Ruthenia Classica Aetatis Novae: A Collection of Works by Russian Scholars in Ancient Greek and Roman History 3515103449, 9783515103442

Citation preview

Ruthenia Classica Aetatis Novae Edited by Andreas Mehl / Alexander V. Makhlayuk / Oleg Gabelko

Ruthenia Classica Aetatis Novae A Collection of Works by Russian Scholars in Ancient Greek and Roman History Edited by Andreas Mehl / Alexander V. Makhlayuk / Oleg Gabelko

Franz Steiner Verlag

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek: Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über abrufbar. Dieses Werk einschließlich aller seiner Teile ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung außerhalb der engen Grenzen des Urheberrechtsgesetzes ist unzulässig und strafbar. © Franz Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart 2013 Druck: Offsetdruck Bokor, Bad Tölz Gedruckt auf säurefreiem, alterungsbeständigem Papier. Printed in Germany. ISBN 978-3-515-10344-2

CONTENTS Andreas Mehl Preface.....................................................................................................................  7 Abbreviations..........................................................................................................  9 List of Illustrations................................................................................................  11 Alexander V. Makhlayuk, Oleg L. Gabelko Classical Studies in Russia at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century: A Collective Portrait in Contemporary Context....................................................  13 Mikhail F. Vysokii Ancient Greek Legislation on Sicily: The Laws of Charondas............................  31 Igor Е. Surikov Herodotus and the Philaids...................................................................................  45 Eduard V. Rung Herodotus and Greek Medism..............................................................................  71 Maxim M. Kholod On the Financial Relations of Alexander the Great and the Greek Cities in Asia Minor: The Case of Syntaxis................................... 83  Ivan A. Ladynin A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra from the State Hermitage, St. Petersburg (Inv. No. ДВ 2507а): A Native View of Early Macedonian Rule in Egypt.............................................  93 Svyatoslav V. Smirnov Тhe Еlephant Сhariots at Daphne: An Aspect of the Ideological Policy of Antiochus IV.........................................  117 Yuri N. Kuzmin The Macedonian Aristocratic Family of Harpaloi-Polemaioi from Beroea........  123 Roman V. Lapyrionok Some Critical Notes on Peter Brunt’s Reconstruction of the Conduct of the Roman Census.................................................................  133

6

Contents

Yevgenij V. Smykov Sulla in the East: Venus contra Dionysum..........................................................  145 Anton V. Korolenkov Mithridates and Sertorius....................................................................................  159 Oleg L. Gabelko A Historical and Epigraphic Commentary on Hypsicrateia’s Epitaph................  173 Alexander V. Makhlayuk The Roman Citizenry in Arms: The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army....................  185 Konstantin V. Markov The Concepts of ‘Democracy’ and ‘Tyranny’ in the Speech of Agrippa (Cassius Dio LII. 1–13): Conventional Rhetoric or Political Theory?.......................................................  215 Contributors........................................................................................................  233

PREFACE Andreas Mehl Between 2003 and 2010 several Russian classicists, most of them relatively young, were invited as guests of the Professur für Klassische Altertumswissenschaften of the Martin-Luther-Universität Halle-Wittenberg to do research on a topic of their own choice, financed by a grant from the university. The Russian guests and their colleagues at the host institution discussed these topics and also the general situation of classics in Russia. A theme of these discussions was that – according to the saying ‘Rossica non leguntur’ – Russian research in the classics, insofar as it is written in the Russian language, was and is mostly unknown in the Western hemisphere. This simple diagnosis gave birth to first a vague idea and then the concrete plan to publish a volume with contributions from – mostly younger – ancient historians from Russia. The aim of this project is to show what has been done in ancient history in the first two decades of the post-Soviet era. In consequence, the present volume has no general theme, but instead each contributor has chosen the topic he presents here according to his own interests and his personal research focus. The result is, as the editors think, a vivid, even though not complete, picture of the wide range in time, topic and method represented in Russian research in ancient history today. Nevertheless, one topic seemed absolutely necessary: to give the reader of the book a synopsis of the research done in Russia in the recent past and at present and of the conditions under which this research is pursued. This is done in an introductory article, with which the volume begins. To win as many readers as possible, the contributions are presented not in German, but in the English language. To understand truly what our Russian colleagues can achieve in their research, one should be aware of two general difficulties they face. For economic reasons the younger among them often have two jobs, and frequently only one of them is academic. And they all suffer from a lack of accessible scholarly literature. Their stays in Halle were thus important in enabling them to find and read old and new literature. In addition, their visits marked the beginning of friendly contacts between them and colleagues at the chair of ancient history in Halle. As a result, this volume has become a document of friendship between a group of Russian and German ancient historians. This book owes its existence to several persons and institutions. The co-editors Alexander Makhlayuk and Oleg Gabelko corresponded, with much patience, with the authors on the one hand and with the subscribed on the other hand, and they did a lot for the technical preparation of the book. Orla Mulholland, an English native speaker living in Berlin and both a translator and a classicist, revised and improved the English version and helped prepare the volume for print. All contributors express their deep gratitude for her scrupulous and thoughtful work. This linguistic

8

Preface

revision was financed with a considerable sum given by the DFG-Sonderforschungsbereich 586 “Differenz und Integration. Wechselwirkungen zwischen nomadischen und sesshaften Lebensformen in Zivilisationen der Alten Welt” and the technical revision with a smaller sum given by the DFG-Schwerpunktprogramm 1209 “Die hellenistische Polis als Lebensform. Urbane Strukturen und bürgerliche Identität zwischen Tradition und Wandel”. Kai Brodersen, Professor of Ancient History at the University of Erfurt and its President, helped to find a publisher. The Franz Steiner Verlag and its Katharina Stüdemann accepted the book for publication. The subscribed expresses his warm thanks to all mentioned here. Halle, November 2012 Andreas Mehl

ABBREVIATIONS AAe AArchHung ABSA AC ACUD AE AHB AJA AJAH AJPh AMA AncSoc ANRW ASNP AW BCH BIFAO BJ CAH CB CE CIL CIRB CJ CPh CPL CQ CRAI CSCA DB DKP DNP EA EAM EE EKM

Antiquitas Aeterna. Kazan; Nizhny Novgorod; Saratov Acta archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae. Budapest Annual of the British School at Athens. Athens; London L’Antiquité classique. Louvain-la-Neuve Acta classica universitatis Debreceniensis. Debrecen Année épigraphique. Paris The Ancient History Bulletin. Calgary American Journal of Archaeology: The Journal of the Archaeological Institute of America. Boston (Mass.) American Journal of Ancient History. Cambridge (Mass.) American Journal of Philology. Baltimore Antichnyj mir i archeologija. Saratov Ancient Society. Leuven Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt. Berlin; New York Annali della Scuola normale superiore di Pisa, Classe di lettere e filosofia. Pisa Antike Welt. Mainz Bulletin de correspondance hellénique. Paris; Athens Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Cairo Bonner Jahrbücher des Rheinischen Landesmuseums in Bonn und des Rheinischen Amtes für Bodendenkmalpflege im Landschaftsverband Rheinland und des Vereins von Altertumsfreunden im Rheinlande. Cologne Cambridge Ancient History. Cambridge The Classical Bulletin: a Journal of International Scholarship and Special topics. Wauconda (Ill.) Chronique d’Égypte. Brussels Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum, consilio et auctoritate Academiae litterarum regiae Borussicae editum. Berlin, 1863 – … Corpus inscriptionum regni Bosporani. Moscow; Leningrad Classical Journal. Ashland (Va.) Classical Philology: a Journal Devoted to Research in Classical Antiquity. Chicago (Ill.) Cavenaile, R. Corpus Papyrorum Latinarum. Wiesbaden, 1958 Classical Quarterly. Cambridge Comptes-rendus des séances de l’année – Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres. Paris California Studies in Classical Antiquity. Berkeley (Calif.) Drevnosti Bospora. Moscow Der Kleine Pauly. Stuttgart Der Neue Pauly. Stuttgart Epigraphica Anatolica. Bonn Rizakis, Th., Touratsoglou, I. (eds.), Ἐπιγραφές Άνω Μακεδονίας I, Athens, 1985 Ephemeris Epigraphica. Corporis inscriptionum Latinarum supplementum, edita iussu Instituti Archaeologici Romani. Berlin, 1872–1879; 1903–1913 Gounaropoulou, L., Hatzopoulos, M. B. (eds.), Επιγραφές Κάτω Μακεδονίας I. Επιγραφές Βεροίας. Athens, 1998

10

Abbreviations

FGrH Jacoby, F. (ed.), Die Fragmente der Griechischen Historiker, I–III, Berlin; Leiden, 1923–1958 FIRA Riccobono, S. et al., Fontes Iuris Romani Anteiustiniani, 2nd edn, 3 vols. Florence, 1940–1943 G&R Greece and Rome. Oxford GLP Graecolatina Pragensia. Prague GöttMisz Göttinger Miszellen GRBS Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies. Durham (N. C.) Heisserer Heisserer, A. J. Alexander the Great and the Greeks. The Epigraphic Evidence. Norman, 1980 Hicks/Hill2, GHI Hicks, E. L., Hill, G. F., A Manual of Greek Historical Inscriptions, 2nd ed. Oxford, 1901 HSCP Harvard Studies in Classical Philology. Cambridge (Mass.) HThR Harvard Theological Review. Cambridge (Mass.) I.Erythrai Engelmann, H., Merkelbach, R. (eds.), Die Inschriften von Erythrai und Klazomenai, I–II. Bonn, 1972–1973 I.Iasos Blümel, W. (ed.), Die Inschriften von Iasos, I–II. Bonn, 1985 I.Priene Hiller von Gaertringen, F. (ed.), Die Inschriften von Priene. Berlin, 1906 IAnt Ius Antiquum. Moscow IDR Inscriptions de la Dacie romaine: inscriptions externes concernant l’histoire de la Dacie (Ier–IIIe siècles). Recueil, commentaires et index par C. C. Petolescu, I–II. Bucharest, 1996–2000 IG Inscriptiones Graecae. Berlin IK Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien. Bonn ILLRP Degrassi, A. (ed.), Inscriptiones latinae liberae rei publicae, fasc. 1–2. Florence, 1957–1963 ILS Dessau, H. (ed.), Inscriptiones Latinae selectae, I–III. Berlin, 1892–1916; 2nd edn 1954–1955 IvPergamon Die Inschriften von Pergamon. Unter Mitw. von F. Fabricius und C. Schuchhardt. Hrsg. von M. Fränkel. I. Bis zum Ende der Königszeit. Berlin, 1890 JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies. New Haven JEA The Journal of Egyptian Archaeology. London JHS The Journal of Hellenic Studies. London JJP The Journal of Juristic Papyrology. Warsaw JRA Journal of Roman Archaeology. Portsmouth (R. I.) JRMES Journal of Roman Military Equipment Studies. Oxford JRS The Journal of Roman Studies. London LGPN Fraser, P. M. et al. (eds.), A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names. Oxford MBPAR Münchener Beiträge zur Papyrusforschung und antiken Rechtsgeschichte. Munich MDAI(K) Mitteilungen des deutschen archäologischen Instituts, Abt. Kairo. Cairo MDIÄAK Mitteilungen des Deutschen Instituts für Ägyptische Altertumskunde in Kairo. Cairo MEFRA Mélanges de l’École française de Rome. Antiquité. Rome MGR Miscellanea greca e romana: studi pubblicati dall’Istituto Italiano per la Storia Antica. Rome MH Museum Helveticum. Schweizerische Zeitschrift für klassische . Altertumswissenschaft. Basel MHR Mediterranean Historical Review. London NE Numizmatika i epigrafika. Moscow NRS Nuova rivista storica. Rome

Abbreviations OGIS OLZ P. Oxy PSI RosArch RA RAAN RC RDGE RE REA REgypt RhM Rhodes/Osborne, GHI RIB RMD SCI SEG SH SIG3 StV Syll.3 TAPhA Tod, GHI VDI ZPE



11

Dittenberger, W. (ed.), Orientis Graeci Inscriptiones Selectae, I–II. Leipzig, 1903–1905 Orientalistische Literaturzeitung. Zeitschrift für die Wissenschaft vom ganzen Orient und seinen Beziehungen zu den angrenzenden Kulturkreisen. Berlin The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. Ed. by the Egypt Exploration Fund, now by the Egypt Exploration Society. London, 1898–… Papyri greci e latini. Pubblicazioni della Società Italiana per la ricerca dei Papiri greci e latini in Egitto. Florence, 1912–… Rossijskaya arkheologiya. Moscow Revue archéologique. Paris Rendiconti della Accademia di Archeologia, Lettere e Belle Arti. Naples Welles, C. B. Royal Correspondence of the Hellenistic Period. New Haven (Conn.), 1934 Sherk, R. K. Roman Documents from the Greek East. Baltimore, 1969 Pauly–Wissowa, Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft, 83 vols. Stuttgart, 1894–1980 Revue des études anciennes. Talence Revue d’Égyptologie. Leuven; Paris Rheinisches Museum für Philologie. Frankfurt am Main Rhodes, P. J., Osborne, R. (eds.), Greek Historical Inscriptions, 400–323 B. C. Oxford, 2003 Collingwood, R. G., Wright, R. P. Roman Inscriptions of Britain I, Inscriptions on stone. Oxford, 1965 Roxan, M. M. Roman Military Diplomas 1954–1977, London, 1978; Eadem, Roman Military Diplomas 1978–1984, London, 1985; Eadem, Roman Military Diplomas 1985–1993, London, 1994 Scripta classica Israelica. Jerusalem Supplementum epigraphicum Graecum. Leiden Studia historica. Moscow Dittenberger, W. (ed.) Sylloge inscriptionum graecarum, I–IV. 3rd edn. Leipzig, 1915–1924 Bengtson, H., Schmitt, H. H. (eds.) Die Staatsverträge des Altertums, II–III, Munich 1962–1969 Dittenberger, W. (ed.) Sylloge inscriptionum Graecarum, I–IV. 3rd edn. Leipzig, 1915–1924 Transactions of the American Philological Association. Atlanta (Ga.) Tod, M. N., A Selection of Greek Historical Inscriptions, I–II. 2nd edn, Oxford, 1933–1948 Vestnik drevnej istorii. Moscow Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik. Bonn

ILLUSTRATIONS

Fig. 1. Early Hellenistic Egyptian clepsydra, State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg, Inv. No. ДВ 2507А. Fig. 2. Hellenistic and Roman Macedonia. Map by Yu. N. Kuzmin. Fig. 3. Letters of Demetrius to Harpalos. Veria, Archaeological museum. Photograph by Yu. N. Kuzmin.

CLASSICAL STUDIES IN RUSSIA AT THE BEGINNING OF THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY: A COLLECTIVE PORTRAIT IN CONTEMPORARY CONTEXT Alexander V. Makhlayuk (Nizhny Novgorod State University), Oleg L. Gabelko (Russian State University for the Humanities) The principal intention of the present volume is to acquaint western colleagues with the scholarly activity of a ‘young generation’ of Russian classicists and ancient historians, i. e. those who entered classical studies during the 1990s and with whom the present as well as the future of Russian classics and ancient history is linked. The contributors to the volume have taken the liberty of reckoning themselves part of such a generation both on the basis of some objective grounds and by formal age qualification: by now, almost all of them are in their thirties or forties. As our experience shows, such an acquaintance is currently a matter of importance. For, despite an appreciable multiplication and extension of contacts between Russian and Western scholars during the last decades, the classical studies pursued in modern Russia are poorly integrated into international scholarship; their tendencies and principal results are, by all accounts, a terra incognita and at times even a kind of exotic topic for the international academic community. So in what follows we would like to illuminate, on the one hand, the general historical context in which the classical disciplines emerged and developed in Russia and the USSR (although there are already some special works on this topic), and on the other hand to provide a brief outline of current features and problems of the present-day situation (about which next to nothing has been published). In this we shall pay attention less to concrete persons and works than to trends, basic factors and processes of change in the evolution of classical studies in contemporary Russia. Looking back, it is important to note some specific characteristics of the historical roots and development of Russian classical scholarship. In the pre-revolutionary period, classical studies in Russia, from their very origin as an academic and university discipline in the mid-eighteenth century right up to the mid-nineteenth century, held a ‘student position’ relative to western – above all, German – scholarship. The study of ancient history, classical education and classicism as a whole evolved as one of the directions taken by – and at the same time as one of the foundations of – the Europeanization of Russia that began in the reign of Peter the Great. A factor of exceptional importance in the successful formation of Russian classical scholarship was the availability of ancient archaeological monuments in the North and North-West of the Black Sea region, which made it possible to use and examine rich ancient materials in their specific regional variety

14

Alexander V. Makhlayuk / ���������������� Oleg L. Gabelko

without expending much money on expeditions abroad. This circumstance laid the foundations for the prompt and successful promotion not only of classical archaeology, but also of the scholarly fields of museum work, history of art, numismatics and epigraphy. From the mid-nineteenth century, many postgraduate students from Russian universities preparing to proceed to a professorship underwent their training at the most significant European academic centres (primarily in Germany), took courses under the direction of the most eminent specialists and subsequently promoted classical studies in Russia, and thus were well integrated into the international scholarly community. Thanks to direct government support, the personal efforts of particular scholars and teachers (initially from abroad and then from Russia itself) and the growing interest in classical antiquities among educated circles in Russian society,1 by the end of nineteenth century Russian classical scholarship had not only overcome its ‘student’ stage, but met the highest international academic standards, reached its fullest flower and became a real foundation for all the humanities.2 Nevertheless, in all fairness it must be noted that already after the reforms of the 1860s and 1870s the classical educational paradigm, and in the first place the official classicism inspired and propagated by the tsar’s government, had begun to be regarded by progressive intellectuals as something obsolete and antiquated that was invoked solely to serve conservative purposes and the interests of the authorities.3 The ironical attitude of society towards official classicism is strikingly exemplified by Anton Chekhov’s story “A Person Who Keeps Himself in Cotton Wool”, which portrays a teacher of Ancient Greek, Belikov, as a person absolutely isolated from real life, unable to understand anything in reality and afraid of everything. It is also noticeable that it was this period that saw the beginning of an informal division of scholarship into ‘metropolitan’ (in St. Petersburg and Moscow) and ‘provincial’ (all other towns, including even significant university cities), as well as into academician and university scholarship. At present we continue to reap the bitter fruits of this division, which only deepened in Soviet times. No polycentric system of universities as research centres took shape in Russia as it did in many Western countries. After the Bolsheviks’ coup in October 1917 and the subsequent establishment of Soviet power, the progress of Russian classical scholarship virtually came to a halt, like that of the humanities in general. Classical studies in Soviet Russia were 1

2

3

In pre-revolutionary Russia an educated section of society reached a quite high level of culture, thanks above all to widespread gymnasium education (there were classical gymnasia in all cities and many towns of the Russian Empire), which undoubtedly promoted strong public interest in classical history (one of many typical instances are housewives reading Plutarch). Frolov, E. D. 2006, 436. On the pre-Soviet development of Russian classical scholarship see also Buzeskul, V. P. 1929–1931; Tunkina, I. V. 2002; Klein, L. S. 2007; Swoboda, K. 1959. On the cultural and historical context in which the classical heritage was assimilated in Russia in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, see especially Wes, M. A. 1992; Knabe, G. S. 2000. Indeed, the gymnasium reform of 1871, which prescribed obligatory learning of two classical languages, was intended, as the vice-minister of education A. P. Nicolai acknowledged, “to contribute to sobering up the young people from modern free-thinking both religious and political” (Nikolai, A. P. 1899).

Classical Studies in Russia at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century

15

affected in full measure by the metamorphoses endured by Russian culture and society following the revolution. Many eminent scholars (Michael Rostovtzeff is the most famous instance) and ordinary specialists, including gymnasium teachers, went into exile; many perished in the years of the Civil War and Red or White terror, while those who survived in their native country were essentially deprived of any opportunity to continue their research and teaching activities. By the late 1920s, the majority of all scholarly approaches and schools, above all in the fields of classical philology, epigraphy and papyrology, had ceased to exist. Almost immediately after the Revolution and Civil War the targeted eradication of the traditional classical education began: gymnasia and faculties of history and philology were closed, most specialized periodicals and editions ceased (in pre-revolutionary times these had had a quite high international standing),4 scholarly and educational societies were abolished and archaeological investigations curtailed. The contacts between Russian and foreign colleagues were reduced almost to zero, as were the previous opportunities for Russian scholars to publish the results of their research in Western journals; also, for a good while educational and scholarly journeys abroad became impossible for them. It followed from this, of course, that Russian classical scholarship lost the solid and impressive level of attainment that it had achieved before the Revolution. It is worth emphasizing that the classical disciplines and the humanistic education very largely based on them turned out to be almost entirely alien to the so-called ‘proletarian culture’ that was being vigorously implanted by the Bolsheviks’ Party and they were officially considered as at best useless ‘leftovers’ of the old regime and at worst as reactionary and politically suspect fields, with all the ensuing consequences. Like the humanities as a whole, classical scholarship was subject to massive ideological pressure. In studies of even the most distant past, confirmation of the so-called formation theory of Karl Marx was made the cornerstone of history. Ancient history did not evade this fate, having become a ‘test-site’ for Marxist political economy and the conception of class-struggle. It was invoked primarily to certify the existence of a particular slave-owning social and economic formation and to detect the regularities of its fall and replacement by the feudal system as a result of class-struggle, which was to be regarded as a decisive factor of historical development. It is fair to record that many ancient historians, primarily those of the younger generations, deliberately chose Marxist methodology and ideas for their work, considering them a genuinely fruitful way to understand history and a direct route towards a new historical synthesis. Yet by the end of the 1920s all researchers, includ4

Among the periodicals issued until 1917 and dealing (entirely or partly) with classical studies the following should be mentioned: Vizantijskij Vremennik (Byzantine Journal), Zhurnal Ministerstva Narodnogo Prosvescheniya (The Journal of the Ministry of People’s Education), Hermes, Propylaiai, Filologicheskoye obozrenie (Philological Review), Filologicheskiye Zapiski (Philological Proceedings), among others. As well as a lot of monographs and various collected volumes, the fundamental editions of inscriptions and iconographic monuments should be noted, such as B. Latyschev’s Inscriptiones antiquae Orae Septentrionalis Ponti Euxini Graecae et Latinae. Vol. I–II, IV. Petropoli, 1885–1890, 1901 (Vol. I 2: 1916); Rostovtzev, M. I. 1914.

16

Alexander V. Makhlayuk / ���������������� Oleg L. Gabelko

ing most representatives of the old school, were required in an obligatory manner to acknowledge Marxist doctrine as the only true mode of social cognition and to follow rigorously the methodology of historical materialism in its vulgarized Stalinist form. Accordingly, all other conceptions and approaches were proclaimed without proof to be “unscientific” and connected to “bourgeois” ideology. The humanities, including ancient history, were turning into one of the fronts in an implacable ideological struggle. Not only was academic debate replaced by unfounded criticism of any non-Marxist theories and methods, but it became indispensable to unmask the so-called “ideological machinations and subversive activities” of bourgeois (i. e. all Western) scholars, who were announced to be “mercenaries of imperialism and fascism.” In the environment of the Communist Party’s total ideological supervision and censorship, especially in various ideological campaigns (such as the struggle against cosmopolitanism in the late 1940s and early 1950s), any deviation from existing canons of historiographic discourse, the tone of which was set by Stalin’s notorious “Short Course in the History of the All-Union Communist Party of Bolsheviks”, or even a well-disposed judgment of a work by a foreign scholar, or a mere reference to it, could have the most unpleasant consequences, right up to political charges and repressive measures. It is needless to add that any historical work was required to include references to the works of the founders of Marxism-Leninism, whose dicta were interpreted just like Holy Scripture and taken for gospel, becoming the basis not only of all conceptualization, but also of concrete historical research; in such research, the items and facts under investigation were adjusted to fit the schemes postulated in advance.5 These trends and attitudes inevitably resulted in historical research that was both schematic and dogmatic, and in the narrowing of its subject-matter (studies of social and economic structures, material culture6 and the forms of class-struggle gained absolute priority); they also left Soviet humanities closed and isolated and in direct confrontation with international scholarship. And although in the mid-1930s some attempts were made to overcome the most outrageous extremes in studying and teaching history,7 many of the devel5

6

7

It is enough to recall the theory of “slave revolution”, which was constructed by some Soviet historians on the basis of one dictum by Stalin: in his speech at the first congress of collective farmers in 1933, he claimed that “the revolution of slaves liquidated slave-owners and abolished the slave-holding form of exploitation of working-people” (quoted from Mishulin, A. V. 1947, 133). It is remarkable that from 1919 to 1934 research and educational work in the field of history, including ancient history, was fulfilled mainly within the Russian (State, since 1926) Academy of Material Culture. Philological and historical faculties in the universities, if not closed altogether, were reorganized into the faculties of social sciences. In 1934 was issued the well-known resolution of the Central Committee of the Communist Party and the Council of People’s Commissars of the USSR “On the Teaching of Civil History in the schools of the USSR”, by which systematic courses of history were restored in secondary schools, institutes of higher education and universities; also, former faculties of history were re-established and new ones opened where departments of world history were created; later, in Moscow and Leningrad universities the departments of classical philology were renewed. In 1936 the Institute of History, with a department of Ancient History, was established within the Academy of Sciences of the USSR; and in 1937 the specialized journal Vestnik drevnej istorii (Journal of Ancient History) began to be published.

Classical Studies in Russia at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century

17

opments and conditions described above continued to evolve to some degree in the post-Stalin period. Nevertheless, classical scholarship managed to survive, primarily thanks to the self-denying labour of a few scholars of the older generation who, in spite of all obstacles, transferred their knowledge and experience to students, and from the mid-1950s onward, with some liberalization by the Soviet regime, it reclaimed much ground that had seemed lost. Little by little, the training needed to equip future classicists (historians and archaeologists as well as philologists) was restored, initially at Moscow and Leningrad universities and thereafter in many others. Archaeological work increased on a substantial scale and attained a new level; the concrete themes and subjects of historical studies became much more diverse, and in particular there was a certain levelling of Hellenic and Roman studies, the former having prevailed in pre-revolutionary and early Soviet times; new problems began to be raised for investigation and discussion, including issues in the political and cultural history of the ancient world; and important results were achieved in the study of ancient slavery, which were generally recognized in international scholarship.8 A series of books by Soviet scholars was translated into European languages and became widely known among foreign specialists.9 During the period under investigation the classical disciplines, including ancient history, were nonetheless affected by the ideology to a lesser degree than other humanities and they became something of a niche in which, unlike other areas of history, it was possible to work more professionally, not just opportunistically. Under these circumstances, classical studies became an area that attracted people sincerely motivated by scholarly, rather than career interests, and who were genuinely committed to their profession. For that reason it may be permissible to note the high professional level of those historians who pursued classical studies in a serious way. It is also deserves notice that during the 1960–1980s scholars of the humanities, including ancient historians, had a relatively high social standing and material wellbeing. 8 9

On Soviet works of this period see Utchenko, S. L. 1956; Raskolnikoff, M. 1975; Heinen, H. (ed.) 1980; Rubinsohn, W. Z., 1987. E. g. Maschkin, N. A. 1954; Uttschenko, S. L. 1956a; Utcenko S. L. 1975; Marinovič, L. P. 1988, Zajcev, A. 1993. However, not all such experiences were successful; thus the German translation of V. P. Nevskaya’s book (Nevskaya, V. P. 1953; Newskaja, V. P. 1955) received devastating but fair criticism by the prominent French epigraphist L. Robert (Robert, J., Robert, L. 1958, 270–276). Traditionally, Russian scholars have held a strong position in the archaeological and historical investigation of the Northern Black Sea region, and some of their work in this field has also been translated, for example Blawatskij, V., Kochelenko, G. 1966; Gaidukevič, V. F. 1971; Podossinow, A. W. 1987. Soviet scholars also successfully promoted the study of such themes as ancient slavery, a topic which at first had strictly ideological connotations, but with time it was investigated in a more academic manner. See the works published in European languages: Štaerman, E. M. 1964; Štaerman, E. M. 1969; Štaerman, E. M., Trofimova, M. K. 1975; Štaerman, E. M., Smirin, V. M., Belova, N. N., Kolosovskaja, Yu. K. 1987. Just after the disintegration of the USSR the translation of collected articles concerning Graeco-Roman slavery written by Soviet ancient historians was published in France: Mactoux, M.-M., Guny, E. 1995. For Soviet studies of this topic see in general Heinen, H. 2010.

18

Alexander V. Makhlayuk / ���������������� Oleg L. Gabelko

Among the positive characteristics of historical studies in the later Soviet Union it is worth noting that there was good coordination and cooperation between scholars from Russia and the other Soviet Republics, in the first place Ukraine, Moldavia, Central Asia and Transcaucasia. These regions have rich ancient monuments which were rigorously investigated both by local specialists and by scholars from Moscow and Leningrad and the results of their work were accessible to the whole scholarly community. In the meantime, new centres of classical studies gradually formed and established themselves in provincial universities; for the most part they were created through the personal efforts of one or another prominent scholar, such as V. G. Borukhovich (1920–2007) in Nizhny Novgorod and Saratov, A. S. Shofman (1913–1993) in Kazan or V. I. Kadeev (born in 1927) in Kharkov.10 Their scholarly and educational activity contributed both to the revival of old pre-revolutionary traditions and to the formation of new research directions and themes. However, in the USSR the mobility so typical of Western scholars was absent: as a rule, most Soviet scholars were employed all their life in the same place; leaving one place for another was mostly caused by some reversal of fortune and rarely led to an intensification of scholarly activity at the new place of employment or to the formation of a new school. In this respect the situation has changed little in presentday Russia. In addition, the division of scholarship into that of the university and that of the Academy, unusual in the West, had only increased in Soviet times. Owing to the established organizational structures university employees, working full out with their teaching load and administrative duties, usually do not have enough time for research work, whereas the staff of academic institutes are in a way cut off from direct contact with the wider circles of university scholars and especially with younger scholars and students; they often lack opportunities to share their experience and knowledge, a circumstance that is not favourable for the reproduction of new generations of scholars. This state of affairs remains largely intact at present, but the vital necessity of integration between Academy and university scholarship has been recognized and ways to resolve this problem are being sought and realized.11 Along with undoubtedly positive trends and many incontestable achievements by Russian classical scholarship during the last decades of the Soviet period, some negative factors that originated in the pre-war years continued to have an effect. 10 It is fair to note that in post-Soviet times such centres have emerged practically in a vacuum, in universities where previously there were no traditions of classical scholarship – the cases in point are Magnitogorsk State Pedagogical University, in which classical studies are guided by Professor M. G. Abramzon, one of the leading Russian specialists in Greek and Roman numismatics, and the Centre for Classical Studies at Yaroslavl Demidov State University, organized and guided by Professor V. V. Dementieva. 11 Thus since 2003 within the Institute of World History of the Russian Academy of Sciences a Centre of Integration between Academy and University Scholarship has been established. This Centre undertakes many efforts to coordinate the research projects and educational activities of scholars from universities and the Academy. Particularly, in 2006 it organized a series of lectures and seminars for university lecturers and then a round-table discussion on the problems of studying the ancient polis. A significant number of provincial university staff, as well as colleagues from Ukraine, took part in these projects.

Classical Studies in Russia at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century

19

Thus the isolation of Soviet scholarship continued, although not to the same extent; normal educational and other contacts with the West were lacking as before. Most such contacts became a privilege of a quite narrow circle of scholars, all but a very few from Moscow. For postgraduate students and young scholars, especially from the provinces, there were practically no opportunities for educational training and research stays in Western centres. As before, there were very few periodicals that addressed the classical disciplines,12 while the academic level of many periodicals issued in provincial universities (at best annually) was often insufficient; scholarly associations and independent societies like those of pre-revolutionary Russia did not appear. Foreign literature and periodicals were easily accessible only in a few metropolitan libraries, and even there collections’ development was far from satisfactory. It should be said that research themes and scholarly approaches in many respects continued to be relatively narrow, at times even clichéd, either due to directions issued from the top of the academic administration, or because they had been developed spontaneously. Social, economic and class-struggle history in the spirit of historical materialism obviously prevailed, but in the study of ancient culture, philosophy and literature interesting works appeared increasingly and in fairly large numbers, greatly promoting and deepening our understanding of Graeco-Roman civilization.13 Nevertheless, many research fields and methodological approaches – especially compared to their rapid rates of progress in the West – were very poorly represented in Soviet scholarship, including areas such as the study of ancient democracy, history of mentalities, of law and power, the history of women, many aspects of military history, prosopography, papyrology, and so on. The radical and rapid changes that occurred in the USSR in the late 1980s and early 1990s have undoubtedly had a great impact on the humanities. Along with the end of the ‘Iron Curtain’, the downfall of the total ideological dominance of the Communist Party and the collapse of the Soviet Union, there have appeared, on the one hand, much more freedom and a wide range of choice, more openness and new options and opportunities in scholarly activity. But on the other hand the social and economic upheavals have entailed no small negative consequences for our field. Many of the cardinal foundations of the very system of Soviet scholarship have been demolished. The relative material well-being of the 1970s and 1980s has been left far behind. The inescapable, although not always well-thought out, reforms of the economic, social and political structures have hit hard at the interests of educational and academic institutions: most of them have become totally impecunious 12 In essence, in the Soviet Union there were only two serious and regular journals concerning ancient history and archaeology, both issued by the Academy of Sciences. They are Vestnik drevnej istorii (Journal of Ancient History) and Sovetskaya arkheologiya (Soviet Archaeology). No other journal of such a high level specially devoted to ancient history and classical philology has yet appeared. 13 Among them can be noted the works by prominent philosopher and historian of ancient philosophy Alexey F. Losev (1893–1988), philologists Aristid I. Dovatur (1897–1982), Mikhail L. Gasparov (1935–2005), Sergey S. Averintsev (1937–2004), the specialist in Roman history Georgij S. Knabe (1920–2011) and the well-known experts in Greek history and archaeology Tatjiana V. Blavatskaya (1917–2007) and Yury V. Andreev (1937–1998).

20

Alexander V. Makhlayuk / ���������������� Oleg L. Gabelko

because of slashing reductions in their budget. Many university lecturers and research workers on starvation wages have found it necessary to earn their living by additional occupations or to look for employment outside any scholarly or educational activity. The former book-acquisition system of provincial and university libraries declined and has finally collapsed. Most new Western publications have become absolutely inaccessible not only in the provinces as before, but now even in Moscow and St. Petersburg; from the early 1990s on, the main libraries there ceased to subscribe to many classical periodicals and journals. In addition, the former system of academic publishers was destroyed (in spite of its disadvantages, the system had provided fantastically large circulation – compared to nowadays – and rather high standards of editing) and the opportunities for publishing research have been cut seriously. Under these circumstances, a great number of scholars, primarily the younger ones, were compelled to engage in different kinds of business or in disciplines (sometimes, under present circumstances, of only quasi scholarly type) such as political studies, sociology, public relations, the science of law and so on, which served the current demands of the ‘democratic’ regime. Another consequence was the full or temporary emigration of specialists, though it was not a mass ‘brain drain’ as in the exact and applied sciences, because Russian humanists, in contrast to programmers or mathematicians and physicists, are needed little abroad. Regrettably, it is quite common for Russian scholars who have had the chance to live and work abroad to use that opportunity for exclusively personal interests, namely to provide a more or less acceptable standard of living; the latter is frequently impossible to achieve in Russia, so from a general standpoint the decision is understandable. This, however, makes little, if any, contribution to the progress of classical studies in Russia: such scholars hardly ever stay in contact with their Russian colleagues, rarely train their own students, etc. No less baneful has been the ‘freezing’ of scholarly activity and motivation at a below-average level by many colleagues: they do their job, so to speak, ‘by inertia’, with no wish to change a habitual place of employment but, at the same time, no yearning to do active research work, as if that were quite inessential in the new situation. The collapse in the public prestige of all scholarship, particularly (if not especially) history, has been one more very painful symptom of the post-Soviet period, which – perhaps no less than scholars’ extremely low wages – has become a reason for the sharp decrease in gifted young people entering classical studies, as they prefer to choose something more profitable and prestigious than classics. As a result, conditions have not been favourable for developing healthy competition in the Russian scholarly community. The break-up of the Soviet Union has also resulted in the disruption of former links and contacts among colleagues from the near abroad; and in the first place that has affected scholars from the new independent states, who to a large extent have found themselves detached from Russian centres and have lost many former opportunities for scholarly cooperation. Nevertheless, at the very end of the 1980s, in tune with the general spirit of renovation, wide and open – and at times sharp – scholarly discussions of some burning issues in Russian scholarship took place for the first time and were even

Classical Studies in Russia at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century

21

encouraged;14 it became possible not only to rail against or criticize Western historians, but to take their approaches as a model and/or to give unbiased assessments of their works and ideas. The recovery of the forgotten or hushed-up names and legacy of eminent Russian scholars of the past had begun. Thus from 1990 onward, Vestnik drevnej istorii (The journal of ancient history) began regularly publishing data and essays on the scholarly and personal biography of Michael I. Rostovtzeff; new editions and translations into Russian of his works were published and two fundamental volumes of documents and papers were issued concerning this outstanding figure of world classical scholarship.15 In 1992, also for the first time, Russian scholars were brought together organizationally within the Russian Classical Association, headed by Elena S. Golubtsova (1921–1998). This Association organized annual conferences (with the participation of colleagues from former Soviet republics and sometimes even from foreign countries), determined the most significant directions in research and issued proceedings of its conferences, which in those years were often the only opportunity for young researchers to publish their first papers.16 In the 2000s, however, the activity of the Association, under the guidance of Academician Grigorij M. Bongard-Levin (1933–2008), has not been as vigorous. Notable among today’s research conferences, which are undoubtedly a very important means of promoting classical studies, for enhancing scholars’ communication and professional development (primarily of young scholars and students), are the biennial “Readings in memory of Professor V. S. Sergeev” in the Moscow State University (from 1977), annual “Readings in memory of Academician S. S. Zhebelev” (from 1997) in the St. Petersburg State University, as well as conferences held in Nizhny Novgorod, Kazan, Saratov and Yaroslavl. Most of these arose as early as the 1980s and by now they have become regular. Unfortunately, under present-day Russian circumstances the organization of a conference or round-table discussion of classical subject-matter on a single important topic faces many difficulties, even though this kind of scholarly communication is much more efficacious than those that lack some ‘core’ topic.17 14 Thus since the end of the 1980s Vestnik drevnej istorii has opened its pages to debate on many important problems and issues in ancient history. The discussions were started with interesting debates on the rise of ancient Rome’s state system, initiated by the article written by E. M. Štaerman (Štaerman, E. M. 1989); some eminent foreign scholars were among the contributors to the discussion. 15 Bongard-Levin, G. (ed.) 1997; Bongard-Levin, G., Litvinenko, Yu. (eds.) 2003. 16 On the activity of the Association and the role of E. A. Golubtsova as its head, see the memorial section (P. 4–48) in: Marinovich, L. P. et al. (eds.) 1999. 17 Recent instances of such thematic conferences are: the joint Russian-German Conference “People and Democracy in the Classical World”, held at Yaroslavl State University in April of 2007; “Politics, Ideology and Historical Writing in the Roman-Hellenistic World”, held at Kazan State (from April, 2010, Federal) University in December of 2009 and devoted to the 100th anniversary of the famous British scholar F. W. Walbank; “Traditions, Paradoxes and Lessons of Greco-Roman Historical Writing in the Context of Modern Classical Scholarship” at Nizhny Novgorod State University in January of 2010; international conference “Iran and the Classical World: Political, Cultural and Economic Contacts of Two Civilizations” (Kazan Federal University, September, 2011). Beginning from 1999, in St. Petersburg the conference “The Bospo-

22

Alexander V. Makhlayuk / ���������������� Oleg L. Gabelko

It should be stressed that the crisis experienced by the country and scholarship in no way caused any total degradation of classical studies. On the contrary, one can see quite a lot of positive trends and novelties. As an open society has formed in Russia, and owing to the abolition of ideological and censorship restrictions, as well as the maturing of institutional and methodological pluralism, investigations have begun on topics, subjects and problems that had previously been out the question in Russian scholarship (although they are not always carried out according to high standards). Among such topics one can cite history of law, everyday life and ancient religion, ruling elites and the biographies of some outstanding figures of antiquity. Many traditional areas of research (the history of archaic and classical Greece, the Hellenistic states, ancient warfare, the historical thought and historiography of the Greeks and Romans, problems of archaic Rome, political history of the middle and late Republic, etc.) are now studied from a new angle. There arose real opportunities for fruitful communication and cooperation with foreign colleagues both at conferences (including those held in Russia) and during working trips and educational fellowships in Western centres, which now became accessible not only for academicians and their retinue, but for ‘simple mortals’ too.18 The intensified contacts have allowed direct and more or less objective comparison to be made of the general level, problems and achievements of Russian classical scholarship with that of other countries. Such a comparison reveals that there is no ground to claim any hopeless backwardness of Russian classical studies in many fields of research. Indeed, in some areas Russian scholars have achieved genuinely significant results and have put forward interesting conceptions which could enrich world scholarship as a whole. The Russians’ ‘fresh view’ on Western scholarly traditions and trends allows them to choose topics, approaches and aspects for investigation that are not hackneyed, and sometimes to generate quite original ideas. Russia’s ‘severe conditions’ play a stimulating role too: scholars in Russia, having learned to work in a situation of chronic deficiency of new Western literature, now, after acquaintance with the unimaginable (by Russian standards) richness of German, British, French or American libraries, are as a rule gaining fresh impetus and a real ‘second wind’ for further investigations. It needs to be emphasized that from the mid-1990s onward the opportunities for publishing scholarly and popular literature in Russia have gradually broadened. New publishers have opened which, in unfamiliar and severe market conditions, have taken the risk of realizing some important projects and have offered both specialists and general readers quite a wide range of books on ancient history and classics.19 Although, in the circumstances of a still rather wild market, the quality of editions was of secondary importance, the general number of publications (and reran Phenomenon” devoted to the history and archaeology of the Northern Black Sea region is regularly organized by the joint efforts of the State Hermitage and several other institutions. 18 Incidentally, we cannot but express once again our sincere gratitude to Professor Andreas Mehl (Halle), whose energy and concern made it possible for eight contributors to this volume (O. Gabelko, I. Surikov, M. Kholod, A. Makhlayuk, E. Rung, Ye. Smykov, Yu. Kuzmin, I. Ladynin) to visit Martin Luther Universität in 2003–2010. 19 Among them in the first place should be noted such publishers as Aletheia (St. Petersburg),

Classical Studies in Russia at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century

23

prints of some old works), including translations of some well-known and new books by foreign colleagues, has risen seriously, though admittedly not everything was really worthwhile and sometimes the translations and editions were not thoroughly professional. Translations of ancient texts have also been published, though for the most part old ones. A new feature is the appearance of serial publications devoted to classical studies and adjacent fields, such as “Studia classica. Domestic researches on antique and medieval history”, “Bibliotheca classica. Antiquity and Middle Ages: sources on history and culture” (Publishing House ‘Humanities Academy’, St. Petersburg), “Classical library. Researches”, “Classical library. Ancient history” (Publisher ‘Aletheia’, St. Petersburg), “Res militaris” (St. Petersburg University Press), “Militaria antiqua” (Publisher ‘St. Petersburg Oriental Studies’ and ‘Philomatis’ Publisher, Moscow), “Alexandrian Library. Series ‘Antiquity’” (‘Kolo’ Publishing House, St. Petersburg), “Fontes scripti antiqui” (‘Nestor-Istoria’ and Faculty of Philology and Arts of St. Petersburg State University), and some others. In spite of all the difficulties of working in the Russian book market, the publishers named above make a very important contribution to acquainting the Russian reading public with classical literature, books by eminent Western researchers and original works by Russian scholars, either of the pre-revolutionary period or of the present day. It is fair to say that during recent decades the interest of general readers in ancient topics has increased considerably, most of all concerning military history, biographies,20 classical culture and daily life. It deserves to be noted that the promotion of scholarly publishing activity is occurring not only in the capitals, but also in some provincial centres. Some old periodicals have been revived (mainly in annual form) and a number of new ones have appeared. There is no doubt that they play a considerable role in linking together the efforts of Russian classicists and that they help increase the efficiency of their work; they also promote cooperation with foreign scholars whose papers occasionally appear on the pages of these publications. Amongst such periodicals the following should be noted: Ancient World and Archaeology (Saratov), Ius Antiquum (Moscow), Issedon (Ekaterinburg), Bosporan Antiquities (Moscow), From the History of Antique Society (Nizhny Novgorod), Studia Historica (Moscow), Mnemon (St. Petersburg), Antiquitas Aeterna (Kazan; Nizhny Novgorod; Saratov), Hyperboreus (St. Petersburg), Ancient World and Us (St. Petersburg), The Problems of History, Philology and Culture (Moscow–Magnitogorsk), Aristeas (Moscow). However, it should be stressed that these periodicals, as a rule, are issued exclusively because of the enthusiasm of particular individuals, sometimes without Humanitarnaya Akademiya (Humanities Academy, St. Petersburg), St. Petersburg State University Press, ROSSPEN (Moscow), Centrpolygraf (Moscow). 20 Thus within the biographical series, well-known in Russia, “The Life of Remarkable Persons” (“Molodaya Gvardiya” Publisher, Moscow) in the 1990s to 2000s were published books by Russian as well as foreign authors devoted to such outstanding personalities of ancient (though mainly Roman) history as Herodotus, Caesar, Augustus, Scipio Major, Sulla, Cicero, Marcus Aurelius, Seneca, Nero, Cleopatra, Hannibal, Julian the Apostate and Plotinus. Also biographies of Tiberius, Caligula, Caesar, Augustus, Scipio Major, Scipio Minor and Sertorius were issued by other publishers.

24

Alexander V. Makhlayuk / ���������������� Oleg L. Gabelko

proper editing, and facing financial difficulties and impediments to circulation. At the same time, there is no fully academic and specialized periodical in fields such as classical philology, classical archaeology, epigraphy, numismatics or papyrology, to say nothing of more narrow disciplines like ancient military history or ancient religions and culture. The single Vestnik drevnej istorii, issued by the Russian Academy of Sciences since 1937, surely cannot embrace everything. Meanwhile, the advanced liberty of intellectual and publishing activities in modern Russia has its ‘blind side’. In the gap left by “the only one true ideology”, there have arisen many historical theories and concepts, some rather exotic, that share little with genuine scholarship. This fact is perhaps not so bad in itself, but it is worth keeping in mind that pluralism in one head is a sort of schizophrenia. Classical studies, however, are not subjected to that epidemic as much as other fields of historical research, inasmuch as classics is a more fundamental, conservative and traditional discipline and mostly lacks the politicization that in many respects determines the character and content of discussions in modern and contemporary history. Nevertheless, some people have been tempted to screen their insufficient education or lack of original ideas with sophistications ‘in the spirit of the times’ that are significant in appearance but empty in essence, or with ill-founded reasoning on fashionable topics such as gender history, post-post-modernism and more of the kind. On the other hand, there is another ‘epidemic’ – that of quasi-historical publications concerning, for instance, subjects such as Fomenko’s so-called “new chronology” of history,21 the Aryan-Slavs,22 the discovery of a proto-Sumerian written language in Ukraine,23 the ‘true’ historical roots of the Turkic and Caucasian peoples,24 and so on. The corresponding theories are mostly fatuous and are, as a rule, based on quite clear political and/or nationalistic underlying rationales, but they are easy to understand for ‘simple’ people zealous to gain a new, more significant historical identity; they excite a kind of national pride, but sometimes help disseminate ideas that bring national discord into multinational Russian society. As a result a large number of ordinary people are being deluded and some intellectuals, who understand that these ‘theories’ are for the most part unscientific fabrications or even totally ludicrous, extend this assessment also to normal historical studies and hence deny history any academic status at all. One of the vital issues for classical scholarship in Russia today is the training of competent specialists in ancient history and the classical languages. The fact is that, as a result of the general cultural decline in post-Soviet times, the educational 21 The mathematician and Academician A. T. Fomenko and his followers entirely deny credibility to the ancient and mediaeval periods of history, claiming that all data concerning them are a result of a global falsification of sources undertaken in the seventeenth century. 22 See the writings of Yu. Petukhov, A. Asov and others, which reek of undisguised Great Russian chauvinism. 23 Kifishin, A. G. 2001. 24 See, for example, writings by Murad Adzhi on the earliest history of the Turks. One more instance is a text-book for students in Kazan higher schools written by the former historian of the C.P.S. U., Z. Miftakhov, who, based on a forgery, the so-called “Genuine History of the Bulgars”, claims that the ancestors of the present-day Tatars were the oldest people in the whole world. On North Caucasian peoples’ “historical mythology” see Shnirelman, V. A. 2006.

Classical Studies in Russia at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century

25

level and professional motivation of present-day students and post-graduates have become extremely low.25 It is necessary to point out the imperfection of the educational programmes and courses offered in many Russian universities (especially provincial ones). They are usually too short and do not provide sufficient training in the Ancient Greek and Latin languages or teaching of special classical disciplines. As a consequence, there is a low average standard not only in students’ work but also in post-graduate dissertations and even theses for doctoral degrees26 awarded in the 1990s and 2000s, although, in comparison with the Soviet period, the general number of theses in classical disciplines has notably increased. It is not unlikely that the main cause of such a state of affairs – apart from the general deterioration of secondary school education, the impact of negative social and economic factors27 and the present very unreasoned and unconstructive policy in the sphere of higher education, especially the humanities, which threatens its complete degradation – is the general devaluation of the basic criteria of scholarly activity as a whole in Russia. Many of those who defended their first theses cannot find professional employment; others do not consider that necessary at all, regarding an academic degree only as a source of public prestige. It is noticeable that many government officials, including those of the highest rank, hold academic degrees, primarily in the humanities, although the original authorship and scholarly level of their dissertations and publications can only be guessed at. It should be acknowledged that the lowering of requirements and standards in research in the humanities has unfortunately occurred also within the Russian scholarly community itself. The present system of expert academic examination is quite ineffective. Attempts to reorganize it are made primarily by government officials, which leads, as usual, to frequent changes in the ‘rules of the game’ and the substitution of qualitative expert analysis with the introduction of particularly formalistic criteria. As a result, though there is a vast multitude of scholars holding academic degrees, Russia cannot compare with Western countries in the number of high-skilled, internationally recognized specialists in many fields of classical studies. The contacts between Russian scholars and their Western colleagues have greatly intensified from the 1990s onward, but the painful linguistic barrier makes itself felt especially sharply: as before, for the huge majority of Western scholars Rossica non leguntur. Within the framework of world classical scholarship, the Russian language holds around the same place as Dutch, Polish, Turkish or Hungarian. On the other hand, it is also true that Russian scholars rarely publish their work in European languages. Such a situation perforce creates an effect of insularity, or a malign self-sufficiency, in Russian scholarship and leads to the erosion of precise 25 The archaeological expeditions which investigate the ancient monuments of South Russia, Ukraine and Crimea are one effective means of introducing the youth to classical studies. In recent years, alongside representatives of Moscow and St. Petersburg universities, students and post-graduates from other cities (Saratov, Nizhny Novgorod, Samara, Kazan, Voronezh, Belgorod, Magnitogorsk, Tula, and so on) have become active participants in these expeditions. 26 There are two scholarly degrees and, correspondingly, two dissertations in Russia  – that of candidate and that of doctor. 27 The most direct consequence of this is the necessity for many students to earn their living.

26

Alexander V. Makhlayuk / ���������������� Oleg L. Gabelko

scholarly criteria and rigorous academic standards and, sometimes, to the repetition of what has been discovered long ago. It is thus not an uncommon situation when a candidate for a degree chooses a research topic solely because there is no Russian work in the field, although the subject has been worked out thoroughly in the West. At the same time, our Western colleagues themselves very rarely show interest in the work of Russian scholars on the traditional subjects in the history of Classical Greece and the Hellenistic and Roman worlds; attention is paid exclusively to work on the history and archaeology of the Northern Black Sea region.28 This state of affairs is natural, inasmuch as it is in this area that Russian and Ukrainian specialists have undoubted priority; the results of research in this region are of special interest because of their relative novelty for Western colleagues; in recent years many promising international projects (Russian or Ukrainian jointly with German, French, Polish, Danish and other colleagues) have been undertaken there, and in some cases the investigations receive significant funding. One very important step in promoting investigations of Northern Black Sea history, epigraphy and archaeology is the publication of the photograph album to the Corpus Inscriptionum Regni Bosporani in 2004.29 Although the realization of this project sparked an ambivalent reaction among some specialists,30 the very fact of such a publication shows that the nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century traditions of the Russian school of classical epigraphy have not been irretrievably lost. However, the preferential interest of Western colleagues in Russian research in this field leads to imbalances in their perception of the current situation in Russian classical scholarship and it also constricts the opportunities of most Russian classicists and ancient historians (other than archaeologists) of getting their work published in prestigious Western journals. In any event, we can today agree that Russian classical scholarship has stood its ground after many arduous trials during the period of transition and has quite good prospects for further development. It needs to be emphasized that the change of generations in Russian classical scholarship never left a gap: continuity has been maintained between today’s scholarship and the schools and persons that determined the state of affairs during the Soviet period. That does not rule out discussion and reconsideration of some conclusions and theories expressed in the works of the older scholars. But the development continues not by a stark negation of previous views and achievements, but by mastering new topics, ideas and approaches which, as we hope, will contribute to the gradual and organic integration of Russian classical studies into international scholarship. With more active use of the opportunities 28 These topics are represented in the West by monographs written by Russian scholars or translated into European languages. For example: Kryzhitsky S. D., Vinogradov, Yu. G. 1995; Saprykin, S. J. 1997; Vinogradov, Yu. G. 1997; Ivantchik, A. I. 2005. Knowledge of Russian is for the most part a competence only of those Western scholars who have specialized in the field of the Northern Black Sea history, like such prominent researchers as Heinz Heinen or David Braund. 29 Gavrilov, A. K. et al. (eds.) 2004. See positive responses: Monakhov, S. J., Parfyonov, V. N. 2005; Molev, Ye. A. 2005. 30 Levinskaya, I. A., Tokhtas’ev, S. R. 2005. Later the discussion between the editors of the CIRBAlbum and their critics was continued online (BMCR).

Classical Studies in Russia at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century

27

of the Internet and other electronic resources, digital technologies can smooth over the differences in working conditions between Western and Russian scholars and thereby make it possible to bring Russian classical studies up to the highest international standards. After this article had been written, the authors reflected that the history of classical studies in Russia seems (admittedly, in the authors’ very subjective view) to follow the pattern of a sine curve. When every new era comes, it regularly strikes strong, at times seemingly intolerable, blows on our discipline; however, the community of Russian classicists then mobilizes their mental and intellectual reserves and, on the basis of previous traditions and the potential built up earlier and following the main trends of the time, it continues its work. “Do what you should and come what may!” – the guidance of this maxim spurs hope that classical scholarship in Russia will see better times once again. In the light of the foregoing observations, the basic idea behind the present volume can be outlined, setting it within the context of the processes occurring in today’s Russian scholarship. All the contributors to the volume began to be engaged in classical studies in later Soviet times or at the very beginning of the post-Soviet period, when there was already no need to be too much of a ‘steadfast Marxist’. At the same time, every one of them regards himself as standing in succession to the Soviet school of classical scholarship and is not in the least ashamed of it. Taking into account their age, the authors had no time to earn moral and material capital in the Soviet period, but they have no desire to become the ‘New Russians’ in their field now. Every contributor of the volume trained, worked and is going to work henceforward only in Russia (which, naturally, does not preclude leaving for specific periods for study in foreign centres) in order to promote the development of classical studies primarily in their homeland. All authors are positioning themselves as ancient historians, rather than as classicists in the traditional sense, that is to say, they regard as of paramount importance in their studies a comprehensive approach to and combined use of all kinds of evidence (literary sources, epigraphic, numismatic and archaeological materials) as a basis for conclusions about historical reality. This claim does not seem superfluous in a volume designed mainly to draw the attention of Western colleagues, and it does not imply any aspiration of being ‘more pious than the pope’. We would like merely to record that the topics and research interests of the contributors concern some fundamentally important problems of the history – political history for the most part – of ancient Greece, the Hellenistic world and ancient Rome, without a special inclination towards the themes relating to the history of the Northern Black Sea region, which is so frequently considered in the West to be the most important part of Russian classical scholarship as a whole.31 31 Among the papers included in this volume only one, by O. Gabelko, concerns the history of the Northern Black Sea region, but, firstly, this topic is by no means the priority in this author’s research interests and, secondly, the subject under investigation is directly connected with a wider range of issues concerning the history of the Hellenistic world.

28

Alexander V. Makhlayuk / ���������������� Oleg L. Gabelko

So a reader will find in the pages of this volume papers treating such various subjects as the development of legislation in archaic Greece (M. Vysokii), aspects of Herodotus’ historical writing (I. Surikov and E. Rung), political propaganda in the Hellenistic world and Rome (I. Ladynin, S. Smirnov and Ye. Smykov), the financial activity of Alexander the Great (M. Kholod), a study on Macedonian prosopography (Yu. Kuzmin), essays connected with the state activity of Mithridates VI Eupator (A. Korolenkov and O.  Gabelko), the census system in Republican Rome (R. Lapyrionok), the traditions of the Roman imperial army (A. Makhlayuk), and the political thought of Cassius Dio (K. Markov). Despite these varied directions and topics, the authors follow the methods and approaches traditional for Klassische Altertumswissenschaft, being convinced of their universality and of the fact that this way of researching and writing ancient history has stood the test of time over two centuries. Most of the contributors are cautious in using the newest theories and consider that it is more reasonable to employ in full that potential which was accumulated by many generations of scholars from various countries. The authors are employed in different Russian cities and universities (Moscow, St. Petersburg, Nizhny Novgorod, Kazan, Samara, Saratov), hold different academic positions and have different experience and renown in scholarly circles. However, this fact itself helps to give an accurate picture of the current state of Russian classical scholarship. Of course, the papers combined in this volume are far from reflecting this state in full and in the round, but they undoubtedly represent its main trends and significant aspects, which, as we hope, may be a matter of interest for the Western scholarly community. BIBLIOGRAPHY Blawatskij, V., Kochelenko, G. 1966: Le culte de Mithra sur la côte septentrionale de la Mer Noire. Leiden. Bongard-Levin, G. (ed.) 1997: Skifskij roman (Scythian Novel), Moscow (in Russian). Bongard-Levin, G., Litvinenko Yu. (eds.) 2003: Parfyanskij vystrel (Parthian Shot), Moscow (in Russian). Buzeskul, V. P. 1929–1931: Vseobschaya istoriya i eyo predstaviteli v Rossii v XIX i nachale XX veka. Chasti I–II (The Investigations of the Universal History in Russia, in the Nineteenth and the Beginning of the Twentieth Century), Leningrad (in Russian). Frolov, E. D. 2006: Russkaya nauka ob antichnosti. Istoriograficheskie ocherki (Russian Classical Scholarship. Essays in Historiography. Parts I–II), 2nd edition, St. Petersburg (in Russian). Gaidukevič, V. F. 1971: Das Bosporanische Reich2, Berlin et al. Gavrilov, A. R. et al. (eds.) 2004: Corpus Inscriptionum Regni Bosporani: Album Imaginum edited by A. K. Gavrilov, N. A. Pavlichenko, D. V. Keyer & A. V. Karlin. St. Petersburg. Heinen, H. (ed.) 1980: Die Geschichte des Altertums im Spiegel der sowjetischen Forschung, Darmstadt. Heinen, H. 2010: Aufstieg und Niedergang der sowjetischen Sklavereiforschung: Eine Studie zur Verbindung von Politik und Wissenschaft, in: Heinen, H. (ed.) Antike Sklaverei: Rückblick und Ausblick. Neue Beiträge zur Forschungsgeschichte und zur Erschließung der archäologischen Zeugnisse. Stuttgart, 95–138. Ivantchik, A. I. 2005: Am Vorabend der Kolonisation. Das nördliche Schwarzmeergebiet und die

Classical Studies in Russia at the Beginning of the Twenty-First Century

29

Steppennomaden des 8.‑7. Jhs. v. Chr in der klassischen Literatutradition: Mündliche Überlieferung, Literatur and Geschichte. Moscow; Berlin. Kifishin, A. G. 2001: Drevnee svyatilische Kamennaya Mogila: Opyt deshifrovki protoshumerskogo arkhiva 12–13 tysyacheletij do n. e. T. 1–2 (The Ancient Sanctuary Kamennaya Mogila: An Attempt at deciphering a Protosumerian Archive of 12–13 millennia B. C. Vol. 1–2), Kiev (in Russian). Klein, L. S. 2007: Iz istorii nauchnyh shkol i tradicij antichnoj arheologii (From the History of Scholarly Schools and Traditions in Classical Archaeology), in: Tunkina, I. V. (ed.) ΕΥΧΑΡΙΣΤΗΡΙΟΝ. Antikovedchesko-istoriograficheskij sbornik pamyati Yaroslava Vital’evicha Domanskogo (1928–2004) (Collection of articles in Classical History and Historiography in Memory of Yaroslav V. Domansky [1928–2004]). St. Petersburg: 121–138 (in Russian) Knabe, G. S. 2000: Russkaya antichnost’. Soderzhanie, rol’ i sud’ba antichnogo naslediya v culture Rossii (Russian Antiquity. Content, Role, and Fate of Classical Heritage in Russian Culture), Moscow (in Russian). Kryzhitsky, S. D., Vinogradov, Yu. G. 1995: Olbia. Eine altgriechische Stadt in nordwestlichen Schwarzmeerraum, Leiden. Levinskaya, I. A., Tokhtas’ev, S. R. 2005: [Rev.] Gavrilov et al. (eds.). Corpus Inscriptionum Regni Bosporani: Album Imaginum. St. Petersburg, 2004, VDI, 4, 179–198. Mactoux, M.-M., Guny, E. (eds.) 1995: Esclavage et dépendance dans l’historiographie soviétique récente, trans. J. Gaudey, Paris. (Annales Littéraires de l’Université de Besançon No 577; Centre de Recherches d’Histoire Ancienne 149). Marinovič, L. P. 1988: Le mercenariat grec au IVe siècle avant notre ère et la crise de la polis (Trad. fr. J. et Y. Garlan), Paris. Marinovič, L. P. et al. (eds.), 1998: Zakon i obychai gostepriimstva v antichnom mire (The Law and Custom of Hospitality in the Classical World), Moscow (in Russian). Maschkin, N. A. 1954: Zwischen Republik und Kaiserzeit. Ursprung und sozialer Charakter des augusteischen Prinzipats (transl. M. Brandt), Leipzig. Mishulin, A. V. 1947: Spartacus, Moscow (in Russian). Molev, 2005: [Rev.]: Gavrilov et al. (eds.) Corpus Inscriptionum Regni Bosporani: Album Imaginum. St. Petersburg, 2004, VDI, 4, 198–200. Monakhov, S. J., Parfyonov, V. N. 2005: [Rev.] Gavrilov et al. (eds.). Corpus Inscriptionum Regni Bosporani: Album Imaginum. St. Petersburg, 2004, DB, 8, 308–310 (in Russian). Nevskaya, V. P. 1953: Vizantij v klassicheskuyu i ellenisticheskuyu epohi (Byzantium in the Classical and Hellenistic Epochs), Moscow (in Russian). Newskaja, W. 1955: Byzanz in der klassischen und hellenistischen Epoche, Leipzig. Nikolai, A. P. 1899: Pia Desideria (O sisteme klassicheskogo obrazovaniya v Rossii) (On the System of Classical Education in Russia), Russkij arkhiv, No 8, 1899 (in Russian) Podossinow, A. W. 1987: Ovidius’ Dichtung als Quelle für die Geschichte des Schwarzmeergebiets (XENIA. Konstanzer althistorische Vorträge und Forschungen. 19), Constance. Raskolnikoff, M. 1975: La recherche soviétique et l’histoire économique et sociale du monde hellénistique et romain, Strasbourg. Robert, J., Robert, L., 1958: [Rev.] Newskaja, W. Byzanz in der klassischen und hellenistischen Epoche, Leipzig, 1955, Bulletin épigraphique, 270–276. Rostovtzev, M. I. 1914: Antichnaya dekorativnaya zhivopis’ na yuge Rossii (The ancient decorative painting of South Russia), T. 1, St. Petersburg (in Russian). Rubinsohn, W. Z. 1987: Spartacus’ Uprising and Soviet Historical Writing. Oxford. Saprykin, S. J. 1997: Heracleia Pontica and Tauric Chersonesus before Roman Domination, Amsterdam. Shnirelman, V. A. 2006: Byt’ alanami (To be the Alans), Moscow (in Russian). Štaerman, E. M. 1964: Die Krise der Sklavenhalterordnung im Westen des römischen Reiches, Berlin. Štaerman, E. M. 1969: Die Blütezeit der Sklavenwirtschaft in der römischen Republik, Wiesbaden.

30

Alexander V. Makhlayuk / ���������������� Oleg L. Gabelko

Štaerman, E. M. 1989: K probleme vozniknoveniya gosudarstva v Rime (On the Problem of the Rise of the State in Rome), VDI, No 2, 76–94 (in Russian). Štaerman, E. M., Trofimova, M. K. 1975: La schiavitù nell’Italia imperiale, I–III secolo, Pref. di M. Mazza, Rome. Štaerman, E. M., Smirin, V. M., Belova, N. N., Kolosovskaja, Yu. K. 1987: Sklaverei in den westlichen Provinzen des römischen Reiches im 1.–3. Jahrhundert, Stuttgart. Swoboda, K. 1959: Die klassische Altertumswissenschaft im vorrevolutionaren Russland, Klio, 37, 241–267. Tunkina, I. V. 2002: Russkaya nauka o klassicheskikh drevnostyakh yuga Rossii (XVIII – seredina XIX v. (The Classical Antiquities of South Russia in Russian scholarship [Eighteenth to MidNineteenth Century]), St. Petersburg (in Russian). Utcenko S. L. 1975: Cicerone e il suo tempo (Biblioteca di storia antica, I), Rome. Uttschenko, S. L. 1956: Über die althistorische Forschung in der Sowjetunion, Altertum, 2, 1, 3–7. Uttschenko, S. L. 1956a: Der weltanschaulich-politische Kampf in Rom am Vorabend des Sturzes der Republik, Berlin. Vinogradov, Yu. G. 1997: Pontische Studien, Mainz. Wes, M. A. 1992: Classics in Russia 1700–1855. Between Two Bronze Horsemen (Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History. Vol. 33), Leiden; New York; Cologne. Zajcev, A. 1993: Das griechische Wunder. Die Entstehung der griechischen Zivilisation, Constance.

ANCIENT GREEK LEGISLATION ON SICILY: . THE LAWS OF CHARONDAS Mikhail F. Vysokii (Institute of General History, Russian Academy of Sciences, Moscow) The ancient Greek legal system on Sicily, the second part of Magna Graecia,1 was based on Greek legal traditions brought by migrants, who then began to develop them in their own way. In this process, local lawgivers appeared, of whom Charondas of Catana was the most famous in the Hellenic oikoumene. However, the original traditions remained in place for quite a long period. The difference between the Chalcidian and Dorian legal systems was also preserved, a result of the varied origins of the Greeks who settled on the island in uncoordinated expeditions from different parts of Hellas. Consequently some poleis received Dorian laws (νόμιμα δὲ Δωρικά), others Chalcidian (νόμιμα δὲ τὰ Χαλκιδικά) (Thuc. VI. 4. 3–4; 5. 1). Unfortunately, Thucydides does not report the exact rules which formed these constitutional systems or how they differed from each other, so for this we must rely on indirect data. In the political sphere of the Chalcidian poleis (which include Catana, Charondas’ birth-place and the site of his activity), the first settlers established a democracy: there was an assembly, as we see from the example of Leontini and Himera (Polyaen. V. 5. 2; Arist. Rhet. II. XX. 1393b. 9–23). This assembly dealt with the most important problems of polis life and selected magistrates. The most basic structure of the social-political system were the four traditional Chalcidian phylai and the division of the phylai into phratriai. This structure was noted in official state documents, such as in an inscription from the early fifth century B. C. from Chalcidian Himera, which, restored with the related term φῦλον, reads …[φῦ]λα … hαι φρατρίαι ἀ[ν]έδειξαν τὰ καταγεγραμένα.2 Evidently, in the Chalcidian legislative system, in contrast to the Dorian one, the system of phylai and phratriai was not fixed and admitted the possibility of changing their number. Thus, the inscription mentioned above from Himera attests the creation of new phylai in the polis for a large group of emigrants from Zancle: [φῦ]λα Δανκλαῖα ποιέσαι ἀ[φ] 1

2

The role and significance of Greek colonies in the Western Mediterranean in the structure of ancient civilization were well recognized by the Greeks themselves, as reflected in the early metaphorical name (probably in use already in the fifth century) for this region: Magna Graecia. The clearest account of why this metaphor arose is given by Strabo: “From the time of the Trojan war, Greeks had taken control of most of the inner regions and strengthened their position so much that they called this part of Italy, together with Sicily, Magna Graecia” (Μεγάλη Ἑλλάς) (VI. 1. 2). First published by Brugnone, A. 1997 (I), 27–28; the full edition is Brugnone, A. 1997 (II), 271–279. Text as restored by Manganaro, G. 1997, 318. On the Chalcidian legislation in Himera see Thuc. VI. 5. 1.

32

Mikhail F. Vysokii

ἁρε[ὶ] hαι φρατρίαι. In Chalcidian poleis there were also phratriai and eikades based on the phylai: an inscription from the Chalcidian settlement Morgantina (dated to about 460 B. C.) mentions a group of citizens called an εἰκάς.3 Evidently this refers to a collegium (formed primarily for a religious purpose) which consisted of twenty families, this number being a multiple of four, the number of the Chalcidian phylai (for example, one collegium would include five families from each phyle). A collegium like this is also mentioned in an inscription of the mid-fifth century B. C. from Dorian Camarina,4 home to exiles from Syracuse, including Chalcidians. The land of the polis was traditionally divided among the first settlers in equal parts, by lot, as was also done by the Dorians (Athen. IV. 63. 167d – ἐν Συρακούσαις λαχὼν ἔμελλεν ἕξειν). However, judging from the inscription from Himera noted above, the Chalcidian legislation, unlike the Dorian system, provided for re-allotment of land on similar conditions: when a large group of exiles arrived from Zancle, Himera’s mother polis, there was a general re-allotment of land in Himera (γέες ἀναδαιθμός, l. 14).5 The information considered above concerns only one part of the legal system, though an essential one: the constitutional (or state) structure. On the rules regulating other spheres of social life, which together with the constitutional structure constituted ‘the Chalcidian laws’, we have no information until the appearance of Charondas’ laws, which are a distinct stage of development in the legal system of the whole of Greek society on Sicily. In ancient tradition Charondas is mentioned together with Zaleucus, the lawgiver from Locri Epizephyrii (see, for example, Arist. Pol. II. 9. 1274a. 22–25; Ael. VH. III. 17; Porph. Vita Pyth. 21; Iamb. Vita Pyth. 33; 172; Senec. Ep. XC. 6; etc.). This pairing was perhaps connected with an early story, mentioned already by Aristotle, that Charondas was the pupil of Zaleucus (Pol. II. 9. 1274a. 29–30). However, Aristotle himself doubted it and the story is not mentioned by ancient authors after him.6 The sources of the story are unknown to us, but it may have been prompted 3 4

5

6

Cordano, F. 1992, 22. On the Chalcidian origin of the Greek citizens of Morgantina see Sjoqvist, E. 1973, 35. Cordano, F. 1992, No. 27. In 461 B. C. mercenaries (foreigners), both Dorian and Chalcidian, who had been expelled from Syracuse were settled by the Deinomenid tyrants in Camarina, which had been re-founded by the Geloans (Diod. XI. 76. 5), probably for this purpose. See Vysokij, M. F. 2006, 255. Brugnone, A. 1997 (II), 292–293. Among Dorians this type of division did not change later. A typical example is Selinus in the sixth and fifth centuries B. C., where a large group of migrants arrived from the town’s mother-city, Megara Hyblaea: after accepting the migrants, the Selinuntines gave them land, perhaps from vacant parts of polis land (ἐκ τᾶς γᾶ[ς) (Arena, R. 1996, No. 52, h. 9), but a complete re-allotment was not made. Ephorus (apud Strabo. VI. 1. 8) remarks that Zaleucus made his laws out of Cretan, Laconian and Athenian laws, which is a practical reflection of the story mentioned by Aristotle: Onomacritus from Locri was the first to study laws on Crete, together with Thales; Lycurgus and Zaleucus were taught by Thales, and Charondas was taught by Zaleucus. But Ephorus, whose text perhaps included considerable material about Zaleucus (in Strabo there are numerous direct references to Ephorus in connection with Zaleucus), does not mention Charondas’ apprenticeship to Zaleucus.

Ancient Greek Legislation on Sicily: The Laws of Charondas

33

by, among other things, the tradition that the laws of Charondas were introduced into Rhegium, an Italian polis neighbouring Locri (Heraclid. Lemb. 55 Dilts), and even that Charondas himself emigrated from Catana to Rhegium (Ael. VH. III. 17). Zaleucus’ laws were important for the Hellenic world as a whole because, according to Ephorus, who had knowledge of affairs in Sicily and Magna Graecia,7 it was Zaleucus in Locri who first introduced a written code of laws (apud Strabo. VI. I. 8; Ps.-Scymn. 314–315).8 It is probable that the code was known in that form to Demosthenes: he not only quoted an extensive fragment from the Locrian laws, but also emphasized that it was a fragment from a code that had remained in force for more than 200 years (In Timocr., XXIV. 139–141). Demosthenes’ knowledge in this field results from his specialized profession as an orator, primarily in the courts.9 It is interesting that Demosthenes, who thus knew the Locrian code well, never mentions Zaleucus. In this connection the opinion of Timaeus, a younger contemporary of Demosthenes, is essential: he wrote a famous work on history Ἰταλικὰ καὶ Σικελικά10 in which he denied the existence of Zaleucus (apud Cic. Leg. II. 15), perhaps claiming that he was a literary fiction. Even Plato, who visited Sicily several times, names Charondas alone as the lawgiver of Italy and Sicily (Resp. X. 599e). It is probable that the spread of Zaleucus’ laws was limited to the territory of Locri itself and that his code was known beyond its borders only for being the first written one,11 in contrast to the laws of Charondas, which were widely known and used far beyond the borders of Catana. Aristotle in fact records Zaleucus only as the lawgiver of Locri Epizephyrii, whereas he refers to Charondas as the lawgiver of Catana and of other Chalcidian poleis of Italy and Sicily (Arist. Pol. II. 9. 1274a. 22–25: νομοθέται δὲ ἐγένοντο Ζάλευκός τε Λοκροῖς τοῖς ἐπιζεφυρίοις, καὶ Χαρώνδας ὁ Καταναῖος τοῖς αὑτοῦ πολίταις καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις ταῖς Χαλκιδικαῖς πόλεσι ταῖς περὶ Ἰταλίαν καὶ Σικελίαν). Hence a study of the Greek legal system on Sicily need only examine the laws of Charondas. The date of Charondas’ life falls within quite wide chronological limits. The terminus post quem is the dating of Zaleucus’ laws. The introduction of Zaleucus’ laws into Locri is firmly dated by Eusebius to 663 B. C. (Chron. vers. arm. p. 86 7 8

Vysokii, M. F. 2004, 16, 18, 20. Dracon’s code appeared forty years later, while the popularity of earlier legislation by Philolaus in Thebes and of Cretan laws was probably restricted to their native poleis for a long time, which may be why information about Philolaus’ laws is found only in Aristotle’s Politics, i. e., in a work that especially included materials about the legislative systems of different poleis (see in more detail: Buck, R. J. 1979, 95; Shishova, I. A. 1991, 76–88). 9 In the same way, it was professional interest and special research questions that brought knowledge of Zaleucus to Aristotle and his contemporary Theophrastus, the author of a special work on lawgivers (Diog. Laert. V. 45) and who, perhaps, insisted on Zaleucus’ reality in scholarly polemics (apud Cic. Leg. II. 15). 10 For more details about Timaeus of Tauromenium and his work see Brown, T. S. 1958; Vysokii, M. F. 2004, 10–13. 11 In Locri Zaleucus’ laws were carefully maintained, as seen from Demosthenes’ information discussed above. Polybius informs us that Zaleucus’ laws were actively adapted in Locri (XII. 16); in the time of Cicero the memory of Zaleucus was still kept alive in Locri (Cic. Leg. II. 15).

34

Mikhail F. Vysokii

Schoene; in the Latin version of Jerome to 662/1 – p. 94 Helm). As we have already seen, the story that Charondas was a pupil of Zaleucus was not credited even in ancient times, but it allows us at least to suppose that Charondas’ laws appeared later than those of Zaleucus. This is confirmed indirectly by Ephorus’ statement that Zaleucus’ laws were the first written code. But how much later than Zaleucus did Charondas live? When reporting accounts of lawgivers’ apprenticeships (Onomacritus and Thales as students of Lycurgus, and Zaleucus as the teacher of Charondas), Aristotle stresses that only people who are not well-informed about chronology maintain this version of events (ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν λέγουσιν ἀσκεπτότερον τῶν χρόνων λέγοντες, Pol. II. 9. 1274a. 30). Although this remark refers to the whole scheme of apprenticeships among lawgivers, it is possible to suppose that there may have been a considerable period of time between Zaleucus and Charondas. The terminus ante quem for Charondas is the report by Heraclides Lembus that Charondas’ laws existed in Rhegium before the tyrant Anaxilas came to power (Heraclid. Lemb. 55 Dilts) in 494 B. C. (Diod. XI. 48. 2). In other words, Charondas’ life and activity should be dated to the late seventh or sixth century B. C. Given this conclusion, an interesting hypothesis should be mentioned about a possible connection between Charondas’ legislation and the tyranny of Panaetius in Leontini (a Chalcidian polis neighbouring Catana): the laws could have been established with the aim of avoiding an experience like that of Leontini in other poleis, and first of all in Catana, the native polis of Charondas. The constitutional part of this code presupposed that the oligarchy would expand its membership by giving certain rights and lands to most wealthy citizens who had not had them before.12 Unfortunately, there is not enough evidence to prove (or disprove) this hypothesis, although the essential features of Charondas’ constitutional reform that it implies seem quite probable. Taking into consideration that Panaetius’ appearance in power dates to 609/8 B. C. (Euseb. Chron. vers. arm., p. 90 Schoene; in the Latin version of Jerome dated to 615/4 – p. 97 b Helm), Charondas’ laws would be dated to the first half of the sixth century. Among the sources of information about Charondas’ laws, we should highlight Aristotle, the earliest source, and Diodorus Siculus, whose work contains the largest part of the laws transmitted under Charondas’ name. In addition, a considerable fragment, termed Χαρώνδα Καταναίου Προοίμια νόμων, can be found in the work of Ioannes Stobaeus, the Byzantine author of the sixth century A. D. (Flor. IV. 2. 24, p. 149–155 Hense).13 Unfortunately the evidence from this work is literaryphilosophical in character rather than historical. It should be pointed out that the laws in Stobaeus’ work include a preamble, whereas, according to Plato, in early 12 Roebuck, C. 1980, 1927. It should be noted that the general social development was similar in all poleis of Sicily, with differences only in the chronological framework of the process in different poleis. The essence of these events was that, gradually, with the increasing population of the apoikia, the ruling group of first settlers was converted into a new land-owning aristocracy, which formed a new political system in the polis: an oligarchy of descendants of the first settlers (see Vysokii, M. F. 2004, 38). 13 The treatise of Stobaeus is known as the Florilegium; the most recent edition is by C. Wachsmuth and O. Hense, Stobaeus Ioannes. Anthologium. Vol. 1–5. Berolini, 1884–1912.

Ancient Greek Legislation on Sicily: The Laws of Charondas

35

legislation there were no preambles to laws (Leg. IV. 722e). As for the formulation and content of the laws, they contain maxims that go back to the Pythagorean tradition, but quite early, to the fifth and fourth centuries B. C.:14 some fragments mention daimones (chthonic daimones and daimones who preserve the home), which are typical of the Pythagorean system (see Arist. fr. 193; 196 Rose; Heraclid. Lemb. apud Iamb. Vita Pyth. 219; Aristox. fr. 34 Wehrli; Iamb. Vita Pyth. 31; 37; 100). On the whole, Stobaeus’ material is of secondary importance to that of the earlier author Diodorus. Nonetheless, we should point out that Diodorus used a text that was not the original version of Charondas’ code, but a version transmitted by authors in the Pythagorean tradition, as is shown by the following points: ‑ classical Pythagorean maxims can be detected in some of the philosophical reasoning given to explain the need for this or that law;15 ‑ in Diodorus’ text of the laws there are fragments that were perhaps borrowed from the preamble of the laws in Diodorus’ source (περὶ τῆς κακομιλίας – XII. 12. 3; περὶ τῆς τῶν ὀρφανῶν φυλακῆς – XII. 15. 1; περὶ τῶν ἐπικλήρων – XII. 18. 3). This raises the question of Diodorus’ source. In his narrative of the events on Sicily and Magna Graecia Diodorus, who pays special attention to this region, used a large number of earlier works.16 However, he almost never refers to them directly, so different hypotheses have emerged about the sources of his work. The passage about Charondas’ laws is variously attributed to Timaeus of Tauromenium, a work often used by Diodorus,17 to Ephorus (apud Strabo. VI. I. 8)18 or to Posidonius (apud Senec. Ep. XC. 6).19 Of special note is the hypothesis of K. Meister, who argues that Diodorus’ fragments about Charondas’ and Zaleucus’ laws (XII. 20–21) may have been derived from a special work περὶ νομοθετῶν of unknown authorship.20 However, the matter is quite confused. Timaeus and Ephorus mentioned only Zaleucus, 14 Vallet, G. 1958, 314; Cordano, F. 1978, 88; 95–96. M. Mühl, who made a special study of Zaleucus and Charondas, thought that the appearance of a preamble is typical of the Pythagorean tradition (Mühl, M. 1929, 437). 15 The following laws can be linked to Pythagorean maxims connected with public morality in Pythagorean thought: the necessity of obeying laws, even if a mistake has occurred (XII. 16. 3); one should not fraternize with bad people (XII. 12. 3); one should not marry for a second time and should limit the civic rights of anyone who gives his children a stepmother (XII. 12. 1); one should punish slanderers in public (XII. 12. 2). See Vallet, G. 1958, 315. 16 For more details see Vysokii, M. F. 2004, 16–17 17 Pearson, L. 1987, 106–107. Compare F. Jacoby’s categorical statement that the source of evidence for Zaleucus’ laws, as for Charondas’ laws cannot be Timaeus (FGrH IIIb. KommentarNoten. 329, Anm. 280). Both scholars base their findings on one fragment of Timaeus (apud Cic. Leg. II. 15 = FGrH. 566, fr. 130) concerning the rejection of Zaleucus’ existence, but they come to directly opposite conclusions. 18 Ehrenberg, V. 1948, 150–155; Rutter, N. K. 1973, 155–156. 19 Vallet, G. 1958, 314. Posidonius was a representative of the school of Platonic interpretation of Pythagorean tradition, and his work reflects the story of Zaleucus’ apprenticeship to Pythagoras. 20 Meister, K. 1967, 54. The author relies on Diodorus’ mention (XII. 19. 2) of some historians whose works included information about Charondas and Diocles, who was lawgiver in Syracuse at the end of the fifth century B. C.

36

Mikhail F. Vysokii

so we cannot confirm that their works treated Charondas’ laws too. The fragment of Posidonius is very small, and although Charondas is mentioned in it equally with Zaleucus, nevertheless the main idea of the fragment is to emphasize the tradition by which both lawgivers were Pythagoreans, and it is impossible for us to determine whether there was also a description of Charondas’ laws themselves, such as we find in Diodorus. To all appearances, Diodorus seems to have used some other local source of Pythagorean origin, which described, in particular, how Charondas’ code was contested; however, it cannot be excluded that this source was collated with other sources on the history and legislation of Thurii (by Timaeus or Ephorus), as even Diodorus calls Charondas the lawgiver of Thurii (XII. 11. 4). As we have seen, Pythagorean influence was dominant in the tradition about Charondas and Zaleucus, leading to the presence of Pythagorean maxims not only in the works of representatives of the Pythagorean school (Iamb. Vita Pyth. 31; 37; 100; Porph. Vita Pyth. 21), but also in general works by Greek historians (Diod. XII. 19. 1; Posidon. apud Senec. Ep. XC. 6). This tradition was based on the story that Charondas and Zaleucus were pupils of Pythagoras, which perhaps appeared in early Pythagorean tradition and figured already in work of Aristoxenus (apud Diog. Laert. VIII. 15 = fr. 43 Wehrli).21 The evident literary character of this story is confirmed by chronology: as we have already established above, the creation of Charondas’ code should be dated to the first half of the sixth century B. C., whereas Pythagoras’ departure from Samos to Italy dates to 523/1 or 529 B. C.22 However, nearly from the moment of its first appearance, this Pythagorean account was challenged by another story, current at the same time, about a ‘school’ of lawgivers of the western Greeks: Onomacritus from Locri, the first lawgiver, studied on Crete together with Thales; Lycurgus and Zaleucus were pupils of Thales, and Charondas was a pupil of Zaleucus (Arist. Pol. II. 9. 1274a. 23–30). This version, taken by Aristotle from unnamed authors, did not spread subsequently, due to Aristotle’s negative judgment on it (ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μὲν λέγουσιν ἀσκεπτότερον τῶν χρόνων λέγοντες), whereas the Pythagorean account was promoted by Aristotle’s pupil Aristoxenus and so was consolidated in ancient tradition. The reason for this intense interest by Pythagorean authors in lawgivers was their belief in the divinity of laws. This Pythagorean theory is most fully reflected in works of Iamblichus, who had borrowed it from the “Pythagorean sayings” of Aristoxenus:23 “Pythagoras admitted the power of gods to be the most important means to establish justice. Derived from this power he instituted the state system, laws, justice … They (Pythagoreans) claimed correctly that a human being is natu21 Aristoxenus, the pupil of Aristotle, was born in Tarentum, the only preserved centre of the Pythagorean movement; he was in contact with Pythagoreans and his father was acquainted with the famous Pythagorean Archytas (fr. 30; 18–19 Wehrli). He gathered extensive material on the history and practice of Pythagorean doctrine (see Fritz, K. von. 1940, 3–26), and it may be that his work was the basis for the extant catalogue of Pythagoreans transmitted by Iamblichus (Vita Pyth. 267; see Burkert, W. 1972, 105). 22 Apollodorus, relying on Aristoxenus, dates Pythagoras’ departure to 532/1 B. C. (Burkert, W. 1972, 110), but Timaeus of Tauromenium puts the event in 529 B. C. (Fritz, K. von. 1940, 180). 23 Minar, E. 1942, 99–102.

Ancient Greek Legislation on Sicily: The Laws of Charondas

37

rally disposed to uncontrollability, variant aspirations, desires and other passions. So it is necessary for a certain higher power to exist, instilling prudence and order… They assumed anarchy to be the worst thing in the world because man is naturally unable to restrict himself if he has no superior over him. The Pythagoreans approved devotion to paternal traditions and laws, even if they were worse than foreign ones…” (174–176). For that reason, almost all known lawgivers of the region, except Zaleucus and Charondas, were regarded as pupils of a Pythagorean: Timares of Locri and the νομοθέται of Rhegium, Phytius, Theocles, Helicaon, Aristocrates and Theaetetus (Iamb. Vita Pyth. 130; 172). These statements are probably not simple falsification: it is very possible that in early Pythagorean society lawmakers, especially ancient ones, were considered spiritual pupils of Pythagoras, who, divinely inspired, established a “state system, laws, justice, legality” through their activity. Thus the main part of Charondas’ laws has been transmitted via their treatment in the Pythagorean tradition. But only the treatment is Pythagorean, because there was indeed a real code by Charondas as its basis. At the same time, it is necessary to stress that in this tradition it is Charondas alone who is considered to be among the best lawmakers. This version is most fully reflected in Iamblichus’ work (130: “Charondas from Catana, known as one of the best lawmakers…”; 172: “That is why Pythagoras’ pupils became the best lawmakers: first of all Charondas from Catana, then Zaleucus and Timaratus, 24 giving laws to Locri…”). Unfortunately, due to the lack of evidence we cannot determine the precise reason why such an account appeared, but one may suppose that it was because Charondas’ code was well-known in the region (see above). To conclude this consideration of direct reports about Charondas, we will concentrate on the tradition, related by Diodorus, that Charondas was the lawmaker of Thurii (XII. 11. 4). Thurii was founded in Southern Italy, not far from Sybaris, by a group of emigrants from different parts of Hellas and the islands. The date of the foundation of Thurii is 446/5 B. C. (Diod. XII. 7; 10. 2) or 444/3 B. C. (Plut. Moral. 835).25 This dating alone shows that Charondas could not be a lawgiver or citizen of Thurii, as Diodorus claims. However, it does not mean that the polis could not have introduced Charondas’ laws as a basic constitutional system. For that there were objective preconditions. The population of Thurii was very heterogeneous and divided into ten phylai, according to the settlers’ origin: three phylai of emigrants from the Peloponnese (Arcadia, Achaea, Elea) and phylai of emigrants from Boeotia, Phocis, Doris, Athens, Euboea, Ionia and the islands (Diod. XII. 11. 3). There was thus no predominant group of settlers among the citizens of the polis, and everyday life required a compromise between all groups, above all in the constitutional basis of the new polis. The necessity and appropriateness of this compromise became evident in 434 B. C., some years after the foundation of the polis, when an acute conflict broke out over the question of who was the founder of Thurii, and so 24 The name appears in two forms in Iamblichus – Timares at § 130 and Timaratus at § 172 – though the same person is surely meant in both cases. 25 For arguments in favour of this or that date see: Ehrenberg, V. 1948, 150, n. 6; Kagan, D. 1969, 164–166.

38

Mikhail F. Vysokii

which of two groups had the right to be dominant in it: Athenians or emigrants from the Peloponnese (see Diod. XII. 35. 2–3). Evidently the philosopher Protagoras of Abdera was a real νομοθέτης of Thurii, as he is mentioned by Heraclides Lembus as a lawmaker of Thurii (apud Diog. Laert. IX. 8). Either straight after the foundation of the polis or after the stasis of 434 B. C. he established a new legal system in Thurii, taking as its basis Charondas’ code, which was the most authoritative in the region and indeed in the whole Greek world. However Protagoras’ version of this code was considerably expanded by, at the least, Zaleucus’ laws (Strabo. VI. 1. 8; Suid. s. v. Ζάλευκος). Diodorus (and most probably his source) used only a new version in which no reference was made to Protagoras’ authorship or to other authors’ laws.26 So we cannot use this conflated version in full to reconstruct Charondas’code. The biographical information about Charondas is as poor as the evidence for his code. The lawgiver was born in Catana (Arist. Pol. II. 9. 1274a. 22–25), descended from the middle levels of society (εἰναι τῶν μέσων πολιτῶν – Arist. Pol. IV. 9. 1296a. 18–20), and his main legislative activity also took place in his native polis (νομοθέται … Χαρώνδας ὁ Καταναῖος τοῖς αὑτοῦ πολίταις – Arist. Pol. II. 9. 1274a. 22–25). Diodorus offers us a story about Charondas’ death (XII. 19. 1–2): the lawgiver issued a law according to which no-one could appear in the Assembly armed; he once set off armed to his rural estate, and on his way back, having heard about unrest in the city, he rushed up to the Assembly and so appeared without putting aside his weapons; someone present claimed that he had thus cancelled his own law, but Charondas replied that he would confirm the law and slew himself. However, Diodorus voices a reservation here, referring to his sources: he notes that some historians (τῶν συγγραφέων) attribute the story to the biography of Diocles, the lawgiver of Syracuse. And, in the part of his work about Diocles, Diodorus repeats the story almost word for word (XIII. 33. 2). This story, which was variously interpreted even in Diodorus’ time, is evidently a kind of legend, and in fact it is a version of the widespread moral tale by which a lawgiver falls victim to the cruelty of his own law: thus there is also an early story about Zaleucus, whose law required deprivation of an eye as punishment for theft, in which he put one of his own eyes and one of his son’s, who was charged with theft (Arist. fr. 600 Rose). This story about Charondas’ death was also used in later tradition (Val. Max. VI. 5, Ext. 4), and Aelian offers a variant continuation, reporting that Charondas left Catana for Rhegium (VH. III. 17). But in this case one should follow the convincing hypothesis of 26 Thus Diodorus (XII. 17. 1–3) or his source ascribes to Charondas the law by which anyone who wished to introduce a new law would propose it with a noose around his neck; if the law was passed, the noose was to be removed; if the law was rejected, it was to be tightened and the proposer strangled. According to other sources, Demosthenes (In Timocr. XXIV. 139) and Polybius (XII. 16), that law can be reliably assigned to Zaleucus’ code. To Charondas Diodorus attributes also the law ‘an eye for an eye’ (XII. 17. 4–5), though this too is also assigned to the legislation of Locri (Demosth., In Timocr., XXIV. 140), i. e. to Zaleucus. The confusion that we observe in Diodorus’ text (or his source) reveals above all that the Thurii code had been unified editorially and then placed under the aegis of Charondas, which is understandable from the point of view of its practical use.

Ancient Greek Legislation on Sicily: The Laws of Charondas

39

T. J. Dunbabin that the story in Aelian is an attempt to provide a realistic explanation of the introduction of Charondas’ laws in Rhegium.27 After all that has been examined above, we will now try to reconstruct some parts of Charondas’ code as far as the state of the sources permits. Aristotle, who probably had access to the original text of the code, points out that in precision (ἡ ἀκρίβεια) of formulation Charondas’ laws stood out even among lawgivers contemporary to Aristotle himself (Pol. II. 9. 1274b. 8–10). Aristotle underlines that in Charondas’ code there is nothing original (τὸ ἴδιον) except the law about false evidence. Prior to this Aristotle has discussed the laws of Solon and of Philolaus, but it does not seem legitimate to relate Aristotle’s comment to these lawgivers, and especially not to Solon, because in this short piece of text (1274a–b) a whole series of lawgivers has been mentioned (Solon, Zaleucus, Charondas, Philolaus, Thales, Platon, Dracon, Pittacus, Androdamas) and Aristotle remarks of three of them (Charondas, Dracon, Androdamas) that there is nothing original in their laws. Consequently, this judgement must be the author’s assessment on the basis of the whole complex of his legislative knowledge, and it does not permit us to use his comparison with the legacy of other lawgivers to fill out our knowledge of Charondas’ code. Out of the preserved fragments of Charondas’ code, some chapters can be identified. First of all we will consider the laws connected with legal proceedings. As Aristotle reports, according to Charondas’ law on avoiding duties as judge, the rich were fined significantly, but the poor were fined only a little (Pol. IV. 10. 1297a. 21–24). It is evident from this fragment that the basis of the legal system was a court (Aristotle used a neutral term τὰ δικαστήρια) formed by citizens, probably selected by lot. One can agree with those scholars who see a gradation of citizens by property qualification28 (it is possible that a separate law of Charondas’ code was devoted to it). The purpose of this law was to give the same rights to citizens of the same standing, as the penalty was made proportional to the amount of their property.29 Another law in that part of the code dealt with taking someone to court for perjury (Arist. Pol. II. 9. 1274b. 6–8). Aristotle particularly underlines that it was Charondas who was the first to establish a law by which perjurers could be taken to court. This law put legal proceedings on a new level, making it possible to ensure objectivity in holding law cases in the court. 27 Dunbabin, T. J. 1948, 74. 28 Cordano, F. 1978, 94. The gradation of property qualifications is what allows a lawgiver to classify citizens so as to fix the amount of the fine. Property qualification was not used as widely in Charondas’ laws as in Solon’s. Thus while granting a dowry to an epikleros heiress, according to Solon’s law the amount depended on the property qualification of her relative (500, 300 or 150 drachmas – see Demosth. In Macart., XLIII. 54), whereas according to the similar law of Charondas the amount of the dowry was fixed (500 drachmas – Diod. XII. 18. 3). 29 Aristotle mentions this law among “tricks” in favour of the demos (σοφίζονται πρὸς τὸν δῆμον), i. e. compromises by the ruling elite in favour of the democratic majority. But one should take into consideration that Aristotle reached such generalizing political conclusions based primarily on his own contemporary reality. It is quite possible that the main purpose of passing this law was to achieve social justice in the sphere regulated by it.

40

Mikhail F. Vysokii

Another part of Charondas’ code can be theoretically marked as a complex of laws about property inheritance. First of all it concerns the law about epikleros heiresses. According to the law, the nearest relative had either to marry the epikleros heiress or to pay out 500 drachmas to her as a dowry (Diod. XII. 18. 3). The text of this law is preserved only in Diodorus, but the language of the fragment is more archaic than that of the other fragments,30 and so it is possible to assign it to the original text of Charondas’ code quoted by Diodorus’ source. In addition, Aristotle (Pol. II. 9. 1274b. 24–25) informs us that among the laws of Androdamas of Rhegium, who established Charondas’ laws in poleis in the Chalcidice in Thrace,31 there was a law περὶ τὰς ἐπικλήρους, probably taken from Charondas’ code. This code has a clear correspondence with a law of Solon (Demosth., In Macart. XLIII. 54), as Diodorus himself observes.32 Borrowings of this kind are barely worthy of mention, as mutual interference is nothing exceptional; for example, the maximum dowry, 500 drachmas, unexpectedly coincides in both laws. In any case, the purpose of the law is obvious – to preserve property within the family and defend the property rights of an heiress. The text of another law appears in Diodorus (XII. 15. 1–3) which is very close in meaning to the law about epikleros heiresses and, perhaps, is its continuation. This law deals with the protection of orphans: the property of an orphan is to be administered by the nearest relatives on the father’s side, but the orphan is to be brought up by relatives from the mother’s side. The main legal unit considered fundamental in the field of property inheritance was the family. And, to all appearances, in his code Charondas gave a precise definition of the persons considered to be a family from the point of view of possession and inheritance of property: the lawgiver considered people who ate from the same storeroom (ὁμοσιπύους – Arist. Pol. I. 1. 1252b. 14) to be the members of a family. In other words, a family consists of people who share a household in an independent residence. One more law that Diodorus assigns to Charondas regulates a family-property relationship. If a woman dissolved a marriage on her own initiative, she did not have the right to marry a man younger than her previous husband; equally a man who left a wife could not marry a younger woman (XII. 18. 1–2). Although the logic of the law corresponds to archaic legislation, it is nevertheless difficult to form an opinion about its authenticity. The next part of Charondas’ code is devoted to criminal cases. We have an inscription which includes the earliest text of Charondas’ code. During excavations in a small Greek settlement in Monte San Mauro, in the chora of the Chalcidian polis Leontini, a neighbour of Catana,33 there were found 12 burnt fragments of two or 30 Cordano, F. 1978, 97. 31 Vysokii, M. F. 2004a, 5. 32 Comparison of the laws of Charondas, as the best lawgiver of Italy and Sicily, with those of Solon, as the best lawgiver of Athens and of Hellas as a whole, became universal tradition by the late fifth century B. C. (see Plat. Resp. X. 599e). 33 Vysokii, M. F. 2004, 370: this Greek settlement was founded by the Leontines in the early sixth century B. C. on the site of a town of Siculi captured by them (Spigo, U. 1984–1985, 879–880).

Ancient Greek Legislation on Sicily: The Laws of Charondas

41

more bronze tablets bearing the text of the law. The inscription was written boustrophedon in Chalcidian alphabet and Ionian dialect and dates to the fifth century B. C. Most researchers assign this text to Charondas’ laws, which were adopted in Leontini.34 The text is quite fragmentary, but it can be seen that it is a law about murder (fr. 1a. 1: φονέ[α).35 This is the only text that transmits the authentic formulation of the laws, and it gives us an example of their precision (ἡ ἀκρίβεια), which was noted by Aristotle (Pol. II. 9. 1274b. 8–10): the frequent term ὅστις (fr. 3a. 5; 5a. 4; 5b. 2; 9b(verso). 2; 10a(recto). 1; 12. 2) separates the items of the law; the same function seems to be fulfilled by the term ἰάν δέ (fr. 1a. 5; 5b. 4; 8b(verso). 2; 9a(recto). 1). The punishment for murder was a quite heavy fine (ἄποι[να fr. 8a(recto). 4; perhaps also fr. 3a. 8: ἀπο[ινᾶν) of two talents (fr. 5a. 1–2: δύο τάλαν[τα) and three talents (τρία τά[λαντα), which were paid to the family of the person killed. But a question arises: what is the basis for the different amounts of fine? The most widely accepted theory is that the gradation in the amount established by the law depended on the citizen’s property, as was the case in the law establishing a fine for avoiding duties as judge (see above): the rich paid more than the poor.36 But another variant is also possible, whereby the difference in the sum reflects punishments for premeditated and unpremeditated murder. However, in this case the punishment for a premeditated act does not differ greatly from the punishment for an unpremeditated crime, which would be contrary to the logic by which fines were set in Charondas’ laws, as they are double in the case of aggravating circumstances (see below). For that reason the most valid interpretation seems to be that the amount of the fine depended on the criminal’s property status. In three fragments of the inscription the number 400 occurs (τετρακό[σι – fr. 1a. 4; 2. 5; 7b (verso). 1), referring, probably, to a fine of 400 drachmas37 for a crime less serious than murder,38 for example an attempt upon life or the infliction of maiming (perhaps the word μοῖ[ραν, restored in fr. 2. 6, just after the term 34 Arena, R. 1994, No. 84, with bibliography. Although this publication of the inscriptions is now one of the most recent, with that of L. Dubois (Dubois, L. 1989, 15–17), in this study we have used the earlier publication (Arangio-Ruiz, V., Olivieri A. 1925, 171–185), since it gives all the fragments of the plate from both sides, whereas the latest editions give only the two best preserved fragments. 35 See also this term in fr. 3a. 9; 3b. 5; 6a(verso). 2. The text was on the front as well as on the back of the tablet, which seems to indicate that there are two versions of the same law (Cordano, F. 1986, 41). 36 Pepe, L. 2007, 38. 37 The monetary weight system in the Chalcidian colonies of Sicily was formed on the Aeginetan standard, though based on a drachma of 5.7 g (Stazio, A. 1985, 82), so most comparatively small sums in Charondas’ code were registered in drachmas; compare further the face-values of the sums cited in the Mimes of Herondas or Diodorus (XII. 18. 3). 38 The editors V. Arangio-Ruiz and A. Olivieri interpret 400 as a collegium of citizens realizing legal proceedings for serious crimes, similar to the areopagus at Athens (172), a hypothesis supported by others subsequently (see more details in: Pepe, L. 2007, 30–31). This interpretation is very attractive, but we have no other data – either from the inscription itself, or from other sources – that would confirm the existence of such a legal collegium in Chalcidian poleis on Sicily.

42

Mikhail F. Vysokii

τετρακό[σι (fr. 2. 5), refers to this sum, which would be set as a proportion of the amount of the fine for murder). The other laws of this section are quoted in the Mimes of Herondas (II. 47–56 Zanker), an author of the third century B. C. and a representative of the Alexandrian school. A direct reference to Charondas’ text and the use of an early source, evidently different from Diodorus’ source, permits us to have confidence in this material.39 It provides information about responsibility for damage to real property: ‑ in the case of knocking down a door and breaking into a private house the guilty party pays a fine of one mina; if a resident is injured at the same time (“hitting with a fist”), the fine is two minas; ‑ in the case of arson on a dwelling-house the guilty party pays a fine of 1000 drachmas; ‑ in the case of breaching a land boundary (ὅρους ὑπερβῆι) the guilty party pays a fine of 1000 drachmas; if property is damaged, the fine is 2000 drachmas. In addition, legal remedies were provided for harm to a female slave: if she is injured or raped, the guilty party, a free man, is to pay a double fine. This reference to a double fine reveals that this fragment is a component of a law concerned with a certain legal abuse, here addressing an action aggravating fault (compare some points in the laws discussed above): for example, injuring a male slave is punished with a fine, and injuring a female slave with a double fine. In a separate section can be placed laws regulating the sphere of trade and financial relationships. First of all comes the law mentioned by Theophrastus in his work “On contracts” (fr. 97 apud Stob. Flor. IV. 2. 20, pp. 127–130 Hense), whose authority as Aristotle’s pupil and head of the Lyceum gives us complete confidence in the text of the law: a seller must demand payment for sold goods immediately after purchase; otherwise the buyer will be released from any financial obligation to the seller. It is obvious that the purpose of this law is to prevent citizens from forming credit debts and therefore it is a guarantee against citizens’ financial ruin and debt enslavement (cf. σεισάχθεια, ‘shaking off a burden’, in Solon’s reforms – Arist. Ath. pol. 6; Plut. Sol. 15). Some laws, which can be found in Diodorus, refer to the sphere of public interest, for example the law about liability for military service. It provided that any man who left the ranks in war was punished by disgrace: he had to sit in the agora in woman’s clothes for three days (Diod. XII. 16. 1–2). Diodorus himself underlines that other lawmakers were in favour of the death penalty for this crime. Unfortunately we do not have any reasons either to support or to reject the authenticity of this law, although its logic – heavy punishment instead of the death penalty – corresponds to the logic of Charondas’ code. Another law from the same field of regulation deals with the education of citizens’ children: all citizens’ sons had to be taught to read and write and the polis bound itself to pay all the teaching expenses (Diod. XII. 12. 4). In this case it is possible to support the authenticity of the law, especially as in the sixth and fifth centuries B. C. state education of citizens’ children existed in Troezen (Plut.Them.10), Chios (Hdt. VI. 27), Astypalaea (Paus. VI. 39 Vallet, G. 1958, 318; Castello, C. 1990, 361–363.

Ancient Greek Legislation on Sicily: The Laws of Charondas

43

9. 6) and Athens (Aristoph. fr. 4 Diels). Furthermore, there were schools like this also in Greek poleis in Sicily: at the end of the sixth century B. C. Gelon, the Deinomenid and future tyrant of Gela and Syracuse, was educated in such a school in his native polis, Gela; more than 100 children were educated there along with him (Diod. X. 29). Finally, let us turn to the issue of whether Charondas’ code included a constitutional part, defining the foundations of the political system. It is known that in Rhegium in the sixth century B. C., during the period when Charondas’ laws were in operation there, power was in the hands of an oligarchic council of 1000 (Heraclid. Lemb. 55 Dilts). The membership of the council was formed from citizens elected on the basis of property qualifications (χίλιοι γὰρ πάντα διοικοῦσιν αἱρετοὶ ἀπὸ τιμημάτων. Νόμοις δὲ ἐχρῶντο τοῖς Χαρώνδου τοῦ Καταναίου). Unfortunately, the state of the sources makes it impossible to define whether this state system is a component part of Charondas’ code, or if it is a tradition of Rhegium, where οἱ ἡγεμόνες held power (Strabo. VI. 1. 6).40 At the least, one can probably claim that in poleis where Charondas’ laws operated, the political system was a kind of oligarchy.41 Charondas’ code became a distinctive phenomenon of Greek legal culture. In the Hellenistic period these laws were famous, and were used in Cos (Herond. Mim. II. 47–56) and also in the town of Mazaca in Cappadocia (Strabo. XII. 2. 9); in Athens Charondas’ laws were sung during feasts (Hermipp. apud Athen. XIV. 619b).42 The earliest example of the adaptation of Charondas’ code in the region of the Aegean and Asia Minor, however, is their introduction by Androdamas of Rhegium into Chalcidian poleis on the coast of Thrace in the sixth century B. C.43 It was these events that determined the spread of Charondas’ laws in that region. As for Sicily, as we have already seen, in the tradition Charondas was the most famous lawgiver of the whole region (Plat. Resp. X. 599e; the opinion of Plato, who himself visited Sicily and Italy, is of special value). His code’s influence spread not only in the Chalcidian poleis, where it was adopted as the entire legal system (Arist. Pol. II. 9. 1274a. 22–25), but in Dorian poleis of the region as well. BIBLIOGRAPHY Arangio-Ruiz, V., Olivieri A. 1925: Inscriptiones Graecae Siciliae et infimae Italiae ad ius pertinentes, Milan. Arena, R. 1994: Iscrizioni greche arcaiche di Sicilia e Magna Grecia. Vol. III, Pisa. Arena, R. 1996: Iscrizioni greche arcaiche di Sicilia e Magna Grecia. Vol. IV, Pisa. Brown, T. S. 1958: Timaeus of Tauromenium, Berkeley. 40 Vysokii, M. F. 2004, 299. 41 Vysokii, M. F. 2004, 38–39; 272–274; 299–300. See also: Vallet, G. 1958, 315–316; Cordano, F. 1978, 94; Dunbabin, T. J. 1948, 74. 42 It is probably because Charondas’ laws were so well-known and often mentioned in Athens that Stephanus of Byzantium in his Ethnica named Charondas of Catana as a famous lawgiver of the Athenians (s. v. Κατάνη). 43 Vysokii, M. F. 2004a, 5–8.

44

Mikhail F. Vysokii

Brugnone, A. 1997 (I): Considerazioni sulla legge arcaica di Himera relativa a un ghes anadasmos, in: XI Congresso Internationale di Epigrafia Greca e Latina. Preatti, Rome, 27–29. Brugnone, A. 1997 (II): Legge di Himera sulla ridistribuzione della terra, in: Parola del Passato 52, 262–305 Buck, R. J. 1979: A History of Boeotia, Alberta. Burkert, W. 1972: Lore and Science in Ancient Pythagoreanism, Cambridge. Castello, C. 1990: Sulla legislazione attribuita a Caronda nel secondo Mimiamo di Eroda, in: Symposion 1988. Vorträge zur griechischen und hellenistischen Rechtsgeschichte (Siena–Pisa, 6–8 June 1988). Cologne; Vienna, 361–368. Cordano, F. 1978: Leggi e legislatori calcidesi, Miscellanea greca e romana 6, 89–98. Cordano, F. 1986: Le leggi calcidesi di Monte S. Mauro di Caltagirone, MGR 10, 31–60. Cordano, F. 1992: Le tessere pubbliche dal tempio di Atena a Camarina, Rome. Dunbabin, T. J. 1948: The Western Greeks. The History of Sicily and South Italy from the Foundation of the Greek Colonies to 480 B. C., Oxford. Dubois, L. 1989: Inscriptions grecques dialectales de Sicile. Contribution à l’étude du vocabulaire grec colonial, Rome. Ehrenberg, V. 1948: The foundation of Thurii, AJPh 69, 149–170. Fritz, K. von. 1940: Pythagorean Politics in Southern Italy. An Analysis of the Sources, New York. Kagan, D. 1969: The Outbreak of the Peloponnesian War, Ithaca; London. Manganaro, G. 1997. Nuove tavolette di piombo inscritte siceliote, Parola del Passato 52, 306–348. Meister, K. 1967: Die Sizilische Geschichte bei Diodor von den Anfängen bis zum Tod des Agathokles, Munich. Minar, E. 1942: Early Pythagorean Politics in Practice and Theory, Baltimore. Mühl, M. 1929: Die Gesetze des Zaleukos und Charondas, Klio 22, 432–463. Pearson, L. 1987: The Greek Historians of the West. Timaeus and His Predecessors, Atlanta. Pepe, L. 2007: A proposito di una legge siceliota sull’ omicidio, in: Symposion 2005. Vorträge zur griechischen und hellenistischen Rechtsgeschichte (Salerno, 14–18 September 2005), Vienna, 23–54. Roebuck, C. 1980: Stasis in Sicily in the VIIth century, in: Studi Manni, Rome, 1921–1930. Rutter, N. K. 1973: Diodorus and the foundation of Thurii, Historia 22, 155–176. Shishova, I. A. 1991: Rannee zakonodatelstvo i stanovlenije rabstva v antichnoi Grecii (Early Legislation and the Formation of Slavery in Ancient Greece), Leningrad (in Russian). Sjoqvist, E. 1973: Sicily and the Greeks. Studies in the Interrelationship between the Indigenous Populations and the Greek Colonists, Ann Arbor, Mich. Spigo, U. 1984–1985: Ricerche e rinvenimenti a Brucoli, Valsavoia, nel territorio di Caltagirone, ad Adrano e Francavilla di Sicilia, Kokalos 30–31, II, 863–904. Stazio, A. 1985: Monetazione ed economia monetaria, in: SIKANIE. Storia e civiltà della Sicilia greca, Milan, 79–122. Vallet, G. 1958: Rhégion et Zancle. Histoire, commerce et civilisation des cités chalcidiennes du détroit de Messine, Paris. Vysokii, M. F. 2004: Istoria Sicilii v arkhaicheskuju epokhu. Rannaja grecheskaja tiranija konza VII – serediny V vv. do n. e. (A History of Sicily in the Archaic Period. Early Greek Tyranny in the late VIIth – mid-Vth century B. C.), St. Petersburg (in Russian). Vysokii, M. F. 2004a: Chalkidskoe zakonodatelstvo v grecheskich polisach frakijskogo poberezhja (Chalkidian Legislation in the Greek poleis of the Thracian Coast), in: Thracians and Circumpontic World. Proceedings of the IX International Congress of Thracology. Vol. III, Chişinău, 5–8 (in Russian). Vysokij, M. F. 2006: Migration in the Archaic Sicily (first part of the Vth century B. C.), in: “Troianer sind wir gewesen” – Migrationen in der antiken Welt. Stuttgarter Kolloquium zur Historischen Geographie des Altertums 8, 2002 (Geographica Historica. Bd. 21), Stuttgart, 250–256.

HERODOTUS AND THE PHILAIDS* Igor E. Surikov (Institute of World History, Russian Academy of Sciences, Moscow) Herodotus’ Athenian connections are beyond doubt.1 In many – although surely not all – aspects, his Histories were written from the Athenian point of view. It was the Athenian assembly which gave ‘the Father of History’ a large sum of money as an award for his work (or as a grant for further research?)2 and it was Athens which organized the foundation of Thurii in Southern Italy, Herodotus’ new homeland. The historian is usually considered to have been a member of the famous ‘Periclean circle of intellectuals’, but today this thesis comes under sharp criticism.3 On his mother’s side Pericles was of the noble Alcmeonid family, so it is quite natural that Herodotus’ relations with the Alcmeonids have often been analysed by historians.4 On the nature of these relations, opinions are very various. I believe the problem cannot be solved satisfactorily unless we stop examining it separately from questions of Herodotus’ sympathies/antipathies towards other Athenian aristocratic families. Posing such questions can yield useful data for the topic of ‘Herodotus and the Alcmeonids’, and, in addition, they are interesting in their own right. However, I know no in-depth treatments of, say, ‘Herodotus and the Philaids’, so this paper may be among the first such treatments. The Philaid family (genos)5 was no less prominent and influential in Athens than the Alcmeonids; among its

*

1

2

3 4

5

The author is grateful to the Russian Foundation for the Humanities (RFH). A grant (07–01– 00050a) given by it allowed him to work on this article. On the much discussed topic of ‘Herodotus and Athens’ see Strasburger, H. 1955, 1–25; Harvey, F. D. 1966, 254–255; Schwartz, J. 1969, 367–370; Jordan, B. 1970, 153–175; Ostwald, M. 1991, 111–124; Forsdyke, S. 2001, 329–358; Moles, J. 2002, 33–52; Fowler, R. 2003, 303– 318. Plut. Mor. 862b, with a reference to evidence by a historian named Diyllus and, which may be more important, to a decree proposed by Anytus. I wonder if this Anytus was the same man who later accused Socrates. As to the date of the decree, in scholarly literature Plutarch’s passage is often linked to one in Eusebius Chron. Ol. 78, 1 (= 445/4 B. C.): Ἡρόδοτος ἱστορικὸς ἐτιμήθη παρὰ τῆς Ἀθηναίων βουλῆς ἐπαναγνοὺς αὐτοῖς τὰς βίβλους. However, the connection is far from certain. The sum awarded or granted to the historian was indeed extraordinarily large: ten silver talents. Cf. Momigliano, A. 1987, 63. Stadter, Ph. A. 1991, 111–124; Will, W. 2003, 315 ff. The following list of works is by no means exhaustive: Krawczuk, A. 1968, 406–415; Fornara, Ch. W. 1968, 381–383; Strogetsky, V. M. 1977, 145–155; Prontera, P. 1981, 253–258; Hart, J. 1982, 1 ff.; Develin, R. 1985, 125–139; Lavelle, B. M. 1988, 211–215; Lavelle, B. M. 1993, almost passim. All works cited above, in note 1, could be also included in the list. On Athenian gene as noble families, rather than ‘clans’, see, e. g., Bourriot, F. 1976; Roussel, D. 1976; Dickie, M. W. 1979, 193–209.

46

Igor E. Surikov

members there were such great politicians and generals as Miltiades, the victor of Marathon, and his son Cimon.6 Before I turn to this subject I should make a short but necessary remark. I am well aware that those terms like ‘the Philaids’, ‘the Codrids’ and so on are in large measure modern conventions. Strictly speaking, Athenian gene, unlike Roman gentes, had no firmly established nomina (the Alcmeonids were rather the exception). Their names were not included in the citizens’ official nomenclature. The latter in Herodotus’ time consisted of the citizen’s own name, his patronymic (the father’s name) and the demotic (the name of the deme to which the citizen belonged).7 No such thing as a family name was used officially, though no doubt they were used in the informal sphere. The abovementioned Cimon in a given private situation may (or may not) have been ‘Cimon the Philaid’, but for instance on Athenian ostraka (potsherds used as ballots for ostracism), artefacts of strictly official character, he is always “Cimon, son of Miltiades, of the deme of Laciadae”. Hence a serious difficulty arises in ascribing individual Athenians to one or another genos. Herodotus terms neither Miltiades nor Cimon (nor anyone else) ‘a Philaid’; for him they are simply descendants of Philaeus. Thus also for any other ancient Greek writer.8 What seems to be the sole occasion when an Athenian is explicitly called ‘a Philaid’ appears in a late and not always fully reliable author, Diogenes Laertius (X. 1). Further, the Athenian in question is the philosopher Epicurus whose relation to the lineage of Miltiades and Cimon is problematic.9 So it is impossible to say with certainty that the family we are speaking of was called ‘the Philaids’ already in the fifth century B. C. Some scholars even prefer to cite the family (or its main branch) as ‘the Cimonids’. But such a name is no less of a convention than the traditional one. It is mentioned in no sources and I do not see why it is better. In view of all these problems it would be most correct and neutral to speak of ‘the family of Miltiades and Cimon’ rather than ‘the Philaid family’ (or, say, of ‘the family of Callias and Hipponicus’ rather than ‘the Ceryces’, and so on). Nowadays this is the most widespread practice. However, I simply want to express this sense in a briefer form and I hope that readers will always understand what family I mean by ‘the Philaids’. It was the family that claimed descent from the legendary Philaeus (son of Ajax) and already in the Archaic period was among the leading families at Athens. By the time of Herodotus, the Philaids had their own genealogical and historical tradition, and a very well developed one. The stemma of their lineage can be found in a fragment of Pherecydes,10 an older contemporary of Herodotus who de6 7 8 9

On the family in general see Schachermeyr, F. 1938, 2113–2121; Davies, J. K. 1971, 293–312. On the evolution of Athenian citizen names after Clisthenes’ reforms see Brenne, S. 2001, 73 ff. Plutarch (Sol. 10) knows only an Attic deme Philaidae, the deme of Pisistratus. Epicurus belonged to the deme of Gargettus, unlike Miltiades and Cimon, who came from Laciadae. In fact, there is a real possibility that a branch of the Philaid family lived in Gargettus from at least the fifth century B. C. 10 FGrHist. 3 F 2, quoted by Marcellinus, a fourth-century A. D. biographer of Thucydides the historian. Admittedly the stemma in its earlier part is manifestly legendary and in its later part manifestly corrupt, but here we are not interested in emending it or establishing the exact relations between different members of the Philaid family.

Herodotus and the Philaids

47

voted himself to the study of mythology and genealogies. This Pherecydes, who evidently had some special ties with the Philaids,11 was an influential, and reputable, author. Jacoby called him “the first Athenian prose writer”,12 and Ruschenbusch even thinks that Herodotus took from Pherecydes all his information on events before 500 B. C.13 In such a general and categorical form this latter statement may be an exaggeration. But in any case there is no doubt that when Herodotus was writing the ‘Athenian’ parts of his work he used the Philaid tradition intensely, no matter whether that was through Pherecydes or otherwise. The traditions of several noble Attic families are reflected in his Histories,14 and among them the Philaid one is not of a minor or secondary importance. Incidentally that fact raises the question of when Herodotus first came to Athens. The common opinion is that it was at the time of Pericles’ dominance, in the 440s B. C., when the Histories had already been partly written.15 But how then can we explain that the Philaid tradition is so well represented in his work? The family history of the Philaids was a current issue in Athens under Cimon, a member of this family, but during the ‘Periclean age’ its popularity could only have decreased. Pericles, not an ally of the Philaids but the leader of the rival political faction, was by no means interested in spreading information that glorified Cimon’s ancestors. Herodotus must have obtained his Philaid stories before he entered Pericles’ circle (if he ever did). To judge from some passages in the Histories, we are entitled to suppose that his first visit or visits to Athens may be as early as the 460s B.C, that is, in the period of Cimon’s prostasia. To be sure, no source tells us about any such visit, but in this case in particular an argument e silentio can have no force at all. Herodotus’ biographical tradition is worse than scanty. In fact, we know only a few distinct events in his life, and even they are reported in a distorted and contradictory form. It is virtually impossible to arrange these events in a strict chronological sequence. The hypothesis that Herodotus made early visits to Athens cannot be refuted by arguments from the general historical and political context either. The exact date of the entry of Halicarnassus, Herodotus’ home town, into the Delian League is debated. It appears in the Tribute Lists from 454/3 B. C., that is, from the very moment when these lists were introduced. So the date cited is only a terminus ante quem. The most reasonable date for Halicarnassus’ entry seems to be about 468 B. C.,16 immediately after Cimon’s victory over the Persians at Eurymedon. In any case it is well known that Herodotus in his youth, after taking part in an unsuccessful attempt to overthrow the Halicarnassian tyrant Lygdamis, had to go into exile and move to Samos. And Samos was one of the oldest and strongest members of the Delian League. It traditionally maintained close relations with the League’s de facto capital 11 12 13 14 15 16

Cf. Frost, F. J. 1996, 87. Jacoby, F. 1956, 116 ff. Ruschenbusch, E. 2002, 335–343. Barth, H. 1969, 313–316; Murray, O. 1993, 26. E. g., Lendle, O. 1992, 39. So Mansel, A. M. 1964, 922–924.

48

Igor E. Surikov

city, Athens. From Samos there was a direct route to Athens. It is hard to imagine that a young, energetic, gifted and very inquisitive Hellene passed up an opportunity to visit ‘the city of Pallas’ as early as possible. Athens in the period of the Pentecontaetia, like a magnet, attracted the best intellectual forces from the whole Greek world. If Herodotus indeed first came to Athens as early as the 460s, during the ‘age of Cimon’,17 it would be no surprise that the Philaid historical tradition was the first he got to know there. Other Attic aristocratic traditions, which he learned later (including the Alcmeonid one), were reflected in his work in the light of the Philaid one. Admittedly, that is for now only our working hypothesis: the analysis of Herodotus’ passages devoted to the Philaids, which we are now going to undertake, is intended to verify or falsify this hypothesis. The oldest representative of the main Philaid line to appear in the Histories (VI. 34–38) is Miltiades, son of Cypselus, the founder of the Athenian colony on the Thracian Chersonese18 and the first tyrant of the peninsula. This Miltiades (the Elder) is for Herodotus (i. e. his informants) a kind of ideal hero. According to the historian, he was very influential in Pisistratus’ time; the verb δυναστεύω is even used to describe his status.19 He is said to have been of Aeginetan origin, and his family later20 moved to Athens. Herodotus in general likes to mention the nonAthenian roots of Athenian nobility. Miltiades the Elder was an Olympic victor in the chariot-race in 560 B. C., as dated by Moretti.21 It surely made him even more influential. As is well known, it was exactly in this year that Pisistratus came to power in Athens. Miltiades found it hard to live under Pisistratus’ rule and wanted to leave.22 The opportunity soon presented itself. The Dolonci, a Chersonesian tribe, inspired by the Delphic oracle and attracted by Miltiades’ hospitality, offered him power over their land. The Athenian accepted the offer, came to the peninsula and became its ruler. He enjoyed the protection of Croesus the Lydian king. When Miltiades was taken prisoner during a war with neighbouring Lampsacus, Croesus made the Lampsacians set him free. Incidentally, the episode with Croesus – and there are no serious reasons to consider it a fiction – helps to date the events. Without it, there would have been doubt as to when Miltiades left for the Chersonese: after the first establishment of Pisistratus’ tyranny in 560 B. C. or after his third accession to power in ca. 546. A priori the latter alternative would have been better, as during the short period of Pisistratus’ first tyranny his control over Athens was not yet as firm as in the years of his third period in power.23 But after 546 B. C. Croesus was not the king of Lydia. 17 On this period of Athens’ cultural history, see Delvoye, Ch. 1978, 801–807; Shapiro, H. A. 1992, 29–49. 18 On this colony see Isaac, B. 1986, 159 ff.; Heskel, J. 1997, 16. 19 Hdt. VI. 35: ἐν δὲ τῇσι Ἀθήνῃσι τηνικαῦτα εἶχε μὲν τὸ πᾶν κράτος Πεισίστρατος, ἀτὰρ ἐδυνάστευέ γε καὶ Μιλτιάδης ὁ Κυψέλου… 20 τὰ νεώτερα – not ‘recently’ (νεωστί) but ‘later’, as contrasted with ‘originally’ (τὰ ἀνέκαθεν). Philaeus’ migration to Athens was in no sense ‘recent’ by Herodotus’ time. 21 Moretti, L. 1957, 71. 22 Hdt. VI.36.3… ἀχθόμενόν τε τῇ Πεισιστράτου ἀρχῇ καὶ βουλόμενον ἐκποδὼν εἶναι … 23 Cf. Hdt. I. 60 and Arist. Ath. pol. 14. 3 with Hdt. I. 64 and Arist. Ath. pol. 15. 3.

Herodotus and the Philaids

49

Thus Herodotus. This figure as described by him is a very attractive one. A noble aristocrat, magnanimous, generous and hospitable, an enemy of the Athenian tyrant and a friend of a mighty barbarian king… Miltiades the Elder’s image in the Histories is surely taken from a tradition very favourable to the man. And whose could this tradition be if not the Philaids’? But there are also serious problems with Herodotus’ Miltiades. He appears as an isolated figure, outside the context of the political struggle in mid-sixth century B. C. Athens. That struggle was of a regional character and took the form of rivalry between three local factions – the ‘Plain’, the ‘Shore’ and the ‘Hill’. From Herodotus it is not clear to which of the factions Miltiades belonged.24 A version by which he was from the ‘Shore’ faction led by the Alcmeonids can be excluded at once: the Alcmeonids and the Philaids were no friends at almost any time. Enmity between them can be traced in the first half of the sixth century (Megacles and Hippoclides, see below) as well as at the end of the century (Clisthenes and Isagoras, see below) and later in the fifth century (Miltiades the Younger and Xanthippus; Cimon and Pericles). Much more probable is that Miltiades had ties with the ‘Hill’ (or rather ‘Beyond-the-Hill’),25 or Pisistratus’, faction. First of all, the Philaid family came precisely from the Hyperacrian (‘Beyond-the-Hill’) region, from the town of Brauron. It is there that the Attic deme of Philaidae (‘the Philaids’) was situated. By the sixth century B. C. the main branch of the family had moved from this outlying district to the city region (the deme Laciadae), but it seems improbable that the family forgot its ‘old homeland’. And Brauron was also the home town of Pisistratus and his family. It appears that this area of Attica was connected with two famous political families at once. Both of them were considered not ‘autochthonous’ but immigrant. All these circumstances must have favoured some community of interests, but also some measure of rivalry. So relations between the Philaids and the Pisistratids were rather ambiguous and complicated: there were preconditions for co-operation as well as for competition. In any case, as we can see, Miltiades the Elder by no means suffered from Pisistratus’ tyranny when it was established. He continued to enjoy much influence, and this very fact is also an argument for his belonging to the ‘Hill’ faction. But then why did he leave Athens? It could hardly have happened without the tyrant’s approval.

24 Hopper, R. J. 1961, 205–206. 25 Herodotus’ ὑπεράκριοι look more authentic than Aristotle’s διάκριοι. In general, the regional character of Archaic Attic political factions is emphasized most sharply in Sealey, R. 1960, 155–180, and in a milder form in Sealey, R. 1976, 95–106. The problem of Attic ‘regionalism’ has been much discussed. See also, e. g., Mossé, C. 1964, 401–413; Ehrenberg, V. 1968, 48–54, 76–77; Ghinatti, F. 1970, 72; Kluwe, E. 1972, 101–124; Lévêque, P. 1978, 522–548; Camp II, J. McK. 1994, 7–12; Osborne, R. 1996, 283 ff. It seems necessary to specify that under ‘regionalism’ I mean rivalry of political groups led by noble families who resided in different parts of Attica.

50

Igor E. Surikov

Pisistratus was interested very much in Athenian (and hence his own) control over the North Aegean, especially over the Straits region, which was extremely important in geopolitical and strategic terms. He took from the Lesbians the city of Sigeum in the Troad, on the Asian shore of the Hellespont. Naturally, it was very convenient for him that the power over the straits’ European shore was also in the hands of an Athenian: Miltiades, the tyrant of the Chersonese.26 The latter undoubtedly retained his Athenian citizenship even after his departure from Athens and he also had kinsmen who remained in Attica. Most probably, he recognized Pisistratus’ suzerainty. Later, after his death, his nephew Miltiades the Younger was simply sent by the Athenian tyrant Hippias, Pisistratus’ son, to take power over the Chersonese (Hdt. VI. 39), conduct typical of suzerain–vassal relations. Surely in Herodotus’ time the Philaid historical tradition tried to rehabilitate one of its most prominent family members from a dangerous charge of friendship with the tyrants. The further in time from the Pisistratids’ reign, the more their image was ‘demonized’ in public opinion27 and the more any hint of good relations with them in the past became compromising. Aristocrats tried to obscure all such hints whenever possible. The Philaids clearly were no exception. But in general we have in Herodotus’ Histories a consistent and satisfactory portrait of Miltiades the Elder. This becomes evident when it is compared with what other ancient authors write about him. In Nepos (Milt. 1–2) he is hopelessly contaminated with his nephew; so also in Pausanias (VI. 19. 6). Aelian (VH. XII. 35), on the contrary, distinguishes Miltiades son of Cypselus from Miltiades the founder of an Athenian colony on the Chersonese, although this distinction has no basis. Marcellinus (Vita Thuc. 3) in a badly distorted passage seems also to speak of two men named Miltiades. One of them is a son of Tisander, and the other a son of Hippoclides who “colonized the Chersonese.” Neither of them corresponds completely to Miltiades the Elder. Against a background of such inconsistencies,28 Herodotus’ sources on Miltiades, though biased, were nonetheless of a much better standard. Miltiades the Elder’s half-brother, Cimon son of Stesagoras29 (Cimon the Elder), is the next prominent Philaid mentioned by the ‘Father of History’. Judging from his nickname ὁ Κοάλεμος, ‘the Simpleton’, he did not excel with outstanding intellectual abilities. In any case, he was never a politician, but was nevertheless a dangerous rival for Pisistratus and his sons. Cimon was a great chariot-racer and the most famous Athenian Olympic victor of the sixth century B. C. He won thrice, and, if Herodotus can be believed, with one and the same team of horses. Moretti dates

26 Cf. Graham, A. J. 1964, 32–33; Graham, A. J. 1982, 121. 27 The process has been well analyzed by Lavelle, B. M. 1993. 28 Though a ‘doubling’ of Miltiades the Elder is sometimes encountered even in modern literature. See, e. g., Hammond, N. G. L. 1956, 113–129. 29 They had the same mother, but some kind of kinship between their fathers is also highly probable.

Herodotus and the Philaids

51

Cimon’s victories to 536, 532 and 528 B. C.,30 but another chronology is also possible: 532, 528 and 524 B. C.31 Herodotus’ account of Cimon (VI. 103) is one of the most intriguing and at the same time one of the most illuminating stories in the history of Archaic Athens. After Pisistratus had seized power in the city (undoubtedly this was his third tyranny, in ca. 546 B. C.) Cimon went to exile – to all appearances voluntarily (as his half-brother had done earlier) and not through being exiled forcibly by the tyrant.32 During his exile he won in two Olympiads and his second victory he conceded to Pisistratus, who was formally proclaimed the winner. After that the tyrant allowed Cimon to return to Athens. At the next games the Philaid again won the chariotrace. When Pisistratus died, his son and successor Hippias had Cimon assassinated. Perhaps the latter had refused to concede his final victory to the new tyrant. In any case, it is evident that the Pisistratids simply feared Cimon, and their fear was quite reasonable. For all his remoteness from active politics, this three-time olympionikes would be a natural charismatic leader in the people’s opinion. As he was in addition a scion of a very ancient and respectable family, an aristocrat by definition, it would not have been very difficult for him to take power if he had wished to do so. As far as we can judge, the Pisistratids perceived painfully the fact that none of them had ever gained an Olympic victory by himself. There was something like a cult of horses in their family, perhaps due to its real or alleged provenance from Pylos, the city of Poseidon, as the horse was the sacred animal of the sea god.33 It is surely no accident that names with the root hipp- were very popular among the Pisistratids both before the first tyrant (the name of his father was Hippocrates) and after him (Hippias and Hipparchus were his two elder sons). Taking into account that such names must have been associated also with the chariot-races, it becomes intelligible why members of the tyrant’s family strove so ardently to win Olympic victories. But luck was not on their side. One may even speak of an ‘inferiority complex’ of the Pisistratids in this respect. They tried to improve the situation by all means within their reach. At any rate Pisistratus accepted Cimon’s gift and let himself be proclaimed the winner. Moreover, he repaid Cimon by allowing his return to Athens. Evidently the tyrant was quite happy to have even such a ‘victory’. It is notable that after Cimon’s murder the sons of Pisistratus treated his son Miltiades (the future hero of Marathon) in a friendly way.34 They made him the eponymous archon for 524/3 B. C.35 and later he became the tyrant of the Chersone30 Moretti, L. 1957, 72–74. 31 On Cimon’s victories see Surikov, I. E. 2004, 195 ff. 32 The expression used by Herodotus is Κίμωνα … κατέλαβε φυγεῖν ἐξ Ἀθηνέων Πεισίστρατον κτλ. The verb φεύγω can mean both ‘to be exiled’ and ‘to go into exile, to escape’, but the former case would presuppose the construction ὑπό with the genitive. 33 The Pylian origin of the Pisistratids: Hdt. V. 65. Cf. a constant epithet of Nestor, the king of Pylos and Pisistratus’ alleged ancestor, in the Iliad: ‘the Gerenian horseman’. 34 Hdt. VI. 39. 35 Dionys. Hal. Ant. Rom. VII. 3. 1. The fact was confirmed by a fragment of the Athenian archonlist first published by Meritt, B. D. 1939, 59–65. To be sure, the identity of Miltiades the Younger and the archon Miltiades is nowhere explicitly stated, but in Athens of that time there

52

Igor E. Surikov

sus with their permission and encouragement. They will certainly have been very glad to see him far from Athens. At the same time, to liquidate him, and so to eradicate a genos that had given several Olympic victors to the city, would have been a shock to public opinion that even the ruling family could not afford. After all, Miltiades’ father (as well as his uncle) was a real olympionikes, while Hippias’ father was only a fictitious one. To return to Cimon the Elder, in Herodotus’ picture he is no less attractive a person than his half-brother. Again we find magnanimity and generosity – even to the point of self-denial – and again enmity towards tyrants: indeed, he was even a tyrant’s victim! However, to be strict, we cannot be absolutely certain that Hippias was to blame for the murder of Cimon. The next member of the Philaid family to make his appearance on the stage is Cimon’s elder son Stesagoras, but he is only a fleeting guest in the Histories. Herodotus says that he was taken early to the Chersonese by his uncle (VI. 103). Miltiades, who was childless, destined the young man to be his heir. So Stesagoras became the second Athenian ruler of the peninsula. To all appearances, his reign was not long: in the course of the continuing war with Lampsacus he was killed by a Lampsacian who pretended to be a deserter from the enemy’s side (VI. 38). Neither the beginning nor the end of Stesagoras’ tyranny can be dated precisely. All we can tell from Herodotus (VI. 103) is that Miltiades the Elder probably outlived Cimon the Elder; so Stesagoras’ accession to power took place not earlier than 525–524 B. C. And he died not later than 515–514 B. C., by which time Miltiades the Younger was already the tyrant. It is to this latter that we now turn – although we have already had to mention him several times. This is quite natural, as he occupies a place of great prominence in Herodotus’ work, but the information about him preserved by the historian (or by the Philaid tradition) is of a selective character. Some elements that could be dangerous for his and his family’s reputation are omitted. For example, Herodotus says nothing about Miltiades’ eponymous archonship in the period of Hippias’ tyranny; this is quite understandable, because to be an archon in those years meant unequivocally to belong to the Pisistratids’ circle. Further, the ‘Father of History’ cites no details of Miltiades’ first wife, who, according to an interesting and quite probable hypothesis by Wade-Gery,36 was from Hippias’ family. This scholar also supposed that Miltiades’ divorce from his first wife and marriage to the Thracian princess Hegesipyle could imply a break with the Pisistratids. Miltiades the Younger is one of the main heroes in the Histories. Herodotus’ information concerning him is most important for reconstructing the biography of this outstanding military and political leader. Almost all later narrative tradition can hardly have been another Miltiades of such high status as to become an archon besides the son of Cimon. Cf. also Thuc. VI. 54. 6: the Pisistratids always saw to it that one of their own people occupied the post of archon. It seems therefore that they regarded Miltiades as ‘their man’, notwithstanding the murder of his father. 36 In his important article “Miltiades” (1951) reprinted in Wade-Gery, H. T. 1958, 155–170.

Herodotus and the Philaids

53

about Miltiades goes back to Herodotus,37 and this tradition in the long run turned the victor of Marathon not only into an Athenian or Greek hero, but a prominent hero of the whole of world history. There seems to have been something in the Herodotean Miltiades that made many people see in him the εὐεργέτης πρῶτος κοινῇ τῆς Ἑλλάδος (Paus. VIII. 52. 1) – although the Philaid himself can hardly have thought of such things. So it is all the more important to trace the family roots of the tradition in question. However, there is no united and integral story of Miltiades in Herodotus’ work, but only a set of separate excursuses. Most of them are in the sixth book of the Histories, the culmination of which is the battle of Marathon. All these data need to be correlated and set into the correct chronological sequence. The first appearance of Miltiades in Herodotus is in IV. 137–138. Here he is simply “the Athenian who held the post of general and tyrant of the Chersonesians in the Hellespont” (τοῦ Ἀθηναίου, στρατηγέοντος καὶ τυραννεύοντος Χερσονησιτέων τῶν ἐν Ἑλλησπόντῳ), without any further personal qualifications. But this deed speaks for itself. The context is Darius’ Scythian expedition (ca. 513 B. C.). The Persian king with his army has just crossed the Danube by a bridge specially built for that occasion and gone deep into the Northern Black Sea steppes. Vassal Greek tyrants who followed him are ordered to guard the crossing. The Greeks gather in council and Miltiades suggests to his ‘colleagues’ that they should destroy the bridge and so leave Darius to be defeated in Scythia. But his suggestion is not accepted, for other tyrants, inspired by Histiaeus the Milesian, Miltiades’ principal opponent, consider that it would be harmful for them to lose the king whose favour is the main support of their power in their cities. Is this entire story authentic? It raises serious doubts. It looks too much like an element of an apologetic tradition about Miltiades that had arisen already by Herodotus’ time. For Miltiades’ supporters, the very fact that their leader had served in Darius’ army was not at all comfortable. They needed an extenuating circumstance. The alleged suggestion of destroying Darius’ bridge could well be such a circumstance. It is possible that Miltiades himself was the author of the story: in that case he could have told it to his Athenian judges when on trial charged with tyranny after his return to his native city in 493 B. C. The ‘bridge story’ was manifestly a good piece of evidence for his latent opposition to the Persians – if it was true! In any case, it looked quite trustworthy and of course there was no possibility at that point of verifying information on events that had taken place twenty years before. Against the historicity of the ‘bridge story’ is the fact that the Chersonesian tyrant was subject to no punishment whatsoever by Darius when the latter came back from Scythia. No doubt there would have been people to inform the king of the disloyalty of one of his vassals, if there had really been such disloyalty. To be sure, soon after Darius’ Scythian expedition Miltiades had to flee from the Chersonese. And Nepos (Milt. 3) writes that the reason for his flight was allegedly his fear of Darius’ revenge. But the Roman biographer here, as in many other cases, is confusing the two occasions when Miltiades escaped from his ‘principal37 On evolution of Miltiades’ image in the early tradition see Vanotti, G. 1991, 15–31.

54

Igor E. Surikov

ity’, in 513 and in 493 B. C. If we followed Nepos’ words uncritically, there would be two alternative possibilities: either that the Persian campaign against Athens resulting in the Battle of Marathon began immediately after the Scythian expedition (which is manifestly wrong) or that after the ‘bridge episode’ Miltiades quietly ruled over the Chersonese for twenty years, but then he suddenly got afraid of Darius and fled (which is manifestly absurd). Much more reliable is Herodotus’ explanation (VI. 40): the Scythian nomadic tribes annoyed by Darius’ invasion launched a counter-offensive and reached the Chersonese. Miltiades did not wait for their coming but escaped in advance. Incidentally, this is another argument against the authenticity of the ‘bridge story’. Would the Scythians have waged a war against a man who had just proved to be in fact their ally? And would Miltiades, for his part, have fled if instead he could simply remind them of his recent conduct?38 The mention of the temporary Scythian occupation of the Chersonese is already within Herodotus’ second Miltiades excursus (VI. 34–41). This is longer than the previous one and it includes the information on Miltiades’ uncle and brother that we examined above. As to Miltiades himself, ‘the Father of History’ tells us that after the death of Stesagoras he was sent to take power over the Chersonese by the Pisistratids, who treated him in a friendly way. They gave him only one trireme, so it was not very easy for him to establish his control over the region. He had to use a stratagem to capture the nobility (οἱ δυναστεύοντες) of the Chersonesian cities, who to all appearances did not want to have him as the supreme ruler. He took mercenaries to guard him and married Hegesypile, the daughter of the Thracian king Olorus. But the main content of this Herodotean passage is a new flight by Miltiades, this time from the Achaemenid Phoenician fleet. It happened in 493 B. C. when the Persians were completing the suppression of the Ionian revolt. There is no information, in Herodotus or elsewhere, about Miltiades’ participation in the revolt. Instead he preferred to wait until the situation was clearer and undertook no activity. But he was an Athenian – and for the Persians that mattered very much, as Athens had just provided support to the Ionians. This seems to be the main, if not the only, reason for the Persian wish to see him removed and captured. Miltiades, with five ships and all his riches, managed to save himself. Only one ship was taken by the Phoenicians – but this one was carrying Metiochus, Miltiades’ eldest son (from his first wife). As Herodotus says, Darius did him no harm. He settled him in Persia, gave him a Persian wife, and his children were considered to be Persians. The whole passage is of a quite complicated, even contradictory character. In it Miltiades is not as good as his uncle, or as himself in the ‘bridge story’. He cruelly deceives the Chersonesian nobility; he flees twice out of fear; he leaves his son in the hands of enemies (though Herodotus is at pains to emphasize that the son suffered nothing bad). All this conduct is not very proper for an aristocrat. At first sight 38 The Scythians of that time were by no means rude savages unable to negotiate or to grasp reasonable arguments. At exactly this time they sent an embassy to Sparta to contract an alliance against Persia and to co-ordinate joint military operations (Hdt. VI. 84).

Herodotus and the Philaids

55

it might even seem that here Herodotus is reflecting some other tradition, not a Philaid one, which was hostile to the most famous representative of this family. But only at first sight! With a little more attention, we see that all the conduct of Miltiades described in the excursus is inspired by cunning intelligence (μῆτις), a quality that was very popular and was considered very praiseworthy in Greece. ‘Odysseus-like’ heroes were no less respectable than ‘Achilles-like’ ones. Miltiades’ stratagems, advance measures, and so on, are typical manifestations of μῆτις. The ability to foresee events that he displays here was valued very much, and a fortiori in a statesman.39 It is interesting that, as Herodotus mentions precisely here in the passage cited, Miltiades’ eldest son was named Metiochus, ‘he who has μῆτις’. This name for a son was surely not chosen by Miltiades at random; it is not typical of the Philaid onomastic repertoire.40 So it is evident that the victor of Marathon valued μῆτις highly. It is in connection with Marathon that Miltiades next appears in the pages of the Histories (VI. 103 ff.). Herodotus says that he was one of the ten generals who led the Athenian army to meet the Persians. An excursus on his father Cimon follows, and here the historian tells us that Miltiades was named after his uncle. “Twice he had escaped death”, the historian goes on. “For the Phoenicians pursued him to Imbros, trying very much to capture him and to bring him to the king. And when he had already saved himself from them and arrived at his own land, he thought he was now out of danger; but his enemies took him and brought him to trial, charging him with his tyrannical power at the Chersonese. He was acquitted and became an Athenian general, by the people’s election.” This set of events is one of the most vague and mysterious in all Miltiades’ career. Herodotus gives no details about the trial, and he says nothing about who his “enemies” were at that moment. Almost any prominent politician in Athens could have been among them, as all those politicians had good cause to consider him a dangerous rival. It is possible, for example, to think of Themistocles, who was the eponymous archon that year and so had enough influence to organize the trial. Or it may have been Xanthippus, Pericles’ father and the leader (or one of the leaders)41 of the Alcmeonid faction: several years later Xanthippus was prosecutor at the other trial of Miltiades. The legal foundation for the process must have been the ancient Athenian law against tyranny quoted by Aristotle (Ath. pol. 16. 10).42 As to the body that tried Miltiades, there is a plausible view that it was the Areopagus,43 but Herodotus does not specify. 39 See e. g. in Thucydides’ images of his favourite heroes, Themistocles and Pericles (I. 138 and II. 65). 40 There was another Metiochus in fifth-century Athens, a person connected with Pericles and not with the Philaids. This Metiochus gave his name to one of Athenian court buildings on which see Boegehold, A. L. 1995, 5–6, 12, 94, 177–178. 41 Schefold, K. 1946, 69; Kagan, D. 1961, 396. 42 On this severe law see Gagarin, M. 1981, 71–77. 43 Carawan, E. M. 1987, 192 ff. But there is also a view that it was the Heliaea: Welwei, K.-W.

56

Igor E. Surikov

Anyway, there was an interval of three years between Miltiades’ acquittal in 493 and his command at Marathon in 490. And during this interval two events took place in Miltiades’ life that Herodotus does not mention. The first of them was the execution by the Athenian assembly of Persian envoys who came from Darius ca. 491 B. C. to demand ‘earth and water’ (i. e. submission) from the Athenians. Pausanias (III. 12. 7) says that Miltiades was responsible for the death sentence, and for this he and his house were later smitten (alone among all Athenians, according to Pausanias) by the anger of Talthybius, the divine protector of envoys and heralds. We have here a very interesting situation, for Herodotus’ interpretation of the event is completely different. The fact of the execution itself is familiar to him, as is ‘Talthybius’ anger’. But he goes into detail only when relating how this anger influenced the Spartans (VII. 134–137). As to the developments in Athens, he says (VII. 133) only that the envoys were killed by the Athenians, and then continues: ὅ τι δὲ τοῖσι Ἀθηναίοισι ταῦτα ποιήσασι τοὺς κήρυκας συνήνεικε ἀνεθέλητον γενέσθαι, οὐκ ἔχω εἶπαι, πλὴν ὅτι σφέων ἡ χώρη καὶ ἡ πόλις ἐδηιώθη, ἀλλὰ τοῦτο οὐ διὰ ταύτην τὴν αἰτίην δοκέω γενέσθαι, “What undesirable things happened to the Athenians after they killed the heralds I cannot say, except that their city and country were devastated; but I do not think that it happened for this very cause.” We see, firstly, that in Herodotus’ version, no single person, but rather all the Athenians could be to blame for the death of the envoys and so subject to Talthybius’ anger. We see also that the historian does not believe much in this anger at all, for he thinks that the devastation of the Athenian land by the Persians was not divine punishment for the crime but the result of other causes. What a strange metamorphosis in the pious Herodotus! He is here more rationalist than anywhere else. It is as if he does not acknowledge divine punishment as such. But this is manifestly wrong. Herodotus’ religious views have been studied profoundly by modern scholars.44 Certainly there are some debatable questions, but all seem to agree that the intervention of gods and heroes into human affairs, and above all their vengeance, takes a place of prominence in the Histories. There are more than enough examples. Indeed, immediately after the passage just quoted there is a long and beautiful story about how the Spartans had to expiate Talthybius’ anger. The contrast between Herodotus’ descriptions of similar events in Athens and Sparta is too striking to be accidental. No doubt ‘the Father of History’ is relying on two different traditions in two neighbouring cases. In the Spartan case the tradition in question is most likely a Spartan (or rather the Spartan) one. As to the Athenian case, I think it would not be wrong to conjecture that a tradition that is rationalizing events and, above all, whitewashing Miltiades comes from the Philaids. Executing envoys, whoever those envoys were and from whomever and with whatever demands they came, was a terrible, flagrant violation of elementary norms of international law. Envoys of all kinds were considered inviolable persons. We 2000, 19. 44 See, e. g., some recent books and articles: Lachenaud, G. 1978; Shimron, B. 1989, Mikalson, J. D. 2002, 187–198; Mikalson, J. D. 2003; Funke, P. 2004, 159–167.

Herodotus and the Philaids

57

have no reason to doubt their killing: in pre-Marathon Athens, in a state of alarm over both internal and external events, everything was possible. And there seems to have been no-one in Athens angrier with the Persians than Miltiades. So Pausanias’ version emphasizing his initiative looks quite authentic. But later, when passions abated, this version became, to say the least, uncomfortable for Miltiades’ kinsmen. It was too harmful to his posthumous glory – and this glory, being mostly created by his son Cimon, was at its height during Herodotus’ early visit(s) to Athens. What is omitted is sometimes no less important than what is said. The other fact missing in Herodotus is the so-called ‘Decree of Miltiades’, that is, the decree voted by the Athenian assembly on his initiative. The decree was more than once mentioned by later authors as an example of a courageous and patriotic position (Demosth. XIX. 303; Arist. Rhet. 1411a10; Paus. VII. 15. 7; cf. X. 20. 2). As far as we can judge, it provided for maximal recruitment to the hoplite army, including even old men past call-up age. What is much more significant, the decree provided for the liberation of a number of slaves to use them as fighters. Pausanias says this explicitly. And some slaves did fight together with the Athenians at Marathon – for the first time in Greek history, as Pausanias reports (I. 32. 3). After the battle, the slaves who had fallen were buried not with the citizens but in another tomb, together with the Plataeans.45 The latter had a status dependent on Athens. So the information on the liberation of slaves is no doubt authentic, and that Miltiades was the initiator is most likely, but in Herodotus there is no word of it at all. And it is clear why: in classical Greece there was no measure more hated and feared than the liberation of slaves. The measure was usually (and reasonably) thought to belong to the tyrants’ repertoire. Miltiades was a (former) tyrant and, for an author who wished to emphasize that fact, this act would be very apt. Herodotus was by no means interested in emphasizing it: on the contrary, he strove to hide it. Or rather this was done not by Herodotus himself but by his Philaid informants, and this is why he never learned about the decree. Returning to the text of the Histories we see that the story of Marathon follows. The battle is depicted as another instance of Miltiades’ μῆτις, which brought full victory to the Athenians. Then there is the famous excursus on the Alcmeonids’ alleged treason and their family history, and immediately after the excursus (we should note it for the future) Miltiades appears again. That is the last Herodotean passage connected with him (VI. 132–140). “Although Miltiades had a good reputation with Athenians even earlier”, the historian says, “after the [Persian] defeat at Marathon he became still more influential.” The following year he led a naval expedition to the Cycladic islands. The pretext was that they had aided the Persians. But the real aim of the campaign was simple robbery of the islanders, and that was not much of a secret. It is also probable that Miltiades had his own special purposes in connection with the expedition. It seemed not too difficult a thing to seize an island and make it his new estate in

45 Badian, E. 2003, 117.

58

Igor E. Surikov

place of the lost Chersonese. Tyrannical ambitions were by no means alien to a man who had already been tyrant.46 But the campaign appears to have been unlucky. The only episode recounted by Herodotus in detail is the siege of Paros by the Athenian general.47 The bias of the narrative at this point is very complicated, as various traditions are contaminated. In general, the prevailing tradition is that of the Parians themselves, manifestly hostile to Miltiades. Then there follows a very short passage on the second trial of Miltiades. Xanthippus is explicitly named as the main accuser, and the crime charged is formulated as “the deception of the Athenians”. The historian claims that Miltiades, when tried by the assembly itself (a very rare occasion!), could not even speak in his own defense because of a severe injury he had suffered during the Parian campaign. He lay on a couch and his friends spoke for him. It is characteristic that they did not try to absolve him of the direct charge but instead cited his previous great deeds, such as his Marathon victory and the conquest of Lemnos. The accuser insisted on the death penalty, but the court decided otherwise. The verdict let him live but obliged him to pay a fine of fifty talents,48 a huge sum available to hardly anyone in Athens. In fact, setting such a fine was a kind of ‘civic death’ for the convicted person. Miltiades soon died of his injury, but the fine was paid by his son Cimon. The whole passage is tinged with sorrow. The image of Miltiades is here almost ideal: a celebrated leader cast into disgrace by his ungrateful people. This is one of the earliest episodes in the long-standing tradition of blaming the Athenians for their envy and vengefulness towards their great men.49 There can be no doubt that the story originated in Cimon’s circle. This last excursus on Miltiades is concluded by an account of his Lemnos operation. The event cannot be dated exactly, but it clearly took place in the years of Miltiades’ rule over the Chersonese. The capture of the island is for Herodotus another manifestation of the Philaid’s μῆτις: he used an ancient legend to make the Pelasgians, the old inhabitants of Lemnos, leave. On Cimon the Younger, Miltiades’ son and a great general and politician of Herodotus’ youth, there is almost no information in the Histories. This is quite natural, for Cimon’s main activities were beyond the chronological scope of Herodotus’ work, which goes down to 479–478 B. C. To be strict, there is a possibility that Herodotus left his work incomplete and, had he continued, would have brought it down to 449 B. C.; in that case Cimon would have necessarily become one of its heroes. But this it is not the proper place to address this problem. 46 Vanotti, G. 1991, 22. 47 For discussion of the episode see Link, S. 2000, 40–53. 48 The reconstruction of the process in Carawan, E. M. 1987, 194 ff., is quite convincing: according to the wish of the accuser, the process should have taken the form of εἰσαγγελία προδοσίας, and a case connected with treason led inevitably to the death penalty if the defendant was found guilty; however, in the course of the trial Miltiades’ supporters succeeded in ameliorating the situation, and so the type of action was changed to a προβολή for “the deception of the people.” So Miltiades, even though found guilty, was not sentenced to death. On εἰσαγγελία as the form of Miltiades trial see also Hansen, M. H. 1975, 69. 49 See on this tradition Knox, R. A. 1985, 132–161.

Herodotus and the Philaids

59

In any case, Cimon began his career as a prominent leader in exactly 478 B. C.,50 just after the narrative of the Histories ends. In principle, he should not have appeared in Herodotus’ text at all. But he does appear, and on two occasions. The first case is already familiar to us: Cimon paid his father’s fine (Hdt. VI. 136). Herodotus says nothing about how the young man managed to do so. Only from other sources do we learn that it happened after Cimon’s sister Elpinice married Callias, the wealthiest Athenian (Nep. Cim. 1; Plut. Cim. 4; Athen. XIII. 589d). Callias, whose fortune was estimated at two hundred silver talents (Lys. XIX. 48), was one of the very few Athenian citizens able to pay fifty to the state treasury and so to help Cimon. For until the fine was paid Cimon was considered a state debtor and deprived of some political rights. Again, the Philaid tradition available to Herodotus was at pains to suppress such details. The only point emphasized is the very fact of paying the debt, which certainly counted in favour of Cimon. The other appearance of Cimon in Herodotus (VII. 107) is in a rather unexpected context. It is the siege and capture of Eion in Thrace by the Athenian general, an event dated51 to 477 B. C. It is not quite comprehensible why this short episode was included in the Histories at all – unless to mention Cimon another time. There are details in Herodotus’ story that can come only from an eye-witness, from someone who participated in the campaign. One wonders if this person was Cimon himself.52 On the other hand, Herodotus does not mention Cimon in a context where he could – almost must – have done so. Cimon was a member of an Athenian embassy to Sparta in 479 B. C. It was this embassy that led the Spartans to launch their decisive move against Mardonius and to the battle at Plataea. The event was well within the chronological scope of the Histories. Indeed, Herodotus tells us about the embassy, about its negotiations with the Spartans, and does so at length (IX. 7–11). But none of the envoys is named. We learn their names only from Plutarch (Aristid. 10), who, however, cites a highly reliable source: the Athenian decree ordering the embassy. The initiator of the decree was Aristides. Three envoys are named in the document: Cimon, Xanthippus and Myronides. The personnel of the embassy itself reflects its creation at roughly the time of an anti-Themistoclean political alliance – this too was most likely on Aristides’ initiative. The Philaids and the Alcmeonids united against Themistocles and their new ties were manifested in the usual matrimonial way, through the marriage of Cimon and an Alcmeonid, Isodice.53 The alliance did not prove to be very steady, as it was based only on a ‘negative consensus’. Soon after Themistocles’ exile the rivalry between the two noble families was resumed; Cimon 50 Although already in 480s he was prominent enough to be mentioned on a rather large number of ostraka. 51 By Badian, E. 1993, 99 f. 52 Cimon seems to have liked telling his friends stories from his military service. One such occasion is mentioned by Ion of Chios (FGH 392 F 13) who heard Cimon in person. See Badian, E. 1993, 211. 53 On the alliance, its matrimonial aspect and its date, see Hignett, C. 1952, 396; Bowra, C. M. 1971, 23; Davies, J. K. 1971, 305; Bicknell, P. J. 1972, 89–95; Littman, R. J. 1990, 190.

60

Igor E. Surikov

and Xanthippus’ son Pericles became the principal antagonists of Athenian politics. It is this situation that Herodotus fixed in his work. In such conditions the Philaids were not interested in reminiscences about their temporary rapprochement with the Alcmeonids. Especially annoying for them was the fact that Cimon had to undertake the embassy jointly with the man who several years earlier had accused his father in court.54 Hence Herodotus’ silence on the identity of the envoys. There are several other persons in the Histories who also belonged to the Philaid genos, although not precisely to the Miltiades–Cimon family. The most notable of them is Hippoclides son of Tisander. About this politician we know from Marcellinus (Vita Thuc. 3) that he was an eponymous archon at Athens and that exactly in the year of his archonship the Great Panathenaea were established. Hippoclides’ archonship is dated to 566/5 B. C.55 but it is not mentioned by Herodotus. The historian only describes an event that had taken place several years earlier, in 571 B. C. This is Hippoclides’ participation in a competition of suitors sponsored by Clisthenes the tyrant of Sicyon for his daughter Agariste.56 As Herodotus specially notes, there were many suitors from various cities, but only from Athens did two men arrive: Hippoclides and Megacles the Alcmeonid. The whole story (Hdt. VI. 126–130) is a typical Herodotean novella that has little in common with the historical truth, but what interests us here is not facts but characterization. Hippoclides is characterized as “an outstanding man in Athens for his wealth and good looks” (πλούτῳ καὶ εἴδει προφέρων Ἀθηναίων), while his main rival Megacles is for Herodotus here simply “the son of Alcmeon who visited Croesus”; the visit mentioned is related in a humorous tone several chapters earlier. Next Herodotus says that it was Hippoclides whom the Sicyonian tyrant liked best of all because of his virtue (ἀνδραγαθίη), and – to tell the truth – also because of his relationship with the Corinthian tyrants, the Cypselids.57 But the last day of the competition decided the issue against him, simply because his conduct that day was too extravagant and he danced less than decorously. “O son of Tisander, you have danced away your wedding!” the outraged Clisthenes cried, according to the ‘Father of History’. But the light-hearted youth replied: “No matter to Hippoclides!” The expression became proverbial, Herodotus adds.

54 The situation with the personnel of the embassy in some aspects resembles the situation with the Athenian generalship in the Sicilian expedition of 415 B. C., Alcibiades, Nicias and Lamachus. Here, like in that case, we have three members: the young and energetic Cimon, the experienced Xanthippus and a Myronides who had to be a kind of buffer between two other men who were by no means friends. 55 Develin, R. 1989, 41. 56 Alexander, J. W. 1959, 129–134; Gernet, L. 1968, 344–359; Stahl, M. 1987, 50–51. 57 This relationship between the Cypselids and the Philaids is corroborated also by onomastic evidence: the father of Miltiades the Elder was called Cypselus (the eponymous archon of 597/6 B. C.: see an epigraphic fragment of the Athenian archon list in Bradeen, D. 1964, 187– 208), and it is in fact impossible that the coincidence of names between the founder of the Corinthian tyrant dynasty and the Athenian aristocrat is of an accidental character. It clearly expresses some matrimonial ties. On Herodotus and the Cypselids see Cataudella, M. R. 1964, 204–225.

Herodotus and the Philaids

61

So in Hippoclides’ image we see again one of the principal features that Herodotus emphasizes in his kinsmen: magnanimity combined with simplicity. For the transient pleasure of unrestricted self-expression he renounces a match that would have been very advantageous in all respects – and does so as the favourite candidate, the potential winner. Not so Megacles: he accepts the tyrant’s gift renounced by another man. There is one more Philaid figure in the Histories – but from Herodotus one could not even guess that he is a Philaid. I mean the odious Isagoras son of Tisander, first a leading politician58 and the main rival of Clisthenes the Alcmeonid in the factional struggle that immediately followed the overthrow of the tyranny, and then an ‘Enemy of the People’ and state criminal who tried but failed to carry out a coup d’état with the aid of the Spartan king Cleomenes I. The story of the struggle and the coup is well-known to Herodotus and he dwells on it at length (V. 66–73), but he never mentions Isagoras’ Philaid connections. Moreover, he says explicitly: “Isagoras, son of Tisander, was from a noble house, but I cannot report his origins; his kinsmen sacrifice to Carian Zeus.” This is all we hear about Isagoras’ background in Herodotus’ work: information that is more confusing than illuminating, with this strange “Carian Zeus” who has troubled quite a few scholars. For all that, Isagoras was of Philaid origin, as P. J. Bicknell has shown convincingly.59 His father’s name is a typically Philaid one, and he seems to have been from the family of Hippoclides (his grandson?). It is very interesting that in the Aristotelian Constitution of Athens (20. 1) Isagoras is labeled φίλος τῶν τυράννων, a friend or relative of the tyrants. Of which ones? The Athenian Pisistratid tyrants are to be excluded, for Isagoras took an active part in their overthrow. In 510 B. C. he became a guest-friend of Cleomenes I when the latter was besieging Hippias at the Acropolis, and the Spartan king lived in Isagoras’ house. Or was the label simply a propagandist cliché coined for Isagoras later, when the real events were already long-forgotten? That is possible, but it should be noted that Isagoras the Philaid was a relative of tyrants, but of different tyrants: the Philaid rulers of the Chersonese, of whom Miltiades the Younger was still in power during Isagoras’ archonship. This fact may well have been brought up against the latter in 508/7 B. C. After Isagoras’ coup it was simply dangerous to be associated with him in the eyes of public opinion. The situation may not have become so severe at once: one of the Athenian ostraka reveals that a Tisander, son of Isagoras, was still living and politically active in early fifth-century Athens.60 He was certainly a son of the same Isagoras and it is interesting that he did not share his father’s fate, nor was he subject to any repressive measures. It is clearly because of the Athenian demos’ “mildness” (πρᾳότης) in the early years of the democracy – mildness that is mentioned 58 The eponymous archon of 508/7 B. C., despite objections by McCargar, D. J. 1974, 275–281. 59 Bicknell, P. J. 1972, 84–88. However, we are not obliged to believe that the mysterious “-sagoras” of Nepos’ Milt. 7 (Stesagoras? Isagoras?) present at Miltiades the Younger’s last trial and defending him was the archon of 508/7 (so Hammond, N. G. L. 1956, 129). Such a defence would hardly have been useful to Miltiades. 60 Phillips, D. J. 1990, 123 ff.

62

Igor E. Surikov

by Aristotle (Ath. pol. 22. 4) and that let even some members of the Pisistratid family stay in Athens. It was soon after Marathon that the people became “daring” (ibid. 22. 3), and it was only then that Athenian aristocrats with compromising ties had to think how to cut them. By Herodotus’ time this task had in general been fulfilled. It is easy to imagine how Herodotus’ Philaid informants answered his question on Isagoras’ family associations, “Oh, we don’t know, he was a noble, indeed, but who exactly… we don’t know. Some connection with Carian Zeus.” What was our honest historian to do if not “to tell what they tell” (λέγειν τὰ λεγόμενα), following his basic principle (VII. 152)? As we have seen, there are thus ‘Philaid passages’ in the Histories (IV. 137– 138; VI. 34–41; VI. 103–104; VI. 109–110; VI. 132–140; VII. 107), and not just ‘Alcmeonid passages’ (I. 59–64; V. 62–73; VI. 121–131). And these ‘Philaid passages’ in their aggregate form a kind of system. They create an integral image of a noble family, with its distinctive features peculiar to almost all its members (Miltiades the Elder, Cimon the Elder, Hippoclides), such as magnanimity, straightforwardness and open-heartedness bordering on simple-mindedness. Only Miltiades the Younger is, in many respects, an exception: from his first appearance in the ‘bridge episode’ up to his last appearance in the Lemnos episode, he is by no means a simple and straightforward person but a man of μῆτις. Between his father Cimon ὁ Κοάλεμος and his son Cimon the Younger, who according to other authors61 shared the same qualities, Miltiades looks a quite alien figure. This may be explained by the fact that in depicting him Herodotus used not one but several different traditions, not all of them friendly to the victor of Marathon. As to the other Philaids in Herodotus, it is difficult to avoid the impression that they are all like projections of the historian’s contemporary Cimon, who was “rude and simple and most valorous,” as Plutarch says (Cim. 4). This is no surprise: it was in his time and surely not without his influence that the Philaid historical tradition was shaped in its final form and was picked up by Herodotus (through Pherecydes or otherwise). The Philaids became, so to speak, ‘a family of Cimons’. Did the Philaid (Cimonian) tradition influence Herodotus also in his description of other events in Athenian history not connected directly with the Philaids? It is well known that Themistocles’ image in the Histories is far from positive.62 The author, of course, could not entirely elide Themistocles’ greatness, but he did his best. This becomes especially clear if we compare Herodotus’ account of Themistocles with Thucydides’ panegyric to the man (I. 138. 2–3). If the ‘Father of History’ can say something bad about Themistocles, he does, and does, it seems, with pleasure. And, vice versa, if he can pass over in silence something good about him, he does exactly that. In Herodotus we find not a word about Themistocles’ activities in the 490s B. C., and this seriously distorts his whole picture of the political situation at that time. For Themistocles was the eponymous archon of Athens in 493/2 B. C.63 and 61 See esp. Plut. Cim. 4. 62 On Themistocles’ image in Herodotus see Evans, J. A. S. 1991, 75 ff.; Blösel, W. 2001, 179– 197. 63 Wade-Gery’s article “Themistokles’ Archonship”, in Wade-Gery, H. T. 1958, 171–179; For-

Herodotus and the Philaids

63

during his archonship he had begun building the port at Piraeus, which was the first step of his famous naval program. For Herodotus all this doesn’t matter, or rather doesn’t exist. When Themistocles is first mentioned in the Histories (VII. 143), he is characterized as a man who has only recently become one of the leaders (ἀνὴρ ἐς πρώτους νεωστὶ παριών), which is manifestly incorrect. What is interesting is that throughout Herodotus’ treatise Themistocles is systematically deprived of that very μῆτις that is considered his main quality by all other ancient writers, and which is ascribed in the Histories to another man, Miltiades, as we have seen. Here Themistocles insisted on the naval battle at Artemisium not for any strategic reason but simply because he had been bribed by Euboeans (Hdt. VIII. 4–5). He left an inscription on coastal rocks calling on the Greeks in Xerxes’ army to change sides (VIII. 22), but this stratagem failed (VIII. 85). Again, the historic decision to fight the Persians at Salamis was, according to Herodotus, not Themistocles’ own idea. He was advised to do it by his friend Mnesiphilus,64 and then he went to Eurybiades the commander-in-chief and set out the plan as his own (VIII. 57–58). In the description of the battle itself, Themistocles’ role is played down; throughout this scene he is only mentioned once, and that in connection with a reproach that a certain Polycrites of Aegina made to him (VIII. 92). What is narrated in detail, in contrast, is Themistocles’ correspondence with Xerxes. The correspondence in itself was a matter of dubious moral value, and Herodotus even adds that Themistocles’ aim in it was to provide himself with a refuge in Persia if something went wrong for him in Athens (VIII. 109). The whole episode cited here is one of the most unpleasant for Themistocles’ reputation. At a military council after Salamis he first proposed the destruction of Xerxes’ bridge across the Hellespont to prevent the Persian king from going to Asia. Eurybiades’ opposite opinion won out, namely that the king should be allowed to go, as otherwise the situation could be dangerous for the Greeks. Themistocles immediately shifted his ground and presented Eurybiades’ view to the Athenians, once again setting up another man’s plan as his own. Moreover, he advised the citizens to restore their houses and to till the fields destroyed by the enemy, advice that proved to be especially poor, as the following year Mardonius invaded and devastated Attica again. “With these words Themistocles was deceiving the Athenians, and they followed him,” Herodotus says (VIII. 110). In such a context, the historian’s words that “he had been thought to be wise even before, and now he appeared to be truly wise and a good adviser” (ibid.), sound a biting irony. The Herodotean Themistocles is by no means a man of wisdom, of μῆτις; he is a man of deception. An interesting parallel should be noted here: the parallel between two ‘bridge stories’. Themistocles, we can see, had his own bridge episode like Miltiades. A juxtaposition of the two episodes inevitably suggests itself. An attentive Greek reader of the Histories could even think that Themistocles’ advice imitated that of nara, Ch. W. 1971, 534–540. 64 On Mnesiphilus see Frost, F. J. 1971, 20–25. This vague figure has sometimes even been considered an invention, but his name is now read on several ostraka, a decisive argument for his historicity.

64

Igor E. Surikov

Miltiades. But what different persons the two men proved to be in similar situations! And what different consequences the two pieces of advice (both unrealized) could have led to! For it is one thing to lock up an enemy army in an alien country, but quite another to lock it up in one’s own land. The latter advice, unlike the former, does not seem a mark of μῆτις. Then in Herodotus there is a passage on Themistocles’ famous greed (VIII. 111–112): the Athenian extorted money from some Aegean islands “in secret from the other generals.” In a word, accounts of Themistocles in the Histories are almost always taken from a strongly anti-Themistoclean tradition. As a matter of fact, Themistocles is throughout contrasted to the Philaids – and the contrast is not in his favour. In one of his letters to Xerxes, the Herodotean Themistocles describes himself as “the best and wisest man of all the [Greek] allies” (ἀνὴρ δὲ τῶν συμμάχων πάντων ἄριστος καὶ σοφώτατος – Hdt. VIII. 110). But that is exactly what he is not: neither the best nor the wisest. He has neither the noble straightforwardness of most Philaid politicians nor even the cunning intelligence of Miltiades the Younger. What he has is deception and boasting. Only once does Herodotus incidentally let slip another, quite different image of Themistocles (VIII. 123–125). It is a story told in three interconnected episodes. First, the vote by Greek generals on which of them was the best during the campaign of 480 B. C. “Each one of them voted for himself, believing he was the best; but many of them agreed that Themistocles was the second best. So they each had one vote, and Themistocles won all with his second place.” Herodotus thinks that the reason for this way of voting was envy (φθόνος) of Themistocles, and so really he was the best. But, the historian continues, “Themistocles was hailed and glorified throughout Greece as by far the wisest of the Greeks.” Immediately after that Themistocles came to Sparta, “wishing to get a reward.” There he got an olive garland as a prize for his wisdom and cleverness (σοφίης δὲ καὶ δεξιότητος) and was in general honoured as no-one had ever been honoured by the Spartans. The third and last episode referred to in this passage is a controversy of Themistocles with a certain Timodemus. In the course of the controversy Themistocles used a very good, indeed clever argument. In the whole passage Themistocles appears to be a more complex figure than in the others. His virtues and not only his vices are mentioned (although vices are mentioned too, such as his vanity and boasting). Here, and only here, in Herodotus we have something of the real Themistocles. I wonder if this is so because here unprecedented honours to Themistocles in Sparta are depicted, and the Philaids were traditionally friends of Sparta. To sum up about Themistocles, it seems probable that his image as received by Herodotus was coined in the framework of the Philaid tradition. Certainly this is not the only possible solution of the problem. One might also suppose an Alcmeonid influence, for the Alcmeonids were Themistocles’ enemies to no less a degree than were the Philaids. In this connection it is interesting to look at the Alcmeonids themselves, as pictured by Herodotus, and to try to test this picture from the Philaid point of view.

Herodotus and the Philaids

65

Particularly interesting for us is the passage (Hdt. VI. 121 ff.) in which the historian is pretending to be an advocate for the Alcmeonids. It has been shown that there is no conscious Alcmeonid bias in this apology.65 Indeed, the opposite opinion has been stated: the ‘apology’ is by no means pro-Alcmeonid, and not an apology at all.66 The passage is full of irony, and it is rather a parody on Alcmeonidean apologies. Herodotus refers to the noble origin of the Alcmeonids – and just after that he adds a mocking (and fictitious!)67 story about how Alcmeon got rich at Croesus’ court, by rather ignoble means (a comparison of Alcmeon’s ‘Croesus episode’ with Miltiades’ ‘Croesus episode’ does not favour the Alcmeonid). He says that the Alcmeonids were the main tyrant-haters (μισοτύραννοι) in Athens – and just after that he adds another mocking story, on how Alcmeon’s son Megacles wooed a daughter of the Sicyonian tyrant. Contradictions are obvious, and neither the author nor his readers could pass them by unnoticed. In the story of the marriage contest, as we have seen above, Megacles is only the second best of the suitors, and the very best is Hippoclides the Philaid. The latter lost, but the story emphasizes that he lost not because he appeared to be worse than his rival, but merely because he was too free in his conduct while Megacles was more disciplined. Discipline was by no means among qualities most valued by Greek aristocrats. It is particularly interesting to attend to the end of this Herodotean apology, or pseudo-apology (VI. 131). “From their [Megacles’ and Agariste’s] marriage Clisthenes was born, who established [new] tribes and democracy in Athens. He had got his name after his mother’s father, the Sicyonian. He was born to Megacles, as was Hippocrates. And to Hippocrates were born another Megacles and another Agariste who had got her name after Agariste, Clisthenes’ [of Sicyon] daughter. She married Xanthippus son of Ariphron, and, when pregnant, she had a dream that she had given birth to a lion. And in a few days she presented Xanthippus with Pericles.” A short excursus, but with a lot of valuable information. Herodotus is here expounding some details from the Alcmeonid past, and the details are of a kind that the Alcmeonids, particularly Pericles, would have readily allowed to be forgotten. First, the historian is emphasizing family ties between Clisthenes the Athenian and Clisthenes the Sicyonian, as he has already done earlier in his work (V. 67): in carrying out his tribal reform “this Clisthenes [of Athens], it seems to me, imitated his mother’s father, Clisthenes the tyrant of Sicyon.” In Herodotus’ time, when the very word ‘tyranny’ was odious, it was in general not flattering to insist on anyone’s connection with tyrants, and in the case of the ‘Father of Democracy’, the steady and hereditary enemy of tyranny, it was especially scandalous. There is also a mention of Hippocrates the Alcmeonid, Clisthenes’ brother. A slight detail, it may seem, but also with its implications. Hippocrates was not an Alcmeonid name, but rather belonged to the Pisistratid onomastic repertoire. The name of Pisistratus’ father was Hippocrates. An interesting and very plausible hy65 E. g. Develin, R. 1985. 66 Hart, J. 1982, 12 f. 67 When Croesus became king in 560 B. C. Alcmeon was already dead.

66

Igor E. Surikov

pothesis is that Megacles named one of his sons after precisely that Hippocrates.68 The event took place in the 550s, during the period of temporary alliance between the Alcmeonids and the Pisistratids. Megacles and Agariste had other sons too, besides Clisthenes and Hippocrates, but Herodotus does not ever mention them. Only these two are important for him, as simply by naming them it was possible to remind readers of the Alcmeonids’ connection with tyranny. And then we see Pericles’ genealogy. Was Herodotus Pericles’ friend? If he was, he acted in a way not at all proper in a friend. For Pericles was certainly not interested in underlining his family relations with the ‘accursed’ genos of the Alcmeonids. Moreover, he would have been glad to get rid of such a ‘heritage’ and did his best to achieve that. Since his youth he had been haunted by reproaches of a family resemblance to Pisistratus,69 and these reproaches were very painful for him (Plut. Pericl. 7); and now the kinship of the two men was recalled to all by Herodotus. Pericles positioned himself as a purely public figure and he tried to repudiate all personal relations (Plut. ibid.), even divorcing his wife who was his relative and an Alcmeonid;70 and now his personal ties were emphasized by Herodotus. Pericles initiated a law that prevented Athenians from marrying foreign women, as children from such mixed marriages lost the right to Athenian citizenship; and now, again, in the Histories everybody could read that Pericles himself was of mixed and not purely Athenian origin. Finally, the famous episode of Agariste’s dream. Prima facie the birth of a lion may seem a symbol of something very good, merited and glorious; for us a lion is first of all a heraldic and kingly animal. So it was in some ancient states – but never in Athens! Moreover, in that highly democratic city to bear kingly symbolism was not a very welcome thing; it could cause problems. Furthermore, J. Hart is quite right in insisting on the ambiguous nature of the image of a lion.71 It was connected not only with courage but also with rapacity and violence. The exact meaning of Agariste’s dream is not clear from Herodotus’ text. It is possible that the historian’s ambiguity was conscious. Anyway, images of a lion carried a sense of some concealed menace. “It is best not to breed a lion in the city,” Aeschylus says in Aristophanes’ Frogs (v. 1431), and the words mean Alcibiades, Pericles’ relative and ward. Interesting and strange is Cicero’s opinion in the treatise On divination (1. 121): et, si mulier leonem peperisse visa esset, fore ut ab exteris gentibus vinceretur ea res publica, in qua id contigisset, if a woman had a dream that she had given birth to a lion, the state where it happened would be defeated by foreign peoples. Cicero’s interpretation of dreams was taken via Chrysippus and Antipater from Antiphon (ibid. 1. 39). This Antiphon was a fifth-century B. C. author, and there is good reason to identify him with Antiphon the orator and sophist, a prominent fig68 69 70 71

Raubitschek, A. E. 1949, 338 ff. On family ties between Pisistratus and Pericles see Bicknell, P. J. 1974, 146–163. On this side of Pericles’ political conduct see Humphreys, S. C. 1983, 24. Hart, J. 1982, 13.

Herodotus and the Philaids

67

ure in Athenian intellectual and political life and a leader of the regime of the Four Hundred in 411 B. C.72 If so, his interpretation ceases to be odd and begins to make sense. Indeed, Antiphon was a contemporary of Pericles and, no doubt, a reader of Herodotus. He lived long enough to see the first period of the Peloponnesian war, up to the catastrophic Sicilian expedition. After its complete failure, the eventual defeat of Athens seemed inevitable. It was a suitable time to recollect Herodotus’ lion symbol. Pericles had stood at the origins of the war; he had been blamed for unleashing it and also for the Athenian plague in the 420s B. C. which seriously weakened the city. We cannot say if Herodotus himself had all such implications in mind, but we may wonder if he did. The historian also lived long enough to see at least the early years of the war. And, perhaps, not only early years: a strong argument has been made that he published his work ca. 414 B. C.73 One may even wonder who wrote on the ‘lion dream’ first: Herodotus or Antiphon. The latter was by no means a friend of Pericles and Periclean politics. He may have made a symbolic case for its danger for the state and Herodotus may have used the story. So what we do not find at all in the Histories is sympathy for Pericles. The whole so-called apology for the Alcmeonids analysed above proves to be not in the slightest degree a pro-Alcmeonid or pro-Periclean passage, although it has sometimes been thought to be exactly this. Even less pro-Alcmeonid are other Herodotean stories about that family, where we see such persons as Megacles who is now a friend, now an enemy of the tyrant, and who tricks the people unblushingly; or Clisthenes who bribes the Pythia, the Delphic priestess, for political effect,74 imitates the Sicyonian tyrant in his tribal reform and flees secretly from Athens in fear of Cleomenes the Spartan (incidentally, here we again have two symmetrical episodes: Clisthenes’ flight from Athens with his subsequent recall by the Athenians, and Miltiades’ flight from the Chersonese with his subsequent recall by the Dolonci). We should note also that such a prominent politician as Clisthenes the great reformer and the ‘Father of Democracy’ is an extremely vague figure in Herodotus’ work75 (and consequently he remained just as vague for all later tradition). In general, the Philaid passages in the Histories are much more vivid and expressive than the Alcmeonid ones. Members of the Philaid genos are pictured in more detail, more vividly and with more sympathy.76 In other words, the Philaid family tradition meant more to Herodotus and influenced him to a greater degree. If we try to answer the question of whether he was an ‘Alcmeonid’ or a ‘Philaid’ historian (if these alternatives are appropriate at all), the right answer will be the latter. This is no surprise if we take into account, for instance, Herodotus’s friendship with 72 On the identity of Antiphon and the unity of this figure see most convincingly Gagarin, M. 1990, 27–44. 73 By Fornara, Ch. W. 1971a, 25–34. 74 “As the Athenians say” (Hdt. V. 63). The Athenians who said it to Herodotus were clearly not Alcmeonids but some of their enemies (and, most likely, again Philaids). 75 On the problem see Myres, J. L. 1932, 657–666. 76 I therefore cannot understand why Herodotus is thought by Bengtson, H. 1939, 51 f., to be hostile to the Philaids.

68

Igor E. Surikov

Sophocles77 who was not among Pericles’ supporters78 (but rather among those of Cimon),79 or the fact that the ‘Father of History’ took a leading part in the foundation of Thurii in Southern Italy. This latter project, although usually associated with Pericles, in fact belonged initially to Thucydides son of Melesias, the leader of the Philaid faction after Cimon and the main rival of Pericles in those years; as to Pericles himself, he merely intercepted Thucydides’ initiative and made it his own.80 BIBLIOGRAPHY Alexander, J. W. 1959: The Marriage of Megacles, CJ 55, 129–134. Badian, E. 1993: From Plataea to Potidaea: Studies in the History and Historiography of the Pentecontaetia, Baltimore; London. Barth, H. 1969: Einzelpersönlichkeiten und Kollektive im Geschichtswerk des Herodot, Wissenschaftliche Zeitschrift der Universität Rostock 18, 313–316. Bengtson, H. 1939: Einzelpersönlichkeit und athenischer Staat zur Zeit des Peisistratos und des Miltiades, Munich. Bicknell, P. J. 1972: Studies in Athenian Politics and Genealogy, Wiesbaden. Bicknell, P. J. 1974: Athenian Politics and Genealogy: Some Pendants, Historia 23, 146–163. Blösel, W. 2001: The Herodotean Picture of Themistocles: A Mirror of Fifth-century Athens, in: The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus, Oxford, 179–197. Boegehold, A. L. 1995: The Lawcourts at Athens: Sites, Buildings, Equipment, Procedure, and Testimonia (The Athenian Agora XXVIII), Princeton. Bourriot, F. 1976: Recherches sur la nature du genos: Étude d’histoire sociale athénienne. Periodes archaïque et classique, Lille; Paris. Bowra, C. M. 1971: Periclean Athens, New York. Bradeen, D. 1964: The Fifth-Century Archon List, Hesperia 32, 187–208. Brenne, S. 2001: Ostrakismos und Prominenz in Athen: Attische Bürger des 5. Jhs. v. Chr. auf den Ostraka, Vienna. Camp, J. McK II. 1994: Before Democracy: Alkmaionidai and Peisistratidai, in: The Archaeology of Athens and Attica under the Democracy, Oxford. Carawan, E. M. 1987: Eisangelia and Euthyna: the Trials of Miltiades, Themistocles, and Cimon, GRBS 28, 167–208. Cataudella, M. R. 1964: Erodoto e la cronologia dei Cipselidi, Maia 16, 204–225. Davies, J. K. 1971: Athenian Propertied Families, 600–300 B. C., Oxford. Delvoye, Ch. 1978: Art et politique à Athènes à l’époque de Cimon, in: Le monde grec: Hommages à Claire Préaux, Brussels, 801–807. Develin, R. 1985: Herodotos and the Alkmeonids, in: The Craft of the Ancient Historian, Lanham, 125–139. Develin, R. 1989: Athenian Officials 684–321 B. C., Cambridge. Dickie, M. W. 1979: Pindar’s Seventh Pythian and the Status of the Alcmaeonids as oikos or genos, Phoenix 33, 193–209. 77 Egermann, F. 1962, 249–255. 78 In 411 B. C. Sophocles took part in the oligarchic coup of the Four Hundred. See Jameson, M. H. 1971, 541–568. A ‘Periclean’ cannot be imagined in such a role. 79 It is known that Cimon favoured Sophocles in early years of the playwright’s career. The problem of Sophocles and Pericles is certainly too large and complicated to be treated here. See Macurdy, G. H. 1942, 307–310; Ehrenberg, V. 1954; Schachermeyr, F. 1979, 359–378. 80 See Wade-Gery’s brilliant article “Thucydides the Son of Melesias” in Wade-Gery, H. T. 1958, 239–270.

Herodotus and the Philaids

69

Egermann, F. 1962: Herodot – Sophokles. Hohe Arete, in: Herodot: Eine Auswahl aus der neueren Forschung, Munich. Ehrenberg, V. 1954: Sophocles and Pericles, Oxford. Ehrenberg, V. 1968: From Solon to Socrates: Greek History and civilization during the 6th and 5th centuries B. C., London. Evans, J.A. S. 1991: Herodotus, Explorer of the Past: Three Essays, Princeton. Fornara, Ch. W. 1968: Hellanicus and an Alcmaeonid Tradition, Historia 17, 381–383. Fornara, Ch. W. 1971: Themistocles’ Archonship, Historia 20, 534–540. Fornara, Ch. W. 1971a: Evidence for the Date of Herodotus’ Publication, JHS 91, 25–34. Forsdyke, S. 2001: Athenian Democratic Ideology and Herodotus’ Histories, AJPh 122, 329–358. Fowler, R. 2003: Herodotos and Athens, in: Herodotus and his World, Oxford, 303–318. Frost, F. J. 1971: Themistocles and Mnesiphilus, Historia 20, 20–25. Frost, F. J. 1996: Faith, Authority, and History in Early Athens, in: Religion and Power in the Ancient Greek World, Uppsala, 83–89. Funke, P. 2004: Herodotus and the Major Sanctuaries of the Greek World, in: V. Karagheorgis, J. Taifacos (eds.), The World of Herodotus, Nicosia, 159–167. Gagarin, M. 1981: The Thesmothetai and the Earliest Athenian Tyranny Law, TAPhA 111, 71–77. Gagarin, M. 1990: The Ancient Tradition on the Identity of Antiphon, GRBS 31, 27–44. Gernet, L. 1968: Mariages de tyrans, in: Idem: Anthropologie de la Grèce antique, Paris. Ghinatti, F. 1970: I gruppi politici ateniese fino alle guerre persiane, Rome. Graham, A. J. 1964: Colony and Mother City in Ancient Greece, Manchester. Graham, A. J. 1982: The Colonial Expansion of Greece, in: CAH², Vol. 3, Pt. 3, 83–162. Hammond, N. G. L. 1956: The Philaids and the Chersonese, CQ 6, 113–129. Hansen, M. H. 1975: Eisangelia: The Sovereignty of the People’s Court in Athens in the Fourth Century B. C. and the Impeachment of Generals and Politicians, Odense. Hart, J. 1982: Herodotus and Greek History, London. Harvey, F. D. 1966: The Political Sympathies of Herodotus, Historia 15, 254–255. Heskel, J. 1997: The North Aegean Wars, 371–360 B. C., Stuttgart. Hignett, C. 1952: A History of the Athenian Constitution to the End of the Fifth Century B. C., Oxford. Hopper, R. J. 1961: “Plain”, “Shore” and “Hill” in Early Athens, ABSA 56, 189–219. Humphreys, S. C. 1983: The Family, Women and Death: Comparative Studies, London. Isaac, B. 1986: The Greek Settlements in Thrace until the Macedonian Conquest, Leiden. Jacoby, F 1956: Abhandlungen zur griechischen Geschichtsschreibung, Leiden. Jameson, M. H. 1971: Sophocles and the Four Hundred, Historia 20, 541–568. Jordan, B. 1970: Herodotos 5. 71. 2 and the Naukraroi of Athens, CSCA 3, 153–175. Kagan, D. 1961: The Origin and Purposes of Ostracism, Hesperia 30, 393–401. Kluwe, E. 1972: Bemerkungen zu den Diskussionen über die drei ‘Parteien’ in Attika zur Zeit der Machtergreifung des Peisistratos, Klio 54, 101–124. Knox, R. A. 1985: ‘So Mischievous a Beast’? The Athenian Demos and its Treatment of its Politicians, G&R 32, 132–161. Krawczuk, A. 1968: Herodot i Alkmeonidzi (Herodotus and the Alcmeonids), Przeglad historyczny 59, 406–415 (in Polish). Lachenaud, G. 1978: Mythologies, Religion et philosophie de l’histoire dans Hérodote, Lille. Lavelle, B. M. 1988: Herodotus and the Tyrant-Slayers, RhM 131, 211–215. Lavelle, B. M. 1993: The Sorrow and the Pity: A Prolegomenon to a History of Athens under the Peisistratids, c. 560–510 B. C., Stuttgart. Lendle, O. 1992: Einführung in die griechische Geschichtsschreibung, Darmstadt. Lévêque, P. 1978: Formes des contradictions et voies de développement à Athènes de Solon à Clisthène, Historia 27, 522–548. Link, S. 2000: Das Paros-Abenteuer des Miltiades (Hdt. 6, 132–136), Klio 82, 40–53. Littman, R. J. 1990: Kinship and Politics in Athens 600–400 B. C., New York.

70

Igor E. Surikov

McCargar, D. J. 1974: Isagoras, Son of Teisandros, and Isagoras, Eponymous Archon of 508/7: A Case of Mistaken Identity, Phoenix 28, 275–281. Macurdy, G. H. 1942: References to Thucydides, Son of Melesias, and to Pericles in Sophocles OT 863–910, CPh 37, 307–310. Mansel, A. M. 1964: Halikarnassos, in: DKP 2, 922–924. Meritt, B. D. 1939: An Early Archon List, Hesperia 8, 59–65. Mikalson, J. D. 2002: Religion in Herodotus, in: Brill’s Companion to Herodotus, Leiden, 187–198. Mikalson, J. D. 2003: Herodotus and Religion in the Persian Wars, Chapel Hill. Moles, J. 2002: Herodotus and Athens, in: Brill’s Companion to Herodotus, Leiden, 33–52. Momigliano, A. 1987: The Historians of the Classical World and their Audiences: Some Suggestions, ASNP 8, 59–75. Moretti, L. 1957: Olympionikai, i vincitori negli antichi agoni Olimpici, Roma. Mossé, C. 1964: Classes sociales et régionalisme à Athènes au début du VIe siècle, AC 33, 401–413. Murray, O. 1993: Early Greece², London. Myres, J. L. 1932: Cleisthenes in Herodotus, in: Mélanges Gustave Glotz II, Paris, 657–666. Osborne, R. 1996: Greece in the Making, 1200–479 B. C., London; New York. Ostwald, M. 1991: Herodotus and Athens, ICS 16, 111–124. Phillips, D. J. 1990: Observations on some Ostraka from the Athenian Agora, ZPE 83, 123–148. Prontera, P. 1981: Gli Alcmeonidi a Delfi: un’ ipotesi su Erodoto I, 51, 3–4, RA 2, 253–258. Raubitschek, A. E. 1949: Dedications from the Athenian Akropolis, Cambridge, Mass. Roussel, D. 1976: Tribu et cité. Études sur les groupes sociaux dans les cités grecques aux époques archaïque et classique, Paris. Ruschenbusch, E. 2002: Weitere Untersuchungen zu Pherekydes von Athen, Klio 82, 335–343. Schachermeyr, F. 1938: Philaidai, RE 38, 2113–2121. Schachermeyr, F. 1979: Sophokles und die perikleische Politik, in: Perikles und seine Zeit, Darmstadt, 359–378. Schefold, K. 1946: Kleisthenes: Der Anteil der Kunst an der Gestaltung des jungen attischen Freistaates, MH 3, 59–93. Schwartz, J. 1969: Hérodote et Périclès, Historia 18, 367–370. Sealey, R. 1960: Regionalism in Archaic Athens, Historia 9, 155–180. Sealey, R. 1976: A History of the Greek City States ca. 700–338 B. C., Berkeley. Shapiro, H. A. 1992: Theseus in Kimonian Athens: The Iconography of Empire, Mediterranean Historical Review 7, 29–49. Shimron, B. 1989: Politics and Belief in Herodotus, Stuttgart. Stadter, Ph. A. 1991: Pericles among the Intellectuals, Illinois Classical Studies 16, 111–124. Stahl, M. 1987: Aristokraten und Tyrannen im archaischen Athen, Stuttgart. Strasburger, H. 1955: Herodot und das perikleische Athen, Historia 4, 1–25. Strogetsky, V. M. 1977: Gerodot i Alkmeonidy (Herodotus and the Alcmeonids), VDI 3, 145–155 (in Russian). Surikov, I. E. 2004: Athenian Nobles and the Olympic Games, Mésogeios 24, 185–208. Vanotti, G. 1991: L’immagine di Milziade nell’ elaborazione propagandistica del V e del IV secolo a. C., in: L’immagine dell’ uomo politico: vita pubblica e morale nell’antichità, Milan, 15–31. Wade-Gery, H. T. 1958: Essays in Greek History, Oxford. Welwei, K-W. 2000: Die Entwicklung des Gerichtswesens im antiken Athen: von Solon bis zum Ende des 5. Jahrhunderts v.Chr., in: Große Prozesse im antiken Athen, München, 15–29. Will, W. 2003: Thukydides und Perikles: Der Historiker und sein Held, Bonn.

HERODOTUS AND GREEK MEDISM* Eduard Rung (Kazan Federal University) The aim of this paper is to consider Herodotus’ attitude toward medism as a reflection of the Greek understanding of this phenomenon not only during the Persian Wars, but also in the age of Pericles when Herodotus composed his work. It is plain that the tendency to medism was very powerful in the Greek world throughout the period of Greco-Persian conflict and that it represented the converse of the Greek patriotic movement for freedom.1 It is also certain that medism affected the greater part of Greece, leaving only 31 Greek poleis in central Greece and the Peloponnese united with one another in the Hellenic League of 481 B. C.2 The most common definition of medism sees it as Greek collaboration with the Persians.3 David Graf, it is true, has claimed that “medism embodied social and cultural aspects in its indictment of activity in the interests of Persia. … collaborators with the Great King had rejected the peculiar manner of life characteristic of the Greek world in favour of the corrupting life-style of the East,” and he adduced in support of this claim the use of the verbs ἑλληνίζειν and βαρβαρίζειν to mean “to speak or act like Greeks” or “like barbarians” and the medizing behaviour of Pausanias, whom he considered to be the “classic illustration of this accusation.”4 But Christopher Tuplin has challenged this interpretation, arguing that medism was a concept of extremely tight definition, it was as “a matter of fact anti-Greek, antilibertarian collaboration with Persia [which] had very few extra-political implications.”5 In what follows I propose to consider Herodotus’ representation of medism during the Persian Wars on the basis of the assumption that medism was mainly a political movement. Herodotus is the authority who provides us with the fullest explanation of medism,6 but he does not clarify its origins or the limits of its application. *

1 2 3

4 5 6

I would like to express my sincere thanks to Professor Christopher Tuplin (University of Liverpool, UK) for polishing the English version of this paper. On the idea of Greek freedom during the Persian Wars see Momigliano, A. 1979, 139–151; Ostwald, M. 1995, 42–51; Isaac, B. 2004, 270–283; Raaflaub, K. 2004, 58–89. On the Hellenic League see Brunt, P. 1993, 47–83; Kienast, D. 2003, 43–77. This meaning of medism is described by the Greek phrase τὰ Μήδων φρονεῖν – sympathy with the Medes – which occurs in Herodotus and lexicographers (Hdt. VIII. 34; Schol. Thuc. I. 95. 5; Suid., s.vv. μηδίζω, μηδισμός, Phrynich. Attic. s. v. μηδίζω; Ps.-Zonar., s. v. μηδισμός). On the origins of the terminology of medism see Hahn, I. 1981, 59–66; Rung, E. 2005, 14–35. Graf, D. 1984, 15. Some authors follow David Graf’s conception of medism. See SteinHölkeskamp, E. 1999, 1001; Surikov, I. 2000, 129; 2004, 326. Tuplin, Chr. 1997, 162–163. All modern scholarship on medism may be divided into three groups: the first group includes works devoted to the terminology of medism and its significance (Myres, J. 1936, 97–105;

72

Eduard Rung

It is thus impossible to say for certain when or in what circumstances the concept of medism appeared for the first time or to determine whether it can only properly be used of Balkan Greeks who surrendered to the Persians in the 490–480s B. C. or was current since the time of the Persian conquest of Ionia by Cyrus the Great in the 540s B. C. and might have been applied to the Greeks of Asia Minor who collaborated with the Persians in that period.7 Nevertheless, Herodotus does provide us with sufficient information to reveal the patterns and types of medism and explain its causes. Herodotus uses the term μηδισμός and its cognates about 34 times and in all cases he connects it with pro-Persian activities either of Greek states or peoples or of Greek politicians, mainly in connection with the Persian Wars. There are no allusions to medism in extant Greek poetry and historiography before Herodotus and only a few allusions to it after Herodotus completed his Histories in the first decade of the Peloponnesian War.8 Herodotus uses the actual word μηδισμός only three times (IV. 165; VIII. 92; IX. 88). (In all other cases he uses the verb μηδίζειν, in the sense ‘to side with the Persians’, to describe the pro-Persian attitude or actions of various Greek peoples and individuals.)9 In the first of these passages Herodotus applies the term to Arcesilaus, the king of Cyrene (IV. 165): after his death, the historian reports, his mother Pheretime fled to Egypt and asked Aryandes for refuge on the grounds that her son had been killed because of his medism (διὰ τὸν μηδισμὸν ὁ παῖς οἱ τέθνηκε) (IV. 165). This is almost the first appearance of the concept of medism in Herodotus’ Histories (the phrase τοὺς μὴ μηδίζοντας has already been encountered in IV. 144) and there are three observations to make. Firstly, the context is not the Greco-Persian Wars, and use of the term may authentically reflect a stage at which medism and Persian treason were not yet related to each other; secondly, the

7

8

9

Jonkers, E. 1948, 78–83; Gugel, H. 1979, 1133; Graf, D. 1984, 15–30; Tuplin, Chr. 1994. 235–256; 1997, 155–185); the second group deals with the importance of medism in classical Greece (Wolski, J. 1973, 3–15; Hegyi, D. 1974, passim; Gillis, D. 1979, passim); the third group includes all works that consider the medism of Greek states and individuals without specific reference to its terminology: Thessaly (Westlake, H. 1936, 12–25; Keaveney, A. 1995, 30–38; Robertson, N. 1976, 100–120); Boeotia (Buck, J. 1979, 107–120; 1987, 54–60); Caryae (Huxley, G. 1967, 29–32; Vickers, M. 1985, 3–28); Athens (McGregor, M. 1940, 71–95; Holladay, A. 1978, 174–191; Gillis, D. 1969, 133–145), etc. The literature devoted to the medism of Pausanias and Themistocles is more extensive. Most scholars date the origin of medism to the sixth century B. C.; they connect it with the proPersian activity of some Asian Greeks in the period of the Persian-Lydian War and the Persian conquest of Asia Minor in 550–546 B. C. (Myres, J. 1936, 97–105; Jonkers, E. 1948, 78–83; Holladay, A. 1978, 174–175; Graf, D. 1984, 30). This conjecture is probable, but the evidence is still not conclusive. There are only about 12 references to medism in the late fifth and fourth century B. C.: Thuc. I. 95. 5; 135. 2 (Pausanias); III. 34. 1 (in Colophon); III. 62. 1–2; 63. 1; 64. 1 and 5; 65. 1 (Thebans); Xen. Hell. III. 1. 6 (Gongylus of Eretria); Isocr. IV. 157 (some Athenians accused of medism); Dem. XXIII. 205 (Themistocles); LIX. 95 (Thebans); Arist. Ath. pol. 25. 3 (Themistocles). For these references see Tuplin, Chr. 1997, 158–162. μηδίζειν: VI. 109; VII. 139, 172, 174, 205–206, 233; VIII. 30–31, 34, 51, 73, 112; IX. 8, 17, 31, 87; μηδίζοντες: IV. 144; VI. 64; VII. 138–139; VIII. 144; IX. 15, 40, 67, 86, 106.

Herodotus and Greek Medism

73

term is applied to an individual not to a state, and the passage may be considered Herodotus’ first reference to an individual’s medism; and thirdly, medism is a form of political action, since we hear about Arcesilaus’ surrender of Cyrene to the Persians and payment of regular tribute, but no other cultural implications appear in Herodotus’ account. Herodotus’ other two uses of the term μηδισμός are in relation to the policy of Aegina during Datis’ and Artaphernes’ expedition to Greece in 490 B. C. (VIII. 92) and the behaviour of the Theban Attaginus during the invasion of 480–79 B. C. (IX. 88).10 It is possible to distinguish between the medism of Greek states/peoples and the medism attributed to certain prominent individuals. Most Greek communities surrendered to the Persians in 480 B. C. – either on the eve of Xerxes’ invasion of Greece or during its course – but there were some Greek peoples who sided with the Persians even before 480 B. C. We know about the case of Aegina, which medized in 490 B. C. (Hdt. VI. 64; VIII. 92) but was eager to struggle for Greek freedom in 480 B. C. (VIII. 46; 86; 91–93; IX. 28). The Aleuadae of Larissa in Thessaly made advances to the Persians shortly after Xerxes’ accession in 486 B. C. (VII. 6; 130), but most Thessalians were unwilling to support them in their intrigues, as became clear at the start of Xerxes’ invasion (VII. 172; 174).11 Herodotus regarded as medism any pro-Persian policy on the part of Greek states during the Persian Wars and, in his account, the medism of the Greek states and peoples may have been connected with the Persian heralds sent to Greece by Darius in 491 (Hdt. VI. 48–49; VII. 32; 133) and by Xerxes in 481 (VII. 32; 132–133) to demand earth and water.12 The list of medizing Greek poleis and peoples given by Herodotus (VII. 132) includes both those who surrendered to the Great King because of the military threat (small Greek communities in northern and central Greece) and those who collaborated with the enemy voluntarily (Thebans and Thessalians). The thousands of Greeks who fought on the side of the Persians at the battle of Plataea (50,000: Hdt. IX. 32; Plut. Arist. 18. 7; 40,000: Aristodem. FGrH 104 fr. 1. 2. 3 = P. Oxy. 27. 2469 s. 2), were all whole-hearted medizers. Herodotus considers fear of the Persians (δεῖμα μέγα) to be one of the main factors that prompted medism in Greek poleis and peoples: Those of them who had paid the tribute of earth and water to the Persians were of good courage, thinking that the foreigner would do them no harm, but those who had refused were afraid (ἐν δείματι μεγάλῳ) since there were not enough ships in Hellas to do battle with the invader; furthermore, the greater part of them had no stomach for grappling with the war, but were making haste to side with the Persians (μηδιζόντων δὲ προθύμως) (VII. 138; cf. VIII. 36; trans. by A. D. Godley). 10 Herodotus (IX. 88) reports Pausanias’ decision that the sons of Attaginus did not share the guilt of their father’s medism (ἀπέλυσε τῆς αἰτίης, φὰς τοῦ μηδισμοῦ παῖδας οὐδὲν εἶναι μεταιτίους). 11 Cf. VII. 172: Θεσσαλοὶ δὲ ὑπὸ ἀναγκαίης τὸ πρῶτον ἐμήδισαν ὡς διέδεξαν ὄτι οὔ σφι ἥνδανε τὰ οἱ Ἀλευάδαι ἐμηχανῶντο. On the medism of Thessaly see Westlake, H. 1936, 12–35; Brunt, P. 1953/4, 162–163; Robertson, N. 1976, 102–108; Keaveney, A. 1995, 32–38. 12 On these missions see Wery, L.-M. 1966, 468–488; Orlin, L. 1976, 255–266; Sealey, R. 1976, 13–20; Kuhrt, A. 1988, 87–99; Rung, E. 2007, 3–26.

74

Eduard Rung

Necessity was another motive. The oath of the Greeks in 481 B. C. imposed a general obligation to punish poleis that sided with the Persians without necessity – μὴ ἀναγκασθέντες (Hdt. VII. 132). Herodotus says that, if the Athenians had refused to fight, Sparta’s allies would have been forced to abandon her – οὐκ ἑκόντων, ἀλλ’ ὑπ’ ἀναγκαίης – leaving her to fight alone or make a deal with Xerxes (VII. 139). Necessity, ἀναγκαίη, was what caused the Thessalians’ decision to side with Persia in 480 B. C. (VII. 172). Herodotus does not connect this act of medism with direct treason. The pro-Persian attitude of the political elite in Greek poleis was also a significant factor according to Herodotus’ account: this was certainly so in the case of Thessalian medism (VII. 172; 174). This opinion may be compared with Thucydides’ report of the Theban answer to Plataean accusations of treacherous conduct (medism) during the Persian Wars (Thuc. III. 56. 4; 62. 1): Our city at that juncture had neither an oligarchic constitution in which all the nobles enjoyed equal rights nor a democracy, but that which is most opposed to law and good government and nearest to a tyranny – the rule of a close cabal (δυναστεία ὀλίγων ἀνδρῶν εἶχε τὰ πράγματα). These, hoping to strengthen their individual power by the success of the Mede, kept down by force the people, and brought him into the town (III. 62. 3–4; trans. by R. Crawley).

This passage is important testimony about the Greek attitude to medism during the Peloponnesian War: the view could be taken that it was just the leaders of Thebes, not all its citizens, who were guilty of medism. Herodotus does describe Attaginus and Timegenides at Thebes as the leaders of the oligarchy – ἀρχηγέται ἀνὰ πρώτους (IX. 86), but there are also several passages in which he represents all Thebans as very persistent medizers (IX. 40; 87). Scholars usually point to the personal motives for Herodotus’ representation of the Thebans (cf. Aristophanes of Boeotia FGrH 379 fr. 5). The Theban oligarchy in Thucydides’ account is considered to be guilty of inviting the Persians to occupy the city, and one may compare and contrast the accusation directed against the Aleuad dynasty in Larissa (Hdt. VII. 6) and the Argive government (VII. 152) of having prompted Xerxes to invade Greece in the first place. Another possible reason for medism was the fact that traditional rivalries between various Greek states and peoples prevented them from being unified with one another. Traditional enmity prevented the Thessalians and Phocians, Thebans and Thespians (Hdt. VIII. 50), Spartans and Argives (ibid. VII. 148–152) etc., from taking the same side in the Persian Wars (ibid. VIII. 27–30). Herodotus (VIII. 30) explicitly states that the Phocians sided with Persia because of their hostility to the Thessalians (τὸ ἔχθος τὸ Θεσσαλῶν) – if Thessaly supported the Greeks, Phocis would side with the Persians. The position of Argos during the Persian Wars requires special comment. Herodotus does not include the Argives in his list of medizers in VII. 132 and never explicitly designates their position as medism.13 He only refers to the Argive attitude 13 The closest approach is VIII. 73: after listing the nations (ἔθνη) of the Peloponnese, he continues: “all the remaining cities of these seven nations, except those I enumerated, stayed neutral.

Herodotus and Greek Medism

75

toward Persia twice (VII. 148–152; IX. 12). In IX. 12 he reports that the Argives had promised Mardonius that they would prevent the Spartan army from leaving the Peloponnese in 479 – an undertaking they failed to fulfil, allegedly because of the Spartans’ eventual speed of movement. Earlier, in VII. 148–152, he reports controversial explanations of Argive unwillingness to participate in the war: the reduction of population as the result of losses in the battle of Sepeia; a prediction from the Delphic oracle; a mythical relationship between Argives and Persians through their lineage from the legendary ancestor Perseus; the enmity of the Spartans. Some scholars argue for Argive neutrality, though this opinion looks like an improbable modern suggestion.14 Herodotus referred to the friendship (VII. 151: φιλίη) which originated in the treaty concluded between the Argives and Xerxes on the eve of his invasion of Greece. Such a treaty, if it indeed existed, might have been made on the terms of giving ‘earth and water’ to the Great King (as had been demanded of the Athenians in the negotiations at Sardis in 507/6 B. C. [Hdt. V. 73], and of other Greeks by Persian heralds in 491 and 481 B. C.). A treaty with the Great King on such conditions implied the subjugation of Argos to the Persians and may be considered an act of medism. Herodotus chooses to be silent on the true nature of Argos’ position during the Persian Wars, and may even be trying to justify the Argives’ medism. This might be explained by the subsequent rapprochement of Argos and Athens in the First Peloponnesian War (from 461 B. C.). Contemporaries, by contrast, did not differentiate the medism of Argos from that of Thebes and Thessaly, as becomes evident from Plutarch’s story about the proposal of the Spartans to drive the Argives out of the Delphic Amphictiony after the Greek victory (Plut. Them. 20).15 Medism and treachery (προδοσίη) are not the same thing in Herodotus’ account, and it is possible that the two things were distinguished from one other in the Persian War period itself as well as in Herodotus’ lifetime. Herodotus applied the terminology of medism to medizing states and peoples that sided with the Persians under the pressure of the military threat, but only those who collaborated with the enemy willingly could be considered traitors. This tendency on Herodotus’ part was stressed by Plutarch, who in his De Herodoti malignitate 864d blames him for being willing to justify the medism of the Thessalians but not that of the Thebans. Herodotus associated medism with treason only in cases in which he saw medism as treason against the whole of Greece. He says the Athenians in 490 B. C. sent their If I may speak freely, by staying neutral they medized” (εἰ δὲ ἐλευθέρως ἔξεστι εἰπεῖν, ἐκ τοῦ μέσου κατήμενοι ἐμήδιζον) (trans. by A. D. Godley). 14 On Greek neutrality during the Persian Wars see Phillipson, C. 1911. 2, 304 ff; Bauslaugh, R. 1991, 93–98; Bederman, D. 2001, 215 ff; Viviers, D. 1995, 257–269; Troncoso, V. 2001, 365– 375; Vanicelly, P. 2004, 199–217. On Argive neutrality see Kelly, Th. 1974, 81–82; Gillis, D. 1979, 61–62; Isaac, B. 2004, 272. 15 Plutarch himself blames Herodotus for misrepresenting the Argives’ position in the Persian Wars and speaks of Argive neutrality as a well-known fact (ἅπαντες ἴσασιν: De Her. malign. 863B). He also argues that the Argives were unwilling to cooperate with the Persians against the Greeks in the attack on the Peloponnese (863F). However, Plutarch cannot be trusted here, since his judgments are aimed against those of Herodotus and may also reflect the same Greek public opinion which was expressed less explicitly in Herodotus’ work.

76

Eduard Rung

envoys to Sparta to blame the Aeginetans for treason against Greece (προδόντες τὴν Ἑλλάδα: VI. 49). In 480 B. C. the Phocians rejected the Thessalian proposal to surrender to Persia, stating that they might side with the Persians (μηδίζειν) but would never willingly become the betrayers of Greece (VIII. 30). The terminology of treason also occurs in the passages devoted to the shield-signal during the battle of Marathon (VI. 124: προδίδωμι) and the position of the Athenians as the saviours of Greece (σωτῆρες τῆς Ἑλλάδος: VII. 139; VIII. 144). Diodorus of Sicily called all Greeks who sided with the Persians προδόται and notably avoided the term μηδισμός in all sections of his work in which he related the Persian Wars and their aftermath. He lists the Greek peoples who surrendered to Persia and speaks of them as προδόται τῆς κοινῆς ἐλευθερίας (XI. 3. 1); in other passages Diodorus mentions the accusations of προδοσία against Pausanias (XI. 46. 1; 54. 2–3) and Themistocles (XI. 54. 5; 55. 4, 8; 56. 2), occasionally using the verb προδίδωμι (XI. 44. 4; 54. 4). Diodorus was not influenced by current politics, did not care about historical accuracy or the exact meanings of the terms he found in his sources, and chose to use in his work such terms as were more comprehensible for his contemporary readers. Aristodemus and Plutarch, by contrast, tried to retain the phrasing of their sources and that is why they preserve the terminology of medism;16 but it is hardly possible that they also realized the real difference between medism and treachery, since they use the two terms interchangeably.17 Herodotus referred also to medism by individuals, but rarely commented on it in greater detail than Thucydides did in the case of Pausanias. He mentions the medism of members of the Greek political elite (Arcesilaus of Cyrene: IV. 165; the Aleuadae of Larissa: VII. 6; IX. 1; 58; Attaginus and Timagenides of Thebes: IX. 15–16; 86–88) as well as co-operation with Persia by people such as the Arcadians (VIII. 26) or Hegesistratus (IX. 37–38) who did not belong to the ruling class. In contrast with his treatment of the medism of states and peoples, Herodotus was usually not interested in reporting the causes of individual medism. Was individual medism connected with the fact that the persons in question belonged to the circle of Greek autocratic leaders (like the tyrants in Asia Minor under Persian rule before the Ionian revolt)18 and hoped to benefit from the foreign invader?19 Or did they have a material stimulus for their treacherous conduct, like the Greeks who collaborated with the Persians in the post-war period? These are questions to which Herodotus provides no answer. Herodotus does mention some actions by individual Greek medizers that might have been considered signs indicating their treacherous behaviour, that is medism. 16 Aristodemus FGrH 104 fr. 1 (1. 1; 2. 4; 3. 1; 8. 1); Plut. Them. 7. 2; 21. 7; Aristid. 16. 2; 18. 6, 7; and see especially his De Herodoti malignitate, where he follows Herodotus’ terminology. 17 Aristodemus, for example, in his epitome used the terminology of medism four times, and he seven times applied the term προδοσία to the acts of Pausanias (F 1. 4. 1; 6. 2–3; 8. 1–2) and Themistocles (F 1. 10. 1). Plutarch defined the conduct of Pausanias as treachery several times (Them. 23. 1; Cim. 6. 2; De Her. malign. 855F). 18 On the attitude of Greek tyrants in Asia Minor to the Great Kings before the Persian Wars see especially Graf, D. 1985, 79–86; Austin, M. 1990, 289–306. 19 Hornblower, S. 1983, 18.

Herodotus and Greek Medism

77

Thus, Attaginus invited Mardonius and 50 Persian nobles to a banquet in Thebes before the battle of Plataea in 479 B. C. (IX. 16). Plutarch, who was well acquainted with local Boeotian tradition (de Herodoti malignitate 864f), considered Attaginus’ medism to be due to his personal ties with the Great King of Persia: he became φίλος καὶ ξένος of Xerxes because of Demaratus, with whom he was linked by ties of guest-friendship. Herodotus states that among the Greeks who were present in Xerxes’ army were the Aleuadae Thorex of Larissa (IX. 1; 58) and his brothers, Eurypylus and Thrasydaeus (IX. 58). In his Thessalian Polity Critias explained the medism of Thessalians through their adherence to luxury: All agree that the Thessalians were most luxurious among the Greeks in their dress and lifestyle and that is why they encouraged the Persians to attack Greece. They admired their luxury (ἡ τρυφή) (apud Athen. 662f).

This does not, I think, mean that the Thessalian aristocracy was seeking to adopt the Persian life-style, but only that the Thessalians shared the same values as the Persians. In any event, Critias’ judgment, uttered in the late fifth century and preserved in Athenaeus’ Deipnosophistae out of its literary context, should not necessarily be regarded as a valid contemporary explanation of medism three generations earlier. When Herodotus mentions some Arcadian deserters (αὐτόμολοι ἄνδρες ἀπ’ Ἀρκαδίης) who came to Xerxes’ military camp, he explains their decision to be useful to the Persians (ἐνεργοὶ βουλόμενοι εἶναι) by their lack of the necessities of life (βίου τε δεόμενοι) (VIII. 26). This is the only occasion on which Herodotus both mentions collaboration of ordinary people with the Persians and provides an explanation of its cause. It is impossible to say whether he considered the desertion of the Arcadians as true medism or as treason. Herodotus’ account of medism in Athens deserves special consideration. The ‘Father of History’ never used the terms μηδισμός, μηδίζειν in relation to the Athenians, even when he reports the story of the Athenian embassy to Sardis in 507/6 B. C. (V. 73) and mentions that there were rumours of treacherous conduct by the Alcmeonidae in the course of the battle of Marathon (VI. 121; 124). Some scholars have referred to medism in Athens before the Persian Wars,20 and A. J. Holladay states that the sending of envoys in 507/6 was the first sign of medism under the democracy.21 But this is not Herodotus’ way of putting it and he does not even seem to consider the embassy an outrageous event in the context of Athenian political history. Moreover, there are doubts as to whether the terminology of medism was widespread in Greece before the Persian Wars. The Athenians may have made contact with the Persians simply because they had been in contact with the Lydians on earlier occasions. It is also doubtful whether Herodotus considered as medism the collaboration of Hippias, son of Pisistratus, with the Persians. In 511/0 B. C. Hippias fled to Sigeum, a hereditary possession of the Pisistratids, and later moved to Lampsacus, where his brother Hegesistratus was tyrant and a subject of Darius I (V. 63. 3; 91; 20 How, W., Wells, J. 1912. 1, 40; Walker, E. 1930, 158. 21 Holladay, A. 1978, 178.

78

Eduard Rung

94. 1; cf. Thuc. VI. 59. 3–4). Herodotus refers to Hippias’ collaboration with the Persians during the period between his flight from Athens and the battle of Marathon (V. 96; VI. 102; 107–109). But was Hippias a medizer? I strongly suspect that none of the Greeks categorized him thus, and the same goes for certain other Athenians and non-Athenian Greek emigrants to the Persian Empire (Demaratus, Dicaeus, various Athenian aristocrats). Supporters of Hippias in Athens under the leadership of Hipparchus son of Charmus (φίλοι τῶν τυράννων: Arist. Ath. pol. 22. 4) might have been suspected of medism, but Herodotus is silent on the subject.22 The key for our understanding of Greek views on medism lies in the fact that those Greeks who sided with Persia before the mission of Darius I’s heralds to Greece23 might reasonably have been considered by contemporaries not as medizers but rather as subjects of Persia – or “slaves of the King,” according to Greek views on Persian social hierarchy.24 In the period of the conflict with Persia an accusation of medism usually resulted in flight to Persia, but the converse does not apply. This is very clear from the account of the medism of Pausanias in Thucydides (I. 95. 5; 132–134) and other authors (Duris FGrH 76 fr.14; Diod. XI. 46. 1; 54. 2–3). Pausanias was accused of medism for the first time on the basis of alleged treacherous conduct after the expulsion of the Persians from Greece, but none of the charges against him was conclusive. After his release he lived at Colonae, a small town in Asia Minor which had been awarded to him by Xerxes, and he was prosecuted after more cogent evidence had been assembled. The Athenians also accused Themistocles of medism before his desertion to Persia (Thuc. I. 135. 2), when alleged proof of his medism and treachery emerged from the investigations into Pausanias. In general, Herodotus’ work shows that the phenomenon of medism is mainly associated with the development of Greco-Persian antagonism during the Persian Wars themselves. Herodotus reports Greek opposition to medism in several cases: one of the first oppressive actions against medizing states was undertaken by Cleomenes I of Sparta, who had invaded Aegina after 490 B. C. on the basis of the accusations of medism brought by the Athenians (VI. 49–50; 73; cf. Paus. III. 4. 3). On the eve of Xerxes’ invasion, the Greeks, as has already been mentioned, entered a sworn agreement (τὸ ὅρκιον), which was this: that if they were victorious, they would dedicate to the god of Delphi the possessions of all Greeks who had of free will surrendered themselves to the Persians (VII. 132; trans. by A. D. Godley).25 22 On the political struggle in Athens before the Persian Wars see McGregor, M. 1940, 71–95; Holladay, A. 1978, 174–191; Kinzl, K. 1977, 199–223; Surikov, I. 2000, 165–188; 2005; 2006, 295–347. 23 Holladay, A. 1978, 175. 24 On the Greek representation of the King’s subject as “slave of the King” (δοῦλος τοῦ βασιλέως) see Missiou, A. 1993, 377–391; Briant, P. 1996, 336–338, 524; Isaac, B, 2004, 266–267; Petit, Th. 2004, 181; Rung, E. 2005, 254–256; Sources: Hdt. III. 140; VII. 8; VIII. 102; 4. 25 Cf. the oath of Plataea: Tod. II. 204, 33–34, καὶ νι[κ]ήσας μαχόμενος τοὺς βαρβάρους δεκατεύσω τὴν Θηβαίων πόλιν. It is not certain why the inscription mentions the Thebans specially, but not any other Greek medizers. The authenticity of the oath of Plataea has been the

Herodotus and Greek Medism

79

Herodotus, however, does not report that patriotic Greeks actually undertook the systematic destruction of medizing poleis as the agreement required, though, of course, he mentions some actions directed against medizers. The most notorious of these were Pausanias’ capture of Thebes (IX. 86–88) and Leutychides’ expedition to Thessaly (VI. 72; cf. Pausanias III. 7. 8; Plut. De Herod. malign. 859D), both of which events took place soon after the battle of Plataea in 479 B. C. Otherwise Herodotus does not stress internal conflicts among the Greeks themselves (such as between the Hellenic League and the medizers) after the expulsion of Xerxes from Greece. Among other sources much the same is true, although the anonymous Vita Pindari reports a story of the burning of Thebes by Pausanias, and Vitruvius (1. 5) refers to similar Greek treatment of Caryae and the elimination or enslavement of its population. One may conclude that Herodotus explains medism as it would be explained by his contemporaries. He does not disclose any thoughts of his own about the concept of medism and does not directly express his own attitude to it; but he does enable us to see that it was a significant phenomenon in the period of Persian Wars and to understand something of its causes. BIBLIOGRAPHY Austin, M. M. 1990: Greek Tyrants and the Persians, CQ 40, 289–306. Bauslaugh, R. A. 1991: The Concept of Neutrality in Classical Greece, Berkeley. Bederman, D. J. 2001: International Law in Antiquity, Cambridge. Buck, R. J. 1979: A History of Boeotia, Edmonton. Buck, R. J. 1987: Boiotians at Thermopylae, AHB 1, 54–60. Briant, P. 1996: Histoire de l’Empire perse. De Cyrus a Alexandre. Paris. Brunt, P. A. 1953, The Hellenic League against Persia, Historia 2, 135–163 (Reprinted in P. A. Brunt, Studies in Greek History and Thought [1993], 47–83). Connor, W. R. 1968: Theopompus and Fifth-Century Athens, Cambridge, Mass. Gillis, D. 1969: Marathon and the Alcmeonids, GRBS 10, 133–145. Gillis, D. 1979: Collaboration with the Persians, Wiesbaden. Graf, D. 1984: Medism: the Origin and Significance of the Term, JHS 104, 15–30. Graf, D. 1985: Greek Tyrants and Achaemenid Politics, in J. W. Eadie & J. Ober. (eds.), The Craft of the Ancient Historian. Essays in Honor of Chester G. Starr, Lanham, 79–123. Gugel, H. 1979: Medismos, in: DKP III, 1133. Habicht, C. 1961: Falsche Urkunden zur Geschichte Athens im Zeitalter der Perserkriege, Hermes 89, 1–35. Hahn, I. 1981: Die Begriffe auf -ισμός, in; E. C. Welskopf (ed.), Soziale Typenbegriffe und ihr Fortleben in den Sprachen der Welt. IV. Untersuchungen ausgewählter altgriechischer sozialer Typenbegriffe und ihr Fortleben in Antike und Mittelalter, Berlin, 52–99. Hegyi, D. 1974: Μηδισμός. Perzsabarát irányzat görögországban i. e. 508–479 (The tendency towards friendship with Persia in Greece in the period 508–479), Budapest (in Hungarian). Holladay, A. J. 1978: Medism in Athens 508–480 B. C., G&R 25, 174–191. Hornblower, S. 1983: The Greek World, 479–423 B. C., London. How, W. W., Wells, J. 1912: A Commentary on Herodotus 1, Oxford. subject of debate since ancient times (cf. Theopompus FGrH 115 fr. 153; Habicht, C. 1961, 11–16; Connor, W. 1968, 81–82).

80

Eduard Rung

Huxley, G. 1967: The Medism of Caryae, GRBS 8, 29–32. Isaac. B. 2004: The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity, Princeton. Jonkers, E. J. 1948: Μῆδοι, τὰ Μηδικά, μηδισμός, in: Studia varia Carolo Guilielmo Vollgraff, Amsterdam, 78–83. Keaveney, A. 1995: The Medisers of Thessaly, Eranos 93, 30–38. Kelly, Th. 1974: Argive Foreign Policy in the Fifth Century B. C., CPh 69, 81–99. Kienast, D. 2003: Der Hellenenbund von 481 v. Chr, Chiron 33, 43–77. Kinzl. K. H. 1977: Athens: Between Tyranny and Democracy, in: Greece and the Eastern Mediterranean in Ancient History and Prehistory. Studies Presented to Fritz Schachermeyr on the Occasion of his Eightieth Birthday, Berlin; New York, 199–223. Kuhrt, A. 1988: Earth and Water, in: A. Kuhrt and H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg (eds.), Achaemenid History III: Method and Theory, Leiden, 87–99. McGregor, M. F. 1940: The Pro-Persian Party at Athens from 510 to 480 B. C., HSCPh Suppl. 1, 71–95. Missiou, A. 1993: ΔΟΥΛΟΣ ΤΟΥ ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ: the Politics of Translation, CQ 43, 377–391. Myres, J. L. 1936: Μηδίζειν, μηδισμός, in: Greek Poetry and Life: Essays Presented to Gilbert Murray, Oxford, 97–105. Momigliano, A. 1979: Persian Empire and Greek Freedom, in: A. Ryan (ed.), The Idea of Freedom. Essays in Honor of Isaiah Berlin, Oxford, 139–151. Orlin, L. L. 1976: Athens and Persia ca 507 B. C.: A Neglected Perspective, in: Michigan Oriental Studies in honor of G. G. Cameron, Ann Arbor, 265–266. Ostwald, M. 1995: Freedom and the Greeks, in: R. W. Davis (ed.), The Origins of Modern Freedom in the West, Stanford, CA, 35–63. Petit, T. 2004: Xénophon et la vassalité Achéménide, in: C. J. Tuplin (ed.), Xenophon and His World. Stuttgart, 175–199. Phillipson, C. 1911: The International Law and Custom of Ancient Greece and Rome. 2, London. Raaflaub, K. 2004: The Discovery of Freedom in Ancient Greece, Chicago. Robertson, N. D. 1976: The Thessalian Expedition of 480 B. C., JHS 96, 100–120 Rung, E. 2005: Fenomen midizma v politicheskoj zhizni klassicheskoj Grecii (The Phenomenon of Medism in the Political Life of Classical Greece), VDI 3, 14–35 (in Russian). Rung, E. 2007: Praktika predostavlenija zemli i vody v greko-persidskikh otnoshenijakh (The Practice of Giving Earth and Water in Greco-Persian Relations), VDI 4, 3–26 (in Russian). Sealey, R. 1976: The Pit and the Well. The Persian Heralds of 491 B. C., CJ 72, 13–20. Stein-Holkeskamp, E. 1999: Medismos, DNP 7, 1001. Surikov, I. 2000: Iz istorii grecheskoj aristokratii pozdnearchaicheskoj i ranneklassicheskoj epokh (From the History of Greek Aristocracy in the Late Archaic and Early Classical Period), Moscow (in Russian). Surikov, I. 2005: Antichnaja Grecia. Politiki v kontekste epokhi (Ancient Greece. Politicians in the Context of their Times), Moscow (in Russian). Surikov, I. 2006: Ostrakizm v Afinakh (Ostracism at Athens), Moscow (in Russian). Troncoso, V. A. 2001: Die neutralen Staaten in den Perserkriegen und das griechische Völkerrecht, in: D. Papenfuß, V. M. Strocka (eds.), Gab es das Griechische Wunder? Griechenland zwischen dem Ende des 6. und der Mitte des 5. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. Tagungsbeiträge des 16. Fachsymposiums der Alexander von Humboldt-Stiftung veranstaltet vom 5. bis 9. April 1999 in Freiburg im Breisgau, Mainz, 365–375. Tuplin, C. J. 1994: Persians as Medes, in: H.Sancisi-Weerdenburg, A.T.Kuhrt & M.C.Root (eds.), Achaemenid History VIII, Leiden, 235–256. Tuplin, C. J. 1997: Medism and its Causes, Transeuphratène 13, 155–185. Vanicelly, P. 2004: Whose Side Are You On? in: V. Karageorgis, I. Taifacos (eds.), The World of Herodotus, Nicosia, 199–217. Vickers, M. 1985: Persepolis, Vitruvius and the Erechtheum Caryatids: The Iconography of Medism and Servitude, RA 1, 3–28. Viviers, D. 1995: Hérodote et la neutralité des Crétois en 480 avant notre ere, Hermes 123, 257–269.

Herodotus and Greek Medism

81

Walker, E. M. 1935: Athens and the Great Powers, in: CAH1 V, Cambridge. Westlake, H. D. 1936: The Medism of Thessaly, JHS 56, 12–25. Wery, L. M. 1966: Le meurtre des hérauts de Darius en 491 et l’inviolabilité du héraut, AC 35, 468–488. Wolski, J. 1973: ΜΗΔΙΣΜΟΣ et son importance en Grèce à l’époque des Guerres Médiques, Historia 22, 3–15.

ON THE FINANCIAL RELATIONS OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT AND THE GREEK CITIES IN ASIA MINOR: . THE CASE OF SYNTAXIS* Maxim M. Kholod (St. Petersburg State University) One of the general principles of Alexander’s policy towards the Greek cities in Asia Minor, which came under his control in 334–333 B. C.,1 was their exemption from what the Greeks designated as phoros (often, and more precisely, in the plural phoroi), i. e. the tribute and taxes in money and/or in kind that these cities, like other peoples of the Persian Empire, had been obliged to pay to the Achaemenids:2 insofar as we are able to judge, the abolition of phoros, normally considered the sign of subjugation, applied then to the overwhelming majority of Greek communities in Asia Minor.3 But were the Greek cities in Asia Minor, once released from phoros, absolutely freed by Alexander from all financial obligations? It is traditionally held that they were not: now they had to pay syntaxis to him. This view is based on the information provided by the famous inscription from Priene (the so-called Edict of Alexander to the Prienians)4 which records the settlement enacted by the Macedonian king in relation to that city, most probably in 334. Since in the document Alexander releases the polis of the Prienians from the syn*

1 2

3 4

The first variant of the present essay was read as a part of the lecture delivered by the author at the University of Helmut Schmidt. The University of the Federal Armed Forces, Hamburg, in February 2010. I would like to thank Dr. Prof. Burkhard Meißner, Dr. Volker Grieb and especially Dr. Clemens Koehn from this university for their useful comments on the substance of the lecture. Likewise, I am grateful to Dr. Prof. Andreas Mehl and Dr. Prof. Christian Mileta from the University of Halle-Wittenberg, as well as Dr. Prof. Krzysztof Nawotka from the University of Wrocław with whom I had the opportunity to discuss various aspects of the relations of Alexander and the Greek cities in Asia Minor, including an aspect of their financial relationship; I have been happy to accept a number of ideas from these scholars. All dates in this essay are B. C./B. C.E. In general, on tribute and taxes in the Persian Empire, see e. g. Murray, O. 1966, 142 ff.; Dandamayev, M. A., Lukonin, V. G. 1980, 186 ff.; Descat, R. 1985, 97 ff.; Tuplin, Ch. 1987, 137 ff.; Briant, P. 2002, 388 ff.; Dandamayev, M. A. 2009, 98 ff.; and mainly in connection with Asia Minor: Hornblower, S. 1982, 161 ff.; Debord, P. 1999, 41 ff. On that, see recently Nawotka, K. 2003, 26 ff.; Nawotka, K. 2010a, 132 f.; and especially Kholod, M. M. 2007, 134 ff. As Sherwin-White has convincingly argued, the surviving inscription is not Alexander’s authentic edict but an excerpt from it published by the Prienians in the temple of Athena Polias later under Lysimachus; see Sherwin-White, S. M. 1985, 69 ff. On the date of 334 for Alexander’s original edict to Priene, see Kholod, М. М. 2005, 10 ff.; my arguments in favour of the date have been supported by Mileta, see Mileta, Ch. 2008, 36.

84

Maxim M. Kholod

taxis (Heisserer, p. 146,5 ll. 13–15: τῆς δὲ συντάξεως ἀφίημι τὴμ Πριηνέωμ πόλιν), it is logical to think that the other Greek cities in Asia Minor were liable to it at that time. It should be stressed, however, that this is the only evidence which, without any doubts, confirms the existence of such payments in the time of Alexander. Modern historians trying to determine the nature of the syntaxis mentioned in the Prienian inscription therefore seek analogous cases in the earlier or later material and form their opinion on the issue on that basis. Scholars, as a rule, note that the term syntaxis (or frequently in the plural syntaxeis) was used to denote the financial contributions paid by the members of the Second Athenian Confederacy (according to Theopompus, the Athenians, on the motion of Callistratus, chose this term as a substitute for the word phoros, which had been hated since the Athenian Empire of the fifth century: see FGH 115 F 98; cf. Plut. Sol. 15).6 Besides, it is pointed out that syntaxis in this same category, i. e. allies’ contributions, also existed later, in the period of the Diadochi, and, as in the Second Athenian Confederacy, it often but not always implied payments for war.7 Hence most modern historians suggest that the term syntaxis in Alexander’s edict to the Prienians, too, refers to the extraordinary money-payments that the Greek cities in Asia Minor were regularly required to make to the Macedonian king for the Panhellenic war against Persia (in addition, the advocates of Alexander’s enrolment of these cities in the Corinthian League consider the syntaxis to be the money-payments made by them as members of the League,8 while an opposing view sees it as the allied contributions from cities that remained outside the Corinthian League).9 5 6 7

8

9

Heisserer, A. J. 1980. Some other editions of the inscription: Hicks/Hill2, GHI 155; OGIS 1; I.Priene 1; Tod, GHI 185; Sherwin-White, S. M. 1985, 80 f.; Rhodes/Osborne, GHI 86 B. For syntaxis in the Second Athenian Confederacy, see e. g. Francotte, H. 1909, 80 f.; Schwahn, W. 1932, 1453 f.; Grebenskiy, N. N. 1972, 115 ff.; Cargill, J. 1981, 124 ff.; Brun, P. 1983, 74 ff.; Marinovich, L. P. 2002, 84 ff. For the evidence of syntaxis in the fourth century, see Magie, D. 1950, II, 830, n. 14; SherwinWhite, S. M. 1985, 84, n. 126 (with an additional reference, absent in Magie, to IG XI 4, 1036). The evidence provided by these scholars, however, is not complete: they have overlooked the use of syntaxis for allied contributions in the Hellenic League of 340–338 (Aeschin. In Ctes. 95–96; Ps.-Plut. Vitae X or. 851b) and I.Iasos 3 using this term in the same sense (see below). Moreover, sometimes this syntaxis, regarded as an analogue of the syntaxis in the Second Athenian Confederacy, is presented as one of the arguments for the enrolment of the Greek cities in Asia Minor in the Corinthian League. See Badian, E. 1966, 51 f.; Hamilton, J. R. 1974, 59; Heisserer, A. J. 1980, xxv, 158; Cartledge, P. 2004, 120 ff. Cf. Hornblower, S. 1991, 271, who, taking this argument to be probable but not decisive, finds the view of Bosworth (see below) equally acceptable. So e. g. Francotte, H. 1909, 79; Beloch, K. J. 1925, 14 f.; Berve, H. 1926, 251, 308; Wilcken, U. 1931, 82 f.; Schwahn, W. 1932, 1455; Ehrenberg, V. 1938, 13; Tarn, W. W. 1948, I, 34; Magie, D. 1950, I, 57; II, 830 ff., n. 14; Wirth, G. 1972, 94 f.; Lane Fox, R. 1973, 131; Schachermeyr, F. 1973, 178; Briant, P. 1974, 73 f.; Briant, P. 2002, 418; Will, E., Mossé, C., Goukowsky, P. 1975, 459; Shifman, I.Sh. 1988, 56; Hammond, N. G. L. 1989, 216; Hammond, N. G. L. 1994, 78, 254; Green, P. 1991, 187 f.; Stoneman, R. 1997, 28; Ruzicka, S. 1997, 129; Debord, P. 1999, 473; Gehrke, H.-J. 2003, 14; Faraguna, M. 2003, 110; Nawotka, K. 2003, 27 f.; Nawotka, K. 2010a, 133; Aperghis, G. G. 2004, 149; Rhodes, P. J. 2006, 367; Engels, J. 2012, 50. Similarly in the commentaries on this inscription: Hicks/Hill2, GHI 155 (p. 293); I.Priene 1 (S. XII); Tod,

On the Financial Relations of Alexander the Great and the Greek Cities in Asia Minor

85

A slightly different view on the issue has been set out by Bosworth. He agrees that what is meant by syntaxis in the Prienian inscription is the financial contribution paid by the Greek cities in Asia Minor to Alexander in order to refund the Macedonian king’s war expenses. However, he suggests that it was a ‘once-for-all’ payment, arguing that syntaxis was of exactly this kind under the Seleucids (and probably also in the Second Athenian Confederacy).10 The hypothesis of Bosworth was criticized by Sherwin-White. She raises the following – in my opinion, quite reasonable – objections to it: first, none of the evidence for syntaxis as war contributions supports the idea that these obligations were one-off payments; the second, and more important, objection is that formal grants of financial immunity (such as in Alexander’s edict to Priene) were characteristic, and given for repeated imposts, whether they were levied for war or for other purposes.11 I believe there is also a further reason to doubt Bosworth’s view: taking into account the shortage of money in the Macedonian king’s treasury at the beginning of his campaign,12 it is very hard to imagine that in such a situation he contented himself with one-off contributions from the rich Greek cities in Asia Minor, which had now, in addition, been released by him from phoros. It thus seems clear that the word syntaxis was employed at that time to denote regular contributions made by the Greek cities in Asia Minor to Alexander while the Panhellenic war against Persia was underway. Although Sherwin-White defends this thesis, she rejects the interpretation of syntaxis in the Prienian inscription as an ally’s contribution, i. e. the interpretation that, as noted above, is particularly widespread in modern historiography. On the basis of some practices from the Seleucid and Ptolemaic kingdoms, Sherwin-White argues that syntaxis was used in both these states as a term for regular crown taxes, and in her view the case of syntaxis in Alexander’s edict to Priene is the same: the Macedonian king, by releasing the city from it, granted immunity from tribute, i. e. phoros.13 I do not agree with the opinion of Sherwin-White. Indeed, it is impossible to see phoros and syntaxis as identical in the Prienian inscription itself. Quite on the contrary: a distinction is clearly drawn between the inhabitants of villages on the royal land, who were to submit the phoroi (ll. 9–13), and the Prienians who, being confirmed in the right to control their chora, which was different from the royal

10 11 12

13

GHI 185 (p. 244 f.); Rhodes/Osborne, GHI 86 B (p. 434). Unfortunately, it is not quite clear what are the positions of Marinovich (Marinovich L. P. 1993, 182) and Jehne (Jehne M. 1994, 210 f.), who discuss the issue in their works: one can understand only that both scholars disagree with the view of Badian (see above, n. 8). Bosworth, A. B. 1980, 166, 280 f.; Bosworth, A. B. 1988, 254. Sherwin-White, S. M. 1985, 85. See Arr. Anab. VII. 9. 6; Plut. De Alex. fort. 1. 3. p. 327d; 2. 11. p. 342e; Alex. 15. It is clear that Alexander’s financial situation could not have improved much until his victory at Issus when he captured considerable Persian riches; at the same time, it seems that the Macedonian king had partly succeeded in improving his finances already during the campaign in Asia Minor. Сf. Bosworth, A. B. 1980, 142; Le Rider, G. 2003, 108 f., 113 ff. Sherwin-White, S. M. 1985, 84 ff. (with the literature where an analogous opinion has been expressed). Thus also Ranovich, A. B. 1950, 54; and recently Mileta, Ch. 2002, 159; Mileta, Ch. 2008, 39.

86

Maxim M. Kholod

land (ll. 5–7), were liberated by the Macedonian king from the syntaxis (ll. 13–15). Also, as Hammond has rightly pointed out, “if Alexander had wanted to say ‘I require tribute from A and not from B’, he would have expressed it more directly”.14 The following circumstance is also worth attention: since the word phoros has the plural form in line 13 (τοὺς φόρους), it would be logical to expect that the term syntaxis, if it is used here as synonym for phoros, should be used in the plural as well;15 the word syntaxis in fact is used in the singular form in lines 13–14 (τῆς συντάξεως), and it seems unlikely that this is accidental. Besides, there is evidence that a sharp distinction between both words existed in the fourth century, both before and a little later than Alexander’s reign, while – and this is noteworthy – there is no testimony that would allow us to prove the contrary; and in view of that fact the argumentation of Sherwin-White, based on material from far later times, seems weak. As is well known, this terminological distinction was first made at the moment when the Second Athenian Confederacy was established in 378/7 (see above), and it was certainly not just the name of the allies’ payments that was changed at that time: in contrast to the Athenian Empire’s compulsory exaction of phoros, which was expressly forbidden in the new Confederacy (IG II2 1, 43, l. 23),16 syntaxis, albeit obligatory, was now to be paid by the allies in principle voluntarily, since it was represented as being available only for common purposes.17 We are told, further, that the contributions for the war against Philip II made by members of the anti-Macedonian coalition, the Hellenic League of 340–338, were called syntaxis too (Aeschin. In Ctes. 95–96; Ps.-Plut. Vitae X or. 851b).18 According to an inscription dated to 314–306, this term, and not phoros, was also used to denote allies’ contributions paid by members of the Antigonid Nesiotic League to a common fund (IG XI 4, 1036, ll. 12–13, 14–16).19 The word syntaxis in the sense of allied financial contributions made to a king for military purposes also occurs in the letters of Asclepiodotus and Aristobulus, officials of Ptolemy I, to Iasus, written shortly after 305 (I.Iasos 3, ll. 4–5, 7–9, 14–15, 25).20 14 Hammond, N. G. L. 1989, 216, n. 25. 15 So in the first decree of Teos honouring Antiochus III and his wife Laodice III (ca. 203), which Sherwin-White has used in support of her interpretation (I, l. 19: ὧν ἐφέρομεν συντάξεων; ll. 33–34: ὧν συνετάξα[μεν φ]όρων). The editio princeps of the Tean epigraphic dossier as a whole, with ample commentary, is Herrmann, P. 1965 (1967), 34–50 (text), 51–159 (commentary). Also see SEG, XLI, 1003 (re-edition by Herrmann); Ma, J. 2000, 308–321 (nos. 17–19), with Engl. translation. For the term syntaxeis in this dossier, see now especially Kholod, M. M. 2013 [forthcoming]. 16 Some other editions of the inscription: Michel, Recueil 86; Hicks/Hill2, GHI 101; Syll.3 147; Tod, GHI 123; Rhodes/Osborne, GHI 22. 17 Grebenskiy, N. N. 1972, 115 ff. 18 See StV II2 343, with commentary. 19 This is a decree from Delos concerning the organization of a festival (the Antigoneia and Demetrieia) in honour of Antigonus Monophthalmus and his son Demetrius, the patrons of the Nesiotic League. On the Antigonid Nesiotic League, see Billows, R. A. 1990, 220 ff. 20 For these documents, see recently Giovannini, A. 2004, 69 ff., who considers them together with the treaty of 309 between Iasus, Ptolemy and leaders of mercenaries (I.Iasos 2), which precedes the letters in an epigraphic dossier.

On the Financial Relations of Alexander the Great and the Greek Cities in Asia Minor

87

Finally,21 it cannot be ruled out that there is in fact evidence that the terms phoros and syntaxis were used in distinct senses in Alexander’s lifetime and precisely during his campaign in Asia Minor: if Wirth’s emendation of a phrase from the traditional text of Arrian κατέλιπε … τῶν δὲ φόρων τῆς συντάξεώς τε καὶ τῆς ἀποφορᾶς Νικίαν (Arr. Anab. I. 17. 7) to κατέλιπε … τῶν δὲ φόρων συντάξεως ἀποφορᾶς Νικίαν is right, then Nicias was appointed by the Macedonian king to collect two kinds of payment in Lydia in 334 – phoros and syntaxis, each distinct from the other.22 Thus I believe it is clear – even if one does not take into consideration the last argument presented – that the interpretation of Sherwin-White is hardly probable. At the same time, in the light of what has been said above, the opinion accepted by most scholars (see above) seems to have far better grounds. In other words, it is better to suppose that what is meant by syntaxis in the Prienian inscription was the allies’ extraordinary financial contributions which the Greek cities in Asia Minor, exempted by Alexander from phoros, were regularly required to make to the Macedonian king for the Panhellenic war against Persia. In turn, it should be assumed that syntaxis was paid by the overwhelming majority of these cities, if not all of them. True, it is difficult to imagine that Alexander, who lacked sufficient funds at the beginning of his campaign, did not at once make the Greek cities in Asia Minor undertake a financial obligation of this kind on a very wide basis, and so passed up a great opportunity to compensate the losses arising from his liberation of these cities from phoros. It appears that the grant of immunity from syntaxis to Priene was at that time an extremely rare event, if not entirely exceptional (it – and other analogous events if, of course, they took place – was pre21 Here I deliberately leave out of account two references to the exaction of extraordinary war contributions from the Greek cities of Asia Minor by the Diadochi in the late 4th century (OGIS 4, ll. 10–11 [321]; 5, ll. 44–45 = RC 1 [311]): although these contributions are considered similar to syntaxis (Magie, D. 1950, II, 830, n. 14), they are not so termed in the inscriptions themselves. 22 Wirth, G. 1972, 98. This emendation was made in the Greek text of Arrian’s Anabasis edited by Wirth and von Hinüber, see Wirth, G., von Hinüber, O. 1985, 60 and 63 (I. 17. 7). The phrase in its traditional form has a rather different sense: Nicias was left in Lydia to assess and collect the phoroi (in this case, syntaxis as a special kind of payment is not mentioned). Bosworth believes that the functions of Nicias were just so (Bosworth, A. B. 1980, 130; Bosworth, A. B. 1988, 242), and it cannot be excluded that he is right. Nevertheless, in my view it is hard to call his critical notes on the emendation of Wirth fully convincing. It seems better to leave the question open for the present. See, though, Nawotka, K. 2003, 27, who accepts the emendation of Wirth unconditionally. In addition, Nawotka offers one more argument against the view of Sherwin-White, finding it in the letter of Antiochus I or II to Erythrae (I.Erythrai 31, ll. 22–23: ἐπί τε Ἀλεξάνδρου καὶ Ἀντιγόνου αὐτό[ν]ομος ἦν καὶ ἀφορολόγητος ἡ πόλις ὑμῶν; also see I.Erythrai 30, ll. 34–35). He writes, “If a tribute had been levied by Alexander under the new name of syntaxis, it would have made no sense for Erythrai to claim the phoros-free status received from Alexander whose benevolence towards Greek cities Antiochus was asked to match by the people of Erythrai” (Nawotka, K. 2003, 28). Although this argument at first sight seems attractive, it cannot be maintained: the lack of correspondence he notes could be explained by synonymous use of the terms at that time (which is in fact what Sherwin-White suggested).

88

Maxim M. Kholod

sumably caused by some special reasons that impelled the Macedonian king to diverge from what seems to have been his usual practice in that respect). Nevertheless, Alexander could probably have at times demanded that one or another Greek city in Asia Minor provide armed forces instead of paying syntaxis: at least, it is known that there were three warships from Soli and Mallus23 in the Macedonian fleet during the siege of Tyre in 332 (Arr. Anab. II. 20. 2). However, it does not follow from this that we must reject completely the opinio communis that the Greek cities in Asia Minor, exempted from phoros, were required to pay syntaxis, whereas the Balkan and Island Greeks were obliged to furnish either troops or ships for the Panhellenic war against Persia.24 Taking into account that our sources give quite rich information about the participation of different contingents from the Balkan and Island allied poleis in Alexander’s campaign,25 the lack of such evidence for the Greek communities in Asia Minor, except that for Soli and Mallus, seems not to be accidental: in all likelihood the Macedonian king did not usually draw on the cities in Asia Minor for military service, being fully satisfied by their syntaxis.26 (Perhaps the reason for this was Alexander’s unwillingness to increase the Greek allied units in his army and fleet and so his own dependence on them.) Evidently the Macedonian king acted in a different way only when there was acute need to do so. It is likely that this was the situation in the case of Soli and Mallus: Alexander’s preference for the triremes of these cities instead of – whether in full or in part is unclear – their syntaxis, which had certainly been imposed upon them earlier, seems to have been caused by his great need for warships at the time of the siege of Tyre, especially as both communities were situated quite close to it. At any rate, this step by Alexander was undoubtedly not a regular measure: it is significant 23 Regardless of what the degree of Greekness of Soli and Mallus was in the age of Alexander, nothing in our sources indicates that the Macedonian king considered them non-Greek and hence treated them differently from communities in Asia Minor that were undoubtedly counted among the Greek poleis at that time. See Bosworth, A. B. 1988, 254. However, cf. Scheer, T. S. 2003, 226 ff. In general, cf. also Keen, A. G., Fischer-Hansen, T. 2004, 1219 f. 24 Thus e. g. Berve, H. 1926, 251, 307 f.; Wilcken, U. 1931, 82 f.; Tarn, W. W. 1948, I, 34 f.; II, 231; Badian, E. 1966, 52 f.; Green, P. 1991, 187 f. Cf. Wirth, G. 1972, 94 f. 25 On these contingents, see, in particular, Berve, H. 1926, 141 ff., 159 ff.; Jehne, M. 1994, 206 ff. 26 I do not agree with Nawotka who is of the opinion that Alexander demanded rather often that the Greek cities in Asia Minor provide armed forces rather than syntaxis for the campaign against the Persians (Nawotka, K. 2003, 28 f.; Nawotka, K. 2010a, 133). Indeed, the examples of Chios, which was to supply twenty triremes for the war (Syll.3 283, ll. 8–10), and of Rhodes, which sent ten triremes to the Macedonian king’s fleet (Arr. Anab. II. 20. 2), cited in support of his opinion cannot be an argument in this case, for it is obvious that neither example has anything to do with the Greek cities in Asia Minor. In turn, Nawotka’s hypothesis that the Milesians, attested among Alexander’s soldiers in 329 (Curt. VII. 5. 29–31), may have been the remains of some allied detachment contributed by Miletus to the Macedonian army (similarly Parke, H. W. 1985, 66 f.), is entirely unfounded; all that can be said for certain is that they served as mercenaries in 329. Cf. Nawotka, K. 2010b, 152 f. Finally, in my view Nawotka is not right to argue that a garrison mentioned in the excerpt of Alexander’s original edict to Priene (Heisserer, p. 146, l. 15) was formed from the Prienians themselves, whose release from the syntaxis (ibid., ll. 13–15) may have presupposed that they field troops (a garrison in this case), instead of money, as their contribution to the common crusade. For objections to this idea, see Kholod, M. M. 2010, 251.

On the Financial Relations of Alexander the Great and the Greek Cities in Asia Minor

89

that, in contrast to the squadrons from different places in the eastern Mediterranean that took part in the fighting for Tyre (Arr. Anab. II. 20. 1–3; Curt. IV. 3. 11),27 there is no evidence of participation by warships from other Greek cities in Asia Minor, aside from Soli and Mallus. On the size of syntaxis paid by the Greeks of Asia Minor to Alexander, our sources are silent. However, Badian supposed that he had found the relevant information in the passage of Arrian that reports the terms on which the Aspendians first agreed to surrender their city to Alexander (Arr. Anab. I. 26. 3). According to Badian, because Aspendus, before it reneged on the terms, behaved like any other Greek polis in Asia Minor, there is no reason to doubt that the 50 talents demanded from the city by the Macedonian king at that time were its syntaxis. Hence, Badian writes, it is clear “how much the cities paid for their ‘liberation’ until Alexander had enough funds to support his own war efforts”.28 This hypothesis is alluring but, I think, it runs counter to the context.29 Aspendus was ordered to pay 50 talents in return for giving it a concrete privilege: the immunity from imposition of a garrison, which the Aspendians had specially requested of the Macedonian king (Arr. Anab. I. 26. 2–3: ἐντυγχάνουσιν αὐτῷ (sc. Ἀλεξάνδρῳ) πρέσβεις Ἀσπενδίων αὐτοκράτορες, τὴν μὲν πόλιν ἐνδιδόντες, φρουρὰν δὲ μὴ εἰσάγειν δεόμενοι. καὶ περὶ μὲν τῆς φρουρᾶς πράξαντες ἀπῆλθον, ὅσα ἠξίουν· πεντήκοντα δὲ τάλαντα κελεύει τῇ στρατιᾷ δοῦναι αὐτοῖς ἐς μισθὸν καὶ τοὺς ἵππους, οὕς δασμὸν βασιλεῖ ἔτρεφον). Further, the fact that these talents were intended for the soldiers’ pay is no argument for Badian’s theory, since it is obvious that Alexander at that time spent the lion’s share of his money, wherever it came from, on the army alone. Nevertheless, although evidence for the amount of the syntaxis is lacking, it seems logical to suggest that, in each case, it was unlikely to be more than the amount of the old phoros paid by the Greek cities in Asia Minor to the Persians. Indeed, to make an imposition heavier than the earlier financial burden on these communities could have adversely affected their attitude towards Alexander, which would of course not be advantageous to him at a time when Asia Minor remained the theatre of military activities. On the contrary, the preservation or even reduction to some extent of the former amount of the payments would not have provoked such a reaction by the local Greeks, which would have been very dangerous for the Macedonian king at that time (at the least, it appears that neither variant, but especially a reduction in the amount of dues, would have provoked their outright displeasure with him).30 27 See Bosworth, A. B. 1980, 242 ff.; Atkinson, J. E. 1980, 303. 28 Badian, E. 1966, 49 and 65, n. 50. For the view that these 50 talents were Aspendus’ syntaxis, also see Hamilton, J. R. 1974, 62; Bosworth, A. B. 1980, 166, 280 (cf. Bosworth, A. B. 1988, 255); Hammond, N. G. L. 1989, 216, n. 24; Hammond, N. G. L. 1994, 86; Green, P. 1991, 207 f.; Faraguna, M. 2003, 112; Cartledge, P. 2004, 121. 29 Marinovich, L. P. 1993, 236, n. 37, believes so, too. 30 A lower amount of syntaxis than of the Persian phoros is suggested e. g. by Berve, H. 1926, 251, 308; Tarn, W. W. 1948, I, 34, but Aperghis, G. G. 2004, 149, and Nawotka, K., 2010a, 133 (cf. Nawotka, K., 2003, 28) suppose that it was similar. Badian, E. 1966, 65, n. 50, having in mind the 50 talents demanded by Alexander from the Aspendians, takes the amount to be enormous.

90

Maxim M. Kholod

Similarly we have no information on how long the Greek cities in Asia Minor paid syntaxis to Alexander, but the most persuasive view31 is that syntaxis was remitted when the Macedonian king officially ended the Panhellenic crusade in Ecbatana in 330 and dismissed the allied Greek troops, sending them home (Arr. Anab. III. 19. 5). It would be strange if Alexander continued to require the Greeks of Asia Minor to pay syntaxis for the common war against the Persians which he unambiguously showed to be over.32 Besides, it is quite obvious that the Macedonian monarch no longer needed their money: in possession of the Persian kings’ enormous riches, he could henceforth have financed his expedition (as well as his other undertakings) by himself. Finally, a question remains: should we suppose33 that, despite the exemption of the Greek cities in Asia Minor from phoros, the imposition of syntaxis, a new financial obligation, changed nothing for them, compared to when they were under Persian power? Of course, there is no denying that the Greeks of Asia Minor, being liable to syntaxis, were obliged, as in the case of phoros earlier, to submit their talents to the royal treasury, now Alexander’s, and were hence not able to spend the money at their own discretion (at least, up to a certain point). On the other hand, one cannot but take into consideration the following circumstance (often ignored by modern historians): in accordance with the Greek notions of that era, the payment of syntaxis, an extraordinary allies’ contribution for war, contrasted with the payment of phoros in being quite compatible with the freedom of a polis34 and so the requirement to pay syntaxis did not prevent the Greek cities of Asia Minor from being considered and representing themselves as free, even if this was merely formal; it is evident that such a situation was impossible at the time of Persian domination when they paid phoros. BIBLIOGRAPHY Aperghis, G. G. 2004: The Seleukid Royal Economy. The Finances and Financial Administration of the Seleukid Empire, Cambridge. Atkinson, J. E. 1980: A Commentary on Q. Curtius Rufus’ Historiae Alexandri Magni. Books 3 and 4, Amsterdam. Badian, E. 1966: Alexander the Great and the Greeks of Asia, in: E. Badian (ed.), Ancient Society and Institutions. Studies Presented to Victor Ehrenberg on his 75th Birthday, Oxford, 37–69. Beloch, K. J. 1925: Griechische Geschichte2. Bd. 4. Abt. 1, Berlin; Leipzig. Berve, H. 1926: Das Alexanderreich auf prosopographischer Grundlage. Bd. 1, Munich. 31 See, in particular, Berve, H. 1926, 308; Badian, E. 1966, 59; Lane Fox, R. 1973, 131 (cf. 268 f.); Briant, P. 1974, 74; Hamilton, J. R. 1974, 79; Heisserer, A. J. 1980, 161, 167; Ruzicka, S. 1997, 129; Nawotka, K. 2003, 28; Nawotka, K. 2010a, 133; Cartledge, P. 2004, 198. However, see Wirth, G. 1972, 97. 32 But see Flower, M. 2000, 115 ff., who argues that the Panhellenic campaign did not end at Ecbatana but continued for some time. Thus also Wirth, G. 1972, 97. 33 With e. g. Lane Fox, R. 1973, 131; Schachermeyr, F. 1973, 178; Will, E. 1975, 459; Shifman, I.Sh. 1988, 56; Green, P. 1991, 188; Debord, P. 1999, 473 f.; Le Rider, G. 2003, 114; Cartledge, P. 2004, 120; Aperghis, G. G. 2004, 149; Rhodes, P. J. 2006, 367. 34 On that, see Hansen, M. H. 1995, 31 ff.; Nawotka, K. 2003, 18; Nawotka, K. 2010a, 133.

On the Financial Relations of Alexander the Great and the Greek Cities in Asia Minor

91

Billows, R. A. 1990: Antigonos the One-Eyed and the Creation of the Hellenistic State, Berkeley; Los Angeles; London. Bosworth, A. B. 1980: A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander. Vol. 1, Oxford. Bosworth, A. B. 1988: Conquest and Empire. The Reign of Alexander the Great, Cambridge. Briant, P. 1974: Alexandre le Grand, Paris. Briant, P. 2002: From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire, Winona Lake. Brun, P. 1983: Eisphora-Syntaxis-Stratiotika. Recherches sur les finances militaires d’Athènes au IVe siècle av. J.-C., Paris. Cargill, J. 1981: The Second Athenian League: Empire or Free Alliance? Berkeley; Los Angeles. Cartledge, P. 2004: Alexander the Great: The Hunt for a New Past, Woodstock; New York. Dandamayev, M. A., Lukonin, V. G. 1980: Kul’tura i ekonomika drevnego Irana (Culture and Economy of Ancient Iran), Moscow (in Russian). Dandamayev, M. A. 2009: Mesopotamia i Iran v VII–IV vv. do n. e. Sotzial’nye instituty i ideologia (Mesopotamia and Iran in the VIIth to IVth Centuries B. C. Social Institutions and Ideology), St. Petersburg (in Russian). Debord, P. 1999: L’Asie Mineure au IVe siècle (412–323 a. C.). Pouvoirs et jeux politiques, Bordeaux. Descat, R. 1985: Mnésimachos, Hérodote et le système tributaire achéménide, REA 87, 97–112. Ehrenberg, V. 1938: Alexander and the Greeks, Oxford. Engels, J. 2012: Philipp II. und Alexander der Grosse2, Stuttgart. Faraguna, M. 2003: Alexander and the Greeks, in: J. Roisman (ed.), Brill’s Companion to Alexander the Great, Leiden–Boston, 99–129. Flower, M. 2000: Alexander the Great and Panhellenism, in: A. B. Bosworth, E. J. Baynham (eds.), Alexander the Great in Fact and Fiction, Oxford, 96–135. Francotte, H. 1909: Les finances des cités grecques, Paris. Gehrke, H.-J. 2003: Geschichte des Hellenismus3, Munich. Giovannini, A. 2004: Le traité entre Iasos et Ptolémée Ier (IK 28, 1, 2–3) et les relations entre les cités grecques d’Asie Mineure et les souverains hellénistiques, EA 37, 69–87. Grebenskiy, N. N. 1972: Elementy parlamentarizma v konstitutzii Vtorogo morskogo soiuza (Elements of Parlamentarism in the Second Maritime Confederacy), VDI 4, 107–118 (in Russian). Green, P. 1991: Alexander of Macedon, 356–323 B. C. A Historical Biography, Berkeley; Los Angeles; London. Hamilton, J. R. 1974: Alexander the Great, Pittsburgh. Hammond, N. G. L. 1989: The Macedonian State: Origins, Institutions, and History, Oxford. Hammond, N. G. L. 1994: Alexander the Great: King, Commander and Statesman3, Bristol. Hansen, M. H. 1995: The ‘Autonomous City-State’. Ancient Fact or Modern Fiction? in: M. H. Hansen, K. Raaflaub (eds.), Studies in the Ancient Greek Polis, Wiesbaden, 21–43. Heisserer, A. J. 1980: Alexander the Great and the Greeks. The Epigraphic Evidence, Norman. Herrmann, P. 1965 (1967): Antiochos der Grosse und Teos, Anadolu (Anatolia) 9, 29–159. Hornblower, S. 1982: Mausolus, Oxford. Hornblower, S. 1991: The Greek World, 479–323 B. C., London; New York. Jehne, M. 1994: Koine Eirene. Untersuchungen zu den Befriedungs- und Stabilisierungsbemühungen in der griechischen Poliswelt des 4. Jahrhunderts v. Chr., Stuttgart. Keen, A. G., Fischer-Hansen, T. 2004: The South Coast of Asia Minor (Pamphylia, Kilikia), in: Hansen, M. H., Nielsen, Th. H. (eds.), An Inventory of Archaic and Classical Poleis, Oxford, 1211–1222. Kholod, М. М. 2005: Nadpisi iz Prieny i Alexandr Velikiy: k probleme datirovki dvukh epigraficheskikh tekstov (Inscriptions from Priene and Alexander the Great: on the Dating of Two Epigraphic Texts), AAe 1, 10–27 (in Russian). Kholod, M. M. 2007: Aphorologesīa grecheskikh gorodov Maloy Azii pri Alexandre Velikom (Aphorologesīa of the Greek Cities in Asia Minor at the Time of Alexander the Great), Vestnik Sankt-Peterburgskogo universiteta, Ser. 2, 3, 134–142 (in Russian).

92

Maxim M. Kholod

Kholod, M. M. 2010: The Garrisons of Alexander the Great in the Greek Cities of Asia Minor, Eos, 97, 249–258. Kholod, M. M. 2013: On the Seleucid and Attalid syntaxis, in: R. Oetjen, R. Frank (eds.), Seleukeia. Studies in Seleucid History, Archaeology and Numismatics in Honor of Getzel M. Coehn, Berlin [forthcoming]. Lane Fox, R. 1973: Alexander the Great, London. Le Rider, G. 2003: Alexandre le Grand: monnaie, finances et politique, Paris. Ma, J. 2000: Antiochos III and the Cities of Western Asia Minor, Oxford. Magie, D. 1950: Roman Rule in Asia Minor to the End of the Third Century after Christ. Vol. 1–2, Princeton. Marinovich, L. P. 1993: Greki i Alexandr Makedonskiy (k probleme krizisa polisa) (Greeks and Alexander of Macedon [on the Crisis of the Polis]), Moscow (in Russian). Marinovich, L. P. 2002: Vtoroy Afinskiy morskoy soiuz (Second Athenian Maritime Confederacy), in: Mezhgosudarstvennye otnosheniya i diplomatiya v antichnosti (Interstate Relations and Diplomacy in Antiquity). Vol. II, Kazan, 82–113 (in Russian). Mileta, Ch. 2002: The King and His Land: Some Remarks on the Royal Area (basilikē chōra) of Hellenistic Asia Minor, in: D. Ogden (ed.), The Hellenistic World. New Perspectives, New York, 157–175. Mileta, Ch. 2008: Der König und sein Land. Untersuchungen zur Herrschaft der hellenistischen Monarchen über das königliche Gebiet Kleinasiens und seine Bevölkerung, Berlin. Murray, O. 1966: Ο ΑΡΧΑΙΟΣ ΔΑΣΜΟΣ, Historia, 15, 142–156. Nawotka, K. 2003: Freedom of Greek Cities in Asia Minor in the Age of Alexander the Great, Klio, 85, 15–41. Nawotka, K. 2010a: Alexander the Great, Cambridge. Nawotka, K. 2010b: Miletus and Alexander the Great, in: E. Dąbrowa et al. (eds.), Hortus Historiae. Księga pamiątkowa ku czci profesora Józefa Wolskiego w setną rocznicę urodzin (Studies in Honour of Professor Jozef Wolski on the 100th Anniversary of His Birthday), Cracow, 143– 163. Parke, H. W. 1985: The Massacre of the Branchidae, JHS, 105, 59–68. Ranovich, A. B. 1950: Ellinizm i ego istoricheskaya rol’ (Hellenism and Its Historical Role), Moscow; Leningrad (in Russian). Rhodes, P. J. 2006: A History of the Classical Greek World, 478–323 B. C., Oxford. Ruzicka, S. 1997: The Eastern Greek World, in: L. A. Tritle (ed.), The Greek World in the Fourth Century. From the Fall of the Athenian Empire to the Successors of Alexander, London; New York, 107–136. Schachermeyr, F. 1973: Alexander der Grosse: das Problem seiner Persönlichkeit und seines ���� Wirkens, Vienna. Sherwin-White, S. M. 1985: Ancient Archives: The Edict of Alexander to Priene, a Reappraisal, JHS, 105, 69–89. Shifman, I.Sh. 1988: Alexandr Makedonskiy (Alexander of Macedon), Leningrad (in Russian). Scheer, T. S. 2003: The Past in a Hellenistic Present: Myth and Local Tradition, in: A. Erskine (ed.), A Companion to the Hellenistic World, Oxford, 216–245. Schwahn, W. 1932: Σύνταξις, RE 2. Reihe, 4, 1453–1456. Stoneman, R. 1997: Alexander the Great, London. Tarn, W. W. 1948: Alexander the Great. Vol. 1–2, Cambridge. Tuplin, Ch. 1987: The Administration of the Achaemenid Empire, in: I. Carradice (ed.), Coinage and Administration in the Athenian and Persian Empires, Oxford, 109–166. Wilcken, U. 1931: Alexander der Grosse, Leipzig. Will, E., Mossé, C., Goukowsky, P. 1975: Le monde grec et l’Orient, T. 2, Paris. Wirth, G. 1972: Die συντάξεις von Kleinasien 334 v. Chr., Chiron 2, 91–98. Wirth, G., von Hinüber, O. 1985: Arrian. Der Alexanderzug. Indische Geschichte. Griechisch und Deutsch von G. Wirth, O. von Hinüber. Tl. 1, Berlin.

A FRAGMENT OF AN EARLY HELLENISTIC EGYPTIAN . CLEPSYDRA FROM THE STATE HERMITAGE, . ST. PETERSBURG (INV. NO. ДВ 2507А): A NATIVE VIEW OF EARLY MACEDONIAN RULE IN EGYPT* Ivan A. Ladynin (Lomonosov Moscow State University) The classical sources related to the stay of Alexander the Great in Egypt in autumn 332 to spring 331 B. C.1 tell us at least twice about his involvement in Egyptian religious life. We will here leave aside the episode of his journey to the Siwa Oasis, with all its historiographic complications,2 and confine ourselves to his contacts with the religious life of Egypt properly spoken. One piece of evidence is quite explicit: it is a statement by Flavius Arrianus that on entering the country Alexander came to Memphis, sacrificed to different deities including Apis and organized “gymnastic and musical” competitions with the participation of Greek celebrities (Arr. Anab. III. 1. 4: ἧκεν ἐς Μέμφιν· καὶ θύει ἐκεῖ τοῖς τε ἄλλοις θεοῖς καὶ τῷ Ἄπιδι καὶ ἀγῶνα ἐποίησε γυμνικόν τε καὶ μουσικόν· ἧκον δὲ αὐτῷ οἱ ἀμφὶ ταῦτα τεχνῖται ἐκ τῆς Ἑλλάδος οἱ δοκιμώτατοι). The most important aspect of this evidence is undoubtedly the mention of a sacrifice to Apis: as the emergence of Sarapis’ cult cannot be dated so early,3 only the Egyptian cult of Wsir-@p, the syncretic deity worshipped at the Memphite Serapeum4 can be alluded to here. Most probably, the “other deities” mentioned by Arrian together with Apis are Egyptian divinities too; incidentally, we know another, much later episode of sacrifice to Apis carried out by a person of political prominence who belonged not to Egyptian, but to Graeco-Roman civilization: the sacrifice by Titus on his way from the captured Jerusalem to Italy, which he performed with a diadem on his head and so immediately aroused Vespasian’s suspicion of his pursuit of power (Suet. Div. Titus. 5. 3). However remote from the time of Alexander, this comparison is very telling: when considering it, one should bear in mind an important feature of Egyptian religious life as distinct from that of classical antiquity: the performance of ritual was barred *

1

2 3 4

We thank the State Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg for permission to publish a photograph of this object as fig. 1. Alexander captured Tyre in July-August 332 B. C. (Arr. Anab. II. 24. 6), then spent two months besieging Gaza (Diod. XVII. 46. 6) and some more time recuperating from a serious wound (Arr. Anab. II. 27. 3); this makes October or even November 332 B. C. the most probable date for his incursion into Egypt by way of Pelusium. Early spring 331 B. C. is given as the time of his departure from Egypt in Arr. Anab. III. 6. 1. On his stay at Egypt see: Bosworth, A. B. 1988, 68–74; Huss, W. 2001, 55–78 (with detailed references to sources and studies). See bibliography in: Huss, W. 2001, 70–71. See on the introduction of the cult under Ptolemy I: Huss, W. 2001, 241 ff. See Kessler, D. 1989, 56–149.

94

Ivan A. Ladynin

to those who held no priestly rank. This resulted necessarily from the notion that a ritual had to be enacted by the king of Upper and Lower Egypt,5 i. e. the sacral ruler who mediated the relationship of Egypt and the entire earthly world with the gods; the offering scenes of Egyptian temples have since time immemorial shown the king performing the rites in all of them all at once, which could not be true; however, only a qualified priest was authorized to ‘enact’ the king in the real divine service. Given the obvious lack of priestly rank, the position of king of Upper and Lower Egypt could alone have allowed a foreigner to participate in an Egyptian ritual: thus, Vespasian’s fears that his son had in view not just an honour from Egyptian priests but the status of monarch were not unfounded and the same status – simply for the lack of any other – must be the basis of Alexander’s entitlement to sacrifice to Apis.6 Another piece of evidence, less easy to interpret, is Curtius Rufus’ statement that Alexander took care to organize the country’s administration so as not to infringe in any way on Egyptian “paternal customs” (Curt. IV. 7. 5: conpositisque rebus ita, ut nihil ex patrio Aegyptiorum more mutaret): there is good reason to believe that this included the organization of religious life too,7 given that royal participation in it was in fact a cornerstone of the Egyptian state. This classical evidence, assessed soberly, could fairly be described as meagre and in part not wholly reliable (see also the statement in the Alexander Romance and the discussion of it cited in our n. 6), and this has prompted doubts about the credibility of the image of ‘Alexander the Egyptophile’ that has migrated from one book to the next.8 However, the question is not about Alexander’s personal egyptophilia of any sort (one may wonder whom or what Alexander loved or liked, except for a very few persons in his closest entourage), but about the existence of a conscious policy carried out in Egypt on his behalf that positioned him as a new legitimate Pharaoh. S. Burstein is right to observe that the compilation of Egyptian royal titles for him does not prove that such a policy existed:9 titles were compiled even for Roman emperors despite their general lack of interest in the Egyptian tradition. Arrian’s evidence about the sacrifice to Apis is a stronger ground and it cannot be merely chance that he names this object of Alexander’s piety alongside nameless “other 5 6

7 8 9

Altenmüller, H. 1982, 582. For discussion of the historicity of evidence from the Alexander Romance for Alexander’s coronation at the Memphite temple of Hephaestus(-Ptah), Ps.-Call. A. I, 34: Bergman, J. 1968, 92–94; Koenen, L. 1977, 30–32 (connecting, not unreasonably, Arrian’s evidence about the sacrifice to Apis with the coronation ritual); Burstein, St. 1991. Cf. a papyrus fragment that probably refers to a military order preventing unauthorized intrusion by the Macedonian soldiers into priestly premises at Saqqara, Memphis, which fits well with the statement by Curtius: Turner, E. G. 1974. Burstein, St. 1991; Burstein, St., 1994. See, however, recent publications of Alexander’s Egyptian titles from the Baharia Oasis, which would render his programme of world conquest in Egyptian categories: Blöbaum, A. I. 2006 (the Argead titles), esp. 423 (the titles from Baharia); Bosch-Puche, F. 2008. It would go beyond the scope of the present paper to offer an interpretation of the Argead titles, detecting their underlying concept and showing them to have been not mere formalities or decorations but an effective device to achieve legitimation in the eyes of the Egyptians; A. I. Blöbaum has approached this issue in some of her observations.

A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra

95

deities”. This detail is unlikely to come from Arrian himself but rather from his well-known sources Ptolemy or Aristobulus, i. e. from a time very close to Alexander; and that one of them (most likely Ptolemy, who for obvious reasons must have had an interest in Alexander’s activities in Egypt) singled out this act by Alexander must have been designed to juxtapose him to the previous, Persian occupiers, with their sacrileges against Egyptian sacred animals.10 However, this reverence of Alexander for Egyptian cult could have been just an episode and not a lasting ideological motif that presented Alexander’s reign as Pharaonic. A trace of a real ‘motif’ of this kind is the programme of temple-building carried out in Egypt under Alexander and his formal successor Philip Arrhidaeus: the expert on the Theban temples L. Bell has noticed that this programme was associated with the start and finish points of the so-called Opet procession – the temple of Akhmenu at Karnak built under Thutmosis III and the repository of the divine barque at Luxor built under Amenophis III; subsequently, the author of the present paper showed that the restorations carried out by the Argeads in Theban temples were in fact a continuation of the building programme begun already under Alexander’s native predecessors, the Pharaohs of Dynasty XXX, in the fourth century B. C.11 This programme must have been aimed at restoring in Thebes the infrastructure of the Opet feast and some other rituals closely connected to royal power12 and so they may have contributed to reviving the sacral image of Egyptian kings that had been shattered in the Late Period. The fact that Alexander and his successors carried on this programme, which made up more than a half of their entire Egyptian temple-building activity, shows them not just resuming this building work after its complete cessation during the Second Persian Domination of Egypt (343–332 B. C.), but also giving it – without doubt, quite deliberately – a direction that reinforced their Pharaonic authority by means of the traditional Egyptian ideology. When discussing the Argeads’ legitimation of their power over Egypt in the eyes of its natives, we have to begin with Alexander’s short stay in the country not just for the sake of chronology but also because his personal participation in this political course is quite well attested by the statements of Arrian and perhaps also Curtius. Alexander would certainly have performed acts like the sacrifice to Apis only by his own free choice. The only episode of the kind attested for the period of Ptolemy’s satrapy and the formal Pharaonic reigns of Philip Arrhidaeus and Alexander [IV], son of Roxane (323–305 B. C., according to their Egyptian dates),13 seems to be the burial of the Apis Bull sponsored by Ptolemy soon after his power was established in the country (Diod. I. 84. 8). At the same time Diodorus (XVIII. 10 Bosworth, A. B. 1980, 263; on the Egyptian presentation of the invasion of Artaxerxes III in 343 B. C. and of the subsequent period of the Second Persian Domination, see Schwartz, J. 1949, 68–69, 75. 11 Bell, L. 1997, 158; 293, n. 101; Ladynin, I. A. 2007. 12 See for Dynasty XXX: Abd el-Razik, M. 1968, 158–159 (allusions to Opet on the bases of the sphinxes of Nectanebo I at Luxor); Legrain, G. 1917, 14–15 (scenes of the ‘Beautiful Feast of the Valley’ in the exterior scenes of the repository of the barque at Luxor); Arnold, D. 1999, 115 ff., 131–132. 13 Pestman P. W. 1967, 12–13 (one sees here post mortem dates of Alexander [IV], already murdered by Cassander by around 309 B. C.: Hammond, N. G. L., Walbank, F. W. 1988, 164–167).

96

Ivan A. Ladynin

14. 1) and Justin (XIII. 6. 19) speak of Ptolemy providing a basis for Egyptian support by his tolerant and reasonable rule; and this is in accord with the propagandist effort found in his monuments. As already noted, the Theban building programme began under Dynasty XXX and was picked up by Alexander, continuing well after his death into the formal reign of Philip Arrhidaeus (until 317–316 B. C.). The hieroglyphic Satrap Stela of 311 B. C. presented Alexander [IV] as a formal pharaoh but Satrap Ptolemy as a mighty warrior (in words expected rather for a king), a restorer of temple relics once seized by the Persians, the founder of a new capital and a pious benefactor of the Egyptian temples.14 In fact, Ptolemy’s self-presentation in this text was an innovation that created a specific status of non-royal regional ruler, who held lifetime power alongside a formal Argead king of the entire empire and in fact performed his functions and was described in terms of royal glorification; this seems to correlate with the appearance of ‘double dates’ (with year of king and satrap) in a Greek Egyptian papyrus of the same year 311 B. C. (P. Eleph. 1, l. 1–2: Ἀλεξάνδρου τοῦ Ἀλεξάνδρου βασιλεύοντος ἔτει ἑβδόμωι Πτολεμαίου σατραπεύοντος ἔτει τεσσαρεσκαιδεκάτωι, μηνὸς Δίου…).15 One should notice that similar double dating appears simultaneously (probably revealing a common trend in establishing the power of the Oriental Diadochi) in the protocol of the Satrap Seleucus in Mesopotamia (the Babylonian Diadochi Chronicle, verso, ll. 3’–4’).16 Thus, efforts by Ptolemy’s administration to legitimate his power in the eyes of the Egyptians can be traced, as can similar efforts under Alexander (though as satrap and even as a king Ptolemy was undoubtedly much more bound to adhere to the Macedonian tradition and to abstain from Orientalism in his Egyptian policy).17 14 See, with references, Hölbl, G. 2001, 80–83; Winnicki, J. K., 1994, 170–171. 15 Rubensohn, O. 1907, 19; Samuel, A. E. 1962, 13. 16 See the reconstruction in the online edition by B. van der Spek: http://www.livius.org/cg-cm/ chronicles/bchp-diadochi/diadochi_01.html; cf. Del Monte, G. F. 1997, 183–194; cf. Boiy, T. 2000. 17 L. Koenen was probably too enthusiastic in assuming that all Ptolemies, starting with Soter, underwent the Egyptian coronation rite: Koenen, L. 1993, 71 and n. 109, 73 and n. 112. The late fourth century B. C., when compared to the time of Alexander, was marked by a considerable change in the political course pursued by Hellenistic rulers as regards their Graeco-Macedonian and Oriental subjects. Alexander was willing (more on pragmatic grounds than in adherence to some sort of personal ideology) to create a truly synthetic empire with no Hellenic preponderance, and in pursuit of that goal he founded towns with mixed population and no autonomy, among the other things; in contrast, Seleucus granted to the Hellenic communities of these towns the status of poleis and later continued to favour his non-Oriental subjects, so that in due course the state he founded may have been legitimately designated “the Macedonian empire” after its elite: Edson, Ch. 1958; Koshelenko, G. A. 1972, 73–78; Koshelenko, G. A., 1979, 212– 214, 224–225. In Egypt this decline from Orientalism must have had next to no parallel in the status of Hellenic communities, due to their paucity (see, however, on Alexandria’s change in status from a non-autonomous settlement to a polis, like Asiatic cities under Seleucus: Jähne, A. 1981); but as a trend in policy and ideology it must have been common to the entire Oriental Hellenistic oikoumene, and the newly formed Hellenic population of Egypt could not have been immune to it. It would have been unwise and hence improbable for Soter, Philadelphus and even Euergetes to irritate their Graeco-Macedonian entourage by inaugurating their reigns with Egyptian rites.

A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra

97

This excursus into the self-presentation of the first Macedonian sovereigns of Egypt leads to a question: how did the Egyptians respond to their propagandist efforts? Coming back to the evidence of Alexander’s historians, one recalls the authors of the vulgate tradition relating how the Egyptians saluted Alexander on his arrival at Pelusium (Curt. IV. 7. 1–2; Diod. XVII. 49. 2). However real its factual background may be, this statement cannot register the reaction of the entire Egyptian population, though its hatred for the Persians must have undoubtedly been stronger than the bitterness of being freed by another foreigner. For a slightly later time, sources register awful stories about Alexander’s viceregent in Egypt, Cleomenes of Naucratis,18 which are very similar in colour to those told by Egyptians about the excesses of the Second Persian Domination: it was said that Cleomenes intended to hunt the sacred crocodiles, but refrained from this on getting a bribe from Egyptians (Ps.-Aristot. Oec. II. 33c), much as it was said that Artaxerxes III had offended sacred animals and Bagoas sold back to Egyptians the religious texts stolen by that king.19 In fact sacrileges against sacred animals were a well-known label applied by the Egyptian priestly tradition to those who tried to make use of temple wealth (which Cleomenes did: ibid., 33f);20 yet Cleomenes had no royal rank, so these accusations were aimed, at least in their literal wording, against him personally and not against Macedonian rule in general. The methodology for assessing the loyalty of Egyptians to their kings in the Late Period and the Hellenistic and Roman epochs has been well defined in a study by U. Rössler-Köhler, who pointed out that a negative attitude towards a king manifested itself in more or less standard terms in private monuments: whenever a ruler of Egypt seemed unacceptable for any reason (among other things, for his foreign origin or for establishing his power over Egypt by conquest), these artifacts registered a transposition of royal ritual functions from him onto a deity or even onto an individual of non-royal status.21 The need for these manipulations in the eyes of Egyptians is clear, arising from the role of the king in their picture of the world: his function as a mediator between the earthly world and the gods, as well as between the gods themselves, had such importance for the stability of the world-order that it could not be vacated and had to be performed, if not by a real earthly ruler, then by a locum tenens acting in his place.22 Among seven monuments considered in the monograph by U. Rössler-Köhler from the early Hellenistic period (nos. 84b‑88), six show the transfer of royal status onto a deity or, rarely, onto a human, and one monument shows no definite position; symptomatically, loyalty by Egyptian individuals to the Argeads as sovereigns and sacral rulers is not attested at all.23 It might 18 See a summary of sources and bibliography at Huss, W. 2001, 76–78. 19 See note 10. 20 Bresciani, E. 1968, 335; compare with the concept of the Demotic Chronicle and its reaction to Pharaohs Nectanebo I and Tachos: Felber, H. 2002, 102, 105, etc. 21 Rössler-Köhler, U. 1991, 6–8, passim. 22 See among the numerous publications on this problem, e. g., Derchain, Ph. 1962; Routledge, C. D. 2001, 162–221 (on the title connected to the ritual role of the king nb irt xt “Lord of Performing Things”; see below); Demidchik, A. E. 2005, 14–27, 44–49. 23 Rössler-Köhler, U. 1991, 281–293. She ascribed to the early Macedonian period the statue of

98

Ivan A. Ladynin

be said that the native Egyptian response to the propagandist efforts of Alexander and the Satrap Ptolemy was bleak – at least to judge from the members of the elite that we happen to know about. However, these monuments are not very numerous and, despite their religious nature (e. g., no. 87 – the tomb of Petosiris at Tuna elGebel),24 their attitudes might be explained by the personal views of their owners and not by a general disinclination on the part of the Egyptian elite to accept the Argeads as legitimate ritual kings. For confirmation of whether this was the case, one should look for a monument that reveals the attitude towards those rulers presented on behalf of the temples and of the priesthood as a specific functional group in Egyptian society which preserved religious tradition and produced the ideology connected to it. There is a happy opportunity for this in the study of a typical Egyptian temple utensil of the Argead period – a fragment of a water-clock (clepsydra) from the collection of the State Hermitage at St. Petersburg, Russia (inv. no. ДВ 2507а; see fig. 1).25

Fig. 1. Early Hellenistic Egyptian clepsydra, State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg, Inv. No. ДВ 2507А. With kind permission.

@rw-xby (her no. 89: Rössler-Köhler, U. 1991, 293–294), but reasonable arguments have been made by Gorre, G. 2009: 368 for its later attribution. 24 Rössler-Köhler, U. 1991, 287–292. 25 According to L. Borchardt, as followed by G. Lodomez, the fragment Naples 2327 once belonged to the same object (Borchardt, L. 1920, 11; Lodomez, G. 2007, 65); we do not touch upon the Naples fragment here, both because it is irrelevant to our study and because it has been properly published elsewhere (Lodomez, G. 2007, 65–67, fig. 4).

A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra

99

The provenance of this object is unknown, as it appeared in Europe (probably discovered in Rome) before the establishment of academic Egyptology: it was described for the first time, together with another fragment of clepsydra (now also at St.Petersburg: inv. no. 8698),26 by Athanasius Kircher in the mid-17th century, when it was in the Museo Gaddiano at Florence.27 Later it passed by an unknown route into the collection of Prince S. M. Golitsyn and finally to the then Imperial Hermitage at St. Petersburg: it is registered in the first, and still the only, complete description of its Egyptian collection by V. S. Golenischev.28 This monument is a fragment of a large vessel in the shape of a blunted cone: its bottom is lacking and its original height is unknown (the fragment is now 33.5 cm high, 31 cm wide and 8 cm thick). The exterior surface of the clock was decorated in its middle (and larger) part by a frieze of scenes showing the king making an offering to gods (each god representing the even months of the year) and followed by goddesses (representing the odd months); the fragment preserved the figures corresponding to the 11th, 12th and 1st months (the larger right part of the fragment: the king offering to the god of the last month, Re-Harakhte, and followed by the goddess of the last-butone month of the year, Ipet-Hemetes;29 left edge of the fragment: figure of the goddess of the first month Tekhyt30 following the king, a scene of which there remains only a vertical inscription, some decorative elements and the rear of the goddess following the king, her head topped with a feather). Hence the fragment before us must be the central part of the water-clock, and the marker dividing the deities of the first and last months of the year is the so-called serekh (the depiction of the palace façade surmounted by the falcon Horus) with the royal Horus name inscribed in it. A similar frieze-divider with Horus names can be found on the clepsydra fragment from the Museo Barrasco in Rome (inv. no. 27);31 to judge from its central position, it must have been the only one in the frieze (though theoretically one might assume the presence of some sort of a paired divider on the opposite side of the clock, between the figures of the 6th and the 7th months). The name inscribed in the serekh on the Hermitage fragment is TmA-a (“strong with (his) arm”); we will have to consider its interpretation further below. There must have been a figure of a baboon (symbolizing the god Thoth as the inventor of writing, arithmetic and timereckoning) under the serekh, with water falling from a hole in his phallus, but only 26 Sholpo, N. 1939, 161 ff. 27 Kircher, Ath. 1652–1654, III, 384–386. 28 [Golénischeff, W. S.] 1891, 374–376; the following publications provide the basis for the present article: Sholpo, N. 1939, 155–161; Bolshakov, A. O. 2006; cf. Roullet, A. 1972, 145, pl. CCXXV‑CCXXVI, fig. 337–339 (no. 327). 29 Bolshakov, A. 2007, 209; cf. Leitz, Chr. 2002, I, 219–220; earlier students of the Hermitage fragment thought this goddess was Neith: [Golénischeff, W. S.] 1891, 374–375; Sholpo, N. 1939, 159. 30 Bolshakov, A. 2007, 209; cf. Leitz, Chr. 2002, VII, 436; earlier students of the Hermitage fragment thought this goddess to be Maat: [Golénischeff, W. S.] 1891, 375; Sholpo, N. 1939, 158. The enlightening analogy, which allows the identification of both goddesses, seems to be the clepsydra fragment from the Museo Barrasco, see our next note and Leitz, Chr. 2002, locc. citt. 31 Arslan, E. A. et al. 1997, 395, no V.13; Lodomez, G. 2007, 73.

100

Ivan A. Ladynin

traces of this figure and a hole are preserved.32 The serekh over them occupies the entire height of the fragment; scenes of the frieze to the right and to the left of the serekh are bordered on either side by sceptre signs (hieroglyphic wAc, ) and ‘covered’ from above by elongated signs of the sky (pt, ). Over these signs there is an inscription around the upper brim of the clepsydra; it must have consisted of two parts, starting to the right and left of the serekh respectively and going around the vessel (these two pieces were probably identical and, perhaps, separated from one another by the putative divider on the opposite part of the clock). Below the frieze of offering scenes there are two more lines of inscriptions that go around the vessel. The inscriptions of the fragment read as follows.33 I. Upper brim of the vessel. Over the frieze, to the right of the serekh, left to right:

nfr wnw(t) ir.n +Hwty xft… “Beautiful34 is hour (service?)35 made by Thoth before…” Over the frieze, to the left of the serekh, right to left:

nfr wnwt ir.n [+Hwty]… 32 Sholpo, N. 1939, 158; cf. Borchardt, L. 1920, 6B. 33 The author collated the inscriptions on the fragment with its copy in I. V. Zvetaev’s Educational Museum of Arts (the Russian State University for Humanities and the State Museum of Fine Arts), Moscow, with the kind cooperation of its keeper, Dr. Nika V. Lavrentyeva, for which he is grateful. 34 The reading of the baboon sign starting both inscriptions of the upper register as nfr (“beautiful”, in this case as an adjectival predicate) was proposed by V. S. Golenischev: “Propice est (ou ‘soit’) l’heure qu’a fait Thoth lorsque…” ([Golénischeff, W. S.] 1891, 375); this seems quite possible according to the modern sign-list: Daumas Fr., et al. 1988, 244 (sign E547). N. Sholpo proposed reading this sign as a shortening for Sbt (otherwise wSbt or wTt: Erman, A., Grapow, H. 1926–1953, IV, 438 (8), which, he thought, might be translated “water-clock” (Sholpo, N. 1939, 167); however, this translation is doubtful. The choice of the baboon sign for writing a very frequent word nfr is best motivated by the evident allusion of the water-clock to Thoth. According to O. D. Berlev, the baboon sign should be read Dd, the word-combination Dd-wnwt at the start of this inscription meaning simply “clock” (cf. Greek ὡρολόγιον; Liddell, H. G., Scott, R., Jones, H. S. 1996, 2037; Hodjash, Sv., Berlev, O. 1982, 185); this interpretation is accepted in: Lodomez, G. 2007: 65, n. 46, though with a reserved reference to the criticism of it (considering it to be purely speculative) in: Bianchi, R. et al. 1988, 222–223, no. 115. 35 See for the possible spectrum of the word’s meanings: Erman, A., Grapow, H. 1926–1953, I, 316–317; Wilson, P. 1997, 232–233. Its standard writing would have been ; the sign X1 (‘bread’: ; Gardiner, A. H. 1957, 531) seems to be replaced here with N5 (‘sun’: ; Gardiner, A. H. 1957, 485) – a plausible determinative of a word denoting a temporal notion, which appears in the word wnwt regularly.

A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra

101

“Beautiful is hour (service?) made [by Thoth]…” (one expects the repetition of the text to the right of the serekh). II. Figures of the frieze. (1) Scene of the 12th and the 11th months, to the right of the serekh, figures from left to right: falcon-headed Re-Harakhte with sun-disc on his head, standing with his face to the right; the king facing him, wearing Atf-crown and with a censer in his hand; the goddess Ipet-Hemetes wearing the Lower Egyptian crown behind the king, making with her hands gestures of protection. (a) Figure of Re-Harakhte. Over his head, right to left:

mry Ra-@r-Axty “Beloved by Re-Harakte” (epithet obviously applying to the king); Behind the god, vertically, signs oriented right to left:

Dd mdw di.n(.i) n.k anx wAc nb cnbi nb Aw(t)-ib nb mi Ra Dt “Saying of words: (I) gave to you all life (and) stability, all health, all joy like Re, forever” (words addressed by the god to the king).

102

Ivan A. Ladynin

(b) Figure of the king. Before and above him, vertical columns, left to right:

nb tAwy (empty cartouche) nb xaw (empty cartouche) anx mi Ra Dt “Lord of Two Lands (i. e. Upper and Lower Egypt; epithet normally preceding the so-called solar praenomen – a theophoric title including the name of the sun-god Re) … Lord of Appearances (an epithet normally preceding the personal name of a king)36 alive like Re forever”. Before the king, below, to the right of wAc-sceptre in the hand of the god Re-Harakhte, vertically, signs oriented left to right:

[nf]r cntr ir.f di anx “[Beautif]ul37 is incense, it makes the giving of life” (applies to the offering performed by the king).

36 See on the use of the epithets: von Beckerath, J. 1999, 30; Blöbaum, A. I. 2006, 42–43, 54–55 (tab. 6). 37 As proposed for the damaged initial signs by V. S. Golenischev: “qu’il soit propice, l’encense…” ([Golénischeff, W. S.] 1891, 374).

A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra

(c) Figure of Ipet-Hemetes: Before and above her, left to right, damaged:

[Ipt-]Hmt.c… “[Ipet-]Hemetes…” Below the right hand of the goddess, behind the king, vertically, signs oriented left to right:

sA anx HA.f “The protection and the life [is] behind him” (applies to the protective gesture of the goddess). Behind the goddess, vertically, signs oriented left to right:

[di.]n.(i) n.k xa.k Aq(.q) pt rc(yt) mi Ra Dt

103

104

Ivan A. Ladynin

“[I gave] to you that you appear (and) rise to the southern heavens like Re, forever”.38 (2) Scene of the 1st month, to the left of the serekh: the only preserved features belong to the figure of the goddess Tekhyt at the right part of the scene, the back of her head topped with a feather and her left arm hanging behind her back, the sign of life in her hand. Behind the goddess, vertically, signs oriented left to right:

Dd mdw di.n(.i) n.k anx wAc nb cnbi nb Aw(t)-ib nb xa Hr ct @r Dt “Saying of words: (I) gave to you all life (and) stability, all health, all joy, appearing on the throne of Horus, eternally” (words addressed by the goddess to the king).

38 This translation also follows a proposal (which, however, is not unimpeachable) by V. S. Golenischev: “[Je t’accorde] que tu t’éleves au ciel méridional comme le soleil, éternellement” ([Golénischeff, W. S.] 1891, 374). There is good reason to restore the alleged omitted suffixpronoun .k after Aq; however, a difficulty in this interpretation that should not be passed over is that the verb iAk, Aq in the meaning “to rise to the heavens” must be intransitive governing its object through the preposition r (Erman, A., Grapow, H. 1926–1953, I, 33 (16–17) and I (21)). Nevertheless, deviation from the Middle Egyptian linguistic standard is possible in the fourth century B. C., and Golenischev’s interpretation seems plausible in its meaning. In rc[yt] (“southern”) the sign M23 ( ) seems to replace M24 ( meaning (cf. Gardiner, A. H. 1957, 482).

), which is standard to convey this

A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra

105

III. Lower part of the vessel. (1) Upper register, below the frieze, to the right of the serekh, left to right:

anx nTr nfr nb ir(t) xt sA Ra Arwksindrs ir.n.f… “Be alive Beautiful God, Lord of Performing Things, Son of Re Alexander, (who) made…” Below the frieze scenes, to the left of the serekh, right to left:

anx nTr “Be alive [Beautiful] God… (one expects the repetition of the text found to the right of the serekh). (2) Lower register, below the scene of the 12th and 11th months, left to right:

V. S. Golenischev stated: “La deuxième ligne est presque illisible”;39 indeed, it can hardly be interpreted except for the first words r ir(t) xt “to perform things”, i. e., ritual (see note 22). The problems raised by this fragment of a clepsydra are connected with the interpretation of the royal protocol set on it. In fact, the only royal personal name found on it is “Alexander” in the inscription of the lower part below the scene of the 12th and 11th months: it might apply either to Alexander the Great or to his son from the marriage to Roxane, who was recognized as a formally legitimate Pharaoh in 316–305 B. C. (see our note 13 above). The cartouches of the sacrificing king in the scene are empty; and this is one of the points that need explanation. Another point is the Horus name TmA-a placed in the serekh: none of the Argead rulers had this title and the only Egyptian king of the fourth century B. C. to bear it was Nectanebo I (Nectanebis, Egyptian Nxt-nb.f “Strong is his Lord”).40 The question is whether this combination of protocol components allows us to determine the reign to which the fragment belongs. The interpretations of this fragment put forward in the early 20th century were based on the then-accepted, wrong assumption that the Horus name TmA-a (as well as the Egyptian personal name Nxt-nb.f) belonged to Nectanebo II (Nectanebos),41 39 [Golénischeff, W. S.] 1891, 375. 40 von Beckerath, J. 1999, 226–227; Blöbaum, A. I. 2006, 405. 41 The idea that the name Nxt-nb.f belonged to Nectanebo II and the name Nxt-@r-@byt (“Strong is Horus of [the town of] @byt) to Nectanebo I was maintained until the discovery of the Demotic Chronicle: Spiegelberg, W. 1914, 6; cf. Clère, J.-J. 1951; Kienitz, Fr. K. 1953, 199.

106

Ivan A. Ladynin

who was depicted as the father of Alexander the Great in the Graeco-Egyptian Alexander Romance. A. Wiedemann, the first Egyptologist to treat the Hermitage clepsydra fragment, suggested that the combination of names presumed Alexander the Great to have been not just the son of Nectanebo II but also a sort of embodiment of him, in keeping with the words of the Romance of Alexander (Ps.-Callisth. A. I. 3.5: Αἴγυπτον ὁ φυγὼν κραταιὸς ἄλκιμος πρέσβυς βασιλεὺς δυνάστης ἥξει μετὰ χρόνον νέος, τὸ γηραλέον ἀποβαλὼν τύπων εἶδος, κόσμον κυκλεύσας, ἐπὶ τὸ Αἰγύπτου πεδίον, ἐχθρῶν ὑποταγὴν διδοὺς ἡμῖν “The strong and bold senior king (and) ruler, who has fled, will return in due time rejuvenated, changing his elderly appearance, having gone around the world, to the valley of Egypt, giving to us the submission of (our) foes”); hence the object had definitely to be dated to the time of Alexander the Great. This view was followed in the first publication of the fragment by N. Sholpo;42 yet some time before that, V. Struwe had proposed a more elaborate theory ascribing the name “Alexander” on the fragment to the son of Roxane and that of Horus TmA-a to the Satrap Ptolemy, which presumed that the latter claimed a formal co-regency in Egypt with Alexander [IV] already in the latter’s lifetime.43 Certainly, this theory is highly speculative; for it to be true one needs to postulate ex nihilo a formal co-regency of Ptolemy with the son of Roxane, which is ground enough to doubt it very strongly. Anyway, all those views may be classed as badly out of date; the only current approach to the artifact was recently proposed by the keeper of the Egyptian collection of the State Hermitage, Dr. Andrey Bolshakov. His idea is that the Horus name TmA-a is that of Nectanebo I and the name of Alexander in the lower part of the fragment belongs to Alexander the Great (Bolshakov believes that the name cannot belong to the son of Roxane). The Horus name of Nectanebo I on the clepsydra must mean that either it was dedicated to this king directly or it originated from some temple in which he carried out building or reconstruction activities;44 another strong reason to inscribe this name on the vessel was that Nectanebo I was the inaugurator of Dynasty XXX – the nearest Egyptian predecessor of Alexander as a founder-king.45 G. Lodomez in his recent study of the Argead Egyptian clepsydrae accepted this view and added that this allusion to Nectanebo I must have fitted with Alexander’s political course of legitimating himself; on this theory, one may say that the Horus name of Alexander (otherwise unattested) repeats that of the founder of Dynasty XXX.46 Incidentally, the author of the present paper, when approaching the artifact for the first time some years ago, also believed that its explanation might lie in the fact that temple-building under Nectanebo I and under Alexander the Great or the son of Roxane was carried out at the same sites. Moreover, such a coincidence of ‘building grounds’ is found easily enough: it could be the temple of Thoth at Hermopolis, where huge reconstruction began precisely under Nectanebo I (probably this temple centre played some important role on his path to power) and was completed during 42 43 44 45 46

Wiedemann, A. 1900; Sholpo, N. 1939, 159–161. Struwe, V. 1927, 144–145. Bolshakov, A. 2006, 549. Bolshakov, A. 2007, 209. Lodomez, G. 2007, 64.

A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra

107

the formal reign of Philip Arrhidaeus.47 This policy of reconstruction gave the temple of Thoth the shape it retained throughout the Hellenistic period; and a number of blocks with the titles of Alexander the Great record activities there in his time.48 Hence one might be tempted to state that the site at which the two kings’ activities intersected has been identified and to insist that the Hermitage fragment of clepsydra must belong to the period of Alexander the Great and originate from the temple of Hermopolis (which is not impossible in view of its obscure provenance). However, an ingenious suggestion from Dr. Arkadiy E. Demidchik (Novosibirsk State University, Russia) turned our attention to the specifics of the Horus name inscribed in the serekh on the clepsydra fragment. The epithet TmA-a can be interpreted not just as the name of an individual pharaoh (besides Nectanebo I, it was also a part of the Horus title only for a number of Roman emperors who were given formal Egyptian protocol in temple inscriptions49) but also as a denotation of the god Horus in his aspect of the acting king. The epithet is well-known in Egyptian monuments from the Old Kingdom onwards, and Dr. Demidchik emphasizes its appearance in the Wadi Maghara relief in which Pepi I is shown smiting the foes of Egypt: there the denotation TmA-a applied not to the king properly spoken but rather to his association with the god Horus, depicted above as the winged solar disk.50 A very similar composition is found in one of the reliefs of Sethos I:51 in both cases the scenes show the destruction of foreign enemies, its agent being thus the god Horus TmA-a in a specific merging with the terrestrial Pharaoh. A neat parallel to this notion is found in the fourth century B. C., i. e. quite close to our topic, in the texts of the so-called naos from Saft el-Henna: the epithet TmA-a is applied there equally both to Nectanebo I (to whose reign the object dates) as the Horus name in his titles, and also to the god Horus in the context of his killing the snake Apophis and defeating the enemies coming from the east.52 The ‘combatant’ aspect of this epithet, which had been topical under Nectanebo I, probably as a metaphor for the successful repulsion of the continuous Persian menace, must have remained no less significant at the time when this menace had been eliminated for good and the triumphant military advance was achieved under the new sovereigns of Egypt from the house of the Argeads.53 Hence it must have been quite appropriate for this aspect to feature on an artifact of that period. 47 Arnold, D. 1999, 111–112, 138–140. 48 Bittel, K., Herrmann, A. 1934, 38, n. 13, tab. 17; Porter, B., Moss, R.L. B. 1934, 147; Winter, E. 2006, 208–213. 49 von Beckerath, J. 1999, 248–249, 252–253, 254–255. 50 Gardiner, A. H., Peet, E. T. 1952, pl. VIII, no. 16. 51 Eldamaty, M. M. 1999, fig. 7; cf. Demidchik, A. E. 2005, 17. The author is grateful to Dr. Demidchik for a useful discussion of a number of issues touched on in this study. 52 Schumacher, I. W. 1988, 163, 167–168; cf. Roeder, G. 1914, 58–99, pl. 17–32, 33b. 53 As noted, TmA-a occurs together with the epithet nb irt xt describing the king as master of sacrifices to gods (see above): Blümenthal, E. 1970, 133–134; Blöbaum, A. I. 2006, 84, 101. Unlike A. I. Blöbaum we do not feel that TmA-a, accordingly, is an alternative description of the ritual king; these two epithets, when brought together, rather describe the totality of royal function consisting of two major complementary elements, combatant and ritualistic (this view was advocated in a discussion of the present article by Dr. Andrey O. Bolshakov).

108

Ivan A. Ladynin

However, as well as the aspect of the successful combatant, an Egyptian king had another, still more important aspect, as a ritualist (see above). As regards this aspect, it is advisable to return to the offering scenes of the clepsydra and specifically to the question we postponed: why were the cartouches of the king making an offering before Re-Harakhte (and, probably, before the other gods) left empty? In fact, good parallels to this detail are found on two other clepsydra fragments from the British Museum which belong, symptomatically, to the same early Hellenistic epoch. The fragment BM933 from Tell el-Yahudiya dates from the reign of Alexander the Great (as can be seen from the Pharaonic solar praenomen mry-Ra ctp.n-Imn “Loved by Re, (the one whom) Amun chose”54 in the inscription below the frieze of offering scenes) and shows the king also below the empty cartouches in the scenes of offering to Khonsu and to a deity whose image is not preserved.55 The fragment BM938 from the reign of Philip Arrhidaeus shows in its right part the king making offerings and wearing the Lower Egyptian crown with filled cartouches before and above him (his personal name is also inscribed in the line over the frieze); however, there are empty cartouches in the scene of handing lettuce to an ithyphallic deity in the left of the piece.56 Empty cartouches (or cartouches filled merely with a locus communis pr-aA “Pharaoh” not connected to a specific ruler) at the figure of the king are actually a well-known attribute of ritual scenes in the Late Period, and especially in the Roman period, when the priests were reluctant to perform sacrifices in the name of a far-away and totally alien emperor but needed nevertheless to state, at least symbolically, the existence of a ruler on whose behalf they would act.57 A good proof that such was the background of the empty cartouches in the offering scenes of the Argead clepsydrae is the relief scene in the upper part of the Satrap Stela that we have already had occasion to mention. This bipartite scene shows a pharaoh offering to the gods of Buto – Horus at the left, and Wadjet at the right – with empty cartouches before and above him in both cases.58 The royal protocol of Alexander [IV] in the text of the stela59 might incline us to believe that he must be the pharaoh in the relief scene; however, the text tells us that the benefactions to gods (first of all the land donation to the temples of Buto, which is hinted at in the left scene with the Pharaoh’s handing to Horus the hieroglyphic sign cxt “field”) actually come from the Satrap Ptolemy and not from the son of Roxane, who at that 54 The reading of the title is given according to: de Meulenaere, H. 1991, 57; cf. Blöbaum, A. I. 2006, 421. 55 James T.G. H. 1979, 190, fig. 45; Stanwick, P. E. 2006. 56 Quirke, St., Spencer, J. 1992, 177, fig. 138. 57 Derchain, Ph. 1962, 62–63. See in more detail on the empty cartouches and the cartouches surrounding the conventional designation pr-aA in the Hellenistic period (especially, in the late 2nd and the 1st centuries B. C.): Eldamaty, M. 2005; 2007; 2009. In general, the material gathered in these publications supports the view that the appearance of empty cartouches in ritual scenes reveals uncertainty on the question of who is to perform the ritual. 58 Bey Kamal, A. 1905, pl. 61; Hölbl, G. 2001, 83, fig. 3.2. 59 See for a standard publication: Sethe, K. 1904, 11–22; for translations: Kaplony-Heckel, U. 1982; Ritner, R. 2003; an up-to-date translation and detailed commentary on the text: Schäfer, D. 2011.

A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra

109

time resided outside Egypt (in Macedonia60). In the ritual scenes of the Satrap Stela there was no possibility of showing Ptolemy, who was not a Pharaoh; nevertheless the reluctance to depict on it this imprisoned prince, who in reality had nothing to do with the Egyptian temples, must have induced the priests of Buto to place in them a totally conventional figure of a king. This interpretation can be postulated with reasonable certainty for the scenes of the stela on the basis of their textual accompaniment; probably, the same preference for using a fictitious conventional figure in a ritual context instead of the unacceptable real ruler can be expected in the scenes on the contemporary clepsydra fragments. Another detail of the relief scenes of the Satrap Stela, which would seem routine on some other monument but here perhaps acquires a special significance, is the pharaonic double crown at the head of the god Horus, to whom the pharaoh is shown offering cxt. In connection with this, one should pay attention to the story of the stela about the events of the Second Persian Domination in the region of Buto that was inserted into the stela’s narrative of Ptolemy’s benefactions to its temples. When Artaxerxes III (#SryS(A) of the stela61) invaded Egypt he confiscated (an “reversed”) the incomes of the temples of Buto; after his death, in the mid-330s B. C. an adventurer Chabbash (perhaps of Nubian origin) seized power over Egypt and adopted pharaonic regalia for some two years.62 When he came to Buto for the purpose of an inspection, he was told by the local priests about Artaxerxes’ wrongdoing and about the revenge of god Horus for it: “Horus-Son-of-Isis, Son of Osiris, the Ruler of rulers, the King of kings of Upper Egypt, the King of kings of Lower Egypt, avenger of his father, the Lord of Pe, the one-[who-is-]before Gods that came into existence afterwards, [the one] there is no king after him, he has driven away the adversary #SrySA to his royal palace together with his son Wr-ciA-s [Arses]…” (lines 10–1163). Pharaoh Chabbash returned to the temples of Buto their income from the landed estate in question; and in due course the Satrap Ptolemy reiterated this act. Several features of the episode and specifically of the passage quoted attract attention. Students of Chabbash’s short rule have not yet noticed that his capacity as legitimate Pharaoh is shown in the Satrap Stela as much weaker than could be expected: he did not banish the foreign foes himself but only became the beneficiary of this deed, which was ascribed to the god Horus; and his praenomen Cnn-&nn ctp.n-PtH (“The Image of [Ta]tenen, [the one whom] Ptah chose”) shows the names of Memphite deities in the place of the expected name of the solar god Re (similarly, titles mentioning the sun were absent or omitted with the kings of the First Intermediate Period, who were thought incapable of performing ritual and maintaining the world order).64 At the same time the phrase quoted in fact ascribes to the god Horus the royal status in the earthly world, i. e. exactly the capacities that 60 Ladynin, I. A. 2002. 61 Ladynin, I. A. 2005. 62 Huß, W. 1991; Schneider, H. D. 1996 (the publication of a bead with Chabbash’s name followed by a survey of his monuments); Ladynin, I. A. 2005, 100, n. 42. 63 Translation, with slight changes, after: Ladynin, I. A. 2005, 89; see for the original: Sethe, K. 1904, 17–18. 64 Demidchik, A. E. 2005, 46–47.

110

Ivan A. Ladynin

Chabbash lacks to a full extent; and this is stated not only for the anterior situation in which Horus banished the Persian foes from Egypt, but also for the time of the priests’ contact with Chabbash, so the latter does not even try to deny it. It seems that the idea underlying this episode of the stela should be understood as follows: the words “[the one] there is no king after him” (nn nsw Hr-cA.f) mean that the terrestrial reign of Horus, having once started after his revenge for his father Osiris and the ultimate defeat of Seth, has actually never ceased! Every time that Egypt happened to lack a capable ritual ruler (and this was exactly the case in the Second Persian Domination, not quite compensated by Chabbash’s advent to power), Horus intervened as the perpetual king of Egypt par excellence65 and ‘filled the vacancy’, performing what its occupant was expected to do. It may be suspected that Horus’ Pharaonic crown in the relief of the Satrap Stela hints at the same intervention by the god during the formal reign of the son of Roxane, who was incapable of the real performance of the ritual. However, if this notion was present at all, it could really only have been hinted at in the Satrap Stela: there was no way that the royal status of Alexander [IV] could be explicitly denounced in it, since his protocol was present in the text and the authority of the Satrap Ptolemy was legal only under his auspices. However, the idea that Horus intervened every time that the capacity of a sacral ruler was lacking in the earthly world seems the most probable background for the name of Horus TmA-a to have appeared on the Hermitage clepsydra: while the sequence of monthly offering scenes showing a king with empty cartouches stated the absence of the terrestrial ritual king, the vertical composition of the serekh broke this frieze visually and asserted that, contrary to the message conveyed by the scenes, there existed an eternal divine ruler able to resume this function when necessary. The fact that the inscription on the lower rim of the vessel nevertheless contains the royal name “Alexander” in cartouche shows that the denial of its bearer’s royal authority was certainly not total: probably, the makers of the clepsydra could not but recognize the Macedonian king of this name as the actual ruler of the country (hence they did indicate his name, even enclosed in a cartouche, on the lower part of the object), but the scenes highlighting the royal ritual functions indicated that he was thought unacceptable to perform them (hence the empty cartouches in them). The clepsydra fragment BM938 shows a similar and probably even weaker reaction to the formal rule of Philip Arrhidaeus: in its ritual scenes only part of his cartouches is shown empty. Our consideration of the royal names on the Hermitage clepsydra started from the question of whether their combination allows us to determine the reign to which this object must have belonged. We pondered the possibility of placing it in the context of the Hermopolitan building work under Alexander the Great, which might have allowed us to attribute it to his reign; but in due course we gave up the major peg on which this interpretation hung – the assumption that the Horus name on the clepsydra may have belonged to Nectanebo I, who started the building programme of the fourth century B. C. in Hermopolis. Must we give up with this any attempt to decide if the “Alexander” mentioned at the lower rim of the vessel was the great 65 See, incidentally: Meeks, D., Favard-Meeks, Chr. 1993, 46–47.

A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra

111

conqueror or his son to Roxane? Perhaps not, if the epithet of the king placed in the ritual scene of the 12th month above the figure of Re-Harakhte is not merely a random choice. It reads mry Ra-@r-Axty (“Beloved by Re-Harakhte”) and must certainly apply not to the deity but to the image of the king making offerings. In this case, it for the most part coincides rather neatly with the first and major part of the Egyptian solar praenomen of Alexander the Great mry-Ra ctp.n-Imn “Loved by Re, (The one whom) Amun chose” (see our note 54). Indeed, this coincidence might be merely accidental (one suspects that the other unpreserved scenes of the clepsydra could have contained similar epithets that would also connect the king to the gods to whom he was shown making an offering). However, if it is not mere chance, one should probably assume that this epithet presents one more hint about the clepsydra fragment: if the ritual capacities of the Macedonian rulers were denied, the king in the offering scene could not be given any of their names explicitly; however, granting him an epithet that largely coincides with one of these names made it possible at least to hint whose reign was to be born in mind in connection with this scene. If this was really the case, it would be possible to attribute the object, though with a good deal of uncertainty, to the reign of Alexander the Great. However, aside from its precise attribution, the clepsydra fragment from the State Hermitage at St. Petersburg gives a much more important and really precious opportunity for insight into the mood of the Egyptian priestly corporation at the start of Macedonian domination in the country. As we noted before presenting our analysis, traces of this mood should be sought in evidence that is free of personal biases; and this fragment of a standard, ordinary temple utensil is excellent for that purpose. The decoration of such a utensil is likely to reflect the true mood of priests as a corporation in Egyptian society for the simple reason that its decoration would not be as easily and deliberately controlled by the authorities as, for instance, temple reliefs. The decoration of the fragment seems to reveal a reluctance to admit the Macedonian ruler as a sacral ritual king – reluctance on a scale so huge that an appeal to god came to be necessary to fill the keenly felt vacancy of a terrestrial king inaugurating the rituals. The identity of the ruler to whose reign the Hermitage fragment dates is less important: even if it is the son of Roxane, the message of this composition cannot be explained only by his minority in age, his absence from Egypt and the actual exercise of rule by Ptolemy, because we have observed very much the same message through the empty cartouches on the fragments of clepsydras from the British Museum that date to the reigns of Philip Arrhidaeus and even Alexander the Great. Probably, this message was inspired by the general attitude of the Egyptian religious elite to early Macedonian rule. One could not find better proof that the effort of the Macedonian kings to position themselves as true, benevolent Pharaohs, though really undertaken (as can be seen above all in the building work in their period), achieved its goal with considerable limitations, to say the least.

112

Ivan A. Ladynin

BIBLIOGRAPHY Abd el-Razik, M. 1968: Study on Nectanebo Ist in Luxor Temple and Karnak, MDAI(K) 23, 156– 159. Altenmüller, H. 1982: Opfer, in: W. Helck, E. Otto, W. Westendorf (eds.), Lexikon der Ägyptologie, IV, Wiesbaden, 579–584. Arnold, D. 1999: Temples of the Last Pharaohs, New York; Oxford. Arslan, E. A., et al., eds. (1997): Iside. Il mito, il mistero, la magia. Catalogo della Mostra Milano, Palazzo Reale, 22 febbraio – 1 giugno 1997, Milan. von Beckerath, J. 1999: Handbuch der ägyptischen Königsnamen (Münchner ägyptologische Studien, 49), Mainz am Rhein. Bell, L. 1997: The New Kingdom ‘Divine’ Temple: The Example of Luxor, in: B. E. Shafer, ed., Temples of Ancient Egypt, London. Bergman, J. 1968: Ich bin Isis: Studien zum memphitischen Hintergrund der griechischen Isisaretalogien, Uppsala. Bey Kamal, A. 1905: Stèles ptolémaïques et romaines, II (Catalogue général du Musée du Caire 23001-23246), Le Caire; Leipzig. Bianchi, R. S., et al. (1988): Cleopatra’s Egypt. Catalog of an Exhibition Held at the Brooklyn Museum, October 7, 1988 – January 2, 1989; the Detroit Institute of Arts, February 14 – April 30, 1989; and Kunsthalle der Hypo-Kulturstiftung in Munich, Germany, June 8 – September 10, 1989, Brooklyn; New York. Bittel, K., Hermann, A. 1934: Grabungsbericht Hermopolis 1933, MDIÄAK 5, 11–44. Blöbaum, A. I. 2006: “Denn ich bin ein König, der Maat liebt”: Herrscherlegitimation im spätzeitlichen Ägypten (Aegyptiaca Monasteriensia 4), Aachen. Blümenthal, E. 1970: Untersuchungen zum ägyptischen Königtum des Mittleren Reiches, I: Die Phraseologie, Berlin. Bolshakov, A. O. 2006: Fragment einer Wasseruhr, in: Ägypten – Griechenland – Rom: Abwehr und Berührung, Städelsches Kunstinstitut und Städtische Galerie 26. November 2005 – 26. Februar 2006, Frankfurt am Main, 548–549. Bolshakov, A. O. 2007: Fragment klepsidry s imenem Alexandra (The Fragment of a Clepsydra with the Name of Alexander), in: Aleksandr Velikiy: Put’ na Vostok (Alexander the Great: The Road to the East), St. Petersburg, 209 (in Russian). Borchardt, L. 1920: Die altägyptische Zeitmessung (Die Geschichte der Zeitmessung und der Uhren 1, Lief. B), Berlin – Leipzig. Bosch-Puche, F. 2008: L’“autel” du temple d’Alexandre le Grand à Bahariya retrouvé, BIFAO 108, 29–44. Bosworth, A. B. 1980: A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander. Vol. 1: A Commentary on Books I-III, Oxford. Bosworth, A. B. 1988: Conquest and Empire: The Reign of Alexander the Great, Cambridge. Boiy, T. 2000: Dating Methods During the Early Hellenistic Period, JCS 52, 115–121. Bresciani, E. 1968: Egypt and the Persian Empire, in: H. Bengtson (ed.), The Greeks and the Persians: From the Sixth to the Fourth Centuries, New York, 333–353. Burstein, S. 1991: Pharaoh Alexander: A Scholarly Myth, AncSoc 22, 139–145. Burstein, S. 1994: Alexander in Egypt: Continuity or Change, in: H. Sancisi-Weendenburg, A. Kuhrt, M. Cool Root (eds.), Achaemenid History VIII: Continuity and Change, Proceedings of the Last Achaemenid History Workshop, April 6–8, 1990, Ann Arbor, Michigan, Leiden, 381– 387. Clère, J.-J. 1951: A propos de l’ordre de succession des rois de la XXXe dynastie, REgypt 8, 25–29. Daumas, F., et al. 1988: Valeurs phonétiques des signes hiéroglyphiques d’époque gréco-romaine, I, Montpellier. de Meulenaere, H. 1991: Le protocole royal de Philippe Arrhidée, Cahiers de recherches de l’Institut de papyrologie et égyptologie de Lille 13, 53–58.

A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra

113

Del Monte, G. F. 1997: Testi dalla Babilonia Ellenistica. Vol. I: Testi Cronografici (Studi ellenistici, 9), Pisa – Rome. Demidchik, A. E. 2005: Bezymyannaya piramida: Gosudarstvennaya doktrina drevneegipetskoy Gerakleopolskoy monarchii (Nameless Pyramid: The State Doctrine of the Ancient Egyptian Heracleopolitan Monarchy), St.Petersburg (in Russian). Derchain, Ph. 1962: Le rôle du roi d’Egypte dans le maintien de l’ordre cosmique, in: Le Pouvoir et le Sacré (Annales du Centre d’Etude des Religions 1), Brussels, 61–73 Edson, Ch. 1958: Imperium Macedonicum: The Seleucid Empire and the Literary Evidence, CPh 53, 153–170. Eldamaty, M. M. 1999: Horus als Ka des Königs, GöttMisz 169, 31–52. Eldamaty, M. M. 2005: Zur Bedeutung der leeren Kartuschen, GöttMisz 207, 23–36. Eldamaty, M. M. 2007: Die leeren Kartuschen aus der Regierungszeit von Kleopatra VII. im Tempel von Dendera, in: Chr. Cardin, J.-Cl. Goyon (eds.), Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress of Egyptologists; Grenoble, 6–12 septembre 2004 (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 150), Leuven, 501–534. Eldamaty, M. M. 2009: Die leeren Kartuschen im Tempel von Edfu, in: U. Rössler-Köhler, T. Tawfik (eds.), Die ihr vorbeigehen werdet… Wenn Gräber, Tempel und Statuen sprechen: Gedenkschrift für Prof. Dr. Sayed Tawfik Ahmed (Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Abteilung Kairo, Sonderschrift 16), Berlin; New York, 81–101. Erman, A., Grapow, H. 1926–1953: Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Sprache, I‑VI, Leipzig – Berlin. Felber, H. 2002: Die Demotische Chronik, in: A. Blasius, B. U. Schipper (eds.), Apokalyptik und Ägypten: Eine kritische Analyse der relevanten Texte aus dem griechisch-römischen Ägypten (Orientalia Lovanensia Analecta 107), 65–112. Gardiner, A. H., Peet, T. E. 1952: The Inscriptions of Sinai, I: Introduction and Plates, London. Gardiner, A. H. 1957: Egyptian Grammar: Being an Introduction to the Study of Hieroglyphs, 3rd ed., Oxford. Golénischeff, W. S. 1891: Ermitage impérial. Inventaire de la collection égyptienne, s. l. Gorre, G. 2009: Les relations du clergé égyptien et des lagides d’après des sources privées (Studia Hellenistica, 45), Leuven. Hammond, N. G. L., Walbank, F. W. 1988: A History of Macedonia. Vol. 3: 336–167 B. C., Oxford. Hodjash, S., Berlev, O. 1982: The Egyptian Reliefs and Stelae in the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, Moscow, Moscow. Hölbl, G. 2001: A History of the Ptolemaic Empire, London; New York. Huß, W. 1994: Der rätselhafte König Chababasch, Studi epigrafici e linguistici sul Vicino Oriente antico 11, 97–117. Huss, W. 2001: Ägypten in der hellenistischer Zeit, 332–30 v. Chr., Munich. Jähne, A. 1981: Ἀλεξανδρέων χώρα, Klio 63, 63–103. James, T.G. H., ed. (1979): An Introduction to Ancient Egypt, London. Kaplony-Heckel, U. 1982: Das Dekret des späteren Königs Ptolemaios I. Soter zugunsten der Götter von Buto (Satrapenstele), 311 v. Chr., in: Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testament. I: Rechtsund Wirtschaftsurkunden. Historisch-chronologische Texte, Aachen, 613–619. Kessler, D. 1989: Die heiligen Tiere und der König. Teil I: Beiträge zu Organisation, Kult und Theologie der spätzeitlichen Tierfriedhöfe (Ägypten und Altes Testament, 16), Wiesbaden. Kienitz, F. K. 1953: Die politische Geschichte Ägyptens vom 7. bis zum 4. Jahrhundert vor der Zeitwende, Berlin. Kircher, A. 1652–1654: Oedipus Aegyptiacus: Hoc est universalis hieroglyphicae veterum doctrinae, etc., Rome. Koenen, L. 1977: Eine agonistische Inschrift aus Ägypten und frühptolemäische Königsfeste (Beiträge zur klassischen Philologie 56), Meisenheim-am-Glan. Koenen, L. 1993: The Ptolemaic King as a Religious Figure, in Images and Ideologies: Self-Definition in the Hellenistic World (Hellenistic Culture and Society 12), Berkeley; Los Angeles; London, 25–115. Koshelenko, G. A. 1972: Vosstanie grekov v Baktrii I Sogdiane v 323 g. do n. e. i nekotorye aspekty

114

Ivan A. Ladynin

politicheskoy zhizni Grezii (The Revolt of the Greeks in Bactria and Sogdiana in 323 B. C. and Some Aspects of Greek Social and Political Life in the 4th century B. C.), VDI 1, 59–78 (in Russian). Koshelenko, G. A. 1979: Grecheskiy polis na ellinisticheskom Vostoke (The Greek City-State in the Hellenistic Orient), Moscow (in Russian). Ladynin, I. A. 2002: Oboznachenie ctt v “Stele satrapa” (Urk. II. 13.4): k vospriyatiyu mirovoy derzhavy Argeadov na Vostoke (The Toponym ctt in the Satrap Stela (Urk. II. 13.4): On the Perception of the Argead Empire in the Orient), VDI 2, 3–19 (in Russian). Ladynin, I. A. 2005: ‘Adversary #SryS(A)’: His Name and Deeds According to the Satrap Stela”, CÉ 80, 87–113. Ladynin, I. A. 2007: Stroitelnaya programma Argeadov v Egipte v kontekste hramovogo stroitelstva XXIX‑XXX dinastiy (The Argead Building Program in Egypt as a Part of Dynasties’ XXVIII‑XXX Temple Building), in: Peterburgskie egiptologicheskie chtenia ‑ 2006: Materialy nauchnoy konferenzii (Trudy Gosudarstvennogo Ermitazha XXXV) (St. Petersburg Egyptological Readings, 2006: Works of the Academic Conference [Works of the State Hermitage XXXV]), St. Petersburg 2007, 86–100 (in Russian). Legrain, G. 1917: Le logement et transport des barques sacrées et des statues des dieux dans quelques temples égyptiens, BIFAO 13, 1–76. Leitz, C., ed. 2002: Lexikon der ägyptischen Götter und Götterbezeichnungen, I‑VII, Leuven; Paris; Dudley (Mass.). Liddell, H. G., Scott, R., Jones, H. S. 1996: A Greek-English Lexicon: With a Revised Supplement, Oxford. Lodomez, G. 2007: Les fragments de clepsydre de la dynastie des Argéades (332–304 av J.-C.), CÉ 82, 57–76. Meeks, D., Favard-Meeks, Chr. 1993: Les dieux égyptiens, Paris. Pestman, P. W. 1967: Chronologie égyptienne d’après les textes démotiques (332 av. J.-C. – 453 ap. J.-C.) (Papyrologia lugduno-batava 15), Leiden. Porter B., Moss R.L. B. 1934: Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Texts, Reliefs and Paintings, IV: Lower and Middle Egypt, Oxford. Quirke, S., Spencer, J. 1992: The British Museum Book of Ancient Egypt, London. Roeder, G. 1914: Naos (Catalogue général du Musée du Caire 70001–70050), Leipzig. Ritner, R. 2003: The Satrap Stela, in: W. K. Simpson (ed.), The Literature of Ancient Egypt: An Anthology of Stories, Instructions, Stelae, Autobiographies and Poetry3, New Haven; London, 392–397. Rössler-Köhler, U. 1991: Individuelle Haltungen zum ägyptischen Königtum der Spätzeit: Private Quellen und ihre Königswertung im Spannungsfeld zwischen Erwartung und Erfahrung (Göttinger Orientforschungen. IV. Reihe: Ägypten 21), Wiesbaden. Roullet, A. 1972: The Egyptian and Egyptianizing Monuments of Imperial Rome (Études préliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’empire Romaine 20), Leiden. Routledge, C. D. 2001: Ancient Egyptian Ritual Practice: ir-xt and nt-a, Toronto. Rubensohn, O. 1907: Elephantine-Papyri, Berlin. Samuel, A. E. 1962: Ptolemaic Chronology (Münchener Beiträge zur Papyrusforschung und antiken Rechtsgeschichte 43). Munich. Schäfer, D. 2011: Makedonische Pharaonen und Hieroglyphische Stelen: Historische Untersuchungen zur Satrapenstele und verwandten Denkmälern (Studia hellenistica 50). Leuven. Schneider, H. D. 1996, The Memphite Tomb of Horemheb, Commander-in-Chief of Tutanchamun II: A Catalogue of the Finds, London. Schumacher, I. W. 1988: Der Gott Sopdu, der Herr der Fremdländer (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 79), Freiburg. Schwartz, J. 1949: Les conquérants perses et la littérature égyptienne, BIFAO 48, 65–80. Sethe, K. 1904: Hieroglyphische Urkunden der griechisch-römischen Zeit, Hft. 1 (Urkunden des aegyptischen Altertums 2). Leipzig. Sholpo, N. A. 1939: Dva fragmenta egipetskih vodyanyh chasov (Two Fragments of Egyptian Wa-

A Fragment of an Early Hellenistic Egyptian Clepsydra

115

ter-clocks), in: Gosudarstvennyi Ermitazh: Trudy Otdela istorii kultury i iskusstva Vostoka (The State Hermitage: Works of the Oriental Department), I, Leningrad, 155–170. Spiegelberg, W. 1914: Die sogenannte Demotische Chronik des Papyrus 215 der Bibliothèque Nationale zu Paris (Demotische Studien 7), Leipzig. Stanwick, P. E. 2006: Wasseruhr mit dem Namen Alexanders des Großen, in: Ägypten – Griechenland – Rom: Abwehr und Berührung, Städelsches Kunstinstitut und Städtische Galerie 26. November 2005 – 26. Februar 2006, Frankfurt am Main, 547–548. Struwe, V. 1927: U istokov romana ob Alexandre (At the Sources of the Romance of Alexander), Vostochnye zapiski (Oriental Notes), I, Leningrad, 131–146 (in Russian). Turner, E. G. 1974: A Commander-in-Chief’s Order from Saqqara, JEA 60, 239–241. Wiedemann, A. 1900: Zum Alexander-Roman, OLZ 3, 286–288. Winnicki, J. K. 1994: Carrying Off and Bringing Home the Statues of the Gods: On the Aspect of the Religious Policy of the Ptolemies Towards the Egyptians, JJP 24, 149–190. Winter, E. 2006: Alexander der Grosse als Pharao in ägyptischen Tempeln, in: Ägypten – Griechenland – Rom: Abwehr und Berührung, Städelsches Kunstinstitut und Städtische Galerie 26. November 2005 – 26. Februar 2006, Frankfurt am Main, 204–215.

THE ELEPHANT CHARIOTS AT DAPHNE: AN ASPECT OF THE IDEOLOGICAL POLICY OF ANTIOCHUS IV Svyatoslav V. Smirnov (Institute of General History, Russian Academy of Sciences) Book XXX of Polybius’ History (XXX. 25–26. 11, ed. Büttner-Wobst) offers a description of the festival at Daphne organized by Antiochus Epiphanes. It was undoubtedly a demonstration of Seleucid military power after two invasions of Egypt. Polybius gives a detailed account of the military units, their numbers and armament. Alongside the units usual for the Seleucid army in Polybius’ excursus (Macedonian phalanx, friends’ cavalry, agêma) it seems strange to read of 240 pairs of gladiators, 5000 youths “armed in the Roman fashion” and two elephant chariots, biga and quadriga. The gladiators and the ‘Roman’ military unit are traditionally seen as an imitation of the institutions of the ‘victorious Republic’. Antiochus had lived in Rome for a long time as a hostage and it is quite possible that he adopted some elements of Roman culture. From a passage of Livy (XLI. 20. 11) we know that Antiochus established gladiatorial combat at his court. Gladiators and ‘Roman’ infantry are most often understood as an element of entertainment at the festival, but the elephant chariots raise difficulties and they have not been examined by modern historians.1 It is not clear what the significance of these chariots was, and in our opinion the elephant chariots at Daphne merit more attention. It is most likely that the elephant quadriga and biga had a more ceremonial than military character. The ancient authors present the elephant chariot as a symbol of power and luxury, but not every ruler was able to afford such a thing. Originally the elephant chariot derives from India. Strabo relates that such chariots were highly esteemed in India (XV. 1. 43) and Curtius Rufus tells of elephant chariots as an attribute of Indian kings (VIII. 9. 29). Some examples are offered by the Arthashastra. According to it, the Indian king met his troops sitting on an elephant (XVIII. 21), and the elephant is presented as a guarantee of success in each battle (XX. 2). However, Antiochus adopted the ‘elephant chariots’ not from Indian culture, but from his own ancestor – Seleucus I, and more precisely from his coins. One of Seleucus’ most widespread coin types in the eastern mint was the following: on the obverse a laureate head of Zeus, and on the reverse Athena in an elephant chariot brandishing spear and shield. In numismatic studies it is known as the ‘elephant chariot’ type.2 There were two variations of elephant chariot in this coinage: biga and quadriga. It is not known when exactly this series began to be issued; both 1 2

Mørkholm, O. 1963; 1966; Bunge, J. G. 1974; 1976; Mittag, P. 2006; Capdetrey, L. 2007; Iossif, P. 2011. To avoid terminological confusion in this paper we use the system of A. Houghton and C. Lorber: Houghton, A., Lorber, C. 2002 (hereafter SC).

118

Svyatoslav V. Smirnov

A. Houghton and B. Kritt date the first issue to 296/5 B. C. It is certain that the type first appeared in the mint of Seleucia on the Tigris. The issue was struck at different weights: tetradrachms (SC 130), drachms (SC 131) and hemidrachms (SC 133). In about 295/4 B. C. the ‘elephant chariot’ type appeared in the mint of Susa but it forms only a small part of the coinage issued overall. Finally, after 290 B. C., ‘elephant chariot’ coins were issued in Bactria by two mints simultaneously, in Bactra and in Aï-Khanoum; most of the tetradrachms produced by these two mints bear the ‘elephant chariot’ type. It is very likely that the eastern orientation of this type is evidence that these coins circulated in the region of Mesopotamia, Iran, Bactria and Sogdiana. The monetary issue of the ‘elephant chariot’ type became the most important phenomenon in the Seleucid economy of this period. It is the first permanent issue of silver coins in the Seleucid empire, and this type was more widespread than the first Seleucid coin type, ‘Nike crowning a trophy’. It might be supposed that the ‘elephant chariot’ issue was sanctioned by Antiochus, son of king Seleucus I. About 295 B. C. he was appointed co-regent of his father in the eastern satrapies. He travelled to Bactria, where Seleucid power was being undermined by a nomad invasion. On his way from Seleucia to Bactria, Antiochus struck the ‘elephant chariot’ coins. For that reason, analysis of the chronological sequence of these issues could reveal Antiochus’ route in the East. In 295 he was in Seleucia, about 294 in Susa, and then he reached Bactria: in 288/7 at mint A (probably Bactra), in 285–280 at Aï-Khanum.3 However, the Bactrian coins have a difference in the legend. On the coins of Seleucia and Susa the legend is rather simple: ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΣΕΛΕΥΚΟΥ.4 In Bactria two new legends appear: ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΣΕΛΕΥΚΟΥ ΑΝΤΙΟΧΟΥ (SC 279, 282)5 and ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΝ ΣΕΛΕΥΚΟΥ ΚΑΙ ΑΝΤΙΟΧΟΥ (SC 280). Most available resources were spent on maintaining Antiochus’ army, but part was intended for the needs of the satrapies. The crown prince, as Babylonian cuneiform tablets call him, played a great part in the internal life of the satrapies: he completed a building in Seleucia on the Tigris, introduced new taxation in Babylon and gave support to Babylonian temples. In total, this campaign was not only a military action but a total reorganization of the eastern satrapies.6 Let us turn now to the motif of the elephant chariot itself. There is no doubt that it was adopted by Seleucus I from the gold staters of Ptolemy I. In 305 Ptolemy I, the ruler of Egypt, produced an issue of gold staters in honour of his inauguration. The obverse presented the portrait of Ptolemy himself, but the reverse bore an elephant quadriga driven by Alexander the Great.7 As E. Babelon concluded, this im3

4 5 6 7

Kritt, B. 1997, 106. The reasoning of B. Kritt about this eastward progression is clearly correct. In addition, he tries to bridge a chronological gap between the issues of Susa and Bactria by revolt in Persis. Though the dating of the Pasargadae hoards and the revolt in Persis are still debated (cf. Callieri, P. 2007, 115–117), we consider this view to be the most well-founded. On the attribution of the Bactrian mints ‘A’ and ‘B’ in Kritt’s system, see Kritt, B. 1996, 31–34. E. g. for Seleucia – SC 130, for Susa – SC 177. The sense of this legend is still under discussion, despite attempts to interpret it. Cf. Newell, E. T. 1938, 234–235. On the economic policy of Antiochus as co-regent, see Aperghis, G. 2004, 293–294. On this type, see Le Rider, G., de Callataÿ, F. 2006, 136.

The Elephant Chariots at Daphne

119

age on the reverses of Ptolemy’s coins reproduced the scene of Alexander’s triumphal entry into Babylon and in a sense symbolized rule over the East.8 But Seleucus did not adopt this image completely. It seems that he could not just copy Ptolemy’s elephant chariots directly, and therefore he exchanged the image of Alexander for that of another divine warrior, Athena.9 It is known that Athena and Nike were protector-gods of Alexander. Their images on Alexander’s gold staters demonstrate a special attitude by the Macedonian king towards these goddesses. Of great interest in connection with this is a passage from Callixeinus Rhodius included by Athenaeus (V. 34. 202a) about the festival in Alexandria organized by Ptolemy Philadelphus: “And after this came a procession in honour of Zeus and of many other gods; and after all these came a procession in honour of Alexander, who had a golden statue borne on a chariot drawn by real elephants with Nike and Athena on each side of him”. We may regard the images of elephants on Seleucus’ coins as a symbol of two very important events: the battle of Ipsus and the Indian campaign. The Indian elephants sent by the king of India, Chandragupta (Strabo. XV. 2. 9), to Seleucus played a decisive role in the battle of Ipsus, after which the Seleucid kingdom became independent. That is why the elephant may be considered a symbol of statehood. Generally for the Seleucids the symbols ‘elephant’ and ‘elephant chariot’ signified an authority and a power, and both symbols are used in royal propaganda.10 We may also connect the elephant with the practice of eastern campaigns: sometimes Seleucid kings struck coins with the image of an elephant to commemorate a successful eastern campaign, as did Seleucus I (SC 187) and Antiochus III (SC 1293). Ancient authors paid attention to the distinctive presence of elephants in Seleucus’ army as well. Thus Plutarch (Plut. Dem. 25) tells the story of Demetrius Poliorcetes’ feast during which Seleucus was called ‘commander of the elephants’. However the gods presented on these coins are not dynastic Seleucid protectors but are rather connected with Alexander, who ranked Zeus Nicephorus and Athena Promachos in first place. Of course both these gods were traditionally important for Macedonians. The god on the elephant chariot could also be associated with Dionysus because the elephant could have been adopted by Alexander as a symbol of Dionysus the conqueror of India, as he followed the route of this god during his Indian campaign (Arr. Anab. V. 4). Through this, the ‘elephant chariot’ type was a quintessence of symbols of Seleucus and Alexander. We may note that the ‘elephant chariot’ type was one of the first characteristic Seleucid types. Previously the so-called ‘Nike crowning trophy’ type had been issued. This issue bears on the obverse a head of a hero (assimilating Seleucus, Alexander and Dionysus), and on the reverse Nike standing, crowning a trophy. This type began to be issued in Susa about 305, the year of Seleucus’ assumption of the royal title: it symbolized the eastern victories of King Seleucus. However, Seleucus also continued issuing Alexandrine types. Like other Diadochi he struck coins, tra8 Babelon, E. 1890, XVIII. 9 Stewart, A. F. 1993, 259–260. 10 Hadley, R. A. 1974, 50–65.

120

Svyatoslav V. Smirnov

ditional for Alexander, with enthroned Zeus and head of young Heracles, or Nike and Athena. There is a similar pattern with the legend. ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΣΕΛΕΥΚΟΥ appears only in 304, but coins with the legend ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΑΛΕΞΑΝΔΡΟΥ continued to be issued. Undoubtedly this use of Macedonian (and especially Alexander’s) divine symbols, the heroization of the image of Alexander on coins and the continued issue Alexander’s types were all an element of Seleucus’ royal ideological policy. This policy was maintained for a long time in the Seleucid kingdom, but after the death of Seleucus I we observe a deviation from it. Under Antiochus I Seleucid coinage underwent some changes. For the first time the coins bear the portrait of the king and, furthermore, a new issue of Seleucid silver coins was begun; later it became the wide-spread Seleucid monetary type, the so-called ‘Apollo on omphalos’ type. The appearance of this type was influenced by the establishment of a cult of Apollo in the Seleucid royal family. We return now to Antiochus IV. Down to his reign, ‘Apollo on omphalos’ had remained a general dynastic type with the exception of the coinage of Seleucus II, who preferred to strike the type ‘standing Apollo with bow’.11 From 175 to 173/2 B. C. the royal mint of Antioch on the Orontes produced coins of the usual Seleucid ‘Apollo on omphalos’ type (SC 1395), but from 173/2 a new type appeared with the diademed head of Antiochus IV on the obverse, and on the reverse Zeus enthroned, resting on a sceptre and holding Nike, who offers a crown to Zeus (SC 1403). These coins bear a new legend: ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΑΝΤΙΟΧΟΥ ΘΕΟΥ ΕΠΙΦΑΝΟΥΣ. The origins of this image of Zeus Nicephorus lie in the tetradrachms of Seleucus I. The Nike on Zeus’s hand replaces the eagle on silver coins of Alexandrine type.12 Antiochus IV was in need of a strong ideological base. In 175 B. C. he had become king with the help of Rome and Pergamum. His nephew Demetrius, the son of Seleucus IV, still lived in Rome and the prospect of his return was ominous for Antiochus. After the murder of Demetrius’ brother, the younger Antiochus, the king’s position worsened. In 170–168 he conducted two campaigns against Egypt that ended in military victory but diplomatic defeat by Rome. Nonetheless, he proclaimed himself victor and took the title Nicephorus. The monetary legend changed too. Now it reads ΒΑΣΙΛΕΩΣ ΑΝΤΙΟΧΟΥ ΘΕΟΥ ΕΠΙΦΑΝΟΥΣ ΝΙΚΗΦΟΡΟΥ (SC 1401), so the link with Zeus’s cult became more obvious, a cult that was associated with Alexander and Seleucus I. In this situation Antiochus needed to win over the army, the court and especially the people of Antioch, which is why the king was so lavish with presents for his people. *  *  * P. Mittag holds that the festival at Daphne had a major significance for Antiochus IV. It was a demonstration of his power after the Egyptian campaigns, but it was also a preparation for his anabasis.13 Thus the elephant chariots presented by An11 E. g. SC 656, 687. 12 Houghton, A., Lorber, C., Hoover, O. 2008, 48. 13 Mittag, P. 2006, 294.

The Elephant Chariots at Daphne

121

tiochus IV at the festival at Daphne were not merely a pleasure element of the grand parade, but also an element of propaganda for royal power and for the forthcoming eastern campaign. As a symbol of authority over the East elephant chariots went back to Alexander and Seleucus I and stressed the succession from those kings to Antiochus. The elephant chariots that brought up the rear were highly significant with a view to the eastern campaign: in 165 B. C. an eastern campaign was organized, and in connection with this we may see the elephant chariots at Daphne as propaganda for the future campaign. However, as is well known, during this excursion Antiochus IV was murdered and the Seleucid kingdom became embroiled in permanent internecine war. BIBLIOGRAPHY Aperghis, G. 2004: The Royal Seleukid Economy. The Finances and Financial Administration of the Seleukid Empire, Cambridge. Babelon, E. 1890: Catalogue des monnaies grecques de la Biblothèque Nationale. Les rois de Syrie, d’Arménie et de Commagène, Paris. Bunge, J. G. 1974: “Theos Epiphanes”. Zu den ersten fünf Regierungsjahren Antiochos’ IV. Epiphanes, Historia 23, 57–85. Bunge, J. G. 1976: Die Feiern Antiochos’ IV. Epiphanes in Daphne im Herbst 166 v. Chr., Chiron 6, 53–71. Callieri, P. 2007: L’archéologie du Fārs à l’époque hellénistique, Paris. Capdetrey, L. 2007: Le pouvoir séleucide. Territoire, administration, finances d’un royaume hellénistique (312–126 avant J.–C.), Rennes. Hadley, R. A. 1974: Royal Propaganda of Seleukos and Lysimachos, JHS 94, 50–65. Houghton, A., Lorber, C. 2002: Seleucid Coins. A Comprehensive Catalogue. Pt. I, Lancaster (Penn.), London. Houghton, A., Lorber, C., Hoover O. 2008: Seleucid Coins. A Comprehensive Catalogue. Pt. II, Lancaster (Penn.), London. Iossif, P. 2011: Imago mundi: expression et représentation de l’idéologie royale séleucide. La procession de Daphné, New Studies on the Seleucids. E. Dąbrowa (ed.), Cracow, 125–157. Kritt, B. 1996: Seleucid Coins of Bactria, Lancaster (Penn.). Kritt, B. 1997: The Early Seleucid Mint of Susa, Lancaster (Penn.). Le Rider, G., de Callataÿ, F. 2006: Les Séleucides et les Ptolémées. L’héritage monétaire et financier d’Alexandre le Grand, Paris. Mittag, P. 2006: Antiochos IV. Epiphanes. Eine politische Biographie, Berlin. Mørkholm, O. 1963: Studies in the Coinage of Antiochus IV of Syria, Copenhagen. Mørkholm, O. 1966: Antiochus IV of Syria. Copenhagen. Newell, E. T. 1938: The Coinage of the Eastern Seleucid Mints: From Seleucus I to Antiochus III, New York. Stewart, A. F. 1993: Faces of Power: Alexander’s Image and Hellenistic Politics, Berkeley; Los Angeles.

THE MACEDONIAN ARISTOCRATIC FAMILY OF . HARPALOI–POLEMAIOI FROM BEROEA* Yuri N. Kuzmin (Samara Branch of Moscow City Pedagogical University) Situated in the South-West of Bottia (Bottiaea), Beroea was one of the largest and most important cities of Macedonia in the Hellenistic period (see fig. 2).1 As suggested by C. F. Edson, the Antigonid royal house originated in Beroea.2 An epigram in honour of Philip V (Anth. Pal. VI. 116) written by one of his confidants, the poet Samus, in which the king was cited as “the stock of the Beroean lord of Emathia” (ῥίζα Βεροιαίου κράντορος Ἠμαθίας), was one of the grounds for Edson’s theory.3 The American scholar pointed out that among the Macedonian philoi of the last Antigonids, Philip V and Perseus, Beroean natives were predominant.4 For instance Hippias, Pantauchos and Midon (all born in Beroea) were referred to by *



1

2 3 4

I would like to extend my thanks to Dr. Argyro B. Tataki (Athens) for her help in the collection of the sources and consultation in some questions. I would also like to thank Dr. Elizabeth D. Carney (Clemson University), Prof. Dr. T. Corsten (University of Vienna), Prof. Dr. O. L. Gabelko (Russian State University for the Humanities), Prof. Dr. M. B. Hatzopoulos (Research Centre for Greek and Roman Antiquity, Athens), Mr. K. M. Kalinin (Samara Branch of Moscow City Pedagogical University), Prof. Dr. A. Mehl (Martin-Luther-University Halle-Wittenberg), Prof. Dr. Ch. Mileta (Martin-Luther-University Halle-Wittenberg), Prof. Dr. A. K. Nefedkin (Saint Petersburg) and Dr. M. N. Khimin (The State Hermitage). None of them, of course, are responsible for the conclusions set forth in this article. All illustrations in this chapter are the author’s. [A note on transliteration: In the volume Ruthenia Classica Greek names are as a rule latinized, with an exception made in the case of names cited directly from epigraphic evidence, which are instead transliterated. It would be needlessly confusing to vary the spelling of the names studied in the present paper according to the type of evidence cited in each case, so they are given in transliterated form throughout. Place-names and names of well-known historical figures are latinized.] Some literature on ancient Beroea: Oberhummer, E. 1897, 304–306; Hammond, N. G. L. 1972, 158–159 (see also Index s. v. Beroea); Papazoglou, F. 1988, 141–148 (see also Index géographique s. v. Béroia, 1); Tataki, A. B. 1988 (the onomastic section of this fundamental study can now be extended thanks to new epigraphic finds: Tataki, A. B. 1999, 1115–1125); BrocasDeflassieux, L. 1999; Hatzopoulos, M. B., Paschidis, P. 2004, 799–800. Edson, C. F. 1934, 213–246; cf. Papazoglou, F. 1988, 141; Tataki, A. B. 1988, 420, 433; ead. 1990, 247–248, 257–258; ead. 1998, 32; Brocas-Deflassieux, L. 1999, 19, 23, 66; Paschidis, P. 2006, 261–262. Ἠμαθία – a wide-spread poetic reference for Macedonia as a whole (cf. Anth. Pal. VI. 114; VII. 238, 247). There are practically no data on natives of Macedonian cities who were philoi of Antigonus II Gonatas, Demetrius II and Antigonus III Doson.

124

Yuri N. Kuzmin

Fig. 2. Hellenistic and Roman Macedonia. Map by Yu.  N. Kuzmin.

Polybius and Livy as “first of the friends” of Perseus.5 C. F. Edson also paid specific attention to the fact that in 288 B. C. Pyrrhus’ conquest of Beroea brought about demoralization and desertion among the army of Demetrius Poliorcetes.6 There is more evidence for Antigonid attention to Beroea: inscriptional evidence indicates that stoas were dedicated to the goddess Athena by Philip V in this city (EKM I 17). Beroea was the first Macedonian city to open its gates to the Romans after the battle of Pydna (Liv. XLIV. 45. 5). Once the Antigonid monarchy was destroyed, Beroea was included by the Romans in the third Macedonian meris (Diod. XXXI. 8. 8; Liv. XLV. 29. 8; 30. 5). Along with Thessalonica, Beroea was the most important city of Roman Macedonia, the centre of the provincial Κοινὸν Μακεδόνων.7 Ps.-Lucian refers to Beroea as a “large and populous city” (Asin. 34). In inscriptions of the imperial period, Beroea is often named Μητρόπολις τῆς Μακεδονίας (EKM I 69, 108, 509). However, notwithstanding all of the above, it was Thessalonica that was the residence of Roman governors of Macedonia.

5

6 7

Polyb. XXIX. 3. 3: ἕνα τῶν πρώτων φίλων (Pantauchos); Liv. XLII. 39. 7: principes amicorum (Hippias and Pantauchos); XLIV. 45. 2: principes amicorum regis (Hippias, Midon and Pantauchos). A comprehensive survey of the Antigonids’ philoi was made by S. Le Bohec and J. L. O’Neil (Le Bohec, S. 1985, 94–124; O’Neil, J. L. 2003, 510–522). Edson, C. F. 1934, 236–246. Papazoglou, F. 1988, 144; Brocas-Deflassieux, L. 1999, 19–20.

The Macedonian Aristocratic Family of Harpaloi–Polemaioi from Beroea

125

* * * This article intends to employ prosopographic evidence in order to reveal the possible kinship of some Beroean citizens who appear in epigraphic and literary sources of the Hellenistic and the Roman periods under the names Ἅρπαλος and Πολεμαῖος. We will also touch upon the issue of the survival of Macedonian aristocratic families of the Antigonid period into the Roman period. 1. The first of these men is Harpalos, to whom three letters from Demetrius (the heir and actual co-regent of the king Antigonus II Gonatas) were addressed (see fig. 3).8 The letters were dated to the 36th year of Antigonus’ reign (284–239 B. C.), i. e. 248 B. C. (EKM I 3). Harpalos’ office is not indicated in the inscription, but, to judge from its text, he exercised broad authority in Beroea. He may have been an official responsible for communications with the king, probably an epistates.9

Fig. 3. Letters of Demetrius to Harpalos. Veria, Archaeological museum. Photograph by Yu. N. Kuzmin. 8

9

On co-regency of Antigonus Gonatas and Demetrius II see e. g. Andronikos, M. 1950, 18–21; Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1990, 144–147; Kuzmin, Yu. N. 2005, 59–71. The views of R. M. Errington and E. Grzybek on this problem are unconvincing (Errington, R. M. 1977, 115–122; Grzybek, E. 1993, 521–527). A possible example of a case where the epistates is only mentioned by name (and only some lines below do we find the notion of his ‘office’, ἐπιστάσιον), is an inscription from Koilas, dating to the end of Philip V’s reign (EAM 87).

126

Yuri N. Kuzmin

2. A list of officers (ἡγεμόνες) from Beroea includes Polemaios, son of Harpalos, and is dated to the seventh regnal year of Antigonus III Doson (229–221 B. C.), i. e. 223 B. C.10 3. During the reign of the last Antigonid, Perseus (179–168 B. C.), there is evidence for a certain Harpalos, son of Polemaios from Beroea, who in 178 B. C. was one of the two Macedonian hieromnemones in the council of the Delphic Amphictiony (a colleague of Harpalos was Simonides, son of Apollonides, also a citizen of Beroea: Syll.3 636, ll. 5–7). Undoubtedly, the first of the hieromnemones is the same man as the Harpalos who in 172 B. C., prior to the Third Macedonian War, was the head of the embassy sent by king Perseus to Rome.11 It is noteworthy that after this unsuccessful mission to Rome, Harpalos is no longer mentioned in the sources, whereas, more than once, other Beroea-born confidants of Perseus are noted. It is possible that Harpalos, son of Polemaios, having failed in his mission to Rome, fell out of favour with the king.12 It is more probable, however, that Harpalos died before the beginning or during the Third Macedonian War (details of this possibility will be given below).13 4. In the late second or early first century B. C. (in the Roman period of Macedonian history), a decree was carried in honour of one of the citizens of Beroea, a man named Harpalos, whose glorious ancestors, as mentioned in the inscription, were men with important positions in the city (EKM I 2, ll. 5–6: … ἀνανεωσάμενος τὴν ἀπὸ τῶν προγόνων δόξαν; 12–13: …τὰς τῶν πάππων στρατηγίας κτλ.).14 Harpalos himself acted as a priest of θεῶν Εὐεργετῶν (EKM I 2, ll. 4, 16). The Beroeans honoured his deeds with an olive wreath and a bronze statue (EKM I 2, ll. 39–44).

10 EKM I 4, l. 11. The name of the king in the inscription does not survive (only the date); however, the editors established that the document, the lettering of which dates to the second half of the 3nd century B. C., is dated by the 7th year of the reign of Antigonus III Doson (AllamaniSouri, V., Voutiras, E. 1996, 16–19; Gounaropoulou, L., Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1998, 97 [commentary]). 11 Diod. XXIX. 37; Liv. XLII. 14. 3; 15. 1; App. Mac. 11. 3; Foucart, P. 1883, 433, n. 2; Sundwall, J. 1912, 2401; Schoch, P. 1922, 60; Olshausen, E. 1974, 153–154; O’Neil, J. L. 2003, 519. 12 Edson, C. F. 1934, 235. 13 It is hardly possible to identify Harpalos, son of Polemaios from Beroea, with the Harpalos mentioned by Plutarch (Aem. 15. 7) as commanding officer of Thracians and Cretans in the corps of Scipio Nasica, a unit that passed by the Macedonian positions via one of the passes over Olympus not long before the battle of Pydna (Sundwall, J. 1912, 2401; against such identification: Schoch, P. 1922, 60; id. 1924, 711; Olshausen, E. 1974, 153–154; Tataki, A. B. 1988, 117). It is also noteworthy that the name Ἅρπαλος is attested more than once in continental Greece, on the Aegean islands, in Asia Minor and other places (e. g. LGPN I–Va, s. v. Ἅρπαλος). 14 M. B. Hatzopoulos thinks that lines 12–13 of the decree in honour of Harpalos indicate the position of a strategos, who, during the reign of the Antigonids, governed Bottia (Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1996 I, 257–258). P. Paschidis rejected this view, arguing that the phrase …τὰς τῶν πάππων στρατηγίας should be regarded as a hint that Harpalos’ (4) ancestors pursued military careers (Paschidis, P. 2006, 260, n. 56). The sources indicate that in the political and military structures of the Antigonid State there existed several categories of strategoi, whose functions differed considerably.

The Macedonian Aristocratic Family of Harpaloi–Polemaioi from Beroea

127

The first editors of this honorary inscription, D. A. Hardy and I. Touratsoglou, tried to determine its exact date and attempted to relate the “wars” mentioned in the inscription (EKM I 2, ll. 27) to the invasion of Macedonia in 87 or 86 B. C. by the army of Mithridates VI Eupator (commanded by his son Arcathias).15 On the other hand, the “wars” in the Harpalos decree could equally well be one of the attacks on Macedonia by neighboring barbaric tribes, mentioned in several sources.16 5–6. Men with the name Harpalos can be traced later in Roman-period Beroea, during the Julio-Claudian era. A certain Harpalos, son of Harpalos, was one of the officials responsible for erection of a statue to the Emperor Claudius in approximately A. D. 41–44 (EKM I 60, ll. 3). This inscription demonstrates the important role of Harpalos, son of Harpalos, in the public life of Beroea in the fourth decade of the first century A. D. *  *  * It is apparent that the first three persons mentioned above were members of one family. This relationship is proved by the sequence of the names: 1) Harpalos (his father’s name is not in the inscription) – 2) Polemaios, son of Harpalos – 3) Harpalos, son of Polemaios, and by the fact that all these men held important positions in their native city and in the military organization and royal administration of the Antigonids, from the time of Antigonus II Gonatas to Perseus.17 What we see is three generations of one family (hereafter referred to as the Harpaloi-Polemaioi).18 The name Harpalos in Beroea was an uncommon one and even less common was the name Polemaios (in fact, in Beroea, only one person with this name can be traced).19 The fourth man, Harpalos, the references to whom date to the late second or early first centuries B. C., also has an unmistakable connection to the Beroea family 15 Hardy, D. A., Touratsoglou, I. 1997, 53. On the invasion of Pontic troops in Macedonia see App. Mithr. 35; Plut. Sull. 11.2, 15.1; Liv. Per. 82; McGing, B. C. 1986, 124; Ballesteros Pastor, L. 1996, 142; De Callataÿ, F. 1997, 315. 16 For example in 119 B. C., while holding off an attack of the Balkan Celts, a Roman governor of Macedonia, Sex. Pompeius, grandfather of the famous triumvir Cn. Pompeius (Syll.3 700, ll. 10–37), fell in battle. On barbarian invasions of Macedonia in the 2nd–1st centuries B. C. see Papazoglou, F. 1979, 312–321; Amela Valverde, L. 2004, 19–38. 17 Cf. Gounaropoulou, L., Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1998, 94 (commentary); Tataki, A. B. 1999, 1117. Kinship between Harpalos (1) and Harpalos (3), son of Polemaios, was assumed even before the publication in 1996 of a Beroean inscription, dated by Antigonus III Doson’s reign, with references to Polemaios (2), son of Harpalos (see Woodward, A. M. 1911–12, 137; Cormack, J.M. R. 1939–40, 15). 18 P. Paschidis thinks that starting from Polemaios (2), an officer in the army of Antigonus III Doson, the Harpaloi-Polemaioi family were subsumed not only into the local urban elite of Beroea, but also into the national court aristocracy of Macedonia (Paschidis, P. 2006, 260). It is, however, highly probable that the family was connected with the Antigonid court even earlier, if the Harpaloi-Polemaioi family was kin to the royal dynasty (see below). 19 LGPN IV, s. v. Ἅρπαλος, Πολεμαῖος.

128

Yuri N. Kuzmin

from the royal period: this connection is demonstrated by references to the prominent ancestors of this man found in the decree in his honour.20 Unfortunately, the third line of the inscription, which probably held the name of Harpalos’ father, is seriously damaged. Apparently, the Harpaloi-Polemaioi family avoided deportation to Italy after the end of the Third Macedonian War. Livy reports that in 167 B. C., by decision of Lucius Aemilius Paullus and the Senate commission on Macedonian affairs, the representatives of the former king’s administration (including the ambassadors – etiam qui legationibus fuerant) with children over 15 years old were to be deported to Italy or risk execution (Liv. XLV. 32. 3–6).21 This act undoubtedly applied to Beroea as well, since it was so closely connected with the royal dynasty; as noted by A. B. Tataki, in Beroea many names of aristocrats of the Antigonid period disappeared during the Roman period.22 To return to the fate of the Harpaloi-Polemaioi, we assume that by 167 B. C. Harpalos (3), son of Polemaios, a diplomat in Perseus’s service, had died (the last reference to him dates to 172 B. C.), a fact that would have made it possible for his family to remain in Macedonia. This is the most plausible deduction. Harpalos (4), mentioned in the decree EKM I 4, may have been a grandson of Harpalos (3), son of Polemaios.23 Having established the kinship of Harpalos (4) with the family of the royal period, we can further deduce that the two Harpaloi (5–6) who lived in Beroea during the Julio-Claudian era were also related to the Harpaloi-Polemaioi family.24 Of all the Beroean Harpaloi, only one Harpalos, son of Python, known from an inscription on a sarcophagus (ca 150–100 B. C.) (EKM I 202), cannot be connected to the Harpaloi-Polemaioi family.25 *  *  * Some further deductions about the Harpaloi-Polemaioi family are possible.

20 Cf. Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1996 I, 417; Hardy, D. A., Touratsoglou, I. 1997, 51–52; Gounaropoulou, L., Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1998, 87 (commentary); Savalli-Lestrade, I. 2003, 63–64; Sève, M. 2005, 258, 273; Paschidis, P. 2006, 260. 21 It is significant that, after the Antigonid dynasty was eliminated by the Romans, the practice of building the so-called ‘Macedonian tombs’ declined. This decline can be connected to the deportation to Italy of the Macedonian military and administrative elite (see Tataki, A. B. 1988, 435, n. 132, with reference to work of Gossel, B. 1980, 5–6; Brocas-Deflassieux, L. 1999, 54; Sève, M. 2005, 272). It is important to note that this act of deportation would not have affected local aristocratic families in Macedonian cities which were not connected with the national royal administration. 22 Tataki, A. B. 1988, 423, 435. 23 Gounaropoulou, L., Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1998, 87 (commentary); Savalli-Lestrade, I. 2003, 64. 24 Cf. Tataki, A. B. 1988, 450; Hardy, D. A., Touratsoglou, I. 1997, 51; Gounaropoulou, L., Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1998, 161 (commentary); Paschidis, P. 2006, 260, n. 55. 25 Cf. Sève, M. 2005, 266.

The Macedonian Aristocratic Family of Harpaloi–Polemaioi from Beroea

129

1. Scholars who accept C. F. Edson’s theory of the Beroean origins of the Antigonids concede that the Harpaloi-Polemaioi may have been descendants of Polemaios (Ptolemaios), nephew of Antigonus I Monophthalmus.26 This is an intriguing possibility, granted the role that this family played in Beroea and in national Macedonian affairs under the Antigonids. It is furthermore significant that the name Polemaios was very rare.27 2. Some scholars think it is also likely that the Harpaloi-Polemaioi family was connected to the famous Harpalos, son of Machatas, confidant and treasurer of Alexander the Great.28 Many have supposed that this Harpalos came from the former ruling house of Elimiotis in Upper Macedonia,29 although this idea lacks firm support. It is known that one of the first wives of Philip II was Phila, sister of Machatas and Derdas,30 and this Machatas is thought to be Harpalos’ father. Machatas’ brother Derdas was certainly related to the dynasty of Elimiotis; the name appears in several references to these regional rulers.31 It is interesting, however, that no epigraphic sources refer to the name Harpalos in Elimiotis.32 On the other hand, the names Harpalos and Machatas are traced in numerous places in Lower Macedonia, including Beroea (and also in Aegae, Pella, Cassandreia, Calindoea, Amphipolis and some other places).33 To link Harpalos, son of Machatas, with both the dynasty from Elimiotis and with the Harpaloi-Polemaioi family from Beroea is thus quite unsupported.34 It should 26 Tataki, A. B. 1988, 422; ead. 1998, 82. In literary sources the nephew of Antigonus Monophthalmus is noted as Ptolemaios (e. g. Diod. XIX. 57. 4; Plut. Eum. 10. 5; Memn. FGrH 434 4. 6; however, Diod. XIX. 60. 3 gives the form Polemaios), but in two inscriptions, from Athens and Iasus, his name is Polemaios (Syll.3 328; SEG XXXI 936). It is noteworthy that the Iasian inscription distinguishes between the names Πολεμαῖος (Antigonus’ nephew), and Πτολεμαῖος (Ptolemaios Lagou) (SEG XXXI 936). On the confusion in the sources of the names Πτολεμαῖος and Πολεμαῖος see Masson, O. 1993, 160–161. Polemaios’ father, the brother of Antigonus Monophthalmus, also had the name Polemaios (SEG XXXI 936, l. 10). On the father and son Polemaioi see Billows, R. A. 1990, 425–430. 27 Attestations of the name Polemaios in Macedonia and in the Hellenistic East: LGPN IV, s. v. Πολεμαῖος; Tataki, A. B. 1998, 409–410. 28 Tataki, A. B. 1988, 421–422; Heckel, W. 2006, 341, n. 699. 29 Berve, H. 1926, 75–76; Wirth, G. 1979, 942; Shofman, A. S. 1976, 325; Tataki, A. B. 1988, 421; ead. 1998, 194; Hardy, D. A., Touratsoglou, I. 1997, 52; Badian, E. 1998, 161; Carney, E. D. 2000, 59; Heckel, W. 2006, 129. 30 Satyr. ap. Athen. XIII. 557c; Carney, E. D. 2000, 59–60. 31 IG I3 71, l. 69 (= StV II 186 l.61); Xen. Hell. V. 2. 38; Tataki, A. B. 1998, 194–195. 32 See the name-index of the corpus of the Upper Macedonian inscriptions published in 1985 (Rizakis, A., Touratsoglou, I. 1985), and volume IV of A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names (LGPN IV, s. v. Ἅρπαλος). 33 References for the names Harpalos and Machatas in Macedonia: LGPN IV, s. v. Ἅρπαλος, Μαχάτας. 34 In support of a connection between Harpalos, son of Machatas, and Beroea, a decree from Eretria in honour of two Macedonians is cited (IG XII 9 197): Tauron, son of Machatas, who may have been the brother of Harpalos (Tataki, A. B. 1988, 421–422; Heckel, W. 2006, 341, n. 699; contra Paschidis, P. 2008, 446–447), and Myllenas, son of Asandros, who probably came from Beroea (Tataki, A. B. 1998, 81; Paschidis, P. 2008, 446–447, n. 5; for a more cautious view on

130

Yuri N. Kuzmin

also be noted that none of the people traced in Beroea with the name Machatas were fathers or sons of Harpaloi or Polemaioi.35 3. There is also no certainty that the Harpaloi-Polemaioi family from Beroea was connected, as some scholars think,36 to the Limnaios, son of Harpalos, who received a land grant in the district of Cassandreia from the king Lysimachus in mid 280s B. C.37 *  *  * A final note. Aside from the Harpaloi-Polemaioi family, some other aristocratic families from Beroea of the Antigonid era can be traced, although there is only one more family known through so many generations.38 The noble family of HarpaloiPolemaioi, attested in both Antigonid and Roman periods, is unique not only in Beroea, but in Macedonia as a whole. Moreover, this family not only survived, but retained an important role in the social life of their native city after the Roman conquest of Macedonia. N

Name

1

Ἅρπαλος

2

Πολεμαῖος Ἁρπάλου

35

36 37 38

Date 36th year of Antigonus II Gonatas: 248 B. C. 7th year of Antigonus III Doson: 223 B. C.

Sources EKM I 3, ll. 4, 9, 14 EKM I 4, l. 11

this see Knoepfler, D. 2001, 172). However, reference to two people in the same inscription can hardly be irrefutable proof that they were born in the same city. Inscriptions of 3rd–2nd century B. C. in Beroea referenced: Eudemides, son of Machatas (EKM I 4, ll. 16–17); Meleagros, son of Machatas (EKM I 4, l. 28): Alkimachos, son of Machatas (EKM I 4, l. 38); Machatas, son of Theogenes (EKM I 45, l. 28); Machatas, son of Philippos (EKM I 45, l. 32); and Machatas, son of Antigonos (EKM I 201). Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1988, 36, n. 1; id. 1996 I, 417; Hardy, D. A., Touratsoglou, I. 1997, 52. Inscription: Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1996 II, no. 22. P. Paschidis also rejected the speculation of kinship between Limnaios, son of Harpalos, with Harpaloi-Polemaioi from Beroea (Paschidis, P. 2006, 260, n. 55). This is the Balakroi-Pantauchoi family: 1) Pantauchos, son of Balakros, mentioned in a Beroean inscription dated 250–200 B. C. (EKM I 16a, ll. 28–29); 2) Pantauchos, son of Balakros – one of the closest friends of king Perseus (e. g. Polyb. XXVII. 8. 5–12; XXIX. 3. 1–9; XXIX. 4. 1; Liv. XLII. 39. 7; XLIV. 23. 2–4; 27. 9–11; 30. 14; 35. 2; 45. 2–7); 3) Balakros, son of Pantauchos (2) (Polyb. XXIX. 4. 6). Apparently Pantauchos, one of the best generals of Demetrius Poliorcetes, defeated by Pyrrhus in 289 B. C. (Plut. Pyrrh. 7. 4–9; id. Demetr. 41. 2–3), was connected to this family (cf. Tataki, A. B. 1988, 423; ead. 1998, 395; ead. 1999, 1116–1117; for a more cautious view of this connection, see Paschidis, P. 2006, 261, n. 62). There is no doubt that Pantauchos (2), who surrendered to the Romans shortly after the battle of Pydna (Liv. XLIV. 45. 2), and his relatives were deported to Italy in 167 B. C. (on the Balakroi-Pantauchoi family see Kuzmin, Yu. N. 2010, 135–140). Concerning other supposedly aristocratic families from Beroea of the Antigonid period see Tataki, A. B. 1988, 422–423; Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1996 I, 138; Paschidis, P. 2006, 261; Kuzmin, Yu. N. 2012, 147–154.

The Macedonian Aristocratic Family of Harpaloi–Polemaioi from Beroea

3

Ἅρπαλος Πολεμαίου

4

Ἅρπαλος

5–6

Ἅρπαλος Ἁρπάλου

Reign of Perseus (179–168 B.C): 178 and 172 B. C. Roman period: late second or early first century B. C. Roman period: A. D. 41–44

131

Syll.3 636, l. 5; Diod. XXIX. 34. 1; Liv. XLII. 14. 3; 15. 1; App. Mac. 11. 3 EKM I 2, ll. 35, 40 EKM I 60, l.3

BIBLIOGRAPHY Allamani-Souri, V., Voutiras, E. 1996: New Documents from the Sanctuary of Herakles Kynagidas at Beroia, in: Inscriptions of Macedonia. Third International Symposium on Macedonia, Thessaloniki, 13–39. Amela Valverde, L. 2004: Sexto Pompeyo, gobernador de Macedonia, y las incursiones escordiscas ca. 120–100 A. C., Iberia 7, 19–38. Andronikos, M. 1950: Αρχαῖαι επιγραφαὶ Βεροίας, Thessaloniki. Badian, E. 1998: Harpalos, DNP 5, 161–162. Ballesteros Pastor, L. 1996: Mitrídates Eupátor, rey del Ponto, Granada. Berve, H. 1926: Das Alexanderreich auf prosopographischer Grundlage II, Munich. Billows, R. A. 1990: Antigonus the One-Eyed and the Creation of the Hellenistic State, Berkeley; Los Angeles; London. Le Bohec, S. 1985: Les philoi des rois Antigonides, REG 98, 94–124. Brocas-Deflassieux, L. 1999: Béroia, cité de Macédoine: étude de topographie antique, Beroia. Carney, E. D. 2000: Women and Monarchy in Macedonia, Norman (Okla.). Cormack, J.M. R. 1939–40: Royal Letters in Beroea, ABSA 40, 14–16. De Callataÿ, F. 1997: L’histoire des guerres Mithridatiques vue par les monnaies, Louvain-laNeuve. Edson, C. F. 1934: The Antigonids, Heracles and Beroea, HSCP 45, 213–246. Errington, R. M. 1977: An Inscription from Beroea and the Alleged Co-Rule of Demetrius II, Ancient Macedonia II, Thessaloniki, 115–122. Foucart, P. 1883: Décrets des amphictions de Delphes, BCH 7, 426–439. Fraser, P. M., Matthews, E. (eds.) 2005: A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names IV. Macedonia, Thrace, Northern Regions of the Black Sea, Oxford. Gossel, B. 1980: Makedonische Kammergräber, Berlin. Gounaropoulou, L., Hatzopoulos, M. B. (eds.) 1998: Επιγραφές Κάτω Μακεδονίας I. Επιγραφές Βεροίας, Athens. Grzybek, E. 1993: Eine Inschrift aus Beroia und die Jahreszählweisen der Diadochen, Ancient Macedonia V, Thessaloniki, 521–527. Hammond, N. G. L. 1972: A History of Macedonia I. Historical Geography and Prehistory, Oxford. Hardy, D. A., Touratsoglou, I. 1997: The Harpalos Decree at Beroia, Τεκμήρια 3, Thessaloniki, 46–54. Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1988: Une donation du roi Lysimaque, Athens. Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1990: Un nouveau document du règne d’Antigone Gonatas, in Sakellariou, M. B. (ed.), Ποικίλα, Athens, 135–148. Hatzopoulos, M. B. 1996: Macedonian Institutions under the Kings I. A Historical and Epigraphic Study, II. Epigraphic Appendix, Athens. Hatzopoulos, M. B., Paschidis, P. 2004: Makedonia, in Hansen, M. H., Nielsen, T. H. (eds.), An Inventory of Archaic and Classical Poleis, Oxford, 794–809.

132

Yuri N. Kuzmin

Heckel, W. 2006: Who’s Who in the Age of Alexander the Great, London. Knoepfler, D. 2001: Décrets érétriens de proxénie et de citoyennété, Paris. Kuzmin, Yu. N. 2005: Demetriy II – sopravitel’ Antigona Gonata (Demetrios II as the co-ruler of Antigonos Gonatas), AAe, 59–71 (in Russian). Kuzmin, Yu. N. 2010: Pantavch, syn Balakra iz Beroi, i ego sem’ya (Pantauchos, son of Balakros from Beroia, and his family), VDI 3, 135–140 (in Russian). Kuzmin, Yu. N. 2012: Kallippa i Beroia (Kallippa and Beroia), VDI 1, 147–154 (in Russian). Masson, O. 1993: Quand le nom Πτολεμαῖος était à la mode, ZPE 98, 157–167. McGing, B. C. 1986: The Foreign Policy of Mithridates VI Eupator, King of Pontus, Leiden. O’Neil, J. L. 2003: The Ethnic Origins of the Friends of the Antigonid Kings of Macedon, CQ 53, 510–522. Oberhummer, E. 1897: Beroia (1), RE 5, 304–306. Olshausen, E. 1974: Prosopographie der hellenistischen Königsgesandten I. Von Triparadeisos bis Pydna, Louvain. Papazoglou, F. 1979: Quelques aspects de l’histoire de la province de Macédoine, ANRW II. 7. 1, 302–369. Papazoglou, F. 1988: Les villes de Macédoine à l’époque romaine, Paris. Paschidis, P. 2006: The Interpenetration of Civic Elites and Court Elite in Macedonia, in GuimierSorbets, M., Hatzopoulos, M. B., Morizot, Y. (eds.), Rois, cités, necropoles. Institutions, rites et monuments en Macédoine, Athens, 251–267. Paschidis, P. 2008: Between City and King. Prosopographical Studies on the Intermediaries between the Cities of the Greek Mainland and the Aegean and the Royal Courts in the Hellenistic Period (322–190 B. C.), Athens. Rizakis, A., Touratsoglou, I. (eds.). 1985: Επιγραφές Άνω Μακεδονίας I, Athens. Savalli-Lestrade, I. 2003: Remarques sur les élites dans les poleis hellénistiques, in CébeillacGervasoni, M., Lamoine, L. (eds.), Les élites et leurs facettes. Les élites locales dans le monde hellénistique et romain, Rome etc., 51–64 Schoch, P. 1922: Prosopographie der militärischen und politischen Funktionäre im hellenistischen Makedonien (323–168 v. Chr.), Diss., Basle. Schoch, P. 1924: Harpalos (3), RE Suppl. 4, 711–712. Sève, M. 2005: Notables de Macédoine entre l’époque hellénistique et le Haut-Empire, in Fröhlich, P., Müller, Ch. (eds.), Citoyenneté et participation à la basse époque hellénistique, Geneva, 257–273. Shofman, A. S. 1976: Vostochnaya politika Alexandra Makedonskogo (Eastern Policy of Alexander of Macedon), Kazan (in Russian). Sundwall, J. 1912: Harpalos (3), RE 7, 2401. Tataki, A. B. 1988: Ancient Beroea: Prosopography and Society, Athens. Tataki, A. B. 1990: The Medusa of Beroea: a Historical Interpretation, in Sakellariou, M. B. (ed.), Ποικίλα, Athens, 247–259. Tataki, A. B. 1998: Macedonians Abroad: a Contribution to the Prosopography of Ancient Macedonia, Athens. Tataki, A. B. 1999: New Elements for the Society of Beroia, Ancient Macedonia VI–2, Thessaloniki, 1115–1125. Wirth, G. 1979: Harpalos, DKP 2, Munich, 942. Woodward, A. M. 1911–12: Inscriptions from Beroea in Macedonia, ABSA 18, 133–165.

SOME CRITICAL NOTES ON PETER BRUNT’S . RECONSTRUCTION OF THE CONDUCT OF . THE ROMAN CENSUS* Roman V. Lapyrionok (Rheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms Universität Bonn) Modern scholarship appears to agree with Peter Brunt, who considered that the Roman census figures included “all adult male citizens with or without franchise, iuniores or seniores, ingenui or libertini, assidui or proletarii alike”.1 However, Brunt’s hypothesis does not definitively address all historical questions arising from the Roman census and unfortunately we do not have sufficient evidence to state categorically that all the social categories he refers to were indeed included in the Roman census returns. His reconstruction, moreover, does not account for the huge discrepancies between the census figures of the third to second centuries B. C. and those of Augustus.2 Nor is it clear whether cives sine suffragio or proletarii were represented in Roman censuses of the third to second centuries B. C. Therefore the principles on which the Roman censuses were conducted in the late Republic bear re-examination. In his reconstruction Brunt bases his argument on an ancient formula used by Roman authors when they present census figures in their works. The formula states: censa sunt civium capita tot. This could mean that all adult male citizens, without exception, had to be registered; without doubt it was technically possible to count all adult Roman males and include them in the census lists. However, this formula emerged at a very early period of Roman history, when society was strongly influ*

1 2

The author expresses his very deep appreciation of the kindness of Mrs. Christine Russell, who corrected his English in this article. The author would like to thank Prof. Dr. Hartmut Galsterer and Prof. Dr. Luuk de Ligt for reading and discussing this article as well as the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation for the opportunity to work on his research project at University of Bonn. For the conclusions that have been reached the author is, of course, solely responsible. Brunt, P. 1971, 24 f. (in this he followed Beloch: Beloch, J. 1886, 312 ff.); this view has been accepted by most scholars: Göhler, J. 1939, 140 f.; Morley, N. 2001, 50; Scheidel, W. 2004, 1 f.; De Ligt, L. 2004, 738 ff.; De Ligt, L. 2008, 126; Hin, S. 2008, 234 f.; Lo Cascio, E. 2008, 246 ff. There are many reasons why his explanation of this difference cannot be accepted. One possible explanation, namely a large number of incensi in the 2nd century B. C., does not resolve this historical problem. E. Lo Cascio (Lo Cascio, E. 2008, 253) attributes the census figures of 124 B. C. to greater efficiency on the part of the censors that year and to greater numbers of incensi in previous years. The lex de incensis (Liv. I. 44. 1–2: censu perfecto quem maturauerat metu legis de incensis latae cum uinculorum minis mortisque, edixit ut omnes ciues Romani, equites peditesque, in suis quisque centuriis, in campo Martio prima luce adessent) prohibited all interference in the conduct of the census. See also: Brunt, P. 1971, 78; Galsterer, H. 1976, 111. The Censuses of Augustus: Wiseman, T. P. 1969, 59–75; Brunt, P. 1971, 113–120; Lo Cascio, E. 1994, 33 ff.; Kron, G. 2005, 441–495.

134

Roman V. Lapyrionok

enced by military organization. At the time of the Early Republic there was a much lower number of impoverished citizens in Rome, a fact which casts considerable doubt on Brunt’s reconstruction. Another important consideration is the part played by the cives sine suffragio in the Roman census procedure. Further, it is not clear whether this procedure for registration remained constant over many years of intense social change. The question is: if changes in the registration procedure did take place, then what was the nature of those changes? The census figures from the time of Augustus are difficult to reconcile with the hypothesis that the Roman census figures of the third and second centuries B. C. represent all adult male citizens, including cives sine suffragio. It is clear that the cives sine suffragio and a great part of the socii were enfranchised during – by the lex Iulia3 and lex Papiria Plautia4 – or after the Social War. According to Cassius Dio, the free population of Gallia Transpadana received the same rights from Caesar (Dio Cass. XLI. 36). Brunt believed that Augustus counted Roman women and children and included them in the Roman census lists.5 This idea does not find any support in the sources and seems to be too ‘extravagant’ for such a conservative politician as Augustus. The term capite censi, which was often used as a synonym for proletarii, appears to confirm the hypothesis that even the poorest citizens were included in the Roman census lists.6 This observation is used by Brunt, and by other scholars who accept his view, as a crucial argument in favour of this hypothesis. Yet re-examination of the sources refutes this argument. The term capite censi does not appear to be an official term for the poorest Roman citizens. In fact, this possibility must be ruled out. We cannot determine the period when this term was first used. We first find the capite censi in Sallust’s Bellum Iugurthinum, where he tells of C. Marius’ decision to recruit the proletarii for his war against Iugurtha. Here there is no doubt that the term capite censi is a synonym for the proletarii.7 It is found mostly in the

3 4 5

6 7

Cic. Balb. 8. 21; Gell. Noct. Att. IV. 4. 3; Vell. II. 16; App. BC I. 49. Cic. Arch. 4. 7; App. BC I. 53; Schol. Bob. 175 (Stangl.). Brunt, P. 1971, 120 (in accordance with Beloch: Beloch, J. 1903, 482). Beloch argued that there were good grounds for this hypothesis in Pliny’s Natural History (XXXIII. 16): ergo ut maxime MM tantum pondo, cum capta est Roma, anno CCCLXIIII fuere, cum iam capitum liberorum censa essent DLXXIII. Nowadays few scholars still accept this view (with the exception of: Hin, S. 2008, 218 ff.). Frank (Frank, T. 1930, 313 f.; Frank, T. 1933, 21 f., 40) suggested that the census figures prior to 332 B. C. (or probably 329 B. C.) represented all adult citizens, including women and children. He considered that the census totals of 28 B. C. included only all adult male Romans (Frank, T. 1924, 340). See some observations to the contrary: Toynbee, A. 1965 I, 445 ff.; Lo Cascio, E. 1994, 23–40. Brunt, P. 1971, 24; De Ligt, L. 2008, 126 ff. Sall. Iug. 86. 2–3: ipse (C. Marius. – R. L.) interea milites scribere, non more maiorum neque ex classibus, sed uti lubido quoiusque erat, capite censos plerosque.

Peter Brunt’s Reconstruction of the Conduct of the Roman Census

135

works of Roman authors such as Valerius Maximus,8 Aulus Gellius9 und Florus,10 all of whom post-date Sallust. In the remaining fragments of the Duodecim tabulae only proletarius is defined as a category of poverty. It is noteworthy that in the case of proletarius Gellius cites such an old official source as the Duodecim tabulae, whereas in the case of capite census he cites Sallust.11 Cicero does not use the term capite censi.12 Nor does Livy, neither in his narrative about the legendary institution of the census by Servius Tullius, nor elsewhere in his Ab urbe condita. In other words, the capite censi are not mentioned until the second half of the first century B. C.13 It is most likely that this term actually arose in the first century B. C., when the procedure of the census may have changed. For this we have only one possible terminus post quem: the military reform of C. Marius.14 This reform granted the proletarii access to military service and this could 8 9

10 11

12

13 14

Val. Max. II. 3. 1: Laudanda etiam populi uerecundia est, qui inpigre se laboribus et periculis militiae offerendo dabat operam ne imperatoribus capite censos sacramento rogare esset necesse, quorum nimia inopia suspecta erat, ideoque his publica arma non committebant. Gell. Noct. Att. XVI. 10. 10: Is (Julius Paulus. – R. L.) a nobis salutatur rogatusque, uti de sententia deque ratione istius uocabuli nos doceret: ‘qui in plebe’ inquit ‘Romana tenuissimi pauperrimique erant neque amplius quam mille quingentum aeris in censum deferebant, ‘proletarii’ appellati sunt, qui uero nullo aut perquam paruo aere censebantur, ‘capite censi’ uocabantur; extremus autem census capite censorum aeris fuit trecentis septuaginta quinque. Here, Gellius refers to the proletarii and the capite censi as two different categories – this must be a mistake on his part, as there is no evidence to confirm this view: Rich, J. W. 1987, 307; Gargola, D. 1989, 234); Gell. Noct. Att. XVI. 10. 11–12: Sed quoniam res pecuniaque familiaris obsidis uicem pignerisque esse apud rempublicam uidebatur amorisque in patriam fides quaedam in ea firmamentumque erat, neque proletarii neque capite censi milites nisi in tumultu maximo scribebantur, quia familia pecuniaque his aut tenuis aut nulla esset. Flor. I. 36. 42: postremo Marius auctis admodum copiis, cum pro obscuritate generis sui capite censos sacramento adegisset, iam fusum et saucium regem adortus, non facilius tamen vicit quam si integrum ac recentem. Gell. Noct. Att. XVI. 10. 6–7: Nam Q. Ennius uerbum hoc ex duodecim tabulis uestris accepit, in quibus, si recte commemini, ita scriptum est: “Adsiduo uindex adsiduus esto. Proletario ciui quis uolet uindex esto.” Petimus igitur, ne annalem nunc Q. Ennii, sed duodecim tabulas legi arbitrere et, quid sit in ea lege “proletarius ciuis,” interpretere. Gell. Noct. Att. XVI. 10. 16: Verba autem Sallusti in historia Iugurthina de C. Mario consule et de capite censis haec sunt: ‘Ipse interea milites scribere non more maiorum nec ex classibus, sed ut libido cuiusque erat, capite censos plerosque’. M. O. B. Caspari proposed (Caspari, M. O. B. 1913, 197) that the term capite censi was used only in the Principate. The fact that Sallust knows the capite censi makes that improbable. In De re publica (Cic. Rep. II. 40: in quo etiam verbis ac nominibus ipsis fuit diligens; qui cum locupletis assiduos appellasset ab asse dando, eos, qui aut non plus mille quingentos aeris aut omnino nihil in suum censum praeter caput attulissent, proletarios nominavit, ut ex iis quasi proles, id est quasi progenies civitatis, expectari videretur.) Cicero certainly seems to know the term capite censi, but he does not use it directly. Brunt based one of the most important arguments in his reconstruction (Brunt, P. 1971, 22 n. 5) on these words of Cicero, but this was erroneous. Sall. Iug. 86. 2–3: ipse (C. Marius. – R. L.) interea milites scribere, non more maiorum neque ex classibus, sed uti lubido quoiusque erat, capite censos plerosque. See also: Kübler, B. 1899, 1521–1523. Wiseman, T. P. 1969, 61. Although Roman commanders preferred to recruit assidui even after the military reform of C. Marius (Smith, R. E. 1958, 44 ff.; Brunt, P. 1962, 75; Rich, J. W. 1983,

136

Roman V. Lapyrionok

have changed their status. The sources do not mention any changes in census procedure during the late Republic, but this does not mean that such a possibility must be excluded.15 These arguments allow us to assume that the proletarii were not counted and registered until after the military reform of C. Marius. All Brunt’s other arguments apply only to the first century B. C., and these alone cannot substantiate his hypothesis.16 It is also possible that Sallust himself first coined the phrase capite censi, inspired by changes in the conduct of the census subsequent to the military reform of C. Marius. Livy wrote: adicit scriptorum antiquissimus Fabius Pictor, eorum, qui arma ferre possent, eum numerum fuisse.17 Thus our oldest source considered that the Roman census figures represented the total number of citizens “who could bear arms”. The proletarii lacked the requisite property qualification for military service and could only be enlisted in times of emergency. There is evidence that the proletarii were enrolled as troops in the Pyrrhic War, and the Roman government often used them for service in garrisons.18 Moreover, poor Romans could be used in the fleet, although this practice was not current prior to the First Punic War. It is likely that they were also enlisted in Roman legions during the Second Punic War, as a consequence of the catastrophic military losses in the first years of this war.19 However, such enlistment most probably occurred as a result of the Senate lowering the threshold of the property qualification for assidui,20 or perhaps it followed a monetary reform.21 The proletarii were generally barred from normal legionary service;

15 16 17

18 19 20 21

327 f.), the new status of the proletarii within the military service inevitably brought changes in the conduct of the census. Liv. I. 43. 12: nec mirari oportet hunc ordinem, qui nunc est post expletas quinque et triginta tribus duplicato earum numero centuriis iuniorum seniorumque, ad institutam ab Ser. Tullio summam non convenire. Brunt, P. 1971, 24. Liv. I. 44. 2; see discussion: Frank, T. 1930, 313 f.; 1933, 21 f.; Thomsen, R. 1980, 209 f. This formula indirectly confirms the primarily military function of the census. The tributum (Liv. IV. 60. 6–8: postremo, indicto iam tributo, edixerunt etiam tribuni auxilio se futuros si quis in militare stipendium tributum non contulisset. patres bene coeptam rem perseueranter tueri; conferre ipsi primi; et quia nondum argentum signatum erat, aes graue plaustris quidam ad aerarium conuehentes speciosam etiam conlationem faciebant. cum senatus summa fide ex censu contulisset, primores plebis, nobilium amici, ex composito conferre incipiunt) was most probably established at the same time as the stipendium (Liv. IV. 59. 11: additum deinde omnium maxime tempestiuo principum in multitudinem munere, ut ante mentionem ullam plebis tribunorumue decerneret senatus, ut stipendium miles de publico acciperet, cum ante id tempus de suo quisque functus eo munere esset). Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Ant. Rom. V. 47. 1) states that income from the tributum was used by the Roman Senate to equip the army. Livy is also familiar with the tributum from earlier periods (Liv. II. 9. 6; II. 23. 5). In Ant. Rom. V. 20. 1 Dionysius linked the establishment of the tributum with Servius Tullius. Both these principles (legionary service and tributum) remained the basis of the Roman census until 167 B. C. See discussion: Schwann, W. 1939, 7 f.; Mommsen, Th. 1952, 230 f.; Sumner, G. V. 1970, 73 f.; Erdkamp, P. 2008, 105 f.; Northwood, S. 2008, 265 ff. Oros. IV. 1. 3. Probably also: Cassius Hemina 21 P.; Rich, J. W. 1983, 290. Rich, J. W. 1983, 291. Gabba, E. 1949, 189 f.; Toynbee, A. 1965 II, 89; Gabba, E. 1976, 5 f.; Gagniart, P. 2008, 81. Lo Cascio, E. 1988, 302; Lo Cascio, E. 2008, 248.

Peter Brunt’s Reconstruction of the Conduct of the Roman Census

137

their occasional appearances among the Roman troops do not necessarily mean that they were counted and included in the Roman census lists. Consequently, none of these instances bears out the hypothesis that proletarii were enlisted.22 Brunt presumed that these words of Livy could also be applied to the proletarii.23 Even the poorest ‘could bear arms’ if they were physically fit. He was thus in no doubt that they were included in the census lists.24 This explanation seems somewhat curious and in any case offers no definitive confirmation of his hypothesis. It is very hard to believe that Fabius Pictor could have been referring to citizens’ physical fitness. A further probable corroboration of the hypothesis that the proletarii were not included in the Roman census lists can be found in Livy’s Ab urbe condita (XXIX. 37. 7–8): duodecim deinde coloniarum, quod nunquam antea factum erat, deferentibus ipsarum coloniarum censoribus censum acceperunt ut quantum numero militum, quantum pecunia ualerent in publicis tabulis monumenta exstarent. Here he is referring to the criteria on which the conduct of the census was based.25 These criteria were pecunia (tributum) and numerus militum. It is very hard to interpret this quotation in any other way. Both criteria make it inconceivable that the proletarii could be associated with the conduct of the census. In Polybius’ Histories there is a translation of Fabius Pictor’s formula into Greek (Polyb. II. 24. 16.): τὸ σύμπαν πλῆθος τῶν δυναμένων ὅπλα βαστάζειν. It is not surprising that Polybius’ information about the number of men that the Romans and their allies could field in 225 B. C. lies very close to the census figure of 234 B. C.26 Here he recognizes only assidui as persons eligible for registration in the census. This fact is very hard to refute, although in the same passage he also included the Campanians among the numbers of Roman troops. These were cives sine suffragio who did not enjoy the full rights of Roman citizens. This circumstance has given rise to lengthy discussion about the status of the Campanians in the context of the Roman census.27 Why did Polybius include the Campanians among the Roman troops? Why, moreover, did he count the soldiers from other municipia sine suffragio separately? Brunt postulated that citizens from the municipia sine suffragio were included in the Roman census totals. This applies to the whole period under consideration in his reconstruction (225 B. C. – A. D. 14). There is no doubt that municipia sine suffragio had their own census. It is also beyond dispute that the local magistrates of municipia sine suffragio normally carried out their own censuses, counting their citizens, drawing up their own lists and 22 See also: Herzog von E. 1965 I, 105 f., 459; Molthagen, J. 1973, 443. 23 Brunt, P. 1971, 21. 24 See also: Suolahti, J. 1963, 34 f.; Brunt, P. 1971, 24 f.; Bringmann, K. 1985, 29 f.; Erdkamp, P. 1998, 289; De Ligt, L. 2004, 738 ff.; De Ligt, L. 2008, 126; Hin, S. 2008, 234 f. Lo Cascio, E. 2008, 246 ff.; Northwood, S. 2008, 258 ff.; Scheidel, W. 2008, 22 f. 25 The conduct of the census in Varro: Varro L. L. VI. 86–93. Mommsen (Mommsen, Th. 1879, 404; Nissen too: Nissen, H. 1902, 112 f.) also suggested that the Roman census listed only tabulae iuniorum. The seniores were not used for legionary service and thus the Roman censors did not include them in the totals. Here Mommsen overlooks the fact that the seniores paid tributum. In any case his notion is not substantiated by the sources. See also: Brunt, P. 1971, 21. 26 Polyb. II. 24. 14. See census figures from 234 B. C. in Appendix. De Ligt, L. 2004, 734 f. 27 Brunt, P. 1971, 17–20; Lo Cascio, E. 2008, 248 ff.

138

Roman V. Lapyrionok

reporting the results to Rome.28 However, it is vital to establish whether these local census figures were included in the Roman census totals. The first problem arising in this regard is that Polybius counted other cives sine suffragio separately, so it would be completely erroneous to conclude from his words that all the cives sine suffragio, without exception, were represented in the Roman census totals. The Campanians had been enlisted by 189 B. C., and at the time when Polybius was writing they had already been included in the Roman census totals.29 Polybius may well have believed that the Campanians were counted in the census as early as 225 B. C., even though that was not in fact the case. Such an error is certainly not beyond the bounds of plausibility. Even if Brunt’s attempt to define the status of the Campanians is indeed accurate, the connection of the other municipia sine suffragio to the Roman census would still remain unclear.30 There is no evidence whatsoever that the citizens of municipia sine suffragio were enlisted. On the contrary, a passage in Livy’s Ab urbe condita contradicts this view. It refers to the enfranchisement of Arpinates, Formiani and Fundani, who in 188 B. C. were also cives sine suffragio: rogatio perlata est, ut in Aemilia tribu Formiani et Fundani, in Cornelia Arpinates ferrent; atque in his tribubus tum primum ex Valerio plebiscito censi sunt.31 What exactly did Livy mean by the words tum primum ex Valerio plebiscito censi sunt? If they were included in the Roman census-totals before, then there is no logic to his tum primum … censi sunt. This sentence would be not necessary here. He most probably meant that in 188 B. C. the citizens of these municipia sine suffragio were included in the Roman census lists for the very first time. There is another passage in Livy’s Ab urbe condita (VIII. 17. 11–12) that can indirectly confirm that the citizens of civitates sine suffragio were not included in the Roman census-totals. He wrote: eodem anno census actus nouique ciues censi. tribus propter eos additae Maecia et Scaptia; censores addiderunt Q. Publilius Philo Sp. Postumius. Romani facti Acerrani lege ab L. Papirio praetore lata, qua ciuitas sine suffragio data. Livy is here reporting the enfranchisement of the citizens of Lanuvium, Aricia, Nomentum and Pedum after the Second Latin War. It is clear that he means only them as novi cives in his first sentence, because he records the establishment of two new Roman tribus (tribus propter eos additae Maecia et 28 Gell. Noct. Att. XVI. 13. 7: Primos autem municipes sine suffragii iure Caerites esse factos accepimus concessumque illis, ut ciuitatis Romanae honorem quidem caperent, sed negotiis tamen atque oneribus uacarent pro sacris bello Gallico receptis custoditisque. Hinc ‘tabulae Caerites’ appellatae uersa uice, in quas censores referri iubebant, quos notae causa suffragiis priuabant; Strabo V. 2. 3. 29 Liv. XXXVIII. 28. 4: Campani, ubi censerentur, senatum consuluerunt; decretum, uti Romae censerentur. 30 Mouritsen, H. 2007, 156 f. It is more likely that the census formula was not the same in all the municipia sine suffragio. In the case of the Campanians (if they were really included in Roman census-totals before the Second Punic War) this could have been caused by their strategic importance for Rome in the second half of the fourth century B. C. or most likely by their conspiracy with the Samnites in the Second Samnite War (Diod. XIX. 76. 2–5). 31 Liv. XXXVIII. 36. 9–10. Some critical notes on the problem of the enfranchisement of the Arpinates, Formiani and Fundani: Mouritsen, H. 2007, 144 f.

Peter Brunt’s Reconstruction of the Conduct of the Roman Census

139

Scaptia) after their enfranchisement. These new citizens were counted and included in the Roman census lists. It is very interesting that he says not a word about registration (in the Roman census-totals) of the Campani and other people who were granted civitas sine suffragio at the same time. We see the same situation in the case of the Acerrani. If these cives sine suffragio were included in the Roman censustotals, this could cause an increase in the Roman census figures. It is hard to belive that Livy could have forgetten to inform his readers about their registration in the Roman census-totals, because of the importance of this information. It is also hard to believe that the inclusion of cives sine suffragio in the Roman census-totals was possible legally. The municipia sine suffragio had their own formulae census with their own procedure, which was based on their local legal systems.32 The land in these communities was not subject to ius Quiritium and could not be censui censendo.33 Because of this it was without any doubt problematic to combine the Roman census figures with those of municipia sine suffragio. That would be possible only by imposing on these communities the Roman formula census. The census figures of municipia sine suffragio existed separately and were not included in the Roman census-totals. At this point it is necessary to take a look at another legal category of the Italian population: allies nominis Latini. Under normal circumstances, the Latin communities were autonomous and conducted their own census. The figures from their census were reported to Rome but not included in the Roman census-totals (Liv. XLI. 9. 9). Nevertheless, the citizens of any of these communities that enjoyed ius migrandi could be registered Romae if they lived there.34 There is a passage in Livy’s Ab urbe condita (Liv. XLII. 10. 2–4.) which confirms this: censores erant Q. Fuluius Flaccus A. Postumius Albinus; Postumius condidit. censa sunt ciuium Romanorum capita ducenta sexaginta nouem milia et quindecim, minor aliquanto numerus, quia L. Postumius consul pro contione edixerat, qui socium Latini nominis ex edicto C. Claudi consulis redire in ciuitates suas debuissent, ne quis eorum Romae, et omnes in suis ciuitatibus censerentur. Livy refers here to the expulsion from Rome of her Latin allies in 173 B. C., stating that the census figures were low (or so it seemed to him)35 and adding that the consul L. Postumius had decreed that all Latins living in Rome should return to their communities. They had to be registered in their places of origin and counted by their own, local censors and it was this, if we believe Livy, that caused the ‘low’ census figures (in 173 B. C.). The only viable explanation is that the census figures from the Latin communities were not included in the Roman census-totals. This passage also makes it clear that Livy’s expression Romae censeri refers to registration in the Roman census lists. However, the rights of the Latin communities had not always remained the same.36 Their legal status could also be changed by the Romans under exceptional circumstances. A classic 32 See also (on the case of the Campanians): Galsterer, H. 1976, 75. 33 Galsterer, H. 1976, 72. 34 I mean the Latin communities which had such a ius migrandi. See also: Salmon, E. T. 1936, 55 ff. 35 See also: Coşcun, A. 2009, 195 f. 36 Salmon, E. T. 1936, 60 f.

140

Roman V. Lapyrionok

example of this can be found in Livy’s narrative about twelve Latin colonies which refused to render further financial and military aid to Rome (XXVII. 9) and which were later (204 B. C.) punished by the Romans. The Latins claimed that their manpower had been depleted during the war against Hannibal, but this explanation did not help them in the least. The Romans were not persuaded and exacted a penalty. These Latin colonies became subject to taxation and were required to furnish larger numbers of troops for future military campaigns.37 All their former autonomy was lost. In the context of the present article the most important part of Livy’s narrative is his report of the changes to the census procedure made by the Romans in respect of these colonies. Livy mentions these changes in his narrative about the census of 204/3 B. C. He first announces the Roman census figures for that year and then reports on the conduct of the census in the twelve Latin colonies (XXIX. 37. 7–8). If Livy had been referring there to the local census figures, why would he need to say quod nunquam antea factum erat? What happened here for the first time? The context of this passage from Livy allows us to assume that the citizens of these twelve penalized Latin colonies were included in the Roman census-totals. There are a number of grounds for such a hypothesis. Firstly, Livy refers to imposing the Roman formula census on these Latin colonies.38 Secondly, he lays emphasis on quod nunquam antea factum erat. This means that this situation was an extraordinary one. Thirdly, the context of ut quantum numero militum, quantum pecunia ualerent in publicis tabulis monumenta exstarent allows us to assume that the citizens of these twelve Latin colonies were included in any tabulae publicae for the very first time. These tabulae publicae were definitely not the census lists of allies nominis Latini, because there would be no logic to this sentence of Livy in that case. He wrote that these Latin colonies censum acceperunt and he means here registration in Rome. Together with this we find an enormous increase in the Roman census figures of 203 B. C. The case of the twelve Latin colonies was an exceptional one. They had been penalized by Rome and this occasioned the changes in the conduct of their census. The Romans declared them to be traitors and used this opportunity to bring the financial and military resources of these colonies under control.39 The best way to control these resources was to impose on the Latins a census formula which was used by the Romans themselves and then to include the penalized communities in the Roman census-totals. The other Latin colonies, which had remained loyal to Rome, continued to enjoy autonomy as before with their privileges undiminished (Liv. XXXVII. 10. 7). The conduct of the census in the areas that had remained loyal remained unchanged. 37 They were obliged to pay a stipendium for soldiers (Liv. XXIX. 15. 9: stipendium praeterea iis coloniis in milia aeris asses singulos imperari exigique quotannis …). See also Salmon 1936, 60. 38 Liv. XXIX. 15. 9: censumque in iis coloniis agi ex formula ab Romanis censoribus data; dari autem placere eandem quam populo Romano; deferrique Romam ab iuratis censoribus coloniarum priusquam magistratu abirent. See also: Sherwin-White, A. N. 1939, 99. 39 Galsterer, H. 1976, 110.

Peter Brunt’s Reconstruction of the Conduct of the Roman Census

141

It is interesting that there is an enormous difference between the census figures of 208 B. C. and those of 203 B. C. In 203 B. C. far more citizens were counted than in the previous census. The censors of 203 B. C. registered 76,892 more citizens than their predecessors five years earlier. Unfortunately Livy offers no explanation for this increase. The low figures of 208 B. C. could have been caused by major losses of manpower during the Second Punic War.40 The context of Livy’s narrative about the census of 209/8 B. C. supports this view (XXVII. 36). Moreover, it was impossible to count all the citizens fighting against Hannibal.41 This circumstance cannot be ignored. If the Campanians were really included in the Roman census totals before the Second Punic War, then they must be excluded from them after the fall of Capua.42 It is feasible that there was a combination of all these factors in this instance. Had the citizens of the twelve Latin colonies really been included for the first time in the 203 B. C. Roman census-totals, then this increase could easily be explained. Unfortunately there is no other evidence to confirm whether this was indeed the case. Nevertheless, this situation does make it clear that the Latin communities had different census formulae and that it is erroneous to define them as one single category within the census. If Polybius’ report (II. 24. 14) is correct and the Campanians were included in Roman census-totals before the Second Punic War (in the late fourth to third century B. C.), I see only one possible explanation for this measure: the conspiracy of the Campanians with the Samnites in the Second Samnite War.43 The Campanians would have continued to enjoy their civitas sine suffragio, but would have been penalized by the Romans; the latter would have brought the financial and military resources of the Campanians under their control by imposing on them a Roman census formula and including them in the Roman census-totals. This analogy with the case of the Latin colonies is not ruled out by the fact that the twelve Latin colonies and the Campanians represent two different legal categories of the Italian population. It is not easy to see how the case of the twelve Latin colonies was regulated legally. We unfortunately have no evidence that would make that clear, but there is no doubt that the legal status of these communities changed in 204/3 B. C. Wherever both the citizens of the twelve Latin colonies and the Campanians were included in the Roman census-totals, reference is made to acts of reprisal by Rome intended to control the financial and military resources of areas penalized for treason during the Second Punic War (in the case of the Campanians it could also be the Second Samnite War). Under normal circumstances both the municipia sine suffragio and allies nominis Latini enjoyed autonomy and reported their own census results to Rome, rather than being included in the Roman census-totals. This changed, however, after the Social War, when the cives sine suffragio and citizens of Latin communities were incorporated into the Roman citizen body. This new status is reflected in tabula Heracleensis and other sources from later periods.44 40 41 42 43 44

De Ligt, L. 2004, 739 (n. 30). Toynbee, A. 1965, I, 473 f. Brunt, P. 1971, 63; De Ligt, L. 2004, 739 (n. 30). Liv. IX. 25–26; Diod. XIX. 76. 2–5. See also: Beloch, J. 1890, 300 f. Gell. Noct. Att. XVI. 13. 7; Strabo V. 2. 3. On the modern study of the ancient sources for municipia sine suffragio: Bispham, E. 2007, 15–31.

142

Roman V. Lapyrionok

APPENDIX Roman census figures 234–28 B. C. Year B. C. 234/3 209/8 204/3 194/3 189/8 179/8 174/3 169/8 164/3 159/8 154/3 147/6 142/1 136/5 131/0 125/4 115/4 86/5 70/69 28

Number 270,713 137,108 214,000 143,704 258,318 258,794 269,015 312,805 337,022 328,316 324,000 322,000 327,442 317,933 318,823 394,736 394,336 463,000 910,000 4,063,000

Sources Liv. Per. XX. Liv. XXVII. 36. Liv. XXIX. 37. Liv. XXXV. 9. Liv. XXXVIII. 36. Liv. Per. XLI. Liv. XLII. 10. Liv. Per. XLV. Liv. Per. XLVI. Liv. Per. XLVII. Liv. Per. XLVIII. Euseb. Chron. Arm. Ol. 158.3. Liv. Per. LIV. Liv. Per. LVI. Liv. Per. LIX. Liv. Per. LX. Liv. Per. LXIII. Jerome, Ol. 173. 4. Phlegon fr. 12. 6. Res gestae 8. 2.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Beloch, J. 1886: Die Bevölkerung der Griechisch-Römischen Welt, Leipzig. Beloch, J. 1890: Campanien im Altertum, Breslau. Beloch, J. 1903: Die Bevölkerung Italiens im Altertum, Klio 3, 471–490. Bispham, E. 2007: From Asculum to Actium. The Municipalization of Italy from the Social War to Augustus, Oxford. Bringmann, K. 1985. Die Agrarreform des Tiberius Gracchus: Legende und Wirklichkeit, Frankfurter Historische Vorträge 10, 7–28. Brunt, P. A. 1962: The Army and the Land in the Roman Revolution, JRS 52, 69–86. Brunt, P. A. 1971: Italian Manpower 225 B. C. – A. D. 14, Oxford. Caspari, M. O. B. 1913: On Some Problems of Roman Agrarian History, Klio 13. 184–198. Coşcun, A. 2009: Bürgerrechtsentzug oder Fremdenausweisung? Hermes. Einzelschr. 101, Stuttgart. De Ligt, L. 2004: Poverty and Demography: The Case of the Gracchan Land Reforms, Mnemosyne 57, 725–757. De Ligt, L. 2008: Roman Manpower and Recruitment, in: A Companion to the Roman Army, Oxford, 114–131. Erdkamp, P. 2008: War and State Formation in the Roman Republic, in: A Companion to the Roman Army, Oxford, 96–113. Frank, T. 1924: Roman Census Statistics from 225 B. C. to 28 B. C., CPh 19, 329–341. Frank, T. 1930: Roman Census Statistics from 508 to 225 B. C., AJPh 51. 4, 313–324. Frank, T. 1933: An Economic Survey of Ancient Rome. Vol. I. Oxford. Gabba, E. 1949: Le origini dell’ esercito professionale in Roma, Athenaeum N. S. 27, 173–209. Gabba, E. 1976: Republican Rome, the Army and the Allies, Oxford.

Peter Brunt’s Reconstruction of the Conduct of the Roman Census

143

Gagniart, P. 2008: The Late Republican Army (146–30 B. C.), in: A Companion to the Roman Army, Oxford, 81–95. Galsterer, H. 1976: Herrschaft und Verwaltung im republikanischen Italien, MBPAR 68. München. Gargola, D. 1989: Aulus Gellius and the Property Qualifications of the Proletarii and the Capite Censi, CPh 84, 3, 231–234. Göhler, J. 1939: Rom und Italien, Breslau. Herzog, E. von. 1965: Geschichte und System der römischen Staatsverfassung. Bd. I. Abt. I, Aalen. Hin, S. 2008: Counting Romans, in: People, Land and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 B. C.–A. D. 14, Mnemosyne Suppl. 303, Leiden, 187–239. Kron, G. 2005: The Augustan Census Figures and the Population of Italy, Athenaeum 93, 441–495. Kübler, B., W. 1899: Capite censi, RE 3, 1521–1523. Lo Cascio, E. 1988: Ancora sui censi minimi delle cinque classe “serviane”, Athenaeum 66, 273– 302. Lo Cascio, E. 2008: Roman Census Figures in the Second Century B. C. and the Property Qualifications of the Fifth Class, in: People, Land and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 B. C.–A. D. 14, Mnemosyne Suppl. 303, Leiden, 239–257. Lo Cascio, E. 1994: The Size of the Roman Population: Beloch and the Meaning of the Augustan Census Figures, JRS 84, 23–40. Molthagen, J. 1973: Die Durchführung der gracchischen Agrarreform, Historia 22, 423–458. Mommsen, Th. 1879: Römische Forschungen. Bd. II, Berlin. Mommsen, Th. 1952: Römisches Staatsrecht. Bd. III. 1, Tübingen. Morley, N. 2001: The Transformation of Italy, 225–28 B. C., JRS 91, 50–62. Mouritsen, H. 2007: The civitas sine suffragio: Ancient Concepts and Modern Ideology, Historia 56. 141–158. Nissen, H. 1902: Italische Landeskunde. Bd. II. 1, Berlin. Northwood, S. 2008: Census and Tributum, in: People, Land and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 B. C.–A. D. 14, Mnemosyne Suppl. 303, Leiden, 257–269. Rich, J. W. 1983: The Supposed Roman Manpower Shortage of the Later Second Century B. C., Historia 32, 287–331. Salmon, E. T. 1936: Roman Colonization from the Second Punic War to the Gracchi, JRS 26, 1, 47–67. Scheidel, W. 2004: Human Mobility in Roman Italy, I: The Free Population, JRS 94, 1–26. Scheidel, W. 2008: Roman Population Size: the Logic of the Debate, in: People, Land and Politics. Demographic Developments and the Transformation of Roman Italy, 300 B. C.–A. D. 14, Mnemosyne Suppl. 303, Leiden, 17–71. Sherwin-White, A. N. 1939: The Roman Citizenship, Oxford. Schwann, W. 1939: Tributum und Tributus, RE 2. Reihe, 7, 3–78. Smith, R. E. 1958: Service in the Post-Marian Roman Army, Oxford. Sumner, G. V. 1970: The Legion and the Centuriate Organization, JRS 60, 67–78. Suolahti, J. 1963: The Roman Censors. A Study on Social Structure, Helsinki. Thomsen, R. 1980: King Servius Tullius, Copenhagen. Toynbee, A. J. 1965: Hannibal’s Legacy: The Hannibalic War’s Effects on Roman Life. Vol. I‑II, London. Wiseman, T. P. 1969: The Census in the First Century B. C., JRS 59, 59–75.

SULLA IN THE EAST: VENUS CONTRA DIONYSUM Evgeny V. Smykov (Saratov State University) When assessing Sulla’s actions in Greece against Mithridates, his agility and determination tends to be pointed out, as well as his ruthlessness coupled with cynicism. Thus S. A. Zhebelev regarded Sulla’s campaign in Greece as “one of the most remarkable in military history for the manner of conducting campaigns.”1 Fröhlich, defining the ways in which Sulla waged the war, noted that, “durch den hartnäckigen Widerstand gereizt, führte er den Krieg mit … Rücksichtslosigkeit”. This inappropriately casual and disrespectful attitude to historical precedents and the sites of the most honoured cults, “die Griechen um so mehr gegen ihm erbittern musste, als sie einst von Flamininus und Aemilius Paulus die mildeste Behandlung erfahren hatten.”2 Yet this did not happen. On the contrary, we know that in spite of all his cruel measures Sulla was successful in the execution of his missions and on the battlefield he was opposed only by the Pontic forces, with no participation by the Greeks. Moreover, in spite of the severe terms of the indemnity imposed on the delinquent towns, Mithridates had no further success with them. On the contrary, he faced resistance right from the start of his third war against Rome.3 None of the Asiatic cities ever attempted to detach themselves from the Romans. The reason why the Asiatic Hellenes lost interest in Mithridates is usually supposed to be his failure to keep the demagogic promises that he had given at the start of the First War, namely, exemption from taxes for five years, the grant of privileges and so forth.4 All authors agree that Mithridates was strongly disapproved of in Asia, which resulted in uprisings in some cities and punitive actions against Asians. Scholars’ opinions differ only on who exactly was displeased with Mithridates. Some consider that it was the whole bulk of citizen members of the cities, others narrow it down to the affluent part of the population, who feared the demagogic measures taken by Mithridates and the encroachment upon their property (liberation of slaves, repudiation of debt obligations and similar measures). The first point of view seems more plausible. Firstly, Mithridates resorted to sweeping social demagogy only after he had already earned strong disapproval in Asia.5 Secondly, the king of Pontus showed in practice how different the customs of eastern despotism 1 2 3 4 5

Zhebelev, S. A. 1898, 241. Fröhlich, F. 1900, 1538 f. As D.  Magie and B. G.  McGing emphasize, Cyzicus, the first large city in Asia reached by Mithridates, offered resistance: its inhabitants were unwilling to be detached from the Romans (Magie, D. 1950. Vol. 1, 231; McGing, B. G. 1986, 143). See, e. g.: Mommsen, T. 1937. Т. 2, 278; Keaveney, A. 1982, 99 f.; Magie, D. 1950. Vol. 1, 223 f.; Bernhardt, R. 1985, 58 f.; Reinach, Th. 1890, 178 f. See the sequence of events in App. Mithr. 46–48: repressive measures against Galatians and

146

Evgeny V. Smykov

were from those typical of the Hellenes’ city government, encroachment upon which affected the whole civic body. At the same time, however, another factor should be taken into account: a combination of carrot-and-stick policy in Roman politics and the propaganda of Roman military leaders, which was probably not so systematic and effective as that of Mithridates but which had nonetheless been spread from the time of the first engagement between the Roman armies and the forces of the Pontic king. To a certain extent, Q.  Braetius Sura, the legate of C.  Sentius, proconsul of Macedonia, who was sent to confront the forces of Archelaus and who was the first to join battle with the Pontic army, had already tried to win public opinion over to the side of Rome.6 Plutarch, who was certainly well-informed about the history of his native Boeotia, notes that Sura was faring much better than he could have hoped and that the Greeks, attracted by his irreproachable nobleness (διὰ ἐκείνου καλοκἀγαθίαν), were now ready to go over to the Romans.7 One may well consider that Sura’s work was what prepared the way for the quick return of Boeotia to Roman control. When Sulla arrived in Greece he had to move heaven and earth to deal with the critical situation in which he found himself. Nonetheless he put a propagandist spin on his most unattractive actions in an attempt to justify them. Perhaps one of the most scandalous deeds performed by the Roman military leader was his decision to confiscate temple treasures. It was harshly condemned, as can be seen in the Pausanias passage about the “theft” by Sulla of the statue of Athena from the temple in Alalcomenae: “After these mad outrages against the Greek cities and the gods of the Greeks he was attacked by the most foul of diseases. He broke out into lice, and what was formerly accounted his good fortune came to such an end” (Paus. IX. 33. 6). Modern scholars emphasize the unlawful character of these actions by saying that Sulla “robbed” the Greek sanctuaries.8 Undoubtedly these actions made an inauspicious impression on the Greeks, which is reflected in Pausanias’ assessment and in Plutarch’s narrative about the sign revealed to Caphis the Phocian in Delphi, who was to carry out the requisition (Plut. Sull. 12. 4–6). A. Keaveney must be the

6 7

8

Chians (46 f.); revolts in Ephesus, Tralles and other cities (48); punishment of the rebels by Mithridates and attempts to win the masses over to his side (ibid.). See: Klebs, E. 1897, 915. On the correct form of the name see Münzer, F. 1918, 218. He served as legatus of C. Sentius for six years from 93 till 87 B. C.: Broughton, T.R. S. 1986, 15, 17, 19, 22, 28, 36, 43, 50. Plut. Sulla. 11. 5. Fröhlich points out this reason: “Er hatte also die römischen Waffen wieder zu Ehren gebracht, und da er über dies durch seine gute Haltung das Vertrauen der Griechen gewonnen hatte, so waren diese bereits geneigt, zur römischen Herrschaft zurückzukehren” (Fröhlich, F. 1900, 1538). But cf. C. S. Mackay’s judgement: “It is conceivable that given Braetius Sura’s tenuous position, he did not wish to force the anti-Roman side into implacable opposition by draconian measures, and may have instituted a policy of clemency. Nonetheless, those who had taken Mithridates’ side could have had little illusion about their long-term fate in the event of Roman victory” (Mackay, C. 2000, 99, n. 30). Zhebelev, S. A. 1898, 244; Fröhlich, F. 1900, 1539 (“beraubte… ohne Scheu”); Afrika, T. W. 1974, 169; Christ, K. 1979., 203.

Sulla in the East: Venus contra Dionysum

147

only scholar who has paid attention to the ideological side of the matter, drawing on the answer that Sulla gave to Caphis, which is cited by Plutarch: music was not a sign of anger but of joy; Apollo wished him to take the treasure.9 Keaveney comments further, “An answer such as this reveals a man who, even in the midst of adversity, remains buoyed up by a supreme self-confidence which, in the circumstances, could only have its origin in an unshakeable belief in his own felicitas. So firm was Sulla’s faith in this felicitas, so profoundly did he believe in divine favour that, by his answer to Caphis, he showed he believed that the gods were willing that he, their darling, should borrow … such money as he needed for his campaigns from their temples.”10 A. Keaveney points out that the sanctuaries were not simply robbed, as the Greeks asserted. The treasures were borrowed from the gods (App. Mithr. 54; Plut. Sull. 12. 4). Such a debt was not interpreted as a mere formality: immediately after the victories in Greece Sulla paid damages, making an offering to the gods of lands to “ensure them annual revenues” (Diod. XXXVIII. 7).11 Sulla’s belief in his fеlicitas added a new quality to the conflict, to a certain degree shifting it to an ideological plane. Now the question was not only about whose forces would be stronger, but also whose heavenly patrons would prove more powerful; in this case it was ‘the new Dionysus’, and not just Mithridates, who resisted Sulla. Sulla, in turn, immediately after his invasion of Greece did his best to emphasize his veneration for the gods who granted him victory, and in particular for Venus. According to Appian, Sulla was given an instruction to obey Venus when he inquired of Apollo in Delphi about his future,12 and henceforth the name of Venus always accompanied the Roman military leader. Already on trophies built after the victory in the battle of Chaeronea, Sulla, as tradition dictated, in9

Plut. Sull 12. 5. Cf. Diod. XXXVIII. 7 – the gods came to help Sulla’s cause, by way of a large donation to his treasury. 10 Keaveney, A. 1982, 85 f. 11 Of these lands we know precisely only of the territory of the Thebans, half of which was given to the “Pythian and Olympian gods” (Plut. Sull. 19. 6; Paus. IX. 7. 6). There is no mention of the temple in Epidaurus in our sources, but it is clear that it too should have received some compensation; Appian (Mithr. 54) says that it got its share of Theban lands. It is at that time, according to Pausanias, that Thebes fell into “the last degree of weakness” (Paus. IX. 7. 6). The desolation of Thebes is also attested by Strabo, though he refers its origin to a much earlier period (Strabo. IX. 2. 5), so we can conclude that the size of the area detached by Sulla was not small. 12 App. BC I. 97. As far as we know, Sulla was the first Roman to consult the oracle in Delphi of his own accord, without a state commission (Volkmann, H. 1958, 40). Appian does not date this appeal even approximately, but judging by the context it must have happened soon after Sulla’s arrival in Greece. E. Gabba notes that the reasons why the oracle directed Sulla to a distant Carian temple remain unknown (Gabba, E. 1958, 266). H. Berve noticed the singularity of the oracle’s command and suggested that the date was 92 B. C. – the time of Sulla’s governorship in Cilicia (Berve, H. 1949, 133). Yet, in our opinion, there are different ways of explaining the choice of temple: the oracle’s text calls the Romans “Aeneas’ progeny”, so it is quite natural that one of the descendants of the hero, Sulla, was to undergo initiation in the temple of Aphrodite in “the historical native land” of the Roman people in Asia. On the Romans as Aeneades, see Fadinger, V. 2002, 171.

148

Evgeny V. Smykov

scribed three names, those of Mars, Victoria and Venus. The role of Venus in this trio was dual: on the one hand, as the goddess-progenitrix of the Romans she showed concern for the man who fought to protect her descendants.13 On the other hand, Venus was also the goddess of luck among the Romans,14 so she was directly related to the fеlicitas of Sulla himself.15 The symbolism connected with Venus can be seen very clearly on the coins Sulla minted during the war. There are two types of these coins,  aureus and denarius; especially interesting for our theme is the denarius.16 Its obverse bears the head of Venus and the figure of Cupid holding a palm branch above her; on the reverse we see a sacred vessel (praeferiсulum) and the augur’s rod (lituus) between two trophies and the legend IMPER(ATOR) ITERU(M).17 The image of two trophies is the subject of scholarly debate. About the first there are no doubts – it is the trophy in honour of the victory over Mithridates’ troops in the battle of Chaeronea; but what does the second trophy mean? When did the second acclamatio of Sulla take place? It is usually supposed that it was after his campaign in Cilicia or during the Social War,18 but our sources give no indication of this. In M. Crawford’s opinion there is no need to connect these two trophies with two acclamationes – they may well be the two trophies that Sulla erected after the battle of Chaeronea (Plut. Sulla. 19. 5; Dio Cass. XLII. 18. 3).19 But in that case the legend of the denarius would be incomprehensible: it was indeed possible to erect two trophies on the field of battle, but nobody could receive two acclamationes for one victorious battle. In my view, one ought to follow F. Santangelo and recognize that the double proclamation of the title of imperator almost certainly refers to the victories in Cilicia and in Chaeronea.20 The representation of Venus was minted to single her out as the giver of victory while the sacred objects referred to Sulla’s legitimate position. As A. Keaveney ironically writes, “if the Cinnans thought Sulla a public enemy, the gods were evi13 Keaveney, A. 1982, 83, 85; Volkmann, H. 1958, 38 f. 14 It is considered that the name of Venus is also related to the concept of venia, “grace of the Gods” (Boer, E. 1978, 1174). In classical times, the Romans called the best throw in the game of dice “Venus” (Hor. Carm. II. 7. 25 sq.). 15 It is not very clear if there was a cult of Venus Felix in Sulla’s time. This epithet of the goddess is registered only in the imperial period (Latte, K. 1960, 188), so to be on the safe side it is better to agree that “there is no clear evidence for the cult” (Ramage, E. S. 1991, 100, n. 38). But there are also supporters of the view that the cult of Venus Felix had already existed in the time of Sulla (see, e. g., Fears, J. R. 1981, 878). 16 On the obverse of the denarius there is a head of the goddess Roma wearing a helmet, and on the reverse a military leader in a triumphal chariot, being crowned by Victoria (Crawford, М. 1974, 379, No. 367). 17 Sydenham, E. A. 1952, 124, No.  760 (dated to 82 B. C.); Crawford, М. 1974, 373 No.  359 (dated to 84–83 B. C.). 18 See Van Ooteghem, J. 1959, 23 f.; Combès, R. 1966, 454; Fadinger, V. 2002, 186, n. 156. 19 Crawford, М. 1974, 373. The image of the two trophies appears also on the last issue of the Athenian New Style tetradrachms, which were minted by Sulla (Thompson, M. 1961, 425 ff., No. 1341–1345). On some possible interpretations of the second trophy see: Camp, J., Ierardi, M., McInerney, J., Morgan, K., Umholtz, G. 1996, 450, n. 26. 20 Santangelo, F. 2007, 205.

Sulla in the East: Venus contra Dionysum

149

dently of a different mind, for they saw in him the legitimate defender of Rome, sent him good signs and blessed his campaigns. And no deity blessed him more than Venus herself, the very mother of the Roman race. Patroness of Sulla, protector of her descendents, she is honoured on his coin as the giver of victory.”21 Veneration of Venus as the giver of victory is also substantiated by the gift sent by Sulla to Aphrodisias in Caria in accordance with the command given by the oracle in Delphi: a golden crown and an axe. These gifts were specifically dedicated to the warlike Aphrodite, “The dictator Sulla dedicates this to thee, Venus, because in a dream he saw thee in panoply setting the army in order of battle and fighting with the weapons of Mars” (Аpp. BC I. 97, translation by H. White). This veneration accounts for the fact that Sulla adopted the nickname of Epaphroditus (the favourite of Aphrodite), evidently right at the start of the campaign in Greece. In any case, Plutarch confirms that Sulla’s trophies in Boeotia (“in our land”) bore an inscription: “Lucius Cornelius Sulla Epaphroditus.”22 This is even more decisive since Sulla had not shown any signs of a special attitude to Venus before the war with Mithridates.23 Plutarch ranks Sulla’s Greek (Epaphroditus) and Latin (Felix) nicknames at the same level.24 Scholars are divided on this issue, but the discussion seems to be going in the wrong direction. Plutarch, naïve as he was, nonetheless raises an important question about the addressee of Sulla’s propaganda and, on the whole, gives the right answer. No doubt felicitas was a purely Roman conception which was alien to Greek religious thought.25 Yet there is no doubt either that Romans would not have understood the nickname Epaphroditus. So the propaganda addressed to the Greeks emphasized that Sulla was the favourite of the revered local goddess,26 while his compatriots were offered the more familiar con21 Keaveney, A. 1982, 118. 22 Plut. Sull. 34. 2. In this case we may well be able to trust Plutarch: the recent discovery of the second trophy put up by Sulla after the battle of Chaeronea shows that this monument bears the inscription of the names which Plutarch saw (text of the inscription: Camp, J., Ierardi, M., McInerney, J., Morgan, K., Umholtz, G. 1996, 445). This nickname is registered in later epigraphic monuments. See RDGE, No. 20 (L. Cornelius Sulla’s letter to the Thasians); No. 49 (letter de collegiis artificum Baсchiorum); No. 18 (senatusconsultum concerning the Stratoniceans) (= OGIS. 441). 23 Keaveney, A. 1982, 217. 24 Plut. Sullа. 34. 2: “…He gave an account of his achievements in a speech to the people, enumerating the instances of his good fortune with no less emphasis than his deeds of valour, and finally, in view of these, he ordered that he receive the surname of Fortunate (for this is what the word Felix most nearly means). But he himself, in writing to the Greeks on official business, styled himself Epaphroditus, or Favourite of Venus” (translation by B. Perin in Loeb edition). 25 Keaveney, A. 1982, 218. 26 Ramage, E. S. 1991, 100. By emphasizing the fact that the nickname of Epaphroditus was oriented towards the Greeks, H. Volkmann even named a chapter of his work after it: “Sullas Gegenideologie: der Liebling der Aphrodite”. See Volkmann, H. 1958, 36; cf. McGing, B. G. 1986, 148. Recently V. Fadinger has made an attempt to find new shades of meaning in the nickname Epaphroditus. See Fadinger, V. 2002. In his opinion, the nickname means “the beloved husband of Aphrodite” (p.  170) and correlates with the sacred marriage ceremony, a concept of the change of the four world monarchies and the transfer of not only ‘secular’ power from Sumer to Babylon, and by turns to the Assyrians, Persians, Alexander the Great and his

150

Evgeny V. Smykov

ception of felicitas, which was one of the most important qualities of the military leader.27 Of course, it would be interesting to know how both nicknames relate to the moment when they were first adopted, but there are no records of that. We can only make the general assertion that, during his engagement in Greece, Sulla had to uphold the morale of his forces; what form this took is difficult to say. The only thing we do know is that signs played a role in shaping the public mood in favour of Sulla and in lifting the morale of his troops. They must have been used more efficiently than those in the propaganda spread by Mithridates. The sources speak twice about signs that Sulla received during the campaign against the Pontic forces – at the beginning of the operations (App. BC I.  97) and then after the battle of Chaeronea (Plut. Sull. 17. 7 f.). These various cases are hardly grounds to state that Sulla made good use of the oracle’s predictions,28 but in any case the episode with Caphis indicates that he knew how to make use of prophecies and could turn to his own advantage even those which seemed inauspicious.29 After the victorious end of the campaign in Greece, the subsequent crossing into Asia and the peace of Dardanus, which ended the war, the content of propaganda changes dramatically. Among the disasters of this time, there is a reference to massacres perpetrated by free people and slaves for various causes, destruction of city walls, plunder, the sale of inhabitants into slavery (App. Mithr. 61) and violence and extortion practised by Sulla’s soldiers (App. Mithr. 63; Plut. Sull. 25. 4 f.). Such excesses were inevitable in an area marked by recent engagements, but overall the order in the provinces was promptly restored; at any rate, after Sulla’s departure from Asia only Mytilene continued to resist and it could not hope for mercy after handing over M’. Aquilius to Mithridates. The lot of each city was closely related to its position during the war. Those cities which actively supported Mithridates could not count on indulgence even if they had joined the struggle against the king of Pontus near the end of the war. A. Keaveney gives the most complete list of heirs, and Rome, but also the change in sacral supremacy: Anu – Bēl-Marduk – Bēl-Assur – Ahuramasdah – Zeus – Juppiter (p. 169). In this sense, Sulla as the beloved husband of Aphrodite is an heir to a two-thousand-year-long tradition which began with the holy marriage of Innana of Uruk and Dumuzi (p. 170, n. 66). Although V. Fadinger’s idea is very interesting, we take leave to doubt it: it presupposes, as a necessary condition, Sulla’s awareness of this eastern tradition, which is hardly likely. 27 About felicitas of a general see Cic. Leg. Man. 47–48. 28 This is what B. G. McGing believes. See: McGing, B. G. 1986, 149. K. Latte states: “Träume (Plut. Sull. 6 und 9. 4; App. BC I. 105) und Vorzeichen aller Art (Cic. Div. I. 72) spielen in seinem Bericht über seine Taten eine große Rolle” (Latte, K. 1960, 279). But it is easy to see that all the cited examples refer to Sulla’s actions in Italy. Against this background, the absence of similar information about the eastern campaign is even more significant. 29 Sometimes this passage is interpreted as evidence of Sulla’s free-thinking or even atheism (Molev, E. A. 1996, 69: “mockingly answered”; Reinach, T. 1890, 155; Balsdon, J. P. V. D. 1951, 9: light-hearted attitude to signs). But it follows from the sources that Sulla was neither freethinking nor an atheist, rather, he was extremely superstitious. As J. P. V. D. Balsdon observes, Plutarch in Sulla’s biography quotes his memoirs 16 times, of which 5 cases speak about dreams, signs and so on; in Balsdon’s view, Plutarch quotes Sulla a further 9 times without indicating the source, and every time it relates to supernatural and mysterious occurrences. See Balsdon, J.P.V. D. 1951, 2.

Sulla in the East: Venus contra Dionysum

151

cities that suffered punishment. In his opinion it was, in the first place, the participants in the murder of Italians (App. Mithr. 23: Ephesus, Pergamum, Adramyttium, Caunus, Tralles), and also Mytilene, Miletus, Clazomenae and, possibly, Phocaea and Cyzicus.30 Thus the list of cities punished for alliance with Mithridates is not so long; moreover, it is noteworthy that all these cities were punished in accordance with Roman notions of justice, by which their guilt was unquestionable. On the other hand, by restoring their freedom and granting certain privileges, Sulla rewarded those cities that suffered for their loyalty to the Romans – Ilium, the islands of Chios and Rhodes, the federation of Lycian cities (App. Mithr. 61) and Magnesia on the Sipylus.31 In addition, from epigraphic evidence we learn that some privileges were received by Tabae, Stratonicea, the island of Cos, Thermessus, Lampsacus, Apollonia in Lycia, Alabanda and Metropolis. Smyrna was most probably rewarded: it initially supported the king of Pontus but at the same time spared P. Rutilius Rufus, who stayed there throughout the whole war (Dio Cass. XXII–XXIX. 97. 2; Tac. Ann. IV. 43), and afterwards it rose in rebellion against Mithridates (Oros. VI. 2. 8).32 In any case, Cicero when talking about this city calls it “the oldest and most loyal ally of the Roman people” (Phil. XI. 2. 5). There are also some cities whose status is not clear, though their participation in the revolt against Mithridates is recorded – Colophon, Sardis and Cnidus (Orоs. VI. 2. 8; App. Mithr. 48; Plut. Luc. 3. 3). The size of this list is enormous, all the more so in that it is often a question of granting privileges and freedom to large territories (the islands of Cos, Chios and Rhodes, the Lycian federation).33 Thus, in spite of the fragmentary and incomplete evidence available, we may note that the list of beneficiaries is at the least not shorter than that of the punished.34 This does not fit the traditional picture, in which Asian cities went over to the side of Mithridates en masse and by choice. The punishment to be imposed on the province was payment of the enormous sum of twenty thousand talents (Plut. Sulla 25. 4; Luc. 4. 1; 20. 4; App. Mithr. 62– 63). Some scholars used to identify this figure as a contribution to military costs35 30 Keaveney, A. 1982, 230 f. Further, Keaveney admits that a number of communities were punished which had not taken part in the slaughter, but had also not rendered effective assistance to the Romans. 31 Keaveney (Keaveney, A. 1982, 231 f.) tried, drawing on the evidence of Tacitus (Ann. III. 62), to substantiate the view that it was Magnesia on the Maeander that was rewarded. But Appian mentions it together with Ephesus and Mytilene as a city that readily let Mithridates in and took his side. Moreover, the context of the report by Tacitus makes it clear that the question is not about the privileges given to the community as a whole but about giving asylia to the temple of Diana Leucophryne. 32 Lewis, R. G. 1991, 128 f. 33 R. M. Kallet-Marx rightly notes another important circumstance: “When we have evidence, it seems that as a rule Sulla rewarded these communities with grants of territory whose revenues will have assisted the cities’ recovery” (Kallet-Marx, R. M. 1996, 276). 34 There is yet another opinion: “…The freedom from tribute and direct Roman interference that many, perhaps most, Greek cities of Asia had enjoyed since 129 now came to an end except in a very few cases” (Kallet-Marx, R. M. 1996, 265). 35 See, for example, Mommsen, T. 1937, Vol. 2, 284; Kovaliov, S. I. 1986, 390; Reinach, T. 1890, 209.

152

Evgeny V. Smykov

and, moreover, the sum has sometimes been doubled by modern historians who add to this contribution the money paid by Asian cities to cover six-month payments to billeted soldiers.36 Yet, most likely, these twenty thousand talents included the contribution and taxes for the previous five years (eight and twelve thousand talents respectively).37 As has been rightly noted in the literature, this amount of contribution does not seem too large, especially if we consider that Mithridates demanded two thousand talents from the Chians alone.38 Our sources allow us to shed light on the propagandistic arrangement of the whole system of grants and punishments. First of all, let us turn to what Appian reports. In Chapters 57–58 of his “Mithridateios” he cites a speech allegedly made by Sulla at the meeting with Mithridates.39 It provides a number of accusations against the king of Pontus, but all of them, in essence, boil down to one main point: Mithridates hoped to rule the whole world if he could conquer the Romans. He, on various pretexts, attempted to appropriate the lands of the neighbouring kings: he expelled Ariobarzanes from Cappadocia and Nicomedes from Bithynia, conquered Phrygia, Paphlagonia and Galatia, and finally fell upon the Asiatic province of the Romans; then he crossed over to Europe with great armies, although the Romans had forbidden the invasion of Europe to all the kings of Asia. The conclusion of this speech is very simple: “you took up arms against us, and we vigorously repelled your assaults and repelled them to the end.” Apart from these, there are also other accusations: he committed all sorts of outrages on the cities, appointing slaves and debtors to rule over some of them, freeing slaves and cancelling debts in others; in the Greek cities he killed 1600 men on one false accusation; he brought the tetrarchs of Galatia together at a banquet and slew them; he butchered or drowned all residents of Italian blood in one day, including mothers and babes, not sparing even those who had fled to the temples. From Sulla’s point of view, such actions proved Mithridates’ cruelty, impiety and boundless hate towards the Romans. Thus, in this speech Mithridates sounds like an enemy not only of the Romans but also of the Hellenes as a whole; the concrete position of this or that city is of no importance. It was Mithridates who began the war, he provoked a revolt of slaves and debtors, and he arranged a massacre of the Romans. This interpretation of the war was evidently spread far and wide; at least, its characteristics as listed in the inscription SIG3 742 are very close to it. This inscription contains the resolution passed in Ephesus after the city had stirred up a rebellion against Mithridates and it presupposes the making of ‘civil peace’ in the city.40 The description of the previous events is embedded in the first part of the decree. If we leave aside the assurances of sincere devotion to the Romans and the assertion that they supported Mithridates under compulsion (l. 9–10: “overwhelming by his superiority in numbers and the 36 Reinach, T. 1890, 209; Ranovich, A. B. 1949, 36. 37 Rostovtzeff, M., Ormerod, H. A. 1932, 259; Broughton, T.R. S. 1938, 518, 562; Brunt, P. 1956, 17, 18; Magie, D. 1950. Vol. 2, 1115 f.; Keaveney, A. 1982, 127; Hind, J.G. F. 1994, 162. 38 Magie, D. 1950. Vol. 2, 1116. 39 The following discussion closely paraphrases the translation of Horace White in the Loeb edition. 40 This document dates from the years 86 or 85 (Kallet-Marx, R. M. 1996, 285).

Sulla in the East: Venus contra Dionysum

153

suddenness of his attack”, [τῷ] τε πλήθει τῶν δυνάμεων καὶ τῷ ἀπροσδοκήτῳ τῆς ἐπιβολῆς), they took the opportunity to declare war against him; Mithridates was accused, first of all, of violating the agreement with the Romans (l. 4–5: Μιθραδάτης Καππαδοκί[ας βασιλεὺς παραβὰς τὰς π]ρὸς Ῥωμαίους συνθήκας) and, secondly, of an attempt to become master of land that in no way belonged to him (l. 5: τῆς μηθὲν ἑαυτῷ προσ[ηκούσης χώρα]ς).41 Thereby, the decree characterizes the war against Mithridates as “the common project”, τὸ κοινὸν πράγμα (l. 12), and the Romans as “the common saviours”, κοινοὶ σωτῆρες (l. 1–2). Further, the war is characterized as a “war against Mithridates for the sake of the ἡγεμονία of the Romans and the freedom of all” (l. 12–14: τὸν πρὸς Μιθραδάτην πόλεμον ὑπέρ τε τῆς Ῥωμαίων ἡγεμονίας καὶ τῆς κοινῆς ἐλευθερίας). It is remarkable that ἡγεμονία is the word chosen to describe the relations with Rome. As we can see from the text of the inscription, the notions of ἡγεμονία and ἐλευθερία are not mutually exclusive. Ἐλευθερία meant freedom in the most general and broad sense of the word; it was this meaning that formed a stable part of the antithesis ἐλευθερία–δουλεία, and it related to political, military and philosophical definitions of relations between cities; it was an established notion which changed little in the course of time.42 Therefore, in this case, ἡγεμονία cannot possibly mean supremacy. If we turn to the meaning that the word had two centuries previously, in Greek social and political writings of the fourth century B. C. (in particular, in that of Isocrates), we find that ἡγεμονία is related to “superiority among Hellenes, but the superiority that is built on the principles of respect of the leader by his allies and the voluntary transfer of power”; in this sense it is opposed to ἀρχή, which refers to unjust relations within the alliance, the oppression of allies.43 Thus, this inscription shows that the Romans acted as leaders of “the common cause” – the war against Mithridates – rather than as the sovereigns of Asia. Now let us turn to the documents that contain senatusconsulta concerning Asian cities. The most extensive and best-preserved of them is the senatusconsultum on Stratonicea (81 B. C.).44 This document contains a number of privileges that, as Sulla believed, the inhabitants of Stratonicea in Caria had received. Apart from the renewal of the ancient alliance with Rome, the privileges encompassed the right to enjoy the laws that had existed in the city before the war; the confirmation of all resolutions made in the city during the war and all grants given by Sulla (OGIS 441, 95 f.); a grant of asylia to the temple of Hecate; a commission for the next officials sent from Rome to Asia, that they attend to the restoration of property lost by inhabitants of the city; the release of prisoners of war; and a number of honorary privileges for the Stratonicean ambassadors in Rome. Why did the city get “an impressive list” of privileges, as R. Sherk puts it? The answer is in the first lines of the document: “We know that you and your ancestors 41 It is interesting to note that, in his turn, Mithridates aimed in his propaganda to justify the legality of his acquisitions. cf. Just. XXXVIII. 7. 10. 42 Isaeva, V. I. 1983. Т. 2, 113 f., esp. p. 116 f. 43 Isaeva, V. I. 1994, 132. 44 OGIS 441 = RDGE No. 18.

154

Evgeny V. Smykov

acted by rights with regard to our hegemony and in all circumstances never failed in your loyalty to us; in the war against Mithridates you were the first in Asia to join battle against him ([οὐκ ἀγνοοῦμεν ὑμᾶς] διὰ προ[γ]όνων πάντα τὰ δίκαια [πρὸς τὴν ἡμετέρα]ν ἡγεμ[ον]ίαν πεποιηκότας καὶ ἐν [παντί καιρῶι τὴν πρὸς ἡ]μᾶς πί[σ]τιν εἰλικρινῶς τετηρηκότας [ἔν τε τῶι πρὸς Μιθραδά]την π[ο] λέμωι πρώτους τῶι ἐν τῆι [Ἀσίαι ἀντιτεταγμένους κα]ὶ διὰ ταῦτα κινδύνους πολλούς [τε καὶ παντοδαποὺς] ὑπὲρ τῶν ἡμετέρων δημοσίων [πραγμάτων προθυμό]τατα ἀ[ν]αδεδεγμένους (OGIS 441, 3–9). Further, the decree under study repeatedly mentions a set of qualities which the Stratoniceans maintained with regard to the Roman people: they “have always been invariably friendly, loyal and amicable toward the Roman people both in peace and wartime” (τήν τε φιλίαν κ[αὶ πίστιν καὶ εὔνοιαν πρὸς τὸν δῆ]μον τὸν Ῥωμαίων διὰ τέλους [ἐν καιρῷ εἰρήνης πολέμου τε] εὶ συντετηρηκέναι).45 These qualities were duly revealed when the Stratoniceans were “the first in Asia” to join battle against Mithridates (l. 6–7; cf. l. 38), and during this fight “they resisted bravely the forces and power of the king” ([προθυμότατα ἀντετάχθη] τῆι βασιλικῆι β[ί]αι καὶ δυνάμει (l. 47–48, cf. l. 84–86: τοῖς τε βασιλέω[ς Μιθραδάτου ἡγεμόσιν δυν]άμεσίν τε ἐπανδρότατα πε[ρὶ τῶν πόλεων τῆς Ἀσίας καὶ τῆς] Ἑλλάδος ἀ[ν]τιτετάχθαι), they also helped the Romans by mustering troops, amassing provisions and incurring a great expenditure of public resources (l. 80–81); on the whole, the conduct of the Stratoniceans in this war is defined as “greatness of spirit” (l. 83: ὑπὲρ τῆς μεγαλοφροσύνη[ς τῆς ἑαυτῶν]). As to the character of the war waged by Mithridates, he was charged with tyrannizing Asia in the most cruel way (l. 38–39: ([Μιθρ]αδάτης ἐν αὐτῆι (sc.: ἐν Ἀσίαι) [δεινότατα ἐτυράννευεν]) and the Stratoniceans fought “for the cities of Asia and Hellas” (1. 85–86). Similar descriptions of the conduct of the city and the type of the war can be found in the less well preserved senatusconsultum de Tabenis (OGIS 442 = RDGE No. 17). The two senatusconsulta coincide even in their phrasing: this one, too, points out that the inhabitants of the city “resisted bravely the king’s forces and military leaders for Asia and Hellas”. (l. 1–3, cf. OGIS 441, 84–86), and then there is a pledge that the Senate and the Roman people do “remember and will remember their loyalty” (l. 6–7: [αὐτῶν πίστιν διὰ μ]νήμης ἔχειν ἕξειν τε). The list of the privileges given to Tabae is badly damaged and incomplete, yet it includes, as is also the case with Stratonicea, some territorial increments, which were given to the citizens of Tabae “for their valour and merits” (l. 8: [τῆς τού]των ἀρετῆς καὶ καταλογῆς ἕν[εκεν]), as well as permission to fortify the settlement of Thyessa (χωρίον Θυησσόν) (l. 12–13). Even more fragmentary is the letter of Sulla and senatusconsultum addressed to the Thasians (RDGE No. 20). However, it also includes a pledge to remember now and in the future the merits of the Thasians, though it is not clear which merits exactly, because the text is badly damaged (Е, l. 10–11; the wording is a verbatim version of the record on the senatusconsultum about Tabae) and some lines below there is an indication of “valour and merits” of the Thasians toward the Romans (E, 45 OGIS 441, 78–80; cf. the same list in l. 37 and 45 (where συμμαχία appears instead of φιλία).

Sulla in the East: Venus contra Dionysum

155

1. 13) and that they would sooner lay down their lives for the Roman cause than in any circumstances break friendship with the Roman people (C, l. 3–5: τὰ πνεύματα ὑπὲρ τῶν δημοσίων πραγμάτων ἡμετέρων ἐν τῆι χρείαι ἀποβάλειν μᾶλλον ἢ ἔν τινι καιρῶι ἀπὸ τῆς τοῦ δήμου τοῦ Ῥωμαίων φιλίας ἀπεστατηκέναι). Thus the cited epigraphic materials on the whole coincide in their descriptions and assessments of the events. In all the documents examined, the cities were rewarded for their loyalty to the Roman people and the hardships and privations that they had endured. Certainly, the shared stylistic devices in the cited texts can easily be explained by their official rhetorical style, but it is important to remember that “the style reflects an established system of views, a ‘system of phrases’, which goes beyond a particular work created in this style. The semantics of style… reveals a whole world outlook… The goal of stylistic analysis should be a system of views that generates a system of phrases.”46 If one holds to a prevalent view according to which the point of Roman politics was an unrelenting supremacy,47 the rhetoric of the senatusconsulta would be, at best, considered hypocrisy. To share this view is, at the same time, to forget to draw the very important dividing line between conquest and government. The well-known Spanish philosopher J.  Ortega-y-Gasset wrote on this: “…The stable, normal relation amongst men which is known as ‘rule’ never rests on force… Napoleon led an aggressive force against Spain, maintained his aggression for a time, but, properly speaking, never ruled in Spain for a single day. And that, although he had the force, and precisely because he had it. It is necessary to distinguish between a process of aggression and a state of rule. Rule is the normal exercise of authority, and is always based on public opinion, today as a thousand years ago… […] All displacement of power, every change of authority, implies a change of opinions, and therefore nothing less than a change of historical gravitation.”48 It was such “a change of opinion” that took place in the East during the First Mithridatic War. The Romans not only placed the cities that had fallen away from them in Asia back under their power, but they also demonstrated that alliance with them was more beneficial than war. Against the background of the total destruction of the territories where there had been military operations, the privileges granted to the true allies of Rome looked very substantial. As R. Sherk has written about the senatusconsultum on the Stratoniceans, “this and similar grants in Asia must have done much to awaken the eastern cities to a realization of Rome’s iron grip upon their futures and of her willingness to reward their loyalty. Thus, when Mithridates returned, their attitudes were generally hostile to his overtures.”49 During the First Mithridatic War, the Asians were not presented with 46 Kovelman, A. B. 1988, 9. 47 This point of view was brilliantly conveyed by the Italian scholar P. Treves: “Hannibal’s failure marked the end, or the beginning of the end, of the balance of power system within the area of the Mediterranean and of the Hellenistic East. …The Romans believed that the conquerors of Hannibal, the successors of Alexander the Great, the butchers of Carthage and Corinth and Numantia had nothing and no one to fear. Why then should they draw a line and admit that there were peoples beyond it with an equal right to live?” (Treves, P. 1970, 26). 48 Ortega-y-Gasset, J. 1932, 90–91. 49 RDGE 111. Cf.: Magie, D. 1950, Vol. 1, 231; MсGing, B. G. 1986, 143.

156

Evgeny V. Smykov

a choice between freedom and enslavement; the alternative was a different one – either the supremacy of Mithridates or the hegemony of the Romans. The initial choice in favour of Mithridates had revealed that “the liberation of the Hellenes” proclaimed by him was no more than a propagandistic slogan. The basis for the dissemination of this slogan in propaganda was a conflict of long standing, the “conflict between the actual loss of a city’s freedom and the illusion of its possession in the minds of the Greeks.”50 Its history begins at the time of the Diadochi and is normally seen as ending in the late third/early second centuries B. C. Erich Gruen extends the life-span of this slogan in the Hellenistic world to the end of the second century B. C.51 It seems that we can add several decades and state that the last attempt to employ this slogan against the Romans was made during the First Mithridatic War. And again, as with the previous attempts to use the slogan, it proved ineffective.52 The practice of the eastern despot differed from his propaganda. In this sense, Roman propaganda turned out to be more successful. If in the earlier period the Romans extensively used the ‘liberation’ slogan, now it was out of the question. The cities that fully supported them realized that they were primarily waging the war ὑπὲρ τῆς Ῥωμαίων ἡγεμονίας. However, in their understanding ‘the common freedom’ stands alongside Roman hegemony. Certainly, the conception of freedom had changed by this time: ἐλευθερία “loses every connection with the notion of state independence and sovereignty, and it … meant self-government, its statehood, its νόμοι, a free hand over the land area.”53 Yet it was neither the Romans nor their state that were guilty of making these changes; they had already happened in the Hellenistic monarchies, and the Romans merely adopted the existing system of relations. Certainly the Romans, by right of conquest, did not consider that it was impossible for them to make use of the areas under their control. But, firstly, it was only those cities that backed Mithridates whose lands were confiscated and passed over to the loyal allies of Rome. Secondly, the question was only about the right to possession of an area, “also including the one that formed chora of the cities. In the inner structure of this chora (as well as of a city) the Romans did not interfere: they passed on… villages, fortifications and so forth, and what kind of villages these were, how the cities that had got the privileges would use them – this was not their business. The city government existed as if by itself and could only be efficient as long as it did not collide with the Romans’ interests…”54 In contrast to the Romans, Mithridates tried to establish his supremacy by actively interfering in the established city property-relations and encroaching on the city’s freedom; although it existed only in the public consciousness, and was fictive at that, this freedom was still dear to the hearts of Hellenes. The Romans, on the contrary, did not interfere in the existing relations and let the cities that recognized their hegemony live their normal lives; they rewarded them for their loyalty to “friendship and alliance” and punished apostates. It was these foundations of Ro50 51 52 53 54

Kashcheyev, V. I. 1990, 42. Gruen, E. S. 1984, Vol. 1, 156. See: Kashcheyev, V. I. 1993, 284 f. Ranovich, A. B. 1950, 51 f.; Golubzova, E. S. 1992, 66 f. Svenciсkaja, I. S. 1982, 123.

Sulla in the East: Venus contra Dionysum

157

man policy that the senatusconsulta and Sulla’s letters aimed to explain; and since all of these documents, carved in stone, were exposed in public places, we can say that they were a very effective means of Roman political propaganda. As the subsequent events showed, this combination of words (means of propaganda) and action (not only punishment of those encroaching on Roman supremacy but also a reward for the loyal allies) proved optimal: the excesses of the period of the First Mithridatic War were very likely to be the last attempt to change the political orientation. In the course of this war, the cities of Asia made their choice and thereafter, for centuries, there was no mass anti-Rome movement. BIBLIOGRAPHY Afrika, T. W. 1974: The Immense Majesty. A History of Rome and the Roman Empire, New York. Balsdon, J.P.V. D. 1951: Sulla Felix, JRS 41, 1–9. Bernhardt, R. 1985: Polis und römische Herrschaft in der späten Republik (149–31 v. Chr.), Berlin; New York. Berve, H. 1949: Gestaltende Kräfte der Antike, Munich. Boer, E. 1978: Venus, in: DKP 5, 1173–1179. Broughton, T.R. S. 1938: Roman Asia, An Economic Surwey of Ancient Rome, Vol. 4, Baltimore, 499–918. Broughton, T.R. S. 1986: The Magistrates of the Roman Republic, Vol. 2, Atlanta (Ga.). Brunt, P. 1956: Sulla and the Asian publicans, Latomus 14, 17–25. Camp, J., Ierardi, M., McInerney, J., Morgan, K., Umholtz, G. 1996: A Trophy from the Battle of Chaironeia of 86 B. C., AJA 96, 443–455. Christ, K. 1979: Krise und Untergang der römischen Republik, Darmstadt. Combès, R. 1966: Imperator (Recherches sur 1’emploi et la signification du titre d’imperator dans la Rome républicaine), Paris. Crawford, М. 1974: Roman Republican Coinage, Vol. 1, Cambridge. Fadinger, V. 2002: Sulla als Imperator Felix und “Epaphroditos” (= “Liebling der Aphrodite”), Widerstand – Anpassung – Integration. Die griechische Staatenwelt und Rom, Stuttgart, 155–188. Fears, J. R. 1981: The Theology of Victory at Rome: Approaches and Problems, ANRW 2. 17. 2, 737–826. Fröhlich, F. 1900: Cornelius Sulla Felix, in: RE 4, 1522–1566. Gabba, E. 1958: Appiani bellorum civilium liber primus, Florence. Golubzova, E. S. 1992: Polis i monarkhija v epokhu Selevkidov (Polis and Monarchy in the Seleucid Period), in: Ellinizm: Vostok i Zapad (Hellenism: East and West), Moscow, 59–84 (in Russian). Gruen, E. S. 1984: The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome, Vol. 1–2, Berkeley; Los Angeles; London. Hind, J.G. F. 1994: Mithridates, in: CAH2, Vol. IX, 129–164. Isaeva, V. I. 1983: Prinzipy mezhpolisnykh otnoshenij konza V – serediny IV v. do n. e. (The principles of inter-polis relations from the end of the 5th to the mid-4th century B. C.), in: Antichnaja Grecija (Ancient Greece), Vol. 2, Moscow (in Russian). Isaeva, V. I. 1994: Antichnaja Grezija v zerkale ritoriki: Isokrat (Ancient Greece in the Mirror of Rhetoric: Isocrates), Moscow (in Russian). Kallet-Marx, R. M. 1996: Hegemony to Empire: The Development of the Roman Empire in the East from 148 to 62 B. C., Berkeley; Los Angeles; London. Kashcheyev, V. I. 1990: Lozung osvobozhdenija grekov v mezhgosudarstvennych otnoshenijakh Vostochnogo Sredizemnomorija (III–II vv. do n. e.) (The “Freedom of the Greeks” as a Slogan in Relations among the States of the East Mediterranean Area in the Third and Second Century B. C.), AMA 7, 41–50 (in Russian).

158

Evgeny V. Smykov

Kashcheyev, V. I. 1993: Ellinisticheskij mir i Rim: vojna, mir i diplomatija v 220–146 godakh do n. e. (The Hellenistic World and Rome: War, peace and diplomacy 220–146 B. C.), Moscow (in Russian). Keaveney, A. 1982: Sulla: The Last Republican, London; Canberra. Keaveney, A. 1982a: Sulla Augur: Coins and Curiate Law, AJAH, 7, 150–171. Klebs, E 1897: Bruttius (10), in: RE 3, 915. Kovaliov, S. I. 1986: Istorija Rima (A History of Rome), Leningrad (in Russian). Kovelman, A. B. 1988: Ritorika v teni piramid (Rhetoric in the Shadow of the Pyramids), Moscow (in Russian). Latte, K. 1960: Römische Religionsgeschichte, Munich. Lewis, R. G. 1991: Sulla and Smyrna, CQ, N. S. 41, 126–129. Mackay, C. 2000: Damon of Chaeronea: The Loyalties of a Boeotian Town during the First Mithridatic War, Klio 82, 1, 91–106. Magie, D. 1950: Roman Rule in Asia Minor, Vol. 1–2, Princeton. McGing, B. G. 1986: The Foreign Policy of Mithridates VI Eupator, King of Pontus, Leiden. Molev, E. A. 1996: Vlastitel’ Ponta (The Master of Pontus), Nizhny Novgorod (in Russian). Mommsen, T. 1937: Istorija Rima (A History of Rome), Vol. 2, Moscow; Leningrad (in Russian). Münzer, F. 1918: Bruttius (10), in: RE Supp. 3, 218. Ortega-y-Gasset, J. 1932  The Revolt of the Masses. Authorized translation [by R. Carey], New York. Ramage, E. S. 1991: Sulla’s Propaganda, Klio 73, 1, 93–121. Ranovich, A. B. 1949: Vostochnye provinzii Rimskoj Imperii v I–III vv. (The Eastern Provinces of the Roman Empire in the 1st–3rd centuries A. D.), Moscow (in Russian). Ranovich, A. B. 1950: Ellinizm i ego istoricheskaja rol (Hellenism and Its Historical Role), Moscow; Leningrad (in Russian). Reinach, Th. 1890: Mithridate Eupator, roi de Pont, Paris. Rostovtzeff, M., Ormerod, H. A. 1932: Pontus and its Neighbours: The First Mithridatic War, in: CAH1, Vol. IX, 211–262. Santangelo, F. 2007: Sulla, the Elites and the Empire. A Study of Roman Policies in Italy and the Greek East, Leiden; Boston. Svenciсkaja, I. S. 1982: Mark Antonij i maloaziatskie polisy (Marc Antony and the Poleis of Asia Minor), in: Sozialnaja struktura i politicheskaja organizazja antichnogo obschestva (Social Structure and Political Organization of Ancient Society), Moscow, 119–134 (in Russian). Sydenham, E. A. 1952: The Coinage of the Roman Republic, London. Thompson, M. 1961: The New Style Silver Coinage of Athens, New York. Treves, P. 1970: Balance of Power Politics in Classical Antiquity, Moscow. Van Ooteghem, J. 1959: Lucius Licinius Lucullus, Namur. Volkmann, H. 1958: Sullas Marsch auf Rom. Der Verfall der römischen Republik, Munich. Zhebelev, S. A. 1898: Iz istorii Afin. 229–31 gody do R. Khr. (From the History of Athens. 229–31 B. C.), St. Petersburg (in Russian).

MITHRIDATES AND SERTORIUS* Anton V. Korolenkov (Journal “New and Modern History”, Moscow) The story of the alliance between Mithridates VI Eupator, King of Pontus, and the rebellious Marian proconsul Quintus Sertorius has already been the subject of scholarly investigations, and the question has been thoroughly studied both in the chronology of the events and the circumstances in which the treaty of alliance was concluded. The consequences of the treaty, too, have been thoroughly investigated. Many views have been expressed on this matter, but not all the problems have been fully resolved and there is much space for further work on the topic. It is widely supposed that the first contacts between Mithridates and Sertorius took place in 79 B. C.1 This conclusion is reached because Cicero mentions that Verres sold a myoparo to L. Magius and L. Fannius and hoc illi navigio ad omnis populi Romani hostis usque ab Dianio ad Sinopam navigaverunt (Verr. II. 1. 87). It is known that Dianium was the naval base of Sertorius (Strabo. III. 4. 6), and Magius and Fannius were the begetters of the alliance between the Marian proconsul and the king of Pontus (App. Mithr. 68), whose capital was Sinope. However, it cannot be concluded with certainty from these words of Cicero that Magius and Fannius were sent on the diplomatic mission from Mithridates to Sertorius as early as 79 B. C. The foreign policy situation in 79 B. C. suggests that such contacts were not likely at that time. The war with Murena had been ended by Mithridates not long before, he sought a firm peace with Rome and the written confirmation of the treaty of Dardanus that had been concluded verbally in 85 B. C.2 The contacts with Sertorius would have compromised him in this situation, so they can hardly have taken place at that time.3 Moreover, the rebellious Marian proconsul was not a prominent figure in 79 B. C. and so he would not have interested Mithridates at that point.4 In the mid-70s the situation changed. Mithridates was by then convinced that Rome would not ratify the treaty of Dardanus and that his kingdom would become an object of Roman aggression sooner or later. Consequently he began to prepare for the new war. The alliance with Sertorius5 was of great importance in the context of these preparations. * 1 2 3 4 5

Translated from Russian by Ye. A. Semyonova. See literature in: Ballesteros Pastor, L. 1996, 204, n. 58. Geyer, F. 1932, 2179. McGing, B. 1986, 138. Spann, Ph. O. 1987, 100. Not for nothing, as М. Gelzer writes, do Livy (per. 93) and Appian (Mithr. 68) tell that Mithridates began the war only after the conclusion of the alliance with Sertorius (Gelzer, M. 1963, 144). After all, we should remember that it was the king who took the initiative in the agreement.

160

Anton V. Korolenkov

Diodorus relates that as far back as the Social War the Italians had offered Mithridates an alliance. They wanted him to land on the Italian peninsula, but the King replied that he first wanted to conquer Asia (XXXVII. 2. 11). As G. De Sanctis wrote: “Certo egli non prevedeva сhe i Romani impegnati in così terribile guerra nella [Apennine] penisola, sarebbero stati in grado di contendergli nello stesso tempo il possesso dell’Asia.”6 In his turn B. McGing supposes that the offer by the Italians was none too promising because the Social War was almost over by then.7 Of course one may doubt such a sceptical assessment because we do not know how things would have turned out if the King had responded positively to the insurgents’ call.8 Further, Diodorus’ report is dubious in itself. Taking into consideration that Italians also suffered in the slaughter committed by Mithridates in Asia, it is not likely that they would appeal to him. Also, it is doubtful whether the King wanted to attack Italy even after the conquest of Asia: after the Ephesian massacre he could scarcely count on any support in the Apennine peninsula. That is why his landing in Italy would have had no prospect of success (the probable help of the Greek communities, whether they wanted to assist him or not, would have been insufficient for him). Finally there is the question of the sources of Diodorus’ account. Only a few persons could have known about this mission and they would hardly have told the Romans about it, but everything clicks into place if we suppose that the Romans fabricated this story for propaganda purposes.9 From their point of view the agreement between their worst enemies seemed entirely natural, and such an ‘insignificant’ fact as the massacre of Italians in Asia was important only in the eyes of Italians but not of Romans. The problem of Mithridates’ supposed attack on Italy after his victory in Asia thus also becomes clear: it too was a Roman propaganda move. Note that this propaganda ascribed the same plans to the King even at the end of the Third Mithridatic War,10 no matter how absurd such plans would have been at that time.11 6 7 8

De Sanctis, G. 1976, 98. McGing, B. 1986, 137. This is the opinion that K. L. Goulenkov and I expressed earlier (Goulenkov, K. L., Korolenkov, A. V. 2001, 64, n. 4). 9 The same may be supposed about another of Diodorus’ tales related to Social war. According to him, 10,000 Italians wanted to march on Rome but Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus “dissuaded” them from doing so (XXXVII. 1. 3; see: Korolenkov, A. V., Smykov, Ye. V. 2007, 385, n. 45). This tale was possibly created by Domitius Ahenobarbus himself or by one of his partisans, for it was his reputation that gained by it. 10 Plut. Pomp. 41; Flor. III. 5. 25; App. Mithr. 101–102; 109–110; Dio Cass. XXXVII. 11. 1. 11 Nevertheless historians regard this plan as certain, no matter how fantastic it is. See Molev, Ye. A. 1995, 134; Reinach, Th. 1895, 402–403; Geyer, F. 1932, 2196; Ballesteros Pastor, L. 1996, 273–274. It should be noted that many historians have called this plan inexecutable, an adventure and even a manifestation of the king’s madness (for a series of opinions see: Havas, L. 1968, 13; Havas [1968, 14–25] is quite serious in defending the King’s plan as feasible); B. McGing is more cautious (1986, 165). It should be noted that we find this tale in rather late sources; the earliest of them relate to the beginning of the second century A. D. Obviously Mithridates could not have had any support in Italy. If he said anything about such a plan, it would only be for propaganda purposes – he wanted to encourage his partisans and influence those who were hesitating.

Mithridates and Sertorius

161

It is true that some historians think that the insurgent Italians coined money from the gold sent to them by Mithridates,12 but that is only speculation. Besides, financial support and a military alliance (and moreover a plan to attack Italy) are not the same thing. E. Gabba maintains that Sertorius’ alliance with Mithridates emerged due to the influence of Italians who openly took part in the Sertorian movement or supported it in secret, especially from the south of the Apennine peninsula (because the merchants in these lands had especially good trade links with the East).13 Taking into consideration all that has been said above, this idea seems very doubtful. Of course, the businessmen from the south of Italy maintained contacts with anyone who was ready to pay them for goods and information (and also with both Mithridates and Sertorius). But that does not necessarily mean that they were the ones who persuaded Sertorius to unite with Mithridates (especially as we know that the rebellious proconsul had his own reasons for this alliance). The originators of the idea of this alliance (as Appian and Orosius record) were the Fimbrian officers L. Magius and L. Fannius, who deserted from the Romans to Mithridates. The king was convinced by them that such an alliance offered him good prospects (App. Mithr. 68; Oros. VI. 2. 12), as they told him of the strength of Sertorius’ army and his military success. Mithridates had once already missed an opportunity to conclude an advantageous treaty with the enemies of Rome, i. e. the rebellious Italians (Diod. XXXVII. 2. 11).14 This time he was more cautious and accepted the plan proposed by the deserters. As is reported by Plutarch, certain ambassadors of the King went to Spain “carrying a letter and with verbal proposals to Sertorius” (Plut. Sert. 23. 4). Surely these ambassadors were Fannius and Magius themselves, because Cicero says that they sailed from Dianium to Sinope; Appian also writes that, after the conclusion of the alliance, Sertorius sent them to the King as war counsellors (Mithr. 68), which means they must have visited Spain. Sertorius called a meeting of the emigrant ‘senate’ to discuss Mithridates’ proposal. Contrary to the view of M. Gelzer,15 the rebels’ position was far from ideal. During the campaign of 75 B. C. they lost large territories on the Mediterranean coast of Spain, Celtiberia Citerior and the territory of the Vaccaei.16 That was why the idea of alliance with the irreconcilable enemy of Rome did not meet opposition from the ‘senators’. Insurgents from Rome were also not worried by the fact that the inhabitants of Rome and Italy would dislike their alliance with the King of Pon12 Letzner, W. 2000, 126, n. 85. 13 Gabba, E. 1954, 316–317. 14 B. McGing believes that the proposal of alliance made by the Italians (as mentioned by Diodorus) did not really have any prospect of success, because the Social war was already near its end (McGing, B. 1986, 137). But we do not know what the result would have been if the king had been more responsive to the Italians’ call. 15 Gelzer, M. 1949, 54–55. W. H. Bennett went even further. He thought that even in 73 B. C. the positions of the insurgents were firm and that they even wanted to march on Rome (!) (Bennett, W. H. 1961, 468, n. 78). 16 Gurin, I. G. 2001, 202–216.

162

Anton V. Korolenkov

tus.17 As is stated by Plutarch, discussion was begun only about some terms of the treaty. Mithridates claimed Bithynia, Cappadocia and also the Roman province of Asia. The ‘senators’ were prepared to agree to this demand, but Sertorius positively refused to cede Asia to Mithridates because he regarded it as an inalienable part of the Roman state (Plut. Sert. 23. 4–7).18 The alliance of Mithridates and Sertorius has been investigated thoroughly, but as far as I know no-one before now has asked the following question: why did the King of Pontus decide to conclude the treaty at all if the insurgents in Spain would have continued their struggle anyway? He did not need to persuade the rebels to keep fighting the Senate and he could help them financially without any formal agreement. The reasons for his initiative seem to be the following. First and foremost, by the fact of the treaty of alliance itself he annihilated any possibility of reconciliation between the Sertorians and the Senate. Now this idea may seem strange, but at that moment nothing was clear. The Sullans had restored grain distribution, the tribunes were permitted to hold other positions simultaneously and no-one was sure that, on the brink of war with Pontus, there would be no plan in Rome of coming to terms with the insurgents in Spain. Also, the king’s informants may have attached too much value to the words of senators in private talks. Eventually, by concluding the treaty with Sertorius the king did not suffer any loss, because the war was already decided. He may have seriously believed in Sertorius’ success; otherwise the question about Asian territory would not have been raised at all. He had an example in Sulla, who used Pontus’ money and was able to snatch a victory from the Marians19 even though their political regime was supported by most of Italy. The Sullans (Mithridates may have thought) were not finding support and this fact might compensate for the military weakness of the Sertorians. And one more circumstance should be mentioned: the peace of Dardanus had been concluded verbally, but now the written treaty was in doubt. B. Scardigli supposes that the negotiations lasted a long time (beginning in 79 B. C. – vide supra) and that that was Sertorius’ fault; he agreed to conclude the treaty only once he knew that Pompey had set off against him.20 However, it was noted above that such an early dating of the start of serious conflict between Mithridates and Sertorius can hardly be correct. It is most probable that Mithridates offered Sertorius an alliance only once he knew of the grave illness of Nicomedes IV,21 which made the bequest of Bithynia a practical issue. Sertorius in turn had no 17 Scullard, H. H. 1964, 91. 18 I. König writes (perhaps overstating the case somewhat) that he sees here a conflict between Sertorius and Perperna’s group, which was predominant in the émigré ‘senate’ (König, I. 2000, 455). 19 This may be the reason why the terms of the peace of Dardanus and the treaty between Mithridates and Sertorius are strikingly similar. These consisted of payments and the delivery of part of the fleet (Gulenkov, K. L. 1998, 60), and the sums in both cases are the same, i. e. 3000 talents if we believe Memnon’s report about the terms of the peace of Dardanus (35. 2). Plutarch reports 2000 (Sulla. 22. 9). 20 Scardigli, B. 1971, 253 and n. 102. 21 The idea that Mithridates’ activity was provoked by news of Nicomedes’ bad health was pro-

Mithridates and Sertorius

163

reason to decline the help of Pontus in the difficult conditions of his struggle with Metellus and Pompey (Plutarch reports only the debates on the terms of the agreement in the emigrant ‘senate’). As a result the treaty was concluded on the following terms: Mithridates received Bithynia, Cappadocia (Plut. Sert. 24. 3) and (as Appian reports) Galatia, Paphlagonia and Asia (Mithr. 68. 288). In addition, the Roman officers with a detachment of soldiers led by М. Marius22 were sent to him from Spain. The latter (as Plutarch reports) became the governor of the province of Asia. In return, Mithridates promised to send 300 talents23 and 40 ships to Sertorius (Plut. Sert. 24. 3). The variation between Plutarch and Appian on the realms in Asia Minor ceded to the king (Plutarch reports two, Appian four) may be interpreted in different ways. We could suppose that the king claimed all four realms and the Roman province, but later renounced Asia. But it may be thought in general that he wanted to get two realms and the province, and that he renounced the latter in exchange for Galatia and Paphlagonia. However, that combination looks risky, and it would be more effective to ask for more to get more. Some scholars in fact believe that Asia, too, was reserved for the King of Pontus. The question of Asia has provoked much debate among historians. At the same time, it was of more symbolic than practical importance. Certainly, Asia was not in the hands of Sertorius or Mithridates; it was, so to speak, pie in the sky. Most historians follow Plutarch’s account of the refusal to give the province to Mithridates,24 though some have had their doubts.25 However, H. Berve absolutely rejected Plutarch’s report, preferring the information of Appian. For him it was Sertorius who would have had to concede, because he badly needed ships and money and could give only some officers and a detachment of soldiers in exchange. The king in turn

22

23 24 25

posed by D. Glew (1981, 129). F. Callataÿ believes, citing Livy (per. 93: eius in provinciae formam redactum est. Mithridates foedere cum Sertorio icto bellum populo R[omano] intulit), that at that point the Bithynian king was already dead (Callataÿ, F. 1997, 343 and n. 15). But the text of the Periochi is too short and not specific enough to base a scrupulous chronology on it. Plutarch clearly reports Sertorius’ refusal to give Asia to Mithridates (because it was a Roman dominion), not to mention Bithynia: consequently, it must have formally retained its independence and so its king was still alive (pace Glew; see McGing, B. 1986, 138, n. 25). F. Hinard proposes to change the Marius confirmed by Livy (Per. 91), Plutarch (Sert. 24. 4) and Orosius (VI. 2. 12) into the Varius given by Appian (Mithr. 68). Hinard supposes that this man is related to the tribunus plebis Q. Varius Sucronensis, because Marius/Varius recruited fighting men in Celtiberia (Liv. Per. 91) and it would have been necessary to know the local situation for this; Q. Varius, as a person with family connections to the hispanienses, would have known it well enough (Hinard, F. 1985, 405). However the tribune Varius came from Sucro and was active on the Eastern coast, while Мarius operated in Celtiberia as a praetor in 102 (?) B. C. A M. Marius is mentioned by Appian (Mithr. 100); perhaps the Sertorian Marius was a relative of this person, especially as both of them had the praenomen Marcus, which was not in use in the gens Varia (Reinach, Th. 1895, 312, n. 1). Undoubtedly in silver (Konrad, C. F. 1994, 198). See the bibliography in: Magie, D. 1950, II, 1203, n. 1. Ihne, W. 1886, 31–32, n. 2; Magie, D. 1950, II, 1203.

164

Anton V. Korolenkov

would not have abandoned his claim to Asia, which was the goal of the war for him.26 However we may suppose that Мithridates did not pay much attention to the concession of Asia:27 it is not likely that he really hoped to receive the province even from Sertorius.28 However, his demand had its own logic. If the insurgents were victorious, advertising the fact that they had handed over to him some national property of the Roman people could be a trump-card in the political struggle. Besides, it is probable that the King and his ambassadors were simply raising the price. It is obvious that Sertorius might refuse to grant Mithridates the other regions in Asia Minor as well, because that would have been a serious deviation from traditional Roman policy on the East.29 These territories, we should note, were of great importance to Mithridates. Holding Bithynia he would be able to control the Bosporus straits, and there was a ‘Syrian’ trade route through Cappadocia that was also of prime importance to him, the reason why he struggled so hard to obtain this poor region.30 (No wonder that Plutarch reports these territories and omits Galatia and Paphlagonia.) One of the reasons for the excessive attention paid by historians to this problem is the character of Plutarch’s narrative. In trying to emphasize the greatness of Sertorius, he describes this episode in detail using dramatic effects. He constructs two oppositions: 1. Sertorius versus the rebel ‘senate’: the rebellious proconsul rejects Mithridates’ pretensions to Asia in spite of the opinion of the ‘senate’: “He must not exercise power at the expense of the state. For to a man of noble spirit victory is to be desired if it comes with honour, but with shame not even life itself”. 2. Sertorius versus Mithridates: the king, who knows the inexorability of the Romans, exclaims: “What terms, pray, will Sertorius impose when he is seated on the Palatine, if now, after he has been driven forth to the Atlantic sea, he sets bounds to our kingdom and threatens us with war if we try to get Asia”? (translations by B. Perrin). However, the King accepts the conditions proposed by the Roman (Sert. 23. 4–24. 3). The melodramatic character of Sertorius’ and Mithridates’ speeches, by which a dialogical effect is created, is evident and makes an impression. This feature of the text has raised doubts about the passage,31 especially about Sertorius’ refusal to 26 Berve, H. 1929, 201–204, 207–212; Haehling, R. von, 1993, 150, n. 16; 160. See also Carcopino, J. 1968, 29–30. Von Haehling doubts the version of Plutarch, and one of the reasons is that the Greek writer makes the centre of Roman power not the Capitol but the Palatine. This is typical of the Empire, not the Republic, so Plutarch’s source was not Sallust, but an author of the imperial period. The objections of M. Gelzer against this are not persuasive (see Gelzer, M. 1963, 140). However, the fact that Plutarch used an imperial-period source does not mean that we should not believe him at all (see Gurin, I. G. 2001, 219). 27 Nevertheless R. Etienne, following H. Berve, wrote in his recent work that if Sertorius would not cede Asia to the King, the latter would hardly have helped the Roman in his struggle with the Senate in Rome (Etienne, R. 1997, 23). 28 It will be enough to recall the fate of the gifts to Cleopatra made by Antonius: the real power in Roman provinces remained in the hands of Roman magistrates (Smykov, Ye. V. 2002, 102). 29 Gelzer, M. 1963, 144; König, I. 2000, 454. 30 This is brilliantly demonstrated in: Gulenkov, K. L. 2001, 91–93. 31 Ihne, W. 1886, 31–32, 2; Berve, H. 1929, 209–213.

Mithridates and Sertorius

165

give Asia to the King. However, the adherents of this point of view have overlooked the fact that the question of territories had less importance in the negotiations than was given to it – intentionally or not – by Plutarch. As for Appian he evidently used the anti-Sertorian tradition32 that ascribed to Sertorius the abandonment of Asia to Mithridates to discredit the rebel even more.33 However, the treaty concerned other, less scholastic questions. Mithridates received the detachment of the soldiers and officers led by М. Marius (Plut. Luc. 8. 5);34 he needed them to reorganize his army on the Roman model.35 Marius fought valiantly against the Romans and became one of the authors of the victory at Chalcedon (Oros. VI. 2. 13). This detachment may also have been needed for other purposes. The poleis of the province of Asia, which had learned from the bitter experience of the First Mithridatic War, were not inclined to take the part of the King of Pontus as readily as they had done before. But if they did not want to surrender to Mithridates they might submit to Marius, who was the representative of ‘legitimate’ Roman power invested with imperium.36 It should be mentioned that during the war which began in 73 B. C. the towns were not inclined to recognize either Mithridates or Marius, even though they promised the abolition of debts and other privileges (see Plut. Sert. 24. 5).37 But did the King know that when he concluded the treaty? In general Mithridates made a “wise military investment” by subsidizing Sertorius.38 The rebels drew off some 14 legions in all;39 the King had an interest in this and he wanted it to continue as long as possible.40 What did the other side, i. e. the Sertorians, gain by the treaty? And did the King in fact deliver anything to them? Some scholars answer this question positively,41 others negatively.42 Some argue that Mithridates sent the fleet to Spain but it arrived too late, because the rebellious proconsul had already perished. Memnon in his 32 Schulten, A. 1926, 106–107. 33 Tsirkin, Ju. B. 1989, 152. 34 It is possible that the senator Attidius, later executed by Mithridates on a charge of the conspiracy (App. Mithr. 90), also departed with Marius. G. Kelly identifies him with Atilius Bulbus (Kelly, G. P. 2006, 188), but that seems doubtful, because Atilius was only an exile, and escaping to Mithridates could have put him in mortal danger. Obviously he had nothing to lose, because he took part in civil dissensions, most probably in the rebellions of Lepidus and Sertorius. 35 Geyer, F. 1932, 2181; Gurin, I. G. 1996, 11. 36 Bernhardt, R. 1985, 64, n. 339. He obviously was a praetor, because the word στρατηγός which Plutarch uses when speaking about M. Marius (Sert. 24. 4) simply means praetor in this author (Gabba, E. 1973, 429). 37 Gurin, I. G. 2001, 221; Bernhardt, R. 1985, 136. In essence, as I. G. Gurin points out, the Sertorians continued in Asia the policy on provinces that they had followed in Spain. 38 Bennett, W. H. 1961, 468, n. 78. 39 Brunt, P. A. 1987, 449, 471. 40 Gurin, I. G. 2001, 219; McGing, B. 1986, 137. 41 Reinach, Th. 1895, 312; Scardigli, B. 1971, 252–258; Leach, J. 1978, 48; Haehling, R. von, 1993, 16; Kelly, G. P. 2006, 188. 42 Gurin, I. G. 1996, 11; Molev, Ye. A. 1995, 92; Pareti, L. 1953, 679; Havas, L. 1968, 14; Spann, Ph. O. 1987, 130, 209, n. 40; Ballesteros Pastor, L. 1996, 209–210.

166

Anton V. Korolenkov

record of this (fr. 43. 1) mentions that the legate of Lucullus, named Valerius Triarius, intercepted the Pontic ships that were on their way back from Spain in 72 B. C.43 However, it is evident that this voyage of the King’s ships (or ships of pirates friendly to the King) cannot have been the first. It is uncertain whether contacts between Mithridates and Sertorius were broken off once the clauses of the treaty had been executed.44 It is also difficult to explain why Mithridates “was not able to help his allies”, as I. G. Gurin writes.45 The pirates who dominated the sea were friendly to him (Plut. Pomp. 19. 6), and he had enough money.46 There are also other reasons. It is known that at the end of 75 B. C. Sertorius did not pay his army’s salary (Sall. Hist. II. 98. 7). Appian tells of the Roman troops’ discontent with Sertorius in the spring and summer of 74 B. C., but he does not say that the reason was lack of pay. He also notes that they nonetheless did not leave him (BC I. 112). It is obvious that if the Roman detachments had not subsequently received any money, they would simply have dispersed. The loyalty of the Spaniards would also be weakening. Of course, many Spaniards did not need pay because they were fighting less for Sertorius than for their own freedom, but would they have provided for the Roman insurgents in such a situation? During this period the insurgent army remained united and continued its struggle vigorously for not less than a year. Evidently Perperna, who took over the leadership after Sertorius’ death, had money too, because if he had not been able to pay the soldiers he could not have made the army obey him (App. BC I. 114). It seems that there is only one possible source of money, namely the treasury of Pontus. Thus although the king’s help, which came no later than the middle of 74 B. C.,47 did not change the result of the war,48 it nonetheless made it much longer and we should take that into account. So when did Mithridates and Sertorius make their alliance? It is usually believed that it was concluded in 75 B. C.,49 and, to be precise, at the beginning of the year.50 B. McGing proposes another date, the summer of 74 B. C., because Appian writes that the rest of summer and winter was over before the war began (in 73 B. C.), after he has related the episode of the conclusion of the treaty.51 The account 43 D. Magie was the first scholar (as far as I know) to point out this fact (Magie, D. 1950, I, 326). 44 To all appearances these ships were not the ones that Mithridates provided to Sertorius. 40 ships were mentioned in the treaty, but Memnon mentions 80 (Sherwin-White, A. N. 1984, 170, n. 40). 45 Gurin, I. G. 1996, 11. 46 Even at the end of the Third Mithridatic war there were not less than 45,000 talents in the King’s treasury (see Gulenkov, K. L. 2000, 161–166). 47 B. Scardigli believes that the King delayed executing his promises to Sertorius, while he waited for a casus belli, and finally gave him aid not before the later part of 74 B. C. when he gained control over the Hellespont (Scardigli, B. 1971, 256–258). But it is more likely that the Third Mithridatic war began only in 73 B. C. (see Gabelko, O. L. 2005, 400 and n. 346–350 with further literature); that is why money could be delivered to Sertorius by a completely legal way, not to mention that the services of pirates were also available. 48 Treves, P. 1932, 141. 49 See the literature in: Magie, D. 1950, II, 1203, n. 1. 50 Schulten, A. 1926, 106–107; Leach, J. 1978, 48; Spann, Ph. O. 1987, 99–104; Molev, Ye. A. 1995, 92. 51 Mithr. 68–69; McGing, B. 1986, 138–139. A. Mastrocinque offers the same date but without

Mithridates and Sertorius

167

of the treaty is followed by Appian’s arguments about how Mithridates’ hopes of victory were not realized because Sertorius perished and the Romans sent Lucullus and Pompey against the King. Later (in Mithr. 69) Appian returns to the narrative of the war and writes that the King was sure it would be very difficult; he also tells of his preparations, and it is only after this that he notes that the summer and winter were over. For that reason we may suppose that Appian’s dating relates both to the conclusion of the treaty and to the preparations of the King. It is obvious that in Mithr. 69 the Alexandrian historian is using another source that is not coordinated with the previous story, something that is not rare in Appian’s works.52 C. F. Konrad supposes that the treaty was signed between summer of 76 B. C. and spring of 75 B. C. He believes that the negotiations took place on the eastern coast of Spain and that we cannot see any traces of Sertorius’ presence from the end of the 75 B. C.53 We should bear in mind that Konrad adheres to the chronology of R. Grispo54 and moves the events of the Sertorian War one year earlier, dating the battle of Lauro to 77 B. C., not 76 B. C., and the battle of Sucro to 76, not 75 B. C.55 In other words, according to the traditional chronology that is used also by me,56 C. F. Konrad supposes that the alliance between Mithridates and Sertorius was concluded by 75–74 B. C. The argumentation of C. F. Konrad looks questionable. There is no evidence that the negotiations were conducted on the coast57 except the idea that it would be the most secure option for the ambassadors of the king, who would otherwise be in danger of being taken prisoner. This circumstance should not be ignored (see below). At the same time, Sertorius would not want to gather his ‘senate’ in a place as dangerous as the Spanish Levant was for the insurgents at that moment. Besides, Strabo reports that the last battles of Sertorius took place by Dianium and Tarraco (III. 4. 10, p. 161), which are situated precisely on the Mediterranean coast. In addition, it was not easy to take Dianium because, as the same author writes (III. 4. 6, p. 159), this settlement is strongly fortified by nature itself. Nevertheless, it seems to me that the date proposed by C. F. Konrad is correct,58 though for different reasons. At the end of 75 B. C. Sertorius, as was said above, did not pay his troops and during the discussion of the treaty conditions the ‘senators’ pointed out that the King was offering them the thing they most required, μάλιστα δεόμενοι (Plut. Sert. 23. 5) – and of course that meant money above all. The coincidence is very precise from the point of view of chronology, and it allows us to date the conclusion of the alliance to 75 B. C. The money of Mithridates would have detailed argument (Mastrocinque, A. 1999, 109, 113). See, for example, Hahn, I. 1982, 257–258. Konrad, C. F. 1994, 197. Grispo, R. 1952, 199–210. Konrad, C. F. 1995, 157–187. I. G. Gurin gives a critical analysis of C. F. Konrad’s chronology and persuasively demonstrates its inconsistency (see Gurin, I. G. 2001, 223–231). 57 Nevertheless R. Etienne writes with confidence that the negotiations took place in Dianium (1997, 23). 58 J. Carcopino (1968, 29) dates the negotiations to the autumn of 75 B. C. (which is generally correct), but he does not provide any arguments. 52 53 54 55 56

168

Anton V. Korolenkov

been acquired by the Sertorians (taking into account the conditions of navigation at that time) not earlier than the end of spring. It is interesting that in 74 B. C. Sertorius conducted only the operations near Calagurris and Pallantia, and we do not know of opposition by him to Metellus’ offensive, which took place before this: he obviously could not begin major operations before he got money for the soldiers’ pay. Of course, we might ascribe this to Appian’s ignorance, but it is equally possible that he had nothing to tell. F. García Morá is even more concrete. He dates the first embassy to Sertorius to the summer/autumn of 75 B. C. In the winter of 74–75 B. C. the Roman refugees would have thought over the offers of the Pontic king and in the spring of 75 B. C. sent ambassadors to Mithridates to sign the treaty.59 These dates do not conflict with the calculations made by C. F. Konrad. They seem highly plausible except for the date of the first embassy, which could have taken place earlier. These events are connected with an episode mentioned by Cicero. He says that the legates of Mithridates came to Pompey in Spain (De imp. Cn. Pomp. 46). H. Berve supposes that they reconnoitred the military situation in the Iberian peninsula.60 M. Gelzer believed that they tried to discover the mood of Pompey and ‘the war party’ that stood behind him.61 But, despite the many interpretations proposed,62 it seems that the fact the legates were sent precisely to Pompey has never been called into question before now. It is in fact difficult to imagine this happening, because Pompey was not the most influential person in Roman policy-making at that moment and the decisions were taken in Rome. It may be suggested that the only probable explanation is the following. The diplomats that Mithridates sent to Sertorius were detained by the soldiers of Pompey en route. The Рontic envoys obviously kept their head. To avoid problems they announced that the goal of their journey was the headquarters of Pompey. The same type of episode took place during the Second Punic War when Xenophanes (Philip V of Macedon’s ambassador to Hannibal) was imprisoned by Roman soldiers and announced that he had made his way to Italy with the purpose of concluding a treaty between Rome and Macedonia: the first time the trick worked well enough; the crafty Greek was unmasked only the second time (Liv. XXIII. 33. 4–9; 34. 1–9). The ambassadors of Mithridates were obviously believed too. Perhaps they managed to vanish before they reached Pompey’s camp and the latter hushed up the business (the most dangerous enemies had been let slip!), representing it in the same way as the ambassadors themselves did. Incidentally it burnished his image: who else among the Roman commanders was deigned worthy of an embassy from such a mighty monarch? Did a treaty between the King of Pontus and the Marian proconsul become an excuse for the Third Mithridatic War, as is sometimes supposed?63 This question is difficult to answer because of the condition of the contemporary sources. It may 59 60 61 62 63

García Morá, F. 1991, 295–301. Berve, H. 1929, 202. Gelzer, M. 1963, 143. See the survey of opinions in: Ballesteros Pastor, L. 1996, 210–213. See, e. g., McGing, B. 1986, 144–145; Mastrocinque, A. 1999, 101.

Mithridates and Sertorius

169

equally be supposed that Mithridates did not wait for the declaration of war by the Romans and invaded Bithynia before they had time to occupy it with large forces. And a final consideration. In the course of assessing the pact between the King of Pontus and the rebellious proconsul, H. Berve has exclaimed: “Wenn Mommsen in den prachtvollen Sätzen, die seine Darstellung des Sertorius schlieβen, an Coriolanus erinnert, so ist es, glaube ich, notwendig zu betonen, daβ tatsächlich seit jenem sagenhaften Hochverräter der Frühzeit Sertorius der erste Römer war, von dem ein offenes Kampfbündnis mit dem Feinde seiner Vaterstadt berichtet wird, und daβ eine solche Handlung auch im letzten Jahrhundert der Republik etwas Unerhörtes darstellte, als ungeheuerlicher Frevel am Staate empfunden worden sein muβ.”64 But was it really perceived in such a way? Cicero mentions this alliance a few times in his speeches and says that Sеrtоrius was more dangerous than Mithridates (De imp. Cn. Pomp. 9–10, 62; Pro Mur. 32),65 but he never criticizes Sertorius himself and does not place him on the same footing as such figures (antipathetic for Cicero) as Saturninus, the Gracchi or Catiline. Also, the fact that the opponents of the rebellious commander decided to ascribe to him the cession of Asia to Mithridates shows that he was not discredited sufficiently by the mere fact of alliance with the enemy of Rome. Moreover, the public reaction to this alliance was obviously not strong, because Cicero says nothing about it. This is not surprising because, when in 47 B. C. Caesar turned over Cyprus to Arsinoe, a territory which had been a Roman province for 10 years by then (Dio Cass. XLII. 35. 5), it did not provoke any negative reactions in Rome.66 Metellus Scipio is known to have transferred the province of Africa to Juba the Numidian (Dio Cass. XLIII. 4. 6). The silence of all the other sources on this subject also means that the propaganda effect of this fact (or fiction)67 cannot have been strong. The situation with the gifts for Cleopatra made by Antonius is different, but in that case the propaganda of Octavian (who was skilled in such business) had a strong effect. 64 Berve, H. 1929, 213. F. Fröhlich also compared Sulla with Coriolanus, which was rather more agreeable to Berve: the comparison was not in favour of Sulla (Fröhlich, F. 1901, 1535–1536). 65 Evidently, the alliance of Мithridates and Sertorius terrified the Romans – Cicero mentioned a concerted plan of attack on Italy from east and west (uno consilio a binis hostium copiis bellum terra marique gereretur – De imp. Cn. Pomp. 9) and also pointed out that the Pontic fleet (defeated by Lucullus) aiming for the Italian coast was led by Sertorian commanders (classem magnam et ornatam quae ducibus Sertorianis ad Italiam studio atque odio inflammata raperetur – De imp. Cn. Pomp. 21). W. Ihne (1886, 33), followed by V. Ehrenberg (1935, 196), even supposed that it was just after concluding the treaty with the king that Metellus announced a price for the head of Sertorius, as mentioned by Plutarch (Sert. 22. 1). But this is speculative: other dates are also possible for this act (see Korolenkov, A. V. 2003, 286–287). 66 Smykov, Ye. V. 2002, 102. 67 J. Carcopino (1968, 448, n. 5) believes that it is true because Cassius Dio used the ‘pompeianus’ Livy as a source, but the silence of the author of the Bellum Africanum on this subject is suspicious: he would never omit a fact that was so unpleasant for the supporters of Pompey. Furthermore Cassius Dio was unfavourable to the partisans of the Republic (Hose, M. 1994, 278–282, 302–328 u. a.), which is why a version that is so disadvantageous for them should be approached quite cautiously. Finally, it is not certain that Livy was the source of Dio in this case (and not e. g. Asinius Pollio).

170

Anton V. Korolenkov

Turning back to Sertorius we should note that many modern authors have not perceived his behaviour as a “terrible crime” at all.68 “La condanna… si origina da un vacuo ed ottocentistico pregiudizio nazionalista”.69 Concluding a treaty with the same Mithridates at Dardanus, Sulla had already made not only peace, but also an alliance.70 The following decades provide a lot of comparable examples, such as Catiline and the Allobroges, Metellus Scipio and Juba, Antonius and Cleopatra. Of course none of the foreigners mentioned here was guilty of thousands of Roman citizens’ deaths as Mithridates was, but Sulla did not for that reason refuse to make a treaty with him in 85 B. C. V. Ehrenberg remarked, not without irony: “Die Geschichte aller Zeiten kennt Beispiele dafür, daβ dieser Begriff [high treason. – A. K.] durchaus relativ sein kann. Die Grenze zwischen Parteigesinnung und Verrat an Land und Staat, zwischen Verbrechen und patriotischer Pflicht ist in revolutionären Epochen notwendig flieβend, und mit mindestens dem gleichen Rechte hat man wiederholt schon den gröβten Optimatenführer als den ersten und eigentlichen romfeindlichen Römer hingestellt”.71 We should remember that the cession of Roman possessions to foreign leaders also took place during the subsequent civil wars. Thus Sertorius, supported by his associates, joined in alliance with a king who was beginning a war against Rome, and most of his contemporaries and all known ancient authors did not condemn him for this. In the previous century it would have been unthinkable, just as the capture of Rome by Roman troops, proscriptions and many other acts were unthinkable too. The consciousness of the Romans had changed, and both the alliance between Mithridates and Sertorius and the reaction of many contemporaries to it became one more – very revealing – testimony of this fact. BIBLIOGRAPHY Ballesteros Pastor, L. 1996: Mitrídates Eupátor, rey del Ponto. Granada. Bennett, W. H. 1961: The Death of Sertorius and the Coin, Historia 10, 459–472. Bernhardt, R. 1985: Polis und römische Herrschaft in der späten Republik (149–31 v. Chr.), Berlin; New York. Berve, H. 1929: Sertorius, Hermes, 64, 199–227 Brunt, Р. А. 1987: Italian Manpower. 225 B. C. – A. D. 14, Oxford. Carcopino, J. 1968: Jules César, Paris. Ehrenberg, V. 1935: Ost und West: Studien zur geschichtlichen Problematik der Antike, Brno; Prague; Leipzig; Vienna. Etienne, R. 1997: Jules César, Paris. 68 Ehrenberg, V. 1935, 197–198; Spann, Ph. O. 1987, 103. R. von Haehling draws attention to the figure of the deer on Mithridates’ tetradrachms. He believes that the Romans associated it with the white doe of Sertorius and so it is another argument that the latter was a traitor (Haehling, R., von 1993, 155), but there is no evidence in the sources to confirm this idea, so it seems to us too speculative. 69 Treves, P. 1932, 138. Not by chance Н. Berve (1929, 199–227) and J. Carcopino, both Nazisympathizers, blamed Sertorius severely (1968, 30). 70 See Gulenkov, K. L. 1998, 60. 71 Ehrenberg, V. 1935, 183.

Mithridates and Sertorius

171

Fröhlich, F. 1901: Cornelius (392), in: RE 4, 1522–1566. Gabba, E. 1954: Le origini della guerra sociale e la vita politica romana dopo l’89 A. C., Athenaeum. N. S., 32, 41–114, 293–345. Gabba, E. 1973: Esercito e società nella tarda repubblica romana, Firenze. Gabelko, O. L. 2005: Istoriya Vifinskogo tsarstva (The History of the Kingdom of Bithynia), St. Petersburg (in Russian). García Morá, F. 1991: Un episodio de la Hispania Republicana: la guerra de Sertorio, Granada. Gelzer, M. 1949: Pompeius, München. Gelzer, M. 1963: Kleine Schriften, Bd. II, Wiesbaden. Geyer, F. 1932: Mithridates (12), in: RE 15, 2163–2205. Glew, D. 1981: Between the Wars: Mithridates Eupator and Rome, 85–73 B. C., Chiron 11, 109– 131. Grispo, R. 1952: Dalla Mellaria a Calagurra. Un contributo per l’interpretazione della guerra Sertoriana, NRS 36, 189–225. Gulenkov, K. L. 1998: Dardanskij mir: Ob odnom aspekte politiki Sully (The Peace of Dardanus. Concerning one Aspect of Sulla’s Politics), in: Antichnost’: politika i kultura (Antiquity: Politics and Culture), Kazan, 55–62 (in Russian). Gulenkov, K. L. 2000: Bogatstvo Mitridata Evpatora (The Wealth of Mithridates Eupator), in: Novoe v istorii i gumanitarnykh naukakh (New [studies] in History and Humanities), Moscow, 161– 169 (in Russian). Gulenkov, K. L. 2001: Vtoraya Mitridatova vojna i eyo posledstviya (The Second Mithridatic War and its consequences), SH I. Moscow, 73–93 (in Russian). Gurin, I. G. 1996: Sertorij kak politik (Sertorius as Politician), in: Istoriya i istoriografiya zarubezhnykh stran v litsakh (History and Historiography of the Foreign World in Persons), 1, Samara, 3–13 (in Russian). Gurin, I. G. 2001: Sertorianskaya vojna (82–71 do n. e.) (The Sertorian War [82–71 B. C.]) Samara (in Russian). Haehling, R., von 1993: Sertorius – Restitutor oder Verräter Roms? Zur Ambivalenz historischer Wertung, in: Klassisches Altertum, Spätantike und frühes Christentum. Adolf Lippold zum 65. Geburtstag gewidmet, Würzburg, 147–161 Hahn, I. 1982: Appian und seine Quellen, in: G. Wirth, K.-H. Schwarte, J. Heinrichs (eds.), Romanitas – Christianitas. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte und Literatur der römischen Kaiserzeit, Berlin; New York, 251–276. Havas, L. 1968: Mithridate et son plan d’attaque contre l’Italie, ACUD IV, 13–25. Hinard, F. 1985: Les proscriptions de la Rome républicaine. Rome. Hose, M. 1994: Die Erneuerung der Vergangenheit. Die Historiker in Imperium Romanum von Florus bis Cassius Dio, Stuttgart; Leipzig. Ihne, W. 1886: Römische Geschichte, Vol. VI, Leipzig. Kelly, G. P. 2006: A History of Exile in the Roman Republic, Cambridge, etc. König, I. 2000: Q. Sertorius. Ein Kapitel des frühen römischen Bürgerkriegs, Klio 82, 441–458. Konrad, C. F. 1994: Plutarch’s Sertorius. A Commentary, Chapel Hill; London. Konrad, C. F. 1995: A New Chronology of the Sertorian War, Athenaeum 83, 157–187 Korolenkov, A. V. 2003: Kvint Sertorij: Politicheskaya biografiya (Quintus Sertorius: A Political Biography), St. Petersburg (in Russian). Korolenkov, A. V., Smykov, Ye. V. 2007: Sulla, Moscow (in Russian). Leach, J. 1978, Pompey the Great, London. Letzner, W. 2000: Lucius Cornelius Sulla. Versuch einer Biographie, Münster. Magie, D. 1950: Roman Rule in Asia Minor, Vol. I–II, Princeton. Mastrocinque, A. 1999: Studi sulle guerre Mitridatiche, Stuttgart McGing, B. 1986: The Foreign Policy of Mithridates VI Eupator, King of Pontus, Leiden. Molev, Ye. A. 1995: Vlastitel’ Ponta (The Lord of Pontus), Nizhny Novgorod (in Russian). Pareti, L. 1953: Storia di Roma e del mondo romano, Vol. III, Turin. Reinach, Th. 1895: Mithridates Eupator, König von Pontos, Leipzig.

172

Anton V. Korolenkov

De Sanctis, G. 1976: La guerra sociale, Florence. Scardigli, B. 1971: Sertorio: problemi chronologici, Athenaeum 49, 229–270. Schulten, A. 1926: Sertorius, Leipzig. Scullard, H. H. 1964: From the Gracchi to Nero. A History of Rome from 144 B. C. to A. D. 68, London. Sherwin-White, A. N. 1984: Roman Foreign Policy in the East 168 B. C. – A. D. 1, London. Smykov, Ye. V. 2002: Antonij i Dionis (o religioznoj politike triumvira M. Antoniya) (Antonius and Dionysos [on the Religious Politics of Triumvir M. Antonius]), AMA 11, 80–106 (in Russian). Spann, Ph. O. 1987: Quintus Sertorius and the Legacy of Sulla, Fayetteville. Treves, P. 1932: Sertorio, Athenaeum 10, 127–147. Tsirkin, Ju. B. 1989: Sertorianskoe dvizheniye (Sertorian Movement), in: Sozial’naya bor’ba i politicheskaya ideologiya v antichnom mire (Social Struggle and Political Ideology in the Ancient World), Leningrad, 144–162 (in Russian).

A HISTORICAL AND EPIGRAPHIC COMMENTARY . ON HYPSICRATEIA’S EPITAPH* Oleg L. Gabelko (Russian State University for the Humanities) A unique discovery was made during the underwater excavations of Phanagoreia in 2005: the epitaph from the marble base of the monument to Hypsicrateia, wife of Mithridates VI Eupator.1 It is rightly considered to be one of the most substantial finds in the classical archaeology and epigraphy of the northern Black Sea region (and, probably, of the ancient oikoumene as a whole) of the last decades. The significance of the monument goes beyond the fact that it provides a brilliant confirmation of information recorded by Plutarch (Pomp. 32.  8);2 it also gives us a rare opportunity to see heroes of the past not just as ‘historical characters’, but as living people with human feelings. In addition, Hypsicrateia’s epitaph conveys exceptionally valuable information about both the final period of the Mithridatic wars in the Bosporan area and some aspects of the history of Pontus itself. As was quite reasonably stated by the editor of the inscription, it is not difficult to restore its text;3 *

1

2 3

I should like to extend my utmost gratitude to my colleagues who assisted in my work on this article, looked through this text prior to its publication and gave me a number of valuable comments which I have taken into consideration (regardless of whether or not I agreed with them), and, especially, who discussed my paper on this subject at the Ist International Conference in Epigraphy (Moscow, 30–31.01.2012): A. G. Avdeyev (Moscow), L.  Ballesteros Pastor (Sevilla), D. G. Bugrov (Kazan), A. Chaniotis (Princeton), P. A. Еvdokimov (Moscow), H. Heinen (Trier), G. M.  Kantor (Oxford), I. A.  Levinskaya (St. Petersburg), I. A.  Makarov (Moscow), N. I. Nikolayev (Nikolayev), S.Yu. Monakhov (Saratov), N. A. Pavlichenko (St. Petersburg), R. V. Stoyanov (St. Petersburg ‑ Çanakkale), I. E. Surikov (Moscow), E. R. Ustaeva (Taman), A. A. Zavoykin (Moscow). Despite the large number of specialists mentioned above, all inaccuracies and mistakes, of course, lie with the author alone. In most detail: Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007a, 238–243, with illustrations of the inscription; Kuznetsov, V. D. (ed.) 2008, 61–63; more briefly: Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007b, 5–15; see also the first publication, Bongard-Levine, G., Kochelenko, G., Kuznetsov V, 2006, 277–278. Unfortunately, this last work contains a number of regrettable mistakes: the name Hypsicrates is given there not in the vocative but in the nominative case, Mithridates’ royal title is omitted altogether (and, as a result, the inscription text is given in three lines, not four), and the king’s name is written with iota in the second syllable, instead of alpha, which was the typical form for the Northern Black Sea region (277). Some very valuable observations in connection with this report were made by the Academician P. Bernard: 280–288 (his name in the following notes on this work will therefore be cited especially). See also the brief mention of this subject in the article of H. Heinen (Heinen, H. 2008, 190–191) and his more detailed recent work (Heinen, H. forthcoming). It is impossible to accept the opinion of F. Canali De Rossi, who believes (without serious arguments) that this fact could be understood as evidence of the spurious character of the inscription (http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2009/2009-05-22/html); cf. Heinen, H. forthcoming. Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007a, 238.

174

Oleg L. Gabelko

nonetheless, it is possible to expand his commentary on the document’s content (both epigraphic and historical), giving special attention to some points which seem not to have been recognized in the publication.4 The text of the epitaph is as follows: ̔Υ ̣ψίκρατες γύναι βασιλέως Μιθραδάτου̣ Εὐπάτορος Διονύσου χαῖρε. The analysis presented here will be twofold. First, a tentative reconstruction is offered (in much more detail than that of V. D. Kuznetsov) of the events in Phanagoria that led to the death of Hypsicrateia. On the whole, I agree with Kuznetsov’s hy4

The editor also made some insignificant omissions. 1) Autopsy of the stone, which I had the opportunity to perform in 2005 as a member of the Phanagorian archaeological expedition, shows that the last letter in the second line of the inscription, the ypsilon, is gone but for the remainder of the vertical hasta, which is missing on the drawing (although it is visible on the photograph); therefore, the ypsilon in the publication should not have been placed in square brackets, but a dot should have been placed under it. The same concerns the first letter of the inscription: its remains, however damaged, are still visible on the stone. 2) V. D. Kuznetsov’s observation that the “block was broken off (italics supplied. – O. G.) in some places in ancient times” (Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007a, 238) does not seem quite accurate: the nature of the damage to the stone (see photo) clearly indicates that the statue base was deliberately chipped in the course of later re-use for a more comfortable positioning in the wooden structure of an underwater platform. 3) The name of one of Mithridates’ daughters, who were exhibited in Pompey’s triumph, was not Oxabaris, as given by the editor (Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007a, 242; and Kuznetsov, V. D. (ed.) 2008, 63), but Orsabaris (App. Mithr. 117) or Orsobaris, as on the coins minted by her (Gabelko, O. L. 2005, 90–91 and note 23). 4) Eupator’s daughter Cleopatra, who in 63 B. C. was in Phanagoreia and who showed special courage in the fight against the rebels, should not be identified with her namesake, another daughter of the Pontic king, who was married to Tigranes of Armenia (Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007a, 242); besides, the date of this marriage, given by the editor as 95 B. C., is not universally accepted (cf. Ballesteros Pastor, L. 1996, 79, n. 188). Tigranes’ wife most probably remained at her husband’s court, so Appian must be speaking of a different, much younger daughter of Mithridates (Gulenkov, K. L., 2001, 82). She was born, probably, after Cleopatra ‘the Elder’ had married and left her father’s court, or, as K. L. Gulenkov supposes, she took this famous name after the death of her elder sister with the same name. The fact that she had the same name is a peculiar feature of the onomastic practice of the Pontic dynasty: cf. the two sisters of Mithridates named Laodice (Gulenkov, K. L., 2001, 72– 73) and it should be remembered that the king had a younger namesake brother, Mithridates Chrestos. 5) It seems doubtful that Mithridates and Hypsicrateia had children, as is entertained by V. D. Kuznetsov (Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007a, 242 and n. 74): to all appearances, Hypsicrateia rose to prominence in the Pontic royal court only as late as 66 B. C.; for that reason Th. Reinach, following Cassius Dio, quite reasonably takes this as the explanation for the fact that Mithridates’ former favourite, Stratonice, deserted him (Plut. Pomp. 36. 2; App. Mithr. 107) as she felt the king had left her (Dio Cass. XXXVII. 7. 5) (Reinach, Th. 1890, 296; cf. Gulenkov, K. L. 2001, 75). Hypsicrateia, evidently, was still young and she hardly had time to have a child to Mithridates in 66–63 B. C., during a march from Asia Minor to Bosporus that was full of battles, hardship and adversity. Even if there was a child, it must have still been an infant in 63 B. C. and Appian could hardly have known the child’s name. 6) Finally, P. Bernard quite fairly noted that it is necessary to collect information about all instances of the rare name Hypsicrates; he has noted some examples omitted by the editor (Bongard-Levine, G., Kochelenko, G., Kuznetsov, V. 2006, 280–281). The drawing of the inscription is also far from ideal.

A Historical and Epigraphic Commentary on Hypsicrateia’s Epitaph

175

pothesis that Phanagoria, after the beginning of the uprising against Mithridates led by a certain Castor,5 was most probably occupied by the Pontic troops who came on ships sent by Mithridates from Panticapaeum (δίκροτα πολλά), according to Appian, to help the king’s daughter Cleopatra, who was holding out stoutly against the enemy (App. Mithr. 108). It is hard to suppose that Cleopatra could have put up resistance on the Acropolis, which was already on fire,6 for the other children of the king surrendered and were captured by the Phanagorians; later, they were led in the triumph of Pompey (117); she must have been elsewhere. After that came the funeral (or, more strictly, preparations for the funeral, which is all we can say for sure) of Hypsicrateia, who fell in the course of those events. She had either been in Phanagoria before the beginning of the uprising or had arrived from Panticapaeum (as Appian says that the resistance in Phanagoria was headed by Cleopatra, the second suggestion is preferable). It is highly probable that Hypsicrateia fell like a hero, as far as we can guess from what we know about her character and from the fact that there is a male name in the epitaph, which leads us to think of her “courage and bravery”, according to Plutarch.7 This circumstance, to my mind, raises serious doubts (without fully excluding it, of course) about the much simpler and yet ‘less romantic’ version, which should nonetheless be noted (as, regrettably, was not done by the editor of the inscription): that Hypsicrateia died and was buried in Phanagoria before the uprising against Mithridates, e. g. as early as 65 B. C., because she could not endure the hardship of the long and difficult march from Asia Minor (App. Mithr. 101–102). It is necessary to mention also the interesting idea of L. A.  Naumov: according to him, Hypsicrateia’s death could be the result of the same disease (apparently, of infectious character) from which Mithridates was suffering during his stay in Panticapaeum (App. Mithr. 107).8 Nevertheless, we cannot be certain that the bronze statue of the deceased (the production of which would undoubtedly take up much time) was actually completed and fixed on the stone (which would disprove the reconstruction of events presented in the present paper). The tombstone could have been prepared in a much shorter time, and the mounting of the sculpture by means of a lead-filled peg9 could hardly have been so technically difficult that we must suppose that the mountinghole was made after the statue was completed: the necessary adjustment would not have been difficult. So the chronological considerations – above all, the necessity of 5 6 7

8 9

See on this person: Panov, A. R., 2005. The excavations of the last years have clearly shown that the fire on the acropolis was very fierce: Kuznetsov, V. D. (ed.) 2008, 63; Abramzon, M. G., Kuznetsov, V. D. 2008; Abramzon, M. G., Kuznetsov, V. D. 2011. It is interesting to note the idea of P. Bernard that the monument presented Hypsicrateia as an Amazon: Bongard-Levine, G., Kochelenko, G., Kuznetsov, V. 2006, 287–288. Extremely interesting is a parallel pointed out by H. Heinen – the image of a certain Plotina, a character in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses (VII.  6.  2 f.), offers a wider ‘Amazonian’ context in which Hypsicrateia’s story and monument could be included (Heinen, H. forthcoming). Naumov, L. A. 2010, 208–209. Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007a, 239.

176

Oleg L. Gabelko

having a sufficiently long time to erect the monument – cannot be counted a decisive argument against Kuznetsov’s hypothesis about the date of the inscription. Moreover, the idea that Hypsicrateia died before 63 B. C. cannot explain one other thing: why was there a mistake, later corrected, in the first line of the inscription? Why would this occur if the inscription had been made in an untroubled context (a point that will be discussed in detail below)? The assumption that the eta carved initially was then filled up to conceal the mistake (with lime or some other material which was later wiped off or washed off by water?) could be theoretically true for the period of the siege of Phanagoria in 63 B. C., whereas about a year earlier there would have been no necessity for this: it would have been easier for the stonecutter to shave and file down the stone, and so avoid the risk of calling down the wrath of the Pontic king, which would have inevitably been provoked had the king discovered such a case of ‘retouching’, as it would have revealed the craftsman’s negligence. Finally, the hypothesis of the death of Hypsicrateia prior to the Phanagorian uprising is not convincing if one considers a very plausible idea of Kuznetsov, that her monument was only one part of a sepulchral complex comprising not only one statue but a rather complicated and relatively high structure:10 its erection would have been possible only due to the simultaneous death of a number of relatives of Mithridates and his courtiers of high rank, which would hardly be the case if it had not been for the warfare. It is necessary also to determine the status of Hypsicrateia at the Pontic court (and the resulting interpretation of some features of the marital policy of Mithridates Eupator).11 Strange as it may seem, some interesting thoughts on both matters may be found by analysing a point that is quite inconspicuous and insignificant at 10 Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007a, 239, 242–243. At the same time, his opinion that the stone’s side-edges were not worked because other monuments were to be joined to them seems plausible but needs additional support. The example given by Kuznetsov (Hesberg, H. von. 1992, 86, Abb. 117) can be supplemented by other, even more apt examples: Caro G., 1943. 30 ff; Kienlin, A. von. 2003, 13 ff (the monuments are of the 5th–4th centuries B. C.). The design of such collective monuments from Attica makes it clear that their side-edges were to fit tightly and the stones would be fitted dry, which would only be possible after working them thoroughly. If separate stones from the Phanagorian collective monument were to be joined by mortar, their side-edges would be left coarse for a tighter fit; however, Kuznetsov gives no examples of this type of join. Therefore, a different explanation for the coarse side-edges seems much more plausible: the stone with Hypsicrateia’s epitaph simply was not completely ready to be erected as the pedestal. 11 Aside from that, P. Bernard questions whether the custom of calling a wife by a male name is proof of the king’s homosexual bent: Bongard-Levine, G., Kochelenko G., Kuznetsov V., 2006, 283. It is fair to note that the same point was suggested some 10 years earlier by L. Ballesteros Pastor, who tried to prove this idea using Plutarch’s words about the king’s sympathy for a young Galatian, Bepolitanus (De virt. mulier. 23; Ballesteros Pastor, L. 1996, 297), although I do not find it convincing: both episodes are quite explicable without this hypothesis (cf. also: Gulenkov, K. L. 2001, 75–76). Another attempt to apply the ‘gender-anthropological’ approach to the analysis of the inscription was realized by A. Mayor, who insists on the identity of Hypsicrateia (a woman) and the historian Hypsicrates (a man), mentioned by Strabo (VII.  4.  6; XI.  5.  1), and claims that the latter “could also have been responsible for his own legend” (Mayor, A. 2010, 423–428). This unfounded fantasy is completely outside the framework of scholarly research.

A Historical and Epigraphic Commentary on Hypsicrateia’s Epitaph

177

first glance: why would the word “wife” at the end of the first line initially have been put in the nominative, with no agreement with the vocative Ὑψίκρατες, and only later have been corrected to the vocative case γύναι? The first editor noted this fact,12 but made no attempt to explain it; however, this feature is extremely odd. It is perfectly clear that Mithridates’ courtiers, who at that moment were ruling Phanagoria and were people very close to the king, would only assign the task of cutting the epitaph of their master’s wife to a very skillful and experienced stonecutter. This is proved by the very way the inscription was made: it has no preliminary ruling and is very elegant, with letters finely decorated with apices, but with no excessive ornamentation.13 What could be the reason why this expert stonecutter made such a major mistake in so simple a text? This circumstance may be explained by several reasons that need not be mutually exclusive but, on the contrary, could all simultaneously be correct. Firstly, the lack of agreement between the vocative and nominative cases is quite common in Bosporan inscriptions (see below, note 16). It leads us to think that the cutter was a native Bosporan who was a subject of Mithridates (i. e. he did not arrive in Bosporus together with the king’s troops) and as skilled a master as he was, he spoke quite an ‘adulterated’ local variety of Hellenistic koine, which can be viewed as one reason for his lapsus manus. The officials of Mithridates residing in Phanagoria at the time, who were probably familiar with Hellenistic high culture,14 must have found the mistake unacceptable for the solemn event of the burial of their king’s wife; therefore, they had the master re-work the word γυνή, which is common in Bosporan epitaphs of the period, into γύναι – even though this damaged the exterior of the monument.15 It should be specifically noted that this form of the vocative is never encountered in Bosporan epigraphic texts,16 a fact that can be deemed an indicator

12 Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007a, 241 and n. 68. However, the vocative of CIRB 522, Ὑψικράτη, is different from the one we observe in our inscription. Such vocative forms are typical in Bosporus for names in –κράτης: see CIRB 748 (the earliest of the monuments mentioned here, dating probably to the 2nd‑1st century B. C.), 287 (1st century B. C.?), 602 (with final iota, according to the CIRB album), 748, 754 (there may be the remains of an iota at the end of the name), 768. In other words, the ‘correct’ vocative of the personal name in the epitaph of Hypsicrateia is a hapax legomenon in Bosporan epigraphy! 13 Notable is the cutting of the rho, the lower semicircle of which is adorned with a peculiar cirrus. I could not find any analogues to this form of the letter. This is not completely reflected in the drawing (Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007a, 240, especially the first line, where this detail is not shown at all). 14 The high level of culture of the Pontic king’s court is described, for example, in: Olshausen, E. 1974. 15 It was common practice in the Roman empire for an inscription honouring the emperor to be re-written after his damnatio memoriae or in some other cases (Højte, J.-M. 2005, 56–64); so it cannot be difficult for the cutter from a technical point of view. Of course, it would also have been unproblematic to correct a single letter in Hypsicrateia’s epitaph. 16 Γύναι in CIRB 1109, according to the opinion of the corpus’ authors, should be understood as the vocative of the personal name Gynais. Moreover: “The word γυνή, probably, lost its vocative: in some prose funerary inscriptions next to the word ὑιέ and the vocative of the male name one sees not γύναι, but γυνή” (followed by 17 examples, the earliest of which date not later

178

Oleg L. Gabelko

of its ‘external’ origin. This form of the vocative in prose17 inscriptions of the Greek world is singular: I could not find any other instances, whereas, to judge from the TLG corpus, it is quite frequent among literary authors, especially the dramatists. This provides one more support for our suggestion that the official of Mithridates responsible for the burial of Hypsicrateia was a highly educated person willing to make the epitaph exquisite and solemn, even laconic, as it were. An attentive study of the first line of the text leads to even more interesting conclusions. That its letters suffered from having been washed away with water cannot hide its obvious difference from lines 2 to 4. Lines 2 to 3 have a clearly defined spacing between the words, whereas line 1 offers quite the opposite: the sigma, the last letter of the name, and the gamma of γύναι are practically conjoint; however, this gamma and the next letter of the word, the ypsilon, are separated by a noticeable space.18 This ypsilon, in turn, is separated from the following ny by a larger space than is the case with the other letters. At the same time, we cannot grasp de visu any defects of the stone which would have prevented the normal cutting of the letters. The first line, unlike the others, is not centred (it starts aligned with ll. 2–3, but finishes earlier), even though it would have been easy to do this. (It is worth noting that the spacing between the words and the centred alignment are quite infrequent in Bosporan epigraphy; a promising approach would be to search for analogues, above all in Asia Minor, though this would be a subject for another work. For example, dedications by Attalus II for the victories over Prusias I and II contain similar spacing near the titles and names of the kings and by the names of the gods – OGIS 298; 327 – as in our inscription.) These circumstances lead one to believe that the first line of the inscription was not cut earlier, as would be expected, but later (!), than the others and filled a place that had been set aside for it; moreover, a certain negligence in its carving (most notably in the nominative initially used instead of the vocative) was due to some emergency that made the skilful cutter rush and make mistakes.19 Additional indirect evidence that could confirm this suggestion is that the very end of this line rises slightly, which could be a consequence of a change in the stone’s location during the execution of the inscription. Evidently, the most comfortable position for the than the first half of the 1st century A. D.) – CIRB 814. Cf. what was said earlier of male personal names ending in –κράτης (note 12 above). 17 It is also infrequent in poetic inscriptions: I am only aware of two examples: IG II2 13149, 1 (Attica) and IvPergamon 8. 1–3, 2. 576. Face B, 1. 18 In the later Hellenistic inscriptions of Bosporus, as was the case earlier, the gamma sometimes has a relatively long horizontal bar (e. g., see: Boltunova, A. I., Knipovich, T. N. 1962, 9–10, tables II–III). In our inscription the bar is very difficult to see, but even if it is accepted, the distance between the gamma and the preceding sigma would not be more than that between the gamma and the following letter of the same word, the ypsilon. 19 A very important analogy is presented by the Olbian decree granting proxenia to Dionysios, son of Thago (Levi, Ye. I. 1956, 98–102, No 2; cf. Nikolaev, N. I. 2008, 83–86). The dating by the name of eponymous priest, Herogeitonos, is cut not on the main field of the table, but ‘squeezed’ over it, on the triangular detail in the form of a pediment. As a result, the letters in this line are smaller than in the others; and perhaps the initial mistake in the priest’s name, which was corrected later, is not sheer accident either.

A Historical and Epigraphic Commentary on Hypsicrateia’s Epitaph

179

cutter would be to work on the horizontal surface, since the stone is not very high, but it seems possible that the last word was completed when the pediment had been set up in a vertical position (directly on the spot where the monument was to be erected?).20 How can this be explained? What made Mithridates’ representatives in Phanagoria (and, consequently, the cutter), who were responsible for the burial of his friends who fell while suppressing the uprising of Phanagorians (if we follow the editor princeps’ hypothesis), take their time over completing the inscription to Hypsicrateia and then finish it hurriedly? The answer is obvious. Unaware of Mithridates’ approaching defeat and willing to do their duty for their king, they simply did not know how to designate the name and/or status of the deceased and so they made every effort to solve this delicate problem! It stands to reason, given that the very personality and career of Hypsicrateia, fragmentary as our knowledge of them is, are unique. As is rightly noted by Kuznetsov, the use in the inscription of the male name Hypsicrates reflects a most intimate side of the relations between the Pontic king and his beloved woman;21 therefore, its use in the epitaph could hardly occur without the king’s direct sanction, given by his authorized delegates (or in his presence, given his great love for Hypsicrateia?). The king’s temper was harsh and his officials could easily forfeit their heads for the slightest liberty in this matter.22 The king needed time to receive information on the situation in Asian Bosporus: he was in Panticapaeum at the time, with no direct access to Phanagoria, and there was unrest in Bosporus, as the Phanagorians’ uprising was followed by those in Chersonesus, Theodosia and Nymphaeum (App. Mithr. 108). Having learned about the death of Hypsicrateia from the messengers of the Phanagorian garrison, Mithridates had to give orders, through his delegates, for how the first line of the inscription was to be done in accordance with his wish, and this could have taken up to several days (under normal conditions, the voyage from Panticapaeum to Phanagoria would have taken only hours), which could have had a decisive role if the situation in Phanagoria changed again. It is also of great interest that in this epitaph Hypsicrateia is named the king’s wife. The question of the ‘official’ status of women who were close to Mithridates, as known from the sources,23 has been studied in most detail by K. L. Gulenkov, who came to the conclusion that, contradictory as the sources are, it is most likely that Stratonice, Berenice and Hypsicrateia were the king’s concubines rather than 20 Almost the same feature, but much more accentuated, is seen in the well-known Jewish inscription from Aphrodisias: Chaniotis, A. 2002, 211–213. 21 Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007a, 241. 22 This occurred with special frequency in the last years of the king’s life, during his stay in Bosporus (App. Mithr. 102; 107; 110; Oros. VI. 5. 3). 23 The difference in the status between the wives and concubines of Mithridates, as postulated by Th. Reinach on the analogy of the Serail of the Turkish sultans (Reinach, Th. 1890, 295–296), is far too speculative; cf., however, remarks on the marriage between Mithridates and Monima, who demanded a nuptial agreement and acknowledgment as queen (Plut. Luc. 18): Gulenkov, K. L. 2001, 74, n. 17.

180

Oleg L. Gabelko

‘legitimate’ wives.24 The epitaph of Hypsicrateia gives us grounds to determine this point more closely. When this woman is mentioned in the description of the events of 66 B. C., Plutarch refers to her as to a concubine (παλλακίς) (Pomp. 32. 8). The Roman authors follow the more informative Valerius Maximus (IV. 6 ext. 2) and call her the king’s wife (Fest. XVI. 1; Eutrop. VI. 12. 3). This information and the vocabulary of the inscription seem to suggest a certain cursus honorum for Hypsicrateia: she was of humble origin (which is not uncommon for the women close to Eupator)25 and was initially regarded as a concubine, but, for the courage she showed during the king’s escape after his defeat by Pompey, her status was ‘raised’ to wife and queen26 (it is interesting to note that Valerius Maximus speaks of her in this way in the context of events that happened much later than the unsuccessful battle with Pompey, during Mithridates’ escape to Bosporus through the lands of “wild tribes”, i. e. Scythians, Heniochi and Achaeans – App. Mithr. 102; cf. Plut. Pomp. 35; Flor. I. 40. 25). It is also possible, after all, that the king ordered that Hypsicrateia be made his rightful wife post mortem, as it were, for her loyalty and courage during suppression of the Phanagorian uprising27 and it took him some time to notify his officials in Phanagoria of this, which would be the cause of the delay in completing the statue-base. Finally, and all things considered, we cannot be completely certain that the word γυνή in the inscription is a technical term: one would hardly expect the word ‘concubine’ in a solemn epitaph. Either way, it is highly probable that due to some delay the first line of the epitaph – the last in the sequence of cutting! – was executed by the stonecutter in circumstances quite different from those under which the other lines were carved. The 24 Gulenkov, K. L. 2001, 76 (with a source analysis; the author plausibly concludes that Plutarch’s source was Theophanes of Mytilene, a quite knowledgeable historian; cf. McGing, B. C. 1998, 108 – with no arguments). But perhaps Theophanes was not the only source of Plutarch’s treatment of Hypsicrateia: Plutarch may have added to it his own negative attitude to the Pontic king (Ballesteros Pastor, L. 2009). The collective references to Mithridates’ “wives and concubines” are numerous in the sources in connection with his harem (which, as was reasonably pointed out by B. McGing, is almost exclusively mentioned in relation to the events of the final stage of the king’s career: McGing, B. C. 1998, 108). The ‘real’ queen was undoubtedly Mithridates’ sister Laodice, who was killed by him for her participation in a conspiracy (Just. XXXVII. 3. 7; 38. 1. 1; Sallust. Hist. II. 76). The status of queen and wife is undeniable for Monima (see Gulenkov, K. L. 2001, 74–75); contrary to the opinion of K. L. Gulenkov, Berenice from Chios is also named a wife along with Monima by Plutarch (Plut. Luc. 18. 5). Things are more difficult with Stratonice: in descriptions of the same events she is referred to as a concubine (Plut. Pomp. 36. 2), wife or concubine (App. Mithr. 107), or the king’s wife (Dio Cass. XXXVII. 7. 5); and, following Gulenkov, we may prefer Plutarch’s information. Could it be that what we know of Stratonice and Hypsicrateia implies that only some of Mithridates’ concubines were able to fulfil his most important and responsible commands, due to their personal qualities, whereas his wives were a sort of ‘adornment’ of his reign, as it were, and stayed in his harem with the rest of the concubines? However, we have very few data for such a conclusion. 25 Seibert, J. 1967, 102; Gulenkov, K. L. 2001, 74. 26 See the reports that Mithridates rewarded the people who proved loyal after his escape from Pompey: Plut. 32. 9; cf. Heinen, H. 2008, 191. 27 Cf. with the opinion of P. Bernard: Bongard-Levine, G., Kochelenko, G., Kuznetsov, V. 2006, 283.

A Historical and Epigraphic Commentary on Hypsicrateia’s Epitaph

181

balance of forces between the Mithridatic garrison and the rebellious Phanagorians (and their allies?) had probably changed, and not to the advantage of the former: the Pontic troops lost the edge once again and when the nameless Bosporan craftsman in the service of the Pontic king finally received instructions about the content of the inscription he had to finalize it under emergency conditions – obviously, in circumstances of direct military danger, all of which contributed to the errata in the cutting of the inscription. As was mentioned above (see note 10), we cannot discount the possibility that the monument of Hypsicrateia was not yet ready to be erected by the time the rebels finally got hold of the city (Oros. VI. 5. 2). It is also possible, however, that this is only a ‘draft’ version that was rejected by the king’s officials because of the cutter’s mistake: given that there was a permanent lack of good stone in Phanagoria and in Taman as a whole,28 this high-quality marble block may have been be re-used later (but before it became a part of the underwater construction). This circumstance must be taken into consideration, though we cannot be certain that Hypsicrateia’s monument was actually erected at all.29 It is of course clear to me that my suggestions regarding the historical context of Hypsicrateia’s epitaph are purely hypothetical and, moreover, are mere ‘speculative reconstruction’, impossible to prove (but also impossible to contest) due to the lack of other sources. The monument itself, laconic and simple as it seems, is so 28 E. g. Kuznetsov, V. D. 2008, 26. 29 See P. Bernard’s doubts about the possibility of erecting this monument and preserving it in the difficult military and political circumstances of 63 B. C.: Bongard-Levine, G., Kochelenko, G., Kuznetsov, V. 2006, 286. Very illustrative in this context is the case of damnatio memoriae of Mithridates in a building-inscription from Olbia: Krapivina, V. V., Diatroptov, P. D. 2005, 73. Bernard, however, assumes that the monument could have been erected by Pharnaces before his campaign in Asia Minor. But it seems hardly probable that Pharnaces had any reason to display piety towards one of his father’s wives (especially given that Mithridates was betrayed by Pharnaces himself). H. Heinen (forthcoming) does not exclude that the pediment could be part of a cenotaph, but the supposed form of such a monument remains unclear. Recently another authoritative specialist, G. Bowersock, has given attention to the inscription: Bowersock, G. W., 2008: 600–601. He supposes that Hypsicrateia’s ‘rehabilitation’ and the erection of the tombstone took place later – during the reign in Bosporus of the queen Dynamis, Eupator’s granddaughter, who pursued as a political course the renewal of ‘Mithridatism’ (see for example Saprykin, S. Yu. 2002, 90–124). Unfortunately Bowersock does not specifically address the palaeography of the inscription as an argument for his dating. However, this question is of interest: the script of several letters in the text of the epitaph (the pi with hastae of equal height, the rho with a comparatively large loop) is quite close to the forms that were used in the Bosporus around the turn of the eras. On the other hand, the ypsilon and also the psi with a high vertical line are rather typical of the earlier period (cf. Boltunova, A. I., Knipovich, T. N., 1962, 10, table 3), so 63 B. C. is quite possible too (despite obvious differences from the Phanagorian decree on the mercenaries dated to 88 B. C.: Vinogradov Yu. G., 1992; Vinogradov Yu. G., Wörrle, M., 1992). As a result, it seems that the palaeographic analysis can hardly be used as a means of clarifying the date of the document within a narrow period. G. Bowersock’s hypothesis also ignores the peculiarities of the first line of the inscription that have been analysed in the present work. Incidentally, the use in the epitaph of Hypsicrateia’s’ ‘male pseudonym’ can hardly have been current decades after her own life and death: it is hard to imagine that the persons who were commissioned to make the monument were well-informed on the content of Theophanes of Mytilene’s work!

182

Oleg L. Gabelko

unique that it prompts one to put forward new suggestions as to its interpretation, even if there can be no hundred-per-cent certainty of their reliability. An epigraphic document becomes especially valuable when its analysis yields broad conclusions allowing us to reconstruct (with some or other degree of approximation) the historical situation in which it was created and which it reflects. If the interpretation of the monument suggested here is correct, it should be admitted that the monument conveys the dramatic developments in Bosporus in 63 B. C. with even more richness than do written sources. BIBLIOGRAPHY Abramzon, M. G., Kuznetsov, V. D. 2008: Dva klada mednyh monet pervoj poloviny I v. do n. e. iz Fanagorii (Two Hoards of Copper Coins of the First Half of the Ist cent. B. C. from Phanagoreia), VDI 4, 184–194 (in Russian). Abramzon, M. G., Kuznetsov, V. D. 2011: Novyje dannyje o vosstanii 63 g. do n. e. v Fanagorii (New Data on the 63 B. C. Revolt in Phanagoreia), VDI 2, 64–94 (in Russian). Ballesteros Pastor, L. 1996: Mitrídates Eupátor, rey del Ponto, Granada. Ballesteros Pastor, L. 2009: Mitrídates según Plutarco: a propósito de la descripción de Hipsicratea (Pomp. 32.14–15), in: M. Candau et alii (eds.), Plutarco Transmisor. Actas del X Simposio de la Asociación Española de Plutarquistas (Sevilla, November 12–14 2009), 113–122. Boltunova, A. I., Knipovich, T. N. 1962: Ocherk istorii grecheskogo lapidarnogo pis’ma na Bospore (Outline of the History of Greek Lapidary Writing in the Bosporus), NE 3, 3–31 (in Russian). Bongard-Levine, G., Kochelenko, G., Kuznetsov, V. 2006: Fouilles de Phanagorie: nouveaux documents archéologiques et épigraphiques du Bosphore, CRAI 1, 2, 255–282. Bowersock, G. W. 2008: In Search of Strabo, with Some New Light on Mithridates Eupator and His Concubine. Review of: D. Dueck, H. Lindsay, S. Pothecary (eds.), Strabo’s Cultural Geography. The Making of Kolossourgia, Cambridge, 2005, JRA 21, 598–601. Caro, G. 1943: An Attic Cemetery, Philadelphia. Chaniotis, A. 2002: The Jews of Aphrodisias: New Evidence and Old Problems, SCI, 21, 209–242. Gabelko,  O. L. 2005: Dinasticheskaya istorija ellenisticheskih monarhij Maloj Azii po dannym “Hronografii” Georgija Sinkella (Dynastic History of Hellenistic Monarchies of Asia Minor from the Data of George Synkellus’ “Chronography”), AAe 1, 86–106 (in Russian). Gulenkov, K. L. 2001: Orientalisticheskoje i ellinisticheskoje v sem’je Mitridata Evpatora (Orientalism and Hellenism in the Family of Mithridates Eupator), in: Antichnost’: obshchestvo i idei (Antiquity: Society and Ideas), Kazan, 71–83 (in Russian). Heinen, H. 2008: Romfreunde and Kaiserpriester im Kimmerischen Bosporos. Zu neuen Inschriften aus Phanagoreia, in: A. Coşkun (ed.): Freundschaft und Gefolgschaft in den auswärtigen Beziehungen der Römer (2. Jahrhundert v. Chr. – 1. Jahrhundert n. Chr), Frankfurt am Main etc., 189–206. Heinen, H. forthcoming: Hypsikrateia/Hypsikrates: Travestie aus Liebe. König Mithridates Eupators Page und eine neue Inschrift aus Phanagoreia/Russland, Jahrbuch der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen. Højte, J.-M. 2005: Roman Imperial Statue Bases from Augustus to Commodus. Aarhus. Hesberg, H. von. 1992: Römische Grabbauten, Darmstadt. Kienlin, A. von. 2003: Zu den Staatsgräbern im Kerameikos, Architectura 3, 113–122. Krapivina, V. V., Diatroptov, P. D. 2005: Nadpis’ namestnika Mitridata VI Evpatora iz Ol’vii (An Inscription of a Governor of Mithridates VI Eupator from Olbia), VDI 1, 67–73 (in Russian). Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007a: Novye nadpisi iz Fanagorii (New Inscriptions from Phanagoreia), VDI 1, 238–243 (in Russian).

A Historical and Epigraphic Commentary on Hypsicrateia’s Epitaph

183

Kuznetsov, V. D. 2007b: Fanagoria: istorija issledovanij i novye nahodki (Phanagoreia: the History of Research and New Findings), RosArch 2, 5–15 (in Russian). Kuznetsov, V. D. (ed.). 2008: Fanagoria. Po materialam Tamanskoj arheologicheskoj ekspeditsii Instituta arheologii RAN (Phanagoreia. From the Materials of the Taman’ Archaeological Expedition of Institute of Archaeology, RAS), Moscow (in Russian). Levi, I. Ye. 1956: Olvija i Nizhnee Pobuzh’je v antichnuyu epohu (Olbia and the Lower Bug Region in the Ancient Period), Moscow; Leningrad (in Russian). Mayor, A. 2010: The Poison King. The Life and Legend of Mithridates, Rome’s Deadliest Enemy, Princeton; Oxford. McGing, B. 1998: Na rubezhe. Kul’tura i istorija v Pontijskom tsarstve (On the Edge. Culture and History of the Pontic Kingdom), in: VDI 3, 97–111 (in Russian). Naumov, L. A. 2010: Mitridatovy voiny (The Mithridatic Wars), Moscow (in Russian). Nikolaev, N. I. 2008: Politicheskaya i kul’tovaya elita Ol’vii IV‑I vv. dо n. e. (Political and Cult Elite of Olbia 4th‑1st Century B. C.), Nikolaev (in Russian). Olshausen, E. 1974: Zum Hellenisierungsprozess am pontischen Königshof, AncSoc 5, 153–170. Panov, A. R., 2005: Vosstanie Kastora v Fanagorii: interpretatcija istochnikov (The Castor Uprising: Interpretation of the Sources), in: Zuev V. Ju. et al. (eds.), Bosporskij fenomen: problema sootnoshenija pis’mannyh i arheologicheskih istochnikov (The Bosporan Phenomenon. The Problem of the Correlation of Written and Archaeological Sources). Vol. 1, St. Petersburg, 41–45 (in Russian). Reinach, Th. 1890: Mithridate Eupator, roi de Pont, Paris. Saprykin, S. Yu. 2002: Bosporskoye tsarstvo na rubezhe dvuh epoh (The Bosporan Kingdom on the Verge of Two Epochs), Moscow (in Russian). Seibert, J. 1967: Historische Beiträge zu den Dynastischen Verbindungen in hellenistischer Zeit, Wiesbaden. Vinogradov Yu. G., 1992: Fanagorijskie naemniki, VDI, 4, 14–33. Vinogradov Yu. G., Wörrle, M. 1992: Die Söldner von Phanagoreia, Chiron, 22, 159–170.

THE ROMAN CITIZENRY IN ARMS: . THE REPUBLICAN BACKGROUND AND TRADITIONS . OF THE IMPERIAL ARMY Alexander V. Makhlayuk (Nizhny Novgorod State University) I. INTRODUCTION From its very beginnings, the military system of Rome evolved on the basis of the city-state (civitas, polis), i. e. a community of citizens-soldiers localized in a town and organized in a military manner, which was a type of integrated society in which every citizen was simultaneously a farmer, a soldier and the father of a family. Warfare was part of the normal experience of every able-bodied Roman male who was obliged to undertake military service according to his property qualification (census); war was embedded in the fabric of the Roman state and its religion, determining its cultural and moral values and the character of Roman militarism.1 Participation in the military system was an exclusive right and an honourable (and sacred) duty of the Roman citizen, whose social existence presupposed a regular alternation between two statuses: that of civis (Quiris) domi and miles militiae, i. e. a civilian at home and a soldier in the field. The alternation of military campaigns and peacetime periods in the life of the Roman community, the transformation of civilians into soldiers and vice versa, marked the course of social time according to the change of the natural seasons.2 Thus the Roman armed forces had originally been the Roman citizenry in arms3 and the dominant ideology of the army in the Republican era was that of a citizens’ militia habituated to an annual rhythm of warfare.4 Rome’s official ideology shaped a society in which “any Roman, is first and foremost a warrior, or rather a soldier.”5 These features, therefore, determined the principles of recruitment and the social composition of the army, its battle order and command structure,6 and ultimately they were the cause of the most remarkable achievements of Roman arms.7 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Hopkins, K. 1978, 25–37; Harris, W. V. 1979, 9–53; Oakley, S. 1993, 28–31; Cornell, T. 1993, 155–156; Dawson, D. 1996, 113–114. Harris, W. V. 1979, 9–10; Woolf, G. 1993, 175–176; Rüpke, J. 1990, 22–28. Hoyos, D. 2007, 68. Nicolet, C. 1988, 92 ff., 127 ff.; Patterson, J. 1993, 95. Nicolet, C. 1988, 90. Tokmakov, V. N. 1998; Tokmakov, V. N. 2007; Hoyos, D. 2007, 64 ff. This fact was specially emphasized by Polybius, who, in his reflections on the reasons for the Roman superiority over the Carthaginians, stressed that the Romans relied not on foreign mer-

186

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

In the course of Roman history, the indivisible unity of citizenship and military service gradually disintegrated, the Roman Republic being transformed into a differentiated society in which a function such as warfare became the preserve of a specialized group in the population, instead of being embedded in the totality of the citizen body.8 From the mid-second century B. C. onward, fighting for Rome had ceased to be “a duty, a responsibility and a privilege” of every citizen.9 The citizen militia began to be replaced by a fully professional army that was physically separated from the rest of society. Correspondingly, there occurred essential changes in the recruitment methods and social composition of the legions, in service conditions and in the character of the Roman war machine as a whole, which was adapted to new military tasks, new strategic aims and new societal and political realities. The tripartite unity of “citizen–landowner–soldier” that was the cornerstone of Rome as a city-state had been broken. One can see in this process of the army’s emancipation from the citizen body a symptom of and decisive factor in the crisis of the classical Roman republic and an important precondition of its replacement by virtually monarchic rule.10 Modern scholars have thoroughly studied the main developments of this transformation, which originated in the military reform known under the name of C. Marius at the end of the second century B. C. and in the Augustan settlement of the military system in the last decades of the first century B. C. and very early first century A. D.11 Much attention has been given to organizational, strategic and legal changes, as well as to the social and ethnic composition of the imperial army and its recruitment procedures (dilectus, conscriptio). From Th. Mommsen’s works onwards, three important questions have usually been asked: 1. What were the geographical and ethnic origins of the military? 2. From which social strata were they drawn? 3. Were innovations in these areas a result of deliberate political will or were they influenced by external circumstances?12 cenary troops, but on the virtue of citizens defending their fatherland and on the help of their allies (Polyb. VI. 52. 1 sqq.). See Hoyos, D. 2007, 67. 8 Hopkins, K. 1978, 74–96; Cornell, T. 1993, 164. 9 Cagniart, P. 2007, 80. Quotation from Keppie, L. 1998, 17. 10 Cf. Mommsen’s very eloquent conclusion on the remote consequences of C. Marius’ reform: “Die republikanische Verfassung ruhte zumeist darauf, daß der Bürger zugleich Soldat, der Soldat vor allem Bürger war; es war mit ihr zu Ende, sowie ein Soldatenstand sich bildete… der Kriegsdienst ward allmählich Kriegshandwerk. … wie in der bürgerlichen Verfassung so standen auch in der militärischen bereits alle Pfeiler der künftigen Monarchie: es fehlte einzig an dem Monarchen. Wie die zwölf Adler um den Palatinischen Hügel kreisten, da riefen sie dem Königtum; der neue Adler, den Gaius Marius den Legionen verlieh, verkündete das Reich der Kaiser” (Mommsen, Th. 1912–1917, II, 196–197). 11 See first of all Gabba, E. 1949; Gabba, E. 1951; Smith, R. E. 1958; Harmand, J. 1974; Keppie, L. 1998; Raaflaub, K. A. 1987; Alston, R. 2002; Cagniart, P. 2007; Gilliver, K. 2007. 12 All these issues have been elucidated in detail and from many angles. On the organization of recruiting imperial legions see: Mommsen, Th. 1884a; Liebenam, W. 1905; Watson, G. R. 1969, 37–44; Watson, G. R. 1982; Brunt, P. A. 1974a; Brunt, P. A. 1971, 625–634; Davies, R. 1969; Gilliam, J. F. 1957; Gáspár, D. 1974; Priuli, S. 1971; Campbell, J. B. 2002, 22–34; Stauner, K. 2004, 36–39; Phang, S. E. 2007, 287–289; Wesch-Klein, G. 2007, 436–439. On the ethnic and social composition of the Roman imperial army: Kraft, K. 1951; Forni, G. 1953;

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

187

However, modern authors rarely speak about the correlation between the two principal concepts that determined the basic character of the Roman army, namely civis and miles.13 Meanwhile, as M. Griffin notes, the idea of the citizen-soldier was as important to a Roman as the gun-carrying frontiersman is to the American dream.14 And some historians reasonably underline the citizen quality of the army of the Principate, which differed essentially both from the former citizen militia and from the mercenary armies of the Hellenistic kingdoms.15 In some aspects, imperial legions continued to keep their original civilian-militia nature. At least, as B. Campbell notes, after Augustus the government continued to suppose the army to be the Roman people under arms.16 K. Gilliver argues that, in spite of the growing tendency in the last century of the Republic for some citizens to see military service as a profession, there had remained a strong belief in the idea of a Rome whose military superiority lay in the traditions of a citizen militia drawn from the property-owning classes, but she considers that the creation of a professional army recruited without regard to social, and sometimes citizen, status signalled an end to this central feature of the Roman republic.17 G. Wesch-Klein goes further, pointing out that the old Roman concept of the citizen army recruited from freeborn men was never entirely forgotten.18 Moreover, some scholars hold that not only the legions of the Principate, but even the military of the Late Empire may be regarded as an army that “understood itself as a collective of citizens” and acted on the political stage in accordance with that consciousness.19 One may take for granted that the problem of the legionaries’ citizen status is directly connected with the general assessment of the character of the imperial army and its role as a social and political force during the Empire. Some scholars insist that the question of the social strata from which the troops were levied is of marginal importance, because long-term service in legions stationed in remote frontier areas radically separated the military from their native environment and converted them into full-time professionals – mercenaries in essence – or, more pointedly, into déclassé ‘Landsknechts’.20 Other historians stress that harsh military order and discipline and the army’s structures as a whole must have primarily conditioned the soldiers’ socialization and identity21 and that, given the closed character of the imperial army, its distant deployment and specialized tasks, and the maintenance of a

13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Forni, G. 1974; Webster, G. 1969, 104 ff.; Watson, G. R. 1969, 30 ff.; Mann, J. C. 1983, 49–64; Le Bohec, Y. 1989, 71–107; Le Bohec, Y. 1989a, 491–530. Dahlheim, W. 1992, 199. Griffin, M. 2000, 117. See especially Flaig, E. 1992, 164–168. Campbell, J. B. 2002, 26. Cf. Campbell, J. B. 1984, 14. However, Campbell comments that the imperial army was virtually a private mercenary force (Campbell, J. B. 1984, 393). Gilliver, K. 2007, 185. Wesch-Klein, G. 2007, 435. Cf. Raaflaub, K. A. 1987, 258 ff.; Rowe, G. 2002, 160. Glushanin, E. P. 1996, 28 ff.; Glushanin, E. P. 1998, 11; Glushanin, E. P. 2001, 124. E. Glushanin even employs concepts such as “military citizenry”, “civic responsibility of the army”, “the particular branch of Roman citizen body, that of the military.” See also Pabst, A. 1997. Mashkin, N. A. 1949, 512. Flaig, E. 1992, 137.

188

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

specific military ethos and professional moral code to be cultivated among the legionaries, it is possible to treat the legion (or a frontier military garrison) not only as a particular community, but as a kind of ‘total institution’.22 There is another view, which seems more reasonable: the legions of the early Principate were not composed of proletarian troops, but to a large extent were recruited from the urban, quite well-to-do middle-classes,23 and the main approach of Augustus’ recruitment policy (and that of his successors) must have been a selection based on quality, i. e. the legions were replenished by personnel distinguished by definite social and moral qualities. It was the first princeps who, acting as the restorer of ancient mores, consciously aspired to establish these high standards in recruitment requirements, in order to make the army a kind of elite corps of citizenry, specially selected and trained to defend the Empire’s greatness.24 From this point of view, even after the army had become entirely professional and legionary enlistment increasingly took place at the local level, the criterion of citizenship remained of primary importance, and the imperial legionaries never behaved like ordinary mercenaries (barring some excesses), despite the fact that the very idea of citizenship had become more and more diluted in its political content.25 So one can claim that the old dichotomy of civis–miles continued to play a significant role and that in all likelihood the civilian-militia nature of the legions survived. However, as far as I know, in modern scholarship there is no detailed investigation directly concerning the survival and display of this dichotomy in ideology, law and practice during the Principate. In what follows, I will attempt to delineate a conceptual framework within which the imperial legions can be construed as the ‘Roman citizenry in arms’. In addition, we also need to trace how this conception correlated with the professional nature of the army, since it is the contradictory mixture of old civic-community attitudes and military professionalism that to a large extent determined the distinctive character of the military system under the Principate.

22 Flaig, E. 1992, 132 ff. In sociological terminology, ‘total institution’ (or ‘total organization’) means a community that is socially and culturally isolated from the rest of society, based on internal horizontal ties and on the specific value-system and ethical code that form its particular identity relative to the surrounding world. See Shaw, B. 1983, especially, 148; Pollard, N. 1992; Pollard, N. 1996. Criticism of viewing the imperial army as a version of ‘total institution’ by Stoll, O. 2001, 107 ff., 135–136; Speidel, M. A. 1995, 188–190. On the possibility of considering the Roman army as a ‘total institution’ in general, see Haynes, I. 1999, 8–9. 23 Rostovtzeff, M. I. 2000, 56; 110; Forni, G. 1953, 119; Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 76; Le Bohec, Y. 1989, 74. 24 Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 69–73; Le Bohec, Y. 1989, 74; Carrié, J.-M. 1989, 109 ff. 25 Carrié, J.-M. 1989, 113–114; Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 74–75; Flaig, E. 1992, 165.

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

189

II. SOME SACRAL AND LEGAL GROUNDS OF THE ROMAN ATTITUDE . TO WARFARE AND MILITARY SERVICE First of all, we need to turn our attention to those general Roman attitudes to military activity which were dominant from Rome’s earliest days and which anticipated some later trends in the evolution of her military organization. What should primarily be stressed is the strict delimitation, ingrained from ancient times, between civilian and military realms in Roman life, which formed a gulf between the two states of the Roman male – that of a peace-time civis (Quiris) and that of a belligerent warrior, miles – a gulf that corresponds to distinctions between the areas of senior magistrates’ powers, the imperium domi and imperium militiae.26 Here one can perhaps identify not only the oldest functional differentiation characterizing an archaic society,27 but a starting-point for the emergence of the special norms and aspects found in the later organization of military service and the army command.28 In Rome’s archaic period, the armed force, exercitus, was strictly separated from the citizen body, civitas, in temporal and spatial respects, as well as in a sacral-law dimension, which was of great significance for the Romans, given their religious consciousness.29 From this point of view, the army was construed as a sort of sacred institution,30 separated from other groups of the population and subordinated not to civil law (ius), and not merely to military discipline in the modern sense, but to that what Tacitus calls fas disciplinae (Tac. Ann. I. 19. 3), i. e. a totality of norms, bonds and relationships established by divine forces.31 When, after carrying out necessary preparations and proper rites, Roman citizens departing on campaign had crossed the sacred boundary of Rome, the pomerium (within which an armed force was strictly prohibited: Gell. Noct. Att. XV. 27), they were transformed into warriors whose mission was determined by the law of war and was linked to violence, killing and bloodshed; they found themselves in another space, under the protection of other deities and they had lost a part of their civil rights.32 To return back into the previous, peace-time conditions, the military were required to carry out special purifying rites, lustratio exercitus, which (like other seasonal military festivals that preceded the beginning of warfare) were dedicated primarily to Mars, as well as to some other deities, including Janus.33 All these rites, which were carried out and supervised by different priestly collegia, principally by the salii,34 may be classed as ‘rites of passage’.35 This practice remained in use during the Empire and was 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Cf. Rüpke, J. 1990, 41 f.; 91. Brisson, J.-P. 1969a, 12; Tokmakov, V. N. 2007, 165. Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 55. Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 29 ff.; Tokmakov, V. N. 1997, 49–50; Tokmakov, V. N. 2007, 165– 170. Cf. Liv. VIII. 34. 10: sacrata militia. Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 55–56 and ff. Knabe, G. S. 1985, 110–112; Rüpke, J. 1990, 51–55; Tokmakov, V. N. 1997, 49. Le Bonniec, H. 1969, 106, 110; Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 28–36; Rüpke, J. 1990, 144–146; Braudy, D. 1998, 215–221; Siebert, A. V. 1999, 106–113; Greshnykh, A. N. 2000. Rappaport, 1920, especially 1887 ff.; Rüpke, J. 1990, 24–27;Tokmakov, V. N. 1997a. Van Gennep, 1909, 120 ff.; Dumezil, G. 1974, 216 ff.

190

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

presumably fully comprehensible to most Romans, though it had already become somewhat routine.36 For instance, army units in the third century A. D., as the famous Feriale Duranum shows, continued to celebrate the first day of March, dedicated to Mars Victor.37 The purifying sacrifice of pig, sheep and bull in honour of Mars (suovetaurilia, introduced, according to tradition, by King Servius: Liv. I. 44. 2; Dionys. Hal. Ant. Rom. IV. 22. 1–2) was fulfilled in the same way as in the earliest times.38 It is worth noting that Marcus Aurelius is said to have been a member of the salii in his early years and to have taken great pride in the fact that he had been able to learn all the sacral formulae and gestures (HA. M. Aur. 4. 4). In terms of sacral law, the army was itself constituted by swearing the military oath, the sacramentum militiae, which was in essence a religious act that converted a citizen into a soldier, placing him in a particular relation with the gods and with the holder of imperium.39 And, regardless of certain changes in its formulation, the military oath during the Principate was still understood in the same way. In addition, it emphasized the link between the military and the state, res publica Romana.40 It is not, then, an unsupportable conclusion that Augustus and his successors acknowledged, and sought to maintain, the old religious basis of the Roman conception of military service as a specific mission, with the goal of making the official (= state) religion of the army serve in general to support the Roman character of the legions, making “the camp an enclave of Romanism in a jungle of non-Roman mores and ideas.”41 36 Brisson, J.-P. 1969a, 13; Latte, K. 1960, 119. 37 P. Dur. 54, 19–20. See Nock, A. D. 1952; Helgeland, J. 1978, 1474 ff.; Stoll, O. 2007, 453 ff. 38 App. BC I. 96; Tac. Ann. VI. 37. 2. See also the reliefs on the columns of Trajan (No. 37, 77/78; cf. 7. 63/64) and Marcus Aurelius (No. 7), and RIB 2139. 39 Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 36 ff., 41; Tokmakov, V. N. 1994, 128 f., 134. On the religious significance of the military oath in general see Helgeland, J. 1978, 1479; Campbell, J. B. 1984, 22 ff.; Rüpke, J. 1990, 76 ff.; Stäcker, J. 2003, 293–307. 40 It is noteworthy that the obligation to sacrifice oneself for the sake of the Roman state was included in the formula of the imperial military oath (Veget. II. 5: Iurant autem milites omnia se strenue facturos, quae praeceperit imperator, numquam deserturos militiam nec mortem recusaturos pro Romana republica; ср. Serv. Ad Aen. VIII. 1). Campbell (Campbell, J. B. 1984, 22; 25) believes that this formulation may have been an attempt to preserve the fiction that the army continued to be the force of the Roman people and may have been added in the later period in order to ensure, in the times of frequent changes of emperor, the loyalty of those soldiers under arms who were only nominally connected with Rome. Cf. Flaig, 1992, 161, 164–165. One may recall an inscription on the funeral monument at Adamklissi in honour of fallen soldiers under Domitian, who are said to have perished for the sake of the Roman state: in … memoriam fortissimorum virorum qui …pro re p(ublica) morte occubuerunt (ILS 9107 = CIL III 14214). Appeals to ‘popular’ sentiments also crop up in some texts that the central state prepared for military contexts. See, e. g. the Alpine Trophy of 7–6 B. C.: imperium p(opuli) R(omani) (Ehrenberg, V., Jones. A. H. M. 1955, No. 40), and T. Siar. fr. I col. a, lin. 15: exercitus p(opuli) R(omani). See Rowe, G. 2002, 160 f. Note also the remarkable phrasing of mutinous German legionaries in Tac. Ann. I. 31. 5, who claim the Roman state to be in their hands, gaining its greatness from their victories: sua in manu sitam rem Romanam, suis victoriis augeri rem publicam. 41 Helgeland, J. 1978, 1495. This conclusion is a communis opinio among modern scholars: Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 72; Haynes, I. 1999, 7; Stoll, O. 2007, 455.

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

191

It should be stressed also that it is the oldest sacral-law principles that were the ground of the total ban on slaves entering military service.42 According to these principles, the army would be regarded as a sacred group and the soldiers were those “who fulfil sacral acts”,43 to which slaves might by no means be admitted. This ban, being the core of the civic city-state, had entirely maintained its central role in the Principate, although in cases of emergency, as in earlier times, troops might be levied from slaves and freedmen.44 The explicit wording on this matter survives in the writings of the third-century Roman lawyers.45 In Marcianus’ words, ab omni militia servi prohibentur: alioquin capite puniuntur (Dig. 49. 16. 11). Arrius Menander wrote that it is a serious crime for a person to enlist as a soldier when he is not permitted to do so; and the gravity of the offence is increased according to dignity, rank and branch of service.46 The same author defines more precisely that this prohibition concerns also disenfranchised persons, namely criminals condemned ad bestias, those deported to an island (even temporarily) or convicted of adultery or of any public crime, reus capitalis criminis (Dig. 49. 16. 4. 1–3; 7). More than that, enlistment in the army was forbidden also to those whose legal status was in dispute, even though they might in fact be free, no matter whether the adjudication sought was from freedom to slavery or vice versa. Freeborn persons serving as slaves in good faith could not enter the ranks, nor could those who had been ransomed from the enemy, until they had redeemed themselves.47 In practice it might not be possible to enforce the capital punishment of a slave who proved, in one way or another, to be in the ranks of the army, but responsibility for this crime evidently could not be terminated and even successful service was not an extenuating circumstance for the guilty party.48 Our sources do not permit us to gauge whether slaves’ enlistment in the army was widespread, but such accidents do not seem to have been rare exceptions.49 Pliny the Younger faced this problem as governor of Bithynia, when two slaves who found themselves among the new recruits and had already sworn the military oath 42 Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 70–72. 43 sacra faciunt (Fest. P. 352 L 60). Cf. Paul. Fest. 17. 28–29 L: armilustrium festum erat apud Romanos, quo res divinas armati faciebant… 44 See Vell. II. 111. 1; Plin. NH. VII. 149; Suet. Aug. 25; Dio Cass. LV. 31. 1; HA. M. Aur. 21. 6. On such emergency levies under Augustus see Brunt, P. A. 1974. On the employment of slaves in the armed forces in general see Rouland, N. 1977; Welwei, K.-W. 1988. 45 Jung, J. H. 1982, 885–886. 46 Dig. 49. 16. 2. 1 (Arrius Menander lib. I de re militari): Dare se militiae, cui non licet, grave crimen habetur: et augetur… dignitate gradu specie militiae. 47 Dig. 49. 16. 8 (Ulpianus lib. VIII disputat.): Qui status controversiam patiuntur, licet re vera liberi sunt, non debent per id tempus nomen militiae dare, maxime lite ordinata, sive ex libertate in servitutem sive contra petantur. Nec hi quidem, qui ingenui bona fidem serviunt: sed nec qui ab hostibus redempti sunt, priusquam se luant. Cf. Dig. 40. 12. 29 pr. 48 As a report of Cassius Dio (LXVII. 13. 1) makes clear, Domitian, acting as censor of A. D. 93, gave a certain Claudius Pacatus back to his master, even though he had already advanced to the rank of centurion, after he had been proved to be a former slave. 49 In all likelihood such persons must have been run-away slaves (Dig. 40. 12. 29 pr.; Isid. Etym. IX. 3. 39; СTh. VII. 13. 8; VII. 18. 9. 3). See for more details Rouland, N. 1977, 58 ff.; Welwei, K.-W. 1988, 5 ff.

192

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

were sent to him for investigation.50 The issue caused Pliny embarrassment and induced him to apply to the emperor (Epist. X. 29–30). Trajan’s response makes clear that slaves who had offered themselves as volunteers should be sentenced to death; if they had been conscripted into the army, or taken as vicarii, i. e. as substitutes for someone else, this fact was to be interpreted as a mistake by those in charge of inspecting recruits (inquisitio).51 It is not unlikely that such a ‘mistake’ might be a result of bribery. Julius Caesar tried to fight officials’ corruption during levies by his Lex Iulia de repetundis of 59 B. C., which treated such bribery as a dangerous abuse of power.52 Military service in any branch of the army was thus entirely forbidden to slaves. As for freedmen, they had the opportunity to serve, but only in units of lower prestige relative to citizen troops, i. e. in cohorts of the vigiles and the fleet. During the Principate this was a steady custom but not a legally fixed norm, since no direct prohibition of freedmen’s service in other branches of the armed forces is known.53 Reported exceptions only confirm this rule. Like slaves, liberti were called up for military service solely in emergencies, for example in the period of the Pannonian rebellion of A. D. 6–9, after the disaster of Varus’ legions or during the plague in the reign of Marcus Aurelius. Freedmen, however, always formed separate units and were not lumped together with the freeborn-soldiers.54 Evidence for service by freedmen in auxiliary units or legions is rarely recorded, but this is no surprise because former slaves did not make efforts to note their status.55 Thus former slaves, despite acquiring Roman or Latin citizenship at their manumission, as far as military service is concerned were still ranked below peregrines or illegitimate sons of legionaries, who might become Roman citizens at the moment of entering a legion, to say nothing of service in auxilia troops, which provided the opportunity of receiving civic rights at the end of their service (see below). There were no legal obstacles to that. So, it seems safe to conclude that the imperial military organization did maintain two basic traditional principles: firstly, 50 Usually, the sacramentum was sworn four months after the would-be soldier’s interview (probatio). See Le Bohec, Y. 1989, 77; Watson, G. R. 1969, 38 ff. 51 Sherwin-White, A. N. 1966, 601–602. On the punishment of slaves for attempts to enter the army see Welwei, K.-W. 1988, 181–191. 52 Dig. 47. 11. 6. 2: ne quis ob militem legendum mittendumque aes accipiat. On the existence of such abuses during the Principate see, e. g., Tac. Ann. XIV. 18. 1; Hist. IV. 14. 1. 53 Jung, J. H. 1982, 898. 54 Suet. Aug. 25. 2; Plin. NH. VII. 148; Cass. Dio. LVI. 23. 3; HA. M. Aur. 21. 6. There were earlier precedents: as Livy and Macrobius attest, single cohorts of freedmen were levied for the first time by C. Marius during the Social War (Liv. Per. 74; Macrob. Sat. I. 11. 32). See Mommsen, Th. 1888, III, 450; Liebenam, W. 1905, 621 f. 55 Wesch-Klein, G. 1998, 157–158; Forni, G. 1953, 116 f.; 125; Forni, G. 1974, 353; Davies, R. W. 1969, 213. We can point out only a few instances. A certain freedman is known to have served in an auxiliary unit in the reign of Tiberius (AE 1912, 48: Iulius Saturio Iuli l(ibertus) dom(o) Haed(uus) missic(ius) ala(e) Capit(onianae)… See Welwei, K.-W. 1988, 20 f., n. 52). The centurion Aurelius Argivus may have been descended from freedmen, although he seems rather to have been enfranchised on the basis of his enlistment (AE 1983, 730; Wesch-Klein, G. 1998, 158, n. 64, with further literature). In Dig. 29. 1. 13. 7 a miles libertus is mentioned, but it is unclear what branch of the army he served in.

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

193

the dependence of military participation upon citizen rights and its ancient sacred roots, and secondly, as we shall argue more fully below, the strict differentiation between citizen and non-citizen troops from the point of view of their prestige and honour. III. BECOMING ROMAN CITIZENS THROUGH MILITARY SERVICE Now we turn our attention to the question of how non-citizens could be awarded Roman citizenship for their military activity. As is well known, from Claudius’ reign onwards auxiliary soldiers began to be granted citizen rights when they retired, and from the Flavian age onward the enlistment of provincial peregrines into the legions (with simultaneous enfranchisement) became more and more widespread. In the mid-second century the Greek rhetorician Aelius Aristides, in his Encomium to Rome (Εἰς Ῥώμην, Or. 26. 75 Keil; cf. 78), underlines how carefully the Romans select recruits and he especially points out that those who enter the ranks become Roman citizens: You [the Romans] went to every one of the provinces, and then examined who were to undertake this service. When you had found them, you released them from their native land and gave them your own city in exchange. Consequently, they actually became reluctant for the rest of their lives to call themselves by their original ethnics. Having made them fellow-citizens, you made them also soldiers, so that the men from this city would not be subject to the levy, and those performing military service would none the less be citizens. On the day they joined the army, they lost their original city, but from the very same day became fellow-citizens of your city and its defenders.56

It is undoubtedly this approach that permitted the Romans to expand their recruitment zone to embrace almost the whole Mediterranean region and to reconcile voluntary enlistment with qualitative selection of recruits,57 even if the very principle of the connection between citizenship and the right to serve had become more and more of a formality.58 However, sometimes particular situations occurred in which peregrines were enrolled in the legions without granting them Roman citizenship. An important precedent can be seen in the action of Julius Caesar who in the winter of 52/1 B. C. had formed the famous legion of ‘crested larks’ – legio V Alaudae – composed of Transalpine Gauls.59 One more case is the creation of two legions from the sailors 56 ἐλθόντες ἐπὶ πᾶσαν τὴν ὑπήκοον ἐντεῦθεν ἐσκέψασθε τοὺς λειτουργήσοντας τήνδε τὴν λειτουργίαν, καὶ ὡς εὕρετε, ὁμοῦ τῆς τε πατρίδος ἀπηλλάξατε καὶ τὴν ὑμετέραν αὐτῶν πόλιν ἀντέδοτε αὐτοῖς· ὥστε καὶ αἰσχυνθῆναι τὸ λοιπὸν αὑτοὺς ἐκείνους γ’ ἀνειπεῖν, ὅθεν ἦσαν τὸ ἀρχαῖον… ποιησάμενοι δὲ πολίτας, οὕτως καὶ στρατιώτας ἐποιήσατε ὥστε τούς τε ἀπὸ τῆς πόλεως μὴ στρατεύεσθαι καὶ τοὺς στρατευομένους μηδ’ ὁτιοῦν ἧττον εἶναι πολίτας, τῆς μὲν ἀρχαίας ἀπόλιδας γεγενημένους ἅμα τῇ στρατείᾳ, τῆς δ’ ὑμετέρας πολίτας τε καὶ φρουροὺς ἀπὸ τῆς αὐτῆς ἡμέρας. 57 Carrié, J.-M. 1989, 109–110. 58 Mommsen, Th. 1884a, 78. 59 Suet. Iul. 24. 2; Plin. NH. XI. 121. See Cichorius, C. 1894; Ritterling, E. 1925, 1564; Bishop, M. C. 1990. However, “it is interesting that in his Gallic War Caesar himself never mentions

194

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

of the Misenum and Ravenna fleets during the Civil War of A. D. 68–69 – I and II Adiutrix respectively; as military diplomas show, their soldiers were enfranchised only when they retired.60 Another situation arose in the case of 22 sailors of the Misenum fleet. These military personnel of Egyptian origin were transferred by the emperor Hadrian to the legio X Fretensis during the Jewish War of A. D. 132–135.61 These newly made legionaries seem to have gained citizen rights at the very moment of the transfer. Whatever the motives of this action were, it is noticeable that it was considered a special favour from the emperor (ex indulgentia divi Hadriani in leg. Fr. translatis) (lin. 5–6). It is interesting, however, that after the soldiers had received their honesta missio and desired to retire home in A. D. 150 (or at the end of 149), they presented a petition (libellus) to the governor of Syria Palaestina, Velius Fidus, asking him to give them an official confirmation (instrumentum), which they needed to present to the prefect of Egypt as proof of their discharge from the legion, not from the fleet. In his resolution (subscriptio), Velius, though complying with the request, remarks that as a rule such a confirmation is not given to legionary veterans (lin. 22–23: veterani ex legionibus instrumentum accipere non solent). On the basis of this wording and the analysis of other documents J. Mann has rightly noted that the legionaries, in marked contrast to the auxiliaries, seem to have had to obtain proof of service for themselves. According to his careful conclusions, this fact allows us to suppose that the Romans in the Principate thought of legionaries (unlike all other branches of the military) as citizens in arms who, as under the Republic, returned to their homes at the end of each campaigning season and who needed no attestation of their status.62 J. Harmand is right to note that the widespread practice, beginning from the Flavians, of levying provincial non-citizens into the legions with subsequent enfranchisement is revealed in embryo in the creation of the ‘Larks’ legion’ by Caesar who, alongside other considerations, may have been guided not only by recent precedents but also by that of the early and middle republic.63 Attitudes of this sort are perhaps reflected in Cicero’s arguments in his speech of 56 B. C. in defence of the Gaditan Cornelius Balbus. Some of its passages present the idea that those who defend the Roman state at the cost of military hardship and dangers, displaying their valour, deserve the award of that citizenship for the sake of which they had faced

60

61 62 63

the Alaudae by name preferring vague references to ‘cohorts’, which suggests that he was sufficiently conscious of the legion’s unorthodox origins to wish to conceal them” (Keppie, L. 1998, 140–141). I Adiutrix: CIL XVI 7 = ILS 1988; CIL XVI 8; 9; RMD 136. II Adiutrix: CIL XVI 10; 11 = ILS 1989. See also Ritterling, E. 1925, 1380 ff., 1437 ff.; Kienast, D. 1966, 61 ff., 69 ff. However, it was Octavian who included in his army the legio XXII Deiotariana, levied from eastern provincials, and later resorted to non-Roman sources of legionary recruitment, although he in general followed the practice of levying only Roman citizens into the legions. See Keppie, L. 1996, 389. Smallwood, E. M. 1966, No. 330 = PSI IX 1026 = CPL XVI, App. 13. Mann, J. C. 2000, 156 ff., 161. Harmand, J. 1974, 290.

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

195

dangers and arms.64 As a model, Cicero refers to C. Marius’ award of the citizenship to two cohorts of Camerini who had distinguished themselves in battle against the Cimbri (Pro Balbo. 46).65 The orator also mentions similar acts by Pompey, Sulla, Q. Metellus, P. and M. Crassus, as well as by Pompeius Strabo, who granted civic rights to the Mamertini Ovii, to the citizens of Utica and to the Saguntini Fabii (ibid. 51); and what is more, Cicero considers these acts quite lawful (ibid. 49; cf. Cic. Pro Arch. 24–25; Phil. I. 24; Val. Max. V. 2. 8; Sisenna. Frg. 120 Peter).66 This type of practice continued in the imperial era.67 The Roman citizenship could be awarded not only to the soldiers of auxiliary cohorts for their brave deeds, but also to the military from ethnic numeri, who had been included in the armed forces in the second century A. D. and who, in contrast to the auxiliaries, did not receive diplomas when they were discharged.68 All these awards were made collectively, en bloc: there are very few individual grants of citizenship to auxiliaries.69 But, one way or another, in the Principate the very interdependence between military service for Rome, martial distinction and the opportunity to become a Roman citizen kept its significance as an incentive.70 Institutionally this principle was realized, from Claudius onward,71 through the enfranchisement of peregrine soldiers 64 Cic. Pro Balbo. 51: Etenim cum ceteris praemiis digni sunt qui suo labore et periculo nostram rem publicam defendunt, tum certe dignissimi sunt qui civitate ea donentur pro qua pericula ac tela subierunt. Cf. ibid. 40. 65 Cameria is a town in Umbria, an old ally of Rome. According to Plutarch, for this act Marius was accused of illegal deeds and in fact acknowledged its illegality, having claimed in a famous phrase: ὅτι τοῦ νόμου διὰ τὸν τῶν ὅπλων ψόφον οὐ κατακούσειεν (Plut. Mar. 28. 3). However, by the end of Republic the award of citizenship by generals had become an unwritten rule, in obvious contrast to previous times when this right belonged to the people (see Mommsen, Th. 1888, II, 890 ff.). 66 During the late Republican period this practice is attested by direct epigraphic evidence. The inscription on a bronze plaque from Asculum records that in the military camp the imperator Pompeius Strabo awarded different military decorations to a turma Salluitana for their bravery and granted Roman citizenship to these Spanish horsemen, in accordance with the statute (i. e. the lex Iulia de civitate of 90 B. C.): [C]n. Pompeius Se[x. f. imperator] virtutis causa | equites Hispanos ceives [Romanos fecit in castr]eis apud Asculum a(nte) d(iem) XIV K(alendas) Dec(embres) | ex lege Iulia (ILLRP, 515 = CIL VI 37045 = CIL I2 709 = ILS 8888). See Criniti, N. 1970, 26; 57–61; Roldan, J. M. 1986, 115–135. On this practice see in more detail Krawczuk, A. 1963. 67 See in detail Maxfield, V. A. 1981, 126–127; 218 f.; 227. Two examples will suffice. CIL XVI 160 = IDR I, 1 = AE 1944, 57 (1946, 131 = 1947, 31): Imp(erator) Caesar divi Nervae f(ilius) Nerva Traia/nus August(us) German(icus) Dacic(us) etc. peditibus et equitibus qui militant / in cohorte I Brittonum milliaria / Ulpia torquata P(ia) F(ideli) civium Romano/rum quae est in Dacia sub D(ecimo) Terentio / Scauriano quorum nomina sub/scripta sunt pie et fideliter ex/ peditione Dacica functis ante // emerita stipendia civi/tatem Romanam dedit…; AE 1904, 31: I[mp(eratori) Cae]sari / T(ito) Ae[l(io) Hadr(iano) An]tonino / Au[g(usto) Pio p(atri) p(atriae) c]oh(ors) / I B[aetasior(um) c(ivium)] R(omanorum) ob / vi[rtutem et fi]dem. 68 Mann, J. C. 1954; Speidel, M. P. 1975, 203. 69 Holder, P. A. 1980, 29–30. 70 Cf. Wesch-Klein, G. 2007, 442. 71 On Claudius’ motives see Wesch-Klein, G. 2007, 442. On the significance of military service for the social mobility of peregrine soldiers see, e. g., Saddington, D. B. 1982, 189–192; Pferdehirt, B. 2002; Alföldy, G. 2002.

196

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

(as well as of those freedmen who served in the fleet and the cohortes vigilum) at discharge. Hence by entering the army they became potential citizens and, as in the case of provincial peregrines’ enlistment into the legions, military service became a mechanism for spreading the Roman citizenship.72 However, this system, while of great significance for attracting volunteers, led inevitably to a point where the traditional city-state conception of the ‘citizen-warrior’ acquired a totally different formulation: the ‘soldier-citizen’.73 IV. THE IDEOLOGY OF RECRUITING: SOCIAL, LEGAL AND MORAL CRITERIA FOR THE SELECTION OF RECRUITS During the Principate until at least the early third century, the privileged citizen character of the legions – in contrast to the peregrine status of the auxilia and marines – was distinctly emphasized both in the organizational and legal framework and in ideology. The legionaries were treated as an elite part of the army and society.74 In this sense, as I. Haynes emphasizes, “the form of the army and the pattern of its recruitment continued to be determined by a conceptual framework that was fundamentally Roman; and the division between auxiliary and legionary contingents was a natural product of the fundamental distinction between non-citizens and citizens.”75 There were many serious differences between citizen and peregrine troops in such matters as terms and conditions of service, pay rates and forms of rewards. It is necessary to bear in mind that on entering a legion a recruit was usually required to swear a particular oath. As one papyrus, dated A. D. 92, shows, he had to swear that he was a freeborn Roman citizen and that he had the right to serve in a legion.76 The lower standing of auxiliary soldiers is revealed in the fact that until the mid-second century A. D. they did not receive imperial donativa.77 Down to the third century A. D. soldiers of the auxilia and the fleet were often excluded from those who received the praemia militiae (in the form of land allotments or a bounty

72 Le Bohec, Y. 1989, 103. According to J. F. Gilliam’s estimate, in the eastern part of the Empire alone, from Augustus to Caracalla, about 600,000 men gained the Roman citizenship through military service (Gilliam, J. F. 1986, 282). 73 Cf. Carrié, J.-M. 1989, 104. 74 See generally Flaig, E. 1992, 132 f., 136–142. 75 Haynes, I. 1999, 165. 76 P. Fay. Barns 2 = CPL, 102 = Daris, 2: [---iuratusque dixit per --- se inge]nuum natum et c(ivem) R(omanum) esse iusque militandi in leg(ione) habere. See on this Davies, R. 1969, 208 ff.; Gilliam, J. F. 1957, 207 ff. 77 Cassius Dio in LIX. 2. 3, mentioning Caligula’s donations, notes that they were granted to praetorians, vigiles and στράτευμα πολιτικόν, i. e. the legions and cohortes civium Romanorum. See also Wesch-Klein, G. 1998, 57. There is a reasonable view that the donatives had great symbolic significance as an expression of special privilege and personal ties between soldiers and emperor: Veyne, P. 1976, 409; Flaig, E. 1992, 451–461; Stäcker, J. 2003, 387–397; Phang S. E. 2008, 153–200. Contra: Campbell, J. B. 1984, 189.

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

197

in cash).78 In addition, during the Empire the auxiliaries, because of their non-citizen status, had no right to be awarded dona militaria individually.79 Even in the tetrarchic period, the soldiers of auxiliary units were accorded a lower standing reflected in the grant of certain legal privileges. Thus Diocletian and Maximian refused one auxiliary soldier petitioning for exemption from personal municipal duties (honorum et munerum personalium vacatio) on the ground that, according to custom, this was granted only to veterans discharged by honesta missio from vexillationes and legions after 20 years’ service (CJ. X. 55. 3). Then there is an interesting remark in Pseudo-Hyginus’ De munitione castrorum. Noting that the legions need to be located immediately beside the camp rampart, the author argues that they, being the most faithful part of the provincial troops, have to prevent, as if their bodies were a wall, the flight of a heterogeneous crowd of auxiliary units, holding them within the walls.80 And we have ample evidence that such misgivings were not groundless. One may recall Tacitus’ account of the cohort of Usipi recruited in Germany and sent to Britain (Agr. 28) who, after killing the centurions appointed to be their commanders, seized ships and sailed away. The legionaries, in turn, must have occasionally suspected and mistreated the peregrine soldiery, which could be employed by the authorities to suppress a mutiny (Tac. Ann. I. 36. 3; Hist. I. 54. 4). The fact of hostility and opposition between legions and auxiliary units, either latent or open, is recorded (e. g., Tac. Hist. I. 64; II. 27; 66; 88; Dio Cass. LXXVIII. 6. 4). Meanwhile, for Tacitus it is perfectly obvious that the heterogeneous composition of the imperial army, in which citizens, allies and foreigners are mixed, is one of the reasons for excesses of every sort, especially during the civil wars (Tac. Hist. I. 54. 4; II. 37. 4; III. 33. 2; cf. Agr. 32). At the same time, the provincial legionaries themselves might be considered to have had little in common with traditional Roman appearance and character.81 It should be stressed, however, that the new legions raised during the Empire in certain critical situations were levied primarily (if not exclusively) in Italy,82 even though from Vespasian onward armies were to an ever-increasing extent recruited in the provinces. Whatever the reasons were for the reduction of Italians’ strength in the legions in general,83 the very fact that levies were maintained on the territory 78 Wesch-Klein, G. 1998, 186. 79 Domaszewski, A., von 1981, 68; Maxfield, V. A. 1981, 121 ff. 80 De munit. cast. 2: legiones, quoniam sunt militiae provincialis fidelissimae, ad vallum tendere debent, ut opus valli tueantur et exercitum gentibus suo numero corporali in muro tene[ant]. 81 For instance, Tac. Hist. I. 6; II. 21; 88; Dio Cass. LXXIV. 2. 6; сf. HA. Did. Iul. 6. 5. It is remarkable that in one second-century tombstone from Aquileia a praetorian centurion is said to have been in command of a century of the praetorian guard, not of a barbaric legion: septimae qui cohortis centuriam reguit praetoriae fidus, non barbaricae legionis (ILS 2671). Generally see Makhlayuk, A. V. 2006, 122–124. 82 These were the I Italica, formed by Nero for the expedition to the Caspian Gates, the legiones Italicae II and III, recruited by Marcus Aurelius around A. D. 165, and three legiones Parthicae, set up by Septimius Severus. See Brunt, P. A. 1974a, 97–98; Kolendo, J. 1977 ; Mann, J. C. 1963; Mann, J. C. 1983, 63. 83 Ancient writers sought explanations of this process in the establishment of autocracy, which, while it provided peace and the defence of frontiers, had also excused the Italians from hard

198

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

of Italy must be based on more than just the speed with which an emperor resident in Rome could raise Italian recruits.84 One can see in this the survival of certain mental stereotypes, in which the legion continued to be a branch of the army that was designated for Roman citizens liable to compulsory military service, conscriptio, and obliged first of all to defend the Imperium Romanum. Indeed, the conscription of Roman citizens (primarily of Italian origin) was never abolished under the Empire. It has been the prevailing opinion since Mommsen85 that, after C. Marius’ reform (excluding the civil war period), legionary recruitment was mostly volunteer, but P. Brunt has convincingly shown that conscription was much more widespread (until at least the second century A. D.) than had been believed, and the legions were apparently still recruited in the traditional dilectus.86 The final triumph of voluntary enlistment resulted from the spread of local recruitment in the second half of the second century and of the general amelioration of service conditions under Severan rule.87 In support of Brunt’s conclusions, we should recall a text of Arrius Menander, a lawyer under Septimius Severus, in which the survival of an old norm is strongly emphasized: gravius autem delictum est detractare munus militiae quam adpetere (Dig. 49. 16. 4. 10).88 For, as Menander elucidates, qui ad dilectum olim non respondebant, ut proditores libertatis in servitutem redigebantur; however, since conditions of military service have changed and the military units are for the most part filled with volunteers, capital punishment for this offense has been abandoned (ibid.). Nevertheless, we have evidence that such a severe measure as capital punishment for avoiding the levy was in use not only in early times89 but even under Augustus, who is known to have resorted to it after Varus’ legions were wiped out (Dio Cass. LVI. 23. 2–3; Suet. Aug. 24. 1). Also, injuring oneself in order to be unfit for military service and avoid conscription and a father’s attempt to conceal his son from the dilectus were considered a serious punishable offence.90 Legal

84 85 86 87 88 89 90

work and had caused them to lose their inherited martial spirit (Tac. Hist. I. 11. 3; Dio Cass. LII. 27; LVI. 40. 2; Herod. II. 11. 3 sqq.; Aur. Vict. Caes. 3. 14). Some modern scholars in fact share this point of view or believe that the Italians were deliberately kept away from military service by Vespasian and his successors for political reasons. Others suppose that the government sought to spare the Italian population and to avoid the unpopularity connected with the levies, which were hated by people who did not wish to leave a comfortable life in their native country for the sake of dangerous service in the provinces. P. Brunt sees the government’s reluctance to call up Italians as determined by an interest in local recruitment, which was much more successful in attracting volunteers and permitted economies on transport expenses. See Brunt, P. A. 1974a, 103–107 (with references); Brunt, P. A. 1971, 414. Brunt, P. A. 1974a, 98–99. P. Herz connects this fact with the opportunity of taking advantage of well-established Italian industries (Herz, P. 2007, 314). Mommsen, Th. 1888, III, 298; cf. II, 849 f. Brunt, P. A. 1974a, 103 ff.; Brunt, P. A. 1971, 391 ff.; 408–415. Brunt, P. A. 1974a, 112–113. See on this Kissel, Th. K. 1996, 290; Wesch-Klein, G. 1998, 160 f. Varro ap. Non. 28 L; Val. Max. VI. 3. 4; cp. Liv. Per. 14; Cic. Caec. 99. P. Brunt (Brunt, P. A. 1971, 391, with further sources) notes that this punishment might be substituted by milder ones, such as fines, beating with cudgels, deprivation of property. Augustus is known to have sold into slavery a Roman eques who had cut off his two sons’

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

199

exemption from military service (vacatio militiae), excepting vacatio causaria (i. e. for reason of physical disability) might be granted only to those who had reached the age of fifty or, in the Republic, had done the required number of campaigns (iusta, emerita stipendia) and also to those who held a priesthood (App. BC II. 150; Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. II. 41. 3; Plut. Camil. 41. 6) or municipal office (Lex coloniae Genetivae Iuliae sive Ursonensis – FIRA I2 No. 21, lin. 62; 66 = CIL I2 488), or those who had earned special distinction in the service of the state (Cic. Phil. V. 19; Liv. XXXIX. 19. 4). Hadrian and his successors also granted this privilege to rhetoricians, philosophers, grammatici (Dig. 27. 1. 6. 8).91 It goes without saying that the very existence of special norms concerning punishment for refusing to fulfil the citizen’s military duty may attest quite widespread unwillingness among Roman citizens to undertake this honourable but risky obligation, especially in emergencies like those in A. D. 6 and 9 in connection with the Pannonian rebellion and Varus’ disaster (Plin. NH. VII. 46. 149; Suet. Aug. 25. 2; Dio Cass. LVI. 23. 3).92 All the same, these norms in essence correspond to the basic principles of the city-state military organization and their very presence and reproduction in imperial legislation confirm a certain continuity in the development of the republican and imperial armies in their fundamental orientation towards citizen, rather than mercenary, troops. It is even more interesting that the correlations between republican attitudes and the legislative practice of the Principate are revealed in the social and moral criteria for selecting recruitable citizens. Ancient authors point out explicitly the paramount importance of the selection of recruits. It is no accident that Vegetius begins his Epitome rei militaris with precisely this issue and highlights that, in contrast to other peoples who had distinguished themselves by physical strength, numbers, wealth, trickery or theoretical knowledge, the Romans were always superior in that they knew how to choose recruits and to teach them the arts of war: sed adversus omnia profuit tironem sollerter eligere, ius, ut ita dixerim, armorum docere, cotidiano exercitio roborare (Veg. I. 1). In debating which provinces and nations and which social and professional groups are preferable for levying soldiers, Vegetius is firmly convinced that the rustic is always to be preferred to the town dweller, since the latter is usually subject to the enticements of urban life, whereas in the olden days one and the same person was both warrior and peasant, changing only his type of weaponry: idem bellator, idem agricola, genera tantum mutabat armorum (I. 3). Here we are undoubtedly dealing with the repetition of a familiar topos deeply ingrained in ancient literature. thumbs in order to save them from conscription (Suet. Aug. 24. 1). According to Trajan’s decree, a person who had disabled his son in order that he should be rendered unfit for military service, during a war was to be sentenced to deportation (Dig. 49. 16. 4. 12). Cf. Dig. 49. 16. 4. 11: qui filium suum subtrahit militiae belli tempore, exilio et bonorum parte multandus est; si in pace, fustibus caedi iubetur…; for the Later Empire cf. also СTh. VII. 13. 4; 18. 2; Amm. XV. 12. 3. In general on these offences see Kissel, Th. K. 1996, 289; 293; Jung, J. H. 1982, 886 ff. 91 See in general Lind, L. R. 1943; Jung, J. H. 1982, 907 f.; Rüpke, J. 1990, 63–67. 92 During the civil wars some people in fear of conscription (sacramenti metus) even hid in ergastula (Suet. Tib. 8), and such a trepidatio dilectus had occurred also in the reign of Augustus (Vell. II. 130. 2). On the resistance of the Roman population to compulsory levies see in general Wierschowski, L. 1995.

200

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

However, in a given context, it requires closer attention. That peasant labour contributes to a great extent to a warrior’s valour and endurance was noted by many Greek and Roman writers.93 There is the well-known remark of Cato the Elder that it is farmers who make the best citizens and the most excellent soldiers.94 In the words of Columella (De re rust. Praef. 17), vera illa Romuli proles assiduis venatibus nec minus agrestibus operibus exercitata, firmissimis praevaluit corporibus, ac militiam belli, cum res postulavit, facile sustinuit durata pacis laboribus, semperque rusticam plebem praeposuit urbanae. Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Ant. Rom. II. 28. 1–2) is obviously following popular opinion in saying that it was Romulus himself who had forbidden that free citizens be employed as traders or craftsmen and had given preference exclusively to farming and warfare, and emphasizing that each of these occupations needs the other. This type of image of Romulus as husbandman-warrior is portrayed by Propertius.95 Plutarch (Numa. 16) remarks that it is precisely rustic labour, and not any other occupation, that conserves the military prowess necessary to protect someone’s possessions, but at the same time it utterly roots out bellicosity of the sort that promotes unfair and greedy behaviour. The second-century rhetorician Maximus of Tyre, in his two declamations dedicated to the question of who is more useful, a soldier or a farmer, arrives in Platonic manner at a mixed conclusion, arguing that the most serviceable person is a combination of both and the best soldier is a soldier-farmer, who in any event is preferable to a mercenary (XXIV. 6 e–f).96 A tendency to moralize is wholly obvious in the passages quoted above. However, it should be presumed that such judgments are not just rhetoric but contain at least some reflection of official propaganda or of actual contemporary problems: Propertius may have had in mind the conservative approaches of Augustan policy and Maximus seems to imply problems concerning local recruitment.97 Speaking more broadly, the idea that “a propertied farmer is a good soldier” can be considered one of the ideological grounds for the practice of military colonization and veterans’ land allotment, which continued during the Early Principate. As Brunt has remarked, despite Augustus’ decision of 13 B. C. to replace the allotments of land after discharge by a bounty in cash (which was the soldiers’ demand – Dio Cass. LIV. 25. 5), the discharged soldiers continued to be granted land and veterans’ settlements in general justified themselves because of the assiduity of those members of the military who, after their 25 years of service, returned to rural life and became 93 See, e. g., Xen. Oecon. 4. 2–3; Arist. Pol. III. 3. 2, 1278a; Ps.-Arist. Oecon. I. 2. 3, 1343b. 94 Cato. De agr. Praef. 4: At ex agricolis et viri fortissimi et milites strenuissimi gignuntur… Cf. Cic. De off. I. 42. 151, where husbandry as an employment appropriate for a free person is contrasted to the professions of trader and workman. 95 Propert. IV. 10. 17–20: urbis virtutisque parens sic vincere suevit, qui tulit a parco frigida castra lare. idem eques et frenis, idem fuit aptus aratris, et galea hirsuta compta lupina iuba. 96 On these texts and corresponding topoi see Michel, A. 1970. 97 See Baker, R. J. 1968, 347; Michel, A. 1970, 237 f.

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

201

good landowners.98 The practice of veterans’ allotments of land, which can be considered a continuation of republican tradition,99 lasted even after Hadrian had stopped establishing military colonies altogether.100 It needs to be emphasized that it was not just any villager who was considered a good soldier, but rather the well-to-do, propertied farmer. It is for this reason that Cicero displayed his utter dislike for those rustici and agrestes homines who filled the legions during the civil war.101 The reasons for choosing propertied citizens as soldiers are elucidated by Aulus Gellius. Noting that proletarians and capite censi were enlisted in the army only in emergencies, he stresses that the wealth and money the soldiers possessed were a sort of guarantee and a ground for their loyalty and love for the fatherland.102 It is for the same reason that Valerius Maximus denigrates the enlistment of impoverished men introduced by C. Marius, calling it a worthless, improper levy, and opposes this innovation to the olden days when the people willingly offered themselves for military tasks and did not permit the generals to put the poor under oath and to entrust them with the defence of the state. In Valerius’ eyes, Marius’ measure was motivated not so much by military, as by exclusively political considerations and aims.103 The same opinion is advanced by Sallust, who claims that Marius levied the legions contrary to ancestral custom, i. e. not according to property classes but by enlisting all volunteers, since for a man seeking dominance the best suited are the poorest, who prize nothing because they have nothing and consider every income honest.104 Tacitus follows a similar bias in 98 Brunt, P. A. 1962, 83. 99 This is the tradition of settling whole legions in veteran colonies according to military rank as a reward for successful service. Cf. Hygin. De lim. const. 1–9; 11 Lachmann. I, p. 176; Tac. Ann. XIV. 27. 3. See Brunt, P. A. 1971, 393; Broadhead, W. 2007, 153. On the problems of veteran colonization during the late Republic and early Principate see Schneider, H. C. 1977; Mann, J. C. 1983; Keppie, L. 1983; Keppie, L. 1984. 100 Mann, J. C. 1983, 29; 67; Wolf, H. 1986, 55, n. 46. 101 He even calls them “beasts”, pecudes (Phil. VIII. 9; X. 22). However, in another context Cicero speaks of rustic soldiers as the bravest of men and the most honest citizens (Ad fam. XI. 7. 2). 102 Noct. Att. XVI. 10. 11: Sed quoniam res pecuniaque familiaris obsidis vicem pignerisque esse apud rempublicam videbatur amorisque in patriam fides quaedam in ea firmamentumque erat, neque proletarii neque capite censi milites nisi in tumultu maximo scribebantur, quia familia pecuniaque his aut tenuis aut nulla esset. 103 Val. Max. II. 3 pr.: Laudanda etiam populi verecundia est, qui inpigre se laboribus et periculis militiae offerendo dabat operam ne imperatoribus capite censos sacramento rogare esset necesse, quorum nimia inopia suspecta erat, ideoque his publica arma non committebant; ibid. II. 3. 1: sed hanc diutina usurpatione formatam consuetudinem C. Marius capite censum legendo militem abrupit, civis alioqui magnificus, sed novitatis suae conscientia vetustati non sane propitius memorque, si militaria signa humilitatem spernere perseverarent, se a maligno virtutum interprete velut capite censum imperatorem conpellari posse. itaque fastidiosum dilectus genus in exercitibus Romanis oblitterandum duxit, ne talis notae contagio ad ipsius quoque gloriae subgillationem penetraret. Cf. Iul. Exsuper. 2. 9 Z. 104 B. Iug. 86.2–3: Ipse interea milites scribere, non more maiorum neque ex classibus, sed uti libido cuiusque erat, capite censos plerosque. Id factum alii inopia bonorum, alii per ambitionem consulis memorabant, quod ab eo genere celebratus auctusque erat et homini potentiam quaerenti egentissimus quisque opportunissimus, cui neque sua cara, quippe quae nulla sunt, et omnia cum pretio honesta videntur.

202

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

writing that inopes ac vagi enlisted as voluntary soldiers cannot display old-fashioned virtue and modesty (eadem virtute ac modestia agere).105 In attributing the proletarianization of the legions to Marius the Roman writers106 to some extent sin against reality. As is well-known, the proletarians and other impoverished citizens had repeatedly been conscripted in the early Republic.107 Today many scholars are inclined to downplay the novelty of Marius’ reform and point out that this process had begun a considerable time before Marius. By the second century B. C. the minimum property qualifications for service seem to have been reduced at least twice (from 11,000 to 1,500 asses) and the division of the citizenry according to wealth and status was of marginal importance.108 Marius himself did not break any legal norm. The enlistment of the poorest into the legions during the Jugurthine War had only limited importance. The proletarian – and, in essence, private – armies could be transformed into a mighty political instrument in the hands of ambitious generals, but this fact became clear only retrospectively, and it is this experience and class bias that explains the malicious attacks against Marius in the writings of later historians.109 Furthermore, the proletarianization of the armies in the last decades of the Republic was by no means total, because a considerable proportion of the soldiers, including the ‘new citizens’ from the Italian allies, were proprietors (e. g., Cic. Att. VIII. 12; Dio Cass. XLVIII. 9. 3; Plut. Crass. 10. 2).110 In any event, it can be ascertained that ancient authors are firmly convinced of the correlation between the social status and morality of would-be soldiers. This conviction concerns also the occupations the recruits had practised before enlistment in the army. Thus, in addressing this question Vegetius gives his preference to those who had been employed in heavy labour and he claims that fishermen, birdcatchers, confectioners, weavers and everyone connected with women’s chambers must have no admittance to the military, since the recruits should be selected not 105 Tac. Ann. IV. 4. 2; cf. Ann. I. 31. 1. There is no contradiction between this judgment of Tacitus and that of Cassius Dio in Maecenas’ speech, where the author argues that the most vigorous and the poorest (οἵ τε ἰσχυρότατοι καὶ οἱ πενέστατοι), though the most troublesome, are also the most serviceable (Dio Cass. LII. 14. 3; 27. 1–5). By the third century the situation may have changed, but Dio seems to underline not so much the poverty of these people as their inborn belligerence, and it is military service that better than all other means makes it possible to dissuade them from robbery and to direct their energy to the public good. 106 In addition to the quoted passages see Aul. Gell. Noct. Att. XVI. 10. 14; Flor. I. 36. 13; Quint. Decl. III. 5. 107 Livy (VIII. 20. 4) records that in 329 B. C. during the war against the Gauls the consul L. Aemilius Mamercus called up into the army the mob of craftsmen and workers, most improper people for military service: opificum quoque vulgus et sellularii, minime militiae idoneum genus. The proletarians were levied also in the war against Pyrrhus (Cass. Gemina. Frg. 21 Peter; Oros. VI. 1. 3; Aug. Civ. Dei. III. 17; Aul. Gell. Noct. Att. XVI. 10. 1). 108 Gabba, E. 1949; Nicolet, C. 1988, 219 ff. De Ligt (Ligt, L, de 2007, 126), in contrast to Gabba’s view, stresses that the gradual proletarianization of the legions was caused not by a steady demographic decline, but rather by a continuous demographic expansion that reduced an evergrowing number of Roman citizens to poverty. See also Rich, J. 1983. Cf. Sordi, M. 1972. 109 Cf. Lintott, A. W. 1994, 92. 110 Brunt, P. A. 1971, 406 ff.; Rich, J. 1993, 5.

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

203

only on the basis of their physical strength, but also by their moral qualities.111 This passage can be juxtaposed with an edict of Gratian, Valentinian and Theodosius (СTh. VII. 13. 8, A. D. 380)112 in which the elite units are said to be filled not by slaves, shopkeepers, cooks, bakers, and so on, nor by those who are marked by “disgraceful obsequiousness”.113 In another edict (CTh. VII. 13. 9, A. D. 383), the same three emperors order that people selected for enlistment be free of every suspicion of depravity (ab omni suspicione pravitatis alienos). A more severe prescription is set out by Menander: … si miles artem ludicram fecerit vel in servitutem se venire passus est, capite puniendum (Dig. 48. 19. 14). This norm may have been motivated by the recognition that such a soldier discredited his military rank and thereby was acknowledged a disgraceful person (infamis). This ban on military service for certain professions seems somewhat odd from the modern point of view. It can be explained, above all, by deliberate policy by imperial government which fixed the orientation towards selective recruitment. This orientation seems to be reflected in the final part of Vegetius passage quoted above: vires regni et Romani nominis fundamentum in prima dilectus examinatione consistunt. … Iuventus enim, cui defensio provinciarum, cui bellorum est committenda fortuna, et genere, si copia suppetat, et moribus debet excellere. Honestas enim idoneum militem reddit, verecundia, dum prohibet fugere, facit esse victorem (I. 7). Thus it can be seen that in Vegetius’ mind social and moral criteria in the selection of recruits are profoundly correlated, inasmuch as the latter include values such as honour and duty. A similar approach, in a more practical aspect, is revealed in one more edict of the emperors mentioned above, which highlights that in selecting recruits it is necessary to examine their origins and way of life on the testimony of the most honourable persons.114 There is much legal and literary evidence to show that during the Empire these principles of selective recruitment, and the authorities’ aim of raising the moral prestige of military service by specific measures, were realized in practice. Among such measures letters of recommendation should be mentioned, a practice that was probably established under Augustus. As papyrological records show,115 anyone, 111 Veg. I. 7: Piscatores aucupes dulciarios linteones omnesque, qui aliquid tractasse videbuntur ad gynacea pertinens, longe arbitror pellendos a castris; fabros ferrarios carpentarios, macellarios et cervorum aprorumque venatores convenit sociare militiae. Et hoc est in quo totius reipublicae salus vertitur, ut tirones non tantum corporibus sed etiam animis praestantissimi diligantur… Cf. II. 5: lectis iunioribus animis corporibusque praestantibus; II. 12: the first cohort of a legion was filled by men who were censu genere litteris forma virtute pollentes milites. Cf. also Isid. Etym. IX. 3. 36; Ael. Arist. Or. 26. 74 Keil. 112 Cf. Watson, G. R. 1969, 42. 113 Inter optimas lectissimorum militum turmas neminem e numero servorum dandum esse decernimus neve ex caupona ductum vel ex famosarum ministeriis tabernarum aut etiam eo, quem obsequii deformitas militia secernit, nec tracta de ergastulis nomina. Cf. Dig. 49. 16. 8 (cited above, n. 47). 114 CTh. VII. 2. 1 (383 A. D.): Quotienscumque se aliquis militiae crediderit offerendum, statim de natalibus ipsius ac de omni vitae condicione examen habeatur, ita [ut] domum genus non dissimulet et parentes. Nec tamen huic ipsi rei nisi honestissimorum hominum testimonio adstipulante credatur… 115 The most important documents are the following: P. Oxy. I, 32 = CPL 249 (a letter by the ben-

204

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

even among the common soldiers, who wished to enter a prestigious unit or proceed to a higher rank needed to present such epistulae (litterae) commendaticiae written either by a relative or by some familiar person connected with the army. The lack of such letters ruined any hopes of a fast and successful career and moved some to resort to bribery.116 It is beyond doubt that recommendations were of great importance in acquiring commands for members of the upper social orders and for the promotion of centurions.117 J. Vendrand-Voyer is absolutely right to emphasize that this practice correlates fully with the policy of the first princeps, who, acting as censor morum, sought to make military service a prestigious occupation and to attract into the army people from well-to-do social strata.118 It is quite possible that for a similar purpose Augustus established (and Vespasian revived) the so-called collegia iuvenum designed to train Roman youth from an elite municipal background for military service.119 While these collegia were intended for the top of society, the alimentary foundations set up by Nerva and Trajan were aimed, besides all other purposes, for the upbringing of future legionaries in Italian towns.120 Furthermore, there are other important signs of the authorities’ attention to moral criteria in recruiting. As mentioned above, access to the army was barred to specific professional groups and this ban was applied also to persons accused of or condemned for capital crimes (Dig. 49. 16. 4. 7),121 including adultery. The ban on adulterers probably took effect when a soldier was accused under the lex Iulia de eficiarius Aurelius Archelaus to the legionary tribune Iulius Domitius recommending a young man Theon, second century A. D.); P. Berl. 11649 = CPL, 257 (a letter dated to the third century A. D. in which a certain Priscus recommends a duplicarius named Carus); P. Mich. VIII 467– 468 = CPL, 250–251 = Daris, S. 1964, No. 7 (an early second-century letter in which the marine soldier Claudius Terentianus writes to his father about his wish to become a legionary, but, after having perhaps received an unsuccessful recommendation, he claims that no letter will suffice without money and personal favour); P. Mich. 466 (a letter by the soldier Iulius Apollinaris who had been given such an excellent recommendation that he at once became an immunis). Cf. also P. Mich. VIII 485. Juvenal also hints at the necessity of letters of this sort in Sat. XVI. 5–6 (commendet epistola). On these letters and their role see in general Davies, R. 1969, 216–217; Watson, G. R. 1969, 37–38; Watson, G. R. 1974, 496; Strobel, K. 1995, 257 ff. 116 Alston, R. 1995, 136. 117 See for example letters of Pliny the Younger (Epist. VI. 25) and Fronto (Ad amic. I. 5 Loeb). Cf. Saller, R. P. 1982, 157 f.; 182 f. 118 Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 83–84; 86–87. 119 Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 88–89 ff. On their military character see Rostovtzeff, M. I. 2000, 110; 129–130; Devijver, H. 1995, 117 (with reference to Ginestet, P. 1991). Discussion and further literature on the topic see in: Jaczynowska, M. 1978, 11–12; 60–61. Cf. also Taylor, L. R. 1924; Gagé, J. 1970. 120 Cf. Plin. Pan. 26. 3: …alimentis tuis ad stipendia tua pervenirent; and 28. 5: Paullo minus, Patres Conscripti, quinque milia ingenuorum fuerunt, quae liberalitas principis nostri conquisivit, invenit, adscivit. Hi subsidium bellorum, ornamentum pacis, publicis sumptibus aluntur… Ex his castra, ex his tribus replebuntur; ex his quandoque nascentur, quibus alimentis opus non sit. See Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 92–93, n. 212 (with literature on these foundations). 121 In addition to the cases noted above, it should be mentioned that, according to Trajan’s rescriptum, a soldier who volunteered for the army was to suffer death if he had been found guilty of a capital crime. If his case had been heard by a civil court, or he was listed as wanted, he was

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

205

adulteriis and thus became a dishonourable person, infamis, and as such ought to be discharged automatically (Dig. 3. 2. 2. 3: sacramento ignominiae causa solvat). The practical validity of this clause is confirmed by Pliny the Younger (Epist. VI. 31. 4–6), who records that Trajan degraded and relegated a centurion who had become the lover of a military tribune’s wife. According to Papinianus, miles, qui cum adultero uxoris suae pactus est, solvi sacramento deportarique debet (Dig. 48. 5. 12. 11 pr., liber singularis de adulteriis). The exile here is deportatio, the more severe kind of exile, usually accompanied by the confiscation of all property, whereas the lex Iulia de adulteriis assessed such a crime as pandering and imposed a milder sort of exile, relegatio, which only prohibited or imposed residence at a specific place. In other words, more severe punishments were applied to the military than to civilians. G. Wesch-Klein explains this on the grounds that the soldier’s marriage was considered subject not only to the civil law, but also to military discipline, and a soldier who had found himself cuckolded had to denounce his spouse’s disgraceful behaviour, inasmuch as the adulterer may have been one of the husband’s fellow-soldiers.122 Besides that, Wesch-Klein believes that this type of aggravated punishment was linked to the moral principles that the emperor Hadrian sought to establish in his legislation.123 Thus, adultery was punished even more strictly than desertion in some respects.124 Going further, we should take into consideration one more regulation in Dig. 47. 17. 3 which claims that a soldier found guilty of stealing at the baths (furtum balnearium) was to be discharged ignominiously. This means that for this offence a soldier was punished more severely than for theft of arms, which was chastised only by reduction in rank (Dig. 49. 16. 3. 14). In this case, the principle formulated by Macer appears to be current: quaedam delicta pagano aut nullam aut leviorem poenam irrogant, militi vero graviorem (Dig. 48. 19. 14).125 The legal texts quoted above obviously reveal the aspiration of the imperial government to avoid the presence among the military of adventitious and dishonoured persons. Such an attitude seems to have had deeper roots. Thus, the idea that citizens who had stigmatized themselves with infamy should not be entrusted with to be dishonourably discharged, and besides that, even if he was acquitted, he could not thereafter be accepted for military service as a volunteer (Dig. 49. 16. 4. 5–6). 122 Wesch-Klein, G. 1998, 106–107. 123 Among his acts there is one that strictly declares invalid every military testament in favour of a woman suspected of too licentious sexual behavior (Dig. 29. 1. 14. 1: mulier, in qua turpis suspicio cadere potest. Cf. Dig. 34. 9. 14; CJ. VI. 21. 5). Incidentally, a constitution of Gordian III may be noted, according to which a soldier who had married a widow knowing that she was still in mourning became infamis and was to be discharged ignominiously (CJ. II. 11. 15). 124 Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 84. Thus a cavalry soldier who deserted in time of peace was to be reduced in rank and a foot soldier to be transferred to a different branch of service (Dig. 49. 16. 5 pr.). Former deserters who, after desertion, enlisted in another branch of service, or permitted themselves to be conscripted, were to receive only disciplinary punishment: Qui post desertionem in aliam militiam nomen dederunt legive passi sunt, imperator noster rescripsit et hos militariter puniendos (Dig. 49. 16. 4. 9). On the punishments for desertion in general see Dig. 49. 16. 3 pr.; 49. 16. 5. 1–8; 49. 16. 7; 10; 13. 5–6. 125 Here Macer refers to Menander, who wrote on the punishment of a soldier who had been employed as an actor or who had sold himself into slavery.

206

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

arms is declared in the speech of the consul Postumius addressing the people in connection with the case of Bacchanalia in 186 B. C.: hoc sacramento initiatos iuvenes milites faciendos censetis, Quirites? his ex obsceno sacrario eductis arma committenda? hi cooperti stupris suis alienisque pro pudicitia coniugum ac liberorum vestrorum ferro decernent? (Liv. XXXIX. 15. 13–14).126 As J. Vendrand-Voyer argues, this passage suggests a conception of military service as a privilege accessible to citizens on condition that they deserve it by their morals. It is this tradition that perhaps determined the more rigid application of the Julian law to the military, and this may have been connected with Augustus’ intention to ‘moralize’ the army.127 In Augustus’ mind, the soldier had to have, if not a perfectly irreproachable reputation, then at least a quite honourable one; hence the conditions of enlistment in the legions became exclusive and strict128 and the sanctions for amoral conduct more severe.129 Assessing this trend in imperial military policy, it is permissible to suppose that the emperors wished the legionaries to be perfect soldiers, truly selected for their personal qualities and consciously realizing their responsibility for their public mission.130 On the other hand, for the soldiers themselves their unimpeachable reputation (integra fama), if deserved and maintained throughout the whole term of service, was a necessary condition of honourable discharge and the rewards and privileges due to veterans (CJ V. 65. 1). VI. CONCLUSION It is not an unreasonable generalization to say that at a very basic level such approaches to recruitment policy were rooted in the traditional ideology of the civic community and, at the same time, aimed not only to ensure the army’s political loyalty, but also to guarantee military professionalism. Modern scholars find equal reason for thinking that the Roman troops had begun to be transformed into a permanent, near-professional army already in the early Republican period, under the influence of such factors as the introduction of year-round service and soldiers’ payment during the war with Veii at the end of the fifth century B. C. (Liv. V. 2. 1 ff.; V. 7. 12–13).131 L. Keppie appears to be right in noting that Roman professionalism in the military sphere was conditioned not only by certain institutions but by the Roman mentality as well.132 126 Cf. Calpurnius Flaccus’ claim in one of his declamations: infamis non militet (Decl. 52. P. 50 Lehnert). 127 Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 83–84. 128 Tightening of the recruiting rules and the criteria for selecting recruits can undoubtedly be explained also by the increasingly complicated organization and hierarchy of the imperial army, as well as by the need for longer and more careful training for professional soldiers. See Le Bohec, Y. 1989, 72 ff.; 111 ff. Cf. Rostovtzeff, M. I. 2000, 55–56. 129 Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 87. 130 Cf. Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983, 83; 87; 91. It is noteworthy that in legal texts such concepts as officium publicum or missio are used (e. g., Dig. 4. 6. 29; 4. 6. 33. 2; 49. 16. 9). 131 Tokmakov, V. N. 1998, 176; Rich, J. 2007, 18. 132 Keppie, L. 1998, 55: “In essence, the Roman army of the early and middle Republic was its

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

207

It is no surprise that Roman professionalism in the military sphere caught the notice of ancient writers who saw in the Roman army a matchless example of perfection, based on both its wealth of martial practice and the rationality of its whole system.133 Some imagined the soldier to be a kind of ‘pedigree guard-dog’ like Plato’s guardians.134 Certain passages of ancient authors present an image of the Roman legionary that corresponds almost entirely to definitions of the professional soldier in modern military sociology.135 In constructing the professional army, Augustus and his successors relied on these ancient attitudes to warfare, maintained the institutional conservatism of the Roman military and did not reject the civilian-militia nature of the legion. The combination of the principle of the ‘citizen-soldier’ with the professional character of the army can be seen as an indisputable achievement of Augustus’ military reorganization. The founder of the Principate seems to have realized very well that without its citizen quality the army could easily be transmuted into an uncontrollable mercenary force and become a permanent threat to imperial power and to society. Given the general trends and concrete measures of Augustan military policy, it is fair to conjecture that the first princeps would have concurred with the famous statement of the emperor Galba who, when reproached with avarice, replied: “I am accustomed to levy troops, not buy them.”136 Certainly, both under Augustus’ rule and in later times, situations repeatedly arose when there was no place for fastidiousness in levying new recruits, when sacramenti metus and trepidatio dilectus predominated among most citizens, and when the emperors needed to obtain the army’s loyalty by plain bribery. Perhaps the parodic depiction of the levy that we read in Apuleius’ novel is not very far from the truth.137 But the leading motive of the recruitment policy of the Principate remained the same – the orientation to the citizen status of the legions as the core of the imperial armed forces and to quite high standards of morality on the part of the would-be soldiers. It is another story that now the legionaries were citizens not merely of the city of Rome, but of the geographically vast res publica, and that service to it was citizenry under arms led into battle by its elected magistrates. Yet to describe the army as a militia is to understate its capacity and misunderstand the attitude of mind of its leaders and individual members. Discipline and training were its hallmarks; the care with which the camp was laid out reveals no ordinary grouping of amateur warriors.” 133 See, e. g., Liv. IX. 17. 10; Ios. B. Iud. II. 20. 7; III. 5. 1 sqq.; Ael. Arist. Or. 26. 71 Keil; 73; 85; 87; Veget. I. 1. 134 Michel, A. 1970, 240; 250 Carrié, J.-M. 1989, 105–106. 135 Cf. Blumenson, M. 1980, 670: the modern professional soldier is a person “regularly employed and corporate, specially educated and trained, disciplined and technically skillful, self-regulating and motivated by a unique esprit de corps and serving in a rational planned organization”. On the correlation between Roman and modern military professionalism see Flaig, E. 1992, 134 ff. 136 Suet. Galba. 16. 1: legere se militem, non emere consuesse. Cf. Tac. Hist. I. 5. 5; Dio Cass. LXIV. 3. 3; Plut. Galba. 18. 2. 137 Apul. Met. VII. 4: … inquisitioni commilitonum potius insisteretur et tirocinio novae iuventutis ad pristinae manus numerum Martiae cohortis facies integraretur: nam et invitos terrore compelli et volentes praemio provocari posse nec paucos humili servilique vitae renuntiantes ad instar tyrannicae potestatis sectam suam conferre malle. Cf. Brunt, P. A. 1974a, 189.

208

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

simultaneously service to the emperor.138 It is thus possible to apply to the Roman military of the Principate Claude Nicolet’s conclusion that under the Empire “in law and in real matters, as fiction and as reality, the words and institutions of the civic community continued to last.”139 As modern studies of the composition of the imperial army show, at least until the early third century A. D., the legionary soldiers belonged to the elite of the plebs and to long Romanized strata of the provincial population, and this social composition was a result of the government’s deliberate policy.140 Even in the late fourth century, while there were very few Romans in the army, in some situations the soldiers continued to regard themselves as the Roman citizens and acted accordingly,141 above all in the political sphere, where the army represented the populus Romanus when it acclaimed and enthroned a new emperor.142 Thus, in the light of our investigation, we can join the opinion of K. Kraft, who has underlined that, “Das Heer war zwar eine Berufsarmee, aber die Soldaten sind weder Herrscher und Unterdrücker der nicht bewaffneten Bevölkerung noch auch heimatlose Söldner, sondern stets betont römische Bürger. Darin liegt ein wesentlicher Unterschied zu den Heeren anderer Erobererstaaten. Das Römische Reich beginnt dann zusammenzubrechen, als die Soldaten in seinem Dienst aufhören, sich als römische Bürger zu fühlen…”143 The Roman imperial army did maintain the old traditions and militia features not only as an ideal norm and abstract value, but as practical attitudes which were fixed by law. It was these aspects which, despite the unavoidable historical transformations, contributed to the effective maintenance of the military organization in the Principate. BIBLIOGRAPHY Alföldy, G. 2002: Kaiser, Heer und soziale Mobilität im Römischen Reich, in: Chaniotis, A., Ducrey, P. (eds.) Army and Power in the Ancient World (Heidelberger Althistorische Beiträge und Epigraphische Studien, 37), Stuttgart, 123–150.

138 Flaig, E. 1992, 165. 139 Nicolet, C. 1989, 99. 140 Le Bohec, Y. 1989, 92 ff.; Le Bohec, Y. 1989a, 492 ff.; Carrié, J.-M. 1989, 109–110; VendrandVoyer, J. 1983, 69 ff. 141 Two instances from Zosimus appear to confirm this statement. He narrates (IV. 31. 1) how the soldiers from the Egyptian garrison in their transit from Philadelphia to Lydia encountered barbarian units. The barbarian soldiers preferred to acquire goods at the market by threats and assaults; the Egyptian soldiers pleaded on behalf of the market-traders and exhorted the barbarians to abstain from such behaviour, saying that people who wish to live according to Roman law should not behave in such a manner. Another episode concerns a Batavian unit (IV. 9. 2–40). When the emperor Valentinian had ordered it to be disarmed and sold into slavery for being guilty of fleeing, they supplicated him to save them from such dishonour and promised to show themselves to be men who deserved to be called Romans. 142 See Pabst, A. 1997, 185, 189 ff. 143 Kraft, K. 1951, 69.

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

209

Alföldy, G., Dobson, B., Eck, W. (eds.) 2000: Kaiser, Heer und Gesellschaft in der römischen Kaiserzeit. Gedenkschrift für Eric Birley, Stuttgart. Alston, R. 1995: Soldier and Society in Roman Egypt, London; New York. Alston, R. 2002: The Role of the Military in the Roman Revolution, Aquila legionis 3, 7–41. Baker, R. J. 1968: Miles annosus. The Military Motif in Propertius, Latomus 27, 322–49. Bishop, M. C. 1990: Legio V Alaudae and the Crested Lark, JRMES 1, 161–4. Blois, L. de 2007: Army and General in the Late Roman Republic, in: Erdkamp, P. (ed.) 2007, 164–180. Blumenson, M. 1980: The Development of the Modern Military, Armed Forces and Society 6, 670– 682. Braudy, D. 1998: Römische Umgangsriten. Eine ethologische Untersuchung der Funktion von Wiederholung für religiöses Verhalten, Berlin; New York, 1998. Brisson, J.-P. (ed.) 1969: Problèmes de la guerre à Rome, Paris. Brisson, J.-P. 1969a: Introduction, in: Brisson, J.-P. (ed.) 1969, 1–15. Broadhead, W. 2007: Colonization, Land Distribution, and Veteran Settlement, in: Erdkamp, P. (ed.) 2007, 148–63. Brunt, P. A. 1971: Italian Manpower 225 B. C.–A. D. 14, Oxford. Brunt, P. A. 1974: C. Fabricius Tuscus and an Augustan dilectus, ZPE 13, 161–85. Brunt, P. A. 1974a: Conscription and Volunteering in the Roman Imperial Army, SCI 1, 90–115 (= Idem 1990: Roman Imperial Themes, Oxford, 188–214) Brunt, P. A. 1962: The Army and the Land in the Roman Revolution, JRS 52, 69–86. Cagniart, P. 2007: The Late Republican Army (146–30 B. C.), in: Erdkamp, P. (ed.) 2007, 80–95. Campbell, J. B. 1984: The Emperor and the Roman Army 31 B. C.–A. D. 235, Oxford. Campbell, J. B. 2002: War and Society in Imperial Rome 31 B. C.–A. D. 284, London; New York. Carrié, J.-M. 1989: Il soldato, in: Giardina, A. (ed.) L’uomo romano, Roma, 99–142. Cichorius, C. 1894: Alaudae, RE 1, 1295–96. Criniti, N. 1970: L’Epigrafo di Asculum di Gn. Pompeio Strabone, Milan. Cornell, T. 1993: The End of Roman Imperial Expansion, in: Rich and Shipley (eds.) 1993, 139–70. Dahlheim, W. 1992: Die Armee eines Weltreiches: Der römische Soldat und sein Verhältnis zu Staat und Gesellschaft, Klio 74, 197–220. Daris, S. 1964: Documenti per la storia dell’esercito romano in Egitto, Milan. Davies, R. 1969: Joining the Roman Army, BJ 169, 208–232 (= Davies, R. 1989, 3–30). Davies, R. 1989: Service in the Roman Army (eds. Breeze, D. and Maxwell, V.), Edinburgh. Dawson, D. 1996: War and Morality. The Origin of Western Warfare, Oxford. Devijver, H. 1995: Les milices équestres et la hiérarchie militaire, in: Le Bohec, Y. (ed.) 1995, 175–192. Domaszewski, A. von 1909: Lustratio exercitus, in: Domaszewski, A. von, Abhandlungen zur römischen Religion. Leipzig; Berlin, 16–18. Domaszewski, A., von 1981: Die Rangordnung des römischen Heeres. Einführung. Berichtigungen und Nachträge von B. Dobson. 3., unveränderte Auflage, Köln; Wien. Dumezil, G. 1974: La religion romaine archaïque, Paris. Ehrenberg, V., Jones. A. H. M. 1955: Documents Illustrating the Reigns of Augustus and Tiberius, Second edition, Oxford. Erdkamp, P. (ed.) 2007: A Companion to the Roman Army, Oxford. Flaig, E. 1992: Den Kaiser herausfordern: die Usurpation im Römischen Reich, Frankfurt; New York. Forni, G. 1953: Il reclutamento delle legioni da Augusto a Diocleziano, Milan; Rome. Forni, G. 1974: Estrazione etnica e sociale dei soldati delle legioni nei primi tre secoli dell’impero, in: ANRW II. l, 339–91. Gabba, E. 1949: Le origini dell’esercito professionale in Roma: i proletari e la riforma di Mario, Athenaeum 27, 173–209. Gabba, E. 1951: Ricerche sull’ esercito professionale romano da Mario ad Augusto, Athenaeum 29, 171–272.

210

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

Gagé, J. 1970: Les organisations de iuvenes en Italie et en Afrique du début du IIe s. au bellum Aquileiense, Historia 19, 232–243. Gáspár, D. 1974: The concept in numeros referri in the Roman army, AAASH 26, 113–16. Gilliam, J. F. 1957: Enrollment in the Roman Imperial Army, in: Symbolae R. Taubenschlag dedicatae 2, Vratislaviae; Varsaviae (= Eos XLVIII, 1–3), 207–16 (= Idem, Roman Army Papers (Mavors Roman Army Researches II), Amsterdam, 163–172. Gilliam, J. F. 1986: Romanization of the Greek East: The Role of the Army, in: Idem, Roman Army Papers (Mavors Roman Army Researches II), Amsterdam, 281–288 (first published: Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists, 1965 2, 65–73). Gilliver, K. 2007: The Augustan Reform and the Structure of the Imperial Army, in: Erdkamp, P. (ed.) 2007, 183–200. Ginestet, P. 1991: Les organisations de la jeunesse dans l’Occident romain, Bruxelles. Glushanin, E. P. 1996: Rannevizantijskij voennyj myatezh i usurpatsiya v IV v. (Early Byzantine Military Unrest and Usurpation in the Fourth Century), in: Aktualnye voprosy istorii, istoriografii i mezhdunarodnyh otnoshenij (Actual Questions of History, Historiography, and International Relations), Barnaul, 24–36 (in Russian). Glushanin, E. P. 1998: Pozdnerimskij voennyj myatezh i usurpatsiya v epokhy pervoj tetrarkhii (Late Roman Military Unrest and Usurpation in the Period of the First Tetrarchy), in: Antichnaya drevnost’ i srednie veka (Classical Antiquity and Middle Ages). Ekaterinburg, 9–20 (in Russian). Glushanin, E. P. 2001: Pozdnerimskij voennyj myatezh i usurpatsiya v pervoj polovine IV veka (Late Roman Military Unrest and Usurpation in the First Half of the Fourth Century), in: Voprosy politologii (Problems of Politology), 2, Barnaul, 120–130 (in Russian). Goldsworthy, A. K., Haynes, I. (eds.) 1999: The Roman Army as a Community (Journal of Roman Archaeology. Supplementary Series Number 34), Portsmouth (R. I.). Greshnykh, A. N. 2000: Janus i “pravo vojny”: odin iz aspektov kul’ta (Janus and the “Law of War”: One of the Aspects of the Cult), IAnt 1(6), 98–104 (in Russian). Griffin, M. 2000: Nerva to Hadrian, in: CAH2, Vol. XI, 84–131. Harmand, J. 1974: Les origines de l’armée impériale. Un témoignage sur la réalité du pseudo-Principate et sur l’évolution militaire de l’Occident, in: ANRW II.1, 263–298. Harris, W. V. 1979: War and Imperialism in Republican Rome 327–70 B. C., Oxford. Haynes, I. 1999: Introduction: the Roman Army as a Community, in: Goldsworthy, A. K. and Haynes, I. (eds.) 1999, 7–14. Helgeland, J. 1978: Roman Army Religion, in: ANRW II. 16. 2, 1470–1505. Herz, P. 2007: Finance and Costs of the Roman Army, in: Erdkamp, P. (ed.) 2007, 306–322. Holder, P. A. 1980: Studies in the Auxilia of the Roman army from Augustus to Trajan, Oxford. Hopkins, K. 1978: Conquerors and Slaves, Cambridge. Hoyos, D. 2007: The Age of Overseas Expansion (264–146), in: Erdkamp, P. (ed.) 2007, 63–79. Jaczynowska, M. 1978: Les associations de la jeunesse romaine sous le haut-empire, Wroclaw etc. Jung, J. H. 1982: Die Rechtsstellung der römischen Soldaten: Ihre Entwicklung von den Anfängen Roms bis auf Diokletian, in: ANRW II.14, 882–1013. Kennedy, D. L. (ed.) 1996: The Roman Army in the East (JRA Supplementary Series 18), Ann Arbor, Mich. Keppie, L. 1983: Colonisation and Veteran Settlement in Italy 47–14 B. C., London. Keppie, L. 1998: The Making of the Roman Army (updated ed., first published 1984), London. Keppie, L. 1984: Colonisation and Veteran Settlement in Italy in the First Century A. D., PBSR 52, 77–114. Keppie, L. 1996: The Army and the Navy, in: CAH2 X, 371–396. Keppie, L. 2000: The Changing Face of the Roman Legions (49 B. C.–A. D. 69), in: Idem. Legions and Veterans. Roman Papers 1971–2000 (Mavors Roman Army Researches XII), Stuttgart, 50–63 (= Papers of the British School at Rome, 65, 1997, 89–102). Kienast, D. 1966: Untersuchungen zu den Kriegsflotten der römischen Kaiserzeit, Bonn. Kissel, Th. K. 1996: Kriegsdienstverweigerung im römischen Heer, AW 27. 4, 289–296.

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

211

Knabe, G. S. 1985: Istoricheskoe prostranstvo i istoricheskoe vremya v culture Drevnego Rima (Historical Space and Historical Time in the Culture of Ancient Rome), in: Kultura Drevnego Rima (The Culture of Ancient Rome). Vol. II, 108–166, Мoscow (in Russian). Kolendo, J. 1977: Le recrutement des legions au temps de Néron et la création de la legio Italica, in : J. Fitz (ed.), Limes: Akten des XI. International Limes Kongresses: 399–408, Budapest. Kraft, K. 1951: Zur Rekrutierung der Alen und Kohorten an Rhein und Donau, Bern. Krawczuk, A. 1963: Virtutis ergo. Nodania obywatelstwa rzymskiego przez wozdów Republiki (Virtutis ergo. The Granting of Roman Citizenship by the Generals under the Republic), Krakow (in Polish) (Summary by W. Litewski in: Iura 1964, 15, 315–19). Latte, K. 1960: Römische Religiongeschichte, München. Le Bohec, Y. 1989: L’Armée romaine, Paris. Le Bohec, Y. 1989a: La IIIe Legion Auguste, Paris. Le Bohec, Y. (ed.) 1995: La Hiérarchie (Rangordnung) de l’armée romaine sous le Haut-Empire. Actes du Congrès de Lyon (15–18 septembre 1994), Paris. Le Bonniec, H. 1969: Aspects religieux de la guerre à Rome, in: Brisson, J.-P. (ed.) 1969, 101–116. Liebenam, W. 1905: Dilectus, RE 5, 615–29. Ligt, L. de 2007: Roman Manpower and Recruitment During the Middle Republic, in: Erdkamp, P. (ed.) 2007, 114–31. Lind, L. R. 1943: Roman Military Exemption, in: Classical Studies in Honor of William Abbot Oldfather. Presented by a committee of his former students and colleagues, Urbana, 94–103. Lintott, A. W. 1994: Political History, 146–95 B. C., in: CAH2, IX, 40–103. Makhlayuk, A. V. 2005: Vojskovaya klientela v pozdnerespublikanskom i ranneimperskom Rime (On Military Clientele in Rome of the Late Republican and Early Imperial Periods), VDI 3, 36–57 (in Russian). Makhlayuk, A. V. 2006: Soldaty Rimskoj imperii. Traditsii voennoj sluzhby i voinskaya mentalnost’ (Soldiers of the Roman Empire. The Traditions of Military Service and the Martial Mentality), St. Petersburg (in Russian). Mann, J. C. 1954: A Note on the Numeri, Hermes 82, 501–506. Mann, J. C. 1963: The Raising of New Legions during the Principate, Hermes 91, 483–489. Mann, J. C. 1983: Legionary Recruitment and Veteran Settlement during the Principate, London. Mann, J. C. 2000: Honesta missio from the Legions, in: Alföldy, G., Dobson, B., Eck, W. (eds.) 2000, 153–62. Mashkin, N. A. 1949: Printsipat Augusta. Proiskhozhdenie i sotsialnaya suschnost’ (The Augustan Principate. Origin and Social Nature), Moscow (in Russian). Maxfield, V. A. 1981: The Military Decorations of the Roman Army, London. Michel, A. 1970: De Socrate à Maxime de Tyr: les problèmes sociaux de l’armée dans l’idéologie romaine, REL XLVII bis. = Mélanges Marcel Durry, 237–51. Mócsy, A. 1965: Die origo castris und die Canabae, AArchHung 13, 425–31 (= Idem, Pannonien und das römische Heer [1992], 174–80). Mommsen, Th. 1884: Militum provincialium patriae, EE 5, 158–249. Mommsen, Th. 1884a: Die Conscriptionsordnung der römischen Kaiserzeit, Hermes 19, 1–79; 210– 234. Mommsen, Th. 1888: Römisches Staatsrecht. Bd. II–III. Leipzig. Mommsen, Th. 1912–1917: Römische Geschichte, 11. Aufl. Berlin. e Nicolet, C. 1988: Le métier du citoyen dans la Rome républicaine, 2 éd., rev. et corrigée, Paris. Nicolet, C. 1989: Rimskaya respublika i sovremennye modeli gosudarstva (Roman Republic and contemporary models of the state), VDI 3, 98–99 (in Russian). Nock, A. D. 1952: The Roman Army and the Roman Religious Year, HThR 45, P. 186–252 (= Idem, Essays on religion and the ancient world. Vol. II, Oxford, 1972, 736–90). North, J. A. 1981: The development of Roman imperialism, JRS 71, 1–9. Oakley, S. 1993: The Roman conquest of Italy, in: Rich and Shipley 1993, 9–37. Pabst, A. 1997: Comitia imperii: ideelle Grundlagen des römischen Kaisertums. Darmstadt.

212

Alexander V. Makhlayuk

Patterson, J. 1993: Military organization and social change in the later Roman Republic, in: Rich and Shipley 1993, 92–112. Pferdehirt, B. 2002: Die Rolle des Militärs für den sozialen Aufstieg in der römischen Kaiserzeit, Mainz. Phang, S. E. 2007: Military Documents, Languages, and Literacy, in: Erdkamp, P. (ed.) 2007, 286– 305. Phang S. E. 2008: Roman Military Service. Ideologies of Discipline in the Late Republic and Early Principate, Cambridge. Priuli, S. 1971: La probatio militum e il compiuto del servizio militare nelle coorti pretorie, Rendiconti della Classe di Scienze morali, storiche e filologiche dell’Academia dei Lincei 26, 697– 718. Pollard, N. 1992: Nota et familiaria castra: Soldiers and Civilian in Roman Syria and Mesopotamia, Diss., Ann Arbor. Pollard, N. 1996: The Roman Army as ‘total institution’ in the Near East? Dura-Europos as a Case Study, in: Kennedy, D. L. (ed.), The Roman Army in the East, 211–27, Oxford. Raaflaub, K. A. 1987: Die Militärreformen des Augustus und politische Problematik des frühen Prinzipats, in: G. Binder (ed.) Saeculum Augustum. I. Herrschaft und Gesellschaft, Darmstadt, 246–307. Rappaport, 1920: Salii, in: RE 2. Reihe, 2, 1874–99. Rich, J. 1983: The supposed Roman manpower shortage of the later second century B. C., Historia 32. 3, 287–331. Rich, J. 1993: Introduction, in: Rich, J. and Shipley, G. (eds.) 1993. Rich, J. 2007: Warfare and the Army in Early Rome, in: Erdkamp, P. (ed.) 2007, 7–23. Rich, J., Shipley, G. (eds.) 1993: War and Society in the Roman World, London; New York. Ritterling, E. 1925: Legio, RE 12, 1211–1829. Roldan, J. M. 1986: El bronce de Ascoli en su contexto histórico, in: Epigrafia hispánica de época romano-republicana. Saragossa, 115–35. Rostovtzeff, M. I. 2000: Obschestvo i khozyajstvo v Rimskoj imperii. V dvukh tomakh, T. I (Society and Economy in the Roman Empire. In Two Volumes, Volume I), St. Petersburg (in Russian). Rouland, N. 1977: Les esclaves romaines en temps de guerre, Bruxelles. Rowe, G. 2002: Princes and Political Cultures: The New Tiberian Senatorial Decrees, Ann Arbor. Roxan, M. M. Roman Military Diplomas 1954–1977, London, 1978; Eadem. Roman Military Diplomas 1978–84, London, 1985; Eadem. Roman Military Diplomas 1985–1993, London, 1994 (= RMD). Rüpke, J. 1990: Domi militiaeque: Die religiöse Konstruktion des Krieges in Rom, Stuttgart. Saddington, D. B. 1982: The Development of the Roman Auxiliary Forces from Caesar to Vespasian, Harare. Saller, R. P. 1982: Personal Patronage under the Early Empire, Cambridge etc. Schneider, H. C. 1977: Das Problem der Veteranenversorgung in der späteren römischen Republik, Bonn. Shaw, B. 1983: Soldier and Society: the Army in Numidia, Opus 2, 133–52. Sherwin-White, A. N. 1966: The Letters of Pliny: A Historical and Social Commentary, Oxford. Siebert, A. V. 1999: Instrumenta sacra: Untersuchungen zu römischen Opfer-, Kult- und Priestergeräten, Berlin; New York. Smallwood, E. M. 1966: Documents illustrating the principate of Nerva, Trajan and Hadrian. Cambridge. Smith, R. E. 1958: Service in the post-Marian Roman Army, Manchester. Sordi, M. 1972: L’arruolamento dei ‘capite censi’ nel pensiero e nell’azione di Mario, Athenaeum. N. S. 60, 379–85. Speidel, M. A. 1995: Das römische Heer als Kulturträger, in: Frei-Stolba, R., Herzog, H. (eds.). La politique édilitaire dans les provinces de l’Empire romain IIème–IVème siècles après J.-C. Actes du IIe colloque roumano-suisse, Berne, 12–19 septembre 1993. Berne, 1995, 187–207. Speidel, M. P. 1975: The Rise of Ethnic Units in the Roman Imperial Army, in: ANRW II. 3, 202–31.

The Republican Background and Traditions of the Imperial Army

213

Stäcker, J. 2003: Princeps und miles. Studien zum Bindungs- und Nahverhältnis von Kaiser und Soldat im 1. und 2. Jahrhudert n. Chr. (SPUDASMATA 91), Hildesheim; Zürich; New York. Stauner, K. 2004: Das offizielle Schriftwesen des römischen Heeres von Augustus bis Gallienus 27 v. Chr.–268 n. Chr.), Bonn. Stoll, O. 2001: De honore certabant et dignitate. Truppe und Selbstidentifikation in der Armee der römischen Kaiserzeit, in: Idem, Römisches Heer und Gesellschaft. Gesammelte Beiträge 1991–1999 (Mavors Roman Army Researches XIII), Stuttgart, 106–36. Stoll, O. 2007: The Religions of the Armies, in: Erdkamp, P. (ed.) 2007, 451–76. Strobel, K. 1995: Rangordnung und Papyrologie, in: Le Bohec, Y. (ed.) 1995, 93–112. Taylor, L. R. 1924: Seviri equitum Romanorum and Municipal seviri. A Study in Pre-Military Training Among the Romans, JRS 14, 158–71. Tokmakov, V. N. 1994: Voinskaya prisyaga i “svyaschennye zakony” v voennoj organizatsii rannerimskoj Respubliki (Military oath and the “sacred laws” in the military organization of the Early Roman Republic), in: Kofanov, L. L., Chaplygina, N.A (eds.) Religiya i obschina v drevnem Rime (Religion and Community in Ancient Rome), 125–47, Moscow (in Russian). Tokmakov, V. N. 1997: Sakralnye aspekty voinskoj distsipliny v Rime Rannej respubliki (The Sacral Aspects of the Military Discipline in Rome during the Early Republic), VDI 2, 43–59 (in Russian). Tokmakov, V. N. 1997a: Sakralno-pravovye aspekty ritualov zhrecheskoj kollegii saliev v arkhaicheskom Rime (Sacred Law Aspects of the Rites of the Salii Priestly Collegium in Archaic Rome), Ius Antiquum 1(2), 9–17 (in Russian). Tokmakov, V. N. 1998: Voennaya organizatsiya Rima Rannej respubliki (VI–IV vv. do n. e.) (The Military Organization of the Early Roman Republic [sixth to fourth centuries B. C.]), Moscow (in Russian). Tokmakov, V. N. 2007: Armiya i gosudarstvo v Rime: ot epokhi tzarej do Punicheskih vojn (Army and State in Rome: From the Regal Period to the Punic Wars), Moscow (in Russian). Van Gennep, A. 1909: The Rites of Passage, London. Vendrand-Voyer, J. 1983: Normes civiques et métier militaire à Rome sous le Principat, Clermont. Veyne, P. 1976: Le pain et le cirque. Sociologie historique d’un pluralisme politique, Paris. Watson, G. R. 1969: The Roman Soldier, London. Watson, G. R. 1974: Documentation in the Roman Army, in: ANRW II. 1, 493–507. Watson, G. R. 1982: Conscription and voluntary enlistment in the Roman army, Proceedings of the African Classical Association 16, 46–50. Webster, G. 1969: The Roman Imperial Army, London. Welwei, K.-W. 1988: Unfreie im antiken Kriegsdienst, Vol. 3. Rom; Stuttgart. Wesch-Klein, G. 1998: Soziale Aspekte des römischen Heerwesens in der Kaiserzeit, Stuttgart. Wesch-Klein, G. 2007: Recruits and veterans, in: Erdkamp, P. (ed.) 2007, 435–50. Wierschowski, L. 1995: Kriegsdienstsverweigerung im römischen Reich, Ancient Society 26, 205– 39. Wolf, H. 1986: Die Entwicklung der Veteranenprivilegen, in: Eck W., Wolf, H. (eds.), Heer und Integrationspolitik. Die römischen Militärdiplome als historische Quelle. Böhlau, Cologne, Vienna, 44–115. Woolf, G. 1993: Roman Peace, in: Rich and Shipley (eds.) 1993, 171–212.

THE CONCEPTS OF ‘DEMOCRACY’ AND ‘TYRANNY’ . IN THE SPEECH OF AGRIPPA IN CASSIUS DIO 52. 1–13: . CONVENTIONAL RHETORIC OR POLITICAL THEORY?* Konstantin V. Markov (Nizhny Novgorod State University) Recent decades have seen increasing attention by scholars to Cassius Dio’s Roman History. The author was a Roman senator of high standing who had a brilliant career under the Severans, crowning it with a second consulate held jointly with the emperor Severus Alexander in A. D. 229.1 Dio’s affiliation with the political elite of his times shaped the main features of his work, namely the author’s account of his own experience in historical narrative and his self-positioning as a senator-historian.2 Therefore, Dio’s opus has always been investigated not only as a significant piece of historical writing but also as a document of the political thought of the Severan epoch.3 Traditionally these investigations have focused on Book 52. The greater part of this book is occupied by the famous debate between Agrippa and Maecenas before Octavian on the constitution of the Empire.4 Agrippa insists on the preservation of the Republic, which he terms δημοκρατία,5 while Maecenas

*

1 2 3 4

5

The author expresses his gratitude to the Russian Foundation for the Humanities (RFH) for funding the work on this article as part of the project ‘Cassius Dio’s Roman History as a Document of Historical Thought of the Late Principate: Translation, Commentary, Research’, project № 07-01-00047а. See the detailed observations on Dio’s biography in the following works: Millar, F. 1964, 11– 27; Harrington, J. 1970, 1–15; Hose, M. 1994, 356–360; Martinelli, M. 1999, 13–20; Swan, P. M. 2004, 1–3. Kemezis, A. M. 2006, 8, 59–60, 93. Kemezis, A. M. 2006, 60 ff; Swan, P. M. 2004; Escribano M.-V. 1999; Blois L. de. 1998–1999, 1994, 1984; Hose, M. 1994, 392–393, 430–231; Espinosa Ruiz U., 1982; Millar, F. 1964, 78, 83, 84, 111; Bleicken, J. 1962, 444–467; Meyer, P. 1891. M. Reinhold classes these speeches among parallel suasoriae practised in Roman schools (Reinhold, M. 1988, 166). For historical writing such political debates were a sort of tradition that began with Herodotus (III. 80–82) and was followed by some of Dio’s contemporaries (Philostr. Vita Apol. V. 32−37). See Blois, L. de. 1994, 169; Reinhold, M. 1988, 167. Dio himself inserted similar orations at other periods of constitutional changes. See, for instance Fr. 12 (on the expulsion of kings), or the speech of Julius Caesar in XLIII. 15. 2–18. 5. In this context δημοκρατία is synonymous with libera res publica. From the fourth/third century B. C. on, it was a standard term for any type of citizen government, even the most oligarchic one. See Kuhn-Chen, B. 2002, 181; Reinhold, M. 1988, 168; Larsen, J. A. O. 1973, 45–46.

216

Konstantin V. Markov

favours ‘monarchy’ and presents a coherent project of constitutional regulations. His plan is generally considered to be the programme of Dio himself.6 Numerous studies of this debate, including monographs and dissertations, focus mainly on Maecenas’ speech as providing clues to Dio’s own ideological perspectives.7 The speech of Agrippa, in contrast, usually stays in the background, though several different interpretations of it can be cited. The most controversial is that of J.-M. Roddaz, who proposes that in 29 B. C. Octavian did in fact deliberate with his two prominent associates on his future political course, and information about that discussion could have been taken by Dio from the lost work of Asinius Pollio or from Agrippa’s “Autobiography”.8 According to Roddaz, the speech reflects the ideological commitments of Agrippa himself as a fervent supporter of the interests of the Roman people. This suggestion has not won acceptance among scholars,9 who generally adhere to one of two other versions. The first can be found in the work of E. Gabba and P. McKechnie. Gabba suggests that Dio, following literary traditions, took the historical context into account and made Agrippa present arguments that would be appropriate to the Augustan age; the words of Agrippa are nonetheless no more than rhetoric, like the speech of Cassius in Appian (BC IV. 90–100).10 McKechnie comes to the conclusion that the speech hardly relates to Roman realities at all. It includes famous τόποι from Greek political thought, inserted deliberately by Dio to stress the improbability of Agrippa’s arguments and to point up the significance of Maecenas’ oration by contrast.11 Consequently, Gabba and McKechnie each suggest a different origin for the content of the oration, but both argue that the value of the speech lies in its composition and style, rather than in the theories presented. Contrary to this approach, some scholars believe that the oration reflects the political ideas of Dio himself. According to J. Berrigan, Dio put into the mouth of Agrippa his own reflections on democracy.12 This interpretation, though dismissed by B. Manuwald as ill-conceived,13 has been supported by D. Fechner, who engages the arguments of McKechnie and demonstrates that Agrippa’s oration is not 6

7

8 9 10 11 12 13

This is a generally accepted view, but there have been some exceptions. M. Hammond was the first to question the ‘political’ interpretation of Maecenas’ speech. In his opinion, the oration is descriptive in character and is a general representation of the Principate, reflecting its development over two centuries (Hammond, M. 1932, 88–102). Currently, this view is shared by M. G. Schmidt (Schmidt, M. G. 1999, 106 ff.). This approach goes back to P. Meyer, who detected “the marked break” at 18. 6–7, where Maecenas turns from general statements to his project of administrative regulations. As he highlighted, this indicates Dio’s initial plan to prepare standard δισσοὶ λόγοι full of rhetorical commonplaces. But later, presumably after A. D. 229, the speech of Maecenas was revised and supplemented with the constitutional project, while the oration of Agrippa remained unchanged (Meyer, P. 1891, 92–93). See also Stekelenburg, A. V. van, 1971, 111; Reinhold, M. 1987, 166. Roddaz, J.-M. 1980, 947–956; Roddaz, J.-M. 1983, 75–84; Roddaz, J.-M. 1984, 215. The interpretation of J.-M. Roddaz has been severely criticized by U. Espinosa Ruiz (Espinosa Ruiz, U. 1987, 289–316). Gabba, E. 1955, 310. McKechnie, P. 1981, 150–155. Berrigan, J. R. 1968, 45. Manuwald, B. 1979, 23, n. 63.

The Concepts of ‘Democracy’ and ‘Tyranny’ in the Speech of Agrippa

217

restricted to commonplaces from Greek political theory. Quite the contrary: Agrippa’s speech, in Fechner’s view, takes real account of Late Republican realities.14 One of the most extensive studies of the speech is that by U. Espinosa Ruiz. In his opinion, the oration should not be regarded only as a sort of rhetorical exercise. It was to serve ideological and theoretical purposes. Firstly, Agrippa’s description of ‘tyranny’ coincides significantly with Dio’s own accusing account of the reigns of Commodus, Caracalla and Elagabalus. Secondly, Agrippa identifies some genuine problems of monarchical rule that bear a strong resemblance to some live issues in the Severan age. Thirdly, Dio puts into the mouth of Agrippa his own conception of δημοκρατία as an equivalent to traditional Roman libertas. Such a ‘democracy’ survives under μοναρχία and fades away under τυραννίς. This conception is spread over both orations and both speakers actually cherish the same political ideal. Consequently, as Espinosa Ruiz concludes, Dio’s conception of the ideal form of government corresponds to the senatorial idea of combining libertas (Agrippa’s δημοκρατία) with principatus (Maecenas’ μοναρχία).15 This approach has been partly developed by M. V. Escribano. For her, the oration contains a conception of ‘tyranny’ as one of the stages of Roman history. As she suggests, Dio regarded his own times as a period of transition from ‘monarchy’ to ‘tyranny’, and the speech of Agrippa was intended to be a sort of speculum for the Severans.16 Recently an investigation of the speech has been undertaken by A. Kemezis, with the following findings. The form of government praised and defended by Agrippa differs much from the Roman Republic as described by Cassius Dio and should be regarded as an abstract ideal borrowed from classical Greek political theory. But the oration has a certain theoretical value because Agrippa reveals the key problem for the whole discussion: monarchy does not work even under a perfect monarch. Consequently, Dio defines the chief blunders of monarchical institutions via Agrippa and presents his own project for an effective system of government in the speech of Maecenas.17 This brief survey reveals three main modern approaches to the oration of Agrippa. The speech has been interpreted 1) as a unique source for the investigation of Agrippa’s political ideas, 2) as a set of commonplaces from ancient political thought and rhetoric, and 3) as a part of Dio’s own political programme. This paper aims to examine the conceptions of ‘tyranny’ and ‘democracy’ in the speech of Agrippa in order to define the compositional and ideological meaning of the oration. The main purpose is to answer the long-debated question of whether this speech contained any ideological message from Dio or if, on the contrary, it was no more than conventional rhetoric inserted into the narrative for stylistic purposes.

14 Fechner, D. 1986, 73–88. 15 Espinosa Ruiz, U. 1987, 313; Espinosa Ruiz, U. 1982, 475. There is a similar conclusion in the paper of C. Horst, who depicts Dio as a supporter of “dual power” who employed the conception of democracy to demonstrate the advantages of establishing “parity” between the emperor and the Senate (Horst, C. 2010, 189–208). 16 Escribano, M. V. 1999, 177–184. 17 Kemezis, A. 2006, 121–127.

218

Konstantin V. Markov

We shall start with the question of the historicity of the speech. Dio must have been aware of the existence of contrasting viewpoints on the future of the Empire in the first years of Augustus reign.18 Moreover, the historian probably had evidence for debate between Agrippa and Maecenas on the matter.19 But his sources can hardly have contained any precise information about the debate and it is even less likely that the event took place in 29 B. C. Firstly, according to Dio the consultation was held privately, and the speeches were unlikely to have been published.20 Secondly, Augustus did not need to choose between δημοκρατία / res publica and μοναρχία/principatus, because his actual political course was restitutio rei publicae (RGDA. 34), and therefore the reason given for the debate should be regarded as an anachronism.21 Thirdly, the question of Augustus’ retirement was on the agenda in 31 and 27, but not 29 B. C., as our sources attest (Suet. Aug. 28. 1; Cass. Dio LIII. 2. 6). According to Dio himself, Augustus’ reign started in 31 B. C. after the victory in the Battle of Actium (LI. 1. 2; LVI. 30. 5).22 But then why did Dio give the date as 29 B. C. in Book 52? The answer can be found in the final chapters of the book. Dio reports that in 29 B. C. Augustus received the title of imperator not as a reward for military victories, but as a designation of his supreme power. In fact, the terms princeps and imperator became synonyms only under Vespasian.23 In Dio’s times, however, acclamation as Imperator was the starting point of a new reign. Consequently, the author’s interpretation is no more than the ascription of Severan realities to the Augustan Age.24 Moreover, it is unusual to see Agrippa, whose considerable contribution to the foundation of Principate is beyond doubt, defending ‘democracy’.25 J.-M. Roddaz attempts to provide reasons for Dio’s choice of dramatis personae and quotes the author’s description of Agrippa as δημοτικώτατος (LIV. 29. 3). Roddaz interprets this epithet as proof of Agrippa’s democratic views,26 but actually Dio employs this term as an equivalent of Latin civilis, which means ‘humbling oneself as a citizen, being courteous, affable, polite etc.’27 Another explanation provided recently by P. Dakouras seems more convincing. Agrippa was a staunch supporter of Augustus. Consequently, had he glorified autocracy, he would have seemed self-seeking to readers.28 Moreover, Dio could 18 According to F. Millar (Millar, F. 1964, 105), Dio developed the whole discussion from a notice in Suetonius (Aug. 28. 1). But it is probable that both historians relied on the same tradition, possibly the work of Asinius Pollio or Agrippa’s autobiography (Manuwald, B. 1979, 85 f., n. 3; Roddaz, J.-M. 1984, 211, n. 74, Reinhold, M. 1987, 166, n. 3; Schmidt, M. G. 1999, 108). 19 Rich, J. W. 1990, 98, n. 70–71. 20 Rich, J. W. 1990, 122. 21 Escribano, M. V. 1999, 176. 22 Though in Book 53 he says that real monarchy began on 16 January 27 B. C. (LIII. 17. 1). 23 Egorov, А. B. 1988, 170. 24 Andersen, H. A. 1938, 53–55; Gabba, E. 1955, 313; Stekelenburg, A. V. van 1971, 108–110; Reinhold, M. 1987, 169. Some scholars suggest also that Dio set the debate at the time of transition from Republic to Principate in order to allude to the governmental transformation taking place in his own time (Reinhold, M. 1987, 165–166; Roddaz, J.-M. 1983, 75–77). 25 Hammond, M. 1932, 89. 26 Roddaz, J.-M. 1980, 950 f. 27 Reinhold, M. 1987, 168; Wallace-Hadrill, A. 1982, 44. 28 Dakouras, P. 2006, 255.

The Concepts of ‘Democracy’ and ‘Tyranny’ in the Speech of Agrippa

219

have deliberately permitted such a discrepancy between Agrippa the counsellor and Agrippa the statesman in order to accentuate his loyalty to Augustus.29 Taking all this into account, there is a strong sense that the speech of Agrippa should be regarded as a fiction by Cassius Dio, though the author’s choice of spokesman for ‘democracy’ is not a frivolous invention. We can now proceed to the content of the speech, which can be divided into several parts. The first is a kind of introduction that occupies Chapters 1–3. Agrippa assures Augustus that he will speak frankly, warns against hasty decisions and lays emphasis on the importance of public opinion: if Augustus assumes supreme power, people will think that his piety to his father and the revenge for his father’s assassination were only pretexts concealing his true intentions (LII. 2. 4). This argument, to be sure, goes back to the Augustan age. According to Tacitus, some people really accused Caesar’s son of hiding his lust for power under the cover of traditional pietas (Ann. I. 10). So, in the first three chapters of the speech Agrippa stays close to the historical context, as he does in some other chapters of the oration when he cites examples from the history of Rome (LII. 9. 4–5; 13. 2–4); however, he deviates from this principle abruptly when he passes to the description of the main characteristics of democracy. At the beginning of Chapter 4 this system is classed as ἰσονομία. Greek authors frequently use this term as a synonym of δημοκρατία, and it was the original name of the Athenian democracy.30 Depicting this system in Chapter 4, Dio employs the famous ideological cliché of citizens’ equal participation in government through the constant and frequent rotation of magistrates (Plato. Protag. 326d; Arist. Pol. VII. 12. 6; VII. 12. 4).31 Fechner interprets this passage as part of Dio’s 29 Stekelenburg, A. V., van 1971, 108. On the representation of Agrippa by Cassius Dio see Ameling, W. 1994, 27. 30 Reinhold, M. 1987, 172. 31 ἡ μὲν τοίνυν ἰσονομία τό τε πρόσρημα εὐώνυμον καὶ τὸ ἔργον δικαιότατον ἔχει. τήν τε γὰρ φύσιν τὴν αὐτήν τινας εἰληχότας καὶ ὁμοφύλους ἀλλήλοις ὄντας, ἔν τε τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἤθεσι τεθραμμένους καὶ ἐν τοῖς ὁμοίοις νόμοις πεπαιδευμένους, καὶ κοινὴν καὶ τὴν τῶν σωμάτων καὶ τὴν τῶν ψυχῶν χρῆσιν τῇ πατρίδι παρέχοντας, πῶς μὲν οὐ δίκαιον καὶ τἆλλα πάντα κοινοῦσθαι, πῶς δ’ οὐκ ἄριστον ἐν μηδενὶ πλὴν ἀπ’ ἀρετῆς προτιμᾶσθαι; ἥ τε γὰρ ἰσογονία ἰσομοιρίας ὀριγνᾶται, καὶ τυχοῦσα μὲν αὐτῆς χαίρει, διαμαρτοῦσα δὲ ἄχθεται· καὶ τὸ ἀνθρώπειον πᾶν, ἅτε ἔκ τε θεῶν γεγονὸς καὶ ἐς θεοὺς ἀφῆξον, ἄνω βλέπει, καὶ οὔτε ἐθέλει ὑπὸ τοῦ αὐτοῦ διὰ παντὸς ἄρχεσθαι, οὔθ’ ὑπομένει τῶν μὲν πόνων καὶ τῶν κινδύνων τῶν τε δαπανημάτων μετέχον, τῆς δὲ κοινωνίας τῶν κρειττόνων στερόμενον, ἀλλὰ κἂν ἀναγκασθῇ τι τοιοῦτον ὑποστῆναι, μισεῖ τὸ βεβιασμένον, κἂν καιροῦ λάβηται, τιμωρεῖται τὸ μεμισημένον. ἄρχειν τε γὰρ πάντες ἀξιοῦσι, καὶ διὰ τοῦτο καὶ ἄρχεσθαι ἐν τῷ μέρει ὑπομένουσι (“Equality before the law has an auspicious name and is most just in its workings. For in the case of men who are endowed with the same nature, are of the same race with one another, have been brought up under the same institutions, have been trained in laws that are alike, and yield in an equal degree the service of their bodies and of their minds to their country, is it not just that they should have an equal share in all other things also, and is it not best that they should secure no distinctions except as the result of excellence? For equality of birth demands equality of privilege, and if it attains this object, it is glad, but if it fails, it is displeased. And the human race everywhere, sprung as it is from the gods and destined to return to the gods, gazes upward and is not content to be ruled forever by the same person, nor will it endure to share in the toils, the dangers, and

220

Konstantin V. Markov

conception of ideal senatorial oligarchy, when all members of the ruling elite are equal by nature and upbringing and therefore have a common share in power. This interpretation is contradicted by some details in the text. First, Agrippa mentions people who belong to “the same race” (ὁμόφυλοι) (4. 1). Such an ideal, surely, would not have suited Dio, who was a Greek as were many other senators in Severan times. Moreover, Agrippa is thinking of all citizens,32 not just one group of them. Similar reflections on democracy are found in Aristotle.33 Thus, Agrippa is neglecting the real state of affairs34 and adducing a well-known τόπος from Greek political literature of the fifth and fourth centuries B. C. One can easily find other ideological clichés. They are concentrated mostly in the next three parts of the speech. These parts are devoted respectively to the discussion of how tyranny leads to the enslavement of citizens (chapter 5), the comparative analysis of tyranny and democracy (chapters 6–9) and the disadvantages of the position of tyrant (chapters 10–12).35 However, Agrippa does not just resort to stock phrases, but also mentions some of the complications of exercising supreme power: fiscal problems connected with raising significant sums for the army (chapter 6. 1–5), the opposition of aristocrats and the unreliability of low-born associates (chapter 8), widespread belief in the partiality of monarchs towards defendants in court, especially those in powerful positions (9. 1–4), subjects’ smouldering discon-

32 33

34 35

the expenditures and yet be deprived of partnership in the better things. Or, if it is forced to submit to anything of the sort, it hates the power which has applied coercion, and if it obtains an opportunity, takes vengeance upon what it hates. All men, of course, claim the right to rule, and for this reason submit to being ruled in turn; they are unwilling to have others overreach them, and therefore are not obliged, on their part, to overreach others”) (LII. 4. 1–8. Here and below we cite the translation by Earnest Cary in the Loeb edition). τὸ ἀνθρώπειον πᾶν (4. 3); πάντες (4. 5) Aristot. Pol. III. 11. 2–3 (1287a): δοκεῖ δέ τισιν οὐδὲ κατὰ φύσιν εἶναι τὸ κύριον ἕνα πάντων εἶναι τῶν πολιτῶν, ὅπου συνέστηκεν ἐξ ὁμοίων ἡ πόλις· τοῖς γὰρ ὁμοίοις φύσει τὸ αὐτὸ δίκαιον ἀναγκαῖον καὶ τὴν αὐτὴν ἀξίαν κατὰ φύσιν εἶναι, ὥστ’ εἴπερ καὶ τὸ ἴσην ἔχειν τοὺς ἀνίσους τροφὴν ἢ ἐσθῆτα βλαβερὸν τοῖς σώμασιν οὕτως ἔχει καὶ τὰ περὶ τὰς τιμάς· ὁμοίως τοίνυν καὶ τὸ ἄνισον τοὺς ἴσους διόπερ οὐδὲν μᾶλλον ἄρχειν ἢ ἄρχεσθαι δίκαιον καὶ τὸ ἀνὰ μέρος τοίνον ὡσαύτως (“Some people think that it is entirely contrary to nature for one person to be sovereign over all the citizens where the state consists of men who are alike; for necessarily persons alike in nature must in accordance with nature have the same principle of justice and the same value, so that inasmuch as for persons who are unequal to have an equal amount of food or clothing is harmful for their bodies, the same is the case also in regard to honours; similarly therefore it is wrong for those who are equal to have inequality, owing to which it is just for no one person to govern or be governed more than another, and therefore for everybody to govern and be governed alike in turn”) (Transl. by H. Rackham in the Loeb edition). M. Reinhold characterizes Agrippa’s ideal as “an harmonious utopian republic of equals” (Reinhold, M. 1987, 172). These loci communes are: the tyrant’s lack of self-control and the negative impact of his temper on public morality (cf. Cass. Dio LII. 2. 4; 3. 1–2; 5. 1–2 and Sen. Clem. I. 11. 4); unfair trials (cf. Cass. Dio LII. 7. 3–4 and Plin. Pan. 42. 3–4; Dio Chrys. Or. III. 119; Sen. Сlem. I. 26. 2); Agrippa’s view of the Empire as a multi-state association resembling a Greek κοινόν (LVIII. 8. 7); the multitude of plotters, which leads to the presence of numerous bodyguards (LII. 10. 4) (see on this McKechnie, P. 1981, 152–153).

The Concepts of ‘Democracy’ and ‘Tyranny’ in the Speech of Agrippa

221

tent with the distribution of honours (chapter 12), etc. Read before Dio’s contemporaries, these chapters would sound like undisguised allusions to the political practice of Commodus, Caracalla and Elagabal.36 Here the social background of the author is more evident than in the passage on ἰσονομία. Dio is preoccupied mostly with the interests of those citizens who “have superior knowledge or possessions” (5. 1), who are able to make large contributions in addition to regular taxes (6. 2), “who pride themselves on their birth, or on their wealth” (8. 1), “who are wealthy and brave” (9. 1). Thus, the description of the disadvantages of autocracy in the speech of Agrippa is likely to be based not only on literary tradition but also on Dio’s own observations on the activities of Commodus and the Severans, especially their relationships with the senatorial class. It should be noted that Agrippa exchanges the terms δυναστεία (6. 3), τυραννίς (5. 1; 9. 5; 11. 2; 13, 6) and μοναρχία (6. 5; 7. 4; 8. 1; 9. 2; 13. 6), as if to stress that any ruler – no matter if he be a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ one – inevitably faces certain difficulties. Νonetheless the term τυραννίς appears to indicate the moral deterioration of a ruler as well as of his subjects (5. 1–2; 11. 2) or the negative attitude of citizens to autocracy (9. 5). These facts tempt us to re-examine the interpretation of Escribano, who supposes that the speech of Agrippa is influenced by Dio’s perception of tyranny as an essential stage in a cyclical historical process.37 The main features of this stage, according to her, are represented in the speech of Agrippa. Following Espinosa Ruiz,38 she points to similarities between the oration and Dio’s narrative of Commodus, Caracalla and Elagabal39 and draws a parallel between the vitia of these emperors and the list of tyrannical vices (ὠμότης, ὕβρις, φιλοχρηματία) mentioned in the speech of Agrippa (chapters 5–10). But such similarities are discernible also in Dio’s narrative of Roman ‘tyrants’ of past times, particularly Nero and Domitian, whose portrayals correspond to a particular ἔθος.40 Therefore, the description of tyranny in the speech of Agrippa is more likely to indicate not a historical stage, but a style of governing.41 36 Escribano, M. V. 1999, 177; Espinosa Ruiz, U. 1982, 276 f. 37 Escribano, M. V. 1999, 177. It has been suggested that, according to Dio, the first transition from ‘monarchy’ to ‘tyranny’ happened after Numa Pompilius, the second one started with Commodus’ accession to the throne (Fechner, D. 1986, 175–197; Bering-Staschewski, R. 1981, 126–129). 38 Espinosa Ruiz, U. 1982, 276 f. 39 Escribano, M. V. 1999, 178–179. 40 Like many other Roman historians, Dio divides Roman emperors into so-called ‘good’ and ‘bad’ ones. The members of the first group are Augustus (LVI. 43. 4–56, 44. 2), Galba (LX. 2), Vespasian (LXVI. 2. 1), Titus (LXVI. 18. 1–4), Nerva (LXVIII. 3. 1), Trajan (LXVIII. 7. 1–5), Marcus Aurelius (LXXI. 36. 3), Pertinax (LXXII. 1. 1). Their antitheses are Nero (LXI. 5. 1), Domitian (LXVII. 1–4), Commodus (LXXIII. 1. 1), Caracalla (LXXVII. 11. 4 – 12. 1) and Elagabal (LXXIX. 3. 3). Tiberius, Caligula and Claudius started as ‘good’ emperors, but they deteriorated in the course of time (see respectively LVII. 19. 1; LIX. 2–6; XL. 2. 5–7). The reign of Hadrian is also multiply valued (LXIX. 2. 5). The portrayals of ‘tyrants’ are quite similar and are associated with so-called “trans-regnal themes”, as shown by C. Pelling, namely “the recurrent discrepancy between reality and semblance”, “dissimulation of a ruling person” and “the persistent bewilderment of the senate” (Pelling, С. 1997, 117–144). 41 The typology of tyranny was a commonplace of literature and a favorite subject of school dec-

222

Konstantin V. Markov

To judge from the content of the speech, it is composed of different elements: ideological commonplaces going back to the Augustan age, an abstract ‘democracy’ that has nothing in common with the Late Republic, and a description of tyranny that contains allusions to Severan realities. But if Dio embedded some of his own ideas into the oration, why did he mix his message with an absolutely unreal democratic ideal? In order to find a plausible explanation let us examine Dio’s overall attitude to democracy and uncover his estimation of the last Republicans and their ideology. In Book 47 we find a short sketch of the Republicans’ propaganda on the eve of the Battle of Philippi: “The officers of Brutus set before their men the prizes of liberty and democracy, of freedom from tyrants and freedom from masters; they cited the benefits of equality and the excesses of monarchy, appealing to what they themselves had suffered or had heard related about other peoples; and giving instances of the working of each system separately, they besought them to strive for the one and to avoid the other, to conceive a passion for the former and to take care that they should not suffer the latter” (XLVII. 42. 3).42 This brief description corresponds to the structure and content of Agrippa’s oration, which consists of nearly the same elements: attacks on tyranny as leading to the ‘slavery’ of citizens (chapters 2–3), the praise of ἰσονομία (chapters 4–5), the comparative analysis of both systems (chapter 6–12) and references to domestic and foreign experience (9. 1–5; 10. 2; 13. 1–6). Hence, when Dio was writing Book 47 he had in mind an outline of the exhortatory speech of a typical ‘democrat’, a scheme that was later applied to the speech of Agrippa. It should be noted that appeals to ‘equality’ are ascribed to Brutus’ companionsin-arms (οἱ μὲν περὶ τὸν Βροῦτον) (XLVII. 42. 3), not to the leaders themselves.43 This accentuates the ideological solidarity of the Republicans. Dio’s evaluation of their ideology is represented most explicitly in the second chapter of Book 44, where he demonstrates the fallaciousness of the political course taken by Brutus and Cassius (XLV. 2. 1) and discredits their political ideals: “Democracy, indeed, has a fair-appearing name and conveys the impression of bringing equal rights to all through equal laws, but its results are seen not to agree at all with its title” (XLIV. 2. 1).44 So the political ideal of the republicans coincides with that of Agrippa one lamations (Dunkle, J. R. 1965; idem. 1971, 12–20. See also Zimmermann, M. 1999, 30 f.). 42 διήλλαξε δὲ ὅτι οἱ μὲν περὶ τὸν Βροῦτον τήν τε ἐλευθερίαν καὶ τὴν δημοκρατίαν τὸ ἀτυράννευτον καὶ τό τε ἀδέσποτον τοῖς σφετέροις προεβάλλοντο, καὶ τά τε ἐν ἰσονομίᾳ χρηστὰ καὶ τὰ ἐν μοναρχίᾳ ἄτοπα, ὅσα ποτὲ αὐτοί τε ἐπεπόνθεσαν καὶ περὶ ἑτέρων ἠκηκόεσαν, προέφερον, παραδεικνύντες τε καθ’ ἓν ἕκαστον ἑκάτερα καὶ ἱκετεύοντές σφας τῶν μὲν ὀριγνήσασθαι τὰ ἐκκλῖναι καὶ τῶν μὲν ἔρωτα λαβεῖν τὰ δὲ μὴ παθεῖν φυλάξασθαι (XLVII. 42. 3). 43 Dio’s assessment of Brutus and Cassius’ political commitments is controversial. He states that they acted as “genuine friends of the people” determined to defend the freedom of citizens (XLVII. 32. 2; XLVII. 38. 3). Still, they were not impeccable in Dio’s view. He blames them severely for jealousy and unsatisfied ambitions that resulted in the dishonourable murder of Julius Caesar (XLIV. 1) (Kuhn-Chen, B. 2002, 193). 44 δημοκρατία γὰρ ὄνομα μὲν εὔσχημον ἔχει καί τινα καὶ ἰσομοιρίαν πᾶσιν ἐκ τῆς ἰσονομίας φέρειν δοκεῖ, ἐν δὲ δὴ τοῖς ἔργοις ἐλέγχεται μηδὲν ὁμολογοῦσα τῷ

The Concepts of ‘Democracy’ and ‘Tyranny’ in the Speech of Agrippa

223

in its basic elements (LII. 4. 1–3): the equivalence of rights for all citizens of the πόλις, which is based on ἰσονομία (‘equality before the law’ or ‘political equality’) and ἰσομοιρία (‘equality of privilege’). Dio’s account of the Battle of Philippi is especially important to us as a pattern that opposes representatives of the two camps and their means of political propaganda. Dio depicts the Republicans as upholders of ‘equality’ (ἰσονομία) who believed sincerely that they had struggled for the Romans’ best interests. Their adversaries seem to be more practical. They “urged their army to take vengeance on the assassins of Caesar, to get the property of their antagonists, to be filled with a desire to rule all the men of their own race, and – the thing which heartened them most – they promised to give them twenty thousand sesterces apiece” (XLVII. 42. 4).45 The slogans of Brutus’ associates, though captivating, are too abstract in comparison with Caesar’s appeal to material benefits from his accession to supreme power, which proved to be more attractive to soldiers and therefore more efficient in Dio’s view. Ιn actual fact at Philippi both parties may have acted pragmatically. According to Appian, Brutus and Cassius “completed the payment of the promised donative still due to the soldiers. They had provided themselves with an abundant supply of money in order to propitiate them with gifts” (BC IV. 89).46 Cassius finished his speech with the promise of lavish distributions (BC IV. 100). The difference between Dio and Appian may cast light on Dio’s approach. His main purpose was not to give an impartial account of events, but to represent, at least in this part of the account, idealized portrayals of the Republicans and their rivals.47 The difference of values and, consequently, of argumentation is discernible also in the Agrippa– Maecenas debate. The opponents speak, as it were, different languages. Agrippa praises the abstract idea of δημοκρατία/ἰσονομία and, especially at the beginning προσρήματι (XLIV. 2. 1). There is one other passage where Dio identifies a mismatch between the name of a form of government and its real opportunities for citizens: Οὐ γὰρ ἐπικλήσεις καὶ τοὺς τρόπους τῶν ἀνθρώπων μεταβάλλουσιν, ἀλλ’ ὅπως ἄν τις τὰ πράγματα μεταχειρίζηται, τοιαύτας καὶ ἐκείνας δοκεῖν εἶναι ποιεῖ καὶ πολλοὶ μὲν μοναρχοῦντες ἀγαθῶν αἴτιοι τοῖς ἀρχομένοις γίγνονται, διὸ καὶ βασίλεια τὸ τοιοῦτον ὀνομάζεται, πολλοὶ δὲ δημοκρατούμενοι μυρία καὶ αὑτοὺς ἐργάζονται (“For titles do not change the characters of men, but one makes titles take on new meanings according to one’s management of affairs. Many monarchs are the source of blessings to their subjects, whence such a state is called a kingdom; whereas many who live under a democracy work innumerable evils to themselves”) (F. 110, 2). 45 οἱ δὲ ἕτεροι τῷ σφετέρῳ στρατῷ τούς τε σφαγέας τιμωρήσασθαι καὶ τὰ τῶν ἀντικαθεστώτων σχεῖν, ἄρξαι τε πάντων τῶν ὁμοφύλων ἐπιθυμῆσαι, παρῄνουν, καὶ ὅ γε μάλιστα αὐτοὺς ἐπέρρωσε, καὶ κατὰ πεντακισχιλίας σφίσι δραχμὰς δώσειν ὑπέσχοντο (LVII. 42. 5). 46 καθήραντες δὲ αὐτὴν τοῖς νομιζομένοις ἀνεπλήρουν τὰς ἐκ τῶν ἐπηγγελμένων τισιν ὀφειλομένας ἔτι δωρεάς, πολλῆς μὲν περιουσίας χρημάτων πεφροντικότες, οἰκειούμενοι δὲ ταῖς δόσεσιν αὐτούς… (BC IV. 89; transl. by Horace White in the Loeb edition). 47 According to J. Rich, Dio disregards historical facts when laying emphasis on the idealism of Brutus and Cassius and the arrogance of their adversaries (Rich, J. W. 1990, 95). This approach has been found also in other parts of the work. According to C. Pelling, “what subsists in the History is an abstract, bloodless umbra, in which we miss human, as distinct from idealized qualities” (Pelling, С. 1997, 135).

224

Konstantin V. Markov

of the speech, appeals to Roman patterns of value (LII. 2. 4). As for Maecenas, he reasons about the constitution as a pragmatist whose prime concern is not ethics, but practical value and efficiency.48 Moreover, he actually repeats Dio’s observation that δημοκρατία was an inadequate form of government for a state such as the Roman Empire (cf. XLIV. 2. 1–4 and LII. 15. 6–16. 1–3).49 At the beginning of Book 44 Dio states that in reality democracy does not bring equal rights to every citizen and he develops this idea via Maecenas: “For these [sc. wars abroad and civil strife] are the evils found in every democracy, – the more powerful men, namely, in reaching out after the primacy and hiring the weaker, turn everything upside down…” (LII. 15. 5).50 According to Dio’s pragmatic view (in Book 44), “monarchy is a most practical form of government to live under” (XLIV. 2. 1) and “… successes have always been greater and more frequent in the case both of cities and of individuals under kings than under popular rule, and disasters do not happen so frequently under monarchies as under mob-rule. Indeed, if ever there has been a prosperous democracy, it has in any case been at its best for only a brief period, so long, that is, as the people had neither the numbers nor the strength sufficient to cause insolence to spring up among them as the result of good fortune or jealousy as the result of ambition” (XLIV. 2. 3).51 In the speech of Maecenas this statement is illustrated by the Roman example: “while we were but few in number and differed in no important respect from our neighbours, we got along well with our government and subjugated almost all Italy; but ever since we were led outside the peninsula and crossed over to many continents and many islands, filling the whole sea and the whole earth with our name and power, nothing good has been our lot. At first it was only at home and within our walls that we broke up into factions and quarrelled, but afterwards we even carried this plague out into the legions” (LII. 16. 1–2).52 Finally, Dio as well as his hero Maecenas comes to the conclusion that 48 The difference in the arguments of Maecenas and Agrippa has been explored by M. Hose (Hose, M. 1994, 394). See also McKechnie, P. 1981, 150–151). 49 On the coincidences between the speech of Maecenas and some of Dio’s expressions see KuhnChen, B. 2002, 189, n. 255; Reinhold, M. 1987, 167; Hose, M. 1994, 394. 50 ταῦτα γὰρ πᾶσα μὲν δημοκρατία ἔχει· οἱ γὰρ δυνατώτεροι, τῶν τε πρωτείων ὀρεγόμενοι καὶ τοὺς ἀσθενεστέρους μισθούμενοι, πάντα ἄνω καὶ κάτω φύρουσι. 51 εἰ γάρ που καὶ δημοκρατία τις ἤνθησεν, ἀλλ’ ἔν γε βραχεῖ χρόνῳ ἤκμασεν, μέχρις οὗ μήτε μέγεθος μήτ’ ἰσχὺν ἔσχον ὥστε ἢ ὕβρεις σφίσιν ἐξ εὐπραγίας ἢ φθόνους ἐκ φιλοτιμίας ἐγγενέσθαι. πόλιν τε αὐτήν τε τηλικαύτην οὖσαν καὶ τοῦ τε καλλίστου τοῦ τε πλείστου τῆς ἐμφανοῦς οἰκουμένης ἄρχουσαν, καὶ πολλὰ μὲν ἀνθρώπων ἤθη καὶ διάφορα κεκτημένην πολλοὺς δὲ καὶ μεγάλους πλούτους ἔχουσαν, ταῖς τε πράξεσι καὶ ταῖς τύχαις παντοδαπαῖς καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ χρωμένην, ἀδύνατον μὲν ἐν δημοκρατίᾳ σωφρονῆσαι, ἀδυνατωτερον δὲ μὴ σωφρονοῦσαν ὁμονοῆσαι (XLIV. 2. 3). 52 καὶ ὅτι ταῦτα ἀληθῆ λέγω, μαρτυρεῖ τὰ γεγονότα. τέως μὲν γὰρ οὔτε πολλοὶ ἦμεν οὔτε μεγάλῳ τινὶ τῶν πλησιοχώρων διεφέρομεν, καλῶς τε ἐπολιτευόμεθα καὶ πᾶσαν ὀλίγου τὴν Ἰταλίαν κατεστρεψάμεθα· αφ’ οὗ δὲ ἔξω αὐτῆς ἐξήχθημεν, καὶ ἐπὶ πολλὰ καὶ τῶν ἠπείρων καὶ τῶν νήσων ἐπεραιώθημεν, καὶ πᾶσαν μὲν τῆν θάλασσαν πᾶσαν δὲ τὴν γὴν καὶ τοῦ ὀνόματος καὶ τῆς δυνάμεως ἡμῶν ἐνεπλήσαμεν, οὐδενὸς χρηστοῦ μετεσχήκαμεν, ἀλλὰ τὸ μὲν πρῶτον οἴκοι καὶ ἐντὸς τοῦ τείχους κατὰ συστάσεις ἐστασιάσαμεν, ἔπειτα δὲ καὶ ἐς τὰ στρατόπεδα τὸ νόσημα τοῦτο προηγάγομεν (LII. 16. 1–2).

The Concepts of ‘Democracy’ and ‘Tyranny’ in the Speech of Agrippa

225

democracy is absolutely inappropriate for an Empire ruling over vast territories with a population of complicated ethnic and social structure.53 This analysis affords an insight into Dio’s attitude to Agrippa’s conception of democracy. The author highlights via Maecenas that the Romans experienced this form of government when they were citizens of a relatively small πόλις neighbouring many other citystates of the peninsula. But δημοκρατία changed rapidly into δυναστεία54 when Rome turned into the Empire.55 So, Agrippa’s argumentation falters chiefly because he does not take this change into account. And this is exactly what Dio blames Brutus and Cassius for at the beginning of Book 44: “Therefore, if Marcus Brutus and Gaius Cassius had only reflected upon these things, they would never have killed the city’s head and protector nor have made themselves the cause of countless ills both to themselves and to all the rest of mankind then living” (XLIV. 2. 5). 53 Dio makes such a statement, at least three times and in almost the same words: πόλιν δὲ αὐτήν τε τηλικαύτην οὖσαν καὶ τοῦ τε καλλίστου τοῦ τε πλείστου τῆς ἐμφανοῦς οἰκουμένης ἄρχουσαν, καὶ πολλὰ μὲν ἀνθρώπων ἤθη καὶ διάφορα κεκτημένην πολλοὺς δὲ καὶ μεγάλους πλούτους ἔχουσαν, ταῖς τε πράξεσι καὶ ταῖς τύχαις παντοδαπαῖς καὶ ἰδίᾳ καὶ δημοσίᾳ χρωμένην, ἀδύνατον μὲν ἐν δημοκρατίᾳ σωφρονῆσαι, ἀδυνατώτερον δὲ μὴ σωφρονοῦσαν ὁμονοῆσαι. (“But for a city, not only so large in itself, but also ruling the finest and the greatest part of the known world, holding sway over men of many and diverse natures, possessing many men of great wealth, occupied with every imaginable pursuit, enjoying every imaginable fortune, both individually and collectively, – for such a city, I say, to practise moderation under a democracy is impossible, and still more is it impossible for the people, unless moderation prevails, to be harmonious”) (XLIV. 2. 4). οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν ὅπως δημοκρατία ἄκρατος, ἐς τοσοῦτον ἀρχῆς ὄγκον προχωρήσασα, σωφρονῆσαι δύναται· πολλοὺς δ’ ἂν ἐπὶ πολλοῖς καὶ αὖθις ἀγῶνας ὁμοίους ἀνελόμενοι πάντως ἄν ποτε ἐδουλώθησαν ἢ καὶ ἐφθάρησαν (“It is, of course, impossible for an unadulterated democracy that has grown to so proud an empire to exercise moderation; and so they would later on have undertaken many similar conflicts one after another, and some day would certainly have been either enslaved or ruined”) (XLVII. 39. 5). τεκμήριον δέ, πάμπολυς ἐξ οὗ χρόνος καὶ πολεμοῦμεν καὶ στασιάζομεν. αἴτιον δὲ τό τε πλῆθος τῶν ἀνθρώπων καὶ τὸ μέγεθος τῶν πραγμάτων. ἐκεῖνοί τε γὰρ παντοδαποὶ καὶ τὰ γένη καὶ τὰς φύσεις ὄντες καὶ ποικίλας καὶ τὰς ὀργὰς καὶ τὰς ἐπιθυμίας ἔχουσι, καὶ ταῦτα ἐς τοσοῦτον προῆκται ὥστε καὶ πάνυ δυσχερῶς ἂν διοικηθῆναι. (“And the evidence is, that we have now for a long time been engaged in wars and civil strife. The cause is the multitude of our population and the magnitude of the business of our government; for the population embraces men of every kind, in respect both to race and to endowment, and both their tempers and their desires are manifold; and the business of the state has become so vast that it can be administered only with the greatest difficulty”) (LII. 15. 6). 54 For Dio δυναστεία is an extraordinary and exclusive power held by individuals or oligarchic groups. This term has a strongly negative meaning. See Kuhn-Chen, B. 2002, 191; FreyburgerGalland, M.-L. 1996, 127–131, Fehner, D. 1986, 154–163; Espinoza Ruiz, U. 1982, 63–69. 55 In accordance with the Thucydidean model, Dio regards human nature as a factor in historical development, as attested also in the speech of Agrippa (LII. 2. 6–3) (Escribano, M. V. 1999, 183). Striving for domination and the exercise of power is an intrinsic feature of human nature and therefore the chief drivers of the historical process are φιλοτιμία and πλεονεξία (Hose, M. 1994, 433; Reinhold, M. 1987, 9–11, 215 ff.; Lintott, A. W. 1997, 2499–2503), though he recorded with accuracy divine interventions in human affairs and some scholars attribute to him a teleological conception of history (Swan, M. 2004, 8 ff.; Fechner, D. 1986, 248; Puiggali, J. 1984, P. 876–883; Bering-Staschewski, R. 1981, 114–125).

226

Konstantin V. Markov

Now the portrait is complete. Agrippa (in Book 52 only) and the Republicans are depicted by Dio as idealists who fail to understand the real state of affairs and stand for the legendary Republic of Scipios and Catos. Why did Dio choose such a model? Was he really unaware of the Republicans’ actual ideology as described by other ancient writers, e. g. Appian?56 Or, did he simply follow a source that provided him with a biased view? The former explanation would be too simplistic, while the latter would contradict what is known of Dio’s historical methods, which are especially discernible in his account of the late Republic.57 One of these methods deserves especial attention. In Book 46 the historian makes some general statements on the chief blunders of senatorial policy that led to significant human losses in the course of the civil wars and proscriptiones (XLVI. 34. 1–4). Then Dio reports that he will move on to details illustrating his general reflections, adding that it is particularly instructive “when one takes facts as the basis of his reasoning, investigates the nature of the former by the latter, and thus proves his reasoning true by its correspondence with the facts” (XLVI. 35. 1).58 This observation by Dio has been interpreted by F. Millar as “a passing thought” which does not indicate his general practice. But more recent explorations have shown that Dio’s words were not mere rhetoric. According to M. Hose, Dio proclaimed his actual intention to form a deductive model of explanation of historical events and then confirmed his reasoning by selecting appropriate evidence from his sources.59 It has been argued that not only the account of the Battle of Mutina and the establishment of the triumvirate is guided by such a method. Similar patterns of generalized analysis followed by accounts of corresponding events have also been revealed by A. Kemezis in other parts of the Roman History, including the first chapters of Book 44.60 These passages contain another general explanatory model incorporating reflections on the course of Roman history and on the fact that Caesar’s party simply made the most obvious choices and consequently were victorious, while their opponents proved incapable of understanding changing realities. Thus Dio will have adjusted historical facts to this scheme when relating the political activities of Brutus and Cassius. 56 According to Appian (BC IV. 90–100), Cassius proclaimed specific and utilitarian goals: the preservation of mores maiorum; the comitia’s control of public money, the armies and the elections; the appointment of governors of provinces by the Senate, etc. 57 As A. W. Lintott states, “Dio’s account of the late Republic is his own version, not that of any previous historians” (Lintott, A. W. 1997, 2498). Firstly, Dio selected the material for his work (Kemezis, A. 2006, 68; Rich, J. W. 1990, 6.), and secondly, unlike some other ancient historians who restricted themselves mostly to a single authority, he used not only one but a number of sources, choosing from them what seemed to be the most plausible story. Such an approach left him much space for partisan positions and personal interpretations. On Dio’s approach to his sources, see: Andersen, H. A. 1938; Townend,  G. B. 1961,  227–241; Fadinger,  V. 1969; Libourel, J. M. 1974, 383–393; Solimeno Cipriano, A. 1981, 3–18; Mehl, A. 1981, 54–64; Dobesch, G. 1988, 39–102; McDougall, I. 1991, 616–638; Moscovich, M. J. 2004, 356–368; Millar, F. 2005, 33 ff. 58 καὶ γὰρ καὶ παίδευσις ἐν τούτῳ τὰ μάλιστα εἶναί μοι δοκεῖ, ὅταν τις τὰ ἔργα τοῖς λογισμοῖς ὑπολέγων τήν τε ἐκείνον φύσιν ἐκ τούτων ἐλέγχῃ καὶ τούτους ἐκ τῆς ἐκείνων ὁμολογίας τεκμηριοῖ (XLVI. 35. 1). 59 Hose, M. 1994, S. 424. 60 Kemezis, A. 2006, 78–79.

The Concepts of ‘Democracy’ and ‘Tyranny’ in the Speech of Agrippa

227

It is evident also that Dio’s model was the result not only of his observation of Roman history, but also of his ideological and theoretical commitments. Dio’s references to the experience of Greeks and barbarians show that he saw the gradual fading of ‘democracy’ as a universal process and not distinctive to Rome.61 Consequently, his δημοκρατία is not only the Roman Republic with all its peculiarities, but democracy in general, an abstraction deriving mostly from Greek political thought. In accordance with this theoretical construct, he paints adherents of δημοκρατία (e. g. Brutus, Cassius, Agrippa) as typical democratic leaders of a Greek πόλις. This approach, inevitably accompanied by factual inaccuracy, may be explained by the trend in historiography current in Dio’s time, when, according to A. Lintott, historians “had shifted from detailed narrative to generalized reflection and interpretation.”62 This occurred under the influence of the Second Sophistic, which resulted in rhetoric dominating historical writings.63It has been mentioned that the contents of the speech of Agrippa, and in particular his conception of democracy, is influenced by Dio’s general perception of the Republicans and their ideology. They are criticized for idealism, while democracy in general is discredited as leading to civil disorder. But Dio’s attitude was more complex than may appear from what has been said above. He still recognized some positive sides of democracy. The first and most important one was freedom of speech (παρρησία), which, in his opinion, was lost forever with the downfall of the Republic (XLII. 39. 2–5). Dio’s words might be regarded as a direct quotation from a pro-Republican source, but there is further evidence for a certain sympathy with δημοκρατία. For instance, he mourns the freedom of information enjoyed by Romans under the Republic, when historians allegedly enjoyed free access to any information concerning the political life of Rome (LIII. 19. 2).64 In his obituary of Augustus Dio describes the reign of the first princeps as a mixture of monarchy and democracy (LVI. 43. 4 – 44. 2)65 and praises Tiberius and Caligula for ‘democratic’ administration (LVII. 11. 2; LIX. 3. 1).66 And he makes Maecenas express the idea of monarchy as ‘true democracy’, with an emperor as leader of his peers acting in accordance with their corporate interests. This system is a direct answer to Agrippa’s ‘democracy of equals’. Maecenas suggests that all citizens should follow their vocation and re-

61 Kuhn-Chen, 2002, 190. 62 Lintott, A. 1997, 2499. 63 Zimmerman, M. 1999, 42. Dio was skilled in this type of writing, as can be inferred from his first two propagandistic works (LIII. 23. 1–2), which verged closely on panegyric (Hidber, T. 2004, 188). Lintott has demonstrated that Dio’s account of the Late Roman Republic is influenced by “later declamatory invective” as well as “incomprehension deriving from political attitudes under the principate” (Lintott, A.W. 1997, 2518). 64 The Republic, to be sure, is idealized here to a considerable extent (Kuhn-Chen, B. 2002, 198). 65 ὅτι τὴν μοναρχίαν τῇ δημοκρατίᾳ μίξας τό τε ἐλεύθερόν σφισιν ἐτήρησε καὶ τὸ κόσμιον τό τε ἀσφαλὲς προσπαρεσκεύασεν, ὥστ’ ἔξω μὲν τοῦ δημοκρατικοῦ θράσους ἔξω δὲ καὶ τῶν τυραννικῶν ὕβρεων ὄντας ἔν τε ἐλευθερίᾳ σώφρονι καὶ ἐν μοναρχίᾳ ἀδεεῖ ζῆν, βασιλευομένους τε ἄνευ δουλείας καὶ δημοκρατουμένους ἄνευ διχοστασίας (LVI. 43. 4). 66 Kuhn-Chen, B. 2002, 190.

228

Konstantin V. Markov

ceive rewards according to their merits,67 which ensures social disparity and appears to be a kind of aristocratic form of government.68 As can be inferred, Dio’s political ideal was not monarchy in a strict sense of the word and he was far from idealizing this form of government. For instance, he admits that a φαῦλός τις (“a base man”) can ascend the throne (XLIV. 2. 2). The author knew that all too well from his own experience under Commodus and the Severans, when the “Golden Age” of the Antonines was succeeded by the “monarchy of iron and rust” (LXXI. 36. 4). Dio is quite scrupulous in reporting instances of misrule, social disruption and violations of the fundamental principles of the Roman imperial system.69 It has been shown by L. de Blois that he explained these negative changes via traditional literary clichés such as vitia tyrannica or licentia et avaritia militum. However, Dio was capable of more shrewd analysis, and this is attested in the speech of Agrippa. In chapters 6–12 the author focuses primarily on the systemic drawbacks of any type of autocracy (no matter whether ‘monarchy’ or ‘tyranny’). In fact, Agrippa sets out general problems while Maecenas proposes detailed solutions, which form not only the preliminary part of the speech (LII. 14–18) but also the project of constitutional regulations (LII. 19–40).70 For example, Agrippa and Maecenas show remarkable conformity in claiming that the richest and noblest citizens are the most important assistants of a ruler. Quite in accordance with the realities of the principate, Agrippa states that it is impossible for any monarch to avoid conflict with the elite (chapter 8), while Maecenas suggests a number of measures that would strengthen the position of the upper classes and put their relations with monarchs on a proper and stable foundation.71 According to Agrippa, a ruler inflicts on himself a great burden of responsibilities (10. 1). Maecenas in his turn suggests a way of relieving such a strain, namely the development of the emperor’s administration and the consilium principis (15. 1–2; 33. 3–5). Agrippa is convinced that public opinion approves only of sentences passed by ‘a court of equals’. Maecenas virtually repeats this thesis and insists on senatorial trials for senators accused of a criminal offence (33. 1–2). Agrippa points to fiscal problems connected closely to the state’s expenditures for the army (chapter 8). As if to give an answer, Maecenas notes that such problems exist not only under monarchies and proposes to raise money by selling off the emperor’s possessions (chapter 28). Consequently, the issues highlighted by Agrippa guide Maecenas’ response, which occupies not only chapters 14–18 as is generally believed.72 To sum up, the speech of Agrippa is replete with traditional rhetorical loci communes of diverse origin. Pro-Republican ideological clichés of the Augustan age 67 Cf. ὅτι δημοκρατία ἐστὶν οὐ τὸ πάντας τῶν αὐτῶν ἁπλῶς τυγχάνειν, ἀλλὰ τὸ τὰ κατ’ ἀξίαν ἕκαστον φέρεσθαι (VI. Fr. 23. 5). M. Sordi considers Maecenas’ model to be a sort of “democrazia diversa” superseding the classical Athenian model of democracy as “il governo della maggioranza” (Sordi, M. 2001, 3–8). 68 Fechner D. 1986, 96 f.; Kuhn-Chen, 2002, 196. 69 Swan P. M. 2004, 15; Alföldy G. 1989, 333; Blois L. de 1984, 364. 70 Kemezis A. 2006, 124 ff. 71 Smyshlyayev, A. L. 1991, 137–155. 72 Ameling, W. 1997, 2484; Reinhold, M. 1987, 166; Gabba, E. 1955, 317.

The Concepts of ‘Democracy’ and ‘Tyranny’ in the Speech of Agrippa

229

appear next to famous τόποι from Hellenic political thought, particularly an abstract ideal of δημοκρατία which has nothing in common with the Late Republic. It is striking that the same perception of ‘democracy’ is attributed by Dio to the republicans who are depicted as upholders of ἰσονομία (‘equality before the law’ or ‘political equality’) and ἰσομοιρία (‘equality of privilege’). Such a treatment betrays Dio’s intention to adjust historical evidence to his own view of history, guided by the author’s ideological commitments and utilitarian purposes. The account of the transition from the Republic to the Principate is imbued with Dio’s own considerations on the positive and negative sides of ‘democracy’ and ‘monarchy’ as not specifically Roman, but universal, forms of government. The summarizing and detailed elaboration of these ideas is represented by the historian in Book 52 in traditional historiographic form. The speech of Agrippa as well as Dio’s presentation of the Republicans accentuate the discrepancy between some attractive features of democracy and its lack of vital capacity in Roman conditions. On the other hand, the author defines the chief drawbacks of monarchical institutions by having Agrippa pay special attention to current problems of the Severan age. The scope of these live issues determines the content of Maecenas’ speech, demonstrating the compositional, ideological and theoretical unity of both orations. BIBLIOGRAPHY Alföldy, G. 1989: Die Krise des Römischen Reiches: Geschichte, Geschichtsschreibung und Geschichtsbetrachtung. Ausgewählte Beiträge, Stuttgart. Ameling, W. 1994: Augustus und Agrippa, Chiron 24, 1–28. Ameling, W. 1997: Griechische Intellektuelle und das Imperium Romanum: Das Beispiel Cassius Dio, ANRW II. 34. 3, 2472–2496. Andersen, H. A. 1938: Cassius Dio und die Begründung des Principates, Berlin. Bering-Staschewski, R. 1981: Römische Zeitgeschichte bei Cassius Dio, Bochum. Berrigan, J. R. 1968: Dio Cassius’ Defense of Democracy, CB 44, 42–45. Bleicken, J. 1962: Der politische Standpunkt Dios gegenüber der Monarchie, Hermes, 90, 4, 444– 467. Blois, L. de. 1998–1999: The Perception of Emperor and Empire in Cassius Dio’s Roman History, Ancient Society 29, 267– 281. Blois, L. de. 1994: Traditional Virtues and New Spiritual Qualities in Third Century Views of Empire, Emperorship and Practical Politics, Mnemosyne 47, 2, 166–175. Blois, L de. 1984: The Third Century Crisis and the Greek Elite in the Roman Empire, Historia, 33, 3, 358–370. Dakouras, P. 2006: Maecenas eques. A Study in the Creation and Development of an Image. PhD Diss., New York University. De Jong, I. J. F et al. (eds.) 2004: Studies in Ancient Greek Narrative. 1. Narrators, Narratees and Narratives in Ancient Greek Literature. Studies in Ancient Greek Narrative I, Leiden and Boston. Dobesch, G. 1988: Zu Caesars Sitzenbleiben vor dem Senat und zu der Quelle des Cassius Dio, Tyche 3, 39–102. Dunkle, J. R. 1965: Study of the Rhetorical Tyrant in Rome of the First Century B. C. Diss. Pennsylvania. Dunkle, J. R. 1971: The Rhetorical Tyrant in Roman Historiography: Sallust, Livy and Tacitus, CW 65, 12–20.

230

Konstantin V. Markov

Egorov, А. B. 1988: Problemi titulaturi rimskich imperatorov (The Problems of the Titulature of Roman Emperors), VDI 2, 161−172 (in Russian). Escribano M. V. 1999: Estrategias retóricas y pensamiento político en la Historia Romana de Casio Dion, AC 68, 177–184. Espinosa Ruiz, U. 1987: El problema de la historicidad en le debate Agrippa-Mecenas de Dion Casio, Gérion 5, 289–316. Espinosa Ruiz, U. 1982: Debate Agrippa-Mecenas en Dion Casio. Respuesta senatorial a la crisis del imperio romano en epoca severiana, Madrid. Fadinger, V. 1969: Die Begründung des Prinzipats. Quellenkritische Untersuchungen zu Cassius Dio und der Parallelüberlieferung, Diss., Berlin. Fechner, D. 1986: Untersuchungen zu Cassius Dios Sicht der Römischen Republik, Hildesheim. Freyburger-Galland, M.-L. 1996: ΔΥΝΑΣΤΕΙΑ chez Dion Cassius, Ktèma 21, 23–27. Gabba, E. 1955: Sulla “Storia romana” di Cassio Dione, RSI 67, 289–333. Hammond, M. 1932: The Significance of the Speech of Maecenas in Dio Cassius, Book LII, TAPhA 63, 88–102. Harrington, J. 1970: Cassius Dio: A Re-examination. PhD Diss., Lexington. Hidber, T. 2004: Cassius Dio, in: De Jong, I. J. F. et al., 187–199. Horst, C. 2010: Zur politischen Funktion des Demokratiebegriffes in der Kaiserzeit: eine Interpretation der Reden des Agrippa und Maecenas (Cassius Dio 52,1–41), in: T. Schmitt, V. V. Dement’eva (eds.), Volk und Demokratie im Altertum, Göttingen, 189–208. Hose, M. 1994: Erneuerung der Vergangenheit. Die Historiker im Imperium Romanum von Florus bis Cassius Dio, Stuttgart. Kemezis, A. M. 2006: The Roman Past in the Age of the Severans: Cassius Dio, Philostratus and Herodian, PhD Diss., Michigan. Kuhn-Chen, B. 2002: Geschichtskonzeptionen griechischer Historiker im 2. und 3. Jahrhundert n. Chr.: Untersuchungen zu den Werken von Appian, Cassius Dio und Herodian, Frankfurt am Main; Berlin etc. Larsen, J. A. O. 1973: Demokratia, CPh 68, 45–46. Libourel, J. M. 1974: An Unusual Annalistic Source Used by Dio Cassius, AJPh 95, 383–393. Lintott, A. W. 1997: Cassius Dio and the History of the Late Roman Republic, ANRW II. 34. 3, 2499–2503. Manuwald, B. 1979: Cassius Dio und Augustus: philologische Untersuchungen zu den Büchern 45–56 des dionischen Geschichtswerkes, Wiesbaden. Martinelli, G. 1999: L’ultimo secolo di studi su Cassio Dione, Genova. McDougall, I. 1991: Dio and his sources for Caesar’s campaigns in Gaul, Latomus 50, 616–638. McKechnie, P. 1981: Cassius Dio’s Speech of Agrippa: a Realistic Alternative to Imperial Government?, G&R 28, 150–155. Mehl, A. 1981: Bemerkungen zu Dios und Tacitus Arbeitweise und zur Quellenlage im “Totengericht” über Augustus, Gymnasium 88, 54–64. Meyer, P. 1891: De Maecenatis oratione a Dione ficta, Diss., Berlin. Millar, F. 1964: A Study of Cassius Dio, Oxford. Millar, F. 2005: Rome in Greek Culture: Cassius Dio and Ulpian, in: Troiani, I., Zecchini, G. (eds.) La cultura storica nei primi due secoli dell’impero romano (Milano, 3–5 giugne 2004), Roma, 17–40. Moscovich, M. J. 2004: Cassius Dio’s Palace Sources for the Reign of Septimius Severus, Historia 53, 3, 356–368. Reinhold, M. 1988: From Republic to Principate. An Historical Commentary on Cassius Dio’s Roman History Books 49–52 (36–29 B. C.), Atlanta. Pelling, С. 1997: Biographical History? Cassius Dio on the Early Principate, in: Edwards, M. J., Swain, S. (eds.), Portraits. Biographical Representation in the Greek and Latin Literature of the Roman Empire, Oxford, 117–144. Puiggali, J. 1984: Les démons dans l’Histoire romaine de Dion Cassius, Latomus 43, 876–883. Rich, J. W. 1990: Cassius Dio. The Augustan Settlement (Roman history 53–55.9), Warminster.

The Concepts of ‘Democracy’ and ‘Tyranny’ in the Speech of Agrippa

231

Roddaz, J.-M. 1980: Un thème de la “propagande” augustéenne, l’image populaire d’Agrippa. MEFRA 92, 947–956. Roddaz, J.-M. 1983: De César à Auguste: l’image de la monarchie chez un historien du siècle des Sévères. Reflexions sur l’oeuvre de Dion Cassius, à propos d’ouvrages recents, REA 85, 67–87. Roddaz, J.-M. 1984: Marcus Agrippa, Roma. Schmidt, E. G. 1964: Isonomia: Studien zur Gleichheitsvorstellung im griechischen Denken, Berlin. Schmidt, M. G. 1999: Politische und persönliche Motivation in Dios Zeitgeschichte, in: Geschichtsschreibung und politischer Wandel im 3.  Jh. n.  Chr. Kolloquium zu Ehren von Karl-Ernst Petzold (Juni 1998) anlässlich seines 80. Geburtstags, Stuttgart, 93–117. Smyshlyayev, A. L. 1991: “The Maecenas Speech” (Dio Cass., LII): the Dating and Ideological and Political Orientation, GLP 13, 137–155. Solimeno Cipriano, A. 1979 (1980): Tacito fonte di Cassio Dione?, RAAN 54, 3–18. Sordi, M. 2001: Alla ricerca di una “democrazia diversa”: Da Tucidide a Dione, Aevum, 75, 1, 3–8. Stekelenburg, A. V. van. 1971: De redevoeringen bij Cassius Dio, Delft. Swan, P. M. 2004: The Augustan Succession: An Historical Commentary on Cassius Dio’s Roman History, Books 55–56 (9 A. D. – B. C. 14), Oxford. Townend, G. B. 1961: Traces in Dio Cassius of Cluvius, Aufidius and Pliny, Hermes 89, 227–241. Wallace-Hadrill, A. 1981: Civilis princeps: Between Citizen and King, JRS 72, 32–48. Zimmerman, M. 1999: Enkomion und Historiographie: Entwicklungslinien der kaiserzeitlichen Geschichtsschreibung vom 1. bis zum frühen 3. Jh. n. Ch., in: Geschichtsschreibung und politischer Wandel im 3. Jh. n. Chr. Kolloquium zu Ehren von Karl-Ernst Petzold (Juni 1998) anlässlich seines 80. Geburtstags, Stuttgart, 17–56.

CONTRIBUTORS Oleg L. Gabelko Institute for Oriental and Classical Studies Department of Ancient History, 6, Miusskaya square 125267 Moscow, Russia E-mail: [email protected] Maxim M. Kholod St. Petersburg State University Faculty of History, Dept. of History of Ancient Greece and Rome 5, Mendeleevskaya line 199034 St. Petersburg, Russia E-mail: [email protected] Anton V. Korolenkov Publishing House “Nauka” Journal “Novaya i noveyshaja istoria” 26, Maronovsky lane 119991 Moscow, Russia E-mail: [email protected] Yuri N. Kuzmin Samara Branch of Moscow City Pedagogical University Faculty of Law, Chair of History 213, Novo-Vokzal’naya str. 443084 Samara, Russia E-mail: [email protected] Ivan A. Ladynin M. V. Lomonosov Moscow State University Faculty of History, Dept. of Ancient History 27/4, Lomonosovskiy prospekt 119992 Moscow, Russia E-mail: [email protected] Roman V. Lapyrionok Rheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms Universität Bonn Institut für Geschichtswissenschaft, Seminar für Alte Geschichte Am Hof 1e D-53012 Bonn

234

Contributors

E-mail: [email protected] [email protected] Alexander V. Makhlayuk Nizhny Novgorod State University (National Research University) Faculty of History, Dept. of Ancient and Medieval History 2, Uljanova str. 603005 Nizhny Novgorod, Russia E-mail: [email protected] Konstantin V. Markov Nizhny Novgorod State University (National Research University) Faculty of History, Dept. of Ancient and Medieval History 2, Uljanova str. 603005 Nizhny Novgorod, Russia E-mail: [email protected] Eduard V. Rung Kazan Federal University Institute of History, Dept. of Ancient and Medieval history 18, Kremlyovskaya str. 420008 Kazan, Russia E-mail: [email protected] Svyatoslav V. Smirnov Institute of General History, Russian Academy of Sciences Department of Comparative Studies in Ancient Civilizations 32a, Leninsky Prospekt 119991 Moscow, Russia Email: [email protected] Yevgenij V. Smykov Saratov State University Insitute of History and International Relations, Department of Ancient History 83, Astrahanskaya str. 410012 Saratov, Russia E-mail: [email protected] Igor E. Surikov Institute of General History, Russian Academy of Sciences Dept. of Comparative Studies in Ancient Civilizations 32a, Leninsky Prospekt 119991 Moscow, Russia Email: [email protected]

Contributors

Mikhail F. Vysokii Institute of General History, Russian Academy of Sciences Dept. of Ancient History 32a, Leninsky prospect 119991 Moscow, Russia E-mail: [email protected]

235

Matthias Becker

Eunapios aus Sardes Biographien über Philosophen und Sophisten. Einleitung, Übersetzung, Kommentar Roma Aeterna — Band 1

Eunapios’ Biographiensammlung ist um 400 n. Chr. entstanden und stellt neuplatonische Philosophen des dritten und vierten Jahrhunderts n. Chr. sowie Rhetoriker und Mediziner des vierten Jahrhunderts n. Chr. vor. In dieser bedeutenden Quelle für die Geistesgeschichte der Spätantike legt Eunapios, ein überzeugter Gegner des Christentums, mit den Mitteln der Biographik ein leidenschaftliches Plädoyer für pagane Kultur, Religion und Bildung ab. Damit möchte er zur Identitätssicherung paganer Intellektuelleneliten beitragen.

Matthias Becker Eunapios aus Sardes 2013. 667 Seiten. Geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10303-9

Matthias Beckers Buch bietet nicht nur die erste deutsche Übersetzung dieses sprachlich komplexen Textes, sondern auch eine umfangreiche Einleitung sowie den ersten deutschsprachigen Kommentar. Darin werden v. a. literatur- und religionswissenschaftliche sowie philosophische und historische Aspekte in den Blick genommen. Die Kollektivbiographie des Eunapios wird dabei als pagane Hagiographie interpretiert: Als ein zentraler Vertreter dieser nicht-christlichen Form der Heiligenschriftstellerei entwirft Eunapios seine Protagonisten als Heilige und Göttergesandte, die ein Gegenmodell zum christlichen Heiligen- und Märtyrerkult der Zeit bilden sollen. Die Arbeit wurde mit dem Promotionspreis der Philosophischen Fakultät der Universität Tübingen ausgezeichnet.

Franz Steiner Verlag Birkenwaldstr. 44 · D – 70191 Stuttgart Telefon: 0711 / 2582 – 0 · Fax: 0711 / 2582 – 390 E-Mail: [email protected] Internet: www.steiner-verlag.de

The book presents research mostly

antiquity in pre-revolutionary and

done by younger Russian scholars of

socialist Russia and the conditions

ancient history to a readership that

under which post-socialist classi-

does not speak and read the Russian

cists and historians work, an intro-

language. The articles cover a wide

ductory article helps readers to un-

range of time and topics: Greek

derstand the achievement of today’s

history from the archaic far into

Russian studies in antiquity. Alto-

the Hellenistic period and Roman

gether the volume demonstrates

history from the republic to the

that the actual Russian scholarship

empire – politics, finance, ideology,

in ancient history has joined the

constitution, society with prosopog-

international research and in which

raphy, and population. By sketch-

way this has been achieved.

ing the peculiarities of research in

www.steiner-verlag.de Franz Steiner Verlag

ISBN 978-3-515-10344-2

9

7835 1 5 103442