Papers of the Leeds International Latin Seminar, vol. 9: Roman poetry and prose, Greek poetry, etymology, historiography 9780905205908, 0905205901

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PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR NINTH VOLUME

1996

ARCA Classical and Medieval Texts, Papers and Monographs

34

General Editors: Francis Cairns, Robin Seager, Frederick Williams Assistant Editors: Neil Adkin, Sandra Cairns ISSN 0309-5541

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR NINTH VOLUME

1996

Roman Poetry and Prose, Greek Poetry, Etymology, Historiography

Edited by Francis Cairns and Malcolm Heath

X FRANCIS CAIRNS

Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd c/o The University, LEEDS, LS2 9JT, Great Britain

First published 1996 Copyright © Francis Cairns (Publications) 1996

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, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording,

or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Publisher.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library ISBN 0-905205-90-1

Printed in Great Britain on acid-free paper by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham, Wilts

CONTENTS ANDREW

ERSKINE

(University College Dublin)

Money-loving Romans J.G.F. POWELL

(University of Newcastle)

Second thoughts on the Dream of Scipio JO-MARIE

CLAASSEN

13

(University of Stellenbosch)

Dio’s Cicero and the consolatory tradition D.H. BERRY

(University of Leeds)

The value of prose rhythm in questions of authenticity: the case of De Optimo Genere Oratorum attributed to Cicero ANDREAS

MICHALOPOULOS

(University of Leeds)

Some etymologies of proper names in Catullus J.L. BUTRICA

(Memorial University of Newfoundland)

Two two-part poems in Propertius Book 1 (1.8; 1.11 and 12) ROBERT MALTPBY (University of Leeds) Sense and structure in Tibullus (2.2.21-2, 1.1.78, 2.1.83-90, 1.5.1-8, 1.6.5-8)

P.R. HARDIE (New Hall, Cambridge) Virgil: a paradoxical poet? MATTHEW

LEIGH

103

(University of Exeter)

Vergil, Georgics 1.302

123

S.J. HARRISON (Corpus Christi College, Oxford) Aeneid 1.286: Julius Caesar or Augustus?

127

J.A. BARSBY (University of Otago) Ovid's Amores and Roman comedy

135

ADRIAN HOLLIS (Keble College, Oxford) Traces of ancient commentaries on Ovid's Metamorphoses

159

ROBERT HANNAH (University of Otago) Lucan Bellum Civile 1.649-65: the astrology of P. Nigidius Figulus revisited

175

ROBIN SEAGER (University of Liverpool) Ut dux cunctator et tutus: the caution of Valentinian (Ammianus 27.10)

191

J.G. HOWIE (University of Edinburgh) The major aristeia in Homer and Xenophon

197

ALEX HARDIE (Foreign and Commonwealth Office) Pindar, Castalia and the Muses of Delphi (the sixth Paean) JOHN MOLES (University of Durham) Herodotus warns the Athenians ANTONY

G. KEEN

285

(Memorial University of Newfoundland)

Hellenistic erotic elegy: the evidence of the papyri FRANCIS

CAIRNS

297

(University of Leeds)

Asclepiades AP 5.85 MATTHEW

259

(The Queen’s University Belfast)

Lies about Lysander J.L. BUTRICA

219

= Gow-Page 2 again

323

DICKIE (University of Illinois, Chicago)

An ethnic slur in a new epigram of Poseidippus DAVID BAIN (University of Manchester) The magic of names: some etymologies in the Cyranides

327

337

PREFACE Papers of the Leeds International Latin Seminar, Ninth Volume, 1996 (PLLS 9) continues the series begun with the five volumes of Papers of the Liverpool Latin Seminar and followed by Papers of the Leeds International Latin Seminar volumes 6 (1990), 7 (1993) and 8 (1995). PLLS 9 includes some of the papers presented at meetings of the Leeds International Latin Seminar over the years 1993-95 in revised form, together with other contributions. The reference conventions followed are those of PLLS 6, 7 and 8;

editorial tolerance of contributors’ orthographic choices between ‘Virgil’ and ‘Vergil’ has continued. ,

The editors again thank their referees for advice and the Assistant Editor of ARCA, Professor Neil Adkin, for his usual meticulous final

proof-reading, carried out on this occasion with more than usually exemplary dispatch.

Francis Cairns, Malcolm Heath

School of Classics

University of Leeds November 1995

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 1-11 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90- I

MONEY-LOVING ANDREW

ROMANS

ERSKINE

(University College Dublin)

From the second century BC onwards the Romans were often characterised by the Greeks as greedy. This characterisation is all the more striking because it occurs not only among those known to be openly hostile to Rome but also among those who are normally considered to be well-disposed. The image of the greedy Roman did

play a part in anti-Roman rhetoric, but it also reflected a basic and widely-held assumption about the Romans; even when Greek writers

adopt an apologetic tone they demonstrate a willingness to report charges of avarice against the Romans. This paper will argue that, while Roman behaviour was important in the development of this image, the Greek perception of the Romans as barbarians was even more significant. The writings and views of those hostile to Rome have not survived well, but even so their emphasis on Roman greed is clear. The second century BC historian Agatharchides of Cnidos, whose works are now lost, gave a description of the Sabaeans, a people living in far off Arabia. He said that the only reason for their great wealth was that they lived so far from that people who turn their arms in every direction. Otherwise they would not be masters of their own wealth but stewards of somebody else's.! Oracular literature which en-

visaged terrible destruction for the Romans also focused on Roman avarice. The Romans, it was predicted, would suffer what they had done to others. This is apparent in lines 350 to 355 of the third Sibylline Oracle, which are of uncertain date but perhaps originated during the Mithridatic wars:?

2

ANDREW

However much Rome as much money shall destructive hubris. As Italians, twenty times and repay their debt

ERSKINE

received from tribute-bearing Asia, three times Asia receive back from Rome, paying back her many Asians as served as slaves in the homes of as many Italians shall work in poverty in Asia ten thousand times.

This message of vengeance lays considerable stress on plunder, both material possessions and humans. Mithridates himself supplied a vivid symbol of Roman greed when he took the captured Roman commander Manius Aquillius and poured molten gold down his throat. This is said by Appian to be a comment on Roman bribetaking but Mithridates may have meant it to be taken more generally. Later, when Mithridates is face to face with Sulla, he is reported to

have defended himself by laying the blame for the conflict on Roman φιλοκερδία, their greed or love of gain.’ The accusation of greed was part of the language of hostility. The Athenians and others accused the Spartans of greed and the Achaeans accused the Aetolians.* But the perception of the Romans as greedy was not limited to those explicitly hostile to Rome. It can also be found among those who have come to terms with Roman superiority. Polybius, for instance, writing of his friend and patron P. Scipio Aemilianus, says that Scipio's generosity to his mother “would have been considered honourable anywhere, but in Rome it was also amazing (θαυμαστόν); for absolutely no one gives away anything to anyone voluntarily." Shortly afterwards he records Scipio's astonishing behaviour in paying a debt of fifty talents three years before it was due and remarks that “no one in Rome would pay one talent before the day it was due, so universal and so extreme is the Romans' exactitude about finance as well as their concern to profit by every moment of time.” The Carthaginians, however, are worse than the Romans, according to Polybius; for them no means of making money is considered shameful, whereas the Romans have scruples.* Such comments as these are explicit references to the Roman love of money, but they reflect an underlying assumption that can be found elsewhere in Polybius' work. Several times Polybius supplies greed asa motivation for Roman action. The sight and noise of Celtic warriors, naked except for gold torques and armlets, struck panic into the Roman ranks, but their desire for the gold made the Romans

doubly eager to fight." A fragmentary passage which needs to be augmented by the fuller account in Livy reveals Roman soldiers displaying a similar attitude during the siege of the Spanish town of

MONEY-LOVING

ROMANS

3

Astapa in the later stages of the Second Punic War. The inhabitants,

facing certain defeat at the hands of the Romans, piled up all their valuables in the centre of town and set fire to them; they then killed their wives and children and threw their corpses into the flames before adding themselves. The Roman soldiers when they arrived were initially astonished, but then they spotted the molten gold and silver in the flames. As they pushed and shoved one another in their desire to retrieve it, many of them died.’ There are a number of stories in which the besieged destroy their valuables and commit mass suicide, but the besieging Greeks, Macedonians or Carthaginians do not behave as the Romans did in Astapa.? These details about the Roman soldiers may or may not be true, but what is important is the fact that they were thought to be worth repeating. Such stories gained currency because they epitomised and confirmed a generally held Greek view of the Romans. The Romans were greedy — they would literally die for gold and silver. Polybius can also adduce similar motivation in the wider political arena. It was the prospect of plunder which convinced the Roman people to vote in favour of the war which was to be the First Punic War.'? Such a view of the Romans was not unique to Polybius. Both Appian and Plutarch attributed Lucullus' failure to capture Mithridates to the greed of his soldiers, who delayed the pursuit as they tried to collect all the gold and silver Mithridates had left behind. Like the Roman soldiers at Astapa they fight with one another over these riches.!! Similarly Roman concern for business profit is remarked upon elsewhere. Plutarch in his Life of the Elder Cato devotes considerable space to Cato's business ventures and was clearly embarrassed by Cato's remark that a man who increased his estate beyond what he had inherited was admirable and should be glorified like a god (21). Perhaps Plutarch found this preoccupation with financial rewards difficult to reconcile with his portrait of Cato asa man who refused to enrich himself during his Spanish campaigns (10). The beginning of the Life of Crassus is taken up with details of Crassus' money-making operations and Plutarch is clearly struck by his avarice.'? Diodorus in his account of the Roman exploitation of Spain pointedly remarks: “The Phoenicians, it appears, were from ancient times clever at making discoveries to their gain, but the men from Italy are clever at leaving nothing to anyone else." A passage of Polybius shows that Rome's reputation for avarice was already widespread among Greeks by the middle of the second century BC. In hisaccount of the end of the Second Macedonian War

4

ANDREW

ERSKINE

he mentions Aetolian accusations that the Roman commander in

Greece T. Quinctius Flamininus had taken bribes from Philip V (18.34f.). He notes here that Romans of earlier times would never

have tried to enrich themselves improperly but now such charges are not so easy to repudiate. Nevertheless, he continues, there are still many Romans who are scrupulous in such matters. At this point he clearly senses disbelief among his Greek readership and writes: “50 that I do not seem to be saying what is impossible, I will give two uncontroversial examples as evidence.’’'* Polybius assumes here that Greeks would not believe that there was such a thing as an honest,

non-avaricious Roman. His audience are expected to take it for granted that the Romans are money-grabbing and, even when he has given one of his examples, Polybius anticipates further disbelief: “If anyone thinks that what I say seems unbelievable, it is easy to get confirmation of it." There is no reason to think that Polybius has in

mind Greeks who are hostile to Rome. Polybius' remarks simply reflect the Greek image of Rome. The two examples that Polybius gives are L. Aemilius Paullus, who defeated Perseus in the Third Macedonian War, and his son P. Scipio Aemilianus, who in 146 had captured Carthage and razed it to the

ground. Both these men, in spite of capturing enormous wealth in their victories, took none for themselves. Paullus did not even want to look at Perseus' treasure. But these men were exceptions (and friends of Polybius). Many of their contemporaries, particularly the young, were dissolute and devoted to extravagant and luxurious living but, Polybius argues, this is a new phenomenon. In the past Romans were not like this.!? So greed is not an intrinsic part of the Roman psyche, but an acquired characteristic. Polybius here differs from those outrightly hostile to Rome, because he is prepared to offer some form of mitigation. This rather more apologetic approach can be found elsewhere. For instance, Plutarch criticises Sulla's conduct in the First Mithridatic War in the 80s BC, the high point of which was the looting of both

Olympia and Delphi. This was certainly outrageous behaviour, but earlier Romans active in Greece did not behave like this, or at least

they did not loot shrines (Plutarch Sulla 12). Dionysius of Halicarnassus, a writer generally favourable to Rome, praises the respect

for property boundaries in early Rome, but laments the present day: “for some the limit of their possessions is not the law but their desire for everything."!6 These views are no doubt related to the broader arguments about Roman moral decline. Each generation put the

MONEY-LOVING

ROMANS

5

decline a little later than the previous one. Whatever

the apologists

may

say, it looks as if the Roman

reputation for greed goes back to their earliest appearances in the Greek East. The earliest contemporary evidence for such charges of greed occurs in a letter to the city of Chyretiai, written by Flamininus. The letter dates from the 190s, around the time of the end of the Second Macedonian War against Philip V, and deals with the restoration of property in Chyretiai. Flamininus, however, is also concerned to rebut any suggestion that the Romans are φιλάργυροι, money-loving. A public protestation of this kind only makes sense if such charges were indeed being made. It further suggests that they went wider than the Aetolians' claims that Flamininus was taking bribes. Flamininus begins by saying that the Romans wish to demonstrate that they are the champions of what is honourable “‘so that not even in these matters can men slander us, men who are not accustomed to act according to the best principles themselves." After this jibe he continues: All the landed property and houses which remain in the hands of the Roman Treasury we hand over to your city, so that in these things also you may learn our good character and because in no way at all have we wished to be money-loving, valuing goodwill and love of glory above all else."

This is the earliest contemporary reference to such charges. It islikely that the Romans made further attempts to deflect this criticism by levelling the same accusation against their enemies. The Macedonian

king Perseus is later several times described as money-loving and φιλαργυρία is said to have been one of his diseases and passions.!* In marked contrast Paullus himseif is said to have refused even to look at the treasures of Perseus.? The Romans waged a forceful propaganda campaign against Perseus and this may well have been

part of that campaign.”° Rome was an immensely successful military power which became richer and richer as it progressively removed or reduced its rivals. This might seem sufficient to give rise to a reputation for avarice, but it need not. Plunder after all was a standard feature of ancient warfare. Thus one of the objectives of the Delian League was to ravage Persian territory; Xenophon's mercenary army had lived by

plundering the territory through which they travelled; captured populations were regularly sold into slavery or ransomed; when the Thebans invaded Laconia in 370 their army became depleted as their Arcadian, Achaean and Elean allies headed back home with booty

6

ANDREW

ERSKINE

and captured cattle. Alexander too had burnt and plundered his way through the Persian empire.?! His riches were now possessed by the hellenistic kings who made ostentatious displays of their immense wealth. Yet it was the Romans who were characterised as moneyloving, even as early as the beginning of the second century. Why then were the Greeks so ready to characterise the Romans in this way? One possibility is that the Greeks were responding to the allegations of financial impropriety which became a feature of Roman political wrangles. The earliest well-publicised case would

appear to have been that of M'. Acilius Glabrio in 189 BC. Glabrio, who had recently defeated Antiochus at Thermopylae, was accused by Cato of misappropriating booty and failing to display all that he should in his triumphal procession. In 187 it was L. Scipio who was the object of scrutiny, attacked for misusing money received from Antiochus and in some accounts even for accepting bribes from the

king.? Electoral bribery was such that legislation was enacted against it in 181 and again in 159.? Later, accusations of corruption were frequently levelled against provincial governors, most notoriously in Cicero's prosecution of Verres. Nevertheless, while such charges may have reinforced Greek prejudices, they did not create them. Flamininus was already trying to counter accusations of avarice in the 190s and the very pervasiveness of the image suggests

that the explanation should be found elsewhere.” It may be self-evident to say that the Romans were not Greeks but this is an important factor in the development of Greek perceptions of the Romans. To the Greeks the Romans were barbarians and this affected the Greek characterisation of them. This conception of the Romans as barbarians can be seen in a number of ancient writers,

though if any suggestion is made that the Romans are barbarians it is usually attributed to someone else, whether a speaker in the history or another writer. Thus in Polybius an Acarnanian, Lyciscus, accuses the Aetolians of allying with barbarians, while later another speaker describes the Roman treatment of captured cities as barbarous.? In his account of the battle of Cynoscephalae Polybius presents Macedonian soldiers reporting to Philip on the movements of the barbarians: οὐ μένουσιν ἡμᾶς oi βάρβαροι.25 In writing this Polybius is reflecting a general perception of the Romans as barbarians, even if he does not hold it himself or is too cautious to

express it." Plutarch reports the story that when Pyrrhus saw the Roman camp he remarked “the military arrangements of these

MONEY-LOVING ROMANS

7

barbarians have nothing barbarous about them.” A

similar story is

told of the Greeks preparing to meet Flamininus for the first time; they expected

to encounter

a violent barbarian

but they were

surprised to find a cultivated man with very Greek manners.?* Dionysius of Halicarnassus, aware that many considered the Romans to be barbarians

and

therefore

unworthy

of leadership, tries to

resolve the problem by arguing that they are really Greek. In portraying the Romans as money-loving the Greeks are attributing to the Romans a characteristic often associated with barbarians. Not all barbarians are represented in this way but a significant number are. Such a characterisation begins as early as the fifth century BC when the Persians live surrounded by gold and

Euripides presents the avaricious Thracian Polymestor on the Athenian stage in the Hecuba.? It continues through to the hellenistic period, when the Greeks of Europe and Asia were often faced with raiding Gallic, Illyrian or Thracian tribes. Diodorus is

particularly interesting in his account of the Gauls (5.27). After noting the large quantities of gold the Gauls deposit in their temples and sanctuaries, he adds that they refrain from touching it, even though they are extremely money-loving (φιλάργυροι καθ᾽ ὑπερβολήν). Just as Polybius does not allow Scipio's generosity to affect the stereotype of the Romans as avaricious, so the restraint of the Gauls co-exists with their avarice. It is their superstitious fear (δεισιδαιμονία) which prevents them from raiding their own re-

ligious centres. This superstitious fear is a characteristic they share with the Romans. Polybius goes so far as to say that δεισιδαιμονία

holds the Roman state together and the similarity with the Gauls is further apparent when he says that it is this which stops Roman magistrates

embezzling

state

funds

(6.56.6-15).

The

avaricious

barbarian is a theme which persists right into the Roman empire; Herodian in the third century AD explicitly equates the barbarian with greed when he writes that the barbarian is naturally greedy: φύσει yap τὸ βάρβαρον φιλοχρήματον (1.6.9). Another story about Pyrrhus’ expedition to Italy provides a useful insight, regardless of its truth or falsity. When Pyrrhus was trying to negotiate a settlement with the Romans, he sent Cineas on an embassy to Rome. Cineas is said to have brought many gifts for the Romans, both the men and the women. He had two reasons for doing this; firstly he believed that the Romans loved money (φιλοχρήματος) and loved gifts (φιλόδωρος) and secondly he believed that women were particularly influential among the Romans.*' Underlying this

8

ANDREW

ERSKINE

representation of the Romans is the Greek perception of them asa barabarian, non-Greek people. Greed and women who do not know

their place are both common characteristics of barbarian peoples.> Since the Romans are barbarians they are likely to be seen as money-

loving unless they prove themselves to be otherwise. But in fact much Roman behaviour only serves to confirm Greek prejudices. Because the Romans are not Greeks they do things differently, and it is differences which arouse comment, not similarities. One area of difference is the Roman attitude to plunder, which tended to reinforce the stereotype of the avaricious barbarian. The Romans do seem to have been more systematic in their approach to the defeated. When an enemy city was captured, the Roman treatment of it was very methodical, as in Polybius’ description of the capture of New

Carthage in Spain during the Second Punic War? Publius Scipio, when he judged that sufficient troops had entered the city, sent the majority of them against the inhabitants, in accordance with

the Roman

custom,

ordering

them

to kill whoever

they en-

countered and to spare no one, but not to begin pillaging until the signal was given to do so.

Similarly Plutarch and Livy’s accounts of Paullus’ plunder of Epirus, which in all likelihood derive from Polybius, reveal the Greek historian’s fascination with the systematic destruction and plundering carried out by the Romans. Vast quantities of gold and silver were

taken and 150,000 people were enslaved.’* Wishing to fall upon all the inhabitants suddenly and simultaneously when no one was expecting it, Paullus sent for ten leading men from each city and instructed them to bring all the gold and silver they had in their houses and temples on a specified day. As if with this in mind he sent with each group a guard of soldiers and an officer, who pretended to search out and collect the money. When the day arrived, starting at one and the same time they set about overrunning and plundering the cities, so that in one hour 150,000 men were enslaved and 70 cities were destroyed.

For the Romans, plundering was not something done spontaneously after the end of a siege or battle — it was organised, controlled and done under the general's orders. The deliberate nature is apparent on the famous column of C. Duilius, which listed all the booty he had

taken in the First Punic War.” Then there are the huge indemnities which Rome imposed on the defeated,

Carthage

talents), Philip

(10,000

talents)

the

Aetolian

League

(500

V of Macedon (1000 talents), Antiochus the Great

MONEY-LOVING ROMANS

9

(15,000 talents). But it was not just the large kingdoms or states

which had to pay out like this. Cn. Manlius Vulso moved through Asia after the defeat of Antiochus, collecting anything from 50 to 200 talents from cities he passed in exchange for peace and alliance. Aspendos, for instance, paid Manlius 50 talents, a sum it had also

paid to Alexander about 150 years previously.*’ In the 230s Hamilcar the Carthaginian commander was asked by a Roman embassy why he was fighting in Spain. He is said to have replied that he was

fighting to pay off his debts to the Romans.** Later the omnipresent businessmen and energetic Roman tax collection will have further enhanced the Romans’ reputation for greed, but the reputation seems to have begun before they really became established in the east. Greek assumptions about barbarians combined with the systematic and ruthless way in which the Romans extracted money from the defeated helped to generate the characterisation of the Romans as money-loving.

NOTES I.

eM

2.

Sib. Orac. gegen Rom Testament Cleopatra

3.

(1898

Aquillius:

P.M.

Fraser Ptolemaic Alexandria (Oxford

1972) 1.545, 550,

3.350-5; for discussion of date, H. Fuchs Der geistiger Widerstand (Berlin 1964) 36; J.J. Collins in J.H. Charlesworth (ed.) The Old Pseudepigrapha (London 1983) 1.358f., inclines towards the time of and the conflict with Octavian. Appian

Mith. 21; φιλοκερδία: Mith. 56; cf. Mithridates" letter to

Phraates III in Sall. Hist. 4.69 and Pompeius Trogus' speech of Mithridates in Justin Epit. 38.4-7. On Roman avarice in Mithridatic propaganda, cf. B.C. MeGing

The Foreign Policy of Mithridates VI Eupator, King of Pontus (Leiden

1986) 104-8.

4.

Spartans: Eur. Andr. 451; Aristoph. Peace 623; Arist. fr. 544; A. Sommerstein (ed.)

Aristophanes

Peace

(Warminster

1985)

161.

Aetolians:

Polyb.

4.3.1,

Polyb. 31.26.9, 31.27.11.

2 o^

Polyb. 6.56.1-5, cf. 9.25. Polyb. 2.29, cf. also 1.49.5.

$0

ww

18.55.1f., 21.25.7-19.

Polyb. 11.24.11; Livy 28.22f.; cf. the

general remarks of Polybius on the capture

of Syracuse, 9.10; note also Livy 37.32 on the greed of Roman soldiers after the

capture of Phocaea, presumably reflecting Polybius. 9.

Eion: Herod. 7.107. Abydos: Polyb. 21.14f.; Diod. 25.15; App. Hisp. 12.

16.29-34; Livy 31.17f. Saguntum:

Livy

10

10.

ANDREW

ERSKINE

Polyb. 1.10.2f.; at an individual level, note Plut. Mor. 258c, reporting Polybius (21.38). Plut. Luc. 17; App. Mith. 82; for other avaricious soldiers: Plut. Brut. 38, Galba 1. Plut. Crass. 1f., 6.6, 6.9, 14; Cic. 25. Crassus is used as the example of the rich man rather than the greedy man by Cicero (cf. Cic. Ad Att. 1.4.3; De Fin. 3.75; Parad. Stoic. 6), although this is not true of all Latin writers (cf. Florus 1.46.2).

Diod. 5.38.3, cf. 5.26.3, 5.36.3. Polyb. 18.35.3 with F.W. (Oxford 1967) 11.595.

Walbank

A Historical Commentary

on Polybius

Degeneration of the young: Polyb. 31.25.2-7; new phenomenon: 18.35, 31.25.2-7. D.H. Ant. 2.74.5; for a general contrast between past and present Romans, Ant. 3.21.7. SIG? 593; R.K. Sherk Roman Documents from the Greek East (Baltimore 1969)

no. 33; most recently D. Armstrong and J.J. Walsh *S7G? 593: the Letter of Flamininus to Chyretiae' CP 81 (1986) 32-46. Polyb. 29.8f.; Plut. Aem. 8.10, 12.3, 26.7; Diod. 30.19, 30.21; Livy 44.25-7. Polyb. 18.35.4f.; Plut. Aem. 28.10. For instance, the Roman

letter to the Delphic Amphictiony, SIG? 643; Sherk

(n.17) no.40; cf. D. Mendels ‘Perseus and the Socio-Economic Question in Greece (179-172/1 BC): a Study in Roman Propaganda’ Ancient Society9 (1978)

55-73.

21.

Booty is extensively discussed and documented in W.K. Pritchett The Greek State at War (Berkeley 1991) V.68-541, with a table collecting passages on booty in Greek historians (505-41). Delian League: Thuc. 1.96.1; Xenophon: Anab. 2.4.21, 4.8.23, 6.6.2f. and passim; Thebans: Xen. Hell. 6.5.50; Alexander: Arrian

3.16.6-8, 3.18.10-12; Diod. 17.66.1; Plut. Alex. 36f.

22.

Glabrio: Livy 37.57.12-58.1; ORF’ Cato F66. Scipio: Polyb. 23.14; Livy 38.50-60; Gellius 4.18, 6.19; H.H. Scullard Roman Politics 220-150 BC? (Oxford 1973y; A.E. Astin Cato the Censor (Oxford 1978) 59-73.

181: MRR 1.384; 159: Livy Per. 47. An earlier example of the greedy Roman image is attributed to Pyrrhus' ambassador Cineas by Appian (Sam. 11.1, see below), but Appian of course is writing in the 2nd c. AD. Polyb. 9.37.6, 11.5.6f. Polyb. 18.22.8. On Polybius' view, H.H. Schmitt *Hellenen, Rómer und Barbaren: Eine Studie

zu Polybios' Wissenschaftliche Beilage zum Jahresbericht 1957/8 des humanistischen Gymnasiums Aschaffenburg 38-48; see also Polyb. 5.104.1, 20.10.6.

Plut. Pyrrh. 16; Flam. 5. Da

Ant. 1.4f.; E. Gabba Dionysius and the History of Archaic Rome (Berkeley

1991). Persians: E. Hall Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-definition through Tragedy

MONEY-LOVING

ROMANS

l1

(Oxford 1989) 80f., 127f. Polymestor: Eur. Hec. 25-7, 713, 774f., 1013, Hall op. cit. 108-10. 31.

App. Sam. 11.1.

32.

On women, cf. Strabo 3.4.18; Arrian 1.23.7.

33.

Polyb. 10.15.

34.

Plut. Aem. 29; Livy 45.34; App. Illyr. 9.

35.

CIL Y 25 = ILLRP 1.319; cf. Livy's lists of Cato, Flamininus, L. Scipio and Tiberius Gracchus' triumphal booty, 34.46, 34.52, 37.59, 41.28.8f.

36.

Carthage: Polyb. 15.18.7; Aetolia: Polyb. 21.32.8f.; Philip: Polyb. 18.44.6f.; Antiochus: Polyb. 21.17.4f., 21.41.8, 21.43.19.

37.

Pohb. 21.34-40; Livy 38.12-30; 38.44.50. Aspendos: Polyb. 21.35.4; Arrian

38.

Dio 12.48.8.

Thanks to Michael Lloyd and Theresa Urbainczyk for help and comments.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 13-27 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90-1

SECOND THOUGHTS ON THE DREAM OF SCIPIO! J.G.F. POWELL (University of Newcastle)

I Perhaps the most puzzling feature of the Somnium Scipionis can be characterised like this: —On

the one hand,

it is clear that the main

thrust of the De

Republica is towards enthusiastic commendation of political activity. The preface to the first book is a defence of Cicero's own political participation, and an attack on those philosophers who prescribed abstention from politics. The highest form of human organisation is the state; political activity provides the greatest scope for the manifestation of human excellence; the res publica is identified with

the patria which gave us birth; and on all these counts the state is said to deserve our best efforts in serving and preserving it. In the Somnium Scipionis, the further incentive is added that the practice of political virtue is said to bethe way to achieve eternal happiness after death.

—On the other hand, the vision in Scipio's dream takes him up to some reasonably elevated portion of the cosmos, a place from which the earth, and a fortiorithe Roman empire, seem extremely small and

insignificant. The arena of human affairs is shown to be very limited both in space and in time. The Roman empire occupies only a point on the earth's surface; and the whole history of Rome so far has taken

up not even a twentieth of a celestial year (defined in Platonic terms as the time it takes the planets to realign themselves). The innocent observer may well ask how this helps Cicero's case for participation 13

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J.G.F. POWELL

in politics. Is it not more likely to persuade readers that political concerns are unimportant and ephemeral, and that they should therefore abandon politics and take to philosophy and astronomy instead? It would be open to us, in response to this puzzlement, to say that the Somnium was a manifestation of an uneasy compromise between Roman politics and Greek philosophical other-worldliness, or, in the

terms of Greek philosophy itself, between the active life and the quiet or contemplative life. There is a view to the effect that Cicero’s excursus on the insignificance of terrestrial affairs was borrowed from a Greek source, the original purpose of which was quite

different: the commendation of abstract philosophical study. A favoured candidate is Aristotle’s lost Protrepticus.? The apparent contradiction between this and the main theme of the De Republica is

thus explained away, on the supposition that the Somnium is a patchwork of bits and pieces taken from disparate Greek sources. Few people now subscribe in general to this scissors-and-paste view of Cicero's philosophical works,’ and it may be fair to lay down a principle that we should not resort to this sort of explanation until other possibilities have been tried. It should not be too much to expect of Cicero the ability to sustain an argument on a reasonably commonplace theme, such as the desirability of participation in politics, without falling into obvious self-contradiction. Even if it is

correct to find the ‘source’ of one particular passage in an Aristotelian work on a different theme, we still have to explain why Cicero saw fit to use that material in the present context. He need not have done so, and surely would not, unless it suited his purposes in some

way. Some have seen the Somnium largely as an unsuccessful politician's attempt to come to terms with his disappointment, by promising

himself happiness in the afterlife asa substitute for the success that he failed to achieve on earth. At one time I myself inclined towards this view.* The trouble with it is twofold. It does not fit in with the rest of the De Republica; and it does not fit in with the image of himself that

Cicero was otherwise presenting to the world at the time of writing. The temptation to read the Somnium out of context is unfortunately encouraged by the state of the text and by those editions (up to and including my own) which print it separately from the rest of the De

Republica. There is also a temptation to read back into it the situation of six or seven years later, against the background of which Cicero's later philosophical works were written; but a great deal had changed

SECOND THOUGHTS ON THE DREAM OF SCIPIO

15

by then. It is true that Cicero had not recovered what he thought of as his rightful political position after his return from exile, and that he had been obliged to accept the de facto domination of Pompey, Crassus and Caesar; and in his private correspondence he does sometimes yield to feelings of desperation about the state of the Republic (Ad Quintum Fratrem 3.5). Yet Cicero later looked back on this period as one during which he sat at the helm of the State. He was daily employed in the Senate and the lawcourts; and while in his speeches he certainly laments the fact that his political efforts have not been properly rewarded, there is no indication that he intends to retire from politics and take to stargazing. The most relevant parallel of all in this context is the prologue to the De Oratore. The contrast with the later philosophical works could not be greater. In the later works Cicero complains that the dictatorship of Caesar has excluded him from politics and has given him an enforced period of inactivity; but here the complaint is that he has been deprived of the cultivated leisure expected by a Roman consular, because the turbulent state of the Republic is plunging him into ever-increasing conflicts and troublesome duties. It could be argued that, even if the above is granted, the Somnium may still represent an inadvertent intrusion of Cicero’s private disappointments into a context in which he is otherwise arguing for continued political participation, and that the two aspects cannot be reconciled. Those who do not think much of Cicero may welcome such a view. But we are dealing with a rhetorical writer who is presumably trying to make a case and persuade his readers of it; and, what is more, with a writer who was eminently successful as an exponent of the more practical forms of rhetoric. We should at least be prepared to try, asa provisional hypothesis, the notion that Cicero did know what he was talking about, and to see whether a closer inspection of the text may help to resolve the apparent contradiction. It is necessary first to look at the way in which the Somnium was introduced in the original context of the De Republica. Happily, Macrobius (Commentaria in Somnium Scipionis 1.4.2f. = De Republica 6.8 Ziegler [placed between 6.2 and 6.3], 6.4 Bréguet) preserves part of the passage concerned. Most readers of the Somnium are doubtless familiar with its formal parallelism with the Myth of Er at the end of Plato’s Republic, and it seems that Cicero himself drew explicit attention to this, although it cannot be determined exactly where (De Republica 6.3f., 6f., = 5.2-4 Bréguet).

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The Macrobius passage shows that, like the Myth of Er, the Somnium has the overt purpose of revealing the posthumous rewards that await the virtuous man. Cicero later, in the Somnium itself (Somnium 5 = De Republica 6.13) speaks more specifically about the virtuous Statesman, in tune with the theme of the dialogue as a whole; there was already Platonic precedent (in the Phaedo, 82a-b) for the view

that the best seats in heaven are reserved for those who have behaved well in political life. Cicero does not imply that only statesmen are so rewarded; but there is no doubt that political virtue is what he is most

concerned with.

This general theme is never lost sight of during the Somnium, and is in fact explicitly reverted to four times, at sections 13, 16, 25f. and 29.

These passages serve to articulate the narrative. The first passage reiterates the view of the state as the highest form of human association, already seen in the prologue to the first book, and adds a religious aspect: nothing is more acceptable to the supreme deity, at least of the things that happen onearth, than those gatherings of men

held together by law, which are called commonwealths. Commentators since Macrobius have puzzled over the qualification quod quidem in terris fiat. For Macrobius, as a good Neoplatonist, it was

an acknowledgement of the superiority of philosophy to politics. But philosophy is also one of the things that happen on earth. Cicero's contrast was surely between the imperfection of earthly affairs and the regularities of heaven. A well-run state, we are being told, is the nearest earthly approach to the perfection of the translunary world.? Hence the effect of the passage is not to commend philosophy over politics but to commend politics itself. The first two passages just mentioned enclose the topic of the prohibition of suicide. Scipio asks a very natural question: if life in heaven after death is the only true life, why not go there immediately (and presumably leave the Roman empire to stew)? The reply to this is that men were put on earth on purpose to watch over it, and are not

permitted to leave their post until God releases them from it; the way to heaven is not through suicide but through the practice of piety and justice on earth. The question of the Platonic and Pythagorean sources behind this passage has been much discussed, not least by myself ad loc. and on Cato Maior 73; but what has not so often been

noticed is the essential part it plays in Cicero's argument. Political life has now been given its due position in the cosmic order, as the way of

life which is acceptable to the ruling spirit of the universe and which will earn the reward of immortality. As for philosophical retirement

SECOND THOUGHTS ON THE DREAM OF SCIPIO

17

from politics, it is no longer even mentioned: the choice is the stark

one between the life of a Roman statesman and suicide.®

Having been promised eternal life in heaven, we now need to be told what it is like; and Cicero obliges with a vision of the cosmos.

The narrative, here again, is organised with more subtlety than Cicero has usually been given credit for. There are a number of

changes of viewpoint in the course of the dream, which, as I have noted in my commentary (127f.), is organised in the form of a gradual ascent followed by a descent. For the present purpose, the important point is the way in which the disparagement of earthly glory fits into the context of this cosmic description. It is not a disparagement of earthly matters in general, but only of the rewards for political endeavour constituted by glory among men. The earth itself may be small, but it is an integral part of the cosmic vision. We have to remember that it occupies the exact centre point of the universe: the

ancients apparently had no difficulty in simultaneously believing that the earth was supremely insignificant in size, but supremely important in position. All that is denigrated is political fame and honour, here reduced to “the talk of men", something which may

easily be despised even from an earthly point of view. In any case,

there is no question of renouncing whatever earthly glory may come one’s way. In two passages, Cicero seems to approach nearer to the de-

nigration of the earth and its concerns in more general terms. These are at sections 16 and 20. In the former Scipio, seeing the small size of the Roman empire in cosmic terms, feels a pang of inadequacy (ut me ... paeniteret). In the latter, he is told to keep his mind on heavenly things and to despise i//a humana (those human affairs down there). Here we must observe that the former passage marks Scipio's arrival at the highest point of his ascent, and the second marks his departure from it. It is only from there that the earth looks quite so

insignificant; and even while Scipio is up there, he is unable to keep his eyes off the earth, and has to be warned not once but twice that

there are more interesting things to look at around him in heaven. Though he sees from his cosmic vantage-point that the earth is small,

it never ceases to be of concern to him. So Cicero is in fact making a considerable effort to counteract the tendency towards a purely

other-worldly view. But the effect of this careful rhetorical arrangement is, of course, ruined if one takes individual passages out of context.

In composing the Somnium Scipionis at the end of a work that was

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much more explicitly political and practical than Plato's Republic, Cicero doubtless faced something of a problem. On the one hand, people have to be encouraged to participate in political life. On the other hand, they must be discouraged from seeking exclusively their own advantage when they do. The conventional Roman reward for political virtue was fame and glory among men; but it was a commonplace observation that this was an unreliable source of

happiness, and Cicero himself had known what it was like to be first courted and adored, and then abandoned, by the supposedly *best' elements in the Roman state. One might of course say that virtue was its own reward, but this might seem unsatisfying. Plato's idea of rewards in the afterlife might seem to offer more promising material. But if one is going to hold out the prospect of immortality as an incentive to virtue, one

must ensure that the afterlife is made

to

appear supremely desirable. Consequently earthly glory has to be shown as insignificant by comparison. Arguments were ready to hand, wherever Cicero found them (Cicero elsewhere recognises a

class of writings de contemnenda gloria).’ It is not the origin of these arguments but the use he made of them that matters.

Scipio appears persuaded (tanto praemio exposito enitar multo vigilantius). The rest of us can at least feel the inspiring effect of the vision, whose literal credibility in general terms (whether for ancient or modern readers) does not much matter in this highly literary and imaginative context. Although presented in such terms, the message is, or should be, unambiguous: political life is a worthwhile and sometimes necessary occupation even for the most high-minded and philosophical, despite the insignificance of any merely earthly

rewards that may be gained from it. II It has long been realised that the Somnium is closely foreshadowed in the introductory dialogue of Book I of the De Republica.? 1 now turn

to this passage with the aim of illuminating the topic further. The dialogue of the De Republica is set on the day of the Feriae Latinae in 129 BC, the year of Scipio's unexplained death. Scipio is

visited by a number of his closest friends. First comes his nephew Quintus Tubero, who asks him about the phenomenon of the double sun which has been announced as a portent. I suppose we may safely

assume that this came from authentic historical records, since Cicero was usually careful with circumstantial details in the settings of his

SECOND THOUGHTS ON THE DREAM OF SCIPIO

19

dialogues. In any case it functions as a peg on which to hang a discussion of the value of astronomical and philosophical study.

When Scipio’s closest friend of all, Laelius, arrives, he enquires about the topic of conversation, and comments as follows: ‘Have we finally solved all our domestic and political problems, since we have taken to wondering about what goes on in the sky?’ The reader will immediately recognise the attitude of Socrates, who had already been mentioned in the conversation before Laelius arrived. (This was seen,

incidentally, by whoever planned the frontispiece of Angelo Mai’s edition, in which Laelius is portrayed as Socrates.) Laelius’ attitude is not just Roman common sense; a traditionally-minded, non-philosophical Roman would take portents seriously. Another speaker, Furius Philus, then responds that the whole universe is our home and

that therefore we should indeed be concerned with what happens in the sky. The reader will here catch a breath of Stoicism, with its

doctrine of the unity of the cosmos and its affirmation of belief in divination. As the conversation proceeds, the usefulness of astronomy is brought out in the context of the explanation of eclipses, which were anciently thought to be portentous, but to Scipio’s enlightened generation appear as a natural event of no particular significance: the study of astronomy can thus release men from irrational fear. A gap in the text makes it difficult to follow the further progress of the argument, but when the text resumes we find

Scipio in the middle of an enthusiastic encomium of intellectual activities, with pride of place given to astronomy. In the course of this, he makes precisely the same point against worldly glory that is

made in the Somnium: Quid porro aut praeclarum putet in rebus humanis, qui haec deorum regna perspexerit, aut diuturnum, qui cognoverit quid sit aeternum, aut gloriosum, qui viderit quam parva sit terra, primum universa, deinde ea pars eius quam homines incolant, quamque nos in exigua

eius parte adfixi, plurimis ignotissimi gentibus, speremus nostrum nomen volitare et vagari latissime?

tamen

(What would a man think glorious, when he has seen how small is the earth, in the first place the whole of it, but then that part of it that is

inhabited by men; and in how small a part of it we are placed, quite unknown to most of mankind, but still hope that our fame may fly abroad as widely as may be?)

Then wealth is disparaged in familiar philosophical terms, and Scipio says that political offices, consulships and commands, are to be thought of as necessary duties, not rewards for ambition. What command or magistracy or even monarchy, asks Scipio, can be better

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J.G.F. POWELL

than the position of the philosopher, who despises all human affairs and thinks about nothing but what is eternal and divine? At this point the reader may perhaps justifiably think that Cicero is

laying it on a bit thick. After all, the real Scipio was a man of action and But may this

showed no Cicero does undertake passage is

noticeable aversion to commands and magistracies. not here exclude the possibility that the philosopher political offices out of a sense of duty. Nowhere in Scipio made to preach exclusive adherence to the

contemplative life and rejection of the active, which would indeed have been absurd both from the point of view of historical plausibility and for Cicero's own purposes. We do not need to raise the question of the extent to which Cicero exaggerates the real Scipio's enthusiasm for philosophy. Steps are taken to enhance the plausibility of the attribution of these views to him, as for instance the introduction of the anecdote about the elder

Africanus' taste for solitude. But what we see here is, surely, a deliberate and obvious idealisation of Scipio as a Romanised

Platonic philosopher-ruler. (In Mai's frontispiece, Scipio bears more than a passing resemblance to Plato.) The picture of the intellectual aristocrat who lives primarily in the world of philosophy and astronomy, but undertakes the job of ruling his country out of regard for the duties of his station and the welfare of his people, is one that could well have attracted Cicero, the self-made politician. In essence,

it comes

not from any uneasy compromise

between

Greek and

Roman, nor from this or that Hellenistic philosopher whose views on whether or not to participate in politics may have been current in Cicero's time, but straight out of the pages of Plato's Republic. This should not be in the least surprising in view of Cicero's avowed intention to write a Roman equivalent of that work. The link is admittedly of a rather general kind, but to confine oneself to those connections between texts that can be rigorously demonstrated by verbal parallels is to risk ignoring more important matters.

The gaps in the text make it difficult to come to a final verdict on this introductory conversation as a whole; but a few observations may be made. The conversation seems eminently realistic and natural, but it has a larger function than that of merely sliding sideways into the main subject of the dialogue. It projects the major speakers as distinct personalities. Scipio is a man of action but also an idealist; Laelius, in real life less distinguished in war or politics,

represents the down-to-earth Socratic attitude. The two attitudes are doubtless archetypal; there is a Scipio and a Laelius in many of us. It

SECOND THOUGHTS ON THE DREAM OF SCIPIO

21

could possibly be suggested that Cicero is here consciously or unconsciously presenting two complementary aspects of his own personality, though it would be difficult to prove or disprove the

truth of such a proposition. He was, indeed, otherwise fond of evoking the friendship of Scipio and Laelius in various contexts connected with his own career; in a notorious letter (Ad Familiares 5.7) he saw himself as playing Laelius to Pompey's Scipio, while in the later Laelius de Amicitia it appears more likely that he thought of himself as a Scipio figure, with Atticus playing the part of Laelius. But what matters here is the rhetorical context of the De Republica itself. Neither Scipio nor Laelius here can be taken as a mere

mouthpiece for Cicero's own views or any part of them.!'^ Each character has a well-defined point of view, and Cicero's oratorical

versatility made it possible for him to present both viewpoints with equal conviction, regardless of his own personal commitment to either. Yet the Scipionic viewpoint is so strongly presented that it may appear to stand in need of some further explanation.

Cicero uses Scipio as the representative of an ideal relationship between philosophy and politics: an ideal which attracted him, but did not necessarily seem to him to be often attainable in practice. The message appears to be that a man can feel as Scipio does about abstract studies, and yet perform the functions of a Roman general and statesman at the highest possible level. A Roman state ruled by such men is the nearest earthly approach to the Platonic ideal state ruled by philosopher-kings. The literary portrait of these Roman philosopher-rulers is at least as important for Cicero's message as the

philosophical content of what they say,!! though we are never allowed to forget for long that this conversation of ideal rulers takes place at a time of crisis for the Roman Republic, and we are reminded

at the beginning of the Somnium that Scipio himself will soon be found dead, suspected murdered for political reasons by members of

his family.

If there is a contradiction at all in Cicero's message, this surely is where it is to be found. The second-century Roman Republican constitution is supposed to be near to the ideal of stability, and its exponents, Scipio and Laelius and the rest, are supposed to be about as near to the ideal of the statesman as one can get in historical

reality. But in spite of this, they failed to keep the Roman res publica in this ideal condition. The blame could, of course, have been placed

on disorderly politicians such as the Gracchi and their associates; but this surely does not solve the problem. What is the use of an ideally

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J.G.F. POWELL

constituted state, governed by ideal rulers, if it begins to crumble at the first sign of sedition? A Ciceronian rector rei publicae, one would

have thought, should be able to control such tendencies and re-

establish the status quo.!? In fact, Cicero was not so idealistic in his view of the Roman constitution, or of Scipio and other second-century statesmen, as to think that they could survive against any opposition whatever. The

picture of Rome on the brink of disaster, presented in the setting of the De Republica, is not, maybe, entirely consistent with the idealistic side of Cicero’s message, but it is entirely consistent with Cicero’s

own view of Roman history from the Gracchan period down to his own time. The ‘short century’ from 133 to 51 BC had been, in his amply documented view, a period of steady disintegration, but one in

which it had been possible from time to time for one ‘good’ politician, or a small group, to reassert the traditional principles against the forces of disorder. This had happened most notably (as Cicero was still saying in the prologue to De Republica I) in his own

consulship. But the ‘good’ statesmen were always in a minority, and the longer-term outlook was disturbing. Cicero’s view could not be expressed more clearly than it is in the

preface to the fifth book: Nostra vero aetas, cum rem publicam sicut picturam accepisset egregiam, sed iam evanescentem vetustate, non modo eam coloribus eisdem quibus fuerat renovare neglexit, sed ne id quidem curavit ut formam saltem eius et extrema tamquam lineamenta servaret. Quid enim manet ex antiquis moribus quibus ille dixit rem stare Romanam? ως Nam de viris quid dicam? Mores enim ipsi interierunt virorum penuria. Cuius tanti mali non modo reddenda ratio nobis, sed etiam tamquam reis capitis quodammodo dicenda causa est. Nostris enim vitiis, non casu aliquo, rem publicam verbo retinemus, re ipsa vero iam pridem amisimus. (But our own age, having inherited a republic which, like a painting, had been a masterpiece but was now beginning to fade with age, not only failed to restore it to its original colours, but took no care even to preserve its shape and outline. For what now remains of the ancient customs on which the poet said the Roman state was founded? ... And what shall I say of the men? It is a shortage of good men that has caused the loss of the old customs. For this great evil, we must be held to account, and indeed we must defend ourselves for it as though ona capital charge. It is through our own fault, not by some accident, that we have preserved the name of the republic but lost the substance long ago.)

Here Cicero (if Augustine indeed preserves his words accurately)

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23

makes an impressive appeal to the esprit de corps of the Roman ruling class. There is no longer any apportionment of blame between different factions, no castigation of seditious tribunes or pernicious

laws. The problem is a ‘shortage of good men’: Scipio, Laelius and the rest were, indeed, good men, but there were not enough of them. The emphasis on the combination of philosophy and politics in the person of Scipio may also function, as many commentators have seen, as a retort to Epicurean aloofness from politics. Lucretius, in particular, commended the adoption of a cosmic angle on the human

world, so as to despise the petty concerns of politics or the pursuit of wealth. Although it is not easy to prove detailed engagement with the text of Lucretius on Cicero’s part (here some parallels have been adduced, but they are far from convincing)," it remains true that the De Republica was written shortly after Lucretius' poem is known to have come into Cicero's hands, and in general it is surely right to see in it a deliberate rebuttal of Epicureanism.

Ill It remains to make explicit the link between the beginning of the

dialogue and the concluding section, the Somnium Scipionis. 1 said above that the astronomical excursus in Book I ‘foreshadowed’ the Somnium, and this is how commentators generally talk about it. But this is really to put the cart before the horse. Most of us have read the Somnium long before becoming acquainted with the rest of the dialogue. But a reader of the complete text would have no reason to start at the end. The truth is that all the essential points made in the Somnium about the insignificance of worldly glory, and the obligation to engage in politics from a disinterested sense of duty, are already established in the Scipionic passages of Book I. All that is added in the Somnium is a more detailed vision of the cosmos, and the doctrine of the afterlife. Seen in context, therefore, the Somnium

should appear as little more than an amplification of the attitude of Scipio as expressed at the very beginning of the dialogue. The dream, in short, is the dream of Scipio, that is to say, of the

Scipio of the dialogue, and it fits his character in particular, as established in the first book. It is not the dream of Laelius or Manilius or Tubero or Philus; still less is it the dream of Cicero

himself. (One can only speculate about what would have happened to the Somnium if Cicero had followed his alternative plan of making himself the main speaker in the dialogue; a Dream of Cicero might

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have run a grave risk of appearing anticlimactic.) This simple point of dialogue technique has largely eluded commentators; and the reason why it has done so is probably that there is still a tendency to regard the dialogue form of this and other Ciceronian works as an empty convention that adds nothing, except some slight literary ornament, to what are substantially essays written in Cicero’s own person. If any reader is still disposed to adhere to this view and to accuse me of attributing excessive

subtleties to Cicero as a dialogue-writer, the only possible reply is to encourage the objector to read the dialogue again. Any general assessment of Cicero’s capacities as a writer of dialogue can only rest

on particular assessments of individual works. If Iam right about the De Republica, then Cicero was (at least in this instance) really quite a good writer of dialogue. Such

would

a conclusion, however, should

indeed

be

rather

more

not be very surprising.

surprising

It

if the talent for rich

character-portrayal that is so evident in the forensic speeches, such as the Pro Caelio, should have deserted Cicero when he came to write philosophical dialogue. In fact the Pro Caelio provides an interesting parallel for one aspect of the phenomenon I have been discussing. In

that speech, Cicero attacks Clodia from two entirely different and in themselves incompatible points of view. He presents the stern moral line in the person of Clodia’s ancestor Appius Claudius Caecus, and the point of view of the worldly sophisticate in that of her younger

brother Publius Clodius. Either way Clodia loses; and by the device of prosopopoeia, Cicero is able to employ both lines of attack without falling into direct inconsistency, and furthermore without having to assume responsibility for anything he says. That is a forensic trick; but here in the De Republica the dialogue form is managed in a similar

way. Cicero presents us with the views of both the idealistic Scipio and the sceptical Laelius without asking us to choose between the two; and both

in the end lead to the same conclusion —

that a

Roman's place is in politics. There are other examples of genuine dialogue technique in the body of the work; for instance, in 3.47 the extreme anti-populist view is expressed by Spurius Mummius, and Scipio says (to paraphrase) ‘Ah yes, well, we all know what an old oligarch you are!’ This is a way of getting onto paper a view with which Cicero undoubtedly had some sympathy, but to which he did not wish to give his unqualified endorsement. Similar techniques can be observed elsewhere in Cicero’s dialogues. Once one has begun to see them, it should

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ON THE DREAM OF SCIPIO

25

become clear that Cicero’s choice of this form was not a mere matter of convention.

The Scipio of the dialogue makes no direct claims for the truth of his vision; he explains it with ironical self-depreciation as the result of a long evening talking about his grandfather Africanus. Yet it would be wrong to regard the vision of the Somnium as merely mythical. On this point one can argue, if one chooses, from a fragment of the text (6.4 = 5.4 Bréguet) in which Cicero appears to criticise Plato’s Myth of Er as frivolous, presumably by contrast with his own more solidly based Dream of Scipio. One can also argue about Cicero’s view of dreams in general and their validity as revelations (a line of approach

which goes back at least to Macrobius). But it is safer to look at the content of the Dream itself. The doctrines of immortality and of the nature of the soul are, of course, taken directly from Plato; not only the Republic but the Phaedo, Phaedrus and Timaeus. But Scipio in his dream encounters not a vision of the mythical Hades or an allegorical image of the cosmos like Plato’s ‘Spindle of Necessity’, but a view of the universe as it was thought to be by real astronomers. The order of the planets in their interlocking spheres, their orbital motion, the revolution of Mercury and Venus round the Sun, the spherical shape of the earth, the five zones, the antoikoi, perioikoi and antipodes, and so forth, were all accredited parts of scientific astronomy and

geography in Cicero’s time; and I should perhaps stress the word ‘scientific’ for the benefit of those who are tempted to assume that, because the ancients were wrong about some things, they therefore

did not have a clear distinction between scientific or philosophical theory on the one hand and poetic myth on the other. This is the fundamental reason why the search for ‘sources’ in the Somnium, beyond a certain point, is misconceived. In any given period of history, what passes for science, even more than either mythology or philosophical doctrine, is the common property of the age. If something is believed to be scientifically true, it no longer matters very much whose idea it was. We still talk of the Copernican theory of the solar system or of Newton’s laws of motion, but we do not learn them from Copernicus or Newton (unless we have a particular interest in the history of science); we learn them from the latest textbook or just from the common talk of our elders and contemporaries. Similarly, Cicero himself very possibly could not have told us where he first learned about the planetary spheres and the zones of the earth. Plato or Aristotle? Heraclides Ponticus? Posidonius? Marcus Tullius Cicero pater? Or a Greek slave back

26

J.G.F. POWELL

home in Arpinum? It hardly matters. The astronomy and geography was there for the taking; and the use Cicero made of it is intimately connected with his own argument and his own rhetorical purposes. The fact that others had previously made rather different ethical use of similar material, and would do again, begins to seem less important. As for the various hypothetical lost sources invoked or invented by scholars, they may safely be returned to the oblivion of non-existence. In formal terms the Somnium is the equivalent of the Myth of Er (just as the sixth book of the Aeneid is Virgil’s equivalent of Homer’s Nekyia), and any further explanation on a formal and literary level is unnecessary. Scipio is apparently left with the last word. Nobody has ever proved that the words ego somno solutus sum were actually the last words of the book; but it is difficult to think what could have been added. To have Laelius or someone expressing damp scepticism about the Dream would have been bathetic or worse. The end of the Somnium as we have it is one of the great endings in world literature,

and it is as well to leave it as it is.'* But we shall not forget that the Somnium is a story within a dialogue, and that it matters who is speaking.

NOTES l.

This paper expands on, and in some places amends, the observations I made on the Somnium Scipionis in the introduction to my edition (together with Laelius de amicitia, Aris & Phillips, Warminster 1990), to which the reader is referred for

further bibliographical material; annotation is here kept to a minimum. An earlier version of this paper, entitled “The Cosmic Viewpoint in Cicero's De Republica', was due to be delivered at a Leeds International Latin Seminar in February 1991, but the meeting was cancelled owing to adverse weather conditions. Its content was incorporated as par of a lecture which I gave at the universities of Tel-Aviv, Jerusalem and Haifa in March-April 1992, the rest of which has now been published as 'The Rector Rei Publicae of Cicero's De Republica' in Scripta Classica Israelica 13 (1994) 19-29. The portion that was meant to be delivered at Leeds is hereby restored to its originally intended destination.

2.

A.D. Leeman ‘De Aristotelis Protreptico Somnii Scipionis exemplo' Mnemosyne 4.11 (1958) 138-51; A.J. Festugiere ‘Les themes du Songe de Scipion! Eranos 44 (1946) 370-88; see further my note on Somn.

3.

Against the mechanical application of the methods of source-criticism, see esp. P. Boyancé Etudes sur le Songe de Scipion (Paris 1936) and, more generally, id. *Les méthodes de l'histoire littéraire: Cicéron et son oeuvre philosophique' REL 14 (1936) 288-309, reprinted in

Latomus 121, 1970) 199ff. 4.

12 (Rep. 6.20).

expressed

Études sur l'humanisme cicéronien (Collection

it in a lecture given to the Edinburgh branch of the Classical

SECOND THOUGHTS

ON THE DREAM

OF SCIPIO

27

Association of Scotland in 1986, never published. Cf. R.W. Sharples 'Cicero's Republic and Greek Political Theory’ Polis 5.2(1986)

30-50, 35f. The passage may be elucidated by reference to Cato Maior 77 (cf. my

note ad loc.), ND 2.37, etc.

C.W. Wooten Cicero's Philippics and their Demosthenic Model (Chapel Hill and London

1983)

esp.

ch.

4,

has observed

that

the

“disjunctive

mode"

is a

characteristic move in Ciceronian oratory. This seems to exemplify the same kind of thing. Tusc.

1.34; Arch. 26.

Sharples op. cit. (n.5), an article which was brought to my attention (by my colleague Professor T.J. Saunders, to whom I am grateful) after this paper was first drafted, sees the Somnium

as ‘resolving’ a ‘tension’ between theoretical

pursuits and practical politics, a tension which is present both in Plato's Republic and in the bulk of Cicero's dialogue. But 'tension' is a vague word (and, a cynic would say, much beloved of literary scholars on that account). In the lost passage at the beginning of the preface to Book I it is likely that the reader was presented with a simple problem of choice: the old philosophical and rhetorical chestnut, whether the wise man should take part in politics. The preface itself gives an answer which could not be clearer or starker: yes, the wise man should take part in politics, for if he does not the povernment of his country will be left to the fools and knaves. No tension there (cf. Rep. 1.12 dubitationem ad rem publicam adeundi in primis debui tollere). The view that he will participate with some reluctance, as

a matter of duty rather than for personal advancement, is a subsequent qualification, arising in the dialogue itself from the conception of the ‘wise man’ as one who would really prefer to be doing philosophy or astronomy.

M. Pohlenz ‘Cicero de re publica als Kunstwerk', in Festschrift R. Reitzenstein (Leipzig and Berlin 1931) 70-105; M. Ruch 'La composition du De Republica' REL 26 (1948) 157-71; id., Le Préambule dans les oeuvres philosophiques de Cicéron (Paris 1958) 203ff.; P.L. Schmidt ‘Cicero "De re publica": Forschung der letzten fünf Dezennien' ANRW 1.4 (1973) 296f.

10.

Die

Note that in a fragment of book 5 (11 Ziegler) Scipio puts the Platonic case against rhetoric — not a view Cicero himself would have endorsed. Compare Cicero's more general remarks on the gravitas or auctoritas lent to his arguments by the use of well-known Roman historical characters, Cato Maior 3 and Lael. 3.

12.

See further my article cited above (n.1).

13.

J. Fontaine ‘Le Songe de Scipion premier Anti-Lucréce?’, in Mélanges A. Piganiol (Paris 1966) 111.1711-29; cf. my edition, p.126.

14.

I am entirely aware of the subjectivity of this judgement. Büchner (commentary ad loc.) disagreed, thinking the ending as it stands too abrupt. The study of

literary ‘closure’ might cast light on why this ending should strike one particular reader, at least, as satisfying — or it might not.

PAPERS OF THE

LEEDS

INTERNATIONAL

LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 29-45

Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA

34. ISBN 0-905205-90- 1

DIO'S CICERO AND THE CONSOLATORY TRADITION! JO-MARIE CLAASSEN (University of Stellenbosch)

Fergus Millar has provided an admirable overview of Dio Cassius' portrayal of Cicero, and discussed the historian's generally negative view of the consular.? This paper will focus on a single aspect: the way Dio adapts the tradition of the consolatio ad exulem to the circumstances of the exiled consular in his perhaps imaginary conversation between Cicero and Φιλίσκος τις ἀνήρ, a former acquaintance whom Cicero meets again in Macedonia, and who offers him consolation (38.18-29).? By way of introduction I outline

the essentials of the consolatory tradition; the paper will also examine Cicero's familiarity with the tradition, drawing conclusions from his use of it in private letters. I. Consolatio ad Exulem: its origins and main features Cicero,

discussing

exile

as

an

aspect

of the

human

condition

(Tusculan Disputations 5.107), cites as involuntary exiles a long list of philosophers who never returned to their native cities. The list is representative of the various schools of Greek philosophy: the Old Academy:

Xenocrates,

Crantor;

the Middle

Academy:

Arcesilas,

Lacydes; the Peripatetics: Aristotle and Theophrastus; the Old Stoa: Zeno, Cleanthes; the Middle Stoa: Chrysippus, Antipater; the New Academy: Carneades, Clitomachus; contemporary New Academicians: Philo, Antiochus; and, finally, the two Stoics best known in the Roman world, Panaetius and Cicero's friend Posidonius.* It was 29

30

JO-MARIE CLAASSEN

not until the following century, when the republic had become only a

vague yearning in some Roman

minds, that active philosophical

opposition to the emperors prompted a whole series of further Stoic exiles;? but already philosophers in ‘exile’ (perhaps only removal toa cultural centre) seem to have loomed large in Cicero’s consciousness. This fact reflects the importance of exile as a philosophical theme:

ancient philosophy was concerned to examine all aspects of the human condition, including the moral implications of exile. The basic issue was whether exile influences the striving for moral happiness, and discussion largely concentrated on the question of whether exile is an evil, a neutrum, or a positive good. Thus the ideal of sagacious self-sufficiency, though of much wider application than the concept of the exiled sage, became one of the most important features of consolation in exile. The Stoic Stilpo of Megara (ca 380-300 BC), refusing Ptolemy Soter's invitation to go to Egypt after the plunder of Megara, retired to Aegina. Demetrius, son of Antigonus, while attempting to restore Megara and make restitution to its inhabitants, asked Stilpo for a list of his lost possessions. Stilpo denied having lost anything, “45 he still retained his eloquence and knowledge” (Diogenes Laertius 2.113)." In Plutarch's version (Demetrius 9.5) Stilpo replies negatively to Demetrius’ enquiry about whether he had been robbed, “for I saw no one carrying away knowledge". Stilpo conceded the truth of Demetrius' boast that he was leaving the Megarians their city in freedom, for '*Demetrius had not left the people of Megara a single slave". This is an early example of the central argument of consolation in exile: that man needs but little on earth, and what he most needs, he carries with him.

Also important for an understanding of the development of the sub-genre consolatio ad exulem is the link between exile and death. Voluntary exile frequently pre-empted the imposition of the death penalty; it was therefore no great step when philosophers began to equate exile with death, and discussion of exile as an evil followed

much the same train of argument as discussion of the problem of death. When it moved from the purely academic to the personal, discussion of death was usually adapted to the need to console the living after bereavement; discussion of exile was likewise aimed at consoling the victim. The tradition of consolation for death or exile therefore appears to have had a common origin. Bion and Ariston of

Chios were its probable initiators.* There is very little material extant from before the first century AD, but analysis of some later examples allows us to deduce the

DIO'S CICERO AND THE CONSOLATORY TRADITION

31

characteristics of the sub-genre.” Common elements can be found in the surviving fragments of Teles,'? the first-century Stoic Musonius Rufus!! and Favorinus; large parts of the latter's speech περὶ φυγῆς survive. We also have more extensive consolationes among the works of Seneca and Plutarch. Dio Chrysostom summarises the tradition in his speech on his own exile (Oration 13).? From these

examples we can see that such discussion frequently took the form of conversation with and exhortation of the exile. Consolation to those living in exile could be offered as dialogue, in a letter, or (less personally) as a formal philosophical address, sometimes termed a ‘diatribe’. In the latter the illusion of ‘conversation’ was maintained by means of apostrophe and assumed questioning of the addressee. In letters, as in dialectic consolatio, the focus on the exiled figure

required verbs in the second person, imperative forms, and other concomitants of dialectic, with narrative sections merely providing

illustration.'* In 1916 J. Van Wageningen attempted a conjectural reconstruction of the lost Consolatio which Cicero composed after the death of his

daughter.'> His method was to synthesise testimonia with fragments from the Tusculan Disputations, in which Cicero mustered the full

force of his philosophical knowledge to find comfort as a bereaved father; he adapted this synthesis to the framework provided by two consolationes attributed to Plutarch — that addressed to his friend Apollonius on the death of his daughter (Moralia 102a-121f), and that to his own wife, on the death of their baby daughter (Moralia 608b-612b).'° Van Wageningen argued that Cicero and Plutarch appear to follow a common tradition, whereas Seneca's Consolatio ad Polybium follows a different tradition, or was perhaps extensively influenced by Seneca's Stoicism with the result that it employs a less rigorous ordering system of argument. Although this reconstruction met with a critical reception at the

time,'® it offers us a useful paradigm: a similar analysis, also using Plutarch as our model, may enable us to deduce what would traditionally have been the essential elements of a formal consolatio ad exulem. Plutarch, writing late in the first century AD, composed a consolatio to an exile from Sardis, probably living in Athens and obviously a relegatus, free to travel but not to return home.!? A suggestion that the exile should choose a new city indicates that the relegation was in perpetuum, for acceptance of a new citizenship

would have meant loss of the old.?? Plutarch's 'epistle' (Moralia 599a-607e),

following

the

form

of his other moral

essays,

is a

32

JO-MARIE CLAASSEN

declamatory monologue, addressed to the exile, but by virtue of its publication aimed also at a wider readership. The essay has four

major divisions: exhortation to exhibit a rational attitude toward exile; the argument from the universality of the human condition and

the uncertainty of Fortune; a practical discussion of suitable places for the exile to visit; and, finally, refutation of arguments that exile is evil. These elements recur regularly in consolations addressed to individual exiles. II. Comparison of Dio and Plutarch

Plutarch’s epistle on exile stems from the troubled first century; Dio Cassius composed his imaginary dialogue at the beginning of the third century.?!

even

where

the

Both authors cover the same subject matter, and,

order

differs,

there

are more

similarities than

differences in their manner of presentation. But it is not necessary to assume the direct influence of Plutarch on Dio.? Both writers come towards the end of a long tradition and have in common the essential elements of formal exilic consolatio, which they adapt to the situation in hand.? A comparison of the two may therefore be illuminating. The exordium of each work has a similar content. Plutarch's traditional analysis of the duty of a friend to help the sufferer examine his problem (599a) is paralleled by Dio's conversational opening: ‘Philiscus’ pretends to act like a friend lightening a physical burden (38.18.1-4). Cicero is chided for his faint-hearted prostration (38.18.5). Both authors use medical imagery, the protagonist's

suffering in each case being portrayed as a curable disease.?* Both exhort the exile to submit to rational arguments: he must know that his pain stems from his perception of woe, not from fact.? ‘Cicero’ in this conversation shows himself more aware than in any of his exilic letters that he is not acting the exiled sage. He desires to partake of the medicine of philosophy (38.19.1). The first step, so ‘Philiscus’ tells his eager disciple, is to count his blessings: his good health and the means with which to enjoy it (38.19.2). *Cicero's' replies reveal his inner feelings of dejection. Dio's portrayal of Cicero's sense of misery (38.20) is not only historical but also traditional, and clearly reflects the common assumption that exile is an evil to which Plutarch refers (600a—c). Plutarch draws on conventional arguments to refute this assumption, and ‘Philiscus’ responds in similar terms (38.20f.). He

exhorts the exile to find comfort in his own proven sagacity; his sense of justice should enable him to bear like a philosopher what Fortune

DIO'S CICERO AND THE CONSOLATORY TRADITION

33

(Τύχη) brings (38.22. 1f.).2° Dio shows ‘Philiscus’ adapting a commonplace of exilic literature ad hominem in his emphasis on Cicero’s own responsibility for ordering his life and his role in bringing banishment upon himself (38.22.2-4).?' This is in a similar vein to Plutarch's argument that it is not Zeus but man himself who orders his lot

(600d). ‘Cicero’ does not accept everything his friend offers him, but discourses on disenfranchisement and the other disadvantages of exile (38.23.1). ‘Philiscus’ counters these observations with traditional arguments about the universality of the human condition; the idea of world-citizenship may be based on the fact of man's adaptability and the frequency of voluntary exile (38.23). A fuller form of this argument can be found in Plutarch: not only is the world man's natural habitat, but the world itself is so small a speck in the universe that any one spot on it is very close to any other. The man

who realises the advantage of enforced migration can choose a place suited to his temperament (600e-601f).

Conventionally the next topic is the choice of suitable places of retreat. Plutarch's essay follows the usual pattern. He discourses at length on the choice of place, including islands traditionally associated with exile, such as Gyaros or Cinaros.?* With this comes

the argument that happiness is to be attained through the sequestered life,? free from civic duties, with time enough for study (602c-603f). Plutarch goes on to rebut negative views of exile as an evil. A cosmological argument is used to refute the idea that it is a misfortune to be exiled to one prescribed location: fixed stars are not less happy than wandering planets (604a). In any case, since his addressee is not restricted to a single place, in his case banishment from one city means access to all, freedom to travel,

freedom to write

(604c-f) Dio’s dialogue is much less emphatic on this point. *Philiscus' limits his discussion of the choice of destination to the suggestion that ‘Cicero’ should find a remote retreat on the coast where he may enjoy his new-found otium (a reference, perhaps, to

Cicero's Tusculan villa).2° Dio's philosopher shows himself to be such by an extensive reworking of the topos of creativity in exile. The creation of one's own ambience for a happy life is illustrated with exempla from Greek and Roman history (38.26.3-27.3). Like Xenophon and Thucydides, Cicero should devote himself to farming and historiography (38.28.1). These two exempla are clearly from the common corpus of consolatory topoi, and also occur in Plutarch (605c), in addition to Philistus, Timaeus, Androtion and Bacchylides.

34

JO-MARIE CLAASSEN

The ending of the traditional consolatio ad exulem was usually closely adapted to the circumstances of the addressee’s life, but not necessarily so. It was also possible to introduce a final argument refuting the idea of exile as an evil. Plutarch’s peroration, for instance, quotes Empedocles on life as an exile from heaven (607c-e)?! as the soul has come from elsewhere, life is a ‘journey’ and the soul, imprisoned in the body, is free, wherever it may be going, to the extent to which it practices virtue and wisdom and thereby creates its own happiness. The end of Dio's dialogue is adapted to Cicero's historical circumstances, in two ways. First, 'Philiscus' observes that

Cicero has attained the high office of consul; no second consulship is needed to add to his fame. The ultimate question is therefore whether Cicero would prefer to be himself, alive but banished, or whether he

would rather be a Marius or a Corvinus, whose multiple consulships did not keep them from death, the common lot of humanity (38.28.4). The topos of such ‘active vs passive’ preference is also used by Plutarch, who indeed refers to Cicero himself: he asks his friend

whether it is better to be the persecutor Clodius or the persecuted Cicero (605e). Thus Plutarch, writing little more than a hundred

years after the famous consular’s death, chooses Cicero as one of his exempla when refuting the idea that loss of fame is attendant upon exile. Dio’s use of the consolatory tradition as a means of historical

elucidation may perhaps be ascribed to the fact that Cicero himself features within this tradition as one of the archetypic exiles. Secondly, ‘Philiscus’ employs as a final, effective argument the possibility that present banishment may pre-empt future ills of a more drastic nature. He suggests that the alternative to exile now

may be a worse fate: decapitation, and the abuse of the ex-consular’s grisly remains in the Forum by anyone, “man or woman" (38.29.2f.).

This last phrase subtly evokes Cicero’s known fate and the role of Fulvia, widow

of Clodius and wife of Antony, whose

revoltingly

feminine mutilation of the once-eloquent tongue, the enemy of both husbands, with a fibula is well-attested.?? The argument given here to *Philiscus' is therefore obviously a vaticinium post eventum based on Dio's awareness of Cicero's end. But it is equally part of the tradition of commonplaces

refuting the idea of exile as an evil, as used, for

instance, by Plutarch in his lengthy analysis and refutation (605f607a) of Euripides' depiction of the evils of exile in Phoenissae 387-407. Thus Dio is writing from the perspective of an historian (the ancient conception of the historiographer's brief did not preclude dramatic irony) while at the same time making use of philosophical

DIO'S CICERO AND THE CONSOLATORY TRADITION

35

material. Dio’s Cicero accepts the philosopher’s cogent arguments and is comforted (38.30.1). If this passage from Dio Cassius were our only source, the picture we should have formed of Cicero’s demeanour in

exile would not have been that of a downcast Roman politician, but of a self-sufficient Roman sage, in full control of his emotions and sustained by a centuries-old Greek tradition, striding from the scene, presumably to take up those Greek philosophical studies conventionally employed by the exiled to while away a time of enforced otium when removed from the hub of their Roman universe. Other

ancient accounts give a different impression; Plutarch (Cicero 32.5) likens the exiled consular to **an unhappy lover, yearning towards

Italy”.>? As we shall see, Cicero's own letters from exile confirm this latter impression: he appears to have been consistently more capable

of consoling others than of practising consolation in his own times of adversity. III. Cicero's familiarity with the consolatory tradition Cicero's

letters display his familiarity with both strands of the

consolatory tradition, both to the bereaved and to exiles, and there

can be no doubt that he was aware of the essential elements of the tradition. After Tullia's death in 45his first, private letters, written in the months after his bereavement (Ad Familiares 4.6,9.11, 5.15) show

little fortitude and a psychological attitude not yet ripe for comfort: he has lost the only comfort left to him after his political desolation. Literary pursuits do not offer medicina perpetua, only temporary

oblivion from pain. This is in stark contrast to the philosophical exhortation Cicero had offered to a bereaved friend, Titius (otherwise unknown), about a year before (Ad Familiares 5.16): humanity is subject to the tela fortunae, and the loss of a child, lying within the course of nature, is small in contrast to the present perils of the State. Titius must take comfort: death, whether offering oblivion or eternal consciousness, is a blessed state, which saves individuals from

temporal troubles. Titius should forestall the normal relieving effect of the passage of time by active pursuit of philosophy. Such too was the burden of the famous letter addressed to Cicero himself after the

death of his daughter Tullia in 45 BC, by his friend Servius Sulpicius Rufus (Ad Familiares 4.5), with the addition of the topoi of the

difficulty of offering consolation when the consoler is himself sad, the smallness of private woe against public grief in troubled times,

36

JO-MARIE CLAASSEN

particularly at the loss of a mulierculae anima, and the heights that

the departed had herself attained, or had seen her father attain. A novel comfort in straightened times was that she was dying with the

republic, and did not have to watch its demise. Although time does alleviate grief, Cicero was advised to put away grief consciously, for her sake, but also so as not to appear to be mourning the Republic, practical advice in dangerous times. In a letter to his friend Curio, Cicero points out that there are four kinds of letters: those bringing news, others offering social intercourse at a distance, those discussing serious issues, and last, those

exhorting or advising a friend (Ad Familiares 2.4.1).°° Writing to the exiled Trebianus in September 46 (Ad Familiares 6.10.4), he gives a clear analysis of what is required of a letter to an exile: it may contain a promise of aid, offer advice, or give comfort. The many letters of

consolation which Cicero wrote to exiled friends during the last years of the Republic (52-45 BC) closely follow the pattern of consolation offered to Cicero himself by Sulpicius. The year 52 provoked two such

letters: Ad Familiares 5.17, to P. Sittius, the ‘king-maker’, a

voluntary exile in Mauretania, and 5.18, to Fadius, one of the tribunes of 58 who had worked for Cicero's recall. He had been

Cicero's quaestor in 63 and was now living in exile outside Rome. This letter touches on the inability of a friend to find the right words of comfort,

on

changes

of fortune

as

inherent

in

the

human

condition, on Fadius' great loss in his loss of the City, but also on his blessings. Finally, Cicero assures Fadius that his exile will soon be

over. After 49, during the stormy years of Caesar's dictatorship, and

particularly after Thapsus, exile became a way of life to many. Cicero was trying manfully to blend tactful acquiescence with concern about the dictator's policies, while maintaining his own political independence. Cicero's advice is not always consistent, being adapted to the apparent needs of each individual. His exhortation of Cn. Domitius Ahenobarbus to resort to philosophy (Ad Familiares 6.22) may be an

attempt to keep Ahenobarbus from suicide. Mescenius Rufus, awaiting news of Thapsus and probably forbidden to enter Rome,? is exhorted to bear funditus aversam fortunam bravely, and even to pray for death (Ad Familiares 5.21). In Ad Familiares 4.15, written at some time in 46, Cn. Plancius, Cicero's host of 58, an opponent that

Caesar had not yet pardoned,?? is offered the cold comfort that he must realise that all in the state are sharing a common danger. He should not shy away. Rome is frequently contrasted with the victim's

DIO'S CICERO AND THE CONSOLATORY TRADITION

37

place of exile: exile is a lesser evil than being present to watch the

Republic crumble. His friend Marcellus is exhorted to return and continue his ‘spiritual exile’ in the city itself (Ad Familiares 4.7, 4.8, 4.9), whereas Manlius Torquatus and A. Caecina are comforted with the thought that they are well out of it — to hear about the miseries of the state is less painful than to see its daily ruin (6.1, 6.4, 6.5, 6.6). Caecina is advised to stay near Rome for easy recall (6.8) whereas Toranius is similarly advised about the island of Corcyra, across the

Adriatic (6.20). In August and September 46 Cicero was employed in writing a whole series of exhortations. Sometimes the consolatory tradition appeared to fail him. The Pompeian P. Nigidius Figulus (Ad Familiares 4.13), who later died in exile, is given a picture of Cicero’s own despair and concomitant inability to produce suitable words of consolation: Nigidius can think of better arguments himself, he says. His personal woes will soon end, those of the Republic will not. Cicero exhorts Nigidius to turn to study for comfort, while also undertaking to conciliate Caesar on Nigidius’ behalf. In the same months a letter congratulates Ampius Balbus (Ad Familiares 6.12) on the restitution of his civil rights and return to Rome. The letter offers details of Cicero’s efforts to order the exile’s domestic affairs. The last paragraphs refer to consolatory letters written by Cicero during Balbus’ exile, and to Balbus’ consistently admirable fortitude, exhorting him to turn to historiography, literature being the only safe

resort in troubled times. Other letters written in September 46” refer to the duty of a friend to offer comfort or aid. All these letters combine practical details with praise of the exile’s fortitude, bolstered by his philosophical pursuits. Cicero’s optimistic assurance that his friend Trebianus’ exile would soon end, as Caesar was becoming more lenient, was justified by events. In June 45 another letter reassures Trebianus about his property and congratulates him on his restitution. Typically Ciceronian egoism adds piquancy: the writer is gratified by his friend’s thanks, and appeals to him to make his gratitude known, particularly to their common friend, the philosopher Siro. Of other consolatory letters, one to C. Toranius (Ad Familiares 6.20) distinguishes between earlier consolation and present admonition, the earlier letter (Ad Familiares 6.21) having reflected on their common

interest in the welfare of the state, and

promised practical aid. Many of these letters stress that a consciousness of innocence and rectitude brings inner comfort.*? Three sets of consolatory letters each tell an interesting tale. The

38

JO-MARIE CLAASSEN

first set, three letters to the Pompeian A. Manlius Torquatus dating

from January 45, reflect rising distress about Caesar's dictatorship (Ad Familiares 6.1, 6.3, 6.4). Torquatus was in exile in Athens, later perhaps in Italy, still outside Rome. These letters are clouded with pessimism, illustrating the topos of the difficulty of consoling another when the consoler himself is unhappy. Cicero stresses

Torquatus" philosophical fortitude, his awareness of some present blessings, the community of pain in being separated from loved ones, and the consolatory force of time. He candidly admits that in similar circumstances literature did little to relieve his own misery. He ends with a morbid, rather than philosophical, desire for death to relieve his present woe. Next we have three letters, dated late 46 to January 45, from Cicero to A. Caecina, exiled to Sicily (in order, 4d Familiares 6.6, 6.8, 6.5) and one from Caecina himself (6.7). He was a Pompeian, from Etruscan stock, who had been pardoned by Caesar but not allowed to return to Italy. The letters discuss an apparently abject Liber Querellarum, written by Caecina in exile, of which Caesar has taken

no notice. Caecina is by turns hopeful and fearful that the book will come to Caesar's attention. A long ironical essay (Ad Familiares 6.6) analyses the temper of the times in ‘Etruscan’ augurial terms (2-9): the clemency of Caesar 'augurs' well. This analysis takes the place of illa consolatione qua facile fortem virum sustentarem (12). A para-

graph of rapid praeteritio lists the commonplaces of consolation which Cicero should have offered Caecina, but did not: the comfort that lies in consciousness of rectitude, exhortation to philosophical acceptance of Caecina's lot, consolation in literature and exempla to

show the universality of the human lot: Jevat enim communis quasi legis et humanae condicionis recordatio. Caecina’s elaborate and somewhat hesitant reply discusses the problem of how to mollify a great man (2-4). He appeals to Cicero to help to edit his book, but not to publish it. Cicero replies kindly: Ad Familiares 6.8 encloses a copy of a letter of recommendation to Furfanius, governor of Sicily; in 6.5 Cicero assures Caecina that he is careful not to leave the book lying about, expresses gratitude for Caecina's past kindness when he, Cicero, was in exile, and promises aid to the whole family.

The third of these sets of letters ends tragically. The series Ad Familiares 4.7-12 reflects the story of M. Marcellus. We have four letters from Cicero to Marcellus, one reply, and a letter to Cicero

from

Servius Sulpicius, dated

31 May

Marcellus, after opposing Caesar's

45 BC."

"debauchment

The consular of the consti-

DIO'S CICERO AND THE CONSOLATORY TRADITION

39

tution”, had chosen to retreat to Mitylene rather than seem to condone [1.22 Later Caesar's free pardon of Marcellus gave rise to Cicero's extravagant eulogy of Caesar in the speech Pro Marcello.” Letters 4.7 to 4.10 have a single thrust: that Marcellus should return, that it is safer to live under Caesar’s benevolence at Rome than dangerously in opposition to him elsewhere, that, even if death is preferable to exile, to die at home

is the greatest boon, that the

alienated spirit can endure ‘internal exile’ better among the bodily comforts of home, that it is better to watch the ruin of the state than to hear about it, that matters would have been no different under

Pompey, and that Marcellus has a duty to his patria orbata. Marcellus’ reply (Ad Familiares 4.11) shows that Cicero has prevailed:

it is clear that

Marcellus’

devotion

to philosophy

had

sustained him happily in Greece; devotion to the state was now drawing him home. Of the usual consolatory aphorisms he was in no need: Marcellus had been satisfied with his lot. A final letter comes as a shock: Servius Sulpicius writes from Athens (Ad Familiares 4.12) to tell Cicero of Marcellus' death at the hands of a certain Cilo in a quarrel about money. Sulpicius had arranged for his cremation in the gymnasium of the Academe, as befitted a Roman nobleman and a philosopher. So died the only truly philosophical exile in the Ciceronian epistolary collection. IV.

Cicero's letters from exile as ‘Anti-Consolatio’

Despite the obvious familiarity with the consolatory tradition which we have deduced from Cicero's consolation of exiled friends in the last years of the Republic, during his own earlier exile (58-57 BC) Cicero could draw no comfort from his familiarity with the tradition. As I have shown elsewhere, after his return from exile he rewrites

history and depicts himself as enduring all vicissitudes of Fortune

stoically, fortified by these very tenets.* In reality, when he himself was exiled Cicero exhibited those psychological traits which all philosophical effort aims at dispelling, even begging his friend Atticus not to try to console him. More than one of Cicero's letters from exile follows the ordered pattern of philosophical discussion of exile and formal consolation, as outlined above, but in a negative

vein. One of his letters from Thessaly, written in August 58 (Ad Atticum 3.15), may be interpreted as a complete inversion of the

normal consolatio interspersed with references to matters of practical importance. The consolatory role of a friend is acknowledged in the

40

JO-MARIE CLAASSEN

first sentence: accepi Idibus Sextilibus quattuor epistulas a te missas (1). There follows a detailed reply to these letters of his friend, two of which clearly had adapted consolatory topoi to Cicero’s circum-

stances. On the need for a rational attitude, Cicero comments that he has

no opportunity in exile for exercising the rational faculty. If Atticus is missing Cicero, can he imagine how the exile feels at having lost all? Recapitulation of the exile’s losses would mean ‘reopening his own wound’. Medical imagery is continued later with another reference to meis vulneribus. Then follows a catalogue of ills: he has lost more than anyone before him: to count his blessings merely augments his present misery. The usual assumptions about exile and loss, for instance, that passage of time will alleviate pain, are invalid, for dies autem non modo non levat luctum hunc, sed etiam auget (2). After spending some lines on discussion of political connections (3), Cicero turns to the contemplation of future happiness. He longs for a future time when Fortune will restore him to his friends and fatherland. At that stage, he promises, he will “‘be a better friend" than he can in his present misery (4). Consciousness of rectitude is tempered by consciousness that Cicero has been his own greatest enemy, and brought much of his misery upon himself by shortsighted political action and reaction (4a). The topos that the ills of mankind are to be

ascribed not to Zeus but to themselves (compare Plutarch Moralia 600d) is turned here into a convoluted accusation-cum-exoneration of Atticus for having at the time advised Cicero to flee instead of making a stand. He himself should have remained firm, Cicero says,

which would have led either to freedom or death (4b). Cicero touches on disenfranchisement in his examination of the circumstances which led to the decree of exile, blaming his friends and himself for

their blindness in not having ignored Clodius’ first bill de capite civis Romani and for having gone into mourning when it was passed (5). Cicero's concern, in a series of questions about his property and house, negates the topos of the self-sufficiency of the true sage. For him, there can be no true restitution without recovery of his property:

sin autem

spei nihil est, quae est mihi vita? (6a).5 He ignores

consolatory topoi such as *world-citizenship' and man's adaptability through acceptance of the universality of the human condition. A severely practical discussion of a place of exile follows: Cicero wants to stay as close as he can to Rome, as he hopes that events may develop favourably. Yet he wants to hide on Atticus' estate ut neque videam homines, quos nolim, et te, ut scribis, videam (6b). He does not

DIO’S CICERO AND THE CONSOLATORY TRADITION

41

attempt to cite the traditional criticisms of exile; but his attitude is

negative throughout the letter. For Cicero life away from Rome is no

life at all. The close of the letter is again critical of Atticus for bad advice. Cicero blames himself and Atticus: ego proditus, inductus, coniectus in fraudem omnia mea praesidia neglexi, totam Italiam mire erectam ad me defendendum destitui et reliqui, me, meos, mea tradidi inimicis

inspectante et tacente te (7a). This was voluntary exile of a despicable sort, and Cicero blames himself for having allowed Atticus to allow him to rush to his own ruin, exitium (7b). The topos of exile or death as the pre-emption of an unhappy future is inverted into the idea that

pre-empting possible ruin has brought misery. Cicero throughout remains very conscious of his loss of a good reputation. Consciousness of past achievements is confined to the hope that Atticus may in

some way achieve Cicero’s restitution to some sort of social and political power. He laments: qui fui, et qui esse potui, iam esse non possum (8a). This letter, like others written by the exile while in the

depths of despair, is our only evidence of any attempt by Cicero at creativity in exile, the traditional staple of advice to an exile. Cicero’s literary activity is limited and querulous. In short, Cicero in exile

does not display the Stoic ideal of the soul’s creation of its own happiness by the practice of virtue. He can be comforted only by

complete restitution: his friend must not try to comfort him with an offer of anything less (7b). A contrite rider follows: Cicero hopes that his friend will realise that he blames himself most (8b). V.

Conclusion

This kind of letter has, over the centuries, given rise to much negative criticism of Cicero as a man. In the early Italian Renaissance Petrarch,

it is said, could

hardly credit that he was reading the

master's own words; in this century Carcopino ascribed the publication of the correspondence to an enemy of Cicero. It is my argument that Dio Cassius, relatively near in time to the consular, has tried to deal with a perhaps generally felt disquiet by composing his dialogue between the exiled Cicero and the elusive ‘Philiscus’. Dio's Cicero appears far more conversant with the conventional elements of the consolatory tradition than Cicero the man ever seemed during his exile; he is also far more easily persuaded of their validity than the historical personage could be when himself in exile.

Indeed, this perhaps imaginary consolatory conversation could even

42

JO-MARIE CLAASSEN

have been based on Ad Atticum 3.15, which it appears to refute, point by point. Similarly, Plutarch's report (Cicero 41.8) that “philosophers came together from all sides to offer Cicero consolation" after Tullia's death, which Moles regards as outright invention," may well be a generalization based on letters such as that from Servius Sulpicius Rufus (Ad Familiares 4.5), as well as on Plutarch's awareness of the general prevalence of the consolatory tradition. Whether Cicero's letters were indeed part of Dio's source-material must remain a moot point. Dio's method of collecting historio-

graphical material and his reworking of it are well-known, but opinon is divided on his use of other types of material.“ It is at any rate clear from this investigation that Dio's consolatory conversation is not mere fiction: its form and thrust derive from within the confines of a strictly defined tradition, which Dio has personalised to suit both the situation and his genre.

NOTES 1.

Anearlier version of this

Seminar colloquium ‘Greek

paper was delivered at the Leeds International Latin

Views of the Romans: Roman Views of the Greeks’,

7 May 1993. I thank the Centre for Development of Science of the HSRC, Pretoria, and the Division of Research Development of the University of

Stellenbosch, for financial support. 2.

F.Millar A Study of Cassius Dio(Oxford 1964) 46-55. Cf. A.V. Van Stekelenburg Redevoeringen bij Cassius Dio (Diss. Leiden 1971) 21-8. Divergent opinions of Dio's portrayal of Cicero are summarised by D. Fechner Untersuchungen zu Cassius Dios Sicht der Rómischen Republik (Hildesheim 1986) 53-7, who would

consider the overall picture to be consistent. 3.

Sec J.R. Berrigan ‘Consolatio Philosophiae in Dio Cassius’ CB42 (1966) 59-61 for

a summary of its contents. Millar (n.2) 50f. conjectures that Φιλίσκος τις ἀνήρ is a sophist philosopher, a contemporary of Dio Cassius, and not a contemporary of Cicero, speculating that the passage in question is one ofa few where Dio takes the initiative in the composition of virtual fiction. Van Stekelenburg (n.2) 23f. shows that Dio is careful nowhere to typify him as 'philospher', as does Fechner (n.2) 50, against G.W. Bowersock's implausible countersuggestion (in his review of Millar, Gnomon 37 (1965) 472) that Dio was referring to an ancestor of his

own, about whom he “might have known that he attempted a consolation”. W. Schmitthener's review of Millar (Gymnasium 73 (1966) 307f.) does not mention

the problem. See Fechner 49f. for a balanced discussion, and the contributions by R. Philippson (RE 19.2, 2384 s.v. Philiskos (8)) and F. Münzer (RE 19.2, 2379 s.v. Philiskos (3)).

4.

See T.W. Dougan and R.M. Henry (edd.) Tusculan Disputations V (Cambridge 1934)

ad

loc.

Plut. Mor.

605a-d

mentions

Aristotle,

Theophrastus,

Zeno,

Cleanthes and Chrysippus, to whom he adds: Peripatetics: Straton of Lampsacus, Glycon from the Troad, Ariston from Ceos, Diogenes “from Babylon", Antipater from Tarsus, and Archelaus, who left Athens for Babylon.

DIO'S CICERO AND THE CONSOLATORY TRADITION

43

First-century Stoic resistance includes Roman politicians such as Cremutius Cordus and the Thraseae, as well as Greek philosophers such as Musonius, Epictetus and Favorinus. R. Macmullen Enemies of the Roman Order (Cambridge, Mass. 1967) 66, 310 n.22; C.E. Manning On Seneca's Ad Marciam (Leiden

1981) 12-20.

Cf. Sen. Ep. 9.18; Const. Sap. 5.6; Cic. Parad. 1.8: omnia mecum porto (Bias). K. Dóring Die Megariker: Kommentierte Sammlung der Testimonien (Amsterdam 1972) 141 lists testimonia and variant sources.

H. Giesecke De philosophorum (Leipzig 1891) 94.

veterum quae ad exilium spectant sententiis

See Giesecke

Über die

Macmullen

(n.8);

F. Hasler

(n.6) 65f.; G.W.Bowersock

Verbannung

(Diss.

Berlin

1935);

Greek Sophists in the Roman Empire

(Oxford 1969) 36-88. 10.

ca 242-227 BC; fragments in Teletis reliquiae? ed. O.Hense (Tübingen 1909); cf. Manning (n.6) 66.

11.

A. Jagu (ed.) Musonius Rufus: Entretiens et fragments (Hildesheim 1979); C.E.

Lutz ‘Musonius Rufus, “the Roman Socrates"' YCS 10 (1947) 3-147; Macmullen (n.6) 310.

12.

M. Norsa and G. Vitelli // papiro vaticano Gr II: Φαβωρίνου περὶ φυγῆς (Studi e testi 53, 1931).

13.

H. von Arnim Leben und Werk des Dio von Prusa (Berlin 1898) 234-43.

14.

R. Kassel Untersuchungen zur griechischen und rómischen Konsolationsliteratur (Munich 1958) 13, 46, cites Gorgias’ composition of fictional consolations to

historical figures.

15.

J. Van Wageningen De Ciceronis Libro Consolationis (Groningen 1916). Following C. Buresch, Consolationum a Graecis Romanisque scriptarum historia critica (Leipzig 1886), he identifies as Cicero's probable sources the Academic Crantor's consolatio to Hippocles on the death of his children, Panaetius, Plato, Diogenes, Clitomachus, Carneades, Posidonius, and also, probably, others. Jerome cites some of these in a catalogue in the Epistola ad Heliodorum de morte Nepotiani (Ep. 60.5.2.); cf. J.H.D. Scourfield Consoling Heliodorus: A Commentary on

16.

Jerome 60 (Oxford 1993) ad loc.

Discussed in a sympathetic introduction by I. Kidd, in I. Kidd and R. Waterfield Plutarch: Essays (Harmondsworth

1992). Cf. P.H. De Lacy and B. Einarson

Plutarch's Moralia VIII (Loeb Classical Library, 1959) 575-9, 17.

Cf. H. Savon 'Une consolation imitée de Sénéque et de saint Cyprien’ (PseudoJéróme, epistula 5, ad amicum aegrotum)" Recherches Augustiniennes 14 (1979) 153-90; P. Grimal Etudes de chronologie cicéronienne (Paris 1967), E.L. Grasmück Exilium.

1978) 138.

18.

See the scathing 3 (1917) 496-

pt.

19.

.

Untersuchungen zur Verbannung in der Antike (Paderborn

review by R. Philippson in Berliner Philologische Wochenschrift , upheld by David Scourfield in a personal communication,

Perhaps Menemachus of Sardis, roughiy contemporaneous with Dio Chrysostom, Epictetus, Musonius and Favorinus; so De Lacy and Einarson (n. 16) 513f.

The essay's authenticity is sometimes doubted. On ‘pseudo-Plutarch’ see H.T. Johann Trauer und Trost (Munich 1968) 288-300, 365. F. Hasler (n.9) 53 compares Plutarch with Musonius in this context, and Norsa and Vitelli (n.12) in

JO-MARIE CLAASSEN

their edition of the Favorinus

papyrus also accept it as Plutarchan. See H. Dórrie

Der Kleine Pauly (1979) IV.950, De

s.v. *Plutarchos'.

Lacy and Einarson (n.16) 513; T. Mommsen

(Leipzig 1887) 47, 51.

21.

Römisches Staatsrecht 111.1

Fechner (n.2) 247 and M. Reinhold ‘In praise of Cassius Dio’ AC 55 (1986) 213-22 show that Dio consistently sees parallels between the fall of the Republic and his own era. This observation may cautiously be applied as argument for Philiscus as a Greek contemporary (see n.3). Cf. Alain Gowing The Triumviral Narratives of Appian and Cassius Dio (Ann Arbor

1992), 145f., 157—9, and his

unpublished paper, ‘Greek advice for a Roman senator (Cassius Dio 38.18-29)', delivered at the same colloquium in Leeds (May 1993). 22.

Millar (n.2) 34 advocates care in postulating historiographical influence. What he says can be applied mutatis mutandis to the use of consolatory topics.

23.

Parallels to Dio are noted by Millar (n.2) 50 n.5. Cf. E. Mensching (ed.) Favorin von Arelate: Fragmente, 1963); Savon (n.17).

Teil I: Memorabilien und Omnigena Historia (Berlin

On exile as a disease, E. Doblhofer Exil und Emigration: zum Erlebnis der Heimatferne in der rómischen Literatur (Darmstadt

1987) 59.

Cf. Epictetus Diss. 1.11.33; Musonius fr. 9, in Lutz (n.11) 68-76. Cf. Musonius fr. 43, in Lutz (n.11) 138.

Dio on more than one occasion emphasises Cicero's own role in alienating potential support by his manner in his speeches: e.g. 38.12.5, 38.29. 1 (referring to the orator's desire to return from exile). Plut. Cic. 5.6 similarly refers to Cicero's κακοήθεια, and he lists instances of his malicious wit in Cic. 24-7.

28.

R. Kallet-Marx ‘The trial of Rutilius Rufus’ Phoenix 44 (1990) 122-39: Fortuna compensated Rutilius Rufus with glorious exile on Lesbos. Grasmück (n.17) 129: “a second, spiritual banishment". Doblhofer (n.24) 221

(quoting N.I. Herescu Ovidiana: Recherches sur Ovide publiées à l'occasion du bimillénaire de la naissance du poéte (Paris 1958)): “interior exile". P. MacKendrick The Philosophical Books of Cicero (London 1989) 113 quotes Augustine

on Cicero's conversion from ‘Romanness’ to a higher reality, but this was during his seclusion after Tullia's death.

Millar (n.2) 51 and, now, Gowing in his paper (n.21) suggest that the author is thinking of his own Campanian villa, and his use of it. J. Soubiran Cicéron, Aratea, fragments poétiques (Paris 1972) 248 n.1 conjectures that the close of Cicero's De Temporibus Suis included a question by Jupiter on his preferences: study of politics, or of philosophy. Empedocles B 115 DK; cf. Sen. Ad Marc. 23. 32.

For a full list of ancient sources see M. Gelzer RE 7A.2, 1087f. s.v. Tullius (29).

33.

S. Swain ‘Plutarch’s lives of Cicero, Cato and Brutus’, Hermes 118 (1990) 192-203 stresses Plutarch's portrayal of Cicero as lacking παιδεία. Cf. W.G. Williams (ed.) Cicero, the Letters to His Friends vol. | (Loeb Classical Library. 1958) 390 n.a. Cf. Philippson (n.18) 504 on Cicero's use of Roman exempla, including his own letters and those of Atticus, for his own consolatio. Unless otherwise stated, for the dating and order of the letters I follow the edition of D.R. Shackleton-Bailey Cicero: Epistulae ad Familiares (Cambridge 1977) and Cicero's Letters to Atticus (Cambridge 1965-70).

DIO'S CICERO AND THE CONSOLATORY TRADITION

35.

45

Cf. Ad Fam. 4.13; 6.10; 15.19; Arr. 5.5; 7.5; 8.14; 9.10; 12.53; Q. Fr. 1.1.45; K.

Thräde Grundzüge der griechisch-römischer Brieftopik (Munich 1970) 28-47.

Williams (n.34) 518 n.a, citing Tyrrell and Purser, suggests that Ahenobarbus may have planned to join the Pompeians in Spain. Contra, Shackleton-Bailey (n.34) ad loc. suggests that Cicero was merely warning him against imprudent speech. See Williams (n.34) 422 n.b. C.P. Craig *Cicero's strategy of embarrassment in the speech for Plancius’ AJP 111 (1990) 75-81 discusses Cicero's earlier conciliatory attitude to the triumvirs in the context of Plancius’ defence. To Q. Ligarius, Ad Fam. 6.13 and 14; to Trebianus Ad Fam. 6.10 A and B. ΟΝ

Manlius Torquatus (Ad Fam. 6.1), Trebianus (6.10 A) and Q. Ligarius

Thoroughly discussed, with speculative dating, by L. Fiocchi ‘Cicerone e la rehabilitazione di Marcello’ RFIC 118 (1990) 179-99. 42.

Sen. Ad Helv. 8.1, 9.4-6 quotes Brutus' De Virtute on Marcellus' fortitude.

43.

Ad Fam. 6.6 explains Cicero's apparent spineless acquiescence in Caesar's overthrow of legal government: vel iniquissimam pacem iustissimo bello anteferrem.

J.M. Claassen ‘Cicero’s banishment: tempora et mores’, Acta Classica 35 (1992) 19-47. T.N. Mitchell Cicero the Senior Statesman (New Haven 1991) 141 n.128

shows that Cicero avoids the word exilium, substituting for it discessus and the emotive aerumna and calamitas. 45.

H. Strasburger Concordia Ordinum, eine Untersuchung zur Politik Caesars (Diss. Frankfurt 1982) 61f. shows that Cicero regarded the right to safeguard personal property as most important to each order.

Doblhofer (n.24) 166ff.; Grasmück (n.17) 115. 47.

J. Moles Plutarch: The Life of Cicero (Warminster

1988) 38.

Hasler (n.9) 58 postulates an infusion of Dio’s own Ergdnzungen. Millar (n.2) 32-8 is cautious about Dio’s sources: Dio could have had recourse to “nonhistoriographical material” such as the letters. Gowing (n.21) 156-9 largely refutes this, suggesting that Dio had made up his mind about Cicero and worked within his preconceptions. Cf. M. Büdinger ‘Cicero und der Patriciat: eine staatsrechtliche Untersuchung’ Denkschrift der kaiserlichen Ak. d. Wiss. phil.hist. Classe 31 (1881) 233 on Asinius Pollio as source.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL

LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 47-74

Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA

34. ISBN 0-905205-90-1

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY: The case of De Optimo Genere Oratorum attributedto Cicero!

D.H. BERRY (University of Leeds)

.

The first large-scale scientific exposition of Latin prose rhythm was

that of T. Zielinski, published in 1904.? Zielinski was not the first scholar to approach the subject — the credit for that belongs to G. Wüst, whose dissertation De Clausula Rhetorica appeared in 1881 — but his Das Clauselgesetz in Ciceros Reden was the first treatment to be based on a substantial body of statistics, and the first in which the

significance of the subject was clearly set forth. Henceforward the reader of ancient prose literature who troubled to acquaint himself

with the rhythmical predilections of his author would be able to see inside

the

author's

mind,

as

it were,

and

witness

the

partly

subconscious processes by which the author formulated in words the

thoughts he wished to express. The particular value of prose rhythm for textual criticism was apparent from the start, and today knowledge of an author's rhythmical preferences (if this can be

obtained) is recognised to be indispensable for the preparation of a textual edition.? Medieval manuscripts are frequently at variance on points of word order, and it is very often knowledge of prose rhythm which enables an editor to determine which of the transmitted collocations is most characteristic of the author. But if prose rhythm

can provide insight into the mind of the author which is of value in textual criticism, might it not do the same in matters of higher 47

48

D.H. BERRY

criticism? On the face of it, prose rhythm provides information of a highly personal kind, which one might expect to provide definitive answers to questions relating to the authenticity of disputed works. At the end of Clauselgesetz Zielinski devoted seven pages (218-25) to

the implications of his findings for questions of authenticity, but on this application of prose rhythm there has been virtual silence ever since. My purpose in this paper is to re-open the question. I begin with a consideration of methodology, restricting my attention to Cicero’s speeches, since this is the area where, thanks to Zielinski, the

largest amount of statistical information is available. In the second part I will turn to Cicero’s rhetorical works, the clausulae of which

have not been properly studied, and use prose rhythm to consider the authenticity of the treatise De Optimo Genere Oratorum, the only

work attributed to Cicero the genuineness of which is still disputed. I. Cicero’s speeches

Scholars who have worked on Latin prose rhythm this century have tended to dismiss the system of Zielinski as a preliminary to advancing alternative systems of their own. Thus W.B. Shewring argues that *'Zielinski's only permanent contribution to the study of prose-rhythm appears to be his perception of the special significance of the double spondee”.* The objections made against Zielinski are, in the main, valid. The most fundamental criticism is that his system

takes no account of the naturally-occurring rhythms of the Latin language, so that, in theory, a rhythm which appears from his statistics to be favoured may actually be occurring less frequently than it does in so-called *unrhythmical" prose. Also criticised is Zielinski’s a priori hypothesis of a cretic basis to the clausula. A cretic is of course very common within the clausula (it occurs in 68% of the clausulae in Cicero's speeches on Zielinski's figures), but the supposition that, for example, the double-trochee clausula in Cicero is deficient unless preceded by a cretic basis is contradicted both by

Cicero's remarks at Orator 212-15 (where he describes the applause given to the double-trochees of C. Carbo in 90 BC) and by his actual practice. However, scholars who reject Zielinski and pursue alter-

native methods tend ultimately to produce results which differ less sharply from Zielinski's than might have been expected. A.C. Clark wrote of H. Bornecque's work that his results were the same as those of Zielinski, though the terminology was different, and he made a similar observation with respect to H.D. Broadhead's results.’

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM

IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

49

Likewise, when one compares the list® of Cicero's favoured clausulae

according to Shewring’s “comparative method" with the list given by Zielinski, there is virtually no difference between them. A potentially more damaging criticism relates to Zielinski’s somewhat eccentric method of selecting the clausulae for analysis. This involved translating Cicero’s speeches into Russian, reading the Russian translation aloud and judging from that where the major breaks in sense occur. This procedure has quite rightly been severely criticised.” However, there is, I think, one point (only) which may be

made in its favour: since Zielinski used a translation to determine where the breaks occur, he could not have been influenced in his

choice by the presence or absence of apparently favoured rhythms in the Latin. Fortunately we are able to see how Zielinski’s method

worked in practice since he provides a list of all the clausulae he counted in one speech, Pro Caecina.* When we compare these 330

clausulae with A.C. Clark's Oxford Classical Text of the speech (Oxford 1909), we find that 305 of them are followed by a full stop,

question

mark

or exclamation

mark, twenty-five

by a colon or

semicolon, and none by a comma or other mark of punctuation. It

therefore appears that at least Zielinski does not mark incisions in places where there is no sense-break: editors do not place full stops, question and exclamation marks, colons and semicolons in places where there is no sense-break in the Latin. There are, however, a

further ninety-eight full stops, question marks or exclamation marks in Clark's text which Zielinski fails to take account of (I exclude cases

where the preceding words are too few to allow the possibility of a rhythmical pattern, and also quotations). If we take into account these additional ninety-eight breaks, and take out of the reckoning the twenty-five clausulae occurring before colons and semicolons, a

new set of statistics can be calculated for Pro Caecina.? In these new

statistics, while the pattern is still well within Zielinski's range for the speeches overall, the commonest clausulae are nearly 10% fewer. It

therefore appears that Zielinski's selection of clausulae, in Pro Caecina at least, does have the effect of maximising the percentages for the commonest clausulae. But on the other hand, being a speech delivered at a civil trial, Pro Caecina is one of Cicero's least typical speeches. Forty-eight of the ninety-eight clausulae excluded by Zielinski occur in places where brief (and sometimes technical) questions are put by Cicero to his opponent, usually in quick succession. Zielinski, whose intention was to count only the clausulae at the major breaks, was probably therefore being consistent in

50

D.H. BERRY

excluding clausulae of this type from his calculations. To sum up, we may accept that Zielinski’s statistics, while they are far from perfect, do nevertheless give a tolerably accurate picture of Cicero’s clausulae at the major sense-breaks. It is conceivable that in the future computer technology may allow accurate statistics to be produced for large amounts of material, such as whole authors, at the

touch of a button. But until that day arrives, Zielinski’s figures for Cicero’s speeches (and the figures I provide in Part II, which are independent of Zielinski) may suffice. They are the best we have and, until computers come to our aid, will not be improved upon. Zielinski divided his clausulae into five classes, naming them verae (V), licitae (L), malae (M), selectae (S) and pessimae (P).'° The verae are the five commonest clausulae in their basic forms, i.e. with no

resolutions allowed; together they account for 60.6% of Zielinski’s total.!! They are: cretic-spondee/cretic-trochee (οὖ... 5"), doublecretic (_v_ v v), molossus-cretic (___ _v *), cretic-double-trochee (-v— -ου..ν) and molossus-double-trochee (___ v —¥). The licitae (26.7%) are the commoner resolved forms of the verae (including forms in which a choriamb or epitrite is substituted for the cretic basis), with the addition of the cretic-hypodochmiac (_v_ Lu Lv v)

and molossus-hypodochmiac (___ Lv. v») The selectae (5.2%) consist of a cretic followed by three or four longs, or a molossus followed by two, three or four longs. The pessimae (1.4%) are the following rhythms, avoided by Cicero: _uu_ v, _v— _uug, —v— -vvX. The malae (6.2%), finally, are something of a mixed

bag, containing the rarer resolved forms of the verae; resolved forms of the cretic-hypodochmiac and molossus-hypodochmiac; resolved forms of the selectae; and various iambic and trochaic rhythms

(Cu

—v —v vuv

Cu u$,

-U_

Zu -v uM,

_V_

Lu cv LU

9, UL

9). One important point to bear in mind about Zielin-

ski’s method of classifying clausulae is that, according to the supposed '*Auflósungsgesetz", two short syllables standing for a long may not be divided between words.'? This law has failed to win acceptance;? nevertheless, if one is compiling statistics for the

purpose of comparing them with Zielinski's (as I shall be doing below), one must compile them in precisely the same way, and the “law of resolution" must therefore be observed.

In the table which follows I give percentage figures showing the distribution of verae, licitae, malae, selectae and pessimae clausulae

in every speech (and group of speeches) of Cicero (the abbreviations are those of the Oxford Latin Dictionary (Oxford 1982)). The figures

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM

IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

51

in parentheses indicate the number of clausulae counted. These statistics are essentially those of Zielinski; but whereas Zielinski records the actual number of clausulae of each type, I give the percentage of clausulae belonging to each class. This will allow the

reader to notice at a glance the degree of variation in the proportions of V, L, M, S and P clausulae from speech to speech. This method of analysing the clausulae of a work of prose — that of Zielinski — I shall refer to as “method 1”. V 60.8 50.6 44.5 52.6

L 23.8 33.1 19.7 27.9

M 4.5 8.4 11.0 7.7

S 8.4 4.0 16.8 7.6

P 2.4 3.8 8.1 4.2

Div.Caec. (262) Ver. (176) Ver. 1 (621) Ver. 2 (749) Ver. 3 (1,052) Ver. 4 (842) Ver. § (913) Overall (4,615)

58.0 46.6 57.8 57.3 58.0 60.0 60.1 58.2

30.5 35.2 25.4 27.4 25.5 27.6 27.3 27.2

5.3 8.0 9.2 6.8 8.3 5.9 5.5 7.0

3.8 6.8 6.3 6.7 6.9 4.4 5.7 5.9

2.3 3.4 1.3 1.9 1.3 2.1 1.4 1.7

Tul. (97) Font. (134) Caec. (330) Man. (248) Clu. (978) Overall (1,787)

50.5 61.9 64.2 62.9 60.6 61.2

37.1 30.6 23.6 31.5 24.8 26.6

8.2 22 6.1 2.0 6.6 5.7

3.1 3.7 4.5 3.6 7.0 5.6

1.0 1.5 1.5 0.9 1.0

Agr. 1 (103) Agr. 2 (422) Agr. 3 (47) Rab.Perd. (116) Cat. 1-4 (535) Mur. (454) Overall (1,677)

63.1 64.5 80.9 67.2 62.8 59.7 63.2

25.2 24.4 12.8 23.3 27.9 29.3 26.5

5.8 5.0 2.1 4.3 5.2 73 5.6

5.8 4.3 2.1 5.2 3.0 3.3 3.7

1.9 2.1 1.1 0.4 1.0

64.3 56.6 60.7 61.6

25.7 31.1 28.7 27.8

5.3 7.4 5.4 5.6

4.3 4.9 4.2 4.3

0.5 1.0 0.7

Red.Sen. (162) Red. Pop. (86) Dom. (580) Har. (318)

60.5 66.3 60.7 63.5

28.4 26.7 28.1 28.6

7.4 3.5 5.9 3.1

3.7 3.5 4.5 4.4

0.9 0.3

Overall (1,146)

61.9

28.2

5.1

4.3

0.5

Sest. (687) Vat. (150) Cael. (381)

63.3 60.0 64.3

24.0 28.0 25.2

3.5 4.7 6.8

8.0 7.3 2.9

1.2 0.8

Quinct. S.Rosc. Q.Rosc. Overall

(286) (498) (173) (957)

Sul. (417) Arch. (122) Flac. (522) Overall (1,061)

Prov. (204)

.

544

333

59

5.4

1.0

52

D. H. BERRY

V

L

M

S

P

Balb. (258) Overall (1,680)

67.8 62.9

24.8 25.9

4.3 4.8

2.3 5.6

0.8 9.9

Pis. (459) Planc. (514) Scaur. (106) Rab.Post. (192) Mil. (471) Overall (1,742)

65.8 61.1 66.0 62.0 61.8 62.9

25.9 29.4 22.6 21.4 25.3 26.1

3.5 6.4 2.8 6.3 6.6 5.5

3.1 1.9 6.6 8.3 5.1 4.1

1.7 1.2 1.9 2.1 1.3 1.5

Marc. (120) Lig. (174) Deiot. (198) Overall (492)

52.5 62.1 68.2 62.2

35.8 21.8 22.2 25.4

4.2 10.9 5.1 6.9

6.6 5.2 4.0 5.1

0.8 0.5 0.4

Phil. | (189) Phil. 2 (646) Phil. 3 (179) Phil. 4 (83) Phil. 5 (246) Phil. 6 (108) Phil. 7 (114) Phil. 8 (162) Phil. 9 (71) Phil. 10 (143) Phil. 11 (207) Phil. 12 (173) Phil. 13 (263) Phil. 14 (161) Overall (2,745)

67.7 58.4 64.2 69.9 56.1 57.4 58.8 56.1 62.0 62.2 59.9 68.8 62.0 66.5 61.3

20.1 28.6 21.2 22.9 26.0 25.9 23.7 27.8 25.4 24.5 28.0 23.1 27.8 21.7 25.6

4.2 5.7 8.9 3.6 11.8 9.3 10.5 6.2 5.6 4.9 77 4.6 5.3 6.2 6.7

6.9 6.3 2.8 1.2 4.5 4.6 7.0 7.4 7.0 6.3 2.9 2.9 3.0 5.0 5.0

1.1 0.9 2.8 2.4 1.6 2.8 2.5 2.1 1.4 0.6 1.9 0.6 1.4

All speeches (17,902)

60.6

26.7

6.2

5.2

1.4

In examining these statistics, one ought not to give too much weight to the figures for the shorter speeches, particularly those where fewer than

100 clausulae

have

been

counted

(viz. Pro

Tullio, De Lege

Agraria 3, Post Reditum ad Populum and Philippics 4 and 9): the shorter speeches cannot be relied upon to give meaningful results.'* But the figures for the longer speeches, and particularly the figures for all the speeches taken together, will be surer guides to Cicero's rhythmical preferences.

We have now come to a point where Zielinski's position on the question of authenticity may be stated. His central claim is that the formula V:60.6 + L:26.7 + M:6.2 c S:52 + P: 1.4 represents an *Echtheitskriterium" for the speeches of Cicero. If a speech produces statistics which are closely similar to the authenticitycriterion, then Ciceronian authorship is proved.'* De Domo Sua, a speech the authenticity of which was disputed from 1745 right up

until the publication of Zielinski's statistics, when it ceased to be

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM

IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

53

disputed, belongs to this category.'’ On the other hand, if a speech produces

statistics which

differ markedly from

the authenticity-

criterion, then Ciceronian authorship is disproved. As an example of a speech in this category Zielinski cites the invective against Sallust falsely attributed

to Cicero, remarking

of its author

“unser

An-

onymus war ein Stümper, der von Rhythmus und Clauseln über-

haupt nichts wusste”.'® The statistics for De Domo Sua and In Sallustium, calculated by Zielinski, are tabulated below; for comparison I have added the statistics for Livy 21.1-40, which Zielinski

gives in a different context.'? V

L

M

S

Authenticity-criterion

60.6

26.7

6.2

5.2

Cic. Dom. (580) [Cic.] Sal. (102) Liv. 21.1-40 (330)

60.7 21.6 8.8

28.1 27.5 8.2

5.9 26.5 19.1

45 13.7 38.8

Before

proceeding

further,

however,

I wish

P 1.4

.

0.9 10.8 25.2

to question

the

foundation on which Zielinski's authenticity-criterion is based, his

division of clausulae into five classes, verae, licitae, malae, selectae and pessimae. In examining an author's rhythmical preferences, it is clearly advantageous to devise a means of grouping clausulae together into classes: if one did not, one would have an “‘authenticitycriterion" consisting of scores of figures, which would only be of use where the text under examination was of extreme length. Zielinski's

method of grouping the clausulae, which I have called method 1, isa possible means, but not, I suggest, the most illuminating one. First, it privileges some clausulae and condemns others in a way not always justified by the statistical evidence. For example, the clausula vvvuv —», which occurs with a frequency of 0.6%, is classed among the /icitae, but the clausula _u_ _v_v_», with a frequency of 0.9%,

is assigned to the malae. Secondly, even if such a system were indeed true to Cicero's practice, it would clearly become meaningless when used to classify the clausulae of a different author, such as Livy, who

might have different views on the desirability of the various types of clausula.

I have therefore

devised

an alternative method

of grouping

clausulae, which I shall term “method 2". Method 2 makes no value-

judgements, and thus may be used to analyse the clausulae of any author. It involves simply listing the clausulae by type, making no distinction between the basic and the resolved forms (in method

1,

resolved forms are distinguished from their basic forms and assigned arbitrarily to either the /icitae or the malae class). Zielinski's

54

D.H. BERRY

clausulae are divided into six new classes, (a) to (f), as follows: (a) Cretic-spondee/cretic-trochee (_v_ —¥), including resolved

forms. (b) Double-cretic/molossus-cretic (_v_ _u»), including resolved forms and substitution of choriamb/epitrite for first cretic/ molossus. (c) Cretic-double-trochee/molossus-double-trochee (v... _u_x),

including resolved forms and substitution of choriamb/epitrite for cretic/molossus. (d) Cretic-hypodochmiac/molossus-hypodochmiac (9. —v_vy), including resolved forms. (e) Iambic and trochaic rhythms (Cu Lu v S», v — Lv Lv vs, —-Ve—

CUIlULILU-MN,.-vU-

-uv_u_v_u2).

(f) Spondaic and dactylic rhythms (___ 9, _=_ __», _x_ -_-_M,_UUL -9,—v- _UU8,_u —vvu_y), including resolved forms. The table which follows gives percentage figures showing the distribution of the above six classes of clausulae in every speech (and group of speeches) of Cicero. Again, the reader should notice the degree of variation from speech to speech in the proportions of clausulae (a) to (f).

(a)

(b)

(c)

(à)

(e)

(f)

29.0 25.3 25.4 26.4

27.6 30.3 16.8 27.1

27.3 28.5 23.7 27.3

2.8 4.6 1.7 3.6

1.0 2.2 3.5 2.1

12.2 9.0 28.9 13.6

Div.Caec. (262) Ver. (176) Ver. 1 (621) Ver. 2 (749) Ver. 3 (1,052) Ver. 4 (842) Ver. 5 (913) Overall (4,615)

30.9 32.4 30.4 31.9 27.3 34.6 35.5 31.8

27.5 23.3 26.1 25.5 26.5 26.1 22.6 25.4

28.6 21.0 26.9 24.7 29.5 25.4 29.4 27.2

4.2 9.7 4.3 5.1 3.6 4.8 3.0 4.3

1.1 2.3 2.6 2.8 3.0 1.9 1.4 2.3

7.6 11.4 9.7 10.0 10.1 7.2 8.2 9.0

Tul. (97) Font. (134) Caec. (330) Man. (248) Clu. (978) Overall (1,787)

20.6 44.8 32.7 44.4 36.1 36.4

30.9 17.2 25.8 9.7 20.9 20.5

32.0 26.9 28.8 39.9 28.2 30.1

5.2 4.5 2.7 1.6 4.4 3.7

4.1 1.5 1.2 0.4 1.6 1.5

7.2 5.2 8.8 4.0 8.8 7.8

Agr. 1 (103) Agr. 2 (422) Agr. 3 (47)

23.3 38.4 29.8

23.3 20.1 42.6

39.8 27.5 21.3

6.8 5.2 2.1

1.0 2.1 -

5.8 6.6 4.3

Quinct. S.Rosc. Q.Rosc. Overall

(286) (498) (173) (957)

RabPerd (116)

388

216

293

3.4

13

52

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

55

(a)

(b)

(c)

(d)

(e)

(f)

Cat. 1-4 (535) Mur. (454) Overall (1,677)

39.8 30.2 35.5

24.5 27.5 244

26.2 33.0 29.3

4.1 3.1 42

0.7 1.8 1.4

4.7 4.4 5.2

Sul. (417) Arch. (122) Flac. (522) Overall (1,061)

35.7 36.9 31.4 33.7

21.1 17.2 21.1 20.6

34.1 34.4 38.5 36.3

1.9 3.3 2.5 24

1.4 1.6 0.8 1.1

5.8 6.6 5.7 5.8

Red.Sen. (162) Red.Pop. (86) Dom. (580) Har. (318) Overall (1,146)

41.4 46.5 32.9 38.4 36.6

14.8 8.1 19.8 17.6 17.6

33.3 38.4 36.0 374 36.2

2.5 2.3 4.0 1.3 2.9

0.6 1.2 0.6 0.9

7.4 4.7 6.0 4.7 5.8

Sest. (687) Vat. (150) Cael. (381) Prov. (204) Baib. (258) Overall (1,680)

35.2 29.3 34.4 34.3 35.7 34.5

15.9 24.7 21.3 20.1 14.3 18.2

36.0 32.0 36.0 34.3 45.0 36.8

2.0 3.3 2.4 1.0 0.8 1.9

0.6 2.0 1.3 2.5 0.8 1.1

10.3 8.7 4.7 7.8 3.5 7.6

Pis. (459) Planc. (514) Scaur. (106) Rab. Post. (192) Mil. (471) Overall (1,742)

37.0 34.4 34.9 22.9 25.9 31.6

20.0 19.6 17.0 33.9 31.2 24.3

33.3 37.9 36.8 27.1 30.1 33.4

3.7 1.9 0.9 3.1 3.8 3.0

0.2 1.4 0.9 1.0 1.1 0.9

5.7 4.7 9.4 12.0 7.9 6.9

Marc. (120) Lig. (174) Deiot. (198) Overall (492)

20.8 26.4 29.3 26.2

32.5 30.0 36.9 33.3

28.3 28.7 22.7 26.4

10.0 4.6 3.5 5.5

0.8 2.3 0.5 1.2

7.5 8.0 6.6 7.3

Phil. 1 (189) Phil. 2 (646) Phil. 3 (179) Phil. 4 (83) Phil. 5 (246) Phil. 6 (108) Phil. ? (114) Phil. 8 (162) Phil. 9 (71) Phil. 10 (143) Phil. 11 (207) Phil. 12 (173) Phil. 13 (263) Phil. 14 (161) Overall (2,745)

34.9 31.1 27.9 31.3 29.7: 31.5 22.8 29.6 33.8 27.3 28.0 28.3 25.1 27.3 29.3

28.0 28.9 31.3 30.1 28.0 23.1 34.2 31.5 22.5 34.3 32.9 45.7 34.6 26.1 31.0

22.2 26.0 27.9 30.1 24.4 30.6 28.1 21.6 29.6 21.0 24.2 16.8 28.9 36.0 25.8

3.2 3.7 3.9 2.4 6.9 0.9 44 3.1 4.2 7.0 5.8 4.0 3.4 2.5 4.1

1.1 1.5 2.2 1.2 3.3 2.8 1.2 2.8 2.1 2.9 0.6 1.1 1.2 1.7

10.6 8.7 6.7 4.8 7.7 11.1 10.5 13.0 7.0 8.4 6.3 4.6 6.8 6.8 8.1

All speeches (17,902) 32.4

24.4

30.1

3.6

1.6

7.9

I now wish to pose a crucial question: is prose rhythm personal (peculiar to the author); or is it generic (peculiar to the genre in which

the author is writing); or is it a combination of the two? In his

56

D.H. BERRY

inaugural lecture at Oxford on 6 June 1914, A.C. Clark, reviewing

the major discoveries which had recently been made in the field of classical studies, asserted, We are now in possession of Cicero's thumbmarks,

and can decide with certainty whether a suspected

work is authentic, or not".?? Clark was assuming that Zielinski's authenticity-criterion for the speeches of Cicero is indeed a formula unique to Cicero's speeches rather than to the genre of oratory. However, to employ a different metaphor, it is conceivable that the formula for Cicero's speeches gives us not his thumbprint, but merely

his shoe size — and of course his shoe size might be shared by other orators. Zielinski was aware of the problem, and approached it by counting the clausulae in Pliny's Panegyricus. The Panegyricus was written a

century and a half after Cicero's death, but is nevertheless, of the very few non-Ciceronian

speeches which

have survived, the one most

nearly comparable to the speeches of Cicero. Zielinski counted 549 clausulae,

and

produced

the

following

statistics (I

include

the

authenticity-criterion for comparison)?! V

L

M

S

P

Authenticity-criterion

60.6

26.7

6.2

5.2

1.4

Plin. Pan. (549)

51.0

30.8

8.6

6.0

3.6

Zielinski observes that the Plinian formula differs from the Ciceronian authenticity-criterion: the proportion of verae clausulae is lower, and that of the other classes correspondingly higher. He also points out that Pliny has a favourite or pet rhythm, esse non potuit (-u_ vox), which accounts for 7.5% of his clausulae, but only 1.6% of Cicero's. This clearly represents an individual preference, and may be seen as the counterpart of Cicero's esse videatur rhythm (_vuvu —»).? Zielinski therefore concludes that the differences between Cicero and Pliny are significant enough for prose rhythm to be regarded as a matter of personal taste rather than conformity to generic prescription. In other words, we have the thumbprint of Cicero and the thumbprint of Pliny, and they are different. However, if we compare the Plinian formula, not with the formula

for all of Cicero's speeches together (the authenticity-criterion), but with the formulae for some of the less typical speeches, a different picture emerges. Let us look again at the formulae for five Cicero speeches, Pro Sex. Roscio Amerino, Pro Q. Roscio Comoedo, In Verrem actio prima, De Provinciis Consularibus and Pro Marcello.

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM

IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

M

S

57

V

L

P

Authenticity-criterion

60.6

26.7

6.2

5.2

1.4

Plin. Pan. (549)

51.0

30.8

8.6

6.0

3.6

S.Rosc. (498) Q.Rosc. (173) Ver. (176) Prov. (204) Mare. (120)

50.6 44.5 46.6 54.4 52.5

33.1 19.7 35.2 33.3 35.8

8.4 11.0 8.0 5.9 4.2

4.0 16.8 6.8 5.4 6.6

3.8 8.1 3.4 1.0 0.8

In every case, the Cicero speeches conform more closely with the Plinian formula than with the Ciceronian. In the case of Pro Roscio Amerino, where the large number of clausulae counted makes the

result particularly trustworthy, the figures are almost identical to those for the Panegyricus. Therefore, if we apply the test of Zielinski’s authenticity-criterion, we must conclude not only that Pro Roscio is not by Cicero, but that it is by Pliny.? For it has his thumbprint. On method 1, then, Pliny’s Panegyricus is indistinguishable from the speeches of Cicero. Let us now turn to method 2. The distribution of the six classes of clausulae is given below, for Cicero’s speeches

together and for the Panegyricus.?*

(a) All speeches (17,902) 32.4 Plin. Pan. (549) 413

(b) 244 239

(c) 30.1 19.9

(d) 3.6 2.4

(e) 1.6 2.9

(f) 7.9 9.7

In contrast to method 1, method 2 shows a clear difference between Cicero and Pliny. Although in both authors the proportion of (b)class clausulae (double-cretic/molossus-cretic) remains roughly the same, there has been a definite switch in Pliny away from the Asianist

clausulae of class (c) (cretic-double-trochee/molossus-double-trochee) in favour of the clausulae of class (a) (cretic-spondee/cretictrochee).?? Moreover, there are no speeches which conform closely to the Plinian formula instead of the Ciceronian. The speeches (or groups of speeches) which come nearest to doing so are Pro Fonteio, De Lege Agraria 2 and the Catilinarians: Font. (134) Agr. 2 (422) Cat. 1-4 (535)

(a)

(b)

(o)

(d)

(e)

(f)

44.8 38.4 39.8

17.2 20.1 24.5

26.9 27.5 26.2

4.5 5.2 4.1

1.5 2.1 0.7

5.2 6.6 4.7

However, with each of these speeches, the proportion of the Asianist (c)-class clausulae is closer to the figure for Cicero than that for Pliny. Method 2, then, does allow one specific difference between Pliny's prose rhythm and that of Cicero to be identified. Nevertheless, if we

58

D.H. BERRY

recall the statistics for the anonymous “Stümper” who composed In Sallustium, and also those for Livy, the differences between Cicero and Pliny, although discernible, will not seem so very great. So is prose rhythm personal, or generic, or perhaps a combination of the two? Zielinski's answer is that it isa personal matter; this is the

point of view accepted by Clark in his talk of thumbmarks. However,

Zielinski does qualify his answer, even at the risk of inconsistency, by making allowance for changes in rhetorical fashion. The movement away from the Asianist clausulae of class (c) towards those of class (a) has already been mentioned. One further such change, noticed by Zielinski,?$ concerns the relationship of the double-cretic and the molossus-cretic. Up as far as his consulship, Cicero uses these two

clausulae in roughly equal measure (double-cretic, 9.5%; molossuscretic, 8.4%). During the years 62 to 52 the double-cretic remains as common

as before

(9.4%),

but the molossus-cretic becomes

less

frequent (6.0%). Then in the 40s the molossus-cretic remains as before (6.2%), while the double-cretic becomes considerably more common (18.7%). During Cicero's career the molossus-cretic can therefore be seen to become less frequent, and the double-cretic more

frequent. That this shift constitutes a change in rhetorical fashion rather than a change in personal preference seems to be confirmed by

the relative frequencies

of the two

clausulae

in Pliny.

In the

Panegyricus, the double-cretic accounts for 14.0% of the clausulae, but the molossus-cretic only 1.8%. However, Zielinski’s contention that prose rhythm is a personal matter, and not generic, even though he qualifies it to allow for changes in rhetorical fashion, fails to do justice to the broad similarity between Cicero and Pliny. We saw that, on method 1, the

prose rhythm of the two authors was indistinguishable. The statistics for Pro Roscio Amerino were almost identical to those for the Panegyricus, so that Pro Roscio could be judged a speech by Pliny, or Panegyricus a speech by Cicero. On method 2, the two authors were distinguishable, but their similarity in classes (b), (d), (e) and (f) was at least as striking as their difference in classes (a) and (c). It therefore seems more reasonable to conclude that, in speeches where artistic prose rhythm is sought, such rhythm is dictated primarily by the established conventions pertaining to the genre of oratory. Of course, in other genres, entirely different rhythmical conventions might prevail. H. Aili has found that the prose rhythm of the later decades of Livy is identical to that of Sallust, and that this "historical" system of clausulae; which may or may not have been

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM

IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

59

used by earlier Roman historians, is likely to derive from Roman perceptions of the rhythm of Thucydides and Xenophon." The “rhetorical” system, on the other hand, derives from Hellenistic Greek oratory, and both Cicero and Pliny followed in this tradition.? In their speeches they were strongly influenced by the rhetorical training which they had received in their youth, and, in the course of his career, Cicero at least was prepared to alter his oratory to some degree in order to accommodate changes in rhetorical fashion.?? In as

much as the conventions of artistic prose rhythm did not change between Cicero's time and Pliny's, their prose rhythm is the same: they shared the same shoe size, so to speak. The differences between the two orators should be accounted for not so much by their differing personal tastes, but by the change and development of oratorical style over the hundred and fifty years which separated them. Thus Cicero used the Asianist clausulae which he had been trained to use as a young man. By the time of Pliny, however, these had gone out of fashion, and we therefore find Pliny making considerably less use than Cicero of the clausulae of class (c). We also find him exhibiting a strong preference for the double-cretic as against the molossus-cretic, and we have seen that the beginning of this particular change in rhetorical fashion is already discernible in the later speeches of Cicero. Where personal preference does enter the picture is in the partiality for favourite or pet rhythms, Cicero's esse videatur and Pliny's esse non potuit. But in the overall context of an author's use of prose rhythm, such idiosyncrasies are of relatively little importance. By far the greater part of an orator's rhythmical practice consists in what has been bequeathed to him by tradition and demanded of him by his contemporaries. We are now able finally to come to a decision on the value of prose rhythm in questions of authenticity. Zielinski's view was adumbrated earlier. For him, prose rhythm, at least in theory, isa reliable guide to authenticity. An authenticity-criterion can be calculated, and the statistics for a disputed work compared to it. If there is a close correspondence between the disputed work and the authenticitycriterion, then the disputed work is genuine; and if there is no

correspondence, then it is spurious. Of course, the statistics for the disputed work may fall into the grey area between close correspondence with the authenticity-criterion and wide divergence from it.

Zielinski cites Pro Marcello as a speech belonging to this category.?? In such cases, he argues, it is the shortness of the speech which prevents certainty from being attainable. If the speech were longer,

60

D.H. BERRY

allowing more clausulae to be counted, then proof of genuineness or spuriousness would always be forthcoming. The usefulness of the authenticity-criterion is therefore upheld. Zielinski does not consider

the case of a speech such as Pro Roscio Amerino, a long speech of unimpeachable genuineness which nevertheless fails to correspond with the authenticity-criterion. As for Pro Marcello, Zielinski maintains that although the figures are not close enough to the

authenticity-criterion

to prove

Ciceronian

authorship,

they do

nevertheless indicate the careful rhetorical schooling of the author.

This of course conflicts with his view of prose rhythm as personal rather than generic. Zielinski’s final point is that, in practice, disputed works are generally too short to allow accurate statistics to

be obtained from them.?' In practice, therefore, although not in theory, prose rhythm is of little value in questions of authenticity. By contrast, the conclusions of this investigation are as follows. (1) The common ground shared by Cicero and Pliny in their use of prose rhythm shows that in oratory prose rhythm is mainly a matter of conforming to generic prescription rather than indulging in a

personal taste peculiar to the author. Thus a skilled orator trained in the same way as Cicero, and living at the same time, when the same

rhetorical

fashions

prevailed,

might

well write speeches

with

a

rhythmical profile closely similar to that of the speeches of Cicero. By the same token, a skilled contemporary of Pliny might well write speeches with a rhythmical profile similar to that of the Panegyricus. The situation in oratory is paralleled by that in historiography, where similarities of rhythm have been identified in Thucydides, Xenophon, Sallust and Livy. (2) Authors may assert their individuality by the use of favourite or pet rhythms. Such rhythms constitute a small but measurable part of an author's overall use of prose rhythm. However, pet rhythms were

noticed by ancient critics, and so might conceivably be imitated by one author who wished to write in the style of another. A high

proportion of esse videatur clausulae in a disputed work will not therefore necessarily imply Ciceronian authorship. (3) Zielinski is correct in maintaining that prose rhythm may sometimes prove a work to be spurious. If the prose rhythm of a disputed work bears no relation to the prose rhythm consistently

used by the alleged author in his works in the same genre, then the disputed work will be spurious. The invective In Sallustium is an instance of this. It purports to be a speech by Cicero, but its prose rhythm bears no relation to the prose rhythm used by Cicero

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM

IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

throughout

Its anonymous

his speeches.

author

was

61

evidently

ignorant of the rules to which Cicero and other skilled orators adhered.

(4) However, in spite of Zielinski, prose rhythm on its own cannot ever prove a work to be genuine, since other contemporary authors might have mastered the rules ofthe genre, and also have noticed any idiosyncrasies in the prose rhythm of the author being imitated. Thus prose rhythm may only provide at best a strong argument in favour of authenticity.

In the case of the Post Reditum

speeches, which

Zielinski found to correspond closely in their prose rhythm with the

prose rhythm of Cicero's other speeches, Ciceronian authorship has not been proved, at least on grounds of prose rhythm. But prose rhythm nevertheless provides an argument in favour of genuineness

so strong that the authenticity of the speeches is rightly no longer disputed. (5) Prose rhythm can reflect changes in rhetorical fashion, and may therefore provide evidence of date. A high proportion of (c)-class clausulae will point to the age of Cicero rather than that of Pliny, whereas a low frequency for the molossus-cretic will point to the age of Pliny rather than that of Cicero. A disputed work may thus be dated with some confidence to the time of the alleged author; this in

itself may constitute an argument in favour of genuineness. (6) Disputed works are often short, and we have seen that short works may give unreliable results. This reduces the value of prose rhythm in questions of authenticity, but does not eliminate it entirely. II. De Optimo Genere Oratorum and Cicero's rhetorical works Now that we have established what prose rhythm may and may not reveal in questions of authenticity, I wish to examine a test case in the light of our findings. I have chosen the treatise De Optimo Genere Oratorum, the only work attributed to Cicero the genuineness of which is still a matter of dispute.? De Optimo Genere Oratorum is written as if by Cicero (10), it is transmitted under Cicero's name in manuscripts and it was already in circulation in the time of Asconius, who was writing in the mid-fifties of our era.? However, Asconius

mentions the work in a way which could suggest that he had private doubts as to its genuineness (ex libro ... qui Ciceronis nomine inscribitur de optimo genere oratorum, 30 Clark), and all scholars

agree that its argument and style fall far below that of Cicero's best

62

D.H. BERRY

efforts. The treatise purports to be a preface to Latin translations of Aeschines’ speech against Ctesiphon and Demosthenes’ reply. But there is no firm evidence that the translations ever existed, and it

seems likely that they were never written, or at least, if begun, were

never completed.?* The preface advances the argument that the most perfect oratory, such as that of Demosthenes, involves the use of all

three styles, grand, middle and plain, and that the Atticists are therefore wrong to confine themselves to the plain style in imitation of Lysias. Thus the term “ Atticism” is currently misused: it ought more appropriately to be applied to those who follow Demosthenes' example — by implication Cicero — rather than to Cicero's detractors. The projected translations were intended to prove the

point by bringing to public notice the stylistic variety of the best Attic orators. The argument of De Optimo Genere Oratorum is basically the same as that expressed more fully and coherently in Cicero's Orator, written in the summer of 46 BC. One possibility is therefore that De Optimo Genere Oratorum is the precursor of the Orator, abandoned as soon as Cicero decided that publishing translations of the Attic orators would not be the best means of rebutting the Roman Atticists' specific criticisms of his oratory. The preface and whatever of the translation had been begun would have been put to one side by

Cicero, and then the preface published on its own after his death.?5 If the title De Optimo Genere Oratorum is the one which Cicero himself intended for his projected work, then that would lend support to this hypothesis, since the Orator was initially referred to by Cicero as De Optimo Genere Dicendi, before the shorter title was decided upon (Ad Atticum 14.20.3; Ad Familiares 12.17.2). It is equally possible, however, that the title was the choice of the editor who published the preface after Cicero's death. The genuineness of the work has been questioned partly on the grounds of Asconius! supposed doubts, but more importantly because of the roughness and lack of polish in its argument and style, and the resemblances at certain points to passages elsewhere in

Cicero. The imperfections of the work have been minutely catalogued by two scholars, G.L. Hendrickson and A. Dihle, the first of whom

considers it to be genuine, and the second of whom condemns it as

spurious. Hendrickson points out that there is no proper introduction or dedication, and that the opening words in particular seem to be rough notes rather than a finished piece of writing. He identifies passages where the argument is confused or inconsistent (6, 7). He

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM

IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

63

also isolates one phrase as a marginal jotting which has been incorporated into the text (8), and he detects two passages where we

appear to have been given two versions of the same sentence (13, 18). Some of these faults he eliminates by emendation or repunctuation, and he concludes that the work is a hurried first draft by Cicero, which has been copied out and patched up by an editor. Dihle, on the other hand,

concentrates

on the passages where there are resem-

blances to other works of Cicero. Four of these are discussed. The greatest attention is paid to sections 3-5, which recall Orator 69. Dihle argues that Cicero would not have expressed his point so clumsily in De Optimo Genere Oratorum when he had already expressed it elegantly in Orator. However, the possibility that De Optimo Genere Oratorum precedes Orator is left open. The other passages are section 11, recalling Tusculan Disputations 2.3; sections 12-13, recalling Brutus 291; and section 18, recalling De Finibus 1.4. Dihle argues that in each case De Optimo Genere Oratorum gives a garbled paraphrase of Cicero's genuine writings, and that there is nothing good in the treatise which has not been lifted from some part of Cicero's works and spoiled. His conclusion is that De Optimo Genere Oratorum is a spurious work written in imitation of Cicero's Orator and arising out of the activities of the rhetorical schools. Since Dihle's attack in 1955, no consensus has emerged. His arguments have been reaffirmed by K. Bringmann, and M.D. Reeve has asserted that Dihle has “established” the spuriousness of the work. E. Bickel, on the other hand, has maintained that De Optimo Genere Oratorum is a genuine work by Cicero, but containing much imitatio sui and much editorial alteration. G.A. Kennedy has likewise found Dihle's case unconvincing, while most recently A.M. Riggsby has argued in

favour of Ciceronian authorship. Let us therefore turn to the prose rhythm of the treatise to see whether that may provide further evidence to be put into the scale.

This aspect was in fact taken account of by Dihle, who used it as one of his arguments against authenticity. Discussing sections 12-13, Dihle states that in De Optimo Genere Oratorum the canonical forms

of the clausulae are so few and far between that these sections must be considered unrhythmical. He adds that the opening is especially carelessly constructed as regards rhythm, and that, of its twenty-five cola, fifteen have no clausula.?’ Before going further, I should say at

once that this representation of the prose rhythm of the work is entirely false. The rhythms occurring at all the major breaks in sections 12-13 are as follows: double-cretic (ornatumque contemnere),

64

D.H. BERRY

hypodochmiac (sicce et integre), resolved molossus-double-trochee (integritate Atticorum est), esse videatur (esse cupiamus), doublecretic (optime dicere), double-cretic (Attice dicere), double-cretic (non necessarium). The sequence of three double-cretics cannot be objected to since it is Cicero's practice often to repeat the same clausula several times in succession: for example, there are four double-cretics in a row at Brutus 93. The opening of De Optimo Genere Oratorum cannot be seriously faulted on its rhythm either. The clausulae occurring before the first twenty-five major breaks in the work (i.e. up to 6 media mediocris) include six double-cretics, three resolved double-cretics, two

resolved molossus-cretics, four

hypodochmiacs, two cretic-spondees, one cretic-double-trochee, one molossus-double-trochee and one esse videatur. These clausulae account for twenty out of the twenty-five rhythms. De Optimo Genere Oratorum, of course, is not a speech, and it will therefore be necessary to establish first whether the prose rhythm of Cicero's rhetorical works corresponds to that of his speeches. The treatise, if genuine, clearly belongs with the Orator, and the Orator, together with Cicero's other rhetorical work of 46, the Brutus, which

was written immediately before it, will therefore be the most suitable texts to examine.?? However, the end of the Orator, which consists of a lengthy treatment of prose rhythm, will be best avoided, since there is a strong possibility that Cicero's practice there is untypical, and his examples would in any case distort the results. I have therefore chosen to analyse the first one hundred sections of both works. The texts used are the Teubner editions of Brutus by E. Malcovati (Leipzig 1965) and of Orator by R. Westman (Leipzig 1980). Naturally the clausulae to be counted could not be selected on the same basis as Zielinski's clausulae; instead, I have attempted to ensure objectivity by accepting a break before every semicolon, colon, full stop, question

mark

and exclamation mark, except in

cases where the preceding words are too few to allow a rhythmical pattern to emerge (there are quite a number of these in Brutus). All quotations are of course excluded. Brutus yielded 386 breaks, and Orator 391. The results, calculated according to methods | and 2, are

given below. For comparison, I have included the corresponding overall figures for the speeches. Method 1 All speeches (17,902)

V 60.6

L 26.7

M 6.2

S 5.2

P 1.4

Brut. (386) Orat. (391)

57.8 55.0

29.0 28.4

10.4 13.3

2.6 2.8

0.3 0.5

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM

Method 2 (a) All speeches (17,902) 324 Brut. (386) 20 Orat. (391) 23.0

IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

(b) (c) 244 — 30 47 20.5 43.7 17.6

(8) 3.6 7.5 6.9

65

(e) 1.6 1.6 1.8

(f) 79 6.7 6.9

These figures show that, in spite of their differing content, Brutus and Orator are nearly identical in their prose rhythm. This is immediately apparent on both methods. If we then take Brutus and Orator together and compare them with the speeches, we find that, on method 1, there is not a great difference between them: the figures

for the two rhetorical works are within the normal range for the speeches, except that the malae figure for Orator is slightly above it. On method 2, however, a quite different picture emerges. Here the figures

for Brutus

and

Orator,

while

similar to each

other,

are

strikingly different from the figures for the speeches. It will be recalled that it was method 2 which alone showed up the difference between Cicero's speeches and Pliny's Panegyricus: here again it is

method 2 which provides the information of most value. What we see is that the proportion of (b)-class clausulae (double-cretic/molossuscretic) has nearly doubled, so that in Brutus and Orator class(b) now accounts for more than 40% of the total clausulae. Classes (a) and (c) have been correspondingly reduced in equal measure, both from just over 3096 to around 2096. Thus in the two rhetorical works the Asianist clausulae of class (c) (cretic-double-trochee/molossusdouble-trochee) have been reduced to approximately their Plinian level (19.9%). The prominence given to class (b) is paralleled by only two Cicero speeches, De Lege Agraria 3and Philippic 12, the statistics for which are given below.

Agr. 3 (47) Phil. 12 (173)

(a) 29.8 283

(b) 426 45.7

(c) 21.3 16.8

(d) 2.1 4.0

(e) 0 0.6

(f) 43 4.6

But the figures for De Lege Agraria 3 mean little, as I mentioned earlier, because

of the tiny number

of clausulae counted.

As for

Philippic 12, we can only observe that the figures for that speech are highly untypical. Returning to Brutus and Orator, it will be remembered that the relative proportions of the double-cretic and the molossus-cretic reflected rhetorical fashion and were therefore an important indication of date. What we find in Brutus and Orator together is that the double-cretic accounts for 23.8% of the clausulae and the molossus-cretic 9.0%. This is in line with Cicero's practice in his speeches of the 40s, where the figures (lower, of course, because of

66

D.H. BERRY

the lower proportion of (b)-class clausulae in the speeches) were 18.7% and 6.2% respectively. Finally, the esse videatur clausula occurs in Brutus and Orator with a frequency similar to that of the speeches, at 4.5% as against 4.300.?? To recapitulate, the pattern of clausulae in Brutus and Oratoris the same, but significantly different from that of Cicero's speeches. This seems to provide further confirmation that prose rhythm is a generic issue: if it were personal, we would expect Cicero's rhetorical works to conform to the normal pattern found in the speeches. It now remains for us to examine De Optimo Genere Oratorum to

see whether the use of prose rhythm in that text matches that of Brutus and Orator. Again, I have analysed the rhythms before every semicolon, colon, full stop, question mark and exclamation mark,

except in cases where the preceding words are too few to allow a rhythmical There were recent Budé below, with

pattern to emerge, and have omitted all quotations. ninety-seven such rhythms. The text used was the most edition, by A. Yon (Paris 1964). The results are given the figures for Brutus and Orator shown for comparison.

Method 1 Brut. (386) Orat. (391)

V 57.8 55.0

L 29.0 28.4

M 10.4 13.3

S 2.6 2.8

P 0.3 0.5

Opt.Gen.

49.5

33.0

11.3

5.2

1.0

(97)

Method 2

(a)

(b)

(c)

(d)

(e)

(f

Brut. (386)

22.0

41.7

20.5

7.5

1.6

6.7

Orat. (391)

23.0

43.7

17.6

6.9

1.8

6.9

Opt.Gen. (97)

11.3

46.4

26.8

72

1.0

72

In interpreting these results, it should be borne in mind that the number of clausulae counted in De Optimo Genere Oratorumis really very small: each clausula accounts for approximately one percentage point. This must distort the results to some, unknown, degree. On method 1 the figures are broadly in line with those for Brutus and Orator:

there

are slightly fewer

verae than

in those

works,

and

correspondingly a slightly greater proportion of licitae and selectae. On

method

2,

it

will

be

remembered

that

the

most

striking

characteristic of Brutus and Orator was the high proportion of (b)class clausulae (double-cretic/molossus-cretic), where the figure was nearly double that for the speeches. In De Optimo Genere Oratorum the same phenomenon occurs, with class (b) accounting for 46.4% — nearly half — of the total. Whatever else may be said about it, this is therefore without question a highly rhythmical text. In classes (d), (e)

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM

IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

67

and (f), the figures for our treatise are in line with those for Brutus and Orator. The only real area of difference lies in classes (a) and (c): the figure for class (a) is significantly lower than those for the two Ciceronian works, and that for class (c) rather higher. But if we return to the largest class, (b), to compare the relative proportions of the double-cretic and the molossus-cretic, we find that the former

accounts for 21.6% of the total, and the latter 10.3%. This is exactly in line with Brutus and Orator, where the figures were 23.8% and 9.0% respectively. These figures are extremely important from the point of view of authenticity because they reflect rhetorical fashion and therefore provide an indication of date. The proportion of esse videatur clausulae, finally, is less than half that in Brutus and Orator,

2.1% as opposed to 4.5%. However, as I have argued above, this is not a factor of great significance. Let us take stock of these results. On method 1, De Optimo Genere Oratorum is in line with Brutus and Orator. On method 2 the same may be said, with the exception of some inequality in classes (a) and

(c). There are two features of special significance. First, De Optimo Genere Oratorum shares with Brutus and Orator the very high proportion of (b)-class clausulae. Secondly, it concurs with those works in the relative proportions of the double-cretic and the molossus-cretic, strongly implying that it was written in the same period. Taking everything together, and considering the small

number of clausulae available, we must conclude that the prose rhythm of De Optimo Genere Oratorum closely resembles that of Brutus and

Orator, which are genuine

works

of Cicero from the

period in which our treatise professes to have been written. In Part I of this investigation we concluded that prose rhythm is generic rather than personal, and therefore cannot provide positive proof of authenticity. Nevertheless, we saw that it may provide a strong argument in favour of authenticity, as with the Post Reditum speeches. In Part II we have found that De Optimo Genere Oratorum is another case where prose rhythm provides a strong argument for authenticity. Its rhythmical profile is broadly comparable to that of Brutus and Orator, and its ratio of double-cretics to molossus-cretics

suggests that it dates from the same period. The similarity of its prose rhythm to that of Cicero's indisputably genuine works is impressive considering the shortness of the work. It differs from Brutus and Orator much less than many of Cicero's genuine speeches do from the Ciceronian oratorical norm. The treatise has been criticised on account of its argument and

68

D.H. BERRY

style, which Dihle with justification described as "stümperhaft".*! Yet, despite Dihle, this characterisation cannot be extended to the

prose rhythm of the work. Zielinski said of the author of the pseudoCiceronian In Sallustium “unser Anonymus war ein Stiimper”,*? but the statistics of De Optimo Genere Oratorum are in quite a different class from those of the pseudonymous invective. Our author understood prose rhythm, and indeed he actually draws attention in the treatise to its importance: sed et verborum est structura quaedam duas res efficiens, numerum et levitatem (De Optimo Genere Oratorum 5). Nevertheless, the clumsiness of argument and style remains, and we must therefore close by asking which is the more satisfactory explanation for this: lack of revision, or spuriousness? The argument

for spuriousness rests on the assumption that Cicero was incapable, even when making rough notes, of expressing himself in an abrupt and unpolished manner. It also rests on a further assumption, that Cicero is an author who does not repeat himself from one work to another. Both of these assumptions seem to me to be manifestly false.” Moreover, it is incumbent

authenticity of the work

on those who argue against the

to provide a convincing account of its

origin.“ In the first place, De Optimo Genere Oratorum professes to be the work of Cicero (10), and therefore cannot simply have been wrongly ascribed. Secondly, it does not promote the views of any philosophical or religious sect or literary coterie, and so cannot be a forgery produced by followers of the master at a later period. Thirdly, forgery for the purpose of sale to a public library might seem possible; but libraries were not easily imposed upon.“ Forgery for sale in bookshops is impossible given the mechanics of ancient book

production and the absence of a law of copyright.“ Finally, our treatise is not a speech or a declamation but a preface to some unheard-of translations, and its subject-matter is entirely concerned with a minor and short-lived controversy of the mid-40s BC. So it will

not do simply to assert, as Dihle does in the final sentence of his article,

that

the

treatise can

be explained

as arising out

of the

activities of the rhetorical schools. A decade before Dihle, E.H. Clift had already concluded her history of Latin pseudepigrapha with the observation that “It seems quite unwarranted ... to summon forth the ghost of the ‘Empire rhetorical school exercise’ to account for the authorship of all Republican literature about which there is the slightest cause for doubt".*' It was speeches such as the In Sallustium

which emanated

from

the rhetorical schools, not imitations of

Ciceronian anti-Atticist polemic. In any case, the prose rhythm of the

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

69

treatise dates it to the era of Brutus and Orator, and Clift has further urged that “great care must be exercised before proclaiming a work

spurious if it can be shown that the work was actually composed at the time of its purported date".** The alternative explanation for the clumsiness of De Optimo Genere Oratorum, lack of revision, is much less problematic and is

therefore to be preferred. On this hypothesis, the treatise is a genuine work which was never finished for publication. I suggest that its origin was approximately as follows. Early in 46, Cicero had the idea of publishing translations of Aeschines and Demosthenes in order to show how his own style of oratory resembled the best of the Attic orators.

Since the translations were to be written by himself, the

resemblance between them and his own speeches would indeed be marked. A draft preface was hurriedly written in which Cicero sketched the main points he wanted to put across. In a few places he altered what he had written, adding his second thoughts in the margin. Next, he may have begun work on the translations, meaning

to write out the preface properly once the translations were complete. However, he quickly abandoned the project. Perhaps he decided that the translations would take too much time and would not prove an adequate defence against his critics. Or perhaps he felt that he had more to say than could conveniently be said in a preface. Whatever his reason, the unfinished project was put to one side and Cicero moved on to the Orator. Some of the points he had made in his preface he afterwards expressed in a more elegant form in Orator, De Finibus and Tusculan Disputations. After Cicero's death in 43 BC the task of preserving his literary inheritance fell to his freedman M. Tullius Tiro. Tiro's activities both before and after Cicero's death are well documented in the sources, and all the relevant information has been collected and assessed by W.C. McDermott.? During Cicero's lifetime Tiro acted as his literary assistant. He was certainly more than just a secretary. In 53 Cicero spoke to him of litterulae meae sive nostrae, and did not like to

undertake literary work, and would not read his compositions to Pompey, in Tiro's absence (Ad Familiares 16.14.1, 16.10.2). Later, in

July 46, he referred to him as the κανών of his literary style (Ad Familiares 16.17.1).°° After Cicero's death, Tiro devoted himself to perpetuating the memory of his late patronus. He wrote a multi-

volume biography which was an important source for Asconius (48 Clark)

and

later historians,

and

was

the source

of the various

accounts of Cicero's murder, at which Tiro was surely present.?! He

70

D.H. BERRY

also edited and had published a number of Cicero's works.’? These included a new text of the Verrines (Gellius 1.7.1, 13.21.16), a collection of notes (commentarii) made by Cicero for his speeches (Quintilian Znstítutio Oratoria 4.1.69, 10.7.30-31) and probably also a collection of Cicero's jokes in three books (Quintilian Institutio Oratoria 6.3.5; Macrobius Saturnalia 2.1.12; Scholia Bobiensia 140 Stangl) This last work Quintilian thought over-long, and he regretted the fact that the enthusiasm of the compiler had prevented a more rigorous selection of the material. Tiro may also have been responsible for the editing and publication of all of Cicero's letters

except the letters to Atticus (cf. 4d Familiares 16.17.1; Ad Atticum 16.5.5): those written to Tiro himself have been modestly placed last in the series (Ad Familiares 16). I suggest that in the midst of this

activity Tiro also edited and circulated Cicero's unrevised preface to his translations of Aeschines and Demosthenes. The passages where we have two versions of the same sentence would testify to Tiro's

concern that nothing that his master had written should perish: the same concern is evident in his unwillingness to suppress Cicero's less fortunate jokes. So Tiro copied out the preface, incorporating Cicero's marginalia into the text, but very properly did not attempt to introduce any improvements of his own.5 The text which has survived is thus a fair copy of Cicero's first draft. It is possible that there were also some scraps of translation in existence, but since they were incomplete they could not be published. Tiro therefore

published the preface on its own, thus saving De Optimo Genere Oratorum for posterity.’* We can be thankful that it was saved. Not only is it interesting as being the precursor of the Orator, it also affords a unique insight into Cicero's method of composition. Among other things it reveals that even before a work was put into its final form, it already had the desired rhythmical profile. This was because prose rhythm came easily to Cicero. Unlike argument and style, prose rhythm was something he got right first time.

NOTES l1.

Anearlier version of this paper was read to research seminars at Manchester on 6 October 1994 and at Leeds on 30 November 1994. I am grateful to both audiences for the points raised in discussion, and particularly to Professor R.H. Martin for written comments; I am also indebted to the editors for advice on content and

presentation. The usual warning that those who have commented on a work

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

71

should not be assumed to endorse it is especially applicable in the case of this paper, which is intended to stimulate discussion of a topic in which even the ground rules have not yet been firmly established. T. Zielinski Das Clauselgesetz in Ciceros Reden (Philologus Suppl. 9.4, Leipzi 1904), hereafter Clauselgesetz. The important review by A.C. Clark (C. 19 (1905) 164-72) helped to win over English-speaking readers. G. Wüst De Clausula Rhetorica (Strasbourg 1881), mentioned below, is based on an analysis of eighteen speeches. H. Bornecque Les Clausules métriques latines (Lille 1907) and E. Norden Die antike Kunstprosa? 2 vols. (Leipzig and Berlin 1909) 909-60, II Nachtrige 15-18 promoted the subject in France and Germany respectively. Zielinski's later work, Der constructive Rhythmus in Ciceros Reden (Philologus Suppl. 13.1, Leipzig 1914), reviewed by A.C. Clark at CR 30 (1916) 22-6, has been less influential. In practice, if not in the standard manuals; although sec F.W. Hall 4 Companion to Classical Texts (Oxford 1913) 139f. W.H. Shewring ‘Prose-rhythm and the comparative method’ CQ 24 (1930) 165.

Cf. Shewring's entire article, CQ 24 (1930) 164-73, concluded at CQ 25 (1931) 12-22; criticised by H.D. Broadhead ‘Prose-rhythm and prose-metre’ CQ 26 (1932) 35-44; defended by Shewring ‘Prose-rhythm: an apologia’ CQ 27 (1933) Clark, review of Zielinski Clauselgesetz (n.2), 165; CR 37 (1923) 180 (178-81, review of H.D. Broadhead Latin Prose Rhythm (Cambridge 1922)). Shewring ‘Comparative method’ (n.4) 15. Zielinski Clauselgesetz 7f.; cf. Bornecque (n.2) 193f.; L. Laurand Etudes sur le style des discours de Cicéron* 3 vols. (Paris 1936-8) 199f.

Zielinski Clauselgesetz 9-12. Verae 220 (54.6%) + licitae 109 (27.0%) + malae 39 (9.7%) + selectae 27 (6.7%) + pessimae 8 (2.0%) = 403 (100%). The terminology is explained two paragraphs low. Ibid. 15f. (cf. Clark, review of Zielinski Clauselgesetz (n.2), 166-8).

See Zielinski Clauselgesetz, table following p.253. Sometimes my percentage figures will differ slightly (as here) from those given by Zielinski: in checking Zielinski’s calculations I have had the advantage of an electronic calculator. Zielinski Clauselgesetz 34. Shewring ‘Comparative method’ (n.4) 165. Zielinski Clauselgesetz 219. Ibid. His “Echtheitskriterium” in fact differs slightly from this, but I have adjusted it for the reason indicated in n.11. 16.

17.

Zielinski does not actually state this throughout his discussion. R.G. Nisbet likewise assumes Zielinski's position to authenticity-criterion constitutes proof

in so many words; but it is implied on De Domo Sua (Oxford 1939) xxxiii be that close correspondence with the of authenticity.

For the history of the controversy surrounding

the authenticity of the Post

Reditum speeches see Nisbet (n.16) xxix-xxxiv; J.

Nicholson Cicero's Return from

Exile (New York

1992) 1-18.

D.H. BERRY

72

Zielinski Clauselgesetz 221.

Ibid. 18f., 20f. A.C. Clark Recent Developments in Textual Criticism (Oxford 1914) 16.

Zielinski Clauselgesetz 220-2. Again, I have checked and adjusted Zielinski's calculations (n.11). Cicero's partiality for the rhythmical phrase esse videatur was commented on by Quintilian and Tacitus: see Quint. /nst. 9.4.73, 10.2.18; Tac. Dial. 23.1. Bornecque (n.2) 561f. applies the same test to Pro Roscio Comoedo. The figures for the Panegyricus have been calculated from the table at Zielinski Clauselgesetz 220f. Zielinski Clauselgesetz 222f. For the Asianism of the double-trochee see Orat. 212. 26.

Zielinski Clauselgesetz 223.

27.

H. Aili The Prose Rhythm of Sallust and Livy (Studia Latina Stockholmiensia 24, Stockholm 1979); cf. Zielinski Clauselgesetz 19. Cf. F.W. Blass Die Rhythmen der asianischen und rómischen Kunstprosa (Leipzig 1905); Norden (n.2) 131-52. At Brut. 327 Cicero attributes Hortensius’ decline as an orator to his failure to

adapt his style as he grew older. Zielinski Clauselgesetz 222. 31.

Ibid. 224.

32.

Texts: A.S. Wilkins, O.C.T. (Oxford 1903), described by Reeve (n.33) 101 as “shockingly inaccurate”; H. Bornecque, Budé (Paris 1921); H.M. Hubbell, Loeb (Cambridge, Mass. and London 1949); A. Yon, Budé (Paris 1964), which

“repeats Bornecque's apparatus in its entirety with one additional error” (Reeve

(n.33)

101

n.11).

Translation:

M.

Winterbottom

in D.A.

Russell

and

M.

Winterbottom (edd.) Ancient Literary Criticism (Oxford 1972) 250-5. Bibliography: G.L. Hendrickson ‘Cicero De Optimo Genere Oratorum’ AJP47 (1926) 109-23; M. Schanz rev. C. Hosius Geschichte der römischen Literatur I‘ (Munich 1927) 468f.; W. Kroll RE VII A.1101f.; A. Dihle ‘Ein Spurium unter den rhetorischen Werken Ciceros’ Hermes 83 (1955) 303-14; E. Bickel ‘Die Echtheit

von Cic., De opt. gen. or.’ Rh.M 98 (1955) 288; K. Bringmann Untersuchungen zum späten Cicero (Hypomnemata 29, Göttingen 1971) 256-61; G.A. Kennedy The Art of Rhetoric in the Roman World, 300 B.C.-A.D. 300 (Princeton 1972) 258f.; P. MacKendrick The Philosophical Books of Cicero (London 1989) 104, 335f.; A.M. Riggsby ‘Pliny on Cicero and oratory: self-fashioning in the public

eye’ AJP 116 (1995) 128 n.8. 33.

For an account of the manuscript tradition see M.D. Reeve in L.D. Reynolds (ed.) Texts and Transmission: A Survey of the Latin Classics (Oxford 1983) 100-2. On the date of Asconius’ commentaries see the commentary by B.A. Marshall

(Columbia 1985) 28-30. 34.

However, the assumption of scholars that the book to which Asconius refers did not include the translations is not justified.

THE VALUE OF PROSE RHYTHM IN QUESTIONS OF AUTHENTICITY

35.

73

This is approximately the view of Hendrickson (n.32), although he bases his argument on the supposed evolution of Cicero's thought from Brutus and De Optimo Genere Oratorum, where perfection in oratory is attainable, to Orator,

where Cicero is concerned with an impossible ideal. But I see no reason to postulate any evolution. In De Optimo Genere Oratorum Demosthenes is the perfect orator not because Cicero (assuming the treatise genuine) has not yet reached his advanced position, but simply because he is introducing a translation of Demosthenes. 36.

The works of the scholars cited in this paragraph are given at n.32, except Reeve for which see (n.33) 100.

37.

38.

Dihle (n.32) 311 (cf. Bringmann (n.32) 257). Dihleunfortunately does not specify

which were the twenty-five cola he counted.

For earlier examinations ofthe prose rhythm of these texts see H. Bornecque 'Les Lois métriques de la prose oratoire latine d'apres le Brutus’ RPh 26 (1902) 105-24; id. ‘Les Clausules métriques dans l'Orator' RPh 29 (1905) 40—50; id. (n.2) 284-90 (Brut.), 291-6 (Orat.).

39.

These figures are based on Zielinski's restrictive definition of the esse videatur clausula, according to which, because of his imaginary “law of resolution” (discussed above), the fourth and third syllables from the end must belong to the same word. The true figures for the esse videatur clausula will be higher (at least 5.0% for Brutus and Orator and 6.4% for the speeches). The text of the earlier Budé (n.32) yields the same results. Dihle (n.32) 307.

42. 43.

Zielinski Clauselgesetz 221. On Cicero's quotation from his own works see, for example, J. Glucker *As has

been rightly said ... by me’ LCM 13 (1988) 6-9.

On the subject of literary forgery and pseudepigrapha see A. Gudeman ‘Literary frauds among the Greeks’ in Classical Studies in Honor of H. Drisler (New York 1894) 52-74; id. ‘Literary frauds among the Romans’ TAPA 25 (1894) 140-64;

E.H. Clift Latin Pseudepigrapha: A Study in Literary Attributions (Baltimore 1945); N.G.L. Hammond and H.H. Scullard The Oxford Classical Dictionary? (Oxford 1970) s.v. “forgeries, literary" and “pseudepigraphic literature”; W. Speyer Die literarische Fälschung im heidnischen und christlichen Altertum (Munich 1971); Pseudepigrapha I(Fondation Hardt Entretiens 18, 1972); N. Brox

(ed.) Fseudepigraphie in der heidnischen und jüdisch-christlichen Antike (Darmstadt 1977). Motives for forgery are discussed by Speyer 131-49. 45.

On sale to libraries cf. Galen /n Hipp. de Nat. Hominis 2, 57.12 Mewaldt; that libraries had the effect of suppressing forgeries is the central thesis of Clift’s book (n.44). See K. Dziatzko ‘Autor- und Verlagsrecht im Alterthum' Rh.M 49 (1894) 559-76. Clift (n.44) 152.

48.

Ibid. 153.

49.

W.C. McDermott 'M. Cicero and M. Tiro' Historia 21 (1972) 259-86. See also Schanz-Hosius (n.32) 547f.

74

D.H. BERRY

See also Att. 7.5.2; Fam. 16.4.3; Gel. 6.3.8, 13.9.1. Gellius (15.6.2) expresses surprise that an inaccurate reference to Homer in De Gloria was not corrected by Tiro. McDermott (n.49) 269, 282-4; Schanz-Hosius (n.32) 548.

52.

McDermott (n.49) 277-82; Schanz-Hosius (n.32) 482, 548.

53.

The work involved would have been similar to Tiro's work on the Verrines, where

McDermott ((n.49) 278) envisages that he incorporated the marginal changes in Cicero’s own manuscript, checked references (cf. n.50) and made a few other

editorial changes.

After Tiro published De Optimo Genere Oratorum, there are obviously many routes by which its ultimate survival may have come about. One such route may have been through Atticus, to whom Tiro would have sent a copy of the work. O. Seeck (Die Kalendertafel der Pontifices (Berlin 1885) 90, with n.75; cf. Clift (n.44) 20f.) has suggested that Atticus’ library was inherited on his death in 32 by his daughter Caecilia Attica, the first wife of Agrippa, and later passed from Agrippa's heirs into one of the imperial libraries. However, it is not known whether Agrippa's marriage to Caecilia was terminated by her death or by divorce; if it was by divorce, then Agrippa may not have kept the library. On the marriage see Nep. Att. 12.1-2, 21.4; Suet. de gramm. et rhet. 16.1, with R.A. Kaster (commentary, Oxford 1995) ad loc., M. Reinhold Marcus Agrippa: A Biography (New York 1933) 35-7, 71 n.39; J.-M. Roddaz Marcus Agrippa (BEFAR 253, Rome 1984) 81-4, 534f.; and on the question of dos, W.W. Buckland rev. P. Stein A Text-Book of Roman Law from Augustus to Justinian’

(Cambridge 1963) 108-10; S. Treggiarı Roman Marriage: Iusti Coniuges from the Time of Cicero to the Time of Ulpian (Oxford 1991) 350-3.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 75-81 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90- 1

SOME ETYMOLOGIES OF PROPER NAMES IN CATULLUS ANDREAS

MICHALOPOULOS

(University of Leeds)

Since the publication of Cairns’ book on Tibullus and his discussion of Tibullan verbal doctrina, interest in ancient poets' uses of etymology has increased.” It has been recognised that etymology played an important role in the composition of both Greek and Latin poetry and constituted a basic structural and formal feature. Some

etymologies of proper names in the Catullan corpus have already been commented on: Thomas! has treated the multiple etymological play on ‘Argo’ and ἀργός at 64.1-18, Cairns‘ has pointed out the link between Juppiter ‘Hammon’ and Aarena at 7.3-5 through ἄμμος, Ross? has shown that apertos operates asa gloss on Urios (cf. οὔριος) at

36.12,

and

O'Hara*

has

discussed

Catullus'

use,

based

on

etymology, of the cult epithet Erycina for Venus in a context where the goddess sows *thorny' cares in Ariadne's heart (64.72). The object of the present paper is to add further examples. 1)

Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque, et quantum est hominum venustiorum’ (3.1f.)

Cf. Cicero De Natura Deorum 2.69: ex ea [i.e. Venus] potius venustas quam Venus ex venustate, a view later adopted by Iulius Firmicus and

Priscian? and earlier implied in comedy.? 2)

et hoc negat minacis Hadriatici negare litus insulasve Cycladas Rhodumque nobilem horridamque Thraciam, Propontida trucemve Ponticum sinum (4.6-9)

horrida in line 8 is an etymological gloss on Thracia; cf. Isidore 75

76

ANDREAS MICHALOPOULOS

Origines 9.2.82: Thraciae Thiras Iaphet filius veniens nomen dedisse

perhibetur.

alii saevitia incolarum

Thraciam appellatam dixerunt.

Catullus clearly knew the second of these etymologies, i.e. Thracia from

trux; he interpreted trux as horrida and then, to confirm his

etymological intent, placed trux in the very next line (9), modifying a different noun. Parallel cases are not rare.'° 3)

sive trans altas gradietur Alpes (11.9)

Alpes in Gallic means ‘high’, i.e. altas; cf. Servius on Aeneid 4.442: de Alpibus, quae Gallorum lingua alti montes vocantur; Servius Auctus on Aeneid 10.13: omnes altitudines montium licet a Gallis Alpes vocentur, proprie tamen iuga montium Gallicorum sunt. Catullus' gloss thus crosses the linguistic boundary between Latin and Gallic and recalls his birth and education in Gallia Cisalpina,!! as well as revealing how learned yet unobtrusive Catullan etymologising can be. 4)

tu Lucina dolentibus Iuno dicta puerperis, tu potens Trivia et notho es dicta /umine Luna (34.13-16)

In the grammatical

tradition Luna is constantly associated with

lucere? and lumen." Isidore goes further: luna dicta quasi Lucina, ablata media syllaba ...; sumpsit ... nomen per derivationem a solis luce, eo quod ab eo lumen accipiat, acceptum reddat (Origines 3.71.2). Catullus’ notho lumine (15f.) suggests that he was aware of this etymology, whose contemporaneity is guaranteed by Lucretius’ parallel etymology at 5.575: lunaque sive notho fertur loca lumine lustrans.!^ The juxtaposion of /umine and Luna at the end of line 16 further confirms Catullus’ etymological intent.!* 5)

Bononiensis Rufa Rufulum fellat (59.1)

*Rufa' (meaning ‘red’ in Latin) could be a real name, but may well be a pseudonym, highly appropriate for a fellatrix, derived by Catullus from ῥοφέω (Ionic ῥυφέω), ‘to suck’. 6)

Num

te leaena montibus Libystinis

aut Scylla latrans infima inguinum parte (60.1f.) 7)

quaenam te genuit sola sub rupe leaena, quod mare conceptum spumantibus exspuit undis, quae Syrtis, quae Scylla rapax, quae vasta Carybdis? (64. 154-6)

Such reproaches go back to Homer, with Euripides Medea 1342f.: λέαιναν, οὐ γυναῖκα, τῆς Tuponvidoc/ Σκύλλης ἔχουσαν ἀγριωτέραν φύσιν offering a closer parallel." Catullus goes further than

SOME ETYMOLOGIES OF PROPER NAMES

IN CATULLUS

77

Euripides by playing etymologically on Scylla's name. Σκύλλα was thought to derive either from σκύλαξ (‘young dog, puppy’) or from σκύλλω (‘to rend, to tear’) or from σκυλάω-σκυλεύω (‘to despoil, to

strip off").? Jatrans (60.2) alludes bilingually to the first etymology,!? which became very popular in the Augustan period.?? rapax (64.156) refers to the second etymology — from σκύλλω. Later the Culex poet and Ovid combined the two: cf. Culex 331: illum Scylla rapax canibus succincta

Molossis,

Ovid

Heroides

12.123:

aut nos

Scylla

rapax

canibus mersisset edendos, Metamorphoses 7.64f.: ... cinctaque saevis/ Scylla rapax canibus Siculo latrare profundo? 8)

qualis Idalium colens venit ad Phrygium Venus (61.17f.)

Here a different etymology of ‘Venus’ — from venire?! — appears; cf. Cicero De Natura Deorum 2.69: quae ... dea ad res omnes veniret Venerem

nostri

nominaverunt,

3.62:

Venus

quia

venit ad omnia;

Arnobius Adversus Nationes 3.33: quod ad cunctos veniat, Venerem. The two words linked etymologically are highlighted by being placed

at the beginning and end of the line — a major etymological signal.?? The play between venire and Venuslater became very popular among

Augustan poets.?? 9)

Peliaco quondam prognatae vertice pinus dicuntur liquidas Neptuni nasse per undas (64. 1f.)

Three different ancient etymologies of Neptunus are known: from nubere, from nubes and tonare®> and from nare.?5 Catullus exploits the last of these derivations, which was certainly current in his time,

since it is attested by Cicero De Natura Deorum 2.66; 3.62. The juxtaposition of Neptuni and nasse immediately after the caesura may signal etymological intent. 10)

non sine nutanti platano lentaque sorore flammati Phaethontis et aeria cupressu (64.290f.)

*Phaethon' was thought to derive from φάος -φῶς (‘light’) and αἴθειν (‘to burn’); cf. Servius on Aeneid 6.659: a luce ardoris sui Phaethon appellatus est (translating these components). flammati thus glosses Phaethon. The juxtaposition of the two terms at the beginning of the

line highlights Catullus" etymological intent. 11)

inde pater divum sancta cum coniuge natisque advenit, Caelo te solum, Phoebe, relinquens

unigenamque simul cultricem montibus Idri (64.298-300) Phoebus in line 299 is ‘the sun’, i.e. so/, a word constantly associated

etymologically with solus;?’ cf., e.g., Varro De Lingua Latina 5.68: sol

78

ANDREAS MICHALOPOULOS

vel quod ita Sabini, vel quod solus ita lucet, ut ex eo deo dies sit;*

Cicero De Natura Deorum 2.68: cum sol dictus sit vel quia solus ex omnibus sideribus est tantus vel quia cum est exortus obscuratis

omnibus solus apparet.? The juxtaposition of solum and Phoebe (a synonym of so/) alludes to this etymology. 12)

Iuppiter, ut Chalybon omne genus pereat, et qui principio sub terra quaerere venas institit ac ferri stringere duritiem! (66.48-50)

χάλυψ means ‘hardened iron, steel’. Hence Chalybon (48) is glossed

bilingually by ferri (50); cf. Servius on Georgics 1.58: Chalybes populi sunt, apud quos nascitur ferrum, unde abusive dicitur chalybs ipsa materies. Virgil has the same etymology, commented by Servius (above), at Georgics 1.57f.: India mittit ebur, molles sua tura Sabaei,/ at Chalybes nudi ferrum. At Aeneid 10.174 ferrum is not mentioned,

although metallis hints at it: insula inexhaustis Chalybum generosa metallis. 13)

vertor in occasum, tardum dux ante Booten,

qui vix sero alto mergitur Oceano. (66.67f.)

At line 68 the proverbially slow Bootes?! sinks into the Ocean. Oceanus was etymologised in antiquity from ὠκύς; cf. Solinus 23.13: Oceanus, quem Graii sic nominant de celeritate; Priscian Institutiones Grammaticae 3.507.32 Keil: ἀπὸ τοῦ ᾧκέος ... hoc est a celeri motu,

dictus est Graece Oceanus. tardum in line 67 therefore alludes learnedly per contrariam to this bilingual etymology. 14)

praeterquam iste tuus moribunda ab sede Pisauri hospes inaurata pallidior statua (81.3f.)

Catullus' insinuates that his rival for the love of Juventius is in illhealth by comparing him to a gilded statue. The jibe is strengthened by the etymological associations of the rival's place of origin, Pisaurum: cf. Servius on Aeneid 6.825: Pisaurum dicitur, quod illic

aurum pensatum est. The interest in etymology to be expected from a doctus poeta like Catullus has now been exemplified in fourteen passages involving proper names in his corpus. Most examples gloss a proper name (2) or, where bilingual etymologies are present (3, 5, 6, 7, 10, 12), ‘translate’ it. In other cases Catullus juxtaposes the name with a word thought to be its origin (1, 4, 8, 9, 14). In one example (13) Catullus

alludes to the etymology of a name by collocating it with an adjective modifying a different noun and opposite in meaning to the etymology.

SOME ETYMOLOGIES OF PROPER NAMES IN CATULLUS

79

In yet another (11) Catullus produces an etymology, not of the name

itself, but of a synonym."

NOTES F. Cairns Tibullus:

a Hellenistic poet at Rome (Cambridge

1979) 90-9.

J.M. Snyder Puns and Poetry in Lucretius's De rerum natura (Amsterdam 1980);

F. Ahl Metaformations: So

Poets (Ithaca

and

London

lay and Wordplay in Ovid and Other Classical

1985); J.C. McKeown

Ovid Amores:

Text, Pro-

legomena and Commentary, Vol. 1: Text and Prolegomena (ARCA 20, Liverpool 1987) 45-62; J.J. O'Hara Vergil! and the Alexandrian Tradition of Etymological Wordplay (forthcoming). R.F. Thomas ‘Catullus and the Polemics of Poetic Reference (Poem 64.1-18)"

AJP 103 (1982) 144-64, 148-54. F. Cairns ‘Catullus’ basia poems (5, 7, 48)’ Mnem. 26 (1973) 15-22, 18. D.O. Ross 'Uriosque apertos: a Catullan gloss' Mnem. 26 (1973) 60-2. J.J. O'Hara ‘The significance of Vergil's Acidalia mater and Venus Erycina in

Catullus and Ovid' HSCP 93 (1990)

335-42.

The association of Veneres and venustiorum is also pointed out by S.F. Wiltshire *Catullus venustus’ CW 70 (1977) 319-26, 320. Firm. Err. 17.3: venustas hominum Venus dicta est; Prisc. Gramm. 2.140.4 Keil: Venus venustas.

Plaut. Bacch. 115: Amor, Voluptas, Venus, Venustas, Gaudium; Most. 161: O Venus venusta; Poen. 255f.: diem pulchrum et celebrem et venustatis plenum,/ dignum Venere pol, quoi sunt Aphrodisia hodie; Poen. 1177: digna dea venustissima Venere.

10.

Cf. e.g. Ov. Met. 3.594f.: flectere et Oleniae sidus pluviale capellae/ Taygetenque Hyadasque oculis Arctonque notavi, where pluviale modifies sidus Oleniae capellae, even though it is a standard gloss on Hyadas (cf. Virg. Aen. 1.744; 3.516: Arcturum pluuiasque Hyadas geminosque Triones: Ov. Fast. 5.166: navita quas Hyadas Graius ab imbre vocat).

See L.A. Holland Lucretius and the Transpadanes (Princeton 1979) 21-45 on northern characteristics in Catullus' poetry. 12.

Varro LL 5.68: luna quod sola lucet noctu, Cic. ND 2.68: luna a lucendo nominata.

13.

Firm. Err.17.2: luna ... a nocturno lumine nomen accepit.

14.

More parallels from Lucretius: Luna potest solis radiis percussa nitere/ inque dies magis id lumen convertere nobis (5.705), nam cur luna queat terram secludere solis/ lumine et a terris altum caput obstruere ei (5.753f.); et cur terra queat lunam

spoliare vicissim/ lumine et oppressum solem super ipsa tenere (5.762£.); et tamen ipsa suo si fulget luna nitore, / cur nequeat certa mundi languescere parte,/ dum loca minibus propriis inimica per exit? (5.76870). 15.

For the significance of line ends in marking etymologies, cf. R. Maltby ‘The Limits of Etymologising’ Aevum Antiquum 6 (1993) 257-75, 269f., 272, referring

ANDREAS MICHALOPOULOS

also to O'Hara (n.2).

Hom. //. 16.33-5: νηλεές, οὐκ ἄρα σοί ye πατὴρ ἦν ἱππότα Πηλεὺς, οὐδὲ Θέτις μήτηρ, γλαυκὴ δέ σε τίκτε θάλασσω πέτραι t ἠλίβατοι. Cf. also Eur. Bacch. 987-90: τίς ἄρα νιν Erexev;/ οὐ γὰρ ἐξ αἵματος, γυναικῶν ἔφυ, λεαίνας δέ τινος, 55° fj Γοργόνων Λιβυσσᾶν γένος. For these derivations (and for further discussion of the legendary material), cf. P. Pinotti art. ‘Scilla’ in Enciclopedia Virgiliana (Rome 1984-1991) IV.724-6, esp. 725. 19.

This etymology too has its roots in Homer: cf. Od. 12.85-7: ἔνθα δ᾽ Evi Σκύλλη ναίει δεινὸν AeXakvta-/ τῆς ἦ tot φωνὴ μὲν ὅση σκύλακος νεογιλῆς, γίγνεται, αὐτὴ δ᾽ αὖτε πέλωρ κακόν. Cf. also Lucr. 5.892f.: aut rabidis canibus succinctas semimarinis/ corporibus Scyllas et cetera de genere horum; Virg. Ecl. 6.74-6: quid loquar aut Scyllam Nisi, quam fama secuta est/ candida succinctam latrantibus inguina monstris/ Dulichias vexasse rates...?; Prop. 4.4.39f.: quid mirum patrios Scyllam secuisse capillos,/ candidaque in saevos inguina versa canes?, Ov. Am. 3.12.21f.: per nos Scylla patri caros furata capillos/ pube premit rapidos inguinibusque canes; Met. 13.730-2: Scylla latus dextrum, laevum inrequieta Charybdis/ infestat; vorat haec raptas revomitque carinas,/ illa feris atram canibus succingitur alvum; Ov. Pont. 3.1.122: Scyllaque, quae Siculas inguine terret aquas; Tib.) ( 3.7 (4.1) 71f.: nec Scyllae saevo conterruit impetus ore,/ cum canibus rabidas inter fera serperet undas.

21.

In amatory contexts venire often means ‘to come to a lover’, ‘to submit to love"; cf. R. Pichon Index Verborum Amatoriorum (Paris 1902, repr. Hildesheim 1966) S.v. venire. Cf. O'Hara (n.2).

Cf., e.g., Tib. 2.3.50: iam veniant praedae, si Venus optat opes; Ov. Met. 7.802: non si Venus ipsa veniret; 10.270f.: Festa dies Veneris tota celeberrima Cypro/ venerat. 24.

Varro LL 5.72: Neptunus, quod mare terras obnubit ut nubes caelum, ab nuptu, id est operatione,

ut antiqui.

Arnob.

Adv.

Nat.

3.31: quod aqua nubat terram,

appellatus est... Neptunus. Isid. Orig. 13.7.2: unde (sc. ab obnubendo] et Neptunus, quod nubat, id est mare et terram tegat.

25.

Isid. Orig. 8.11.38: Neptunum aquas mundi praedicant; et dictus ab eis Neptunus, quasi nube tonans.

26.

Cic. ND. 3.62: quoniam Neptunum a nando appellatum putas, nullum erit nomen

27.

The difference in the quantity of ‘o’ presented no difficulty to the ancient etymologist; Varro (LL 5.22) derived solum ‘ground’ from solus ‘alone’, even though ‘o’ is short in solum and long in solus: poetae appellarunt summa terrae quae sola teri possunt, sola terrae.

28.

The derivation of sol from solus was modelled on that of ᾿Απόλλων from a-privative and πολλοί; cf. R. Maltby 'Varro's attitude to Latin derivations from Greek’ PLLS 7 (1993) 47-60, 54.

quod non possis una littera explicare unde ductum sit.

Cf. also R. Maltby A Lexicon of Ancient Latin Etymologies (ARCA 25, Leeds 1991) s.v. sol.

The background is Greek: e.g. Aeschylus called the Chalybes σιδηροτέκτονες (PV 714f.); and Xenophon declared that they earned their living by working with iron

(Anab.

5.5.1).

Catullus

may

also

have

been

directly

influenced

by

SOME ETYMOLOGIES OF PROPER NAMES IN CATULLUS

81

Apollonius’ vivid description of this people's life (Arg. 2.1001-8). 31.

Cf. Ov. Fast. 3.405: piger ille Bootes, Met.2.176; Germ. 139: tardusin occasu; Sen. Med. 315; Oct. 234; Claud. 21.123.

32.

I would like to express my sincere thanks to Dr. Robert Maltby for his notes ona first draft of this paper.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 83-91 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90-1

TWO TWO-PART POEMS IN PROPERTIUS BOOK 1 (1.8; 1.11 AND 12) J.L. BUTRICA (Memorial University of Newfoundland)

Whether Propertius 1.8 is a single poem (either in one part or intwo) or two poems wrongly joined by the manuscripts remains an issue that divides editors and scholars. With the exception of Fedeli's 1984 Teubner, editors since Lachmann have been nearly unanimous in beginning a new elegy at line 27,' while other scholars are split about equally.? The arguments adduced by Lipsius, who first proposed the divsion, have long since been forgotten,’ and scholars usually divide or not according to whether they believe that the two successive moments represented in the lines cannot or can coexist within a single elegy. Butler and Barber, for example, introduced their notes on *VIIIB' by saying that they divided because “There is no conclusive evidence for an elegy written in two parts.”* The influential discussions of structure in Propertius Book 1 by Skutsch and Otis? assumed the division without comment; some might even claim that structural arguments based upon those studies provide decisive proof that Propertius intended 1.8 as two poems. This paper, however, will attempt to show, from a combination of structural and textual-historical arguments, that Propertius 1.8 is indeed a poem in

two parts; it will emerge that the elegies which we now call 1.11 and 1.12 are the two parts of another single poem of thesame kind which serves as foil to 1.8 in the structure of Book 1, the Cynthia. Whatever one thinks of the correspondences and structures that Skutsch and Otis proposed among elegies 1-5 and 15-22 of the

Cynthia,

their work

confirmed

that

a symmetrical

pattern

of 83

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J.L. BUTRICA

addressees does exist within the sequence 6-14. Here the outermost elegies (6 and 14) are addressed to Tullus, dedicatee of the collection as a whole, and they contrast Propertius' status as lover with Tullus' status as respectively aspiring careerist (6) and wealthy aristocrat (14). Within the frame which they create there are two sequences of elegies that treat the inseparable themes of Propertius as elegiac poet and Propertius as lover. The first such sequence, concerned chiefly with Propertius as elegist (a role which he owes to being a lover), comprises 7-9. Here the outer elegies (7 and 9) are both addressed to the epic poet Ponticus. In 7 Propertius warns Ponticus not to scorn love elegy, the verse thanks to which Ponticus will eventually regard Propertius as non humilis poeta (1.7.21); for, says Propertius, Ponticus too might one day fall in love and find himself wishing that he could write love elegy to ease his condition. In 9 Propertius gloats that Ponticus has indeed fallen in love,’ then urges him to start writing love poetry as soon as possible.* Between these assertions of the value of elegy in love comes 8, a practical demonstration of Propertius' power as love-poet. First (in 1-26) he pleads with Cynthia not to sail to Illyria, then (in 27-46) he exults in her failure to depart, depicting her change of intent as accomplished by his poetry

(non humilis poeta indeed)? and auguring life-long glory for himself.!? The second group framed within the sequence 6-14 is 10-13. Here the theme is Propertius as lover (although one who communicates to his puella through poetry), and two kinds of love are at issue rather than two kinds of poetry. The addressee of the outer elegies (10 and 13) is Gallus, and the subject is the change in his life from the rakish

pursuit of multiple affairs to a passionate relationship with a single woman (such as Propertius enjoys).!! In contrast to the pair 7/9, however,

10

shows

Gallus

already

in

the

throes

of this

new

experience, and Propertius the currently prospering lover advises him in lines 21-30 on how to achieve comparable success; only in 13 are the change in Gallus' life and its implications discussed, with many good wishes for its success. The interior elegies (11 and 12) are

related to the two parts of

8in somewhat the same way that 10 and 13

are related to 7 and 9. In 7 Ponticus is warned of a possible change in his lovelife, but in 10 the change in Gallus' lovelife is already underway; similarly Cynthia is threatening to depart in 8, but in 11 she has already departed before the poem begins. After its initial revelation that Cynthia is absent, the rest of 11 comprises claims of dependence and pleas for her return. Propertius seems to be putting

into effect his own advice to Gallus: at quo sis humilis magis et

TWO TWO-PART POEMS IN PROPERTIUS BOOK

1

85

subiectus amori,/ hoc magis effectu saepe fruare'* bono (1.10.27f.). In 12 we see that all entreaties are unsuccessful, and that Propertius has

experienced

a double

failure: the first by not preventing

this

departure in the first place as he claimed to have done in 1.8, the

second in his present inability to recall her from Baiae. The man who was to be non humilis poeta, who advertised the supposed powers of his poetry, who predicted life-long glory from his winning over Cynthia, who offered with bubbling confidence the erotodidaxis of 1.10.21-28, is now seen to be an abject failure: although he has been humilis, as he himself advised,

he has, most humiliatingly, failed

while applying his own advice in the medium of his purported success. Thus the whole sequence of poems 7-13 pointedly juxtaposes the erotic experiences of Propertius and his two friends, of whom Ponticus is certainly a poet and Gallus may be one (see below, n.13):

in 7-9

the

erotic

success

of Ponticus

and

its implied

poetic

consequences frame Propertius' own erotic and poetic success, while

in 10-13 the auguries for Gallus' erotic (and perhaps poetic!?) activity frame Propertius' own erotic and poetic failure. Propertius' friends prosper as lovers, and might prosper as poets, while he himself lapses from success to failure both as lover and as poet. There can be no doubt that such a complex sequence of interrelated poems must have been consciously contrived by the author himself; but one obvious flaw disturbs its otherwise satisfying symmetry, the apparent 'fact' that 7 and 9 embrace the single elegy 8, while 10 and 13 embrace a pair of elegies, 1 and 12. Of course some simply accept the asymmetry, whether in deference to supposed manuscript authority or in the belief that Propertius consciously pursued such irregularities; since Skutsch and Otis required two elegies to balance 11 and 12, it is not surprising that both accepted the division of 8 without comment, but in fact the structure of the book clinches the case for unity when one also takes into account the textual evidence discussed below. Obviously structural symmetry can be satisfied either by 8 being two elegies to match 11 and 12 or by 11 and 12 being a single elegy to match 8; and examination of the manuscripts shows that they, and presumably Propertius, intended the second of these alternatives all along. It has frequently been observed that the authoritative manuscripts unanimously give 8 as a single poem (in fact no extant manuscript at all divides it), but it has gone virtually unremarked that the archetype of the Propertian tradition also presented 11 and 12 asanother single poem, and that to divide these elegies is in effect a

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J.L. BUTRICA

procedure just as conjectural as Lipsius' division of 1.8.'* The Propertian tradition has three branches, one represented by N (Wolfenbüttel Gud. lat. 224, written about 1200), the second by A (Leiden Voss. lat. O.38, written about 1240-50) and by the descendants of A after itends at 2.1.63, the third by the descendants of a lost

mediaeval witness called X by me and A by Heyworth.'> Fedeli's apparatus criticus at 1.12.1 accurately states the evidence for division: “priori coniung. c: nouam elegiam indic. N? et P rubricator, qui epistola ad improperatorem desidie add. in mg." As to the division by *N?’, it must be noted that the hand which has marked the new poem cannot be early and so is unlikely to have corrected from the exemplar.'* The same hand made similar marks of division at 2.5.1 (f. 17r), 2.6.1 (f.

17v), 3.14.1 (f. 49v), 4.8.1 (f. 67r), 4.8.29 (f. 67v), and 4.9.1 (f. 68v); most of these are divisions recognized by the archetype but missed by the scribes of N.'? The late date at which this hand worked is particularly apparent at 3.14.1, where its mark has been forced to accommodate a preexisting mark by another late hand; in addition, the mark extends over a piece of parchment that was added here, as throughout the manuscript, to replace a corner that seems to have been lost through a long period of normal wear.'? In short, the division was marked neither by the scribe nor by the early corrector and could well be several centuries later. The case of P (Paris, B.N. lat. 7989, written in 1423) is even more straightforward. The rubricator to whom Fedeli refers is none other than the scribe himself, and the fact that his title to 1.12 appears in the margin rather than at the head of the poem implies that his exemplar had no division and that the introduction of one came currente calamo as one of his many conjectures. This is strongly confirmed by the observation that P descends from A by way ofa lost intermediary which belonged to Petrarch; A survives here and marks no division, nor did Petrarch's copy, to judge by the fact that the congeners of P also agree in making 11 and 12 a single poem.'? Nor does any descendant of X recognize a division here, and the conclusion seems inescapable that the Propertian archetype presented not only 8 but 11712 as well as single elegies. The evidence of P allows the initial *invention' of 1.12 to be dated somewhere in the days or weeks preceding 20 November 1423, the date at which the scribe finished copying Catullus, who follows Propertius in the manuscript. The conjecture was repeated independently by several later scholars. Vatican Library Pal. lat. 1652, copied by Giannozzo and Agnolo Manetti some time before the former's

TWO TWO-PART POEMS IN PROPERTIUS BOOK

|

87

death in 1459, makes 1.12 ἃ new poem under the title “Ad Tullum”. In St Petersburg, Seltyakov-Shchedrin State Public Library Cl.lat. Q.12, written in 1463 (probably in Rome), the scribe Marianus de Magistris used a large initial to make ita new poem, though one with neither

a

title

nor

space

for

one.

Franciscus

Maturantius,

a

frequently successful emender of Propertius, introduced a new poem in his own

copy,

Rome,

Bibl.

Casanatense

3227

(written

about

1470-75), under the characteristically ponderous title “Ad urbem Romam se excusans quod absens a Cynthia non detineatur sicut obiiciebatur". The unfortunately anonymous scholar responsible for the emendations incorporated in Berlin, Staatsbibl. Diez. B. Sant. 57 (copied in 1481 by “G.F.”, perhaps the scholar himself) calls it “Ad amicum de Cynthiae absentia". Whether Poliziano approved the

division is not certain.? The Johannes de Trochulo who copied Naples, Bibl. della Società Napoletana di Storia Patria XXIV.B.6 in 1474 seems also to have divided by conjecture; he has as well the unique title *De Cynthia", though his manuscript is otherwise copied from the probable editio princeps, which does not divide. Two

manuscripts divide only because their sources did: Mons, Bibl. Mun. 218/109 is a close descendant of P, and El Escorial s.iii.22 was copied from the 1481 Vicenza edition (for which see below). Some thirteen manuscripts have the division marked by a correcting hand. In the case of Vat. lat. 1612, the division (with the title Ad Tullum) is associated with the commentary of Gaspar Manius added to the margins in 1480 (unfortunately no reason is given for the division). In another case certainly, and in the others probably, the division

results from consulting an edition.?! Only a minority of incunabula acknowledge 1.12as an independent elegy. At its first appearance in print, in the Vicenza edition of 1481 prepared by Johannes Calphurnius, the new elegy had no title. At its

second appearance, in Volscus' 1482 Roman edition,?? it had neither title nor even room for a title, only room for an initial. The first edition with commentary, by Philippus Beroaldus, was also the first

to give arguments for dividing the elegy: "Quidam annectunt haec superiori elegiae. Alii disiungunt. et Melius est ut seperemus: cum tamen sententia istius elegiae dependeat a superiore. Conqu[a]eritur enim propter baianum secessum abalienatam esse ab amore suo Cynthiam nec se posse id efficere: quod multis fuit praesentissimo remedio: ut scilicet in aliam transferat amorem ... ad Tullum scribi uidetur."?? The next year Volscus’ 1488 Venetian edition also made it “Ad Tullum"; nonetheless, even the first Aldine of 1502 does not

88

J.L. BUTRICA

divide. But in the nearly five centuries that have followed, the conjectural division which created 1.12 has been so successful that scholars have failed to observe that, though it does occur in some manuscripts, it is contrary to the evidence of the authoritative manuscripts. It has been argued here: a) that the symmetrical structure of addressees and themes in Propertius 1.6-14 shows either that 8 is two

poems or that 11 and 12 are one; and b) that the manuscript evidence is unambiguous and unanimous in favour of the latter.?* Since it is highly unlikely (though still remotely possible, of course) that the manuscripts have erred twice in precisely the same way, 8 and 114-12 arguably do constitute conclusive evidence that writers like Pro-

pertius did indeed write two-part poems.

But these are a very

particular kind of two-part poem, for both take the same form: the first part is a plea to Cynthia (not to go away; not to stay away), the second a monologue on her reaction to that pleading (compliance; indifference). Moreover, it is clear that Propertius uses them, and

perhaps

devised

them,

to contribute

to the sense of forward

movement which prevails within 6-14 by exploiting the potential of such a poem to depict successive stages of a single situation. He further reinforces this sense of movement by surrounding these twopart poems with respectively 7/9 and 10/13, which are themselves in effect two additional two-part poems that again depict successive stages of a single situation;? and it is reinforced yet again by the parallelism and contrast between 8 and 11412, which demand that we consciously compare them. This complex sequence can be read as three interlocking pairs of poems, thus: ABaCbc; equally, it can be read as two parallel blocks consisting each of four elements which occur in the same order, a poet soon to be (7) or currently ( 10) inlove, entreaties to Cynthia departing (8A) or departed (11), reaction to her response (8B, 12), a sequel to the first poem (9, 13). Editors who divide Propertius 1.8 only to secure correspondence with the

supposed independent poems 11 and 12 should be aware that their independence, no less than the division of 8, resulted from conjecture and is in fact the earliest case of a conjectural division in Propertius. Those who divide 1.8 because they do not believe that its two parts can coexist within a single poem should be aware that, according to the manuscripts, Propertius wrote not one but two such poems in his monobiblos. Rather than achieving symmetry by dividing two similarly structured elegies through conjecture, they would do better to accept the harmonious testimony of the principal manuscripts and

TWO TWO-PART POEMS IN PROPERTIUS BOOK

!

89

print these poems as the single elegies which their author appears to have intended.

NOTES The other principal pro Ponens of unity are Lachmann himself in his second edition (see note 3), Enk, and Hertzberg (whose commentary, curiously,

discusses nothing beyond line 25); editors who have divided the elegy include Hosius, Butler and Barber (and Barber in the OCT), Camps, Goold, and even Rothstein.

Studies which have advocated unity include F.R.B. Godolphin ‘The Unity of Certain Elegies of Propertius’ AJP60 (1934) 62-6, ΒΕ. White ‘Dramatic Unity in Propertius 1.8, 2.29, 2.33° CP 56 (1961) 217-29, F. Cairns Generic Composition in Greek and Latin Poetry (Edinburgh 1972) 148-52, and M. Hubbard Propertius (London 1975) 46. On the other hand, 1.8 is treated as two separate poems by

J.T. Davis Dramatic Pairings in the Elegies of Propertius and Ovid (Noctes Romanae

15, Bern

1977) 27-38

and

by G.

Petersmann

Themenführung und

Motiventfaltung in der Monobiblos des Properz (Grazer Beiträge 1, Horn

Supplementband

1980) 74-90. With characteristic eccentricity the commentary of L.J.

Richardson Jr (Norman 1977) regards 1.8 as “a poem within a poem" in which 1-26 represent the “inner poem", 27-46 the "outer poer".

They were last read perhaps by Lachmann, who wrote in his first edition (Leipzig 1816), "Hos... versus ... separatim ponendos esse tam egregie, ut melius fieri non possit, Lipsius docuit Var. lect. II, 18." In his more conservative second edition (Berlin 1829) he printed the elegy as a unity with no reference to the division in his

apparatus.

The Elegies of Propertius ed. H.E. Butler and E.A. Barber (Oxford 1933). O. Skutsch ‘The Structure of the Proopertian Monobiblos’ CP 58 (1963) 238f.; B. Otis ‘Propertius’ Single Book’ HSCP 70 (1965) 1-44. 1.7.19: frustra

cupies mollem

componere

uersum,

25f.: tu caue nostra

tuo

contemnas carmina fastu:/ saepe uenit magno faenore tardus amor. 1.9.1: dicebam tibi uenturos, irrisor, amores.

1.9.33f.: quam primum errata fatere:/ dicere quo pereas saepe in amore leuat. One could therefore regard amores in 1.9.1 as alluding not only to a love affair but to the Amores that Ponticus will write out of it.

1.8.3942: hanc ... flectere/ ... potui blandi carminis obsequio./ sunt igitur Musae, neque amanti tardus Apollo,/ quis ego fretus amo. 1.8.46: ista meam norit gloria canitiem.

Of course if Gallus is the elegist Cornelius Gallus (note 13), then a difference over poetry cannot be at issue as it was with Ponticus. 12. 13.

Hartman's more vivid fruere is attractive. For the possibility that 1.10 especially refers to poetry rather than sex see, most recently, A. Sharrock

‘Alternae

voces

—

Again’

CQ

40 (1990)

570f., with

literature. The theory is all the more likely if Gallus is indeed the pioneering elegist, for which see F. Cairns ‘Propertius 1,4 and 1,5 and the ‘Gallus’ of the

J.L. BUTRICA

Monobiblos' PLLS 4 (1983, publ. 1984) 61-103 (especially 83-95). If pushed far

enough, the ‘literary’ reading of 13 might suggest that Propertius lauds a decision by Gallus to celebrate a single mistress in his poetry rather than a series of lighter

attachments (like Horace in the Odes) were this not a late date for Gallus to be

taking such a decision: it would in fact give Propertius’ Cynthia priority as Rome's first poetry book celebrating a single mistress.

14.

The point seems to have been made only in The 'Monobiblos': Propertius Book I ed. R.I.V. Hodge and R.A. Buttimore (Cambridge 1977) 146: “The fact that an editorial decision has been made is much less obvious in the case of XI-XII, since

variants in two manuscripts (N2 and P2) divide the poem at line 30. Perhaps as a result of this, no editor this century has thought it necessary to give any reasons for accepting this emendation, as it essentially is." 15.

For the tradition and its branches see J.L. Butrica The Manuscript Tradition of Propertius (Phoenix Supplementary Volume 14, Toronto 1984); for Heyworth's A sec his The Elegies of Sextus Propertius: Towards a Critical Edition (Diss. Cambridge 1986) 53-108.

16.

On examining the manuscript in 1976 (long before formulating the hypothesis advanced in this paper) I recorded the observation that “the division ... could well be s.xv”.

17.

The only exception is the mark at 2.5.1; this division, which is also not indicated in the descendants of Petrarch's manuscript, seems to have entered the humanist tradition from X and is virtually universal after the 1430s.

18.

Evidence for the lateness of this restorative activity comes from f. 67r, where the letters lost through damage from 4.8.1-10 have been supplied by a late-looking

hand not found outside these repairs (note especially the form of the final s, not used by the scribes of N); of course the letters will have been restored from other

manuscripts or perhaps even printed editions, not from N

19.

itself.

In addition to P, Petrarch's manuscript is usually reconstructed from Salutati's copy F (Florence, Laur. pl. 36,49, ca 1380) and L (Oxford, Bodl. Libr. MS

Holkham misc. 36, written in 1421); the latter is lost for this part of the text and must itself be reconstructed here from such manuscripts as Brussels, Bibl. Royale 14638 and Naples, B.N. IV.F.19. For these manuscripts and their relationship to

each other and to P and A see Butrica (above, note 15) 37-61, 110-14.

20.

A sign marking the division appears among the marginalia of Rome, Bibl. Corsiniana 50 F 37, the copy of the 1472 de Spira edition which Poliziano annotated, but it is not clear whether it was made by Poliziano or by Bartolomeo Fonzio. The division was also known to Franciscus Puccius, who in 1502

annotated a copy of the 1481 Reggio edition; his source was almost certainly an edition and not the uetustus codex of Berardino Valla that he collated.

21.

The sure case is Milan, Bibl. Ambros. H 34 sup., where the correcting hand has also written notes which quote Volscus' commentary of 1488. The others are Berlin lat. fol. 500 (Pontano's manuscript, but the division is not marked by his hand); Cambridge, Univ. Libr. 3394; Florence, Bibl. Naz. Cent. Baldovinetti 213; London, Brit. Libr. Add. 17,417 and Harley 2550; Naples, Bibl. Naz.

IV.F.22; Rome, Bibl, Casanatense 915; Bibl. Vat. Capp. 196, Chigi H.IV.122 and H.IV.123; Vienna Österr. Nationalbibl. 3153. The apparatus of Hanslik's Teubner text (Leipzig 1979) gives only a partial and inaccurate report of the evidence for division among the recentiores.

22.

For the dependence of this edition upon Calphurnius', see Butrica (note 15) 164.

23.

Quoted here from the edition of Zuan Tacuino (Venice 1500).

24.

For discussions of 11 and 12 as a related pair of poems see Davis (above, note 2)

TWO TWO-PART POEMS IN PROPERTIUS BOOK 1

39-50, Petersmann (note 2) Buttimore (note 14) 146-54.

25.

112-31,

and

91

the

commentary

of Hodge

and

Note also how 1.13.1f. (tu, quod saepe soles, nostro laetabere casu,/ Galle, quod abrepto solus amore uacem) creates a sense of continuity within the group 10-13 by alluding to Propertius’ loss of Cynthia in 1.11+12.

A briefer version of this article formed the first part of the paper ‘The Art and Architecture of Propertius' given at the Leeds International Latin Seminar on 29 October 1993; I wish to thank all who made encouraging and constructive remarks on that occasion.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 93-102 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90- i

SENSE AND STRUCTURE IN TIBULLUS (2.2.21-2, 1.1.78, 2.1.83-90, 1.5.1-8, 1.6.5-8) ROBERT MALTBY (University of Leeds)

This paper examines five Tibullan passages where the poet's wellrecognised technique of ring-composition! throws light on his meaning and sometimes on textual problems. It will also be argued

that certain correspondences between the end of one poem and the beginning of the next show Tibullus structuring his poems at the level of the book,? and further help elucidate points of difficulty. The examples brought together here have arisen out of the preparation of a forthcoming commentary on books | and 2 of the Tibullan corpus.

2.221-2 2.2 is a birthday poem, addressed to a certain Cornutus (9), probably M. Caecilius Cornutus,! whose name appears, with that of Tibullus’

patron M. Valerius Messalla Corvinus, on an Arval inscription of 21/20 BC.‘ The poet himself officiates at the ceremonies and begins with an appeal for ritual silence (1f.). Incense is to be burnt for Cornutus’ Genius, who, probably in the form ofa statue, is to attend the festivities and witness the rich offerings to be made to him (3-8). The poet next bids the Genius assent to Cornutus' requests and, as he sees him (i.e. the statue) nod (adnuit, 10), he asks Cornutus to make his prayer. He prophesies that Cornutus will ask for a wife's faithful love, which he would prefer to all the riches in the world (13-16). Cornutus then makes his prayer. This must be the meaning of uota cadunt (17), not “your prayers are granted” which is the way a 93

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ROBERT MALTBY

number of commentators take it. “Your prayers are granted", even if

it could be got out of the Latin, would be illogical immediately before the wish for them to be fulfilled, introduced by utinam. For cado in the sense of “fall from one's lips", “be uttered” of vows and prayers, there is a parallel in Propertius 1.17.4, omniaque ingrato litore uota cadunt. After Cornutus has made his request, as the poet had asked him to do in 10, Tibullus expresses the wish that Amor should come

flying down bringing with him the bond of a secure marriage that would last into old age (17-20). Then comes the final couplet where the text and meaning are in doubt (21f.). The text of the main ms. tradition reads: hic ueniat Natalis auis prolemque ministret, ludat et ante tuos turba nouella pedes hic ueniat A B Ber H PQ e: hic ueniet d: hec ueniat G: hecueniet V2: huc ueniat c: haec ueniat Postgate: eueniat Housman (reported by Postgate).

(sigla, as for all following examples, Lenz-Galinsky)

The problems may be summarised as follows: 1. What is the meaning of hic? 2. Is Natalis nominative, vocative, or used adjectivally with auis? 3. Is auis fem. sing. nom. “a bird" or “omen”, or dat. pl. "ancestors, grandparents"? 4. To whom does tuos refer in 22? To start with auis. The ms. G and the second hand in V clearly took auis as fem. sing. = “bird” or **omen", as is shown by their changing hic to hec i.e. fem. sing. haec. Postgate and Housman both took it as “omen”,

and

turned

to the conjectures

haec

valeat and

eveniat

respectively at the beginning of the line. But although the nodding in 10 could perhaps be taken as an omen, there has been no specific mention of a sign or omen in the poem and in any case it is difficult to see how a sign could provide children. It would make better sense, then, if auis was dative plural "for the grandparents/ancestors”.

These grandparents would refer to the bridal pair in their old age, cf. tarda senectus (19), and perhaps also to family ancestors, i.e. the bridal pair's parents, grandparents etc. On the joy brought to grandparents by grandchildren, cf. Tibullus 2.5.93f. nec taedebit auum paruo aduigilare nepoti/ balbaque cum puero dicere uerba senem and, in a similar marriage context, Catullus 64.379f. anxia nec mater

discordis maesta puellae/ secubitu caros mittet sperare nepotes. If auis

is dative plural two minor difficulties would arise. First the -que in prolemque would have to be taken as delayed, but this is a common

SENSE AND STRUCTURE IN TIBULLUS

95

stylistic feature in Tibullus. Second, the use of tuos (22), with its

change of focus from the bridal pair to Cornutus alone, could seem somewhat harsh. But Cornutus has been the main addressee of the poem since 9 while the bride is nowhere addressed, so the return of emphasis to him at the end of the poem is in fact quite natural. Next the meaning of hic (21). Harrington‘ takes it adjectivally with Natalis meaning “in this form", i.e. "attended by Amor". But Tibullus nowhere states that Natalis is accompanied by Amor. More enterprising is Mutschler’ who takes hic as a pronoun referring to Amor. Amor would then become the subject of the verbs in 21, with

Natalis as vocative, picked up by tuos in 22. There is a good parallel for children playing around the feet of a god's statue in Tibullus 1.10.15f. sed patrii seruate Lares: aluistis et idem/ cursarem uestros cum tener ante pedes. But to make Amor the subject of the last couplet is not without its difficulties. First it would be contrived and redundant after the fuller appeal for Amor's epiphany in 17f., and second, it would be out of line with Tibullus' practice in his earlier birthday poem to Messalla, 1.7, which ends with an address to

Natalis: at tu, Natalis, multos celebrande per annos,/ candidior semper candidiorque ueni. (1.7.63f.) To sum up: Auc should be read for hic in 21;* Natalis is the subject of ueniat and ministret; auis is dative plural, referring primarily to the bridal pair in their old age (a neat variation on the multos... per annos of 1.7.63); and tuos in 22 refers to Cornutus: huc ueniat Natalis, auis prolemque ministret,

ludat et ante tuos turba nouella pedes. (May Natalis come here and bring offspring for the ancestors and may a troop of little ones play before your feet.)

Finally, this is clearly a case where recognition of the poem's ringstructure — uenit Natalis in the first couplet being echoed by ueniat Natalis in the last — lends weight to the suggested interpretation.? 1.1.78 The last line of Tibullus' first elegy (1.1.78) reads as follows: dites despiciam despiciamque famem. dites despiciam O H P Q Y C: despiciam dites Flor.

B G

The main ms. tradition has dites despiciam while the Florilegium and some later fifteenth-century mss. have despiciam dites. Emphatic anaphora of this kind is a characteristic feature of Tibullan style,

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ROBERT MALTBY

particularly at or near the end of an elegy. The full list is as follows: deficiunt artes deficiuntque doli candidior semper candidiorque ueni

1.4.82 1.7.64

caespitibus mensas caespitibusque torum

2.5.100

pace tua pereant arcus pereantque sagittae

2.5.105

The problem is to know whether 1.1.78 should conform with the

pattern displayed elsewhere, with an intervening word separating the words in anaphora, in which case despiciam dites of the Florilegium should be preferred. There are, however, advantages in retaining the

main ms. reading. First it would give prominence to dites, and second it would provide a neater ring-structure, with the first word in the last line dites echoing the first word in the first line of the elegy diuitias alius fuluo sibi congerat auro. It isa case where metrical considerations are of little help. A spondaic word like dites would be rare in the first foot of a pentameter, but not unparalleled, e.g. 1.9.10 ducunt and 2.1.88 matris lasciuo. In the present case it would seem to be intentional, giving added emphasis to the predominant idea of riches. Here the importance of ring-structure, along with the other stylistic considerations, outweighs arguments for conformity with Tibullan practice elsewhere.

2.1.83-90 Elegy 2.1 describes the rustic festival known to Cato (De agri cultura 141) as the Justratio agri. It begins in the morning with the procession to the altar (2.1.1-6): quisquis adest, faueat: fruges lustramus et agros, ritus ut a prisco traditus exstat auo. Bacche, ueni, dulcisque tuis e cornibus uua pendeat, et spicis tempora cinge, Ceres. luce sacra requiescat humus, requiescat arator,

et graue suspenso uomere cesset opus. and ends with evening feasting (2.1.83-90): uos celebrem cantate deum pecorique uocate: uoce palam pecori, clam sibi quisque uocet. aut etiam sibi quisque palam, nam turba iocosa obstrepit et Phrygio tibia curua sono. ludite: iam Nox iungit equos, currumque sequuntur matris lasciuo sidera fulua choro,

postque uenit tacitus, furuis circumdatus alis, Somnus et incerto Somnia nigra pede.

SENSE AND STRUCTURE IN TIBULLUS

97

This progression from morning to night can be paralleled in a number of Virgil's Eclogues;'? but in Tibullus it could have a deeper

significance: it could be a pointer to one element that is conspicuously absent from 2.1, that is, any mention of the new mistress Nemesis. Although there is a hint of the poet's suffering in love in line 70 ei mihi, quam doctas nunc habet ille (i.e. Cupido) manus!, Nemesis is not named as the cause of it. Now the movement in 2.1 from the brightness of dawn to the darkness of night exactly reverses a movement in the opposite direction in elegy three of the first book. 1.3 describes how Tibullus has fallen ill on the island of Phaeacia (Corcyra) while accompanying Messalla on an expedition to the East. The opening of the elegy is full of images of darkness, as he

imagines himself close to death, but by the end his mood has become brighter as he looks forward to his happy homecoming to Delia: ibitis Aegaeas sine me, Messalla, per undas, o utinam memores ipse cohorsque mei. me tenet ignotis aegrum Phaeacia terris: abstineas auidas Mors modo nigra manus. abstineas, Mors atra, precor: non hic mihi mater quae legat in maestos ossa perusta sinus. hoc precor, hunc illum nobis Aurora nitentem Luciferum roseis candida portet equis.

(1.3. 1-6) (1.3.93-4)

precor in 93 clearly picks up precor in 4 and 5; but by the elegy’s close the darkness of Mors nigra and Mors atra (4f.) has been replaced by the brightness and hope of Aurora ... candida and nitentem Luciferum (93f.). Now poem 1.3 is addressed to Delia, whose name, in one of its associations, suggests brightness (cf. Greek δῆλος). Two other poems in the first book end with an emphasis on brightness. Like 1.3.94, their last lines both contain

the word

candidus:

candidior

semper candidiorque ueni (1.7.64); at nobis, Pax alma, ueni spicamque teneto,/ profluat et pomis candidus ante sinus (1.10.67—8).

Whereas Delia is the mistress of book 1, book 2 is dominated by Nemesis, who in mythology Hesiod (Theogony 223f.) tells us was the

daughter of Night. Could, then, the images of Night at the end of 2.1 be a veiled hint at Nemesis and her importance in book 2 as a counter-figure to the bright Delia of book 1? Although Nemesis is

not expressly mentioned in 2.1, her dark presence as one of the daughters of Night is hinted at in the final lines (nox is specifically referred to as mater in 88), with the implication that she will preside over this book just as the bright Delia had over the first. Before leaving the end of 2.1 it is worth drawing attention to how

98

ROBERT MALTBY

appropriately the words dicamus bona verba in 2.2.1 follow on from the

mention

of Somnia

nigra

in 2.1.90 with

their evil-omened

associations. Such correspondences between the end of one poem and the beginning of the next suggest the hand of the author was at work in the final arrangement of the poems for publication as a book.

1.5.1-81 An even clearer example of such a link is provided by the end of 1.4 and the beginning of 1.5: gloria cuique sua est: me qui spernuntur amantes consultent: cunctis ianua nostra patet. tempus erit cum me Veneris praecepta ferentem deducat iuuenum sedula turba senem. eheu, quam Marathus lento me torquet amore,

deficiunt artes deficiuntque doli. parce, puer, quaeso — ne turpis fabula fiam cum mea ridebunt uana magisteria.

(1.4.77-84)

asper eram et bene discidium me ferre loquebar at mihi nunc longe gloria fortis abest; namque agor, ut per plana citus sola uerbere turben quem celer assueta uersat ab arte puer. ure ferum et torque, libeat ne dicere quicquam magnificum posthac: horrida uerba doma. parce tamen, per te furtiui foedera lecti,

per Venerem quaeso compositumque caput.

(1.5.1-8)

Elegy 1.4 is the first of three poems (1.4, 1.8 and 1.9) on Tibullus’ love for the boy Marathus. Coming fourth in the collection after a series of elegies concerning his mistress Delia, this elegant lecture on the art of pederasty, delivered by the fertility god Priapus, was clearly intended to shock and to amuse. The poem itself exemplifies ring-

composition.!! It begins with the slightly humorous and undignified figure of Priapus, who takes up the solemn pose of the praeceptor amoris and delivers a long lecture on the art of homosexual love. At

line 73 the reader learns that the advice was not intended for Tibullus himself, but for a certain Titius — however Titius' wife tells him to forget the advice, so Tibullus was after all the pupil and will use what he has learnt to become a teacher of love in his turn (75-80). At the end of the poem Tibullus adopts the same magisterial pose as Priapus at the beginning, but in the final lines he is reduced to a laughing stock since he reveals that despite his expertise he is unsuccessful in his own affair with Marathus.

SENSE AND STRUCTURE

IN TIBULLUS

Elegy 1.5 eventually (line 67) turns out to Tibullus’ separation from Delia as a result rich lover on the advice of a wicked /ena. revealed only gradually, and in fact 1.5 is a

99

be a komos, describing of her taking up with a But this background is good illustration of the

Hellenistic technique of deceiving the audience.'? Verbal correspondences between the end of 1.4 and the beginning of 1.5 are intended initially to mislead the reader. The opening of 1.5 is carefully contrived so that the reader coming to it from 1.4 might be trapped into believing that the discidium of line 1 refers to a separation between Tibullus and Marathus. The mention of puerin line 4 could confirm the reader in this mistaken impression. In fact there are no fewer than four verbal echoes from the end of 1.4 in the beginning of 1.5, underlined above (gloria, torque, parce and quaeso). By lines 7 and 8, however, with the mention of the furtiui foedera lecti, Venus,

and the compositum caput the reader begins to doubt his initial interpretation and these doubts are confirmed in line 9 by the feminine adjective defessa. The subject of the elegy isa mistress, later named as Delia (21). But this deception is not just an elegant example of Hellenistic wit. It serves the deeper purpose of drawing a close parallel between Delia and Marathus — for like the boys of 1.4 Delia too is open to seduction by gifts. The existence of these correspondences between the end of one poem and the beginning of the next raises the question of how these elegies were actually composed and put together in book form. As well as between 1.4 and 1.5 there are also close correspondences between the end of 1.8 and the beginning of 1.9. with the reference to the punishment, poena, that will avenge Pholoe and Marathus' cruel treatment of their lovers: et te poena manet, ni desinis esse superba. quam cupies uotis hunc reuocare diem!

(1.8.77-8)

quid mihi, si fueras miseros laesurus amores,

foedera per diuos clam uiolanda dabas? a miser, etsi quis primo periuria celat, sera tamen tacitis poena uenit pedibus.

(1.9.1-4)

Also in the second book the end of poem 3 is echoed in the opening of poem 4, with the repetition of the theme of slavery to a mistress: nunc, si clausa mea est, si copia rara uidendi,

heu miserum laxam quid iuuat esse togam? ducite: ad imperium dominae sulcabimus agros; non ego me uinclis uerberibusque nego.

(2.3.81-4)

100

ROBERT MALTBY

sic mihi seruitium uideo dominamque paratam: iam mihi, libertas illa paterna, uale. seruitium sed triste datur, teneorque catenis,

et numquam misero uincla remittit Amor.

(2.4.1-4)

Were these poems originally composed to be performed as pairs? Or did this possibility only occur to Tibullus when he came to arrange the poems for publication in a book? No-one, I think, would argue that the poems were actually composed in their final order of publication. Could the beginnings and endings of poems have undergone slight changes at the later stage of the composition of the book to make these correspondences more obvious? The last explanation is perhaps the most convincing.

1.6.5-8 However they arose, the existence adjacent poems can prove helpful interpretation. At the end of poem 1.5 lover to beware of being replaced by

of correspondences between in elucidating difficulties of Tibullus warns Delia's present a rival in his turn:

heu, canimus frustra, nec uerbis uicta patescit

ianua, sed plena est percutienda manu. at tu, qui potior nunc es, mea fata timeto: uersatur celeri fors leuis orbe rotae. non frustra quidam iam nunc in limine perstat sedulus, ac crebro prospicit, ac refugit, et simulat transire domum, mox deinde recurrit

solus, et ante ipsas exscreat usque fores.

(1.5.67-74)

Even now someone else is lurking on her threshold, 71 non frustra quidam iam nunc in limine perstat. Some see quidam as a veiled reference to Tibullus himself!’ and indeed that is the way one would have to take it if we retained furta in place of Muretus' conjecture of fata in 69. Lee, taking quidam as Tibullus, argues that 72-4 would then be a signal to Delia that this is how the poet will behave on his next visit.'^ The main argument against taking quidam as Tibullus, as Murgatroyd points out,!5 is that his efforts in 67 are described as frustra, since Delia is only admitting rich lovers (68), whereas the efforts of the quidam at this very moment (iam nunc, 71) are described as non frustra. Also quidam can often be used in a pejorative sense, as for example

of the bore

in Horace

Satires

1.9.3, and the man's

general behaviour, particularly his means of attracting attention in 74 — exscreat involves spitting as well as coughing — perhaps falls

SENSE AND STRUCTURE IN TIBULLUS

101

somewhat short of what one would expect from an author with a

reputation for sophistication and elegance. The cloak and dagger business of 72-4 suggests rather a miles gloriosus figure, just the sort of lover in fact that Delia can expect if she puts money before poetry. It is always difficult to have to reject the mss. reading, but furta and fata are palaeographically very similar, are confused elsewhere, and furta here could have come in from furtim in 65 or furtiuus in 75. Given the existence of correspondences between the endings and beginnings of some consecutive poems, could the beginning of elegy 1.6 be brought in to shed light on the identity of quidam? The elegy begins with a bitter four-line attack on Armor, followed by a

description in 5-14 of the reason for this attack: Delia has taken a secret lover and is tricking Tibullus with the same subterfuges that he had taught her to use against her husband. Of particular significance

are the following lines: nam mihi tenduntur casses. iam Delia furtim nescioquem tacita callida nocte fouet. illa quidem tam multa negat, sed credere durum est; Sic etiam de me pernegat usque uiro. (1.6.5-8)

It would be tempting to identify the rival, contemptuously described in line 6 as nescioquem (used commonly elsewhere in elegy in derogatory references to rivals),'® with the mysterious quidam who was lurking outside her door at the end of poem 5. In view of the evidence adduced from elsewhere of the links between poems in Tibullus this identification must be highly likely. The prediction of 1.5.71 comes to fulfillment in the beginning of 1.6, thus providing a

sense of narrative continuity between the two poems and keeping to a minimum the number of actors involved in the drama of Tibullus'

affair with Delia."

NOTES 1l.

2.

Francis Cairns

Tibullus; a Hellenistic Poet at Rome (Cambridge

1979) Ch. 8

“Ordering” 192-213, with bibliography 194. E.-C. Günther 'Tibullus Ludens’ Eikasmos 5 (1994) 251-69, 253 n.10.

On this aspect of Tibullus' technique see especially F.-H. Mutschler Die poetische Kunst Tibulls (Frankfurt am Main

1985) 157-76.

3.

Onhis identity see Paul Murgatroyd Tibullus: Elegies II (Oxford 1994) xvi-xvii.

4.

CIL 6.32338; Cichorius p.264; Scheid pp.13, 34ff.

102

ROBERT MALTBY

Tibullus was the first to use this type of delayed -que, see E. Schünke De Traiectione Coniunctionum et Pronominis Relativi apud Poetas Latinos (diss. Kiel 1906) 114f. Cf. Paul Murgatroyd Tibullus I (Pietermaritzburg 1980) p.61 on

1.1.39-40.

K.P. Harrington The Roman Elegiac Poets (repr. Norman, Oklahoma 1968) 165. Mutschler (n.2) 221f.

huc is attested, probably as a humanist conjecture, in the lost 15th-century ms. c (in Lenz), which formed the basis of the 1551 editio Gryphiana. This is essentially the interpretation now offered by Murgatroyd in his recent commentary on Tibullus Book 2 (cited n.3) 78f., except that he would restrict auis

to the married couple. E.g. Ecl. 1, 6 and 10.

Cairns (n.1) 207f. Cairns (n.1) Ch.7, 166-91.

E.g. F.O. Copley Exclusus Amator American Philological Association, Philological Monograph 17 (1956) 165 n.33; Cairns (n.1) 152; A.G. Lee Tibullus Elegies (2nd edn, Liverpool

1982) 122.

Lee (n.13) 119. Murgatroyd (n.5) 312 on

1.5.69.

e.g. Prop. 1.11.7; Ov. Am. 2.5.62; 3.11.11. Cf. Cairns (n.1) 152f., who restricts the number of actors involved in 1.8 and 1.9.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 103-21 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90- 1

VIRGIL: A PARADOXICAL

POET?*

P.R. HARDIE (New Hall, Cambridge)

The present inquiry arises out of a wider question about the adequacy of conventional distinctions between the classicism of Virgil (and other Augustan poets) and the style of post-Augustan poets, to which the anachronistic labels *mannerist' (following Ernst Curtius) and ‘baroque’ are often attached.! From the features taken to characterise the ‘post-classical’ manner I point to three, connected in their effects: an excessive emotionalism, hyperbole, and paradox,

all supposedly at variance with the balance and moderation of a classical Augustan style. Yet in the case of the first two of these features there appears to be more of a continuum than a gap between Virgil (at least in the Aeneid) and writers such as Lucan, Seneca, and Statius. Pathos was long ago defined as one of the main goals of the Aeneid by Richard Heinze;? emotional and sensationalist scenes are

inevitable in a poem whose basic plot is the struggle, ultimately futile, to contain furor. Hyperbole likewise rampages through the Aeneid, despite the best efforts of generations of critics to marginalise or explain away the excessive and the exaggerated in the poem.’ The distaste of critics is also reserved for instances of a pointed or paradoxical manner in Virgil. T.E. Page, for example, comments on the description of the death of an insignificant Italian at Aeneid 9.414f. (uoluitur ille uomens calidum de pectore flumen/ frigidus): “an extremely artificial antithesis”. Page might have noted that Virgil was sufficiently attached to the antithesis to use it in another form in a very prominent place in the poem, the penultimate line of Book 12: hoc dicens ferrum aduerso sub pectore condit/ feruidus; ast illi 103

104

P.R. HARDIE

soluuntur frigore membra

eyebrows

of another

(950f.) —

commentator,

a passage which raised the

Eduard

Norden.‘

Stephen

Harrison, in his recent commentary on Aeneid 10 (Oxford 1991), betrays a similar prejudice in its judgement of the description of the death of the twins Larides and Thymber at 10.390-6: “Lucan ...

Statius ... and Silius ... all expand with interesting and often gory variations on Vergil's theme of ‘identical twins, non-identical fates in battle’; the rhetorical possibilities clearly appealed to the Silver taste”

(my

emphasis)

The

commentator’s

disrelish

is unmistakable.

Prejudice against the paradoxical when observed in Virgil goes back

to antiquity: in his famous criticism of Virgil’s description of Aetna Favorinus attacked, among other things, the picture of atram ... nubem/ turbine fumantem piceo et candente fauilla (Aeneid 3.5721.) on the grounds that non enim fumare solent neque atra esse quae sunt candentia — yet the ‘darkness visible’ oxymoron is in fact one of Virgil’s

favourites.

Augustan

manner

Finally,

the

contrast

between

the ‘classical’

of Virgil and Horace, and the post-Augustan

manner of Ovid, Seneca, and Lucan is central to Eckhard Lefévre’s

otherwise

useful account

of the significance

of paradox

in the

literature of the early Empire." The

aim of the present paper is to survey the incidence and

significance of paradox and related figures and effects in Virgil. How far does Virgil provide precedents for the pointed and paradoxical manner of the post-Augustan period?? How far is he a poet of wit? By erecting a concrete barrier between the Augustan and the postAugustan do we blind ourselves to important aspects of the Virgilian poems? As a preliminary it may be noted that historians of Latin poetry appear more concerned to distinguish sharply between Augustan and post-Augustan, classical and Silver, than do historians of prose. Summers (1910) remarks in the introduction to his edition of some of Seneca's Letters: "The taste for Point seems to be characteristic of literature in decadence." (xvii). However he combines this approach through periodisation with a categorisation by national character: “... there is no doubt that the Roman genius was peculiarly adapted for the assimilation and development of the pointed style" (xxiv); and he begins his survey of the evidence with a Roman who presumably is not an example of the period of decadence, the elder Cato. Summers continues by discovering

significant examples of the pointed style in the early Cicero,’ and in prose-writers such as Varro and Livy. Summers' comment on Livy reveals the tensions which threaten the impartiality of his account:

VIRGIL:

A PARADOXICAL

POET?

105

his awareness that Livy is supposed to belong to the canon of classical Augustan writers provokes the concessive clause in the

statement: “although the judgment and self-control that make Livy a classical writer enabled him to avoid an excessive use of Point, there

is plenty of it in the speeches which he introduces in the course of his great work." (xxxviii).'? In fact all accounts of the first-century *decadence' of Latin literature are strained by the awkward fact that the contrast between an Augustan classicism and a post-Augustan Silver Latin runs athwart the chronological division between Re-

public and Empire that supposedly marks the revolution in political and cultural conditions from which stems the ‘decadence’ of the first century AD.

I start with examples of verbal paradox in Virgil, before raising questions about the wider conceptual and thematic structures that the linguistic phenomena may serve. The fact that the indexes to Virgilian commentaries svv. ‘oxymoron’ and ‘paradox’ yield an exiguous crop may tell us more about the expectations and prejudices

of their authors than about the Virgilian texts. From my own commentary on Aeneid 9 (Cambridge

1994) I take the following

examples. At line 24 we hear that Turnus onerauitque aethera uotis, a

phrase formed on the analogy of passages such as 10.620: onerauit limina donis. But there is a paradox in the suggestion of *loading' the lightest of the elements (cf. Ovid Metamorphoses 15.242f.: grauitate carent/ ... aér atque aére purior ignis). There is a related conceit at Georgics 3.275 where the miraculously wind-fertilized mares are

described as uento grauidae; and another at Aeneid 9.745 excepere aurae [hastam], since excipio is often used of 'receiving' a blow or

wound (OLD s.v. 11a). At 9.605 Numanus, in the course of his praise of the Italians, claims that uenatu inuigilant pueri siluasque fatigant:

there is paradox in the idea that the trees, a type of hardiness, are unable to match the boys' sleeplessness (9.603: durum a stirpe genus may indeed pun on the mythical motif of a race ‘born of trees"). There is an even more extreme paradox at 8.94 where the Trojan ships going up the Tiber noctemque diemque fatigant, for human fatigue is normally subject to the unvarying rhythm of day and night. At 9.317, as Nisus and Euryalus go out from the Trojan fort into the Italian

camp, corpora fusa uident, arrectos litore currus: Henry comments that ‘‘arrectos is contrasted with fusa; the chariots usually extended lengthwise, stand upright..., and the men, usually upright, are extended at full length on the ground": a moment of nocturnal surrealism. At 9.443 Nisus, in his last desperate attempt to avenge the

106

P.R. HARDIE

death of Euryalus, hurls himself at Volcens and moriens animam abstulit hosti, a pointed mutuality of killing that may be paralleled in Lucan 4.547: grato moriens interficit ictu (there with the added paradox that on Vulteius' raft to be killed by your friend is a welcome service).

Philippe Heuzé's book on the image of the body in Virgil is commendably alert to the poet's paradoxical leanings, for example in the analysis of the erotic paradoxes that underly the Venus and Vulcan scene in Aeneid 8, with its Petrarchan conceits of the inflammatory effects of Venus’ snowy limbs on the god of fire, and of

the liquefaction of his solid bones.!? There is another kind of elemental confusion in the Hercules and Cacus narrative when the brawny Hercules nimbly 'dives' praecipiti saltu into the surging tide of fire. In his article on hypallage in Lucan Ulrich Hübner shows that elemental confusion is an important category in the paradoxes of Lucan's version of a World Upside Down; but Lucan already had models in the radical elemental confusions of both the storm in Aeneid | and the description of Actium at the end of Aeneid 8.'* On the gruesome confusions of life and death, eros and thanatos in the

refinements of Mezentius' torture practice at 8.485-8, joining living bodies to corpses, Heuzé comments: “On imagine bien Sénéque ou Lucain s’exergant à des variations sur ce théme".!5 Mezentius is himself finally condemned to a torture where death paradoxically prolongs life, as he apostrophizes the dead Lausus at 10.848f.: tuane haec genitor per uulnera seruor/ morte tua uiuens? — a verbal iunctura from which he can free himself only by his self-chosen death in battle. Small-scale oxymoronic iuncturae of the type onerauit aethera suggest an affinity between the poetics of Virgil and of Horace. Steele Commager remarks that: *Oxymorons and puns ... are habitual mechanics of [Horace’s] verse",!$ and consultation of the indexes of Nisbet and Hubbard (1970) and (1978) s.v. *oxymoron' produces a

rich harvest. Scholars who have noted this aspect of Virgilian style usually combine allusion to Horatian callida iunctura with a

reference to Donatus' report of the criticism of Virgil's noua cacozelia by one Vipsanius or Vipranius." In the grammarians there is a marked tendency to apply the label cacozelon to paradoxical figures of oxymoron and hypallage, which may lend weight to the suspicion that the mysterious criticism has something to do with this kind of feature. Virgil indeed shows an insistent predilection for various types of hypallage, which sometimes serves only a general poetic function of ‘defamiliarising’ everyday usage (Verfremdungstechnik),

VIRGIL:

A PARADOXICAL POET?

107

but which at other times foreshadows the use of hypallage by a poet

like Lucan to provide a verbal expression for the paradoxes of his topsy-turvy world.!* Are these small-scale figures of paradox isolated phenomena, or do they contribute to larger structures? There are a number of characters in the Aeneid, usually female, whose social position has

something of the paradoxical about it. Dido is one, the loving wife forced into the role of militaristic monarch, the woman whose career is strangely similar to that of the male Aeneas — dux femina facti (1.364), as Aeneas is told by Venus. Venus herself at this moment appears in a paradoxical disguise, doubly so in that the goddess of love is bedecked with the weapons of the huntress, and also presents herself as a virgin: uirginis os habitumque gerens et uirginis arma

(1.315).?? The phrase uirginis arma already suggests a paradoxical reformulation of the first two words of the poem, arma uirumque. The paradoxes of feminine militarism are concentrated most heavily in Camilla?! On her first appearance in the Catalogue of Italians at the end of Book 7 the onlookers marvel at her asa thauma. She bears

her pastoral myrtle spear away into the epic world of war.? Her mode of fighting itself tends to the paradoxical: flight coincides with attack, in the Parthian manner, at 11.653f.: illa etiam, si quando in tergum pulsa recessit,/ spicula conuerso fugientia derigit arcu. (Ef)fugio may be used generally of ‘flying’ missiles (e.g. Aeneid 9.632), but the context here points the paradox by putting pressure on the reader to take fugientia as a transferred epithet (it is Camilla who ‘flees’). One may compare the paradox at Lucan 1.503f.: sic urbe relicta/ in bellum fugitur, imitated at Statius Thebaid 7.401f.: properatur in hostem/ more fugae. Pursuit and retreat are confused by Camilla again at 11.694f.: Orsilochum fugiens magnumque agitata per orbem/ eludit gyro interior sequiturque sequentem, adduced by Porphyrion on Horace Epistles 1.11.28 (strenua nos exercet inertia) as an example of

cacozelon.?? And there is a final paradoxical moment as she dies— if we accept the reading of Probus at 11.828-30: tum frigida toto paulatim exsoluit se corpore, lentaque colla et captum leto posuit caput, arma relinquunt. relinquens M?P?a: relinquit M': reliquit P'R: relinquunt Probus apud D Seru.,

Tib. 24

With the reading relinquunt it is as if the weapons of war now shrink

from their unnatural alliance with this woman. Personification of weapons is a potent source of paradox in Lucan: cf. 2.260f.: ne tantum

108

P.R. HARDIE

ων liceat feralibus armis,/ has etiam mouisse manus; 5.326: inuenient haec arma manus; 7 490f.: odiis solus ciuilibus ensis/ sufficit, et dextras Romana in uiscera ducit; 502f.: frigidus inde/ stat gladius, calet omne

nocens a Caesare ferrum." Camilla is always a figure on the margins, doomed by her paradoxicality. But at the *Roman' heart of the Aeneid there is also a strong admixture of the antithetical, that may at times find expression in overt paradox. Take, for example, Aeneid 7.294f.: num Sigeis occumbere campis,/ num capti potuere capi?— spoken from the perspective of the hostile Juno, ata moment when a highly rhetorical indignatio also serves to express something essential to the story of the Trojan ancestors. This is the only occasion when Servius uses the term ‘oxymoron’ (and one of the very few occasions where that term is used anywhere in a Latin author). The scene of Juno's fury is one

beloved of later Latin epicists; but the model for the oxymoron is as respectable as they come, Ennius Annals 344f.: quae neque Dardaniis campis potuere perire/ nec quom capta capi nec quom combusta cremari. Juno's programmatic scorn points to the central paradoxes of the Aeneid, that the conquered are not conquered, that con-

struction comes of destruction. It is Juno's anger that forces out her paradoxical words. The emotions more usually associated with paradox are surprise and wonder, and these play an important part in all of Virgil's works. To begin at the beginning, in the first Eclogue Meliboeus rather deliberately defines wonder as the appropriate response to the news that, contrary to all expectation, Tityrus' pastoral existence continues untouched by the disruptions of civil war (11: non equidem inuideo, miror magis; 34: mirabar...). For Tityrus the experience of seeing Rome has been that of a thauma, a city larger than any expectation. When viewed by an ingénu from the pastoral world the familiar city of Rome takes on the quality of an ethnographical paradoxon, a ‘wonder of the world’.?* The importance of the ancient tradition of paradoxography for the Georgics has been well brought out by Richard Thomas and David Ross (whatever one's judgement of their use of it to support a ‘Harvard school’ reading of the poem). Present intermittently throughout the poem, it achieves a particular pro-

minence in Georgics 4, where it is associated with the paradoxical greatness of the miniature bees in the opening lines (3: admiranda ... leuium spectacula rerum). Thomas notes ad loc. that “‘The antithesis reaches a peak at 83 ingentis animos angusto in pectore uersant." The last half of the book is framed by allusions to the thauma of bugonia

VIRGIL:

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(309: uisenda modis animalia miris; 554: hic uero subitum ac dictu mirabile monstrum).?? The thauma at the end of the last book has a pendant at the end of the first (1.497: grandiaque effossis mirabitur

ossa sepulcris).?? Surprise continues to play an important part in the epic narrative of the Aeneid. Heinze discusses surprise as the natural consequence of Virgil's use of a ‘tragic’ narrative technique that involves frequent peripeteiai and sudden openings?! In extreme forms surprise reinforces the emotionality, the pathos, of Virgilian narrative, when wonder becomes shock and stupefaction. Aeneas is a hero for whom

the world becomes a very strange and surprising place, an alienating scene of paradoxa, beginning with the moment when, safely tucked up in bed at home, he is confronted with the shocking vision of the

dead Hector, an apparition made the more surprising to Aeneas by his sleeping forgetfulness that Hector is actually dead. It is above all in Aeneid 3 that we see Aeneas in the role of the surprised hero, the wondering wanderer. At Cumae the Sibyl thinks that she hasfurther surprises in store for Aeneas (6.96f.: uia prima salutis/ (quod minime

reris) Graia pandetur ab urbe).? Aeneas claims that he is no longer at the mercy of the unexpected: non ulla laborum,/ o uirgo, noua mi facies inopinaue

surgit;/ omnia praecepi atque animo mecum

ante

peregi (6.103-5). Comically, his claim to have achieved a Stoic nil admirari is put to the test and found wanting at 6.291-4 when he meets the monstra in the vestibule of Hades, and is admonished by a

Sibyl who seems to have read her Lucretius on the subject of dreamsimulacra. One version of Virgilian paradox that has found favour in recent decades is what might be called a ‘poetics of paradox’, whose roots may be traced to the preoccupations of New Criticism. Paradox is

identified by Cleanth Brooks as a defining structural principle of poetry.? The tensions and ambiguities of many a version of a ‘two voices' reading point to an obsession with paradox. The recipe for this kind of reading is as follows: first find a paradoxical expression

in Virgil and then apply it as a motto for the preferred interpretation. Take,

for example,

a phrase

in the

Georgics:

Chaoniam pingui

glandem mutauit arista (1.8).^^ David Ross, appealing to the ancient etymology of arista ab ariditate, sees in pinguis arista “a paradox, a contradiction in terms ... Man's knowledge produces this meeting of

elemental oppositions, this ‘moist dryness'"".5 The opposition of paradox is then set up as ‘“‘Virgil’s subject for the rest of the poem”, legitimating ultimately a ‘pessimistic’ reading of the Georgics: “The

110

P.R. HARDIE

rest of the first book proceeds from and with this paradox: that the

very idea of Roman order ... is in fact the scene of an inevitable conflict in which violence is brought against the natural world and a natural order external to man”.’* An etymological paradox of the lucus a non lucendo type becomes the basis of the critic's whole poetics. Or take a phrase describing Aeneas' reaction to the scenes in the temple of Juno at Carthage: animum pictura pascit inani (Aeneid 1.464) — a phrase reminiscent of Lucretius' popular-philosophical

use of paradox to satirise the insatiable appetite of thelover.?? Adam Parry uses the line in the concluding paragraph of his famous ‘Two Voices’ article to introduce the lesson that: “The Aeneid enforces the fine paradox that all the wonders of the most powerful institution the world has ever known are not necessarily of greater importance than the emptiness of human suffering.’””® Parry is followed by Tony Boyle, who takes the verse as a motto for the futility of artina world of harsh political and military realities: “The disparity between achievement and cost." Ralph Johnson varies the formula by taking for the title of his book Darkness Visible a Miltonic oxymoron, but one with good Virgilian precedents.? Johnson also exploits the oxymoron at Aeneid 12.46 (aegrescitque medendo) to develop a far-

reaching contrast between Homeric and Virgilian narrative techniques. It might be objected that this thematization of selected Virgilian phrases reflects only the preconceptions of the modern critic. Perhaps the closest that we can come to a statement by the poet himself is in the exchange of riddles at Eclogue 3.104-7:*! DAMOETAS Dic quibus in terris (et eris mihi magnus Apollo) tris pateat caeli spatium non amplius ulnas. MENALCAS Dic quibus in terris inscripti nomina regum nascantur flores, et Phyllida solus habeto.

We recognise the riddle form precisely through the paradoxical antitheses: earth/sky, large/small,*? royal/rural (or epic/pastoral),

culture/nature (naturally growing plants inscribed with names). The rewards for the successful unriddling will be in keeping: the rustic Menalcas will be honoured by Damoetas as the great Apollo, and for Damoetas to have sole possession of Phyllis is to be king ofa

girl whose name means ‘bed of leaves, or petals’. But the paradoxes also reflect back, metapoetically, on a poem that combines the least elevated examples of rustic banter in the Eclogues with the sublimities of astronomy, alluded to on the cup made by the divine Alcimedon, and with the lofty appeals to Jupiter and Apollo at the beginning of

VIRGIL:

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the amoebaic song-contest, at whose very centre contemporary poetics breaks surface through the pastoral disguise (84-91). Readas encapsulating a poetics of paradox the riddles also point forward to the next poem, Eclogue 4, which opens by self-consciously parading its generic transgressions: siluae sint consule dignae; consuls and woods, kings and flowers. Charles Segal makes the riddles the focus of a classic New Critical reading of Eclogue 3:* “Τῆς two riddles ... concentrate a number of important contrasts presented throughout the poem: the astronomers and Orpheus, erudition and simplicity, useful scientific knowledge and poetic myth, sky and earth, large themes of cosmic significance ... and humbler pastoral song." (298f.); κων the creative suspension in which Vergil has framed the antitheses of the poem" (302); “The harmony and resolution of opposites at the

end of the Third Eclogue ...”” (304).*5 Segal concludes: “Τῆς riddles at the end ... may be there to support those primally unresolved — and unresolvable — elements that lie at the heart of perhaps all poetry and certainly of Virgil's." (308) The riddles of the third Eclogue, then, perhaps allow us to anchor a typically twentieth-century concern with ambiguity and contradiction

in Virgil's own poetics. I have also pointed to historical contexts for Virgilian oxymoron and paradox in the ancient traditions of paradoxography, tragedy, and philosophy. M. Ruch, in an interesting if sometimes overstated article on oxymoron and callida iunctura in Horace, treads similar paths in arguing that in Horace the smaller verbal features are the expression of “tout un univers

philosophico-poétique”.** Ruch considers the possibility that the Horatian oxymoron receives an impulse from the antinomies of Attic tragedy, only to place more emphasis on Horace’s alleged sympathy

for a philosophical, Empedoclean, principle of concordia discors (Epistles 1.12.20)." Rivulets of a philosophical concern with the paradoxical run here and there over the surface of the Virgilian texts, both in the use of paradox to produce a pedagogically useful shock," and in the more advanced goal of nil admirari. Lucretius, recurrently,

has been found to be a source for such things. Once again, one has the impression of an affinity or convergence between the poetics of Virgil and of Horace. The scarcely concealed political metaphor in the phrase concordia discors suggests a wider dimension to my opening concern with the issues of literary paradox and classicism. The New Critical privileging

of paradox is not so much a manifesto for an aesthetic of the contradictory and the excessive, as it is a reformulation of a classical

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P. R. HARDIE

ideal in which tension and opposition are successfully mastered by a harmonizing, and essentially conservative, artist (Brooks speaks of

“reconcilement”, “unity of experience, triumphing ...).? One should not overlook the fact that the remarkably tenacious contrast between a 'Silver' literature given to the excesses of paradox and wit (among other excesses), and the classical (‘Golden’) manner of a Virgil anda

Horace, is inevitably implicated in the politics of the principate. In assenting to the concept of a classical Augustan manner, we may also signal our assent to the proposition that Augustus really has achieved a social and political balance, concordia ordinum as concordia discors;

if internal tensions persist, they are now safely contained within a

harmonious stability.°® Significantly what is often regarded as the central formulation of Horace's philosophy of moderation, aurea mediocritas (Odes 2.10.5) is an oxymoron, in a poem that speaks directly, it would seem, of the need for political wisdom and

moderation from a pro-Augustan point of view.*' Thomas Cole has recently coined the term *oxymoronics' for what he (rather too narrowly) perceives as a phenomenon peculiar to the circle of Augustan poets patronised by Maecenas; Cole understands the

repeated disregard for the law of contradiction in poets like Virgil and Horace as a literary homologue to Augustus' attempt to square the political circle, with a historical precedent in a Ciceronian rhetoric geared to cope with a self-contradictory political pro-

gramme.?? In the particular case of Virgil one might try to define paradox in its destabilizing manifestations as the property of history before Augustus, or of the opponents of Augustus: Camilla as the paradoxical barbarian Parthian, or the World Upside Down of the Battle of Actium as represented on the Shield of Aeneas, to be followed by the harmonious scene of the triumphant Augustus seated before the temple of the god of moderation, Apollo. The paradoxical adynata of the Golden Age may stand for the harmonious, and classical, concordia of the Augustan settlement, while

the self-destructive, and unclassical, contradictions of pre-Augustan discordia will be figured by the topsy-turvy nightmare of the plague at the end of the third Georgic (which notoriously, and paradoxically, throws up a parodic imitation of the Golden Age at 3.537-40). Alternatively one might conclude that the paradoxes of a Virgil or a

Horace speak to a sense of the continuing instabilities and contradictions of the historical process; perhaps the most paradoxical scene in the Aeneid is indeed the one that concludes the poem, and here paradox is the figure both of furor and of the triumphing ancestor of

VIRGIL:

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113

Aeneas. To conclude: for the most part the paradoxical in Virgil, like Vipranius’ or Vipsanius’ cacozelia, lurks rather than shouts. It does not usually buttonhole the reader in the pointed manner of an Ovid, or the sententious manner of a Lucan. Such things, when they occur, strike by their rarity: for example the paradoxical sententia at 2.354 (una salus uictis nullam sperare salutem), on which Austin comments

“A ‘sententia’, crisp and pointed, such as Lucan might have envied”.

The paradox is wrung from an Aeneas in the grip of furor and addressed to uiri whose uirtus is thwarted of any rational application,

fortissima frustra/ pectora (348f.) — a situation of emotionally charged futility of a kind that is the source of much paradox in Lucan's nightmare of Roman uirtus directed against itself. Or, another example, 12.46: aegrescitque medendo (Turnus in the face of Latinus' appeals) on which Page, now favourable, comments “a fine

instance of a terse antithesis” — or, to be precise, oxymoron.? At other times the pointed formulations of the later poets may be read as precipitating in verbal form the conceptual paradoxes of the Aeneid. The death of Turnus is the outcome of a miniature psychomachia staged in the mind of Aeneas between conflicting patriae pietatis imagines: the verbal image of the aging Anchises-like Daunus evoked by Turnus, and the visual reminder in the balteus of the dead Pallas and bereaved Evander. But for the verbal pointing of the internal conflict we look to Ovid, for example in the description of Althaea at Metamorphoses 8.477 (impietate pia est),*4 or to Lucan's exploration

of the paradoxes of pietas on the raft of Vulteius.5* At Fasti 1.509-36 Carmentis, the mother of Evander, at the first sighting of the Tiber, delivers in her prophetic frenzy an oxymoronic outline of the whole plot of the Aeneid — I italicise the main antitheses: fallor, an hi fient ingentia moenia colles,

iuraque ab hac terra cetera terra petet? montibus his olim totus promittitur orbis: quis tantum fati credat habere locum? et iam Dardaniae tangent haec litora pinus: hic quoque causa noui femina Martis erit. care nepos, Palla, funesta quid induis arma? indue! non humili uindice caesus eris. uicta tamen uinces euersaque, Troia, resurges; obruet hostiles ista ruina domos. urite uictrices Neptunia Pergama flammae! num minus hic toto est altior orbe cinis? (515-26y*

515

520

525

114

P.R. HARDIE

The Ovidian Carmentis is one of the first ina long line of paradoxical readers of the Aeneid. No doubt Milton also saw the potential in adapting his own narrative of the felix culpa of Adam and Eve to the

rhythms of Virgil's epic.°’ Modern readers, for whatever reason, have often found a different message in the Virgilian oxymorons successful failure and failed success.

of

NOTES * Anearlier version of this paper was read to the Leeds International Latin Seminar on

*Post-Bimillennary Virgil’ on 19 February 1994. I am grateful to those attending for

their comments, and in particular to Professor Tony Woodman.

|.

Górler (1979) 201 is unusual in allowing that ‘mannerism’ may be an appropriate label for those stylistic features of Virgil and Horace (such as hypallage) that he identifies as the criticized cacozelia. In general on paradox and oxymoron see Gerber

(1885)

303-10.

| have

not seen

H. Büchner

Das

Oxymoron

in der

griechischen Dichtung von Homer bis in die Zeit des Hellenismus (diss. Tübingen 1950). 2.

Heinze (1993) 370-2.

3.

Hardie (1986) Ch.6 ‘Hyperbole’.

4.

Norden (1976) on Aen. 6.321, with a list of Virgilian antitheses and the comment

"gelegentlich

macht

Vergil von diesen Stilmitteln einen uns befremdlichen

Gebrauch". Aen. 12.950f. is the starting-point of the study of devices of contrast in Horace by West (1973). For a Horatian example of this specific contrast, cf.

Ars Poet. 464-6: deus immortalis haberi/ dum cupit Empedocles, ardentem frigidus

Aetnam/ insiluit. Brink ad loc. comments on the “antithesis (in chiastic order)” (contentio, contrapositum) and refers to Ad Her. 4.21: in re frigidissima cales, in feruentissima friges (a stock example). 5.

Cf. also his comment on 10.834f. (uulnera siccabat lymphis): “an apparent oxymoron ... eagerly imitated and over-extended by Statius (Theb. 1.527-8,

10.715-16)" (my emphases); but the Statian passages go no further than the Virgilian model.

6.

Gell. 17.10. Cf. Aen. 6.134f.: nigra uidere/ Tartara;9.75: piceum... lumen; 7.456f.: atro/ lumine; 4.384: atris ignibus (cf. 8.198f.;

11.186). For a Horatian parallel cf.

Od. 2.14.17f.: uisendus ater flumine languido/ Cocytos.

7.

Lefevre (1970), esp. 76. Lefevre makes an exception for the Augustan period of

the self-consciously paradoxical life-style of the elegists. With these may be linked such amatory

oxymorons

in Horace as Od.

1.19.7: grata proteruitas;

1.27.11: quo beatus/ uulnere, qua pereat sagitta; 1.33.2: immitis Glycerae; 1.33.14: grata detinuit compede; 2.8.1: iuris peierati, 2.19.6f.: turbidum/ laetatur. But oxymoron and antithesis are by no means restricted to such contexts in Horace (see below).

8.

Fora (1967)

further sample of statements of the Augustan/Silver chasm, cf. Bernbeck

Hinsicht

(109-14

on

paradoxes)

131:

als bewusster Antipode

"... erweist

sich

Ovid

in künstlerischer

nicht nur des Epos schlechthin, sondern

VIRGIL:

A PARADOXICAL

POET?

115

besonders der Aeneis Vergils."; Martindale (1976) 47: “Intellectually astringent, evoking no more than it states, Lucan’s style is at the furthest remove from the sensuous suggestiveness of the Virgilian manner"; 52: “The anti-Virgilian content of the De Bello Civili justifies the un-Virgilian style."; Galinsky (1975) 240f. on “Ovid's exploitation of the logical consequences and paradoxes resulting from a given situation" by contrast with specific Virgilian models. Hutchinson (1993), while stating that "Verbal ingenuity and paradox are central to the literature of this period [from Seneca to Juvenal]" (77), allows that "Even

amid the sustained elevation of the Aeneid we sometimes glimpse germs of the later ingenuity"' (80). Fairweather (1981) 261f. finds precedents for the sententiousness favoured by Latro and his contemporaries in the late speeches of Cicero.

10.

In a survey of “the prose of the latter half of Augustus’ reign and the years immediately preceding the manhood of the younger Seneca". Consultation of the commentaries on the Aeneid by Austin, Fordyce, Gransden,

Harrison, Page, Pease s.vv. ‘paradox’ and ‘oxymoron’ reveals the following (of

course instances noted in the body of a commentary are not always picked up in the index): Pease 4.46: spirantia exta; 4.208: caecique in nubibus ignes; 4.514: nigri cum lacte ueneni, Williams 5.40f.: '*Gaza agresti is almost an oxymoron: Acestes

sets his simple store before his friends as a Persian king might set his costliest treasures. The theme of regal simplicity is most sympathetically developed in

Aeneid VIII when

Evander welcomes Aeneas at the site of Rome."; Harrison

10.96f. on adsensu uario: “cf. 11.455 dissensu uario. The phrase is an oxymoron; the gods differ in agreeing with one or the other of the two speakers”; 10.834f. uulnera siccabat lymphis (see above, n.5); App. C, p.288: "Significant juxtasition”; “Often cast in this form is the oxymoron, common

omer", citing 10.834, 848f.:

in poetry since

per uulnera seruor/ morte tua uiuens; Page 12.309:

dura quies, ferreus somnus. Cf. also Norden (1976) s.v. κακοζηλία; Thomas on

Georg. 1.79: facilis labor, 1.258: parem diuersis — “an appealing oxymoron”; 3.127: blando ... labori.

12.

Heuzé (1985) 340.

13.

ibid. 441.

14.

Hübner (1972) 593 on elemental paradoxes and hypallage; on Lucan see also Martindale (1976) 51. Land and sea, fire and water are confused in the Virgilian storm and at Actium: Aen. 1.105: praeruptus aquae mons (a bold metaphor: see Hardie (1986) 108f.), hinting at a metamorphosis the reverse of Vulcan's

liquefied bones; 8.691f. Cyclades uprooted at Actium; 8.694f. (the fire-storm at Actium): arua noua Neptunia caede rubescunt, where the effect is reinforced by the use of the possibly Ennian arua Neptunia (on arua for aequora see Bell (1923)

386). The elemental confusion of the Hercules and Cacus episode is closely related to both storm (with 8.254: prospectum eripiens oculis cf. 1.88) and Actium. 15.

Heuzé (1985) 121. The paradoxes of life/death are also popular with philosophical writers: Cicero, drawing on Aristotle, uses the Etruscan torture as an image for the true understanding of life and death (Hortensius 95M): quorum corpora uiua cum mortuis, aduersa aduersis accommodata, quam aptissime colligabantur: sic nostros animos cum corporibus copulatos ut uiuos cum mortuis

esse coniunctos. See also Powell on Cic. De senect. 77. 16.

Commager (1957) 101f. On oxymoron and other devices of contrast in Horace see above all West (1973), building on Collinge (1961).

17.

Nettleship, in Conington and Nettleship (1898) xxixf.; Quinn (1968) 384; Lyne (1989) 18 n.66 (daring to challenge Jocelyn (1979)), 27, 32 (on “oxymoron effect"

at Aen. 4.625f.: exoriare aliquis..., 10.489: et terram hostilem moriens petit ore

P.R. HARDIE

116

cruento)y, Wilkinson (1959) 181-92, esp. 188ff. on oxymoron. Cf. also Jackson

Knight (1966) 263 on callida iunctura in Virgil. On the relation between callida iunctura and oxymoron in Horace see Ruch (1963).

18.

Conte (1993); Wankenne (1949); Hiibner (1972); Hahn (1956); Bell

19.

Austin ad loc. comments “a terse epigrammatic summary”, and compares Tac. Ann. 14.35: Boudicca ... solitum quidem Britannis feminarum ductu bellare testabatur. For a more pointed expression of the paradox of a woman in a man's world, cf. 1.493: audetque uiris concurrere uirgo (Penthesilea, a partial figure for Dido; Dryden translates **And dares her maiden arms to manly force oppose").

(1923) Ch.37

*Hypallage'; Ch.42 ‘The oxymoron’, Ch.43 * Quod minime reris’ — on Virgil's “whole tale [as] a series of surprises"; G. Calboli articles s.vv. ‘enallage’, ‘ipallage‘, in Enciclopedia Virgiliana.

Virgil's Venus armata was a natural favourite of Renaissance treatments of concordia discors, as in Spenser's figures of virginal militarism Belphoebe and Britomart (see Wind (1958), index s.v. “Venus, disguised as Diana’, Williams

(1966) Ch.2, 91 ff.). There is a close link between Virgil's paradoxically armed women and the amatory cliché of militia amoris. 21.

Basson (1986) (not a very good article); Boyd (1992) discusses the presence of a Herodotean cultural inversion in the figure of Camilla; with reference to Aen. 7.812-14 she notes “it is the paradoxical appearance of Camilla that adds to her fascination" (223).

22.

Tarleton (1989) argues strongly, however, that we are dealing with a real transhuming shepherd's spear. against the prevailing paradoxical interpretation, e.g. Williams ad /oc.: “This last line brilliantly summarizes the ambiguity of Camilla ...".

23.

And by ps.-Donat. ad Ter. Eun. 243 as an example of oxymoron. The pairing of fugio and sequor is a common Ovidian trick — cf. Haege (1976) 162, leading to such paradoxes as Met. 4.461: uoluitur Ixion et se sequiturque fugitque; Her. 14.105: Inachi, quo properas? eadem sequerisque fugisque.

24.

Serv. auct. ad loc.: Probus hypallagen uult esse uel contrarium, ut ipsa relinquat. There is a good note at Hahn (1956) 155 n.21. Delvigo (1987) 69-81 (on 11.830) tends to favour arma relinquunt as a coda stressing Camilla's powerlessness in death.

25. 26.

The frigidus/calet antithesis may allude to Aen.

12.951.

CAPTI POTUERE CAPI cum felle dictum est: nam si hoc remoueas, erit (perit R) oxymorum.

dicit autem omnia quae contigerunt, non uideri contigisse, quia non

obfuerunt. 'capti' autem ‘capi’ sic dixit, ut et Cicero ‘ut in uberrima Siciliae parte Siciliam quaereremus' (Verr. 3.47y, see Moore (1891) 183; Jocelyn (1979) 102f., referring to [Asconius] on Cic. Div. in Caecil. 3: SESE IAM NE DEOS QVIDEM IN SUIS

mire imitatus est uerba Siculorum dolore oxymora et inania, quasi deos non habeant qui simulacra perdiderunt, another scholion that sees oxymoronic expression as

the result of strong emotion. 27.

Skutsch ad loc. suspects a Greek model in the form of a positive notion and its negation, of the type γάμος ἄγαμος; for Latin reworkings of this figure see Skutsch on Ann. 199: mentes ... dementes. Cf. Summers (1910) on the early Latin

roots of Silver Latin love of ‘point’. In an unpublished paper Alessandro Barchiesi discusses capta non capi, citing inter alia Aen. 3.288: Aeneas haec de Danais uictoribus arma; Enn. Ann. 180-2: qui antehac/ inuicti fuere uiri, pater optume Olympi,/ hos ego ui pugna uici uictusque sum ab isdem, an epigram inscribed by Pyrrhus, possibly a model for Aen. 3.288; Fast. 1.523: uicta tamen uinces euersaque Troia resurges; 3.101f.: nondum tradiderat uictas uictoribus

VIRGIL:

A PARADOXICAL

POET?

117

artes/ Graecia, facundum sed male forte genus. The conceit is also related to the

famous paradox at Hor. Ep. 2.1.156: Graecia capta ferum uictorem cepit.

28.

In general see Ziegler (1949); Giannini (1963); Gatz (1967) 189ff. on Fabelvölker und Fabellünder in the tradition starting with Odyssey; Hübner (1972) 582f. on the link between Lucan's paradox and paradoxography. On Tacitus' use of the

tradition to point up the perversity of Nero see Woodman (1992) 186-8. Williams (1978) 190-2, typically, deprecates the use of παράδοξα in early imperial writers as "A more trivial form of irrational stimulation in this period" (my emphasis).

Thomas on 4.309: “modis ... miris ... defines the event as a θαῦμα ... as does the framing reference at 554 mirabile monstrum". Two contrasting types of reemergence from the grave. At the end of Book I the farmer about his business of life-giving agriculture finds the remains of violent

death, while the bugonia tells of the renewal of life out of a violent death. Other

examples of georgic thaumata are Georg. 1.103: ipsa suas miratur Gargara messis (Thomas compares Cat. 64.15; Aen. 8.91f.); Georg. 2.82: miratastque nouas

frondes et non sua poma (anticipating the paradoxes of the reflexive pronoun dear to Ovid in his exploration of the experience of metamorphosis). 31. 32.

33.

Heinze (1993) 251f.: 'Strong openings’, 256f.: ‘Surprise’. Cf. also Bell (1923) Ch.43 ‘Quod minime reris’, on Virgil's “whole tale [as] a series of surprises". This is related to the sa/us paradoxes of Aen. 2, viz. 2.354: una salus uictis nullam

sperare salutem; 2.387-91: 'o socii, qua prima’ inquit ‘Fortuna salutis/ monstrat iter, quaque ostendit se dextra sequamur:/ mutemus clipeos Danaumque insignia nobis/ aptemus. dolus an uirtus, quis in hoste requirat?/ arma dabunt ipsi.' Brooks (1968) Ch.1 ‘The language of paradox’: “... the language of poetry is the language of paradox". The importance for Virgil criticism of these New Critical totems is brilliantly anatomized in Martindale (1993), esp. 115-28. Colie (1966) goes behind the New Criticism's privileging of ambiguity and paradox to situate

the Renaissance use of literary paradox in its historical context.

For a Horatian parallel cf. Od. 1.22.15f.: Jubae tellus ... leonum/ arida nutrix. 35.

Ross (1987) 38.

36.

ibid. 54, 238. Cf. Georg. 2.285 non animum modo uti pascat prospectus inanem. The alimentary

image is central to Lucretius' discussion of the paradoxes of sexual desire: 4.1063f.: pabula amoris; 1086-1104, esp. 1100: in medioque sitit torrenti flumine

potans —

“an extreme oxymoron”

spectando corpora coram.

(Brown ad /oc.); 1102: nec satiare queunt

Parry (1963) 80.

Sce above, n.6. Johnson (1976) 52-4. On which see Savage (1954); Wormell (1960); Putnam (1965). Wills (1993) 7

argues that the riddles “suggest the games of comedy”, a genre in which paradox

is rooted both in humorous surprise at the verbal level, and in dramatizations of the World Upside Down. For napa προσδοκίαν as a source of humour, cf. Cic.

De Or. 2.63: notissimum ridiculi genus, cum aliud expectamus, aliud dicitur. 42.

An antithesis central to Georg. 4, as we have seen.

118

P. R. HARDIE

Cf. the naturalization of the written word effected when poems are carved on trees, when the /iber becomes bark, at Ec/. 10.54 crescent illae, crescetis amores (or Amores).

Segal (1967). Cf. Brooks (1968) 162: "The reconcilement of opposites which the poet characteristically makes is not that of a prudent splitting of the difference between antithetical overemphases;" 174: on the poet's “unity of experience, triumphing over apparently contradictory and conflicting elements of experience." Ruch (1963) 255. 47.

Through the figure of Venus the paradoxes of militia amoris extend to metaphysical and political oppositions and fusions of love and war, peace and war; already in the Georgics in the play on the arts of war and the (agricultural) arts of peace; in the Aeneid in such things as the implied presence of both Mars and Venus at the beginning of Roman history in the description of the shield —

Hardie (1986) 360, and the infolding of both war and Italian horses as interpreted by Anchises at Aen. 3.

peace in the omen of the 3: bello armantur equi,

bellum haec armenta minantur./ sed tamen idem olim curru succedere sueti/ quadripedes et frena iugo concordia ferre:/ spes et pacis. 48.

Cf. the hint of the Stoic paradox that “only the wise man is king" at Georg. 4.131f.: premens uescumque papauer/ regum aequabat opes animis. On philosophical paradoxes, see Schmidt (1949).

49.

See above, n.45. On perceptions of the conservatism of the New Critics, see Martindale (1993) 117-19. For a Marxist analysis of the politico-economic bases

of literary ambiguity, contradiction, and tension, see Jameson (1981). 50.

On aspects of Augustan concordia-ideology, see Kellum (1990), pointing to the manifest tendency in the later years of Augustus to lend a cosmic aspect to the political ideal of concordia, as in Manilius Astronomicon (e.g. 3.54: ut tot pugnantis regeret concordia causas).

51.

West (1973) 47-52. On the historical background of Od. 2.10, see Nisbet and Hubbard (1978) 151-7. Martindale (1993) 7f. attempts to restore to aurea mediocritas (and to Horace) a sense of the unstable and thrilling.

52.

Cole (forthcoming). A propos of Cicero Cole speaks of “the preceding generation's intermittently successful experiments with ignoring the law of contradiction as a means of solving pressing intellectual, forensic and political problems" this is the source for “ἃ complex, highly sophisticated rhetoric [in the Augustan poets] that might have some effect in making a broad spectrum of readers more ready to accept some of the contradictions on which official Augustanism was based."

53.

Cf. Georg. 3.549: quaesitaeque nocent artes; 3.511f.: mox erat hoc ipsum exitio, Juriisque refecti/ ardebant ("a powerful oxymoron”, Thomas ad loc.). The oxymoron of Aen. 12.46 is imitated less tersely by admonitu est moderaminaque ipsa nocebant. It is related the topos of the ‘cure worse than the disease’ (for many (1988) 133 with n.74), and also to the paradoxes of the

Ovid Met. 3.567: acrior to the several versions of examples see Woodman moralising diatribe, e.g.

Hor. Ep. 1.2.57: macrescit rebus opimis, Lucr. 4.1068: inueterascit alendo (with

Brown ad loc.), 1086ff.: namque in eo spes est, unde est ardoris origo,/ restingui

quoque posse ab eodem corpore flammam./ quod fieri contra totum natura repugnat;/ unaque res haec est. cuius quam plurima habemus,/ tam magis ardescit dira cuppedine pectus. For other Ovidian

formulations

of the paradox

see Met.

3.5: facto pius et

VIRGIL:

A PARADOXICAL

POET?

119

sceleratus eodem; 6.635: scelus est pietas in coniuge Tereo; 7.339: his, ut quaeque pia est, hortatibus impia prima est; 9.408: natus erit facto pius et sceleratus eodem; Tr. 4.4.69: dubium, pius an sceleratus, Orestes, Her. 12.129: Peliae natas pietate nocentes (all in Frécaut (1972) 44 n.61). It might not be too bold to suggest that

the opening paradox of the Metamorphoses (perpetuum deducere ... carmen) be taken as an Ovidian Zuspitzung of the implicit poetics of the Aeneid, both Alexandrian and Homeric.

55.

Lucan 4.565-6: pietas ferientibus una/ non repetisse fuit. Cf. Aen. 9.493f.: figite me, si qua est pietas, in me omnia tela/ conicite, o Rutuli, me primam absumite

ferro, with Egan (1980). 56.

Paradoxical point emerges from the radical compression of the Virgilian plot, as in the narrow confines of an epigram by Bassus AP 9.236.5f.: £c καλὸν dieto πύργος ὁ Tpóioc ἦ yàp ἐν ὅπλοις, ἠγέρθη κόσμου παντὸς ἄνασσα πόλις.

57.

Paradise Lost 12.469-73: ““O Goodness infinite, Goodness immense,/ That all this good of evil shall produce,/ And evil turn to good — more wonderful/ Than that by which creation first brought forth/ Light out of darkness.” On paradox and the felix culpa in Milton see Lovejoy (1948) and Steadman (1976) 131, with

the bibliography at 183 n.19.

BIBLIOGRAPHY [Excluding standard commentaries referred to solely ad locc.]

Basson, W.P. (1986) 'Vergil's Camilla: a paradoxical character’ AC 29.57-68 Bell, A.J. (1923) The Latin poetic dual and poetic diction (Oxford and Toronto) Bernbeck, E.J. (1967) Beobachtungen zur Darstellungsart in Ovids Metamorphosen (Zetemata 43, Munich) Boyd, B.W. (1992) ‘Virgil’s Camilla and the tradition of catalogue and ecphrasis (Aeneid 7.803-17) AJPh 113.213-34

Boyle, A.J. (1972) ‘The meaning of the Aeneid’ Ramus 1.63-90, 113-51 Brooks, C. (1968) The well wrought urn. Studies in the structure of poetry (2nd edn, London) Cole, T. (forthcoming) ‘Greek rhetoric at Rome: Cicero and the included middle’ in T. Habinek and A. Schiesaro (edd.) The Roman cultural revolution

Colie,

R.L.

(1966)

Paradoxia

epidemica.

The Renaissance

tradition of paradox

(Princeton) Collinge, N.E. (1961) The structure of Horace's Odes (London) Commager, S. (1962) The Odes of Horace (New Haven and London)

Conington, J. and H. Nettleship (1898) The works of Virgil I (Sth edn, London) Conte, G.B. (1993) review of Harrison (1991), JRS 83.208-12 Delvigo, M.L. (1987) Testo virgiliano e tradizione indiretta (Pisa) Egan, R.B. (1980) ‘Euryalus’ mother and Aeneid 9-12' in C. Deroux (ed.) Studies in Latin literature and Roman history 11. (Brussels) 157-76.

Fairweather, J. (1981) Seneca the Elder (Cambridge) Frécaut, J.M. (1972) L'esprit e l'humour chez Ovide (Grenoble) Galinsky. G.K. (1975) Ovid's Metamorphoses: an introduction to the basic aspects (Oxford) Gatz, B. (1967) Weltalter. goldene Zeit und sinnverwandte Vorstellungen (Spudasmata 16. Hildesheim) Gerber, G. (1885) Die Sprache als Kunst II (2nd edn, Berlin)

Giannini, A. (1963) 'Studi sulla paradossografia greca. I. Da Omero a Callimaco: motivi e forme del meraviglioso' Rend. Ist. Lomb. 97.247-66 Görler, W. (1979) ' Ex verbis communibus κακοζηλία᾽", Die augusteischen "Klassiker"

120

P.R. HARDIE

und die griechischen Theoretiker des Klassizismus’ Classicisme à Rome, Geneva) 175-211 Haege,

H.

(1976)

Terminologie

und

Typologie

Metamorphosen Ovids (Göppingen)

des

(Entret.

Hardt

25 Le

Verwandlungsvorgangs

in den

Hahn, E.A. (1956) ‘A source of Vergilian hypallage' TAPA 87.147-89

Hardie, P.R. (1986) Virgil's Aeneid: cosmos and imperium (Oxford) Heinze, R. (1993) Virgil's epic technique (6th F. Robertson, Bristol)

edn,

tr. H.

and

D.

Harvey

and

Heuzé, P. (1985) L'Image du corps dans l'oeuvre de Virgile (Paris) Hübner, U. (1972) 'Hypallage in Lucans Pharsalia' Hermes 100.577-600 Hutchinson, G.O. (1993) Latin literature from Seneca to Juvenal. A critical study (Oxford) Jackson Knight, W.F. (1966) Roman Vergil (rev. edn London) Jameson, F. (1981) The political unconscious. Narrative as a socially symbolic act (London) Johnson, W.R. (1976) Darkness visible (Berkeley and Los Angeles) Jocelyn, H.D. (1979) *Vergilius cacozelus (Donatus Vita Vergilii 44)’ PLLS 2.67-142

Kellum, B.A. (1990), ‘The city adorned: programmatic display at the Aedes Concordiae Augustae’ in K. A. Raaflaub and M. Toher (edd.) Between Republic and Empire: interpretations of Augustus and his principate (Berkeley, Los Angeles, and Oxford) 276-307 Lefevre, E. (1970) ‘Die Bedeutung des Paradoxen in der rómischen frühen Kaiserzeit’ Poetica 3.59-82

Literatur der

Lovejoy, A.O. (1948) ‘Milton and the paradox of the Fortunate Fall’ in Essays in the history of ideas (New York) 277-95 Lyne, R.O.A.M. (1989) Words and the poet (Oxford) Martindale, C.A. (1976) ‘Paradox, hyperbole and literary novelty in Lucan’s De Bello

Civil? BICS 23.45-54 (1993) ‘Descent into hell. Reading ambiguity, or Virgil and the critics’ PVS 21.111-50 Moore, J.L. (1891) ‘Servius on the tropes and figures of Vergil' AJPh 12.157-92 —

Nisbet, R.G.M. and M. Hubbard (1970) 4 commentary on Horace Odes. Book 1 (Oxford) — (1978) A commentary on Horace Odes. Book II (Oxford) Norden, E. (1976) P. Vergilius Maro. Aeneis Buch VI (6th edn, Stuttgart) Parry, A. (1963) ‘The two voices of Virgil's Aeneid’ Arion 2.4.66-80

Putnam, M.C.J. (1965) ‘The riddle of Damoetas (Virgil Ec. 3.104-105)’ Mnemosyne 18.1504 Quinn, K. (1968) Virgil's Aeneid (London) Ross, D.O. (1987) Virgil's elements. Physics and poetry in the Georgics (Princeton) Ruch, M. (1963) ‘Horace et les fondements de la iunctura dans l'ordre de la création

poétique (A.P. 46-72y REL 41.246-69

Savage, J.J.H. (1954) ‘The riddle in Virgil's third Eclogue’ CW 47.81-3 Schmidt, J. (1949) art. ‘Paradoxa’ RE XVIII.3.1134-7. Segal, C. (1967) 'Vergil's caelatum opus: an interpretation of the third Eclogue, AJPh 88.279-308 Steadman, J.M. (1976) Epic and tragic structure in Paradise Lost (Chicago and London) Summers, W.C. (1910) Select letters of Seneca (London) Tarleton, N. (1989) * Pastoralem praefixa cuspide myrtum (Aeneid 7.817) CQ 39.267-70

Wankenne, A. (1949) *L'hypallage dans l'oeuvre de Virgile' LEC 17.335-42 West, D. (1973) *Horace's poetic technique in the Odes’ in C.D.N. Costa (ed.) Horace (Boston and London) 29-58 Wilkinson, L.P. (1959) ‘The language of Virgil and Horace’ CQ 9.181-92

VIRGIL:

A PARADOXICAL POET?

Williams, K. (1966) Spenser's Faerie Queene. The world of glass

121

(London)

Williams, G. (1978) Decline and change (Berkeley) Wills, J. (1993) ‘Virgil’s cuium' Vergilius 39.3-11. Wind, E. (1958) Pagan mysteries in the Renaissance (London) Woodman, A.J. (1988) Rhetoric in classical historiography (London) — (1992) *Nero's alien capital. Tacitus as paradoxographer (Annals 15.36-7)' in T. Woodman and J. Powell (edd.) Author and audience in Latin literature (Cambridge) 173-88

Wormell, W. (1960) ‘The riddles in Virgil’s third Eclogue' CQ 10.29-32 Ziegler, K. (1949) art. *Paradoxographoi' RE XVIII.3.1137-66

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 123-5 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90-1

VERGIL, GEORGICS 1.302 MATTHEW

LEIGH

(University of Exeter)

At Georgics 1.302, Vergil describes one of the pleasures of wintry conviviality: invitat genialis hiems curasque resolvit. Mynors' ad loc., commenting on invitat, observes first the easy extension of the sense of invitare to take in “impersonal hosts" such as the river-banks of Georgics 4.23 and the gardens of Georgics 4.109, and second its use, for instance at Horace Epode 2.28, in the more general sense of "encourage" or "instigate". Mynors' interpretation offers one fundamental and inescapable sense of invitat. Essential here is the hospitable note set at Georgics 1.299ff., hiems ignava colono:/ frigoribus parto agricolae plerumque fruuntur/ mutuaque inter se laeti convivia curant. Winter precludes outdoor toil and instead draws the farmer into the warm. Yet Mynors also overlooks a further sense and one which is exquisitely consonant with the rest of the line. Perhaps the most obvious clue is offered by the epithet genialis. Whatever is made of the claim of Santra that geniales homines ab antiquis appellatos, qui ad invitandum et largius apparandum cibum promptiores essent, it is evident that the adjective genialis bears the overtones of festivity, generosity and indulgence. As much as food, moreover, genialis is associated with wine. When Ovid at Fasti 3.523ff. calls the festival of Anna Perenna genialis, he also notes that plebs venit ac virides passim disiecta per herbas/ potat, et accumbit cum pare quisque sua. When Conington wishes to elucidate the sense of genialis, he cites three instances from Horace where one cares for, propitiates or placates one's Genius with wine.! The recurrent association of genialis with drinking is a powerful 123

124

MATTHEW

LEIGH

support for the further sense of invitare which I wish to consider, one which surely plays etymologically on a presumed root in vinum or vitis. At Plautus Amphitryon 282f., Sosia attempts to explain the extraordinary length of the night by suggesting that the Sun has got drunk: Credo edepol equidem dormire Solem, atque adpotum probe; mira sunt nisi invitavit sese in cena plusculum.

This reflexive form is paralleled in two fragments of Sextus Turpilius, first in the Epiclerus (71): Non invitat plusculum sese, ut solet?

then in the Leucadia (132): invitavit [viri] plusculum hic sese in prandio.

and also at Lucilius 1045f.K: Scito etenim bene longincum mortalibus morbum in vino esse, ubi qui invitavit dapsilius se.

It later recurs in Sallust and Suetonius.? Very similar, moreover, is the use of invitare for the act of treating someone else which appears at Plautus Rudens 361f.: Periit potando, opinor: Neptunus magnis poculis hac nocte eum invitavit.

and at Varro Menippeae 461: Ipsum avide vino

invitari poclis large atque benigne.? Invitare therefore has the further sense ‘to treat’, i.e. with food and more particularly with drink, a sense which slips easily into ‘to get yourself or someone else drunk'. This further resonance to Vergil's invitat genialis hiems is drawn out, moreover, in the continuation of

the line: curasque resolvit. For it is a characteristic of wine in Latin poetry that it releases the drinker from his cares. It is in his role as liberator from care that the names Lyaeus and Liber are applied to Dionysus,‘ and Vergil's phrasing is reminiscent both of the final lines

of Horace Epode 9.37f.: curam metumque Caesaris rerum iuvat dulci Lyaeo solvere.

and of Seneca De Tranquillitate Animi 17.8: Liber ... non ob licentiam linguae dictus est, sed quia liberat servitio curarum animum.

Vergil therefore alludes at Georgics 1.302 not just to the power of

VERGIL, GEORGICS 1.302

125

winter to draw the farmer into the warmth of the hearth and the convivium but also (and triply) to the principal ingredient of any good party, wine.

NOTES 1.

2.

For the generous host as genialis, see Santra ap. Non. 117,18. Servius on G. 1.302

translates genialis as voluptuosa, convivialis and explains that quotiens voluptati operam damus, indulgere dicimur genio. Ov. F. 3.523ff. recalls E 3.58, where the December festival of the Saturnalia is described as acceptum geniis. Conington cites Hor. Od. 3.17.14; Ep. 2.1.144; AP 209, but does not note the common reference to wine or connect this to invitat or curasque resolvit. For more detailed discussions of genialis and cognates, see Bómer on Ov. F. 3.58 and Kissel on Pers. 4.27. Sec Sall. Hist. fr. 4.11, versi postero die multa, quae properantes deseruerant in castris nacti, cum se ibi vino ciboque laeti invitarent... and Suet. Aug. 77, Quotiens largissime se invitaret Augustus, senos sextantes non excessit.

3.

All of these usages are quoted at Nonius 321M in order to illustrate the sense invitare significat replere. Oddly, Nonius also quotes Verg. G. 1.302, but inorder to illustrate what he takes to be the separate sense of delectare. Again, parallels are

given

from

Turpilius,

the

first

from

the

Thrasyleon

(201)

suggesting

conviviality (Coronam, mensam, talos, vinum, haec huiusmodi,/ quibu’ vita[m] invitari solet), the second from the Philopator (181) the charms, as 4.109, of a given place (Lucus ipse invitat hercle hic Veneris). Mynors Nonius' invitare est delectare but does not observe the similarity to the implicit in Vergil of those lines cited in support of replere.

4.

rebus at G. notes sense

For Lyaeus as the ‘loosener from care’, see Nisbet-Hubbard on Hor. Od. 1.7.22 and 1.18.4. A similar attitude is taken in the description of the Chorus of Dionysus at Pl. Leg. 666a-c, where the gift of Dionysus is ἐπίκουρον τῆς τοῦ γήρως αὐστηρότητος, allows δυσθυμίας λήθῃ γίγνεσθαι μαλακώτερον ἐκ σκληροτέρου τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ἦθος and brings it about that each elder, when bidden to sing and dance, ἐθέλοι προθυμότερον.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 127-33 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90-1

AENEID 1.286: JULIUS CAESAR OR AUGUSTUS?* S.J. HARRISON (Corpus Christi College, Oxford)

The issue of which Caesar longest-running debates in Servius and many others Caesar, the later Augustus,

is meant at Aeneid 1.286 is one of the Vergilian criticism. Is it Julius Caesar, as since have thought, or is it Imperator as suggested by Turnebus in the sixteenth

century and supported by many others?! Or is it ambiguous between the two, as Kenney argues, and Austin thought in his commentary on the passage (though he later believed it was Augustus alone)?? The main arguments for these views are conveniently summed up by Austin, but there are still some to add. Ambiguity between the two is the view most in vogue at present, especially in O'Hara's interesting discussion, which argues that such deliberate ambiguity is part of Vergil's general obfuscation in prophecy, and that to ask which of the two is meant here is to ask the wrong question.? Nevertheless, it would have been a question which each contemporary reader of the poem would have faced; recently, Kraggerud has provided an effective reply to O'Hara, arguing that Imperator Caesar is certainly meant, and that the whole passage refers to the historical context of

29 BC.‘ The purpose of this paper is to reinforce Kraggerud’s arguments with some new points which emerge from a close reading of the passage and of its context in the Aeneid. I quote the relevant lines for convenience. The context here is certainly important; having given a general promise about the future world-domination of Rome, Jupiter turns to specifics: 127

128

S.J. HARRISON

... veniet lustris labentibus aetas cum domus Assaraci Pthiam clarasque Mycenas

servitio premet ac victis dominabitur Argis. nascetur pulchra Troianus origine Caesar, Iulius,

a magno demissum nomen Iulo.

hunc tu olim caclo spoliis Orientis onustum accipies secura; vocabitur hic quoque votis. aspera tum positis mitescent saecula bellis: cana Fides et Vesta, Remo cum fratre Quirinus iura dabunt; dirae ferro et compagibus artis claudentur Belli portae; Furor impius intus saeva sedens super arma et centum vinctus aenis post tergum nodis fremet horridus ore cruento. (1.283-96)

Jupiter begins with the avenging of Troy; the descendants of the Trojan royal house (domus Assaraci) will conquer the descendants of the Greek chiefs at Troy (as Austin notes in his commentary, Pthia indicates Achilles, Mycenae Agamemnon, and Argos Diomedes).

We then jump at once to the mysterious Caesar and his achievements, and then to the peace which will come after the battle of Actium. The last is a fixed point: practically mitescent saecula bellis refers civil wars, and the reference clearly, as many have argued,

no-one doubts that aspera tum positis to Imperator Caesar's ending of the to the closing of the gates of war is a reference to the closing in 29 BC,

recorded by the Fasti Praenestini as occurring on 1 Ith January in that year, as a prelude to Imperator Caesar's triple triumph which was to

take place in August? The envisaged triumph over the East accompanied by massive spoils is not the Parthian campaign of 21/20 BC, but rather Actium and the following campaigns in Egypt and elsewhere. Actium itself is seen as a battle against the Orient at Aeneid 8.687: Aegyptum virisque Orientis, we know that the spoils from Egypt displayed at the triple triumph were particularly extensive and impressive (Cassius Dio 51.21.7), and the post-Actium

campaigns are twice mentioned in the Georgics as Imperator Caesar's great Eastern victories (Georgics 2.170f.: te, maxime Caesar,/ qui nunc extremis Asiae iam victor in oris ..., 4.560f.: Caesar dum magnus ad altum/ fulminat Euphraten). This solid connection

seems much preferable to links with Julius Caesar, whose Eastern campaigns were merely plans on his death.’

Three apparent difficulties for the Imperator Caesar interpretation are only apparent. First, the fact that he is said to be born a Julius Caesar rather than adopted (286: nascetur). This is fully consistent

with other passages in Augustan poetry where Julius Caesar is seen

AENEID 1.286: JULIUS CAESAR OR AUGUSTUS?

129

as Imperator Caesar's natural father;? but we should also remember that Imperator Caesar was indeed descended from the Julii in blood, however tenuously (his grandmother was Julia, Julius Caesar's sister). It is even worth suggesting that pulchra origine in 286 may not be merely ornamental but imply this actual blood-descent of

Imperator Caesar from the gens Julia through Julia, a *beautiful origin’ in the sense that she is female. Second, the fact that he is named as Julius and Caesar but not as Augustus. The absence of Augustus simply suggests a date of composition before the awarding of that name in 27 BC, and fits well with the date of 29, though there are clearly post-27 occasions in Roman poetry where Augustus is referred to simply as Caesar.’ The presence of the name Julius is more of a problem, since there is little evidence for Imperator Caesar using

his adoptive gentilicium after 38 BC.'? But there are reasons why it might appear. As Kraggerud points out, Julius links Imperator Caesar with Aeneas’ son Iulus, founder of the gens, whose dynastic role is particularly stressed in the passage which precedes (267f.), and therefore points to the link of descent between Imperator Caesar and

Iulus’ grandmother

Venus,

who

is of course

listening to this

prophecy in the context of the Aeneid; Jupiter is telling Venus of the success of her descendants. Furthermore, after his all-important adoption in Julius Caesar’s will the later Augustus is always

perceived as a member of the gens Julia, whatever he actually chose to call himself. The Aeneid is not a telephone directory; it is a poem, where names are used not so much as accurate denotative labels as for their historical and political associations. The third difficulty of the Imperator Caesar interpretation is the adverb tum at 1.291; this might be taken to mean that the settlement of the civil wars will take place only after Imperator Caesar has ascended to heaven, or even that he should get there quickly in order to allow peace on earth.!! Lucan at least seems to have understood tum as indicating a time after olim.'? But Kraggerud has rightly argued that tum simply refers generally to the period of the new Golden Age introduced by the arrival of Imperator Caesar (286), and is a different time from the vague and future olim envisaged for the latter's deification (289). Given this continuity of time between 286-290 and 291-297, the spoils of the East therefore link up neatly with the ending of civil war and the closing of Janus to imply that the historical context of the whole passage 1.286-296 is the year 29 BC. This context is confirmed by two details as yet not deployed in this argument. First, the allegorical picture of Furor impius at 294-6. We

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S.J. HARRISON

know from D.Servius on Aeneid 1.294 and a confirmatory notice in Pliny NH 35.27 that Augustus later placed in his Forum a similar picture by Apelles depicting Alexander triumphing over War as a captive with hands tied behind its back; the painting is described in detail by Pliny, NH 35.93. Given its subject, very appropriate to the historical context in which Augustus was imitating Alexander as conqueror of the East,'* this painting is surely likely to have formed

part of the booty from the sack of Alexandria, and may well have been displayed amongst the copious spoils on the appropriate third day of the triumph of 29 BC., which celebrated the subjugation of Egypt (Cassius Dio 51.21.7). Second, a point which we noted at the outset. This mysterious Caesar emerges at the end of Jupiter's prophecy, immediately following a promise that the Romans will overcome the Greeks, thus avenging the sack of Troy (283-5). The switch from this idea to Caesar seems puzzling; there is no apparent link apart from chronological order. But the puzzle vanishes if we recall that Actium, the celebrations after which so clearly form the historical context of the following lines 286-96, could be perceived as a victory over the Greeks, since the Greek world had been almost entirely on Antony's side (Cassius Dio 50.6.5). The Actium material

here can therefore be closely connected with the theme of revenge on the Greeks with which the Caesar of this passage is so pointedly introduced. It remains to argue that Vergil could see Actium in this way, when he does not stress the Greekness of Antony's forces in his

major account of the battle on the Shield of Aeneas, but pushes the view that they are like Cleopatra exotic creatures from the far East

(8.685—88). The most useful passage here is pauses in his wanderings at Actium episode which surely anticipates the dant Augustus was to win there; we the traditional Ludi Actiaci in a

Aeneid 3.278ff. There Aeneas to celebrate the Ludi Actiaci, an great victory which his descenrecall that Augustus refounded much grander form after his

victory.!? There he makes a dedication of the shield of the Greek hero Abas, a paradoxical trophy erected to mark the defeat of Troy by the Greeks but the individual victory of Aeneas over Abas. The main point of this dedication is surely to suggest that the future battle of Actium will reverse the position for the Trojans through the Roman defeat of Greek forces: as R.D. Williams says in his commentary, “by putting the dedication at Actium Virgil associates it in the reader's mind with the enemy trophies which Augustus dedicated after his

victory’’.'© Thus Actium becomes part of the Roman defeat of the

AENEID 1.286: JULIUS CAESAR OR AUGUSTUS?

131

Greeks, indeed the end of a long historical process; what the Roman conquerors of Greece in the second century had begun (cf. Aeneid 6.836-40), Augustus concludes at Actium, in this respect as in others the culmination of Roman history. This provides the missing link between the theme of revenge on the Greeks and that of Caesar and Actium in Jupiter's prophecy, and suggests that the controversial Caesar of 1.286 is Augustus, conqueror of the Greeks as well as the

East. It remains to suggest why this theme of Actium as a defeat of the Greeks is generally played down and presented in an indirect form, both in Jupiter's prophecy and in the reference to Actium in Book 3; after all, Greece is not mentioned in 1.286--96. It is clear that after

Actium Augustus was particularly keen to reconcile to his rule the Greek provinces of the empire, which had largely joined Antony at Actium." This cultural diplomacy and attempt to heal recent wounds probably explains why the theme of revenge on the Greeks at Actium is alluded to at best indirectly in the Aeneid, while their conquest by the Romans in the second century BC is highlighted as the revenge for the destruction of Troy (Aeneid 1.283-5, 6.836-40), since it is far enough back in history to be relatively safe and unoffensive. Here as elsewhere we can see Vergil responsive to Augustan policies; this is not propaganda but the sensitive interpretation of delicate issues in a literary form. Vergil needs to stress that the Trojans achieved revenge over the Greeks and that that is one of the forward forces in Roman history, which culminates with all other aspects of Roman history in the figure of Augustus. This introduces the final argument for Imperator Caesar (Augustus) as the Caesar of 1.286, and perhaps the weightiest. If this identity is accepted, then Jupiter's prophecy would be fully consistent with the two other passages in the poem where Augustus unambiguously

appears. In the Show of Heroes in Book 6, Augustus is similarly presented as the founder of the new Golden Age of peace (6.791-5), as a victor over the East (6.800) and asa member of the Julian house. Indeed, it is to his Julian connection that he technically owes his

appearance in the pageant (6.789-92), of which he is clearly the glorious culmination; he receives seventeen lines, more than any character except the tragic Marcellus, whose prominent last-place appearance is itself something of a compliment to Augustus as well as chronologically appropriate.'* In the Shield of Aeneas in Book 8 Augustus is again the glorious end of Roman history, triumphant bringer of peace in 29 after his Eastern victories (8.678ff., esp. 711

132

S.J. HARRISON

and 714ff.), with his crowning achievement of Actium dominant; the

depiction of Actium and Augustus' triumph accounts for 58 of the

199 lines describing the whole shield, and is placed in the last and most prominent position. Could Vergil in Aeneid | really present a version of Roman history where the climactic individual is not Augustus but Julius Caesar? And could Augustus' first certain

appearance

in person be postponed until Book 6?!'? Both these

possibilities seem extremely unlikely in the light of the rest of the poem and its concern with the prominence of Augustus, and this general consideration leads to the same conclusion as the preceding close examination of the particular context: the Caesar of Aeneid 1.286 is unambiguously Augustus.

NOTES * A version of this paper was delivered at the Leeds International Latin Seminar in February 1994. I am grateful to the audience on that occasion for their useful comments, to Nicholas Horsfall for bibliographical information, and to David West for kindly sending me an advance copy of his article cited in n.15. l.

Julius Caesar: (e.g.) Servius on 1.286; R.S. Conway (1935) on 1.286; K. Quinn Virgil's Aeneid: A Critical Description (London 1968) 47 n.1. Augustus: (e.g.) H. Turnebus Adversaria (Paris 1564) Lib. 10. Cap. 11: Heyne and Wagner (1832) on

1.286; Conington and Nettleship (1884) on 1.286; E. Norden ‘Vergils Aeneis im

Lichte ihrer Zeit’ NJb 7 (1901) 273f. [Kleine Schriften (Berlin 1966) 386f.]; R.D. Williams comm. (1972) on 1.286; M.L. Clarke ‘Aen. 1.286—96' CR n.s. 24 (1974) 7. 2.

3.

Ambiguous: E.J. Kenney ‘Eduard Norden’ CR n.s. 18 (1968) 106f.; R.G. Austin

(1971) on 1.286 (for his later view that it is probably Augustus see his (1977) on Aeneid 6.788). F. Cairns Virgil's Augustan Epic (Cambridge 1989) 99 n.42 regards the issue as disputed. JJ. O'Hara Death and the Optimistic Prophecy in Vergil's Aeneid (Princeton

1990) 155-63.

m»

E. Kraggerud ‘Which Julius Caesar? On Aeneid 1.286-96' SO 67 (1992) 103-12.

CIL 1.230f.; Inscr.It. 13.2.112f.

na

See Kraggerud (n.4) 109f.

8.

For Caesar's planned Parthian campaign cf. Cic. Att. 13.27.1, 13.31.3; Cass. Dio 43.51.1; App. BC 2.459; Justin 42.4.6. Caesar's Pontic campaign of 47 BC, suggested by O'Hara (n.3) 158 as the reference here, seems rather unlikely; it was neither the last nor the most important of Caesar's triumphs, one of which elements 1.289 would seem to imply. Εἰ. Prop. 4.6.60; Ov. Fast.

1.533, Met.

mentions of Julius Caesar in Augustan

15.819f. For a useful catalogue of poetry see P. White ‘Julius Caesar in

Augustan Rome’ Phoenix 42 (1988) 346. White's general view (against Syme) that

AENEID 1.286: JULIUS CAESAR OR AUGUSTUS?

133

Julius Caesar appears often and honorifically in Augustan poetry seems clearly right; the desire to exclude Julius does not motivate the view taken here of Aeneid

1.286.

E.g. Hor. Od. 3.14.3, 16 (24 BC), 4.5.16, 27 (after 16 BC), 4.15.4, 17 (ditto); Prop. 4.1.46, 4.11.58 (certainly after 27 BC).

On the nomenclature of Imperator Caesar cf. R. Syme ‘Imperator Caesar: a study in nomenclature’

361-77).

Historia 7 (1958)

172-88 (Roman

Papers 1 (Oxford

1979)

See O’Hara (n.3) 158f.; Kraggerud (n.4) 108f. See Clarke (n.1) and Lucan 1.45-65, a close imitation of the Vergilian passage, esp. 1.60.

Belli imaginem restrictis ad terga manibus, Alexandro in curru triumphante. For this particular link between Augustus and Alexander see E. Norden ‘Ein Panegyrikus auf Augustus in Vergils Aeneis’ RAM 54 (1899) 468-70 [=Kleine Schriften (Berlin 1966) 424-6]. See D. West ‘In the wake of Aeneas (Aeneid 3.274-88, 3.500--5, 8.200-3) G&R41 (1994) 57-61.

R.D. Williams (1962) on 3.286. G. Bowersock Augustus and the Greek World (Oxford

1965), 85-100.

See D. West ‘The pageant of the heroes as panegyric (Virgil, Aen. 6.760-866) in Tria Lustra: Essays presented to John Pinsent ed. H.D. Jocelyn (Liverpool 1993) 294-6.

19.

The point is well made by Clarke (n. 1) against the assertion that Augustus would have been happy to wait until Book 6 for his first explicit mention.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 135-57 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90- 1

OVID'S AMORES AND ROMAN

COMEDY

J.A. BARSBY (University of Otago)

I. Introduction

“There is no doubt that Tibullus, Propertius and Ovid preferred any other reading matter to the comedies of Plautus, and no doubt that similarities between the love-poets and Plautus can only go back to their common source." So wrote Leo (1895),! and such was his influence that for the next ninety years it was scarcely thinkable that Latin love-elegy might owe any direct debt to Roman comedy. Leo's hypothesis of a subjective Greek love-elegy as the major model for the Latin love-poets was soon challenged, and the claims of other genres, such as epigram and comedy, advanced;? but even among

those who saw comedy as a significant influence on Roman elegy there was a clear understanding that it was Greek comedy which wielded

this influence and

not Roman.

For

example

Day (1938)

85-101 compared the very similar passages in Terence (Heauton Timoroumenos 279-307) and Tibullus (1.3.83-92), where the beloved girl is found at home innocently weaving and so confounds the

suspicions of the lover, and remarked that Tibullus writes “in a manner so similar as to suggest his intimate knowledge of the original scene

of Menander"

(89). It did not seem

to occur to Day

that

Tibullus might have known the Terence passage direct.? Luck (1959) 35-8 took an interesting view of the relationship of elegy to comedy. He went so far as to discount altogether the influence of comedy, both Greek and Roman, in the case of Propertius and Tibullus. But he did allow that Ovid made ‘‘occasional experiments with comedy-themes” (38). This was because 135

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J. A. BARSBY

Ovid came at the end of the line of elegy, as it were, and “had to explore new subjects in order to maintain the public's interest in this kind of writing". But Luck talked of comedy-themes rather than Roman comedy-themes, and the implication is that he, like everyone else, was thinking in terms of Greek comedy.* A series of major books in the 1970s and early 1980s — Hubbard (1974), Sullivan (1976), Cairns (1979), Lyne (1980), and Veyne (1983) — did nothing

to change the picture. Insofar as these were interested in the origins of the Latin love elegy, they tended to reaffirm its debt to Greek models, and the search of their indexes under Plautus, Terence, or Roman comedy is largely unrewarding. But in Griffin (1985) 198-209, esp. 203-8, there came, almost asa bolt from the blue, a frontal attack on this emphasis on Greek origins

for the Latin love-elegy. Griffin set out to identify resemblances between elegy and Roman comedy, and ended his discussion with the bold claim that “These resemblances between Comedy and Elegy are more than verbal echoes. They relate to central ideas and attitudes" (207); and a number of these central ideas and attitudes he identified

as being Roman rather than Greek. Griffin had an interesting effect on Yardley, who had written a series of articles in the 1970s tracing comic influence on Propertius in which he bowed to the communis

opinio that such influence was more likely to be from Greek comedy than from Roman. But, in a post-Griffin article, Yardley (1987) was

emboldened to claim that “it is possible ... to demonstrate by an examination of the language of the elegists (at least that of Propertius and Ovid), especially when they are dealing with comic themes, that they really are indebted to the Roman comic poets" (179). This new

Griffin-Yardley approach has received cautious endorsement from one of the latest editors of Ovid. Booth (1991) in the Introduction to her excellent work, after offering the statement "there is no reason

why the Latin elegists should not have drawn on New Comedy directly for any material which attracted them" (34), adds in a footnote: "Griffin and Yardley argue convincingly for the direct influence of Roman comedy on elegy." (34 n.5). The assumption that the Roman elegists were more steeped in Menander and his contemporaries than in Plautus, Caecilius, and

Terence — which seems to be implied in the belief that echoes of comic themes in elegy necessarily come from Greek comedy — certainly deserves to be questioned. We can presumably postulate three possible means of familiarity with the comic dramatists: education, the theatre, and private reading. It does not seem likely

OVID'S AMORES AND ROMAN COMEDY

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that the elegists saw Greek New Comedy acted on stage, and there seems to be no clear evidence that Menander was in their day already

part of the school curriculum, whereas, if we took a passage in Horace’s Epistle to Augustus at face value, we should have to conclude that the elegists did study Piautus, Caecilius, and Terence at school and had every opportunity to see them performed.’ However, the evidence for the performance of Roman comedy after the days of Roscius is, to say the least, patchy;? and on the other hand it cannot be denied that there were texts of Menander's work available for private reading, even if he was not yet studied in the secondary or

tertiary schools.? But this is not a matter which can be settled on the external evidence; and in the end the only proof of the elegists' familiarity with

either Menander or Roman comedy is what we can find in their works. What we do find, apart from echoes and alleged echoes of particular passages and plays, is a few scattered references to Menander (all in Propertius and Ovid) and none to Plautus or Terence. Fantham (1984), esp. 300-4, examined the Menander references and concluded that they were so bland and generalised as to engender no confidence that the elegists had actually read the

plays,!! and Griffin (1985) 207f. explained the lack of references to Plautus and Terence on the basis that, if the elegists owed a debt to Roman comedy, it would not have been fashionable for such *modern' poets to proclaim it. However this may be, there is at least a prima facie case for supposing that we shall find direct echoes of Roman comedy in the Amores, and the Griffin-Yardley approach deserves to be pursued in relation to Ovid. But a word of caution is perhaps appropriate. To anyone coming to the Amores from Roman comedy, the differences are more striking than the similarities.'? On the one hand, there are

recurring features of comedy which have virtually no place in elegy. Comedy is full of marriages and dowries, of beautiful orphan girls, of nocturnal rapes at festivals, of pre-marital pregnancies, of doubledealing pimps, of strict fathers looking over their sons' shoulders, of tricky slaves ever willing to assist, of lecherous old men who are finally found out and humbled by their long-suffering wives. On the other hand, there are typical features of elegy which are largely absent from comedy. Notable among these are the concept of the mistress as the lover's domina, the offer of poetry as the lover's gift, and above all the adulterous triangle, with the lover scheming to outwit the mistress’s husband or uir."

_

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J. A. BARSBY

The main overlap is between the comic lover of the kind that loves an independent courtesan who demands gifts and maintains rival lovers and the elegiac lover when he sees his situation in this guise. Ovid's lover does from time to time, though not all the time, present

himself in this way. The general influence of the comic tradition on this particular development in elegy can scarcely be questioned. But to tie this influence to Roman comedy we need specific links or echoes. In fact there seem to be four possibilities worth pursuing: (a) Ovid uses a theme or situation or idea taken directly from a particular Roman comedy as the basis for a whole elegy; (b) Ovid uses a theme or situation or idea from a particular Roman comedy as a minor element in a wider context;

(c) Ovid gives comic colour to an elegy by the use of vocabulary or diction clearly derived from Roman comedy; (d) Ovid echoes a theme or situation or attitude which can be shown to be typical of Roman comedy rather than Greek. Even so, it has to be recognised that the immediate stimulus for many of Ovid's poems may be poems by Propertius or Tibullus, and that any comic situations or echoes in the Amores may come indirectly through them.'* II. Amores 1.8

This article concentrates on four poems where comic influence has been postulated.’ The first is Amores 1.8. McKeown (1989) suggests that “this elegy has strong affinities with comedy” (198) and that “Ovid adheres closely to the comic tradition" (200).!$ Yardley (1987) 182 claims that in this elegy “Ovid seems also to use vocabulary reminiscent of Roman comedy". But we could go further and consider the possibility that this poem is an example of Ovid's usinga theme or situation taken directly from a particular Roman comedy as the basis for a single elegy. In Amores 1.8 Ovid presents himself as outside a door overhearing

a bawd giving lengthy instructions to his girl on how to manipulate her lover for profit. Eventually his shadow gives him away, and it is all he can do to restrain himself from tearing the bawd's hair and eyes and cheeks. This elegy comes as something of a surprise to anyone reading through the Amores from the beginning and making the natural assumption that the poems all refer to the same girl. In none of the preceding poems does Corinna seem to be the kind of innocent

OVID'S AMORES AND ROMAN COMEDY

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young girl who is in the pay of a bawd and receives this kind of instruction. But this isa recurring situation of comedy, and by far the closest surviving example is the third scene of Plautus' Mostellaria (157-312), where the lover Philolaches overhears the bawd trying to corrupt his beloved Philematium. In none of the other comic examples does the lover overhear the bawd's instructions, and this is

a reason for entertaining the idea that Ovid

took the situation

straight from the Mostellaria.'* The more obvious similarities between Amores 1.8 and this Mostellaria scene have long been recognised. Ovid's at nostrae uix se continuere manus/ quin albam raramque comam lacrimosaque uino/ lumina rugosas distraherentque genas (Amores 1.8.110-12) echoes Plautus' uix comprimor quin inuolem illi in oculos stimulatrici (Mostellaria 203) and nimis diu apstineo manum (Mostellaria 292). Ovid's di tibi dent nullosque lares inopemque senectam/ et longas hiemes perpetuamque sitim (Amores 1.8.113f.) echoes Plautus’ di deaeque omnes me pessumis exemplis interficiant/ nisi ego illam anum interfecero siti fameque atque algu (Mostellaria 192f.). Admittedly, the verbal correspondences are not very striking (the only actual words common to the two poets in these passages are uix, manus, quin, di, and sitis), but it is undeniable that the thought is very similar. In addition there is one minor echo which may confirm a direct relationship. In both Ovid and Plautus the lover grudgingly admits the bawd's eloquence.

There

is no direct verbal link, but Ovid's

general admission nec tamen eloquio lingua nocente caret (Amores 1.8.20) is reminiscent of a number of laudatory remarks by Philolaches on the cleverness of the bawd's speech — Mostellaria 170 lepidast Scapha, sapit scelesta multum, 252 ne nequiquam tam lepide dixeris ..., 260 lepide dictum, 270 non uideor uidisse lenam callidiorem,

279 ut perdocte cuncta callet. nihil hac docta doctius.'

The next question is whether the diction of Amores 1.8 betrays any debt, conscious or otherwise, to Roman comedy. This investigation has been done by Yardley (1987) 182, where he highlights four vocabulary items, otherwise rare in elegy, which occur in this poem. These are praeda (Amores 1.8.56, 92: fifty-nine examples in Plautus, none in Terence), flagitare (Amores 1.8.68: six times in Plautus, none in Terence), commodare (Amores 1.8.86, 102: four times in Plautus,

once in Terence), and blandiri (Amores Plautus, none in Terence). Four words poem of 114 lines; two of them are not they would be instantly labelled comic

1.8.103: seven examples in are perhaps not many in a so frequent in comedy that words, and none of them

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J. A. BARSBY

occurs in our Mostellaria scene. In fact the diction of Ovid's poem is predominantly elegiac. But it is notable that Amores 1.8 does include a good selection from the cast-list of comedy (/ena 1, anus 2, seruus 87, ancilla 87, nutrix 91) as well as part of the stage set (fores 22), and these clearly do underline the comic setting. In short, we have here a theme which could have been derived from the wider comic tradition,

a few reminiscences of Roman comic diction, and above all a frame which can be linked to a particular play of Plautus. There is no obvious need to suggest Greek sources of inspiration for Ovid, neither Philemon’s Phasma, the probable original of the Mostellaria, nor Herodas’ first mime, although scholars have, of course, suggested

both.?° At the same time we should not overstate the poem’s direct debt to comedy. There is very little overlap between the arguments of Plautus’ bawd and Ovid's. On the other hand there is a considerable overlap between the arguments of Ovid's bawd and those of the bawd in Propertius" corresponding poem (4.5)?! which can even be read in such a way that Propertius is at one point, like Ovid, overhearing the bawd's speech.” We thus have to face the question of Ovid's debt to his fellow elegists, especially as Tibullus too exploits the same theme in a couple of poems (1.5.47-58, 2.6.43-54). The relationship between Amores 1.8 and Propertius 4.5 has often been discussed, and,

although we have no objective criteria for deciding which poem was written first or which poet imitated the other, it does seem that Ovid's poem makes better sense if read as a response to that of Propertius.??

This is not at all incompatible with the idea that Ovid took the setting (with the eavesdropping lover tempted to assault the bawd) direct from Plautus' Mostellaria. But it does mean that we cannot regard the Mostellaria as the sole or even the major source for Amores 1.8;

this may be one of Luck's "experiments with comedy-themes" on Ovid's part, but it is not a simple case of direct dependence on Roman comedy, let alone on a particular play. III. Amores 1.6

The second elegy for discussion is Amores 1.6, an exclusus amator poem, where the lover locked out on his mistress’ doorstep

complains of his situation. The so-called paraklausithyron is found in a number of genres and has been much discussed and analysed.” There is a generally agreed difference between Greek and Roman treatments of the theme, which should help to distinguish Greek and

OVID'S AMORES AND ROMAN COMEDY

141

Roman influences: this is that, whereas the Greek lover addresses the beloved, the Roman tends to address the door, which is thus personified and even treated as a god, in keeping with the cult status given to the door in Roman religion.? As far as elegy is concerned, McKeown (1989) ad loc. (122) expresses the view that “Τῆς treatment of the theme by the Augustan elegists owes most to Hellenistic epigram. Comedy, however, was also influential." The task, then, is to identify the comic element in Amores 1.6 and in particular the Roman comic element. Ovid's poem undeniably has many traditional features derived from epigram.?$ It also has two major novelties, one

that Ovid addresses not the beloved nor the door but the doorkeeper, and the other that he has a refrain, introduced at line 24 and then

occurring at eight-line intervals. Neither of these features comes from epigram or from the Greek comic tradition; whatever we make of the refrain, insofar as the address to the doorkeeper can be regarded as an extension of the address to the door (and the door itself is actually addressed in the final couplet), we can regard the frame of the poem as being essentially Roman. The exclusus amator situation is in fact found only twice in surviving Roman comedy, once in Plautus' Curculio (1-215) and once in Terence's Eunuchus (771-816)?! The Eunuchus is less promising as a potential model for Ovid in that the two situations are very different. Ovid is shut out because the husband has put a guard on his mistress; Thraso in Eunuchus is shut out because Thais is protecting the girl given to her as a present, whom Thraso is now trying to claim back. Again there are no very clearechoes. At Amores 1.6.57 Ovid says “shall I attack the door with iron (ferrum) and the fire which I have in my torch?", which raises the question of where the iron is supposed to come from or even what it is. Editors point to the Eunuchus passage, in which one of Thraso's soldiers wields a crowbar (uectis) (and the crowbar recurs as one of the tools of his trade that Horace's retired lover dedicates in the temple of Venus in Odes 3.26), but Ovid might equally have been thinking of the axe which occurs in similar contexts (notably Plautus Bacchides 1119)

and it would be foolhardy to assert that he had any particular passage in mind. The Curculio looks more promising. It contains the earliest

example of a paraklausithyron in Latin, which can in a sense be regarded

as the prototype

for the Roman

development

of the

theme.?* The situation is much more similar to that of Amores 1.6 than is that of the Eunuchus. Phaedromus is shut out by the pimp who owns his girlfriend, in the same way as Ovid is shut out by the uir who

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J.A. BARSBY

owns his mistress. Moreover in both cases there is a potentially helpful doorkeeper: in place of Ovid’s sober male slave the Curculio has the drunken slavewoman Leaena who guards the door on behalf of the pimp; and, although the formal paraklausithyron is addressed to the door (145-57), Phaedromus does also address the doorkeeper

(96-138). At all events, there are a number of echoes or alleged echoes which deserve to be examined. Ovid's opening captatio beneuolentiae to the doorkeeper (Amores 1.6.1: ianitor (indignum) dura religate catena ...) resembles in spirit Phaedromus’ flattery of Leaena (Curculio 120: em tibi, anus lepida), but its whole

form

and tone are very different

(Leaena is bribed with a gift of wine). Ovid's formal religious address to the doorkeeper with its triple anaphora of tu (Amores 1.6.15f.: te nimium lentum timeo, tibi blandior uni:/ tu me quo possis perdere fulmen habes) resembles Phaedromus' plea to the pessuli of the door with its quadruple anaphora of uos (Curculio 147f.: uos saluto lubens,/ uos amo, uos uolo, uos peto atque opsecro); but it could be claimed that Ovid is simply following the Roman tradition of making the lover address the door as a god (cf. Lucretius De Rerum Natura 4.1177-9; Propertius 1.16.43f.) rather than drawing directly on

Curculio. Ovid's appeal to the claims of a previous gratia (Amores 1.6.21f.: ergo, quae ualuit pro te quoque gratia quondam,/ heu facinus! pro me nunc ualet illa parum!) has been thought to pick up the gratia of Phaedromus' complaint at Curculio 154 (nec mea gratia commouent se ocius (sc. pessuli)), but Phaedromus may merely mean “‘for my sake", so that the echo is coincidental. At Amores 1.6.41f. Ovid wonders whether the doorkeeper is deaf to his pleas because he is asleep (lentus es, an somnus, qui te male perdat, amantis/ uerba dat in uentos aure repulsa tua?); this idea could well derive from Curculio 153, where Phaedromus humorously suggests that the doorbolts are

asleep (hoc uide ut dormiunt pessuli pessumi).? At Amores 1.6.49 Ovid thinks he hears the door opening (fallimur an uerso sonuerunt cardine postes...?). This could be a reminiscence of Curculio 94 (num muttit

cardo?) and 157f. (sentio sonitum. tandem edepol mihi morigeri pessuli fiunt). Even though the verbal echoes (cardine/cardo, sonuerunt/ sonitum) are unremarkable, there is a further link between these two passages: in both the excluded lover actually welcomes the sound,

whereas normally in elegy the lover is very anxious for the door to open noiselessly to avoid betraying his presence.*° Of these possible echoes, the last two are more convincing than the first three; but it is a

moot question whether together they add up to compelling evidence

OVID'S AMORES AND ROMAN COMEDY

143

of direct borrowing by Ovid. The case for a more general influence from Roman comedy on this

poem is made by Yardley (1987) 182-6. The master saving his slave from a whipping (Amores 1.6.19f.) is common in comedy, as is the master promising his slave his freedom (Amores 1.6.25f.), though there is the obvious difference that Ovid is here dealing with someone else's slave.>! The word-play uerbera/uerba in the former passage (19f.) occurs twice in Roman comedy, as does the earlier one (13) on mora/amor?? But, more interestingly, Yardley claims that Ovid has Plautus' Asinaria particularly in mind, on the basis of three verbal

parallels. One may be thought illusory,? but the others are more striking. Ovid ends the poem by heaping insults on the doorkeeper for refusing to cooperate. Among other things he says (Amores 1.6.64) that the doorkeeper is worthy of a prison, that is, he should not have been the guard of a pretty girl, he should have been a prison warder (carcere dignus eras). The only parallel for this insult in Greek or Latin literature seems to be Asinaria 297, where one slave addresses another as custos carceris (“you prison-warder"). In the very last line of the poem Ovid bids farewell both to the doorkeeper and to the actual doors, which he addresses as fellow-slaves (conseruae) of the doorkeeper. The only other place in Latin literature where doors are addressed as fellow-slaves is again in the

Asinaria (386f.).’* But one wonders. There is no obvious reason why Ovid should have had the Asinaria in mind: there is nothing in its plot to link itto an exclusus amator poem. The links with the Curculio are much stronger. It could be argued that Ovid has taken the 'lover addresses doorkeeper' frame from the Curculio for Amores 1.6 in the same way as he took the ‘lover overhears bawd’ frame from the Mostellaria for

1.8, although the similarity of situation is not so great.*> We could go further and claim that Ovid's refrain is in the tradition of Italian doorstep incantations, whose application to the opening of doors to lovers goes back to Phaedromus' cretic invocation in Curculio (147-54); this claim would link Ovid's poem with the Roman comic tradition rather than the Greek, though it may well be forcing the evidence.) But none of this would alter the fact that the content of the poem as a whole depends largely on the exclusus amator tradition derived in large measure from epigram, developed here with a glance at the other elegists' treatment?’ and a lot of Ovidian ingenuity.

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IV. Amores 2.2 and 2.3

We may next turn to the pair of poems Amores 2.2 and 2.3, addressed to the eunuch Bagoas, who is guarding Ovid's girl on behalf of her uir. Booth (1991) claims that “Ovid seems in fact to have drawn a considerable amount of inspiration from comedy in these two poems" (31), and sums up by saying that “Τῆς adaptation of comic material is enterprising ...” (32). So this should be a promising pair of poems for our purposes. In Amores 1.6, as we have seen, Ovid turned the paraklausithyron into a suasoria aimed at persuading the doorkeeper to allow him admission. Amores 2.2-3 constitute a very similar exercise, and they

also have something in common with Amores 1.11-12and 2.7-8,two other ‘dramatic diptychs’ involving servants of Corinna's.?* There is no real parallel in comedy for this kind of address to the mistress' servants’? or even in elegy, as Propertius" poem to Lygdamus (3.6) is not a suasoria but a request for information. But, since a eunuch is involved, we might look for some influence from Terence's Eunuchus, which is the only surviving comedy in which a eunuch figures. There is indeed a common situation in that in both Terence and Ovid there

is a eunuch guarding a girl. But there is a major difference: in Ovid's case the eunuch is employed by the husband to guard his wife and thus constitutes an obstacle to the lover, whereas in Terence's the eunuch is the lover (in disguise, of course) who abuses the situation to gain access to the girl. It remains possible that Terence's play was the starting-point for Ovid's two poems, if only because it is hard to point to any other literary impetus. In fact, there are some minor further similarities in situation between Ovid and Terence, for example, that in both cases the lover has seen the girl in the street and that in both cases the eunuch is abused for his unmanliness, and this is where we might look for verbal echoes to suggest a direct relationship between the Eunuchus and Ovid's poems. But it is difficult to find any at all; and it is in fact the differences rather than the similarities which obtrude themselves. In Terence Chaerea has simply seen the girl in uia (Eunuchus 322), whereas Ovid has seen his specifically strolling in the portico of the Danaids (Amores 2.2.3f.); Chaerea goes on at some

length about his girl's beauty (Eunuchus 296f., 313-19), whereas Ovid restricts his admiration to the single word placuit (Amores 2.2.5). Similarly with the abuse of the eunuch. Terence's eunuch is abused for being old and ugly (Eunuchus 688: uietus, uetus, ueternosus senex),

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Ovid's in contrast by a series of double entendres relating to his sexual incapacity (Amores 2.3.1-10). The actual guarding passages are not at all close either. Booth points to Eunuchus 570-80 as providing “ἃ

precedent for a eunuch in the role of chaperon", but there is not a word in common between that passage and this pair of poems. Moreover it is notable that, whereas Terence had described the chaperonage as "an entrusting of the maiden" (Eunuchus 577: commendat uirginem), Ovid chooses two different words and talks

about “the guarding of a mistress” (Amores 2.2.1: dominam seruandi). There is still the possibility of direct influence from another Roman comedy, Plautus' Miles Gloriosus, which offers in its first half another 'slave guards mistress' scenario, with Sceledrus, like Bagoas,

charged by the mistress's owner with keeping out the rival lover. At Amores 2.2.29f. Ovid promises Bagoas favoured treatment by his mistress if he complies with Ovid's suggestions. Booth claims that Ovid here "takes his readers into the fantasy-world of Roman comedy", comparing this especially to the favoured treatment enjoyed by Palaestrio in the Miles (348-51); and later she identifies a further similarity between Amores 2.2 and Plautus' play in that both Sceledrus (Miles 476f.) and Bagoas (Amores 2.2.27f.) are told not to

tell what they know. But there are no verbal echoes of Plautus' play in either of the two passages identified by Booth as similar;* and a search for further similarities of expression between the Miles and Ovid's pair of poems is not particularly rewarding. Informers and informants occur in both places (indicium: Miles 306, Amores 2.2.53,

cf. indicibus at Amores 2.2.41), deceiving in both (uerba dare: Miles 353, 576; Amores 2.2.58), and talk of not having seen what has been

seen (Miles 187; Amores 2.2.57). But uerba dare is such a common expression in comedy (see below) that it would be absurd to claim a direct influence from the Miles, and similarly not seeing what has been seen is a cliché of advice to slaves in comedy.*! But these last two examples do suggest that there is a general link between Ovid's two poems and Roman comedy in terms of comic colour in vocabulary and expression. The most striking instance of this is the reference to the mistress calling Bagoas a carnifex (Amores 2.2.36); this isa standard comic word of abuse occurring fifteen times

in Plautus and six in Terence. We also find the common

comic

expressions for compliance and deceit, morem gerere (Amores 2.2.13) and uerba dare (Amores 2.2.58), the former occurring thirty times in Plautus and Terence and the latter thirty-seven times, Further, we have words relating to slave punishments and rewards, uerbera

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J. A. BARSBY

(Amores 2.2.29), carcer (Amores 2.2.42), compedes (Amores 2.2.47), and peculium (Amores 2.2.39), whose occurrences in Plautus and Terence number respectively ten, sixteen, sixteen, and fourteen; and a reference to the blanda puella (Amores 2.2.34), the adjective blandus occurring twelve times in Plautus and Terence and its cognates a further thirty-seven times. Also interesting is the word molestus, here twice (Amores 2.2.8 and 2.3.15), which, as Axelson (1945) 60 notes, is confined to prose and the lower genres of poetry; in fact it occurs a massive eighty-one times in Plautus and Terence. There are two other words of lower register: stertere (Amores 2.2.24), only thrice in Plautus and Terence and otherwise restricted to prose and the satirists, but so rare in the respectable poetic genres that scholars have denied Ovidian authorship to this couplet, and, less strikingly, plorare (Amores 2.2.59), which occurs eleven times in Plautus, occasionally in elegy and lyric, but never, for example, in epic or

tragedy.” The diptych Amores 2.2-3 is probably the best example in the collection of an elegy (or elegies) whose diction has a clear comic flavour. This can be related in a general way to the comic nature of its theme, involving masters, slaves, and deceit in the context of a love affair." But it is a very generalised debt; no particular scene of comedy

is evoked,

and

there

is no

clear

echoing

of Terence's

Eunuchus or of any other particular play. V. Amores 3.8 Our fourth example is Amores 3.8, in which Ovid complains that, in spite of his poetic talent, he is ousted from his girl's favours by a rival who has become wealthy through warfare. Griffin (1985) 204 endorsed the argument of one of Yardley's earlier articles that the rich soldier-rival in elegy is derived from the swaggering soldier of comedy and of Roman comedy in particular. Yardley (1972) was referring especially to Propertius 2.16, for which he claimed it as “not an unreasonable assumption” (137) that Propertius’ inspiration was the Eunuchus of Terence; he then went on to refer to our poem, which

has, as he says, the same triangular relationship involving jilted lover, unfaithful courtesan, and soldier, and concluded: “This is surely a comic situation which the elegists found suitable for elegiac treatment" (137). Kenney (1990) 207 also refers to the comic background of the soldier-rival of Amores 3.8: “Behind this contemporary figure [the upstart who has made enough money by soldiering to buy his

OVID'S AMORES AND ROMAN COMEDY

147

way into the equestrian order] ... is discernible a literary stereotype, the mercenary soldier-rival of New Comedy, where he is usually depicted as a braggart." So we may reasonably look for comic echoes in Ovid's poem, and even direct reminiscences of some of the better known milites gloriosi, such as Terence's Thraso or Plautus' Pyrgopolynices. But once more, against the basic similarity of the situation — in both

comedy and elegy the young man has a rich soldier for a rival — we have to set the basic dissimilarity of the treatment. To the adulescens of comedy, the soldier is an arrogant fool who in the end can be mocked, outwitted, defeated; to Ovid the soldier is a powerful rival who holds the upper hand. The comic adulescens accepts that money is the key to the situation, so that his problem is to outwit the soldier

if he cannot outbid him; Ovid's lover addresses himself to the girl, lamenting the morality of an age where money rules and his gift for

poetry is despised.* Ovid describes the rich soldier rival in a twenty-line passage (Amores 3.8.9-28), which, to anyone coming to the poem from Terence’s Eunuchus, does immediately throw up two verbal echoes of that play. At Eunuchus 482f. Parmeno, asserting his master Phaedria’s claims to Thais’ favour over Thraso’s, says that he (Phaedria) “does not narrate his battles or show his scars” (neque pugnas narrat neque cicatrices suas/ ostentat). At Amores 3.8.19 Ovid urges his girl to “look at the soldier's scars" (cerne cicatrices, ueteris uestigia pugnae) and in the following couplet (21f.) he refers to the soldier describing

his slaughter of the enemy. The vocabulary of this second item (forsitan et quotiens hominem iugulaverit ille/ indicet) is quite different from Terence's pugnas narrat, but the very same expression hominem iugulare does occur of the soldier elsewhere in the Eunuchus (417: iugularas hominem). So does this signify a direct imitation by Ovid of the Eunuchus? First, yet again, we have to admit a basic difference in approach. Ovid is trying to disgust the girl with the physical side of the soldier's involvement in war (Amores 3.6.11 hunc potes amplecti?, 17 qua periit aliquis potes hanc contingere dextram?, 22 hoc fassas tangis auara manus?), whereas Parmeno is simply reminding Thais that soldiers can be a crashing bore. And, on a closer inspection of the Ovid passage as a whole, the links with the typical miles gloriosus begin to look illusory, especially in terms of verbal echoes. To dispose of

cicatrix first, the word is not used of the comic miles apart from this one instance in Terence; Plautus uses the word only once (Asinaria

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J. A. BARSBY

552) where it applies to the weals created by floggings on the back ofa

slave. This does not rule out a direct reminiscence by Ovid of the Eunuchus phrase; but it does mean that the word cicatrix is not immediately suggestive of comedy to Ovid's reader. As for hominem iugulare, where the phrase does occur in the Eunuchus the sense is metaphorical (“you slew the fellow by your witty remark"); this would be a quite inappropriate reminiscence in Ovid where the

argument

positively

requires the literal physical sense. Further

examination of the rest of the diction of the Ovid passage seems to prove fairly conclusively that Ovid did not have the comic miles gloriosus in the forefront of his mind. Ovid describes the soldier as diues (Amores 3.8.9) and sanguine pastus (10); he wears a galea and an ensis (13f.), he has a scutum and a dextra cruenta (16). None of these

words is ever applied to the soldier-rival in comedy.‘ Again, when Ovid urges poet-lovers to take up warfare instead (25-8), his vocabulary (trepidas acies, fera castra, primum pilum, bellare) conspicuously fails to evoke the miles of comedy, for whom we can find three uses of acies but none of the other terms.* Amores 3.8 is in essence a variation of the stock complaint about a

mistress who prefers the wealth of other lovers to the devotion and poetic gifts of the lover, a theme which Ovid had adumbrated in Amores 1.3 and enlarged upon in Amores 1.10. He has chosen to pin the theme this time on the figure of the newly qualified eques whose wealth comes from war, a real-life figure whom Ovid, himself from a

long-established equestrian family, clearly resented.** This figure is introduced at line 9 and disappears at line 28, after which Ovid turns to a more general development of the theme. The only real link between this figure and the comic miles gloriosusis that both ‘narrate their battles’, though Ovid has used his own distinctive terminology

for this. There are rather stronger links with Propertius’ corresponding poem (2.16), which similarly represents the soldier in contemporary guise (2.16.1: praetor ab Illyricis uenit modo, Cynthia, terris) and indeed hints at the idea of physical revulsion (2.16.24: ... candida tam foedo bracchia fusa uiro); it also ends, like Ovid's poem, with the hope (or threat) that the gods may destroy the girl's ill-gotten presents (2.16.43-56; Amores 3.8.65f.).? Moreover the links between Propertius 2.16 and comedy are perhaps not so strong as has been claimed; the only real resemblance between it and

Terence's Eunuchus is that the idea of exploiting the stupidity and wealth

of the soldier is present

Eunuchus 1072-94).5!

in both

(Propertius

2.16.7-10;

OVID'S AMORES AND ROMAN COMEDY

VI.

149

Other Amores

There are a few other Amores with a potential direct debt to comedy

that ought to be briefly considered.?? It was noted above that Amores 1.10 is one of the poems in which Ovid develops the theme of the mercenariness of women. McKeown (1989) 281 says of this poem that “The theme owes much to Comedy, with its impecunious adulescens in love with a meretrix controlled by a Jeno”; but the

situation is different — Ovid's mistress belongs to a higher social class who are contrasted with the common meretrix (Amores 1.10.21-4) — and specific links with comedy are hard to find.’ Amores 1.7, in which Ovid upbraids himself for striking his mistress,

isthe one poem of the collection which can be linked with a particular Greek comedy, namely Menander's Perikeiromene, where the soldier

cuts off his mistress' hair in a fit of jealousy and suffers similar

remorse; but again the situation is different — Ovid has torn his girl's hair along with her cheeks and her tunic but has not cut it off — and there are no close parallels between Ovid's poem and the surviving 450 lines of the Greek play. What is more, there are no close parallels

either with any Roman comedy. But we may end on a more positive note. Amores 1.4 is the first of several poems

in which

Ovid

exploits the dinner-party triangle

involving the lover, the mistress, and the mistress' vir. In the course

of the poem Ovid instructs the mistress on how to carry out a flirtation at the dinner-table by secret signs (Amores 1.4.15-34). These are not peculiar to Ovid but can be paralleled in Propertius and Tibullus: there are common signs and a common vocabulary, involving nods (nutus), signs (notae), hidden words (uerba abdita or tecta or lenia), and especially messages conveyed by the eyebrows

(superciliis) or written on the table in wine with the fingers (digitis).55 McKeown (1989) 85f. makes the interesting comment that “The conceit ... is almost completely absent from Hellenistic epigram and Comedy", and offers the very plausible explanation that “The difference in status of the beloved was perhaps a contributory factor in the development of the theme: in Hellenistic epigram and Comedy, She is usually a prostitute available for hire, in elegy an affair with her

often required secrecy.'5$ But there remains the possibility that the theme was developed from comedy, specifically from the way that courtesans flirted (or were forbidden to flirt) at table. McKeown also quotes Naevius com. 75-9, which includes nodding (adnutat) and letters drawn with the finger (digito); and he also refers to Plautus

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Asinaria 784 (neque illa ulli homini nutet nictet adnuat), but without remarking that this whole passage of the Asinaria (751—807), in which a contract is being drawn up to regulate the conduct of the courtesan Philaenium, could almost be regarded as providing a prototype (in reverse) for Ovid's poem, including not only nods (784) but her handling of the drinking (Asinaria 771-3, cf. Amores 1.4.29-32, Sif.) and her behaviour on rising from the table (Asinaria 775-8, 785f., cf. Amores 1.4.55-8). The situations are of course different, and the

parallels are not close enough for us to assert that Ovid was using the Asinaria directly as a model, but this theme deserves at least to be added to the list of potential links between the Amores and Roman

comedy.’ Finally, in Amores

2.12 Ovid celebrates a triumph for having

captured Corinna single-handed from her uir and his guards, referring to other wars which have been fought for women and claiming that in his case the victory has been bloodless. Booth (1991) 64f. points to the parallels with Propertius (2.14.23f.; 2.15.41-6) and underlines Ovid's political audacity, both in claiming a (metaphorical) triumph when that honour was virtually the preserve of the imperial family and in adding Lavinia to the list of women who were

the cause of war. But more striking for our purposes is the close similarity between Amores 2.12.7-14 and the beginning of Chrysalus’

triumph song in Plautus’ Bacchides (925-30) in anticipation of his victory over Nicobulus: in both cases the exploit is likened to the capture of Troy (Pergama) and the point is made that Agamemnon and Menelaus (Arridae) achieved this with a host of soldiers after ten years of war, whereas the speaker has stormed his own citadel single-

handed.** Here the similarities do seem close enough to make direct imitation a real possibility.?? VII.

Conclusions

This is an area in which the loss of so much Greek and Latin literature makes the tracing of influences a hazardous business.9? It is all too easy to seize upon two similar passages and to assume that the later is directly based upon the earlier, when the reality may be that

each relates to a common ancestor through a different intermediary or even that they are two quite independent examples of a wider commonplace. It should nonetheless have been useful to assemble

the apparent or alleged cases of direct imitation of Roman comedy by Ovid in the Amores.9! What seems to emerge is that Ovid rarely if ever

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151

used a particular scene of Roman comedy as the basis of a whole

elegy: at most he used the setting from the third scene of Mostellaria for Amores 1.8, and it may be that the first act of Curculio gave him the idea for the address to the doorkeeper in 4mores 1.6. There area few poems, but only a few, where reminiscences of particular

passages from comedy turn up incidentally, the most prominent being the Bacchides passage in Amores 2.12. The pursuit of verbal

echoes from particular plays is largely unrewarding, even where direct influence might have been suspected; Ovid does slip into more

generalised comic diction in some poems, such as Amores 2.2, but not so strikingly in others where comic influence has been asserted. The Yardley-Griffin line thus turns out to be less fruitful with Ovid than might have been anticipated. There is even less clear evidence of direct use by Ovid of particular Greek comedies, and this is perhaps a hare which we should cease to

chase. It seems that we have to return to the view of a rather illdefined general influence of comedy on the Amores, often mediated through the other elegists and mingled with other influences. It may be salutary to end by emphasising the relatively small part that even this indirect influence plays in moulding Ovid's elegiac persona.

Ovid's lover may be comic but he is not in essence derived from comedy; he is a product of Ovid's wit and imagination, based largely on the conventions of elegy itself.‘

NOTES 1.

“Es ist aber kein Zweifel, dass Tibull Properz Ovid jede andre Lektüre eher als

die der plautinischen Komódien getrieben haben, kein Zweifel dass die Übereinstimmung der erotischen Poesie mit Plautus nur auf die gemeinsame Quelle zurückgehen kann" (143). Leo went on to say (144) that in no individual

case could the possibility be denied that the Roman elegist had himself read the Greek comic poet, but that in general the common motifs of Latin elegy and Roman

comedy

were to be accounted for by the supposition that the Latin

elegists had taken them from Greek elegy, which had in turn taken them from Greek comedy. 2.

Jacoby (1905) 38-105 argued that the starting-point and chief source of Latin love-elegy was the Greek

epigram.

Wheeler (1910) 440-50 and (1911) 56-77

maintained that there was a direct influence from Greek comedy.

3.

Among other things, Day (1938) was very much alive to the influence of rhetoric

in developing common themes and to the existence of literary commonplaces spanning several genres, both of which make the identification of direct influences very difficult. His view of the Tibullus passage was tacitly corrected some years later by Lee (1966) 189, who offered the opinion that Tibullus was probably inspired by Terence.

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However, unlike Leo (1895), Luck (1959) 35 did allow Plautus and Terence a on the reading lists of the elegists ("No one will deny that Plautus and

erence were read by the Augustans").

Thus Yardley (1972) 134 wrote: “... direct influence of comedy — be it Plautus or

Terence or, as is more likely, the Greek originals — cannot be ruled out", and Yardley (1974) 434 that “It is well known that Propertius makes use of the situations and motifs of Comedy, whether Roman, or as seems more likely, reek.”

The only evidence for Menander in the school curriculum in the Augustan period appears to be Ovid's statement (Trist. 2.369f.) that “he is read by boys and maidens.” But it is by no means clear that this means ‘in Roman schools’ (see Bonner (1977) 215), and in any case this whole passage is such a blatant piece of

special pleading that the statements in it have to be treated with caution. A century later Quintilian recommends Menander for study in both secondary and

tertiary schools (1.8.7, 10.1.69f.), but there is nothing in Quintilian to imply that he was part of the curriculum in Augustan times. Hor. Epist. 2.1.60f.: hos ediscit et hos arto stipata theatro/ spectat Roma potens; habet hos numeratque poetas. It may be significant that, when Horace wants to use the opening scene of the Eunuch to make a philosophical point, he uses Terence's version (Hor. Sat. 2.3.259-71), whereas Persius in the following century uses Menander's (Pers. 5.161-74). In the generation previous to Horace, Cicero quotes frequently from Roman comedy but not from Menander. There is no recorded performance of a play of Plautus or Terence after the days of Roscius, who died before 62 BC (for Roscius playing Ballio see Cic. Rosc. Com. 20), except that Donatus appears to refer toa contemporary rformance of Terence's Andria in the (?) fourth

century (Don. ad Andr.

716).

We might have

expected a ‘revival’ performance of one of the old comedies at major festivals Such as the dedication of Pompey's theatre in 55 BC (Cic. Fam. 7.1; Att. 16.5;

Plin. Nar. Hist. 8.20f.; Dio 39.38; Plut. Pomp. 52.4) or Augustus’ Ludi Saeculares

in 17 BC (CIL vi.32323), but there is no mention in our accounts. Ovid's advice to the lovesick to avoid the theatres (Rem. 751-6) clearly envisages pantomime, not comedy, as the order of the day. It is difficult to know what to make of Suetonius'

statement (Aug. 89) that Augustus enjoyed the old comedy and put it on at the public games (delectabatur etiam comoedia ueteri et saepe eam exhibuit spectaculis publicis). On performances in the Roman theatre, see now Beacham (1991), esp.

154-63.

Menander is one of the authors whom Horace is accused of taking to his Sabine farm to read (Hor. Sat. 2.3.10f.); and Cicero in the previous generation refers to

snobs who disdained to read Caecilius' Synephebi or Terence's Andria when they could be reading these plays in Menander's version (Fin. 1.4). 10.

1.

12.

Terence does appear in Ovid's list of poets whose characters should not be judged by their works (Trist. 2.359), but there is no suggestion there that he was in any sense a model for Ovid. Propertius looks forward to studying Menander at Athens (Prop. 3.21.27f.),

which leaves open the question of how much he had studied him at Rome. The other references to Menander by the elegists are at Prop. 2.6.3f., 4.5.43f.; Ov. Am. 1.15.1?f., Trist. 2.369f. (cf. Ars 332, Rem. 383f.).

It is interesting to compare the list of differences which led Luck (1959) 43-6 to

deny any close links between comedy and elegy with the list of similarities identified by Griffin (1985)

203-8.

Some

items

in fact appear in both, for

example, the servitium amoris and the espousal of nequitia as a creed. On the former it is interesting to note that none of Griffin's examples of surrender to a mistress (206f.) relates to the adulescens at the centre of the plot; on the latter

OVID'S AMORES AND ROMAN COMEDY

153

there is a contrast between Philolaches’ lament at his own moral decline (Pl. Most. 84-156) and Propertius' acceptance of his nequitia as fated (1.6.25f.), to say nothing of Ovid's cheerful proclamation: ille ego nequitiae Naso poeta meae (Am. 2.1.12). In fact, almost all of the features of either genre can be paralleled in the other, but it is the degree of prominence that is crucial. Ovid may say in passing: turpe

senilis amans (Am. 1.9.4), but his elegies are not in fact peopled by lecherous

old men of the Plautine type. He may claim: temperat et sumptus parcus uterque parens (Am. 1.3.10), but in fact there is no senex durus looking over fis shoulder in the rest of the poems (nor is the thrifty mother a regular feature of comedy, despite Pl. As. 78).

13.

14.

15.

McKeown (1979) plausibly derives the adulterous triangle from the ‘adultery mime’ and accounts for the confusion surrounding the social status of the elegiac puella by supposing (76) that the elegists have conflated a comic/epigrammatic model (the meretrix) with one derived from the mime (the adulterous wife). It is hard to agree with the view quoted by Wheeler (1910) 444 that “... it is

probable that Ovid's agreements with Tibullus and Propertius are often due to the common sources of all three elegists rather than to imitation of his two older contemporaries.” These are not the only

ibilities, but they seem on the surface the most likely

to yield a positive result. A few more will be treated briefly at the end of this article.

16.

As will be clear from the footnotes, I rely heavily on McKeown (1989) in my discussion of poems from Book I. My occasional disagreements do not lessen my appreciation of its careful discussions and detailed references.

17.

In the context “Ovid ... also” means corresponding poem (4.5)".

18.

The other examples from comedy are Pl. As. 504-44, Cist. 1-119, Truc. 209-55; Ter. Hec. 58-75. McKeown (1989) 198f. suggests that the eavesdropping lover

“Ovid

as well as Propertius in his

may have been a common feature of such scenes in comedy, but it seems hazardous to infer this from Herodas 1, where the bawd makes sure that nobody

else is around before giving her advice, and Apuleius Mer. 9.15ff., where Lucius as a donkey (but not as the lover concerned) overhears a conversation between

his owner's debauched wife and the anus who abets her debaucheries.

19.

This point is made by McKeown (1989) ad Joc. (203f.).

McKeown (1989) 198f. argues strongly for the influence of Herodas. One point in common between Ovid and Herodas is that in both the girl already has a rich lover who has fallen for her (Am.

21.

1.8.23; Her. 1.50-60).

McKeown (1989) 199f. discusses twenty-five “close parallels on points of detail”, and goes so far as to say that “with the exception of Ovid's laments for Corinna's

parrot (2.6) and for Tibullus (3.9), this elegy [1.8] and Prop. 4.5 display greater similarities in content and structure than do any two other Augustan elegies". There is however one point in which Ovid's bawd echoes Plautus' rather than Propertius', namely her flattering references to the girl's beauty (Am. 1.8.25, 27,

33; Most. 173, 251, 255, 259).

22.

See McKeown (1989) ad loc. (200), and the careful discussion of Hubbard (1974)

137-42. Propertius' poem is loosely constructed and at the end the bawd appears to be already dead (65-78); McKeown regards it as a “slight possibility" that Propertius portrays himself as eavesdropping on the bawd's speech (21-62), but

this is a tenable interpretation of the crucial lines (63f.) — so Goold (1990) 399.

23.

See esp. Gutzwiller

(1985)

105-15;

Morgan

(1977); Courtney (1969) 80-87.

J. A. BARSBY

154

Morgan and Courtney both argue that Ovid's poem is the later; McKeown (1989)

200 leaves the question open.

24.

The standard discussion is Copley 225-6, 230-31 (and see index s.v.

(1956); see also Cairns (1972), esp. 92-3, komos).

The element of Gebetsparodie in the Roman tradition is emphasised by Yardley (1978) 19-34, and Watson (1982) 92-102. See McKeown (1989) 121-61 passim.

The only survivin example of the paraklausithyron in Greek New Comedy is at Men. Mis. A1-100, which offers no striking similarities to Am. 1.6. See Copley (1956) 28-42.

The idea is inanis,/ surdus

picked up also at Prop. 4.5.47f. (ianitor ad dantis vigilet: si pulsat in obductam somniet usque seram).

McKeown (1989) ad loc. (147f.) makes this point for Ovid, but interprets Phaedromus' reaction rather differently. 31.

It is true that characters in comedy do intercede to save other people's slaves from a beating, as Yardley duly illustrates, but never from a female owner. And

the situation here is very different from the typical inversion of the master-slave relationship in comedy, where the adulescens grovels before his own slave. 32.

See Pl. Men. 978 and Ter. Haut. 356 for uerbera/uerba and Pl. Poen. 446, 509 for mora/amor.

33.

Am. 1.6.46 (heu melior quanto sors tua sorte mea) is similar in thought to As. 629 (ut uostrae fortunae meis praecedunt), but both the context and the expression are quite different. It is also notable that conseruus scems to be very much a comic word. Its total occurrences (as quoted by McKeown (1989) 161) are as follows: Ovid 1, Propertius 0, Tibullus, 0, Horace 2, Virgil 0, Plautus 23 (incl. 11 in Amph.), Terence 4.

35.

Notably, Phaedromus is accompanied by his slave in Curculio, unlike Ovid, who

is alone (33f.), and the doors do open, allowing both the doorkeeper and the girl to come out. 36.

See Copley (1956) 28-32; cf. Kenney (1958) 49.

37.

The chief examples in elegy are Prop. 1.16 and Tib. 1.2, though there are allusions to the theme in several other poems of both. For echoes and similarities see McKeown (1989) passim.

38.

On this point see McKeown (1989) 122f. On the question whether Am. 2.2 and 2.3 are in fact two separate poems rather than a single poem see the balanced discussion of Booth (1991) 30f. and her references to earlier work (33).

39.

There are of course plenty of examples of the comic adulescens persuading his own seruus to assist in his love-affair, but this is a different matter. 1): Am. 2.2.29f.: ille placet wersaique domum neque uerbera sentit,/ ille potens; alii, sordida turba, iacent; cf. Mil. 51: sed hic illi subparasitatur semper, hic eae proxumust,/ primus ad cibum uocatur, primo pulmentum datur;/ nam illic noster est fortasse circiter triennium/ neque quoiquam quam illic in nostra meliust famulo familia. 2y. Am. 2.2.27f. conscius assiduos commissi tollet honores;/ quis minor est

OVID'S AMORES AND ROMAN COMEDY

155

autem quam tacuisse labor?; cf. Mil. 416. ergo, si sapis,/ mussitabis: plus oportet scire seruom quam loqui. 41.

Examples at Pl. Bacch. 790f., Epid. 60, Mil. 571f.; Ter. Eun. 721f., Heaut. 748:see Otto (1890) 312.

42.

See Booth ad locc. (107f., 111). It could rewards common diction;

be argued that the words mentioned as relating to slave punishments and are words specific to slaves and their treatment, which happens to be a theme of comedy, rather than words belonging specifically to comic but in the end this distinction is artificial.

In practice soldier-rivals in Roman comedy are always outwitted rather than outbid (notably Therapontigonus in Curc., Pyrgopolynices in Mil, Antamoenides in Poen. , Stratophanes in Truc., Thraso in Éun.; Cleomenes in Bacch. is bought off). As has often been observed, Menander treats his soldiers much more

sympathetically in the surviving plays, though there are signs of the ‘Plautine’ type in the fragments (see Webster (1974) 18-22; Goldberg (1980) 44-58).

45.

The one adulescens who does approach his mistress with a plea based on love is Phaedria

in Terence's Eunuchus (esp. 91-4), but, so far from lamenting the

morality of the whole business of gift-giving, he enters into the competition himself by presenting Thais with the eunuch and Ethiopian slavegirl (Eun. 163-71).

The soldier-rival in comedy is only once actually described as rich and there the

adjectives are locuples and auro potens (Epid. 153). sanguis is never used by the comic poets in relation to the soldier, with the one insignificant exception that Sanga in the Eunuchus (779) is ready with his sponge to wipe up any blood that may be shed in the mock-siege of Thais’ house. 47.

acies occurs at Curc. 575, Mil. 4, and Pseud. 655.

Cf. Am. 1.3.8, 3.15.5f. (non modo militiae turbine factus eques). Ovid is not as explicit as Propertius about the military activity of the rival, but in both cases their wealth clearly comes from Roman wars, not from the mercenary service of the milites gloriosi of comedy. 49.

Even when the comic miles gloriosus does not actually narrate his battles (as he does at Mil. 1-30 or Poen. 470-92), it is clear that this is the expected behaviour (cf. Epid. 444-55, Truc. 482-96, Eun. 482f.). These last two similarities are duly noted by Brandt (1911) ad locc.

See Yardley (1972) 137. 52.

For detailed discussion see the commentaries. invaluable for the poems in Amores I.

53.

McKeown (1989) 281f. suggests that Ovid's most important single model was Callimachus' (fragmentary) third Jamb, and also sees contemporary declamation as a likely influence.

McKeown

(1989)

is again

McKeown (1989) 162-4 claims that “Τῆς theme ... was particularly frequent in New Comedy", but of his five examples from Roman comedy only one is at all parallel, namely Chaerea's tearing of the girl's clothes and hair in the course of the rape in the Eunuchus (646). As McKeown shows, the linking of Am. 1.7 with the Perikeiromene depends on some striking similarities between Ovid's poem and later Greek writers (Philostratos and Paulus Silentiarius) who themselves

seem to be influenced by Menander's play (Philostr. Epist. 16 does actually refer

156

J. A. BARSBY

to the Epitrepontes). Again McKeown plausibly suggests contemporary declamation as a likely influence. But the closest verbal parallels are with the other elegists, suggesting that Ovid is above all working within the elegiac tradition. 55.

The passages are Prop. 3.8.25f.; Tib. 1.2.21f., 1.6.19f., 1.8.1f.

56.

Sec also n.13 above.

57.

Tam not aware of any parallels in surviving Greek comedy.

58.

The Bacchides passage is duly quoted by Booth (1991) 154.

59.

I see no real reason for preferring to suppose that Ovid's model was the corresponding passage of Menander's Dis Exapaton; it is quite clear that Chrysalus' monologue represents an enormous expansion of whatever stood in the Greek original, though an allusion to the fall of Troy there cannot be entirely ruled out: see Barsby (1986) 170f.

60.

Apart from the loss of so much of Greek New Comedy, it is salutary to remember that there were 140 comedies circulating as Plautine in the days of Varro (Gellius 3.3); and it is curious how little the major Menander discoveries have done to confirm the links between elegy and Greek New Comedy posited on the basis of the later Greek epistolographers.

61.

Currie (1981) 2701-42, though believing that “Ovid invites comparison ... with Plautus" (2731) and that “Ovid belonged to the body of Augustan admirers of Plautus" (2739), makes almost no mention of the Amores in his comparison of the two writers.

62.

A version of this paper was read to the meeting of the Leeds International Latin Seminar in February 1993, and the final version has benefited from the discussion on that occasion. I am also most grateful to Professor E.J. Kenney and Professor J.C. McKeown for their helpful comments on a draft of the written version.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Axelson, B. (1945) Unpoetische Wörter. Ein Beitrag zur Kenntnis der lateinischen Dichtersprache (Lund) Barsby, J.A. (1986) (ed.) Plautus: Bacchides. Edited with translation and commentary (Warminster) Beacham, R.C. (1991) The Roman Theatre and its Audience (London)

Bonner, S.F. (1977) Education in ancient Rome: from the elder Cato to the younger Pliny (London) Booth, J. (1991) (ed.) Ovid. The Second Book of Amores. Edited with a translation and commentary (Warminster) Brandt, P. (1902) (ed.) P. Ovidi Nasonis De arte amatoria libri tres (Leipzig)

Cairns, F. (1972) Generic composition in Greek and Roman poetry (Edinburgh) —

(1979) Tibullus: a Hellenistic poet at Rome (Cambridge)

Copley, F.O. (1956) Exclusus amator: a study in Latin love poetry Philological Monographs published by the American Philological Association 17 (Madison) Courtney, E. (1969) ‘Three Poems of Propertius" BICS

16.70-87

Currie, H.MacL. (1981) ‘Ovid and the Roman Stage’ ANRW 11.4.2701-42 Day, A.A. (1938) The origins of Latin love-elegy (Oxford) Fantham, E. (1984) *Roman Experience of Menander in the Late Republic and Early

Empire’ TAPA 114.299-

Goldberg, S.M. (1980) The Making of Menander s Comedy (London)

OVID'S AMORES AND ROMAN COMEDY

Goold, Sr ass.

157

(1990) (ed.) Propertius: Elegies Loeb Classical Library 18 (Cambridge

Griffin, J. (1985) Latin Poets and Roman Life (London) Gutzwiller, K.J. (1985) ‘The Lover and the Lena: Propertius 4.5' Ramus 14.105-15 Hubbard, M. (1974) Propertius (London)

Jacoby, F. (1905) ‘Zur Entstehung der rómischen Elegie’ RAM 60.38-105 Kenney, E.J. (1958) Review of Copley (1956), CR 8.48f. — (1990) Ovid: The Love Poems trans. A.D. Melville. With an Introduction and Notes by E.J. Kenney (The World's Classics) (Oxford) Lee, AS. Me Review of J. André (ed.) Tibulle, Élégies: livre premier (Paris 1965), 16.188f.

Leo, F. (1895) Plautinische Forschungen (Berlin; 2nd edn 1912) Luck, G. (1959) The Latin love elegy (London)

Lyne, R.O.A.M. (1980) The Latin love-poets from Catullus to Horace (Oxford ) McKeown, J.C. (1979) ‘Augustan elegy and mime’ PCPAS 205 (n.s. 25) 71-84

— (1989) Ovid Amores: text, prolegomena and commentary: in four volumes II: A Commentary on Book One (ARCA 22) (Leeds) Morel ( a) Ovid's Art of Imitation. Propertius in the Amores Mnemosyne Suppl. iden Otto, A. (1890) Die Sprichwörter und sprichwörtlichen Redensarten der Römer (Leipzig) Sullivan, J.P. (1976) Propertius. A Critical Introduction (Cambridge) Veyne, P. (1983) L'élégie érotique romaine: l'amour, la poésie et l'occident (Paris) Watson, L.C. (1982) ‘Ovid Amores 1 6: a parody of a hymn?’ Mnemosyne 35.92-102 Webster, T.B.L. (1974) An introduction to Menander (Manchester)

Wheeler, A.L. (1910) ‘Erotic teaching in Roman elegy and the Greek sources. Part I’ CPh 5.440-50 — e 1211) Erotic teaching in Roman elegy and the Greek sources. Part II’ CPh Yardley, J.C. (1972) ‘Comic influences in Propertius" Phoenix 26.134-9

— (1974) ‘Propertius’ Lycinna' TAPA 104.429-34 — —

(1978) ‘The elegiac paraclausithyron' Eranos 76.19-34 ( IT) Propertius 4.5, Ovid Amores 1.6 and Roman Comedy’ PCPAS 213 (n.s. 33)

8

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 159-74 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90-!

TRACES OF ANCIENT COMMENTARIES OVID’S METAMORPHOSES

ON

A.S. HOLLIS (Keble College, Oxford)

The existence commentaries)

in late antiquity of a detailed commentary (or on Ovid’s Metamorphoses has been quite widely

accepted.' Some manuscripts of the Metamorphoses carry with them a prose summary of the text, thought to go back to the fifth or sixth century; the name ‘Lactantius Placidus’, given to the originator, is of

no particular value,” but may indicate a belief that this paraphrase comes from the same author as the surviving ancient commentary on Statius’ Thebaid. Sometimes the summary expands on Ovid's text, or even contradicts it; occasionally it almost turns into a commentary.

Brooks Otis? concluded that the Argumenta were taken from the margin of an elaborately annotated edition wherein scholia and occasional summaries of the story were very much mixed together. In turn these scholia may go back to a full-blown commentary on the

Metamorphoses. Let us start with two striking examples of information (which has survived nowhere else) being preserved in this manner: 1. 'Lactantius Placidus', Narr. Ov. Met. II, fab. 4 (p.638.11ff. ed. Magnus): Cygnus ... in volucrem cygnum abiit, qui perosus caelestis ignes paludes ac flumina, quibus insenesceret, est secutus. Phanocles in Cupidinibus [fr. 6 Powell] auctor.

2.

Id., Met. II fab. 6 (p.639.6ff. Magnus): [sc. Callisto] a Tethy et Oceano ob Iunonis iram inter cetera sidera liquore non tinguitur, ut auctor Hesiodus [fr. 354 dub. MerkelbachWest]* indicat. ut alii (Morel, FPL p.173, incert. 10]° ‘sed lucet in astris/ Callisto, renovatque suos sine fluctibus ignes’. 159

160

A.S. HOLLIS

The first extract gives us a source for the story of Cygnus in the early Hellenistic elegy Ἔρωτες by Phanocles,® while the second cites

pseudo-Hesiod for the fact that Callisto’s constellation is not bathed in the stream of Oceanus, and verbatim one and a half otherwise same theme. We may wonder why obscure Latin poet for what was

then, most interestingly, quotes unknown Latin hexameters on the ‘Lactantius’ should quote such an after all a mythological common-

place.’ My main purpose in this article is to look for traces of ancient commentaries on the Metamorphoses preserved by writers other than ‘Lactantius’; in particular (and this is very hazardous) to argue that, by whatever route, bits of such an ancient commentary have survived uniquely in ‘Apuleius’ De Orthographia, an infamous work which many modern scholars have condemned as wholly a Renaissance

concoction, dating from ca 1500.° Undeniably De Orthographia contains a large element of deliberate fabrication? and even sheer lunacy. But the entries which definitely, or at least probably, refer to Ovid's Metamorphoses seem to be of quite a different character — sensible, often learned and ingenious, preserving information about lost Greek authors which looks increasingly plausible as we learn more about the authors in question, and which (as far as I can see) would be beyond the knowledge and capability of a forger in AD

1500.0 To show the weight of opinion ranged against ‘Apuleius’, De Orthographia, 1 reproduce Callimachus fr. [815] Pf: [L. Caecilius Minutianus Apuleius] De orthographia, ed. Mai (1823),

p.136 = ed. Osann (1826) p.9: Aesacus habet ae diphthongum, pater Priami auctoribus Callimacho, Porphyrio, Nasone eiusque interprete. Falsum istum *Apuleium' opus esse impostoris Caelii Rhodigini post Madvig (1829) in Opusc.acad. 1 (1843) p.1 sqq. et R. Merkel, Prolus. ad Ov. Ib. (1837), p.383 sqq. (cf. Ellis, Ov. Ib. praef. p.vii) satis superque demonstravit O. Crusius, Philol. 47 (1889) 434; frustra

oblocutus est S. Reinach, Rev.phil. 30 (1906), 276 sqq. — Cultes, mythes et religions IV (1912) 83 sqq., cf. Rostagni, Ibis 1920, p.23, 4

(qui etiam affert C. Cessi, Ateneo Veneto 1900, p.52 sqq.) Clearly Pfeiffer felt that unique appearance in De Orthographia was in itself sufficient condemnation — there was no need even to consider the subject matter. The editors of Supplementum Hellenisticum (on SH 665, which includes the words Parthenius aliter) assess the general question more cautiously: having outlined the textual

history of the fragments since a few were first published in 1516,!! they mention

the argument

between

Crusius and Reinach as to

TRACES OF ANCIENT COMMENTARIES ON OVID'S METAMORPHOSES

161

whether the entire contents of De Orthographia were dreamed up by Caelius Rhodiginus, adding ‘‘quae utcunque se habent, strenuissime

dubitandum

videtur, utrum inter tot tantasque ineptias sanioris

aliquid et antiquioris notae conservatum sit." As a comment on Parthenius SH 665 this scems entirely reasonable. Nothing specific is said about Parthenius' alleged variant version, and I would have no

regrets about abandoning that fragment, unconnected with Ovid's Metamorphoses. In spite of Pfeiffer's abrupt rejection, ‘Apuleius’ fr. 31 = Call. fr. [815] Pf. (text above) deserves to be considered. In the first place, ‘father of Priam’ should surely be regarded as a simple mistake for ‘son of Priam’.!? Whatever one thinks of the whole work, itis hard to resist this correction, sinceit brings 'Apuleius' into harmony with the two checkable authorities which he cites, Nasone eiusque interprete. Nasone clearly refers to Metamorphoses 11.755-8 sunt huius [sc. Aesaci] origo/ ... Priamusque novissima Troiae/ tempora sortitus, and

eiusque interprete to 'Lactantius' Met. XI, fab. 11 (p.695.11 Magnus) Aesacus natus Priami. Thus in ‘Apuleius’ I would read natus Priami for pater Priami, restoring the identical phrase which we find in

'Lactantius'.?

It is useful to have

here explicit evidence

that

*Apuleius' drew from a commentator on the Metamorphoses as well as from the poem itself. Our surviving text of ‘Lactantius’ makes no mention at this point of any other authors such as Callimachus or Porphyrius, but a more detailed ancient commentary might well have done so; in both cases the reference is entirely plausible. The neo-

Platonist Porphyrius'* had extensive literary, as well as philosophical, interests. Besides Homeric Questions, he composed a work entitled ‘Names not to be found in Homer’ (περὶ τῶν παραλελειμμένων τῷ ποιητῇ ὀνομάτων), which included the names of Priam's mother and of the herdsman who nurtured Paris.!5 The possibility arises that Porphyrius cited Callimachus as having mentioned Aesacus, and that a commentator on the Metamorphoses picked up the allusion to Callimachus via Porphyrius. The latter was not uninterested in Hellenistic poetry; he is the ultimate source of a quotation from Callimachus which we now know to belong to the Victoria Berenices in Aetia book 3 (fr. 383.9-10 Pf. = SH 254.9-10)," and among the poets who made Hector a son of Apollo, Porphyrius in the Paralipomena listed Alexander of Aetolia (fr. 13 Powell), Euphorion (fr. 56 Powell) and Lycophron (Alexandra 265). If the Ovidian commentator was using Porphyrius (whose work was well known in the West!5), this note on the Metamorphoses could hardly have

162

A. S. HOLLIS

originated before AD 300. We must now do what Pfeiffer thought unnecessary, and ask whether Callimachus might have mentioned Aesacus, the prophetic

son of Priam whose warning about Hecuba's offspring was so disastrously neglected. Note that Aesacus appears in two poets closely allied to Callimachus — Euphorion (fr. 55 P.)? and Lycophron (Alexandra 224). One thinks naturally of the Aetia, our knowledge of which has grown to the point where we know the entire contents of book 4, and almost all the contents of book 3.?! There is no Trojan story in what we know of books 3-4,?? and so the search moves to the much less well-documented territory of Aetia books 1-2. And I think there could be an appropriate place for Aesacus in Aetia book 1, linked to fr. 34 Pf. We are told that Callimachus mentioned Φαλάκρη as one of the three promontories of Ida. Much the most notable tradition about Phalacra was that its trees were cut down to build the ships in which Paris and his attendants sailed to Greece, from where they would return with Helen. These ships are called Φαλακραῖαι κόραι by Lycophron (Alexandra 24).? Thus several scholars?* have conjectured that in Callimachus too Phalacra was connected with Paris' voyage to Greece; the name itself would supply an appropriate aetion — to explain why the promontory was called ‘Bald’, having originally been stripped of trees to build Paris’ fleet. In that case Callimachus could well have been moved to reflect (like Alexandra in Lycophron 224ff.) that the whole disastrous sequence of events might have been averted if only Priam had paid attention to the warnings of Aesacus. Ovid Metamorphoses 6.124 ut pastor [sc. Apollo] Macareida luserit Issen comes from Arachne's catalogue of caelestia crimina, deceptions through which male gods made love to mortal women; there is just this one line on Issa daughter of Macareus, specifying no geographical setting. ‘Apuleius’ fr. 52 Osann is clearly aimed in this direction: Isse filia Macarei ... cuius amore pavit armenta patris in Arcadia Apollo. Ovidius ait mandato Iovis id factum, quo tempore Mercurius

ex Pylio?® agro boves illi rapuit. Why does the grammarian add in Arcadia, and what of Ovidius ait... when Ovid apparently says no such thing? ‘Apuleius’ at his most

lunatic? I thought so at first," but now realize that ‘Apuleius’ is most ingeniously using this line of Metamorphoses 6 to solve an enigma in Metamorphoses 2. The following passage marks a transition between the episodes of Ocyroe and Battus. Apollo would like to help Ocyroe,

TRACES OF ANCIENT COMMENTARIES ON OVID'S METAMORPHOSES

163

but lacks the power, and is absent on other business (2.676-86): flebat, opemque tuam frustra Philyreius heros, Delphice, poscebat. nam nec rescindere magni iussa Iovis poteras, nec, si rescindere posses,

tunc aderas; Elin Messeniaque arva colebas. illud erat tempus, quo te pastoria pellis

680

texit, onusque fuit baculum silvestre sinistrae,

alterius dispar septenis fistula cannis; dumque amor est curae, dum te tua fistula mulcet, incustoditae Pylios memorantur in agros processisse boves. videt has Atlantide Maia natus, et arte sua silvis occultat abactas.

685

Ovid does not tell us with whom the god is in love, but illud erat tempus (680) teasingly suggests that it was a well-known occasion

which we should be able to identify for ourselves. The obvious answer is that Apollo is in love with Admetus,” and so 'Lactantius' interprets (Met. II, fab. 11, p.640.15ff. Magnus): Apollo ... cum pecus Admeti, Pheretis filii? pasceret ..., boves eius in agros Pyliae regionis progressae sunt.

But there is an equally obvious objection: Admetus lived in Thessaly, while Ovid here specifies the Western Peloponnese, Elin Messeniaque arva (679). Some older scholars toyed with emendation to produce a Thessalian setting (Othryn Magnesiaque arva), but what then would we do with Pylios (684)? Most commentators shrug their shoulders, like E.J. Kenney:?! *As Admetus was king of Thessaly, it is natural to ask what Apollo was doing in the Western Peloponnese. Ovid was evidently less interested in consistency than in manipulating his narrative so asto bring in Battus and involve Mercury." One may feel that Ovid has unnecessarily made trouble for himself; he need not have defined the location of Apollo's cattle-herding so precisely with the references to Elis and Messenia (679) and the territory of Pylos (684). Or, if he wanted to set the petrifaction of Battus firmly in the Western Peloponnese, he could have described Hermes’ journey with the stolen cattle from Thessaly to Arcadia, and thence to Cory-

phasion, as in Antoninus Liberalis 23.?? If the geography does not worry you overmuch, there is another difficulty, about which modern commentators are strangely reticent: what would Admetus be doing in the chronological environment of Metamorphoses 2? He appears as one of the hunters of the Calydonian Boar in Metamorphoses 8.310, cumque Pheretiade; like many of the hunters, he is

an old hand from the Argo (Apollonius Rhodius 1.49). So if Ovid was

164

A.S. HOLLIS

thinking of Admetus in Metamorphoses 2, he would have introduced the same hero twice in the Metamorphoses, at an interval of six books and approximately eight generations (if we reckon by the Attic kings from Cecrops in book 2 to Theseus in book 8). Thus Admetus fits neither the topography nor the chronology of

Metamorphoses 2; the near-universal conviction that Ovid must be referring to him in Metamorphoses 2 may reflect a belief that there was no other, perhaps more suitable, occasion when Apollo became

a shepherd for love. But ‘Apuleius’ fr. 52 shows that there was. The clever point about Arcadian Macareus is that he puts right both topography and chronology; presumably that was the purpose of the

original commentator

who

was not satisfied with the Admetus

interpretation (already prevalent in antiquity, as we can see from ‘Lactantius’). Macareus’ foundation Macaria was just west of the

river Alpheios (Pausanias 8.36.9),? harmonizing excellently with Messenia, Elis and Pylos.** And Macareus was a son of Lycaon (Pausanias 8.3.2), i.e. of the right generation for Metamorphoses 2. It would be nice to find that the Arcadian Macareus had a daughter

called Issa, but our meagre sources are silent about his progeny.?5 At the least, Apuleius’ ultimate source deserves high marks for ingenuity and for learning too, since, among our surviving authors, only Pausanias mentions the Arcadian Macareus. Has the commentator

penetrated the poet's intention? That is hard to claim with confidence, but seems quite possible; I am not convinced that Ovid was totally unconcerned about such glaring incongruities of time and place as

those which the Admetus interpretation would entail.” A final question: why does ‘Apuleius’ say that Apollo fed the cattle of Macareus mandato Iovis? It looks as though the phrase comes from Metamorphoses 2.678 iussa Iovis. Again most ingenious, but this time surely wrong — the idea perhaps borrowed from the older form of the Admetus myth, in which Apollo is compelled by Zeus to become a herdsman, as a punishment for killing the Cyclopes (Euripides Alcestis 6f. καί pe θητεύειν πατήρ, θνητῷ nap’ ἀνδρὶ τῶνδ᾽ Grow ἠνάγκασεν). Ovid’s words are not entirely clear, but they should look back to the fate of Ocyroe, who had aroused divine displeasure (659 numinis iram) by revealing too much of the future (639 fatorum arcana canebat). Apollo, although invoked by Chiron (Philyreius heros, 676), is unable to prevent the metamorphosis which puts an

end to Ocyroe's indiscretions. One may suspect that ‘Apuleius” source was at some point quarrying a detailed commentary on Metamorphoses 6. Fr. 52

TRACES OF ANCIENT COMMENTARIES ON OVID'S METAMORPHOSES

165

belongs to line 124 (Issa, above), while the very next line is the subject of fr. 12: Staphylus ... fuit filius Bacchi ... vel ex Erigone Icarii filia ... Ovidio ... in metamorphoseon ... [sc. testante].°”

Without

doubt the allusion is to Metamorphoses 6.125 Liber ut

Erigonen falsa deceperit uva. The context implies that Bacchus made

love to Erigone

by transforming himself into a bunch of

grapes;? this time ‘Lactantius’ interprets correctly (Met. VI, fab. 1, p.662.1-2 Magnus, Liber quoque in uvam versus, ut Erigonen comprimeret). But the source of ‘Apuleius’ took things further. Working on the principle that οὐκ ἀποφώλιοι £bvai/ ἀθανάτων (Odyssey 11.249f.), he concluded that Erigone should have borne a child to

Bacchus, and wondered who that child might be. Etymological appropriateness may have led him to Staphylus (elsewhere a son of Bacchus, but not by Erigone), since σταφυλή means a bunch of grapes, and so the boy's name suits the transformed shape of his

father.*! In ‘Apuleius’ fr. 51 Azania est pars Arcadiae, ubi natum Iovem tradit Euphorion [166 Meineke], I find the reference to Euphorion (considered spurious or at best doubtful by all editors of Euphorion since Meineke) highly plausible; it can be made to cohere with an unquestioned fragment of Euphorion (170 Powell), and would represent imitation of, but variation from, Callimachus (Hymn 1.20).

Recent papyrus discoveries show this to be typical of the relationship between Callimachus and Euphorion, but it seems hardly possible that a forger ca AD 1500 could have appreciated that point.* It is by

no means certain that ‘Apuleius’ fr. 51 derives from a comment on Ovid's Metamorphoses, but these words would be entirely appropriate as part of a note on Metamorphoses 2.405-6 Arcadiae tamen est impensior illi/ cura suae, explaining why Ovid calls Arcadia ‘his own [i.e. Jupiter's] Arcadia’ — because Jupiter was born there. That possibility receives slight support from what we find in ‘Lactantius’ Met. Il, fab. 6 (p.638.17ff. Magnus): Iuppiter ... cum circa Nonacrinum montem Arcadiae, in quo genitus existimatur, vagaretur, in Callistus incidit amorem.

Existimatur seems slightly odd; it is not the custom of *Lactantius' to present his narrative as a matter of mere opinion. Could this be a hint that a fuller ancient commentary mentioned both claimants (Crete and Arcadia) to the birthplace of Zeus and cited a source (?Eu-

phorion) in favour of Arcadia? The summary of 'Lactantius' is a fair

166

A.S. HOLLIS

mess: Ovid does not mention the mons Nonacrinus; still less does he say that Zeus was born there.“ Perhaps ‘Lactantius’ has clumsily

conflated two notes deriving from an ancient commentary. One explained Arcadiae ... suae by means of the (disputed) tradition that Zeus was born there; the other discussed the site of Zeus' encounter with Callisto. In this case too Ovid does not say that it occurred on

the Nonacrian mountain. But another authority does. At this point we leave ‘Apuleius’ behind, to concentrate more on

*Lactantius’. We have already cited“ Mer. II, fab. 6 (p.639.6ff. Magnus) and wondered why the summarizer should quote one and a half lines of an

unknown

hexameter

poem,

sed lucet in astris/

Callisto, renovatque suos sine fluctibus ignes," to illustrate a commonplace of mythology. One must put alongside these four high-class

hexameters preserved in Hyginus’ Fabulae:** tuque Lycaonio mutatae semine nymphae, quam gelido raptam de vertice Nonacrinae oceano prohibet semper se tingere Tethys, ausa suae quia sit quondam succumbere alumnae.

Many scholars (including most recently Edward Courtney) have thought these two passages come from the same poem, with only a

small gap in between; sed would indicate that the prohibition of Callisto's constellation from washing in the stream of Oceanus proved ineffective. Could the lines quoted by Hyginus have been in the mind of an ancient commentator on the Metamorphoses, and so

be ultimately responsible for Nonacrinum montem in our surviving *Lactantius' (p.638.19 Magnus), even though our ‘Lactantius’ does

not quote the earlier lines? I suspect? that the original commentator

may have quoted the whole passage of verse, not just the line and a half in ‘Lactantius’. And he would have had reason to do so, since it appears that Ovid is making a detailed verbal imitation of the whole

passage.?? Consider the following parallels: Morel, Incert. 9-10

Ovid Metamorphoses 2

9.1

Lycaonio

496

Lycaoniae

9.2

de vertice Nonacrinae

409

in virgine Nonacrina?!

9.3

prohibet

528

prohibete

se tingere

530

tingatur

alumnae

527

alumnae

lucet in astris

508-9

9.4 10.1

inter sidera .../ fulsit

Ovid also lays stress on the valiant way in which Callisto tried to defend her virginity (Metamorphoses 2.434-6). Those lines may be

TRACES OF ANCIENT COMMENTARIES ON OVID'S METAMORPHOSES

167

intended as a counterblast to ausa ... succumbere? in the anonymous fragment, which might suggest that Callisto's supplanting of Juno was deliberate, or at least voluntary and that, of course, is how Juno views the matter in Ovid too (518, laedere). So perhaps an ancient commentator on the Metamorphoses quoted the whole passage to illustrate extensive and detailed imitation by Ovid. Very tentatively, I wonder whether we can identify the author of

these verses as a poet whom Ovid much admired. Their style seems neoteric, or at least pre-Virgilian.? Hyginus (Fabula 177) quotes incert. 9 with the prefix in creticis versibus; Morel himself obelized creticis, but many scholars (including now Courtney p.457) have believed that Hyginus is giving us the title of the poem, Cretica.’* A Greek Κρητικά was ascribed to Epimenides by [Eratosthenes] Catasterismi 27 "Empevidne [fr. 24 D-K5] ὁ xà Κρητικὰ ἱστορῶν and a fragment of Varro Atacinus may be quoted from ‘Varro in

Epimenide’.** It seems reasonable that a Latin adaptation of the Greek original should have been called sometimes Epimenides, sometimes Cretica. As far as I can see, the style of these anonymous lines would suit Varro Atacinus well; we know how much Ovid

admired his epic Argonauts.’® There is room for further work on 'Lactantius', both in the collation of manuscripts?" and in discussion of places where the summary diverges from, or supplements, the text of Ovid. To take

one more example of the latter:** in Mer. II, fab. 8 (p.640.3-5 Magnus) we read how Coronis resolutely defended her virginity against Neptune, and was saved when Minerva transformed her into a crow (cf. Metamorphoses 2.576-88): cui cum vim adferret (sc. Neptunus], ab eadem dea (sc. Minerva] propter virginitatem tenaciter custoditam in avem cornicem conversa est, ita ut templo deae submoveretur.

The clause ita ... submoveretur makes no sense in the context; we expect a reference to Minerva's resulting patronage of the crow, corresponding to Metamorphoses 2.588 data sum comes inculpata Minervae. It is true that the crow later lost Minerva's favour and protection by revealing the transgression of the daughters of Cecrops, but that is covered by 'Lactantius' in p.640.1 Magnus quam ob rem dea eam a se abalienavit (corresponding to Metamorphoses 2.563 ut dicar tutela pulsa Minervae). Ovid nowhere states that the crow was banished from Athena's temple. Nonetheless, that is precisely what happened in the rare myth of the crow which formed the literary model for this episode in Ovid, deriving from Callimachus'

168

A.S. HOLLIS

Hecale.*9 The sentence of banishment from the Athenian Acropolis is conveyed by Callimachus’ own source, the Atthidographer ‘Amelesagoras', in the following words:* τῇ δὲ κορώνῃ διὰ τὴν κακαγγελίαν εἰπεῖν ὡς εἰς Ἀκρόπολιν οὐ θέμις αὐτῇ ἔσται ἀφικέσθαι. Probably *Lactantius' has misplaced a clause deriving from a much fuller summary of the myth of the crow, which recognized that Ovid's source was the Hecale, and recounted the myth as it was told in

Callimachus.*! I will end with an ancient comment on Virgil's Georgics, which, however, was clearly first fashioned for Ovid's Metamorphoses.

Probus in Verg. Georg.

1.399 (Serv. IILii, p.365 Thilo):

dilectae Thetidi alcyones] varia est opinio harum volucrum. itaque in altera [Metamorphoses 11.410ff.] sequitur Ovidius Nicandrum [fr. 64], in altera [Metamorphoses 7.401] Theodorum [SH 750].

One

might

wonder

whether

this

originally

came

from a

full

commentary on the Metamorphoses, or from a more specialized work on its sources. The commentator was not defeated by Ovid's Lycophronic circumlocution neptem Polypemonis (Metamorphoses 7.401), “the granddaughter of Polypemon" = Alcyone daughter of Sciron.°? The second source mentioned here, Theodorus, was not much older than Ovid, since, as well as Metamorphoses (SH 749 and, presumably, 750) he also wrote a hexameter poem on Cleopatra (SH

752). If it is permissible to bring together all the features from all the

texts mentioned in this paper, for a tentative reconstruction of our ‘hypothetical

ancient

commentary

(or commentaries)

on

Ovid's

Metamorphoses, we may note in particular the citation of learned Hellenistic poets (Phanocles, Callimachus, Euphorion, Nicander and Theodorus), verbatim quotation of a Latin poem which Ovid

imitated in detail,? variant views on obscurities (the identity of Apollo's love in Metamorphoses 2.683, and the birthplace of Zeus) and the further implications of Ovid's narrative (the crow's banish-

ment from the Athenian Acropolis and Erigone's child by Bacchus). These are but scattered samples in our surviving texts of what may have been regular occurrences in a full ancient commentary.‘*

TRACES OF ANCIENT COMMENTARIES ON OVID'S METAMORPHOSES

169

ΝΟΤΕΒ See Brooks Otis ‘The Argumenta of the so-called Lactantius’ HSCP 47 (1936) 131-63 (still the standard article on this subject) 134. R.J. Tarrant ‘Ovid’, in Texts and Transmission ed. L.D. Reynolds (Oxford 1983) 257-84, 278 believes that

*Lactantian' material was present in some form in all the ancient codices that survived into the Carolingian period.

According to Tarrant (n.1) 278 n.4, this name is not attached to the Tituli and Narrationes before the fifteenth century. Op. cit. (n.1) 153.

Hesiod (usually = pseudo-Hesiod) is the author much *Lactantius' (seven occurrences); one may note three Hesiod in the little that survives of an alphabetical metamorphoses first published by T. Renner 'A

the most often cited by references to (pseudo)papyrus dictionary of Papyrus Dictionary of

Metamorphoses’ HSCP 82 (1978) 277-93. I asked Dr M.L. West why he and Professor Merkelbach had placed all but one (fr. 311 M.-W.) of the references to

Hesiodic fragments in ‘Lactantius’ among their ‘fragmenta dubia’ (351-4 M.W.). With his kind permission, I quote his reply: ''The doubts go back to Sittl (Ἡσιόδου τὰ ἅπαντα, 1889). In 351 he thought the reference might be merely to Leucothea's descent from Belos. 352 he seems simply to have omitted, and indeed it is hard to believe that the story had a place in any of the poems ascribed to H. 353 he reduces to the genealogical proposition that Priam (Tithonus' brother) was Memnon's uncle. 354 he considered to be based on //. 18.489 and Od. 5.275. Following Sittl, Rzach put the four fragments among his ἀμφισβητήσιμα (250-2, 260), and we were no doubt partly influenced by Rzach.” Incidentally Dr West drew my attention to Hes. fr. 122, which comes from alate and highly suspect source (Natalis Comes, cf. Pfeiffer on Call. fr. [818]) but nonetheless was hesitantly retained by M.-W. among the genuine fragments. 7 E. Courtney The Fragmentary Latin Poets (Oxford 1993) 458 no. 9. This helps us to identify Phanocles as the likely model for another passage on Cygnus (very much in the Hellenistic manner) in Aen. 10.189-93. I shall return to this question (p.166 below). The usual suspect is the man who first Published some of the fragments in his

Antiquarum Lectionum Commentarii (1516), Lodovico Ricchieri of Rovigo (in Latin

Ludovicus

Caelius Rhodiginus). The real culprit, however, may be a

somewhat older figure; R. Ellis in his Oxford 1881 edition of Ovid Jbis p.vii wrote: "fragmenta ista ante finem saec. xv conflata crediderim." In its present form the work does not even claim to be ancient, as we can see from the reference to the Suda (no doubt A 1445 Adler) in fr. 8: one of Caelius' fragments (see Osann xxvii) even mentioned Planudes' fourteenth-century translation of the Meta-

morphoses.

As far as Latin poets are concerned, based mainly on those mentioned in Ovid Ex Ponto 4.16 and in Quintilian's survey of Roman poetry (10.1.85ff.).

10.

I discussed ‘Apuleius’ De Orthographia, Callimachus fr. [815] Pf. and Euphorion 166 Meineke

in ZPE 92 (1992) 109-14. This article covers some of the same

ground, but pays much more attention to the Ovidian aspect, and also (I hope) makes some further progress on the fragments of Callimachus, Euphorion and Porphyrius. 11.

Achilles Statius (1524-81) copied out ‘L. Caecilii Minutiani A de orthographia trium librorum fragmenta', a few of which

leii grammatici ready been

A. S. HOLLIS

170

published

by Ludovicus

Commentarii

(1516).

The

Caelius Rhodiginus manuscript

in his Antiquarum Lectionum

of Achilles

Statius

turned

up at the

beginning of the nineteenth century, and was published first by A. Mai (1823), then by F. Osann (Darmstadt 1826). I quote 'Apuleius' from Osann's edition. 12.

13. 14.

Not, I suspect, a literal corruption, but a trick of the brain, with which we will all

be familiar: wishing to describe a relationship (c.g. father and son) we end up by specifying the wrong side of it. Similarly (though not identically) in Et. Gen. s.v. ‘Adios (SH 641) we find “pntépa [immo θυγατέρα Haupt]". Schneider

(on

his

Call.

fr. 545a),

while

noting

*Apuleius', considered emending pater to patris.

the

untrustworthiness

of

I should, however, enter the caveat that the name of Porphyrius is sometimes

used fraudulently (or at least misleadingly) in the De Orthographia (written 1449, first published 1471) compiled by the first Vatican librarian Giovanni Tortelli (Tortellius), at least in the opinion of H. Schrader Porphyrii Quaestionum Homericarum ad Iliadem pertinentium Reliquias ... (Leipzig 1880) 354-6. 15.

See H. Schrader ‘Porphyrios bei Eustathios zur Bowria’ Hermes 14 (1879) 231-52, 241; in Porph. Quaest. (see above, n.14) 356 n. 1, Schrader added another

fragment of this work from Σ Od. 9.197 γυνὴ Μάρωνος Οἰδέρκη, ὡς Πορφύριος, which shows that Aesacus natus Priami auctore Porphyrio could quite reasonably have derived from the Paralipomena.

16.

It is worth noting Σ ZI. 3.325 (quoted by Schrader [n.15] 241) Πορφύριός φησιν ἰστορεῖν τὸν γράψαντα tà τραγῳδούμενα ὅτι ὁ θρέψας τὸν Πάριν ᾿Αρχιάλας ἐκαλεῖτο (Erbse vol. I p.417 obelizes ἀρχιάλας). Porphyrius might well have linked the name of the herdsman who brought up Paris to the name of the prophet who would have had him killed at birth.

17.

Porphyrius is also responsible for Call. fr. 427 (from the prose Περὶ ὀρνέων) and for a comment on the subject matter of fr. 588.1.

18.

See Pierre Courcelle Late Latin Writers and their Greek Sources tr. Harry E. Weddeck (Cambridge Mass. 1969), especially 6f. and 43. The matter is not uncontroversial.

19.

In Met. 11.749ff. Ovid does not mention the prophetic powers of Aesacus, but Professor E.J. Kenney

‘Ovidiana’

CQ

n.s. 43 (1993) 458-67, 466 raised the

possibility that we might find another reference to the neglected warning by emending AA 3.440 to read praeceptis Priamo si foret usa sati. 1 like this idea very much. 20.

It seems that Euphorion (fr. 55 P.) named Aesacus' mother as ᾿Αρίσβη (another one for the Paralipomena?); in Ovid (Met. 11.763) she is Alexiroe. Note also SH

453 (probably, though not who was killed instead of 21.

quite certainly, Euphorion) on the grave of Munippus Paris.

The only remaining gap is between the initial poem of book 3 (Victoria Berenices = SH 254-69) and the Thesmophoria Attica (fr. 63 Pf.). See P.J. Parsons *Callimachus: Victoria Berenices’

22.

ZPE 25 (1977) 1-50, 46-8.

One must always bear in mind the unpredictability of a learned poet in introducing brief incidental allusions, c.g. the reference to Peleus (fr. 24.21 Pf.) in the middle of an aetion about Heracles and Thiodamas.

Cf. Colluthus 14 Ἰδαίης τρικάρηνον ὑπὸ πρηῶνα Φαλάκρης (also connected with Paris). Lycophron, however, mentions Phalacra also in connexion with the Locrian virgins (Alex. 1170), which would allow an alternative linking of Call. fr. 34 Pf. to fr. 35.

TRACES OF ANCIENT COMMENTARIES ON OVID'S METAMORPHOSES

24.

See Pfeiffer on fr. 34.

25.

The MS. has pilio according to Osann matter by printing his own conjecture

26.

op. cit. (n.10) 113.

71

(p.76), who unfortunately obscures the Pierio.

2.680f. also humorously recall Apollo's first love, when the god hastened to reassure Daphne about his social standing (1.513f. non ego sum pastor, non hic armenta gregesque/ horridus observo). 28.

A form of the Admetus legend popular from the time of Callimachus (Hymn 2.47-9) and Rhianus (fr. 10 Powell). Brooks Otis (n.1) 135 wrote of this phrase “Pheres is not mentioned by Ovid"—

neither, of course, is Admetus! One might, I suppose, argue that Ovid's reticence about the name of Apollo's beloved is an attempt to conceal geographical and chronological difficulties, but such a view of Ovid does not greatly appeal to me. A composite effort mentioned in P. Burman's 1727 Variorum edition. 3l.

In his notes to Ovid, Metamorphoses, translated by A.D. Melville (Oxford 1986) 389. A.M. Keith The Play of Fictions: Studies in Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book 2 (Michigan 1992) 95 with n.1 describes the transition as “troublesome”, and notes

cautiously that “Apollo's flocks are usually assumed to belong to Admetus". 32.

The list of authors attached to Heteroeumena bk. 1) and he transformation of Battus. In Thessaly, though the beloved

this chapter first mentions Nicander (fr. 40, from has been thought to be Ovid's source for the Ant. Lib. Apollo's herding is definitely set in is not Admetus but Hymenaeus (a grandson of

Admetus), and a detailed itinerary is given for Hermes’ journey with the stolen

cattle (Ant. Lib. 23.3) xai ἦγεν αὐτὰς τῆς Φθιώτιδος καὶ διὰ Λοκρίδος καὶ Πελοπόννησον διὰ Κορίνθου καὶ Βάττου Σκοπιάς. Note that Hermes

ἐλαύνων Βοιωτίας παρὰ τὸ hides the

διά te Πελασγῶν καὶ δι᾽ "Ayatag xai Μεγαρίδος xai ἐντεῦθεν εἰς Μαινάλιον καὶ τὰς λεγομένας stolen cattle near Coryphasium

(Ant. Lib. 23.5), i.e. Messenian Pylos, while Ovid's reference to Elis (Mer. 2.679)

suggests a more northerly setting for Pylios ... agros (684), perhaps Triphylian Pylos. Iliad 2.591f. mention Pylos and the river Alpheios together, while Iliad 11.671 f . describe a cattle raid into Elis led by Nestor in his youth. See G.S. Kirk on Iliad 2.591-4 and J.B. Hainsworth on 11.670-762 (both in the Cambridge Iliad

commentary)

and

Stephanie

West

on

Od.

3.4ff.

(in

the

Oxford

Odyssey

commentary). Σ Il. 11.726 (vol. III p.269 Erbse) speaks of ‘Arcadian Pylos’, 130 stades from the Alpheios. 33.

There called Macareae. For other references to Macaria, cf. Paus. 8.3.3 and 8.27.4 (where it is numbered among the towns of the Parrhasians). See n.32 above.

35.

We hear of a Lesbian Macar or Macareus who has a daughter Issa (e.g. Parthenius, SH 631), and it is commonly supposed that Met. 6.124 refers to her. One could mention certain mythological connexions between Arcadia and Lesbos which emerge from the article ‘Lesbiaka’ by K. Tümpel Philologus 48 = N.F. 2(1889) 99-130. In P.Oxy. 3711 fr. 1 col. i.21-3 a Macar takes a bronze lion from Pholoe (called *Parrhasian' in Callimachus fr. 802 incerti auctoris) to

Lesbos. Note also the Locrian Macar who has a daughter called Amphissa, loved by Apollo in Paus. 10.38.4.

36.

In this case the discrepancies would be more flagrant than in the examples given by Kenney in the Melville translation (n.31 above) xxviii-xxix. Again, one should stress that Ovid does not actually mention Admetus in Met. 2.

A. S. HOLLIS

172

The full text reads Luciano in barbato philosopho et Ovidio in metamorphoseon testantibus, an illustration of the way lunacy mixes with sense in ‘Apuleius’. Could the first reference be due to a hazy recollection of Julian's Misopogon? Not that Julian has anything to say about Erigone’s parentage. Osann (p.41) refers to Met. 10.451 Erigoneque pio sacrata parentis amore, which obviously does not help.

39.

Such a transformation is not mentioned by P.M.C. Forbes Irving Metamorphosis in Greek Myths (Oxford 1990) 191-4, on Dionysus the Shape Shifter. See P. Chuvin Mythologie et geographie dionysiaques. Recherches sur l'oeuvre de Nonnus de Panopolis

41.

(Clermont-Ferrand 1991) 192f.

The rape of Erigone and her subsequent childbirth do not fit very well into what we know of Eratosthenes' Erigone (much the best-known treatment of this myth) in which the girl hangs herself in grief at her father's death. I have wondered whether there was a deviationist form of the Erigone myth in Hellenistic poetry later than Eratosthenes, and whether the originator might be Parthenius; in $H 633 (though from the Heracles rather than the Meramorphoses) Erigone is in

some way associated with a bunch of grapes. Both Nonnus (Dion. 47.248f.) and the astrological poet Maximus (491-6) stress that the catasterized Erigone will have nothing to do with the grape — might this be directed against a variant version in which her constellation carried a bunch of grapes instead of an ear of corn? It is reasonable to see a reflection of the variant that Dionysus made love to Erigone in Statius, Theb. 4.691f. (the god speaks) meae .../ ... Erigones, although the ancient commentator on the Thebaid interprets differently. 42.

See op. cit. (n.10) 110-12. I should add a second occurrence (as well as Stat. Theb.

4.292) of a name connected with *Azania' in Latin poetry (also in the context of Zeus’ Arcadian birth) in Ovid Fasti 3.659f. invenies qui te nymphen Azanida dicant/ teque Iovi primos, Anna, dedisse cibos. But, as is the case with Call. Hymn 1.20, a forger ca AD 1500 could not have used that as a basis for fabricating ‘Apuleius’ fr. 51, since the undoubtedly correct "Azanida' in Fasti 3.659 had to wait until the twentieth century to be restored, by E.H. Alton ‘The Zulichemianus, Mazarinianus, and other Mss. of the Fasti of Ovid’ Hermathena 20 (1926) 101-18,

114.

43.

The continuation of the fragment ... inde se proselenes [?proselenos] Arcades, et

Cretensibus infensi somewhat resembles Statius Theb. 4.292 Idaeis ululatibus aemulus Azan, which may also glance at Euphorion. I should not have said (op. cit. [n. 10] 111) that the Statian commentator refers this phrase to the chants of the Curetes which protected the infant Zeus (though that seems to me a preferable interpretation, with aemulus recalling the dispute between the Cretans and Arcadians in Callimachus Hymn 1.4-9 and, perhaps, Euphorion); the ancient commentator speaks of worship of the Magna Mater. If we had to select a mountain for that honour, it would surely be Mt Lycaeus. We might, however, emend in quo to in qua, so that ‘Lactantius’ would merely be saying that Zeus was born in Arcadia. Brooks Otis (n.1) 135f. omits this case from his list (which does not claim to be exhaustive) of places where ' Lactantius" adds to, or diverges from, the text of Ovid. Though he calls Callisto ‘the Nonacrian girl’ (Met. 2.409). p.159 above. 47.

Morel FPL p.173, incert. 10 = Courtney Fragmentary Latin Poets p.458 no. 9.

48.

Morel p.172, incert. 9, cf. Courtney p.457 no. 8 (the text of the first two lines is disputable — I print them in the form which I would favour). Quite apart from

TRACES OF ANCIENT COMMENTARIES ON OVID'S METAMORPHOSES

173

the fact that this fragment seems to cohere with the one quoted by ‘Lactantius’ (Morel, incert. 10), it appears to me extremely unlikely that these lines could have been Hyginus' own translation from a Greek original; the quality is high and the style markedly neoteric. I agree with Courtney (and others) that the lines must be

an address to Callisto’s son Arcas.

49.

Like R. Franz ‘De Callistus Fabula’ Leipziger Studien zur Classischen Philologie 12 (1890) 330. To reverse the relationship between the two poets would involve giving a postAugustan date to Hyginus' Fabulae and arguing that the anonymous poet was a neoteric born after his time.

51.

Note the rhythm, with spondaic fifth foot in both cases. This application of ‘succumbere’ + dative to a mistress, meaning ‘to supplant a wife in her husband's bed", is very audacious, but is virtually guaranteed by Hyginus Astr. 2.1.5 cui [sc. Tunoni] Callisto succubuerit ut paelex, clearly based upon the same anonymous fragment.

53.

I sympathize with Morel (p.172) who includes the two fragments under the

heading “versus aevi Catulliani".

Cf. Hyg. Astr. 2.5.1 ut ait qui Cretica conscripsit (though the reference there is probably to a Greek poem); Hyg. Astr. certainly knew our anonymous Latin poem (see n.52 above). Professor Nisbet has suggested to me that in Hyg. Fab. 177 we might delete versibus after creticis, on the hypothesis that versibus was a later addition by someone who misguidedly thought that creticis referred to the metre, rather than the title, of the poem — a trace of the same thinking appears in The Myths of Hyginus translated and edited by Mary Grant (Univ. of Kansas

1960) 137: “The verses quoted, however, are not in Cretic meter, but in heroic." Callisto and Arcas are not out of place in a poem entitled Cretica because, at least according to Aratus (Phaen. 30ff.), it was from Crete that the Bears were raised to the skies. 55.

So one manuscript of the Brevis Expositio on Virgil Georgics 1.397, citing Varr. At. fr. 21 Morel. Courtney, however (p.246), prefers Bergk's correction ‘Varro in Ephemeride' for his Varr. At. fr. 13; that has quite a lot to be said for it (see Courtney).

56.

The notion that the author of these lines might be Varro Atacinus is not in fact new. R. Unger wished to replace Hyginus' ascription in creticis versibus with in Argonauticis Varronis, and even persuaded A. Riese (though the latter rejected Unger's emendation) to include these lines among the fragments of Varr. At. See Franz (n.49) 327. See Tarrant (n.1) 278.

Again, not mentioned by Brooks Otis (n.1) 134ff. It seems likely that the expulsion of the crow was concluded in Hecale fr. 73.6H. (frs. 71-72 H. almost certainly describe the encounter between the crow and Athena when the bird was unwise enough to tell the goddess that the daughters of Cecrops had betrayed their trust). Quoted in full in my Oxford 1990 edition of the Hecale, p.230. 61.

It is possible, however, that the Ovidian commentator was drawing on Lucretius' summary of the myth (6.749ff.) which, in turn, clearly comes from Callimachus

(note 754 Graium ut cecinere poetae).

174

A.S. HOLLIS

62.

Ovid has been unobtrusively careful to place this Alcyone in her correct chronological position, since Met. 7 also contains the death of her father Sciron (444).

63.

The line and a half on Callisto (Morel p.173, incert. 10) is in fact the only verbatim citation from another poet to be found in ‘Lactantius’.

64.

This article grew out of a paper delivered to the Leeds International Latin Seminar on Ovid in February 1993. I am most grateful for the lively contributions made by the audience on that occasion.

PAPERS OF THE

LEEDS

INTERNATIONAL

LATIN SEMINAR 9

(1996) 175-90

Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90- 1

LUCAN BELLUM CIVILE 1.649-65: THE ASTROLOGY OF P. NIGIDIUS FIGULUS REVISITED ROBERT HANNAH (University of Otago)

The end of Book 1 of Lucan's Bellum Civile is taken up by a series of

predictions of the coming conflict between Caesar and Pompey. Between two otherwise unknown representatives of the arts of prediction (Arruns, an Etruscan augur, and an anonymous woman under divine inspiration), Lucan places a known character, P. Nigidius Figulus, a Neopythagorean philosopher and an astrologer.! It is his message that will be reconsidered here in detail. at Figulus, cui cura deos secretaque caeli nosse fuit, quem non stellarum Aegyptia Memphis aequaret uisu numerisque «sequentibus astra, ‘aut hic errat' ait ‘nulla cum lege per aeuum mundus et incerto discurrunt sidera motu, aut, si fata mouent, urbi generique paratur humano matura lues. terraene dehiscent

640

645

subsidentque urbes, an tollet feruidus aer temperiem? segetes tellus infida negabit, omnis an infusis miscebitur unda uenenis? quod cladis genus, o superi, qua peste paratis

saevitiam? extremi multorum tempus in unum

650

conuenere dies. summo si frigida caelo stella nocens nigros Saturni accenderet ignis, Deucalioneos fudisset Aquarius imbres

totaque diffuso latuisset in aequore tellus. si saeuum radiis Nemeaeum, Phoebe, Leonem nunc premeres, toto fluerent incendia mundo

655

succensusque tuis flagrasset curribus aether. 175

176

ROBERT HANNAH

hi cessant ignes. tu, qui flagrante minacem Scorpion incendis cauda chelasque peruris, quid tantum, Gradiue, paras? nam mitis in alto

660

Iuppiter occasu premitur, Venerisque salubre sidus hebet, motuque celer Cyllenius haeret, et caelum Mars solus habet. cur signa meatus deseruere suos mundoque obscura feruntur,

ensiferi nimium fulget latus Orionis?

665

inminet armorum rabies, ferrique potestas confundet ius omne manu, scelerique nefando nomen erit uirtus, multosque exibit in annos

hic furor. et superos quid prodest poscere finem? cum domino pax ista uenit. duc, Roma, malorum continuam seriem clademque in tempora multa extrahe civili tantum iam libera bello.'

670

(But Figulus spoke, an eager scrutineer of God

and heaven's secrets (Egyptian Memphis couldn't match

640

his stellar observations, his plotting of stars' courses): “Does the world wander lawless through time and constellations gig on random tracks? For if Fate moves them, Rome is lost and the human race. Will land yawn open, cities

645

sink? will air ablaze consume the nurturing cool? Will earth turn traitress, hold back her grain? will all her waters be mixed with venomed infusion? Gods, what shape of desolation sheer is your cruelty forging? One day has gorged the dying days of millions. If 650 the deadly star of Saturn cold in the height of heaven were kindling its baleful fire, Deucalion’s flood

would have pelted out of Aquarius and beneath a spreading sea the vasty earth would lie unseen. If the rays of Apollo were beating the savage Nemean lion the world would be a burning ball and aether flame with his chariot's fire. These stars are quiet — but what hell's broth is Mars concocting who sears

655

the dangerous flame-tailed Scorpion and scorches his claws while Jupiter lies mild sunk deep

660

in his setting, the benign lustre of Venus dims

and racy Mercury checks in his orbit? Unchallenged the domination of Mars — yet why have constellations quit their course to voyage blinkered through the void, left beyond measure glitt'ring the flank of falchioned Orion? It's warfare insane that's on us, the hand of steely force will wring all right and crimes no man would name be virtue. Year after year will see this frenzy rage, yet better not to ask the gods to end it — a despot will seal that peace. Protract your suffering, Rome, demand no respite, draw out

665

670

your agony to distant generations. Now you are free through civil war alone.")

(Trans. D. Little)

LUCAN BELLUM CIVILE 1.649-65

177

The unanimous scholarly opinion of the content of Figulus’ speech is that the astronomical data are “almost completely inaccurate"? Robert Getty, the scholar who has expended perhaps the most energy

in trying to interpret this passage in modern times, concluded that “Lucan 1.639-72 is a record of a prophecy by Nigidius Figulus which

was actually delivered, but that several astronomical details were misrepresented by this eminent Neopythagorean in the interests of

astrological charlatanry”.? Is this a fair representation of the prophecy? The mistrust that has attached to the astronomical data in this prediction owes much to

Housman. He dismissed the bulk of the astronomical data in the prediction as completely false, on the grounds that all but one detail

failed to coincide with the positions of the planets as calculated for him by the Superintendent of the Nautical Almanac Office for the supposed date of the prediction, “xvi kal. Febr. a.u.c. 705, answering to 28 Nov. 50 B.C. in our reformed calendar”, or '*17 January, 49

B.C." in the republican calendar.’ It is, indeed, remarkable that, despite the context in Lucan's poem,

significant parts of Housman's interpretation are in fact astronomical, rather than astrological. This flaw in Housman's approach to the problem of interpreting Figulus' prediction was first exploited by Robert Getty in 1941. He pointed out that Housman seemed to have forgotten that the zodiac appears to move through a fixed circle, called the dodekatropos, which carries crucial information for the interpretation of a horoscope. The dodekatropos is a construct of astrology, by which the zodiac is divided into twelve sections, called in Latin templa or loci. The first templum is usually situated at the point of the Horoscopus, that part of the zodiac which happens to be rising in the east when an astrologer is casting a horoscope or similar prediction. The second, third, fourth templa, and so on, coincide with the zodiacal signs in their normal order. The importance of this scheme is that each templum has its own influence on an individual's life. Thus the eleventh templum was known as ἀγαθὸς δαίμων (good spirit), and the twelfth as κακὸς δαίμων (bad spirit), each affecting certain aspects of one's life for good or bad. It was into this scheme

that Getty proceeded to fit the planets. Getty accepted that Figulus’ reported positions for the planets were false, but that, nevertheless, in that state they could still be reconstructed in a dodekatropic chart to show their astrological relationships. Those relationships then provided the basis for

Figulus' pessimistic prediction." Twenty years later, the same scholar

178

ROBERT HANNAH

published another paper on this very passage in Lucan. By then he was more interested in the evidence for Figulus’ Neopythagorean thought that he felt was embedded in the passage. But as far as the astrological chart was concerned, he was prepared to make only one significant change: Saturn he now removed from Aquarius; where it

did belong, he did not specify.* Only a small amount of further work has been done on the interpretation of this passage, notably by Beaujeu, who, ina recent and very sympathetic discussion of Lucan’s

use of astronomy, is however still persuaded by Housman into regarding this passage as a piece of "fantaisie consciente"? Getty’s

work seems to me to be much more on the right tracks, in its attempt to read the astrologer's prediction as a piece of astrology. Yet he too still followed Housman in the assumption that the planetary positions presented by Figulus were evidence of poor or deliberately falsified observational astronomy. It is this assumption that will now be examined. While

in fact we

do have

ancient

tables which

present,

to a

remarkable degree of accuracy, the positions of the planets for certain years in the early Imperial period, they do not exist for the late

Republican period.'® Nevertheless, the remarkable accuracy of the surviving tables allows us to use modern calculations of the planetary positions, just as Housman did, with little cause for concern.!! Let us assume that the zodiacal sign of Aries starts at R.A. 0?.? Then the following table indicates the positions of the planets for the time of Figulus, as calculated nowadays. Sun Mercury

© 9

242° 262°

Sagittarius Sagittarius

(2°) (22°)

Venus Mars Jupiter Saturn [Moon

ó d a p »

197* 333? 145° 199* 19°

Libra Pisces Leo Libra Aries

(179) (3°) (25°) (19?) (19°)]

Figure 1 presents these positions in chart form. Our task now is to see if this chart can be read astrologically, much in the same manner as Getty attempted, but with the planets in their true positions for the posited date. First, some general remarks on the overall structure of the prediction. What we have in the prediction of Figulus is not a horoscope as such — that is, a calculation of the planetary and stellar influences on an individual

person at some time in that person’s life — but rather a katarche

LUCAN BELLUM CIVILE 1.649-65

179

(καταρχή) that is, an “investigation of the influence of a momentary configuration of the celestial objects, e.g. at the beginning of a journey, upon the outcome of an enterprise. ... the katarche plays the same role with respect to a specific event as the horoscope does for the life as a whole".!? Like a horoscope, however, a katarche would generally present the planets in a set order. In Greek horoscopes the normal pattern for planets before 150 AD is: Sun, Moon, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Venus, Mercury and the Horoscopus.!* Figulus does

not subscribe to this normal Greek system. Instead, he presents the planets in the following order: Saturn, Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Venus, Mercury and Mars again; the Moon, for some reason, is omitted. 9

eo

IH

3$

|

1

m

pi

\T 6

12

“λον

N

ἐφ

; 2

a

d

#

“2 3

»

Figure1. Planetary positions for 28 November 50 BC (Gregorian) / 17 January 49 BC (Republican)

What Figulus does, it seems, is to begin with three planets which are bound by their similarity of nature, rather than by a pattern ordained by normal horoscopal practice. For two of these three planets, Saturn and Mars, are the malevolent planets, whose influence tends naturally towards evil; the third, theSun, is classed as

neutral (benevolent in company with benevolent planets, malevolent

180

ROBERT HANNAH

among malevolents) but in this context clearly has similar influences to Saturn and Mars. They are opposed in astrological doctrine by the benevolent planets, Jupiter and Venus. Mercury is, like the Sun, neutral and influenced by its companion planets, the context here suggesting a benevolent nature. It is these which are presented next

by Figulus (note the epithets associated with these planets: Jupiter is mitis, Venus is salubre).'® The astrologer is painting a very gloomy picture, and it might have been the desire to deepen the gloom that encouraged him to alter the regular order of planetary positions in the katarche, and to start with the malevolent planets. But the decision to open the prophecy with Saturn and the Sun, as opposed to Saturn and Mars, may reflect another source of influence, this time more on Lucan than on Figulus. This is Latin poetry and rhetoric." The opening outburst by Figulus, with its emphasis on

natural disasters, is redolent of themes encountered in both poetry and prose, particularly in rhetoric. The first two planets listed by

Figulus are Saturn and the Sun, the former foreboding flood, the latter fire. Flood and fire appear most notably as an antithesis at the start of Ovid's Metamorphoses.* But, in addition, Petronius also made use of the motif of such natural disasters in the Satyriconin a pair of highly rhetorical outbursts.!? Figulus’ speech, then, may be seen as another example of Latin rhetoric, which nonetheless is set convincingly in an astrologer's mouth. Let us turn to what Figulus tells us of the individual planets. Of Saturn and the Sun we are told not where they are, but where they are not, for if they were in those unoccupied positions, the consequences would be dire indeed. It is as if the astrologer is trying to allay his audience's fears by encouraging them with news that two of the three maleficent planets are not in their worst positions. But what are those positions? For Saturn, Getty originally believed that the phrase summum caelum referred to the mid-point of the zodiac above the horizon, which astrologers regularly called medium caelum. When revising these ideas twenty years later, he proposed that it meant the

opposite point, the mid-point of the zodiac below the horizon, the imum caelum. Either way, to pinpoint the medium caelum or the imum caelum, we need to know the horoscopal position — that is, which sign was rising at the time of the casting of the katarche — and therefore we need to know the time of day when Figulus took his readings. To do that from the information given by Lucan is not, I think, impossible: at the end of the katarche, Orion is mentioned in such a way asto indicate a direct observation of the constellation (the

LUCAN BELLUM CIVILE 1.649-65

181

reference is specifically to the constellation’s brightness). If Orion had not yet set, and given the time of the year, then we are probably dealing with a casting of the katarche in the pre-dawn twilight, in the hour or hour-and-a-half before dawn.?° At that time, Orion was setting in the west, while coming over the eastern horizon in the

horoscopal position was the traditional sightings for that calendars). If that is so, then Leo, and the imum caelum by

sign of Scorpio (these are, besides, time of year in contemporary star the medium caelum was occupied by Aquarius. In either case, Saturn is not

there, but in Libra, and the threat of flood dries up.?! What of the Sun's position? Figulus encourages his audience with the news that the Sun is not beating down on the sign of Leo with his rays and so foreshadowing a fiery end. Housman and Getty concur in

interpreting this as a reference to the fact that the Sun was not actually in Leo — a patent impossibility anyway for that time of year. Instead, the Sun, we know, is in Sagittarius, and the threat of fire is

quenched. That Figulus fails to tell us precisely where either Saturn or the Sun is situated might warn us to treat the next entry with care:

Mars, in some way, is affecting Scorpio, and perhaps even Libra (until the late first century BC, the claws of the Scorpion). Housman and Getty have unquestioningly interpreted this as a reference to the actual presence of Mars within Scorpio. And yet if it is so direct a reference, it is curious that it is the only one in the whole katarche in which a planet is said to be situated in a given sign. Could the reference to Mars, instead, be construed so that the planet is actually

elsewhere than in Scorpio, and yet affecting that sign? I think it can. The solution lies in the astrological doctrine of aspect: a planet — or

indeed a sign — may be affected by its position relative to the position of another planet, and especially affected by a malevolent planet. Our chart of the actual planetary positions shows Mars in

Pisces. This lies four signs, or a third of the zodiac, away from Scorpio, and so, in astrological jargon, is said to be in trine aspect to

Scorpio. (It is also necessarily in trine aspect to Cancer, and that will concern us later.) While this is not the most dominant aspect that could affect Scorpio, Mars is still able to exert a strong force on the sign. What is more, Scorpio is one of the two Houses of Mars, in which the planet's influence will be particularly strong. So Mars' influence on the sign of Scorpio is indirect, but nevertheless powerful.” So

much

for the maleficent planets, Saturn,

Mars,

and —

by

association — the neutral Sun. What of the next trio, the beneficents,

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ROBERT HANNAH

Jupiter, Venus and — in this context — Mercury? Jupiter’s position is not easy to define from Figulus’ data. The verb premitur has usually been taken to mean ‘is hidden’ or ‘is sunk’, and therefore the

planet must be below the horizon. Certainly the same verb occurs in Manilius in a sense of sinking, but it appears that this sinking starts from medium caelum and passes through the occasus on the western horizon, to imum caelum, the lowest point on the zodiacal circuit below the horizon. So in itself, premitur does not necessarily

indicate the position of Jupiter relative to the horizon; it may simply suggest that the planet is somewhere on a downward slope. It might be suggested, however, that the phrase in alto... occasu (assuming it is a phrase to be taken asa unit) surely does indicate a position not only below the horizon, but at the very nadir of the circuit. Yet Getty himself debated the meaning of this phrase, and in the process made ἃ telling statement: “ Alto, of course, means in this passage ‘well below the horizon’, not ‘well above it’, as is clear not merely from premitur

but also from the definite statement that Mars was the only planet above the horizon at the time".?* We have examined one of Getty's premises — the meaning of premitur — and shall soon examine the second — the meaning of caelum Mars solus habet (663) — and shall find that neither needs have anything to do with an occupancy of the sky above or below the horizon. So why could not a/to then mean *well above the horizon" On our chart of planetary positions we find

Jupiter in Leo, and if at medium caelum. So description as being from medium caelum

Scorpio is at the Horoscopus, then Leo must be is Jupiter meant to be envisaged from Figulus' at the topmost point of the decline (occasus) to imum caelum??5

Venus, Figulus tells us, is dimmed. In his edition of Book 1 of the Bellum Civile, Getty became somewhat technical at this point:

“Venus was dim because she appeared to be near the Sun at her full phase (superior conjunction), and her rays were impeded by his"? This is all very true but nonetheless irrelevant. There are perfectly

good

astrological ways in which a planet's influence could be

‘dimmed’ or ‘blunted’ without having to resort to its position relative

to the bright sun. These ways are bound up again with the idea of aspect. Our planetary chart shows Venus in Libra, in the sign that is directly above the Horoscopus. Now Libra is one of Venus' two Houses, so this should increase her powers, just as Mars' influence

was increased by being in aspect to his own House of Scorpio. But occupying the same sign with Venus is the baleful planet Saturn, so her good influence is blunted somewhat by his presence. Worse still,

LUCAN BELLUM CIVILE 1.649-65

183

Libra is situated between Virgo and Scorpio. Scorpio, we have

already seen, is in trine aspect with Pisces, and so bears the bad influence of Mars, while Virgo is diametrically opposite to Pisces, and so Mars' influence is felt there too. In other words, to borrow the

language of a late katarche (from the late Sth century AD), Venus is ‘hemmed in’ (ἐμπεριεχομένη) and ‘injured’ (BAarton£vn) by the maleficent influences of Mars to either side." In addition, Venus is

aspected towards Pisces through an antiscium, so Mars strikes her directly from there.?* As if all that were not bad enough, Libra is situated in the 12th templum of the dodekatropos, which was known as κακὸς δαίμων, a name sufficiently indicative of evil fortune to make it clear that Venus was not in a happy state at all, regardless of

her position relative to the sun.?? What, finally, of Mercury? Figuius again avoids placing him, but tells his by now no doubt despairing listeners that this *swift' planet is standing still in his motion. Getty went to even greater lengths to explain the astronomy of this line.?? For once, I shall agree with him: Mercury was apparently now on one of his two stationary points in his orbit. And an ancient table of planetary positions would indicate this by the unusually long occupancy by Mercury of a given zodiacal sign. But once more we are looking for astrological, not astronomical,

significance in this. And we find it, albeit in later writers. Listed asa bad influence on a planet is its failure to advance in direct motion.?! So to stand still, or worse, to go back in retrogradation, was a poor

sign for a planet. And for a planet like Mercury, which was not beneficent nor maleficent by nature, but either, depending on circumstances, then one would guess that this circumstance of being

stationary, when it was otherwise swift in its movement, would render the planet's influence bad.?? After mentioning Mercury, Figulus then, rather curiously, returns to Mars, to tell us that he alone has the sky (et caelum Mars solus

habet). Hitherto commentators have happily interpreted this meaning that, of all the planets, Mars alone is visible above horizon.? But there may be another interpretation, regardless how many planets are above or below the horizon. If we allow

as the of the

time of day to be such that Scorpio was actually rising at the time of the katarche, then that sign is in the Horoscopus. Mars can therefore be called the House-ruler (οἰκοδεσπότης) of the Horoscopus, since

Scorpio is one of his Houses. Mars shares the rulership of the Horoscopus with no other planet (none is aspected so powerfully towards the Horoscopus), so he can fairly be said to dominate the

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ROBERT HANNAH

katarche — which may actually be the meaning of line 663. After all, as far as that line is concerned, there is no reason to read caelum, with

all the commentators, as referring solely to the visible sky, above the

horizon. Such a limited interpretation runs counter to the use of the word in Manilius. In his poem, it means the whole sphere of the sky, both visible and invisible, above and below the horizon. So Mars in some way dominates the whole sky, not just the visible sky. I suggest that this domination is gained through the planet’s possession of the

rulership of the Horoscopus.? Overall, then, how do we now stand? Figulus' katarche presents

the planets in an unusual order.?’ The grouping of the malevolent planets (plus a neutral), opposed to the benevolents is perhaps suggestive of Figulus' approach. He forecast, and he emphasises it by introducing the influence first. Yet he disarms his listeners initially how two of those planets — Saturn and the Sun —

(plus a neutral), has a gloomy planets of bad by pointing out are not at their

worst positions, and so the traditional disasters of flood and fire are avoided. Mars, the last, is alone in being in a position to influence events towards a poor end. Somehow he is affecting Scorpio, but I have suggested that he need not be in Scorpio directly. Figulus comes

back to Mars at the end of the catalogue of planets, to emphasise his domination of the sky. That dominance is due to his house-rulership of the Horoscopus in Scorpio, and so of the whole katarche. And that dominance means that the bellicose character of Mars will influence future events: war is at hand. The benevolent planets, meanwhile, are

stymied. In particular, we have seen how Venus' position thwarts any good intentions she might have had by sitting in Libra, her own House. For she is struck directly by Mars via an antiscium, and hemmed in between two signs which bear the evil influence of Mars

through trine and diametric aspects. For that matter, so too is Jupiter, for he sits in Leo between Cancer and Virgo; Cancer is in

trine aspect to Pisces and so bears Mars' influence also, and Virgo, as we have noted, is struck diametrically by Mars. We might wonder, then, whether the verb premitur, with respect to Jupiter, has not so much the meaning of ‘sinks down’ as of ‘is overcome/oppressed' (is

‘sunk’, in a colloquial English sense!) because of this hemming in by his neighbouring signs. Whatever the case, Mars’ dominance of the

katarche is underlined further because he hems in both the beneficent planets. Beaujeu has argued that Lucan introduced into the epic tradition

novelties drawn from contemporary scientific enquiries and suited to

LUCAN BELLUM CIVILE 1.649-65

185

the taste of his readers, who were aware of astronomical literature in

popularised versions, and were interested in the exotic? He concludes that in astronomical matters the Bellum Civile contains few errors or even inexactitudes.?? So is it fair to continue to regard this show-piece of the poet's knowledge of the intimately related field

of astrology as a supine regurgitation by Lucan of a republican philosopher's deliberate falsification of the true state of the planets' positions? It seems to me possible to show that the planetary positions for the time of the outbreak of the Civil War actually suit

Figulus' prediction, if his data are read astrologically rather than in terms more suited to observational astronomy. To another astrologer the same planetary positions might well have signified something

else, given the ambiguities inherent in astrological doctrines, ambiguities which we occasionally find acknowledged by ancient practitioners, and which were, of course, essential to their livelihood.“ However, admitting to ambiguities of interpretation is a very different matter from accusing Figulus of deliberately falsifying the basic empirical data, the charge he was held guilty of, but of which I hope to have gone some way towards exonerating him.

But if Figulus' prediction can stand, rehabilitated, questions still remain. Is it a record, versified by Lucan, of an historical event, or is

it an invention of Lucan's, to be treated as we treat imaginary events in historical novels which involve real people, or even as we treat the other two instances of prophecy at the end of Book 1? Did Figulus really cast this katarche, and so is it reflective of his astrological

skills,*! of his known philosophical leanings,*? or of his republican tendencies?? Or did Lucan consult a friendly astrologer, who scanned not the skies but his papyrus rolls for the planets' positions,

leaving the poet to put words into the mouth of an historical person in the same way he puts them into the mouths of the otherwise unknown Etruscan haruspex or Roman matron? Is the katarche indeed as anachronistic for its time as is the consultation of the Etruscan seer, whose presence may have seemed natural to Lucan’s

audience, when such people were in fashion again, but who would not have been available in the late Republic?‘ I am not sure that we can answer these questions one way or the other. Against the view that the prediction is a real one, stand the

language and structure of the katarche as compared with actual surviving examples from the Roman world, although these are mostly of later date. The planets are in a curious order, the moon is missing, and there is the way in which Figulus addresses the planets

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ROBERT HANNAH

directly — a personal touch which to my knowledge is unparalleled in the surviving historical horoscopal literature, whether it be real or

fictive. The addition of Orion to the catalogue of planets is unusual, although not unique, for ancient horoscopes could include what are called the paranatellonta, those stars which accompany the zodiacal stars as they rise or set.*° Orion's presence in the katarche clearly adds

to the impending sense of war,“ and perhaps anxiety.* But against the view that Lucan could have asked an astrologer to cast the katarche back from a distance of a hundred years and more is the

problem of the Roman calendar. How could he have known what date to pick, when the republican calendar of 49 BC was as astray as

it was in comparison with the Julian calendar of Lucan's time?** The same problem arises with the interpretation of Augustus' use of Capricorn as his natal sign, and scholars have occasionally questioned whether his birthdate of 23 September is to be understood as being under the old republican calendar or the new Julian one.“ But then again, the casting of Augustus' — and Agrippa's — horoscopes by Theogenes, as described by Suetonius,*° is an illustration of the ability, or attempt, of astrologers to cast backwards in time, presumably on the basis of planetary tables such as have survived

from Egypt. The casting of horoscopes for the foundation of Rome, or even the birth of the world, shows just how far astrologers would go.°!

NOTES 1l. 2.

M.P.O. Morford The Poet Lucan: Studies in Rhetorical Epic (Oxford 1967) 63. Cf. M. Adams C. Suetonius Tranquillus, Divi Augusti Vita (London 1966) 212f. Morford (note 1) 63.

3.

RJ.Getty 'Neopythagoreanism and mathematical symmetry in Lucan, De bello civili 1* TAPA 91 (1960) 322.

4.

A.E. Housman M. Annaei Lucani Belli Civilis Libri Decem (Oxford 1926) 325-6.

5.

RJ. Getty ‘The Astrology of P. Nigidius Figulus (Lucan I, 649-65)' CQ 35(1941)

19. See Housman (note 4) 326f. for the full commentary. The choice of the date was Housman's, but it would still appear to be a reasonable estimate. News of Caesar's occupation of Ancona and Arretium on 14 January reached Rome on 17 January, "causing extreme depression" (M. Gelzer Caesar: Politician and Statesman (Oxford 1969) 195; 192 n.3 for the sources for the date). More recent

calculations of the discrepancies between the republican calendar and the succeeding Julian calendar would suggest that 17 January 49 BC republican equates with 29 November 50 BC Julian: cf. A. Deman and M.-T. RaepsaetCharlier ‘Notes de chronologie romaine’ Historia 23 (1974) 287.

LUCAN BELLUM CIVILE 1.649-65

187

99

Getty (note 3) 314-17.

6

Getty (note 5) 21f.

»

Getty (note 5) 21.

J. Beaujeu *L’Astronomie de Lucain' in L'Astronomie dans l'antiquité classique: actes du colloque tenu à l'Université de Toulouse-Le Lirail, 21-23 octobre 1977 (Paris 1979) 216. C.S. Floratos'H προφητεία τοῦ P. Nigidius Figulus (M. Annaei Lucani Belli Civilis I 639—673) (Athens 1958) was particularly interested in the

possibility of interpreting the planets and stars mentioned by Figulus as symbols of the antagonists in the civil war, a view which was treated with some scepticism,

although not with complete dismissal, by Getty in his review of this work: JRS 51

(1961) 270f. I am very grateful to Mark Morford for making a copy of Floratos available to me. 10.

There exist on papyri from Egypt sets of planetary positional tables which cover the period of Augustus (17 BC - AD 11/12) and that from Vespasian to Hadrian (AD 70-132 — originally probably from AD 63 to 140): O. Neugebauer ‘Egyptian Planetary Texts’ Transactions of the American Philosophical Society n.s. 32 (1941-43) 209-50; O. Neugebauer and R.A. Parker Egyptian Astronomical Texts vol. 3 (Providence and London 1969) 225-35. These tables may be

examples of what are termed ‘eternal tables’, to which century AD refers slightingly for their poor theoretical originated in the early Hellenistic period (pre-200 BC): Planetary Texts" 239, but cf. Neugebauer and Parker

Ptolemy in foundation, Neugebauer op. cit. 236,

the second and which ‘Egyptian where the

equation is questioned. The preserved papyri give us the date of entry by a planet into each of the twelve zodiacal signs in the course of the year. Such data were useful in the ancient world primarily not to astronomers, but to astrologers, for

in astrology the zodiacal position of a planet was, as it still is, of central importance in the casting of horoscopes: Neugebauer and Parker op. cit. 225f. The relative vagueness of these tables — simply the date of entry by a planet into a zodiacal sign — suits the vagueness of early horoscopes (pre-second century AD), which present just the zodiacal sign in which a planet happens to be, as opposed to the more precise, later system of indicating which degree of a sign the planet is situated in: O. Neugebauer and H.B. van Hoesen Greek Horoscopes (Philadelphia 1959) 170. While the extant tables are from Egypt and although there is no evidence for such tables from Italy, nevertheless there are no grounds

for supposing that similar tables were not used elsewhere under the Republic and

Empire, particularly in view of the widespread popularity of astrology in the

Roman world. It is reasonable, then, to assume that what information may be gleaned from the surviving tables was available also in Rome and anywhere else astrologers worked. 11.

The accuracy of the tables may be the result of a combination of observation and calculation, as Neugebauer originally thought (‘Egyptian Planetary Texts’ (note 10) 240-2), or of calculation alone, as (Neugebauer and Parker (note 10) 236).

12.

In fact submit named Greek

he

seems

to have

thought

later

for the 1st century BC there are three other systems to which we could our planetary readings; the one opted for here is the ‘Hipparchan’ system, after the Greek astronomer, Hipparchos, of the 2nd century BC; another system is named ‘Eudoxan’, after the 4th century BC astronomer

Eudoxos, and started Aries at R.A.

15°; beyond that there were two Meso-

potamian systems available: Neugebauer and van Hoesen (note 10) 15. The modern calculations presented here are based on two computer programmes (Voyager 2.0 and Z2A) tested against projections calculated by myself. 13.

Neugebauer and van Hoesen (note 10) 7.

14.

This order is followed by about two-thirds of the papyri horoscopes and the great

188

ROBERT HANNAH

majority of literary horoscopes edited by Neugebauer and van Hoesen. Quite another principle is followed by Demotic horoscopes, in which the positions of the Sun and Moon are noted first, and then the centres (Horoscopus, Medium Caelum, Imum Caelum, Occasus) and related places in a fixed order, with the

planets being mentioned whenever they happen to coincide with one of the places mentioned (Neugebauer and van Hoesen (note 10) 164); Figulus appears not to follow this system. 15.

Getty (note 5) 21 observed: "No mention was made by Figulus of the Moon, and

her position depended upon the time which elapsed between the eclipse described in vv. 538-9 supra and his prophecy. On account of this uncertainty she has not been included in the diagram." The Moon's position can be calculated, althou with less reliability than for the planets because of the vagaries of its orbit; modern calculations have it waxing gibbous at 11 days into its period. The absence of the Moon from Figulus' prophecy must be due to something other than the time elapsed since the eclipse (which, interestingly, is fictitious, to judge

by calculations): an eclipse would not affect its position in any meaningful way. It may be significant that the Egyptian papyri fail to note the Moon’s position (as well as the Sun's). 16.

On beneficent and maleficent planets, see A. Bouché-Leclercq L’Astrologie grecque (Paris 1899, repr. Darmstadt 1979) 101; cf. G.P. Goold Manilius: Astronomica (Loeb Classical Library, London

1992) xcviii.

For this observation I am grateful to my colleague Dr Jon Hall. Ov. Met. 1. 253 - 2. 332. Petron. Sat. 81, 98. Cf. Getty (note 3) 313f., although I read the reference to Mars differently. Saturn is also in the 12th House of the dodekatropos, and a poor forecast is predicted for a horoscope on the basis of Saturn's position in this House by Firmicus Maternus 3.2.26.

On the planets' Houses in the zodiac, which are distinct from the templa or loci of the dodekatropos, see Bouché-Leclercq (note 16) 182-92; Goold (note 16) xcix.

Cf. Manil. 4. 500 on the scorching effect of Mars on a sign; and Firm. Mat. 2.29.15 for an example of Mars attacking the Horoscopus “with violently hostile influence" from another sign via an antiscium (on which see note 28 below).

Manil. 2. 846. Getty (note 5) 19.

Jupiter in Leo signalled trouble and weariness for Firmicus Maternus (5.4.12). R.J. Getty M. Annaei Lucani, de Bello Civili, Liber I (Cambridge 1940) 120f. Neugebauer and van Hoesen (note 10) 149. On 'diametric' influence, see BouchéLeclercq (note 16) 166-9; Goold (note 16) xliv-xlv. The doctrine of *hemming in'

and so ‘injuring’ a good planet (ἐμπερίσχεσις) appears in the astrological

literature from the time of Vettius Valens and Antigonos of Nikaia in the second century AD: see LSJ s.v. ἐμπερίσχεσις; Neugebauer and van Hoesen (note 10)

149 no. L487, a literary katarche of AD 487 which refers the doctrine back to

Antigonos (of Nikaia?), and 186-87 (on this Antigonos); Bouché-Leclercq (note 16) 251f., who refers to its mention later by Porphyry and Hephaestion. It is

difficult to know whether the doctrine was current in the time of either Figulus or Lucan. We have to admit that our knowledge of Graeco-Roman astrology in the Ist centuries BC/AD

is very sketchy. It is not always clear which of the later

LUCAN BELLUM CIVILE 1.649-65

189

doctrines familiar to astrologers from the taught in the late Republic or very early didactic poem on the significance of the opposed to those of the planets warns us to

second century AD onwards were Empire. Manilius' emphasis in his influences of the zodiacal signs as be careful: his avoidance of much of

the planetary doctrine may not be “the postponement of an irksome labour" as Goold would have it (Goold (note 16) xcviii), so much as a genuine reflection of a

different type of astrology. The use by Augustus of Capricorn as a token of his horoscope might also reflect a contemporary emphasis on signs rather than planets. It is de rigueur in modern commentaries and discussions of ancient Greek and Roman astrology to quote later (second-to-fourth century AD) authors in support of an interpretation of a much carlier case, and I have done this myself in this instance, with regard to the doctrine of ‘hemming in’. Here I simply warn of too easy an acceptance of this synchronic methodology. 28.

On the influence via an antiscium, see Bouché-Leclercq Goold (note 16) xlvi-xlviii.

(note

16) 161-4; cf.

Cf. Firm. Mat. 3.6.32: Venus aspected to Mars by day produces “many great evils". Getty (note 26) 121. Bouché-Leclercq (note 16) 251 no. 3a.

32. 33.

Cf. Firm. Mat. 3.7.4: Mercury in the second House provides a poor forecast if in a

morning chart.

Yet this is despite the description of Venus as ‘dimmed’ being interpreted also as arecord of direct observation. How Venus could be seen as ‘dimmed’ or anything when she was below the horizon is not explained! But Housman did not actually say

where

ignorance.

Venus

was

situated

in reality,

and

Getty

therefore

was

left in

A late katarche — dating to 487 AD — gives us evidence of this view of the ruler ofthe Horoscopus: Venus was in Leo, but the Horoscopus was in Libra, which is

a House of Venus, and so was ruled by Venus, who is here called κυρία tod

ὡροσκόπου (Neugebauer and van Hoesen (note 10) 149 no. L487).

35.

See especially Manil. 2. 914, 966. That habet in line 663 indicates domination, as translators have taken it, is fair: the word is encountered again in Manilius in a context where domination is suggested (4. 753: the Bull has (habet) Scythia's mountains, etc., while Leo holds sway (potiris) over its geographical territory, Phrygia).

37.

At this point we can dismiss the possibility that Figulus was using a system like the Demotic one (see note 14) based on the centres (Horoscopus, Medium Caelum, Imum Caelum, Occasus), since at best he directs us to only three of the

four cardinal points (Occasus is missing).

Beaujeu (note 9) 209f., 212, 213. 39.

Beaujeu (note 9) 222.

The late katarche mentioned earlier (note 34) is a case in point. One might note here a possible alternative reading which could emphasise the beneficent role of Venus, not only occupying her House in Libra, but also aspected through an

antiscium to the templum over which she ruled, the fifth, situated in Pisces.

4].

Suet. Aug. 94; Adams (note 1) 212f.

190

ROBERT HANNAH

Getty (note 3). Morford (note 1) 63. Morford (note 1) 62. Cf. Neugebauer and van Hoesen (note 10) 170f.

Cf. Manil. 5.61-63. Cf. Firm. Mat. 8.6.10: Orion on the descendant produces a poor forecast. The phraseology of the reference to Orion — to the fleeing of the stars from their courses and the brightness of Orion alone — seems to me also to echo earlier lit references, both astronomical and astrological in context: Ov. Fast. 5. 545-552 and Manil. 5.59-63. The episode just predates the introduction of the Julian calendar in 45 BC, occasioned by irregularities in the Republican calendar with regard to the seasons and religious festivals. 49.

As did recently M. Schütz ‘Zur Sonnenuhr des Augustus auf dem Marsfeld" Gymnasium 47 (1990) 432-57.

Suet. Aug. 94. 51.

A.T. Grafton and N.M. Swerdlow ‘The Horoscope of the Foundation of Rome’ CP 81 (1986) 148-53. For the horoscope of the Birth of the World (Thema Mundi), see Firm. Mat. 3.1.

.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 191-6 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90-1

UT DUX CUNCTATOR ET TUTUS: THE CAUTION OF VALENTINIAN (AMMIANUS 27.10) ROBIN SEAGER (University of Liverpool)

Ammianus consistently praises caution and criticises rashness, not least in the military sphere.! This paper examines perhaps the most remarkable example of imperial rashness in the field to be found in the surviving

books,

an

incident

involving

Valentinian

on

his

campaign against the Alamanni in 368 (27.10.1-11). To highlight the unusual features of this passage comparisons and contrasts will be drawn with two other passages which offer more conventional treatments of an emperor's lack of caution in battle, 24.5.5-11 and

25.3.2-8, both from Julian's invasion of Persia. It has been plausibly argued

that 27.10, like

19.11.10-16,

the story of an attack on

Constantius by the Limigantes in 359, was based on an official communiqué? Comparison will again show that Ammianus’ treatment of his material in 27.10 is far less conventional. The most striking feature of Valentinian's brush with the Alamanni is the tension between the emperor's rashness, as perceived and detailed by Ammianus, and the caution he displayed in his own estimation. This tension pervades the whole account. Even before the

narrative proper begins, the expedition is placed under the rubric of this gulf between reality and the emperor's imagination. Valentinian set out on an expedition in a cautious manner, as he thought (1: caute,

ut rebatur ipse, profecto).? This expedition is not, however, that which culminated in the battle of Solicinium, the account of which does not begin till section 5, after the notices of Rando's raid on Moguntiacum 191

192

ROBIN SEAGER

and the fate of Vithicabius.* The ironic allusion to Valentinian's caution must thus refer in the first instance to his failure to leave

Moguntiacum adequately defended. Yet it is hard to suppose that it was not meant by Ammianus to exert a wider influence, set as it is at the head of a chapter which says nothing whatever about the expedition during which Rando plundered Moguntiacum and is almost entirely devoted to the Solicinium campaign. The narrative of that campaign, as it unfolds, at first yields copious evidence of careful preparation and cautious progress. Thought was taken for weaponry and supplies; additional forces under the count Sebastianus were summoned; the marching order was designed to guard against surprise attack; there was thorough and effective reconnaissance by expert scouts (5-8). However, these manifestations are counterpointed by another recurring theme: the troops were angry and spoiling for a fight (5, 7). It was thanks in part to their impatience, which left little or no time for deliberation, that the eventual plan was conceived in haste (10).

At this point Valentinian, ut dux cunctator et tutus, took matters into his own hands, It is quite clear that his action constituted a departure from the agreed plan, since he told none of his senior officers what he intended to do ( 10); his arrogant claim that he would find another path to the heights must have been made only to his small band of trusted followers. So, after dismissing most of his retinue, he set off, with no helmet (10). The reader will hardly be surprised at the outcome: the mention of the scouts (10) serves as a reminder of their expertise and how well they had done their work, as was emphasised above (7). Valentinian got lost, in country manifestly unsuited to facilitate the advance of an army, and wandered into an ambush (11). To indicate how close he came to death Ammianus deploys language he reserves for the most extreme situations (11: necessitatis adiumento postremo), highly coloured by sarcasm.® The final touch preserves the tone of ironic Schadenfreude. Though Valentinian

had

not

taken

the

trouble

to don

his

helmet,

his

attendant had nevertheless hurried in pursuit, bearing the imperial headgear, only to vanish, along with the helmet, in the mire.

We may now turn to the two incidents from Julian's Persian expedition. The first passage (24.5.5-11) deals with the emperor's efforts to capture and destroy a Persian fortress in the vicinity of Ctesiphon. Ammianus makes it clear that Julian was a prey to emotions of a kind that might cloud his judgement. His determination to take the place stemmed from his angry reaction to a

UT

DUX CUNCTATOR ET TUTUS

193

Persian surprise attack (6: imperator iratus et frendens).’ First he embarked on a reconnaissance, thinking (6: ut ipse rebatur) that he would escape notice because of his small retinue.* Advancing somewhat too enthusiastically, he was observed and was saved from great danger (6: euitato magno discrimine) only because his escort carried out its task of protecting him most efficiently. This close call served merely to increase his anger (7: qua causa concitus ira immani)? an anger that inspired him to demote the survivors of a cohort which had not acquitted itself well (10: ira graui permotus), and in his burning desire to take the fort he constantly fought in the front line as an example to his men.!? Julian's rashness was to lead to his death. Ammianus' narrative of the fatal skirmish (25.3.2-8) repeatedly highlights his lack of caution. Julian had gone scouting, unarmed (2: inermi ad speculanda anteriora progresso), when he heard of a setback. Again he responded emotionally (3: qua concitus clade), forgetting to put on his breastplate before hurrying to the rescue, with no regard for his own peril (4: sine respectu periculi sui). Even when the enemy turned tail, he still had no thought for caution (6: cauendi immemor), but threw himself boldly into the fray, and so fell an easy victim to the mysterious spear. Wounded, he remained eager to return to the battle to restore the

confidence of his men, showing concern not for himself but only for the safety of others (ut ... uideretur sui securus, alienae salutis sollicitudine uehementer adstringi). Comparison of these three instances of imperial rashness reveals a number of common features, some shared by all three, others by only two. But it also appears that the same feature may be treated in

different ways in different passages. In both the incidents involving Julian the emperor is said to have acted under the influence of powerful emotions. In the earlier the emotion is anger, first at the Persian attack (24.5.6), then at his own narrow escape (24.5.7) and the poor performance of one of his cohorts (24.5.10); in the latter the emotion is not specifically named but is clearly similar (25.3.3). In 27.10 on the other hand Ammianus offers no psychological explanation of Valentinian's curious behaviour. In both 25.3.2f. and 27.10.10 Ammianus notes that the emperor sallied forth inadequately equipped. Julian went out scouting unarmed and was then too upset by events to put on his breastplate; Valentinian, again for no stated

reason, neglected to don his helmet. In 24.5.6 Julian is said to have escaped from great danger; so too Valentinian in 27.10.11. But Julian's predicament is ascribed to over-enthusiasm fuelled by anger,

194

ROBIN SEAGER

while Valentinian’s yet again goes unexplained. Both Julian (24.5.6) and Valentinian (27.10.1) are prey to false expectations, but this

superficial similarity does not obscure the difference between their respective situations. Julian’s misapprehension was a simple mistake, though its consequences were indeed nearly fatal. Valentinian’s was a much more fundamental misjudgement of his own character and conduct, which casts its shadow over the whole of the ensuing narrative. In both 24.5.11 and 25.3.8 Ammianus stresses that Julian

was concerned that his conduct should serve as an example to the rank and file (cf. 25.4.10 from the necrology). Valentinian on the

other hand was saved from destruction only by taking refuge in the bosom of his legions (27.10.11). A feature common to all three incidents is engagement in reconnaissance. At the fort before Ctesiphon Julian was thus occupied when he fell into danger (24.5.6),

and again in the final battle he had advanced to spy out what lay ahead (25.3.2). So too Valentinian’s objective (27.10.10) was to discover an alternative route for the army's advance. But again a

striking difference outweighs the similarity. There is nothing in 24.5 or 25.3 which corresponds to the emphatic contrast in 27.10 between

the careful and

competent

performance of their duties by the

professional scouts and the thoughtless behaviour of Valentinian

himself. Indeed, beyond all points of detail there is a manifest distinction in Ammianus' attitude to the two protagonists. His criticisms of Julian's rashness are always tempered by admiration for the emperor's selflessness and courage, and in 25.3 by grief at his hero's death. For Valentinian's foolhardiness he offers no mitigation;

his censure is rather sharpened by the irony that arises from the elaborate contrast between the emperor's supposed caution and his

actual rashness.!! The

phrase legionum

se gremiis immersisset

(27.10.11)

merits

further attention. In Ammianus there is only one parallel for the use of gremium in such a context, when the initially routed Roman cavalry at Argentorate regroup, gremio legionum protecti (16.12.37). The Thesaurus records nothing similar elsewhere. But the combination of gremium with immergere adds a new dimension. Ammianus' other figurative uses of immergere in a military setting are both of plunging into the ranks of the enemy (19.11.13, 31.13.5). Again the Thesaurus lists nothing remotely comparable, though since it omits this passage that may prove nothing. The occurrence of immergere in 19.11.13 leads to consideration of the final episode with which this paper is concerned (19.11.10-16). Victim of a treacherous attack by

UT

DUX CUNCTATOR ET TUTUS

195

the Limigantes in 359, Constantius mounted a horse and galloped to

safety (11). But the tribesmen seized his royal seat with its golden cushion (12), an approximate, if less ludicrous, parallel to the loss of Valentinian's helmet. Constantius had been in extreme danger (13)

— another obvious parallel — and was still in a perilous position (with in abrupto staret adhuc cf. 27.10.11: post abruptum periculum). But then a dramatic linguistic echo points up the difference in the

outcome. When the troops heard of Constantius' plight, they rallied to protect him — and immersed themselves in the ranks of the barbarians (13: barbarorum ... cateruis semet immersit)!

I would suggest that a deliberate cross-reference is intended.'? The echo immersit/immersisset ruthlessly pinpoints a striking difference between the two episodes, and not to Valentinian's advantage. The remarkable inversion in 27.10.11 of the metaphor used at 19.11.13

inexorably conjures up the picture of a small boy throwing himself into the safety of his mother's arms. It has been suggested by Sabbah (n.2 above) that both these narratives derive from imperial letters,

and that in his own account of Solicinium Valentinian emphasised both his exceptional prudence and the dangers, perhaps exaggerated, to which he had been exposed, with a view to provoking flattering

expressions of loyally concerned amazement and admiration. If this attractive suggestion is correct, the juxtaposition of the two accounts makes the irony of the second all the more savage. The historian's presentation of Constantius' contretemps is played straight, so to

speak; it preserves the effect that the emperor himself aimed to produce. But that of Solicinium is wickedly distorted. The use of the phrase ut dux cunctator et tutus (27.10.10), itself echoing the earlier caute ut rebatur ipse (1), to introduce the vividly documented proofs of the emperor's rashness undercuts all previous evidence of his

caution, while the memorable

final image

of a mud-spattered

Valentinian seeking solace in the muscular embrace of his heroic legionaries leaves the great leader looking not even foolhardy, just a

fool. If Ammianus was working from an official document, he recast it with a magisterially subtle hand to produce an impact quite the

opposite of what its author intended, and by discreet verbal echoes did his best to ensure that his readers would see what he was doing and appreciate his skill.

196

ROBIN SEAGER

NOTES Cf. in general R. Seager Ammianus Marcellinus (Columbia MO

1986) 71ff.

Cf. G. Sabbah La méthode d'Ammien Marcellin (Paris 1978) 209.

Such phrases as ut rebatur ipse always in Ammianus signal an assumption or expectation which in fact turns out to be false. Sometimes this is spelt out (20.11.4; 24.5.6, for which see below; 31.3.6), sometimes implied (21.7.1). Of the

two uses of ut arbitrabatur, 24.4.1 connotes implied false expectation; 28.1.35 is savagely ironic. Pace Sabbah (n.2) 446 n.145. It has been suggested (by M.-A. Marié, ad loc.) that this was not a symptom of rashness but an attempt to avoid identification — but in that case why take the helmet along at ail? Cf. Sabbah (n.2) 209. Cf. Seager (n.1) 59f.

On anger and its effects, cf. Seager (n.1) 34ff. The point appears to be that he hoped to avoid observation altogether, not just identification. The text is uncertain. V has concitus immani. The simplest correction that makes sense is immane, but such an adverbial usage is not found elsewhere in Ammianus. 10.

On images of burning, cf. Seager (n.1) 49f.

The necrology (30.7.7f.), in similar though briefer vein, summarises all Valentinian's dealings with the Alamanni in the phrase inter haec tamen caute gesta, shortly after stating that at Solicinium he had been surrounded and almost perished in an ambush. 12.

For this

practice of linking incidents that exhibit both strong similarities and

crucial differences, Valentinian.

cf.

Seager

(n.1)

136

on

the

accessions

of Julian

and

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 197-217 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90-1

THE MAJOR ARISTEIA IN HOMER AND XENOPHON J.G. HOWIE (University of Edinburgh)

Introduction

This paper has three purposes. The first is to increase awareness of the remarkable contribution made by Tilman Krischer in 1971! to our understanding of battle narrative in the Iliad. Krischer exposed the exact nature, in terms of its constituent elements and their order

of appearance,

of the most

important

sequence

of exploits, or

aristeia, performed by some of the principal warriors in the Iliad. While some of Krischer's individual observations are incorporated into the new Cambridge commentary on the /liad, his distinction between the *major' and *minor' forms of the aristeia seems not to feature there, and his major aristeia scheme is not reproduced.? In section I, therefore, I shall set out the scheme of the major aristeia in full as a basis for selective discussion of the five major aristeias in the Iliad (Diomedes, Agamemnon, Hector, Patroclus, Achilles), and of

the role of Ajax, the second-greatest hero on the Greek side (Iliad 2.768f., 17.279f.), who has no major aristeia. My second purpose is to offer external confirmation

of the

correctness of Krischer's analysis, which was based entirely on a

reading of the Iliad itself. That confirmation is supplied by Xenophon's account of Cyrus' defeat of Croesus before Sardis, which

amounts to a *modernised' version of the Homeric scheme. Third, I shall suggest that the scheme is also reflected in Xenophon's accounts of the Battle of Coronea in the Hellenica and, more especially, in the

Agesilaus, and that consequently the scheme may be reflected in 197

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J.G. HOWIE

other historical writings. My concluding section offers some suggestions for further lines of enquiry on the general topic of the aristeia. The term ‘aristeia’ was used by later antiquity to refer to parts of the Iliad recounting conspicuous exploits of particular warriors. There is a clear link between ‘aristeia’ and the use in the Iliad itself of both the superlative adjective ἄριστος (meaning something like

“fighting as the best") and the verb ἀριστεύειν (“being best" or *excelling") in connection with such heroes. Their opponents use ἄριστος to describe both Diomedes and Agamemnon in connection with their aristeias in 5.103 and 11.288, and the Greeks apply it to all

the great Greek heroes now wounded in 11.658f. and 16.23f. Always ἀριστεύειν and to be superior to others" is enjoined as a duty by the fathers of Achilles (a major aristeus) and Glaucus in 11.784 and 6.208; and Odysseus (a minor aristeus) believes such a role imposes upon a warrior a duty to stand his ground, whatever the risk (11.408-10). As noted above, Krischer distinguishes between ‘major’ and ‘minor’ aristeias. By drawing this distinction, he is able to assign a number of sequences of exploits to one or other category and to make sense of the differences between them as variations within one or other of two readily recognisable types. In a minor aristeia the aristeus, or principal actor in the aristeia, resists a more powerful adversary, and survives without loss of face. This latter category includes Odysseus in Book 11, Sarpedon in Book 12, and Idomeneus

in Book 13.5 In a major aristeia a more elaborate series of events is enacted (see section I). Krischer views these schemes as analogous to the well-known ‘typical scenes’ of homeric epic and thus, presumably, as already belonging to a stock inherited by epic poets of Homer's day. They underline the relative prowess of a warrior and help shape the battle narrative. In this discussion I use the terms aristeia and aristeus to refer to the major aristeia and major aristeus. I. The aristeia in the Iliad

Krischer's scheme for the major aristeia, with his definitions of the constituent elements, is as follows: 0 Oa

Arming The aristeus arms himself Before recounting the fighting in which the aristeus will especially distinguish himself, the poet describes in detail how the aristeus arms himself.

THE MAJOR ARISTEIA IN HOMER

0b

AND XENOPHON

199

The aristeus’ arms gleam His arms gieam as a sign of his coming successes.

The two sides join battle, and fight for a while with changing fortunes. Then comes the hour of the aristeus. 1 The fighting up to the wounding of the aristeus la Single combats with the aristeus First, the aristeus kills several named opponents in single combat. 1b = Attack on the enemy line Then the aristeus intensifies his efforts. He breaks through the enemy line, killing many adversaries, who are no longer named. le Pursuit of the enemy army The aristeus' efforts are further intensified, and reach a climax as he pursues the whole enemy army, now in disorder, cutting down anyone he catches. 2 The wounding and the recovery of the aristeus 2a The wounding

Now comes a change in the aristeus’ fortunes. He is wounded, 2b

3

3a

and his own side either comes to a standstill or falls back. = The recovery The wounded aristeus prays, and a god intervenes to heal him. The aristeus at once throws himself back into the battle, with strength enhanced. Single combat with the principal hero on the enemy side; the battle over the body

Single combat At this point the principal hero on the enemy side feels that his honour is being compromised. He engages in single combat with the aristeus, and is killed.

3b

The fight over the body The final act of the drama is the fight over the body of the slain enemy hero. His body is dragged from the victor's clutches by the most desperate efforts and not without the aid of a god.

This is the basic scheme, but there are significant deviations from it in

every example. Krischer (15, 24) assumes that within the typical scheme the poet was free, while adhering to the normal order of elements, to elaborate, repeat, omit, or play down ("reduce") an element in the scheme or to replace it with a "substitute motif". He maintains (15, 35), however, that the poet never modifies any one example of the scheme to a greater extent than is necessary, so that each example is still clearly recognisable as such and the deviations stand out as having some special meaning. Thus the poet is able to adapt the scheme to the requirements of the plot and to suggest distinctions of prowess between the various aristeis (Krischer 76).

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J.G. HOWIE

As his introductory example Krischer offers the first of the five major aristeias, that of Diomedes. Diomedes' aristeia does not begin with an arming scene. However, when Agamemnon inspects the army he tries to spur him on by reminding him of his father Tydeus’ courage, which he illustrates with a story, in which Tydeus has the help of Athena; and Diomedes accepts this exhortation (4.365—419).5 After the doubtful battles of Book 4, that very goddess suddenly makes Diomedes' shield and helmet gleam like fire (5.1—8). He then encounters two brothers (named). He kills one, but the other flees

and is saved by a god, Hermes.? The Trojans take fright. Athena persuades Ares to withdraw from the battle (5.29-36). The Greeks cause the Trojans to fall back (Τρῶας δ᾽ ἔκλιναν Δαναοί, 37), and six Greek leaders each kill one named adversary (5.37-84). All these victims are struck in the rear. This indicátes that already many of the Trojan front-fighters (πρόμαχοι) have been put to flight. Meanwhile Diomedes weaves in and out of the Trojan line so furiously that one would not know which side he was with, raging over the plain like a

river in spate (5.85-94). After this simile, the poet says that the Trojan lines are being pursued (kAovéovto) by Diomedes and are no longer standing their ground (οὐδ᾽ ἄρα pipvov) in spite of their density (5.93f.). A Trojan, Pandarus, seeing Diomedes pursuing the Trojans before him (xpd ἔθεν KAovéovta φάλαγγας), shoots him (5.95-100), and boasts that he will not survive, describing him, significantly, as ἄριστος ᾿Αχαιῶν, “the best of the Achaeans” (5.103). Diomedes calls on his comrade Sthenelus to pull the arrow out, and prays to Athena to help him kill Pandarus. The goddess appears before him, and instructs him to attack Aphrodite and Ares (5.122-33). Up to this point, we have seen elements 0a, arming of the aristeus, to 2b, the aristeus' recovery. Of these six elements, three are in

modified form, although their functions and the overall scheme are still recognisable. Diomedes' arming (0a) is absorbed into the general arming of the army. The gleam of his arms (0b) is deferred until the

beginning of his own special efforts. However, his importance and his relationship with the goddess had been hinted at immediately after the general arming, through Agamemnon's exhortation. The pursuit of the enemy (1c) is halted before becoming overwhelming. We are thus able to say that element 1c, pursuit of the enemy army, appears only in a reduced form.!® After Diomedes' recovery, other elements also appear in a modified but recognisable form. He re-enters the fighting with

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strength enhanced, and kills a series of named adversaries (5.134—65). On the Trojan side, Aeneas resolves to intervene, and takes Pandarus

with him on his chariot (5.166-240). Diomedes and Sthenelus wait for their coming.!! Pandarus throws a spear and misses, and is killed by a spear thrown by Diomedes (5.275-96). Aeneas leaps from his chariot to defend Pandarus' body, and Diomedes throws a stone at him, knocking him unconscious (5.297-310). Aeneas' mother, Aphrodite, now intervenes, and tries to save him. Diomedes remembers Athena's instructions, and gives chase, wounding her in the hand with the point of his spear. She flees to Olympus with horses

borrowed from Ares, leaving Aeneas behind (5.297-343). Apollo now removes Aeneas from the battlefield, and leaves in his stead an eidolon, over which the two armies fight in the belief that it is Aeneas’ body (5.344—6, 431-53). Ares intervenes at the behest of Apollo with great effect (454ff.), until Athena intervenes at Hera’s behest, and

helps Diomedes wound Ares and drive him from the battlefield (793-867). In this part of Diomedes’ aristeia there are also striking modifications. The principal adversary is not killed (3a), and the two armies fight over a mere eidolon (3b). Yet even for modern readers

unfamiliar with Krischer’s work it is evident that a normal series of events is presupposed, in which an important warrior is killed and the two armies fight for his body. Aeneas’ unconsciousness and removal serve as obvious “substitute motifs".!? However, while Aeneas is saved, his superb horses are captured by Sthenelus, as Diomedes had planned in the event of his killing both adversaries (5.3 19-26, 260-73 respectively); and, as @. Andersen has since observed, their successful capture is a clear sign of victory prepared for by the poet. The question arises why this adversary is not simply killed. Part of the answer probably lies in the overall narrative economy of the Zliad.

Aeneas is used by the poet again, at the beginning of the major aristeia of Achilles, when he is saved by another god, Poseidon (20.75-352). The poet clearly does not intend to leave his Greek audience with the impression that the Trojans have many first-rate warriors. We can probably go a stage further in interpreting Aeneas' role, as Fritz Gregor Herrmann points out to me. To judge from Poseidon's remarks on Aeneas’ destiny (20.302-08), Homer's audience would not expect Aeneas to be killed or at any rate would not be surprised when he was not. When Aeneas later confronts Achilles, and has to be saved by another god, Poseidon, a parallelism is created between Diomedes, the first major aristeus in the epic, and Achilles,

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the last and greatest, and in different ways the status of Aeneas, as well as of Diomedes, is enhanced through association with Achilles. The concern not to detract from the fundamental superiority of the Greeks is surely also reflected in the fact that so much of the fighting

is played out in Achilles’ absence. Moreover, Zeus’ aid for the Trojans is comparable with handicapping in modern horse-racing. It

makes the match nearer to even, and so shows the Greeks in adversity as well as in triumph, yet without compromising their fundamental

superiority. Having modified element 3a so that Diomedes’ principal adversary in his aristeia is not killed, the poet takes care not to devalue the prowess of Diomedes; and so he has him take on two gods afterwards," having first laid the ground for these remarkable actions through Athena's instructions to him.

The three following major aristeias all exhibit divergences from the basic scheme. Agamemnon's major aristeia (11.16-283) ends prematurely after an agonising wound in the hand from a spear-thrust

by Coon, whom he then kills. However, he carries on till the pain becomes unbearable.!" When Agamemnon nounces

that

the

“best

man"

withdraws, Hector an-

has left (11.288;

cf. the boast

of

Pandarus (5.103) in the case of Diomedes; see above). Hector's lengthy major aristeia (11.62-18.38) contains two woundings with subsequent recoveries (11.349ff.; 14.212ff. and 15.235ff.). It overarches the entire battle narrative between Book 11 and Book

17. Here again we see a reflection of the concern not to let the Trojans have too many great warriors. As principal defender, Hector is a morally exemplary figure, as Pindar saw.'® The various major aristeias, however, are, I would argue, so constructed as to scale down his prowess and achievements. Zeus keeps Hector out of the

way during Agamemnon's aristeia (see 11.163f.), and warns him not to be active until Agamemnon has been wounded (11.185-94). His arming (0a) and other preparations are assumed to take place at the

same time as Agamemnon's,? and the gleam of his arms is compared with lightning (11.66). However, a preceding simile comparing his busy movements

with the all-gleaming

Dog

Star appearing and

disappearing among the clouds (11.62f.) has a chequered look, soon confirmed by his withdrawal during Agamemnon's aristeia.?! His

two woundings are from Diomedes' spear-throw (11.349-60) and a huge

stone

thrown

by

Ajax

(14.402-39),

and

are

much

more

positively presented than the longer-range shooting of Diomedes. Moreover, Hector's divinely-aided successes are counterpointed by

the sustained, disciplined, unaided efforts of Ajax, whom Hector

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203

carefully avoids (11.542); and the audience’s sympathy with Ajax is secured by the similes of the donkey (11.558—62) and the trick-rider (15.679-84) at either end. Indeed I would speculate that Ajax's efforts begin with what the original audience may have seen as a kind

of aborted major aristeia (11.489-557).?? After Odysseus has been led back by Menelaus to the Greek side, Ajax kills one of the sons of Priam, and wounds three other Trojans. Like Diomedes in Book 5, he is then compared to a river in spate (11.492-5; cf. 5.85-94). He pursues the Trojans (Epene κλονέων, 11.496; cf. 5.93: κλονέοντο φάλαγγες; 5.96: πρὸ ἔθεν KAovéovto φάλαγγες), killing men and horses. Hector then returns from the other part of the battlefield, and puts the Greeks to flight, but he studiously avoids Ajax. Then Zeus intervenes, and supernaturally inspires Ajax with panic, so that the Trojans are able to advance and Ajax is able only to slow them down. Both Ajax’s natural superiority and the generally higher quality of

the Greek leaders are underlined in the story of Hector’s general challenge and duel with Ajax, including the latter’s comment before

defeating him that he will now learn how many aristeis there are on the Greek side fit to tackle him (17.226—32).? In element 3a, single

combat with the principal hero on the enemy side, Hector's slaying of Patroclus does little to enhance his standing. And, when he then dons

the captured golden armour of Achilles (17.188ff.), there is no reference to any gleam from it,?* and Zeus speaks pityingly of how Hector is undeservedly putting on armour belonging to the greatest champion and how he will compensate him with glory because he will never return from battle nor will Andromache receive from him Peleus’ son's famous armour (17.206-08). Patroclus, on the other hand, in his aristeia (16.3 10-684) sustains no wound before the successive attacks of Euphorbus, Apollo, and Hector. There is no recovery, and he is cumulatively done to death. The gleam of the arms (Ob) receives interesting treatment in his case. When he prepares to come to the Greeks’ aid with arms borrowed from Achilles (16.130—44) there is a single reference at the outset to

the shining bronze (Πάτροκλος δὲ κορύσσετο νώροπι χαλκῷ, 16.130).2° The subdued character of the scene is evident from the poet’s

remark

that

the

equipment

borrowed

does

not

include

Achilles’ spear which he alone was able to wield (16.140-44). Such emphasis as is laid on any gleam is in association with Achilles, the true owner of the arms, first in his own earlier boast that the Trojans are confident only because they do not see the gleam of his own helmet close by (λαμπομένης, 16.70) and, second, in Patroclus’

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immediate impact: when the Trojans saw him and his “squire” gleaming with their arms (σὺν ἔντεσι pappaipovtac, 279) all were

shaken in their spirits and their battle-lines shifted because they thought

that swift-footed Achilles had cast aside his anger and

accepted a reconciliation with Agamemnon

(281f.).

In the fifth, final, and most important major aristeia, that of Achilles (19.368-24.691), all the elements are present in some form

except 3b, the fight over the fallen enemy hero. In the case of elements Oa and Ob, the arming (19.364-99) and the gleam of the aristeus’ arms (19.374-80, 398) are set against the background of the arming (19.351f., 356-64), with accompanying gleam (19.359, 362f.), of the whole Greek army.” In a surely significant contrast, when the dazzling gleam of the assembling Greek army is described in 2.455-8, Agamemnon is granted an outstanding and god-like appearance by Zeus (2.477-83), but there is no mention of any gleam from his arms. Moreover, as Fritz Gregor Herrmann points out, the motif of the gleam (0a) is anticipated in spectacular fashion when Achilles, at Hera’s behest, shows himself in the trench in front of the Greek wall,

and is enveloped in a flaming cloud by Athena, and saves Patroclus’

body with a threefold war-cry (18.165—238, esp. 205-26). This makes for a clear parallel with the fiery sign serving as element Ob vouchsafed by the same goddess to Diomedes, the first of the aristeis.

The absence of any fight over Hector's body (3b) would not surprise the audience; all surviving Trojans have fled into their fortress. In the case of elements 2a and 2b, the wounding and the recovery, Krischer

offers a glimpse inside Homer's workshop. Once Achilles has broken through the Trojans' lines he slaughters them unopposed, as his new armour is invulnerable. After his boast over Lycaon, expressing contempt for the River Scamander (or Xanthus) and its worshippers (21.130-32), the river inspires Achilles’ next intended victim, Asteropaeus from Paeonia, the grandson of another river-god, to resist

spiritedly; and he succeeds in inflicting a grazing wound before being killed. After a further boast and killings by Achilles, the Scamander himself appeals to him. When he rebuffs the Scamander, the rivergod attacks him, joined by the River Simois, until Achilles is rescued by gods hostile to Troy. The episode demonstrates the truth that the gods are more powerful than men (θεοὶ δέ te péptepor ἀνδρῶν, 21.264). When Achilles resumes fighting, it is thanks to other, more

powerful, gods. It is the Scamander's intervention that interrupts Achilles' killings, not Asteropaeus, and it is when heis threatened by the river that Achilles prays. As Krischer sees (27f.), because

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Achilles’ new armour renders him practically invulnerable, the elements of wounding and recovery are replaced by substitute motifs, and a general principle about the limitations of all mortals is explicitly expressed. As a pendant to this selective discussion of Krischer’s treatment of the five major aristeias in the Jliad, we may speculate that his choice of Diomedes for a detailed introductory account was due to the

concise nature of Diomedes' aristeia, which exhibits the scheme in a readily apprehensible form, and familiarises the reader with the

modification of individual motifs within a clear overall framework. It is also tempting to speculate that similar considerations may have led Homer himself to begin the series with this particular hero's

aristeia in this particular form. Homer would thus be providing a comprehensive and relatively uncomplicated introductory example of the scheme in order to orientate his audience. I would compare this strategy with Herodotus' account of the career of Croesus in Book 1. In a work that appeared in the same year as Krischer's, Justus Cobet shows that a common pattern of events underlies the careers of

Croesus, Cyrus, Cambyses, Darius, and Xerxes, as recounted by Herodotus:?' a king seeks to expand his domain, and comes to grief when he attacks a people more primitive than his own; the fatal move

is made in spite of the warning of a wise advisor.?* These five reigns provide a framework for the whole work. In the different examples of the scheme there are modifications of individual elements,? comparable with those in the major aristeias in the Iliad. In the case of Cyrus, the first Persian king, Croesus servesas advisor, and describes his whole life as an example of the wheel of human affairs, which keeps turning and does not allow the same people to remain

fortunate all the time (1.207).?? Thus Croesus’ reign explicitly serves as an introductory example of Herodotus' scheme. II. The Aristeia of Cyrus the Great The prominent role of the major aristeia scheme in the Iliad inevitably raises the question whether it found any echoes in later

Greek literature. One clear instance is in Xenophon's Cyropaedia. I preface my discussion of that example with the few isolated instances of individual motifs that I have so far found from the pre-classical period. In Alcaeus' exhortation to his comrades, which begins with a catalogue of the arms they have at their disposal (fr. 357 L-P), the

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poet begins

by emphasising the gleam of the storehouse itself

(μαρμαίρει δὲ μέγας δόμος, 1, “the great house gleams”, presumably

from the arms stored inside),?! and in his catalogue of the arms inside he mentions the gleaming of the helmets (λάμπραισιν κυνέαις, 3) and the greaves (λάμπραι κνάμιδες, 5). This striking emphasis on gleaming in an exhortation to be ready to fight suggests that the gleam is meant to inspire confidence and is a conscious echo of the

propitious gleam in aristeias, making the poet's comrades feel like Homeric heroes and hinting at divine support.?? Another possible reflection is the myth of Heracles' conflict with the Hippocoontidae, as recounted by Pausanias (3.15.3-5). The sons

of Hippocoon killed Oeonus, a nephew of Heracles. Heracles then attacked

them

single-handed,

was

wounded,

and

withdrew.

He

returned later with an army and took vengeance on Hippocoon and

his sons. Pausanias records two monuments associated with the hero's wound. In Laconia there was a temple of Asclepius Kotyleus founded by Heracles, who gave the title to Asclepius for curing him of a wound in the kotyle, or thigh-joint, sustained in the first battle with the Hippocoontidae (3.19.7); and at the “Common Hearth of

the Tegeans" there was a statue showing Heracles with a wound in the thigh sustained in the first battle with the Hippocoontidae (8.53).? This story is comparable with elements 2a, the wounding, and 2b, the recovery, of the major aristeia, and is likely to be old. Alcman knew of Heracles’ being wounded, but located the wound in his hand (cf. Agamemnon in Iliad 11; see above).’* I turn now to Xenophon. In his account of Cyrus’ victory over Croesus in the Cyropaedia (6.4-7.1) he has composed a sequence of exploits and events which strongly resembles the Iliadic major aristeia. Xenophon's account bears little resemblance to that of Herodotus (1.75-85), which is closer to the original events of the midsixth century BC. However some of these, namely those concerning the fate of Croesus after defeat, were already the subject of mythicisation in the earlier fifth century, and Xenophon certainly innovates in omitting the story of the pyre altogether. There can be little doubt that Xenophon's detailed account is largely his own

invention. Before recounting the decisive battle, Xenophon employs the motif of arming in order to single out two leaders: Cyrus himself (7.1.2) and Abradatas, King of Susa (6.4.2). In the battle Cyrus passes through a series of events comparable with elements of the Iliadic major aristeia. Abradatas also distinguishes himself. He

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attacks the Lydian cavalry, putting them to flight, and is then killed in an attack on the Egyptian infantry.

On the eve of the battle Cyrus receives intelligence. He alone plans his tactics before issuing detailed orders to his generals. He places

good soldiers behind the others to force them to keep fighting (6.3.25-7), a disposition reminiscent of that of Nestor, who drove the cowards between two lines of good men (/liad 4.297-300).

On the day of battle Xenophon first describes the general arming of Cyrus’ army (6.4.1). The soldiers’ arms gleam en masse, just as those of the Greeks in Jliad 2 as they prepare to fight (455-8),°* and, as in the case of Achilles (Jliad 19.351-99; see section I above), Cyrus’ arms are also made to gleam. Xenophon combines the motif of the gleaming arms of a whole army with another motif which also occurs in Iliad 2 in combination with that motif: Cyrus’ army flashed with

bronze, and was “‘aflower with crimson cloaks”. This implies the traditional comparison with flowers, large numbers being the tertium

comparationis, as in Iliad 2.467f.?" Xenophon next describes the arming of Abradatas. His wife Pantheia has given him golden arms; and his dress and handsome appearance are described. She exhorts him to fight well. In the whole scene (6.4.2-4) there is no reference to

any gleam from all this beautiful armour and apparel. Cyrus' own arming is not described. Xenophon next reports Cyrus' exhortation to his generals, followed by the sacrifices and prayers. When the army is ready to advance, Xenophon describes the arms and equipment of Cyrus' escort, from which those of Cyrus differ in only one respect: theirs are painted gold, whereas his gleam like a mirror (7.1.2). Cyrus now mounts, and Zeus sends a favourable thunderclap on the right. This combination of the gleam of the leader's arms with a favourable omen may be compared with the way the gleam of

Agamemnon's arms is emphasised and followed by a thunderclap sent in his honour by Athena and Hera (/iiad 11.17, 30, 43-6). But in Cyrus' case the effect of the gleam is contrived by him and thereafter confirmed by a divine omen. Thus at the time of the arming of Cyrus' forces attention is concentrated on Abradatas and his exemplary dialogue with Pantheia, in which Pantheia's exhortation is in marked and doubtless conScious contrast with Andromache's exhortation to Hector to fight cautiously and preserve his own life (Jliad 6.407-39). In fact

Abradatas

has volunteered

for the most difficult position (see

below). The absence of any mention of a gleam from Abradatas' arms contrasts with that from Cyrus' equipment, and may be

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J.G. HOWIE

intended to foreshadow his death in the battle. We may compare its outright omission here with the reduced form it takes in the arming of Patroclus, and, more particularly, with the scene of Hector donning

the captured

arms

and

Zeus' prediction

with

its reference to

Andromache (see section I above). Moreover, Xenophon's way of

describing Cyrus' arms indirectly after the general arming of his army, and of mentioning the gleam at that later point, is comparable with the way Homer does not describe the arming of Diomedes, and

places the gleam at a later point, when his special exploits are about to commence. Cyrus' army now advances, and when the enemy appear and their

dispositions and movements

become visible, he alone gives the

necessary orders, and delivers exhortations to commanders and units

(7.1.4-23). Exhortation by a Homeric aristeus at this point is noted by Krischer (81) in the cases of Hector (11.286ff.), Patroclus (16.269ff.), Sarpedon (12.310ff.), and the minor aristeus Idomeneus

(13.246ff.). Xenophon describes a battle much more up-to-date and complex than those in the Iliad, and involving a greater number of factors. Even so, the similarity is clear. Cyrus chooses the moment to attack, and strikes the numerically superior enemy army on the (left) of its two incurving flanks (7.1.25f.). Like a Homeric hero, he takes part in the fighting personally, but his first victims are not named. There is

no great slaughter at this point, either, thanks to his surprise tactic, and the forces directly attacked are swiftly put to flight (7.1.26). All this happens as a result of an initiative by Cyrus; and in putting to

flight that part of the enemy forces, he performs the equivalent of element 1c in a major aristeia, pursuit of the enemy army. Cyrus'

success is the signal for the two other leaders, Artagerses and Abradatas, to begin. Artagerses attacks the enemy's (right) flank with his camels, and penetrates the enemy line, causing great slaughter as they flee (7.1.27f.), thus also achieving the equivalent of element 1c. Abradatas is in the most dangerous position, in front of

the enemy phalanx — a position he volunteered for and was then allotted by a draw (6.4.34-6, 7.1.15). He breaks through the line of

chariots facing him, and is killed in the fighting in front of the Egyptian infantry stationed behind them (7.1.29-32). Cyrus’ first movements are thus combined with the exploits of two other leaders.

In this respect heis comparable with Diomedes and Patroclus, whose exploits in elements la-c, single combats with named opponents, attack on the enemy line, pursuit of the enemy army, are combined

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with those of other Greek leaders (//iad 5.37-83, 16.306-60). The Persians now move into the breach made by Abradatas and his chariots, and encounter the still unbroken line of Egyptian infantry. A fresh effort is called for, and the Persians actually begin to fall back until they are stopped by their own rearguard (in a contingency provided for in Cyrus' orders; see above). This kind of realism is compatible with the Homeric scheme. Both Agamemnon and Hector have to fight armies that have regrouped after a successful attack by the aristeus (see Iliad 11.209-16, 310-18). Cyrus arrives, and once again takes the initiative, attacking the Egyptians from behind; and his troops kill large numbers of them (7.1.36). But the Egyptians regroup, and in this fighting Cyrus falls from his horse. However, before that, his supreme importance has again been demonstrated. He falls when a wounded enemy soldier is trampled under Cyrus' horse and stabs the horse in the belly, so that it throws Cyrus (7.1.37). Cyrus makes no prayer, nor does a god come to his aid. What saves him is the love of his men, who eagerly

rush to the rescue (7.1.38),* a love that he has long cultivated.?? Unlike Diomedes, Agamemnon, and Hector, Cyrus himself is not injured, only his horse. Among the Homeric major aristeias the closest parallel to the danger and the manner of rescue is in the

Scamander's attack on Achilles. This whole incident may be viewed as a realistic equivalent of that epic event and, like it, as a modified version of elements 2a and 2b, the wounding and the recovery of the aristeus. Just as Homer could suggest distinctions of prowess between aristeis,'? so Xenophon seems here to be suggesting a moral contrast between Cyrus and Achilles. While Achilles is saved by the gods,

Cyrus

is saved by the love of his own men. And, again in

contrast with Achilles, Cyrus did not gratuitously bring the danger down on his own head, as Achilles did in defying the god of the river. Cyrus' fall from his horse and rescue serve as a turning-point. When he remounts, he sees the Egyptian phalanx being attacked on all sides (7.1.40) in accordance with orders he had already given before he was thrown (see 7.1.36). Comparison is again invited with Achilles.

Alone among

Homer's

major aristeis, Achilles puts the

enemy to flight so decisively in elements la-c that his (substitute) wounding, element 2a, does not undo the effects of his earlier efforts,

and the enemy continues in headlong flight. Cyrus' work, too, albeit at a more realistic and a more intellectual level, is not undone by his (substitute) wounding, and the Persian attack has been making good progress in accordance with his instructions. Only the Egyptians are

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J. G. HOWIE

still holding out. Cyrus shows a degree of intelligence and compassion setting him apart from any Homeric hero.*! He forbids any further engagement with the Egyptians, and orders his men to throw

spears at them from a safe distance; and in a short time their resistance is broken. Cyrus then takes pity on them, and gives them honourable terms. Croesus now flees to Sardis, and the city falls

(7.2.4). Thus Xenophon has given Cyrus a modified but clearly recognisable version of the Homeric major aristeia up to and including element 2b, recovery. Among his modifications, those of elements 2a and 2b, the wounding and the recovery, are reminiscent of the well-

established practice of myth-revision from the point of view of morality or probability. Xenophon has in effect included in his new version of Cyrus' victory a revision of two elements of the major aristeia of heroic epic. Xenophon's readers would readily grasp this. Herodotus had offered a revision of a purported pre-existing version of Cyrus' birth (1.107-22) under the guise of a variant Persian tradition (1.95), and revised a pre-existing version of Croesus’ ordeal on the pyre (1.86f.) partly, at least, under the guise of a Lydian one (1.87).44 Moreover, Achilles’ adventure with the river had

already been rationalised by Hellanicus of Lesbos in his Troica.* The evident interaction between Xenophon’s narrative and his readers’ knowledge of the /liad implies a familiarity with the basic Homeric scheme of the major aristeia. What, then, of the final phase, elements 3a and 3b, single combat with the principal hero on the enemy side and the fight over the body? If Xenophon’s original readers were able to recognise the various stages of the major aristeia down to element 2b, did they then wonder whether there was

anything equivalent to those final stages? According to Krischer (28), the major aristeus’ failure to capture his adversary’s body in the Iliad is a reminder that he, too, is mortal and subject to the limitations proper to a mortal, just as the wounding and the recovery show that even an aristeus is subject to vicissitudes; at the same time, the aristeus’ failure to capture the body shows the gods’ compassion for the fallen enemy champion. For, with the exception of Achilles, no major aristeus in the Z/iad gains possession of the body; and Achilles has already been denied the conquest of Troy by Apollo (Iliad 21.545ff.), and continues to suffer grievously over Patroclus, even

abandoning the idea of challenging the Trojans immediately after Hector's death (/liad22.381-94). Thus human limitation is manifested even in his case, and the gods’ concern for his fallen adversary is

THE MAJOR ARISTEIA IN HOMER AND XENOPHON

211

strongly emphasised in Book 24. In Xenophon’s narrative, there is no equivalent to the enemy champion who feels his honour compromised and intervenes. This can be seen as a matter of realism and also as accounted for in the

narrative. Xenophon’s battle is not a matter of individual champions engaging their peers in single combat, but of contingents led by individuals. Yet an individual leader might still have attempted to rally his troops. Why then does no such leader emerge? The answer is that by this stage Croesus’ forces have been thoroughly routed apart from the Egyptian infantry, who simply stand their ground, while Cyrus, as a competent and realistic commander, finds means of subduing them without excessive danger to his men, let alone himself. But at least the Egyptians show that a sense of honour exists on the other side, and is not exclusive to Cyrus. In his defeat of the Trojans, Achilles is the Homeric aristeus most

closely comparable with Cyrus at this point, and we Achilles’ case, while element 3b, the fight over the eliminated by his victory, the moral view reflected manifested by other means. In Cyrus’ case element

have seen that, in body, is logically by that element is 3a, single combat

with the principal hero on the enemy side, has been eliminated, but a

sense of honour is still shown on the other side. As for element 3b, the readers would find that here the moral view has been altered. Cyrus himself curtails his aggressive actions once victory is in sight, by limiting the slaughter of the gallant Egyptians. Thus, while in the Homeric major aristeia it is the gods who impose the limitations upon the aristeus and show compassion for the fallen enemy champion, in the Cyropaedia Cyrus himself spontaneously limits his actions and exercises compassion, displaying a concern for human

life, and not merely with the decent disposal of a corpse. Here again comparison is invited with Achilles, whose insatiable killing is interrupted only by a god. Thus in the Xenophontic equivalents of element 3b, the fight over the body, Cyrus himself perceives and acts on principles which in the Homeric major aristeia only the poet and the audience perceive and

which in the Homeric narrative are enforced by the gods. On the other hand, the factor of vicissitude in element 2a, the wounding, is

clearly recognisable in Cyrus' fall from his horse, and is combined with a maximum of realistic personal engagement in the battle. Moreover, the involvement of the gods is guaranteed at the outset by the combination of the propitious gleam, element Ob, with a thunderomen sent by Zeus. Xenophon's version of Cyrus' victory thus

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J.G. HOWIE

confirms Krischer’s reconstruction of the major aristeia with respect to the first three phases (0a-b, la—c, and 2a-b), whilst the next part of his account does not directly resemble the fourth phase (3a-b). Apart from differences attributable to a more recent form of warfare and a somewhat more realistic view of it, Cyrus' major aristeia differs most significantly from its Homeric model in the moral dimension in his own actions. Despite these differences, however, it is clear that the

author of the Cyropaedia was familiar with the Iliadic scheme of the

major aristeia and expected his readers to share that knowledge and to appreciate his account of Cyrus' victory in the light of it. III. Agesilaus at Coronea In view of that shared familiarity it is worth analysing Xenophon's two accounts of a historical contemporary battle in which the victorious commander is wounded, Coronea. Both the Hellenica (4.3.10-21) and the Agesilaus (2.5-17)) describe the Spartans' successful attack on the Thebans in which Agesilaus is severely wounded. In both the wound is only mentioned after the account is otherwise complete (Hellenica 4.3.19; Agesilaus 2.12f.). After the battle, in spite of his wounds, Agesilaus remembers his duty towards the gods, and spares the lives of eighty enemy soldiers taking refuge in a temple, and gives them safe passage (Hellenica 4.3.20, Agesilaus 2.13). There is one significant difference between the two accounts. Only in the Agesilaus, an encomium, does Xenophon describe the impressive sight of the Spartans before the battle, with their whole army so equipped and clothed that it appeared to be entirely made of bronze and crimson (ὡς ἅπαντα μὲν χαλκόν, ἅπαντα δὲ φοινικᾶ φαίνεσθαι, 2.7, apparently the same visual effect as that produced by Cyrus’ forces in the Cyropaedia). We also learn there that Agesilaus was hard put to equip his army to the same standards as his adversaries but was determined to foster good morale thereby (2.8). Both of Xenophon’s accounts of Coronea show Agesilaus risking his life in a bold and decisive attack and then showing mercy to suppliants under the religious protection of a shrine.*5 These are admirable qualities. The wounds the king sustains are consistent with such a bold tactic, and can be taken as factual or at any rate realistic.

The description of the spectacle initially presented by the Spartans in the Agesilaus is reminiscent of the first phase of a major aristeia, elements 0a and Ob, arming and the gleam of the arms, albeit in an

adapted form: the arming of the army and the (implicit) gleam of its

THE MAJOR ARISTEIA IN HOMER

AND XENOPHON

213

arms, both established Homeric motifs, are described rather than the

arming and gleaming arms of the leader, but it is the leader who

makes these things possible. The association of the visual impact of the equipment with good morale reminds the reader of the role of the gleam in epic as a good omen, but here this is an effect contrived by

the king. The wounding then reminds the reader of element 2a, but it is only reported after the battle. One might say that the victory

presupposes a recovery (2b). However, comparison with Cyropaedia 7 suggests that in his accounts of both battles Xenophon sees the individual physical efforts of the leader as not more important than his plans and orders, which in a well-run army continue to have their

effect independently of him. Agesilaus’ mercy towards the suppliants is comparable with Cyrus’ mercy towards the Egyptians and Croesus. The inclusion of the visual impact of the general arming in the encomiastic Agesilaus seems openly to invite at the outset

comparison between the whole account of the battle and a Homeric major aristeia. However, in the account in Hellenica 4, which lacks

that opening, the wounding comparison

may

have sufficed to invite such a

and to let the readers of this work, too, see

a moral

difference between the victorious king and a Homeric hero such as Achilles. Thus, apart from the greater realism, the leader in Xenophon’s

Cyropaedia and in his two accounts of Coronea in some respects

actually replaces the gods of epic (Cyropaedia: elements Ob, the gleam; 2b, the recovery; and 3b the (generally fruitless) fight over the

enemy hero's body. Agesilaus: Ob. Agesilaus and Hellenica: 3b). IV.

Conclusion

The above analysis appears to confirm the correctness of Krischer’s hypothesised ‘major aristeia’ scheme. Three areas of investigation

remain open. First, the scholia to the J/iad use ἀριστεία and related terms with reference to more warriors than would Krischer. They also show an awareness of the preparatory function of the motif of

arming and of comparison with a god, and make comparisons between different heroes in the light of their exploits and the particular circumstances in which they are performed. The whole question of what the scholia mean by dpioteia, the elements they detect in it, and the comparisons they make would be worth examining with the advantage of Erbse's edition.*' Second, Homer's own broad use of such terms requires fresh investigation. In view of

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J.G. HOWIE

the paradigmatic role of the major heroes, acknowledged in antiquity, and of other warriors killed or wounded while in some sense ‘excelling’ (ἀριστεύοντες), it is probable that the two categories are connected at least in the sense that the less prominent warriors so marked out help to underline the exemplary and consolatory role of the more prominent ones. The use of similar praise in funerary

inscriptions for real warriors in the archaic and classical periods makes this connection more likely.** Third, the possible influence of the concept of the aristeus and the elements of an aristeia upon historical writing merits further investigation.”

NOTES 1.

This paper began life at the first meeting of the Liverpool Latin Seminar in 1975, and was inspired by the chapter '*Gleichnistypik und Aristie” of Tilman Krischer Formale Konventionen der homerischen Epik (Zetemata 56, Munich 1971) [hereafter Krischer], which the author had sent me at the suggestion of Prof. F. Cairns. A later version was delivered before the Edinburgh and South-East Branch of the Classical Association of Scotland; and in 1992, at the invitation of Prof. N. Livadaras (Athens), I wrote a Greek-language version for the Parnassos Literary Association, published in the Association's journal (Parnassos 34

425-47).

(1992)

Tam profoundly grateful for these scholars’ encouragement, and for the

comments of my Edinburgh colleagues, Mr R.G. Lewis and Dr N.K. Rutter.

Most recently, another colleague, Fritz Gregor Herrmann, subjected the penultimate draft to fresh scrutiny. For a different approach to Homer's battle scenes, i.e. his methods of creating an impression of realism, and the historical background to that impression, see J. Latacz Kampfpardnese, Kampfdarstellung und Kampfwirklichkeit in der Ilias, bei Kallinos und

Tyrtaios (Zetemata 66, Munich

1977).

2.

G.S. Kirk (General Editor) The Iliad: A Commentary (6 vols, Cambridge 1985-93). B. Hainsworth in vol. III Books 9-12 (1993) p.212 simply refers the reader to Krischer 23 for "the repertoire".

3.

See below (Conclusion) and n.47. Hainsworth on 77. 11.369-83 says that Homer does not give Paris “ἃ formal aristeia of successively narrated successes". LSJ’ refers to Cic. Att. 16.9, where Cicero uses the term ironically of some bold stroke being struck in the Senate.

4.

havetaken the liberty of using the term ‘aristeus’ (noun; plural ‘aristeis’) for the principal actor in an aristeia, in place of Krischer's term ‘aristeuon’ (participle).

5.

For this type see Krischer 75-84. In each minor aristeia a different warrior plays the part of the more powerful adversary; see Krischer 83. This may be because, if the same hero played that gan more than once, the survival of several less werful adversaries might detract from his own status as a formidable warrior in the eyes of the audience.

6.

Krischer 13, citing W. Arend Die typischen Scenen bei Homer (Problemata 7, Berlin 1933).

7.

The status of such a hero will already have been established by an aristeia of his

own. Achilles kills the Trojan major aristeus Hector, who had killed the Greek

THE MAJOR ARISTEIA IN HOMER

AND XENOPHON

215

major aristeus, Patroclus, who had killed the Trojan minor aristeus Sarpedon. See Krischer 77. For Sarpedon’s minor aristeia in Book 12, see Krischer 78. Krischer 24. This divine rescue may be intended to foreshadow the rescue of Aeneas by

Aphrodite at the climax of this aristeia; see @. Andersen Die Diomedesgestalt in der Ilias (Symbolae Osloenses Vol. Supplet. 24, Oslo 1978) 49. Andersen also

notes that the words used to describe the Trojans’ general terror (πᾶσιν ὀρίνθη θυμός, 5.29) are only otherwise used of the terror inspired among them by the

sight of Patroclus (16.280) and by Achilles’ war-cry

10.

(18.223).

Krischer 24 and 35 (table) assumes that element 1c has been omitted altogether.

However, we may compare the situation here with that obtaining after the rescue of the wounded Odysseus by Ajax in JI. 11.489-557; see below and n.22.

11.

The exchanges between Aeneas and Pandarus and between Diomedes and Sthenelus serve to underline the importance of this engagement. See Krischer 25. Andersen (n.9) 56.

For Diomedes’ fight with Ares, see Krischer 26. For a recent detailed analysis of Diomedes’ aristeia, especially from the point of view of the theology, see Andersen (n.9) 45-94.

The pain is underlined by the simile of a woman's labour-pains (11.269-71). Perhaps Aphrodite's wound is located in the same place so that the anguish of a

very god may serve to justify in advance Agamemnon's need to withdraw.

See W. Metz ‘Hektor als der homerischste aller homerischen Helden’ Gymnasium 97 (1990) 385-404. Isthm. 7.30-6. Krischer 37.

Thus the dubious impression that Krischer 37 sees in this simile is not obviated by the lightning-simile but only counterbalanced by it. Cf. Krischer 83: "This beginning looks very promising, corresponding, as it does, to elements la and Ib." Indeed it may be said to attain element Ic, albeit in

reduced form, as in the case of Diomedes. Cf. also Hainsworth on 7/. 11.489.

23.

Even before the duel Hector's limitations are clear when he falls back along with other Trojan front-fighters in the face of formidable javelin-throws by Odysseus (4.494—508). However, à propos his challenge to the Greeks to single combat, both Homer himself and Agamemnon Menelaus.

(104-19) say that he is far superior to

Krischer 36. The element is not omitted altogether, pace Krischer 36. Krischer 36f. For the interpretation of the simile in 19.357f. see Krischer 47. Justus Cobet Herodots Exkurse und die Frage der Einheit seines Werkes (Hermes

Einzelschr. 17, Wiesbaden 1971); see esp. 164-76.

216

28.

J.G. HOWIE

For this figure, and for Herodotus’ general readiness to repeat certain motifs, see D. Fehling Herodotus and his ‘Sources’ (ARCA

198-202 respectively.

21, Leeds

1989), 203-9 and

See Cobet (n.27) 165-7. See Cobet (n.27) 164.

For σὺν

pappaipetv cf. the appearance of Patroclus and his “squire” in JL 16.279, Évtcot μαρμαίροντας, “gleaming with their arms".

See J.G. Howie ‘Sappho Fr. 94 (LP): farewell, consolation and help

in a new life’

PLLS 2 (1979) 299-342, 322. For such a conscious echo of earlier poetry by Alcacus, we may compare his use of Hesiod WD 582-96 in his drinking song, fr. 347 (L-P).

33.

Heracles is also represented as a front-fighter by a cult statue of Heracles Promachos in Thebes (Paus. 9.11.4). For the title cf. the statue of Hermes Promachos at Tanagra (Paus. 9.22.2). See D.C. Young Pindar Isthmian 7: Myth

and Exempla (Mnemosyne Suppl. 15, Leiden 1971). See Clem. Alex. Protr. 2.36.2, Sosibius

FGrHist 595 F 13, and D.L. Page Alcman:

The Partheneion (Oxford 1951) 30.

35.

Bacch. 3.23-62. See H. Maehler Die Lieder des Bakchylides: erster Teil (Leiden 1982), esp. 1.33-7; Fehling (n.28) 206f. The spiriting away of Croesus and his

womenfolk by Apollo to dwell with the Hyperboreans is probably modelled on a myth-revision by Stesichorus. While the traditional myth said that Hecuba was metamorphosed into a bitch, Stesichorus said Apollo carried her off to Lycia; see fr. 21

PMG (= Paus. 10.27.2). For the tendency to mythicise events as late as the

sixth and carly fifth centuries BC, including those concerning Croesus, see G.S. Kirk The Nature of Greek Myth (Harmondsworth 1974) 106-8 and 172-5. See n.26 above.

37.

38.

See W.C. Scott The Oral Nature of the Homeric Simile (Leiden 1974) 21, 81, 92

and n.26. Cf. Od. 9.51, where the comparison is clearly intended to suggest a formidable force. Xenophon's careful writing here caught the attention of Ps.-Longinus. In describing Cyrus’ fall, Xenophon uses the historic present: πεπτωκὼς ὑπὸ τῷ Κύρου ἵππῳ πατούμενος παίει εἰς τὴν γαστέρα τῇ μαχαίρᾳ τὸν ἵππον αὐτοῦ" ὁ δὲ ἵππος πληγεὶς σφαδάζων ἀποσείεται τὸν Κύρον. See Ps.-Longin. 25.1 and the comments of M. Kopidakis Διονυσίου Λογγίνου ΠΕΡῚ YYOYE (Iraklion

1990) 254f. Xenophon brings out the desperate efforts of Cyrus’ men with a succession of verbs in asyndeton: εὐθὺς γὰρ ἀνεβόησάν te πάντες καὶ προσπεσόντες ἐμάχοντο, ἐώθουν, EwBobvto, ἔπαιον, Exnatovto. Xenophon uses the same figure in his account of the Spartan attack in the Battle of Coronea (Hell. 4.3.19 = Ages. 2.12) in a passage praised by Ps.-Longinus as an effective example of asyndeton (19); cf. Kopidakis 249. Ps.-Longinus had devoted a monograph to Xenophon (see 8.1).

39.

Xenophon presents Cyrus’ rescue as an example par excellence of the vital importance of the soldiers’ love for their leader: ἔνθα δὴ ἔγνω ἄν τις ὅσου ἄξιον εἴη τὸ φιλεῖσθαι ἄρχοντα ὑπὸ τῶν περὶ αὐτόν (7.1.38). Cyrus ully cultivated this affection; see 2.4.9f. and 3.1.42; cf. 8.2.1-9. I owe these references to Mr G.D. Hogg of the National Library of Scotland. According to Xenophon, Agesilaus also cultivated his men's affections; see Ages. 2.12. See Krischer 76.

THE MAJOR ARISTEIA IN HOMER

AND XENOPHON

217

41.

Compare Pisistratus’ prudent forbearance after his victory at Marathon (Hdt. 1.63.2).

42.

On myth-revision in general sec especially W. Nestle Vom Mythos zum Logos?

(Stuttgart 1975 = 1942) 131-52, and T.C.W. Stinton ‘Si credere dignum est’

PCPS 22 (1976) 60-89 (= Collected Papers on Greek Tragedy (Oxford 1990) 236-64). See also J.G. Howie ‘Greek Polytheism’, in Polytheistic Systems ed.

G.M. Davies (Edinburgh 1989) 51-76, esp. 52f., 58-60 (Hesiod); ‘The revision of myth in Pindar Olympian 1. The death and revival of Pelops (25-27; 36-66)’ PLLS 4 (1983) 277-313; 'Thukydides' Einstellung zur Vergangenheit: Zuhórerschaft und Wissenschaft in der Archäologie’ Klio 66 (1984) 502-32 (Thucydides, Hecataeus of Miletus, Pindar). 43.

See Howie ‘The revision of myth...’ (cit. n.42) 288f., Fehling (n.28) 206f. See ARV? 238 (1) showing Croesus enthroned on a pyre (Myson, 490—480 BC); Maehler (n.35) 33-7; Fehling (n.28) 206f.

45.

FGrHist 4 F 28: “The god" rains down on Mt Ida, and the river overflows, threatening the army on the plain. Achilles, leading the army, is the first to encounter the river, and holds himself above the water by clinging to an elm, while the others flee wherever they can; cf. /]. 21.242-6, where a tree gives him only brief respite. Contrast the behaviour of the Greeks taking Troy; see Eur. Tro. 562f. (slaughter of suppliants at altars), Hec. 935 (female suppliants dragged away from altars).

47.

H. Erbse (ed.) Scholia Graeca in Homeri Iliadem I-VII (Berlin 1969-88).

See section 5.2 of my forthcoming article ‘The Iliad as Exemplum’, in Homer's World, Fiction, Tradition, Reality (Papers from the Norwegian Institute at Athens 3, 1995). 49.

For the possibility of its use by Thucydides see Howie (n.1) 438-47.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 219-57 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90- 1

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI (THE SIXTH PAEAN)* ALEX HARDIE (Foreign and Commonwealth Office)

I. Introduction

Pindars sixth paean was performed at Delphi at the annual panhellenic feast of the gods, the Theoxenia.! The Delphian setting is presented in an opening appeal to 'Pytho' to accept the poet (and by extension his chorus) at the occasion.” Elaborating this appeal, Pindar names Castalia (7-9): ὕδατι yap ἐπὶ χαλκοπύλῳ ψόφον ἀϊὼν Κασταλίας ὀρφανὸν ἀνδρῶν χορεύσιος ἦλθον (for having heard, beside the bronze-gated water, the noise — bereft of males’ dancing — of Castalia, I have come...).?

The term χαλκοπύλῳ (bronze-gated) denotes part of a fountain structure. Pindar is thus referring to the (archaic) fountain of Castalia, located some 500 metres east of the temenos of Apollo.‘ It is

with this feature that the present article is principally concerned.

The fountain had a well attested sacral function in the lustration of participants in religious ceremonies taking place within the temenos.5 This is relevant to Pindar, since Parke has shown good grounds for associating χαλκοπύλῳ with archeological evidence for a sluice mechanism at the fountain, apparently used to flood the forecourt on

special religious occasions and to facilitate large scale lustration.$ This mechanism will certainly have been deployed at a major festival

like the Theoxenia. Pindar's Delphian audience will have undergone 219

220

ALEX HARDIE

lustration at the fountain as a precondition of entering the temenos,

so that the ritual will have been fresh in the mind of each person present.

It seems

a fair

inference

that

χαλκοπύλῳ,

following

immediately after the festival allusion in line 5 (ἐν ζαθέῳ ... χρόνῳ, at a holy

time),

contains

a deliberate

reference

to these matters.

Moreover, in suggesting that he himself has been at the fountain prior to coming to the ‘grove of Apollo’ (14; cf. ἦλθον, 9), Pindar

implies that he too has undergone lustration.’ This would suggest that he is in a fit condition of purity to enter the temenos, and would

thereby support his plea for acceptance by ‘Pytho’. To the religious dimension may be added a further ‘Castalian’ feature, namely implicit association with musical performance. This is signalled in Pindar's act of ‘hearing’ at the fountain (ἀϊών, 8), with reference to the noise made by the water passing through the fountain structure. It can be inferred from a tragic fragment of Livius Andronicus that the ‘noise of Castalia’ featured elsewhere in fifth-

century literature.* But the claim that this noise is ‘bereft of the dance of males' represents an important elaboration of the motif. Pindar suggests that dance noise (or its absence) can in some way be discerned through water noise. The sequence of ideas is made more complex by an ambiguity in the word order. If ὕδατι is taken with Κασταλίας, and ψόφον with ἀνδρῶν, another construction is available:? “for having heard, at the bronze-gated water of Castalia,

the noise — bereft of males — of dancing ...”. On this version, ψόφον would itself represent the noise of choric dancing, and not of Castalia.

That

more

than one

valid syntactical construction

is

available is unlikely to be accidental, and double reference may well be involved.'^ It is therefore probable taneously to ‘noise of water’ and ‘noise within the possible range of meaning of sense, it denotes the “sound of one thing (LSJ). ψοφέω is used in prose to describe

that ψόφον refers simulof dance’. Both are well the word, for in its basic striking against another” the noise of a river.!! And

ἄψοφος is used twice by Callimachus with reference to the absence of the choric footbeat, in the context of paean performances (a sense which derives from the common use of ψόφος to denote the noise of

footsteps).

Double

reference

of ψόφος

within

two

available

constructions reinforces the implication that two noises, those of water and of dance, are somehow being related to each other. The

possible. significance of this feature will be considered in the next section. In a learned survey of ancient testimonia on Castalia, Herbert

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

221

Parke noted that Pindar, like other poets, can use the name as a convenient way of denoting Delphi and its environs. He suggested that in our passage it helps to build up local colour in a Delphian

paean.!? This suggestion is obviously true, so far asit goes.'* It might also be pointed out that reference to paean performance at or close to fountains, at Delphi and elsewhere, can be paralleled in other texts.

But for the reasons outlined above, it seems unlikely that in our context Castalia is brought in simply as a feature of the local geography. A more complex field of reference, both sacral and musical, seems to lie behind Pindar's introduction of the fountain. In assessing the role of Castalia in the sixth paean, I shall draw on its treatment by later poets for illustration. Although much relevant material has probably been lost, the fountain's subsequent importance as a programmatic symbol in contexts dealing with poetry and

poetic inspiration is clear enough.

Any attempt to define the

influences which helped to shape this role must obviously take account of the treatment of Castalia in early Greek lyric. There will, however, be an element of speculation in what follows. Almost a

third of Pindar's paean is missing; and earlier Delphian paeans by Alcaeus (fr. 307 LP) and Simonides (577 PMG) which might have influenced Pindar and others have largely been lost. The surviving

material will not allow of definitive conclusions, but only of suggestions as to possible or probable lines of interpretation. II. Castalia and the Delphides At 7-9, on either construction

of the word order, Pindar directs

*Pytho's' attention to the absence of male choric dancing. I take ὀρφανὸν ἀνδρῶν χορεύσιος (bereft of the dancing of men, 9) as denoting a dramatic situation in which, prior to Pindar's arrival on the scene, Delphi lacks a male chorus." Pindar highlights the lack of male ydpevoic, because he is arguing in favour of 'Pytho's' acceptance of his own chorus of νέοι (young men, 122). In dramatic terms, Pindar presents himself and his visiting chorus to 'Pytho' asa komos, seeking admission to the Theoxenia, and to an honorific

share of the feast.!* Pindar goes on to praise choric paean performances by Delphian girls (15-18): τόθι Aatoldav θαμινὰ Δελφῶν κόραι χθονὸς ὀμφαλὸν παρὰ σκιάεντα μελπίό]μεναι ποδὶ κροτέοίντι γᾶν θο)ῷ

m

ALEX HARDIE (where (sc. in the grove of Apollo], by the shady navel of the earth, the maidens of Delphi, frequently dancing in honour of the son of Leto, beat the ground with swift foot).

Pindar praises the Δελφῶν κόραι (maidens of Delphi) in similar terms at Paean 298ff: θαμὰ A[tAg]Ov/ ... ἱστάμεναι yopóv/ ταχύ]ποδα π[αρ]θένοι ... (the virgins of Delphi, frequently setting up

the swift-footed chorus ...). Taken together, the two passages suggest encomiastic reference to a resident female chorus of Delphides, as a Delphian equivalent of the well known chorus of Delian maidens, the

Deliades.'? There are some references to Delphides in later paeans from which it may be inferred that the Delphian authorities welcomed public reference to them and to their service of Apollo.”° Be that as it may, Pindar's reference to frequent (θαμινά) Delphian paean performances in honour of Apollo stands in implied contrast with the (special) paean performance of Pindar's male chorus; and it helps to explain why that visiting chorus is needed on the present occasion. There is a further important point of contact between 7-9 and 15-18, namely the latter's focus on the choric footbeat of the Delphides (ποδὶ κροτέο[ντι γᾶν 80], 18). This action (and the verb κροτέοντι in particular) suggests precisely the noise denoted by w690c.?! Given the association between ψόφος and χόρευσις at 8f., it is hard to believe that Pindar did not intend an internal cross reference between the two passages, and thus the two noises. This of course suggests correlation between the Castalian ψόφος and the footbeat of the Delphides: thus, although it is ‘bereft of the dance of

men', the noise of Castalia may correlate in some positive way with the noise of the dance of women. The force of such a correlation would be greater if the Delphides were to be understood as dancing as Pindar arrives, and if their

footbeat were audible to Pindar as he listened at the Castalian fountain (i.e. if the generic praise of Deiphides could be taken as

expanding on a preliminary pointer at 7-9 to an actual, concurrent, female performance). This scenario is plainly suggested in the second possible construction of 7-9 (... hearing the sound — bereft of men — of dancing ...); and in the first construction, ἀνδρῶν itself points in this direction, since, if Pindar were suggesting the absence of dance tout court, the male reference would be superfluous. Another indirect

argument for the presence of female χόρευσις lies in Propertius 4,9, a poem which Cairns has shown to have much in common with the opening of Paean 6.2 There, Hercules approaches a sacred grove,

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

and "hears"

223

(audit, 23; cf. didv) girls laughing inside (they are

celebrating the festival of the Bona Dea with choric dance; cf. 33). I

believe that Pindar's dramatic situation also involves the presence of dancing girls, thereby suggesting a possible erotic dimension to the plea of the komos for admission.? It is a reasonable working inference that Pindar hears their χόρευσις at the Castalian fountain, and within its ψόφος.

The correlation of water and dance might at first be thought simply to exemplify the richness of Pindaric metaphor.” Later, when he speaks of Aegina "receiving roaring waves of song”, Pindar is

obviously deploying metaphor to equate his paean with the sound made by the waves of the sea.?? But at 7-9, Pindar is not articulating an aspect of reality in figurative terms. He is correlating two aspects of Delphian reality, the Castalian fountain and the Delphides. How is

this correlation to be understood? There was a well understood linkage between virgin girls, the purity/translucence of a mountain stream and the nymphs which were understood to reside in such fountains.?* Mythological virgins are thus found taking refuge in streams to escape divine rape.?' At Delphi, among the variant traditions explaining the name Castalia, is the legend that a Delphian virgin of that name had jumped into the stream to avoid being raped by Apollo.”* If ‘Castalia’ was commonly thought to have been named after one of the prototype Delphian virgins (or Delphides), some continuing link with the Delphides (i.e. between eponymous nymph and her present day successors/equi-

valents) would be quite natural.?? Another approach lies through Castalia's lustral role. Here again, an ancient pattern of association between pure water, virgins and

nymphs is relevant. Thus, the water from the Roman fountain of the Camenae (water nymphs) was regularly used by the Vestal Virgins to

purify the temple of Vesta.?? And a later Apolline oracle enjoins the collection of pure water from seven fountains, and then sprinkling houses νύμφαις αἴθ᾽ eineptai γεγάασιν (with nymphs which have

become pleasant).!! At Delphi, there is some indirect evidence that virgins

aspiring

to the

service of Apollo

washed

their hair in

Castalia.? And Apollo himself washed his hair in Castalia, as part of his own process of lustration.? These two features of Delphian tradition seem to be brought together in a Hellenistic paean in which Apollo, returning to Delphi, is said to “‘visit the stream of Castalia,

together with the famous Delphides"?* Such visits could be for no

other purpose than purification before entering the temenos, a

24

ALEX HARDIE

process with which the Delphides seem thus to be associated in some formal and sacral way.?* The paean poet may here be speaking of a lustration ritual associated with the origins and aetiology of Apolline cult at Delphi.’ These passages may

help to suggest some special relationship

between Castalia and Delphides; but they do not immediately point to any explanation for correlation of Castalia and Delphides qua dancing chorus. There did however exist a well-known pattern of

ideas whereby choric performance in general could be associated with water. Any moving body of water (fountain, river or sea) could

be thought of as a living entity, embodied in quasi-divine water nymphs.?? By a natural extension, water is often described in terms of a characteristic activity of unmarried girls (also νύμφαι), i.e. as a dancing chorus; and the water nymph ‘chorus’ is acommon analogue for the Greek maiden chorus." An example which suggests the prevalence of the concept is a group of three interlinked (i.e. dancing)

nymphs depicted at the foot of a fountain inscription in Magnesia.?? Choric activity comprised song and dance (the sound of the mouth as well as that of the feet). Both aspects are represented in water

nymph activity. Varro, in equating the Muses with water nymphs, claimed that music was produced by the movement of water.* Moving water could be said to ‘talk’: Horace's praise of the loguaces

Lymphae cascading down the rocks of the fons Bandusiae (Odes 3.13.15f.) alludes to the noise made by the nymphs embodied in the

water.*' Ennius almost certainly represented the water nymph Egeria speaking to King Numa through the murmur of the water; this motif takes us into the sphere of oracular nymphs, and the association of water-noise and prophecy (which we find directly attested at Didyma).* Statius’ reference to the vocales undae of Castalia itself probably draws on the same concepts (Silvae 5.5.2), bridging poetry and prophecy. As one might expect, much of the evidence for water nymph

song/dance is literary in nature. Callimachus' aetion of the Deliades traces their origins to Delian nymphs, the daughters of the river Inopus, and to the song which they sang at Apollo's birth.” Again,

Euripides’

chorus of Theban

"Asopid nymphs"

(i.e. nymph

old men

in the Heracles invokes

daughters of the river Asopus) as

“fellow singers".** At Jon 1074ff., in a passage rich with dancing terminology, the chorus allude to the Καλλίχορος (the fountain of fine dances) at Eleusis, and then speak of the Nereids of sea and streams, celebrating Persephone and Kore in choric dance. At

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

Quintus Smyrnaeus

225

3.582ff., the chorus of Nereids and the sea

together raise a sound in mourning for Achilles. Of especial illustrative importance is Bacchylides’ juxtaposition of the sound of the sea (earlier depicted as a chorus of dancing Nereids) and the

nearby singing of a paean by the Athenian maidens and youths rescued by Theseus legendary prototype Delos. This passage an ancient audience complex example is dolphins and Greek

(17.124ff.).4° The latter chorus is in turn a for the chorus singing Bacchylides’ paean at helps to illustrate the complex analogues which might expect in such a context. A still more Euripides Electra 432ff., where Nereid chorus, ships sailing to Troy are all to be understood as

‘dancing’ to the music of the τριηραύλης (the fluteplayer who gave the time to the oarsmen), and where the oars are wittily said to be ἀμετρήτοι (numberless), with play on choric μέτρα (metres), i.e. the beat which will have been marked by the oars themselves." An allusive deployment of the same concepts at Propertius 4.9.33ff. may

be directly relevant to the sixth paean (see above for the relationship between the two poems): ‘Hercules’ draws an implicit parallel between the dancing chorus of girls and the sound of water/water nymphs in the fountain in the grove.“ A Castalian context for these ideas is found in the Culex. Apollo's cult centres are listed, culminating in Delphi (15ff.) and praise of Castalia (17): ... Castaliaeque sonans liquido pede labitur unda. The noise (sonans ... unda) of the fountain is juxtaposed with the footstep (pede) of running water, a figure of speech which may well originate

in the conception of moving water as dancing nymphs (cf. Bacchylides 17.108, ὑγροῖσι ποσσίν, of the dancing chorus of Nereids). Pierian Naiads are then invoked to praise Apollo (18ff.): quare, Pierii laticis decus, ite sorores/ Naiades, et celebrate deum ludente chorea. The Naiad-Muses are not actually asked to perform at Castalia; but

their dancing chorus (/udente chorea) connects with liquido pede; and they are asked to celebrate Apollo (i.e. to sing a paean).“ Here then is evidence of water nymphs (Muse substitutes) and female paeanchorus, juxtaposed with praise of the moving water of Castalia. Here

also is the explicit use of pes to describe the flow of Castalian water. The suggested correlation of water and dance noise in Pindar can, I believe, best be understood against the background of water nymphs, dancing feet, rhythmical beat and noise. But interpretation along these lines raises difficulties because of the indirectness and allusiveness of the artistic procedures it presupposes. It could be more easily sustained if Castalia were explicitly depicted asa nymph, or if it could

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be assumed that the Delphian audience would have known of an

underlying relationship between Delphides and Castalia which would have helped it make the thought connections suggested above. The external evidence of association between the Delphides and Apolline lustration at Castalia may well point in this direction. But in most

other respects, we are reliant for 'evidence' on Pindar's own text. In the next section, I shall try to show that, in the second and third

triads, Pindar does deploy water nymphs in ways which suggest deliberate

cross

referencing

with

choral

activity

(ie.

with

the

Delphides) and with Castalia. The most important such figure will be the nymph Aegina. I shall then (section IV) consider the possible relevance of the cult of the Muses of Delphi, which, associated as it

was with the Cassotis fountain in the temenos, will have had a direct bearing on the way Delphians thought about fountain water and its relationship to music. III. Castalia, Thetis and Aegina

In the first triad, as has been seen, water is introduced by the naming of Castalia. The fountain was sometimes thought of as being embodied in its eponymous nymph;?? and Pindar seems to personify

the stream in an apostrophe at Olympians 9.17.5! In the sixth paean, he does not speak of Castalia in personified terms, so that there is no compelling reason to suppose that he has the nymph in mind. Yet in deploying the name, Pindar may not have seen any clear distinction between Castalia as physical stream and as nymph. An example of

some such pattern of undifferentiated thinking occurs in a parallel phrase at 134f.: in bödt: δ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ᾿Ασ[ω-7ποῦ (by the waters of

Asopus), the name refers both to the physical river (thus 654t1) and

(without

any

personifying

characteristics) to the river god

Asopus as father of the nymph Aegina (see below). A late (thirdcentury AD) poem from the oracle at Didyma illustrates the same point (I. Did. 159 (1)). It celebrates the construction within the sacred enclosure of a fountain by a proconsul, Festus: he thereby '*saves the

citizens with the nymph-streams, imitating the Delphic association with Castalia; for divination is dear to the nymphs, through whom divine inspiration is poured to the prophets".5? Here, the repeated

‘nymphs’ strongly suggests that the parallel with Castalia is with nymph and physical stream. It should not, therefore, be assumed that the absence

of personifying

characteristics from

the naming

Castalia rules out allusion to the eponymous nymph.

of

PINDAR, CASTALIA

AND THE MUSES

OF DELPHI

227

As an Apolline haunt and as a source of lustral water, the fountain will have been a hallowed place.*? Fountains and streams were regularly thought of as sacred to the nymphs.** Nymph cults are attested elsewhere on the Parnassus massif.55 Some association

between

the

archaic

Castalian

fountain

and

the

nymphs

can

therefore reasonably be hypothesised. A feature of Alcaeus' hymn to Apollo may be relevant. According to Pausanias, he said that the

stream’s water was “a gift to Castalia by the river Cephisus"55 This suggests personification both of donor and receiver. Himerius’ summary of the hymn refers to this same passage and adds that [Alcaeus] “makes a point ... of representing the water as being capable of perceiving the presence of the gods".?" Such perception implies the immanent presence of a sentient being. Thus, a natural

element embodied in a water nymph or personification perceived and

responded to Apollo's epiphany.** We may compare the reaction of the sea, embodied in the nymph Thetis, falling silent in response to

the paean, at Callimachus Hymn 2.20. Identical powers of perception are later attributed to unnamed "water" at Delphi by Aeneas of

Gaza, who adds that “it is said to respond [sc. to the god's epiphany] in musical manner."5? That the Castalian fountain was at some stage considered sacred to

the nymphs is suggested in an elegiac epigram (AP 14.71) entitled “Oracle of Pythia", which enjoins lustration in a νυμφαῖον νᾶμα (stream of the nymphs) as a condition for entering the temenos. The

epigram's date and circumstances of composition are uncertain, but the implied association of νύμφαι with Castalian lustration is suggestive in the context of the Delphides' suggested role in this area (above, section II). Evidence that a Castalian nymph cult existed in the third century BC appears in Theocritus" invocation at Idyil 7.148:° Νύμφαι Κασταλίδες, Παρνάσιον alnog ἔχοισαι. As might

be expected, Theocritus’ conception of the ‘Castalian nymphs’ is sophisticated and multi-faceted. At one level, they correlate, qua water nymphs, with the local nymphs on Cos who are identified with *sacred water' (136), and with spring water mixed with wine (154). But they are also mountain nymphs, and in that respect they correlate with the local nymphs who teach Simichidas poetry on the mountains (92f.), themselves modelled on Hesiod's Heliconian Muses (these complex interrelationships of ‘local’ and *panhellenic'

nymphs are relevant to Pindar, and will be considered further in section δ). In Pindar's second triad, water and nymph are identified in the

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ALEX HARDIE

figure of Thetis embodying the sea (83): κυανοπλόκοιο παῖδα novtiac/ Θέτιος (son of marine Thetis of the blue hair).? Thetis was of course a Nereid, and as such

a member of a divine sisterhood, or

collective, of sea nymphs. There is a probable literary allusion to the Nereids, and also to choric singing and the Muses, at 98-101 (the death and burial of Achilles): ἐπεὶ δ᾽ ἄλκιμον νέκυν [£]v té[pq@] πολυστόνῳ θέντο Πηλεῖδαν, ἁλὸς ἐπὶ κῦμα βάντες [ἦ]λθον ἄγγελοι] ὀπίσω (but when they had placed the mighty corpse of the son of Peleus in its much mourned tomb, travelling across the waves of the sea, messengers returned ...).

The

scene,

in particular the detail of the ‘much mourned

tomb’,

recalls the tradition that Thetis emerged from the sea with the Nereids to mourn Achilles, and that the Muses themselves came to sing a dirge.® This tradition, which goes back to Homer, and may well have appeared in Stesichorus, was an important and influential example of the deployment of water and water nymphs in a choric situation, and in an explicit parallel with the singing Muses. In the third triad, the nymph Aegina is identified with the island’s maritime tradition (124). She is strongly personified, both as the virgin daughter of a river god (134f.), and as physical embodiment of Mt Hellanios (v@tov, back, 139) and, by her hair, of the rain clouds which conceal it. Aegina may not be a water nymph pure and simple,

but she is closely identified with water in three separate

contexts, i.e. with sea, river and rain. At the same time, one or two verbal features may be meant to supply cross-references between Aegina and other figures. Thus Aegina’s maritime character ([nö]vro,

sea, 124) may recall ‘marine Thetis’ (xovtiac, 82). Her virginity (παρθένον, 136) may recall the Muses’ virginity (παρθένοι, 54). Her role in articulating the sources (cf. πόθεν, 130) of the island’s myths may cross refer to the Muses’ role in disclosing hidden truths (πόθεν, 50). There might even be some relationship between kóp[a]t (138, of Aegina's hair) and κόραι (16, same sedes) of the Delphides: and at the conceptual level, there is a parallel between Aegina’s “roaring waves

of songs" (Pindar's paean) and the earlier correlation of Delphides’ paean with the noise of Castalia hypothesised in sections I and II. These apparent points of contact seem to underline the care with which Aegina has been integrated into the paean, and the centrality of her role to its construction. The remainder of this section will seek

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

229

to evaluate this role insofar as it bears on the theme of choric activity

and its correlation with water. The most important aspect of this is the identity of Pindar's chorus of νέοι. Wilamowitz suggested in 1908

that they are Aeginetan.‘° This suggestion has been challenged by several scholars, including the most recent commentators on the

paean;®

but it is certainly correct, and may be supported by

additional arguments. Choric self-address (v£o,ı,, 122) modulates immediately into an address to Aegina (123ff.), a sequence which recalls the conventional identification of representative chorus with polis.*’ The statement οὔ σε naindvwv/ ἄδορπον εὐνάξομεν (we shall not send you to bed without a feast of paeans, 127f.) combinesa

metaphor from parental discipline with further allusion to participation in the Theoxenia feast (and thus to acceptance of Pindar/the chorus by ‘Pytho’):® it is addressed jointly to Aegina and the boy chorus; and xatepeig (you will speak of, 129) refers to Aegina, embodied in its chorus, narrating its own foundation myths.9? The foundation myth is Aegina's rape by Zeus. This action is described as follows (134-7): bddt1 δ᾽ En’ 'Ao[o-

ποῦ πίοτ᾽ ἀ]πὸ προθύρων βαθύκολπον ἀγερέψατο παρθένον Αἴγιναν" (and by the waters of Asopus, from the front door [or from the space in front of the front door] he snatched the virgin Aegina).

ἀπὸ προθύρων is a striking phrase in the context. But it has good

parallels in komastic literature, and it suggests that in abducting Aegina, Zeus is to be thought of as a successful lover-komast.” This explicitly erotic scene associates Aegina with the komos situation

presented in the first strophe. She is further integrated into the komos in the allusive δεκομένα (129) and ἔλαβες (130)."! Zeus’ and Aegina's joint identification with rain clouds over Mt Panhellanios (137ff.)

might also allude to the komastic ‘bad weather’ topic, and to conventional invocations of Zeus in that context.” But what is Aegina doing by the river side, and in what circumstances is she raped? She might at first be assumed to be alone. But she was one of twenty Asopid nymphs, a collective identity alluded to by the naming of Asopus (134f.). Before her rape, any significant activity by Aegina will have been carried out asa member of her sisterhood; and in an excursion outside the house she will have

been accompanied by her sister nymphs. Accounts of divine rapes suggest that she will have been carried off while playing or dancing

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ALEX HARDIE

with the other Asopids. When Persephone/Kore is raped by Pluto beside Oceanus, she is in choric dance with the Oceanids.? When Zeus carries off Europa, she is playing with her companions by the

sea shore.” Oreithyia was snatched by Boreas from beside the river Ilissus while

dancing

in chorus

or while

playing

with

maiden

companions.” In Statius Silvae 2.3, Pan pursues Pholoe, singling out one from the Nympharum catervae (8), a nymph whom Diana considers a member of her chorus (26): she dives into a river. The

narrative pattern was established early, at //iad 16.181ff. (the rape by Hermes Argeiphontes of Polymele while dancing in the chorus of Artemis); and it is alluded to at Odyssey 6.85ff. (Nausicaa and companions playing/dancing by the river, and confronted by the naked Odysseus, with strong erotic undertones). All of this reflects

patterns of collective behaviour among young females outside the home, and conventional fears of vulnerability to rape/seduction on

such excursions." Abduction of one member of a virgin company playing or dancing

beside a river (followed by secret seduction) is thus a recurring narrative pattern." I suggest that this is what is happening in Pindar's narrative. Aegina, an Asopid, is abducted by Zeus from beside the Asopus and is then seduced in secret (ἔκρυψαν, 138) on Mt

Panhellanios. The fact that there is no reference to sister Asopids is not an objection to this inferential reading. The audience might be

expected to infer the context of the abduction from the allusive details vouchsafed by Pindar. Moreover, in the case of such sisterhoods, the identity of the individual may be subsumed within

the collective identity.’® By corollary, reference to one member of a sisterhood may signify reference to all: this convention is explicitly attested in the case of the Muses;” and in this respect there can be no difference between the Muses and other nymph-sisterhoods. We should, then, probably infer that Aegina was abducted while engaged on choric activity with her sister Asopids (such activity is attested elsewhere).®° This would be consistent with the allusion to choric activity by Thetis/the Nereids at line 99. But what light would it throw on the choric situation presented in the first strophe? That some linkage is intended between the two scenes is suggested by the verbal echo of ὕδατι ... ἐπὶ .../ ... Κασταλίας (7f.) in b8dt1 δ᾽ ἐπ᾿ "Ao[o-/nod (134f.). Both scenes feature or imply running water, *gates'/'doors', choric dancing and names signifying natural features.

The possibility that Pindar characterises the ‘choric nymph’ Aegina and her association with water in such a way as to clarify the

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

231

association between the Delphides and Castalia thus deserves serious consideration. The abduction of Aegina may be seen to illuminate the opening komastic situation. Pindar’s Aeginetan νέοι are approaching a dancing ground already occupied by the Delphides. In a recent study of Greek dance and ritual play, Steven Lonsdale has stressed the importance of this type of scenario in exposing girls and boys to each other as a preparation for marriage.*! Lonsdale also notes the relevance to this social institution of abduction narratives such as those outlined earlier. On one level, they may highlight paradigms of unsocial behaviour, and

the vulnerability of virgins in such situ-

ations.? At another level, they illustrate the interplay between human and divine which is such a consistent feature of testimonia on ancient dance: nymph choruses are analogues for maiden choruses; Artemis may be the divine paradigm for the leader of a virgin chorus; a male choregos or poet may represent a god (Apollo or Dionysus).*? Such ideas, as Lonsdale’s study shows, were exceedingly common in the Greek world, and were familiar from earliest times.

That Pindar should draw on this common stock of material in oblique and allusive fashion is hardly surprising. It is relevant to his komastic situation in two ways. First, the abduction narrative suggests, by implied contrast, the sexual restraint of Pindar’s chorus (indeed, a boy/mother relationship between chorus and Delphi is postulated, by simile, at lines 12f.).4 And second, the analogy between Delphides and choric water nymphs (Thetis/Nereids; Aegina/ Asopids) can more readily be hypothesised as deriving from standard Greek ways of considering the identity of a female chorus. If this suggested pattern of interlinked motifs is correct, then Thetis and Aegina can be understood to act as non-Delphian points of reference for the choric activity of the Delphides and for their relationship to

the water of Castalia.®° IV. Πιερίδων προφάτας Pindar comes to Delphi as "singing interpreter of the Pierides" (ἀοίδιμον Πιερίδων προφάταν, 6). Bacchylides similarly designates himself Movo@v

... προφάτας (8.3), and Pindar elsewhere (fr. 150

Sn.-Mae.) appeals pavteteo, Μοῖσα, προφατεύσω δ᾽ ἐγώ. It is therefore just possible that in Paean 6, Pindar reflects a pre-existing poet/prophet commonplace. But in the oracular setting of an address to ‘Pytho’, the ‘poet-interpreter’ must allude to the Delphian

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ALEX HARDIE

προφήτης, the official responsible for articulating the Pythia's responses. Pindar uses this designation because he wishes to introduce himself in a way which will be familiar to the Pythia, and will thus make her more disposed to ‘accept’ him. A probable allusion (74) to a legendary priest of Apollo at Delphi, Panthoos, in the context of a Pythian oracular response, supplies a parallel for

Pindar’s opening interest in hieratic office at Delphi.* Πιερίδων προφάταν has generally been understood to suggest that Pindar is the mouthpiece of the Muses, just as the προφήτης is the mouthpiece of the Pythia; and, as an implicit corollary, that the Muses are aligned

with the Pythia.*? All this is clearly correct. But the conjunction of Muses and προφήτης suggests the possibility of a deeper allusion, encompassing the local cult of the Delphian Muses.

Plutarch describes an ancient shrine of the Muses on the south side of the temple of Apollo.** It was close to the shrine of Ge, and on the site of a natural fountain. He does not name it, but Pausanias (10.24.7) gives the name Cassotis, apparently with reference to this same fountain. Plutarch cites two passages of Simonides celebrating the cult, and these stress the association with water.” Simonides

speaks of “the holy water of the Muses”, drawn for use in libations and lustration; and he addresses “Clio” as “holy guardian of lustration", drawing water up from the depths.?! These Muses can therefore be regarded as an evolution of an old cult of water nymphs. This is a characteristic which they share with other (possibly with most) Muse cults.? Thus, the Italian Camenae, associated with prophecy and later (as Muse-equivalents) with poetry, presided over fountain water which was used each day for the lustration of the temple of Vesta.?? A comparable cult may underlie Pindar's reference to “the holy water of Dirce, which the deep-girded daughters of ...

Mnemosyne have caused to well up”. The relationship between this cult and procedures at the oracle remains uncertain. This reflects uncertainty in the sources. It is clear from Plutarch's account that no physical traces of the Muse cult remained in his time. The existence in the fourth century BC of an alternative explanation of the Cassotis' waters suggests that the Muse cult had disappeared even then, though this might be attributable to earthquake damage in 373 BC.?* Against this background, it has been suggested that Simonides himself may be speaking not of Cassotis, but of Castalia.?$ This would at least be consistent with Alcaeus’ focus on Castalia; and if true it would considerably simplify the study of Muse/nymph cults at Delphi. But a probably insuperable

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

233

objection is Simonides’ stress on drawing water up from the depths. This is simply not consistent with reference to obtaining water at the Castalian fountain. Pausanias asserts that the water of Cassotis was drunk by the Pythia.?" For this, we have no other testimony. And the archeological evidence suggests that the Cassotis never surfaced within the oracular shrine.?* Yet the association of water-nymph cults with prophecy is very well attested elsewhere.” And at other major oracles of Apollo, fountain water featured in the ritual. Its precise manner of

deployment varied from shrine to shrine, perhaps reflecting different topography and variable supplies of water. At Claros, the prophet drank; and at Didyma (an oracle which imitated Delphian practice in other respects), the prophetess dipped the hem of her garment in water.'© It therefore seems highly unlikely that a natural fountain inside the temenos at Delphi should have had no connection with the oracle and its procedures. Plutarch's two quotations from Simonides praise the Muses in comparable terms, suggesting derivation from two different odes, presumably paeans.!?! That the cult should thus have entered high poetry guarantees its importance, at least in the minds of the

Delphian authorities. Plutarch associates the Muse shrine with the practice of delivering oracular responses in verse. Rutherford, noting Simonides' stress on holy water for lustration and libation and the omission, from the lines quoted, of poetry or verse oracles, questions

whether Plutarch is correct.'°? But water nymph and Muse cults seem regularly to embrace a range of functions associated with sacred water, including lustration, prophecy and poetry; and while any one function may be stressed in a particular location, or on a particular occasion, this does not exclude other cult components. The Italian

Camenae, mentioned above, supply a close parallel. The fact that Simonides named “Clio” in fact suggests that he was assimilating (or reflecting an existing assimilation of) the Delphian Muses to the mainstream,

‘panhellenic’

Muses

of Helicon,

as celebrated

and

named by Hesiod (Theogony 77ff.), i.e. to the Muses of epic poetry

and literary inspiration.'” The name Clio refers to the function of poetry in disseminating knowledge, and thus fame (κλείειν, κλέος), so that it was an appropriate choice for association with the omniscience of the Delphic oracle and its informing function.'™ It is wholly uncertain when, or under what influence, the Delphian

water nymphs came to be thought of as ‘Muses’. But Parke, noting antiquarian traditions variously ascribing the invention of the

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ALEX HARDIE

hexameter to the first Pythia and to Apollo, makes the attractive

suggestion that the practice of versification at the oracle may explain the survival of the ancient cult.'95 Parke goes on tentatively to suggest that the Pythia and the προφήτης were familiar with the cult of the

Muses. This bears on the difficult question of the functions of the Delphian npoprtns.'™ No ancient source states unambiguously that the προφήτης versified what the Pythia said; and Parke himself reserves his position on the matter. In this, as in other respects, procedures at Apolline oracles are not uniform; and they may vary at individual shrines with the passage of time. Yet it is clear that at some centres and at some times, versification was one of the functions of the προφήτης..07 In this connection, it is worth noting the high incidence of poets from the immediate environs of Claros, and in particular the Clarian προφήτης Nicander who, at the start of the

Alexipharmaca (9) describes himself as “sitting beside the tripods of Clarian Apollo”.’ I conclude that the Delphian προφήτης probably did have this role. This would

have implications for Pindar as

Πιερίδων προφάτας, throwing emphasis on the metrical aspect of his work as a poet. In the next section, I shall try to show that a distinct, and self-conscious, ‘metrical’ dimension is indeed present in the sixth paean (121f.: μέτρα xatnó-/v]ov). But what of Parke's suggestions about the relationship of Pythia

and προφήτης to the cult of the Delphian Muses? This can in fact be further supported from Simonides’ address to “Clio”. His delineation of the cheaply-attired Muse has been shown, with a high degree of

probability, to be modelled on the figure of the Pythia herself.'™ If this

is correct,

Simonides

presents

a quasi-sacral

link

between

Delphian Muse and Delphian priestess. This cannot have been pure artistic licence on his part, and it suggests a cult linkage between the two figures. Pindar's identification of himself as προφήτης manifestly derives from the same conceptual area, i.e. the association in cult of poetry/verse and prophecy. Is he therefore drawing on a related Delphian linkage of προφήτης and Muses, prophecy and poetry?

Certainty is not attainable, in part because we do not know if this was the first use of the poet-prophet analogue in high poetry. But a

Pindaric parallel may be relevant. At Paean 9.38ff., praying to Pythian Apollo (43), Pindar says that he has “dedicated to the Muses’ arts your oracle ... in which Melia gave birth to ... [Apollo's son], the

mighty prophet of your decrees, Tenarus ...".!!? “Oracle” here plays on various senses of χρηστήριον: oracular shrine (the Ismenion),

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

235

oracular offering, and oracular response; and Pindar is suggesting that he is consulting, and with the Muses’ help, articulating, an oracle on the occasion of a solar eclipse. He thereby implies a parallel between himself and the legendary προφήτης Tenarus. This conjunction of oracle, Muses and προφήτης suggests a possible pattern of elements which, given the allusion to Pythia, might plausibly derive from Delphi. That Pindar in the sixth paean is prophet of the Muses, and not of Apollo, is probably not an objection to Delphian influence on the phrase, since in literary reflections of these concepts,

figurative shifts and combinations appear to have been accepted practice!!! Thepidwv προφάταν may therefore allude to an old Delphian way of thinking about their Muses and the oracle. It may also take Simonides' assimilation of Delphian to ‘mainstream’ or *panhellenic'

Muses a stage further, in effect extending the role of the poet/ προφήτης beyond its Delphian context (versification of oracles) to Pindar's service of the Pierian/Heliconian Muses. In the next section, it will be suggested that the paean contains interplay between ‘local’

and ‘panhellenic’ Muses which would be consistent with the presence in the poem of the Muses of Delphi. V. ‘Local’ and ‘panhellenic’ Muses

In a general sense, the Delphian celebration of the panhellenic Theoxenia embodied the combination of ‘local’ (i.e. Delphian) and ‘panhellenic’ elements. Pindar’s paean reflects this combination, for

example in the juxtaposition of "Delphi" and “‘Panhellas” at 62f.:''2 θύεται yap ἀγλαᾶς ὑπὲρ Πανελ-7)λάδος, ἄν te Δελφῶν, EO[v]oc εὔξατο ... (for there are sacrifices on behalf of splendid ‘Panhellas’, which the Delphian people prayed ...). A particular reflection of this interplay may be present in Pindar’s hypothesised reference to the Delphian Muses, the role of προφήτης, and its extension to the Pierides. In this section I shall address Pindar’s treatment of the Muses in the sixth paean, with particular reference to the ‘local’ and ‘panhellenic’ contexts. The Muses are mentioned at three places (6, 54, 181). These three passages and their immediate contexts contain clusters of verbal and conceptual parallels.!!? In this respect the Muse passages are typical of the paean as a whole. Pindar might in theory have intended these various parallels simply to bind together a long paean in an aurally

satisfying way. But that at least in some cases a deeper significance is

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ALEX HARDIE

intended seems evident from earlier discussion of verbal echoes such as ὕδατι (7) and bödt:ı (134). Such correspondences seem to

invite the audience to consider how the passages in question might relate to one another, and what new light may be thrown on the

meaning of each by this process of long range association.!!* The first passage was considered in earlier sections. In the second passage, the Muses are invoked thus (50-58): xai πόθεν áGav[átov Epic ἄ]ρξατο. ταῦτα θεοῖσι [uv πιθεῖν σοφοὺ[ς] δυνατόν, βροτοῖσιν δ᾽ ἀμάχανοίν εὑ]ρέμεν" ἀλλὰ παρθένοι γάρ, ἴσθ᾽ ὄὅτ[ι), Molilsaı, πάντα, κε[λαι]νεφεῖ σὺν πατρὶ Mvapoo[óv]a τε τοῦτον ἔσχετίε τεθ]μόν, κλῦτε viv

50

55

(and whence arose strife among the gods.''° Of these things it is possible for the gods to persuade poets, but to find them out is beyond the power of mortals. But, virgin Muses, since you — for you know all things — hold this ordinance together with your father of the black clouds and Mnemosyne, hearken now.)

The Muses are here the cosmic, omniscient agents of disclosure between gods and humans. parents, Zeus and

In this capacity they work with their

Mnemosyne

(cf. Theogony 52ff.) and not with

Apollo. Their omniscience, contrasted with human ignorance, recalls the Muse-invocation at the start of the (panhellenic) Catalogue in Iliad 2.5 These Muses are the Pierides (6), the mainstream

inspirational and informing goddesses of Greek poetry, and the Muses of Hesiod and Homer (this underlies copov(c], 52). Their close identification with Zeus recalls the connection between the cult

of the Olympian Muses and the cult of Olympian Zeus. The oldest and highest function of the Pierian/Olympian Muses was the praise of Zeus and the dissemination of knowledge about the establishment of his supreme rule (that is, the theme of Hesiod’s Theogony).!? Yet here too, there is a ‘local’ dimension, and interplay between

*Delphian' and ‘panhellenic’ elements. By a standard etymological play between Πυθοῖ (Pytho) and Πειθώ (persuasion), the striking phrase πιθεῖν σοφούς] (persuade poets) associates the informing

function of poetry with the informing function of the Delphic oracle.'!® Against this perspective, the role of the Muses can be seen to be assimilated to that of the Pythian priestess, mediating between the god (Zeus/Mnemosyne) and mortal poets (σοφοί, assimilated to

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

237

the Delphian προφήτης, cf. 6). As we might expect, this articulation of the poetry/prophecy analogue converges with that implied in Πιερίδων προφάταν (6). To underline the point, when Pindar speaks

of making his privileged, Muse-given knowledge available at Delphi (58ff.), he names Apollo as Loxias (60), i.e. in his identity asoracular god. The third Muse reference is in the fragmentary conclusion (181-3).

The papyrus remains are as follows:!!? Μοισᾶν

«πᾶβολ! 17:ν.[.]Ἱπολλάκι Παιάν δέ «Ἱεννόμων Of... Jév

These lines are a concluding appeal to Paian-Apollo, seeking acceptance (restoring 5£/ E') in some musical context (Μοισᾶν). 291ι thus balances the opening appeal to 'Pytho' (δέξαι, 5). It follows appeals for well-being (oyw[íac], 181) addressed toa plural entity,

presumably the visiting gods of Greece.?! The combination of appeals to visiting gods and to Paian-Apollo presumably reflects the requirement on Pindar to achieve an appropriate balance between

the panhellenic focus of the Theoxenia festival and Delphian interest in the host god. Paian, and the ἰὴ παιάν refrain, were not of course

exclusive to Delphi; but they are very closely identified with the

origins of Apolline worship at Delphi, and to that extent may be thought of as ‘local’ in character.? In our poem, Paian is not addressed until the end; the refrain is not directly articulated (though it is referred to at 121f.; see below); and the paean-appeals for wellbeing which would normally be directed to Paian seem to be directed to the visiting gods. This suggests that the ‘local’ elements which we might expect to find in a Delphian paean are here given rather less emphasis. Of course, Apollo himself (and his oracle: 71f.) plays a major role, as does his temple at Delphi (the main myth culminates with the killing of Neoptolemos in the temenos; 120). But his attempts to defend Troy are ultimately unsuccessful, doomed by Zeus' unwillingness to overturn the dictates of fate (94ff.); and it is Zeus as supreme deity who dominates the paean (1, 55f., 67, 94, 125, 132, 145, 155; cf. 109, 114), not Apollo. When Μοῖσαι are first encountered

(54), they are agents of a

cosmic τεθμός, working under the control of Zeus. But in the paeanappeal, they are juxtaposed with Paian. What, then, is the relationship between Paian and the Muses, and how do these two Muse

passages relate to one another? A key factor is whatever underlies

7.παβολί ]. v[.. This is uncertain.'?? But the likelihood is that some

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ALEX

HARDIE

form either of ἐπάβολος or of ἐπαβολέω was involved, and that it governed the genitive Μοισᾶν, denoting the concept of (acquiring) control (over the Muses).!?* Most commentators, following Snell, have taken the ‘controller’ to be Pindar, restoring a dative participle,

ἐπαβολέοντι, and understanding “receive from him who controls ...". D'Alessio and Ferrari have proposed ἐπαβολέοντα (receive him who controls ...).?5 However, restoration of the participle seems problematic on paleographical grounds (lack of space for &o)."76 Hoekstra

suggested

that Paian-Apollo

was the ‘controller’, and

proposed ἐπαβολέων. This is vulnerable to the same objection; but the basic approach is attractive, in that it would suggest allusion to Apollo Μουσηγέτης (leader of the Muses), a role which probably originated at Delphi and certainly remained closely associated with

the place.!?? Pindar could hardly boast his own ‘control of the Muses’ in a concluding appeal to Apollo at Delphi! Hoekstra's approach might be refined by restoring the (common) adjective ἐπάβολος and not the (exceedingly rare) verb ἐπαβολέω, and reading vocative

ἐπάβολ᾽ (looking forward to ITaiáv).'?* This would require restoration of a separate two syllable (long-short) word of four letters, opening with an accented vowel and v: one possibility is ἔνθα, with backward reference to πόλιν (178).!?

ἐπάβολος (having reached, achieved or gained a thing, LSJ) may have a parallel ina later paean for the Delphian Theoxenia, where the

reference is to the god receiving suppliants.'? The word suggests not simply the fact of control (i.e. Apollo Movonyétns), but the process

whereby control is achieved (i.e., in the Delphian context, receipt of the ‘Muses’ as suppliant tribute). Μοισᾶν, therefore, denotes the Muses not simply as goddesses, but as personifications of paeans. This sense has already been suggested by Hoekstra and Radt, for

independent reasons. The metonymy of ‘Muse’ for ‘poem’ or ‘song’ is of course common.?! In the last line, Paian is asked to accept something or someone, and

it seems likely that this too is musical in nature. The IT‘ reading at the line end is clearly Jäv, i.e. genitive plural, and not accusative (as

object of 86-/5'). A genitive could not be accommodated in the restoration of 182 proposed above. Snell chose to ignore it, restoring

ἐννόμων θ[αλί])αν (a festive abundance of things prescribed by law). And indeed if Turyn was correct to see in the marginal scholium a reference to a variant reading ἔννομον, the correct reading may be

accusative, i.e. Evvonov O[aAt]av.? This would presumably allude to Delphian prescriptions for Apolline worship in paean performance,

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

239

and thus to Apollo’s acceptance of the honours which are due to

him;?

but ἔννομον would also suggest the pun conventionally

associated with νόμοι (i.e. “melodies” as well as **laws").?* So we should have “a festive abundance as [musically] prescribed by law". A further ‘musical’ reference would underlie O0[oAí]av, in that Μοισᾶν, in an adjacent line-ending, would naturally suggest the

Muse name Thalia. Such an appeal for literary or musical acceptance would normally refer to the paean which it concludes.?5 But here, the issue is complicated by πολλάκι (often). As Radt sensed, this word suggests regular paean performances (i.e. those of the Delphides), and not

Pindar's paean. Pindar uses another word meaning “often” to describe

those

performances

(θαμινά,

16), and

this may

reflect

convention in praise of the Delphides.!? Moreover θ[αλί]αν recalls θαλιᾶν (14), of regular festivals in the grove of Apollo.

Despite

the difficulties of textual reconstruction, we can be

reasonably confident that the *Muses' of the envoi

(181) are Delphian

in character, subordinate to Apollo and identified with the Delphides’ local paean performances.

This suggests that, in the paean as a

whole, Pindar wished to present the Muses in two aspects: as the

mainstream Muses of Greece, subordinate to Zeus and informing

mortals about divine issues through poets like Pindar; and as performing Muses, subordinate to Apollo, identified with the Delphides’ paeans. The underlying interplay of ‘local’ and ‘panhellenic' Muses can be paralleled in later treatments of Castalia and its nymphs, in particular at Theocritus Jdyll 7.148 (above, section III; below, section VI).

External support for these suggestions can be found in a passage of Horatian imitation (Odes 4.6.25-8):'?? doctor argutae fidicen Thaliae, Phoebe, qui Xantho lavis amne crines, Dauniae defende decus Camenae levis Agyieu. (Lyre-playing teacher of shrill voiced Thalia, Phoebus, you who wash your hair in the river Xanthus, defend the glory of the Daunian Camena, smooth cheeked Agyieus).

This appeal for Apollo's favour towards Horace and his poetry

juxtaposes

the mainstream

Greek Muse

name Thalia with the

*Daunian Camena" (i.e. a ‘local’ Muse) in separated line endings (cf. Pindar's Μοισᾶν [181] and θ[αλί]αν (183]). Apollo is lyre-playing Mousagetes, and Thalia is a singing performer (thus the focus on

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ALEX HARDIE

voice in argutae). Camenae represents (and is etymologically identified with) Horace’s carmen and its performance (canentes, 37) by a

mixed chorus of boys and girls.? This corresponds to Pindar’s Μοισᾶν (i.e. the Muses identified with the performance of local paeans).

Why should Pindar express concern for Apollo's future reception of the ‘local’ paeans of the Delphides? At one level, the two allusions

(15ff., 181ff.) to local paeans constitute part of the balance between panhellenic and Delphian elements: in coming to Delphi, Pindar chooses to praise performances which (unlike his paean) have Apollo as their sole /audandus. He thereby avoids any possible displeasure on Apollo's part. In addition, as a reflection of his anxiety to appease Apollo, Pindar may imply that he has incorporated elements of these

local paeans into his own.!* The climax of the central myth is Apollo's killing of Neoptolemos in the temenos at Delphi, i.e. at the very spot where the paean-performance is taking place.'*' The visiting Pindar plus chorus, seeking tipo. at Delphi (11) will have been especially sensitive to this manifestation of the god's terrible power directed towards an earlier visitor, who had also sought tipat (118). Apollo was a dangerous god as well as a beneficent one, and

Pindar will have been eager to avoid any possible displeasure.'* It is in this context that Pindar places the (self-) command to the chorus to

articulate the paean refrain (121f.): «In» ifte, viv, μέτρα παιηόv]ov ifi 1£,, v£ot,.

(send forth the ‘ie’ sound now, send forth the measures consisting of pacan-cries, boys).'*? in, taken with naind-/vjov, suggests the ἰὴ παιάν refrain. The instruction is made at the end of a triad, where the refrain itself would normally occur.'* The striking expression μέτρα παιηόνων has been explained by Rutherford as implying that "the paean cries are a sort of measure which marks off the preceding section of the poem".!45 But of course Pindar still speaks as ἀοίδιμος προφήτης, so that μέτρα carries probable reference to the versifying responsibilities of the Delphian προφήτης, and thus to musical ‘measures’. This is supported by a probable imitative juxtaposition by Horace at Odes 4.6.43f.: docilis modorum [cf. μέτρα}, vatis [cf. προφήτης] Horati. I would also suggest that μέτρα παιηόνων carries ‘metrical’ reference to the first strophe, i.e. to the “foot” (ποδί, 18) of the Delphides’

choric dancing.'* A precise parallel is Timotheus Persae 197ff., where the victorious Greeks "called on Ieios Paian [i.e. sang the

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

241

Paean-cry] and stamped the ground in time [συμμέτροι] with high

beating dancing of feet” [xo5@v].'*’ Pindar is therefore urging choric imitation of the ‘local’ paean cries uttered at Delphi by the Delphides.'*® The fact that raimó-/vov is in the same sedes as the vocative Παιάν (182) in a context referring to local paeans, provides further support for this reading. παιηό-)ν]ων (= ‘paean cries") is echoed immediately in παιηόνων (127), where it denotes Pindar's full

scale paean. The verbal repetition underlines the fusion and interrelationship of the two 'types' of paean. These features suggest conscious flexibility in the use of the term 'Paian', with overlap between the name and the cry, and between the cry and the full scale paean.'49

The paean cry differs from the dance steps in one obvious respect: the former is the product of the voice, and the latter of the feet. Of course, the two elements were complementary (and may, at least in an earlier age, have had equal status: above, n. 49). The Delphides will

have combined both aspects of ‘metre’, feet and voice. In this respect, the Delphides will have replicated the characteristic choreutic activity of water nymphs and Muses, metrical dance and metrical words (where the latter extends, through the prophetic murmur of sacred water, to the function of oracles: above, p.224). It may not be fanciful

to see the metrical paean cry as the Delphian ritual act linking sung paean to dance (and thus, the metre of oracular wisdom to the footbeat of the Delphides, and the noise of Castalia). In the sixth

paean, the nymph Aegina (implicitly identified with dance: above, III) is explicitly identified with the voiced articulation, through her chorus, of the full, sung paean (κατερεῖς, 129), in association with the

sounds of the moving sea (ῥόθια, 129). And it is Aegina, linking water and words, which is the essential complement to Castalia, linking water and dance. VI. Some conclusions

Three main sets of motifs may be identified. First, Pindar juxtaposes ‘local’ Muses, serving Apollo at Delphi, and ‘panhellenic’ Muses, serving Olympian Zeus; he contrasts and combines Delphian paeans (female dance and cry) and his own ‘panhellenic’ paean; and he

identifies ‘local’ Muses with ‘local’ paean performances by the Delphides. Second, he associates water and dance: the Delphides’ performance is correlated with the noise of Castalia; and the nymphs Thetis and Aegina are wholly or in part identified with water, and are

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ALEX HARDIE

associated with choric singing. Third, Delphian prophecy is linked with poetry, poet/chorus with προφήτης, the metrical activity of the

latter with the Delphides’ paean-cries, and the informing/inspiring Pierian Muses with the Pythian priestess. These last motifs also play a part in the broader linkage of ‘local’ and ‘panhellenic’ elements, in that the Delphian associations of the προφήτης (including suggested

linkage

with

the Delphian

cult of the Muses)

is extended

to

encompass a wider, ‘panhellenic’ poet/prophet role.

The sacral basis for the linkage of poetry and prophecy at Delphi lay in the local cult of water nymphs identified with the Muses (as celebrated by Simonides). Pindar appears to be operating in the same conceptual area of poetry/prophecy assimilation as was Simonides. Yet he makes no explicit reference to Delphian water nymphs; and not everyone will be persuaded that they can be imported into Pindar's meaning by an inferential interpretation. The real question

is whether an audience would have recognised allusions to Delphian nymphs in Pindar's patterns of interlinked motifs; and in particular whether it would have seen in Thetis and Aegina non-Delphian analogues for the water nymph(s)/water nymph-Muses of Delphi

(the key element here is self-evidently the view put forward in section III concerning Aegina's implied choric activity as a member of the Asopid sisterhood). My own view is that the complexity of such interconnections

would

not

have

been

beyond

the powers

of

comprehension of a fifth-century panhellenic audience at Delphi: as was seen in section II, such devices are well paralleled in Bacchylides and, especially, in certain choric odes in Euripides. Thus, when Pindar distinguishes ‘local’ from ‘panhellenic’ Muses, this may not be simply a piece of literary sophistication: it may reflect Pindar's knowledge of the local cult of the Delphian Muses.

Castalia plays an important programmatic role in introducing the sacral occasion and the choric response to it, foreshadowing the roles

of the water nymphs Thetis and Aegina, and correlating dance and choric identity with the natural features, both water and mountain,

of Delphi and Aegina. This last feature would be a lyric forerunner for the intense interest of Hellenistic poets in nymphs both as nature deities and Muse substitutes, and their corresponding reassertion of the connection between poetry (and poetic inspiration) and the

natural world.!59 But

the text is too lacunose

to make

firm judgements

about

Pindar's precise intentions. In particular, we cannot now recover the reasons why he chose to focus on Castalia and not on the Muses of

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

243

Cassotis. If it were the case that Simonides had spoken of the nymphs of Castalia, and not of Cassotis, matters would be simplified (and the suggestions put forward above about Delphian water nymphs would be considerably strengthened). But this cannot, in my view, be

squared with the text of Simonides.!*! Did Pindar exercise conscious choice between the two fountains? Were there rival hieratic/antiquarian claims as to their aetiological roles in the establishment of Apolline cult? We know of one local controversy concerning Cassotis, namely the rival tradition that it was called ‘the water of

Styx', and it so happens that Pindar names the Styx (155, one of only

two references in his extant poetry).? But whether there is any connection with the Cassotis is quite uncertain. On the face of things,

Cassotis

and

Castalia

played

comparable

roles.!? The

simple

explanation may be that Cassotis could not cope with the influx of crowds on occasions such as the Theoxenia, and so Castalia came to assume much greater prominence, both in ritual and in the sources.!5* An intriguing question is whether Pindar might be reflecting some measure of assimilation between the Muses of Cassotis and the nymphs of Castalia. Assimilation of local nymph cult to a strong Muse cult is paralleled on Helicon (the Leibethrides, later invoked as

Muse-substitutes by Hellenistic and Roman poets).'*> And this is certainly what we might expect at Delphi. A Delphian paean preserved by Porphyry (Antrum Nympharum 8) speaks of water nymphs "being nurtured underground by the pneuma of the Muse, in order to produce the oracular voice"; and these nymphs “break out

above ground through all streams".!5$ This passage reinforces a pattern of elements already observable at Delphi: fountains, water

nymphs, Muses and prophecy.'?’ Theocritus invokes the Castalian nymphs (Jdyil 7.148) as Muse equivalents to whom questions are put requiring omniscient (indeed oracular) understanding of learned

mythology for their answer.'5* Martial speaks of the “Castalian sisters" as Muse equivalents (4.14.1). Himerius (reflecting, again, ‘local’/‘panhellenic’ interplay) actually refers to local **Castalian

Muses".!? And when Paulinus of Périgueux, rejecting the classical Muses, says ''let frenzied breasts demand Castalian water [water nymphs]" he is clearly reflecting some classical formulation of the

Castalian equivalence of Muses and water nymphs.!9 Assimilation of Muses to Naiads is implied in the Culex invocation, in a Castalian context, of the '"Pierian Naiads". Philetas may have been a key figure in developing these ideas, and indeed in introducing to poetry the

Castalian nymphs.'*!

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ALEX HARDIE

In the sixth paean, the near-juxtaposition of Castalia and Πιερίδων npopatav, with its hypothesised reference to the cult of the

Delphian Muses, might suggest assimilation. And here, one final line of approach may be relevant, namely the ancient identification of the

Muses as the divine prototype of female choruses.!€? The topic was well known at Delphi, and the evidence of later pacans there suggests that it was favoured by the authorities.!9 In one Delphian paean, the roles of Muses and Delphides are mingled, the former singing the paean, and the latter accompanying Apollo Mousagetes. In another, the mythical role of the Muses in naming Dionysus as ‘Paian’ is

replicated in the role of the present chorus in singing a Dionysiac paean.'* Myth and reality, Muses and Delphides, are inextricably fused. Indeed the Delphians may have thought of the Delphides as in

some sense actually being the Muses.'® These concepts may be present within the sixth paean: the virgin Muses (54) are aligned with the virgin Delphides (16); the Delphides’ paean performances are identified with the local Muses (181); and it may not be coincidental

that the description of festal activity at Delphi contains two words which happen to correspond with Muse names (θαλιᾶν, 14; μελπίό} μεναι, 17; cf. ἔρα[ται], 58; and of course θ[αλί]αν [183]). Out of all this may emerge a simple proposition: Castalia is correlated with the Delphides, the Delphides are the terrestrial *Muses' at Delphi; and so correlation of Muses and Castalia may follow naturally. The paean might thus represent a literary-religious

process whereby the nymphs of Castalia took on the prophetic and poetic associations of the water nymph-Muses of the Cassotis. Be this as it may, itis clear that in the sixth paean, Pindar explores the themes of water and choric dance with explicit reference to Castalia and to differing but complementary conceptions of ‘local’ and ‘panhellenic’ Muses. In doing so, he associates the Muses in various indirect but

suggestive ways with nymphs embodying water. His sensitive and multi-faceted treatment illustrates both the sophistication of Greek ways of thinking about dance and a profound awareness of its sacral character. It can reasonably be assumed that these same patterns of

thought will have been influential on the treatment of Castalia by Hellenistic poets and by their Roman successors. APPENDIX: Lines 19-49 What was the content of the missing lines 19-49, and did the Muses play any part in them? The fragmentary scholion to 36 or 37 contains the words ]ta¢ θεάς. Who are these goddesses? One possibility is that they are Athena, Hera

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

245

and Aphrodite, and that Pindar was here describing the judgement of

Paris.'° If this were the case, he will have been outlining the events leading up to the Trojan war, and explaining the background to Apollo's strife with Athena and Hera, of which he speaks explicitly at 87ff. (cf. the naming of Paris at 79). The dispute between the three goddesses was triggered by Eris, while they (with all the other gods) were attending the wedding of Peleus and Thetis.'6? This wedding is relevant to Pindar's focus on Achilles and his Aeacid

parents.'® A reference to the wedding would balance Pindar's treatment of Aeacus himself in the third. Minor gains would also ensue: the judgement of

Paris would be paralleled by the judgement of Aeacus at 155f.;' and we should have an additional context for Apollo's assumption of Paris' appearance in killing Achilles (79f.). The Muses sang at the wedding, one of their few performances on earth.'” This will have been a symbolic expression, by Muses representing harmony, of the concord inherent in the wedding.'"! Pindar liked this myth, and refers

in the epinicia to the Muses’ performance and to Apollo's role as Musagetes.""? This myth thus supplies a possible context for a further reference to the Muses in the sixth paean, and in the most appropriate of

settings for a Theoxenia, namely a wedding feast attended by all the gods. If Pindar did refer to it, we should have a mythical reference to the Muses as

performing goddesses (a paradigm in this sense for the Delphides). We should also move from the Muses' mythical performance to their present role as Pindar's

divine

informants,

with

satisfactory

balance

between

Apollo

Musagetes and Zeus (this is conspicuously lacking from the present text). The paean would also allude to Muse performances at Peleus’ wedding and

Achilles’ funeral.!?? If this suggestion is close to the truth, it might be thought to reinforce the case for reading ἔρις at 50 (with reference to the deep rooted divine ἔρις

which led up to the Trojan war), and not Ferrari's Eevía. But the latter is by no means excluded: the paean certainly describes divine Epic; but it clearly moves, by the end, to reconciliation, perhaps effected by Aeacus.!’* These are appropriate themes for a Theoxenia, and for a choral performance which imitated that of the Muses.

NOTES * | am grateful to Ian Rutherford for comments on this article, and for important bibliographical advice; responsibility for the conclusions, of course, rests with myself one. 1.

Main discussions (cited in the text by surname alone): Grenfell and Hunt (1908)

40ff. (editio princeps? Wilamowitz-Moellendorf (1908); id. (1922) 128ff.; Sitzler (1911); Radt (1958) 83ff.; Hoekstra (1962); Fogelmark (1972); Kirkwood (1982) 309ff.; Bona (1988) 99ff.; D'Alessio and Ferrari (1988) 159ff.; Rutherford (1991); Cairns (1992). The text quoted is that of Snell-Machler unless otherwise indicated.

2.

For chorus and poet sharing the role of ‘interpreter’, Cairns (1992) 71 with n.19;

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ALEX HARDIE

on the chorus, below, sections II, III. For a second possible construction, see below. On the fountains of Castalia, see esp. Amandry (1977) 179ff.; on the archaic fountain, ibíd. 198ff.

Parke (1978) 202f.; Plut. Arist. 20.5; Eur. Jon 94ff.; Phoen. 22211.;AP 14.71.1; Ov. Met. 1.369ff.; Heliod. Ethiopica 2.26. Parke (1978) 201, 218f.; χαλκοπύλῳ is explained by the scholiast as a reference to bronze water spouts, and this is accepted by commentators on Pindar; Parke's

explanation, based on archeological evidence for a set of apertures additional to such spouts, but used much less often, better suits the reference to ‘gates’. For figurative lustration of the poet-priest, cf. Prop. 4.6.7: spargite me lymphis.

Fr. 37 R: quo Castalia per struices saxeas lapsu accidit. This construction was noted by Bury (ap. Grenfell and Hunt adloc.). W.J. Slater

Lexicon to Pindar (Berlin 1969) s.v. Κασταλία suggests “join Κασταλίας with ψόφον and Ödarı"; yet another variant is suggested by Cairns (1992) 72: “for beside the water from Castalia ... I have heard

dancing of men ...".

the sound (of water) bereft of the

Cairns (1992) 73 n.24.

Plat. Rep. 396b (a literary context). Cf. Nonnus 23.165: τέο μέχρι τεὸς ῥόος

ἄψοφος ἕρπει;

Call. H. 2.12, 4.302; for ψόφος of the feet, P.Oxy. 2255 fr. 35; Schol. Ap. Rhod.

105f.; cf. Eur. Or. 137; Herc. 78; for application of ψόφος to music/poetry, Cyci. 443f.; cf. Call. Aet. fr. 1.19. For possible choric ψόφος in an ἄλσος, cf. Sapph. fr.

94.27f. LP.

Parke (1978) 200f.

For the close identification of Delphi and Castalia, see also Mastronarde on Eur. Phoen. 222ff.

Cf. esp. Ap. Rhod. 1.537; P. Berol. 6870 v, 5f. (Kappel Pai. 48). References to Castalia are surveyed by Parke (1978).

Here I follow Cairns (1992) 70ff. Cairns ibid. If Housman were correct in restoring A&Aov at 97, we should have parallel praise of Deliades and Delphides, underlining the encomiastic association of the less well known Delphian dancers with those of Delos; but the correct restoration may be vijov.

Phil.

Scarph.

Paean

in Dionysum

(Käppel

Pai. 39), 22 (choric reference

guaranteed by 19f.); Paean Deiphicus 1 (Kappel Pai. 46), 4f.

Cf. Sappho fr. 44.25 ψόφος κροτάλων (accompanying a virgin choir). 22.

Cairns (1992) 70ff. , esp. 74f.

23.

This leaves open the question whether or not the Delphides actually participated in Pindar's paean: it is possible that they could have done so as dancers, but not

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

247

singers: cf. Call. H. 4.304ff.; cf. Scutum 278ff. For possible combination of a visiting male choir from an island (perhaps Aegina) with the Deliades in a Delian pacan, cf. Simon. PMG 519 fr. 55, with Rutherford (1990) 177ff.; see below,

n.148. I hope to deal with these matters in a future article on Horace Odes 4.6.

24,

Kirkwood (1982) takes it in this sense.

25.

For the meaning of ῥόθια at 129, Bona (1988) ad loc. Cf. esp. Plat. Phaedr. 229b (on Oreithyia and Ilissus): χαρίεντα γοῦν xai καθαρὰ xai διαφανῆ tà ὑδάτια φαίνεται, καὶ ἐπιτήδεια κόραις παίζειν παρ᾽ αὐτά. Eur. Hel. 1: Νείλου μὲν αἴδε καλλιπαρθένου poai; Kern (1900) πο. 252: καλλιπαρθένιος πηγὴ ἀέναος, νᾶμα Νυμφῶν ἀνέκλειπτον.

E.g. Stat. Silv. 2.4.31ff. Lact. on Stat. Theb. 1.697. For continuity between

4.256f. (the Deliades).

nymphs

and present-day female chorus, cf. Call. H.

Plut. Numa 13.2. Cagnat, /GRRP 1498c.10. Eur. Phoen. 222ff., with schol. ad loc.; Parke (1978) 222.

Aristonous (Käppel Pai. 42) 41ff.; Hor. Od. 3.4.61f.; Stat. Theb. 1.697f. Paean Delphicus I (Kappel Pai. 45) 4ff.

Fairbanks (1900) 122. Alcaeus’ hymn to Apollo appears to have given a prominent place to Castalia in the aetiology of the Apolline cult: fr. 307 LP. Hom. Od. 17.204ff.; RE XVII.1535ff.; Roscher TI.S04f. Bacch. 17.224ff.; Eur. Tr. 2; IT 273f., 427ff.; El. 432ff.; Theocr. Id. 13.43; Ap. Rhod. 1.12221; Liv. Andr. fr. 5 R; Virg. Aen. 5.239f.; Sen. Tro. 201f.; Claud. VI Cos. Hon. 158. Kern (1900) no. 252, with illustration. Serv. Ecl. 7.21: secundum Varronem, ipsae sint Nymphae quae et Musae; nam et in aqua consistere dicuntur, quae de fontibus manat, sicut existimaverunt qui Camenis

fontem consecraverunt: ... aquae motus musicen efficit.

For Iympha=nympha, OLD s.v. lympha 1, citing e.g. Varr. RR 3.17.2; Hor. Sat. 1.5.97; CIL 5.3.106. See also Maltby (1991) s.vv. fympha, Iymphor, nympha. Enn. Ann. fr. 113 Sk., with Skutsch. Cf. Ov. Fast. 3.273ff. Didyma: 1 Did. 11.479 tne 3f. (with Peek (1971) 209f.): [οὐδὲ θεὸς μὲ]ν ἔχρηισε παραὶ κελαρύ]σματα

κρήνης).

43.

H. 2.256f.; Mineur ad loc.; RE IV.2435.21ff.

Eur. Her. 785f.: Aipxa θ᾽ & καλλιρρέεθρος,, σύν t' ᾿Ασωπιάδες xópav/ πατρὸς ὕδωρ Pate λιποῦσαι συναοιδο Νύμφαι τὸν Ἡρακλέους) καλλίνικον ἀγῶνα. 45.

For the mourning of Achilles by the Nereids, below, section III.

248

ALEX HARDIE

On this difficult passage, Kappel (1992) 173ff. 47.

See Denniston on 434; the dancing complex is further correlated with Achilles’ feet (κοῦφον ἅλμα ποδῶν, 438f.), and with the ἄστρων χοροί (467). Rowing to music and choric dancing: Ap. Rhod. 1.536ff. Oars and Nereids: Soph. OC 7 16ff. with Jebb. Nereids and dolphins: Plat. Crit. 116e; Lucian Dial. Mar. 15.3; Lonsdale (1993) 97f. vos precor, o luci sacro quae luditis antro,/ pandite ... fana .../ fontis egens erro circaque sonantia lymphis: for lymphis = ‘water embodied in nymphae", n.41.

49.

The noise of dance steps has approximately equal status with the singing voice: cf. Hes. Theog. 65, 70, with West; Livy 27.37.13. ludente reflects Greek παίζω with reference to choric dance: Lonsdale (1993) General Index, s.v.

Naiad-Muses, cf. Virg. Ecl. 10.9ff. (esp. 11, Parnasi ... iuga); Stat.

paizo. With

Silv. 1.5.6ff.

RE s.v. Kastalia for the variant traditions (daughter of river Achelous; daughter of Delphos; Deiphian virgin who jumped into the fountain to avoid rape by Apollo): Paus. 10.8.5; Schol. Eur. Or. 1094; Lact. on Stat. Theb. 1.697.

Ol. 9.16ff.: θάλλει δ᾽ ápetataw/ σόν te, Κασταλία, πάρα, ᾿Αλφεοῦ τε ῥέεθρον. 9ff.: ἀστοὺς

δὲ νυμφείοισι

διασῴζει

poalc/

κοινωνίαν Βειμούμενος τὴν

Δελφικήν, πρὸς Κασταλίαν. Νύμφαις φίλη γὰρ μαντική,,

πνεῦμα

θεῖον ἄρδεται.

δι᾽ ὧν προφήταις

Farnell (1909) 420ff.; Halliday (1913) 116ff.; Serv. Aen. 7.84: nullus enim fons non sacer. See n.37; add SH 978.14f.; Sen. Oed. 229: sancta fontis lympha Castalii stetit

(where /ympha = water and nymph); Parke (1978) 204f. RE XVII. 1562. ff.

Paus. 10.8.10; the legend is given in schol. Pae. 6.7 (on χαλκοπύλῳ), placing the confluence at the bronze water-inlets feeding the fountain. The scholiast (like Pausanias) may draw on Alcaeus; if so, the latter will have mentioned the ountain. 57.

Him. Or. 48.11 Col.: βιάζεται μὲν yàp 'AXkatoc ὁμοίως Ὁμήρῳ ποιῆσαι Kai ὕδωρ θεῶν ἐπιδημίαν αἰσθέσθαι δυνάμενον.

58.

Cf. Call. H. 2.20, with Williams (Thetis as embodiment of sea, falling silent as pacan is sung). Nature’s perception of deity: cf. e.g. Sen. Tro. 176f.; Calp. Sic. 4.112.

59.

Aen. Gaz. Epp. XVII, p.28 Hercher: ...τὸ ὕδωρ ἐπαισθάνεται tod θεοῦ καί τι μουσικὸν ὑπηχεῖν λέγεται. The response of the natural features of Delphi to Apollo's epiphany became a topos: cf. esp. Claud. VI Cos. Hon. 25ff. Natural perception of divine epiphany is an extension of human perception from natural or other signs (for which cf. Eur. Hipp. 1392-4, with Barrett; also Call. H. 2.1-5). For choric perception of epiphany, Call. fr. 227.1-2 Pf.; Hor. Epp. 2.1.134 ... praesentia numina sentit [sc. chorus], with Brink. Parke (1978) 204f. Mountain nymphs: RE XVII.1539f.; Simichidas/Hesiod: with 92f., cf. Theog.

62.

For Thetis as embodiment of sea, cf. Call. H. 2.20, with Williams; for ‘blue hair’

of a deity embodying the sea, Lucian de Sacr. 11 (Poseidon). 63.

Hom.

Od. 24.45ff.; Eur. Rhesus 973ff.; Q. Smyrn. 3.585ff. Stesichorus: P.Oxy.

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

249

3876 fr. 61; Garner (1993) 155, 160f. For

the physical

personification, see Radt

(1958) on

137ff. Clouds

on Mt

Panhellanios signalled rain: Theophr. de signis temp. 1.24; Frazer on Apoll. 3.12.6; the reference is to Aeacus' relief of panhellenic drought, by his prayers on the mountain. Wilamowitz (1908) 350; reiterated in (1922) 134f. Radt (1958) 89; Hoekstra (1962) 4ff.; Bona (1988) 101; Kirkwood (1982) 309. Cf. Pind. Pae. 2.26ff.; Bowra (1964) 364f.; Bulloch on Call. H. 5.45.

For the parental metaphor, Lyc. Alex. 63f. For the convention Slater (1969) 86ff. With ἀπὸ προθύρων, Plat. Symp. 175a; Theocr. Id. 7.122. With the riverside komos, cf. perhaps Polyphemus' komos on the seashore at Theocr. Jd. 11.14; Cairns (1972) 145.

Cairns (1992) 71. Rain Slouds and Aegina: Radt (1958) ad loc.; ‘bad weather’ topic: Cairns (1992)

n.22.

Hom. Hymn 2.5; Richardson (1974) on 5, 7, 17, 99; Cf. Eur. Hel. 1312f.

Ov. Met. 2.844f.: litora ... ubi magni filia regis/ ludere virginibus Tyriis comitata solebat; cf. Lucian Dial. Mar. 15.2. Ap. Rhod.

1.215; Plat. Phaedr. 229bc.

Lonsdale (1993) 206ff.; for the motif of ‘protection’, cf. Ov. Mer.

13.742ff.

Lonsdale (1993) 222ff.; secret seduction: 225, 227.

Best illustrated by reference to the Muses: cf. Prop. 2.30.33ff. (rape of Muse by Apollo): híc quoque non nescit, quid sit amare, chorus,/ si tamen Oeagri quaedam compressa figura/ ... accubuit, the unnamed Muse’s experience is, in a sense, that

of the entire Muse chorus. And in the Rhesus, the Muse who narrates her rape by the river Strymon is not named, but is simply a member of a chorus, one among nine sisters; her subsequent actions are conditioned by identification with her

sisters and their virginity (894, 929f.). On Aegina as one among many, Apoll. 3.12.6: ... εἴκοσι ... θυγατέρας, dv ... μίαν Αἴγιναν ἥρπασε Ζεύς. 79.

Rhianus fr. 19 Powell (schol.

L Ap. Rhod. 3.1):... πάσας γὰρ σημαίνει διὰ τῆς

μιᾶς. Eur. Her. 785f. (cited above, η.44). Lonsdale (1993) 206ff.

82.

Lonsdale (1993) 222ff.

83.

Lonsdale (1993) 210ff. In view of the ancient equivalence of chorus and dancing space (Lonsdale (1993) 114ff.), a further set of cross references may be suspected: the Delphides dance in

front of the temple (i.e. in front of its πύλαι); Castalia '*dances" in the fountain forecourt, in front of the “‘bronze gates”; and Aegina dances qua Asopid ἐν προθύροις. For a near exact parallel, see Bond on Eur. Her. 678 (parallelism of

ALEX HARDIE

pacan outside Heracles' house, paeans at door of Apollo's temple on Delos, and circular lake at Delos).

85.

12f.: ἥτορι δὲ φίλῳ παῖς ἅτε ματέρι xebvi/ πειθόμενος κατέβαν; the "child"

connects with the chorus, the “mother” with Delphi (cf. Pyth. 4.74; Aesch. Eum.

3). Here andat 128, there is a strong hint of the children of the chorus being under ‘parental’ discipline, and in a state of continuing paideia: for this aspect of choric activity, Lonsdale (1993) 44ff.

Bona (1988), citing Tosi and Gentili, is persuasive on this disputed point: the reference is to Panthoos' sojourn in Troy, expounding to Priam the Pythian oracular response on the rebuilding of Troy after its first destruction (schol. 71. 12.211-12;

Serv. Aen. 2.319). Snell supposes the reference is to Achilles and his

swiftness of foot. This too has attractions (contrast 18!): might Pindar have effected transition to Achilles (76) via play on Panthoos’ name?

87.

Radt (1958) 108; Fascher (1927) 12; Dodds (1963) 82.

88.

de Pythiae oraculis 402c. Contrast Plut. Mor. 744c (three Delphian Muses, named after the strings of the lyre). This must be a different, and perhaps later, cult,

reflecting the symbolic expression of the association of Apollo and Muses in the lyre and its music. The Muse names are later (4th/3rd century) found at Argos: Kritzas (1980)

195ff. These lyre-Muses may

be relevant to the Pythagorean

identification of the Delphic oracle with the tetraktys, thus with lyre strings and harmony: Iambl. VP 82; Delatte (1915) 259ff.; Boyancé (1938) 314ff.

89.

The topography corresponds to the remains of a fountainhead built in the third quarter of the sixth century and ruined in the earthquake of 373 BC: Roux (1976) 136ff.; Pouilloux (1963) 82ff.; Lane Fox (1986) 207. 402cd; fr. 577 PMG.

The similarity of the terms of praise (next note) suggest

quotation from two odes, presumably paeans sung at Delphi: Rutherford (1990) 197; Pomtow, RE Supplb. IV.1344.7ff., 47ff. 91.

Fr. 577(a): ἔνθα χερνίβεσσιν ἀρύεται τὸ Μοισᾶν, καλλικόμων ὑπένερθεν ἀγνὸν ὕδωρ; fr. 577(b) refers to ἀγνᾶν ἐπίσκοπε χερνίβων. With “holy water",

cf. Pind. Isthm. 6.74f.; Alc. fr. 45.8 LP; Theocr. Jd. 1.69, 7.136f.; Plut. Numa 13.2. Muses and water nymphs: Otto (1956) 9ff., 23ff.; Kambylis (1965) 38ff., 46ff.

Camenae: Wissowa (1912) 219f. Pind. Isth. 6.74f.: Δίρκας &yvóv ὕδωρ, τὸ βαθύζωνοι κόραι ... Mvapoobvas ἀνέτειλαν... cf. Eur. Her. 784 (invocation of Dirce, together with singing nymphs, to celebrate Hercules). Plut. 402d.; above, n.88.

Rutherford (1990) 198. Paus. 10.24.7: ταύτης τῆς Kaccorí8oc δύεσθαί te κατὰ τῆς γῆς λέγουσι τὸ ὕδωρ καὶ ἐν τῷ ἀδύτῳ τοῦ θεοῦ τὰς γυναῖκας μαντικὰς ποιεῖν. 98.

Above, η.89. Roscher 111.513ff.; Farnell (1909) 425f.; add Paus. 10.12.6.

100. Claros: Tac. Ann. 2.54.4; Didyma: lambl. De Mysteriis 3.11. Evidence for these and other centres, Parke (1985) 176f., 180f., 193t., 212ff.; Lane Fox (1986) 183f.,

206f., 223.

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

251

101. Above, n.90. 102. Rutherford (1990) 198. 103. On the process whereby the Pierian/Heliconian Muses assumed panhellenic primacy, Schachter (1986) 2.154f. 104. For the Muse names, which may actually have been invented by Hesiod, and their relationship to the Muses’ various functions, West on Theog. 76. 105. Parke (1981) 99ff. 106. On the προφήτης, Parke and Wormell (1956) 1.33, RE XXIII.808.8ff.; Nilsson (1958) 237ff.; McLeod (1961) 317ff., 320; Nagy (1989) 26f., 29. 107. Lane Fox (1986) 183 (Claros and Didyma): at Claros, a separate office of θεσπιῳδός (versifier of oracles) is attested by the 130s AD. 108. Parke (1985) 130ff. 109. Roux (1976) 142. 110. For the reading at 40, χρηστήριον, diroAXov tedv, see Ferrari (1992) 149f. 111. For a highly suggestive set of metaphors associating Muse, Pythia, poet and fountain water, cf. Plat. Laws 719c: the Athenian, comparing the to the lawgiver, speaks of an ‘old saying’ ὅτι ποιητής, ὁπόταν ἐν τῷ τρίποδι τῆς Μούσης καθίζηται, τότε οὐκ ἔμφρων ἐστίν, olov ὀὲ κρήνη τις τὸ ἐπιὸν ῥεῖν ἑτοίμως ἐᾷ...

112. For a comparable combination of Delphian and panhellenic elements in a later

Theoxenia paean, cf. Phil. Scarph. (Küppel Pai. 39) 144ff. Delphi, of course, was a quintessentially ‘panhellenic’ place, a fact which colours everything which took place there; nonetheless, there are legends, cults and traditions peculiar to Delphi; the result can be a rich and subtle dialogue between ‘Delphian’ and *panhellenic'.

113. Between first and second: Πιερίδων (6) Mo[t]oa: (54); κόραι (16) παρθένοι (54); ἀμαχανίαν (10) ἀμάχανον (53); κατέβαν (13) καταβάντ᾽ (60); πειθόμενος (13) πιθεῖν (52). Between first and third: στεφάνων (13), στεφά νοισι (180); θαλιᾶν

(14) θαλί)αν (183); θαμινά (16) πολλάκι (182); ᾿Α-“πόλλωνος, Aatofdav (14f.) Παιάν (182); σκιάεντα (17) σκιάζετε (181). Between second and third: Mo[t]ca:

(54) Μοισᾶν (181); [τεθ]μόν (57) ἐννόμων (183).

114. This large subject remains controversial. It is treated by Mezger (1881) Bury

(1890) xx ff.; Newman

and Newman

excessive emphasis on numerical factors).

passim;

(1984) passim, esp. 52 (but with

115. Ferrari (1992) restores Eevia at 50, with reference to the origins of the Theoxenia; though by no means certain, this is attractive, and would have a close echo at 130f. Ferrari also reads toate at 54. 116. Il. 2,484ff.: ἔσπετε viv μοι Μοῦσαι ... -/bpetc yap θεαί ἔστε, πάρεστέ te, ἴστέ te návta,/ ἡ μεῖς δὲ κλέος οἷον ἀκούομεν οὐδέ τι 5pev-/ol τινες ἡγεμόνες Δαναῶν

... ἦσαν;

Radt (1958) 126; Cf also Solon fr. 13.1f.

W: Μνημοσύνης καὶ Ζηνὸς

Ὀλυμπίου ἀγλαὰ τέκνα, Μοῦσαι Πιερίδες, κλῦτέ μοι εὐχομένῳ.

117. Hes. Theog. 43ff.; Pind. 31 Sn.-Mae.; Kern (1926) 208. Zeus and Muses at Dion: Diod. 17.6.3. 118. Mythogr. Vat. 3.8.1 Bode, on Pythian Apollo: φύτιος [πείθιος, Bode] id est fidem

.

252

ALEX HARDIE

afferens ... quod omnis falsa credulitas per tenebras orta radiorum eius fulgore struatur; πειθώ namque credulitas interpretatur, RE XXIV.575.26ff. The etymology is ancient: for fides/n£106, cf. Lucan 5.80ff.; Stat. Theb. 8.175f.; cf. Ov. Her. 15.23; Plut. Mor. 37c (a play on Nicander's post at Delphi): ὅπως εἰδῇς tod πείθοντος ὀρθῶς ἀκούειν; πειθόμενος (13) forms part of the same complex. 119. D'Alessio and Ferrari (1988)'s examination of the papyrus, and of the fibre alignment (163f.), appears to have established that there was not, as had been

thought, a gap of three letters at the start of 182 and 183, but only of one. This renders certain Snell's 8e-[E). The description given below is based on the photograph facing p.161 of D'Alessio and Ferrari (1988).

120. Rutherford (1991) Iff. (on Pae. 6.121f.); RE XVII.1.2341ff.; Hom. Hymn 3.272, 517f.; Call. H. 2.97ff.; Ap. Rhod. 2.711ff. 121. D'Alessio and Ferrari (1988) 176. 122. Paean appeals: cf. e.g. Pind. Pae. 2.102ff.; Isyllus (Kappel Pai. 40) 58ff.; Paean Delphicus (Kappel Pai. 45) 22f.; Macedonius (Kappel Pai. 41) 25ff. Limenius (Käppel Pai. 46) 45ff.; Aristonous (Kappel Pai. 42) 46ff.; Phil. Scarph. (Kappel

Pai.

38) LIff.; Timotheus Persae 237ff.

123. After A, one long syllable is required by the metre. Between ) and v there is an acute accent. Directly under the accent is a distinctive mark which does not, however, relate clearly to any standard letter stroke. This may have been the

letter to which the accent was attached; or else another letter preceded (but the available space would be very limited).

124. Timotheus PMG 800. 2f.; Isyılus (Kappel Pai. 40) 59f.; Macedonius (Kappel Pai. 41) 19; Aristonous (Kappel

Pai. 42) 41ff.

125. Ferrari takes ἐπαβολέοντα with ἐννόμων ἐ[νοπ)ᾶν (183, as restored), the latter dependent on Μοισᾶν; he produces interesting parallels, but the widely separated phrasing seems very strained. The absence of ne (or cognate word) in an appeal roerring to the poet/chorus would also be strange (Pae.6.5, 2.102, 5.44, cf. 7b.7). 126. Above, n.123: the space available for ε is half that normally taken by the scribe; and the next letter trace bears no obvious relationship to o. 127. Apollo/Muses ousagetes at

at Delphi: Parke (1981) 106; Farnell (1907) 242ff.; Apollo Delphi: Phil. Scarph. (Käppel Pai. 39) 62; FD 11.2.50: τὸν

μου[σαγέτα]ν ἀρχα[γέτ]αν τᾶς

ποιητικᾶς

Μνάμας παισὶν Μούσαις,» καὶ

τῷ Μουσάρχῳ «τῷ; Λατοῦς viet.

θεόν. Cf. PMG 941 σπένδωμεν ταῖς

128. An objection is the absence of accent on nao. There is, however, a mark over a, indicating that it is long; and although the scribe usually deploys a long and distinctive accent, an exiguous accent may be observed at 132

129. A close parallel for ἔνθα in a closing appeal Adar "AnoAXov'/ Aatóoc ἔνθα pe natdec/ ... is to the adjective Δάλιε. With D'Alessio and papyrus, there is no room for any connective precedes: surely an intolerably abrupt ending,

(on τεύχων).

for acceptance is Pae. 5.43ff.: ite δέξασθε, where the back reference Ferrari (1988)'s realignment of the between the final appeal and what unless ἔνθα or the like is restored?

130. Phil. Scarph. (Ka opel Pai. 39) 105ff. summarises an oracle enjoining swift implementation of Theoxenia preparations: this includes (as originally read and restored) ó[c &x)áBoAoc/ μὴν ἱκέτας] κατάσχηι (107f.). There are problems of

reading and interpretation: it has been improbably supposed that ἐπάβολος might qualify μήν (in the sense month") and not θεός (106, the oracular god). The reading ['E]kapóAoc has been proposed (Käppel (1992) 257f.), which I find

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

253

implausible.

131. Hoekstra (1962) 7; the objection of Fogelmark (1972) 127f., that Pindar would not refer to someone else's songs as ‘Muses’, does not seem to me to carry weight. Identification of Muse and song: PMG 696 (Eumelus); Nem. 3.28; Pyth. 4.279,

5.65; for Apolline paean as ‘Muse’ Plut. Mor. 389b. Such identification of deity

and sacral product might be compared to the identification of Dionysus and wine (cf. Burkert (1983) 224f.).

132. D'Alessio and Ferrari (1988) 178 question the reading

0 at 183, suggesting that

the curvature is more consistent with e. But Radt (1958) was right to assert that

either 0 or e is possible: a similar curvature on a certain 6 appears at 135 (βαθύκολ-“Ζπον).

133. ‘Receipt of due honours’ is a sub theme: cf. 11, and esp. 118. 134. For this pun, Plat. Laws 799e-800a. Lonsdale (1993) 21. 135. Timotheus Persae 202f.; Limenius (Kappel Pai. 46) 37f.; Aristonous (Kappel Pai.

42) 45.

136. Radt (1958) 193 n.4; for ‘frequency’ of worship, cf. D'Alessio and Ferrari (1988) 177 n.41 (citing Ar. Th. 286-88, 949-52; Eur. El. 805). 137. Cf. Pae. 2.98 (above, section II θαμά). 138. For imitation of the sixth paean in Od. 4.6, see Kiessling-Heinze on line 1; Fraenkel (1957) 401; Syndikus (1973) 347ff.; Pasquali (1920) 752ff.

139. This aspect is well explained by Putnam (1986) 121. 140. A comparable process of ‘inclusion’ is implied at O/. 6.87f. (instructions to sing of Hera): Slater (1969) 88f.

141. 119f.: «távev/«tv» tepéjvet φίλῳ γᾶς παρ᾽ ὀμφαλὸν παρά (17), [γᾶν] (18); εὐρύν (60).

ὀμφαλὸν

εὐρύν; cf. χθονὸς

142. For the ambiguity of Apollo (killer god and beneficent deity), Detienne (1986). For this ambiguity in the paean, Rutherford (1993) 88f. 143. For interpretation, Rutherford (1991) 4ff. 144, Rutherford (1991) 4. 145. Rutherford (1991) 5. 146. Measures: cf. esp. the cognate words used of versified Delphian responses: Hdt. 1.47.2, 1.174.5, 5.61.1; Plut. Mor. 396cd, 402b-e; Strab. 9.3.5 (409). For πούς of metrical foot, LSJ s.v. IV; for play on choric μέτρα in a related context, Eur. EI. 433 (above, section II).

147. Tim. Persae 197ff.: Mlavav'/ ἐκελάδησαν ἰήιον, ἄνακτα, σύμμετροι δ᾽ ἐπε“κτύπεον ποδῶν ὑψικρότοις χορείαις. Cf. H. Apoll. 516. 148. For a suggestive parallel, cf. Simonides PMG 519 fr. 55 (above n.23; a pacan sung at Delos

by an

island chorus, possibly

Aeginetan):

at 2f., the Deliades are

apparently instructed to sing the refrain; yet the singing chorus is male (8); does Pindar have in mind the conventions of singingas a mixed chorus, of male singers and female dancers (above, n.23)? For simple choric dance plus refrain in a male

pacan. cf. Ap. Rhod. 2.701ff. For paean refrain by Delphides, Euph. fr. 80.2 owell.

.

ALEX HARDIE

149. For closely germane comments on the 'ambiguity' of the use of theterm *paean', Rutherford (1993) 80f.

150. Kambylis (1965) 38ff.; Otto (1956) 1ff., 29ff. Some key passages: Ar. Clouds 269ff.; Ap. Rhod. 1.1222ff., 4.1411f.; Theocr. Jd. 1.66ff.; Call. H. 4.79ff.; Lyc. Alex. 273ff.; Virg. Ecl. 10.9ff., Longus Daphnis and Chloe praef. 1, 1.4. Callimachus wrote Περὶ Νυμφῶν (fr. 413 Pf.). 151. Above, n.96. 152. Plut. Mor. 402d. Pindar may be concerned with Aeacus’ resolution of divine Epic: for the Styx and resolution of strife, cf. Hes. Theog. 782ff.

153. See Parke and Wormell (1956) 27f.; Parke (1978) 207ff. is sceptical about the

drinking of water for mantic purposes, from either Cassotis or Castalia; this may be justified, but Parke does not give sufficient weight to a possible statement in Alcaeus that Castalia possessed ‘mantic water’: cf. Strabo 8.7.5, as restored by Aly (Kappel Pai. 1C).

154. Parke and Wormell (1956) ibid. 155. Paus. 9.34.3; Strabo 410; invoked as Muse substitutes at SH 416.2 (Euphorion), 988.1, 993.7; Orph. fr. 342 K; Virg. Ecl. 7.21.

156. RE XV1.702.46ff.; for the relationship with the inspiring ‘exhalation’, Boyancé (1938) 312. The shrine of the Delphian Muses was located at the ἀναπνοὴν tod νάματος (Plut. Mor. 402c).

157. Cf. esp. Plat. Laws 719c (above, n.111). Not all Delphian nymphs or divine collectives have been considered in this paper. The nymphs of the Corycian cave are regularly associated with Pythian Apollo (e.g. Aesch. Eum. 22f.; Aristonous (= Kappel Pai. 45) 35f.); and, as water nymphs, they are credited by Apollonius with originating the paean-refrain (2.711-13), an aition which might have some relevance to the Delphides and their singing of the refrain (above, n.148).

158. Gow ad loc. notes the suggestion of omniscience; cf. Aristis’ ‘knowledge’ (99), and his putative performance at Delphi, all of which is part ofthe background to Theocritus" ‘Castalian nymphs’. 159. Or. 48.37 Col. (a cletic address to the Muses): ... εἴτε περὶ Δελφοὺς xai Κασταλίαν ὁμοῦ Μούσαις ἐκεῖ Κασταλίσιν ἀθύρετε... Μούσαις has been amended to νύμφαις, but is probably sound: as ‘local’ Muses, ‘Castalian Muses’ is paralleled by ‘Attic Muses’ (3, i.e. Attic music); ἐκεῖ gets full force, localisin

the Castalian Muses at Delphi and distinguishing them from the ‘universal’ Muses; and ὁμοῦ, juxtaposed with Μούσαις might allude to the etymology of Μοῦσαι from ὁμοῦ οὖσαι (Cassiod. var. 4.51.8; Maltby (1991) s.v. Musa).

160. Vita S. Martini 4.245ff.: vesana loquentes/ dementes rapiant furiosa ad pectora

Musas:/ nos Martinus agat .../ ... talem sitiunt mea viscera fontem./ Castalias poscant lymphatica pectora lymphas:/ altera pocla decent homines Jordane renatos.

161. Bowie (1985) 71ff., 84 (on Philetan influence on Theocr. Id. 7), drawing in particular on the character Philetas in Longus Daphnis and Chloe; Prop. 3.3 combines Helicon and Castalia (a process which also underlies the Simonidean

and Pindaric treatment of the Delphian Muses) and signals Philetan influence (51f.). I suspect that Philetas' contribution may have lain in the introduction of the Naiad-Muses (above, section IIT).

162. Calame (1977) Index analytique s. v. Muses (esp. 108, 172ff.); Deliades and Muses: Nagy (1990) 55f.

PINDAR, CASTALIA AND THE MUSES OF DELPHI

255

163. At Phil. Scarph. (Kappel Pai. 39) 19ff. Delphi is said to have danced at Dionysus’ birth; he then appeared on Parnassus Δελφίσι ody κόραι[ς] (22); a parallel description of a Dionysiac pacan by the virgin Muses led by Apollo appears at 58ff.; with this treatment of Dionysus and the Deiphides, cf. esp. Eur.

fr. 752 N;

Käppel (1992) 235f. Mingling of roles of Muses and Delphides: Paean Delphicus (Kappel Pai. 45) 3ff. 164. This is well expounded by Kappel (1992) 243ff., stressing the close relationship between mythical paean and actual paean.

165. Compare the dancing (1883) contains much

girls of Karyai, the Karyatides: cf. Burkert (1985) 15. Back illustrative material on men acting the part of gods (I owe

this reference to Ian Rutherford).

166. For ‘the goddesses’ in this context, cf. Lucian Char. 17. 167. The story was told in the Cypria: Proclus Chrest. p.102.14ff. Allen; Lucian Symp. 35; Char. 10, 17; Dial. Mar. 5; Virg. Aen. 1.26f.; RE V¥.465, XVIII.2.1495. 168. Peleus: cf. 99; Thetis: 82f. It is not an objection that Thetis is apparently named here for the first time; the wedding could be referred to simply as “the wedding of Peleus" (Proclus /oc. cit. (n.167); Lucian Symp. 5).

169. Thus, δικάσαι (155), with Snell. The judgment of Paris is usually κρίσις; but cf. Call. H. 5.18; Lucian Dial. Mar. 5; Virg. Aen. 1.27. 170. Pind. Pyth. 3.89f.; Eur. [A 1040ff.; Lucian Dial. Mar. 5 171. Concord and marriage: Cairns (1989) 89; RE VIII.2266; Cat. 64.336: qualis adest Thetidi, qualis concordia Peleo. Concord and Muses: Barchiesi (1991) 7. 172. Pyth. 3.8911.; Nem. 5.22ff. (with Apollo; cf. Lucian Dial. Mar. 5). It may or may not be relevant that in one version (Aesch. TGF 350) Apollo predicted a great future for Achilles, and added a paean-cry: Rutherford (1993) 90f. 173. Cf. Isth. 8.46ff. (Zeus at the wedding); 57ff. (Muses at the funeral). 174. Above, n.169.

BIBLIOGRAPHY D'Alessio, G.B. and F. Ferrari (1988) ‘Pindaro, Paeana 6,175-183: una ricostruzione’

SCO 38.159-79 Amandry, P. (1977) ‘Notes de topographie et d'architecture delphiques. VI. La

fontaine Castalie' Études delphiques (BCH Suppl. IV) 179-228

Back, 2 . (1883) De Graecorum caerimoniis in quibus homines deorum vice fungebantur (Berlin) Barchiesi, A. (1991) ‘Discordant Muses’ PCPS 37.1-21 Bona, G. (1988) Pindaro: i Peani (Cuneo)

Bowie, E.L. (1985) ‘Theocritus’ seventh /dyll, Philetas and Longus’ CQ 35.67-91 Bowra, C.M. (1964) Pindar (Oxford)

Boyancé, P. (1938) ‘Sur les oracles de la Pythie' REA 40.305-16 Burkert, W. (1983) Homo Necans (tr. P. Bing, Berkeley) — (1985) Greek religion (tr. J. Raffan, Blackwell, Oxford) Bury, J.B. (1890) The Nemean Odes of Pindar (London)

Cairns, F. (1972) Generic composition in Greek and Roman poetry (Edinburgh)

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— —

(1989) Virgi s Augustan epic (Cambridge) (1992) ‘Propertius 4.9: **Hercules exclusus" and the dimensions of genre’, in

K. Galinsky (ed.) The interpretation of Roman poetry: empiricism or hermeneutics?

(Studien zur klassischen Philologie 67, Frankfurt am Main) 65-95 Calame, C. (1977) Les choeurs de jeunes filles en Gréce archaique | (Rome) Delatte, L. (1915) Études sur la littérature pythagoricienne (Paris)

Detienne, M. (1986) ‘L’Apollon meurtrier et les crimes de sang’ QUCC n.s. 22.7-17 Dodds, E.R. (1963) The Greeks and the irrational (Berkeley) Fairbanks, A. (1900) A Study of the Greek Paean (Cornell Studies Philology 12, New York) Farnell, L.R. (1907) The Cults of the Greek states IV (Oxford) — (1909) The Cults of the Greek states V (Oxford) Fascher, E. (1927) TIPO®HTHE (Giessen) Ferrari, F. (1992) ‘Per il testo dei Peani di Pindaro' MD 28.143-52

in Classical

Fogelmark, S. (1972) Studies in Pindar with particular reference to Paean VI and Nemean VII (Lund) Fraenkel, E. (1957) Horace (Oxford)

Garner, R. (1993) ‘Achilles in Locri. P. Oxy. 3876, frr. 37-77 ZPE 96.153-65 Grenfell, B.P. and A.S. Hunt (1908) The Oxyrhynchus Papyri V (London) Halliday, W.R. (1913) Greek divination (London) Hoekstra, A. (1962) ‘The absence of the Aeginetans: on the interpretation of Pindar's sixth paean' Mnem. (n.s.iv) 15.1-14 Kappel, L. (1992) Paian: Studien zur Geschichte einer Gattung (Berlin/New York)

(his numbered Paian texts are cited as Küppel Pai.)

Kambylis, A. (1965) Die Dichterweihe und ihre Symbolik (Heidelberg) Kern, O. (1900) Die Inschriften von Magnesia am Maeander (Berlin) — (1926) Die Religion der Griechen (Berlin) Kirkwood, G. (1982) Selections from Pindar (APA Textbooks Series California)

7, Chico,

Kritzas, Ch. (1980) ‘Muses Delphiques à Argos’ BCH Suppl. VI.195-209 Lane Fox, R. (1986) Pagans and Christians (Viking, repr. Harmondsworth 1988) Lonsdale, S. (1993) Dance and ritual play in Greek religion (Baltimore and London) McLeod, W.E. (1961) ‘Oral bards at Delphi’ TAPA 92.317-25 Maltby, R. (1991) A lexicon of ancient Latin etymologies (Arca 25, Leeds)

Mezger, F. (1881) Pindars Siegeslieder (Leipzig) Nagy, G. (1989) ‘Early Greek views of poets and poetry’, in The Cambridge history of literary criticism I (Cambridge) 1-77 — (1990) Greek mythology and poetics (Ithaca) Newman, J.K. and F.S. Newman (1984) Pindar's art: its tradition and aims (Hildesheim)

Nilsson, M. (1958) ‘Das delphische Orakel in der neuesten Literatur’ Historia 7.237—50 Otto, W.F. (1956) Die Musen (Darmstadt)

Parke, H.W. (1978) ‘Castalia’ BCH 102.199-219 —

(1981)

‘Apollo

130/131.99-112

and

the

Muses,

or prophecy

in Greek

verse’

— (1985) The oracles of Apollo in Asia Minor (London) Parke, H.W. and D.E.W. Wormell (1956) The Delphic Oracle (Oxford)

Pasquali, G. (1920) Orazio Lirico (Florence) Peek, W. (1971) ‘Milesische Versinschriften’ ZPE 7.193-226 Pouilloux, J. and G. Roux (edd.) (1963) Énigmes à Delphes (Paris) Putnam, M.J.C. (1986) Artifices of Eternity (Cornell)

Hermathena

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257

Radt, S.L. (1958) Pindars zweiter und sechster Paian, Text, Scholien und Kommentar (Amsterdam)

Richardson, N.J. (1974) The Homeric Hymn to Demeter (Oxford) Roux, G. (1976) Delphes: son oracle et ses dieux (Paris) Rutherford, 1.C. (1990) ‘Paeans by Simonides’ HSCP 93.169-209 — (1991) ; Neoptolemos and the paean-cry: an echo of a sacred aetiology in Pindar’ ZPE 88.1-1

—

(1993) ‘Paeanic ambiguity: a study of the representation of the παιάν in Greek literature' QUCC n.s. 44.77-92 Schachter, A. (1986) Cults of Boiotia (BICS Suppl. 38, London) Sitzler, J. (1911) ‘Zum sechsten Páan Pindars' Wochenschrf. f. klass. Phil. 28.1015-18 Slater, W.J. (1969) ‘Futures in Pindar’ CQ n.s. 19.86-94 Syndikus, H.P. (1973) Die Lyrik des Horaz (Darmstadt) Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, U. von (1908) ‘Pindars siebentes nemeisches Gedicht’ Sitz. Berl. 328-52 — (1922) Pindaros (Berlin) Wissowa, G. (1912) Religion und Cultus der Romer (repr. Munich 1971)

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 259-84 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA

HERODOTUS

34. ISBN 0-905205-90- |

WARNS THE ATHENIANS! JOHN MOLES

(University of Durham)

Herodotus' Histories trace the conflict between Greeks and barbarians from Croesus of Lydia to the aftermath of Xerxes' defeat, when Ionia and the eastern Greek islands revolted from Persia. Herodotus emphasises that the conflict was between tyranny and imperialism and freedom and autonomy, and clearly regards the former as immoral (which does not necessarily make the unfree

blameless).? He believes that human prosperity is transient and the rise and fall of states and empires inevitable (1.5.3f.). This process, however, is not automatic, nor merely a matter of mistakes made by imperialists: it entails moral transgression not only in the initial acquisition of empire but also in the degeneration which causes its fall. Most scholars see in the Histories a concern also with recurrent

historical patterns.? The narrative contains numerous 'prospective allusions' (explicit references to events after 478).* Do these prospective allusions have purely local significance, or do they suggest organic connexions between the remote and recent past? Should Herodotus' audience

and readers recall the empire that replaced the Persian empire in the Greek world? If so, are the Athenians being warned of inevitable disaster if they maintain their imperialist course? Some scholars deny implicit contemporary allusion; most accept it. However, the case for contemporary allusion has not been

properly argued, nor, granted such allusion, has its function been agreed. This paper argues that book 1, which is programmatic,’ employs the device of ‘temporal dislocation’ as a *signal'* to suggest 259

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JOHN MOLES

connexions between past and present, explores the implications of

those connexions, and correlates them with the end of the Histories. My sole initial assumption is that the monumental written Histories should be put after ca 426; whether immediately after, some years after, or many years after is immaterial,’ though my argument itself

has dating implications.!° I Herodotus’ preface raises the question “for what reason Greeks and

barbarians went to war against each other”; his narrative starts with Croesus of Lydia, “the man whom I myself know to have begun unjust deeds towards the Greeks" (1.5.3, cf. 130.3). The formal introduction of Croesus describes him as a “tyrant”, sketches his imperial possessions, and emphasises that he was the first barbarian “whom we know" to have subjected some Greeks (the Ionians, Aeolians and Asian Dorians) to the payment of tribute and to have made friends of others (the Spartans), and that before him all Greeks were free (1.6.1-3). Is τύραννος (probably in origin a Lydian word) neutral or pejorative? The emphasis on Croesus' *unjust deeds",

systematic imperialism and suppression of freedom suggests the latter. Later, in Herodotus' account of Gyges' murder of Candaules and seizure of the throne (1.11.2-13.14), βασιληϊιηγβασιλεύς seems to be used of the constitutional position, and tupawic/tupaweto

with moral disapproval. Indeed, τύραννος seems pejorative throughout the Histories.'' Many scholars assume that contemporary readers would already sense an allusion to the Athenian empire; the case is yet to be proved. After complex restrospectives explaining how Croesus’ family, the Mermnadae, won the throne, in 1.16 Herodotus brings the narrative

down to Croesus’ father Alyattes. The “things in his rule most worth telling" come in 1.17.1-3: “he went to war against the Milesians,

taking over the war from his father. In his invasion he besieged Miletus in the following manner. When the crops were ripe, he brought in his army. He marched to the sound of flutes, harps and the female and male oboe. When he reached Miletus, he did not throw down or burn the houses in the fields or pull off the doors: he let them

stand in place. Whenever he destroyed the trees and the crops in the land, he retired. For the Milesians had power over the sea, so that a

sustained siege would have been useless for his army ... he made war in this fashion for eleven years." Every year the army marches into

HERODOTUS WARNS THE ATHENIANS

enemy

261

territory, and wastes the crops, encountering no serious

resistance on land, but eschews a full-scale siege because of enemy

sea-power. Herodotus’ narrative has its own logic as it traces the steady westwards expansion of Lydian imperialism, focuses on the war against Miletus, which encompassed several generations (1.16-25),

and adumbrates the idea of the natural boundaries between land and sea which is so fundamental to Herodotus’ political and moral thought. Nevertheless, it seems inconceivable that an audience/

readership of the 420s or later would not have been reminded of the annual Spartan invasions of Athens from 431 onwards and that Herodotus did not intend this. For his account of Alyattes’ reign concentrates on these operations against Miletus, and the main elements of the description exactly parallel Spartan operations against Athens in the Archidamian war. Miletus, also, was an Athenian foundation (5.97.2), whose fall in the Ionian Revolt the Athenians lamented as their own (6.21.2). Moreover, Herodotus

gives the episode an impressive unity by representing the operations as all belonging to Alyattes and being undertaken by him over an eleven-year period. But this unity is artificial, as he then qualifies his account by noting that Sadyattes was responsible for the first six years and his son Alyattes for the subsequent five years (1.18.2). This, then, is the first ‘temporal dislocation’. Its effect is double: it makes

the general point that the past is sometimes reenacted in the present, and it brings contemporary Athens into the conceptual frame. When Croesus succeeds his father Alyattes (1.26), he continues the imperialist drive. After subjugating Ephesus, he attacks each of the

Ionian and Aeolian cities in turn, “bringing different accusations against different ones, bigger ones when he could discover them, trivial ones against others" (1.26.3). In an emphatic echo of 1.6.2 the Greeks are described as having been “subjected to the payment of tribute” (1.27.1). Should the audience/readership now think of the Athenian

empire, which was based on tribute and included these

Greek cities in Asia, and of the energy and ingenuity with which Athens picked them off? Is the point of Herodotus’ having introduced Croesus as a “tyrant” (1.6.2) now to suggest a parallel between the

tyrannical Lydian imperialist of the previous century and Athens, the present-day *'tyrant-city", as she was widely known?" I would still describe any allusion to Athenian imperialism as potential rather than realised; but it has been brought closer to realisation by the

earlier evocation of the Peloponnesian war.

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JOHN MOLES

The dexterous intervention of the wise Bias (or, in another version, Pittacus) dissuades Croesus from attacking the islanders, but he

continues his land imperialism and 1.28 provides an impressive summary of his imperial conquests in another echo and expansion of the introductory 1.6.? Now (1.29) “there arrived in Sardis, which was at the height of her wealth, many, all the great sophistai from Greece who were alive during that time, and above all Solon, an

Athenian.” This first explicit mention of Athens crystallises the implicit allusion of 1.17.1-3. The scene is set for the great encounter between Solon and Croesus, which is generally and rightly seen as central to Herodotus’ thought. The opening sentence is challenging. The critical terms in which Croesus was introduced (1.5.3; 6.2) and the continuing emphasis on

his aggression against Greeks (1.26.1-28.1) make it shocking that Greek intellectuals should flock to Sardis. The Histories will explore Greeks’ readiness to collaborate with their oppressors; conversely,

the subsequent narrative will stress, and document, Croesus’ philhellenism. In terms of the oppositions between Greeks and barbarians and between East and West Lydia will appear as an ‘in-between’ country, and Croesus himself as a figure hard to place, who resists

description in the easy formulations of Greek/barbarian discourse.!* Thus this sentence creates a geographical dislocation: the West joins the East and vice-versa. We now have spatial dislocation as well as temporal dislocation; this narrative’s frame is comprehensively skewed. Moreover, while Sardis was indeed a considerable centre of Hellenism, the statement that al! the σοφισταί from Greece arrived

at Sardis at one time or another must be Herodotean exaggeration. One motive is to create a crescendo of *wise men' descending upon Croesus, beginning with Bias/Pittacus and climaxing in Solon; another is to raise disturbing questions about Greeks’ response to

eastern temptation. But there is more. What are σοφισταί) On one level, ‘wise men’. But already in the late fifth century σοφιστής can

mean ‘sophist’ in the modern sense.!5 This interpretation is supported by How and Wells’ note: “the order of the words ἄλλοι te οἱ (not of τε ἄλλοι) shows H. did not consider Solon a σοφιστής ... The word here

has, of course,

no

bad

sense, though

the causal

participle

(ἀκμαζούσας πλούτῳ) reminds us of the reproach of venality made against the sophists." The point about the te is strictly correct, though it could be loose usage. The point about the causal participle is also nice. True, the narrative movement requires that

HERODOTUS WARNS THE ATHENIANS

263

Sardis be at her ἀκμή (hence ripe for decline)" and the stress on

Sardis’ wealth explains Greek corruptibility. Nevertheless, contemporary usage and sophistic venality import the additional implication,

*sophists'.!* Thus, if all the σοφισταί (both ‘wise men’ and ‘sophists’) and Solon, wisest of them all, arrived in the dominant imperial city of its time at the zenith of its wealth, that city was not only sixth-century Sardis: it was also fifth-century Athens, “the very shrine of wisdom of all Greece”, as Hippias described it (Plato Protagoras 337d). This reading entails that Solon in some sense represents Herodotus, which the sequel confirms, and coheres with the careers of the great sophists and Herodotus, all of whom visited Athens extensively.!? The ambiguity of Solon’s being at once inside and outside the category of σοφισταί fairly reflects Herodotus’ own position vis-à-vis the sophists. He travelled and lectured widely, was accused of venality,”° and shows acquaintance with sophistic thought, yet in the debate between ‘old’ and ‘new’ morality favoured ‘the old’. The opening sentence, therefore, has three meanings. (1) Many

Greek ‘wise men’ visited Croesus’ court; these wise men represent that Greek philosophical wisdom which should have restrained Croesus’ imperial ambitions but succeeded only in deflecting him from the islands. (2) Many Greek intellectuals were attracted by

Croesus’

imperial

wealth;

these

intellectuals represent

Greeks’

culpable vulnerability to eastern wealth and their readiness to collaborate with their imperialist oppressors, as well as suggesting counter-ambiguities in Croesus and the Lydians. (3) Many sophists and Herodotus himself visited Athens at her imperial zenith, the former for base materialistic reasons, the latter to educate the Athenians. This remarkable sentence is marked by internal incongruities, dislocations of time and space, and fusion of text and context. The three separate meanings cannot logically co-exist; Solon the sixth-century Athenian leaves Athens for the east only to arrive in Athens and the fifth century; Solon the Athenian ‘becomes’ Herodotus of Halicarnassus; Herodotus the historian outside the text intervenes directly in the text; his physical arrival in Athens in the 440s is re-enacted in his text of the 420s or later; the context (his performances to the Athenians and other Greeks) is translated into the text itself. This, then, is another, and an intensely provocative,

‘signal’. Solon left Athens after his legislation. His stated reason for leaving was κατὰ θεωρίης πρόφασιν, “for sight-seeing”; i.e. he gives the

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Athenians a relatively frivolous reason in contrast to the true one given by Herodotus: that he might not be forced to annul any of his laws. Solon upholds law, which the tyrannical Croesus does not, and

in the late fifth century Solon’s laws can evoke an older, idealised, Athens as against the radically democratic and aggressively imperialist Athens of the present. Before becoming a traveller Herodotus fought tyranny in Halicarnassus.?! His restatement of Solon's

motives (1.30.1 “for these reasons and also for the sake of sightseeing") seems slyly to reinstate the less worthy of Solon's motives. The combination of the serious and frivolous as explanations for

Solon's travels suggests the same possible combination in relation to Herodotus' own travels; the serio-comic is also an essential aspect of the written Histories. Thus the equivocations of 6ewpin highlight one of the central difficulties of ‘reading’ Herodotus, both man and text.

Solon first visits Egypt, as Herodotus had visited Egypt,?? perhaps before visiting Athens, and then Sardis/Athens. On arrival he becomes the guest of king Croesus. Thucydides, Herodotus and

Herodotus’ friend Sophocles regarded Pericles as a virtual king.”? In Athens Herodotus surely met Pericles, friend of sophists and intellectuals and a likely source of Herodotus’ Alcmaeonid bias.?* After showing Solon his treasury (we recall the greed of the sophists, Athens' wealth and imperial treasury), Croesus speaks (1.30.2): * Athenian guest-stranger, great account (Aóyoc) has come to us concerning you both because of your wisdom and your wandering, how you have traversed much of the earth in your love of wisdom and θεωρίης εἵνεκεν. So now a desire has come upon me to ask you if you have now seen anyone whom you consider the most blessed of all." At this point the identification of Solon with Herodotus becomes (as Redfield notes)? effectively explicit. Not only is a close connexion made between the processes of wandering and of acquiring wisdom, thereby reinforcing the association between Solon and the wandering Herodotus, but the initial epic-style compliment and the association of wandering, acquiring wisdom and seeing evoke the great Odysseus, with whom Herodotus had already associated himself in the ‘resumed preface’ at 1.5.3, directly after undertaking to identify the man ultimately responsible for Greek-barbarian conflict, Croesus. There the words “going through small and great cities of men alike" echo Odyssey 1.3 and suggest analogies between Odysseus’ travels, Herodotus’ travels and Herodotus’ work itself.?$ The source of such analogies is the Homeric “path of song" (Odyssey 8.74, 481, 22.347), which further strengthens the linkages between Odysseus and

HERODOTUS WARNS THE ATHENIANS

265

Herodotus and between the poet/writer and his subject. The connexion between 1.30.2 and 1.5.3 creates yet more implications. Herodotus’ world-wide travels have uniquely qualified him to locate true blessedness and his work itself, like Solon’s words, represents a sort of moral odyssey.”’ It is indeed a profoundly serious work: Croesus takes the process of θεωρίῃ seriously, and its association with ‘seeing’, both literal and metaphorical (cf. also

1.30.2 Benodpevov, εἶδες, 1.32.9 σκοπέειν), now brings out a further and final implication: ‘pilgrimage’. For all their humour (abundantly clear in the present episode), Herodotus’ Histories are ultimately serious. Further support for the identification of Solon with Herodotus comes in the subsequent debate between Solon and Croesus, in which both men switch from the word ὄλβιος to evdatpovin (1.32.1), the word used by Herodotus himself at 1.5.4, and Solon closes with the doctrine (1.32.9) *to many god shows prosperity and then upturns them by the roots", a theological restatement of the political reversals of 1.5.3f.?* The interaction of Herodotus' Solonian persona with his Odyssean

persona announces a direct Homeric model for the whole episode: Odysseus and the Phaeacians. In both cases, a stranger-guest is “entertained in the palace" (Odyssey 7.190 ξεῖνον Evi μεγάροις ξεινίσσομεν; Herodotus 1.30.1 ἐξεινίζετο ἐν τοῖσι βασιληίοισι); “observes everything” (Odyssey 7.134 πάντα ... θηήσατο, οἵ Odysseus before Alcinous’ palace; Herodotus 1.30.2 θεησάμενον ... τὰ πάντα, of Solon in Croesus’ treasury); delivers an ‘inserted’ narrative

with implicit advice and warnings for his host;? and is finally “escorted”

or

“sent

off"

(Odyssey

7.151,

191,

193,

317

etc.;

Herodotus 1.33.1). In both cases, his host or hosts claim preeminence in some area or areas (Odyssey 8.102f.; Herodotus 1.30.3), a claim progressively disproved in a series of ‘contests’ (Odyssey 8.100ff.; Herodotus 1.32.1 δευτερεῖα); and, on the stranger-guest's departure, the hosts experience the “fulfilment” (τέλος) of a divine vengeance delayed over generations (Odyssey 8.564-71, 13.125-87; Herodotus

1.13.1f.; 34.1; 91.1-6). This Homeric model has several interpretative consequences. (1) Further weight is given to the equation of Solon, Odysseus and Herodotus, increasing the mythic and universalising quality of the encounter. (2) Croesus and Lydia acquire the morally negative

associations of the Phaeacians, especially their ‘softness’.*° It may be objected that the aggressively imperialist Lydians cannot yet be *soft': they only become so when conquered and Cyrus accepts

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JOHN MOLES

Croesus’ advice to ‘feminise’ them (1.155.4). But in the Histories any imperialist power is potentially ‘soft’, so that the implication of

‘softness’ has proleptic force, as in the ambiguous temporal implications of Cyrus' warnings to the Persians against 'softness' at the end of the Histories (9.122)?! Here is yet another temporal dislocation. And any great culture invites the charge of 'softness', as

Athens

herself did

(hence

the implicit defence by Pericles in

Thucydides 2.40.1). (3) Croesus and Lydia are further characterised

as transitional, ‘in-between’ phenomena,” and ‘in-between’ alike in time, space, culture, politics and morality. (4) Since the Phaeacians

focus questions of otherness, autarchy and the relations between land and sea powers (cf. esp. Odyssey 6.201-5), we can be confident that the Solon-Croesus encounter is Herodotus' own invention, as

ancient chronographers alleged (Plutarch Solon 27.1). A fortiori the

same applies to the Bias/Pittacus story, which acts as a ‘feed’ for the larger encounter. Solon's meditations on human mortality and the instability of human prosperity have particular appositeness for Croesus at this critical moment of his reign, but must include Athens. First, Solon's

teaching has universal application. “You must look to the end of

every thing, to see how it will turn out” is Solon's famous conclusion, immediately echoed in the narrative by Herodotus in propria persona (1.32.9): there can be no theoretical justification for excluding the Athenian empire from Solon/Herodotus' critical gaze. Second, as Chiasson has shown,? Solon's speeches are a skilful amalgam of sentiments derived from Solon's poetry and Herodotus' own thoughts; Herodotus seems to engage in direct debate with the Athenians

through the mouth of one of their most hallowed poets, thinkers and statesmen. Third, Croesus himself facilitates allusion to Athens. Besides the objective parallels between Croesus and Athens, Croesus'

philhellenism and munificence towards Greek shrines were honoured in fifth-century Athens’*. ‘Croesus’ is found as a name in the Alcmaeonid family in the sixth and fifth centuries, whether or not because of their association with the Lydian dynasty. Thus the

general associations of Croesus and his particular association with the Alcmaeonids support the ideas that Sardis evokes Athens and Sardis’ king evokes Pericles, contemporary ‘king’ of Athens and Alcmaeonid on his mother's side. Moreover, in 6.125.2-5 Herodotus explains the origins of Alcmaeonid wealth. The wonderfully amusing picture of Alcmeon helping himself to gold in Croesus' treasury contrasts, surely deliberately, with Solon's incorruptibility in the

HERODOTUS WARNS THE ATHENIANS

267

identical situation. An Athenian ancestor of Pericles who succumbs to eastern wealth and political values; an Athenian, representative of

‘old Athens’, who rejects them: again Athens is in the frame. Fourth, the man who comes first in the contest for blessedness is Tellus the Athenian, who appropriately features in the initial προτρεπτικὸς λόγος (1.31.1 ὡς δὲ τὰ κατὰ τὸν TEAAOV προετρέψατο ὁ Σόλων τὸν Κροῖσον) of the attempt by Solon the philosophical Athenian to alert Croesus to the precariousness of his prosperity. Moreover, Tellus’ name and death (τέλος) alike anticipate the propositions “call no man happy until he is dead” and “look to the end of every thing”; they must also suggest the question: “what will be the end for Athenian imperialism?", a question to which Herodotus’ credo in the related passage of 1.5.3f. allows only one answer. The Tellus example suggests the ultimate logic of Herodotus’

belief in the transience of human eddSatpovin. Human beings are born, flourish (if they are virtuous, pious and lucky), and die; the

prosperity of states has a similar natural cycle. In the praefatio ta γενόμενα ἐξ ἀνθρώπων (“things ‘born’ from human beings”), which include ἔργα μεγάλα, naturally die (ἐξίτηλα γένηται), but are “kept alive” through the posthumous κλέος conferred by Herodotus’ Histories. ἐξίτηλος is frequently used in fertility contexts, and γένηται is used in paradoxical conjunction with γενόμενα, sug-

gesting: “birth is but a preparation for death"?$ So in the story of Cleobis and Biton (1.31.1-5), while it is intensely paradoxical that Hera should give death as her greatest blessing to man, this very death accords with the programme of the praefatio: the logos of Cleobis and Biton lives on in Herodotus' Histories. Cities are like human beings in that they are born, become μεγάλα, “flourish”

(1.29.1 Σάρδις ἀκμαζούσας), and decline (1.5.3f.).? Thus in Herodotus we find the seeds of the kind of elaborate biological analogy for

political and constitutional change that are so elaborately developed by later historians such as Polybius.?* In the present context, the biological analogy reinforces the absolute inevitability of states’ decline. Fifth, Solon's denial of the possibility of complete self-sufficiency (αὐτάρκεια), whether of an individual or land (1.32.8f.), is echoed

and capped in Pericles’ Funeral Speech in Thucydides: tà πάντα μὲν viv ταῦτα συλλαβεῖν ἄνθρωπον ἐόντα ἀδύνατόν ἐστι, ὥσπερ χώρη οὐδεμία καταρκέει πάντα ἑωυτῇ παρέχουσα, ἀλλὰ ἄλλο

μὲν ἔχει, ἑτέρου δὲ ἐπιδέεται" f| δὲ ἂν τὰ πλεῖστα ἔχῃ, αὔτη ἀρίστη. Gc δὲ καὶ ἀνθρώπου σῶμα ἕν οὐδὲν abtapKéc ἐστι’ τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἔχει,

268

JOHN MOLES ἄλλου δὲ ἐνδεές ἐστι. (Herodotus 1.32.8f.)

(It is impossible for a human being to have all these things together, just as no land is self-sufficient, providing everything for itself; rather

it has one thing and lacks another. The land that has the most things is the best. So no single human body is self-sufficient, for it has one

thing, but is lacking in another.) tà δὲ πλείω αὐτῆς αὐτοὶ ἡμεῖς οἷδε of viv Ett ὄντες μάλιστα ἐν τῇ καθεστηκυίᾳ ἡλικίᾳ ἐπηυξήσαμεν καὶ τὴν πόλιν τοῖς πᾶσι παρἐσκευάσαμεν καὶ ἐς πόλεμον καὶ ἐς εἰρήνην αὐταρκεστάτην. (Thucydides 2.36.3) (We ourselves here, those who are still alive, more or less in the established time of life, have augmented most parts of it and we have equipped the city in all respects to be most self-sufficient both for war and peace.)

συνελών τε λέγω τήν te πᾶσαν πόλιν τῆς Ἑλλάδος παίδευσιν slvat, καὶ καθ᾽ ἕκαστον δοκεῖν ἄν μοι τὸν αὐτὸν ἄνδρα παρ᾽ ἡμῶν ἐπὶ πλεῖστ᾽ ἂν εἴδη καὶ μετὰ χαρίτων μάλιστ᾽ ἂν εὐτραπέλως τὸ σῶμα αὕταρκες παρέχεσθαι. (Thucydides 2.41.1) (Summing up, I say both that the city as a whole is an education to

Greece and that it seems to me that each individual man among us can make his person (“body”) self-sufficient for very many types of life and with the most versatile grace.)

For Macleod,” Pericles is claiming that Athenian self-sufficiency, both of state and individual citizen, transcends the limitations of Solon/Herodotus’ general archaic model: "Pericles" ideal citizen is

‘independent’ because he lives in the ‘most independent’ ... city in Greece. That city gives him, and can afford to give him, personal liberty and security. Solon’s ideal was a man who has as much as possible and whose death is a fortunate one: Pericles praises a man

who expresses himself in as many forms of action as possible and whose style of life is felicitous. Athens seemed to have created a man who was more than the fragile creature, tied to his human weaknesses or folly and his mortal destiny, that Solon and archaic Greek thought took as the type of humanity."

This penetrating analysis misses a key element of the relationship between Thucydides and Herodotus: Pericles/Thucydides reads Solon/Herodotus

both

as making

a general

statement

and

as

alluding to Athens in particular. For the historical Pericles surely did boast of Athenian self-sufficiency. Not only does Thucydides' theory of speeches (1.22.1) entail the inclusion of a proportion of “what

truly was said", but the well-known fact that many of Pericles' claims in the Funeral Speech are undermined in the plague narrative“

HERODOTUS WARNS THE ATHENIANS

would

lose much

269

of its significance were those claims merely

fictional. Moreover, other Athenian sources of the late fifth and early fourth centuries say similar, if less elevated, things, and, while they

may have been influenced by Pericles, some of them cannot have been influenced by Thucydides. The Athenian claim was a remarkable paradox, since Athens imported extensively.*? Moreover, in both Herodotus and Thucydides self-sufficiency takes a double form: self-sufficiency of state and individual. Since Pericles had made his remarkable double claim earlier than any conceivable publication

date for the Histories, Solon/Herodotus' denial of the possibility of the complete self-sufficiency of any country or persons must imply a denial of Athenian self-sufficiency in particular. Solon's teachings give Croesus no pleasure: a pointed contrast to

his *pleasure' at Bias/Pittacus' pithily expressed advice (1.27.5); having passed the first philosophical test, Croesus fails the second. He

sends Solon away, convinced that he is “of no account”:

the

wording reverses Croesus’ initial greeting (“great account has come to us") and echoes Herodotus' own comment on the failure of the Lydians in general to “take account" of Delphi's prophecy of

vengeance for Candaules' murder in the fifth generation after Gyges (1.13.2). Both Croesus within his life-time and the Lydians over the generations are unable to “look to the end”. Indeed, Croesus’ failure in his life-time stands for, and encapsulates, the Lydians’ failure over the generations. Again, a particular time-frame, that of Croesus’ lifetime, covers another, much longer, time-frame.

Upon Solon's departure, a great nemesis from the gods overtakes Croesus, because of his mistaken belief that he is the most blessed of

all men. Will the Athenians, at the height of their prosperity, also fail the test of listening to Herodotus and undergo a corresponding fall? At this point we may pause to register the tact and skill with which Herodotus

has conveyed

his warning

to the Athenians.

He em-

phasises that Solon did not flatter Croesus at all (1.30.3), but at the same time Solon addresses Croesus courteously and answers his question at first obliquely. Similarly, Herodotus' warning to the

Athenians is fundamentally parrhesiastic, but obliquely conveyed through the filter of a historical analogy and softened by compliments: he argues against the Athenians through the mouth of a great and revered Athenian, and he uses a heroic Athenian as one of the

examples of blessedness. This interpretation is not undermined by Herodotus' extravagant praise of the energising effect which the

acquisition

of democracy

had

upon

Athens

(5.78), or by his

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JOHN MOLES

insistence, unpopular as it is, that the Athenians saved Greece from Xerxes (7.139.1-5). One can well hold — one should hold — that

internal democracy is an excellent thing and incompatible with the suppression of other people's liberty. And frankness towards everybody, Athenians and non-Athenians alike, lends moral authority to specific criticisms. Greek rhetoricians evolved elaborate theories of ‘figured speech’ as a device for conveying advice or criticism to powerful persons or peoples. These included the use of historical analogy and tactful and ingratiating compliment, and they were (arguably) put into practice by skilful poets and orators;*! but

they had nothing to teach Herodotus. Herodotus’ use of ‘figured speech' in this episode already suggests one reason for his resort to ‘signals’ rather than explicit statement: the requirements of tact. Just as Solon left Sardis, so Herodotus left Athens after his initial

failure to convince the Athenians of their self-delusion, and went to Thurii. But unlike Solon he returned to the scene of his failure^* and redoubled his efforts to warn the Athenians, both in person (since,

presumably, his oral performances continued) and in his monumental written work. Equally, Herodotus' text continues on its *travels' after the Solon-Croesus encounter. At the end ofthe Lydian

logos Herodotus writes (1.95.1): "My account from this point seeks to explain who Cyrus was who brought down Croesus' empire and in

what way the Persians became leaders of Asia. I shall write in agreement with some of the Persians, those who do not wish to inflate

Cyrus' achievements but to tell the true story, though I know howto set forth three other ways of words." This suggests yet another

implication of the linkage between 1.30.2 and 1.5.3f. 1.5.3f. maps out the entire ‘journey’ of the text; the first ‘stop’ will be with Croesus, ultimately the guilty man; the rest of the journey will stop at small

and big cities alike, human prosperity being transient. The SolonCroesus encounter then is that first stop, with Solon representing Herodotus himself both on his physical and on his literary travels; Solon-Herodotus' teaching is essentially the same as that of 1.5.4,

which is explicitly the moral underpinning of the entire work. The Solon-Croesus encounter, therefore, offers not merely one way of reading the entire text: it combines with 1.5.3f. to provide the fundamental interpretative guide. Athens is firmly established in that

encounter as the main sub-text.

HERODOTUS WARNS THE ATHENIANS

271

II If it is natural to look for signals pointing towards contemporary events at the beginning of the Histories, it is also natural to look for them at the end. For not only are the beginning and end linked by complex ring structures,*° but the end comes close in time to the beginnings of the Athenian empire. It is true that the end has occasioned much scholarly debate without producing any firm consensus, but I believe that it supports my interpretation of the

beginning. However, in the first instance, I shall try to analyse the end without prejudice. The

last major battle of the war, a great Greek victory, is at

Mycale, during which the Ionian Greeks change sides. “In this way Jonia revolted from Persia for the second time" (9.105.1). The narrative seems to be returning to the status quo before the initial unjust subjugation of Ionia by Croesus. Herodotus' customary listing after a battle of the bravest fighters lays greatest emphasis on

an Athenian who died in the war between Athens and Carystus (9.105). Is this detail simply part of his biography, or does it suggest a

discordant contrast between the panhellenic endeavours and the apparent restoration of Ionian freedom in the present context and Athens’ drive to subjugate fellow Greeks a few years later?^5 For the moment, we have to reserve judgement. Formally, however, this reference provides an explicit prospective allusion. After the battle the Greeks debate the Ionians' situation: the

Peloponnesians propose their resettlement in Greece and the abandonment of Ionia to Persia; the Athenians do not wish Ionia to be depopulated or the Peloponnesians to make proposals concerning their own (Athenian) colonies. The Peloponnesians yield, and the Samians, Chians, Lesbians and the other inhabitants of the eastern islands join the Greek alliance and swear oaths to remain in it and not to revolt (9.106.2), whereupon the Greeks sail for the Hellespont to

destroy the Persian bridges. The status quo ante of book 1 seems further confirmed, for the failure of the Peloponnesian proposal means the rejection of the alternative interpretation of the boundary

between Greece/west and Asia/east: namely that it lay to the west of Samos,

proposal

Chios

and

reminds

Lesbos.

Yet

mention

of the

Peloponnesian

us that an alternative view of the boundary

between east and west was possible.*' And did Herodotus need to say the Ionians swore not to revolt? Would the contemporary reader-

ship/audience think of subsequent occasions when they did so? This

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JOHN MOLES

question, too, must remain open. The focus now turns on the Persians. The narrative of Xerxes’

retreat closes with the story of his unrequited passion for the wife of Masistes, his brother; of his seduction of the wife of his son, Darius;

of the horrible mutilation of Masistes' wife; and of Masistes’ death after failure to raise a revolt (9.108.1-114.1). It is generally recognised that this story of palace sexual intrigue and murder balances the Candaules-Gyges story at the beginning of book 1, that it serves to re-emphasise the barbarity of Xerxes' tyrannical eastern mores, and that it anticipates his assassination fifteen years later.** This, then, is the first implicit prospective allusion in the closing narrative. The moral clarity of this story contrasts with the absence of clear moral pointers in the surrounding narratives about the Greeks.

The narrative reverts to the Greeks. On reaching the Hellespont they find the bridges already destroyed; the Peloponnesians return home but the Athenians under Xanthippus besiege Sestos, the greatest Persian stronghold in the area. For the second time in this narrative, the Peloponnesians and Athenians differ on fundamental

matters of policy. Is this item recorded merely because it is true, or as part of Herodotus'

long-running analysis of differences between

Peloponnesians and Athenians, or because he is anticipating the fragmentation of Peloponnesian and Athenian interests which occurred a few years later? Again, we have no firm criteria to makea decision, beyond noting that this narrative seems continually to raise such questions. After Sestos falls, its wicked and sacrilegious governor Artayctes is captured, along with his son (9.114.1-119.2). Herodotus then tells

the story of a portent: the salt fish being cooked by a Greek guard begin

to leap and

gasp

like fish newly

caught.

Artayctes

tries

unsuccessfully to interpret the portent in his own interest (9.120.1—4). Ceccarelli* has pointed out that the portent must link with the story told by Cyrus to the Ionian Greeks in book 1 (another ‘ring’ with the beginning

of the Histories).

When

Cyrus

defeated

Croesus

the

Ionians requested from him the same terms as they had had under Croesus. He replied with the story of an aulos-player who saw some fish in the sea and played to them in the hope that they would come ashore; deceived in his hope, he took a net, netted a large catch and

hauled them out; seeing the fish leaping about, he said to them: 'Stop

dancing for me, since you refused to come out when I played the aulos’. The point of the story, Herodotus informs us, was that the Ionians had refused Cyrus' request that they revolt from Croesus and

HERODOTUS WARNS THE ATHENIANS

273

were only ready to obey him when he had won (1.141.1-4). The portent, therefore, must refer to the Ionians, and one obvious

reading is that the Ionians, having ‘died’, are now ‘alive’ again, because freed from the Persians. Still, granted the difference between

newly-caught fish and salt fish, one may wonder just how free ‘newlycaught’ fish are as they are being cooked, especially as in Cyrus’ story ‘leaping’ points not towards ‘life’ but towards ‘death’, and ‘gasping’ can denote gasping for breath before death, as it always does in Homer.” Does the portent, then, hint not only at renewed life but also at political death under the Athenian empire? The narrative proceeds: the Greeks under Xanthippus the Athenian inflict the capital punishment of apotympanismos (**binding to planks”)*! on Artayctes at the very spot where Protesilaus had died at the very beginning of warfare between West and East, and return home carrying both the spoils of war and the remains of the Persian

bridges for dedication in their shrines. The narrative ends (9.120.4121). Justice seems to have been done, divine vengeance exacted, the

boundaries, alike geographical, political and moral, between Greece and Asia decisively rectified. But there is an epilogue: a story concerning one of Artayctes’ ancestors named Artembares. This makes yet another ring structure: the genealogical relationship between Artayctes and Artembares recalls that between Croesus and Gyges. According to the story Artembares had made the Persians a proposal, which they had accepted and relayed to Cyrus, that the Persians should leave their barren land and occupy a better, as was

natural for a people ruling over many nations and all Asia. But Cyrus had persuaded the Persians that this would make them subjects

rather than rulers, since soft countries bred soft men. Thus the Persians chose to remain in their hard land rather than cultivate rich plains As being ness,

and become slaves (9.122.1-4). many modern scholars have argued, this epilogue, so far from a trivial and unsatisfactory end or even a sign of incompletecontrives a brilliant and fitting conclusion, although debate

about ultimate interpretation continues.*? The epilogue recapitulates major themes of the Histories: the influence of environment upon national character, the positive values of liberty, modest homelands, and self-restraint; the association between ‘soft’ national character and subjugation to ‘hard’ imperialists; the danger ever-present to

empires that their own expansion will soften them and cause their decline. The final words (“be slaves to others") emphasise the central struggle between liberty and empire. Further, Cyrus' appearance at

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JOHN MOLES

the end of the Histories has been prepared by the fish omen (9.120. 1-4), with its linkage to the story of book 1, creates yet further ring structures and belongs to the pattern of the warner or wise adviser (9.122.3 napatves). In so far as the epilogue bears on the Persians in general, the implications are complex. Since Cyrus wins the debate and Artembares is Artayctes' ancestor, it must be implied: (a) that the old Persian ways as exemplified by Cyrus were superior to those of the Persians who invaded Greece, as exemplified by Artayctes and already, proleptically, by Artembares; (b) that this superiority hasto do with the avoidance of imperial expansion and the consequent danger of ‘softening’; (c) that this danger, though on this occasion averted by Cyrus, was always present, once Persia had become an imperial power; (d) that it came still closer to realisation, once the Persians moved from their original lands. As regards (b) and the ‘softness’ of the Persians who invaded Greece, this implication is generally consistent with the portrayal of the Persians elsewhere in the Histories, but even the Persian invaders retain marks of ‘hardness’;*? implication (b), therefore, also has a certain prospective force, anticipating the further decline of the Persians entailed by

Herodotus' credo of 1.5.3f. This prospective allusion to Persian decline matches the earlier prospective allusion to the decline and fall of Xerxes, current Persian king.

What relationship is there between this Cyrus and the Cyrus of book 1, who persuades the Persians to revolt against the Medes by exposing them to successive days of toil and feasting, the latter representing life if they gain their freedom (1.125.1-126.6)? Are the

two pictures simply inconsistent, reflecting an unresolvedness in Herodotus' views about empire? Or does their consistency derive not from the consistency of Cyrus' views but from his consistent ability

to respond to the needs of the moment?55 Both these interpretations fail to account for the ambiguous nature of Cyrus' own career: the

epilogue reflects the historical truth that Cyrus did maintain the upland Pasargadai as his capital;56 but Cyrus’ own conquests, which included the flat and rich land of Babylonia, obviously paved the way for the ‘softening’ of Persian character under Darius and Xerxes. There is no inconsistency between Herodotus' using the epilogue to contrast the *hard' Cyrus with his 'softer' descendants and his using the story of book 1 to suggest that Cyrus' conquests ultimately triggered Persian decadence. Indeed, in the light both of the wider implications of Cyrus' career and of the apparent contrast with the

HERODOTUS WARNS THE ATHENIANS

275

story of book 1, the epilogue acquires a sharp irony: the last warner of the Histories disregarded his own warnings. Since Cyrus’ observations, like Solon’s teachings in book 1, are of

universal application and resume general themes of the Histories, the epilogue must, logically, have implications for others besides Persians. Croesus re-enters the picture. The theme of the struggle between ruling and being ruled, of freedom and slavery, recalls the

very beginning: the man who, in the historical period, began it all. The epilogue features a wamer, like Solon in relation to Croesus. Cyrus fears the dangers of ‘softness’; Croesus and Lydia evoke the soft

Phaeacians;

Cyrus

denies

that

the same

land

can produce

remarkable fruit and fine soldiers; Solon denies the possibility of the completely self-sufficient land or individual. Allusion to Croesus entails allusion also to the Ionians, subjugated first by Croesus, then by the Persians. The Ionians strikingly exemplify the dangers of

‘softness’: their softness proved disastrous in the Ionian Revolt (6.11.2717), and in the present narrative they have just revolted against Persia for the second time (9.105.1).

Allusion to Croesus entails allusion also to the Athenians, because in the Solon-Croesus encounter Croesus reflected fifth-century Athens. Allusion to the Ionians is also likely to stimulate allusion to the Athenians, because the Athenians are Ionians (of a kind) and

have just asserted that relationship. There is also the warning element in Cyrus' observations. Although this pinpoints, retrospectively, the

ultimate cause of Persian decline, as a practical warning to the Persians it is useless, since they do not receive it at the proper moment ofthe narrative. Indeed, as we have seen, the Cyrus of the narrative of

Persian expansion gives precisely contrary advice. In short, the warning serves as another warning to the Athenians, who do need it: Cyrus' warning, formally to the Persians, functions as an implicit

warning to the new imperialists,5* whose ἀρχή is in the narrative just. beginning and still flourishing, although under pressure, at the time that Herodotus

was writing. Warnings

point forwards:

and the

warning-element in Cyrus' homily is reinforced by the implicit parallel with, and allusion to, Solon's warning to Croesus. The injunction to “look to the end of every thing" inevitably carries the

narrative beyond its formal ending, especially since the narrative itself contains references, both explicit and implicit, to later events. It

is true that in the case of Cyrus' warning an Athenian audience has to work harder to see that it is the ‘real’, almost in effect the ‘internal’, audience than it does in the case of Solon's warning. Nevertheless,

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JOHN MOLES

the parallels between the two warnings and the suggested parallels between the Athenians and other groups in Cyrus’ warning make

that uncomfortable conclusion certain. An important consequence of this interpretation is to exclude late datings of the Histories: a warning after the fall of Athens, or even after the failure of the Sicilian expedition, would have been pointless, even tasteless.

The two great warnings, Solon’s and Cyrus’, frame the entire

narrative and complement each other in yet another ring structure. Moreover, at the end of the Histories we see the beginnings of the Athenian

empire and, in a sense, its end; at the beginning of the

Histories we see Athens both under pressure (the siege of Miletus) and at her akme (Croesus’ Sardis). These larger chronological

dislocations are paralleled in the epilogue and in the earlier narrative of Mycale and its consequences, in both of which there is a strong sense of a narrative that zig-zags both forwards and backwards in time, advancing in a linear chronological manner, pin-pointing

crucial

moments

of transition,

looking back to the past and

adumbrating the future. Against this shifting temporal background, the prospective allusions to the war between Athens and Carystus, to the fall of Xerxes and the general decline of Persian power, and the emphasis upon disagreement between Peloponnesians and Athenians and upon the energy with which the Athenians press upon the existing geogra-

phical boundaries are bound to generate reflections about what will happen next. Croesus, the Persians, the Athenians ... plus ¢a change ... The allusion to the war between Athens and Carystus shows that

the function

of prospective

allusions

is sometimes

to suggest

profound connexions between past and present. Hence a prospective allusion such as 6.98?? (“in the reigns of Darius, son of Hystaspes, and Xerxes, son of Darius, and Artaxerxes, son of Xerxes, three

successive generations, Greece suffered more evils than in the twenty generations preceding Darius, some coming to it from the Persians, some from their own leaders, as they fought for arche") cannot be

dismissed as merely ad hoc: rather, in its moral weight, resonance and expansiveness of temporal reference, it is as organic to the Histories as choral odes to Aeschylean tragedy. There is another way in which the end of the Histories elides the apparent distinction between the Greeks, particularly the Athenians, and the Persians. While the apotympanismos of Artayctes is, as it were, geometrically fitting, re-establishing the division between west

and east, it is also a barbarous punishment, parallel to Xerxes'

HERODOTUS WARNS THE ATHENIANS

277

punishment of Masistes and his children, the more so in including the stoning

of Artayctes’

son

before

his father’s

eyes.

The

moral

boundaries too — between Greek civilisation and Persian brutality — are beginning to dissolve. Indeed, the numerous ring structures linking the end of the Histories to the beginning create their own implications. On one level, they help to mark the end of the ‘cycle’ (κύκλος) begun in historical times by Croesus and, in some senses, even

earlier, in mythical

times. On

another

level, however,

they

contribute to the suggestions that the end is not the end: the end (for the time being) of the conflict between Greeks and Persians is the beginning of a new imperialist project. The structure of Herodotus’ Histories, a κύκλος created by ring structures, itself expresses both

the κύκλος of human affairs so resonantly expounded by Croesus to Cyrus (1.207.2), and the fact that at the end of the Histories this κύκλος is once again rotating. The Persians’ good fortune is now turning for the worse, the Athenians for the better, but the wheel will

always turn. Somewhere beyond the last pages of the Histories Nemesis awaits the Athenians, as she did Croesus.

III I finish by considering possible theoretical objections to my interpretation of Herodotus and by summarising its implications.

Is such a quasi-allegorising reading of Herodotus intrinsically implausible? No: it is immediately validated by the Solon-Herodotus linkage, and similar contemporary political allusion can be found in tragedy (especially the Oresteia). Is contemporary allusion incompatible with Herodotus’ main project of epic commemoration

(praefatio)?*' No: exemplary

they co-exist; epic commemoration

can serve

or deterrent functions (as in the use of the story of

Meleager to admonish Achilles in Iliad 9),? and the resumed preface (1.5.3f.) sketches universal patterns of rise and fall which transcend

particular time-frames. Croesus is Croesus the Lydian, Periclean Athens, any aggressive imperialist: there is no problem. Is it trivialising to see allusion to the Athenian empire as central to the Histories? No, for three reasons. First, allusion to the Athenian empire does not exclude allusion to other contemporary empires, or

quasi-empires.9 Second, the Athenian empire was the most important Greek empire in Herodotus' time and the most striking

example of the phenomenon of empire. Third, in serious historiography the specific and the universal can, and must, co-exist. So far

278

JOHN MOLES

from being incompatible, they reinforce each other.5* Does Herodotus approve or disapprove of the Athenian empire? He disapproves: if it is unjust for Croesus to subjugate the Ionians and impose tribute

and if Croesus' imperialism evokes Athenian imperialism, that imperialism is necessarily unjust. It is also brutal, because the end of the Histories makes an implicit analogy between Persian brutality and Athenian treatment of Artayctes and his son. Does Herodotus

know that the Athenian empire will fall? Certainly: “knowing that human prosperity never remains in the same place” (1.5.4). What

sentiment could be less equivocal?® In this connexion the significance of a final ring structure between the end and the beginning of the Histories has been overlooked. The

end of the Histories achieves an ending which is at once a proper end (marking the final failure of the Persian invasion of Greece) and an ending which points forward to the new empire, that of the

Athenians; nor of course would Herodotus have been surprised by subsequent movements from west to east and east to west, down to our own time and beyond, into an infinity of time. 1.5.3f. runs as follows: tov δὲ οἶδα αὐτὸς πρῶτον ὑπάρξαντα ἀδίκων ἔργων ἐς τοὺς Ἕλληνας, τοῦτον σημήνας προβήσομαι ἐς τὸ πρόσω τοῦ λόγου, ὁμοίως σμικρὰ καὶ μεγάλα ἄστεα ἀνθρώπων ἐπεξιών. (4) τὰ γὰρ τὸ πάλαι μεγάλα ἦν, τὰ πολλὰ αὐτῶν σμικρὰ γέγονε, τὰ δὲ én’ ἐμεῦ ἦν μεγάλα, πρότερον ἦν σμικρά. τὴν ἀνθρωπηίην ὧν ἐπιστάμενος εὐδαιμονίην οὐδαμὰ ἐν τὠυτῷ μένουσαν ἐπιμνήσομαι ἀμφοτέρων ὁμοίως.

The

constituents

of this enormously

complex

and

self-reflexive

passage are as follows: the writer; his audience/readership (implicitly addressed); his text; the writer at the present moment in the text, in

the future in the text and the future both short-term (the Croesusnarrative), medium and long-term; the writer’s ‘journey’ throughout the text (a ‘journey’ which will end at 9.122); the writer’s theme: small and great cities; cities great in the past, but now, most of them, small; cities previously small, but cities that “ἦν μεγάλα in my time" (the writer not at the present moment in the text but as a person in his own

time). The second ἦν is almost always“ translated as ‘are’. But it is an imperfect: Herodotus did not write ἔστι, as he would have done, had he meant to convey ‘are’; the present tense would have made sense as

parallel to the perfect yéyove, but the sense would have been different. How can an imperfect be used with reference to **my time"? Only if the time frame is focalised by the future reader; this imperfect

HERODOTUS WARNS THE ATHENIANS

279

is therefore analogous to the epistolary imperfect. Herodotus thus extends the time frame of his enquiries into the future, and the reference to cities that were great in my time" allows, indeed entails,

that the cities great in Herodotus’ time will in the future be small. Hence the pointers to the future which are found at the end of the Histories, pointers which point in the first instance to the rise of Athenian imperial power, ring with the pointer to the future which is found in 1.5.4, a pointer which points ultimately to the collapse of the currently great cities, which include Athens (and Sparta, Corinth and all the rest).

Paradoxically, temporal and geographical dislocation signals sameness, rather than difference. The temporal dislocations whereby the encounter between Solon and Croesus stands for Herodotus’ moral reproof of imperialist Athens, and whereby the final narrative of the year 479/8 is crowned by a retrospective warning that looks back to the very beginnings of eastern imperialist expansion and yet also has ominous prospective force; the geographical dislocations

whereby the west joins the east as Greek intellectuals flock to wealthy Sardis and whereby the Athenians push and push against existing geographical boundaries: these disturbing temporal and geographical

dislocations emphasise the universal truth of Solon’s message. In the flux of history there is one great constant: the end for imperialists is always the same, the whole enterprise is wrong and doubly so. It is

immoral and it will always fail. The end of history and the Histories is not the triumph of any particular power or ideology but the certainty

that all powers will fall. Why, then, does Herodotus use signals rather than explicit statement? Partly, as we have seen, because a moral message is more

persuasive if it is delivered tactfully and in good will (Herodotus

rightly admired some aspects of fifth-century Athens). More fundamentally, because signals are things which his readers, contemporary and modern, must interpret for themselves, just as the great figures

within the narrative repeatedly face interpretative challenges and choices. The need to create interpretative challenges for the readers

explains why the moral implications of Persian behaviour at the end are relatively clear-cut, whereas the moral implications of Athenian behaviour require serious thought. Reading Herodotus’ History is itself a moral and political act, and imperialists, or those crazed by

power in any context, will never learn its lessons. Such a perspective supplies an answer to the question of the function of contemporary allusion. The goal is of course cognitive and practical: [Herodotus],

280

JOHN MOLES

like Socles [5.92], says to his audience, ‘if you had experience of it, as we do, you would be able to offer better judgements than you do now'",9

but

for

Herodotus

(in

some

contrast

to Thucydides)

cognition involves the understanding, and correct application, of

universal moral principles.

NOTES 1.

This paper is dedicated to the memory of John Smart, a lovely man and a profoundly original scholar, who had exciting ideas about Herodotus and ucydides. These included contemporary political allusion in Herodotus, though the present arguments are my own. For John's numerous classicist friends, the only consolation for his untimely death was the thought of his haranguing Herodotus in the afterlife, tryingto persuade him that he had written his Histories several decades later than he in fact had (n.9). I thank Francis Cairns, Paul Cartledge, Alan Griffiths, Malcolm Heath, Chris Pelling and Simon Swain for helpful criticism.

2.

Tyranny: A. Ferrill ‘Herodotus on tyranny’ Historia 27 (1978) 385-98; D. Asheri (ed.) Erodoto: Le Storie (Milan 1989) 1.iv-Ivii; D. Lateiner The Historical Method of Herodotus (Toronto

1989)

169-71; imperialism:

blameworthy: cf. e.g. 3.143.2; 6.11f.; P.A.

Lateiner ibid. 181; unfree

Stadter 'Herodotus and the Athenian

ARCHE: Annali della Scuola Normale Superioredi Pisa 22

3. 4.

(1992) 781—809, 803-6.

Lateiner (n.2) 165f. (with bibliography). Listed in W. Schmid and O. Stahlin Die Griechische Literatur in der Zeit der

Attischen Hegemonie vor dem Eingreifen der Sophistik (München 1934) 1/2.590 n.9.

5.

Herodotus’ audience/readership included Athenians and Greeks from all over the Greek world: cf. e.g. 4.99; A. Momigliano 'The historians of the classical world and their audiences: some suggestions’ Annali della Scuola Normale Superiore di Pisa 8 (1978) 59-75, 60f.; K.A. Raaflaub ‘Herodotus, political thought, and the meaning of history' Arethusa 20 (1987) 221-48, 235; J. Gould Herodotus (London 1989) 15-17; Stadter (n.2) 783 and n.6 (useful bibliography).

6.

Denial: e.g. Gould (n.5) 119; acceptance: H. Strasburger ‘Herodot und das perikleische Athen' Historia 4 (1955) 1-25, reprinted in W. Marg

(ed.) Herodot:

Eine Auswahl aus der neueren Forschung (Darmstadt 1962) 574-608 and H. Strasburger Studien zur alten Geschichte (Hildesheim 1982) 11.592-626; Momigliano (n.5); Raaflaub (n.5); Stadter (n.2); and most of the contributors to Arethusa 20 (1987) (a volume devoted to Herodotus). 7.

C.W.

8.

On this concept see Raaflaub (n.5) 241.

9.

Fornara Herodotus:

an Interpretive Essay (Oxford

qualifications of Lateiner (n.2) 259 n.45.

1971)

18, with the

Post-426 derives from (i) references to events of the first two years of the Peloponnesian war: W.W. How and J. Wells 4 Commentary on Herodotus (Oxford 1912) 1.9; (ii) the allusion to Artaxerxes in 6.98.2, quoted on p.276 (with

How and Wells II. 104f.). For ‘tate’ datings (post-421 and even later) see e.g. C. W. Fornara ‘Evidence for the date of Herodotus’ publication’ JHS 91 (1971) 25-34, and ‘Herodotus’ knowledge of the Archidamian war’ Hermes 109 (1981) 149-56;

HERODOTUS WARNS THE ATHENIANS

281

Raaflaub (n.5) 236 n.40; J. Smart ‘Herodotus’ in The Blackwell Dictionary of Historians (Oxford 1988) 186 (“as late as the 390s BC").

10.

Sec p.276 below.

il.

Ferrill (n.2); contra Asheri (n.2) 266.

12.

Cf. B.M.W.

Knox

‘Why

is Oedipus called Tyrannos?’ CJ 50 (1954) 97-102,

reprinted in B.M.W. Knox (Baltimore and London

Word and Action: Essays on the Ancient Theater

1979) 87-95; Raaflaub (n.5) 224; C.J. Tuplin ‘Imperial

tyranny: some reflections on a classical Greek political metaphor' in P.A. Cartledge and F.D. Harvey (edd.) Crux: Essays in Greek History presented to G.E. M. de Ste. Croix on his 75th birthday (London 1985) 348-75. 13.

This undermines Stein's contention, accepted by How and Wells (n.9) 1.66, that the summary is an intrusive gloss. The inclusion of the Lydians economically conveys that autocrats count their countrymen as slaves (see the typology of Lateiner (n.2) 179 [without this example]); cf. also Asheri (n.2) 281.

14.

C.B.R. Pelling ‘East is East and West is West: or are they?’ (paper delivered in Oxford, 23 February 1995).

15.

W.K.C. Guthrie The Sophists (Cambridge 1971) 27-36; G.B. Kerferd The Sophistic Movement (Cambridge 1981) 24-41; M. Griffith Aeschylus: Prometheus Bound (Cambridge

1983) 95.

Cf. J.D. Denniston The Greek Particles (Oxford 1954) 515-18 for displaced te in t£ ... Kal combinations (without this example). :

See J. de Romilly The Rise and Fall of States According to Greek Authors (Ann Arbor 1977) 42. Pace Asheri (n.2) 283. Guthrie (n. 15) 263, 270, 274, 281; Kerferd (n. 15) 42, 45; How and Wells (n.9) I.6f. How and Wells (n.9) 1.6. How and Wells (n.9) I.1-4.

It is does not matter whether Herodotus in fact visited Egypt (cf. O.K. Armayor Did Herodotus ever go to Egypt?’ JARCE 15 (1978], 59-73), only that he so claimed. 23.

Thuc. 2.65.9; S. Hornblower A Commentary on Thucydides, Volume I: Books I-III (Oxford 1991) 346 on Hdt. 3.82.4; 6.131.2 (the lion-portent concerning Pericles’ birth); Knox (n.12).

24.

Plu. Per. 36.4; Kerferd (n.15) Pericles.

25.

J. Redfield ‘Herodotus the Tourist’ CP 80 (1985) 97-118, 102.

26.

J.L. Moles ‘Truth and untruth in Herodotus and Thucydides’ in C. Gill and T.P.

18f.;

I do not imply that Herodotus admired

Wiseman (edd.) Lies and Fiction in the Ancient World (Exeter 1993) 88-121, 96f.

Alan Griffiths (n.1) stimulatingly suggests a rationale for Herodotus' story of Arion (1.23-24.6): “in so far as he is a wandering wordsmith and a kind of shipwreck victim saved by divine intervention ... he's strongly reminiscent of both Odysseus and Herodotos himself, and could be seen as preparing the way for the wisdom figures who are to follow."

282

JOHN MOLES

27.

Ancient moralising and quasi-allegorical interpretations of the Odyssey: F. Buffitre Les mythes d'Homére et la penste ecque (Paris 1956) 365-91; W.B. Stanford

The

Ulysses

Theme

(London

1963)

ch.

ix; R.B.

Rutherford

‘The

Philosophy of the Odyssey' JHS 106 (1986) 145-62, 145f. This passage of erodotus confirms their fifth-century availability. For this divine attribute cf. e.g. Hes. WD 5-7 with West ad loc. For the text of

1.5.3f. see p.278 below.

29.

G.W. Most ‘The structure and function of Odysseus’ apologoi' TAPA 119 (1989) 15-30. The important

discussion of M. Dickie ‘Phaeacian

Athletes’ PLLS 4 (1983)

237-76, establishes that: (a) the ancient interpretation of the Phaeacians was predominantly negative, centring on ‘softness’; (b) this interpretation is correct. Pp.273ff. On the ‘hard-soft’ theme in the Histories generally see e.g. Redfield (n.25); Lateiner (n.2) 49; Gould (n.5) 59f.

A commonplace of modern interpretation of the Phacacian episode: Rutherford (n.27) 154.

C.C. Chiasson ‘The Herodotean Solon’ GRBS 27 (1986) 249-62. Gould (n.5) 148 n.24 (cf. Hdt. 6.125.2-5). 35.

IG i? 1240 (ca 540-30, tombstone of an Alcmaeonid who fought at Pallene?); /G i? 1183 (ca 430-25, casualty list); J.K. Davies Athenian Propertied Families (Oxford 1971) 370f., 374.

36.

ἐξίτηλος: LSJ s.v., cf. e.g. Plat. Crit. 121a; Hdt. 5.39.2 γένος τὸ Εὐρυσθένεος γενέσθαι ἐξίτηλον (the only other occurrence in Herodotus, which illustrates the same paradoxical use of γενέσθαι); H. Pelliccia Sappho 16, Gorgias’ Helen, and the preface to Herodotus’ Histories’ YCS 29 (1992) 75: the word “recognizably belonged to the vocabulary of genealogy"; might a Greek also hear τέλος in ἐξίτηλος} 3.80.3 (on the dangers of monarchy) is similarly ‘biological’; for contemporary parallels see Hornblower (n.23) 339 on Thuc. 2.64.3.

See c.g. D.E. Halm

‘Polybius’ applied political theory’ in A. Laks and M.

Schofield Justice and Generosity (Cambridge

1995) 7-47, esp. 11 and 15.

C. Macleod Collected Essays (Oxford 1983) 151f.; cf. N. Loraux The Invention of Athens (Cambridge, Mass., and London 1986) 153f.

Cf. e.g. A.J. Woodman Rhetoric in Classical Historiography (London 1988) 34f. Cf. Loraux (n.39) 86f.; Raaflaub (n.5) 236 n.40. On the logic see Loraux (n.39) 87: "Pericles integrates the prosperity of Athens into the theme, which is dominant in his speech, of the self-sufficiency of the city; thus the other is assimilated by Athens even in its produce.” Alan Griffiths suggests that “the Polykrates story [3.39-46, 120-6] ... is a re-run of the Kroisos template”; this is surely right, but beyond my scope.

43.

Cf. e.g. F. Ahl ‘The art of safe criticism in Greece and Rome’ AJP 105 (1984) 174-208; id. ‘Politics and power in Roman gestry ANRW 11.32.1 (Berlin and

New York) 40-110; J. Moles, ‘The Kingship Orations of Dio Chrysostom’ PLLS 6 (1990) 297-375. Note for the particular claim of parrhesia conveyed through ‘allegory’ D. Chr. 45.1, cf. 50.8, with J.L. Moles ‘Dio Chrysostom: exile, Tarsus,

HERODOTUS WARNS THE ATHENIANS

283

Nero and Domitian’ LCM 8.9 (1983) 130-4, 133f. How and Wells (n.9) I.8f.

45.

E. Wolff ‘Das Weib des Masistes’ Hermes92 (1964) $1-8, reprinted in Marg (n.6) 668-778; I. Beck Die Ringkomposition bei Herodot und ihre Bedeutung für die Beweistechnik (Hildesheim 1971); D. Boedeker ‘Protesilaus and the end of Herodotus' Histories CA 7 (1988) 30-48; J. Herington 'The closure of Herodotus’ Histories’ ICS 16 (1991) 149-60; Pelling (n.14); C. Dewald ‘Wanton

kings, Pickled heroes, and gnomic founding fathers: strategies of meaning at the

end of

Herodotus’ Histories’ in D. Roberts, D. Fowler and F. Dunn (edd.)

Classical Closure (Princeton, forthcoming). Stadter (n.2) 802; Pelling (n.14). On the boundary question see especially Stadter (n.2) 785-95; 798-801. Wolff (n.45); Lateiner (n.2) 141f.; Pelling (n.14); Dewald (n.45).

P. Ceccarelli ‘La fable des poissons de Cyrus (Hdt. I. 141): son origine et sa fonction dans l'économie des Histoires d'Hérodote' Metis (forthcoming). LSJ s.v. àonaípo. On this harsh punishment see P.A. Stadter (Chapel Hill 1989) 258f.

4 Commentary on Plutarch's Pericles

For good discussions see «d H. Bischoff Der Warner bei Herodot (diss. Marburg 1932) 78-83, reprinted in Marg (n.6) 681-7; Raaflaub (n.5) 244f.; Lateiner (n.2) 48-50; Pelling (n.14); Dewald (n.45), though see n.65 below.

Pelling (n.14). Gould (n.5) 59. Pelling (n.14).

See A. Burn Persia and the Greeks (London 1984) 61. Cf. the Herodotean sentiments of A.T. Olmstead History of the Persian Empire (Chicago 1948) 56: “the Persian monarchs escaped to winter in Babylon; that the luxury there enjoyed might prove insidious they never suspected.”

58.

So also (e.g.) W. Aly Volksmárchen, Sage und Novelle bei Herodot und seinen Zeitgenossen: Eine Untersuchung über die volkstümlichen Elemente der altgriechischen Prosaerzühlung (Góttingen 1921, repr. 1969 with corrections and afterward by L. Huber); Schmid-Stählin (n.4) 597; K. Glaser ‘Das Schlusswort des Herodot’ Commentationes Vindobonenses 1 (1935) 12-20; J. Cobet Herodots Exkurse und die Frage der Einheit seines Werkes (Wiesbaden 1971) 175f.; Pelling (n.14).

59.

Like 8.3.1f., 5.93.1f. and 7.139.1, an interpretative ‘test-case’: Gould (n.5) 117;

Stadter (n.2) 788.

Pelling (n.14). Gould (n.5) 116-20. 62.

Stadter (n.2) 782 n.2.

63.

Thus Raaflaub (n.5) 243 n.56 and Stadter (n.2) 809 n.68 on the Spartans; 6.98

JOHN MOLES

(quoted on p.276) is here important. Moles (n.26) 107-9. 65.

Dewald's ‘open-ended’ analysis of 9.122 (n.45) founders on this point. Exceptions are Antelami in Asheri (n.2) 11 and Moles (n.26) 95.

67.

Stadter (n.2) 782; similarly Strasburger (n.6) 7-14 and Raaflaub (n.5) 232 (all, in

my view, making Herodotus rather too much like Thucydides).

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 285-96 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA

34. ISBN 0-905205-90- 1

LIES ABOUT LYSANDER! ANTONY

G. KEEN

(The Queen's University of Belfast)

This paper focuses upon three stories told of the last years of the life of the Spartan general Lysander and of events immediately after his death. First there is his supposed desire to re-establish the dekarchies in Asiatic Greece in 396; then there is his ‘quarrel’ with the Spartan King Agesilaos in Asia and subsequent ‘demotion’; and finally the discovery amongst Lysander's Nachlass of plans to reform the Spartan kingship, and their subsequent 'suppression'. The accounts of these events preserved in Xenophon, Diodorus and Plutarch have certain oddities about them which, when examined, suggest that events and actions may not be as reported. I. Lysander and the dekarchies Did Lysander plan in 396 to reimpose in the Aegean the dekarchies he had set up in 405/4? At least one source believes he did. Xenophon is explicit that Lysander had a personal motive for accompanying Agesilaos to Asia in 396 (Hellenika 3.4.2; compare the similar

account in Plutarch Agesilaos 6.2f.); the dekarchies had fallen apart after theSpartan ephors had declared that the cities of Greece were to return to their ‘‘ancestral constitution”,? and Lysander wished to reestablish them. Generally Xenophon's account has been accepted.? There

is a problem,

however.

It is evident from the combined

accounts of Xenophon (Hellenika 2.3.7, 3.4.2), Diodorus (14.10.1, 14.13.1) and Plutarch (Lysander 13.5) that the dekarchies were first

set up over the period 405/4. A number of scholars* have noted that it 285

286

ANTONY

G. KEEN

seems unlikely that the dekarchies persisted until 396. Attempts have been made to argue for a 397 date for the ephors’ decree; but it must be the case that the dekarchies were extremely short-lived. Plutarch (Lysander 21.1f.) places Sparta’s measures to overthrow Lysander's friends at the same time as the Athenian democrats at Phyle attacked the Thirty Tyrants. In any case, the termini post and ante quem must be the two decrees passed in Athens in honour of the Samians in 405

and in 403/2 (IG P? 127; 112 1.41-55). Samos is the only location where a dekarchy is actually attested as being established (Xenophon Hellenika 2.3.7).6 Unless Xenophon has seriously misplaced his account it was established soon after the Thirty at Athens (note Hellenika 2.3.3), yet both Athenian decrees, passed by the Athenian democracy either side of the tyranny of the Thirty, are in honour of

Samians who have supported the Athenian democracy. The first decree explicitly named the current inhabitants of Samos as recipients of its honours (JG I? 127.22: τοῖς viv olköcıv Σάμον: “those now living in Samos”),’ who it can be assumed were the democratic party, viv being added specifically to exclude the then-exiled Samian oligarchs.’ The later decree cannot have been for Samian democrats by that time in exile, as some

have argued,’ as it confirmed the

provisions of the previous decree (JG II? 1.44) and must therefore also be for “those now living in Samos". The Ephesians and Notians are commended for receiving Samian exiles (7G II? 1.48f.), but if the restoration of the aorist ἐδέξαντο (“they received”) is correct, the implication is that they were no longer harbouring them. The Samian dekarchy, then, had probably gone by 403/2.'° Paul Cartledge places

the decree of 403/2 “perhaps when Sparta withdrew her support from Lysander's dekarchies".!! It is perhaps more likely that it was slightly before the ephors' proclamation, since the Samians were about to send ambassadors to Sparta; rather than being Samian exiles wishing to find whether Sparta would support their restoration, these were probably representatives of a newly restored government wishing to discover Sparta's attitude towards them. Such an embassy would be unnecessary after the ephors' proclamation. The other dekarchies were no doubt overthrown at about the same time.'? There is no a priori reason why this is unlikely; the two decrees lie either side of the lifetime of the Thirty, which, as more than one scholar has observed, was a dekarchy in all but number.!* Moreover, Anthony Andrewes has shown that the Spartan harmost

at Byzantion had been withdrawn by 403/2.'° Yet there is a point behind the argument that puts the abolition of

LIES ABOUT LYSANDER

the dekarchies just before

287

396;

for, as R.E.

Smith

points out,'®

between 403 and 396 Lysander was by no means in total eclipse at Sparta. He was probably behind the support given in 401/0 to the

Persian prince Cyrus," and he certainly played an influential role in the accession of Agesilaos in the early years of the fourth century (Xenophon Hellenika 3.3.3f.; Plutarch Lysander 22.6-13; Agesilaos 3.4-8).* So why should Lysander wait so long before making an

attempt to re-establish the dekarchies? What exactly was there to prevent him, μέγιστον ἐν Σπάρτῃ δυνάμενος (“the most powerful man in Sparta", Plutarch Agesilaos 3.4), making the attempt in 400,

or ca 398, on the accession of Agesilaos? Cartledge suggests that support for Cyrus was partially aimed at re-establishing Lysander's influence in Asia." Another possibility is that Lysander was cautiously waiting until he felt his position was firm enough to return to Asia Minor and reinstall his friends. There is, however, another question that needs to be asked; why

should Lysander want to re-establish the dekarchies?? As a weapon of imperialism they had been a singular failure. At Athens the Thirty had provoked a bloody revolution, and there is no reason to believe that similar violence did not occur in other states (Xenophon

Agesilaos 1.37 states that civic disturbances in the Greek cities began from the moment that the Athenian empire ended).?! It seems likely that the unpopularity of the dekarchies contributed to the diminution of Sparta's overseas reputation (Diodorus Siculus 14.33.6)?? and was partially responsible for the ephors turning against Lysander's

imperialistic policy in 403 (cf. Xenophon Hellenika 2.4.29).? To reestablish the dekarchies would be to risk all this happening again. In any case, even if this was his plan, he would surely not have discussed

it with anyone at Sparta, in view of the dekarchies’ unpopularity; so it is difficult to believe that Xenophon’s account represents Lysander’s intention. It is to be noted that when petitioners come to Lysander in Asia (Xenophon Hellenika 3.4.7), they are not said to be asking specifically for the restoration of the dekarchies, but simply for what they want from Agesilaos (προσέκειντο αὐτῷ ἀξιοῦντες διαπράτ-

τεσθαι αὐτὸν παρ᾽ ᾿Αγησιλάου dv ἐδέοντο).2" Since, therefore, Spartan support for the dekarchies must have

been withdrawn

in 403/2, precipitating their fall, and since it is

unlikely that Lysander would have waited until 396 to attempt to reestablish them, it is possible to conclude that Xenophon’s account is

false. Lysander may well have had no intention of re-establishing the dekarchies in 396, and the accusation that he did would then be an

288

ANTONY G. KEEN

anti-Lysandreian falsehood.” II. Lysander and Agesilaos in Asia Once Agesilaos and Lysander arrived in Asia, problems immediately arose, as recounted by Xenophon (Hellenika 3.4.7-9), whose account is expanded by Plutarch (Lysander 23; Agesilaos 7-8.2). Lysander’s friends came to him rather than to the Spartan king. Agesilaos was annoyed (though according to Xenophon Hellenika 3.4.8 he did not reveal this at the time) and would not listen to people introduced by Lysander.

Moreover, according to Plutarch, whose picture of the

events presents a deeper rift between the two men than does that of Xenophon, and also divides the responsibility for the dispute more evenly, Agesilaos did not give Lysander any military command (Lysander 23.7); instead Agesilaos made Lysander his ‘carver’

(κρεοδαίτης), which Plutarch presents in the Parallel Lives as an insult (Lysander 23.7; Agesilaos 8.1), although elsewhere he states

that Agesilaos was appointing Lysander to an important position of honour (Moralia 644b).?" Lysander finally told his friends to avoid his patronage and deal with the king directly (but according to Plutarch even then Agesilaos turned them away). At last, in a scene repeated largely word-for-word in all three accounts, Lysander offered to leave Agesilaos' court and take some task where he could

be of use. The implication in Xenophon and Plutarch is that he expected this command to be a small one; Agesilaos sent him to the Hellespont (Xenophon Hellenika 3.4.10; Plutarch Lysander 24.1; Agesilaos 8.3). Was the argument between Lysander and Agesilaos as serious as the ancient sources make out? Many scholars have taken Xenophon and Plutarch at their word;? Cartledge, for instance, talks of

Lysander's “demotion”.?? Is this a fair interpretation of events? Cartledge

himself calls

Lysander’s

task

in the Hellespont

“an

important diplomatic mission",?? interpreting Lysander’s purpose from his success while there in detaching Spithridates (Xenophon Hellenika 3.4.10; Plutarch Lysander 24.1). The sources state no more

than that the detachment of Spithridates happened to occur while Lysander wasin the Hellespont; but bringing over vulnerable Persian

officials may have been an important job in the eyes of Agesilaos, and

it may have been known that Spithridates was willing to be tumed.?!

Agesilaos may well, however, have had another purpose in sending Lysander to the Hellespont, as becomes apparent from a consideration

LIES ABOUT LYSANDER

289

of the overall strategic situation in Asia. Persia was about to attempt (successfully) to force Agesilaos’ departure from Asia by stirring up trouble for Sparta in Greece (Xenophon

Hellenika 3.5.1, 4.2.1f.;

Hellenica Oxyrhyncia 10.5 Chambers). It would not take a great deal of foresight for Agesilaos to envision this taking place; the Persians had similarly attempted to deal with the Athenian invasion of Egypt (Thucydides 1.109.2f.), and had supported Sparta in the Ionian War to drive the Athenians out of Asia Minor (Thucydides 8.5.5-6.1). It would not take an inspired guess to realise that one of the foci of anti-

Spartan feeling would be Athens; there was already evidence of the existence of Athenian sympathisers with the Persian cause.?? As any Spartan commander knew, Athens was beaten by controlling the Athenian

food

supply,

and

that

was

done

by controlling

the

Hellespont.? So the *demoted' Lysander was sent to what was probably the most important command in Asia Minor after Agesilaos' own. Why did this happen if the dispute between the two men was as serious as Xenophon and Plutarch imply? If Agesilaos placed so much trust in Lysander, it is difficult to credit the notion fostered by Xenophon and Plutarch, that he was infuriated with the man. That

there was a problem is undeniable; Lysander was the known quantity

in Asia, and so would be the centre of attention, unacceptable for a king on his first military command, needing to assert his own authority. Lysander could not remain in Agesilaos’ immediate retinue. The dispatch of Lysander to the Hellespont, however, suggests that his removal from Agesilaos' side was not the disgrace that is implied by Xenophon and Plutarch (it is entirely possible that

Plutarch's harsher version of the event is the result of his own embroidery upon Xenophon's account, rather than, as Hamilton argues, indication of a different tradition).” The quarrel, if there was

a quarrel,** between the two men seems to have been more amicably resolved? than later tradition would suggest. III. Lysander's plans for the kingship According

to Plutarch,?? after Lysander’s death Agesilaos was

searching through Lysander's papers when he came across a speech written by Kleon of Halikarnassos (FGrH 583T 1) advocating the

reform of the Spartan kingship. Agesilaos was in favour of making the document public, but he was persuaded by the ephor Lakratidas

(Plutarch Lysander 30.5; Moralia 2291)? to suppress it; in the opinion

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ANTONY G. KEEN

of some scholars this was “ἃ wise decision”. Most discussion of this incident centres on the exact details of

Lysander's plans, but the whole account begs the infrequentlyasked“? question of how

the ‘suppressed’ document

came to be

known. All mention of Lysander's plans is absent from Xenophon's account, unless a juxtaposition, Λύσανδρος βασιλεύς, at Hellenika 3.4.7 is a reference;*! but Ephoros (FGrH 70 F 207), Plutarch's source for this story,“ writing probably in the 330s, about a half-century

after the supposed discovery of this document, knows about these plans, and about the speech. Sparta was notoriously secretive, and

the enquiring mind of Thucydides had difficulty getting information there; note in particular the uncertainty of the exact fate of the two

thousand helots killed in 424 (Thucydides 4.80.4). One ought to be able to say safely that if the king and the ephors wanted to keep

something secret, it stayed secret. Yet as well as Ephoros, his contemporary Aristotle (Politics 1301b19f., 1306b33) knows about Lysander's plan to reform the Spartan kingship. How? The only conclusion would seem to be that this was a document that was only officially ‘suppressed’, i.e. its contents were not disclosed, but unofficially the existence of the document and some details from it

were widely disseminated.* This would fit in with Diodorus’ rather more brief account (14.13.8), which excludes Agesilaos and simply recounts that the speech was discovered during a search of Lysander's

papers. The way the speech seems to have been revealed made it a far more effective document to use against Lysander's reputation; no-one who

might want to speak up for him had ever seen the speech, and its contents could not be used in Lysander's defence. It seems likely that

a biased version of the speech's contents was circulated. This may explain the variant accounts of Lysander's plans. The anti-Lysandreian account accused him of wanting to open the kingship to all Spartiates (Diodorus Siculus 14.13.8; Plutarch Lysander 30.4), whilst

his supporters conducted a damage-limitation exercise by claiming that he wished to open it to the Herakleidai alone (Plutarch Lysander 24. 4f.).*6 The possibility must, however, be faced that, given the nature of

the ultimate source, this document, and perhaps also Lysander's

plans for the kingship, never existed in the first place." It might be noted that Aristotle (Politics 1301b19f.) does not consider Lysander's plans a given fact,** but only what some stories relate, stories which,

he seems

to say, originated

in Sparta (ἐν Aaxedaipovi

φασι

LIES ABOUT LYSANDER

291

Aócavópóv τινες ἐπιχειρῆσαι καταλῦσαι τὴν βασιλείαν). IV. Conclusion: who was responsible? Are

these

three

incidents

unconnected?

The

historian

must

be

suspicious of three separate occurrences of very similar events. It seems possible (though it must be emphasised that the realm of

speculation is now being entered) that all three were part of an attempt to blacken Lysander's character.*? This was probably done after his death, since, even without Plutarch's story of Lysander's

papers, the other accounts seem to assume that Lysander would not be able to answer the accusations. Who might be responsible? Given Xenophon's sources,? the two

stories recorded by him are likely to have been current in Spartan circles, and given their content they probably originated with someone who, if not privy to discussions of policy at the highest level

in Spartan society, was not far removed from such. With regard to the discovery of Kleon's speech, Flower argues that many of the

details of Lysander's bid are contradictory, both with themselves and with what is known of the Spartan constitution. He therefore argues that this story was fabricated by an outsider ignorant of Spartan society, to attack Lysander's reputation and perhaps embarrass

Sparta.5! It would be curious, however, if an outsider used Spartan constitutional matters as a weapon against Lysander, and given the

coincidence of this with the other attacks on Lysander's reputation which surely originate from within Sparta, an ultimate Spartan source for this story seems likely, although we can no doubt accept that some details were added later by those less familiar with the workings of the Spartan polis. The number of candidates for originating the fabrications cannot be large, and Plutarch's story

points the finger of suspicion fairly conclusively at Agesilaos,?? especially as Xenophon's report of the quarrel in Asia contains the phrase “that this maddened Agesilaos he [Agesilaos] made clear later” (ὅτι ... ἔμηνε καὶ tov ᾿Αγησίλαον ταῦτα ἐδήλωσεν ὕστερον, Hellenika 3.4.8). It remains to ask why Agesilaos should want to slander his former friend and erastes. For this it is necessary to look no further than Plutarch’s Agesilaos (20.3; see also Moralia 212c-d). Plutarch says that Agesilaos was concerned to find that there was in existence a faction organised against him by Lysander,*? though interestingly he does not tell us how this group was discovered.* Agesilaos decided to

292

ANTONY G. KEEN

move

against this faction, planning to break it up by exposing

Lysander for "the kind of citizen he was when alive" (οἷος ἦν ζῶν πολίτης); the story of Kleon's speech follows immediately. Lysander’s reputation had grown immediately following his death in the debäcle at Haliartos, and his friends had procured the condemnation of the

largely blameless Pausanias as responsible for the disaster (Xenophon Hellenika 3.5.25; Plutarch Lysander 30.1),55 which had resulted

in the latter's self-imposed exile. This could well have worried Agesilaos, especially if Plutarch is correct and there was a generally favourable reassessment of Lysander once he had died (Lysander 30.2). Plutarch says that Agesilaos' only action was to manoeuvre Lysander's partisans into positions where they became dependent upon Agesilaos (Agesilaos 20.6; Moralia 212d), but Donald Shipley argues that the revelation of Lysander's plans at this time was a deliberate action against the possibly resurgent remnant of Lysander's faction. If this faction was promoting opposing (or perhaps even what Agesilaos would consider illegal) policies, Agesilaos might be forced to turn on Lysander's memory, and present him as intending to take over from Agesilaos; the quarrel in Asia, Shipley suggests,

could be presented as part of this.’® Agesilaos then seems to be responsible for the portrayal of Lysander as an arrogant imperialist and reformer with plans that were inimical to the traditional Spartan way of life. What then was the role of Xenophon? Did Xenophon function, knowingly or not, as

Agesilaos’ mouthpiece?? It is probably denigrating to Xenophon to assume that he had no input of his own into the stories he told of

Lysander. He was to an extent, however, dependent upon his sources, some of which seem to have been hostile to the point of

fabrication.

NOTES l.

An earlier version of this paper was presented at the Leeds International Latin Seminar colloquium ‘Truth, lies and hypocrisy in Greek and Roman antiquity’, 6 May 1994; I am grateful to the audience on that occasion for their comments. I should like also to thank very much Dr D.R. Shipley for his detailed comments

and permission to refer to his Ph.D. thesis, a version of which is being prepared for publication.

2.

Plut. Ages. 6.2 says that they were overthrown by popular uprisings. As G.E. Underhill Commentary on the Hellenica (Oxford 1900) 103 notes, no active measures are known to have been taken by Sparta; the ephors' proclamation rather was to indicate that military support would not be given to the dekarchies.

LIES ABOUT LYSANDER

293

A. Andrewes ‘Two notes on Lysander’ Phoenix 25 (1971) 207-15 believes that the

dekarchies were, in the first instance, removed by Persia; but if there were dekarchies in Asia Minor as well as the Aegean islands (and it is nowhere asserted that there were, though when Lysander began building his networks of friends [D.S. 13.70.4; Plut. Lys. 5.3] he presumably involved people from the mainland) they cannot have been supported by a Spartan harmost (there is no evidence for a Spartan presence on the mainland from 404 to 400) and so were not the concern of the ephors' proclamation (contra D.M. Lewis Sparta and Persia [Leiden 1977] 137f.). See H.W. Parke ‘The development of the second Spartan empire’ JHS 50

(1930) 51f. on the lack of harmosts and dekarchies in Asia Minor.

E.g. D.R. Shipley Plutarch's Life of Agesilaos (Ph.D. Newcastle 1990) 1.88; D.M. Lewis ‘Sparta as victor’ CAH? VI (Cambridge 1994) 44; C.D. Hamilton ‘Plutarch

and Xenophon on Agesilaus’ Anc.W 25 (1994) 208.

K J. Beloch Griechische Geschichte? 3.1 (Berlin 1922) 16 and n.1; Parke (n.2) 53f.; Andrewes (n.2) 206-16; P. Funke Homónoia und Arché (Wiesbaden 1980) 31 n.15; P. Cartledge Agesilaos (London 1987) 94, 352; S. Hornblower The Greek World 479-323 B.C.* (London 1991) 184. A.M. Woodward and W.G. Forrest *Decarchies' OCD? (Oxford 1970) 315 suggest that most went in 403/2, but that

some persisted until 394 or 386. J.K. Davies Democracy and Classical Greece? (London 1993) 143 notes "other dekarchies perhaps lasted longer [than that at Athens], but they had certainly all vanished by 396". Most notably R.E. Smith ‘Lysander and the Spartan empire’ CPh. 43 (1948) 150-5; recently C.D. Hamilton Sparta's Bitter Victories (Ithaca 1979) 128f.; id. (n.3) 210; P.M. Krentz (ed.) Xenophon: Hellenika 11.3.11-IV.2.8 (Warminster 1995) 183.

Nep. Lys. 2.3-3.1 has been taken by Cartledge (n.4) 90 (now followed by Lewis

[n.3] 29 n.23) as evidence for a dekarchy on Thasos. The text, however, is lacunose, and it is tendentious to take, as Cartledge does, decemviralem illam

potestatem as referring

only to a dekarchy on Thasos rather than the dekarchic

system. There is therefore no firm evidence for a dekarchy on Thasos, though in all probability one did exist (Parke [n.2] 52 doubts the universality of dekarchies in the Spartan empire, doubts not shared by Hornblower (n.4] 184).

See J. Cargill ‘IG II? 1 and the Athenian kleruchy on Samos’ GRBS 24 (1983) 322; G. Shipley A History of Samos (Oxford 1987) 130. C.W. Fornara Archaic Times to the End of the Peloponnesian War? (Cambridge 1983) 197 n.2. P. Foucart ‘Athénes et Samos de 405 à 403° REA

1 (1899) 203; ΜΝ. Tod A

Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions (Oxford 1948) 11.3, R. Meiggs, in J.B.

Bury and R. Meiggs A History of Greece‘ (London 1975, corrected edition 1994)

n.24.

10.

The information that Thorax was left as governor in 404 (D.S. 14.3.5) is of little chronological help. Thorax was executed by the Spartan authorities at some

point probably in the 400s (Plut. Lys. 19.7; see G. Shipley ([n.7] 134), but Plutarch's chronology is too vague to be useful. More important is the renaming of the Heraia at Samos as the Lysandreia (Douris

FGrH 76F 71), which was

celebrated at least four times (E. Homann-Wedeking ‘Samos 440). G. Shipley (n.7) 134 argues that this means that the persisted at least until 401/0, and prefers a date of 394 for its perhaps more likely that, though the oligarchic regime had considered it still politic to celebrate the Lysandreia. 11.

Cartledge (n.4) 286.

1964’ AA 80[1965] Samian oligarchy abolition. But it is gone, the Samians

ANTONY G. KEEN

As Foucart (n.9) 203. For other evidence for the dating of the fall of the dekarchies, see Andrewes (n.2) 207. G.E.M. de Ste. Croix The Origins of the Peloponnesian War (London 1972) 157; Cartledge (n.4) 281, 349; Davies (n.4) 143. Andrewes (n.2) 210f. Smith (n.5) 153f.; see also Cartledge (n.4) 94. Smith (n.5) 154; P.A. Rahe Lysander and the Spartan Settlement (University Microfilms, Ann Arbor 1977) 223 n.144; Cartledge (n.4) 96, 352.

18.

Smith (n.5) 154; Cartledge (n.4) 96, 112-14. For the date see Funke (n.4) 36n.31; Cartledge (n.4) 99.

19.

Cartledge (n.4) 352; cf. Andrewes (n.2) 216, who suggests that Cyrus abandoned dekarchies in Asia to gain Spartan support. D.R.

Shipley (n.3) I1.141,

145 suggests that the Spartans may

have needed

financial support for their activities in Greece (cf. X. Ages. 2.25), which putting Lysander's friends back into power might (in Lysander's view) have provided. 21.

Plut. Ages. 15.1 adapts this ferment to the situation in 396; see D.R. Shipley (n.3) I.161f.

A similar passage,

Plut. Ages.

6.2, is taken

by Krentz

(n.5)

supporting a date shortly before 396 for the end of the dekarchies.

183 as

The Thebans in their speech to the Athenians in 395 (X. HG 3.5.13) used the dekarchies as a weapon against Spartan imperialism (though speaking as if they were still in place); Isoc. 4.110 attacks Sparta over the dekarchies.

23.

Davies (n.4) 143f.; cf. Cartledge (n.4) 285.

24.

They may have been former dekarchs (see D.R. Shipley [n.3] I.86-8, 102); they

may even have been brought into the tradition by Xenophon to denigrate Lysander (see D.R. Shipley [n.3] 1.74, 88). The more traditional approach takes Xenophon at face value; e.g. Cartledge (n.4) 97, 359; G.P. Proietti Xenophon's Sparta (Leiden 1988) 93f.

26.

W.K. Prentice ‘The character of Lysander’ AJA 38 (1934) 38 says that Xenophon's view reflects creditably upon Lysander. V. Gray The Character of Xenophon's Hellenica (London 1989) 48 notes that in Xenophon's account the situation is presented as arising largely by accident. Cartledge (n.4) 78 believes that Xenophon felt that the incident did not reflect well upon his hero Agesilaos; hence the truncated treatment in the Hellenika and the absence of the incident from the Agesilaos, cf. H.D. Westlake Essays on the Greek Historians and Greek History (Manchester

1969) 221f. D.R. Shipley (n.3) 1.89 notes that Plutarch

makes the dispute a personal matter between Lysander and Agesilaos (see also 1.88, 93, 94, 99, 101).

27. 28.

Sec Cartledge (n.4) 152; D.R. Shipley (n.3) 1.94. E.g. Lewis (n.3) 44. Gray (n.26) 46-9 treats the passages as literary constructs.

Note now D.R. Shipley (n.3) 1.85, who says there are reasons to doubt the clash. Cartledge (n.4) 97; cf. C. Tuplin The Failings of Empire (Stuttgart 1993) 57. Contrast Krentz (n.5) 186, who interprets Lysander's final apology to Agesilaos as a “masterful piece of negotiation, resulting in Lysander getting what he wanted.

LIES ABOUT LYSANDER

30. 31.

295

Cartledge (n.4) 213. D.R. Shipley (n.3) 1.86 also suggests that Lysander was possibly on a secret mission to the Hellespont. See R.J. Seager ‘Agesilaus in Asia’ LCM 2(1977) 184 for this aspect of Agesilaos' objectives in Asia.

32.

33.

E.g. Hell. Oxy. 9.1, 10.1 Chambers; Androt. FGrH 324F 18 = Philoch. FGrH

328 F 147; cf. R.J. Seager ‘Thrasybulus, Conon and Athenian imperialism' JHS 87 (1967) 951. D.R. Shipley (n.3) 1.96.

Cartledge (n.4) 152f.; Hamilton (n.3) 210. D.R. Shipley (n.3) 1.88 observes that in

Xenophon's account it is the situation, not Lysander's actions, that annoys Agesilaos; he also suspects that behind the ‘quarrel’ lies a disagreement between Lysander and Agesilaos on how to settle Greek Asia Minor (1.85f., 101, 102).

35.

Hamilton (n.3) 212.

36.

D.R. Shipley (n.3) 1.85-7, 93, 96, 100, 102 suggests that if Xenophon’s sources were amongst the twenty-nine other Spartiates accompanying the expedition,

they may well have had no knowledge of the private meetings between Agesilaos and Lysander, and would be reduced to speculating upon the reasons for Lysander's sudden departure.

ἤσθη at X. HG 3.4.10 shows that Agesilaos was pleased with Lysander's performance in the Hellespont. Plut. Lys. 30.3-5; Ages. 20.4f.; Mor. 212c-d, 229e-30a; cf. Ar. Pol. 1301b19f., 1306b33; D.S. 14.13.8; Nep. Lys. 3.5. The advice is said to come from one of the Gerousia at Plut. Ages. 20.5 and Mor.

212c, which Cartledge (n.4) 97 considers more likely (the suppression of the speech is missing from D.S. 14.13.8). D.R. Shipley (n.3) 11.14 is suspicious about the obscurity of the adviser, since he is not named by Plutarch in the Agesilaos or by Diodorus. E.g. Cartledge (n.4) 97 (quoted).

41.

E.g. P. Oliva Sparta and her Social Problems (Prague 1971) 185f.; Hamilton (n.5)

88f., 92-6; J.F. Bommelaer Lysandre de Sparte (Paris 1981) 223-5; E. David Sparta between Empire and Revolution (New York 1981) 13-17; Cartledge (n.4) 94-7. 42.

It is asked by Smith (n.5) 148 and M.A. Flower 'Revolutionary agitation and social change in Classical Sparta', in M.A. Flower and M. Toher (eds.) Georgica: Greek studies in honour of George Cawkwell (London 1991) 82.

43.

See Cartledge (n.4) 94, and now D.R. Shipley (n.3) II.9, who assumes it to bea

“Freudian slip". Krentz (n.5) 185, in contrast, notes that the juxtaposition emphasises Lysander's monarchical behaviour in Asia. G.L. Cawkwell in R. Warner (tr.) Xenophon: A History of My Times? (Harmondsworth

assumes that this is a deliberate silence on Xenophon's part.

1979) 160 n.

Flower (n.42) 81.

45.

Dr R. Brock has suggested to me that a similar process may be observable in the passing into the literary record of the details of the fall of Pausanias the regent (Th. 1.128.3-34) and the conspiracy of Kinadon (X. HG 3.3.4-11). D.R. Shipley

(n.3) II. 4f. argues that the suppression of the speech does not necessarily imply the existence of a plot (cf. 1.98).

ANTONY G. KEEN

Considered by Cartledge (n.4) 96 to be the more likely possibility. D.R. Shipley (n.3) 1.98 sus

that the speech, if it existed, expressed only a desire to reform

the kingship by constitutional means.

47.

Doubts are cast on Lysander's plans for the kingship by Prentice (n.26) 39f.; Smith (n.5) 148; D.R. Shi (n.3) 11.14; Flower (n.42) 81-3; Davies (n.4) 146; Lewis (n.3) 44 n.87; cf. M.H. Crawford and D. Whitehead Archaic and Classical Greece (Cambridge

1983) 502.

Oliva (n.41) 185.

49.

This is suggested for the story of the plans for the kingship by D.R. Shipley (n.3) 11.11, 12, 13, 14f. and Flower (n.42) 82f. D.R. Shipicy (n.3) 1.86 suggests that Xenophon's picture of the clash in Asia arose either from jealous talk amongst the thirty Spartiates that accompanied Agesilaos or from a later discrediting of Lysander (see also 11.13). For which see J.K. Anderson Xenophon (London

1974) 170.

Flower (n.42) 82f. D.R.

Shipley

(n.3)

IL.12,

14f.

manipulation of Kleon's speech. Xenophon

suggests

Agesilaos

as

responsible

for

the

omits this, perhaps (as D.R. Shipley [n.3] II.9f. suggests) through

being unwilling to reveal any organised opposition to Agesilaos in Sparta.

Pointed out by D.R. Shipley (n.3) IL.9. Cartledge (n.4) 359, though he assumes Agesilaos co-operated with Lysander's friends to condemn Pausanias. For a balanced view of Pausanias' role in the disaster at Haliartos, see H.D. Westlake Studies in Thucydides and Greek History (Bristol 1989) 281-4. D.R. Shipley (n.3) IL 12f. 57.

For Xenophon's relationship with Agesilaos, sec Anderson (n.50) 152 and esp.

159. 58.

For contrasting views of Xenophon's attitude to Lysander, see E. Delebecque Essai sur la vie de Xénophon (Paris 1957) 66f.; Westlake (n.26) 216-25; Cartledge (n.4) 78; B. Due ‘Lysander in Xenophon's Hellenica’ C&M 38 (1987) 53-62.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 297-322 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA

34. ISBN 0-905205-90-1

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI J.L. BUTRICA (Memorial University of Newfoundland)

The prevailing image of Hellenistic erotic elegy as a fundamentally artificial and impersonal form concerned chiefly with cataloguing obscure myths seems amply justified by those more substantial fragments on which it is based:! the 28 lines of Phanocles fr. 1, on

Orpheus; the 34-line account in Alexander Aetolus fr. 3 of how Cleoboea murdered Antheus after he spurned her advances; and the 98 lines of Hermesianax fr. 7, surveying the alleged loves of fifteen

assorted poets and philosophers from Orpheus to Aristippus. These extracts survive because they were quoted for their narrative content; hence their original contexts and the function within those contexts of their myths (or legends, in the case of Hermesianax) have been

irretrievably lost, and scholars have often overcompensated by assuming that such contexts were either nonexistent or at best of negligible importance. But two recent volumes of the Oxyrhynchus papyri have presented four relatively substantial elegiac fragments which, having undergone no process of conscious selection, offer a less partial view. The fact that the papyri which contain these fragments are all dated to the second century AD provides a useful

terminus ante quem, but to varying degrees and in different ways the style of all four suggests learned Hellenistic erotic elegy: in their linguistic innovations, in their fondness for unfamiliar mythology, and above all in the Homeric glossae found in two of them. Two of these new fragments luckily preserve the beginning or the end of a poem and so provide at last a partial context for understanding how 297

298

myth

J.L. BUTRICA

could be deployed.

In addition, they provide clues to the

structure of Hellenistic erotic elegy as well as to the long-standing question of how,

or even

whether, the mythological content was

related to a mistress like Bittis or Leontion or to the author's supposed love-life with her. Part I of this paper will treat the most recently published fragment, whose editors were influenced by current views about the use of myth in Hellenistic elegy to suggest that the fragment might not be

Hellenistic but written under the influence of Latin elegy; part II will use another fragment of Hellenistic erotic elegy to argue that Hellenistic poets could indeed use myth in a recognizably ‘personal’ way; parts III and IV will advance possible interpretations of the final two fragments in the light of the one discussed in part II; and finally part V will offer reflections on the implications of these

fragments for our understanding of Hellenistic erotic elegy and for the origins of Latin love elegy. It will be argued that two of the fragments confirm the theory that the myths of Hellenistic erotic elegy were regularly contained within personal “frames’;? that they also show that the content of these ‘frames’ and the connection between them and the myths could be more personal than ever imagined; and that the direct influence of this sort of Hellenistic erotic elegy on Latin elegy is relatively small.’

I. P.Oxy. 3723 The most recently published fragment and its editors’ comments

provide a convenient starting point. P.Oxy. 3723 received separate treatment by Parsons in Museum Helveticum in addition to its publication by Parsons and Bremer in the Oxyrhynchus series;‘ its special interest here lies in the fact that aspects of its structure and use of mythology so troubled the editors that they doubted it could be Hellenistic: Jc CBécce δ᾽ &óv πῦρ J. -[ ] ἀφροτόκοις ]v... ov éápgurokóccac ]....v τρίποδα J. . .ovnv ὑπὸ cnkóv ]- pevoc οτόματι 7. «ριον οὔτιναχρηνμο.

1

5

].a.ov πάθεος

] παραὶ xoci θῆχ᾽ “YaxivOov

Jov ἱκετηριάδος

10

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI

] Τμῴλοιό te πέζαν ἠδὲ Κιθαιρῶνος δρυμοχόρου[ μύςτιςι οὖν βάκχαις ov tal ἠχῆς εὐπατάγου πρὸς πόδα Ἰνδῶι οκῦλον ἔρωτος ἐἔθηκα.[ παιδὶ ουνορχηςτὴν θύροον εἰ ναὶ μὴν Ἀλκμήνης κρατερὸς [ ἠδὲ λεοντείην dic? ποτ᾽ ἕναιρε β[ίην ἠὐκόμου Θρήϊκος Ὕλα κατετη .[6 ἄθλον ἔρωτα λαβὼν πρὸς δεκ[" πάντα δαθεὶς χῶρον μάλ᾽ ελεί fócacQot χαλεπῶν θυμὸν el ψυχή, πρὸς τίνα μῦθον ἔχω κα.[

299

15

20

(1-58 ... extinguished his (own) fire/ ... foam-bearing/ ... he, girding rounds ... tripod/ ... below the sacred precinct/ 6-10 ... -ing with (his) mouth/ ... not .../ ... of suffering/ ... he put by Hyacinthus’ feet/ ... supplicatory/ 11-15 ... and the plain of Tmolus/ And of copsedancing Cithaeron .../ With the initiated bacchantes .../ Of clearcrashing sound by the foot .../ For the Indian boy as Love’s plunder he put .../ 16-20 The thyrsus that attends the dance .../ Yes indeed

Alcmene’s mighty [son] .../ Who? once slew the lion's might'°/ wasted [from longing for]'! fair-haired Thracian Hylas .../ Taking on Love as a [thirteenth] labour .../ 21-23 Though he came to know!? every place quite .../ To rescue his heart from hard .../ Soul, to what ... do I speak

.) Where sense can be extracted, the content is paederastic: Hyacinthus, beloved of Apollo, is mentioned in 9, Dionysus consorts with an unnamed Indian boy in 11-16, Hercules loves Hylas in 17-22.

Parsons and Bremer noted here a number of features of diction and content which one might be inclined to regard as Hellenistic or at least inspired by Hellenistic practice. As to diction, the rare word ἀφρότοκος in 2 is found elsewhere only in Nonnus, and the number of newly coined words is rather high (ἀμφιπυκάζω in 3, δρυμόχορος

in 12, εὐπάταγος in 14, συνορχηστής in 16, and the somewhat less certain restoration ἱκετηριάς in 10). As to mythology, the stories of Hyacinthus and Hylas are well known (though the author has rung his own change on the latter story by giving Hylas a unique ethnicity), but lines 11-16 apparently deal with a relatively rare myth concerning Dionysus and a boy who was plausibly identified by the editors as Ampelus, known from Ovid (Fasti 3.409414), Clemens Romanus (Homiliae 5.12.2), and above all Nonnus (Dionysiaca 10.175-11.350) as an eromenos of the god (Nonnus Dionysiaca 11.318

gives him

the epithet Τμώλιος;

cf. 11 here). The editors even

acknowledge in a backhanded way that the author's metrical practice

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J.L. BUTRICA

is more consistent with a Hellenistic than post-Hellenistic date, saying that it “falls short of post-Callimachean niceties". Yet, despite all the evidence for a Hellenistic origin, and while not

denying absolutely that this could be a Hellenistic fragment, Parsons and Bremer felt sure that it was not Hellenistic because of its tantalizing last line, where the author evidently turned to address a ψυχή, probably his own spirit or soul or heart, rather than a term of

endearment signifying his eromenos. For the enigmatic remainder of this line the editors suggested meanings like “To whom am I speaking?" or “To what story can I turn?”, but they were clearly troubled by even so slight a personal element as this; as they state in their introduction, “If the poet speaks, and if he applies the exempla

as argument or illustration in his personal affairs, the parallel is plainly with Roman rather than Greek elegy; we recognize the procedure ... from Tibullus and Propertius" (59). For such reasons as these they proposed that we have here not an authentic Hellenistic

fragment but the autograph of a latish amateur poet influenced by Roman elegy. Their view of what was possible in Hellenistic erotic elegy also influenced their speculation about the point of the exempla within the poem, for they suggested one of four possible impersonal themes, “Gods too fall in love”, Gods too fall in love with boys", “The favourites of the gods die young", or “The gods loved these boys; but X is more handsome than any". But onecan argue for another, perhaps more personal, theme to be

sought in whatever element unifies the poet's exempla. That element is not, as might seem at first glance, the loss of the beloved; though

Hyacinthus and Ampelus were indeed lost to death and Hylas to rapacious nymphs, there are no allusions to death in the remains of

the Hyacinthus and Ampelus exempla (the noises in the latter in fact seem distinctly celebratory), and no allusion to Hylas' disappearance.!? Instead, the common thread is the subjugation and domination of the god by Love. The scrappy remains of the ApolloHyacinthus exemplum (3-10) seem to conclude with the god laying something at the boy's feet, perhaps in a gesture of supplication or submission or tribute (9: παραὶ toci θῆχ᾽ Ὑακίνθου); perhaps this

was some

attribute like the tripod mentioned

in 4, offered in

recognition of Love's power over the god through the boy (note also the element of supplication implied by ἱκετηριάδος in 10).'* There was probably a similar gesture in the Dionysus-Ampelus exemplum when the god laid his thyrsus, companion of the dance”, at the boy's foot (14-16: πρὸς πόδα .../ ... ἔθηκα ./ παιδὶ ουνορχηοτὴν θύροον);"

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI

301

hence these exempla seem to share what could be called a ‘spoils of love’ motif attested most clearly in two late epigrams (A.P. 16.214 and 215) which enumerate attributes surrendered by gods as a token of erotic subjugation.'® The Hercules exemplum is decisive. The very manner of his introduction stresses the powerlessness of the hero before Love: the mighty" son of Alcmene who could defeat the Nemean lion **melted" or '*wasted" because of his longing for Hylas. Rather than the loss of Hylas and subsequent fruitless search, the

poet observes how Hercules took on Love as his thirteenth (unlucky?) labour and was unable “to deliver his heart” from something described as "harsh," perhaps the é[ pmpavidv suggested by Führer (n.5). Parsons and Bremer state on 20 that ‘“The poet clearly wants to say ‘love was Heracles’ greatest labour’ "; it would be more correct to

say that he depicts Hercules' battle with Love — conceived as a physical being which he fights just as he fought the Nemean lion!’ — as his only unsuccessful labour. The defeated Hercules and the obsequious Apollo and Dionysus all show the power which Love

exercises

even

over the gods.

Perhaps

these exempla

simply

illustrated some theme such as 'The gods too have been overpowered by Love"; but it seems equally possible that they served to justify the author's own domination by an eromenos or even to excuse some

disgrace incurred through its effects.'? II. P.Oxy. 2885 fr. 1.1-20 Parsons and Bremer thought that such a ‘personal’ application of

myth for consolation was impossible before the creation of the Latin love elegy of Tibullus and Propertius. Yet the Lyde of Antimachus,

an important forerunner of Hellenistic erotic elegy, is said at ps.Plutarch Consolatio ad Apollonium (Moralia 106b) to have been composed in just such an act of self-consolation, as a παραμύθιον for the loss of his beloved. More significantly, a previously published

papyrus in the same series shows that one Hellenistic elegist did indeed use myth for a ‘personal’ purpose in a way which can be paralleled precisely in Roman elegy. In P.Oxy. 2885 fr. 1 (=SH 964) lines 1-20, which the gap numbered as line 21 virtually guarantees to

represent the end of an elegy, the author cited a series of murderous heroines in order to deter a woman from her interest in another man. ]-ap.[

11

Jue. . of

|

Jel

1...

302

J.L. BUTRICA

B Jtoo-[ t .]. Eetov.[. ]ueponf

}... )...[

..].a πόρεν yacco.[ jane. .[ rjaic Ταφίη vricouc nf "Exi]vábac o.[ rjatpiót Kapvotcy .[....] £Aev0.[ Alkaxe παρθενικὴ v.c.[...]vocovöf[ π]αιδὸς ὕπερ σφετέρης z[v]eOpane.[ ὥ]ϊλεοςεν Ἄψυρτον Μήδη [xác]tv, ἡ de.[ Δι)ώρη v[zjapóv ἔξοχον [Αἰο]λιδέων. &]AXà τί [ταῦ]τα Ste.[...].[...]. tno da.[ ουδο.[ ]ro. out..[ ]. «οἰποί. .]kpabtnv[ χλιαίνῃ δ᾽ ὑπ᾽ Ἔρωτος ἀταο[θ]άλου, ὅς cef δή τι καταομύξας θήςει (£X]eyxotépn[v.* [....]

10

15

20 21

(6... to fear .../9 ... mortals(?) .../ 10-14 ... he/she gave, and as much ../ The Taphian girl ... the Echinades islands .../ For her troubled homeland ... free[dom] .../ The daughter [of Nisus]? aggrieved .../ On account of his child ... breath .../ 15-20 Medea destroyed her brother Apsyrtus, and .../ Diores, the best of Aeolus’ youngsons./ But why ... [these] .../ ... neither ... nor... heart:/ You are being set afire by wicked Love, who .../ Has set you smouldering and will make you more worthy of reproach.)

Here a Hellenistic provenance seems assured by features both of language and of myth. The diction has several parallels in the works of major Hellenistic poets which suggest that we have a Hellenistic elegy of good pedigree (length, the presence of mythological exempla, and the lack of a closing *point' seem to preclude epigram). The metaphorical use of χλιαίνω (19) is otherwise confined to Hermesianax (fr. 7.89) and Meleager (AP 12.125.8), the metaphorical use of κατασμύχω (20) to Theocritus (Jdyll 3.17); παρθενική (13) with the meaning “daughter” was previously attested only in Apollonius (Argonautica 4.1743), and the form ‘Mede’ for ‘Medea’ (15) only in Andromachus and, by conjecture, in Euphorion (fr. 14.3 Powell). In addition, the comparative form ἐλεγχότερος restored in 20 was previously unattested. In the mythological component we have, alongside the familiar Medea and Scylla, two more recherché characters. The “Taphian girl" of 11 is Comaetho, a doublet of Scylla Nisi known otherwise only from Euphorion's Thrax (SH 415.ii.14-19), Lycophron (Alexandra 934), and the mythographer Apollodorus (2.4.7), with an allusion in Ovid's Jbis (361); Diores the

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI

303

Aeolid is known only from Philitas as quoted by Parthenius (Erotica Pathemata

2), and

his death

at

a woman’s

hand

is nowhere else

attested.?! After noting how Comaetho and Scylla betrayed their fathers and fatherlands, how Medea

slew her brother, and how someone else

(perhaps his sister-bride Polymela) slew Diores, the author turned in the final two couplets to address one particular woman, as the second person singular form χλιαίνῃ in 19 (and perhaps ot there as well) and the feminine accusative singular form ἐλεγχοτέρην restored in 20 will eventually show. These four lines are the most important part of the fragment, for if the elegy survived only as far as line 16 it could be dismissed as another Hellenistic ‘catalogue elegy’, but in this case the exempla were capped by an epilogue of a sort previously attested only in Roman imitations of Hellenistic erotic elegy.?? This epilogue, addressed to a woman in whom we can assume the author takes some erotic interest, constitutes the clearest evidence for the existence of

the personal ‘frames’ of Hellenistic elegy hypothesized by Cairns; as a personal frame surrounding what could otherwise be described as a ‘catalogue elegy’ it is particularly important, since it implies that even the large fragments of Phanocles, Alexander Aetolus, and Hermesianax could have had similar frames (see note 58 below). But the personal element here arguably exceeds anything yet anticipated. Cairns, who has argued vigorously and persuasively for the existence of these personal frames, suggested that they created analogies between the poets and mythical figures,?? but this frame goes far beyond that: not only does it imply that the poet has a significant emotional involvement in the personal situation that has occasioned the mythological exempla, but it also implies a paraenetic function for the myths, one however that is intended to influence the addressee in the author's own interest rather than hers. A note of frustration is apparent in what little survives of 17, where the author seems to have asked, “But why am I bothering to tell you these warning tales?" Line 18 is also almost wholly lost, apart from the significant emotive word “heart” at the end, but the final couplet reveals the point of what might otherwise have been dismissed as the

author's pointless erudition. His addressee is being “‘set afire by wicked Eros”, who has “started her smouldering and will make her

more worthy of reproach". We seem to have an erotic triangle in which the author is interested in an addressee — presumably his mistress — who is interested, if only temporarily, in another man. The exempla have been deployed to deter that interest by showing the

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J.L. BUTRICA

murderous extremes to which Desire has driven other women, and perhaps by suggesting that the betrayal would be as cruel or

unnatural as the acts of patricide and fratricide in the myths. Whether

this woman

will be more worthy of reproach than the

murderesses just enumerated or more worthy than her previous conduct has already made her, it is implied that following the poet's

counsel and remaining faithful to him will make her less open to reproach and therefore morally ‘better’ than will pursuing her own desires. This attitude toward myth has an exact Roman parallel in Propertius 1.15, where the disillusioned poet, having held up Calypso, Alphesiboea, Hypsipyle, and Evadne to Cynthia as models of conduct, concludes (23f.): Quarum nulla tuos potuit conuertere

mores,/ tu quoque uti fieres nobilis historia ("None of them could change your character so that you too might become a celebrated

legend").

Propertius! exempla

had been

intended

to ‘improve’

Cynthia and make her faithful, like the heroines of mythology, in contrast to the infidelity that he argues is implied by her behaviour;

the Greek elegist used his exempla allegedly to keep his lover's character from deteriorating further, but really with the object of securing her fidelity to him. This fragment shows that the poet's mistress and his relations with her could figure in the frames of Hellenistic erotic elegy; obviously it would be invaluable to have the beginning of the elegy as well in order to see with how much circumstantial detail it introduced the incident that occasioned the exempla and thus how far it resembled a Roman elegy. It also shows that at least one Hellenistic erotic elegist could indeed use myth *subjectively', just as a Roman elegist could, to influence another in his own personal, selfish interest: and if one Hellenistic elegist could use myth in a warning to discourage his lover's flirtations, then surely another in P.Oxy. 3723 could have used myth to console himself for being hopelessly in love with a boy. Obviously any theory about the authorship of this fragment must

be highly speculative. The poet's agreements in diction with writers like Theocritus, Hermesianax, and Euphorion, his knowledge of the

rare myth of Comaetho (shared with Euphorion again and Lycophron) and the even rarer one of Diores' murder (perhaps a variant of one found in Philitas), and his (so far as we can tell) assured style, imply an author of some rank. Philitas himself would seem to be excluded by the Diores myth, unless Hellenistic elegists could be as ‘flexible’ as Euripides in admitting incompatible versions of myths in different works; but there is no obvious reason why this fragment

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI

305

could not come from an elegy in the Leontion of Hermesianax.?*

III. P.Oxy. 2885 fr. 1.22-45 P.Oxy. 2885 fr. 1 (=SH 964) lines 22-45, the continuation of the papyrus which also supplied the previous fragment, is less intelligible but hardly less intriguing: φευγεί £A8nc[

Jod.pf..... 7.ετι.[ κα.

Ὥπορ.[

ουμα.[..]..κιαρ.[

].f

21A

25

ovxa.[. .]. «φευξῃ[

τειν. .]n?5 Σκυθικουί

οὐδει[. .]πίφιγγες al nt..... J. . }xvav[ n[ KJactyvijtov χρί ὠ]κύτ[α]τον κείνου. ov[...... ]- -[

30

.1λα.[.] καὶ φεύγοντα κιχή[οο]μαι [ ..]- -I-Ixpve£ouf. .]v.[ Je. -[- - Jul

κλεμί . .1δι[. ]Ἰεδίωκον [.....].af -acu[....].[.Jovtvd.[...... Καί n óxoco.[ Ἰχαρί .]. πεί...... J.of vnciö[ok xpuce[.]vo[ ἢ κοτε Aapdavin[...] &ápópo[v"Invobvtoc κοιλί..] ἤγαγον el ἢ yap οο[.]γαιηκ.[..]εὼν χάριν [ δαίμον[ο]ς ὧι λιοςὴ creißerafı ἱμείρω πᾶν ἦμαρ ἀμοιβαδὸ[ν Alaxidn[.] Ao[A]éxwv .θελενι[ Evv.ouc.at &pOpov[. . .]k. ındl πρῶτον "Ep. wa£o[c ..]kAveo[

35

40

45

(21A-25 .../ Flee ... still(?) .../ You (might) go .../ .../ No, by(?) .../ 26-30 No, ... you will flee .../ Going(?y5 ... of the Scythian .../ Not... piphinxes .../ ... blue .../ ... brother's .../ 31-35 Swiftest ... of him .../ [But] I shall catch [you] though you flee .../ ... of golden .../ Theft(?) ... they pursued .../ ... Tyd-.../ 36-40 Or how much .../ Of the islet ... golden .../ Or once [from] Troy ... blameless .../ Of Ipnus ... hollow... they brought .../ For indeed ... favour .../ 41-45 The god's ... where the smooth ... is trod .../ I long each day by turns .../ Aeacides ... of the Dolopes .../ ... friendship .../ At first ... of Erineus ...)

This fragment is hardly likely to be the work of the same poet who wrote the previous one; but the fact that an epode follows (=SH 965) shows that the papyrus was an anthology in any case. Here the most

suggestive indicators of a Hellenistic origin are a pair of probable

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J.L. BUTRICA

Homeric glossae, those rare words so beloved of learned Hellenistic scholar-poets. In 41 something that is being trod upon (otei Petar) is described as λισσή. This word appears three times in Homer, only in the Odyssey, always in the feminine nominative singular and always in the combination λισσὴ ... πέτρη (3.293; 5.412; 10.4). Apollonius reproduces this usage precisely at Argonautica 4.922 (in the same sedes as at Odyssey 5.412 and 10.4), but at 2.382 (λισσῇ ... νήσῳ) he

has applied its feminine dative singular form to the noun “island” (while still maintaining the same sedes); the late epigrammatist Besantius will apply it in the feminine dative plural to ridges of land at AP 15.25.11 (λισσαῖσιν ἀμφὶ δειράσιν). Scholars disputed in

antiquity whether it meant 'smooth' (Eustathius, who also suggested that it began asa place-name,”’ Hesychius,”* the Suda??) or ‘steep and rugged’ (£ on Apollonius Rhodius Argonautica 2.382). Here what is trod, whether smooth or rough, cannot be the sea-cliffs of Homer's

usage; perhaps our author adopted or even anticipated Apollonius' application to an island. The second probable glossa is ἀρθμός in 44; this rare word meaning 'friendship' occurs in only five other passages, paired three times with a more common synonym (Hymn to Hermes 524: ἐπ᾿ ἀρθμῷ xai φιλότητι; [Aeschylus] Prometheus Bound

191: εἰς ἀρθμὸν ἐμοὶ καὶ φιλότητα; Callimachus Aitia fr. 80.19: ἀρθμὸν καὶ φιλίην᾽}), and unglossed only at Apollonius Rhodius Argonautica 2.755 (ἀρθμὸν ἔθεντο μετὰ σφίσιν), in the paraphrase of John's Gospel attributed to Nonnus (13.141, ἀρθμὸν ὁμοφροσύνης),

and perhaps here.?? This fragment is unique in giving the apparent beginning of a Hellenistic erotic elegy, and the first 12 lines seem to be the opening of the sort of frame hypothesized by Cairns. Right from the start the

poet appears to be addressing someone who is avoiding or actively fleeing him (note 22 φευγεί, 23 £X0nc[, 26 pevén[). The addressee is

male, to judge by φεύγοντα in 32, and is perhaps the object of the desire expressed in 42 with the words ἱμείρω πᾶν ἦμαρ, “I desire each day” or perhaps “the whole day”; for his own part, the poet appears to be promising or rather threatening to overtake the fugitive (note above all 32 «ai φεύγοντα xvyri[co]uat). The passage may have

borne some resemblance to Theognis 1287-94, where a poet courting a reluctant boy cited Atalanta as someone who long shunned, but finally knew, “the gifts of golden Aphrodite". There is a similar repetition of φεύγω (pevyovtd, 1287; φεύγειν, 1290; φεύγουσ᾽, 1293), and with xai φεύγοντα κιχή[οο]μαι here compare ἀλλά σ᾽ ἐγὼ

tpóco φεύγοντά pe in 1287; the expressions are even closer with the

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI

307

supplement of Lobel’s approved but not printed by SH ἀλ]λά c[e] Kai φεύγοντα κιχή[ςο]μαι. There might in turn be an echo of one or

of both these passages at Propertius 2.30.1f., where the hopelessness of escaping Love is expressed in the words: Quo fugis? Ah, demens! Nulla est fuga: tu licet usque/ ad Tanain fugias, usque sequetur Amor ("Where are you fleeing? Madman, there is no escape: though you flee to the Tanais, Love will follow all the way"). Note the repetition

of the same stem, if not the same word, in fugis, fuga, fugias; and for the Tanais as a hypothetical measure of the beloved’s flight perhaps compare Σκυθικοῦ in 27 here. The πίφιγγες of 28 are an unidentified bird known previously only from a possible mention in Aristotle's Historia Animalium (8 [9] 610411, where it is called a πίφηξ), from the Metamorphoses of Antoninus Liberalis (20), and from the lexicographers. Hesychius glosses πίφιγξ with xopó8aAoc, a sort of lark; but this can hardly be right if the Etymologicum Gudianum is correct that χαίρει ... τοῦτο τὸ ὄρνεον ἐν τοῖς ὕδασι, “this bird delights in water," for larks tend to prefer drier habitats. Antoninus, who relates how Apollo turned a girl named Artemiche into a πίφιγξ to save her from being devoured

by a pack of rabid, man-eating asses, calls it θεοῖς te kai ἀνθρώποις προσφιλὴς ὄρνις, “4 bird dear to both gods and men." Her father Clinis and brother Ortygius were saved at the same time in the same way, the former becoming a ὑπαίετος, a sort of dark, smallish ‘sub-

eagle’, the latter an αἰγίθαλλος or titmouse. It is not clear whether the poet referred to any of these metamorphoses, but he could well have known the myth, which was apparently related by two other poets;?? thus it might not be too fanciful to suppose a reference to Ortygius in κ]αςιγνήτου in 30 or even to the father as the bird that flies ó]kót[a]tov “most swiftly” in 31. We are perhaps on slightly

more solid ground in speculating that the combination of a fleeing beloved, an allusion to something concerning distant Scythia, the piphinxes with or without kindred birds, and the possible hint of sea-

blue from ]kvav[ in 29?* suggests a scene of departure by sea, an occasion on which the appearance of birds dear to the gods might be welcomed as a good omen; it seems, however, from the letters that begin 28 — whether they represent οὐδείς or οὐδ᾽ εἰ or οὐ Sei — that the author intended to negate any possible good omen. Ornithological omens and a departing lover combine again in Horace's Europa Ode (3.27), itself long recognized as a probable imitation of Hellenistic elegy. Here birds and their value as signs frame and

indeed dominate the first sixteen lines, from the ill-omened parra of 1

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J.L. BUTRICA

to the coruus of 9-12 and the picus and cornix of 15-16. Unfortunately we cannot tell whether the Greek elegist matched Horace in the emotional complexity of this opening ‘personal’ passage, much less whether his paederastic elegy was the model for Horace's ode. With line 33 the 12-line opening of the personal frame appears to end; at any rate the mythological section of the elegy has certainly

begun by 35, if Lobel is right that the letters tv$ there can only represent a form of Tydeus or some name derived from it. The couplet 36-37 offers little intelligible apart from a small island (vnci&[o]c 37) and a glimmer of gold (the same reference as χρυσέου

in 33?). In 38-39 an unidentified “they” led or brought or drove (ἤγαγον 39) someone or something, perhaps from Troy (accepting Aapdavin[dev] suggested in SH), apparently to the “hollow” dells or

dales of Ipnus in Thessaly; the “blameless” hero (some form of ἀμύμων occurred in 38) could be either a direct or an indirect object with ἤγαγον. The next couplet is still less informative, for neither the relevance of δαίμον[ο]ς in 41 is certain? nor whether it is the antecedent of ὧι. In 42-43 the erotic element evident in the phrase ipeipw πᾶν ἦμαρ (42) is apparently modified by the adverb

ἀμοιβαδόν, “by turns" or “alternately”. Since the intense concentration on a single fugitive evident at the start seems to preclude an alternation of beloveds, we should perhaps imagine an alternation of emotional states in which the poet sometimes despises his eromenos as well as desiring him — the paederastic equivalent perhaps of the *Odi et amo' syndrome well known to students of Latin love poetry; but it is also possible that we have simply lost an infinitive governed by ineipo. The descendant of Aeacus mentioned in 43 could be Telamon, or either of his sons Ajax and Teucer, or Peleus, or his son Achilles, or

Achilles' son Neoptolemus; the presence of the Thessalian Dolopes arguably favours Peleus, driven first to Phthia and then to Thessaly itself. As noted earlier, tvd in 35 seems to represent either Tydeus or, through the patronymic Tydeides, his son Diomedes. The following speculation is offered on the assumption that Peleus and Tydeus were indeed adduced here as exempla and that their stories were used in the same sort of *personal' deterrent manner as in the previous fragment. Tydeus, Peleus, and the lover who sails away share one obvious action: all flee their homeland. The lover departs to avoid unwanted attention; so do the heroes, to avoid retribution incurred

in Peleus' case by killing his brother, in Tydeus' case by murdering his brother in one account, his uncle in another, a family of eight

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI

309

brothers in yet a third. Peleus’ journey to Phthia is perhaps reflected in the place-name ’Ep.ıva£olc in 45, for Erineus in Doris is a town

that one might well pass on a land journey to Phthia from the south (and, as Lobel observed, it lies between Oeta and Parnassus); perhaps

πρῶτον in the same line shows that a narration of his travels began

here. The poet might have contrasted the distance that these heroes were forced to flee from a serious crime and the distance that his beloved flees needlessly; but it seems more likely that he went on to

expound the heroes' subsequent destinies for deterrent effect, in a manner comparable to the way that Horace uses Europa's experience to influence Galatea's intended departure (thus perhaps strengthening the claim of this fragment to represent the source of Horace's

ode).? In the heroes' case both men seemedat first to prosper (Peleus was purified of his blood-guilt, Tydeus became the friend of Adrastus, and both fugitives received wives), but they subsequently met disaster (Peleus, having killed accidentally the son of his host, fled to Thessaly for another purification; Tydeus died in the siege of Thebes, but not before devouring the brain of Melanippus in an act which cost him immortality).?’ Such stories could offer a lesson on the folly of running away and so serve as a deterrent; the poet may well have implied that staying, and joining with him in ἀρθμὸς καὶ

φιλότης, was by far the wiser choice.?? IV. P.Oxy. 2884 fr. 2 The fourth fragment is P.Oxy. 2884 fr. 2 (2SH 962), again intelligible

only in brief flashes. This time the mythological component is barely in evidence, but there are several strikingly personal expressions in lines 10 and 13-15. These have generally been ascribed to a persona different from the author's, imagined as speaking the lines in a quoted monologue; but if they are indeed written in the author's own voice, then they represent the most personal and subjective utterance in the whole of surviving Hellenistic erotic elegy: 7... ].&8pov.[

1

].evnta.[

].nepopncey.[

]. v λέχος [[...... [ Jyayouo πόλιν Jovtoc ἔτι Opacéoc AeEx[ ]. co τέκμαρ ἐπηλυοίης Je γυναικῶν Antoivn

5

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J.L. BUTRICA

j.et ceto θαλυκρὸς ἔρως Knic τὴν παρθένον᾽ ob yàp Eoux(e ]-Geiwe. euetnv ὀλίγην ]. λυγρὸν ἐγὼν ὑποδύομαι alcy[oc Jn σὴν διὰ καμμονίην Ἰκουρε μετὰ npanideccı BaXec[0]-...covgo[ ]. oAoKouc ].a..dex.[ ]vrAsgov.cavuco[ Jtetc. £ncai. aven

10

15

(1-5 .../ .../ .../ ... he/she/it bore .../ ... bed .../ 6-10 ... (that) you be

brought?” to the city .../ ... of still bold Lep-/ ... token of enchantment/ ... [mistress] of women Artemis/ ... of you hot desire/ 11-15 ... you(?) ... the maiden; for it does not seem/ ... me(?) the lowly woman(?/ ...1

take grievous shame upon myself/ ... on account of your victory/ ... boy(?), to ponder in your heart/ 16-18 ... bald men(?) .../ ... more .../ ws)

Once again diction reveals the fragment's likely Hellenistic origin. In

9 Antoívn

is a new formation of known

Hellenistic type. In

addition this fragment, like the last, contains two Homeric glossae. The word καμμονίη in 14, explicitly identified asa glossa by Plutarch (Moralia 22c.6), is unknown outside its original Homeric contexts (Iliad 22.257 and 23.661*!), the prose authors who discuss it or quote the Homeric passages (Plutarch, Eustathius, Apollonius Sophistes, scholiasts), and a single late epigram (AP/. 221.4 [Theaetetus]). Its meaning here is uncertain. Plutarch calls it an Aeolic word for a victory won by endurance and courage.‘ Eustathius is silent about dialect (the Homeric form is plainly Ionic in any case) but agrees about the sense on etymological grounds: it is a victory won by resisting and enduring and so wearing down an opponent, as in boxing or in single combat, not as in running or in riding.* In

agreement with the A scholia on Iliad 23.661“ he denies that it is a synonym of νίκη, the usage attested in Theaetetus’ epigram; he likewise rejects the view that it means “one-sided victory", a sense

attested in the scholia on Iliad 22.2575 and in the Suda.*’ All these divergent views derive from interpretations of the Homeric contexts; the victory at 22.257 would be won in the single combat of Hector and Achilles, that at 23.661 in a boxing match where the eventual winner Epeius anticipates a very “one-sided” victory in which his

opponent will need to be carted off for burial. The second lexical rarity is ἐπηλυσίη in 8. Its distribution in Greek literature shows the typical pattern of the glossa: it makes a very few appearances in early ‘Homeric’ hexameters, twice in the Hymn to

Demeter (228 and 230)'* and once in the Hymn to Hermes (37),? then

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI

311

resurfaces in Nonnus (Dionysiaca 14.328° and 37.402°'), while in between it is found only here and perhaps in some Hellenistic hexameters (SH 923.11 EmnAvcifnv)). Hesychius offers two meanings, ἐπῳδὴ φαρμάκων ἢ ἔφοδός τινος, “a charm against drugs or an

attack of something". The latter meaning, which makes it a synonym of ἐπήλυσις, is the one present in Nonnus, while the former was generally thought to apply in the Homeric Hymns; the most recent editor of the Hymn to Demeter, however, defines it as “‘attacks’ of pain, fever, etc. suffered by children".?? Though both of these difficult words can be at home in martial contexts involving ‘attack’ and ‘victory’, the erotic tone of the passage seems to make those meanings unlikely in any but a metaphorical sense. The λέχος of 5 is perhaps not inescapably amatory, but there is an explicitly erotic phrase in line 10, σεῖο θαλυκρὸς ἔρως, “your hot love” or “hot love of you.” The adjective θαλυκρός is itself another rare word, being found only in a fragment dubiously ascribed to Callimachus (736),°? in an epigram of Agathias Scholasticus (AP 5.220.1f., in the phrase “the hot spur of lovemadness" [τὸ 0aXAukpóv/ ... κέντρον ἐρωμανίης]), and in lexico-

graphers.™ An even more frank expression appears in 13f.: “I take grievous shame upon myself through your kappovin”. Whether we understand this as simple ‘victory’, or ‘one-sided victory’, or ‘victory won through endurance’ (most likely by resisting erotic advances), the

speaker clearly feels humiliated by it or by some action caused by it; perhaps this disgrace is the τέκμαρ ἐπηλυοίης (“token of [erotic] enchantment")

mentioned

in 8.

Ever

since

Lobel

in the

editio

princeps suggested that Aen at the end of 7 refers to Lepetymnus, it has been assumed that the speaker is a woman, probably Pisidice, daughter of the king of Methymna on Lesbos, a Scylla-like figure who betrayed her father and city to Achilles (Parthenius Erotica Pathemata 21); the fragment has accordingly been taken as part of a speech to Achilles or, more likely, a monologue.?? This suggestion would appear to be bolstered by such ‘feminine’ language as the reference to Artemis in 9 (δέσποιν]αᾳ [Lobel] or zótv]a [SH] γυναικῶν Antoívn), τὴν παρθένον in 11, and epetnv ὀλίγην in 12, if that is to be understood as ἐμὲ τὴν ὀλίγην. This interpretation cannot be disproved, but neither is it the only one possible. We have seen in the previous fragments that personal elements can appear in the openings or closings of elegies; references to passionate love and to disgrace incurred through καμμονίη would not be out of place in

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J.L. BUTRICA

an epilogue like that of 2885 fr.1.1-20. We have seen too in the same fragment that myth could be used with a warning function, and that was perhaps the case here as well, to judge by the remains in 15 of an apparent injunction to take something to heart (μετὰ npanideccı

βαλεςίθ, probably the infinitive βαλέσθαι; the phrase is evidently modelled after //iad 9.435 μετὰ φρεσὶ βάλλεαι (“art pondering over” Leaf and Bayfield, κατὰ νοῦν ἔχεις Σ Aint)). Thus it can be argued that we again have a fragment of a closing epilogue to an elegy that used myth as a warning; if so, then the addressee might well be the

Jxovpe of 15, making this a third paederastic fragment. The ‘feminine’ language is not impossible in a paederastic elegy if we

suppose that the eromenos himself has a young female love-interest;*° it is also possible that the poet quoted a heroine within an exemplum (for a heterosexual exemplum in a paederastic context cf. Theognis 1287-94). Such an interpretation could also help to make sense of the

puzzling end of 16, where to explicate the combination Aokouc editors can cite only Hesychius, who glosses a word Aokóc with λοκρός and φαλακρός, two words meaning “bald”. According to SH on the line this is nihil ad rem, but a warning like “Don’t scorn the

bald" — for reasons that the myth presumably clarified — could well be appropriate here if an aging suitor is courting a young boy and

enduring disgrace because of his lack of success. The werbende Dichtung of prospective erastai naturally does not broadcast symptoms of senescence, but the paederastic epigrammatist Strato was not above mentioning in different contexts his grey hairs, impotence, gout, and even pendulous genitalia," while bald men remain a target of jokes. The whole scenario — aging erastes courting a young eromenos courting a young girl — has a parallel in the TibullusMarathus-Pholoe triangle of Tibullus 1.8 and 9. V. Some conclusions

These new fragments, even in combination with the previously available material, do not give us a full picture of Hellenistic erotic elegy. We still do not have even one single such elegy complete, something we must have before we can study structural proportions or such features as the precise relationship between myth and personal frame. It is not enough to know that the first elegy represented in P.Oxy. 2885 fr. 1 had a 4-line *personal' epilogue or that the second had a 12-line ‘personal’ prologue when we know the length neither of the mythological component nor of the missing

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI

313

element of the personal frame; we need the elegy complete before we can begin to discuss how the two parts of the personal frame could relate in both themes and length to each other and to the mythological content. But the new fragments do hint at the variety possible. None strings its exempla in the Hesiodic manner of the major fragments of Phanocles (fr. 1.1, 3.1 ἢ ὡς) and Hermesianax (fr. 7.1 οἴην, 7.85 οἴη); P.Oxy. 3723 introduces Hercules with vai μήν, while

the poet of P.Oxy. 2885 fr. 1.1-20 eschews connective formulas and simply spouts one exemplum after another. The new fragments also show considerable variety in the length of their exempla, though none is as long as those attested for Phanocles and Alexander; in P.Oxy. 3723 the Hyacinthus exemplum seems to have occupied 8 lines, the Ampelus and Hylas exempla 6 lines each, while in P.Oxy. 2885 fr.1.1-20 Comaetho and Scylla were dealt with in individual couplets, Medea in less than an hexameter and Diores’ murderer ina

little more than a pentameter. Arguably the most important fragment is P.Oxy. 2885 fr. 1.1-20; not only does it use myth in an

arguably personal and subjective way which can be paralleled in Roman elegy, its combination of a mythological catalogue and personal frame raises the possibility that other fragments dismissed as representing ‘narrative’ elegies also had personal frames and also

had some personal or subjective function within those frames.** Myth perhaps had a warning function in P.Oxy. 2885 fr. 1.21-45 (where the author's threat to overtake the addressee wherever he flees is a notably personal element) and in P.Oxy. 2884 fr. 2 as well; in

P.Oxy. 3723 it perhaps served for self-consolation. Of course more personal uses of myth like these do not preclude other poets having used myths for purely illustrative purposes; we should not restrict unduly the creative range of Hellenistic poets. Passages like these frames, where the poets speak of their own purported emotions and experiences, allow us to begin to restore a human face to Hellenistic

erotic elegy; it did not limit itself after all to narrating the experience of heroes and heroines, but could use that mythical experience for a

variety of purposes like admonition or consolation in reference to the author's own purported experience. In addition, the new fragments show Hellenistic poets exploring the more obscure recesses of mythology (Hylas as a Thracian, Dionysus' Indian boy, Comaetho's betrayal of her father, the murder of Diores, and perhaps the transformation of Artemiche and family into various birds) and employing Homeric glossae. This combination of learning and emotion at last begins to convey the true flavour of Hellenistic erotic

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J.L. BUTRICA

elegy. These fragments can illuminate the origins of Latin elegy by offering glimpses of some presumably ‘typical’ Hellenistic erotic

elegies.? Around the turn of the century two theories arose that sought to define the relationship between Hellenistic and Roman erotic elegy. Friedrich Leo argued that there once existed a personal and subjective Hellenistic erotic elegy, directly imitated by Tibullus,

Propertius, and Ovid, which served as an intermediary between New Comedy and Roman elegy. Friedrich Jacoby,$! on the other hand, denied that such poetry had ever existed, proposing instead that Roman elegy originated in an expansion of the erotic epigram; this

opinion has largely prevailed ever since the publication in 1938 of A.A. Day's The Origins of Latin Love Elegy, which surveyed the

remains of Hellenistic elegy without finding a single trace of anything that could be called ‘personal’ or ‘subjective’ or indeed of anything that was not narrative. As Cairns has pointed out, however, such

studies overlooked or undervalued the best piece of evidence for a ‘subjective’ or ‘personal’ element in one of the most notorious

‘catalogue’ narrative elegies, the frame that must have surrounded the Lyde of Antimachus and introduced at least the death of Lyde and perhaps Antimachus' passion for her as well.°? It seems not to

have occurred to earlier researchers that a narrative within a personal frame could become 'subjective' simply by virtue of being placed within such a frame and thus applied to some such purpose as consolation or warning. Butler and Barber, for example, said of Antimachus' Lyde — explicitly attested as a work of self-consolation — that “there is no evidence that the personal element extended beyond the frame of the poem".9 But the myths themselves, or rather the combination

of the myths

with

their frames, are the

‘personal element’ by virtue of their consolatory power within that frame; warning myths such as we have seen in P.Oxy. 2885 fr.1.1-20 are just as ‘personal’. Butler and Barber also noted that the Lyde and the Leontion of Hermesianax are “‘the only Greek narrative elegies with an erotic frame";

perhaps,

but it has been suggested above

(n.58) that personal frames are also possible for the fragments of Alexander and perhaps Phanocles. In addition, it has become increasingly clear, especially with the explosion of the autobiographical fallacy, that the terms in which the debate was previously conducted — ‘impersonal’ or ‘narrative’ elegy on the experience of mythological characters vs ‘personal’ elegy on the author’s own experience, ‘subjective’ vs ‘objective’ — are not the absolutes they

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI

315

were once thought to be. A supposed experience of Propertius can hardly be called ‘personal’ or ‘subjective’ in any pure sense when

parallels in Tibullus or Ovid show it to be a topos of elegy; the apparently historical death of Lyde makes Antimachus’ elegy more truly personal and subjective than anything in Propertius, at least insofar as it demonstrably has its roots in the author’s actual life experience. Hellenistic erotic elegies do indeed seem to have consisted largely of mythological narratives or exempla (as was known all along), but these were contained within personal frames (securely identified for the first time in P.Oxy. 2885 fr.1.1-20 and 21-45) which made some sort of link between an at least nominally personal situation — a reluctant eromenos, a woman’s infidelity — and that mythological content. Because of these links, the Greek elegies are arguably no less personal than most Latin elegies, insofar as they do seem after all to have concerned the author’s lovelife (whether the events are historical or, as in Latin elegy, fictitious), and are also in some sense subjective, in that the mythological content could be exploited for some purpose that is, within the fiction of the poem, of vital interest to the author’s persona; a poem of frustrated dissuasion like P.Oxy. 2885 fr.1.1-20, which openly displays its author’s involvement and uses myth to affect another’s behaviour in the author's interest, perhaps deserves the appellations personal and subjective even more than, say, Propertius 1.19, where the myth is purely illustrative and no link to an actual or fictive life is established. On the other hand, the difference in structure between these Greek

examples and Latin elegies is so great that one can scarcely imagine a poem like Tibullus 1.1 or Propertius 1.16 arising as an imitation of them. Those Latin elegies that do present structures like those observed in the Hellenistic fragments are relatively rare and, where chronology can be determined, generally late in their authors’ work. Catullus 68 is undatable, but so ambitious a work is obviously not the poet’s first effort and in any case remained a unique achievement. Tibullus has no example in his first book and only one in his second (2.3). Propertius’ Cynthia contains several elegies which feature myth prominently within a personal frame (see below), but there are none in Book 2, and the ones that bear the closest resemblance to the Greek fragments discussed here are in Book 3 (3.11; 3.15; and 3.19, whose similarity in theme, content, structure, and size to P.Oxy. 2885

fr. 1.1-20 has been noted several times). The Ovidian examples (Amores 3.6 and 3.11) were presumably created as part of Ovid’s imitation of Propertius and therefore exist largely because the

316

J.L. BUTRICA

Propertian examples do. These observations suggest a theory that harmonizes the views of Leo and Jacoby by admitting an element of

truth in each. The evidence of structure implies that Jacoby was right about the formal origins of Latin elegy. Our earliest surviving Latin elegy books (Tibullus 1; Propertius 1 and 2) contain no examples that

imitate the structure of Hellenistic erotic elegy and its use of myth; instead, individual elegies either grow rhetorically out of set topics or

expand Greek epigrams. Thus it would seem that Latin elegy did not evolve directly from Hellenistic erotic elegy but from epigram, presumably by way of Catullus 76 and the works of Gallus.55 On the other hand, Leo was right that there once existed something that could be called a personal and subjective Hellenistic elegy; it used myth extensively to illustrate or even to affect events in the author's own purported lovelife, but the few Roman imitations of it imply that it influenced Latin elegy directly only after elegy's essential nature had already been determined by epigram and other influences such as comedy. This slight oversimplification is not contradicted by the presence in Propertius" Cynthia of a very few elegies that contain mythological allusions or allusive narratives within personal frames and so suggest the form of Hellenistic erotic elegy, though the proportions reverse what we seem to find in Hellenistic erotic elegy and make the frame significantly larger than the mythological component (1.1, 1.15, 1.19). In 1.1 and 1.19 the myth is purely illustrative (and in the former case addressed to Tullus, whom it is obviously not meant to influence), while the persuasive purpose of myth in 1.15 is a thing of

the past, not embodied in the discourse of the poem itself; in fact neither one uses myth in the kind of subjective manner securely attested for P.Oxy. 2885 fr. 1.1-20 and likely also in P.Oxy. 2885 fr. 1.21-45 and perhaps 2884 fr. 2.55 But the structure of 1.1, where an illustrative myth is told at some length within a personal frame, suggests that at least one Roman elegist was eager to show an awareness of the form and techniques of Hellenistic erotic elegy from the very beginning of his career.

NOTES l.

The

following

abbreviations

are

used:

OP

=

Oxyrhynchus

Fapyri,

SH

=

Supplementum Hellenisticum, ed. H. Lioyd-Jones and P. Parsons (Berlin 1983). The text of P.Oxy. 3723 is taken from OP 54, of the other fragments from SH

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI

317

rather than from the editiones principes in OP 39, some supplements are mentioned in the notes. F. Cairns Tibullus: A Hellenistic Poet at Rome (Cambridge

1979) 214-30.

That is to say, the specific influence of poets like Hermesianax, Phanocles, and Alexander

Aetolus

who

wrote

so-called ‘catalogue elegies', rather than the

pervasive Hellenistic/Callimachean aesthetic predominant at Rome. OP 54, edd. J.M.

Bremer and P.J. Parsons (1987) 58-64; P. Parsons ‘Eine

neugefundene griechische Liebeselegie' MH 45 (1988) 65-74. See now, most recently, M. Hose ‘Die rómische Liebeselegie und die griechische Literatur: Überlegungen zu POxy 3723' Ph. 138 (1994) 67-82, an attempt to strengthen the argument that this fragment could have been influenced by Roman examples. R. Führer ‘Zu P. Oxy. 3723' ZPE 74 (1988) 22 plausibly proposes 5c. OP suggests κατετήκ{ζετο κάλλει; perhaps rather κατετήκ[ετ᾽ ἴυγγι. The Suda defines ἴυγξ as τὸ ἐφέλκον τὴν διάνοιαν εἰς ἐπιθυμίαν καὶ ἔρωτα, and quotes Ar. Lys. 1110: τῇ σῇ ληφθέντες ἴυγγι, glossing (as does ER ad loc.) τῷ σῷ πόθῳ, τῇ σῇ θέλξει; for ἃ non-sexual use of the word in this sense with objective genitive, cf. A. Pers. 987-8 ἴυγγά ... ἀγαθῶν ἑτάρων (glossed πόθον by Broadhead ad loc.). Parsons and Bremer suggest two equally plausible supplements, πρὸς δέκα τοῦτο τρίτον and πρὸς óck[átot tpitatov. The following conventions are observed in the translations: the square brackets [ ] surround conjectural supplements; parentheses ( ) surround words supplied to clarify meaning; a hyphen is used when a stem can be read but not its specific form (thus 'go-' indicates some unspecified form of the verb; ‘-ing’ represents a participle of some undeciphered verb). Reading ὅς (n.5).

It is difficult to believe that the poet did not intend an allusion to the famous phrase Bin Ἡρακληείη used to define Hercules at Od. 11.601. Reading ἴυγγι (n.6).

Understanding δαθείο to represent δαείς; see n.13. The note in OP on 21 compares Apoll. Arg. 1.1248 and Theocr. Jd. 13.65 and thus seems to assume that Hercules' search was described here; hence they suggest that the author intended an anomalous use of δαθείς as ‘having searched’ or ‘traversed’. They discount their own suggestion that it represents dacic because “Even then the sense, ‘come to know,’ ‘experience,’ is unexpectedly oblique", but such an expression would not be odd if the poet wrote something like “Thou he travelled throughout the world” (taking πάντα ... χῶρον as “every place") “he never succeeded in recovering from his love for Hylas." 14.

OP on 4-7 who speaks “The great Sparta and

15.

As OP notes on 15, “The conquering god is conquered by the boy.”

16.

For this motif see OP on 15 and note the use of cxbAov in that line.

17.

Thus one should surely print Ἔρωτα in 20.

suggest two equally plausible trains of thought here, “Τῆς great god through the oracle of Delphi ... humbles himself to Hyacinthus" and god no longer speaks through the oracle of Delphi ... but goes off to courts Hyacinthus."

J.L. BUTRICA

318

One might apply this observation to the opening lines of the fragment and suggest that they do indeed refer to Hephaestus as lover of Peleus, a possibility

that Parsons and Bremer on 1f. were inclined to discount. Here the god's subjugation is represented through his abandoning his normal activity at the smithy, i.e. extinguishing the fire in his forge (did ἀφροτόκοις refer fancifully to the “sweat-inducing” heat normally present there?). He presumably did so to begin a period of service to his eromenos that was perhaps known also to Panyassis fr. 16K 1-3: ... τλῆ δὲ κλυτὸς ᾿Αμφιγυήεις,, τλῆ δὲ Ποσειδάων, τλῆ δ᾽ ἀργυρότοξος 'AnóXXov/ avipi παρὰ θνητῷ {θητεύσεμεν εἰς ἐνιαυτόν. The same fragment refers also to Apollo’s similar service to Admetus which, according to a Hellenistic tradition also represented at X E. Alc. 2 (quoting Rhianus fr. 10 Powell), Call. H. 2.47ff., Tib. 2.3, and Nonn. Dion. 10.322-24, was performed as erotic obsequium; for Hephaestus’ presumed abandoning of his orge here cf. Tibullus' statement in 2.3.25-8 that Apollo neglected his normal functions and haunts (note especially 27: Delos ubi nunc, Phoebe, tua est, ubi Delphica Pytho?). 19.

Hose (n.4) argues against the notion that consolation could have been intended,

calling the elegy instead “eine Apologie brennender Liebe" (69). He is certainly right that the deaths of Hyacinthus and the "Indian boy" were not mentioned, but his interpretation of the Hyacinthus exemplum — "Apoll weissagt nicht mehr" — is equally not to be found in the surviving remnants, and he has missed

the vital element of subjugation. His arguments from the social background of Roman elegy show only that a form of elegy as political as he believes Roman elegy to have been is unlikely in the Hellenistic period; but how a poet uses myth is not dependent upon social conditions. Translating Lobel's supplement vjoo[u] and taking it with παρθενική (Lobel's first choice) rather than with p£]voc (his second).

21.

According to Parthenius, Philitas’ Hermes told of an affair between the visiting Odysseus

and

Acolus'

daughter

Polymela;

when

it was

discovered

after

Odysseus’ departure, Aeolus wanted to punish her, but her brother Diores begged that she be spared and given to him as wife. The context in the present elegy suggests a case of fratricide to match Medea (thus balancing the pair of patricides Comaetho and Scylla); but if Diores was indeed murdered by his sister

Polymela, then the story seems to be in significant conflict with the Hermes. I suspect that the poet alludes to a version of the story in which Polymela was already wedded to Diores when Odysseus arrived, then killed her consort in order to free herself for a desired union with the visitor.

22.

Latin poems which conclude with 4-line passages beginning with at (cf. ἀλλά in 17 here) are Prop. 3.15 and 19. Prop. 3.11 and Ov. Am. 3.6 conclude with single couplets introduced by at. These epilogues are the best evidence against the view of Zetzel (in his review of SH in CP82[1987] 359) that this fragment and the next represent an anthology of speeches excerpted from longer clegies.

23.

Cairns (n.2) 224: “It is clear that the Greek elegists were emphasizing analogies between themselves and their heroes and in doing so they created or implied

poetic personae for themselves. [t was this which encouraged the Roman elegists to go one stage further, to identify rather than analogise and to expand the process of subjectivisation by adding to their own erotic personae all the emotions and experiences of the love-sick heroes of Greek narrative erotic elegy."

That the three books of the Leontion were comprised of multiple individual elegies seems sufficiently established by the evidence of the testimonia that it contained more than three stories. The account of how Arsinoe was turned to stone by Aphrodite for spurning Arceophon’s advances (attested in Antoninus Liberalis) is an obvious candidate for another myth told with a warning function

in the same work. The candidacy of Hermesianax seems strengthened by the

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI

319

parallels with Theocritus, another pupil of Philitas. Perhaps there was another verb of motion here, τείνίων] ἢ (with another ἤ following to give an alternative destination to the Scythian onc). Translating τείνων), as proposed in n.25. On Od. 3.293: λισσὴ δὲ πέτρα, ἢ ἡ λεία, ἣ ὀνοματικῶς οὕτω λεγομένη κατά τι

κύριον ὄνομα. λισσή᾽ λεία. λισσή᾽ ἡ ὁμαλή. λισσῇ᾽ τραχείᾳ καὶ ὑψηλῇ. Another scholion attributes the latter sense to the glossographer Amerias. Cf. also the use of its adjectival derivative in Theognis (326: ἄρθμιοι ἠδὲ φίλοι; 1312: ἄρθμιος ἠδὲ φίλος). 32.

It is unclear what, if anything, should be made of the fact that both glosses employed by this anonymous author were also used by Apollonius.

33.

The manuscript of Antoninus gives two sources for the story, neither of which can be identified with the present fragment: the Apollo of Simmias certainly was, and the Ornithogonia of Boeus, as a didactic poem, probably was, in hexameters. There is however a bird called the xóavoc, particularly common on Scyros (Aristot. HA 8 [9] 617423).

35.

Lobel drew attention to Zenob. 5.44: Oitatoc δαίμων' Κλέαρχός φησιν, ὅτι δαίμων τις Οἰταῖος ἐπωνομάσθη ὃς ὕβριν Kai ὑπερηφανίαν πάνυ ἐμίσησεν, but noted as well that Hercules might be intended.

36.

Of course the stories of the heroes and of Galatea have different trajectories, the former going from apparent good fortune to bad, the latter from a terrified ride to becoming the eponym of a continent, but the change would naturally be well within the limits of imitation. Since the previous fragment is close enough in some respects to Propertius 3.19 to have inspired it as a model, it would seem a most extraordinary coincidence that both elegiac fragments attested in this papyrus served as models to Roman poets: except of course that an anthology, as this appears to have been, is likely to contain precisely the most celebrated and therefore imitable poems.

37.

For the varied tales see (together with

Frazer's notes in the Loeb edition)

Apollod. 1.8.5 for Tydeus’ banishment; 3.6.8 for Melanippus' brain; 3.12.6-13.3 for the adventures of Peleus. 38.

Still mores latively, one might wonder whether the reference to the (golden?) island in 37 appeared in an allusion to the parallel and related story of Peleus' brother Telamon, driven from Aegina to Salamis. In Euripides fr. 530 Telamon sports a golden eagle on his shield. Reading εἰσα]γάγοιο (SH). Lobel in OP 39 refers to Pfeiffer on Call. fr. 352.

4l.

at xev ἐμοὶ Ζεὺς") δώῃ καμμονίην (22.256f.), ᾧ δέ x’ Ἀπόλλων, δώῃ Kappovinv (23.660f.).

42.

ἐκεῖνο μὲν yap φιλόλογον xai οὐκ ἀηδὲς ὅτι “Pryedavdc” κακοθάνατός ἐστιν

J.L. BUTRICA

320

εἰδέναι, Gávov" yap Μακεδόνες τὸν θάνατον καλοῦσι, "xappoviav" δὲ νίκην oats τὴν EE ἐπιμονῆς καὶ « αρτερίας, A ρύοκεςδὲ “ndxoug” τοὺς δαίμονας (Quomodo adolescens poetas audirere debeat, Moralia 22c.6). 43.

On Il. 22.257: Kappovia δὲ οὐχ᾽ ἁπλῶς ἡ νίκη, οἷον ἡ τῶν δρομέων fi τῶν ἱππέων, ἀλλ᾽ ἡ ἐκ καταμονῆς,ς, ὡς ἡ τῶν μονομαχούντων καὶ κυκτευόντων. οὗτοι γὰρ καταμένοντες ὡς τὰ πο. καὶ διακαρτεροῦντες ἀποκάμνειν τοὺς ἐναντίους ποιοῦσι καὶ οὕτω νικῶσι. καὶ τοῦτο μὲν ὀρθῶς. ἕτεροι δὲ ἁπλῶς οὕτω enini τὴν ἐκ povopepelas νίκην φασίν, οὐ σαφῶς λαλοῦντες Ev τῷ ‘Ex peiag-

xüca

yap

νίκη

μονομερής,

εἴγε

καὶ

ἑτεραλκής.

Cf.

also

Apol onius Sophistes Lexicon Homericum ed. E. Bekker (repr. Heidelberg 1967) Kappovinv’ Kappovinv τὴν ἐκ καταμονῆς νίκην.

ὅτι οὐκ ἔστιν £v av ἑνὸς καμμονία νίκη, ὡς οἱ Γλωσσογράφοι, ἀλλ᾽ ἡ ἐκ καταμονῆς διὸ ἐπὶ δρομέων οὐ τάσσει, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ τῶν πυκτευόντων καὶ μονομαχούντων. διὰ γὰρ καταμονῆς. (Cf. also ET τὴν ἐκ καταμονῆς νίκην’ οὐκ ἂν οὖν εἴποι αὐτὸ ἐπὶ δρομέων). AP 16.221.4: τῆς κατ᾽ ᾿Αθηναίων σύμβολα καμμονίης. E b(BCE?) Til on II. 22.257 τὴν μονομερῆ νίκην.

καμμονίη᾽ ἡ ἐκ μονομεροῦς νίκη. 228: οὔτ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἐπηλυσίη δηλήσεται οὔθ᾽ ὑκοτάμνον; 230: οἶδαδ᾽ ἐπκηλυσίης πολυπήμονος ἐσθλὸν ἐρυσμόν. A γὰρ ἐπηλυσίης πολυπήμονος ἔσσεαι ἔχμα. δέγμενος ἀμπελόεντος ἐπηλυσίην Διονύσου.

φεύγων ἀγχικέλευθον ἐπηλυσίην ἐλατῆρος. The Homeric Hymn to Demeter ed. N.J. Richardson (Oxford 1974) 229.

& πάντη πάντα θαλυκρὸς ἐγώ. The Suda glosses it with διάπυρον, Hesychius with χλιαρόν as well as with ἀναιδές, πανοῦργον, and θερμόν, among others. 55.

For Luck (Cambridge History of Classical Literature [Cambridge 1982) 406 (711.3.110]) it is “the lament of a woman who confesses her ‘passionate love,”

θαλυκρὸς ἕρως, to the goddess Artemis and complains about the cruelty of the man she loves." Zetzel (n.22) calls it “a lamentation addressed by a girl to a young man concerning her disgrace” and links it with “the erotic monologues familar in Latin poetry, from Catullus 64 through Propertius' Tarpeia to the Heroides or Myrrha and Byblis in the Metamorphoses." Against this view one might note that neither Tarpeia nor Myrrha nor Byblis (nor, for that matter, Scylla in the Ciris or in Ovid) talks of bringing shame upon herself; some of these heroines are certainly conscious of an element of scelus in their desires, but Tarpeia and Scylla are so far from feeling shame that they anticipate happy relations with their beloveds. Even if we interpret 12 as ἐμὲ τὴν ὀλίγην it is far from certain that the adjective modifies the pronoun; we might have an indirect statement construction, or the pronoun could be the object of a preposition. In the same line the letters c. are interpreted in SH as possible remnants of £| «6»; in that case Epé could be the

object of the preposition and τὴν ὀλίγην the subject of the preceding infinitive, of which only .Ceqv survives. 57.

A.P. 12.240: ἤδη μοι πολιαὶ μὲν ἐπὶ κροτάφοισιν ÉOctpat,/ καὶ πέος Ev μηροῖς

HELLENISTIC EROTIC ELEGY: THE EVIDENCE OF THE PAPYRI

321

ἀργὸν dxoxpfpatar/ 5 preis δ᾽ ἄπρηκτοι, χαλεπὸν δέ με γῆρας ixdver./ οἴμοι᾽

πυγίζειν οἶδα, καὶ οὐ

δύναμαι; 12.243: εἴ με τὸ πυγίζειν ἀπολώλεκε, καὶ διὰ

τοῦτο tixtpéqopar ποδαγρῶν, Ζεῦ, κρεάγραν pe πόει.

58.

The story of Antheus in Alexander Actolus not to resist sexual advances. As Jacoby saw, perhaps this was delivered to the poet in a appears to Lygdamus in 3.4 to speak about

has obvious potential for a warning it was told by Apollo in a prophecy: dream, much the way that Apollo the poet's affair with Neaera. In the

case of Hermesianax fr. 7 we should probably imagine the quoted speech of

someone who is mocked as a sciolist; no pupil of Philitas (nor even any speaker of

Greek with a smattering of literary culture) would make the mistake about

Hesiod's Eoiai hilariously perpetrated in 24f. ἔνθεν 6 γ᾽ "Hoinv μνώμενος ᾿Ασκραϊκὴν,) πόλλ᾽ ἔπαθεν. Note also that Hermesianax himself has shown a correct understanding of the poem's title in his use of the connecting formulas οἴην and οἴη in 1 and 85 respectively.

59.

Callimachus' Aitia is not taken into account here since, Acontius and Cydippe notwithstanding, it can hardly be considered as primarily a specimen of Hellenistic erotic elegy, least of all of erotic elegy concerned with its author's own emotions and experiences. Plautinische Forschungen (Berlin 1895) 126ff. ‘Zur Entstehung der römischen Elegie’ RAM 60 (1905) 38-105.

62.

Cairns (n.2) 219f.

63.

The Elegies of Sextus Propertius ed. H.E. Butler and E.A. Barber (Oxford 1933) liii. In Zetzel (n.22), SH (introduction to 964); I hope to deal with the relationship elsewhere. For a discussion of Propertius 3.15 as an imitation of Hellenistic erotic elegy see my ‘Myth and Meaning in Propertius 3.15’ Phoenix 48 (1994) 135-51.

65.

It is surely significant that Propertius' earliest work parades Meleager and epigram in the most prominent programmatic position, 1.1.1-4 being a virtual translation of AP 12.101. Note also that 1.3 adapts the same lost Greek epigram as AP 5.275 (Paulus Silentiarius), and that at 1.9.11 Propertius matches Homer with Mimnermus rather than any Hellenistic elegist. Of course the elegies of Calvus and Varro Atacinus are an important unknown factor here: they might also have pioneered the expanded epigram; on the other hand, given their interest

in Hellenistic poetry, they might have imitated elegies of the kind studied here, in which case Gallus' expansion of the epigram could be a self-consciously new

development for Roman poetry. I have left 1.20 out of account here chiefly because it is obviously an imitation of

Theocritus

13, a poem in hexameters rather than elegiac couplets, but also

because the pretext for the narrative is, as in Theocritus, a commonplace rather

than a genuine warning (it illustrates the maxim that unexpected things happen to lovers; despite monitus in 51, Gallus is not ‘advised’ or ‘warned’ ofaanything that is not obvious to the point of banality, and there is no reason to think that a real and present danger of seduction threatens the fidelity of his eromenos). A much briefer version of this article was delivered at the 1993 meeting of the Classical Association of Canada in Ottawa; thanks are due to all who commented on that occasion, and to Francis Cairns for constructive observations on an earlier draft.

32

J.L. BUTRICA

Addendum After correcting the proofs of this paper (November 1995), I became aware of the article 'Sul papiro di Ossirinco LIV 3723. Considerazioni sui caratteri dell'elegia erotica ellenistica alla luce dei nuovi ritrovamenti papiracei' by A.M. Morelli, which had only just appeared in the last (4th) fascicle of RFIC 122 (1994), pp. 385-421. Coincidentally, Professor Morelli's article and my own discuss the same four papyrus fragments in the same order and conclude with a consideration of their significance for the development of Latin love elegy; but their contents are very different, in that Professor Morelli has

discussed P.Oxy. 3723 in considerably more detail and the others in considerably less, and their conclusions are by no means mutually exclusive,

given that I emphasize elements of structure while Professor Morelli has focussed upon themes (and at least one of his conclusions, that themes of

Hellenistic epigram had penetrated Hellenistic erotic elegy, is undoubtedly correct).

I offer the following observations on points of detail: P.Oxy. 3723: Despite Prof. Morelli’s linguistic parallels, I am not convinced that the first lines of this fragment could refer to a god extinguishing his love “per un fanciullo ‘marino’”; the exempla seem to have involved gods who had not overcome their infatuation. Nor am I persuaded that this is an amateur's copy of his own poem; an amateur is hardly likely to be so innovative in both language and mythology. P.Oxy. 2885 fr.1.1-20: The word κάσις is too common to argue that its occurrence

here

in

reference

to Absyrtus

is “directly

influenced"

by

Euripides' Medea. P.Oxy. 2885 fr.1.21-45: 1 do not know on what grounds Professor Morelli asserts that the "exemplum mitico di amicizia" contained here concerned Peleus and Phoenix; he refers to line 43, which mentions an Aeacid and Dolopes but offers no trace of Phoenix. pp.416-17: The hypothesis that “mixed” collections, such as P.Oxy. 2885 seems to have been, served as a model for the creation of the Catullan /iber is a dead end not worth pursuing; there is absolutely no evidence for thinking that Catullus himself was responsible for the arrangement of his poems in the lost Veronensis, and **mixed" collections are unconvincing as models for

unified and structured poetic collections like Propertius" Cynthia (cf. the closing words of the article on p.420).

p.417: Professor Morelli suggests that P.Oxy. 3723 and 2885 might represent “uno sviluppo peculiare dell'elegia erotica greca" (rather than being typical of Hellenistic erotic elegy as a whole) partly on the grounds that both "sono opera di modesti poeti di età imperiale". This date would certainly apply in the case of P.Oxy. 3723 if he is correct that the papyrus is an autograph of the poem's author, but the reason for dating the content of P.Oxy. 2885 to the

same era as its copying is not clear to me.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL

LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 323-6

Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA

34. ISBN 0-905205-90- 1

ASCLEPIADES AP 5.85 = GOW-PAGE 2 AGAIN FRANCIS CAIRNS (University of Leeds)

Φείδῃ παρθενίης᾽ καὶ ti πλέον; ob yàp Ec Ἅιδην ἐλθοῦσ᾽ εὑρήσεις τὸν φιλέοντα, κόρη. ἐν ζωοῖσι τὰ τερπνὰ τὰ Κύπριδος, ἐν δ᾽ ᾿Αχέροντι ὀστέα καὶ σποδιή, παρθένε, κεισόμεθα.

In a recent paper! I offered a new interpretation of this epigram, pointing out that it exemplifies Asclepiades' standard technique of ‘ambiguous anticipation'.? In lines If. Ἅιδην and κόρη are ‘ambiguous anticipators’ which draw the gods Hades and Persephone (Κόρη) into the epigram. The meaning of the sentence οὐ yap ἐς Aıönv/ ἐλθοῦσ᾽ εὑρήσεις tov φιλέοντα, κόρη, in which τὸν φιλέοντα had puzzled commentators, is therefore: “When you come

to [the god] Hades, maiden, you will not find your lover in him”. I should have added in further support of this interpretation, but failed to do so,’ that Asclepiades is alluding in AP 5.85 to a theme

prominent in fifth-century BC Attic drama,‘ art and mythology,° and thereafter in epigrams, both literary and inscribed. This theme can be

characterised in broad terms as ‘death instead of marriage’ or ‘the concomitants of death instead of the concomitants of marriage’.® Among its sub-themes are two not always easily distinguishable (or indeed distinguished by commentators), viz. ‘marriage in the underworld" and ‘marriage to Hades.” The latter, which is most relevant

to AP 5.85, has been defined as ‘Hades as ersatz bridegroom’,’ i.e. Hades as the only bridegroom that a girl who dies unmarried (and hence, by implication in antiquity, a virgin) will get. Among examples of the last commonplace several merit quotation 323

324

FRANCIS CAIRNS

as being particularly close conceptually to AP 5.85. The first is Sophocles Antigone 1204f. (a messenger speaks referring to Antigone’s ‘tomb’): ... αὖθις πρὸς λιθόστρωτον κόρης νυμφεῖον Ἄιδου κοῖλον εἰσεβαίνομεν.

The

phrase

κόρης,

νυμφεῖον “Avdov

signals

the

‘marriage’

of

Antigone to Hades. In addition Sophocles’ reference to her as κόρη and the juxtaposition of that term with νυμφεῖον Ἅιδου draw Persephone/Köpn into the picture, as does κόρη in AP 5.85.2. Thus Antigone, as the ‘bride’ of Hades, is equated with Persephone. In view of Asclepiades' known interest in Attic drama, hitherto attested

through his allusions to Aeschylus,'? Antigone 1204f. may well have been the starting point for AP 5.85. A second pertinent example comes in the first two and a half lines of a literary epitaph for the poetess Erinna: Παρθενικὰν νεάοιδον Ev ὑμνοπόλοισι μέλισσαν Ἤρινναν Μουσῶν ἄνθεα δρεπτομέναν

“Aidac εἰς ὑμέναιον ἀνάρπασεν. ἦ pa τόδ᾽ ἔμφρων ein’ ἐτύμως & παῖς" ‘Baoxavés too’, ‘Alda’. (Leonidas of Tarentum AP 7.13 = Gow-Page 98)

Line 3 explicitly presents the ‘marriage to Hades’ topos. In lines If. Erinna had already been identified implicitly with Persephone, not just through her epithet *maidenly' (rapßevırdv, 1), but in the

metaphorical

description

of her poetic activities as ‘gathering

flowers’, since Persephone was doing just this when she was seized by Hades. Then ἀνάρπασεν (3) makes the Erinna-Persephone identi-

fication fully explicit. Finally, two epigraphic examples reveal how standard such identifications of dead unmarried girls with Persephone became in the hellenistic period. The beginning and end of GVI 1551 (from Teos, second/first century BC) stress the jealousy of Persephone for the dead girl and make an explicit comparison between the setting of her ‘rape’ and the rape of 'Koópa*: στέλλεο Φερσεφόνας ζᾶλον, χρυσέα Etpatovik[n]: σὰν γὰρ ἄναξ ἐνέρων ἅρπασεν ἀγλαΐαν (If.) ἀγναῖς ἐν θαλίαις Δαμάτερος, alc Evi Κούραν μάρψεν ὁ καὶ τὸ τεὸν κάλλος ἑλὼν ᾿Αίδας.

(7f.)

GVI 1989 (from Panticapaeon, same period), a composite of four epigrams line-numbered sequentially, is even more open and straight-

ASCLEPIADES AP 5.85 = GOW-PAGE

2 AGAIN

325

forward. The girl, who is aptly named ‘Theiophile’, herself speaks in the first epigram and blandly informs us, not just that Hades fell in love with her, but that he preferred her to Persephone: Θειοφίλην pe θύγατρα μινυνθαδίην Ἑκαταίου ἐμνώοντο γάμῳ παρθένον ἠίθεοι" ἔφθασε δ᾽ ἁρπάξας ᾿Αίδης, ἠράσσατο γάρ μευ, Φερσεφόνας ἐσιδὼν κρέσσονα Φερσεφόναν.

(1-4)

The second epigram (with a change of speaker) employs the ‘funeral torch(es) in place of wedding torch(es)’ topos — on which cf. above (n.6), while the third reverts to the subject-matter of the first, calling

the girl “sharer with Kore of bed” (3): παρθένε Θειοφίλα, o£ μὲν ob γάμος, ἀλλ᾽ ἀδίαυλος χῶρος ἔχει, νύμφη δ᾽ οὐκέτι Μηνοφίλου, [ἀ]λλὰ Κόρης σύλλεκτρος"... (9-11)

The last lines of the fourth epigram re-rehearse the contents of the first and third for consolatory purposes; Theiophile is now the wife of ‘Plouton’: Πλούτων δ᾽ εἰς θαλάμους tà γαμήλια λαμπάδι φέγγη dye, ποθεινοτάτην δεξάμενος γαμέτιν. [ὦ γ]ονέες, θρήνων νῦν λήξατε, παύετ᾽ ὀδυρμῶν᾽ Θειοφίλη λέκτρων ἀθανάτων ἔτυχεν. (19--22)

Apart from confirming the interpretation of AP 5.85 previously proposed by me, and apart from locating the epigram’s possible inspiration in Antigone 1204f., what does recognition of the ‘marriage to Hades’ topos contribute to the understanding of it? The main benefit is the decisive vindication of Asclepiades’ originality in AP 5.85 against a condemnatory evaluation: “The only Alexandrian epigram on the theme of youth being ephemeral from the point of view of lovemaking is Asclepiades 8 16ff. = V, 85, which echoes Plato V, 80. Neither epigram seems to me to go beyond stating the obvious; they may be considered as forlorn attempts to treat a “materia” which was "sorda a risponder”, and which was therefore wisely avoided by the Hellenistic epigrammatists."!!

and: “the epigram is dull because the theme was in itself platitudinous”.'?

I had already pointed out that AP 5.85 elegantly combines two topoi — carpe diem and ‘love-making is impossible in the underworld’.!? Now another (and the principal) topical sophistication in the

epigram stands revealed as the ‘Umkehrung’ of the commonplace ‘marriage to Hades’. Thus AP 5.85 is neither “forlorn” nor “dull”, nor does it "state the obvious”. Rather Asclepiades, by negating the

326

FRANCIS CAIRNS

standard concept of ‘Hades as ersatz bridegroom’, achieves a brilliant and original reversal of the obvious and so offers his reluctant ‘maiden’ a complex and powerful argument for compliance.

NOTES 1.

‘Asclepiades AP 5.85 = Gow-Page 2’ Grazer Beiträge 19 (1993) 35-8 (q.v.).

2.

The term was coined with reference to Asclepiades by W.G.

Arnott

'Calli-

machean subtlety in Asclepiades of Samos’ CR n.s. 19 (1969) 6-8; cf. also *Hellenistica: Notes on Asclepiades, Herodas and Moschus' Corolla Londiniensis 4 (1984) 7-16, 7-10.

3.

IT was alerted to my failure by Matthew Dickie's paper in the present volume, ‘An ethnic slur in a new epigram of Poseidippus' PLLS 9 (1996) 327-36.

4.

On

the entire theme, cf., most

recently, R. Rehm

Marriage

to Death:

The

Conflation of Wedding and Funeral Rituals in Greek Tragedy (Princeton U. P. 1994), with earlier bibliography (221-37); and, for many important insights, R.

Seaford ‘The tragic wedding’ JHS 107 (1987) 106-30. 5.

On material in art, cf. Rehm (n.4) Chh. If.; in mythology, 165 n.7. See also I. Jenkins ‘Is there Life after Marriage?’ BICS 30 (1983) 137-46.

6.

More specific examples are discussed below or are listed in nn.7f. below; for less specific ones, cf. Eur. Hec. 414-18; AP 7.*185 (Antipater of Thessalonika), *188 (Antonius Thallus), 487 (Perses of Macedonia), 489 (‘Sappho’), 492 (Anyte of Mytilene), 547 (Leonidas of Alexandria), *712 (Erinna); 9.245 (Antiphanes);

GVI 683.5-8, *950, *1005, 1162, 1450, 1553, *1823. The items asterisked exemplify the topos ‘funeral torch(es) in place of wedding torch(es)', on which cf. below, as does AP 182.7f. (Meleager). 7. 8.

E.g. Eur. El. 1144; Med. 985; Tro. 445; Soph. Ant. 654, 816. E.g. Aesch. Suppl. 788-91 (implied); Eur. HF 481-4; IA 460f.; IT 369f.; Or. 1109;

AP 7.182 (Meleager), 183 (Parmenion); GVI 658.7f.; 1238 (the latter implied).

For dead males ‘marrying’ Persephone, cf. AP 7.507b and (less explicitly) 508.4 (both ‘Simonides’).

9. 10.

Cf. Rehm (n.4) Index s.v. Cf. F. Cairns ‘A Cryptic Komos of Asclepiades: 14 Gow-Page = AP 5.167’ Res Publica Litterarum 17 (1994) 7-18, 13f. and 17 n.28.

11.

G. Giangrande ‘Sympotic Literature and Epigram' in L'Énigramme grecque (Entretiens sur l'antiquité classique 14, Vandoeuvres-Genéve 1969) 93-174, 139f.

12.

Ibid. 139 n.5.

13.

Cf. Cairns (n.1) 35.

I am grateful to Dr Douglas L. Cairns for advice on this note and for a reference (à propos of Leonidas of Tarentum 98 Gow-Page) to his paper ‘The meadow of Artemis and the character of the Euripidean Hippolytus' forthcoming in QUCC, esp. nn.51-5.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 327-36 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90-1

AN ETHNIC SLUR IN A NEW EPIGRAM OF POSEIDIPPUS MATTHEW

W. DICKIE

(University of Illinois, Chicago)

μεῖζον ᾿Αριστόξεινος ἐνύπνιον ἢ καθ᾽ Eoo tóv ὁ ᾿Αρκὰς ἰδὼν μεγάλων νήπιος ὠρέγετο" ᾧετ᾽ ᾿Αθήνης γαμβρὸς Ὀλύμπιου ἐν Διὸς οἴκῳ εὔδειν χρυσείῳ πάννυχος ἐν θαλάμῳ᾽ ἦρι δ᾽ ἀνεγρόμενος δήιων προσέμισγε φάλαγγι, ὡς τὸν ᾿Αθηναίης ἐμ φρενὶ θυμὸν ἔχων᾽ τὸν δὲ θεοῖς ἐρίσαντα μέλας κατεκοίμισεν Ἄρης, ᾧχετο δὲ ψευδὴς νυμφίος εἰς ᾿Αίδεω. I. Introduction

If the three epigrams so far made public by the editors of the new papyrus of Poseidippus are a fair sample, we shall have to work hard to make sense of almost every poem, and the meaning of some epigrams may remain elusive. The epigram on which this paper concentrates,! although it appears at first sight to be the most accessible of the three new poems, presents problems of interpretation, and raises questions about how it is to be categorized? and whether its subject is real or imaginary.

The epigram takes the form of a narrative. An Arcadian called Aristoxeinos,’ foolishly conceived great ambitions as a result of a dream out of all proportion to what he was. He had dreamt (geto)* that he spent a night of prolonged passion (ndvvuxoc)’ as Athena's

bridegroom in a golden bedchamber in the House of Zeus; he had then risen at dawn to attack the enemy's battle-line as though he had 327

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the spirit of Athena in his breast. But it was black Ares’ who lulled Aristoxeinos to sleep, presuming as he did to be the equal of the gods; and it was to Hades that this false bridegroom (ψευδὴς νυμφίος)

departed.* Aristoxeinos' dream, therefore, so far from portending the great things that he foolishly imagined it would, was the portent of a very different sort of sleep, and of his being a bridegroom not in the House of Zeus in heaven but in the House of Hades. That there is an

intended parallelism between the dream and its outcome in reality is suggested by the introduction of the highly contrived and otherwise unexampled image of Ares (whose mode of dispatching his victims is normally much more violent) lulling someone to sleep (κατεκοίμισεν). II. The classification of the epigram.

Erotic epigrams about dreams in which the beloved appears are not uncommon.? Meleager deals with the topic twice (Gow-Page HE 4420-7, 4628-35) and includes an example by Artemon in his anthology (Gow-Page HE 800-5). Although this kind of dream is

curiously infrequent in Roman love-elegy,!? it emerges again in the novel.!! Poseidippus' epigram differs from the usual pattern in three important respects: it is a goddess with whom the dreamer imagines he spends the night; it is not the dreamer who relates the dream but a

third party, and an unsympathetic one at that; and the dream is in some sense significant of the future. The theme of Poseidippus' epigram is distinctly not then the poignancy of a lover deluded by a dream, but the foolish ambitions that a dream encouraged and the price that was paid for them. Yet

there is no real pathos to be found in Aristoxeinos' death, despite Poseidippus' use of pathetic themes. He clearly plays on the wellattested figure of the sleep of death. This is an image greatly loved in (although by no means confined to) the funerary epigram.'? In

epitaphs, men are lulled to sleep: the force which lulls them may be the deadly Fate of death (ὀλοὴ Μοῖρα θανάτου, GVI 853.2), the sleep of forgetfulness (ὕπνος ὁ λήθης, GVI 1485), envious Hades (q00νερὸς Ἅιδης, GVI 1969.9) and the tomb itself (AP 7.183.3).? The implied contrast in Poseidippus between the sleep of death and the sleep of love-making is made explicitly in an epitaph from the Garland of Philip ascribed to Parmenion, where the tomb, not the

bridal chamber, has lulled the hopes of the married couple to sleep

AN ETHNIC SLUR IN A NEW EPIGRAM OF POSEIDIPPUS

329

(τὰς δὲ γαμούντων ἐλπίδας οὐ θάλαμος κοίμισεν, ἀλλὰ τάφος AP 7.183.2f.). Parmenio's pathetic conceit may go back to the Iliad,

where Iphidamas the Thracian, killed by Agamemnon, lies in a bronze sleep far from his bride, from whom he had enjoyed no return for the large bride-price he paid to win her (κοιμήσατο χάλκεον ὕπνον, οἰκτρὸς, ἀπὸ μνηστῆς ἀλόχου .../ ... ἧς οὔ τι χάριν ἴδε

11.241-3).'* It is, however, a mock pathos that Poseidippus conjures up when he has Ares lay Aristoxeinos to rest. The figure of the false bridegroom departing to the House of Hades is also reminiscent of a pathetic image found in epitaphs for young men who have died before or shortly after marriage: the bed of

Hades or the tomb replacing the marriage-bed or marriage-chamber.! It is the counterpart of the figure of Hades as bridegroom employed to underscore the poignancy of death in the case of young women who have died before marriage or soon thereafter.'® Again there is no real pathos in Poseidippus' use of the figure. The epigram is therefore not erotic in intent; it is, if anything, scoptic, with Aristoxeinos' stupidity as its target. Thus it belongs to a category of epigram under-represented in the Garland of Meleager, but perhaps commoner in the early Hellenistic period than we might

have supposed." Reitzenstein's suspicions about the suppression of scoptic epigrams in the Garland of Meleager may prove to have been well-founded.!®

One

of the other new

epigrams

of Poseidippus

published by Bastianini and Gallazzi, that for the deaf Cretan who returns home from praying to Asclepius to listen for words uttered through brick walls, may also be scoptic. I shall argue that the epigram about Aristoxeinos turns principally on the simple-mindedness for which the Arcadians were notorious. Epigrams based on the failings believed to be inherent in a group of people are relatively uncommon,

but not unparalleled.

III. Dreaming about sleeping with Athena The epigram depends in part on the reversal in reality of the heavenly dream which Aristoxeinos had enjoyed. It also depends on Aristoxeinos’ gross misinterpretation of what must have seemed to other

less foolish persons an exceedingly ominous and presumptuous dream.'? No doubt there were changes to and refinements in the

interpretation of dreams between the early Hellenistic period and the second half of the second century AD when Artemidorus composed

his handbook.?? But dreams in which the dreamer imagined himself

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as spending a whole night in love-making as the bridegroom of a

virgin goddess will at all times have inspired in most men worry rather than confidence. In his discussion of dreams in which men sleep with goddesses, Artemidorus explains under what conditions

such dreams may be propitious; but there are no conditions under which it is propitious to sleep with certain goddesses: Artemis, Athena, Hestia, Rhea, Hera and Hekate (1.80). Artemidorus does

not spell out the different reasons which make these goddesses unsuitable mates; but in the case of the two goddesses who head his list it is clear that their virginity makes them inauspicious partners. In Greek literature, attempting to have intercourse with or to marry a goddess is emblematic of a failure on the part of a mortal to

remember his proper place. Already in Alcman we have a warning against flying to heaven and attempting to marry Aphrodite (1.16-19 PMGF). Ixion's thwarted attempt on Hera is for Pindar an example of just such a lack of moderation (Pythian 2.25-34).?! As for Athena (to judge from Rhianus) wooing Athena, thundering like Zeus, raising one's head in an over-boastful manner and planning a journey to heaven in order to feast among the immortals were all proverbial ways in which a man who enjoyed both prosperity and great power might show that he had forgotten his mortal status (fr. 1.1-16 CA). The idea that great good fortune and power may lead a man to imagine himself Athena's bridegroom is illustrated in the story told by Theopompus about Cotys, the luxury-loving Thracian monarch: he prospered until he wronged Athena by organizing a

wedding-feast which he expected her to attend as his bride (FGrH 115 F 31 = Athenaeus 12.531f-532a). It is hard to say in what sense Aristoxeinos' dream was too great for him (μεῖζον ἐνύπνιον ἢ καθ᾽ ἑωυτόν).22 Does it mean that Aristoxeinos is culpable for having such a grandiose dream? Or that, although he cannot be held responsible for having the dream, the dream is, viewed objectively, inappropriate to Aristoxeinos' situation? The characterization of Aristoxeinos as one who vied with the gods (τὸν θεοῖς Epicavta) gives some reason to suppose that

Aristoxeinos is in some way held responsible for the dream.?? There is furthermore the widely-held ancient belief that some, if not all, of our

dreams are the product of our waking preoccupations and ambitions.^ Artemidorus says that this category of dreams are called ἐνύπνια and are to be distinguished from ὄνειροι, dreams with predictive power (1.1). Although the terminological distinction may not be Artemidorus' invention, it is not observed by authors who

AN ETHNIC SLUR IN A NEW EPIGRAM OF POSEIDIPPUS

331

write less self-consciously about dreams.?5 So it would be unwise to place any weight on Poseidippus' use of the word ἐνύπνιον.

But this makes no difference to the very clear intent of Poseidippus’ description of Aristoxeinos' response to the dream: it was the response of a fool who had begun to form ideas too great for his station. @péyeto here would seem to be an imperfect with inceptive force. νήπιος aside, the phrase μεγάλων ὠρέγετο is strongly condemnatory. It is a loaded phrase used of those swollen-headed with pride who place no proper limit on their ambitions: Eumenes finds the Macedonian commanders filled with a haughty pride and ambitious for great things (φρονήματος πλήρεις ὑπάρχοντας Kai μεγάλων πραγμάτων ὀρεγομένους, Diodorus Siculus 18.60.1); Alcibiades declares the Athenian people to be big-headed and full of great ambitions (μέγα φρονεῖ xai μεγάλων ὀρέγεται, Plutarch Alcibiades 14.8). In Pindaric terms Aristoxeinos belongs to that most foolish tribe of men whose members cast their eyes on what is too distant and scorn what is at hand (ἔστι δὲ φῦλον ἐν ἀνθρώποισι patadtatov,/ ὅστις αἰσχύνων ἐπιχώρια nantaiver τὰ πόρσω, Pythian 3.22).2° IV. The Spirit of Athena

The assault which Aristoxeinos either repeatedly makes or attempts to make (the force of the imperfect προσέμισγε is unclear) on the enemy phalanx, presumably single-handedly, he makes as though he had the spirit of Athena in his breast. This means that Aristoxeinos has been so emboldened by his dream as to take on the peculiarly aggressive spirit characteristic of the goddess with whom he dreamt he had slept. It is this spirit that leads Athena to return persistently to the attack and encourages those into whom she infuses the spirit to tackle especially dangerous tasks. In the 7/iad, when the gods come to blows for a second

time, Ares prefaces his attack on Athena by

calling her a dog-fly and accuses her of bringing the gods to blows in her insatiate boldness and of being driven on by her own mighty spirit (tint abt’, à κυνάμυια, θεοὺς ἔριδι ξυνελαύνεις, θάρσος

ἄητον ἔχουσα, μέγας δέ σε θυμὸς ἀνῆκεν; 21.394f.)." The insult *dog-fly" has a special appropriateness here? when Menelaus, hard-pressed to defend Patroclus’ body, prays to her for help she fills him with the boldness of a fly (μυίης θάρσος) which returns

persistently to seek human blood, though driven off (17.567-74). Athena has, in other words, filled Menelaus with her own particularly

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aggressive brand of courage. V. Arcadians and epigrams with ethnic slurs

It is by no means an irrelevant detail that the man who so grossly misinterprets the dream is an Arcadian. The Arcadians were reputed to have existed before the moon came into being and to have lived a

particularly primitive life of which they still retained remnants.? By a natural

association,

the reputedly primitive and uncultured Ar-

cadians were also imagined to be gullible and simple-minded.?? Thus the epithet προσέληνοι, ‘before the moon’, which was applied to the Arcadians, connoted stupidity as well as signifying their great antiquity. A scholion on Aeschylus Prometheus Bound 451 gives two

explanations of the origin of the term, and adds that others use it abusively to mean that the Arcadians are stupid, since they are older

than the moon, that is, more primitive (ἄλλοι δὲ αὐτοὺς ὡς μωροὺς διαβάλλουσιν ὡς ἀρχαιοτέρους εἶναι τῆς σελήνης, ἤγουν παλαιοτέρους). Aristophanes plays on the suggestion of stupidity in the word when he coins the adjective βεκκεσέληνος, which Socrates uses in a tricolon of ascending vituperation in apostrophizing Strepsiades as an instance of backward and primitive stupidity: xai πῶς, ὦ μῶρε

σὺ καὶ Κρονίων ὄζων καὶ βεκκεσέληνε (Clouds 398).?! Apollonius of Tyana uses the Arcadians’ stupidity, uncouthness and proverbial diet of acorns to defend himself against the charge that he had murdered an Arcadian boy in order to examine the future in his

entrails: he argues that the Arcadian origin of the victim would not have contributed anything to his much-vaunted wisdom; the Arcadians are not the cleverest of the Greeks, certainly not to the extent that their inwards are able to reveal more than those of other men; they are in fact the coarsest and most uncouth of humans, their

swinish quality shown not least in their feeding themselves from oaktrees (Philostratus Life of Apollonius 8.7.12). Epigrams depending on what would now be called derogatory racial stereotypes are not as common as might be expected. From the early Hellenistic period there is an epitaph by Leonidas which

exploits the reputation the Cretans have as pirates and freebooters (Gow-Page HE 2048-53)" and another, ascribed to Anyte and almost certainly Meleagrian, commemorating three Milesian maidens who had committed suicide to avoid falling into the hands of Galatians and suffering the fate that women inevitably underwent at the hands of these people (Gow-Page HE 752-77). There are later

AN ETHNIC SLUR IN A NEW EPIGRAM OF POSEIDIPPUS

333

epigrams that rest on the Cretans’ notoriety as liars (AP 7.275; 9.265).

The reputation of Thessalian women as witches is inevitably mined (AP 5.205; 14.140). There is only one epigram, and that a late one by Palladas, whose subject-matter is the stupidity of a racial group, the

Paphlagonians (AP 11.430). VI. The identity of Aristoxeinos One final and important question that needs to be asked about the epigram, although no conclusive answer can be given to it, is why Aristoxeinos the Arcadian has been singled out for mockery. Is the epigram a literary exercise turning on the reputed stupidity of Arcadians, or is it directed at a real figure? If it is aimed at a real man,

is Aristoxeinos his name or is his true identity concealed under that name? That his name has to be Ionicized to fit it into a hexameter creates a presumption (weakened, but not decisively, by the presence in the same line of the Ionic form of the third person reflexive &ovtóc) that we are dealing with a known person and not a fictional creation.’* The name Aristoxenos is widely distributed in the Greek world and is attested in Arcadia at Mantinea in the middle of the fourth century BC in the form ᾿Αριστόξενος (7G 5.2.271.7). Aristoxeinos' death in battle and his high opinion of himself taken in conjunction with his Arcadian origins suggest that he was a

mercenary and notorious as a braggadocio. The Arcadians were renowned for their martial qualities: Ephorus, for example, explains the Pelasgians' preference for the soldier's life by positing an Arcadian origin for them (FGrH 70 F 113). From the late fifth century BC Arcadia's best-known export was its mercenaries

(Hermippus fr. 63 K.-A.).?5 The proverb ᾿Αρκάδας μιμούμενοι was applied to those who like the Arcadians expended their labours on behalf of others but who were never victorious themselves.?" It was already in existence in the fifth century BC (Plato Comicus fr. 106 K.-A.). There is in the proverb just a hint of mockery at Arcadian stupidity in sacrificing their energies to looking after others and in their failing to take care of their own interests. Arcadian mercenaries were certainly a feature of Egyptian life under the first Ptolemies:

groups

of Arcadian

Elephantine,

soldiers or veterans

are to be found

in the Thebaid, in the Arsinoite nome

at

and in Alex-

andria.?* Poseidippus' Aristoxeinos may be of their number.??

MATTHEW DICKIE

334

NOTES Originally published by G. Bastianini and C. Gallazi ‘Il poeta ritrovato. Scoperti i epigrammi di Posidippo in un pettorale di mummia' Ca’ de Sass 121 (1993) 9. M. Gigante 'Attendendo Posidippo’ SIFC 2nd ser. 11 (1993) 7 corrects the mistaken reading κατεκόμισεν (7) to the κατεκοίμισεν visible in the photograph of the papyrus published by Bastianini and Gallazi. M. Gronewald “Der neue Poseidippos und Kallimachos Epigramm 35° ZPE 99 (1993) 28 n.2 publishes without comment a corrected text. The epigram, we are told, is found in the papyrus under the heading of predictions gained from watching birds. But this section of the papyrus contains epigrams on other sorts of omens, including dreams; so the headings to the difterent sections of the collection are only a rough guide to their contents.

The name Aristoxeinos is obviously not Arcadian in form but has been Ionicized to accommodate it to the hexameter. Agathias does the same thing to Aristoxenos of Tarentum at AP 11.352.9. For οἴεσθαι rather than the more common δοκεῖν used of imagining in dream:

Dio Prus. 11.129; Lucian Gall. 12; Heliod. Aethiop. 4.14.2; 10.3.1; Quint. Smyrn. 14.274-6; Synes. De somn. 19.

For παννυχίς or παννυχίζειν used of nightlong love-making: Arist. Nub. 1069; Lucian Dial. Meretr. 14.1, AP 5.201.3f.; 6.162. If.; 7.707.5f.; it is appropriately the name of a courtesan at Lucian Dial. Meretr. 9, for πάννυχος and παννύχιος employed in the same way: Thgn. 1063f.; [Hes.] Scut. 46f.; Aristoph. fr. 715 K.-A.; AP 6.259.5f.; Nonn. Dionys. 7.300f. 1 am indebted to J.G. Howie for the

reference to Theognis and to George Huxley for drawing my attention to the erotic connotations of the adjective. ύσειος θάλαμος:

711.2.

Eur. Jon 459; AP 5.194.2 (Asclepiades or Poseidippus);

The only other occurrence of μέλας Ἄρης seems to be at Aesch. Ag. 1511.

The use of ψευδής with the meaning ‘unreal’ predicated of a person, place, object or state of affairs rather than of a proposition or person voicing false propositions is unusual, but not unparalleled (cf. Pi. fr. 124.7 Sn.; GVI 2034.14: ψευδῆ νεκρόν). More common in this sense is ψευδο-- in composition. The closest parallel to ψευδὴς νυμφίος is, accordingly, δώρημα ψευδονύμφευτον at

Eur. Hel. 883, although a Christian epigram has νυμφίος ἀψευδής of Moses (AP 1.61.2). Pertinent here too is ψεῦδος γλυκὺ μεθέπων (Pi. P. 2.37) of the delusory

cloud in the shape of Hera with which Ixion slept. AP 5.2, 166, 237, 242. 10.

In Prop. 2.26 a lover dreams of his beloved in danger of drowning, while Prop. 4.7 deals with the shade of the beloved appearing in dream.

1.

Long. 2.10.1; 3.9.5; Charit. 2.9.6; 3.7.4; 4.1.1; 5.5.5f.; Ach. Tat. 1.6.5; Xenoph. Ephes. 5.8.5-7; Heliod. 1.18.3f.; cf. Ael. VH 12.63; Nonn. 42.323-42; Aristaen. 2.14.13 Mazal; Verg. Ecl. 8.108. In general, see F. Weinstock ‘De somniorum in Graecorum fabulis usu’ Eos 35 (1934) 29-72. S. Bartsch Decoding the Ancient

Novel (Princeton 1989) 80-108 confines her attention to predictive dreams in Heliodorus and Achilles Tatius.

12.

Cf. Hom. JJ. 11.241; 14.482; Hes. fr. 278.6 M.-W.; Aesch. Ag. 1448-53; Soph. Aj. 831-4; OC 621; Eur. Hipp. 1387f.; Pl. Apol. 40d1f.; GVI 455.1f., 647.8, 709.2, 921.3f., 988.4, 1327.2, 1360.7f., 1484.1-3, 1485.1-3, 1511.7, 1678.3, 1874.7,

AN ETHNIC SLUR IN A NEW EPIGRAM OF POSEIDIPPUS

1921.1f., 2029.9, 2035.12, 2040.13f.; CLE 11.3, 188.2, 488.4, 1369.2. The sleep

335

of

death is related to the notion that Death and Sleep are brothers (Hom. 7/. 14.231;

16.672; Hes. Theogn. 211f., 755f.). On the figure see B. Lier ‘Topica carminum sepulcralium latinorum" Philologus 62 (1903) 595 n.46, M.B. Ogle ‘The Sleep of Death’ MAAR

11 (1933) 81-117

Epitaphs (Urbana 1962) 164f.

and R. Lattimore Themes in Greek and Latin

13.

Cf. Inscr. Cret. 1.22.59; AP 9.278; for κοιμᾶσθαι in funerary epigrams of the dead, cf. GVI 673.4, 1143.8, 1327.8; AP 7.173, 219, 260.8, 345, 408, 451; 8.607.

14.

On the pathos of the passage see J. Griffin Homer on Life and Death (Oxford 1980) 133f.

15.

GVI 704.1-3, 966.7f., 1263.9f.

16.

Aesch. Suppl. 788-91; Soph. Ant. 654, 811-16; Eur. Med. 985; IT 369f.; IA 461;

17.

See A. Cameron The Greek Anthology from Meleager to Planudes (Oxford 1993)

Or. 1109; AP 7.13.3, 182.1f., 492.5f.; GVI 658.8, 683.7f., 1162.7f. 14f.

18.

R. Reitzenstein Epigramm und Skolion (Giessen 1893) 93 n.1.

19.

I know of only one parallel in epigram for the misinterpretation of a dream. It too involves the appearance of a god: in a poem ascribed to Palladas (AP 9.378) Sarapis appears to a murderer sleeping below a crumbling wall and tells him to move; the murderer awakes and moves and the wall falls, which the murderer takes to mean that the gods rejoice in men of his sort; Sarapis reappears in another dream and reveals the true intent of the original dream, which was to preserve the murderer for a harsher fate. On Artemidorus and the audience for whom he wrote see now G.W. Bowersock Fiction as History: Nero to Julian (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London 1994)

-98.

Cf. Soph. Phil. 676-9; Lucian Dial. Deor. 9.1-4, Philostr. VA 6.40. Cf. Pi. P. 2.34 on Ixion's failure to see the proper measure: χρὴ δὲ κατ᾽ αὐτὸν αἰεὶ παντὸς ὁρᾶν μέτρον. For ἐρίζειν θεοῖς: Hom. 7/. 6.131; Od. 4.78f.; 5.212f.; 8.224-8; Hes. Theog. 534; Eoiai fr. 30.23-7 M.-W.; Pi. P. 2.88; Lucian Podagr. 312-20; Jul. Or. 9.14 Rochefort; Lib. Decl. 41.22. 24.

Hdt. 7.16.62; [Hipp.] De somn. 88; Arist. De somn. 3, Men. fr. 780 Koerte?; Nonn. 42.323-42; Ter. Andr. 971f.; Lucr. 4.962-6; Cic. Div. 1.45; Petr. fr. 30 Müller; Sen.

Oct. 740-2; Claud. 6 Cons. Honor. pr. 1-10. On such dreams, see Pease on Cic. Div. 1.45. See Bowersock (n.20) 93.

Cf. O. 1.114; P. 3.60; 10.62; 7. 7.44. Cf. 1.7.24. Cf. Hesych. s.v. κυνάμυια᾽ ἀναιδής, ἰταμή, kai θρασεῖα. ὁ μὲν yap κύων ἀναιδής, ἡ δὲ μυῖα θρασεῖα. The word is used at 77. 21.421 by Hera of Aphrodite as a more general term of abuse, with the emphasis on Aphrodite's shamelessness.

29.

Cf. Ov. Fast. 2.301f.: nunc quoque detecti referunt monimenta vetusti/ moris, et

MATTHEW

336

DICKIE

antiquas testificantur opes. On the image of the Arcadians as Ancient Greece tr. K. Atlass and

primitive see P. Borgeaud The Cult of Pan in J. Redfield (Chicago 1988) 6-8, 14-22.

Suda s.v. BexxectAnve: dpyate, τουτέστιν dvontétate. 32.

Cretans as pirates and freebooters: Polyb. 4.8.11.

33.

On Paphiagonian stupidity: Luc. Alex. 9, 17, 45; Lib. Or. 1.85. On epigrams mocking stupidity lack of culture see F.J. Brecht Motiv- und Typengeschichte aes griechise Spottepigramms (Philologus Supplementband 22, Leipzig 1931) I am indebted to Francis Cairns for this point. I owe to Roger Brock the idea that Aristoxeinos may have been a mercenary.

Cf. Hdt. 8.26.1; Thuc. 3.34.2; 7.19.4, 57.9; Xen. Hell. 7.1.23f.; Anab. 6.2.9-12. On Arcadian mercenaries in general see G.T. Griffith The Mercenaries of the Hellenistic World (Cambridge 1935) 237-46.

Suid. s.v.; Hesych. s.v.; Macar. 2.41; Zenob. vulg. 2.59. 38. 39.

Mop auney Recherches sur les armées hellénistiques Y (BEFAR 169, Paris 1949) 122f. T am

and

grateful to

J.G. Howie and G.H. Huxley for discussing the epigram with me

for their suggestions.

PAPERS OF THE LEEDS INTERNATIONAL LATIN SEMINAR 9 (1996) 337-50 Published by Francis Cairns (Publications) Ltd. ARCA 34. ISBN 0-905205-90-1

THE MAGIC OF NAMES: SOME ETYMOLOGIES IN THE CYRANIDES' DAVID BAIN (University of Manchester)

tig not’ ὠνόμαζεν ὧδ᾽ ἐς τὸ πᾶν ἐτητύμως ...;

Introduction

It would be hard to exaggerate the power of names and the emphasis placed on the ‘true meaning’ of appellatives in Greek and Roman culture. Nomen truly equalled omen. From a linguistic point of view, most, if not all, of ancient etymology, whether of popular or learned origin (and in this instance it is in any case questionable whether such a distinction is meaningful), is distressingly off-beam, but that is no reason for avoiding the study of it. For the student of literature it is

important to know the resonances and associations which words had for the ancient native speaker. Word-play is an important feature of many genres. At present controversy often arises among critics as to its extent and limits (one need only think of some of the suggested associations of the name Οἰδίπους): a comprehensive collection of attested etymologies may act as a kind of control in such disputes. It is good, therefore, to see that there has arisen in recent years an

intense interest in the systematic study of the topic. Fortunately, for Latin there now exists the valuable work by Robert Maltby.? Now we are informed that there is in progress a large scale investigation of etymologies in Greek authors in the form of the Leeds Greek Etymologies Project.’ Magic is an area where the relationships

between words and between words and the things they describe play 337

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DAVID BAIN

a particularly important part. I have thought it useful, therefore, to list and, where appropriate, comment upon some of the etymologies I have come across in the Hermetic medico-magical book known as the Cyranides.* Since this work remains relatively little known, a brief introduction to it would not be out of place. In the interests of brevity I have not lingered on matters which might be regarded as

controversial and have stated my own views fairly dogmatically. Any lack of balance should, I hope, be rectified in works which I intend to publish elsewhere (cf. notes 4 and 8). The Cyranides represents, perhaps,

the most

important

non-

philosophical document in the Hermetic tradition. As a leading authority on the subject has pronounced: “by the Hermetic occult literature we effectively mean the Cyranides."* Although the prologue proclaims the work to be a medical one, βίβλος ἀπὸ Συρίας θεραπευτική (‘Kyranos’ who exploited the book of Harpocration, the author of these words [see below], is more liberal in the prospectus he presents in his part of the prologue, describing his work as written ἕνεκα θεραπείας, but adding οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ kai τέρψεως καὶ φύσεως), the book contains prescriptions for less altruistic ends. There are recipes designed to create mischief (often at symposia). Others deal with the attainment of personal advancement, suggesting ways of ensuring victory in legal disputes, gaining

erotic success and satisfaction, or enabling the userto exercise power over the rest of mankind and over the animal presented with is, in short, a blend of materia coloured, principally in the first book, with The composition and date of the work uncertainty, but a recent study hascleared up

kingdom. What we are medica and magic book tinges of Hermeticism. are matters beset by many of the difficulties

and provided, in addition, much the best introduction to it. This is

the long article by Klaus Alpers published in 1984.5 By dint of careful analysis of the prologue and book one and through acute sourcecriticism, Alpers establishes that the four books of the Cyranides were assembled by a redactor who, in book one, combined the work of a fourth-century iatrosophist, Harpocration, with the first volume

(which was itself a reworking of Harpocration's book) of a threevolume book which claimed to emanate from the pen of a Persian monarch named Kyranos. Volumes 2 and 3 of Kyranos' book are books 2 and 3 of our Cyranides. Book 4 has been added from other sources by the redactor (for the redactor's own description of his activity see the passage of the prologue quoted below, no. 10). In

Kaimakis' edition’ there are to be found two further books which

THE MAGIC OF NAMES: SOME ETYMOLOGIES

deal respectively with

plants and

IN THE CYRANIDES

metals.

They

339

fall outside the

original design of the work and their claim for inclusion in an edition of the Cyranides is not compelling. . Alpers also establishes a terminus post quem for the earliest version of the Kyranos-books by demonstrating that 'Kyranos' made use of the Christian moralizing bestiary called ‘Physiologus’. The acrostics in Harpocration's work containing the names Magnus and Marcellinus almost certainly provide welcome confirmation of a fourthcentury date for Harpocration and consequently for Alpers' sug-

gested late fourth-century environment for the Cyranides.* Book 1 of the Cyranides has a format which distinguishes it from the rest of the work. It contains twenty-four alphabetically ordered

chapters. In each of these are enumerated, both individually and in combination, the magical-medical properties of four entities which share a common initial letter, these entities being plant, bird, stone, and fish. The first chapter, for example, begins στοιχεῖον a’.

ἄμπελος λευκή, ἀετὸς πτηνόν, ἀειτίτης λίθος, ἀετὸς ἰχθὺς ἀλέπιδος καὶ οὗτος θαλάσσιος. Each chapter also contains a description of an amulet made of the relevant stone and containing in its design one or more of the other entities. The remaining books (of the four-volume edition) comprise a bestiary in which the magical powers of the bodyparts, secretions, and so on, of creatures from the animal world are

described. Book 2 deals for the most part with land animals (loosely

categorised as ζῷα τετράποδα), book 3 with birds, and book 4 with aquatic creatures. This, the order in which the bestiary is printed in Kaimakis' edition, represents the best tradition: some manuscripts

differ in the ordering of these books. Not all manuscripts carry the prologue and first book, transmitting — in varying formats and often with considerable divergence of content — only the bestiary. The etymologies In what follows the references are to the book, chapter and line-

numbers in the standard, but unfortunately very defective and now out-of-date edition of D. Kaimakis (note 7). For the important recently discovered manuscript M see note 22. I have occasionally and for the most part tacitly corrected Kaimakis' text. Justifications of these corrections have appeared or will appear elsewhere. References to the Latin version (made at Constantinople in 1169) are

to the page and line number of the fine edition of Louis Delatte in Textes latins et vieux francais relatifs aux Cyranides (Liege-Paris 1942).

340

DAVID BAIN

I have recorded two sorts of etymology, the explicit ones in which the name is followed by something to the effect that ‘people call such and such this because ...' (15 of the 28 etymologies listed are in this category), and the implicit ones where one may deduce from the way a name is described or from the words that are associated with it that some sort of etymological connection is in play. The second sort is often the product of ‘name’ magic, which plays an important role in the kind of sympathetic/homeopathic magic/folk medicine forming the substance of the work. Eugene S. McCartney has given a good

description of this ‘verbal homeopathy’: As an organ or part of a body of a human being may affect a similar organ or part of another so the possession by one object of a name identical with or closely resembling that of another, even though there be little or no resemblance in function or appearance, enables it to

exert some magic influence.’ Transparent or common etymologies or ones requiring little illustration are left unannotated or barely annotated. I append some notes on the more subtle etymologies or on ones that seem to me to require some discussion.

1,

AHAQN

ἀηδὼν στρουθίον ἐστὶ γνωστὸν πᾶσι, παρόμοιον χελιδόνι. τοῦτο

ἕαρος ἀρχομένου οὐδέποτε παύεται ᾷδον νυκτὸς καὶ ἡμέρας καὶ λιγυρᾷ τῇ φωνῇ ὅθεν τοὔνομα ἔχει διὰ τὸ ἀεὶ ἄδειν. (3.4.1-3) An alternative etymology is implied later in the section when it is stated that the eyes of the nightingale cure nausea: παύουσι δὲ πᾶσαν ἀηδίαν. (Cyr. 3.4.9)

2.

ANOIAZ

ἀνθίας ἰχθύς ἐστι μέγιστος. τούτου ἡ χολὴ σὺν μέλιτι χριομένη ἐξανθήματα θεραπεύει καὶ ἀνθηρὸν τὸ πρόσωπον ποιεῖ. (4.3.2) ἐξανθήματα and ἀνθηρόν i

3.

"cate the presence of name magic.

APIIH

ἅρπη ὄρνεόν ἐστιν ἁρπακτικόν. (3.5.2) 4.

BYZZA

βύσσα ὁ καὶ κάραβος θαλάσσιος. ἐκλήθη δὲ βύσσα ὁμοιότητα τῶν βυσσάλων (I. βησσάλων). (1.2.7.

διὰ τὴν

THE MAGIC OF NAMES: SOME ETYMOLOGIES

IN THE CYRANIDES

341

βύσσα is one of the many unusual names found in this work. If one accepts this etymology, it ought perhaps to be spelled βῆσσα, or rather Bfjca, in view of διὰ τὴν ὁμοιότητα τῶν BucoóAov i.e. βησσάλων: the Latin has bissa and bissalon (id est tegularum rubearum (31.6ff.)). βήσ(σ)αλον is a borrowing from the Latin bessalis (more properly besalis: see TLL s.v.) which was originally an

adjective indicating the size of a brick or tile.'° Note that whoever suggested this etymology creature in its cooked rather than natural state.!! 5.

thought of the

AENAPOKOAATITHX

δενδροκολάπτης πτηνόν ἐστι πᾶσι γνωστόν, τῷ μεγέθει ὡς ὄρτυξ. κολάπτει δὲ τὰς δρῦς, ἐλαίας τε καὶ καρύας ἵνα νοσσεύῃ ἔνδον τοῦ στελέχους. (1.4. 10ff.) δρυοκολάπτης is the usual word (a relic of the time when δρῦς was

the generic word for tree; see Dunbar on Aristophanes Birds 480): δενδροκολάπτης which LSJ give only from a glossary is also found as an alternative to δρυοκολάπτης at 3.12.2. Obscure names for creatures and plants are a characteristic feature of the work, (cf.

above). Here is a case of one which is not determined by alphabetic needs and does not totally square with the etymology given.'?

6.

EYBOH

εὐβοὴ πτηνόν ἐστιν ὃ καὶ ἀηδὼν καλεῖται, ὑπὸ πάντων ywookóμενον. (1.5.4) εὐβοή, another unusual name, obviously refers to the renowned power of the nightingale's song.'?

7. EXENHIZ" ναυκράτης ἰχθὺς θαλάσσιός ἐστιν, ἡ Exevnic. οὗτος ἐὰν κολληθῇ πλοίῳ ἀρμενίζοντι, οὐκ ἐᾷ αὐτὸ κινηθῆναι ὅλως, εἰ μὴ ἀπωσθῇ τῆς τροπῖδος αὐτοῦ. (1.13.11)

Compare also the entry in book four under the heading περὶ Eyevnidoc: tyevnic ἰχθύς ἐστιν ἐναργής." οὗτος τοιαύτην φυσικὴν δύναμιν ἔχει’ ἐὰν κολληθῇ ἴστησιν αὐτό. (4.18.2.

8.

πλοίῳ ἀρμενίζοντι φερομένῳ οὐρίᾳ,

HAONIA'!®

ἡδονία ἰχθύς ἐστι θαλάσσιος kai ποτάμιος Sv xai ἀφύδιόν φασι.

342

DAVID BAIN

abt ἐσθιομένη ζωμιστὴ καὶ πινομένη ἔντασιν ποιεῖ xal νεφριτικοὺς ὠφελεῖ. (4.22.2ff.) ἔντασις is common in the work referring to an erection (see Bain (note 22) 448) and ἡδονή is not unexpectedly often to be found in erotic contexts. In this text the latter also has the appearance of a technical term referring to the sex act. Pleasure is connected in medical writing with conception." Note especially the description of the effects of a love elixir: ἔστι yap ξηρίον ἡδονικὸν kai εὐσύλ-

ÀAnmtov: ἐὰν οὖν τις πρὸ ὥρας τῆς συνουσίας πάσῃ ξαυτοῦ τὸ αἰδοῖον ἐκ τοῦ γινομένου ξηρίου ἀπὸ τῆς βοτάνης εἶθ᾽ οὕτως συνέλθῃ τῇ γυναικί, συλλαβεῖν αὐτὴν ἐργάσεται" πλὴν πρὸ τοῦ πάσαι τὸ αἰδοῖον, ὀφείλει χρῖσαι τοῦτο μέλιτι" εἰ γὰρ μὴ χρίσαις,

ὀγκοῦται ὑπὸ τοῦ ξηρίου σφόδρα καὶ ὑπερεκτείνεται εἰς μέγεθος ἀσύμμετρον τῇ γυναικὶ διὰ τὴν ἄφατον ἡδονήν. ὁμοίως καὶ ἡ γυνὴ ἐὰν χρίσῃ ἀπὸ τούτου κροκύδιον καὶ θῇ περὶ αἰδοῖον, εὐσύλληπτος ἔσται, γενήσεται «δὲ;» ἔντασις μεγάλη καὶ ἡδονή. (1.18.15ff.)!?

The name of the bird suggests sexual pleasure. 9.

HIIAP

ἧπαρ ἰχθύς ἔστι μαλακός, ἀργός, ἧπαρ μέγα ἔχων. (4.21.2)

10.

KYPANIAEZ

εἰς τρεῖς οὖν διελὼν Kupavidac τὸ πᾶν σύνταγμα ἐσαφήνισα κατὰ στοιχεῖον ὧς ἐμνημόνευται τὰ πράγματα. Κυρανίδες εἴρηνται διὰ τὸ τῶν ἄλλων γραφεισῶν βίβλων βασιλίσσας εἶναι ταύτας.

(prologue 24ff.) The spelling of the name of the title of the work is still a matter of dispute.'® This is not the place to enter into an extended discussion of the topic. I shall, however, set out a brief account of the facts and

declare my own view. Two alternative spellings are to be found, one with ot in the first syllable, the other with v. Manuscript evidence properly weighed favours v, but given that ot and v were interchangeable in later Greek, cannot decisively settle the question. One

must proceed from what is said about the title in the work itself. According to Harpocration the work inscribed on the stele found near Babylon which had been brought from Syria was entitled 1| Kupavic (prologue 70). The redactor describes the work as a combination of Harpocration's book and the three books of Kupavidec compiled by the Persian king Kopavóc. This seems to me to favour the assumption of an original v. Merkelbach, however, thinks otherwise: “Dagegen ist die Ableitung von einem ‘Perserkönig

THE MAGIC OF NAMES: SOME ETYMOLOGIES IN THE CYRANIDES

343

Kyranos’, welche in derselben Einleitung vorgeschlagen wird, ein Unding. Der Perserkónig hiess Kyros, und von Kyros führt gram-

matisch kein Weg zu einer patronymischen Bildung Kupavic.””° This does not acknowledge that the Kupavidec are secondary to the Kupavic and therefore that Kupavóg (Koipavog is admittedly an attested personal name), basing himself on Harpocration will have used the v-spelling (one would not expect subtleties of knowledge regarding word-formation or respect for the truth regarding Iranian history from such an author). It will have been the redactor who etymologised from Κοίρανος and prologue 26-28 should accordingly

be regarded *Kyranos'.?! ll.

as one

of his interpolations

in the prologue

of

AABPAS

Kai λάβρως ἐσθίειν παρασκευάζει φορουμένη ξηρά. (4.39.5) λάβρως, or rather λαύρως, is the reading of the recently discovered

Venetian manuscript M (Marc. Gr. 512 (678)):? Kaimakis’ text runs ξηρὰ δὲ φορουμένη λαμπρῶς ἐσθίειν καὶ ἐνδόξως παρασκευάζει. For λάβρως used of voracious eating compare [Arist.] Probl. 20.34: διὰ ti τὸ πήγανον βασκανίας φασὶ φάρμακον εἶναι; ἢ διότι βασκαίνεσθαι δοκοῦσι λάβρως ἐσθίοντες. Note that the λάβραξ is described as βορώτατος by Manuel Philes (1866).

12.

AAMIIYPIZ

λαμπυρὶς σκώληξ ἐστὶ πτερωτός, τῷ θέρει ἱπτάμενος, καὶ λάμπει ὥσπερ ἀστὴρ τὴν νύκτα. (3.26.2f.)

See G.P.

Shipp Modern

Greek Evidence for the Ancient

Greek

Vocabulary (Sydney 1979) 357 and M. Davies-J. Kathirithamby Greek Insects (London 1986) 158f. Note that the word is sometimes spelled λαμπουρίς, presumably under the influence of οὐρά. This would correspond to alternative names like πυγολαμπίς and MG κωλοφωτιά.

13.

AYTTOYPOX

λύγγουρος δὲ λίθος ἐστὶν Ex τοῦ ὄρους τῆς Avyyóc ὀνομαζόμενος.

(1.11.5f.) The usual explanation of the name is that the stone was thought to

consist of the frozen urine of the lynx?? and this etymology is reflected in some of the manuscripts.^ The etymology found in the text printed by Kaimakis is from the mountain or rather a mountain

344

DAVID BAIN

range in Epirus called Lynkos.?? I know of no parallel for this. There is as far as I know no tradition connecting that region with precious stones. It would be tempting, particularly in view of the feminine article with Avyyóc, to think in terms of textual corruption, but it does not seem probable that the mountain should have come into the text by accident. 14.

MEAIZZOZ

μελισσὸς στρουθίον ἐστὶν ᾷδον καλῶς τῷ θέρει. οὗτος καεὶς Kai σὺν μέλιτι λειωθεὶς καὶ χρισθεὶς μελικηρίδας2 καὶ στεατώματα θεραπεύει. (3.27.2ff.) The connection with μέλιτι and μελικηρίδας suggests once more

that name/homeopathic magic is in play. 15.

MEPOY

μέροψ στρουθίον ἐστὶν óAonpáciov, tà δὲ πτερὰ πορφυρᾶ, Sv τινες γάγγραιναν ὀνομάζουσιν. ἔστι δὲ φρόνιμον καὶ πολλὰ ποιεῖ ὅσα καὶ ἡ ἀλκυονίς. (3.30.2f.)

φρόνιμον perhaps indicates a connection with mankind regarded as rational creatures. I am not sure that the acrostic in 1.4.55 contains a reference to this bird. The Latin translator there uses animal to translate μέροψ (38.5). 16.

NAYKPATHE?”

See above on EXENHIZ.

17.

NEKYAIA

ἐπειδὴ δὲ τοῦτο κατέχουσιν ἐν ταῖς vexvopavteiaic ταῖς διὰ λεκάνης γενομέναις οἱ τὰ τοιαῦτα πράττοντες, διὰ τοῦτο καὶ ἐκάλουν τὰ τοιαῦτα φύλλα νεκύδια. (1.13.5)

18.

ΝΕΜΕΣΙΤΗΣ

νεμεσίτης ἐστὶ λίθος αἱρόμενος ἀπὸ βωμοῦ Νεμέσεως. (1.13.16)

19.

ΝΗ͂ΣΣΑ

νῆσσα πτηνόν ἐστι νηχόμενον ἐν τοῖς κύμασιν. (1.13.9f.)

20.

ΠΑΓΧΡΟΥΣ

εὔανθος λίθος ἐστὶ πάγχρυσος᾽

οὗτος ἀνῆκεν τῇ ᾿Αφροδίτῃ ὅτι

THE MAGIC OF NAMES: SOME ETYMOLOGIES

IN THE CYRANIDES

345

πολύχρωμός ἐστι xai ἀερώδης ἢ ὡς κύανος ἔχων χρυσὰς lvac7*

(1.5.7) 21.

ΠΑΙΩΝΙΑ

γλυκυσίδῃη βοτάνη ἐστὶν ἡ καὶ παιωνία᾽ ἐκλήθη δὲ παιωνία διὰ τὸ τὸν Παίωνα αὐτὴν εὑρηκέναι. (1.3.3f.) Compare also de paeonia? (CCAG VIII.2.167.2-3): παιωνία δὲ εἴρηται διὰ τὸ τὸν Παίωνα αὐτὴν εὑρηκέναι, ἥ τις τετελεσμένη

λέγεται ἐν τῇ πρὸ ταύτης βίβλῳ ἀρχαϊκῇ xaXoupévg.?? 22.

MAATYKEPQZ/TIAATONIZ?!

τούτων (sc. ἐλάφων) ἐστὶν εἴδη τρία᾽ γνώριμα δὲ τὰ ζῶια“ ὁ μὲν καλεῖται πλατύκερως ἔχων κέρατα πλατέα ὑψηλά. (2.1 1.2ff.)

23.

PA®IZ?

ῥαφὶς ἰχθὺς θαλάσσιος μικρός, ὡς ῥαφίδα ἔχων τὸ στόμα. (1.17.5)

24.

ZEIZOIIYTIZ

σεισοπυγὶς

στρουθίον

τούτου ἡ moy? (3.41.2f.)? 25.

δι

παρ᾽

ὅλου

ὀχετοῖς

κινεῖται

καὶ ῥύμαις εὑρισκόμενον.

διὸ

καὶ

οὕτως

ὠνομάσθη.

XZYATPOEX

σύαγρός ἐστι χοῖρος ἄγριος. (2.35.2)

26.

ΤΑΙΤΗΣ

ταίτης λίθος ἐστὶ ποικίλος, εὐανθής, πάγχρους καλούμενος. (1.19.6)

ὅμοιος

τῷ ταῶνι

ὁ καὶ

On the basis of the occurrence of ταωνίτης (with etymology) in the

lapidary

work

Socrates et Dionysius 45.4^^ (τοῦτον

τὸν λίθον

λέγουσι πάγχρουν, καλεῖται ὑπό τινων ταωνίτης διὰ τὸ ἔχειν αὐτὸν χροιὰς πολλὰς καὶ ποικίλας" ἔχει γὰρ ἐν ἑαυτῷ ὡς ἐπὶ ταῶνος

μόρφωσιν), Keydell® suggested that we read ταωνίτης here. The discovery of further manuscripts of the Cyranides$ has not unearthed any support for his suggestion. It should be added that the Latin version is at one with the Greek manuscripts here: taitis lapis est pulcherrimus sicut et pauo eique similis (80.14). LSJ give ταίτης solely from our passage and the LSJ supplement gives tawvitns solely from the lapidary. utrum in alterum? Or are we presented with

346

DAVID BAIN

equally valid alternative forms of the name for the stone? 27. YAPOZ ὕδρος ὄφις ἐστὶ τὰ πολλὰ Ev τοῖς ὕδασι διαιτώμενος. (4.65.2) 28. ΧΡΥΣΙΤΙΣ χρυσίτης λίθος ποικίλος ὡς χρυσίζων. (1.22.6)? 29.

ΩΜΙΣ

ὠμίδα δὲ ἑκάλεσαν τὴν μαινίδα διὰ τὸ ἔχειν αὐτὴν ἐν τοῖς ὦμοις

μεγίστην δύναμιν. (1.24.70f.) Addendum Shortly after submitting this paper I received from Maryse Waegeman a copy of an article which is shortly to appear in Scholia (see note 9).

It seems worthwhile mentioning four further examples she has observed of verbal homeopathy involving etymological connections between animal and disease or body part and two others (the first and antepenultimate) which I myself observed shortly after submission.

ΓΟΜΦΟΣ οἱ δὲ ὀδόντες αὐτοῦ (sc. τοῦ γόμφου) περιαπτόμενοι ὀδονταλγίαν ἰῶνται τελείων καὶ νηπίων. (4.11.4-5) Clearly a connection is being made between γόμφος and γομφίος, ‘grinder-tooth’.

OPIZZA 0pícon ἰχθύς

ἔστι

θαλάσσιος

μικρός.

αὕτη

ὀπτὴ

ἐσθιομένη

κωλικοὺς καὶ στομαχικοὺς καὶ νεφριτικοὺς ὀνίνησι, παστὴ δὲ ἐσθιομένη δυσουρίαν ἰᾶται, καυθεῖσα δὲ ἡ τέφρα μετὰ κρινομύρου

τρίχας καλὰς ποιεῖ καὶ πολλὰς καὶ τὰς ῥεούσας ἴστησιν. (4.24) ΜΑΙΝΙΣ ἐκλήθη δὲ μαινὶς διὰ τὸ ἔχειν σκευὴν μανίας τοιαύτην. (1.24.80)

ΡΙΝΗ ῥίνη ἰχθύς ἐστι θαλάσσιος. ταύτης τὸ δέρμα καυθὲν καὶ λειωθὲν καὶ

THE MAGIC OF NAMES: SOME ETYMOLOGIES

IN THE CYRANIDES

347

ἐπιχρισθὲν φύματα ἰᾶται Kai τὰς Ex ῥινῶν aipoppayiac totnot.

(4.56) ΣΕΛΙΝΟΝ ἔχει δὲ γλυφὴν σελήνην ὡς στηθιαίαν, ὑπὸ δὲ τὸν λίθον σελίνου ἀγόνου ῥίζαν ἐν ληνείῳ χρυσῷ. (1.10.94ff.)

ΤΡΙΧΑΙΟΣ (OPIZZA) τριχαῖος ἰχθύς ἐστι θαλάσσιος. τούτου ἡ κεφαλὴ καυθεῖσα καὶ σὺν

μέλιτι χρισθεῖσα τὰ πλαδαρὰ τῶν ἑλκῶν ἰᾶται καὶ ἀλωπεκίας δασύνει. σὺν ἐλαίῳ δὲ τακεῖσα καὶ διηθηθεῖσα καὶ μιγεῖσα μετὰ λαδάνου καὶ ἀδιάντου τὰς ῥεούσας τρίχας τῆς κεφαλῆς ἴστησιν.

(4.63) ΧΗΛΟΣ χηλὸς ἰχθύς ἔστι θαλάσσιος. τούτου τὸ στέαρ μετὰ χυλοῦ τήλεως λειωθὲν καὶ χρισθὲν τὰς ἐν τοῖς χείλεσι γινομένας ῥαγάδας ἰᾶται.

(4.71) For discussion οὗ θρίσση, μαινίς, τριχαῖος and χηλός the reader is referred to Waegeman’s forthcoming article.

NOTES l|.

This paper originated as a set of notes sent to the editors of the Leeds Greek Etymology Project in response to their announcement in Gnomon 66 (1994) 655: I am grateful to Francis Cairns for inviting me to convert it into a publication.

2.

ἈΚ. Maltby A Lexicon of Ancient Latin Etymologies (ARCA 25, Leeds 1991).

3.

(nl).

4.

Thenextfour paragraphs of this article represent a slightly revised version of part of an essay which originally appeared in the festschrift honouring Sir Kenneth Dover (D. Bain ‘“‘Treading Birds": an unnoticed use of natéw (Cyranides,

1.10.27, 1.19.9)’, in Owls to Athens: essays on Classical subjects presented to Sir

Kenneth Dover ed. E.M. Craik (Oxford Cyranides in standard reference books Alpers [n.6] is in any case hopelessly composing the RAC article which will spelling is not my choice: see above).

1990) 295-304). Existing accounts of the are unsatisfactory (anything written preoutdated). I am at present engaged in appear under the title **Koeranides" (the

5.

G. Fowden The Egyptian Hermes: a Historical Approach to the Late Pagan Mind? (Princeton 1993) 87.

6.

K. Alpers Untersuchungen zum griechischen Physiologus und den Kyraniden’ Vestigia Bibliae: Jahrbuch des deutschen Bibel-Archivs, Hamburg 6 (1984) 13-87.

DAVID BAIN

D. Kaimakis Die Kyraniden (Beitrdge zur klassischen Philologie edd. E. Heitsch, R. Merkelbach and C. Zintzen, 76, Meisenheim am Glan, 1976). For the acrostics found in book one see M.L. West 'Magnus and Marcellinus: unnoticed acrostics in the Cyranides’ CQ n.s. 32 (1982) 480f. and R. Führer *Noch ein Akrostichon in den Kyraniden' ZPE 58 (1985) 270. Magnus is most likely to be the famous doctor (PLRE i, Magnus 7) and Marcellinus might even be the great Ammianus. Doubts about this last have recently been expressed by J. Matthews

‘The Origin of Ammianus!

CQ

n.s. 44 (1994) 252-69, 260f. There

remain some difficult loose ends regarding the chronology and authorship of the work. I hope to return to these topics in greater detail later. See E.S. McCartney ‘Verbal Homeopathy and the Etymological Story’ AJPh 48 (1927) 326-43 and R. Strémberg Studien zur Etymologie und Bildung der iechischen Fischnamen (Goeteborg 1943) 44, 90, and the forthcoming article by . Waegeman entitled ‘Metaphor and Verbal Homoeopathy’ Scholia 4 (1995). T am extremely grateful to Dr Waegeman for sending me a typescript of this excellent article in advance of publication. In it she demonstrates that "pure homoeopathy, based on physical similarity cannot clearly be distinguished from verbal homoeopathy, based on homonymy or homophony”. She also notes some

examples of verbal homeopathy in the Cyranides mentioned in the present article. See my Addendum. 10.

additional

to the ones

There is a bird called βύσσα (quite often fish have the same name in Greek as birds). See D'Arcy W. Thompson A Glossary of Greek Birds? (London 1936) 67,

s.v. Bota = Boas.

M.

I have either read or seen on television a detective story in which the breaking of the murderer's alibi hinged upon his/her mistaken description of the colour of a live crustacean.

12.

This was already observed by E.H.F. Meyer Geschichte der Botanik. Studien II (Konigaber 1855): see G. Panayiotou ‘Paralipomena Lexicographica Cyranidea’ ICS 15 (1990) 295-338, passim.

13.

For this compare Thompson (n.10) 19f.

14.

This word abusio: see

15.

lege Eve ? *Effective' is much more to the point here than ‘apparent’, ‘plain’: . 2.3.13f., ἡ yàp δύναμις τούτου ἐνεργής. In fact ἐναργής is transmitted only by a single manuscript, I. Of the other eight manuscripts three omit it (WKS), the rest (AGHFO) have ἐνεργής. In effect we have a situation where the manuscripts are two to one in favour of ἐνεργής (GHF, as I am convinced, have no independent value). They are supported by the Latin version which reads echeneis piscis est efficacissimus (186.13). Alternation between forms of ἐνεργής and ἐναργής is common in the mss of the work. For a discussion see my forthcoming article ‘Eight conjectures in the Cyranides’ ICS 20 (1995).

16.

ἡδονίς (presumably a by-form) is also found (1.7.2, 1.7.15), but it is not etymologised and its uses are merely medicinal.

17.

See the note at Supplementum Magicum 2.79.7ff. (R.W. Daniel-F. Maltomini Supplementum Magicum Vol. II (Opladen 1992)). The Passage in question runs: (84 (to be addressed to the woman) σοῦ τὴν ἡδονὴν τῷ δ(εῦνα᾽ μετέδωκά ooi τὴν ἐμὴν ἡδονήν .... ἡδονικόν is also the vox propria for a spell designed to achieve sexual satisfaction.

18.

Compare also 1.18.5, 1.18.20f., 1.18.43, 1.18.52, 2.5.8, 2.11.18, 2.29.10, 2.38.21, 3.7.11, 3.22.8, 3.32.5, 3.43.8, 3.55.16, 4.42 Meschini, 4.58.6, 4.74.6.

goes back at least as far as Aeschylus who uses it in a memorable Fraenkel on Aesch. Ag. 149.

THE MAGIC OF NAMES: SOME ETYMOLOGIES

IN THE CYRANIDES

349

19.

Alpers (n.6) 17, 61 n.55 regards the matter as settled, arguing that the manuscripts demonstrate that the title was Kupavidec.

20.

Merkelbach ap. R. Merkelbach and M. Totti Abrasax: Ausgewählte Papyri religiósen und magischen Inhalts 2 (Opladen 1991) 8 n.4.

21.

On κοίρανος see, as well as the etymological dictionaries and LfrgrE, A. Heubeck (‘xolpavoc, κόρραγος und Verwandtes’ WJbb 4 (1978) 91-98) who, building on F. Solmsen ‘Eine griechische Namensippe' Glotta 1 (1909) 76-82, derives it from *koira