Herodotus and Hellenistic Culture: Literary Studies in the Reception of the Histories 9780199653096, 0199653097

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H E R O D O T U S A N D H E L L E N I S T I C CU L T U R E

Herodotus and Hellenistic Culture Literary Studies in the Reception of the Histories

JESSICA PRIESTLEY

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Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Jessica Priestley 2014 The moral rights of the author have been asserted First Edition published in 2014 Impression: 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Control Number: 2013945562 ISBN 978–0–19–965309–6 As Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in any third party website referenced in this work.

For Matthew Dolan & Anne and John Priestley

Acknowledgements There are many people who have helped me in the conception and writing of this book, and some will not even be aware that they have helped. The debts are too many to name, and here I mention only the most important, but I am extremely grateful too to others, unnamed, who have shared their ideas with me at different stages and pressed me to refine my own. The first person I wish to acknowledge with great thanks is Vivienne Gray, who launched me down this very unexpected, but immensely exciting path. She introduced me to and taught me much about Herodotus, and mentored me in the earliest years of my own research inquiries at Auckland. At Auckland I also benefitted from the excellent Greek teaching of Bill Barnes, Dougal Blyth, Abigail Dawson, Anne Mackay, and Paul McKechnie, and I am grateful to them for their thorough and enthusiastic guidance, which gave me a solid grounding in the language and enabled me to pursue advanced research. I also thank Bill, Vivienne, and Paul for encouraging me to continue on to doctoral work at Cambridge. This book is a revised version of that doctoral work, and it owes a very large intellectual debt to my doctoral supervisor, Richard Hunter. He pointed me towards ‘Murray 1972’ in my first uncertain months at Cambridge, and throughout the months and years that followed, he was generous with his time, ideas, and encouragement as the thesis developed. His influence permeates this work and the debts are too many and too diffuse to acknowledge individually, but I record here my gratitude to him for expanding my intellectual horizons in a radical way. At Cambridge my ideas were also shaped through discussions and seminars at the Faculty of Classics, and I learnt much from my graduate peers and the academic staff there. I am also very grateful for the financial support which allowed me to pursue studies at Cambridge, from St John’s College, the Cambridge Faculty of Classics, and the Cambridge Commonwealth Trusts. St John’s College provided me with a very friendly and hospitable environment in which to carry out my work, and I shall always look back fondly on my time there.

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Acknowledgements

Since October 2010 I have benefited from another change of intellectual environment with a move to Bristol, and I am extremely grateful to the members of Bristol’s Institute of Greece, Rome and the Classical Tradition—and especially its Director, Robert Fowler—for supporting me with a post-doctoral fellowship. This fellowship was generously funded by the Leventis Foundation and Andrew Thornhill QC, and sincere thanks are due to them since without that support this book might never have appeared. I also thank my colleagues in Bristol’s Department of Classics for challenging me to think about my work in different ways, and in particular Christine Lee and Greta Hawes for their encouragement. This book has benefited from comments on drafts by numerous people at various stages. In addition to Richard Hunter, I thank Paul Cartledge and Ewen Bowie, who examined the PhD thesis, and Emily Baragwanath and an anonymous reviewer for Oxford University Press who also read the thesis. Their illuminating comments and helpful criticisms have assisted me immeasurably as I have revised this work. I am also extremely grateful to Christopher Pelling, who generously read the entire typescript of the book shortly before it went into production, providing me with some last minute suggestions and saving me from several slips. Thanks are also due to all the team at Oxford University Press, and in particular to Hilary O’Shea, Taryn Das Neves, Annie Rose, and Kizzy Taylor-Richelieu, who have guided me through the publishing process for the first time with considerable patience, to Clare Hofmann, for her creative input on the cover design, and to Bethan Lee and Helen Hughes, who provided invaluable assistance with copy-editing and proofreading. I remain acutely aware that this book has shortcomings, and for these, as well as any errors, I am of course solely responsible. My personal debts are also many, but above all I thank my parents, Anne and John Priestley, for their encouragement, and my husband, Matthew Dolan, for his support, patience, and good humour as this work has slowly progressed. It is to them that this book is dedicated, with love.

Contents List of Abbreviations Introduction

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1. Biographical Traditions

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2. The Great and the Marvellous

51

3. Herodotus and Hellenistic Geographies

109

4. The Persian Wars: New Versions and New Contexts

157

5. The Prose Homer of History

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Epilogue

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Appendix: Aristarchus’ Commentary on Herodotus

223

Bibliography General Index Index of Passages Cited

231 257 265

List of Abbreviations Standard abbreviations for editions and works of reference are used. Abbreviations for Greek and Latin authors and works are usually those listed in OCD3, pp. xxix–liv. Some of these are repeated below for ease of reference, and others may also be noted. A–B Anth. Pal. Burstein CAH FGrH IEG IG Janko LGPN LSJ Malice OCD3 Pfeiffer Powell P. Oxy. PMGF RE Roller SEG SGO SH

C. Austin and G. Bastianini, (eds.) Posidippi Pellaei quae supersunt omnia (Milan, 2002) Anthologia Palatina (Palatine Anthology) S. M. Burstein, Agatharchides of Cnidus: On the Erythraean Sea (London, 1989) Cambridge Ancient History, 2nd edn. (Cambridge, 1961–2005) F. Jacoby, (ed.) Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker (Berlin and Leiden, 1923–58) M. L. West, Iambi et elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum cantati, 2 vols., 2nd edn. (Oxford, 1989–92) Inscriptiones Graecae (Berlin, 1873–) R. Janko, Philodemus, On Poems: Book One (Oxford, 2000) P. M. Fraser et al., (eds.) Lexicon of Greek Personal Names (Oxford, 1987–) H. G. Liddell and R. Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon, revised by H. Stuart Jones, 9th edn. (Oxford, 1996) Plutarch, de Malignitate Herodoti S. Hornblower and A. Spawforth, (eds.) Oxford Classical Dictionary, 3rd edn. (Oxford, 1996) R. Pfeiffer, (ed.) Callimachus, Vol. 1 (Oxford, 1949) J. U. Powell, Collectanea Alexandrina (Oxford, 1925) The Oxyrhynchus Papyri (London, 1898–) M. Davies, (ed.) Poetarum Melicorum Graecorum Fragmenta (Oxford and New York, 1990) Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, 1st edn. Munich, 1903–78 D. W. Roller, Eratosthenes’ Geography (Princeton and Oxford, 2010) Supplementum epigraphicum Graecum (Leiden, 1923–71; Amsterdam, 1979–) R. Merkelbach and J. Stauber, (eds.) Steinepigramme aus dem griechischen Osten, 5 vols. (Stuttgart, 1998–2004) H. Lloyd-Jones and P. Parsons, Supplementum Hellenisticum (Berlin and New York, 1983)

Introduction

THROUGH HERODOTEAN EYES In the late fourth century BC, Nearchus, an admiral of Alexander the Great who accompanied him on his Asian campaign, wrote an account of India.1 After arriving at the Indus delta Nearchus was sent on a reconnaissance mission along the coast as far as the mouth of the Euphrates river in Mesopotamia. His account of this voyage is known to us through Strabo and Arrian, and seems to have included descriptions of India’s inhabitants and their customs, as well as the Indian landscape and natural history. In both its general conception and in its details Nearchus’ account betrays Herodotean influences: ‘Nearchus saw India not wholly as the innocent traveller, but through Herodotean eyes’, wrote Oswyn Murray in 1972.2 Nearchus regarded the plains of India as a creation of the Indus river, in the same way that Herodotus3 considered Egypt a ‘gift of the River [Nile]’ (Hdt. 2.5), and his discussion of the Indus’ flooding apparently bore similarities to Herodotus’ own discussion on the Nile’s inundation.4 It is clear that Nearchus’ perception of India was primed in part by Herodotus’ own (limited) account of India, and especially by his ethnographical and geographical tour de force on Egypt.5 One particularly striking indication of this is that he finds evidence for the existence of Herodotus’ fabulous gold-digging ants (Hdt. 3.102–5): although Nearchus did not claim to have seen these ants himself, he said he saw ‘many’ of their skins being brought into the

1 All dates in this book are BC, unless otherwise stated. The fragments of Nearchus are FGrH 133. For discussion of his work, see Pearson (1960), 112–49; Badian (1975). Pearson (1960, 118) thinks that Nearchus’ periplous ‘need not have been written until after 309’; Murray (1972, 206) gives the date as ‘sometime before 312’. 2 Murray (1972), 206. 3 I use ‘Herodotus’ (without inverted commas) interchangeably throughout this book for the author of the Histories, the implied author of the Histories, and sometimes even in reference to the text of the Histories. Nevertheless, I hope my meaning is always sufficiently clear from context. 4 Pearson (1960), 119–23.

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Macedonian camp, and claimed that they looked like panther skins (FGrH 133 F 8).6 Two other early Hellenistic works—both on Egypt—written by Hecataeus of Abdera and Manetho, also show signs that their conception could be indebted to Herodotus in important ways.7 Hecataeus’ Aegyptiaca, probably composed between 320 and 315,8 seems to have comprised three or four main sections, on Egyptian cosmology and theology, on Egypt’s native rulers, on Egyptian customs, and perhaps on Egypt’s geography.9 Hecataeus criticized Herodotus explicitly and implicitly in his work, suggesting that he regarded Herodotus as his most significant predecessor on Egyptian matters.10 The historical section of Hecataeus’ Aegyptiaca in particular seems to have owed a significant debt to Herodotus,11 most clearly demonstrated by the fact that Hecataeus’ account of the Egyptian kings extends only as late as Amasis, just as in Book 2 of Herodotus’ Histories, rather than down to Hecataeus’ own times.12 After Hecataeus, Manetho, a native Egyptian priest from Sebennytus in Lower Egypt, also wrote an Aegyptiaca in the early third century.13 Manetho is described by Josephus as ‘a man well-acquainted with Greek culture’ (Contra Apionem 1.73 = FGrH 609 T 7a), and in his Aegyptiaca Manetho seems to have been interested in correcting historical 5

On Nearchus’ debt to Herodotus, which appears even to have extended to the micro-level of verbal patterning at times, see Pearson (1960), esp. 118–31. 6 Pointing to animal skins as circumstantial evidence for the existence of the animal (which Nearchus also does in the case of the tiger: FGrH 133 F 7) is itself reminiscent of Herodotus’ methods (cf. Hdt. 2.75). Some of the fragments of Megasthenes’ Indika (late fourth/early third century) are also reminiscent of Herodotus: Stein (1931), 237–9. Cf. Murray (1972), who points to Hecataeus of Abdera’s Aegyptiaca as a more immediate Greek model for Megasthenes. On Megasthenes, see Stein (1931), Karttunen (1997), 69–94, Bosworth (1996), and Brodersen (2006). 7 Hecataeus is one of the earliest writers associated with Alexandria; according to Diodorus and Josephus he was in Egypt in the time of Ptolemy I (Diod. Sic. 1.30.1, 31.7, 46.7–8; Joseph. Contra Apionem 1.183). On Hecataeus, see Murray (1970). However, for a reassessment of the traditional attribution of much of Diodorus Siculus, Book 1 to Hecataeus, see Muntz (2011). 8 Murray (1970), 143–4; Stern and Murray (1973). I use the title Aegyptiaca to refer to Hecataeus’ work on Egypt for convenience. The exact title is unknown, but was perhaps
æd `Nªı
ø: Murray (1970), 142 n.5. 9 Murray (1970, 147–8) suggests that Hecataeus’ account lacked a section on geography. 10 On Hecataeus, cf. Chapter Three (with n.92 on his polemic against Herodotus). 11 Murray (1970), 152; Burton (1972), 25. 12 Oswyn Murray further suggests that Hecataeus’ ‘rationalistic attitude to Egyptian religion and its relation to Greek is modelled on that of Herodotus; and even in

Introduction

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inaccuracies in earlier Greek writers on the history and chronology of the Egyptian kings.14 From Josephus we learn that Manetho wrote the Aegyptiaca using ‘sacred records’ as sources, and that he refuted Herodotus on numerous occasions (Contra Apionem 1.73 = FGrH 609 F 1)—Eustathius in fact attributes to Manetho a work called Against Herodotus.15 Herodotus was a key predecessor for Manetho to criticize, and Ian Moyer has recently argued that Manetho adopted a ‘counterdiscursive position relative to Greek historiography . . . that was developed out of Egyptian ways of representing the past’.16 There are strong indications that Nearchus, Hecataeus and Manetho were all familiar with Herodotus’ Histories, that they consulted it as they composed their own works, and that elements of the works of each author could be characterized as ‘Herodotean’. That said, it is worth noting that the term ‘Herodotean’ has sometimes been used to describe other examples of Hellenistic historiography, without any implication that the author in question knew or tried to imitate Herodotus. For example, Berossus, a Babylonian priest, who was patronized at the Seleucid court by Antiochus I, wrote an account of his native land—a Babyloniaca—in the early third century.17 Its three books deal with the land of Babylon itself, the origins of its civilization, Babylonian mythology, the ten mythical antediluvian kings of Babylon, and the history of Babylon until its conquest by Alexander (it lacks an account of Babylonian customs). Even though there is no evidence that Berossus knew Herodotus’ Histories, Oswyn Murray considers that the Babyloniaca ‘still belongs within the same tradition, for it too is arranged according to the principles established by Hecataeus [of Abdera]’. In other words, Murray suggests that there is evidence of at least the indirect influence of Herodotus.18 (The idea of ‘writing back’ to

the section on customs, where he is so insistent on his own superiority, it is clear that he has used Herodotus extensively’: Murray (1972), 207. 13 He was perhaps patronized by Ptolemy II Philadelphus: Murray (1972), 209 with n.2. See FGrH 609 for testimonia and fragments. Discussions include: Murray (1972), 209–210; Dillery (1999); Dillery (2007); and most recently Moyer (2011), 84–141. 14 Murray (1972), 209. He also discusses Egyptian theology, but unlike Herodotus and Hecataeus, it seems that he did not include an ethnographical section in his work. 15 See Chapter Five, p. 213. 16 Moyer (2011), 103–4. 17 On Berossus: Burstein (1978), Kuhrt (1987), Dillery (2007).

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canonical texts of a colonizing power, which Moyer develops in relation to Manetho, is, however, surely applicable in certain ways here too.19) The Histories of Hieronymus of Cardia has also been described as ‘Herodotean’, in a rather general sense.20 Hieronymus’ work deals mainly with political history, but Murray describes his account of the campaign by Antigonus against Nabataean Arabs in 312 as being ‘organized and arranged like a Herodotean logos, with a detailed description of the habits and customs of the Arabs before the account of the actual fighting’.21 For much of the twentieth century the views of Felix Jacoby on Herodotus’ place in the development of historiography prevailed: namely, that the development of contemporary historiography in Greece could be tied to Herodotus’ (alleged) personal development from ethnographer to historian, that contemporary historiography was subsequently perfected by Thucydides, and that local historiography developed as a reaction to the pan-Hellenic Histories.22 Jacoby’s developmental model is in the process of being re-evaluated: there are problems in particular with an overly schematic division of sub-genres of historiography (genealogy, mythography, ethnography, contemporary history, chronography, local history), as well as with a linear developmental model for historiographical writing.23 In addition, up until the end of the 1960s, it was widely believed that Herodotus’ influence on ancient historiography was much less pervasive than that of Thucydides.24 This view has now shifted, particularly in relation to Hellenistic historiography thanks to the influential article written in 1972 by Oswyn Murray, in which he suggested that ‘the Hellenistic world view [cannot] be understood without appreciating the importance of Herodotus’.25 In this article, Murray highlighted the intellectual debt owed to Herodotus by the early Hellenistic historians, 18

Murray (1972), 208–9. Moyer (2011), 103–41. Cf. Moyer (2011), 105 n.73: ‘ . . . Berossos, at least in his first book, may have taken an approach that was closer to his Greek predecessors than was Manetho’s’. 20 On Hieronymus: Reuss (1876), J. Hornblower (1981). 21 Murray (1972), 210 on Diod. Sic. 19.94–100. Cf. Riemann (1967), 63; Hornblower (2006), 313–4. 22 Jacoby (1909) [=Jacoby (1956), 16–64]. Similarly, Fornara (1983a), 1–46. 23 Toye (1995); Fowler (1996); Humphreys (1997); Marincola (1999); Joyce (1999); Luraghi (2001); Harding (2008); Clarke (2008). 24 See especially: Momigliano (1958) [=Momigliano (1966), Ch. 8]. 19

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maintaining that their conceptions of the new places encountered on their travels were shaped by the Histories, and that the influence of Herodotus’ work on their own is often pervasive.26 Murray argued that much in Hellenistic historiography and ethnography is ‘Herodotean’, in the sense that discussion of geographies and cultures informs discussion of the past—in contrast to a more narrow, ‘Thucydidean’, view of the past as a series of political events. His observations have led to a re-evaluation of even Polybius, once considered Thucydides’ natural heir.27 Katherine Clarke in her 1999 book Between Geography and History has explored the inextricable and complex relationship between the two ‘disciplines’ (as modern students regularly think of them) of geography and history in the works of the late Hellenistic and early Imperial writers Polybius, Posidonius, and Strabo. She rightly points out that the distinction between ‘Herodotean’ and ‘Thucydidean’ historiography ‘must be more a matter of emphasis than of mutual exclusivity’.28 But her book demonstrates how an awareness of the ‘Herodotean’ nature of much Hellenistic historiography can help in the evaluation and contextualization of fragments, and can also cast familiar authors in a new light.29 She argues that this is true even in the case of ‘Thucydidean’ Polybius, suggesting that ‘the geographical, ethnographical, cultural, Herodotean aspects of Polybius’ Histories have been underplayed . . . and that therefore Polybius could and should be given his proper place in the history of mainstream Hellenistic cultural historiography’.30

HELLENISTIC RECEPTIONS OF HERODOTUS’ HISTORIES The study of Herodotus’ reception history is important for the insights it can give to our own understanding of the Histories, for the

25

26 Murray (1972), 213. Murray (1972). Even by Murray: ‘ . . . Polybius was a political historian, in the tradition of Thucydides . . . ’ (1972, 211). 28 Clarke (1999), 66. On ‘Thucydidean’ historiography, see Strasburger (1954). 29 This is a paraphrase of her stated goal: Clarke (1999), 68. 30 Clarke (1999), 74. 27

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insights it can give to our understanding of the cultures that have appropriated the Histories in their different ways, and for the perspectives that it gives on the cultural transmission of one of the most controversial and influential texts to have survived from Classical antiquity.31 Thucydides’ reference to (unnamed) contemporaries or near-contemporaries ‘who are less interested in telling the truth than in catching the attention of their public’ (1.21) is often taken to be a veiled attack on Herodotus.32 Cicero describes Herodotus as ‘Father of History’ but also as a writer of ‘innumerable tales’ (Laws 1.5), and Plutarch launches a sustained polemical assault on his ‘malice’.33 In modern times, some scholars have treated Herodotus’ claims about his travels and use of sources with great scepticism, writing critiques such as the provocatively titled article ‘Did Herodotus ever go to Egypt?’,34 whereas others have emphasized his sophistication as a narrator and historian.35 Beyond the scholarly community, books in the last twenty years have portrayed Herodotus variously as a protojournalist, responsible for ‘world literature’s first great work of reportage’,36 and as the ancient source for the story of Gyges, which with mysterious power reaches across the centuries and ignites a transgressive, ultimately fatal love affair.37 This book explores some of the earliest ancient responses to Herodotus and the Histories through the extant written record. The temporal parameters for the studies are from the late fourth century to the middle of the second century BC—loosely, the early and middle ‘Hellenistic’ period.38 Historically, this period coincides with a flourishing in scholarly, literary and artistic life at Alexandria up until the expulsion of intellectuals by Ptolemy VIII in 145, and the following chapters consider a number of authors closely connected with

31

Herodotus is an obvious and important subject for reception studies as the supposed ‘father’ of ‘any number of academic disciplines’ (Harrison 2007, 44). For orientation on Herodotus’ reception, see: Busolt (1895), 615; Jacoby (1913), 505–20; Schmid (1934), 663–73; Riemann (1967); Evans (1968); Bichler and Rollinger (2000), 114–19; Hornblower (2006). On the papyri of Herodotus: West (2011). For discussion of the ‘fragments’ or citations of Herodotus in antiquity, see Brunt (1980), Lenfant (1999), Pelling (2000b) and Lenfant (2007). 32 This passage is discussed in Chapter Two. 33 Plutarch, On the Malice of Herodotus. 34 Armayor (1980). Cf. Fehling (1971, 1989), Armayor (1978, 1985), West (1985). 35 Most recently: Baragwanath (2008). 36 37 Kapuściński (2007), 259. Ondaatje (1992).

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Alexandria, giving important insights to Herodotus’ reception in that context in particular.39 Some of the evidence considered also offers insights to Herodotus’ reception in the wider Greek-speaking world during this period—for it is the Greek-speaking world, Greek culture, and Greek texts which are the focus of these studies (a restriction brought about by the limits of my own expertise).40 Chapter One outlines and analyses Hellenistic traditions about Herodotus’ life for their potential to yield information about the reception of the Histories. Multiple, and sometimes conflicting, biographical claims were made connecting Herodotus with different cities and regions round the Hellenistic Greek world. Some of these are historically problematic. Chapter One argues that biographical details about Herodotus were considered important to communities because it was thought they could explain the way a region was portrayed in the Histories, and because establishing positive ties with the famed historian was a means of conferring honour on a community and stoking local pride in its past. Competing claims—for example, traditions locating Herodotus’ tomb variously at Thurii, Pella, and Athens—are testimony to Herodotus’ importance in different parts of the Hellenistic world. The changed historical circumstances in the Hellenistic period (when it seems most likely that the extant traditions about Herodotus’ life were first recorded) can help to explain why particular traditions were perpetuated, and quite possibly arose or were ‘invented’. The claims are testimony to Herodotus’ status as an author with a readership of wide geographic spread in the Greek-speaking world, and also offer insights into the relevance of the Histories to particular audiences. The second part of the book turns from discussion of remarks made about ‘Herodotus’—the historical individual and author of the Histories—to the study of direct engagement by Hellenistic writers with the Histories and their subject matter. Considered choices were made by later writers about which aspects of the Histories to appropriate and which aspects to reject, depending on their own rhetorical goals.

The term ‘Hellenistic’ is discussed further below. It includes, for example, Aristarchus of Samothrace in its scope, an important figure in Herodotus’ reception history, since he wrote the first commentary on Herodotus. The fragments of this commentary are discussed in the Appendix. 40 I hope that the insights will nevertheless prove useful. 38 39

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Chapter Two highlights the importance of Herodotus’ keen interest in ‘wonders’ for understanding his reception. Conflicting views in the Hellenistic period about whether wonders were suitable material to include in works of history would have informed judgements about Herodotus’ reputation as a historian. ‘Paradoxography’—a type of literature that seems to have proliferated in the Hellenistic period— suggests that there were audiences with a strong interest in material of a wondrous and paradoxical nature. This chapter discusses the distinctiveness of Herodotus’ interest in the wondrous and the peculiarities of the rhetoric he employs in describing wonders through comparisons with Thucydides and Aristotle, before considering Herodotus’ influence on Hellenistic paradoxography. Despite the fact that Herodotus is only rarely a source for the paradoxographers, the determination to find wonder in the world and at the same time to display an awareness of the most up-to-date contemporary learning, combine in the paradoxographical works to give them a character which is strongly reminiscent of the Histories. Chapter Two also considers evidence that Herodotus influenced both the types of works that came to be included in Hellenistic lists of the Seven Wonders of the World—what was classed as ‘worth seeing’ or ‘wondrous’—as well as some of the descriptions of these works. Additionally, it argues that Callimachus and Posidippus sometimes appropriate or reject Herodotus’ rhetoric of wonder to highlight their own aesthetic concerns, such as the relative merits of the small and the large scale, and the appropriate criteria for evaluating the works of humans and gods. The chapter concludes with a brief discussion of possible parallels between Herodotus’ attitude to wonders, and wonder as an impulse for Hellenistic scholarly inquiry. Chapter Three examines Herodotus’ ongoing importance as a source of geographical information. The increased knowledge of the world in the Hellenistic period naturally meant that much geographical information from the preceding centuries (including that found in the Histories) was challenged. Many uncertainties remained, however, and this chapter highlights overlooked evidence indicating that Herodotus’ views continued to be important in theoretical discussions about the unknown and unexplored world. Herodotus’ remarks on the Hyperboreans and Hypernotians may have influenced some Hellenistic geographers in their conceptions of the southern parts of the world, and Herodotus’ suggestion that the Nile coursed from the west of the African continent apparently continued

Introduction

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to be taken seriously. Details from the Histories relating to the world of the past also attracted interest: for example, Hecataeus of Abdera manipulates geographical information in Herodotus about the location of Colchis when it was first settled, and Apollonius incorporates geographical material from the Histories into the world of his Argonautica. Traditional views of the world could prevail, even in light of contradictory evidence, and geographical information from Herodotus was not simply ignored as obsolete and outdated. One important reason for Herodotus’ popularity (relative to Thucydides) in the Hellenistic and Roman periods was his focus on the Persian Wars: the appeal of a glorious Greek victory over a non-Greek foe was much broader than that of a long and destructive war between different Greek city-states.41 Chapter Four tries to assess the impact of Herodotus’ account of the Persian Wars in the Hellenistic period. Firstly, it discusses the assimilation of the invasion of Greece by the Gauls in the third century to Xerxes’ invasion in the fifth; this highlights some of the difficulties involved in isolating Hellenistic reactions to Herodotus (in particular) on the Persian Wars. Source criticism is a problem, but so too is the fact that the Persian Wars were common currency in the Greek construction of their past. The chapter then turns to examine the testimony of Timaeus of Tauromenium on Gelon’s involvement in the Persian Wars. This example illustrates how the Persian Wars were a prime target for rewriting and how this rewriting by a historian of the Western Greek world sought to bolster the involvement and importance of the West in the Wars and on their outcome. Comparison of Timaeus’ account with the Histories illuminates aspects of Herodotus’ account which were probably unpopular among Western Greek communities. There were surely marked regional differences in the way the Histories were read and Herodotus’ treatment of the Persian Wars theme must explain the Histories’ controversialness as much as its popularity. A final section argues that Herodotus’ opening chapters on the origin of the Persian Wars provide an interpretative frame not only for the Histories, but also for later writers dealing with the theme of East-West hostilities, and it shows how this Herodotean framework permeates Apollonius’ Argonautica and Lycophron’s Alexandra. These examples also provide evidence for very close readings of parts of Herodotus’ account of the

41

Hornblower (1995), 66.

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Persian Wars, and show that these Hellenistic poets expected their audiences to be highly familiar with Herodotus. Chapter Five discusses interpretative possibilities and contexts for Herodotus’ ‘Homeric’ reputation. The appellation ‘Prose Homer of History’ in the second century Salmakis Inscription (SGO 01/12/02) proves to be a useful focus of reflection on the place of Herodotus in a variety of ongoing debates in antiquity about how to record the past. Herodotus’ connection with Homer firstly seems to reflect his perceived cultural importance. This can be explained (in part, at least) by his main subject matter of the Persian Wars, as proud and important a moment in the cultural memory of the Greeks as the Trojan War itself. The Histories’ attention to inter-polis and even inter-‘national’ affairs also made it an important larger narrative to which all Greek communities might look when trying to understand and advertise their local past within a wider Greek context. The Histories related a past relevant to almost all Greeks and ensured that Herodotus’ interest and appeal could rival Homer’s. The chapter argues that Herodotus’ Homeric reputation is related to (overlapping) interests in his prose style, in the relationship between poetry and history, and in the appropriateness of truth and ‘fiction’ in different types of literary works. A common reputation for lies (of different sorts) may rest behind comparisons of Herodotus with Homer, but Herodotus’ cultural importance, like Homer’s, need not have been diminished by a reputation for lies. Some 300 years after Herodotus lived, the most famous and important of the Homeric critics and Alexandrian philologists, Aristarchus of Samothrace, wrote a commentary on Herodotus. This survives in brief fragments on a papyrus (P. Amherst XII),42 and a short Appendix discusses this important piece of Herodotus’ reception history.

42 First published: Grenfell and Hunt (1901), vol. 2, no.12. Reprinted with bibliography: Paap (1948), 37–40.

Introduction

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FRAGMENTATIONS: SINGLE AUTHOR RECEPTION HISTORIES, SOURCES, AND PERIODIZATION My selective studies pick out only a few of the many possible angles for thinking about Herodotus’ reception—such is the multi-faceted nature of the Histories, and reception can of course be described and studied in a variety of ways. This book ‘thickens’ the account of Herodotus’ early reception, but it is not comprehensive and it will inevitably raise questions and point to avenues for further research (which, in turn, will refine, nuance and complement many of the ideas in this book). The following chapters could themselves be regarded as fragments which, together, and with other studies past and future, help to fill in and build up the story of Herodotus’ early reception history. In 2006 Ralph Hexter considered some of the difficulties and problems involved in writing reception histories of single authors. When studying a work that responds to an author, the tendency is to privilege links with that author; but ideally (according to Hexter), studies should instead ‘calibrate’ the reception of the author under consideration with that of other authors to which a work may be responding. A focus on single authors risks oversimplification when explicating individual reception moments.43 Hexter also suggests that a major problem with the practice of repeatedly writing Nachleben (‘Afterlife’) accounts which proceed author by author, is that ‘we are deepening and fortifying ways of thinking we ought rather to be conceiving as temporary assemblages that should give way to yet other imaginary constructions’, and he worries that such accounts are irrationally organized collections of individual moments of reception. The focus, Hexter suggests, should rather be on the ‘moment’, and on the ‘horizon(s) of expectation’ (broadly conceived) at that moment. Additionally, he suggests that overcoming the multiple challenges involved in writing reception histories is ultimately impossible, and advocates variety in approach as a way forward ‘so that the picture that might begin to emerge will be suggestive of a threedimensional one by virtue of its multi-ocular focus’.44 One vision of reception studies of single authors Hexter has are thick descriptions of literary context covering very circumscribed periods and regions 43

Hexter (2006), 27–8.

44

Hexter (2006), 29–30.

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for the author/work(s) considered, and this book can in a sense be considered a preliminary—though imperfect—response to this vision.45 In contrast, however, in the same volume of essays Charles Martindale asserts the importance of diachronic reception histories for individual texts, since these raise our consciousness of past readings which may have affected our own, of which we may be ‘ignorant’ but not ‘innocent’.46 Different methods of approach to an author’s reception history will clearly have different strengths, weaknesses, and challenges, and a variety of different approaches can offer insights of different sorts. The most pressing difficulty in writing any reception history for antiquity, and for the Hellenistic period in particular, is the huge loss of raw data. Not only must one grapple with fragmentary texts, but the literary record itself is fragmentary, with entire works lost. The qualification ‘literary’ of course also serves to remind us of the massive, irrecoverable gaps in our knowledge and understanding of the nature and extent of the oral record. The incompleteness and unevenness of the record with which we are forced to work should never be downplayed. It is important to remain alert to the inevitable provisionality of any interpretation, and the possibility that large numbers of key pieces in an extraordinarily complex multi-dimensional jigsaw are lost; this alertness will allow us to see more readily problems with existing interpretations when new evidence comes to light, or when the existing evidence is reviewed in different ways. Uncertainty about the nature of the fourth century Epitome of Herodotus, attributed to the historian Theopompus, is just one important example of the problems which the lacunose record creates for our understanding of Herodotus’ reception. If the Epitome existed,47 and if it was widely referred to, then this may have had important repercussions for subsequent knowledge of the

45

46 Hexter (2006), 30–1. Martindale (2006), 5. The Epitome of Herodotus (FGrH 115, T1, FF1–4) was either a separate work or perhaps a name given to an excursus in the Philippika. See further: Christ (1993). See also Flower (1994), 28 and 253–4. Among the Oxyrhynchus Papyri there is an epitome of Herodotus (P. Oxy. VI 857, fourth century AD), which summarizes Hdt. 7.148–52 (recto) and 7.163 (verso). The original editors of the papyrus, Grenfell and Hunt, suggested that Theopompus may be the author, but note that it is stylistically unusual (containing two examples of hiatus) when compared with other fragments of Theopompus: Grenfell and Hunt (1908), 162. Jacoby (1913, 514) also casts doubt on Theopompan authorship of the papyrus. 47

Introduction

13

Histories; but with almost no knowledge of the Epitome’s accuracy, character, and later importance, it is impossible to gauge what these repercussions might have been. Other writers also engaged closely with Herodotus—Ephorus, Manetho and Hecataeus of Abdera, for example—appropriating his material or reacting against it, and it is difficult to know how greatly the loss of these authors’ works (which are transmitted only in fragments) skews our perception of later writers’ reactions to Herodotus.48 How can we accurately calibrate the reception of Herodotus with other authors when we know little about many of these authors, about their responses to Herodotus, and about the influence of those responses? There is no one best method of approach to studying Herodotus’ reception in antiquity. Insofar as the literary record is concerned, we are necessarily confined to using the extant texts, despite the obvious problem that this may lead us to give undue weight to the scraps of evidence they provide. The method of approach used in this book varies according to the nature of the evidence and the questions being addressed. I have tried to highlight evidence which has not previously been adequately appraised—to fill in some of the unnecessary gaps in our understanding of Herodotus’ reception—and also to approach the evidence thematically, rather than author by author, to try to cast new light on old evidence. The term ‘reception’ was coined to highlight the active role played by readers in conferring meaning on a text,49 and in this book I therefore also try to emphasize the importance of the ‘receivers’ in the reading process, which in older accounts of authors’ Nachleben is regularly subordinated. Given the uncertainties involved in using epitomes and fragments, and the controversies in attribution and interpretation of such evidence, many of my interpretations will inevitably remain open ones.50 One author deserving special mention is Diodorus Siculus, whose Bibliothēkē, written at Rome sometime before 31 BC,51 is an invaluable 48 Cf. Hornblower (2006), 312: ‘ . . . we cannot always be certain whether proven knowledge of Herodotus’ subject-matter on the part of a post-Ephoran author was obtained directly or via Ephorus’. 49 Martindale (2006), 11. It has been suggested that the term does not go far enough: Simon Goldhill (2002b, 297) argues that ‘reception’ is ‘too blunt, too passive a term for the dynamics of resistance and appropriation, recognition and self-aggrandisement’ which are often at play in cultural processes. 50 On the use of fragments and epitomes, see in general Brunt (1980). 51 Green (2006), 2–7.

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source for ancient historians of the Hellenistic period. There has been considerable modern controversy concerning his methods: for much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries his credentials as a historian were scorned, and he was regarded widely as a ‘cut-and-paste’ historian, who mindlessly copied from his sources.52 There has recently been a push to evaluate Diodorus’ methods and idiosyncrasies more closely, however, rather than simply treating his Bibliothēkē as a goldmine for the material of earlier writers. His originality as a writer and his efforts to create a stylistically unified account are now being re-examined.53 This book draws on Diodorus in trying to evaluate the relationship of some Hellenistic writers to Herodotus, particularly in Chapter Three (for Agatharchides of Cnidus and Hecataeus of Abdera) and Chapter Four (for Timaeus of Tauromenium). In these sections I have generally assumed that Diodorus is representing the basic facts in the source on which he draws accurately, even if there is compression and stylistic change.54 The possibility remains, however, that Diodorus’ reworking of his material in these sections is more considerable than many scholars—including myself—have assumed and appreciated. The focus of this book on a period of around two hundred years has allowed for the inclusion of a broad range of authors and works, thus highlighting Herodotus’ pervasive importance in a variety of different areas of intellectual pursuit; at the same time its limits have allowed a more detailed examination of responses to Herodotus than has previously been attempted for many of the sources considered. Herodotus was read widely and closely. This book seeks to expose a variety of discourses where Herodotus seems to occupy an important place in the intellectual background, and in particular it draws attention to writers not usually categorized as ‘historians’ in order to broaden our perspectives on Herodotus’ cultural importance. Through discussion of contemporary discourse relating to—for instance—the Persian Wars, geography, the wondrous, aesthetics, literary style, and biography, it nuances our understanding of how ancient readers reacted to and appropriated the Histories to serve

52

See Green (2006), 1, with references. E.g. Sacks (1990); Rubincam (1998). In general, see Chamoux’s introduction to the Budé edition of Diodorus, Book 1 (Paris, 2002). 54 See Bosworth (2003) for the view that authors such as Diodorus are concerned to transmit the ‘facts’ in their sources correctly. 53

Introduction

15

their own distinct rhetorical goals. In ongoing scholarship on the Hellenistic historians, Herodotus is being held up as a helpful model for understanding fragments, and the following chapters will provide some useful additional context for this work.55 Further studies such as these ones, on the early reception of ‘Classical’ literature, may also help to refine our understanding of the continuities and differences between literature of the ‘Classical’ and ‘Hellenistic’ periods. Periodization—the dividing of historical or cultural events in chronological periods—while a useful organizing practice, can encourage problematic homogenizing impulses in descriptions of literature and history.56 Reception studies have the advantage of emphasizing continuities between different periods. The common interest in certain themes which is evident in Herodotus and Hellenistic authors could be interpreted as evidence that Herodotus was in a sense ‘Hellenistic’ avant la lettre, or that many Hellenistic authors adopted a ‘Herodotean’ approach or world-view. Both explanations, however, seem to afford to the label ‘Hellenistic’ the power to explain the nature of a writer’s work.57 This is clearly problematic, since it implies a level of coherency and homogeneity in literature of the period which is contradicted by close study. Terms such as ‘Herodotean’ and ‘Hellenistic’, while useful, can obscure complicated relationships between texts and can misleadingly imply that these relationships are simple and easily explained. As J. Hillis Miller has remarked, ‘Each period is itself equivocal. Periods differ from one another because there are different forms of heterogeneity, not because each period held a single coherent view of the world.’58 While 55 Clarke (1999), Baron (2006). Baron (2013), a revised version of Christopher Baron’s doctoral thesis (Baron 2006), appeared around the time this book went into production and I have unfortunately not been able to take it into account. 56 Historical periods are ‘as indispensable as they are unsatisfactory for any kind of work in cultural study’: Jameson (1981), 28. 57 The term ‘Hellenistic’ for the period between Alexander and Augustus (conventionally, from the death of Alexander in 323, to the Battle of Actium in 31 BC, or to the incorporation of Ptolemaic Egypt into the Roman Empire in 30 BC) can be traced back to Droysen’s idea of ‘Hellenismus’, developed in his history of Alexander’s successors (Droysen 1836). Droysen used the term Hellenismus to explain his idea of a fusion of Greek and ‘Oriental’ cultures after the campaigns of Alexander (with Greek culture dominating), which he saw as ultimately leading to the development of the ‘Judaeo-Greek’ culture of Christianity. For further discussion of the term, see Bichler (1983). More recent discussions in English include Acosta-Hughes (2010b), Lane Fox (2011), and Moyer (2011), 11–33. 58 Miller (1975), 31.

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Herodotus and Hellenistic Culture

continuity between periods is partly emphasized in the following studies, the observed diversity of responses to Herodotus’ Histories reminds us also of the diversity of ‘Hellenistic Culture’—whatever meanings we might wish to invest in such a descriptor. Murray was right to emphasize the importance of Herodotus in this period (for Greek-speaking communities, at least), but if studies in the reception of Herodotus can help us understand the Hellenistic period better, they can equally help us to re-appraise scholarly use of the term ‘Hellenistic’ by drawing attention to both diachronic continuities and synchronic diversity in Greek literature.59 Any discussion of Herodotus’ reception at the very earliest stage in the fifth century is complicated and tangled inextricably with questions and arguments about the date of the Histories’ ‘publication’. Some of the arguments for alleged reminiscences of Herodotus in Aristophanes, Euripides, and Sophocles depend on an early publication date for the Histories, and some of these reminiscences have in turn been cited as evidence for the date of the Histories’ ‘publication’.60 In the fourth century, as in the Hellenistic period, we can be certain that Herodotus’ work had appeared, and we can therefore be more confident that similarities of theme and style may owe something to knowledge of Herodotus. Increasing levels of literacy is an important cultural phenomenon throughout the fourth century and the Hellenistic period, as is increasing formalization of education with programmes of set texts: both phenomena meant that knowledge of Herodotus could be reasonably expected of an educated reader, and that the numbers of readers were increasing.61 For most of the themes treated in the following chapters, there is already evidence of some interest in the Classical period. Herodotus’ reception in the period under study reveals a continuing interest in these themes, although new twists are evident. Perhaps the most distinctive feature of Herodotus’ Hellenistic reception is—paradoxically given the fragmentary nature of the evidence—that there is more evidence for engagement with Herodotus’ work, and in many cases these examples 59 See Acosta-Hughes (2010b) for some helpful reflections on the term ‘Hellenistic’ as applied to Greek poetry of the period 323–30 BC. 60 On Herodotus’ ‘publication’, see Wells (1923), Fornara (1971), Cobet (1977), Evans (1979), Flory (1980), Sansone (1985). It remains controversial whether the final ‘publication’ of the Histories should be dated ‘early’ to sometime in the years 430–425, or ‘late’, sometime in the years 420–415. 61 Cribiore (2001).

Introduction

17

are easier to identify. Herodotus is increasingly likely to be named, and allusions are more likely to be marked in clear ways, as if to ensure that the allusion will not be overlooked by readers. *** Responses to the Histories in the Hellenistic period were rich and varied, and detailed study of these highlights the complexity of the Histories’ reception at an early stage in its reception history. The Histories remained relevant to and contested by a broad range of readers and writers. We shall see preliminary evidence for this in Chapter One, as we examine the various claims made around the Greek world about Herodotus’ life, and as we consider why these biographical details assumed such importance.

1 Biographical Traditions What do we know about Herodotus’ life? The answer, frustratingly, is very little, or at least very little for certain.1 Many of the extant traditions about ancient writers met with scepticism already in the mid nineteenth century.2 In the 1970s and 1980s the work of Janet Fairweather, Alice Riginos, and Mary Lefkowitz highlighted the problematic methods which ancient biographers employed, with the result that many traditions in ancient Lives and anecdotal details about ancient writers—and about poets, in particular—have been exposed as possibly or probably unreliable historically.3 This has, however, encouraged fresh approaches to the ancient biographical traditions, and it is now recognized that these traditions can illuminate the ancient reception of writers’ works. In particular, Barbara Graziosi has demonstrated the ways that traditions about Homer’s life can illuminate the reception of the Homeric poems in antiquity, arguing that, since the stories are fictional, they must reflect ancient audiences’ encounters with the poems themselves.4 Graziosi highlights how different biographical traditions about Homer ‘ . . . explore the tension between Homer’s status as the Panhellenic author par excellence, and his relationship to specific audiences . . . ’.5 The biographical traditions about Herodotus offer important parallels. There is evidence for multiple claims connecting Herodotus with different cities and regions around the Greek world. These claims are testimony to 1 For Herodotus’ life and ancient traditions about his life, see Jacoby (1913), 213–80, Myres (1953), 1–16, Brown (1988). More recent discussions include: Bichler and Rollinger (2000), 111–13, Flower and Marincola (2002), 1–3, Asheri et al. (2007), 1–7, West (2007), 27–30. 2 For early bibliography on the subject, see Fairweather (1974), 231. 3 Fairweather (1974); Riginos (1976); Lefkowitz (1981). See also: Bing (1993). 4 5 Graziosi (2002), 3. Graziosi (2002), 11.

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Herodotus and Hellenistic Culture

Herodotus’ status as an author with a readership of wide geographic spread, and they can also offer insights into the significance of the Histories for particular audiences since there are strong reasons to think that several of the different traditions reflect different reception contexts. Details of the ancient biographical traditions about Herodotus are scattered and sparse. Most of the information we have comes from the Suda, the Byzantine lexicon of the tenth century AD (see the entries: ‘Herodotus’, ‘Panyasis’, ‘Hellanicus’, and ‘Thucydides’). The main Suda entry is given below: ʽ˙æ‚ ¸ı ŒÆd ˜æıF‚ AºØŒÆæ Æ ‚ H K ØçÆ H ‚ ŒÆd I ºçe KåÅŒg ¨ øæ .  Å  K ø fi Øa ¸ªÆØ e

I e æ ØÆ æ æÆ

 ª   AºØŒÆæ ÆF· —Ø źØ ªaæ q ıƒe æ ØÆ, F b —ØØ ºØ ¸ªÆØ. K s B fi ø fi ŒÆd c  Æ MŒŁÅ غ Œ ŒÆd ªæÆł ƒæÆ K ØºØ Ł0 ‚ Iæ  I e ˚æı F —æı ŒÆd ˚Æ Æºı F ¸ıH Æغø. KºŁg b N AºØŒÆæ Æe ŒÆd e æÆ

 K ºÆ, K Øc o æ

r  Æıe çŁ    e H ºØH , N e ¨æØ

I ØŒØÇ   e ŁÅ Æø KŁ º c qºŁ ŒIŒ E  º ıÆ K d B IªæA ŁÆ ÆØ. Ø b b K —ººÆØ ÆPe  º ıBÆ çÆØ . K تæç ÆØ b ƒ ºªØ ÆPF FÆØ. ‘Herodotus: son of Lyxes and Dryo;6 Halicarnassian; one of the distinguished men of that place;7 and he had a brother, Theodorus. He moved to Samos because of Lygdamis, who became the third tyrant of Halicarnassus after Artemisia (for Pisindelis was Artemisia’s son, and Lygdamis was Pisindelis’ son). In Samos he practised the Ionic dialect and wrote a history in nine books, starting with Cyrus the Persian and Candaules the king of the Lydians. He returned to Halicarnassus and expelled the tyrant. Later, when he noticed that the citizens envied him, he left of his own freewill for Thurii, which was being settled by the Athenians, and he died there and was buried in the agora. Some say, however, that he died in Pella. His books are inscribed with the names of the Muses.’ Suda, s.v. ‘Herodotus’8 6 Cf. Suda, s.v. ‘Panyasis’, which records that Herodotus’ mother’s name was Rhoea; and Tzetzes, Chiliades 1.1.22, which records Herodotus’ father’s name as Oxylus (although the Scholion ad loc. argues that this should read Xylus). 7 This phrase need not imply Herodotus was of an elevated social status, and may instead simply refer to the fame he developed as a historian. 8 The entry continues to give a brief account of a reference in a letter by Julian the Apostate to Herodotus’ account of the exchange between the Ethiopians and

Biographical Traditions

21

Other scraps of evidence for Herodotus’ biography also exist, such as epigrams, and some of these will be referred to below. Although no ancient Life of Herodotus has survived, there is every reason to suppose that one (or more) did once exist, and that the information we have often derives from such a source.9 Interest in literary biography reflects preoccupations which are especially characteristic of the third and second centuries, and this is the most likely historical period for a Life of Herodotus first being composed.10 In the following discussion I therefore often assume that the extant biographical information on Herodotus reflects a tradition current in the Hellenistic period. Where possible, I shall highlight further evidence which seems to confirm a Hellenistic milieu for particular details. Before considering some of the inferences which can be drawn about Herodotus’ reception from the extant biographical traditions, it is worth highlighting a fundamental difference between the traditions about Herodotus and the Lives of the poets (and also of Plato). Mary Lefkowitz argued of the poets’ Lives that ‘virtually all the material in all the lives is fiction’ and that ‘ancient biographers took most of the information about poets from the poets’ own works’.11 Alice Riginos reached similar conclusions in her study of anecdotes about Plato: ‘Nearly all the anecdotes are either based on specific passages in the Platonic writings or seem to result from a particular tendency or prejudice of the source which first circulated it or of sources which repeat subsequent variations.’12 In Herodotus’ case, however, most of the traditions in fact have little to support them in the Histories. And while it is true that it is not possible to infer much biographical information from Herodotus’ first person statements, it is remarkable that much which could have been inferred does not feature in the extant traditions.13 The biographical traditions make no reference to travel to (for example) Egypt, Phoenicia, Arabia, the Black Sea coast

Fish-Eaters in which the Ethiopians describe the food of the Persians—bread—as dung (Hdt. 3.21–4, esp. 3.22). 9 Cf. Brown (1988), 4, who calls the entry for ‘Herodotus’ in the Suda ‘a watereddown Byzantine version of an earlier Vita’. 10 Momigliano (1993). There is, however, evidence that Greek biographical writing began in the fifth century: Momigliano (1993), 23–42. 11 Lefkowitz (1981), viii. 12 Riginos (1976), 199. 13 On the information which may be inferred: Asheri et al. (2007), 1–2, 6–7.

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or Thrace, places which Herodotus himself claimed to have visited.14 The traditions instead claim that Herodotus travelled around the Greek world: to Samos, Thebes, Athens, Corinth, Pella, Olympia, and Thurii. (Of course, the fact that the traditions about Herodotus’ life show an independence from his work does not necessarily mean that they are true.15) Drawing inferences about Herodotus’ reception from the biographical traditions is therefore complicated. For this reason I shall be selective in the traditions discussed. In particular, this chapter will highlight traditions which are divergent, since in these cases an element of ‘invention’ may be suspected—that is, situations where traditions have arisen that are unsupported or not fully supported by historical facts. It will also focus on the broad geographic scope of cities and regions laying claim to Herodotus, because if a local claim indicates that Herodotus was important to that local audience (regardless of the veracity of the claim itself ), this presumably reflects a broad geographic spread in his readership. Inferences can also be drawn from historically implausible details: for example, traditions about Herodotus’ malicious motivations seem more likely to have stemmed from local hostility towards Herodotus than from historical fact. Hostile local claims (especially if fabricated) indicate that what Herodotus wrote was important to these communities, and they too hint at the broad geographic spread of Herodotus’ audiences, since maligning Herodotus would have little purpose if he was no longer widely read outside the community concerned. Conversely, even in cases where a historical basis for a claim is possible (for instance, Herodotus could very well have spent time at Samos and Thurii), the manner in which these claims are expressed suggests that the traditions were a matter of local pride. The figure and concept of the ‘historian’ seems to have changed from the Classical to the Hellenistic period. One indication of a change is the way in which the term historiographos (‘writer of history’) comes to be used: in the early third century, it starts to 14 Hdt. 2.3.1, 2.29.1 (Elephantine, Egypt), 2.44.1–4 (Phoenicia), 2.75.1, 2.143.1–4, 3.12.1 (Pelusium, Egypt), 3.12.4, 4.47.1, 4.81.2. Herodotus also claimed to have visited Boeotian Thebes (5.59) and Sparta (3.55). Asheri et al. (2007), 2, 6–7. The credibility of Herodotus’ travel claims has of course been questioned: Fehling (1971, 1989), Armayor (1978, 1980, 1985), West (1985); cf. Pritchett (1993). For further bibliography on this debate: Asheri et al. (2007), 226, n.10. 15 Marincola (2001), 20–1; cf. Flower and Marincola (2002), 1–3.

Biographical Traditions

23

appear in inscriptions (and in the literary record from the second century) as a term to describe men involved in the activity of writing about the past.16 The term is almost always accompanied by a full name, and indicates the person’s area of ability. Angelos Chaniotis has remarked that this development is characteristic of the Hellenistic period, when increasing specialization has been observed in all areas of intellectual life.17 As well as becoming an increasingly specialized activity, writing about the past took on an increasingly professional character, with men (and, exceptionally, even a woman18) writing histories of cities in prose and poetry for financial reward.19 During the Hellenistic period, the writing of local history flourished, and inscriptions attest to two different types of ‘local’ historian: the native historian, who wrote about the past of his own city, and itinerant historians, who wrote about the past of cities which were not necessarily their own.20 Itinerant historians are one (sometimes overlooked) part of a wider picture of itinerant artists and intellectuals: ‘considered alongside poets, artists, grammarians, philosophers, doctors, and musicians, they are seen as participating in a large diversified movement, typical of the vibrant dynamic of Hellenistic culture’.21 These itinerant historians were sometimes honoured publicly by the cities for which they wrote and performed their histories.22 Inscriptions record the gratitude of cities to these men and attest to awards of proxeny as well as the honorific title ‘benefactor’. Although financial rewards are seldom mentioned, free readings were probably the exception.23 The figure of the travelling intellectual is certainly not unique to the Hellenistic period,24 but, as Katherine Clarke has urged, we should not therefore allow the itinerant historians ‘to dissolve into a bland phenomenon of continuous mobility around the Mediterranean

16

Chaniotis (1988), 355–62, 382–7. Chaniotis (1988), 356. 18 Aristodama of Samos (218/7?): Chaniotis (1988), 338–40; Clarke (2008), 352–4; Rutherford (2009). 19 Clarke (2008), 364ff. 20 Chaniotis (1988), 364; 382–9; Clarke (2008), 344–67. 21 Schepens (2006), 100. Schepens draws on the study of Guarducci (1926). 22 On these public readings, see Chaniotis (2009), 259–62. 23 The honorific inscriptions for historians are collected in Chaniotis (1988), 290–326. For discussion, see: Chaniotis (1988), 362–5, 379–82; Clarke (2008), 338–54. 24 See, for example, Hunter & Rutherford (2009). 17

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world, involving intellectual figures of various kinds’.25 Herodotus and Hippias of Elis are reported to have given historical lectures outside their own cities in the fifth century, as are Anaximenes of Lampsacus and Theopompus of Chios in the fourth (and Olympia seems to have been a particularly favoured location for such readings).26 Inscriptional evidence indicates that the phenomenon became much more widespread during the Hellenistic period, however, when readings were given not just at the big sanctuaries, but also in small cities. Several factors might have encouraged the spread of the phenomenon from the third century: most importantly, opportunities for travel increased during this time, but as well as this, a profound shift in historical consciousness and the corresponding importance of local history for cities may also have encouraged a growth in the numbers of itinerant historians.27 This chapter exposes some of the claims connecting Herodotus with different parts of the Greek world as historically problematic. It argues that the changed historical circumstances in the Hellenistic period (when it seems most likely that the extant traditions about Herodotus’ life were first recorded) might help to explain why particular traditions were perpetuated, and possibly arose or were ‘invented’. The oddity that Herodotus’ biographical tradition only includes details about travels within the Greek world is remarkable, and the prevalence of itinerant historians in the Hellenistic period could provide an explanation for this: their own practice of travelling to different Greek cities to read their histories may have encouraged traditions about Herodotus which were cast in a similar mould. A retrojection of the practices of contemporary Hellenistic historians on the (imagined) figure of Herodotus would in particular provide a satisfactory explanation for dubious testimonies about payments made (or not made) to Herodotus in certain parts of the Greek world. If some or all of these claims are unhistorical, the increasingly common custom of awarding honours to itinerant historians who celebrated a city’s past makes the invention of such traditions about Herodotus more comprehensible.

25 27

Clarke (2008), 362. Chaniotis (1988), 368.

26

Chaniotis (1988), 366–7.

Biographical Traditions

25

HALICARNASSUS AND SAMOS The evidence connecting Herodotus with Halicarnassus is various. Most obviously, all the preserved manuscripts of the Histories record Halicarnassus as Herodotus’ city-ethnic in the Preface, rather than Thurii (which was apparently already a variant by the time of Aristotle).28 Herodotus is also connected with Halicarnassus in two inscriptions thought to date to the second century: the Salmakis Inscription (SGO 01/12/02) and the so-called Literaten-Epigramm (SGO 01/12/01).29 A portrait bust from the Pergamene library (built in the first half of the second century) also refers to Herodotus as Halicarnassian,30 and many later writers such as Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Strabo, and Josephus link Herodotus with Halicarnassus as well. Another detail in the biographical record connects Herodotus and Panyasis (the epic poet, variously attested as being Herodotus’ cousin or uncle)31 with the Halicarnassian tyrant Lygdamis. According to the Suda (s.v. ‘Herodotus’), Lygdamis was the grandson of Artemisia, and we are told that Herodotus ‘moved to Samos because of Lygdamis’. It was there that ‘he practised the Ionic dialect and wrote a history in nine books’. It is added that Herodotus subsequently returned to Halicarnassus, expelled the tyrant, but then left for Thurii ‘willingly, when he saw that he was envied by the citizens’. According to this tradition, the Histories themselves were written on Samos. The attention devoted to Samos in the Histories suggests that Herodotus knew the island well, and it is therefore certainly not implausible that he visited it.32 However, this tradition apparently reduces Herodotus’ travels to encompassing only Samos and Thurii, and it seems to deny any other travel for the purposes of research (a scenario which most modern scholars would find difficult to 28

29 Arist. Rhet. 1409a27. On these inscriptions, see Chapter Five. Jacoby (1913), 210. 31 Details on Herodotus’ family are provided in the Suda (s.v. ‘Herodotus’ and ‘Panyasis’); cf. Asheri et al. (2007, 3). The Suda (s.v. ‘Herodotus’) refers to Herodotus as ‘one of the most renowned’ (H K ØçÆ H ) men of Halicarnassus, which may, but need not imply an elevated social status: see above n.7. Fairweather (1974) considers the alleged kinship of Herodotus and Panyasis to be suspect: 258–9. 32 On Herodotus’ sources for his account of Samos, see Mitchell (1975). Irwin (2009) discusses possible reasons why Herodotus discusses Samos at such length, connecting his discussion with the contemporary politics of Periclean Athens and the Samian revolt. 30

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accept).33 Other biographical traditions suggest that Herodotus travelled after writing the Histories, or while he was writing it: Herodotus is said to have read his Histories at Athens and Olympia, and to have tried to read it at Boeotian Thebes and Corinth (and—it is implied— revised his work following an unwelcome reception).34 The claim that Samos was the location for the composition of the Histories implies a simple composition process, distinct from both the research and publication processes, but it is likely that Herodotus’ process of composition was more complex than this.35 A rival claim had also developed by the first century that the Histories was written at Thurii (this tradition is ascribed to the Roman biographer Cornelius Nepos: Pliny, NH 12.18). The tradition that Herodotus wrote the Histories on Samos looks to be a story promulgated to suggest an important link between the island and the historian. There were other claims connecting Herodotus with the island also. The early Hellenistic historian Duris of Samos (born c. 340), who was also tyrant of Samos, claimed that Panyasis was Samian, and he may have claimed Herodotus for Samos too.36 The relevant testimony again comes from the Suda (s.v. ‘Panyasis’) (= Duris FGrH 76 F 64): ˜FæØ b ˜ØŒºı  ÆEÆ I ªæÆł ŒÆd Ø , ›ø b ŒÆd {‘˙æ ¨æØ . ˙æ codd., ˙æ Wesseling (1758), ˙æ ¨æØ Krausse (1891), Jacoby (1913). ‘Duris recorded that Panyasis was the son of Diocles and from Samos, and in the same way too Herodotus wrote that Panaysis was from Thurii*.’37 *‘and in the same way too he wrote that Herodotus was Thurian’38: correction suggested by Wesseling (1758); ‘and in the same way too he wrote that Herodotus the Thurian was from Samos’: correction suggested by Krausse (1891) and Jacoby (1913). 33

On modern scholars’ views of Herodotus’ travel claims, see references at n.14. 35 On this, see further below. Cf. n.96. 36 Cf. Asheri et al. (2007), 3. Okin (1982) argues that Duris’ text does not support the claim that Herodotus was a kinsman of Panyasis, and that this was probably a later invention. On Duris: cf. Chapter Three, p. 124. 37 A possible alternative translation is: ‘Duris recorded that Panyasis was the son of Diocles and a Samian, but [became] Thurian, just like Herodotus too [became Thurian].’ 38 I agree with Jacoby (1913), 207–8, that translations along the lines of ‘Panyasis became Samian, in the same way that Herodotus too became Thurian’ are not supported by the extant Greek. 34

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The text is probably corrupt, since as it stands, it asserts that Herodotus claimed Panyasis was from Thurii (yet there is no mention of Panyasis in the Histories). An alternative reading of the text as it stands—that Panyasis became Thurian, like Herodotus39—is possible, but it requires the Greek to be construed in a rather unnatural way. Jacoby has made a good case for an emendation that has Duris claiming that both Herodotus and his kinsman Panyasis were Samian (it is, he suggests, difficult to see why Duris would make the claim that Herodotus was Thurian—Wesseling’s reading—especially if the cityethnic ‘Thurian’ was already relatively common in the fourth century, as the evidence of Aristotle seems to indicate). Although the testimony remains uncertain, Duris at the very least seems to have suggested that Herodotus had family ties with Samos through his kinsman Panyasis. The Suda (s.v. ‘Choerilus, of Samos’) also records a meeting between Herodotus and Choerilus of Samos, and an erotic relationship between the two (although this meeting was perhaps not alleged to be in Samos): ‘he [=Choerilus] fled from Samos and having spent time with Herodotus the historian he fell in love with stories, and they say that he became Herodotus’ lover’ (çıª E  KŒ ı ŒÆd ˙æø fi fiH ƒæØŒfiH Ææ æ Æ Æ ºªø KæÆŁB ÆØ yØ  ÆPe ŒÆd

ÆØØŒa ª ª  ÆØ çÆ ). The historicity of most of this entry is certainly doubtful: ancient biographers tended to draw ‘significant links’ of various sorts between famous literary figures, and details of their love-lives were particularly popular.40 The connection with Herodotus probably arose to explain Choerilus’ poetry on the Persian Wars.41 It may be significant that the tradition which asserts Herodotus wrote his Histories on Samos also suggests Herodotus had an uncomfortable relationship with the residents of his hometown Halicarnassus: the Suda (s.v. ‘Herodotus’) entry not only records that he was expelled by the tyrant Lygdamis, but that even after his return and overthrow of this tyrant, he was envied (çŁ   ) by his fellow citizens. This is a very different picture from that gained from the Salmakis Inscription, in which Halicarnassus’ connection with the famous historian is celebrated

40 See n.37. On ‘significant links’: Fairweather (1974), 256–66. On Choerilus and Herodotus, cf. Fairweather (1974), 259, 263–4. There is a long catalogue of famous poets’ lovers in Hermesianax F 7, which Bing (1993) suggests satirizes contemporary biographical methods. 39 41

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locally. The tradition that Herodotus was envied by the Halicarnassians recalls a similar detail also present in the biographical tradition of Euripides, who was said to have attracted the ‘native envy’ (K ØåæØ çŁ ) of the Athenians (and although there is a lacuna at the relevant point in the text of Satyrus’ Life of Euripides, this looks likely to have been the reason given for his departure to Macedon).42 There may have been similar stories about Aeschylus also.43 There is some reason to think then that it was a topos in Hellenistic biographical traditions to contrast the envy of a writer’s fellow citizens with the appreciation and honour of them abroad,44 and different biographical traditions may reflect rival claims made by cities on Herodotus. The Samian tradition indicates that it mattered to ancient readers where Herodotus wrote his Histories. The claim that Samos was that location, as well as a place of sanctuary for Herodotus, and perhaps even a homeland for himself and his kinsman Panyasis, establishes a strong link between the historian and the island.

THURII The tradition that associates Herodotus with the foundation of a settlement at Thurii could well be true (Suda, s.v. ‘Herodotus’; Strabo, Geography, 14.2.16). Thurii was a pan-Hellenic settlement founded c. 444/3, and it is not inherently implausible that Herodotus was among the original settlers.45 Herodotus himself, however, says nothing in 42

P. Oxy. 9.1176. Scullion (2003) expresses strong doubts about the historical veracity of Euripides’ time in Macedon. 43 On this, see Stevens (1956), 89–90 and the epitaph Anth. Pal. 7.40 of ‘Diodorus’. 44 On the topos of envy at home and honour abroad in the biographical tradition of Euripides: Hanink (2008), 122–4. Cf. Hermesianax F 7, Powell, in which the poets mentioned are often said to have left their homeland and settled elsewhere for their loves (and, in contrast, suffer in their new homes on account of these loves). 45 Similarly: Asheri et al. (2007), 4–5. On the foundation of Thurii, see Diod. Sic. 12.9–11, and Malkin (1987), 97–101, with accompanying notes and bibliography. It is thought to be using Thurii’s foundation date as Herodotus’ akme (traditionally defined as the fortieth birthday) that Herodotus’ birth was calculated as being in the late 480s: Dionysius of Halicarnassus puts Herodotus’ birth ‘shortly before the Persian Wars’ (Thuc. 5), and a tradition deriving from Apollodorus of Athens (second century) had it that Herodotus was 53 when the Peloponnesian War broke out

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the Histories which would lend support to the story, unless of course the textual variant ‘of Thurii’ (¨ıæı) for Herodotus’ city-ethnic was ‘original’ (Preface).46 However, he does mention the previous settlement on the site, Sybaris, and the Sybarites (5.44–5, 47; 6.21, 127). He even cites material evidence relevant to competing traditions about a war between the cities Sybaris and Croton—a precinct and temple to Athene of Crathis, and gifts of land in Croton (5.45)—but he makes no claims to autopsy of these. Indeed, there are no claims to autopsy for any of Herodotus’ chapters on Italy, which is surprising if any credence is to be given to the claim, existing in competition with the Samian claim, that the Histories were written at Thurii (the belief of Cornelius Nepos, followed by Pliny: NH 12.18). Lloyd’s caution, that ‘the absence of a claim to autopsy cannot be taken to mean that there was none’, is of course relevant, however.47 The testimony that Herodotus died at Thurii is of particular interest, because this is one of the clearest cases of competing traditions in Herodotus’ biography. The Suda (s.v. ‘Herodotus’) provides evidence of two traditions: that he died at Thurii and was buried in the agora there,48 but that ‘some say’ he died at Pella. There seems to have been a third tradition also, that his tomb was in Athens, along with the tomb of Thucydides, in the same area that Cimon and Cimon’s family were buried (Marcellinus, Life of Thucydides 17). In connection with the tradition of Herodotus’ burial at Thurii, there is an extant epitaphic epigram for the historian. It is quoted by

(431+53=484). For more on biographical traditions about the date of Herodotus’ birth and how the different dates were probably calculated by the ancient biographers, see Asheri et al. (2007), 5, with accompanying notes. 46 Aristotle’s testimony (Rhet. 1409a27) indicates that the variant was already in circulation as little as one hundred years after Herodotus wrote the Histories (and it should be remembered that ¨ıæı (‘of Thurii’) could have been the only reading known at that stage). Strabo (Geography, 14.2.16) records that Herodotus, though from Halicarnassus, was ‘later’ (o æ ) called Thurian on account of having participated in the settlement there. 47 Lloyd (1995), 274. 48 There is no clue as to location in Stephanus’ epitaphic epigram (s.v. ¨æØØ). Jacoby (1913, 214) dismisses the suggestion of a burial in the agora, but there is in fact evidence for this in special cases. In the Classical period intramural burials, and especially burials in the agora, were usually reserved for city founders and heroes, but honours could also be extended to writers, athletes, legislators, and citizens who had died for their homeland: see Martin (1951), 197–201, Malkin (1987), 200–3, and Hornblower (1996), 450 (on Thuc. 5.11.1). Gimadejev (1986) discusses the possibility of a hero cult for Herodotus at Thurii.

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Herodian (second century AD) and Stephanus of Byzantium (fifth/ sixth century AD) as evidence that ‘Thurion’ (¨æØ ) existed as a variant spelling for the city’s usual spelling, ‘Thurii’ (¨æØØ), and by a scholiast to Tzetzes’ Chiliades, as evidence for the name of Herodotus’ father49: ˙æ ¸ ø Œæ  Ø Œ Ø l ŁÆ  Æ‚   IæåÆÅ ƒæÅ æÆ Ø ‚ ˜øæ KŒ æÅ ºÆ ’· IH ªaæ ¼ºÅ 50 H  Œ æçıªg ¨æØ å æÅ . ‘This dust covers the dead Herodotus, son of Lyxes, the lord of Ionian ancient history, who flourished in exile from51 his Dorian homeland; for having fled from the insufferable criticism of its citizens he had Thurion52 as his homeland.’ Steph. Byz. Ethnica (s.v. ¨æØØ) = Page (1981), anon. CLIV

Although Herodotus’ work is referred to as ‘ancient history’, this does not necessarily imply that it was composed a long time after 49 The scholiast (ad Tzetzes, Chiliades 1.1.22) reads ‘Xylus’ instead of ‘Lyxes’, a corruption which could be explained through a simple transposition of the letters xi and lambda in the epigram. However, the change may have been intentional: the scholiast ascribes the reading of the epigram to the fourth book of an otherwise unknown work called Euthunai (‘Corrections’) by a certain Zeno (who has been identified with Zeno of Mynda, a contemporary of Tiberius, who appears to have had scholarly interests in Greek Classical authors; but Page (1981, 473) dismisses this identification as ‘blind guesswork’, and it is true that the evidence is flimsy). A change to ‘Xylus’ (meaning ‘wood’) could perhaps have been a ‘correction’ inspired by the transmitted name for Herodotus’ mother, Dryo (meaning ‘tree’ or ‘oak’). 50 The reading of this line is uncertain. ˜øæØø æÅ ºÆ ’ ¼ · H ªaæ ¼ºÅ is a possible alternative (‘ . . . who flourished away from the homeland of the Dorians; for having fled from their insufferable criticism . . . ’). For discussion, see Page (1981), 475. 51 For this meaning of KŒ, see LSJ A I 5 (with Od. 15.272). I believe that this translation is encouraged (rather than, say, ‘sprouted from his Dorian homesoil’) both by the explanatory ªæ which follows, and by the (corrupt) textual transmissions ˜øæ KŒ æÅ ºÆ ’ ¼  (on the corruptions and possible emendations in line 3, see Page (1981), 474–5). If KŒ is being used in this uncommon sense, this would help to account for the textual difficulties in the line. Cf. n.50. 52 Christopher Pelling has pointed out to me that, despite Herodian’s and Stephanus’ interpretations, the Greek word Thourion in this epigram could perhaps still be taken as an adjective, rather than a noun: i.e. ‘ . . . he had a Thurian homeland’.

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Herodotus’ death.53 The ‘epitaph’ is discussed by Page, and he, like Jacoby, considers a Hellenistic date for it to be most likely.54 The epigram provides no new information on biographical traditions about Herodotus per se, but it does provide useful corroboration for some of the patterns already observed. Particularly striking is the ‘insufferable criticism (mōmos)’ in Herodotus’ ‘Dorian homeland’ (Halicarnassus) offered as the reason for his relocation to Thurii. Presumably this should be connected with the curious reference in the Suda, discussed above, to envy (phthonos) directed at Herodotus by the citizens of Halicarnassus being the reason for his departure. Although phthonos (‘envy’) and mōmos (‘blame’) are not the same, they are related concepts (a relation of cause and effect: phthonos causes mōmos55) and they are often associated in poetry, as for instance at the conclusion of Callimachus’ Hymn to Apollo.56 Both are regularly alluded to by poets as potentially negative responses which their works might evoke in others. Mōmos, when used in the context of literary output, generally implies criticism of a literary oeuvre, and sometimes poets strike against it pre-emptively in their works.57 The reference to mōmos in Herodotus’ epitaph may then be meant to suggest specifically criticism of Herodotus’ Histories (of what form though is unclear). This criticism is further characterized

53 In Thucydides it seems that the Persian Wars already belong to a IæåÆEÆ (‘events of ancient times’) (1.21.2). The exact phrase IæåÆÅ ƒæÅ (‘ancient history’) does not occur before the first century (Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 6.83.2, 7.70.2; cf. Ant. Rom. 1.74.2, Thuc. 11), but this does not preclude the epigram being third or second century. Comparable is a reference in an epitaph for Machon, composed by Dioscorides in the latter half of the third century (so, Gow), where Machon (late fourth/early third centuries) is described as being ‘worthy of the old art’ (å Å | ¼Ø

IæåÆÅ) (Anth. Pal. 7.708 = Gow and Page (1965), Dioscorides xxiv). A third century inscription from Amphipolis refers to ‘ancient historians’ (IæåÆØ ƒæتæçØ), while another Hellenistic inscription (third/second century), probably from Stratonicea in Caria, refers to ‘the histories and ancient writings’ (Œ  H ƒæØH ŒÆd H

IæåÆø ªæÆø ): Chaniotis (1988): E6 and E9. 54 Page (1981), 473–5 (he does caution that it could be later); Jacoby (1913), 214. On the popularity of ‘epitaphic’ epigrams in the Hellenistic period: Bing (1993), 620–1; see also Fairweather (1974), 254. 55 Giangrande (1992), 55–6. 56 Callimachus, Hymn to Apollo, 113; cf. Bacchylides 13.199–200 and Timotheus PMG 791.210. Williams (1978), 96–7. On whether the Callimachean line should read çŁ  (‘envy’) or çŁæ (‘ruin’), see Blomquist (1990), Meillier (1990), and Giangrande (1992). The case for çŁ  (‘envy’) seems stronger. 57 E.g. Pindar, Pyth. 1.82, Bacchylides 13.199–200, Callimachus Hymn to Apollo, 113. Further examples can be found in Williams (1978), 96.

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as ‘unbearable’ (¼ºÅ ), which implies that it was particularly virulent, and suggests a stark contrast between the reception of Herodotus and his work in Halicarnassus and Thurii. The epigram celebrates Herodotus’ alleged connections with Thurii, both through its implied memorializing function as an epitaph, and in its description of Herodotus as ‘prytanis (‘lord’) of Ionian ancient historia’. The use of the term prytanis to describe Herodotus’ place in the historiographical tradition is noteworthy (we can compare Cicero’s much better-known formulation pater historiae, ‘father of history’: Laws 1.5).58 Page asserts that it is ‘quite a common metaphor’, pointing to a parallel case in a Hellenistic epigram by the third century poet Leonidas of Tarentum (Anth. Pal. 6.205.6) and to other parallels which are listed in Liddell, Scott and Jones’s Greek Lexicon (s.v. æÆ Ø, }I); none seems precisely comparable, however (especially not those examples where this term is applied to gods). Leonidas’ epigram concerns the dedication by a carpenter of his tools at the end of his career, and the axe is singled out as ‘lord (prytanis) of the trade’ (å Æ › æÆ Ø). Closer is Hermesianax’s ( fl. c. 330) description of Hesiod as ‘master (ēranos) of all historia’ ( Å XæÆ 

ƒæÅ) (F 7.22, Powell),59 and an Epidaurean inscription from the end of the first century, which describes a man called Philip, from Pergamum, as ‘master (koiranos) of divine historia’ (Ł Æ ŒæÆ  ƒæÆ).60 The word prytanis conveys a sense of grandeur and may imply that Herodotus, as ‘lord’, was the most important writer of ‘Ionian ancient history’ (a slightly different nuance then from the genealogical description which Cicero chooses).61 The characterization of Herodotus’ work as ‘Ionian’ is striking, especially in such close proximity to the description of Halicarnassus as ‘Dorian’. ‘Ionian’ here presumably means ‘written in Ionic dialect’. It is conceivable that Herodotus’ use of Ionic, though he came from a 58

On the phrase pater historiae, cf. Chapter Five. This poem is discussed briefly in Bing (1993), 629–30. 60 Chaniotis (1988): E23. 61 The singular, historia, is less common than the plural, historiai, except in poetry: Chaniotis (1988), 359. The comparable nature of the descriptions ‘lord of Ionian ancient historia’ (  IæåÆÅ ƒæÅ æÆ Ø ), ‘master of all historia’ ( Å XæÆ  ƒæÅ) and ‘master of divine historia’ (Ł Æ ŒæÆ  ƒæ) raises questions about whether these descriptions reflect some formal classificatory system of different authors who were perceived to be engaged in the practise of historia (and if so, whether the description of Herodotus as ‘the prose Homer of historia’ (e Çe

K ƒæÆØØ ˇÅæ ) in the Salmakis Inscription does also). 59

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(Carian-)Doric city, was sometimes regarded as anomalous in antiquity: we have seen the tradition recorded in the Suda (s.v. ‘Herodotus’) that during his stay on Samos he ‘practised’ (MŒŁÅ) Ionic—an odd detail, which seems to suggest previous unfamiliarity with the dialect (this is in fact unlikely, since we know Ionic was used in inscriptions in fifth century Halicarnassus). The juxtaposition of ‘Ionian’ with ‘Dorian’ in the epitaphic epigram perhaps hints at this perceived anomaly. The Ionic dialect was a feature of Herodotus’ Histories which was regularly remarked upon and admired in antiquity (see Chapter Five). The identification of Halicarnassus as Dorian is also significant. Halicarnassus did not belong to the Dorian Hexapolis when Herodotus was writing (Hdt. 1.144), perhaps because its heritage was perceived to be too mixed. Halicarnassus’ Carian roots were downplayed during the Hellenistic period, however, so the description of Halicarnassus as ‘Dorian’ accords well with the presumed Hellenistic date for the epigram.62 Moreover, the references in the epigram to Herodotus’ Ionian and Dorian ‘elements’ makes good sense in the geographical context of Thurii (which the epigram itself suggests), with its ethnically mixed populace that included both Ionians and Dorians.63 Whether or not the epigram was composed in or for Thurii, it certainly evokes a Thurian perspective and outlook, and it suggests ethnic affinities with the historian may have been one theme for expressions of local pride in Hellenistic Thurii. For a settlement geographically removed from the land of its inhabitants’ ancestors, the epigram’s reference to Herodotus’ relocation from the eastern Greek world to a new ‘homeland’ ( æÅ) in the West (lines 3–4) suggests there could also be high cultural value attached to stories of his expatriate status. Whether or not the epigram was ever inscribed on a grave-stone at Thurii,64 a continued connection between Herodotus and this western homeland is implied by the epigram’s opening claim that Herodotus lies beneath the dust of Thurii. This physical connection is also vividly evoked by the epigrammatist’s use of the verb ‘shoot forth’ 62 For a discussion of Halicarnassus’ ethnic representation in the Hellenistic period: Gagné (2006), 19ff. 63 On the ten different tribes of Thurii (Diod. Sic. 12.11), see Ehrenberg (1948), 157–9. 64 Page (1981), 474 and Jacoby (1913) reject the idea. Cf. n.48.

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(ºÆ ø) to describe Herodotus’ life in Thurii: the imagery is botanical, and can be usefully compared with imagery in the Salmakis Inscription and the Literaten-Epigramm, which both advertise Herodotus’ Halicarnassian origins.65 In the Salmakis Inscription, Halicarnassus is said to have ‘sowed’ both Herodotus and Panyasis ( ˙æ . . . Xæ and  Øæ —Æ ÆØ , col. 2, lines 43–5); and in the Literaten-Epigramm, which_ celebrates Herodotus, Panyasis and Andron, the poet remarks that (by way of contrast with Halicarnassus) ‘among the Indians a root-growing shoot (ÞØÇçıc . . . æŁ) of the Muses was not raised’ (lines 2–3). The plant imagery of all these epigrams, though perhaps too familiar to be especially striking to ancient ears, is nevertheless evocative of a physical connection between earth and person. The clear importance attached to the idea that Herodotus had Thurii as his homeland, as well as Halicarnassus, provides suggestive evidence that the Histories were held in high esteem in these two communities at least. The celebratory nature of the epigrams also seems to indicate that there was cultural prestige to be gained within the wider Greek-speaking world through advertising Herodotus’ lifetime links with these communities.

PELLA AND PTOLEMAIC ALEXANDRIA The epitaphic epigram clearly alludes to the rival claims of Halicarnassus and Thurii for the status of homeland of Herodotus. A rival claim also existed for the place of death (and presumably burial) of Herodotus—Pella (Suda, s.v. ‘Herodotus’). There is nothing to indicate that Pella was a place of any importance during the fifth century, nor does it receive any special treatment in the Histories which might have encouraged the citizens of Pella to claim an association with Herodotus.66 It therefore seems highly probable that this tradition developed well after Herodotus’ death, at a time when Pella had taken on significance as the centre of Macedonian power, either in the fourth century, or during the Hellenistic period. Pella was developed 65

On these inscriptions, see Chapter Five. The single Herodotean reference to Pella is at 7.123.3, in the context of a topographical description of the route taken by Xerxes’ fleet. 66

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as a royal centre at the very end of the fifth century by Archelaus. The Macedonian court was relocated there from Aegae c. 406, and by 382 it was considered the most important city of the Argeads (Xen. Hell. 5.2.13).67 The tradition that Herodotus died at Pella suggests that there were attempts to sketch a life for Herodotus that included some significant link with Macedon. The Suda does not give any indication as to what Herodotus was alleged to be doing in Pella when he died, but there was another tradition (perhaps not independent) that Herodotus spent time at the court of one of the Macedonian kings: . . . ØæØł b Eºº ØŒ f ‘˙æø fi Ææa  Æ fi fiH ÆŒ  ø

Æغ E ŒÆa f åæ ı ¯PæØ ı ŒÆd 猺ı· ŒÆd EŒÆÆø fi fiH غÅø fi K ƺ , ª ª Ø* ŒÆa a — æØŒa j ØŒæfiH æ. K Ø b ŒÆd åæØ H — 挌ı åæ ø ŒÆd K º Å K

— æ æÅ B fi B fi ŒÆ I ØŒæf ¸ı . . . *ª ª g: Jacoby, RE VII (1912), 2670 ‘ . . . Hellanicus spent time with Herodotus at the court of Amyntas, king of Macedon, during the time of Euripides and Sophocles, and he overlapped with Hecataeus of Miletus, who was born* during the time of the Persian Wars, or a little before. Hellanicus lived until the time of Perdiccas, and died in Perperene, on the mainland opposite Lesbos . . . ’ *‘[Hellanicus] having been born . . . ’: alternative reading suggested by Jacoby, RE VII (1912), 2670.68 Suda (s.v. ‘¯ºº ØŒ) = FGrH 4 T 1 = Hellanicus T 1, Fowler (2000b)

The wealth of names in this Suda entry suggests that the source from which it derives set out an elaborate set of synchronicities between Hellanicus and other historical figures. Unfortunately the synchronicities with the Macedonian kings are inconsistent with the dates of the authors (both the dates modern scholars have inferred from internal evidence in the authors’ works and the dates implied by other ancient biographical traditions). Amyntas I ruled until c. 498/7, and so is too early to have been the king visited by Herodotus and Hellanicus (assuming both were born around the time of the Persian Wars). Perdiccas II ruled Macedon c. 454–413, and this is also too early for Hellanicus’ death since some fragments from Atthis indicate that he 67

Greenwalt (1999). Hecataeus’ birth is normally dated considerably earlier than the Persian Wars, around 520, hence Jacoby’s proposed emendation. 68

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died after 407/6 (FGrH 4, FF 171–2).69 The difficulties with dates need not concern us overly, however.70 It is the allusion to a tradition that Herodotus had spent time at the Macedonian court (for which there is no corroborating evidence) which is important here. This is probably related to the (also unlikely) tradition that Herodotus died at Pella.71 What might have given rise to such claims? There is suggestive evidence for Macedonian interest in (and approval of) Herodotus’ portrayal of the Macedonian royal family in the fourth century Letter of Speusippus. This letter, now generally accepted as the authentic work of Plato’s nephew, Speusippus, is addressed to Philip II of Macedon and dated to c. 343/2.72 The letter states that its bearer is a man called Antipater, from Magnesia, who is writing a history of Greece in Athens and has been wronged by another Magnesian. It appeals to Philip II (who by that date controlled Magnesia) to lend Antipater assistance. The letter argues that this would be a just course of action due to Antipater’s criticism of a speech in which Isocrates ‘has neither made clear the good services to Greece performed by you and your ancestors, nor has he refuted the slanders made by certain people against you, nor did he refrain from attacking Plato in the speech he sent you’ (Letter of Speusippus, 2) (the speech has been identified as Isocrates’ Philip, published in 34673). In an expansion of these ideas, in a section outlining the benefactions of Philip’s ancestors (}}2–4), Herodotus receives special mention. Speusippus refers to the services rendered to the Greeks during the Persian Wars ‘by your ancestor Alexander and the others’. Alexander I’s benefactions are listed as: the killing of the ambassadors sent by Xerxes demanding earth and water, and the revelation to the Greeks of ‘the treachery of Aleuas and the Thessalians’, which led to the Greeks pulling out and being saved ‘thanks to Alexander’ 69

For the dates of the Macedonian kings: Borza (1990); Errington (1990). We can speculate about which kings were meant: the fragment makes more sense if we substitute Perdiccas II for Amyntas, and in turn Archelaus I (Perdiccas II’s successor) for Perdiccas. 71 These two traditions raise the possibility that in Macedonian cultural memory Pella’s political importance was believed to have had a longer history than it actually did. 72 The case was argued persuasively in Bickermann and Sykutris (1928). For the text of the letter, see Natoli (2004). For a summary of more recent scholarship on the letter, see Natoli (2004), 17, n.11. For the date 343/2, see Natoli (2004), 17. 73 Natoli (2004), 112. 70

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(Ø’ ’`ºÆ æ ). Speusippus comments: ‘Indeed it is right (åæB ) that not only Herodotus and Damastes have remembered these benefactions, but also he who shows in his speeches . . . [lacuna]’. The details of Alexander’s benefactions as they are represented by Speusippus in fact do not accord precisely with the record in Herodotus. For example, the killing of the ambassadors is presented by Herodotus as motivated by a slight to the women of the Macedonian court, rather than as a patriotic move (indeed, Herodotus tells us that Alexander’s father, Amyntas, acceded to Darius’ demand for earth and water) (5.17–21).74 There is also no reason, on Herodotus’ version of events, to suppose that the Greeks were unaware that the Aleuadae of Larissa had Medized (7.6, 7.172). Herodotus at least is being misrepresented by Speusippus for rhetorical purposes (it is difficult to say whether Damastes is also, given how fragmentary the remains of his work are).75 Nevertheless, Speusippus cites approvingly Herodotus’ portrayal of Alexander’s ‘benefactions’. This is no doubt due (at least partly) to the fact that Alexander is an ambiguous character, portrayed with extreme subtlety in the Histories; such a portrayal lends itself well to different interpretations.76 Speusippus also criticizes Isocrates for failing to address Philip ‘as a fellow citizen’ (‰ æe ºÅ ), claiming, firstly, that Heracles was the adoptive son of an Athenian Pylius and, secondly, that the Macedonian kings were descended from Heracles. Herodotus does not refer to the first tradition,77 but he does record the claim that the Macedonian kings were descended from Temenus, a Heraclid (5.22, 8.137). Herodotus’ inclusion of this tradition, which was a point of contention when he was writing,78 along with his unambiguous position that the tradition was true (5.22.1), presumably contributed to Macedonian royal approval of the portrayal of their ancestors in Herodotus. It seems plausible that the biographical tradition linking 74 So too, Natoli (2004), 80ff. In Herodotus, it is Darius who sends ambassadors to Amyntas (in c. 512/511), not Xerxes to Alexander (Speusippus’ account sets the killing of the ambassadors during the Persian Wars). 75 It has been argued that Damastes (FGrH 5) was the source for the story that the Greeks withdrew from Tempe because the Thessalians Medized (Diod. Sic. 11.2.6): Bickermann and Sykutris (1928), 31, Natoli (2004), 120–1. 76 On Herodotus’ portrayal of Alexander: Scaife (1989), Badian (1994). 77 The Letter to Speusippus is the earliest record of Heracles’ adoption by Pylius. On this, see Natoli (2004), 116. 78 Herodotus (5.22) refers to Greeks who wanted Alexander barred from the Olympic Games for being non-Greek.

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Herodotus with the Macedonian court perhaps owed more to Macedonian approval of the way the Macedonian kings were presented in the Histories than to historical fact. It is also worth considering the possibility that Herodotus’ alleged Macedonian connections may have been a matter of particular interest to the Ptolemies. The early Ptolemies portrayed themselves, or were portrayed by others (fictitiously) as relatives of Alexander the Great through Ptolemy I’s mother, Arsinoe.79 Posidippus, for example, was particularly concerned to present the Ptolemies as Macedonian.80 In one poem, he emphasizes his own Pellaean heritage in the immediate context of an appeal for ‘Macedonian’ honour (A–B 118.15–17).81 Posidippus was working in a patronage relationship with the ‘Macedonian’ descendants of the royal house. It is striking, and perhaps not accidental, that he elsewhere uses stories familiar primarily from Herodotus to allude to this patronage relationship. A tradition that Herodotus had also been patronized by the Argeads would provide an immediate parallel for the relationship between Posidippus and the so-called ‘Argead kings’ of Ptolemaic Alexandria (A–B 31.3). Another poem by Posidippus which refers to the dedication of ‘Arion’s lyre’ to Arsinoe by her temple custodian (perhaps at the shrine of Arsinoe-Aphrodite at Cape Zephyrium82) suggests obliquely the patronage of Arion by the tyrant Periander of Corinth (A–B 37). The epigram presents itself as the dedicatory inscription for the lyre of the seventh century musician Arion of Methymna, who, Herodotus tells us (Hdt. 1.24), was rescued from the sea by a dolphin. It is significant that an earlier poem in the collection (A–B 9) refers to a lyre too, again in a way which evokes the idea of artistic patronage. That epigram describes the ring-seal of the tyrant Polycrates depicting ‘the lyre of the bard who used to sing at your feet’ 79 Tarn (1933), 57–61; Erskine (1995), 41; Bing (2005), 125. Cf. Hunter’s (2003) note on Idyll 17.26–7. 80 Thompson (2005), 269–70. Posidippus’ insistence on the Macedonian heritage of the Ptolemies is a distinctive feature of his poetry when compared with that of his contemporary, Callimachus. Only once in the extant literature does Callimachus make reference to the Ptolemies’ Macedonian lineage: Hymn to Delos, 167, on which, see Stephens (2005), 235. 81 ‘My family is from Pella’ (— ººÆE ª  I ): A–B 118.17; ‘ . . . so that the Macedonians might honour me . . . ’ (ZçæÆ  ØøØ ÆŒÅ ): A–B 118.15. 82 Founded by Callicrates of Samos, the Ptolemaic nauarch soon before or after Arsinoe II’s death in c. 268: see further Bing (2002–2003) and A–B 116.

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39

(I æe IØF | [F ç]æÇ[  E] Ææa []d ºæÅ ) (for the _ _ Anacreon, _ _ compare: Hdt. story of the ring of Polycrates and the bard 83 3.39–43, 121). This epigram too recollects the lyric heritage of Archaic Greece and evokes the patronage enjoyed by Anacreon at Polycrates’ court.84 Susan Stephens has described how these poems create an allusive link ‘between those famous tyrants of old who subvented the arts and the Ptolemies, as well as a link between archaic poets and their successors in this new imperial court’.85 The very fact that the epigrams allude to the literary heritage of Archaic Greece indicates that the epigrams were meant to be read with that heritage in mind.86 Herodotus’ Histories provides an important window to that Archaic world, and it is probably no accident that when the epigrams are read against Herodotus’ stories, the lyre and ring-seal which the poems describe become physical links between the worlds of Ptolemaic Egypt and Archaic Greece. If it is correct (as seems the most likely scenario) to imagine that the first poem (A–B 37) refers to an actual lyre dedicated at the temple of Arsinoe-Aphrodite,87 then this dedication (¼ Ł Æ: A–B 37.7) (at Cape Zephyrium?) itself evokes the ‘small bronze dedication’ (I ŁÅÆ åºŒ  P ªÆ: Hdt. 1.24.8) of Arion on the dolphin at Cape Taenarum in the southern Peloponnese.88 Both dedications, in different parts of the Greek world, recall the same event and the places are imagined as connected across the sea by the journey of the same dolphin (A–B 37.4: ‘that dolphin crossed the white sea’, Œ E  . . . º ıŒa æAØ º[ªÅ). In the case of Polycrates’ ring-seal, a journey across the sea to Egypt is perhaps also envisaged. The stone of A–B 9 is presented as being the very one from Polycrates’ ring (‘your hand held [this stone]’, ]å b c å dæ: A–B 9.3), and Herodotus’ story about the ring concerns_ a miraculous journey through the sea in the belly of a fish.89 Although there is no mention in the epigram itself 83 Cf. Ibycus’ encomium to Polycrates: F 282 PMGF. On the reception of Anacreon and Ibycus in Hellenistic Alexandria, see Acosta-Hughes (2010a), 141–70. AcostaHughes (2010a: 141) reflects that the court of Polycrates was ‘a pertinent cultural model for a later court that controlled Samos’. 84 Cf. Bing (2002–2003), 261 n.39. 85 Stephens (2004), 173–4. 86 On the reception of archaic lyric in Hellenistic poetry, see especially Acosta-Hughes (2010a). 87 For the ways the dedication could be understood, see Stephens (2004), 162–3. 88 So also: Bing (2005), 129. 89 Compare also A–B 11 and 12, which concern gems that have come from the sea.

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of how the ring is supposed to have come to Egypt, the story of the ring’s journey as told by Herodotus would surely be in the ideal reader’s mind.90 Both seal and lyre evoke famous poet-patron relationships of the past, and although that past was geographically as well as temporally remote from the immediate context of Ptolemaic Egypt, the objects provided an immediate and tangible connection with that past.91 The epigrams allowed the viewer to understand and interpret the nature of that connection. For modern readers, Herodotus plays an indispensable part in that interpretation. Although the same was not necessarily true for ancient audiences (if they drew on other traditions also), the fact remains that Herodotus preserved traditions about the poet-patron relationships to which the epigrams allude, and his versions of the stories would have informed—in part, at least—the way in which ancient audiences understood the references to Arion and Polycrates. Herodotus, as a conduit for the traditions which inform the epigrams, is an integral part of the transmission of the cultural heritage of Archaic and Classical Greece to Ptolemaic Egypt, and the lyre and seal of the epigrams embody that transmission.92 As a final note to possible Macedonian and Ptolemaic claims about Herodotus’ life, it is worth recalling a comment by Athenaeus about public performances of Herodotus’ Histories at Alexandria:  ø ’ K æø fi — æd H º  æı I æH K º Æ æ Æ fi çÅd K

fiH  ªºø fi Ł æø fi  Œæ ÆŁÆØ ˙ªÅÆ e Œøø fi e a ˙æı, EæçÆ  b a ˇæı. ˙æı codd., ˙Øı Meineke. ‘Jason,93 in the third book of On the Divine Honours of Alexander, says that in the Great Theatre at Alexandria94 the comedian Hegesias

90

On A–B 9: cf. Chapter Two, 102–3. Cf. Bing (2005), 128–9, on A–B 37: ‘the poem represents a striking example of how an object, the lyre, may be made to embody the cultural/historical heritage, and become (quite literally) the vehicle by which that heritage is transmitted to a new place’. 92 On A–B 9 and A–B 37, see also Acosta-Hughes (2010a), 1–4, 142–3. 93 Jason of Nysa, or perhaps Jason of Argos: see Fraser (1972), II.65–6 (n.151). 94 The Great Theatre is of an unknown location, unless it was the same as the theatre close to the palace which is mentioned in later texts: Tomlinson (1996), 103, McKenzie (2007), 48. 91

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declaimed the works of Herodotus, and Hermophantus declaimed the works of Homer.’ Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae 14, 620d

The reading ‘the works of Herodotus’ (a ‘˙æı), which is preserved in the manuscripts, was emended to ‘the works of Hesiod’ (a ‘˙Øı) by Augustus Meineke in his 1859 Teubner edition of the text, a reading which has been followed by subsequent editors.95 However, a public performance of Herodotus is not in itself implausible and was certainly envisaged as possible in the ancient world (see, for example, Lucian’s account of Herodotus reading his work at Olympia: Herodotus, 1–2).96 The passage is also in other respects consistent with what we know of third century Alexandrian theatrical performances, suggesting that Meineke’s emendation is unjustified. Recitation from texts is thought to have been a dominant mode of performance at this time,97 and Hegesias and Hermophantus are both believed to have been active around the middle of the third century.98 We also know that theatrical performances of tragedy at least flourished at this time: the group of poets known as ‘The Pleiad’ is dated to Ptolemy II’s reign, and Theocritus refers to Ptolemy rewarding singers at the ‘sacred competitions of Dionysus’ (Idyll 17.112–14).99

95

In his volume of notes to the edition, Meineke (1867, 297) remarks on this emendation: Parum mihi credibile videtur Herodoti historias in theatro actas esse, quae res tam mihi mira visa est, ut Herodoto Hesiodi nomen substituere non dubitaverim (‘It seems to me scarcely credible that Herodotus’ Histories were performed in the theatre—so extraordinary does this seem to me that I have not hesitated in changing the name “Herodotus” to “Hesiod” ’). Cf. Hornblower (2006), 306: ‘ . . . it is tempting to keep “Herodotus” and juxtapose the poetic and prose Homer . . . ’. Gulick, in the Loeb addition ad loc., records a suggested emendation by Crusius of ˙ æ ı or ˙ æ Æ (I have been unable to locate the original reference in Crusius’ work on Herondas). Olson preserves Meineke’s emendation in the most recent Loeb edition of Athenaeus. 96 For Herodotus reading at Olympia, see also Suda, s.v. ‘Thucydides’. Modern scholars too have envisaged oral performance as an integral part of Herodotus’ ‘publication’ process: e.g. Evans (1991), 90; Thomas (1992) 125–6. Cf. Johnson (1994). Flower and Marincola (2002), 3, rightly draw a distinction between the biographical traditions about readings and the ‘publication’ process: ‘Although one need not accept all the evidence of H.’s recitations at Olympia and Athens, it is nevertheless likely that his work became known to the public largely through recitations by the author.’ 97 Fantuzzi and Hunter (2004), 434, 436. 98 Bonaria (1965a) and (1965b). One wonders what significance there is in the detail that Herodotus was declaimed by a comedian. 99 Fantuzzi and Hunter (2004), 434.

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Furthermore, inscriptional evidence suggests that lectures on historical themes were popular in the Hellenistic period.100 Public readings of Herodotus would accord well with the interest in Herodotean themes evident in Ptolemaic court poetry of the third century, as well as with the positioning of the historian by biographers in the milieu of the Ptolemies’ Argead ‘ancestors’.

THEBES AND CORINTH The claims made connecting Herodotus with Halicarnassus, Thurii, and Samos all appear to have been a matter of local pride, and the biographical links with Macedon and Pella very likely had political implications beyond the local level if it is right to suppose Ptolemaic interest in Herodotus. Traditions connecting Herodotus with Thebes and Corinth offer a stark contrast to the examples just discussed. The evidence for Herodotus’ alleged hostility towards the Thebans comes from Plutarch’s Malice of Herodotus. Plutarch cites the historian Aristophanes: æØç ı b F BØøF ªæłÆ  ‹Ø åæÆÆ b ÆNÆ PŒ ºÆ Ææa ¨ÅÆø , K Øå ØæH b E Ø Øƺª ŁÆØ ŒÆd ıåºÇ Ø  e H Iæå ø KŒøºŁÅ Ø’ IªæØŒÆ ÆPH ŒÆd غªÆ , ¼ºº b P KØ  ŒæØ · › ’ ˙æ fiH æØç Ø  ÆææÅŒ , Ø’ z a b ł ıH, a b Øa ŒºÆŒ Æ , a b ‰ ØH ŒÆd ØÆç æ  E ¨ÅÆØ KªŒŒºÅŒ . ‘Aristophanes of Boeotia wrote that Herodotus asked for but did not get money from the Thebans, and he tried to talk to the youth and spend time with them but was prevented by the authorities because of their boorishness and anti-intellectualism. There is no other evidence for this, but Herodotus has confirmed Aristophanes’ claim through his accusations against the Thebans, some false, some unjust, and some made with a spirit of animosity and quarrelsomeness.’ Malice 864d = FGrH 379 F 5

We do not know how early this tradition is. Jacoby confidently gave Aristophanes a terminus ante quem of Epaminondas (who died in

100

Chaniotis (1988); Chaniotis (2005), 224–5.

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362).101 His reasons were unsound, however, and there is in fact no clear evidence for his date, except that he must post-date Herodotus. If Plutarch’s detail about Leonidas’ dream predicting the rise and fall of Thebes (Malice 865e–f ) also derives from Aristophanes (an attribution which has merit, although it is not altogether certain), then Alexander’s destruction of the city in 335 would be an obvious terminus post quem. Another question which this testimony raises is whether the conclusion drawn by Plutarch—that the story about (non-)payment must be true since Herodotus is so clearly antipathetic towards the Thebans—was also the conclusion drawn by Aristophanes. Plutarch’s phraseology, particularly his intervening remark on there being ‘no other evidence’ for the tradition, suggests that the final conclusion is Plutarch’s rather than Aristophanes’. It is intriguing that Plutarch, apparently paraphrasing or quoting Aristophanes, refers to the ‘boorishness and anti-intellectualism’ of the Theban leaders. These words hardly cast the Theban leaders in a positive light, and raise the possibility that Aristophanes’ aims were rather different from Plutarch’s (it should certainly not be assumed that Aristophanes wished to malign Herodotus). Plutarch, who was from Chaeoronea in Boeotia, says explicitly at the beginning of Malice that he feels dutybound to defend his Boeotian ancestors (854e). By implying that Herodotus deliberately portrayed the Thebans in a negative light because of his personal financial motivations, he seeks to rehabilitate the reputation of the Boeotians. Aristophanes may have had similar, patriotic aims, but we do not know this.102 Aristophanes’ testimony paints Herodotus as a travelling sophist or teacher, wishing to converse with and spend time with ‘the youth’. (Herodotus’ own testimony suggests that he did indeed visit Thebes: he claims to have seen ‘Cadmean letters’ there, 5.59.) It is unclear whether Aristophanes himself connected Herodotus’ unflattering portrayal of the Thebans to his (alleged) failure to receive money from them. In a world where historians were honoured for flattering portrayals of a city’s history, however, it is easy to see how such a conclusion might become attached to this tradition. Boeotian Thebes should therefore be remembered as a probable counterpoint to biographical claims elsewhere in the Hellenistic world that celebrated 101 102

FGrH IIIb Comm. 160. On Plutarch’s patriotism in the Malice, see Hershbell (1993), 159–60.

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connections with Herodotus. Even the existence of hostile claims attests to the perceived importance of Herodotus’ work, however. There is also evidence for a remarkably similar tradition about Herodotus and Corinth. Favorinus claims in his Corinthian Oration that Herodotus’ unflattering testimony about the Corinthians’ part in the Battle of Salamis was due to an unsuccessful request for payment for his stories when he came to Corinth ([Dio Chrysostom], Oration 37.7).103 Favorinus calls Herodotus’ original stories ‘not yet lying’ (P ø ł ı E), and clearly implies that the stories about Corinth’s role at Salamis were false tales invented because Herodotus had not received any payment. Like Aristophanes, Favorinus also offers an explanation for the fifth century Corinthians’ decision not to remunerate Herodotus (and one significantly more favourable to the Corinthians than Aristophanes’ explanation was to the Boeotians): ‘for your ancestors did not think it right to do business in renown’ (P ªaæ Mı ƒ  æØ æª Ø Æ IªæÇ Ø ). Again, we see here a tradition hostile to Herodotus, which can be neither proved not disproved, but which (it seems plausible) may have arisen after Herodotus lived to explain unflattering stories in the Histories about Corinth’s role in the Persian Wars.104

ATHENS Few would want to deny that Herodotus spent some time at Athens.105 Nevertheless, the biographical traditions connecting Herodotus with Athens should be scrutinized also. The abbreviated life in the Suda makes no mention of Herodotus having spent time in Athens, and apart from the story of his participation in the Athenian settlement of Thurii, there is surprisingly scant evidence connecting

103

See especially Hdt. 8.94; also Plut. Malice 870a–871b. Plutarch accuses Herodotus of malice ‘towards the Boeotians and Corinthians in particular’ (Malice 854f ). As well as Herodotus’ account of Adeimantus’ actions at Salamis (Malice 870a–871b), Plutarch objects to Herodotus’ claim that the Corinthians were not involved in the fighting at Plataea in 479 (Malice 872c–e). Elsewhere Plutarch objects to the motivation which Herodotus ascribes to the Corinthians for their part in the attack on Samos in 525 (Malice 859e–860b). 105 See especially: 1.98.5, 2.7, 4.99.4f., 5.77.3f. Podlecki (1977) argues against this common scholarly assumption. 104

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Herodotus with the city. The story in Marcellinus’ Life of Thucydides, that the youthful Thucydides burst into tears at a public reading by Herodotus (}54), has sometimes been cited in connection with a sojourn at Athens,106 but no location for this event is given by Marcellinus, and the same anecdote is found in the Suda (s.v. ‘Thucydides’), where Olympia is named as the location for the reading. Herodotus was perhaps linked with Athens through the tradition of a ‘friendship’ with Sophocles (the description of the relationship as a ‘friendship’ is modern, not ancient).107 This tradition comes from Plutarch, in his work Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs. Plutarch gives examples of men who remained active in civic life at an ‘elderly’ age, and among these, he includes Sophocles. The evidence given for Sophocles’ activity is that he defended himself against a charge of dementia brought by his sons (Mor. 785a), and that he composed at the age of fifty-five a song for Herodotus (Plutarch quotes the opening of an epigram apparently meant to accompany it): fiTc ˙æø fi  F 猺B Kø J

 ’ K d Œ Æ· ‘Sophocles fashioned a song for Herodotus at the age of five-and-fifty.’ Mor. 785b; Sophocles F 5 IEG

If this tradition is historical, the epigram would date to around 442.108 It is usually assumed that the ‘Herodotus’ of the epigram is the historian, although this is of course not certain: the name was not uncommon.109 Suggestive commonalities of theme (particularly

106

Riemann (1967), 2; West (2007), 29. Cf. Fairweather (1974), 261–2. Recent examples of this description: Dewald and Kitzinger (2006), 127; West (2007), 29. On the tendency for the ancient biographers to draw ‘significant links’ between famous literary figures: cf. p. 27. 108 Asheri et al. (2007), 4. 109 See the LGPN. This is still a work in progress at the time of writing (2012), with the most recent volume being LGPN V.A (although Robert Parker and Richard Catling have kindly let me preview the data for Volume V.B). Volumes yet to appear are V.B (‘Caria to Cilicia’), and V.C (‘Inland Asia Minor’) and VI (‘Unassignable Individuals’). The majority of the attestations in the LGPN in 2012 are from the Aegean Islands (seventy-seven instances, including fourteen in Chios, thirteen in Samos, twenty-eight in Thasos), Ionia (forty-five instances), Attica (seventeen instances), Tauris (twelve instances), Macedonia (ten instances), Scythia and Scythia Minor (ten instances), and Thrace (nine instances). The as yet unpublished Volume 107

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Herodotus’ story of Intaphrenes’ wife, 3.119, and Sophocles’ Antigone, 904–12) have been observed in the works of the historian and poet, which, although they need not reflect any personal contact, have made a historical meeting between the two seem attractive.110 In turn, of course, the commonalities in theme may themselves have given rise to the tradition of a meeting or friendship (if there was such a tradition).111 Another tradition records that Herodotus’ tomb was in Athens, along with the tomb of Thucydides, in the same area that Cimon and his family were buried:

æe ªaæ ÆE  ºØØ ºÆØ ŒÆºı ÆØ Kd K ˚ºfiÅ a ŒÆº Æ ˚Ø ØÆ  ÆÆ,  ŁÆ  Œ ıÆØ ˙æı ŒÆd ¨ıŒıı ç. æŒ ÆØ Bº ‹Ø F غØı ª ı þ ·   ªaæ P d KŒ E Ł  ÆØ. ŒÆd —ºø b K fiH — æd Œæ º ø Ø Ææıæ E· ‘For at the Melitian Gate, in Coile, there are monuments called Cimonia, where the tomb of Herodotus and Thucydides can be seen. Clearly this proves that he [=Thucydides] came from the family of Miltiades. For no stranger/foreigner is buried there. Polemon attests to the same thing in On the Acropolis.’ Marcellinus, Life of Thucydides 17

If Marcellinus’ reference to Polemon of Ilium attesting ‘to the same thing’ refers to the tomb of Herodotus and Thucydides (and not exclusively to the burial of ‘strangers/foreigners’), then this testimony can be dated to the second century (Marcellinus himself—whoever he was—was probably writing around the fifth/sixth century AD, though drawing on earlier works).112 We have already seen that the site of Herodotus’ tomb was contested, which raises questions about the V.B includes twenty-two instances of the name in the regions from Caria to Cilicia (with eight in Caria, including ‘our’ Herodotus—his is in fact the only attested example of the name from Halicarnassus). Most of the attestations are fourth century BC or later, but there are some examples which have been dated to the fifth century BC (three instances in Abdera, two in Chios, one in Boeotian Thebes, and possibly one in Istros). 110 Compare also Sophocles OC 337–45 with Hdt. 2.35. Recent discussions of thematic resonances between the two: West (1999); Dewald and Kitzinger (2006) (with references). Cf. Appendix, 228–9. 111 Cf. p. 27 on Choerilus and Herodotus. 112 On Marcellinus’ Life of Thucydides, see Maitland (1996). The detail that ‘strangers/foreigners’ were not buried at the Melitian Gate makes one wonder whether Athens too at some stage claimed Herodotus as a citizen.

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historicity of this tradition.113 The tradition itself apparently attests to Herodotus’ importance at Athens, however, and particularly to Cimon’s family. Herodotus gives prominence to Cimon’s Olympic victories (6.103) and to the role played by Cimon’s son, Miltiades the Younger, in the victory at Marathon (6.109–11). It is this which probably accounts for such a strong link being forged between Cimon’s family and the historian (by later readers of the Histories, or perhaps by Cimon’s family). Another tradition clearly existed that Herodotus was ‘honoured’ by the Athenians. The Chronicle of Eusebius mentions this: ‘Herodotus was honoured when he read his books in the council at Athens’ (Herodotus, cum Athenis libros suos in consilio legisset, honoratus est). This event is dated to the year 445/4 (Chron. Ol. 83.4).114 The record in Eusebius’ Chronicle is perhaps related to the testimony of the Athenian historian Diyllus (third century), transmitted in Plutarch’s Malice, that ‘on the proposal of Anytus(?), he [=Herodotus] received a gift of ten talents from the Athenians’ (ŒÆ ºÆ Æ øæ a ºÆ K ŁÅ H  ı115 e łçØÆ ªæłÆ ) (FGrH 73 F 3 = Plut. Malice 862b).116 Plutarch on two other occasions raises the issue of financial advantage to Herodotus, in order to suggest that there were economic motivations underlying the way Herodotus portrays different Greek cities in his Histories. Shortly before mentioning the monetary ‘gift’ attested by Diyllus (Malice 862b), he refers to ‘that charge Herodotus bears of flattering the Athenians to get a lot of money from them’ (KŒ  Å c Øƺc m å Ø, ŒºÆŒ Æ f ŁÅ Æı IæªæØ

ºf ºÆ E Ææ’ ÆPH ) (Malice 862a).117 A second allusion to

113

Cf. Plut. Cimon, 4.1–2. See also: Eusebius, Chron. Ol. 78.1 (468/7 BC): ‘Herodotus was well-known for writing history’ (Herodotus historiarum scriptor agnoscitur). For a brief summary of the complicated transmission of Eusebius’ Chronicle, see Burgess (1999), 21–7. The standard edition of Jerome’s version of the Chronicle is Helm (1956). The Armenian translation of the Chronicle is translated into German in Karst (1911). 115  ı: this correction (for I dF in the codices) was proposed by A. Turnebus (Basel edition of the text). 116 Cf. West (1999), 111, who urges caution in connecting the testimonies of Eusebius and Diyllus due to the ‘disproportionately generous’ sum recorded by Diyllus. 117 Plutarch actually raises this in the context of evidence that would ‘help’ Herodotus against the charge. Plutarch is aware that Herodotus’ portrayal of Athens is not altogether encomiastic (see especially: Malice 872a–b). He does not suggest 114

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financial motivations, as we have already seen, is used by Plutarch to explain what he considers to be false and unjust claims against the Thebans (Malice 864d). The payment of ten talents alleged by Diyllus at first seems incredibly large;118 but we may compare the sum of 10,000 drachmae (one and two-thirds talents) and the title of proxenos which Isocrates alleges the Athenians awarded Pindar ‘for just one phrase’ (Isoc. 15.166). The truth of the tradition in Diyllus has not always been doubted, although it seems likely that it is apocryphal.119 Plutarch mentions the 10,000 talent sum in connection with an allegation of Herodotus’ partisanship towards Athens (Malice 862a–b). We no longer know in what context the sum was mentioned by Diyllus, but the fact that Diyllus was Athenian makes it seem improbable that he wished (like Plutarch) to malign Herodotus for writing an allegedly biased account of Athens’ role in the Persian Wars. Given that Herodotus’ portrayal of Athens is not always entirely positive, the tradition suggests that there was some selectivity in which traditions cities may have chosen to commemorate.120 The payment of Herodotus by Athens represents a kind of honour for which there are few exact parallels in the fifth century.121 Although itinerant sophists of the fifth century received payment for that this is to Herodotus’ credit, however, but instead, that it is further evidence of his malice. On Herodotus’ treatment of Athens, see Ostwald (1991). Cf. n.120. 118 60,000 drachmae: i.e. 164 times the annual wage of a rower/skilled craftsman (earning one drachma a day). Cf. Bowen (1992), 125: ‘The sum is possible; the circumstances are problematic’. See also n.116 above. 119 Cf. Marincola (2003): ‘These remarks, with their anachronistic notions of patronage and local pride, clearly come from a later time and are meant to explain why Herodotus wrote favourably towards one group and not another’. Aly (1909) suggests that the tradition derives from an epigraphic source (and that the sum was 600 drachmae). If he is right, then the possibility of a forged inscription should perhaps be considered. Strong arguments have been made that a number of inscriptions were forged in fourth century Athens concerning the events of the Persian Wars, and a forged inscription honouring Herodotus, the most important historian of the Persian Wars, is therefore not unimaginable. See Habicht (1961), Robertson (1976), Flower and Marincola (2002), 323–5. 120 The Isocratean tradition recording that Pindar was handsomely rewarded for just a single eulogistic phrase about Athens, ‘bulwark of Greece’ (æ ØÆ B Eºº), suggests the same (Isoc. 15.166). Plutarch suggests that the award to Herodotus must have been made before material that was less flattering to the Athenians was included in the Histories (Malice 862a). Cf. n.117. 121 For payment of historians in the fifth and fourth centuries, see: Chaniotis (1988), 366–7.

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their lessons, these were private transactions between ordinary citizens and a new ‘professional’ class. Civic honour of a historian is more characteristic historically of the Hellenistic period, when historians regularly gave oral performances of their histories in civic public spaces, for which they received prizes and honours in return for an encomiastic presentation of a city’s past.122 The tradition of an Athenian reward suggests a patron-client relationship along lines which are most familiar in the context of poets and powerful rulers; but civic honours could provide another form of patronage, and rewards in the form of money, tax relief, land grants, and proxenia, for itinerant intellectuals are all documented in the Hellenistic period.123 The tradition of Athenian payment to Herodotus suggests that Herodotus’ portrayal of Athens was regarded by the Athenians as encomiastic in its intent (cf. Plut. Malice 862a: ‘he flattered the Athenians to get a lot of money from them’, ŒºÆŒ Æ f ŁÅ Æı IæªæØ ºf ºÆ E Ææ’ ÆPH ). The language of honorific inscriptions to performing historians indicates that encomiastic content was valued and expected by local audiences, and, in turn, that rewards of civic honours could be expected by historians who glorified a city’s past.124 Plutarch relates traditions about Herodotus’ financial gains to raise the issues of possible pro-Athenian, anti-Theban and anti-Corinthian bias in the Histories. We cannot be entirely certain of how early the stories arose (assuming they are unhistorical), nor of the way in which they were handled before the Second Sophistic. Historical circumstances make it likely that these traditions are a product of the early or middle Hellenistic period, when there was a particular interest in the biographies of famous writers, and when financial rewards for historians writing eulogistic histories of a city’s past seem to have become common. The traditions of (non-)payment would certainly have seemed historically credible, and even acceptable if they first arose in such a context. The notion of a patronage relationship between 122 Chaniotis (2005), 224–5. In the Lives of the poets, claims are also regularly made about patronage relationships, either with rulers or with cities. In the case of the Athenian tragedians, for example, these relationships are presented as operating in terms of an exchange of favour and honour: see Hanink (2011). 123 Hunter (2003), 25–7; Guarducci (1926). 124 In inscriptions we find words such as  E , ØA , Œ E , and º Ø (all meaning ‘celebrate’ or ‘honour’) to describe how historians (in receipt of civic honours) had treated a city’s past: Chaniotis (1988), 361.

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Athens and Herodotus, for example, may have been celebrated as positive and mutually honorific. Even if there is some historicity in the traditions about payment, it is possible that such traditions were not regarded as problematic until bias began (perhaps with Polybius) to be highlighted as a problematic feature of ancient historiography,125 and Plutarch’s hostile stance may be a product of later thinking about the potential consequences for historiography of patronage of historians. *** We have seen that claims of different sorts were made about Herodotus around the Greek world, some of which were contradictory, and some of which improbable. The biography of Herodotus was contested. Details of his life were important to communities, because (it was thought) these biographical details could explain the way a region was portrayed in the Histories, and because establishing positive ties with the famed historian was a means of conferring honour on a community and stoking local pride in its past. In the next chapter we shall examine further the contested nature of the Histories in the Hellenistic Greek world by examining the importance of a particularly controversial aspect of the Histories for Herodotus’ later reception: its pervasive interest in the wondrous. 125 The first explicit claims to impartiality and accusations of bias in the historians are found in Polybius: Luce (1989); Marincola (1997), 162–5. However, it is implicit in Thucydides (esp. 1.21–2) and even Herodotus that they consider their accounts free from bias: Luce (1989), 19; Marincola (1997), 164. Cf. Thuc. 2.41.4, where praise is highlighted as an obstacle to truth.

2 The Great and the Marvellous
˙æı
AºØŒÆæÅ  ƒæÅ I  Ø l , ‰  a ª  Æ K IŁæ ø fiH åæø fi KÅºÆ ª ÅÆØ,  æªÆ  ªºÆ  ŒÆd ŁøÆ, a b
‚ººÅØ, a b ÆææØØ I  åŁ Æ, IŒº Æ ª ÅÆØ,   ¼ººÆ ŒÆd Ø’ m ÆNÅ K º ÅÆ IºººØØ. ‘This is the result of the inquiry conducted by Herodotus of Halicarnassus so that the events of humankind might not be obliterated by time, and so that the great (megala) and marvellous (thōmasta) achievements (erga) of Greeks and non-Greeks might not lose their renown; an inquiry into, among other things, the cause of their warring against one another.’ Herodotus, Histories, Preface

At the outset of his Histories Herodotus promises to preserve the memory of ‘great and marvellous achievements’. As the narrative unfolds, again and again the reader is confronted with causes of wonder, focalized either through the primary narrator or through the characters. The range of wondrous material is great. Literature of the Hellenistic period suggests that there were audiences with a strong interest in material of a wondrous and paradoxical nature. Important evidence for this is the enormous proliferation of ‘paradoxographical’ works, works devoted entirely to the cataloguing of strange and marvellous material. The scholar poets of Alexandria are among those who authored these works, and it has been suggested that ‘ . . . the collections of mirabilia performed some function as part of the preparatory work—the assembly of raw material . . . —undertaken by these scholar poets in view of their more ambitious literary projects’.1 There are certainly many examples of ‘wonders’ to be found in Alexandrian poetry. 1

Schepens and Delcroix (1996), 403–4.

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There is also evidence for Ptolemaic royal interest in the wondrous and marvellous. We are told that a man called Archelaus (and perhaps another called Philostephanus) wrote and performed versified paradoxography to a third century Ptolemaic king (Euergetes I, or possibly Philadelphus).2 There is also the interesting testimony of Agatharchides of Cnidus (transmitted through Diodorus): Agatharchides tells of the enthusiasm of the kings, especially Philadelphus, for collecting ‘strange beasts’ ( ÆæÆı ŁæÆ ) with ‘extraordinary natures’ ( ÆæÆı ç Ø ), and attests that Ptolemy Philadelphus offered large rewards to hunters who captured them. Among these animals was a huge snake, presented to Philadelphus, which is described as ‘an amazing ( Ææ) sight and unbelievable (I Ø ) to those who heard about it’. Eventually, it was pacified ‘so that its tameness became a marvel (ŁÆıÆ)’.3 In fourth century and Hellenistic historiography too there is evidence for an interest in marvellous subject matter. For example, sections from Books 8 and 9 of Theopompus’ Philippika (fourth century) were given the title Wonders (ŁÆıØÆ) in antiquity, perhaps as early as the second century (FGrH 115 FF 64–84).4 Timaeus (third century) also included a wide range of marvellous material in his work. Not only is this clear from the fact that Timaeus was one of the paradoxographers’ favourite sources,5 but his interest in marvels is also a target of Polybius’ ire: ‘For while he shows great severity and audacity in accusing others, his own statements are full of dreams, portents ( æø), incredible tales (Łø I ØŁø), and, frankly, low-life superstition and womanish marvels ( æÆ Æ )’ (12.24.5 = FGrH 566 T 19).

2

Schepens and Delcroix (1996), 404–5. Diod. Sic. 3.36.3–4, 37.7 = Agatharchides, F 80b (Burstein). Cf. Hunter (2008b), 381. Guido Schepens suggests that the paradoxographical works form ‘some kind of literary counterpart to the activities of the hunters and explorers’, with courtly performances of epigrams on paradoxa, such as are attributed to Archelaus, being comparable to the capture and presentation of strange animals encouraged among the hunters (Schepens and Delcroix (1996), 406). Cf. n.8. 4 There is some debate as to whether the Marvels were a section of the Philippika or comprised excerpts from the whole work: see Christ (1993), 49, with n.11, for further bibliography. 5 See for example the extensive debt to Timaeus of [Aristotle]’s Marvels Heard: Flashar (1972), 39ff. 3

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Polybius implies that Timaeus’ inclusion of marvels in his history was inappropriate.6 Conflicting views in the Hellenistic period about whether ‘wonders’ were suitable material to include in works of history would surely have informed judgements about Herodotus’ reputation as a historian also. In the first century, Diodorus comments variously on the appropriateness of marvels in historiography. Diodorus’ own interest in the marvellous has been characterized as ‘truly Herodotean’,7 and in one passage (thought to derive from Agatharchides of Cnidus) he defends the credibility of ‘the paradoxical’ (e Ææ) in history, and remarks that the particular paradox which he is describing should not be a cause of wonder or disbelief (P åæc b ŁÆıÇ Ø Pb I Ø E . . . (3.30 = Agatharchides F 60b, Burstein).8 Elsewhere, however, he briefly describes the war of 510 between Sybaris and Croton, and he concludes with the comment: ‘We have digressed on these matters, not out of a desire to criticize Herodotus, but to show that wondrous tales tend to prevail over truthful tales’ (ŒÆd ÆFÆ Ææ  Å  På oø
˙æı ŒÆŪæBÆØ ıºÅŁ 

‰   EÆØ ‹Ø H ºªø ƒ ŁÆıØØ f IºÅŁ E ŒÆØå Ø

NŁÆØ) (10.23–4).9 And on a third occasion (this time in a section perhaps derived from Hecataeus of Abdera), Diodorus suggests that Herodotus and other writers on Egyptian matters had intentionally privileged pleasure at the expense of truth by ‘telling marvels and inventing stories’ (Œıø æŒæÆ B IºÅŁ Æ e Ææƺª E ŒÆd Łı º Ø łıåƪøªÆ  ŒÆ) (1.69.7 = FGrH 264 F 25). All three passages from Diodorus, as well as Polybius’ criticism of Timaeus, indicate that ‘marvels’ (referred to variously as paradoxa, thaumasioi, and terata) were (by some) regarded as ‘untrustworthy’ (apista) and incompatible with the ‘truth’ (alētheia). Such negative attitudes towards marvels in historiography suggest that Herodotus’

6

7 On Timaeus in general, see Baron (2006). Green (2006), 3. It is generally accepted that Agatharchides was the major source for Diod. Sic. 3.12–48: see especially Burstein (1989), as well as Leopoldi (1892), Peremans (1967), and Bommelaer (1989). 9 Although Diodorus does not make explicit what aspects of Herodotus’ account (5.44–5) he considers ‘wondrous’, it seems most probable (based on what is present in Herodotus and omitted by Diodorus) that they are the details concerning the divine: namely, the seer Callias’ decision to desert to the Crotonians after receiving unfavourable omens, and the claim that the Spartan prince Dorieus died because he had acted outside the oracle’s direction. 8

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interest in the marvellous contributed to his reputation for lies (see Chapter Five). Yet there were clearly some readers with a strong appetite for ‘wonder’ in the Hellenistic period. This is perhaps nothing new or curious; indeed it is a phenomenon for which there is evidence across a number of different times and cultures. Certainly in Greek literature, narrating wonders had a long tradition, going back to Homer.10 Nevertheless, the proliferation of literature in the Hellenistic period apparently catering for such tastes is remarkable and intriguing. The explanation for it is probably not straightforward (although some suggestions have been attempted). Kathryn Gutzwiller comments: ‘It is not surprising that an age fascinated with scientific reasoning and experimentation should also feel, at times, the need just to marvel at the unexplainable and unverifiable.’11 Schepens links the interest in paradoxography with the sense of cultural rift and dislocation allegedly felt by immigrant Greeks in the new Hellenistic kingdoms.12 And E. R. Dodds suggests that the irrational beliefs underlying the proliferation of ‘pseudo-scientific literature’ arose from ‘the fear of freedom—the unconscious flight from the heavy burden of individual choice which an open society lays upon its members’.13 Whatever the reasons, one might expect Herodotus’ Histories, with its pervasive interest in the wondrous, to be popular and perhaps influential in such a climate. Before turning to the Hellenistic reception of Herodotus’ interest in and treatment of the wondrous, this chapter briefly reviews the scope and nature of wondrous material in the Histories and the rhetoric involved in Herodotus’ descriptions of wonders. It then discusses the attitudes of Thucydides and Aristotle towards the wondrous, since these authors represent important early reactions to Herodotus’ interest in the marvellous. Considering their attitudes also helps to clarify the distinctiveness of Herodotus’ interest, and to inform the ways in which Hellenistic writers can be described as responding to this interest.

10 See, for example, Mette (1961), 49–53. Mette summarizes the objects of wonder in Homer as including works of divine craftsmanship, exceptional human achievements, and the appearance and nature of exceptional humans. 11 Gutzwiller (2007), 167. 12 Schepens and Delcroix (1996), 402, 408. 13 Dodds (1951), 245ff. (quotation at 252). Cf. Gabba (1981), 55.

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WONDER-NARRATIVES IN HERODOTUS The idea of thōma (‘wonder’) in Herodotus received subtle treatment by Christine Hunzinger in 1995.14 Through consideration of what is described as a thōma and the varied reactions of narrator and characters when they wonder, she demonstrates the essentially ambivalent quality of thōmata (‘wonders’) in Herodotus. She suggests that a thōma can evoke a ‘critical attitude (l’esprit critique)’, and serve as a stimulus for further thinking, or it can lead to ‘stupid astonishment (l’émerveillement stupide)’, in which case it can be dangerous.15 She argues finally that there is an underlying lesson in the Histories: marvels appeal to utopian desires, but these desires should not lead to transgressions motivated by a desire to possess the marvellous. Herodotus’ treatment of the wondrous, according to Hunzinger, is integral to ‘the implicit denunciation throughout the Histories of the pursuit of conquest, of Persian imperialism, and of the transgressive propensity which characterizes tyrants’.16 The types of material denoted as thōmata in Herodotus are very wide-ranging, as Hunzinger has identified. A thōma may be some aspect of the landscape or a natural peculiarity of a country. These could be geographical, zoological, or meteorological features. Another category of thōmata is works of art and monuments. Technical ingenuity is often the admirable quality present in this type of thōma; in addition, massive size and great expense seem to be important qualities of these types. Inventions and stratagems which put natural resources to good use or allow an obstacle to be circumvented are another source of wonder. Human beings can arouse wonder for their heroism, audacity, and intelligence. They can also provoke wonder because of their behaviour or by uttering unexpected words. Physical difference can arouse wonder, and so too can biological and ethnographical differences. Observed phenomena which are perceived as being in some way abnormal or ordinarily improbable can be wonders. Often these strange events are narrated in a way which 14 Hunzinger (1995). Unfortunately Hunzinger’s article has been largely overlooked in subsequent scholarship. Cf. also Barth (1968), Hartog (1988), 230–7, and Munson (2001), especially 232–65. 15 Hunzinger (1995), 60. 16 Hunzinger (1995), 68–70 (quotation at 69: ‘ . . . la dénonciation implicite, tout au long des Histoires, des entreprises de conquête, de l’impérialisme perse et de la propension à la transgression qui caractérise les tyrans’).

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suggests that they are an example of some divine being at work. Other types of thōmata again are types of intellectual paradox.17 It is difficult to give any precise definition to this disparate collection of types. In very general terms, however, the designation of something as a thōma implies, as Hunzinger suggests, ‘the perception of a gap with the ordinary’.18

Herodotus’ rhetoric of wonder The ‘ordinary’ is subjective, and the marking of something as a thōma implies a break from what is ordinary from the perspective of the person who is experiencing the ‘wonder response’.19 On numerous occasions in the Histories, Herodotus suggests that reactions of wonder depend not only on objective stimuli, but on the subjectivity of individuals,20 and one important function of descriptions of wonders and wondering individuals in the Histories is to illustrate ideas of cultural pluralism.21 It is, however, presumably true that the Greek world is the implicit reference point in those cases where the thōma is focalized through a Greek character, or through the primary narrator.22 In descriptions of thōmata in the Histories, there is frequently a prevalence of comparative and superlative adjectives, reflecting the implicit (or occasionally explicit) comparison with the ‘ordinary’ and reinforcing the extra-ordinary nature of the thōmata. The comparison is often with ‘ordinary’ things of the same category. Thus the Borysthenes is marvellous not just for its size, but especially for its fertility when compared with other rivers (4.53.1), and Rhampsinitus is amazed by the thief ’s superiority in intelligence compared with other human beings (2.121.2).23 Sometimes the comparison may be brought out by the language in other ways. For instance, the verb 17 For examples in the Histories of all these types of thōmata, see Hunzinger (1995), 49–50 with accompanying notes. 18 Hunzinger (1995), 51: ‘la perception d’un écart avec l’ordinaire’. 19 Rosaria Munson’s term: Munson (2001), 242. 20 The meeting of the Ethiopians and Fish-Eaters is a good illustration: Hdt. 3.22–3. 21 On Herodotus’ cultural pluralism, see, in particular, Apfel (2011). 22 Cf. Hunzinger (1995), 52. 23 Cf. Harrison (2000, 75): ‘[Herodotus] is tracing the margins of human experience, as his frequent use of superlatives—the first, the greatest and so on—suggests’.

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hyperballein, meaning ‘surpass’ or ‘exceed’, is sometimes used to convey a sense of superiority, as in the case of the Labyrinth and the Temple of Athena at Sais (2.175.1).24 Numbers and measurements are a feature of Herodotus’ rhetoric in instances where he is reporting a wonder which is impressive for its size (the description of Babylon is an excellent example: Hdt. 1.178–9). Hunzinger remarks that numbers prevent the possible subjectivity of a thōma.25 Certainly, they give Herodotus’ descriptions a sense of precision which they would otherwise lack.26 In the Histories knowledge and measurement are intimately interlinked, as the response of the Pythia to Croesus indicates very early on (‘I know the number of sand-grains and the measure of the sea . . . ’, Hdt. 1.47). The use of numbers to ‘quantify’ a thōma is distinctively Herodotean. Whereas Homer and Hesiod use the phrase ‘great wonder’ (ŁÆFÆ  ªÆ) in an abstract sense—to describe an unexpected turn of events, or a strange vision, for instance—in Herodotus, what is designated as wondrous are frequently concrete things which are quite literally ‘big’, with measurements which can be quantified.27 Numbers are designed to lend credibility to a description, as well as to act as a type of proof that the object being described does indeed deserve its tag of thōma.28 This is illustrated well in the case of the blacksmith who discovered the coffin of ‘Orestes’: his initial disbelief that people of an earlier age could be so large is dispelled by opening the coffin to view the corpse and to measure it (1.68). Numbers are a way of improving the value of autopsy (which is not always reliable, as Thucydides famously pointed out).29 Autopsy, however, is still important in many of Herodotus’ wonder-narratives, and verbs of vision are another rhetorical means by which the reality of a thōma is sometimes reinforced.30 It is worth noting here that the ancients etymologically linked the Greek word for ‘wonder’ with the root of the word for ‘seeing’ (Ł -).31 Already in 24

25 Hunzinger (1995), 51–2. Hunzinger (1995), 67. Cf. Hartog (1988), 230–7, on ‘The Measure of Thoma’. 27 Hartog (1988), 235. For the phrase ‘great wonder’ (ŁÆFÆ  ªÆ), see Homer, Il. 13.99, 15.286, 20.344, 21.54, Od. 19.36; and Hesiod, Scut. 218. 28 On the confusion of precision with accuracy in some ancient writers, see Lloyd (1987), 280–1. 29 Cf. Thuc. 1.10.1–3. On autopsy in Thucydides, see Marincola (1997), 67–8. 30 Mette (1961); Hunzinger (1995), 67; Schepens (1980), 50. 31 Mette (1961); Fantuzzi and Hunter (2004), 60. 26

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Homer and Hesiod the link of thought is crystallized in the formula thauma idesthai, ‘a wonder to behold’.32 Many thōmata in Herodotus are kinds of visual spectacles, especially from foreign places, and at one point Herodotus remarks explicitly that, in his view, extremes of beauty and rarity (a ŒººØÆ . . . ŒÆd  ÆØÆÆ) (both of which are stimuli for wonder) are to be found at the extremities of the earth (ƃ KåÆØÆd YŒÆØ) (3.116.3). Herodotus’ narrative on several occasions seems to presuppose an audience expectation that a description of thōmata should be included in descriptions of foreign lands,33 and there are several examples of tourist or traveller type figures in the Histories observing thōmata.34 It is not only the visual which falls within the wondrous range, however. Things heard can also be a source of wonder—such as the cries of animals, foreign languages, astonishing words, and unbelievable tradition35—and so too can intellectual paradoxes (4.129). The narration of thōmata in the Histories seems to function as a consciously rhetorical means of catching and holding the audience’s attention.36 Herodotus frequently adopts the rhetorical manoeuvre of announcing in advance that he intends to recount a thōma, using future tense verbs such as ‘I shall tell of ’, ‘I shall explain’, and ‘it will be told’ (Kæ ø, çæø, Næ ÆØ) to create anticipation and suspense.37 Sometimes the narrative will focus on several thōmata, each described in succession, which has a similar effect of raising the audience’s anticipation as the list proceeds: this narrative technique is apparent especially in Herodotus’ descriptions of the monuments of Egypt and the wonders of Arabia.38

Unmarked wonders There is a large body of material in the Histories which, even if it is not explicitly marked as such (through words such as thōma and its

32

33 See further: Mette (1961), esp. 49–54. 1.93, 2.35, 4.82. The Fish-Eaters (3.20ff.), Darius (4.85), Periander’s envoy to Thrasyboulus (5.92), Xerxes (7.128), Xerxes’ envoy to the Lacedaemonian camp (7.208). 35 Hunzinger (1995), 50 n.23. 36 Hunzinger (1995), 61. Cf. also Munson (2001), passim. 37 38 1.94, 2.35, 2.155, 4.129, 6.43. Hunzinger (1995), 62 with n.60. 34

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cognates),39 is also ‘wondrous’ according to Herodotean schemata. In Herodotus’ account of India (3.98–106), for example, a ‘rhetoric of wonder’ is evident, although explicit markers designating the material as wondrous are lacking. Thōmata are a regular—and, it is hinted, expected—feature of narratives about foreign lands in the Histories.40 Therefore when Herodotus opens his account of India with the remark that the country lies at the most easterly extremes of the world, this creates an expectation that wondrous elements will be included in the forthcoming narrative (3.98.2). Although at the extremes, India is nevertheless explicitly classified as part of the known world (H ªaæ  E

Y ), suggesting that the reference points by which the wondrous elements will be judged are the norms of the Greek world. On several occasions in the subsequent narrative Greece is the implicit reference point which is used rhetorically to highlight the unusual and wondrous characteristics of India. In India, Herodotus tells us, men’s semen ‘is not white like other men’s’ (3.101.2); the hottest part of the day ‘is not noon as it is elsewhere’ (3.104.2); and ‘animals and birds are far larger than in other lands’ (3.106.2). Many of the comparative and superlative adjectives in the Indian narrative, which commonly reinforce the extraordinary nature of thōmata, can be associated with some external reference point, either implicit or explicit: for example, the trees grow ‘wool’ which is finer than sheep’s wool (3.106.3). Similarly, in the description of the golddigging ants, the (unfamiliar) gold-digging ants of India are compared with the (familiar) ants of Greece: apart from their size, they are similar to Greek ants in appearance, and like the ants of Greece, they make their homes underground by burrowing down into the sand 39 The lexical range for ‘wonders’ in Herodotus extends beyond thōma and its cognates: compare, for instance, teras and phasma (with Powell 1938). Teras can be loosely translated as ‘portent’ or ‘omen’; the term occurs twenty-one times in the Histories. Phasma can mean ‘portent’ or ‘phantom’; it occurs ten times in the Histories (with an even split between each of the two meanings). It seems that, semantically, teras and phasma (when used to mean ‘portent’) should be regarded as types of thōmata. Both can evoke a sense of wonder (see, for example, Hdt. 4.28 and 8.37), and both can also be referred to as a thōma (as they are, for example, in the case of the movement of the sacred weapons outside the temple at Delphi: 8.37). The terms are more specific than thōma: they are used of wondrous events which are interpreted to be divine signs. These signs often have meanings, and there are several occasions in the Histories where a teras or phasma is interpreted (or misinterpreted). 40 Cf. p. 58.

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(3.102.2). These similarities highlight the unfamiliar and wondrous characteristics of these ants (size and behaviour), while at the same time giving the account some credibility through the inclusion of details in accord with the intellectual framework of Herodotus’ contemporary (Greek) audience. These ‘ants’ conform with Greek knowledge of the world in some ways, and drawing attention to this in the narrative is a means to encourage the audience to regard the more fabulous details about the ants as credible also. A wonder loses its impact, indeed loses its status as ‘wonder’, if an audience does not believe in its reality, and the rhetoric of wonder is therefore closely tied to the rhetoric of truth.41 In the Histories, a thōma must be believable.42 A wonder may also lose its impact if it is too well-known, as is suggested for instance by Herodotus’ comments on the physiology of camels: e b c r  ›ŒE Ø å Ø  Œź , K ØÆ ØØ EØ
‚ººÅØ P ıªªæçø· e b c K Ø ÆÆØ ÆPB , F çæø· Œź K EØ O ØŁØØ Œ º Ø å Ø   æÆ Åæf ŒÆd ªÆÆ   æÆ,   ÆNEÆ Øa H O ØŁø Œ º ø æe c Pæc  æÆ Æ. ‘I shall not describe the form of the camel since the Greeks are already acquainted with it. However, I shall describe this, which is not known

41 Herodotus’ wondrous material can sometimes skirt a fine line between fact and fiction: see, for example, the story of Scyllias’ dive, at which Herodotus wonders if it is true, and other stories about Scyllias which ‘resemble fictions’ (but are not explicitly marked as false) (8.8). 42 It is certainly true that cognates of thōma are sometimes used in the Histories in narrative contexts which raise doubts or encourage disbelief. However, even these examples are interesting to consider in relation to the idea that, in designating something a thōma, Herodotus is making a statement about its ‘truth’ or ‘reality’. For example, Herodotus describes the theory that the Nile flows from Ocean as ‘less scientific’ (I ØÅ  æÅ) and ‘more fabulous (thōmasiōterē) to speak of ’ (ºªø fi b N E ŁøÆØø æÅ) (2.21). Munson (2001), 259 n.93, remarks that wonder here ‘almost functions as an advertisement of nonnarratability: the theory is wondrous and therefore not worth reporting’. The description seems to suggest that the nature of the theory is such that Herodotus might have called it a thōma if it were true (or if he believed it to be true). As it is, however, its ‘truth’ can be neither proved nor disproved (2.23). Another case is the story of the Alcmeonids’ alleged treason. Twice Herodotus expresses wonder at the allegation (6.121.1, 123.1). Yet although he believes the story itself to be untrue, he wonders at its existence, when there is (in his opinion) such clear evidence and arguments to demonstrate that it cannot be true. Therefore the very existence of the story—which is not in doubt—constitutes an intellectual paradox for Herodotus (and this is why he calls it a thōma). See also Munson (2001), 259ff.

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about it: in its hind legs a camel has four thigh-bones and four knees, and its genitals are turned backward through its hind legs towards its tail.’ 3.103

The use of the anticipatory future (‘I shall describe’) which Herodotus frequently uses in his descriptions of marked thōmata is also exemplified here. While a camel’s form may once have been thought extraordinary by a Greek audience, the widespread knowledge of it by Herodotus’ day had apparently rendered it unremarkable, so Herodotus reports instead on strange aspects of the camel’s physiology with which he expects his audience will be unacquainted. If the wondrous nature of a thōma is predicated upon ‘the perception of a gap with the ordinary’,43 it is possible for knowledge to close this gap and for a former thōma to lose its impact, to seem ordinary, and to no longer be a source of wonder.

THUCYDIDES AND WONDER: THE FRAMEWORK CHALLENGED Herodotus’ interest in wonders is a distinctive feature of his Histories, and the attention he devotes to descriptions of wonders is one of the ways in which his approach to historiography is very different from that of Thucydides. From a cursory reading of both authors this seems entirely self-evident: Thucydides’ History devotes considerably less space to natural phenomena and ethnographic material,44 subjects which in Herodotus are conducive to discussions of ‘wonders’, and another potential source of wondrous material, the mythical past, is also avoided by Thucydides. Whereas Herodotus includes stories such as Arion’s miraculous rescue by a dolphin (Hdt. 1.23–4), and Heracles’ encounter with a snake-woman (Hdt. 4.9), Thucydides is anxious to differentiate himself from the poets and the logographoi, whose ‘mythical’ subject matter (e ıŁH ) relates to a past which he considers too temporally distant to be tested (1.21.1). Thucydides’ attitude to wonder deserves closer attention, however, since there are

43 44

Hunzinger (1995), 51. On such material in Thucydides: Mette (1961), 67–8; Westlake (1969).

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strong indications that his stance towards wondrous subject matter constitutes a direct reaction to Herodotus. A simple search for the word thauma/thōma45 and its cognates in Thucydides’ History provides preliminary confirmation that Thucydides’ taste for the wondrous does not match that of Herodotus. Words with the thaum-/thōm- root occur just twenty-three times in Thucydides, compared with ninety-four instances in Herodotus—far less frequently, in other words, even when adjustment is made for the relative lengths of the works.46 Thucydides expresses wonder rarely, and in almost all instances where wonder is expressed in Thucydides’ History, it is focalized through the characters, rather than through the primary narrator. This is common in Herodotus too, but it is far more so in Thucydides. This makes it especially interesting to consider what is said on those occasions where Thucydides does treat wondrous subject matter. One such occasion comes directly after the (in)famous comments on the logographoi (1.21.1).47 In the very next sentence, where the importance of the Peloponnesian War relative to previous wars is asserted, comes a reference to thauma: ŒÆd › º  y , ŒÆ æ H IŁæ ø K fiz b i º HØ e ÆæÆ ÆN d  ªØ ŒæØø, ÆıÆ ø b a IæåÆEÆ Aºº ŁÆıÆÇø, I ’ ÆPH H æªø Œ FØ ź Ø ‹ø  Çø ª ª Å  ÆPH. ‘And as for this war, although it is characteristic of men always to judge the present war in which they fight as the greatest and to stop admiring (thaumazontōn) more the events (erga) of old, all the same, an examination of the events themselves will show that this war is greater than the wars which preceded it.’ 1.21.2

These comments suggest an assumption that Thucydides’ subject, the Peloponnesian War, will be judged against the great wars of the past, most obviously the Trojan War and the Persian Wars. Thucydides’ choice of vocabulary, which is reminiscent of Herodotus’ Preface with its emphasis on wonder at great events or works (erga), may indicate that he particularly has Herodotus’ account of the Persian Wars in 45

Thauma and thōma are dialectal variants of the same Greek word. The frequency in Herodotus is more than four times that in Thucydides, although Herodotus’ work is only one and a quarter times as long. 47 See Introduction, p. 6, and Chapter Five, pp. 201–2. 46

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mind as his key rival.48 We see in this passage an association, familiar from Herodotus, between the wondrous and the great. New, however, is an explicit connection between the wondrous and the old. In Nicias’ speech delivered to the Athenians in advance of the Sicilian Expedition, we see a further development of Herodotus’ ideas about the wondrous. Nicias suggests that the best approach for the Athenians to take, to preserve their fearsome reputation, would be not to attack at all: A ’ i ƒ KŒ E
‚ººÅ ºØÆ b KŒ ºÅª Ø r  N c IçØŒ ŁÆ,  ØÆ b ŒÆd N  Æ c ÆØ Ø’ Oºªı I ºŁØ · a ªaæ Øa º ı  Y  ŁÆıÆÇ Æ ŒÆd a EæÆ lŒØÆ B Å Æ. ‘The Hellenes there [i.e. in Sicily] would fear us most of all if we never came, and next most if we were to make a display of strength and leave after a short space of time; for we all know that it is the things which are furthest away and which allow the least test of their reputation which are objects of wonder.’ 6.11.449

In Herodotus, as here, a connection is made between distant lands and wondrous phenomena. But Nicias’ observation that such wonders are also the least easy to test (and the clear implication that their wondrous appearance may in fact be just that—an appearance only—with no firm underlying grounds for that reputation) is new.50 The tension between wonder and truth which can be seen in Herodotus manifests itself here in a different way. In Herodotus, for something to be classified as a wonder, it must be believed to be true. In Thucydides, it is suggested that objects of wonder may not deserve their reputation; that what is said about them may be untrue. Nicias’ cautionary remarks on this occasion would of course strike Thucydides’ audience as particularly wise, with their retrospective knowledge that the Athenians went on to lose the Sicilian campaign. Nicias’ suggestion that the Athenians may appear wondrous from afar can be contextualized further: on several of the occasions in 48

Cf. Cobet (1986), 8. Cf. 7.56.2, where the Syracusans realize they will be a great wonder ( ºf ŁÆıÆŁ ŁÆØ) to humankind and posterity if they defeat the Athenians. See also Rood (1998), who detects examples of Herodotean phraseology and tone in Thucydides’ portrayal of the Sicilian Expedition. 50 Cf. Thucydides’ remarks on testing accounts of old (1.20). 49

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Thucydides where wonder is expressed, the object of that wonder is Athens and the Athenians. In a rare (the only?51) Thucydidean instance of wonder not being focalized through a character, Themistocles is described as ‘worthy of wonder’ (¼Ø ŁÆıÆØ), to introduce a eulogy on his native intelligence (1.138.3). Commentators have remarked on the ‘Herodotean flavour’ of Thucydides’ excursus on Pausanias and Themistocles (1.128–38).52 The expression ‘worthy of wonder’ occurs several times in Herodotus,53 and Thucydides, by contrast, is generally more interested in what is ‘worthy of record’ (IغªÆ: 1.1.1) (although compare another use of the phrase ‘worthy of wonder’ at Thuc. 2.39.4, discussed below). In addition to being ‘Herodotean’, the position of the phrase ‘worthy of wonder’ in the narrative at 1.138.3 is also very striking, as there follows an abrupt change to a more usual ‘Thucydidean tone’ at 1.138.3 (beginning with NŒ Æ fi ªaæ ı  Ø . . . ).54 This coincides, of course, with the very pointed eulogy of Themistocles, which could be interpreted as a corrective to the less flattering portrayal of Themistocles by Herodotus.55 Thus the attempt to rehabilitate the reputation of Themistocles is reinforced by the style and language of the narrative. The implication is that, according to Herodotus’ criteria, Themistocles deserved praise because he was (according to the Thucydidean narrator) ‘worthy of wonder’. Yet since the Herodotean Themistocles was not clearly presented as ‘worthy of wonder’, the narrator, suddenly returning to a more typically Thucydidean style at 1.138.3 and thereby distancing the rival Herodotean account, explains why he should have been. As well as Themistocles, one of Athens’ most famous citizens, the city of Athens itself is presented as a worthy object of wonder in Thucydides (this time through the character of Pericles in his Funeral Oration). The first occasion is towards the end of the section in which Pericles praises the non-professionalism of the Athenian military arrangements.56 Instead of onerous training in accordance with the 51

Another possible instance is 7.56.2, where the focalizer is ambiguous. For example, Westlake (1977), Hornblower (1987), 26–7. 53 Cf. Hdt. 1.185.3, 3.47.3, 3.113.1, 4.53.3, 4.199.1, 7.135.1, 8.37.2. 54 Hornblower (1991), 222–3, Westlake (1977), 105. 55 Hdt. 8.109–11. For a recent and subtle discussion of the Herodotean Themistocles, which suggests that Herodotus’ narrative avoids any straightforward evaluation of Themistocles’ character and motivation, see Baragwanath (2008), 289–322. 56 Cf. Hornblower (1991), 303–4. 52

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laws (as in Sparta), the Athenians rely on their ‘characteristic bravery’ (æ ø Iæ Æ ) to prepare them to meet life’s dangers; ‘and in these respects and in others our city is worthy of admiration (IÆ . . . ŁÆıÇ ŁÆØ)’, asserts the Thucydidean Pericles (2.39.4). This praise of ‘natural’—rather than learnt—ability is paralleled in the eulogy of Themistocles, where his ‘native insight, not contributed to by learning before or after’ is praised (1.138.3). Athens is again portrayed as a city deserving admiration later in the Funeral Oration. Pericles claims of the city that: Å ªaæ H F IŒB Œæ ø K EæÆ æå ÆØ . . . .  a  ªºø b Å ø ŒÆd P  Ø Iæıæ ª c ÆØ ÆæÆå Ø E  F ŒÆd E  ØÆ ŁÆıÆŁÅ ŁÆ, ŒÆd Pb æ  Ø h
ˇæı K ÆØ ı h ‹Ø  Ø b e ÆPŒÆ  æł Ø, H ’ æªø c  ØÆ  IºŁ ØÆ ºł Ø . . . ‘[Athens] alone is superior to report when put to the test . . . . And the power we have will assuredly not be without witness; there are great proofs, and we shall be the wonder not only of the present generation but of those to come; we shall not need a Homer for praise nor anyone who will please for the moment with words/in verse (the true state of affairs will ruin his notion of the facts (erga)) . . . ’57 2.41.3–4

The idea that an admirable reputation must be tested, and that there can be an inconsistency between a reputation and the actual state of affairs, is found here (as it is again later in Nicias’ speech prior to the Sicilian Expedition: 6.11.4). But whereas Nicias insinuates that the wonder which Athens inspires would be better left untested, Pericles claims that when tested, Athens exceeds all report, that there exist great proofs of her power, that in the future no writer could do justice to the truth, and that the wonder she currently inspires will continue in the future regardless of any eulogists. The remarks about momentary pleasure bring to mind Thucydides’ programmatic statements at 1.21.1 and 1.22.4, where, in particular, it seems that Homer and Herodotus are targeted as chief rivals to Thucydides. There, as here, when the Thucydidean Pericles says that Athens will need no Homer58 to sing her praises et cetera, it is difficult Cf. Callimachus, F 612 (Pfeiffer): ‘I sing of nothing unwitnessed’ (Iæıæ Pb I ø), which is suggestively reminiscent of the Thucydidean Pericles’ words here (although perhaps subverts the idea Pericles expresses). 58 Cf. Herodotus’ Homeric reputation, discussed in Chapter Five. 57

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not to look beyond the text to the authors of these texts, and in particular the author of the work at hand, who is singing her praises; and this encourages us too to reflect on the Thucydidean account in terms of its distinctiveness from rival accounts. In this context, the suggestion that wonder (thauma) is the appropriate response when reflecting on Athenian achievements seems to be particularly loaded, given the word’s strong Herodotean associations. Pericles links the emotion of wonder to ‘great proofs’ ( ªºø . . . Å ø), an ambiguous reference to (among other things) the great buildings of Athens; this connection is reinforced soon after, when the ‘imperishable memorials’ which Athens has left behind are mentioned (2.41.4). Pericles’ association of power and wonder at that power with physical remains seems problematic, however, when compared with the authorial comments made early on in the History about the deceptiveness of appearances, and in particular, that Athens would later give the appearance of being twice as powerful as she really was (1.10.1–3).59 The authority of Pericles’ remarks is destabilized. The connection between large monuments and wonder was firmly established in Herodotus, and the Thucydidean Pericles reiterates it; but the wider Thucydidean narrative problematizes the connection. How appropriate are the large and the great as criteria for wonder? And more pressingly for Thucydides’ contemporary audience, how deserving was Athens of the wonder she inspired? Pericles suggests that wonder is the appropriate emotion for reflecting on Athens; and Nicias too later comments upon the admiration which the sailors in the Athenian navy have received for adopting the Athenian way of life (7.63.3). Yet various remarks in the narrative on the disparity between appearance and reality might encourage Thucydides’ audience to doubt whether this admiration is in fact deserved, as indeed does the knowledge that when ‘tested’, Athens failed (both on the occasion of the Sicilian Expedition and in the Peloponnesian War as a whole). In Herodotus, Athens and the Athenians are conspicuously lacking as a focus for explicit expressions of wonder.60 Thucydides’ narrative at For the idea of material remains as ‘witnesses’, cf. Hdt. 5.45. The only example of an Athenian being explicitly marked out for wonder in Herodotus is Epizelus, who suddenly loses his sight at the Battle of Marathon (6.117). Spartans are wondered at slightly more often: the Spartan heralds (7.135), Leonidas (7.204), the Spartan army (9.11). Wonder at Athens and the Athenians may at times be evoked in other, more subtle ways in Herodotus, however. See, for example, 59 60

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once suggests that Athens and the Athenians were objects of admiration among the Greeks, while at the same time raising questions about whether they really were ‘worthy of wonder’. Thucydides hints at an alternative possible framework for wonder to that constructed by Herodotus. In Herodotus, wonder is often associated with the exotic and the geographically remote. In Thucydides, Nicias’ comments about distant wonders being the least easy to test seems to question the appropriateness of this association, and Pericles’ insistence that Athens is worthy of wonder also suggests an alternative to the Herodotean mode: there is—it is implied—no need to travel to far-off places in search of wonders, since they can be found ‘at home’ in Athens. Wonder becomes a symptom of the civic love which Pericles is encouraging in the citizenry.61 Thucydides challenges the importance of temporal remoteness too as a criterion for wonder-worthiness. At 1.21.2 he suggests that the contemporary troubles of the Peloponnesian War are more appropriate causes for wonder than ‘the things (erga?) of old’ (a IæåÆEÆ). Then in the Funeral Oration, Pericles claims that Athenians will be the wonder (ŁÆıÆŁÅ ŁÆ) of ‘both present and future generations’. Contemporary wonder is once more alluded to, and so too is future wonder. Pericles’ subsequent comments suggest that he envisages an alternative kind of memorialization to the kleos offered by epic, and perhaps also—if it is correct to see an allusion to Herodotus here62—an alternative to the type of memorialization which the Histories provides. Instead of records in poetry or prose, Pericles suggests that ‘great proofs/monuments’ ( ªºø . . . Å ø) will independently stir up a sense of wonder at Athens in generations of the future. Thus at the same time as denying the forms of memorialization which Herodotus’ Histories and Homeric poetry offer, Pericles seems to accept as a valid cause for wonderment the great works of art and architecture which feature so prominently in Herodotus. In a sense then, we can consider Pericles claiming for Athens the sort of reputation which Herodotus apparently sought to Baragwanath (2008), 230, on the Athenian decision not to Medize: broader narrative and historical patterns in the Histories make this—she argues—an amazing outcome which is ‘surely a Herodotean thōma’. 61 Cf. Thuc. 2.43.1: . . . c B º ø ÆØ ŒÆŁ  æÆ æªø fi Ł ø ı ŒÆd KæÆa ªØª ı ÆPB . . . , ‘ . . . make it your daily practice to gaze upon the power of the city, and become her lovers . . . ’. 62 Scanlon (1994), 165.

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secure for Egypt, except one that is even more comprehensive, and one that does not require the assistance of a Herodotus. Herodotus wonders at monuments in a far-off land, long after they were built. Pericles insists that Athens deserves wonder from far and near, in future time and immediately, without any need for memorialization and praise in words or song.63 Yet as Thucydides’ own work problematizes both this wonder at Athens and the need for written records about the past, Thucydides hints that wonder is rarely an appropriate response (the outlook which a cursory reading of the History initially suggests), and close analysis supports the view that Thucydides’ general lack of interest in the wondrous is a reaction to Herodotus’ historiographical mode.

ARISTOTLE AND WONDER: THE FRAMEWORK REJECTED While this is not the place for lengthy discussion of the nature of wonder in the philosophers, this section highlights in a general way how Aristotle seems (on occasion) to engage with Herodotus’ attitude to the wondrous and actively to reject his framework. Aristotle is an important figure in the post-Herodotean history of wonder for, among other things, his researches into ‘natural philosophy’, or what we would today call the ‘natural sciences’. It is in this area especially of Aristotle’s voluminous corpus that engagement with Herodotus can be detected. For both Plato and Aristotle, the very origins of philosophy are attributed to wondering (thaumazein). In Plato’s Theaetetus, Socrates is explicit about this origin: ºÆ ªaæ çغçı F e Ł , e ŁÆıÇ Ø· P ªaæ ¼ººÅ Iæåc çغçÆ j ÆoÅ . . . ‘This sensation, wondering, is especially characteristic of a philosopher: for there is no other beginning for philosophy than this . . . ’ Plato, Theaet. 155d On ‘wonder’ in Thucydides, cf. Scanlon (1994), 165–71, where some examples not discussed here are considered. Scanlon also detects a criticism—but not total rejection—of Herodotus’ emphasis on wonder, and suggests that Thucydides and Herodotus share an interest in wonder at power and empire. 63

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In the Metaphysics, Aristotle portrays wonder as an impulse which drives men to philosophize, in order to escape ignorance: › ’ I æH ŒÆd ŁÆıÇø Y ÆØ Iª E (Øe ŒÆd › çغıŁ çغç

 KØ· › ªaæ FŁ ªŒ ØÆØ KŒ ŁÆıÆø)· u’ Y æ Øa e ç ª Ø c ¼ªØÆ KçغçÅÆ, çÆ æe ‹Ø Øa e N ÆØ e K ÆŁÆØ KøŒ ŒÆd P åæ  Ø  Œ . ‘A man who is puzzled and wonders thinks that he is ignorant (thus even a myth-lover is in a sense a philosopher, for myths are composed from wondrous subject matter). Therefore since men pursued philosophy for the sake of escaping ignorance, it is clear that they began to pursue understanding for the sake of knowledge and not for utilitarian purposes.’ Metaphysics 982b17–20

The closely related idea, that wonder acts as an impulse for learning, is found in Aristotle’s Rhetoric: ŒÆd e ÆŁ Ø ŒÆd e ŁÆıÇ Ø f ‰ K d e º· K b ªaæ fiH ŁÆıÇ Ø e K ØŁı E ÆŁ E KØ, u e ŁÆıÆe K ØŁıÅ, K b fiH ÆŁ Ø e N e ŒÆa çØ ŒÆŁÆŁÆØ. ‘And learning and wondering are pleasant for the most part; for in wondering lies the desire for learning, so that the wondrous is desirable since through learning one settles into the natural state.’ Rhetoric 1371a32–3

Wonder then was from at least the time of Plato perceived as having an educative function: it lay at the heart of philosophical enquiry, which in turn led to freedom from ignorance. Rosaria Munson sees a similar relationship already present in the Histories. She calls thōma ‘an impulse to mental inquiry’, comparing the formulation from Aristotle’s Metaphysics, but she adds the proviso: ‘It is an inquiry, however, that the text declines to actualise but implicitly identifies as the task of the recipient.’64 Munson’s assessment here does not do Herodotus true justice, however. Hunzinger has described how incredulity leads to a desire to know more which often is acted upon, in some cases by the characters in the Histories and in other cases by Herodotus himself.65

64 65

Munson (2001), 234. Cf. Goldhill (2002a), 21. Hunzinger (1995), 57–9.

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Wonder acts as a catalyst for learning several times in the Histories. For example, Herodotus’ wonder at the allegations of the Alcmeonids’ treason (ŁHÆ  Ø . . . ŁHÆ t Ø) gives rise to the famously heated argument about why the allegation absolutely cannot be true (6.121–3). On this occasion wonder’s ‘philosophizing’ impetus is clearly actualized in the text: Herodotus expresses his wonder at a rumour, and then carefully delineates the thought process which leads to the conclusion that the rumour must be untrue. Calling the rumour a thōma is a conceit designed to encourage the audience to reflect and philosophize upon its veracity.66 The educative possibilities which Plato and Aristotle see as arising from a sense of wonder are demonstrated in Herodotus’ text also, through the inquiries of the historian himself and of his characters.67 In other cases Munson’s assessment is accurate: the inquiry is not actualized in the text, and instead the task is implicitly passed on to the audience. For instance, Herodotus wonders at the reason (ŁøÇø b e ÆYØ) for the lions attacking the camels in Xerxes’ train when they had never seen such animals before, but he does not suggest an explanation (7.125); ‘wonder’ here is both an expression of his own desire for knowledge, and a stimulus for the audience to ponder upon the reason themselves. In some cases then expressions of wonder by Herodotus and his characters seem designed to pique the audience’s curiosity and desire for more knowledge. As we saw, Hunzinger suggests that there is a distinction to be made in Herodotus, and indeed in Archaic and Classical literature more generally, between wonder which is symptomatic of a ‘critical disposition’ (l’esprit critique) and ‘stupid amazement’ (l’émerveillement stupide).68 An example of the latter is Xerxes’ disbelief when Demaratus tells him that the Spartans are a formidable foe (7.208–9).69 Although Xerxes makes inquiries of Demaratus regarding the Spartans’ behaviour, he does not accept the truth of Demaratus’ explanation. The Persian astonishment at the Spartan custom of combing their hair before battle is therefore never resolved, and Xerxes’ mis-estimation of the Spartans, even in the face of

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67 Cf. n.42. Cf. the story of Syloson and Darius (3.139–40). Hunzinger (1995), 56–7, 60. 69 Although it is in actual fact the scout who is described as wondering at the Lacedaemonians (7.208.3), Xerxes’ inability to grasp the truth (7.209.1) highlights the coupling of wonder with ignorance. 68

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Demaratus’ truthful explanation, highlights the ‘stupidity’ of his wonder. Sometimes in the Histories, wonder stimulates inquiry, and through this process wonder is replaced by understanding and knowledge. And yet, for all of his inquiries, there are still many things which Herodotus deems ‘worthy of wonder’. Herodotus seems determined to retain a sense of wonder in the face of knowledge: wonder at, for instance, the Pyramids and the footprints of Heracles.70 Herodotus’ determination to find wonder in the world, while at the same time embracing the advances in knowledge achieved through ‘inquiry’ (his own as well as those of his contemporaries and predecessors), is a salient feature of his work. We shall see that this distinctively Herodotean combination of wonder alongside the enlightenment of knowledge reappears in literature of the Hellenistic period. This distinctiveness becomes especially apparent if we return to Aristotle. We have already seen the explicit connection drawn by this author between wonder and the pursuit of knowledge. In addition to this, the coupling of ‘wonder’ with ‘ignorance’ (agnoia) in the Metaphysics is significant. It is this negative view of wonder—the sense that wonder and ignorance go hand in hand—which is often evident in Aristotle.71 Two of the most instructive Aristotelian examples for our purposes are to be found in the Generation of Animals. The first case comes from Aristotle’s discussion of the reasons for some animals producing a single offspring (monotokia), while other animals produce many (polytokia). Aristotle begins by acknowledging that astonishment at this would seem justifiable (F ¼ E  Ø  Pºªø ŁÆıÇ Ø) (771a18),72 but then emphatically denies the appropriateness of wonder: ‘The thing which causes wonder is the very reason for not wondering (ÆYØ  ÆPe e ŁÆıÆÇ  F c ŁÆıÇ Ø)’ (771a26–7). Aristotle then explains why there is no need for wonder through the explication of his own particular theory for monotokia in larger animals and polytokia in smaller animals (771a27–34). He next 70 Herodotus’ own sense of wonder is in certain respects uncritical. For instance, his rhetoric of wonder implicitly assumes that the very large and the unfamiliar will evoke feelings of wonder in his audience. 71 I focus on Aristotle since this will benefit the subsequent discussion of paradoxographical literature. For some examples of a negative attitude to wonder in Plato, see Hunzinger (1995), 60 and n.54. 72 For a similar formulation, cf. Gen. an. 758b28–9.

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highlights a further possible cause for wonder (Æкº ¼ Ø Pºªø

ŁÆı Ø ), namely that polytokia often occurs as a result of only a single act of copulation (771b14–18). This problem is also resolved, this time by offering two possible alternative explanations (771b18–23). In the remainder of Aristotle’s discussion of monotokia and polytokia (771b24–772b12) there is no further mention of wonder. Aristotle expresses here a negative view of wonder as a response to the phenomena of monotokia and polytokia, firmly stating that ‘not wondering (F c ŁÆıÇ Ø)’ is how one should respond in light of the evidence (771a26–7). Rational explanations are used to resolve the initial sense of wonder potentially felt. Through his explanations, Aristotle seeks completely to eliminate wonder as a response to the phenomena of monotokia and polytokia. And although there is no explicit equation of wonder with ignorance, as there was in the Metaphysics, the antithesis between wonder and knowledge is clearly implied. Herodotus in his Histories also gives an account of polygonia (the production of many offspring) and oligogonia (the production of few offspring).73 He considers why it is that the populations of flying snakes and vipers of Arabia do not swarm the entire world, and credits ‘divine foresight’ as the underlying reason (3.108.2):74 ˚Æ Œø F Ł ı  æÅ, u æ ŒÆd NŒ KØ, KFÆ ç, ‹Æ b [ªaæ] łıå   غa ŒÆd KØÆ, ÆFÆ b Æ ºªÆ ÅŒ , ¥ Æ c K غ fiÅ ŒÆ ŁØ Æ, ‹Æ b å ºØÆ ŒÆd IØÅæ, OºØªªÆ. ‘And somehow the foresight of divinity, as is probable, being wise, has made prolific all creatures which are timid in spirit and edible, so that they might not be devoured and made extinct, and all that are savage and troublesome it has made unprolific.’ Histories, 3.108.2

Herodotus then illustrates this theoretical view with a discussion of reproduction in hares and lions: it is because the hare is widely hunted that it is so prolific, he says, and the lioness gives birth only once in its

73 Herodotus (like Aristotle) uses the related adjectives rather than the abstract nouns. On Herodotus’ account and its intellectual context, see Thomas (2000), 139–53. 74 Cf. Aristotle, who believes in the existence of the divine, but does not allow for divine interference in the world: Lloyd (1968), 157.

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life because75 it is strong and bold. His examples show some interest in biological details: in discussing polygonia in hares, he maintains that embryos can be seen in different stages of development inside the mother hare (3.108.3), and he also claims that the lioness can only give birth once because she gives birth to her womb—damaged by scratches from the embryo—along with her cub (3.108.4). Yet these biological details are related as evidence for a divine plan at work, rather than as explanations in their own right for polygonia and oligogonia.76 Herodotus also uses biological detail as evidence for his theory of divine foresight in the cases of the Arabian flying snakes and vipers. He discusses why these creatures do not reproduce as much ‘as their nature might allow’: the male is killed by the female during copulation and the female is killed by its young, which eat their way out through her insides to ‘avenge’ (Øøæ Æ) their father (3.109). The concept of divine vengeance appears numerous times in the Histories and the remarkable ascription here of revenge as a motivation upon which the young animals act provides further ‘evidence’ for Herodotus’ theory of divinity at work.77 These examples illustrate a clear divide between Herodotus and Aristotle’s explanatory methods.78 Whereas Aristotle uses general theories about animal biology to explain oligogonia and polygonia, Herodotus instead draws on select examples from the animal world and uses their biology to illustrate his theory of divine foresight. Herodotus’ explanatory mode on this occasion is not even one of dual causality, where scientific explanation and explanation in divine terms act in parallel.79 75 The present participle Ke need not be read as implying causality, but after the clearly expressed causal relationship in the case of the hare it seems natural to read it this way. 76 Rosalind Thomas (2000, 145–6) suggests that Herodotus’ use of the term epikuisketai (‘conceive again when already pregnant’) in relation to the hare may indicate that Herodotus is familiar with ‘technical’ medical writings on the subject of superfetation. We do not know how advanced ideas about superfetation were in the fifth century. Superfetation receives fuller discussion in the late Hippocratic work Superfetation, as well as in Aristotle’s Gen. an. and Hist. an., and Thomas could be right in suggesting that Herodotus may have had some familiarity with early medical writings on the subject. 77 On divine retribution in Herodotus, see Harrison (2000), 102–21. 78 Thomas (2000, 146) regards Airs as ‘no more “rational” or scientific than Herodotus’, yet the fact that the author of Airs does not rely on the divine as an explanation is an important distinction between the authors. 79 Lloyd (1979), 31, Harrison (2000), 92ff.

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These differences are significant for our understanding of Aristotle’s discussion of monotokia and polytokia as well as his attitude to ‘wonder’. Aristotle probably had Herodotus’ discussion in mind as one alternative account of the phenomena of monotokia and polytokia with which his audience would be familiar. Elsewhere, he calls the story about the lioness losing her uterus during birth ‘ridiculous’: › b º åŁ d FŁ æd F KŒºº Ø a  æÆ ŒÆ ºÅæÅ

K, ı  ŁÅ ̓ KŒ F  Æı r ÆØ f º Æ , I æF c ÆNÆ F e FŁ ıŁ  . ‘The tale which has been told about the uterus being expelled when the lioness gives birth is ridiculous, and it was invented because of the scarcity of lions; someone at a loss as to the reason invented the tale.’ History of Animals VI 579b2–4

Assuming this is an allusion to Herodotus specifically (which seems likely since Aristotle immediately gives other details from Herodotus about the scanty distribution of the lion in Europe),80 then the characterization of Herodotus as ‘at a loss as to the reason’ (I æF c ÆNÆ) looks significant. We have already seen the coupling of the state of aporia (being at a loss) with thauma and their characterization in the Metaphysics as the condition from which philosophizing allows one to escape. In another clear allusion to Herodotus, Aristotle makes reference again to thauma in an apparently pejorative fashion. In the Generation of Animals Aristotle is concerned to dispel the erroneous story that fish conceive without copulation: during his discussion, he refers to ‘the naive story’ told by ‘the story-teller (› ıŁºª ) Herodotus’ about fish conceiving by swallowing milt (Gen. an. 756b3–8; cf. Hdt. 2.93). He uses observational evidence to criticize (as ‘unscientific’: P̓ ƒæØŒH ) the idea that fish do not copulate. He calls it ‘thaumaston’ to believe that cephalopods and crustacea copulate but that fish do not. The sense of thaumaston here seems to be close to ‘absurd’ (757b35–758a3). We have seen how Thucydides highlights as problematic wonder at the temporally distant and geographically remote, due to the difficulties involved in scrutinizing evidence. Wonder can be an appropriate response to phenomena, Thucydides suggests, but only if the object of 80 Hist. an. 579b5–7 (Herodotus is not named, but compare Hdt. 7.126). Cf. Lloyd (1979), 212.

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that wonder has been thoroughly examined, tested, and is thereby shown to match up to report. Aristotle, in contrast, considers it the task of philosophy to dispel any sense of wonder at phenomena, and implies that wonder is symptomatic of an ignorant world-view. Additionally, the examples discussed above suggest that he appears to have associated Herodotus’ work in particular with an ‘unscientific’ notion of wonder.81

CATALOGUING THE MARVELLOUS: HERODOTUS AND PARADOXOGRAPHY We are now in a better position to examine the ways in which Hellenistic writers responded to Herodotus’ interest in wonders. In the early Hellenistic period works of ‘paradoxography’—catalogues of marvels—began to be written.82 Although examples of marvellous subject matter can be found in many Greek texts going back to the Homeric poems, the first work of ‘paradoxography’ devoted to such

81 Though the instances are only few, the cognates of thauma which appear in the Hist. an. are rather different in nature from those in the Gen. an. Especially surprising, in light of Aristotle’s own refusal to wonder at monotokia and polytokia in the Gen. an., are his comments on the reproduction of mice in the Hist. an.: ‘The reproduction of mice is most astonishing (ŁÆıÆØøÅ) with respect to number and speed when compared with other creatures’ (Hist. an. 580b10–11). No attempt is made to explain the prolificness of mice (cf. also 571b, 610a). In all these examples Aristotle uses ‘wonder’ in a way much like Herodotus does: to draw attention to some interesting or unusual observation. The usage in the Gen. an. by contrast appears to be much more self-conscious and much more consistent with the remarks connecting wonder and philosophy in the Metaphysics and Rhetoric. However, the general rule, that Aristotle avoids expressing wonder, remains true: there are only five examples of thauma and its cognates in the entire Hist. an. (almost 100,000 words). Cf. K. Stevens (forthcoming), who suggests that in the Hist. an. Aristotle uses eastern regions of the world to show ‘exceptions to rules, extreme zoological phenomena, or examples to “prove” counter-intuitive or surprising claims—a scientific equivalent of the “eastern marvel” strand in other genres of Greek writing’. (I read this article as this book was going to press and regret not being able to take account of it more fully.) 82 Ziegler (1949) remains a good introduction to paradoxography. More recently, see Schepens and Delcroix (1996). The paradoxographers have been edited by Giannini (1966), replacing Westermann (1839).

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subject matter is said to have been written by Callimachus, and he should at least be regarded as an early writer of paradoxography.83 The terms ‘paradoxography’ and ‘paradoxographer’ do not have extant ancient equivalents. The earliest attested use of ‘paradoxographer’ is by the twelfth century Byzantine scholar John Tzetzes (Chiliades 2.35, 154). It was revived by A. Westermann in 1839, who used —ÆæƪæçØ (‘Paradoxographers’) as the title for his edited collection of Scriptores Rerum Mirabilium Graeci (‘Greek Writers of Marvellous Things’).84 The similarity of the ancient titles of the works included in the modern editions (almost all mention thaumasia or paradoxa (‘marvels’ or ‘paradoxes’)), as well as formal features which the works share, suggest that ancient writers and readers may have recognized certain conventions for these works.85 It is, however, important to be alert not only to the similarities between the texts which have led to their being grouped together by modern editors, but to variations between them also. In considering the relationship between Herodotus and the paradoxographers, this section focuses on the two most complete paradoxographical works to have survived: the ‘æØH ÆæÆø ıƪøª (‘Collection of Incredible Stories’) (=Incredible Stories), attributed to Antigonus of Carystus, and the — æd ŁÆıÆø

83 Schepens and Delcroix (1996). Aulus Gellius’ report of seeing ‘ . . . libri Graeci miraculorum fabularumque pleni, res inauditae, incredulae . . . ’ (‘ . . . Greek books full of miracles and fabulous tales, strange and incredible things . . . ’) seems to be a reference to ‘paradoxography’ (Gell. 9.4.1–4). Cf. Dorandi (1999), xvi: ‘ . . . dans l’Antiquité, il n’existait pas de genre littéraire paradoxographique indépendant . . . ’ (‘ . . . in Antiquity an independent genre of paradoxographical literature did not exist . . . ’). Dorandi suggests that the transmitted ‘paradoxographical’ texts are Byzantine collections of excerpts derived from ancient texts. 84 Westermann’s editorial principles for choosing which texts to include must be inferred from his comments on what he understands to be the subject matter and the form of the works: they are, he says, about things which ‘praeter exspectationem accidunt et admirationem movent’ (‘are unexpected and stir surprise’). He describes them further as works which excerpt marvels from other texts and then bring them together into one collection (Westermann (1839), ix–x). The works which Westermann included in his edition are retained in Giannini’s 1966 edition of Paradoxographorum Graecorum Reliquiae (Giannini adds the texts of three subsequently discovered manuscripts by anonymous authors: the Paradoxographus Florentinus, Paradoxographus Vaticanus, and Paradoxographus Palatinus). 85 For a description of the typical features of the paradoxographical works, see Schepens and Delcroix (1996), 380–99.

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IŒıø (‘On Marvellous Things Heard’) (=Marvels Heard), attributed to Aristotle.86 Antigonus of Carystus was a sculptor, art critic and biographer, who enjoyed the patronage of Attalus I Soter (241–197) at Pergamon. The attribution of the Incredible Stories to Antigonus has found reasonable support among modern scholars: most notably, it was defended by Wilamowitz.87 Although there have been some detractors, Wilamowitz’s arguments remain compelling, and have been accepted most recently by Schepens and Vergados.88 The late third century date which this attribution implies would make the Incredible Stories an early example of paradoxographical writing. Most of what we know of Callimachus’ paradoxographical work is transmitted through Antigonus’ Incredible Stories (}}129–73 = Callimachus F 407, Pfeiffer).89 The Marvels Heard, attributed to Aristotle, is also perhaps one of the earliest surviving paradoxographical works. Modern scholars are in agreement that the work is not by Aristotle; there have been no suggestions for alternative authorship, however. The references in the Marvels Heard to Agathocles, king of the Siceliots (}110), and Cleonymus of Sparta (}78), seem to provide a terminus post quem of c.270 for its composition. Helmut Flashar has made a case for taking the majority of the work to be from the second half of the third century (with a few later insertions, such as }}51, 152–78). He suggests that the similarities between it and the Incredible Stories (which in his view is correctly attributed to Antigonus) point to the two works being roughly contemporaneous.90 The work is unusual for its low number of source citations, in contrast to other paradoxographical works.91

86 The texts for both these works can be found in Giannini (1966), and this is the edition I have used. There is an English translation of the Marvels Heard in the Loeb Classical Library edition of Aristotle’s Minor Works: Hett (1936). 87 Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (1881), 16–26. 88 Schepens and Delcroix (1996), 401; Vergados (2007). Cf. Musso (1976), Köpke (1862). 89 Antigonus introduces Callimachus’ work at }129: ÅÆØ  ØÆ ŒÆd › ˚ıæÅÆE ˚ƺºÆå KŒºªc H ÆæÆø. . . . (‘Callimachus of Cyrene has composed a certain collection of marvels (paradoxa) . . . ’). Could Antigonus’ choice of verb indicate that the work was composed in verse, not prose? 90 Flashar (1972), 52–5. 91 The only authors cited in the Marvels Heard are Hanno (}37), Xenophanes (}38), Polycritus (}112), Callisthenes (}132), Eudoxus (}173), and there is also a reference to ‘Phoenician Histories’ (}134). The low number of source citations in

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In the Incredible Stories and the Marvels Heard Herodotus is only named once as a source (Incredible Stories 21). Given the paucity of citations in the Marvels Heard, the absence of a Herodotean citation may not at first seem particularly significant. But it is apparent that Herodotus was consulted little, if at all, by the author of the Marvels Heard. The sources for the Marvels Heard which Flashar has identified are various: predominantly they are Aristotle’s History of Animals, Book 9, Theophrastus, and Timaeus.92 The Incredible Stories too draws on a wide range of sources, with Aristotle again featuring prominently, and also Callimachus. The long list of names cited (which Schepens records) makes the single Herodotean citation look unimpressive.93 Yet when reading the Incredible Stories and the Marvels Heard with the Herodotean background of marvels in mind, it is striking how ‘Herodotean’ some of the subjects and descriptions seem. This makes the lack of genuine material from Herodotus’ Histories all the more remarkable. Giannini’s index of subjects treated by the paradoxographers gives a broad overview of which topics were of particular interest.94 Subjects which predominate in paradoxography are phenomena from the natural world: in particular, the subjects more commonly treated than any other are (to use Giannini’s terms) mirabilia de aquis (‘watermarvels’) and mirabilia de animalibus (‘animal-marvels’). Another subject of some interest are mirabilia de plantis (‘plant-marvels’). Other ‘natural marvels’ are also treated, but to a far lesser extent than these first three. They include marvellous metals, stones, and fire. In addition to natural marvels, the paradoxographical writers show some (limited) interest in marvels concerning humans. These include ethnographical peculiarities (mirabilia de gentium moribus), and curiosities of the human physiology (mirabilia de corpore). Giannini sees the two key influences on paradoxography as being the tradition of Ionian historiography and the Peripatetic school. The influence of the Peripatetic school is perhaps more obvious, given the clear bias in subject matter towards phenomena from the natural

[Aristotle]’s Marvels Heard may indicate that it is of a relatively early date, before the conventions for paradoxographical writing had become firmly established. 92 Flashar (1972), 40–1. The authorship of History of Animals, Book 9 has been questioned: see Balme (1991), 9–10. 93 Schepens and Delcroix (1996), 383–4. 94 Giannini (1966), 427–30.

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world, and Aristotle is very often cited as a source. Nevertheless, there is considerable overlap between the material that was of interest to the paradoxographers and the types of ‘marvels’ which Herodotus included in his Histories.95 In particular, the interests in water, animals, and ethnographical peculiarities are shared. The paradoxographers’ interest in plants is not a subject to which Herodotus devotes much attention, although there are some isolated examples—for instance, cannabis (4.74–5) and the lotus (4.177). The paradoxographers’ mirabilia de corpore are also essentially different from Herodotus’ examples of human physical peculiarities. Herodotus usually describes with wonder individuals (for example, the snake-woman (4.9) and Cassandane’s children (3.3)), whereas the paradoxographers seem more concerned with generalities (for instance, men having more teeth than women (Incredible Stories, 68), and people who eat once a day having a sharper temperament than those who eat twice (Apollonius, Historiae Mirabiles, 9)). Herodotus’ interest in wondrous man-made structures is not reflected in the paradoxographers.96 Mirabilia de aquis constituted a category in Herodotus’ intellectual framework.97 Bodies of water that Herodotus specifically refers to as wonders include (man-made) Lake Moeris (2.149) and the Pontus (4.85), and many more waters could be classified as falling within the range of the ‘unmarked wondrous’. For Herodotus, the wondrous quality of Lake Moeris and the Pontus seems to have been determined by their size. For the paradoxographers, it is instead waters with other unusual qualities which are of interest: for instance, rivers which catch fire, cure disease, or change temperature. Herodotus does have some interest in unusual bodies of water of this type, however. One example, found both in Herodotus and in the Incredible Stories, is an unusual pitch-producing pool in Zacynthus (Hdt. 4.195, Incredible Stories, 153). As is often the case when his subject matter is ‘wondrous’, Herodotus is careful to make his account sound credible. He introduces the topic with the statement ‘all things are possible’ ( YÅ ̓ i ÆÐ), and then emphasizes his autopsy (‘I have seen for myself . . . ’, ÆPe Kªg uæø). He describes the method used to draw 95

Cf. Flashar (1972), 50–1. It is instead reflected and continued in the tradition of the Seven Wonders of the World, as the next section details. 97 See, for example: 4.82. 96

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up pitch from the pool, and adds that anything dropped into the pool is carried under the earth to re-emerge in the sea four stades away. In Antigonus, we hear that pitch is taken from the pool, even though there are fish in it (a new detail), and that anything thrown into it reappears in the sea (again, four stades away). Despite the close similarity to Herodotus, this information forms part of the section of the Incredible Stories which derives from Callimachus (}153 = Callim. F 407 XXV (Pfeiffer)), and Callimachus in turn cited Eudoxus as his source for the information. The ‘Spring of the Sun’ is also included in the Callimachean section of the Incredible Stories (}144 = Callim. F 407 XVI (Pfeiffer); cf. Hdt. 4.181). Aristotle is cited as his source for this, however, and the strange phenomena of the Spring are described in less detail than in Herodotus, and differ in the detail that the spring is iced over at dawn and sunset.98 In the paradoxographers’ mirabilia de animalibus, we find more overlaps with Herodotus’ material. For example, at Marvels Heard 23 it is related that snakes are born in such quantities in Thessaly that people would leave if the local storks did not eat them. The author continues with the information that storks are honoured because of this, and that anyone who kills one is liable to the same penalties as a murderer. The source for this is thought to be Theophrastus.99 Herodotus’ interest in the large numbers of flying snakes and vipers in Arabia is comparable. He says that their numbers are so great that they would fill up the land if it were not for their peculiar method of procreating and giving birth (3.108–9). The honouring of animals is also an area of interest to Herodotus: he comments on the honours accorded to animals in Egypt and the punishments meted out to anyone who killed one (2.65). Some further examples: at Marvels Heard, 83, the author remarks on the absence of wolves, bears, and snakes in Crete, and attributes this to the fact that Zeus was born there (Flashar suggests Theophrastus as the source). This section is comparable to Herodotus’ comments on mules in Elis (4.30.1). Both authors remark on the lack of certain types of animal in a particular land, and in both cases the cause of this peculiarity is explained in terms of the divine: because Crete is the birthplace of Zeus, according to [Aristotle], and because 98 ‘The Spring of the Sun’ is described by later writers too: Diod. Sic. 17.50.4–5, Lucr. 6.848ff. 99 Flashar (1972).

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of a curse, according to Herodotus. Antigonus too in his Incredible Stories shows an interest in the lack of particular animals in particular countries (}}9–13). In one case he gives (at length) a divine cause as an explanation (}12). Antigonus also includes the information on mules not being born in Elis (}13). Herodotus is not mentioned as the source for this detail (but this is not unusual for this section of the Incredible Stories: in Incredible Stories, 9–13, only Amelesagoras of Athens is named as a source: }12). There is another example of commonality of information on this subject in Antigonus and Herodotus: both mention the lack of deer and wild pigs in Libya (Hdt. 4.192, Incredible Stories, 11). Again, Antigonus does not mention a source, but given that Aristotle is the only other (known) earlier writer to mention this, and given that he differs slightly from both Herodotus and Antigonus on the matter (he adds the wild goat to the list: History of Animals, 606a 6–7), it is encouraging to think that Antigonus’ information on this occasion derives from Herodotus. Like Herodotus and the paradoxographers, Aristotle shows an interest in the peculiarity of certain species of animal not being found in certain lands (History of Animals, 605b 22ff.). Aristotle tries to explain the reason for the geographical differences in animal populations, and the reasons he suggests are differences in the availability of food (æç ) and in the climate (ŒæÆÐØ ). Aristotle’s attempt to explain the absence of certain animals in terms of the natural features of the geographical region concerned stands in sharp contrast to [Aristotle] and Antigonus: these two authors, like Herodotus, either give no explanation at all, or frame their explanation in terms of the divine. There is another example of an ‘unscientific’ explanation from Herodotus being preferred to the more ‘scientific’ one of Aristotle. As we have already seen, two examples which Herodotus uses to illustrate his idea of ‘divine foresight’ are the lion and the viper, both of which (Herodotus says) give birth only once (3.108–9). We have also seen that the example of the lion was dismissed by Aristotle as ‘ridiculous’ (History of Animals, 579b2–4). Yet it is just this example which Antigonus, whose source is so often Aristotle, draws on the one time that Herodotus is named in the Incredible Stories, and he relates the story of the viper as well (Incredible Stories, 21). The verbal parallels between this section and Herodotus’ own remarks on the lion make it encouraging to think that Antigonus consulted

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Herodotus directly here.100 This is particularly significant given Aristotle’s criticism of the story (a criticism which Antigonus, familiar as he was with Aristotle, surely knew). It suggests that Aristotle’s authority was by no means regarded as absolute, and also that Herodotus was considered to have some credibility as a source. The author of the Marvels Heard also remarks that the behaviour of the young vipers is ‘as if to avenge the death of their father’ (u æ e ŁÆ F Ææe   æå Æ), the same motivation which Herodotus ascribes to the young snakes. The conjunction u æ (‘as if ’) suggests that the author may not agree with this alleged motivation; nevertheless, he includes the detail and does not refute it. In the third century AD Aelian, in his On the Nature of Animals, would reject the details about parturition on the authority of Theophrastus, and then make reference to Herodotus, apparently acknowledging him as the originator of the story: ‘I suppose that Herodotus will not be angry with me if I record as fables all that he says about the birth of vipers’ (NA 15.16). Theophrastus’ rejection of the tradition is no longer extant, but it is revealing to see that this Herodotean tradition is included in the paradoxographers, despite the fact that, again, it had been challenged; and especially since, like Aristotle, Theophrastus was another common source for the paradoxographers. Again, this signals that Herodotus was perceived to have some credibility as a source.101 It would be possible to document more examples where the subject matter which Herodotus classed as wondrous (either explicitly, or implicitly) is to be found in the paradoxographical corpus. Usually, however, there is no reason to think that Herodotus was a direct source. Nevertheless, the clear overlaps in subject matter between Herodotus and the paradoxographers make it reasonable to suppose that much Herodotean material would have been of interest to the same type of reader at which the paradoxographers aimed their works. Therefore, the fact that Herodotus seems to have been largely ignored as a source by the paradoxographers demands some explanation. In the entire extant paradoxographical corpus, Herodotus is 100 Vergados (2007), 739. Cf. Riemann (1967), 60–1, who suggests that Antigonus’ reference to multiple embryos indicates that he did not consult Herodotus directly; I disagree that this is implied, since the passages are very close otherwise, although Riemann may be correct to suggest that it is a subtle ‘improvement’ on Herodotus to explain why lions had not over time become extinct. 101 In light of Aelian’s evidence at NA 15.16, Flashar’s suggestion (1972: 149) that Theophrastus is the source for Marvels Heard, 165 seems improbable.

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cited just twice: once by Antigonus, and once by a later writer known as Paradoxographus Florentinus (second century AD?). A possible explanation for the paucity of Herodotean citations is that Herodotus was only rarely consulted directly. The overlap of subject matter might then be explained by intermediate texts. In other words, Herodotean material was adopted by paradoxographical writers only because of their familiarity with other writers who had consulted Herodotus directly. This does not seem a satisfactory explanation, however, in light of other evidence that Herodotus’ work continued to be read in the Hellenistic period. Antigonus’ use of Herodotus does at least indicate that there was some awareness that Herodotus was a potential source of suitable subject matter. And yet, he still appears to have been largely ignored. For Herodotus, one of the principal ways to make fantastic subject matter seem credible was to highlight that it had been verified through his own personal inquiry. For the Hellenistic paradoxographers, personal inquiry was no longer necessary, and instead information could be found by scouring the writings of previous authors, all made readily accessible in the libraries of the day.102 If it was not due to unfamiliarity that Herodotus was rarely cited, then one explanation might be that the paradoxographers and their audiences did not consider Herodotus a credible source. As has already been suggested in the above discussion, however, some of the individual examples suggest that Herodotus did have credibility as a source. We observed that Aristotelian zoological material was a major source for paradoxographers, and that other authors were also used extensively: Theophrastus and Timaeus in particular. Although several historians are cited by the paradoxographers, most would appear to have been only an occasional source, just as Herodotus apparently was (with the exception of Timaeus, and perhaps also Theopompus). It seems that more recent historians, even if they themselves owed much to Herodotus, were considered preferable sources to Herodotus. There is then perhaps an element of wanting to appear ‘up-to-date’ (we might compare Apollonius of Rhodes’ interest in displaying cutting-edge knowledge of seafaring, medicine, and geography).103 Alternatively 102

On the acknowledgement of sources as a characteristic feature of Greek paradoxography: Schepens and Delcroix (1996), 383–6. Schepens suggests that personal inquiry may have played some role, but there is little supporting evidence (384–5). 103 Meyer (2001), 223.

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(or rather, perhaps, as well) it may be that the paradoxographers’ ideas about ‘authority’ were rather different from our own, and that for certain types of material, they considered that names such as Theophrastus and Timaeus simply carried more weight than the name Herodotus—even sometimes when Herodotus’ Histories was in fact known to be the source-text for these sources.104 In terms of formal layout, the paradoxographical works bear a resemblance to some of the passages on marvels seen in Herodotus. It was noted that there are times when Herodotus narrates a series of marvels in succession, a technique perhaps designed to create anticipation and suspense. The paradoxographical works, which typically comprise of lists of marvels excerpted from other works, are comparable to these Herodotean passages (although unlike in Herodotus, they are usually entirely disconnected from a wider internal narrative).105 Another characteristic feature of Herodotean wonders mirrored in the paradoxographical corpus is the narrator’s belief in the essential truth of the wonders described. Herodotus is remarkably consistent in his definition of wondrous material, and by calling something a thōma he signals that, as incredible as it may seem, what is being described is in fact true.106 The raison d’être for the collections of the paradoxographers is also, it would seem, the very truth of the wonders described: ‘. . . the unusual will not produce its proper effect on the reader unless this reader is brought to believe that the

104 Pelling (2000b), 186–7 makes an observation along these lines to explain Athenaus’ use of Chamaeleon (10,427b–c) and Ctesias (13,560d–f), instead of Herodotus, even though Athenaeus very clearly knows Herodotus: ‘We automatically assume that Herodotus is a better authority, because earlier and presumably the “source” for the story, but Athenaeus (or his speakers, or his audience) might attach more weight to Chamaeleon, treasure-trove as he clearly was of hedonistic material. That was where you went for material like this . . . . Ctesias was the better name for stories like this; his was the name that added lustre and style.’ (The stories in question are Spartans calling strong drink ‘Scythian’, recalling Cleomenes’ madness induced by his Scythian-style drinking (Hdt. 6.84), and the bedroom politics alleged to be behind Cambyses’ invasion of Egypt (Hdt. 3.1–2).) 105 Sometimes Herodotean marvels are only very loosely connected to the surrounding narrative (see especially 4.30.1). Cf. Harrison (2000), 74. The apparently haphazard arrangement of paradoxographical works is seen in other works of ancient literature too: see Bowie (2003) on Buntschriftstellerei. 106 Cf. p. 60 with n.42.

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phenomenon described is part of reality and that it does not merely exist in the imagination of the paradoxographer’.107 The implicit claim that the wonders described by the paradoxographers are true reflects Herodotus’ own implied claims of truth for the wondrous material in his Histories, and an exception proves the rule. At Marvels Heard, 101, an unusual remark is made by the author on the authenticity of a reported marvel. The story concerns a cave on the island of Lipara, where a man was said to have gone to sleep, drunk. He was found on the fourth day of searching by his servants, who thought him dead and began performing the usual rites, when he suddenly arose and told them everything. This story is followed by the comment: F b s E çÆ ÆØ ıŁø  æ· ‹ø  Ø  Ø c ÆæÆºØ E IÅ ı ÆP, H æd e   KŒ E c IƪæÆçc Ø . This seems to us rather fabulous. Nevertheless, one should not pass over it without mention when writing an account of that place. [Aristotle], Marvels Heard, 101

The source for the story is thought to be Timaeus,108 and the remark on the duty to record stories, regardless of the author’s own views on their credibility, is reminiscent of comments made by Herodotus: EØ   ı  ’ `Nªı ø º ª ØØ åæŁø ‹ ø fi a ØÆFÆ ØŁÆ KØ· Kd b Ææa Æ e ºª  Œ ØÆØ ‹Ø a º ª Æ  ’ Œø IŒB fi ªæçø. ‘Let whoever such things seem credible to make use of the stories told by the Egyptians. As for me, it is my principle throughout the whole account to write the things said by each people as I hear them.’ 2.123.1

When compared with the rest of the extant paradoxographical corpus, the critical comment of Marvels Heard, 101 is extremely unusual. The unusualness struck Flashar also; quoting Geffcken, he reasons that such a comment ‘cannot be attributed to the wonderwriter himself (who does not marvel at many unusual things)’, and concludes that the comment reflects the original source, Timaeus.109 107

108 Schepens and Delcroix (1996), 382–3. Flashar (1972), 119. Flashar (1972), 119, quoting Geffcken (1892), 61, n.1 (‘nicht auf den Thaumasiographen selbst zurückgehen kann, der sich über viel Sonderbares nicht wundert’). 109

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This is just one of several possible indications that Timaeus’ work had ‘Herodotean’ elements in its outlook and approach, and the paradoxographers’ heavy reliance on Timaeus may help to explain why paradoxography often ‘seems’ Herodotean, despite a paucity of passages where Herodotus can be shown to be the source. In contrast, despite the heavy reliance of the paradoxographical authors on Aristotle as a source for their material, it is remarkable how removed their works are from Aristotle in their aims and outlook. In Aristotle, the response of wonder is associated with ignorance (agnoia). His search for explanations (aitia) is ultimately aimed at dispelling wonder at phenomena and replacing it with knowledge. In paradoxography, however, knowledge and wonder are brought together. A sense of wonder is precisely the response which the works aim to provoke in their readers, and at the same time they embrace the latest advances in knowledge, overtly demonstrating the scholarly learning involved in their composition by the very broadness of their scope and by the repeated citation of sources. The determination to find wonder in the world and at the same time to display an awareness of the most up-to-date contemporary learning combine in the paradoxographical works and give them a character which is strongly reminiscent of Herodotus’ own work.110 The paradoxographers’ lack of interest in providing explanations for the wonders described is an intriguing characteristic of their works. It has earned them some condescending descriptions in modern scholarship: Giannini sees paradoxographical works as a symptom of decay in the spirit of curiosity and inquiry, and they have been referred to as ‘pseudo-scientific’ texts.111 The listing of bare ‘facts’, devoid of explanation, is the most dramatic way in which the works deviate from Aristotelian science. Herodotus could at times also be said to be uncritical in expressing wonder.112 Yet Herodotus was generally very interested in offering explanations for the subjects treated in his Histories (even while highlighting the underlying difficulties involved).113 In their near complete omission of explanations, 110 The same could be said of Apollonius’ Argonautica. Herodotus’ self-conscious, at times even ostentatious, displays of contemporary learning have been discussed at length by Thomas (2000). 111 See Schepens and Delcroix (1996), 378, 390ff., and Giannini (1963). 112 Cf. pp. 69–75. 113 Useful studies of Herodotus’ explanations and explanatory methods for events and phenomena include Immerwahr (1956), Thomas (2000), Baragwanath (2008).

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the paradoxographers do not share an affinity with either Herodotus’ or Aristotle’s approach. The paradoxographers’ lack of interest in aitia is unusual, both in terms of background and contemporary intellectual trends. However, rather than regarding their efforts as ‘a perversion of Aristotelian scientific inquiry’,114 it is worth considering the possibility that the paradoxographers’ overriding aim was to recreate a sense of wonder at the world that advances in knowledge had done much to diminish. The absence of explanation is thought to be intrinsic to the paradoxographer’s ‘endeavour to inspire his readers with a true sense of the marvellous’.115 And although the culling of explanations may appear to characterize a ‘degenerate’ form of science, the fact that careful referencing of sources seems to have become a common feature of the paradoxographical corpus could be more significant than is normally supposed. The purpose of named citations may not be merely to create a rhetorical display of learning. Some familiarity with the context from which the wonders of the paradoxographers were drawn could have been expected (or conversely, the aim of the citations may have been to encourage curious readers to become familiar with them). The lack of explanations in paradoxography should perhaps not be presumed to be symptomatic of l’émerveillement stupide. It is instead worth entertaining the possibility that the deliberate omission of (to the authors, already known) explanations was instead a conceit to arouse l’esprit critique in their Hellenistic audiences. Reading the paradoxographical works would evoke a sense of wonder at the world, and this wonder would perhaps stimulate audiences to carry out their own ‘inquiry’ of the sources.

HERODOTUS AND THE SEVEN WONDERS OF THE WORLD Another manifestation of an interest in the ‘wondrous’ in the Hellenistic period is the development of the canon of the Seven Wonders of the World.116 These seem to have been commonly referred to by

114 116

115 Zanker (1987), 118. Schepens and Delcroix (1996), 392. For a general introduction to the Seven Wonders: Brodersen (1996).

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Greek authors as the ‘Seven Sights (Theamata)’ ( a Ł ÆÆ); but other titles for the canon are also extant, including ‘Seven Wonders (Thaumata)’ ( a ŁÆÆÆ).117 The ambiguity of the Greek terminology, arising from the close relationship between ‘wonder’ and ‘sight’ in Greek thought, is reflected in the Latin terms for the Wonders: Miracula, Mirabilia, and Spectacula (‘Wonders’, ‘Marvels’, and ‘Sights’).118 There is evidence that Herodotus had an influence both on the types of works that came to be included in the list of the Seven—what was classed as ‘worth seeing’ or ‘wondrous’—as well as on some of the descriptions of these works.119 The following sections argue that the Herodotean heritage of the Seven Wonders is acknowledged in the extant Hellenistic literature which describes the Wonders.

A Hellenistic construct The idea of a canon of ‘Seven Sights (Theamata)’ or ‘Wonders (Thaumata)’ seems to have developed early in the Hellenistic period. Although the guidebook On the Seven Wonders of the World (De Septem Mundi Miraculis) which is attributed to the engineer Philo of Byzantium (third century) is probably in fact of a work of the sixth century AD,120 it is a tempting possibility that the attribution may reflect some genuine interest of the engineer in the Seven Wonders. Varro (first century), provides the earliest explicit attestation for a named collection of seven, referring to ‘the seven works in the world which should be seen’ (septem opera in orbe terrae miranda).121 Strabo refers to ‘The Seven Sights’ (a  a Ł ÆÆ) and mentions the Colossus of Rhodes (14.2.2), the Pyramids (17.1.33), the Walls of

The first extant example in Greek for ‘Seven Wonders’ ( a ŁÆÆÆ) is in the fourth century AD, in an epigram by Gregory of Nazianzus (Epigrammata 8.177). 118 Other Greek titles include a  a a K ØçÆ ÆÆ æªÆ (The Seven Most Remarkable Works), a  a a ŒÆÆÇ Æ æªÆ (The Seven Renowned Works). On the terminology, see Lanowski (1965), 1021. 119 Christopher Pelling (in correspondence) says that he wonders whether the development of the canon of the Seven Wise Men may also be influenced by Herodotus, given that several of them are mentioned in Herodotus’ first 100 chapters. 120 For the text, and a German translation and commentary, see Brodersen (1992). 121 Quoted by Gellius, 3.10.16. Pliny and Martial refer to ‘The Seven Wonders’ (Septem Miracula), Vitruvius to ‘The Seven Sights’ (Septem Spectacula). For further examples, see Lanowski (1965), 1021–4. 117

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Babylon (16.1.5), and the Mausoleum (14.2.16).122 A papyrus thought to date to the second century, known as the Laterculi Alexandrini (‘Alexandrian Lists’, so-named by its first modern editor Hermann Diels),123 refers tantalizingly to ‘The Seven Th . . . ’ (a  a Ł [ . . . . . . ), and then lists the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus, the_ Pyramids, and the Mausoleum, all of which feature in later lists of the Seven Wonders. Moreover, an epigram by Antipater of Sidon (late second century) suggests that the canon had already formed considerably earlier than Varro’s time (Anth. Pal. 9.58):124 ˚Æd ŒæÆÆA BÆıºH K æ –æÆØ  Eå

ŒÆd e K  ºç ØfiH ZÆÐÆ ŒÆÅıªÆÅ Œ ø  ÆNæÅÆ ŒÆd  ˙ ºØ Œºe ŒÆd  ªÆ ÆN ØÆÐ ıæÆø ŒÆ ÆÐ  !ÆıøºE ºæØ· Iºº ‹ K E æ Ø  ç ø ¼åæØ Ł Æ , Œ EÆ b MÆæø {b Œ q Y { çØ  ˇº ı "`ºØ P  ø E K ÅıªÆ. I have set eyes upon the Wall of lofty Babylon, raceway for chariots, and the Statue of Zeus by the Alpheius, and the Hanging Gardens, and the Colossus of Helius, and the great labour of the soaring Pyramids, and the massive tomb of Mausolus. But when I saw the Temple of Artemis, rising towards the clouds, they faded in brilliance [ . . . text corrupt . . . ] and outside Olympus the Sun never set eyes on anything like it. Anth. Pal. 9.58

In this poem Antipater mentions seven great works of art and architecture, all of which feature in later lists of the ‘Seven Sights’ or ‘Wonders’ (numerous variations in the works included in the canon can be seen at different times).125 From Antipater’s epigram a date for

122 Diodorus Siculus seems to be drawing on a different tradition: he lists the Pyramids and the Obelisk of Semiramis as among the Seven (1.63.2, 18.4.5); he does not explicitly say that the Walls and Hanging Gardens of Babylon are among the Seven, although they are described (2.10.1ff.). 123 Editio princeps: Diels (1904). As the name suggests, the work comprises of a series of lists (of architects, rivers, et cetera). 124 Or perhaps Antipater of Thessalonica (first century BC). Discussion: Gow and Page (1965), II.32–4; Gow and Page (1968), II.20–1; Argentieri (2003), 124–6. 125 Lanowski (1965) provides a comprehensive list of which works were included by which authors: 1021–4.

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the formation of the canon has been inferred. The youngest structure on the list is the Colossus of Rhodes, which was built sometime between 290 and 280 before being destroyed by an earthquake in 226.126 Although it is not necessarily true that the list must have crystallized while the Colossus was still standing,127 this scenario does seem likely, especially if, as the term Theamata and indeed Antipater’s epigram itself suggest, the Seven Wonders were regarded as sights that should be seen.128 The communis opinio is that a third century date for the formation of the canon of Seven Sights or Wonders is likely.129

The canonical wonders: Herodotean influence? Extraordinary man-made structures or monuments are often described as wonders in Herodotus. In particular, it is the massive size, technical ingenuity, and great expense involved in constructing these monuments to which Herodotus draws attention in his descriptions. ‘Wondrous’ monuments in Herodotus are presented as supreme examples of the ‘great and marvellous works of humankind’ (Preface), which is apparently exactly what the Seven Wonders represented also. Of the seven Wonders mentioned by Antipater, no more than four had been constructed by the time Herodotus wrote his Histories: the Pyramids, the Walls and Hanging Gardens of Babylon, and the Statue

126

On the Colossus: Hoepfner (2003). As is suggested by Ekschmitt (1984), 10. 128 Cf. the opening of Philo, Seven Wonders. Whether Antipater actually visited the monuments cannot of course be determined. His claim to have seen the Colossus is certainly stretching the truth, since it had already been destroyed. Cf. Gow and Page (1968) II.92. 129 Where the canon was first formed remains an open question. Lanowski (1965: 1024–6) has raised the possibility that the canon was not formed in Alexandria, pointing to what he punningly calls the Orientierung of the canon (i.e. the predominantly oriental orientation of the wonder-lists). Argentieri (2003, 124–5) has recently reiterated some of Lanowski’s points in favour of an eastern rather than an Alexandrian origin for the canon. Nevertheless, an Alexandrian origin should not be discounted as a possibility too quickly: we have already seen in Herodotus a connection between the exotic, the wondrous, and sights to be seen. The Lighthouse of Alexandria is not known in any lists before that compiled by Gregory, Bishop of Tours (sixth century AD): Lanowski (1965), 1022–3. 127

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of Zeus at Olympia (made by Pheidias in c. 432).130 Herodotus devotes attention to the first two of these.131 To Herodotus the whole city of Babylon is a thōma.132 His description of Babylon itself and the features of interest within the city betray an interest in the large scale of everything, the impressive technical skill involved in constructing the city, and the great cost involved (1.178–81). Numbers and measurements feature prominently in the description, and the walls of the city, a staple of the later canon, receive special attention. Their massive size is emphasized, as are the effort and expense that went into their construction. Herodotus says, for instance, that the bitumen was brought a distance of eight days’ journey, and that within the walls there were one hundred gates of solid bronze. Herodotus’ rhetoric of wonder is used to great effect in the description of Babylon. Herodotus also describes the pyramids of Egypt, and although he does not refer to them explicitly as thōmata, he uses his rhetoric of wonder in the description of the Great Pyramid of Giza (2.124–5). As was the case with the description of the Babylonian fortifications, this description betrays a preoccupation with massive size, great effort, technical ingenuity, and expense. According to Herodotus’ account, just to construct the causeway over which the blocks of stone were pulled, it took gangs of 100,000 men ten years’ hard labour, and the Pyramid took another twenty years. He focuses once more on measurements, temporal and spatial, peppering his account with numbers. The huge blocks of polished stone and the complicated manner in which the Pyramid was constructed are detailed; and finally, with a

130 Although there existed a temple of Artemis at Ephesus (mentioned by Herodotus: 1.92), it was burnt down in 356. The temple to which Antipater and others refer was the temple built subsequently. 131 Herodotus does not seem to be aware of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, and Dalley (1994) has suggested that they were not in Babylon but Nineveh. The Hanging Gardens may have been mentioned by Cleitarchus, a fourth-century historian of Alexander the Great (Diod. Sic. 2.10; cf. Bigwood (1978), 45 n.11). They were also perhaps mentioned by Berossus in his Babyloniaca, although Dalley (1994, 55–6) thinks that the attribution may be wrong. Cf. Reade (2000), who contests Dalley (1994). 132 Although he does not explicitly mark it as such at the outset, we sense this from the way he describes the city. Cf. 1.194.1: te b ± ø hHla le† cist¸m  KØ H ÆfiÅ let› ce aPtcm tcm p¸kim æåÆØ çæø (‘I shall now describe what is in my view the greatest wonder of all in this region [=Assyria], after the city itself . . . ’.

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famous (mis-)translation of an Egyptian inscription, he emphasizes the great expense involved in its construction. With so little of the literature surviving, we cannot know the full extent to which Herodotus’ own descriptions of awe-inspiring monuments influenced descriptions of the Seven Wonders in the Hellenistic period. In the case of the Pyramids, for instance, extended descriptions are not to be found until Roman times, in the works of Diodorus, Strabo, and Pliny. Pliny provides a list of authors who had written about the Pyramids, giving us an idea of their popularity as a subject: he mentions Herodotus, Duris of Samos, Aristagoras, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Artemidorus, Alexander Polyhistor, Butoridas, Antisthenes, Demetrius, Demoteles, and Apion.133 J. Elsner has considered the surviving descriptions and observes that Herodotus’ description is undeniably influential: the Herodotean account is either repeated with perhaps minor changes (as in Diodorus and Pliny), or the wonders of Herodotus’ account are capped by more remarkable wonders, also the product of autopsy (as in Strabo and Aelius Aristides).134 There are obvious parallels between the sorts of monuments which were marked out by Herodotus as ‘wondrous’ and those which came to be numbered among the Seven Wonders in the Hellenistic period. Might these parallels reflect Herodotus’ influence on the particular world-view which first gave rise to the list of Seven Wonders? In prose, no early Hellenistic descriptions of the Seven Wonders survive, except for the fragments of the bare list of the Laterculi Alexandrini. There are hints, however, of an answer in Antipater’s epigram and especially in Callimachus’ Iambus 6 which describes the Statue of Zeus at Olympia: the poets themselves seem to allude to Herodotus in their poems, apparently acknowledging the importance of Herodotus’ celebration of the great and marvellous in their own descriptions of the canonical Wonders.

133

Pliny, HN 36.79. Elsner (1994), 238. A third possibility (wholesale rejection) is characteristic of Christian writers: see Elsner (1994), 241–2. Admittedly, Pliny records that the writers who describe the Pyramids are not all in agreement, but he is probably referring to discrepancies in details such as the measurements, rather than discrepancies in the manner of description. 134

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Descriptions of the Seven Wonders: Herodotus acknowledged For Herodotus, the great size of monuments was important in the evocation of wonder, and similarly, Antipater’s epigram, quoted above, conveys the impressive scale of the Wonders described. The Pyramids are ‘lofty’ (ÆN ØÆÐ);135 the Mausoleum is ‘massive’ ( ºæØ); the temple of Artemis is described as stretching towards the clouds; and the very name of the Rhodian ‘Colossus’ probably evokes its extraordinary size.136 Another indication of size is the gloss ‘raceway for chariots’ (K æ –æÆØ) which Antipater gives the wall of Babylon. This detail suggests that the Herodotean description of the walls was familiar to Antipater and his audience. Herodotus describes the top of Babylon’s great defence wall as punctuated by one-storey buildings facing one another, between which ‘they had left room for a four-horse chariot to drive around’ (1.179.3), a detail which was so well-known in the fifth century at least that it is parodied by Aristophanes in the Birds (performed 414).137 Antipater’s gloss indicates the massive width of the wall; but it also hints that Herodotus’ account had been influential in drawing attention to the enormous scale of this particular Wonder. There are other similarities, and although it is unclear that these are in any sense intertextual, taken together they are suggestive of a kinship between Herodotus’ wonders and the Seven Wonders. The emphasis on the effort involved in construction, which is often apparent in Herodotus’ descriptions of great and wondrous structures, is also alluded to by Antipater in his description of the Pyramids as a ‘great labour’ ( ªÆ . . . ŒÆ). Autopsy, another characteristic of Herodotus’ descriptions, is emphasized by Antipater too, and as was often the case in Herodotus, the poem offers a 135 Babylon is described as ‘rocky’ (ŒæÆÆA ), which is possibly meant to evoke the high walls. Gow and Page (1968, II.92) suggest that the word may have become a stereotype for fortified cities, remarking that ‘the adjective is appropriate to Athens (Ar. Ach. 75, al.) with its rocky acropolis, but is not obviously so to Babylon which lay astride the Euphrates K fiø (Strab. 16.1.5)’. 136 On the meaning of the term kolossos (and for further bibliography), see Kosmetatou and Papalexandrou (2003). 137 Aristoph. Birds 1125–9. On the parodic treatment of Herodotus and his description of Babylon in Birds, see Dunbar’s (1995) notes on lines 552 and 1125–44, and Fornara (1971), 28–9. Much of the humour relies on the audience’s familiarity with Herodotus’ rhetoric of wonder.

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sequence of wonders, culminating in the most wondrous—the Temple of Artemis. Moreover, the final lines ‘ . . . and outside Olympus . . . ’138 remind the reader that these are monuments built by human hands; Herodotus’ interest in the erga of mortals rather than gods is reflected three centuries later in Antipater’s rapture at the Seven Wonders. Another of the Seven Wonders, the Statue of Zeus at Olympia, forms the subject of Callimachus’ Iambus 6 (= F 196, Pfeiffer), and here too a reaction to Herodotus’ descriptions of wonders is evident.139 Whether the canon had already been formed at this stage is a moot point,140 but either way, the statue was famed and admired in Callimachus’ day and would soon, if it had not been already, be incorporated into the canon. This setting of the Iambi for the Zeus is a striking one. Iambic poetry of the archaic period was traditionally concerned with ‘low’ subject matter: it was a genre for abuse, sexual subject matter, and the humble and mundane as far as aesthetic descriptions of objects were concerned.141 In light of the traditional background, a collection of iambic poems is an unexpected place to find Pheidias’ celebrated Zeus, an artwork of extraordinary size, beauty, and grandeur. The fragmentary state of Iambus 6 means that we are reliant on the Diegesis (an ancient summary of the poem) for an understanding of its imagined dramatic setting:142 º E › Z  , ±  åÆ b # ØÆ. ˆøæø fi ÆPF I  º Ø ŒÆa Ł Æ F  Oºı ı ˜Øe N Ð HºØ ØŪ EÆØ BŒ oł º  ø

Łæı   ı ÆPF F Ł F ŒÆd ‹Å  Æ Å, ÅØıæªe b # ØÆ &Ææı ŁÅÆE. ‘ “Elean is the Zeus, the craft is of Pheidias”. To an acquaintance of his sailing to Elis to see the sight of the Olympian Zeus, he gives an account of the length, height, and breadth of the base, throne, footstool, and of

138

For this translation of çØ ˇº ı, see Gow and Page (1968), II.93. The following discussion of Iambus 6 draws closely on parts of Priestley (2011) and is published with the kind permission of Cambridge Scholars Publishing. On Iambus 6, see also Kerkhecker (1999), Acosta-Hughes and Scodel (2004), Petrovic (2006), Hunter (2011), Schroeder (forthcoming). 140 Cf. pp. 88–90. 141 Cf. Hipponax, IEG F 42 (West), however, which makes reference to the tomb of Attalus, the monument of Gyges, the stele (of Sesostris?), and the memorial of Tos. 142 The full text and an English translation of Iambus 6 can be found in AcostaHughes (2002). 139

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the god himself, and how expensive it was, and that the craftsman was Pheidias the Athenian, son of Charmides.’

The lemma of the Diegesis is also the first line of the poem. The following twenty lines are lost except for a few letters in some of the lines, but from the Diegesis we might guess that their content alluded to the impending journey of the acquaintance. Line 22 mentions a hare and tortoise, possibly a reference to the Aesopic fable (but the significance in the context of this poem is lost).143 At lines 23ff. the sense of the poem becomes clearer: the description of the work of art has begun. The order of description of the Zeus seems to match that suggested in the Diegesis: it moves from the base (23–8), to the throne (29–36), to the statue (37–44).144 The manner of description is remarkable for the attention given to measurements. Height, breadth, and length are all mentioned, and a variety of numbers and units of measurement are already to be found in the highly fragmentary lines dealing with the base and the throne:   []æ[ŒØ] [ ]H (‘four times five _ _ _ feet’) (25), K NŁ (‘in length’) _(26),  æøæÆ (‘four palms long’) (27), ƺÆÆ (‘palms’) (28), æd K e ÆŒæe (‘three times in height’) (31),  ŒÆ (‘ten’) (31), YŒÆØ  K sæ (‘twenty in breadth’) (32). The fragments suggest that a precise account of the physical dimensions of the artwork is given, confirming what is stated in the Diegesis. What the Diegesis does not indicate, however, is the tone of the description, which seems to be ironic.145 This is partly due to the measurement details themselves: ‘They are there to surprise and disappoint, to reduce and deflate, to entertain and amuse through their misplaced exactitude and incongruous ingenuity’.146 But other details in the description encourage an ironic reading also. According to Pausanias, there were three Graces and three Seasons standing above the head of the Zeus (Paus. 5.11.7), and the poet enlivens the description of measurements by giving voice to the Seasons. Their

143 On the use of Aesop’s fables in the Iambi, see Acosta-Hughes and Scodel (2004). On the possible significance of the hare and tortoise in Iambus 6, see Schroeder (forthcoming). 144 The footstool is not mentioned in the extant fragments. 145 On the hints that the Iambi will be concerned with understated irony instead of open aggression, cf. Hunter (1997), 50–1. 146 Kerkhecker (1999), 170.

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height is presented as a matter of self-interest to them, and as a point of rivalry with the Graces: ÆæŁ Ø ªaæ Ð
'æÆØ ÆÐ OæªıØÆØÆÐ ‹ P [Æ]º[ _ __ çÆd  Ø Œ E·147 ‘For the maiden Seasons say that they are not a peg shorter than the six-and-a-half foot tall women.’ lines 42–4

Personified, the Seasons anxiously stress their equality with the Graces, setting up an amusing image of rivalry between the figures.148 The colloquial tone149 and the use of a small unit of measurement ( [Æ]º[, ‘a peg’) in the comparison of figures which are over life_ size _(ÆÐ _OæªıØÆØÆ Ð , ‘the one fathom women’ = 1.98m.)150 also contribute to the poem’s light-heartedness.151 The suggestion that the acquaintance is greedy (ºå Kd, line 45) to learn the expense of the artwork adds to the humour as well. Some of the fundamental hermeneutical questions relating to Iambus 6 revolve around the extended use of measurements: why does Callimachus choose such a manner of description for the Zeus, and how is the humour which has been detected in the description to be understood? The manner of description of the artwork’s dimensions is remarkable: ‘Iambus VI is in constant danger of degenerating into a mere list of facts.’152 As an example of ekphrasis, the poem is disappointing.153 The artwork is reduced to the most basic details of its dimensions. It is likely that this poem is the chief target of Pausanias’ criticism of those who focus in their descriptions on the dimensions of the Zeus (Description of Greece, 5.11.9).154 Pausanias’ view that such descriptions give an impression far inferior to that

147

I read OæªıØÆØA, following Pfeiffer (1941). 149 Similarly: Pfeiffer (1941), 5. Cf. Ar. Eccl. 284. 150 Pfeiffer (1941), 5. 151 Cf. Kerkhecker (1999), 160–1; Acosta-Hughes (2002), 292. 152 153 Kerkhecker (1999), 153. Cf. Kerkhecker (1999), 164–5. 154 Pausanias is not necessarily thinking only of Callimachus in his refusal to praise ‘the measurers’ (f  æÆÆ ). But while Strabo mentions that ‘certain people’ (Ø ) had recorded the statue’s measurements, he names only Callimachus, which suggests that Iambus 6 had some notoriety for its descriptive approach (Str. 8.3.30). 148

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gained from personal autopsy highlights a tension between knowledge gained from first-hand experience and knowledge acquired through remote learning. The same tension has been detected in Iambus 6. It has been suggested, for example, that the ironic point of Callimachus’ precise description may have been to make the acquaintance’s visit to Elis seem unnecessary.155 The ready availability of information in Callimachus’ day provided by the Alexandrian library meant that much could be learned about distant places without travelling far and wide (an antipathetic attitude to travel is suggested also in Iambus 13). Pausanias’ protest that personal autopsy allows a superior aesthetic appreciation of the statue can be seen as a response to a Callimachean attitude, if the redundancy of autopsy is indeed one of the ideas behind Iambus 6. But in Callimachus’ description little attempt seems to have been made to create for the acquaintance/ reader a sense of the viewer’s impression. Some of the irony of the poem seems to reside in the failure of the description to capture any sense of the artwork’s beauty and impressiveness.156 Kerkhecker decides that the target of the satire is ‘the one who engages in this strange K  ØØ [‘display’]’, the poeta doctus. For Kerkhecker, the poet laughs at himself: ‘ . . . his interest is in the pedant’s cast of mind’.157 This interpretation is attractive, although the identity of ‘the one who engages in this strange K  ØØ [‘display’]’ can be queried. Clearly, the poeta doctus is such a one, but the Herodotean background for the style of description in Iambus 6 deserves consideration. Allusions to Herodotus in the Iambi would not be surprising. Ionia and the late Archaic period are also evoked through the figures of Hipponax and Aesop, and Herodotus features

155

Zanker (1987), 65; Acosta-Hughes and Scodel (2004), 9. Schmidt (1990, 128), suggests that the Doric dialect forms a ‘Mask’ for the poet, who adopts the role of a local tour-guide from Elis. The poem on this reading becomes a satire on guides and tourists (cf. Kerkhecker (1999), 169). Doric was not the local dialect of Elis, however. A peculiar version of the West Greek dialect was instead spoken there: Bartoňek (1972), 220–1 (I owe this point to Paul Cartledge). Compare, however, Theocritus, Idyll 15.92–3, where Praxinoa calls the Doric dialect of herself and Gorgo ‘Peloponnesian’, a broad-brush description which may suggest that regional linguistic differences within the Peloponnese were not necessarily always recognized. Petrovic (2006, 31–6), suggests that the Telchines (who were connected with Rhodes and Crete, where Doric was spoken) are to be understood as the speakers of the poem. 157 Kerkhecker (1999), 171. 156

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prominently in the Alexandrian cultural memory of this time and place.158 Iambus 6 is most striking for its use of numbers and measurements to describe the Zeus. As we have seen, this is a distinctive characteristic of Herodotus’ descriptions of impressively large structures. Herodotus’ rhetoric of wonder was surely recognizable enough to Callimachus and his audience to be a target for parody. There are indeed other hints that Callimachus is alluding specifically to Herodotus’ style of ekphrasis on this occasion. Kerkhecker comments on the unusualness of the word IÆØøÆ (‘cost’), and the prosaic quality of  t (‘Well . . . ’) in line 45.159 Both look to be Herodoteanisms. In Herodotus anaisimōma (‘cost’) and its cognates occur fifteen times (compare, for example Hdt. 2.125). Outside Herodotus, ancient examples of anaisimōma and its cognates can be found nowhere except in this poem, in the ancient lexica (where anaisimōma is often glossed as ‘Herodotean’), once in Empedocles, and once as a varia lectio in Xenophon (Cyr. 2.2.15). The word seems to be an Ionian term, which, in a poem composed in a literary Doric dialect, makes its impact especially striking.160 As Leofranc Holford-Strevens remarks in response to the use of the word, ‘the speaker, at the climax of his exposition, recalls by his language the classic model for descriptions of IØŁ ÅÆ [‘that which is worth seeing’]’ (namely, Herodotus).161 There are further similarities to Herodotus’ descriptions. Comparisons are used: ‘the god himself is taller than the throne’ (37–8), and ‘the maiden Seasons say that they are not shorter than the fathomhigh women by so much as a peg’ (42–4). The latter description resonates with a peculiarly Herodotean manner of describing wonders: compare, for example, ‘none of the stones is less than thirty feet’ in the description of the Great Pyramid (2.124), and the detail that the sheep of Libya have tails ‘not less than three cubits’ (3.113.1). There is also a sense of progression as the poem moves from the pedestal to the throne and then to the statue itself: each one caps the 158 Cf. Acosta-Hughes and Scodel (2004), 1. On Callimachus’ use of prose sources generally: Krevans (2004), 178–81. 159 Kerkhecker (1999), 161. 160 Cf. Iambus 13.18; Hunter (1997), 42–3. 161 A suggestion cited by Kerkhecker (1999), 161 n.78. A TLG word search reveals that  t (‘Well . . . ’) occurs thirty times in Herodotus. On  s in Herodotus and in Attic prose: Denniston (1954), 460–8.

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last, as in the wondrous narratives where Herodotus gives a sequence of marvels that are ever more impressive. With its focus on the size and cost (and labour?) involved in the statue’s creation, the description of the Zeus in Iambus 6 evokes Herodotus’ descriptions of great man-made structures and works of art. The rhetorical context for Herodotus’ descriptions has hermeneutical implications for Iambus 6. Herodotus’ rhetoric is designed to stimulate a sense of wonder in his audience, but Callimachus’ parodic treatment destabilizes this rhetoric. The ironic use of Herodotean rhetoric deflates rather than stimulates the audience’s sense of wonder at the Zeus. This is noteworthy since the Zeus was particularly known in antiquity for the awe it inspired (cf. Dio Chrys. 12.49–52). The alternative portrayal of the Zeus in Iambus 6 is highly provocative. It highlights the inadequacy of representations. ‘The god himself ’ (37) is precisely what the statue is not. It is a work of human hands: of Pheidias, son of Charmides.162 The acquaintance may go to Elis (I æå ı, ‘Go . . . ’, line 62), but the statue will bring him no closer _ _ of Zeus, any more than the speaker’s obsession with to autopsy measurements captures the visual impression of the statue.163

COMPETING AESTHETICS: GREAT AND SMALL, HUMAN AND DIVINE In forming a picture of the reception of Herodotus’ ideas on what constituted a wonder, and of his associated rhetoric of wonder, another illuminating place to turn to is the ‘New’ Posidippus, the 112 extant epigrams of the Milan Papyrus (Vogl. VIII 309). These epigrams, written on the pectoral cartonnage of an Egyptian mummy, came to light after they were purchased in 1992, with the assistance of the Fondazione CARIPLO, for the State University of Milan.164 The collection of epigrams was published in 2001. They are attributed to Posidippus of Pella, who was a contemporary of Callimachus,

162

This was probably mentioned at lines 61–2 (cf. Kerkhecker (1999), 163–4). Hunter (2011) discusses Callimachus’ interest in the representation of gods, giving particular attention to Iambus 6. 164 Acosta-Hughes and Renner (2002), 165. 163

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Theocritus, and Apollonius, and was active in Greece and in Alexandria under Ptolemy I Soter, and later Ptolemy II Philadelphus.165 The epigrams are divided into nine titled sections and the remnants of a tenth section is visible where the papyrus breaks off (only seven of the titles are fully extant). The section titles are: Stones, Omens, Dedications, Epitaphs, Statues, Horse Racing, Shipwrecks, Cures, Characters(?).166 The first twenty poems of the collection are together known as the Lithika (‘Stones’), the conjectured reading of the poorly preserved title on the papyrus, and the subject matter of these poems is largely confined to stones and gems.167 Can the Lithika shed any further light on Hellenistic literary engagement with Herodotus’ text? Several of the stones in these poems are described as ‘wonders’. Nita Krevans remarked on the similarities between the Lithika and paradoxographical literature: ‘They share an aesthetic of surprise, a fascination with the incredible’.168 In A–B 15, a finely engraved chariot is described admiringly: it was done by the sharp eye of Lynceus (presumably a reference to the sharp-sighted Argonaut), and the incisions are so fine that no protrusions on the surface can be seen. The engraved gem is called a ‘great wonder of toil’ (ŁÆFÆ . . . åŁı  ªÆ). The final two lines emphasize the wonder of what is visible on the stone, asking how the engraver achieved this without damaging his eyes. The emphasis on workmanship is consistent with Herodotean ideas of wonder: the great effort that went into the construction of some of the ‘wonders’ he describes is an important characteristic contributing to an object’s wonder-worthiness. Yet there is also an element of paradox in the description of the gem of A–B 15 as ‘great’, when it is the intricate detail that is the cause of wonder: here there is great wonder in small detail, and the gem itself is a small object too. The same can be said of many of the other gems in the Lithika: the poet seeks to evoke a sense of admiration for objects on a very small scale (a scale matched by the

165

Editio princeps: Bastianini and Gallazzi (2001). On these sections and their Greek titles, see Gutzwiller (2005), 4–6, and for further essays on some of these sections, see Gutzwiller (2005), 117–226. 167 Austin and Bastianini (2002, 21) read ºØŁØ]ŒÆ. A–B 20 is the exception, unless it _ is to be combined with A–B 19, as suggested by Austin. 168 Krevans (2005), 92. Peter Bing (2005, 134–5) also sees the Lithika as a kind of parallel to wonder-collections, pointing out that territorial expansion brought for the Ptolemies not just material wealth but also a proliferation of scientific and cultural information, ‘including strange fact and fancy’. 166

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conciseness of the poems themselves). Evoking wonder at small things is clearly at odds with Herodotean notions of wonder, where it is the great size of things that attracts admiration.169 It is not true for all the stones that their small scale evokes wonder. The stone of A–B 8 is described as a marvel (teras), and it is both its clarity and large size which are impressive.170 The enormous size of the gem is specified by giving the measurements, in a fashion reminiscent of Herodotean descriptions: ‘the circumference is three(?) spans’ and the chariot engraved upon it ‘spreads out to the length of a span’. There is also a sense of comparison present: ‘it defeats the rubies of India’, we are told. Interestingly, there is also a hint of Thucydides’ ideas on wonder: for ‘when put to the test (Kº ªå  )’ this carnelian from the Persian hoard proves itself superior to the Indian rubies. The huge rock tossed from the sea of A–B 19, too, is impressive for its large size. Again, its measurements are given, in Herodotean fashion: it is ‘half a plethron’ (Ø] º ŁæÆÅ) and ‘twenty-four cubits’ ( æÆŒÆØ ØŒ Ååı). And again, its marvellous quality is emphasized: it is a ‘marvellous work’ ( ØæÆ æªe). The fact that the rock is presented as a work of the god Poseidon, in contrast to many of the gemstones in the Lithika, where there is an emphasis on the human element involved in the workmanship, is clearly significant. The idea that a physical feature of the natural world is the work of a god has some Herodotean precedent. Herodotus offers both a divine and a natural explanation for the Peneius gorge (7.129.4). Posidippus, in contrast, rejects any explanation for the beached rock in natural terms. The poem opens by advising against such a rationalizing approach: ‘Do not calculate (c] ºªØÆØ) how many waves . . . ’ tossed the rock ashore. Instead, the poet claims, it was Poseidon who effected it, with a single wave.171 This opening remark is reminiscent of Herodotus’ methods of evoking wonder in his descriptions. We have observed his propensity for ‘quantifying’ a wonder through calculation (and we can also compare his comment on ‘calculating’ 169 One possible exception is the linen breastplate which Amasis of Egypt tried to send to the Lacedaimonians (Hdt. 3.47). In this instance too, it is the fine detail of the threads which occasions Herodotus’ admiration. Yet even here, ‘greatness’ is brought into play: Herodotus explains that each individual thread was made up of 360 individual threads. 170 In Herodotus, a teras is a particular type of thōma: see n.39. 171 Are we perhaps meant to envisage a tsunami?

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(ıººªÆØ) in order to compare Greek erga with the great wonder of the Egyptian labyrinth, 2.148). Posidippus rejects this approach. Rather than evoking wonder through calculating the enormous number of waves needed to beach the enormous rock, the wonder resides in the fact that it was done ‘on a single wave’ (Kç e . . . Œ[Æ] ). The poem is therefore a curious mixture of elements consistent_ with Herodotus’ rhetoric of wonder and an emphatic rejection of such rhetoric. The preceding poem in the collection, A–B 18, is poorly preserved, but the fragments suggest a sympotic context is being evoked, and calculations appear to have loomed large in this poem: this would of course make it a very neat foil to A–B 19. The subject of the poem may be an amphora, although Peter Bing has suggested that the object described is in fact a stone couch large enough to carry the nine men mentioned in the first line (or perhaps a table in front of the reclining men).172 Whatever the object is, the manner in which it is described, complete with numbers and measurements, is striking, and reminiscent of Callimachus’ Iambus 6.173 Perhaps the aim was to ‘quantify’ a wonder in the Herodotean manner, or perhaps Posidippus, like Callimachus, is satirizing such techniques of describing wonders. Certainly Posidippus’ opening prohibition in A–B 19—‘Do not calculate . . . ’ (c] ºªØÆØ)—makes it encouraging to think that the quantification of wonder is an important theme in this poem. Finally, A–B 9 deserves attention since its subject matter is the emerald (smaragdos)174 and gold signet-ring of Polycrates, which was of course made famous by Herodotus’ story (3.41–2).175 The extant text refers to ‘the lyre of the bard’ pictured on the stone: Herodotus provides no such detail in his description of the ring, but it is generally presumed that the bard is Anacreon, whom Herodotus mentions as being present at the court of Polycrates (3.121). The identification of the seal-ring with that of Polycrates encourages the

172 Bing (2005), 136–7. The measurements that are preserved do not match very well with an amphora: we are told it has four angles ( æƪºåØ ), and its breadth ( å ) is either ‘five feet’ ( [  ]) or ‘five men’ (  I[æH])—the latter reading preserves the caesura. 173 Cf. Hunter (2004), 97. 174 The Greek work smaragdos refers to various green stones, including the emerald. It is therefore possible that Polycrates’ ring was in fact some other green stone rather than an emerald. 175 For the ring, cf. Pausanias 8.14.8.

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reader to reflect upon its marvellous provenance. From Herodotus we learn that the ring was the tyrant’s most treasured possession, and that it was miraculously returned to him in the belly of a fish after he had cast it into the sea. At the time, Herodotus’ Polycrates considers the possibility that this was ‘a divine occurrence’ (Ł E . . . e æBªÆ).176 As well as the marvel of its recovery, a reader might also consider the fact that this ring was believed to come from Samos, and that it is this piece, rather than any other Samian work, which is celebrated here. Ann Kuttner observes rightly that this is a pointed celebration of work on the small scale.177 The craftsman, whom we know from Herodotus (and Pausanias) to have been Theodorus of Samos (Hdt. 3.41; Pausanias 8.14.8), was associated with both miniatures and larger scale works. In addition to the ring, Herodotus suggests that Theodorus should be identified as the craftsman of the massive silver bowl which Croesus dedicates at Delphi (Hdt. 1.51), Vitruvius attributes to him a treatise on the architecture of the colossal Samian Heraion, and Pliny testifies to Theodorus as craftsman of a bronze self-portrait statue which held in its left hand a tiny quadriga, which Pliny describes as ‘a marvel of miniaturization’.178 Herodotus makes much of the impressively large scale of the works on Samos in the time of Polycrates. For example, he justifies the length of time he has devoted in his narrative to Samos ‘because three of the greatest works ( ªØÆ K æªÆ Æ) of all the Greeks are theirs’ (3.60): the tunnel, the harbour-mole, and the Heraion. The three great Samian works are not explicitly referred to as thōmata, but numbers are used abundantly to create an impressive description of the structures’ dimensions. Posidippus, through his celebration of Polycrates’ ring, implies that works on the small scale are equally deserving of admiration.179

176

Cf. Chapter 1, pp. 38–40. Kuttner (2005), 156 and 156 n.58. 178 The bowl: Hdt. 1.51; the treatise on the Samian Heraion: Vitruvius, De Arch. 7, praef. 12; the self-portrait statue: Pliny, HN 34.83. Theodorus’ father Rhoecus is named by Herodotus as the ‘first’ architect of the Heraion (Hdt. 3.60) and Theodorus is sometimes credited as co-architect by modern scholars (e.g. Gruben (1980), 331–5; but cf. Furtwängler (1984)). Pliny also names Theodorus as one of the architects of the Labyrinth at Samos and as the craftsman of a small fly (in bronze?) (HN 34.83). On Theodorus, see further OCD3 (s.v. Theodorus) and Stewart (1990), vol. 1, 244–6. 179 Cf. Bing (2005), 120. 177

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Évelyne Prioux has suggested that Callimachus’ Iambus 6 is a response to Posidippus’ ekphrastic poems.180 Without denying the possibility of a dialogue between Callimachus and Posidippus, I would suggest that both poets can be seen responding in different ways to a (Herodotean) rhetoric of wonder celebrating the large-scale and the man-made. Callimachus’ Iambus 6 exploits Herodotus’ rhetoric of wonder only to deflate the sense of awe at a supreme human representation of the supremely divine.181 In the Lithika Posidippus seeks to evoke a sense of admiration for objects on a very small scale, which are often crafted by human hands. And in some of the poems, such as A–B 19, elements consistent with Herodotus’ rhetoric of wonder are incorporated into an emphatic rejection of such rhetoric.182

SCHOLARLY WONDER AND HERODOTUS’ INQUIRIES In the scholarly climate of the Hellenistic period, both cultivating and cultivated by the great libraries of the day, material of obscure and arcane subject matter was apparently of particular interest to some educated sectors of society.183 The proliferation of paradoxographical works is just one of the symptoms of this interest. The relationship between wonder and inquiry evident in those works is also significant for Callimachus’ Aetia: as Benjamin Acosta-Hughes and Susan Stephens have recently remarked, ‘If the Marvels [of Callimachus] catalogues violations of nature’s norms, many of the Aetia catalogue phenomena that violate social norms or expectations . . . ’.184 The Aetia, which concerns itself with the historical origins and explanations of things—primarily rituals and cults—was a long elegiac poem

180

Prioux (2007), 129. Cf. Hunter (2004), 97. Elsewhere in the Iambi Callimachus hints at the superiority of poetry over the plastic arts. 182 Cf. A–B 68 (describing the Colossus of Rhodes), where measurements feature and the tone suggests an aesthetic appreciation of human artisanship and works on a colossal scale. 183 On Alexandrian scholarship: Fraser (1972), vol. 1, 447–79, with accompanying notes. 184 Acosta-Hughes and Stephens (2012), 17. 181

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in four books, probably composed in stages over the course of Callimachus’ career in the first half of the third century.185 Callimachus may refer to ‘wonder’ only once in the extant fragments, but the passage repays consideration. The poet has asked for and received an explanation for why the founder of Zancle is not invoked by name. After the Muse Clio finishes speaking, the poet writes: S[ ]  b º FŁ, Kªg ’ K d ŒÆd [e ı]Ł ŁÆØ X]Ł º—q ªæ Ø Ł  æ ç[]—, _ ]æc ˚]ØÅ Ææ’ oøæ ¨ ÆØÆ ˚æB[Æ _ ] ºØ  ˚ı ŒH
AºÆæ ¼ª[ Ø . . . _ _ _ _ ‘So she stopped speaking, and I wanted to inquire about this also—for my amazement/wonder had been secretly nourished: “Why does the city of Cadmus, Haliartus, celebrate the Theodaisia, a Cretan festival, by the water of the Cissousa . . . ?” ’ F 43.84–7 (Pfeiffer)

The relationship between Callimachean wonder here, and the philosophical wonder of Plato and Aristotle, has been discussed by Richard Hunter.186 He draws attention to the apparently random way in which the poet moves from one topic to the (unrelated) next: ‘Callimachus exploits an aetiology of philosophy (“desire for knowledge”)’ found in both Plato and Aristotle. Wonder provides the impetus for the questioning to continue. It is also worth considering the ways in which Callimachean wonder in the Aetia is comparable to Herodotean wonder. Wonder and the search for aitia finds clear expression in Herodotus.187 Along with the ‘aetiology of philosophy’, we can also consider Callimachus’ exploitation of the aetiology of historical inquiry. For Plato and Aristotle, wonder is connected with agnoia and aporia and the ‘desire to learn’ (e K ØŁı E ÆŁ E); the escape from agnoia and aporia is effected through philosophia. The notion of inquiry, however, is omitted in these formulations. Callimachus articulates his desire to ‘learn by inquiry’ ([e ı]Ł ŁÆØ), and then proceeds to question Clio.188 We can compare Iambus 6, where the 185

An extensive commentary has just been published: Harder (2012). 187 Fantuzzi and Hunter (2004), 59–60. Cf. pp. 69–70. 188 It is tempting to read some significance into the fact that Clio became the Muse of History, but we do not know whether this shift had already taken place by Callimachus’ time. 186

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interlocutor is described as ‘greedy to enquire after the cost as well’ (ºå . . . ŒÆd  . . . ıŁ ŁÆØ) of the wondrous statue of Zeus (45–6). This active pursuit of knowledge through interrogation has clear parallels with Herodotean methods, and with Herodotus’ own description of his work as historiē—‘inquiry’. Herodotus makes inquiries of sources with privileged knowledge in order to find answers to his questions about events, customs, et cetera. The passage from Aristotle’s Metaphysics refers only to ‘philosophizing’ as the means by which men escaped ignorance, and for Aristotle, philosophizing apparently does not consist of ‘inquiry’ of the sort which Herodotus engages in. His discussion in the opening chapters of the Metaphysics instead suggests a more introspective approach, insofar as it apparently need not involve engagement of or with any individual apart from the individual philosophizing. For Aristotle, answers cannot be gained simply by asking the right people, since the questions to which answers are being sought are not of the right kind. Callimachus’ areas of interest in the Aetia are much more closely aligned generically with those of historians than with those of philosophers. Aristotle states that men philosophized first about ‘obvious difficulties’ (a æå ØæÆ H I æø), before advancing to ‘raise the difficulties of greater matters’ ( æd H  ØÇø ØÆ æÆ ). Among these ‘greater matters’, he includes ‘the changes of the moon and the sun, the stars and the origins of everything’ (Metaphysics 982b). By contrast, Callimachus’ search for the aition for a local celebration of the Theodaisia represents a very different sphere of interest. Callimachus’ inquiry of the Muse is much more akin to—for example—Herodotus’ inquiries of the Egyptians concerning the festival celebrating Rhampsinitus’ descent into the Underworld. Herodotus relates both the story of Rhampsinitus’ descent, and the details of the contemporary festival. The descent of Rhampsinitus is presented as the aition which the Egyptians give for the festival—even though Herodotus provides a disclaimer that the ‘real’ reason may in fact be different (P  Ø Y ª Øa ÆFÆ ›æÇıØ åø º ª Ø, ‘I cannot say, however, if this is why they celebrate’) (2.122). While the subjects of Callimachus’ inquiries in the Aetia parallel those which had also interested historians, by inquiring of the Muse, Callimachus could presumably claim to avoid the doubts and uncertainties involved in historical inquiry. In the Aetia Callimachus is interested in a particular type of aition: stories explaining the origins of local traditions and religious customs

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around the Greek world. The four ‘primary causes (aitia)’ (H K IæåB ÆNø) with which Aristotle is concerned in Metaphysics—the essential nature of a thing, matter, motion, and purpose—are fundamentally different from the ‘mythical’ and ‘historical’ material of Callimachus’ Aetia (Metaphysics 983a–b). Callimachus draws on local historians as sources of information189 (Herodotus’ use of local traditions in composing his Histories is comparable). The poet’s reliance on the Muses for information clearly differentiates the Aetia from historiographical writing. And yet, the Aetia can themselves be viewed as history of a kind: with their temporal span from the age of Minos down to the contemporary period of Euergetes and Berenice, Callimachus’ patrons, they can be seen as ‘ . . . a complete “human” history to match the “divine” history of the Theogony’.190 Even in the opening sections of the Aetia, in which Callimachus acknowledges, in Herodotean fashion, the problem of competing traditions, there lies a parallel. The poet says he knows of three different genealogies for the Graces (all of which have Zeus as their father) to which Clio authoritatively replies with another genealogy, quite different from these first three, since it names Dionysus as their father.191 This is strikingly similar to Herodotus’ memorable opening to the Histories: Herodotus alludes to three competing versions concerning the outbreak of the Trojan War—the accounts of the Persians, the Phoenicians, and the Greeks (1.1–1.5.2)—before giving his own (implicitly more authoritative) version of the outbreak of hostilities between Greeks and Barbarians (1.5.3), which, like the Muse’s alternative, is very different from the preceding three since it has nothing to do with the Trojan War at all (1.6ff.).192 Herodotus’ interest in aetiology surely contributed to the continuing appeal of the Histories in the Hellenistic period, and his inquiries prefigure the interests of the Alexandrian scholar-poets in another important way also. Robert Fowler has argued persuasively that ‘Herodotos’ discussion of sources is the unique element of his voiceprint, so far as the evidence goes; . . . he discovered the problem of sources’.193 Herodotus’ interest in sources and his frequent 189

190 Hutchinson (1988), 41. Fantuzzi and Hunter (2004), 55. F 7a, Harder (2012) = Schol. Flor. 29–35: Pfeiffer (1949), 13; Massimilla (1996), 76. 192 Cf. Hdt. 1.95, where Herodotus alludes to three alternative versions of the Cyrus story (in addition to his own—the fourth version). I thank Christopher Pelling for reminding me of this. 193 Fowler (1996), 86. 191

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acknowledgement of them must have appealed to the Alexandrian scholars, given their own penchant for source citation. The judgement involved in choosing between competing traditions is a process which Callimachus and Herodotus both highlight in their works: the scholarly act of krisis, the selection of material from the wealth of local traditions available,194 is readily comparable to Herodotus’ implicit role as histōr, ‘judge’, as he chooses between and comments on the different versions of events which he has heard.195 *** Thucydides suggests that the distant past cannot be tested and that therefore wonder at the past risks being unfounded: Hellenistic preferences for up-to-date and contemporary learning can perhaps be seen as a later parallel for Thucydides’ privileging of contemporary over ‘ancient’ history. Herodotus’ interest in the wondrous prefigures Hellenistic interests in important ways, however. Like Herodotus, and unlike Aristotle, the works of the paradoxographers—and of some historians—suggest that wonder and knowledge were not thought mutually incompatible. Herodotus’ interest in the wondrous is also reflected in various Hellenistic aesthetic concerns, such as the relative merits of the small and the large scale, and the appropriate criteria for valuing the works of humans and gods. Herodotus proves to be at once an inspiring and provocative figure for Hellenistic writers. His search for explanations, his implicit acknowledgment that some ‘wonders’ were beyond his explanation, his parading of alternative, conflicting possibilities, his attempts to make sense of the disparate information before him, all provided a possible model for writers and thinkers trying to understand the world of the present and past, while at the same time acknowledging and even celebrating the difficulties involved in these processes. In the next chapter we shall examine further Herodotus’ continuing relevance for Hellenistic writers grappling with difficulties in understanding the world around them, by focusing on a variety of responses to ‘geographical’ information found in the Histories, and the ways that selected Hellenistic writers adapted this material to suit their own approaches and goals. 194

Cf. Hunter (2004), 49–50. For Herodotus as histōr, see especially Connor (1993). Cf. Thomas (2000), 161–7. Cf. Strabo’s description of Callimachus as polyhistōr (‘a very learned man’) (9.5.17). 195

3 Herodotus and Hellenistic Geographies There was no clearly demarcated discipline of ‘Geography’ in antiquity: mathematical geography was part of a broader mathematical discourse concerned also with astronomy and geometry, and ancient discussions which modern readers would consider ‘geographical’ in their focus regularly merge with the ethnographical, mythographical, and historiographical.1 Although Herodotus is particularly remembered for his place in the history of historiography, he also occupied an important place in the history of geography. This chapter is concerned with selected geographical conceptions and discussions in Hellenistic literature which apparently respond to material in Herodotus’ Histories. These ‘soundings’ indicate the continuing— and in some cases, surprising—importance of Herodotus’ portrayal of the world for Hellenistic writers.2 Of particular interest in this chapter will be the ways in which traditional views of the world could prevail (even in light of contradictory evidence), and the sense that, for some ancient writers, received geographical wisdom was not a rigid structural model, but rather a flexible tool with which to experiment and create new possible worlds. A conceptually useful term in ancient geographical discourse is ‘oikoumenē’, literally meaning ‘inhabited land’, a term which was used by Herodotus and later Greek and Roman writers to refer to the known or familiar world.3 Inhabited land is the oikoumenē, which could be further defined by the people who inhabited it. Herodotus, 1

See further Clarke (1999), 1–76, and Dueck (2012), 1–10. I thank Richard Hunter for suggesting ‘soundings’ as a metaphor to describe the method of studying reception adopted in this chapter. 3 The term is first attested in the fifth century and Herodotus was probably one of the first writers to use it. See: Romm (1992), 37. Xenophanes may have been familiar with the term (T 41a Diels–Kranz). 2

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for example, conceptualizes the world in terms of inner and outer spaces which are defined not just by physical features and natural boundaries, but also by human habitation.4 For instance, he insists that: ‘Egypt is the whole land inhabited by Egyptians, just as Cilicia and Assyria are inhabited by the Cilicians and Assyrians’ (2.17). This close relationship between a land and its people is further connected to the idea that knowledge about a land and its human inhabitants relies on links of communication. The oikoumenē—to quote James Romm—‘can be defined as a region made coherent by the intercommunication of its inhabitants, such that, within the radius of this region, no tribe or race is completely cut off from the peoples beyond it’.5 Herodotus frequently refers to areas that are ‘empty’ (erēmos) at the edges of the earth, or territories which are ‘unseen’ (aphanēs).6 Speculation about the existence of people in far-off places or the nature of unseen regions was possible, but the broken links of communication made such speculation very uncertain. Ancient geographical conceptions of the world were informed by knowledge, gained through autopsy and hearsay, and also speculation, sometimes (though by no means always) grounded in theory. The campaigns of Alexander and the territorial expansion of the Greek world in the fourth century significantly impacted on Greek geographical knowledge, expanding geographical horizons to include new regions, and adding to Greek experience of and contact with the known world.7 Yet many uncertainties remained. What lay beyond the limits of the oikoumenē continued to be a subject of intense speculation (as it had been already in Herodotus’ day), and even the known world presented its own geographical mysteries and puzzles to pique the interest of new generations of thinkers. The first part of this chapter, ‘Geographical Uncertainties’, examines the place of Herodotus’ views in some of these Hellenistic discussions about the

4

5 Romm (1992), 37–8. Romm (1992), 37. On Herodotus’ conception of the world: Romm (1992), 32–44. 7 Dueck (2012), 2–3, 12–13. See also K. Stevens (forthcoming), who demonstrates that, already in Theophrastus’ History of Plants, there is evidence for more precise and detailed knowledge of eastern geographies, as compared with the geographical knowledge implied by Aristotle’s History of Animals—a striking observation given that the works were written perhaps as little as twenty years apart, and which she connects with the changed political landscape following the campaigns of Alexander. 6

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unknown and unexplained geography of the world—namely, theories about the source of the Nile and the cause of its inundation, and discussions about the existence of people in the extreme northern and southern regions of the world (the ‘Hyperboreans’ and ‘Hypernotians’). The increased knowledge of the world and the development of broader and stronger communication networks in the Hellenistic period also meant that much ethnographical and geographical information from the preceding centuries was challenged. But details from the Histories relating to the oikoumenē as it had been in the past apparently continued to be of interest to later generations of readers. The second half of this chapter, ‘Geographies of the Past’, considers two examples—from Hecataeus of Abdera and from Apollonius of Rhodes—where Herodotus’ geographical information about regions and itineraries seems to be key to understanding the full significance of some geographical descriptions by these authors.

GEOGRAPHICAL UNCERTAINTIES

Hyperboreans and Hypernotians Even as geographical horizons expanded following the campaigns of Alexander, there continued to be many geographical details about the world and its inhabitants which remained uncertain. Some of these uncertainties particularly concerned the extremities of the world, to the far north and south. The idea that there were people living in the far north of the oikoumenē was an idea with a long pedigree. The name ‘Hyperborean’—which can be interpreted etymologically as meaning either ‘extremely northern’ or ‘beyond the North Wind (Boreas)’—had a long pedigree.8 The Hyperboreans were imagined to live a utopian existence (Pindar, Pythian 10.29–46), favoured by Apollo, who spent the winter in their land (Alcaeus, F 307 LP), and they are particularly associated with Apollo’s cult centres at Delphi and Delos. They were said to send annual offerings of mysterious sacred objects wrapped in wheat-straw to Delos; these offerings passed through the hands of numerous intermediaries, adding to 8 On the Hyperboreans, see Romm (1992), 60–7. The name is first attested in the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women (F 150.21 M–W).

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the mystery of the identity and location of the Hyperboreans (Hdt. 4.33–5; Callimachus, Hymn 4.281–99; Pausanias, 1.31.2). Herodotus explains that the custom of passing the offerings from people to people began (according to the Delians) after the first envoys of the Hyperboreans—two young women called Hyperoche and Laodice— failed to return from their pilgrimage to Delos (Hdt. 4.33). The Hyperboreans are mentioned several times by Hellenistic writers. Perhaps most intriguing is the (fragmentary) treatise On the Hyperboreans written by Hecataeus of Abdera (FGrH 264 FF 7–14). This was apparently a utopian account which included some remarkably precise and specific information about the location, land, and customs of the Hyperboreans; Hecataeus may even have claimed to have visited the island they inhabited.9 Callimachus also mentions the Hyperboreans in the Hymn to Delos (Hymn 4.281–99), and, like Herodotus, details the route by which the offerings were sent to Delos, and names the original envoys (but gives different details from Herodotus). In the Aetia, Callimachus again mentions the Hyperboreans’ annual offerings to Delos (F 186, Pfeiffer): he describes the initial trip by the young Hyperborean women, the new practice of passing the offerings from people to people, and possibly also gives an explanation (aition) for the change in practice.10 For ancient writers, the question of the existence and location of the Hyperboreans was in some sense no different from questions about the source of the Nile: both concerned unseen areas (the aphanēs: Hdt. 2.23) beyond the known regions of the oikoumenē.11 One aspect of Herodotus’ treatment of the Hyperboreans has had a particularly interesting reception: modern scholars, and ancient scholars also it would seem, have been divided on whether or not Herodotus rejected their existence.12 The uncertainty stems from the ambiguity of Herodotus’ comments at 4.36: ‘If there are Hyperborean people, there are others, too, who are Hypernotian’ (
N 
NØ 9 See Dillery (1998). This work has earned Hecataeus some unfavourable judgements (e.g. Murray (1970), 147–8). 10 On this fragment, see Harder (2012), 990–1008. 11 Cf. Pindar, Isthmian 6.23, where he says his praise for the Aeginetans extends through the land of the Hyperboreans and beyond the springs of the Nile. 12 Romm (1989), 97–8, outlines the previous scholarship, and remarks, ‘The ambiguity is perfectly embodied, moreover, in the variant manuscript readings of a scholium to Apollonius Rhodius (2.675), where the shift between  and  has Herodotus either believing in, or rejecting, the legend of the Hyperboreans’ (97, n.2).

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æ æ
 Ø
 ¼Łæø

Ø,
Nd ήd
æ Ø Ø ¼ºº Ø·). The protasis and apodosis are in the indicative, a structure which grammatically carries no implications about reality or probability (and thus neither precludes nor implies a counterfactual sense).13 Many commentators have interpreted Herodotus’ statement as a dismissive rejection of the existence of the Hyperboreans: there are no Hyperboreans because there are no Hypernotians. However, it has been argued persuasively by James Romm that Herodotus never rejects the possible existence of the Hyperboreans, and that his remark reflects a genuine belief that Hypernotians must also exist if the Hyperboreans exist (a condition neither verified nor disproved).14 This view accords with other examples in the Histories which indicate that Herodotus thought there were correspondences between the northern and southern regions of the world. For example, Herodotus’ hypothesis that the course of the Nile mirrors the Ister’s indicates that he considered symmetries between the North and South plausible and even likely (2.33–4). His discussion of the Nile’s floods betrays a similar belief in North–South correspondences, this time governed by wind and climate: he imagines a scenario where the Boreas and Notus winds change places, and explains that if this were to happen, the sun would be driven from its course in the middle of the sky northwards towards Europe, and that the sun would then act on the Ister in the way in which it otherwise acts on the Nile (2.26). Herodotus’ explanations rely on a view of the world that privileges oppositions in climate to the far North and South as an organizing structure.15 It is worth adding that Herodotus’ critique of maps which have Ocean running around the earth drawn ‘as if with a compass’, and which make Asia and Europe the same size (4.36.2), is not necessarily a critique of theories of geographical symmetry, as it is sometimes understood.16 Herodotus’ subsequent comments indicate that he is unimpressed by the maps because they clearly do not conform with empirical evidence. He describes peninsulas of land, for instance, which would contradict the view of Ocean as a perfect circle of 13 Smyth (1956), }2298; Kühner and Gerth (1904), vol. 2.2, }573 n.1; Goodwin (1896), }404. 14 Romm (1989). This is followed also by Dueck (2012), 74. 15 Romm (1989), 110. 16 Cf. Thomas (2000), 80, who suggests that ‘While Herodotus is still bound by the attractions of geographical symmetry, he objects to excessive symmetry . . . ’.

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water, and he is also emphatic that Europe is comparable in length (Œ
œ . . . ÆæŒ
Ø) to both Asia and Libya put together and incomparable in width (
hæ
 b æØ Pb ıº
Ø IÅ), again citing empirical evidence (4.42.1–2; cf. 4.45.1). Herodotus nowhere makes explicit criticism of theories of geographical symmetry, and his remarks on the Nile and Ister seem to be incontrovertible evidence that, where empirical data failed, he thought appeals to geographical symmetry reasonable. In sum then, Herodotus’ remark about Hyperboreans and Hypernotians is far from being a clear dismissal of the existence of the Hyperboreans. Moreover, the preceding chapters devoted to the Hyperboreans (4.32–5) suggest that he entertained the possibility of their existence.17 For example, when describing the sacred bundles of straw which the Hyperboreans were said to send to Delos, he cites a comparable practice among the Thracians and Paeonians (an appeal to probability).18 Modern commentators have sometimes taken Herodotus’ remark to be a dismissal of the existence of the Hyperboreans, however, and there are ancient precedents for this reception. Strabo indicates that Eratosthenes of Cyrene understood the Hyperborean/Hypernotian remark as a dismissal. Herodotus’ statement is paraphrased as ‘There are no Hyperboreans, for there are no Hypernotians’ (ÅÆ  
æ æ
 ı
r ÆØ . . . Åb ªaæ  
æ  ı).19 Apparently then, Eratosthenes interpreted Herodotus’ statement as a counterfactual conditional sentence. According to Strabo, Eratosthenes offered two critiques of Herodotus’ (misquoted) remark. His first objection is that the remark is ‘laughable’ (ª
º Æ), and that it is like saying ‘There are no people who delight in others’ evils, for there are none who delight in others’ blessings’ (ÅÆ
r ÆØ K ØåÆØæ
ŒŒ ı, Åb ªaæ K ØåÆØæƪŁ ı). His second objection is that there are in fact Hypernotians, since the Notus does not blow in Ethiopia, but further to the North (Strabo, 1.3.22 = Eratosthenes, F 20, Roller).20

17

See further Romm (1989). On arguments from probability in Herodotus, see Thomas (2000), 168 n.1, 190 n.51, with the further references she cites. 19 Thomson (1948, 98–100) paraphrases Herodotus similarly. 20 ŒÆøæø here means ‘further to the North’ rather than ‘further to the South’, as it is sometimes translated (I thank Klaus Geus for discussing this fragment with me). Cf. Strabo 17.1.2 = Eratosthenes F 98, Roller. For further commentary on this fragment, see Berger (1880), 76–7. Berger (1880, 77) suggests that Eratosthenes’ idea that there is no Notus wind in Ethiopia may be influenced by Aristotle, Meteorologica, 2.5 (362a), which 18

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Several interesting points arise from Eratosthenes’ critique. The description of Herodotus’ remark as ‘laughable’ mirrors Herodotus’ own criticism of some of the world maps current in his day (‘I laugh at . . . ’ (ª
ºH b . . . ): 4.36.2). This comment is in the immediate context of Herodotus’ remarks on the Hyperboreans, suggesting that the similarity in Eratosthenes’ expression is not coincidental: Eratosthenes ridicules Herodotus’ world-view, just as Herodotus had ridiculed the world-view of others.21 Eratosthenes’ critique is also revealing for what it is not. He does not criticize the notion of symmetry underlying Herodotus’ comments. Ideas of symmetry were persistent in informing geographical theory in the ancient world, and this surely explains why Eratosthenes is untroubled by this aspect of Herodotus’ world-view. Crates of Mallus, for example, who was head of the Library at Pergamon and patronized by Eumenes II or Attalus II in the first half of the second century, proposed a symmetrical globe divided into four regions by Ocean.22 Theoretical ideas about the existence of peoples on the opposite side of the globe (Antipodes or Antichthones) also betray a world-view informed by a sense of symmetry.23 The analogous example which Eratosthenes offers indicates that he is criticizing Herodotus for drawing a false inference based on the etymologized meanings of ‘Hyperboreans’ and ‘Hypernotians’, rather than for his ideas of geographical symmetry. Eratosthenes’ etymological reading of the words may have been encouraged by Herodotus’ own form of expression: Herodotus uses adjectives rather than nouns (
æ æ
 Ø
 and
æ Ø Ø ¼ºº Ø), which suggests that has the Notus wind blowing from the Tropic of Cancer. If so, then this implies that Eratosthenes situated Ethiopia south of the Tropic (cf. Aujac (1969), 215). 21 Cf. Aristotle’s characterization of some of Herodotus’ ideas as ‘ridiculous’ (ºÅæÅ) and ‘absurd’ (ŁÆıÆ ): Chapter Two, p. 74. Herodotus’ own polemical language may of course in turn reflect that of Hecataeus of Miletus, who is generally taken to be the target (or one of the targets) of Herodotus’ criticism at 4.36.2. Cf. Hecataeus FGrH 1, F 1: ƒ ªaæ  Eººø º ª Ø

ºº  
ŒÆd ª
º E Ø, ‰ K d çÆ ÆØ,
N (‘For there are many laughable tales told by the Greeks, so it seems to me’). Cf. also Hdt. 2.2.5 ( ‚ººÅ
 b ºª ıØ ¼ººÆ 
ÆØÆ

ººa ŒÆd ‰ . . . , ‘The Greeks tell many other foolish tales, including that . . . ’), which perhaps echoes Hecataeus FGrH 1, F 1—and where, again, Herodotus’ version (of Psammetichus’ linguistic experiment) may be a departure from an earlier account put forward by Hecataeus: see Lloyd (1975), 9, and Pelling (2007a), 199, n.73. 22 Thomson (1948), 202–3; Broggiato (2001), 201 n.227. 23 Burton (1932), 47; Thomson (1948), 167; Dueck (2012), 77–8. On the importance of symmetry in ancient geographical thought, see Dueck (2012), 73–82 (passim).

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he understood the names ‘Hyperboreans’ and ‘Hypernotians’ as geographically descriptive terms.24 Eratosthenes’ ‘analogous’ sentence— ‘There are no people who delight in others’ evils, for there are none who delight in others’ blessings’ (ÅÆ
r ÆØ K ØåÆØæ
ŒŒ ı, Åb ªaæ K ØåÆØæƪŁ ı)—also uses compound adjectives with opposite meanings. The logic of the analogy depends on the reader’s knowledge that the Greek verb ‘rejoice in’ (K ØåÆØæø) almost always takes as its object some evil or misfortune. The analogy thus demonstrates that the non-existence of certain types of person (in this case, ‘those who rejoice in others’ blessings’:  f K ØåÆØæƪŁ ı) does not necessarily indicate the non-existence of the opposite type (‘those who rejoice in others’ misfortunes’:  f K ØåÆØæ
ŒŒ ı). Eratosthenes’ analogy is chosen to make Herodotus’ own statement (as paraphrased by Eratosthenes) look ridiculous. Eratosthenes apparently added a further critique of Herodotus’ (alleged) position. He objected that there are in fact Hypernotians, and seems to identify them with the Ethiopians, claiming that the Notus wind does not blow in Ethiopia but further to the North (Strabo, 1.3.22 = Eratosthenes F 20, Roller). This identification is a particularly intriguing development, and it seems plausible that the idea (perhaps in Eratosthenes first) arose in response to Herodotus’ remarks. The sequence of thought as presented by Strabo certainly suggests this: in order to refute Herodotus’ supposed denial of the existence of Hyperboreans and Hypernotians, the existence of Hypernotians is insisted upon. In addition, on the only other (extant) occasions when Hypernotians are mentioned in ancient literature, it is in reference to Herodotus’ remarks, suggesting that the concept of a ‘hypernotian’ group of people was particularly associated with Herodotus.25

24 Romm’s (1989, 105) comment that ‘Herodotus nowhere indicates that either Hyperboreans or Hypernotians live in the regions suggested by their names’ is surely wrong: the use of the adjectives suggests that Herodotus understood the names as etymologies for the region inhabited (but whether he understood the prefix
æas ‘beyond’ or ‘exceedingly’ is not clear). 25 Schol. Apoll. Rhod. 2.675; Eustathius, Commentarius in Dionysii periegetae orbis descriptionem, 31 (it is unclear whether the reference to Herodotus may reflect earlier discussions of Dionysius Periegetes’ text). Cf. Berger (1880)’s suggestion, cited in n.20 above, that Eratosthenes’ view is influenced by the discussion of the origin of the winds in Aristotle, Meteorologica, 2.5 (362a).

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The idea that there was a place ‘beyond the Notus’ with people living there seems to have had some currency in the Hellenistic period. In addition to Eratosthenes’ remarks, we may compare Eustathius’ discussion of different types of the Ethiopians, arising from an interest in the identity and location of the Ethiopians mentioned by Homer at Odyssey 1.22–4. (Eust. Comm. Od. Vol. 1, 11–12). In the course of this discussion, Eustathius attributes to ‘the mathematicians’ ( ƒ ÆŁÅÆØŒ ) the view that Ocean divides the whole torrid zone (c ØÆŒ
ŒÆıÅ AÆ ÇÅ), and that there are Ethiopians living in the temperate zones (
PŒæ ı) on either side of Ocean: those in the documented region of the Notus (c ŒÆŁ A K  E   Ø ƒ æ ıÅ ŒÆd çÆØ Å), and those in the undocumented ‘hypernotian’ region across Ocean (E IØ æÅ  c KŒ
EŁ
 IØ æÆ  F ’Œ
Æ F ŒÆd ‰
N
E,
æ Ø ). Eustathius’ summary ultimately derives from the system adopted by Crates of Mallus (F 37, Broggiato). It is noteworthy that the unusual term ‘hypernotian’ arises in a discussion of Hellenistic geographical views, even if we cannot be absolutely certain whether Crates used the term himself.26 There is one further piece of evidence which suggests that the identification of the Hypernotians with Ethiopians was not unique to Eratosthenes, and that the view found favour with other Hellenistic writers as well. Agatharchides of Cnidus, a contemporary of Crates, records in his work On the Erythraean Sea that ‘the Notoi neither blow nor are known at all through Ethiopia’ (Diod. Sic. 3.48.5 = F 108 Burstein).27 Although Agatharchides does not make any connection between Ethiopians and Hypernotians, the idea is so remarkable that it conceivably stems from theoretical ideas about a region ‘beyond the Notus’.28 Whether there were many other early Hellenistic writers who, like Eratosthenes, thought that the Ethiopians and Hypernotians were identical is unclear. It is at least difficult to believe that the view that 26

F 37.

‘Hypernotian’ is not used by Geminus or Strabo, the other sources for Crates

27 Cf. Diod. Sic. 1.41.9: here Diodorus by contrast seems to accept that the Notus wind blows in Ethiopia (this is a section which is generally thought to derive from either Agatharchides or Artemidorus). 28 It is possible that Agatharchides derives this ‘information’ directly from Eratosthenes himself. We know that Eratosthenes was an important source for Agatharchides: Burstein (1989), 30.

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the Notus wind did not blow in Ethiopia went wholly unchallenged. Strabo certainly expresses scepticism (but we do not know whether he was the first to do so): ŁÆıÆe ’
N ŒÆŁ’ ŒÆ  ŒºÆ    I ı ŒÆd ÆÆå F  F I e 
ÅæÆ ˝  ı æ ƪ æ
ı  ı, Ø Ø YŒÅØ Kfi w  F c ıÆ
Ø.  PÆ  ªaæ P    `NŁØ Æ å Ø i e ŒÆŁ’ A ˝  , Iººa ŒÆd  Iøæø AÆ åæØ  F NÅ
æØ F. ‘It is incredible, if, though the wind blows through every latitude, and though the wind from the south is everywhere called ‘Notus’, there is an inhabited region in which this is not the case. For to the contrary, not only should Ethiopia have our Notus, but so should all the land further south as far as the equator.’ Strabo, Geography, 1.3.22

Although Strabo objects to Eratosthenes’ proposed ‘solution’ to the Hypernotian problem, it is revealing that he proceeds to give an alternative conceptual framework in order to accommodate both Hyperboreans and Hypernotians. He remarks that Herodotus should have understood ‘Hyperborean’ to mean ‘the most northerly’ ( f  æ
Ø  ı), rather than ‘beyond the Boreas’, and an analogous etymology is implied for ‘Hypernotian’ (Herodotus never actually makes his understanding of the etymologies clear).29 We have seen that Herodotus’ views on the existence of the Hyperboreans were not only of interest to Hellenistic writers, but that his hypothesis that there might be Hypernotians appears to have influenced some Hellenistic geographers and ethnographers in their conception of the southern regions of the world. Another subject of geographical interest and uncertainty which continued to attract speculation in the Hellenistic period was the Nile river, and here too, a clear continuing engagement with Herodotus is evident in writings on the subject.

The River Nile Herodotus was just one in a long line of Greek thinkers, beginning with the Pre-Socratics, to discuss the Nile, and references and allusions to his views were frequently made by later writers. This 29

Cf. n.24, above.

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unrelenting fascination with the river makes it a useful touchstone in the study of Herodotus’ reception. Herodotus is particularly concerned to enter into two enduring debates: the reasons for the Nile’s summertime inundation (2.19–27), and the location of the river’s source (2.28–34).30 He is careful to demonstrate his knowledge of existing theories in these areas, which he enthusiastically refutes, before stating his own views.

Herodotus on the inundation and source of the Nile On the inundation of the Nile, Herodotus mentions three prevailing theories. The first is that the Etesian winds cause the Nile to flood by hindering its flow out to sea. This he refutes with the argument that there are times when the Etesian winds do not blow, yet the Nile still floods, and that if the Etesian winds were the cause, then other rivers in the region would be expected to behave in a similar fashion, yet they do not (2.20).31 The second theory is that the Nile floods because it flows from Ocean (2.21).32 In response to this Herodotus flatly denies the existence of Ocean and suggests that it is an invention of the poets (2.23). The third theory, to which Herodotus devotes the most attention, is that the Nile flows from a region where the snow melts.33 Herodotus objects that snowfall cannot be the explanation for the Nile’s inundation because the lands of Libya and Egypt, from which and through which the Nile flows, are hot (which he then ‘proves’ with evidence such as the fact that kites and swallows live there throughout the year) (2.22). Finally, Herodotus advances his own theory on the inundation. His beginning is almost reluctant: ‘If, having condemned the opinions set forth, I must myself give an opinion concerning unseen phenomena . . . ’ (¯N b 
E 
ł
  ªÆ a æ Œ
ØÆ ÆPe
æd H IçÆø ªÅ I

ÆŁÆØ . . . ) (2.24–5). He goes on to suggest that in the winter months the sun is blown from its course and passes over the inland parts of Libya; that as it does so, it draws the Nile waters 30 For a detailed discussion of Herodotus’ views and the precedents for the different theories to which he alludes, see Lloyd (1976), 91ff. 31 The Etesian wind explanation was proposed by Thales: Lloyd (1976), 98–100. 32 Apparently a reference to the geographical schemes of Anaximander and Hecataeus of Miletus: Lloyd (1976), 100. Presumably the theory was that waves from Ocean were blown into the river, causing flooding downstream. 33 The theory of Anaxagoras of Clazomenae: Lloyd (1976), 101–3.

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to itself; and that in the summer months, waters from all rivers are drawn to the sun, but in the winter only the Nile waters are, which is why the Nile’s water levels are low in winter and high in summer. He adds that the Nile is not fed by rain whereas other rivers are, and that this too helps to explain the river’s summertime inundation. On the source of the Nile, Herodotus says that he has not spoken to anyone—Egyptian, Libyan, or Greek—who claimed to know its whereabouts, except for the scribe of Athena’s treasury at Sais. This scribe, Herodotus says, claimed that the source was between the mountain peaks of Crophi and Mophi (between Syene and Elephantine), and that Psammetichus had dropped a rope down the springs there to show that they were bottomless; but Herodotus remarks that he is under the impression that the scribe was joking in his claim to precise knowledge on this matter (2.28). Herodotus then describes the course of the Nile, upstream from Elephantine, as he has learnt of it through hearsay (akoē: 2.29.1). He says he has heard that its course can be traced for forty days’ journey to Meroe, the capital of the Ethiopians, then an equal length’s journey beyond Meroe to the land of the Asmach, and that after four months’ journey up-river from Elephantine it is flowing from the west (2.29–31). He then relates a story, which he says he heard third-hand from some Cyreneans (who had heard it from Etearchus, the Ammonian king, who had in turn heard it from the Nasamonians, a local tribe): a group of young Nasamonian men had come across a river, in the west of inland Libya, which was large, flowed from West to East, and which had crocodiles in it. Etearchus concluded that the river must be the Nile, and Herodotus voices his own agreement with this conclusion ( . . . ŒÆd c ŒÆd › º ª  oø ƃæ
Ø, ‘ . . . and indeed reason too proves this’) (2.33). Herodotus then suggests his own view ( Œø, ‘I think’) that the Nile follows a similar course to the Ister in the North (2.34).

The reception of Herodotus’ views on the Nile The enthusiasm for theorizing on the Nile certainly did not stop with Herodotus. In the fourth century, intellectuals such as Ephorus, Eudoxus of Cnidus, and Aristotle also entered into the debate. Even Alexander the Great was apparently intrigued by the mysteries of the Nile. According to Nearchus, for a brief period he thought that the Nile and the Indus were in fact one river, and that the source of

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the Nile was therefore in India:34 Nearchus relates that when Alexander saw crocodiles in the Hydaspes and ‘Egyptian beans’ (lotuses) in the Acesines (the Jhelum and Chenab rivers respectively, tributaries of the Indus), ‘he thought he had found the sources of the Nile’ and wanted to prepare a sailing expedition along it to Egypt.35 There is also some evidence that Alexander sent a scouting party into Ethiopia in search of the river’s source.36 Stanley Burstein has suggested that the members of Alexander’s expedition sent in search of the Nile’s source observed first-hand the summer rains in the mountains of Ethiopia. He remarks that, after Ephorus, the debate on the causes of the flooding suddenly stopped, and argues that the reason for this was the eye-witness information of Alexander’s explorers recorded by Aristotle.37 Phiroze Vasunia, following Burstein, entertains the historicity of the expedition as a possibility. It certainly presents itself as an attractive scenario: ‘For the perfect fusion of Greek knowledge and power, there could be no better actors than Alexander and Aristotle, and no better subject than the Egyptian Nile.’38 Yet as attractive as the story sounds, there are good reasons to doubt its historicity. It seems likely instead that Aristotle theorized that the Nile’s summertime flooding was due to rains in Ethiopia, and then subsequent writers, such as the author of the (third century?) Liber de inundatione Nili (Book on the Inundation of the Nile),39 suggested that he sent Alexander to investigate and confirm his theory. Actual observation of the summer rains probably did not take place until sometime during the reign of Ptolemy II Philadelphus.40 This is the testimony of Diodorus Siculus (probably reflecting an earlier discussion by Agatharchides of Cnidus) (Diod. Sic. 1.37.5), and 34 35

Nearchus FGrH 133 FF 20, 32. Strabo 15.1.25 = Nearchus FGrH 133 F20; Arrian, Anab. 6.1.1–6 = FGrH 133

F32.

36

Vasunia (2001), 278ff., with references. Burstein (1976). 38 Vasunia (2001), 280. 39 The Liber de inundatione Nili, though attributed to Aristotle, is almost certainly a later work—perhaps by Theophrastus. On this, see Fowler (2000a), who remarks on the authorship that ‘Theophrastos remains a strong possibility’ (p. 141), and also argues that the Liber pre-dates Eratosthenes. The text can be found in Bonneau (1971), with a French translation, and FGrH 646 F1. On the authorship, see also Vasunia (2001), 281 n.130. 40 Fowler (2000a), especially p. 140. 37

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Strabo also connects the first eyewitness testimony of the rains with the Ptolemaic era, and particularly Ptolemy II Philadelphus (Strabo 17.1.5). In the 270s Ptolemy II invaded Nubia, annexing the territory of the Dodecaschoenus, a region stretching about 75 miles south of the first cataract, and making the Kingdom of Kush a tributary state. This campaign marked the beginning of a sustained period of contact between Ptolemaic Egypt and the Kingdom of Kush through until the end of the third century, during which the Ptolemies sponsored elephant hunts in the region to build their stock of elephants for military expeditions.41 It is within the context of Ptolemy II’s incursions into Nubia that the (largely lost or fragmentary) accounts of the region, of the upper reaches of the Nile, and of the summer rains are properly placed.42 Eratosthenes apparently considered that questions about the cause of the Nile’s flood and the location of the Nile’s sources were no longer appropriate, stating that eye-witness testimony had confirmed Aristotle’s theory.43 Even after the first eyewitness testimonies for the summer rains emerged, this was apparently not enough to convince all later writers who discussed the Nile that the questions about its source and inundation had actually been resolved. For example, as late as the first century AD Pliny the Elder suggests two alternatives for the ‘most probable’ explanation of the Nile’s rising: one, the old Ionian theory that the Etesian winds caused the river to swell by blowing seawater into the Nile, and the other, the theory that summer rains in Ethiopia caused the flooding (NH 5.10.55). In addition, he mentions two more theories: one (which he rejects) attributed to the fifth century mathematician Timaeus, that underground waters of the river are drawn up by the heat of the sun in summer (5.10.55–6), and another (on which—significantly—he does not comment), connected with Juba’s theory of a west African source for the Nile, that the rising of the Nile is explained by heavy snow or rainfalls in Mauretania (5.10.51). Burstein and Vasunia draw attention to the fact that no new theories on the inundation emerge after Ephorus,44 but the fact that alternative theories continued to be entertained by 41

42 Burstein (2008). On these accounts, see Burstein (2008), 137 and 147. Aristotle F 687 (Gigon) = F 246B (Rose) = Eratosthenes F III B, 52 Berger. See Fowler (2000a) for further discussion. 44 Burstein (1976), 145; Vasunia (2001), 275, 282. Juba’s theory (NH 5.10.51) might be considered an exception, although it is essentially derivative of theories relating the inundation to snow and rain in Ethiopia. 43

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later writers suggests that the behaviour of the Nile was still considered enigmatic. As a result, Herodotus’ remarks on the inundation and source remained of interest to later writers and thinkers—not simply to reject, but to entertain as potentially valid arguments. My aim here is to draw attention to two previously neglected aspects of Hellenistic discussion about the Nile which are relevant to Herodotus’ reception.45 The first is the persistence of the theory that the source of the Nile lay in the west of the African continent, which suggests that Herodotus’ account of the Nile’s course continued to be taken seriously. This is particularly significant if Alexander’s expedition to discover the source indeed took place (the theory of Ethiopian summer rains in the mountains would most naturally support theories of a southerly source). Secondly, this section will review the comments made about the source and inundation of the Nile in the first book of Diodorus Siculus’ Bibliothēkē (Diod. Sic. 1.37–41),46 which may derive from an account written by the second century geographer-ethnographer Agatharchides of Cnidus. In this passage Herodotus’ views on the Nile river are seriously misrepresented. I shall attempt an explanation for this, and argue that Agatharchides’ discussion attests that Herodotus’ views on the subject remained influential well into the Hellenistic period. Theories of a west African source According to Pliny the Elder, Juba II, a client king of Mauretania in the early Roman Empire (25 BC–AD 23),47 suggested a west African origin for the Nile. Pliny explains Juba’s theory: Juba thought that the source was ‘a mountain in lower Mauretania, not far from Ocean’, and that the river soon formed a stagnant lake called Nilides. He brought a crocodile from this lake, ‘to prove his theory’ that it was the Nile, which he dedicated in the temple of Isis at Caesarea. From this lake Juba believed the river flowed underground beneath the desert ‘for several days’ journey’, before coming out in another lake in the territory of the Masaesyles, in western Numidia, ‘as if to survey the communities of mankind’—this course being proven ‘by the same

45

Ancient views on the source and inundation of the Nile are discussed extensively in Bonneau (1964). 46 For further discussion, see Priestley (forthcoming). 47 On Juba II, see Roller (2003).

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animals’. He believed that the river then travelled underground again for twenty days’ journey before emerging in Ethiopia (NH 5.10.51–2). Juba’s proposed course for the Nile was clearly different from Herodotus’: he proposed an underground course at various points, which presumably indicates that he knew the Nile did not flow overland from the west of the African continent.48 It is nevertheless illuminating that a westerly source for the Nile was still considered a viable possibility in the Augustan era. Pliny testifies that Juba pointed to the existence of crocodiles to support his claim that the Nilides lake was the same body of water as the Nile. Herodotus uses similar logic: he mentions the existence of crocodiles in the river observed by the Nasamones (2.32.7), and when arguing that this river is the Nile, he says he is ‘adducing proofs about the unknown from visible signs’ ( EØ KçÆØ a c ªØøŒ 
Æ 
ŒÆØæ 
 ) (2.33.2).49 The idea that the Nile might have its source in the west of Africa apparently found support in other quarters too. There is some (very fragmentary) evidence that theories about a west African source for the Nile persisted in the early Hellenistic period. A scholiast to Lycophron records: ‘Some say that the sources of the Nile are in Libya, for example Duris’ (Schol. Lycophr. 848 = Duris FGrH 76 F 44). Duris of Samos, born c. 330 BC, wrote a lost Macedonian History covering the period 370–280. The seventh book dealt with Alexander’s time in Egypt and provided Duris with an opportunity to discuss the country at some length. Since Herodotus was the most prominent advocate for a westerly source for the Nile (as is apparent from Diodorus Siculus’ summary of the views of his predecessors50), 48 See the brief discussion of Thomson (1948), 104 with n.2, on underground river systems in ancient geographical thought. Pausanias 2.5.3 records a tradition that the Delians believed that the stream Inopus on Delos was connected with the Nile (presumably through a subterranean passage) (cf. also Callimachus, Hymn to Delos, 206), and another tradition (unattributed) that the Euphrates drops into a marsh before rising again in Ethiopia and becoming the Nile. 49 Alexander too mistakenly supposed on the same premise that the Hydaspes river was connected with the Nile: see pp. 120–1 above. 50 On Agatharchides’ remarks, see pp. 131–7. Herodotus was not necessarily the first to suggest a westerly source. In the Liber de inundatione Nili, a certain Promathus (or Promachus) of Samos is recorded as having the view that the Nile flowed ex Argenti monte, unde et Cremetis (FGrH 646 F 1). The identification of the ‘Silver Mountain’ is uncertain, but if the river ‘Cremetis’ can be identified with the Chremetes of Aristotle (Meteorologica 1.13, 350b) and the Chretes of Hanno (Periplus 9), which are thought to be in Senegal (New Pauly, s.v. ‘Nias’), then this is further evidence of a theory for a westerly origin. Nothing certain is known of Promathus of Samos, but it

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it seems likely that his account of the Nile influenced Duris’ own views on the Nile’s source. Other evidence suggesting Duris took a strong interest in Herodotus and his Histories also supports this contention.51 The third century poet Lycophron was clearly familiar with Herodotus,52 and references in his poem the Alexandra do seem to imply a westerly source of the Nile, which helps to explain the scholiast’s remark. In the latter half of the poem, Lycophron describes the wanderings of Menelaus in search of Helen (820–76), and refers to his time in Egypt: K ł
ÆØ b  f Ł
æ
Ø  ı ªÆ ŒÆd Þ
EŁæ  Æ ŒÆd åÆ
ıÆ
P, ı  Ø ŁÅæd ıªŒ Ø
 . ‘He[=Menelaus] will look upon the fields which are watered in summer and the stream of Asbystes and the earthly bed, where he will lie down with foul-smelling beasts.’ Alexandra, 847–9

The passage apparently alludes to Menelaus’ encounter with Proteus in Egypt, described in the Odyssey, when he hides with the seals in Proteus’ cave (Od. 4.435–53). The ‘summer-watered fields’ refer to the summer inundation of the Nile, and it is in response to the phrase ‘stream of Abystes’ (Þ
EŁæ  Æ ) that the scholiast cited above remarked ‘Some say that the sources of the Nile are in Libya . . . ’ (Schol. Lycophr. 848 = Duris FGrH 76 F 44). The Asbystians were a tribe of people in Libya, as the scholiast records. They were already known to Herodotus, who places them geographically in the region of Cyrene, and very near to the Nasamones (4.170–2). It seems that the Hellenistic poets also associated the Asbystians with the area around Cyrene and Lake Tritonis: Callimachus, for example, (himself a native of Cyrene) refers to Lake Tritonis as ‘the waters of Asbystes Triton’ (Aetia F 37.1) and places Cyrene next to the ‘Asbystian land’ (Hymn to Apollo, 76). Lycophron’s name for the Nile therefore suggests that it

has been suggested that his date might be sixth century BC: Wiseman (1995), 59–60. On the Liber de inundatione Nili, see n.39, above. 51 See Kebric (1975) for Duris’ use of Herodotus. Duris claimed Herodotus’ kinsman Panyasis—and perhaps even Herodotus—for Samos (see Chapter One). 52 West (2009).

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coursed from a region conceived (perhaps rather vaguely) as near to or bordering with Cyrenaica—that is, (loosely) in a region of Africa to the west of Egypt (modern Libya?), rather than to the south.53 This raises questions about a name for the Nile which is first attested in the Hellenistic period: Triton. According to another scholion to Lycophron's Alexandra (Schol. ad 576) the epithet ‘Triton’ arose because the Nile had three different names: Oceanus, Aegyptus, and Nile. This explanation seems somehow overly ingenious, however (especially since it involves conferring a fourth name on the river!). A scholiast to Apollonius’ Argonautica (Schol. Apoll. Rhod. 4.269) states that the name ‘Triton’ was used formerly of the Nile, and that the river was only later called the Nile, after a local ruler Neilos. This explanation too is difficult to credit since there is no evidence of the name ‘Triton’ for the Nile before the Hellenistic period. Lycophron refers to the Nile twice with the epithet ‘Triton’, a usage found elsewhere only once in Apollonius (Lycoph. 119, 576; Arg. 4.269).54 On one of just two other occasions where Triton is mentioned in the Alexandra, it is in connection with Lake Tritonis in Libya (Alexandra, 887). Since Lycophron seems to link the Nile with the Asbystians, who live beside Lake Tritonis, it is tempting also to link the epithet ‘Triton’ with the tradition of a western origin for the Nile. Lycophron’s phrase ‘outflows of Triton (æø  KŒ ºÆEØ)’ to describe the Nile is particularly suggestive (Alexandra 119). In this context it is worth recalling too that the Peutinger Map appears to show the Nile flowing eastwards from a large lake (possibly labelled as ‘Lacus Tritonum’) in the region of Cyrene.55 The evidence of Apollonius is inconclusive (Arg. Lycophron later refers to ‘Asbystians’ hiding a golden krater offered by Jason to Triton in thanks for Triton’s assistance in guiding the Argonauts out of Lake Tritonis (895). The same incident is mentioned by Herodotus (who says that the offering was a tripod) (4.179). 54 Pliny (NH 5.10.54) says that Aegyptus is the name used by Homer, and Triton the name used by ‘others’. Callimachus does not use the name ‘Triton’ of the Nile in the extant fragments (cf. his phrase ‘the waters of Asbystes Triton’ (Aetia F37.1), a reference to Lake Tritonis). It is perhaps significant that Callimachus hints at a southerly (Ethiopian) source for the Nile, rather than a western one (Hymn to Delos, 208). On the subterranean connection of the stream of Inopus on Delos with the Nile, see n.48 above. 55 On this lake, see the online database compiled by Richard Talbert to accompany Talbert (2010): http://www.cambridge.org/us/talbert/talbertdatabase/prm.html. Talbert remarks that it is not clear whether the annotation to the map ‘HIC LACUS TRITONUM’ refers to lake no. 13, from which the Nile appears to flow. Another 53

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4.269), but the Lycophronian context seems to encourage a connection between the Nile’s alternative name ‘Triton’ and theories of a western source for the Nile. Theocritus mentions the Nile also. His geographical conception of its upper regions is far from clear, but in light of theories about a westerly source, it is remarkable that in Idyll 7 he seems to deny that the Nile flowed in the far south of Ethiopia.56 In this poem, Simichidas prays to Pan to bring him Aristis (103–4), and for an unpleasant outcome for Pan if he does not do so:
YÅ  ’˙øH b K þæ
Ø å
ÆØ ø fi ¯æ  aæ

Æe 
æÆ  KªªŁ
 ` ! æŒø, K b Łæ
Ø ı ØØ Ææ’ `NŁØ
Ø  
 Ø

æÆ fi o

Bº
ø, ‹Ł
 PŒØ ˝
Eº  ›æÆ . ‘May you stay in the mountains of the Edoni in the midst of winter, near Arctus, turned towards the Hebrus river, and in summer may you tend flocks at the limits of Ethiopia, beneath the Blemyan rock, from where the Nile is no longer seen.’ Idyll 7, 111–14.

Simichidas wishes upon Pan the extreme cold of a northern winter, and a summer in the hot south without the reviving waters of the Nile. The timing of the inundation meant the Nile waters were at their most abundant in the summertime, making the phrase ‘no longer seen’ ( PŒØ . . . ›æÆ ) sound particularly pointed. The implication that the Nile does not flow in the far south of Ethiopia is clear, and this seems to conflict with theories about a southerly source. The Blemyans are mentioned here for the first time, a people whom Strabo (following Eratosthenes) locates to the north of Ethiopia, bordering on Egypt, ‘along the Nile towards the Red Sea’ (Strabo 17.1.2 = Eratosthenes F 98, Roller). We cannot know how Theocritus conceived the Nile’s course, nor whether he had any notion of a western source; but unless we are meant to think of the Blemyan rock as being far from the Nile in the direction of the Red Sea, his geography seems to contradict the view that the Nile’s sources lay in annotation to the map, perhaps describing the Montes Cyrenei, or perhaps the mountains drawn around lake no. 13, reads: ‘Hij montes subiacent paludi simili meotidi p(er) quem nilus transit’ (‘These mountains skirt a marsh—comparable to the Maeotis—through which the Nile flows’). 56 For commentary on Idyll 7: Hunter (1999); Gow (1950), vol.2. On the literary significance of some of the geographical allusions in the poem: Krevans (1983).

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the southernmost parts (‘the limits’) of Ethiopia. Theocritus’ description of the Nile as ‘no longer seen’ also resonates with Herodotus’ own careful categorization of the Nile’s source: Herodotus’ account of the course of the Nile upstream of Elephantine relies on akoē (what he has heard) and gnōmē (his judgement), but crucially, not opsis (what he has seen).57 Given the geographical interest of Idyll 7 as a whole58 and the general fascination among Greek writers with the geography of the Nile, it is tempting to see a geographical comment here rather than a loosely imagined far-off desert.59 Although the Nile’s sources were believed to be in the farthest reaches of Ethiopia, they had not been observed. Theocritus’ remark that the Nile is ‘no longer seen’ at the limits of Ethiopia may hint at the lack of supporting evidence for the theory of a southern source. Although Theocritus’ views remain obscure, we have seen that theories of a westerly source for the Nile, a view which Herodotus championed, persisted in the Hellenistic period. This persistence suggests that Herodotus’ remarks about the Nile remained of interest to later theorists, and this is indeed confirmed if we turn to the discussion of Diodorus Siculus. Diodorus Siculus’ representation of Herodotus on the Nile60 Many of the Hellenistic accounts of the Nile are lost. For example, Amometus, an early immigrant to Alexandria (who was probably of Cyrenean origin), wrote A Journey up-river from Memphis. This was presumably an account of the wonders of Middle and Upper Egypt, 57 Herodotus states in Book 2 that his historical inquiry is based on akoē, gnōmē, and opsis: 2.99.1. On Herodotus’ historical methods, see further Marincola (2001), 31–9. 58 Krevans (1983). Cf. Schol. Idyll 7.114b, where Theocritus’ words are attributed to geographical ignorance: ‘ . . . he does not yet know that beyond the Blemyans is where the Nile has its sources’. 59 Cf. Richard Hunter (1999, 186), who suggests that the Blemyans are here ‘imagined to inhabit a desert south of the sources of the Nile’. 60 Helen Todd is currently working on a doctoral thesis at Oxford on literary representations of the Nile from the Hellenistic and Roman periods. Shortly before this book went to press, she kindly shared a draft with me that discusses Diodorus’ passage on the Nile. This includes some excellent and important observations on the passage’s language of proof, argument and knowledge, as well as its articulation of and implied positioning on historiographical methodologies. Todd has detected several ‘Herodotean echoes’ in the language of the passage, and she sees it as significant that it is a discussion of the Nile that sets up a rivalry with Herodotus and frames Diodorus’ ‘historiographical posturing’.

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but an account of the theories about the Nile would not have been out of place.61 Callimachus wrote a work On the Rivers of the Inhabited World,62 which presumably dealt with the Nile, and Philostephanus wrote a work On the Wonderful Rivers. There remains extant, however, an important Hellenistic account of the Nile in Diodorus Siculus’ Bibliothēkē (1.32–41). This account makes reference to numerous earlier writers and thinkers on the Nile, and, as is the case with much of Diodorus’ work, it has been suspected that these sections represent an ‘epitome’ of the work of an earlier writer. In this case, the sections have usually been attributed to the second century geographer Agatharchides of Cnidus.63 Agatharchides wrote a historical and geographical work On Asia in ten books, and in a section on Africa he seems to have discussed the problems of the Nile’s source and inundation. The following discussion, focused on Bibliothēkē 1.37–41, assumes that much (although not all) of Diodorus’ account represents a fairly accurate summary of Agatharchides’ comments.64 Agatharchides is generally sympathetic towards his predecessors who approached the subject of the Nile: he speaks mildly of their ‘ignorance’ (H æ æø ıªªæÆçø Iª Æ) which he explains as being due not to any ‘negligence’ ( P Øa c Iº
ØÆ), but to the relatively late exploration of Ethiopia (Diod. Sic. 1.37.5). Agatharchides mentions historians of the past who did and did not discuss the Nile: he says that Hellanicus, Cadmus, Hecataeus, ‘and all such men’ turned to answers on the Nile offered by myths; that ‘Herodotus, a curious man if there ever was one, and with experience in many inquiries, tried to give an account of these matters, but he is discovered to have followed contradictory assumptions’ ( ˙æ    b ›

61

On Amometus: Fraser (1972), I 521, II 750. Callimachus, FF 457–9 (Pfeiffer). Diod. Sic. 1.32–41 = FGrH 86 F19. See further Burton (1972), 18–25, who reviews the evidence and concludes that Agatharchides of Cnidus is the likely ‘ultimate’ source for 1.37–41 (and possibly for parts of 1.30–6), but that Artemidorus of Ephesus may have been Diodorus’ intermediate source. Hecataeus of Abdera is traditionally thought to be the source for much of the rest of Diodorus’ first book: Murray (1970), 144–50; but see now Muntz (2011). 64 This is admittedly a problematic assumption, which I discuss in more detail elsewhere: Priestley (forthcoming). While the source criticism of the passage is complicated and my assessment of the sources may well be challenged, the passage is nevertheless a very interesting one which merits some discussion in this context. As mentioned in n.60, above, Helen Todd is currently working on an important (and much fuller) discussion of this passage. 62 63

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ºı æªø,
N ŒÆ Ø ¼ºº , ª
ª g ŒÆd

ººB ƒ æÆ 
Øæ  K ØŒ
å
æÅŒ
b
æd  ø I

Ø ÆØ º ª , MŒ º ıŁÅŒg b Iغ
ª ÆØ

 ÆØ
æŒ
ÆØ); that Xenophon and Thucydides ‘who are praised for the truthfulness (IºŁ
ØÆ) of their histories’ did not mention Egypt; and that Ephorus and Theopompus ‘gave the most attention to these matters but hit upon the truth least of all’ (Diod. Sic. 1.37.4). From its context, Agatharchides’ description of Herodotus as ‘a curious man’ (polypragmōn) seems to be respectful, even though the term’s semantic range includes a more negative sense, ‘busy-body’.65 Agatharchides is not adopting a polemical stance towards his predecessors here,66 but is instead outlining in the briefest of forms the shortcomings of previous discussions on the Nile. Agatharchides’ respectful attitude towards Herodotus is also evident later in his discussion, when he allows the possibility that Herodotus’ account might actually be correct. With respect to the Nile’s sources, Agatharchides says that up until the time of writing, ‘no-one claims to have seen them nor to have had an account from people who confirm that they have seen them’, and that because of this the matter is one of ‘conjecture’ (  ØÆ) and ‘plausible guesswork’ (ŒÆÆ åÆe ØŁÆe) (1.37.6–7). Agatharchides attributes to the Egyptian priests a belief that the Nile originates from ‘the Ocean surrounding the oikoumenē’, but then objects that they are ‘solving the perplexity with another one and advancing as a proof an explanation itself in much need of proof ’ (I

æÆ fi b c I

æÆ º 
 ŒÆd º ª  çæ 

N Ø ÆPe

ººB 
ø æ 

 ) (1.37.7). (This objection resonates with Herodotus’ own objection to the theory of an Oceanic origin for the Nile: that since the explanation has been brought ‘into the realm of the obscure it cannot be refuted’ (› b
æd  F  Œ
Æ F ºÆ K IçÆb e FŁ  I

ŒÆ PŒ å
Ø º
ªå ) (2.23).) Agatharchides next attributes to the Troglodytes the deduction from ‘certain signs’ (Kç
Ø Øa) that the Nile ‘is gathered from many sources to one place’ (1.37.8). He then says that the inhabitants

65 Similarly: Murray (1972), 205; Muntz (2011), 593; Ehrenberg (1947). For the use of the term in Aristophanes: Dunbar (1995), 325; in Plutarch: van Hoof (2008); in the ancient novel: Hunter (2009a). Cf. Strabo’s description of Callimachus as ‘a very learned man (polyhistōr), if anyone ever was’ (

ºıøæ,
Y Ø ¼ºº ) (9.5.17). 66 Cf. Chapter Five, 215.

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of Meroe ‘are so far removed from saying anything accurate (IŒæØH) on this that they even call the river Astapus’, which he translates as meaning ‘water from darkness’ (1.37.9).67 Despite its lack of ‘accuracy’, Agatharchides’ subsequent comments seem to indicate that he approves of the Meroeans’ lack of speculation on the matter:

y Ø b s fiH ˝
ºø fi B K  E 

Ø IŁ
øæÅÆ ŒÆd B NÆ Iª Æ NŒ
Æ ÆÆ æ Ū æÆ· E ’ IºÅŁÆ 
r ÆØ  Œ
E º ª  › º
E  I åø  F æ 

ØÆ . ‘These people then have given the Nile a name which suits the want of observation of these regions and their own ignorance. And I think that the explanation most removed from assumption is the most honest.’ 1.37.10

It is implied that the question of the Nile’s sources remained an open one. After these remarks, Diodorus (perhaps reflecting Agatharchides68) gives his version of Herodotus’ comments on the Nile’s sources. Herodotus is the only Greek writer mentioned in connection with the question of the source, and Diodorus seems almost anxious to demonstrate his awareness of the account:

PŒ Iª H b ‹Ø c æe c ø  F

Æ F   ı ŒÆd c æe " æÆ ¸ØÅ Iç æÇø  ˙æ    IÆŁÅØ ¸ıØ  E O ÆÇ  Ø ˝ÆÆHØ c IŒæØB Ł
øæÆ  F Þ
Łæ ı, ŒÆ çÅØ Œ Ø  ºÅ ºÆ Æ c Iæåc e ˝
Eº  çæ
ŁÆØ Øa åæÆ `NŁØ ØŒB IıŁ ı· P c ÆP Ł
 h
 E
N

FØ ¸ıØ,
Y
æ ŒÆd æe IºŁ
ØÆ
NæŒÆØ, h
fiH ıªªæÆç
E æ 
Œ  IÆ 
ØŒÆ ºª Ø. ‘I am not ignorant69 of the fact that Herodotus, when distinguishing between the land to the east of this river and Libya to the west,

67

As Helen Todd notes in her unpublished draft (see n.60) on this passage, akribeia (‘accuracy’) is of course a key term of Thucydidean inquiry, connected with evidence and experience (cf. Thuc. 1.22.2). The coalescence (and possible contrasting use?) of ‘Herodotean’ and ‘Thucydidean’ terms and (implied) historiographical methods in Diodorus’ discussion of the Nile may repay further consideration. 68 In Priestley (forthcoming) I discuss this passage further and suggest that Diodorus may have garbled polemic against Herodotus which was present in his source, since Diodorus’ characterization of Herodotus’ (alleged and misrepresented) comments on the source of the Nile as ‘unprovable’ better describes Herodotus’ actual comments on the Nile’s course. 69 Diodorus uses this phrase elsewhere too: Diod. Sic. 1.27.3, 1.56.5, 3.66.4, 4.1.1, 4.8.1, 4.44.4, 4.55.3, 7.7.1, 32.26.1.

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attributed to the so-called Nasamones of Libya the exact observation of the river, and that he says that the Nile has its source in a certain lake and flows through untold regions of Ethiopia. However, one should not immediately agree with the statements made by the Libyans, even if they have spoken the truth,70 nor with the historian when he says things which are unprovable.’ 1.37.11

It is striking that only very shortly before this, Diodorus made the comment that no-one had ever reported knowledge of the Nile’s source (Diod. Sic. 1.37.6).71 It is this inconsistency, along with some other oddities in the discussion of the source and inundation of the Nile (1.37–41), which suggest that }37.11 is Diodorus’ own contribution to a broader discussion otherwise taken from another source.72 The claim that Herodotus identified ‘a certain lake’ as the source of the Nile is inaccurate. Herodotus theorizes that the course and length of the Nile mirrors that of the Ister, but at no point does he claim that the Nasamones had found the Nile’s source. Instead, he reminds his audience that ‘ . . . concerning the sources of the Nile no-one can speak’ (2.34.1). Herodotus does mention a lake in his account of the Nile: one near the island of Tachompso, four days’ journey upstream from Elephantine, into and out of which he says the Nile flows (2.29.4). That lake does not form part of his story about the Nasamones, however. This of course raises questions. Has Diodorus read Herodotus? Is this inaccuracy carried over from his source (here usually assumed to be Agatharchides)? Is Diodorus inaccurately recalling Herodotus’ work from memory?73 The situation in instances such as these is

70 Diodorus commonly uses the expression æe IºŁ
ØÆ to mean ‘in accordance with the truth’: see LSJ, IºÅŁ
Æ I.2. For
Y(
æ) ŒÆd meaning ‘even if ’, see Smyth (1956), }2378. 71 Cf. also Diod. Sic. 1.32.1: ‘The Nile . . . has its sources in unseen regions . . . ’. 72 1.37–41 is unusual for Diodorus stylistically, and it is also unusual for Diodorus in its extensive use of source citations. See further: Leopoldi (1892), 19–25; Burton (1972), 20–5; Priestley (forthcoming). 73 Strabo is equally unfaithful to Herodotus’ discussion on the Nile’s source: he refers to the great unreliability of ‘Herodotus and others’ in placing the sources of the Nile near the islands of Syene and Elephantine, and in claiming that it had there a bottomless depth (17.1.52). Yet it is clear that Herodotus is not trying to convince his audience that the scribe’s story should be believed: he suggests that the scribe was joking, and argues against Psammetichus’ supposed test being a legitimate form of

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clearly not as straightforward as Oswyn Murray suggested when he remarked that ‘ . . . all the contradictions of his [i.e. Herodotus’] detailed information . . . show how carefully he was studied by the very authors who denounce him’.74 It would be surprising if Agatharchides had made a genuine mistake, given the access he had to written sources, his preference for scholarly-style research, and his apparent accuracy in the use of written records.75 Some of the other details in his summary of Herodotus suggest that Agatharchides was very familiar with the account. For example, he attributes correctly the story about the Nile to the Nasamones. He also refers to the Nile’s passage through Ethiopia as being ‘untold (IıŁ ı)’, which resonates with Herodotus’ own comment that, after four months’ journey upriver from Elephantine into Ethiopia, communication about its course breaks down (Hdt. 2.31). Furthermore, Agatharchides correctly contextualizes the account within Herodotus’ discussion about the Nile’s traditional status as a continental divider.76 Significantly, Diodorus (and Agatharchides?) leave(s) open the possibility that Herodotus and the Nasamones may in fact be correct in what they say about the Nile: ‘one should not immediately agree with the statements made by the Libyans, even if they have spoken the truth,77 nor the historian when he says things which are unprovable’ (1.37.11). The dissatisfaction with Herodotus’ alleged comments is not that they are necessarily false, but that they are ‘unprovable’ (anapodeikta).78 This description is not altogether straightforward. Firstly, anapodeikta is a very unusual word for Diodorus to have

proof that the springs were bottomless (2.28). On Strabo’s use of Herodotus: Riemann (1967), 47–55 (and 48–9 on this passage, which Riemann suggests derives from Eratosthenes); and also, Althaus (1941) (non vidi). 74 Murray (1972), 205. 75 Burstein (1989), passim, esp. 17–18, 30–2. Cf. Riemann (1967), 59–60, who notes that Agatharchides seems to have followed Herodotus closely in his description of Nilotic animals, even adopting some of his mistakes. 76 Diod. Sic. 1.37.11: . . . c æe c ø  F

Æ F   ı ŒÆd c æe " æÆ ¸ØÅ Iç æÇø  ˙æ    . . . (‘ . . . Herodotus, when distinguishing between the land to the east of this river and Libya to the west . . . ’); cf. Hdt. 2.15ff. 77 See n.70, above. 78 An alternative possible translation is ‘unproven’.

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chosen; there is only one other use of this word in Diodorus, and this one other example is also found in the discussion of the Nile (a stylistic point which may be significant).79 It is not clear why the (alleged) observation of the source by the Nasamones should be ‘unprovable’. This characterization would, however, fit very well with Herodotus’ actual statements on the Nile in the Histories: based in part on the reported observations of the Nasamones, Herodotus speculates that the course (and, it is implied, the source) of the Nile mirrors that of the Ister, which would put the source in the west of Africa (Hdt. 2.34). In view of the available evidence, Diodorus would be quite justified to characterize this idea of geographical symmetry as ‘unprovable’. I have suggested elsewhere that Diodorus’ summary of Herodotus on the source—that the Nasamones claimed ‘exact observation of the river, and that Herodotus says that the Nile has its source in a certain lake’—may be a garbled version of an earlier summary of Herodotus, and that the characterization ‘unprovable’ has been carried over from Diodorus’ source: a residual criticism, so to speak.80 On this reading, inspired by an earlier author’s refutation of Herodotus’ remarks on the Nile river, Diodorus gives his own refutation, but in a manner which is not altogether convincing or coherent.81 Diodorus’ source (here assumed to be Agatharchides) represents himself as a cautious historian, reluctant to draw conclusions in the lack of firm proof. He creates a show of independence from Herodotus’ account, and yet his comments imply that Herodotus’ remarks on the Nile’s source were considered to have authority and could not be ignored. To characterize Herodotus’ account as unprovable allows him to appear independent and methodologically 79 Cf. Diod. Sic. 1.39.6, where the (alleged) assertion of Democritus, that the highest mountains of all are those in Ethiopia, is also characterized as ‘unprovable’ (anapodeikton). Leopoldi (1892), 19–25, notes a number of linguistic oddities in Diodorus’ discussion of the Nile. As Helen Todd in her draft has noted (see n.60), I


ŒıØ (‘display’, ‘demonstrate’) and its cognates are key terms in Herodotus’ Histories, first foregrounded in Herodotus’ opening description of the Histories as a ‘display (apodexis) of his inquiry’ (Hdt. Preface). (See also Thomas (2000), 222.) The word anapodeikton/-deikta is a cognate, and should perhaps be included as one of the ‘Herodotean’ elements of the passage. 80 Priestley (forthcoming). 81 This interpretation suggests a very similar transmission scenario to that suggested by Walbank (1945) in the case of Diodorus’ criticism of Timaeus’ (alleged) claim, that the bull of Phaleris had never been at Agrigentum (Diod. Sic. 13.90.4–7).

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more cautious than Herodotus, without completely ruling out the possibility of a western source for the Nile (which, as we have seen, was a theory that apparently continued to find support). Agatharchides thus adopts a very similar critical stance to Herodotus’ own on the theory of an Oceanic origin for the Nile (Diod. Sic. 1.37.7; Hdt. 2.21), and then applies a Herodotean scepticism about the unseen (aphanēs) to Herodotus’ own theory of a west African source for the Nile. Agatharchides does not offer his own theory about the Nile’s course, which makes him consistent in his approach: after all, if he were to theorize on the Nile he would lay himself open to the same criticisms which he directs at Herodotus. If the misrepresentation of Herodotus is carried over by Diodorus from Agatharchides, then it would appear that Agatharchides misrepresents Herodotus in order to establish his own authority on an issue for which Herodotus was regarded as an authoritative source. If, however, as I have suggested, it is Diodorus who is responsible for the misrepresentation (and the rhetorical representation of the ‘cautious historian’ is carried over from Agatharchides), then it would appear that Agatharchides provided a fair critique highlighting the problematic assumptions underlying Herodotus’ account, but—importantly—without ever ruling out the possibility that what Herodotus had said was in fact true. Either way, the passage suggests that Herodotus’ theory about a western source for the Nile was considered too important to ignore or simply to dismiss when Agatharchides was writing in the second century.82 With respect to the inundation of the Nile, Herodotus is just one of several theorists mentioned in Diodorus (1.38–41). The others are Thales, Anaxagoras (followed by his ‘pupil’ Euripides), Democritus of Abdera, Ephorus, ‘certain philosophers in Memphis’, Oenopides of Chios, and of course Agatharchides himself.83 Clearly then, 82 If Diodorus is responsible for the misrepresentation of Herodotus, and if this is intentional, rather than a careless mistake, then this implies that Diodorus did not expect his readers to have a detailed knowledge of Herodotus’ Histories, or to check his claims about what Herodotus had said. This should perhaps not be surprising, however, given that Diodorus seems to have thought that the Bibliothēkē would obviate his readers’ need for detailed knowledge of earlier authors (1.3). For further discussion of Diodorus’ distortions when citing Herodotus, see Lenfant (1999), 116–18. 83 Some names which are conspicuously absent from this list include Aristotle, Timaeus, and Eratosthenes. There is no firm evidence that any of the ancients before Strabo (17.1.5) considered Homer to be an authority on the Nile’s inundation,

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Herodotus’ contribution to this debate too was regarded by Agatharchides as one of several important (mainly Greek) contributions. Diodorus’ summary of Herodotus’ views on the inundation (which again, I presume generally reflects the summary of Agatharchides) is largely accurate (Diod. Sic. 1.38.8–12). There are small differences in expression and vocabulary, and two very minor misrepresentations of what Herodotus says, perhaps indicating that Agatharchides’ view of Herodotus’ account is coloured by newer geographical terms or more theoretically informed concepts.84 For example, Herodotus contrasts the Nile’s behaviour with that of all other rivers (2.25.4–5), whereas Agatharchides suggests that Herodotus was much more specific, saying that he contrasted the Nile with ‘the rivers in Greece and rivers in other lands which are situated similarly to Greece’ ( . . .  f 

æd c ‘¯ººÆ

Æ f ŒÆd  f ŒÆa c ¼ººÅ åæÆ c › ø KŒ
fi Å Œ
ØÅ, Diod. Sic. 1.38.9). Agatharchides’ phrasing seems to presuppose a view according to which certain areas of land were in some way geographically comparable to Greece—possibly the concept of climatic zones (klimata) or latitudes (parallēloi).85 Agatharchides also claims that, at the time of the inundation, Herodotus regarded the Nile to be its ‘natural’ (ç
Ø) size (Diod. Sic. 1.38.8). Herodotus never expresses his ideas exactly like this (although he does say that he tried to find out what quality the Nile has to make it ‘in its nature’ opposite to all other rivers: 2.19.3). In general, then, Agatharchides provides a reasonably accurate representation of Herodotus’ views on the inundation, although the way he expresses them is subtly different. Agatharchides refutes Herodotus’ explanation of the inundation briefly: he says that ‘the historian is clearly found to be careless

although see now the restoration (based on correspondences with Strabo 17.1.5) of P. Oxy. 4458 col. ii, line 27, suggested by its editor David Hughes (Oxyrhynchus Papyri vol. LXV (1998). 84 For example, to describe the flooding the noun ºæøØ is used, in contrast to Herodotus, who throughout his account uses the verb ºÅŁø. To describe the principle of the sun ‘drawing up’ water, Agatharchides repeatedly uses the verb K Ø ø, in contrast to Herodotus’ ºŒø (Hdt. 2.25.2, 25.3, 25.4, 25.5; Diod. Sic. 1.38.8, 38.11). And instead of oøæ, Agatharchides has ªæÆÆ (Hdt. 2.25.2, 4; Diod. Sic. 1.38.8, 11). 85 See further: Dicks (1955), Romm (2010), Dueck (2012), 84–6.

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(å
ØÇø)’86 because none of the other Libyan rivers have their flow reduced in winter (as would be logically consistent if Herodotus’ explanation were correct). The characterization of Herodotus as ‘careless’ in this context lends further support to the idea that Agatharchides is concerned to present himself as more careful in his methods than Herodotus. Agatharchides does not harshly criticize Herodotus or call him a liar, but instead carefully refutes his ideas (in the case of the inundation) or characterizes them as unprovable (in the case of the Nile). Agatharchides clearly considered Herodotus’ remarks on the Nile’s source and inundation too important to ignore, and the generally respectful attitude which he adopts towards his predecessor is notable.

GEOGRAPHIES OF THE PAST Greek knowledge of the world increased dramatically in the Hellenistic period, and this naturally meant that much ethnographical and geographical information from the preceding centuries was challenged. For example, Herodotus’ Egyptian account was subjected to serious criticisms in the early Hellenistic works of Hecataeus of Abdera and Manetho. Hecataeus and Manetho had access to more and better information than Herodotus had had, and Hecataeus’ account on Egypt seems to have replaced Herodotus’ as the definitive work.87 That Herodotus’ account should quickly become outdated and replaced by a more authoritative version after Egypt came under Greek rule is hardly surprising. If much early Hellenistic historical ethnography can be called ‘Herodotean’ in character,88 it is also true that Herodotus left his mark on Hellenistic descriptions of the world in other, more palpable ways. Selective details from the Histories relating to the world and its inhabitants in the past continued to be of interest in the Hellenistic period. This section illustrates this firstly by considering the influence of Herodotus’ remarks about the

86 For this meaning of å
ØÇø, see LSJ (with åØ  also). Diodorus uses this verb in polemics elsewhere too: 2.15.2 (again, of Herodotus), 13.90.6 (of Timaeus). An alternative translation for å
ØÇø is ‘improvising’. 87 Murray (1970),167–9; Burstein (1996), 598–9. 88 Cf. Murray (1972) and the Introduction.

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Egyptian king Sesostris’ settlement of Colchis, and secondly by discussing the relevance of Herodotus’ geographical information to the oikoumenē created by Apollonius in the Argonautica.

The Egyptian–Colchis theory Herodotus is the earliest extant source89 for the legend of an Egyptian king Sesostris, who was credited with leading a campaign into Asia which resulted in a group of Egyptians founding the settlement of Colchis (2.102–110).90 The legend of Sesostris was popular and was treated by many different writers, including Diodorus Siculus (1.53–8). The following discussion proceeds on the assumption that Diodorus’ chapters on ‘Sesoösis’ (an alternative name for Sesostris) closely reflect the work of Hecataeus of Abdera (FGrH 264 F 25).91 Hecataeus (as transmitted in Diodorus) invites us to view his account of Sesoösis as being in competition with Herodotus’ account of Sesostris, both in general terms, through his use of implicit and explicit polemic against his predecessor’s account of Egypt,92 and in this specific instance, through his introductory statement of intent to find the ‘most trustworthy’ version of the story, on the grounds that ‘the Greek writers’ are at variance with each other (Diod. Sic. 1.53.1).93

89 (#
)æ(Ø ) ºÅ (‘pillar of Sesostris’) is a conjectured restoration for the nonsensical 
ªæı ºÅ in Hipponax F 42 (West) (sixth century); but see Stephanie West (1992) 119 n.15 and Ivantchik (1999), 403. 90 The literature on Sesostris is extensive: Lloyd (1988), 16ff. and Ivantchik (1999) provide useful introductions. Herodotus’ comments have (notoriously) been appropriated by Bernal as evidence supporting his views that Greek culture was African in origin. See Bernal (1987, 1991, 2001) and Lefkowitz and Rogers (1996). 91 It has usually been assumed that for much of Book 1 of the Bibliothēkē Diodorus derived his material with little change from Hecataeus of Abdera’s Aegyptiaca (as noted above, however, the chapters on the Nile (1.32–41) are usually traced back to Agatharchides): Murray (1970). Cf. Burton (1972) and Muntz (2011). On Hecataeus, cf. Introduction, p. 2. 92 Explicit: Diod. Sic. 1.69.7. Implicit: Diod. Sic. 1.59.2 (Hdt. 2.111), 62.2 (Hdt. 2.112), 66.10 (Hdt. 2.151). For Hecataeus’ references to Greek accounts in general, cf. n.93. Although it is quite clear that Hecataeus drew on previous Greek accounts for his Aegyptiaca, he emphasized his independence from them: most of the material appears to have been presented as if it had come from the Egyptian priests. 93 Other examples of rival Greek accounts being referred to in such general terms are also found at Diod. Sic. 1.15.2, 46.8, 53.1, 53.9, 63.5, 64.13.

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The king’s name is the first obvious point of departure from Herodotus in Hecataeus. ‘Sesostris’, the name used by Herodotus, is the usual classical form.94 Although Hecataeus’ form of the name, ‘Sesoösis’, is less common, it is not unique.95 Both versions of the name appear to be Hellenized forms of the twelfth Dynasty pharaonic name S-n-Wśrt,96 and Askold Ivantchik has suggested that ‘Sesoösis’ reflects the pronunciation of the king’s name in Hellenistic Egypt (and that ‘Sesostris’ remained a literary form only).97 If we read Hecataeus’ narrative as a reaction to Herodotus’ version, then Hecataeus’ departure from the usual literary form can be interpreted as a correction of the Herodotean account (perhaps to bring the name in line with contemporary pronunciation, as Ivantchik suggests). Hecataeus’ account of Sesoösis also differs in three broad respects from Herodotus’: firstly, the stories about the king are expanded with extra details; secondly, there are modernizations (for instance, the king is made to surpass the feats of Egypt’s last conqueror, thus whereas Herodotus’ Sesostris exceeds the achievements of Cyrus and Darius, Hecataeus’ Sesoösis exceeds those of Alexander); and thirdly, there are idealizations (in general, Hecataeus presents Sesoösis as a virtuous ‘benefactor king’, to accord with the theoretical attitudes to kingship which underlie the subsequent discussion of customs associated with the early kings of Egypt: Diod. Sic. 1.70–2).98 In the context of Sesostris’ campaigns of conquest, Herodotus includes his views on the Egyptian background of the Colchians. Their Egyptian origins are presented by Herodotus as his very own ‘discovery’ resulting from his researches. Herodotus explains that he had the idea firstly because of the Colchians’ dark skin99 and curly hair, but admits that this proves nothing, since other peoples have these physical characteristics too; so he secondly points out that the 94

Other variants include: Sesostris, Sesonchosis, Sasychis, Sostris (see Lloyd (1988), 18). 95 It is found also in Isidorus, Hymn 4.31 (c. 90 BC). Burton (1972, 164) overlooks this example. 96 Ivantchik (1999), 400. 97 Ivantchik (1999), 412–13. 98 See further: Murray (1970), 162. 99 Cf. Pindar, P. 4.212: ‘black-faced Colchians’ (Œ
ºÆØ
Ø ˚ ºå ØØ). In contrast, the Hippocratic author of Airs, Waters, Places, a work much concerned with theories of environmental determinism, describes ‘the inhabitants of Phasis’ (they are not explicitly identified as Colchians) as ‘sallow/pale-skinned’ (åæ Øc Tåæc) (}15).

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Egyptians and Colchians share the cultural practice of circumcision (which he apparently considers better evidence for their common ethnicity). He notes that his inquiries of the Egyptians and Colchians confirmed his hypothesis, and forthrightly proclaims his success in first theorizing that this was the case (2.104).100 He adds (again, in a way which seems to emphasize the idea as his own101) that the Colchians and Egyptians work linen in the same way, and that they even resemble one another in their way of life and language (2.105). There is of course no way of verifying whether Herodotus indeed originated the idea that Colchis was settled by Egyptians from Sesostris’ campaign, but he clearly staked a claim to it being his own opinion, backed up with carefully considered evidence. In Hecataeus (as transmitted by Diodorus) the Egyptian–Colchis theory is not ascribed to anyone in particular: it is presented as a general piece of folklore connected with the Sesostris legend ( . . . çÆØ . . . , ‘they say’: Diod. Sic. 1.55.4).102 This has all the hallmarks of an ‘Alexandrian footnote’, a scholarly allusion to an unnamed, but specific source.103 It seems fair to assume that Hecataeus has Herodotus’ account in mind here; at the very least the phrase ‘they say’ draws attention to the traditionality of the Colchian theory and highlights that the Hecataean account is to be placed within and interpreted as part of that tradition (which included Herodotus’ account).104 Herodotus suggests two alternatives for how Egyptians came to settle Colchis: either the settlement by a section of the campaigning army was Sesostris’ own initiative (ŒÆºØ
B åæÅ NŒ æÆ, ‘he left behind men to settle the land’), or the settlers were deserters from the army, who had grown exasperated at the long campaign (B fi ºfi Å ÆP F IåŁ
Ł
 . . . ή
ØÆ, ‘tiring of Sesostris’ wanderings

Hdt. 2.104: ‘I came to this view myself before hearing it from others’ ( . . .  Æ b æ 
æ  ÆPe j IŒ Æ ¼ººø . . . ) and ‘I myself conjectured this’ (ÆPe b
YŒÆÆ B fi 
. . . ). 101 Hdt. 2.105: ‘Let me say . . . ’ (
Y ø). 102 Cf. Apollonius Rhodius, Argonautica 4.272–8, and n.113. 103 Hinds (1998), 1–2. The term was first coined by Ross (1975, 78). 104 Earlier in Diodorus the Hecataean version of the ‘Egyptian–Colchis theory’ appears in an abbreviated form (Diod. Sic. 1.28.2–3). There it is ‘the Egyptians’ to whom the idea is attributed. This could be taken as evidence for Herodotus’ ideas on the matter being appropriated and assimilated into the Egyptians’ own repertoire of stories about their past; or, Diodorus attributes Greek ideas to Egyptian sources to impart extra authority to the account. 100

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they remained behind’) (2.103.2). The Hecataean version expunges from the record the notion of dissent and hostility towards Sesostris: recalling Herodotus’ wording in his first alternative, Hecataeus says that Sesoösis’ settlers ‘were left behind’ (ŒÆƺ
ØçŁÆ). This insistence on planned settlement accords with the story that Egypt had once engaged in a co-ordinated colonizing enterprise and sent out settlers to numerous different parts of the inhabited world (Diod. Sic. 1.28–9). Intriguingly, however, the location of the Colchian settlement is redefined by Hecataeus. Instead of placing Colchis near the Phasis (Rioni) river, where Herodotus locates it (and which was indeed its traditional location), Hecataeus places it further north in the region of the Tanais (Don) river and Lake Maeotis (the Sea of Azov) (1.55.4).105 How is this permutation of the tradition to be explained? There is some evidence that ‘Phasis’ was once used to refer to the Don rather than the Rioni, but there is no indication in the ancient sources of an awareness of this change.106 Hecataeus’ mention of the Tanais may perhaps reflect different theoretical ideas about the boundary between Asia and Europe. For Herodotus, the Colchians are the most northerly people in Asia (4.37), and their territory lies around the Phasis river (2.103), south of the Caucasus mountains (3.97).107 For Hecataeus, however, the division between Europe and Asia is the Tanais (Don) river (1.55.4). Possibly then, Hecataeus has simply pushed the most northerly Asian people further north so as to conform with his notion of the Asian boundary. Alternatively, Hecataeus’ geographical manipulation is perhaps better explained by the fact that the region concerned was— notoriously—a part of Asia that Alexander the Great did not conquer. Strabo relates how the desire to flatter Alexander (Øa c º
æ ı çغ ØÆ) had led some historians to manipulate geography in order to legitimate the claim that this particular area of Asia had 105 Cf. Diod. Sic. 1.28.2, where the Colchians are located in the Black Sea region (K fiH — ø fi ). 106 On the identification of the Phasis with the Don river, see in particular Bolton (1962), 55–8, and also von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (1914), 152–3. 107 Herodotus is aware of the conventional boundary between Asia and Europe being either the Tanais or the Phasis river. He suggests that these are arbitrary divisions, but nevertheless says that he will use the conventional names for the continents (4.45).

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come under Macedonian rule (Strabo, 11.7.4).108 Already by Alexander’s time the Tanais river was usually considered the marker of the European–Asian border.109 The ‘flatterers’ claimed that Lake Maeotis (the Sea of Azov), into which the Tanais (Don) flows, was connected with the ‘Caspian’ Sea (either the modern day Caspian, or the Aral Sea);110 and one of the main ‘proofs’ was that the river Iaxartes (the Syr Darya, which Alexander did reach and cross) was in fact to be identified with the Tanais (Don).111 Hecataeus includes the story of Colchis’ settlement soon after an explicit comparison between Sesoösis’ achievements and Alexander’s:

P    ªaæ c o
æ  ’ º
æ ı  F %ÆŒ
   ŒÆÆŒÅŁ
EÆ åæÆ K BºŁ
, Iººa ŒÆ ØÆ H KŁH z KŒ
E  P

Ææƺ

N c åæÆ. ŒÆd ªaæ e ˆªªÅ

Æe ØÅ ŒÆd c ' ØŒc K BºŁ
AÆ ø TŒ
Æ F ŒÆd a H #ŒıŁH ŁÅ åæØ ÆØ 

Æ F  F Ø æÇ   c ¯Pæ Å I e B Æ· ‹
 çÆØ H `Nªı ø Øa ŒÆƺ
ØçŁÆ
æd c %ÆØHØ ºÅ ıÆŁÆØ e H ˚ ºåø Ł . ‘For not only did he reach territory which was later won by Alexander of Macedon, but he also reached the territory of peoples that Alexander did not reach. For he even crossed the river Ganges and went through all India as far as Ocean, as well as through the Scythian tribes as far as the river Tanais, which divides Europe from Asia. Indeed, they say he left behind some Egyptians around Lake Maeotis, bringing into existence the Colchian people.’ Diod. Sic. 1.55.3–4 108 For further discussion of this passage of Strabo and of whether the ‘Caspian’ sea reached by Alexander was the modern-day Caspian Sea or the Aral Sea, see Pearson (1951); Hamilton (1971). 109 Thomson (1948), 59. 110 See above, n.108. In what sense Lake Maeotis and the ‘Caspian’ Sea were connected is unclear (the verb is ı
æBŁÆØ, ‘connected by a passage’). Cf. Aristotle, Meteorologica, 351a for the idea of a subterranean connection between the Black and Caspian Seas. 111 This idea must have entered the tradition early: Strabo (11.7.4) names Polyclitus, a geographer who accompanied Alexander, in connection with the stratagem (cf. Hamilton (1971), who suggests that in calling the Iaxartes the Tanais Polyclitus may have been making an honest mistake); and Aristobulus, who also accompanied Alexander, called it Tanais (Arr. Anab. 3.30.7), although he was aware it had an alternative name and, according to Hamilton (1971, 110), ‘must have known the truth’. Strabo (11.5.5) also relates that Alexander’s flatterers had transferred the Caucasus mountains into the region of the Indian mountains so that Alexander could be said to have reached the location where Prometheus had been bound and where Jason and the Argonauts had gone. See Romm (1992), 98, with references.

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The denial that Alexander reached the Tanais is clear. But the relocation of the Egyptian ‘colony’ of Colchis to the contentious area that Alexander’s ‘flatterers’ had effectively erased from the map is a remarkable innovation. Hecataeus reasserts the importance of the area. According to his version of events, not only did Sesoösis surpass Alexander by visiting this area, but he even settled it. Hecataeus is strongly influenced by the stories about Alexander’s accomplishments and is anxious to modernize the Sesostris story by showing that Sesoösis’ feats were greater. Herodotus’ idea that Colchis was Egyptian in origin proves useful for this purpose. A final important difference in the two presentations of the Egyptian–Colchis theory relates to the ideas put forward about circumcision. Herodotus comments that the Colchians, Egyptians, and Ethiopians are the only peoples to have practised circumcision ‘from the beginning’ (I ’ IæåB). The other peoples with this custom— Phoenicians, Syrians, and Macrones—have learnt it (by their own admission, Herodotus says) from the Egyptians and Colchians. Circumcision is portrayed by Herodotus as an ancient Egyptian practice, and others who practise it have either learnt it (Phoenicians, Syrians, Macrones), or are in fact Egyptian in origin (Colchians).112 Hecataeus blurs this careful distinction made by Herodotus, and apparently cites the Jewish custom of circumcision as evidence that their land was also once settled by Egyptians: ‹Ø b  F e ª  `Nªı ØÆŒ  KØ Å
E 
r ÆØ e
æØ
ŁÆØ  f IŁæ

ı ÆæÆ ºÅø  E ŒÆ’ `Yªı  , ØÆ    F   ı Ææa  E I

Œ Ø, ŒÆŁ
æ ŒÆd Ææa  E ' ıÆ Ø. ‘The proof that this race is Egyptian is that the people practise circumcision, resembling people throughout Egypt, since the custom persists among the settlers, just as it also does among the Jews.’ Diod. Sic. 1.55.5; cf. 1.28.2–3

The inclusion of this idea at this point in the narrative is a further indication that Hecataeus is strongly influenced by Herodotus’ account. The subtle alteration—the suggestion that the Jewish people learnt the custom from the Egyptians—constitutes a ‘correction’ of Herodotus, and has apparently been made so that the account better 112 The Ethiopians are a loose strand in the argumentation. Herodotus seems to believe that one race, Ethiopian or Egyptian, must have been the ‘first-practitioner’, with the other race having learnt it from them (2.104.4).

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conforms with the ideas of cultural priority present in Hecataeus’ idealizing presentation of Egyptian civilization: Diodorus (again, probably transmitting material from Hecataeus) indicates that there were more developed traditions about Egyptian colonies, according to which Colchis was only one of many Egyptian settlements (Diod. Sic. 1.28–29).113

The geography of Apollonius’ Argonautica Hecataeus’ manipulation of geography is striking in part because it occurs in a work of prose, and because it occurs in a work which purports to be a work of historiography. This final section considers Herodotus’ relationship to the geography of a very different kind of work, with different generic conventions, Apollonius’ epic poem the Argonautica. It is apparent that many ancient writers thought that poetic licence could extend to ethnographic and geographic descriptions of the oikoumenē, in addition to descriptions of the past. The rules of poetry and history are different, as Cicero remarked (Laws 1.5).114 Herodotus’ polemic against the idea of the river Ocean is our first evidence for the oikoumenē of the poets being subjected to scientific scrutiny. There are three different occasions when Herodotus dismisses the idea of Ocean. The first dismissal, as we have already seen, is found in the context of his discussion about the inundation of the Nile. In response to the view that the inundation is due to the Nile’s source being Ocean (2.21), Herodotus objects that the promulgator, ‘having brought the story into the realm of the obscure (K IçÆb) cannot be refuted’. He then remarks that he knows of no river Ocean, and singles out ‘Homer, or some other of the earlier poets’ as responsible for inventing the name (2.23). He thus assigns ultimate responsibility to the early poets for what he considers to be a complete fabrication. Another passage suggests that it is not only poets who are the targets of his criticisms, however: he ridicules (ª
ºH, ‘I laugh at’) maps of the 113 An interest in Herodotus’ views on Colchis in the early Hellenistic period is evidenced elsewhere too. Apollonius of Rhodes, for example, refers to Sesostris (although he does not name him) and credits Sesostris with the founding of ‘countless cities’ (4.272–8). Foster (2006) argues persuasively that Theocritus also draws on the Herodotean tradition in Idyll 15. 114 Cf. Chapter Five, pp. 210–11.

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world, complaining that ‘none is thought out reasonably’ ( PÆ   Kå ø KŪÅ
 ), and elaborating that ‘they draw Ocean running around the land, circular, as if drawn by a compass, and they make Asia the same size as Europe’ (4.36.2). Herodotus’ target here is not named, although it has been suspected that he is referring to maps drawn by Ionian geographers such as Anaximander and Hecataeus of Miletus.115 His subsequent discussion suggests that his objection to such maps is based on their fundamental incompatibility with empirical knowledge of the world (4.36ff., discussed above). On the third occasion when Herodotus dismisses the idea of Ocean, he is more explicit about this problem: ‘They (=the Greeks) say in report (º ªø fi b) that the Ocean runs around the whole earth, starting from where the sun rises, but in fact (æªø fi b) they do not give evidence for it ( PŒ I


ØŒFØ)’ (4.8.2). Herodotus is again concerned to show that this particular world-view is not supported by and is even inconsistent with empirical knowledge of the world. It is not only poets who appear to be the target of Herodotus’ criticisms, but he does suggest that Homer or another poet was responsible for the original report of a river Ocean. Herodotus thus provides an early example of a strand of criticism that would have a long history. The geographical information found in poets appears to have been a matter of great critical interest in antiquity. In particular, the geography of Homer was fiercely contested; this is clearly apparent from Strabo’s spirited defence of the accuracy of Homeric geography.116 The perceived authority of Homer ensured that the geography of the Homeric poems was accorded serious attention. For some, the evidence of Homer was incontrovertible. Strabo’s methods of explaining apparent inconsistencies between Homer’s world-view and the oikoumenē as it was known in his day reveal the lengths to which some would go to uphold Homer’s authority as a geographer. Nevertheless, as knowledge of the oikoumenē increased, the geographical information found in Homer and other poets was explicitly challenged, indicating that the authority of Homer on geographical matters was by no means considered absolute by all. The most prominent critic of Homeric geography in the Hellenistic period was Eratosthenes. To him is attributed the witticism that ‘one can 115 116

Heidel (1933), 206–7; Romm (1992), 34. Geography, Books 1 and 2. Romm (1992), 185.

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find where Odysseus wandered when one finds the cobbler who sewed up the bag of winds’ (Strabo 1.2.15). Although this remark seems to suggest that Eratosthenes denied completely the veracity of Odysseus’ wanderings, from Strabo’s other remarks it appears that it was rather Homer’s version of Odysseus’ wanderings about which Eratosthenes was sceptical. Strabo says: ’¯æÆ ŁÅ b  ˙   b
N΂
Ø
ı 
æd B  Oıø

ºÅ ‹Ø ŒÆa #ØŒ
ºÆ ŒÆd ' ƺÆ ª
ªÅÆØ . . . OÅæ  b 

NÆØ ÆFÆ 
 º
ŁÆØ K ªøæ Ø 

Ø

Ø
E c ºÅ. ‘Eratosthenes thought it likely that Hesiod learned that the wanderings of Odysseus took place in the regions of Sicily and Italy . . . but that Homer did not know this, and did not intend to place his wanderings in known regions.’ Strabo 1.2.14 = Eratosthenes F6 (Roller)

Strabo seems to imply that Eratosthenes thought Hesiod’s locations for Odysseus’ travels plausible, but not Homer’s. Crucially, Eratosthenes apparently suggested that Hesiod learned his information (through hearsay or inquiry), and that Homer instead intentionally created a fictional geographical scheme. As the works of some poets were exposed as unreliable sources of geographical (and historical) information, the critical view that such deviations from ‘the truth’ were acceptable in poetry seems to have gained ground. Eratosthenes, for example, remarked that the aim of every poet is entertainment (łıåƪøªÆ), not instruction (ØƌƺÆ)—a view which particularly riled Strabo (Geography, 1.1.10, 1.2.3 = Eratosthenes F2 (Roller)). Agatharchides of Cnidus adopted the same attitude. In a long fragment he humorously points to multiple examples of inconsistencies in myth which ‘have even given many women good reason to scoff ’. Among these the ‘myth’ of Ocean features again: ‘there is the story that . . . Ocean encircles the whole inhabited world, which he guards and confines within his streams, beyond which Hesiod says the Gorgons dwell’ (F7 Burstein). In another fragment Agatharchides seems to paraphrase Eratosthenes when he explains why he does not censure the poets for their deviations from the truth: ‘I do not do so because every poet strives more to give pleasure than to tell the truth’ (F8 Burstein).117

117

Cf. Chapter Five, 209ff.

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Apollonius’ geography has attracted much scholarly discussion. It is a curious mixture of the fantastic and the scientific.118 Apollonius creates a mythical world, appropriate to the Argonautic adventure set in a time before the Trojan War, yet at the same time he integrates some of the latest geographical knowledge available in the third century.119 Some modern critics have found this characteristic of Apollonius’ epic aesthetically unappealing, ‘since the purposes of science and fictional poetry are thought to be a priori incompatible’.120 The Argonautica at once provides a confirmation of and an antidote to Eratosthenes’ (later) remarks dismissing poetry’s use as a source of geographical knowledge. The world of the Argonautica portrays both the archaic geographical outlook of the Argonauts and the informed Hellenistic outlook of the author.121 Both the inclusion of distant peoples and places in the world of the Argonautica— Ocean, the Hyperboreans, the Rhipaean mountains, the Gates of Night, the western Ethiopians—and the exclusion of these peoples and places from the Argonauts’ itinerary, are significant elements of the world which Apollonius creates. The world of the Argonautica is a world complete with archaic landmarks, coherent within an archaic world-view and familiar from the epic tradition (to which the Argonautica belongs); but at the same time the Argonauts’ journey is through a world which would be recognizable to Apollonius’ contemporaries due to its familiar landmarks and credible details drawn from geographical and ethnographical works. Apollonius is also influenced by descriptions of the world in writers of the past. As Doris Meyer has put it, ‘He relies not so much on empirical geographical knowledge as on an imaginary map on which earlier poets and historians had left their marks’.122 Herodotus was just one author among many whose work Apollonius used to enrich his own through allusion. Although there are only a few occasions where Apollonius unambiguously alludes to Herodotus, it is enlightening to consider the direct points of contact between the two authors, and there are also occasions when Herodotus’ text seems

118

Delage (1930), 290–3. Meyer (2008). See e.g. Clare (2002), 125–6; Meyer (2008). 120 Meyer (2008), 274, is critical of such attitudes (with n.37 for examples). On poetry as a medium for ancient geographical knowledge, see Dueck (2012), 20–35. 121 The Argonauts’ archaic outlook: Meyer (2008), 279. 122 Meyer (2008), 277. 119

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an important part of the more general literary background into which Apollonius integrates his work. On a more general level, for example, Apollonius at times seems determined to exclude the ‘unseen’ from the Argonauts’ journey. This suggests that Apollonius is conscious of geographical discussions of his predecessors and the scepticism which various writers such as (and perhaps beginning with) Herodotus had expressed about certain regions beyond the oikoumenē. For example, as the Argonauts sail along the Rhodanus river they are saved from calamity by Hera: çæ
ªæ Ø I

ææ Œ º

 K ’Œ
Æ E , e P æ Æ
 
ºº 
Nƺ
Ø.  Ł
 h Œ
 æ

Ø K
øŁ
. ‘For a certain arm was bearing towards a gulf of Ocean, which, not having fore-knowledge, they were about to enter. From there, they would not have returned safely.’ 4.637–9

Hera intervenes, stopping them from this course. Apollonius devised a homeward route for the Argonauts which excluded travelling along the stream of Ocean, and yet at the same time very clearly alludes to it here as a possible route—or rather, an impossible route. This passage is very significant since in most previous versions of the Argonautic legend the return route of the Argo is via the river Ocean: Ocean formed part of the Argonautic itinerary in the versions of the myth related by Hesiod, Mimnermus, Pindar, Hecataeus, Antimachus, and Timaeus.123 The detail in Apollonius that an Oceanic route would have made their safe return impossible effectively rejects the versions of these authors.124 Earlier in Apollonius’ narrative, Phineus and Argus had both pronounced that the heroes would need to return by ‘a different route’ (
æ  º : 2.421; º  ¼ºº : 4.254, 259): within the frame of the epic, this refers to the difference between the Argonauts’ outward and return journeys, but the ‘different route’ also seems to have intertextual resonance since the itinerary which

123

Delage (1930), 192. For Timaeus: FGrH 566 F85. The rejection of an Oceanic route is also a significant departure from the voyage of Odysseus, another important literary frame of reference for the Argonauts’ homeward voyage: Clare (2002), 124. 124

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Apollonius adopts departs so significantly from other versions of the Argonautic legend. Throughout the Argonautica the heroes are dependent on the aid of advisers and portents to guide their journey. Their geographic ignorance is emphasized on this occasion ( P æ Æ
, ‘not having fore-knowledge’, 4.638), and the rare verb perhaps even highlights a sophisticated literary joke: their lack of fore-knowledge hints at the Argonauts’ archaic geographical knowledge, and it is within this archaic scheme that Ocean properly belongs. We can compare Herodotus’ own declaration of his lack of knowledge of Ocean ( P ªæ ØÆ ªøª
r Æ

Æe ’Œ
Æe K Æ, ‘for I do not know that there exists any river called Ocean’: 2.23), which forms part of his refutation of Ocean’s very existence. Although Ocean exists in the epic world which Apollonius has created and in the minds of his Argonauts, Apollonius’ refusal to include Ocean in this itinerary and the Argonauts’ own lack of knowledge of Ocean implicitly suggest its status as a geographical fiction.

A geographical allusion to Herodotus In the Argonautica there is an extended example of geographical description where critics have suspected an allusion to Herodotus: the passage describes the first stages of the Argonauts’ journey from Greece, from the Gulf of Pagasae to Lemnos (Argonautica, 1.519–608). Several scholars have suggested that Apollonius alludes here to Herodotus’ account of Xerxes’ invasion of Greece.125 If we accept this (and it is an attractive hypothesis), these allusions show that Apollonius assumed of his audience a high level of familiarity with Herodotus’ account of the Persian Wars. In the passage (1.519–608), the heroes take their seats in the Argo and begin to row out from the harbour at Pagasae. They row to the sound of Orpheus’ lyre and are watched from heaven by the gods and nymphs on the heights on Pelion. Chiron and his wife come down to the shore and show the child Achilles to his father Peleus. After leaving the harbour of Pagasae, the sails are let out and the Argo sails past the Tisaean headland. Orpheus sings of Artemis, and the ship is followed through the sea by fish. Far off appears Piresiae, the

125

Delage (1930), 76–9; Livrea (1979); Vian (1970); Clauss (1993), 91, 99–101.

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calm shore of Magnesia, and the tomb of Dolops. With the wind blowing against them, they put to land there and pay honours to Dolops while the sea tosses with a swell. They stay for two days, and then set forth on the third. Apollonius remarks that the place is still called Aphetae (=‘the starting’) of the Argo. The ‘Pelasgian land’ sinks away. They go past the sides of Pelion, and the Sepian headland sinks from sight. They go past Meliboea and a stormy beach. They continue on past Homole, the mouth of the river Amyrus, Eurymenae, the ravines of Ossa and Olympus, Pallene, the cape of Canastra, Mount Athos, and eventually, rowing the last part, they reach Lemnos. With the exception of the final diversion from the coast towards Lemnos, the route which the Argonauts take along the coast is the same as that taken by Xerxes’ fleet in the Persian Wars, but in reverse. This in itself is not necessarily significant, since the coastal route was the natural one to take. However, there are various hints that Apollonius is seeking to establish a literary connection between the passage and Herodotus’ account of Xerxes’ invasion. These allusions are significant because the Argonautic adventure could of course be viewed as part of the series of East–West conflicts eventually culminating in the Persian Wars, and Jason and Medea would also have a son, Medeius, who was believed to be the eponymous ancestor of the Medes.126 Apollonius’ allusions to Xerxes’ invasion at the start of the Argonautic expedition therefore act as a pertinent reminder of—what might be viewed as—its later historical consequences. According to Herodotus, it was only after the Persian fleet arrived at the Sepian headland in 480 that Xerxes’ forces began to meet resistance from the Greeks. Herodotus claims: ‘Until the whole host reached that place and Thermopylae, it suffered no misfortune’ (7.184.1). But their fortunes quickly changed. Herodotus relates that after spending a quiet night anchored near a beach in the Magnesian territory, between the town of Casthanaea and the Sepian headland, the fleet was badly damaged by a storm at dawn. He estimates that at least 400 Persian ships were destroyed in this storm (7.190). It lasted for three days, he says, and abated on the fourth day after the Magi made offerings ( Æ) to the wind, cast spells, and sacrificed to Thetis and the Nereids. Herodotus explains these actions:

126 Hes. Theog. 1001; cf. Hdt. 7.62. On Medeius: M. West (1966), 429–30; Dräger (1993), 20–30. Cf. Chapter Four, 169ff.

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‘They sacrificed to Thetis when they heard the story from the Ionians that she was abducted by Peleus from this place, and that the whole Sepian headland belonged to her and the other Nereids.’ 7.191

After the storm, Herodotus records that the Persian fleet sailed round the Magnesian headland ‘into the gulf leading to Pagasae’, and anchored at Aphetae. Herodotus explains the name of this place, saying that Jason and the Argonauts had landed there on their way to Aea, and that the place is called Aphetae ‘because they intended to launch out (aphēsein) to the open sea from there’; he also adds the detail that Heracles was left behind there after being sent to fetch water (7.193). Aphetae was also a significant location in the context of Xerxes’ invasion, since it was from there that the Persians launched their ships for engagement with the Greek ships stationed at Artemisium (8.1–18). The weather was stormy on that occasion too: after the first naval engagement, Herodotus describes ‘terrible thunder from Pelion’ and a storm which washes bodies and wrecks from the day’s battle towards Aphetae and into the prows and oars of the Persian ships (8.12). According to Herodotus’ account, the Argonauts stopped at Aphetae to fetch water, and then left Heracles behind there. In many versions of the myth, Heracles did not participate in the capture of the Golden Fleece at Aea, and there were various traditions about where and why Heracles left the Argo.127 Among them is the version given in the pseudo-Hesiodic Wedding of Ceyx, which is—again— that the Argonauts left Heracles behind at Aphetae while he was looking for water, and that it is because of Heracles’ ‘release’ (aphēsis) there that Aphetae is so-named.128 Although Herodotus and pseudoHesiod give different explanations for the etymology of the name Aphetae, both versions involve an interruption to the journey during which Heracles goes in search of water. Therefore when Apollonius says that the heroes stopped at Aphetae, his ancient readers may well have expected that Heracles would do just this. Stormy weather providing the reason for the journey’s interruption is at the very least a noteworthy variation in the traditional story, and if this was

127 128

These traditions are summarized in Schol. Apoll. Rhod. 1.1289–91. Schol. Apoll. Rhod. 1.1289–91.

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Apollonius’ innovation, then it would have been all the more striking for this. There is reason to think that the variation had a peculiar significance. Other common points in Apollonius’ and Herodotus’ accounts suggest that by making the Argonauts stop at Aphetae because of the storm, Apollonius is alluding to the problems which Xerxes’ fleet had there also (as described by Herodotus). Firstly, both Herodotus and Apollonius offer an etymology for ‘Aphetae’, and they both offer the same etymology: it is named for being the place from where the Argo launched (Hdt. 7.193.2; Arg. 1.589–91), not, as pseudo-Hesiod suggests, for being the place where Heracles left the expedition. Secondly, in both accounts offerings are made to try to abate the wind, and, importantly, the word Apollonius uses for these offerings—entoma— is the same as in Herodotus (before Apollonius, the word entoma is only attested in this sense in Herodotus: Hdt. 7.191.2; Arg. 1.587).129 The recipient of these offerings is different in each account: Herodotus’ Persians dedicate them to Thetis and the Nereids, whereas Apollonius’ Argonauts dedicate them to Dolops. The full significance of this variation is difficult to discern because very little is known about Dolops. A scholiast (ad 1.587) tells us that this detail comes from the Argonautica of Cleon of Curion, and that Dolops was a son of Hermes, who died in the city of Magnesia. Although the precise location of the tomb of Dolops is unclear, the fact that it must have been close to (or even on) the Sepian headland is presumably significant in light of Herodotus’ account. In Herodotus the Magi make offerings to Thetis and the Nereids, having learnt that the whole headland belongs to them and that it was the site where Thetis was abducted by Peleus (7.191). Apollonius had already primed his audience to have this event in mind by including the scene in which Chiron and Chariclo come down to the shore with Achilles to farewell the Argonauts (1.553–8): we know from this detail that Peleus’ rape of Thetis has already occurred, as have their marriage and separation. Their separation is confirmed later in Book 4, where the poet gives an account of its cause: Peleus had interrupted Thetis’ ceremonies to make the baby Achilles immortal (4.865–79). Thetis’ anger on account of this is explicitly highlighted as a threat to the Argonauts by

129 This is evident from a TLG search for  Æ. It is also found at Hdt. 2.119, and Arg. 2.926. The word frequently appears in the Aristotelean corpus meaning ‘insects’.

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Hera, who fears that Thetis and the Nereids might endanger them with ‘rocks and mighty waves’ (4.816–24). Although these details come later in the Argonautica, the fact that the stormy conditions encountered by Xerxes’ fleet around Cape Sepias only abated after offerings were made to Thetis and the Nereids suggests that, already on this first stage of the Argonauts’ journey, Apollonius invites his readers to consider the wrath of Thetis towards Peleus as a possible cause for the storm which they encounter near the Cape.130 The Argonauts’ failure to make offerings to Thetis and the Nereids on this occasion is perhaps meant to strike the reader as inauspicious. Yet there may be a further twist: if Emile Delage was correct in his suggestion that Dolops is the eponymous hero of the Dolopes (who, according to Homer, were ruled by Peleus), then, through their offerings to Dolops, the Argonauts seem to ally themselves with the male aggressor in the mythical rape that took place on the headland, rather than with the female abductee.131 Read this way, the offering seems to presage the Argonauts’ successful abduction of Medea. Also suggestive of an interplay between the Argonautica and the Histories are the references in Apollonius to several places which Herodotus mentions in his account of the storm. In Herodotus, before the fleet reaches Aphetae, the Persian ships are washed onto ‘the so-called Ovens on Pelion, some to the beach, some were wrecked around the Sepian headland itself, some at the town of Meliboea, and some at Casthanaea’ (7.188). In Apollonius, after the Argonauts sail from Aphetae, Apollonius relates a similar series of landmarks which the ship passes: —źØÆ b Ææ

Ø  Kæ Æ, ÆNb K Ø æ Ł 
, ı
b #Å Øa ¼ŒÅ· ! ¯Ł
 b æ æø
Ææ
Ł
 %
º ØÆ, IŒ ’ ÆNªØƺ  
ı
  KŒ
æ ø
 (MSS:
N æ ø
).132

130

Similarly: Clauss (1993), 101. Livrea (1979), 151–2, suggests that Dolops is Chiron’s brother (Hyginus Fab. Praef. 14). Delage (1930, 78–9) supposes that Dolops was the eponymous hero of the Dolopes (for which there is evidence from the Byzantine period), but Livrea (1979, 152 n.1) objects that the location of the grave is not in the territory of the Dolopes. This does not actually exclude the possibility that Dolops was their eponymous hero, but the evidence is scant. For Peleus as ruler of the Dolopes, see Iliad 9.483–4. 132 I follow the suggestion of Livrea (1970) for the order of these lines (and thus read lines 580–2 immediately after 591), since it solves the geographical difficulties of 131

154

Herodotus and Hellenistic Culture ‘They sailed past the crags of Pelion, ever speeding onward, and the Sepian headland sank from sight. And from there they went forward past Meliboea and on past the headland and a stormy beach.’ 1.581–2, 592–3.

Each of the places where the Persian ships were reported to have been washed up are mentioned, with the exception of Casthanaea (perhaps because it was not thought to have existed at the time of the Argonauts). Apollonius’ reference to the ‘stormy beach’ at 1.593 seems particularly pointed, since the Argonauts themselves are at this stage enjoying fair sailing weather. What is on first reading a bare geographical catalogue is enriched by the knowledge that the Argonauts are sailing safely past places where in years to come the Persian ships would come to grief. The Argonauts’ journey from Aphetae as far as Athos continues to be the same as that taken by Xerxes’ fleet, but in reverse. Some landmarks mentioned are common to both authors. Ossa, Olympus, Pallene, the headland of Canastra, and Athos are mentioned by both (Hdt. 7.122, 128–9; Arg. 1.597–602), but there are no clear allusions in Apollonius to Herodotus’ account in this section.133 Apollonius also refers to Homole, the river Amyrus, and Eurymenae, which Herodotus does not mention (Arg. 1.594–7). In sum then, through a series of subtle allusions during the initial stages of the Argonauts’ journey from Greece, Apollonius encourages his readers to think of Herodotus’ account of Xerxes’ invasion. There are different ways that this might be interpreted, but it is particularly attractive to see Apollonius here setting the Argonauts’ expedition within the wider context of East–West conflicts (just as Herodotus does in the opening of Book 1). The implied historical consequences of the expedition problematize the ‘heroic’ nature of the expedition

the transmitted passage, and it avoids the excision of lines 592–3. I also follow the manuscript reading IŒ (not ¼ŒæÅ) at 1.582. The emendation KŒ
æ ø
 (for the MSS reading
N æ ø
) at 593 is Meineke’s. 133 Apollonius uses the contemporary name for Pallene (1.599), rather than the name which Herodotus purports to be its former name, Phlegra (Hdt. 7.123). This is appropriate to the context, however, since the name Phlegra seems to have been particularly associated with the plain where the battle of gods and giants took place: LSJ s.v. (ºªæÆ. Apollonius himself uses it in this context (3.234). Cf. Delage (1930), 82.

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and the Argonauts themselves. Some of these ideas are explored further in Chapter Five. More immediately, the allusions to the problems which Xerxes’ fleet had around the Sepian headland creates a sense of menace and danger at the outset of the Argonauts’ voyage, and hints that the task ahead for Apollonius’ Argonauts will be far from easy. *** As knowledge of the world improved and changed in the Hellenistic period, Herodotus’ Histories remained an important repository of geographical information. Geographical information from the Histories was appropriated, integrated, or adapted by later writers in their descriptions of the world. Even when Herodotus’ world-view was explicitly challenged—by Eratosthenes and Agatharchides, for example—this seems to confirm a continuing sense of the authority and importance of Herodotus’ views. The fact that Herodotus’ words are sometimes misrepresented is an intriguing problem, and may provide an insight into certain acceptable norms for constructing a polemical argument, rather than signal general unfamiliarity with Herodotus’ text. This chapter has highlighted how geographical wisdom was not a rigid structural model in the Hellenistic period, but rather a flexible tool with which to experiment and create new possible worlds— either in the way that Apollonius did, using literary echoes to problematize the world of his epic heroes; or in the way that Eratosthenes and Agatharchides did, presenting a modified version of ‘the world according to Herodotus’ in order to make their own suggestions seem more plausible in contrast to the failings of Herodotus’ alleged world-view; or in the way Hecataeus did, referencing Herodotus’ arguments to strengthen his idealizing ethnogeographical history of the world. Traditional views of the world could prevail, even in light of contradictory evidence, and geographical information from Herodotus was not simply ignored as obsolete and outdated. We have seen that responses to the Histories cannot be divorced from the Histories themselves, and that close examination of the process of reception throws new light on the Histories, in particular by refocusing our attention on details which have often been of lesser interest to modern readers. A high level of familiarity with Herodotus’ work is often evident in the examples we have examined, suggesting that Herodotus was studied very closely.

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Different writers prove adept at exploiting Herodotus’ work to suit their own rhetorical goals, and at enriching the meanings of their works through calculated allusions to the Histories. In the next chapter we shall see more examples of this at work as we examine some of the ways in which Hellenistic writers engaged with Herodotus’ treatment of the Persian Wars.

4 The Persian Wars: New Versions and New Contexts One likely reason for Herodotus’ popularity (relative to Thucydides) in the Hellenistic and Roman periods was his choice of the Persian Wars for his subject: the appeal of a glorious Greek victory over a non-Greek foe was much broader than that of a long and destructive war between different Greek city-states.1 The Persian Wars held an extremely important place in the cultural memory of communities across the Greek world in the Hellenistic period. The assimilation of the attack of the Gauls on Thermopylae and Delphi in 279/8 with the Persian invasion at the beginning of the fifth century speaks for the importance of the stories from two centuries previous: in the collective imagination of the Greeks, the Gauls became the Persians of a later age. Active commemoration of the most important battles of the Wars, in the form of festivals and dedications, is also attested in the Hellenistic period. Beginning at least as early as the middle of the third century, cults and festivals were hosted at Plataea to celebrate the 479 victory.2 Marathon too remained an important site of commemoration.3 At Sparta, there were memorials to Leonidas, Pausanias, and the Spartan dead of Thermopylae, and the Persian Stoa, which had been built from the spoils at Plataea, dominated the Spartan agora.4 Evidence of a different sort is provided by the Marmor Parium, the marble chronicle set up in Paros in 264/3. Several episodes from the Persian Wars are mentioned, in particular, the Battle of Marathon, Xerxes’ bridging of the Hellespont and cutting of the canal through the Athos peninsula, 1 2 3

Hornblower (1995), 66. Cartledge and Spawforth (2002), 191; Jung (2006). 4 Jung (2006). Cartledge and Spawforth (2002), 127, 191.

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and the Battles of Thermopylae, Salamis, and Plataea. In contrast, the Peloponnesian War receives no mention at all. Such circumstantial evidence suggests that as a narrative of the Persian Wars the Histories retained particular cultural importance. This chapter considers the impact of Herodotus’ account of the Persian Wars in the early and middle Hellenistic period, as well as some of the problems inherent in ascertaining the precise relationship of Herodotus’ Histories to later accounts of the Persian Wars. The first section discusses the assimilation of the invasions of the Gauls and Persians in order to highlight some of the difficulties involved in isolating reactions to Herodotus (in particular) on the Persian Wars. Sources remain a problem, but so too is the fact that the Persian Wars were common currency in the Greek construction of their past. The second section examines the testimony of Timaeus (as transmitted in Diodorus Siculus) on Gelon’s involvement in the Persian Wars: this case study illustrates how the Persian Wars were a prime target for rewriting in ways that bolstered the apparent importance and involvement of a particular city or region—in Timaeus’ case, the western Greek world—in the Wars and on their outcome. Comparison of Timaeus’ account with Herodotus illuminates aspects of Herodotus’ account which were probably unpopular with the Greeks in Italy (and in this case it is reasonable to assume that Timaeus was reacting to Herodotus’ version of events). The third and final section of this chapter argues that Herodotus’ opening chapters provide an interpretative frame not only for the Histories themselves, but also for the works of the Hellenistic poets Apollonius and Lycophron, both of whom also treat the theme of East–West hostilities (but at a time before the Persian Wars). The Herodotean background permeates both the Argonautica and Alexandra as the poets simultaneously look forward to and back at the Persian Wars. Thus despite the caveats that Herodotus’ Histories was not the only version of the Persian Wars with which later writers may have engaged, these two poems do indicate that his remained a particularly important version, which educated readers at least could be expected to know in detail.

GALATIANS, LATTER DAY PERSIANS In the autumn of 279 Gallic forces overran Macedonia and invaded Greece. A large force led by Brennus and Acichorius advanced

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through Thessaly and as far as Thermopylae, where it was met by a combined Greek force. The Gauls eventually found a route through the mountains and the Greeks escaped by sea while the Gauls marched on to Delphi. At Delphi, the Gauls were finally defeated and the survivors were forced to retreat back northwards. The following year they moved into Asia Minor, meeting resistance from Antigonus Gonatas, but eventually settled in an area of central Asia Minor, subsequently named Galatia after them. Victory over the Gauls became an important theme of royal propaganda in the third and second centuries as the Hellenistic kings portrayed themselves as saviours of the Greeks. Even Ptolemy II in Egypt could exploit this theme when a revolt of 4,000 Celtic mercenaries was successfully crushed. And around forty years after the assault on Delphi Attalus I used victories over the Galatians at Mysia and over Galatians allied with Antiochus to claim the title of Sōter (‘Saviour’).5 Polybius, in his account of the Roman campaigns against the Celts in north Italy (225–222 BC), assimilates the Greek resistance against the Gauls at Delphi in the third century to the resistance against the Persians in the fifth. The assimilation comes in a section of veiled praise of the historians of the Persian Wars and Gallic invasion: ‘For I think that those who memorialized and transmitted the invasion of the Persians against Greece and of the Gauls against Delphi have contributed, in no small way, but greatly, to the struggles for the common freedom of the Greeks. For no-one, though struck by the volume of supplies and weapons and men, would lose final hope . . . if he had before his eyes the paradox of the events then . . . ’ Polybius, 2.35.7–8

It is likely that the assimilation of Greek struggles against Persians and Gauls began considerably earlier than Polybius. At Delphi, for example, among the dedications made by the Aetolians in commemoration of their role in defending the sanctuary were the shields of the Gauls who had attacked it: they were set up in Apollo’s temple, beside the Persian shields which the Athenians had dedicated after Marathon (Paus. 10.19.4).6 And at Athens, a dedication (the ‘Lesser’ Attalid Dedication) was made by Attalus I around 200 (or perhaps

5

See in general: Mitchell (2003), with references. Cf. Callimachus (Hymn 4, 182–5), and Syll.3 398, 9f.; with Flacelière (1937), 108 nn.2–5. 6

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by his son Attalus II, 159–138) of smaller-than-life groups of Gauls, Persians, Amazons, and Giants at the southern wall of the Acropolis (Paus. 1.25.2; Plut. Ant. 60.4; IG2 II 1035).7 The dedication commemorated Attalus I’s victory over the Tolistoagii Gauls,8 and places this victory on a continuum with other important victories of ‘civilization’ from the mythical and historical past.9 Other early evidence which is suggestive of a developing assimilation is found in a seventeen line elegiac fragment which celebrates a figure—possibly Ptolemy II—connected with the Galatian wars of the 270s (SH 958).10 In an exchange between a messenger and a king, which is thought to concern the victory of Ptolemy II over his mutinied Galatian mercenaries in 276 (the same event as is commemorated in Callimachus, Hymn to Delos, 171–90), the Gauls are likened to ‘Medes’. Although it is possible that this refers to the Seleucids, it has been argued that the identity of the ‘Medes’ here is more likely to be Xerxes’ Persians (in part because of the other evidence for this assimilation, but also because we know of no Seleucid incursion into Egypt at this time).11 Three literary sources, all considerably later than the events which they describe, provide a narrative of the invasion of the Gauls: Diodorus Siculus, Pausanias, and Justin. There are significant differences between the three accounts and various suggestions have been made about their possible relationship to each other and to earlier (lost) accounts. Suggested sources have included Timaeus of Tauromenium and Hieronymus of Cardia, as well as Demetrius of Byzantium, Simonides of Magnesia, Eratosthenes of Cyrene, Nymphis of Heracleia, Psaon of Plataea, and Phylarchus (of Athens?).12 Pausanias’ narrative of the Gallic assault on Thermopylae and Delphi is of interest since it is very clearly influenced by Herodotus’ version of the Persian assault on Thermopylae and Delphi in 480. The parallels between the accounts are pervasive, and can even be found

7

On the identity of the donor, see Habicht (1990), 563 n.9, with references. Mitchell (1993), vol. 1, 21. 9 It seems therefore that the Persians were not the only enemy with whom the Gauls were compared, and in this context it is also worth recalling that Callimachus in his Hymn to Delos calls the Gauls ‘late-born Titans’ (OłªØ ØB) (Hymn 4, 174). 10 On this fragment, and another fragment which may belong to the same work, SH 969, see Barbantani (2001). 11 12 Barbantani (2001), 149–150. Nachtergael (1975). 8

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on the level of verbal reminiscences.13 Although it is evident that soon after the Gallic invasions of the third century they were assimilated with the Persian invasions of the fifth, what is not entirely clear is whether the Herodotean overlay to Pausanias’ account of the events was also a feature of Hellenistic accounts. There is, at least, in the little Hellenistic evidence which survives, no positive evidence for this. Moreover, Pausanias’ own tendency to imitate Herodotus makes it entirely plausible that the Herodoteanisms are his own, and do not derive from the Hellenistic source(s) on which he draws.14 This of course does not mean that Herodotus’ account certainly did not inform earlier accounts. It does, however, serve to highlight two key difficulties in assessing the influence of Herodotus’ account of the Persian Wars in the Hellenistic Period. The first is the recurrent difficulty in ascertaining how precisely a later source is related to earlier ones (let alone identifying those earlier sources). The second is related to the subject matter of the Persian Wars themselves. The events of the Wars were of such great importance in the cultural memory of the Greeks and were treated in so many different ways in written, oral, and visual culture, that it becomes extremely difficult to isolate with certainty the influence of Herodotus on later treatments.15 The Persian Wars were common currency. Although Herodotus’ account is our most important source for the events of the Wars, there were many other treatments, in both poetry and prose, circulating in antiquity. Some of these were written very soon after the events themselves, others long after.16 Plutarch’s On the Malice of Herodotus remains one of the clearest indications that Herodotus’ account of events and motivations was explicitly challenged.17 Diodorus Siculus too, is a particularly important source: although much of his account of the events from the Ionian Revolt to the Battle of Plataea and its 13 Nachtergael (1975), 21 and nn.24–5, 147–8 (with references). The divergences between the accounts are noteworthy too: cf. Bearzot (1989). 14 Similarly: Ameling (1996), 151. See also: Nachtergael (1975), 21 n.26 (with references). 15 On responses to the Persian Wars from antiquity to the present: Bridges et al. (2007a). 16 Bowie (1986), Hammond (1996), 9–10, Bowie (2001), Green (2006), 41ff., Marincola (2006), 25, Bridges et al. (2007b), 4. For the evidence of histories of the Persian Wars prior to Thucydides, see: Thuc. 1.97.2, Dion. Hal. Thuc. 5, Burn (1984), 1–16, Hignett (1963), 10–13. 17 See Pelling (2007b).

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aftermath is lost, in what remains, important deviations from Herodotus are evident, indicating that in the first century alternative accounts to Herodotus’ were current, and that Herodotus’ authority on the events of the Wars was by no means considered absolute. Paradoxically then, whilst Herodotus’ choice of subject seems to have been an important factor in ensuring that he continued to be read, his influence on later treatments of that subject is often very difficult to measure with precision. With conspicuous responses to Herodotus, such as Plutarch’s and Pausanias’, the nature of the response is relatively easy to assess, but it is not always clear that Herodotus (in particular) lies behind more general references to the Persians and the Persian Wars. Nevertheless, Herodotus’ was of course a particularly important account and it is likely that all later authors who wrote alternative accounts of the Persian Wars would have been conscious of the ways in which their accounts deviated from Herodotus’.

TIMAEUS: AN ALTERNATIVE ACCOUNT OF THE PERSIAN WARS The details of the Persian Wars as recounted by Timaeus of Tauromenium, in the first half of the third century, are just one example of an alternative account from the Hellenistic period. The Persian Wars were a prime target for rewriting and this section examines some of the ways in which this historian of the West sought to bolster the involvement and importance of the West in the Wars and on their outcome.18 Although there are few explicitly attested Timaean fragments for the Persian War period, Diodorus’ material on Gelon in the year 480 is probably based on Timaeus’ account (Diod. Sic. 11.20–26).19 In the following pages I assume this material to be Timaean. However, should some new papyrus find ever invalidate this, and the evidence shift to support an attribution to—for instance—Ephorus or Philistus, 18

On historians of the West in general: Pearson (1987). The majority of scholars who have commented on these passages believe that they derive from Timaeus: Devillers (1998, 150 n.6) provides a useful summary of the scholarship on this point. In addition to those cited by Devillers, see Stylianou (1998, 52–7) for arguments in favour of Ephorus. 19

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the ideas expressed here would not be radically affected (although the date for them obviously would). The main purpose of the following discussion is to show how the writer(s) on whom Diodorus draws in this section have constructed Sicilian history with a firm eye on the mainland Greek Persian War tradition, which of course was dominated by Herodotus. Assuming that the material is Timaean, then its relationship to Herodotus is illuminating for the insights it provides to the way that Herodotus was received by the Western Greeks in the first half of the third century. The Timaean record of Gelon’s contribution to the Greek victory over the Persians differs significantly from the Herodotean version, suggesting that Herodotus’ portrait of Gelon’s involvement was not well received or given much credence by some audiences. Timaeus considered it his brief to raise Italy, and in particular Sicily, from its place on the margins of Greek affairs to a far more prominent position. His framework for doing so consisted of the rich traditional past of mainland Greece. Timaeus’ history challenged the mainland Greek (and largely Atheno-centric) versions of history by thrusting the spotlight onto Sicily, Italy, and the Western Greeks, and by giving them a long and illustrious past. Timaeus used myth extensively, apparently to match and even trump the mainland Greek traditions. For instance, his interpolation of Enna as the location of the rape of Persephone allowed Timaeus to displace Athens with Sicily as the cradle of agriculture and civilization:20 in Timaeus’ version, Demeter only came to Athens after visiting Sicily in the search for her daughter.21 An agenda to redress the western Greek world’s place in traditional stories about the past is also evident in Timaeus’ treatment of the Persian Wars. The Persian War tradition was with good reason a prime target for reinventing: this was Greece’s most glorious hour in historical time. Timaeus presumably did not give his own account of the battles of mainland Greece, as his focus was on the West, but these battles did apparently feature marginally in his history (as the affairs of Sicily received marginal treatment in Herodotus’ narrative). Timaeus, like Ephorus before him, probably gave Sicily a role in this grand repulse of the ‘barbarian’ foe by positing a Persian–Carthaginian alliance.22 This 20

Pearson (1987), 59. Pearson (1987, 57–8) convincingly proposes Timaeus as the promulgator of this tradition. 22 Diod. Sic. 11.1.4 (from Timaeus?). Ephorus FGrH 70 F 186 = Schol. Pind. Pyth. 1.146b. The historicity of the alliance is doubted by Asheri (CAH iv, 774). 21

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would have allowed Timaeus to make grand claims about the significance for the wider Greek world of Sicilian events happening contemporaneously with the Persian Wars. Polybius’ criticisms of Timaeus, although they perhaps exaggerate, offer some indication of how Timaeus did this. In relation to Gelon’s involvement in the congress at Corinth in 481, Polybius chastises Timaeus for trying to show at great length ‘that Sicily was more magnificent than the whole of Greece, and the events there more distinguished and noble than those of the rest of the world, and the wisest of wise men those in Sicily, and the best leaders and most excellent men of affairs those from Syracuse’ (12.26b = FGrH 566 F 94). Polybius’ remarks suggest that at this particular juncture in his narrative, when Gelon’s support against the impending Persian invasion was being sought, Timaeus not only represented the Syracusan tyrant as a great leader with mighty forces at his command, but also emphasized the importance of the events happening contemporaneously in Sicily. Among these contemporary events was the Battle of Himera (480), when the forces of Gelon and Theron defeated the Carthaginian forces under Hamilcar. In the sections of Diodorus about this battle, which are widely thought to be Timaean, there are indications of the phil-Sicilianism which so exasperated Polybius. Diodorus’ source was clearly at pains to compare Gelon with his mainland Greek counterparts in the Persian conflict, particularly Themistocles:23 Diodorus remarks that the Battle of Himera is often compared with the Battle of Plataea, as is the strategem of Gelon with the clever schemes of Themistocles. As the narrative progresses, it becomes quite clear that Diodorus’ source thought that such comparisons should come down heavily in Gelon’s favour. Diodorus comments: ‘the prior victory in Sicily gave the men in Greece their courage, when they learnt of Gelon’s victory’ (11.23.2).24 It is implied that, were it not for

23 As a native Sicilian, it is not surprising that Diodorus should favour a proSicilian version. 24 Cf. Ephorus’ claim that Gelon ‘through his victory freed not only the Sicilians, but all Hellas’ (schol. Pind. P. 1.146b = FGrH 70 F 186). Marincola (per litt. quoted by Green (2006, 78 n.96)) sees this as evidence that Diodorus was not an uncritical reader of Ephorus. However, the similarities in the ideas do not prove that Diodorus was drawing on Ephorus rather than Timaeus here. In addition, it should be emphasized that this fragment is of dubious value: the scholion begins and ends by saying that Pindar had probably read Ephorus’ history, and later calls Gelon ‘Hieron’ (noted also by Fornara (1983b, 52)).

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Gelon’s success at Himera, the events at Salamis and Plataea might have played out very differently.25 It is suggested too that the victory at Himera was more resounding than the victories at Salamis and Plataea: Diodorus remarks that, whereas on the Persian side, Xerxes escaped, on the Carthaginian side, all perished, including the general Hamilcar. This detail emphatically contradicts the Herodotean version, according to which Hamilcar vanished towards the end of the battle, never to be seen again, either dead or alive, even though Gelon searched for him (7.166). The fates of Gelon, Themistocles, and Pausanias subsequent to the battles are explicitly compared by Diodorus: ‘In addition, regarding the most distinguished of the Greek commanders, Pausanias and Themistocles, the former was killed by his fellow citizens for his avarice and deceit, while the latter was forced to flee from everywhere in Greece to his greatest enemy Xerxes and to depend for his livelihood on him until he died; whereas Gelon, following the battle, received ever greater favours from the Syracusans, grew old in the kingship and was still esteemed at his death, and so great was the goodwill towards him among the citizenry that another three from his dynasty continued to hold the rule.’ Diod. Sic. 11.23

The famous account of the later careers of Pausanias and Themistocles comes from Thucydides (1.128–38), not Herodotus, but nevertheless the contrast with Herodotus in the representation of Gelon in this version is significant. The glorification of the Sicilian leader at Himera was apparently an important part of Timaeus’ account, and through Diodorus we are probably glimpsing some of what so irked Polybius when he complained that Timaeus made ‘the best leaders and most excellent men of affairs . . . those from Syracuse’ (12.26b). Timaeus’ portrait of Gelon seems to have diverged considerably from Herodotus’. A comparison of their portrayals of Gelon’s involvement in the congress at Corinth encourages these divergences to be read as direct reactions to Herodotus. Diodorus begins his eleventh book with a brief look back at the (unpreserved) end of the tenth. He refers to a congress ‘to discuss an alliance between Gelon and the Greeks’ (11.1.1). We know from Polybius that Timaeus certainly

25 Cf. Pindar, P. 1.71–5. Schol. Pind. P. 1.146b (on which, see also n.24) says that some took ‘Hellas’ to mean Sicily, while others took it to mean Attica.

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included such a congress in his history, and that according to Timaeus, there were envoys of Gelon present at it (12.26b = FGrH 566 F 94). The congress is mentioned by Herodotus too (7.145, 172), but he has no envoys of Gelon there (instead, it is the Greek delegates who send envoys to the Sicilian tyrant) (7.145, 153, 157–63). There is something rather pointed in Herodotus’ twice-repeated remark that those who were at the congress represented those Greeks ‘with the best will towards Hellas’ (7.145.1, 172.1). This view may well help to account for the Timaean tradition (contra Herodotus) that Gelon had representatives there. According to Herodotus, with the Persian threat looming, a delegation was sent to request the assistance of Gelon (7.157–62). Gelon acquiesced, on condition that he be given supreme command of the Greek forces, or alternatively, the Greek fleet. The Spartan and then the Athenian delegates, each in turn, quote Homer at Gelon to justify their ‘traditional’ Spartan and Athenian leadership roles. Having been denied a position of leadership, Gelon refuses to assist. Herodotus then relates the story of Cadmus, who is clearly meant to act as a foil to Gelon (7.164–5). Cadmus, a former citizen of Cos, because of his justness of character had renounced his hereditary right to the tyranny there, handed government to the people of Cos, and removed himself to Sicily (contrast Gelon, a tyrant par excellence). Herodotus says that Gelon selects Cadmus, for the very reason of his just character, to carry out a secret mission for him. He sends Cadmus to Delphi with large sums of money and messages of friendship, with the instructions to give these, with earth and water, to Xerxes should he be victorious, and in the event that he is not, to return to Sicily. Although Herodotus refrains from explicit comment, it is clear that this mission is included to illustrate a duplicitous side to Gelon’s character, a side which contrasts starkly with the just nature of the man whom he has chosen to be his agent. Gelon’s failure to come to the assistance of Greece and his willingness to defect to the Persian side if the cause of Greece should fail could hardly have been stories to which patriotic Greek Sicilians of later generations would have warmed. It is clear from Polybius’ critique that Timaeus gave Gelon’s part in events a rather different treatment. Firstly, as has already been noted, he had Gelon’s envoys present at the Corinthian conference, which (leaving aside the question of historicity) could easily have been presented as indicative of Gelon’s commitment to the Greek defence

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against the Persians. In addition, Polybius (apparently drawing from Timaeus’ own version of events) says that the Greek representatives told Gelon to come with auxiliary forces, but that circumstances necessitated that supreme command go to the ‘best’ men. Polybius remarks: ‘These are the words not of those desperate in their hopes for Syracusan help, but of men with faith in themselves, bidding anyone willing to join in the contest of courage and the crown of valour’ (12.26b.3). Polybius’ reactionary comments suggest that Timaeus presented the events in a way which implied that the people of mainland Greece had lost hope and were begging for help from Syracuse (presumably to highlight the relative might of Syracusan power at the time, in comparison to the combined forces of Sparta, Athens, and their allies). Finally, it is illuminating to see how Timaeus (probably) manipulated the chronology of events in Herodotus’ account in order to suit his rhetorical goals. Diodorus records a tradition that the Greek victory at Himera was synchronistic with the Greek defeat at Thermopylae: ‘It happened that Gelon’s victory and the contest of Leonidas and his soldiers at Thermopylae against Xerxes occurred on the same day, just as if the deity had intentionally made the finest victory and the most glorious defeat take place at the same time’ (Diod. Sic. 11.24.1).26 The fragments of Timaeus’ work demonstrate a high awareness of the impressive quality of chronological coincidence, and several synchronisms are explicitly attributed to him.27 The synchronism of Himera and Thermopylae is unfortunately unattributed, but Timaeus is a likely candidate.28 The synchronism directly contradicts Herodotus’ chronology: Herodotus attributes to a Sicilian source the tradition that the Greek victories at Himera and Salamis took place on the same day (7.166). Aristotle shows awareness of this tradition, and probably had Herodotus’ account in mind when he remarks on it in the context of the characteristic differences between historical narratives and (well-constructed) poetic narratives. Aristotle suggests that there is no significance in the

26 Marincola (2007b), 113, discusses this synchronism too (though he favours Ephorus over Timaeus as Diodorus’ source here). 27 On Timaeus’ synchronisms, see further Asheri (1991/2). On synchronisms in antiquity more generally: Feeney (2007), 7–67. 28 Walbank (2002), 167.

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chance coincidence of significant events, and refers specifically to the battles of Salamis and ‘the battle against the Carthaginians in Sicily’, which, he says, though they occurred on the same day, ‘did not converge on the same goal at all’ (Poetics 1459a26–7).29 The Persian– Carthaginian alliance which Ephorus and (probably) Timaeus recorded would of course allow the synchronism to be portrayed as extremely significant in that the battles did converge on a common goal. But instead of two great Greek victories over a (united) barbarian foe happening several hundred miles apart in the Mediterranean, Timaeus claims synchronicity for a great Sicilian victory and a great mainland defeat. This is, as Feeney has commented, a way of making Sicily appear greater than the Greek mainland. Even more importantly for this discussion, however, the synchronism would have allowed Timaeus to credit Gelon with at least partial responsibility for the Greek victories over the Persians. Polybius’ comments suggest that Timaeus had portrayed the mainland Greeks as lacking in hope when they asked for Gelon’s assistance. It therefore encourages us to see as Timaean in origin Diodorus’ remark that ‘the prior victory in Sicily gave the men in Greece their courage (ŁÆææB ÆØ), when they learnt of Gelon’s victory’ (11.23.2).30 On this version of events, Gelon’s contribution to the war effort against the Persians was not merely successfully routing the Carthaginian side of the barbarian alliance, but critically spurring the mainland Greeks to victory at Salamis and Plataea. Timaeus, as far as we can tell, reworked Herodotus’ narrative to glorify Sicily’s history for the years of the Persian Wars. This attempt to give Western Greeks a more favourable and important historical pedigree is consistent with what we know of Timaeus’ treatment of other events. His treatment illustrates both an enlarged perspective of the Greek world, reflective of the changed historical circumstances when he was writing, as well as the continuing high cultural value placed on the events of the Persian Wars by Greeks in different parts of the Hellenistic world.

29 Feeney (2007, 44) remarks on Aristotle’s unusual robustness against ancient tendencies to see synchronisms as teleologically significant. 30 See p. 164. Asheri (1991/2), in his discussion of Timaeus’ use of synchronization, rightly emphasizes the importance of looking for the ‘meta-historical message’ rather than being solely concerned about the strict chronological accuracy of synchronisms.

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EAST VERSUS WEST Before Timaeus, Herodotus was also concerned to offer enlarged perspectives of the Greek world and Greek history. Herodotus sets his primary theme of the Persian Wars in a broad context— geographically and temporally—at the beginning of the Histories (and indeed throughout the Histories). The opening chapters of Herodotus provide an interpretative frame not only for the Histories themselves, but also for two Hellenistic poets dealing with the theme of East–West hostilities: Apollonius and Lycophron. In the remainder of this chapter I shall explore some of the ways that Herodotus’ expansive view of Greek conflicts with ‘Eastern’ powers permeates Apollonius’ Argonautica and Lycophron’s Alexandra.

The beginning of the Histories (1.1–5) Herodotus’ opening chapters (1.1–5) require little introduction.31 They purport to give the Persian, Phoenician, and Greek views on the cause of—and on who was responsible for—conflict between Greeks and ‘Barbarians’. Their interpretation is far from straightforward. While prima facie they offer a simplistic tit-for-tat series of ‘abductions’ of royal women as historical background to the Persian Wars, the account is almost certainly intended to draw attention to the problematics of certain modes of historical explanation.32 For example, in a recent and stimulating discussion Timothy Rood has suggested that these opening chapters are meant to highlight how the language of justice (dikē) can be applied to international disputes to disguise underlying motivations of self-interest (and in the examples described, the conspicuous failure of such language to halt the escalation of conflict).33 Here I do not attempt to offer a new reading of the chapters, but merely to summarize them, before considering their relevance to Apollonius’ Argonautica and Lycophron’s Alexandra. Herodotus relates that: the Persians attribute blame (ÆNı) to the Phoenicians for abducting Io from Argos and taking her to Egypt

31 32

Recent discussions of these chapters include: Węcowski (2004), Rood (2010). 33 See Pelling (2000a), 155. Rood (2010).

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(1.1.1–2.1); in response, some Greeks (Cretans) abducted Europa from Tyre (1.2.1); up to this point, the injustices were equal, and the Greeks were to blame (ÆNı) for the second wave of injustices (this is all expressed in indirect discourse, and is thus apparently the alleged Persian view) (1.2.1). The Argonautic expedition to Colchis is presented by Herodotus as the next act of aggression: the Greeks sent a ‘war-ship’ ( ÆŒæB fi Å)34 and, when they had accomplished ‘the other things on account of which they had come’ (that is to say, they successfully acquired the Golden Fleece), they abducted Medea (1.2.2). This is a provocative portrayal of the expedition when viewed alongside traditional Greek versions of the Argonautic myth, in which Jason is sent to Colchis by Pelias (apparently in the expectation that the expedition will fail and Jason will be killed), and Medea’s departure from Colchis is presented as variously being at her own and/or the gods’ will (compare: Hes. Theog. 992–9, Pind. Pyth. 4). Paris’ abduction of Helen is the next in the series of abductions in Herodotus’ opening chapters, which is presented (by the Persians) as a self-interested act inspired by Medea’s abduction: Paris, having heard the story of Medea, believed that he would not pay any compensation (K Ø   ø ‹Ø P  Ø ŒÆ).35 When the Greeks asked for Helen’s return and compensation they received a negative response on the grounds that no compensation had been made for Medea (1.3). The (alleged) Persian view is, further, that the Greeks were ‘immensely culpable’ ( ª ºø ÆNı) after this, because previously the injustices were ‘only abductions’ (±æ ƪa

Æ), but after the abduction of Helen the Greeks sent an army to Asia before the Persians sent an army to Europe (1.4.1). The Persians’ alleged view is that, although the abduction of women is unjust, it is ‘foolish’ (Iø) to avenge it (1.4.2). The view that abducted women must be complicit (BºÆ ªaæ c ‹Ø, N c ÆPÆd Kº, PŒ i æ Ç) is generally understood still to be part

34

See Asheri et al. (2007), 76. As Rood (2010, 57) and Pelling (2000a, 269, n.26) point out, Paris (allegedly) abducts Helen because he thinks he will get away with it unpunished. However, the theme of retaliation still seems important here: the abduction of Helen is presented (disingenuously) by the Trojans as reparation for the abduction of Medea (1.3.2), and 1.3.1 perhaps implies that Paris thought Medea’s abduction provided him with a convenient pretext (rather than that abductions generally go unpunished). 35

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of the Persian justification (1.4.2).36 The Persian view continues: from this time on they considered the Greeks to be enemies (and Herodotus clarifies why Persia has a historical interest in the Trojan War, explaining: ‘For the Persians claim as their own Asia and the Barbarian peoples dwelling in it, and think that Europe and the Greek people are separate’ (1.4.4)).37 To this account of abductions from the mythical past, Herodotus next adds a detail on which he says the Persians and Phoenicians are at variance: regarding Io, the Phoenicians claim that she slept with the ship’s captain in Argos and became pregnant and, ashamed of this becoming apparent to her parents, she sailed willingly with the Phoenicians (ÆN Å f ŒÆ, oø c KŁºc ÆPc E Ø ØØ ıŒ ºH ÆØ, ‰ i c ŒÆ ź ªÅÆØ) (1.5.2). Finally, Herodotus says that he will not discuss these matters, but will begin with the man whom he ‘knows’ (r Æ) first committed injustices against the Greeks (IŒø æªø K f ῞¯ººÅÆ) (1.5.3)—Croesus. A few points arising from these opening chapters seem relevant to the interpretation of Apollonius’ Argonautica and Lycophron’s Alexandra. Firstly, there are two occasions where Herodotus raises the possibility that the abduction of women may occur with their consent, both in the specific instance of Io (the Phoenician view), and in general (the Persian view). It is implied that (on the Persian and Phoenician views) if a woman consents, then there is a diffusion of responsibility for the conflict: the fault falls to the woman herself, and/or the woman’s volition means that the act of abduction should not be counted as an act of aggression for which some compensation is owed. A related view is also raised, that to seek compensation for abduction is senseless.

36 It is perhaps significant, however, that the focalization here is unclear, and we may wonder whether the ‘Persian’ view was shared by Herodotus; in the middle of such an extended passage of indirect discourse, the vivid use of the indicative after ‹Ø is very striking (and the introduction of ºªı Ø in the following sentence seems to acknowledge the ambiguous focalization). On rape in the Histories, see Harrison (1997). 37 Cf. the interpretation of Rood (2010, 45), who suggests that in 1.4.4 Herodotus presents geographical entities as historically determined: ‘The account of the “learned Persians” ends with the claim that it was the Greeks’ over-reaction to the abduction of Helen that led to the separation of Asia from Europe/Greece’.

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Secondly, it is suggested that the Greek military expedition against Troy after the abduction of Helen was an overreaction on the Greeks’ part: it escalated the conflict to a new, military level. The presentation of the Trojan War as part of a series of tit-for-tats also suggests that the abduction of Helen should not have been viewed by the Greeks as a provocation justifying war, but instead as a justified retaliation for the Argonauts’ abduction of Medea. Contextualized in this way, the Argonautic expedition becomes the aggressive act which ultimately results in the Trojan and Persian Wars, since prior to this the scores had been equal (1.2.1): ultimate responsibility for both wars would therefore lie with the Greeks. Thirdly, all the acts in the series—the Persian Wars, the Trojan War, and the abductions of Helen, Medea, Europa, and Io—are assimilated into a scheme of comparable conflicts between Asia and Europe (or more specifically, Greece). The aggressive acts of the Cretans, Jason and the Argonauts, and the force sent to Troy come to represent aggressive acts by Greece against Asia; conversely, the acts of the Phoenicians, Paris, and the Persians represent aggressive acts by Asia against Greece. Some explanation for this assimilation is given when Herodotus clarifies the Persian view that Asia and Europe are separate entities, with Asia belonging to themselves (1.4.4). Although it is true that Greeks and Barbarians are set up as opposing pairs, it is contestable that, as Hartog has claimed, ‘To Herodotus, the division between them is obvious: there is no need to explain or justify it . . . ’.38 The presentation of the wars against the Trojans and Persians as comparable was perhaps not as obvious before Herodotus wrote as it is sometimes supposed. The fact that the opening chapters are meant to represent the Persian view of affairs of course complicates the narrative: to what extent do any of the ideas expressed tally with Herodotus’ own? Elsewhere Herodotus expresses strong views on the Trojan War and Homer’s presentation of it, and suggests that the Trojan War was waged for nothing since Helen was in Egypt (2.113–20).39 His views there are more sophisticated and argued in more detail than those which he attributes to the Persians at the beginning of the Histories. Both views are in accord, however, insofar as they insinuate that the Greek invasion of Troy was unnecessary and inadvisable. Despite the

38

Hartog (2000), 393.

39

See Neville (1977).

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difficulty of isolating Herodotus’ own views on the causes of the Persian Wars—his historiographical approach indeed seems designed rather to highlight the contingency and subjectivity of the views of groups and individuals—the opening chapters certainly raise the spectre that the Greeks may have been at least partially accountable for the Persian invasion of Greece.40

Apollonius’ Argonautica The Argonautica retells the story of the expedition to Colchis by Jason and his companions to win the Golden Fleece from Aeetes, a task set for Jason by Pelias. At its outset, the expedition is presented in terms which evoke the Greek expedition to Troy: for example, the list of heroes from around Greece who sailed on the Argo clearly evokes the Iliadic Catalogue of Ships (Arg. 1.20–233), and there is early emphasis on the idea of nostos, which aligns the Argonauts with the Greek heroes who went to Troy and, variously, returned or did not (1.17, 79, 249, 336, 417, 449). Apollonius clearly hints that the Argonautic expedition can be viewed as a precursor to the Trojan expedition. In particular, the Catalogue of Heroes and its Iliadic parallel cast the expedition in a military light and hints at the potential for armed conflict: the explicit references to the ‘warlike’ character of several of the heroes contribute to the portrayal of the Argonauts at the beginning of their voyage as forerunners of the heroes who fought at Troy. This opening and the allusions to Xerxes’ invasion as the Argo begins its voyage (discussed in Chapter Three) both encourage readers (at the earliest stages in the epic) to consider the Argonautic expedition within the broader scheme of East–West conflicts which Herodotus had also set up. One of the features of the Argonautica which has attracted comment is the persistent presentation, in a fashion which is both un-Homeric and un-Callimachean, of an undifferentiated Hellas.41 The frequent references made to Hellas—usually by the Argonauts themselves and the Colchians—contribute to the presentation of the Argonautic expedition as a pan-Hellenic enterprise against non-Greeks. Cf. Immerwahr (1956), 249–50: ‘ . . . Herodotus here clearly defends his own nationals against the accusation that they were ultimately responsible for the Persian Wars’. 41 Hunter (1993), 159–60. 40

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This clash takes on a particularly important structural role in Book 4.42 Before departing from Colchis, for instance, Jason rouses the heroes with a speech in which he claims that: . . .  æfiÅ  K  KæÆØ ῾¯ººa Kæ B fi , Mb ŒÆÅÅ j ŒÆd ªÆ ŒF Iæ ŁÆØ. ‘On our raid depends whether Hellas will reap either shame or great glory.’ 4.204–5

The broader frame for the expedition of a series of intercontinental feuds is hinted at several times in Book 4, and highlighted in particular by Alcinous. Arete beseeches Alcinous to help Medea and in his reply, Alcinous is explicit about the threat which Aeetes poses: ŒÆ Œ KŁºø, ŒÆŁ æ, K ῾¯ºº Ø EŒ ¼ªØ. ‘And if he wished, though coming from afar, he could wage war on Greece.’ 4.1103

Here war is unambiguously raised as a potential consequence for the abduction of Medea from Colchis (compare also: 4.741–2). The significance of Alcinous’ remark is increased by the dramatic context in which it is made. Alcinous and Arete discuss the fate of Medea as they lie together in bed. It has been noted before by Richard Hunter that this scene is evocative of the bedroom discussion between Darius and Atossa in Herodotus’ Histories (3.134);43 the implications of this have not yet been teased out, however. In the Histories Atossa is presented as actively encouraging Darius to add to the power of the Persian kingdom. Darius tells her that he has in fact been planning to lead an army against the Scythians, to which Atossa responds that he should leave the Scythians for the present, and instead: ‘Wage war on Greece for me ( f  Ø K d c ῾¯ºº Æ æÆ ŁÆØ)’. It is in this scene then that (as Herodotus tells it) Darius first conceived of the idea of going to war against Greece. Alcinous’ remark therefore alludes not just to the immediate threat which Aeetes poses, but also, through the way in which it has been contextualized, to the future threat to Greece of the Persian kings. This stark reminder of the Persian Wars comes at a critical 42

Hunter (1987), 138.

43

Hunter (1993), 71.

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moment in the passage of Medea from Colchis to Greece. Alcinous explains to Arete his views on what is to be done with Medea: that if she is a virgin, he will insist she be returned to her father, but that if she is married or with child, he will not (4.1104–9). The juxtaposition of two contingencies with an allusion to the subsequent Persian threat to Greece is highly suggestive. Just as in Herodotus’ opening chapters, where Medea’s abduction is presented as the catalyst in the series which ultimately leads to the Persian Wars (1.2.1), a causal link between Medea’s abduction and the Wars is implied. In the balance hangs not just Medea’s fate, but that of all Greece also. Arete’s own agency in the events also parallels Atossa’s to the extent that the actions of both women assume an importance in the sequence of actions which eventually culminate in the Persian Wars: Atossa more immediately so, through her incitement of Darius to invade Greece, but Arete also, since she passes on the information she has received to Jason, thus effecting the wedlock which excludes the possibility of Medea returning home. By implicating Arete in this way, Apollonius is employing the motif of women-as-cause which features prominently in Herodotus also. Much of the irony in Herodotus’ description of Darius and Atossa’s conversation relies on the reversal of traditional gender roles: Atossa tells Darius what ‘it is proper (NŒe . . . K d)’ for him to do in order to show the Persians that they are ruled by a man (3.134.2), but her influence on her husband suggests that they are in fact ruled by a woman. The nature of Alcinous’ power is also complicated by Arete’s actions: Alcinous says that ‘it is proper’ for him to deliver judgement (H  K ØŒ ŒÅ . . . ØŒÆÇ , 4.1104–5), suggesting that he holds (and regards himself to hold) a decisive role in the outcome of events on Drepane, but Arete’s use of the information she obtains is more decisive to the extent that her actions change what the outcome will be.44 The question of whether Io, Europa, Medea, and Helen were in any way responsible for their own abductions is raised by Herodotus in the opening chapters. In the Argonautica also, Medea’s complicity in her departure from Colchis is highlighted as an important (and problematic) issue. Book 4 opens with the poet’s address to the Muse and his own uncertainty about Medea’s motives:

44 For the ancient scholarly view that Phaeacia was a gynaecocracy: Eustathius, Comm. Od. vol. 1, p. 248, 32–4 (Van der Valk).

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The poet raises two alternative explanations for Medea’s flight.46 Apollonius also avoids making a clear statement either way. By raising two alternatives, Apollonius firstly makes it clear that his account of Medea’s flight runs counter to the tradition that Medea’s sole motivation was love (as in Pindar’s Pythian 4 and Euripides’ Medea).47 It also highlights as problematic the analysis of human motivation. The question leaves the poet ‘in speechlessness’ and no definitive answer to the question is offered. In this respect, the narrator’s position relative to his subject is remarkably Herodotean: he offers ‘plausible contestabilities’ for what happened.48 Herodotus also represents a likely model for Apollonius since he had already problematized the motivations of Medea—and the other women—in his opening chapters.49 Both alternatives offered at the opening to Book 4—shameful flight and passion—suggest that Medea left Colchis of her own accord. The alternatives happen to coincide with Herodotus’ Phoenician version of why Io left Argos: the Phoenicians suggest that shame before her parents (because of her pregnancy) caused her to leave, and hint also 45 On the textual difficulties with this line, see Livrea (1973) and Vian (1996) ad loc.. Hutchinson (1988, 122) follows Maas in adopting b for Ø (i.e. ‘Should I tell of her anguish or flight . . . ?’). 46 Pindar provides a close parallel for this, when he asks whether Clytaemnestra’s murder of Agamemnon and Cassandra was motivated by her anger at Iphigeneia’s death, or by her lust for Aegisthus (P. 11.22–5). Strictly speaking, the question is left open. Pindar’s expansion on the ‘hateful error’ of female adultery (25–8) may suggest some preference for the latter explanation, but revenge as a motivation is certainly not precluded: Hornblower (2004), 296–300. 47 Hunter (1987), 135. 48 By ‘Herodotean’, I here mean that it exhibits similarities to some Herodotean examples, and that Herodotus is Apollonius’ most obvious model. Herodotus’ treatment of human motivation is extremely complex: see Baragwanath (2008), and especially 136–48 on the idea of ‘plausible contestabilities’ (coined by Christopher Pelling). 49 On Sappho as another model for Apollonius at the opening of Book 4, see Acosta-Hughes (2010a), 42–7.

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at passion by making explicit the sexual union (which in the case of the other women in the opening chapters remains tacit) (1.5.2). At the opening of Book 4, Medea is a virgin; her flight is due in part to her fear that the assistance she had agreed to lend Jason had not escaped her father’s notice (4.14–15). The potential for her flight to be interpreted otherwise is hinted at, however: the language and imagery subtly evoke languages of both fear and love.50 The ‘memorial of her maidenhood’ ( Å ØÆ . . . ÆæŁÅ) left for her mother hints at and symbolizes her impending transition from parthenos to gunē (4.27–9).51 Although she has not slept with Jason, the possibility for drawing this inference is hinted at by her dedication (as it is again when Alcinous raises the possibility that she may already share Jason’s bed and be pregnant with his child: 1106–9). The plausible contestabilities for Medea’s flight are complicated further during the course of Book 4. In particular, the question of Medea’s complicity in her departure from Colchis is highlighted. Before the Argo sails, Jason addresses his companions and announces his intention to wed Medea: c b Kªg KŁºı Æ I  ÆØ YŒÆ ¼ŒØØ ŒıæØÅ. ‘And I shall bring her home, since she is willing, as my wedded wife.’ 4.194–5

The—seemingly incidental—comment that she is a willing partner to his plans is complicated by Medea’s own subsequent reference to her departure as ‘unseemly, with shameful will’ (P ŒÆa Œ  IÆØø fi NÅØ, 4.360), and stands in sharp contrast to her later insistence (in her appeal to Arete) that she was not complicit at all:

c b Kªg KŁºı Æ f Iæ Ø IººÆ E Ø ŒEŁ Iøæ ŁÅ . . . ‘Unwillingly, with foreign men, did I set forth from there . . . ’ 4.1021–2

50

Hunter (1987), 135–7. On the intertextual significance of the lock of hair, see Acosta-Hughes (2010a), 47–9, with references. 51

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Medea also appears acutely conscious that others might assume that she has left Colchis out of lust ( Ææª Å) for Jason, and denies this as a motive (1018–19). Yet another perspective is given by Circe (4.739–48). Picking up the language at the opening of Book 4, she describes Medea’s flight as ‘wicked’ (ŒÆŒe) and ‘shameful’ (IØŒÆ) (739, 748). She also seems to pin responsibility firmly on Medea, accusing her of ‘devising’ the flight (  Æ, 739) and of ‘taking this unknown man’ (F ¼Ø  IæÆ, 746). On this view Medea is more than simply a willing party: she becomes the primary agent in events.52 Richard Hunter has noted how, through these conflicting perspectives in Book 4, ‘The poet . . . exposes the frailty and relativity of explanation for human action, particularly when that action occurs within epic narrative’.53 Hunter also highlights the importance of the figure of Helen to Apollonius’ portrayal of Medea: the extent to which Helen was responsible for causing the Trojan War was a subject treated by a range of Classical writers, including Gorgias, Stesichorus, Herodotus, Euripides, and Isocrates.54 Apollonius’ interest in the alternative explanations for and interpretations of Medea’s actions extends the problem of female responsibility back in time to a generation before Helen and, by this shift in focus and the suggestive links made to intercontinental conflict, it invites (re-)consideration of the causes of the Trojan and Persian Wars. Since Herodotus had also linked the abduction of Medea to these wars, his treatment represents a particularly important part of the literary background against which Apollonius should be read. Herodotus highlights the possibility for interpreting Medea’s abduction as the trigger which eventually led to both wars, and Apollonius allusively gestures towards this interpretation. Apollonius thus complicates for his readers the question of how the expedition itself should be viewed. Alcinous passes his judgement (ŒÅ) on Medea (4.1176–203), but the question remains, did the Argonauts’ actions bring glory to Hellas (cf. Arg. 4.204–5), or were they an injustice, an adikia (as is suggested in the Herodotean account)? Reading the Argonautica against Herodotus not only 52 In addition to the issues of causation in the human sphere, there is also scope for events to be explained on another level through the interventions of the gods (as in Homer): e.g. Hera and Eros are firmly implicated in Medea’s flight (Hunter (1987), 135–6). 53 Hunter (1987), 138. 54 Hunter (1987), 138; Zagagi (1985), Austin (1994), Pallantza (2005).

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suggests new angles of interpretation for the Argonautic story, but also encourages readers to reflect upon the epic’s theme of intercontinental conquest and conflict, upon (what might be regarded as) the historical consequences of the Argonautic expedition, and upon the roles and responsibilities of Greeks within a long history of intercontinental conflict—a provocatively suggestive theme for an author writing in Greek-ruled Egypt.

Lycophron’s Alexandra Like Apollonius’ Argonautica, Lycophron’s Alexandra, perhaps composed early in the third century, draws on the reader’s knowledge of Herodotus in its presentation of the theme of intercontinental warfare.55 The Alexandra is a notoriously obscure poem. Its author consistently defamiliarizes its subject matter, through riddling circumlocution and metaphorical language, through difficult geographical allusions, often inexplicable animal imagery, and by drawing on material from lesser known (or to modern readers, often unknown) myths. Although the poem seems to defy attempts at interpretation, intertextuality is clearly an important tool for understanding the poem: the author displays and implicitly demands of his readers the highest levels of literary erudition. Stephanie West has recently highlighted numerous allusions to Herodotus in the Alexandra, arguing that ‘Herodotean influence pervades the poem’.56 The very last sections of the poem (from line 1283), treat the theme of intercontinental conflict, and as this theme is developed, it becomes increasingly clear that the poet seems to expect of his ideal reader a very detailed knowledge of the Histories. 55 If the poem is by the Lycophron who was a member of the Pleiad, then it was composed early in the third century. However, its authorship and date are disputed: for discussion, see Hurst (2008), viii–xxv. Problematic for the third century dating are apparent references to Roman supremacy (lines 1226–80, 1446–50) which seem to demand a date after Flamininus’ victory at Cynoscephalae in 197/6 BC. The poem would then be by another, otherwise unknown, Lycophron (but some have continued to defend the authorship of Lycophron of the Pleiad, and suggest that the passages on Rome have been misread: see Hurst). Another possibility has been suggested by West (1984): that the majority of the poem is indeed by the tragic poet Lycophron, and the passages on Rome are interpolations. 56 West (2009). What follows is indebted to the learned observations of Stephanie West (see West (2009)) as well as to those of André Hurst in his recent Budé edition and commentary (Hurst (2008)).

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Lycophron’s Cassandra introduces the theme of Asian–European conflict by asking what the two continents (anthropomorphized as ‘the unhappy mother of Prometheus’ (Asia) and ‘the nurse of Sarpedon’ (Europe)) have in common (ıe), and speaks of the geographical features which divide them (YæªØ, ›æÇØ) (1283–90) (cf. Œåøæ ŁÆØ, Hdt. 1.4.4). As in Herodotus’ opening chapters, she lists a series of grievances inflicted by each on the other, beginning with the abductions of Io and Europa. Lycophron plays with the details of this presentation, but in general terms the scheme of reciprocal grievances seems aligned with the Herodotean version. Both accounts moreover purport to give an Asiatic perspective on the conflict: in Herodotus much of the account in the opening chapters is presented as being ‘the Persian view’, and in Lycophron the account is put in the mouth of Trojan Cassandra. In the Alexandra the abductors of Io are Phoenician (‘Carnite’) sailors, as in Herodotus,57 and Lycophron hints at the commercial nature of their expedition (æŪd), a detail given some attention by Herodotus (1.1.1–4).58 Both Lycophron’s Cassandra and Herodotus’ Persians end their account of Io’s abduction by highlighting it as the first event in a chain of conflicts (åŁæÆ b ıæ e fi qæÆ M æØ Ø ºÆE, 1295; cf. Hdt. 1.2.1). The abduction (±æ ƪB, 1296) of Europa by Cretans (‘Curetes, Idaean boars’) follows in Cassandra’s presentation (1296–1301), just as in Herodotus. Lycophron again works the material in his own way, however. The abduction is presented explicitly as an act of revenge for the abduction of Io (I Ø . . . ÇÅF, 1297–8), for example. The myths of Io and Europa are both rationalized in Lycophron, just as in the ‘Persian version’ given by Herodotus. Io is taken by Phoenicians, rather than seduced by Zeus and driven away from her home (having been transformed into a cow) by a jealous Hera. Europa too is abducted by sailors, not by Zeus in the form of a bull. Lycophron gestures towards the mythical versions, however, by applying bovine epithets 57 They are described in canine terms. On Lycophron’s use of animal imagery, see Cusset (2001). 58 The characterization of Io as a ‘fatal bride for the lord of Memphis’ is an obscure detail apparently independent of the Herodotean version. West (2009, 87–8) suggests that Lycophron’s readers might be surprised by the additional ‘mysterious and sinister detail’, but the numerous variations in Lycophron’s version do not make the departure from Herodotus intrinsically surprising. It is possible that Lycophron is alluding to a version of the myth now lost.

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to Io (H Ø Æıæ æŁ ŒæÅ),59 and by calling the Cretan ship in which Phoenician Europa is transported ‘bull-shaped’ (Æıæ æø fi ). Next, in a line highly reminiscent of Herodotus, Cassandra says of the Greeks: P ¥ ª I ÅæŒ ŁÅ Æ I Y ø Y Æ ºÆ . . . ‘Nor were they content in taking like for like . . . ’ 1302–3

Herodotus too describes the abductions of Io and Europa as ‘like for like’ (Y Æ æe Y Æ) (1.2.1). In a strikingly similar fashion to Herodotus then, Lycophron portrays the Greeks as responsible for reviving the intercontinental conflict after the abductions of Io and Europa. Whereas Herodotus moves directly from the abduction of Europa to the abduction of Medea, Lycophron inserts another act of aggression by the Greeks: the invasion of the Troad by the Cretans under Teucer and Scamandrus (1303–8). A further verbal parallel, however, suggests this may be a sort of historical gloss on the Herodotean account: the Argonautic expedition is described by Lycophron as the second Greek action after the scores were settled (ŒÆd ıæı, 1309), whereas for Herodotus, it begins the second wave of injustices (B ıæÅ IØŒÅ, 1.2.1).60 Lycophron also seems to acknowledge (and answer) the question raised in Herodotus of whether women are willing participants in their own abductions by referring to Medea as ‘self-invited’ (ÆPŒºÅ):61 in the mouth of Cassandra this might perhaps again be regarded as an Asiatic view (as it probably is in Herodotus: 1.4.2), but Medea seems to be a special case since there is no such suggestion by Cassandra that Io, Europa, or even Helen (102) were complicit in their abductions. Regardless of Medea’s complicity, however, the abduction still forms part of the assault on the Asian continent by the Greeks in Cassandra’s presentation. In Herodotus’ scheme, the abduction of Helen follows the abduction of Medea. Lycophron, however, inserts several more conflicts into the broad frame (1322–61). These form their own kind of 59

H Ø is also Hera’s Homeric epithet, and so suggests her anger at Io. As West (2009, 89) notes, Lycophron reintroduces some of the fantastic details of the Argonautic myth which Herodotus had omitted, such as the dragon and the fire-breathing bulls (1309–21). 61 Cf. line 496 (of Laodice). 60

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internal balance. The expedition of Theseus and Heracles against the Amazons (1322–31) is described as stirring a ‘double feud’ (EŒ þæØ Ø ºF, 1329), and is balanced by the Amazons’ revenge attack on Attica (1332–40) and Ilus’ invasion of Thrace and Macedonia (1341–5). In return (Id ø) Heracles attacks Troy (1346–50), which is then balanced (ÆsŁØ) by the attacks of Tyrrhenians from Lydia on Etruria (1351–61). This internal balance is reinforced by the presentation of the abduction of Helen, which is next in the series, as a revival of a conflict last stirred by the Argonauts (1362–5).62 The Herodotean scheme is therefore apparently still important for Lycophron’s portrayal. Cassandra introduces Europe’s response to the abduction of Helen with these words:   ÆsŁØ N æ Æ Æ Ø øæı Å æØ ºA æÆ ºA IØ ÆØ º Æ, æŁF Æ åæÆ I æŁ fi MÆ. ‘And the other in turn, in a vengeful frenzy will repay the injury threefold, fourfold, laying waste to the land’s shore across the sea.’ 1366–9

This is suggestive of an excessive reaction on the part of Europe, a response incommensurate with the provocation.63 The sentiment is (again) similar to that which Herodotus’ Persians express: they too suggest that the Greek response was an overreaction, not in the same terms as Cassandra, but by criticizing a martial response to the abduction of a woman. Moreover, Herodotus’ Persians suggest that it is foolish (Iø) to avenge such an act (1.4), just as Cassandra also suggests a degree of madness (N æ Æ Æ)64 in the Greek response.

62 I understand the subject of r  (1364) to be ‘Asia’ (following Hurst 2008). Cf. West (2009), 90, who takes ªæı (Paris) as the subject. The occasion referred to in lines 1364–5 is described in Apollonius (1.1207–60), and coincides with the Argonauts’ arrival in Asia. 63 Hurst (2008), ad loc. suggests that Cassandra’s words refer only to the four attacks to come and not to the intensity of the reaction, but there seems no good reason to deny that an (overly) intense reaction is also implied, and indeed Cassandra’s rhetorical amplification (æØ ºA æÆ ºA) strongly encourages this reading. 64 Cf. Aeschylus, Prometheus Bound, 836 (of Io), Euripides, Iphigeneia at Aulis, 77 (of Menelaus, after Helen’s abduction).

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The ‘four-fold’ response of Europe comprises the attack on Troy (1369–73), Orestes’ colonization of Aeolis (1374–7), Neleus’ colonization of Ionia (1378–87), and the Dorians’ colonization of parts of Caria (1388–96). Cassandra then refers to a response by ‘the Phrygian’ (that is, Minos) in the form of an attack on Thrace and Macedonia (1397–1408). In a short interlude, Cassandra hints at other conflicts on either side (1409–11), before picking up the account of intercontinental conflicts with the invasion of Greece by Xerxes (1412–34). This is presented as an act of revenge by ‘the mother of Epimetheus’ (=Asia) ‘for everything’ (Id ø). It is also the last of the Asian assaults on Europe, which seems to support the idea that the series of conflicts in the opening of the Histories—portrayed there as (a possible view on) the background to the Persian Wars—is indeed an important inspiration for Lycophron’s own account. Several features of Cassandra’s description of Xerxes’ invasion resonate with the Histories. Firstly, Xerxes is called a ‘seed of Perseus’, which recalls the tradition recorded in Herodotus (again, a Persian tradition) that the Persians were descended from Perseus and his son, Perses (6.54, 7.61.3, 7.150).65 Xerxes is also called a ‘giant’ (ªªÆÆ),66 not only underscoring the Asiatic connection with Prometheus (1283, 1412), but also suggesting the sheer scale of the invasion—from the massive engineering works to the size of his forces—both of which are alluded to subsequently (1414–16), and both of which are also emphasized by Herodotus (reflecting his interest in the extremely large-scale) (7.22–4, 33–6, 55, 122). Lycophron’s Cassandra describes the extraordinary nature of the Hellespont bridge and the Athos canal in the following terms: . . . fiH Ł ºÆ Æ b Æc ÇfiH   ÆØ, ªB b Æı ŁºøŁ ÆØ Þ Ø ÅE åæ . ‘ . . . by foot, the sea will one day be traversed, and the earth will be crossed by ships with oars breaking the dry land.’ 1414–16

65

West (2009, 91) suggests that in the Hellenistic period this genealogy would take on a new significance: ‘as a figure uniting Greeks and Persians Perseus provided a kind of prefiguration of what Alexander hoped to be’. 66 Cf. 295 (Aegeus) and 527 (Hector).

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The presentation of the engineering feats as adunata is not Herodotean, but rather is a theme first found in Athenian oratory (Lysias Epitaphios, 2.29, Isocrates Panegyricus, 4.88–9; cf. Dio Chrysostom, On Kingship 3.30–1). However, these contexts suggest that by calling Xerxes a ‘giant’ Cassandra seeks to characterize Xerxes as a mortal who hubristically transgressed divinely established boundaries (a Xerxes in the Herodotean mould):67 Isocrates presents the engineering feats as the result of Xerxes’ desire to leave a ‘memorial of unhuman power’ (Isocrates 4.89; cf. Hdt. 7.24), and Lysias calls them acts which showed scorn for ‘the laws of nature, the affairs of the gods, and the designs of mortals’ (Lysias 2.29). Lycophron’s Cassandra next refers clearly to the oracle given to the Athenians telling them that they would be saved by a ‘wooden wall’, and the subsequent sack and burning of the Acropolis and its shrines (1416–20; Hdt. 7.141–2, 8.50–4).68 She also alludes to the problems involved in provisioning the huge host: bark will be stripped from trees and rivers drunk dry, she says (1421–5). Herodotus similarly emphasizes the devastating environmental effects, especially on rivers and lakes, of the invading Persian army (7.21, 58.3, 109.2, 196, 8.115). Cassandra’s reference to ‘black thirst’ (ŒºÆØc łÆ) is perhaps meant to evoke the Black River (ºÆÆ Æ ), the first river which Herodotus names as drained dry by the army shortly after their crossing of the Hellespont (7.58.3). Cassandra also foresees ‘clouds of arrows’ blocking out the light of the sun (1426–8).69 This evokes the famous rallying words of the Spartan Dieneces before the Battle of Thermopylae, who, according to Herodotus ‘made a mockery’ of the multitude of Persians by saying that the Greeks would fight in the shade of their arrows (7.226).70

67

Contra West (2009), 91. See also: Aeschylus, Pers. 745–50. Although the epithet marks Xerxes as superhuman, it also emphatically marks him as a mortal rather than a god (despite his incredible feats). It is possible that, again, we are meant to see Xerxes falling short of what Alexander eventually achieved—divinity. 68 As West remarks (2009, 91), the subsequent slander of the oracle is ‘a speculative addition to Herodotus’ account well suited to Cassandra’. 69 On ææÆ, which is perhaps meant to be the Egyptian word for ‘sun’, see Hurst ad loc., and now West (2009) 92 n.27, who questions the established view that it is an Egyptian loanword. 70 Cf. West (2009), 92, who insists that this is not an allusion to Dieneces and points instead to parallel images of arrows darkening the day in the Persian epic, Shahnameh, and the Indian epics Mahabharata and Ramayana.

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Cassandra envisages for Xerxes an escape by sea in the face of defeat (1431–2).71 Herodotus was aware of such a tradition, but rejected it, instead asserting that his retreat had been overland (8.118–19). Yet Cassandra’s conclusion to the Persian Wars, with Xerxes’ escape by ship, fearful like a girl, provides a neat conclusion to the abductions of Io, Europa, and Medea—all by ship. Xerxes retreats ‘having burnt everything’ (1430) and through juxtaposition of the ideas Cassandra seems to suggest that Xerxes’ flight is directly connected to this (1431). This resonates with Herodotus’ portrayal of the invasion: the incineration of towns and temples was given considerable emphasis (8.32, 33, 35, 50, 53, 54), and Herodotus suggests that the invasion’s failure owed something to these sacrilegious acts (8.54–5, 77, 109; cf. Aeschylus, Pers. 807–8). Cassandra also predicts that Xerxes’ period of bloom will be brief, ‘like a Locrian rose’.72 This image too is suggestive of sacrilege, since earlier in the poem Cassandra had described the Locrian maiden tribute (1141–73): the Locrians sent two virgins each year as recompense ( Ø , 1151) for Ajax’s rape of Cassandra in the Temple of Athena, referred to as an ‘impious wedlock’ (ı H ª ø). The intratextual allusion and the simile comparing Xerxes to a girl fearful of the bronze sword (1433–4) do not simply make Xerxes appear cowardly and effeminate (though that is also important), but they also revive the theme of rape and injustice against women as a catalysing and repetitive impulse in the series of conflicts beginning with the abduction of Io.73 And whatever is made of the identity of the ‘gleaming lion’ (ÆYŁø . . . ºø) who ‘will put to rest the deep conflict’ (P fi Å Ææf Œº) (1435ff.),74 the Herodotean framework for intercontinental feuding gives this resolution deeper significance and grandeur: the age-old conflict, encompassing the greatest wars in the history and pre-history of Hellas, is at last brought to an end.75 *** Herodotus’ focus on the Persian Wars ensured that the Histories continued to be read, and that later writers interested in the events 71

On  ıÆ, see Hurst (2008), ad loc. Compare: Pollux 5.102. 73 Cf. West (2009), 92, who suggests instead that ‘ . . . our reaction to Xerxes’ humiliating failure is softened by these associations’. 74 Suggestions include Alexander the Great, Pyrrhus, or even both at once: see Hurst (2008), xx–xxv, with notes. 75 Cf. West (2009), 92. 72

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of the Wars continued to react to his account. Apollonius and Lycophron both set their poems in a world long before Herodotus, in the period of the Argonauts and the Trojan War respectively. Herodotus’ broad conception of the histories of Asia and Europe, entangled with each other in a series of intercontinental feuds from ancient times, long before the Trojan War and even before the Argonauts set sail, provided a framework into which Apollonius and Lycophron could both integrate their poems. Herodotus’ strong interest in the world of and before Homer made him an important source for later writers interested in the earliest history of the Greeks. Lycophron’s Alexandra represents a particularly intriguing response to Herodotus: it presents a synoptic history of the Mediterranean that, in a Herodotean manner, includes in its scope a survey of East–West relations through time, and yet its compression and abstruseness stands in stark contrast to Herodotus’ own expansive narrative and engaging style. Timaeus has been called ‘the Herodotus of the West’76 for his expansive and ‘antiquarian’ interests, but the Alexandra shows by way of contrast that deeper exploration of the way individual authors respond to Herodotus is worthwhile and enlightening. The next and final chapter will examine the varied nature of Hellenistic responses to the Histories further by examining interpretative possibilities and contexts for Herodotus’ ‘Homeric’ reputation.

76

Murray (1972), 210.

5 The Prose Homer of History In 1995 a well-preserved inscription was discovered on the promontory of Kaplan Kalesi, which juts out into the sea to the south-west of Bodrum’s harbour (SGO 01/12/02). The inscription, now known as the ‘Salmakis Inscription’, was cut into an ancient wall on an archaeological site which included the Salmakis Fountain, a famous landmark of ancient Halicarnassus described by both Strabo (Geography, 14.2.6) and Vitruvius (On Architecture, 2.8.12).1 The inscription comprises sixty lines of elegiacs and offers a compressed celebratory record of Halicarnassus’ mythical and historical past. The author and date of the inscription remain uncertain: the letter-forms suggest a mid or late second century date, but some scholars have suggested on stylistic grounds that it could be as late as the early first century.2 The literary achievements of the city form a part of the poem’s celebratory record (col. 2, lines 43–54), and the first of the individual authors celebrated is Herodotus, who is called ‘the prose Homer of history’ (
˙æ e  Çe ̓ ƒ æÆØ Ø ˇ Åæ):
˙æ e  Çe K ƒ æÆØ Ø O Åæ, Xæ , @æø Łæł Œºıc Æ Ø, __   Øæ  —ÆÆ

Ø KH Iæ Å  ¼ÆŒÆ, _  ºØÆŒH ˚ıæÆ Œ  IØŁÅ. l e K  ÆØ Ø   ŁÆ Œ e IBŒ , 1 Editio princeps: Isager (1998). See also: Isager and Pederson (2004), Gagné (2006), Romano (2009). On the site and the location of the inscription, see further Pedersen (2004) and Poulsen (2004). 2 For an overview of scholarly positions on the date, see Isager (2004), 12–13. See also: Isager (1998), 16; Lloyd-Jones (1999a), 12–13; Gigante (1999). Merkelbach (in Merkelbach and Stauber (1998), 45) suggested that the author was Heraclitus of Halicarnassus (third century), but subsequently changed his mind on this (see Lloyd-Jones (1999b), 65).

188

Herodotus and Hellenistic Culture l ¨ ÆØı  F  Kºå ı  ƒ æ, Œø ØŒe  ŁÅ ˜Ø Ø ıx Æ  ŒFÆØ, ZÅ æƪ،H YæØ  ı Kø,  HÆ ˜Øø ı Æ æÆ  å  IØ, ˚ ŒæØH ƒ æE ±æe Kd  çØ, ˝

 K ƒ æÆØ Ø åæø Å æÆ  F  Ø ŒæÅ Øıe ª Æ IØŁÅ ¼ººı  K K ŁºH K Łºf Œ · . . .3 ‘She sowed Herodotus, the prose Homer of history and nourished the famous ability of Andron, she gave seed to Panyasis, the glorious master of epic, she gave birth to Cyprias who composed the Iliaka. It was she who raised Menestheus, dear to the Muses, and she who brought forth the divine inspiration of Theaetetus, she bore her son Dionysius, the comic poet, she produced Zenodotus, skilled in tragic poetry, she had the singer Phanostratus, servant to Dionysus, splendid in the sacred wreaths of Cecrops’ sons, she created Nossus, a leading chronologist in history, she bore Timocrates, a prudent poet and gave birth to other noble men of noble stock . . . ’

The assimilation of Herodotus with Homer by the poet is striking, and raises questions about the nature of ancient critical discussions of Herodotus and the Histories—ancient readers probably did not conceive of the relationship in the same terms as modern scholars.4 The appellation ‘prose Homer of history’ proves to be a useful focus of reflection on the place of Herodotus in a variety of ongoing debates in antiquity about how to record the past. It seems that ancient critics understood the relationship in a variety of different ways, and that the relationship could be presented in admiring terms—as in the Salmakis Inscription—or in a less flattering light. Herodotus’ Homeric reputation was built on a foundation of controversy. His style, his credibility, and the very nature of his significance were all contested subjects. Hugh Lloyd-Jones, who provided a commentary on the Salmakis Inscription shortly after its first publication, remarked: ‘It seems unlikely that this poet was the first author to call Herodotus “the 3 4

The text is from the edition of Lloyd-Jones (1999a), reprinted in Gagné (2006). See, for example, Strasburger (1972), Boedeker (2002), and Pelling (2006).

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prose Homer”’.5 The description is not dwelt upon, and the poem instead moves quickly to the next great writers in the roll-call, giving the impression that the description was already a commonplace. The inscription nevertheless remains our earliest explicit evidence for Herodotus’ ‘Homeric’ reputation, and it is remarkable that it is the prose-writer Herodotus, and not either of Halicarnassus’ epic poets, Panyasis or Cyprias (both mentioned in the inscription), who are associated with Homer.6 This suggests that audiences linked Herodotus with Homer, in Halicarnassus at least, by the mid to late second century. Another important piece of evidence for Herodotus’ ‘Homeric’ reputation comes from On the Sublime by an author from the early Empire known as [Longinus]:


˙æ
ˇ ÅæØŒ!Æ Kª ; "Å åæ Ø æ æ ‹  #æåºå, ø b ø ºØ Æ › —ºø Ie F
ˇ ÅæØŒF Œ ı  Æ N Æe ıæÆ ‹ Æ ÆæÆæa Iå  ı  . ŒÆd Y ø $ E I  ø  Ø, N c a K Yı ŒÆd ƒ  æd #

!Ø KŒºÆ  IªæÆłÆ. Was only Herodotus ‘very Homeric’ (Homerikōtatos)? Even earlier there was Stesichorus and Archilochus, and most of all these there was Plato, who drew off countless channels for himself from that great Homeric stream. And perhaps we should have demonstrated this, but Ammonius7 has already collected and written out the examples. [Longinus], On the Sublime, 13.3

[Longinus] surely cannot have been the first ancient author to describe Herodotus as Homerikōtatos—that would undermine his rhetoric. The attention which [Longinus] gives to Plato and his prime position (most Homeric of all) suggests that the description of the other three writers as ‘very Homeric’ was relatively uncontroversial, and the fact that [Longinus] begins with Herodotus (‘Herodotus alone’) may reflect a view that the description Homerikōtatos was especially applicable to Herodotus. Nevertheless, it is Plato whom [Longinus] suggests is more ‘Homeric’ than all other writers, citing the authority of

5

Lloyd-Jones (1999a), 11. See also: Lloyd-Jones (1999b). Jensen (2004), 87. 7 ƒ  æd #

!Ø: it is quite possible that this refers just to Ammonius, rather than to ‘Ammonius and his school’, as it is sometimes translated (see Bühler (1964), 97). 6

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Ammonius.8 Ammonius was a Homeric critic of the second century, a pupil of Aristarchus and the author of a work called Concerning the Borrowings from Homer by Plato.9 If [Longinus]’ position on Plato reflects an argument made by Ammonius, then Ammonius may have also used the term Homerikōtatos of Herodotus as part of his exposition on Plato. Pfeiffer has suggested that the term derived from the writings of Ammonius’ predecessor, Aristarchus,10 who, in addition to his scholarly work on Homer, was responsible for the earliest known commentary on Herodotus (see the Appendix). There is good reason to suspect that the appellation ‘prose Homer of history’ had resonances beyond the local context of Halicarnassus. Signe Isager has remarked on how the interest in scholars and authors in the Salmakis Inscription reflects Alexandrian interests (and even posits Callimachus’ Pinakes as the source for the catalogue of lines 43–54).11 An Alexandrian context for the connection between the two authors is further encouraged by the information from Athenaeus that there were public recitations of Homer and Herodotus in Ptolemaic Alexandria (see Chapter One). The connection drawn between Herodotus and Homer in the Salmakis Inscription and [Longinus] can be viewed as part of a broader trend in Hellenistic and later criticism which saw Homer as the founding figure of Greek literature, and that traced out Homeric roots for some of the greatest Greek authors and for different types of literature: thus, for example, the early Hellenistic philosopher Polemon called Sophocles ‘Homer of tragedy’ (Diogenes Laertius 4.3), Sappho is called a ‘female Homer’ in an epigram by Antipater of Thessaloniki (Anth. Pal. 1.65),12 and Strabo describes Homer as ‘founder of the science of geography’ (Strabo, Geography 1.2.2). The accolade pater historiae which Cicero gives Herodotus in

8 For Plato’s ancient reputation as a poet and writer of ‘poetical’ prose, see Murray (1996), 12–14. On the ancient critical tradition linking Plato with Homer, see Hunter (2012), 38–108. 9 The title is in the A-Scholia to Iliad 9.540. On Ammonius, see Pfeiffer (1968), 216–17. 10 Pfeiffer (1968), 224. It is not clear to me why Pfeiffer cites Bühler (1964) in support of this statement, since Bühler does not actually say this. Nevertheless, the supposition is not implausible. 11 Isager (1998), 20. Cf. D’Alessio (2004) on Callimachean echoes in the poem. 12 Gosetti-Murrayjohn (2006), 37–40.

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the first century is then on one level of interpretation highly comparable: to stand at the head of a ‘family’ of literature might make one a ‘father’, or it might make one a ‘Homer’. The comparison with Homer also seems to acknowledge the cultural importance of Herodotus and his Histories. One of the reasons for Herodotus’ enduring readership in antiquity was his focus on the Persian Wars, as discussed in Chapter Four.13 The Persian Wars were regularly placed alongside the Trojan War in Greek accounts of their past, and Herodotus himself presents the two conflicts as comparable when, in his opening chapters, he incorporates both into his larger scheme of East–West conflicts. The comparison of Herodotus with Homer may acknowledge that Herodotus was the most important historian of the Persian Wars, a conflict as important in the cultural memory of the Greeks as the Trojan War itself. But Herodotus was not the first or the last historian to treat this subject, and it must therefore be asked whether Herodotus’ account was privileged in any ways or contexts. Particularly suggestive evidence is the Histories’ place in the literary canon of historiographical texts used in ancient classroom education. The most likely historical context for the development of a literary canon of historians is Hellenistic Alexandria.14 From the extant lists, Nicolai has hypothesized a canon of six historians based on a triad of three originators of a style of historiography, and a triad of distinguished imitators: the former comprising Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, and the latter Ephorus, Philistus, and Theopompus.15 In the ancient education system, historiography was used to illustrate rules of rhetoric and grammar, but it is apparent that the triad of ‘originators’ also has the advantage of covering a broad and continuous chronological scope.16 The very early reception of Herodotus in the fifth and fourth century and the practice of writing historical ‘continuations’ may therefore have had an important impact on decisions to use the Histories as a classroom text in the Hellenistic period. Herodotus’ place in the (hypothesized) canon indicates that, while other accounts of the

13

14 Hornblower (1995), 66. Nicolai (1992), 328–39. There was, however, some flexibility as to which authors were included on reading lists. 16 On the place of historiography in ancient education, see Nicolai (1992), and on the ancient education system more generally, see Morgan (1998) and Cribiore (2001). 15

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Persian Wars were no doubt read also (and it is noteworthy that all three historians in the latter triad treated the Persian Wars in some way17), Herodotus’ own account was not displaced from the curriculum. The association of Herodotus’ work with the Muses by the late Hellenistic period is another symptom of the Histories’ cultural importance. The attachment of the names of the nine Muses to Herodotus’ nine books is attested for the first time by Lucian18 and the division of Herodotus’ work into books was very likely the work of an Alexandrian editor. Already in the Lindian Chronicle (99 BC) there is a reference to ‘Book 2’ of Herodotus’ Histories (K fi A  A ƒ [æØ]A[]) (FGrH 532 (XXIX).3–4), and in Amherst Papyrus XII19 we find the subscription ‘Aristarchus’ Commentary on Book 1 of Herodotus’ (#æØ æåı
˙æı Æ  Å Æ, which may mean that there were divisions when Aristarchus was working on the commentary in the second century.20 The attachment of the names of the Muses was perhaps a development of the first century. An anonymous epigram from the Palatine Anthology, in which Herodotus is said to have ‘entertained’ the Muses, may be contemporary with this development:21
˙æ  Æ  Æ· fiH  ¼æ %Œ Å Id çغ Å º øŒ Æ. Herodotus entertained the Muses, and they each, in exchange for his hospitality, gave him one book. Anth. Pal. 9.160

While the domain of the Muses in antiquity was not as straightforward as a simple distinction between poetry and prose, poetry was

17 Ephorus’ Histories covered the history of all lands from the return of the Heraclidae to his own time; Philistus’ Sikilika covered the history of Sicily from mythical times to 363/2 and must have at least treated the Sicilian role in the Wars (cf. Chapter Four); and Theopompus wrote an Epitome of Herodotus (cf. Introduction, 12–13). 18 Lucian, Herod. 1; De hist. conscrib., 42. 19 Cf. the Appendix. 20 On the division of Herodotus’ Histories into books, see Legrand (1932), 224–7. 21 Legrand (1932), 225 (with n.2). Cf. the anonymous Anth. Pal. 9.571, which names nine (already canonical?) lyric poets, and calls Sappho  ŒÅ F Æ (‘tenth Muse’) (discussed in Acosta-Hughes (2010a), 84–5, 216–17). Cf. also the ‘LiteratenEpigramm’ (IG XII 1, 145; SEG 36 no. 975; SGO 01/12/01) below, where ÞØÇçıc ı ø (‘offspring of the Muses’) is a description of Andron at least, and probably Herodotus and Panyasis also.

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nevertheless ‘the Muses’ art par exellence’ even after the demise of song-culture.22 Herodotus’ connection with the Muses may reflect ancient views about his ‘poetic’ nature, but it is probably also relevant that during the Hellenistic period the role of the Muses was developed so that they came to be associated more generally with learning and paideia.23 Herodotus’ connection with the Muses probably also speaks then for the important place of his work within education and scholarship of the period. Another indicator of Herodotus’ cultural importance emerges, as we saw in Chapter One, from the biographical traditions. The multiplicity of claims around the Greek world about Herodotus’ life presumably reflects a geographical breadth in his audiences, and echoes the breadth of traditions attached to Homer throughout the Greek world. Again, the Persian Wars are clearly an important part of the explanation for this, as is apparent from the special concern about the reputation of individual city-states in the events of the Wars. Additionally, however, the immense scope and scale of Herodotus’ Histories must also help to explain the cultural cachet accorded to Herodotus’ work. One debate which has exercised scholars of Greek history since Jacoby is how to relate the evolution of ‘local’ and ‘great’ historiography.24 Although some of the developmental models relating the two have been rather too schematic, what is clear is that there are very important interrelationships between histories of individual cities and the histories that incorporate a broader view of the affairs of the Greek world. One of the features of historiography of the Hellenistic period is the proliferation of ‘local’ histories, histories about particular regions or cities. As well as providing a source for local history, ‘great’ history could provide local history with wider nonpolis frames into which the past of an individual polis could be integrated.25 Katherine Clarke has argued that ‘one of the crucial features of local accounts was precisely to embed themselves in larger narratives, which carried more weight in the world beyond’.26 Herodotus’ Histories is of course to be included in the compass of ‘great’ historiography. The attention to inter-polis and even inter-‘national’ affairs made the Histories an important larger narrative to which all Greek poleis might look when trying to understand and advertise 22 24 25

23 Murray (2004), 372–3. Murray (2004), 385–6. Clarke (2008), 175–93, provides a recent, lucid introduction to this debate. 26 Schepens (2001), 5; Clarke (2008), 229–30. Clarke (2008), 363.

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their local past within a wider Greek context. Herodotus’ Histories related a past relevant to all Greeks and ensured that Herodotus’ interest and appeal could rival Homer’s. While [Longinus] called Herodotus ‘very Homeric’, he called Plato ‘most Homeric of all’, and Plato is certainly a striking candidate for this description. Richard Hunter has recently suggested that the ancient connection in the case of Plato is symptomatic of ‘a need to explain, and in many instances correct, both Plato’s apparently extraordinary decision to expel Homer from his ideal state . . . and the philosopher’s attitude to the greatest figure of Greek literature and to mimetic poetry in general’.27 It seems significant that all three of the other authors [Longinus] describes as Homerikōtatos—Herodotus, Stesichorus, and Archilochus—also challenge the authority of the Homeric poems in some way. The extant poems of Archilochus, although they contain no direct rejection of the Homeric poems’ authority, are steeped with themes that apparently challenge Homeric codes of heroic behaviour.28 The story that Helen had not gone to Troy, and that an eidōlon (phantom) had gone in her place, was famously told by Stesichorus (c. 632–556) in the so-called Palinode, from which the Platonic Socrates quotes three lines in Phaedrus: PŒ  ’ ı  ºª y, P’ Æ K Åı d Kß

º Ø, P’ ¥ Œ  æªÆ Æ æÆ· ‘This story is not true. You did not board the well-oared ships, nor did you come to the citadel of Troy.’ Plato, Phaedrus 243a = PMGF F 192

Herodotus himself also insists that Helen was in Egypt during the Trojan War, that she never went to Troy (2.113–20), and that Homer rejected this version of events as ‘unsuitable to epic’ even though he knew the story (2.116).29 He also rejects the possibility of the existence of Ocean, calling it a fabrication invented by Homer (or another

27

Hunter (2012), 38. See Swift (2012) for a recent assessment of Archilochus’ treatment of Homeric values. 29 Dio’s Trojan Oration reflects and distorts the theme in ancient Homeric criticism of Homer’s skilful lies: see Hunter (2009b). 28

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poet) (2.23).30 Comparing Stesichorus, Archilochus, and Herodotus with Homer may not only be a way to express the great cultural importance of these authors, but also—analogously to Plato—a way to reconcile their challenges to Homer’s authority. The comparison could be read in some sense as an act of rehabilitation, and perhaps also a gentle, but pointed, remonstration. Ambivalence in the case of Herodotus is certainly apparent if we explore the significance of the comparison further.

HERODOTUS AND POETRY Herodotus’ characterization as the ‘prose Homer’ in the Salmakis Inscription provides an important departure for discussion.31 Not long after its publication, Minna Jensen called the appellation ‘disturbing’, explaining that ‘at least in classical or archaic times I do not think it would have been possible to compare genres in such a cavalier way’.32 On first impressions, the description is certainly striking. Some of the extant ancient discussions on prose style, and on prose’s position as an alternative form of expression to poetry, illuminate critical preoccupations which help to explain its significance for Hellenistic audiences.33 It was in the fifth century that prose truly began to flourish as a medium for authoritative expression in Greece. During the fifth century prose was the written form favoured by writers concerned with the revolutionary arts associated with the ‘Greek enlightenment’: medicine, rhetoric, philosophy, history, political and scientific theory.34 Herodotus was not the first Greek writer to express himself in prose: there were prose writers already in the mid sixth century, as 30 Herodotus also comments on the dates of Homer and Hesiod (Hdt. 2.53). His interest in Homer is presumably one reason why a Life of Homer was attributed to Herodotus in antiquity. See further Lefkowitz (1981) and Graziosi (2002). 31 The rhetorician Cassius Longinus (third century AD) says that Plato was ‘the first successfully to import Homeric grandeur into prose’, F 50.9, Patillon and Brisson (2001). On the poeticality of Plato’s prose, see Hunter (2012), 39 and 67–89. 32 Jensen (2004), 86. 33 On ancient distinctions between poetry and prose, see Hunter and Russell (2011), 86. 34 Goldhill (2002a), 4. Cf. Clarke (2008), passim, who questions the revolutionary nature of the ‘prose revolution’.

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evidenced, for example, by the fragmentary writings of the Ionian philosophers Anaximander and Anaximenes of Miletus, and Heraclitus of Ephesus.35 Nevertheless, Herodotus’ Histories is the first long and complete prose work to survive from ancient Greece, and represents a remarkable departure from what had gone before in the history of prose.36 Both in terms of its length and the broad scope of its subject matter it distinguishes itself. It is also the first sustained record of past events to contain self-conscious discussion about how to obtain knowledge of the past, and to analyse explicitly problems of historical causation. Herodotus’ Histories therefore holds a significant position in the early history of Greek prose. This cannot have escaped the notice of ancient audiences, and indeed, suggestive of such awareness is the interest which later writers take in describing and analysing Herodotus’ prose. Alongside the ascendancy of prose as an authoritative form of expression, there developed a deep concern to establish principles for expressing thoughts effectively in prose. The fifth-century rhetoricians seem to have been the first to reflect seriously on this matter. Their discussions are heavily influenced by a formal conception of prose being poetry without metre.37 That there was considerable discussion on this subject in the fourth century too is evident from the writings of Alcidamas, Isocrates, and Aristotle.38 Of particular interest was how prose should distinguish itself from poetry. These fourth-century writers frequently express opposition to an overly ‘poetic’ style of prose (Gorgias of Leontini was particularly associated with such excesses). It was judged possible, however, for a prose writer to have an ‘appropriately’ poetic style of prose. Aristotle, for example, names Isocrates as writing in a style that is poetic at the end of the Panegyricus, and appropriately so (Rhet. 1408b13–16). The idea of poetic prose, and the question of how appropriate it was, was still a major concern for Dionysius of Halicarnassus writing at the end

35 Other extant prose works which may pre-date the Histories are [Xen.] Ath. Pol., [Hippocrates], Airs, Waters, Places, and Gorgias, Helen. 36 Cf. Goldhill (2002a), 10–11. 37 For instance, in the fifth century, Gorgias calls prose ‘logos without metre’ (Helen 9). Cf. Strabo’s evolutionary model for the development of prose from poetry (1.2.6). To define prose through its relationship to poetry provides notoriously unstable parameters, with ‘poetry’ itself being an unstable category: Godzich and Kittay (1987). See also Dover (1997), 96–112. 38 Graff (2005).

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of the first century. In On Demosthenes, for example, he criticizes Plato for at times using language which is overly poetic and ‘dithyrambic’ (5.2, 6.4).39 Herodotus, by contrast, is praised by Dionysius for his poetic style. In his discussion of historians writing prior to Thucydides, Dionysius comments: y b ŒÆ c KŒºªc H O ø ŒÆd ŒÆa c Ł Ø ŒÆd ŒÆa c H åÅ ÆØ

H ،غÆ ÆŒæfiH  ØØ f ¼ººı  æ º , ŒÆd Ææ Œ Æ B fi ŒæÆ fiÅ Ø Ø c  Çc çæ Ø › Æ ª  ŁÆØ  ØŁF  ŒÆd åÆæø ŒÆd B N ¼Œæ $Œ Å $B & ŒÆ. ‘He [=Herodotus] far surpassed the others in his selection of words, in composition, and in the variety of his word-forms, and he made his prose resemble the best poetry through its persuasiveness and charm and its attainment of the heights of pleasure.’ Dion. Hal. Thuc. 23

Herodotus’ characterization in the Hellenistic period as ‘prose Homer’ may well reflect discussions about his prose style and the extent to which it was ‘poetic’. We cannot be certain of the precise form which these discussions took, and the fact that already in the fourth century Isocrates, Alcidamas, and Aristotle offer conflicting and inconsistent opinions on poetic prose and its appropriateness makes it seem unlikely that there would ever have been anything approaching a consensus on these subjects in the Hellenistic period either.40 It seems highly probable, however, that poetic prose continued to be a subject of considerable interest to Hellenistic critics. There is suggestive evidence among the fragments of Philodemus of Gadara to support this contention. Philodemus was an Epicurean active in Rome and Naples in the first century.41 His work On Poems, partially preserved in the Villa of the Papyri at Herculaneum, sheds light on some of the views of Crates of Mallus, a contemporary of Aristarchus, and various named and unnamed earlier literary theorists (to whom Philodemus refers as the kritikoi) whose works Crates discussed.42 The kritikoi were probably not any ‘school’ as such; the 39 Dionysius’ Letter to Pompeius indicates that there were readers who objected to his attacks on Plato’s ‘poetic’ style. See also n.31 above. 40 Graff (2005). 41 On Philodemus: Janko (2000), 3–10. 42 On Crates and the kritikoi: Janko (2000), 120–8, Broggiato (2001), Porter (2003), Porter (2006), 343–6.

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term seems to be Philodemus’ own, and is used as a convenient way of referring to theorists whom he considered to share particular views with each other. The kritikoi were concerned with establishing criteria for good poetry, and although their views varied widely, they all apparently shared an interest in euphony; they emphasized the importance of poetry being pleasing to the ear (IŒ). Philodemus, reacting to their theories, stresses the importance of sense in addition to sound for determining the quality of a poem. Among the kritikoi mentioned by Philodemus is an otherwise unknown literary theorist called Heracleodorus.43 He suggested that style, dialect, and content are irrelevant criteria in determining good poetry, and that what is important is composition ( Ł Ø), from which pleasure in hearing derives.44 From Philodemus’ testimony, it appears that Heracleodorus also thought that metre was irrelevant to poetry: he called writers ‘who achieved perfection “poets”’ (‘Åa’ f IŒæØHÆ), and so called ‘the works of Demosthenes and Xenophon, and even more so the work of Herodotus “poems” ( ÆÆ)’ (Heracleodorus, F 10 (Janko)). Heracleodorus regarded Herodotus’ Histories as exceptionally ‘poetic’ in its composition, to the extent that it could even be classified as a ‘poem’,45 and his judgement apparently rested on the enchanting effect of Herodotus’ composition on the ear (Philodemus found Heracleodorus’ view too extreme, and maintained that Crates ‘either misunderstood him or Heracleodorus was completely mad’, On Poetry 1.199, 17–19, Janko). Accounts of Herodotus’ style in antiquity are mostly later than the period under consideration here: Dionysius of Halicarnassus, [Longinus], and Hermogenes of Tarsus provide the fullest discussions.46 Alongside descriptions of Herodotus as ‘poetic’ and ‘Homeric’, there are repeated references to the ‘sweetness’ (ªºıŒÅ) of his style, the ‘pleasure’ ($, æłØ) which his work arouses in its audience, the ‘charm’ (åæØ) and ‘beauty’ (Œºº) of his work, and the agreeability of his Ionic dialect.47 These features are elucidated in 43

For discussion and fragments: Janko (2000), 155–65. Janko (2000), 156–7 (Heracleodorus, FF 1–8 (Janko)). 45 Cf. Demetrius’ insistence that Ctesias was a ‘poet’: On Style, 215. 46 On ancient accounts of Herodotus’ style, see: Grube (1974), Pernot (1995). 47 Dion. Hal., Thuc. 23, Letter to Pompey 3.19; Cicero, Orat. 12.39 (likening Herodotus’ style to a noiseless stream: on the trope, cf. Hunter (2012), 7, n.28); Quintilian 10.1.13; Dio Chrys. 18.10; Plut. Malice 874b; Theon, Progymn. p. 91, 25 (Spengel); Lucian, Herodotus 1; [Longinus], Sublime 13.3; Hermogenes, On Style, 44

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different ways by different authors, but the recurrence of similar descriptions across several centuries is notable. A negative assessment comes from Aristotle, who describes Herodotus’ ‘strung-along style’ (ºØ . . . Næ Å), further defined as the ‘ancient’ (IæåÆÆ) style, as ‘unpleasant’ (IÅ) (Rhet. 1409a 28–36).48 And another comes from Demetrius in his (Hellenistic?49) treatise On Style. The potential for poetic vocabulary to make prose grand ( ªÆºæ ) is highlighted, but Herodotus is named as an example of those writers ‘who imitate the poets’ [vocabulary] very plainly (ªı B fi ), or, rather, they do not imitate [the vocabulary], but alter it (åæHÆØ . . . P Ø  Ø Iººa

ÆŁ Ø)’ (On Style, 112).50 The fullest account of Herodotus’ ‘poetic’ style is found in Hermogenes of Tarsus’ second century AD rhetorical treatise On Style. It is clear that Hermogenes drew on earlier discussions of rhetorical style, from as early as Theophrastus in the fourth century,51 but it is often difficult to establish precisely how particular aspects of Hermogenes’ account relate to earlier stylistic theories. Hermogenes associates Herodotus’ language and subject matter with the ‘sweet’ (ªºıŒ) style (Rabe 330–6, passim), which he then in turn associates with the ‘poetic’ style (Rabe 336).

330–6 (Rabe); Menander Rhet. On Epideictic Speeches, 389. 27–8; Photius, Bibl. 60, 19b. 48 Plutarch puts a negative slant on Herodotus’ beguiling qualities (Malice 874b). 49 The date of this work is contentious, but it is probably Hellenistic, perhaps as early as the third century: see Grube (1964), Morpurgo Tagliabue (1980), Doreen Innes’ introductory comments in Halliwell, Russell, and Innes (1995), 312–21, Schenkeveld (2000). Cf. Marini (2007), who argues for the first century AD. 50 Demetrius’ meaning is not entirely clear, although his example (of a successful use of the Homeric word  æææı (‘sea-girt’) by Thucydides: 4.64.3) must provide some clue, especially since Herodotus also uses the word  æææı (‘sea-girt [land]’) three times (in his discussion of maps of the world: 4.42.2, 45.2, 45.4). The following attempts an interpretation, but involves considerable re-expression of Demetrius’ own words: Herodotus uses the word  æææı (‘sea-girt [land]’) ‘plainly’, whereas Thucydides does not, because whereas Herodotus uses the word  æææı (‘seagirt [land]’) similarly to Homer, in that he uses it in reference to a large island, Thucydides uses it differently from Homer and with an additional nuance, to strengthen his speaker’s argument for unity by using the circumlocution ‘sea-girt land’ (å!æÆ . . .  æØææı) to emphasize the unity of the island. 51 Cecil Wooten (1987, xvii) refers to it as ‘the culmination of a tendency in Greek rhetorical criticism to refine more and more the concept of stylistic virtues that had been begun by Theophrastus’. Cf. Rutherford (1998), 10–18. For a survey of the development of stylistic theory, see Russell (1981), 129–47.

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Before looking in detail at Hermogenes’ remarks on the sweet style, it is worth noting two pieces of evidence suggesting that Herodotus’ style was already characterized as ‘sweet’ in the Hellenistic period. The first is the Literaten-Epigramm, thought perhaps to be by Antipater of Sidon (who was writing c. 130):52 [lacuna: unknown number of lines missing] ºØ[  `]

ıæÅ [åH ]Æ " Ø[æ] Ø _  å ˝ı ºØ, Pb Ææ  E Iºº _' `__æøÆ PŒ _ _ _ _ _ ÞØÇçıc ı ø æŁ ̓ æç  [ŒP]_ _ c
˙æı ªºŒØ  Æ ŒÆd —ÆÆ

Ø _ _ _ B BÆıºg æ ç  TªıªÅ, $[f] _ _ __ Iºº
`ºØŒÆæÆ

F ŒæÆÆe . z Øa ºa _ Œº Øe ̓
¯ººø ¼  Ø ŒF å Ø. _ _ __ [lacuna] ‘Assyria has the stone-mound of Semiramis, but the city of Nineveh did not raise an Andron, nor did an offspring of the Muses shoot forth among the Indians, [nor] did primeval Babylon nourish a tongue sweeter than Herodotus’, or raise Panyasis [with his sweet words]; but the rugged earth of Halicarnassus did. Through their songs does she enjoy renown among the cities of the Hellenes.’53

In addition to the ‘sweetness’ of Herodotus (and Panyasis?), the final lines refer to the writings of the authors as ‘songs’ ( º), a term suggestive of poetry (even though it is applied to the works of the prose historians Herodotus and Andron, as well as to the poetry of Panyasis). The second indication that Herodotus’ style was already characterized as ‘sweet’ in the Hellenistic period is found in the scholiast to Thucydides 1.22.4.54 There, in reference to Thucydides’ remark that his History will be a ‘possession for all time, rather than an agōnisma (show-piece)’, agōnisma is defined as ‘the sweet tale’ (e ªºıŒf ºª) and is furthermore interpreted by the scholiast as being a veiled reference to Herodotus. Although it is always difficult to pin down dates for scholia, it has been strongly argued that the

52

IG XII 1, 145; SEG 36 no. 975 (the text as emended by Ebert (1986)). On the epigram, cf. Isager (1998), 16. 53 Translation: adapted from Isager (1998), 16. 54 On the Thucydides scholia: Dickey (2007), 55, with references.

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Thucydides scholia are based on a commentary composed in Hellenistic Alexandria, perhaps by Aristarchus.55 We can now turn to Hermogenes’ discussion on rhetorical sweetness which, though late, helps to provide a fuller picture of some of the aspects of Herodotus’ style which perhaps gave rise to the view that his writing was ‘sweet’.56 Firstly, Hermogenes discusses the ‘thoughts’ (ØÆØ) which are sweet, and gives three types: the mythical (ƃ ıŁØŒÆ), tales like myths (a ØŪ ÆÆ, ‹ Æ ̓ªªf Łø ̓ ), and tales with a small mythical component but which are believed more than myths (å Ø Ø a ŒÆ Oºdª  ø F

ıŁØŒF ŒØøFÆ ØŪ ÆÆ, Aºº b j ŒÆa f Łı Ø  ı Æ) (Rabe, 330–1). The types are perhaps in order of priority: certainly Hermogenes remarks twice that mythical material is ‘especially’ ( ºØ Æ) sweet. Whether or not there is any hierarchy in the other two types of ‘thoughts’ is unclear. Hermogenes considers the story of the Trojan War to be an illustration of the second type, and Herodotus’ Histories to be an illustration of the third. In relation to the Histories, he acknowledges that there are a few examples of mythical material—such as the story of Pan (6.105) and Iacchus (8.65)—but that ‘the rest is believed to have happened and is free from the mythical, and so is not sweet in the same way (Pb › ø . . . å Ø B ªºıŒÅ) as the naturally (ç Ø) mythical’.57 It was Herodotus’ subject matter, then, rather than his writing style, which is in the first instance highlighted by Hermogenes as contributing to his ‘sweetness’. From the context of Hermogenes’ comments, we see that Herodotus’ subject matter was regarded as being in certain ways comparable to myth, which was ‘naturally’ sweet, yet still distinct from it. It is worth recalling Thucydides’ prologue: not only does he make there an emphatic distinction between ‘his’ war and previous wars (most notably the Trojan and Persian wars), but between the ‘mythic’ subjects (e ıŁH ) which the logographoi and poets of the past had made their focus, and the 55 Usener (1889), 71ff.; Radermacher (1905), 968–9; Luschnat (1954), esp. 22–5; Pfeiffer (1968), 225. See also, de Jonge (2008), 217–19, with references. 56 On Herodotus’ ªºıŒı (‘sweetness’), see also Lightfoot (2003), 95 (with n.26), 142 n.248. 57 The adverb › ø (‘in the same way’) does not necessarily imply that the third type is less sweet than the second type: it implies only that the second and third types are sweet in different (unspecified) ways. Cf. the translations of Hunter (1983) and Wooten (1987).

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‘clarity’ (e Æç) of his own, apparently an allusion to the certainty of contemporary history (1.21–2).58 For Thucydides, accounts of the Trojan and the Persian Wars deal with the mythical past. The scholia indicate that some Hellenistic(?) readers saw an allusion to Herodotus in these sections.59 It is possible that Hermogenes’ association of Herodotus’ material with the mythic may ultimately reflect Thucydides’ prefatory comments. Hermogenes also remarks that it is sweet ‘to ascribe some motivation (æÆØæ ØŒ Ø) to things which lack it’ (Rabe, 333). Hermogenes gives several examples of this, including one extended example from Herodotus (which he quotes), namely Xerxes’ whipping and angry admonitions of the Hellespont (7.35). On this passage he remarks: ‘Here Herodotus excels in pleasure ($B fi ) by making Xerxes address the water as if it had perception and choice’ (334). Hermogenes associates this technique with poets in particular; the other examples he gives come from Sappho and Homer, and adds ‘such things are allowed (ÆØ) in the poets’ (335). Hermogenes mentions one further aspect of the Histories which contributes to its ‘sweetness’: its diction (ºØ). Hermogenes firstly associates sweet diction with both simple (Içº ØÆ) and poetic (ØÅØŒ) diction. Then he draws on the example of Herodotus, who, he says, in addition to using the approaches ( ŁØ) and thoughts (ØÆØ) characteristic of sweetness, also achieves a sweetness that is particularly sustained ( ºØ Æ ØÆæŒB  å c ªºıŒÅÆ) by adopting a ‘poetic’ dialect, namely Ionic. The reason for the Ionic dialect’s sweetness he explains as follows:  a s Æ ØÅØŒc ç Ø K d $ EÆ. N b ŒÆd ¼ººø ØƺŒø Kåæ Æ Ø Ø º Ø, Pb F, K d ŒÆd O Åæ ŒÆd
˙  ŒÆd ¼ººØ PŒ OºªØ H ØÅH Kåæ Æ b ŒÆd ¼ººÆØ Ø d º Ø %æø ØƺŒø, e º E  c NÇı Ø, ŒÆd  Ø $  a ‹ æ çÅ ØÅØŒ ø, Øa F b ŒÆd $ EÆ. ‘The Ionic dialect is pleasant by nature. It is neither here nor there that Herodotus used certain words from other dialects, since both Homer and Hesiod and many other poets also used various different words

On the ‘mythic’ in Thucydides, see Marincola (1997), 117–18, with references; cf. pp. 211–2. 59 See above, pp. 200–1, on the probable Hellenistic background for the Thucydides scholia. 58

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from other dialects/languages; but they use Ionic most of all, and Ionic, as I said, is in a way poetic, and because of this it is also pleasant.’ Hermogenes, On Style 336 (Rabe)

The ‘purity’ of Herodotus’ Ionic is a vexed issue. A wide variety of forms—Ionic, Attic, and on occasion Doric—have been transmitted in the manuscripts, and sometimes even different forms of the same word will be preserved in one manuscript. Some of the variations in the manuscripts may be due to scribes Atticizing and/or Ionicizing various word-forms, either accidentally or intentionally in order to ‘improve’ the text before them. Certainly inscriptional Ionic of the Classical period often diverges greatly from the Ionic prose of Herodotus.60 In the belief that Herodotus’ original manuscript may have once been in a ‘pure’ form of the Ionic dialect, modern editors have sometimes chosen to adopt Ionic forms preserved in inscriptions (and therefore unadulterated through the aberrances of scribal copying).61 Yet Herodotus himself remarks that there were four different versions of Ionic (1.142), and the matter is complicated further, if, as has been suggested, Herodotus’ language ‘never corresponded to any precise form of spoken Greek, but was instead, like the language of Homer’s epic, a deliberate blend of modern and archaic’.62 Hermogenes’ comments (above) indicate that Herodotus’ language was recognized in antiquity as being of a mixed form. They also make explicit an association of the Ionic dialect with poetry. Hermogenes says that Herodotus achieves sweetness because he chose to use a ‘poetic’ dialect; he adds that ‘Homer and Hesiod and many other poets . . . use Ionic most of all’. The ‘sweetness’ of Ionic therefore is related to the perception that it was a dialect particularly favoured by poets. Homer was often considered an ‘Ionic’ writer,63 and Jane Lightfoot has observed ‘the frequent lack of differentiation between epic and Ionic prose (let alone different Ionic prose authors)’.64 It is this failure to differentiate that may have encouraged the view that Herodotus wrote in a way which was comparable to ‘Homer and Hesiod and many other poets’.

60

61 Lightfoot (2003), 97. Discussion: Flower and Marincola (2002), 44–5. McNeal (1983), 119–20. 63 Lightfoot (2003), 98, with n.43. Cf. [Plut.] De Homero, 12, where it is suggested that Homer used the Attic dialect most of all (with Hillgruber (1994), vol. 1, 114–15). 64 Lightfoot (2003), 98. 62

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Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ comments on Herodotus’ Ionic dialect are also illuminating. While Hermogenes’ comments indicate that he considered Herodotus’ Ionic not entirely ‘pure’, Dionysius holds up Herodotus as the model for the Ionic dialect (as Thucydides was for the Attic) (Ad Pomp. 3.16). Dionysius also alludes to the beauty (Œºº) of Herodotus’ Ionic dialect in On Literary Composition 3, where he rewrites Herodotus’ story of Gyges and Candaules (1.8ff.) in Attic (an example of ‘metathesis’).65 Dionysius Atticizes Herodotus’ prose on another occasion also (Dem. 41), which has led Stephen Usher to remark that ‘Herodotus was something of an embarrassment to Dionysius . . . [who] could never be a satisfactory model because he wrote in the Ionic dialect and could not, even by Dionysius, be subjected to rules of purity and propriety . . . ’.66 However, Dionysius openly explains that he has Atticized the story of Gyges and Candaules ‘so that no-one may suppose that it owes its attractiveness (B $B) to the dialect’ (Comp. 3.12.18–3.13.2). Dionysius is careful to distinguish between the subject matter (æª ÆÆ), words (O ÆÆ), and composition ( Ł Ø) of the passage, and argues that it is the composition alone which makes it beautiful: the words are ‘common’, the subject matter ‘undignified’, ‘insignificant’, and ‘closer to ugliness than beauty’, and a remaining possible cause of beauty, the dialect, is factored out by metathesis of the Ionic into Attic. While Dionysius argues that (in the selected example of the Gyges/Candaules story) it is composition which gives Herodotus’ prose its beauty, his remarks presuppose a view that the Ionic dialect adds to the attraction of Herodotus’ prose. This is almost certainly just a small part of a large body of discussions about Herodotus’ aesthetic qualities. We have already mentioned the example of the Hellenistic critic Heracleodorus, who, like Dionysius, seems to have emphasized the importance of composition, and the irrelevance of style, dialect, and content in determining good ‘poetry’ or literature. Hermogenes of Tarsus’ remarks on the other hand suggest that it was particularly his choice of subject matter and his use of the Ionic dialect that contributed to his sweet and ‘poetic’ reputation, and

65

On Dionysius’ use of metathesis, see de Jonge (2005) and de Jonge (2008), 367–90. 66 Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Critical Essays (Loeb edition, 1974), trans. Stephen Usher: note ad loc.

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that other features of his writing (such as the ascription of ‘motivation’ to the inanimate) also contributed. Word choice also appears to have been a criterion by which prose style was regularly judged. For example, Dionysius is very interested in the different styles appropriate to poetry and prose,67 and one characteristic of writing styles which he discusses is the use of obscure and archaic words. These he considers to be appropriate for use in poetry, but not in good prose. He praises the prose styles of Lysias and Isocrates for their use of words which are common and familiar, rather than archaic, poetical, or obscure (h . . . IæåÆØ h  ØÅ Ø h ªºøÅ ÆØŒE O Æ Ø Iººa E ŒØØ ŒÆd

ıÅŁ Ø) (Dem. 4), and criticizes Thucydides for ‘the rareness and strangeness and poeticality of his language (e b ŒÆªºø

 B º ø ŒÆd  ŒÆd ØÅØŒ)’ (Thuc. 53).68 On this subject Dionysius echoes Aristotle, who also associates rare words with poetry and cautions against their use in prose. Aristotle discusses four causes of ‘frigidities’ (a łıåæ) in prose style. These are: the use of compound words, glosses, epithets, and metaphor. Such words and usages are more appropriate to poetry than prose, according to Aristotle. And in particular, he says, compound words are used by dithyrambic poets, strange words by epic poets, and metaphor by writers of iambics (Rhet. 1405b34–1406b19). Aristotle subsequently makes the allowance that (in prose) ‘Compound words and a number of epithets and strange words (a Æ) especially are suitable for an emotional speaker’ (Rhet. 1408b11–12).69 Also noteworthy is that, in Aristotle’s view, even poets must take care not to use ‘exotic’ ( ØŒ)’ language excessively: this includes ‘glosses, metaphors, lengthenings, and all deviations from the standard (e ŒæØ)’. The result, otherwise, will be riddle (ÆYت Æ) if metaphors predominate, or barbarism (ÆæÆæØ

) if strange words predominate (1458a21–6).70

67 For discussion of Dionysius’ views on prose, poetry, and poetic prose, see de Jonge (2008), 329–66. 68 On Thucydides’ poeticality, cf. Thuc. 29, 31, and 46. 69 I agree with Graff (2005, 324 n.66) that the xena (‘strange words’) of Rhet. 3.7.11 are the same as the glōttai of Rhet. 1405b34–1406b19 Cf. 1458a18–1459a16, where xena instead seems to encompass all ‘poetic’ terms, and are opposed to kuria: Graff (2005), 329 n.80. Graff (2005, 332) has noted that there is no inconsistency between Rhet. 1405b34–1406b19 and 1408b11–12, because the strictures of 1405b34–1406b19 against frigidities are not absolute. 70 Graff (2005), 332.

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The interest of Aristotle and Dionysius in the sorts of words that were appropriate to prose and poetry points to another aspect of Herodotus’ Histories that was surely scrutinized. We have seen that Dionysius criticized Thucydides’ language for its ‘rareness and strangeness and poeticality’. Herodotus’ penchant for unusual words doubtless attracted critical comment also, although how favourably or otherwise he was judged for his vocabulary we do not know. We could reasonably suspect an interest among the scholars at the Alexandrian Library, and the few surviving fragments of Aristarchus’ commentary confirm this: included there is a definition of the unusual word sagaris, used by Herodotus at 2.215.1 (P. Amherst XII, col. 2, 10–12).71 And although the two surviving glossaries of Herodotus are probably late antique, they may of course have been based on earlier texts.72 To a large extent interest in Herodotus’ lexicon must have been interrelated with interest in his Ionic dialect. It is instructive to see that Lucian’s On the Syrian Goddess, which is clearly modelled on Herodotus in its language (and in other respects), includes poetic words which are not found in Herodotus; it also deviates from Herodotus’ language in its phonology, morphology, and syntax, often coming closer to the language of the poets than to Herodotus. The perception that Herodotus was ‘poetic’ affected the way that his writing was imitated, to the extent that it was imitated imperfectly.73 In addition to subject matter and language, another aspect of Herodotus’ work which perhaps encouraged Hellenistic comparisons of him to Homer was his composition. We have already seen that Dionysius of Halicarnassus was particularly concerned to show that the beauty of Herodotus’ story of Gyges and Candaules lay in its composition (Comp. 3), and that Heracleodorus praised Herodotus’ composition too. In the Letter to Pompey, Dionysius draws an explicit link between Herodotus and Homer during a discussion of

71 Cf. Strabo 10.1.10 (from Apollodorus?), where the verb ƪÅ  Ø (‘net’) is used, and attributed to Herodotus (6.31): Riemann (1967), 49. On sagaris, see further the Appendix, p. 228. Cf. also Aelius Theon on Herodotus’ ‘barbarian’ speech, in his discussion of prosopoiia: ŒÆd ÆæÆæØŒH çÆ b N E ººŒØ e
˙æ ŒÆ æ %ººÅØ d ªæçÆ, ‹Ø f KŒ ø ºªı  ÅÆØ (‘ . . . and we say that Herodotus on many occasions speaks like a barbarian, even though he is writing in Greek, because he imitates their words . . . ’), Progymnasmata, 116.6–9 (Spengel). 72 Dickey (2007), 53–4. The glossaries are edited by Rosén (1962), 222–31. 73 For a full discussion of the language of the On the Syrian Goddess and its relationship to Herodotus’ language, see Lightfoot (2003), 91–158.

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which things the historian should include and which he should exclude from his work. On this occasion too, it again seems to be Herodotus’ composition which is of interest:

ı Øg ªaæ
˙æ, ‹Ø A Æ BŒ åı Æ ºf ØªÅ Ø i b IÆÆ Ø Øa ºÆ fiÅ, a łıåa H IŒæø ø $ø ØÆŁÅ Ø . . . ØŒºÅ KıºŁÅ ØB ÆØ c ªæÆçc
ˇ æı Çźøc ª   . . . ¨ıŒıÅ b º  &Æ ŒÆÆ Æ I ı d Ø æå ÆØ åÆ Kd åÆØ ŒÆd ÆæÆ Œ ıa Kd ÆæÆ Œ ıÆE ŒÆd ºªı Kd ºªØ ıØŁ · ‘Herodotus realized that any narrative that proceeds to a great length has a pleasant effect on the mind of its hearers/readers provided that it contains a number of pauses . . . So he wished to give variety to his writing, thereby showing himself to be an eager admirer of Homer . . . Thucydides, on the other hand, hurtles breathlessly through an extended description of a single war, stringing battle after battle, armament after armament and speech after speech.’74 Dion. Hal. Letter to Pompey 3.11–12

Dionysius’ remarks contrast starkly with Aristotle’s comments in the Rhetoric, that Herodotus’ prose is ‘unpleasant, because it is endless’ (IÅc Øa e ¼ Øæ). Aristotle uses a running metaphor, explaining ‘Everyone wants to have an end in view; this is why everyone runs out of breath and faints at the finish-line, whereas they do not tire earlier because the end is in sight’ (e ªaæ º   ºÆØ ŒÆŁæA· Ø æ Kd E ŒÆ Bæ Ø KŒı Ø ŒÆd KŒºÆØ· ææH  ªaæ e æÆ P Œ ı Ø æ æ) (Rhetoric 1409a30–3). Dionysius, possibly responding to this running metaphor in Aristotle, characterizes Herodotus’ prose as pleasant due to its ‘pauses’. The word anapausis (‘pause’) has the ring of a specialized critical term in this context. In Hermogenes, the term is used with the sense ‘cadence (of a sentence)’ (like the Latin clausula),75 but here the sense is clearly different. If we turn to the Homeric scholia, we find some examples of the term in use there which help to illuminate Dionysius’ remark, and thus in what respect he considers Herodotus to be an ‘admirer of Homer’ (
ˇ æı Çźø). In Eustathius’ Commentary on Homer’s Iliad, there is a remark upon Il. 21.184ff., a passage where, after slaying Asteropaeus, Achilles dwells upon both his own and his

74 75

Translation: Stephen Usher (Loeb edition). Wooten (1987), 141.

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victim’s genealogy. Eustathius remarks: ‘Observe also how the poet throws in the genealogies of the heroes in this recitation (ÞÆłø fi Æ fi ), mixing alongside the contest of deeds of war, the calmness of narrative (e H ØŪ ø oØ), for both variety in the story (،غÆ ºªı) and to give the listeners a rest (æe IÆı Ø H IŒæÆH)’.76 The second relevant example comes from the scholia to Iliad 13.168, which is a passage where, in the middle of a battle sequence, the warrior Meriones leaves the fray to look for a spear at his hut. The scholiast notes: ‘The poet does this—the whole episode that follows when Idomeneus encounters him [i.e. Il. 13.210–329]—to give the listeners/readers a rest from the battle (Øa e IÆÆF ÆØ f IŒæÆa Ie B åÅ)’. Both comments refer to points in the narrative where a long passage of battle narrative is interrupted. It seems that this is precisely what Dionysius has in mind also when he makes the above remarks on the relative merits of Herodotus and Thucydides. The examples of (bad) Thucydidean practice which Dionysius gives are all related to war. Dionysius also gives two Thucydidean examples which contravene his usual practice, and do provide the audience with ‘pauses’: ‘when he is describing the causes of the growth of the Odrysian kingdom to greatness (2.97), and again when he is describing the cities of Sicily (6.2–5)’ (3.12). The evidence suggests that what Dionysius refers to as an anapausis is a type of ‘digression’ away from the main narrative; and based on the examples of Homer (as author of the Iliad), Herodotus, and Thucydides, it would seem that this ‘main narrative’ for these authors was considered to be narrative directly related to war.77 The similarity in terminology used by Dionysius to that used in the examples quoted from the Homeric critics suggests that ‘giving the listeners a rest’ was a relatively common way of describing certain types of digression in Homer. It also suggests that this sort of explanation is, in Dionysius’ view, equally applicable to certain types of ‘digression’ in Herodotus (and for that matter Thucydides, but on far fewer occasions). Dionysius’ focus on the pleasurable effect which anapausis can have on its audience is reminiscent of the interests in euphony of the kritikoi as they are 76

Eustathius, Comm. Il. 1230.37–41 (Van der Valk). For other examples of the type of ‘rest’ which an author could include, see Nünlist (2009), 151–3. 77

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represented by Philodemus. A number of similarities between Dionysius’ comments on the poetical features of prose authors and the remarks of the Hellenistic kritikoi have been highlighted by Casper de Jonge, and this example can be added as a further parallel.78 Dionysius’ discussions of prose style are of course his own; it does, however, seem likely that his remarks reflect in a general way discussions and arguments of earlier writers, and for this reason they help to provide a fuller picture of some of the ways in which Herodotus’ relationship to Homer may have been conceptualized at an earlier period.

HERODOTUS THE LIAR Another facet of Herodotus’ reception in antiquity which may rest behind his association with Homer is his reputation for lying. In the opening sections of Cicero’s Laws, composed sometime in the 50s or 40s,79 Cicero and his brothers discuss a poem written by Cicero in honour of Marius. The discussion turns to the truth of its content. Cicero objects to the poem being held up to rigorous standards of truth. Quintus replies: ‘I understand you, brother. You think that there are different rules to be observed in history and in poetry.’ To this Cicero responds: ‘Certainly, since in history, all things are aimed at the truth (veritatem), whereas in poetry, most things are aimed at pleasure (delectationem). Yet even in Herodotus, the father of history (patrem historiae), and in Theopompus, there are countless tales (innumerabiles fabulae)’ (Laws 1.5). Fabulae, here apparently the equivalent of the Greek word muthoi, means ‘tales’ or ‘stories’, and it is implicit that, in these fabulae, truth is not the primary concern.80 Cicero’s comments indicate that he sees historiography as a branch of literature which above all aims at recording the ‘truth’, and that he considers Herodotus to stand at 78

De Jonge (2008), 362–5. The date is a vexed question: see Zetzel’s (2005) comments in his review of Dyck (2004). 80 Dyck (2004), 69. Cf. Cicero’s definitions of historia (ƒ æÆ), which is true, argumentum (º

Æ), which is ‘as if ’ true, and fabula ( FŁ), which is not true, at De Inventione 1.19.27. On the opposition of muthos/fabula to historia and plasma/ argumentum in the Hellenistic and Roman periods: Brink (1971), 254; Saïd (2007), 78. Cf. pp. 49–50. 79

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the head of this tradition (as pater historiae),81 even though he thinks his work includes many stories that are more concerned with entertainment than with truth. A similar relationship between history, truth and entertainment is found in the Letter to Lucceius (55 BC), where Cicero asks Lucceius to go against the ‘rules’ of historiography by elaborating on Cicero’s achievements and allowing prejudice and affection to take precedence over truth (}}2–3). Cicero suggests that his achievements offer plenty of scope for entertaining the reader; entertainment is not linked to either truth or prejudice, but instead is presented by Cicero as an independent and even desirable characteristic of historiography (}}4–5).82 Cicero does not actually call Herodotus ‘father of lies’ in Laws83 and it is important to consider the sequence of thought which gives rise to Cicero’s comments. Cicero has already remarked that he does not want to gain the reputation of a liar (ego me cupio non mendacem putari, ‘I do not wish to be thought a liar’: Laws 1.4). The purpose of his comment on Herodotus and Theopompus is not to suggest that they are liars, but instead to demonstrate that even among writers of history, with its different rules, there are still some who have included fabulae. His defence for not being branded a liar, in other words, is firstly, that he should be judged according to the rules of poetry, not history, and secondly, that even taking the different rules of history into account, there can be exceptions: the rationale, it seems, is that if Herodotus as pater historiae can include fabulae in a book of history, then Cicero can certainly include them in a poem, since poetry has more licence with the truth. But Cicero does not directly accuse Herodotus of lies, just as he does not want to be accused of them himself.

81

The designation pater historiae is characteristic of Cicero’s manner of constructing literary history in genealogical terms under a pater familias: cf. pater eloquentiae (of Isocrates: De Orat. 2.10), parentem philosophiae (of Socrates: De Nat. Deorum 1.93), and Dyck (2004), 69, for additional examples. For Herodotus’ status as founder of the genre, cf. De Orat. 2.55. Compare also the description of Herodotus as  IæåÆÅ ƒ æÅ æÆØ (‘lord of Ionian ancient history’) Chapter One, 30, 32. 82 See Woodman (1988), 70–5, for discussion of this letter’s implications for Cicero’s views on historiography. 83 That title in fact derives from Juan Luis Vives (sixteenth century AD), De Disciplinis Libri xii: ‘Herodotus quem verius mendaciorum patrem dixeris quam quomodo illum vocant nonnulli, parentem historiae’ (‘ . . . Herodotus, whom you should really call Father of Lies, rather than, as some call him, Father of History . . . ’).

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Cicero’s comments can be set against the background of ancient debates on the relationship between poetry and history, on the competing goals of pleasure and utility, and on the appropriateness of truth and ‘fiction’ (or the mythic) in different types of literary works. These debates—complex and overlapping—would all have informed judgements about the veracity of Herodotus’ work. An early instance of these interrelated debates is found in Thucydides, when he distinguishes his project from those of the poets and the logographers (1.21–2). He emphasizes his own concern for accuracy (akribeia) in report, in contrast with the poets, who (he says) exaggerate their themes beyond belief, and the logographers, who are more concerned with winning over (e æ ƪøª æ) their audiences than with the truth. A further contrast with his own work is implied: he remarks that his work’s absence of mythic material (e c

ıŁH ) may make it seem ‘less pleasurable’ (I æ  æ), but that it will be ‘useful’ (TçºØ Æ) for a particular purpose (namely, looking with clarity at what happened and what will happen again). The distinction he draws between the pleasurable and the useful become particularly relevant for historiography in the Hellenistic period,84 but pleasure and utility were possible compatible outcomes for all art forms, and especially poetry.85 Aristotle also comments on the differences between history and poetry, and suggests that there is a clear divide between them. He claims that the difference cannot be simplified to being a difference of verse and prose, and draws on the example of Herodotus: ‘Herodotus’ work could be versified and it would not be any less a kind of history with metre than it is without metre’. He remarks that the difference instead lies in focus: history, he says, describes ‘things that have happened’ (a ª  Æ), whereas poetry describes ‘what might happen, and things that are possible according to probability or necessity’ (x Æ i ªØ, ŒÆd a ıÆa ŒÆa e NŒe j e IƪŒÆE). He also comments that ‘poetry is more philosophical (çغ ç! æ) and more serious ( ıÆØ æ) than history’, because of poetry’s greater concern with universals ( Aºº a ŒÆŁºı), as compared with history’s [greater] concern with particulars (a ŒÆŁ &ŒÆ ). This he explains further with the remarks that ‘universals’ are ‘the kind of things a certain kind of person 84 85

Walbank (1990). Walbank (1990), 253. Cf. Hunter (1983), 48–51, with notes.

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characteristically says or does, according to probability or necessity’, and that ‘particulars’ are ‘what Alcibiades did or suffered’ (Poetics 9, 1451a36–b11). Aristotle’s comments, although they should be viewed above all against Plato’s polemics against poetry,86 can be viewed secondarily against the background of Thucydides’ remarks on the utility of his history. De Ste. Croix makes a strong case that in this passage, with its reference to Alcibiades, Aristotle ‘ . . . must at least have had Thucydides in mind among others, and indeed was probably thinking mainly of Thucydides . . . ’. He also argues that Aristotle selected Thucydides for his example as a historian who might seem least open to the charge of failing to deal with universals, and, defending Thucydides, de Ste. Croix suggests that he ‘ . . . realized that the study of past events can give understanding of how men are likely to behave, and can therefore provide a useful guide to action in the present’—the thinking behind Thucydides’ claims at 1.22.4.87 On this reading, Aristotle’s remarks on poetry’s more philosophical and serious nature are engaging in polemic with Thucydides’ claims of utility for his History. The vocabulary which Aristotle uses (çغ ç! æ, ıÆØ æ, ‘more philosophical’, ‘more serious’) in claiming poetry’s utility may be different, but, as de Ste. Croix’s defence of Thucydides has shown, Aristotle’s concept of poetry providing a (better) template for future action matches the grounds upon which Thucydides lays claim for his History’s utility. Aristotle should therefore be included among those authors who regarded poetry as useful (as well as pleasurable).88 Cicero suggests in the Laws that poetry and some histories (including Herodotus’) contain fabulae which are entertaining, though less accurate than the non-mythic stories with which history is often concerned. But consideration of these remarks within their immediate context in the Laws and against the long and complex background of (interrelated) arguments, on history and poetry, truth and myth, utility and entertainment, suggest that Cicero’s remarks should not be interpreted as a straightforward indictment of Herodotus’ credibility. 86 For an overview of Plato’s views on poetry, see the introduction to Murray (1996). Plato argues that poetry’s capacity for arousing emotions is dangerous rather than useful, and that the supporters of poetry need to demonstrate that poetry is not just pleasant ($ EÆ), but also useful (Tç º Æ) for government and human life (Republic 3.398a–b, 10.607d). 87 De Ste. Croix (1975); quotations at 50–1 (with original emphasis retained). 88 Contra Walbank (1990), 253–4.

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Nevertheless, it is clear that Herodotus suffered many attacks on his credibility in antiquity. Plutarch’s On the Malice of Herodotus is the fullest example surviving from the ancient world.89 In this work Herodotus is accused of lies (ł 

ÆÆ) (Malice 854f ) and compared with the (lying) bard (Malice 874b).90 The Malice has been called a ‘strange work’,91 but it may have represented just one of what was a larger corpus of polemical works directed at Herodotus. Manetho, writing in the third century, could have been the first writer in this tradition: to him is ascribed a work called Against(?) Herodotus (a æe
˙æ).92 The nature of this work is unknown, and it is possible that it was intended as a supplement to rather than a polemic against Herodotus (the title of the work is ambiguous, as are the extant fragments); there is, however, no particular reason to doubt its existence.93 Other titles we have of anti-Herodotean works are later than Plutarch: On Herodotus’ Thefts ( æd B
˙æı ŒºB), by Valerius Pollio, On the Falsity of Herodotus’ History ( æd F ŒÆ ł F ŁÆØ c
˙æı ƒ æÆ), by Aelius Harpocration, and a speech Against(?) Herodotus (æe
˙æ), by Libanius.94 It is then unclear whether there was a tradition of anti-Herodotean literature in the Hellenistic period, and how typical or unique Plutarch’s work was in terms of what went before (or after). There are, however, numerous authors who attack Herodotus incidentally in their works (rather than devoting entire works to this purpose). Ctesias of Cnidus, for example, subjected Herodotus’ work to sustained

89

For a fuller treatment, see Bowen (1992). On the quotation at Malice 874b, see further below. 91 92 Hornblower (2006), 316. Manetho FGrH 609 F 13. 93 Cf. Murray (1972, 210), who suggests that a æe
˙æ may be a characterization of Manetho’s main work, rather than the title of a separate work. On the ambiguity of æ in titles, see Pfeiffer (1968), 133. All that is preserved from this work is the ‘information’ that lions never sleep (FGrH 609 F 13). The fragments show that this belief, along with the belief that the lion was Oı æŒ Æ (‘very sharpsighted’), was used by later etymologists to support a relationship between ºø (‘see’) and ºø (‘lion’). Does the word Oı æŒ Æ also derive from Manetho’s comments on the lion? Herodotus uses this adjective once to describe the crocodile (2.68.4). It could have been in response to this that Manetho made his remark, either as a supplement, if he understood Oı æŒ Æ in the Herodotean context as ‘very sharp-sighted’ (i.e. ‘the lion, which never sleeps, is also very sharp-sighted’), or as polemic, if he understood it as ‘most sharp-sighted [of all animals]’ (i.e. ‘the lion, which never sleeps, is the most sharp-sighted animal, not the crocodile’). 94 References to these three works are found, respectively, in: Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica 10.3.23; Suda s.v. ‘Aelius Harpocration’; Libanius Ep. 615 (to Demetrius). 90

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attacks: according to Photius, Ctesias ‘contradicted Herodotus on almost everything, rejecting him as a liar (ł  Å) on many things and calling him a fable-weaver (ºªØ)’ (FGrH 688 T 8). Aristotle refers to him as a muthologos (Gen. an. 756b6–7). Diodorus/Hecataeus refers to him intentionally ‘telling marvels and spinning tales’ at the expense of the truth for the purposes of entertainment (Diod. Sic. 1.69.7). And Josephus in the first century AD remarks that Ephorus accuses Hellanicus of lying, that Timaeus accuses Ephorus, that Timaeus’ own successors accuse him, and that ‘everyone’ accuses Herodotus of lying (Against Apion 1.16).95 Josephus’ comment draws attention to another important point, however. Herodotus was by no means alone in being accused of lying. Polemic directed at one’s predecessors was, right from the very beginnings of the Greek historiographical tradition, a standard way for a historian to assert his authority and carve out his own niche in the tradition.96 Nevertheless, Herodotus does seem to have become a particularly prominent target for such accusations. That ancient historians continued to impugn Herodotus is, however, one of the most important indications of his cultural importance. Their criticisms indicate that, despite the alleged faults with Herodotus’ Histories, later historians continued to identify with him as engaged in a project comparable to their own. The fact that the attacks on Herodotus’ credibility do not seem to have obviated the need for the attacks to continue points to his iconic status as a historian. Herodotus’ apparent immunity to the criticisms directed at him is no doubt partially due to the fact that there were a variety of different (sometimes contradictory) definitions of ‘lying’ in antiquity.97 For instance, one of the distinctions which Polybius makes in his attacks on Timaeus is between ‘the lie from ignorance’ (e ŒÆ ¼ªØÆ), which is pardonable, and ‘the lie from choice’ (e ŒÆa æÆæ Ø), which is not (12.12.4–5).98 This is a telling distinction when viewed alongside some of the charges of lying made against Herodotus. Agatharchides of Cnidus (second century) discusses the ever-topical problems of the source and inundation of the Nile, and prefaces his

95

On Herodotus’ reputation for lies: Evans (1968), 14. On the role of polemic in ancient historiography: Marincola (1997), 225–36. 97 Wiseman (1993). 98 Wiseman (1993), 127. For similar comments (also in the context of polemic against Timaeus), cf. Diod. Sic. 13.90.6–7. 96

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discussion by asserting that his predecessors who had discussed the subject (he names several, including Herodotus) had ‘strayed far from the truth’ (ºf B IºÅŁ Æ Ø Ææ). He does not, however, accuse them of ‘lies’, but instead refers to their ignorance (B . . . H ææø ıªªæÆçø IªÆ), and even defends them by explaining that their mistakes were not due to negligence (P Øa c I º ØÆ), but to the relatively late exploration of Ethiopia.99 Such a defence of Herodotus (and others) from the charge of lying was presumably much less common than polemic, but its existence is significant (yet easily overlooked). Agatharchides’ defence seems to have been informed by a view similar to Polybius’: ignorance provides an acceptable excuse for straying from the truth. Agatharchides’ remarks suggest that Herodotus had his defenders, as well as his critics, which further explains how his reputation as a historian endured. Manetho too is said to have accused Herodotus of ‘lying through ignorance ( IªÆ Kł ı

)’ on Egyptian matters (FGrH 609 F 7a). This may indicate that the character of Manetho’s polemic against Herodotus was somewhat less hostile than Plutarch’s.100 Diodorus/Hecataeus, on the other hand, accused Herodotus of intentional fabrications (Diod. Sic. 1.69.7). Strabo, however, considers that those historians who include muthoi for entertainment without acknowledging that they are doing so (such as Herodotus, Ctesias, and Hellanicus) are being intentionally misleading, and suggests that their apparent ignorance about the truth of such stories is only a front (çÆ ÆØ ªaæ PŁ, ‹Ø

Łı ÆæƺŒı Ø %Œ , PŒ IªÆfi H Zø . . . , ŒF Ø b ŒÆ ¼ªØÆ . . . ) (Geography 1.2.35). We have seen that Herodotus was often accused of telling lies, of various sorts (but that he is by no means the only historian to suffer from such accusations). Herodotus was criticized and, on occasion, defended. Inconsistencies in judgements probably reflect changing and conflicting views about the nature of historiography. In particular, ‘entertainment’ (regularly associated with muthoi/fabulae) seems to have been disparaged by some as inappropriate in historiography for supposedly coming at the expense of truth, regarded by others as acceptable even when it sacrificed truth, and regarded by others again as acceptable and compatible with truth. Herodotus certainly seems 99

On Agatharchides: cf. Chapter Three, pp. 129–37. Cf. Hornblower (2006), 314, who sees in this remark ‘a hint of patronizing charity’. 100

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to have been a particularly favoured target for criticism. Yet even criticisms indicate that later historians continued to identify with Herodotus as their intellectual ancestor, engaged in a comparable enterprise to their own. It is against this complicated background that the naming of Herodotus in the second century as ‘prose Homer of history’ must be judged. The appellation can perhaps be seen as cleverly negotiating Herodotus’ ambiguous position. On the one hand, equating Herodotus with Homer acknowledges his association with poetry. As we have seen, this is suggestive of a perception that his history contained muthoi and other entertaining elements which some thought unsuitable for history, although they were acknowledged to be pleasurable. The author of the Salmakis Inscription was presumably concerned to allude to the pleasure gained from reading the Histories, rather than to criticize Herodotus’ credentials as a historian, since he is careful to classify Herodotus’ work as ‘history’. But the link made between pleasure in historiography and a looseness with the truth would have been difficult to gloss over entirely, especially since Herodotus’ reputation for lying was well established by the second century. Homer was of course also sometimes characterized as a liar by ancient critics. One of the most explicit statements comes from Aristotle’s Poetics: ‘Homer most of all taught the others [sc. poets] also to tell lies as they should’ ( Æå  b ºØ Æ O Åæ ŒÆd f ¼ººı ł ıB ºª Ø ‰  E) (1460a18–19). The sentiment that Homer lied is found already in Pindar, who suggested that Odysseus’ experiences have been exaggerated ‘by sweet-speaking Homer, since in his lies and winged artfulness there is certain solemnity, and poetry deceives, seducing with words’ (Øa e ±ı B . . . O Åæ· | K d ł   ƒ Æfi A ÆåÆfi A | e   Ø· çÆ b Œº Ø ÆæªØ Æ ŁØ) (N. 7.21–3). Herodotus himself also implies that Homer is guilty of intentional fabrications, insisting that Helen was in Egypt during the Trojan War and never went to Troy (2.113–20), and that Homer rejected this version of events as ‘unsuitable to epic’ even though he knew the story (2.116).101 It is perhaps not too speculative to suggest that in equating Herodotus with Homer, the author of the Salmakis Inscription anticipated that a connection which might be made between the two was their common 101 Dio’s Trojan Oration reflects and distorts the theme in ancient Homeric criticism of Homer’s skilful lies: see Hunter (2009b).

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reputation for lies. There is a certain irony that Herodotus came to be associated with the very writer he accuses of intentional fictions, especially if this association was in part due to Herodotus’ own reputation for fictions, intentional or otherwise. Like Homer, however, Herodotus’ cultural importance need not have been diminished in any way by such a reputation. Writing perhaps some 250 years later than the author of the Salmakis Inscription, Plutarch hints at the double-edged nature of Herodotus’ reputation. Plutarch explicitly compares Herodotus to the aoidos, the Homeric bard, thus aligning the historian with the epic poet.102 The parallels hinted at by Plutarch form a fitting conclusion to this chapter: ªæÆçØŒe ±Åæ, ŒÆd $ı › ºª, ŒÆd åæØ  Ø ŒÆd  ØÅ ŒÆd uæÆ E ØŪ Æ Ø· “ FŁ  ‰ ‹ IØ, KØ Æ ø” b h, ºØªıæH b ŒÆd ªºÆçıæH Mªæ ıŒ . I º Ø ÆFÆ ŒÆd ŒÅº E ŒÆd æ ª ÆØ Æ, Iºº u  æ K ÞØ  E ŒÆŁÆæÆ çıº ŁÆØ c ºÆ çÅ Æ ÆPF ŒÆd ŒÆŒºªÆ . . . ‘Herodotus is an artist, and his tale is sweet, and there is grace and force and elegance in his stories. He has told his ‘story like a bard, with understanding’103—well, not that, but with polish and clarity. This puts everyone off their guard and bewitches them and draws them on, but just as with roses one must beware the rose-beetle, so must one beware Herodotus’ defamation and slander . . . ’ Plutarch, Malice 874b

The quotation comes from the Odyssey, forming part of Alcinous’ compliment to Odysseus when he pauses in his story about his travels. In terms of its original context, it in some ways appears to be an infelicitous choice. Alcinous contrasts Odysseus’ story with tales which seem plausible when they are in fact untrue: Alcinous regards Odysseus as a reliable narrator (11.363–9). Plutarch, on the other hand, throughout his treatise calls into question the reliability of Herodotus’ stories. However, Plutarch uses the quotation only to reject it (partially) immediately afterwards (‘ . . . well, not that . . . ’). The bard-like qualities of Herodotus’ work are thus on Plutarch’s reading only partial: the bewitching stylistic features are there, but the

102 Admittedly Homer is not mentioned specifically. Cf. Bowen (1992), 97, who translates IØ as ‘a Homer’. 103 Od. 11.368.

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‘understanding’ which the bard has, and which indeed the ‘bard-like’ Odysseus of Odyssey 11 has, is lacking. The significance of the Homeric quotation in the narrative may go deeper than this. John Marincola has highlighted the importance of Odysseus as a model figure for the historians. Odysseus’ reputation as a deceitful liar perhaps makes him seem a rather unnatural choice,104 and it is largely due to his other attributes that he was regarded as a suitable figure: Marincola discusses how many of the epic hero’s characteristics could be appropriated in various ways by ancient historiographers. Odysseus the liar was less in evidence than Odysseus the explorer and enquirer. For the historians, emulation of Odysseus could be desirable.105 Yet Lucian, writing his True Histories in the second century AD, criticizes Odysseus’ lying reputation for its negative influence on some historians. He warns against those writers who write ‘a variety of lies in a credible and plausible manner’ and whose writings please the audience because of ‘the strangeness of the subject or the pleasure of the arrangement’ (1.2). Only the historians Ctesias and Iambulus are named at this point, but it is clear that Lucian also had Herodotus in mind; there are many instances in True Histories where the Histories are parodied, and later in the work Herodotus is grouped with Ctesias and other historians said to be guilty of lies (2.31). Odysseus though is the prime target: ‘The leader of these writers and the teacher of such nonsense is Homer’s Odysseus, telling Alcinous about the enslavement of the winds, and the one-eyed men, and . . . (et cetera) . . . with many such tales he enchanted those simpletons, the Phaeacians.’ Lucian, True Histories, 1.3

This reveals a view that much of what we traditionally think of as Odysseus’ adventures, all of Odyssey 9–12, were in fact thought of by some in antiquity as (more of) Odysseus’ lies. In other passages of the Odyssey the external audience is privy to the knowledge that Odysseus deceives his internal audience, such as in his conversations with Eumaeus and Penelope. The possibility that Odysseus could be lying is alluded to by Alcinous (Od. 11.363–9), but there is no indication (from the primary narrator) as to whether or not Odysseus dissembles. Lucian was clearly of the view that the ‘Phaeacian tales’ 104

Cf. Marincola (2007a), 47–51.

105

Marincola (2007a).

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were to be regarded as fabrications. And the view had a long history, going back at least as early as Plato: the expression #ºŒı Iºª (‘reply to Alcinous’) became proverbial, being used to refer to long and unreliable stories.106 On one level Plutarch’s comparison of Herodotus with the aoidos can be seen as highly favourable. Odysseus was after all a consummate story-teller. It would not be surprising if Plutarch’s choice of adjectives to describe Herodotus were used of Odysseus’ speeches too in rhetorical treatises. Certainly, we know from Hermogenes that the ‘force’ ( ØÅ) which Plutarch ascribes to Herodotus’ narrative was considered to be a particularly Odyssean attribute.107 Therefore Plutarch’s remark that Herodotus’ narrative has ‘force’ may be designed specifically to highlight a connection between Herodotean and Odyssean narrative, and it can certainly be seen at the very least as a positive comment on Herodotus’ ability in the construction of his narrative. Yet Plutarch’s more blatant comparison of Herodotus with Odysseus the aoidos seems designed to draw attention not just to the artistic skill involved in the composition of the Histories, but also to their unreliable nature. Plutarch’s rhetorical correction of the quotation (‘ . . . well, not with that . . . ’) suggests he adopts a standpoint rather like Lucian’s when it comes to the ‘Phaeacian tales’. For Plutarch, Herodotus is like the sweet-talking, lying Odysseus; like Lucian after him, Plutarch appropriates one Homeric ‘father of history’ to comment on another. His choice of quotation perhaps also makes a comment on the nature of Herodotus’ audiences: those who admire the Histories in the same unguarded way in which Alcinous admired Odysseus’ story-telling are overly credulous, just as some had judged the Phaeacians to be.

106 Plato (Republic, X 614b2) is the earliest instance of the expression, although it seems likely he was not the first to use it. The expression is discussed in Tümpel (1893). Cf. Reitzenstein (1906), 6–8. See also Hunter (2012), 42 n.16. 107 In his discussion of ‘force’ (Rabe, 368–80), Hermogenes adopts an agonistic stance, suggesting that he expected his definition to be controversial. He explains that the Homeric usage of  Ø, and in particular the speeches made by Homer’s Odysseus, confirm his definition of  ØÅ. A tacit premise of Hermogenes’ argument is that Odysseus is a forceful speaker.

Epilogue ‘
æd ’ i ºıfiÅ, K
ØåE Åb ŒÆº Ø Œø ZºØ , Iºº’ Pıå Æ . . . Œ
Ø b åæc
Æe åæ Æ  c ºıc ŒB fi I
ÆØ·
ºº EØ ªaæ c 
 Æ Zº  › Łe
æ ææÇ ı I æł.’ ÆFÆ º ªø fiH ˚æ ø fi h Œø h KåÆæÇ . . . ‘ . . . Until he is dead, refrain from calling a man happy—call him fortunate instead . . . It is necessary to look to the end of everything, to see how things turn out, because the god promises prosperity to many men, but then destroys them utterly.’ These sentiments did not endear Solon to Croesus . . . Herodotus, Histories 1.32–3

Solon’s warning to Croesus encourages readers to reflect upon the vicissitudes of men’s lives, and on the appropriate ways of measuring human happiness. We do not know whether Herodotus died ‘happy’, or even the more basic details of his life and death. The Histories has lived on a life after him, however, accomplishing his aim that the events he records ‘might not be obliterated by time’ (Preface). Through the Histories Herodotus has spoken meaningfully to generations of readers he would never know and could never have imagined—a fact which has helped ensure the Histories’ transmission and survival to this day. Some, like Croesus, have not liked what they have heard, while others have been more sympathetic. Individual judgements on the Histories are all but fleeting moments in its reception history, although some have proven significantly more influential, or have received significantly more attention than others. Responses to the Histories from the death of Alexander to the middle of the second century were rich and varied, and detailed study of these has highlighted how complex the Histories’ reception history was already at its early stages. The generic categorization of Herodotus’ work as ‘history’, and the corresponding tendency to give privileged attention to Herodotus’ place in the historiographical tradition, have in the past resulted in some neglect in attention to Herodotus’ appeal and interest to writers who are not usually counted among the historians. The range of Hellenistic writers that can be seen responding to Herodotus’ work is a reflection of the Histories’

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own broad scope, and is testimony to the Histories’ perceived relevance and continued importance in this later age. Herodotus was much more than just an excellent stylist to be imitated—his record of the watershed events of the Persian Wars, his fascination with different places and cultures and with what it meant to be Greek, his thirst for knowledge and explanations, his interest in the incredible and his speculations about the unknown, all foreshadowed the concerns and interests of Hellenistic readers and contributed to the continuing engagement with and contestation of Herodotus’ work. Wherever the vicissitudes of fortune take it in future readers’ estimations, the Histories will remain alive and relevant as long as it continues to be read and debated. Attention to the Histories’ own reception history has the potential to enrich these readings in many ways—not least by reminding us that our own responses are products of our context, by privileging perspectives which are often refreshingly different from our own, and by alerting us to scholarly positions that risk becoming unduly entrenched. Variety in approach in the writing of Herodotus’ reception history will continue to provide new insights, and together, different accounts will help to create the multidimensional image we seek—even if it is, inevitably, flickering in its nature.1

1

Hexter (2006), 30; cf. Introduction, p. 11.

APPENDIX

Aristarchus’ Commentary on Herodotus According to the ancient biographical traditions Herodotus was born around 484, and was honoured by the Athenian council in 445/4, before emigrating to the new pan-Hellenic settlement of Thurii, founded in 444/3. Some 300 years later, the most famous and important of the Alexandrian philologists, Aristarchus of Samothrace, was working under the patronage of Ptolemy VI Philometor (180–145 BC). We know most about Aristarchus’ studies on Homer, and all of the commentaries attributed to him focus on poets, with the single exception of a commentary on Herodotus, which survives in brief fragments on a papyrus (P. Amherst XII).1 Aristarchus’ commentaries and textual interpretations had an important impact on the subsequent transmission of Classical texts. The papyrus offers valuable evidence for one very close, scholarly, and very likely influential reading of Herodotus, and although so little remains, it contains tantalizing hints of the subjects and ideas that interested Aristarchus. It represents a highly significant piece in the jigsaw of Herodotus’ reception history. The identification of the commentary rests on the title on the papyrus: Aristarchus’ Commentary on Book I of Herodotus (
æØæåı ‘˙æı Æ
 ÅÆ). The commentary apparently relates to Histories 1.183–94 (or possibly 1.191–4),2 and 1.215. These passages of Herodotus concern the shrine of Zeus at Babylon (}183), the achievements of the Babylonian queens Semiramis (}184) and Nitocris (}}185–7), the attack against and taking of Babylon by Cyrus (}}188–91), the wealth of the Persian satrapy of Assyria (}192), the crops of Assyria (}193), the ‘amazing’ round Assyrian cargo boats (}194), and finally, skipping forward several sections in the Histories, the battle-dress of the Massagetae (}215). The commentary comprises two columns, the first of which is highly fragmentary. At column 2, line 3, the commentary jumps suddenly from }193.3 of the Histories to }215.1 (an omission equivalent to a full twelve Oxford Classical Text pages of

1 First published: Grenfell and Hunt (1901), vol. 2, 3–4 (no.12). Reprinted with bibliography: Paap (1948), 37–40. See also the recent discussions by Vannini (2009) and Montana (2012) which suggest new readings in (respectively) Column 2, lines 3–4, and Column 1, line 4. Schironi (2005) argues that Aristarchus also produced an edition of and commentary on Plato. 2 See Montana (2012).

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Herodotus). The level of detail in some of the preserved sections is fairly extensive: for instance, ten (admittedly, short) lines in column 2 are devoted to discussion of }215.1 (a section which comprises only six lines of the Oxford Classical Text edition text). This could suggest that this papyrus is a series of excerpts from a more extensive commentary by Aristarchus;3 or perhaps it is simply the case that Aristarchus’ commentary itself was selective and uneven in its character.4 Column 1 of the commentary is too badly preserved to be able to recover more than the occasional word. Fausto Montana has recently made some cautious suggestions about the parts of the Histories this column of the commentary relates to, and concludes that it concerns either }}183.2– 194.2, or }}191.6–194.2. (Previously it had been assumed that the column concerned only Histories 1.193.2–194.2.) In column 2, we have: |  x Æ F çæFØ ƒ ÆŒçæF |  (lines 1–2) (‘ . . . such as the sack-wearers (=porters?) now wear’). This apparently refers to the waterproof leather (ØçŁæÆ  ªÆÆ) which Herodotus describes as covering the exterior of the round Armenian boats (1.194.2); in Pollux’s Onomasticon there are two references to this waterproof leather being used for clothing.5 Next there is a comment on the ‘live donkey’ of Histories 1.194.3, which each of the Assyrian cargo boats carry: Z  Ç K[Ø] · x Ø ŒÆd K E |

ºØ Z [Ø ºı] (lines 2–3) (‘There is a live donkey: (there are) also [wooden] types of donkey in the boats’. The restoration of line 3 is Radermacher’s: he suggests that the qualification ‘live’ is to distinguish the donkey from the ‘wooden donkeys’—that is, windlasses—which were found in boats.6 Herodotus later mentions such ‘wooden donkeys’ in the description of Xerxes’ pontoon bridge across the Hellespont (7.36.3). If Radermacher’s restoration is correct, then the comment indicates an extremely close reading of Herodotus’ text: it would explain the presence of an adjective which might easily be overlooked, or else might be thought to be redundant. The restoration remains uncertain, however.7 The next lines skip forward to commentary on 1.215.1. The first remarks concern the word anippoi (¼ Ø

[Ø, ‘without cavalry’), which is preserved in _ Herodotus. _ all the extant manuscripts of Aristarchus suggests the variant 3 Cf. Pfeiffer (1968), 224–5: ‘the scribe must have used a defective copy or an arbitrary excerpt of Aristarchus’ commentary’. Similarly: Radermacher (1902), 139, Viereck (1902), 716, Crönert (1903), 359. 4 Cf. Montana (2012), 76, who describes the extant commentary as ‘selettiva e desultoria’ (‘selective and desultory’). See also Grenfell and Hunt (1901), vol. 2, 3: ‘Unless the papyrus gives only a series of excerpts from Aristarchus’ commentary, which is not very likely, that work must have been extremely brief . . . ’; and West (1983), 130 n.52. 5 Pollux 7.70, 10.180. Cf. Paap (1948), 39. 6 7 Radermacher (1902), 139. Cf. Vannini (2009), 95 n.7.

Appendix

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hamippoi (–Ø

Ø, ‘cavalry with infantry’),8 and offers the following explanation: ¥ ]

Ø [ P] _ ªøªØ ƒ AØ    Ø ŒÆd [K ’] ÆPH _ _ _ Ø  Oå[ ] Ø· ƒ læø  E –æÆ Ø æºÆı  ŒÆd oø I Æ[Ø]  · ƒ b æ[e] Kº[[ø·̊ ]]Ø , n b I  ÆØ , n b [] ø Ææ å  c F  Øåı åæ Æ : ‘ . . . two well-trained horses are harnessed to a chariot and men are carried on it. The heroes rode up on their chariots and dismounted in this way: to bring about a defeat, one man dismounted, while the other man stayed and acted as charioteer’. col. 2, lines 4–10 We do not know whether the Massagetae sometimes fought in this manner, and the merit of Aristarchus’ textual emendation is therefore uncertain. However, the reference to ‘heroes’ in this note is particularly interesting: Aristarchus implies that the precedent of heroic practice provides suitable evidence for believing that there had been a similar custom among the Massagetae. There are references in the Homeric scholia and Eustathius’ Commentary on the Odyssey to this heroic manner of fighting,9 and Radermacher remarks that this detail ‘betrays the Homeric critic’.10 Drawing comparisons between ‘barbarian’ and ‘heroic’ practice had precedents. In his Homeric Problems, Aristotle explained some heroic practice by reference to contemporary practices among different peoples (Greek as well as non-Greek). In reference to Iliad 10.153, which describes Greek spears driven into the ground with their base ferrules, Aristotle explains that this was (in his time) contemporary practice among the Illyrians.11 The ‘problem’ of unfamiliar practice by Greek heroes is thus apparently considered resolved by evidence for the same custom among non-Greeks.12 8

Cf. Vannini (2009), who suggests that hamippoi was the received text in Aristarchus’ version of the Histories. Her restoration of col. 2, lines 3–4 could well be correct, but does not necessarily mean that the variant reading hamippoi is not Aristarchus’ own. 9 E.g. Eustathius, Comm. Od. (Van der Valk, vol. 1, p. 222, 5–8). Scholion to Iliad 15.679b (Erbse). 10 Radermacher (1902), 139: ‘ . . . verräth den Homerkritiker . . . ’. Cf. Pfeiffer (1968), 225. 11 F 383 (Gigon) = F 160 (Rose); cf. Poetics 1461a3. 12 Cf. Porphyry ad loc. Another Homeric ‘problem’ was the way Achilles had treated Hector’s corpse: Plato rejects as a lie the story in the Iliad that Achilles had dragged the body of Hector around Patroclus’ grave (Republic 3.391b; Iliad 24.14–16).

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Appendix

Evidence from Xenophon also suggests that the same customs could be described variously as ‘barbarian’ or ‘heroic’, even though the connotations of each description were very different. On the elaborate funerary practices of the Lacedaemonian kings, Herodotus had remarked that they resembled those ‘among the barbarians in Asia’ (6.58.2). Xenophon, in contrast, remarks that, in death, the Lacedaemonian kings are honoured ‘not as people, but as heroes’ (Lac. Pol. 15.9). Xenophon may be tacitly defending the funerary customs from charges of ‘barbarism’, and possibly from Herodotus’ remarks specifically.13 Aristarchus’ textual emendation represents an intriguing reversal of the types of explanation offered by Aristotle. Whereas Aristotle drew on familiar customs among non-Greeks (and sometimes Greeks) to explain unfamiliar heroic practices, Aristarchus appears to be using familiar heroic practice to explain the unfamiliar customs of a non-Greek people. Aristarchus’ description of Massagetan custom as ‘heroic’ raises questions about the way in which he and other Alexandrian scholars approached Herodotus’ text. If we possessed all of Aristarchus’ commentary, would we find other examples of Herodotus’ descriptions of barbarian customs being assimilated with Greek heroic practice? And if so, what would this mean? Does it merely reflect the nature of scholarship at Alexandria, with its overwhelming bias towards study of the Homeric poems (as Radermacher appears to have been suggesting), or does it also in some way reflect Greek attitudes to nonGreeks? After Alexander’s conquests the dichotomy of Greek and Barbarian lost much of its power: increased ethnic and geographic cosmopolitanism changed the sense of the alien ‘Other’.14 In the Ptolemaic Alexandrian context, Eratosthenes apparently explicitly challenged the long-standing division of peoples into Greeks and Barbarians, suggesting that people should instead be classified as either virtuous or bad (Strabo, Geography 1.4.9). The Pergamene sculptures of the Gauls commemorating Attalus I’s victory over the Tolistoagii Gauls at the Caicus river (238/7?)—if it is correct to see these as sympathetic and idealizing portrayals of the enemy in defeat— have also been cited as evidence of subtly changing attitudes towards non-Greeks. ‘These Gauls, in the eyes of latter-day Greeks . . . displayed

In response to this ‘problem’, Aristotle draws attention to the Thessalian practice surviving into his own day of dragging the corpses of murderers around the tombs of men they had murdered (F 166 (Rose); Schol. B. Il. 24.15). Contemporary practice again provides an explanation for a troubling heroic practice. 13 Cf. also Thucydides’ discussion of the similarities he sees between customs practised in ancient Hellas and contemporary ‘barbarian’ customs (History, 1.6). 14 Green (1996), 26.

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many of the old Homeric virtues: bravery, heroic areté, a warrior code of honor’.15 The prestige of the heroic world was enduring, and on one level Aristarchus’ comparison appears analogous to Xenophon’s remarks on the funerary rites of the Lacedaemonian kings: contrary to expectations, the Massagetae’s customs are allied with those of the Homeric heroes, rather than described as ‘barbarian’, which could be perceived as a slur. Yet, since the Massagetae actually were non-Greek, unlike the Lacedaemonians, the allusion to heroic practice is more striking. It is worth remembering here just how remarkable the Histories are for their lack of prejudice in the presentation of non-Greeks. In the Histories, both Greeks and non-Greeks have able rulers, and both have tyrants; both have brave fighters, both have cowards; both can behave admirably, both can behave repellently. There is, as John Marincola puts it, ‘a certain permeability of custom and manner’.16 This even-handed treatment extends even to the Persian aggressor.17 All this would make the Histories a particularly suitable source for readers interested in portraying non-Greeks in sympathetic and idealizing ways.18 The way in which Alexandrian Greeks negotiated their ambiguous position as inheritors of Hellenic culture is controversial, which makes it especially important to remain alert to any clues about Greek attitudes towards non-Greeks. In relation to the ‘high’ poetry of Callimachus, Apollonius, and Theocritus, Richard Hunter has remarked that ‘the Ptolemaic court was not the right place for strident assertions of cultural and racial superiority’.19 Aristarchus belongs to a later time, his floruit around 100 years after these poets. His comments hint at a move not only away from the relatively rigid dichotomy of Greek and Barbarian, but towards a situation where some nonGreeks were appropriated into the world of the Homeric hero, a world where the Greek–Barbarian dichotomy was less pronounced.20 Some of the Homeric scholia are notable for their bias against the ‘barbarian’ Trojans, at times going to great lengths to demonstrate that Homer was ‘always a phil-Hellene’ (I d çغººÅ › ØÅ).21 In the second century AD

15

Green (1996), 26. Cf. also Green (1990), 339–41 (with references). 17 Marincola (2001), 53. See also: Pelling (1997). Briant (1990). 18 So too would Xenophon’s Cyropaedia. On the possible relationship of this work to the practices of Hellenistic kings, see Farber (1979). 19 Hunter (1991), 83–4. 20 Although the concept of ‘barbarian’ was post-Homeric (Hall: 1989), references to barbaroi in the Homeric scholia suggest that this was not always recognized in antiquity. On the blurring of the Greek–Barbarian dichotomy in Ptolemaic Alexandria, see Stephens (2003), esp. 183. 21 Dittenberger (1905), 460ff; Richardson (1980), 273–4. Cf. bT scholia to Il. 4.13, 11.116–17, 304. Such interpretations are usually found in the bT scholia and only 16

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Plutarch would call Herodotus a ‘barbarian-lover’ (philobarbaros: Malice 857a). It is attractive to imagine this as, on the one hand, a response to scholarship that looked for and projected onto the Histories sympathetic and idealizing treatments of non-Greek peoples, and on the other, scholarship which collected Iliadic examples of Homer’s alleged phil-hellenism (there is some evidence that this type of scholarship was particularly a product of Roman Imperial times).22 Herodotus would then become a kind of antiHomer, conspicuous for a portrayal of Greeks and Barbarians which fell short of patriotic Greek expectations. The next entry in the commentary after anippoi relates to the word sagaris. Herodotus mentions this as a type of weapon which the Massagetae carry (in addition to bows and spears) (2.215.1). Aristarchus provides a brief definition for the sagaris: ‘a Scythian battle-axe (pelekus), like the Amazons carry’ (col. 2, lines 10–12). The connection with Scythian weaponry agrees with the internal evidence from Herodotus, since he has already mentioned that the Massagetan dress and way of life resemble those of the Scythians (2.215.1), and he mentions the sagaris again subsequently in connection with the Scythians (4.5.3, 4.70, 7.64.2). The note that the Amazons also carry the sagaris is independent of Herodotus (cf. Xen. An. 4.4.16). In light of the discussion above, it is perhaps significant that the pelekus, to which Aristarchus likens the sagaris, is the usual Homeric word for an axe (compare Histories 7.64.2, where the sagaris is described using the more prosaic term for an axe, axinē). Aristarchus thus describes the ‘barbarian’ Massagetans, Scythians, and Amazons as all using a weapon suitable for Homeric heroes. The final extant remarks in Aristarchus’ Commentary include a quotation from Ion(?) and Sophocles. If the restored text is correct (which is far from certain in this case), we may translate as follows: ‘Ion said correctly: “ . . . for buying a boss (çº]Ææ ) . . . ”.’23 This quotation is presumably added to the _ _ to Herodotus’ comment that the Massagetae use commentary in response bronze and gold extensively, including gold for the bridles, bits, and cheekbosses (çºÆæÆ) of their horses (1.215.2). The point of the quotation which Aristarchus selects is perhaps related to the valuable nature of the material that is used. Aristarchus adds the comment: ‘Sophocles in Shepherds [wrote]: “Neither bronze nor iron can touch his skin”’ in reference to Herodotus’ detail that the Massagetae do not use iron or silver (TrGF F 500). Herodotus explains that this

rarely in the A scholia, suggesting that the most extreme form of this type of scholarship does not derive from the Alexandrians: Richardson (1980), 273–4. 22 The name ‘Pius’ is found in connection with some of these comments and, interestingly, Pius is known to have contradicted readings of Aristarchus: Dittenberger (1905), 466 n.2. Cf. also n.21 above. 23 The perfect passive of K ÅÆØ is usually used in an active sense: LSJ (s.v. T ÆØ).

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is due to their land lacking iron and silver, so it is unclear why Aristarchus considered the Sophoclean quotation relevant here. Paap suggests that Aristarchus wants to show that Sophocles drew from the Histories.24 If correct, this would be early evidence of an ancient interest in drawing intellectual connections between the two writers.25 Without knowing the original context of the Sophoclean quotation, however, it remains uncertain why Aristarchus cites it here, and at this point the remains of the commentary end.

24

Paap (1948), 40.

25

Cf. Chapter One, 45–6.

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General Index Achilles 149, 152, 207, 225 n.12 Adeimantus 44 n.103 and n.104 Aeetes 173, 174 Aegae 35 Aesop 95, 97 aesthetics 94, 97, 99–104, 147, 198–9, 202–4 aetiology 107 of historical inquiry 105 of philosophy 105 Africa 122, 123, 124, 126, 129, 134, 135, 138 n.90 Agatharchides of Cnidus 117, 121, 123, 146, 155, 214–15 on the Nile 128–37 respectful attitude towards Herodotus 130 akribeia 131 n.67, 211 Alcibiades 212 Alcinous 174, 175, 177, 178 ‘reply to Alcinous’, expression 217–19 Alcmeonids, alleged treason 60 n.42, 70 Aleuas 36 Alexander I of Macedon 36–7, 37 n.74, n.76 and n.78 Alexander III of Macedon, see Alexander the Great Alexander the Great 1, 3, 15 n.57, 30, 40, 43, 91 n.131, 110, 111, 120–1, 123, 124, 124 n.49, 139, 141, 142, 142 n.111, 143, 148 n.65, 184 n.67, 185 n.74, 226 Alexandria Library of 83, 97, 104, 206 Lighthouse of 90 n.129 Great Theatre of 40, 40 n.94 Alexandrian footnote 140 Amasis 2, 101 n.169 Ammonius 189–90 Amyntas I of Macedon 35, 36 n.70, 37 Anacreon 39, 102 reception of 39 n.83 anapausis 207–9 Anaxagoras of Clazomenae 119 n.33, 135

Anaximander 119 n.32, 145, 196 Andron 34, 188, 192 n.21, 200 Antichthones, see Antipodes Antigonus Gonatas 159 Antiochus I 3, 159 Antipater of Magnesia 36 Antipater of Sidon 89–90, 91 n.130, 92, 93–4, 200 Antipater of Thessalonica 89 n.124, 190 Antipodes 115 Aphetae 150, 151, 152, 153, 154 Apollodorus of Athens 28 n.45 Apollonius of Rhodes 9, 10, 83, 86 n.110, 100, 126, 185–6, 227 Argonautica geography of 144–55 ‘Hellas’ in 173–4 Medea’s motivations 175–6, 178 plausible contestabilities in 176–7 theme of intercontinental conflict 173 theme of responsibility for intercontinental conflict 174–9 Arabia 21, 58 flying snakes of 72–3, 80 Aral Sea 142 archaic lyric, reception 39 n.86 Archilochus 189, 194–5, 194 n.28 Arete 174–5, 177 Argeads 35, 38, 42 see also Alexander I, Alexander the Great Argonauts 126 n.53, 142 n.111, 147–9, 150–4, 155, 172, 173, 178, 182, 186 itinerary 147–9, 150–4 see also Jason, the Argonaut; Apollonius of Rhodes, Argonautica Arion of Methymna 38–40, 61 Aristarchus of Samothrace 190, 192, 197, 201, 206, 223–9 Aristophanes of Athens, playwright 16, 93, 130 n.65 Aristophanes of Boeotia 42–4

258

General Index

Aristotle 25, 27, 68–75, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 86–7, 105–7, 108, 115 n.21, 120– 2, 135 n.83, 167–8, 196, 197, 199, 205–6, 207, 211–12, 214, 216, 225–6 Arrian 1, 121 n.35 Arsinoe of Macedonia, mother of Ptolemy I 38 Arsinoe II 38 n.82 see also: Arsinoe–Aphrodite Arsinoe-Aphrodite shrine at Cape Zephyrium 38–9 Artemidorus of Ephesus 92, 117 n.27, 129 n.63 Artemisia, tyrant of Halicarnassus 20, 25 Asbystians 125–6 Asia 113–14, 129, 138, 141–2, 145, 159, 170–1, 172, 180, 181, 183, 186, 226 Assyria 91 n.132, 110, 200, 223–4 Athens and biographical traditions about Herodotus 7, 22, 26, 29, 41 n.96, 44–50 in Herodotus 44 n.105, 47 n.117, 48, 66 in Thucydides 63–8 in Timaeus 163, 167 Lesser Attalid dedication at 159–60 Athos 150, 154, 157, 183 Atossa 174–5 Attalus I 159, 226 Attalus II 115, 160 Atthis, see Hellanicus autopsy 29, 57, 79, 92, 93, 97, 99, 110 Babylon 3–4, 200 Hanging Gardens of 89 n.122, 90, 91 n.131 Herodotus’ description of 57, 91, 93 n.137, 223 Walls of 88–9, 93 barbarian, barbarians Greek–barbarian dichotomy after Alexander 226, 227 in Herodotus 107, 169, 171, 172, 228 Herodotus as a ‘barbarian-lover’ 228 Herodotus’ language as 206 n.71 practice assimilated with heroic practice 225–7 Trojans as 227 Battle of Salamis, see Salamis, Battle of Berossus 3, 91 n.131

Blemyans 127–8 Boeotian Thebes 22, 26, 42–4 Cadmus of Cos 166 Callicrates of Samos 38 n.82 Callimachus of Cyrene Aetia 104–8 and paradoxography 75–6, 77, 78, 80 and Posidippus 38 n.80, 102, 104 Iambus 6 94–9 on the Hyperboreans 112 on the Nile 124 n.48, 126 n.54, 129 Pinakes 190 Candaules 20, 204, 206 Cape Sepias in Herodotus and Apollonius 150–5 Cape Zephyrium see Arsinoe-Aphrodite Caspian Sea 142 Cassandane 79 Cassandra in Lycophron 180–5 in Pindar 176 n.46 Chiron in Apollonius 149, 152 Choerilus of Samos 27 Cicero on the rules of poetry and history 144, 209–11, 212 see also Herodotus, ‘Father of History’ Cimon, Athenian statesman, grandson of Cimon, Olympic victor 29, 46, 47 see also Alcmeonids Cimon, Olympic victor 47 Circe in Apollonius 178 circumcision 139–40, 143–4 Colchis and the Argonautic expedition 170, 173–8 location changed by Hecataeus of Abdera 141–4 stories of Egyptian foundation 138–44 contemporary history 4, 202 Corinth and biographical traditions about Herodotus 22, 26, 44 congress of 481 164–6 Cornelius Nepos 26, 29 Crates of Mallus 115, 117, 197, 198 Crete 80, 97 n.156 Croesus 57, 103, 171, 221

General Index Croton 29, 53 Ctesias 84 n.104, 198 n.45, 213–14, 215, 218 cultural pluralism 56 Cyprias 188, 189 Cyrene 125, 126 Cyrus 20, 107 n.192, 139, 223 Damastes 37 Danube, see Ister Darius in Herodotus 37, 58 n.34, 70 n.67, 139, 174–5 Delos and the Hyperboreans 111–12, 114 Inopus stream on D. connected with the Nile 124 n.48 Delphi and the Hyperboreans 111 attack by Gauls in 279/8 157, 159, 160 in Herodotus 59 n.39, 103, 166 Democritus of Abdera 134 n.79, 135 dialect Attic 203 n.63 Doric 97 n.156, 98 Ionic 20, 25, 32–3, 198, 202–6 ‘Peloponnesian’ 97 n.156 West Greek 97 n.156 Dieneces 184 Diodorus Siculus and Agatharchides of Cnidus 52, 53, 121–2, 123, 128–37 and Hecataeus of Abdera 2 n.7, 53, 138–44, 214, 215 and Timaeus of Tauromenium 137 n.86, 162–8 as a source for Hellenistic fragmentary historians 13–14 on the Persian Wars 161–2 on the third century Gallic invasion 160 Dionysius of Halicarnassus 25, 28 n.45, 92, 196–7, 198, 204–9 Dionysius Periegetes 116 n.25 Dioscorides 31 n.53 divinity, see gods Diyllus 47–8 Dodecaschoenus 122 Drepane 175 Droysen, Johann Gustav 15 n.57 Dryo, see Herodotus, family Duris of Samos 26–7, 92, 124–5

259

education 16, 191, 193 Egypt and Alexander the Great 121, 124 Hellenistic works on 2–3, 128, 137, 138 in Herodotus 1, 2, 58, 67–8, 80, 110, 119, 169, 172, 194, 216 Menelaus in 124–5 Ptolemaic Egypt 39, 40, 122, 159, 160, 179 Pyramids of 91 stories of colonization by Egypt 141, 143 Elephantine 22 n.14, 120, 128, 132, 133 Ephesus Temple(s) of Artemis 89, 91 n.130 Ephorus 53, 120, 121, 122, 130, 135, 162, 163, 164 n.24, 167 n.26, 168, 191, 192 n.17, 214 Epitome of Herodotus P. Oxy. VI 857 12 n.47 Theopompus 12–13, 192 n.17 Eratosthenes of Cyrene 114–18, 122, 127, 132 n.73, 135 n.83, 145–7, 155, 160, 226 Etesian Winds 119, 122 Ethiopia 114, 116, 117, 118, 121, 122, 124, 127–8, 129, 132, 133, 134 n.79, 215 Eudoxus of Cnidus 77 n.91, 80, 120 Eumenes II 115 euphony ancient critical interest in 198, 208 Euripides 16, 135, 176, 178 Europa 170, 172, 175, 180, 181, 185 Europe 74, 113, 114, 141, 142, 145, 170, 171, 172, 180, 182, 183, 186 Eusebius 47 Favorinus 44 Galatia 159 Gauls Attalus I’s victories over 159–60, 226 invasion of Greece in 279/8 157–60 mercenary revolt under Ptolemy II 159 Pergamene sculptures of 159–60, 226 Gelon in Herodotus and Timaeus 162, 164, 165, 165–7 geography concept of the oikoumenē 109–10

260

General Index

geography (cont.) genre 109–10 geographical uncertainties 111–37 geographies of the past 137–55 maps 113, 115, 126, 144, 145, 147, 199 n.50 of the Argonautica, see Apollonius, Argonautica, geography symmetry 113–15, 134 gods divine causation 178 n.52, 73 n.77, 80–1 divine existence 72 n.74 Herodotus’ theory of divine foresight 72–3, 81 gold-digging ants 2, 59, 60 Great Theatre of Alexandria, see Alexandria, Great Theatre of Gregory of Nazianzus 88 n.117 Gyges 6, 94 n.141, 204, 206 Halicarnassus and biographical traditions about Herodotus 25–9 and the Dorian Hexapolis 33 Carian roots 33 Hellenistic 33 Mausoleum of 89, 93 see also Salmakis Inscription Hamilcar 164–5 Hanno of Carthage, fifth century navigator 77 n.91, 124 n.50 Hecataeus of Abdera 2, 3, 4, 9, 13, 53, 112, 129 n.63, 155, 214, 215 and Diodorus Siculus 2 n.7, 53, 138–44, 214, 215 on Colchis 138–44 Hecataeus of Miletus 35, 115 n.21, 119 n.32, 129, 145, 148 Hegesias, Hellenistic comedian 40–41 Helen of Sparta/Troy 125, 170, 172, 175, 178, 181, 182, 216 phantom of 194 Hellanicus 20, 35, 129, 214, 215 Hellenismus, see Hellenistic period Hellenistic historiography and marvellous subject-matter 52–3 bias 50, 50 n.125 Hellenistic historians itinerant 23–4 payment and civic honours to 49–50

local history 23, 24, 193 pleasure and utility as aims for 211 see also polemic Hellenistic period definition 15–16 Heracleodorus 198, 204, 206 Heracles in Apollonius 151–2 in Herodotus 37, 61, 71, 151 in Lycophron 182 Hermesianax 27 n.41, 28 n.44, 32 Hermogenes of Tarsus 199–204, 207, 219 Hermophantus 41 Herodotus of Halicarnassus/Thurii and Athens 44–50 and Corinth 42–4 and Halicarnassus 25–8 and Pella 34–42 and Ptolemaic Alexandria 34–42 and Samos 25–8 and Thebes 42–4 and Thurii 28–34 biographical traditions about 19–50 birth-date 28 n.45 burial 29, 34, 46 epitaphic epigram for 29–34 family 20, 25, 30 ‘Father of History’ 6, 32, 190–1, 210 ‘Father of Lies’ 210 n.83 ‘friendship’ with Sophocles 45–6, 229 hero cult 29 n.48 Herodotus as ‘prose Homer’ 157–219 lover, see Choerilus of Samos malicious motivations, alleged 22 payments to, alleged 24, 43, 44, 48–50 philobarbaros 228 reputation for lies 209–19 see also Father of Lies travels of 21–2, 25–6 see also Histories of Herodotus Hesiod 32, 41, 57, 58, 146, 148, 195 n.30, 202–3 [Hesiod] Wedding of Ceyx 151–2 Hieronymus of Cardia 4, 160 Himera, Battle of 164–5 synchronism with Battle of Salamis 167–8 synchronism with Battle of Thermopylae 167–8

General Index Hippias of Elis 24 [Hippocrates] Airs, Waters, Places 139 n.99, 196 n.35 Hipponax 94 n.141, 97, 138 n.89 Histories of Herodotus books named after the Muses 20, 192–3 citations of 6 n.31, 78, 83 composition 26, 197, 198, 204, 206–7, 219 distinctive vocabulary remarked on 199, 206 Ionic dialect 20, 25, 32–3, 198, 202–6 popularity relative to Thucydides’ History 157 ‘publication’ 16, 26, 41 n.96 public performances at Alexandria in the third century 40–2 public performance at Olympia in the fifth century 45 reception in the fifth and fourth centuries 16 repository of cultural knowledge 39–40 style 195–209 see also wonder historiographos 22 Homer 57, 58, 65, 126 n.54, 135 n.83, 144, 145, 146, 153, 166, 186 Herodotus as ‘prose Homer’ 157–219 as ‘phil-Hellene’ 227–8 see also Trojan War Hyperboreans and Hypernotians 111–18 Hypernotians, see Hyperboreans and Hypernotians Iacchus 201 India 1, 59, 101, 121, 142 Indus River 1, 120–1 Intaphrenes’ wife 45–6 Isocrates 36, 37, 48, 178, 184, 196, 197, 205, 210 n.81 Ister 113, 114, 120, 132, 134 Jacoby, Felix 4 Jason, the Argonaut see Argonauts Jason of Argos 40 n.93 Jason of Nysa 40 n.93 Josephus 3, 25, 214 Juba II of Mauritania 123–4

261

Kingdom of Kush 122 krisis 108 kritikoi 197–8, 208–9 Lake Maeotis 141–2 Lake Tritonis 125–6 Laterculi Alexandrini 89, 92 Leonidas of Sparta 43, 66 n.60, 157, 167 Leonidas of Tarentum 32 Liber de inundatione Nili 121, 124 n.50 see also Nile River libraries see Alexandria, Pergamum Library of Alexandria, see Alexandria, Library of Library of Pergamum, see Pergamum, Library of Libya 81, 98, 114, 119, 120, 124, 125, 126, 131, 132 lies different types distinguished 215–16 Herodotus’ reputation for 209–19 Lindian Chronicle 192 Lipara 85 literacy 16 Literaten-Epigramm 25, 34, 192 n.21, 200 [Longinus] 189–90, 194, 198 Lucian 41, 192, 206, 218–19 Lycophron Alexandra 179–86 as a synoptic history of the Mediterranean 186 theme of intercontinental conflict 181–5 Lygdamis, tyrant of Halicarnassus 20, 25, 27 Lyxes, see Herodotus, family Macedon (Macedonian) 2, 28, 34–8, 45 n.109, 124, 142, 158, 182, 183 Machon 31 n.53 Manetho 2, 3, 4, 15, 137, 213, 215 Marathon, Battle of 47, 66 n.60, 159 commemorations 157 Marcellinus (biographer of Thucydides) 29, 45, 46 Marmor Parium 157 Massagetae 223, 225, 227, 228 Mauretania 122, 123 Medea 153, 170, 181, 185

262

General Index

Medea (cont.) her abduction as a catalyst for the Persian Wars 150, 172, 174–8 Medeius eponymus ancestor of the Medes 150 Medizing 37, 66 n.60 Megasthenes 2 n.6 Menelaus 125, 182 n.64 Milan Papyrus 99–100 Miltiades the Younger 46, 47 Muses 20, 34, 107, 188, 192–3, 200 myth; mythical 3, 4, 61, 69, 107, 109, 129, 146, 147, 148, 151, 153, 160, 163, 170, 171, 179, 180, 187, 201–2, 211, 212 Nabataean Arabs 4 Nasamones 124, 125, 132–4 Nearchus 1–2, 120–1 Nicias 66 speech before the Sicilian Expedition 63–4, 65, 67 Nile River alternative ancient names 126 belief it was connected to a lake ‘Nilides’ in Mauretania 123 the Euphrates 124 n.48 the Indus 120–1 the Inopus stream on Delos 124 n.48 crocodiles as evidence for identity 120, 121, 123–4 perceived similarities between the Nile and Indus 1 theories on the source(s) 60 n.42, 118–37 theories on the summertime inundation 118–37 see also Liber de inundatione Nili Nitocris 223 Nubia 122 Numidia 123 Ocean 60 n.42, 113, 115, 117, 119, 123, 126, 130, 135, 142, 144–5, 146, 147, 148, 149, 194 Odysseus 146, 216–19 Oenopides of Chios 135 Olympia 22, 24, 26, 41, 45 Pheidias’ Statue of Zeus at 91, 92, 94–9 Olympic Games 37 n.78

Pagasae 149, 151 Pan 127, 201 Panyasis 20, 25, 26–7, 34, 188, 189, 192 n.21, 200 see also Herodotus, family papyri of the Histories 6 n.31, 12 n.47 paradoxography 51–2, 54, 75–87, 100 assumed truth of subjects described 84–5 defined 76, 76 n.84 explanations lacking in 86–7 see also wonder pater historiae, see Herodotus, Father of History patronage 38–9, 48 n.119, 49–50, 77, 223 Pausanias (Spartan general) 64, 157, 165 Pausanias (travel-writer) 95–7, 103, 112, 124 n.48, 160–1, 162 Peleus, see Thetis Pella 20, 22, 29, 34–42 Peloponnesian War 28 n.45, 62, 66, 67, 158 Peneius gorge 101 Perdiccas II of Macedon 35, 36 n.70 Pergamum 32, 226 Library of 25 Periander of Corinth 38 Pericles Funeral Oration 64–8, periodization 15–16 Persia (Persians) 20, 107, 151, 152, 157, 158–60, 169–72, 180, 182–4 Herodotus’ even-handed treatment of 227 Persian Wars as a prime subject for historical revisionism 158, 162 commemoration of in Hellenistic Period 157 forged inscriptions concerning events of 48 n.119 Peutinger Map 126 Phasis River 141 Pheidias, see Olympia, Statue of Zeus Philip II 36, 37 Philistus 162, 191, 192 n.17 Philo of Byzantium 88, 90 n.128 philobarbaros 228

General Index Philodemus of Gadara 197–8, 209 Pindar 48, 111, 139 n.99, 148, 164 n.24, 165 n.25, 176 n.46, 216 Pisindelis, tyrant of Halicarnassus 20 Plataea, Battle of 44 n.104, 160, 161, 164, 165, 168 Hellenistic commemorations 157–8 Plato 21, 36, 68–70, 71 n.71, 105, 189–90, 194–5, 197, 212 n.86, 219, 223 n.1 Pliny the Elder 92, 103, 122, 123–4 Plutarch 42, 43, 44 n.104, 45, 47–9, 213, 217–19, 228 polemic 131 n.68, 138, 144, 212, 213–15 Polemon, head of the Academy 190 Polemon of Ilium 46 Polybius 5, 50, 52–3, 159, 164–8, 214–15 see also Timaeus of Tauromenium Polycrates of Samos 38–40, 102–3 Posidippus of Pella 38, 99, 101–4 prose style ancient critical discussions 190 n.8, 195–209 proxenia 49 Psammetichus 115 n.21, 120, 132 n.73 Ptolemy I (Soter) 2 n.7, 38, 100 Ptolemy II (Philadelphus) 3 n.13, 41, 52, 100, 121, 122, 159, 160 Ptolemy VI (Philometor) 223 Ptolemy VIII (Physcon) 7 Ptolemies 38, 39, 42, 100 n.168, 122 Pylius 37 Pyrrhus 185 n.74 reception studies of single authors 11–12 Red Sea 127 Rhampsinitus 56, 106 Rhodes, Colossus of 88, 90, 104 n.182 Sais Labyrinth and Temple of Athena at 57 Scribe of Athena’s treasury at 120, 132 n.73 Salamis, Battle of 44, 158, 165 synchronism with Battle of Himera 167–8 Salmakis Fountain 187 Salmakis Inscription 25, 27, 34, 187–9, 190, 195, 216–17 see also Halicarnassus Samos 20, 22, 25–8, 39 n.83, 44 n.104, 45 n.109

263

harbour mole 103 Heraion 103 Labyrinth 103 n.78 tunnel of Eupalinus 103 Sappho 176 n.49, 190, 192 n.21, 202 Scyllias 60 n.41 Seleucids 3, 160 Semiramis 89 n.122, 202, 223 Sesoösis, see Sesostris Sesostris 94 n.141, 138–44 Seven Wise Men 88 n.119 Seven Wonders of the World 87–99 see also wonder Sicily 63, 146, 163–8, 192 n.17, 208 Sicilian Expedition 63, 65, 66 Sophocles ‘friendship’ with Herodotus 45–6, 229 Sparta (Spartans) 22 n.14, 53 n.9, 65, 66 n.60, 70, 77, 157, 166, 167, 184 Speusippus 36–7 Spring of the Sun 80 see also wonder Stesichorus 178, 189, 194–5 Strabo 25, 88, 92, 114, 116, 118, 122, 127, 132 n.73, 141, 145–6, 187, 190, 215 Sybaris 29, 53 see also Thurii synchronism 167–8 Tanais River 141–3 as a continental divider 141–2 Telchines 156 n.97 Thales of Miletus 119 n.31, 135 thauma, see wonder Thebes in Boeotia, see Boeotian Thebes Themistocles 64–5, 164, 165 Theocritus 41, 97 n.156, 100, 127–8, 114 n.113, 227 Theodorus, brother of Herodotus, see Herodotus, family Theodorus of Samos 103 Theophrastus 78, 80, 82, 83, 84, 110 n.7, 121 n.39, 199 Theopompus 12–13, 24, 52, 83, 130, 191, 192 n.17, 209, 210 Thermopylae 150 attack by Gauls in 279/8 157, 159, 160 Battle of 157, 158, 160, 184 synchronism of Battle of T. with Battle of Himera 167–8 Theron of Acragas 164

264

General Index

Thessaly (Thessalians) 36, 37 n.75, 80, 159, 225 n.12 Thetis 150–3 thōma, see wonder Thucydides 50 n.125, 57, 101, 108, 130, 157, 191, 197, 200–2, 204–8, 211–12 biography, see Marcellinus on Pausanias and Themistocles 64–5, 165 popularity of Herodotus’ Histories relative to T.’s History 157 reactionary stance to Herodotean wonders 61–8 Thurii 20, 22, 25–7, 28–34 Timaeus of Locri 122 Timaeus of Tauromenium 52, 53, 78, 83, 84, 85, 86, 135 n.83, 148, 160 and Diodorus Siculus 137 n.86 and Polybius 134 n.81 focus on the Western Greek world 163–4 on Gelon 162–8 posited Persian–Carthaginian alliance 163–4 synchronism, use of 167 Trojan War 62, 147, 178, 186, 201 in Herodotus’ Histories 107, 171, 172, 191, 194, 216 see also Homer

animals 78–9, 80–2 art and architecture 87–99 and Aristotle 68–75 and Hellenistic audiences 51–4 and Hesiod 57–8 and Homer 54, 57–8 and size 71 n.70, 99–104 and Thucydides 61–8 ethnography 78 human physiology 78–9 impulse to think, learn, reason 55, 68–75, 86–7, 104–8 intellectual paradoxes 58, 60 n.42 measured and quantified 57, 91, 95–6, 98, 101–2 plants 78–9 power and empire 55, 68 n.63 rhetoric of wonder in the Histories 56–61 symptomatic of ignorance 55, 68–75, 86–7 thōma in the Histories 55–61, 84–5 unmarked wonders in the Histories 58–61 waters 78–80 see also paradoxography, Seven Wonders of the World

Varro 88, 89 Vitruvius 88 n.121, 103, 187

Xenophon Xerxes 34 n.66, 36, 37 n.74, 58 n.34, 70, 149, 150–5, 157, 160, 165–7, 173, 183–5, 202, 224

wonder, wonders, marvels

Zacynthus 79

Index of Passages Cited Aelian On the Nature of Animals 15.16: 82 Aelius Theon Progymnasmata 91.25 (Spengel): 198 n.47 116.6–9: 206 n.71 Aeschylus Persians 745–50: 184 n.67 Prometheus Bound 836: 182 n.64 Agatharchides of Cnidus On Asia FGrH 86 F19: 129 n.63 On the Erythraean Sea F 7, Burstein: 146 F 60b, Burstein: 53 F 80b, Burstein: 52 n.3 F 108, Burstein: 117 Alcaeus F 307, LP: 111 Antigonus Collection of Incredible Stories 9–13: 81 21: 78, 81 68: 79 129–73: 77 144: 80 153: 79, 80 Apollonius Parodoxographus Historiae Mirabiles 9: 79 Apollonius of Rhodes Argonautica 1.17: 173 1.20–223: 173 1.79: 173 1.249: 173 1.336: 173 1.417: 173 1.449: 173 1.519–608: 149

1.539: 154 1.553–8: 152 1.581–2: 153–4 1.587: 152 1.589–91: 152 1.592–3: 153–4 1.594–7: 154 1.597–602: 154 1.599: 154 n.133 1.1207–60: 182 n.62 2.421: 148 2.926: 152 n.129 3.234: 154 n.133 4.3–5: 175–7 4.14–15: 177 4.27–9: 177 4.194–5: 177 4.204–5: 174, 178 4.254: 148 4.259: 148 4.269: 126–7 4.272–8: 140 n.102, 144 n.113 4.360: 177 4.637–9: 148–9 4.739–48: 178 4.741–2: 174 4.816–24: 153 4.865–79: 152 4.1018–19: 178 4.1021–2: 177 4.1103: 174 4.1104–9: 175 4.1106–9: 177 4.1176–203: 178 Schol. 1.587 152 Schol. 1.1289–91: 151 n.127 and n.128 Schol. 2.675: 112 n.12, 116 n.25 Schol. 4.269: 126 Aristarchus Commentary on Herodotus (P. Amherst XII) col. 1: 224 col. 2, 1–3: 224 col. 2, 3: 223

266

Index of Passages Cited

Aristarchus (cont.) col. 2, 3–4: 225 n.8 col. 2, 4–10: 224–6 col. 2, 10–12: 206, 228 Aristophanes of Athens Assemblywomen 284: 96 n.149 Birds 1125–9: 93 n.137 Aristophanes of Boeotia FGrH 379 F 5: 42 Aristotle Fragments F 160, Rose: 225 n.11 F 166, Rose: 225 n.12 F 246b, Rose: 122 n.43 On the Generation of Animals 756b3–8: 74 756b6–7: 214 757b35–758a3: 74, 115 n.21 758b28–9: 71 n.72 771a18: 71 771a26–7: 71–2 771a27–34: 71 771b24–772b12: 72 On the History of Animals 571b: 75 n.81 579b2–4: 74, 81, 115 n.21 579b5–7: 74 n.80 580b10–11: 75 n.81 605b22: 81 606a6–7: 81 610a: 75 n.81 Metaphysics 982b: 106 982b17–20: 69 983a–b: 107 Meteorologica 350b: n.50 351a: 142 n.110 362a: 113 n.20, 116 n.25 Poetics 1451a36–b11: 211–12 1458a18–1459a16: 205 n.69 1458a21–26: 205 1459a26–7: 168 1460a18–19: 216 1461a3: 225 n.11 Rhetoric 1371a32–3: 69

1405b34–1406b19: 205, 205 n.69 1408b11–12: 205 1408b11–12: 205 n.69 1408b13–16: 196 1409a30–3: 207 1409a27: 25 n.28, 29 n.46 1409a28–36: 199 [Aristotle] Liber de inundatione Nili FGrH 646 F 1: 121 n.39, 124 n.50 On Marvellous Things Heard 23: 80 37: 77 n.91 38: 77 n.91 51: 77 78: 77 83: 80 101: 85 110: 77 112: 77 n.91 132: 77 n.91 134: 77 n.91 152–78: 77 165: 82 n.101 173: 77 n.91 Arrian Anabasis 3.30.7: 142 n.111 6.1.1–6: 121 n.35 Athenaeus Deipnosophistae 10, 427b–c: 84 n.104 13, 560d–f: 84 n.104 14, 620d: 40–41 Aulus Gellius Attic Nights 3.10.16: 88 n.121 9.4.1–4: 76 n.83 Bacchylides Epinicians 13.199–200: 31 n.56, 31 n.57 Callimachus Aetia F 37.1, Pfeiffer: 125, 126 n.54 F 43.84–7, Pfeiffer: 105 F 186, Pfeiffer: 112 F 612, Pfeiffer: 65 n.57 Historiae Mirabiles F 407, Pfeiffer: 77

Index of Passages Cited F 407 XVI, Pfeiffer: 80 F 407 XXV, Pfeiffer: 80 Hymns 2.76: 125 2.113: 31 n.56, 31 n.57 4.167: 38 n.80 4.171–90: 160 4.174: 160 n.9 4.182–5: 159 n.6 4.208: 126 n.54 4.281–99: 112 Iambi 6.22–36: 94 6.37–8: 98 6.42–4: 95–6, 98 6.45: 96, 98 6.45–6: 106 6.61–2: 99 n.162 6.62: 99 13.18: 98 n.160 Cicero Laws 1.4: 210 1.5: 6, 32, 144, 190–1, 209–11, 212 Letter to Lucceius 2–5: 210 On Invention 1.19.27: 209 n.80 On the Nature of the Gods 1.93: 210 n.81 On the Orator 2.10: 210 n.81 2.55: 210 n.81 Speeches 12.39: 198 n.47 Crates of Mallus F 37, Broggiato: 117 Ctesias FGrH 688 T 8: 214 Demetrius On Style 112: 199 Dio Chrysostom Orations 3.30–1: 184 12.49–52: 99 18.10: 198 n.47 37.7: 44

Diodorus Siculus Bibliothēkē 1.3: 135 n.82 1.15.2: 138 n.93 1.27.3: 131 n.69 1.28–9: 141, 144 1.28.2: 141 n.105 1.28.2–3: 140 n.104, 143 1.30.1: 2 n.7 1.31.7: 2 n.7 1.32–41: 129 1.32.1: 132 n.71 1.36.9: 134 n.79 1.37–41: 129–37, 132 n.72 1.37.4: 130 1.37.5: 121, 129 1.37.6: 132 1.37.6–7: 130 1.37.8: 130 1.37.9: 131 1.37.10: 131 1.37.11: 131–4 1.38–41: 135 1.38.8–12: 136 1.41.9: 117 n.27 1.46.7–8: 2 n.7 1.46.8: 138 n.93 1.53–8: 138 1.53.1: 138, 138 n.93 1.53.9: 138 n.93 1.55.3–4: 142 1.55.4: 140, 141 1.55.5: 143 1.56.5: 131 n.69 1.59.2: 138 n.92 1.62.2: 138 n.92 1.63.2: 89 n.122 1.63.5: 138 n.93 1.64.13: 138 n.93 1.66.10: 138 n.92 1.69.7: 63, 138 n.92, 214, 215 1.170–72: 139 2.10: 89 n.122 2.15.2: 137 n.86 3.30: 53 3.36.3–4: 52 n.3 3.37.7: 52 n.3 3.48.5: 117 3.66.4: 131 n.69 4.1.1: 131 n.69 4.8.1: 131 n.69 4.44.4: 131 n.69

267

268 Diodorus Siculus (cont.) 4.55.3: 131 n.69 7.7.1: 131 n.69 8.724–8: 33 10.23–4: 53 11.1.1: 165 11.1.4: 163 n.22 11.2.6: 37 n.75 11.20–26: 162 11.23: 165 11.23.2: 164, 168 11.24.1: 167 12.9–11: 28 n.45 12.11: 33 n.63 13.90.4–7: 134 n.81 13.90.6: 137 n.86 17.50.4–5: 80 n.98 18.4.5: 89 n.122 19.94–100: 4. n.21 32.26.1: 131 n.69 Dionysius of Halicarnassus Letter to Pompey 3.11–12: 206–9 3.16: 204 3.19: 198 n.47 On Demosthenes 4: 205 5.2: 197 6.4: 197 On Literary Composition 3: 204, 206 On Thucydides 5: 28 n.45, 161 n.16 11: 31 n.53 23: 197, 198 n.47 29: 205 n.68 31: 205 n.68 46: 205 n.68 53: 205 Roman Antiquities 1.74.2: 31 n.53 6.83.2: 31 n.53 7.70.2: 31 n.53 Diyllus FGrH 73 F 3: 47 Duris of Samos FGrH 76 F 44: 124, 125 F 64: 26–7

Index of Passages Cited Ephorus FGrH 70 F 186: 163 n.22, 164 n.24 Eratosthenes Geography F 2, Roller: 146 F 6, Roller: 146 F 20, Roller: 114, 116 F 98, Roller: 114 n.20, 127 F III B, 52, Berger: 122 n.43 Euripides Iphigeneia at Aulis 77: 182 n.64 Eusebius Chronicle Ol. 78.1: 47 n.114 Ol. 83.4: 47 Gregory of Nazianzus Epigrammata 8.177: 88 Hecataeus of Abdera FGrH 264 FF 7–14: 112 F 25: 53 Hecataeus of Miletus FGrH 1 F 1: 115 n.21 Hellanicus FGrH 4 T 1: 35 FF 171–2: 36 Heracleodorus FF 1–8, Janko: 198 n.44 F 10, Janko: 198 Hermesianax F 7 (Powell): 27 n.41, 28 n.44 F 7.22 (Powell): 32 Hermogenes On Style 330–1 (Rabe): 201 330–6 (Rabe): 198 n.47, 199 333–5 (Rabe): 202 336 (Rabe): 202–3 368–80 (Rabe): 219 n.107 Herodotus Histories Preface: 29, 51, 134 n.81 1.1–5: 107, 169–73

Index of Passages Cited 1.1.1–4: 180 1.2.1: 175, 180, 181 1.4: 182 1.4.2: 181 1.4.4: 180 1.5.2: 176–7 1.6: 107 1.8–12: 204 1.23–4: 61 1.24: 38 1.24.8: 39 1.32–3: 221 1.47: 57 1.51: 103, 103 n.178 1.68: 57 1.92: 91 n.130 1.93: 58 n.33 1.94: 58 n.37 1.95: 107 n.192 1.98.5: 44 n.105 1.142: 203 1.144: 33 1.178–9: 57 1.178–81: 91 1.179.3: 93 1.183–94: 223–4 1.185.3: 64 n.53 1.191–4: 223–4 1.193.3: 223 1.194.1: 91 n.132 1.194.2: 224 1.194.3: 224 1.215: 223 1.215.1: 223, 224 1.215.2: 228 2.2.5: 115 n.21 2.3.1: 22 n.14 2.7: 44 n.105 2.15: 133 n.76 2.17: 110 2.19–27: 119 2.19.3: 136 2.20: 119 2.21: 60 n.42, 119, 135, 144 2.22: 119 2.23: 60 n.42, 112, 119, 130, 144, 149, 194–5 2.24–5: 119 2.25: 136 n.84 2.25.4–5: 136 2.26: 113 2.28: 120, 132 n.73

269

2.28–34: 119 2.29–31: 120 2.29.1: 22 n.14, 120 2.29.4: 132 2.31: 133 2.32.7: 124 2.33: 120 2.33–4: 113 2.33.2: 124 2.34: 120, 134 2.34.1: 132 2.35: 46 n.110, 58 n.33 and n.37 2.44.1–4: 22 n.14 2.53: 195 n.30 2.65: 80 2.75: 2 n.6 2.75.1: 22 n.14 2.99.1: 128 n.57 2.102–10: 138 2.103: 141 2.103.2: 141 2.104: 140 2.104.4: 143 n.112 2.105: 140 2.111: 138 n.92 2.112: 138 n.92 2.113–20: 172, 194, 216 2.116: 216 2.119: 152 2.121.2: 56 2.122: 106 2.123.1: 85 2.124: 98 2.124–5: 91 2.125: 98 2.143.1–4: 22 n.14 2.148: 102 2.149: 79 2.151: 138 n.92 2.155: 58 n.37 2.175.1: 57 2.215.1: 206, 228 3.1–2: 84 n.104 3.3: 79 3.12.1: 22 n.14 3.12.4: 22 n.14 3.21–4: 20 n.8 3.22–3: 56 3.39–43: 39 3.41: 103 3.41–2: 102 3.47: 101 n.169

270 Herodotus (cont.) 3.47.3: 64 n.53 3.60: 103, 103 n.178 3.97: 141 3.98–106: 59 3.98.2: 59 3.101.2: 59 3.102–3: 2 3.102.2: 59–60 3.103: 60–61 3.104.2: 59 3.106.2: 59 3.106.3: 59 3.108: 72–3 3.108–9: 80 3.109: 73 3.113.1: 64 n.53, 98 3.116.3: 58 3.119: 46 3.121: 39, 102 3.134: 174 3.134.2: 175 3.139–40: 70 n.67 4.5.3: 228 4.8.2: 144 4.9: 61, 79 4.28: 59 n.39 4.30.1: 80, 84 n.104 4.33–5: 112 4.36: 112–16, 144 4.36.2: 113, 115, 144 4.37: 141 4.42.1–2: 113 4.42.2: 199 n.50 4.45: 141 n.107 4.45.1: 113 4.45.2: 199 n.50 4.45.4: 199 n.50 4.47.1: 22 n.14 4.53.1: 56 4.53.3: 64 n.53 4.70: 228 4.74–5: 79 4.81.2: 22 n.14 4.82: 58 n.33 4.85: 79 4.99.4: 44 n.105 4.129: 58, 58 n.37 4.170–2: 125 4.177: 79 4.179: 126 n.53 4.181: 80

Index of Passages Cited 4.192: 81 4.195: 79 4.199.1: 64 n.53 5.17–21: 37 5.22: 37, 37 n.78 5.22.1: 37 5.44–5: 29 5.45: 29, 66 n.59 5.47: 29 5.59: 43 5.77.3: 44 n.105 5.92: 58 n.34 6.21: 29 6.43: 58 n.37 6.54: 183 6.58.2: 226 6.84: 84 n.104 6.103: 47 6.105: 201 6.109–11: 47 6.117: 66 n.60 6.121–3: 70 6.121.1: 60 n.42 6.123.1: 60 n.42 6.127: 29 7.6: 37 7.21: 184 7.22–4: 183 7.24: 184 7.33–6: 183 7.35: 202 7.36.3: 224 7.55: 183 7.58.3: 184 7.61.3: 183 7.62: 150 n.126 7.64.2: 228 7.109.2: 184 7.122: 154, 183 7.123: 154 7.123.3: 34 7.125: 70 7.128: 58 n.34 7.128–9: 154 7.129.4: 101 7.135: 66 n.60 7.135.1: 64 n.53 7.141–2: 184 7.145: 166 7.148–52: 12 n.47 7.150: 183 7.153: 166

Index of Passages Cited 7.157–63: 166 7.163: 12 n.47 7.164–5: 166 7.166: 165, 167 7.172: 37, 166 7.184.1: 150 7.188: 153 7.190: 150 7.191: 150–51, 152 7.191.2: 152 7.193: 151 7.193.2: 152 7.196: 184 7.204: 66 n.60 7.208: 58 n.34 7.208–9: 70 7.208.3: 70 n.69 7.209.1: 70 n.69 8.1–18: 151 8.8: 60 n.41 8.12: 151 8.32: 185 8.33: 185 8.35: 185 8.37: 59 n.39 8.37.2: 64 n.53 8.50–4: 184 8.50: 185 8.53: 185 8.54: 185 8.54–5: 185 8.65: 201 8.77: 185 8.94: 44 n.103 8.109: 185 8.115: 184 8.818–19: 185 8.137: 37 9.11: 66 n.60 Hesiod Catalogue of Women F 150.21, M–W: 111 n.8 Shield of Heracles 218: 57 n.27 Theogony 992–9: 170 1001: 150 n.126 Hipponax F 42, West: 94 n.141, 138 n.89 Homer Iliad 9.483–4: 153 n.131

10.153: 225 13.99: 57 n.27 13.210–329: 208 15.286: 57 n.27 20.344: 57 n.27 21.54: 57 n.27 24.14–16: 225 n.12 Schol. 4.13: 227 n.21 Schol. 9.540: 190 n.9 Schol. 11.116–17: 227 n.21 Schol. 11.304: 227 n.21 Schol. 13.168: 208 Schol. 15.679b: 225 n.9 Schol. 24.15: 225 n.12 Odyssey 1.22–4: 117 4.435–53: 125 11.363–9: 217–18 15.272: 30 n.51 19.36: 57 n.27 Ibycus F 282, PMGF: 39 n.83 Isocrates Speeches 4.88–9: 184 15.166: 48, 48 n.120 Josephus Against Apion 1.16: 214 1.73: 3 1.183: 2 n.7 Lindian Chronicle FGrH 532 (29).3–4: 192 Literaten-Epigramm (SGO 01/12/01) 1–7: 200 2–3: 34 [Longinus] On the Sublime 13.3: 189–91, 194–5, 198 n.47 Lucian Herodotus 1: 192 n.18, 198 n.47 1–2: 41 On how to write History 42: 192 n.18 True Histories 1.2–3: 218–19 2.31: 218

271

272

Index of Passages Cited

Lycophron Alexandra 102: 181 119: 126 295: 183 n.66 496: 181 n.61 527: 183 n.66 576: 126 847–9: 125 887: 126 895: 126 n.53 1141–73: 185 1226–80: 179 n.55 1283–474: 179 1283–90: 180 1295: 180 1296–1301: 180 1297–8: 180 1302–3: 181 1303–8: 181 1309: 181 1322–31: 182 1322–61: 181 1329: 182 1332–65: 182 1366–9: 182–3 1369–1434: 183 1414–16: 183–4 1416–28: 184 1430–35: 185 1446–50: 179 n.55 Schol. 576: 126 Schol. 848: 124, 125 Lysias Speeches 2.29: 184 Manetho FGrH 609 T 7a: 3 F 1: 3 F 7a: 215 F 13: 213, 213 n.93 Marcellinus Life of Thucydides 17: 29, 46 54: 45 Nearchus FGrH 133 F 7: 2 n.6 F 8: 2 F 20: 121 n.34 and n.35 F 32: 121 n.34 and n.35

Palatine Anthology 1.65: 190 6.205.6: 32 7.40: 28 n.43 7.708: 31 n.53 9.58: 89, 93–4 9.160: 192 9.571: 192 n.21 Pausanias Description of Greece 1.25.2: 160 1.31.2: 112 2.5.3: 124 n.48 5.11.7: 95 5.11.9: 96 8.14.8: 102, 103 10.19.4: 159 Philodemus On Poetry 1.199.17–19: 198 Pindar Isthmian Odes 6.23: 112 n.11 Nemean Odes 7.21–3: 216 Pythian Odes 1.71–5: 165 n.25 1.82: 31 n.57 4.212: 139 n.99 10.29–46: 111 11.22–8: 175 n.46 Schol. 1.146b: 163 n.22, 164 n.24, 165 n.25 Plato Phaedrus 243a: 194 Republic 391b: 225 n.12 398a–b: 212 n.86 607d: 212 n.86 614b2: 219 n.106 Theaetetus 155d: 68 Pliny Natural History 5.10.51: 122 5.10.51–2: 124 5.10.54: 126 n.54 5.10.55–6: 122 12.18: 29 34.83: 103 n.178 36.79: 92 n.133

Index of Passages Cited Plutarch Antony 60.4: 160 Cimon 4.1–2: 47 On the Malice of Herodotus 854e: 43 854f: 44 n.104, 213 857a: 228 859e–60b: 44 n.104 862a: 47, 48 n.120, 49 862a–b: 48 862b: 47 864d: 42, 48 865e–f: 43 870a–71b: 44 n.103 and n.104 872a–b: 47 n.117 872c–e: 44 n.104 874b: 198 n.47, 213, 217–19 Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs 785a–b: 45 Polybius Histories 2.35.7–8: 159 12.12.4–5: 214 12.24.5: 52 12.26b: 164, 165–6, 167 Posidippus of Pella A–B 8: 101 A–B 9: 38, 39, 40 n.90 and n.92, 102–3 A–B 9.3: 39 A–B 11: 39 n.89 A–B 12: 39 n.89 A–B 15: 100 A–B 18: 102 A–B 19: 100 n.167, 101–2, 104 A–B 20: 100 n.167 A–B 31.3: 38 A–B 37: 38, 39, 40 n.91 and n.92 A–B 37.4: 39 A–B 37.7: 39 A–B 68: 104 n.182 A–B 116: 38 n.82 A–B 118.15: 38 n.81 A–B 118.17: 38 n.81 Quintilian Institutio Oratoria 10.1.13: 198 n.47

273

Salmakis Inscription (SGO 01/12/02) col. 2, 43–45: 34 col 2, 43–54: 187–9, 190 col 2, 43: 187– 9, 190, 217 Sophocles Antigone 904–12: 46 IEG F 5: 45 Oedipus at Colonus 337–45: 46 n.110 Shepherds F 500, TrGF: 228–9 Speusippus Letter of Speusippus to Philip 2 2: 36 2–4: 36 Stesichorus F 192, PMGF: 194 Strabo Geography 1.1.10: 146 1.2.2: 190 1.2.3: 146 1.2.14: 146 1.2.15: 146 1.2.35: 215 1.3.22: 113, 116, 118 1.4.9: 226 8.3.30: 96 n.154 9.5.13: 130 n.65 9.5.17: 108 n.195 10.1.10: 206 n.71 11.5.5: 142 n.111 11.7.4: 141–2, 142 n.111 14.2.2: 88 14.2.6: 187 14.2.16: 28, 29 n.46, 88 15.1.25: 121 n.35 16.1.5: 88, 93 n.135 17.1.2: 114 n.20, 127 17.1.5: 122, 135 n.83 17.1.33: 88 17.1.52: 132 n.73 Suda ‘Choerilus, of Samos’: 27 ‘Hellanicus’: 35 ‘Herodotus’: 20, 21 n.9, 25 n.31, 28, 29, 33, 34 ‘Panyasis’: 20 n.6, 25 n.31, 26 ‘Thucydides’: 41 n.96, 45

274

Index of Passages Cited

Theocritus Idylls 7.103–4: 127 7.111–14: 127–8 15.92–3: 97 n.156 17.26–7: 38 n.79 17.112–14: 41 Schol. 7.114b: 128 n.58 Theopompus FGrH 115 T 1: 12 n.47 FF 1–4: 12 n.47 FF 64–84: 52 Thucydides History of the Peloponnesian War 1.1.1: 64 1.6: 226 n.13 1.10.1–3: 57 n.29, 66 1.20: 63 n.50 1.21: 6 1.21–2: 50 n.125, 201–2, 211 1.21.1: 61, 62, 65 1.21.2: 31 n.53, 67 1.22.2: 131 n.69 1.22.4: 65, 212 1.97.2: 161 n.16 1.128–38: 64, 165 1.138.3: 64–5 2.39.4: 64–5 2.41.3–4: 65 2.41.4: 50 n.125, 65–6 2.43.1: 67 n.61

2.97: 208 4.64.3: 199 n.50 5.11.1: 29 n.48 6.2–5: 208 6.11.4: 63 7.56.2: 63 n.49, 64 n.51 7.63.3: 66 Schol. 1.22.4: 200 Timaeus FGrH 566 T 19: 52 F 85: 148 n.123 F 94: 164, 165–6 Tzetzes Chiliades 2.35.154: 76 Schol. 1.1.22: 30 n.49 Vitruvius On Architecture 7, praef. 12: 103 n.178 2.8.12: 187 Xenophanes T 41a, Diels-Kranz: 109 n.3 Xenophon Anabasis 4.4.16: 228 Constitution of the Spartans 15.9: 226 Cyropaedia 2.2.15: 98 Hellenica 5.2.13: 35