 212) Cassius Dio 1 V.1 145 1.5 per M.7 121 1.6, frg. M.10 25 1.6 = V.1 254 2.1 22 (n. 10) V.1 p.569 145 6 211 7.35.2 – 36.1 222 9 100 11 136 (n. 218) 14 69 15.57.24 175 17 69 17 frag. 57.60 120, 185 21 174 (n. 32) 21.70.9 175 22 – 29 frag. 76.2 36 24.84.2 21 28.95.1 = V.92 250 (n. 181) 30 – 35, frag. 109.5 23 36.27.5 55 36.37.4 175

36.37.5 175 37.8.2 27 37.16.2 – 4 129 37.17.3 129 37.18.2 128 37.24.1 – 25.1 124 37.35.4 162 (n. 9) 37.36.3 268 37.37.1 250 37.44.1 82 37.45 56 37.45.1 162, 164 38.6.2 29 38.17.5 117 38.17.6 233 39.11.1 233 39.20.3 233 (n. 150) 39.64.1 99 (n. 141) 40.51.3 250 41.14.3 102 (n. 145), 253 41.39.2 57 41.46.3 57 41.61.3 150 41.63.2 174 41.63.5 173 41.64.4 118 42.13.5 174 (n. 32) 42.26.1 61 (n. 65) 42.26.2 23 42.26.3 45 42.26.4 36, 47 42.27.4 173 42.31.3 124, 147 42.32.2 174 42.48.1 150 42.53.3 256 (n. 193) 43.10.3 174 43.21.1 36 (n. 40) 43.22.2 138 (n. 221) 43.44.1 233 43.45.3 253 43.48.3 127 43.49.3 250 43.50.2 173 43.51.3 31 (n. 28) 44.4.3 84 (n. 104) 44.4.5 179 (n. 40)

Index of Ancient Authors

44.5.2 36 44.6.4 172 44.8.1 138, 173 44.9.1 92 (n. 126) 44.22.3 131 44.23 – 33 131 44.25.5 127 44.45.3 173 44.46.5 – 6 173 44.47.1 173 44.49.1 70 44.49.3 173 44.50.1 57, 123 45.1.2 20 45.6.4 138 45.13.3 99 45.17.2 88, 143, 150 (n. 235) 45.17.3 127, 202 (n. 76) 45.17.6 29 45.18 – 47 178 46.1 – 28 178 46.28.3 178 46.33.3 104 46.38.6 258 47.2.3 19 47.13.4 173 47.18.4 71 47.18.6 16, 21 47.19.2 70 47.40.2 88, 143 47.40.3 31 47.40.6 90 47.40.8 152 47.41.3 16, 115 47.43.1 232 48.5.4 119, 249 48.13.6 232 48.19.2 119 48.31.5 119 48.43.4 104 (n. 151), 266 48.48.5 119 49.15.2 82 49.15.5 21 49.18.6 179 49.22.4 129 49.42.1 138 50.4.5 23

50.8.2 179 50.10.3 259 50.12.7 20 (n. 6) 51.1.2 20 (n. 6) 51.15.5 71 (n. 80) 51.19.2 71 51.19.6 162 (n. 10) 51.19.7 118 51.20.4 124, 220 51.20.6 71, 227 51.22.1 152 51.22.3 80 51.22.4 71 53.1.3 21 53.6.1 175 53.26.5 220 53.27.1 120 54.4.2 94 54.4.3 82 54.6.2 258 54.8.3 102 54.10.3 46 54.19.4 253 54.19.7 225 54.35.2 123, 177, 239 54.35.4 71 54.36.2 220 55.8.1 179 55.9.9 224 55.10.1 – 8 102 55.10.5 21, 225 55.23.3 – 6 150 55.24.3 115 55.24.4 193 55.27.4 29 55.32.1 119 56.24.4 152 56.34.2 71 56.36.2 70 56.38.2 36 (n. 39) 56.39.1 175 56.41.9 71 56.46.2 256 (n. 192) 56.46.3 – 4 71 57.11.2 175 57.18.4 220 (n. 121) 57.24.6 71

291

292

Index of Ancient Authors

58.1.1 90 58.12.5 232 59.4.4 57 59.7.1 71, 227 (n. 136) 59.16.10 175 59.17.4 221 59.22 102 59.26.5 – 7 120 59.26.5 151 59.26.6 20, 59 59.28.5 29 60.6.8 29 60.19.3 126 (n. 199) 60.35.1 = Zon. 11.11 88 (n. 115) 61.20.5 20 62.6.2 151 (n. 236) 62.7.3 151 62.26.4 91 (n. 124) 63.20.5 20, 59 63.26.3 70, 71, 133 64.1.2 58 65.8.4 175 65.15.1 239 66.7.2 129 66.24.2 120 67.4.7 66 (n. 72) 68.3.4 58 69.4.2 – 5 133 (n. 211) 70.2.1 250 (n. 181) 71.22.3 250 (n. 181) 71.31.1 133 72.7.2 59 72.15.3 – 6 59 72.17.3 – 4 114 72.19.4 114 72.20.2 59 72.22.3 59 72.24.1 239 73.5.2 175 73.13.3 220 (n. 121) 73.15.3 250 74.3.1 133 74.4.1 71 75.8.1 71 75.14.7 57 76.3.3 71 77.1.4 177

77.10.1 – 3 129 (n. 203) 77.15.6 19 (n. 2) 77.16.3 59 77.18.4 71 78.9 15 78.17.1 224 Cato Agr. 1.5.3 231 5.3 156 (n. 245) frag. 24P 224 Cedrenus 1 p.295 10 Bekk. 126, 212 Cicero Att. 1.12.3 56, 162 1.13.3 162 12.45 123 (n. 188) 13.28.2 123 (n. 188) 14.22 172 Brut. 59 75 (n. 86) Cael. 34 84 (n. 106) Cat. 3.7 – 15 178 3.21 178 De leg. 2.4 233 (n. 150) 2.20 82, 146 2.28 47, 158 (n. 2) 2.42 117 (n. 173) 2.58 208, 209 (n. 93) Diu. 1.47 124 1.101 77, 78, 159 (n. 4) 1.103 52 2.20 73 (n. 83) 2.69 159 2.123 115 Dom. 108 233 (n. 150) 144 117 (n. 173) Fam. 7.12.1 89 (n. 118) 10.30.1 258 (n. 200)

Index of Ancient Authors

12.25 117 (n. 173) Har. resp. 17.37 162 27 106, 108 37 161 – 162 Inu. rhet. 2.159 263 Mil. 72 – 3 164 (n. 13) Nat. D. 2.60 – 2 158 (n. 2) 2.61 201, 209 (n. 93), 234 2.64 127 2.67 – 68 221 (n. 123) 2.67 144 2.68 76 3.17.44 221 3.39 111 (n. 161) Off. 3.104 201 Or. 75 263 Phil. 1.31 131 (n. 208) Q. fr. 2.3.3 20 Rep. 2.12 180 (n. 44) Scaur. 46 29 Tim. 38 159, 227 (n. 136) Tusc. 1.12.28 111 (n. 161) Uerr. 2.133 29 (n. 125) CGL 2.26562 225 (n. 131) 2.461.19 205 3.236.30 205 3.321.19 205 CIG 3957a 66 (n. 73) 4633 249 2.2786 266 3902b 66 (n. 73)

CIL 1.2.240 184 (n. 48) 1.2.245 184 (n. 48) 1.603 203 (n. 81) 1.2.31 208 (n. 90) 1.2, p. 214 91 3.6680 111 (n. 161) 3.7591 208 (n. 89) 4.1180 123 (n. 187) 4.6779 128 5.6507 263 6.471 232 (n. 147) 6.472 232 (n. 147) 6.2250 222 6.362 77 (n. 90) 6.3692 208 (n. 90) 6.3735 266 (n. 221) 9.351 75 (n. 87) 9.3513 203 (n. 81) 9.5811 172 (n. 29) 10.3775 39 11.657 91 (n. 125) 11.4170 232 (n. 147) 11.1306 115 13.6679 208 (n. 89) 13.7281 263 14.2579 91 (n. 125) 14.2852 43 (n. 48) 14.2853 39 14.2867 39 14.3559 94 (n. 131) 14.4324 123 (n. 187) De uir. ill. 7.9 33 75.1 50 (n. 55) Dig. 1.5.17 15 (n. 29) Dio of Prusa (Chrysostom) Or. 12.22 81 12.75 81 36.36 81 Diodorus Siculus 1.4.4 7 3.57.2 103 3.58 – 9 103 (n. 147) 4.17 – 4.24 8, 63

293

294

Index of Ancient Authors

4.20 – 4 168 4.20 63 4.21 63 4.23 – 4 64 4.24 80 (n. 94) 4.24.7 64 5.21.2 68 6.5.1 – 3 246 8.6.3 92 (n. 126) 11.27.1 258 (n. 199) 11.29.1 231 (n. 144) 11.67.1 82 (n. 100) 11.77.1 82 (n. 100) 12.26.1 139 12.33.1 210 12.36.1 256 (n. 192) 14.48.4 136 (n. 218) 14.116.6 8, 77 14.117.1 99 (n. 141) 15.16.3 126 (n. 195) 19.1 64 19.4 64 20.16.5 117 (n. 174) 20.101.5 238 (n. 162) 23.1.4 201 24.3 – 6 64 27.12.1 249 29.9 200 (n. 71) 29.26.1 264 31.11.12 8 34/35.33.1 249 34/35.33.2 105 36.13 109 37.11 130 37.11.1 8, 82, 101, 131, 145 38/39.10.1 264 38/39.17 146 Diogenes Laertius 6.1.3 103 (n. 147) 7.149 44 (n. 50) Dionysius of Halicarnassus Ant. Rom. 1.5.3 249 1.6.3 10 1.7.2 10 1.7.3 210 1.14.2 101

1.14.3 115 1.14.5 247 1.15.1 151 1.18.2 125 1.20.5 125 1.21.1 80 (n. 94) 1.22.1 125 1.31.1 168 (n. 18), 169 (n. 20), 170 (n. 22) 1.31.2 100, 192 1.32.1 – 3 170 (n. 23) 1.32.3 120 (n. 179) 1.32.5 151 1.33.1 – 3 150 1.33.1 31 1.33.2 158, 181, 184 1.34 61 1.34.1 – 5 126 (n. 196) 1.34.1 82 1.34.4 126 (n. 197), 193 1.34.5 125 1.35 61 1.35.3 62, 125 1.36.1 125 (n. 194) 1.38.1 – 2 126 1.38.1 121, 125 (n. 192) 1.38.2 61 1.39 – 40 62 1.39.4 62 1.39.4 – 6 62 1.39.4 87 1.40.2 170 1.40.6 62 1.41 – 4 62 1.41.1 63 (n. 68), 65 1.41.3 62, 63 1.42.3 193 1.43 63 1.43.1 – 2 193 1.43.2 195 1.46.4 242 (n. 168) 1.50.4 69 1.52.4 136 (n. 218) 1.53.1 136 1.54.2 69 1.55.2 10, 130 1.57.1 242 (n. 168), 243 1.61.1 9 (n. 15)

Index of Ancient Authors

1.64.4 – 5 69 1.67 – 9 240 1.67.1 – 2 240 1.68.1 – 69.4 148 1.68.1 243 1.69.4 146, 242 1.76 149 1.77.2 – 3 99 – 100 1.79.1 121 1.80.1 195 1.82.6 92 (n. 126) 1.84.4 193 (n. 65) 1.90.1 9 2.5.1 92 2.7.3 253 2.9.2 9 (n. 16) 2.12 – 14 9 (n. 16) 2.18.2 205 2.19.1 – 5 103 2.22.3 255 2.23.1 139 (n. 222), 205 2.30.3 – 4 181 2.30.3 119 (n. 178) 2.31.2 – 3 182 2.31.2 182 2.31.3 182 2.34.4 85 2.36.2 172 2.37.5 254 2.38.1 254 2.45.6 121 2.46.2 255 2.47.4 236 2.48 255 (n. 190) 2.48.2 98 2.48.4 236, 251 2.49.2 86 2.50.1 254 2.50.2 155 2.50.3 18, 33, 78 (n. 92), 93, 125, 129 (n. 202), 144, 235 (n. 155) 2.52.3 242 (n. 168), 243 2.56.3 – 5 255 2.56.5 252 2.60.4 – 61.3 188 2.60.4 188 2.62.5 99 (n. 141), 254

2.63.3 – 4 255 2.63.3 73 (n. 83) 2.66.1 – 3 147 2.66.2 – 6 244 2.66.3 146 2.66.4 148 2.70.2 99 2.70.4 255 2.71.1 236 2.72.3 249 2.72.15 – 17 236 2.72.18 10, 236 2.73.2 205 2.74.1 260 2.74.4 260 2.74.5 260 2.75.3 200, 201, 202 3.1.5 174 3.17.2 249 3.21.1 – 7 80 3.21.7 – 8 246 3.21.9 246 3.22.3 – 10 218 3.22.7 80, 211 3.29.7 10 3.31.3 174 3.32.4 125, 126 (n. 199), 127, 237 3.35.4 – 5 206 3.43.1 33 3.46 – 7 227 3.50.3 186 (n. 51) 3.60.1 – 2 173 3.69 224 3.69.1 80 (n. 95), 116 3.69.3 – 6 262 3.69.5 224 3.70.2 – 3 72 3.70.2 230 3.71.5 174 4.2 226 4.2.1 – 3 156 (n. 245) 4.2.3 72 4.14.3 – 5 10 4.14.3 – 4 229 4.14.3 72 4.14.4 126 (n. 199) 4.15.3 – 4 231

295

296

Index of Ancient Authors

4.15.5 75, 140, 223 4.17.2 255 4.24.5 174 4.26 34 4.26.4 208 (n. 91) 4.26.5 10 4.27.7 37, 48 4.49.2 90 (n. 121) 4.58.4 86 4.59.1 80 (n. 95), 116 4.61.4 80 (n. 95), 116 4.62.5 82 4.64.3 186 (n. 51) 4.69.3 20 (n. 7) 4.83.1 155 (n. 242) 4.84.4 268 5.10.4 176 5.13.2 99 (n. 141) 5.13.4 19 5.14.1 71 5.16.2 – 3 159, 258 5.21.1 210 5.35.3 82 5.36.3 174 5.54.1 193 (n. 65) 5.58.1 137 (n. 219), 209 5.60.1 176 5.61.3 193 (n. 65) 5.63.1 268 5.64.2 174 5.68.4 202 5.70.4 268 5.75.3 223 6.1.4 58 (n. 62), 126 (n. 197), 127 6.13.1 – 5 27 6.13.4 211 (n. 96) 6.17.2 – 4 95 6.17.2 31 (n. 30), 97 6.67.2 82 6.68.2 82 6.90.1 94 6.94.3 31 (n. 30), 95 7.1.1 210 7.37.2 268 7.53.3 174 7.68.3 82 7.72.13 19 (n. 2), 236

8.10.3 264 8.35.2 245 8.45.48 – 53 245 8.55.2 – 8.56.4 41 8.55.3 163 (n. 12) 8.56.4 111 8.79.3 30 (n. 27), 131 8.87.3 223 9.50.2 173 9.60.8 86, 99 (n. 141), 254 10.2.6 38 10.14.2 170 (n. 23) 10.23.1 205 (n. 85) 10.57.4 173 11.39.1 155 11.46.5 174 (n. 32) 11.54.4 200 12.1.1 36 (n. 39), 206 12.9.2 20 (n. 5), 32, 58, 95, 114 (n. 167), 119, 185 13.3.1 41, 79 (n. 93) 13.7.3 77 13.9.2 150 Comp. 1.4 10 De Thuc. 36 231 (n. 144) Ennius Ann. 25 61 52 137 308 75 (n. 86) 487 Sk. (from Uarro Ling. 7.25) 25 (n. 14) frag. 177 V 255 Scen. 186 = 198 Warmington 200 (n. 71) Euripides Hel. 145 168 Or. 1588 102 (n. 144) Excerpta Ursiniana 9 23 (n. 12) fasti Praen. ad Kal. Apr. 48

Index of Ancient Authors

Festus 142 s.v. Consposos 180 (n. 45) 154 s.v. curitim 79 168 s.v. Caelibari hasta 79 179 s.v. Doliola 149 192 s.v. Egeria nymphae 186 (n. 52) 228 s.v. Italia 61 239 s.v. Lapidem silicem 89 247 s.v. Libertatis templum 231 (n. 143) 266 s.v. Medius fidius 86 302 s.v. Opima spolia 251 315 s.v. Picta toga 185 (n. 50) 320 s.v. Picena regio 247 396 s.v. Sororiare 80 414 s.v. Sacer mons 94 (n. 131) 432 s.v. Seruorum dies festus 33 456 s.v. Termino 261 (n. 209) FGrH III 203 149 III 470 253 IV 387 194 Florus 1.1.13 92 (n. 128) 1.7 149 2.17 206 19.2 219 (n. 119) Fronto Ad Pium 10.2 14 (n. 26) Gaius Inst. 1.112 251 (n. 183) Gellius NA 1.21.4 89 (n. 118) 5.6.21 142 5.21.7 193 (n. 64) 14.7.7 145 16.4.1 205 (n. 85) 16.16 159, 167 Gilgamesh 9 198 Glossaria 2.121.13 225 2.121.14 225, 227 2.265.62 225 2.399.59 225

Heraclitus Frag. DK B5 257 (n. 195) Herodian 1.11.1 105 1.11.2 105 1.11.3 – 5 105 1.14.2 239 1.15.1 232 1.16 212 1.16.1 – 2 126 1.16.2 213 14.8 68 Herodotus 1.14 127 1.47 225 2.19 – 24 238 6.105 159 (n. 3) Hesiod Op. 123 – 5 207 Theog. 383 – 4 118 (n. 175), 221 (n. 124) 901 – 6 223 902 238 Homer Il. 1.354 94 5.426 – 30 143 8.133 94 16.542 223 16.849 95 17.178 248 18.568 135 Od. 1.7 – 9 222 4.450 – 63 198 8.266 – 369 132 9.266 – 366 154 10.7 214 11.601 – 27 73 16.256 – 61 102 Horace Carm. 1.35.21 – 2 201 (n. 74) 3.12.4 – 5 135 4.5.33 – 5 72 (n. 81)

297

298

Index of Ancient Authors

4.15.9 219 Carm. saec. 30 131 Ep. 1.6 171 (n. 25) 2.59 260 (n. 207) Hyginus Poet. astr. praef. 17.1 221 (n. 124) IG II2 1990 67 II2 3173 67 (n. 74) II2 3250 67 II2 3257 67 III 253 67 (n. 74) XIV 1449 163 IGR 4.145 67 4.251 67 ILS 3028 94 (n. 131) 3108 77 (n. 90) 3137 115 3696 43 (n. 48) 9346 110 (n. 157) Inscr.It. XIII.2, 37 143 (n. 228) XIII.2, 95 143 (n. 228) XIII.2, 17 184 (n. 49) XIII.2, 440 87 (n. 114) XIII.2, 518 143 (n. 228) I.Priene2014 16 66 (n. 73) Ioannes Antiochenus Fr. 32 M 256 Isidore of Seville 16.18.8 77 Iulius Obsequens 12 140 (n. 225) Iustinus Epit. 43.1.7 191 (n. 58), 195 (n. 68) John Lydus Mag. R. 1.5 (p.14.20 per TLG) 8 1.30 180 (n. 45)

4.1 – 2 217 (n. 112) 4.1 213 (n. 102) 4.2 214 (n. 107) Josephus AJ 12.5.5 129 19.1.1 – 2 221 Juvenal 3.12 188 Lactantius Diu. inst. 1.20.37 224 (n. 128), 226 1.22.9 – 11 161, 166 (n. 14) 1.22.9 192 (n. 61) Liuius Andronicus Od. Fr. 1 25 (n. 14) Livy 1.2.6 69 1.3.11 149 1.5.2 120 (n. 179), 191 (n. 58), 195 1.7.4 – 7 62 1.7.8 168, 170 (n. 22) 1.9 135 1.9.6 119 (n. 178) 1.10.5 – 6 85 1.10.6 84 1.16.4 155 (n. 243), 254 1.12.3 – 7 92 (n. 128) 1.12.11 – 15 62 1.13.3 121 1.13.5 255 1.16 73 (n. 83) 1.16.1 – 2 126, 252 1.16.4 155 (n. 243), 254 1.16.5 – 8 255 1.19 – 21 25 (n. 16) 1.19.1 – 2 219 1.19.5 188 1.20.2 251 (n. 183), 255 1.20.7 83, 197 (n. 69) 1.21.3 187 (n. 54), 188 1.21.4 201 (n. 74), 261 (n. 211) 1.24 205 1.26.2 – 5 80 1.26.9 – 14 246 1.26.13 218 (n. 115)

Index of Ancient Authors

1.27.12 – 14 80 1.31.8 197 (n. 69) 1.32 205 1.38.7 80 (n. 95) 1.39.6 44 1.43.1 76 (n. 89) 1.45 33 1.45.2 32 1.48.6 35 1.55.1 80 (n. 95) 1.55.1 – 5 262 1.55.2 – 5 224 1.55.3 – 4 262 1.56.4 – 5 20 (n. 7) 2.7.2 159, 258 2.21.7 114 (n. 168) 2.25 205 (n. 85) 2.36.2 82 2.40.7 245 2.40.11 40 2.41.10 30 (n. 27) 2.42.5 28 2.51.2 259 (n. 204) 3.38.1 186 (n. 51) 3.55.7 31 (n. 30) 4.1 – 2 99 4.13 – 14 36 (n. 39) 4.20.5 – 11 84 4.20.8 77 (n. 91) 5.13.4 – 8 20 (n. 5) 5.13.5 – 6 58 (n. 62) 5.13.6 32, 95, 114 (n. 167) 5.17 249 5.19.6 112 (n. 163) 5.23.6 81 5.25.9 169 5.32.6 159 (n. 4) 5.34 169 5.40.6 – 10 149 5.46.2 145 (n. 231) 5.47.1 – 6 77 5.50.5 159 5.51 – 4 147 5.54.7 224 5.55.1 147 6.20.13 78 7.28.4 – 6 77

8.9.6 21 (n. 8) 8.14 139 9.4.5 84 (n. 106) 9.24.9 200 (n. 71) 9.43.25 122 (n. 184) 9.45.1 238 (n. 162) 10.1.9 122 (n. 184) 10.29.14 87 10.31.8 – 9 42 (n. 46) 10.36.11 93 (n. 129) 10.46.14 37 (n. 42) 10.47.6 – 7 19 (n. 3) 21.62.4 102 (n. 146) 21.62.9 223 (n. 127) 22.1.11 102 22.9.10 233 22.10.10 233 (n. 153) 23.9.3 201 (n. 74) 23.31.9 233 (n. 153) 24.16.19 91 (n. 125), 231 (n. 143) 27.11.5 85 (n. 108) 27.25.7 – 9 209 (n. 94) 28.11.4 120, 185 28.35 201 29.10.4 106 29.10.5 107 29.11.1 – 8 106 29.11.2 – 3 106 29.11.7 – 8 106 29.14.12 106 34.1.3 171 (n. 25) 34.8.1 – 3 171 (n. 25) 34.53.3 191 34.53.5 – 6 43 (n. 47) 36.21.3 202 (n. 78) 36.28.1 200 36.36.5 – 6 225 38.18.9 110 (n. 156) 38.52 223 39.22.4 235 (n. 157) 39.29.6 142 40.34.4 248 (n. 177) 40.37.2 – 3 122 42.44.1 200 45.16.5 244 (n. 172) 45.41.3 – 6 52

299

300

Index of Ancient Authors

per. 80 139 (n. 222) Lucan 5.357 – 60 256 (n. 193) Lucian Pseud. 8 214 (n. 107) Lucretius 5.656 110 (n. 158) Macrobius Sat. 1.7.19 – 25 216 1.7.19 – 21 126 1.7.19 212 (n. 100), 214 (n. 106) 1.7.20 168 1.7.21 213 (n. 105) 1.7.22 214 1.7.34 – 5 229 (n. 139) 1.7.34 230 1.9 217 (n. 112) 1.9.16 214 (n. 107), 217, 218 (n. 114) 1.10.18 – 24 235 (n. 158), 237 1.10.19 125 1.11 – 12 241 (n. 165) 1.12.12 – 13 134 (n. 215) 1.12.21 – 7 162 (n. 8) 1.12.21 – 2 191 (n. 59) 1.12.24 166 (n. 14) 1.15.19 – 20 218 1.16.8 122 (n. 182) 3.2.14 252 (n. 186) 3.4.6 243 (n. 171) 3.4.7 – 9 243 3.4.9 241 (n. 166) 3.9.3 204 (n. 83) Martial 1.2.8 239 (n. 163) 6.47 188 14.14 134 Monumentum Ancyranum 11 46 12 99 (n. 141), 239 13 211, 219, 251 (n. 184) 14 50 (n. 54) 14.2 224 19 20, 69, 79, 85, 94, 103 (n. 147), 115, 209, 225, 227, 242 (n. 168), 254

19.2 91 (n. 123) 20 27, 29, 125 (n. 192) 21 102, 145 32 200 34 172 (n. 29), 222, 223, 264 Nepos Hann. 3 63 (n. 68) Nonius 66 110 (n. 158) 378.15 frags. 49 – 50 Warmington Origo gentis Romanae 4.5 159 – 160 4.6 258 (n. 198) 6.5 87 Orphic Hymns 17.2 184 Ouid Fast. 1.41 76 1.89 – 90 212 (n. 100) 1.89 213 (n. 104) 1.129 – 30 218 (n. 113) 1.229 – 54 213 (n. 105) 1.249 222 1.319 116 (n. 172) 1.461 – 586 167 1.467 168 (n. 19) 1.543 – 586 62 1.579 87 1.617 – 36 167 1.627 – 8 171 (n. 25) 1.633 168 1.637 – 42 177 1.705 – 706 28 (n. 24) 1.708 29 2.267 – 82 191 (n. 58) 2.267 – 8 121 (n. 181) 2.271 – 302 195 2.425 – 9 196 2.513 – 32 253 2.641 – 2 261 (n. 208) 2.669 – 72 262 2.669 – 70 224 (n. 128) 3.135 – 54 215 (n. 110) 3.199 180 (n. 44) 3.261 – 76 186

137

Index of Ancient Authors

3.261 – 264 15 (n. 16) 3.275 – 384 191 (n. 56) 3.285 – 398 83 3.285 – 348 197 3.289 – 92 191 (n. 56) 3.331 – 2 200 3.343 83 3.512 97 (n. 137) 3.681 – 4 116 (n. 172) 3.881 – 2 123 (n. 186), 177 3.881 239 4.145 48 4.255 – 60 106 4.263 – 4 103 (n. 148) 4.272 106 4.305 – 8 106 4.621 – 624 87 (n. 114) 4.621 87 5.85 – 6 114 (n. 166) 5.99 – 100 194 5.129 – 42 228 5.145 – 6 82 (n. 81) 5.725 153 6.183 – 6 77 6.241 – 2 233 6.261 – 2 145 6.473 – 562 111 6.529 – 32 169 (n. 21) 6.625 – 8 156 6.650 87 6.773 37 (n. 42) 6.793 – 4 92 (n. 128) Met. 1.149 – 50 222 4.512 – 42 111 14.320 – 96 247 15.482 – 551 186 15.482 186 15.497 – 546 186 15.622 – 744 19 (n. 3) Trist. 3.1.29 148 Pausanias 3.23.6 – 7 19 (n. 4) 7.21.7 – 8 184 8.2.4 – 6 70 (n. 78), 72 (n. 82) 8.38.5 196

8.43.2 168, 170 (n. 22) Philo De Abrahamo 28.2 129 Philostratus U.S. 2.568 118 Pindar Fr. 131b Snell. 73 Plato Leg. 842e 261 (n. 210) Meno 74a 264 Prt. 349b–d 264 359b 264 R. 457c 117 (n. 174) Sym. 215a4 – 222b7 190 Thg. 121a6 91 (n. 124) Plautus Amph. 42 263 Asin. 268 140 (n. 224) 712 – 18 57 Cap. 834 46 (n. 52) Cist. 644 122 (n. 185) Curc. 639 – 40 248 Mil. 1082 235 (n. 158) Rud. 231 259 Pliny the Elder HN 2.14 172 2.93 138 (n. 221) 2.140 197 (n. 69) 3.56 130 3.57 132 (n. 210) 3.70 74

301

302

Index of Ancient Authors

3.71 120 3.73 120 3.86 120 3.113 49 7.141 148 10.41 247 (n. 175) 11.250 201 (n. 74) 15.121 142 15.125 142 15.134 82 18.2 261 (n. 208) 28.18 204 (n. 83) 34.73 177 (n. 38) 35.66 177 (n. 38) 35.108 224, 262 36.7 133 36.204 72, 156 (n. 244), 226 Pliny the Younger Pan. 88 68 Plutarch Aem. 3.3 249 (n. 179) 10.8 52 17.11 59 25.2 – 4 27 25.3 28 31.1 268 34 – 6 52, 205 34.8 52 35.3 52 36 52 36.3 52 36.9 222 (n. 125) Alex. 1 167 52.6 223 75.2 72 Ant. 3.10 175 4.1 – 2 59 10.2 174 24.4 97 26.5 97 36.7 59 59.6 259 60.5 59, 97

79.4 175 Brut. 19.1 131 20.3 37 (n. 43) 24.6 95 24.7 20, 232 (n. 146) 30.6 176 32.2 176 35.3 176 36.7 206 39.4 152 40.3 50 40.8 50 Caes. 9.1 56 9.4 – 5 97 9.4 – 8 165 9.4 163, 165, 194 9.5 166 9.6 164, 166 9.7 164, 165 9.8 164, 166 34.7 173 37.3 215 38.5 – 6 57 38.6 57 47.2 150 51.2 256 57.1 56 (n. 60) 57.4 172 60.4 139 61.1 197 69.2 206 Cam. 5.1 – 2 112 5.5 79 (n. 93) 6.1 79 (n. 93) 7.2 81 14.2 – 4 160 20.3 148 (n. 233) 20.4 – 5 147 20.5 148 20.6 243, 244 (n. 173) 20.7 – 8 149 20.8 253 22.3 8 23.4 – 5 146

Index of Ancient Authors

25.3 170 (n. 23) 27 242 (n. 168) 27.2 78 30.4 160 31.3 71 31.4 147 32.2 147 36.9 78 42.4 – 6 177 Cat. mai. 1.2 – 3 69 1.5 122 17.7 94 19.4 122 24.2 187 24.11 250 (n. 181) Cat. min. 4.1 21 4.2 176 6.2 135 21.3.4 259 (n. 200) 27 29 29.4 176 Cic. 13.4 23 14.8.5 259 (n. 200) 16.3 93 19.1 – 4 178 19.1 178 19.4 – 5 162 19.4 164 19.5 165 19.6 175 20.1 165 28.2 162 31.6.4 117 33.1 232 37.1 268 40.5 175 47.8 21 Cor. 1.6 265 2.3 81 3.5 – 6 27 3.6 28 14.2 265 15.5 265

29 245 33.1 – 38.1 40 33.1 82 37.5 40 Crass. 2.3 59 11.10 55 11.11 210 12.3 59 12.4 82 21.3 175 26.6 50 De defect. Orac. 431D–E 207 De fort. Rom. 318C–D 50 318D 208, 209, 210 318D–E 266 318E 48 (n. 53) 318F–319 A 40 318F 163 (n. 12), 266 (n. 220) 319 A–B 37 (n. 43), 48 319 A 160 319B 214 319C 57 319E 49, 57 320B 49, 100 320D 100, 248 321B–C 13, 189 321B 49, 188 322 A 36 322B 219 322C 210 322D 48 (n. 53) 322F 42, 43, 45, 49 322F–323 A 47 323 A–C 227 323 A 39, 47, 48, 135 323C 157, 229 324 A 205 324B 37 325C 36, 78 325F 242 (n. 168) De fraterno amore 492D 113 Dem. 2 14

303

304

Index of Ancient Authors

2.2 13 Dem.-Cic. synk. 3.4 175 Dion 19.1 67 Fab. 1.2 59 2.2 102 4.4 249 (n. 179) 13.7 175 18.2 30 22.8 61, 175 Flam. 10.4 – 7 203 12.11 – 12 20 (n. 7) 16.7 203 17.1 175 Galb. 22.3 215 27.4 145 Gracch. 10.8 127 37.5 33 38(17).8 177 Hann. 56[233] 267 – 268 Ital. 5.4 245 Luc. 17.1 137 (n. 219), 209 29.6 176 32.6 175 39.5 171 (n. 25) 41.6 – 7 20 43.3 99 (n. 141) Lys. 18.5 67 Mar. 4.1 259 8.8 259 10.4 259 12.3 215 17.9 – 11 109, 112 (n. 163) 31.4 259 36.3 259 45.3 215 46.3 – 5 259

46.8 139 Marc. 1.3 143 6.12 84 (n. 104) 7.1 – 4 84 (n. 104) 8.6 84 (n. 104) 8.7 – 8 84 8.7 84 8.9 84 (n. 103), 99, 251 20.1 175 22 142 22.7 97 27.7 209 28.1 – 2 209 Mulierum uirtutes 243B 265 Num. 2.1 252 (n. 187) 2.3 92 (n. 126) 2.4 257 (n. 194) 4.1 – 2 26, 189 4.4 – 5 13, 190 4.6 190 4.8 – 9 190 4.11 190 6.3 222 7.3 249 7.4 82 7.9 251 (n. 183), 258 (n. 196) 7.10 84 (n. 107) 8.10 – 12 26 11 146 12.1 – 3 140 12.4 249 (n. 179) 13.2 – 6 190 13.2 – 4 26 13.2 25 13.7 99 13.10 13 14.1 145 14.2 254 14.4 249 (n. 179) 15.3 – 11 198, 246 15.3 – 10 83 15.3 200 15.8 200 15.9 83, 190

Index of Ancient Authors

15.10 83 15.11 198 16.1 200, 202, 261 (n. 211) 16.2 261, 262 (n. 213) 16.3 262 18 – 19 216 19 98 (n. 139) 19.3 – 4 134 19.5 74, 76 (n. 89), 114, 115 19.8 197 19.9 – 11 213 (n. 102) 19.9 – 10 212 (n. 101) 19.9 266 19.10 214 19.11 213 (n. 102) 20.1 – 3 219 22.5 146 22.6 199 Otho 4.8 152 Parallela minora 314B 188 315C 194 Per. 6 44 6.2 – 5 113 (n. 164) Per.-Fab. synk. 2.2 175 Phil. 17.1 202 (n. 77) Pomp. 2.4 29 21.3 55 22.2 175 41.4 55 42.12 – 13 56 50.3 55 68.2 137, 142 74 – 5 55 74.5 – 6 55 75.1 55 Praec. 801e 98 Pub. 9.6 160 12.3 127 13.1 82

14 – 15 263 14.1 82 16.9 153, 155 Pyrrh. 6.1 – 2 259 22.1 259 33.1 259 Quaest. con. 675E 113 726F 234 (n. 154) Q.R. 20 167 264B 75, 81, 132 264C 32, 33 264C–D 34 264D 33 (n. 36) 266E–F 126, 127 266F–267 A 208 266F 125 (n. 194), 210 (n. 95) 267 A–B 227, 229 267C 261 267D 13, 112 267E 113 267F–268C 215 268D–E 162, 165, 166 268D 163, 165, 194 (n. 67) 268E 141, 164, 247, 248 268F 100, 247, 248 269 A–B 141 269 A 212 (n. 101), 213 (n. 102), 247 271B 59, 96 272E 126 (n. 199), 127 272F–273B 59 272F 161 (n. 6) 273B 36 273D 265 274E 125 274E–275 A 126 274E–F 213 (n. 105) 275 A–C 127 275 A 125 (n. 194), 127 275B 132 275E 133 (n. 213) 275F–276 A 250 (n. 182) 276 A 13 276C 184, 262 (n. 213, 214), 119 (n. 178) 276F–277 A 228 (n. 137)

305

306

Index of Ancient Authors

277 A–B 229 (n. 139) 277E 214 278B–C 168, 169 278B 168, 170 (n. 22), 171 278C–D 166 (n. 14) 278C 169 (n. 20), 170, 171 278F–279 A 207 278F 169 280C 197 281D–E 36, 38, 39 281E 38, 42, 43, 44, 47, 49 282B–D 76 282C 129 285 A–B 133 285B 114 285C–D 78, 98, 252 (n. 185) 285D 253 286 A 80, 81 (n. 98) 286D 19 287B 98 287C 78 288F–289 A 96 288F 96 289 A° 95 289B–C 44 290D 197 Quomodo adulator ab amico internoscatur 56D–F 70 (n. 78) Rom. 2 229 2.1 59 2.3 – 8 149 2.4 – 8 227 3.1 – 3 149 3.1 150 3.2 – 5 100 4.1 – 2 166 (n. 14) 4.2 100, 248 4.4 196 5.1 – 4 59 7.7 248 14.3 – 5 183 14.3 119 (n. 178) 15.4 84 (n. 107) 15.7 184 16.5 84 16.6 237

18.8 – 9 93 18.9 145 19.4 – 7 121 20.5 78 21.1 169 (n. 21) 21.2 – 3 168 21.2 169 (n. 20), 170, 171 21.3 169 21.4 121 (n. 181), 196 21.5 196 21.6 – 10 196 21.6 196 22.3 32 23.3 243 (n. 170) 24.5 118, 151, 155 27 – 29 252 27.4 210 27.6 155 28 72 28.1 – 3 257 28.4 – 10 257 28.9 73 28.10 74, 158 29.1 – 2 251, 256 29.1 99 29.2 254 Sert. 1.10 54 1.11 54 22.3 152 (n. 237) Sull. 6.3 265 6.4 – 13 51 7.12 – 13 22 8.6 29 9.7 – 8 24 9.14 131 10.7 – 8 90 19.9 144, 150 (n. 235) 27.12 22 29.11 – 12 20 30.3 – 4 23 33.5 29 34.3 50 34.3 – 5 50 35.1 59

Index of Ancient Authors

Thes. 1 60 2.3 173 (n. 30) 20.8 – 9 97 (n. 137) 36.6 119 Polybius 1.1.5 7 1.3.1 181 (n. 46) 1.3.4 193 (n. 64) 2.18.2 7, 82 3.22.1 7, 82 3.25.6 – 9 7, 89 3.25.6 99, 251 (n. 184) 3.25.8 89 (n. 119) 3.112.8 267 4.20.2 249 6.11a 264 6.19.6 82 6.26.4 267 10.2.5 – 12 7 10.2.5 – 6 53 10.2.11 – 12 54 13.3.7 267 15.4.9 172 16.12.9 249 20.9.10 – 11 201 20.10.2 201 (n. 72) 21.2.1 267 21.2.4 201 (n. 72) 21.4.13 201 (n. 72) 21.13.10 267 21.13.11 267 (n. 1) 21.37.5 110 21.41.9 267 22.3.2 267 27.1.2 200 27.1.6 201 28.3.3 172 28.17.2 172 28.17.11 – 12 172 32.6.5 267 34.11.9 – 11 80 (n. 94) 36.4.1 – 3 201 (n. 72) Pomponius Mela 2.71 132 Priscian 2.53 110 (n. 158)

Procopius Goth. 1.25.18 – 25 220 1.25.21 213 4.21.11 239 (n. 163) Propertius 4.9 62 4.10.45 – 6 84 (n. 106) RIC II Trajan 50 68 II Trajan 773 68 II Hadrian 265a 133 II Hadrian 280a 133 RRC 433/1 232 480/21 171 480/24 238 501/1 232 Sallust Cat. 44.1 – 47.4 178 46.5 178 Hist. Frag. 1.88 54 Schol. Bob. ad Cicero Mil. 7 218 (n. 115, 116) SEG 50.168.11 261 (n. 210) 56.1233 66 (n. 73) Seneca Clem. 1.12.2 23 2.3.3 31 De breu. uit. 18.5 221 Ep. 8.3 49 Seruius Aen. 1.8 25 (n. 16) 1.292 201 (n. 74, 75) 1.720 42 2.227 133 (n. 212) 2.351 204 (n. 83), 207 3.607 201 (n. 74) 6.775 191 (n. 58)

307

308

Index of Ancient Authors

7.47 191 (n. 59) 7.607 – 10 217 (n. 112) 7.610 218 (n. 113) 7.763 188 8.314 191 (n. 57, 59, 60), 192 8.330 214 (n. 106) 8.336 65 (n. 70), 168 8.342 – 4 121 (n. 180) 8.357 212 (n. 100) 8.635 – 6 180 (n. 44, 45) 8.636 201 (n. 74) 8.659 251 9.446 224 (n. 128), 262 10.551 187, 191 (n. 57) 11.532 235 (n. 158) Georg. 1.10 160 3.417 204 Scriptores Historiae Augustae Hadr. 19.10 120 Silius Italicus Pun. 1.329 201 (n. 75) 2.484 201 (n. 75) 14.45 – 6 136 (n. 217) 17.23 – 5 107 (n. 153), 108 17.33 – 5 106 17.356 219 Simonides 6.50.4 91 (n. 124) Solinus De mirabilibus mundi 1.7 87 Statius Thebaid 11.457 – 81 222 Strabo 3.5.7 259 4.10.6 – 4.27 63 5.1.9 33 (n. 35), 74 5.2.3 146, 148 (n. 233) 5.2.10 49 5.3 187 5.3.2 99, 149, 182, 193 (n. 64) 5.3.3 168, 170 (n. 22), 182 5.3.5 11, 30

5.3.6 115 5.3.7 254 5.3.11 43 5.3.12 187 5.4.2 11, 74, , 247 5.4.6 153 (n. 239) 5.4.8 115 5.4.12 100, 135 5.4.13 120 5.6.1 61 6.1.1 74 6.1.3 120 6.1.5 120 6.1.10 27 6.1.11 64, 80 (n. 94) 6.1.14 116 6.2.5 136 6.2.6 31 (n. 29) 6.2.10 153 (n. 239) 6.3.1 61 6.3.5 61, 115 6.3.9 115 8.6.20 136 9.2.31 91 (n. 124), 231 (n. 144) 10.3.12 103, 104 (n. 147) 12.2.3 24 12.5.3 104 Suda s.v. Βασίλειος 91 (n. 124) s.v. Ἐλευθέριος 91 (n. 124) s.v. Ἴανος s.v. Μονήτα 77 s.v. Τελεία 75 Suetonius Diu. Iul. 6.2 56, 162 10.1 27 37.2 36 70 256 (n. 193) 74.2 56, 162 75.1 172 78.1 139 83.2 4 Diu. Aug. 7.2 255 22 219 (n. 119) 29.3 94

Index of Ancient Authors

31.4 125 (n. 190), 229 (n. 140) 57.1 123 71.2 134 94 204 94.4 20, 70 (n. 79) 100.4 10 101.4 10 Tib. 23 50 (n. 54) Cal. 7 143 (n. 228) 16.4 175 (n. 34) 19 221 Claud. 46.1 88 (n. 115) Galb. 18.2 143 (n. 228) Uit. 1 192 (n. 61) 1.2 193 (n. 64) Uesp. 9.1 239 Dom. 13.2 66 (n. 72) Syll. 760 193 (n. 66) Tacitus Ann. 1.42 256 (n. 193) 2.41 37 (n. 42) 2.49 95 4.68 90 11.2 70 12.23 124 14.31.2 151 14.32.1 151 15.64 91 (n. 124) 16.35 91 (n. 124) Hist. 3.50 49 4.53.2 187 (n. 54) Terence Hecyra 338 122 Tertullian Ad nat. 2.11 166 (n. 14)

309

De Monog. 17 42 (n. 45) 17.4 112 De spect. 5.5 – 7 180 (n. 43) 5.7 184 (n. 48) Theognis Fr. 1.1135 – 40 201 Theophrastus De pietate fr. 2.13 146 Thucydides 1.117 117 (n. 174) 6.31 127 Tibullus 1.3.18 128 Timotheus of Miletus frag. 28 76 Iohannes Tzetzes ad Lyc. v.1232 149 Ualerius Maximus 1.1 267 1.1.8 209 (n. 94) 1.1.10 149 1.8.1 29 1.8.2 19 (n. 3) 1.8.4 40, 41 1.8.5 159, 258 2.5.1 248 (n. 177) 3.2.17 201 7.3.1 33 7.1.2 36 (n. 37) Uarro De uita pop. Rom. frag. 17 48 Ling. 1.157 149 5.41 – 2 126 (n. 196) 5.43 33 (n. 36) 5.52 86, 91 5.54 166 (n. 14) 5.57 125 5.64 235 (n. 158) 5.73 263 5.74 129 (n. 202), 154 (n. 240), 201 (n. 75), 235 (n. 155), 261 (n. 211), 263 (n. 216)

310

Index of Ancient Authors

5.144 242 (n. 169) 5.154 141 (n. 227) 5.165 219 (n. 119) 6.15 103 (n. 148) 6.17 37 (n. 42) 6.20 180 (n. 44) 6.21 235 (n. 156) 6.22 237 6.33 134, 215 (n. 110) 6.47 140 (n. 224) 6.95 83 7.25 25 (n. 14) 7.36 160 7.93 176 (n. 36) 7.102 38 9.61 229 (n. 139) Rust. 2.11.5 166 (n. 14) Uelleius 2.23.1 139 (n. 222) 2.53.3 55 2.56 172 Uettius Ualens 1.26.18 128 Uirgil Aen. 1.292 201 (n. 75) 1.353 242 1.569 125 2.702 242 3.12 241 5.410 – 11 64 5.711 – 18 136 (n. 217) 7.45 – 9 192 (n. 61) 7.81 – 2 192 7.763 – 82 187 8.184 – 279 62 8.319 – 25 125 (n. 194)

8.329 126 (n. 196) 8.333 – 41 170 (n. 22) 8.335 – 6 167 8.336 170 8.355 – 8 216 8.358 61 8.342 – 4 121 (n. 180) 9.448 262 10.551 192, 258 (n. 198) 12.198 213 (n. 104) Georg. 1.10 – 11 191 (n. 60) 1.498 130 2.273 – 4 222 Uitruuius 1.7.1 154 3.2.5 210 Xenophon Ag. 1.22 173 Cyr. 7.5.73 173 Xiphilinus 97.8 254 161.20 57 S.186.22 58 Zonaras 1.7 149 7.1 193 (n. 64), 195 7.4 73 7.9.11 – 12 34 7.11 22 (n. 10) 7.21 211 (n. 97) 8.1.2 152 8.3.5 100 8.9 136 (n. 218) 9.30.1 174 (n. 32) 11.11 88 (n. 11

General index Aborigines 8, 192, 195, 247 Acca Larentia (nurse of Romulus) 59, 193 (n. 65) Achilles 67, 248 C. Acilius 197 M. Acilius Glabrio 202 (n. 78), 203, 248, 250 Actaeon 33 Actium 71, 118, 124, 220 Admetus 190 aduocatus fisci 14 Aelius Aristides 11, 14 C. Aelius Gallus 11 P. Aelius Timaeus 222 Q. Aelius Tubero 196 L. Aemilius Buca 238 M. Aemilius Lepidus 36, 267 Aemilius Paulus 51, 59 M. Aemilius Scaurus 234 Aeneas 59 (n. 64), 63, 69, 106, 126 (n. 198), 129 f., 136 f., 147 f., 167, 169 f., 191 (n. 60), 192 – 194, 195, 242, 243 Aeolian, Aeolic, Aeolism 3 (n. 5), 8 f., 11, 13, 31, 35, 60, 62, 75, 86, 91, 96, 98, 117, 121, 150, 157, 163 (n. 11), 182, 212, 231, 236 f., 240, 242, 255, 261, 267 aerarium 12 (n. 20), 16, 127 Aeschylus 62, 184, 222 Aesculapius 16, 19, 21, 57, 122 (n. 185) Aethex 214 Africa 15, 119, 174 Agamemnon 222 Agirium 63 f. Agonium 212 Agrippa 67, 120 Agrippa Postumus 119 Ahenobarbi 27 Aius Locutius 159 – 161, 191, 192 (n. 62), 258 Alba Longa, Albans 149, 193, 195, 197, 240, 242, 246, 257 Alcibiades 190 Alexander Polyhistor 96 Alexander the Great 59, 67, 72, 174, 193 Alexandria 14 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783111072173-010

Amaseia 10 Ammianus 159, 204, 239 Ammonius 207 Amulius (Alban king) 100, 149, 197 Anaxagoras 113 Anchises 189 Ancus Marcius 48 (n. 53) Ancyra 10 Angerona 159 Antemnae 23 Antiates 29 A. Atilius Calatinus 201 Antigonus Monophthalmus 72 Antioch 239 Antiochus III 67, 202 (n. 78), 223 Antiochus of Syracuse 61 Antonines 5, 15 Antoninus 23 (n. 12), 208, 250 L. Antonius 232, 249, 266 Antony (M. Antonius) 20, 58 f., 70 (n. 78), 71 (n. 80), 97, 119, 123, 124, 129, 131, 138, 147, 173, 175, 177 – 179, 238 Apollo 18 – 21, 57, 58, 70 (n. 79), 95, 122, 170, 189 f., 194 (n. 67), 243 (n. 171), – Apollo Actius 20 – Apollo Granis 16 – Apollo Grannus 19 (n. 2) Apollodorus 132 Apollonia 56 apotheosis 60, 69, 72, 73 (n. 83), 170, 191 (n. 57), 192 (n. 63), 254, 256, 257 (n. 194), 258 (n. 196) Appian of Alexandria 4, 5, 14 (n. 26), 15, 17, 20, 29, 51 – 55, 56 (n. 60), 58, 68 (n. 77), 69, 74, 93 f., 99 f., 104, 107 – 109, 116, 117 (n. 174), 118 f., 125 (n. 195), 127, 131, 136 – 138, 144 f., 152, 162, 164, 167 f., 171 (n. 27), 172 – 174, 177, 181, 193 (n. 64), 194, 201, 202 (n. 76, 78), 205 f., 211, 216, 223, 238 (n. 159), 245 (n. 174), 246, 249 f., 253 f., 256, 267 f. Apuleius 204 – 207, 228 M. Aquilius 68 (n. 77)

312

General index

Arcadia, Arcadian 8 f., 60 f., 63, 111, 120 (n. 179), 121, 126, 150 f., 167 f., 170, 181 – 184, 191, 193, 195 – 197, 217, 243 Archelaus 99 Arctinus 244 Ardea 27, 79, 132 Argo 111 Argos 60 f., 63 (n. 68) Arachne 115 Ariadne 18, 97 (n. 137) Aricia 26 (n. 20), 186 – 188 Arnobius 48, 105, 158, 197 (n. 69), 198 – 200, 226 Arrian 103 Arsinoe 67 (n. 76) Asia minor 24 (n. 13), 66, 67 C. Asinius Pollio 137 Athens 37, 66 (n. 71), 67 (n. 74), 92, 118 f., 172, 174, 201, 219, 238 Athamas 111 Athenaeus 211 – 213, 216 Atia (mother of Augustus) 70 (n. 79), 203 M. Atilius Regulus 92 Attalus of Pergamum 106 Atticus 123 (n. 188), 171 Attis 190 Attus Neuius 230 Auerruncus 38 Augustus 5, 10, 15 (n. 28), 20 f., 27, 29, 46, 49, 50 (n. 54), 57 f., 59 (n. 64), 66, 67 (n. 74), 68 f., 70 (n. 79), 71 f., 79 f., 84 f., 91, 94 f., 102 (n. 144), 115, 123, 125 (n. 192), 126 (n. 197), 131, 134, 145, 152 (n. 237), 153, 172, 175, 177, 179, 192, 200, 210, 211 (n. 97), 218 – 220, 222 – 225, 227, 229 (n. 140), 238 f., 242 (n. 168), 248 (n. 178), 250, 251 (n. 184), 253 – 255, 264 M. Aurelius 133, 258 Aurelius Antonius 163 C. Aurelius Cotta 221 Aurora 110 barbarian 9, 13, 54, 64, 193 Battaces 109 f. Bauli 119, 221 Belisarius 220, 239 Bellona 16 f., 21 – 24, 99, 251 (n. 184), 263

M. Bibulus 27, 93 Bithynia, Bithynian 5, 15 Bona Dea 16, 56, 97, 114, 161 – 167, 191 (n. 59), 192, 194, 258 Bona Euentus 36 (n. 37) Boudicca 151 (n. 236) Britanni 151 Britannia 151 f. Brundisium 57, 215 Butas 197 Cacus 59 (n. 64), 62 – 65, 87, 193 L. Caecilius Metellus 29, 244 Q. Caecilius Metellus 185 M. Caedicius 159 f. Caere 102 C. Caesar 50 (n. 54), 67, 224 L. Caesar (grandson of Augustus) 50 (n. 54), 224 L. Caesar (proquaestor 46 B.C.E.) 174 L. Caesius 156 (n. 245) Calabria 115 Caligula 20, 29 (n. 25), 57 f., 67, 71, 102, 119, 151, 175, 221 f. (Domitius?) Callistratus 244 M. Calpurnius Bibulus 93 Cn. Calpurnius Piso 11 L. Calpurnius Piso Frugi 140 Camenae 17, 25 – 27, 186 – 188, 191, 208, 223 Camillus 13, 77, 79, 81, 112 (n. 163), 147, 160, 176 f., 224 Camulodonum 151 Campania 61 (n. 65, 66), 63, 74, 120, 133, 153 (n. 239) Cannae 30 Cappadocia 22, 24 (n. 13), 71, 175 Capua 15 (n. 31), 39 Caracalla 15 f., 19 (n. 2), 71, 129, 177 Carbo 31 Carmenta (see Carmentis) 10, 25, 62, 168 Carmentis 12 (n. 20), 65 (n. 70), 111, 167 – 171 – Carmentis Anteuorta 168 – Carmentis Porrima 167 f. – Carmentis Postuerta 167 f. – Carmentis Postuorta 168 – Carmentis Prorsa 167 Carthage 89 f., 99, 116, 126 (n. 195), 205, 238

General index

Cassius Dio 4 f., 15, 18, 19 (n. 2), 23, 30, 34, 36, 45 – 47, 55 – 57, 68, 72, 80, 88, 91 (n. 124), 92, 94, 100, 102, 104, 115 – 119, 121, 123, 126 f., 129, 131 f., 145, 149 – 151, 162 (n. 10), 177, 181, 185, 193 (n. 64), 211 f., 214, 220 f., 224 f., 227 (n. 136), 232, 239, 249, 253 f., 256, 258 f., 267 f. L. Cassius Hemina 145 (n. 231), 241 (n. 166), 243 C. Cassius Longinus 174 (n. 32) Sp. Cassius 30, 95, 130 Castores 11, 16, 27 – 30, 39, 92 Castor 27 fons Castoris (see lacus Iuturnae) 29 Pollux 27 Catilinarian conspiracy 93, 161, 178 Cato the Elder 86, 94 Cato Uticensis 21, 29, 176 Cecrops 237 Cedranus 126 Ceres 16 f., 30 – 32, 95, 97, 130, 134 (n. 214) – aediles Ceriales 30 Chaeroneia 13, 113, 144 Chalcis 68, 120, 202, 203 Cheiron 19 Cicero 9, 14, 21, 23, 26 (n. 18), 47, 52, 56, 73 (n. 83), 75 (n. 86), 76 – 78, 93, 111 (n. 61), 117 (n. 173), 123 f., 127, 131 (n. 208), 144, 158 – 162, 165, 167, 171 (n. 26), 172 (n. 28), 175, 178, 208, 209 (n. 93), 221, 227 (n. 136), 232 (n. 149), 233 (n. 150), 263 Cilicia 97, 175 L. Cincius Alimentus 185, 205 (n. 85) Cinna 90 Claudia Quinta 105 – 108 Ap. Claudius 82, 124, 155, 174 Ap. Claudius Caecus 22 (n. 11), 25 Ap. Claudius Pulcher 104 (n. 151) M. Claudius Marcellus 84, 175, 209 Clementia 5, 138, 171 – 176 – Clementia Caesaris 171, 173 Cleopatra 20, 23, 71 (n. 80), 175 P. Clodius Pulcher 56, 117 (n. 173), 161, 164 f., 167, 232 f. L. Coelius Antipater 60 Comana 17, 22 Postumus Cominius Auruncus 127

313

Comminius Super 188 Commodus 15 f., 58, 68, 70 (n. 78), 71, 105, 114, 232, 239, 249 Concordia 123, 176 – 179, 239 Constantinus 214 Constantius 204 Constantius II 239 Consus 5, 118 (n. 178), 130 (n. 205), 158, 179 – 185, 189, 235, 237 contio 23, 29, 51 f., 155 Constitutio Antoniniana 15 Corcyra 212, 216 Corinth 136, 227, 229 Coriolanus 40 f., 111 (n. 162), 175, 245 f., 265, 268 Cornelia (wife of Pompey) 55 A. Cornelius Cossus 84 M. Cornelius Fronto 14 (n. 26) Cornelius Labeo 191 (n. 59), 192, 217 (n. 112), 218, 243 (n. 171) P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus Africanus 7, 17, 21, 50, 53 f., 175, 209, 266 P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus 53 f., 119, 223, 267 P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica 105 – 108, 249 P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica Serapio 105 Corniculum 227 L. Crassus 50, 55 (n. 58), 59, 69, 82, 133, 176 Cucordia (see Concordia) 176 Cumae 174 Cures 98, 251, 255 (n. 190) Curiatii 80, 218, 246 Dacian 220 Delos 3 Delphi 20, 106 f., 127, 141, 189 Demetrius Poliorcetes 11, 29, 67 (n. 76), 72 Demosthenes 14 Dercyllus 194 Di manes 203, 206, 226 Diana 20, 32 – 35, 75, 76 (n. 88), 186 – Diana Lucina 236 – Diana Nemorensis 186 dies Saturni (Saturday) 128 (n. 201), 129 Diocles of Peparethus 149 Diocletian 40, 220 Diodorus Siculus 5, 7 – 10, 13, 17 f., 20, 51 – 53, 56, 58, 60, 63 f., 68 f., 74, 77, 82 (n. 100),

314

General index

100 f., 103 (n. 147), 104 – 106, 108, 109 (n. 155), 110, 115, 125 (n. 195), 129 – 131, 139, 145 f., 161 (n. 7), 168, 172, 194, 200 f., 211, 238 (n. 162), 254, 258, 264, 267 Diomedes 147, 243 Dionysius of Halicarnassus 3, 5, 9 – 11, 13, 17 f., 19 (n. 2), 20, 25 (n. 17), 27 f., 29 (n. 29), 30, 31 (n. 30), 34 f., 36 (n. 39), 37 – 41, 42 (n. 45), 48, 53, 58, 60 f., 62 (n. 67), 63 (n. 68), 64 f., 68 – 72, 74 – 77, 78 (n. 92), 79 (n. 94), 80, 82, 85 – 87, 91 – 96, 97 (n. 137), 98 f., 101, 103, 104 (n. 150), 111 f., 114, 116 f., 118 (n. 178), 119 – 121, 125 (n. 192), 126 (n. 195, 197, 198), 127, 129 – 131, 136 f., 140 – 142, 144, 146 – 150, 154 – 159, 161 (n. 7), 163 (n. 11, 12), 168 f., 170 (n. 23), 172 – 176, 180 – 183, 184 (n. 49), 185, 186 (n. 51), 187 (n. 53), 188 f., 192, 193 (n. 65), 194 – 197, 200, 201 (n. 73), 202, 205, 211, 216, 218, 219 (n. 117, 119), 223 – 225, 226 (n. 134, 135), 227, 229 – 231, 235 – 237, 240 – 244, 245 (n. 174), 246 – 254, 255 (n. 190), 256 – 264, 267 f. Dionysius the elder 31 (n. 29) Dio of Prusa 11, 81 Dius Fidius 18, 81, 84 (n. 106), 86 – 88 (n. 116), 122, 202, 254 diuus 66, 68 – 71, 227 (n. 136) Diuus Iulius 71 Dolabella 29, 147, 174 Domitian 66 (n. 72), 232 (n. 147) Cn. Domitius Ahenobarbus 185 Dositheus 188 Dracon of Corcyra 212 – 214, 216 Drusus (brother of Tiberius) 29, 179 Drusus (son of Tiberius) 67 Dryope (nymph) 192 Dyrrachium 102 Egeria 16, 25 (n. 17), 26 (n. 20), 83 (n. 101), 158, 186 – 191, 197 (n. 69), 198 f., 204, 223 Elagabalus 70 (n. 78) Eleusis 95, 147 Emathion 189 Endymion 190 Enna 31 (n. 29) Ephesus 32, 34, 71, 97 Epictetus 201 (n. 73)

Epidaurus 19 (n. 3, 4) Eryx 64 (n. 69), 136, 137 Etruria 74, 149, 180 (n. 45) Euander 8, 60, 62 f., 65 (n. 70), 111, 151, 167 f., 170, 191 (n. 60), 192 – 197 eudaemones 204 Eurystheus 60 C. Fabius Dorsuo Gabinus 144 Q. Fabius Gurges 42 Q. Fabius Maximus Uerrucosus Cunctator 30, 61 (n. 65), 69, 209 (n. 93) Fabius Pictor 6, 150, 168, 185, 236 Q. Fabius Rullianus 87, 210 Q. Fabius Uibulanus 258 Falerii 74, 79 (n. 80), 102 Fano 49 Fatucla (see Fauna) 191 Fatuclus (see Faunus) 191 Fatua (see Fauna) 161 (n. 6), 162 (n. 8), 191 (n. 59) Fatuus (see Faunus) 191 Fauna (see also Bona Dea) 161, 162 (n. 8), 165, 191 Faunus 63, 83 (n. 101), 97, 100, 121, 158 – 161, 162 (n. 8), 165 f., 191 – 200, 246, 258 (n. 198) Fauorinus 11 Faustina 133, 208 Felicitas 17, 22, 24, 36 – 58, 259 Feronia 154 Fides 86, 158, 200 – 203, 261 – Fides publica (populi Romani) 201 f. Flora 29, 130 (n. 205), 236 Fontes 221 Fortuna 5, 7 f., 17, 24, 36 – 58, 110, 123, 153, 170, 189, 205, 206 (n. 86), 209, 222 (n. 125), 234, 259 – Fors Fortuna 17, 37 f., 48, 266 (n. 220) – Fortuna ᾿Aποτρόπαιος 38 – Fortuna Augusta 57 – Fortuna Breuis 16, 37 – 39, 43 – Fortuna Εὔελπις 16, 37, 39 f. – Fortuna Huiusce Diei 154 – Fortuna Mala 38 – Fortuna Muliebris 10, 37, 40 – 42, 111 f., 153 (n. 12), 169 – Fortuna Obsequens 37, 42 f.

General index

– Fortuna Primigenia 37, 39, 43 – 45, 233 – Fortuna Priuata 37, 45 – Fortuna Publica (citerior) 37, 45 – Fortuna Redux 18, 37 f., 46, 57 – Fortuna Respiciens 36 f., 46 f. – Fortuna Uirgo 37, 47 f. – Fortuna Uirilis 17, 37, 48, 135 – Fortuna Uiscata 37, 49 Q. Fufius Calenus 178 Fuluia 71 (n. 80), 232 M. Fuluius Nobilior 134 A. Gabinius 55 Gaea 130 Galatia 24, 104 f., 110, 264 Galba 57, 145 Gallic sack of Rome 8, 71, 146 – 149, 160 Gauius Bassus 214, 217 genius, genii 5, 17, 72, 158 f., 203 – 207, 226, 228, 255 – genius Apollinis 204 – genius of Iulius Caesar 206 – genius populi Romani 205 – genius Romae 205, 207 – genius Uirtus 208 Germania 152 Geryon, cattle of 8, 60, 61 (n. 66), 62, 63 (n. 63) C. Gracchus 29, 177 Tib. Gracchus 127, 231, 264 Hades 73 Hadrian 120, 132, 133, 209 Hannibal 54, 102, 107, 120, 175 Hellanicus 61, 62 Heracleia 116 Heraclides Ponticus 8 Hercules 5, 6 (n. 8), 8, 18, 58 – 65, 87, 96, 111, 126 (n. 197, 198), 158, 167, 168, 169 (n. 21), 170, 193, 194, 195, 223 – Hercules Uictor 87 Herculaneum 63 Herodotus 61, 127, 225, 238 Hersilia (leader of the Sabine women) 121, 256 (n. 191) Hesiod 118 (n. 175), 191 (n. 57), 207, 223, 238 Hiero 201 Hippolytus 19, 186, 187, 188, 190

315

A. Hirtius 104, 127, 174 Homer 94, 95, 156, 165, 169, 236 Honos 5, 46, 172, 207 – 211, 234, 263, 266 (n. 220) Horace 128, 131, 135, 219 (n. 119), 260 (n. 207) Horatii 80, 218, 246, 249 Horatius Cocles 71, 153, 155 Horatius Puluillus 259 Hyacinthus 190 Ianus

5, 124, 126 (n. 97), 127, 158, 211 – 221, 238 f., 250 – Ianus Cenulus 217 – Ianus Cibullius 217 – Ianus Clusius 217, 218 (n. 113) – Ianus Clusiuius 217, 218 (n. 113) – Ianus Consiuius 217 – Ianus Curiatius 80, 211 f., 218, 219 (n. 117) – Ianus Geminus 16, 211 f., 218, 219 (n. 119), 220 (n. 121, 122), 221 – Ianus Iunonius 218 – Ianus Pater 217 – Ianus Patricius 217, 257 – Ianus Patulcius 217, 218 (n. 113) – Ianus Quirinus 219 (n. 119), 251 (n. 184) Imperial cult 65 – 74, 227 (n. 136) Inuidia 5, 54, 221 f. Inuidentia 221 Illyria 33, 56 incarnation 18 f., 37, 43, 65, 70, 74 f., 77, 82, 90, 96, 101, 103, 129, 131 f., 134 f., 137, 140, 188, 212, 217 f., 226, 234, 238, 245, 259 Incubo 191 (n. 58) interpretatio Graeca 18 (n. 1) interpretatio Romana 18 (n. 1) Inuus (see Faunus) 191 (n. 58), 195 Iolaos 64 Isis 23 Italici 82, 101, 193 (n. 65) Iuba 33 (n. 36), 35, 253 Iugurtha 259 C. Iulius Caesar 4, 21, 27, 29, 36 (n. 40), 37 (n. 43), 45, 50, 56 f., 68 f., 70 (n. 79), 71 f., 84 (n. 104), 93, 102, 118, 123 (n. 188), 131, 137 – 139, 144, 150, 161 f., 164 f., 171 f., 173 (n. 30), 174 (n. 32), 175, 176 (n. 36), 179 (n. 40), 192,

316

General index

193 (n. 66), 206, 214, 224, 232, 233 (n. 151), 238 (n. 159), 253, 256 Iulius Proclus 73 (n. 83), 255 C. Iunius Brutus Bubulcus 122 L. Brutus 176, 268 M. Brutus 20, 50, 95, 133, 152, 176, 206, 232 M. Iunius Congus Gracchanus 134 iuniores 4 (n. 7), 76 (n. 89), 114 Iuno 5, 8, 18, 74 – 80, 81 (n. 97), 111, 132, 134 f., 144, 153, 162, 207, 214, 218, 242 (n. 168), 252 – Iuno Cinxia / Iugis / Iuga 74 f., 81, 260 – Iuno Lucina 75 f., 79, 111 (n. 159) – Iuno Moneta 8, 18, 74, 77 f. – Iuno Quiritis / Curitis 74, 76, 78 f., 98, 218 (n. 114), 251, 252 (n. 185) – Iuno Regina 74, 77 – 80 – Iuno Sororia 74, 80 – Iuno Sospita 74, 79 Iuppiter 5, 18, 75, 80 (n. 95), 81 – 95, 107, 109, 119, 123, 126, 130, 135, 144 f., 194, 198 – 200, 202 f., 205, 250 f., 260 f. – Iuppiter Capitolinus / Iuppiter Optimus Maximus 81 f., 130 – Iuppiter Elicius 4 (n. 7), 17, 83, 190, 191 (n. 56), 197 – Iuppiter Feretrius 4 (n. 7), 18, 83 – 86, 251 – (Dius) Fidius 86 f. – Iuppiter Inuentor 62, 65, 87 – Iuppiter Inuictus and Uictor 17, 87 f., 143 – Iuppiter Lapis 7, 88 f., 99, 205, 251 (n. 184), 261 – Iuppiter Latiaris 90 f. – Iuppiter Liber / Libertas 91, 231 f. – Iuppiter Rex 91 f. – Iuppiter Stator 92 – 94, 96, 145 – Iuppiter Territor 94 – Iuppiter Tonans 94 f. Iustitia 5, 158 (n. 1), 172 (n. 29), 222 f. Iuturna 29, 154 Iuuentas / Iuuentus 223 – 225, 262 f. Jerusalem 128 f., 239 Jews 129 John Lydus 5, 8, 212, 213 (n. 102), 214 (n. 107), 216 f., 218 (n. 113), 221 Juvenal 128, 188 Koronis 119

Laconia, Laconian 27 Lacus Iuturnae 28 f., 39, 92 Lacus Nemorensis 187 Lake Regillus 31, 95, 97 Lamprias 207 Lampon 113 (n. 164) Lanuuium 79 T. Larcius 127 Larentia Fabula 59, 60 Lares 71 f., 74 (n. 85), 158, 204 – 207, 225 – 231, 236, 240 f. – Lares Alites 226 – Lares Compitales 26 (n. 19), 72, 134 (n. 214), 226 (n. 135), 229, 230 (n. 141) – Lares Curiales 226 – Lares Familiares 156 (n. 245), 158, 203, 226 – 229 – Lares Permarini 154, 226 – Lares Praestites 156 (n. 245), 158 f., 226, 228 – Lares Querquetulani 226, 229 Laruae 203 f., 206, 226 Larunda 236 Latinus 63, 192 – 194 Latini 8, 28, 34, 69, 90, 132, 193 (n. 64) Latium 26 (n. 20), 60, 63, 65, 80, 130, 132 (n. 210), 145, 150 (n. 234), 181, 212, 247 Latona 95 Lauinium 27, 116, 130, 132, 240, 242 (n. 169), 243, 245 Leda 27 Lemures 17, 203 – 207, 228 Leptis Magna 15 Liber 18, 30 f., 81, 91, 95 – 97 Libera 18, 31, 95, 97 f. Libertas 5, 30 (n. 26), 81, 91, 95, 231 – 233 libri pontificales 42 libri Sibyllini 19, 82, 107, 109, 122, 233, 267 C. Licinius Lucullus 225 L. Licinius Lucullus 20, 36, 51, 53, 64, 175, 176 Ligurians 63 Liuius Andronicus 25 (n. 14) M. Liuius Drusus 8, 82, 101, 130 f., 145 M. Liuius Salinator 225 Livy 9 f., 20, 28, 30 (n. 27), 34 f., 36 (n. 39), 40, 51 f., 69, 77, 80, 84, 85 (n. 108), 86 f., 91 f., 99 f., 102, 106, 107 (n. 153), 108, 110 (n. 156), 114 (n. 168), 118 (n. 178), 120, 139 (n. 222),

General index

147, 149, 155 (n. 243), 159, 160, 170, 171 (n. 25), 180, 185, 186 (n. 51), 188 – 190, 191 (n. 58), 195, 200 f., 202 (n. 78), 205 (n. 85), 223, 224 (n. 129), 245 (n. 174), 246, 249, 251 (n. 183), 252, 253 (n. 189), 254 – 257, 262 Longinus 217 Lucian 11, 14 Lucina 4 (n. 7), 75 – 76 Q. Lucilius Balbus 221 Q. Lucretius 46 Lucretius Ofella 29 ludi 119, 138, 152, 180 (n. 44) ludi Apollinares 16, 21 ludi Ceriales 30 ludi compitalicii 125 (n. 190), 229 (n. 140) ludi magni 82, 236 ludi Romani 16, 19 (n. 2), ludi Saeculares 125 (n. 190), 131 Luna 31, 76, 236 Lupercus (see Faunus) 121, 191 (n. 58), 195 Q. Lutatius Catulus 214, 217 Lycaon 212 Lycians 176 Lycurgus 54, 189 f. Mâ (mother-goddess) 22 Macrobius 126, 134 (n. 215), 159, 191 (n. 59), 192, 214 (n. 106, 107), 217 (n. 112), 229 (n. 139), 230, 237, 241 (n. 165), 243 (n. 171), 252 (n. 186) Sp. Maelius 36 Magna Graecia 6 f., 27, 31, 233 John Malalas 194 Mania 229 (n. 139), 230 M. Manlius 77 f. Cn. Manlius Uulso 110 Q. Marcius Ralla 43 (n. 47) Mardonius 231 Marica (see Fauna) 191 f. Marius 22, 109 f., 131, 136, 139 (n. 223), 208, 210, 259, 265 Mars 11, 18, 20 (n. 6), 21 (n. 8), 82, 84 (n. 103), 98 – 103, 116 (n. 172), 128, 130, 135 (n. 216), 139, 144 f., 147, 150, 153 f., 193 (n. 66), 194, 208 (n. 91), 211, 215 f., 218, 247 f., 250, 251 (n. 184), 252, 263 – Mars Gradiuus 147

317

– Mars Ultor 101 f., 225 Masinissa 201 Mater Magna (Magna Deum Mater Idaea) 5, 24, 103 – 110, 133 Mater Matuta 5, 13, 22, 24, 42 (n. 45), 110 – 114 Maternus (usurper) 105 Maxentius 132 Melicertes (son of Ino) 111, 113 Menander 204 Mens 13, 233 – 235 Mercurius 114 f., 185, 194 Messala 50, 174 Messana 61 L. Mestrius Florus 13 (n. 24) Q. Metellus Celer 29, 176 Metellus Pius 152 (n. 237), 250 Midas 165 Milo 232 Minerua 5, 6 (n. 8), 80, 99, 115 – 118, 224, 262 – Minerua medica 15 Mineruium 115 Minos 189 f. M. Minucius 175, 245 Mithridates 55 f., 144 Moneta 8, 18, 77 f. Monumentum Ancyranum 5, 10, 227, 264 Mucia (wife of Pompey) 56 (n. 59) Mucius Scaeuola 146 L. Mummius Achaicus 99 L. Munatius Plancus 131, 222 Murcus 145 Mutina 104 Naxos 97 (n. 137) Neptunus 16, 111, 114, 118 – 120, 180, 185, 243 (n. 171) – Neptunus equestris 180 f. Nero 20, 58, 70 (n. 78), 72, 74, 133, 152, 172, 174 (n. 31), 232 (n. 147) Nerua 58 Nicaea 15, 71 P. Nigidius Figulus 226, 243 (n. 171) Nola 131 (n. 207) C. Norbanus Flaccus 104 (n. 151) Numa 16, 25 f., 37, 48, 83 (n. 103), 134 (n. 215), 141, 145 f., 186 – 190, 191 (n. 56), 197 (n. 69), 198 (n. 70), 199 – 205, 215 f., 219, 222, 235,

318

General index

244, 246, 249, 251, 254 – 256, 257 (n. 194), 260 – 262, 266 Numitor 149, 195, 197, 248 nympha 186 f. Ocresia, Ocrisia 156 (n. 245), 157, 226 f. Octauian (see Augustus) 23, 71 (n. 80), 115, 118 – 120, 124 f., 138, 145, 178 f., 203, 232, 254 f. M. Octauius 127 Odysseus 73, 102, 147 f., 222, 243 Q. Ogulnius 19 Olistene 214 L. Opimius (consul) 29, 177 f. Ops 125, 162 (n. 8), 179, 180 (n. 42), 191 (n. 59), 235 – 238 Orestes 118 Orion 189 T. Otacilius Crassus 233 Otho 145, 152 Ouid 26 (n. 18), 29 (n. 25), 76, 83, 87, 106, 111, 113, 116 (n. 172), 128, 167, 168 (n. 19), 169 (n. 21), 171 (n. 25), 177, 186 f., 191 (n. 56), 194 f., 198 f., 218 (n. 113), 222, 228, 239, 247, 261 Paestum 120 Pallas (son of Hercules and Lauinia) 63, 193, 195, 221 (n. 124), 243 Pan 120 f., 190, 256 (n. 191) – Lycaeus Pan 191, 195 L. Papirius Cursor 185 (n. 50), 253 Parcae 171 Parthia, Parthians 50, 102 Pax 5, 123, 158, 177, 238 f. – Pax Augusta 238 f. Peleus 189 (Dii) Penates 147 f., 221 (n. 123), 225, 229, 240 – 246 Perrhaebia 212 Perseus 51 f., 128, 205 Pertinax 15, 71, 175 Perusia 79 (n. 94) Pessinus 103 – 109, 110 (n. 156) Philip the Arab 249 Philippopolis 248 Philo of Alexandria 11

Philochorus 237 Philostratus 11, 118 Philoxenus of Alexandria 8, 9 Phorbas 190 Phraates 102 Phrygia 103, 104 (n. 150), 105 – 109, 165 Picenum 74, 247 Picus Martius 12 (n. 20), 246 – 248 Pietas 172 (n. 29), 222, 248 – 250 Pindar 73, 257 Plataea 231 Plato 117 (n. 174), 146, 190, 210, 264 Plautianus 57 Plutarch 3 (n. 5), 4 (n. 7), 5, 11, 12 (n. 19, 20, 21), 13 (n. 24), 14, 17 – 19, 20 (n. 7), 21 – 25, 26 (n. 18), 27 – 35, 36 (n. 38), 37 – 43, 44 (n. 49), 45 – 47, 48 (n. 53), 49 – 52, 53 (n. 56), 54 f., 56 (n. 59, 60), 57 (n. 61), 58 – 60, 67 – 69, 70 (n. 78), 71 – 82, 83 (n. 103), 84 (n. 104), 85 – 95, 96 (n. 134, 135), 97 (n. 136), 98 (n. 139), 99 f., 102, 103 (n. 47), 104, 109 f., 112 (n. 163), 113 f., 117, 118 (n. 178), 119, 122, 125, 126 (n. 198, 199), 127 – 129, 131 – 135, 139 (n. 223), 140 – 157, 160, 161 (n. 6), 162 (n. 8), 163 (n. 12), 164 f., 166 (n. 14), 167 f., 169 (n. 20, 21), 170 (n. 23, 24), 171 (n. 25), 172, 173 (n. 30), 174, 175 (n. 33), 176 – 178, 181, 183, 184 (n. 49), 187 (n. 53), 188, 189 (n. 55), 190, 192, 194 (n. 67), 196 – 200, 201 (n. 73), 202, 205 – 211, 212 (n. 101), 213 (n. 102, 105), 214 (n. 107), 215 (n. 108, 109), 216, 219, 222 (n. 125), 223, 227 f., 229 (n. 139), 232 (n. 146), 233, 234 (n. 154), 237, 238 (n. 160), 242, 243 (n. 170), 244 (n. 173), 245 (n. 174), 247 f., 250 (n. 182), 251 (n. 182), 252 (n. 188), 253 f., 256, 257 (n. 194), 259 (n. 203), 261, 264 f., 266 (n. 220), 267 f. Polyaenus 5, 180 Polybius 4 f., 7 f., 13, 16 f., 20, 51, 53 (n. 56), 54, 58, 68 (n. 77), 74, 82, 88 – 90, 99, 110 (n. 156), 115 f., 161 (n. 7), 172, 181 (n. 46), 193, 200, 201 (n. 72), 205, 211, 249 f., 254, 264, 267 Pompeia 161, 165 A. Pompeius 109 Sextus Pompey 119, 177 f.

General index

Pompey 23, 29, 50, 52, 55 f., 58, 69, 82, 102, 128 f., 137 f., 142, 173, 174 (n. 32), 175 (n. 33), 176, 205, 209 (n. 93), 233, 249, 253, 264 Pompeius Trogus 195 Pontius Cominius 170 (n. 23) Posidonius 44 (n. 50), 101 A. Postumius 28, 31, 95 f. Sp. Postumius 86, 254 Potestas 221 (n. 124) Praeneste 39, 43 priests, priesthoods – antistes 34 f. – augur 21, 31, 82, 124, 224, 230, 262 – of Apollo 21 – collegia compitalicia 72 – fetialis 23, 205 – flamen Carmentalis 170 (n. 21) – flamines Dialis 92, 251 – flamen Martialis 251 (n. 183) – flamen Quirinalis 149, 250, 251 (n. 183), 255 – flamen Uolcani 153 – flamines maiores 201, 250, 267 (n. 1) – fratres Aruales 57 (n. 61), 143, 263 – Galli (eunuch priests of Κυβέλη) 110 (n. 156) – haruspex 22, 152, 154 – honorary priesthood of Bona Dea 163 – of the Iulio-Claudian gens at Athens 67 (n. 74) – joint female priesthood of Ceres and Uenus 32 (n. 32) – oraculum auctores 34 – pater patratus 205 – pontifex maximus 70, 146, 148, 165, 244, 267 – pontifices 28, 80, 205, 209, 218, 242, 244, – rex sacrorum 92 (n. 126), 212 – sacerdos 34 f. – sacerdos Iustitiae 222 – sacerdotium 21 – salii 26, 83, 250, 267 – uates 34 f. – uirgines Uestales 10, 144, 146 – 149, 164, 184 (n. 48), 242, 244, 267 (n. 1) – Xvuiri sacris faciundis 19, 107, 109, 268 principes iuuentutis 223 Procopius 5, 212 f., 220 f., 239 prodigies 16, 22, 85 (n. 108), 102, 104 (n. 151), 107, 120

319

Promathion 149 f., 156, 226 (n. 134), 227 Protarchus of Tralles 126, 214 (n. 106), 216 Ptolemy I Soter 67 Ptolemy II Philadelphus 67 (n. 76) Puteoli 119, 221 Pydna 59 Pyrrhus 6, 30, 100, 259 Pythagoras 26, 146 Pythagorean, Pythagoreanism 26, 146 Pythia 54 P. Quinctilius Uarus 152 T. Quinctius Capitolinus 82 (n. 100), 173 T. Quinctius Flamininus 20 (n. 7), 68 Quirinus 21 (n. 8), 60, 73 (n. 83), 79, 84 (n. 103), 98 f., 121, 123 (n. 188), 130 (n. 205), 147, 149, 158, 218, 219 (n. 119), 236, 250 – 258 Remus 99, 121, 130, 149, 166 (n. 14), 197, 227, 247 f. Rhodoites 190 rites – Actia 20 – annual festival at the temple of Diana 34 f. – annual games in honour of Hercules (Agirium) 64 – annual sacrifices for Uictoria (mons Auentinus) 151 – augurium 123 f., 120 (n. 190), 206 – augurium salutis 123 f. – auspicium 124, 206, 267 – Bacchanalia 16 – bathing of the statue of Mater Magna 103 – Carmentalia 167 f., 169 (n. 21), 171 (n. 25) – December rites of Bona Dea 161 – 164 – Denuntio belli 267 – closing of Ianus Geminus 16, 124, 218 f. – Compitalia 226 (n. 135), 227, 229 – 231 – Consualia 118 (n. 178), 179 – 183, 184 (n. 48), 185, 237 – Ἐλευθέρια 231 – Feriae for Κρόνος and Ῥέα 237 – feriae Latinae 90 – Fornicalia 253 – of the fratres Aruales 263 – haruspicium 124

320

General index

– lectisternium 20 (n. 5), 32, 58, 95, 114, 119, 185, 223 – Lupercalia 121, 195 – 197, 250 – Lustratio exercitus 267 – Λύκαια 195, 196, 197 – Matralia (Mater Matuta) 111 – 114 – Matronalia 75, 169 (n. 21) – Megalesia (Mater Magna) 105, 108 – mourning for the castration of Attis (Mater Magna) 103 – October equus 98 – Opalia 180, 235, 237 – Opiconsiuia 179, 235 – of the Penates Compitales 229 – Paganalia 229, 231 – Poplifugia 252 (n. 186) – precationes 267 – Procession (Fides Publica) 201 f. – Quirinalia 250, 252 f. – sacrificium 28, 32 (n. 33), 34 f., 41, 57, 59 f., 62, 64 f., 67, 92, 99, 116 (n. 172), 119, 126 (n. 197), 134, 147, 175, 181 f., 184, 187, 192, 202, 230 f., 236, 243 (n. 170), 246, 260 f., 267 – Saturnalia 126 (n. 199), 230, 237 – supplicatio 267 – Spolia opima 83 (n. 103), 84 (n. 104), 85, 99, 237, 251 – Terminalia 260 – transuectio equitum 28, 209 f. – uaticinatio 60, 124 – Ueneralia 133 (n. 213) – Uinalia 133 (n. 213) – uota 28, 57, 95, 123 (n. 187), 127, 130 (n. 206), 137 f., 144, 181 Roma Aeterna 133 Roman topography – arch of Titus 208 – Arx 77 f., 89, 177 (n. 38) – Campus Martius 23, 99, 114 (n. 168), 120, 132, 142, 153 f., 155 f., 252 – Capitolium (see mons Capitolinus) – castra praetoria 266 – Circus Flaminius 22 (n. 11), 23, 27 (n. 22), 120, 185, 259 – Circus Maximus 31, 95, 180, 182 – 185, 223 – 225, 236 – curia Hostilia 139

– curia Iulia 152 (n. 237), 172, 220, 264 – forum Augusti 102 – forum Boarium 6, 39, 42 (n. 45), 58, 62, 64 f., 87, 110 f., 195 – forum Holitorium 248, 259 – forum Iulium 137 – 139 – horti Caesaris 37 (n. 43) – lapis niger 153, 260 – lucus Libitinae 140 (n. 225), 141 – Mausoleum of Augustus 10 – mons Auentinus 31 f., 33 (n. 36), 34, 91, 95, 97, 115, 141 (n. 227), 151, 184 (n. 48), 185 (n. 50), 198 – mons Caelius 254 – mons Capitolinus 23, 43, 61 (n. 65), 78, 80 – 82, 84, 88, 90, 102, 116, 117 (n. 173), 126, 143 – 145, 147 f., 150, 152, 170 (n. 23), 177, 201, 203 f., 224 f., 236, 242, 244, 260, 261 (n. 211), 262 f. – mons Esquilina 47, 130, 131 (n. 207) – mons Ianiculus 216 – mons Palatinus 20 f., 45, 63 – 65, 87, 92, 104, 121, 133 – mons Quirinalis 39, 43, 45, 86 f., 99, 122, 143, 250, 253 f. – mons Tarpeius 78 – mons Uiminalis 39, 86, 166 (n. 221) – Noua Uia 159, 160 – pomerium 33, 180, 216 (n. 111) – porta Capena 46, 187, 208, 210, 211 (n. 96, 97) – porta Carmentalis 168, 170 (n. 23) – porta Collina 136, 208, 209 (n. 93) – porta Esquilina 140 – porta Praenestina 259 (n. 204) – regia 71, 92, 99, 145, 235, 252 – rostra 71, 109, 139 – scalae Caci 64, 65 – Seruian wall 168 – theater of Marcellus 250 – theater of Pompey 23, 142 – Tiber 6, 37 (n. 43), 48, 63, 100, 107 f., 149, 213, 214 (n. 106) – Tiber Island 19, 21, 191 – Uelia 147, 240, 243, 245 – Uia Lata 39 – Uia Latina 40 – uicus longus 39

General index

Romulus 8, 13, 18, 32, 59, 72, 73 (n. 83), 84 f., 92 f., 98, 103, 104 (n. 150), 118 (n. 178), 121, 130, 132, 145, 149, 151, 153, 155, 166 (n. 14), 169 (n. 21), 172, 180 – 183, 193, 196 f., 205, 215 f., 227, 235, 243, 247 f., 250 – 255, 256 (n. 191), 257 (n. 194), 258, 261 f., 266 rumina (teat) 166 (n. 14) Rumina 166 (n. 14) – ficus Ruminalis 166 (n. 14) Sabelli 100 f., 135 (n. 216) Sabini 100 Sabinus pater familiae 34 Sagra 27 (n. 22) Sallust 54 f., 178 Salus 5, 16, 39, 57, 122 – 125, 177, 239 – Salus Augusti 123 (n. 187) – Salus Caesaris 123 – Salus Publica 122 (n. 184), 123 (n. 187), 239 – Salus Semonia 122 (n. 183) Samnite wars 42 Samnites 23, 132, 238 (n. 162), 253 Samothrace 147 f., 240, 241 (n. 166), 243 – 245 Saturnus 5, 12 (n. 20), 16, 121, 125 – 129, 192, 194 f., 208 (n. 91), 212 – 214, 235 – 237 Scipio Aemilianus (see P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus Africanus) Scipio Africanus (see P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus) Scylla 221 (n. 124) Second Sophistic 11, 12 (n. 19), 14, 23 seer 21, 152, 168, 194 Seianus 232 (n. 147) Semele 110 f., 113 P. Sempronius Sophus 130 senate 16, 19 – 23, 40 f., 46, 54, 69, 71, 84, 93, 104, 107, 109 (n. 154), 123 f., 130 f., 147, 155, 171 f., 175 – 178, 202 (n. 76), 203, 208, 220, 232 f., 253, 257 (n. 194), 264 Seneca 91 (n. 124), 174 (n. 31) Serapis 16, 19 (n. 2), 23 Sertorius 50, 54 f., 152 (n. 237) Septimius Seuerus 15, 57, 59, 71, 133 P. Sepullius Macer 171 P. Seruilius Isauricus 11 Seruius Tullius 33 f., 36 – 38, 42, 111, 126 (n. 199), 140, 156, 223, 226 f., 229, 237, 249

321

Seuerans 2, 15 Seuerus Alexander 15 Sicily, Sicilian 6 – 8, 11, 31, 51, 61, 63 f., 119 f., 125 (n. 195), 136 f., 142, 175, 209, 213, 242, 267 C. Silius 222 silua Arsia 159, 258 Siluanus 159 f., 191, 258 Socrates 159, 190, 204 f., 264 Sol 129 f., 236 – Sol Indiges 129 f. – Sol Inuictus 129 Q. Sosius Senecio 13 Sostrata 122 (bona) Spes 16, 39, 172, 259 sponsa 187 state cult (see Imperial cult) statues – of ᾿Aφροδίτη Ἐπιτυμβία (Delphi) 141 – of Delphic Apollo 20 f. – of Ἡρακλῆς (mons Capitolinus) 23, 61 (n. 65) – of Fides Publica 201 – of Ianus Geminus (shrine in the forum Romanum) 213, 219, 220 (n. 121), 221 – of Iuno Quiritis 252 – of Iustitiae Augusti 222 – of Libertas 232 – of Mater Magna 108 – of Mater Matuta (Satricum) 110 (n. 159) – of Minerua (Cicero) 117 – of Minerua (Lauinium) 116 – of Minerua (Luceria) 116 – of Minerua (Rome) 116 – of Minerua (Siris) 116 – of Neptunus 119 – of Νίκη 118, 152 – Palladium (᾿Aθηνᾶ of Troy) 116, 147, 242 – of Uictoria 151 – of Uirtus 266 – simulacrum 40 f., 106, 152 Strabo 5, 10, 11 (n. 18), 24 (n. 13), 27 (n. 22), 29, 31 (n. 29), 33 (n. 35), 43, 58, 60 (n. 65), 61 (n. 66), 62 (n. 67), 64, 65 (n. 70), 74, 99, 100 f., 104 f., 116 f., 120, 132, 135 – 137, 146, 153 (n. 239), 161 (n. 7), 168, 170, 180, 182 f., 187 (n. 53), 193 (n. 64), 247 f., 254 Styx 118 (n. 175)

322

General index

Suetonius 66 (n. 72), 72, 88 (n. 115), 123, 125 (n. 190), 134, 138 f., 162, 172, 193 (n. 64), 204 (n. 82), 219 (n. 119), 229 (n. 140) Sulla 16, 20, 22 – 24, 29, 36 (n. 38), 50 (n. 55), 51, 53 (n. 57), 54 f., 59, 90, 94, 99, 125 (n. 195), 131 (n. 207), 136, 139, 144, 173 Summanus 236 Suna 101 Syracuse 210 Syria 46, 249 Tacita 26 (n. 19), 159 (n. 3) Tacitus 70, 91 (n. 124), 96, 124, 128, 151 f., 167, 179 Tanaquil 156 f., 226 f. Tantalus 212 Tarchetius (Etruscan king) 149, 156, 227 Tarquinius Arruns 186 (n. 51) Tarquinius Priscus 80, 172, 186 (n. 51), 226, 230 Tarquinius Superbus 20 (n. 7), 86, 90, 127, 262 T. Tatius 18, 33, 78 (n. 92), 129, 144, 154 (n. 240), 156 (n. 245), 235, 243, 245, 261 (n. 211), 62 Telemachus 102 Tellus 30, 130 f., 134, 146 Temples, shrines, and altars – Ara Maxima (Forum Boarium) 58, 62 – ναὸς Εὐτυχίας 36 – of Aesculapius (Tiber Island) 19 – of ᾿Aθηνᾶ Πολιάς (Erechtheion, Athens) 263 – of Aius Locutius (Noua Uia) 159 – of Apollo (Caieta) 21 – of Apollo (Palatine) 21 – of Apollo Actius 20 – of Ἄρτεμις (Ephesus) 32, 34 – of Ἄρτεμις (Ueneti) 74 – auguraculum (mons Capitolinus) 78 – of ᾿Aφροδίτη Ἐπιταλάριος 135 – οf Bellona 16, 22, 23 – of Bellona (circus Flaminius) 23 – of Bellona (unknown location) 23 – of Castor (circus Flaminius) 27 (n. 22) – of the Castores (forum Romanum) 27 – of Ceres 16, 30 – of Ceres, Liber, and Libera (mons Auentinus) 95, 97

– of Clementia (voted to Caesar but never built) 171 – of Concordia (Arx) 176, 177 (n. 38), 178 – of Concordia (Graecostasis) 177 (n. 38) – of Concordia (western side of the forum) 177 – of Consus (meta Murcia of the Circus Maximus) 180 – of Consus (mons Auentinus) 184, 185 (n. 50) – of Δημήτηρ (Enna) 31 (n. 29) – of Diana (mons Auentinus) 32, 33 (n. 36), 34, 35 – of Diana (Uicus Patricius) 33 – of (Dius) Fidius (mons Quirinalis) 86 – of (Dius) Fidius (mons Uiminalis) 86 – of Diuus Iulius 69, 71 – of Ἥρα (Λακίνιον, near Κρότων) 64 – of Ἥρα (Ueneti) 33 (n. 35), 74 – of Faunus (Tiber Island) 191 – of Fides Publica (mons Capitolinus) 201 – of Fortuna (right bank of the Tiber) 37, 48 – of Fortuna (Umbria) 43 – of Fortuna (within the Horti Caesaris) 37 (n. 43) – of Fortuna Breuis 16, 38 f. – of Fortuna and Mater Matuta (Forum Boarium) 39, 42 (n. 45), 110 f. – of Fortuna Muliebris (uia Latina) 40 – of Fortuna Obsequens 42 f. – of Fortuna Primigenia (Praeneste) 39, 43 – of Fortuna Primigenia (mons Capitolinus) 43 – of Fortuna Primigenia (mons Quirinalis) 43 – of Fortuna Priuata (Palatine) 45 – of Fortuna Publica (mons Quirinalis) 45 – of Fortuna Redux (next to porta Capena) 45 – of Fortuna Respiciens (mons Esquilina) 46 f. – of Fortuna Uirgo (next to Fons Muscosus) 47 f. – of Hercules Uictor (in the Forum Boarium) 64 f., 87 – of Hercules and Bacchus 59 – of Honos (porta Collina) 208, 209 (n. 93) – of Honos and Uirtus (location of temple of Antoninus and Faustina) 208 – of Honos and Uirtus (next to porta Capena) 46, 208 f. – of Ianus (forum Romanum) 219 – 221 – of Iuno Licinia (Crotona) 74 – of Iuno Moneta (Arx) 77 f.

General index

– of Iuppiter Optimus Maximus (mons Capitolinus) 81 f. – of Iuppiter Inuentor (Porta Trigemina) 87 – of Iuppiter Inuictus (mons Palatinus) 87 f. – of Iuppiter Latiaris (mons Albanus) 90 f. – of Iuppiter Libertas (mons Auentinus) 91 – of Iuppiter Stator (mons Palatinus) 92 – of Iuppiter Stator (Romulus) 92 f. – of Iuppiter Territor (mons Sacer) 94 – of Iuppiter Tonans (Augustus) 94 – of Iuppiter Uictor (mons Quirinalis) 143 – of Iuuentas / Iuuentus (Circus Maximus) 223 f. – of the Lares 229 – of the Lares (near the Uolcanal) 228 – of Libertas 231 – 233 – atrium Libertatis 231 – Lupercal 121, 196 f. – of Mars (Suna) 101 – of Mars Ultor (forum Augusti) 101 f. – of Mars Ultor (mons Capitolinus) 102 – of Mater Magna (Pessinus) 104 f., 109 – of Mater Magna (Rome, victory temple) 109 – of Mercurius (Campus Martius) 114 (n. 168) – of Minerua (mons Auentinus) 115 – of Minerua (Circaeum) 115 – of Minerua (Iapygia) 115 – of Minerua (Luceria) 115 – of Minerua (Oruinium) 115 – Mineruae Promontorium 115 – of Neptunus (Campus Martius) 120 – of Neptunus (Circus Flaminius) 120 – of Neptunus (Columna Regia) 120 – of Ops Consiua (Sacrarium within the Regia) 235 – of Ops Opifera 235 – ara Pacis (Augustus) 238 (n. 161), 239 – of Pax (Uespasian) 238 – of the Penates (on the Uelia) 240, 243 – of Pietas (forum holitorium) 248 – of Poppaea Sabina 70 f., 133 – of Quirinus (mons Quirinalis) 250, 253 f. – of Romulus and T. Tatius 18, 153 f., 235 f. – of Salus (mons Quirinalis) 122 f. – of Salus and Fortuna (Capua) 39 – of Salus Publica (mons Quirinalis) 122 – of Sol Indiges (Latium) 130 – of Sol Indiges (Lauinium) 130

323

– of Sol Indiges (Laurentum) 129 – of Spes (forum Holitorium) 259 – of Spes (outside the city) 259 – of Spes and Fortuna (Rome, hypothetical) 39 f. – of Saturnus (Forum Romanum) 126 (n. 197), 127 f. – of Saturnus (mons Capitolinus) 125 f. – of Tellus (mons Esquilinus) 130 f. – of Terminus (mons Capitolinus) 260 – of Terminus and Fides 261 – of Τύχη Εὔελπις 16, 39 – of Uenus (Ardea) 132 – of Uenus (Lauinium) 132 f. – of Uenus (mons Palatinus) 133 – of Uenus and Roma (Uia Sacra) 132 f. – of Uenus Erycina (near porta Collina) 136 – of Uenus Erycina (Ἔλυμος) 136 f. – of Uenus Erycina (Eryx) 136 – of Uenus Genetrix (forum Iulium) 137 f. – of Uenus Libentina (near porta Esquilina) 140 – of Uenus Murcia (near mons Auentinus) 141 f. – of Uenus Obsequens 42 – of Uenus Uictrix (mons Capitolinus) 143 f. – of Uenus Uictrix (theatre of Pompey) 142 – of Uesta (base of mons Palatinus) 17, 26, 28, 145, 147 f., 228, 244 – of Uictoria (Cutiliae) 150 f. – of Uictoria (mons Capitolinus) 150, 152 – of Uictoria (Tralles) 118, 150 – Uolcanal (outside of Rome) 153 – 155, 156 (n. 245), 160 – of Uolcanus (Campus Martius) 132 Terentia (wife of Cicero) 161 Terminus 75, 224, 236, 260 – 263 Thebes 111 Theodosius 221 Thermopylae 202 Thesmophoria 32 Thucydides 16, 167 Tiberius 29, 67, 70 f., 95, 123 (n. 187), 134, 175, 179, 222 Timotheus of Conon 51, 53 (n. 57) Timotheus of Miletus 76 Trajan 13, 58, 68 Tria Fata 220 Troy 116, 147, 143 (n. 171), 244 Tullus Hostilius 127, 174, 206, 218

324

General index

Turnus 63, 187, 260 (n. 206) Tyndareus 27 Tyrannion the elder 8, 9 Ualeria (see Claudia Quinta) 105 Ualerias Antias 10, 157, 197 (n. 69), 199 uallis Aricina 186 uallis Egeriae 187 Uarro 8 – 10, 33 (n. 36), 35, 36 (n. 37), 38, 48, 101, 103, 134 (n. 215), 140 (n. 224), 141 (n. 226), 159 f., 161, 165, 167, 176 (n. 36), 201 (n. 75), 207, 214 (n. 107), 217, 224 – 226, 228, 236 f., 242 (n. 169), 243, Uediouis 236 Ueii 79, 81, 112, 147, 207, 216 (n. 111), 249 Uelleius 55, 139 (n. 222), 172, 179 Uenus 1 (n. 1), 18, 32 (n. 32), 70, 75, 111, 132 – 144, 153 f., 166, 193 (n. 66) – ᾿Aφροδίτη Ἐπιταλάριος 48, 134 f. – Uenus Erycina 135 – 137 – Uenus Felix 133 – Uenus Genetrix 18, 133, 135, 137 – 139 – Uenus Libentina / Libitina / Lubentina 135, 140 f. – Uenus Murcia 135, 141 f., 166 – Uenus Obsequens 42 – Dea Uenus Poppaea 133 – Uenus Uictrix 17, 88, 135, 142 – 144, 150 Uerres 29 (n. 25) Uerrius Flaccus 90, 204 (n. 83) Uespasian 24, 175, 238 f.

Uesta

26 (n. 20), 130, 144 – 150, 212, 221 (n. 123), 227, 236 ignis sempiternus 146 lucus Uestae (Noua Uia) 159 f. Ueturia (mother of Coriolanus) 111, 245 L. Ueturius Philo 185 C. Uibius Pansa 104, 127 Uictoria 16, 118, 144, 150 – 153 M. Uinucius 46 Uirbius 186, 188 Uirgil 59 (n. 64), 61 f., 64 (n. 69), 121 (n. 180), 125 (n. 194), 126 (n. 196), 130 (n. 204), 136 (n. 217), 167, 170 (n. 22), 187, 191 (n. 60), 192 (n. 63), 193 f., 201 (n. 75), 213 (n. 104), 216, 222, 241 f., 258 (n. 198), 262 Uirtus 5, 22, 46, 158 (n. 1), 172 (n. 29), 208 (n. 29), 209 – 211, 234, 263 – 266, – Uirtus Bellonae 22 (n. 9), 263 Uis 174 (n. 31), 221 (n. 124) Uitellius 152 Ulpian 15 (n. 29) Umbrici 101 Uolcanus 118, 153 – 157, 226 (n. 134), 227, 236 Uolumnia (see Ueturia) 245 Uortumnus 236 Utica 174 Xerxes

222

Zaleucus 190 Zoroaster 190